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 Youth With Strange Power.
As Alfred Bassette (who had taken in religion the name of
Brother André) grew up, he displayed a mysterious power that was
soon heralded around the countryside. Amongst his earliest miracles
was that of healing several victims of smallpox during the epidemic
of forty-seven years ago. Another is mentioned as having occurred
over thirty years ago, when a young student was badly injured in a
game of ball. Before medical assistance could be secured Brother
André successfully applied “first aid to the injured,” and when the
doctor arrived the patient was again playing ball. Other cures of a
minor nature were effected by him, and these gave him a local
notoriety. The first major miracle that brought him wider fame
occurred in 1910, when Mr. Martin Hannon, a C.P.R. employee at
Quebec, who was the victim of a serious accident two years
previously by which his legs and feet were terribly crushed through
heavy marble blocks falling upon them, visited him. Hannon had
been unable to walk without crutches, and on crutches he went to
Brother André, who rubbed his mangled limbs with holy oil and
prayed over him, and then told him to throw his crutches away, for
he was cured. Hannon dispensed with his crutches and walked then
and since without even the use of a cane. The following day he
visited La Patrie office, told of his miraculous cure, and Brother
André’s reputation as a Miracle Man spread afar. I could not tell you
of the multitudes that have sought Brother André’s intercession and
prayers, comparatively few unavailingly, but I have seen two
instances myself, in each of which what appeared to be serious
cases, were restored to health. One, a young lady from Plattsburg,
N.Y., who had walked on crutches for seventeen years, after a visit
to Brother André, handed her crutches to her maid and walked
several yards to her automobile. Another was a young lady from
near Tupper Lake, N.Y., who was cured of paralysis, and who told me
in Windsor St. station how, after seeing Brother André, she was able
for the first time in several years, to use her limbs freely. But a still
greater miracle, to my lay mind, was one of more recent date, and
word of it came from London, England, in a letter from an old friend
who is the wife of an Irish nobleman, once a member of the British
House of Commons, and who while visiting Montreal last autumn,
accompanied me to the shrine, and carried away with her oils and
images of St. Joseph and other souvenirs. But here is her letter
referring to the miracle:
“I have a little story you may like to tell Brother André. When I
came home in November, I found a letter from a young friend I had
not seen since he was in a perambulator. It was to ask my prayers
for his mother who was dying from the effects of an accident. Her
foot caught as she was going down a very steep flight of stairs to
the Underground Railway, at Baker street, and she fell the whole
length of it, hitting her head and one of her knees very badly. When
she was conscious she was taken home, and for three or four days
declared she was only severely bruised and shaken. Then suddenly
she went clean out of her senses and knew no one and raved about
people dead long ago, and she called for me in my maiden name, as
I used to know her when I was a girl. It was that that put it into her
son’s head to write to me that she was not supposed to live very
long, and the doctors had very little hope of her. I was told she was
in a mental hospital, and that she did not know her son when he
went to see her. I asked permission to go there, and was given
leave. They told me she could utter nothing but gibberish, and was
very weak. When I came to her bedside, I would not have
recognized her, but I looked straight into her eyes and told her I was
‘Alice.’ Then she caught my hand and held it convulsively, and her
poor tongue and lips were uttering an incomprehensible jumble over
and over again. At last I hit upon it; she was repeating over and
over again a prayer in Polish her mother had taught her as a child. I
recognized two of the words (her mother was a Pole, a Princess). . .
I told the nurse she was saying a prayer in Polish and she was not
able to say anything else. I sat by her for some time, and as her
memory of years ago seemed to be the only workable part in her
brain, I asked her in French was she suffering pain? And at once she
responded and said ‘No, not at all,’ and then went off in the
ejaculatory prayer. The nurse moved off, and I put my hand into my
pocket and brought out Frère André’s little bottle of blessed oil, and I
made the sign of the Cross with a little of the oil on her, and St.
Joseph’s medal in my hand. And I just asked if there was any merit
in Frère André’s prayers that this poor woman might be restored to
health for her only son’s sake. I came away. The nurse thought it a
bad case. I went to Ireland for three weeks, and on my return sent a
’phone message to the son, fearing he would tell me his mother was
dead. But to my joy he said she had completely recovered, and was
now at a rest home to get up her strength. Tell Brother André that.
You must also tell him to pray for peace in Ireland.”
 All Faiths Among Patrons.
You would be surprised if I were to tell you that, in proportion to
the number that have applied, probably more Protestants than
Roman Catholics have successfully procured aid at this now well-
known shrine. And yet it is true.
From the primitive little Oratory of St. Joseph, on the western
slope of Mount Royal, there has grown a crypt of large dimensions,
in which divine service is daily held, and in the magnificent stained
glass windows, the statuary, and other handsome offerings are
evidences of the deep and fervent gratitude of those who have been
made whole. Overshadowing this is shortly to be erected an
imposing massive structure which is to be dedicated as a Basilica in
honor of St. Joseph, the holy Patriarch of Nazareth, and which is to
be one of the world’s grandest and most magnificent edifices, and to
which immense pilgrimages of the maimed and the halt and the sick
and the distressed and heavy-burdened will hopefully come for
spiritual comfort and bodily relief.
And all this magnificent grandeur of marble and gold and silver
and precious stones, picturesquely environed by the wealth of the
scenic splendor of the historic mountainside, springs from the
unfathomable work of the poor little habitant lad whose whole
simple life has been devoted to humbly and faithfully following in the
footsteps of the Master.
 CHAPTER XVII
Political Life in Canada—Its Tragedies and Its
Pleasantries—The Great Outstanding Figures
of the Past—The Social Side of Parliament—Mixed
Metaphors and People
Who Were Not Good Mixers—A
Second Warwick—The Wrong Hat—And
Other Incidents.
Politics in Canada wax warm when the general elections are on,
but the average man is fairly sane the rest of the time. At Ottawa,
however, especially during the sessions of Parliament, the air fairly
seethes with party argumentation. There, of course, the raw
material for the next campaign is always being made. The two
hundred and thirty-five members of the House, with the ninety-six
Senators, and the army of officials, together with the correspondents
in the Press Gallery, are busy in the manufacture of issues for the
people to quarrel about later on. But while the work proceeds there
are other things to sweeten life. The five o’clocks, the dances and
dinners, the bridge parties and the generous hospitality of Rideau
Hall combine to form an agreeable diversion from the serious
business of Parliament.

