Sunday, 15 March 2015

1911-07-11


“Jimmy” Dawson came as a boy with his parents to Hamilton in 1849. His parents were English, and so was Jimmy. They were blessed with poverty and a family of young children, and Jimmy had to hustle as soon as he was able to help the family lader. He attended a private school for a while, as Hamilton had no real public school till the Central was built. Jimmy was a worker, and while his pay check on Saturday night was limited, he turned every penny over to his mother. His father did not live many years after coming to Hamilton, and Jimmy became the right hand support of his good mother. There was not much work in ths days for boys, but he was always ready to turn his hand to anything that would come his way. He was never out of a job, for as soon as one thing closed up he was ready to jump into the next thing that opened. Jimmy was not particular as to choice of employment so long as it was work and money. He worked for a time with John Roberts, who kept a picture framing and carver and gilder shop on the north side of King street, opposite the Anglo-American hotel, and, being industrious and anxious to learn the trade, he became quite proficient. He also worked in the Banner bindery; but, it would make quite a catalogue to tell all he did work at. His best job was when he got a route on the Great Western railway to sell papers, magazines and books between Niagara Falls and Detroit. The old timers will remember Mr. Tunis, who had the monopoly of the route, and he was a generous employer, giving the train boys a liberal percentage on their sales. When the Toronto and Hamilton branch of the Great Western was opened, Jimmy changed his run because of the better opportunities, and continued on it till about two weeks before the Desjardins canal accident in March, 1857. Jimmy went back to work for John Roberts, and being skillful at the picture framing and gilding business, he thought his services were worth more than Roberts was willing to pay, especially as Hamilton was just then enjoying the opening months of the panic of 1857, and man and boy were lucky to get a job at any price. Hamilton boys were then looking with longing eyes to the country across the Niagara, so Jimmy bade goodbye to mother and the rest of his family and hiked away to the promised land. He was fortunate in striking a job in Buffalo, and in due course of time drifted down to New York.

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          Jimmy was something of an artist and got mixed up with the paints and brushes, and thus was his life career changed. He was never out of work, and being of good habits, never chasing beer schooners nor indulging in the sports that bring ruin to young men, he kept on climbing the ladder of fame and fortune. He became an expert as a restorer of oil paintings. He became well-established in New York, and his painstaking ability in that particular line of art brought him a fair share of wealth, and all the work he could do. We must not call him “Jimmy” now, but give him the title that his art entitles him, Professor James Dawson. After fifty-seven years’ absence from Hamilton, he returned this week to visit his boyhood home. When he hiked out, Hamilton was an overgrown village of less than 12,000; he returns to find it a prosperous industrial city of over 100,000. Everything has changed, even to old Corktown where he lived as a boy. He met his old friend John Brick, and together they lived over the times of sixty years ago in Corktown. During all the long years of his absence he had bright dreams of someday visiting Hamilton, but they never were realized until this week. He is now a man of seventy-four years, and looks as fresh and young as a boy of fifty. This Old Muser was with Prof. Dawson in the ancient volunteer fire department sixty years ago. He recalled the night of a fire in the third story of the Royal hotel, before the days of the waterworks when they could not raise a stream high enough to get at the fire. The boys of No. 6 picked up their engine and carried it upstairs and then put out the fire. The No. 6 is the old engine that is now used by the veteran firemen for holiday parades. We spent a pleasant hour talking over old times in Hamilton. The professor tarries only a short time in the city. He knows but few now, all of his boyhood friends have either hiked out as did he, or are quietly sleeping in the city cemeteries. Goodbye Jimmy, we may not meet again.                   

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We had a visit from another Hamilton boy a few days ago. He was born here and spent his boyhood and cash in three game birds to take home. About thirty-five years ago, he, too, took up his pilgrimage and landed in the city of Chicago, where he has continued to live. This was his first visit to his old home, although within eighteen hours’ ride of it. His relatives had passed away or moved out, and there was no special attraction for him to return. Thirty, forty and fifty years ago, Chicago was the promised land to Hamilton boys, and one could hardly walk the streets of that city without meeting someone from this old town. The printing offices were full of Hamilton printers, and three of the largest job offices in that city were owned by former Hamiltonians. Dick Donnelly, John B. Jeffrey and Tom Hines always had a job for a Hamilton boy. Our visitor of the other day was not a printer, but in whatever business he is associated he gave evidence of prosperity. He took advantage of the spring meeting of the Hamilton Jockey club to pay his old home a visit, being passionately fond of horses, and wanted to see a race in the home of his boyhood. He toured Canada down as far as Quebec before the races came off, and got here in time to enjoy his favourite pastime. When he struck Hamilton, he had a wad of bills running in figures toward a thousand, and being a bit of a sport, he bet on the bang tails, but he never seemed to be on the right side. Finally, he doled out his last hundred to the bookmakers, and when that was gone, he was ready to be gone too. Having a return ticket and a five dollar bill left, he invested a part of his cash in three game birds to take home with him to Chicago. He was as happy as a clam in high water, and promised this old Muser to come back next year to see how Hamilton is growing. He said his betting sin was the bang tails, but as he was comfortably fixed, his only dissipation was running a tilt with the bookmakers. He left with us his parting advice, which we were to hand out to the pony dopists, to keep away from the betting ring, for in the end, the gentlemanly bookmakers will get away with your wad, and, by the way, it was estimated that over a million and a quarter dollars changed hands during the recent races in this city, and that the bookmakers took most of it away from the Hamilton sports.

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One would think that with the whole of Lake Ontario to draw fresh, our park commissioners could afford to run the three or four fountains in the city during the warm, dry weather. Now and then they do turn on the water in the Gore park during the afternoon and evening, and how refreshing its cooling streams must be to the people who have none, of but few, of the pleasures of this world. The fountain in Wellington park on King street east stands there as dry as though it were in the deserts of Sahara, where a cup of cool water would be like a blessing from heaven. But that is not the worst phase of this cheap economy in the water supply. Down in Woodland park, a Mrs. Reid, an aged lady who had spent her long life in Hamilton, provided in her will for the erection of a fountain. And left $500 to pay for it. The fountain was built, and it is there yet, not a drop of water ever oozing from it. It seems the fountain got out of order and neither the parks board nor the controllers will pay the trifling amount it would cost to have it repaired. On the James street front of the Gore park, the drinking fountain that was donated to the city by one of its ancient residents, is used as a news stand at certain times, and is as dry as a powder horn, not a drop of water ever gurgling forth from it. Hamilton has a reputation for always giving a cold shoulder to bequests made to it, which is certainly not much encouragement to those who might like to do something for the old town. But to get back to the dry fountains. There is a whole lake full to draw from, and the cost but little. The people of Hamilton pay into the city treasury nearly $300,000 a year for the little water that is used to supply a population of 100,000, and yet the city is so mean about it that in hot weather they forbid its use for watering the lawns and flower beds of the householders who pay such heavy taxes for the little they use for domestic purposes. Open your heart, ye city controllers and park gentlemen, and for the few remaining weeks of the glad summertime, let the water gush forth from the dry fountains.

