SOURCE: McMullin, Stanley E. “Thomas Chandler Haliburton.” In Canadian Writers and Their Works: Essays on Form, Context, and Development: Fiction Series, Volume Two, edited by Robert Lecker, Jack David, and Ellen Quigley, pp. 27-76. Toronto, Ont.: ECW Press, 1989.

[In the following excerpt, McMullin maintains that even though Haliburton's popularity waned and he was alternately labeled a British or an American writer, his Tory philosophy was primarily linked to Canadian intellectual tradition.]

It seems to me that Robert L. McDougall has come closest to answering the question of why Thomas Chandler Haliburton's reputation has waned while lesser writers continue to be read by modern readers. He isolates three possible explanations in his 1959 essay on Haliburton. The first reason has to do with the arena for Haliburton's success:

Present-day accounts of the American tradition in literature assign no place to Haliburton, whose claims to be considered the founding-father of an American strain of humour have been, after all, understandably diminished by the fact of his not being home-grown. Similarly, and again understandably, Haliburton's name today finds little or no place in the annals of England's writers and men of affairs. … I suspect that this exclusion or neglect or whatever you want to call it comes about in both countries, not really on the grounds of quality …, but rather for the simple reason that this writer does not belong to either country—if you will, is not a part of either's living tradition.

(pp. 4-5)

This explanation is fundamental and requires little expansion.

The second point made by McDougall acknowledges that Haliburton was, among other things, a true Tory of the old school. His conservatism was anachronistic as an active political force very early in his career. As McDougall puts it, the problem for modern readers is that Haliburton's political creed “is pretty well lost to us because it does not connect with the present along the main stream of [Canada's] political development” (p. 11). I agree with McDougall insofar as the creed seems lost upon contemporary readers: I will, however, have something to say later about whether there is any connection with mainstream politics in Canada.

McDougall's third point identifies the difficulty of applying the techniques of literary criticism to Haliburton's work. He points out that Haliburton “made only limited use in his writing of the forms and techniques we are accustomed to associate with literature as an art” (p. 14). I suspect that this explains why The Old Judge is currently enjoying new interest among critics. M. G. Parks, in his Introduction to a 1978 edition of The Old Judge, explains why that book endures while “… Sam Slick has not worn particularly well and cannot now be relied upon to excite many readers” (p. v):

Few speakers in the book use dialect, and even when they do they are closer to normal speech than is Sam's brand of fractured English. Consistency of characterization is not at issue, as Haliburton's several speakers in The Old Judge are well-controlled and are given attitudes and manners of speech which fit them. It also follows that the wide variety of subjects and of presentation saves The Old Judge from the repetitiousness that plagues the books dominated by Sam. The Old Judge is also, perhaps unexpectedly, much less didactic in tone, much less insistent on persuading readers of the wisdom of Haliburton's political, religious, and social convictions.

(p. vi)

The above passage is a valuable assessment of The Old Judge and validates McDougall's comment that much of Haliburton's work does not conform to the expectations of literary critics who demand such things as well-constructed characters, consistency, and lack of didacticism.

It would seem, then, that any new attempt to evaluate Haliburton will have to take into account the following considerations: First, as McDougall points out, Haliburton must be reclaimed as a Nova Scotian writer since neither the Americans nor the English are about to undertake the chore of claiming him for their own. All that is necessary to attempt the reclamation is to put aside the usual Canadian reticence about acknowledging merit in our own artists. The second consideration calls for a reconciliation of a fairly clear dichotomy in Haliburton criticism. One side, represented to some degree by Chittick, Logan, Liljegren, and McDougall, places emphasis upon Haliburton's Tory vision. The other side, represented by Frye, Wilson, and Watters, deals with Haliburton's humour and satire within the confines of established literary theory. Reconciliation of the dichotomy depends upon whether or not Haliburton's political and social vision is connected with the mainstream of Canadian intellectual history. If it is, then an understanding of that vision is essential not only for reaching a meaningful evaluation of Haliburton's canon but also for understanding something of the intellectual tradition of the country as a whole.

The thesis of this essay, therefore, is that Haliburton's Tory philosophy, as a philosophy rather than a practical political doctrine, is essentially linked to mainstream Canadian intellectual thought. While Haliburton's practice of his Tory beliefs may have resulted in some contradictory situations, he remained, as far as I can tell, true to a Tory creed which was fully articulated in Nova Scotia by the time he became a member of the legislative assembly.

The early days of a colonial society are filled with basic problems of survival. It is true that pioneers usually have little time to devote to the arts, that they need to get on with the job of bringing order, security, and prosperity to the land before they are likely to become patrons of the humanities. It is also true, however, that while the demands of colonial life do not easily lead to a specialized consideration of the arts, the pressures of surviving do breed citizens who are extremely adaptable. Thomas McCulloch, writing in 1818, stated that “a Professor in a Nova Scotia College must be a Jack of all trades, enter with heart and good will into the drudgery of his business, and not only be willing to communicate all that he knows upon every subject, but also, for the benefit of his pupils, become student himself, and every day add something to his own education.”¹ McCulloch wrote fiction, but he also fulfilled his own requirement that a professor be a jack-of-all-trades by becoming knowledgeable in political economy, medicine, natural science, theology, and education, while following his own career as teacher and cleric. Joseph Howe managed to write poetry, essays, speeches, and travel literature while he participated in politics, edited a newspaper, discussed economics, and occasionally read law. Haliburton wrote satire but also had the time and inclination to write political tracts and history while participating in politics, practicing law, and experimenting with the latest innovations in agriculture at his estate in Windsor.

Vernon Louis Parrington, writing in the 1920s about the lack of interest in colonial literature in the United States, suggests that it was due, in part, “to an exaggerated regard for esthetic values.” “Our literary historians,” he goes on, “have laboured under too heavy a handicap of the genteel tradition. …” As a result, “… mediocre verse has obscured political speculation, and poetasters have shouldered aside vigorous creative thinkers.”² Parrington suggests that a consideration of colonial theology and political controversy is required if we wish to go directly to the heart of the colonial mentality. Such a route brings one closest to the men who laid the intellectual groundwork for life in the New World.

While Parrington's remarks were directed to an American audience and were written some sixty years ago, they still give useful guidance to contemporary Canadian literary historians who are just beginning the process of evaluating our colonial past. In the present essay, we will take heed of Parrington's suggestion that religion and politics offer valid insights into the colonial mind, and that one must overcome “an exaggerated regard for esthetic values” in the process of evaluating that mind. As a result, the essay will consider Haliburton's historical writing as much as it will examine clearly defined “creative literature.” It is in the historical writing of Haliburton, particularly Rule and Misrule of the English in America, that we find most clearly displayed the core of his Tory vision.

Haliburton began his writing career as a historian. While his early histories of Nova Scotia are not true histories by modern standards, they do give insight into the way an articulate, educated, and concerned citizen viewed Nova Scotia's role in the British colonial experience. What we are after in our reading of Haliburton's history is not so much the facts and figures as the set of mind which was brought to bear on the problem at hand.

