Hand-Picking Our Future Canadians

Is Canada on the threshold of a new and wiser era in the populating of her broad domain? The answer lies in what the future holds for the thirty-eight farmer families from the British Isles, who form the vanguard of 3,000 carefully selected families, chosen for settlement in this country upon prepared farms.


Hand-Picking Our Future Canadians

Is Canada on the threshold of a new and wiser era in the populating of her broad domain? The answer lies in what the future holds for the thirty-eight farmer families from the British Isles, who form the vanguard of 3,000 carefully selected families, chosen for settlement in this country upon prepared farms.


Hand-Picking Our Future Canadians


Is Canada on the threshold of a new and wiser era in the populating of her broad domain? The answer lies in what the future holds for the thirty-eight farmer families from the British Isles, who form the vanguard of 3,000 carefully selected families, chosen for settlement in this country upon prepared farms.

"CAN ye see anything, Jock?” “I can not. The fog’s as thick as Hielan’ porridge.” The smell of early morning cooking came in savory steam from the galleys between decks and drifted down along the cabin alleyways. Passengers stopped in their process of packing in preparation for landing, and went in to breakfast, lamenting the last meal and the parting so soon to dissolve the frail cement of ship-board friendships, as the White Star Liner Canopic lay anchored outside the Heads at Halifax, waiting for the fog to dissolve so that she could proceed up to her berth. Not far away the Baltic swung, in similar plight, while faces lined the rails on both shipe peering into the damp, white mist, eager for a first glimpse of the new Promised Land. Nothing unusual, perhaps, in the fact of two ocean greyhounds fog-bound outside a Canadian port; but of infinite import to Canada’s future, their passengers, for among them were thirty-eight families who, in less than ten days from landing, would be placed upon prepared farms across the length and breadth of the Dominion, and thus begin the recording of the newest and most promising chapter in the history of Canadian colonization.

For years criticism has been levelled at the Immigration policy followed by the Dominion. Men, women, children, poured in thousands from the industrial centres of Great Britain to populate the prairies, and the newlyopened country of British Columbia. Many—not all, fortunately—discouraged by the loneliness, the hardships and the strangeness of it all, (and who would blame them, in the light of their early environment) deserted the land for which, so obviously, they were unfitted, and trekked, again in their scattered thousands, to the more familiar atmosphere of the cities, already overcrowded with native unemployed. Result—a return to the Old Land by those who could afford it, disgruntled, disillusioned, and lifelong critics of Canada, and a loss to the country of settler material, which, had it been wisely directed from the start, would more than have justified that care.

So through many years, until the folly of flooding the country with newcomers buoyed up by marvellous tales of wealth to be gained with small effort came home to roost, and proved to be, not a bird of promise but a buzzard. Then, and not until then, common sense took charge. Constructiveness supplanted vaporous optimism that was shot through with the gilt of fine promises. Officialdom has donned Efficiency’s cap, and looks mighty becoming in it too.

Thus, the Canopic and the Baltic, swinging outside Halifax Heads, with the first consignment of specially selected British farmer-settler families, brought out under the new government scheme.

The Promised Land at Last

T ATER in the day the fog lifted, the sun smiled on ' Dartmouth and the mound of Halifax citadel, and the liners steamed slowly between shore-lines lipped with the tender green of early spring, to their piers. Hurry and bustle of landing. Piles of luggage—battered trunks, straw suit cases, sea bags, army kit bags and packs that looked as though they might have borne the mud of Flanders, as indeed some of them had—cluttered up the for ard deck and were swung ashore bv the sweating crew.

In the interim of waiting to be permitted to the immigration sheds the passengers hung over the rails, surveying with curious eyes the bulky Canadian “goods train” drawn in alongside the pier, and bandied facile wit with cheeky small boys and dock loungers below. Reporters and photographers swarmed aboard. Groups were posed and re-posed. Families were welcomed by representatives of the government and this vanguard of a new movement was given first inkling of its potential importance to Canada.

