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V..-"7ii ^ •"^iflf^ itsrr m- Irr .t' I S'^S: t ■ ' (' •V r i • ■ im : i.\'V'. />4^ .,11' % 'ill ll>i! m \w m ■-^J.:e -^ i fy ( S- -^ / -^ -^' t vj --K PEN AND PENC3L SKETCHES j»j» 3 Ditdmarks A SERffiS OF ARTICLES DESCRIP- TIVE OF QUAINT PLACES AND INTERESTING LOCALITIES INj»j» THE SURROUNDING COUNTYj»j» WRITTEN BY MRS. DICK-LAUDER, MRS. CARR, ji R. K. KERNIGHAN (THE KHAN), J. E. WODELL, J. W. STEAD, J. McMONIES, iP OTHERS. ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. R. SEAVEY PUBLISHED BY THE SPECTATOR PRINTING COMPANY, LIMITED j» HAMILTON, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND NINETY-SEVEN .!».>» j»j»j»j»j»j» i 109343 INTRODUCTION. The following series of articles were first published in the Hamilton Spectator. They were originally issued under the title of ^* Delving Among Ruins,** and dealt more particularly with the history of architectural relics which were the fast disappearing sou- venirs of events and incidents in the early history of this district. As the series continued, so much valuable and interesting material came to light that the primary scope of the articles was considerably extended, and eventually resulted in the collection of much general information that may prove useful to the local historian of the future who undertakes to throw his literary searchlight on the dim and distant past. So general was the interest evinced by the public in these literary and artistic gleanings that it was decided to re- publish them in a more permanent and collected form, with such slight emendations as the exigencies of serial publication rendered necessary. The Editor. f CONTENTS All Historic \'illage Old Residences at Aiicastcr The Lccming Parsonage St. John's Church, Ancaster Ancastcr in the Victorian Era The Old Red Mill The Terry berry Inn A Forgotten House of Peace Historic Homes on the MouMtu! On the Outskirts of the Citv North of Hamilton Hay . By Medad's Marshy Shores At-ti-wan-dar-o ni-a Indian Relics and Remains Rock Chapel and Vicinity The Fools' College . Early History of Dundas Its Prehistoric Buildings A City that was not Built Legends of Romulus An Ancient Trojan A Battlefield of 1 812 Albion Mills Ravine Early Days in Saltfleet The Caledonia Stage Road PAOK • I • f 9 • • • • »4 • • • • »9 t • • 25 • t • 33 f • 38 t • • 43 • • 49 • • • t 53 • • 58 • • • • 70 » « 74 • • • • Si 1 86 t • 93 • 103 t t ro8 • 1 1 1 • 118 • 121 • 124 • 130 • '33 • » • • •37 • • '44 QUAINT OLD ANCASTER An Historic Village and its Decayed Industries. ^ Old Resi- dences of Ancaster. jf> The Leeming Parsonage. J^ St. John's Church and its Picturesque Churchyard. j» An- caster in the Victorian Era. d^ The Old Red Mill. WENTWORTH LANDMARKS CHAPTER I AN IIISTOIIIC VILLAGE Id "I loved the brimming wave that swam Thro* quiet meadows round the mill. The sdeepy pool above the dam, The pool beneath it never still, The meal sacks on the whlten'd floor. The dark round of the dripping wheel. The very air about the door iMade misty with the floating meal." — ^Tennyson. \Ki «'« ■\. on HEN heaven, as- sisted by the powers that be, orders up that electric continua- tion of the Beck- ett drive, which is to strike An- caster amidships, it may prove a Jehemiah to trace up this old Jerusalem, to re- pair its breaches by pulling down the present ghast. ly array of spec- ters In stones, and replacing them with the smart villa residence and the awe-in- spiring summer boarding house; also, perhaps, carrying out the expressed opinion of experts that, as a healthy and desirable location for an idiot or inebriate asylum, old Ancaster stands first on the list, offering unrivalled advantages in the shape of wide hor- izons, church and water privileges and congenial society. At any rate the railway is an ac- complished fact as far as the survey, against whose pegs we often lately, in the elegant words of a defunct bishop, "stub our toes" when medi- tating along tlie Mohawk trail In the dusk. Thus, If the matter ends In pegs, we can at least remember that we once had a survey, Just as the crankiest female who stalks grimly down the vale of years, an unappro- priated blessing, can surely recall the time when she had her one offer of marriage! • • • One thing generally leads to anoth- er, as the man said when he launched out and bought a paper collar, so who can say that new life may not once more flow to the aged village, now high and dry on old time's sand banks, bringing back her bright meridian bloom and vigor of 70 years ago? Fan- ned by the breath of electricity to spring like a Phoenix from her bed of ashes — ashes, understand, being prin- cipally the matter choking up the old place with a Are record unequalled since the days of Sodom, making her an object of terror to her friends, de- rision to her foes and a hoo-doo to the guileless Insurance agent. It Is rather melancholy, on a sum- mer's day, to stand on the high bridge and watch the waters slouching by like a gang of crystal dwarfs out of a Job, idling and playing, and painting the "beautiful, waving hair of the dead" grass green among the fallen ruins, which a few years ago were In- stinct with the hum of industry, pour- ing forth at stated hours, with jangle of bells, a cheerful, clattering stream of bread winners, giving life and ani- mation to the scene, in contrast to the occasional man who now meets the casual glance up street in the sunny noon hours. • • • These mill ruln» cannot In them- selves be found deeply interesting to lovers of antiquity because of their comparative modernity, though they occupy the sites of the more ancient buildings, the Union mill for example. Fire took a hand in at an early date n lO WENTWORTir LANDMARKS and beKan removing the village build- ings, sometimes singly, at others In groups, according to the direction of the wind-— as for instance when the stable of the Barley hotel caught Are and swept up, regardless of Interven- ing obstacles, to the next Inn on the corner, kept by one Tidy In a right tidy manner they say. Some still talk of a grand military ball which was held there more than half a century ago, and which apparently was a very tidy affair. How indeed cou'.o it help being so, with redcoats galore, and pretty girls from far and near, for In those days people came from Hamil- ton to Ancaster for their gaieties, as well as their clothes and groceries? We are quite sure that on this even- ing long ago the candles shone o'er fair women and brave men, while Music arose with its voluptuous swell. Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again — And all went merry as a marriage bell. All the "first families" were there, Crookes, Cooleys, Cheps and many more of the familiar names which Have been oarved For many a year On the toml). A dim echo from that far-off night repeats that the fairest debutante of the evening was a sister of Sheriff Murton, whose family then resided in the original Hermitage house. Our genial sheriff himself had to remain at home, and go early to bed, as he was not old enough to frivol, or no doubt he would have been there, too. The officers, after the custom of those days, danced the first three dances in their swords and spurs, greatly to the detriment of their fair partner's gowns. * Id * Somewhere about the year of grace 1820, the "man-of-the-tlme" came and took up his abode In the village, where he henceforth lived, and where he died and is buried, after having contributed much to the advancement of Ancaster in many ways. This enterprising pioneer was named Job Loder, and he was the builder and owner of all the mills and water priv- ileges of the whole place for many years, running grist mills, saw mill, carding and woolen mills all along the stream on the site of the present ruins. Mr. Loder also had a general store. close to his house In the village, where he did a rushing business, giving con- stant employment to four clerks and a typewriter. No, not a typewriter; 1 forgot it was seventy years ago! Finally the old gentleman made so much money that he didn't know what to do with it, so he sold out his mills and water privileges to a person named Russell, who is still spoken of by the older people as a man of wealth, enterprise and many misfor- tunes — a man with many Irons in the fire, one of whose schemes was that Ancaster should supply Hamilton with water, going so far as to have a sur- vey made, but there, for some reason, want of water perhaps, the matter stuck. He then formed a company to open a carpet manufactory in Ancas- ter, but that also withered in the bud, and rag carpet weaving is as far as we have got yet. Mr. Rusisel's house is still with us, and must have been a very desirable residence, as he had a beautiful farm at the back, stretching all along the east side of the village, from the lover's lane to the lime kiln, watered by the crystal Yuba, and wooded beautifully in those days like an English park. He lived, 'ti.s said, in good style, giving employ- ment to many, and judging from his bill of sale, date 1853, he had every- thing requisite to make home pleasant, from cut-glass decanters and "four post beds with crimson damask hang- ings," down to martingales and stable buckets. A strange and sad misfortune befell this prosperous man as he was, on one occasion, hurrying through a win- ter journey to Lower Canada on some contract business, of which the point was that he had to get to Montreal ahead of some rival contractor. It was a practical Illustration of the old saw, "Most haste, w.>rse speed," for, on taking some adventurous short cut over the river near Prescott, the ice gave way, the horses were drown- ed, and Mr. Russel only was saved after hours of frightful suffering, half submerged, clinging to the Ice, and finally the poor man proved to be so terribly frost-bitten that both his arms had to be amputated. This cir- cumstance would have been enough trouble for one incarnation surely, but it was followed after a time by a ghastly sequel in the Ancaster woolen mill, when Mr. Russel's only daughter, a bright and handsome girl, accom- panied by her lover from Toronto, and AN IIISTOUIC VILLAGE II a gay party of friends, was being shown over the mill one day by the foreman. Sleeves, then, apparently, must have partaken of the present fashion some- what, for as the poor girl stepped lightly along under the whirring bands, a revolving upright shaft caught her sleeve, and before she could be rescued had either torn her arm off, or mangled it so badly as to render amputation necessary. Later on, it is remembered, that the woolen mill was destroyed by fire, and the air grew thick with trouble, as the insurance company kicked like Jeeu- run, and actually had Mr. Russel im- prisoned and tried in Hamilton, on the word of his coachman, who swore he had bribed him to Are the build- ing. The jury refused to convict on this evidence, however, and he was honorably acquitted. After this the mills were sold separately and passed through several hands, the woolen mill being bought on one occasion by Robert Smiley, the founder of the Hamilton Spectator. Its final 6wner was the late James Watson, of Ham- ilton, during whose reign It finally collapsed, going up to heaven in a chariot of fire one fine evening in the seventies. Of all the mills that have come and gone in Ancaster, the grist mill alone is left, like Elijah, as our one industry, and is a thriving