Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Old World, New World, Third World -60's View




Carl Leggo, a well-known Newfoundland poet, has written a terrific poem, Grade Four Geography, about  Visits in Other Lands, the text almost all Protestant schooled children in Canada used for social studies in the 40's to the 70's.

The first chapter in the book famously described Bunga, a boy from Malaya (not Malaysia), who ate yams. All funny sounding words to most Canadian children of the era.

In Grade Four Geography, Leggo wonders why Visits in Other Lands didn't include a boy, Carl, from Newfoundland who ate cod tongues.


I've put a video on YouTube about the book. It is my most popular post!



And I wrote about Bunga here on this post.



I see that humanitarian Lotta Hitchmanova has made the short-list for the Canadian Banknote. Years and years ago, I wrote this poem - or something like it - about the woman.

You see, Lotta Hitchmanova narrated an advertisement that played every day for years, it seems, in he afternoon on the CBC.

She had an Eastern European accent. She sounded funny to me, but her subject was anything but funny. It was depressing.

Most weekday afternoons, I would come home from school and watch our snowy 24 inch black-and-white TV while eating junk food, as I  waited for my neighbour, whose Catholic school let out later, to arrive home so that I might play skipping with her on the sidewalk of our city street.

My 60's mother worked outside the home, imagine! And so did my neighbour's mom.

I'm no Carl Leggo, but here is the poem..

Lotta Hitchmanova,
You didn't help me,
As I sat in my bleak duplex,
In front of the TV
Eating marshmallow cookies,
Drinking Orangeade
After school.

When tha child would appear.
I forget her name.

The one one played with a stick and nail.
Who ate sea-gull claws from the garbage pail.

I forget her name.

For a minute every day, that hopeless little girl would invade my world with her dirty hair,  bare feet- and her stick and nail.

Lotta Hitchmanova,
You didn't help me,
You only made things worse,
Relatively.


In the 60's, where did we kids get our sense of being Canadian?  From school text books mostly - and from the CBC! Hockey and Friendly Giant, and Hinterland Who's Who.

 This pic of a wise Mountie lording it over the children of the 'backwards' Old World comes from Wide Open Windows, a reading text from a series,

The Canadian Reading Development Series wasused widely across Canada for decades in the 1900's.

The series was very rural and very white-bread, with lots of drawings of bears fighting with dogs, I recall. The stories in the books were boring, of course,  but there were many wonderful poems in them, too. My favorites were by American poet Walter de la Mare.

One of the books of the series, can't recall which one, had a poem by Pauline Johnson, another short-listed candidate for the new Canadian banknote. The poem is called Canadian Born and at least one academic I've read, not born in Canada, hates the poem for what it suggests.

(I found a copy of the Johnson poem with the Nicholson Family Letters. My husband's ancestors, of Isle of Lewis descent, were proud to be "Canadian born."

Today, our government grapples with how to create a sense of Canadianism among citizens, over and above hockey.

Hence, the hot debate over what historic woman to put on the banknote.

There are three suffragists on the banknote, Nellie McClung, Idola St-Jean and Therese Casgrain. Read my book Service and Disservice to see why women suffragists in Canada were very controversial...

Monday, May 2, 2016

The Charismatic and Imperfect Suffragette



The Canadian Suffrage Movement peaked in 1910-1913, the years just before WWI. At first, neither Liberal Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier (1896-1911) nor Conservative P.M. Robert Borden (1911-1920) caved into Canadian suffragists’ demands. Laurier claimed Canadian women didn’t want the vote and Borden said the vote was, primarily, a provincial matter.

In 1916, during the war, Monsieur Laurier, now Leader of the  Opposition, said he would support votes for women. In late May, 1917, Premier Borden strongly hinted in all the newspapers that he, too, would soon give all Canadian women the vote.

But, in September, 1917, Borden took back his half-promise and created the War Time Elections Act, awarding the franchise only to women with close relations at the Front. This was a calculated attempt to make sure he would win the December election so that his highly divisive Conscription Bill could pass in Parliament.

This limited suffrage strategy angered many Canadian suffragists, those for and against Conscription. Historians have long assumed that one of these women activists actually encouraged the Prime Minister to implement the undemocratic measure. 

                                        

Chapter 1: Flora Macdonald Denison

So you want to talk to me, about what exactly? You want me to explain my position on Woman Suffrage back in the day, 1913-1918.

Well, you must know of my position. I wanted woman to have the vote. All women. Women equal with men.

You say you  want me to focus on the you-know-what,  the Great Deception of 1917, the War Time Elections Act that gave the vote only to women with men at the Front;  the Disenfranchise Act as Dr. Margaret Gordon, my successor as President of the Canadian Suffrage Association, so aptly described it.

Leading her to say: “It would be more direct and at the same time more honest, if it simply stated that all who did not pledge themselves to vote Conservative would be disenfranchised.”

Peculiar laws you moderns have, allowing you to bring people back from the dead  to grill them on an historical point of interest. Not that I am a bit surprised.

To what end all of this?   To promote democracy by shedding light on a shady chapter in Canadian history, you say. Ah.

Well, then, let’s get started.

First, am I on trial, or something? Or am I here to testify against the other ones, the truly tainted parties, those suffragists among us who were guilty of crimes against democracy?

Well, either way, I have nothing to hide.

Never did. I wasn’t like the others. I always wore my heart on my sleeve.  But you have already figured that out, haven’t you?

I can tell by that half-smile on your lips.

You want me to start when? In June, 1913.  As  good a place as any, I guess,  a full year into my Presidency of the Canadian Suffrage Association, and about one year before I was deposed, kicked upstairs, if you will and given that title of Honourary President, with Dr. Gordon taking my place.

And all because of that Rosedale socialite, that suffrage upstart, Mrs. L.A. Hamilton.

(If I could let out a giant sigh right now, I would but, of course, breath is in short supply these days.)

Let me start, then, by painting you a pretty little word picture. 

After all, that is what I do best – or did best -  back in the day.

I was a wonderful wordsmith, you know, a journalist, as well as a capable seamstress. I was a creative person, first, I think, but also a very practical person, whatever my detractors liked to say.

I was a woman who was used to supporting herself and, who, oft times, was the sole support of her entire family.

 If I wasn’t perfect with council meetings and agendas and minute books, well, that’s not such a terrible thing, is it?

So, imagine this, if you will:  Union Station in Toronto, one bright morning in May, 1913. 

A handsome full-figured woman in her middle years, that’s me, with a fine, strong profile full of character, is participating in a little ceremony on the platform in front of her compartment.

She is embarking on a train trip, first to Boston, then to New York, and then on  to Europe by ocean liner to attend an important international conference on the woman suffrage issue.

Her strapping college-age son is by her side and he will accompany her on the long trip.

