Chapter III: The "ancient Capital." (2)

"It would be futile to attempt to give an accurate picture of the
appearance of Montreal or Quebec at that distant date, and a
description pretending to accuracy would not be possible without the
collation of more ancient records than are easily obtainable by one
person. The names of some of the streets, as Notre Dame, St. Paul and
St. Antoine in Montreal, and St. John's, Fabrique, St. Peter and
others in Quebec, are still unchanged. Villages near these towns, such
as Ste. Foye, Beauport, Charlesbourg, Sault aux Récollets, St. Denis,
Ste. Thérèse, etc., are also frequently mentioned in the old
_Gazettes_. Detroit and Niagara were places of considerable
importance, and St. Johns, Chambly, Berthier, L'Assomption, L'Acadie
and other places were much more influential communities in comparison
with the population of the country than they are to-day. The
authorities at Quebec and Montreal were not wanting in endeavors to
keep these cities clean, to judge, at least, by the published
'regulations for the police.' Every householder was obliged to put the
Scotch proverbs in force, and keep clean and 'free from filth, mud,
dirt, rubbish straw or hay' one-half of the street opposite his own
house The 'cleanings' were to be deposited on the beach, as they still
are in portions of Montreal and Quebec which border on the river.
Treasure-trove in the shape of stray hogs could be kept by the finder
twenty-four hours after the event, if no claim had been made in the
meantime, and if the owner declared himself in person or through the
bellman, he had to pay 10s. before he could have his pork restored.
Five shillings was the penalty for a stray horse. The regulations for
vehicles, slaughter-houses, sidewalks, markets, etc., were equally
strict. Among other duties, the carters had to keep the markets clean.
The keepers of taverns, inns and coffee-houses had to light the
streets. Every one entering the town in a sleigh had to carry a shovel
with him for the purpose of levelling _cahots_ which interrupted
his progress, 'at any distance within three leagues of the town.' The
rates of cabs and ferry-boats are fixed with much precision. No carter
was allowed to plead a prior engagement, but was to go 'with the
person who first demanded him, under a penalty of twenty shillings.'
The rate of speed was also regulated, and boys were not allowed to
drive.

"Constant reference is made to the walls and gates of Montreal as well
as Quebec, and there is reason to believe the smaller towns were
similarly fortified. Beyond the walls, however, there was a
considerable population, and many of the military officers, Government
officials and merchants had villas without the city. The area in
Montreal which lies between Craig, St. Antoine and Sherbrooke streets
was studded with country-houses with large gardens and orchards
attached. The seigneurs and other gentry had also fine, capacious
stone-built residences, which much enhanced the charm of the rural
scenery. Some of the estates of those days were of almost immense
extent. The Kings of France thought nothing of granting a whole
province, and, even in British times, there were gentlemen whose acres
would have superimposed an English county. The extraordinary donation
of James I. of a large portion of North America to Sir William
Alexander was not long since brought before the public by the claims
of his descendants. Large tracts of land were given away by Louis
XIII., Louis XIV. and other French kings, by Oliver Cromwell and the
Stuarts, and the same extravagant system of entailing unmanageable
wealth on companies and individuals was continued after the conquest.

"It would be interesting to know what was the kind of literary fare on
which the intellect of Canada subsisted in those days. It cannot be
supposed that the people spent all their time in business and social
pleasure. There must have been readers as well as cariolers and
dancers, and the literature of England and France was by no means
scanty. Great writers on every subject have flourished since that
time, but some of the greatest that ever lived, some of those whose
productions are still read with the highest pleasure, were the
offspring of the two centuries which preceded the conquest. No one
will be surprised to find, then, that in the year 1783, a circulating
library in Quebec numbered nearly 2,000 volumes. Nor is the enquirer
left in the dark as to its probable contents. In the Quebec
_Gazette_ of the 4th of December, a list of books is given which
'remained unsold at M. Jacques Perrault's, very elegantly bound'--and
books were bound substantially as well as elegantly in those days. In
this list are found 'Johnson's Dictionary,' then regarded as one of
the wonders of the literary world, 'Chesterfield's Letters,' long the
_vade-mecum_ of every young gentleman beginning life, and which,
even in our own days (and perhaps still), were frequently bound along
with spelling and reading books, the 'Pilgrim's Progress', which it is
not necessary to characterize, Young's 'Night Thoughts,' the
'Spectator and 'Guardian,' Rapin's 'English History,' 'Cook's
Voyages,' Rousseau's 'Eloise,' 'Télémaque,' 'Histoire Chinoise,'
'Esprit des Croissades,' 'Lettres de Fernand Cortes,' 'Histoire
Ancienne' par Rollin, 'Grammaire Anglaise et Française,'
'Dictionnaire par l'Académie,' 'Dictionnaire de Commerce,' 'Dictionary
of the Arts and Sciences,' 'Smith's Housewife,' 'The Devil on Sticks,'
'Voltaire's Essay on Universal History,' 'Dictionnaire de Cuisine' and
several others on various subjects, 'Oeuvres de Rabelais,' 'American
Gazetteer,' etc. These, it will be remembered, had remained unsold,
but among the sold there must have been copies of the same.

"It is, according to our notions of to-day, a meagre collection, but,
no doubt, many families possessed good libraries, brought with them
from over the sea, and the bookseller may not have kept a large stock
at one time. It was the custom for merchants to sell off all their
overlying goods before they went or sent to Europe for a
reinforcement.

"The following books were advertised as 'missing:'--Langhorn's
Plutarch, 1st vol., Thomson's Works, 4th vol., Gordon's 'Universal
Accountant,' 1st vol.; and Gray's Hudibras, 2nd vol. For each one of
them there is offered a reward of _two dollars_! Reading was expensive
recreation in those times.