and prosperous one, to all appearance, under the energetic rule of Mr. Jackson. Long may it flourish! That's enough about mills; now for more Interesting matter. poplar trees, and beyond them the quaintest of houses, in which several things made an unfading impression on the youthful mind. One was the ven- <>rable lady of the mansion, whose chair was placed directly underneath a large oil painting of herself, as a blooming matron in the year 1822. The other unforgotten things were an im- mense antique secretary with quaint crystal handles, and a truly ravishing piece of antiquity as well as handsome bit of furniture, which was an aged spinnet, with spindle legs, and a curi- ously carved and inlaid body, and a row of old yellow keys. This, we were told by its aged mistress, came from New York, and was the first musical instru- ment brought to Upper Canada. It seems a strange coincidence, after that glimpse so long ago, to be asked ot write round a cut of the Loder homestead In our village, and the task is a pleasant one, made easy by the kind courtesy of the present owner and his charming wife; of this it is un- necessary to say more than merely to mention that the writer called there timidly on behalf of the "editorial department," intending to remain five minutes and ask three questions, and stayed two hours and twenty minutes by the antique clock, and asked 400. * • • Mr. Loder's house was built by his father in 1820, and remains practically the same to-day, only we grieve to re- cord that it is a case of Alas! for the shade. The poplars are felled. M point Montreal or. It the old d," for, short ott, the drown- saved g, half e, and be 80 th his his cir- enough ly, but by a woolen ughter, accom- to, and Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country-seat; Across Its antique portico Tall poplar trees their Sihadows throw. It has always been a puzzle why some events of our early lives are merely glanced over, as it were, by the senses, and then tossed, without more ado, into the mental waste paper basket, while others, perhaps less sig- nificant in themselves, remain ever im- pressed on the memory, bright and un- crushed by the passing over «*f the heavy ammunition wagons of later life. The writer refers to one of these little untarnished mental pictures of many years ago, being invited by the Mrs. Clergyman of that era, to- accompany her in some parochial calls— one of these, and only one, stands out clearly <^till. with a foreground of grand old Within, the very sight of the wood- work — the low ceilings, the wide old- fashioned fireplaces built for big logs, the small bright brass knobs on all the doors — carry one over the sea to some of the remembered old homesteads of Devonshire and Norfolk. The illusion begins on the doorstep even, and is heightened by entering in opposite to the most enticing low-arched passage, resembling a cave, into which the waves would wash at high tide, and which led away from the hall to re- gions unknown, that we secretly long- ed to explore. The drawing-room fire- place is peculiarly interesting, being somewhat in the Queen Anne style, and the high mantel was most fitting- ly surmounted by just such a tall pil- lared clock as Cruickshanka frequently pictures in his early sketches, early la WENTWORTH LANDMARKS Georgian we take it to be. It was rendered doubly interestingr by the fact that It was too old to go. On each side of this silent relict •tood large silver candlesticks, such as always play a part in our baby recol- lectioms of being carried down to des- sert, infrequently, In one's nightshirt, and thinking that the wine, seen glint. Ing in the decanters by tall candle- Sheba! A long mirror, with heavy top and carved and grilded frame, fur- nished one with many thoughts. What must its reflections have been, hang- ing observantly there for more than 70 years, a silent satire on man, fum- ing through his little hour, and then puff! out he goes, like a snuffed can- dle, while the placid mirror main- tains an unruffled surface, and calmly aw^^;^'?^ THE OLD KNITTING MILL. light, looked like Joseph's coat of many colors. « • * Time and space would fail us to teli of the miniatures we saw, in the black frames of a by-gone age, the old china and the antique bronze lamp that looked like Nelson's monument in Tra- falgar square. The crimson curtains still hang quaintly draped in the style of 70 years ago, and smiling down on all her former possessions is the por- trait of 1822. Truly an unexpected and delightful oasis this, to And in a Canadian village! Everything in the house seemed to be at least 70 years old, and some oi e things more aged still. The massive fire-irons, the ven- erable well-worn pair of bellows, the cupboard in the wall hard by the par- lor mantel shelf, with glass doors, like the one in the Falrchlld family, where Mrs. Cutshorter kept the Jointed doll, left no spirit in us, like the Queen of surveys the new-comers? Old clocks and old mirrors have a particular fas- cination owing to their air of superior individuality, for— Through days of sorrow and of mirth. Through days of death and days of birth; Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it stood. As if. like God, it all things saw. The old fireplaces have wide chim- neys, which formerly were cleaned by a sweep dragging a smaller sweep up and down, and regarding this Mr. Loder tells an amusing story of the fright a strange young relative on a visit received, in consequence of this mode Off chimney sweeping. One after, noon this little lad came flying forth from the Loder home, as if he had been fired as a, pr9Jectile, and rush- ing down the street, and up to the old AndrusR house, burst in, crying