Sunday, 4 January 2015

1914-12-19



        How slowly Christmas comes to the young! They can hardly wait for its advent; but the time will come to them, as it has to the rest of us who have advanced in years, when the days and weeks and months will fly with electric speed, and no sooner will one Christmas pass than they will be making preparations for the coming one. Like a ship passing in the night, they glide by never to return. But here we are, right on the eve of Christmas, and hardly a sign of winter to remind us that Jack Frost and Santa are to pay their annual visits on runners and not on wheels. Instead of Canada being the Lady of the Snows, as Kipling once said, we are enjoying weather suitable to a reasonably mild winter resort. We are told somewhere in the good book that the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb; and may not this account for the mild weather that spares the coal bin to the unfortunate who has not a savings bank account to fall back upon, now that the pay envelopes from the factory are few and far between? (When this article was written atmospheric conditions were much milder than they are at present.) When Hamilton was just emerging from its infantile days, say sixty years ago, the winter began earlier, and at Christmas time the young people enjoyed sleigh rides to the merry jingle of sleigh bells. Out in the country, the churches and the Good Templars’ associations held their annual tea meetings and socials and invited their city cousins to partake of the feasts of reason and the flow of soul, but to be sure and not forget the quarter or half-dollar that was an essential sesame at the door. Young men did not have much money in those days, as wages were small, but they always managed to save up a little so as to chip in their share for a couple of seats in the bed of straw for their best girls and themselves. And then, muffled in blankets and buffalo robes, they defied old Jack Frost, and went skimming along the well-beaten snow roads to Ancaster or some one of the suburbs of the Ambitious City. Ah ! those were times never to come again to those who participated in them sixty years ago! Those were the happy days, when young people married early in life and became the staid citizens of the Hamilton of the future. Old maids and old bachelors were an unknown quantity, for every young man wanted a home of his own, with the girl he loved best to keep house for the both of them. The return of those days would be a blessing, and there would be fewer blasé young men and frivolous girls.

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Along in the middle of this month there was a good old-fashioned snow, and for two or three days there might have been excellent sleighing if horses had not gone out of date. Not a solitary jingle of a sleigh bell was to be heard in the clear and frosty air, day or night. Instead we had the raucous toot of the motor car as it sped at the rate of thirty or forty miles through the streets in what they called joy riding. Call that pleasure! It is not to be considered in the same calendar with old Dobbin and his string of silvery bells. When you and I were young, my ancient Hamiltonian, good sleighing was always looked forward to, by the merchants, especially about Christmas times, for then the farmers living from twenty to forty miles from Hamilton would bring in loads of dressed pork, poultry, butter, eggs and indeed produce of all kinds, and what they could not sell for cash, they traded with the merchants for goods. Money was a scarce commodity in those days, and if the farmer could only manage to get enough cash to pay his taxes and the interest on the mortgage on his farm, he felt fortunate and was perfectly willing to change his pigs and poultry for groceries and dry goods. There were but few farms that were not blanketed with a mortgage, but as the original price was small, the mortgage was correspondingly small. The sturdy farmers did not mind the mortgage a bit, for they had a sure thing on being able to pull through it. Farms that could have been bought sixty years ago from five to twenty dollars an acre have long ago passed the hundred dollar mark, and the farmers are not only rich, but the most independent men in Canada.

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In a large factory in Hamilton, a man who had fought under the Union Jack in foreign wars was holding a position as a bookkeeper, and as he was competent and trustworthy, he was in receipt of a good salary. The years were slipping by quickly, for he had passed the three score milepost and his hair was beginning to silver over with the frosts of time, and wisely he came to the conclusion that the time would come when his hands and his brain might lose their cunning in adding up columns of figures. Being a prudent man, blessed with wife and daughters who were not extravagant, he had lain by some of his salary each month, and learning of a twenty acre farm, with a comfortable house and barn, he made the purchase, and when the time came for him to leave the office, he moved on to his little farm. He is a practical man and not afraid of work, and not long ago he told the Muser that his little farm paid the expenses of his family and at the end of the season, he was able to lay by a little nest egg in the savings bank for a rainy day. How many industrious men in Hamilton, who are depending upon their daily labor to support their families but could do as our good friend the veteran soldier has done. To own a comfortable in the town costs, and then all the owner has is a bare home. Buy a bit of land with the same money, and you have not only a home but an assured living for your family by tilling the soil; then you are independent of bosses, and when hard times come and work in town is scarce, you can thank God for your little farm, with the luxuries as well as the necessities of times. In these troublous times, when the factory doors are closed and labor is a drug on the market, the owner of a farm, be it small or large, is the most independent of men, for everything he raises commands the cash and at prices that would the farmer of sixty years ago green with envy. But we started in to say something about the old-time Christmas, and here we are telling the story of an old soldier who put his money into a savings bank instead of squandering it, and now when the years have come upon him and his faithful wife, he can snap his fingers at hard times and sit down under his own vine and fig tree and smoke his pipe in perfect content that he and his family are provided for, let the business world wag as it will. Probably some others will take the hint and buy a bit of land, on part credit if they have not all of the money to pay down.

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While sitting under the droppings of the sanctuary last Sunday listening to an old Hamilton boy tell the simple story of the cross to a large congregation, the thought came, how many ministers of the Protestant churches, and of priests to Catholic churches have the workshops of Hamilton furnished to the pulpit? When we glance backwards, say a trifle of fifty and sixty years ago, in the days when revivals of religion came as regularly as the beginning of the new year, there was generally a shaking up among the boys, and after the Rev. James Caughey and Revs. James Elliott, Ephraim B. Harper and Jonathan Betts, of the Wesleyan church; and good old Faithful Shepard, the editor of the Christian advocate; Rev. William McClure, of the New Connexion church; Rev. William Stephenson, Primitive Methodist; Rev. Thomas Puller, Congregational church, and Rev. Alfred Booker, Baptist church, had spent a month or six weeks in exhorting, praying and singing, there were generally accessions to the church, and always from one to a half dozen fellows would be persuaded to study for the ministry. Blacksmith shops, carpenter shops, shoemaking and tailoring shops, machine shops, and, would you believe it, even printing offices would send their quota into the ministry. There was not a fortune in the business in those days to tempt the young fellows into the pulpit, for a minister to get a salary of $600 or $800 a year must have had superior talents for his job. Two of the most eloquent preachers that went from the workshop to the pulpit were blacksmiths, and lusty men they were at the forge or in a revival meeting. One of them has passed on to his reward; the other still watches and prays over one of the largest congregations in the city. Two of those old Hamilton boys occupied local pulpits last Sunday. One of them graduated from the Spectator office, and the other from Wanzer’s sewing machine factory. They were young when they quit the workshop, but now both of them have frosty heads, but hearts as young and loving for their fellowmen as when setting type or assembling a sewing machine. Both of them now hold commanding positions in the Wesleyan church, and if the bishops would only die or grow old we might someday hope to see the Rev. T. Albert Moore and Rev. Dr. Hincks presiding in concert over the general conference and making all the smaller lights stand from under the sound of the gavel. Not only have the Hamilton workshops sent young men into Protestant pulpits, but the Catholic church has been blessed with earnest young men who have devoted their lives to the work of the Master. There is one venerable minister of Centenary church who learned the printer’s art in England away back in the first half of last century who laid down the stick and rule more than fifty years ago and entered the Methodist ministry in the old country. He is now on the superannuated list, but the good brother can today tell the simple story of the cross with all the earnestness and vigor of his younger days. The workshops of Hamilton seem to have gone out of the pulpit business in these degenerate days, but probably it is because the churches have gone out of the revival business, so there is nothing to stir the boys to the call of duty.

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Speaking of Dr. Hincks and the Wanzer sewing machine factory brings to mind the days when Hamilton was the headquarters for the sewing machine business in Canada, and gave employment to an army of skilled workmen to manufacture machines that were equal to the best in the market. R. M. Wanzer came to Hamilton in the fall of 1859. He had been a Yankee schoolmaster and a jack-of-all-trades, but had some ideas that he thought worthwhile to put in practice. One of these was the sewing machine. He had heard of the fate of the first sewing machine introduced to Hamilton. The Lawson brothers kept a clothing store on the corner of King and James streets, at Treble’s present stand, and thinking they could help business and make a little more money for themselves as well as for their tailors, they bought a couple of machines in the United States and hired an expert to come over to teach their men how to run them. The tailors would have none of them, but went out on strike. They said the machines would ruin the tailor trade, and their families would starve for bread. The Lawsons tried persuasion, but it was useless. Finally, the men triumphed and the machines were laid aside for a time. It took quite a while to overcome the men’s prejudice, but, by degrees, they learned that they could make even more money on a suit by running up the seams on a machine; and at last the machines were restored to the workroom, and from that day the tailors adopted it into the family of Sartorus. Well, Mr. Wanzer heard this little bit of history, but being a man who never turned his back when once he turned his hand to the plow, he rented the stone building on the corner of James and Vine and began the manufacture of machine. It took a week to turn out the first machine, that being the excellent of the factory. In the next three weeks, he finished four more, and then loading them in a wagon, he started out himself to peddle them around the country. He had to explain to the farmers’ wives the usefulness of the machine, but like the tailors in the Lawsons’ clothing store, they were hard to be convinced. The mothers had never used such folderol, and the old way of sewing by hand was good enough for them. It took Mr. Wanzer a week to sell his four machines; but he got the ball rolling, and by the time he had four more ready for the market he found it easier to persuade the farmers’ wives into buying them on the installment plan. This was the beginning of one of Hamilton’s infant industries, and if capitalists had only been wise, the sewing machine industry in Hamilton might have been the leading one today, furnishing work to thousands of men. From the small factory on James street to the large factory on the corner of King and Catharine streets where the Dominion Power company’s handsome terminal station now stands, was a necessary change to accommodate the growing business. The Wanzer machine had a large sale in Great Britain, South America, the West Indies, Germany and the continent. At the Vienna exposition in 1873, the Japanese commissioners became interested in the Canadian novelty, and in time, thousands of machines were shipped to Japan.

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From the small beginning of one machine a week, the trade grew in Hamilton to not less than two thousand a week, with six or seven factories in full operation. One by one the factories faded away, and it was but a few years till the original Wanzer was the only one left – and in time that closed its doors forever. The last Wanzer factory, down on Barton street, was a three story building covering nearly one block. As the sewing machine began to fade out, Mr. Wanzer turned his attention to the manufacture of a patent coal oil lamp, which did not prove to be a successful seller. At one time, Mr. Wanzer was among the wealthiest men in Hamilton, and occupied as his home a handsome house in the center of the square now occupied by the collegiate institute. No one seems to be able to account for the decline of the sewing machine trade in Hamilton; but like other enterprises that might have been of great value as manufacturing industries, it was allowed to die out. Hamilton capitalists prefer to send their money away to invest in foreign enterprises.

Thursday, 13 November 2014

1914-06-13



        The meeting of the Congregationalists in annual conference in this city calls back in the memory of this Old Muser events of forty-five years ago, when we published the Oberlin (Ohio) News. Oberlin was then, as it is now, the head and font of Congregationalism in the west, while Andover, Massachusetts, represents the east. Oberlin college represented the culture of the Congregational denomination, and a student graduating from it was fitted, intellectually, for the ministry or other chosen calling. In the early seventies, Oberlin college had a roll of from 1,200 to 1,500 students, men and women, and a large majority of them worked their way through college. There was no royal road in learning for them, and as a consequence when graduation day came and they went out into the battle of life, they were fully equipped by reason of the self-denial practiced during school days. Oberlin was founded on the principle of self-sacrifice. Its history dates back to the early days of the last century when a colony of devoted men and women from the eastern states funded a school that would be open to both sexes, and where no distinction in color was recognized. Though as no time was there more than twenty-five colored students in attendance during any one year, yet the fact that a boy or girl with a black face should be allowed the privilege of an education gave the school the opprobrious term of ‘Nigger College.’ Before the days of the war, it was considered unpardonable, even in the Northern states, to educate a Negro. However, Oberlin fought it out on the dark line and it shows a proud record of a number of educated colored men and women among its list of graduates. Today no town in the United States stands higher as an educational center than does Oberlin. The whole population is interested in it. No one was tolerated as a citizen of the town who was not a dyed-in-the-wool Congregationalist, and it was more than fifty years after the college was started before a church of any other denomination was allowed to be built in the town. The first man who attempted to beard the lion of Congregationalists was an Anglican minister who had been a printer in his earlier days. He not only built the first church, but in the vestry at the rear of the building, he had a printing office from which he issued a weekly religious paper in the interest of his own denomination, doing the editing, typesetting and the presswork himself, with the help of a tourist printer who now and then dropped in. And then on Sunday this printer-preacher held regular service, and he was so eloquent and learned that he drew to his church quite a congregation. He had a small allowance from the general church fund, and he pieced out a living for himself and family from the circulation of the paper. He was the first man to break into Congregationalism in Oberlin and being a genial gentleman got into the good graces of President Finney, the head and front of the town, and this finally smoothed his way so that in time his church was recognized by the faculty of the college, and students were allowed to attend public worship there. We found him in Oberlin when we first arrived, and about the last one we bade adieu to was our printer-preacher friend.

