EDITORIAL COMMENT WHATEVER history may say of the man, whatever critics may decide as to his style, whatever there may be of weakness in his arguments and conclusions, Kingsford's "History of Canada" is a greater monument than any Canadian of recent years, with perhaps one exception, has been able to raise to his own memory. Sir John Macdonald was a great man and Canadian Confederation is his monument, though he alone did not erect it. Kingsford gave the most mature twelve years of his life to a ten volume history of his adopted country, and passed away a few weeks after the completion of his task. Mr. Shannon's estimate of him in this issue is fair and candid, and is well worth a serious reading. But just here it may be well to consider what is historical research and what is not. Some time ago a gentleman living near one of the old historic forts of Canada, sent THE CANADIAN MAGAZINE an article on the Fort. It was composed mainly of quotations from Kingsford and other writers, the only original work being the photographs which accompanied it. That man was not an historian, although he certainly thought he was. An historian must use much from his predecessors, but he must use more from the original documents-official correspondence, official reports, contemporaries' writings and printings. Kingsford went to original sources, hence his work is truly historical. the aged statesman speak; R. T. Lancefield writes a "Life of Queen Victoria," though he could never have spent more than a few days in England. These gentlemen write very readable books, but they are not historians do not claim the title. Parkman devoted his life to a study of the French Regime in North America and produced history. So did Christie and Garneau and John Charles Dent. Adam Harkness wrote the "History of Iroquois High School," and wrote history in the true sense. So did Calnek in his posthumous work, "History of the County of Annapolis." Sir John Bourinot, D. B. Read, George Stewart, Benjamin Sulte, Abbé Casgrain, and a few others have done or are doing genuine historical work; but there are a number of other so-called historians who are merely clever purloiners of facts which have been worked up by other and much more conscientious men. We cannot all be great historians, but we can all appreciate the work which one of them does. There are various kinds of appreciation of true historical labour. Mr. W. C. Macdonald, of Montreal, a man of considerable wealth, has endowed a William Kingsford Chair of History at McGill. Mr. Macdonald has probably seen enough of inferior workmen to recognize genuine and superior effort when it comes in sight. He has gone farther than the mere endowment of a university chair. Knowing that the late Mr. Kingsford made no profit out of his work, Mr. Macdonald has asked the widow to accept an annuity of $500 a year. This is a noble giftand I confess my appreciation of it, W. H. P. Clement writes a history of Canada which entailed very little if any original research; J. Castell Hopkins writes a "Life of Gladstone," though he never saw his private correspondence, and probably never heard though I am opposed to the accumulation of large fortunes by single individuals or by corporations. This is one kind of appreciation of historical research-a rare kind. The other varieties are more common, and require no special comment. Mrs. Kingsford is also in receipt of a present of £150 from the Royal Literary Fund of Great Britain. This is the result of the kind interest taken by the Marquis of Lorne in the deceased historian, and in the country of which the Marquis was once Governor-General. Canadian short story writers cannot complain of lack of appreciation these days. The New York syndicates give Canadian writers an equal opportunity with United States writers; it has not required a new reciprocity treaty to secure that. The London market is also open to Canadians. Parker, Barr, Mrs. Lawson, Mrs. Cotes, PhillippsWoolley, W. A. Fraser, Grant Allen and one or two others find a ready sale there for all that they write. Any Canadian with a fair local reputation receives generous treatment in both these great Anglo-Saxon cities. At home, too, the market is expanding. Never were there published so many short stories by native writers; and, as a corollary, never were there so many bright Canadian stories offered to the publishers. While the writers with the best reputation get, in London and New York combined, from $200 to $400 for their best short tales, the price paid by native publications runs from $10 to $50. This is a considerable difference. Nevertheless, Canadian publications are paying more than they ever did, and the outlook is very encouraging. Already several newspapers and magazines are paying a cent a word for good work of this kind. The Christmas numbers have used a great deal of this abbreviated fiction. The Gentlewoman, published by Alex. J. Warden, in Arundel Street, Strand, has issued an Imperial Christ mas number contributed entirely by colonial writers and artists. The Jubilee has opened new fields to colonials. Canada's representatives are W. A. Fraser and William Wilfred Campbell. The Canadian artist is Louis Knight, who seems to be a makeshift. His Canadianism depends on his having spent at one time a few weeks in this country, and his drawings indicate that he knows as little about Canada as about art. The Christmas number of the Toronto Globe easily takes first place among Canadian issues. The stories are contributed by Charles G. D. Roberts, Joanna E. Wood, Duncan Campbell Scott, W. A. Fraser, J. Macdonald Oxley, William McLennan and John A. Ewan. The letterpress, the illustrations, the cover and the coloured plates are, everything considered, the best productions of this kind that have ever delighted the Canadian reading public. The Saturday Night Christmas issue is also very praiseworthy. Stories by Mack, W. A. Fraser, Mrs. Lawson, Marjory MacMurchy and Charles Lewis Shaw, and other tales and articles make up a generous and readable issue. The illustrations are plentiful, and show that Canadian illustrators are rapidly learning