The task of separating the selected families from the several hundred other settlers who arrived at the same time was accomplished with but little difficulty, and they were put through the routine of landing. Taken together, they made a group of which Canada and their native homes might well be proud. The men, sturdy of body, clear-skinned, with the red dash of health in their weather-hardened cheeks, the women, clean, tidy, courageous-eyed, keeping close watch upon their healthily tumultuous families. They were working types—landworking types, whose palms had hardened with many years of labor; they held their heads up; they were proud of themselves and their families. Clean of body, clear of eye, they looked fit and eager to cope with whatever life in this new, strange, crude land might have in store. They were drawn from all parts of the British Isles, and the brogue of Ireland, the burr of the Scot, the Welshman’s “Indeed to goodness, yes!” the soft roll of the tongue of Kent and Devon, and the hardy note ôf a Tyneside “Geordie” rolled through the echoing aisles of the great shed.

Pink-skinned brides of a year, and the mothers of many children, joined in earnest discussion of the intricacies of dollars and cents. There was food for thought in the things about them, and subjects for laughter, too. A bulky young man with twinkling eyes, from the north of England, walked to the shop counter presided over by the genial Foley, known to so many thousands of newcomers to this country. “A glass of ale, Miss, please,” he said to the girl behind the counter. First disappointment in the new land. Roars of lauvhter vreeted his disvusted coun-

tenance as he turned to his group with the glass in his hand. He got his ale, all right, but it was ginger ale.

The Proper Spirit

IN THE room set apart for the selected families a photographer was busy, registering family groups. A stalwart figure, with “sergeant-major” stamped all over him was approached and asked to pose with his sturdy looking family. He smiled agreement, and calling his sons, the two eldest of which were sixteen and eighteen years old, handed them a comb and bade them tidy themselves. Then he sat, beside his wife, their daughter and four wellscrubbed lads about them, justifiable pride in every line of his features.

Later, I approached him, while the shuffle and clatter of the special train being made up in the shed below came to us like a deep, subdued monotone.

“Yes,” he said, in response to my inquiry, “I’m an army man, with twenty-one years’ service.”

Additional questioning brought out the information, reluctantly given, that Reynolds was awarded a Meritorious Service Medal for his work during the war, and the quality of his army discharges was of an exceptionally high order.

“I understood, though, that families coming out under this special scheme were required to have farm experience before being accepted by the Canadian Government immigration agents,” I said.

“That is quite true,” he responded with a smile, “and if you saw the quality of the fruit and vegetables with which my boys have taken prizes at fairs in the old country, you would see that we come into that class. My wife, too, is an experienced farm woman, and I know and love horses and stock of all kinds.”

“What caused you to decide to come to Canada?”

He thought for a moment, then replied, with a quick sweep of his eyes to be sure no one was within hearing who might be offended at his words.

“I think it was the dole that decided me,” he said. “I am discharged from the army with a pension, a young man still, comparatively speaking. I’m only forty-six, and I’m fairly rugged. And there are the boys.

I want them to get away from the old country; to encounter conditions and difficulties that will make men of them. Employment is scarce at home my boys are getting older, and I’ll not have a son of mine in a position where he’ll have to accept a dole to keep him alive, no matter how well meant the offering is. My lads will stand on their own feet, independent of anybody, and prove themselves—and if they can’t do it they deserve to go under; that’s what I say! And the atmosphere of a new land is what they need. That’s why I came. For the sake of the lads.” He beamed again as he looked across to where they were talking to the mother.

“What assistance were you given to get across?” I asked.

“Well, after I made application I was visited by a Canadian Land Settlement Officer who made some pretty strict enquiries into my past, the family record and that sort of thing. I have my pension and a bit of money put by, but when I was accepted after this preliminary survey, the whole scheme of selective settlement was explained in full.”

“Go on,” I encouraged, interested.

Selective Immigration

“ AS I understand it, then, the Canadian Government intends within the next three years,, to bring out from the old land 3,000 British families. Of course, far more than this number will want to come, so the government is investigating very carefully all the applicants, and selecting those most suitable, through general reliability, good record, and experience in farm work. That last, they tell me, is indispensable. Then comes the question of what sort of farming the family is to go in for. This is determined by what past experience on the land the family is best fitted for. That, in turn, influences where a man will be located in Canada. One who has had experience in fruit growing, say, will want to go on the Niagara Peninsula or to British Columbia or certain parts of Nova Scotia or New Brunswick, which, I have been told, are the fruit farming districts of Canada.”

“Is that left to yourself?”