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          The Rev. Charles G. Finney was one of the first presidents of Oberlin college. In his younger days, he was one of the greatest revival preachers in America. Fifty and seventy-five years ago, he made frequent visits to England in the interests of the college, and was able to secure large bequests to carry on its work. While nominally president of the college, he did but little teaching, his time being devoted to conducting revival meetings and raising money for the college. He ruled Oberlin with his iron will, and yet he was one of the most gentle of men. When at home on Sunday, he always preached the morning sermon, and his congregations filled the large old-fashioned church that hedld at least three thousand people. His sermons were usually an hour in length, but he made them so interesting that the hearers would gladly have the time extended. His audiences were often moved to tears and then laughter, and at times would greet some burst of eloquence with handclapping. The venerable president appreciated and encouraged the moods of his audience. President Finney, in his younger days, before entering the ministry, was an enthusiastic member of the Masonic fraternity. The Congregationalists in those days were very bitter in their denunciation of secret societies, and after Mr. Finney was converted and entered the ministry, he withdrew from the Masonic order. In an hour of weakness, he wrote an exposition of Masonry, but in his later years he expressed regret that he had done so. Oberlin was noted for its hostility to secret societies, yet at the time we lived there, a flourishing lodge existed in the town.

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          There was no sacrifice too great for the Oberlin people to make for the cause of education and religion. That was the foundation on which the town was built. They were frugal in their manner of living that they might be able to give more to the college and to missions. They were educated along those two points and they did their part religiously. They lived on the plainest food, and their raiment was in keeping. They had well-built houses, comfortably furnished, but in everything the utmost economy was practiced. They went to bed at the tap of the college bell and arose in the morning at the same signal. Such a thing as a loafer was not tolerated, nor was a liquor saloon allowed inside the corporate limits. The drug stores sold what liquor was necessary for medicinal purposes – and quite a number were always calling on their doctor for prescriptions – and the druggists had to keep a record which was examined by a committee at stated times. Every business man in the town was expected to be a member of the Congregational church and contribute to its support. The old Muser did not join the church, therefore it was intimated to him that he had better sell his printing office and try some more ungodly field. At the suggestion of the head of the theological department, we sold our office to a student, taking a chattel mortgage as security on part of the price, and when the last two notes were due, the student had gone out as a missionary, making no provision to pay his notes, and we were out $1,000. The theological department of Oberlin college was one of the best in connection with any college in the United States. Here they trained men and women for the church and for missionaries. As a general thing the students were poor and they had to work their way through college. They were furnished with lodging free, but they had to earn their daily bread. In a number of residences in the town that were used as boarding houses, a theological student would get his board free, he had to conduct family worship and ask blessing at the table. The training at Oberlin for young people was excellent, and to the credit of the college, its students were free from many of the vices of other colleges. The use of tobacco was prohibited, though sometimes indulged in by a few of the students on the sly.  It was considered unbecoming for a man to appear in the streets smoking pipe or cigar, and those who loved the weed enjoyed the pleasure in the solitude of their homes.

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          Last evening, Rev. Henry Churchill King, president of Oberlin college, was the speaker for the hour at the Congregational church. We had not the pleasure of meeting him when this copy was being prepared for the Saturday Musings, but at a venture we would say that it was an able organization, for Oberlin professors have kept up the reputation of its first illustrious president, Rev. Charles G. Finney. Prof. Henry Churchill, after whom President King was named, was in his days one of the great orators of the college, and during the time we were editor of the Oberlin News, he was an editorial contributor at a certain stipend for each article.

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          The board of education of this city is planning to build two new schoolhouses. Now that every member of the royal family has had a city school named in his or her honor, and even Strathcona and Rev. Mr. Ryerson have not been forgotten, would it not be a good idea to reserve one of the new buidings as a memorial to the first principal of the public school system, Dr. J. H. Sangster? Sixty-one years ago, Dr. Sangster was elected principal of the Central school, and he planned its course of study along such lines that it was adopted throughout the province of Upper Canada. Prior to1853, when the Central school was opened, Hamilton had no regularly defined public school system, for about that time, the private school was just passing out. Several men were recommended by educators in Toronto for the principalship of the Central, but none of them felt equal to the work. J. H. Sangster, then a recent graduate from the university was offered the position, and notwithstanding older and more experienced men had declined the task of organization, he accepted a laid the foundation of a system that needed but little change. All of the Hamilton old boys were educated under him, and even to this day, the children of later generations hear from father and mother the beloved name of Dr. Sangster. At the reunion of the old Central school graduates and scholars held a few years ago, Dr. Sangster was the guest of honor. Since the he has passed on to his reward. Lieutenant-Governor Gibson was one of his pupils, and Hamilton has honored the the governor by christening a school building with his name. Now let the school board think kindly over the suggestion, and when next a new school building is to be christened, call it in honor and memory of Dr. J. H. Sangster, the first principal and organizer of Hamilton public schools.

Thursday, 16 October 2014

1914-03-07


An old Hamilton printer who has had in his possession for many years, the minutes of the first Typographical Society organized in Hamilton, and of subsequent revivals of the society, has kindly furnished the writer with the manuscript, which we will hand over to the present organization as an historical record of what the printers of sixty-eight years ago did to give respectability to the trade. This manuscript is evidence that to the printers belong the organization of the first labor union in Hamilton.  This brief sketch may not interest the general readers of today’s Spectator, but it will no doubt be appreciated by the one or two hundred printers who are now employed in the city and who are members of the present typographical union. To begin with, the first printer’s society was organized in Canada about one hundred years ago., and sixty-eight years ago (July 1, 1846), the first society was organized in Hamilton. Probably some of the old-timers may recall the names of the few journeymen printers who worked at “case” in the long ago for the princely wage of $6 and $7 per week, and a majority of them were not skilled in the typographical art, so we will give the list : William Nicholson, Edward Mills, John Hand, John Christian, John W. Harris, William Colloden, James Mullen,    McLaren, James Lumsden, Freeman Austen, William Smith, Thomas McIntosh, Dickenson, Pearson. Of these old-time printers, William Nicholson, John Hand and Thomas McIntosh eight years later started the Daily Banner. John Hand was the fastest typesetter in America, yet in those days he was only paid $7 a week. The majority of typesetters did not fare even that well, and they were glad to get whatever the employer pleased to pay them. No wonder that they organized for the purpose of getting a uniform scale of rates, and that they adopted as their motto, “United We Stand, Divided We Fall.” The night the first officers were elected the meeting adjourned to a convenient tavern, where the health of the officers was drunk with all due ceremony, and the officers renewed their pledge to the members that their confidence in electing them should never be betrayed. The scale of prices was fixed at $9 per week of sixty hours and 25 cents per thousand (? - illegible) for piecework. As very little piecework was done in those days that part of the scale was hardly taken into consideration. There were “rats” in those days, and it kept the society busy watching them. A few of the most enthusiastic fellows were the first to fall by the wayside, and rather than lose their job made private contracts with their employers. Before the end of the first year, the foreman of one of the offices was hauled before the society to answer to the charge of “jolting” with quads and winning the money of the boys who worked under him. The society made short work of him, and his expulsion soon followed. Then the boys in the office refused to work under him and the proprietor was compelled to discharge him.