Two little darling brown-haired children, a boy and a girl, each holding a bunch of yellow daisies proudly strut up to the trans-Atlantic voyageurs and hand them each a bouquet.

This is a families-friendly touch I thought up myself.

It is something to allow the cub reporter, sent by the Toronto World, to show what he can do with words to liven up this otherwise dull assignment.

It’s also a little bit of political damage control, as I’ll explain later.

After the children have done their adorable bit,  Augusta Stowe-Gullen, that is Dr. Stowe-Gullen, the first female graduate of a Canadian medical school, and daughter of Emily Howard Stowe, the first female doctor in Canada,  steps up to present me, just me this time, with a giant bouquet of red roses.

This is yet another carefully-curated scene and we are trusting that the young reporter gets it right in the newspaper the next day.

I am Flora Macdonald Denison, President of the Canadian Suffrage Association, an organization started by Emily Howard Stowe when Victoria was still on the throne, and I am off to Budapest to attend the Conference of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance and to report on it for the Toronto World tabloid in my column, Stray Leaves from a Suffragette.

But, first, I make a little speech for the benefit of the small group gathered, especially the reporter. “I go to Europe,” I say, “As a representative of Canadian women who have pledged themselves to the suffrage cause. Failure is impossible.”

The people clap and I ready myself  for departure.

From Toronto I will go to Paris, to report on the latest French fashions.  (I am, after all, a couturier by trade, once in charge of the custom dress department at Robert Simpson’s) Then it’s off to England, to survey the suffrage situation there as a guest of Mrs. Pankhurst’s WSPU.

The name of Emmeline Pankhurst is like a red flag to a bull and the suffragists of Canada in this era work harder to prove that they aren’t militant suffragettes than they ever do to fight for the vote.

Such is the sad situation in Canada.

I, myself, entertained Mrs. Pankhurst in my home in Toronto on two occasions, in 1909 and 1911.

For this trip, Mrs. Pankhurst  is not in any position to reciprocate, being on the run from the police, so I will stay with Miss Barbara Wylie, a suffragette who is most familiar with the Canadian suffrage scene.

 I am trying to sound strong and purposeful with this short speech on the train platform.

As it happens, there are a number of women in my suffrage organization, perhaps half of the 2,000 total, who do not like me as their leader.

There are whispers and grumblings and these women will surely take advantage of my lengthy absence to hatch a plot to oust me, if they can. 

Well, they have already concocted a clever plot to force me out.  I can almost feel their poison daggers sinking into my back as I turn to climb onto the train, but, wait, it’s only my dear Merrill’s hand protectively guiding me up the steps.

When I ascended to the Presidency of the CSA the year before, appointed, some say anointed, by the former President  Augusta Stowe-Gullen, I knew I had some built-in enemies.

Many high up in the Canadian suffrage movement, particularly Mrs. Constance Hamilton, President of  the Toronto Equal Franchise League, did not think it was  ‘natural’ that I was selected as successor to Stowe-Gullen ‘due to my experience and gifted ability as a writer and a speaker,’ as was explained at the National Council of Women’s 1912 Annual General Meeting.

Somehow, because she was British and well-born and successfully married, Mrs. Hamilton felt that she was better suited to the leadership of the Canadian suffrage movement, despite having adopted the suffrage cause only that year.

As I explained back then, in 1914, in a formal letter to the membership: "From the time of the formation of the Toronto Equal Franchise League in 1912 led by Mrs. L.A. Hamilton, the society has displayed a spirit of antagonism to Chief National Officers, and since its affiliation its members have adopted obstructive tactics which are incompatible to the harmonious cooperation of the Executive Council and an absolute detriment to progressive work.”

The problem: Mrs. Hamilton had powerful allies. Because she had lived in Vancouver and Winnipeg, she had many friends out in the Canadian West and one of these friends was that tea-totalling schemer Nelly McClung.

In Montreal, she had Miss Carrie Mathilda Derick on her side. Two peas in a pod they were, even if Carrie Derick was a woman of high accomplishment, a university professor, unlike Mrs. Hamilton, who had been born to comfort and had married her way into even greater social respectability.

It was Miss Carrie Derick who first introduced Mrs. Hamilton to the useful side of women suffrage, you know.

Derick's Montreal Council of Women had had great success in the 1910 Montreal municipal elections. By getting the spinster and widow vote out, they were able to install a brand new reform-minded ticket at City Hall.

So, in 1912, Miss Derick (who could be an equal rights suffragist, a real feminist, when it suited her) convinced Mrs. Hamilton, through the Toronto Local Council of Women, that she, too, could purify City Hall, by getting rid of unscrupulous alderman and putting in her own people, those men who fell in line with her pious reform ambitions.

That is what women's suffrage meant to Mrs. Constance Hamilton and her ilk back in the day. It was merely a means to an end.

And didn't she prove it in 1917 with the Conscription Crisis? That undemocratic and dismal affair dealt Canada’s female leadership a fierce body blow, forcing each one of us to take a firm side in the Federal Election.

The hypocrisy was contagious. Before the war, the women’s vote had been all about valuing humanity and protecting children and, suddenly, with the war, it was all about sending sixteen-year-olds overseas to die in a trench.

Anyway, before the war, back in January, 1913, at a meeting of our local Toronto Suffrage Association, I was given a rousing ovation as I rose to speak for the first time in front of my membership as in-coming President of the one and only national suffrage body, the Canadian Suffrage Association.

Even then, there was a plan afoot to create a federation of the six Toronto suffrage organizations with a constitution written up and regular meetings.

This was the plot my adversaries had hatched, most of them suffragists from the Old Country, to force me out. They were going to federate, absorbing our local Toronto Suffrage Association, and then vote in Mrs. Hamilton as President of the new federation. This federation would then take over the national movement in the place of our Canadian Suffrage Association.

At this same January, 1913 meeting, I announced to the Press that the Canadian Suffrage Association had been invited to participate in the Washington Suffrage Procession in the spring.  My good friend, Mrs. Chapman Catt of the National American Women Suffrage Association had invited me personally.


So, in March nine other Ontario suffrage leaders travelled with me to the American capital. It was a group that included Dr. Gordon, Augusta Stowe Gullen and  Mrs. Constance Hamilton.  We made up  ‘the Canadian delegation.’

This Washington suffrage parade was simply breath-taking in scope, with over ten thousand marchers. It was led by beautiful New York City lawyer Inez Milholland, on horseback, draped in white robes and carrying the colours, white, purple and green of Mrs. Pankhurst’s Women’s Social and Political Union.

News of this amazing parade got into the Toronto newspapers, too, thanks to me.  I was the one who arranged for a Toronto World photo shoot that captured, for the first and last time, Canadian women marching in a suffrage parade.

I also arranged for my cute little niece, Flora Lapham, to participate, all decorated up in the Canadian flag. Being so adorable, she got to march at the head of the Parade, right beside magnificent Inez on her fine white horse.

