1911-11-25

The Rev. George B. Gilbert, an Episcopal clergyman, of Middletown, Conn., who does mission work in a half-dozen districts, has hit upon a new plan to get his congregations acquainted. When he started in his work, the congregations were small and he was much discouraged at the slow progress being made. As soon as the services were over, the people would scatter without anything more than a nod to each other, but never making further friendly advances. The good curate prayed over it, and one day an inspiration came to him that chewing gum was the one thing needful to start the jaws and tongues of his parishioners. He determined to link the family to the church, and as a first step tried to get the members of the congregation to linger after services and talk over neighborhood and community matters. It was uphill work, but the curate was not discouraged. One night after services, he passed out chewing gum before the people left their seats, and the novelty of the thing got them started in friendly conversation. The chewing process loosened their tongues and they talked freely, and continued to do so in succeeding services. The result has been increased congregations and the mission has been made a community center, and chewing gum has done it.

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          There are some things that make us sigh for the good old days, but not many. Take this everyday world up one side and down the other and one cannot find much fault with it, especially if blessed with health and enough to eat. If we were in the condition of the poor fellow in Hamilton we heard of the other day, who is so badly afflicted that he is confined to his bed all the time, with his body doubled up so that his knees touch his chin, probably it might cause a rebellious spirit, but even with his infirmities that man loves to look out on the sunshine and thank God that things are not worse. Once, and that not long ago, he was a man of robust health, a good provider for his family; now the future in life has no hope for him. The lodge to which he belongs provides for his comfort and his medical attendance. You who are blessed with health and everything to make life bright should take a lesson from this afflicted brother, and instead of growling at your lot, be thankful for your daily bread and health.

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          Well, we started the last paragraph for a different purpose than of telling of the misfortunes of one man, so we will get back to the sighing for the good old days, when everything was so cheap and money was so scarce that, relatively, we paid more then for living expenses than we do today, rent and taxes excepted. Fifty years ago, the average workingman could rent a house for from $6 to $10 a month; for the same accommodations one has to pay from $15 to $25 a month. The renter abuses the landlord for charging an exorbitant rent, but what is the poor fellow to do when building material and labor cost so much? And then comes the official tax gatherer and takes a big slice of the rent. However, it does one good to compare the market reports of fifty years ago with the prices current today. On the 29^th of November, 1862, the market for flour in Hamilton was quoted at $3.20 to $5 per bushel, ranging from superfine to double extra; oatmeal, $3 per 100 lbs.; wheat, per bushel, 20 to 93 cents; oats, 45 to 47 cents; barley, 90 to 95 cents; peas, 48 to 52 cents; beans $1 to $1.50; potatoes, per bushel, 20 to 40 cents; bran, per 100 pounds, 50 to 60 cents; butter in rolls, per lb., 15 to 18 cents; in firkins, per lb., 8 to 12 cents; eggs, per dozen, 15 cents to 18 cents; cheese, per lb. 7 cents; beef, per 100 lbs. $4.50 to $5.50; pork, per 100 lbs. $3.50 to $3.87; hams, per lb., 10 cents to 12 ½ cents; bacon, 7 to 10 cents; lard, 8 to 8 ½ cents; fowls, per pair, 25 cents to 32 cents; turkeys, 50 cents to $1; hay, per ton, $17 to $18; straw, per load, $4 to$8; firewood, $4 to $5 per cord; hides, per 100 lbs., $4.50 to $4.75; mutton, per lb. 9 cents; lamb, per quarter, 50 to 75 cents. Think of buying a pair of chickens for 30 cents, a pair of ducks for 50 cents, or a turkey from 50 cents to $1! Compare the prices of meat than and now – and its toughness now. But while this line of foods has doubled and trebled in cost, in other lines, such as groceries, one can buy a deal cheaper now than then. There is no cloud without its silver lining.