breath- AN HISTORIC VILLAGE »3 0\ heavy top a.me, fur- :hts. What ;en, hang- more than man, fum- and then uffed can- rror maln- md calmly lessly: "Oh, Aunt Andruss, the devil iH in Aunt Phoebe'e house!" "Why, dear me, what makes you think eo?" cries Aunt Andruss, all in a twitter. "Oh, I know, I know he is, for I saw his feet sticking down the chimney." • • • Ancaster saw plenty of life during the rebellion of 1837, when it was quite a frequent thing for all the inns, Ave in number, and many of the private houses, to be full over night of red- coats passing towards the west. The old spinnet played a part in the rebel- lion Itself, when on one occasion a wing of militia, 500 strong, under Col. Dennistown, bivouacked over night in the village on their march through the country. The soldiers were billeted throughout the village, while the col. onel and some of his officers Judicious, ly selected the Loder house as likely to offer good cheer. During the even- ing the colonel discoursed sweet music on the spinnet, lisltened to intently by the small son of the house, who, on the principle before referred to, still has the incident hanging fresh and bright in his mental picture gallery. Helgh-ho! shall we ever hear the jingle of the spurs again through our old streets? ALMA DICK LAUDER. m yi/' Old clocks icular fas- of superior a of mirth, days of ude ;d it stood. fs saw. tride chim- pleaned by sweep up this Mr. ry of the Jitlve on a Ice of this lone after- ^ing forth Jlf he had land rush- Ito the old Ing breath- r^ . ^:i. -*»-*^* A_ ,-^ THK RUINED TANNERY. PBP CHAPTER II OLD RESIDENCES OF ANCASTER J I ! " Green rollers breaking. On an ancient shore." * • • Come out and hear the waters Shoot, the owlet hoot, the owlet hoot: Yon crescent moon, a golden boat. Hangs dim l>eh1nd the tree, O! The dropping thorn makes white The grass, O sweetest lass. And sweetest lass; Come out and smell the ricks of hay Adown the croft with me, O! —Old English Song. * • • ES, come, come up the winding moun- tain road, higher and higher still, through ever purer, fresher air, up to old Ancaster, all in this leafy month of June, while "the roees bloom and the cuckoo sings all day." Come, and drink full measure of the healing beauty of the early sum- mer which, like a great green wave, has broken In spray of blossom, and streams of emerald on leaf and grass through all the sunny land. * * * Enter with reverence this cathedral of the rolling year, so full of pictures and carvings and delicate tracery and vistas pleasant to the eye. Bend to hear the pulse of nature's heart beat. And In It And the truest voice of God. Here In the green temple, surrounded by miracles, it is easier to understand our own Tennyson when he writes of the— Flowers In the crannied wall. I pluck you out of the crannies: Hold you here, root and all. in my hand Little flower, but if I could under- stand What you are. root and all. and all in aU. I should know what God and man Is. It is a royal progress, that gradual ascent to Ancaster, and even the no- bodies must turn their heads in right royal fashion from side to side to greet the "woodsey smell" of the mossy fern carpet spread over the rocks there In the shade, to catch a breath from "the far oft greenhouses of God"— to quote the Khan's beauti- ful conception — "To look deep Into the rocky gorge where the bridge crosses over a real Hieland stream foaming down In haste after rains, round bould- ers and over hollows to join fortunes with the Yuba hastening from its work above at Ancaster," • • • Just here the road begins to crawl, and so do the horses, giving time to enjoy all the beauteous vale of foun- tains, which lies revealed, perhaps In level beams of evening, to the never satisfled eye. A wonderful old basin it is which meets the downward glance with a strange story of the conflict of time seamed and furrowed on its aged face; so water- worn, so evidently once the head of Lake Ontario, that a very limited imagrlnation could picture it overflowing with a wild, dark play of waters in which strange saurlans swam and sported — a dusky chaos, spreading from rim to rim of the val- ley, where now the peach and apple bloom, and the happy flelds spread out beside the streams, and where the dic:- tant spires of Dundas, that Sleeping Beauty In her wood, make the behold- er cordially endorse the entry made lon;^ ago by William Chambers, of Chimbers' Journal fame. In his notes on Canadian Travel: "Passed by Dun. das, a place to live and die In." Clear case of love at flrst sight, from a car window! Presumably It was good luck and water privileges, more than inher- ent good taste, which led the earliest forefathers of the hamlet to form a nucleus at Ancaster, but it is hard to imagine, looking back from the turn of the mountain, how they could pos- OI.I) RESIDENCES OK ANCASTEK '5 sibly have made a better selection. It is not, at this era, very progressive, but its claim to general prettiness has never been disputed. It would appear also that there has always been an unusual percentage of good looks amongst the Ancastrians in days gone by, as well as to-day. Perhaps unknowingly they acted on the advice of a famous doctor who, when he lay a-dying said to his as- So here we have a living exemplar of the fame of Ancaster in one respect at least. • * • Some people have an erroneous idea that there is a Jail at Ancaster. It is true that there were prisoners In real sad earnest here once upon a time, abiding for a space in an old log building down street, near the grrlst mill, and tradition farther whispers that they were deserters from our own forces in the war of 1812, and that il THE TISDALE HOUSE. THE OLDEST RESIDENCE IN ANCASTER. sembled