The Imperialist | Page 2

in his boy's beginning he had a heart for the work; and Mother
Beggarlegs, but for a hasty conclusion, might have made him a friend.
It is hard to invest Mother Beggarlegs with importance, but the date
helps me--the date I mean, of this chapter about Elgin; she was a person
to be reckoned with on the twenty-fourth of May. I will say at once, for
the reminder to persons living in England that the twenty-fourth of May
was the Queen's Birthday. Nobody in Elgin can possibly have forgotten
it. The Elgin children had a rhyme about it--
The twenty-fourth of May Is the Queen's Birthday; If you don't give us

a holiday, We'll all run away.
But Elgin was in Canada. In Canada the twenty-fourth of May WAS
the Queen's Birthday; and these were times and regions far removed
from the prescription that the anniversary "should be observed" on any
of those various outlying dates which by now, must have produced in
her immediate people such indecision as to the date upon which Her
Majesty really did come into the world. That day, and that only, was
the observed, the celebrated, a day with an essence in it, dawning more
gloriously than other days and ending more regretfully, unless, indeed,
it fell on a Sunday when it was "kept" on the Monday, with a slightly
clouded feeling that it wasn't exactly the same thing. Travelled persons,
who had spent the anniversary there, were apt to come back with a poor
opinion of its celebration in "the old country"--a pleasant relish to the
more-than-ever appreciated advantages of the new, the advantages that
came out so by contrast. More space such persons indicated, more
enterprise they boasted, and even more loyalty they would flourish, all
with an affectionate reminiscent smile at the little ways of a
grandmother. A "Bank" holiday, indeed! Here it was a real holiday, that
woke you with bells and cannon--who has forgotten the time the
ancient piece of ordnance in "the Square" blew out all the windows in
the Methodist church?--and went on with squibs and crackers till you
didn't know where to step on the sidewalks, and ended up splendidly
with rockets and fire-balloons and drunken Indians vociferous on their
way to the lock-up. Such a day for the hotels, with teams hitched three
abreast in front of their aromatic barrooms; such a day for the circus,
with half the farmers of Fox County agape before the posters--with all
their chic and shock they cannot produce such posters nowadays, nor
are there any vacant lots to form attractive backgrounds--such a day for
Mother Beggarlegs! The hotels, and the shops and stalls for eating and
drinking, were the only places in which business was done; the public
sentiment put universal shutters up, but the public appetite insisted
upon excepting the means to carnival. An air of ceremonial festivity
those fastened shutters gave; the sunny little town sat round them,
important and significant, and nobody was ever known to forget that
they were up, and go on a fool's errand. No doubt they had an
impressiveness for the young countryfolk that strolled up and down

Main Street in their honest best, turning into Snow's for ice-cream
when a youth was disposed to treat. (Gallantry exacted ten-cent dishes,
but for young ladies alone, or family parties, Mrs Snow would bring
five-cent quantities almost without asking, and for very small boys one
dish and the requisite number of spoons.) There was discrimination,
there was choice, in this matter of treating. A happy excitement
accompanied it, which you could read in the way Corydon clapped his
soft felt hat on his head as he pocketed the change. To be treated--to
ten-cent dishes--three times in the course of the day by the same young
man gave matter for private reflection and for public entertainment,
expressed in the broad grins of less reckless people. I speak of a soft
felt hat, but it might be more than that: it might be a dark green one,
with a feather in it; and here was distinction, for such a hat indicated
that its owner belonged to the Independent Order of Foresters, who
Would leave their spring wheat for forty miles round to meet in Elgin
and march in procession, wearing their hats, and dazzlingly scatter
upon Main Street. They gave the day its touch of imagination, those
green cocked hats; they were lyrical upon the highways; along the
prosaic sidewalks by twos and threes they sang together. It is no great
thing, a hat of any quality; but a small thing may ring dramatic on the
right metal, and in the vivid idea of Lorne Murchison and his sister
Advena a Robin Hood walked in every Independent Forester,
especially in the procession. Which shows the risks you