In Haliburton's A General Description of Nova Scotia (1823), he builds his case inductively, working from specific data towards a general conclusion. For the most part, he avoids personal comment on social institutions. For example, when he mentions slavery in the colony, he sets aside “political and moral considerations” and dismisses the validity of the practice in Nova Scotia on economic grounds.³ Such dispassionate examination of social institutions is remarkable in a man who would become a sharp critic of colonial life in his later writings.

Haliburton catalogues native plants and wildlife, describes major towns, gives information about native Indians, and makes comments about population and commerce. He also has something to say about the settlers of the colony. The Nova Scotian, he says, is prone to speculate, to enter into trade, and to dabble in small coasting vessels, to the neglect and injury of his farm. The settler shows his attraction to high living through his love of “superfine flour,” which even the poorest Nova Scotian sees as an indispensable necessity. Such expensive tastes, Haliburton notes, have made the colony “almost wholly dependent upon the United States for bread,” since the wheat was not grown in Nova Scotia and had to be imported.⁴

For Haliburton, the English yeoman is the ideal citizen. He will bring prosperity, raise the quality of rural life, and gradually educate the native Nova Scotian to emulate his actions. In 1823 Haliburton felt secure in the belief that real advances were occurring. Education in schools was becoming more generally available. John Young's “Letters of Agricola,” which had appeared in The Acadian Recorder explicating new farming techniques, and the creation of agricultural societies had accomplished wonders in raising the general level of farm activity.

The hope of the colony, Haliburton felt, would continue to reside with the social attitudes of those British immigrants who brought with them a commitment to the monarch and to the Anglican church, and who recognized the true worth of class distinctions. A commitment to a British class structure and British political institutions was a natural recognition of the heritage of the colony.

The aim of A General Description of Nova Scotia was to correct misconceptions prevalent in Britain and elsewhere about the colony of Nova Scotia. By setting the record straight, Haliburton felt that he would increase the immigration of properly informed settlers, who would come to the colony fully aware of what to expect. A General Description of Nova Scotia is not a book which takes any kind of personal stand on social institutions. While a suggestion for the reformation of the system of choosing members for the provincial legislature is offered, it is hardly radical. Haliburton expresses optimism about the colony, its people, and its future. There is no hint in this book of the social satirist who will later emerge.

Haliburton spent the six years following the issue of A General Description of Nova Scotia writing An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia (1829). Other men had made attempts to prepare detailed histories of the colony. Andrew Brown had collected materials for a history of the Acadians, but had never executed the plan,⁵ and William Cochran, at King's College, had also collected information without publication.

Haliburton, writing to Judge Wiswall in 1824, gives a view of colonial history which was prevalent among many of his contemporaries: “I fully agree with you that there is in fact no history of Nova Scotia to relate, and that the few military events which might have happened here have as little bearing on the true history of the Country as the Battle of Trafalgar. …”⁶ Nova Scotians had not yet gained a sense of historical significance for their colony. At best, there was the view of the province as a “special” place, a place which had maintained peace and order in the midst of a world gone mad with war and destruction, heralding the possibility of apocalypse. Such a feeling of attachment to the colony as a haven from the chaotic world of European politics was found in the sermons and writings of Robert Stanser, William Cochran, Andrew Brown, Charles Inglis, and Thomas McCulloch. But this “specialness” had not proceeded to a point where it included an awareness of the province as a place possessing its own distinctive culture and history. Thus the comments of a young student writing home to Nova Scotia during his first visit to England were probably quite typical:

… all North America presents a dead blank, on which tradition has not etched a single living picture of the least value or attraction. … There is not in Nova Scotia one indubitable mark of the presence of man, that can be traced back to an hundred and fifty years. … Mythology, or Sculpture, poetry or architecture, music or painting, could never take root or grow in a region, buried in snow for nearly one half of the year. … Alas, my country! I could weep over thy past and present history.⁷

Haliburton's basic aim in writing An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia was to correct false conceptions which had been spread about the province's climate, resources, and geography. While he attempts to sketch the colony's historical background, no controlling thesis underlies the work. The first volume chronicles the military exploits and adventurous incidents which took place from the time of John Cabot's discovery of North America in 1497 until the Treaty of Paris in 1763, which marked the end of the wars with France. The years from 1763 until 1828 are covered in the briefest of chronological tables, with little attempt to deal with political or social problems, and few critical evaluations are offered of the events described. Haliburton notes that the book's “general tendency is neither to pass censures nor encomiums upon individuals, but merely to record facts. …”⁸ In a discussion of the Pictou Academy debates, for example, he notes that it “is foreign from the design of this work to enter into local politics; we shall therefore not detail the particulars of the controversy, nor the reasonings of the contending parties” (II, 56).

One of the few criticisms offered in this book deals with the role of the Governor's Council. In Nova Scotia, the Governor's Council functioned both as a Privy Council and as an upper house for the legislature. Haliburton recognized the danger of conflict of interest when the roles of Privy Council and upper house were combined. His solution lies in his hope for the emergence of “a real aristocracy chosen from among persons of the highest property” who will make wise choices (II, 318).

While An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia fails to say much about social and political realities, it does reveal Haliburton's commitment to technological progress. His description of the minerals, harbours, and manufacturing potential of the province is based on a firm belief in the advantages of technological improvement. He gives details on the Shubenacadie canal and argues for the necessity of another canal from the Bay of Fundy through to the Northumberland Strait. He catalogues coal, iron, and copper reserves and documents trade and agricultural achievements. All in all, the book is an optimistic statement of the promise of Nova Scotia.

Like A General Description of Nova Scotia, the second history significantly suspends social and political criticism. Being a book dedicated to presenting the facts, it gives no indication of the satiric gift Haliburton began to practice in 1835 with the appearance of Sam Slick in the pages of The Novascotian. These early studies of Nova Scotia are descriptions rather than true histories. Each gives expression to an essentially optimistic view of the development of the province based on a study of its native wealth and of its potential for technological and commercial development. The significance of both works lies in the fact that they were introducing their readers to their own province. The books reflect no real feeling for Nova Scotia's past, but they did make visible the province's geographic reality and its future potential. What Haliburton began in these works, Joseph Howe extended in his articles published in The Novascotian entitled “Western Rambles” (1828) and “Eastern Rambles” (1831). Both men introduced Nova Scotians to the visible place they inhabited. Such introduction was necessary in order to cultivate “a sense of place” in the Nova Scotian imagination. Imaginatively, Nova Scotians lived in a past which was more often than not British or American. Before their imaginative life could transfer to the province, it was necessary to have that landscape delineated for them. Historical perspective would develop once the commitment to landscape took place.

It is worth dwelling on this concept of an imaginative past a bit longer. Marshall McLuhan suggested at various times that contemporary men see life in “a rear-view mirror”—that is, they live with a set of ideas and perceptions that come from the previous era. He suggested that the gap between the imaginative era and real time never quite narrowed to the point where people really were able to say that they lived imaginatively in the present. Artists, he suggested, came closest to understanding the present. This notion is useful in approaching Haliburton. He was, first of all, not a true Empire Loyalist since his family came to Nova Scotia before the revolution. He, and his father before him, were Nova Scotians. Describing him as a Loyalist confuses the issue. We know very little about who the Loyalists really were. It has too often been the case that Loyalism is seen as synonymous with strong devotion to British ideals. Certainly this was true of the élite of Loyalists who assumed control of the provincial administration in Halifax shortly after their arrival from the revolted colonies. However, there were thirty thousand such immigrants, and we cannot foist British values on all of these people because the élite reflected them. A good case in point is the career of Joseph Howe. Howe was of Loyalist stock, and yet he was the prime mover in the establishment of responsible government and the basic foe of the Halifax élite.

