against me.' It was pretty hard not to follow a man like that." He had a prodigious memory; he could recall names and faces after a lapse of thirty or forty years. In Vancouver in 1886 a man came up and said, Sir John, you don't remember me." Oh, yes," said Sir John, "in the picnic in 1856 out yonder in Lindsay you held an umbrella over me on a rainy day while I made a speech;" and he recalled the man's name. He compacted his friends into a unit. He could take a heterogeneous mass of Orangemen and Roman Catholics, of Irish and English and Scotch, down-east free traders and Ontario high protectionists, of farmers, manufacturers, and labouring men, and consolidate it into one fighting body as Oliver Cromwell could with his prayer-meeting soldiers. He could put every man to work. He was a great maker of cabinets; as he said, "I am somewhat of a workman myself; I am a cabinet maker." The Tuppers, the Tilleys, the Carlings, the Haggarts, were nearly all the creation or the development of his power as a cabinet maker. Alexander Mackenzie could not develop great men. He was a stone mason, and he wanted to put in every stone, and every stone would have been well laid if he had had an eternity to do it. But this was Sir John's great gift; he knew how to select men and how to let them do the work. He said in late life that the first fight that he had in a law case was a physical one with the other lawyer. He said the old Court Clerk was his great friend, and while Sir John was hitting the other fellow he would shout out, "Order in the Court, order in the Court," and then whisper, "Hit him, John." And Sir John said whenever he entered a political campaign he could hear the voice of his old friend the Court Crier saying, "Hit him, John." I suppose he would not be regarded as an orator quite of the class of Bryan or Laurier. I think he had several men in his party during his last years who were more finished orators than he would claim to be. And yet, if holding and arousing and convincing and persuading people is oratory, he was an orator. He was a stump speaker of the Lincoln type. He said that during his first session he decided to change his mode of speaking in Parliament to extempore speaking, and he prepared carefully, stored the facts in his mind, and as a result was very quick at repartee. He had the art of adapting himself to his audience and usually spoke briefly, although some of his great speeches were somewhat lengthy. Everything he said bubbled over with wit, as you well know. Somewhere back in northern Ontario he was making a speech, and ventilation and other conditions seemed to be against his making very good progress in the meeting. Back at the end was an Irishman, evidently a Grit, that finally bawled out, “ Aw, you go to H—.” Sir John looked a moment and said, "Gentlemen, I have been in public life for thirty-five years, but this is the first time I ever was invited to Grit headquarters." The meeting, of course, went on then with a new buzz. He had a great heart, as big a heart as ever beat within a human breast. He was always thoughtful of the feelings of the other fellow. He had an old lawyer named McIntosh in his office in Kingston, who was getting so old that he was absolutely useless, and yet he came down every morning and went through the motions; until one day, knowing that he could not earn his money, he went to John A. and said, "Mr. Macdonald, I will have to give up, I know I am useless to you." And he put his arm around the old lawyer and said, "Why, Mr. McIntosh, I couldn't open the office without you in the morning; you look after the law students, you see that they do their work right; you open the office; you get the newspapers ready for me, and show me the leading legal news in the morning. You must stay here, and if you insist on it I will just raise your wages a bit; I don't want any other lawyer in town to get you." Even his rebukes were cushioned with kindness. D'Arcy McGee was a member of a coalition government in the early days. D'Arcy was going around town and stopping at nearly all the taverns, and once in a while of a Saturday night would have to be carried out of a bar room. The temperance folks in Parliament said McGee's actions were a disgrace, and they said to Sir John, " You are the man to call him to time." Sir John felt it would hardly be consistent for him to do this, of course, and so he put it off from time to time, until by-and-by they were more insistent and said, “ You must rebuke Mr. McGee. So he took D'Arcy to one side one morning and said, "My boy, this is a small government we have, you know, here in Canada, and they think it is hardly large enough for two drunkards, and I guess you will have to quit." He had a tender heart that was easily touched. When David Mills exonerated Hugh John, Sir John's son, in connection