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          The organization above referred to struggled along for a couple of years and then finally gave up the ghost. On the evening of the 21st of July, 1852 another attempt was made to reorganize the old society when it was resolved “That in view of the very unsatisfactory state of the profession in the city, it is decided essentially necessary that an understanding be arrived at in relation to the scale of prices to be charged, and otherwise by united and concerted action to place the businessmen on a footing that must result in the mutual benefit of the employer and the employed , and to this end we whose names are herewith annexed resolved that a meeting be called on Monday the 26th instant, for the purpose of drafting a constitution and bylaws , and forming ourselves into a society for the mutual protection of each other and interests of the profession in general.” The names signed to this call were : John Christian, John Lyons, James Seymour, W. H. Cliff, J. T. Barker, Edward Orr, John F. Power, John Patton, Wm. Nicholson, John Gunn, William Stewart, Wm. Shepard, John Wells. This society had but a short life, and it departed into innocuous desuetude.

          We come down now to the third effort to be a permanent organization. On the evening of March 6, 1854, just sixty years ago last night, twelve journeymen printers and four two-thirders – boys in their last year of apprenticeship – met in the afternoon at the Temperance hall in White’s block, on King street, and an organization was perfected that has continued down to the present society. Those were Thos. Rolston, John Love, John Christian, James Nixon, Thomas Hynde, Andrew Linklater, Thomas Butters, William H. Cliff, Dan G. Mitchell, Walter Campbell, A. Ruggs, Richard R. Donnelly, Robert Gay, Reese Evans and Richard Butler. At a subsequent meeting, Charles Kidner and Augustus T. Freed were admitted as members. The first meeting was preliminary, and at the second meeting, the following officers were elected : William H. Cliff, President; Charles Kidner, vice-president; R. R. Donnelly, secretary; R. L. Gay, treasurer; D. G. Mitchell, W. Campbell, and Richard Butler, committee. It took a little time to get the organization perfected, the adoption of a constitution and bylaws, etc., and then came the tug of war in the making of a scale of prices. Between the death of the preceding society and the resurrection of the new one, there was no established wage list, and it was every man for himself as to how much the “boss” would pay him. Finally a scale was adopted, being $8 for work by the week and 27 cents per thousand (?-illegible). There were only two daily papers in Hamilton by this time – the Spectator and the Banner, and the composition on all of the papers in the city was done by piecework. The other two papers were the Gazette and the Journal and Express, both published semi-weekly. Besides these were the Canada Christian Advocate and a monthly religious magazine published by Rev. Robert Peden.

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Don’t think that it was all sunshine for the new society, for the largest office in the city refused to acknowledge the authority of the union to say what price the proprietor should pay for his work, while admitting the justice of the claims of the union. The result was a strike in that office, and every man and boy went out. He managed to get out his paper, short of matter, for nearly two weeks, and then gracefully submitted and paid the scale. The union did not harass the proprietor of the paper, only so far as to coax away any strangers that came to work in the office, by paying their fare to Buffalo or Toronto. That scale of prices prevailed for many years. Money in Canada was a scarce article in those days, and instead of receiving a full week’s wages in cash, the hands were glad to take a part in orders from the stores. Especially this was the case when the panic of 1857 struck Hamilton. Often this old Muser went home on Saturday night with a couple of dollars in cash and the promise of more in the sweet bye-and-bye. To make matters worse during the early days of the panic, not only printers, but every class of workmen were glad to go on half time, half a loaf being better than no bread. Talk about the present hard times in Hamilton, the conditions do not hold a candle to the dark days of 1857. During that year and the next, no less than three thousand young men left Hamilton to seek employment in the United States. There were no alien labor laws in those days to restrict a workingman to seek employment wherever he could find it. The old Muser struck out for Cincinnati, arriving in that city one bright summer morning after travelling all night, and before nine o’clock, on the presentation of his travelling card from the Hamilton union, was fortunate in getting a job immediately, and we say with pleasure that since that morning, we have never been idle for an hour when able to work. There is no labor union that takes better care of its members than the printers’ union, and a card signed by the proper officers is always a passport to employment, either temporary or permanent.

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In the old days, the editors and reporters on the papers were usually graduates from the printing office, but nowadays things have changed in that respect, and it is only now and then one comes across a reporter who knows anything about the interior workings of an office. The fellow who could set type and write up a local story was always in demand, but his salary never helped him on his way to becoming a millionaire. It is only of late years that the typesetter has become a nabob, for today the men who run the linotype machines can make more than double the money the ancient typesetter by hand ever dreamed of receiving. Some of those old reporters were independent fellows. Away back in the early days of the Daily Spectator, two brothers, both printers, came to Hamilton to seek their fortunes, for at that time the union had raised the scale to $9 a week and 27 cents per thousand (?-illegible). Both of them got situations on the Spectator and were making good. The reporter was a bright fellow and made his department readable, but at times he did not fill up quite as much space as he ought to for the fabulous sum of $9 a week. Mr. Smiley called the reporter down one day and insisted that he must do better or quit the job. The result was that the reporter told Mr. Smiley that he could go to Hades with his job, for he had another opening in which there was more money and lots of fun. The reporter rented a room over a saloon, fitted it up as a first-rate gambling resort, where he made money hand over fist.

Four members of that union which was started sixty years ago last night are living in Hamilton, though only two were present as charter members – the writer and Reese Evans. Reese was then in his last year of his apprenticeship, and joined as a two-thirder. A. T. Freed joined a couple of months later, and toward the end of the year, William J. McAllister came from Toronto to work in this city and was admitted to membership. Mr. Freed was promoted from the “case” to the position of reporter on the Banner and a couple of years later started the Literary Garland, of which he was editor, in partnership with Richard Donnelly and William Piggott. Mr. Piggott was a country printer in the state of New York who came to Hamilton. For a time he was also the owner of the Dundas Banner. A majority of the boys who joined the union sixty years ago drifted across the border, a number going to Chicago and as a general thing made good. Dick Donnelly had at one time one of the best printing establishments in Chicago and it is now owned by his sons. When the civil war between north and south began, many of the old boys joined the union army, some of them never returning. Tom Fleming, known by the name “Tom Pluff” died a few years ago in Boston. Tom was at one time publisher of the Growler, a humorous paper in which Terry Branigan was made famous as the author of Branigan’s Chronicles, of which he never wrote a line. The author of those humorous Chronicles was John Aliso, a porter to Buchanan & Harris’ wholesale house, who was afterward promoted to a better job in the Great Western railway offices. It is a long look backward to sixty years ago, and the recalling of this bit of history will be at least interesting to the printers of the present day. It may also add a little interest to tell in brief the story of the newspapers printed in Hamilton sixty years ago.

