tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17033298103388384592024-02-18T23:16:14.885-08:00Saturday Musings1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.comBlogger183125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-27888760088546226452020-11-18T13:45:00.005-08:002020-11-18T13:45:34.207-08:001919-02-01<p> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span> </span><span> <span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">WHAT HAMILTON HAS
CONTRIBUTED TO THE FIRST INDUSTRIES</span>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Hamilton has an industrial history of which
it may well be proud. In our last Musings we told of the first watch made in
Canada being a Hamilton product made in Paul T. Ware’s watchmaking shop on King
street, opposite the present site of the Royal Connaught hotel, and then of a
second handmade watch, made forty years later in Thomas Lees’ shop by two young
watchmakers, ‘Alf’ Baker and ‘Teddy’ Pass, who were ambitious to show what
Hamilton workmen could do. And then we are told about the first threshing
machine made in Canada, away back in 1833, in a shop on the site of the old
Royal hotel, when it was an ancient goose pond. We are going over these first
industries in order to help out Hamilton’s enterprising commissioner of
industries, who is writing a booklet to tell the money-making world what an
advantageous place Hamilton is to pitch their industrial tents, if they are in
search of a live town in which to locate.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>THE FIRST CLOTH BURIAL CASKET MADE IN
CANADA<span> </span></span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>“Burial caskets is a gruesome topic to
write about, but as we will all want one sooner or later, it will do us no harm
to accustom ourselves to the inevitable. Away back about forty years ago, when
John A. Macdonald, the father of the national policy, came to Hamilton to
dedicate the Crystal Palace, and open the provincial fair, among the exhibits
was a line of black cloth-covered burial caskets from a factory in the United
States. At that time, there was not a cloth-covered casket made in Canada, for
the tariff was so low, only 12 ½ per cent, that no Canadian manufacturer felt
that he could compete against the capital and machinery of Yankee enterprise. A
young Englishman, who had served <span> </span>seven
years’ apprenticeship in his native land in an extensive woodworking shop, was
attracted by the cloth caskets, and he said, in the hearing of Sir John, ‘I can
make that class of work, if they will only give me a chance.’ The young man’s
only capital was his brains and skill as a workman. Sir John was attracted by
what the young man said, and in conversation said, ‘Canada will help you, if an
addition to the tariff will do it.’ The result was that Sir John had the tariff
increased, and James J. Evel, the young English woodworker, began the making of
cloth-covered burial caskets, the first made in Canada, and has now one of the
largest burial casket factories in Canada. But <span> </span>more of this great industry at some future.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span></span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>THE FIRST RAILWAY LOCOMOTIVE BUILT IN CANADA WAS
</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>MADE
IN HAMILTON</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>“Hamilton can claim the honor of being
the birthplace of <span> </span>the first railway
locomotive built in Canada, and D.C. Gunn was the father of the industry. Mr.
Gunn had a small shop at the foot of Wellington street, and when he saw the
first locomotives for the Great Western road landed from the steamboats at the
wharf at the foot of James street, he conceived the idea of turning his little
machine shop into a big industry. Why should all the money be sent from Canada
to build locomotives in the old country, when the work could be done in
Hamilton, and furnish employment to Canadian machinists? His first order was
for three locomotives for the Grand Trunk road, and they were christened Ham,
Shep and Japhet. The Grand Trunk was then about to be opened from Montreal to
Brockville, and those three engines were the pioneers on that road. The Great
Western company was then running old country engines, and so well-pleased were
the head officers with Mr. Gunn’s work that they gave him an order for two
heavy freight engines to climb the Dundas hills, and they were christened
Achilles and Bacchus. In all, Mr. Gunn built fifteen locomotives for the Grand
Trunk and the Great Western, and then the panic of 1857 paralyzed Canadian
industries, and dumped into the free trade heap all of its enterprising
manufacturers. The United States had larger industries and more money and free
trade hampered Canada could not compete against such odds. That ended Mr. Gunn
and Hamilton-made locomotives.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>THE FIRST SLEEPING
CARS IN THE WORLD </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 106.35pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">WERE MADE IN HAMILTON</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“It was Sam Sharpe, the first superintendent
of the car shops of the Great Western road, who thought about and planned the
first railway dining and sleeping cars that history gives us any account of and
they were made under his supervision in the Great Western shops, down at the
bay front. Of course, there was nothing palatial about the cars, but the idea
took like wildfire among the railway companies in the United States and Wagner
and Pullman followed up on Sam Sharpe’s invention and soon sleeping and dining
cars came into general use. So great was the novelty of sleeping in a car
running twenty and thirty miles an hour that Mr. Sharpe built a miniature
sleeping car, which the Canadian government proudly exhibited at the world’s
fair in London, England as the first of its kind built in the world. Only two
people are now living who had a part in the construction of that miniature
sleeping car, Mr. and Mrs. H.B. Witton – Mrs. Witton superintended the decorative
furnishings, and Mr. Witton the artistic and decorative painting.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Williams and Cooper, a firm of Hamilton
Carriage builders, manufactured the first passenger coaches and freight cars
that were made in Canada. They were made for the Great Western and the Grand Trunk
roads.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>FIRST
SAWS MADE IN CANADA </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>A
HAMILTON PRODUCT </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Joseph Flint <span> </span>owned a small saw factory in Rochester, N.Y.,
and as there were no saws made in Canada prior to 1854, Mr. Flint came to
Hamilton on a voyage of discovery, and found it to be just the town in which to
make saws. He brought with him a number of expert workmen and was building up a
profitable industry, which the United States saw makers found was injuring
their trade, and there being no tariff to help Flint to compete with his larger
rivals, the saw-making industry became one of Hamilton’s lost arts.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>THE
FIRST FILES MADE IN</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>CANADA </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Another of Hamilton’s infant industries was
the making of files, and fortunately the tariff has been a healthy nursing
mother, and files are yet made in Hamilton. They are hand-made and command a
higher price because of the superiority. Prior <span> </span>to1858, all files were manufactured by hand. A
man named Beech came from England to Hamilton about 1865, and started a little
shop down near the Great Western railway station. At first he did not do much
in the way of making new files, as he got all the work he was able to do in
recutting old files. At that time file-making was all done by hand as machinery
for their manufacture had not yet been invented. It is only within the last thirty-five
or forty years that the first factory started in Sheffield, England for the
manufacture of Machine-made files. The handmade files manufactured by Beech
were always in demand in preference to the machine-made and for sixty years
Hamilton has had quite a monopoly of that trade. There are only two file
factories in Canada, the Ostler Company in Canada and one at Port Hope.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>ACETYLENE
GAS FIRST DISCOVERED’</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>In
Hamilton</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“It was all an accident, but the first
discovery was made by Charles Willson, a young drug clerk in Hamilton. When
emptying some chemical jars in the back yard of the drug store in which he was
employed, he was surprised to see a flame burst out as the refuse of two
chemicals came together, and being of an inquiring mind, he began to study the
cause. Not one in a thousand boys would have given a second thought to the
result by mixing two chemicals, but young Willson was somewhat of a dabbler in
science, and he followed up his discovery, devoting his leisure hours to experimenting
in Chemicals, his laboratory being in the second story over a dingy old
blacksmith shop on York street. The final result was the discovery and
perfection of acetylene gas, which is now used in every country in the
lighthouses and for buoys, and in every department in the marine service.
Homes, public buildings and factories find it valuable as an illuminator, and
later has come into use for welding metals. Charles Willson did live many years
to enjoy the profits of his great discovery. Charles was born in Winona, and
educated in the Central school in Hamilton, when Professor Sangster was the
head master. He was a descendant of the Hon. John Willson, the first speaker of
the Upper Canada parliament.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>THE
FIRST LIFE INSURANCE</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span><span> </span>IN CANADA </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Hamilton brains and capital conceived the
organization of the Canada Life Insurance company, the first one started in
Canada. It was the pride of the old town, and made happy thousands of families
of its insured. It grew in wealth and prosperity, <span> </span>and every sensible man in Hamilton carried a
policy of insurance with the company. Toronto wanted that insurance company,
and gradually bought up its stock until it had enough to control it, and one
day Hamilton <span> </span>woke up to the fact that
the Canada Life was going to move its head offices to Toronto.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>THE
FIRST PHONOGRAPH MADE</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span><span> </span>IN CANADA WAS THE </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 106.35pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>HANDIWORK OF</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 106.35pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>A HAMILTONCABINET-MAKER</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Robert P. Newbigging can claim the honor of
making the first complete phonograph manufactured in Canada. When the
phonograph was first put on the market, the owners of the American patents, in
order to escape paying duty, had the cases made in Canada, but the internal
machinery they brought in from the United States, and had it assembled here.
Mr. Newbigging was an expert cabinet-maker, having learned the trade in James
Reid’s factory on King street, now owned by the Malcolm Souter company, and he
had several contracts for making phonograph cases. At that time the phonograph
had a horn attachment which did not add to the sweetness of the tone, and Mr.
Newbigging began experiments to do away with the horn and substitute in its
place a tone arm and a motor. It proved to be a success, and he got in correspondence
with the patent right solicitors in New York to have his improvement patented.
Being delayed in completing some of the necessary papers, when he went to
Washington to secure his patent, he learned that only a few days before another
party had secured a patent on the hornless principal in phonographs. This cut
him out. However, he determined to use his improvement and to that end
completed his patterns and had a Hamilton firm do the castings.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“While Mr. Newbigging does not claim to be
one of the inventors of the original phonograph, he does lay claim to the
improvement of the hornless machine. Some of his first machines are still in
use in Hamilton. Not feeling that he could stand a lawsuit for infringement on
the hornless phonograph, Mr. Newbigging was advised by his attorney not to make
a fight. However, he has still large contracts for the making of cases, and
gives employment to at least a dozen expert cabinet makers. He is now
manufacturing a new design in cases, in the form of a library table, for which
he has a large order.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span>AND
YET THERE ARE OTHER</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span> </span><span> </span>FIRST INDUSTRIES <span> </span><span> </span></span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Hamilton can lay claim to many minor industries
which were first introduced in Canada in Hamilton workshops. </span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“Young and Brother, who kept a plumber shop
on John street, in the Elgin block, made and introduced the first coal-oil
burners manufactured in Canada and the lathe on which the burners were turned is
reverently stored away in Stewart’s warehouse, on Hughson street south. Among
the first promoters in the Canadian coal-oil fields were a number of Hamilton
capitalists.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“The first experiment in electric lighting in
Canada was made by George Black, manager of the Northwestern Telegraph office
in Hamilton. It was made on the night of the first Dominion day in Canada.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“The first cannon cast in Canada was by the
Gartshore company, of Dundas, and was the pride of Captain Notman’s one-gun
battery.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“The first iron steamboat that sailed on any
lake or river in North America was built and owned by Hamilton capital, and was
called the Magnet, commanded by Captain Sutherland, a Hamilton sailorman, and
was built for the route between Hamilton and Kingston. The name of the
steamboat was afterward changed to that of Hamilton. Captain Fairgrieve and
Frederick W. Fearman were officers on the Magnet in their younger days. Captain
Sutherland lost his life in the Desjardins canal accident on the evening of
March 12, 1857.</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">“If ancient history is to be believed, and we
have no reason to doubt it, natural gas was first discovered in Canada at the
Albion mills, a few miles southeast of Hamilton. It was discovered by accident
while workmen were digging a foundation for the settling of mill stones. When
the first flash of light from natural gas brightened up the pit, the workmen scampered
off thinking Hades had broken loose, and his satanic majesty had established
headquarters in the beautiful valley. There may be some truth, after all, in
the ancient story, for history tells us that the romantic Jane Relly took the
leap from the towering rocks because her lover failed to come to time at the
marriage altar.”</span></b></span></p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"> </span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-75656194921645622352020-03-06T07:56:00.002-08:002020-03-06T08:05:41.733-08:001919-03-08<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday
Musings </span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Spectator March 08, 1919</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">LOOK AT BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘First,
let us glance backward, say sixty-five or seventy years, and then open our eyes
and look at what may be in the future. On the sixth day of March, 1834 – the
year the Old Muser was born – when William IV was king, and Upper Canada was
almost a wilderness, the legislature passed an act incorporating the London and
Gore railway, on a petition from certain inhabitants of Hamilton and of this
district. There were no railroads in Canada then, but two years later, there
was a short line between LaPrairie and St. John’s, on the borderline between
Canada and the United States. Hamilton had a few enterprising businessmen in
1834, and while they had all the advantages of being at the Head of the Lake,
they were ambitious to reach out and see what London-in-the-Woods looked like.
Well, not to waste time looking backward, Hamilton decided that the only way to
get to London was to build a railway, and Sir Allan MacNab was sent to see what
the west looked like, and if the outlook was encouraging, this old town would
construct a railway at least that far, and depend upon Providence for the
future. When Sir Allan came back and reported favorably, a number of Hamilton
men formed themselves into a company, and here are the names : Allan Napier
MacNab, Colin Campbell Ferrie, John Young, Ebenezer Stinson, Samuel Mills,
George T. Tiffany, Peter Hunter Hamilton, Oliver Tiffany, Dr. William Case (the
dear old man whose bones have long since crumbled to dust on the wayside at the
head of John street, on the road to the mountain top), A. Smith, John Law and
Miles O’Reilly, and Dundas was represented by Mayor Notman, Peter Bamberger,
Manuel Overfield and a few others whose names are forgotten. Now there you have
the names of the men who built the first railway in Upper Canada. A few English
capitalists opened their eyes at the temerity of a handful of Canadians
thinking of such a thing as building a railway, but John Bull, the cute old
fellow, thought there might be money in it for him, so in 1846, John was ready
to invest a trifle and get control. About all the money the English capitalists
expected to invest was in the purchase of the bonds, which would be gilt-edged
and pay 6 per cent dividend, in gold. On the 23<sup>rd</sup> of July, 1850, the
legislature passed an act empowering municipal corporations along the proposed
line to subscribe for the stock. Hamilton was the daddy of the proposed road,
and the town subscribed $50,000 in stock, and the business men invested
liberally also, and, within a few weeks, every municipality between Niagara
Falls and Windsor was enrolled on the list of shareholders. Indeed, everybody
that could raise the price of a share of stock chipped in, so that the proposed
line was substantially financed. That is the way that Hamilton built the first
line of railway in Canada.</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> WHAT
IT COST TO BUILD THE</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In these days when
Hamilton is invited to involve itself to
the Hydro commission in the modest sum of nearly six millions of dollars as a
part of its share toward building a line from Port Credit to St. Catharines to
connect with a through line from Toronto to London. Let us look at the amount
the Hydro commission demands from
Hamilton for a road practically about sixty miles long, and compare the figures
with the cost of building the main track of the Great Western railway from
Niagara Falls to Windsor, a distance of 227 miles in length, and branches to
Galt and to Port Sarnia. According to the report of Charles Stuart, the chief
engineer of the construction department, to the board of directors, the total
cost was $5,617,730; and the total cost for constructing equipping 350 miles of
road was $21,071,776.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Take a look at the
amount asked by the Hydro commission to construct 60 miles of radial road from
Port Credit to St. Catharines and compare the figures with the cost for
construction and equipping 350 miles of the Great Western steam railway. The
Hydro commission makes a demand for $11,360,363 for its sixty miles of radial
road, of which Hamilton must pay $5,869,286, or nearly one-half, while the
township of Toronto, the starting of the Toronto and London road, is only
called to pay $243,087; and St. Catharines, the terminal, to pay $623,750. For
the privilege of being a way station between Toronto and St. Catharines,
Hamilton must become liable for nearly six millions of dollars besides
furnishing free right-of-way through the finest parks in Canada and through the
streets of the city. Put it in this way and see where Hamilton is at. It has to
pay not less than two millions of dollars a mile for the privilege of the
radial road running not more than three miles through the city, and then
Hamilton will not have a word to say about the management for its six millions
of dollars. Toronto being the starting point, and St. Catharines, the terminal,
the headquarters for offices and workshops will naturally be at those points. A
good thing for labor at Toronto and St. Catharines, but a mighty poor show for
labor in Hamilton. Probably Hamilton ought to feel thankful that it can walk
out to Dundurn park and see the wheels of the electric cars go round, but six
millions is a mighty big price to pay for that privilege.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> LOOK AGAIN AY WHAT IT
COST TO</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> CONSTRUCT AND EQUIP THE</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> GREAT WESTERN ROAD</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“And then compare
the figures with the amount Sir Adam Beck wants to build the sixty miles of
road from Port Credit to St. Catharines.
It may be reiteration, but on an important questions like Hamilton is
confronted with, it will do no harm to repeat the cost. Sir Adam wants
$11,360,363 to build his sixty miles of road from Port Credit to St.
Catharines. The Great Western railway built and equipped 350 miles of steam
railway for $21, 071, 770, or less than double what Sir Adam wants for his
sixty miles of radial road. Quite a difference. Here is Chief Engineer Charles
Stuart’s estimate of what it cost to build the Great Western:</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Per
Mile Total</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Niagara Falls to
Hamilton $22,652
$999,658</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Hamilton to London $37,067 $3,183,036 </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">London to Windsor $15,875 $1,746,329</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Port Sarnia branch $13,312 $66,039</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamilton got the
car shops, the machine shops, and the headquarters of the company’s office
force. Out of Sir Adam’s road, Hamilton will not get a blessed thing except the
privilege of handing over six millions of dollars in bonds and the payment of
interest on them for fifty years.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> _________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> SIXTY-FOUR YEARS AGO</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“On the night of
the sixth day of March, 1854, the first labor organization in Hamilton was
organized. Those were the days when workingmen had to combine to get enough
from their daily labor to keep body and soul together; and indeed the employers
were not much better off, for things were down to a pretty low ebb for both the
employer and the employed. At that time, Hamilton had five newspaper printing
offices – the Daily Spectator, the semi-weekly Gazette, the semi-weekly Journal
and Express, the Daily Banner and the weekly Canadian Christian Advocate. There
were two other papers, both religious, The Church, published by Harcourt B.
Bull, and printed in the Gazette office, and the Canadian Evangelist, a
monthly, published by Rev. Robert Poden. Combine all the offices together and
there were not more than forty journeymen employed, the main force being boys.
For the journeymen there was no fixed scale, the rate being anywhere from $2.50
to $6 a week, and there were not many of the boys who could not equal the men
in doing a day’s work in plain-typesetting. Hamilton was not alone in paying
starvation wages to its printers, for the average all through Canada was not
more than $7 to $8 a week, though a few might go ‘over the top’ and get $9.
About the same year, or maybe a little before, the Toronto printers got their
courage up and started a society and gave the scale a boost to $9 a week. This encouraged
the Hamilton boys, and they determined to try their luck, and the result was
that on the night of the 6<sup>th</sup> of March, 1854, eighteen of the
journeymen met in the Sons of Temperance ante-room, there not being enough of
them to occupy the hall, and the Hamilton Typographical society was duly and
solemnly organized. There were more journeymen in town, but they were cautious
fellows and wanted to see how the society would take with the employers, before
venturing into its membership. All of the boys were enthusiastic to join, but
in those days, it required an apprenticeship of five years to be admitted into
a trade society.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Of the eighteen
journeymen who met on that March night sixty-five years ago, only one of the
charter members still lives, and he is the writer of this bit of history. Let
us call the roll ; William Cliff, president; Charles Kidner, vice-president;
Richard R. Donnelly, treasurer. Committee – D.G. Mitchell, Walter Campbell, Richard
Butler, chairman. Members – John Blake, William Burniss, John Christian,
William Cullin, J. Gregory, Alexander Linkster, John Love, Thomas McNamara,
Henry Richards, Charles Roberston, William Rowland.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“At the first
meeting, provision was made for the admission of apprentices in their last
year. These boys were drawing as much wages as some of the men at that time,
but the rule was that one had to be a full-fledged printer to entitle him to
membership. At the second meeting Thomas Hynds, A.T. Freed, Reese Evans and
William Nixon knocked at the door and were joyfully admitted. The two Hooper brothers,
John and William, had arrived from England a few months later, and William J.
McAllister came up from Toronto, and they became members. When the cautious
ones saw that there was no danger in joining the society, nearly of the journeymen
became enrolled as members.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“After the first
meeting came the tug of war; a constitution had to be adopted and a scale of
prices decided upon. What a modest lot of printers there was in those days!
They did not want the earth, but they wanted to keep out of the house of
refuge, and they set the scale so low that the employers could not reasonably
complain of extortion. Nine dollars a week and twenty-seven cents a thousand
(illegible) for place hands! Well, it was not so bad in those days, especially
as other trades were paying less for their labor. Only one of the employing
printers demurred when the scale was presented to him by the committee for his
approval. Robert Smiley, the editor of the Spectator, would not sanction the
scale, not that he thought it out of the way, but objected to allowing any
society of workmen to fix the price for their work. All of the other employers
promptly acceded, and paid the society the compliment of being moderate and
fair in its demand. Mr. Smiley held out for a week or more, and then very
gracefully notified the committee to send his men back to work. For sixty-five
years, every printing office in Hamilton has paid the union scale of wages, and
from $9 a week it has steadily increased till today the weekly pay envelope
bulges out with not less than $25,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“And then, the best
of all is, that no employee in a Hamilton printing office has to go home at the
end of the week without his pay envelop and every dollar of his earnings in it.
It was different sixty-five years ago, when one went home with half, or less,
of his week’s wages in cash, and the balance in orders on some store in town.
It might not be out of place to insert just here that in the spring of 1855
Robert Smiley died, a comparatively rich man for those days. In 1846, he came
to Hamilton from Montreal, where he was employed in the government printing
office, with less ready money in his pocket than the average printer now carries
home in his weekly pay envelope. It was not meaness that made him refuse the
scale of prices, but merely stubbornness of an Irishman who would not be dictated
to.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In the early days
the printers’ union made it a rule to change officers every two years, in order
to give all the boys a chance to reach the top. In 1856, the officers elected
were : Charles Kidner, president; Alex. Linkster, vice-president; Richard
Butler, secretary; R.L. Gay, treasurer. In 1857, there was another whirl, and
Richard Butler was elected president; John Blake, vice-president; Allan A.
Shepard, secretary; Charles Kidner, treasurer; W.J. McAllister, William Hooper,
William Nixon, vigilance committee. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Under the rules of
the International Typographical union, no such ting a a sympathetic strike is
permitted, the union holding to the honorable idea that the local unions should
keep faith with the employing printers; and a local union must show good
reasons for a strike before one is permitted. The International union provides
a pension fund of $5 a week for all men over 60 years of age who have been
members of local unions for a certain number of years. There are a few old-time
Hamiltonians enjoying the benefits of the pension fund. Added to the pension is
a mortuary fund.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In the old days
there was in every printing office a father of the chapel, who presided at all
office meetings and smoothed over many of the trifling troubles that now and
then arise among a lot of men of different temperaments. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“But
few of the old-timers who belonged to the local union forty and fifty years ago
are enjoying the fat pay envelopes of the present day, but fortunately, they
were careful in their younger days, and the house of refuge had no horrors for
them. Among the ancients, Jim Allan, Geo. R. Allan, John O’Neil, Frank Kidner,
Billy Kingdon, John Burns and little Geordie Henderson answer the cashier’s
roll call in </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> the Spectator office every Friday and draw their
pay checks. Over in the Times office, George Bagwell, till recently, was on
duty every day. In the Herald office, Henry and Phil Obermeyer still hold forth
to rejoice that they are still alive. There are a few like Justus Griffin,
George Redmond, the Raw boys, John Macleod, Harry Drope, Sam Trueman, Bill
Barringer and others we cannot remember.</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The next labor
union to start in Hamilton about the year 1855 was the cigarmakers’. George
Tuckett was one of the charter members.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-53441212593775276262019-10-11T07:41:00.004-07:002019-10-11T07:41:57.637-07:001919-01-18
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">,</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt;">Saturday
Musings </span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;">Spectator January 18, 1919</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> PROSPEROUS
OLD HAMILTON</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“When the city council of Hamilton selected a
young newspaper reporter as commissioner of industries, it hit the nail square
on the head, for he not only goes out after things but once he gets a pointer
he never lets up until he has accomplished something in the way of a ‘scoop’
that wakens the old town up. Mr. Kirkpatrick has just presented his first
official report to city council of what has been accomplished during the year
1918; and it is so bright and cheery now that the war is over, and sweet peace
has shaken out its wings, that one wonders at such growth and prosperity while
the old world has been rocked from stem to center. What manufacturing growth
this old town has made even in the past fifteen or twenty years! A few of us
old-timers can remember when the industries comprised three or four stove
foundries, with a bit of a machine shop on the side, one or two planning mills,
and when nearly every workman carried his own kit of tools, for it was all hand
work in those days. Printers, carpenters, brick layers, stone cutters and
masons, molders, tailors, shoemakers and indeed all classes of tradesmen
thought themselves rich if they earned a dollar and a half a day, and then got
to take off Saturday and an order for the balance on some grocery or store for
something to eat or clothes to wear. Now this same class of workmen drive their
own motor cars, and turn up their noses if their envelope on pay day shows up
less than five five-dollar bills at the very least. Well, the old-timers are
glad to be able to congratulate the younger generation on the bright days in
which they live, and may they continue.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“It does an old Hamiltonian’s heart good to
read such a cheerful report as ‘Kirk’ made the other day. He tells us of more
than fifty permits for new factories and additions to old ones, at a cost of
over one million dollars. Why it makes us old fellows wonder if there ever was
so much money in the world at any one time. It reminds this old Muser of an
incident away back at the time of the panic in 1857, when Canada and the United
States were in the slough of despond; business of all kinds was substantially
at a standstill, and here in Hamilton hundreds of workmen were glad if they
were only successful in securing work at half time. Money was very scarce, and
that with a lack of steady employment was a pretty dark outlook. This old Muser
decided that it was time to make a change, and we took Horace Greeley’s advice
to go west and grow up with the country. We first went to Cleveland, Ohio, and
were met at Plain Dealer printing office by the celebrated Artemas Ward, who
was then a reporter that paper. Artemas did not speak very encouragingly of the
prospects for work in Cleveland, and on his advice we went Cincinnati. There we
were fortunate arriving in that city at six o’clock in the morning and had a
job before nine on a lottery scheme that was being printed for L.D. Sine’s
lottery, on which we made about $5 that day, working till nearly nine o’clock
at night. That was as much as we made in Hamilton for a whole week on half
time. Well, this is not intended as a personal history, therefore we will start
out as we began and tell the story of Hamilton’s prosperity in these later
years.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“To begin with, prosperity came with the
national policy. It is true that the town had a little spurt when the Great
Western railway was built, but it did last for many years. When the east end of
the town changed from farm land to factory sites about twenty years ago, then
the sun of prosperity began to shine; and it has been growing brighter and
brighter every year since. “Kirk’s’ report
to the city council last week was another bright spot.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Then read the reports of annual church
meetings, and they tell a story of financial prosperity far beyond what one
might expect during war times. One church with less than a thousand members
tells us that its communicants raised about $40,000 last year, out of which it
paid off nearly the fag end of its construction mortgage, sent $9,000 or
$10,000 to convert the heathen, paid their minister a high living salary, and
leaving a surplus with which to begin the new year. Another church tells of
paying off the last dollar of its mortgage indebtedness, and in addition,
throwing in a few thousands to convert the heathen; while others have done so
well financially that they have liberally increased their ministers’ stipends a
few hundred dollars. All this is certainly very encouraging, and make
old-timers prouder than ever of the dear old town. It is a pity that some of
that missionary money is not added to the salaries of the poorly-paid home ministries.
</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Then Hamilton had added liberally to the
payrolls of its police and fire departments, as well as giving generous bonuses
to its civic employees. Every tag day during the year for war purposes has been
responded to by thousands of dollars, and the last dollar of indebtedness,
amounting to some $40,000, was gathered in one day recently to pay off the
mortgage on the handsome Y.W.C.A. building.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“It is certainly not out of place for the
Saturday Muser to brag about the prosperity of the old town in which he began
to live nearly severnty years ago. It was only a small town of about ten
thousand inhabitants; now it has grown to 110,000, with over 450 manufacturing
industries, and increasing every year, Just look at this picture and see where
the town is at. Away back in 1833, Hamilton had only one little machine shop
and foundry on the site of a goose pond, where now stands the old Royal hotel,
and it was in that foundry that the first threshing machine was made in Canada.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> WHAT
HAMILTON HAS ADDED</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> TO THE INDUSTRIES</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> OF
CANADA</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In part we have told the story before, that,
as our enterprising commissioner of industries is preparing a booklet to let
the world know that there is an industrial city known as Hamilton, Canada on
the map, at his request we briefly repeat the story of some of the industries
Hamilton has added to Canada.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“How many ancient Hamiltonians have kept in
memory the fact that the first watch made in Canada was a Hamilton product? It
was the talk of the town in the old days but, no doubt, has long since been
forgotten, save by a few old-timers like Thomas Lees, the veteran watchmaker.
In a little shop on King street, opposite the Royal Connaught, where Dan Pease
kept a cigar store until recently, Paul T. Ware, who was a practical watchmaker
and jeweler, carried on a small business about seventy years ago. Till the
introduction of machinery in the United States, the best class of watches were
made by hand, and it took skillful workmen to make one. Take a Waltham watch,
for instance, and it is made uyp of over one hundred and twenty-five different
pieces, counting from the smallest screws. One would almost require a strong magnifying
glass with which to be able to see and handle some of the screws, so small are
they. In his shop on King street, Mr. Lees has the entire works of a Waltham
watch in separate parts fastened in a frame, and to look at it one would wonder
at the ingenuity of the original inventor of the watch. But we are not going to
write story about watches, only so far
as to tell of the first one made in Canada over seventy years ago, and that one
in Paul T. Ware’s little shop on King street. For a town of less than ten
thousand population, Hamilton was pretty well-supplied with Watchmaker shops,
there being three wholesale and thirteen retail. Here is a list of names, and
many of them will be recognized by old-timers: J.G. Birely and company, Samuel
Davidson, A.W. Gage and company, Henry James and company, Jesse Nickerson,
Robert Osbourne, John Pettigrew, Prince and Levy, William Taylor, John Van Gunten,
C.H. VanNorman and company, James Henry and company. Paul T. Ware and company,
retail dealers, and V.H. Tisdale, Einstein and Mandle, and Newbury and Bireley,
wholesalers. Nearly all the shops had expert workmen employed, mostly Germans, and Paul T. Ware
had one or two men of more than average expertness. It was not known to the
trade at that time that ever a complete watch was made in Canada, and as a
matter of business pride, Mr. Ware decided to make the experiment. It was no
small undertaking you may be sure, and an expensive one, as every screw and pin
of the most minute description had to be made by hand. Not only were the works
completed, but they were encased in a solid gold case, also turned and made by
hand in Mr. Ware’s little shop. That watch was the talk and pride of Hamilton,
and was exhibited at one of the provincial fairs as the first watch made in Canada.
Mr. Ware was proud of the recognition given it by the provincial board of
managers, and was highly complimented from one end of Canada to the other. An
enterprising Hamiltonian, who felt a just pride in his home town, bought the
watch, for which he paid a handsome price. What has become of the watch or its
owner, no one seems to know, but if that watch is still in existence it ought
to become the property of the city as a memorial of one of its earliest
manufactures.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In the course of time, Mr. Ware branched out
on larger lines, and moved from the little shop opposite the Royal Connaught to
a room in White’s new block, which was then being finished, and kept one of the
finest jewelry stocks in town. That room is now part of the Stanley Mills and
company department store. Unfortunately for Mr. Ware, he could not stand
prosperity, and as a result, his expenses largely exceeded his income. He was a
man whose reputation stood high both in business and in his daily life, but in
his home, his family indulged in extravagance. When he owned the little shop
where Dan Pease afterward sold cigars, he could walk to and from his home, but
when he got up into the White block, he had to be driven to his place of
business in a fine carriage with a livered driver. Of course, there was only
one ending, and one day it was announced that Mr. Ware had retired from
business and was going to Chicago to begin over again.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“His case reminds us of the old song:</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘Move your family west, that good health you
may enjoy,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> And
rise to watch and honor in the state of Illinois.’</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Whatever his fate, the oldest inhabitant
cannot tell, but being an energetic man, it is more than possible that he was
able to rebuild his shattered fortunes from the ground up.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> THE
SECOND WATCH MADE IN HAMILTON</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“About twenty-three years ago, Thomas Less,
the veteran watchmaker and jeweler, had a first-class of workmen in his shop,
among the number being, James Davidson, who now has a shop of his own inking
street west; Alf. Baker, the watch expert in Levy Bros. and ‘Teddy’ Pass, the
English watchmaker on John street south. As all three have had bouquets thrown
at them at different times, we will spare their modesty on this occasion. Well,
Alf. Baker and ‘Teddy’ Pass took it into their heads that they would make a
watch by hand in their spare time, and christen it “Thomas Less, No. 1,
Hamilton,’ and that it what is engraved
on one of the plates. It was a proud thing to do, for they loved their employer
and wanted him to be honored by having the second watch made in Hamilton
inscribed with his name. The only thing about the watch that is machine-made is
the silver case, but every screw and pin, from the most diminutive, is the work
of their expert hands. That watch is now in possession of Thomas Lees’ oldest
son, and it would take a small fortune to get it from him. When you mention
that watch to ‘Alf’ or ‘Teddy’ just watch how their eyes glisten with pride. It
is Hamilton’s second watch contribution to its industries, and ought to be
carried by our present Goodenough mayor and all future mayors as a distinctive
badge of this industrial city.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Now a word about the veteran watchmaker of
Hamilton. Thomas Less is a native of this city, and has lived long enough to be
called a veteran. When he was a boy, he clerked for a time in a hardware store
in Oakville, and then came back to Hamilton in 1857 and entered the shop of
John Pettigrew, where he took his first lessons in watch making. After spending
a couple of years with Mr. Pettigrew, he made a change, and went to work for
Paul T. Ware as an apprentice and afterward as a journeyman, and remained with
Mr. Ware till he left Hamilton. Soon after, he began business for himself, and
is now one of the oldest, if not the oldest business man in Hamilton. The name
and reputation of Thomas Lees is the standard for first-class goods in the
watch and jewelry line, and has been for more than half a century. And his boys
are genuine chips of the old block. He is the last of the old-timers in the
jewelry business in Hamilton, though there are a few still here who came into
the wedding ring business long after Mr. Lees opened his first shop.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The elder John VonGunten, who kept a shop on
York street, had a son named John, and when the old man retired from business
the younger one took it up. About thirty years ago or it may be more, the
VonGuntens left Hamilton and went to Caledonia, and young John is there yet,
having prospered.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Now that is about all this old Muser could
learn about the first watch made n Hamilton and in Canada and of the second one
made by ‘Alf’ Baker and ‘Teddy’ Pass.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> FIRST
CANADIAN INDUSTRIES</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> BORN IN HAMILTON</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“As we have given before a lengthy story of
the first industries that had their origin in Hamilton, for the use of Mr.
Kirkpatrick, we will briefly recall them, though it would not be out of place
to tell the old, old story for the benefit of the later generation.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The first industry of which there is any
record was the manufacture of the first Sulphur matches made in Canada.. In
1840, an English family came to Hamilton. Three years before in 1837, John
Walker, an English druggist, experimented in the making of matches by dipping
splints into a mixture of Sulphur, chlorate of potash and sulphite of antimony.