But, what bothered Mrs. Hamilton most about this parade, I think, was the order in which we marched.  Augusta and me at the front, Mrs. Hamilton and the others following.

At the special suffrage meetings, before the parade, Augusta and I both were given the opportunity to speak to a large and enthusiastic audience.

I could sense Mrs. Hamilton’s simmering condescension the whole time during the trip.  All those private tutors and the piano lessons at the Leipzig Conservatory and the Bach Society in Winnipeg and the La-De-Da older husband, big shot with the CPR had given her a sense of entitlement.



Less than two years on the suffrage bandwagon and she felt she had the right to address a sophisticated international suffrage crowd!

 So, when we got back to Toronto, Augusta, always the diplomat, suggested to me that it was best to allow Mrs. Hamilton to address reporters, to talk about the parade at the follow-up press conference, and this during a meeting of Hamilton’s Toronto Equal Franchise League in Margaret Eaton Hall.  I had no objections. I tagged along.

Mrs. Hamilton quoted from a newspaper report that said the marchers “walked in rows as delicate as sweet peas.” She conveniently left out the part about the accompanying riots.

She also mentioned a letter from Miss Barbara Wylie, the English suffragette who had just completed a one year coast-to-coast tour of Canada. The letter, Mrs. Hamilton said,  urged us to get a declaration from Mr. Borden saying he supported the cause.  In truth, Wylie wanted us to organize a march from Toronto to Ottawa as was almost organized in Montreal, but even if Mrs. Hamilton changed the details, clearly she wasn’t afraid of associating her name with the militant Women’s Social and Political Union, not at that moment in time.

 Mrs. Hamilton got her chance to shine as a suffrage leader before the Press, but it was all too little too late, at least in her mind. A mere twelve months later she’d have my scalp and proclaim herself to be Canada’s leading suffragist.

She was a ruthless opponent, this ermine-swaddled socialite. Or, maybe, she merely played the game of politics better than I did.

I, Flora Macdonald Denison, was an equal rights suffragist, but, by 1913, the days of the equal rights suffragists like Augusta and her mother Emily Howard Stowe were on the wane and had been for some time.

All those people rushing to live in the big cities, and the immigrants pouring in East and West.  There was much anxiety among the ruling classes, so many problems to fix, it aroused the sensibilities of the society’s care-takers, the society matrons with all their money and oceans  of  leisure time.

These women, high born or well-married, many, if not most, in the millionaire club, came to dominate the woman suffrage movement in Canada by the beginning of WWI.  But, at what price? I wonder.

We equal right suffragists, long-standing disciples of Emily Howard Stowe, were never indifferent to all the social betterment schemes advocated by the reformers, especially the sad and sickening aspects of some girl life, but our vision from the first was always clear and the goal we wished to reach was straight forward.

We wanted women to have the vote. Women equal with men.

For these social reformers, the woman’s vote was merely a means to an end, or various ends, depending on which women you asked: temperance, for example, was a popular issue, milk and babies, another. Widow’s pensions, the social evil, prostitution, the care of the feeble-minded, compulsory schooling, housing and women’s hotels, the list goes on.

In 1912, the  World Presbyterian Congress came out in favor of active involvement in  social reform with respect to Sabbath observance, temperance, gambling, the social evil, suppression of the white slave trade and rescue of its victims, immoral books, obscene pictures and literature, recreation and amusement, and the study and improvement of industrial conditions.

(This church was afraid the State was taking over its work, stealing its thunder in this regard.)

And many, if not most of the suffragists in Canada were Presbyterian. Almost all of them were Protestant. Sometimes I wonder if these pious and energetic women were just angry at their husbands, you know, on account of them never being around when the evening dinner bell was rung.

As I stated earlier, my problems at the Canadian Suffrage Association started immediately upon my installation as President, in late 1911.

At the May, 1912 Annual General Meeting of the National Council of Women, I was the one who proposed a motion for a resolution condemning the white slave traffic. I also stated, on the record, that I thought the problem was an economic one. In this regard, I did not agree with Professor Derick of Montreal, who believed that fifty percent of all prostitutes were feeble-minded.

But, the very next year, at the 1913 AGM  in Montreal,  I dared to stick  to my principles around the very same issue, and officially condemned one of the National Council’s resolutions that supported the flogging of procurers.

At the session in question, I was quickly shot down by the good ladies of the Council, not allowed to utter another word on the subject.

So I responded in the best way I knew, in my newspaper column.

It was some of my best writing ever, if I say so myself.

Crime Against Criminals

“The history of the race, especially of the Dark Ages, reeks with the tragic tale of thumbscrew and rack and torture. The whole gamut of vindictive cruelty has run and the consensus of scientific thought is that punishment does not reform.”

This public outburst was not looked upon with favour.

Some of the Council ladies treated me as if I had come full out in favour of women selling their bodies, these imperious society women who dared to call themselves ‘progressives’ when their main goal was to maintain the social order, which had served them all very nicely, by the way.

Am I sounding bitter, harsh?

I have nothing against those social reformers, women like Mrs. Torrington, the President of the National Council of Women, who come to realize after years of promoting social justice that the only way to achieve it was  through the vote. Life is a learning process, after all.

But let’s be honest, these maternal-minded suffragists were mostly motivated by religious fervor.

As Mrs. Torrington said in her address at the 1918 National Council AGM.

 “The future of Canada lies in the home. The victory won on the battlefield must be followed by a realization of the power of consecrated motherhood. To us it is a testing time, and surely there is not a woman to whom war does not bring its problems. Upon woman rests the responsibilities, in a great measure, of the development of a higher civilization. Nor is it a time of our personal beliefs or convictions. A writer has said : ‘The origin of your duties is in God. The definition of your duties is found in His Law. The progressive discovery and the application of His Law is the task of humanity.’ I am convinced that the solving of the many social problems which we are facing will come through the spiritual touch—our being in touch with the Infinite.”


I was an outsider in this respect, having questioned institutionalized religion early on and put it into words in my 1900 novel, Mary Melville: Psychic:  “It seems to me that while improvement is lauded upon almost any line, mechanics, art, literature, a corner is placed upon religion and on every church door is emblazoned: ‘He who enters here should not change, either broaden or grow.’ While development seems the natural order of things, religion must stand still. The brain that has no conception of the rotation of the Earth, the brain that knew not of the attraction of gravity, is not a brain enough to mould my ideas of the nature and destiny of the soul.”

I was, indeed, an outsider – and in so many ways.

So, despite my best efforts at reconciliation with the dissenting suffragists in the Canadian Suffrage Association, in the fall of 1913 and the spring of 1914,  I lost the battle with Mrs. L.A. Hamilton, who stole 1,000 of our 2,000 members for her new 'national' organization and my co-executive  had no choice but to kick me upstairs, to the position of Honorary President.