It so happened that I was sent down from Winnipeg to the Press

Gallery in 1886 and for several following years, and as a
consequence I mixed a great deal in politics and with politicians,
without acquiring bad habits. It is not my purpose to use this
experience as a pretext for writing a history of Canada, or for
commenting upon political questions. All I want to do is to speak of
some happenings that interested me and of some of the great men
and personal friends with whom I came in contact. One could not, of
course, look down upon Parliament at that time without recognizing
the leadership of Sir John Macdonald and Edward Blake, who were
then the great combatants. The two statesmen contrasted strangely
with one another. Mr. Blake, at the opening of Parliament in a slouch
hat and a tweed suit that did not seem to be a very good fit, was
the very opposite of Sir John, who came in attired in his Windsor
uniform.
The Conservatives had a life-sized portrait of Sir John wearing
this uniform painted for their retiring room. The chieftain was fairly
gorgeous in gold braid, and the cocked hat he held in his hand was
suggestive of a Lord High Admiral. One day Clarke Wallace was
admiring it when in came Sir John. “Well, Clarke, how do you like
it?” enquired the chieftain.
“It’s all right,” responded Clarke, “but don’t you think you look
sort of stiff in it?”
“Do you know,” said Sir John, “the first time I wore that was
when the Prince of Wales came to this country. They told us from
Downing street that all the Ministers would have to get into uniform,
and we did. The morning we assembled, all decked up to receive the
Prince, we looked a set of guys.”
“Vankoughnet was there” (Mr. Vankoughnet was one of the pre-
Confederation ministers) “and I said to him: ‘Van, you don’t look well
in a cocked hat; a cocktail would suit us all better.’ ”
The cocktail, I understand, was a species of beverage obtainable
at that time, and much in demand by epicures.
 Political Tragedies.
Edward Blake was a commanding figure, and a great master of
detail. But he did not pull with his entire party. Some thought he was
not a good enough mixer, and Sir Richard Cartwright who ought to
have been his right hand man was never one of his admirers. In a
short time Mr. Blake resigned the leadership. His departure was
really tragic. After so many years of labor it was universally thought
to be a pity in view of what he had done to pull the party together
that he should pass out of Canadian public life altogether. Alexander
Mackenzie, who sat near him, was another tragedy. Mr. Mackenzie
had led the House. He had, indeed, been the leading man of the
country. His voice echoed through Parliament, as in his hey-day he
discussed public matters. Now he was weak in voice and in body,
and his comings and his goings were really pathetic. He had
sacrificed himself to the public service.
There were other tragedies. The party pot was boiling all the
time, and efforts were made to submerge public men in a torrent of
scandal. When a Government is old in office the opportunities for
this style of warfare are multiplied. The popular form of scandal at
that time consisted of the charge that the member had profited
through the transactions in public lands. Charlie Rykert, member for
Lincoln, who was a fighter from the word “go,” was the leading
figure in one of these. Charlie kept a scrap-book, and, with its aid,
was able to prove his leading opponents guilty of inconsistency on
almost any question that might be under discussion. In Parliament
he irritated the Opposition beyond measure and, as a consequence,
was thoroughly hated by that section of the House. It was,
therefore, with considerable relish that Sir Richard Cartwright made
charges against him in the session of 1890. The accusation was that
in 1882 or thereabouts, he and another party secured from the
Government for a nominal sum a timber limit in the Cypress Hills
which was sold by them to an operator at a profit of $150,000,
Charlie getting half of the proceeds. As a matter of fact, the
transaction was fully in accordance with the law as it stood, and no
such profit as that reported was made. Indeed, it is to be doubted
that Charlie got enough to pay him for his trouble. However, the
charge was pressed and it ended Mr. Rykert’s political career, for he
resigned his seat before the session closed. While it was being
debated in the House, Charlie sat silent and alone in his room, into
which I happened to stray. He was particularly downcast and
worried, for Sir John Thompson, the then Minister of Justice, and
some other members of the party were assailing him. He asked me
to keep him posted as to what they were saying, and for some time
I would run into the gallery, listen briefly to the debate, and then
report progress to him. I shall never forget his agonized look as he
cried, “And he,” (referring to some unfriendly ‘friend’) “he got his
share of the campaign funds and wanted more.” Whatever his faults
may have been, he was a hard worker in the political field, doing
yeoman service, and the gratitude he looked for was wanting when
he needed it.

