TAKING A LOOK BACKWARD
Like the footfalls on
the boundaries of an ancient world came the announcement in our city papers of
the coming of one of those old-time itinerant temperance lecturers, such as
used to visit Hamilton in regular course sixty and seventy years ago. Like a
“ship that passes in the night,” they come and go, leaving behind them pleasant
memories of days long since gone by. The present generation knows naught of
those gifted men who devoted their talents and their lives in sounding loud
their notes of warning against the “despot intemperance,” and inviting all to
join in hurling him down from his might. Now and then it seems like a
resurrection from the graves of the past to hear one of those itinerants tell
the story of the curse of the drink traffic. The curse has been upon this world
for centuries, but we have become so accustomed to its misdeeds in this
twentieth century that instead of making the personal fight, as did the fathers
of old against it, we depend altogether on the power of law to suppress the
evil. We have an illustration in these present war days in Canada of what could
be done to bring about the millennium of prohibition if the voter and the
lawmaker were in earnest in their desire to put an end to the drink traffic.
Here in Ontario, a little more than a year ago, the fiat went forth that till
the end of the war there should be no legal sale of spirituous liquors, or of
malt liquors over a small percentage of alcoholic strength; but the unfortunate
proviso was attached that it might be shipped into the province from
territories beyond its borders. The result of the operations of the law are
that, while it has in large measure, shown what might have been effected by
total prohibition, yet it has proven a partial failure in the total suppression
of the traffic. It is true that a drunken man in the streets is a rare sight in
Hamilton, and that arrests for drunkenness have largely fallen off, yet a day
scarcely passes by that from one to half a dozen foreigners are haled before
Justice Jelfs on the charge of having liquor illegally in their possession, and
also of selling it to those unfortunate enough to have an appetite for the
accursed stuff. Every device is availed of to evade the prohibition intent of
the law, and all through that loophole of permitting its importation into
Ontario, by the foreign element that believes itself to be above all law,
either to fight for Canada or to pay taxes toward the carrying on of the war.
When caught in the act, these foreigners are fined the paltry sum of $200,
which they can either pay in cash or by confinement in jail, where they are
comfortably warmed and fed at the expense of the law-abiding taxpayers of the
city. You have read the story of the old farmer who found a lot of boys in his
apple trees and pelted them with tufts of grass, expecting that such mild
treatment would have the effect of frightening them out of the trees; but the
boys only laughed and jeered at the kindly old farmer. Patience seemed to be a
virtue that did not bring results, and finally the farmer began to pelt the
lads with stones, and soon there was not one of the young culprits in the
trees. Something more than a mere fine will have to be applied to these foreign
lawbreakers, or the time will come that their anarchistic ideas will become the
curse of Canada. Read in the columns of the daily papers, not only in Hamilton,
but in other cities in Canada, of the manner of insults offered the women and
girls by this class of people, and in time business may become brisk with the
undertakers by reason of the desperation to which fathers and husbands may be
driven to protect their wives and daughters.
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We have drifted somewhat from the
point at which we started, but as what has been written is along the line of
the liquor question, it may fit in appropriately. Let us go back to our text.
E. Tennyson Smith, temperance and prohibition lecturer, editor and author,
dropped in on Hamilton last week, and on Sunday opened a week’s campaign under
the auspices of the Royal Templars of Temperance, and it was a pleasure to read
in the editorial columns of the Spectator on last Saturday the kindly greeting
extended to the lecturer by the genial editorial writer of this paper. Unfortunately
the press and the pulpit have but little to say nowadays against the liquor
traffic, and it seems like a gleam of sunshine when someone says a pleasant
word for the advancement of temperance in either the newspaper or the pulpit.
The coming of the itinerant temperance lecturer takes one back fifty and sixty
years ago, when Hamilton was interested in temperance work. Two great
temperance orators from the United States had made a vigorous campaign of
Canada, Philip S. White and John B. Gough, and both of them created quite an
interest in their work. Mr. White was at the head of the Sons of Temperance
organization of the world, and his eloquence captivated the people of Hamilton,
and proved valuable in building up that order in this city.
