contrary, whatever its origin, it derived its strength from a carefully
thought out philosophy of life, a philosophy based on a belief in
a divine order and purpose in the universe, and in the sanctity of
individual lives. He had faith in both God and man, and he held that
the will of the one could only be fulfilled as it was realized in
the life of the other. This belief explains his efforts on behalf of
individuals, it interprets the views he held on such questions as those
of social and political reform.
He loved men because of the belief he had in their natures. "After
all," he writes, "it is not the external appearance of a man, nor what
he says or does, that ought to excite our admiration or distrust, but
that inner personality, the individuality, the soul, which is 'the all
and in all,' and of which appearances are but imperfect representations
and expressions." He was not a man given to professions, or to the
public performance of good deeds; in fact, the being seen of men caused
him to hesitate in the doing of much which a less sensitive nature
would have allowed. He did not shrink, however, from manifesting a
personal interest in lives which seemed to demand it of him, or from
revealing his purpose to those whom he knew could appreciate it aright.
One incident, among two or three which he has recorded, but one of
a great many known only to those with whom the occasion was shared,
is sufficient to illustrate how practical expression was given to
this belief. It occurred within a short time after he had left the
university, and before he had entered upon his journalistic career.
"I was returning home one night after a social evening, when I
saw a young man in the hands of a policeman. He was what some
people would have called a 'bad boy,' kept rather doubtful
company, and was under arrest for having raised a disturbance
during a drunken row. Well, I managed to get the boy, who was
about eighteen years of age, out of the cells on bail, and, in
company with a fellow who had been 'painting the town' with him,
I undertook to take him home. I contrived, after some time, to
get rid of his 'pal,' and, as soon as the boy was sober enough, I
undertook to find out whether he had a conscience.
"After walking about the streets with him for a couple of hours
in the beautiful moonlight, by the aid of a power which was
certainly not my own, I discovered that he had; and the boy
opened up his heart to me. I showed him the uselessness and folly
of the life into which he was rapidly drifting, and, in a voice
convulsed with sobs, he told me that what I said was true. My own
eyes moistened as he confessed what a fool he was. He concluded
by promising me in a voice and with a pressure of the hand which
meant truth, that he would never touch a drop of liquor again.
From the frank manner in which he meets my eyes when I now see
him occasionally, I believe that he has thoroughly reformed. That
night, as I went home, I knew that one prayer had not been in
vain."
For society as a whole, as for its individual members, his aim was a
constant betterment.
"There are so few men who couple the capacity for appreciating
the troubles of struggling humanity with an earnest desire to
remove them, that I can see in such a life a tremendous power for
good, and, after all, is not that the highest ideal a man can
hold before him?"
In this sentence, penned in reference to another, he wrote of himself
more truly than he knew. His journals are full of passages which
disclose his "capacity to appreciate," and his "earnest desire to
remove," the obstacles which thwart the upward and onward progress
of men engaged in the competitive rivalries of the world, and in the
struggle for daily bread. Whether it was pursuing an uncongenial task
in the wilds of Muskoka, or immersed in the cares and unrest of
journalism, or busied in research for material from which to construct
an article for the _Labour Gazette_, a human interest in the life
and the lot of the mass of men was ever before him, and a purpose to
understand and improve that lot his aim.
"During the course of my stay here," he writes of Muskoka, in
the winter of 1895, "I have had some chance to notice the type
of inhabitants of this inhospitable district. First and foremost
come the lumbermen, not the miners who live in the town, but
the stout fellows in smock and jersey, with their pants shoved
into stockings, which are in turn encased in stout rubbers.
Overcoats are scarce, they don't seem to be needed. Altogether,
though these fellows lead a hard life, and are often coarse and
dissipated, they have opinions of their own, and must be reckoned
with by the rulers of the country.
"Next comes the Muskoka farmer living in his shanty, for that is
pretty much the rule, although there is, of course, an occasional
farmhouse of more pretentious appearance, and drawing a bare
livelihood by his constant toil with antiquated implements; most
of the hay (the chief product, since it requires little care,)
being cut by the scythe on patches of land cleared by years of
toil, and in most cases thickly strewn with rocks, the only
satisfaction that they have in their poverty being that they are
independent.
"It is difficult to conceive of culture and refinement under such
circumstances. It may be well, however, to have one part of our
population comparatively free from the two dangerous influences
of our time, riches and luxury on the one hand, and, on the
other, embittered and ignorant combinations actuated by selfish
interests and swayed too largely by demagogues.
"My sojourn here, though not pleasant and not profitable from a
business point of view, has opened an extensive field of thought.
