But if Canada can point to some creditable achievement of recent years in history, poetry and essay-writing—for I think if one looks from time to time at the leading magazines and reviews of the two continents he will find that Canada is fairly well represented in their pages[44]—there is one respect in which Canadians have never won any marked success, and that is in the novel or romance. "Wacousta, or the Prophecy: a Tale of the Canadas," was written sixty years ago by Major John Richardson,[45a] a native Canadian, but it was at the best a spirited imitation of Cooper, and has not retained the interest it attracted at a time when the American novelist had created a taste for exaggerated pictures of Indian life and forest scenery. Of course attempts have been made time and again by other English Canadians to describe episodes of our history, and portray some of our national and social characteristics, but with the single exception of "The Golden Dog,"[45] written a few years ago by Mr. William Kirby, of Niagara, I cannot point to one which shows much imaginative or literary skill. If we except the historical romance by Mr. Marmette, "Fran?ois de Bienville,"[46] which has had several editions, French Canada is even weak in this particular, and this is the more surprising because there is abundance of material for the novelist or writer of romance in her peculiar society and institutions, and in her historic annals and traditions. But as yet neither a Cooper, nor an Irving, nor a Hawthorne has appeared to delight Canadians in the fruitful field of fiction that their country offers to the pen of imaginative genius. It is true we have a work by De Gaspé, "Les Anciens Canadiens,"[47] which has been translated by Roberts and one or two others, but it has rather the value of historical annals than the spirit and form of true romance. It28 is the very poverty of our production in what ought to be a rich source of literary inspiration, French Canadian life and history, that has given currency to a work whose signal merit is its simplicity of style and adherence to historical fact. As Parkman many years ago first commenced to illumine the too often dull pages of Canadian history, so other American writers have also ventured in the still fresh field of literary effort that romance offers to the industrious, inventive brain. In the "Romance of Dollard," "Tonty," and the "Lady of Fort St. John," Mrs. Mary Hartwell Catherwood has recalled most interesting episodes of our past annals with admirable literary taste and a deep enthusiasm for Canadian history in its romantic and picturesque aspects.[48] When we read Conan Doyle's "Refugees"—the best historical novel that has appeared from the English Press for years—we may well regret that it is not Canadian genius which has created so fascinating a romance out of the materials that exist in the history of the ancien régime. Dr. Doyle's knowledge of Canadian life and history is obviously very superficial; but slight as it is he has used it with a masterly skill to give Canada a part in his story—to show how closely associated were the fortunes of the colony with the French Court,—with the plans and intrigues of the king and his mistresses, and of the wily ecclesiastics who made all subservient to their deep purpose. It would seem from our failure to cultivate successfully the same popular branch of letters that Canadians are wanting in the inventive and imaginative faculty, and that the spirit of materialism and practical habits, which has so long necessarily cramped literary effort in this country, still prevents happy ventures in this direction. It is a pity that no success has been won in this country,—as in Australia by Mrs. Campbell Praed, "Tasma," and many others,—in the way of depicting those characteristics of Canadian life, in the past and present, which, when touched by the imaginative and cultured intellect, will reach the sympathies and earn the plaudits of all classes of readers at home and abroad. Perhaps, Mr. Gilbert Parker,[49] now a resident of London, but a Canadian by birth, education and sympathies, will yet succeed in his laudable ambition of giving form and vitality to the abundant materials29 that exist in the Dominion, among the habitants on the old seigneuries of the French province, in that historic past of which the ruins still remain in Montreal and Quebec, in the Northwest with its quarrels of adventurers in the fur trade, and in the many other sources of inspiration that exist in this country for the true story-teller who can invent a plot and give his creations a touch of reality, and not that doll-like, saw-dust appearance that the vapid characters of some Canadian stories assume from the very poverty of the imagination that has originated them. That imagination and humour have some existence in the Canadian mind—though one sees little of those qualities in the press or in public speeches, or in parliamentary debates—we can well believe when we read "The Dodge Club Abroad," by Professor De Mille,[50] who was cut off in the prime of his intellectual strength, or "A Social Departure," by Sara Jeannette Duncan,[51] who, as a sequence of a trip around the world, has given us not a dry book of travels but a story with touches of genial humour and bright descriptions of life and nature, and who is now following up that excellent literary effort by promising sketches of East Indian life. A story which attracted some attention not long since for originality of conception and ran through several editions, "Beggars All," is written by a Miss L. Dougall, who is said to be a member of a Montreal family, and though this book does not deal with incidents of Canadian life it illustrates that fertility of invention which is latent among our people and only requires a favourable opportunity to develop itself. The best literature of this kind is like that of France, which has the most intimate correspondence with the social life and development of the people of the country. "The excellence of a romance," writes Chevalier Bunsen in his critical preface to Gustav Freytag's "Debit and Credit," "like that of an epic or a drama, lies in the apprehension and truthful exhibition of the course of human things.... The most vehement longing of our times is manifestly after a faithful mirror of the present." With us, all efforts in this direction have been most common place—hardly above the average of "Social Notes" in the columns of Ottawa newspapers.
