I think if we compare the best Canadian poems with the same class of literature in Australia the former do not at all lose by the comparison. Thanks to the thoughtfulness of a friend in South Australia I have had many opportunities of late of studying the best work of Australian writers, chiefly poets and novelists,[42] and have come to the conclusion that at least the poets of both hemispheres--for to fiction we cannot make even a pretense--reflect credit on each country. In one respect indeed Canadians can claim a superiority over their fellow-citizens of the British Empire in that far off Australian land, and that is, in the fact that we have poets, and historians, and essayists, who write the languages of France and England with purity and even elegance; that the grace and precision of the French tongue have their place in this country alongside the vigorous and copious expression of the English language. More than that, the Canadians have behind them a history which is well calculated to stimulate writers to give utterance to national sentiment. I mean national in the sense of being thoroughly imbued with a love for the country, its scenery, its history and its aspirations. The people of that great island continent possess great natural beauties and riches--flowers and fruits of every kind flourish there in rare profusion, and gold and gems are among the treasures of the soil, but its scenery is far less varied and picturesque than ours and its history is but of yesterday compared with that of Canada. Australians cannot point to such historic ground as is found from Louisbourg to Quebec, or from Montreal to Champlain, the battle ground of nations whose descendants now live under one flag, animated by feelings of a common interest and a common aspiration for the future! Perhaps if I were at any time inclined to be depressed as to the future of Canada, I should find some relief in those poems by Canadian authors which take frequently an elevated and patriotic range of thought and vision, and give expression to aspirations worthy of men born and living in this country. When some men doubt the future and would see us march into the ranks of other states, with heads bowed down in confession of our failure to hold our own on this continent and build up a new nation always in the closest connection with England, I ask them to turn to the poems of Joseph Howe and read that inspiring poetic tribute to the mother country, "All hail to the day when the Britons came over"-- "Every flash of her genius our pathway enlightens, Every field she explores we are beckoned to tread, Each laurel she gathers, our future day brightens-- We joy with her living and mourn with her dead."[43] Or read that tribute which the French Canadian laureate, Fréchette, has been fain to pay to the English flag under whose folds his country has enjoyed so much freedom and protection for its institutions: