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?
In some respects, he was the most conservative of men. For instance, he was very reluctant to approve any changes in the rules or procedure of Parliament. He had found them sufficient for all purposes for nearly fifty years, and he looked up with a glance implying both surprise and a certain degree of opposition, when anyone proposed a change of any kind. Not that he would refuse to discuss it, or withhold his approval because a discussion of a suggestion of the kind usually wound up by his saying, “Well, I will be guided by whatever our friends may think.”