Haliburton was a Tory of the old, pre-Loyalist Nova Scotian school. His involvement with the Loyalist élite at King's College allowed him to share his conservative ideals with people who also reflected a Tory vision, but his conservatism came essentially from England, with strong links with such conservative thinkers as Edmund Burke. While American conservatives might also share this link, they had lived in an essentially republican society in New England, and this had given at least some of them a leaven of democracy, which shows up in people like Howe. Thus Haliburton, in his days in the legislative assembly, could disagree with the Loyalist Tory élite without really digressing from his own pre-Loyalist vision of conservatism. Such a reading explains to some degree why his conservative creed appeared anachronistic so early in his life. It might also explain why Chittick and others have found Haliburton's political thought so inconsistent. It is inconsistent only if it is measured against American Toryism.

Haliburton, then, lived imaginatively in England, espousing a conservatism that had already lost its vitality in the mother country while continuing to be practiced in the province by those pre-Loyalists who had arrived as early as 1763. Haliburton's essentially Nova Scotian past had, however, allowed him to perceive at least the physical reality of the province. His histories of Nova Scotia were remarkable attempts to come to grips with his environment. Having established a point of departure with Haliburton's early Nova Scotian histories, it is useful to jump ahead to his last historical work, Rule and Misrule of the English in America (1851). The book was written before he moved to England and thus can be seen as his last attempt to understand the meaning of North American history before he returned “home” to his imaginative roots in Great Britain. The book is Haliburton's finest statement of his conservative creed. A reading of the book also greatly illuminates his vision in The Clockmaker and The Old Judge.

Unlike either of Haliburton's Nova Scotian histories, Rule and Misrule of the English in America was constructed around a clear thesis. A General Description of Nova Scotia more than An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia had implied that the future of the colony was logically tied to the British heritage imported into the colony. The idea of a people developing out of their inherited cultural “genius” also underlies the later study of Massachusetts. In Rule and Misrule of the English in America, Haliburton holds to the belief that in order to avoid social upheaval and anarchy, colonies must develop their institutions out of their inherited social patterns. As far as Haliburton was concerned, the spectacle of the British crown allowing Lower Canada to experiment with constitutional government was a first-rate example of how inevitable dissent became when men refused to acknowledge that “the experience of all ages was against the experiment.”⁹

In 1851 Haliburton's real concern was a consideration of the success of American republicanism. The advancement of America was being used throughout the Old and New World to justify the value of republican government. To counter such arguments, Haliburton set out to prove that American republicanism did not owe its origins to the American Revolution, or to the work of statesmen who framed the United States Constitution. He expressed the view that “… a republic de facto was founded at Boston, in 1630, which subsisted in full force and vigor for more than half a century. … [T]he independence of the States conferred little or nothing on Massachusetts that she did not enjoy under her first character …” (p. 126). His belief was that republicanism in the United States was unique in that, for the first time in history, it developed out of a native “genius” of the people without either dissent or anarchy in attendance. The growth was organic and natural.

In his examination of history, Haliburton found that most cultures began with the natural order of royalty and moved from there to less natural political structures, with democracy being the most unnatural of all. The appearance of democracy in European history was usually marked with anarchy and bloodshed. France, of course, with its Reign of Terror and Napoleonic despotism, provided the clearest and most recent example.

The republican experiment in Massachusetts was unique in Haliburton's eyes because it was the starting point for the nation, not the ultimate state of dissolution. The experiment succeeded where European attempts had failed because, unlike Europe, Massachusetts had a population which was in the beginning both “rural” and “moral” (p. 345). While Haliburton conceded that Massachusetts had a working republican system, however, he did not believe that the system had any potential for acquiring either cultural polish or depth. The system worked for a rural and virtuous population, but “… there is something repugnant in it to the feelings of a gentleman …” (p. 347).

The revolution had been forced upon America by an insensitive Britain, which, after years of total disregard, saw the American colonies as a new source of wealth. Having established their political character during the years of Britain's neglect, the colonies naturally responded to the unreasonable demands of the mother country by permanently breaking the bonds, which had been tenuous in any case.

Regardless of the fact that American republicanism was a natural result of native “genius,” it still remained true for Haliburton that greatness would be denied them. American democracy with its levelling tendency simply could never aspire to the height of sophistication attained by the British monarchal system. The American ideal led to mediocrity since the theory of equality brought with it the idea of a norm for social achievement, a norm to which the gifted must, in spite of themselves, be drawn down, and to which the inferior, in spite of their failings, must be raised.

Society in the monarchal system is described by Haliburton as “social circles” which “are all concentric, but of various extent and circumference, in proportion as they become more and more distant from the centre” (p. 365). He extends this circle metaphor to explain social interaction among classes:

… [the circles] touch closely on each other, and yet leave room for independent action; they are nearly assimilated, and yet sufficiently distinct to admit of a selection that best suits the income or the taste of those who prefer to associate on a footing of perfect equality; while, at the same time, many of those that precede or follow each other are so nearly blended together, that it requires some discrimination to say where one ends and the other begins.

(pp. 365-66)

The other major shortcoming in the American nation was that, in departing from England, the Puritans had left the reformed Church of England. Massachusetts maintained a state church, but when the federal constitution was written, universal toleration became the law of the land. While such a move deserved the admiration of the world, Haliburton thought that this laudable act would “ultimately produce the political preponderance which it was designed to prevent” (p. 351). The Anglican church had reasserted its true, pristine form by throwing off the Roman Catholic church; the Puritans who left England for America, and who also left behind the Anglican church, would find themselves in a position where the Roman Catholic church could regain power over them. Toleration helped to bring about dissolution of the old Protestant denominations into “endless numbers of sects, more or less absurd, according to the degree of prejudice that was to be pandered to, discontent soothed into complacency, or ignorance extolled into wisdom. … [R]eligion was thus daily put on and off like a garment …” (pp. 352-53).

The Roman Catholic church was seen by Haliburton to be politically opportunistic. In fact, he believed that the Jesuits would mastermind an attack on the nation which would ultimately bring its government under the control of Rome. Such a view was simply an extension of the brief that Catholic duplicity was responsible for the chaotic state of European politics. It was felt that there had been an alliance of the Roman Catholic church with European democratic principles. While this view of European politics was held by most Nova Scotian Tories, they had generally not made any link between European and American democracy. Haliburton makes such a link but focuses upon the role of the Catholic church rather than upon any comparison of liberal political thought.

Ultimately, Haliburton holds to a providential view of history: “An over-ruling Providence has many things in store for us, which we are not only unable to foretell, but even to conjecture …” (p. 356). Indeed, the basis of his social vision rests with Christian ideals. Those who depart from these Christian ideals “will inevitably be overtaken at last by the retributive justice of an inscrutable Providence” (p. 379). Concluding his study of New England history, and speaking about France in particular, he points out that

… whatever be the form of government, despotic, monarchical, or republican …, the only sure and solid basis on which it ever can be built is religion, which at once makes us good men and good subjects, by teaching us our duty to God and our neighbour, and renders our institutions, our country, and ourselves worthy of the protection and blessing Heaven.