confreres round the bed, "I am going, but I leave three fine doc- tors behind me," (the confreres bridled consciously), "air," said he, "and ex- ercise and gruel." (Collapse of con- freres!) While on the subject perhaps it would be allowable to recall the fact that Ancaster claims the privilege of being the birthplace of the hand- somest Judge in Ontario (Judge Rob- ertson), who was born in the red brick house (recently shown, incident- ally, in one of the views of Ancaster given in the Spectator), formerly occu- pied by Dr. Cragie, of old-time re- nown, which stands on an eminence at the entrance to the village on the left, beautiful for situation, and still shel- tered by a few of the grand old firs. they were taken back to headquarters at Burlington and shot. The little octagon building called the lockup, and which couldn't really lock up anything tight enough to pre- vent its getting out if it wished, start- ed out in life gaily as a toll-gate house when the stone road was first constructed, somewhere in the latter part of the 30's; upon the removal of the toll-gate to another part of the road in 1834, it reverted to type for a time, though memory, who has Just stepped in, recalls a little crined-up old woman who sojourned therein for a time, and who used to hide her food in the oven when a visitor called and ; t i6 WENTWORTII LANDMARKS THE SYMOND8 HOUSE. proceed to cut large slices of things more substantial than ice, by patheti- cally exhibiting a heel of bread and a teapot without any tea in particular, and no nose to speak of— only a little oW shadow of a woman, dear to mem- ory for the sake of the past, long since passed, we hope, to an old woman's home, where the teapot, hot and strong, is a chronic institution. • • • One or two people have been locked up there, presumably on parole d' honneur, and in winter many a tramp finds warmth and shelter and a bite to eat within the old octagonal. Passing east from the village bastile, along the old Mohawk trail, there may presently be seen, across a little stretch of grass, an aged two-leaved gate, which yields, rather unwillingly, to pressure, and sliding back gives en- trance to an unguarded paradise. Neglected, poor, forgotten, fallen from all prosperous days, nature with kindly hand is doing her best to con- ceal as well as beautify, with an al- most tropical luxuriance of growth, beginning even at the threshold where, as the foot sinks in the long, lush grass, vague snatches of song come to mdnd unbidden, as the scent of certain forgotten perfumes seems possessed of an electric power which can call up the past, and cry resur- rection to hosts of memories, long sepulchred in peace, and so pass on, murmuring: I held my way through Defton wood. And on to Wander hall; The dancing leaf let down the light In hovering spots to fall. And also — O many, many, many, Little homes above my head; And so many, many, many Dancing blossoms found me spread. There Is greater or less degree of eeriness attending a sudden return to an abandoned sitting-room after everyone has gone to bed. The fire has died down to red embers, and the pushed back chairs somehow have a startled look as if the individuality of the inanimate had stepped in and filled the interval to the exclusion of the human presence. All seems the same, yet not the same, In the room we left an hour before. So it somewhat Is with the empty house of those long passed awFjy. The quiet phantoms seem impalpably to hover beneath the roof tree and in the places which now for long hav» known them no more. Passing inward from the two-leaved gate, paradise unfolded, even greener. DI.D RESIDENCES OF ANCASTEK 17 richer in wealth of climbing, branch- ing, flowering things, a medley and a network of trailing vines and bios. Romlng shrubs through which the sun peeped laughing. • • • • There were lilacs, lilacs, sweeter sweetest, many tinted, everywhere, and the bonnle hawthornes i-ested their trays of snow on the tottering fence's old grey heads, while the plentiful sprinkling of grave, stately forest trees whispered softly In the rising wind to each other of what different times they could recall If they wished old gentleman showed excellent taste In his selection of a building site on which to place his, then, handsome house. A more charming spot of the kind could hardly be Im&glned, cheer- ful to a degree, and possessing many beautiful peeps away to blue distance above Dundas, or Flamboro, with prettiest Imaginable foreground of home scenery. A house set on a hill and surround- ed with flne old trees has still Inflinite capabilities even when neglect and age have started in to do their worst. THE OLD TOLL HOUSE. of what was, before change and death and mutability wrought havoc with the old house on the hill. Early in the thirties an English gentleman of the name of Symonds, who had made a considerable fortune In the West Indies, happened.strange- ly enough, to settle for a time at An- caster, where he became the possessor ol a very beautiful estate, about 500 acres In all, extending north to t he brow of the mountain, including the land on and around the present lime kilns, and the farms of Dougherty and MacNlven abutting on the Lovers' Lane. Abundantly watered, richly .wooded, close to the haunts of man, and yet practically miles away. It must have been a goodly heritage. The Though empty now, not swept nor garnished, still a glance at the- silent rooms with their high ceilings, goodly proportions and well-sized windows reveals undeniably the fact that the old place was designed and built by a gentleman, for gentlefolk to live In — and here, sul Juris, the West Indian gentleman and his wife and sons, and his friend Dr. Rolph, who