Another tragedy was that of Thomas McGreevy and Mike and

Nick Connolly. In this Sir Hector Langevin was mixed up. The
Connolly Brothers were contractors for the Quebec harbor works and
the graving dock at Esquimalt. Israel Tarte brought against them the
accusation that they had over-charged, and had contributed to the
Quebec election funds, by way of Thomas McGreevy, and with the
consent of Sir Hector. This cause celebre drove Sir Hector out of the
Cabinet, and Tom McGreevy out of Parliament, while it sent the
Connolly Brothers to jail. Of those who may have benefited not one
came to the assistance of the accused men. Nobody turned a finger
in their behalf in their time of trouble. Mike and Nick Connolly went
to jail rather than turn Queen’s evidence.
The way in which politicians may be misunderstood and suffer in
consequence is illustrated in the case of James Beaty, member for
West Toronto at this time. He was solicitor for men who were
interested in a western branch railway line. In a letter written by
him, he was alleged to have said that some proposition that was
made was not acceptable because “there is nothing in it for the boy.”
The changes were rung in on this. Mr. Beaty was pursued under the
nick-name of “the boy,” and it was inferred that “the boy” was
looking for something for himself to which he was not entitled. His
explanation, as he gave it to me, was that his written words were
“There is nothing in it for the Co’y.” It was of the company that he
was speaking, and not of himself.
A lot more could be told of members being ostracised for
exhibiting independence, on either side of the House, or of members
who have labored for their party being deserted in the time of
stress.
 A Wit-Provoking Stairway.
But, cui bono? Let’s to more pleasant incidents. After the great
disallowance debate over that part of the C.P.R. contract which
prevented United States railways from entering the Northwest to tap
the business, Sir John A. Macdonald met W. B. Scarth, M.P. for
Winnipeg, with myself and several others, at the head of the stairs
leading to the restaurant. After a cheery salutation, Sir John
remarked, “Well, boys, don’t you think we have had enough of
disallowance? Let’s go down and take our allowance.” And we went.
The stairway to the restaurant seems to have been provocative
of wit, for, it is said, that on this very spot Sir John once met Bob
Watson, as strong a party man of the Liberal type as you could find,
and asked him what was going on in the House. “Why,” said Bob,
“Cartwright is pitching into Foster on the tariff.”
“Too bad, too bad, that they should be so partisan up there,” said
Sir John. “I tell you, Bob, if they were all as independent as you and
I are, this country would soon get some blankety fine legislation.”
Speaking of Sir John, I remember years ago, when he came from
North Ontario to Whitby during a campaign, and regaled himself, as
was the custom of those days, with a drink at the bar of Jake Bryan’s
hotel. The crowd naturally joined in the “refresher,” and as Sir John—
(he was then only John A.)—lifted his glass, a friend drew his
attention to the fact that there was a fly in his grog.
“That’s all right,” he quickly replied. “It’s meat as well as drink,
and I’m hungry.”
That caught the crowd, and the remark spread far and wide. The
Tory majority in Whitby was never so large as it was in that election.
 The Old War Horse From Cumberland.
Sir Charles Tupper was really the fighting man of the
Conservative party in those days, and he dearly loved a scrap. His
command of the English language was complete, and his
declamation was powerful. A good field day by Sir Charles in the
House gave you something to see and hear. He was outspoken even
to friends. When some Portage la Prairie supporters, who were
dissatisfied with something or other he had done, wired him from
Manitoba that they could not see their way to support him in this
particular measure, they received a curt message in reply which
read: “You had better vote Grit.”
The Portage people went home, but did not vote that way at the
next election. During the campaign of 1900, when Sir Charles had
came over to rehabilitate the disorganized Conservative party, I
happened to be on the C.P.R. train which was taking him to Nova
Scotia. Visiting his private car, I found him resting in bed. I remarked
in course of conversation, “I suppose you are going back to Cape
Breton.” He was a candidate there.
“No, no,” he said. “I am going to Western Nova Scotia to help our
friends there.” And then he told me he could be elected by
acclamation in Cape Breton if he would consent to let Alex Johnston,
recently Deputy Minister of Marine and Fisheries, and a strong
Liberal, be his fellow member. This was offered him by those who
controlled the political situation on the other side.
“But,” said Sir Charles, “I absolutely refused the offer, and told
them it would be either two Conservatives or two Liberals; besides,
as leader of my party, I could not show such an example to my loyal
followers. We must sink or swim together. If we win and I should
lose in Cape Breton, another seat can easily be found for me; if we
are beaten, there are others to take up the fight,” The old
Cumberland war-horse was game to the last.
Sir Hibbert Tupper, his son, was also a fighter of the first rank,
but when the Bowell Government was disrupted he was among the
first to return when peace was declared, and announced his entry
into the Council Chamber with, “The cat’s come back!” which was a
slang phrase of those days.
 Sir John’s Trusted Lieutenant.
Sir John’s most trusted lieutenant for years was Hon. John Henry
Pope, of Compton, father of Senator Rufus Pope. “John Henry,” as he
was familiarly called, had all the shrewdness and foresight of the
statesman, and materially assisted in directing the policy of the
party. He was not a polished or verbose speaker, but when he spoke
the few words he uttered always meant something. Once when
fiercely attacked by Sir Richard Cartwright in the House, he made
the shortest but most effective speech ever delivered in the Green
Chamber. When Sir Richard had taken his seat amidst the loud
applause of his followers, Mr. Pope slowly rose and quaintly said:
“Mr. Speaker, there ain’t nothin’ to it.”
The House cheered wildly, and Sir Richard warmly joined in the
expressions of admiration. That ended the discussion.