(p. 379)

Haliburton believed that the lessons of history, the visible clues to the workings of Providence, were being ignored by Englishmen as well as by other Europeans. Instead of promoting the reintroduction of those “great leading principles of the law which had come down to us from remote antiquity, and which were stamped with the sacred seal of experience,”¹⁰ English statesmen seemed bent on rejecting the opportunity for leadership which Providence appeared to be offering them.

Haliburton expresses great concern about England's fatal attraction to ideals which contravened those “leading principles” so essential in his eyes to the preservation of Christian society. Chartists, radicals, political dissenters, Irish Romanists, “and a large portion of the manufacturing laborers, whom free trade has plunged into deplorable poverty, and whose passions have been inflamed by artful, unprincipled men” (p. 361), were threatening the essence of the British tradition and religious heritage. The only hope to which Haliburton holds is “that Great Britain is not a country where such change will be tamely submitted to. An Englishman is made of sterner stuff, than to surrender his rights without a struggle” (p. 361).

That England was failing to read the clear message of history and was committing herself to a pattern which inevitably led to destruction of both social and religious values was Haliburton's continuing anguish. France had demonstrated that republicanism could lead to heathenism. Indeed, it had demonstrated that “… a few short months are sufficient to demolish the work of centuries; and in the general wreck produced by a moral earthquake, there must inevitably be many things irretrievably lost, or destroyed” (p. 367).

As we have just shown, Haliburton in Rule and Misrule of the English in America was concerned with convincing the world that American republicanism was unique, that it was in fact not a model which could succeed anywhere else in the world. While Haliburton could admire the remarkable attempt by American statesmen to make their experiment work through a series of modifications which limited the democratic power of the people through complicated checks and balances of power, and through a remarkable judiciary system, he ultimately projected failure for the experiment, predicting that America would follow the European pattern of republics degenerating into despotism. Should America manage to survive the threat of Roman Catholic domination, the fact that cultural mediocrity seemed to be the inevitable result of democracies guaranteed that the country would never achieve cultural excellence.

Turning to The Clockmaker and The Old Judge, we can now attempt to resolve two issues: First, we can try to find a way of reconciling Haliburton's Tory vision, as set out in his historical writing, with his creative writing, which most often employed satire. Second, we can attempt to place this integrated reading of his work within the mainstream of Canadian intellectual history. To begin the exercise, we need to establish a distinctive norm for his satire.¹¹

For those who take the time to read Rule and Misrule of the English in America, it is clear that Haliburton had a clear and explicitly defined set of values. In order to place Sam Slick in perspective with these values, it seems useful to begin with an assessment of how Sam fits into Haliburton's conception of social classes. Haliburton uses the metaphor of concentric circles to explain the interaction of classes. A social hierarchy is desirable because it allows for the optimum flexibility of merit and ability. Those individuals who show the most intelligence and initiative will rise in the hierarchy. Their natural ability or merit will assert itself and justify their positions of authority. Those with little intelligence and ability will occupy lower levels in the hierarchy and acknowledge the benefits they receive by having people with more merit in charge.

In the Clockmaker books, three principal characters are involved in the presentation of Haliburton's satiric commentary: Sam Slick, the Squire, and the Reverend Mr. Hopewell. Sam is a merchant, a pedlar of clocks, and thus, within the Tory scheme of things, he is socially inferior to the other two. While Sam rarely acknowledges his class inferiority, Haliburton gives us evidence that he views Sam within a class context.

The Squire is the first character on the scene in The Clockmaker. It is the Squire who sets down Sam's ideas for the press, and thus he remains the observer through whom we view Sam's character. The decision to make the Squire the narrator is a natural one since he, like the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, who in later Sam Slick books takes over from the Squire, has the ambiance of a gentleman.

The Squire's reaction to Sam is indicative of Haliburton's interest in social rank. The Squire does not immediately know to which class of society Sam belongs, and Sam, the true Yankee, is not concerned about whether or not he is crossing social boundaries when he accosts the Squire. When Sam refers to his “circuit,” the Squire responds to the term by assuming that Sam must be a lawyer: “The word circuit sounded so professional, I looked again at him to ascertain whether I had ever seen him before, or whether I had met with one of those nameless, but innumerable limbs of the law, who now flourish in every distinct of the Province.”¹² The need to categorize Sam is foremost in the Squire's mind. He notes a “keenness about his eye, and an acuteness of expression, much in favour of the law,” but “… the dress, and general bearing of the man, made against the supposition.‘’ The presence of “a large brooch, and some superfluous seals and gold keys” gives rise to the thought that “a visit to the States had, perhaps, … turned this Colchester beau into a Yankee fop” (p. 3). The Squire, although desiring “neither his acquaintance nor his company” (p. 3), is curious about Sam's true vocation. The possibility that he is a Methodist minister occurs to him, but again Sam's attire, although correct in colour, does not suit a man of “that staidness of look … so characteristic of the clergy” (p. 3). Sam's nationality becomes evident during an impromptu horse race when the Squire tries to leave Sam in the dust: “… he was a Yankee, and a very impertinent Yankee too” (p. 4). Obviously, the Squire usually treats Yankees with contempt.

At this point, Sam displays what for Haliburton is the most distinguishing feature of the true Yankee: the need to level men by asserting himself to be a free and enlightened citizen, the equal of any man in the world. He not only humbles the Squire by besting his horse but proceeds to instruct him on proper horsemanship as well. The deflation of the Squire's pride is justified. His personal esteem is damaged, but the levelling is even more humiliating because it has been administered by “an unfeeling pettifogging rascal,” who is “a horse jockey, too” (p. 4). Of course, the Squire could well be described as “a horse jockey” himself, and obviously Sam reflects an identical sin of pride. The difference is simply that Sam is able to do on this occasion what the Squire has always done to others in the past, take“the conceit out of coxcombs” (p. 1). However, there is a subtle difference between the two men: Sam is unconscious of his prideful ways; the Squire, although he is loath to admit it, is aware of his own conceit. When Sam refuses to part with his horse in trade because he enjoys not riding “in the dust after every one” he meets, the Squire thinks: “Is it possible … that he can know me? that he has heard of my foible, and is quizzing me, or have I this feeling in common with him?” (p. 4).

Sam is truly the victim of the piece since he lacks the Squire's self-awareness. His democratic attitudes are ironically counterpointed by his use of the term “circuit” to describe his pedlar's route. By such terminology he may be consciously levelling occupations by equating the merchant with the professional, or he may unconsciously be using the term simply because it gives him the suggestion of a professional station in life.

The first chapter of The Clockmaker is richly ironic and absolutely necessary in establishing the future relationship between the Squire and Sam. The Squire comes out the better man for two reasons: he is aware of his own “foible,” and he acquiesces in his exposure and regains his “good humour,” deciding to travel with Sam.