Of my companions the most interesting was the lumberman whose
wife was sick, and who as a result was leaving the woods. I was
quite interested by his ideas of human life, although they were
not given in a scientific way. He was evidently a man of energy;
one who took life seriously and who had his share of troubles. It
was pathetic to hear the way he spoke of how his wife's family
usually died at about twenty-four years of age, how his wife was
now at that age and was sick. In fact, there are worse places
than the lumber woods for the study of man."
In the spring of 1898 he was rejoiced at having the opportunity of
conducting a more or less extended inquiry into the conditions of
working men in the several trades.
"The _Mail_," he writes, "intends, during the coming summer, to
publish a series of articles concerning the conditions, social,
moral and economic, governing each of the various trades, the
facts to be gathered by personal observation and enquiry from
journeymen, apprentices, employers and employees. The work is
to be a feature of each day's paper, and, _mirabile dictu_, the
entire charge of the matter, design and detail, has been handed
over to me. I need not say that I am pleased. I have at once an
opportunity of examining into the industrial and sociological
conditions of the city and province, and possibly of doing
good to my fellow men as the result of these observations.
Incidentally, also, I have an opportunity of strengthening myself
in my own profession, although that is a thing that one can do in
journalism no matter what line of work one is pursuing. Roughly
described, the aim of the series of sketches is to indicate to
the parent what qualifications are required for, and what returns
are to be expected from, the several vocations, in order that
he may the better decide what to do with his boy or girl. I
appreciate the responsibility which the work places upon me, and
pray that I may be able to meet it."
The articles which were written by Harper, then twenty-four years of
age, and which appeared under the caption "What to do with your boy or
girl," were continued in the _Mail_ from day to day for several months,
and attracted very considerable attention at the time. They disclose
a remarkable ability to get at facts, and the strongest sympathy with
the end in view, and constitute a not unimportant contribution to
the scanty literature which has thus far appeared, having to do with
industrial and labour conditions in the Dominion.
The human interest which made even the dry language of statutes to glow
with animation for him, is abundantly apparent from the following
passages in reference to some of his work in the department of labour:
"I spent most of the day in the Library of Parliament, reading up
the provincial acts concerning mining. The thing which impressed
me, as I read, was the uninviting nature of the task of the
miner, cut off from the light of day, hewing away in the bowels
of the earth, exposed to the danger of cave-ins, explosions,
and a living entombment, as the result of carelessness on the
part of his employers, or his associates, or the will of nature.
How can such men, if they are crowded down almost to the margin
of subsistence, develop a roseate view of life! Ever facing
almost terrorizing conditions, they must become brave, sturdy,
self-reliant and earnest enough, but how can they fail to be out
of sympathy with the shams, hypocrisies and dilettantisms of
modern society!"
And again:
"At the office, I have been much interested in working upon the
article on the Fisheries of Canada, inasmuch as it has shown to
me a sturdy class of men toiling under conditions of hardship
and danger for what is comparatively a small return. Doubtless
the isolation of the fishing villages, the system of part
proprietorship, and the passion for a sea-faring life, account
for the relative immobility of the population.
"I am becoming more and more convinced daily of the fact that
this country is going through a transition stage which must
influence it to the bottom. The use of machinery, the weakening
of the artisan by removing the rewards of skill, the work and
wages of girls, the prevalence of piece work and its results,
the effects of pauper and convict labour, and a thousand other
problems are brought daily before my notice in terms of flesh and
blood.
"It is important to know and understand all sorts and conditions
of men if society as a whole is to be led towards what is better.
Certainly the 'better class of people' need leading as well as
the others, for with them the opportunity offered by leisure is
too often wasted in dilettantism and folly."
To "society," in the highly specialized meaning of that word, a
reference may not be out of place. In its ambitions, its mandates,
Harper saw but little which made for the development of true manhood or
womanhood, while he saw much which aimed directly at the destruction
of both. There was never any one who enjoyed more the pleasure of good
company, whose temperament, frank, hearty and mirthful, and whose
manner, courteous and sincere, made him a more welcome guest wherever
he went. It was no affectation, therefore, which caused Harper to feel
as he did; it was his belief in the true purpose of life. What to
some, and to himself, was a pastime, he saw, to others, was becoming
an end; instead of developing, it was robbing, natures of their finer
sensibilities. Many of its conventions were wholly artificial, some of
its relationships altogether false. The following short sentences are
sufficient to reveal this view:
"Social engagements may, I think, be a healthy relaxation, if
kept in their place, and if one does not forget to keep hold of
one's self, and remembers the force of example. With many people
here in Ottawa, I fear the social round is becoming an end in
itself, and therefore a danger to themselves and others.
"I am coming to the conclusion that if a man is to wield any
influence worth while in this world, he has to cut this folly out
of his life. The past fortnight has shown me how impossible it
is for a man to do what the social world expects of him, and do
justice to himself."