By rubbing the prepared splints of wood on sandpaper, they burst into flame.
This became known as the first experiment in the making of Sulphur matches.
Prior to that time, the flint and steel were the means to ignite a fire.
Old-timers will remember the flint and steel period even long after sulphur matches were
first discovered by Druggist Walker. The English family that came to Hamilton
in 1830 brought the secret of matchmaking with them, the father having probably
learned it in Walker’s shop, and there not being anything of the kind in
Hamilton, he began the manufacture, or which he found ready sale. The family
lived on a cottage on Main street, near Cherry, and father, mother and children
worked till they had a good supply on hand, and ten went out and sold their
matches to the early residents, who were glad to get them as a substitute for
the flint and steel. The flint soon gave way to the more convenient block, cut through partly into one hundred
matches, then secured at one end by dipping in wax and the other end dipped in
the sulphur compound. The blocks were made in a cabinet shop at Merriton by
Michael Ferlover. The match trade outgrew the demands of Hamilton and the
manufacturer and his family moved to pastures new. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“History tells us that the first threshing
machine was invented in Saxony by a man named Holhfield in 1711. The first
threshing machine was not dreamed of by the pioneer farmers of Canada until the
year 1833, when John Fisher made it in Hamilton. Mr. Fisher was a Yankee who
came to Hamilton from the state of New York, and built the first foundry on the
site of the Royal hotel, and perfected a model machine of his own. That machine
is in substance the model of the complete threshing machine now manufactured by
the Sawyer-Massey company, and was a success from the day it was first put on the
market. Dr. McQuesten, somewhat connected with Mr. Fisher in the old New York
home, was able to furnish the necessary capital to build the machines, and he
came to Hamilton and formed the partnership of Fisher and McQuesten. During the
winter seasons, the partners travelled through this part of Canada and sold the
machines they were able to make, and they gave such satisfaction that the
demand more than equaled the supply.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> THE
FIRST RAILWAY OF IMPORTANCE</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> IN
CANADA</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamilton has the honor of building the first
railway of Importance in Canada. There was a short line of twelve or fourteen
miles built in 1834 from Laprairie, across the river from Montreal to St.
John’s, a village on the American border. In the year1832 a few enterprising
businessmen in Hamilton, with Sir Allan Macnab, conceived the idea of building a
railway from Hamilton to London as a starter, and eventually finishing it off
at both ends by connecting with the Niagara and Detroit rivers, thus making a
through line from New York to the western states. It was an heroic enterprise
for a village of not more than two thousand population to undertake; but there
was nothing that an enterprising Hamiltonian would not undertake in those early
days. In 1834, authority was derived from the provincial parliament to organize
a stock company, under the name of London and Gore railroad, defining the
terminals at Burlington bay, at the head of Lake Ontario, and at the town of
London. The towns along the line appreciated the advantage they would derive
from the road, and subscribed liberally to the stock. In 1847, the first sod of
the proposed line was turned in the village of London, the name of the company
being changed to the Great Western railway. The first passenger train came into
Hamilton in the fall of 1853, a through train from Niagara Falls to Detroit.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The first railway locomotive made in Canada
was built in Hamilton, for the Great Western road, by D.C. Gunn, who owned a
small machine shop at the foot of Wellington street. The first engines used on
the road were brought from the old country, and they suggested the idea to Mr.
Gunn. He built about fifteen locomotives, part for the Great Western and part
for the Grand Trunk, and then was compelled to go out of business. Canada was
then run on the free trade plan, and as there was no duty on locomotives, the
American builders, with larger facilities and unlimited capital, were able to
underbid him for the contracts, and they supplied the companies. In the panic
of 1857, Mr. Gunn failed in business.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Samuel Sharpe, the master mechanic of the
Great Western road, planned and built the first dining and sleeping cars not
only used in Canada, but also in the United States, and the work was all done
in Hamilton. Mr. H.B. Witton, the venerable car painter and decorator, is
probably the only living person who had a hand in the construction of these
cars. The Wagner and the Pullman sleeping
and dining coaches followed suit soon after.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Williams & Cooper, a Hamilton firm of
carriage builders, built a number of passenger and freight cars for the Great Western
and the Grand Trunk, and to Hamilton enterprise is due the building of the
first railway coaches in Canada.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Prior to the American civil war in 1861,
Canadian women had to use American sewing machines or stick to the needle. Some
years before, when sewing machines first came into use, Lawson Bros., a
Hamilton firm of clothing manufacturers, whose store was on the corner of King
and James streets, now occupied by Treble’s, bought a couple of machines as an
experiment in their tailor shop. The tailors refused to use them, nor would
they allow their use in any shop in Hamilton. They went out on strike, and as a
result, the Lawson’s had to forgo the use of the machines in their business.
The tailors thought that the sewing machines
would ruin their trade, but they found in time it to be one of their
best earning friends. Mr. Wanzer, who was connected with the sewing machine
business in Buffalo, was induced to come to Hamilton and start a manufactory.
At first, it was uphill work, as he had but limited capital, and free trade was
his deadly enemy, but with genuine Yankee grit he made the fight and succeeded.
The Wanzer was the first sewing machine made in Canada, and Hamilton was its
birthplace. He began with a working force of less than a dozen men, and when he
had made up a wagonload of machines, he started out through the country selling
them. It was a good machine and was sold for less than the American machines,
and in the course of time he won out. From making only a dozen machines a week,
the demand increased till he turned from his factory not less than a thousand
weekly; and from a working force of not more than a dozen men, his payroll
provided for over eight hundred people.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“At one time Hamilton was the headquarters
for the sewing machine industry in Canada, there being no less than seven
factories in this town, and all manufacturing different machines, giving
employment to an army of skilled workers of both sexes. For some reason, the
great industry was lost to Hamilton.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Our space is more than filled, so we will
have to quit, and next week give the remainder of the industries that Hamilton
first started in Canada. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-2243042841837177342019-09-02T08:56:00.003-07:002019-09-02T08:57:28.169-07:001919-07-18oo<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt;"><b>Saturday
Musings </b></span><br />
<b></b><br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><b>Spectator July 18, 1919.</b></span></div>
<b></b><br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><b><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>THE
MOUNTAIN SANATORIUM</b></span></div>
<b></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> <b> </b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b>Some twelve or
fifteen years ago, the Hamilton Health association began a great work for afflicted
humanity, and as the years have slipped by, the generous men and women have
happily discovered that they who endowed the great blessing built wiser than
they knew. It began in a few tents on the brow of the mountain; it has grown to
a settlement of large and small homes for the accommodation of scores of men,
women and children who might otherwise be slowly ending their days suffering
from the white plague in the crowded city. The suggestion of the sanatorium
came from a few who were suffering from tuberculosis, or who had members of
their family slowing passing away. We have before told the story of the
founding of the sanatorium, but it is one that will bear occasional repeating,
especially when so much good is being accomplished. There was a time, and that
not many years ago, when a person afflicted with tuberculosis was given over by
doctors and turned over to be entered upon the undertaker’s record book, but
that day is passed, for men of science have discovered that there is a balm in
Gilead and a hope when the patients are treated in time. The writer of these
musings was refused admission to local lodges of Oddfellows in Hamilton
sixty-five years ago, by Drs. O’Reilly and Ridley, who were examining surgeons
of the lodges, for the reason that he was supposed to have the primary stages
of consumption, because his father had died of that disease away back in the
year 1842. We drank quarts of cod liver oil, which in those days was supposed
to be the only relief, but was not considered a cure. Here we are eighty-five
years old, and no signs of tuberculosis. It is with joy we tell this as an encouragement
to those who have tuberculosis tendencies. Probably Drs. O’Reilly and Ridley,
two of Hamilton’s best physicians in those days, were right in their diagnosis
sixty-five years ago, but science has come to the rescue and has opened a way
and a hope for the victims of the white plague. The daily and weekly reports of
Dr. Holbrook, the accomplished and scientific surgeon in charge of the mountain
sanatorium, are certainly beacons of light and hope for those who take time by
the forelock and put themselves in charge of capable physicians before the
disease becomes chronic. Study those reports as they officially appear in the
daily papers of Hamilton and take courage, ye afficted ones. </b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Last
Wednesday, the managers of the sanatorium invited Hamilton to visit the
institution and see for themselves how the soldier boys who are patients there
employ their weary hours while waiting for Dr. Holbrook to hand them their
discharge. It is astonishing the skill these afflicted boys exhibit in making
many useful and ornamental articles. We will not attempt to enumerate them, for
the number and variety is so large, and the writer’s knowledge so limited, that
an attempt to describe the list would end in failure. However, we can say that
the lady visitors on Wednesday were in ecstasies over the beautiful things, and
many of the ladies left the sanatorium with almost empty pocketbooks. They had
the extra inducement in the in the knowledge that the money they paid for the
bric-a-brac was given to the men who made the articles for the benefit of their
families. You can always trust a woman to be generous to the afflicted.</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“There was another department which the
visitors were invited to enter. It is called the wood workshop. Here were about
a dozen men at work, under the direction of C. Robinson, a Toronto printer, who
came home from the war to be an inmate of the sanatorium. Thanks to the skill
of Dr. Holbrook, the undertaker did not get him. He looks as bright and
cheerful as though there was never such a thing as getting gassed in the army.
Indeed, all the men engaged in the wood workshop would pass any mustering
officer – they look so cheerful and bright. They are anxiously looking forward
to the day when Dr. Holbrook will hand them their discharge and send them home
to dear and children who have been praying and waiting for their hero. Those
men employ their time making bits of furniture, which they are privileged to
send to their homes, the only cost to them being the price of the lumber. Every
bit of furniture is finished in the highest style of the cabinet art.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Superintendent Robinson is planning to get
from the government an allowance to add a printing office to the industries of
the sanatorium. The boys are publishing a monthly paper of their own, the
mechanical part being done in one of the city printing offices. He desires to
have the material that the work can be done in the institution, so that the
printing trade can be taught to those who desire to fit themselves for that
class of work when they leave the sanatorium. It is said that some outside
printers are throwing cold water on the idea, claiming that work in a printing
office is unhealthy, especially for those with weak lungs. The writer of these
musings had weak lungs when he began work in the Montreal Herald office
seventy-three years ago, and he is not dead yet.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The sanatorium has not only brought hope to
hundreds of men, women and children in civil life since it was instituted about
fifteen years ago, but it has given new life to hundreds of brave boys who came
back from overseas expecting that the last post would sound for them. There is hope in pure air and scientific
treatment, and every week men are discharged comparatively well. They are a
cheerful bunch of patients, and so long there is life, there is hope. The staff
of the sanatorium is devoted to the work they have given themselves to, and the
cheerful and bright faces of the lady nurses are an encouragement to even the
most afflicted patients. One will meet and talk with soldier boys who have a
history. A large number of the men have families, and the sight of a woman’s or
a child’s face passing through the wards brightens the brave boys and makes
them think of their own dear wives and children. One man told the writer that
the greatest pleasure he has every day is to stand on the brow of the mountain
and look down into the valley to the home where his dear wife and children are
patiently waiting for ‘daddy’ to come home. He is an Irishman by birth, born in
Tipperary, educated in his youth for the Catholic priesthood till he was 18
years of age. Born among the fighting Tips, the religious life of the priesthood,
so at the age of 18, he left college, enlisted in the British army, and served
21 years. Then he came to Canada with his wife and children, and made a home in
Hamilton. When the war drums beat in 1914, the fighting blood of the Tips was
aroused in him, and he was among the first recruits to join the colors. Too
much German gas seized his lungs, and he is now a patient in the San. He is a
hopeful soul, and while he is bordering on 50 years, he looks to be a husky boy
of about half that age.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Are you grumpy or dyspeptic, dear reader of
these musings? Take a half day off and visit the sanatorium. It will do you
good to see how hopeful are the brave boys who fought their country’s battles
during the past four years. And if you will take with you an extra dollar or
two to invest in the handiwork of the soldier boys, you will come back cured of
your grumpiness, and with the knowledge that what you spent will add to the
comfort of the wives and children of the inmates of the sanatorium .</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> _______________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> MAN’S
INHUMANITY TO WOMAN</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“It is no wonder that women desire to have
the right to vote as a protection against the inhumanity of some of the lords
of the manor who look upon the marriage relation as a means of acquiring a
home, with someone to keep house for him and look after his bodily comfort. Men
are not all built that way, yet every now and then one across a fellow who consoles
himself with the idea that everything in the household economy belongs to him,
and that if his obedient wife wants a dollar to spend on some necessary bit of
wearing apparel or to brighten up the home, she must
almost go down on her knees to beg her lord and master for it. Down at Wesley
church, Dr. Dougall is keeping his congregation awake these warm July Sunday
evenings by picturing to them the beauties of a real home life. But there are
questions that are never discoursed from the pulpit, for it is only newspaper
reporters and Saturday Musers that get on them.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Here is a bit of meanness perpetrated on an
affectionate wife of many long years, which, we hope, no reader of the
Spectator will be guilty of when he is about to shuffle off this mortal soil.
Many years ago, a man got it into his head that he was deeply in love with a
dear Hamilton girl, and somehow he persuaded her to reciprocate his imaginary
affection. Now the sequel of his courtship was purely mercenary, for the girl
had the foundation of a small fortune left her by her parents when the
attending physician told them that their last hours in this beautiful world
were drawing nigh, and the assumed lover coveted this bit of money as well as
the girl, and concluded that one without the other would not fill his cup of
happiness. To make a long story short, he got the girl’s consent and control of
the money, and being somewhat of a financial manager, he added to the bank
account with her fortune as the foundation, and it made life very pleasant for
him, because he was free from financial care and hard work. The couple lived
many happy years together, till finally sickness called at the home and the
husband was ordered by his physician to a ward in the city hospital for special
treatment. One day the doctor quietly suggested to his patient that life was
uncertain even to the most rugged and healthy, and as it would not shorten his
days a moment, it would be advisable for everybody to settle their affairs in
this world so as to leave their property without having the lawyers squabble
over it. The sick man took the hint and called to his bedside in the hospital a
legal friend who had managed his business affairs very satisfactorily for many
years.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The man had really nothing of his own to
leave, for it it had not been for the bit of money his wife brought into the
matrimonial partnership, there would not have been anything to dispose of.
There was no real estate, as a short time before the man took sick, he disposed
of their home at a good price. A few hours before his death, he made his will,
and so carefully was every point guarded by the skillful lawyer, that when the
paper was completed, duly signed and witnessed, there was nothing more to be
done, but for the husband to bid
farewell to this world and hand in his passports as he crossed the river of
death.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Just fancy how that supposed-to-be-loving
husband disposed of the money the confiding wife brought into the family
partnership in the long ago? It was all in cash or mortgages, so that it was easily
divided. To the church he had attended, he gave a generous sum for missions and
to help pay off the mortgage debt. A few benevolences more moderately remembered,
as well as the trained nurses who had kindly waited upon him during his last
illness. To his surviving relatives, who had never helped him make a penny, he
was more than generous. After figuring how much was left after everything else
had been provided for, even to the expenses of his funeral, and the cost of a
monument to tell where he could be found on the judgment day, there was only
THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS to be disposed of, and this the generous soul left to
his faithful wife who had cared for him in sickness and health during the long
years they had lived together!</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“More than three times that sum had the young
bride brought into the matrimonial partnership in the long ago. Had she
invested in her own name, the small forune her industrious father and careful
mother had left her when she began married life, she would now, that old age
has come upon her, have been able to live in affluence. Instead, she will only
have the interest on three thousand dollars to stand between her and the Aged
Women’s home, or as a boarder in Mrs. Rae’s hotel, down on the Bayfront.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> ____________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“ ‘Man’s inhumanity to man makes countless
thousands mourn.’ But how much worse when man’s inhumanity to woman is
considered, especially to the wife he promised at the marriage altar to endow
with all worldly goods. We have told this story once before in these musings. A
prosperous business man in Hamilton who departed this life a few years ago, had
made quite a small fortune – not what could be considered much of a fortune in
these day – say between sixty and seventy thousand dollars. The writer of these
musings was acquainted with him away back 65 years ago when he worked on the
bench as a journeyman; and he was an industrious young fellow, never spending
ten cents if five cents would answer just as well. He married a bright Hamilton
girl, who made for him a charming home and a loving wife. They lived happily
together, and he, being of a saving disposition, always laid by for the future
part of his weekly pay envelope. In time he entered into business for himself,
and opportunity kept persistently knocking at his door, and he always bid him
enter. They had no children. While he worked at the shop, the good wife saved
every penny possible in the home expenses. No wonder they got comfortably rich!
He invested in Hamilton’s industrial bonds when they were selling low, and
waited patiently for the increase that he felt was sure to come. We will cut
the story short. The time came when he went to his store no more, and his
doctor delicately suggested to him that it was always safe to make one’s will
while their mind was clear. The family and business lawyer was sent for, and
one entire afternoon was spent in disposing the man’s accumulated wealth. It is
a pity to tell this story, and the only excuse for doing so is that it may call
a halt to some dying man who is about to do a terrible injustice to the wife of
his youth. In common decency, he could not ignore her claims on his estate, the
law protecting her in a small way. To the wife whom he spent fifty or more
happy years, he left two or three houses and a small sum of money, probably ten
or twelve thousand dollars altogether, and to brothers and sisters, who had
never helped him to make a penny, he left the balance of his estate.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“By the time the lawyer had completed his
will, the dying man was so exhausted that he had not the necessary strength to
sign his name to the paper. The lawyer suggested that he would come back the
next morning, when his client would be stronger after a night’s rest, and
complete the business. About nine o’clock the next morning, the lawyer
returned, and to his great joy, he found that the undertakers had been at the
house before him, for the lawyer is a humane man, and felt the injustice that
was being done to the faithful wife. There was no will, and the estate was
divided as the law directs, half going to the bereaved wife and half to the
brothers and sisters. Rather unjust after all, for why should brothers and
sisters come in for a share of the estate they did not help create? When the
women help make the laws, there will be some changes along those lines.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> _________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> HE
READS THE SATURDAY MUSINGS</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“B.F. Churchill, who lives at Kilbride, Ont.,
writes us a pleasant letter. It is not often that we publish compliments, but
now and then a word of cheer makes one’s heart throb with pleasure. Mr.
Churchill is an old subscriber to the Spectator, and he enjoys the word
pictures that occasionally brighten up the musings “</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘May
a hundred years of twilight and dew,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Descend on your head and your musings anew;</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> And the last scene of all, when we pass in the
blue,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> We can strum our old harps to songs that are
new.’</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“There is more to it, but the lines above
will suffice for the present.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span></div>
<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-54000103055594678252019-05-07T16:14:00.002-07:002019-05-07T16:14:38.751-07:001921-07-16oo<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13.33px; text-indent: 36pt;">
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE FIRST CYLINDER PRINTING PRESS</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In the life and writings of Grant Thornton,
published in the city of New York in 1861, we find a brief sketch of Robert
Hoe, a young English carpenter, less than twenty years of age, who was the
inventor of the first cylinder press. The young carpenter arrived in New York
in the year 1805, when the yellow fever raged in that city. A stranger in a
strange land, and without money, Robert Hoe was fortunate in falling into the
hands of Grant Thorburn, and was nursed through a severe attack of the fever by
the Thorburn family. Young Hoe introduced himself to Grant Thorburn by telling
him that he had just arrived from England, was 18 years old, was a carpenter by
trade, having learned it from his father, and was without money. The heart of
Thorburn went out to the stranger, for only a few years before had he emigrated
from his native Scotland, and had about a similar experience – penniless and a
stranger in a strange land. Says Thorburn : ‘I knew the heart of a stranger
myself, and there was so much h simplicity in his speech and deportment, my
heart warmed towards him. I gave him a chair, and ran upstairs, Says I : ‘Guid
wife, a stranger standeth at our door, shall we take him in?’ “if thee
pleases,’ she replied, ‘if he takes the fever will thee help me to nurse him?’
‘I will,’ she answered, ‘Thank you dear for this: God will bless you..’ ‘Now,’
says I, ‘Come and look on his honest English face.’ This impression was
favorable. Says I Robert, this neighbourhood is accounted the most healthful in
the city, you will lodge here; if you take the fever, my wife and I will nurse
you; you shan’t go to a strange hospital.’ ” His eyes spoke thanks more
eloquent than words. The fever seized him, however, in less than a week, and
Grant THoburn and his wife nursed him back to health and life. Shortly after
this, the fever disappeared from New York City. Robert Hoe became a master
builder, and died in 1843, aged fifty-six years. ‘But his name will never die,’
wrote Grant Thorburn, ‘while all types are set, and printers breathe. Hoe’s
printing press is probably the most useful discovery that has blessed the world
since the first sheet was struck from the press. Formerly we paid one hundred
and fifty cents for a Bible; now we buy one as good for twenty-five cents. It
may be said of his sons that they are better men than their fathers, inasmuch
as they have added many improvements to their father’s plans. Robert Hoe dwelt
in New York for thirty-eight years.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Inclosing his brief story of the invention
of the hoe cylinder press, Grant Thorburn writes: ‘And nothing in my past life
affords such pleasing recollections as to this act of duty and humanity to a
stranger. When his aching head lay on my breast, as I held the cooling draught
to his parched lips, I little thought that in his head lay the germ of a
machine destined to revolutionize the world of literature, and shed light on
the dark places of the earth, whose habitations are full of cruelty.’</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>_____________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Before the invention of the cylinder
printing press, there were presses of various styles, but as this article has
only to do with the printing craft from its first introduction in Hamilton, we
can only refer to what was known as the Ramage press. Eighty-seven years ago,
Geo. Perkins Bull, an Irish printer, came into Canada from New York, and
settled upon Hamilton as his future home, the outlook seeming good for the
publication of a Tory newspaper. Part of his outfit was an old-style Ramage
press, which printed only one page of a newspaper at an impression. It made
slow work doing the press work, for instead of two impressions for a four page
paper, it required four impressions for each sheet. Printers were not then
getting seventy-five cents and a dollar an hour, and the circulation of the
paper not being extensive, the old Ramage was equal to the demands of the
average Canadian weekly one hundred years ago. When the Spectator absorbed the
Gazette many years ago, the Ramage was turned over with the plant, but
unfortunately it was looked upon as a bit of rubbage, and one day the woodwork
was chopped up for kindling wood.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“When the Spectator was first started by
Robert Smiley, his first press was a second-hand Washington, for which he paid
about $150. A few years later his increasing circulation required something
faster than a press that would print only a ‘token’ an hour, and one day
Hamilton was aroused from its slumbers by the whirr of a fast cylinder that
could run off a thousand impressions an hour. The other day, there was a
greater surprise in store for the old Spectator, by the installation of a new
Hoe press that was equal to the task of printing 72,000 an hour, folded and
counted. There are only three presses of the Spectator’s capacity in Canada.
Only three or four of the old Spectator boys who began their apprenticeship
fifty years ago have seen all these changes, almost from the days of the
Washington hand press. We might safely name James R. Allan, superintendent of
the mechanical department, and John O’Neil, now retired, superintendent of the
late job department. There may be others, but it is not safe to risk giving
names.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>______________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Do the managers of the Toronto Globe know
that the first hand press on which that paper was printed, when it was first
started about a hundred years ago by George Brown, is now stored away in cold
storage in a warehouse in Hamilton, having drifted into this town in the old
hand press days? That press did service in the Acton Free Press office when it
was first started. It is now owned by Griffin & Richmond, job printers, and
did duty for printing handbills till it got too slow for even that work, then
as a proof press, till finally it has gone into retirement. It came to Hamilton
when Griffin & Kidner were in partnership in the job printing.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>_____________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>A FEW THOUGHTS ON PERTINENT TOPICS</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“An old song, Where is My Boy Tonight? Comes
ringing in the ears of the writer of these musings when some poor, heartbroken
mother bewails the diverging from the paths she would lead him in of the son
upon whom the affections of her loving her are centered. It may be only an idea
we old fellows have that the boys of our youthful days were more careful in
their daily acts lest they should wound their mother who had watched them from
infancy, and up through the years of childhood, till the time when they became
old enough to discern between right and wrong. How much of love there is in
that dear old word, mother; and it is a pleasure now if we can look back and
feel that never by word or did we cause that loving heart to ache because of
some act committed by her boy that might have brought a blush of shame to her
cheek. Don’t fancy that the boys of fifty years ago were angels by any means;
but, to their credit, be it said, the love they bore their mothers make them
respectful of womankind because they loved and respected their mothers. And the
same may be said of the girls, for they were second editions of the virtues and
modesty of their mothers.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Now and then a cog slips in the machinery of
life and the old devil himself seems to take possession of the young people,
and everything runs riot for a time till the climax is reached, and then a halt
is called. Read the daily reports of our Hamilton police court, or ask
Magistrate for his views. The mother’s heart wails not only for her boy, but
the question often comes to her, ‘Where is my girl tonight?’ for the daughter
is not in her accustomed place in the house. To begin with, there are too many
allurements to take boys and girls from their home and out into the streets at
night. One has to be mighty well-balanced to resist the evils of a street
education. Our weak human natures cannot always resist temptation; therefore,
it is not safe to make the strain too great. Don’t think for a moment that
young people should be so hemmed about as to make them chafe vat restraint; but
neither is it safe to make the going and coming so easy that the fathers and mothers
lose all control and can’t tell the whereabouts of their boys and girls.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Mothers living in the country towns thank
God that their children are not exposed.to the allurements and temptations to
which they would be exposed in a large city like Hamilton, and so satisfied are
they that such safeguards surround their boys and girls that too often they
become lax in government and give a wider range than is always safe. Human
nature is the same in the rural village or on the farm as it is in the crowded
cities, and <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>as Bunyan, in Pilgrim’s
Progress says, were it not for the grace of God, he might have been as vile as
his more unfortunate brother man. One of the old poets tells us that vice is a
monster of so frightful mien to be hated needs but to be seen; as; but seen too
oft we become familiar, that we first pity then embrace. A street education at
night is not good for the morals of boys and girls, and it requires the firm
hand of father or mother to check it before the first lessons are taken. Many a
girl and boy brought grief to father and mother because the first misstep was
taken in disobedience. Every boy and girl should spend their evenings under the
watchful direction of mother rather than be street wanderers. All young people
do not do wrong because they are not subject to restraint, but it is always
well to keep the red light swinging to warn of the dangers ahead.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“To make the application and bring the
question home to the fathers and mothers of Hamilton. Are your boys and girls
receiving a street education at night that will mar their young lives and place
a blot on their hearts that can never be wiped out? We should read lif as we
study the Word of God, to learn lessons that will be profitable for us to
consider. Now and then the suspicion starts the tongue of scandal, and before
one is aware of it dear mother’s heart receives a stab because of the
indiscretion of son or daughter. Parents should be plain and candid with their
children, and not let a spirit of mock modesty keep them from warning of the
dangers to which they are exposed. There be pitfalls all the way through the
journey of life into which even the most careful may fall. Point those out to
your children, and while you pray that they may not be led into temptation, do
your part to steer them in the right path. Teach your children to be candid,
and above all keep them from the streets at night and from associating with
questionable company. The boy is as liable to be led into temptation as the
girl, and the safest place for either is under the watchful eye of father and
mother till such time as their characters are strongly formed.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 1.0pt 0cm;">
<div style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px; padding: 0cm; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Think not these
thoughts on pertinent topics are written to fill up so much space in the
columns of the Spectator. There is lesson in them for the fathers and mothers
of Hamilton to prayerfully consider. The old saying that ‘a stich in time’
might be profitably applied.</span></b></span></div>
<div style="border-image: none; border: medium; margin: 0px; padding: 0cm; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>THE HAMILTON OF THE PAST</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The old stagers of sixty or seventy years
ago, when a bunch of them get together, have serious doubts if conditions have
much improved on what they were in Hamilton when they were young fellows. Hamilton
had no railway service then, but they look back with pride and tell us of the
days<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>when the wharves <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>along the bay were lined with steamboats and
sailing vessels, and recall the names of those fresh water sailors who plowed
old Ontario’s main from the Head of the Lakes down to the jumping off place
where the St. Lawrence river joins Quebec to the briny deep. How many of the
present generation ever heard of Captains Sutherland, Mason, Young, the
Zealands, Malcomson, who sailed the piratical little craft the Banshee, and the
other Malcomson who proudly strutted the deck as the mate of the steamer
Canada. Then there was old Captain Peace, Dan Peace’s father, whose proud boast
that his trim vessel could carry more sail than any other that ever past out
through the canal. This recalls to mind that it was one of the Captain Zealands
who first entered the bay with his sailing vessel long before the canal opened
the way. The old Hamilton directories are full of the names of the ancient
mariners. There were the regular line of steamboats sailing between Hamilton
and Montreal, stopping at all the intermediate ports. Then there was a daily
steamboat service to Niagara-on-the-Lake and Lewiston, and to Toronto, with
extra steamboats always obtainable for excursions during the summer months, for
every society would take its day off and have its excursion, either to Niagara
Falls or to Toronto. Those were pleasant days, and while the population of the
Ambitious city was away below fifteen thousand, there was a social spirit among
the people that gradually disappeared as the population grew larger, and the
strife for existence and subsistence became sharper. The young people became
acquainted with each other, and the excursion seasons generally ended in a
harvest of marriage fees for the preachers.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“When the building of the Great Western railway
began, things changed somewhat. A new element came to the front in civic
matters, and the Arcdian simplicity of other days gradually disappeared. When
Hamilton was Head of the Lakes, it had large wholesale establishments to supply
the merchants in western Canada with everything<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>from a needle<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>to the demands of
the village home or the farmhouses out in the backwoods settlements. From the
wharves at the Bayfront to the warehouses uptown, the streets were lined with
drays and wagons hauling the valuable freights that were eventually to find
their way to the country customers. How many even of the old-timers will
remember when the great wholesome house of Buchanan, Harris & Co, occupied
the building on the corner of King and Catharine streets? Next to Montreal,
Hamilton<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>was then the great wholesale
market of Canada; indeed it was the principal wholesale city in Upper Canada.
The wagons from the west, the northwest and over the mountains came from the
villages and the towns loaded with the products of the farms and <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>took back home with them the stocks of goods
for the country mercantile houses. Hamilton was a busy city, and many of the
comfortable fortunes that have been handed down to the present generation had
their foundations laid in those days.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The construction of the Great Western railway
opened up new ideas of civilization, and for years business prospered, for the
large payrolls in the shops sent thousands of dollars every payday into general
circulation; but the railroad put an end to the lake shipping, and Hamilton gradually
dropped out of sight as the head of navigation. Probably the wholesale and
retail business were responsible for this, as they transferred<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>their freight business from the ships to the
railroads; and the western merchants, instead of making Hamilton their
wholesale market, went trundling by on the cars to New York or to Montreal.
Hamilton made the Great Western railway and lost in the final outcome for its
extensive wholesale trade vanished, and the railroad shops, on which so much was
counted, vanished with it. The Great Western company began by paying dividends
to its stockholders; the road in which Hamilton men took so much pride in its
infancy has become a burden on the treasury of the Dominion of Canada.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“But the point we are drifting toward is that
increased population does not always bring real prosperity. It has the same
effect on a city that wealth brings to individuals; it adds to its cares and its
responsibilities without bringing commensurate happiness. Hamilton, probably,
was more homelike and the people were in better circumstances as a whole in the
old days of steamboats and wagon transportation than it is today. There was
work for everybody, even though the pay was small. The old timers had not the extravagant
desires, nor could they indulge them, when $9 a week was the prevailing rate of
wages for sixty hours’ work.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“When Hamilton built its splendid system of
waterworks in the year 1858, labor was so cheap that skilled mechanics were
glad to get work digging the trenches and laying the pipe for a week’s wages
that scarce kept the family soul and body together. The panic of 1857 was felt
everywhere. While the cost of construction was kept down to the lowest penny by
the careful board of water commissioners, the people got no benefit from it,
for they have kept paying extravagant prices for water from that to this; and
every time the assessor<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>adds to the value
of your home, the water rates get another boost.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“It is profitable to take a look backward
once in a while and compare the past with the present. Hamilton is now in the giving
spirit, and every enterprise that can get a pull has only to say what it wants.
The result is that the man who has been thrifty and made a home for his family
has to pay an extravagant rental in the form of taxes to pay for the privilege of
owning his own home. Mayor Coppley is having the time of his life in an effort
to keep down expenses.</span></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-50783020007665242522018-06-27T13:20:00.001-07:002018-06-27T13:20:13.213-07:001918-11-16
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">There was a hot time
in the old town last Monday. It began at daylight in the morning, and the boys
and girls kept it up till well on toward daylight the next morning. In fact,
the rumpus began on Thursday of last week, when the news came that the war was
over. Not only in Hamilton, but throughout this broad American continent was
the joyful news told that the armistice was signed, and New York and Dundas
went wild over the glad tidings. It was a little premature, the news on
Thursday, to be sure, but as all’s well that ends well, it was only a foretaste
of the happiness to come four days later. It was a ‘seben come eleben’ as the
darkey joyously shouts when ‘rolling the bones.’ Now this expressive sentence
is all Greek to this old muser, but just ask your preacher what it means and he
will tell you that he remembers hearing it when he was a boy at college and
‘gamboled on the green’ with the little square ivory cubes. It has reference to
a purely Ethiopian pastime, occasionally indulged in by white boys, especially
those in the army after the paymaster has visited the battalion. Let us
explain. The first news of the close of the war came on the seventh of the
month, and was repeated as a sure thing on the eleventh – ‘Seven come eleven.’
Do you see the point?</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Figure it out as you will, but the motive
was glorious, and this old town just let loose for four days. It was a blessing
that Premier Heart’s prohibitory law was in force, for if it had been
otherwise, Chief Whatley and his hundred braves could never have been equal to
the splendid order in the streets and to the preservation of life and limb
where so many motorcars were flying hither and thither. It was glorious news
for the wives whose husbands have been in the trenches for two or three years,
and who, thank God, have been spared to hear the command, ‘Cease firing!’ and
to the mothers who will look forward to the time ‘When Johnny comes marching
home.’ It will be a great day in Hamilton when the boys come marching up the
street with the bands playing Home, Sweet Home. Only those who have smelt
powder on the field of battle can realize the joy of the home-coming, and the
loving embrace of mother, wife and children.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Make
ready for the jubilee,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hurrah ! hurrah!</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We’ll
give the heroes three times three</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hurrah! hurrah!</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
laurel wreath is ready now</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>To
place upon his loyal brow,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And we’ll all feel gay</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When Johnny comes marching home.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>SIXTY-FOUR
YEARS AGO</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Let us take a look backward to the time when
Hamilton celebrated the close of the first war in its history. It was in the
month of October, 1856, when the glorious news that Sebastopol had fallen was
flashed across the sea, and that night Hamilton celebrated. This town then had
only a small population, but it was full of pep and loyal to the core. It was a
fight between the allied British, French and Turks against the Russians, and
neither of the countries had large armies. Canada had recruited a regiment to go
over and help the mother country, of which Hamilton furnished a part of a
company, but the boys never got into the fight, as peace was declared while the
regiment was awaiting transportation from an English port. One or two of the
Hamilton boys, old men now, are still living in the city. Well, the night that
Sebastopol had surrendered, Hamilton just let itself loose, and there was a hot
time in the old town. The town band, under command of dear old Peter Grossman,
assembled in what is now Gore park, near the old town pump, and they made the
air ring out with all the patriotism that could be blown through those brass
horns. Let us digress for a moment in order that may give the roll of the old
band when it was mustered on the 16<sup>th</sup> of October, 1856. Peter Grossman,
bandmaster; Gilbert Omand, William Riddler, August Grossman, L. Schwartz, John
Pryke, David Jennings, M. Reichart, Robert Weston, D. Naismith, George Waite,
R. Hooper, A. Bienerhassett, Wm. Omand, Julius Grossman, J. O’Brien, Charles
Bamfride. Only one member of that band now survives, William Omand. Peter
Grossman died in 1901, and his younger son passed away a couple of years ago.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Now let us briefly tell how Hamilton
celebrated the fall of Sebastopol on that October night sixty-four years ago.
