SIR WILFRID LAURIER
Speaking at Strathroy, Ont., September 19th., 1908

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

DEDICATION

This 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”]

Sir Wilfrid Laurier

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?

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.”

Another indication of his conservative inclination in matters of dress may be pointed out. Those who have been familiar with him for years, and even those who did not know him personally, but who have seen his photographs, will have noticed that he usually wore a scarf pin in the shape of a horse-shoe. While it decorated his ties of different colour, it never seemed out of place. In the same way he never wore a chain on his watch, and this habit he continued down to the end of his days. Even in these little things there was proof of his being different from other men.

He was the embodiment of kindness, and his consideration for others was unfailing. These characteristics manifested themselves so naturally that they were part and parcel of the man. Perhaps one story, that illustrates this side of his character better than any other, was told by Lady Laurier. Occasionally, in later years, an impression would arise in the household that some of the servants were not as attentive to duty as they might be, and, at times, a suggestion was made that it might be well to speak to them about some oversight. Sir Wilfrid’s invariable admonition was, “Oh, don’t do that. It’s bad enough to be a servant.” At other times, disappointment would be expressed at the speedy disappearance of some good things that had been provided for guests who were to arrive. If Sir Wilfrid chanced to hear any discussion on this topic, he would intervene with, “Well, after all, that is very natural; the servants are human like ourselves.” It was this constant regard for the feelings of others, and his lightning-like ability to adapt himself to any occasion, no matter how suddenly it might arise, that made him so different from other men, and constantly increased the love felt for him by those who were fortunate enough to be brought within the circle of his daily life.

His marvelous memory and his grip upon the Parliamentary proceedings of over forty years was unexpectedly instanced in the House of Commons on September 7th., 1917. Senate amendments in the income tax bill were before the House, and the point of order was raised that the Red Chamber could not amend a money bill.

Hon. Speaker Rhodes, after hurriedly consulting authorities, found a case in May, 1874, in which Hon. Alexander Mackenzie, then Premier, had moved to accept the Senate amendments to an act respecting the appropriation of certain Dominion lands in Manitoba, stipulating that the action should not be accepted as a precedent.

“It so happens that I was a member of this House at the time,” said Sir Wilfrid, rising. “I was, of course, a very young member then, but I have a recollection of the debate that took place.” The veteran Liberal leader then recited in some detail the debate of forty-three years ago, differentiating between the land act then under discussion and the money bill now before the House. Meantime the Speaker had sent for the ancient Hansard, and subsequently placed the record before the House. It was in exact accordance with Sir Wilfrid’s memories, and both sides of the House paid its senior member the tribute of hearty applause.

Many stories are told which illustrate the wide range of his information and his remarkable memory. On one occasion Sir Adolphe Chapleau, who was a member for many years of successive Conservative Cabinets, was relating his experience as a captain in the Union Army at the Battle of Antietam. A Union battery had taken a position in a corn field which masked its presence from the Confederates.

“When the proper moment came,” said Sir Adolphe, “the order to fire was given by General ——.”

“You are, I think, mistaken,” said Sir Wilfrid, apologizing for the interruption. “It was General ——, who gave the order.”

Sir Adolphe paused in amazement; then he said:—

“You are right. I was there, yet I had forgotten. You were not there, yet you remember. I will tell no more experiences.”

At another time, in Paris, in 1897, Sir Wilfrid and other Canadians, who had visited England for the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, were being conducted about the city. At the Arc de Triomphe, inscribed with the names of the great victories of the Napoleonic wars, an army officer undertook to give the dates of the different battles.

“Marengo,” he said, “was fought in July 14th., 1801.”

“Was it not 1800?” asked Sir Wilfrid.

“It was,” replied the officer, abashed. “Evidently we must go to Canada to learn French history.”

Sir Wilfrid Laurier in a very real sense was passionately fond of children. He relaxed to them, he loved them, and they loved him. Children seemed to get closer to “the Chief” than anyone else. There were times, in the stress of big events, when matters of policy were to be determined, when situations had to be gauged and met, when Sir Wilfrid seemed to shut himself behind an expressionless face to do his thinking. His friends and lieutenants sought counsel from him then without success. No premature intimations were forthcoming. He became to all associated with him a seeker—not a giver—of information. One left his presence, having gone for guidance, with the conviction that he had laid bare his whole mind and thought at the delicate prompting of the Chief’s skilful interrogations, but realizing that the latter had communicated nothing.

At the time of the long naval debate and Parliamentary embroglio, when the threat of closures was in the air and all the strategy of statecraft was being brought into play by both parties, a Liberal caucus waited anxiously one winter morning for the advent of the leader. Newspaper-men who proceeded to the main entrance eagerly watching for his coming witnessed the septuagenarian spending the valuable moments prodding in the snow with his walking-stick and seeking to locate a “lost mitt” of an all-alone baby girl, who was crying pathetically at her loss and the cold. It was only when the missing mitten was found and restored and the child had been comforted that Sir Wilfrid turned his attention to the waiting caucus and the problems of the moment.

Those who accompanied the then Prime Minister on his memorable tour of the West in the summer of 1910 will never forget an incident while he was speaking at Edmonton. So great was the crowd that had assembled in Alberta’s capital that hot August afternoon to hear his message that all attempts to hold an indoor meeting were abandoned. Sir Wilfrid spoke from a balcony at the central corner of the main thoroughfare, and windows, balconies and streets were peopled with spectators. Suddenly, in the midst of his speech he paused, and gazing over the seething mass of humanity, pointed to one of the upper windows in a block diagonally opposite to the balcony from which he spoke. A midget was seated alone on the ledge, swinging her feet over the street far below. Anxiously he inquired: “Is that little one safe?” Amid all the display and acclaim Sir Wilfrid’s eyes were on the child in danger.

