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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<E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
The Helot seizes the Spartan's child and,
lifting him high aloft, hurls him to the earth.
Thunders inarticulate :
Wordless curses, deep and wild ;
Reached the long-pois'd sword of fate,
To the Spartan through his child.
One is tempted to quote many passages
from these verses, illustrating their varied
qualities. Here, for instance, is a vivid
picture of Time :
Her vast hand reared her towers, her shrines,
her thrones ;
The ceaseless sweep of her tremendous wings
Still beat them down and swept their dust
abroad ;
Her iron finger wrote on mountain sides
Her deeds and prowess — and her own soft
plume
Wore down the hills.
ISABEIJ^A VAI^ANCY CRAWFORD
The perfect union of matter and manner
is nowhere better illustrated, however, than
in the poem " The City Tree." One need
only say that if Isabella Crawford had written
nothing else, she would deserve to be re-
membered for this alone.
I stand within the stony, arid town,
I gaze forever on the narrow street ;
I hear forever passing up and down.
The ceaseless tramp of feet.
I know no brotherhood with far-lock'd
woods.
Where branches bourgeon from a kindred
sap;
Where o'er mossed roots, in cool, green
solitudes.
Small silver brooklets lap.
No emerald vines creep wistfully to me,
And lay their tender fingers on my bark;
High may I toss my boughs, yet never see
Dawn's first most glorious spark.
13
A I,ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
When to and fro my branches wave and
sway,
Answering the feeble wind that faintly
calls,
They kiss no kindred boughs, but touch alway
The stones of climbing walls.
My heart is never pierced with song of bird ;
My leaves know nothing of that glad unrest.
Which makes a flutter in the still woods heard.
When wild birds build a nest.
There never glance the eyes of violets up,
Blue into the deep splendour of my green ;
Nor falls the sunlight to the primrose cup,
My quivering leaves between.
Not mine, not mine to turn from soft delight
Of wood-bine breathings, honey-sweet and
warm ;
With kin embattl'd rear my glorious height
To greet the coming storm !
14
ISABEI.I.A VAI^ANCY CRAWFORD
Not mine to watch across the free, broad
plains
The whirl of stormy cohorts sweeping fast ;
The level, silver lances of great rains,
Blown onward by the blast.
Not mine the clamouring tempest to defy,
Tossing the proud crest of my dusky leaves ;
Defender of small flowers that trembling lie
Against my barky greaves.
Not mine to watch the wild swan drift above,
Balanced on wings that could not choose
between
The wooing sky, blue as the eye of love,
And my own tender green.
And yet my branches spread, a kingly sight,
In the close prison of the drooping air :
When sun-vex'd noons are at their fiery
height,
My shade is broad, and there
15
A i.ttti^e; book of Canadian essays
Come city toilers, who their hour of ease
Weave out to precious seconds as they lie
Pillowed on horny hands, to hear the breeze
Through my great branches die.
I see no flowers, but as the children race
With noise and clamour through the dusty
street,
I see the bud of many an angel face —
I hear their merry feet.
No violets look up, but, shy and grave,
The children pause and lift their crystal
eyes
To where my emerald branches call and
wave —
As to the mystic skies.
16
CHARLES HEAVYSEGE
TIj^IFTY odd years ago a certain man
■^ laboured over a carpenter's bench in
the city of Montreal ; and as he wrought rude
shapes out of the unresponsive wood, his soul
was far away in other days and other climes,
and his brain was slowly reconstructing, in
language of unmistakable beauty and power,
the wonderfully dramatic story of King Saul.
This man was Charles Heavysege, whom
Longfellow described as the greatest drama-
tist since Shakespeare, and Coventry Patmore
praised scarcely less unreservedly. The
drama Snul, by which Heavysege is, or should
be, chiefly remembered, is an elaborate piece
of work, divided into three parts, each of
five acts, and altogether about ten thousand
lines long. The first act opens on the Hill
of God, with the Philistine garrison en-
17 c
A ijtti,e; book of Canadian essays
camped beneath. A number of demons are
dancing. Zaph, their chief, stands apart,
with Zepho, his messenger. Zepho an-
nounces the approach of the newly anointed
Saul, with a company of prophets and
followers. They enter, the prophets chant-
ing, the demons remaining as invisible
spectators, and commenting with cynical
mockery upon the lamentations of the
prophets. Saul returns to his home at
Gibeah, and resumes his calling of herdsman.
In the third and fourth scenes he appears
among his people as king, and summons them
to oppose the Ammonites, who are besieging
Jabesh-Gilead.
The second act opens at Michmash. A
messenger announces that Jonathan has over-
thrown the Philistine garrison at Geba. Saul
hastens to the Flebrew camp at Gilgal,
where his ill-equipped and half-hearted
followers arc confronted by the veteran
hosts of Philistia. The latter triumph, and
Saul and Jonathan retire from the field, Saul
i8
CHARLES HEAVYSEGB
bitterly complaining, Jonathan bravely re-
signed to the inevitable.
In the next act, Saul having been suffi-
ciently humbled for his disobedience in
offering a burnt sacrifice, the angel Gloriel
is sent to interpose on behalf of the Hebrews.
He compels Zaph, the evil spirit, to confuse
the Philistines, so that each man shall take
his fellow for the enemy. The Philistines
come tumbling like a torrent on the field, and
the Hebrews fly upon them and drive them
tumultuously forth with great slaughter.
In the fifth act is introduced the most
strikingly original character in the drama —
Malzah, Saul's evil spirit, " Malzah," says
Patmore, " is a living character, as true to
supernature as Hamlet or Falstaff are to
nature." He is " depicted with an ima-
ginative veracity which it is no exaggera-
tion to say has not been equalled in our
language by any but the creator of Caliban
and Ariel." Saul, possessed by Malzah,
becomes an object of pity and terror. David
19
A UTTLF. BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
is brought to him, and with his harp charms
away his madness. Malzah is left' for the
time without occupation.
In the second part of the drama the
personality of David gradually overshadows
that of Saul, around whose unfortunate head
the clouds of adversity, due to his own
obstinacy and lack of faith, grow ever denser
and more ominous. Ahinoam, Saul's gentle
and devoted queen, brightens many other-
wise gloomy scenes with her presence, and
our vivacious friend Malzah flashes as a ray
of evil sunshine across the darkening pages.
In another scene David is found at the
Hebrew camp overlooking the valley of
Elah. He meets and defeats Goliath, and
the Hebrews, taking heart, drive the Philis-
tines before them. Yet the double victory
brings no comfort to the harassed Saul.
To hunt and to be hunted makes existence ;
{he soliloquiz.es)
For we are all or chasers or the chased ;
20
chart.es heavysege
And some weak, luckless wretches ever seem
Flying before the hounds of circumstance. . . .