Honourary President: An unpaid position more suited to society women like Montreal’s Lady Julia Parker Drummond, who right away joined Mrs. Hamilton's organization, if you want to know, as Honourary Vice-President. Carrie Derick of the Montreal Suffrage Association, came on as VP at the same time.

I had invited the new MSA and Miss Derick to join our organization back in October, 1913, but nothing came of it. Mrs. Hammond Bullock of the Provincial Franchise Association remained our only Quebec delegate.

Perhaps, using hindsight, my biggest mistake was to defend Mrs. Pankhurst in my first speech after returning from Europe. That was in October, 1913.  I had long been a Pankhurst supporter, this was no secret, but the timing was poor, I can see it now.

But, it's hard to stay silent after seeing what I saw, that summer of my European escapade, especially in the East End of London with Sylvia Pankhurst. I described in it detail for my readers back home in my Toronto Sun column.

“Sylvia Pankhurst was half-carried, half dragged to the platform disguised in very grand clothes which she proceeded to throw off, leaving her in a very plain, very simple dress of khaki.

“What Sylvia Pankhurst had to say, she read from a paper. She had arranged, if it were possible, to escape the police, to take refuge in a small baker's shop directly opposite the hall. She said the police were many, but the men of Bow and Bromley were more and if they believed her cause to be right she believed they would protect her. The audience was a difficult one to manage, but to a man they shouted they would protect her.

“First the nurses and two of these other women half carried her. Then a half dozen big strong men locked arms about the center group and then another group around them. They had a flight of stairs to go down before reaching the street. When they were about at the street door, the fire hose was turned on by policemen who were outside guarding the entrance. This caused a commotion. A girl dressed as Miss Pankhurst hurried up a side street with many of the crowd protecting her, the police followed and in the meantime, Sylvia Pankhurst was being put to bed in the humble bedroom of the poor baker's shop in Bow.

“A spray of water made me turn around and the hose had become disconnected and a two and a half inch stream of water was fast flooding the hall. Miss Wylie and I started to leave the hall. Cries on all sides were "Heaven bless the angel." "Praise the Lord she has escaped." "Curses on the government."

“When we got outside, the police were trying to disperse the crowd. The automobile of the WSPU was standing in front of the hall and Miss Emmerson asked me to get in. Miss Wylie thought it might be dangerous but I thought if a young woman like Miss Smith could drive the car through such a crowd, I could at least be a passive spectator, so I got in amid the cries of "We'll not let the police touch you."

“As a matter of fact, the police had no wish to touch anyone. They were busy assisting women with babies, old lame men and protecting anyone who needed them in a terrible crush."

All very theatrical, it was. And spine-tingling scary. And, heart-breaking, too.

So, you can see why, in that October, 1913 speech I gave in Toronto I said, “A great play is unfolding, with Mrs. Pankhurst as the heroine, and the UK government as both the villain and the clown.”

I do wish the Toronto Sun reporter hadn’t written that I had become intimately acquainted with Mrs. Pankhurst and her militants. True, I attended rallies on the platform, but I did so as an international observer and as a member of the Press.

With this disclosure, the discontent among the Toronto rank and file came to a head.  Rumour had it I had joined the WSPU as a full member. Even my more devoted followers at the CSA started getting very uncomfortable.

In December, 1913,  I gave a very smart speech, this time, a very calculated speech, determined to stop the hemorrhaging of the CSA membership. I tried to balance my feelings of bitterness with an invitation to all Toronto suffragists to work together, and I announced a torchlight march through the streets of Toronto to promote out next meeting. A march that never happened. No marches ever happened here in Canada.  That was part of the problem.

 That same month the CSA donated a bust of Emily Howard Stowe to the City of Toronto, to make a symbolic point.

(It was very difficult to get attention for the suffrage cause without appearing in any way pushy, in any way militant. This donation was a very good idea.)

Yes, I was an unapologetic Pankhurst partisan, and had been for years, but I know I wasn’t alone in this, not in Canada.  Plenty of women supported Pankhurst and it wasn’t all excitable, maidenly seamstresses and spinster school teachers.

 Mrs. Hurlbatt of the Royal Victoria College of McGill, for one, liked to defend the militants. You can't get more respectable than that.

Still, they shot me down for my support of Mrs. Pankhurst. Well, not only for that.

My enemies accused me of being an autocrat, of not adhering to practices of good governance, with meeting and minutes and such, but I wasn’t hired to be fastidious with agendas and minutes and motions.  I was hired as a speaker and writer.

One of the more curious criticisms of me was that the Canadian movement, under the Canadian Suffrage Association, had stagnated. Stagnated?  During the past year we had kept up our educational campaign; we had sent letters and distributed literature and marched in Washington; and all the newspapers in Toronto were on the side of woman suffrage because of us and clamouring for news items about our Canadian movement.

But we hadn’t done anything, according to my accusers. I had been to Europe for Heaven’s sake.  What more did they want?

If the Canadian movement had stagnated, it is because it had nowhere else to go except in the direction of what some called proto-militantism, or peaceful militantism, as in street marches with banners and loud speakers and emotional speeches and elegant theatrics. You know, the “deeds not words” path of Mrs. Pankhurst.

And that’s what everyone in Canada was afraid off. So, it was clearly a case of ‘damned if we did and damned if we didn’t.’

The truth was, they didn’t like me for who I was, my enemies. I was too sympathetic to the working class for their tastes, those Rosedale socialites, who, as I said, had no interest in really changing the system. Why would they when it had served them so well?  They only wanted to set right the parts of society that were threatening to challenge their status as the arbiters of morality, and take away their creature comforts and their children’s right to the best of everything. 

What do you want to know? If my free-spirit scared them? You mean my spiritualism and unorthodox opinions toward marriage.

Had these women read my 1900 novel, you ask.  I doubt it.  I sincerely doubt it. These dutiful, industrious women weren't the novel-reading kind.

At a pivotal Toronto suffrage meeting in mid-March, 1914 the women staged their coup, demanding that the CSA draw a constitution and install an executive of regional vice presidents and then they demanded to see a treasurer’s report.  Dr. Gordon refused on behalf of the Canadian Suffrage Association.

After consulting our by-laws, and seeing I had the right to do so,  I expelled Mrs. Hamilton and her followers from the Canadian Suffrage Association with that speech I told you of earlier, saying she had been obstructionist from the start.

I  defended the Canadian Suffrage Association, my Presidency and my support of Mrs. Pankhurst, who I described as the greatest women alive,  although I half-denounced  militancy as a way forward for Canadian women, saying it wasn’t likely to happen in Canada, although there were Englishwomen in the country, so who knows.

I was referring to Caroline Kenney in Montreal, who had started a militant-friendly Equal Franchise League there in late 1913.  Caroline was the one who tried in vain to organize a suffrage tramp from Montreal to Ottawa earlier in the spring.