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I do not for one depreciate the influence of good fiction on the minds of a reading community like ours; it is inevitable that a busy people, and especially women distracted with household cares, should always find that relief in this branch of literature which no other reading can give them; and if the novel has then become a necessity of the times in which we live, at all events I hope Canadians, who may soon venture into the field, will study the better models, endeavour to infuse some originality into their creations and plots, and not bring the Canadian fiction of the future to that low level to which the school of realism in France, and in a minor degree in England and the United States, would degrade the novel and story of every-day life. To my mind it goes without saying that a history written with that fidelity to original authorities, that picturesqueness of narration, that philosophic insight into the motives and plans of statesmen, that study and comprehension of the character and life of a people, which should constitute the features of a great work of this class,—that such a history has assuredly a much deeper and more useful purpose in the culture and education of the world than any work of fiction can possibly have even when animated by a lofty genius. Still as the novel and romance will be written as long as a large proportion of the world amid the cares and activities of life seeks amusement rather than knowledge, it is for the Canadian Scott, or Hawthorne, or "George Eliot," or Dickens of the future, to have a higher and purer aim than the majority of novel writers of the present day, who, with a few notable exceptions like Black, Besant, Barrie, Stephenson or Oliphant, weary us by their dulness and lack of the imaginative and inventive faculty, and represent rather the demands of the publishers to meet the requirements of a public which must have its new novel as regularly as the Scotchman must have his porridge, the Englishman his egg and toast, and the American his ice-water.
If it were possible within the compass of this address to give a list of the many histories, poems, essays and pamphlets that have appeared from the Canadian press during the first quarter of a century since the Dominion of Canada has been in existence,31 the number would astonish many persons who have not followed our literary activity. Of course the greater part of this work is ephemeral in its character and has no special value; much of the historical work is a dreary collection of facts and dates which shows the enterprise of school publishers and school teachers and is generally wanting in that picturesqueness and breadth of view which give interest to history and leave a vivid impression on the mind of the student. Most of these pamphlets have been written on religious, political or legal questions of the day. Many of the poems illustrate rather the aspirations of the school boy or maiden whose effusions generally appeared in the poet's corner of the village newspaper. Still there are even among these mere literary "transients" evidences of power of incisive argument and of some literary style. In fact, all the scientific, historical and poetical contributions of the period in question, make up quite a library of Canadian literature. And here let me observe in passing, some persons still suppose that belles-lettres, works of fiction, poetry and criticism, alone constitute literature. The word can take in its complete sense a very wide range, for it embraces the pamphlet or monograph on the most abstruse scientific, or mathematical or geographical or physical subject, as well as the political essay, the brilliant history, or the purely imaginative poem or novel. It is not so much the subject as the form and style which make them worthy of a place in literature. One of the most remarkable books ever written, the "Esprit des Lois" by Montesquieu, has won the highest place in literature by its admirable style, and in the science of politics by the importance of its matter. The works of Lyell, Huxley, Hunt, Dawson, Tyndall, and Darwin owe their great value not entirely to the scientific ideas and principles and problems there discussed, but also to the lucidity of style in which the whole subject is presented to the reader, whether versed or not in science. "Literature is a large word," says Matthew Arnold,[52] discussing with Tyndall this very subject; "it may mean everything written with letters or printed in a book. Euclid's Elements and Newton's Principia are thus literature. All knowledge that reaches us through books is literature. But as I do not mean, by knowing ancient32 Rome, knowing merely more or less of Latin belles-lettres, and taking no account of Rome's military, and political, and legal, and administrative work in the world; and as, by knowing ancient Greece, I understand knowing her as the giver of Greek art, and the guide to a free and right use of reason and to scientific methods, and the founder of our mathematics, and physics, and astronomy, and biology, I understand knowing her as all this, and not merely knowing certain Greek poems, and histories, and treatises and speeches, so as to the knowledge of modern nations also. By knowing modern nations, I mean not merely knowing their belles-lettres, but knowing also what has been done by such men as Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Darwin." I submit this definition of literature by a great English critic and poet who certainly knew what he was writing about, to the studious consideration of Principal Grant who, in an address to the Royal Society two years ago,[53] appeared to have some doubt that much of its work could be called literature; a doubt that he forgot for the moment actually consigned to a questionable level also his many devious utterances and addresses on political, religious and other questions of the day, and left him entirely out of the ranks of littérateurs and in a sort of limbo which is a world of neither divinity, nor politics, nor letters. Taking this definition of the bright apostle of English culture, I think Canadians can fairly claim to have some position as a literary people even if it be a relatively humble one, on account of the work done in history, belles-lettres, political science and the sciences generally Science alone has had in Canada for nearly half a century many votaries who have won for themselves high distinction, as the eminent names on the list of membership of the Royal Society since its foundation can conclusively show. The literature of science, as studied and written by Canadians, is remarkably comprehensive, and finds a place in every well furnished library of the world.
The doyen of science in Canada, Sir William Dawson,[54] we are all glad to know, is still at work after a long and severe illness, which was, no doubt, largely due to the arduous devotion of years to education and science. It is not my intention to33 refer here to other well-known names in scientific literature, but I may pause for an instant to mention the fact that one of the earliest scientific writers of eminence, who was a Canadian by birth and education, was Mr. Elkanah Billings,[55] pal?ontologist and geologist, who contributed his first papers to the Citizen of Ottawa, then Bytown, afterwards to have greatness thrown upon it and made the political capital of Canada.