ABSTRACT
Some years ago I planned what was thought by many of my friends a ridiculous trip across Canada by train in mid-January. I had heard of the quality of rail service offered by the two great railroads of our northern neighbor and felt that a winter trip not only would offer interest but also several days of uninterrupted opportunités to rest and read, with the world going by outside the window. The trip far more than came up to expectation. It began with a drive from northeastern Ohio to Niagara Falls, and thence to Toronto. From Toronto we boarded the Toronto section of the Canadian National Railway’s crack transcontinental train. We had spent much of a day exploring Toronto in pouring rain, and a taxi delivered us to the vaulted National Railway station a little before six in the evening. Once we had settled our things in our comfortable bedroom on board, we walked through five or six cars to the dining car, where tables shone in clean whiteness and the burnished silver glistened. There is something always pleasing and exciting about such dining places. Our dinner ordered, and the sturdy soup placed before us, we were suddenly aware of a gentle movement of the train, and with no jerk of starting, we were in a few moments watching the bright lights of the city streaking by our window.