 In this same speech, I defended the working class woman’s right to vote in all elections. “Someone who can’t speak well or doesn’t have the money for fine dress is as much allowed to vote as rich women,” I said.

This was a failed effort to win back some supporters from Mrs. Constance Hamilton.

Mrs. Hamilton’s allies then went to the press and said they had broken away from us. Broken away? From us? Ha.

One of them said,” Devotion to the cause was not a proof of business ability.” So, now we were supposed to be a business?

Three of the five Toronto suffrage organizations went with Mrs. Hamilton. She then sent lettergrams all over the country asking local suffrage associations to join their new ‘national’ group.  

She visited Montreal in person, giving a talk to the Montreal Suffrage Association, ostensibly about industrial working conditions for young women, but really to feel Miss Derick out.

Miss Derick took the bait and joined her organization as Vice-President. Or, maybe it had all been long planned out that way. You could never tell with those two.

So, 1000 of these Canadian suffragists, many British-born, fell in line behind Mrs. Hamilton in March, 1914.  And, they had the gall to call themselves the Progressives because they were new to the suffrage movement, when the truth was quite the opposite.  They were anything but Progressive, as I’ve already told you.    But, it seems, if you repeat something enough times, people start to believe you.

These maternal social reformer suffragists couldn’t see rights and liberties if these flew up and hit them in the forehead. Their idea of perfect womanhood was so tied into their stock religious beliefs, they could never be true feminists.

 I was proven right in the end, wasn’t I?  Where did Jesus say sending young men to an almost sure death was a Christian thing to do?  I’m talking about the 1917 Conscription Election, of course.

That filthy business in August, 1917, with Mrs. Hamilton conspiring with Mr. Borden behind everyone’s back and then claiming to speak for all Canadian suffragists. Their one goal, to send more and more healthy young Canadian men, BOYS, to their death, to turn every Canadian mother into a Mary-style martyr.

Very maternal of these suffragettes, eh?  500,000 was the number stated. In a country with just 8,000 000 people. Did anyone bother to actually think about it? That meant virtually every able bodied man from 14 to 35, to be sent to be killed or maimed.

But people don’t think in times like these. The mob mentality prevails.

Dr. Gordon, my successor was the only Toronto suffrage leader to keep her head during the Conscription Crisis and to dare ask when Compulsory Service was on the table: “Why would women with men at the Front want to force other women to send their own men to die?”  It was a fair question. A voice in the wilderness she was.

Her question was answered at the August 2nd Win-the-War meetings in Toronto, according to the New Century, the magazine of the National Council of Women. These women wanted to save their men by sending out other women’s men to take their place.

How very Christian of them. How very noble.

In July, 1914, when war broke, I went to work as a seamstress in Napanee, outside of Kingston, Ontario, to earn money for Merrill’s college tuition. I wanted him to be a lawyer.

When this contract finished, I couldn’t pay my own way at Bon Echo, my own Walt Whitman-inspired spiritual retreat nearby, so I washed dishes there, like a common scullery maid.

In summers past, I had vacationed at the most fashionable spots, like Atlantic City, and now here I was with my head over a steamy sink.

I was having trouble finding writing work for pay. (Not that I was ever paid for my Toronto Sun column.) Do you know how easy it would have been for me, during the War, to write patriotic articles or give patriotic speeches, like Mrs. Pankhurst, ‘the voice of the martyr’ herself, and so many lesser suffragists?

But, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I scraped my knuckles raw scrubbing dirty pots and pans.

In 1917, just in time, as I was in a mess financially, my kind friend Mrs. Chapman Catt gave me some work in New York, fighting for the women’s vote in that great state.

Mrs. Catt never stopped praising my efforts the whole time. Now, that's a leader, for you.  That's the way to run a suffrage organization.

In 1918, I came back to Canada, to attend the AGM of the National Council of Women on behalf of the CSA. Ironically, I seconded a number of motions proposed by Mrs. Constance Hamilton.

It’s odd, don’t you think?  In 1915, Mrs. Hamilton gave up the suffrage fight to direct all her energies toward the War Effort, so she said, and yet, during the war, she still had the time for all that busy-work, to act as Convenor on all those social reform committees

The minute she won the right to lead the suffrage fight in Canada, she gave it up. It’s as if her heart just wasn’t in it.

Or, if was just personal, against me? That’s a possibility. Maybe, she just wanted me out of the way.

And, irony of ironies, I was the one who got to scratch out my X in the ballot box in the 1917 Conscription Election, unlike so many Canadian suffragists who had worked their fingers to the bone rolling bandages and the like for the patriotic cause.

I had a son in the war, you see.  My dear Merrill had signed up voluntarily in 1916.

I have to say, that was a life-changing moment of truth for me. Merrill, my only son. My only close relation in this life. Over there.

We exchanged dozens of long, detailed letters between 1916 and 1918.  Merrill couldn’t include any discussion about the fighting, even had he wished to, so he penned me pages and pages about his friendships, his thoughts and feelings and his insights, spiritual or otherwise.

He was a writer, too, my son.  No lawyer in-waiting; a real writer like me.

As for what went on, exactly, in 1917, in Canada, in Toronto and Ottawa, between Mrs. Hamilton and Mr. Borden, I can’t say for sure. I wasn’t there, was I?  I was in New York State.

Dr. Gordon blamed Nellie McClung for the War Time Elections Act but I suspect Constance Hamilton had a bigger part to play, much bigger, as she was high up on the Win-the-War Committee.

And, maybe, Carrie Derick, too, even if, as a Quebecker, she had to come out publically against the Act.  Did I mention? She could be two-faced that Miss Derick.

 All I do know is that I ended up on the right side of history.

(I assume I did. I died in 1921. Did I? Did I do the right thing? Am I remembered kindly? Am I remembered at all?)

Whatever my legacy, I suffered for my beliefs. That surely counts for something.

Yes, many Canadian suffragists got all caught up in the demagoguery of the times, honest ones and dishonest ones.

Mrs. Hamilton was the War Time Election Act’s staunchest defender but many in her NEFU were dismayed by the very thought of it.  After all, the organization had declared itself against any limited suffrage scheme in 1917.

Defenders of the Act, like Mrs. Hamilton, employed clever arguments in the Press against us dissenters. They called us traitors and fanatics. They called us hysterical women. Imagine! They said we were proving women didn’t deserve the vote because we wouldn’t fall in line with what the majority believed.

After all was said and done, some bad suffragists got away with everything, with their reputations unscathed.  And, some good ones were pilloried for their beliefs. So it goes in times of war. Everything is turned upside down.

I got to vote in the 1917 election, as I said. I was one of the few prominent suffragists who did.

How did I vote, you ask. Wouldn’t you like to know.