"The reader, perhaps, has seen, or, it may be, possesses one of those
old libraries, of which the general public occasionally have a glimpse
at auction rooms, composed of standard authors, and beautifully and
solidly bound, which had adorned the studies of the fathers of our
country. They contain all that was best in the French and English
literature of the last century--history, poetry, divinity, _belles
lettres_, science and art. From these may be gathered what were the
tastes, the culture and the thought of the Canadians of the last
century.

"Music and painting were cultivated--the former being, as now, a
necessary part of female education. Of a festival given by the young
ladies of a place called _La Côte_, near Quebec, in 1764, it is
promised in the programme that "the orchestra and symphony will be
composed of instruments of all kinds." It may interest some ladies to
know that among the dances at the same entertainment are mentioned
'l'Harlequinade,' 'La Chinoise,' and 'La Matelote Hollandaise'--some
relation, perhaps, to the 'Sailor's Hornpipe.'

"The settlement in Canada of the United Empire Loyalists, after the
peace of September, 1783, by which the independence of the revolted
colonies was recognized, must have had a considerable influence on
Canadian society, and more than atoned for sufferings inflicted on the
colony during the progress of the war. Repeated efforts had been made
by the Americans to engage the affections of the Canadians. Among
those whom Congress had appointed commissioners to treat with the
Canadian people on this subject was the renowned Dr. Benjamin
Franklin, whose visit to this country was not the most successful
portion of his career. Although in some instances there was a
manifestation of disaffection to the British Government, the great
bulk of the population remained unmistakably loyal. In the Quebec
_Gazette_ of October 23rd, 1783, is found the Act of Parliament
passed in favour of the Loyalists, in which the 25th day of March,
1784, is fixed as the limit of the period during which claims for
relief or compensation for the loss of property should be received.
How many availed themselves of the provisions of this act it is not
easy to say, but the whole number of persons dispossessed of their
estates and forced to seek another home in consequence of their
continued allegiance, is set down at from 25,000 to 30,000. Of these,
the great majority took up their abodes in the Canadas, New Brunswick
and Nova Scotia, while a few went to the West Indies, and others
returned to England. The biographies of some of these Loyalist
settlers in British North America would be full of interest and
instruction. But records of family movements and vicissitudes are very
rarely kept--most rarely in those cases in which adventures are most
frequent and the course of events most changeful. I have, however,
seen accounts of the early settlements in the Eastern Townships, P.
Q., and in different portions of Ontario, which were full of the
romance of faith, of courage, and of perseverance."

THE ST. LOUIS HOTEL

A sketch of this fashionable thoroughfare--St. Louis street--the headquarters of the judiciary, barristers, politicians, etc., would be incomplete without a mention of the chief trysting-place of travellers and tourists for the last thirty years--the leading hostelry of Quebec. St. Louis Hotel is made up of two or more private dwellings joined together. That on the corner of Haldimand and St. Louis streets formerly was owned as a residence by the late Edward Burroughs, Esq., P. S. C. Next to it stood, in 1837, Schluep's Hotel--the Globe Hotel--kept by a German, and where the military swells in 1837-8-9 and our jolly curlers used to have _recherché_ dinners or their frugal "beef and greens" and fixings. In 1848, Mr. Burroughs' house was rented to one Robert Bambrick, who subsequently opened a second-class hotel at the corner of Ste. Anne and Garden streets, on the spot on which the Queen's printer, the late Mr. George Desbarats, built a stately office for the printing of the _Canada Gazette_--subsequently sold on the removal of the Government to Ottawa --now the Russell House. The _Globe_ Hotel belonged to the late B. C. A. Gugy, Esq. It was purchased by the late Messrs Lelièvre & Angers, barristers, connected with two or three adjacent tenements, and rented, about 1852, to Messrs. Azro and Willis Russell (represented now by the Russell Hotel Company) for the St. Louis Hotel. Connected by a door through the wall with the Music Hall, it is a notable landmark in St. Louis street and an object of considerable interest to city cabmen as well, during the season of tourists. Its dining saloon, on the second flow, has witnessed many bountiful repasts, to celebrate social, military, political or literary events, none better remembered than that of the 17th of November, 1880, when the _élite_ of Quebec crowded in unusual numbers-- about one hundred and eighty citizens, English and French--to do honour, by a public banquet, to the laureate of the French Academy, M. Louis Honoré Fréchette, [30] to celebrate his receiving in August last, in Paris, from the _Académie Française_, the unprecedented distinction, for a colonist, of the _Grand Prix Monthyon_ (2,000 livres) for the excellence of his poetry.

Subjoined will be found the names of some of those present, also, extracts from a few of the addresses delivered. We regret much that want of space precludes us from adding more of the eloquent speeches delivered, because they throw light for English readers on the high degree of culture French literature has attained at Quebec. All, we are sure, will rejoice with us that, for the cause of letters, M. Fréchette was timely rescued from the quagmire of political warfare and hustings promises.

_THE FRÉCHETTE DINNER, NOVEMBER 17, 1880._

"Mr. L. H. Fréchette, the laureate of the French Academy, was last
night the recipient of marks of honor and esteem, in the shape of a
magnificent banquet given him at the St. Louis Hotel, by the citizens
of Quebec and vicinity. The tables were laid in the large dining hall
of the St. Louis Hotel, which was handsomely decorated for the
occasion. The walls were partially covered with French and English
flags, and wreaths of evergreen surrounded all the windows. Behind the
Chairman, on a bracket, was an excellent bust of the Canadian poet,
having on either side paintings of scenes in Mr. Fréchette's drama,
'Papineau,' by Mr. E. W. Sewell, Levis.

"Over 125 gentlemen sat down to the banquet, amongs-whom we noticed--
The Honorable Judge Henri T. Taschereau, M. Lefaivre, Consul of
France, Count de Premio-Real, Consul-General of Spain, the Baron
Bols, Consul-General of Belgium, Major Wasson, Consul of the United
States, M. Thors, Hon. W. Laurier, Hon. I. Thibaudeau, Hon. C. A. P.
Pelletier, C.M.G. Hon. D. A. Ross, M.P.P., Achille Larue, N.P.,
Charles Langelier, M.P.P., Hon. H. G. Joly, M.P.P., Hon. F. Langelier,
M.P.P., Hon. Arthur Turcotte, Speaker of the Assembly, Dr. Rinfret,
M.P.P, P. B. Casgrain, N.P., James Dunbar, Esq., Q.C., Nazaire
Turcotte, Dr. Colin Sewell, Oscar Dunn, C. Antil, B. Bédard, G. T.
Davie, G. Paré, Henri Delagrave, W. E. Brunet, E. W Sewell, F. X.
Lemieux, Faucher de St. Maurice, F. M. Dechêne, G. E. T. Rinfret, O.
L. Richardson, Louis Bilodeau, Oscar Lanctôt, N. Levasseur, George
Stewart, jr., Edward Thomas, D. Chambers, F. G. Gautier, Paul de
Cazes, R. J. Bradley, D. J. Montambault, T. Godfroy Papineau, N.P.,
Montreal, De La Broquerie Taché, C. Massiah, James M. LeMoine,
President Literary and Historical Society, W. J. Wyatt, Alphonse
Pouliot, Dr. L. LaRue, Colonel Rhodes, Dr. Pourtier, C. Duquet, V.
Bélanger, Charles Langlois, W. C. Languedoc, Alfred White, Peter
McEwan, George Henry Powell, A. P. Beaulieu, Alfred Lemieux, Elie
Lachance, Richard L. Suffur, Lieut.-Col. Turnbull, H. M. Price, R. St.
B. Young, G. R. White, Captain Gzowski, J. U. Laird, Chariot,
Fitzpatrick, E. Swindell, E. J. Hale, Cecil Fraser, Aug. Stuart, C. V.
M. Temple, Timolaus Beaulieu, C. S. Beaulieu, N. Laforce, George
Bouchard, L. N. Carrier, J. B. Michaud, Dr. Lamontagne. Dr. Collet,
Arthur Lavigne, P. Boutin, M.P.P., F. Fortier, G. Bresse, J. S. C.
Wurtele, M.P.P., P. E. Godbout, Paul Dumas, Lieutenant Drury, Captain
Wilson, H. G. Sheppard, J. B. Charleson, Dr. Hubert LaRue, H. J. J. B.
Chouinard, Président de l'Institut Canadien, H. J. Beemer, J. L.
Renaud, E. W. Méthot, E. C. E. Gauthier, O. Leger, J. E. Pouliot, D.
R. Barry, L. P. Lemay, Jacques Auger, Ernest Pacaud, J. Allaire, M.P.,
T. G. Tremblay, M.P., J. J. Gahan, Joseph Blondeau, Thomas Potvin, J.
B. Z. Dubeau, Frs. Bertrand, J. C. Hamel, Emile Jacot, John Buchanan,
Antoine Carrier, William Breakey.

"The Chair was occupied by Hon. Judge H. T. Taschereau, having on his
right the guest of the evening, L. H. Fréchette, the Count Premio-
Real, Hon. C. A. P. Pelletier, Mr. Wasson, Hon. F. Langelier, M. Thors
of Paris, &c., and on his left the Consul-General for France, Hon. Mr.
Laurier, Mr. Bols, Hon. D. Ross, &c.

"The banquet was given in the well-known excellent style of the
Russell Hotel Company, which never leaves anything to be desired.
After full justice had been done the good things provided for the
occasion, silence was obtained, when the following resolution,
presented to Mr. Fréchette by the Literary and Historical Society of
Quebec, was read by the Secretary, Mr. Delagrave:--

"At a monthly general meeting of the Literary and Historical Society,
held on the 13th October last:

"It was proposed by Commander Ashe, R.N., seconded by R. McLeod, Esq.,

"That the Literary and Historical Society of Quebec has witnessed with
the highest satisfaction the literary honours conferred in August
last, by the _Académie Française_, on Monsieur Louis Honoré Fréchette,
for the poetical excellence of his two poems, 'Les Fleurs Boréales'
and 'Les Oiseaux de Neige.'

"That the Academical crown, encircling the brow of a Canadian poet,
ought to be as much prised by Canada as it must be dear to its gifted
son, the Laureate of the French Academy.

"That such a signal distinction conferred by the highest literary
tribunal, whilst it exhibits in such a favourable light the
intellectual vigour of the Province of Quebec, cannot be otherwise
than a subject of legitimate pride to the Dominion of Canada.

"That the President and Secretary of this Society be charged with the
pleasant duty of conveying to Monsieur L. H. Fréchette the expression
of the sentiments of admiration with which it views his literary
success.

(Signed,) J. M. LEMOINE, President
ALEX. ROBERTSON, Secretary

_Quebec_, 13th October, 1880.

"The usual loyal toasts--the Queen and Governor-General--were given
by the Chairman, and enthusiastically honoured.

"The Chairman then proposed "France," the toast being received with
the usual honours and responded to by M. Lefaivre, the Consul-General
for France.

"M. Lefaivre made an interesting speech, alluding to the past and
present of France, to the communication between the France of the Old
World and the _Nouvelle France_ of this Western hemisphere, dwelling
upon the honours achieved by the guest of the evening in Paris, and
contending that literature was the soul of a nation.