“Yes, largely; but we have the benefit of the Land Settlement officer’s advice before we decide. After we have determined what sort of farming we are to take up we are shown a list of descriptions of hundreds of farms which will answer. From these descriptions we make a

choice of the one on which we would like to settle. All the farms offered for settlement, we are told, will have certain acreages ready for cultivation, so that the farmer does not have to start off at once, breaking new ground. Although mind you, he is expected to do this as time goes on, and his progress justifies it.”

“I see. What next?”

“Let’s see, now. We’re accepted, and we’ve chosen our

farm. Oh, yes! In my case it was not essential, but where it is necessary and the man is of a dependable type, but has not much money, he will be government-assisted from his home to his destination. In the case of a married man he has three years in which to repay this, but in the case of government assisted passages for children under seventeen the cost of the passage is a government gift outright. Then, under an arrangement between the Canadian and Imperial governments, Canada provides the farms, with suitable houses, barns and other buildings at a reasonable cost, and the Old Country deposits for each settler a sum not greater than £300—that’s about $1,500, isn’t it?—to buy livestock and equipment as it is required. But the man has got to have at least twentyfive pounds of his own on his arrival at his destination, to see him and his family through the beginning.”

“How is the sum advanced by the government repaid?” “In twenty-five . . . yes—in twenty-five annual instalments with interest at five per cent, yearly. But no repayment is required until the end of the second season. So you see, that gives a man a chance to get on his feet. Do you know—” he spoke with emphasis, “I’ve travelled about a bit in the army, and seen enough of the world to know that no two countries do things alike, and it is in connection with this, that I see one of the most useful and promising phases of this whole selective settlement scheme—a point that is as valuable for the new settler as for the country to which he comes!”

“And that is—”

“The requirement that each settler, and the grown

boys of his family, must work for one year on the farm of a neighbor, in order to learn local methods. In the meantime, and in my own case, it means that mother and the girl and my two younger boys will stay on the farm the government is providing, and look after that, while I and my other two boys go out to farmers in the district in which we are making our home. There’s no guesswork about that job, either. We have been told that jobs have been already arranged for, and are waiting for us—and for every other man in the party.”

Mother, meanwhile, had come over and was quietly listening.

“We brought some of our own furniture and things with us,” she volunteered gently after a time. “You see, although there are buildings on the farm there is no guarantee of what they will be like, except that they will be fit to live in. But so long as we have a dry place to sleep we can make a home of it for awhile, until we manage something better.” She smiled up at her man.

“Yes, we’ll get on all right.” He smiled back, confidence strong in him. “We’ve got health, thank God, and good kids, and the will to work.” The long halls of the Immigration Shed were crowded by this time, as the two liners emptied their cargo of hopeful humanity. There were rough tweed coats, upon which one could almost see the dew of the Highlands; there were buttoned and scalloped creations that had caused a flutter in simple midland county fairs—and a few adventurous gentlemen appeared, brave in strong raiment against our formidable winter— stout breeches, great knee boots, flannel shirts, long-peaked, shaggy caps and a wild and woolly air that sat oddly upon their fresh, old-world complexions. These latter were the tiniest bit sheepish, but bore the Haligonian's neighborly grins like veterans of the wilds,

Wee Peter’s Family

AND there was Peter. Peter, the idol of the party and ■ just about the finest little lump of miniature manhood one could imagine. Peter Freer; that was his name; and his bright knitted sweater was no bluer than his bright blue eyes. Brave as a lion, he was, and you could tell by the way he sank his little white three-year-old teeth into a chocolate bar that he was of the bulldog breed. His dad was an upstanding young farmer from near Manchester, and his wife was a pretty little person with eyes like Peter and a delicately refined manner. One never would guess that she had done her sturdy bit as a land girl during the war. It was on the land that she met Peter’s father-to-be, who, to his regret, was too young, then, for the army. On the land they stayed after the war, were married there, and now would till Canadian soil, bring up wee Peter in the way a good Canadian should tread, and be happy in the land of their adoption.

“I say, there’s no nonsense in what they tell you before you come out, is there?” Peter’s father asked me.

“How do you mean?” I inquired.