With my  only son away in Europe and in the thick of things,  I would have been justified to vote for Borden’s Union Government, if it was true, what many suffragists believed, that more reinforcements meant a greater chance of seeing my son return home alive and in one piece.

I spoiled my vote, if you must know. As a protest.

And, then I returned home and pushed my straight-backed chair up to my little writing desk in my house that was mortgaged to the hilt by this time and I began to scratch out another essay, Women and War, for the Canadian Suffrage Association’s 1918 Biennial Meeting in Toronto. Yes, our organization was fifty years old in 1918.

“And what does it all mean? Have the Altruists all lived and worked and thought for nothing? Have women come into the game of life in the past generation with their wondrous power of organization as shown at their world's represented congresses and passed resolutions of peace and arbitration to be absolutely ignored by the sons to whom-they have given birth? Has Democracy appeared on the stage only to have the curtain rung down at the beginning of the first act and slapped in the face by autocracy? Is there any meaning to the great platitudes about the "Brotherhood of Man" and "Love your Neighbor as Yourself," and 'We're all one human family." Is Nietzsche right and will war eternally return to tell its gruesome story?

“Had women stood shoulder to shoulder with men in thinking out world problems this war would never have been. This war is the most conclusive argument that has ever blazed its electric message across the sky of human consciousness in favor of political equality. ‘Prevention is better than cure.’  We are learning to apply this great truism, and, besides, war never cured.

“The conquered Napoleon left behind a legacy of hate which is bearing fruit to-day. The battle of Waterloo was not decisive and the only decisive battle will be a bloodless one, fought out by representatives from nations who will be elected, by the whole people. In that court of arbitration great men and great women will discuss side by side what is best for their children-best for the human race.”


Chapter 2: Frances Fenwick Williams



So, my novels, the Arch Satirist and A Soul on Fire are available for the entire  world to read, on some kind of Web, except that no one reads them. But, Edith Wharton’s novels are still very popular, you say, thanks to movies and something called television.

Well, if you are not here to talk about my novels, that haven’t, apparently,  stood the test of time, what are you here to talk about?

My poems? My WWI poems Before Verdun and Recruiting Song.

I certainly have no objection to that. What about them makes you curious?

You say, you find these two poems to be contradictory in tone.

All I can say to that is : A poem is like a child, it is meant to stand on its own.

OK.  I guess if you think about it, these poems, they are very different but it can be explained in a very blunt manner: One poem was a commissioned work to attract young American men to join the military and one poem was written, well, from the heart.

Believe me, I’m not the only Canadian suffragist who was of mixed mind during that perilous time, WWI, although I was of less mixed mind that most of prominent Canadian suffragists, let me tell you.

This is the first part of Service and Disservice, about the Canadian suffragists and their involvement in the 1917 Conscription Crisis

Friday, April 29, 2016

Suffragettes and Double Agents


Militant Suffragette Sarah Nell Kenney is buried in Mount Royal Cemetery in Montreal, beside her husband, Frank Randall Clarke, a newspaper man. 

The  couple came over to Canada in 1909 and married here. Their record is in the Drouin Collection. (If I am right, a Salvation Army nurse served as a witness.)

 A story I was told says Frank protected her from the police at a suffragette rally where she was bothering Mr. Asquith. How romantic! They lived in Verdun, in south central Montreal,  for a few years and then moved to south shore St. Lambert.

Nell never got directly involved with the suffrage movement here in Montreal. 

Well, look at all the babies she had all in a row! 

Her sister Caroline came over to stay with her in 1913 and stayed until 1916. Caroline tried to start a militant suffrage movement here, the Montreal Equal Franchise League.  The Powers-that-Be in Montreal, Clergymen, McGill Profs and Society Lady/Social Reformers launched the Montreal Suffrage Association in 1913. It was decidedly non-militant.

 Well, the men on the board said it was non-militant. The women, including President Carrie Derick, weren't so sure :) Some of the women, like author Frances Fenwick Williams, were suffragette double-agents.

Of course, Nell and Caroline are  the sisters of famed suffragette Annie Kenney, Mrs. Pankhurst's working class First Lieutenant. I've written about it all in Furies Cross the Mersey and Service and Disservice. 



Here's a bit from Votes for Women, June, 1908






Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Truth and Denial and WWI Conscription


Carrie Derick and Mrs. Pankhurst. In 1912 Pankhurst sent some of her troops to Canada.



In WWI, the women  of Canada, or their representatives, came out for Conscription long BEFORE Premier Borden and his Union Party cronies, or so it seems.

November, 1916. “Re: Conscription and expression of sympathy: That the LCW is dissatisfied with the present undemocratic method of recruiting and believe that Canada should without further delay fulfill her pledge to send 500,000 men for the Defence of the Empire and petition the government to take definite steps to extend the operation of the Military Act for Home Defence to overseas, with just and reasonable exceptions.”

 Carrie Derrick of the Montreal Council of Women, who wrote up the resolution and sent it on to the National Council (where it was approved by 11 locals, and turned down by 7) refused to admit it.

This "Montreal Resolution" was  described in the Press across Canada as a Conscription Resolution.



Still, Derick  would say, just  a year later, that the Montreal Resolution wasn't about Conscription (although the word Conscription was written into the MLCW minutes and even underlined). How could the resolution be about conscription when conscription wasn't yet a party plank? she asked.

Good question.  Derick was very good with words, a truly 'modern' politician.

Back in January, 1916, Premier Borden of Canada had returned from England and called for 500,000 new Canadian recruits. This is a huge number considering that there were only 8 million people total in Canada.

His goal, to use moral persuasion to get men to enlist.

The National Council of Women  soon passed a resolution to use moral persuasion to get women to 'let their men go.' It is written in their New Century Magazine.

 In the period, Borden often sent emissaries to tell the National Council ladies that the Women of Canada simply were not doing enough for the war effort, despite all their bandage-rolling and fund-raising.

"Too many Canadian women were of the joy-riding spirit,' these government men said.


Then, at a November 1916 Board meeting of the Montreal Local Council of Women, something provoked Miss Derick (the Past-President) to propose that resolution in favor of Conscription and have it sent to the National Council for country-wide approval.

Only, 8 months later, in late July, 1917, did Borden start talking in the Press about conscripting men into the forces. (From what I can see online.)

A few days after that, on the 29th of July, 1917, Mrs. Constance Hamilton, Toronto-based head of the Women's Section of the Win the War Committee, held a special emergency meeting of the National Equal Suffrage Union (her circa 1914 suffrage organization that had been 'on hold' since 1915) and passed a rousing resolution, printed up in the newspapers, against holding an election but strongly in favor of Conscription, and in favour of denying 'foreigners' and 'slackers'  the vote in any upcoming federal election, should there have to be one.

Hamilton published this statement juxtasposed  with another rather colourful resolution sent into the meeting by rogue elements (not President Derick) of the Montreal Suffrage Association described as "an organization that represented women across the province"  also boistrously  in favour of conscription and Borden's Union Government, but with no mention of slackers.