"The Chairman, Hon. Mr. Justice H. Taschereau, then rose to propose
the toast of the evening, being received with loud and prolonged
cheering. He said,--

"GENTLEMEN,--I have now the honour to propose the toast of the
evening--the health of our distinguished fellow-countryman, our guest,
Louis Honoré Fréchette, the poet of Canada, crowned by the Academy of
France. You have heard, gentlemen, the loud hurrah of all Canada in
honour of one of her children, and here, perhaps, I might cease
speaking. Nothing that I might say could increase the glad strength of
the general voice of the country, when the news arrived here that the
grand arena of literature, the French Academy, an institution whose
life is counted by centuries, and which is without equal in the world,
that great interpreter and infallible judge of the difficulties, the
beauties and the genius of the French language, had given one of its
annual prizes, and perhaps the finest of all--the prize of poetry--to
one of our countrymen. I could never fittingly express or depict the
sentiments of pride and joy felt by all lovers of literature in this
country--I may add of all good Canadians--when the news came from
beyond the ocean, from that sacred France, mother of civilization;
from fairy Paris, capital of the Muses, that Mr. Fréchette had been
crowned! But, as Chairman of this happy reunion, at the risk of but
faintly re-echoing the general sentiment, I must at least try to
express my feelings in proposing this toast. The emotions which I feel
are of a dual nature, that of friendship and of patriotism, and, as
friendship is nearer to the heart, so I gave that feeling the first
place. The speaker here referred to his collegiate days in the
Seminary of Quebec, where he met Mr. Fréchette, and in preparing
himself for the battle of life, had won the friendship of the Canadian
poet. He alluded to Mr. Fréchette's first efforts in verse, and had
judged his early attempts, and in referring to his (the Judge's) own
literary works at the time, the speaker said that the line of Boileau
might be applied to him,

"'Pour lui, Phoebus est sourd et Pégase est rétif.'

"At that time, Mr. Fréchette had not reached the heights of Helicon,
nor attained the regions wherein the 'Boreal Flowers' are gathered and
the 'Snow Birds' fly, but the little flowers he gathered in more
modest fields had around them the perfume of genuine poetry, and the
emerald, ruby and topaz of art already shone in the dainty plumage of
his summer birds. Mr. Fréchette published in a small journal in
manuscript, called _L'Echo_, of which Judge Taschereau was then
editor in the Seminary, the first efforts of his muse. This souvenir
of the past is now very precious to me, said the speaker, because it
enables me to state that I was the first editor of our poet's works.
Judge Taschereau further alluded to the time when, with Mr. Fréchette,
he studied law, that dry study, and though the poet was thus devoted
to the goddess Themis, he nevertheless found time to worship at the
shrine of song. How could the poet do otherwise? His fame had already
gone abroad. The journals of the country were already publishing his
sonnets, odes and songs. His acrostics were sought after to grace the
albums of fair ladies. Even the volunteers of Canada asked him for
war-songs, which are happily more frequently heard in drawing-rooms
than in camps. The young student did not possess himself. He was
already the property of the country, and the Institutes of Justinian
were put aside for the more pleasing task of framing idyllic pictures
of poetic genius. In fact, Crémazie was almost forgotten, and the name
of Fréchette was on every tongue. Mr. Taschereau tried to reclaim the
poet to his legal duties, and give him the place of Mr. Faucher de St.
Maurice in his office. Mr. Fréchette accepted the sinecure, but no
sooner had he done so than Mr. Faucher returned, anxious, no doubt,
for good and congenial company. Judge of my happiness, with Fréchette
and Faucher in my office, and I their humble patron. I thought I would
succeed in converting my friends, but in this I failed, for they led
me on their own paths until I myself began to versify, and, instead of
reading Pothier, read 'proofs' of verses. As it is, Mr. Fréchette did
become a lawyer; but Mr. Faucher abandoned the pursuit--he retired
from my office, lost forever to Themis, but safe to the cause of
literature. The departure of my young friends saved me. I could never
expect to win the applause of the French Academy, and thus, as I am
enabled to preside at this banquet, I may be permitted to offer our
guest a bouquet of friendship's flowers, gathered during twenty-five
years, and I feel that its perfume will be agreeable to my
distinguished friend. The life of Mr. Fréchette is written in the
poetry and literature of this country. He has marched steadily onward
from the day on which he wrote his _Loisirs_, until the grand
moment when he stood the crowned victor in the Academy of France. We
have known our guest as a lawyer, journalist and member of Parliament,
and have always admired his wonderful faculties, ever ready as he was
to promote the welfare of his friends. His large heart contributed to
pave the way to success, for, undoubted though his talents are, his
winning manners won for him an ever-growing popularity, and we may
affirm that, if he had traducers, he had, on the other hand, a host of
friends. Traducers always follow the wake of a literary man, and they
resemble the creeping things which we suffer in our gardens, because
their existence can lead to no effectual harm. I may have occupied
your time at too great length in treating of Mr. Fréchette as a
friend. Allow me now, however, for a few moments, to speak of his
success from a patriotic point of view. As French-Canadians, we are
proud of our Laureate, and happy to see him in our midst this evening.
In crowning our distinguished poet, the French Academy has given a
splendid recognition to Canadian literature in the great Republic of
Letters. Our Laureate is a French-Canadian, but our fellow-citizens of
British origin have joined with us in this manifestation of our joy,
and through their press, as at such gatherings as this, they have
spontaneously recognized his talent, thus showing their spirit of
justice and their enlightened patriotism. Party politics have ceased
their discordant cries to join unanimously in honoring our Laureate,
and this is a spectacle of consolation to the country. No commentary
is required on this expression of our joy. It is, in itself, the most
eloquent of proofs that the citizens of Quebec, as well as those of
Montreal, in giving this festival to Mr. Fréchette, have invited all
Canadians, in the largest acceptation of the word, to do him honour.
In concluding, as I know you are anxious to hear him address you this
evening, permit me to make a comparison. One of the most distinguished
of modern poets, Alfred de Musset, said in a moment of despair:--

"J'ai perdu ma force, et ma vie,
Et mes amis, et ma gaîté:
J'ai perdu jusqu'à la fierté
Qui faisait croire à mon génie."

"'I have lost my strength and my life, my friends and my gayety,
almost my very pride, which made me believe in my genius.' We may say
to Mr. Fréchette, as an offset to this cry of despair from one of his
elder poetic brethren: 'Courage! You have strength and life! More
friends than ever! An enthusiasm of gayety which is fathomless! March
on and sing! We are proud of you, and we believe in your genius,
crowned, as it is, by the highest literary tribunal in the world--that
of the Forty Immortals!' (Cheers.)