With consummate skill, the dramatist un-
folds the growing madness of the king. He
rails at Samuel, and his former love for
David is turned to hate. Even his devoted
queen can no longer beguile him from his
bitter and unreasonable fury. Yet through-
out it all we are made to feel that the poor
distracted king is entitled to our sympathy.
There was a time {he says) when sleep
Was wont to approach me with her soundless
feet,
And take me by surprise. I called her not,
And yet she'd come ; but now I even woo her,
And court her by the cunning use of drugs,
But still she will not turn to me her steps ;
Not even to approach, and, looking down.
Drop on these temples one oblivious tear.
I that am called a king, whose word is law, —
Awake I lie and toss, while the poor slave,
21
A IJTTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Whom I have taken prisoner in my wars,
Sleeps soundly ; and he who hath himself to
service sold,
Although his cabin rock beneath the gale.
Hears not the uproar of the night, but,
smiling,
Dreams of the year of jubilee. I would
that I
Could sleep at night ; for then I should not
hear
Ahinoam, poor grieved one, sighing near.
The fruits of Saul's evil deeds he reaps with
constant increase. Estranged from all that
were once most dear to him, suspicious of
treason and treachery on every side, he has
become a self-made outcast from his kind.
He is found at Ramah, not far from Gibcah,
seated beneath a tree, and surrounded by his
courtiers and soldiers, not one of whom he
now counts either as friend or faithful
servant. The thunder-clouds of adversity
are gathering thick and fast about his head.
ciiari.es heavysege
Even strife and change now but feebly stir
him whose warrior soul once gloried in
conflict. Malzah's task is completed. Saul
needs no further prodding, and the mis-
chievous spirit breaks into song :
Now let me fly,
On legs of love and wings of joy ;
And peep into each crystal glass
Of fountain, as I by it pass,
To see if from my visage go
The traces of my recent woe :
Then blithely let me journey on
To meet great Zaph ere sets the sun, —
Before the sun sets 'neath the sea,
Again to Zaph re-render me.
We now approach the climax of Saul's
tragic career. Forsaken of God as it seems,
he visits the Witch of Endor, and seeks by
enchantment to obtain from the ghost of
Samuel help in his trouble, for the Philistines
23
A I^ITTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN EvSSAYS
are pressing him closely, and he knows not
where to turn for succour. Samuel tells
him that the Philistines will be victorious,
and that he and his sons will be counted
among the slain. Saul raves in his anguish,
as the shades of those whose death is laid
to his charge pass before his eyes :
Who comes before me yonder, clothed in
blood .?
Away, old man, so sad and terrible ; —
Away, Ahimelech, I slew thee not ! —
Nor these — nor these thy sons, a ghastly
train.
Nay, fix not here your dull, accusing eyes.
Your stiff tongues move not, your white lips
are dumb ;
You give no word unto the ambient air ;
You see no figure of surrounding things ;
But are as stony, carven effigies. . . .
Out, vipers, scorpions, and ye writhing
dragons !
24
CHARLES HEAVYSEGE
Hydras, wag not your heads at me, nor roll
At me your fiery eyes. . . .
It is the morning of the battle with the
Philistines. Saul is camped with his army
in the valley of Jezreel. He knows that all
is lost before the conflict begins. The
final scene is upon the battlefield of Gilboa.
Saul's three sons lie slain, and the king
enters mortally wounded. The enemy's
horse are heard approaching. Saul lifts
himself with a last effort and falls upon his
sword.
Heavysege was pre-eminently an inter-
preter of moral impulses. He was never
so successful as when dealing with a subtle
moral situation, or tracing the development
of character. These qualities, so strikingly
revealed in Saul, are equally apparent in his
second Biblical tragedy, Jephthah^s Daughter.
The intensely tragic situation created by the
25
A I,ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN EvSSAYS
inevitable fulfilment of Jephthah's vow is
handled with rare dignity and power.
The poem opens in these words :
'Twas in the olden days of Israel,
When, from her people, rose up mighty men
To judge and to defend her ; ere she knew
Or clamoured for, her coming line of kings ;
A father, rashly vowing, sacrificed
His daughter on the altar of the Lord ; —
'Twas in those ancient days, coeval deemed
With the song-famous and heroic ones
When Agamemnon, taught divinely, doomed
His daughter to expire at Dian's shrine . . .
Two songs with but one burden, twin-like
tales.
Sad talcs, but this the sadder of the twain. . . .
Jephthah's daughter comes dancing to
meet him with her maidens, welcoming him
home from his victorious campaign, but
instead of the joy she expected to see on
her father's face, she reads there horror and
26
chari.es iieavysege
despair. Jephthah thrusts her from him in
his agony, and she returns in bewilderment
to her mother's tent.
He pleads with the God of his fathers to
release him from his rash vow, but no answer
is vouchsafed unto him. He turns to his
tent, and meets the fierce denunciations of
his wife ; but a more terrible ordeal awaits
him. His daughter comes and pleads for
her life — she, his only beloved child :
Spare me, father, spare me !
Cut me not down or ere my harvest comes ;
Oh, gather not the handful of my days
In a thin sheaf of all unripened blades !
It is a bitter thing to die when young :
To leave all things we loved, admired, most
cherished,
Forgot, perhaps forgetting.
But as Jephthah weakens, and would break
27
A I.ITTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
his sacred vow to Heaven to save his chiki,
she casts aside all thought of self and cm-
braces the sacrifice :
Were it not great to die for Israel, —
To free a father from a flood of woe ?
She turns to her maidens and takes leave
of them :
Now is the burden of it all "" No more."
No more shall, wandering, we go gather
flowers,
Nor tune our voices by the river's brink,
Nor in the grotto-fountain cool our limbs.
Then, as she prepares to depart with the
priests for the sacrifice, the future is un-
locked, and she sees herself shrined in the
hearts of youth and maiden, —
Recording how, inviolable, stood
The bounds of Israel, by my blood secured.
28
chari.es heavysege
Nor more shall they thus celebrate myself
Than laud my sire ; who, in his day of might,
Swore, not in vain, unto the Lord, who gave
Him victory, although He took his child ; —
Took her, but gave him, in her stead, his
country.
With a renowned, imperishable name.
29
ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN
" T CAN remember," wrote William
-*■ Dean Howells, " no poem of Archi-
bald Lampman's in which I was not sensible
of an atmosphere of exquisite refinement,
breathing a scent as rare as if it drifted from
beds of arbutus or thickets of eglantine,
where he led the way. His pure spirit was
electrical in every line ; he made no picture
of the nature he loved in which he did not
supply the spectator with the human interest
of his own genial presence, and light up the
scene with the lamp of his keen and beautiful
intelligence. He listened for its breath, its
pulse ; he peered into its face, and held his
ear to its heart, with a devotion none the
less impassioned because his report of what
he saw and heard was so far from vehemence
Sometimes in his transport
30
ARCHIBALD I^AMPMAN
with its loveliness he could not help crowding
his verse with the facts that were all so dear
to him ; but one knew from its affluence
that not a scent, or sound, or sight of the
Canadian summer was lost upon his quick
sense, and one saw how he could not bear
to forbid any in a world finding its way
through his music into art for the first time.