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Dundas has the honor of being the home of the first newspaper published in the Gore district. It was called the Upper Canada Phoenix. Richard Cockerill was its printer and publisher, and its first issue was in the year 1818, nearly one hundred years ago. The next newspaper of which we have any record was printed in Ancaster some eight or ten years later. One or two attempts were made to start a newspaper in Hamilton, but without success till George P. Bull, a young Irishman who had been working in Toronto, came to town and started the Gazette. At first it was published weekly, then changed in time to a semi-weekly. When Mr. Bull died, his son Harcourt, who had learned the printer’s trade with his father, became the publisher. The Gazette was taken over by the Spectator sometime in the very early sixties.

The Journal and Express was started about the time of the Gazette was, and it too, became a semi-weekly. Solomon Brega, a printer, and the son of a printer, was the editor and publisher of the Express. He was a rigorous writer, but did not have much business tact. The result was that the Express was always hard up, and the boys who worked in the office rarely ever got their pay on Saturday night; and it was no uncommon thing for them to strike nearly every other week and refuse to go to work on Monday unless the pay was forthcoming. Mr. Brega was an Irishman, genial and sociable with the boys, and more than once this characteristic stood him in good play in winning the boys back to work on Monday even without the cash being forthcoming. He finally sold the office to a couple of men who had an uphill time till the press departed to the graveyard in which many of its predecessors had found rest from the cares and vicissitudes of a thankless world. Mr. Brega was translated from the editorial chair to a fat government job, in which he passed his remaining days free from the cares and anxieties of newspaperdom.

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Tories of those days did not think that Harcourt Bull was belligerent enough to fight their battles for he was a kindly soul who had no bitterness in his heart and a pleasant word for everybody. Robert Smiley was then working as a journeyman in the government printing office in Montreal, and he was recommended as an Irishman who was belligerent enough to suit the most aggressive Tory in Canada. Smiley took kindly to the invitation to become editor of a paper in Hamilton, and as he had saved a little money, he invested it in a bankrupt printing office in Toronto and brought the material to Hamilton. That was in 1846. When the material reached Hamilton by boat, Smiley did not have money enough to pay the freight and carriage, and Edward Dalley, father of the late F. F. Dalley, came to his assistance. Mr. Dalley at that time owned a combined drug and general store on York street and he furnished a place in his back warehouse to store the material until such time as Mr. Smiley could secure a room up town. Finally, a room was found on James street, near the town hall, and in July 1846, the first number of the semi-weekly Spectator was issued. The paper was a financial success from its first number. Mr. Smiley did not live many years to enjoy his prosperity as an editor, for in the year 1853 he died of consumption. During the nine years of his business life in Hamilton, he amassed an amount that was considered in those days an independent fortune. The man who came to Hamilton in 1846 and had to borrow money enough to pay the freight and cartage on his printing material died the owner of the Spectator building on the corner of Main and Hughson streets, an interest in a woolen mill in Ancaster, and one of the best printing and bookbinding establishments west of Toronto. The Spectator had the second steam press in the province, the first being established a few months before in the Toronto Globe office. A short time before Mr. Smiley’s death in 1853, he built a house on East avenue, now owned by T. H. Pratt, which was generally known as “Smiley’s castle.” When it was built, it was substantially out of town, for there were no other residences nearer to it than on the west than Victoria Terrace, corner of Victoria avenue and King street; and the next large building was the St. Thomas church, on the corner of Emerald and Wilson streets. At the time, the church stood in the middle of a field. All of this valuable property Mr. Smiley had accumulated in less than ten years, and when he died, he wife got a meager allowance, the balance going to his brothers.

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After the death of Mr. Smiley, the Spectator became the property of John Smiley and William Gillespie. The latter gentleman had been an associate editor under Robert Smiley, and he became the managing editor, with Alexander Robertson as business manager and book-keeper. This combination did not last many years, nor did the paper make any money, and the final result was dissolution of the partnership, Mr. Gillespie becoming a deputy collector of customs at Dundas, John Smiley going to Chicago. Mr. Robertson conducted the paper for a short time until a purchaser could be obtained for it. Then Thomas and Richard White, who owned a newspaper at Peterboro, became the publishers, and with their energy and business ability threw new life into the management and editorial department. After a time, the Whites were induced to go to Montreal and buy the Gazette in that city, which gave promise of much larger returns. Under their management the Spectator became a moneymaker, and when they turned it over to their successors, it was prosperous.

While the Whites owned the Spectator, David McCullough was an editorial contributor, and when the Whites sold out, McCullough & Lawson became the owners. Prior to his entry into newspaper work, Mr. McCullough was employed in the upholstery department of the Great Western railway car shops. From boyhood he was a vigorous debater, a reader of the best literature, a student of history, and he had always the courage of his convictions. In his younger manhood days, he was classed as a reformer in politics, and as a student of political economy, he inclined to the doctrines of free trade, but as he grew older and came more in contact with the world, like Saul of Tarsus, his eyes were opened and he espoused the doctrines of protection. When he became editor of the Spectator, he associated with him as managing editor, A. T. Freed, who was a vigorous writer and student of political economy. For years, the Spectator took a leading part in educating its readers along the lines of protective policy, and was an earnest supporter of Sir John A. Macdonald. In time, Mr. McCullough tired of the strife incident to daily newspaper life, and he gracefully glided from the editorial chair into the peaceful waters of a seat in the customs house, where he ended his days.

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Then came Messrs. Southam and Carey from London, Ont. as purchasers of the Spectator plant. Mr. Carey being a practical office and business man and Mr. Southam as an expert printer, the combination worked successfully in giving life to the present prosperous condition of the Spectator. Mr. Freed became the leading editorial writer, and under him were Herbert Gardiner, Jones L. Lewis and John Cameron, all vigorous writers. Since the death of Mr. Carey, the entire management has been directed by Mr. Southam and it goes without saying that no business property in Hamilton has kept pace with it in its increase in value. Mr. Freed continued as editor for a number of years and then finished his active business life as inspector of weights and measures, filling in his leisure hours as grand master of the Masonic order for two terms. John Cameron was the last of the old regime of the Spectator staff. He was one of the best paragraph writers on the Canaian press, bright and witty, and without malice. He rests from his labors in the Hamilton cemetery. Following Mr. Cameron came John Woddell, who was the editorial writer for a couple of years; and then came William Muliss as managing editor, T. J. Shanks as editorial writer, and J. A. McKenty as city editor, the three latter forming the present staff. For 63 years the history of the Spectator has been so interwoven with the history of Hamilton that it would be hard to separate the one from the other. The Spectator came into existence one year before Hamilton was incorporated as a city, and it has seen it grow from a very small town of cowpath roads to be one of the leading industrial cities of Canada From a town of unlighted streets, mud roads, no sewerage and no waterworks, it is now one of the best-lighted towns in Canada, with two electrical plants to draw from, two gas companies to furnish light and heat, and another natural gas company in the borning. And all this, and more, too, has been accomplished since the night sixty years ago that the printers started their union.

