Lady's Life on a Farm in Manitoba — 19 - Letter 19

July 9. You should have seen A---- and his equipage start into Winnipeg two days ago.

He and the men from the tent had to go in and bring out a waggon and the new "Cortland waggon" (my present), and they had to take in the broken buggy to be mended.

So they started with a four-in-hand to their cart, the broken buggy tied on behind, and another pair of horses behind that again.

The buggy they say very nearly capsized going over the bridge of the creek when near Winnipeg, otherwise they got on beautifully; but it was a funny arrangement altogether, and they seemed to cover a quarter of a mile of ground as they left here.

Winnipeg grows in a most astonishing way; every time we go in, a new avenue or street seems to have started up.

Emigrants, they say, are coming in at the rate of a hundred a day.

A few years ago the population was about five thousand, in 1878 about ten, now over forty thousand, a fourth of whom are living under canvas.

It was estimated last winter that the building operations this season would amount to four million dollars, but double that amount is nearer the mark, and many are obliged to abandon the idea of building on account of the difficulty of getting timber and bricks.

Every house or shanty is leased almost before it is finished.

Winnipeg, as you know, was formerly known as Fort Garry, and one of the chief trading stations of the Hudson Bay Company.

Of the old fort, I am sorry to say, there is very little left, and that is shortly to be swept away for the continuation of Main Street.

The Governor, now occupying the old house, is to have a splendid building, which, with the Houses of Legislature, are in the course of construction, rather farther away from the river.

The town is built at the confluence of two great rivers, the Red and Assiniboine, the former rising in Minnesota, and flowing into lake Winnipeg 150 miles north, navigable for 400 miles.

The Assiniboine has many steamers on it; but the navigation being more difficult, the steamers often sticking on the rapids, it is not much in vogue with emigrants going west, particularly now that the railway takes them so much more rapidly.

There is a large suburb of the town the other side of the Red River called St. Boniface face, the see of a Roman Catholic Archbishop;

possessing a beautiful cathedral and a great educational school for young ladies; for some reason or other we never managed to get over there to see it, though the cathedral is a grand landmark for a great distance.

The railway traffic also is enormous.

During the flood 4,000 freight waggons were delayed at St. Vincent; now they are coming in at the rate of 4,000 per week, and still people cannot get their implements, stores, &c. fast enough.

We have asked several times for some turpentine at one of the shops, and the answer always given is, "It is at the depot, but not unloaded."

We have been wanting turpentine to mix with the brown paint with which we are painting, the dining-room doors.

But first of all the paint fails, and then the turpentine, and I fully expect our beautiful work of art will not be finished before we leave.