Tom Gray was then chief of the volunteer fire department, and early in the
evening he had the fire alarm rung, and within a few minutes over 500 members
of the different companies were at their engine houses waiting for the word of
command. The boys were marched to the Gore, and there Chief Gray had in
preparation hundreds of cotton balls and gallons of turpentine, and when the
band struck up God Save the Queen, the chief sent hurling through the air the
first fire ball, which was quickly followed by hundreds more; and this was kept
up till a late hour. All Hamilton was out that night, and never was a happier
throng assembled on the Gore.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“That was Hamilton’s first war celebration :
the second being when the volunteers returned from the battle of Ridgway, having
cleaned out the Fenians.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>THE
FALL OF LADYSMITH</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamilton was a larger town when the Boers in
South Africa rebelled against the British protectorate. South Africa is a
country rich in diamond and gold fields, and attracted the German greed.
Hamilton sent to the assistance of the motherland a part of a company;
therefore, it had more than passing interest in the South African war. When the
news came that Ladysmith had fallen and that the Boer war was at an end, there
was great rejoicing.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>THE
LAST WORLD WAR JUST CLOSED</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“But the greatest of all the world wars was
the climax, It lasted 1,567 days, with a total casualty list estimated at
26,000, 500 men. As Hamilton and the world has been surfeited with stories and
figures of the most destructive war that the world has ever passed through, why
should we harrow up the feelings of our humble musings by a recital of what
they have already read? The story of Hamilton’s celebrations of the victorious
event has already been told by our local papers in the fullest detail, and we
could add but little to it.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamilton’s part in the great world war is
creditable to the loyalty of the old town. We can only give estimates of the
number of men who enlisted. Not less than 12,000 men left home and wives and
children and mothers as volunteers to fight in the great world war. Of this
number, it is estimated that at least one thousand will never return. Colonel
John McCrae’s, In Flanders’ Fields, tells the sad story:</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
Flanders’ fields, the poppies blow</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Between
the crosses, row on row,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That
mark our place; and in the sky</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
larks still bravely singing, fly,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Scarce
heard amidst the guns below.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We
are the dead. Short days ago</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We
lived, flet dawn, saw sunset glow,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Loved
and were loved, and now we lie,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
Flanders’ fields.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Take
up our quarrel with the foe!</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>To
you from falling hands e throw</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
torch – be yours to hold high!</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If
ye break faith with us who die,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We
shall not sleep, through poppies grow</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
Flanders’ fields.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“It is estimated that not less than
26,000,000 brave men sacrificed life and health and limb to satisfy the
ambition and greed of one man. And, after all, he is now an exile from his
country, and, with his six sons, passed through the more than four years of war
without getting a scratch. Here is the list of casualties, as estimated :
Germany, 6,690,000; Austria, 4,500,000; France, 4,000,000; Great Britain,
2,900,000; Turkey, 750,000; Belgium, 350,000; Rumania, 200,000; Bulgaria,
200,000. No estimate is given of the Russian casulaties. The United States
casualty list numbered 69,420, of which 12, 460 were killed in action, and
150,000 maimed or ruined in health. It will be many months before a complete
list can be obtained. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Official reports give an army of 35,000 men
in Canada ready for the field, but who have not been out of Canada. Recruiting
has been stopped, and arranements are already being made to discharge from the
service a part, if not all, of this 35,000 men. The men across the sea may be
kept in service for many months, as the allied armies will remain on duty till
after the final settlement of the war. The cost of the war is estimated at
eleven hundred million dollars up to the end of October. When the bills are all
paid, many more millions will be added. To this will be needed a large pension
roll for the widows and for the maimed soldiers and for those who are unfitted
to provide for themselves through loss of health.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>____________________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>THE
AMERICAN CIVIL WAR</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Within the last century occurred the two
greatest wars in history. The American civil war was only a skirmish compared
with the world war just closed, yet for the number of men engaged it will take
second place in war history. The civil war began on the 12<sup>th</sup> of
April, 1861, with the bombardment of Fort Sumpter by the Confederates of South
Carolina, and came to a close in the last days of the month of April, 1865,
with the assassination of President Lincoln by John Wilkes Booth, an English
actor, who became a rabid secessionist during his temporary residence in the
United States. A former Hamilton lady, whose home for many years has been in
the United States, is in the city at present, the guest of Mrs. S. Glassco, 43
Robinson street, and she has in her possession a copy of an extra of the New
York Herald, dated April 15, 1865, giving an account of the assassination,
which occurred in Ford’s theater, in Washington on the evening before. The
assassin entered the box occupied by the president and Mrs. Lincoln, and shot
Mr. Lincoln in the back of the head. The assassin then jumped from the box to
the stage, exclaiming as he made his escape, ‘Sic Semper Tyrannis!’ The
president lived till the following morning when he passed away.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In its scope, the civil war was one of the
greatest struggles known to history down to that time. It made a record of
2,400 battles and combats. Eleven southern states seceded from the union.
Jefferson Davis, a colonel in the regular army, deserted the flag under which
he was educated and made a record as an officer, and was elected president of
the Confederacy. The United States had but a small standing army, which was
principally officered by southern men, graduates from West Point. President
Lincoln issued his proclamation calling out 75,000 men, which was promptly filled
many times over the number called for. But few realized that there was going to
be a war. On the 21<sup>st</sup> of July, 1861, the first battle of the war was
fought at Bull Ru. Raw troops were on both sides, but they fought with an
obstinacy that foreboded the future battles of the war. The south had the
advantage in having regular army officers to command its men. The battle of
Shiloh was fought on the 6<sup>th</sup> of April, 18162. Gen. Grant had an army
of 45,000 in his command. Gen. Grant was taken by surprise by the combined
Confederate armies of Generals Johnston and Beauregard. It was a savage fight,
in which the Union army was defeated. General Johnston, one of the ablest on
either side, was killed at Shiloh. During the war, the Union Army numbered
2,778,304 men, whose ages ranged from ten years to forty-one years and over.
The total loss of life was 359,528. Adding the many thousand discharged as
disabled or otherwise unfit for duty, or who died from wounds or disease
incurred in the army, the total casualties numbered about 500,000. No complete
report of the number of men enlisted in the Confederate army or its casualty
list is at hand. At the close of the war, the union army had over a million men
under arms, and the Confederacy about half a million. The war expenses of the
Union government were $3,400, 000,000. In 1864 a barrel of flour in Richmond
cost $300, and a pair of boots commanded $150. But then Confederate money had
no great value.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-36796072861477746042018-06-18T12:47:00.001-07:002018-06-18T12:47:06.478-07:001918-10-12
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">FROM A DUNDAS COTTON
MILL</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>BOY TO BECOME NOTED FOR</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>HIS SCIENCE AS A </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 141.8px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">MEDICAL EXPERT.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">The readers of the
Spectator, and indeed every Hamiltonian, will, no doubt, read with pleasure the
story of a colored boy who began life in the Dundas cotton mill, and who has
become a celebrated surgeon and lecturer in the training camp activities of the
war department of the United States in the social hygiene division of the army
section. It reads like a romance, yet it tells the story of what ambition and
perseverance will do in the training of a life.</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Charles
Victor Roman was born at Williamsport, Penn., on the 4<sup>th</sup> of July,
1868, the child of colored parents. His father was a slave in the state of
Maryland, but made his escape from bondage along in the fifties and after many
serious adventures finally landed in Canada, by way of the underground
railroad. Here for the first time in his life, he could breathe the air of
freedom. After the close of the civil war, which gave freedom to over four
million slaves under the proclamation of the greatest benefactor of the
century, President Abraham Lincoln, he returned to the United States with his
young Canadian wife, and located at Williamsport. Dr. Roman’s father was a broom
maker, a trade he had learned while in slavery, at which he was an expert
workman. The Pennsylvania atmosphere was not quite clear in those early days
after the war for a colored man, so the father, with his young wife and baby
boy, hiked back to where freedom was alike for black and white, and they made
their home in Burford, in the county of Brant, where his wife’s parents lived.
Dr. Roman’s parents lived in Burford until 1876, when they moved to Dundas,
where young Roman began life as a worker in the cotton mill. That young colored
boy had ideas of life beyond a weaver’s shuttle, and when the opportunity for a
education in the Dundas night school he took advantage of it, and after his
day’s work in the cotton mill, he spent a couple of hours every night at
school, and on his return home, studied far into the night.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The colored boy worked in the Dundas mill
for some four or five years, when his parents made their home in Hamilton, and
here he entered the Cannon street school having for his teacher Professor
Morton, who took more than ordinary interest in his colored student because of
his bright intellect and his ambition to acquire an education. In the course of
time, he became a student in the collegiate institute, graduating from there in
1883.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“To show the nerve and ambition of the boy,
from his early days in the Dundas cotton mill, he had made up his mind to
become a doctor of medicine, and with that end in view, all of his studies were
directed along that line, and that he has reached the height of his ambition,
the sequel will show. The story of his life can the better be told in his own
way. After graduating from the Hamilton collegiate institute, the young cotton
mill boy went south, and in the state of Kentucky began life as a school
teacher, having for his pupils the children of black and white parents. While
engaged in teaching in the daytime, he elevated himself with elementary medical
works and spent the long nights in their study, till finally he gave up school
teaching and entered a medical college, from which he graduated in the year
1890.He then entered a college in Nashville, Tenn., under the presidency of the
Rev. John A. Kumler, where he took a full literary course, graduating with
honors in his class.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In order to come up to his ideal of what a
doctor should know to become a master in his profession, Dr. Roman went to
Europe and took a post-graduate course in the Royal London Opthamimic hospital
in the diseases of throat and ear. Then he went to Paris, in France, to pursue
other lines of study in a post-graduate course. Feeling that he had the
foundation for a life study in surgical and medical research, he returned to
his home in Nashville, where he was at once called to a professor’s chair in
the medical college in that city. One of his pet research studies was in the
line of social hygiene, in which department he is now engaged as an inspector
and lecturer in the United States army. Dr. Roman has had conferred upon him by
leading universities in the United States the degrees of A.M., M.D. and L.LD.,
none of which he would accept until he passed the most severe examination. He
is proud of his degree titles because they have come to him as a recognition of
his scholarship and his research in medical science. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“What better illustration of the actuality
for the democracy for which the world is now contending on the battlefields of
France and Belgium than that furnished by the career of Dr. Charles Victor
Roman in his life history, beginning from his birth as the son of a Maryland
slave who escaped to freedom via the underground<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>railroad to Canada, whose young life was
spent as a boy in the Dundas cotton mill and worked his way to an education,
graduating first from the Hamilton Collegiate institute into the ranks of a
Kentucky school teacher, preparing himself for the special work of a surgeon
and doctor of medicine; passing through all the preparatory departments till he
reached the height<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>of his boyish
ambition, and finally being called into the service of his native land as an
official lecturer to the American army?</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>FROM A BOY IN THE DUNDAS</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>COTTON MILL TO BEING </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>RECOGNIZED AUTHORITY</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>BY THE UNITED STATES </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>GOVERNMENT IN THE</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>FIELD OF MEDICAL</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>RESEARCH</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Here is the doctor’s story, as he told it to
the General conference of the Methodist church in Canada the other afternoon as
the representative of the African Methodist Episcopal church of the United States
:</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">‘ A defense of democracy may justify a
personal allusion, and a message may be illuminated by the knowledge of the
messenger. The past rises before like a dream. The years recede. I am a boy
again. The Dundas Cotton mill is a thriving actuality. It is the noon hour. A
group of boys ranging in years from 8 to 16, discussing the night school just
opened. Ambition is rife and imagination is active. Talk about your sunset of
life and its mythical lore! Give me the golden decorations of youthful hope,
when every byway is bowered with roses and every highway is arched with a
rainbow of promise. The drama of the ambitious run from departmental bosses to
managers, directors, even owners of mills. The hour is drawing to a close, and
two boys have said nothing. ‘Arthur, what are you going to be ?’ was asked of
the handsome-faced little fellow with curly hair and deep, dreamy blue eyes.
There was a tinge of sarcasm in the question that showed the general resentment
at the individual silence during the general discussion. It was given with a
deliberate, if not defiant, clearness, ‘I am going to be a professor of music,’
he said amid uproarious and derisive laughter.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The colored boy at his side was forgotten,
but not for long. The same interrogation reached him from the same source, with
added sarcasm. ‘I am going to be a doctor of medicine,’ he answered. It broke
up the meeting.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“More than two score have passed, and many
tomorrows have become yesterdays. Dread consumption’s ghastly form has borne
away the aspiring young musician, not, however, before he led an orchestra. And
the colored boy who wanted to be a doctor of medicine? He is an official
medical lecturer to the soldiers of the greatest republic the world has ever
seen. Just now he is a fraternal delegate to a religious body in session near the
scenes of his youthful dreams. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“One other biographical fact. My forbearers
reached Canada by the mystical underground railroad. Need I say anything more
to interpret to you the spirit of the message I bring? My soul is full of
music, and I bring to you a fraternal message from a million hopeful hearts
whose parents in the dark days of chattel slavery had the courage to sing ‘Ride
on, Jesus, ride on.’</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The African Episcopal Methodist church is
one of the spiritual lighthouses of the twelve million colored Americans who
now have 350,000 of their number marshaled for the right to be free. The
African Methodist Episcopal church not only desires fraternal relations with
the great Canadian church, but desires this great church to take a fraternal
interest in harmonizing and energizing colored Methodism in Canada.”</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>______________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Dr. Roman closed his hearty fraternal
greeting to the conference by expressing the sentiment that is a universal longing
of the human heart : it is the soul of democracy, and is free from the taint of
selfishness or desire to dominate the sense of superiority, by quoting the
thought happily expressed by Kipling:</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>‘When
earth’s last picture is painted,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And the tubes are twisted and dried,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>When the oldest color has faded</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And the youngest critic has died</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We shall rest; and faith, we shall need it;</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Lie down for an aeon or two</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Till the Master of all good workmen</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shall set us to work anew.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then those that are good shall be happy,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shall sit in a golden chair,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And splash it at a ten-league canvas</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>With brushes
of comet’s hair.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They shall find real paints to draw from,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Magdalene, Peter and Paul.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They shall work for an age at a sitting</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And never get tired at all.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then only the Master shall praise them,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And only the Master shall blame.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And none shall work for money,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And no one shall work for fame.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But each for the joy of working,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And in each in a separate star,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shall pint the thing as he sees it,</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>For the God of things as they are.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>__________________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>At
the conclusion of the fraternal greet to the General conference on that
afternoon, Dr. Roman was agreeably surprised by a group of ministers and laymen
who had been boy students with him in that Dundas night school long ago. What
is more fraternal of hearty than a meeting of old boys renewing their youth as
they come together after many years? Dignity of titles or conditions are
forgotten, and instead of reverend or doctor, or even a common mister, it was
Charley and Josh, Tom and Bill, and so on. It was a happy half hour those
ancient Dundas boys spent in the church vestry, and it will never be forgotten
by them. Blest be the ties that unite old boy friendships.”</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-89827748079101849522018-05-03T11:25:00.000-07:002018-05-03T12:19:13.449-07:001918-10-29aa<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Usually, Richard Butler, aka the Old Muser,
confined his writings in the Hamilton Spectator to his weekly column, Saturday
Musings.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">However, on October 29, 1918, a review of
recently-published booklet appeared. The review was not credited to anyone, but
the style and reminiscences were completely in the Old Muser style.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Richard Butler had lived in Hamilton in the
1850s, and worked as a printer, before leaving the city soon after the
beginning of the American War between the States in 1861. Butler served in the
Union Army, and after the war entered in the newspaper publishing field, first
as an editor, later as an owner. After his retirement, Butler returned to
Hamilton as the American Consul. In the 1890s, not long after returning to the
city of his youth, Butler started writing the Saturday Musings column which
dealt with aspects of the City of Hamilton’s history, including a number of
personal reminiscences. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The booklet review which appeared in October 1918 contained references to the first arrival of a Great Western Railway train to
Hamilton (an occasion which Butler surely witnessed), plus a look at a
photograph taken in 1864, and finally memories of a Hamiltonian, Jack Quirk. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Review follows :</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“The Trail of the Swinging Lantern is the
title of a bright booklet of 150 pages, the author of which is J. Copeland,
traveling agent of the Chicago and Northwestern railway, 45 Yonge street,
Toronto. Mr. Copeland is one of those Canadian boys who took to railroading
with the Grand Trunk company, and whose fund of railroad history and humor
makes a charming chapter that one can take up at any time and put in a pleasant
hour reading over the names of Canadian boys who have made their mark in the
railway world. The names of well-known Hamilton men take one back beyond two
generations, when the Great Western was built from the Niagara river to the
Detroit river.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“In 1853, Hamilton heard the joyful scream of
the locomotive that hauled the first passenger train into the Stuart street
depot, loaded with passengers from across the Niagara river and from the towns
that intervened between the river and this blessed city, which causes every
native-born Hamiltonian proudly to lift his head and throw out his chest when
he hears its name mentioned. Those strangers from the outside world wanted to
see the town and the people where the first important railway had its
inspiration. Every man, woman and child in Hamilton was down at the Stuart
street depot that forenoon to cheer themselves hoarse when the signal was given
and the smoke of the coming locomotive was to be seen climbing the hill in the
east and then descending like a frisky young colt for the home run into the
depot. It was a wonder that half the population was not maimed and slaughtered,
for they crowded the track and could hardly be entreated to give the locomotive
a chance. That was a history-making day for Hamilton and for Mr. Copeland, in
the Trail of the Swinging Lanterns, has caught the spirit of it and revives for
his readers a delightful picture of an almost forgotten past. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“There are not many of the ancients of the
Great Western walking the streets of Hamilton today: probably only two who are
prominent in the photograph reproduced of the first mogul built in D. C. Gunn’s
railway engine shops. When Sir Thomas Dakin, English chairman of the Great
Western, and whose name appears on the mogul, made an official visit to this
city in 1864. It was made a gala day down at the shops, and the photograph in
question was taken. As a matter of ancient history, we will call the roll of
them who proudly stood on and in front of the locomotive that their happy faces
might be handed down to prosperity fifty-four years later in Mr. Copeland’s
booklet : W. A. Robinson, assistant mechanical superintendent; George Forsyth,
general foreman of the shops; Wm. McMillan, fuel purchasing agent; Samuel
Sharp, mechanical superintendent; William Paine, locomotive foreman; Dick
Furness, conductor; Aaron Penny, messenger official car; Geo. L. Reid, civil
engineer; William Wallace, traffic agent; G. Harry Howard, booking agent;
William Orr, district freight agent; George B. Spriggs, through freight agent;
John Howard, general purchasing agent; Thomas Swinyard, general manager;
Brackstone Baker, English secretary; Thomas Bell, treasurer; John Hall, foreman
running department; John Weatherston, track superintendent; John A. Ward,
mechanical accountant; Peter Neilson, station agent; William Wilson, track
foreman, James Fawcett, call boy. They were a proud lot as they stood before
the camera, to be handed down with that Gunn engine to posterity as being part
of Canada’s first great railway</span></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1L00RsANrglS-cRR4nxWWcVVg1Bp_XO8SZSjNNVb4RKHi2-dpx7sLKkQ62XomZ_vio31Thc0Q0t_Sp7zo0bcgkz9sah-awlFelbP2-WkfHr5ihAmBQEZMlyZDfTrGaIFIv5imMayq0As/s1600/%2521-1-1a1864GWR.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="1034" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1L00RsANrglS-cRR4nxWWcVVg1Bp_XO8SZSjNNVb4RKHi2-dpx7sLKkQ62XomZ_vio31Thc0Q0t_Sp7zo0bcgkz9sah-awlFelbP2-WkfHr5ihAmBQEZMlyZDfTrGaIFIv5imMayq0As/s320/%2521-1-1a1864GWR.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">“</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">Of the above list
of officials who were alive and active, only two are left – W. A. Robinson and
John Hall. Mr. Copeland, the author of the booklet, must have a warm heart for </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">John Quirk</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">, an old Hamilton
boy, who was a shoemaker by trade, and who was in partnership with George
Steele. They had a shop on York street sixty years ago. Added to his ability to
pull a wax end, George Steele was Hamilton’s fiddler in those days, and as
there were balls and parties two or three nights a week. George did the
fiddling while Jack Quirk took care of the shop. Jack was a stuttering Irish
lad, and one of the most genial cobblers that ever hammered a sole of a shoe,
and left the pegs sticking up to torment the feet of the unfortunate customer.
But we are not writing a history of Jack Quirk; this is only an introduction to
the days when he began as a baggage smasher on the Erie and Niagara railway,
running from Fort Erie to Niagara-on-the-Lake. That was in 1867. After Jack had
smashed up about half the trunks on that line, the managers said, ‘Well done,
good and faithful baggage master, we will make a conductor of you before you
bankrupt the company in paying damages for broken trumps.’ Well, to shorten the
story, Jack punched tickets on the Great Western and the Grand Trunk roads till
it was time for him to quit, and now he is living a life of leisure at Wingham.
</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The book is a good history of
railroading in Canada.”<sup>1</sup></span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 47.26px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">1 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">“Swinging Lanterns :
When Hamilton First Heard the Shriek of a Locomotive”</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 47.26px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Spectator October 29,
1918.</span></b></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-1873849873800808092018-05-02T12:23:00.004-07:002018-05-02T12:33:01.927-07:001918-10-26<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday
Musings </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Spectator October 26, 1918</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>HAMILTON GHOULS DESCECRATE AN ANCIENT GRAVE</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;">Seventy years ago
last March, there passed away in Hamilton a great and good man – eminent in his
profession and generous to the poor. Dr. William Case, a native of the United
States, settled in Hamilton long before the town had even a name on the map,
save the designation, the Head of the Lake. He came to Canada in the days when
the United Empire Loyalists were seeking a home where they could enjoy such
political rights as was at that time denied them, although they were mainly
natives of the United States. Dr. William Case was born in the state of New
Hampshire, studied medicine in Philadelphia, and practiced in his native town
till about the year 1810, when he came to the Head of the Lake, and bought a
farm in Barton township, about one mile east of the then limits of this
village, but years ago taken in as part of the corporation of Hamilton, where
he practiced medicine, and looked after the cultivation of his farm. There was
not much profit or demand in those days for the services of a doctor, and Dr.
Case had to do quite a bit of farming on the side to pay the family expenses.
Although an American born, he took sides with Canada in the war of 1812, and
for two years, his house was converted into a military hospital for the care of
sick and wounded soldiers. The patriotic doctor not only physicked the sick and
dressed the wounds of his patients, but his good wife prepared the nourishing
food that restored them to life and health. This was done without expectation
of fee or reward from the Canadian government, but as an act of humanity by the
doctor and his wife. Sometime after the close of the war, the government made
an appropriation to repay the doctor for his outlay, but the doctor positively
refused to accept a dollar more than the actual costs. A few years ago, the
ancient home and hospital was torn down in the march of improvement, but
fortunately we are permitted the use of a photographic view of the old homestead,
taken by Colonel McCullough, of the Ontario Engraving Co., a week or two before
the house was demolished. </span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>________________________________________</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Up on the mountainside, at the head of
Ferguson avenue, the Hamilton family had a private graveyard, for in those days
such a place as a cemetery was not even dreamed of as a burial place for the
early settlers. It was first used as a sepulcher for the wife of Captain
Durand, the original owner of what was afterward the farm and homestead of
George Hamilton. The Durand farm, of one hundred acres, descended from the
mountaintop down to Main street, and in the year 1813 was platted and sold in
town lots to comprise the original town of Hamilton. When Captain Durand and
his wife, in 1805, were moving from Simcoe to this farm, in driving down the
mountainside, Mrs. Durand was upset from the carriage, and the lady killed,
dying almost at the moment of the accident. She was buried on the farm in that
mountainside graveyard. Captain Durand, some years afterward, had his wife’s
remains to the Ancaster graveyard, where he is also buried. After George
Hamilton bought the farm, he continued that spot as a family graveyard, and
also permitted a few of his personal friends to bury their dead in it. Dr. Case
was the Hamilton family physician, and when he died in 1848, the only cemetery
in Hamilton was owned by the English Protestant church. For some reason, Canon
Geddes, who was then incumbent of Christ’s church, would not give his consent
to the burial of Dr. Case in the cemetery, and George Hamilton tendered a place
in his private graveyard. It was a costly place in which to dig a grave, as the
mountain stone came up close to the surface, with not more than a foot of earth
as a covering. So popular was the good doctor case that the people came from
far and wide to do honor to his memory. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It was a bright, sunshiny day in the closing
days of the month of March when the funeral cortege climbed up the John street
hill to the place of burial. Hundreds were there to pay the last token of
respect for one who was not only a friend of everybody, but especially to the
poor, for no night was so stormy that the good doctor would not turn out to
answer a sick call. If the patient was able to pay, the doctor got his fee, but
there were scores in Hamilton in those days who were not able to pay much; but
they got the same care and attention as the wealthiest class. After the burial
service was read and the pallbearers were about to consign the coffin to the
rocky sepulcher, the sky suddenly became overcast, the thunder rolled, vivid
lightning flashed, and the rain came down in torrents. There was a wild
scattering of the audience, and the coffin was left unburied. Some of the
superstitious ones attributed the fierceness of the storm as evidence of the
Almighty’s displeasure at the burial of the good doctor in unconsecrated ground.
When the storm passed over, a few of the mourners returned and consigned the
remains of the doctor to his rocky grave. Many years later, the remains of the
Hamilton family that had been resting in that mountainside graveyard were moved
to the cemetery, where stands a monument to the memory of George Hamilton and
his family.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>_____________________________________</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">In that lonely grave on the mountainside, the
remains of Dr. Case have rested for seventy years as peacefully as though he
had been buried in Canon Geddes’ consecrated graveyard. The passersby are
attracted to it and ask many questions about it. Some old Rip Van Winkle, whose
head is frosted with a few score Hamilton winters, delights to sit on the stone
wall at the head of Ferguson avenue and tell the story of that stormy day
seventy years ago and recount the charitable deeds of mercy performed by the
good doctor in caring for the indigent sick. As a covering to the rocky
sepulcher there was placed a slab on which was carved, ‘Sacred to the memory of
William Case, M.D., who died on the 24<sup>th</sup> of March, 1848, in the 72<sup>nd</sup>
year of his age.’ Only that and nothing more. As the good old doctor was simple
in his habits, living only that he might do good in his day and generation, may
it be as well that no eulogy should be placed on the stone.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Dr. William Case was the father of the
venerable Dr. William I. Case, who died a few years ago. From time immemorial
the doctor the later generations knew occupied an ancient frame house on the
southwest corner of King and Walnut streets. Old timers involuntarily look
across to where the frame building stood in full expectation of seeing the face
of the doctor, with his long white beard, peering through the window facing
Walnut street. Mrs. Robert Land, who was close to one hundred years old when
she died, was the daughter of Dr. William Case and the sister of the Dr. Case
that later generations knew. A granddaughter, probably the last one of the
family, still survives and makes her home in Hamilton.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>_____________________________________________</span></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Hamilton vandals, some of whose
grandmothers Dr. Case many a time attended in sickness and never received a
penny for his services, cannot keep their vile hands from desecrating the grave
that has for seventy years been his resting place. Recently the stone slab was
ruthlessly torn from the grave and broken, and leaving a gaping hole in the
rocky sepulcher. It is not creditable to the city officials of Hamilton that
this condition should exist. The patriotic doctor of the war of 1812, who
freely gave his professional services to the sick and wounded Canadian and
British soldiers, and also opened his home for a hospital, deserves better
treatment from a community in which he spent his life in doing good to the
afflicted. His grave should be the care of the city and protected by a
substantial mausoleum, carved to tell the story of his life, and so surrounded
that the vandal and ghouls of Hamilton can nevermore despoil it.</span></b></span><br />
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Case Sepulcher Date of photo unknown</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>____________________________________</span></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">A GOOD SON PROVIDES FOR THE FUTURE COMFORT OF
HIS FATHER AND MOTHER</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It is with pleasure that the Muser tells the
story of a thoughtful son who has provided for the future comfort of his father
and mother. The son is a young man in years and is the loving husband of a dear
wife, their joint possession being the sweetest baby that ever was born.
Naturally all parents think the same of their babies. We are not going to tell
the name of the son, for the reason that we do not think he would like to be
made a hero of, though he is a hero all the same. He is not a native of
Hamilton, but was born within fifty miles of this town, between Lake Erie and
Lake Ontario. He was an ambitious boy when in his teens and declared that as
soon as he arrived at man’s estate, he would hie him to some foreign country
and make a name for himself as well as some money, both of which he has been
successful in doing. He is an architect by profession, and in the years of his
foreign residence has had charge of the construction of many costly public
buildings as well as private residences. That he has made money goes without
saying when we consider the handsome provision he has made for his father and
mother, as well as laying by for the future of his own family. He has two
sisters, one married and one single, the single one holding a responsible
position in Hamilton.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The other day, the younger sister was happily
surprised on receiving a letter from her brother, containing a foreign draft
for $15,000, with instructions that his sister invest in some long-time bonds
of undoubted security. Now this dear young lady has all the confidence in the
world in the financial standing of the city in which she is making her home, so
she called City Treasurer Leckie on Tuesday last and subscribed for $15,000
worth of long-time Hamilton bonds, making them payable to her father and mother
jointly or to the survivor, thus insuring to them an income during their lives
of $900 per annum. This, added to what his father and mother have laid by for a
rainy day, as well as being the owner of a good home in the town in which they
live, will make the burden of years fall very lightly on them, and provide them
with not only the comforts but many of the luxuries of life. </span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Then there was no string attached to that
splendid gift, for when it has done its beloved work for the care of father and
mother, that loving son and brother directed that after their death, the money
be divided equally between the two sisters, so that it would continue to be a
blessing and a provision for those near and dear to him. On that foreign draft
was a premium exchange of $285. The young lady will add to that the balance of
$15 and purchase Victory Bonds worth $300, and the interest on those bonds will
be payable to father and mother.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Those dear parents can never cease thanking
God for being the father and mother of such a son and such loving daughters.
This little story is told in the hope that other sons and daughters will not
forget the father and mother who cared for them during the years of childhood,
providing them with every comfort.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>________________________________________________</span></b></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 94.53px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">THE MARCH OF
IMPROVEMENT</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The T. H.& B. railway company must have
more room in its freight yards to accommodate its increasing business in
Hamilton. The only that stands in the way is the elegant Aged Women’s Home at
the head of Wellington street, and this the company must have to carry out its
plan of engagement. Probably it may not be a bad move after all that the
managers of the home must search for a new location, for the freight yard is
certainly a detriment to the property. There no doubt will be regret that a
change must be made, for the home is fitted up with all the comforts to make it
attractive and desirable to the dear old ladies who are spending the declining
years of life free from care and worry. When Albert Bigelow endowed the Girls’
Orphan Home with $20,000, and which served its day and purpose till there were
no orphan girls to need a home in That building, he probably never dreamed of
the benevolent use that home was to be put to in the future.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Added to the $20,000 given by Albert Bigelow,
there was another good angel to increase the power of the home to do good. When
Mrs. John Thompson died, she provided in her will the sum of $10,000 for the Aged
Women’s Home, and with this added income the managers were able to make
improvements that have added to the comfort of its inmates. The property has
largely increased in value in the past twenty or thirty years, and it will be
difficult to find another location equal to it before the railway company
occupied that part of town. There is one other location that would be desirable
if it can be purchased at a price within the means of the managers, and that is
the George Rutherford property, on the corner of King street and Sherman
avenue. It has all the desired requisites on which to build such a home that
would be an ornament to the city.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It may be interesting to give some items from
the report of Mrs. W. C. Breckenridge, who had been treasurer of the Aged Women’s
Home for many years. Before going into the report, let us state that in
addition to the $10,000 given by Mrs. John Thompson for improvements on the
building, she also gave $5,000 towards a trust fund, the interest on which was
to pay the entrance fee of old ladies without money or friends. William
Vallance generously provided in his will the sum of $1,000 to be invested as an
endowment fund. No mention seems to have been made of the donation of $20,000
given by Albert Bigelow, and which was really the foundation upon which was
built the Children’s Industrial school, the Hamilton Orphan asylum, and the
Boys’ home. The Industrial school is now known as the Girls’ home, on George
street, the Orphan asylum is now known as the Aged Women’s home, the Boys’ home
has kept its original name. To each of the institutions named Albert Bigelow
left $20,000.</span></b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; margin: 0px;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Let us go back seventy years ago, when the
Ladies’ <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Benevolent society, which was
organized in 1846, established an orphan asylum, and I connection with it a day
school for the children of the poor. The ravages of the cholera in 1847 left
many destitute orphans who found a home in the asylum. A larger building was
needed than was then occupied to accommodate the number of orphans and children
attending the day school, and in 1851, Mayor John Fisher, the proprietor of the
first foundry built in Hamilton, gave his year’s salary as mayor, $400, towards
building an orphan asylum, to which was added a number of donations from the
churches, and the surplus from a firemen’s ball. The city council voted $3,2000
toward the building fund, but for some reason it was not accepted by the board
of managers. The site of the present Aged Women’s home was selected, and it was
a lovely spot before the railroad came and despoiled it, and in 1854, the
building was finished and occupied, at a cost of $6,408. The government gave a
grant of $400 a year. When the Central school was opened, there was no
necessity for the continuance of the day school. The home was liberally supported
by the contributions of the people. It was in the year 1873 that Albert Bigelow
made his will and made glad the hearts of the lady managers of the home by a
contribution of $20,000. Mr. Bigelow was a prosperous businessman in Hamilton,
being a dealer in china, glass and earthenware. He was a bachelor, but not from
choice for it was told of him that in his younger days he was engaged to a
beautiful young lady, and that all arrangements were made for their marriage
when the prospective bride sickened and died. He had two sisters tgo whom he
left $10,000 each, and to his housekeeper he left $1,000. The remainder of his
fortune was left to found homes for the unfortunate. From all indications the
Aged Women’s home will pass from its present location. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></b></span><br />
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Aged Women's Home ca 1878</div>
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<i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><span style="font-size: large;"></span>1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-88781634129722542172017-01-04T15:33:00.000-08:002017-01-04T15:33:27.980-08:001912-12-21ab
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Saturday
Musings <o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<strong>
</strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 18pt;"><strong>Spectator December 21,
1915<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 16pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> "</span></strong></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Marley
was dead, to begin with.” It was thus that the gifted Dickens began his
Christmas Carol. “Old Marley was as dead as a door nail … Scrooge knew he was
dead? Of course he did. Scrooge and he were partners for many years.” <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dickens’ stories are not read nowadays
like they were by the ancient Hamiltonians of the past century; and the more
pity it is, for their reading would make a better world. The Christmas Carols
tell us that old Scrooge was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, “ a
squealing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!” <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Hamilton may have a
few of the Scrooge tribe, but they are mighty few, as the history of the past
four years can cheerfully give testimony. Very few have suffered from the high
cost of living, for there has been hard work for everybody that wanted it,
wages were good and liberal.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">God bless the
generous-hearted people of dear old Hamilton! They have always responded to
every call from the time it was but a village and called the Head of the Lake.