One of the most charming revelations of Sir Wilfrid’s thought for children and his understanding of them occurred on the same tour during a public reception at a temporary stand built upon a Manitoba prairie. An eight-year-old maid of the harvest field, with unadorned straw hat and bare feet, stood, like the publican of old, afar off. She looked on with wide, wondering eyes while a more fortunate little lady, in the fluffy, beribboned, spotless daintiness so dear to all daughters of Eve, be they big or little, gave the great man a beautiful bouquet of roses. She had seen him stoop and kiss her. Then she separated herself from the cheering crowd. She strayed to a spot on the prairie where she knew they grew. She gathered them herself, a little ill-assorted bunch of wild weed blossoms. Then she edged her way back through the throng. She had almost reached him as he was moving on, when a badged committeeman stopped her, and taking her by the sleeve of her patched print dress thrust her back. Tears sprang to her eyes.

For an instant the procession wavered. There was a break in the line. Sir Wilfrid turned. Unwittingly the little one found herself almost confronting him. Feverishly now she sought to squirm back into the oblivion of the crowd. But he had seen her. He stepped toward her, and the committeeman released his hold.

“Were you good enough to mean those flowers for me, little girl?” he asked with a smile. She thrust them toward him now half-frightened.

He bowed and took them. He kissed her. Then he drew a sprig from the bunch and fastened it upon the lapel of his coat. And when the great man mounted his car and waved his hat to the cheering hundreds there was one happy little girl who feasted her eyes upon a faded wild weed blossom still drooping on his breast.

Sir Wilfrid never lost a chance to “make up” to the little folk. He travelled on the first passenger train over the National Transcontinental from Fort William to Winnipeg, when construction gangs were still at work and the primitive condition of the country caused the workmen to be housed in log and frame shanties along the line, and took a remarkable interest in the several children who had accompanied their pioneer parents to the wild and picturesque outposts of coming civilization. He was the earliest riser on the train, and one morning, when the call of breakfast found him missing, there was some anxiety as to whether he had lost his way in an early morning walk through the bush. “No need for worry,” volunteered one, who knew his Chief well; “you’ll likely find him outside somewhere with the youngsters.” He was right. Sir Wilfrid was “playing catch” with a sturdy four-year-old behind a nearby shanty.

One day as the train lay in a switch near Humboldt a boy mounted the steps with a new birthday present, and explained that he wanted to take his first picture of “Mister Laurier.” A few moments later the tall figure was standing patiently on the track till the juvenile photographer “got it right.” The little fellow secured first-hand what scores of correspondents and local photographers had for weeks been struggling with crowds and erecting pedestals to obtain.

The devotion of the habitant of rural Quebec to Sir Wilfrid Laurier was well illustrated by an incident during the campaign of 1911. The Liberal leader was leaving Bonaventure station, in Montreal, very early one morning to proceed, via Coteau, to accept the nomination for Soulanges. At the station he passed a little girl, the daughter of a basket-laden woman, on her way to market. He stopped to pat the child’s head and exchange a greeting.

“Qui est l’homme?” (“Who is the man?”) asked the astonished mother of a bystander.

“Sir Wilfrid Laurier,” replied one of the group of newspapermen nearby.

The woman’s face was a picture. “En vérité?” (“Indeed, truly?”) she persisted, turning from one to another for confirmation.

When she was convinced she ran after the departing figure and stroked the sleeves of his coat as if it were something holy. Sir Wilfrid turned and shook her hand, ere the poor woman fled in confusion.

His love of children was very sincere. On one occasion he was visiting a friend at his farm near Aurora. One evening he sat down to dinner, and after commencing, excused himself, went upstairs and shortly returned. Next day the little granddaughter of his host, who was also staying at the farm, said that, “Mr. Wilfrid” had forgotten to say goodnight to her the night before and that he had come up from dinner to kiss her goodnight and speak to her before she went to sleep.

A man who visits Ottawa from time to time tells of an unexpected interview with Sir Wilfrid. Word was brought to him that the Liberal Chieftain wished to see him. The remainder of the story may be told in his own words:—

The friend who brought me the message made an appointment for me to visit Sir Wilfrid at two o’clock in the afternoon. When I reached his home on Laurier Avenue, he was waiting for me, and although I had never met him before, his welcome was so simple and kindly that I felt at home at once, and felt as if we had been life-long friends. In a sense we had been, for I had admired him since I had first seen him on a platform over thirty years ago. The acquaintanceship was at least complete on my side. I felt that I knew him very thoroughly, and his welcome made me forget that his knowledge of me must be very casual.

But though his greeting made me feel not only at ease but flattered and happy, it was not long before I noticed something that aroused an old-time critical attitude. It so happened that many years ago I had served my time as a dramatic critic, and had learned to notice the little niceties by which an actor achieves his affects. Now I do not wish to accuse Sir Wilfrid of being an actor, but if his methods were spontaneous and merely happened so, they were still worthy of Booth, Irving or Belasco.

I was shown into his sitting-room, where a grate fire was burning. After a most cordial greeting, in which he referred to some of my activities, which had attracted his attention and pleased him, he motioned me to a chair and when I had seated myself he sat down beside me. While standing he towered over me in height, but to my surprise, when he sat down I was looking down into his earnest, attentive face. I instantly noticed that the chair on which he sat was several inches lower than the one on which I sat. The stage trick was so apparent that although I did not betray the fact that I had noticed it, it made me keenly alert for anything else of the same kind that might happen. For over an hour we engaged in a most animated conversation. I had information which he wanted, and by his shrewd questions, but even more by his absorbed attention, which never wavered, he made me tell everything I knew about the subject in hand.

During the hour that I spent with him I could not help feeling his magnetic personality. His wonderful graciousness and flattering attention to every word I spoke made me realize that he was more compelling and captivating when met privately than when seen on the platform. No outburst of eloquence could surpass the delightful persuasiveness of his ordinary conversation.