I recall that Bob White, one of the active members of the

Parliamentary Press Gallery, and one time member for Cardwell, got
off a joke at Mr. Pope’s expense about this time. In those days tolls
were charged on the St. Lawrence Canal System. A strong
deputation came down from the Niagara Peninsula in the month of
October to ask that the Welland Canal tolls be lifted for the balance
of the season, but “John Henry” was obdurate. There was to be no
change in the Government’s policy so far as he was concerned. Mr.
White was present when the deputation was presenting its case, and
when they went away after receiving the Minister’s answer, Bob,
sitting in his place in the Press Gallery, sent a note to the Minister of
Railways and Canals to the following effect:—
 “In connection with the Welland Canal deputation, how
would it do to remove the tolls from December to April?”
(when the canal is closed.)

The old man missed the point of the joke and solemnly wrote
back to Bob:—

“I see no reason to change the view which I expressed

to the deputation.”
 Laurier’s Magnetic Personality.
Sir Wilfred, then Mr. Laurier, in his early fifties was one of the
outstanding figures of the House. His commanding presence,
whether in Parliament or in the lobbies, or on the streets of Ottawa,
irresistibly attracted the stranger. I well remember his great speech
in the Riel Debate of 1886. While I did not agree with Mr. Laurier’s
views, yet on re-reading that speech I am bound to say that I agree
with what a distinguished publicist has stated: that his address was
one of the most brilliant ever delivered in Canada’s legislative halls.
As an example of pure eloquence it cannot be excelled.
 Two Tom Whites.
There have been two Thomas Whites in the House, and both of
them distinguished members. It is not of the later meteoric Sir
Thomas White, who did such great work in finance during the war
that I am writing, but Hon. Thomas White, of the Montreal Gazette,
who represented, as later did his son, Robert S., the Ontario
constituency of Cardwell, now merged into Dufferin. In 1885, he
entered Sir John Macdonald’s Cabinet as Minister of the Interior, and
his excellent administration of the affairs of that department brought
him many friends among staunch Liberals. He was frank and
outspoken in his words, and while he displeased many westerners by
openly telling them that they were spoon-fed, his honest and
courageous course in dealing with intricate western matters won
their admiration. He was a pleasing and convincing speaker and had
always a full grasp of his subject. When he passed away, Canada lost
a great statesman.
It was in July, 1886, that he visited the Pacific Coast, and one
day in Vancouver, he accosted me with, “Oh, George, I am going
over to Port Moody (then the western terminus of the C.P.R.) to
meet the mayor and citizens. Come along.” When we reached Port
Moody there was a goodly-sized crowd who enthusiastically
welcomed Mr. White. Mayor Scott, togged out in his Sunday best,
proceeded to read the usual address, and when he had finished
reading it, he turned to Mr. White and remarked, “Mr. White, you will
excuse this short but brief address.”
Of course a lot of us couldn’t help but snicker, but Mr. White, with
a suppressed smile on his beaming countenance, never blinked an
eye-lash, and made a happy reply, which was received with such
loud applause that he had time to laugh all by himself.
 A Few Veterans.
Another veteran was Sir Mackenzie Bowell, that grand old man
whom everybody liked. He entered the House in 1867 and
continuously sat for Hastings until he was elevated to the Senate,
became Premier, and was in harness until called away by death at a
ripe old age. He was genial and kindly and had a host of friends,
amongst whom he counted many Roman Catholics, although at one
time he was Grand Master of the Orange Lodge of Canada.
Sir Mackenzie was publisher of the Belleville Intelligencer, now
successfully carried on by his son, Charlie. In the early ’90’s, he took
a trip over the Intercolonial in a private car, and I happened to meet
him at Truro, N.S. He complained of the lack of newspapers, and I
asked him if he would like a copy of the Intelligencer of the previous
day’s date. He expressed his great delight at the possibility of getting
a real live newspaper, and with due gravity, I handed out a copy of
the “yesterday” Intelligencer—only it had been printed twenty odd
years before. I had found it amongst some old papers that had been
sent me, but Sir Mackenzie read it with great interest.
John McMillan, who represented South Huron for many years,
was born in Dumfriesshire, Scotland. Although he came to Canada
as a lad the Doric was always on his tongue, possibly due to the fact
that he had settled in the essentially Scotch section of Ontario. He
was a first-class farmer and stock raiser and attained affluence
through his activity in the export cattle industry, of which he was one
of the pioneers. Pressure of Parliamentary duties, and stalwart sons
grown to manhood, induced him to pass over the export cattle trade
to the latter, with the result that John did not make as frequent trips
across the Atlantic as in the earlier days of the industry. After a lapse
of 15 years Mr. McMillan made what proved to be his last journey to
the Old Land, and told the story of his visit to Dumfriesshire to Mrs.
Sedgwick, wife of Mr. Justice Sedgwick, the following session. This
was the only social call he made during the Parliamentary term. In
Mrs. Sedgwick he found a lady who sympathized with Scotland,
which meant everything to John. In her genial way over a cup of tea
one afternoon, she asked Mr. McMillan if he had found many
changes in the Old Land on his recent visit. “Aye,” he answered, “I
foond that mony of my auld freends had passed awa’.”
“And those whom you met and told about Canada, what
astonished them most?”
“Aweel, Mistress Sedgwick, I am boond to say that they were
vera mooch surpreezed at mah Amurican occent.”
After John McMillan passed out of Parliament the recollection of
his genial presence and kindly nature lingered long with those who
knew him.
 The Jims.
As some dyed-in-the-wool Grits liked some double-dyed Tories,
on the other hand there were Opposition members who were liked
personally by their opponents. James Trow, of South Perth, was one
of them. He could have had a portfolio in Sir John’s Cabinet had he
wished, and had there been room. While he was a staunch Liberal
he was moderate in his views, and personally very agreeable. My old
friend, Jim Trow, was one whom to know was to honor and respect
for his many kind qualities of head and heart. Mr. Trow was a
frequent visitor to the Northwest in the early days, and he was the
champion of that country on the Liberal side when eastern men
were cold and critical. The Opposition in Parliament at that time was
wonderfully well supplied with “Jims” of whom Mr. Trow was one. In
addition to Jim Trow, it could boast Jim Somerville, Jim Rowand, Jim
McMullen, Jim Lister, Jim O’Brien, Jim Armstrong, Jim Edgar, Jim
Livingston, Jim Innes, Jim Platt, Jim Yeo, and Jim Sutherland.
There was no better liked man in the House than the last of the
“Jims” I have mentioned—Jim Sutherland, of Woodstock, Ontario,
the chief Liberal whip and afterwards Minister of Public Works in the
Laurier administration. He was a Grit, first, last and all the time. But
he had lots of friends among the Tories, and I was one of them. To
show his kindness to me, he one day led me into his private office
and told me he wanted to enrich my library with one of the greatest
volumes that had ever been printed. Thereupon he ostentatiously
presented me with that beautiful little red covered book which
contained the Liberal platform of 1893, with a full and presumably
accurate account of the proceedings of the Liberal convention of that
year. Gratitude was fully expressed by me, and I treasured the
valued volume. Later on, Ned Clarke, the member for West Toronto,
and ex-Mayor of the city, came to me and begged me to give it to
him. Imagining I could replace it I gave it to him. Several months
afterwards I met Jim and told him Ned Clarke had swiped my
precious present and asked for another copy. By this time, as many
will remember, the platform had been pretty well shot to pieces. Jim
expressed his deep regret at my loss of the pamphlet, and told me
that the party had a family gathering a few nights previously and
had celebrated the event with a bonfire for which the red covered
books furnished the fuel. It is impossible to beg, borrow or steal a
copy of his famous work that the unregenerate Tories declared rare
fiction, and that is why my library is not complete today. When the
Liberal Committee met in Ottawa in 1919 to make arrangements for
their convention the only copy available was one borrowed from a
former Conservative newspaperman.
 A Soured Senator
While in the House members on both sides were, as a rule, kindly
disposed toward their opponents, the same conditions were not
general in the Senate.