There has never been any need of suffering if the wants of the unfortunate were
known, for the women of Hamilton responded to every call for help, especially
for women and children. Every church and every society of women have their
relief corps. When the influenza became epidemic, how quick the S.O.S. was
organized, and the pastor nd official board of the First Methodist church
promptly tendered to the ladies the use of their kitchen and outfit, and
hundreds of baskets of delicate food were sent out every day to the homes of the
afflicted. Those grand women of the S.O.S. left their homes, by units, happy in
the thought that there was work for them to do, not only giving their time but
also carrying to the church baskets of delicacies from their own larders. And
the people who owned motor cars placed them under the direction of the S.O.S.
to distribute their bounty in the homes of the afflicted. Let us change Tiny
Tim’s prayer just a little, God bless them, every one.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">This is not an unkind
world after all, and dear old Hamilton stands in the front rank in every good
work. Count up the tag days for the Red Cross, and for other benevolences since
the dark days of 1914 overshadowed every home and country, and Hamilton has
more than met every call made upon it, not only in brave men to answer the
bugle call, but for money to provide for the dependent wives and children and
parents of those who left home and comfort to create a new world of liberty.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Let us be thankful that
the worst is past, and that <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“When Johnny comes
marching home again,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll give him a royal welcome then,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girls will cheer, the boys will shout,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people will all turn out,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we’ll feel gay,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Johnny comes marching home.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Hamilton sent more
than its quota – nearly 12,000. Many of the bravest and best will never return
home again!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“In Flanders’ fields
the poppies blow,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between the crosses, row on row,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That mark our place; and in the shy<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The larks, still bravely singing, fly,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scarce heard amidst the guns below.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are the dead. Short days ago<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Loved and were loved; and now we lie <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Flanders’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fields.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take up our quarrel with the foe<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To you from failing hands we throw<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The torch. Be yours to hold it high!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If ye break faith with us who die<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We shall not sleep, though poppies grow<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Flanders’ fields.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In Flanders’ Fields
is the tribute of the brave Lieut.-Col. John H. McRae to his Canadian comrades
who have been “mustered out” on the firing line. Col. McCrae was born in Canada
in 1872; passed from the glory of the battlefield in France in 1918. What a
brave answer came back from an American comrade-in-arms, R. W. Gillard,
herewith given !<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Red Cross society
in Hamilton have done a service that will live forever in publishing the
booklet, containing the original poem and the answer, with a handsome sketch of
the growing poppy in Flanders’ Fields, drawn by Hamilton lady artist, and a
photo of the gifted Canadian author.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Here is the answer:<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Rest ye in peace, ye
Flanders dead.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fight that ye bravely led<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve taken up. And we will keep<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>True faith with you who lie asleep<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each a cross to mark his bed<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And poppies glowing overhead<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where once his own life-blood ran red.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, let your rest be sweet and deep<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Flanders’ fields.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fear not that ye have died for naught,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The torch ye throw to us we caught.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten million hands will hold it high,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Freedom’s light shall never die!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve learned the lesson that she taught<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Flanders’ fields.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The glory won by our Canadian
boys will be told by future historians when recounting the story of the great
war of 1914-1918. It cost the blood and the lives of the bravest and best of
all in the allied ranks. In thousands of Canadian homes, there will be at least
one vacant chair at the coming Christmas feast.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“At the fireside, sad
and lonely,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Often will the bosom swell,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At remembrance of the glory,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How their noble Willie fell;<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How he strove to bear our banner<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thro’ the thickest of the fight,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And uphold our country’s honor.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the strength of manhood’s right.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The boys who
responded to the bugle call, and will return home to future years, will proudly
tell their children of the humble part they took in the great world war.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Cheers for the
returning soldier! Tears for the dead !</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-3291414864589963282017-01-04T12:19:00.004-08:002017-01-04T12:20:01.314-08:001915-12-21ii<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 20.0pt;"><b>Saturday
Musings <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><b>Spectator December 21,
1915<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18.0pt;"><b> THE WHISTLER AT THE PLOW</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">This was
the nom de plume of Alexander Somerville, who lived in Hamilton away back in
the early sixties. He was born in Scotland in the year 1811, and died in
Toronto in 1895. His parents were in humble circumstances, and at the early age
of eight years, he had to earn a living by herding sheep on the grazing lands
in Scotland. He had no school advantages, but, having a natural desire for an
education, he studied while attending his flocks, and laid the foundation for a
scholarship that resulted in his becoming learned in economic and political
subjects. Early in the sixties, Mr. Somerville became a citizen of Hamilton,
coming from Toronto, and earned a somewhat precarious living by writing for the
newspapers, which, at that time, was not so profitable for either the owners of
the newspapers or for the men who had educated brains to sell. The reader may
ask, why is this resurrection of an ancient “penny-a-liner” at this time? A
couple of weeks ago, an inquiry from Toronto came to the editor of the
Spectator as to the matters of history that could be dug up of the time when
Mr. Somerville was an occasional contributor to the columns of the Spectator,
over the nom de plume of “The Whistler at the Plow.” There is not a man who was
connected with the paper sixty years ago now living to answer it, for about
that time, when Mr. Somerville lived in Hamilton, this Old Muser was sojourning
down in Dixieland, shouldering a musket and standing up to be shot at for the
magnificent sum of $16 a month, a corporal’s pay, and getting fat on hardtack
and “sowbelly.” Let me here suggest that if the clock could only be put back to
my age at that time, gladly would I feast on government rations, not to be a soldier
again mind you, but to be young once again and have the promise of fifty years
more of life in this beautiful world. But what has all that dreaming got to do
with the story about ‘The Whistler at the Plow?” The only man in Hamilton the Muser could think of that would be able to
give an answer to the Toronto inquiry was H. B. Witton, who has lived
continuously in Hamilton for more than sixty years, and, who, at one time, was
connected with the Canadian Illustrated News, in which paper appeared the literary
contribution of Mr. Somerville away back in 1863. Mr. Witton was able to
furnish the information the Toronto man desired, for one of Mr. Somerville’s
sons worked under him in the Great Western railway paint shops as an apprentice
boy, and afterwards was in business for himself in Hamilton for a few years.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> In Mr. Witton’s private library – one
of the most select, as far as rare and costly books are connected in Canada –
is Somerville’s Diligent Life, “One Who Has Whistled at the Plow,” one of the
many works of that writer. Mr. Somerville’s early life was spent in laboring
work in Scotland, and, not having the advantages of learning a trade, he
naturally fell in the ways of the indigent young men of Great Britain,
preferring the queen’s shilling and a soldier’s life and two meals a day to
digging ditches and other laboring work for a shilling a day. In the year 1831,
he enlisted in the Scots Greys, known as the Royal North British Dragoons, one
of crack horse regiments in the British service. In those days, young Scotsmen
smitten with military ambition, and not less than five feet ten inches of
upright bulk, talked vauntingly of the “Greys;” of the horses with long tails,
of scarlet coats and long swords, the high bearskin caps and the plumes of
white feathers encircling them in front, the blue overalls with the broad
yellow stripes on the outside, the boots and spurs, the carbines slung at the
saddle side, the holster pipes and pistols, the shoulder belts and the
ammunition, and the long scarlet cloaks flowing from the riders’ necks to their
knees in wet and wintry weather, and the grey charges with white tails. It was
an easy matter for the recruiting sergeant to fill up his quota of recruits
with such a picture to present to the young Scot, who had no desire to shoulder
his spades at daylight and take to the ditches. And then King Billy, of blessed
memory, was paying a bright English shilling, with two meals a day, a
comfortable barracks to live in, and a uniform such as only the gentry could
afford to wear. It was a temptation that not many could withstand. Somerville
saw the day, and not long after his enlistment in the Scottish Greys, he wished
he had never straddled a horse in that regiment. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> On the first day of March, 1831, the
first reform bill was introduced into the British house of parliament, which
resulted in a threat by the anti-reformers that they would stop supplies. It is
not our purpose to peer into the history of those stirring times any further
than to introduce into this brief chapter the mistake of a soldier entering a
discussion of political affair of the government under which he was serving.
Alexander Somerville had given some attention to political economy in his
readings while herding sheep, and, unfortunately for him, he gave expression to
his ideas in one of the leading newspapers, which were copied widely and led to
his undoing. London and every town in the kingdom were the scenes of riots, and
the windows of the home of the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel and other
leading anti-reformers were broken with stones by the mobs. The Scots Greys
were booted and saddled for three days, ready to turn out at a moment’s notice.
Not since before the battle of Waterloo had the swords of the Greys been
rough-sharpened, and old soldiers spoke of it as threatening dire calamity to
the rioters. The soldiers had no desire to be called out to shoot or saber down
their own countrymen, and many letters were written by them to that effect and
dropped in the streets. Somerville sent his letters to the newspapers.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Up to this time, Somerville’s standing
in his troop was first-class; and then even the suspicion did not rest upon him
as being the writer of the objectionable letter that was widely published in
the newspapers. Some innocent men were suspected, and while it might not be
possible to prove what was denominated a military crime, the sergeant-major,
adjutant, riding master and commanding officer had them watched until they were
driven into some fault for which they could be punished. To save his comrades,
Somerville confessed to the major commanding the regiment that he was the
writer of the objectionable letter, and from that time forth, every effort was
made to catch him in some delinquency that would bring him to a court martial. One
day the riding master was very cross with Somerville, and finally charged him
with insubordination in not mounting his horse when commanded to do so.
Somerville had been put through this part of the drill of mounting and
dismounting until the unfortunate soldier was physically worn out and unable to
obey the command to mount. This was the desired moment the riding master was
waiting for, and a corporal’s guard was summoned and Somerville sent to the
guard house. The next morning he was tried by court-martial, and, of course, convicted
of insubordination, and sentenced to two hundred lashes with the
cat-o’-nine-tails, and that afternoon the regiment was paraded to witness the
infliction of the punishment.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> It was an unusual proceeding to hurry
the punishment immediately after the trial. The regiment was formed in four
square, the sentence of the court read by the commanding officer, and
Somerville was roped to an upright ladder with his wrists and feet fastened to
iron rings in a wall. The regimental sergeant-major, with book and pencil in
hand to count each each lash and number, gave the command. “Farrier Simpson, do
your duty.” Simpson took the “cat,” as ordered, and swinging it twice around
his head brought the brutal instrument of torture with full force across the
bare back of the unfortunate Somerville. This was repeated for twenty-five
times, and then another stalwart soldier took the lash and continued the
punishment. The farrier and the trumpeter alternated till one hundred lashes
were administered, and by this time Somerville’s back was raw. Figure in your
mind, the number of strokes with a cat-o’-nine-tails with six knots in each
tail, making 5,400 gashes on Somerville’s bare back. No wonder the commanding
officer’s heart revolted at such brutality, and when the last of one hundred
lashes were given, he gave the command “Stop! Take him down; he is a young
soldier.” After cutting the man to pieces, he was then sent to the hospital for
repairs. And all this brutal punishment was inflicted on the plea that Somerville
had disobeyed the command of the riding master to mount his horse when he was
physically unable to do so.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> That one hundred lashes sounded the
death knell of the whipping post in the British army and navy, for in due time,
it became the subject of a parliamentary inquiry, and was prohibited by law.
The authorities were slow in action, and it took several years before it was
finally prohibited. A penny fund was raised in England with which to buy
Somerville’s discharge from the army and a sum of 30 pounds was collected, and
in 1833, he became once more a private citizen. Somerville was a man of
excellent habits, free from the vice of drink, and always attentive to duty.
Had it not been for that letter, he would have been promoted to be a
non-commissioned officer, and in time further advanced to a commission.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> There is a fascination about a
soldier’s life that unfits a man who has served even for the short space of
three years from settling-down to civil life after his discharge from the army.
The boys who are now returning from the world war and are being mustered out
will miss the bugle call and the daily routine of a soldier’s duty. This old
Muser can sympathize with them, for he passed through the stages of returning
to civil life and to his printing office at the close of the American civil
war. There are three conditions that unfit a man for civil life – to serve as a
soldier, as a fireman, or as a policeman. Somerville after his discharge from
the Scots Greys became interested in newspaper work, as a writer on the Weekly
Dispatch, but he could not settle down to it. In 1835, he again heard the bugle
call and re-enlisted in the Eighth Highlanders, serving under General Sir De
Lac Evans in the army in Spain. But we will not follow the history of Alexander
Somerville, further than to say that on his return to civil life, he became an
author of some repute, writing a library of books principally on political
science.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> After retiring from the army,
Somerville married and settled down to civil life, earning his living as a
writer. In the month of July, 1858, he left England to make a home in Canada,
intending to settle in Toronto. When they sailed from Liverpool, his wife and
family were in excellent health, but shortly after arriving in Quebec, his
wife’s health gave way and speedily developed into consumption. Eleven months
from the day of quitting her native city of London, Mrs. Somerville died in
Quebec. Out of work and with a family of six children to provide for, Mr.
Somerville tried the lecture field as a means of earning a living, but it was
not a success. After struggling as best he could, friends came to his
assistance, and through their kindness, he was able to pay the fare of his
family to Toronto. A year or two later, he came to Hamilton, and made a
precarious living for a time as a contributor to the Spectator and the Canadian
Illustrated News. Old-timers will remember “The Whistler at the Low,” but not
many of that class are now living in Hamilton. One of his sons learned the
painter’s trade in the Great Western shops, under Mr. Witton, and another son
carried the business of manufacturing window blinds. Those who remember Mr.
Somerville recall him as they used to see him in the streets with his luxuriant
crop of gray hair streaming down his shoulders. Herbert Gardiner, one time
editor of the Spectator, and later editor of the Times, remembers the old man
well, and can recall many interesting incidents of the days when he lived in
Hamilton.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> That cruel flogging of one hundred
lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails that Alexander Somerville received, without
cause, when he was a private in the Scots Greys in the year 1832, was the means
afterward of saving the backs of hundreds and thousands of men in the British
army and navy.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> A PUNISHMENT THE MUSER RECOLLECTS<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> In briefly telling the incidents in
the life of Alexander Somerville, The Whistler at the Plow, recalls to memory a
similar scene that occurred in the citadel at Quebec less than eighty years ago
when this Muser was a child living in the citadel, his father being a soldier
in the Seventieth regiment. An unfortunate soldier named Michael Macnamara
drank too much liquor at times, and when in that condition would steal whatever
he could lay his hand on. Michael was a member of the pioneer corps of the regiment,
for in those days each regiment had a detail of six men whose duty was to keep
the barrack grounds clean. Michael was a stalwart soldier of six feet in height
and built in proportion, with a kindly face. Every child in the barracks loved
Michael, for he always carried in his pockets a stock of candy for the young
ones. But the poor fellow could not resist the temptation to steal, and the
money he got from the articles he stole and sold was mostly spent in buying
candy for the children. Every kind of mild punishment was tried on Michael, for
the colonel of the regiment had a kind heart and looked with sympathy on the
erring soldier’s penchant for stealing, especially as he knew that Michael
stole to give pleasure to the children. Finally patience ceased to be a virtue,
and as Michael was proven guilty of more than ordinary theft, and he was
sentenced to fifty lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails. That was a sad day in the
old citadel at Quebec, for almost every child in the barracks cried because
their old friend was to be punished. To carry out the sentence, the regiment
was paraded in the citadel and formed four square. In the center was the
triangle to which poor Michael was tied up, and when the sentence of the court
martial was read, a stalwart drummer was detailed to inflict the punishment.
There was not a man in the regiment that was not in sympathy with the kindly
old Irishman who stole mainly to give to the children. For years after, this
old Muser could in imagination hear the shrieks of the children’s friend as the
cruel lash tore the flesh off his back. When twenty-five lashes had been
administered, the kindly old colonel could not stand it any longer, and he
ordered the drummer to stop. That was the last soldier in the Seventieth
regiment to be punished by flogging.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Poor old Mike, when he came out of the
hospital, fell back into his old ways. The love of liquor was his ruin. Finally
he was again tried by court martial and sentenced to be drummed out of the
regiment. That was another sad day for the children, who were dismissed from
school that they might see their friend receive his punishment. Well do I
remember that day. Poor old Mike was marched around the barrack square with a
file of the guard behind him, the drum corps playing that old tune – the Rogue’s
March :<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> “Once, twice, for selling my kit,<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Three times for desertion,<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> If ever I ‘list to be a soldier again,<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> The devil be may be my sergeant.”<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Twice in long years
did we hear that same tune played when two men who had been incorrigible
thieves were drummed out of camp during the American civil war. The days of
flogging had long since passed, but there was another punishment that was
inflicted in the early days of the civil war. Men who were incorrigible, and being
put in the guard house had no terrors for them, used to be tied up by the
thumbs and left suspended till such time as they would beg forgiveness and
promise to reform. The company officer, who ordered the man to be tied up,
suffered for his brutality, and many a one had his head punched, when he did
not know who was his assailant. A general order was issued prohibiting the
tieing up by the thumbs as a means of punishment<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> THE MONTREAL HERALD<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Having had an existence of 108 years,
in a most forbidding constituency for an English newspaper, the Montreal Herald
recently fell asleep in the hands of a receiver; and if there is enough left
after it passes through the receiving process to pay a dividend of ten per cent
to the creditors, the venerable Herald will not have died in vain. There was a
time in the early history of the Herald when it was one of the brightest papers
in Canada. This old Muser took the first lessons in the newspaper trade away
back in 1846 in the Herald office, when that paper was published as a
semi-weekly. Before daylight on a cold winter morning, we had to start out with
a route of nearly two hundred papers,
and have them delivered at the home of the subscribers in time for the head of
the family to read while at breakfast. The newsboys in those days were provided
with a tin horn, which they blew loud and long to notify the householder of his
approach. Then home to breakfast after the route was delivered, and back to the
office before eight o’clock to take the first lessons in the rudiments of the
typographic art, which were picking up the type the compositors dropped on the
floor, sweeping out the office, and them sorting and distributing the pi. The
remainder of the day was spent in learning to set and distribute type, or at
the roller, for there were no marching presses in the Herald office in those
days. And all this for the extravagant salary of one dollar per week for the
first six months, and a promise of a raise if the proprietor though you were
worth it. There were no extravagant salaries paid to boys or men severnty-two
years ago. Eight years later, the four newspapers in Hamilton were paying from
$7 to $8 a week, when in March, 1854, the printers plucked up courage, organized
a union, and humbly asked for a slight advance to $9 a week. Now they are
getting nearly three times that sum and are rolling in wealth. The old Herald
could not stand the pressure. Farewell, the typographical mentor of my youth </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">!</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
<span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-19711327196464786432016-12-23T12:28:00.001-08:002016-12-24T11:32:28.321-08:001915-12-18ii<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 18pt;">Spectator December 18,
1915<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">CHRISTMAS DAY IN CAMP<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Far up in
the Kanawha valley, in West Virginia, near Camp Platt, an advanced picket of
167<sup>th</sup> Ohio was surprised by Jennings’ guerilla band, during the
Civil War in the United States, some fifty years ago, and, for a couple of
hours the conflict was brisk. The guerillas had the advantage, for they were
fighting on their native heath and knew every foot of the valley. More than one
fellow on both sides answered his last roll call, and many were wounded, none
very seriously. Like all guerilla warfare, the fight was sharp and quick. The
Jennings band was outnumbered and hastily withdrew from the conflict, which was
a source of satisfaction to the Federal soldiers. No prisoners were taken, as it
was one of the rules of guerilla warfare not to be hampered with prisoners. It
was a might fall, yet cold and chilly, and Christmas was close at hand. Only a
few more days and the families would gather in the home churches and sing the
songs of “Peace on Earth; good will to men”, while husbands and sons were engaged
in bloody war on the field of battle. The night after the skirmish all seemed
peaceful and quiet, and one would never think that within a mile from the
Federal camp, but a few hours before, the Federals and Confederates had been
engaged in deadly strife. And for what? The soldiers in either army had no ill
will toward each other, nor indeed had they ever met except to wound and kill. “War
is hell!” sure enough, as German Sherman said. In the Federal camp, numerous
fires were burning, the moving forms which surrounded them rising upon the
vision of the distant spectator like giant shadows. The rain, that dripped and
drizzled clammily, evoked no complaint from the hardy soldier’s lips. He
recited not of the sights that had met his eyes during the hours before on the
battlefield that day, nor of the unburied braves that lay but a short distance
from his present bivouac, stiffening in the rain. He and his bunk-mate, the
kindly-hearted Jake, had built for refuge a temporary habitation, and the big
fire that hissed in the storm was solid comfort to their stiffened limbs.
Frequently you might hear a boisterous laugh, a song of more mirth than melody,
and the sounds of a mouth-organ or fiddle – no Stradivarius by nay means – or,
see, now and then, looming up fantastically, the brawny forms of Uncle Sam’s
jovial boys, in a reckless stag dance around the fires.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was well toward evening when the
picket guard got back into camp. As far as the eye could reach, the white tents
were visible. As the sky grew heavy and lowering, suggestive of tempestuous
weather, the boys began to collect material from the neighboring fields for the
erection of shacks for shelter or warmth. It does not take long for the veteran
soldier to build a hut if there is material anywhere within a mile of the camp.
When in the enemy’s territory, might makes right. The moving of Burnam Wood
toward Dunsinane may have been an astounding spectacle in Macbeth’s opinion;
but if that bloody Thane had risen from his grave on that cold December night
and paid a ghostly visit to the vicinity of Camp Platt, he would have gone back
to Scotland with a weakened estimate of General Macduff’s stratagem. Hundreds
of acres of land lay under good fence. The corn was still standing in the
shock; the wheat in the stack ; the hay in the rick. See how they disappear
from their respective places, as if by magic. The air is alive with huge piles
of cornstalks, hay, straw, rails and lumber of every description – all moving
toward camp. Company A is sure to have its share of the good things. Corporal
Jake is a stalwart, and anything that is within reach is not a bit too good for
him and his bunk mate. Each man has, with mutual ambition, appointed himself
commander-in-chief to order and furnish a shack and a fire for his companions
and himself. Some seize upon the great oaken logs which the West Virginia
farmer has cut into shape for the splitting out of staves. With a
“Yo-heave-ho!” and “Altogether!” these are rolled to the summit of the ridge,
and soon the fire is frisking about them cheerfully. The rails are arranged
into frames for shacks; and the straw, hay and fodder are carefully piled on
top and around the sides, to exclude the wind and rain, or are nicely laid on
the ground for beds.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With such an array as this, no great
length of time is required to desolate the landscape. The soldier regards
himself as a privileged character, and his own comforts and enjoyments are
above those of the planter. Wherever his footsteps tread, woe to that land – be
it the property of friend or foe! Recklessness and daring have been the
characteristics of the soldier in all climes, and from time immemorial, no matter
what flag, be it the Union Jack or the Stars and Stripes. His food and raiment
are of the coarsest – he lives virtually “from hand to Mouth” – and the country
through which he passes must pay custom to him nolens volens. It is well when
he is so far advanced in the courtesies of civilization as to decently respect
the personality of the inhabitants of an occupied country. The larders and
granaries must necessarily pay tribute, in the best and politest ages, to the
scarred warrior, as the prompt supplying by the government of the needs of an
immense body of men constantly on the march is impossible. He should consider
himself a happy patriot who has furnished the weary soldier a shelter from the
wintry blast – the hungry one a yellow-legged chicken from the roost for his
evening meal.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was the night before Christmas. The
loved ones in our Ohio home had not forgotten the absent ones. That afternoon
the steamer Annie Laurie came puffing up the Kanawha river and her siren had
shrieked out a warning to the boys that the boxes of which they had been
notified were coming. Every company in the regiment was remembered. Talk about
your Christmas dinners !! Never was there the prospect of such a feast ! The
soldiers were so anxious to investigate the contents of the boxes that they
could hardly wait to get them up from the landing to the camp. Just fancy,
after months of feeding on sowbelly and hard tack, and baked beans, and
tomorrow it would be turkey, chicken, roast beef, plum pudding, mince pie –
what is the use of giving the list of good things when we tell you that those
boxes came from home, sweet home, and our wives and mothers knew just what we
would like best! My, it makes the mouth of this old Muser water even now to go
back in memory to that Christmas of more than half a century ago. The boys did
not wait for old Pap Fisher to beat up the reveille the next morning, for they
had tumbled out of their bunks long before the sun had sent his bright and
frosty rays down the valley. Breakfast was but little thought of for everyone
wanted a sharp appetite to do justice to the Christmas feast that was in store for
him. The company cooks did themselves proud that day in warming up the turkeys
and the chicken and geese, and as the mothers and wives had sent word to the
cooks that they had only partially cooked the beef, the big fat roasts got
their finishing touches over the log fires, and were pronounced fit for a feast
for the gods. Corp. Jake, being a college professor back in Ohio, the superintendent
of a Sunday school and the leader of a Presbyterian choir, was considered the
proper man to invoke the divine blessing on the feast set before us, which he
did reverently, and also prayed for the Girls We Left Behind Us in the old Ohio
homes, to which the entire company responded with a hearty amen! And then the
good mothers and wives had another think coming when they packed those boxes,
and they remembered the cigars, and boxes of them, so that the smoke from the
fragrant weed arose as sweet incense around the camp fire that Christmas night.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>-----------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The mountain ranges along the valley
of the Kanawha were mines of wealth in Cannel coal, and all that was necessary
to get at it was to scrape the earth a foot or two on the side of the hill and
get an abundance of black diamonds. The boys had provided a supply, and along
the front of the company quarters great roaring fires gave us summer warmth. The
boys from other companies tempted by the cheerful blaze that rose from our coal
and log fires, flocked to our cosy quarters and threw themselves into comfortable
positions. As we began to grow more cheerful after feast and the fragrance of
the cigars, conversation and storytelling, interspersed with song, made happy
the passing hours. There is no soldier in an army I presume who has not had
some pleasing incident – a reminiscence of march, carnage, or camp fire – that a
trifling suggestion will call forth. Almost everyone at our bivouac fire that
night, enlivened the hour with an interesting anecdote or broad witticism, and
I wish I could now remember even a tithe of them. It seems to me that they
would be interesting to readers of Saturday Musings in these days of war when the
whole world is one vast battlefield. The program opened with the United States
national anthem. Of course, being an American army, what might you expect for a
curtain raiser? This was followed by marching through Georgia. This put Corp.
Jake in mind of a story about the time when our regiment was called to
Cincinnati to defend that city from the raid of Kirby Smith’s army. “Didn’t you
remember the day at Camp King?” said the corporal, “when we were ordered into
line of battle because Captain Dan was scared by four women and a coach dog on
St. John’s Hill, south of Cincinnati? He thought that the innocent crowd was
the advance guard of Kirby Smith’s army swinging over the brow of the hill.
Well, by jove, I never saw an officer brandish his sword more heroically than
Captain Dan did on that occasion. It seemed to me he was so furious and looked
so terrible that if the enemy had appeared they must have been appalled into
surrender. His looks were a whole park of artillery.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A grave-looking corporal, who was
leaning against a tree, and roasting his shins at the fire, seemed interested
in the conversation. He said : “I am from the Eighty-First, the regiment
adjoining yours. Your cheerful fire attracted me here, and Corp. Jake’s story
has somewhat fascinated me. Captain Dan was probably green in military matters.
Give the old man a chance. The first fight doesn’t always show the soldierly
character. One of the greatest captains of all time was panic-stricken in his
first battle – Frederick the Great, you know. Macaulay tells the story. I’ve
been in a few fights myself before this civil war began – in Mexico with Taylor;
on the border with Johnston; in Missouri and Arkansas with Fremont, and, before
that, with the British army in the Crimea, and chanced often to notice the
conduct of both raw recruits and veterans. Soldiers need to be tested, boys.
Many a fellow I have seen hide away, or turn ghastly, and even faint in his
first scrimmage, who afterward became one of the bravest men in the army, and
would risk the shot and shell of the enemy to carry off a wounded comrade from
the firing line. It isn’t always those who look the strongest and speak the
loudest that prove the best in the end, as I’ve found out. I suppose you have
noticed that a good many volunteers, who seemed to be the toughest, and were
really tough in camp – great, hulking chaps, with biceps like a hickory wart,
and always itching for a row – have played out before many days’ marching, and
have gone into the ambulance or the hospital, especially if there is a prospect
of a fight with the enemy, while timid-looking fellows – counterhoppers or boys
from whom you expected nothing – have bronzed into health and cheerfulness,
always ready to find their place on the firing line, and passed through the
hard phases of a soldier’s life with courage.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>-----------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s gospel!” said the Orderly
Sergeant Langstroth. “There’s that big lubber of Co. H. with a fist like a
triphammer and a leg like a weaver’s beam. On our first day’s march, he was
away head of the regiment, applauded for his sturdiness, and swaggering
grandly; on the second day, he had dropped down to the middle, and dropped his
swagger a bit; on the third, he was among the tail-enders, with still less
swagger; on the fourth, he was lolling in the ambulance, his face wrinkled with
the blues, and guyed unmercifully by his comrades afoot. A few days later, he
disappeared. When we next saw him, Billy was trudging wearily along with a rail
tied to his back, and the swagger gone altogether. Some disgusted officer had
caught him wandering about, like a chronic shirk, without gun or knapsack, and
had subjected him to the disgraceful penalty of the rail and the derision of
the whole army. Lord knows where Bill is now. A deserter maybe.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The oldest genius , and one of the
bravest I ever saw,” said the strange corporal, “was a little fellow who was
killed at the siege of Atlanta, with a ‘coon on his shoulder. That little chap
came from a farm near Clinton, Illinois, and had carried a pet ‘coon all the
way from home. Jim Farnworth was his name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jim was a small, pale boy, as thin as a
sandpiper, and looked as if he might give out in a day’s march. But men of apparently
twice his size and muscle shed their overcoats, blankets and baggage along the
line of march, while Jim swung along bravely, always in his place in the
regiment, and carrying every shred of a soldier’s equipage, besides his ‘coon. He
was a most tenderhearted lad, too; would go out of his way if he saw an insect
on the ground to avoid treading on it, and cried as easily as a baby if
anything went wrong with his ‘coon. The boys indeed called him Baby Jim. But
Baby Jim, I’ll tell you, was no slouch when tough work was at hand. He was
generally at the fore then, first in mounting an escarpment and in planting a
banner of the enemy’s works – that pet ‘coon always on his shoulder, seeming to
enjoy his master’s excitement. Poor Jim! He died in the van in Atlanta, while
bearing forward the flag which a wounded color-sergeant had dropped. The boys
of the Twentieth Illinois, his regiment, had begun to love and worship him long
before he fell in battle. He was no longer Baby Jim, but our Bully Little
Corporal. The shot that killed Jim also killed the ‘coon.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>-----------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">THEN YOU’LL REMEMBER ME<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come dick,” said Corp. Jake, “let’s
sing that dear old song of Balfe’s, from the Bohemian Girl.” The corporal and
this old Muser some ‘on the singing when we were young, and many an hour was
whiled away around the camp fire in the valley of the Kanawha. The songs of
half a century ago were altogether different from the ragtime we hear nowadays;
they were full of heart sentiment, with music that thrilled the soul. “Then,”
said the corporal, “tell us the story of the young musician and his wife away
up in Hamilton, Canada, where you spent your boyhood days.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When other lips and other hearts<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Their tales of love shall tell,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In language whose excess imparts,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pow’r they feel so well,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There may, perhaps, in such a scene<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some recollection be,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of days that have as happy been,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And you’ll remember me</span></strong>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">When coldness of deceit shall slight<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The beauty now they prize,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And deem it but a faded light<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Which beams within your eyes,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When hollow hearts shall wear a mask,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>‘Twill break your own to see.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In such a moment I but ask,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That you’ll remember me.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
</div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Now, Dick, for the story,” said Corp.
Jake.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>---------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Once before we have told in these
Musings the story we told that Christmas night at the campfire in the Virginia
mountains. As the great army of readers of the Spectator has increased since
that time, it may not be amiss to give it again in connection with our reminiscences
of the days in the long ago when we carried a musket in Uncle Sam’s army.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The memories of the song that Corporal
Jake and I have just sung,” said the Muser, “recall the long ago when I was
emerging into young manhood in dear old Hamilton, where I spent many happy
years as an apprentice at the printing business and preparing for the life of
work before me. The incident has long since been forgotten save by one here and
there who lives in the past. A young musician and his child wife came across
the sea to make their home in Canada, and Hamilton, with its small population
of not more than 10,000 seemed to hold out a friendly hand to the young
foreigners and decided them to go no further. Both were accomplished musicians,
but he excelled on the violin and guitar. The way opened to them as teachers,
and the future promised a prosperous and happy home in the town of their
adoption. Never of a robust nature, the severe climate of their second winter
in Hamilton was too much for the delicate child wife, who had been born and
raised in a foreign sunny clime, and she gradually faded away. How they hoped
and prayed for the warm summer months that would bring healing in balmy air to
the suffering one! She had to give up her work of teaching, but her love of
music was so great that even when her voice was too weak for song, she would
take a seat at the piano and play over the airs of her favorite opera, The
Bohemian Girl. In the summer twilight, when the din and bustle of outside life
seemed to be hushed around their humble cottage, the neighbors could hear
husband and wife playing, he on the violin and she softly the accompaniment on
the piano or guitar, from the songs they loved. Rarely did one of those
recitals end without one or more selections from The Bohemian Girl.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Death came slowly, but surely and
silently, to that little cottage home, and with the blossoming of the summer
roses, the child wife passed to the life of perpetual sunshine, music and
flowers. Out in the cemetery on the heights overlooking the beautiful bay of
Hamilton, neighbors and friends gently laid away the mortal remains of his
loved one, and the bereaved husband took up his sad life among the kind
neighbors who had known and ministered to his child wife. The sounds of music
from the lonely corner in the cemetery attracted the attention of passersby in
the lone hours of the summer nights. That was a superstitious age, and the
sweet strains of the arias from the Bohemian Girl as they came floating through
the sift summer night sounded uncanny to the listeners. One night when the moon
was shining brightly, a party of young folks plucked up courage to visit the
graveyard, and, secreting themselves on the side of the hill, to learn from
whence came the songs they too loved so well, saw the young musician
approaching the grave of his child wife. As he seated himself on the mound, and
for a moment bowed his head as if in prayer, he took from its case his violin
and began to play the arias from the opera that his wife loved so well and that
had comforted her in many a lonely hour during the closing months of her life.