Finally, he rose as if some thought had suddenly occurred to him. He walked over to the open fireplace, and stood with his back to me for a few moments. As he rose from the low chair on which he had been sitting and stood erect his height seemed more than mortal. Standing with his back to me, he seemed absorbed in profound thought, but presently he turned and his whole manner had changed. Instinctively I came to attention and stood before him. With the smile which made his followers adore him, he began abruptly.

“Now, Mr. ——, what I want to know is what constituency are you going to contest in the coming election?”

“Why!” I stammered. “I never thought of such a thing!”

“Ah, but I have thought of it,” said Sir Wilfrid.

I protested that I had no political experience and would probably bring confusion upon myself and the party, if I attempted to take a public part in politics. With a magnificent gesture he brushed aside my objections.

“But I want you with me in Parliament. I need you there!”

This compelled me to speak somewhat intimately of my personal affairs, and to make it clear to him that it was impossible for me to change the whole current of my life and take part in politics. My explanations convinced him, and the subject was dropped.

Though I was deeply moved by the compliment implied by his request, the dramatic critic was still alert at the back of my head and chuckling with inward appreciation. The scene had been worthy of Booth at his best. Cardinal Richelieu could not have surpassed him. As a matter of fact, I have always thought of him since then as “the Cardinal,” and have used the title when speaking of him to intimate friends.

Though I had other interviews with him, none of them equalled the first in the exquisite attention to detail in the stage setting—the low chair, the open fireplace and the turning towards me with infinite suavity and appeal to make his request.

But I do not wish to leave the impression that he was consciously an actor. He naturally made use of his surroundings for dramatic effect. It was not so much that he put on a grand manner as that it was impossible for him ever to lay it off. It was part of the man.

The same man also said:—

One of the last interviews I enjoyed strengthened the impression of the “Cardinal.” On the day on which he started to Winnipeg for that triumphal tour which raised such high hope before his defeat in 1917, I had an hour with him in his home. He received me in his study on the second floor. He had just been taking a nap to prepare himself for the fatigues of the journey. He had on a dressing gown of which I remember that the predominating color was a decorative figure in dull red.

The “Cardinal” received me with his customary graciousness, and for an hour we reviewed the chances of the campaign. When I was leaving him he followed me to the top of the stairs, and as he shook hands he said, with that peculiar serenity that was one of his outstanding characteristics in his later days:

“I may be defeated, but I will not be dishonoured.”

On one occasion Sir Wilfrid spoke in the pavilion of the Horticultural Gardens. During his address hisses came from the audience when he mentioned a paper that had taken issue with him. Sir Wilfrid exclaimed, rebukingly, “How dare any man hiss when another has the courage of his convictions? I do not find fault with the paper because it does not agree with me. We Liberals have our differences, but that fact does not justify hisses.”

Mention has been made of a certain similarity of viewpoint between Laurier and Gladstone. It is true that the great English Liberal was born to large opportunity. His magnificent intellectual gifts were enhanced by all that wealth and culture could do to polish and prepare perhaps the largest mind ever devoted to the service of the State since Parliamentary government began. From his earliest years he had consorted with world-figures—with men who were playing a great part on the great stage of the world. He was admirably trained and equipped at all points to play the part of the public man.

With Sir Wilfrid Laurier it was otherwise. He lacked the adventitious aids of fortune and station which smoothed the path of Gladstone as, until the last ten years, they have smoothed the path of every British Premier, with the solitary exception of Disraeli. The two great Liberal leaders were akin in spirit—and it is the things of the spirit that really matter. It is possible that there was in Sir Wilfrid Laurier, as certainly to the last there was in Gladstone, a certain strain of conservatism, using that word in no narrow party sense. Both belonged to the old school which valued fine manners, and, in the case of both, their fine manners were the outward and visible sign of minds that were rarely fine. But, in spite of this strain of conservatism, both were men imbued through and through with the spirit of genuine Liberalism. The life of each, to his last and latest moment, was a life of growth.

It is as impossible to set bounds to the growth of Liberalism as it is to set bounds to the aspirations of a nation. Those who would seek to reduce Liberal doctrines to formulae, to compress them into a creed, and who would say: “This is the Liberal faith, the whole Liberal faith, and nothing but this is the Liberal faith,” have small conception of the inherent function of Liberalism. That function is to keep abreast of the times, to be in harmony with the spirit of the times, and to be prepared to face the problems of the times with high heart and high hopes, with unconquerable courage and unfaltering faith. Liberal beliefs are no effete and petrified dogmas. They are a living, energizing, vitalizing force. They are that—or they are nothing.

It was Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s distinction, as it was Gladstone’s to take this view of Liberalism. It is true that he belonged, as he himself often said, to the school of Gladstone and Bright. But he did not hold that the tenets of that school must necessarily comprehend all truth. He realized that it is the spirit in which political problems are approached that constitutes the great difference between Liberalism and its opposite. Even he approached those problems in a spirit of sympathy with the aim and ideals of the common people. His ears had caught the tramp of the marching feet of the New Democracy, and to his heart the sound brought not fear but lofty hope. Old in years, but young in heart, he had an unquestionable faith in the honesty of this New Democracy and in its ability to solve its own problems in its own way. Not long ago, speaking of the fuller life for the people which might be expected as one of the outcomes of the war, he said that the England of the future would not be so picturesque or so dignified as the old England, but that it would be a far happier England for the masses of the people. It was the welfare of the masses which was ever nearest his own heart. He saw that all over the world the People’s Day was dawning. He saw it and was glad.