had a house close by, spent several years in lavish style, with all that heart could desire, including blood horses in the stable, and a black Pompey in the house, brought from the West Indian home, until the time came that their act on the Ancastrian stage being flnished, they passed into the wings, and the house changed hands, although its de- cadence did not begin for many years after. The largest room, which runs i8 WKNTWOKTII I-ANDMAHKS almost the whole length of the house, and mufit have been the drawing, room, Is still fascinatlnK In decay. There are four large windows, and one end of the room is largely taken up by a huge high-mantled old fire- place which agrees well with the ap- parently—Judging from design— an. tique paper which still clothes the walls. What a picture that room might yet be, furnished in bright chintz, with flowers everywhere, and fire-light playing amongst the pictures on the walls of a stormy winter's night! One feels for houses that have known good days and handsome furniture, almost as if they felt their degrada- tion themselves, and shivered o' nights in the cold and darkness. This par- ticular old Wandor hall looks to have passed beyond the stage of having even a friendly mouse to run over its old floors and keep it in touch with sentient things, but a ghost there well may be, and perhaps in the winter dusk, coming from the radiant flre-llt drawing-room suddenly, a black, shadowless Pompey might be met. climbing the stairs with noiseless feet, bearing an impalpable Jug of hot water to a massa dead this flfty years and morel One of the extlnctest of Ancaster's many extinct industries is that of charcoal burning, which was carried on with much succecs for a number of years In the kilns at the foot of the village, which still remain to form a quaintly pretty picture in their red rotundity against the background of richest green. There is a nice old .world ring about the word "charcoal burner" which carries the thoughts very far away to the Black Forest per. haps, where it is a staple industry. It made pleasant the dewy evening air In Ancaster when the kilns were lighted up, and the white smoke crawled out, and lay in cloud strata across the low lands, sending a healthy, pungent odor even into the houses. Close by Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle- Dee, as these two kilns have long been called, stands a house which claims to be of some antiquity, and which at present is undergoing a thorough over- hauling at the hands of its new owner, but the very oldest house in Ancaster is said, by coimpetent authority, to be what was formerly known as the Tis- dale house, but which now forms part of a store. ALMA DICK LAUDER, i THE CHARCOAL KILNS. Ancaater's that of as carried number of Dot of the to form a their red ground of I nice old "charcoal i thoughts forest per- dustry. It ning air In ire lighted awled out. BH the low ngent odor 1 Tweedle. long been Ich claims 1 which at 5ugh over- lew owner. 1 Ancaster rlty, to be js the Tis- (orms part '1-i UDER, CHAPTER III THE I.KE.M1N(; I'AltSONAliE We may build more splendid habita- tions. Fill our rooms with painting and with sculpture; But we cannot Buy with gold the old associations! Celling and walls and windows old. Covered with cobwebs, blackened with mould! — Anon. ANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSON tells I a charming tale of the goloshes of for- tune, which pos- 'seseed the power Jof transporting the Jwearer at a wish I back to any past I age of the world. 'For example, into the dubious delights of those "good old times" familiarised by the very minute and particular pencil of Hogarth! « • • It is quite one thing to love and rev- erence the days gone by, that smooth- ed the path and carved the way for the feet of posterity with such pains- taking labor; but It is a vastly differ- ent matter to wish to have been our- selves a part and parcel of those times. Far preferable appears the unpreju- diced blrdseye view of them which we "An still obtain if the glass Is rightly focussed through breaks in the roll- ing vapors of time while seated at our ease in the balloon of tradition. • * • For Instance, the councilor who, in the fairy tale, was longing for "the good odd times" as he unwittingly drew on the goloshes, exclaimed as soon as ha stepped out on the street, "Why, this is Horrible (with a capital H)! How dreadfully dirty It is," for the whole pavement had vanished and there were no lamps to be seen. Ancaster has never h'xd any lamps, not even tallow dips, and is waiting now for the railway before she gets any, but it is easy to fancy how "hor- rlble"the roads and village streets must have been for many months of the year at the time when the first mis- slonary built the old parsonage, so closely bordering on 80 years ago. The reason why a site nearly two miles from the church was selected is hard to account for, except on the sup- position that all the land in or around the village was fully appropriated, a \ery large portion of It being in the hands of the ubiquitous Matthew Crc»oks. Those two additional miles, o\er a mud road, must have added a considerable item to the ministerial duties, not to. mention the ministerial backache. • • • To-day the Ancaster plains, as they have always been called, strike one as being rather hot and dry and compar- atively shadeless, and at no time do they appear to have been wooded with heavy timber, like the lands falling north and south on either side of them. In those early days, which saw Rev. Ralph Leeming and his people build- ing the first parsonage, we are told that all the plains were covered with a thick growth of scrub, full of game; and through which the red