The stir of leaf, of wings, of foot ; the
drifting odours of wood and field ; the
colours of flowers, of skies, of dusty roads
and shadowy streams and solitary lakes all
so preciously new, gave his reader the thrill
of the intense life of the northern solstice."
To those who had the privilege of Archi-
bald Lampman's friendship, and knew him
as man and poet, this appreciation of Mr.
Howells' cannot seem exaggerated. His
verse reveals everywhere the qualities that
belonged to the man — absolute sincerity,
seriousness lightened by glimpses of delicate
humour, and a sympathy so broad that it
might not be confined to mankind, but must
31
A I,ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
embrace all Nature, animate and inanimate.
He was ever true to his ideals in his poetry
as in his life. His verse reflected his own
pure, high-minded nature. He was in very
truth an ideal poet, clean-hearted, broad-
minded, clear-sighted, free from all affecta-
tion and conventionality, strong in support
of what he held to be the right, but other-
wise most modest, unassuming, and self-
forgetful. His point of view is so admirably
summed up in that one of his sonnets called
" Outlook," that one cannot forbear quoting
it — although it is probably one of the best
known of his poems.
Not to be conquered by these headlong
ciays.
But to stand free : to ke^ the mind at brood
On life's deep meaning, nature's altitude
Of loveliness, and time's mysterious ways ;
At every thought and deed to clear the
haze
Out of our eyes, considering only this,
32
ARCHIBAI^D I^AIMPMAX
What man, what life, what love, what
beauty is,
This is to live, and win the final praise.
Though strife, ill fortune, and harsh human
need
Beat down the soul, at moments blind and
dumb
With agony ; yet, patience — there shall come
Many great voices from life's outer sea.
Hours of strange triumph, and, when few
men heed.
Murmurs and glimpses of eternity.
In reading Lampman's poems, from the
very first the sympathetic ear catches ca-
dences of that harmonious music of the wild
w^oods to which he held the key :
Ah, I have wandered with unwearied feet.
All the long sweetness of an April day,
Lulled with cool murmurs and the drowsy
beat
33 D
A I,ITTl,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Of partridge wings in secret thickets gray,
The marriage hymns of all the birds at play,
The faces of sweet flowers, and easeful dreams
Beside slow reaches of frog-haunted streams.
In the very last poem he wrote — the
sonnet, " Winter Uplands " — when the hand
of death was pressing urgently upon his soul,
the same sympathetic insight is found, tlie
same keen perception of the jealously guarded
secrets of nature, the same absence of strain,
egotism, and passion. It is not, perhaps,
altogether without significance that while
the above verses, some of his earliest, are
devoted to Nature's spring-time, his last
word was given to midwinter. It was a
part of his broad sympathies that he could
find beauty and helpfulness in the storm
and stress of our northern winter, as well as
in the haunting charm of a Canadian mid-
summer's day.
In the poem " Heat " is developed one of
the most distinctive qualities of Lampman's
34
ARCHIBAI^D LAMPMAX
verse — its almost marvellous picturesqueness
and imagery :
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare ;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward, half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
By his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffing to his knees.
And in the very next poem, "Among the
Timothy," still another characteristic is re-
vealed — his gift for striking phrases, phrases
that sparkle like gems, sentences that appeal
irresistibly to one's sense of the beautiful,
35
A I,ITTI,R BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
and live in the memory after the rest of the
poem has dropped out of sight :
Hither and thither o'er the rocking grass
The little breezes, blithe as they are blind,
Teasing the slender blossoms pass and pass.
Soft-footed children of the gipsy wind.
To taste of every purple-fringed head
Before the bloom is dead ;
And scarcely heed the daisies that, endowed
With stems so short they cannot see, upbear
Their innocent sweet eyes distressed, and
stare
Like children in a crowd.
Two other qualities that mark Lampman's
verse, and give it distinction are the jealous
care with which it was polished and re-
polished before allowed to depart from the
workshop of the poet's mind, and his un-
erring instinct in the choice of words. It
follows that one may search in vain through-
36
ARCHIBALD I.AMPMAN
out his poems for a crude expression, an
awkward line, or even a false rhyme or metre.
His verse is also instinct with colour and
music, and possesses in its highest develop-
ment that true " lyrical cry " which is one
of the attributes of true poetry, and of true
poetry alone.
Of the more definitely human studies, per-
haps nothing that Lampman wrote is much
finer than " Easter Eve." It possesses, in
its degree, something of the sombre grandeur
of Dante, and reminds one, in its spiritual
significance and dramatic power, of Stephen
Phillips' " Christ in Hades."
In " The Monk " we have another graphic
and sombre picture, though of a different
kind. The forlorn hermit is seen in his cell,
his lonely cell, trying to read, and brooding
over what " might have been " :
With every word some torturing dream is
born ;
And every thought is like a step that scares
37
A LITTI^E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Old memories up to make him weep and
mourn.
He cannot turn, but from their latchless Liirs
The weary shadows of his lost delight
Rise up like dusk-birds through the lonely
night.
In the " Child's Music Lesson " is revealed
still another phase of the poet's broad
personality — his tender love for children ; and
in such verses as " An Athenian Reverie "
he shows his knowledge of the history and
literature, and the very atmosphere, of
ancient Greece. Here, too, one gets another
glimpse of the poet's personal outlook :
Happy is he,
Who, as a watcher, stands apart from life,
From all life and his own, and thus from all,
Each thought, each deed, and each hour's
brief event.
Draws the full beauty, sucks its meaning dry.
38
ARCHIBAI.D I,A1MP5IAN
Lampman's friend and biographer, Duncan
Campbell Scott, has afforded us some in-
teresting details of the poet's personality
and his methods of work :
" His poems were principally composed as
he walked to and from his ordinary employ-
ment in the city, or upon excursions into
the country, or as he paced about his writing-
room. Lines invented under these condi-
tions would be transferred to manuscript
books, and finally, after they had been
perfected, would be written out carefully
in his clear, strong handwriting in volumes
of a permanent kind.
" Although this was his favourite and
natural method of composing, he frequently
wrote his lines as they came to him ; and in
many of his note-books can be traced the
development of poems through the constant
working of his fine instinct for form and
expression. . . .
" To write verses was the one great delight
of his life. Everything in his world had
39
A I^ITTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
reference to poetry. He was restless with
a sense of burden when he was not composing,
and deep with content when some stanza
was taking form gradually in his mind.
" He was not a wide reader ; books of
history and travel were his favourites.
During his last illness he read The Ring and
the Book, the novels of Jane Austen, and
continued a constant reading of Greek by
a reperusal of Pindar, the ' Odyssey,' and
the tragedies of Sophocles. Matthew Arnold
was his favourite modern poet, and he read
his works oftener than those of any other ;
but Keats was the only poet whose method
he carefully stuciieci."
