Sir WILFRID LAURIER
BY PETER McARTHUR
“Now is the stately column broke, The beacon light is quenched in smoke, The trumpet’s silver voice is still, The warder silent on the hill!”
1919
J. M. DENT & SONS, Limited LONDON TORONTO Paris: J. M. DENT ET FILS
DEDICATIONThis book is dedicated to my fellow-writers of the Canadian Press. The merits of the book are due to their efforts for I have helped myself lavishly to their best brains. I have long been of the opinion that a genius is a man who knows a good thing when he steals it, and this is the first time I have had a chance to steal on an ambitious scale. I have stolen much, and if I had had more time, I would have stolen more. Peter McArthur. Toronto, March 19th., 1919.
ERRATA. Page 119, line 17, word “conquer” should read “contend” The length of Sir Wilfrid’s public career alone challenges admiration and respect. He had been almost half a century in active politics; forty-six years a salient figure in Parliament; a leader of the Liberal party for thirty years; Prime Minister for fifteen years. He saw generations of men and generations of statesmen. He saw Confederation in its cradle and watched it grow to nationhood. Since he entered public life England has had three Monarchs, while the figures of Disraeli and Gladstone, of Salisbury and Campbell-Bannerman have passed across its national stage. He witnessed the rise of Cavour and saw the sword of Garibaldi flash, and he sympathized with their aspirations for an United Italy. He saw the German States confederated by Bismarck into blood and iron, saw France, his Motherland, crushed and bleeding at the feet of the Teuton conqueror, and lived to see the structure which Bismarck reared crumbled into utter dust. Since he entered public life, Russia has had two Emperors, emancipated its slaves, fought three great wars, overthrown the House of Czars and plunged into anarchy and ruin. France has been an Empire and a Republic, and countless rulers and statesmen have appeared and vanished from her national life. During that period the United States has developed into a great power, fought four wars, and the figures of Lincoln and Grant, of Blaine and Garfield, of McKinley and Roosevelt, have left their imprint and passed away. Meanwhile the British Empire has grown and expanded in size and strength and liberty, and Canada, from the feeble infancy into which the Fathers of Confederation tried to infuse the vitality of unity, has become the great Dominion of 1919. And during all those years, while rulers have come and gone, while statesmen have flourished and faded, while empires have sprung up or been destroyed, Sir Wilfrid remained a central figure on the international stage. Wilfrid Laurier was born at St. Lin, Quebec, on November 20th., 1841, of a family that had settled in Lower Canada, six generations before. His forebears came from Anjou, France, and originally bore the family name of Cottineau. A marriage contract, drawn up in Montreal in 1666, bears the signature of the first representative of the family in Canada—Francois Cottineau, dit Champlauriet, or translated literally, Francis Cottineau, said, or called, Champlauriet. Apparently this latter appellation was subsequently adopted by the family, and after Louis XIV had, by royal decree, proclaimed the land to be French territory. They first established themselves in the forest of Ile Jesus, an island immediately north of the Island of Montreal, and at the mouth of the Ottawa River, and a little later removed to the Parish of Lechenaie, on the north bank of the same river. Charles Laurier, the grandfather of Sir Wilfrid was a man of remarkable energy and ability, and in the face of many obstacles taught himself surveying, and was master of mathematics in his scholastic district. At the beginning of the 19th. century he established his son, Carolus Laurier, on farm land which he had cleared in the bush near the little village of St. Lin, which nestles in the foothills of the Laurentide range, north of Montreal. Carolus Laurier, like his father, was a surveyor by profession, and a farmer by habit, and followed both occupations to his best advantage. He wanted some of the strong personality of his father, but was of a generous and friendly nature, and of an inventive turn of mind, as is evidenced by the fact that he was the first person in the colony to devise what then passed for a threshing machine, and which replaced the flail, which he had inherited from his father. Born in a quiet backwoods settlement, Carolus Laurier was a radical in the strongest sense of the word, and perhaps it was the father who laid the foundations of the son’s political faith. In one respect Carolus Laurier is particularly deserving of praise. He was sufficiently acute to realize that his son had unusual aptitudes, and to make the best of those mental endowments provided him with a good classical education. In those days this was no light undertaking for a man of the station and means of Carolus Laurier. The father realized, too, that it would be of inestimable advantage to this son to have a thorough knowledge of the English language, and of English customs, and to this end he carefully directed the son’s education. Wilfrid Laurier’s mother, nÉe Marcelle Martineau, was a relative of the mother of the French-Canadian poet Frechette, one of the most gifted sons of Lower Canada, and it may be that the same family strain which produced the poet, showed itself in another way in the unusual qualities of the French-Canadian statesman. Five years after Wilfrid Laurier was born his mother passed away. Some time after Carolus Laurier married Adelaine Ethier, and she brought up young Wilfrid. The second offspring of the first marriage, Malvina Laurier, died at an early age. Of the second marriage, three sons were born: Uheld, a physician, who died at Arthabaska in 1898; Charlemagne, merchant, and until his death in 1907, member for the county of Ottawa, and Henri, prothonotary of Arthabaska, who died in 1906. Carolus Laurier, the father, died in 1881. Young Laurier commenced his studies in the parochial school of St. Lin, where he learned reading and writing and the rudiments of arithmetic. His father then decided to extend his son’s horizon so as to permit of his seeing something of the life and learning the language of his English compatriots. About eight miles west of St. Lin, and on the bank of the river Achigan, is the village of New Glasgow. This settlement was established about 1820 by a number of Scotch Protestants who came to Canada with English regiments. Carolus Laurier had done surveying in this neighbourhood and was well acquainted with many of the families, and thus an arrangement to have his son resident among them for a period was easily brought about. Shortly after young Wilfrid Laurier was a figure in the intimate life of the Murrays, the Guthries, the Macleans, the Bennetts and other families of the settlement. For a time he boarded with an Irish Catholic family, named Kirk, and later he lived with the Murrays, giving, in return for lodging and food, his services as a clerk in the general store kept by the head of the household. The school which young Laurier attended for two terms, 1852-53 and 1853-54, was brusquely closed during the first term because of the departure for other parts of the teacher, one Thompson. He was quickly replaced by a man of considerable rough talent, one, “Sandy” Maclean, who possessed a pronounced and good taste for literature, and who in many ways made an admirable teacher. His young French-Canadian pupil, learning English at play, at work, at home and at school, aroused in the good Scot a kindly concern, and Sir Wilfrid Laurier in later years never failed to attribute his knowledge of English literature to the man who first opened his eyes to the wealth of English letters. These two years at New Glasgow proved of inestimable benefit to young Laurier. Not only did he secure a good foundation for further study of the English language, but he had inculcated in him a broadness of vision, an understanding of his English compatriots and a spirit of tolerance and good will, which ever afterwards proved a great asset. In September, 1854, at the age of thirteen years, Wilfrid Laurier was sent to college at L’Assomption. There he passed seven rigorous years of study. His health was delicate, and his physique did not permit of his taking part in the ordinary sports of his