deer wan- dered in the summer dawns and passed unchallenged from water course to water course. Bears were then a mere circumstance in the daily round, and wolves, even, lurked and howled through the winter nights, and some- times, growing bold with hunger, would raid the ill-protected sheep folds. * * • Over the fields to the south of the old building to-day there is a damp, woodaey swale, where picturesque trees still grow, and romance still lingers, I ao WKNTWOHTIf LANDMARKH Imt the wolves and deer and bears are gone lang syne, and only a atray fox or coon call In occasionally Just for a chat to remind It of the good old times when a modified form of Jungle law kept things on the square among the beasts of the Canadian forest. The four hundred acres of the clergy retierve lands lay a whole concession back, and much farther to the south- east than the 22 acres of globe where Mr. Leemlng raised his home. They embraced a fine tract of valuable land green Is of how many feet of timber they would cut up Into at the mill! It appears reasonably certain that the glebe land attached to the old par. sonage was one of the free grants by which the government so liberally «n- ticed settlement In old times. If the early worms who first came west had Just been content with sitting on their fences and growing up with these gov- ernment grants perhaps it would have amounted to the same thing at this end of 80 years, instead of consclenti- U h a fl a ti THE OLD PAKUONAaE— ONE OF THE EAHLIEbT BUILDINGS ERECTED IN ANCASTBR. rirti In pi' forest, now vanished long years since, gone, alas! alas! where all the woods which should, in proper hands, be the glory and pride of Can- ada, are so rapidly following. A race apparently has arisen "who knew not Joseph," and whose one graceless thought on finding themselves the own- ers of cool, dim forest lands where, in their father's days, peace and beauty, bird and beast dwelt, heedless of change or the passing over of destruc- tion, or the drying up of the life-giv- ing springs which rose in strength and purity among their pleasant hills, Is how much, will It fetch In hard cash? Imagine the horrible desert a human mind must be whose flirst thought at sight of those glorious panoplies of ously working themselves to death for the benefit of a thankless posterity! • • • The little, old, decaying, neglected wooden building with its strong ribs and huge chimney, which forms the subject of our sketch, is not only an object of intrinsic Interest, but entitled to respect as having headed the list as the pioneer parsonage in these parts and those times. It would be interest- ing to know If any record was built In with the foundation stone, no doubt laid with a good man's prayers, but even a vandal might regret doing any. thing to hasten the work of decay. Almost as soon kill a person to find out what they were going to have died of — sooner in some cases. TIIR I.RKMIN(i PARSONACiE 31 egrl«cted ong riba >rmB the only an entitled B list as «e parts Interest- built In o doubt 'era, but ln«r any. decay, to And ave died It must have been a very pleasant home when all was young, cheerful and bright In the summer weather and tlnely sheltered from the west In snows and winds by a beautiful grove of wal. nut, maple and willow trees, which have of late years fallen before the ax. • * • The original house was twice the size of the front portion now remain- ing, and must have been quite roomy and comfortable, eepecially for a cou- ple, for neither of the first missionaries who inhabited it followed the usual path of clerics in one respect, and there were no small deacons and deaconesses round their tables. Cer- tainly the man who approved the building of the very remarkable stair- case, which remains quit" Intact, could not seriously have co; <> plated hav- InKT a nursery located u. Jie top of It. I have seldom seen a greater proof of upright character than is borne out in wooden testimony by that astonishing stair. A man dwelling at the top of It wouIq require to be all that St. Paul says a bishop should be. A hasty tem- per even might alone precipitate the occupant headlong or feet first down Into the room below If he did not stick in th'i window on the way, or keep on till he reached the custards in the cellar. I!: is awe inspiring in the bold way it breaks at once abruptly down, simply a stepping off Into chaoe. First down sheer from two doors opposite each other in two wings and then a main descent broken into angles, and variegated with cupboards and twisted and turned and cork-screwed in a truly wonderful manner considering that land and timber were as hay and stub, ble In those days. It Is a dream of a stair. A night horse in wood and cup- boards, like the troubled fiancies of a corkscrew pursued by ghost or devil pell-mell down the stair of slumber. If any dweller beneath that roof tree through the long years ever indulged in toddy, he would, if a prudent man, keep the bottle upstairs on the "chlm- blay piece," like Mrs. Gamp, and boll the kettle, lastly and In conclusion, on the bedroom fire, and subsequently avoid the "stair held," also the sair held, if he could. • * • The builders of the old houses, round Ancaster, at least, seem to have been very sensible on the subject of air and sunshine, as they made so many win- dows that the rooms can never have been dark or dull even In autumn weather, with the combined light from without mingling with the glow of the big open (Ires within. A fine garden, containing all necessary kitchen sup- plies, and fruit and flowers formed a notable feature of the early parson- age home. No doubt in It the missionary found some relaxation from the work in the other vineyard, and