"The utmost enthusiasm pervaded those present, and when the poet
laureate rose to reply, he was greeted with loud applause, which
continued for several minutes. Mr. Fréchette said:--

"MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN,--For some time past I have abstained from
public speaking, and there are those amongst my best friends who tell
me that I have done well. To-day Montreal [31] and Quebec seem to have
conspired against me, to oblige me to make two speeches on the same
subject. This, though flattering to me, is hardly fair. If, having
pleaded in one sense, I were asked to take the opposite ground, it
might appear that such would not embarrass a lawyer, and one who has
also been a politician, but in my present position I am called upon to
treat the same question twice, and absolutely in the same sense. How
can I discover something new to advance. Naturally, I felt embarrassed
at the outset, but, at any risk, my duty is to respond to your
flattering call, and thus to best avenge myself upon this conspiracy
of my friends. It will not be surprising if I affirm that the occasion
of this reunion has for me a character of especial solemnity. Seated
at this festive board, I see the representatives of different nations,
who, in private capacities also, have won general respect. I see,
also, my fellow-citizens of Quebec and of Levis, my native town--the
schoolmates of my earliest days--_confrères_ in professional
life and in the walks of literature--comrades of past political
struggles--friends, ever indulgent and generous--political leaders of
whom I have always been proud, and gentlemen of various origins,
divergent opinions and different religious beliefs, all tendering me
their warmest congratulations upon the success I have achieved in the
literary world. No words of mine are adequate to express my feelings,
not can I sufficiently thank you all for this spontaneous and
sympathetic demonstration in honour of one who regrets that he is not
more worthy of your favour. I can only accept your evidences of
friendship with cordial emotion, thank you from the depth of my heart
and bear with me from this hall a proud memory which will unite with
the remembrances of my youth, all of which are so intimately
identified with the hospitable people of Quebec, and, in so declaring,
I am but assuring you that this remembrance will ever attend upon me.
The past vouches for this; for when my tent of exile shook in the
winds from off the great Western lakes, or slept on the bowery shores
of Louisianian streams; when my traveller's skiff was rocked on the
waters of the Southern gulfs, or was reflected on the blue waves of
the Loire; when I had before me the wild majesty of Niagara, the
immensity of the ocean, or when, filled with admiration, I paused to
gaze upon the stupendous monuments of the Old World, my thoughts ever
instinctively flew back to the good old city of Champlain,
unparalleled in the world for the picturesque splendor of its site,
and the poetry which no less issues from the very stones of its
fortress, than it lingers upon every page of its history. Yes! Old
Quebec! In all places I have cherished with devotion every memory of
you, for within your walls my heart first opened to the noble teaching
of intellect! It is your lofty embrasures--your flag, bravely floating
in the skies--your abrupt rock, your stretches of ramparts, your
brilliant steeples, reflecting their beauty on the bosom of the St.
Lawrence, mingled with the sails of your cosmopolitan navies; which,
for the first time, awoke the poetic enthusiasm in my breast. Long ago
I first saw these scenes from the window of an humble cottage of
Levis, half-hidden in a screen of foliage; and in my youngest days,
ere I knew the method or formation of a verse, I felt the fluttering
against the cage of my heart of that golden bird, whose sonorous voice
is styled Poetry. In fact, gentlemen, I was carried towards a literary
career from the very outset, and in this connection you will permit me
to relate a little anecdote. You will pardon me if I appear
egotistical, but your cordial reception warrants me in looking for
your indulgence. I had learned to read in a book full of reveries and
sentiment, entitled 'Letters or the poet Gilbert to his sister.' Of
course I understood but little of it, yet it made a deep impression on
my imagination. One day my father, an honest man and good citizen, if
there were ever any such, but who had nothing in common with the
Muses, asked my brother and I what professions we would adopt when we
grew big. 'For me,' replied my happy-hearted brother Edmond, 'I will
be a carter,' and 'I will be a poet,' I immediately added. I still
remember my father's smile of affectionate pity when he heard these
unexpected declarations from the hopes of his declining years. "My
poor children," said he, with a resigned air, "these two occupations
will never lead you to wealth and fortune." Later I understood the
wise reflection of my father, but no one carves out his own destiny
and he must submit to fate. I have vainly tried other careers but
finally was obliged to return to this dream of my infancy. As the poet
says,

"Drive away the natural, and it returns at full speed."

Yes, dear old City of Quebec, so old and so glorious, so beautiful in
your _ensemble_ and so characteristic in your details, so cordial
and so hospitable, in presence of your noblest children assembled here
to welcome me, within your old walls, let me give this testimony, that
if I have had the happiness of causing the Canadian name to be heard
in the immortal shrine of French literature it is to you I owe it, and
to you is my gratitude offered. For I must tell you, gentlemen, that I
loved Quebec too much, at the distance, not to hasten across the
river, when the bird felt that his wings were strong enough to fly. At
that time the greatest of the poets of Quebec, Octave Crémazie, sang
the glories of our ancestors and the brave deeds of old France. His
energetic and inspired voice excited youthful emulation. A group of
budding writers surrounded him, but each one felt timid and hesitated
to tune his notes amongst the loud echoes of his vigorous patriotism.
Alas! the star fled from our skies, another generation of enthusiastic
poets and writers disputed the honour of seizing the lyre, so heavy
for their fingers, which had been left on the rock of Quebec, by the
author of the Flag of Carillon. O! my old comrades, do you think as
frequently as do I, of those old days, when with hearts full of poetic
illusions, we united our talents, our hopes and I might add our
poverty, to establish that spiritual association in which the
beautiful was idolized, seekers as we were after the ideal, dealers in
mental _bijouterie_, despised at first by some, but which
succeeded more than once in directing the attention of literary France
to our shores? Do you, at times, remember our joyful meetings, our
interminable readings, our long hours of continued study and waking
reveries in common--do you yet remember the bewildering evenings in
which the glass of Henri Murger mingled its sonorous tinklings, bright
and merry, to the love-song of our flowery youth? We were all rivals,
but

