I "^^oxmm^ ^(?Aavaani^ aweuniver% ojnvojo^ o s s -< .OSANCEUj> -^^ a3AiNn-3«^ ^jJ^lUBRAHYOc. ^&Aavaan-# A LITTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS A LITTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS BY LAWRENCE J. BURPEE TORONTO THh MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED Entered at Stationers' Hall 1909 stack Annex 5" 055 PREFATORY NOTE npHESE little essays are for the most part -*- the substance of more elaborate articles which have appeared in various Canadian and American periodicals. They are obviously not in any sense exhaustive, nor do they profess to include all Canadian writers worthy of remembrance. They are brought together here merely in the hope that they may remind Canadians of the work of a few of their forgotten or half-forgotten worthies. L. J. B. Ottawa, 1909. 2043552 CONTENTS I PAGE Isabella Valancy Crawford (1851- 1887) I II Charles Heavysege (1816-1876) . 17 III Archibald Lampman (1861-1899) . 30 IV George Thomas Lanigan (1845-1886) 43 V Catharine Parr Traill (1802-1899) . 56 VI John Hunter-Duvar (1830-1899) . 65 VII George Frederick Cameron (1854- 1885) " • 73 vU A Little Book of Canadian Essays ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD JUST a quarter of a century ago a little book of verse appeared in Toronto, bearing the appalling title, " Old Spookses* Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other Poems." The few who had the hardihood to dig beneath such a title found to their surprise that the volume contained a collection of verse of exceptional quality, sincere, musical, rising at times to the level of genius, and ranging from Western dialect-verse to delicate lyrics. Isabella Valancy Crawford, the author of these poems, was a daughter of the late Dr. Stephen Crawford, of Peterborough, Ontario. From early childhood she had A UTTI^E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS amused herself by writing short stories and verses, and after the death of her father she found it necessary to turn her gifts to practical account. She won a certain amount of popularity with her stories, but these were more or less pot-boilers. In verse alone she could adequately express herself. She put her heart and soul into this book of poems, and its failure was a bitter disappointment. With the irony of fate, a few copies strayed to England, after her death, and won warmly appreciative notices from the Athcncuum, Spectator, and others of the great English reviews. Of the poems included in her book, the most sustained and ambitious is " Malcolm's Katie," a love-story in blank verse, divided into seven parts, with lyrical interludes — in the manner of " The Princess." Katie and her lover Max have pledged their troth secretly, and Max goes off into the wilderness to carve a home for little Katie. The poem follows him into the forest, which affords ISABELI^A VAI^ANCY CRAWFORD the poet opportunity for some admirable descriptive passages : The South Wind laid his moccasins aside, Broke his gay calumet of flowers, and cast His useless wampum, beaded with cool dews, Far from him northward ; his long, ruddy spear Flung sunward whence it came, and his soft locks Of warm, fine haze grew silver as the birch. His wigwam of green leaves began to shake ; The crackling ice-beds scolded harsh like squaws ; The small ponds pouted up their silver lips ; The great lakes eyed the mountains, whis- per'd " Ugh ! Are ye so tall, O Chiefs ? Not taller than Our plumes can reach." And rose a little way, As panthers stretch to try tlieir velvet limbs. And then retreat to purr and bide their time. A IJTTT.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS Brown rivers of deep waters sunless stole ; Small creeks sprang from its mosses, and amaz'd Slipp'd on soft feet, swift stealing through the gloom, Eager for light and for the frolic winds. The scouts of Winter ran From the ice-belted north, and whistling shafts Struck maple and struck sumach — and a blaze Ran swift from leaf to leaf, from bough to bough. Till round the forest flashed a belt of flame And inward licked its tongues of red and gold To the deep-crannied inmost heart of all. The poem reveals everywhere an amazing insight into the workings of nature and human nature, clothed in language that becomes at times a perfect riot of imagery, yet never beyond control. Here is intro- 4 ISABEI.I.A VAI.ANCY CRAWFORD duced a love-song which, in sweetness and the delicacy of its form and thought, can only be compared to Ben Jonson's immortal lyric. O, Love builds on the azure sea. And Love builds on the golden sand, And Love builds on the rose-wing'd cloud, And sometimes Love builds on the land. O, if Love build on sparkling sea, And if Love build on golden strand, x\nd if Love build on rosy cloud. To Love these are the solid land. O, Love will build his lily walls, xA-nd Love his pearly roof will rear, — On cloud or sand, or mist or sea, Love's solid land is everywhere. Max, in the forest solitudes, wields his sturdy axe and dreams of the future. 