That Sir Wilfrid Laurier was a great, and will prove to have been a lasting, dynamic force in Canadian public life seems to us unquestionable. On the many years of material prosperity that Canada enjoyed while his hand guided the helm of State; on his great achievement in the realm alike of legislation and of administration it is beside our present purpose to dwell. These things are a part, an imperishable part, of the history of our country. But he did much, infinitely much, to give Canadians a sense of national unity and a sense of the dignity of nationhood. His efforts were often frustrated by the schemes of smaller men, with their appeals to racial prejudice and religious intolerance. But he himself steadily strove to weld the Canadian people into one harmonius whole. He certainly did not live to see the consummation of his work in this regard. But there will come a day when the people for whom he laboured will surely remember it and not with ingratitude.

Whoever he may be, the successor to Laurier must take no smaller view than this. Appeals to classes, to interests, and to sections—whether to farmers, to labour, to the manufacturers, or what not—are not the appeals that Liberalism makes. For that appeal is to all good citizens. It is to the civic sense of the whole country.

Sir Wilfrid Laurier has not had an approach of an equal during the last generation. It is not easy to exactly define in what his personality consisted. Facial charm was certainly one of his greatest endowments. He had a remarkably fine and open countenance, with a finely chiselled and expressive mouth, and with a classic brow that was one of the gifts of the gods. No one ever forgot Sir Wilfrid who had the privilege of seeing or hearing him once. The late Sir George Ross once referred to him as “a picture gallery all in himself.” His voice was also one of his great endowments, and his gestures of hands and body were in perfect sympathy with the thoughts he had to express. Behind all this was a finely cultured intellect, and behind this again was a burning French-Canadian soul that added warmth to all his words, gave action and gesture and fire, and made him from a purely speaking standpoint one of the greatest and most finished orators of his time. But there was more even than this. No man can hold followers simply by words alone. Sir Wilfrid had a wonderfully sympathetic heart, a keen appreciation of the human qualities in man, and coupled with his own personal magnetism, there was a winsomeness that bound his followers to him as with hoops of steel.

He did not ignore the material side of nation-building. He realized the importance of the country’s natural resources and the necessity for industrial development; but it was of the very nature of the man that he should think most of the happiness of the people. He saw in Canada the opportunity for a wonderful experiment in nation-making. He realized that wealth and prosperity and national glory are not everything. His ideal of a great nation was that of a free, contented, united and intelligent people, living at peace with each other and with the world. He sought to break down the barriers of prejudice and bigotry and ignorance that those of different races and creeds and parties might live together on terms of harmony and good will. His love was for people rather than for material things, and he attracted the love of people in return. No man in Canada ever attracted a more generous or more genuine measure of love. This was shown by the spontaneous display of personal feeling which his death called forth. And he was loved by the people, not for any great thing he had done, but rather because of what he was.

It was Laurier’s desire, too, that Canada should have an opportunity to develop according to the genius of her own people, free from entanglements with old-world feuds and passions. The nations of Europe were the victims of European history and tradition. They lived in an atmosphere of war and strife. So far as it was possible he would have saved Canada from the influence of this old-world spirit. He hesitated about participation in the early days of the South African war. He was thinking of Canada and the Canadian people. When the present war broke out he saw that it was a struggle to the death between civilization and barbarism, and he did not hesitate for a moment as to Canada’s duty. But he was not prepared to go to the length of supporting conscription. To him conscription meant militarism, and he dreaded militarism as he hated it.

The Canadian nation stood grief-stricken around that august bier. The hero of so many a gallant fight had succumbed to Death, the last great enemy of all—and even that enemy came to him like a friend.

“When a great man dies,

For years beyond our ken,

The light he leaves behind him lies

Along the paths of men.”

So it will be with Sir Wilfrid Laurier. Intrinsically and essentially he was a great man—great in natural gifts, great in vision, great in heart, great in soul, and “as the greatest only are, in his simplicity sublime.” Great men, it has been well said, are like great mountains. One cannot fully judge of their real grandeur at close range. So it may well be that we shall have to interpose some distance of time between Sir Wilfrid Laurier and ourselves before we can gauge, with anything approximating to adequacy, how much a bigger man he was than any of his contemporaries.

To the end he was “the greatest fighter of them all.” Forty odd years of strenuous public life brought no slackening in the vigour of mind or energy, nor any discouragement as to the ultimate triumph of the principle for which he always stood. There is an elixir of perpetual youth in a good cause and in a good fight.

“I have endeavoured to meet success without elation and reverse without discouragement,” he said to his followers in Parliament in May, 1914, in acknowledging their testimonial to him on the completion of forty years of continuous membership in the House of Commons. The “father of Parliament,” in point of length of service as in point of ripe judgment, oratorical graces and public experience, he remained, in Opposition as in power, an optimist and an unflagging worker. During the fifteen years of his Premiership Sir Wilfrid Laurier, with the exception of his Imperial Conference trips and his western tour of 1910, and during election campaigns, was scarcely ever away from his post at the Capital. As leader of His Majesty’s Loyal Opposition he was daily in his office attending to a large correspondence, looking after the details of party organization, receiving many callers who sought advice or assistance, and keeping abreast, through books and periodicals, of all national problems and world movements.

For half a century Wilfrid Laurier fought the battles of Canadian democracy—for responsible government, for social justice, for equality of opportunity, for freedom for the common people—the ordinary, everyday folk—in the age-long fight between entrenched and aggressive self-interest and altruistic common interest.

“The happiness of the masses of the people is the underlying consideration of government,” he said to the students of the University of Toronto, in an address in December, 1913.

And in the policies which he advocated there was proof of his sincere belief in the ideal of government he thus stated. He led the fight for the revision of the tariff downward, so that greedy men might be prevented from taking undue tolls from their fellow-men, so that combines and corporations should be curbed when they attempted “to fix prices one way to the producer and another way to the consumer.”

Addressing a great gathering of new foreign settlers in western Canada as Premier, in welcoming them and bidding them partake of the advantages of British citizenship, he feelingly and significantly alluded to this step in his career.