Commenting on a wedding notice which appeared in a local paper, he
writes:
"So spoke the society editor this morning. The important thing,
really, was the happy union for life of two loving hearts.
Apparently what the public is supposed to be interested in, is
the gown of white something or other. It may be salutary, as a
means of developing an æsthetic taste generally, to have space
in our public prints for such trifles. For my own part, I often
think the world would be better and saner if the society editor
had never been born."
And of the "better part," in a personal letter to a friend:
"If you will pardon me for making the remark, I was very
pleased to see the lively interest your sisters take in the
great work of improving the condition of the masses. It is
one which is bound to widen their sympathies, and remove any
possibility of their becoming enthralled by the chains of hollow
conventionality, which, more than anything else, prevents the
development of true womanhood, under the conditions of our modern
society."
How, according to his view, true womanhood might be developed, may be
gathered from a letter written by Harper to one of his sisters a short
time before his death. It is one of many home letters which might be
quoted, but it may be taken by itself as characteristic. In speaking of
his love for others, its reproduction here may not be out of place:
"_Ottawa, Oct. 4th, 1901._
"MY DEAR L----:
"I am not writing to give you news, for there is little to give.
I have been having a quiet happy little evening all by myself,
and I thought I could not do better than let you into the secret
of my happiness. I think I have told you before that I am an
admirer of the high-mindedness of Matthew Arnold, 'the apostle
of sweetness and light.' Latterly, I have been taking a great
deal of true pleasure from his poems, and one of the best of
them, _The Buried Life_, I have just finished reading, not for
the first time, for they stand many readings; and I am sure
you would find it hopeful and inspiring. I wish you would read
Matthew Arnold's works, particularly some of the poems, such as
_Rugby Chapel_, _Dover Beach_, _Self Dependence_ and _The Buried
Life_; the last, most of all. There is a good deal of the stoical
Greek about Matthew Arnold, but his is a beautiful, noble, pure
mind whose example makes the pursuit of perfection meaningful,
and beautiful to contemplate. There is much in his philosophy
with which you doubtless will not agree, but there is a richness,
beauty and purity, which you will find most inspiring.
"And this brings me still to another question. Why should not you
and E---- turn this winter to profit by spending a part of every
day reading aloud to each other, choosing, preferably, such works
as _The Idylls of the King_, Matthew Arnold's poems, or other
writings of the great masters in literature which take one away
from the sordidness of life, and tend to develop the best that is
in one. This, with an adulteration of fiction, would make the
winter very profitable as well as very enjoyable to you both.
When E---- can find time, he could read with you, and direct
your reading course. My dear L----, I am becoming more and more
convinced every day that the most important duty we have is the
moulding of our character; for it is in the strength and richness
of our character that we obtain the title to self-respect, and
are able to influence others. It is by bringing ourselves into
closer contact with the highest thought that we are going to be
enabled to obtain high-mindedness and purity ourselves. There
is a world of truth in the statement, 'Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God,' and these things of which I speak
are some of the ways of attaining that purity of heart which
makes life richer, deeper and happier.
"Longfellow, in his prose romance, _Hyperion_, has something of
what I have in mind, when he says:
"'It is the part of an indiscreet and troublesome ambition to
care too much about fame, about what the world says of us; to
be always looking into the faces of others for approval; to be
always anxious for the effect of what we do and say; to be
always shouting to hear the echo of our own voices. If you look
about you, you will see men who are wearing life away in feverish
anxiety of fame, and the last we shall ever hear of them will be
the funeral bell which tolls them to their early graves! Unhappy
men and unsuccessful! because their purpose is, not to accomplish
well their task, but to clutch the "fantasy and trick of fame";
and they go to their graves with purposes unaccomplished, and
wishes unfulfilled. Better for them, and for the world in their
example, had they known how to wait! Believe me, the talent of
success is nothing more than doing what you can do well; and
doing well whatever you do,--without a thought of fame. If it
comes at all, it will come because it is deserved, not because it
is sought after. And, moreover, there will be no misgivings, no
disappointment, no hasty, feverish, exhausting excitement.'
"This is rather a heavy quotation for a letter, but I wished
you to catch the thought, you will find it in the chapter in
_Hyperion_ on _Literary Fame_. You will see the truth of it, if
you allow your mind to dwell upon it for a moment. Longfellow
has no thought of discouraging ambition. Far from it. He
simply wants to emphasize the folly of hoping for fame which is
undeserved, and, as he points out, the way to deserve it is by
doing well what is to be done. But as you are not fame hunting,
it is not the fame part of it that I wish to dwell upon here,
so much as the parallel thought, that it is the inner life, the
inner strength which comes from resolute effort and familiarity
with the best thought, which tells, and which makes for true
happiness.