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          A few weeks ago, in these Musings, we gave a short account of the first sleeping cars that were made in Hamilton, and, indeed, the first designed or made for use in railroad travelling. Samuel Sharp, the first master mechanic of the Great Western railway, was the designer and the superintendent of construction of the first practical sleeping car introduced into railway service. The Wagner car was the next, and this was followed by the Pullman, which seems to have survived them all. In a copy of the Canadian Illustrated News, a weekly literary journal started in Hamilton in October, 1862, we find a description of a later sleeper that was constructed under Mr. Sharp’s supervision for use on the Great Western. It will interest the old-timers who had a personal acquaintance with Mr. Sharp, as well as those who began their workday lives in the old Great Western shops. When King Edward, then Prince of Wales, visited Canada in 1860, the managers of the Great Western had a car built in advance specially designed for the use of the Prince and his retinue in his journeyings through this country. Here is the story of the car in brief : “The Great Western railway has just turned out another of those travelling luxuries which are now so prominent a feature in American railway travelling. Before the introduction of these cars, night travelling on our long lines of railway was a rather serious piece of business, painfully reminding one of that Chinese torture by which the victim was put to death by depriving him of sleep, the painful twistings and posturing of travel-weary passengers in search of a snooze were decidedly laughable to see, but by no means laughable to experience. The sleeping car has now obviated all of this, and enables the business man to economize his time, and the travelling community to do their journeyings without detriment to their physical systems.

          “The car which the G.W.R. company has just converted into a sleeping car is that which was placed at the disposal of the Prince of Wales during his sojourn in this part of Canada, and so posses an historic interest for the curious in such matters. Its outside ornamentation has not been altered; its ceiling is perhaps the loftiest of any railway car in America; its ventilation is provided for by the most approved methods known to the railway world, having one of Mr. Sharp’s excellent ventilators at either end, and exhaust ports over each berth, thus securing an abundance of fresh air without the slightest draft.

          “The car has accommodation for forty-four passengers, and may be used as a day or night cars. Partitions of solid walnut, beautifully polished, divide the berths into eleven compartments, four berths in each, the beds are spring-stuffed, and covered with moquette, a kind of fabric somewhat new in this quarter, but exceedingly fashionable in England and part of the United States. They are enclosed in damask curtains, which secure complete privacy to the occupants. Two washrooms – one for ladies and one for gentlemen – afford every facility for morning ablutions. In short, the passenger will find in it every convenience which the best furnished bedroom can supply.

          “The trucks are especially worthy of notice. They are built upon the doble-lateral motion principle, first designed by Mr. Sharp for this car when it was being fitted up for the use of the Prince of Wales, and which reduces the oscillatory motion to a minimum, this making the travel easy and smooth.

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          Talking about the first sleeping cars built by the Great Western railway for the use of its own traffic reminds us that it was the enterprise of the business men of Hamilton which made the early building of the Great Western possible. The old-timers away back in the latter part of the ‘30s began to plan for it, and if Sir Allan MacNab never did anything more for this then young town, the building of the second railway in Canada – and the first longest line, running from the Niagara river to the Detroit river – is a monument to his personal service to Hamilton. Still, there were growlers in those days who could see nothing but ruin in the future because the enterprising men were in favor of what the grouchers called the “dabbling in unprofitable railway schemes.” Then the new waterworks system came in for its share of abuse from the grouchers. In an editorial in the Canadian Illustrated News of December 6, 1862, municipal orators were denounced for encouraging the people to vote such a burden upon themselves in “a huge system of waterworks which will be more than sufficient for the requirements of the place half a century hence.” Events have proved that the Hamilton men of those day builded wiser than they knew, for if it had not been for the railroads and the waterworks this old town would have been struggling on in the race with Dundas for supremacy. And the grouchers are still at it, and keep up a perpetual fight against the electric system that placed Hamilton in the front rank of Canadian cities as an industrial center. The waterworks system has been a mine of wealth to Hamilton, the income from it amounting to $200,000 a year and over; and yet the wise men of the present day, instead of building up the system with the money that it earns, spend the income and are continually calling upon the people to vote more bonds for enlarging the supply. But then this old Muser does not mix in such matters, but merely as a matter of history calls attention to the grouchers, who more than half a century ago declared that the waterworks were an unnecessary burden for the people to bear.

