Such poems are worth a good many political speeches even in parliament so far as their effect upon the hearts and sympathies is concerned. We all remember a famous man once said, "Let me make all the ballads, and I care not who makes the laws of a people."
[B] A list of Canadian poems which have been printed in books (from 1867–1893) appears in the Bibliographical Notes ([40]).
[C] Given in full in Appendix.
[D] See Appendix to this work, [note 40], for an extract from this fine poem.
[E] See Appendix to this work, [note 40], for an extract from one of his national poems.
VI.
But if Canada can point to some creditable achievement of recent years in history, poetry and essay-writing—for I think if one looks from time to time at the leading magazines and reviews of the two continents he will find that Canada is fairly well represented in their pages[44]—there is one respect in which Canadians have never won any marked success, and that is in the novel or romance. "Wacousta, or the Prophecy: a Tale of the Canadas," was written sixty years ago by Major John Richardson,[45a] a native Canadian, but it was at the best a spirited imitation of Cooper, and has not retained the interest it attracted at a time when the American novelist had created a taste for exaggerated pictures of Indian life and forest scenery. Of course attempts have been made time and again by other English Canadians to describe episodes of our history, and portray some of our national and social characteristics, but with the single exception of "The Golden Dog,"[45] written a few years ago by Mr. William Kirby, of Niagara, I cannot point to one which shows much imaginative or literary skill. If we except the historical romance by Mr. Marmette, "François de Bienville,"[46] which has had several editions, French Canada is even weak in this particular, and this is the more surprising because there is abundance of material for the novelist or writer of romance in her peculiar society and institutions, and in her historic annals and traditions. But as yet neither a Cooper, nor an Irving, nor a Hawthorne has appeared to delight Canadians in the fruitful field of fiction that their country offers to the pen of imaginative genius. It is true we have a work by De Gaspé, "Les Anciens Canadiens,"[47] which has been translated by Roberts and one or two others, but it has rather the value of historical annals than the spirit and form of true romance. It is the very poverty of our production in what ought to be a rich source of literary inspiration, French Canadian life and history, that has given currency to a work whose signal merit is its simplicity of style and adherence to historical fact. As Parkman many years ago first commenced to illumine the too often dull pages of Canadian history, so other American writers have also ventured in the still fresh field of literary effort that romance offers to the industrious, inventive brain. In the "Romance of Dollard," "Tonty," and the "Lady of Fort St. John," Mrs. Mary Hartwell Catherwood has recalled most interesting episodes of our past annals with admirable literary taste and a deep enthusiasm for Canadian history in its romantic and picturesque aspects.[48] When we read Conan Doyle's "Refugees"—the best historical novel that has appeared from the English Press for years—we may well regret that it is not Canadian genius which has created so fascinating a romance out of the materials that exist in the history of the ancien régime. Dr. Doyle's knowledge of Canadian life and history is obviously very superficial; but slight as it is he has used it with a masterly skill to give Canada a part in his story—to show how closely associated were the fortunes of the colony with the French Court,—with the plans and intrigues of the king and his mistresses, and of the wily ecclesiastics who made all subservient to their deep purpose. It would seem from our failure to cultivate successfully the same popular branch of letters that Canadians are wanting in the inventive and imaginative faculty, and that the spirit of materialism and practical habits, which has so long necessarily cramped literary effort in this country, still prevents happy ventures in this direction. It is a pity that no success has been won in this country,—as in Australia by Mrs. Campbell Praed, "Tasma," and many others,—in the way of depicting those characteristics of Canadian life, in the past and present, which, when touched by the imaginative and cultured intellect, will reach the sympathies and earn the plaudits of all classes of readers at home and abroad. Perhaps, Mr. Gilbert Parker,[49] now a resident of London, but a Canadian by birth, education and sympathies, will yet succeed in his laudable ambition of giving form and vitality to the abundant materials that exist in the Dominion, among the habitants on the old seigneuries of the French province, in that historic past of which the ruins still remain in Montreal and Quebec, in the Northwest with its quarrels of adventurers in the fur trade, and in the many other sources of inspiration that exist in this country for the true story-teller who can invent a plot and give his creations a touch of reality, and not that doll-like, saw-dust appearance that the vapid characters of some Canadian stories assume from the very poverty of the imagination that has originated them.
That imagination and humour have some existence in the Canadian mind—though one sees little of those qualities in the press or in public speeches, or in parliamentary debates—we can well believe when we read "The Dodge Club Abroad," by Professor De Mille,[50] who was cut off in the prime of his intellectual strength, or "A Social Departure," by Sara Jeannette Duncan,[51] who, as a sequence of a trip around the world, has given us not a dry book of travels but a story with touches of genial humour and bright descriptions of life and nature, and who is now following up that excellent literary effort by promising sketches of East Indian life. A story which attracted some attention not long since for originality of conception and ran through several editions, "Beggars All," is written by a Miss L. Dougall, who is said to be a member of a Montreal family, and though this book does not deal with incidents of Canadian life it illustrates that fertility of invention which is latent among our people and only requires a favourable opportunity to develop itself. The best literature of this kind is like that of France, which has the most intimate correspondence with the social life and development of the people of the country. "The excellence of a romance," writes Chevalier Bunsen in his critical preface to Gustav Freytag's "Debit and Credit," "like that of an epic or a drama, lies in the apprehension and truthful exhibition of the course of human things.... The most vehement longing of our times is manifestly after a faithful mirror of the present." With us, all efforts in this direction have been most common place—hardly above the average of "Social Notes" in the columns of Ottawa newspapers.