"Our hearts, as our lute, vibrated as one,"

and God knows that this rivalry never severed the bonds of affection
which united us, and so was founded what has since been styled the
Mutual Admiration Society. Mutual Admiration Society! If we were to
consider the number of books, dress-coats, gloves and other articles
of more intimate character that were exchanged between us, it might
more safely have been called the Society for Mutual Support. At all
events, from the spectacle before me this evening I gather that this
Society of Mutual Admiration, if admiration it must be termed, has
taken a singular development since I had the honour of assisting so
frequently at its meetings, and there is nothing surprising in this,
since one of the most distinguished of the founders of this society,
Mr. Faucher de St. Maurice, informed me the other day that the society
in question was about to annex the French Academy. (Laughter.) But to
be serious, allow me to recount another anecdote. There was a time,
gentlemen, when our Mutual Admiration was far from being so ambitious
as to dream of having a _succursale_ under the rotunda of the
French Institute. But if our productions were meagre, our revenues
were still more so, and famine often reigned in the chests of the
confraternity. However we had our own days of abundance when there was
corn in Egypt. The first Quebecer who understood that poetry, unlike
perpetual motion, could not feed itself, was a brewer, whose memory is
now legendary and who was known by the harmonious name of McCallum.
Arthur Casgrain, who in a couple of years afterwards we sorrowfully
bore to the cemetery, had thought of composing an Epic on the Grand
Trunk. This was called "La grande Tronciade!" Well in one of the
twelve parts of this production, so very original, there were three
remarkable lines.

"Buvons, buvons, amis, de ce bon maccallome,
Venant directement du brasseur qu'il dénome!
C'est ça qui vous retape et vous refait un homme?"

The effect was magical. The heart of the brewer was touched. A long
waggon on which we could read the eloquent words "pale ale and porter"
stopped next day before our door. For twenty minutes a man with
burthened step climbed the Jacob's ladder which led to the poet's
attic, and one hundred and forty-four bottles of inviting appearance
ranged themselves around the chamber. I cannot picture the joy of the
happy recipient. In his enthusiasm he offered me a community in his
good fortune--of course under a pledge of inviolable secrecy. But as I
felt the imperious necessity of communicating my emotions I was as
wanting in discretion as he had been, and that evening all the
Bohemians, students and literary friends even to the remotest degree
followed in the wake of McCallum's bottles, and invaded the attic
chamber of poor Arthur (your good-natured cousin, Mr. President.)
There we had French, English, Latin and Greek speeches in prose and in
verse. Arsène Michaud has even prepared a story for the occasion. In
brief, the hecatomb was made; the libation was Olympic, the twelve
dozen disappeared and on the morrow poor Casgrain showed me with a sad
face the Homeric remains of his one day's wealth, and in a lamentable
tone of despair he exclaimed: "I will have to write another poem."
Gentlemen, that was the first time in Canada that poetry made a return
to its author, and in tasting these delicate viands which the
hospitable city of Quebec now offers to one of those early Bohemians
in recognition of his literary success, I could not fail to recollect
with emotion this amusing circumstance now enveloped, with other
scenes of youth, sometimes glad--sometimes sorrowful, in the shadowy
robe of past recollections. Another story just suggests itself to my
mind. Lusignan and I occupied the attic of an old house in Palace
street. Our room was heated by a stove-pipe, which reached from the
lower apartments. One day I had published in _Le Canadien_--_Tempora
Mutantur_--a little poem in which was the following line:

"Shivering in my attic poor."

The next day a surprise awaited us. A dumb stove had replaced the mere
stove-pipe, and while holding our sides from laughter we heard this
speech: "Gentlemen, we are very indulgent, considering your noisy
meetings--we are not very particular when rent-day arrives--and if you
_so shivered_ in your room, it would have been better to have
said so privately, than to have complained of it in the newspapers."
(Laughter.) Poor Mrs. Tessier, our landlady--she was not well
acquainted with figures of speech, but she has been the Providence of
many of the destitute, and more than one who hears me now can say as I
do, that no better or more obliging heart ever beat in a more pitiful
bosom towards purseless youth. And who knows, it is perhaps due to
this sympathetic feeling of its population towards literary men and
writers that this city of Quebec has seen such an array of talent
within her bosom, such a succession of Pleiades of distinguished
litterateurs, who have glorified her name and that of their country.
For the last fifty years, men eminent in all branches of literature
have made a gorgeous and resplendent aureole around the city of
Quebec. In the generation immediately preceding us, we see Petitclerc,
Parent, Soulard, Chauveau, Garneau, L'Ecuyer, Ferland, Barthe and Réal
Angers, these grand pioneers of intellect, who in history, poetry,
drama and romance, made such a wide opening for the generation which
followed them. Then we have l'Abbé Laverdière, l'Abbé Casgrain,
LeMoine, Fiset, Taché, Plamondon, LaRue, and the first among all
Octave Crémazie, who coming at different times bravely and constantly
continued the labours of their predecessors, until we reach the
brilliant phalanx of contemporary writers, Lemay, Fabre, l'Abbé Begin,
Routhier, Oscar Dunn, Faucher de St. Maurice, Buies, Marmette and
Legendre, all charged with the glorious task of preserving for Quebec
her legitimate title of the Athens of Canada. And how could it be
otherwise? Is not Quebec the cradle of our nationality--the spot
whereon is engraved the most illustrious pages of our history--heroic
annals, touching souvenirs, all combining with the marvels of nature
to speak here the soul of the historian and of the poet. What a
flourishing field for the historian and poet is not the tale of that
handful of Breton heroes, who, three centuries ago, planted on the
rock of Quebec the flag of Christianity and civilization! What
innumerable sources of inspiration can we not find in our majestic
river, our gigantic lakes, our grand cascades, our lofty mountains,
our impenetrable forests and in all that grand and wild nature, which
will ever be the characteristic feature of our dear Canada. Oh! our
history, gentlemen! Oh, the picturesque beauties of our country! Two
marvellous veins--two mines of precious material open at our feet. The
European writers are ever striving to discover something fresh. Having
exhausted all kinds of themes, they are now stooping to the dust to
find an originality which seems to fly from them. Well, this
freshness, this originality, so courted and so rare now-a-days, may be
found within our grasp,--it is there in our historical archives--in
our patriarchal customs--in the many characters of a people young and
thirsting for independence--a robust and healthy poetry, floats on our
breezes--breathes in our popular songs--sings in the echoes of our
wild forests, and opens graceful and proud her white wings to the
winds of the free aspirations of the new world. To us this virgin
field belongs, gentlemen! Take from Europe her form and experience,
but leave to her, her old Muses. Let us be true to ourselves! Be
Canadians and the future is ours. "That which strikes us most in your
poems" said a member of the French Academy to me, "is that the modern
style, the Parisian style of your verses is united to something
strange, so particular and singular--it seems an exotic, disengaged
from the entire." This perfume of originality which this writer
discovered in my writings was then unknown to myself. What was it? It
was the secret of their nationality,--the certificate of their origin,
their Canadian stamp! And it is important for us, gentlemen, never to
allow this character to disappear. Let our young writers stamp it
broadly on their pages and then advance to their task, they need no
longer fear the thorns on the way. The path is wide open and millions
of readers await their efforts. To the work then; France offers us her
hand, and now that we have renewed the bonds between us and our
illustrious and well-beloved mother country--bonds broken by the
vicissitudes which occur in the life of peoples, we shall be enabled
once more to prove the great truth enunciated by Bulwer Lytton in
"_Richelieu_," that