“I live myself in this land,” said he, “as an example of the breadth and freedom of British institutions. It is an illustration of that thing upon which the British system is based. I am not of English blood. My ancestors were of the French race. Yet I am acknowledged as the leader of the Parliament of Canada, irrespective of the blood in my veins. Twenty-two years ago I took the leadership of the Liberal party. Friends came to me after Mr. Blake’s retirement and offered me the leadership. I hesitated. I told them that I thought it was not fitting that I, coming from the race of the minority, worshipping with the minority, should accept it. In reply they told me that the Liberal party knew neither race nor creed. They said: ‘Whoever is worthy of our land is worthy of our leadership.’ And I accepted.

“The race is open to all. Any man may come to this land who is willing to work. It matters not who his father was or from what land he came, or at what altar he bows, he can aspire to the best and the highest this land has to offer. Whatever a Briton-born can claim he may claim. British institutions know no difference whatever.”

He had great differences to reconcile, and he had more especially to meet and overcome the presumptions which would naturally bar the way to leadership and popularity in the case of a public man whose native tongue was French, but who aspired to rule a community predominantly English in blood and speech.

It is a tribute to the greatness of his character and to his memory to reflect that even in Opposition he was the great outstanding figure in the political life of the country. He did not need office to clothe himself with the dignity that came to a public man. And he was equally a political force in or out of office. There was a glamor that hung over him that attracted men to him. He was the very incarnation of the political aspirations of thousands of men and women, who never saw him in the flesh. To his own immediate followers and political friends he was the proverbial guide, philosopher and friend.

It was with great misgivings that Sir Wilfrid accepted the leadership of the Liberal Party, when Edward Blake gave it up. He realized that for a young man of French-Canadian extraction and a Roman Catholic in religion, the road would be difficult for him to traverse. And truth to say, not a few of the Liberals felt dismayed at the prospect. But Sir Wilfrid was not long in showing the people of Canada that they had in him a leader who was guided solely by a desire to do his best for his country no matter who would suffer.

When he took office in 1896, Canada was in a state of business stagnation. Factories were closed, thousands of men were walking the streets for lack of work, and thousands more were fleeing to the United States as from a pestilence. Soup kitchens were kept busy doling out food to those who could pay for none, and it is a fact that idle men in some cities, had to stay in the house for fear of being arrested as vagrants. This was the condition of affairs when Sir Wilfrid took the reins of office.

The change that came over the country was magical. People took new heart. Factories began to fire up. Men got back to work. The waste places of the Dominion became settled with thousands of families from the old lands, a home market was procured and the foreign market was again established. An impetus to the forging of the chains of empire was given when Sir Wilfrid in 1897, and again in 1900, granted the British preference. It is now a matter of history how his pilgrimages to England lifted Canada out of the darkness into the light, how this picturesque Canadian figure dazzled the British people and how under his guidance this Canada became a nation in the eyes of the world.

Sir Wilfrid was an optimist. In victory or defeat he never lost sight of his goal, and he never gave up. However, his opponents professed to doubt his loyalty, they had no reason to doubt it. Much misrepresentation of Sir Wilfrid Laurier arose over his action in connection with the Boer war. Yet it is to be remembered that he was the first Canadian Premier to send a Canadian contingent abroad to help the mother country against a common enemy. On this occasion the London Times said: Sir Wilfrid Laurier, the French Roman Catholic Premier, of a self-governing federation, in which British Protestants are in the majority, has expressed more faithfully and more truly than any statesman who has spoken yet, the temper of the new imperial patriotism fostered into self-consciousness by the South African war.

A Conservative who always recognised the worth of Laurier as a Canadian, requests the republication of some words of the Liberal chieftain during his last appearance in London, stating that in his opinion they take rank with some of the utterances of Lincoln and Gladstone:

“As for you who stand to-day on the threshold of life. . . . I shall remind you that many problems rise before you: problems of race division, problems of creed differences, problems of economic conflict, problems of national duty and national aspirations. Let me tell you that for the solution of these problems you have a safe guide, an unfailing light, if you remember that faith is better than doubt and love is better than hate. . . . Banish doubt and hate from your life. Let your souls be ever open to the strong promptings of faith and the gentle influence of brotherly love. Be adamant against the haughty; be gentle and kind to the weak. Let your aim and your purpose, in good report or in ill, in victory or in defeat, be so to live, so to strive, so to serve as to do your part to raise the standard of life to higher and better spheres.”

These are not the words of a politician. They arise transcendent above the ordinary dogmas of strife and intolerance. They breathe moderation and kindness and therefore a perfect index of the character of their author.

“In the thirty years that I have led the Liberal party, my platform has always been Canada first. Whether on one side or another, on this question or that, my guiding star has always been my Canadian country. There is a crisis, and we must fight on as fought the pioneers of the early days in Canada, the strong, stern men who kept in sight their goal of Canada’s best interests against all difficulties and obstacles. Let our motto be the same as theirs—‘Fortitude in Distress.’ There are breakers ahead, but we shall reach the shore if we fight on. We can bring to pass in Canada what was prophesied by a distinguished American once—that the twentieth century would be the century of Canada.”—Sir Wilfrid Laurier at Winnipeg, December, 1917.

The coronation of King Edward in 1902 was taken advantage of to hold another imperial conference, when the question of imperial defence came up. Prior to leaving England Sir Wilfrid discussed the invitation in the House. “If it is intended simply to discuss what part Canada is prepared to take in her own defence,” he said, “what share of the burden must fall upon us as being responsible for the safety of our own land, certainly we are always prepared to discuss that subject. But there is a school abroad, there is a school in England and in Canada, a school which is perhaps represented on the floor of this parliament, which wants to bring Canada into the vortex of militarism, which is the curse and blight of Europe, I am not prepared to endorse any such policy.”

