to speak against the respect due the best of kings, I treated him as a worthless dog for speaking in that way and told him that, having had the honour to eat bread in his service, I would pray to God all my life for His Majesty. He left me, threatening that he would return to his fort and that when he was there I would not dare to speak to him as I had done. I could not expect to have a better opportunity to begin what I had resolved to do. I told this young brute then that I had brought him from his fort, that I would take him back myself when I pleased, not when he wished. He answered impertinently several times, which obliged me to threaten that I would put him in a place of safety if he was not wiser. He asked me then if he was a prisoner. I said I would consider it and that I would secure my trade since he had threatened to interrupt it. I then withdrew to give him time to be informed by the Englishmen how his father's loss was lost with the Company's ship and the bad situation of Mr. Bridgar. I left in their company a Frenchman who understood English unknown to them. When I had left young Gillam urged the Englishman to fly and to go to his master and assure him that he would give him six barrels of powder and other supplies if he would undertake to deliver him out

of my hands. The Englishman made no answer, but he did not inform me of the proposition that had been made him (I had learned that from the Frenchman who had learned everything and thought it was time to act for my security.)"

In the evening Radisson said nothing of what he knew of the plot. He asked those in his train if the muskets were in their places which he had put around to act as guarantee against surprise. At the word musket young Gillam, who did not know what was meant, grew alarmed and, according to Radisson, wished to fly, believing that it was intended to kill him. But his flight was arrested by his captor who took occasion to free him from

his apprehension. The next morning, however, the bushranger's plans were openly divulged. He told Gillam that he was about to take his fort and ship.

"He answered haughtily that even if I had a hundred men I could not succeed and that his people would have killed more than forty before they could reach the palisades. This boldness did not astonish me, being very sure that I would succeed in my design."

Having secured Gillam the younger, it was now necessary to secure the fort of which he was master. The intrepid Frenchman started for Hayes Island with nine men, and, gaining an entrance by strategy, he cast off the mask of friendship and boldly demanded the keys of the fort and the whole stock of arms and powder. He added that in the event of their refusal to yield he would raze the fort to the ground. No resistance seems to have been attempted, and Radisson took formal possession of the place in the name of the King of France. This ceremony being concluded, he ordered Jenkins, the mate, to conduct him to the ship, and here formal possession was taken in the same fashion, without any forcible objection on the part of the crew. Some explanation of this extraordinary complaisance, if Radisson's story of the number of men he took with him be true, may be found in the commander's unpopularity, he having recently killed his supercargo in a quarrel.

Nevertheless Benjamin Gillam was not to be altogether without friends.

A certain Scotchman, perchance the first of his race in those regions, which were afterwards to be forever associated with Scottish zeal and labours, wishing to show his fidelity to his chief, escaped and eluding the efforts of Radisson's fleetest bushrangers to catch him, arrived at Fort Nelson and told his tale. The Governor's astonishment may be imagined. He had hitherto no inkling of the presence of the New England interlopers, and although his captain and fellow-servant was not equally ignorant Gillam had

kept his counsel well. The Governor decided at once to head a party of relief, in which he was seconded by Gillam père, who was at the moment only just recovering from an illness caused by exposure during the shipwreck. The Susan was their first point of attack. Under the cover of night they made a determined effort to recapture her for the Company-an attempt which might have succeeded had not Radisson, suspecting the move, despatched his entire available force at the same time and completely overpowered the Governor's men. He thought at first sight that Bridgar himself was among his prisoners, but the Governor was not to be caught in that fashion; he had not himself boarded the ship. The Scotchman who accompanied him, however, was not so fortunate; he fell into Radisson's hands and suffered for his zeal. He was tied to a post and informed that his execution would take place without ceremony on the morrow. The sentence was never carried out. Radisson, after exposing his prisoner to the cold all night in an uncomfortable position, seems to have thought better of his threat, and after numerous vicissitudes the Scot at length regained his liberty.

Reinforcements for the French now arrived from Groseilliers. Believing himself now strong enough to beard the lion in his lair, Radisson de

cided to lose no more time in rounding

off his schemes. off his schemes. First, however, he saw fit to address a letter to the Governor asking him if he "approved the action of the Company's people whom he held prisoners, who had broken two doors and the storeroom of his ship, in order to carry off the powder."

Bridgar's reply was that he owed no explanation to a renegade employé of the Company. Radisson had not been sincere in his professions, and he had dealt basely and deceitfully with him in preserving silence on the subject of the interlopers. "As I had proper instructions," concluded Bridgar, in a more conciliatory strain, "on setting sail from London to seize all ships coming to this quarter, I would willingly have joined hands with you in capturing this vessel. If you wish me to regard you as sincere you will not keep this prize for your own use."