fellow-students. His favourite recreation was to visit the village court house when the judicial assizes were in progress and to listen there to the pleadings of the village lawyers. Sir Wilfrid often recalled of this period of his life that a contradictory meeting of two political opponents always afforded him the keenest enjoyment. In fact, in his anxiety to miss none of such delightful and auspicious events as court sessions and public meetings he often ran foul of the school authorities. Wilfrid Laurier’s mother died when the boy was but six years old. His earlier years were spent under the constant supervision of the village curÉ. He knew no language but the French. St. Lin slept quite a distance from the centre of the earth—Montreal. It heard only echoes of the outer world. But like every other French-Canadian village, it had its church, its curÉ, and its dream. It prayed for a French-Canadian Messiah. They say that something in the boy’s temperament raised a vague hope in the heart of the parish priest. The priest was one of the dreamers of St. Lin, one who helped keep alive the name of New France. It is said that one afternoon he invited the lad Laurier into the garden of the presbytery, and there tested as best he could the drift of his imagination, whether he loved the heroic, whether he would make a patriot or not. He let himself hope that the little imaginative son of the land-surveyor might be of use to his race by writing songs, perhaps, that they could chant on the day of their re-establishment, or perhaps—. He took the boy into his study, where the black crucifix hung upon the wall. From the bottom of an ancient chest of drawers, one that had come from Brittany, he drew forth an object carefully folded so as to conceal certain gaping holes and frayed edges. He lifted it and let the folds slip out, so that the colored cloth hung before the eyes of the boy. “Do you know what that is, my son?” he demanded. “It is the French flag, Father.” “It is our flag,” corrected the priest. On various occasions he took the boy to the study and told him stories connected with the flag. The visits became a sort of ceremony. Each day the boy learned a new fact about the piece of silk. It had been carried not far from Montcalm himself on the day that he rode out of Quebec to meet Wolfe and defeat upon the Plains of Abraham. It was marked by British bullets. There were stains on it, almost faded out, that had come from French veins. This, it is said, was the strange first training which Laurier received for the works which he afterwards accomplished. It was amid such associations that the future Prime Minister of Canada first learned the English tongue—“with a bit of Scotch accent,” as he once himself described it—and religious breadth and tolerance, two endowments which helped to give to the man of French descent and Roman Catholic faith the grace and facility of expression and the breadth of vision irresistibly appealing alike to both the great races in Canada, British and French, Protestant and Catholic. The powerful influence of the years spent under the shadow of the little Presbyterian church of New Glasgow was demonstrated throughout his whole career, while his life-long affection—almost amounting to reverence—for Murray, the sturdy Scot who “fathered” him at this time, resembled the deep sentiment entertained by David Lloyd George for the worthy Welsh cobbler-uncle who did so much to make his career possible. Wilfrid Laurier never alluded to Malcolm Murray without evidences of the deepest appreciation and admiration. That he also enjoyed with all the enthusiasm of boyhood, his stay in this Scottish settlement he has recalled on more than one occasion. “I remember,” he once observed after he had become a national figure, “I remember how I fought with the Scotch boys and made school-boy love to the Scotch girls, with more success in the latter than in the former.” From his earliest boyhood, Laurier gave evidence of an independent character. While at college in L’Assomption, a debating society was formed, and there are men living to-day at the base of the Laurentides who remember the debating qualities of the man who was to shine later on as a Rupert in debate, in the home of the elder daughter of the mother of parliaments—the Canadian Commons Chamber. An instance of this comes to mind. A resolution had been submitted to the effect that the old kings in the interest of Canada should have permitted the Huguenots to settle here. Opposition was, of course, manifest in the debate, but young Laurier espoused the affirmative side in the discussion which waxed very warm, and his speech, which followed, was of so aggressive a character that the prefect of studies was scandalized, and at one fell swoop stopped the debate, and threw such societies into the discard. Up to his last days Sir Wilfrid used to laugh over this incident, and he often remarked that it was a great pity the debate was stopped, as the entire international situation in Europe might have been affected by the result of that discussion, participated in by the boys of L’Assomption College. “Of course,” every ready with a joke at his own expense, “very few of us knew what a Huguenot was, but that made no difference. We had started in to settle questions affecting the religious future of humanity, and should have been allowed to accomplish our mission.” St. Valentine could not reproduce an incident so romantic, nor the gods that preside over the efficacy of Mistletoe, narrate one of their well-known triumphs more picturesque, than that which Fra Cupid could delineate when first he interfered with the heart and pulse beat, as well as with the slumbers of young Laurier trying to rest himself at Arthabaskaville! In the words of Senator David, it appropriately happened as follows:— During his clerkship at Montreal, he made the acquaintance of a beautiful and good natured young girl, who refused a very advantageous marriage in preference to Laurier. Having heard one day, to what a degree she still remained faithful and devoted to him, he made his way to Montreal, got married on the following day, returned immediately to Arthabaska, and came a few weeks later to get his wife. Their union was a beautiful instance of unity of aim and interest. Lady Laurier proved to be a helpmate in the fullest sense, and to her love and devotion to him throughout life Sir Wilfrid paid many a proud and touching tribute. Lady Laurier, though quiet and retiring, took part in many activities and held office as vice-president of the St. John’s Ambulance Association; vice-president of the Local Council of Women; vice-president of the National Council of Women; honorary president of the Canadian Immigration Guild; and honorary president of the Women’s Canadian Historical Society. In his home Sir Wilfrid Laurier was an exponent of the simple life. As a young man he cared little or nothing for games, preferring to devote his spare time to his books, and as he grew older none of the various forms of amusement to which Canadians are accustomed to devote much of their time appealed strongly to his fancy. He did not even succumb to the fascination of golf, the favourite pastime of many men of brain, and to the last was a “home” man in the truest sense of the word. Although for fifteen years the first citizen of Canada, his residence on Laurier Avenue, Ottawa, was by no means the most imposing private dwelling in the Capital. It was comfortable and commodious, but not pretentious. Naturally within its walls entertainment was furnished to many, but it was all done without ostentation. Therein Lady Laurier presided, with an amiable and kindly grace, and what undoubtedly struck the observant guests was the note of domestic felicity and a freedom from the exactions of officialdom. In the quiet of his library at home Sir Wilfrid spent a great deal of his time, and often burned the midnight oil. In fact, it was seldom he retired before the day had run its course. Only on very rare occasions did he go out in a social way in the evening, and on even rare occasions was seen at the theatre. The mimic world of the stage had little attraction for him. Nevertheless, he was fond of music, and few are more talented in that line than his partner in life, but the aesthetic side of things possibly appealed to him in a greater degree. He was very fond of art and painting, and his home was beautifully decorated. A sketch of