This was the traditional attitude of Sir John A. Macdonald and that of Sir Charles Tupper in the speech made at Quebec in 1900. Sir Wilfrid stood by it at the conference, and was supported by Australia.

Many eloquent tributes have been paid to him since his death, but none have surpassed the beautiful tribute which Sir Wilfrid paid to the late Sir John Macdonald, when he passed away twenty-eight years ago. Speaking from his place in Parliament on that occasion, he said:

“The place of Sir John Macdonald in this country was so large and so absorbing that it is almost impossible to conceive that the political life of this country, the fate of this country, can continue without him. His loss overwhelms us. For my part, I say, with all truth, that his loss overwhelms me, and it also overwhelms this Parliament, as if indeed one of the institutions of the land had given way. Sir John now belongs to the ages, and it can be said with certainty that the career which has just closed is one of the most remarkable careers of this century. It would be premature at this time to attempt to fix or anticipate what will be the final judgment of history upon him; but there were in his career and in his life features so prominent and so conspicuous that already they shine with a glow which time cannot alter, which, even now appear before the eye, such as they will appear to the end of history. I think it can be asserted that for the supreme act of governing men Sir John Macdonald was gifted as few men in any land or in any age were gifted—gifted with the highest of all qualities, qualities which would have made him famous wherever exercised, and which would have shone all the more conspicuously the larger the theatre. The fact that he would congregate together elements the most heterogeneous and blend them into one compact party, and to the end of his life keep them steadily under his hand, is perhaps altogether unprecedented. The fact that during all those years he retained unimpaired not only the confidence but the devotion—the ardent devotion—and affection of his party, is evidence that besides those higher qualities of statesmanship to which we were daily witnesses, he was also endowed with those inner, subtle, undefinable graces of the soul which win and keep the hearts of men.”

It will be generally admitted that Sir Wilfrid’s graceful words, spoken in reference to the great Conservative leader, are singularly applicable to his own case.

“If there is anything to which I have devoted my political life, it is to try to promote unity, harmony and amity between the diverse elements of this country. My friends can desert me, they can remove their confidence from me, they can withdraw the trust they have placed in my hands, but never shall I deviate from that line of policy. Whatever may be the consequences, whether loss of prestige, loss of popularity, or loss of power, I feel that I am in the right, and I know that a time will come when every man will render me full justice on that score.”—March 18th., 1900.

“I claim this for the Liberal Government, that we have endeavoured to carry on the policy of this country so as to make Canada a nation—a nation within the British Empire—A nation great in the eyes of the world. For my part, I want to see her lands occupied, her mines developed, her forests cleared, her fisheries exploited, her cities growing, her population increasing, but above all, I want to see our people united.

“I do not know whether my political career or my natural life shall be short or long, but whether short or long, I cherish the hope that I shall have so lived that when deposited in my grave, every Canadian, be he friend or foe, be he English-speaking, or French-speaking Protestant or Catholic, will have to say:

“There rests a man who has given the best of his life of his soul, of his heart to make us an united people.” Bowmanville, October, 1899.

“Even those who on principle do not believe in war, admit that this was a just war and that it had to be fought. That union of hearts which exists in the United Kingdom exists also in Canada, in Australia, in New Zealand, yea, even in South Africa—South Africa rent by war less than twenty years ago, but now united under the blessing of British institutions, with all, British and Dutch together, standing ready to shed their blood for the common cause. Sir, there is in this the inspiration and the hope that from this painful war the British Empire may emerge with a new bond of union, the pride of all its citizens, and a living light to all other nations.” August 19th., 1914.

“I am a Liberal of the English school. I believe in that school, which has all along claimed that it is the privilege of all subjects, whether high or low, whether rich or poor, whether ecclesiastics or laymen, to participate in the administration of public affairs, to discuss, to influence, to persuade, to convince—but which has always denied even to the highest the right to dictate even to the lowest, but Protestants as well, and I must give an account of my stewardship to all classes. Here am I, a Roman Catholic of French extraction, entrusted by the confidence of the men who sit around me with great and important duties under our constitutional system of government. I am here the acknowledged leader of a great party composed of Roman Catholics and Protestants as well, in which Protestants are in the majority, as Protestants must be in the majority in every party in Canada. Am I to be told, in occupying such a position, that I am to be dictated to as to the course I am to take in this House, by reasons that can appeal to the consciences of my fellow Catholic members, but which do not appeal as well to the consciences of my Protestant colleagues? No. So long as I have a seat in this House, so long as I occupy the position I do now, whenever it shall become my duty to take a stand upon any question whatever, that stand I will take not upon grounds of Roman Catholicism, not upon grounds of Protestantism, but upon grounds which can appeal to the consciences of all men, irrespective of their particular faith, upon grounds which can be occupied by all men who love justice, freedom and toleration.” Hansard, March 3rd., 1896.

“If, upon my death bed, I could say, that thanks to my efforts, one solitary error had disappeared, a single prejudice had been eradicated, that by my sheer exertion race hatred had been caused to disappear from Canada’s soil—I should, indeed, die happily with the conviction and assurance that my life had not been lived in vain.”