It is necessary that the Squire be deflated. His snobbery, his classification of Sam as a pettifogging rascal, a horse jockey, and a Yankee, is an example of how class structures become inert and introspective through unfortunate stereotyping. The Squire reveals himself the natural superior of Sam because he accepts his fall and recognizes that there is worth in Sam which he has missed in his first, superficial evaluation. He proceeds to take advantage of Sam's company to increase his store of worldly wisdom. Sam must be seen as the natural social inferior of the Squire. Like the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, the Squire is capable not only of moving within his own social sphere but also of displaying the true ambiance of a gentleman by listening with interest and curiosity to those whose social class normally excludes them from intercourse with gentlemen.

Although the Squire is able to overcome the inertia of his class and is able to freely attend Sam's commentary on human nature, he retains a clear perspective of Sam's social limitations. In speaking about Sam's peculiar vocabulary, he is explicit in pointing out that Sam speaks as do “the classes in humble life, of which Mr. Slick is a member” (p. 437). The Squire's evaluation of Sam's strengths and weaknesses is quite acute:

The Clockmaker had an extensive and accurate knowledge of human nature. The wandering life he had led, and the nature of his business, which sent him into every man's house, afforded him a favourable opportunity of studying character, a knowledge of which was the foundation of his success in life. Like most clever men, however, he prided himself less upon what he did, than he did not, know. …

(p. 489)

In Series 3 Haliburton introduces the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, who gradually becomes his mouthpiece in later books. In a letter to his publisher, Richard Bentley, Haliburton makes some comments about the role of Hopewell:

There were things to be said too wise and too deep for Sam, these I have given as the talk of an aged gentleman—a scholar and divine—“in wit a man simplicity a child” wise in constitutional law, in natural & moral philosophy of great kindness and goodness of heart—but simple in his manners, and utterly ignorant of what Sam knows so well—worldly knowledge.¹³

Hopewell is wise, deep, and learned, but he is removed from the realities of life. Sam, while lacking the ability to handle abstract philosophical terms, possesses “worldly knowledge.”

Hopewell gives us evidence that he recognizes that Sam works on a different social level than either he or the Squire. On one occasion, Sam comes into the room in the middle of a discussion. The topic changes suddenly but “not more sudden than the change of Mr. Hopewell's manner and style of speaking, for he adopted at once the familiar and idiomatic language to which Mr. Slick was more accustomed, as one better suited to the level of his understanding” (p. 511). A superficial reading might suggest that Hopewell was patronizing Sam; however, since the minister is a true gentleman as well as being Sam's mentor, it is clear that he makes his adjustment not to show up Sam's “level of understanding” but rather in order to make Sam feel comfortable.

Haliburton was convinced that class structure was necessary to guarantee true freedom to everyone, and true recognition of merit and ability. His actions in the provincial legislature were based on the premise that no class should be deprived at the mere whim of an élite. Ideally, those barely distinguishable boundaries should remain vague; they should never solidify into walls between social levels. The Squire and the Reverend Mr. Hopewell exhibit a lack of social pretension while displaying the natural superiority of their education and breeding. In fact, they present a model of harmonious class interaction throughout the entire Clockmaker series. As representatives of the ideal British class system, they are consistent in their roles. It is significant, then, that Sam, the character from the “classless” American society, should be the foil for much of the irony in The Clockmaker.

Hopewell and the Squire consistently serve as mouthpieces for Haliburton. Sam, however, is a much more unpredictable spokesman. At times, he is the crass democrat demonstrating all the brashness of the stereotypical American. But he is more than just that. Ultimately, he is an undisciplined mind shooting off sparks of insight, often in the form of aphorisms. His native wit and intelligence, however, lack the control of a clearly defined creed or set of beliefs. Sam lives in the moment, reflecting that great American trait of adaptability, but lacking the security of moral tradition. Sam reflects his creator's own dichotomous response to the United States. On one hand, Haliburton acknowledged American “genius” as unique; on the other hand, he bemoaned the American rejection of those pristine values of the past which could have disciplined that genius. Thus Sam often expresses Tory truths, uttering them at random as if they were vestigial remnants of the past, no longer connected to any consistent code or creed. What I am suggesting is that Sam's inconsistency—he is part Tory, part democrat, often wise, and sometimes blind—represents Haliburton's view of the essential formlessness of American culture. With the push for responsible government in Nova Scotia, the same drifting away from the past was beginning to be felt in that province as well.

Several examples of Sam's vestigial conservatism will illustrate my point and explain why critics such as Parks have rightly felt that Sam lacks consistency as a character. Sam speaks about why the split between the upper and lower classes has reached unfortunate proportions:

… the popular side are not so well informed as tother, and they have the misfortin of havin their passions addressed more than their reason, therefore they are often out of the way, or rather led out of it, and put astray by bad guides; well, tother side have the prejudices of birth and iducation to dim their vision, and are alarmed to undertake a thing, from the dread of ambush or open foes, that their guides are eternally descrying in the midst—and beside, power has a nateral tendency to corpulency.

(p. 81)

In Series 2, Sam, in what must be seen as a very ironic passage, states in no uncertain terms what should be considered as Haliburton's personal norm for social action:

Be honest, be consistent, be temperate; be rather the advocate of internal improvement than political change; of rational reform, but not organic alterations. Neither flatter the mob, nor flatter the government; support what is right, oppose what is wrong; what you think, speak; try to satisfy yourself, and not others; and if you are not popular, you will at least be respected; popularity lasts but a day, respect will descend as a heritage to your children.

(p. 182)

Here, Sam's dialect has vanished. The voice is pure Haliburton. The Squire and Hopewell exemplify these principles on most occasions. Sam, however, falls far short of his own norm. Parks and others are correct in seeing Sam as inconsistent; however, I am suggesting that this very trait is Sam's most significant attribute. Sam is representative of an American society which has all the right precepts but little ability to put those precepts into concrete action.

Haliburton saw religion as the cornerstone of any successful political system. In Series 1 Sam appears as the product of a society which has lost sight of religious values. He equates churches and inns, telling the Squire that it takes real effort to make either one a profitable venture. Sam feels, however, that both churches and inns can be excellent speculations providing the same economic principles are applied to each. The Squire is perturbed by Sam's crass commercial perspective: “I trust it will be long, very long, my friend … ere the rage for speculation introduces ‘the money changes into the temple,’ with us.” Sam responds with a most “ineffable expression of pity and surprise. Depend on it sir, said he, with a most philosophical air, this Province is much behind the intelligence of the age” (pp. 9-10). The satire is directed against Sam, and against the commercialism of the United States which has led to a disregard for old religious values. Precept and action are contradictory. Churches are valuable to a society. That value is reduced to financial gains.

It should be obvious by now that Sam Slick is indeed a unique character. At times, he is the true democratic Yankee, the leveller, looking for speculations. At other times, he reveals a Tory heart. “My rule is,” he says, “I'd rather keep a critter whose faults I do know, than change him for a beast whose faults I don't know.” At another time, he is unequivocal in asserting there is “no tyranny on airth equal to the tyranny of a majority,” and he is quick to state that “… the greatest democrats are the greatest tyrants” (p. 205). These latter opinions are clearly those held by Haliburton. The lesson learned about The Clockmaker is that one must always be looking for Haliburton behind the Yankee mask. Sam's commentary is double-barrelled even when he is serving as a Tory critic since it is clear that Sam does not practice what he preaches. The irony is always in full flower.