The other's response was rapid and masterly. He marched upon Fort Nelson with twelve men, and by the following nightfall was master of the English establishment. This feat nearly drove the unhappy Governor to despair, and he sought solace by applying himself to the rum cask with even greater assiduity. In this frame of mind John Brigdar, the first Governor of Port Nelson was carried off a prisoner to Fort Bourbon.

To a certain extent it is true that

the current novel finds its support chiefly among that class of the public which has received no training in the higher branches of literature. Those who have, at one time or another during a university course or a long period of private but thorough study, made an examination of the masters of ancient and modern literature and come to have some idea of the value of thought and of style, find their greatest pleasure in the older novelists or in the great historians and essayists.

An illustration of this was provided for me recently. Six men of education and culture were taking dinner in a private room in a city restaurant. The conversation turned on to the current novel and its value. Finally, some one suggested that each person write the names of his five favourite English authors on a slip of paper and hand it to one of the men for examination. The Bible and Shakespeare were barred. When the result was summed up the vote stood as follows: Scott, 4 votes; Carlyle, Dickens and Kipling, 3 each; Macaulay, Parkman, Thackeray and Ruskin, 2 each; Eliot, Pope, Leckie, Stevenson, Browning, Tennyson, Goldsmith and Arnold one each. There were thirty votes cast, and sixteen authors mentioned.

There are several thousand new books printed each year in the Inglish language which may be expected to be of interest to the general reader. Here was a body of six men with a full knowledge of all the more important of the books published during the last five years, who calmly stated that none of the current books except those of Kipling and Stevenson have proved themselves worthy of their admiration. No mention was made of Anthony

Hope, Marion Crawford, Gilbert Parker, Robert Barr, Richard Harding Davis, Frank R. Stockton, Justin McCarthy, J. M. Barrie, Hall Caine, William Black, Mrs. Humphrey Ward, Francis Hodgson Burnett, James Lane Allen, Harold Frederic, Conan Doyle, Stanley J. Weyman, Thomas Hardy, George Du Maurier, William Dean Howells, or the score of other familiar names of the last few years-only Kipling and Stevenson. Yet of all these persons who were ignored by these six self-appointed critics, most have at one time or another shown signs of genius. Why should these critics treat them only as favourites for an hour?

Perhaps an explanation may be found in the character of the men themselves. The educated Canadian is conservative. Before acknowledging anything to be pure gold, he must have seen it tried in the fire. He prefers the book which has weathered the criticisms of half a century to that which is new and untested. Yet this rule applied absolutely would have barred Kipling and Stevenson, for they are modern writers.

Another explanation may be offered. The modern publisher publishes a certain number of books each year, the number determined by his capital and the means of sale at his disposal. When a clever writer makes his mark, the publisher rushes him for another manuscript and another, and another. The managers of magazines deluge him with offers for articles and essays and short stories. These men hang bags of gold before the budding author's eyes and cry: "Write; write; write." Human nature is weak; the man stops thinking and devotes his whole energy to writing. Verily, we throttle our geniuses in their childhood.

If this latter explanation be the true one, and it seems plausible, wherein lies the value of current criticism? There is a great deal of criticism, and why does it allow the modern novelist or general writer to foist weak "stuff" upon the public? In the first place, the critic cannot reach the public. The publisher advertises to the public and makes it listen the publisher gives only the rosy side, and is the only guide which the average reader has. The critic speaks in literary papers, and the higher-class periodicals. The average reader never sees these criticisms. Only those, of whom these six men mentioned are representatives, who thoroughly analyze the books they read, consult these criticisms. The critic has some influence then, but it is limited to a small part of the great body of bookbuyers.

But the critic is still further limited. He writes for literary papers whose existence depends on the advertisements of the publishers. He is "cabin'd cribb'd, confin'd." He cannot always speak his mind. Were he to condemn everything that a publisher issues, what would be the benefit to the publishers of an advertisement in the journal in which the criticisms appear? The critic may be capable and he may be honest, but he must make a living. Further, he must be a man of great strength of mind and extraordinary steadfastness of purpose, who will stand up and say of ninety per cent. of the modern pieces of general literature that they are crude, hasty and amateurish. Even if he did say this, there would be many who would doubt.

Further, the critics seem to have formed cliques. In New York there is a certain circle, to get into which means success, so far as the critics can assure it. The same is true of London, if all the independent evidence offered may be relied upon.