Connected with the Sons of Temperance
organization as an auxiliary branch was the Cadets of Temperance composed of
boys under eighteen years of age. The boys not only took the pledge against the
use of intoxicating liquors, wine and cider, but also the use of tobacco. The
tobacco part of the pledge was a blessing to the boys, as but few violated it,
and it kept them from its use till they were at an age when they would not form
the habit. When the boys arrived at the age of 18 years, their membership
ceased in the Cadets, and many recruits joined the older organization, the
Sons. As one walks the streets and sees young boys of very immature age sucking
a cigarette, the pity of it is that there is not some such organization as the
Cadets of Temperance to educate them from the use of the “coffin nail.” Canada
has become a nation of cigarette smokers to the injury, especially, of young
boys. John B. Gough’s campaign in Hamilton and Canada was not in the interest
of any special temperance order, but was for the education along the lines of
total abstinence. Following his visit to Canada, the order of Good Templars was
instituted, and the first Grand Lodge in Canada was organized in Hamilton in
the fall of 1854, with Dr. Case as the grand worthy chief. But few members of
the old Hamilton lodge are living today to tell the story of the great
temperance revival in this city more than sixty years ago.
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Hamilton has now two temperance
organizations at work, the Good Templars and the Royal Templars of Temperance,
but not much is said about what they are doing. The Women’s Christian
Temperance Union is also a mild power for good along temperance lines, but as
they are too broad in their methods, they lose somewhat in their force of
action. Probably temperance people think now that Ontario is supposed to have
prohibition, everything is done except the shouting. There is too much money in
the distilling and brewing business for the capitalists who control them to let
go of the traffic. They are taking it quietly just now, but when the time comes
for them to make a strike, they will put all the money necessary into carrying
the elections to knock the prohibitory law. Let us hope that Tennyson Smith’s
campaign may arouse a new interest in prohibition so that its advocates will be
on guard against the attack of the enemy.
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THE VICTORIA CROSS
The Christian Science Monitor, one of
the cleanest daily newspapers published in the United States, evidently has
some Canadian on its editorial staff, for it devotes a part of its columns
nearly everyday to Canadian interests. While it is published by the Christian
Science organization, yet it only prints one short article each day to
educating its readers along those lines. Hamilton is represented in the
business department of the Monitor by a son of Samuel Cann, once one of the
leading grocers on the Market square. His mother, Mrs. Cann-Hill, was the
daughter of Hutchison Clark, an architect and builder in the early days of
Hamilton. Some of his descendants are still living in this city. From the
Monitor, the writer of these musings gathers a bit of history of the
institution of the Victoria Cross in the British army. It is the greatest prize
Great Britain offers to its soldiers for conspicuous valor on the field of
battle and came into existence in the Crimean war, more than sixty years ago.
So highly guarded is the Victoria Cross that in all those sixty years, less
than one thousand have been awarded. Five hundred and twenty-two was the number
of recipients before the present war, and during the last three years 817 men
have won the coveted prize. How many of our Canadian boys will be decorated
with the cross? Certainly they have performed many acts of bravery to entitle
them to the honor. The roll of the Victoria Cross will probably be still
further lengthened before the close of the war, though even now the number
bestowed since 1914 is larger than the awards of the Crimea and the Mutiny put
together.
Unfortunately, says the Monitor, there
are many who deserve the Victoria Crodd and who somehow do not get it. There
was an instance of a Tommy who insisted on taking water over a fire swept bit
of ground to some comrades who had been cut off from the British lines. There
was no possibility of supplies reaching them; their plight was evident, and
this brave soldier resolved to meet it. He was warned by his officer what it
would certainly mean for him, but nothing would turn him from his purpose. He
made the journey, carrying the water bags not once, but several times, and he got through unscathed. So far he
is still Private Canuck, without a V.C. to his name.
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GAMBLING
Gambling is the process of betting
whether the fourth ace is still in the deck or up the other fellow’s sleeve. It
is an exiting pastime, and will keep a man awake easier than an ulcerated
tooth.
There is one form of gambling that is
very common over on the Market square about this season of the year, when
nature is so lavish with her fruits and produce, and you may safely bet that
the honest-looking seller has that fourth ace hidden away. David Harum tells us
to do unto others as they would do unto you, but do it to them first. You can’t
do it in the market place, for the other fellow has the advantage. Did you ever
see such a wealth of luscious peaches and plums, and indeed fruit of all
varieties, as has been displayed in the Hamilton market the past few weeks?
Why, it is almost a feast in itself to look upon, even though one’s pocketbook
may not be equal to the expense of carrying home what nature has so bountifully
blessed these latter-day Hamiltonians with.