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          Fifty-five years ago the Church of England, as it was then called, had but two houses of worship in this city. Christ’s church and the Church of the Ascension. Connected with Christ’s church was the Rev. Thoedore Heise, who had charge of the German congregation that held services in the cathedral at stated times. Within the next year, the St. John chapel was opened on King street west, with the Reverend John Butler, M.A., as rector. Mr. Butler had charge of the boys’ academy and taught during the week to make a living, and on Sunday he preached to the small congregation of Episcopalians that lived in the west end. About the same period, a few devout churchmen believed there was an opening in the east end for a place of worship, and as a result, St. Thomas’ chapel was built on Emerald street on the site of the present Emerald street Methodist church parsonage. The chapel was built out on the field, for at that time there was only a house here and there between King and Barton streets. The only pretentious residence buildings east of Wellington street then were Smiley’s castle, now T. H. Pratt’s residence, and Victoria Terrace, now occupied by Dr. Carr, Dr. Baugh and Dr. Caselman. It is to be regretted that the names of the old-time landmarks have been allowed to pass into innocuous desuetude. The congregation of St. Thomas’ chapel had no regular pastor and held only one service on Sunday, and that at 2 o’clock in the afternoon. How many of the old-timers remember the frame church that stood out in the middle of a large field? The promoters of that chapel were principally Americans who belonged to the Church of England before they came to Hamilton, and the Christ’s church and the Church of the Ascension being too far from where those Americans lived, they built one for themselves. Dr. C. S. Chittenden was a great lover of music, and it was said of him that he would stop anytime in the middle of a tooth-pulling operation, he being a dentist, to run over a new piece of music that some one would take to his office. Well, that story may not have been quite true, but anyone who knew his love for music might readily believe it. The good doctor organized one of the choirs for the chapel services on Sunday afternoons, and the singing and the services were so attractive that the chapel was always crowded. Now this bit of history is only a prelude to what follows.

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          The Emerald street Methodist church will celebrate its fortieth anniversary tomorrow, and wind up the services with an old-fashioned tea meeting on Monday night. The popular and energetic pastor of the church, the Rev. A. D. Moir, has made arrangements for a grand time both on Sunday and Monday. And here we might state that the reference above to the history of St. Thomas’ chapel seems to dovetail right down to the present, for the old frame building erected out in the field in 1856 has given lace to the fine brick edifice now worshipped in by the Emerald Methodists. Let us go back a bit. In the year 1871, the Rev. Dr. William Kenner was appointed by the English Bible Christian conference to organize a congregation in Hamilton. At first, services were conducted in a room on Macnab street, but as the congregation increased in numbers, the enterprising members concluded that the eastern part of the town needed church accommodation, so they bought the St. Thomas’  chapel, and in due time, they brick-veneered the old building, adding to its comfort as well as to its appearance. When the Wesleyan denomination absorbed all of the other dissenting churches in Canada in 1884, the Bible Christians cast in their lot with the Methodists and became part of the great organization. For twelve years after the union, the congregation worshipped in the old church, until with the membership increasing, there was a demand for larger accommodations. By this time the fields of 1856 were thickly settled with comfortable homes, and the Emerald street church being the Methodist outpost, it was decided to erect a new building, and the cornerstone of the present handsome edifice was laid in the year 1896, during the pastorate of the Rev. Dr. Gee. The wisdom of the early founders of this congregation in placing the church at the corner of Emerald and Wilson streets is now seen in the huge congregations filling the auditorium and making the question of more seating capacity a necessity. Fifty-five years ago, St. Thomas’ chapel was built out in the fields where the town cows roamed; today the Emerald street Methodist church stands in about the center of this growing city, and the population has grown from 10,00 or 12,000 to 82,000. It was no small undertaking for that congregation in 1896 to build such a large and handsome church, but when they meet tomorrow they can glorify in the fact that they have not only a fine edifice to worship in, but also that have a commodious Sabbath school building, and one of the most comfortable parsonages in town, and a new pipe organ that was bought three years ago, and the entire amount of their indebtedness is only $5,000. There is a record to be proud of for a membership of less than 500, and not a Rockefeller or a Carnegie in the lot. It took sacrifice for the Emerald people to accommodate all this. The trustee board of that church evidently do not think that a church debt is a blessing, for year after year they have gradually decreased it. They are liberal in their salary allowance to their pastor and keep the parsonage and the church and the Sabbath school up to date. As the services tomorrow will be of unusual interest, the good pastor will have the pleasure of welcoming a large congregation.