“Well—I mean, they tell you just what you’ve got to expect out here in the way of loneliness and hardship and that sort of thing. Here, you little scamps . .!” as a diminutive urchin with a bottle of pink pop dashed between his wide spread legs, hotly pursued by a jet-eyed little maid bent on piracy. “The agent in the old country told us,” he continued when he had recovered his balance, Continued on page 80

Continued from page 22

“that we couldn’t expect things to be ‘cushy’ out here. ‘If you’re not prepared to work hard every minute of daylight, and to make the best of things you don’t like or don’t agree with,’ he told us, ‘you had better stop in England. And if your wife is not prepared to carry on alone while you go out to a neighbor’s for a year to learn Canadian ways, and be content to see you perhaps, only on the week-ends, then it is best to give up the idea.’ But my wife loves farming and so do I, and if Canada will give us a reasonable return for what we put into it there’ll be no grumbling. But I like that straightforward way of telling us beforehand what to expect. Then we can harden ourselves and determine to pull through no matter what comes about. Here, Peter, you greedy little tinker—you’ve had enough,” as Peter advanced upon the good-natured proprietor of the Immigration Shed restaurant, who was distributing sweets to the children.

A Ferry Smart Man

A GROUP of sturdy lads, the elder sons of some of the families, had foregathered in a corner with a mouth organ, as is the custom of British youth the world over, and were holding a little shin-dig of their own, until one of them interrupted with, “Come on away, boys, and let’s find summ.at to eat. The worms is beginnin’ to bite!” They went in a body to the lunch counter and exchanged their sixpences and shillings for all sorts of weird comestibles dear to the adolescent heart. Which brings me to a gentleman from the north of Wales whose name I will not mention.. For as I watched the boys over at the counter he slipped up alongside and the following conversation took place. Said he:

“Did you, I wonder, just come over?” I confessed that I was a native of this continent.

“Indeed? Well, well! I am from North Wales. I am not a fool, Cott pless me, no! I am a ferry smart man. I have seen my way about a bit, look you, and they cannot cod me with their money and their ways. I tell you I am on to them.”

“You are something of a traveller, then?”

“Indeed to goodness, yes! I have been to Africa in my time and they cannot cod me.”

I indicated the tin of salmon under his arm.

. “Where did you get that?” I asked.

“I got that from a man on the quay. Twenty-five cents—only a bob, look you, I paid for it.”

“But it is only fifteen cents at the counter. Your man paid that for it and sold it to you for twenty-five.”

“Iss that so? Well, well! I will enjoy it the more then.”

No, one could not get ahead of the man from North Wales—but sight of his numerous healthy family aroused the thought; no wonder he has lots of confiddence in himself after raising an army like that. He is entitled to it.

Heading Westward

IN TIME, the seventeen coach Canadian National Railways special train was made up, and rapidly was filled, and it was interesting to listen to the comment of the newcomers as they flocked around the monster locomotive. Once underway, the progress of the train through the spring sunshine of the Nova Scotia countryside was in the nature of a continuous ovation. The spirit of adventure was on the travellers, and they made the best of the monotony and minor discomforts inseparable from a long journey by rail. While daylight lasted, the coaches were full of the excited chatter of children, but as darkness settled on the windows and the lights were lit the excitement of the long day proved too much for the youngsters, and the tired mothers made them comfortable in all sorts of improvised ways.

Opposite me was a Scottish mother with the little black-eyed maiden who had so upset the equilibrium of wee Peter’s sire. For a time she lay silent, curled up in a woollen blanket. Then a tiny voice piped up with the faintest thread of homesickness.

“Mother . . .?”

“Yes, dear?”

“It’s about Auntie’s bed-time, isn’t it?”

“Yes, dear.”

The baby sighed.

“We’re—we’re a long way frae Auntie, noo ...”

I went into the diner, where substantial meals had been prepared for those who wanted them, at a flat price. At the table across the aisle was a little group of three—sturdy, self-respecting farmer women and their man. They were the least bit ill at ease, but, having ventured in and sat down they would not retreat. The waiter appeared and laid before them the menu, a pencil, and an order pad. The older woman looked up.

“Do we have to write'what we want?” she asked.

The waiter smiled. “If you please, madam,” he said.

The woman leaned across to her companion.

“Oh, Jim,” she said happily, “isn’t it a lucky thing ye learned how tae write!”

Splendid Farmer Tykes

NOVA SCOTIA was clear of snow, but the following day brought us into thickly wooded country, rugged and grim looking, where snow covered fence and bush, and hung knee-deep in the hollows. Sleighs with jingling bells stood at the country stations, and the icy breath of winter lingered still in the air. The newcomers wandered, bareheaded, on the platforms at each stop, gazing curiously at the mackinawed and shoe-packed inhabitants, and the sight of a man on snowshoes crossing a lonely little frozen lake evoked a storm of comment and the craning of necks. Everything was fresh and new, and spirits ran high.