Sir Wilfrid Laurier was a true Canadian, a great British citizen. If he had one aim in life which stood high above all others it was to contrive a happy, a United Canada. “You are aware,” he said, in that superb speech delivered at Quebec in 1894, “that in the eleventh century certain men started out from Normandy, Anjou, Brittany, and Angouleme to capture England. Duke William of Normandy was their leader, and our present sovereign is the last scion of a royal race that dates back to William the Conqueror. In the sixteenth century men started from the same province of Normandy, Anjou, Brittany and Angouleme to colonize the fertile lands on the banks of the St. Lawrence. In the next century the men of both races met here and you know what happened. Well, is it not permissible to hope that a day will come, when, instead of facing each other on hostile purpose intent, the men of the two countries, the descendants of the Britons, Angevins and Normans, who invaded England in the eleventh century, and the descendants of the Angevins, Normans, and Britons, who peopled Canada in the sixteenth, will meet together, not to fight, but to hold the grand assizes of peace and commerce? I may not live long enough to see that day, but if my career should be sufficiently extended to allow me to take part in these assizes, it will be a happy day to me. I shall attend them bearing with me my Canadian nationality, and I believe that I shall continue the work of Mr. Lafontaine and Sir George Etienne Cartier, and that the result will be all to the advantage of French Canada. Gentlemen, our situation as a country is full of difficulties, and those difficulties are no doubt immense. Still, there is nothing desperate about them. What this country needs above all else is peace, concord, and union between all the elements composing its population. Let us show the world that if we reverence the past, we also have a regard for the future. Let us show to the world that union does not mean absorption, and that autonomy does not mean antagonism. Victor Hugo, recalling his double origin, used these fine words:

‘Fidèle au double sang qu’on verse dans ma veine,

Mon pere, vieux soldat, ma mere, Vendeenne.’

(“True to the double blood that was poured into my veins by my father, an old soldier, and my mother, a Vendean.”)

“Let us also be true to our double origin, true to the memory and the reverence of the great nation from which we have sprung, and true also to the great nation which has given us freedom. And in all the difficulties, all the pains, and all the vicissitudes of our situation, let us always remember that love is better than hatred, and faith better than doubt, and let hope in our future destinies be the pillar of fire to guide us in our career.”

England expects every man to do his duty! I am going to do my duty, not only by Canada, but by the Empire. Britain, thank God, does not require help from anybody, but if ever the occasion should arise when Britain is summoned to stand against the whole world in arms, she can depend upon the loyal support of Canada and the Canadian people. The Canadian people are free and loyal; loyal because they are free.

The “Old Chief” as he was familiarly, and lovingly called by his followers, occupied a very large place in the affections of the British people. There was something romantic about this French-Canadian Prime Minister, who took the premier place at Imperial Conferences, and who argued that formal treaties, and hard and fast agreements were not necessary to bind the Empire together.

“What do you think of the English people?” Sir Wilfrid was once asked.

“The English are all right; they are good sports, good losers, and on the whole I have no reason to complain of their treatment during my long term of public life.”

“Are they not somewhat arrogant?”

“All strong people are somewhat arrogant, but they are fair to a great degree,” he replied.

“I was born a Catholic,” he declared, “and I will die, of course, in that faith,” and when I replied that he had had a pretty hard row to hoe in his lifetime with certain priests and prelates, he replied: “Yes, that is true, but others of the same cloth have shown me much kindness that it sweetens the bitterness of the pill which a few of them have administered. Here,” he added, in the most earnest tones and expression, “is the whole situation. Without taking as gospel everything that a curé may say, or even a bishop, I firmly believe in the principles of the Roman Catholic Church, and, as I have stated, I will die in the faith. In reply to your remark as to the difficulties which have from time to time beset me during the past thirty-five years, I may say that there are a good many people who have tried to drive me out of the Catholic Church, and the means which they have used have not at all times been fair and above board, but, thank God, they have not succeeded up to the present time, and they will have quite as little success in the future as in the past.”

“I have no hesitation in saying that if the day should come when the supremacy of Britain on the high seas should be challenged it will be the duty of all the daughter nations to close around the old Motherland, and to make a rampart about her to ward off any attack. I hope that day will never come, but should it come, I would deem it my duty to devote what might be left of my life and energy to stump the country and endeavor to impress upon my fellow-countrymen, especially my compatriots in the Province of Quebec, the conviction that the salvation of England is the salvation of our own country, and therein lies the guaranty of our civil and religious freedom and everything we value in life. These are the sentiments which animate the Government on this occasion.”

“This session has been called for the purpose of giving the authority of Parliament and the sanction of law to such measures as have already been taken by the Government, and any further measures that may be needed, to insure the defence of Canada and to give what aid may be in our power to the Mother Country in the stupendous struggle which now confronts us. Speaking for those who sit around me, speaking for the wide constituency which we represent in this House, I hasten to say that to all these measures we are prepared to give immediate assent. If in what has been done or in what remains to be done there may be anything which in our judgment should not be done or should be differently done, we raise no question, we take no exception, we offer no criticism, and we shall offer no criticism so long as there is danger at the front. It is our duty, more pressing upon us than all other duties, at once, on this first day of this extraordinary session of the Canadian Parliament, to let Great Britain know, and to let the friends and foes of 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 has engaged in this war, not from any selfish motive, for any purpose of aggrandizement, but to maintain untarnished the honour of her name, to fulfil her obligation to her Allies, to maintain her treaty obligations and to save civilization from the unbridled lust of conquest and power.

“We are British subjects, and to-day we are face to face with the consequences which are involved in that proud fact. Long have we enjoyed the benefit of our British citizenship; to-day it is our duty to accept its responsibilities and its sacrifices.

“If my word can be heard beyond the walls of this House in the Province from which I come; among the men whose blood flows in my own veins, I should like them to remember that in taking their place to-day in the ranks of the Canadian army to fight for the cause of the Allied nations, a double honour rests upon them. The very cause for which they are called upon to fight is to them doubly sacred.”

Sir Wilfrid Laurier was one of the chief speakers at the great musical festival given by the American residents of Toronto under the auspices of the American Aid Society, on Thursday, September 10th., 1914. The concert was held in the Arena, and the entire receipts were donated to the Canadian Patriotic Fund. The Liberal leader said:

“Some few weeks ago Canada deliberated upon the situation, the stupendous struggle in which Britain is engaged, and the part which Canada bears. All vestiges of political differences were eliminated. We found in comparing our views that we stood exactly upon the same platform. Without a dissenting voice it was the unanimous opinion of the Canadian Parliament that the war in which England is engaged to-day is a sacred war, and that Canada must help to its last man and its last dollar.