Her favorite was Then You’ll Remember Me, and after playing through a score of
the other songs he ended his midnight serenade with that tender heart song.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">On almost every pleasant night during
the summer months was the midnight serenade repeated, and always the same
songs. No one broke in on his vigil, although he was never alone, for those who
had learned the story, rarely missed the privilege of being present, unknown,
however, to the bereaved musician. It would have been a sacrilege to intrude
upon his solitude. The cottage home was broken up, for the musician was without
relatives in Canada. With the approaching winter, his health began to fail, and
before the blooming of the spring flowers, he was compelled to give up his
scholars. Gradually his gentle life ebbed away, and early in the summer months,
strangers bore his remains to the grave and laid them beside his angel wife.
One night the small company of young who had first discovered the musician in
his midnight reverie, went out to the cemetery and, reverently kneeling at the
grave of the musician and his child wife, sang the selections from The Bohemian
Girl which both loved so well. It was a solemn hour for those who took part in
the service of song.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When the boys were weaving
recollections of the past, and interspersing the program with songs, the clouds
gathered for a storm, and the wind developed a gale. Tenting Tonight could not
be omitted, after which, as by one common impulse, the company rose to their
feet, uncovered their heads and reverently sang that song of all songs, Home,
Sweet Home. It was long past the hour of midnight, and no company of men ever
enjoyed such a Christmas. By this time, the storm became a fury, whirled great
sparks and cinders from the fires in wild and wide confusion. Our combustible shacks
caught the flying embers and burned with alarming ferocity. The whole landscape
was a scene of exciting conflagration. It was as grand as a battle. Before the
great blaze had died down, old Pap Fisher’s drum corps was beating the
assembly, the orderly sergeant’s command, “Fall in!” echoed far and wide, and
the boys were once more on their winding way. But few of the old boys are left
to answer roll call at the annual reunion.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></strong></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">AN
APPEAL TO YOUNG MEN<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Religion has somehow come to be looked
upon as sentiment, a something that is weak and valuable for the aged, or in
case of sickness or death, but not needful or suited for the young or a strong
life. And there has too often come into religion a softness and effeminacy that
may well fail to satisfy the mind of a thoughtful man, if indeed it does not
offend him. Religion needs to become more practical, more heroic, and to be
carried more into the great fields of thought and activity where the young men
live. They must have something more than to turn over the experiences in
meeting and talk about saving their souls. They may be well; but they want to
feel that they are in the grasp pf a powerful truth and under the inspiration
of lofty motives, and charged with the dignity of men, and sent forth to save
the world from darkness and sin. They want to feel that religion is not an
exceptional thing – a something apart from life. And upon the ministry of today
there is a weight of responsibility. The pulpit must not let the young men pass
from its power. It cannot hold them by mere commonplaces, or by issues long
dead and passed from living thought. Young men must be met on the battlefield
of today’s duty. And, O young men, you owe much to home, to a mother’s prayers
and a father’s love; much to the church and to society. They have helped you to
be what you are. Come a step further; to take your places in the line of battle
against sin; against the influence of the saloon; take your places in the field
where the harvesters are bending to the ripened grain; take your places at the
altars where hymns are chanted and paryers are offered; take your places in the
great work of humanity – bring all your thought, your morality, your strength,
your love, your heroism, and help mankind in the work, help your sisters and
your mothers fight intemperance; help God save the world. If you have strayed
from the path of right during the year that is now closing, remember that there
is hope for you if you will begin the new year with a sincere determination to
open up a clean chapter in life’s history. There are many pitfalls in the
pathway of a young man – the saloon, the gambling den, evil companions of both
sexes – and it is only by constant watch that temptation can be overcome. God
bless the youth of today, and may brightness and happiness be theirs this
blessed Christmas season. <o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;"><b>
</b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-38336388480438659512016-12-09T15:19:00.003-08:002016-12-09T15:19:44.573-08:001915-12-31ee
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Saturday
Musings <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Spectator December
31, 1915<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">A man who
loves boys and can sympathize and forgive many of their shortcomings, told the
Muser a bit of his own history. He was born on a farm almost within sound of
St. Paul’s chimes, and spent the first twelve years of his life clod-hopping on
the Flamboro hills. He had a loving mother and a father whose idea was to bring
up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord and to put them at work
on the farm as soon as they were old enough to pick bugs from the potato vines,
or other work that a great healthy boy of six or seven years ought to be able
to do. He was really a kind father in his way, but having been brought up from
childhood to hard work (and he never spared himself), he was determined that his
boys should be educated in habits of industry, even if they wasted but little
time in the country school house. Well, that boy stood it till he was about 14
years of age, and then he determined to paddle his own canoe, and get an
education. He was a husky boy and could plow and harrow, plant and sow, and
make an ordinary hand in the field. He was just such a boy as the average
farmer wanted, because he could hire his services cheaply, and get lots of work
out of him. In telling his story, he said a house, despite the grandeur of its
architectural proportions, never necessarily constituted a home. There are more
boys living in what to them are cages rather than a home. He could not complain
of lack of comforts in his father’s home, nor was anything grudgingly withheld
from him; but, after all, there was something, he could hardly define what,
that was missing. </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Being a country boy, </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN-US">his experience had been
confined to country life, and now that he had become the father of a family he
felt that the country boy was more to be pitied in his home surroundings than the
boy brought up in a village or a city. He has but few recreations compared with
the town boy, and there are always the odd jobs on the farm requiring his early
and late attention. The country boy has his daily duties to perform, and woe be
unto him if he ever forgets or neglects them. The cows have to be brought up
from the pasture field at night and driven back in the morning; the gaps in the
fences must be repaired; weeds must be kept down, the plants hoed; potato bugs
must not be allowed to get away with the potato crop; the water must be pumped
for the cattle and feed prepared for them. These are the regular routine work
on the farm, but the odd jobs are numberless, and by the time that his daily tasks
are ended, his wearied body is ready for bed, just about the hour that the town
boy is going to singing school or to some place of recreation in which to spend
the evening hours. The country boy is even too tired to read a chapter in
Baxter`s Saint`s Rest, or some such volume as may be found in the family
library.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></strong></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">There
is a trite saying that<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>``all work and no
play makes Jack a dull boy`.`The town boy has his share of odd jobs to perform,
but he has also many opportunities for recreation that come not within the
reach of the country boy. The father of the country boy rises early and works
late because he feels the necessity of making hay while the sun shines; and he
argues, if he must do this to make a home for his family, why should not his
boys do their part ? He must take advantage of the short Canadian summer to
make and gather his harvest. He was born and raised on a farm, and he proudly
boasts that there is not a more independent life. He is his own master and is
surrounded with every comfort, and can snap his fingers at the tax collector,
for he has always the money ready when the time comes to pay his share of
running the local government. However, his every effort is expended to
accomplish the maximum amount of work in the shortest possible time. The father
of the country boy was born and raised on a farm and forgets his boyhood days,
since they contained for him some things that were always not pleasant. He is a
good man in every sense of the word, but general conditions and surroundings
have had a tendency to narrow his views of that which goes to make a happy boy
life. He sees the necessity of continued and strenuous effort to accomplish the
tasks that he has learned so religiously to respect. “Make hay while the sun
shines” was drilled into him in his boyhood days, and he naturally feels that
his boy should be brought up in the same way, and do his share from the time he
is able to crush a potato bag between two stones. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A colt born in springtime is pampered
and petted for a couple of years because there is money value in the colt. But
there comes a time when the colt is broken to harness, and now he must his
share in the farm work, or is sold for a good price. He is a silky-nosed colt
no longer, just a plain horse. The country boy is a boy only until the time he is
big enough to be of service, then, like the colt, he is harnessed up for work,
and he is a boy no longer. He is allotted tasks that may not be too much for
his strength but they take the boy out of him and have a tendency to make him
old before his time. He passes from a stripling in short pants, with freckled
legs to the gosling class in long trousers, and the chances are ten to one that
the father never notices the transition stage till the boy develops into young
manhood. The father does not realize that he is no longer a boy, and that he
should have certain liberties and a stipulated allowance for his labor. The boy
is modest in his demands and does not ask the same pay that a hired man would
get, even though his labor is more profitable, for he feels an interest in his
father’s prosperity; but he would like to have some regular amount that he
could call his own, so that when the young people in the neighborhood are
getting up a garden party or a Sunday school picnic or an excursion, he can pay
his share of the expenses. This all he asks, and the father looks in wonder at
his audacity. Has he not reared the boy from infancy, clothed and fed him, and
now to think he would ask for pay! The day comes when there is an election, and
the stripling of only yesterday has now arrived at man’s estate. He announces
that he is going to take a half day off and go and vote with his dad. It comes
as a shock to dad. The father thinks of him only as a boy yet. Every farmer boy
likes to own his own horse and buggy, and when he makes the modest request, the
father tells him that boys are incapable of handling a horse, and that when he
gets older, he will think about it.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Our friend to whom we are indebted for
this chapter on country boys is now a well-to-do business man in Hamilton. He
said, in closing : “I do not intend to cast unworthy reflections upon the
father of the country boy, but to make him think that he has other
responsibilities than merely raising a boy to the slavish work on the farm when
he should be a boy and have a boy’s enjoyment of life. I left home at 14
because I saw no other chance of being anything but a farm hand without pay. I
am now a man of 35 years and have a boy of my own. He is no sluggard, but is
being trained to usefulness in life. He is getting an education to fit him for
the place he may occupy in the world’s activities. I occasionalkly go back to
the old Flamboro home and enjoy the day on the farm. My father is still
inclined to look upon me as an inexperienced youngster . The farmer should have
no work that cannot be paid for and if it is worth paying for, who should
deserve pay more than his own son? I have made it a rule to pay my boy when I
take him from his boy pleasures. It has taught him industrious habits, and a thrift
in saving money, and whenever an opportunity offers to run an errand for
someone else, where a penny can be earned, he drops his play to go. This is
work with some object in view, and that object is a pleasant one.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Make
men of your boys, but do not lose sight of the fact that in making men of them,
you must treat them as such. If this were done, fewer boys would leave the
country for city life. Instead of our boys seeking the too-often uncertainties
of a city life, they would remain on the farm and be independent. Educate your
boys to be business farmers instead of making them slavish farmhands. Never
forget that you were a boy yourself, and if you were deprived of the pleasures
of boyhood, see to it that your boy has a happy youth at least.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>----------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To brighten the lives with the romance
of love, especially of the younger generation, may not be out of the way, now
and then, for an old Muser. The stories and songs of other days are full of love
and romance. Were the boys and girls of the last century different to those of
the present day, or were they brought up in a simpler atmosphere and surrounded
by simpler influences? This is a problem hard to solve. Well, at a venture, we
will say that the boys of sixty and seventy years ago did not indulge in the cigarette
habit, nor did the girls expose the upper part of their upper bodies to the
vulgar gaxe in the street. One of those plain, outspoken preachers in a western
town said to his congregation, in the course of his sermon, that “Eve in the
Garden of Eden never discovered she was naked till she had eaten of the apple;
and,” said he, “I wish the young ladies of my congregation would eat more
apples.” There are a great many ways for accounting for things now and then.
Old-timers will remember the serenaders that made sweet melody at the midnight
hour in singing to their lady loves. Hamilton always had a reputation for its
singers and its musicians, and this talent was cultivated<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the singing schools which the young people
of both sexes attended. One could hear the songs of Stephen Foster, Come Where
My Love Lies Dreaming; The Evening Bells by Beethoven; Balfe’s Then You’ll
Remember Me; Moore’s Oft in the Stilly Night, and, as a farewell, Hatton’s
Goodbye, Sweetheart, Goodbye. Indeed, the jolly singers even attempted that
difficult but sweet melody, Shubert’s Serenade, written in the early years of
the last century, by the gifted composer as a farewell to the girl he could
only love in secret, for in those days it was the height of presumption for the
humble composer and teacher, the son of a peasant, to aspire to the hand of his
pupil, the daughter of a nobleman.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If you love the classical in music,
attend one of the many recitals at the Conservatory of Music, on James street
south, and the chances are Shubert’s Serenade will have a prominent place on
the program. If you have not read the history of that masterpiece of Shubert’s,
we will give it to you in brief as we found it in a magazine. Captious critics
have protested against the popularity of this familiar Serenade, and would even
now at this late day., though it was written one hundred years ago, rob the
divine author of this graceful little gem. While, the critics say, it is by no
means certain that Shubert is actually the author of the Serenade, yet they
unwillingly concede that the air reveals many traces of the style of the great
composer. The story, as we find it, tells us that <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the year 1816 witnessed the beginning of an
episode in Shubert’s life, quite different in many respects from what had
preceded. He was engaged by a Hungarian count to teach music to his family, two
daughters and a son. Shubert’s intercourse with this amiable family was very
pleasant, and in the course of it seems to have occurred the nearest approach
to a love affair that can be detected in his life. Caroline, the second
daughter of Count Esterhazy, was only eleven years of age when she became his
pupil. But as time elapsed and she became seventeen or eighteen, it is supposed
Shubert manifested symptoms of having fallen in loive with her. Caroline asked
him, in a moment of girlish coquetery, why he was dedicating so many delightful
works to other people, and he had never dedicated any to her. Shubert is said
to have replied, “Why should I?”Is not all that I have done been dedicated to
you? How could a man who was never in love have written that Serenade in which
all that is beautiful and scared for the love of a woman not come like a breath
from heaven? Never was the voice of love so passionate and so pure. He was the
son of a peasant, she was the daughter of a count.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But here is the story as it has been
told by one who admired Shubert, and it is so interesting that it will read by
the students at the Hamilton Conservatory who have so often played and sung the
Serenade. Toward the palace of the great Count Easterhazy a young musician
walked rapidly through the streets of Vienna one morning more than a hundred
years ago. Little had he slept that night, and with the sun he was up, brushing
away at his worn coat, and all the while wondering if it were true, or only a
dream, that he, the unknown Franz Shubert, was to have a nobleman’s daughter
for a pupil.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still, his beloved master, old Master
Heizer, often had said that sme day he would become famous as a teacher. Now he
was standing in the splendid hall of the palace and to him the Count was
saying, “This is my daughter, Caroline.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">She stood before him,
that great count’s daughter, a child in years, in innocence. Her ees – what mirrored
purities they were! She looked and gently pitied as she looked. She smiled and
touched such spark of love that it would glow in song, in other centuries in a
world grown old.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Ah ! how he lived for
but that lesson after that ! The week was all too long a time to wait. How when
he guided her dainty hands over the keys his own hands would tremble. How dumb
were words that lay within his heart! Did she understand that day when she
said, “Master, speak to me through the keys?”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">His souls spoke then.
His heart leaped forth as he played ! Could she know? Did she understand?<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">That evening came a
note from her/ “In three days we leave for Hungary to stay till autumn,” it
said.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Ah, could he but find
a way to give her the message in his heart which his lips refused to utter!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It was the night
before she was to leave. The air was still and the moon rode in the high
heaven. All the world lay in a shining veil. Love had led the master’s feet
till he stood beneath her chamber window, his head bowed to the jeweled sky, in
his eyes the purity of love supreme. It was spring, and spring’s spirit spoke
through the silver silence of the night, into his mind and heart and soul it
crept – ihto a life made magic by its call. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Nightingales for me
imploring,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sing in notes divine,’<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ev’ry tone of sweet lamenting,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breaches a sigh of mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">So Shubert sang his
Serenade, in that, the velvet night of love. So voiced he there, poor lover,
the magic of his immortal plea.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Softly it ceased, he
had come to the end measure, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that final
sighof the most perfect music of love. The Serenade – whose soul-satisfying
loveliness has thrilled the hearts of all who since have heard it. When next a
recital is announced in the Hamilton Conservatory, if Shubert’s Serenade is in
the program, be there to listen to it. If you have not the words, here they are
:<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Tho’ leaves the night
winds moving,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Murmur low and sweet;<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">To thy chamber window
roving,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love hath led my feet.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Silent prayers of
blissful feeling<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Link us, though apart,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">On the breath of
music stealing<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To thy dreaming heart.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Moonlight on the
earth is sleeping,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Winds are rustling low,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Where the darkling
streams are creeping, <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dearest let us go!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">All the stars keep
watch in heaven,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I sing to thee,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">And the night for
love was given,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dearest, come to me.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Sadly in the forest
mourning,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wails the whippoorwill;<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">And the heart for
thee is yearning,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hit it, love, be still. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-9900484559153087452016-09-17T12:20:00.001-07:002016-12-09T15:20:06.846-08:001915-05-29oo<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">1915-05-29</span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">On
the 9<sup>th</sup> day of April, 18165, when General Lee surrendered to General
Grant at Appomattox court house, the civil war in the United States
substantially ended, though General Tecumseh Sherman and General Joe Johnson,
General Canby and General Taylor, kept firing away at each other for a
fortnight afterward, not knowing when or how to quit. Those old warrior
generals had been fighting so long that it became second nature to them.
Strange to say that there never was any celebration of the greatest day in
American history. General Grant told the Confederates to take their horses and
all their equipments and go home and settle down peacefully. There was no
general hurrah by the Federal army over the victory that had been obtained
through four long years of bloody strife, and the men who carried the muskets
were only too glad to hear the welcome order to get back to their homes in the
north, to their families and their farms and their workshops. In the fifty
years that have passed, the generations that have been born since their fathers
and grandfathers fought to preserve the nation know little or nothing about the
civil war save what they read in story or history. Little do they think that in
that war more than in the war the northern army sacrificed 100,000 men and not
less than $10,000,000,000 of treasure. According to official reports, 2,772,
304 men fought in the ranks of the Union army, and on the Confederate side, it
is estimated that about 950,000 men were enrolled. The boys who answered their
first roll call in 1861 laid down their arms in 1865 seasoned veterans. And,
mind you, it was no picnic they had been enjoying during those four long years
from the time they left home until their return. It was a fair and square,
manly war between the north and the south, with no savage atrocities and no
barbarous excesses like we now read of in the present war; no murdering of
women and children and the sinking of unarmed vessels. The old soldiers are
being mustered out at the rate of ninety-six every twenty-four hours, or at the
rate of four every hour. The American government has dealt liberally with its
soldiers in the matter of pensions; and when the men have answered the last
roll call, their surviving wives are generously provided for, receiving $32 a
month, and upward. In Canada, there are 2602 men and women on the pension rolls,
drawing in the aggregate $520,820 a year. In Hamilton, there were fifty-nine
pension vouchers certified to last March, one half being for women. The civil
war began on the 12<sup>th</sup> of April, 1861, when the Confederates fired
the first hostile shot on Fort Sumpter, and the actual close was May 26, 1865,
by the surrender of the Confederate forces under General Kirby Smith – fifty years
ago last Wednesday.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Where General John A. Logan, of
Illinois, the greatest volunteer soldier of the nineteenth century, was
commander-in-chief of the grand army of the republic, he had a day set apart
once a year for the decoration of the graves of departed comrades – the 29<sup>th</sup>
day of May. That celebration will be observed in Hamilton. Of the sixty
pensioners who are always prompt about having their vouchers signed on pension
day, how many will be at the cemetery tomorrow to pay this mark of respect to
the memory of comrades who have answered the last roll call. There are not less
than three thousand American-born citizens living in Hamilton. The writer hopes
that, although they may be living temporarily or permanently in Hamilton, they
will spend an hour tomorrow afternoon in helping the small remnant of the grand
army post decorate the graves of their departed comrades. The committee on
decoration will be thankful for contributions of flowers, and they will be at
the Royal Templars’ new hall, corner of Main and Walnut streets, on Sunday
morning, to receive them. The members of the grand army and all who will take
part with them in the decoration services are requested to meet at the same
hall at half-past one o’clocj, to proceed from there to the cemetery.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">These vernal days of
spring almost take the life out one with their easy temperatures. But we are
never satisfied, and if we had the ordering of seasons and the weather, we
would make a sorry mess of it. The soldiers out in the Carpathian mountains,
who are trying to kill each other, would gladly exchange their weather for a
few days of Hamilton sunshine, budding trees and flowers, and for the velvet
carpet of green grass in the Gore. God help the soldiers who are fighting the
battles of the right. The Hamilton men in the trenches, in the lonely watches
of the night, are thinking of home and the loved ones, and those with wives and
children are looking forward to a time when the last shot will be fired and
they will come marching home to take up the old life in the workshop. That
picture brightens the soldier’s life in the trenches and on the firing line.
Only those who have stood on the firing line or spent the long, weary night on
the outpost as a picket guard can enter into the thoughts of a soldier. There
never was such a war as this one, and let us hope that never again will there
be another of its kind. It is barbaric murder. Those who are old enough to
remember the Chinese stinkpots fired into the camps of opposing forces will
realize the brutality of the Germans with their poisonous gases in the present
war. There will come a day of reckoning. It is bad enough to kill men in a
square, stand up fight, but to poison them with noxious gases is little short
of deliberate murder. No one would have suspected that the German people could
be guilty of such atrocities, for we know them only as good citizens, kind and
affectionate parents, and the most generous neighbors. During the civil war in
the United Staes we had a counterpart of the brutality of the Kaiser in the
person of Captain Wertz, who was in command of Andersonville prison. He was a
German with a commission in the Confederate army. There was no species of
cruelty that he was not equal to. A creek ran through the stockade in which the
union prisoners were confine, into which the filth of that prison camp was
emptied, and this creek was the only water supply for the camp. Across this
creek was a stream of cold water, but the filthy creek was made the deadline,
beyond which the Union prisoners were not allowed to pass under penalty of
being shot by the Confederate guard. Captain Wertz took so much enjoyment of
this cruelty that he used to watch the prisoners trying to steal across the
deadline, for the pleasure of seeing them shot down by the guard. Many a man
crazed from thirst would make a dash for the clear water beyond, to be shot to
death<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">----------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The other day the son
of one of these Andersonville prisoners called upon the writer in a business
way, and he told of his father, who yet has nightmares of the horrors of
Andersonville prison and Captain Wertz. He remembers the shooting down of the
men whose only crime was getting a drink of clear water to quench their burning
thirst. Driven to desperation, the prisoners united in a prayer meeting one
day, looking only to their Heavenly Father for relief from the brutality of Captain
Wertz. While they prayed, a stream of pure water burst forth far enough from
the deadline for the men to get it without the danger of being shot down by the
sentries, and the last we heard of it, that spring was still flowing through
the farm that was formerly Andersonville prison, and it is called the Miracle
spring. The Buffalo veteran referred to in this paragraph has a picture of the
old prison camp hanging prominently in his business office, with the Miracle
spring designated.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>-----------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">By the stroke of his
pen, the czar of Russia wiped out over $90,000,000 revenues that his government
was realizing annually from a monopoly in the manufacture and sale of vodka.,
the favorite intoxicating drink of the Russians. The world laughed at what it
deemed the folly of the czar in giving up so much revenue, and said it would be
of no avail as far as the suppression of the drink habit was concerned.
Probably in no other country could such an illustration of one man power be given.
Here in Canada and in the United States and in Great Britain spasmodic efforts
are made to check drunkenness by law, but there is always a string to the
legislation, that ends in failure. No so with the czar of Russia; when he
determined to put a stop to the sale of vodka in his country, there was no
string to his proclamation. The nobles as well as the humblest Russians were
included, and for the first time in the history of prohibitory laws, the world
has been taught a lesson that prohibition has a meaning, and that manufacture
and sale of intoxicating liquors can be prohibited. And the best of all is, the
proof comes from representatives of other governments who are stationed in Russia.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">John H. Snodgrass, consul-general
of the United States, stationed in Russia, sends a detailed report of the
operations of the new prohibitory law to his government, from which we gather a
few very interesting facts. He says that the prohibiting of selling brandy in
the government monopoly stores was introduced throughout the empire from the
beginning of the war, and now has been in force for over six months. One of the
Russian papers has made inquiries concerning the results of this measure, and
has published some of the statistical data that was collected. The following
list shows the consumption of vodka in the city of Moscow in 1914 compared with
the preceding year; July, 412,056 gallons in 1913 and 150,121 gallons in 1914;
September, 729,947 gallons in 1913 and 1,312 gallons in 1914. During the first three
months, vodka could be obtained at the first-class restaurants for the
consumption in the same, the selling of vodka in bottles being prohibited under
a fine of $1,500. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It is observed in the
manufactory districts that labor has become much more productive than when
intoxicating liquors were sold. Formerly at the Moscow mills many of the
workmen would not appear on Monday, and a number of those who did were unfit
for duty in consequence of their Sunday excesses. This is no longer the case;
both the quality and quantity of labor have improved. What a blessing it would
be for Canada if this same condition existed.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>-------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Respectability,
who believes in the rights of his manhood to take a drink when he wants it, and
is opposed to any law that will deprive him of that privilege, take off your
hat to the unfortunate drunkard you meet in the street, for he is a man after
your own heart. He has been doing his share of paying taxes through the
internal revenue and the saloon-keepers taxes, and has for years been asserting
his manhood. Probably there was a time when he would drink a social glass or
let it alone. He has got beyond that stage now, and his bleary eyes tell the
story. Evidently the Good Lord cannot help him, but this great country of
Canada can help him by doing what the czar of Russia has done. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-8080957742888685882016-06-26T09:47:00.001-07:002016-06-26T09:47:04.809-07:001915-04-17uu
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Back
in the year 1884, a couple of enterprising fellows got up an advertising pamphlet
for a few of the leading business houses of Hamilton, and to make it spicy and
readable, they devoted a number of pages to historical sketches of men who had
done things in Hamilton, and whose enterprise should be handed down to future
generations. Unfortunately, these paper-covered histories find their way to the
wastepaper basket and are lost forever, except the parties interested may file
them away never to be seen again till house-cleaning time, when the good wife
bundles them off to the ragman. This old Muser feels that he is doing some good
to the future historians in preserving <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the sketches of these ancient Hamiltonians by
reproducing them in this Great Family Journal. Senator Sanford, the founder of
the great establishment <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that bears his
name, spent his early boyhood in Hamilton, and was fortunate that he had as a
foster father a man of Edward Jackson’s large and generous heart, for he had
not only the advantages of a good public school education, but when he was
ready to begin the active duties of life, he had the large bank account<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of Mr. Jackson to back him up. That he proved
himself worthy was evidenced by his successful business career. Beginning in a
small way, he was no loiterer by the way, for when his journey in life was ended,
he left a handsome fortune and a business that keeps on making fortunes for his
successors. As a recreation from business cares, he took an interest in the
politics of his country and in the benevolent and local enterprise of his home
city, and that he gave with a free hand to the church and benevolences was
well-known. The sketch is worthy of being read even though it was written and
published more than thirty years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This house was established in June,
1851 by W. E. Sanford and Alexander McInnes, under the firm name of Sanford,
McInnes and company, with a capital of $20,000, and the senior member of the
firm by his indomitable push and perseverance showing the samples of the
manufactures of the house in every nook and corner of the provinces, built up a
manufacturing trade, Mr. McInnes, taking charge of the office and
warehouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the date of the
establishment of this house, no industry was at such a low standard as the
readymade clothing business. The question of style and finish was not even
thought of, price only was considered. Overcoats at from $2.25 to $5, any price
beyond this excluded the goods from the market. Suits made up cheaply as
possible were alone saleable, style and finish being altogether out of the
question, goods were made up without reference to shape or form. Mr. Sanford,
by his travels, having thoroughly felt the public pulse throughout the country,
the firm realized that the day had come for a sweeping revolution in this
department of trade. The firm set about in good earnest to fill the bill; they
engaged the services of a number of skillful artisans from the neighboring
republic, and from that day forward, Mr. Sanford’s chief study was to keep
thoroughly up with the American standard of readymade clothing, and the
standard of this house was universally accepted as being second to none in the
world.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The warehouse in which
the firm commenced business was the center of the three buildings now occupied
by W. E. Sanford and Co.; it had a frontage of 25 feet, three stories high, and
running back half the length of the lot, with a small extension in the rear.
This small store has given way to a building of the first rank, with a frontage
of 75 feet and 140 feet deep, four stories high, provides a commodious basement
under the entire building. The partnership expired by limitation to 1871, and
Mr. McInnes retired and joined his brother in the wholesale dry goods trade. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-indent: 35.45pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Sanford then
invested two of his employees with a small interest in the business, which was
carried on under the name Sanford, Vail & Riddley. The same indomitable
pluck and perseverance which had in so marked a degree been displayed in the
past continued, the business rapidly growing the next five years when Mr.
Riddley retired in 1875. The business was then carried on for some years as
Sanford, Vail & Co. Thus far we have given but a brief sketch of the
business career of one of the most successful enterprises in the Dominion.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Whenin lies the
secret of success? We shall see. As a good captain who is thoroughly skilled in
navigation steers his shape safely past the shoals and rocks into port, so we
shall find upon investigating the inner works going into the cabin as it were –
that the man in command had mastered all difficulties and earned success as
much as Wellington did in the field of Waterloo: read the rest of the story as
see if the humble editors are correct. The chief of this great establishment,
Mr. W. E. Sanford, being one of the men who, with a handful of others, have
made Hamilton the thriving center of trade it is, the story of his life,
briefly told, will be interesting. His birthplace was New York City; his father
was an American and his mother English. But as both died during his childhood,
the greater part of his early life was spent with his adopted father, the late
Edward Jackson, who is mentioned in the historical sketch of Hamilton as one of
the first men who opened business here.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">As 16 years of age, young
Sanford found employment in a wholesale publishing and stationery house in New
York City, and now we shall shortly see the man in the boy as the old proverb
has it. He continued in this house until his 21<sup>st</sup> year, and was to
have an interest in the firm. Owing to the death of the senior member of the
firm, and the consequent readjustment of the business, Mr. Sanford was thrown
out. True worth finds its level, and the young Sanford’s abilities and talent
as a commercial traveler were recognized by a rival house, and he was urged to
make an engagement with them at a salary of $3,000 a year, which at the day was
a figure seldom reached by the best men even in that city of large salaries. Young
Sanford, however, feeling sore over his disappointment in not having secured an
interest in the business of his late employers, thanked the gentleman who made
him the generous offer, but declined, with the remark, “I am determined never
again to accept a position of clerk in any firm.’ How doggedly he kept his
resolution, the following lines will show. A week afterwards we find him in
London, Canada, having entered the foundry business under the name of Anderson,
Sanford & Co. Eighteen months later, Mr. Sanford withdrew from this firm
and entered the wool business. In two years’ time, we find him in complete
control of the wool market of the country, and generally known under the
sobriquet of “the Wool King of Canada.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Sanford, in
connection with some gentlemen in New York, at this period, made the first
shipment of 29 carloads of Canadian butter to the gold mines of Fraser river,
British Columbia, which at this first were in full operation.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A few months later, Mr.
Sanford entered on the business, where for 22 years he so successfully carried on
in the spot where the elegant warehouse now stands. The history of such men comprises
the history of a town. The growth of such a man’s business is the growth of the
city. From a small beginning, with the first year’s sales of $32,000, this
great house had grown until its sales for several years reached nearly a
million a year. It employed nearly 2,000 people in the manufacture of clothing.
, without doubt the largest and leading house in that branch of trade in the
Dominion, and unquestionably almost, if not quite doubled the business of any
other house in Canada. One has only to gaze through their vast warehouse to see
the piles of manufactured and unmanufactured clothing, together with their
system of working, to see the method, almost like music, by which every
department works under its proper head, to be convinced of its magnitude. The
whole establishment is a model of order. The office and staff, the Canadian and
foreign buyers, the warehouses, the shipping room, the manufacturing
department, the retailing room, the buttonhole department, are all worked under
proper heads, who employ and discharge all help.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">One of the advantages
of the firm was the system adopted, in the early stages of its career, of
employing a large number of German tailors. These men took the work by lots of
19 to 30 hands. Each man having some part of the work to perform secured to the
firm a uniformity of style and finish impossible in any other system. The
Canadian government felt the want of having their military goods manufactured
in a uniform manner. Now, it is patent that no firm in the country are in a
position to handle this trade anything near on an equality with Sanford and
company. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">An interesting fact
in the cutting room was the cost of these curious cutting machines, amounting
to $1,000 each, which, with their surplus arms, are capable, in the hands of an
expert, of being run in any direction; of these, Mr. Sanford had two in
constant operation. One of the troublesome bits of labor on the part of cutters
by the old hand shears is the cutting of notches in the cloth at certain points
for the guidance of the tailor. An ingenious inventor had provided a notcher
about the size of an old-fashioned candlestick to do this work, but carefully
made his fortune by fixing its price high – at 50 cents each. Mr. Sanford’s
establishment was, of course, fully equipped with all that mechanical art can
supply. In the matter of buttons, a machine button is used, which is stronger
than any thread could attach, and placed on garments with the speed of the
ticking of a clock.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">As an example of the
perfect working of this system, Mr. Sanford himself pointed to a young girl in
charge of the cash desk of the work room, saying: “There is a young lady who
has amounts from 70 cents to thousands of dollars a day in paying out wages,
and while she has handled from $150,000 to $200,000, never yet has she made a
mistake of a penny.” The precision and regularity is so uniform in every
department that no losses are incurred. The goods are entered in the workroom,
and all work going out is charged to the parties who handle it; then the
receiving department is chargeable until the work is paid for, and if the goods
are not in the proper department they must show up in the sales, so that there
is no possibility of loss. Every garment, from the time it is cut is followed
until it is shipped to the customer, so that when 500 garments have been cut,
there must have been 500 in stock or else the sales must account for them.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A very large
proportion of Hamilton industries have been born and nursed by a few leading
pubic-spirited citizens. Mr. Sanford, with the few in the front rank, took an
active part in the boards of insurance, banks and educational institutions,
until quite recently but found his own business growing so rapidly and
demanding his entire time, and was obliged to withdraw and devote his whole
energies to the huge concern he has so successfully created.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The great work of
establishing the trade of the house was mainly done by Mr. Sanford himself, who
pushed his trade from the east to the west. Mr. Sanford was the first
commercial representative to visit the Red River country in the days of Riel,
and in the early days of confederation, when a Canadian was received with the
greatest coldness in the Maritime provinces. Mr. Sanford was foremost in
pushing his business in that section. At the request of the Great Western railway,
he went to British Columbia when it wa received into confederation and arranged
for the shipment of freight through in bond; and hs early, energetic efforts
being ably followed up by competent representatives, the great increase of business
in these later years is the natural result of his in dominatable energy in that
province. The firm now employs an army of commercial travelers, who
periodically push their weat throughout the length and breadth of our great
Dominion, visiting every one of its thousands of villages, towns and cities in
British North America.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A few more words and
we have done. This great institution, the structure raised by the vigorous and
prudent push and enterprise of W. E. Sanford himself, is itself the greatest
tribute and testimony to his genius, and while working himself, he abled in
making others successful. While his talents were developed by his own efforts,
others caught the fire. Some very bright men occupying eminent positions are
not ashamed to say they have been in Mr. Sanford’s employ. One of the greatest
railway men of this continent,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John
Muir, general manager of the Northern Pacific railway, began life, as the first
office boy in this establishment. The constant tribute to this city’s business
in the distribution of salaries to the hundreds of employees of such a firm is
not the least of the benefits Hamilton receives from the house. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-15893898717732183902016-06-16T11:47:00.003-07:002016-06-16T11:47:55.842-07:001915-03-20oo
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Digging
up historical reminiscences is often better work than trying to write them, for
then we get recollections of others. In the year 1883, when Frederick W.