1917-10-20

HOW QUICKLY THE YEARS REVOLVE

          Sixty years ago, Hamilton was a home town, and the boys and girls came together as naturally as members of one family, and before the boys got into bad habits, the dear good girls took them into their keeping and trained them up to be good citizens. The young people married early, and the census reporters did not have the story to tell that there were so many thousand men over the age of twenty-one years, and so many girls of the same age, and reaching up into the thirties, who were living lives of singleness. A young man earning $9 a week, and of sober and industrious habits, was looked upon as a happy husband for any good girl. They started early in life with but little of the world’s goods, and they toiled together and saved, and in time made comfortable homes, and helped to make of Hamilton a prosperous and happy home town. Instead of beginning life in a house of high rental, they were satisfied with a modest home. The same house that rented sixty years ago for $6 a month on Elgin street, and it was new then, today rents for about $15 a month. Where would a young fellow come out at the end of the month if he had to pay nearly half his wages for rent for a house to live in? Well, the boys and girls of sixty years ago had economical habits, and it did not require a man like Food Commissioner Hanna to warn them against extravagance in living. The girls were good cooks, for they had learned in their mothers’ kitchens, and the boys had appetites that could get away with anything from a red herring to a roast of lamb. Talk about love in a cottage! It was to be found in those dear old homes. The ancient Hamiltonians never discussed divorces, and it was a rare thing to hear of a man and wife separating.

          Well, that was the kind of home life in a majority of homes in Hamilton sixty years ago; but unfortunately the reverse picture obtained at rare intervals. The boys and girls who married young generally had the best of life, for they always had an eye on the future, and a hope that prosperity would come in due season. And it did come in nine cases out of ten, and they drifted into it gradually. They saved in their youth, and when their working days were over, they contently could say : “Soul, take thine ease, for thou hast enough in store for the wants of remaining years.” Hamilton was a dear old home town sixty years ago even though the assessors tried to make such an increase in population when they could have dropped off a few thousand in the number and then been a little nearer the truth. But, then, it may have been pardonable in those days to brag a little. In those days, one knew his neighbor, even though they were not intimate. Now you can travel from one end of the town to the other, and rarely meet a familiar face. Such is life.

         

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          Sixty years ago yesterday, (October 19, 1857), Miss Kate Scott, from the old town of Niagara, and Richard Butler, a Hamilton printer, were united in marriage by the Rev. W. S. Wright, pastor of the Methodist Episcopal church. The elements seemed to have been turned loose that night, and the streets were enjoying the luxury of a bath. The pastor’s house was one of the three cottages on the north end of West avenue, between what is now called Cannon street and Barton. There were no gas lamps, nor any other kind of lamp to guide wedding parties to the east end of the town, and the sidewalk was a single plank laid lengthwise, and one would have to be very careful to keep from making a misstep and slipping into the gutter. That did happen to more than one of the party, and the preacher’s wife had to provide the bride with a pair of dry stockings before the ceremony. The average bridal party could not enjoy the luxury of carriages and drivers with bits of white ribbon on their whips; but, bless you, they never worried about style in those days, and were as happy as though they went to a church in a coach and four, and had dear old Tommy White playing the wedding march on his little melodeon. And such a thing as a wedding as a wedding tour was not to be thought of, for it took all the little savings of the bridegroom to furnish his humble home, where he and his wife were to be gin the realities of life. Our bridal party had their little trip, it is true, but it was only from the parson’s house on West avenue north, and Dick Thorne’s cigar store on the corner of King and Hughson streets, now known to modern history as Clyde’s block. The young printer became reckless of this memorable night, and although he was accustomed to smoking a pipe on ordinary occasions, nothing less than the best five-cent cigar was to be considered. And would you believe it, he was so reckless that he bought five of those fragrant five-centers, and continued on his wedding tour, puffing his cigar as he was always accustomed to such luxuries. Bridal trips are more costly nowadays, but are they any happier than the one that young couple enjoyed from the parson’s home to Dick Thorne’s cigar store?