Perhaps one of the most entirely satisfactory
poems he wrote was the sonnet-sequence,
" The Largest Life," written towarci the
close of his short life, anci beginning :
I lie upon my bed and hear and sec.
The moon is rising through the glistening
trees ;
40
ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN
And momently a great and sombre breeze,
With a vast voice returning fitfully,
Comes like a deep-toned grief. . . .
The last of the three sonnets embodies the
sum-total of the poet's gospel — that gospel
to which he was faithful to the end :
There is a beauty at the goal of life,
A beauty growing since the world began,
Through every age and race, through lapse
and strife.
Till the great human soul completes her
span.
Beneath the waves of storm that lash and
burn.
The currents of blind passion that appal,
To listen and keep watch till we discern
The tide of sovereign truth that guides it
all;
So to address our spirits to the height.
And so attune them to the valiant whole,
41
A I^ITTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
That the great light be clearer for our light,
And the great soul the stronger for our
soul :
To have done this is to have lived, though
fame
Remember us with no familiar name.
This was indeed the life that Archibald
Lampman led, and, having done so, it matters
little enough whether or no fate remembers
him with a " familiar name."
42
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
T~^ESP1TE ]ier preoccupation with such
^^^ scriotis tilings as mark the patli of a
new country, Canada has not lacked genuine
humorists at any stage of her history. In
the days of the Old Regime, the brilliant
and versatile Lescarbot delighted the little
colony at Port Royal wdth his merry witti-
cisms ; and at Quebec, Lahontan sent the
shafts of his pungent satire in all directions,
reckless enough whose skin they might punc-
ture. Indeed, had he done nothing more
than perpetrate that gigantic hoax of " La
Riviere Longue," in his Voyages^ Lahontan
might fairly be entitled to rank as one of the
first humorists of his age.
In later days, when the Canada Company
was opening up the wilds of what is now
Ontario, William Dunlop — called by his
43
A IJTTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
friends " Tiger " Dunlop — brightened the
stern pioneer life of the period by his un-
failing fund of humour and high spirits. In
Nova Scotia, Thomas Chandler Haliburton
made for himself a name that became of
much more than national significance, and
that is still potent to all who possess the
saving appreciation of humour. In the
neighbouring province of New Brunswick,
James de Mille, scholar, linguist, and author
of some thirty or more novels and tales,
began his literary career by writing charm-
ingly amusing little sketches for Colonial
papers and magazines. It may be worth
mentioningthathis "Dodge Club" appeared
a few months before the publication of Mark
Twain's Innocents Abroad — a curious coin-
cidence, as they embodied the same novel
application of a new type of humour. It
was, of course, a coincidence, and nothing
more.
Much of the best work of Canadian
humorists lies buried in the numbers of
44
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
forgotten Canadian periodicals. Probably
the present generation remembers only one
humorous paper published in Canada — the
late lamented Grify which, to the surprise
of every one familiar with the brief careers
of most Canadian periodicals, maintained a
vigorous existence for twenty odd years.
Yet Grif was but one of a group of a dozen
or more such papers, the earliest of which
was the Canadian Punch. Two of the best
were Montreal publications — Diogenes and
The Free Lance. Toronto might boast alto-
gether of half a dozen. One belonged to
Quebec ; another to Winnipeg ; and two
hailed from the Pacific Coast. With the
single exception of Grip, all these papers
were very short-lived, but an examination
of their faded pages convinces one that if
their lives were brief they were at least
merry. Many of them contain fragments
of native wit and humour that compare
favourably with anything in Punch or Life.
George Thomas Lanigan was the cleverest
45
A IJTTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
of the Montreal writers, and James McCarrol
one of the best in Toronto. Each edited
a humorous paper. Bengough needs no
special mention to readers whose memories
go back to Grip.
Nor were the energies of Canadian men
of humour confined to their own country.
Andrew Miller, the founder and first editor
of Life, was a Canadian ; as was also
Alexander Edwin Sweet, who founded
Texas Siftings. Mrs. Everard Cotes (Sara
Jeannette Duncan) years ago disproved the
ancient slander that women lack humour.
Nothing more thoroughly amusing anei
entertaining than her Social Departure
has appeared since Innocents Abroad. One
is glad to remember that Palmer Cox,
who created the inimitable " Brownies,"
was a Canadian ; as was also John Hunter-
Duvar, author of a dainty and delicate piece
of humour, " The Immigration of the
Fairies " ; and tiiat most genuine poet and
liumorist and kindliest of men. Dr. William
4O
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
Henry Driimmond. One must not forget,
either, the late Grant Allen, in wliose book
of verse, T/x; Lower Shpcs, will be found
a number of very amusing quasi-scientific
poems, perhaps the best of which Is " The
First Idealist."
Probably, however, no better representa-
tive of Canadian humour could be chosen
than George Thomas Lanigan, the odd and
pungent flavour of whose writings is curiously
suggestive of that of a recent American
humorist. Lanigan was born at Three
Rivers, in what was then the Province of
Lower Canada, In the year 1845. Adopting
journalism as his profession, he founded the
Montreal Star, and became Canadian corre-
spondent of several of the more important
newspapers of the United States. The
placid environment of the Montreal of those
days was, however, too much for his restless
and energetic temperament, and he wan-
dered south. Finding a vacancy on a St.
Louis newspaper, he applied, and was ap-
47
A I.ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
pointed a reporter. An exceptionally
brilliant piece of work attracted the attention
of the editor, and Lanigan, after serving
one day as reporter, was made city editor.
Here he immediately threw himself into the
vortex of municipal and social problems, and
raised a hornet's nest about his ears by his
scathing though just criticisms of certain
influential citizens. The incident proving
somewhat embarrassing to his newspaper, he
promptly resigned and moved to Chicago,
where he was appointed editor of one of the
leading journals. He afterwards removed to
New York, where for nine years he was an
editorial writer on the staff of the World,
and gained some local fame through his
ability as a literary critic.
It was at this time that he wrote his
Fables, which appeared from time to time
in the World, and in 1878 were published in
a small volume of some fifty pages, with
illustrations by F. S. Church. Seven of
these Fables are included in Mark Twain's
48
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
Library of Humour. The following, not in-
cluded in that collection, may be quoted as
characteristic examples :
The Philosopher and the Simpleton
A Simpleton having had occasion to seat
himself, sat down on a pin ; whereon he
made an Outcry unto Jupiter. A Philoso-
pher, who happened to be holding up a
Hitching-Post in the Vicinity, rebuked him,
saying, " I can tell you how to avoid hurting
yourself by sitting down on Pins, and will,
if you will set them up." The Simpleton
eagerly accepting the Offer, the Philosopher
swallowed four fingers of the Rum which
perisheth, and replied, " Never sit down."
