A RUN THROUGH CANADA AND THE STATES.

BY KENNETH MACDONALD, F.S.A., Scot.

IX. CHICAGO.

SHORTLY before reaching Chicago-which we did between eight and nine in the evening-a gentleman decorated with a stout leather strap, on which some fifty or seventy brass checks were strung, asked each passenger to what Hotel he proposed going, and on being told, handed him one of the checks and demanded fifty cents in return. He was the agent of an Omnibus Company in Chicago which carries passengers and their baggage to any of the Hotels in the city, however near or distant, for a uniform charge of half-a-dollar. As things go in Chicago, the charge is not unreasonable, and the arrangement is convenient, especially for strangers. On the advice of my friend, the Inspector, I chose the Grand Pacific Hotel, and when we got into Chicago I handed my baggage check to one of the Hotel Porters, and thus relieved by the admirable system of American railways in dealing with baggage, of all impedimenta, I soon found myself in my room in the Grand Pacific-a large and finely appointed house in the centre of the business portion of the city. On the table lay a history of the great Chicago fire and of the rebuilding of the city, and near the window hung a patent fire escape, consisting apparently of a block and tackle enclosed in a linen or canvas bag, on the outside of which directions for its use were printed. I afterwards ascertained that every bedroom in the house was similarly furnished.

Chicago, the busy, aggressive, prosperous Chicago, is not to be seen by night. A walk through the city after ten o'clock disclosed this much. The men who have made Chicago are not then about. Public Drinking-bars, Singing and Dancing Saloons there are, however, in plenty, and well patronised, too, by all appearance. Poverty and wretchedness manifest their presence as elsewhere. A two hours' walk through the streets disclosed the fact that unless a stranger chooses to go deeper into Chicago nightlife than is safe, he will learn little of the city by wandering about

after dark. As I came to this conclusion, the row of Electric lamps in front of the Grand Pacific showed me where my temporary home was, and I made for it. An hour spent in the large entrance hall of the Hotel, studying American Hotel life, and moving about among the two hundred or so guests, who are scattered about in all sorts of attitudes smoking and talking, is much more pleasant, and probably more profitable, than an hour abroad in the streets at night. Right in front is the Hotel office, where the clerks stand behind the counter on which lies the Hotel Register. To the left is the Tobacconist's counter, where a brisk business is being done; and further on the Barber's shop, in front of which is a Hosier's shop, also entered from the Hotel. To the right of the entrance, and inside the Hotel, is a small office where carriages can be hired, and round a corner, and further in on the same side, is a shop where all the newspapers and magazines of the day can be purchased. Liquors can probably be had, but the Bar is not in sight. None of the smokers are drinking-drinking is not a feature of American Hotel life. In the Hall there is a fountain where iced water can be had by turning on a tap. This is occasionally resorted to by the thirsty, but apparently nothing else is drunk. At the Bar counter, had I seen it, I should probably have seen, as I did elsewhere, a few thirsty souls, but they are the minority. The American makes his Hotel his home for the time, and he does not think it his duty to drink there oftener than he would at home. The absurd idea, so common on this side of the Atlantic, that he is bound to drink for "the good of the house," does not seem to occur either to him or his host. I do not say that Americans drink less than we do, probably they do not, for their public drinking bars are numerous, and apparently well patronised, but in their principal hotels the sale of drink is in practice kept apart from the ordinary business of the house, and the guest who wishes to have a drink is expected to go to the Bar for it.

Before going to my bedroom I visited the Reading-room- -a large hall on the first floor over the entrance Hall-and looked through that day's Chicago newspapers. American journalism I was not unfamiliar with, but the freedom with which the Chicago editor expresses himself is enough to send a cold shiver down the back of one accustomed to the "pink of propriety"

journalism of Great Britain. A "leading" paragraph in the Chicago Herald of that day, referring to a series of evangelical services to be held in a few weeks, said the "regular army" was to be reinforced by eleven hundred clergymen from other partsthat a reconnaissance had been made of Satan's intrenchments, and Chicago had been found the weakest point. Ecclesiastical meetings, of which a considerable number were reported in one of the papers, were dealt with in a manner more amusing to the general reader than to the gentlemen who took part in them. Ministers had just returned from their holidays, and if the reports were to be judged from, reverend gentlemen had a woful tendency to get up in the middle of an anxious discussion on a difficult question of Church policy, and make a speech on the number and size of the fish they had caught on the river or lake near which they had spent their holidays, or on any other subject than the one under discussion.