          Sixty years are formidable to look forward to, but take a look backward and it is but a dream; and what pleasant recollections when two young people start out with the determination to make each other happy. Now and then the sunshine may be hid behind a very thin cloud; but even Adam and Eve, it is said, did not always agree as to which gave to the other the apple. However, this young couple grew in years gradually, and as they came to know each other better, and as the dear girl was born with an angelic temper, she had the happy faculty of being able to smooth out the ruffles in the life of her Irish partner. Ah! those sixty years have been happy ones, and now that we are nearing the end of life’s journey it is pleasant to recall them on this anniversary occasion. What changes have come to dear old Hamilton since the days when Lover’s Lane, known now by the prosaic name of Wellington street, was the delightful promenade of the ancient boys and girls! But few of them are here now to tell the old, old story. Whitcomb Riley expresses the thought in his old sweet song, That Old Sweetheart of Mine :

          “The lamp seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise.

           As I turn it low – to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes.

           And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke

           Its fate with my tobacco, and to vanish with the smoke.”

          “ ‘Tis a fragrant retrospection – for the loving thoughts that start

          Into being like perfume from the blossoms of the heart;

           And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine –

           When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine.”

          TALKS WITH A POLICE REPORTER

          We were speaking, Johnson and I, about the kinds of work that were particularly dangerous for women, not only physically but morally.

          “Have you ever thought about waitresses?” asked Johnson.

          Johnson is a police reporter, and there is a feeling of professional kinship existing between the boys and this ancient muser, for many years ago we had that detail on a Burlington (Iowa) morning paper, and while it was work in which the seamy side of life could be studied, it, at the same time, broadens one’ s ideas as to the pitfalls that beset the unwary. What a Hamilton police reporter doesn’t know about everyday social conditions hasn’t been discovered, and Johnson is one of those bright young fellows who keeps eyes and ears open as he sits at the reporters’ table, day after day, in Justice Jelfs’ court.

          “Well, I feel sorry for waitresses,” said Johnson. They have long hours and hard work. Think of the strain of lifting those heavy trays and keeping up the pace when the rush is on. No wonder so many of them go to pieces. And naturally the attractive ones are always exposed to temptation. Every man who patronizes the hotel where they work can speak to them without being introduced; and there are always men who will take a mean advantage of their opportunity. Of course, if a man of that kind becomes too familiar the waitress can complain; but it isn’t easy for her to know just where to draw the line. A certain amount of disrespect they have to endure whether they want to or not. And, in any case, they hate to make trouble for fear of getting the proprietor down on them. To me the marvel is that so many resist temptation. Once upon a time there used to be a bright woman in charge of the dining room at the old Waldorf hotel, who kept close watch on the actions of the waitresses and the travelling customers of the house, and if she saw anything approaching familiarity on the part of either, she was at that table like a shot and promptly put a stop to it; and she used to do it so quietly that both the guest and the girl were saved embarrassment. Occasionally one of these unrestrained girls will get worn out and disgusted with her life and start on the flowery path. In most cases, it means that she goes to perdition. But I happen to know a case where a girl made a false step, which finally brought her into the police court. The kindly face of the cadi looked in compassion on the wayward girl, for, really, she wasn’t lost beyond recall, and after giving her a fatherly talk, the cadi told her to go and sin no more. When she realized that it meant late hours, drinking, dangerous associations, not to mention other horrors, she had sense enough to quit and return to her home in the country.”

          “How long do they last when they don’t quit?”

          Johnson shrugged his shoulders : “Oh, about five years,” he said. “At the end of that time they are down and out. Drink gets most of them, and disease. A few of them marry – it would amaze most people if they knew how many men marry women of that sort.
          Johnson is a bit of a philosopher in his way, and I wanted to get a few pointers from this practical student of life, who relied less on theory than on everyday observation. There is no place like a seat at the reporters’ table in a police court for one to study the weakness of human nature.

          “What is the solution of the problem of protecting girls that work for a living?”

          “There’s no solution,” replied Johnson, “except putting them in the way of protecting themselves. And that way lies in treating them fairly. Nowadays, in most lines of business, girls are paid less than men for doing the same kind of work. Why this should be I could never understand. The women have their innings in the munitions factories and the employers are compelled to pay them the same wages they have to pay to men; but this won’t last long. At housework, the girls have the call, the girls have the call, and can command wages that were never before heard of; but the average girl would rather stand behind a counter for $6 or $8 a week or even less than study the chemistry of “co’on vittles” in somebody’s laboratory at equal wages, and board and home thrown in. Give the women fair wages and a lot of our social problems will clear up themselves.”

