We Lunched
And _Cleaned_ Ourselves At _Potter House_, Where The Maids Had
Been Living During Our Absence In The Rockies,
And it seems Mrs. Smith,
the landlady, came from Lady Ward's, and knew the Claughtons, and lived,
for years with
The Miss Bakers at Boss, (these unexpected encounters
make one realize how narrow the world is). The country is ugly about
Winnipeg, and so after paying a visit to the Archdeacon, whom we met in
going there some fortnight ago, and seeing his nice house and wife, we
dined at the depot and left for _Chicago_, our coloured cook was
walking and dawdling about apparently quite well, now that he had got
rid of us. We had sleeping berths in the train - an unknown man slept in
the one over mine, and I had to dress and undress behind the curtains of
my own. We breakfasted at Barnsville Wednesday morning, and that evening
stopped in pouring rain at _Milwaukie_; it is a finely situated
town, but the station had been lately burnt down, and we were very cold
and uncomfortable for two hours. Poking about to amuse themselves, the
boys saw a large long deal box, directed Mrs. J. Stacey, and on a card
attached, "This is to certify Mr. J. Stacey did not die of any
infectious complaint." So he was waiting there to be sent on to her by
next train, and we hope she got him safely.
_Thursday, Two o'clock p.m._, we reached Chicago. Minnieappolis,
which we passed through, is likely to be a fine city. We went to the
Grand Pacific Hotel and were separated by long corridors and staircases,
and spent our time chiefly in trying to find one another amidst its vast
solitudes. Of course one never sees a chambermaid, or any one, and the
quantity of little dishes and fine sounding names which one is served
with at meals does not make up for the other discomforts.
_Friday, 3rd._ - John had a letter to the pork-killing man, Mr.
Armour, and he kindly sent two carriages for us, with an assistant, who
was to lionize us about. We drove first to the Bank and got some money,
and then through the best parts of the town, along the Michigan
Boulevards, through which we had glimpses of the Lake, but everything
here is sacrificed to the almighty _dollar_, and the railway
engines poke themselves in everywhere, down the best streets, and
destroying the prettiest landscapes, and making unearthly noises close
to your bedroom, or puffing their steam out under your nose as you walk.
Chicago looks a more bustling, and a newer and a more railroad-
dominated place than Glasgow, but like it in smoke and business aspect.
As to the Boulevards, the houses are most of them new, and some in
startling styles of architecture. Some in red, which are very good. One
was nearly finished of white marble, quite a palace, with more ground
than usual round it; but alas, for human hopes, the man who owns it and
_millions_ of dollars, has lately been pronounced _mad_, is in
the care of a wife whom he lately married, and who does not care for
him, and he will die before his marble palace is finished.
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