"We heartily support the policy of the Borden Government for a Union Government to enforce conscription and to ensure vigorous prosecution of the war but we regret a General Election during the war. Is Canada going to fail? Never! If we break faith with those who die 'They will not sleep though poppies grow in Flanders Field.' Canada's honor is at stake, she must not fail to carry on to break faith with our brave fighting men and glorious dead."

In September, Borden, who in June had hinted about giving all Canadian women the federal vote, created the War Time Elections Act,awarding the vote only to women with men at the Front.

Constance Hamilton was elated: after all, this limited suffrage measure was basically her idea. (Read Service and Disservice). 

Carrie Derick, who also was a VP of Hamilton's NEFU, was incensed, as she had been fighting hard to make sure all Quebec women got the federal vote in any future election.

The Conscription Election was held in  December 1917, pitting Laurier's Liberals against a Union Government made up of former Liberals and Conservatives. There were riots in Quebec, as well.

The Union side won. Conscription passed.

In October, before the election, Carrie Derick tried to get the Montreal Local Council of Women to denounce the War Time Elections Act, speaking for a full hour at the Board meeting in question, but to no avail.

She did get the Board of the Montreal Suffrage Association, where she was President, to pass a resolution condemning the War Time Elections Act, with a few members dissenting.



Borden wrote her MSA back a letter saying "You don't appreciate the position I am in . Would you want women who have only been in Canada a few months to vote?

It was never about Quebec women apparently. Yea. Right.

Saturday, April 23, 2016

No Pride and Prejudice but Juicy in other Ways



Elegant Sherbrooke Street in Montreal in 1910 era.


The Arch-Satirist, the 1910 novel by Montreal author Frances Fenwick Williams, contains some sassy prose but it lacks for a plot or at least for some plot twists.

The novel is primarily a vehicle to explore the modern mating-game (interesting enough) but through the women characters' dialogue. The book is  all Tell and no Show.

And, although the story takes place in Montreal, there is little local colour. Mount Royal is described and that's about it.

All description is of female features, Their looks. Many of the women in the novel have a wonderful complexion, so either women were more careful with their skin back then, or their diets were better, or it's a lie, because the up-and-down climate in Montreal is not condusive to great skin.

These are 'society' women, so maybe they were, indeed, the careful type.

So much for my review of a  forgotten novel, one that is not nearly as good as Pride and Prejudice or La Grande Sophie.

Nonetheless, I like to think of FFW as Montreal's Edith Wharton.

The plot of the Arch-Satirist can be easily summed up. A rather homely, cash-poor young woman from a high society family cannot marry any of her many suitors because of a dark secret: she has a half-brother tucked away in the bad part of town, a low-life artist with a drug problem.

Interesting. FFW had a secret, too, I discovered. She was born a boy! (At least, according to 1881  Canadian census.) She married in 1909, at about 30, but the marriage fell apart immediately and her husband, a prominent NY social planner, never re-married.

In the Arch-Satirist Frances Fenwick Williams explains that, in the era, marriage conferred upon a woman a certain respectability.



Fenwick Williams' column in the short-lived Tabloid the Saturday Mirror (February -June 1913)

So true. It is unlikely that Fenwick-Williams would have been allowed onto the Board of the Montreal Suffrage Association had she not been married, whatever her own very fine social connections. (Her father was a stock market official and her grandfather had been a McGill doctor.)

The Arch-Satirist would have worked better if the protagonist's dark secret had been a half-sister who was a prostitute.  But, maybe, then the novel wouldn't have been published. Too close to home. The Social Evil, as it was called, was a great preoccupation of the Montreal social elite in 1910.

The heroine of the book is a 'good  woman' but her friends, well, not so nice.

 One unmarried beauty is engaged to three different men at the same time, 'kissing three different men" as it is put, and another friend, married to a rich old man, flirts unabashedly with scores of young men and makes no apologies for it.

Eugenics is an underlying theme in the book, in that FFW seems to suggest all behavior is inherited. Of course, that was a popular belief in the 1910 era.

In Canada, the suffrage movement was all about promoting social purity.


As I write in my own book Service and Disservice, about the Canadian suffragists and the Conscription Crisis, Frances Fenwick was a bit of a mole on the Board of the Montreal Suffrage Association.

She was a huge fan of militant Mrs. Pankhurst (despised by the male members of the MSA Board) and she was an avowed feminist. Her 1913 newspaper column was titled The Feminist.

FFW  led a kind of double life, no doubt. Oddly, she writes on the subject of double lives in the Arch-Satirist.



Mr. Zangwell, in his clever "Serio-Comic Governess" has shown us a young lady leading two  very different lives at one and the same time. In the day-time she is a highly respectable and decorous governess, at night, a music-hall artiste. In both lines she is a success. Now, this success is probably owning to the fact that this particular young lady is gratifying her curiosity and her desire to lead a conventional existence at one and the same time. She is, in short, doing that which she wishes to do.

There are many such, "serio-comic governesses" in real life. Perhaps you, who read, may be one; perhaps, unknown to you, the dear friend from whom you have no secrets and who, you fondly believe, has none from you, may have a personality which you have never even guessed at.


Her friends were the Brit writers, Ida A.R. Wylie and Ivy Compton Burnett.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

A 1910 Hockey Match - Montreal




Frances Fenwick Williams was a Montreal journalist,author and suffragist who wrote a few novels including The Arch-Satirist, from 1910, the year the woman suffrage movement got going in the City. She figures in my e-books Furies Cross the Mersey and Service and Disservice, about the Canadian suffragists and suffragettes.

This is a novel with too little plot and too much TELL and not enough SHOW, and little description of the city in that era, but the novel does contain a scene at a hockey game.  I'm not sure, but it may be one of the few early descriptions of the great Canadian game. The heroine of the story is being courted by a wealthy man, whom she likes but must reject due to a dark secret in her life. Here is the chapter entitled "A Hockey Match".



The Montreal Arena is a building of considerable size, capable of accommodating many thousands. It has been the scene of many a revel; horses,prima donnas, vegetables, all have exhibited here at one time or another; from Calve, who raved vith indignation at the idea of singing in such a place, to Emperor, the finest horse in Canada, who made no objection, whatever. Only a hockey match,
however, can count positively on filling it from wall to wall.

To-night was the Wales-Conquerors match: and many a business man of mature years had sent his office boy days before to stand in Hne from nine to eleven on a bitter winter morning in order to procure tickets. Mrs. Hadwell had secured six seats and had organized a party to escort her American guests thither. 

She,however, had not accompanied them,frankly acknowledging the obvious fact that she was no sport." I do love to be fin-de-siecle,'' she had said. 