When you and I were young, my
venerable Hamiltonian, peaches were a luxury that we knew aught of. Down about
Stoney Creek and Grimsby a few progressive orchardists were experimenting in
the cultivation of this delicious fruit, but so few were raised that they were
beyond the reach of the average pocketbook, and the orchards were so many miles
from Hamilton that the town boys were not equal to the exertion of going after
them. Land down in that fruit country had no more value than ordinary farming
land; now with its wealth of fruit it is worth away up into the hundreds of
dollars, and even spreading out into four figures. It was a gamble when those
enterprising orchardists began the game of fancy fruit culture, but they had
not only one ace up their sleeve but they had a royal flush in their hands.
Now and then one comes across these
gentle fruit men, and it is a sorrowful experience. The baskets of peaches and
apples and plums look like a picture to the eye, and you feel the sting of
poverty because you cannot gratify your desire to become the possessor of at
least enough to supply the family demand till another season rolls around. You
buy a basket of peaches or apples that look fine under their covering of gauze,
for the top row is carefully selected large fruit, and as you carry it home you
feel almost as proud as if you owned the orchard in which it was grown. When
you bought that basket of peaches it was a gamble about the “show down” when
the head of the house made the call. She admired the peaches because they were
so large and luscious, but, woman like, she wanted to see whether you had a “full
house,” or only “four flush,” and she dived down to the bottom of the basket,
and then that “fruit fancier” caught it at long range, for he was safely a mile
away, and beyond hearing what the head of the house thought of him. This is
where the fruit gambler rings in a cold deck on the innocent sucker. Thank
goodness, there be but few men who have the odd ace up their sleeve.
Gambling comes in different sized
packages, depending upon the roll of the gambler. Some people get more pleasure
out of tossing pennies at a crack, in an attitude of pigeon-toes expectancy, or
in “rolling the bones” in shooting craps, than others do by blostering up wheat
margins on a falling market.
One of the most popular forms of
gambling is known as draw poker. This is a game in which one mild-faced gull is
whipshawed by two genteel harpies in fancy vests by a series of spiral and
costly “raises,” the last raise being usually sufficient to leave the sucker in
a breathless condition. Away back in the ‘50s poker used to be a popular game
with tin-horn sports when Hamilton was but a budding town. When it got a little
hot for the gamblers here that used to stand around the hotel doors, chewing
toothpicks and looking as harmless as doves, they would decoy their victims out
to Pete Riley’s in Dundas, where everything was wide open. Many an innocent
went out to Pete’s with a good-sized roll, and behind a spanking livery team,
who came slinking home afoot when the sun was taking its early morning bath in
old Ontario. That handsome tinsmith, who worked for the Dennis Moore company,
was a daisy. The girls were all in love with his bushy black moustache, and the
boys would follow him like a flock of sheep, begging him to win their week’s
earnings by giving them a few lessons in poker. He would gather the boys into
his classroom on Saturday night, and when the sun was rising in the morning,
the plucked tinhorns would be dismissed with empty pockets. When the Sabbath
bells called saints and sinners to the temple, this handsome black-mustached
tinsmith would be found with his fine baritone-voice, devoutly singing the
Psalms of David or the simple songs of Wesley. Now and then he would take a
stroll out to Pete’s, but he never came home with empty pockets. The most
harmless kind of poker is penny-ante, which the boys in the army used to play
during the American civil war. They played it day and night when not engaged in
shooting Minnie balls at their southern brethren, and not one of them was ever
known to be broke. They played an honest game, for it would have been a
dangerous thing if one of their number was found with the fourth ace up his
sleeve.
A few years ago our society people
discarded draw in favor of bridge whist. This is a very expensive form of
entertainment, as many of the lady sports have found out to their cost, and
when at a high voltage, makes a game of poker look like playing marbles for
keeps. After one has run up against four or five stiff hands of bridge whist,
he or she will be lucky to cash in at ten cents on the dollar.
One of the most genteel forms of
gambling is the progressive euchre party, at which the most progressive sister
draws a hand-painted picture of Burlington bay, and the undying enmity of all
the sisters who had set their hearts on winning the prize. These parties used
to be sat upon by the clergy in loud, explosive sermons ever so often, but as
the sisters are the mainstay of the church, the good parson found it to his
interest to “let it go at that.” Husbands are not allowed to interfere, only
they have the privilege of furnishing the prizes.
Although gambling is prohibited by
law, the sport who bets his week’s wages on the ponies, or on the baseball
games, has never been arrested. After all, there ought to be one place in this
gambling world where the unsatisfied sucker will not be interrupted in a
wholesome effort to be stung.
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