Sir Wilfrid’s home life and habits would be very incomplete without more than a passing reference to his beautiful and restful domicile at Arthabaskaville, Quebec, where he always went as soon as it was possible to get away from the Capital after the close of the sessions. There it was his almost invariable custom to spend his Christmas holidays. Many were the invitations he received to be the honoured guest at more pretentious residences at the seaside and in the mountains, but these were nearly always rejected in favor of Arthabaskaville. There it was possible to get real rest and respite from the cares of a busy world. He preferred to go home back to the quaint little French-Canadian village and its restful influence. His Arthabaskaville home is a beautiful place, and it was kept open nearly all the year round. There are lovely shade trees and a beautiful lawn, and, once there, Sir Wilfrid always put on the conventional summer attire and took it easy on the lawn or in the garden. He got all the leading Canadian newspapers, and in this way kept in touch with the outside world. His arrival in the little home village always caused a good deal of excitement. All Quebec was proud of her distinguished son, but he was particularly adored in the village in which he spent so large a part of his life. His neighbours, knowing that he sought Arthabaskaville for the blessed privilege of a rest, did not intrude on him, but none of them ever missed an opportunity to exchange a greeting with the famous statesman. Every Sunday spent at Arthabaskaville saw Sir Wilfrid at the little parish church where he would attend the mass and hear a sermon to the faithful by the curÉ. After church the villagers would crowd around to clasp the hand of the distinguished Canadian statesman. No barrier of haughty reserve surrounded Sir Wilfrid. It was “Bon Jour, Baptiste” here, “Comment Ça va” there, and there was general handshaking. Nowhere more markedly than at his old Arthabaskaville home were the qualities which contributed to Sir Wilfrid’s success brought out—the simple manner, the genial ways and the indefinable grÂce which drew people to him, and won their admiration and devotion. Sir Wilfrid once said that his sympathy and respect always went out to the working newspaper man, as he had in his early life followed the business, being editor of “Le Defricheur,” of Arthabaska, succeeding Eric Dorion, well-known as L’Enfant Terrible, and as Laurier was a very advanced Liberal he made things quite lively in the editorial columns of that newspaper, so hot, in fact, that his bishop, who was no other than Mgr. Lafleche, at Three Rivers, forbade the reading of Laurier’s newspaper, with the result that a very large percentage of the subscription list was withdrawn, and the future leader saw his first journalistic enterprise go out of business. It is not necessary to say that the articles so severely condemned by the Bishop of Three Rivers would not be considered very radical these days, but his Lordship was a staunch Tory, as well as a churchman, and, no doubt, thought that the sheet in question could be dispensed with easily enough. Later on, however, Sir Wilfrid was a successful contributor to “L’Electeur,” the predecessor of “Le Soleil,” of Quebec, his article on “the den of forty thieves” creating a sensation, and a libel suit at the time. That was during the Chapleau-Senecal-Densereau regime at Quebec, and party feeling ran very high, the cause cÉlÈbre having been tried in Montreal before the late Mr. Justice Ramsay, resulting in the defendants being acquitted. There was intense excitement in political and journalistic circles, when it became known that Laurier was the author of the article in question, and, in fact, the paper pleaded justification through its attorneys. About fifty-five years ago the Undergraduates’ Society, faculty of law of McGill, was holding a general meeting. The students attending this meeting had the opportunity of hearing their elder confreres of the class of 1864, bidding farewell to old McGill. Curiously enough, the proposer of the address of farewell was a young man, who in the years to come had the good fortune to reach to the height of honour, which a country can confer upon her sons, and whose name was to be written in golden letters upon the register of the faculty. This name was Wilfrid Laurier. In his address, this talented young lawyer said among other things, that: “I pledge my honour that I will give the whole of my life to the cause of conciliation, harmony and concord amongst the different elements of this country of ours.” The routine of his student days was wise, modest, studious and sober. He employed his leisure moments, that is to say, as many as he could snatch away from his office and university work, in reading, in studying literature and great speeches and the art of eloquence, in the political or literary clubs, just as at McGill, he was counted amongst the first rank and was the means of compelling others to recognize in him the first rays of an eloquence which, later on, was to shed so much lustre. The steady and persistent preparation of Sir Wilfrid for that which was his heritage, was early noted by his admirers. He was stamped as an orator in his speech-making address to the throne, in 1871, when he spoke on the timely topic of “National Industry.” It is interesting to have the testimony of one of his contemporaries who thus describes Sir Wilfrid at that time: Tall, slender frame, pallid face, brownish hair, supple, approachable, steadfast and convincing look, slightly a dreamer, a sort of pleasantness about his facial expression, modest and yet distinguished, a certain demeanour of confidence or of melancholy which tended to call forth sympathy. Before Laurier left Montreal to take up his residence in the Townships, he was a prominent member of the institution known as L’Institut Canadian, which in time came under the episcopal condemnation of the late Mgr. Ignace Bourget, Bishop of Montreal, and became very prominently before the public by the death of Guibord, a well-known Montreal printer, and the subsequent refusal of the head of the diocese to allow his internment in the family lot at CÔtÉ des Neiges. This incident belongs to the religious history of Montreal, but Hon. L. O. David is authority for the statement that had Wilfrid Laurier died under the same circumstances as Guibord, his remains would have been also denied entry into the Catholic city of the dead, as he never retracted following the fulmination of the then Bishop of Montreal. Sir Wilfrid was the one man, perhaps, in French-Canada who was opposed, through most of his political career by the bishops of his race, yet he had the satisfaction of seeing the clergy, both high and low, rally to his side during the crowning act of his life, and oppose conscription. He proved to the world that his race could sacrifice their religious sentiments, but that there was no surrender in matters of race or tongue as he was the one man in Canada who could repeat before the Orangemen of Toronto, with Henry VIII: “No Italian priest will ever tithe or toll in my dominions,” and hold the Province of Quebec in the hollow of his hand at the same time. He carried his French followers successfully through several elections, in spite of episcopal opposition, and died mourned and beloved by the whole Province. Since 1871, Sir Wilfrid has been actively before the public. That date marked his entrance into the Quebec Assembly on his election in the Riding of Drummond and Arthabaska. His first appearance in public life revealed the qualities that were to make him famous. The effect of his fluent, cultivated and charming discourse is described by Frechette, the poet, as magical, “On the following day,” he writes, “the name of Laurier was on every lip, and all who then heard it will remember how those two syllables rang out true and clear, their tone that of a coin of gold, pure from all alloy, and bearing the impress of sterling worth.” Of his triumph in the House of Commons the same author writes:— “His dÉbut before the House produced a sensation. Who could be this young politician, not yet thirty years of age, who thus, in a maiden speech, handled the deepest public questions, with such boldness and authority? Whence had this new orator come—so fluent, so cultivated, and charming—who awed even his adversaries into respect by language so polished, so elevated