He subsequently acquired a vast Fortune
by advertising for Agents, to whom he
guaranteed ^yy a Week for light and easy
employment at their Homes.
Moral. — The Wise Man saith, " There
is a Nigger in the Fence," but the Fool
49 E
A UTTT.B BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAVS
sendeth Fifty Cents for Samples and is
Taken in.
The Two Turkeys
An Honest Farmer once led his two
Turkeys into his Granary and told them to
eat, drink, and be merry. One of these
Turkeys was wise and one was foolish. The
foolish bird at once indulged excessively in
the Pleasures of the Table, unsuspicious of
the Future, but the wiser Fowl, in order that
he might not be fattened and slaughtered,
fasted continually, mortified his Flesh, and
devoted himself to gloomy Reflections
upon the brevity of Life. When Thanks-
giving approached, the Honest Farmer
killed both Turkeys, and by placing a
Rock in the interior of the Prudent Turkey
made him weigh more tlian his plumper
Brother.
Moral. — As we travel through Life, let us
Live by tlie Way. ■
50
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
The Socratic Chimpanzee and the
Shallow Baboon
A Chimpanzee who had long viewed with
Envy the Popularity of a Shallow but Pre-
tentious Baboon, asked him to account for
the Milk in the Cocoa-nut. The Baboon
replied that his questioner Believed in the
Darwinian Theory that Monkeys degener-
ated into Men : an Answer which so de-
lighted the Spectators that they tore the
Chimpanzee into Pieces, while the Baboon's
work on the Conflict of Science and Ortho-
doxy attained a Hundredth Edition.
Moral. — A Hard Question turneth away
Argument.
The Turkey and the Bear
A Bear having observed a Turkey on the
opposite side of the Barn-yard Fence, growled
angrily to the trembling Bird : " I have an
Impression that it would require Evidence to
51
A I.I'TTI,!' BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
remove that you are addicted to the use of
Bear's-Grease to promote the Growth of
your Hair, and that to gratify your Lusts you
compassed the foul Murder of my maternal
Grandfather thirty-five Years ago." " I cry
you Mercy," replied the timid Fowl, " but
I am wholly destitute of Hair ; besides, at
the time of your Lamented Relative's Death
I was not hatched." " Well," roared the
aggravated Bruin, " How dare you trespass
upon my Estate, and entertain intentions of
Territorial Aggrandizement ? " " Alack,
good Czar," replied the unhappy Bird, " how
can that be, when the Barn-Yard Fence
stands between you and me ? " " That
makes no Difference," cried the Plantigrade
of all the Russias. " I am compelled to In-
terfere for the Protection of your LTnhappy
Christian subjects," and, crossing the Fence
in force, he proceeded to Occupy the Turkey
as a material guarantee.
Moral. — Where there's a Will there's a
Way.
52
CANADIAN HUMORISTS
Lanigan is described by one of his friends
as having been an observing student of men,
events, and politics. Nothing in modern
history escaped his notice. His versatility
was remarkable. He contributed humorous
sketches to the comic papers, and at the
same time wrote thoughtful and well-in-
formed articles on the important questions
of the day. He was an ideal journalist,
gifted with a splendid memory, well-read,
broad-minded, quick with his pen, having
command of a clear, crisp style, and appa-
rently incapable of fatigue. He detested
shams, and was bold and uncompromising
in attacking and exposing them, keen and
searching satire being his favourite weapon.
He was as versatile in verse as in prose.
His amusing ballads were thrown off at a
moment's notice. His " Akhoond of Swat "
is well known, but the circumstances under
which it was written may be less familiar.
One evening, after running through the
English mail just received, Lanigan an-
53
A I.ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
noimced that the Akhoond of Swat was dead,
and he was writing a poem about him. The
verses appeared in the next morning's paper,
and were copied all over the continent.
They are included in Rossiter Johnson's
Play Day Poetry, and other similar an-
thologies. Rossiter Johnson also reprinted
" The Amateur Orlando," perhaps the best
of all Lanigan's humorous poems. " The
Rosicrucian's Secret," " The Rime of the
Curious Customer," founded on one of
Charles Southern's practical jokes, and "" The
Plumber's Revenge " are good examples of
his ballads. In the last mentioned, a
plumber avenges his father's wrongs by
practising his nefarious trade upon the
water-pipes of that father's successful rival
in a very ancient love affair :
" Would," he cried, as he drew the bill,
" My father were alive ;
Ten pounds of solder at ten cents,
$1.75!"
54
CANADIAN HUMORlSTvS
Lanigan was a thorough linguist. Even as
a boy, before he had entered upon his journa-
listic career, he made a number of excellent
translations of the inimitable folk-songs of
French Canada, the evanescent charm of
which it is so exceedingly hard to retain in
a translation. One of the best of these was
his fine rendering of " Un Canadien Errant,"
the beauty and pathos of which are as marked
in the translation as in the original.
55
THE LAST OF THE STRICKLANDS
CATHARINE PARR TRAILL
/^ATHARINE PARR (STRICKLAND)
^-^ TRAILL was one of a family of nine,
six of whom, five sisters and a brother, left
more or less important literary works, cover-
ing a wide field — history, biography, science,
poetry, and fiction. Her father, Thomas
Strickland, is described as a man of liberal
tastes and education. His first wife was a
grand-niece of Sir Isaac Newton. By her
he had no children. After her death he
married Elizabeth Homer, a gentle and
accomplished lady, whose example and in-
fluence tended largely to mould and direct
the minds of her naturally gifted family.
Mrs. Traill tells of the early days at Stowe
House, in the Waveney Valley near Bungay,
56
THE LAST OF THE STRICKLANDS
in her own characteristically simple and
graphic way :
" We passed our days in the lonely old
house in sewing, walking in the lanes, some-
times going to see the sick, and carry food
or little comforts to the cottagers ; but
reading was our chief resource. We ran-
sacked the library for books ; we dipped into
the old magazines of the last century, such
as Christopher North styled ' bottled dullness
in an ancient bin,' and dull enough much of
their contents proved. We tried history,
the drama, voyages and travels, of which
latter there was a huge folio. We even tried
Locke on th: Human Understanding. We
wanted to be very learned just then ; but,
as you may imagine, we made small progress
in that direction, and less in the wonderfully
embellished old tome, Descartes^ Philosophy.
We read Sir Francis Knolles' History
of the 'Turks, with its curious wood-cuts
and quaint old-style English. We dipped
into old Anthony Horneck's Divine
57
A I,ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Morality, but it was really too diy. We
read Ward's History of the Reformation in
Rhyme — a book that had been condemned
to be burned by the common hangman.
How this copy had escaped I never learned.
I remember how it began :
* I sing the deeds of good King Harry,
And Ned his son, and daughter Mary,
And of a short-lived interreign
Of one fair queen hight Lady Jane.'
