Edmonton has arrived, it seems the most natural thing in the world that
there should have sprung up on the Saskatchewan this rich metropolis,
anticipating for itself a future expansion second to no city in
commercial Canada. But some one had to have faith and prescience before
Edmonton got her start, and the god-from-the-machine was the Canadian
Northern, in other words, William Mackenzie and D.D. Mann. Individuals
and nations as they reap a harvest are apt to forget the hands that
sowed the seed in faith, nothing doubting. When this railroad went into
Edmonton, as little was known of the valley of the Saskatchewan as is
known now of the valley of the Peace. Without exception, Canadian men of
letters go to other countries for recognition, but not so all our men of
deeds. Mackenzie and Mann, "the Brains of a Trans-Continental," stayed
in Canada and put their genius to work here. The Canadian Northern is
the product of Canadian minds and Canadian money.

[Illustration: A Section of Edmonton]

We walk Edmonton streets for ten days and see neither an old man nor an
old woman. The government and the business interests are in the hands of
young people who have adopted modern methods of doing things; single tax
is the basis of taxation; the city owns its public utilities, including
an interurban street railroad, electric lighting plant, water-works, and
the automatic telephone. Mr. C.W. Cross, the Attorney-General of
Alberta, is the youngest man in Canada to hold that high office. During
the first session of the first legislature of this baby province less
than three years ago, an enabling act was passed for a university.
Nowhere else have I been sensible of such a feeling of united
public-spiritedness as obtains here.

Down in the river valley are hundreds of people living under canvas, not
because they are poor but because building contractors cannot keep pace
with the demand for homes. As we pass these tents, we are rude enough to
look in. Most of them are furnished with telephones and the city water;
here a bride bends over a chafing dish; another glance discloses an
oil-painting that was once shown in the Royal Academy. From the next
tent float the strains of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, and, as we stop
to listen, a gentleman and his wife step out. An auto picks them up and
off they whirl to Jasper Avenue. The Lord o' the Tents of Shem
disappears into his bank and Milady drives on to the Government house to
read before