in tone, so strong and yet so moderate, even in the heat of discussion? “On the following day, the name of Laurier was on every lip. From this initial point of his stirring career, the future Prime Minister proceeded by master-strokes. Thus, as the resounding triumph of his dÉbut in the Legislative Assembly of Quebec, had placed him in the highest rank among the most brilliant French orators of his province, that which marked his entrance into the House of Commons, in 1874, carried him at one bound to the distinction of being one of the chief English-speaking debaters of the Dominion. The occasion was a solemn one, and never to be forgotten by any who were present. The subject before the House was the expulsion of Louis Riel, the rebel of the Northwest; who, though under accusation for the murder of Thomas Scott, and a fugitive from justice, had just been elected member for Provencher. The question was a burning one, and the public mind was greatly inflamed over it. It required, in very truth, a master of eloquence to take the case in hand and thread his way without falling or stumbling among the masses and mazes of prejudice which rose up around the Metis chief. The debate, which was violent, and heated, had been going on for two days when at last Laurier took the floor. “He was known to be eloquent. He had already addressed the House in his own tongue at the opening of the session. “No one dreamed, however, that he would risk his reputation by attempting a speech in English under such hazardous circumstances. Great as was the general surprise, the revelation was greater. In the belief of many who heard him that day, no orator—unless indeed it be himself—has since achieved a like success in any of our deliberative assemblies. As in the elegance and academic language of which he is so thorough a master, the brilliant speaker entered calmly into the heart of his subject, a great silence spread itself through the chamber and the English members listened in amazement to this charmer who wielded their own language with such grace, and who dealt them such cold home-truths, in a tone they could not resist applauding. Astonished glances were exchanged on every side. “Laurier kept his whole audience hanging upon his lips for over an hour. Not for a single moment did his eloquence fail him. He expounded the doctrines and elucidated the principles of legal and constitutional right with the ease of a parliamentary veteran and the precision of a practised dialectician. He grouped his facts so skilfully, adduced his proofs and authorities with such cumulative force, reared his arguments one upon the foundation of another with such quick inexorable logic, that his conclusions seemed to flash out of their own accord, unfolded but irresistible. “Every part of his speech, moreover, was linked to the rest in admirably reasoned sequence and the oration from beginning to end flowed freely, without hesitation, without a moment’s groping for words, and at the same time, with never one useless sentence, with never one superfluous syllable. No less was the manner of its delivery; the resounding and vibrating voice, the wealth and variety of intonation, the chaste simplicity and appropriateness of gesture, and finally the attitude of the speaker, as full of natural self-command as it was of personal dignity. Everything contributed an indescribable enthusiasm. The outburst of applause which greeted the speaker as he resumed his seat continued for fully five minutes afterwards, while the Ministers of the Crown flocked around him, eager to offer their congratulations. It seemed as if every one realized that a future chieftain had just proclaimed himself and asserted his right to leadership by the Ego nominor leo that had rung through every sentence of his speech. The cause was a lost one, of course, but Laurier had won the day, so far as he personally was concerned. From that moment a place in the Cabinet was virtually assigned him; and he was called upon to fill it as Minister of Inland Revenue in 1877, on the retirement of M. Cauchon, who had been appointed Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba. “Then occurred a singular mishap, which furnishes a striking example of the aberrations of the popular mind, as well as the often unaccountable vicissitudes of political life. The new Minister, although he had been returned at previous elections by a majority of over seven hundred votes over a distinguished member of the legal profession, found himself unable to secure his re-election, and was defeated by a worthy and inoffensive village tradesman, who distanced him by a majority of 21 votes. This was one of the repulses to the Mackenzie Government from which it never recovered. Laurier, indeed, returned to the Capital as the chosen representative of Quebec East, but it was in vain. The impulse had been given and the political seesaw had begun to sway. The young Minister’s popularity in the province at large was powerless to check it in any way. Nevertheless the crushing defeat which was suffered by the Liberals did not in the least degree affect Laurier’s personal influence, as may be inferred from the fact of his appointment a few years later to the position of leader of the party for the whole Dominion.” An interesting account has been given of the first interview that Sir Wilfrid ever gave out. This was on the morrow of his great victory in 1896, which gave him a long lease of power, and the opportunity to impress the country with the policies which he had advocated so long and fervently. When asked for an interview he replied: “I am never interviewed, you know.” “But, Sir,” persisted the correspondent, “considering the magnitude of your victory and the unique place you now occupy, would it not be meet that you should say a word or two to the public, who are desirous of getting an indication from you of the policies you will carry out?” He hesitated, yielded at last to persuasion, and gave a column and a quarter of copy, at once exceedingly interesting and valuable. He could not commit the party to any particular policy at the moment of victory. He would have to consult his colleagues, but nevertheless, he outlined in general terms what the party would stand for now that it had received the public mandate. He made it plain that he stood for the principle of harmony between the two great races in the Dominion. That had been his aim in life, and it would remain his aim as long as he lived. He had his principles which he considered those of progress, but he did not want any bitterness. He wanted co-operation and concord. It would be the realization of his life dream if he could bring the two races together. At the time when the interview was granted the rotunda of the old St. Lawrence Hall was filled with his admirers. He was surrounded by young men full of ardour, idealists, many of them, disinterested and hopeful of great things for the country. The hardened political cynic was not absent either, but there was a whirl of emotion; the present and the future were enswathed in radiant hope and when the Chieftain came down to the rotunda—erect, with flashing eyes, the cheers were magnetic. Many eyes were wet. The tide of emotion swelled in every breast. He was lifted shoulder-high by his adherents, of whom there were hundreds present, all of whom believed that in the Liberal Leader they had a man who would save the country. It was after this tumultuous demonstration that the Premier gave out the interview. The Liberal Chief all that day was followed by admiring crowds. On being reminded of the kind things which the English press had written about him from time to time, he said that he read every word of that kind of writing, not because of vanity, but because he loved to think that every kindly word written or spoken did something in bringing about a better feeling between the two great races. “I love England because she is the mother of free nations. I look up to her because she is the apostle of freedom. I admire her lofty ideals, her moral conscience, her high standards which she sets up. She is, it may be, a trifle Puritanic, but she is the greatest moral asset in the world, and I admire her statesmen intensely—John Bright has been my mentor and idol, and, of course, Gladstone, as the great apostle of freedom, both fiscally and politically.” Edward VII. and President Emile Loubet made the treaty which has now saved the world. That is