Among the Senators was George Alexander from Western

Ontario, an old Conservative who left the party for some real or
fancied grievance. He had a special antipathy to Sir David
Macpherson, who was at one time Speaker of the Senate and at
another a member of the Macdonald Cabinet. In the corridors of the
Senate Chamber were oil portraits of past Speakers, some living,
some no more, and all of a uniform cabinet size. When Sir David
Macpherson’s portrait was added to the collection it was a full length
picture and about twice the size of the others. Senator Alexander,
who everlastingly took me for T. P. Gorman, the Globe
correspondent, and was always giving me pointers which the Globe
did not print, and giving Gorman fits because they were not printed
by the Globe, pointed out to me one day the traits and peculiarities
of the statesmen who had been reproduced in oil. All went well until
we reached the outstanding full-length portrait of Sir David. “That,
that,” he muttered in tones of disgust, “that—why you could cut that
picture in two and it wouldn’t make the slightest difference which
half you took away.” And the irate old gentleman snorted vindictively
and went off as mad as a wet hen.
 Familiar Faces in the Old Days.
Among the leading men in the House was Sir George Kirkpatrick,
an ideal Speaker of the Commons. He was the son-in-law of Sir
David Macpherson, the bete noir of Senator Alexander. In one of the
earlier sessions Sir George presided over the Commons while his
father-in-law-to-be was Speaker of the Senate.

A conspicuous figure was the energetic and much-loved member

from Hamilton, Adam Brown. Mr. Brown had been prominent in
public affairs before entering Parliament and was one of the many
fathers of the N.P. The members of the Press Gallery had no better
friend. Mr. Brown is one of the few survivors of that Parliamentary
period, and was actively serving as postmaster of Hamilton until
recently, when he retired. Born in 1826, he is now 95, and his
friends are wishing him many more happy years.

Dr. George Landerkin, of Grey, was one of the wits of the House.
He had many bouts with Nicholas Flood Davin, but Davin was the
more expert in the use of language. He was also quick at repartee;
as for example, when Jim McMullen, irritated by some of his
remarks, interrupted him to say that he had rooms to let in his upper
story, he quietly replied, “So have you; but mine are furnished.” Jim
McMullen, a very hard-working member, was known as the “Tall
Sycamore from Mount Forest.” His specialty was the scrutiny of the
minor expenditures. His enemies used to say that his visits to Rideau
Hall were improved by a stocktaking of the spoons with a view to
discovering whether or not there was extravagance in viceregal
circles. But this was an unkind reflection upon his public services
which were useful in that they helped to keep expenditures down. A
member with whom he often came into conflict was Samuel R.
Hesson, from Perth. Mr. Hesson was very much in earnest as a
public man—not a bad fault—and was so demonstrative that he
could not refrain during the heated party debates from expressing
his disapproval with the aid of the lid of his desk, or his approval by
loud shouts of approval. A neighbor of Mr. Hesson’s was Jean
Baptiste Morin, the short and rotund French-Canadian from
Dorchester, Que. Jean Baptiste was always elected by large
majorities, but he denied ever having purchased a vote. He
explained, however, that he always had a fine imported bull on his
farm, and when an election was expected he got another. It is hardly
necessary to say that his was a thoroughly agricultural constituency.

