
260
A Yankee in Canada
By Henry D. Tuoreav. Montreal, Harvest
House, 1961. 126 p. Paper, $1.65; cloth,
$3.50.
Any publication by or about Henry
David Thoreau is an event of impor-
tance. Harvest House is to be congratu-
lated and warmly thanked for bringing
before us, almost a century after it was
first published, this absorbing account
by the wisest of nature writers.
This is called a travel book. Nature is
present from the very first page. Descrip-
tions—of countryside, waterfalls, the St.
Lawrence—are shot out with the force
the scenes must have expelled onto the
author’s fertile mind. But this is more
than a travel book. Man is a part of that
nature, and the commentary of a man of
Thoreau’s stature will have a value as
long as imperfect men exist.
A work of Thoreau demands, of
course, no mere review, certainly nothing
less than an essay, and a long one too.
This periodical, at least in this section,
affords no such scope.
Writers more capable than I have com-
mented on A Yankee in Canada, the
“Canada” being only a small section of
what is today the Province of Quebec.
They have noted, perhaps, that to only
a man of great inner reserves could the
monotonous scenery of “La Prairie” be
exciting, that Thoreau perceived the
“artificial look” of Lombardy poplars and
the almost total absence of trees set out
for shade or ornament; that the writer
was indebted to Kalm for many descrip-
tions or names of plants, and that he had
a unique appreciation for geographic
names in French Canada. Other writers
may have smiled at—or otherwise reacted
to—the lines about rust that, if “not on
the tinned roofs and spires, ... was on the
inhabitants and their institutions”; but
they would still have had to admit that
it took a New Englander to say that
“there is nothing of the kind in New
England to be compared with” the
waterfall of La Puce. Thoreau was impar-
tial. He could write that the people of
Montmorency County “had not advanced
Tue Canabian Fie_tp-NatTuraList Vol. 75
since the settlement of the country”; he
could also say, a few lines previously,
that in 1846 in Canada East the franchise
was held by “a greater proportion than
enjoy a similar privilege in the United
States.”
But in this present edition Thoreau is
speaking to a people some three genera-
tions later. What might be his thoughts
today? Would he wonder if, after almost
a hundred years, the province had made
any advance toward the Confederation
that had been envisaged in 1867? Would
he still seem to marvel at how far the
New Englander’s common sense is re-
moved from the uncommon variety he
beheld? Would he, perhaps, quip that
for some individuals it has been no long
trek from raquetteur to racketeer?
Would he who considered forests “far
grander and more sacred” than churches
be appalled to see, on Mount Royal,
God’s sacred nature uglified by a mon-
strous shrine? Or would he still be critical
of men and women who live under
poverty, chastity and obedience, when
he, a former recluse, would be the first -
to say that there is no single road through
life? I wonder, even, if he would hear an
earnest comment of one who acknow-
ledges his greatness:
A peer in recounting impression,
Thoreau seems to be seldom detached
from academic discipline. I constantly
feel that his caustic is only diluted by a
self-conscious idealistic expression. On
his journey to “Canada” he got to know
no one. He seldom mentions his traveling
companion and not once refers to him
by name. When, in his beautiful essay
on friendship, in “A Week on the Con-
cord,” Thoreau says that “men do not,
after all, Jove their Friends greatly,” he
speaks for himself. If his humanitarianism
were motivated by Christianity it might
become complete, catholic and Catholic.
The Christian’s love is an intimate, per-
sonal, compelling power. It is what peace
is made of.
In his well-written introduction to this
edition, Mr. Maynard Gertler dips into
a thrilling, virile epoch in history. From