true. They were the high-contracting chiefs of state. But Sir Wilfrid Laurier was credited by them both with a certain share in that wise, far-seeing and world-saving work. President Emile Loubet, in January, 1906, was speaking at Le Madeleine, at the funeral of the Canadian Minister of Marine, who had died suddenly in Paris. “I shall be happy,” he said, “for having left in my career the one work, the great work of the entente cordiale, I had been convinced that the mutual interest of France and of England was that we should be united—first of all for our own protection, against the rest of the world; and then, after that, to protect the world as a whole. “But do you know who it was that confirmed me in these ideas? Who implanted in my mind, irrevocably, that sense of duty to which I have responded with alacrity? It was that eminent statesman who directs the destinies of Canada to-day—Sir Wilfrid Laurier. For he was in a better position than I to appreciate the loyal and conciliatory character of Great Britain. “He gave me proofs and views of it which, as he developed them, I could easily understand. So that, imbued with those ideas, on the day that I met my friend, Edward VII., and found him moved by the same sentiments, we arrived at that entente and agreement which I shall never cease to admire.” The phraseology of that frank admission proves beyond all doubt that the President was carried away by the suggestion, which was one, as he says, “Monsieur Laurier had put into his head, and that he never ceased to admire.” Probably Edward VII. would have said as much; for before making his campaign of education in France Sir Wilfrid had made it in England. And the picture he drew of the entente cordiale between the English and the French in Canada, at his first banquet in London, where the Prince of Wales—later Edward VII.—presided in 1897, in the Royal Palace of Buckingham, must have had the same effect on that able and sympathetic statesman, which Edward was, as it produced upon Monsieur Loubet in France. Sir Wilfrid expressed in Paris in the same year, before a great assembly of notabilities, the harmony that existed between the two races in Canada; and in the following terms he regretted that the same cordiality did not yet exist between the two shores of the English channel: “Our English compatriots of Canada are frankly proud of the brilliant Montcalm and we, of our race, bow with respect before the memory and monument of General Wolfe. It may be that here in France the souvenirs of old feuds have not lost all their bitterness. But for us in Canada, of whatever race, those were glorious days when the colours of France and England—the tricolour and the Cross of St. George—floated in triumph on the heights of Alma, of Inkerman, and of Sebastapol. “Now events have changed. Other alliances are imminent. But may it be permitted to a son of France, who is at the same time a British subject, to salute those glorious days with a regret that may find an echo in every generous soul on both sides of the channel.” And again Sir Wilfrid proposed the joint toast of Edward VII. and President Loubet at a notable gathering in Paris after the coronation. “Messieurs, will you permit me in conclusion to take a liberty with your customs and while raising my glass to the chief of state in this country of my ancestors—to that sagacious man that France has selected for President—may I join another thought, not for you but for myself, and to couple with that toast, that of my own sovereign, the King of England, who is also, like myself, a friend of France.” That was not all that attached Sir Wilfrid to the history of the entente cordiale. On his return to London once more in 1907, one evening at a function in his honour at the Queen’s Hall, where he sat in the Royal box, a messenger came to request him not to leave, as the custom is, immediately after “God Save the King.” Acquiescing he was surprised to hear the orchestra after the National Hymn, play the stirring strains of the “Marseillaise.” It was the official recognition of what he had done for the entente cordiale. In the work of reconciliation of race and country he had but one motive and that was the exaltation of Canada and the development of our national and Canadian spirit and the subversion of all petty and sectional antagonisms. He was the true imperialist, who saw this Empire as a voluntary confederation of free nations. Anything different and more centralized he regarded as a menace to this country and to the Empire as a free system. He left every man to his opinion. In 1907, when the Imperial Conference of Premiers was meeting in London, (Sir Wilfrid being one of its outstanding personalities), Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman was hesitating on the very threshold of granting complete self-government to the Boers. The Unionist party, particularly its high Tory wing, led by Lord Milner, and fortified by powerful influences, was fighting hard against such a measure. It was an open secret that members of “C.-B.’s” own Cabinet were not overly enthusiastic about the proposal. Lord Roseberry, although practically in retirement, was believed to be opposed, and had a powerful following among what was known as the Liberal Imperialists. Mr. Asquith, Sir Edward Grey, and Mr. Haldane, sometime followers of Roseberry, although in Campbell-Bannerman’s Cabinet, were regarded as luke-warm and for a time it seemed as though Sir Henry himself might waver. In the course of his participation in the Imperial Conference, Campbell-Bannerman was brought much into contact with Sir Wilfrid, and, being impressed with his wonderful comprehension and appreciation of the British Constitution, saw in him the fulfilment in Canada of what he hoped to do for South Africa, and invited him to a small gathering of Liberals to give his opinion upon the wisdom of self-government for the Boers. Sir Wilfrid, as those who knew his ardent sympathy with small nationalities everywhere, can well understand, readily accepted the invitation. For nearly an hour he spoke with all his intense eloquence upon what trust and self-government had done to build up an united and prosperous Canada, to win the loyalty and devotion of French-Canadians, and toward the close, in a peroration of moving eloquence, asked why trust in the Boers would not achieve in South Africa what it had achieved in Quebec. That speech is said to have been the decisive factor in influencing Campbell-Bannerman. Mr. Asquith in the great tribute which he once paid to his departed chief, significantly told how, after a certain event, Sir Henry said that in regard to his South African policy there would be “no surrender”; and there is little doubt as to the event he had in mind. Not long ago, a writer in the “Manchester Guardian,” in paying a tribute to Campbell-Bannerman, referred to the support given him in regard to the Boers by an “overseas statesman,” but apart from such meagre notice, Sir Wilfrid’s noble part in this momentous drama is unknown to the world. It is also known that in the possession of Sir Wilfrid there were a number of letters and documents dealing with this matter—letters from General Botha, and Campbell-Bannerman, and others—testifying to the great influence he exerted in such a far-reaching stroke of statesmanship. It is to be hoped that they will soon be given to the world, if for no other reason than in justice to one who, was at all times, a noble interpreter and potent advocate of the blessings of human freedom. Every once in a while during the past fifty years or more some one comes along with a new scheme to reconstruct the British Empire and when each architect finds his plan not workable he charges those who do not support it with disloyalty. A charge made against Sir Wilfrid Laurier is that in the Imperial Conference of 1911 he opposed a scheme of Imperial reorganization proposed by Sir Joseph Ward, of New Zealand. The truth that is suppressed is that the proposal was rejected by the unanimous voice of the conference, the only exception being Sir Joseph Ward himself. We quote Mr. Asquith, Prime Minister, and President of the Conference: “It is a proposition which not a single representative of any of the Dominions, nor I as representing for the time being the Imperial Government, could possibly assent to. For what does Sir Joseph Ward’s proposal come to? I might describe the effect of it without going into details in a couple of sentences. It would impair, if not altogether destroy, the authority of the Government of the United Kingdom in such grave matters as the conduct of foreign policy, the conclusion of treaties, the declaration of maintenance of peace or the declaration of war, and indeed all those relations with foreign powers necessarily of the most delicate character, which are now in the hands of the Imperial Government, subject to its responsibility to the Imperial Parliament.” Mr. Asquith went on to say that the scheme would be absolutely fatal to the present system of responsible government. Sir Wilfrid Laurier was therefore attacked for defending the British constitution against a very grave danger. The “Manchester (England) Guardian” in its Empire Number of March 20th., 1917, had the following:— “In Canada, again, so soon as the causes of the war were fully apprehended, all discussion of Canadian obligations and of the limit of Canadian liabilities to the Empire gave way before a passionate determination to lend all possible aid in a just cause. The mind of Canada was well expressed in a speech on the outbreak of war by Sir Wilfrid Laurier, leader of the Liberal Opposition, and the greatest and most venerable figure in Dominion statesmanship. Throughout his career he had resisted with the utmost of his power and eloquence all suggestions for a mechanical strengthening of the Imperial tie, and had the legal obligations of Canada at this crisis run counter to the mind of her people it would have been his part to make clear the discrepancy. On the first day of the emergency session of the Canadian Parliament he said:— “It is our duty, more pressing upon us than all other duties . . . to let Great Britain know, that there is in Canada but one mind and one heart, and that all Canadians stand behind the mother country, conscious and proud that she had engaged in this war, not from any selfish motive, for any purposes of aggrandisement, but to maintain untarnished the honour of her name, to fulfill her obligations to her allies, to maintain her treaty obligations and to save civilization from the unbridled lust of conquest and power.” The secret of his great powers was not hard to find. Perhaps at the very foundation must be placed his broad tolerance and kindliness. He was first of all a Christian gentleman. Then following that must be placed his thorough mastery of the great writers in both English and French and a complete understanding of the points of view of these two people. It was characteristic of the man that he should always remember with kindly feelings the influence and atmosphere of the Scottish home where he lived for a period. It was there that he got his first love for the tongue of Shakespeare and Milton, and where he made himself familiar with the struggles and achievements of Fox, Bright, Morley, Gladstone and other great Liberal leaders. No matter on what occasion or what his subject might be, his audience was always sure to be treated to some striking phrase or bit of imagery that made a lasting impression. On his return from Europe a few years ago, he urged the young men of the Dominion in the words of Henry of Navarre: “To follow his White Plume and there they would find honour.” Again when speaking of the Grand Trunk Pacific project he announced that “it would roll back the map of Canada and add depth to the country.” The princeliness of his bearing was that which impressed the British public most when he first went to Great Britain in 1897, as a guest at Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee. Richard Harding Davis, who described that event for “Harper’s Magazine,” said that in the procession to Westminster Abbey on that occasion, the two individuals, who, after the aged Queen herself, most aroused the enthusiasm of the myriad spectators, were Lord Roberts, the typical military hero, and Sir Wilfrid Laurier, whom most of them saw for the first time. He appealed to England as an essentially romantic figure; typical of what British Imperial prestige stood for—a man of foreign race, whom Britain’s wise colonial policy had made a distinguished servant of the Crown. During the Royal tour of 1901, and at the Quebec Tercentenary celebration of 1908, one saw Sir Wilfrid in contact with the coterie of distinguished men that the present King, first as Duke of Cornwall and York, and later as Prince of Wales, brought with him to this country. To Canadians, whatever their politics, it gave a deep sense of satisfaction to recognize in their own Prime Minister, a man who seemed to embody the flower of civilization. Knighthood, though it be a bauble, never sat more fittingly on a modern man, than on him. Among all the men who constituted the Royal entourage, on both occasions, only one was his equal in this peculiar quality of high physical distinction, and that was Viscount Crichton, afterwards the Earl of Erne. In so far as possible, Sir Wilfrid Laurier confined business to business hours. His habits did not vary. In the days of his premiership he rose each morning before eight o’clock, and after breakfast his private secretary would go to his library and the morning’s mail would be opened. Replies would be dictated without delay. By pursuing this policy Sir Wilfrid left himself free to receive callers and transact other business when he arrived at his office. Sir Wilfrid’s mail was large, but not so large as that received by many of his ministers. In his younger days he had an extremely large personal correspondence, but the passing away of many of his early associates reduced it considerably as years went by. When he was Prime Minister, he usually arrived at his office at 10.30 a.m. Everyone in Ottawa knew Sir Wilfrid and his commanding figure always attracted attention. Once in his office there was usually a steady stream of visitors or deputations to be received. The deputations were usually heard after appointments had been arranged. In the afternoon the callers as a rule were not so numerous, and if the House was sitting there was frequently a meeting of the Cabinet Council before it came together at 3 o’clock. In the late years of his premiership Sir Wilfrid avoided the night sessions whenever possible. Frequently he would occupy his seat for an hour after business was resumed in the evening and then go home leaving the fortunes of the Government forces in the hands of his ministers. When the House was not in session he usually left off business about 5 o’clock, sometimes being detained to a later hour by a meeting of the Cabinet Council. The late leader as an English-speaking parliamentarian, was the wonder of his day and generation, and one had to be well acquainted with both languages to notice the least error in his English grammar. Sir Wilfrid always tripped up, however, in the use of the English verbs “to do” and “to make,” which are one and the same “faire” in French, for very frequently he would make use of “do” when “make” was the proper English word, or vice versa. As a bilingual orator, it is safe to say, however, that Wilfrid Laurier stood alongside of such men as Real de la Valliere and ex-Premier Waddington of France, who spoke English and French. In the House of Commons Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s English was simply magnificent, and, in fact, his models were John Bright, William Ewart Gladstone, Pitt, Earl of Chatham, and others of that splendid galaxy of British statesmen, whose names so brilliantly illuminate so many of the most fascinating pages of the Empire’s history. He would, in fact, become so impregnated with English-expressed mannerisms that at the close of a long session of the House of Commons his English accent, when speaking his own mother tongue, would be distinctly marked. He was not always consistent, but was ever happy when pleading the cause of a minority or a lost cause, his speeches on the execution of Louis Riel, the Remedial Bill, and others, being amongst the most eloquent pages of the Commons Hansard. Sir Charles Tupper, when sitting opposite the late leader during his address on the amendment to reject the Remedial Bill, remarked to his desk-mate that if he had Laurier’s facility of speech in the two official languages of this country he would willingly sacrifice whatever reputation he possessed as a public man. Sir Wilfrid, it has often been said, had the distinction of an old world seigneur. His stature, his irregular but