The
question has been asked : “When was the block of brick buildings on King
street, between West and Victoria avenues, built?” The block comprised four
dwellings, was built on part of the Hugh B. Willson farm, and was called
Victoria Terrace. At that time, they were considered to be the most slightly
residences in the town, being far enough from the center to give them the
exclusiveness of country homes. There were no other houses very near the block
on the east side of Wellington street, for it was in later years that Mr.
Haskins, city engineer, built his home on the east end of what is now
Wellington park. Four years from the completion of Victoria Terrace, Robert
Smiley, began the erection of a home which was generally known as Smiley’s
castle. He only enjoyed the pleasures of his home for a few months, for in the
summer of 1855, he died of consumption. Victoria Terrace is now occupied by
doctors.
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The contention in school matters,
Hamilton occasionally indulges in is an old story. From the incorporation of
the town away back in the forties to the present, there has been an
irrepressible conflict between council and the board of trustees. When the time
came for levying the assessments in 1849, the trustees presented a statement of
the amount required for the year, and in order to raise it, an assessment of at
least three pence in the pound would be necessary. It might interest some even
now to know what the trustees asked the money for, so here is the modest
request.
Pounds Shillings Pence
Equivalent of the government
grant 190 0 2 ½
Interest and debentures re sites
56 8 0
Salary of Superintendent 50 0 0
Salary of Secretary 15 0 0
Salary of City Treasurer for duties
Connected with common schools
15 0 0
Fuel, Furniture and Petty Expenses 75 0 0
Rent of Schoolhouses 101 0 0
Premiums awarded for plans of
Schoolhouses 12
0 0
Deficiency of School Tax for 1847, 5
Pounds each, paid to 6 teachers 30 0 0
--------------------------
554
18 2 ½
In
those days, the parents had to pay a part of the tuition fees in the common
schools; and another reason for the small assessment was that private schools
were more generally patronized, especially when the scholars were in advanced
classes. A storm of indignation went through the council chamber at the mention
of the three pence in the pound. Mr. Lynd was opposed to a high tax and he
thought the system of education ought to be modified. Fifty pounds a year to the superintendent was exorbitant.
Mr. Baker could not see why councilors objected to the tax, as it was necessary
to raise the amount required. He would be satisfied with 2 ½ pence, but did not
think it sufficient. Mr. Lynd was decidedly opposed to the levying of such a
high tax, especially when the inhabitants were assessed to the tyrannical to
put on an additional tax of three pence. He believed there were a great many
extravagant things wrapped up in the school system which the council had not
seen through. Mr. Clement did not agree with Mr. Lynd, although he thought
three pence too high a tax. It was only a narrow-minded man that looked upon
money expended for school purposes as lost to the city. Mr. Holden thought that
50 pounds too much for the superintendent. Mr. Baker explained that under the
new municipal bill, the next council would have to raise the general tax to six
pence in the pound, if not one shilling, therefore he thought it best to vote
for the three pence. Mr. Lynd wanted the amount asked for to be cut down to 200
pounds, for the salaries and expenses were altogether too high. It would make
those ancient councilors turn over in their graves to see how modest the
present boards are on the pocketbooks of the taxpayers.
Said an east ender the other morning as he
was tearing down an old board fence that divided the fronts of the lots between
him and his neighbor : “I have been waiting for years to get my neighbor to
consent to removing this unsightly fence and open up the front lawns and throw
them together; and now that we are agreed on this point, I think the beauty of
both lawns will be enhanced.” If more property owners would follow the example
set by the two east enders, there would be a general tearing down of front
division fences, many of them built in spite. It is proper enough to divide
back yards from each other, but how much nicer would it be done by a
substantial wire rather than an unsightly board fence that keeps fresh air from
purifying the back parts of residences. Old sheds and outhouses are a blot on
the surroundings and destroy the beauty of what otherwise be pleasant homes.
People of taste do not want to build good houses in neighborhoods of that kind,
no matter how desirable the location might be in other respects. And speaking
of spite fences recalls to mind several of those outrageous blots that are seen
in so many places in this city. There are cross-grained, cranky, disagreeable
men and women who, when all else fails by which they can show how mean it is
possible for one to get in the scale of selfishness, build high board fences
between themselves and their neighbors. While they are cutting off the light
and air from themselves, they take fiendish pleasure in doing so, if by that
means they can make life a burden for their neighbor. The question sometimes
presents itself, why do the city authorities such high fences of inflammable
lumber within the fire limits? If a man attempted to build a frame addition to
his house within the fire limit, which would not be nearly so dangerous, the
authorities would promptly interfere; and rightly so, for while a man may own
the property, yet the city owes it to the public that he be not permitted to
place their property in jeopardy. If the builders og the spite fences that here
and there disfigure Hamilton would only think for a moment that they are
cutting off their own noses to spite their neighbors, they would at once tear
them down. There should be a law against such outrages.