"The pen is mightier than the sword."

The Chairman called upon Hon. Wilfred Laurier to propose the next
toast.

Hon. Mr. Laurier, on being called on to propose the toast of the
Academy of France, was loudly cheered on rising, and the enthusiasm
became the greater as he advanced, showing the many claims the great
French tribunal of letters had upon the attention of the learned word.
He spoke of the old ties which bound France and Canada, and alluded to
the argument of Doucet, the French Academician, in favour of the
admission of Fréchette to the French _concours_, viz., that when
France was in the throes of agony, the voice of French Canada spoke
out its loud attachment to the cause of the ancient mother country. In
such action was the forgotten daughter restored to its sorrowing
mother. The hon. gentleman then in language of forcible eloquence
referred to the pleasure shown by English-Canadians at the success of
Mr. Fréchette, and concluded a highly intellectual and eloquent
speech, amidst the reiterated cheers of the whole assemblage.

The Chairman then proposed the toast of English and French literature.

Mr. George Stewart, jr., who on rising was greeted with cheers,
said:--

MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN:--I must thank you for the very
enthusiastic manner in which you have just drank to this toast, and
for the cordiality with which you have been good enough to receive my
name. Before asking you to consider with me the subject which has just
been so happily proposed from the chair, I would ask your permission
to say how gratified I am at being present, this evening, to assist
you in paying homage to one whom we all delight to honour, and at
whose feet it is our special privilege to sit. (Cheers.) It is all of
seventeen years since Mr. Fréchette gave to the public, in a little
book, the best fruits of his youthful muse, but those early efforts of
his mind gave abundant promise of future excellence and hope,--a
promise which has since been admirably and delightfully fulfilled. I
cannot tell you how proud we all feel,--we who speak the English
tongue, alike with you who utter the liquid and mellow language of
Béranger and De Musset,--that the "Forty Immortals" of Mother France,
recognized in Mr. Fréchette,--what all of us knew before,--that he was
a tender and graceful poet, and that his work is as pure and sweet as
anything to be found in the lyric poetry of our time. (Cheers.) Mr.
Fréchette had not to go abroad to find that out, but it is pleasing to
us all to find our opinions confirmed and ratified by the highest
authority in France. I again thank you, gentlemen, for the privilege
which you have afforded me of saying these few words regarding our
laurel-crowned poet and guest. (Applause.) With regard to the subject
which has brought me to my feet, what am I to say? I might dilate upon
the beauties of Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_, or Edmund Spenser's
immortal _Faerie Queene_, or Shakespeare's tender women, the
_Juliet_ we love, the Rosalind who is ever in our hearts, the
Beatrice, the Imogen, gentle Ophelia, or kindly but ill-starred
Desdemona, or the great heroes of tragedy, Lear, Macbeth, Hamlet or
Othello, or I might ask you to hear a word about Ben Jonson, "rare
Ben," or poor Philip Massinger who died a stranger, of the Puritan
Milton, the great Catholic Dryden, or Swift, or Bunyan, Defoe,
Addison, Pope and Burke and grim Sam Johnson who made the dictionary
and wrote Rasselas, the Prince of Abyssinia, but there is not time for
us to go into the subject as minutely as that. At a dinner of this
kind, which is so rich in every delicacy which the most sensitive
palate could desire, and which boasts wines as delicate and as
fragrant in bouquet as one of Mr. Fréchette's sonnets--(Cheers)--and I
might add also as one of my friend LeMay's hopefullest lyrics--
(Cheers), it would be ungenerous of me to keep you very long. I will
content myself therefore with a remark or two regarding the peculiar
features which seem to inspire our literature, at the present time,
and by our literature I mean English literature in its broadest sense
and amplest significance. Perhaps at no period of letters, in the
whole history of literature from the days of Chaucer and Raleigh, from
the renaissance, through the classic period, to more modern times, to
our own day in fact, has the cultured world seen such a brilliant
array of brilliant men and women, who write the English prose which
delights our fire-sides, and enriches our minds at the present time.
The world has never presented to mankind before, in all its years of
usefulness, such a galaxy of great essayists and novelists as we have
enjoyed and enjoy now, within a period of fifty or sixty years, and
which properly belong to our own age. The era is rich in stalwart
minds, in magnificent thinkers, in splendid souls. Carlyle, Emerson,
Wilson, Morley, Froude, Holmes, Harrison, Darwin, Huxley, Spencer,
Mill, Buckle, Lewes. In fiction the list is too long for mention, but,
in passing, I may note George Eliot--a woman who writes as if her soul
had wings, William Black who paints almost as deftly as Walter Scott,
Thomas Hardy, Anthony Trollope, Thackeray, Dickens, Reade, William
Howells, who has not forgotten to write of the grandeur of the
Saguenay, and William Kirby whose _Chien d'Or_ will serve to keep
a memory green in many a Quebecer's heart. I need hardly name more.
