Pictures of Canadian Life by James Ewing Ritchie

Toronto, or the Queen City of the West, as she loves to call herself, stands upon the north shore of Lake Ontario, and has not only achieved a great success, but may be said, in spite of all the moving to the North-West of which we hear so much, to have a great future before it, on account of its position with regard to railways, which alone in this great country decide the fate of towns and cities. Immediately in front is a broad bay, from which you get an imposing view of the city, while its forest of spires and factory chimneys gives evidence of prosperous and busy life. I have never been in a city where the Sabbath was more strictly observed. The omnibus ceases to run on a Sunday, the cab is locked up, and even the cigar-store is closed. At seven on Saturday evening all the liquor-shops are shut, and in Toronto, as in all the Province, no one can buy a drop of whisky, or wine, or beer, till a decent hour on Monday morning. It is true, I was invited one Sunday to go and have a glass of whisky and water-an offer which, it is needless to say, I refused; but then, had I accepted the offer, I should have had to go into a club of which my friend was a member. In Canada, as in England, the club-member may indulge his taste, however strictly the abstinence of his less fortunate brother may be enforced by law. But the Sunday quiet of Toronto is remarkable. There are few people but church-goers in the streets, and the churches of all religious denominations are quite as numerous and quite as handsome as any we have in England. They are all built on a larger scale, and are all well-filled. On Sunday evening I had to light my way into the Congregational church, of which Dr. Wild is the minister. He hails from America, and is quite the sensation of the hour. There was no standing-room anywhere, and as I made to the door I met many coming away. However, I had made up my mind to hear the Doctor, and hear him I did.

It seems that the subscribers have a door to themselves; I made for it, and luckily found a chair, which I wedged in under the platform. As I entered, the Doctor was making the people laugh by answering questions that had been sent to him in writing. Then we had quite a service of song. The choir behind him performed, a lady sang a solo, the congregation joined in a well-known English hymn. The Doctor prayed, and then we had a sermon about Revelation, containing much that was very effective, if not about his text, at any rate about that mysterious part of Scripture from which the text was taken. The Doctor is now in the prime of life, and his preaching powerful and effective. The audience consisted chiefly of men; perhaps that may be considered in the Doctor's favour. One thing did surprise me, and that was to see seated at a table right under the pulpit platform a reporter coolly taking notes. Our English reporters in a place of worship on a Sunday are certainly more modest, and prefer to blush unseen.