Sam's practical application of precept is often caught up in sophistry. In fact, Sam's tendency to rationalize his actions to meet his precepts is perhaps the most significant condemnation which Haliburton makes of Sam's personality.¹⁴ The growing inability to balance ideal and action because of a lack of moral values becomes increasingly obvious as a reason to which Haliburton attributes the failure of American society to achieve any significant cultural and social excellence.

Other examples of Sam's inability to fathom the ethical implications of his actions abound in The Clockmaker. In Series 1 we see him selling clocks for forty dollars to Nova Scotians even though those same clocks cost him six dollars and fifty cents in New England. In the tale called “The Bad Shilling,” in Series 3, Sam expounds upon the American philosophy of speculation and trade. The question is raised about what one does if one receives a bad coin in change. Sam's rationalization of why it is proper to pass on the coin to others exemplifies his failure to use ethical perception actively in his daily life.

The point of Haliburton's satire in The Clockmaker is complex, but it does not reveal any lack of conviction. Sam's precepts reflect Haliburton's personal views on a great number of things: religion, democracy, education, and human nature. When Sam pontificates, his precepts are usually sound Tory statements of principle. However, there is a clear distinction between Sam's precepts and his actions, and it is this lack of balance, this failure to achieve tension between appearance and reality, which makes Sam the target of much of the satire. Rather than consciously suspending conviction as an ironist, Haliburton is attacking the failure of Sam to achieve moral vision. Haliburton has not suspended conviction but has pointed out the absolute necessity of a moral vision grounded upon the pristine values of the past if one is to escape the trap into which Sam has fallen. Moral vision allows the balancing of the aspiration with the action and allows for an awareness of the tensions of life.

The Clockmaker is, among other things, a Tory critique on the inevitable decline of America. Ultimately, for Haliburton, the gap between the American dream—that is, the ideals suggested by the democratic model originating in Massachusetts in 1630—and the reality of life within that visible social order which had developed after the revolution, has become so broad that little true organic tension between the ideal and the practice of that ideal remains.

Haliburton's vision of life rests upon the necessity of moral vision. He believed that religious values advocated by a state church produced a moral people by defining a clear and consistent norm of behaviour. He believed that the monarchal system and religiously inspired education shaped a cultural life which had a consistent norm to which all people could reasonably aspire. The commitment to such a norm allowed the possibility of a balance between aspiration and action. The Tory vision of the world was the only vision which could provide the stability necessary for the “genius” of a people to flourish.

If all three series of The Clockmaker are read, it becomes clear that Haliburton increasingly has more to say about American society than he does about Nova Scotian society. Haliburton's vision of history is essentially pessimistic. The movement to democratic and republican systems marks the inevitable decline of cultures. The United States originally appeared to be the exception to this pattern. In The Clockmaker and Rule and Misrule of the English in America, however, Haliburton examines the American experiment and finds that, in spite of its unique and promising beginnings, the hope that the experiment could succeed where other republican experiments had failed was futile. The examination reaffirmed his Tory vision, his belief in those leading principles passed down from antiquity. The monarchal system allowed true equality because it acknowledged that all were not equal, it ensured moral vision because it held to an established church, and it was the only system which properly rewarded merit and valued the inherent differences in human capacity.

Haliburton's anguish came from the realization that even England had failed to hold with the past and that those ideals which his whole creative life had confirmed were being abandoned. His attempt to achieve balance between aspiration and action without the need for rebellion or dissension seemed frustrated by a world which was losing its moral core. Ultimately, of course, this is the inevitable end for the true Tory. One thinks of George Grant's Lament for a Nation: The Defeat of Canadian Nationalism (1965) as a more contemporary expression of the same frustration.

Sam Slick would appear in other books written by Haliburton. The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England (1843, 1844), Sam Slick's Wise Saws and Modern Instances (1853), and Nature and Human Nature (1855) continued to exhibit the fiery clockmaker. With the passage of time, the vitality of Sam declined, and none of these books displays the overall vitality of The Clockmaker. The other literary work destined to survive as a major accomplishment is The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony (1849). The Old Judge is Haliburton's book devoted to Nova Scotia. Unfortunately, Sam Slick's international reputation overshadowed The Old Judge to such a degree that no Canadian edition of the book appeared until 1968, and even then, for reasons which are not quite clear, editor Reginald Eyre Watters chose to release an abridged version of the text. In 1978 M. G. Parks edited the complete text for the Tecumseh Working Texts series.

While in The Clockmaker Haliburton's indignation about the failure of the United States is expressed in sharp satiric stabs, his views of Nova Scotia in The Old Judge are more resigned and are tempered with what Watters terms “ironic humour”: “The satirist requires our detachment and objective judgement; the humorist quietly involves us in a human situation” (Watters, p. xiv). Watters goes on to provide a fine catalogue of the contents of The Old Judge:

The loose, anecdotal structure of the Sam Slick sketches has been replaced by a controlled series of narratives which are fine examples of short stories in the contemporary manner of Irving, Poe, and Hawthorne. A few even have a “surprise ending” now associated with the work of O. Henry. Included are stories of domestic comedy, mystery and adventure, Gothic supernaturalism, social caricature; stories which are sometimes farcical, sometimes bizarre, sometimes trembling on the verge of the tragic or grotesque, sometimes a skilful mixture of several ingredients—as well as humour.

(Watters, p. xxii)

The conservative vision of Haliburton continues to provide the norm for The Old Judge. The book is, however, concerned with Nova Scotia rather than with the United States and thus offers much less in the way of political commentary. In this book, Haliburton is relaxed with, and, I think, resigned to, the fact that his Tory ideology is not reflected in the partisan politics of the day. Speaking of political parties in “Asking a Governor to Dine,” he describes conservatism as “an abandonment of all principle, and the substitution of expediency in its place; a relinquishment of any political creed, and the adoption of a sliding-scale whereby tenets rise or fall according to popular pulsation.” Liberalism he defines as resting “in theory on universal suffrage and equal rights; but in practice exhibit[ing] the exclusion and tyranny of a majority.”¹⁵ For Haliburton, party politics had placed expediency ahead of ideology. His Toryism was philosophically based, and it provided a foundation for all aspects of life, not just the political arena.

In The Old Judge there is less satire and more humour than in other books; however, the norm remains the same: find the middle ground, seek moderation. Three characters chosen to voice this norm—an unnamed English traveller; a lawyer named Barclay; and Mr. Justice Sandford—are consistent conservatives capable of self-criticism. The other significant figure, Stephen Richardson, who figures in a series of stories called “The Keeping-Room of an Inn,” bears the closest similarity to Sam Slick. However, as Watters points out in his Introduction, Richardson has a much more honest, humane, and likeable personality (Watters, pp. xx-xxii).

The Old Judge does not deal directly with the Nova Scotia of Haliburton's day. As Parks states in his Introduction, it has “a not unpleasant romantic nostalgia for a past age in Nova Scotia, for an earlier and, to Haliburton, more vigorous and viable way of life” (p. xi). I argued that Haliburton, in The Clockmaker, attacked Sam's inability to balance his precepts with his actions, to find a tension between what was ideal and what was practical. Ideals must hold some promise for actualization if they are to be of use to the individual in the process of establishing stability in the world. Sam, as a representative of the American mind, reveals a state in which no such moral tension exists. The ideal has lost touch with its practice. The Nova Scotians in The Old Judge, however, seem able both to perceive others and, at the same time, to be conscious of their own shortcomings. In Watters' words, we encounter in this book “the awareness of dual points of view, one for outgoing criticism and one for incoming” (Watters, p. xvi). The characters occupy middle ground, balancing themselves as best they can between the absurdities of life. In such a position, it is possible to modify ideals to meet new practical situations or to adjust one's actions to come close to the ideal.