"I have often told you that your worst danger is your tendency
to worry, a tendency which is based, I know, upon the depth of
the interest which you take in those who are dear to you. What
you must do is to prevent that tendency from casting a shadow
over your life. I have a picture of you--a copy which W----
enlarged from the little sunbeam of you, with a big white hat,
you remember,--in a gold frame over my desk. It is much admired,
and I am proud to introduce it as my sister. As I look at it, I
can see my dear little sister, bright, happy and devoted, and
now I don't want to think of her with any unnecessary cares. Now
do be good, and you and E---- try and make the winter profitable
to both of you. Take walks, get exercise in the open air, be
cheerful, read, and generally try and make life happier by
the means which you have at hand. I am neither scolding nor
lecturing, and I have said nothing which you do not already know,
but somehow to-night, you have been running in my mind, and I
wanted to tell you what I thought and wished, so that, in due
course of time, you will look back to the winter of 1901 as one
of the happiest chapters in your life. I am sorry that, when we
were in Barrie, the shadow of memories and the pressure of many
things must have made me seem selfish and not kind enough to my
sisters, but I need not tell you, L----, that your happiness is
dear to me.
"And now I must close. So good-night, my dear little sister.
"With much love,
"Ever your affectionate brother,
"BERT."
Just how characteristic this letter is of the interest taken by Harper
in the welfare and happiness of those to whom he was united by the
closest of ties, will be apparent from another letter, written many
months previous, to a brother in New York, after returning from a
short visit to that city. It reveals the same earnest endeavour of a
life to impart its own secret to the lives of others, and to establish
a standard of happiness which could bring no deceptions. Its practical
common sense will make it no less commendable as an evidence of the
truest affection.
He writes:
"_Ottawa, Dec. 30, 1900._
"MY DEAR WILL:
"Since returning to Ottawa there has been little happening that
would be of interest to you. I have been busy enough, and have
managed to control a tendency, fostered by the invitations of a
number of kind people here, and my own disposition, to be drawn
into the social whirl. It is weak, and life is earnest, so I
have decided to do with as little of it as possible. No man who
desires to make progress in this world, can hope to do so if he
squanders his evenings. There are two ways in which a man may
equip himself so that he may be in the van of progress:--first,
by strengthening his own mind through a study of what is and has
been in the minds of great men of thought,--this, one can do
from books;--secondly, by pursuing positive original work along
the special line to which he has devoted himself. These things I
am attempting to do. The difficulty lies in selection. What we
have to do is to get away from the semblances, and get at the
realities of life.
"Of Carlyle's _Hero Worship_, I have already spoken to you. It
is healthy and sturdy. I am now reading Carlyle's _Past and
Present_, and do not know anything in literature more wholesome
or worth reading. Do not neglect to read it. Men of the stamp of
Carlyle, Emerson and Matthew Arnold go to the root of questions,
and their books will do you one hundred times as much good as
all the novels which are going the rounds. Every man owes it to
himself to supply his mind with the best material available, and,
although Carlyle may seem a little heavy in parts, where one may
not have become familiar with the subject matter he refers to,
you will find the influence of his sturdy personality upon your
own views of life.
"With regard to the second point,--work along one's own special
line,--I am plodding along at work in the field of economics,
and hope to be able to get out a book in the more or less near
future. You know best what will be profitable for you. What I
would suggest is, that you lose no opportunity of familiarizing
yourself with the best writings on architecture; that you devote
time and thought to studying architectural models of buildings
as they are, and otherwise; and, that you take every opportunity
to attend lectures or discussions where architectural subjects
are being considered. In this way you will find your interest in
your work, and in life generally, as well as your usefulness to
your employers, increasing at a surprising rate. I know how hard
it is for a man living in a great, interesting place like New
York, to do deliberate, consecutive work, and to keep control of
himself and his time, but he must do this, if he is going to get
along. Life is real and earnest, and a man who is going to hold
up his end in dull times, and in the autumn of life, must take
every opportunity to equip himself, and to save his dollars. A
man need not be mean, he can go to things worth going to, he can
dress decently, and hold up his end generally; but there are lots
of things upon which money is often spent, which are absolute
folly. Money is hard to make, and a man cannot justify himself in
throwing it away.
"I hope you will pardon all this which may appear like a
lecture. It is not, I can assure you, dear old Will. It is simply
a few conclusions which I have come to, and which I believe to
be absolutely true. If they are, why should we not follow them?
I want us both to live fruitful and useful lives, and it is by
such conscious, deliberate work as I have referred to, that we
both can do it. Let us cut asunder what of empty, unprofitable
conviviality, and the like, may have grown into our lives, and
let us live so that when we are old men,--if we are spared,--we
may look back upon our lives without regret, and feel that we
have been worthy of the best that is in us, and of the trust
which our dear parents placed in us.