with some corruption charges after his name had been bandied a good deal, the veteran Premier, his eyes full of tears, crossed the House to thank his adversary. When Thomas White died, Sir John arose to speak, and after saying, "Mr. Speaker," sank to his chair, threw his head on his desk, and sobbed with unutterable sorrow. He died in harness. The country went into mourning; the voice of angry debate was hushed. Upon his casket was a wreath from the Queen, who, shortly afterwards, made his widow a Baroness. He had three funerals; one in Ottawa, a stately solemn pageant; one in Kingston, a loving expression of the affection of his neighbours; and one across the sea in Westminster Abbey, with the Sovereign aid the Princes of the blood for mourners. In the crypt of St. Paul's you will see his face in marble, and underneath the bust his words, which are the conclusion of the whole matter, A vote of thanks to the speaker was moved by A. A. Wright, Esq., and seconded by Dr. Clouse. THE PROSE AND POETRY, REALITY AND SPIRIT OF CANADIAN IMPERIAL SERVICE AN ADDRESS BY LIEUT.-COL. W. N. PONTON, Before the Empire Club, Toronto, MR. PRESIDENT and GentlemEN,-I need not say that I feel perfectly at home; I would be recreant to my duty and privilege as a member of the Club if I did not feel at home. Like Lord Rosebery, when he came to Edinburgh after a long absence, I can say that "I am come to mine own ancient city, mine own fellow-citizens, mine own neighbours, and mine own friends." The best ten years of my life-of course, some in Belleville excepted-were those spent at Upper Canada College, the University, and Osgoode Hall. One hundred and eighty-nine of the old Upper Canada College boys are now doing their duty in France and Belgium, and two Victoria Crosses have been won by them in the past. At the University of Toronto Parade the Duke of Connaught said that never in all his experience had he at any educational centre inspected 1590 men and 26 officers of the physique, stamina, and spirit which the Officers' Training Corps of the University of Toronto presented. If I feel at home by reason of being in old Toronto and by being a member of the Club, I certainly do so the more when I see my old comrade Colonel Brock here, and Major Pope, with whom I served for twentyfive years. It is wonderful what that comradeship is doing; it is wonderful, the unity of the community, the brotherhood of solidarity, which comradeship in arms and the "will to be one" is producing. It has wiped out all politics, all sectarianism, all denominationalism; we are all exuberant in united strength and proud of our common citizenship. We hear so often of the sacrifice of service of those boys at the front. Any one that reads their letters, any one in contact with them, any one that has worn the King's uniform, and has had the privilege of translating the spirit that animates them into action, knows it is no sacrifice of service, it is the glory of service to the boys who are privileged to serve and who are doing their duty at the front. The sacrifice of service comes home to the mothers and the wives and the sisters and the sweethearts, but the glory of service is theirs, and the glory of it is in doing things together, the glory of co-operative comradeship. It seems to me that is the very essence of it. There is something more than even the fraternity of your Oddfellows and Masonic Lodges; there is something better: "To count the life of battle good, And dear the land that gave you birth; That binds the brave of all the earth." Read those boys' letters and you will find that they realise that which binds the brave of all the earth. Two young Canadian officers conceived the idea in the last days at Valcartier, on Citadel Hill, of lighting a bonfire and having the officers come up. It was not till after the last post was sounded, and the officers went up on the top of that hill looking down on the tented 30,000 men below and exchanged stories and sang a few songs by the embers of the fire; and then suddenly out from the sky flashed the northern lights, "fearful lights that never beckon, save when kings and heroes die," the grandest display that has ever been seen down in Quebec, they say; and something came over them, they rose up and clasped hands around that bonfire and they felt the thrill of comradeship going through them, and they felt that they were now really on Imperial Service. Speaking of little incidents that come out in correspondence, one incident struck me when we were singing" God Save the King," and I would like if we might sing "Rule, Britannia," before we go home, because it has been sung under circumstances in which it was never sung before. Thirty-one transports gathered at Gaspe, having come down the river under small convoy. When the boys were on the decks wondering where was the fleet |