1917-10-13

TAKING A LOOK BACKWARD

        Like the footfalls on the boundaries of an ancient world came the announcement in our city papers of the coming of one of those old-time itinerant temperance lecturers, such as used to visit Hamilton in regular course sixty and seventy years ago. Like a “ship that passes in the night,” they come and go, leaving behind them pleasant memories of days long since gone by. The present generation knows naught of those gifted men who devoted their talents and their lives in sounding loud their notes of warning against the “despot intemperance,” and inviting all to join in hurling him down from his might. Now and then it seems like a resurrection from the graves of the past to hear one of those itinerants tell the story of the curse of the drink traffic. The curse has been upon this world for centuries, but we have become so accustomed to its misdeeds in this twentieth century that instead of making the personal fight, as did the fathers of old against it, we depend altogether on the power of law to suppress the evil. We have an illustration in these present war days in Canada of what could be done to bring about the millennium of prohibition if the voter and the lawmaker were in earnest in their desire to put an end to the drink traffic. Here in Ontario, a little more than a year ago, the fiat went forth that till the end of the war there should be no legal sale of spirituous liquors, or of malt liquors over a small percentage of alcoholic strength; but the unfortunate proviso was attached that it might be shipped into the province from territories beyond its borders. The result of the operations of the law are that, while it has in large measure, shown what might have been effected by total prohibition, yet it has proven a partial failure in the total suppression of the traffic. It is true that a drunken man in the streets is a rare sight in Hamilton, and that arrests for drunkenness have largely fallen off, yet a day scarcely passes by that from one to half a dozen foreigners are haled before Justice Jelfs on the charge of having liquor illegally in their possession, and also of selling it to those unfortunate enough to have an appetite for the accursed stuff. Every device is availed of to evade the prohibition intent of the law, and all through that loophole of permitting its importation into Ontario, by the foreign element that believes itself to be above all law, either to fight for Canada or to pay taxes toward the carrying on of the war. When caught in the act, these foreigners are fined the paltry sum of $200, which they can either pay in cash or by confinement in jail, where they are comfortably warmed and fed at the expense of the law-abiding taxpayers of the city. You have read the story of the old farmer who found a lot of boys in his apple trees and pelted them with tufts of grass, expecting that such mild treatment would have the effect of frightening them out of the trees; but the boys only laughed and jeered at the kindly old farmer. Patience seemed to be a virtue that did not bring results, and finally the farmer began to pelt the lads with stones, and soon there was not one of the young culprits in the trees. Something more than a mere fine will have to be applied to these foreign lawbreakers, or the time will come that their anarchistic ideas will become the curse of Canada. Read in the columns of the daily papers, not only in Hamilton, but in other cities in Canada, of the manner of insults offered the women and girls by this class of people, and in time business may become brisk with the undertakers by reason of the desperation to which fathers and husbands may be driven to protect their wives and daughters.

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          We have drifted somewhat from the point at which we started, but as what has been written is along the line of the liquor question, it may fit in appropriately. Let us go back to our text. E. Tennyson Smith, temperance and prohibition lecturer, editor and author, dropped in on Hamilton last week, and on Sunday opened a week’s campaign under the auspices of the Royal Templars of Temperance, and it was a pleasure to read in the editorial columns of the Spectator on last Saturday the kindly greeting extended to the lecturer by the genial editorial writer of this paper. Unfortunately the press and the pulpit have but little to say nowadays against the liquor traffic, and it seems like a gleam of sunshine when someone says a pleasant word for the advancement of temperance in either the newspaper or the pulpit. The coming of the itinerant temperance lecturer takes one back fifty and sixty years ago, when Hamilton was interested in temperance work. Two great temperance orators from the United States had made a vigorous campaign of Canada, Philip S. White and John B. Gough, and both of them created quite an interest in their work. Mr. White was at the head of the Sons of Temperance organization of the world, and his eloquence captivated the people of Hamilton, and proved valuable in building up that order in this city.