To relieve the tedium of the dull winter
days Susan and I formed the brilliant notion
of writing a novel, and amusing ourselves by
reading aloud at night what had been written
during the day. ... I chose the period of
my hero, William Tell, intending to write
an interesting love talc ; but I soon got my
hero and heroine into an inextricable muddle,
so fell out of love adventures altogether, and,
altering my plan, ended by writing a juvenile
58
THE LAST OF THK STRICKI.ANDS
talc, which I brought to a more satisfactory
conclusion."
Thus began a literary life, unique at least
in this — that it was almost conterminous
with the nineteenth century. Of the five
sisters, Agnes and Elizabeth will be remem-
bered as the joint authors of the Lives of
the Queens of England, and other historical
works. Jane wrote a History of Rome, and
also a Life of her sister Agnes, as well as
a number of juvenile tales. The three
remaining literary members of the family
(Samuel, Susanna, and Catharine) are gener-
ally counted as Canadian rather than English
writers, the greater part of their lives having
been spent, and most of their books written,
in Canada.
Colonel Samuel Strickland came to Canada
in 1825. Something over a quarter of a
century later he published an account of his
experiences as a pioneer, under the title
Twenty-seven Tears in Canada West. Su-
sanna (IMrs. Moodie) also published an
59
A LITTI^E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
account of pioneer life in Upper Canada,
Roughing it in the Bush, which ran through
many editions. It first appeared in 1852,
and was followed the next year by a com-
panion volume, Life in the Clearings. Mrs.
Moodie was tlie author as well of a number
of novels and tales, and two books of verse,
one written with her sister Agnes.
Catharine, like her sister Susanna, took
to herself a husband before emigrating to
Canada. Thomas Traill was a classmate of
Lockhart's at Balliol College, and a very
well-read man. He and his wife came over
in 1832, and settled in the neighbourhood
of Rice Lake, Ontario. After the death of
her husband, Mrs. Traill removed to Lake-
field, where she remained practically up to
the day of her death.
In one of her later books Mrs. Traill
gives an interesting account of her first
excursions in the realms of literature.
" It was at this time that I ventured to
indulge the scribbling fever, which had been
60
THE 1.AST OF THE STRICKI,AXDS
nipped in the bud by adverse criticism the
previous year. . . . Scotland was the dream
of my youth, and I called the first story I
w^rote at this time ' The Blind Highland
Piper.' The next w^as inspired by a pretty
little lad with an earnest face and bright,
golden curls peeping from under a ragged
cap. . . . He passed the window so often
that I grew to watch for him, and give him
a little nod and smile to cheer his labours
day by day. I never knew his history, so I
just made one for him myself, and called
my story ' The Little Water Carrier.' Thus
I amused myself until my collection com-
prised some half-dozen tales."
A friend of the family saw the manuscript
and, being pleased with it, passed it on to
a London publisher, who accepted it.
Catharine received five guineas for it, her
first literary earnings.
The life of the Traills was an eventful one
after they came to Canada — very different
from the tranquillity of their English homes.
6i
A i.itti,e; book of Canadian e.ssays
Mrs. Traill gives in one of her books an
admirable picture of Lake Ontario, as she
saw it for the first time on her journey to
Cobourg, Elsewhere she describes enthu-
siastically the matchless Canadian sunsets,
with their riot of colour defying pen or
brush to adequately reproduce.
Pioneer conditions must have proved
trying enough to a young girl accustomed
to the conveniences and luxuries of an
English gentleman's home. We find no
note of complaint, however, in her narra-
tives, though her description of the new
home in the busli is vivid in its revelations
of the hardsliips of the early settlers. Her
Backzvoods of Ccinathi came out in 1836, and
was followed some years later by Ajar in the
Forest and The Canadicin Crusoes. In 1857
their home was burned down, and they
lost absolutely everything, including books,
manuscripts, and other valuables, the family
barely escaping -with their lives.
From her earliest youth Mrs. Traill had
62
THE T.AST OF THiC STRICKI^AXDS
been a devoted student of nature, and she
put some of her most valuable and lasting
work into her studies of animal and plant
life. In 1869 she wrote the letterpress for
a book on Canadian Wild Flozvers, the illus-
trations of which were done by her niece,
Mrs. FitzGibbon (afterwards Mrs. Cham-
berlain) ; and in 1884 she published Studies
of Phuit Life in Canada, also illustrated by
her niece. Some years later she wrote
Pearls and Pebbles, or the Notes of an Old
Naturalist, and Cot and Cradle Stories.
There is nothing dry or uninteresting about
these familiar studies of the teeming life of
the Canadian field and forest. Mrs. Traill's
observation of nature was as close and loving
as that of White of Selborne.
Cot and Cradle Stories was Mrs. Traill's
last book. It is a book for children, written
in a charmingly simple and lucid stvle. Here
are told the adventures of '' The Great
Green Dragon Fly and his Friends,"" " The
Swiss Herdboy and his x\lpine Mouse,"
63
A tlTTtE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
" Mrs, Flytrap and Daddy Longlegs," and
many others ; all were her friends — pigeons,
and squirrels, bees and ants, field-mice and
bantams, and a host of others. An interest-
ing point in connection with this book is
that, although the stories it contains were
published in 1895, when she was over ninety
years of age, they were written at different
times over a period of three quarters of a
century, some as early as 18 18, and others
only a few months before the book was
published. Thus it became a thread binding
together her widely scattered writings ; and
it is characteristic and fitting that Mrs.
Traill's last work should have been devoted
to the animals she loved so well, and should
have been addressed to the children, whose
approval and pleasure were more to her than
the commendation of the greatest critics.
64
I
JOHN HUNTER-DUVAR
JOHN HUNTER-DUVAR, of Prince
Edward Island, will scarcely be re-
membered by many even in the Maritime
Provinces. His work as a poet was far from
mediocre, but neither the man nor the
things he wrote sought notoriety or had it
thrust upon them. He lived a quiet, stu-
dious life at his beautiful home " Herne-
wood," with occasional excursions into the
world — such as a visit to Murray Bay in
search of material on Roberval. It was on
this occasion that he was picked up by Sir
James Le Moine, on one of his yachting
excursions about the St. Lawrence in search
of antiquarian lore, and made to pay for his
footing by contributing some interesting
legends of his island home. Hunter-Duvar's
literary tastes were distinctly mediaeval,
65 F
A IJTTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
His verse has nothing in common with that
of other Canadian poets. It is moulded
upon the pattern of the early Spanish and
French poets.