Fearman had rounded out fifty years’ residence in Hamilton, his wrote a very
interesting story of events, dating back to the year 18-2. These will be
interesting reading, not only to the old stagers but to the younger
generations. It proceeds as follows :<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Fifty years ago this
month in 1833, our family came from Norfolk, England in the New Post packet
ship Ontario. We were on the ocean six weeks, and two weeks on the Erie canal
to Oswego. Then we took passage on a schooner to Port Dalhousie, and from
thence to Hamilton in royal style on a farmer’s hayrack. Hamilton was but a
small place then. There were but three brick houses in it, and the bush came to
the corner of Wellington and King. Wellington street was called Lover’s Lane.
It was beautifully shaded with forest trees at that time, and for some years after.
Mr. Peter Hamilton’s fields reached down John street close to the wood market,
and the boys used to have grand times gathering hickory nuts. His residence was
on the spot where Mr. W. Hendrie now lives, and the farm gate was on Main
street. At Dundurn, the woods commenced again, and there was a crooked, narrow
sandy road to the old bridge. Splendid duck shooting was to be had at the
heights; black duck, mallard, teal and now and then a canvasback. Redheads and
coweens were not carried home in those days. Thousands of wild pigeons also
would fly over this place, as they would come up to the high ground from over
the lake and bay, they could be knocked down by sticks or shot by the hundreds.
This bird seems to have left this part of the country altogether now.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“On the southeast
side of the city, there were but very few houses south of Main street. The old
Springer homestead was located near thecorner of Hunter and Spring streets, and
in the fall, in cider-making time, it was the spot where the boys most did
congregate, and good long straws were in requisition. The lakeside was, in
summer, a busy place then, as the wharves were building, and there were a good
many hotels down there. Some of them have disappeared. The old hospital is one
of them., and the Burlington glass works is another, and the roughcast building
on the corner of Macnab and Burlington streets another, but the glory of that
locality has departed. The opening of the Great Western railway changed the
travel and traffic to other parts of the city. Hamilton was noted for its dust
and dirt. On a windy day, it was almost unbearable.The clouds of dust would
sweep down York and King and Main streets so as to put a stop to business and
all trades suffered very much from this cause. It was after one of those days
that I wrote a petition to the mayor to call a meeting to take into
consideration what was the best plan to provide water for the city. The meeting
was held. John Fisher, mayor, was chairman, myself secretary,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and from that meeting sprang our waterworks,
which have been such vast benefit to the community.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“The Gore was a very
Sahara – dust, sand and mud the most of the year. I have seen this spot nearly
filled with long, white-covered emigrant wagons, on their way from the eastern
states to the then far west of Illinois, Western Ohio and Indiana. They would
come there for the night with their cattle and horses, sleep in the wagons or
prairie schooners, as we used to call them, and at break of day, they were
gone. Next evening, another lot would be resting there. What has been the
result of this immigration? Look at the cities, towns and farms of these states
today. I was told then that the farm was sold to the first man on it for one
dollar an acre, and if not taken up the first year, after survey, then 75
cents, next 50 cents, and if not taken up them, they were called swamp lands,
and sold to anyone who would give 25 cents an acre for them. But the first sale
was to actual settlers only. It is evident that the railway scoops, temperance
society society grabs, and ministerial boomers had not then come into
existence, as almost all the tillable land of those states was taken up by
actual settlers. I remember the day of the Queen’s coronation. It was the first
celebration of the kind held here, and a jolly time we had – bonfires and
fireworks of a primitive kind. I don’t think we had any firecrackers. Anyway, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the boys were better than they are now, and
wouldn’t use if they had. There were some hotels of note. The old Promenade
house was the principal one. It stood where the Bank of British North America
stands now. It was the stage house. The arrival and departure of the stage was
quite an event, and caused a great stir, as it was the most rapid and stylish
mode of travel. This house was also the resort of commercial men, and the host
(Burly) was well known by all travelers. The Cambria house was kept by a Mr.
Cattermode, who was also an emigrant agent, whose books were very severely
commented upon, as he, like those of that ilk of the day, was apt to draw the
long bow. The house was situated at the corner of John and Main streets, and
was principally patronized by old country emigrants of the better sort, and it
was celebrated as a place where they got rid of a good deal of money and a good
deal of whiskey which could be had pure at 16 cents a gallon. There was also
another hotel on the spot where Wanzer’s factory is now, kept by Mr. Chatfield,
and it was noted as the house where all the big bugs were put up, and at that
time we stayed our first night in Hamilton. It was found on that occasion that
individuals did reside at this establishment, and they nearly ate us up, and
the reputation was a correct one.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“There is now but one
building on the Gore that was there then – I mean D. Moore Co.’s on King street
east. The buildings in this section were all of one or two stories, of wood. I
do not know of but two men who are in business now who were doing business
then, and they are John Winer and Dennis Moore. All have passed away, and I now
find more names of acquaintances in our city than I can in the city. Such is
life.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Times were hard soon
after this. In ’34, ’35 and ’36, business was bad; no money, prices were low.
All trade and truck; no cash for anything. The storekeepers used to print their
own shinplasters, and each run a bank of his own. He was president, and board
of directors both, until the government put a stop to it. Wages were very low.
Laboring men, 50 cents to 75 cents per day, or less. Mechanics, not much more,
paid in truck. Produce was very cheap. Butter 7 to 9 cents; eggs, 5 cents;
whitefish 3 to 4 large ones for a quarter; potatoes 15 cents a bushel, wood $1
to $2 a cord, meats, grains and flour equally low, but still hard to get, as
there was no trade, business or money. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>General discontent prevailed, and the
Rebellions of ’37 took place. The Family Compact were wiped out; responsible
government became a fact, and the country prospered.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Some years after
this, the Indians surrended the townships of Seneca and Oneida, and they were
surveyed and sold to actual settlers at $4 and $5 an acre. The lands were taken
up at once, and many of the lands were paid for by half the pine timber on
them. I helped survey this land under Mr. Kirkpatrick, P.L.S. I mention this to
show the extraordinary rise in the value of timber since then. These fine large
pines were often sold at from $1 to $2 apiece. Mr. Bradley, of the city,
informs me that he pays from $80 to $1000 for each of them. There was plenty of
very fine walnut , also cut into lumber at $15 and $20 a thousand, which is now
worth $100 for the same quantity, and none to be had in this locality. These
lands are now worth from $50 to $80 an acre.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“The churches were
few and far between. Old King street Methodist was in use, although I have seen
it full of sheep since then. It was afterwards repaired and used for divine
service. There were no Episcopal, Presbyterian, or Catholic churches here. Rev.
Mr. Geddes used the court house. As to schools, I first went to a school called
‘Miss Sewell’s Select Ladies’ Establishment’, where a few lads were admitted.
It was kept on the corner of King and Walnut streets. I think the name is on it
still, and the building has not had a coat of paint since then. A Mr. Randall
also had a large school in the old Cambria house on John street, lately pulled
down by Mr. Hoodless. Mr. Randall was a club-footed man, but could throw a
ruler straighter than a shot. Most of the teachers then were men who were
unable to make a living in any other way. I often think of them in comparison
with the twelve schools, the 116 teachers and 6,000 scholars of Hamilton today.
I give you a few extracts from the early public school records of a later date
: ‘The earliest data of the public schools in this city go back to 1847 – a
period of 36 years. At that time, <span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">the city was divided
into six sections each of which there was one schoolhouse, containing one
school room, presided over by one school teacher. One of those schools is
described as good, four as midling, and one as inferior. Two were 18 by 20
feet, and two 22 by 24 feet.The houses were all frame buildings, four in
ordinary repair, two in bad repair. All were suitably provided with desks and
seats, according to the idea of the time, four had special arrangements for
ventilation, not one had a playground. Of these six school buildings, only one
was owned by the board, the others were rented. There were no fewer than 28
private schools in Hamilton; today there are not two worthy of the name.
Central opened in 1853, preparations occupied three years.’<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: .5pt;">“I do not remember by
one wholesale house. This was Colin C. Ferrie and company’s, a large, white
clapboard structure on the corner of King and Hughson, where the Bank of
Commerce is situated. They did quite a large business. The manufacturers were
slim. There was a Mr. Harris’ gun maker, where Myles’ coal office stands, and
he would perhaps turn out a gun or rifle a month, but they were noted as good
articles. There was also a man, on the corner of John and Jackson streets,
known for making good augers, and I guess he could turn out a dozen or so in
the year. There were no railways. The </span></span></strong></span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">first railroad
meeting was held on the wood market, on John street, and an ox was roasted, or
rather warmed, as when it was cut up was as raw as an east wind, and used as a
baseball now; the catchers, however, coming off the worst. Long since then I
have been 24 hours on the road between the Falls and here, and travel all the
time, and twelve to fourteen hours between here and Toronto. I think that the
first steamer we had was the John By, a small craft that was afterwards wrecked
on Marygold Point, across the lake. When she came in at Land’s wharf, where the
H. & N. W. elevators is now, there was quite a commotion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Now all this is
changed. We live in the best age the world ever saw. An age of steam railways,
telegraphs, telephones, quick transit and passage, low postage and a greater
share of comforts to the whole people; less political wrangles and greater
catholicity of spirit amongst the different denominations of the land :
churches and schools everywhere, and a regard for the Sabbath that is
observable by everybody. Our merchants and manufacturers, with equal railway
facilities, ask odds from no one. They are princes in their calling, and their
motto is, as it always has been, ‘I advance.’ I consider Hamilton to be the
most pleasantly and favorably situated city in Canada. Its location at the
brink of the lake and bay is beautiful. It is now clean and well-provided with
water, and there are as fine buildings, residences, churches and public offices
as are to be found anywhere, and also thousands of houses that are principally
owned by the people who live in them – built out of their earnings since they
came here. Most of the streets are well-planted with shade trees and well-dranied.
The soil is excellent. All varieties of fruit and vegetables suitable to this
climate are grown here and vicinity to perfection, as our market will
demonstrate. I joined with a few of the people on Park street in planting the
first street with shade trees and now almost all the private streets are
planted with them. We have copied a good deal in the matter from the States,
and we have considerable to learn. The habit of throwing old boots, stovepipes,
etc.into the street will have to be got rid, many of the ugly high fences taken
away, and the old leaves from trees swept <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>up tidily, good asphalt sidewalks provided,
and the streets kept in better repair, and last and most important of all, two
or more good parks set apart and made free to the people before we can be
called a first-class city. I hope to see this done. We had once the opportunity
to purchase Dundurn for less than $25,000. It was prevented by a few who would
oppose any improvement, and though we could have been greatly benefitted by the
purchase, the opportunity was lost, and now we must do the next best thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It is like looking
backward into some other world to read Mr. Fearman’s letter, written
thirty-three years ago, of incidents occupying in Hamilton away back in 1833.
Probably no man in his day knew more about Hamilton than did Mr. Fearman. For
long years, he was connected with its business and social interests, and he
organized a business, now conducted by his sons, that was not only profitable
to himself, but of great value to producers on the farm and to city consumers.
Such a letter should not be lost or forgotten in the future history of
Hamilton, and therefore we gave it a place in the Saturday Musings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-62401177129568224522016-06-01T07:11:00.001-07:002016-06-01T07:11:49.547-07:001915-05-08ak
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A
Methodist minister in this city on last Sunday preached a practical sermon on
giving help to others. He quoted that passage which tells us that we brought
nothing into the world and we take nothing out of it, therefore the folly of
hoarding up money for others to squander. While it is true that we can take
nothing out of this world, yet it is a duty as well as a pleasure we owe to
ourselves as well as to those dependent upon us to lay by a portion of our
earnings as we journey through life, so that when age or infirmity come upon us
we will not have to call upon the city for relief. And if there is no one
depending upon us, or if we have to leave it to distant relatives, what a
delightful scramble they have over it, and what pickings there are for the
lawyers! An old bachelor married a young woman whose home was within sound of
St. Paul’s chimes. It was a case of May and December, but December had the
wealth and May had youth and good looks. The old man left quite a fortune to
his young wife, and, besides that, her husband’s brother left a few thousands
which came to her. But a cousin of her husband’s, two or three times removed,
hankered after some of her wealth, and she butted with a lawsuit when the will
was being probated, declaring that the old man was not as sound of mind as he
ought to be, and the result was two or three years’ delay, a bench of judges,
and all the lawyers that could possibly get into the case, all doing their
level best to beat the young widow. To make a long story short, the case was
finally settled by the payment of a certain amount to the cousin, $15,000 court
expenses, and a few of the thousands to the lawyers. It is a hard matter to
make a will that will stick, so after all, so after it was not bad advice the
parson gave when he suggested that to spend a little in benevolence as one
passes through life is not an bad idea. Captain J. R. Foraker, of the United
States army, made a will in 1910, dividing his estate among his sisters and a
brother. A year or two afterward, the captain got married, but neglected to
make a new will or provide for his young wife, and when he died recently, the
will came to be probated, and his father, formerly Senator of Ohio, and his
sisters and brothers learned for the first time of its conditions. Did they
grab the estate, which amounted to $50,000, and leave the young wife penniless?
Not much. They promptly signed a voluntary waiver by which they relinquished
all claim to the estate, and the father is administering the will in the
interest of his daughter-in-law.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Albert Bigelow, at
one time a leading merchant in Hamilton, brought nothing into the world, nor
even to the city of Hamilton when he came into it a young man from his home
across the seas. He began his business life in this city in a humble way, but
by careful management he accumulated a fortune of over $86,000 in the crockery
business. His store was on the south side of King street, between James and
Hughson. Albert Bigelow was an active man in the affairs of this city sixty and
seventy years ago. He was not much of a mixer among men outside of business
matters, but was always liberal in giving to worthy objects. He kept a bachelor’s
home on upper James street, and one of his greatest pleasures was to lay in a
hammock, swung on the verandah of his home, and keep time to the sound of the
chimes of the Church of the Ascension. Richard Juson, who owned the nail
factory on the corner of Cannon and Hughson streets, and also a hardware store
on James street, where now stands J. W. Robinson’s department store, was one of
the leading members of Ascension church, and presented the church with a chime
of bells, but through an error somewhere one of the bells was left out. Albert
Bigelow was a Presbyterian, and he had a horror of a chime of bells, as much so
as did the ancient Presbyterians object to the introduction of a “kist of
whistles” into the services of the church. But the chimes grated harshly on his
ears on the calm summer Sabbath mornings, and he would lay in his hammock and
keep time to the Runic rhyme of the bells.
“Damn-Dick-Juson-and-his-chime-of-bells!” The good angel no doubt marked out that
little damn, considering his beneficent gifts to the three homes for poor
children which were then in existence in this city. We have heretofore given a
brief history of Mr. Bigelow, so it will not be necessary to retell the story.
On the 5<sup>th</sup> of July, 1873, Albert Bigelow thought it about time to
settle his worldy affairs according to his wishes, so that there would not be
any litigation about the disposition of his property after he would pass away.
He had neither wife, nor children, having spent his life as a single man. It
used to be told of him that in his youthful days, he loved a beautiful girl and
that all arrangements were made for their marriage when the angel of death
called her home. He never loved again. Mr. Bigelow selected as executors of his
estate two prudent men, T. M. McKenzie, of Dundas, and William Proudfoot, one
of the leading attorneys in Hamilton, having full confidence in their business
ability that the trust would be carefully handled. He had two sisters living in
the city of New York, and to each of them he willed $10,000, and to his
faithful housekeeper, Margaret Hefferman, he left $1,000. The balance of the
estate, amounting to $65,106, after the repayment of the court costs and the
fees for the administrators, was to be divided equally between the Childrens’
industrial school, the Hamilton Orphan asylum, and the Boys’ Home. The
Industrial school is now known as the Girls’ home, 179 George street, the
orphan asylum is now known as the Aged Woman’s Home, 195 Wellington street, the
Boys’ home has kept its original name. Nearly $60,000 was divided among these
institutions through the beneficence of Mr. Bigelow, and yet the name of the
generous donor has long since been forgotten, and as none of the anniversary
occasions is even mention made of him. Rip Van Winkle said after his twenty
years’ sleep in the Katskill mountains, on his return to the village of Falling
Waters, ‘How soon we are forgotten when we are gone.’<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">One day last week the
board of managers of the Aged Women’s home invited the public to attend the
dedication of the new wing that had lately been completed to the building. This
enlargement now increases the accommodation so that fifty or more old ladies
will have a happy home in which to spend the remaining years of life. It was
through the benevolence of Mrs. John Thompson, who died recently, that this was
made possible at this time. Mrs. Thompson provided in her will a gift of
$10,000 for the enlargement of the home, and an additional sum as a trust fund,
the interest of which was to pay the entrance fee of old ladies without money
or friends to pay for them. What better use could the kind-hearted Mrs. Thompson
make of her money than to provide for the comfort of those who might otherwise
be homeless. It beats giving to foreign missions. The other day when William
Vallance’s will was probated, the Aged Women’s home was not forgotten, for he
left $1,000 towards its endowment fund. The management of the home is in the
hands of a careful board of trustees of men and women, who not only give of
their time, but are generous givers of money. They will always be glad to
receive gifts of money to perpetuate one of the best institutions in the city.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Aged Women’s
Home, with the new wing added, is said to be one of the finest homes of the
kind in Canada, and the manner in which it is conducted and provided for is a
credit to the thoughtfulness of the men and women who have been its managers
from the day it first opened<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>its doors
for the admission of its first occupants. Every comfort that money can supply
is provided for the dear old ladies, who otherwise might have suffered because
of their lonely condition. Mrs. W. C. Brekenridge, who has been an active
members of the board of managers for many years, read a very interesting
history of the institution from its beginning. While the names of some of the
early donors to the home are recorded in the minutes, from which Mrs.
Brekenridge briefly quotes, no mention whatever is made of the liberal donation
made by Albert Bigelow, which we learn amounted to over $17,000. Everybody in
the early days was interested in the orphan asylum, and liberal donations were
made. As the cost of the new wing was greater than Mrs. Thompson provided for
in her will, the managers have a deficit of some $6,000 to provide for.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Here is Mrs.
Brekenridge’s paper : <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The erection of our
new wing has led to many questions being asked regarding the history of this
building. There seems to an impression with not a few that this home was once a
private residence, so perhaps a few extracts from our early records may be of
interest at this meeting.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Ladies’
Benevolent society was organized in 1846, and in 1848, these ladies established
an orphan asylum, and in connection with it a day school for the children of
the poor. Through the ravages of the cholera in 1847 there were many destitute
orphans left upon the town who found a home in the orphan asylum, and over 100
children attended the day school; and we read that the public examinations at
Christmas in the city hall, showed the progress both in religious and in
general knowledge the children were gaining. With such numbers there was urgent
need for a larger building, and in 1851, the mayor, John Fisher, gave 100
pounds toward the erection of an orphan asylum. There were also donations of 20
pounds from John street Presbyterian church, 35 pounds surplus fund from the
Hamilton assemblies, and 10 pounds, 5 shillings from the Historic society. In
all, 681 pounds and 2 pence were subscribed, and the building committee –
Sheriff Thomas, John Fisher, John Young and Edward Jackson – elected the site
where we now are.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In the fall of 1854,
the building we now occupy was completed at a cost of 1,602 pounds, 12
shillings and 7 ½ pence, Mr. Fisher adding to his first gift 94 pounds for
fences and outbuildings, and Nehemiah Ford 10 towards the cost of painting and
glazing. The churches – Wesleyan, Knox, St. Andrew, Christ, Ascension and Park
street and John<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>street Baptists – sent
their contributions to the work, and 8 pounds, 2 shillings and 6 pence were
received from the firemen’s ball. Through the influence of Sir Allan Macnab, M.
L. A., the first grant of 100 pounds was received from the government. In 1854,
free education having been provided by the city council and the Central school
opened, the day school for destitute children (or, as it was then called, the
destitute school) was given up and the orphans received the undivided attention
of the valuable superintendent and matron, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson. The work of the
Benevolent society was actively carried on. Over 5,000 loaves of bread, 161
cords of wood, groceries, bedding and clothing were given to those in need. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The work was then, as
now, supported by the generosity of the public. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1850, the ward collections amounted to over
200 pounds, and in 1854, in addition to the Building Fund, there were donations
of almost 600 pounds.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">These few extracts
taken from the records of 60 years ago are perhaps of greatest interest to
those among us to whom the names of the early workers in this society bring
remembrance of kindred and friends.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In 1877, through the
bequest from Mrs. Edward Jackson, who had been treasurer from the beginning of
the society, with the addition of money bequeathed to the home years previously
by Mrs. Hess, additions and alterations were made for the Aged Women’s home
department of our work.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In the intervening
years, changed conditions brought changes in the character of our work. Many
societies have arisen for the care of the poor. The orphan now finds a home
through the work of the Children’s Aid society, and to us remains the care of
the aged and infirm.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The outstanding
events of this year’s work have been given to you in the reports just received,
with an account of the receipts and expenditures.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">On last Sunday the
congregation of the Macnab street Presbyterian church celebrated the sixtieth
anniversary of its organization, and a brief sketch of its history in these
musings may not be out of place. Nearly ninety years ago, the first
Presbyterian congregation was organized in this city, and a frame church was
built on John street, about the middle of the block where the Gurneys afterward
built their foundry. The members were mainly composed of Americans, and the
church was known as the Revival Presbyterian. John Fisher and Dr. Calvin
McQuesten, proprietors of the first foundry built in Hamilton, on the site
where now stands the Royal hotel, and J. P. Dickerman, were the founders of the
church, and the Rev. David Marsh was its first pastor. Dr. Marsh continued<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as pastor until 1835, when he was succeeded
by the Rev. Mr. Firman, who was pastor for about three years, and shortly
afterward the church ceased to exist. When the Methodists decided upon having a
central church down town, for the King street church was then far out, being on
the corner of King and Wellington streets, a number of members<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>from the King street church leased the White
church on John street, as the Revival Presbyterian was then known by that name,
and what is now the Wesley church was organized. In the year 1833, the Rev.
Alexander Gale, at the invitation of seven persons, two of whom were
Episcopalians , came to Hamilton, and he held his first service in a private
home, the small congregation sitting around a table. In 1835, a frame building
was built on the site now occupied by St. Paul’s, and in this building Mr. Gale
preached acceptably until 1844, when the church in Canada was divided, and he
severed his connection with the Church of Scotland, and was one of the
twenty-three ministers who organized the Presbyterian church of Canada. The
majority of the congregation of St. Andrew seceded with their pastor, and out
of this condition Knox church was organized, the building on James north being
erected in 1845, the cornerstone of which was laid by the Hon. Issac Buchanan.
Mr. Gale occupied the pulpit of Know church until 1847, when he accepted the
chair of classical literature in Knox college, Toronto. Two other ministers
succeeded Mr. Gale as pastors of Knox church, and in 1854, the Rev. Robert
Irvine was inducted as pastor.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The congregation of
Knox church being too large for the building, it was decided to buy a lot in
the south end, and Adam Cook, Robert Ewing and Donald McLellan were appointed a
committee to open a mission, and the present location of the Maccnab street
church was selected. The congregation was organized on the 29<sup>th</sup> of
August, 1854, and the first regular service was held in the old mechanics’
hall, now the Arcade department store. Forty-six members united in the first
communion service. Before the close of the year, a house of worship, capable of
accommodating four hundred people was built, only six weeks having been
occupied in its erection. In a little more than a year the house was found to
be too small to accommodate the increasing congregation, and in April, 1856,
the cornerstone of the present church was laid by the Hon. Issac Buchanan, and
it was dedicated in June the following year. The American Presbyterian
organization on John street, having sold its property, the proceeds amounting
to $6,000, were donated to the Macnab street congregation towards its building
fund.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">When the disruption
in the Church of Scotland took place, the congregations which espoused the
cause of the Free church were left without houses of worship. Mr. Buchanan, who
was then the wealthiest merchant in Hamilton, announced that he would give $250
to every congregation which would built a church, the condition being that it
should be called Knox. When Knox college was established in 1845, Mr. Buchanan
gave a liberal sum towards its building fund.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Rev. David Inglis
was the first settled pastor of Macnab street Presbyterian church. Previous to
coming to Hamilton, he was pastor of St. Gabriel’s church, Montreal. In 1855,
he began his pastorate in Hamilton, and served the congregation till 1871, when
he was called to the chair of the systematic theology in Knox college. He was
one of the most lovable men occupying a pulpit in this city, and his
congregations on Sunday night were largely made up of young people who were
drifters, having no special church home. He had the happy faculty of drawing
this class to him and finally, many of them became members of his church. This
Old Muser often heard Mr. Inglis, and even till this day we have pleasant
recollections of the sermons he preached. When the new central school was
opened, with Dr. Sangster as head master, every Friday afternoons was given to
religious instruction of the children. The minsters of the city took it by
turns to talk to the children, and when it came Mr. Inglis’ afternoon the
scholars were delighted because they loved to listen to him. One of the old
boys told the Muser that he had never forgotten the kindly manner of Mr.
Inglis, and, often, when as a boy, when he was tempted to do some foolish act,
he would be restrained because he thought Mr. Inglis might not approve of it.
Mr. Inglis had the love and respect, not only of his own congregation, and when
he resigned his pastorate here to go as a professor to Knox college, a farewell
was tendered to him in Centenary<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Methodist church, at which all denominations were represented, and he
was presented with an address and a purse of one thousand dollars in gold. He
only remained with Knox college for a year, when his ability as a preacher
attracted the attention of the Dutch Reform church in Brooklyn, New York, to which
he accepted a call, and remained there till he was called up higher by the
Master.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Rev. D. H. Fletcher,
who was then a young minister at Scarboro, Ontario, where he had labored for 12
years, was then called by the Macnab street church in February, 1872, and was
inducted into the pastorate in the following May. When his alma mater conferred
upon him the degree of Doctor of Divinity, upon his return home the
congregation gave him a cordial welcome and presented him with an address. The
young people of the church also took part in the pleasant services, and added
as their mite a valuable gold watch, which the good doctor always prized. On
the 25<sup>th</sup> anniversary of Dr. Fletcher’s pastorate, the congregation
showed him their good wishes by presenting him with an address and a purse of
$800 in gold. At the close of the year 1904, Dr. Fletcher resigned the
pastorate, which was accepted the following January. The congregation in
appreciation of Dr. Fletcher’s log pastorate provided in part for his future by
making him an annual allowance of five hundred dollars a year.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It is not often in
these days of changes that a congregation will sit for fifty years under the ministrations
of only two ministers This the Macnab street congregation has done. Mr. Inglis
and Dr. Fletcher rounded out fifty years, and now the third minster, the Rev.
H. B. A. Ketchen, has put in ten years of his ministry with the people of
Hamilton. He came here as a young man, this being his first charge, and the
congregation have taken so kindly to him that the prospect is good for him to
spend the remainder of his ministerial days here. It is like getting back to
the old days of Presbyterianism where the pastor begins his work when a young
man with his first or second congregation, christening the babies, taking them
into church membership at the proper time, and when the summons comes standing
by the grave to say farewell and speak words of comfort to those who mourn. Mr.
Ketchen is a preacher of ability and under his ministrations the congregation
keeps on growing, and by-and-by the church may get too small to accommodate the
increase.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Macnab street church has
been a blessing with liberal givers all through its history. When a new Sabbath
school room, or a new vestry was needed, this money was forthcoming, and when a
bell was thought necessary and an organ for the church, generous men and women
furnished the necessary funds. The bell was the gift of James McMillan of
Detroit, who in his youth attended the church. The handsome manse, costing
$4,000 was built during the last year of Mr. Inglis’ pastorate, and was
occupied by his family.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Of the original
membership of the church and who partook of the first communion service held in
the Mechanics’ hall, only two survive – Mrs. J. R. Cook and John Taylor. Macnab
street church is the mother of two churches, St. John on the corner of Emerald
and King street, and St. James, on Locke street. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-258854695805030552016-05-24T08:11:00.001-07:002016-05-24T08:11:10.222-07:001915-03-27
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In
giving our recollections of the Desjardins canal accident which occurred on the
evening of March 12, 1857, the Muser endeavored to tell the story as correct as
memory would help, yet two or three minor errors may have crept in, but nothing
serious to mar the historical part. Memory at times plays it false; but think
of nearly sixty years having elapsed since that memorable night, and is it any
wonder that one is apt to get confused? How many people living in Hamilton
today, who were her sixty years ago, can remember clearly every incident
connected with the accident? We do not claim to be immaculate in writing these
Musings for we are but human after all. A correspondent to the Spectator last
week attempted to correct what he deemed was an error in our statement that the
cause of the accident was the shifting f the bridge a few inches so that the
rails on the bridge were out of gear with the rails on the main line, thus
sending the engine bumping across the ties, cutting the ties and weakening
them. The Spectator correspondent got his story secondhand from his father,
probably years afterward. To corroborate our statement, a gentleman who was
then living in Dundas was coming by train to Hamilton shortly after the new
bridge had been built across the canal when the bridge veered a few inches from
the rails of the main line and the engine left the track and went bumping on
the ties. Fortunately, the driver was running slow and was able to check his
engine immediately. The cars remained on the track, the coupling of the engine
breaking away from the train, thus preventing a second accident which would
have been even more disastrous than the first, for there were more cars in the
train. The swing bridge was considered unsafe, for it was liable to be moved a
few inches by the wind blowing down the valley. It was a short time afterward
that the Great Western made terms with the people of Dundas to have a permanent
bridge built across the canal. It put an end to steamboats and sailing craft
running up to Dundas through the canal, and took from Dundas the proud
distinction of being the head of the lake. It was a loss to Dundas as a
shipping point.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One night last week, a vagrant was
arrested on Broadway, New York, for begging. Five years ago, the young man’s
father died leaving him a fortune of half a million dollars. While the money
lasted the son lived high, but the time came when he parted with his last
dollar. He was well-educated and a graduate of a university. He had a rich
father and there was no need for him to work, and while the father lived, he
was liberally supported with pocket money. Brought up in idleness, when his
fortune came to him on the death of his father, he had formed dissolute habits
that unfitted him for any employment, he ran the pace while the money lasted
and ended in being arrested as a street vagrant. Money is a blessing when
rightfully used by its possessor, but a curse when squandered in riotous
living. More than one bright young fellow in Hamilton has gone down to his
grave in poverty who began life with every promise of usefulness. The old
registers in the house of refuge would disclose some startling secrets. The
young man who takes an occasional glass of liquor never thinks of where that
appetite will land him. He scouts the idea that he will ever become a drunkard
or a vagrant. He thinks he can control himself; and probably he does for a few
years, but the appetite increases slowly but surely till at last he becomes an
outcast. His friends may strive with him for a time, but constant dropping will
wear a stone, and their patience gives out. He is joined to his idols; let him
alone. While his mother lives, he has a friend, no matter how debased he may
become, but when death releases her from the disgrace and sorrow of a drunken
son, his last hope is gone! Think of the young man of whom mention is made in
this item spending half a million dollars in five years in strong drink and
riotous living, and at the end spending the night in a police station for
begging in the streets for five cents to buy a drink to quench his thirst!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Every now and then the question arises
as to who was the first white man that settled at the Head of the Lake. The
Beasley family claim the honor for their illustrious predecessor, Colonel
Richard Beasley; then along come the descendants of Colonel Robert Land with
proof that can hardly be doubted, claiming the honor for the colonel, and there
you are. Daniel Defoe wrote a very interesting story in the long ago about a
shipwrecked sailor, Alexander Selkirk by name, the title of the book being
Robinson Crusoe, a castaway on a desert island, who boldly proclaimed himself
as monarch of all his surveyed, and nobody to dispute his rights, when along
came one day a savage brother whom Robinson Crusoe christened Man Friday, to
dispute the ownership of the island and likely would have made a meal of poor
Robinson if the quick-witted sailor had not climbed into his fort and pulled
the ladder after him. In course of time, Robinson Crusoe patched up a peace
with his savage brother, and no doubt they agreed not to disagree about which
it was that claimed priority to the discovery of the island, but they lived on
in their solitude till such time as an exploring party came along and rescued
them. Now, this may be a parallel case with the Beasley and the Land occupancy
of the Head of the Lake. Colonel Beasley came in at the west end of the Head of
Lake and Colonel Land came in at the east end, and they may have come in about
the same time, and neither knew that there was another white man on these
shores. At any rate, there is no documentary proof of who was first, and the
only way out of the difficulty is for the Beasleys and the Lands to get
together and shoot craps for the title of being the descendants of the first
white man that tread the virgin soil of the settlement called the Head of the
Lake. Ancient history cannot always be relied on, as recent events have shown.
Defoe in his novel tells us that the island on which the shipwrecked sailor
spent many years of his life was down in Chile, and was named in history as
Juan Fernandez. Who that has read the capitivating story of Robinson Crusoe
will ever forget Robinson and his man Friday, and what a lonely life it was for
the first white man that set foot on that lonely island. The boys and girls of
the present age know naught of the thrilling description, for they do not read
high-class literature of the bygone age. They can tell you all about bridge,
whist or the latest thrillers in the movies, but ask them about Jack, the Giant
Killer, Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, the Swiss Family Robinson, or even Old
Mother Goose’s Melodies and they will promptly tell you that they never heard
of such characters. It is nip and tuck if they ever read Dickens or Thackery,
or any other the other standard story writers. The Penny Dreadfuls sre good
enough for them. Well, to get back to where we started, history will not always
do to bet on, for along comes some fellow who thinks he knows more than the
original author of the story and the whole thing is knocked into a cracked hat.
Defoe told us that Robinson Crusoe was the first white man that inhabited the
island of Juan Fernandez, and along comes a newspaper reporter the other day
and makes the broad statement that Dan did not know what he was talking about.
You that have kept in touch with the reports about the Dresden, a German war
vessel, being chased into the harbor of Juan Fernandez, and there found a
watery grave, will remember that the newspaper fellows tore to piece’s DEefoe’s
story, which was written before any of them were born, for Daniel Defoe has
been dead awhile now, and his body lies in a vault in Bunhill Fields, in the
City road, London, England, with all the other literary and historical
characters of his day. They tell us now that Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday
never lived on that island, and that the old story is either a myth or a pipe
dream of the ancient author. Well, what is one going to do, when such
iconoclasts are already giving history a black eye ?<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And here we are again at the point
from which we started, and still the question arises, was Colonel Beasley or
Colonel Land the first white man who tramped the wild grass that grew so
luxuriantly at the Head of the Lake? Some of the ancient red men, who used to
fish in the bay or scalped white men who out on a little frolic might be able
to decide it; but they are all dead now. The records in the county registrar’s
office ought to tell the story, for in them are the names of the early settlers
from the days when the U. E. Loyalists hiked from the country across the
Niagara river. The other day the Muser thought he would go to the fountain head
of information and made an early morning call on the young ladies who
faithfully guard these ancient records and find out which was which. They
searched the musty tomes, beginning with the letter B and then on through L.