          Connected with the Sons of Temperance organization as an auxiliary branch was the Cadets of Temperance composed of boys under eighteen years of age. The boys not only took the pledge against the use of intoxicating liquors, wine and cider, but also the use of tobacco. The tobacco part of the pledge was a blessing to the boys, as but few violated it, and it kept them from its use till they were at an age when they would not form the habit. When the boys arrived at the age of 18 years, their membership ceased in the Cadets, and many recruits joined the older organization, the Sons. As one walks the streets and sees young boys of very immature age sucking a cigarette, the pity of it is that there is not some such organization as the Cadets of Temperance to educate them from the use of the “coffin nail.” Canada has become a nation of cigarette smokers to the injury, especially, of young boys. John B. Gough’s campaign in Hamilton and Canada was not in the interest of any special temperance order, but was for the education along the lines of total abstinence. Following his visit to Canada, the order of Good Templars was instituted, and the first Grand Lodge in Canada was organized in Hamilton in the fall of 1854, with Dr. Case as the grand worthy chief. But few members of the old Hamilton lodge are living today to tell the story of the great temperance revival in this city more than sixty years ago.

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          Hamilton has now two temperance organizations at work, the Good Templars and the Royal Templars of Temperance, but not much is said about what they are doing. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union is also a mild power for good along temperance lines, but as they are too broad in their methods, they lose somewhat in their force of action. Probably temperance people think now that Ontario is supposed to have prohibition, everything is done except the shouting. There is too much money in the distilling and brewing business for the capitalists who control them to let go of the traffic. They are taking it quietly just now, but when the time comes for them to make a strike, they will put all the money necessary into carrying the elections to knock the prohibitory law. Let us hope that Tennyson Smith’s campaign may arouse a new interest in prohibition so that its advocates will be on guard against the attack of the enemy.

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          THE VICTORIA CROSS

          The Christian Science Monitor, one of the cleanest daily newspapers published in the United States, evidently has some Canadian on its editorial staff, for it devotes a part of its columns nearly everyday to Canadian interests. While it is published by the Christian Science organization, yet it only prints one short article each day to educating its readers along those lines. Hamilton is represented in the business department of the Monitor by a son of Samuel Cann, once one of the leading grocers on the Market square. His mother, Mrs. Cann-Hill, was the daughter of Hutchison Clark, an architect and builder in the early days of Hamilton. Some of his descendants are still living in this city. From the Monitor, the writer of these musings gathers a bit of history of the institution of the Victoria Cross in the British army. It is the greatest prize Great Britain offers to its soldiers for conspicuous valor on the field of battle and came into existence in the Crimean war, more than sixty years ago. So highly guarded is the Victoria Cross that in all those sixty years, less than one thousand have been awarded. Five hundred and twenty-two was the number of recipients before the present war, and during the last three years 817 men have won the coveted prize. How many of our Canadian boys will be decorated with the cross? Certainly they have performed many acts of bravery to entitle them to the honor. The roll of the Victoria Cross will probably be still further lengthened before the close of the war, though even now the number bestowed since 1914 is larger than the awards of the Crimea and the Mutiny put together.

          Unfortunately, says the Monitor, there are many who deserve the Victoria Crodd and who somehow do not get it. There was an instance of a Tommy who insisted on taking water over a fire swept bit of ground to some comrades who had been cut off from the British lines. There was no possibility of supplies reaching them; their plight was evident, and this brave soldier resolved to meet it. He was warned by his officer what it would certainly mean for him, but nothing would turn him from his purpose. He made the journey, carrying the water bags not once, but several  times, and he got through unscathed. So far he is still Private Canuck, without a V.C. to his name.

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                   GAMBLING

          Gambling is the process of betting whether the fourth ace is still in the deck or up the other fellow’s sleeve. It is an exiting pastime, and will keep a man awake easier than an ulcerated tooth.

          There is one form of gambling that is very common over on the Market square about this season of the year, when nature is so lavish with her fruits and produce, and you may safely bet that the honest-looking seller has that fourth ace hidden away. David Harum tells us to do unto others as they would do unto you, but do it to them first. You can’t do it in the market place, for the other fellow has the advantage. Did you ever see such a wealth of luscious peaches and plums, and indeed fruit of all varieties, as has been displayed in the Hamilton market the past few weeks? Why, it is almost a feast in itself to look upon, even though one’s pocketbook may not be equal to the expense of carrying home what nature has so bountifully blessed these latter-day Hamiltonians with.