Claude T. Bissell notes in his article on Haliburton and Stephen Leacock that their humour “depended upon ironic balance as opposed to the triumphant contrast that was the main spring of American humour.”¹⁶ Later in the article, he adds that “Leacock's position, like Haliburton's, is individualistic and uncommitted.” Leacock, he says—and his comments are equally true of Haliburton—is “aware of the tensions between appearance and reality, but he keeps them in playful suspension; he does not resolve them in a burst of indignation” (p. 19). Such observations about ironic balance are crucial to the understanding of Haliburton's satire; however, Bissell's application of these observations becomes suspect in his concluding remarks about Canadian society. After rightly stating that “our political and social traditions have decreed reconciliation rather than polarization,” he concludes by observing that Canadians display “diversity rather than integration,” and that they reveal “a willing suspension of conviction” (p. 19).

The inclination to read ironic balance as a refusal to seek either integration or commitment to convictions has been too frequent a response among Canadian social critics. This response suggests a belief that Canadians are incapable of action, complacent, and inert. An examination of Haliburton's satire shows that diversity of vision and ironic balance does not necessarily mean “a willing suspension of conviction,” and that, in fact, Haliburton is clearly attacking such a response in his major character, Sam Slick, the Yankee clock-pedlar. In The Old Judge, he shows us Nova Scotians who still possess the ability to balance the real with the ideal. That this should be so of colonials who maintained their connection with the British Empire should not surprise us. Conservatism of the Haliburton variety seemed dead by 1850 as a viable political creed. However, the Tory mind did not die. The significance of Haliburton's vision of society is confirmed in Susanna Moodie's Roughing It in the Bush (1852). Modern readers are often put off by Moodie's apparent snobbishness towards the Yankees she encounters. But if one applies Haliburton's concept of class structure cited above to Moodie, then one can understand why she felt that her labourers would be happier eating at their own table. It had nothing to do with being a snob; it had everything to do with being a true Tory.

As I noted earlier, one finds a resurrection of that mind in the works of Egerton Ryerson. Ryerson, in his two-volume history The Loyalists of America and Their Times from 1620-1816 (1880), covered the same ground as Haliburton, going back to Massachusetts to trace the lineage of Loyalism. Ryerson, however, eliminated the liberal-democratic strain from his reading of Loyalist history. In searching for his past, he looked for confirmation of a Toryism which would substantiate the claims of an Upper Canadian élite which had a need for historical roots.

Haliburton held firm beliefs about the proper ordering of society. Foremost among his leading principles was his belief in a clearly defined, hierarchic social structure, epitomized by the British monarchal system with its twin supports: religion and education. Canada is still essentially a paternalistic society depending on the idea of merit when it makes appointments to public office. Although it is true that some of us wonder whether merit is actually present, the business of appointing our people rather than electing them indicates that we think we can identify merit and reward it with authority.

Haliburton also considered technological progress to be a necessity for a new country, recognizing that the machine compensated for the lack of skilled labour in the New World. He, like modern Canadians, could appreciate the technological inventiveness of Americans while at the same time experiencing fear about the levelling tendency evidenced in American life. Underlying all these ideas about the proper ordering of society is a firm commitment to a providential vision of history, a vision which holds that the pattern of God's relationship with man is always obscure to mortal eyes. Haliburton did not read history as a progressive development of social institutions; instead, he read it as confirmation that the leading principles handed down from antiquity form the best basis for any society. For Haliburton, England held the key to the preservation of the Christian ethic. She had the opportunity to assume world leadership through the reintroduction of Christian values to a world which had been purged by a retributive Providence through revolution and rebellion. His realization that England was ignoring what he felt was a clear mandate from Providence became, in his last years, his greatest anguish.

Obviously, I see Thomas Chandler Haliburton as central to Canada's literary and political tradition. The Clockmaker and The Old Judge can still delight us with their satire, irony, and humour, while Rule and Misrule of the English in America offers us a chance for serious study of the meaning of the Tory heritage. Haliburton's view of a monarchal society is an abstract view. He is speaking of an ideal society which did not exist in England when he wrote and which probably had never existed in any concrete form. His definition of conservatism is philosophical and remote from real time; it is, nevertheless, a fine explication of the Tory set of mind. Haliburton was a pre-Loyalist Tory who set down what he thought and felt about his time and place. In so doing, he became a pioneer in the shaping of Maritime Tory thought. The basic elements of that thought remain alive today, not within the confines of party ideology or indeed as part of any established philosophical treatise, but as a fundamental set of mind shared by many Canadians.

Notes

1. Thomas McCulloch [Investigator, pseud.], “To the Editor of the Recorder,” The Acadian Recorder, 28 Feb. 1818, n. pag. “Investigator” letters to The Colonial Patriot began appearing in late 1827.

2. The Colonial Mind, 1620-1800 (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1927), p. vi.

3. A General Description of Nova Scotia; Illustrated by a New and Correct Map (1823; rpt. Halifax: Royal Acadian School, 1825), p. 41.

4. A General Description of Nova Scotia, p. 98.

5. See J. B. Brebner, “The Brown MSS and Longfellow,” The Canadian Historical Review, 17 (June 1936), 173.

6. Letter to Peleg Wiswall, 7 Jan. 1824, quoted in Chittick, p. 126.

7. “Young Student,” The Novascotian, 5 Jan. 1825, pp. 1-2.

8. An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia (Halifax: Howe, 1829), II, 304. All further references to this work appear in the text.

9. Rule and Misrule of the English in America (New York: Harper, 1851), p. 318. All further references to this work appear in the text.

10. From a speech by Haliburton to the legislative assembly, as reported in The Novascotian (see above, note 14); quoted in Chittick, p. 94.

11. Ideas expressed on The Clockmaker were originally shaped in my article “The Decline of American Moral Vision: A Study of The Clockmaker in Relation to Rule and Misrule of the English in America,” The American Review of Canadian Studies, 4, No. 2 (Autumn 1974), 2-22.

12. The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick, of Slickville, combined ser. (London: Routledge, [1876]), p. 2. All further references to this work appear in the text.

13. Letter to Richard Bentley, n.d. [postmarked “27 Ju 1843”], “The Correspondence of Thomas Chandler Haliburton and Richard Bentley,” ed. William H. Bond, in The Canadian Collection at Harvard University, Bulletin, IV, ed. William Inglis Morse (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Printing Office, 1947), p. 69.

14. Milton Wilson in “Haliburton's Tales” has written about Sam's “failing to relate precept and example” (p. 327).

15. The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony (London: Colburn, 1849), I, 53.

16. Claude T. Bissell, “Haliburton, Leacock and the American Humourous Tradition,” Canadian Literature, No. 39 (Winter 1969), p. 13. All further references to this work appear in the text.