But, when it comes to hockey or pug dogs — well, I simply can't, that's all.'' Then she had told a plaintive tale of how, when a girl, she had been taken to a hockey match. Her escort had been an enthusiast of the most virulent type; and she had been obliged to feign a joy which she by no means felt. It was ghastly," she observed, ghastly.

There I sat, huddled in grandmother's sealskin which wasn't a bit becoming, and watched a lot of weird things dressed like circus clowns knocking a bit of rubber round a slippery rink. 

And all those poor misguided beings who had paid two, three and five dollars to see them do it yelled like mad whenever the rubber got taken down a little faster than usual — oh, you may laugh! but I can tell you that when one of those silly men whacked another silly man over the head when the umpire wasn't looking because the second ass had hit that absurd bit of rubber oftener than he, the first ass, had — why, I felt sorry to think that the human species to which I belonged was so devoid of sense. 

And that great goat who stood at one end and tried to stop the thing from getting between two sticks! why did everyone think he was a hero when he managed to get his two big feet together in time to stop the rubber from getting through? 

I don't see anything very clever in putting your feet together and letting a rubber thing come bang against your toes, do you? ''But what's the use of talking! You must think it clever. You must! or why should you go? Where is the attraction? Do you like hearing those wild-looking men shouting insults at the men who don't play on their team? Does it amuse you to hear them snarling, 'Dirty Smith! Putimoff! Butcher Brown! Knockiseadoff, Robinson! '

 It is incomprehensible to me. I shall always remember Alice Mann's proud face as she watched her brother chasing round while the crowd hailed him by the dignified and endearing title of ' Dirty Mann/ I think that, if I had a brother and heard him called ' Dirty Mann ' in public, I should want to leave the city." 

Accordingly Mrs. Hadwell had stayed at home; but a merry and expectant party had met at Hadwell Heights and had driven to the Arena, where they sat now, awaiting the fray. It would be some time before this began, so the young strangers had time to look about them and comment on the various spectators. 

Ladies wrapped in costly furs sat side by side with shabbily dressed men, who, in spite of the printed reminder that smoke was forbidden, ejected a constant stream in the air, the while they hoarsely sang the merits of their favourite team and the demerits of the opposing one.

Small boys perched on the rafters, looking as though a finger touch would hurl them to instant destruction. If one of them did fall," inquired Bertie,with a shudder, " wouldn't he be instantly killed?"

"If he were lucky," returned her companion, a young McGill professor named Donovan, cheerfully. "Otherwise he might only injure himself for life. But you see, Miss Hadwell, none of them ever do fall. Not one boy has ever lost his hold, as far as I know. If one of them did get killed of course it would be stopped."

But don't they get awfully excited?" Excited ! They go mad. But they don't fall." 

"You see," interposed Gerald Amherst, "they never think about it. If one of them stopped clapping and wriggling and began to measure the space from his airy perch to the ice, below; and furthermore meditate on the consistency and solidity of the aforesaid ice and the probable fate of anyone whose head came in contact with it after a fall of seventy to a hundred feet — why, he would drop, that's all. They are occupied with more important matters, however; the merits of Smith as a goalkeeper, the demerits of Brown as a forward — they have no time to muse upon their latter end and the thin veil that lies between them and eternity."

 I'm glad they haven't; for my part I'm convinced that I shall have nightmare after seeing them. Is that your — what is the band playing for? Oh, is that the ViceRegal party? Dear me! what is every one rising for? Must I get up, too?" Her voice was drowned in the strains of the National Anthem which was howled enthusiastically by boxes and rafters, alike. 

As God save the King  died into silence the Governor-General bowed and took his seat; while his daughters gazed with interest about the Arena which they were visiting for the first time. " Observe his coat,'' said Mr. Donovan. "Feast your American eyes on it. That coat was bought by Lord Dufferin, and left by him to be worn by his successors. The sleeves are quite out of style by this time; but you see ' This is a man! ' What's your opinion of him, on the whole?" Why, I think — good gracious, what's that!"

A roar that shook the roof arose as the opposing teams emerged from the waiting room and skated upon the ice. The scarlet sweaters and caps of the Conquerors stained the crystal ice with daubs of blood: and the more sombre hues of the Wales showed with almost equal effect.

''Oh, are they beginning?'' cried Bertie in ecstasy. They were. The whistle blew and both sides skated to the centre to receive the customary warning. ''They both seem pretty cool," remarked Mr. Amherst. "No signs of nervousness that I can see." "Not a particle. Look! who has won the toss? The Conquerors? Hurrah! You must say ' Hurrah ! ' too, Mr. Hadwell, whenever anything nice happens to the Conquerors. It's no fun unless you choose a team."

 "Why is the Conquerors your team?" " Because — oh, because the captain's father was baptized by my grandfather, I believe. There is some such reason, but, for the moment, I forget just what it is. Any reason will do, you know; the point is that you must have a favourite team and shout whenever it scores and groan with indignation whenever the other team does. Do you see? ''I see. When am I to begin? and how am I to let the public know what I am groaning about? Oh, the public will know if you groan in the right place — that is, when the other team does well. Oh, look! there goes the puck!

'
It dashed across the ice, followed by a mass of skimming, pursuing forms; and, for the next few moments, silence reigned. Then a shout arose, ''Off-side!''

''Off-side" it was; and the indignant audience hurled insults impartially at both teams; no one seeming very sure as to which was " off-side," but each assuming that it could not be a member of his favourite team. The Conquerors lost to the Wales this time and the latter passed to one of his team who succeeded in sending
the puck flying toward the goal. Intense excitement reigned: would he succeed in getting the puck past the goal-keeper?

 No: the latter deftly turned it aside; and a roarof mingled delight and disappointment arose which made the American girl start and put her hands to her ears. Do they often make such a noise? she
asked, involuntarily.

I should think so, answered Donovan, staring. You don't mind it, do you? Oh, shame on you, Parton! what are you thinking about. Umpire? — don't mind me. Miss Hadwell, I'm just — Hurray! Bully for you. Marsh! oh, good work, old boy. You're the stuff! Push it along — Hurray!'' 

The puck had passed and the Conquerors had drawn first blood. In the first wild shriek that rose Bertie was conscious chiefly of one thing — everybody's mouth was wide open. No individual shriek could be distinguished, yet, judging from appearances, every one, from the Governor-General in his box to the smallest imp on the highest rafter, was shouting himself hoarse.

Slowly the excitement subsided; slowly the spectators sank back into the seats which they had vacated; and, after a minute or two of preparation, the game recommenced. Never tell me again that the English are a cold race, Bertie remarked solemnly as the party took their seats in Mrs. Hadwell's carriage at the close of the evening.

I have read of such things, but I never expected to see them in Canada. I could go to a hockey match every night in the week. It's grand! And, Mr. Donovan, if the Wales had won — as I thought at one time they would — I believe I should have cried myself to sleep. Oh, you needn't laugh! I mean it."