The first entry made by Colonel Beasley was the land now known as Dundurn park
in the year 1790. Matthew Cain located on the first concession in 1798, and
these was afterward deeded to one of the Lands in 1800. The registrar’s books
could not settle the question as Colonel Land may have entered his land on a
squatter’s title before the government survey was made. The earliest history we
have of Colonel Beasley is given in Mrs. Simcoe’s diary, which has been put in
readable shape by John R. Robinson, the Toronto editor, who can tell you all
about the building of Solomon’s Temple and of Freemasonry in Hamilton. In Mrs.
Simcoe’s diary, the claim is put forth flat-footed that Colonel Beasley was the
first settler at the Head of the Lake. Nowhere is the descendants of Colonel
Land’s chance to call on John B. Robinson to prove and settle forever this
vexed question. Colonel Beasley was an Indian trader, but none of his
descendants that are now living can tell from whence he came. All they know is
that he was the owner of Dundurn park, when it was part of the forest, washed
at its base by the waters of the bay, or Macassa as it was called by the
Indians. It is stated that the house of Richard Beasley was west of the present
site of Dundurn Castle, and that the building was afterward incorporated with
the castle; but this is not likely, as the first dwelling must have been built
of logs, and the west end of the castle is of brick. It is hardly possible that
there was a brick building in this section in those early days. The so-called
castle is a substantial brick building and well-proportioned. Senator McInnes,
the last owner of Dundurn Castle told our informant that the stone building at
the western part of the castle, once used as a gymnasium, was built prior to
the main structure. The descendants of the Beasley family claim that the
colonel moved into his house at Dundurn immediately after his arrival at the
Head of the Lake, and that his sons, Richard, George, David C. and Henry were
borne in the house, the last born in 1793. Without documentary evidence, it is
believed that the colonel’s first home was on the site of Coote’s Paradise,
so-called from a Captain Coote, who spent a great deal of his time duck shooting
in the marsh below the hill, which abounded with wild fowl and tortoises.
Governor and Mrs. Simcoe were frequent guests of Colonel and Mrs. Beasley.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teach the boys and girls to be loyal
to the flag of their country. In the United States, the Stars and Stripes is
raised every morning at the school house and at the close of the day, it is
hauled down with all the pomp and ceremony observed by the army and navy. When
the flag is raised one verse of the Star-Spangled Banner is sung by the
children, and the same is done when the flag is lowered in the evening. The
children enter into the spirit of it, and it brings them closer to the flag
than it would be possible by any other means. No wonder that our Canadians call
the Americans flag-worshippers, for it is instilled into the heart of an
American child from its birth. When the civil war began in the United States in
1861, there were less than 25,000 soldiers to defend the flag. Within a week
from the time President issued his call for 75,000 men, the call was answered
by twice and thrice 75,000, and there was sore disappointment to those who were
not mustered into the service. In Cincinnati, this old Muser was employed by
the Daily Enquirer, and from that one building alone nearly fifty men gave up
good-paying situations and took the oath as volunteers for $11 a month. The
Muser heard the call of Father Abraham and responded with the others. Within a
day or two, more than two hundred printers had signed the roll, and two
companies of printers went out with the first two regiments, the Fifth and
Sixth Ohio. Before the war ended nearly three million men were on the firing
line in the northern army, and at least half that number under the Confederate
flag. Those volunteers had been taught from childhood, Hats off to the Flag!
The boy scouts in Canada are being taught , Hats off to the Flag! And the time
may come when the lesson taught now may be of value to their native land. The
derisive term, “flag flappers” is not evidence of loyalty at least, and the
expression may in time come back to plague those who sneer at the flag of their
country. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-4440404710991569322016-05-13T07:31:00.001-07:002016-05-13T07:32:48.966-07:001915-03-13<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It
is not often that great sacrifices are made in this world, but when one
happens, it is done so quietly and unostentatiously that it is rarely heard of
There are very few to imitate the example of the Saviour, who gave up His life
to redeem even the unrepentant. But this old Muser is not going to run off on a
tangent and get himself into ma discussion with some smart Alex, who always has
his pencil sharpened and ready to fire in a half-column of more to tell what he
knows about theology. Here in Hamilton we recently had an example of
self-sacrifice that is deserving of mention even though we omit names. In one
of the large manufacturing industries, a youth of about nineteen years was
engaged in the counting room as clerk. He is an expert in the clerical
department and stands well with the manager. He has a boyfriend whom he loves
with all the ardor of youth, they being associated together through their
school days. Both of the boys were industrious and of excellent habits, and
both were fortunate in their working positions while the wheels of industry
kept whirling. In the early part of the last year, one of the boys was laid off
because work in the establishment in which he was employed had reduced its
clerical forces, and the manager could hold out no hope of when the angel of
industry would return. It was a great hardship for him, for he had a mother to
support and she was a widow, and he was her only dependence. It was with a sad
heart that he heard the office door close behind him, and not knowing when it
would open again to welcome him back to his desk and his regular pay envelope.
The young fellow was diligent in his search for work, but every business in the
city was retrenching, and fortunate was the man or woman, boy nor girl who
could get employment for even part time. With a mother to provide for, and no
work in sight, the outlook was dark and dreary. His boyhood friend was more
fortunate in more ways than one, for his parents were not dependent on him, and
he paid his way at home as a stranger would. In exchanging confidences, the one
out of work told his friend of his unfortunate condition. Now here is where the
great heart of the boyfriend shone out in all the beauty of true brotherly
love. You, no doubt, have read the story of Damon and Pythias, where the one
became a hostage for the return of his friend, who was about to be executed,
that he might see his wife and child once more before he died. Damon entered
the prison while Pythias sped on his journey to see his loved ones and bid them
farewell forever. You remember the story further where Pythias’ servant slew
his master’s horse so that he could return to his doom. The time drew apace,
but Pythias secured another mount and barely arrived in time as they were leading
Damon to the block for execution. Damon never for a moment doubted his friend,
but knew that something had happened to delay his return. Damon’s life was
saved, and Pythia, for his loyalty, was pardoned and restored to his wife and
child. The conditions may not be just the same, but they show what sacrifices
are possible in the teachings of the doctrine of the brotherhood of man.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A friend in need is a friend indeed.
The boyfriends separated, and without any flourish of trumpets, the one in work
went to the manager of the counting room in which he was employed and told the
story of his unfortunate friend. The young fellow proposed to the manager that
if it could be so arranged, he would take a six months’ holiday and have his
friend take his desk in the office, and at the end of time he would resume his
official duties. The manager cheerfully assented to the proposition, and would
have given employment to both if the business justified him in so doing. He
commended his young clerk for his manly act, and promised him not only his
place on his return, but if business became brighter an increase in salary. To
make a long story short, the out-of-work took his friend’s desk in the office,
and the young hero, who was capable of such a sacrifice, hired out to a farmer
and spent six months as a farm laborer. He did not make any blow about it, but
answered all inquiries as to the change with the reply that he was learning new
experiences as a tiller of the soil. When the six months of voluntary servitude
on a farm had expired, the young fellow returned to his clerical duties,
healthy and robust, and his friend was fortunate in getting a position. Both of
them are now employed on full time, and the friendship that began at school is
now stronger than ever.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Help
us to help each other, Lord,<o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Each other’s cross to bear,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Let each a friendly aid afford,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>And feel a brother’s care.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hamilton’s Damon and Pythias have set
an example worthy of imitation. Both boys must make great and good men. Their
names ought to be published, but it might be displeasing to them.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fifty-eight years ago yesterday (March
12, 1857), the first great railway accident in Canada occurred when the evening
train from Toronto was crossing the Desjardins canal bridge. The cars were
filled with a happy crowd of passengers who were returning to their homes in
this city after a day spent in business or pleasure in Toronto. There were
probably about one hundred passengers in the coaches, and of that number
between sixty and seventy went down to a watery grave. What an age that seems
to look backward; almost sixty years ago! It is like a dream of the past. More
than sixty families were bereaved of loved ones. Are any of the passengers of
that ill-fated train left to tell the story of their experience on that
terrible March evening as the train went down, crashing through the ice? To
this old Muser, the picture of that train, sloping from the track, down to the
water below, oft comes up as a vision. We remember it well, for with other
members of the old fire department, we spent nearly the entire night in helping
to rescue the bodies of the victims of the disaster. It was after six o’clock
on that cold March night that the fire alarm peeled out its dismal notes from
the belfry of the old police station on King William street, and the clang of
the bell seemed to sound clearer and faster than usual. “It must be a big fire,”
thought the firemen as they rushed to the engine house, there to learn that it
was worse than any fire – it was a train of passengers that had gone down
through the canal bridge and scores of passengers drowned. The firemen were
directed to go down to the railroad bridge and render such help as they could. It
was a wild ride to the canal, thousands of people, old and young, men and
women, rushing to the scene. Mothers and fathers, wives and children, who
expected the return of some loved one by that evening train, were frantic in
their grief.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>-------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The story of that night has oft been
told in the city papers on occasional recurrence of its anniversary, so we will
briefly repeat it. The train was on time, and was nearing its destination when,
through some mishap, the swing bridge that crossed the canal was moved a few
inches not perceptible to the careful engineer, John Burnsides, who was guiding
his train, as he thought, in safety to its destination, causing the engine to
leave its track and go bumping onto the ties, the wheels cutting through
timbers and weakening them so that they could not support the weight of the
engine and cars. The fireman and the express messenger saved themselves by
jumping from the train, but the heroic engineer stood up to the post of duty,
hoping to check the engine and save his train and the passengers. When his body
was rescued from the submerged engine the next day, he was found in a standing posture,
sturdily clinging to the lever. He would have saved himself, as did the
fireman, by jumping from the engine, but he braved death that he might save the
hundred or more passengers in the cars. Out in the cemetery, a monument was
erected over his grave by his fellow railroad men, and on it is a miniature
locomotive with the bronze effigy of John Burnsides grasping the window. In the
window of Thomas Lees’ jewelry store, James street north, is the clock that
hung in the cab of the ill-fated engine on the night it went down. When taken
out of the cab, the clock marked the moment at which the accident occurred,
6.30. The old face looks wearied and worn out, as if it belonged to another
world. It reminds one of the song of the old grandfather’s clock –<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It
stopped short, never to go again, <o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When John Burnsides died.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The miniature engine
on that monument out in the cemetery is never allowed to become faded by
sunshine or storm, but is kept bright and fresh by being regilded every two or
three years. It stands as a perpetual reminder to the memory of a humble engineer
who sacrificed his life that he might save others. The clock that is on
exhibition in Mr. Lees’ window was handed down from one member of the
Burnsides’ family to another, and finally it was presented to the Muser. Some
day we may hand it over to the museum when Hamilton has such a one for the
storage of ancient relics connected with the city.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Richard Barrett was the conductor of
the train, and Henry Urquhart was the express messenger. The latter is still
living, aged 91 years, and is a successful contractor in Toronto.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In looking over items of historical
interest connected with Hamilton, we found reminiscences of George Hamilton,
after whom the town was called. It tells the story of the early settlement, and
gives the present Hamiltonians an idea of what the town was one hundred years
ago and later. In these Musings, we have gone somewhat into the early history
of the town, and this selection may add new light. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>George Hamilton <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>made the first survey of the town lots in what
is now the city of Hamilton (previous to that called Burlington) in 1813. This
survey comprised that portion of the city bounded by King, James, and Hunter
streets and westerly line of the Springer farm – about halfway between Catharine
and Walnut streets. In 1810, there had been but three or four buildings erected
in these lots stood on King street. The Grove Inn stood on the ground now
occupied by the Terminal station. This name was given to the inn on account of
a grove of trees which lined the center of King street, from James to Mary
streets. Some years after, they were all cut down by the pathmaster – a man
named Gray. The most notable building in this first survey was the log jail,
built in 1817-18. It stood near the southwest corner of the square bounded by
John, Main and Catharine streets and Maiden Lane. This square had been decided
to the Gore district for the site of the jail and courthouse in 1816. The jail
was built of hewed logs to the height of ten feet, and on the top of this was
erected a frame building for a court house. The prison was divided into four
rooms – two for criminals, one for debtors, and the other was occupied by the
jailer and his family. All the rooms were precisely alike and about 23 x 34
feet in size, divided, two on the east and two on the west – by a hall about
four feet wide. The governor’s room served for kitchen, parlor, dining room and
bedroom, for the officer and his wife. They had three little boys. The jail was
extremely strong so far as the outer walls were concerned, but the designer
seemed to have entirely overlooked the floors and foundation, so that it was
found necessary to provide the two criminal cells with substantial chains which
were securely riveted around the legs of the worse class of prisoners. The
others took their departure at such times as seemed to themselves best, by
raising a plank of the floor and digging out under the foundation. Numerous
escapes were made in this manner. In those days, criminals were not fed in the
same style as they are now, one pound of bread and a quart of water being the
daily allowance; however, they were not stinted in the matter of fruit, as the
jailor’s boys kept them well-supplied with apples during the season. The prison
was located a short distance back from John street, and on the vacant space,
fully exposed to public view the pillory and stocks and whipping post were kept
in readiness. These instruments of punishment were called into requisition
after the session of every court. Two hours in the pillory or stocks, or
thirty-nine lashes with cat-o’-nine tails, being the common sentence for rogues
who committed small offenses. The more serious criminals were banished to the
United States. During court times, the old jail was the center of great trouble
and excitement. In those jurors, witnesses and litigants came very long
distances to attend the assizes – from west of Brantford and north of Guelph.
Booths were erected on the vacant space on John street end of the square, made
of boughs of trees, and from them were dispensed spruce beer, ginger cakes and
apple pies. Loyalty was in high feather in those days, and the writer of this
sketch saw a man, who had imbibed too much “black-strap” committed to the cell
for 48 hours for saying “d—m the King” – he referred his Majesty George IV. The
first man hanged in the old Gore district was from this jail. His name was
Vincent; he had murdered his wife. A miserable job was made of this execution,
as the colored man was officiated as hangman had to swing by the culprit’s legs
for some minutes before death relived the sufferer. Two young “ladies” were at
one time exposed in the pillory for about two hours, much to the amusement of
the inhabitants of the village. Both murderer Vincent and the girls were from
Beverly. The jail was pulled down at the completion of the stone edifice in
Prince’s Square. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-6351285464692031502016-05-01T08:16:00.003-07:002016-05-01T08:16:16.879-07:001915-02-20oo
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Under the heading of
‘Dick Butler and Clinton,’ the Daily Public, of Clinton, Ill., in an editorial
in the issue of Feb. 6, has the following to say of Richard Butler, the United
States vice-consul of this city and Muser of the Spectator staff”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Hamilton
Spectator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>February 20, 1915.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">With the above introduction,
the Hamilton Times reprinted the following tribute to the Old Muser, the
long-time writer of Saturday Musings. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Mr. Butler had
recently sent<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a column in the style of
his “Musings” on Hamilton’s local history to Clinton with his memories of that
town.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Muser had
recently celebrated his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday :<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“His name is Richard
Butler, but his Clinton friends remember him as ‘Dick.’ He is 80 years young,
but his Clinton friends remember him as a strong, virile man, who counted his
friends by the hundreds. “Dick” butler was a man who did things for Clinton. As
an editor of the Public in his early days, he made a name that will last in
memory long after those who now control it have passed away.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“ ‘Dick’ Butler never
forgot a friend, he forgot few men he ever met.. His letter is in some respects
the most remarkable piece of writing that possibly ever appeared in the columns
of the Public. Pick over the men you know ten to twenty years younger that
could sit down and unfold in written words so splendid a piece of history as
Mr. Butler’s story. He apologizes for perhaps forgetting a few characters who
have been famous in Clinton during the last forty-three years.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Apologize? Really,
it is almost inconceivable how any man could recall the names and facts of such
a galaxy. He doesn’t seem to have omitted any name from Clinton’s list of
immortals.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Would that we had
more men like ‘Dick’ Butler, a man who is an inspiration to young men who never
knew him. It is an inspiration to work in the same office where ‘Dick’ Butler
once toiled for a better Clinton. It is an inspiration to live in a town which ‘Dick’
Butler once honored by making it his home.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“You who knew him,
sit down after you have read his reminiscences, and write him a letter or a
card. Thank him for unfolding Clinton’s history in the way he has portrayed it.
You can read the homesickness for Clinton between his lines. Honor him now, not
later, for he is already past the allotted time of life. He will appreciate it.”<sup>1<o:p></o:p></sup></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><sup><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">1 </span></sup><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">“Pay High
Tribute to Richard Butler : Paper in Muser’s Home Town Tells of Debt People Owe
Him”<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Hamilton Times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>February 20, 1915 <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-46750115309250647482016-04-30T16:58:00.001-07:002016-04-30T16:58:15.527-07:001915-02-13
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Through
the courtesy of Archdale Wilson, we have the privilege of looking over a
business directory of Hamilton, printed by R. R. Donnelley & Co., and
illustrated by McKeon & Smith, wood engravers, for distribution at the
provincial exhibition held in this city in the year 1864. If one wants to know
the changes in business in Hamilton, just run through this directory of fifty
years ago and compare it with the new directory of 1915. It is a new Hamilton altogether.
Even the introductory to the little pamphlet gives one a new idea of Hamilton
to what we gather from everyday surroundings. As a matter of ancient history,
even though only a half century ago, the reading of the introductory chapter
will be interesting reading. Here it is:<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Hamilton,
beautifully situated on the southwestern curve of Burlington bay, occupies a delightful
position on a plateau of slightly elevated ground, winding around the base of
the mountain. The distance between the mountain and the bay is about two miles,
and the area thus included stands the city of Hamilton, in population, wealth
and commercial importance, the second city in Upper Canada. The site is
singularly salubrious, the rate of mortality being less in Hamilton, as shown
by statistics, then any other city in Canada, Ottawa excepted. Hamilton became a
point of military importance about 1813. It was made the resting place of the
army of the west, when General Proctor was defeated. To Burlington Heights,
General Vincent retired after being driven from the Niagara frontier, previous
to his brilliant victory over the American army at Stoney Creek, which saved
the province from probable subjugation. The history of Hamilton dates back not
much more than a quarter of a century. It seems but yesterday when the tract of
country fringing the shores of Lake Ontario was a wilderness, and settlers
still living can tell the day when hunters and fishermen alone broke the
stillness of the now wealthy and proud district of Gore. The theory of
colonization which has been nurtured into life and activity under the fostering
care of liberal institutions on this side of the Atlantic, has belied the anticipations
and ridiculed the prophetic wisdom of statesmen moving under the auspices of
time-honored usages in the old world. Forests are converted into thriving
settlements, and cities spring up into wealth and influence as if obedient to
some magic impulse. A traveler from one of the sickly metropolises of Europe,
in looking at the progress of social cultivation in Canada, at the evidence of
civilized advancement observable in the institutions and business energy of the
Canadian people, would be slow to realize the fact that he sees the country as
less than fifty years of toil and industry have made it.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“Let
him visit Hamilton, drive up and down its spacious streets, look into the great
wholesale establishments’; step into banking houses and witness the extent of
accommodation accorded to commercial enterprises; let him visit the Central school,
and contrast the educational advantages of Hamilton with those of cities of the
same size in Europe or on the continent, or look through the Young Ladies’
seminary, when in full operation after midsummer holidays; let him stand at the
depot of the Great Western railway and mark the bustle and activity at the
arrival <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and departure of every train;
see the long train of freight cars, bringing the products of foreign
manufacture for consumption here, or carrying away consignments from large city
wholesale firms to distant parts of the province; let him take his stand on the
brow of the magnificent mountain which flings its grassy summit against the
southern sky, and see the multitude of persons surging along the principal
avenues of trade, the countless chimneys of mechanical industry, the
magnificent carriages and costly equipages rolling along James or King street;
the palatial suburban mansions, the seat of wealth, comfort and literary
refinement – let him survey the busy hive at his feet – restless, sleepless,
tireless yet hopeful and say whether the community of interests, the fusion of
national restraints, and the commercial fellowship which have built a city of
twenty thousand people do not promise still greater results.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“The
temporary embarassments under which the city labors have retarded, but not
destroyed, the enterprise of its citizens. In 1850 – fourteen years ago – the population,
according to authenticated census returns, was less than 11,000. It was 35,000
in 1858, and in the three following years lost a third of its population. It
was 19,000 at the census three years ago, and has now risen to 22,900, and we
have hopes that the recently passed city relief bill will tend to augment the
numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">“The wholesale trade
of Hamilton is greater and more attractive to distant buyers than that of any
other city in Canada, with the exception of Montreal. Some of the most
extensive wholesale firms in Canada, having branches in Toronto, London and
Brantford, center in Hamilton; and we think it would well remunerate country
merchants – who may be at the exhibition, and who do not make this their market
of purchase – to take a look through our wholesale warehouses, and compare
prices with those of other cities in the province. Our wholesale merchants are
direct importers from the places of manufacture and growth, and their customers
receive the benefits of first profits. It will also reward visitors from a
distance, who wish to avail themselves of city prices and fashions, to note
down the enterprising firms whose establishments are herein illustrated.”<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">-----------------------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Fancy the
fresh-looking Thomas Lees, though his head has been frosted with departed
years, being the oldest and only man in business today that belongs to ancient
Hamilton. He began business as a watchmaker and jeweler on John street in the
year 1861, and in 1864 moved into his present location on James street. At that
time Hamilton had thirteen jewelers and watchmakers to keep time and bedeck its
women and girls with diamonds and other precious jewels. In the directory
before us, Lees is represented in the same building which he now occupies, with
a large sign directing customers where to find him. Burrow, Stewart and Milne,
three husky young molders, began business in 1864, but not in time to get their
names in the directory. Two members of the firm – Stewart and Milne – still continue
the business, Mr. Burrows having passed away a few years ago. There were six
foundries in Hamilton in 1864, but no members of the firms except Mr. Stewart
and Mr. Milne are living now. The D. Moore Co. is the oldest tinsmith firm in
the city, dating back to 1828, and that firm began the foundry business along
in the ‘40’s, in the stone building on Catharine street north, erected by G. L.
Beardmore for a tannery. A fire one night decided Beardmore in favor of a
change, and the building passed into the ownership of the D. Moore Co. and was
converted into a foundry. All this, however, leaves Thomas Lees as the oldest
living businessman in the town.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>---------------------------------------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">We will take an airplane
trip through the 1864 directory, and if we strike a name that is in the
directory of 1915, we will be glad to place the owner in the Hall of Fame as an
ancient Hamiltonian. We will take 1864 as the foundation. There were two
wholesale shoe stores then, one wholesale clothing manufacturer, three
wholesale druggists, six wholesale dry goods, and not one connected with firms
we have here now to answer roll-call. Of other wholesale firms, there were two
earthen and glassware, four fancy goods, nine groceries, four hardware, three
leather, two saddlery hardware, one stationer, two importers of wine. Not a
member of the old firms left to tell the story of fifty years ago. There were
only three architects then, not one of them now to plan an earthly house. Sixteen
bakers made the staff of life – not one of them in business now, William Lee
being the last one to throw in the sponge. Fifteen barbers represented the
tonsorial art, and Charles Dallyn is the only one left to tell the story. Of
thirty-five barristers only one is left to plead his own cause. Eleven
blacksmiths pounded the anvil; where are those lusty fellows now? Three
billiard halls were enough in 1864; it now takes sixteen to develop the muscle
of the sports. Only two of the old shoe dealers are in business now. Seven
breweries made beet to quench the thirst of the ancients; two breweries do the
job now. Of the manufacturers of brooms and brushes, only Meakins and Sons
represent the six old firms. Fourteen builders and contractors built up
Hamilton in those days, not one of whom is in business now. Not a bookseller or
a bookbinder in business in 1864 is here now to reveal the edges of life. It
only required 24 churches to lead the Hamiltonians in the straight and narrow
path in 1864; now there are 93 congregations, representing almost every
denomination, yet they can’t hold the town level. Nineteen clergymen lifted up
their voices every Sunday against the sins of the world, and eighteen of them
have gone home to glory, having done the best they could while here to keep
Hamilton from going to the bow-wows. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One
of them got translated to the Methodist Book Room in Toronto, and his job is so
pleasant that he is loth to give it up. Coal was so little used in Hamilton
that only Thomas Myles could find it profitable to run a coal yard. J. Blachford
and Henry Snelgrove buried the dead. Ten confectioners made life sweet to the
taste, but now one of them is here to tell the story of the days when they sold
pure ice cream. Eight druggists compounded the jalap and rhubarb that cured the
ills of the community, and that they did their work honestly is evidenced that
such a disease as appendicitis was unknown in those days. Twenty-one
establishments supplied<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the ladies with
dry goods; not one of the proprietors lives to tell how the husbands swore when
the bills were rendered. Twenty-four physicians, one of them being a lady,
looked after the health of the town, and not one of them has a place among the
113 physicians of today. There were sixteen hotels, 21 saloons and 58 taverns
to feed the hungry and quench the thirsts of the thirsty; about all are gone to
meet their unfortunate customers in the other world. Ninety-six boozeries and
only 23,000 population; today the population is over 100,000, and it only takes
61 saloons to satisfy their thirst. The town is progressing.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It is like
going through a graveyard to follow up that 1864 directory. Only three business
men of that year live to tell the story of the ups and downs of this hundred-year-old
town. Well, the Muser that will review the 1915 directory fifty years from now will
have the same story to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">From 1857
till the case of the civil war in the United States, Hamilton, as well as all
of Canada, was hard hit. It seems impossible to separate the two countries
either in prosperity or adversity; when business is good over there, it is the
same here. Hamilton’s brightest days were during the building of the Great
Western railway, for then money was plentiful, there was work for everybody,
and the population increased through the employment in the railroad shops and
the large number of men employed running trains, most of whom made their home
in Hamilton. When the Great Western officials began to divide the shops among
other localities, and almost side-tracked Hamilton, the panic of 1857 broke
loose, and the population went hiking to more prosperous towns; houses were
emptied and hard times came. In 1858 the census showed a population of 25,000;
in 1861, it ran down to 19,000. The people could not pay their taxes, and the
city could not pay even the interest on its indebtedness. It was not until
Hamilton became an industrial city that the sun of prosperity began again to
shine on it. The old town is now passing through the deep waters of affliction,
but with the prospective opening of factories, the old song, Hard Times Come
Again No More can be sung by the Elgar choir, and the toilers will chant as
they march to the workshops, that though It’s a Long, Long Way to Tipperary; the
good times are coming once more.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-78884513712491562812016-04-23T09:31:00.001-07:002016-04-23T09:31:08.468-07:001915-02-06
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">When
Jules Verne wrote his story of A Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, not one in
Hamilton who read that bit of fiction ever dreamed that there could be such a
thing as a boat sailing for miles underneath the sea and popping up at stated
times to give the crew a breath of fresh air. The unscientific world read the
story and pronounced it fishy. But Jules Verne had foundation for his story,
and he worked up the idea for all that it was worth. More than four centuries
ago, history tells us, a mechanical genius conceived the idea of the first
submarine boat. It was a rowboat propelled by twelve lusty oarsmen, but when
the crucial test came that the boat was to dive underneath a sailing vessel, it
was not equal to the task. Another attempt was made in the same century, but
it, too, proved a failure. However, once the ingenuity of man is challenged,
there is always some studious inventor to follow up the idea, and a later
genius perfects the dream of centuries. This surely has been the outcome of the
deadly submarine. The dream of the inventor of four centuries ago has had its
full development in the terrible war that has been raging for nearly seven
months. Burton J. Hendrik, a writer in McClure’s Magazine, has given much study
to tracing up the history of the submarine. The control of the sea has been the
pre-eminent fact in English history. Its navy protected its commerce, hence
there was but little necessity of a large standing army. The British nation has
never suffered defeat except in the little family quarrel that was the outcome
of the great waste of tea in the Boston Harbor. Many times in the last century,
Great Britain has faced the possibility of continental wars, but its fleet has
always been its safeguard against foreign invasion. Untold millions have been
spent in keeping up its navy, and the bravery of its blue jackets, and natural
skill in naval warfare, have made it pre-eminent. Great Britain might at one
time have had some control of the submarine to add to its naval strength, but
the idea was too chimerical for her war lords to discuss.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The dream of four centuries ago was
worked out by a freshman in Yale college during the American revolution. All
through his college days, from 1771 to 1775, David Bushnell worked to make a
vessel that would sail under water. The first real test of the submarine was
during the American civil war, when a United States gunboat, the Housatanic,
was sunk by a Confederate submarine boat in Charleston harbor, but was herself
sunk with her crew. In principle, the submarine was the same as it is today. The
British frigates that were stationed outside of New York and other American
harbors during the revolution gave inspiration to David Bushnell’s invention of
the submarine, although it did not come into use at that time. The professors
in the Yale college ridiculed the idea that gunpowder could be exploded under
water, but Bushnell proved to the learned scholars that they might know all
about the ancient and modern languages while there were principles in science
that they could be taught lessons in, by taking them out into New Haven harbor
and producing an explosion of gunpowder under water. Bushnell had already
constructed a vessel that could sail under water. It was in shape like a
turtle, operated by a wooden propeller. This antedated the invention of the
steamboat by several years. Early in the last century, the Molsons built the
first steamboat in Montreal that plied on the St. Lawrence river down to
Quebec. Bushnell’s Turtle, for that was the name he gave his first submarine,
only made a maximum speed of about two miles an hour. It was illuminated by
foxfire wood, which gave a phosphorescent light. It had an air-chamber in which
the navigator could exist for a brief half hour. When the revolutionary war
began the British flagship, the Eagle, then lying off Staten Island, was
selected as the first victim of Bushnell’s submarine. Bushnell had not the
physical strength to navigate the Turtle himself, and a man named Lee was
chosen to destroy the Eagle. Not understanding the mechanism of the Turtle,
Lee’s attempt to navigate it proved a failure. He managed to reach the Eagle in
the submerged Turtle, but failed in his effort to attach the torpedo with the
time-clock to the hull of the Eagle. The torpedo floated a short distance from
the Eagle and exploded on time, but not close enough to do any damage to the
British vessel. This failure discouraged Bushnell, and in his disappointment,
he vanished from his home in Connecticut and died some years later in Georgia. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A quarter of a century later, Napoleon
was engaged in almost identically the same enterprise as the Kaiser is
attempting today. In the midst of his perplexities he received a letter which
read : “The sea which separates you from your enemy gives him an immense
advantage over you. I have it in my power to cause this obstacle which protects
him to disappear.” This letter was written by Robert Fulton, one of the early
inventors of the steamboat. Fulton had developed Bushnell’s invention of the
submarine, and his work to Napoleon to deprive Britain of her great naval
power. Napoleon appointed a commission to investigate Fulton’s plans, and the
result was the French admiralty placed a vessel at Fulton’s disposal to
experiment on, and he blew the vessel into a thousand pieces with his
submarine. By this time, Great Britain began to appreciate the work of Fulton,
and he was invited to England. “If your boat is introduced into practice,” said
Pitt, “it will annihilate all military marines.” AS an experiment, Fulton
entered Deal Harbor <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in his submarine and
blew up a Danish brig of two hundred tons. It was in this same harbor a few
weeks ago, that a German submarine destroyed a British torpedo boat. The
British government offered Fulton a large sum of money to pigeonhole his
invention, which he declined to accept. Both England and France had refused to
adopt Fulton’s invention, so he returned to his home in New York and spent all
his energies in perfecting his steam boat.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The submarine is the most deadly
weapon ever introduced into naval warfare, because there is no defense against
it. “There is nothing you can send against, not even itself,” said John P.
Holland, another inventor in the line of submarines. “Submarine cannot fight
submarine,” said Holland. Germany cannot equal Great Britain in naval warfare,
so it has judiciously kept its warships out of the fight. Instead, it has
attacked the battleships and the merchant marine of Great Britain with the
terrible submarine. The man chiefly responsible for the modern development of
the submarine was John P. Holland, born in Ireland in 1841. He was a
conspicuous leader in the Fenian order and hated England with all the vigor of
his Irish ancestry. He built a submarine in New Haven, Connecticut, and
christened it the Fenian Ram. Fifty thousand dollars in pennies, dimes and
dollars were contributed by the Irish and with this fund, Holland built the
Fenian Ram so as to have it ready should the United States and Great Britain
get into war with each other. Holland died a few months ago, shortly after the
beginning of the present war. The story of the deadly work of the submarine is
being told in war news published from day to day. The naval armament of no
nation can overcome it.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There is nothing new under the sun. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more on dips into the history of the
submarine boat the truth of the adage of nothing new under the sun becomes a
greater reality. Till the present war but little was heard of this great sea
diver, and few could realize that it was possible that such a thing could be.
Since writing the above, we have had access to an encyclopedia that takes us
before the Christian era. The first submarine was a diving bell, and its
construction dates back over two thousand years. The next record we have dates
in the year 1590, when William Brown, an Englishman, is said to have built a
submarine. In 1824, Cornelius Van Drabbel designed an improvement to the Englishman’s
boat and exhibited the plans to King James II. During the next hundred years
several attempts were made in the direction of undersea<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>navigation, but none worthy of notice. It was
not till David Bushnell’s time, 1771 to 1775, during his college days that any
progress was made, and the submarine in use today, with all its destruction
power was the result of his genius. Robert Fulton, one of the early inventors
of the steamboat, improved somewhat on Bushnell’s plans, and he was followed by
John P. Holland, an Irishman. Coming down to modern times, during the civil war
in the United States, the Confederate government built several submarines, and
while they sank one Federal gunboat, the submarine and all its crew went to the
bottom of Charleston harbor. There are two classes, submarines and
submersibles. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now that Hamilton is to have a new
hospital, it may be interesting to go back to earlier days and look at the
crude provision made for the care of the sick. Back in the first half of the
last century – in the year 1847 – to care for the afflicted Irish emigrants,
who were forwarded from Quebec and Montreal to western towns along Lake
Ontario, Hamilton built a row of sheds down on the bay front, which were known
as the fever hospital. The emigrants came to Canada and the United States by
the thousands, being starved out of their native land by the failure of food
products, especially the potato. As a boy, the Muser remembers the long rows of
hospital sheds along the banks of the Lachine canal, in Montreal, with the
hundreds of patients stricken with the ship fever. Coffins were piled up
alongside the hospital sheds and every afternoon, the wail of the living over
the death of loved ones was heart-rending. The same condition existed all along
the lake front from east to west, and down at the bay was no exception.
Hamilton then was in its young cityhood, for in that year, it became
incorporated. About the same time, a hospital was built at the head of Cherry
street, on the mountain side. It was a two-story frame building, with only
limited accommodations for patients. Only the homeless ones were provided for,
the sick being generally cared for in their own homes. It was a forlorn-looking
place, but for those days answered the purpose. A new home for the sick was
provided about 1853, when a large brick building at the foot of John street,
facing the bay front, was purchased for a hospital. It was originally built by
Nathaniel Hughson for a hotel, and was well-patronized till about the middle of
the ‘40’s when travelers visiting the city on business found it inconvenient,
and came uptown to the hotels. The building was then sold to the government,
and in turn was used as a barracks for the regiments of the regular army
stationed here, and then as a custom-house. Finally, it came into the ownership
of the city and was converted into a hospital; and an excellent location it was
, with its fine view of the bay, with its wharves lined with shipping. The
building was three stories in height, and a roomy gallery on each story facing
the bay front. In time, as the city grew, larger accommodations were necessary
and the Barton street hospital was built. Now that too is too small, and the
beautiful site on the mountain top has been selected for a two-million dollar
building. No finer selection could have been made, and in time there will be a
street railway along the mountain front. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The city of Hamilton finds
it necessary to increase the hospital accommodation. There are two hospitals,
one the public hospital under the control of an independent board of governors
appointed by the city council, and the other under the management of the Roman
Catholic church. The public hospital has three departments – one called the
free wards, one the semi-private wards and one the private wards. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The hospital staff
numbers one medical superintendent, four lady supervisors, one hundred nurses.