5 A IJTTI.H BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS " Bite deep and wide, O axe, the tree ; What doth thy bold voice promise me ? " " I promise thee all joyous things That furnish forth the lives of kings. For every silver ringing blow, Cities and palaces shall grow ! " " Bite deep and wide, O axe, the tree, Tell wider prophecies to me." " When rust hath gnaw'd me deep and red, A nation strong shall lift his head ! His crown the very Heavens shall smite, ^ons shall build him in his might ! " " Bite deep and wide, O axe, the tree ; Bright Seer, help on thy prophecy ! " A second lover appears on the scene, follows Max into the depths of the forest, and tries unsuccessfully to sow the seeds of distrust in his heart — distrust of that Katie whom, in another charming little song, he typifies as a spotless lily — " Mild soul of the unsalted wave." Max's rival, failing to move him to jealousy, returns to Katie with false 6 ISABEI.LA VAI^ANCY CRAWFORD tales, so plausible and circumstantial that, for a moment, she is torn with cruel doubts and fears ; but in the end her own pure heart leads her, through sorrow, to a more perfect faith : Who curseth Sorrow knows her not at all, Dark matrix she, from which the human soul Has its last birth ; whence, with its misty- thews. Close-knitted in her blackness, issues out, Strong for immortal toil up such great heights As crown o'er crown rise through Eternity ; Without the loud, deep clamour of her wail. The iron of her hands, the biting brine Of her black tears, the Soul but lightly built Of indeterminate spirit, like a mist Would lapse to Chaos in soft, gilded dreams, As mists fade in the gazing of the sun. In the end Max and Katie are brought 7 A UTTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS happily together again, and the poem ends as all love-stories should end. Isabella Crawford's remarkable versatility- is illustrated by the contrast between the narrative poem " Malcolm's Katie," with its dainty lyrical interludes, and the dialect- ballad of " Old Spookses' Pass." The central incident here is the night stampede of a drove of cattle in the foothills of the Rockies, and one is immediately struck by the spirit and vigour of the lines. " Ever see'd a herd ring'd in at night ? Wal, it's sort o' cur'us, — the watchin' sky, The howl of coyotes, a great black mass With here and thar the gleam of an eye An' the white of a horn, — an', now an' then. An old bull lifting his shaggy head, With a beller like a broke-up thunder growl — An' the summer lightnin', wuick and red, Twistin' and turnin' amid the stars. Silent as snakes at play in the grass. ISABEIJ,A VACANCY CRAWFORD An' plungin' their fangs in the bare old skulls Of the mountains, frownin' above the Pass." Then conies the stampede. " The herd wus up ! — Not one at a time, That ain't the style in a midnight run, — They wus up and off like as all their minds Wus roll'd in the hide of only one ! I've lit in a battle, an' heerd the guns Blasphemin' God with their devils' yell ; Heerd the stuns of a fort like thunder crash In front of the scream of a red-hot shell ; But thet thar poundin' of iron hoofs, The clatter of horns, the peltin' sweep Of three thousand head of a runnin' herd, Made all of them noises kind o' cheap." The dramatic vigour of Isabella Crawford's style is further revealed in such poems as " The Helot," combined here with passion, intensity, and brilliant colour. 9 A IJTTT.E BOOK OF CANADIAN EvSSAYS Low the sun beat on the land, Red on vine and plain and wood ; With the wine-cup in his hand, Vast the Helot herdsman stood. Day was at her high unrest ; Fever'd with the wine of light. Loosing all her golden vest, Reel'd she towards the coming night. Fierce and full her pulses beat ; Bacchic throbs the dry earth shook ; Stirred the hot air wild and sweet ; Madden'd every vine-dark brook. Flow'd the vat and roar'd the beam. Laughed the must ; while far and shrill. Sweet as notes in Pan-born dreams, Loud pipes sang by vale and hill. The Spartan, restrained, cold-blooded and unsympathetic, teaches his child a lesson in self-control — the supreme virtue of his 10 ISABEI.I.A VAI,ANCY CRAWFORD race — by forcing the slave to drink himself into a state of brutality. He plies the Helot with fiery wine, until, maddened with its fumes, enraged by the contemptuous scorn of the Spartan, and smarting under the con- sciousness of the wrongs of his people, the slave rises in his mere physical might and strikes the cold Spartan in his one vulnerable spot — the life of his only child. Says the Spartan : Helot clay ! Gods ! what's its worth. Balanced with proud Sparta's rock f Ours — its force to till the earth ! Ours — its soul to gyve and mock ! But the Spartan has goaded his slave once too often. Who may quench the God-born fire, Pulsing at the soul's deep root ^ Tyrants grind it in the mire, Lo, it vivifies the brute ! II A I,ITTI