An architect, viewing for the first time the structure of the Canadian economy, would be impressed at the outset by its flying buttresses, that is, its external connections and supports, which appear to bulk about a quarter as large as the main edifice. On closer examination he might remark on the apparent strength of the main structure in its own right and begin to question the function and need of the flying buttresses.

Should he chance to meet another visitor, especially one who had made the pilgrimage from the south, he would probably be treated to a glowing eulogy on its details and be told that it is the soundest such structure in the world. Indeed, the intimate knowledge and unqualified approbation of another comparative stranger, who claimed to be paying his first visit, and a short one at that, might surprise this architect.

Moreover, if he ventured inside he would immediately be struck by the great activity going on and the sense of unconcern exhibited by the inhabitants. Were he to fall into conversation with one of the many incumbents entrusted with the governance and administration of the building, he would hear the same note of confidence sounded in the security of the structure. He would likely be told that the diligent labour in progress was contributing to a steady enlargement and strengthening of the building and that this work had a momentum of its own. The flying buttresses would be pointed to with pride and their need freely admitted and even emphasized. But his attention would also be drawn to an ingenious collection of internal scaffolding, movable supports, counterweights, and other contrivances designed to protect the edifice as far as possible against adverse trade winds and against inflationary fires that might creep in by way of the buttresses. Some of these devices, it would be pointed out, are actively but not too obviously in use; others have been successfully employed in the past; all are ready for instant and judicious use in case of need.