His first book, 7he Enamorado, is a light
drama of tlic Spanish school. The main inci-
dents " occurred in the reign of Henry HI.
of Castile, and during the incumbency of
Henry de Vellena as Grand Master of the
Order of St. James of Calatrava. The wife
of the Grand Master had retired to a con-
vent, to enable him to assume the dignity,
but immediately afterwards left the conven-
tual retreat and resumed her marital rela-
tions. The Grand Master was one of the
most erudite men of his time, and conse-
quently was arraigned before the Chapter
General on a charge of sorcery. Sentence
of deposition was passed against him in 1407,
but was not carried into effect until 1414-"
On this historical foundation Hunter-Duvar
managed to build up a romantic drama, in
which the conflict between two strong
66
I
JOHN HUNTER-DUVAR
personalities is well worked out. Here and
there lyrical interludes are introduced, in
which the quaintness and the sweetness of
the mediaeval songs are admirably repro-
duced :
Sound of heart and fancy free
Rode the gallant knight,
Forth to prince's joust rode he
In his armour bright, —
Of Yolante, the peerless.
Heedless was he quite.
Queen Yolante, the splendour-eyed.
Sate with many a dame,
When her beauty he descried
Flashed his heart aflame. —
To Yolante, the peerless,
Captive fell the knight.
Fair Yolante, the golden-tressed,
Met one burning glance,
67
A LITTLE BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
And love's smart within her breast
Was like prick of lance, —
For love is found withouten quest,
And love is life's unrest.
In De Roherval Hunter-Duvar threw into
dramatic form some of the romantic inci-
dents of the very early days of New France.
The drama opens at the Court of Francis I.,
where Roberval is preparing for his voyage
to the New World. The action moves to
La Rochelle, where the gentlemen adven-
turers are mustered, and the ships are taking
in provisions and stores, while the worthy
citizens of the town present Roberval with
pledges of their friendship, useful and other-
wise. The second act opens at Quebec,
where Roberval and his officers, with their
motley crew of settlers, are debarking from
the ships. On the voyage, by Roberval's
orders, his niece Margaret had been left
with her lover on the Isle of Demons, to
perish. She escapes, and returns to France.
68
JOHN HUNTER-DUVAR
The Story of Marguerite de Roberval is told
in the Heptavieron. It has also been made
the basis of a romance by a Canadian writer,
T. G. Marquis.
The drama gives, in a series of stirring
scenes, the history of the ill-starred colony,
the feeble attempts at exploration and
settlement, the conflicts with the natives,
and the final arrival of Jacques Cartier with
the king's orders to Roberval to embark all
his people and return to France. The little
fleet sails for home, but encounters a heavy
gale in mid-ocean, and all are lost. The
final scene is supposed to be off the coast
of Newfoundland. Long seas are rolling in
after a storm. Mermaids singing :
A gallant fleet sailed out to sea,
With pennons streaming merrily.
On the hulls the tempest lit.
And the great ships split
In the gale,
69
A tt'ftl.:^ BOOK OF CANADtA^^ :^SSAV^
And the foaming fierce sea-horses
Hurled the fragments in their forces
To the ocean deeps,
Where the kraken sleeps,
And the whale.
The men are in the ledges' clefts.
Dead but with motion of living guise
Their bodies are rocking there.
Monstrous sea-fish and efts
Stare at them with glassy eyes
As their limbs are stirred and their hair
Moan, O sea !
O death at once and the grave.
And sorrow in passing, O cruel wave!
Let the resonant sea-caves ring.
And the sorrowful surges sing.
For the dead men rest but restlessly.
We do keep account of them.
And sing an ocean requiem
For the brave.
70
JOHN HUNTER-DUVAR
Hunter-Duvar put some of his most
characteristic and most imaginative work
into The Emigration of the Fairies, a long
narrative poem, and John a* Far, his Lays.
The latter contains a number of lyrics,
" strung on the thread of a troubadour's
adventures." It was issued many years ago,
for private circulation, in a somewhat frag-
mentary form, and the author had completed
it before his death, but his intention of
publishing the book was never carried into
effect.
He was a frequent contributor to English
and Canadian periodicals, both in verse and
prose, the latter covering quite a wide field,
from short stories to archaeology. He even
wrote some light humorous stuff for Grip.
Some very good things of his in verse are
scattered through the magazines, such as
" The Judgment of Osiris," " On the Tigris,"
" The Moira Encantada," and a translation
of " Vaux des Vires." He also translated
an Italian troubadour romance, The Seven
71
A i,itti,e: book of Canadian essays
Lays of Lancelot. The same delicacy of
touch which marks his verse is found in much
of his prose work, notably in the Annals
of the Court of Oheron. All his imaginative
work, whether in verse or prose, is distin-
guished by the antique tone which he made
so essentially his own. It never rises to
any very great heights, nor descends to the
commonplace. A certain quiet humour
pervades many passages, with an occasional
touch of good-natured satire. It was per-
haps addressed to a somewhat limited circle,
but none the less finds a place among things
of permanent value in Canadian literature.
72
GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON
r^EORGE FREDERICK CAMERON,
^-^ one of the most brilliant of Canadian
poets, was born in New Glasgow, Nova
Scotia, on September 24, 1854. Th.e
meagre particulars of his life are given in
an introductory note to his Lyrics on
Freedom, Love, and Death, published at
Kingston in 1887. He was educated at the
High School of New Glasgow, studied law at
the Boston University, and after graduation
entered the law ofHce of Dean, Butler &
Abbot, of Boston. In 1882 he returned to
his native country, and, after a year or two
at Queen's University became editor of the
Kingston Nezvs, a position which he held
until a few weeks before his death. As a
boy at New Glasgow he had read the greater
73
A IJTTI.K BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
part of Virgil and Cicero in the original, and
was already employing most of his spare time
in writing poetry. Throughout the re-
mainder of his short life, law and journalism
were mere avocations, literature was his
vocation, and he found in verse a medium
through which he could best express that
passionate love of freedom and hatred of
oppression that dominated his nature and
inspired some of his most glowing lyrics.
For the rest, one may read between the lines
of his poems a story of physical and mental
suffering and bitter disillusionment. To
this we must attribute that tone of almost
savage pessimism that mars so many of his
verses.
Cameron's poems are contained in a
volume of some three hundred pages, edited
and published after his death by his brother,
in accordance with the last wishes of the
author. This volume represents only about
one-fourth of his writings, but it is all
that has ever been published, and is quite
74
CE0RGI5 FREDERICK CAMERON*
sufficient to place George Frederick Cameron
among the few true poets that Canada has
produced. The poems are grouped for the
most part under four main heads : Lyrics on
Freedom, Lyrics on Love, Lyrics in Pleasant
Places and Other Places, and Lyrics on
Death. The volume is dedicated to his
mother :
Oh, can there be in any word or line
For mother-love a fitting recompense ? —
For mother-love immortal, or intense,
As if it were immortal and divine,
And more perceptible to bodily sense ?
Yet, if I may not pay my debt complete.
Still as a slight percentage from me, take
My love and this : a later wave may
break
In richer ripples, mother, at thy feet :
But, — take these now, and keep them for
my sake !
75
A I.ITTI,E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Some of Cameron's most passionate verses
on Freedom were inspired by the unmen-
tionable cruelties of the Spanish troops in
Cuba, between the years 1868 and 1873.