In the morning one of a series of tramway rides brought me to the Chicago river, where among the crowds of ships, barges, and boats, a little squat-looking steamer--cargo or tug-boat I know not which- presented what I thought at the time a perfect type of the city to which she belonged. She came up the river puffing and snorting and making a noise which, even in the incessant din all around, stood out prominently as the greatest of all; rushing along at a rate which seemed perilous to herself and to the other craft on the river, and yet so skilfully navigated that she left them all behind without injury to herself or them. Such a tub of a thing she was too, no fine lines or attempt at beauty about her, simply an ugly boat with a good engine and boiler inside, and a man in charge who was determined to go ahead. After watching her until she disappeared round a curve in the river, I mentally ejaculated, “Well done, Chicago!"

After a while I found myself near the shore of Lake Michigan, with a net-work of railway lines in front, a canal or dock beyond, and some ten or a dozen Elevators on the other side. To get to the Elevators was my object, and after dodging two or three trains and a number of unattached cars, I managed it. The Elevator is a Warehouse furnished with certain machinery. The machinery is merely a feature of the warehouse, but so important a feature that grain warehouses with an elevating arrangement

are known throughout Canada and the States as "Elevators." The manner in which grain was received and disposed of at the Elevators, had been repeatedly described to me, but it was still somewhat of a mystery, and I wanted to see the system in operation. I selected one of the largest Elevators in the neighbourhood, a building apparently between 120 and 150 feet in height, and on making my wish known to the gentleman in charge, he very courteously took me over the building. It was my good fortune to see a train of grain-laden cars delivering their contents at the Elevator, and a ship being loaded with grain. The cars, which were loaded in bulk, were drawn up in front-a long shoot was lowered from the Elevator into the first car, the machinery inside was set in motion, and in an incredibly short time the car was empty. The other cars were treated in the same way, and in almost less time than it takes to tell it the contents of that train were inside the Elevator. Inside, the grain is first received into a weighing bin, where it is weighed so carefully and accurately that the shortage on a train load of grain delivered in bulk at Chicago, after a journey of a thousand miles, is seldom more than a few pounds. From the weighing bin the grain is transferred to immense storage bins, some of which are fifty to sixty feet in depth. There the grain, if in good condition when received, will be kept for the first ten days for a cent and a quarter per bushel, while for each additional ten days, or part of that time, the charge is half-acent per bushel. The charge for storing condemned or unmerchantable grain is two cents per bushel for the first ten days, and half-acent for each five days or part thereof afterwards. From the middle of November to the middle of April the charge is limited to four cents per bushel, if so much is incurred, so long as the grain remains in good condition.

The delivery of grain from the Elevator is equally expeditious. The ship or car to be loaded is brought to the Elevator, the shoot is lowered, the bins deliver their contents, and the loading is done so expeditiously that a locomotive bringing up a train of empty cars may wait while they are being filled.

It may be said that this system makes no provision for keeping one man's grain apart from another man's. Well, neither it does, but that is of no consequence, so long as the grain in each bin is of one "grade." All grain coming into Chicago is, before

being received into an Elevator, examined by a State Inspector and graded. The best quality is "No. 1," the next, "No. 2;" and grain which is not up to the standard of one of the numbered grades (which in the case of barley run as low as No. 5), is graded as "Rejected." The Certificate of the Inspector is presented at the Elevator, and the grain received and stored in bins, containing, or ready to receive, other grain of the same grade. A purchaser does not see the grain he buys in bulk, nor does he even see a sample. Does he want Wheat, he buys" No. 2 Spring;" Corn, "No. 2 Yellow," and so on; in every case he knows exactly what he has bought, and has no occasion to see it. Upon this system of State Inspection the grain trade of Chicago depends, to the Inspectors Chicago has entrusted her commercial honour, and her success proves that they have faithfully discharged their

trust.

Shortly before noon I went to the Board of Trade building with Mr Bird, a member of the Board, to whom I had been at my own request introduced. Mr Bird procured me admission to the portion of the building sacred to members of the Board-a place where no dweller in Chicago other than members may penetrate. It was a long, well-lighted room, in which were perhaps from two to three hundred gentlemen walking about. There were three parts of the room where apparently something more lively than a conversation was being conducted. I went to the nearest of these, and found it something like a square platform with the centre scooped out. Three or four steps led up from the floor along the whole length of its four outward sides, and a similar number of steps led along the whole length of each of its inward sides, down to the floor level, a small square piece of the floor being visible in the centre. On the top and inside steps were a number of men gesticulating in a somewhat lively manner, and addressing each other in tones so loud and emphatic that I at first thought there was a fight. But they were only a few of the Bulls and Bears trying to make or break the market. Down in the centre, on the floor level, was one man who, with his coat over his left arm and his white hat in his left hand, was wielding his right hand, in which he held a few slips of paper, like a pump handle, and crying out as rapidly as he could utter the words, "I sell September," "I sell September," "I sell