what is required. of them. The Christmas Special of the Toronto Mail and Empire is accompanied by several coloured plates of special merit. The cover and text of the issue are not so well printed as might have been expected, but are passable. The stories and the illustrations are exceptionally good considering that they are all contributed by the staff. Kit's Irish story is a charming piece of literary work, as is Mr. Charlesworth's fragment of drama. The Montreal Gazette's five cent Christmas Number is, considering the price, equal to any of the foregoing. A poem by Dr. Drummond, stories by Louis Frechette and William McLennan are among the specialties. The cover is rough-and-ready, but rather striking. Many of the smaller dailies through out the country have issued special Christmas Numbers, all of which indicate great progress in the mechanical arts connected with publishing, and a growing appreciation among journal ists of art and literature. There is no more striking evidence of the growth of Canadian nationality than the increased attention paid to native art and literature. The rate of progress is not phenomenal, but it is appreciable and hence encouraging. Speaking of the Council of the City of Toronto, the Evening Telegram says: "The point is that a Council is never better and seldom worse than its constituency." This is wisdom. And the same may be said of our provincial legislatures and of our federal parliament. An M.P.P. or an M.P. cannot be expected to be strictly righteous and honest in his legislative or parliamentary duties, if his constituency contains a large number of voters who demand pay for their support, and a smaller number of party hangers-on who are clamouring for offices and jobs. The revelations which from time to time result from the trial of election protests, show clearly that there is a percentage of voters who are barefacedly dishonest. Their lack of common decency, of public spirit, and of intelligence of a superior order, is something which must make an independent citizen sympathize very keenly with the men who must appeal to these pseudo-citizens for their suffrage. In the Philadelphia schools they teach, once a month, a lesson on the duties of citizenship. It is quite apparent that some teaching of this kind is required not only in our schools, but in our newspapers, our social gatherings and our lodges and clubs. Canada is still without an adequate population in spite of all our writing, talking and immigration expenditures. For years we have been pursuing the senseless course of going to Europe for settlers, instead of trying to retain those we have. We have paid large prices for young Russians and young Galicians, and seem never to have thought of buying young Canadians. There are hundreds of young farmers in Ontario, Quebec and the Maritime Provinces, who could be bought to settle in the North-West. If they were each given a free farm and $200 a year for five years, under certain conditions, they would go out there and cultivate the land. And one young Canadian is worth five Galicians or five Russians. There are millions of Canadians in the United States, and there are scores going there every week. A large percentage of these could be retained if the Government would spend its money on them instead of on the riff-raff of Europe. Mr. Sifton should send for me to re-organize his immigration department. Under my scheme, no politician would get a free trip through Europe as a reward for party service. It The St. Thomas Journal is finding fault with Canada's independent journals and incidentally says that independent journalism is a delusion. should not confuse the two ideas. Canada's independent newspapers may have faults, but that does not prove that independent journalism cannot be justified. I quote a few lines : "So it is with other so-called independent papers. They pick their favourites, enthrone them and ask the public to fall down and worship them; always, of course, taking care to provide something to abhor as well. The main difference between the party and the 'independent' journal seems to be that the public helps to select those to receive favourable attention from the former and the editor or proprietor does the choosing for the latter. Anyone can see which would be the easier influenced by designing persons." independent, not judicially impartial, it If our independent press is not really should be criticized. But independence in journalism still stands as the beauideal-the goal at which all newspapers, writers and publishers should aim. The blind adhesion to one party, on the part of either a newspaper or a voter, must give way before the steady advance of broader ideas of citizenship. John A. Cooper. JE do have occasional bursts of genuine criticism in this country. Martin J. Griffin, writing in the Montreal Gasette, has this to say of George W. Steeven's new book, "With Kitchener to Khartoum": "It is one of the smartest pieces of journalism published in our time. Published originally in the Daily Mail, as letters, it was issued in book-form before the troops had returned from their battlefield. It is eloquent, and shrewd, and spirited. But it has been received by even some staid critics as a supreme piece of literature. That is insincere exaggeration. The volume is marked by faults of taste and temper inseparable from the difficult and exciting conditions under which it was written. And the exaggeration in description of men and movements is very obvious. There is a very marked attempt to out-Kipling Mr. Kipling in strong crudities of phrase. And there is a too evident attempt to coin epigrams and to out-shout the man in the street. The campaign is exaggerated, and the commanders are wildly overpraised. We are told that the fights at Atbara and Omdurman are the great feats of the century, and so on. Now, the most elementary knowledge of even the history of Egypt would have prevented this exaggeration. An army of some 30,000 men, well equipped, with a railway behind them, defeated some 50,000 rather ill-armed but desperate and heroic barbarians. Well and good. But in the days of Napoleon, in the first year of the century, an army of some 12,000 British soldiers, fresh to battle, and just landed from ships, fought two bloody and victorious battles against the heroes of the army of Italy, captured Cairo and Alexandria, and caused the surrender of some 24,000 of the bravest troops of warlike France. We will back Sir Ralph Abercromby and his generals against all the modern heroes in the ultimate verdict of history. The man in the street does not dictate that verdict." NEW FICTION. "The Golden Age in Transylvania,"* by the author of "Black Diamonds," is a picture of Austro-Hungary in the seventeenth century, when there was no Austro-Hungary-one of the many pictures of the past which modern novelists paint for those of us who live too close to nineteenth century civilization to see its romance. But Maurus Jokai is no mean painter, and there is enough of common humanity in this piece of work to make it a masterpiece among modern historical romances. It has not the daring of "The Prisoner of Zenda," and, perhaps, less grace of style; but it is fully as realistic and possesses much more of the quiet dignity which impresses. "Father and Son "t is the name of a novel which has been running serially in the London Times, and now appears in book form. It is the tale of a son whose father was a returned convict, the two living in close business relations, but unknown to each other. At least, the father knew the boy, but the latter did not know his father under his assumed name. The plot is very simple, hardly a plot at all, in fact. The author's style is very similar to the plotplain, unassuming, straightforward, almost commonplace. With all due deference to the editor of the greatest paper in the world, I must say that I believe that I have read fifty recent novels fully as clever. The only reason why it should have *The Golden Age in Transylvania, by Maurus Jokai. Translated from the Hungarian by S. L. and A. V. White. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.25. Toronto: George J. McLeod. t Father and Son, by Arthur Paterson, author of A Man and His Word, etc. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.25. Toronto: George J. McLeod. been published is that it has the aroma of London and of business, and is not varnished with the sentimentalism and exaggerated romance which make the names of Doyle, Weyman and Hope the heroes of the hour. Of course, this sentimentalism and exaggerated romance are wrong; but Arthur Paterson neither uses them nor offers anything as a substitute. The Zulu is a fresh character in the realm of fiction, but Bertram Mitford makes good use of him in his new novel, "The Gun-Runner."* He describes one of the black man's characteristics, after exhibiting him buying a candle and a box of matches: "For to-night this child of Nature will set up that candle on the floor of his hut, and he and his kinsfolk and acquaintances will squat around to watch it with intense and absorbing interest until it burns down to the last fraction of an inch." And in this and less formal ways he draws the bronze warrior's picture. Yet his leading character is a renegade Britisher. Lorraine, the GunRunner, is a man who was engaged in the dangerous business of supplying the snuff-consuming natives with firearms. One of his schemes was to import a cottage piano, which was filled with rifles instead of steel strings and sounding-board. His life is a strange, startling, wonderful drama, and the man who tells it misses no point in the wonderful tale. The war between the Zulus and the British is one of the most stirring that the nineteenth century has seen, and the particular part played by this desperado and outlaw is even more stirring. 'Windyhaugh," by Graham Travers, is a cleverly written book. The author of "Mona MacLean, Medical Student," has a very thorough knowledge of human nature, and exhibits it in a most pleasing and assuring manner in this new novel. Wilhelmina lives with a religious grandmother who is very anxious that she should be converted and become one of the elect. The child is worried with religious problems, and becomes moody on account of the religious atmosphere which the over-anxious grandmother creates. The story of Wilhelmina's life before and after her grandmother's death is interesting and at times pathetic. The characters are cleverly drawn. Mr. Darsie, the grocer, is very quaint indeed. He was a religious man, in a way, but as the author says: "Mr. Darsie's was hardly a devotional nature. It may almost be said of him that he collected theological books and theological views as other men collect butterflies or stamps or rare china. Among the green pastures and beside the still waters he wandered as far as he readily could, but his tether was short." "The Duenna of a Genius," by M. E. Francis, has a certain crispness and freshness which makes it pleasant reading. Valerie, the Genius, is a violin player, but her genius is not equal to her idiosyncrasies. Margot, the sister, cares for this genius, acts as business manager and is "Bon Pappa. Both fall in love fittingly, the genius with a great musician, the Duenna with a practical Englishman; and the author has them both happily married before the last leaf is turned. From this point of view, the novel is very successful and satisfactory. Edna Lyall is a fair, but not a strong writer. Her latest story, "Hope, the Hermit," is an English domestic tale of the latter part of the seventeenth century, told in the language of the latter part of the nineteenth century. It is interesting, but not phenomenal, either in its entirety or in any particular part. * The Gun-Runner, by Bertram Mitford. Paper, 50 cents; cloth. $1.25. Toronto: George J. McLeod. Windyhaugh, a novel, by Graham Travers, author of Mona MacLean, Medical Student. Toronto: The Copp, Clark Co. The Duenna of a Genius, by M. E. Francis. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. Longman's Colonial Library. Toronto: The Copp, Clark Co. Hope, the Hermit, by Edna Lyall. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. Longman's Colonial Library. Toronto: The Copp, Clark Co. |