“We must face the situation as it is, and as Lord Kitchener told us some few days ago, we must have more men. There is a difference between the British nation and the nations of the continent. The nations of the continent get their soldiers by law; by conscription, and the enforcement of authority; the British nation get their soldiers not by law, but by appealing to the patriotism of men. Lord Kitchener tells us he wants more soldiers. If he wants more soldiers from Canada let him say the word and we will respond to meet him. We are behind the Mother Country, and let us send them a message that this war must be fought to a finish, and that arms must not be laid down until the principle which it has been fought for is vindicated, and until the day has come when right takes the place of might.”

From Laurier’s great speech in the Academy of Music, Quebec, June 26, 1877, in which he declared himself a Liberal of the English school, and an opponent of clerical intimidation:

“The constitution of the country rests on the freely expressed wish of each election. It intends that each elector shall cast his vote freely and willingly as he deems best. If the greatest number of the electors of a country are actually of an opinion, and that, owing to the influence exercised upon them by one or more men, or owing to words they have heard or writings they have read, their opinion changes, there is nothing in the circumstance but what is perfectly legitimate. Although the opinion they express is different from the one they have expressed without such intervention, still it is the one they desire to express conscientiously, and the constitution meets with the entire application. If, however, notwithstanding all reasoning, the opinion of the electors remains the same, but that, by intimidation or fraud, they are forced to vote differently, the opinion which they express is not their opinion, and the constitution is violated. As I have already said, the constitution intends that each one’s opinion shall be freely expressed as he understands it at the moment of expression, and the collective reunion of the individual opinions freely expressed, forms the government of the country.

“I am amongst you to-day, not as a politician, but only as a Canadian, and, I may add, as a French-Canadian, as a Canadian of my race, and when I go to the English Provinces I am quite as proud to call myself as such. I am here to tell you all that we owe to England and to France. What we want before everything is equal rights for everyone, the rights for which England and France have fought, the respect of minorities and the respect of justice and loyalty, so shamefully outraged by Germany.

“Do not forget that the fact that Britain was at war constituted for Canada a new condition of things, which imposed new duties upon the Government, upon the Opposition and upon the whole Canadian people. The moment that Great Britain was at war, Canada was at war. This is a truth which, while we were in office, we had not only to proclaim, but for which we had to provide in a manner consonant with the new condition, a new situation created by the development of Canada, not as a colony, but as a nation within the British Empire.

“These truths were not accepted by all. It was the occasion of a great deal of misrepresentation; it contributed very much towards the defeat which we suffered in 1911, but for my part let me say here that I have no regrets. Better be it ten times over and more that we should stand here defeated for having had the courage of presenting to the Canadian people new duties which have had effects, rather than to still be in office by having shirked the duty which was incumbent upon the administration.

“But at that time it was easy to appeal to prejudices, but the truth that when Britain is at war, Canada is at war also, came in only too concrete a manner, for, after the declaration of war, right here in the city of Montreal you had your harbour full of ships loaded with the produce of the land ready to take to the sea, still remaining here owing to the war, because if they had taken to the sea they would have been liable to seizure by the enemy. They did not and could not take to the seas until the ocean had been swept by the British Navy, and until the British Navy was ready to escort them, until the duty was forthcoming by the British Navy, which, in my conviction, it behooved the Canadian people to do themselves.

“We are a free people, absolutely free. The charter under which we live has put it in our power to say whether we should take part in such a war or not. It is for the Canadian people, the Canadian Parliament and the Canadian Government alone to decide. This freedom is at once the glory and honour of Britain, which granted it, and of Canada, which used it to assist Britain. Freedom is the keynote of all British institutions. There is no compulsion upon those dependencies of Great Britain which have reached the stature of Dominions such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and such Crown Dependencies as India. They are all free to take part or not as they think best. That is the British freedom which much to the surprise of the world, and greatly to the dismay of the German Emperor, German professors, and German diplomats caused the rush from all parts of the British Empire to assist the Mother Country in this stupendous struggle. Freedom breeds loyalty. Coercion always was the mother of rebellion.

“I was asked by someone why should I support the Government in their policy of sending men to the front. Why should not the Liberal party have remained quiet and passive and let all the worries be left to the Government? My answer was, ‘I have no particular love for the Government, but I love my country, I love the land of my ancestors, France. I love the land of liberty, above all, England, and rather than that I in my position of leader of the Liberal party, should remain passive and quiescent, I would rather go out of public life, and life altogether.’

“When the Prime Minister announced his intention of placing all available forces at the disposal of the British Government, what was the policy of the Liberal party? There were three currents of opinion at the time. There was first of all the Imperialist who would have Canada take part in all the wars of the Empire. There was the Nationalist who would not have Canada take part in any war of the Empire at all, and there was the Liberal position. What was our position? We stood for Canadian autonomy. We upheld the sovereignty of Canada. I have several times on the floor of the House sustained that position. I claimed for the Parliament of Canada, the right which John Bright claimed in the Imperial Parliament in the Crimean War. Time has shown that he was right. It has been established that the Crimean War was without result and had no cause. So I claimed for the Parliament of Canada the same right that John Bright claimed for the Imperial Parliament. And I should add that by doing so I scandalized both the Imperialists and the Nationalists.

“Neither of them challenged the position. No one denied that the Canadian Parliament had the right of pronouncement on the question of participation or non-participation. But the Imperialist wanted Parliament to close its eyes and to fight in any war. The Nationalist wanted Parliament to close its eyes and to fight in no wars. We Liberals asked for nothing more than the liberty which had been guaranteed to us.