The list could, I am well aware, be extended indefinitely, and as each
of you doubtless has your favourite novelist, I need not waste your
time by the simple enumeration of men and women who have from time to
time, beguiled away the hours with their stories of the heart, or of
purpose, or of endeavour. We get _blasé_ now and then perhaps
through the reading of so many moderns, but the cure for that lies
within easy range. We can take a peep at those old fellows in old-
fashioned bindings, who used to delight our grandfathers in the "brave
days of old," when Richardson told the story of "Pamela," and
"Clarissa Harlowe," when Fielding wrote "Tom Jones," and Smollett
narrated the history of "Humphrey Clinker," and the career of
"Tristram Shandy" found a truthful historian in that mad parson
Lawrence Sterne. We might even read those ancient authors, ancient in
style at least, for a change, and still be reading English literature
in its truest and widest sense. But it is less with the fiction-
writers that we have to deal, than with the thinkers who have given to
_belles-lettres_ in this age, its robustness and vigour. In
political economy, in scientific thought, in history, in moral
philosophy and in polite learning, and in criticism, I think our day
has produced the greatest teachers, as well as the largest number of
them since the English tongue had a literature of its own. (Applause.)
This is true at least in prose writing. I know that in poetry we are
surpassed in grandeur and majesty by the bards of other periods of our
mental activity, I know that we have not produced a Milton yet, nor a
Dryden, nor a Pope--I leave Shakespeare and Chaucer out of the
question, nor a Spenser. We have very many more than our share of
really tuneful singers and fine poets like Tennyson and Longfellow,
Morris and Swinburne, the Arnolds and Lowell--all of them sweet and in
every way charming, none of them grand and magnificent like the sons
of song of the great days of poesy. We have singers and singers, minor
poets and minor poets, all engaged in weaving for our delight very
many pretty fancies; graceful story-tellers in verse, if you will, but
our chief strength lies in prose, sober, scholarly and healthful
prose. Our fame will rest on that branch of the service. (Applause.)
Turning to Canada, I might say that our mental outfit is by no means
beggarly. In fiction we have produced, and I confine myself
particularly to those who have written in English, Judge Haliburton,
James DeMille, Wm. Kirby, John Lesperance. (Applause.) In poetry,
Heavysege, John Reade, Roberts, Charles Sangster, Wm. Murdoch,
Chandler, Howe; in history, Beamish Murdoch, Todd, Morgan, Hannay, Mr.
LeMoine--(Applause)--whom I see present here to night; Dr. Miles, Mr.
Harper, the efficient Rector of our High School, and others of more or
less repute. In Science, Dr. Dawson and Sir Wm. Logan; in logic, Wm.
Lyall; in rhetoric, James DeMille. In political and essay writing we
have a good list, the most prominent names being Goldwin Smith, whom
we may fairly claim, Bourinot, Haliburton, Todd, Howe, Elder, Ellis,
Griffin, Anglin, Dymond, McDougall, White. (Cheers.) And here I would
just say to you--for I have spoken longer than I intended--over-taxed
your patience I fear very much--that we must, if we would ever become
great in helping to form current thought and the intellectual movement
of the day, renounce all sectionalism in letters, and go in for the
great goal which all may aspire to who wish. When the French Academy
hailed our friend Fréchette as a brother poet, the act was not done
because he was a Canadian, but because he was a poet, writing and
speaking the French tongue. (Applause.) There is no such thing really
as Canadian literature or American literature. It is all English
literature, and we should all strive to add to the glory of that
literature. We can do it, in our way, as well as Moore and Lover and
Lever and Carleton and McGee did, when they added the splendid work of
their genius to build up the renown and prestige of the parent stock.
(Applause.) As Scott and Burns, Dunbar and Hector McNeill, and
Tannahill and James Hogg and bluff "Kit North;" all of Scotland, did
to make the English literature massive and spirited and grand.
(Applause.) As Hawthorne and Longfellow, Holmes and Bryant, Cooper and
Irving, and Motley did, and as our own John Reade (cheers) and Charles
Roberts, a new poet whose star has just arisen, and Bourinot--
(cheers)--and the rest of them are doing now. We must forget the small
localism which can do us no good, and join the great brotherhood of
letters which writes the world over, in the English tongue. France,
Germany and Russia, Italy and Spain teem with the grand work of their
children. We who speak and write in the English language must not be
unmindful of our several duties. We must work for the attainment of
the great end, the development of English literature, of which we are
as truly a part as the authors of the United States, of Scotland, of
Ireland and of England. English literature does not mean simply a
literature written solely by Englishmen. It takes its name from the
fact that it draws its nourishment from all writers who write in
English, and Scotchmen, Irishmen, Americans, and colonists, as well as
citizens of England are invited to add to its greatness and
permanency. I thank you Mr. Chairman and you gentlemen for your
kindness and forbearance in listening to me so long, and so patiently.
(Loud continued cheering.)