hould_ we want Imperial
Federation?" he answered. "We have an empire the size of Europe, whose
problems we must work out. Why should Canadians go to Westminster to
legislate on a deceased wife's sister's bills and Welsh
disestablishment and silly socialistic panaceas for the unfit to
plunder the fit?"

It will be noticed that his answer had none of that flunkeyism to which
Goldwin Smith used to ascribe much of Canadian pro-loyalty. Rather was
there a grave recognition of the colossal burden of helping a nation
the area of Europe to work out her destiny in wisdom and in integrity
and in the certainty that is built up only from rock bottom basis of
fact.

Has flunkeyism any part in the pro-loyalty of Canada? Goldwin Smith
thought it had, and we all know Canadians whose swelling lip-loyalty is
a sort of Gargantuan thunder. It may be observed, parenthetically,
those Canadians are not the personages who receive recognition from
England.

"Sorry, Your Royal Highness, sorry; but Canada is becoming horribly
contaminated by Americanizing influences," apologized a pro-loyalist of
the lip-flunkey variety to the Duke of Connaught shortly after that
scion of royalty came to Canada as Governor.

The Duke of Connaught turned and looked the fussy lip-loyalist over.
"What's good enough for Americans is good enough for me," he said.

An instance of the absence of flunkeyism from the Dominion's loyalty to
the Mother Country occurred during the visit of the present King as
Prince of Wales to the Canadian Northwest a few years ago. The royal
train had arrived at some little western place, where a contingent of
the Mounted Police was to act as escort for the Prince's entourage.
The train had barely pulled in when a fussy little long-coat-tailed
secretary flew John-Gilpin fashion across the station platform to a
khaki trooper of the Mounted Police.

"His Royal Highness has arrived! His Royal Highness has arrived,"
gasped the little secretary, almost apoplectic with self-importance.
"Come and help to get the baggage off--"

"You go to ----," answered the khaki-uniformed trooper, aiming a
tobacco wad that flew past the little secretary's ear. "Get the
baggage off yourself! We're not here as porters. We're here to
execute orders and we don't take 'em from little damphool fussies like
you."

Yet that trooper was of the company that made the Strathcona Horse
famous in South Africa--famous for such daring abandon in their charg