The nurses’ salaries range : six dollars per week for the first year, seven
dollars for the second year, and ten dollars for the third year and thereafter.
The hospital is under bthe management of five governors, selected for a term of
five years each, one retiring annually, and the mayor and one member of the
board of control. The governors serve without salaries, and are appointed from
among the best businessmen in the city.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The expenses of the
hospital for the year 1914 were $158,500, provide for by a charge of from ten
to fifteen dollars for patients in the private wards, four dollars and ninety
cents in the semi-private wards, and a government grant of twenty cents per day
for the private and semi-private. This amount is paid by the government for a
period of four months. After that time, if the patient still continues in the
hospital, the grant is dropped to seven cents per day. The government grant for
the last half of the year 1914 was $12,500. From the government grant and the
fees paid by the private and semi-private patients, the income was $69,000.
Added to this, the amount appropriated from the general tax fund of the city
was $90,000, making a grant total of $158,500. The cost per diem for each
patient averages $1.57.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The present hospital
was built when the population of the city was about thirty thousand, and has
been added to from time to time to accommodate patients as the population
increased, which is now over one hundred thousand. Hamilton is a manufacturing
city, and accident patients from the factories and the increasing number of
poor families make heavy demands on hospital accommodation. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">It has now been
determined by the city and the board of governors to begin at once the erection
of a new hospital for which two million dollars has been appropriated, to be
spent from time to time as the buildings progress. The site selected is about
seven acres on the top of the mountain for ornamental grounds and building purposes,
and it has been pronounced by two celebrated medical men in the United States,
who are experts in hospital construction, as the finest in America. The
buildings are to be erected on the brow of the mountain, overlooking the city,
with a perspective extending for miles up and down the valet, with the bay and
Lake Ontario in the foreground. The plans of the building have been passed on
by the two United States medical experts, and after repeated examination and
alteration in the details have been declared next to perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Plans and specifications
are being prepared for the first section of the new hospital, to cost $150,000.
Tenders are to be advertised for, and the work of construction is to begin as
soon as possible. The building will be four stories, constructed of reinforced
concrete, and without basement, the New York medical experts having decided
against basements in hospital buildings. The building will provide
accommodation for sixty patients and the necessary staff. When the entire
building is completed, it will provide accommodations for over five hundred
patients.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">T. H. Pratt is
chairman of the board of governors; Stewart and Witton are the local
architects. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-11033887581183541572016-04-11T15:59:00.002-07:002016-04-11T15:59:46.958-07:001915-01-23
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The
ancient Hamiltonians take a look backward in memory now and then and dream of
the bucolic days when nearly every well-to-do home was provided with a melodeon
in the parlor, and after prayers, the winding of the clock and the putting the
cat out at nine p.m., then out went the tallow or candle, and the family
retired to peaceful rest, and got up refreshed with the song birds in the
morning to take up the daily routine of life. The good old bossy, after giving
her morning pail of milk, could be heard bellowing her song of peaceful content
as she turned her head toward the succulent pasture fields east and west to
browse during the long, hot summer day, and then return home at eventide to
replenish the pantry with more pans of sweet, fresh milk. There was no hint of
the milkman having crossed a creek with his wagon to supply his customers with
the pure lacteal fluid, for milk was so plentiful in those days that it was
almost as cheap as water, hence there was no temptation to the honest milkman
to fill up his cans from the creek. Now, it might be inferred that people were
more honest half a century ago than they are now. Forget it. Human nature has
been built on the same plane since the time Noah landed his passengers and
freight from the ark on dry land before Hamilton had a place on the map. Do you
know that people are apt to live in the past after they pass a certain stage in
the journey of life? Well, that is just the case of this old Muser, whose
memory flies back now and then to the time in Hamilton when the cat went out
for the night, and boys and girls were not allowed to roam the streets after
old Peter Ferris would ring the nine o’clock bell.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The congregation of the
First Methodist church dedicated their handsome temple last Sunday, and on next
Sunday, a like service will be held in connection with the Sunday school
building. It required a deal of courage for the members to build such a
handsome and costly edifice, but the location deserved it, for on that lot and
corner was built not only the first church in Hamilton, but also the first
Methodist church. The corner and the lot are historic ground. Sometimes it seems
like plowing over the old ground for any mention to be made in these musings in
connection with church, especially that of First church. At a venture we will
recall the story, and if the reader should say that he or she read it before,
then they can skip this page and read “Bobby’s” hot stuff on the sporting page
about the latest prize fight. One hundred and fifteen years ago there landed in
the region, now known in history as the Head of the Lake, but later christened
Hamilton, a man by the name of Richard Springer. He was of German descent, but
was born in the United States. In the year 1801, he located a farm south of
Main street and up to the mountain, better described later as the site of the
St. Patrick’s school on Hunter street, now turned into a flour mill by the Wood
Milling company. The Springer homestead stood in the rear of the present site
of the mill, and the first thing that the owner did was to rect an altar in his
home to the Great Father who directed his life, and then he planted an orchard
with the choicest fruit grown in this region in those days. A few trees of the
old orchard are still yielding fruit. He invited his neighbors to attend the
weekly prayer meeting held in his house, and on Sundays he would have a class
meeting and preaching service. When the farm kitchen became too small to
accommodate the increased attendance, he fitted up his barn for the meetings.
Now and then a wandering itinerant preacher would drift toward the Head of the
Lake, and then there was a regular Pentecostal feast among the ancient
Methodists. When quarterly meeting time came, these old Methodists would
journey out to Bowman chapel on the mountain or to the chapel at Stoney Creek,
which was riddled with bullets in the war of 1812, and there they would devoutly
listen to the gospel sermons, relate their experience and “sing the hours away
in everlasting bliss.” In those days, Elder Ryan and Rev. Nathan Bangs were the
best known itinerants in these parts, and Elder Ryan travelled from one end of
Upper Canada to the other, organizing circuits. For years, Richard Springer’s
barn accommodated the congregations in winter, and during the summer months,
services were held under the forest trees. The first and oldest regular place
of public worship was a little frame school house on the lot near the corner of
King and Wellington streets. Here Mr. Springer continued his regular class and
prayer meetings, and in the absence of an itinerant preacher, he would conduct
the Sunday service. As an exhorter, it is told that Mr. Springer was a man of
great power, somewhat quaint in his manner, which was very effective in those
early days of Methodism. It is said that most of the farmers living at the Head
of the Lake (now the city of Hamilton0 were Methodists, among them being the
Springers, Lands, Aikmans, Fergusons, Hughsons, Beasleys,Hesses, Kirkendalls
and others whose names are forgotten by the Muser. Some of those named united
with the Church of England when the Rev. James Gamble Geddes first gathered a
congregation here, about 1825.In 1822, Richard Springer, Charles Depew, Col.
John Aikman, john Eaton and Peter Ferguson, acting as trustees for the
Methodist Episcopal church, purchased the present site on the corner of King
and Wellington streets from Col. Robert Land, paying twenty pounds ($80) for
about one acre and a quarter of land for a burying ground and a church. One of
the first burials was Samuel Price, a tavern keeper, whose gravestone bore the
date 1822. In 1823, the deed was made to the trustees and immediately after
getting possession, the trustees built the first church in Hamilton, and in May
1824, it was duly dedicated. The contract for the erection of the church was
given to Day Knight, a brother-in-law of Richard Springer, and the father of
Mrs. Daniel Kelly, 444 Main street east, who is now in her ninety-fourth year,
and as bright in intellect and activity as a woman of sixty. The building cost
about $1,700; the dedication sermon being preached by Presiding Elder William
Case. Soon, after the church was built the congregation withdrew from the
Methodist Episcopal Church in the United States and assumed the name of the
Methodist Episcopal Church of Canada. This was known as Ancaster circuit, the
Reverend Issac B. Smith and the Reverend David Culp being the ministers in
charge of the circuit. The writer of these Musings had the pleasure, in his
youth, of hearing the Rev. David Culp preach in the old Methodist Episcopal
Church on Nelson street, now Ferguson Avenue. The church property was
afterwards sold to the government, and on it was built the gun sheds for
Captain Booker’s artillery. The Rev. Dr. Ryerson, then a young fellow of twenty
years, came from his farm home in Ancaster to study the classics under Mr. Law.
He was a Methodist and Mr. Springer finally captured hi and got him into the
ministry.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The first
Methodist<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>church built in Hamilton, and
dedicated in 1824, cost $1,700, and the early Methodists felt proud of it. It
cost much self-denial in those early days even to raise that small amount. The
church that was dedicated last Sunday cost $105,000, and the Sunday school
building that will be dedicated tomorrow cost $35,000 more, making a grand
total of $140,000. When it is considered that there are but few wealthy men
connected with the First Methodist, while the majority of its membership is in
comfortable circumstances, it required a deal of faith in the future for the
congregation to tackle such a proposition, especially in these days of
financial stringency. There is no such word as fail in the lexicon of the First
church, and while the present generation may not be able to pull the whole
load, there are future generations of Methodists to finish the job. The new church
is a credit to Hamilton, and to the denomination in Canada. It is to be
presumed that the first Methodist bishop in Canada, Bishop Reynolds, dedicated
the old King street church in 1824, though we have no authentic data to prove
it. The new church was dedicated last Sunday morning by Bishop Chown, and in
the evening by the Rev. E. B. Lanceley, who may be in effect called the father
of the new church, for it was during his pastorate that the enterprise was
started. We will close with a little item of history. In 1824, the first
missionary collection taken up on the Ancaster circuit, comprising about thirty
miles in circumference, in which the Head of the Lake was included, amounted on
the entire district to $32. This would not go very far toward the conversion of
even one heathen in these days of high prices of living.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It is estimated on
reliable authority that not less than $2,000 a day crosses the bars of the
hotels in Hamilton; and this seems to be a new estimate considering that there
are sixty-two licensed hotels, the average receipts being over $32 a day. Added
to this, there are sixteen retail stores where liquor is sold by the quantity,
not to be drunk on the premises. As there is a good profit on liquors, it is
reasonable to suppose that the retail dealers take in quite a large amount in
the course of a day’s business for what are called bottled goods. But take the
incomes of sixty-two licensed hotels at $2,000 a day and it amounts to $32,000
a week. Count it up for a year and it costs to quench the thirst of the hotel
customers $804,000. These figures are low if we consider a semi-official
estimate that appeared in the local columns of the city papers some months ago.
</span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">That statement gave in round numbers $1,000,000 as the
estimated receipts that crossed hotel bars in one year. Take your choice of the
$2,000 a day or the one million dollars a year and either is certainly a great
waste of money for the momentary pleasure of tickling the palates of the few
hundreds or more who indulge in that luxury. It is not the intention of the
Muser to berate the hotel keeper or his customers. The man with a liquor
appetite and his helpless wife and children are the sufferers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The United Relief
association of Hamilton is now spending between $5,000 and $6,000 a week in furnishing
food for 2,000 or 2,500 families of men out of employment. The families cannot
starve, and there is no work for the men to do to provide the food and fuel and
house rent. This condition of affairs is not peculiar to Hamilton alone; it is
world-wide. The people of Hamilton are generous givers, and they not only
contribute liberally from their private purses toward every benevolent enterprise,
but they are loyally backing up the civic authorities to appropriate from the
public treasury all the money necessary to provide for the wants of the less
fortunate.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">But, just think of
it, from $5,000 to $6,000 a week to furnish food and fuel and clothing to the
families of the unemployed of Hamilton, and not less than $12,000 a week to
quench the liquor thirst of the men who have acquired an appetite for strong
drink!<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">In the recent war in
which the Japanese and the Russians were trying conclusions, the little brown
brother was more than a match for the Russian bear. There was a reason for
this, for the men of Russia were as brave and courageous as the Japs. The
Japanese are a temperate people, while the Russian soldier of that war drank
heavily of his native vodka. The sober Japanese was more than a physical match
for his Russian opponent under the demoralizing influence of vodka, and the
result was victory for the little brown brother on every battlefield.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">When the present
unpleasantness between the Kaiser and his neighbor rulers began, the Czar of
Russia issued an order prohibiting the sale of vodka in his Dominions. At one
fell swoop, he wiped out $500,000,000 of revenue, for the government of Russia
had a monolpoly of the liquor business. Every place where vodka was sold was
immediately closed and no liquor could be had for love nor money. It was
prohibition that prohibited. It was intended for a war measure, and its results
were immediate. There is no more drunkenness or demoralization in the Russian
army, and these brave fellows are fighting like heroes and whipping everything
before them. Tally one for a sober army! Not only has Russia a sober army now,
but the men at home are sober and industrious and their families are not only
well-fed and clothed, but the rioting and the drunkenness that prevailed have
passed away.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">If Hamilton had a
czar that could do like the Czar of Russia, there would be no $12,000 a week crossing
the hotel bars, and the city would not have to raise $5,000 or $6,000 a week
for a relief fund.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Laugh and the world
laughs with you; weep and you go it alone. It was Ela Wheeler Wilcox that gave
expression to this trite saying, or words to that effect. We all like the
plaudits of friends, especially those of us who dabble in printer`s ink. This
old Muser may be pardoned if he gives to the readers of these Musings a couple
of very complimentary letters, congratulating him on having lived four score
years, and saying very nice things about our humble contributions to the
columns of the Spectator. The first is our old friend, Judge Jelfs, and the
second from an old Burlington boy who obeyed the call of the wild west and is
now the sales manager in the J. H. Ashdown Hardware company, in the city of Winnipeg.
We have not had the pleasure of being acquainted with Mr. C. H. Bamford, and
that makes his kind words the more acceptable. Many friends told us how glad
they were that the Muser was getting up in years, though he is only a boy yet.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Office of Police Magistrate,<o:p></o:p></i></span></strong></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 7;"> </span>November
18, 1914<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Sir, - Allow me, as one of the many thousands who
have enjoyed and been entertained by your able contributions to the press, to
congratulate you on your reaching, with God`s approval, an age in advance of
the allotted span, enjoying ,as I am sure you must, the consoling and
comforting thought that your life must be pleasing to God because it has been
useful to your fellow men.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span>Yours
sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 5;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Geo. Fred. Jelfs<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 3;"> </span>------------------------------<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 6;"> </span>Winnipeg,
Canada,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 7;"> </span>November
18, 1914. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
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</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Mr. Butler, - Permit me to congratulate you on
reaching the four score mark, and to express the wish that you will long be
spared to contribute Saturday Musings to the Spectator. Your articles I read
with pleasure. While they are reminiscent, their diction has a charm that
sustains from the first to the last word. Truly, the boys and girls of Hamilton
are to be congratulated on their good fortune in having the early history of
their city presented to them so interestingly, and interspersed with such ripe
common sense. I am an old Burlington boy, and know Hamilton well, hence your
articles have an added interest. Yet even were I a total stranger to Hamilton,
they would still be looked upon as articles worthwhile.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">I ask you to accept this slight appreciation of your
worth and work, and wish that the year you are just entering will be a record
one in good health and happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Believe me, yours sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></strong><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">C. H. S. Bamford.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></i></div>
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-4586672097437590172016-01-20T14:00:00.002-08:002016-01-20T14:47:26.986-08:001914-10-10<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"> Why should
there be hard times in a land of plenty? That is a question that would puzzle
the smartest man to answer. Take Canada for example, it is rich in everything
needful for the comfort of man, and its development has hardly begun. The earth
yields bountiful crops of every variety of food and in fruit belts are not
surpassed in any country. And it is less than half a century since it has been
discovered that its mines are overflowing with wealth. Yet, with all these
blessings the cry of hard times comes every few years to bring poverty and want
to countless homes. One would to countless homes. One would think that in a
city like Hamilton with its four hundred or more factories no able-bodied
man<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>would be compelled to ask for bread
for the support of his wife and children. Yet there are hundreds of men walking
the streets seeking in vain for work. The factory doors have been closed for
weeks and months, and the prospects of them again opening are not very bright
for months or more. There is no demand<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>for the output of the factories and money is so tied up that the
managers of factories are not in a position to manufacture in the hope of a
future demand for their wares. Every few years this condition exists and there
seems to be no way out of it. In the rural communities, they know but little of
hard times, and as for the farmers they never feel the pangs of poverty, nor do
their children ask in vain for bread for no matter how business is with the
town people, the farmer always has something to sell for which he gets cash on
demand and the best of prices, and from his overflowing stores there is plenty
of everything to feed and clothe his family. While the towns are filled with
unemployed men, the farmer cannot hire labor sufficient to gather his crops and
every year more than enough is wasted on the farm, on account of the scarcity
of labor that would feed many hundreds of town families, and there are
thousands of acres of land lying untilled because there are not men willing to
leave the uncertainties of city life and go to work in the country. It’s a
muddle.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A couple of weeks ago, a correspondent
in the columns of the Spectator had something to say about the nickel industry.
Some years ago, the writer of these musings was interested in a passing study
of the mining and metallurgical industries of Canada, especially in the
province of Ontario. At that time, it was one of the dreams of John Patterson
to build a smelting furnace here in Hamilton for the reduction and refining of
nickel matte. Indeed, he got so far along in his scheme as to organize a
company and erect the necessary buildings in the east end of the city, and
there, forom some unaccountable reason, the nickel industry came to a sudden
ending before actual smelting had begun. Hamilton then lost a prospective
industry that would have been the means of bringing others of its kind to
furnish labor and wealth for the city. As we call to mind from the reading of
the report, referred to some years ago, native copper was first discovered in
Canada about the year 1767 by a trader named Henry, who had passed the winter
on Michipicoten Island. Later, a company was organized in England to work mines
in Lake Superior country, but the vein of copper was so narrow that the
prospectors became discouraged and the attempt was abandoned. No further effort
was made for nearly three-quarters of a century, until 1845, when a company was
organized in Montreal to explore the minerals on the north shore of Lake
Superior. A distance of 500 miles, from Sault Ste. Marie to Pigeon River, was
surveyed, but subsequent development proved disappointing. Unprofitable
operations were continued at intervals until 1865, during which time large sums
of money were expended in developing the Bruce mines. Nickel was first
discovered in 1816 in the copper ore in the Wallace mine, on the shore of Lake
Huron, but not in sufficient quantities to justify extensive explorations. This
was the first recorded discovery of nickel in Canada. Ten years later, nickel
and copper ore were discovered six miles north of Whitefish lake, and less than
half a mile from the Creighton mine. The Creighton mine, which has become the
main source of the nickel supply, was not opened till 1909. In 1892, the
International Nickel company, of New Jersey, was organized to consolidate and
control the nickel production in Canada.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Canada has a monopoly of the nickel
output, for nickel is only found in one other place in the world in paying
quantities. In 1853, the French government took possession of an island of
Australia, in the Pacific ocean, and converted it into a convict camp. The
island is rich in gold, copper and nickel, and is surrounded on all sides by
coral reefs, connecting numerous islets, rocks and banks of sand, rendering
navigation so intricate and dangerous that the island can be approached by two openings
only. Captain Cook first discovered the island in 1774, and called it New
Caledonia. The island covers about six thousand square miles, and in 1890 had a
population of 57,000. The mines are worked by the French government with
convict labor. New Caledonia is between eight hundred and a thousand miles from
the shores of Australia, and its approaches are so dangerous that it is next to
impossible for the convicts to make their escape. The nickel output of the New
Caledonia mines hardly comes in competition with the output of the Sudbury
mines, for the distance which it has to be freighted to the markets in England
and New York, being some sixteen or seventeen thousand miles, and the demands
of the French government for use of the material in manufactures, etc.,
substantially gives Canada the control of the markets of the world. In 1907 –
the latest data on hand – the value of the nickel sent to the United States was
$9,525, 406. There seems to be no end in sight to the output of the mines, and
as the years go by, its value increases on account of its application in almost
every branch of the steel industry, especially in the making of plates for
sea-going vessels.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In gold and silver mining, Canada has
wealth in abundance, and all that seems to be necessary to its development is
the investment of more Canadian capital. It does seem strange that in Ontario,
with all its richness in copper, nickel, lead, zinc, graphite, mica, talc,
corundum, carbide of calcium, salt, peat, petroleum and natural gas, so few of
the companies are controlled or managed by Canadian men or capital. In looking
over the list of corporations, we find Hamilton men and capital are represented
in the Canada Corundum company. It has a paid up capital of $1,106,287. Three
Hamilton men are members of the board of directors, C. S. Wilcox, F. H. Whitton
and J. Orr Callaghan. The headquarters of the company is in Toronto. The
company owns about three thousand acres of corundum lands in Renfrew and
Hastings counties. The corundum mill is by far the largest concentrating plant
in Canada, and in 1904 gave employment to an average of 200 men. Corundum was
first discovered in paying quantities in 1906. Corundum is the second hardest
mineral, the only other one equaling or surpassing it being the diamond. As
with nickel, cobalt, mica and asbestos, Canada holds a unique position, the
deposits being practically unlimited. Another valuable product is carbide of
calcium, a discovery made by H. L. Willson, who was born and raised within the
sound of the alarm in Hamilton’s fire tower.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Take the entire territory of the
Dominion of Canada, from the Yukon territory to the jumping-off place at Nova
Scotia, and the earth is one vast storehouse of undiscovered wealth. The hardy
pioneers who have developed its mines have merely scratched the surface, but
enough has been done to prove Canada among the richest mining countries in the
world. Gold was first discovered in the Yukon in 1878 by a prospector named
Holt, and in the first twelve years $122,968,000 worth of the precious metal
was added to the wealth of the world. Towards the close of the eighteenth
century, silver was discovered near Sault Ste. Marie by a Russian explorer, but
it was not till 1855 the first mine was located. The yield was inconsiderable
till between the years 1867 and 1870, when an American company acquired from
the Montreal Mining company a tract of 107,000 acres, in which was included the
famous Silver Islet mine. The province of Quebec is rich in minerals, the one
of the greatest value being asbestos , which is especial interest in the mining
and industrial world. So far as is known down to the present time, the deposits
of asbestos in Quebec are the only ones yet discovered. The asbestos mines are
principally controlled by American capital. Petroleum was first discovered in
the western part of Canada about the year 1850, but it has been known to exist
by the Indians aay back in the early settlement of the country. It has been
used for lighting purposes from time immemorial. Petrolea, Bothwell, Leamington
and East Tilbury are the principal oil fields in Ontario, and all are located
between London and the Detroit river. Sixty years ago, everybody in this
section of Canada was talking petroleum, and millions of dollars were sunk in
prospecting wells, from which there was but small returns to the investors.
George Brown, the editor of the Toronto Globe, was one of the early promoters
of the Bothwell field, and sunk quite a lot of money. The pioneers in all such
enterprises generally lay the foundation for the fortunes made by the
Rockefellers. Hamilton had at least one enthusiast as a promoter in the oil
fields at Petrolea and Bothwell. Frederick Watkins, father of Frederick Watkins
now living in this city, was at that time doing a prosperous mercantile
business in partnership with his brother, Thomas C. and Samuel, but he caught
the oil fever and left the selling of dry goods and clothing to his brothers,
while he spent weary days and anxious nights boring for oil. After sinking
quite an amount of capital, he retired from the oil fields, glad to get back to
Hamilton with life and broken down health. The men who developed the Ontario
oil fields never made a dollar, but those who came after them reaped the harvest.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We repeat the question asked in the
opening of these musings, Why should there be poverty and hard times in a land
of plenty? Ontario is rich in everything necessary to the comfort of man, and
there is more wasted every day on the farm and in the homes in towns and cities
than would feed the multitude out of work. Hamilton has grown in population far
beyond its working capacity at the present time. The war and hard times came
together, and, as a result, the four hundred or more industries of Hamilton
have had either to close down or run on shorter hours. The cotton mills and the
knitting factories and John McPherson’s shoe factory seem to be the favored
industries, some of them having to work overtime to fill orders. While Canadian
capital is being investedin Mexico and South America, English and American
capital is gathering in the wealth from the Ontario mines.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Canada has sent some thirty or
thirty-two thousand of her boys across the seas to help fight the battles of
the mother country, and there is an effort to raise nearly as many men to raise
the contingent to fifty thousand. That the rolls will soon be filled, there is
no doubt, as thousands were disappointed at not being taken on the first call.
Just think of it, that in less than two months an army of thirty thousand
fighting men could be gathered, drilled and equipped, and all are volunteers!
In 1861, when President Lincoln issued the first call for 75,000 volunteers to
suppress the rebellion in the southern states, it took nearly three months to
lick them into shape and get them ready for the field of battle. That army had
to be equipped and drilled, for the majority of the boys who enlisted had,
probably, never fired a gun in their lives. This old muser can speak from
experience, for he was one of the 75,000 volunteers, and never but once had
fired even a shotgun, and then he killed a poor little bird that was singing so
sweetly in a tree across the bay in Oaklands park. The United States was not
then as well-prepared for war as was Canada when Colonel Sam Hughes called for
thirty thousand men. At the first battle of Bull Run, in July, 1861, the
Federals had in the field no larger an army than Canada sent across the seas a
couple of weeks ago.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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1880s Hamiltonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13253455167112693975noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1703329810338838459.post-53248903927941273212016-01-01T17:58:00.001-08:002016-01-01T17:58:05.925-08:001914-11-14
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">How
the years go flying, especially after one has passed the threescore mark; but
it is only a step, and there you are, fourscore. It is not much a long, long
way to Tipperary after all. This old Muser has passed the fourscore mark, last
Wednesday being the anniversary of his advent into this bright and happy world.
It has truly been a bright and happy world to me, barring some of the crosses
that now and then come to all, but nothing of a serious nature. I have thought
that this would be a good time for me to blow my own horn a little; I have been
the musical director for scores of old-time Hamiltonians during the fifteen or
sixteen years that I have been writing these Saturday Musings. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To begin with, I entered this life on the
eleventh day of November, 1834, in an underground fort on the banks of the St.
Lawrence river, in the old town of Coteau du Lac. The intention was to have me
born in Ballyholly, Ireland, where my father was born. But a soldier’s life is
not in his own keeping, and the regiment to which my father belonged, the
Twenty-Fourth Foot, was ordered to Canada from Ireland some two or three months
too soon to carry out the program. I was reared in a military barracks till
eight years of age, when my dear father passed to the other world, leaving my
mother with four children to care for, I being the oldest. Substantially about
all the schooling I got was in a barracks school, where the course of study was
confined to the three R’s, with a smattering of grammar and geography
sandwiched in. My school days ended at the mature age of ten years, when I had
to begin the battle of life to help pay the expenses of the family. Not being
particular as to what I worked at, I was fortunate in never being out of a job;
and the same kind fortune has followed me for seventy years, during which time
I have been always in employment. At the age of twelve, I got a job in the
Montreal Herald office to learn the printing business, and being the latest
apprentice, I was handed the broom by the boy who preceded me and duly
installed as office sweeper and sorter of pi and carrier of a route on that
paper. I held on to the job for quite a while, the stipend of one dollar a week
being an incentive to duty, but when the time came for me to be advanced to the
high and responsible office of ‘devil’ I had to resign, not being strong enough
to handle the roller. But I persevered in my ambition to become a printer, and
when our family moved to London, I got a job in the Free Press office as roller
boy under Charles Kidner, one of the kindest instructors a boy ever had. I
worked in London for two years on the Free Press and on the Prototype, then I
turned the toes of my yarn stockings, as Colonel Robert Ingersoll once
remarked, toward the rising sun and came to Hamilton in the summer of 1850.
That was in the days before the streets of Hamilton were lighted with gas, and
the Great Western railway was beginning to loom up through the cut half way
down to the bay, and waterworks were only a dream. I arrived in Hamilton by the
old stage line in the evening, and the next morning, I got work in the Journal
and Express office at the princely sum of $2.50 per week, when the editor was
in funds. In those days, four printer boys boarded with ‘Dick’ Donnelly’s aunt,
paying her $1.50 per week. It was a small price, and the kind-hearted woman
made nothing out of it, furnishing good, healthy food to four hungry fellows. I
was fortunate in getting a more desirable job in the Christian Advocate office,
but the weekly stipend was not advanced. In the fall of 1852, another Advocate
apprentice and myself decided to go to the United States, and we landed in
Rochester late one night with only fifteen cents between us. Hungry and tired
after our trip on the cars, we put up a bold face and stopped at one of the
large hotels near the depot. The next morning, we told the landlord of our
impoverished condition, said we were printers from Canada looking for work, and
the first money we earned he should be paid. He was a kind-hearted man,
believed our story, and told us to go into breakfast, and he would talk to us
afterwards. He invited us to stay at the hotel till we got work, and gave us a
deal of fatherly advice. That morning I got work in the first printing office I
went into, and I was cheered by meeting Jack Cliff, an old Hamilton printer.
The first work I made more than enough to settle my bill at the hotel, for the
landlord put the rate down very low, and then I bade him goodbye and got board
in a private house. Board was very cheap in those days, and the food was of the
best, charge being only $1 a week.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I remained in Rochester a couple of
years and joined the first printers’ society organized in that city. The scale of
wages was twenty cents a thousand for solid bourgeois, which the ordinary hands
set, the local, commercial and advertisements being departments given to the
older men. At the first meeting of the society the question of a scale of wages
was discussed, and twenty-five cents was the price demanded. The proprietors
objected to such a heavy raise, and they offered a compromise, but the younger
fellows held out for the demand. Finally the younger element was outvoted, and
the scale fixed at twenty-three cents. I was getting the wanderlust, so I
decided to quit and go and see the great city of New York. When I arrived
there, I found scores of printers like myself hunting for work, times being
bad; and finally I took a job at Peekskill at $7 a week as foreman of an office
in which there was only one boy myself to boss. I remained in Peekskill for
about a year and then got homesick and returned to Hamilton. The Banner was
then about to start and I was just in time to get a job. The Banner was first
started as a semi-weekly, and in time it became a daily. At the head of the
office were two first-class printers, and the third member of the firm was
‘Billy’ Brown, whose father was the angel who furnished the cash. The Great
Western railway company was then organizing its departments in Hamilton, and
through the influence of Issac Buchanan, who then was a leading man with the
heads of the departments, the Banner was fortunate in getting a large share of
the job printing., which was profitable work at that time. The Banner was the
organ of the Great Western, and Mr. Buchanan wrote the leading editorial in its
interests. With all its financial backing, the Banner did not make headway, and
after three or four years, it was sold to a syndicate, with Tom Gray as the
business manager. The Spectator had the leading position as a daily, until the
death in 1858, of Robert Smiley, the original proprietor and editor, and then
the Times took the lead for a time while Hugh B. Willson was the managing
editor. But, we’re not writing newspaper history.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I worked only a few months in the
Banner office, when I returned to the Advocate, where I remained until the spring
of 1859, holding for a time the position of assistant foeman. In 1857 came the
great panic that paralyzed the industries of Canada and the United States. At
that time, Hamilton was not much of a manufacturing town, there being only a
few local industries. Any one of the large factories in the city today employ
more men than did all of the workshops in 1857. The printing business suffered
in the panic, and it was only in the two daily offices that part of a full
force was employed. In the Advocate office there were ten journeymen, and a
number of boys employed, and the time came that the force would have to be
reduced. The men, among themselves, agreed to work half-time, and this being
satisfactory to the managers, we went to work at seven in the morning and quit
at noon. The boys were kept on full-time, but their wages were small, and they
boarded with the manager; it did not pay to reduce their time. Notwithstanding
the hard times of ’57, I mustered up courage to get married, and for months we
had to get along on the very small wages I earned. My wife was a good manager.
We stood it as long as we could, it being hard work to leave the old home and
go out into the world to pastures new. Finally, the break came, and one day in
a fit of desperation, I threw up my job, sold our furniture for $50 that had
cost us over $300, and away we went to Cincinnati, Ohio. It was the turning
point for me, for the morning I got to Cincinnati I got work, and never was a
day idle of necessity till I sold out my own printing office, having saved
enough to keep my wife and myself the remainder of our days. When the civil war
in the United States broke out, I got what we might call in those days the war
lust, and as President Lincoln called for 75,000 men for three months, we thought
the war would be of short duration. I enlisted in a company of printers, and
when the three months were up, I concluded that I had done my share, and was
ready to quit. I then bought a broken-down printing at Oxford, Ohio, and went
out there to make my fortune Oxford was a college town, there being a
university for young men, and three colleges for young<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>women. The presidents of the colleges were
kind to me, and gave me the catalogues and other printing to do. Fortunately, I
had learned the printer’s trade from the roller up, and then it was that my
education in that line stood to my advantage. I had only about $1.26 when I
bought the office, but the man who owned it had taken it for a debt, and knew
nothing about the printing business, he gladly sold it to me without any money
down. It took me about a year and a half to get out of debt and pay off the
mortgage, ad the war fever running high, every young man in Oxford having gone
into the army, I and the boys that were working for me, enlisted in a company
that was then being organized in Oxford, and the office was closed until the
cruel war was over. After the war, I took up my work where I had laid it down
to carry a musket and stand up to be a target to be shot at for $16 a month in
greenbacks, which was about thirty-three cents in gold on the dollar part at
the time, that being the pay of a corporal.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the year 1870, I sold my paper in
Oxford, and bought another in Oberlin, Ohio, where I remained for a couple of
years, and then sold out to buy another paper, The Public, in Clinton,
Illinois, where I spent twenty-five years. For nine of the years in Clinton, I
had the honor of being postmaster, which paid me about $1500 a year, which I
foolishly spent in politics. The Public was a prosperous investment, but I
never had the faculty of saving money till a few years before retiring from
business. My first saving was in buying $1,000 worth of stock in the De Witt
County National bank, for which I had to borrow the money, and it was wonderful
to me how quick I paid it off. Here let me say that the best thing a young man
can do is to go into debt for something of value, and then pay it out as
quickly as possible. It is the hardest proposition to save the first thousand
dollars, but while you are saving it you are gaining a valuable lesson in
economy. For sixteen years, I had the honor of being a director and the vice-president
in the bank, but as neither directors nor the vice-president got any salary, it
was purely an honorary position.<o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nineteen years ago, I retired from the
printing business and have been like a fish out of water ever since. It doesn’t
pay to give up your life work till you get so old and helpless that you cannot
stand up to the rack any longer. There is nothing like an active life to keep
one young and vigorous. Seventeen years ago I came back to Hamilton after forty
years’ absence, though making occasional visits during that time. As a mental
recreation, I have endeavored in the Saturday Musings to interest the present
day generation with the ancient Hamiltonians of fifty and sixty years ago. How
far I have succeeded it is for the readers of the Musings to say. Last Wednesday
I reached my wightieth birthday, and as I have written of other ancient
Hamiltonians, the question suggested itself to me, why not tell your own story
before the undertaker calls for you? Let me say, in conclusion, that to me life
has been one sweet song with only an occasional discordant note. I never used
liquor, even for medicinal purposes, and have never been out of a job since I
began to work at ten years of age. <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span></div>
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