One of the promising Liberal members was George Casey, from

Elgin. It was sometimes said that he spoke too frequently. But he
was well informed. His chief end in political life was to accomplish
Civil Service reform. Curiously enough, when his constituents
listened to other voices he reformed the Civil Service by entering it.
He dearly enjoyed a fight with Dr. Sproule of Grey. The Doctor was
none too mindful of the rules of debate, and was often called to
order. For this reason, his election to the office of Speaker, to enforce
the rules of order, when the Conservatives got back to power in
1911, was an unusual example of the unexpected. But he was a
good Speaker.
Then there was Sir George Foster, from Kings, N.B., who is still in
harness, and after nearly forty years’ service delivered a magnificent
speech in the House last year with all the vigor and eloquence of his
early days. By the way, Sir George, like a good old scout, has
surprised the boys by again jumping the broomstick—the bride being
Miss Jessie Allen, who is a lady of high attainments.
Others were J. G. H. Bergeron, the boy orator of Beauharnois, Sir
John Macdonald’s special pet, who died while postmaster of
Montreal; Dalton McCarthy, from Simcoe, who broke away from his
party on the Manitoba School question, an able lawyer, who was the
father of the McCarthy liquor license act, which was declared ultra
vires a week after it came into operation; Hon. Edward Dewdney, a
member of the Government, who chose Pile-of-Bones Creek, on the
wide, treeless prairie, as the capital of the Northwest Territories, and
named it Regina; Hon. Sidney Fisher, from Brome, a gentleman
farmer, who was Minister of Agriculture in the Laurier Administration;
Walter Shanly from Grenville, a great engineer, who built in the
wonderful Hoosac tunnel, and who was a warm friend of my father
and myself; Pat Purcell, from Glengarry, whose body was stolen by
ghouls from a vault east of Cornwall and was recovered near Stanley
Island, the grave robbers being sorely disappointed in not securing
the blackmail they expected for its return; Hon. J. C. Patterson, who
afterwards became Lieut-Governor of Manitoba; Harry Ward, of Port
Hope—“Handsome Harry,” he was called—one of the most popular
members of his time; Hon. Desire Girouard, of Jacques Cartier, who
defeated that strong fighting Liberal, Hon. R. Laflamme, and who
retired from politics to take a seat on the bench of the Supreme
Court of Canada. Mr. Justice Girouard was the author of a most
interesting book, “Lake St. Louis and the Parishes Around,” which is
a historical work of great value; “Bob” Watson, from Marquette, now
Senator Watson, who had the distinction for years of being the only
Liberal from west of the Great Lakes; Joe Kinney, who was the only
Conservative elected in Yarmouth in forty-four years; Hon. J. J.
Curran, afterwards Judge Curran, who could sit up later hours, sing
“Old King Cole” more acceptably, and be brighter next morning with
nothing stronger than ginger ale as a stimulant than any other
person I ever knew; M. H. Gault was also a distinguished member of
the House; James Innis, from South Wellington, one of the old stock,
whose paper, the Guelph Mercury, is still prospering under the
guidance of his nephew, Innis McIntosh; John Charlton, of North
Norfolk, who was one of the big guns and most effective speakers of
the Liberal party; Capt. Walsh, from Prince Edward Island, whose
hospitality was unbounded, and who told the Minister of Customs,
whom he was entertaining at his residence with a lot of the rest of
us, that his liquor had never passed through the gauger’s hands. A
blue flag off the mouth of Montague River showed an excellent
fishing spot, and by pulling up the flag up would come a keg of rare
old vintage. Dr. Jenkins was another Prince Edward Islander, whom it
was a delight to know, and who was a high class physician. At any
rate he cured a gnarled muscle in my left hand by giving it a quick,
smashing blow, the operation taking place on the front street of
Charlottetown. “Doc” Jenkins was a brawny athlete in his younger
days. While in the House he always captained the Parliamentary
cricket team which annually tried conclusions with the Press Gallery.
I recall an amusing incident which happened one Saturday just
before the annual match commenced. There was a great crowd of
spectators and it was difficult to keep them off the field of play. Mr.
Kimber, the little gentleman usher of the Black Rod, who thought he
owned the Parliament buildings, strenuously resented being ordered
behind the ropes and the crowd of onlookers greatly enjoyed the
polite but forcible way in which Dr. Jenkins enforced the rules
against the irate little gentleman. Then there was S. J. Dawson,
“Smooth Bore” Dawson, they called him, for the quiet slickness of
his speech, who was the builder of the Dawson Road, which first
opened the way from the head of Lake Superior through hundreds of
miles of wilderness to the Red River. There was also J. Israel Tarte,
who, when a Conservative, was defeated in Quebec, if I remember
aright, by his Liberal opponents scattering thousands of his
photographs with him wearing a masonic apron. One of Mr. Tarte’s
trite sayings was, when accused of corrupting a constituency,
“Elections are not won with prayers.”
 The Social Side of the House.
Parliament has its social side, and I found in the years I was at
Ottawa that friendships did not respect party lines there, as was
commonly supposed. The case of David Mills and Sir John
Macdonald, already mentioned, is on illustration. There we had a
repetition of the story of David and “John-A-than.” Sir John loved to
hear David hold forth on constitutional questions and would listen to
him by the hour, although he once called him “a mass of undigested
information.” Often the two would talk matters over sitting side by
side in the House, and it was an open secret that the Honorable
