A
SYMPATHETIC COUNTRY EDITOR
The country editor is a man of all
work – in fact; he is a man of genius in his way. He may be an ordinary sort of
a fellow, if one might judge him from his general appearance; but he cannot be
held responsible for his manner of dress altogether, for he is compelled by
force of circumstances to patronize the readymade clothing store from whence
comes the advertising patronage. Poor fellow, he is to be pitied, naturally he
has refined tastes, and would look well in a Prince Albert suit, made by an
artistic tailor, even if it were to cost more money than the slopmade suits in
the local shops; but then he would not get the advertising, and without a few
columns of advertising, even at the lowest rates, where would the revenue come
from to pay for the boiler plates of which the reading matter largely consists?
Full many a literary gem of purest ray serene can be found by those who search
with care the columns of the country weekly, for there appear the brilliant
thought of the editor whose style has not been smoothed into flat monotony by
the electric iron of convention. He dares to be ingenuous, and when he has a
thought he puts it into cold type in all the courage of his innocence. His life
is one sweet song, for he lives in an atmosphere of rural simplicity where the
first sound he hears when awakening from a refreshing night’s rest is the
silvery tinkling of the cowbell as old bossy wanders up from the pasture lot to
yield her rich store of milk for the family breakfast. As a truly charming
example of the genially naïve is the following item, clipped from an ancient
copy of the Dunnville Bugelhorn of Liberty, which must have been written in an
early day before Davy Hastings hiked from Hamilton to become a shining light in
the literary world on the banks of the Grand river. It sounds very much like
Davy in one of his pathetic moods, and as a specimen of rural local writing, we
give it to the readers of these musings :
“It is with sorrow that we announce an
accident to Mrs. Timothy Tadpole, wife of the well-known grocer, who sells
three pounds of Redpath’s best granulated sugar for a quarter. While he was
chasing her around the yard in fun the other evening, she stepped on an old
tomato can and severely lacerated her foot. Should blood poisoning set in and
she be removed from our midst, the Bugelhorn of Liberty will turn its column
rules as a Tribute to her.”
Thus can the sympathetic editor of a
country weekly mitigate the apprehensions of a well-regarded patron to his
advertising columns by a promise of posthumous honors. It would be sad indeed
for the beloved partner of the local grocer to die from stepping on a tomato
can, and not know when the next steamboat from Brantford would tie up at the
Dunnville wharf; but the promise of the editor of turned rules in the columns
of the Buglehorn of Liberty would inspire resignation at least. The
governor-general of Canada could get no more honor paid to his memory.
HAMILTON’S
SUMMER RESORT
Have you a cottage by the sea. Or, to
be more prosaic, do you own a shack down on the sandstrip that divides the
turbulent waters of old Ontario from the placid Burlington bay? In either case,
then you will be getting a move on you, for June, the loveliest month in the
year, will be the time to enjoy it to the full. What changes have taken place
within a few years! The time was when old John Dynes was monarch of all he
surveyed, when he a few humble fishermen made their home along the south end of
the beach. Then John Martin, Hamilton’s pugilistic schoolmaster, bethought him
that the beach was just the place to sell booze, prepare fish dinners and give
lessons to the incipient sports of the town in the manly art of defense. The
two Johns (Dynes and Martin) divided the honors of the beach, and such fish
dinners and game suppers as were served during the season gave to the sandstrip
a reputation that even drew the old-timers from far off Dundas to the Saturday
and Sunday feasts. The savory smell from the beach kitchens were wafted across
the bay and up the canal to the Valley city, and those old sports could not
withstand the temptation. Ah! those were happy days of innocence and pleasure,
before the days of the electric road, the auto cars, and the wild shrieking of
the locomotive to disturb the quiet beauty of the scene. You had your own
choice as to the method of getting to the beach, either row or sail down, or
patronize the tiny steam craft at 30 cents for the round trip. A gang would
start from the James street wharf, armed and equipped for fishing or shooting,
with hampers well-filled. It was not all temperance crowds that set sail on
Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and the well-filled flasks of old rye, and the
bottles of Grant & Middlewood’s and Anderson & Tom’s choicest brew
would pass around the jolly circle till they all got into a musical mood, and
loudly they would carol Life on the Ocean Wave, forgetful of the day, for if
they were at home on those peaceful Sundays afternoons they would no doubt be singing
the psalms of David or the sacred songs of the Wesleys. Well, they were a happy
lot anyway, and by the time they reached the hospitable bars of the two Johns,
they were both thirsty and mellow, for the supply they started with was soon
exhausted once they got out on the rolling deep of Burlington bay.
Times have changed in the half century
and more that have passed since those old days. Those young roysterers have
become the business men of this dear old town, and instead of hunting and
fishing down by the seashore on the Sabbath, they spend their nights and the
weekend in their palatial cottages at the beach. The two Johns are not there
now to prepare those delicious fish and duck suppers, and the Ontario
Temperance act has placed its seal of condemnation on the beverages that
cheered and inebriated.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
There may be a few fisher huts
scattered here and there along the lake front, but on the bayside half of the
sandstrip are homes built for comfort, and many of the dwellers make them not
only a summer home, but on account of the high rents in town, they are
beginning to spend winters down there, and they tell us that the balmy breezes
from old Ontario are more refreshing than cold and boisterous in midwinter.
And, there you are. Take either view of it, and one must confess that it is a
delightful summer resort, now that it has electric lights and waterworks and
the many modern conveniences of town life. It is getting to be a costly luxury
now to live and own a home on the
sandstrip, for the old days of shack life have passed into innocuous desuetude,
and one must now own or rent a house in keeping with the surroundings. This
makes it expensive living to have a house in town and one by the “seaside.” But
what a joy it is to the children to live in an atmosphere of fresh air, and not
be hampered with any too much clothing; and then the children of larger growth
who have to spend their days in a sweltering workshop or behind a counter in a
department store, how they look forward to the evening tide, when the shops
close at five, and off they speed in the radials cars to spend that night in
the cooling breezes that old Ontario sends to make life worth living! What a
delightful spot that beach would be for a summer hospital, where suffering ones
could be housed during the summer and fall months, away from the noise and
bustle of the city hospital, free from the hot and fetid air of crowded city
streets, with the cool breezes bringing back life and health to their heated
brows! Such a thing as a hospital for convalescents down on the beach is not an
impossibility in the near future. And what a site the north shore would make
for a home for our soldier boys who will return home maimed for life and unable
to work. The country will owe it to them, and the building of such a home
should not be put off till a more convenient season; and the Canadian
government should pay every cent of the cost. Better that than the poor house,
where many a brave soldier has ended his life in the old countries. All this
may be a dream of the future, but it is worthwhile to think it over and be
ready when the home is needed. Canada proposes to provide liberal pensions for
its army of dependents, who may return, but no greater blessing could be given
them than a comfortable home in which to spend the closing years of life. Who
can prophecy the future of the dreamy old sandstrip, where past generations
have feasted on fish and duck suppers prepared by the two Johns!
No comments:
Post a Comment