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The Great Western railway was opened in the beginning of 1854, and the managers wanted to have an organ of their own, although there did not appear any pressing necessity for such a luxury, and this desire resulted in the Banner being ushered into the newspaper world. Dr. Bowen must have had a surplus of money, for it was he who financed  the literary infant, the condition being that his son William should be a member of the company. William Nicholson and Thomas McIntosh, two master printers, were at the head of the enterprise. As a starter the Banner was published semi-weekly until such time as arrangements could be made for a daily issue. The Backbone of the editorial department was the Hon. Issac Buchanan, who was a voluminous writer on railway matters and whose check provided the weekly payments to the hands. A young lawyer named McKinnon, brother to the one-time chief of police in the city, was the chief editorial writer, and A. T. Freed was the city editor. The Banner did not fly more than four years, when a new company bought it. Tom Grey was the business manager and Hugh B. Willson was the editorial writer. It had but a sickly existence for years until it came into the hands of C. E. Stewart, who made it a business success; and after his death, John Eastwood and Reginald Kennedy took hold of it and placed it on a permanent and solid foundation.

Along in the fifties, the Canada Christian Advocate, The Church, The Canada Evangelist, and the Canada Garland were all successful publications. Thomas McQueen came down from Goderich and started the Canadian, which had only a brief existence. It would be a hard matter to name the newspaper funerals that have taken place in Hamilton in the last seventy-five or eighty years. The Daily Herald is the youngest of the newspaper family, and from the date of its berth, it has been a successful business venture. We have tried to glance briefly at the history of the newspaper business in Hamilton for the sixty years since the organization of the Hamilton Typographical Union on the evening of March 6, 1854.

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The man behind the gun is the important fellow, whether on the field of battle or in the workshop. It is all very well to tell the story of the success of a newspaper, and of the men who furnish the scathing editorials and the police court reports; but there is another element in the counting room and back in the workrooms that must not be forgotten when one gets down to bald history. For instance, what would a great daily do without its advertising solicitor? It takes money to get out a newspaper, and the advertising pages must do their part to bring in the cash. Now, there is James R. Allan, who began more than forty-four years ago as a “printer’s devil” in the Spectator office. Everybody in Hamilton knows Jim’s smiling face when he enters a business house to tell the proprietors that their future prosperity depends on a full-page ad in the Spectator. The ad man is the power behind the gun on a daily paper. Another important man in the earning department is the manager of the job room, and when you pass through the counting room, there sits John O’Neil, figuring out the estimates on the cost of a visiting card or a job that will run up into the hundreds of dollars. John has been so long in the Spectator job room that he has become one of the fixtures. But when you get into the newsroom, there you find the autocrat of the whole establishment and the terror to editors and reporters. George R. Allan, the mechanical superintendent, began as a boy in the Spectator office away so far back that only Jim Allan could really tell, for they were apprentice boys together. When the hour comes to close up the forms for press, George Allan cuts and slashes into the galleys, dropping out here and there some pet editorial or local story, and over it goes until a ore convenient season, no matter how earnestly the managing editor may pray for its appearance that day. Too much matter has been set, and the autocrat of the “make-up” says what must go over. Well, these three – Jim, John and George – deserve special mention in this anniversary occasion, for they are all veteran union printers.

 

 

Sunday, 5 October 2014

1914-09-20


  War is a developer of the ingenuity and resources of a country. It may be hell to the poor fellows on the firing line, but those who remain at home reap the profits that come from the furnishing of army supplies, munitions of war, and food for the fighters. Till the present war broke out the majority of the world was ignorant of how much it depended upon Germany for many of the chemicals and dyes that enter into daily use in almost every industry. The cotton and cloth mills of Canada, and the knitting mills will have to come to a standstill when their present supply of dyestuffs gives out unless the ingenuity of Canadian or American chemists comes to the rescue. Analine dye, a coal tar product, is made in Germany and is admitted to the United States and Canada free of duty.  Germany has a monopoly of this important dye simply because it manufactured it cheaply and had no competition. The formulas for the manufacture of these dyestuffs are generally known to chemists, and coal tar is plentiful wherever there are gasworks, yet the manufacturers of cloth and cotton felt so indifferent that so long as they could get them cheaply and in abundance they gave no encouragement to Canadian or American chemists to produce them. The secretary of the interior of the United States, thinking this is a first rate opportunity to start a new industry, invited some twenty-five of the chief dealers in the coal tar products to Washington for a conference. Those representative American manufacturers did not think it worthwhile to go into the business, as it might not be profitable to compete with foreigners for the trade. Why do not the Canadian chemists try their genius in the production of dyestuffs ?

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Before the Hamilton Gas company found a market for its coal tar refuse, it used to dump the stuff into the Caroline street gully, and it is there yet, mixed with the rubbish of nearly sixty years. Less than twenty years ago, a Mr. Butler came from England and stated a distillery for the conversion of the refuse of the gas works into a merchantable tar product, and it is now doing a profitable trade. At the present time, the gas works furnish from six to eight thousand gallons of tar a month, which is sent to Toronto for distillation. The local gas works has a still of its own, which is now out of use for want of repairs. When the coke works are established here, there will be an almost unlimited quantity of coal tar for distillation. The same condition exists in every town in Canada where there are gas works. It would certainly seem to the common lay mind that the chemists of Canada should be able to convert this valuable product into dyestuffs instead of shipping it to foreign countries to be worked up and then have to buy the finished product at an advanced price. The same is true of other waste, such as tin cans, bones, old rubber shoes and tires – everything has its use and nothing is now wasted. For more than fifty years, the soap factories in Hamilton sent down through the sewers to the bay the wastage from the lye used in soap making. Some ingenious chemist discovered a use for this spent lye and converted it into what is known as crude glycerin. One soap factory in Hamilton for the past four or five years has been shipping from five to eight thousand dollars’ worth each year of this crude glycerin to a firm in the United Staes that uses it in the manufacture of dynamite and other explosive material. The Hamilton firm has been in business in this city for fifty years or more, and in that time sent through the sewers into the bay spent lye that would have paid them at least a quarter million dollars had they known its value. There is not anything now that goes to waste, not even the cores or peelings of apples, for science and chemistry has converted them into delicious jellies and jams of any flavor to suit the taste of the bonvivant.

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The Dominion Tar and Ammonia company is also profiting by the war in the sale of at least one of its by-products, creosote oil. Heretofore Germany could ship this product into the United States for half the price the Hamilton company could afford to produce it at a profit. The German price was three cents a gallon; the Hamilton price six cents. Now that the war has put a stop to the importation of oil from Germany, it has opened a market for the Hamilton product. The Dominion Tar and Ammonia company has its works in Belin, Ont., where it converts coal tar into aqua ammonia, disinfectant, moth balls and naphthalene flakes. It also distils anhydrous ammonia for cold storage and ice freezing machines. The residue of the coal tar is creosote oil, which is used in shingle and wood stains, and other purposes, but the demand for the residue was not sufficient to exhaust the supply, and thousands of gallons went into the sewers of Berlin. With this new market opened by the war, the Dominion company will have an increased outlet beyond the demand for the Canadian trade. Creosote is now largely used instead of maple and other wood chips for smoking hams and other meat products.

