At Hamilton I received a most cordial welcome from the friends whom I went
to visit, and saw something of the surrounding country.
It is, I think,
the most bustling place in Canada. It is a very juvenile city, yet already
has a population of twenty-five thousand people. The stores and hotels are
handsome, and the streets are brilliantly lighted with gas. Hamilton has a
peculiarly unfinished appearance. Indications of progress meet one on
every side - there are houses being built, and houses being pulled down to
make room for larger and more substantial ones - streets are being
extended, and new ones are being staked out, and every external feature
seems to be acquiring fresh and rapid development. People hurry about as
if their lives depended on their speed. "I guess" and "I calculate" are
frequently heard, together with "Well posted up," and "A long chalk;" and
locomotives and steamers whistle all day long. Hamilton is a very
Americanised place. I heard of "grievances, independence, and annexation,"
and, altogether, should have supposed it to be on the other side of the
boundary-line.
It is situated on a little lake, called Burlington Bay, separated from
Lake Ontario by a narrow strip of sandy shingle. This has been cut
through, and, as two steamers leave the pier at Hamilton at the same hour
every morning, there is a daily and very exciting race for the first
entrance into the narrow passage. This racing is sometimes productive of
very serious collisions.
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