strong features, his dome-like forehead, his calm, wide eyes, his benevolent smile marked him down as the last seigneur of old French Canada. But about this distinction of his there was nothing put on or affected. He was above all things natural, and joined with this was a simplicity and a bonhomie essentially Canadian in its lack of all starched frills. He was one of the easiest men to see at Ottawa. With him red tape did not exist. Pomp and pretence, decoration and display did not appeal to this great Canadian. He had no use for the sycophant, the bore or the grafter. His clear eye, stately carriage, firmly compressed lips and general demeanour revealed the born leader of men, and in any gathering he stood out in picturesque relief from those around him like a Saul among his fellows. His dignified and courtly bearing as he walked to his seat was that of the French Empire period. Like Gladstone, Disraeli and other great men, his dress was always distinctive without being obtrusive. At all times he looked every inch the type of a statesman and a leader that appealed to the imagination of a people. His great strength as a leader lay in his personal charm and manner. Between Sir Wilfrid and his followers there subsisted the most intimate relations. To see him flit from seat to seat in the House for a quiet chat with some Liberal member was to discover one source of his marvellous hold on the affection of the Liberal rank and file. When not engaged in debate or in conversation with his colleagues, Sir Wilfrid generally spent his time reading. There were three books that had a singular fascination for him—the Authorized Version of the Bible, Shakespeare’s plays, and the Encyclopaedia. Like all great orators, Sir Wilfrid drew freely from the Bible for illustrations, and his speeches were replete with passages whose imagery suggested the sublime source of their inspiration. In the House he stood in a class by himself as a Parliamentarian. When about to speak in the House he rose slowly, impressively. Proceeding with his argument, his gestures were not wasteful. He would point, perhaps, with the extended index finger of his outstretched right hand. Sometimes, this finger he held rigidly straight, and at other times crooked a little. And somehow by this slight change Sir Wilfrid conveyed a wholly different significance to his gesture. When Sir Wilfrid came to a climax he would square his thin shoulders, throw his head gloriously back and upwards and look out over the listening benches as from a conning tower. He would even perhaps cease his vibrant utterance for an instant to gain an added emphasis to his words. When annoyed little fine wrinkles would corrugate his forehead. Otherwise the whole of his personality was absolutely under control. His voice, though slurring, was penetrating, and ate its way into your attention by reason of its peculiarly blurred timbre. It was marked by an even consistency. His speeches were always animated and winning, but the speed at which he travelled never changed much, nor did he go to extremes of inflection. Sometimes he would be quietly humorous. Where he shone was in repartee, for he was always mentally alert and keen. Whether he spoke in English or in French, it was the same Laurier, the orator of the “grand style.” And like all speakers of this type, Sir Wilfrid was a past master in the coining of apt phrases that stick in the popular imagination. For example, he once called Ottawa the “Washington of the North.” Ever since then the label has stuck. And so, in a hundred other cases, Sir Wilfrid has given journalists and those that come after him the necessary turn of thought, the needful word. His “grand method” was simply the outcome of his own nature—a nature at once distinguished and noble. And consequently not even his bitterest enemies ever charged him with doing a “mean” or “shabby” thing. As soon as you set eyes on him in the House you recognized that there was a man above buying or selling, a man with a code of honour, a man with a dignity. So his “grand” manner was but the visible and outward sign of this. But this “grand” manner had nothing ponderous, heavy or deliberate about it. Laurier was French in his vivacity and finesse, in the quickness and brilliance of his repartee. He was the master of the quick, swift way in which he slipped off into the heart of his speeches. A handful of compliments or a short, sharp, stinging sarcasm; a gentle musical phrase, to jog someone’s memory, or a word of aroused dignity, and Sir Wilfrid was easily racing along at full speed. And in his speech he had Gallic lucidity. Everything served to strengthen his argument. He not only appealed to his auditors’ reason, but also to their emotions—and that was the secret of his popularity. He had the gift of being able to charm, move and stir. And it all perhaps was achieved more by his personality than by what was actually said. His mere appearance could raise enthusiasm. The extraordinary thing was that no one seemed to remember that he was not speaking in his own tongue. Indeed, few of the English-speaking representatives have ever attained to a vocabulary half as large as his. Sir Wilfrid always looked his part. He was one of those few public individuals, whose actual appearance did not disappoint you. The striking face, with its broad, lofty forehead; its tufted crown of white hair, its long, prominent nose, indicative of dominance and power, its alignment of chin and mouth sent your mind irresistibly back to memories of other great statesmen. It was the face of an aristocrat, while the mind belonged to the aristocracy of democracy. His eyes were set wide apart and they gazed steadily out at you. As a rule, his face was immobile, but when his eyes half closed, it was quick to break into a smile, the wrinkles running upward on his face like little waves succeeding one another on a beach. When listening or following a debate, Sir Wilfrid would lean forward with elbows rested on his desk and one hand up to his ear to convey the sound better. As a rule, he wore a black frock coat with vest, the lapels lined with a white frill. His collar was straight and high, while his tie was so big and broad that you could not see his shirt. It literally choked up the opening of his vest with its splendour. The creases of his trousers were always perfect. His boots were the old-fashioned elastic-sided ones. Strangers coming into the gallery of the House of Commons for the first time always looked for Laurier. He knew it and rather enjoyed the limelight. It was his custom to enter the House just a moment before opening hour, and as he passed down the corridors of Parliament on the way from his office to the Chamber it was frequently through a lane of people, every one of them watching him intently. He would pass along straight as a guardsman, serene, dignified and quite unmoved. In the Chamber he was much given to visiting. From his seat in the front row, immediately opposite his Parliamentary opponent, Sir Robert Borden, he would move back among his more humble supporters and spend hours in earnest conversation with them. He knew his men individually, as none but Sir John Macdonald ever knew a following. Laurier had undoubtedly learned much from his former great rival. There were little mannerisms and tricks of speech and gestures that old-timers around Parliament declared he got only from Sir John. He loved to use that word “Grit,” especially in rural ridings, where he knew its effect on old-time voters. And he took a sort of impish delight in always characterizing his political opponents as “Tories,” rather than as Conservatives, or even as Liberal-Conservatives. He knew that in the minds of some of his hearers the use of the word “Tory” would convey an idea of class privilege and opposition to democratic ideas and movements. It was surprising, too, how he would adapt his utterances to his audience. It might be the same speech he had given elsewhere the day before, but he knew that his audience would differ, and little touches were added here and there that gave it individuality and touched responsive chords in his hearers. When stumping the country in an election campaign his stories and illustrations were always simple. The historical comparisons and the more subtle quotations were reserved for Parliament. When he spoke in Woodstock in the election of 1911, he told a story of an Irish friend of his, a conductor on