Montréal, Québec, Canada

Timezone: UTC-4.

Among the nondescriptness of Montréal, I managed to stumble upon a few churches and somewhat distinctly ornamented buildings. I stepped in to St. Patrick's Basilica, originally built for the Irish community, and was quite stunned to be the only person inside. It has certainly never happened to me before in a church of this size.

I took the train to Toronto. The next week will be my week of rail, to which I am looking forward.

Evening's Toronto was largely uneventful. I went to an Irish pub, but it seemed dull. Irish songs have been lately on my mind persistently, and for a very good reason. But that place was not where I should have sought them. I need to wait.

Montreal is a remarkably fine city of about three hundred thousand inhabitants, built on the shores of the mighty St. Lawrence River and at the foot of a beautiful mountain which the brave Jacques Cartier, on his first voyage to this country in 1534, named Mont-Royal, from which the city afterwards got its name. Montreal seems to be a city of churches: I see at least one, oftener several, whenever I turn into a new street.
Last Sunday I went to church three times. And how do you think I was rewarded for my piety? By meeting a very interesting and pleasant fellow-countryman, a gentleman you may have met, or at least heard of: Monsieur Charles Fermaud, of Geneva, a lieutenant-colonel in the Swiss army and president of the universal Young Men's Christian Association. He came here to take part in the fiftieth anniversary of the Montreal Young Men's Christian Association, which was the first institution of this kind on the American continent. Last Sunday night Monsieur Fermaud occupied the pulpit of the American Presbyterian Church. Knowing nothing about his being here, I had gone to that church because it was near by. I was therefore very agreeably surprised to hear a compatriot. Hespoke beautifully, and so hopefully that even the most pessimistic person in the audience must have left the church in a brighter mood that evening. He won my heart especially by one remark. After having spoken of many beautiful and admirable American institutions, of the freedom and privileges that the people of this country enjoy, and how much there is to be thankful for in being American, he concluded by saying, “Do not think, friends, that because I tell you about the things I admire in your country, I amnot satisfied to be what I am. I am proud to be a Swiss.” I could not help adding to myself, “And so am I.”
Lina Bögli, “Forward. Letters Written on a Trip Around the World”