She is not mine — this land of tears,
But her high cause is mine, and was,
And shall be, till my thought shall pause
Upon the measure of its years
To ponder over larger laws.
Without fair Liberty to make
The key-stone of the world's whole
plan,
The arch we heap o'erhead will break,
And some fair morrow man will wake
To find beneath the ruins — man !
No Cuban patriot could have felt more
keenly the defeat of Cuban hopes, the
menace of Spanish victory :
76
GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON
'Tis done ! The sword that flashed in air
At Freedom's bidding, shattered lies :
The wing that brushed so late the skies
Is palsied all, and in despair
The eagle falls and darkly dies.
'Tis done ! The Spaniard stands at length,
The victor's laurel on his brow :
The heart which scorned so long to bow
Is bowed at length by tyrant strength,
Is bowed — and all is over now.
His sympathy with the oppressed knew
no boundaries of race or colour, nor did he
count himself a citizen of any land.
From corner-stone to curve and cope,
I am a cosmopolitan !
He felt so deeply the wrongs of the people
the
77
of Russia, that even the assassination of the
A I.ITTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYvS
Czar Alexander seemed to him an act of
retributive justice, and his contempt for
some of his fellow-poets in the United States
who attempted to express the sympathy of
the American people, knew no bounds :
These men to loose or burst the galling
chains
Of those who mourn in darkness oversea !
These men — who feel a fever in their veins
At every moon change — these to set men
free !
These men of servile souls and servile songs
To name the day when despotism shall
cease !
These men, forsooth, to right the people's
wrongs.
And give the world her harvest-time of
Peace !
What can he know of joys or miseries —
Yon vain, luxurious fool, who lolls at ease,
And sips the foam alone upon the cup ?
7S
GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON
Whoe'er would know or one or all of these,
Must take the ponderous chalice, hold it
up—
And drink life's vintage to its very lees !
But even the short years of Cameron's life
brought him to a sweeter and saner view.
In the poem " In After Years " he admits
that he was wrong to think that " right may
spring from wrong." He had also come to
the knowledge that tyrants were not confined
to sultans, czars, or kings. He had grown
to know "that Love is freedom's strength,
and Peace her chief foundation stone."
One turns with a measure of relief to other
pages, where the more human side of the
poet's nature finds expression. In " Apero-
tos " he sings :
Ah, yes ! it may be best to be
Without a taint of love or touch
In all your blood ; but I am such
That loveless life were death to me :
79
A LITTI^E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
And death — so it had love to fill
The pauses in the music — were
Not half so bad, nor half so bare,
Since, loving, — I am living still.
And in these verses, written a few days
before his death :
True love can never alter, —
True love can never die :
False love alone can falter, —
False love alone can fly.
Love, darling, needs to borrow
No beauty of the morn ;
Through day to the to-morrow
It smiles with scorn on scorn :
On hate — but devils only
Can hate — it ever glows :
True love leaves no heart lonely.
It glads where'er it goes.
80
GEORGE FREDERICK CAIMERON
Even through the dust and ashes
Of hope wet by sad tears,
It brings a flame which flashes
Athwart the coming years.
Aye, as the wild years, flying,
For swiftness lose their breath,
It goes with them, in dying
It takes the hand of death.
One cannot readily forget the rare sweet-
ness of verses such as these — verses that sing
themselves into the memory :
Ah, love is deathless ! we do cheat
Ourselves who say that we forget
Old fancies : last love may be sweet.
First love is sweeter yet.
And day by day more sweet it grows
For evermore, like precious wine.
As time's thick cobwebs o'er it close.
Until it is divine
8i Q
A LITTI^E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
Grows dearer every day and year,
Let other loves come, go at will :
Although the last love may be dear.
First love is dearer still.
Patriotism, in the narrower sense, found
no resting-place in the heart of this poet,
but it is pleasant to find here and there in
his verses proofs of his love for his native
land, and nowhere else more happily ex-
pressed than in his " Sonnets on leaving
Nova Scotia."
Farewell ! And I must speak the word
to-day ;
And I must leave what I have known so
long,—
And only known to love, and loved to
know !
The breeze moves strongly outward from
the bay, —
And here and there amid the busy throng
82
GEORGE FREDERICK CA^rERON
Affection wrings the hand of those who go,
And love as deep the hearts of those who
stay.
The feast is o'er, and sad the parting
song!
Why not ? These hills our feet have trod
in youth :
Why not ? These vales our earliest vision
knew :
Why not ? These friends — we long have
prov'n their truth :
And now to each and all we bid adieu !
The lines are cast : loud rings the warning
bell:
Swift clasp of hands, brief kiss, — and long
farewell !
When shall I see them all again ? I say.
Now that the loved, lost land lies far
a-lea, —
Now that we are upon the world's highway,
Now that we are alone upon the sea,
83
A I.ITTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
When shall I meet them all, when shall it
be ?
When shall I come to them, if ever ?
When
Shall I come back to these dear ones again ?
Speak, ocean-winds ! Is it beyond your
ken,
When shall I come to them, or they to
me ?
I hear no tone ; no token gives the wind :
The only voice is where, above the shrouds.
The seamew screams defiance to the
clouds :
Till Night comes down, about, before,
behind.
And locks all lands from sight, but locks not
mind from mind.
It is worth remembering that these sonnets,
admirable alike in thought, form, and re-
strained music, were written when Cameron
was a boy of fourteen.
GEORGE FREDERICK CAIVfERON
Here, again, is something on a well-
worn theme, but one that can never grow
old:
Bring back, O Time ! bring back to me
The days I once did know,
The dear old days that used to be —
The days of long ago !
Bring back the hopes that failed to last.
The fears that failed not so :
Bring back, bring back, the golden past —
The days of long ago !
Bring back once more with fruit and
flower
The early morning glow,
And give me, for a single hour,
The days of long ago.
An interest that is pathetic, and something
85
A I,ITTI.E BOOK OF CANADIAN ESSAYS
more, attaches to the following verses — found
in his pocket after his death :
Away and beyond that point of pines,
Away in a spot where the glad grapes be,
Purple and pendant on verdant vines.
That Fate of mine is awaiting me.
And if no more the wind blows true
To waft me afar to that island sweet,
Beyond that greater and other blue
I feel that I and my fate shall meet.
For the hope that is can never fade.
And the hope that is can never fall,
That Fate was law since the world was made.
That it shall be law to the end of all.
And Time may be long or it may be brief
Ere I stand on that dim and unknown
shore.
And grief or joy be mine, but grief
Can dwell not there — where we meet once
more.
86
GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON
Whatever of bitterness or pessimism or
uncharitableness there may have been in
the life and poetry of George Frederick
Cameron, it was redeemed by this last
message — a message of faith, hope, and
charity.
87
BOYLE, SON AND WATCHURST,
PRINTERS,
3-5 WARWICK SQUARE, E.C.
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