the Montreal-Quebec train, for whom he brought a black thorn from Ireland in 1897. He had the conductor friend’s name put on it and when they met, presented him with the shillelah. “He was profuse in his thanks,” said Sir Wilfrid, and he wound up by saying, “May Heaven be your bed, but may you be kept long out of it.” “Now I hope that some day heaven may be my bed,” added the Liberal Chieftain, “but I don’t think I am ripe for it yet. I hope Heaven won’t be my bed until I have one more tussel with the Tories.” There were two Tory rural members of the House of Commons, for whom Sir Wilfrid always had a tender spot in his heart. One of these was the late Mr. Peter Elson, member for East Middlesex. The Liberal leader would frequently cross over the floor of the House for a chat. The other was Mr. Oliver Wilcox, member for North Essex, also since passed away. Mr. Wilcox had a rollicking manner in his Parliamentary debating that would at times convulse the whole House, and those who were there in those days, will long recall the way in which he would point a finger at the Liberal leader, refer to him always as “My honorable friend, the leader of the Liberal Opposition,” and endeavour to convince Sir Wilfrid that he was a hopeless political sinner. Sometimes after one of these encounters they would meet outside in the corridor and walk away arm in arm. Speaking to a young newspaper friend, he said, “Every young man ought to read the works of Gibbon.” He was enthusiastic, too, when he spoke of Parkman’s writings. “Read Parkman, and you will be proud of both races in Canada,” was his comment. There were dull hours in the House of Commons when Sir Wilfrid had to remain on duty, ready for any emergency. Hours that were tedious, or would have been tedious, but for his little custom of sending to the Parliamentary Library for the English dictionary. The House used to smile when the page would come in with the big volume and place it on Sir Wilfrid’s desk. He would open it at a certain page and then begin to run down the columns carefully and slowly, adding to his store of English words. Is it any wonder that he possessed such command of the English tongue in public utterances? He rarely read anything but the dictionary in the House of Commons, not even the newspapers; but it was very evident that outside of the House he looked over all the important dailies and read widely in general literature. A newspaper friend, who called on him the day after the landslide of 1911, found him seated comfortably in his room, reading a life of the Dowager Empress of China. She, too, had known the experience of power passing away, and perhaps, the Liberal Chieftain was finding some of the philosophy of the Orient applicable to his own situation. In his Parliamentary addresses he was always apt in the use of quotations and historical illustrations. He had read widely in both British and French histories, and in American history as well. His influence among his followers was due to his long Parliamentary experience, but even more to the grace and courtesy of his manner, and his actual kindness. He was never abrupt, never too busy to be polite, never forgot that without his most humble associates he would fail to accomplish his purposes. Those who think of political life as a continuous strife, would be surprised indeed, if they knew of the close friendship that existed between Sir Wilfrid and some of his opponents on the opposite side of Parliament. He was elusive in many ways, difficult to measure by our accepted standards. For many years to come the recollection of his personality has impressed itself upon audiences and upon individuals in every part of Canada will remain to keep his memory green. A member of Sir Wilfrid’s last Cabinet, who, as a boy, greatly admired his Chief, contributes these reminiscences: When Sir Wilfrid first became prominent it was his custom, while Parliament was in session, to go for a walk on Sunday afternoons, in the winter, on the north side of Rideau Street, and a number of boys, whose fathers were Liberals, would hurry along Sussex Street, and crossing over to the south side of Rideau Street, would walk along that side in perfect decorum and happiness as they watched the progress of the man on the other side of the street, whose name was heard more frequently than any other in their homes. Sir Wilfrid’s appearance and dress on those Sunday afternoons are still remembered. He wore a fur cap of plucked otter, a Persian lamb coat, and always carried a cane. His hair was wavy and dark, his face generally lit up by a smile, and his carriage was erect and dignified. He never seemed to be in a hurry. Usually, one of his Parliamentary colleagues was with him, and it was a matter of much interest for the boys on the opposite side of the street to watch the different ways in which Sir Wilfrid and his companion returned the salutes of passers-by. Needless to say, the companion, no matter whom he might be, always suffered in the comparison. With the boys and young men who haunted the galleries of Parliament during the Franchise, the Riel, and the Home Rule debates, Sir Wilfrid was a hero. While charmed by his never-failing courtesy, they took him still closer to their hearts when, on a memorable night, in a later debate, he repelled the clumsy patronizing of an opponent with the withering phrase that “Quebec does not want his whining pity!” That flash revealed human nature that his youthful admirers in the gallery could readily understand, and they loved him all the more for it. He was a great lover of birds, and on a beautiful day in September, 1911, just prior to addressing a great outdoor meeting, he was sitting on a lawn with several friends. The weather was unusually warm, and there were a number of orioles, and other birds, flying about the grounds, and, occasionally, singing in the trees. Sir Wilfrid noticed them, and, taking off his hat, he laid it on the grass, and, as if he had no cares or thoughts in the world, except for the homely things of nature, he told about the birds that used to come each spring to the woods around Arthabaskaville, and described minutely their plumage. Then he recalled that from time to time certain kinds of birds would disappear, and others would come in their places, and that, after a lapse of a few years, it was difficult to find any of the birds with which he had been familiar when a young man. His whole conversation indicated how close to nature he must have been in his youth, and how keen his powers of observation always were. In the same way, he was an intense lover of trees. He took great pride in the shade trees of the city of Ottawa, and was always hurt when he saw any of them mutilated or wantonly destroyed. One night before the last election he engaged in a chat about world conditions as they then existed. By degrees he became absorbed in the subject, and drew such a rapid and comprehensive world-picture that one could not help regretting that the whole Dominion was not listening to him. Referring to Russia, he contrasted the condition of the people there with the condition of the people in the United States, and remarked that perhaps the most extraordinary thing that had taken place within his life time was the effect produced by the general spread of education in the United States. In illustration of this, he pointed to the fact that, while it was the custom for people, when he was a young man, to sneer at the college professor in the neighbouring Republic, the Americans now had in Woodrow Wilson a college professor for their President. He went on to describe conditions in Russia, and deplored the fact that, as there were at least one hundred millions of illiterate people there, it would be impossible to effect a change, except in one of two ways, namely, by the spread of education—which would take too long—or by the appearance of another Napoleon. Thereupon a guest remarked that, for the sake of ending the world war, it was to be hoped that another Napoleon would soon appear. Sir Wilfrid made a slight gesture with his right hand, and, shaking his head, said, “No, it is not time. There were 1,000 years between Caesar and Charlemagne, and there were 800 years between Charlemagne and Napoleon. You see, it is not yet time for another Napoleon to appear.” Could anything be more graphic or concrete than this rapidly sketched picture? |
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