The conditions surrounding modern criticism are, therefore, prejudicial to the fullest and freest discussion for three reasons (to sum up): first, be

cause the critic cannot reach but a small part of the public; secondly, because he is at the mercy of powerful printing and publishing interests; and thirdly, because he himself is not always thoroughly reliable.

But to return to the main point under consideration, it may safely be said that in spite of the verdict of the six aforesaid gentlemen, in spite of the selfishness and cupidity of the publisher, and in spite of the human weaknesses of the author and the critic, the average current book is of considerable value and the the discriminating reader is not wholly wasting his time. The novels of Parker and Roberts have stimulated many Canadians to read Canadian history, and to observe and study the curiosities of our civilization. Barr's stories have amused and pleased a great many persons, and that is something in these worrying days. So it may be said of the other modern writers, that each has done some small part in elevating the Anglo-Saxon race. A person may read new books and be benefited if, as has been intimated, he selects his authors with some discrimination.

If, as some authorities claim, all pure literature is the revelation of a personality, we must go on reading what modern litterateurs produce if we wish to appreciate their respective personal qualities. If we had read Archibald Lampman's poetry anonymously we should have had much less pleasure than was afforded us by reading it bit by bit over his name. In the latter case, what we had previously read, what we already knew of the man, his environment and his aims, helped us to understand his work. A knowledge of his personality added something to what we saw on the printed page, gave more strength to his imagery, and shed a stronger light on the thoughts which were so magnificently expressed. In the introduction of his book on Shelley, Professor Alexander points out that "to an even greater degree than usual, some knowledge of the man is neces

sary for the understanding of his writings."

But Matthew Arnold cuts deeper than this in his analysis. He admits that Shakespeare's greatness was due to his personality. Then he goes farther, and declares that Shakespeare "lived in a current of ideas in the highest degree animating and nourishing to the creative power," and that the society in which he moved was "permeated by fresh thought, intelligent and alive." Environment, in its broadest sense, must certainly have much influence upon the men who write, and by a study of the writings. of the moderns we learn something of the age in which we live. Surely, here is justification.

Current literature puts down in black and white the manners and customs of to-day, and holds up the mirror to ourselves. Scott, Dickens and Thackeray studied the generations that have just gone; new writers have arisen to perform a similar duty for the present generations; there will be other novelists for future generations. If it be admitted that Scott and Dickens and Thackeray were right in describing the life of their day, it must also be admitted that it is proper to have modern authors describing the life of our day. Gilbert Parker, William Kirby and William McLennan have brought out many of the striking qualities of the romance which Parkman had previously shown to be embodied in the early days of French Canada. Similarly Charles G. D. Roberts followed Longfellow, and, choosing prose as his medium, has shown us the "glory and gleam" of the romantic days of the French occupation of Acadia. Gilbert Parker also caught and embodied the characteristics of the early days in northwestern Canada; he is being followed by W. A. Fraser, Bleasdell Cameron and others. It is said that Robert Barr's next story will picture an early period in the history of Ontario, as his first novel pictured the days that were filled with the fears of a Fenian inva

sion. Dr. Drummond has mirrored in verse the simple tastes and habits of the French Canadian habitant, and a writer may yet arise who will find something worthy of record in the modern life of English Canada.

The United States people would not so thoroughly appreciate and understand themselves were it not that they had J. Fenimore Cooper, Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Harriet Beecher Stowe, William Dean Howells and the numerous other writers who have dealt with the varying phases of their three hundred years of develop

ment.

The histories, biographies and books of travel which are being produced today could not have been written a hundred years ago. The world has been enlarged by the steam-driven ocean-carriage, and we are learning the full extent of the world's complex population. New lands and new peoples have been revealed, and all these additions to our knowledge are making for a broader basis upon which to erect our thought and action.

The modern book is as much a necessity to the modern man as the book of the eighteenth century was to the man who lived then. The modern has

this advantage: he possesses the

accumulated books of the centuries in addition to the works of his contemporaries.

The variety of tastes demands a variety of books. The cultured student of English may prefer the graceful ease and perfect style of Stevenson to the "sermonic application of incident" which has gained so many readers for Mrs. Humphrey Ward. The youths of the present generation were fed on W. H. G. Kingston, G. A. Henty; the girls started with "Pansy" and Annie S. Swan; but as men and women, these same persons demand something better, higher, more artistic. Whether they ever reach the height where they demand the purely artistic representation, free from all moral analysis or