          When you and I were young, my venerable Hamiltonian, peaches were a luxury that we knew aught of. Down about Stoney Creek and Grimsby a few progressive orchardists were experimenting in the cultivation of this delicious fruit, but so few were raised that they were beyond the reach of the average pocketbook, and the orchards were so many miles from Hamilton that the town boys were not equal to the exertion of going after them. Land down in that fruit country had no more value than ordinary farming land; now with its wealth of fruit it is worth away up into the hundreds of dollars, and even spreading out into four figures. It was a gamble when those enterprising orchardists began the game of fancy fruit culture, but they had not only one ace up their sleeve but they had a royal flush in their hands.

          Now and then one comes across these gentle fruit men, and it is a sorrowful experience. The baskets of peaches and apples and plums look like a picture to the eye, and you feel the sting of poverty because you cannot gratify your desire to become the possessor of at least enough to supply the family demand till another season rolls around. You buy a basket of peaches or apples that look fine under their covering of gauze, for the top row is carefully selected large fruit, and as you carry it home you feel almost as proud as if you owned the orchard in which it was grown. When you bought that basket of peaches it was a gamble about the “show down” when the head of the house made the call. She admired the peaches because they were so large and luscious, but, woman like, she wanted to see whether you had a “full house,” or only “four flush,” and she dived down to the bottom of the basket, and then that “fruit fancier” caught it at long range, for he was safely a mile away, and beyond hearing what the head of the house thought of him. This is where the fruit gambler rings in a cold deck on the innocent sucker. Thank goodness, there be but few men who have the odd ace up their sleeve.

          Gambling comes in different sized packages, depending upon the roll of the gambler. Some people get more pleasure out of tossing pennies at a crack, in an attitude of pigeon-toes expectancy, or in “rolling the bones” in shooting craps, than others do by blostering up wheat margins on a falling market.

          One of the most popular forms of gambling is known as draw poker. This is a game in which one mild-faced gull is whipshawed by two genteel harpies in fancy vests by a series of spiral and costly “raises,” the last raise being usually sufficient to leave the sucker in a breathless condition. Away back in the ‘50s poker used to be a popular game with tin-horn sports when Hamilton was but a budding town. When it got a little hot for the gamblers here that used to stand around the hotel doors, chewing toothpicks and looking as harmless as doves, they would decoy their victims out to Pete Riley’s in Dundas, where everything was wide open. Many an innocent went out to Pete’s with a good-sized roll, and behind a spanking livery team, who came slinking home afoot when the sun was taking its early morning bath in old Ontario. That handsome tinsmith, who worked for the Dennis Moore company, was a daisy. The girls were all in love with his bushy black moustache, and the boys would follow him like a flock of sheep, begging him to win their week’s earnings by giving them a few lessons in poker. He would gather the boys into his classroom on Saturday night, and when the sun was rising in the morning, the plucked tinhorns would be dismissed with empty pockets. When the Sabbath bells called saints and sinners to the temple, this handsome black-mustached tinsmith would be found with his fine baritone-voice, devoutly singing the Psalms of David or the simple songs of Wesley. Now and then he would take a stroll out to Pete’s, but he never came home with empty pockets. The most harmless kind of poker is penny-ante, which the boys in the army used to play during the American civil war. They played it day and night when not engaged in shooting Minnie balls at their southern brethren, and not one of them was ever known to be broke. They played an honest game, for it would have been a dangerous thing if one of their number was found with the fourth ace up his sleeve.

          A few years ago our society people discarded draw in favor of bridge whist. This is a very expensive form of entertainment, as many of the lady sports have found out to their cost, and when at a high voltage, makes a game of poker look like playing marbles for keeps. After one has run up against four or five stiff hands of bridge whist, he or she will be lucky to cash in at ten cents on the dollar.

          One of the most genteel forms of gambling is the progressive euchre party, at which the most progressive sister draws a hand-painted picture of Burlington bay, and the undying enmity of all the sisters who had set their hearts on winning the prize. These parties used to be sat upon by the clergy in loud, explosive sermons ever so often, but as the sisters are the mainstay of the church, the good parson found it to his interest to “let it go at that.” Husbands are not allowed to interfere, only they have the privilege of furnishing the prizes.

          Although gambling is prohibited by law, the sport who bets his week’s wages on the ponies, or on the baseball games, has never been arrested. After all, there ought to be one place in this gambling world where the unsatisfied sucker will not be interrupted in a wholesome effort to be stung.