David might have had a portfolio in Sir John’s cabinet any time he
desired.
One of the men who helped personal friendships in a very
practical manner was Alonzo Wright, known to the House, if not to
the country, as the “King of the Gatineau.” Alonzo was comfortably
situated so far as this world’s goods are concerned. He was
descended from the first owner of the site of the city of Hull, and he
had married the granddaughter of the first owner of the site of the
city of Ottawa. At his fine estate at Ironsides up the Gatineau River,
he gathered every Saturday members of Parliament from both sides
of the House. He was a veritable John Bull in personal appearance,
and his hospitality was of the John Bull kind. Party bitterness gave
way in the presence of the “King of the Gatineau,” and many a
politician found that the member on the opposite side of whom at
first he did not think much was not such a bad fellow after all.
The rumor was current that it was here that Sir Adolphe Caron
and Sir William Mulock formed their interesting friendship. Sir
Adolphe was Minister of Militia, and Sir William was the Opposition
critic of the Militia Department. When the Militia vote was coming up
in Supply, Minister and critic would sometimes dine together before
settling down to the hard hitting. Sir John Macdonald, by the way,
had a good opinion of Sir William, and is credited with having said
that if he were only ten years younger he “would get Bill over to the
Tory side.” This was about the time when Mr. Mulock was restive
under the interpretation put upon the party policy of unrestricted
reciprocity, and had moved his resolution affirming the loyalty of the
people of Canada to the Throne. Sir John had his Saturday night
dinners at which politicians of both sides figured. These he held up
to the day before the fatal stroke which carried him off. It was at the
last dinner he gave that he got off the Chinaman’s description of the
electric street car, to the discomfiture of the ladies present.
Everybody knows it—“got no horsee; got no steamee; goes like
hellee.” It must not be supposed from this that Sir John indulged in
extreme language. Far from it. If he made use of an expression that
was slightly out of the ordinary, it was in a tone of humorous
reluctance.
Within the precincts of the House the members were given to
entertaining one another. D. W. Davis from Stand Off in the wild and
wooly west, was especially valuable in this connection. When the
Mounted Police in 1874 first arrived in the far west and expected to
be met by a gang of desperadoes, they found D. W., a trusted official
of the big firm of I. G. Baker & Co., behind the counter of the store
in his shirt sleeves, unconcernedly smoking a cigar and when they
made known their mission, pleasantly bid them search the place for
liquor, which they unavailingly did—but it was there all the same.
Coming from the west he knew the Indian down to the ground, and
he used to delight the members at their sing-songs with imitations of
the Indian dance interlarded with war-whoops that threatened to
disturb the cogitations of the more sedate statesmen who were
arguing or sleeping in the Commons chamber.
Sleeping! Well, they were not likely to be sleeping if William
Paterson, of Brant, familiarly known as “Billy Paterson,” after the
man who was struck by some unknown person, had the floor. Mr.
Paterson was the possessor of the most thunderous voice in
Parliament. It used to be said that he could be heard away down in
the Rideau Club. One of Dr. Landerkin’s jokes at the expense of a
new member was to arouse his interest in Mr. Paterson’s eloquence,
and then advise him to occupy the seat immediately in front of Mr.
Paterson, so that he could hear him well because he had such a
poor voice. The newcomer usually fell for this, with the result that
when Mr. Paterson was going under a full head of steam, the new
arrival had to slink away in order to protect his ear drums. All the
House watched the “freshie” as he selected his “good seat” in front
of the orator, and loud was the laughter when, after a few vocal
blasts from Billy Paterson, the astonished listener beat a hasty
retreat.
“Billy” after being a Minister for some years decided to give a
dinner to his Parliamentary friends of both Houses. The list was so
lengthy that instead of one function there had to be two. By the
“old-timers” they were acknowledged to have been the liveliest
gatherings ever held in the old Parliamentary restaurant presided
over by Sam Barnett. Mr. Paterson stipulated to “Jim” Sutherland,
who was making the arrangements for him, that the dinner should
be conducted on strictly temperance principles, but someone must
have given Sam Barnett the wink. Scotch and rye were supplied in
ginger ale bottles and within an hour there was more hilarity than
one finds at ten ordinary banquets. Mr. Paterson was greatly pleased
at the success of the function and remarked to Sir Richard
Cartwright, who was sitting next to him at the first dinner:
“Cartwright, I have always said you could get as much, or more, fun
out of a temperance dinner than one where liquor is served; you
have a demonstration of it to-night.” Sir Richard, who was wise to
what was going on, smilingly acquiesced in the remark but refrained
from enlightening his host. To the day of his death, Mr. Paterson
never knew of the arrangements that Jim Sutherland and Bill Galliher
had made to make the banquets a howling success.
 Not Good Mixers.
Two members of the House, Hon. Edward Blake and Sir Richard
Cartwright, were not “good mixers.” It is said of the former that
when friend remonstrated with him for his chilliness towards his
supporters and advised him to be more chummy with them, he
asked what he was to do. “Why, be more sociable and crack a joke
or two with them.” “How do you mean?” enquired Blake. “Well, for
instance, it’s snowing out now, and if someone should pass a remark