More and more as the day went on, the Canadians travelling with the selected families grew more impressed with the superiority of type of these new settlers. Without detailing invidious comparison, the difference was marked, and augurs well for Canada’s future. One man, Thomas Shaw, only thirty-five years of age, had six children, a lusty brood. He came from Derby, in England, had served in the Royal Marine Artillery during the war, and had been a farm laborer since leaving school, and later a tenant, occupying a fifty acre farm. His wife had been on a farm since childhood. “To give the kiddies a chance,” was his reason for leaving home. They left the train at Truro, to settle in Nova Scotia.

J. W. Thompson with a wife and five strapping sons, the eldest seventeen years was bound for Alberta. He and his wife had farmed all their lives. Mrs. Thompson could make butter, milk and assist in the fields, and the man was a qualified shoeing smith, able to repair farm machinery, and was familiar with all branches of farming. They had sold out their English holding owing to heavy taxation, and were determined to make good in their new home. Another man of the same name, with four children, was equally capable. He was born and brought up on an English farm and was bound for Manitoba. His wife was a healthy, practical woman, experienced in dairying, milking, and the care of poultry. And so, through the list of thirty-eight families. John Thomas, from Liverpool for Saskatchewan, was an ex-service man who had spent two years as a farm laborer in Minnesota. He was a horseman, with a good knowledge of the breeding of stock. His wife was cf fine type, and was brought up on a farm in Ireland, and their eldest boy, fifteen years old, was bright and courteous, with the pink of health in his cheeks.

Joe Chamberlain’s Orchid

DURING the afternoon I entered into conversation with a mild-mannered man in a rough tweed suit named Phillips who was travelling from Birmingham to Bradford, Ontario. After a time some discussion of English politics cropped up, and brought about the name of Joe Chamberlain, his monocle and his famous orchid.

“You have heard of that, then,”_ he said with tw-inkling eyes. “Yes? Well, I am the man who supplied the orchid.” It developed then that he had been head gardener for some years for Lord Wrottesley, and also for the Earl of Dudley. His exhibits of fruit and flowers had gained numerous prizes and he was an expert on orchids, having travelled the

world in search of rare blooms, with parties sent out by the Royal Horticultural Society. He had had four years of war service, and his wife was an excellent housekeeper and had experience in raising poultry and pigs.

Another family of excellent type was that of C. N. Simpson from County Down.

Simpson was a farm worker with experience in growing field crops, and the raising and fattening of stock. His wife was a capable woman who understood dairying and poultry keeping, and they had kept a market garden and poultry farm in the United States for six years. They had three children, the eldest a girl of twenty, who was willing to go into domestic service until they were established.

A large percentage of the men were former soldiers. Enos Pugh, bound from Birmingham district to Vernon, B.C., was in the Army Service Corps. He had experience as a farm laborer and renter, his wife had knowledge of fruit, poultry and market gardening and they were both keen to succeed in Canada. J. G. Davison, with a son of twenty-one, and a daughter, also was an army man, whose wife was able to milk and make butter. He had exceptional recommendations as a worker. Lester Smalley who hailed from Derby was going to Swan River, Manitoba. Mr. Smalley had had twenty years of farm life, broken by three years at the front, and spiced with two years on a Canadian farm. His wife was a competent dairy hand and could take care of all kinds of stock.

Co-operation of Man and Wife

NOT all of these prospective settlers were strangers to Canada, as this will show, and not all were coming to a country in which they had no friends. Mrs. James Warburton had three brothers in Saskatchewan, to which province her husband and family were bound. Warburton, too, had had farm experience in Saskatchewan and liked the province so well that he would not be content elsewhere.

A dark-faced, man of intelligent appearance and quiet manner spent all of the long afternoon perusing the booklets on Canada supplied to them in the old land.

“It is strange to me, though,” he said at length, pointing to the word “Immigration” on the cover, “that you use that term to describe specially selected families such as make up our party. To m.y mind it is not immigration; it is colonization in its truest sense.”

He, too, had been a farmer all his days, but I judged, from the few words that he let drop now and then, that he had. taken a more than parochial interest in the affairs of the country, and. was a reader of judgment and discernment. His family of six children made a picture of health.