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Forty-seven years ago, Hamilton had a weekly
literary paper, and probably the only one of the kind the city ever had. It was
called the Garland, published and edited by A. T. Freed, who now holds the
comfortable position of government inspector of weights and measures in
Hamilton. Gus was a youth then, just emerging into manhood, but he had the
experience of being a reporter on the Banner and had written some poetry that
had given him reputation as one of the rising young writers of Canada. Gus was
a printer by trade, and from his boyhood days was a regular bookworm; in fact,
he would rather lay under a shady tree on a hot summer day reading a book of
poetry or prose than set type. And who could blame him, for the typesetter’s
pay in those days would never justify the hope that in time enough might be
saved out of the weekly stipend to buy an extra suit of clothes. Dick Donnelly
had a job office in the second story of the White block on King street, and in
it the Garland was born without any flourish of trumpets. There was type enough
to set about two pages of the paper, and when the first form was worked off on
a hand press, the type was distributed for the second form. At first, Gus
combined the entire literary and mechanical departments, only occasionally
getting a little help from some of the printer boys in the evening in the
typesetting. Longfellow’s Hiawatha had just been published and in either the
first or the second issue of the Garland, Gus published a travesty on it, which
took the town by storm and there was a demand for an extra large edition of that
number. Gus was the literary lion of Hamilton, and those who had only a passing
acquaintance with him before were proud to tip their hats to him. Especially
did he gain favor with the girls, and if he had been old enough, there is no
question that he might have engaged himself to as many wives as the ancient
Solomon had on his family roll. There were no more afternoons off to be
dreaming under shade trees, for the Garland kept Gus busy to keep up its
literary reputation. The Garland did not entwine itself around either religion
or politics, nor did it meddle with the local happenings of the town. It had a
splendid corps of contributors, but as one of the rules of the editor was
brevity in the handling of all subjects, its columns were bright and spicy. Gus
was a good scissor editor – one of the lost arts in newspaper works nowadays –
and the selections for the Garland were made from the best current literature
of the day. But it didn’t pay; advertisers were not as liberal then as now, and
only a few businessmen contributed to that department of the Garland; and by
the end of the first year it became only a memory, its remains being consigned
to the great literary graveyard to which there has been an increasing
procession down through all the ages from the days when Faust and Guttenberg
first discovered the art of printing by moveable types.
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Hamilton had another weekly in those days
called the Growler, in which first appeared Terry Branigan’s Chronicles. It had
editors by the dozen, for every scribbler in town claimed to be the author of the spicy
items that appeared in its columns, but Tom Fleming, better known to old-time
printers as Tom Fluff, was the fellow responsible for most of the bright
things. The Growler was a money-maker while it lasted, for it cost but little
to print it and everybody bought a copy on publication day. While the Growler
hit everything, yet they were not unkindly growls and left no sting behind. The
city council was composed of a mixed apportment of humanity, and while the
members were mainly of good repute, still there were a few shady ones whom the
Growler kept special watch of , and transactions of doubtful repute received
attention in time, so as to head of any attempts at looting the treasury. It is
less than fifty years ago since the Growler was laid peacefully away in the
newspaper graveyard, and yet but few Hamiltonians of the present day remember
it. The bright young Scotchman who was a porter in Issac Buchanan and Co’s
wholesale house was the author of the Chronicles yet there are people today who
give Terry the credit os writing them. Terry was a character in his day, and
wound up his career as clerk of the city markets.
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Once
before in these Musings have we referred to Paoli Brown, the bell ringer, whose
occupation was jeopardized on the score that the tintinnabulation of his bell
was considered a nuisance. The old day an old copy of the Spectator of the date
July 25, 1849 came to hand, and in it were the proceedings of the council when
his case was up for discussion. Many of the old-timers who can look back in
memory to the year 1849 and prior years have still a vivid recollection of old
Paoli Brown. He was an old man then, but he had a voice that would almost awake
the snoozers who sit in Gore park from early morn till the town clock warns
them that midnight is approaching and that it is time to go home and see if the
good wife has laid aside something for a snack. Paoli was as black as the ace
of spades is generally reputed to be, and he had a mouth that would be lost in
a cut of water melon. He had a game leg and a merry twinkle in his eye that
completed a make-up that once seen would never be forgotten. There was a bylaw
before the council to prohibit bell-ringing in the streets and Paoli had some
white friends write a petition to the council on his behalf. The friend was
somewhat of a vag, and he set forth in a comic way reasons why Paoli should not
be hindered in his vocation. It meant bread and meat to Paoli and his large
brood of pickaninnies, and the bell ringing, instead of being a nuisance was
really a blessing in keeping away the drowsy ones on a hot July day. The
committee rejected the petition because it was written in a spirit of levity
which the dignified gentlemen could not tolerate. While Councillor Lynd was not
in favor of ringing bells to such an extent as had been done, he was satisfied
that it should not be dispensed with altogether. Councillor Baker thought Mr.
Lynd was entirely wrong. The question was, had those bell-ringers the right to
infringe on a bylaw passed by council? If the bylaw, said Mr. Lynd, is
injurious to the inhabitants then it should be repealed. Times were hard and he
saw no great harm in allowing bells to be rung on the street corners.
Councillor McIroy thought Mr. Lynd’s manner of raising the wind was too
glowing. The result was that faithful old Paoli’s petition was rejected, but it
did not stop him from ringing the bell, for years afterward the old man’s voice
could be heard announcing an auction or telling the story of a lost child.
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