Selected Bibliography

Primary Sources

Haliburton, Thomas Chandler. A General Description of Nova Scotia; Illustrated by a New and Correct Map. 1823; rpt. Halifax: Royal Acadian School, 1825.

———. An Historical and Statistical Account of Nova Scotia. 2 vols. Halifax: Howe, 1829.

———. The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick, of Slickville. 1st ser. Howe, 1836.

———. The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick, of Slickville. 2nd ser. London: Bentley, 1838.

———. The Bubbles of Canada. London: Bentley, 1839.

———. A Reply to the Report of the Earl of Durham: By a Colonist. London: Bentley, 1839.

———. The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick, of Slickville. 3rd ser. London: Bentley, 1840.

———. The Letter-Bag of the Great Western; or, Life in a Steamer. Halifax: Howe, 1840.

———. The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England. 1st ser. 2 vols. London: Bentley, 1843.

———. The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England. 2nd ser. 2 vols. London: Bentley, 1844.

———. The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony. 2 vols. London: Colburn, 1849.

———. Rule and Misrule of the English in America. New York: Harper, 1851.

———, ed. Traits of American Humour, by Native Authors. 3 vols. London: Colburn, 1852.

———. Sam Slick's Wise Saws and Modern Instances; or, What He Said, Did, or Invented. 2 vols. London: Hurst and Blackett, 1853.

———, ed. The Americans at Home; or, Byeways, Backwoods, and Prairies. 3 vols. London: Hurst and Blackett, 1854.

———. Nature and Human Nature. 2 vols. London: Hurst and Blackett, 1855.

———. An Address on the Present Condition, Resources and Prospects of British North America, Delivered by Special Request at the City Hall, Glasgow, on the 25th of March, 1857. London: Hurst and Blackett, 1857.

———. The Season-Ticket. London: Bentley, 1860.

———. Speech of the Hon. Mr. Justice Haliburton, M.P., in the House of Commons on Tuesday, the 21st of April, 1860, on the Repeal of the Differential Duties on Foreign and Colonial Wood. London: Stanford, 1860.

———. The Clockmaker; or, The Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick, of Slickville. Combined ser. London: Routledge, [1876?].

———, and Richard Bentley. “The Correspondence of Thomas Chandler Haliburton and Richard Bentley.” Ed. William W. Bond. In The Canadian Collection at Harvard University. Bulletin IV. Ed. William Inglis Morse. Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Printing Office, 1947, pp. 48-105.

Secondary Sources

Anderson, John Parker. “Bibliography.” In Haliburton: A Centenary Chaplet. Toronto: Briggs, 1897, pp. 107-16.

Bailey, Alfred G. “The Historical Setting of Haliburton's Reply.” In A Reply to the Report of the Earl of Durham. Ottawa: Golden Dog, 1976, pp. 1-7.

Baker, Ray Palmer. A History of English-Canadian Literature to the Confederation. Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1920.

Bissell, Claude T. “Haliburton, Leacock and the American Humourous Tradition.” Canadian Literature, No. 39 (Winter 1969), pp. 5-19.

Chittick, V. L. O. Thomas Chandler Haliburton (“Sam Slick”): A Study of Provincial Toryism. New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1924.

Cogswell, Fred. “Haliburton.” In Literary History of Canada: Canadian Literature in English. Gen. ed. and introd. Carl F. Klinck. Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1965, pp. 92-101.

———. “Haliburton, Thomas Chandler.” In Dictionary of Canadian Biography. Vol. IX. Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1976. 348-57.

Crofton, F. Blake. “Haliburton: The Man and the Writer.” In Haliburton: A Centenary Chaplet. Toronto: Briggs, 1897, pp. 53-106.

Davies, Richard A. “Thomas Haliburton in Isleworth (1856-65).” Dalhousie Review, 57 (Winter 1977-78), 619-27.

———, ed. and introd. On Thomas Chandler Haliburton: Selected Criticism. Tecumseh Critical Views Series. Ottawa: Tecumseh, 1979.

Frye, Northrop. “Haliburton: Mask and Ego.” Alphabet, No. 5 (Dec. 1962), pp. 58-63.

Haliburton, R. G. “A Sketch of the Life and Times of Judge Haliburton.” In Haliburton: A Centenary Chaplet. Toronto: Briggs, 1897, pp. 13-40.

Kelly, Darlene. “Thomas Haliburton and Travel Books about America.” Canadian Literature, No. 94 (Autumn 1982), pp. 25-38.

Liljegren, S. B. Canadian History and Thomas Chandler Haliburton: Some Notes on Sam Slick. Upsala Canadian Studies, Nos. 8-10. 3 vols. Upsala, Swed.: A.-B. Lundequistska Bokhandeln, 1969-70.

Logan, J. D. Thomas Chandler Haliburton. Makers of Canadian Literature. Toronto: Ryerson, [1923].

Longley, J. W. Joseph Howe. Vol. XII of The Makers of Canada. Toronto: Morang, 1906.

Mahon, A. Wylie. “Sam Slick Letters.” The Canadian Magazine, 44 (Nov. 1914), 75-79.

McCulloch, Thomas. The Prosperity of the Church in Troublous Times: A Sermon, Preached at Pictou, on Friday, February 25, 1814, Being the Day Appointed for a General Fast. Halifax: Howe, 1814.

———. [Investigator, pseud.] “To the Editor of the Recorder.” The Acadian Recorder, 28 Feb. 1818, n. pag.

McDougall, Robert L. “Thomas Chandler Haliburton.” In Our Living Tradition. 2nd and 3rd ser. Ed. Robert L. McDougall. Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1959, pp. 3-30.

McMullin, Stanley E. “The Decline of American Moral Vision: A Study of The Clockmaker in Relation to Rule and Misrule of the English in America.” The American Review of Canadian Studies, 4, No. 2 (Autumn 1974), 2-22.

———. “Thomas McCulloch: The Evolution of a Liberal Mind.” Diss. Dalhousie 1975.

Middlebro', Tom. “Imitatio Inanitatis: Literary Madness and the Canadian Short Story.” Canadian Literature, No. 107 (Winter 1985), pp. 189-93.

Morrison, Katherine. “In Haliburton's Nova Scotia: The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony.” Canadian Literature, No. 101 (Summer 1984), pp. 58-68.

Parks, M. G., introd. The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony. Tecumseh Working Texts. Ottawa: Tecumseh, 1978, pp. i-xvii.

Parrington, Vernon Louis. The Colonial Mind, 1620-1800. New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1927.

Rasporich, Beverly. “The New Eden Dream: The Source of Canadian Humour: McCulloch, Haliburton, and Leacock.” Studies in Canadian Literature, 7 (1982), 227-40.

Tierney, Frank M., ed. and introd. The Thomas Chandler Haliburton Symposium. Reappraisals: Canadian Writers, No. 11. Ottawa: Univ. of Ottawa Press, 1985.

Vroom, F. W. King's College: A Chronicle, 1789-1939. Halifax: Imperial, 1941.

Watters, Reginald Eyre, introd. The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony. Toronto: Clarke, Irwin, 1968, pp. vii-xxiii.

———, introd. The Sam Slick Anthology. Toronto: Clarke, Irwin, 1969, pp. vii-xvii.

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