Another recruit from the landed estates of England to the broad prairies was Harry Lee, who worked, for years on the farm of the Earl of Bradford. His wife was in the Land Army during the war while Lee was at the front, and they carried splendid references as to character and ability. They were going to Saskatchewan.

The services of John Price on the land during the war were such that he was exempted from the army. He is forty-two, with four children. He had been on a farm since leaving school, and his wife was born on the land., could, milk, make butter and cheese, look after pigs {tnd poultry— and, what is more important, like doing it.

The keynote of the whole train was hope. That, and the thought that the youngsters were being given a chance in life.

“It isn’t that we haven’t affection for the old country,” one man said, as we ran parallel with the St. Lawrence river and the blue waters danced in the sunlight, “but since the war everything there seems different, somehow. So many old friends are gone; taxation is heavy; people, depending on the dole for so many months, are depressed and there doesn’t seem the chance for the youngsters that there was before the war. Then, lots of our people have been attracted by the way the Canadian government has gone after this scheme. In the old days numbers of the steady, conservative farmer people would not emigrate, because the prospects held out were too rosy to be true.

“Farm people know, perhaps more than most classes, that riches on the land cannot be got without hard work, and

while the pictures of vast fields of golden I grain waving in the prairie wind looked very pretty on station platforms, that was the very trouble. They looked too pretty. But when men we can understand come to us and talk farming in a way that shows they know their business, and tell us what we know only too well, that the will to work on the land to get results is what counts, then we have confidence, and will chance cutting loose from the old home and trying out the new. So here we are, and I domt think any of us are afraid of what the future holds.”

Canada’s Welcome

HOW were these people welcomed to their new homes? What did they find when the long journey of thousands of miles of tossing ocean and twin ribbons of steel came to an end and they .stood upon the soil that was to be theirs and surveyed what a Canadian government called home? Would the attitude of their neighbors be one of hostility, to be given patronizing advice, or left coldly alone? Let us take the case of one man, Mr. J. 0. Bryden, who, with his wife and four children had decided to take up fruit farming in the vicinity of Brantford, Ontario. Hospitality in the prairie provinces is an accepted thing. In Ontario ...

“We got to the farm at about eight o’clock in the evening,” said he, a few | weeks later. “We were dead tired and, I suppose I might as well confess it, a tiny bit depressed after the long ride, and the uncertainty of what was ahead of us, and all. Our next neighbors, a Mr. and Mrs. Churnside had supper hot and waiting for us, and man, they were kind. They put us up at their place for two days while we rested from the long journey, and didn’t seem able to do enough for us. I tell you we appreciated it.

“The next morning I went out and had a good look around our new home, and was agreeably surprised at the house and farm that the government has put us on. The house has eight rooms, and everything possible was done before we came to make it comfortable. There was a stove, table, chairs, and bed, we had not expected to have, and with what we brought of our own I tell you, we made ourselves very comfortable.”

“What were the out-buildings like?” “They were quite good—and. what impressed us mostly were the good arrangements for storing in the barns and cellar, for winter, both for cattle food and. for our home. There was a good pump, too, and a splendid water supply. In the house the stove took our fancy most; it was so different to the open ranges in the old country, and seemed warmer and easier to cook by.”

“Were you visited by any representatives of the government?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, between contented puffs of his pipe, “Mr. Ewan, our land supervisor, visited us and did everything he could to make us comfortable and. at home. Our neighbors too have been very kind. They all called to see us and brought gifts of fruit cakes and things like that. If that’s the Canadian spirit it suits me.”

What They Mean to Canada

THE destinies of this vanguard of selected farmer-family settlers to Canada will be watched with keen interest on both sides of the Atlantic. Every feasible advantage has been given them. They have prepared farms to which to go. They will be under constant government supervision. The method of repayment is not oppressive and is sufficiently elastic to stretch over the lean years which must of necessity come. There is no virgin ground to struggle with at the outset of their fortunes. Allareexperienced on the land, and have been warned of the hardships and drawbacks, as well as the inevitable reward, for those with the will to work hard and endure. They have the advantage of the advice of experts in Canadian farming methods, and they are being settled on farms and in districts in which their past experience most directly and. profitably may be applied. They have been received with open arms and with every desire on the part of Canadians to assist and encourage. In their own hard., capable hands may be left the future of themselves, their children and those who come after them. They are of tremendous import to our young Dominion.