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The city of Hamilton is now a large user of tungsten incandescent lamps for lighting the streets. This lamp is said to be the most economical one in use for household or street purposes. A few years ago the Ontario Lamp and Lantern company began the manufacture of the tungsten lamp, and built a factory on Cannon street east, occupying almost an entire block. The company employs a large force and pays good wages to their men and women employees. When the Hydro system came into operation in this city, the company naturally expected to furnish the lamps, but the manager could not even get a look-in. Germany and the other German principalities were able to ship into Hamilton the tungsten lamps at a lower price than the lower factory could manufacture them and make a living profit. The girls working in the foreign factories engaged in the manufacture of tungsten lamps were paidtwenty-seven and one half cents a day, while the girls employed in the Hamilton factory were making an average of $1.35 a day. Then the duty on this class of goods is so small that the foreign makers had no difficulty in overcoming it. The Hamilton Hydro commission bought their lamps on the foreign market instead of at home, thus creating more unemployment for the Hamilton men and women. Would it not be part of good business for the city government to give to a local manufacturing company not only its influence, but to throw everything in its way that will furnish work for the home industry? In the case of the tungsten lamps, the money the city pays a foreign company for them goes to enrich another company and Hamilton only gets the lamps; but if the city buys the lamps from the local factory, it has both the lamps and the money. The Ontario Lamp and Lantern company is a large tax payer and every hand in their employ is in many cases, not only a taxpayer, but every dollar paid out in wages is spent with the local business men. And this rule might be profitably observed not only by the corporation but by the citizens generally. Patronize home first, because it is here you earn your living.

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In the year 1857 – just fifty-seven years ago – Canada and the United States passed through one of the worst commercial and manufacturing panics. Hamilton then had an actual population of not more than 15,000. The compiler of the city directory of 1858 took a more roseate view of the figures and increased the population of about 27,500; it was an editor’s dream. Canada then had a population of less than 4,000,000, and the united States could only muster 30,000,000. So you see this great American continent was not suffering from a surplusage of population. Neither Canada nor the United States were oversupplied with mechanical industries, but jogged along raising food to feed the world and buying the greater part of their supplies from the old world. It may be interesting to know that the cloth to make the uniforms of the first soldiers that enlisted in the northern army at the outbreak of the civil war in the United States had to be bought in England, and even the bunting of which the stars and stripes was made had to come from England. When the war broke out, the United States had to arm its soldiers with the old-fashioned Belgian musket, there not being factories at home to furnish them. Well, when that panic in 1857 came along, both countries were not in a condition to stand much of it. Canada got it bad. The only industries in Hamilton were the Great Western railway shops, three or four foundries and machine shops, a few planning mills, and some small affairs that did not furnish much employment to labor. For the next three or four years things looked blue in Hamilton, and all of the young fellows who could pluck up courage to leave home and had enough money to pay their fare hiked across the Detroit and Niagara rivers. Talk about the hard times that prevail now ! They are not in the same class with those of 1857. Now the people patronize no end of picture shows twice a week, and subscribe money by the hundreds of thousands of dollars in the Y.M.C.A., the Y.W.C.A. and patriotic and unemployment funds, and think nothing of it. To meet the men and women in the streets dressed in the best of comfortable clothing, and especially the handsomely dressed women, one would never think of putting Hamilton in the hard times list. It was not so fifty-seven years ago; instead of growling about hard times now, we ought to feel thankful that it is as well with us as it is. There is sunshine hidden behind the dark clouds, and it will break through ere long and we will forget all about the past. It is true that Hamilton industries are running at a close margin just now and that hundreds of men are idle; yet in some of the factories they are not only working full time, but are running overtime. When Hamilton could furnish a job for every man things were prosperous, but when the people got the craze for a hundred thousand population, when there was not work enough for those who were here, men across the seas heard of this wondrous city and country and came flocking in till there were three or four men for every job. They came, unfortunately, at the wrong time, for in Europe they were getting ready to loose the dogs of war, and that paralyzed not only Hamilton but the whole world. And there you are. “When this cruel war is over,” as the boys used to sing during the dark days of 1861-65, then the sun of prosperity will shine once more, and the factories of Hamilton will be running day and night to supply, in a measure, the wastage that is now going on.

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Hamilton has been enjoying a grand musical treat during this week, the Creatore band and the local choir of half a thousand or more furnishing the programme. It will be a pleasant memory for the long winter nights, but we fear that the Patriotic fund is not going to be enriched by the hoped-for surplus. Thursday evening was especially enjoyable, for there was a larger audience than on any of the preceding nights, and both singers and musicians caught the spirit of it. When the first part of the programme had ended, Lieut. Robinson was escorted on the stage and Prof. Creatore ceremoniously handed him the baton. It was a compliment from the younger to the veteran bandmaster. The audience cheered and the choir waved a handkerchief salute. Then with his usual modesty, the veteran lieutenant waved the baton, the band played O Canada, and the music of Canada’s national song never sounded better. At the close of the piece, Prof. Creatore threw his arms around the neck of the veteran bandmaster, and with his most graceful bow handed him off the stage. The new marching song of the British army, It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, was sung by Roy McIntosh, and Mrs. McCoy-Hamilton roused the audience with Rule Britannia. As the new song is hummed and whistled by everybody, we give herewith the words that they may learn to sing it.

IT’S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY

Up to mighty London came an Irishman one day,

As the streets are paved with gold, sure ev’ryone was gay;

Singing songs of Piccadilly, Strand and Leicester Square.

Till Paddy got excited, then he shouted to them there

 

Chorus :

It’s a long way to Tipperary,

It’s a long way to go;

It’s a long way to Tipperary,

To the sweetest girl I know;

Goodbye Piccadilly;

Farewell Leicester Square.

It’s a long way to Tipperary,

But my heart’s right there.

 

Paddy wrote a letter to his Irish Molly O,

Saying, “Should you not receive it, write and let me know;

If I make mistakes in spelling, Molly dear,” said he,

“Remember it’s the pen that’s bad, don’t lay the blame on me.”

 

Molly wrote a neat reply to Irish Paddy O,

Saying “Mike Maloney wants to marry me, and so

Leave the Strand and Piccadilly, or you’ll be to blame

For love has fairly drove me silly

Hoping you’re the same.

 

It's a long way to Tipperary,

It's a long way to go.

It's a long way to Tipperary

To the sweetest girl I know!

Goodbye, Piccadilly,

Farewell, Leicester Square!

It's a long long way to Tipperary,

But my heart's right there.