on the weather, you say ‘Oh, it’s snow matter.’ ” And sure enough a
few days later a good Grit follower overtaking the Honorable Edward
on the broad walk remarked that it had been snowing hard. Mr.
Blake, suddenly remembering the pointer he had received about
cracking a joke, but having forgotten the cue, promptly replied, “Oh,
it’s quite immaterial.” Mr. Blake was a great lawyer—a much greater
lawyer than he was a politician.
 When Hansard “Mixed” Metaphors.
Sir Richard was a past-master of the art of invective; a scholarly
speaker, his English was perfect, and he could flay a political
opponent in five minutes by the clock. He also had a grim sense of
humor, and when he spoke one day of “having dipped into the
political Styx,” and it appeared in the unrevised edition of Hansard as
“having dipped into the political Stinks,” he laughed as immoderately
as he did when in another speech he referred to “the ancient
Themistocles,” which Hansard transformed into “The ancient Peter
Mitchell,” who had just previously passed away. He was a Tory of the
old school until Sir Francis Hincks was appointed Finance Minister
instead of another person whom he thought was better qualified for
the position. A scholarly speaker and a deep thinker, his disposition
was vitriolic. The second volume of his Memoirs was never printed
for obvious reasons. Sir Richard was a constant sufferer from
rheumatism which doubtless warped his disposition and made his
utterances so bitter.
 Some of the Other Good Fellows.
It is difficult to remember all the good fellows and their
peculiarities at this length of time but I can recall handsome Hon. J.
D. Hazen, Mr. C. N. Skinner, Major-General Hugh H. McLean and
Hon. John Costigan from New Brunswick, who were popular on both
sides of the House. Sir Douglas Hazen was afterwards premier of his
native province, and now is ornamenting the bench; Sir Clifford
Sifton, who inaugurated the first real immigration policy; Captain J.
B. Labelle, from Richelieu, commander of the R. & O. steamer,
Montreal, was a social lion and one of the best dressed men in the
House. His son is General Labelle, of the Montreal Harbor
Commission. Sir Adolphe Chapleau ranked among the most brilliant
orators of that day, and Honorable C. C. Colby, of Stanstead, was
one of the ablest lawyers in the House and personally was very
popular, as was Donald MacMaster, now Sir Donald, a distinguished
member of the British House of Commons. Then there were good
old Billy Smith from South Ontario, still in the Parliamentary pink;
George Guillet, from Northumberland, Ontario; Peter Mitchell, from
Northumberland, N.B.; Colonel Tisdale, from South Norfolk; Dr.
Ferguson, from Welland; Fred Hale, from Carleton, N.B.; J. A. Mara,
James Reid, Thomas Earle, E. Crow Baker, who recently passed
away, and the late E. G. Prior, recently Lt.-Gov. of British Columbia,
from which Province they all came; Mahlon Cowan, the fighting man
from Essex, Ont.; David Henderson of Halton; W. C. Edwards, from
Russell, the real old genuine free trader of the house; Uriah Wilson,
from Lennox, a member of high standing; Hon. John Haggart and Dr.
Montague, he of the silver tongue, who were bosom friends, the
latter coming to a tragic end in Winnipeg; George Taylor, the Tory
whip from Gananoque; Josiah Wood, from Westmoreland, who owns
a railway, was afterwards Lieutenant-Governor of New Brunswick
and is father-in-law of Eddie Nichols, the newspaperman, of
Winnipeg. A. W. Ross, the real estate boss, and W. F. McCreary from
Manitoba; Hon. Tom Daly from Brandon, who, like his father, was a
broth of a boy; Senator J. B. Plumb, from Niagara, a royal
entertainer when Speaker of the Senate; Hon. John Carling, whose
election contests with his brother-in-law in London were as fierce as
any in the whole Dominion; big Duncan C. Fraser, the giant from
Nova Scotia, who like A. G. Jones, another Nova Scotian member,
who was charged with having said, “Haul down the flag” at
Confederation, filled the position of Lieutenant-Governor of that
Province; John V. Ellis from St. John, one of the ablest members of
the House, whose newspaper, the Globe, still flourishes under the
management of his son Frank; G. R. R. Cockburn, from Toronto, a
fine type of an Old Country gentleman; Hon. Mr. Prefontaine, mayor
of Montreal, who died in England; Jacques Bureau, whose life is
devoted to politics and mirth and Ernest Lapointe; Billy Northrup, of
Hastings, (now clerk of the House) a fighter from ’way back, like
Billy Bennett of Simcoe; H. H. Cook—“I bet you Cook”—who claimed
a toll of $10,000 was demanded of him to obtain a senatorship,
which caused him to retire from his party of which he had previously
been a staunch supporter.

Who could ever forget Major Tom Beatty, of London, whose

death left a great blank that would be difficult to fill? Or Clarke
Wallace, from York, as genial a soul as ever lived, whose successor
in the House was his good-natured son, the late Capt. Tom? And
there was Senator John Yeo, from Prince Edward Island, who for
sixty-two years continuously has been a member either of the
Legislature of the Island, or of the Commons or Senate of Canada.
Then there was Dr. Platt, of Kingston, who was afterwards warden of
the Portsmouth penitentiary, and declared that, owing to his official
duties, he was the “closest confined person in the pen.” And Jim
Metcalfe, who was a dead game sport of the political kind, came
from Kingston too; and what shall I say of Hon. W. S. Fielding, the
father of reciprocity, still an active member of the House? Or of Hon.
James Domville, a meteoric member, still in active life in the Senate;
of Kennedy Burns, of Gloucester, who owned the Caraquet Railway,
that runs from Bathurst to Shippegan; of Dr. Reid, from Grenville,
now Minister of Railways; of John F. Stairs and Thos. E. Kenny, of
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