a pleasant haven of peace and change after the In- terminable Journeys to his outlying stations at Dundas, Uarton, Hamilton and Wellington Square. Here no doubt some of the pleasant, old-fashioned English flowers basked away the sum- mer days in the sun— seeds brought In so many cases direct from the old gardens at home. It is on record that Mr. Leeming gave home and shelter for many a day to a runaway slave and his wife, who in some manner had made their escape from the south. It was kind and characteristic of the man to take them in, even though he had not, like Walt Whitman at a later day, to sit beside them while they ate or slept with a loaded rifle. Mr. Leem- ing remained In charge of the Ancaster mission for ten yeara—lSlS to 1828- when the long stress of roads and weather and anxiety, which had been gradually doing Its sapping and min- ing work, affected his health so seri- ously that he was forced to give up his charge into the hands of his succes.sor. Mr. Miller, and seek the more genial climate of the southern states. After some years he again took up duty for a time at Carleton Place, near Ottawa, but the last years of his life were spent peacefully In a country home near Dundas. ilis grave Is near the south wall of St. John's church, An- caster, nearly opposite a handsome memorial window In memory of himself and his wife. A proof that this, his first charge, ever held a place In his heart and memory exists In the fact that he left a handsome bequest of more than $2,000 to begin and forward the building of the present rectory. Mrs. Leeming was a member of the old Dundas family of Hatt. There was once a great lawyer who had three kinds of handwriting, one that, the public could read, one that only his clerk could read, and one that nobody could read. To this latter class, it is said, belonged the hand- i 'a 22 WKN T WOKTII LAN DM A K KS THE FIREPLACE. writing of the Rev. Ralph Leeming, which probably in some degree ac- counts for his leaving no Journals, documents or registers of the churchly doings of those times, which would now have been so interesting a phonograph to sound in our ears the echoes of olden days, floating round the people's church and the minister's hearthstone. Ic Is said that any record he did make was of the unsubstantial order, namely a scrap of paper strung on a wire like a minnow, very handy for hasty reference, but not much service to satisfy the curiosity of the genera- tions following after. Mr. Leeming was of the muscular Christian order, big, kindly and benevolent, whose "graciousness" still retains the favor of the very few old people now left who can remember him and his pleas- ant parsonage home. * • * All his Journi.j bi»ing mad^ m iif- cessity, on horseback, 't was impeia- tive that he should keep a couple of good mudsters, warranted to stand wear and tear, and able to show the winter wolves a clean pair of heels on occasion. One old man, alive and vig- orous, and the best of company to- day, remembers about 75 years ago, in the month of June, of Mr. Leeming coming, on horseback, to pay a friend- ly visit to his father, in the course of which it was arranged that the hard- worked ministerial nag, scarcely recov- ered perhaps with recent tussels with the mud which bubbled in the spring t!i0se times, was to be left at pasture In the rich farm lands, and Its place to be supplied meanwhile from the farm stock. Unfortunately the church- ly quadruped did not know when It was well off, and proved to be a sort of progressive eucher party on four legs. • • * After a time, not satisfied with rich pastures and rest beside waters of comfort, the unhallowed desire arose to see what was in the world beyond the fences guarding the pale. Like that other progressive biped In the Garden of Eden, one kick over was enough, and in both cases rather too much. The top rail off, the rest was easy, as it generally Is, and the church horse found himself in a pleasant garden, full of forbidden fruits (for which he did not care particularly, as he could have them if he liked). But there, on ^ THE LEEMING I'AKSOXACJK 33 f •mpany to- •ars ago, in V. Leeming ly a friend- course of the hard- ■cely recov- issels with the spring at pasture its place from the ;he church, when it be a sort ;y on four with rich waters of fcsire arose pld beyond Like that le Garden enough, luch. The lasy, as it rch horse )t garden, which he he could there, on the sunny side, were surely some strange objects, the lilte of which had never come his way before. No time must be lost without a satisfactory In- ^. vestigation, so he draws near, puts * down his head and sniffs, draws back, ' thinks better of it for a quarter of a second, then stoops and sniffs again, and then gives it an irrevocable push and starts back in a fright. Out swarm the dusky hordes of the avenging bees A CURIOUS STAIKWAY. as the hive tips over, and fasten tooth and nail on the head and neck, up the nostrils and down the throat of the astonished, plunging horse, who dashes off wild and mad to escape from this new and terrible thing which has come to him in his headlong flight, overturning as many as thirty or forty skips of bees, who all hurry to Join their comrades in arms until it was l\ard to distinguish horse hide from l)ees. The impromptu steeplechase of this Mazeppa round the astonished srarden and across the sunny plains lasted nearly twenty minutes from start to finish, when he fell to rise no more, the victim of a misdirected spirit of enquiry. Some one remembers hearing (in Arcady) of a phantom night horse which was to be met at times tearing over the fields and roads not two miles from Anoaster village, but was severely snubbed for giving credence to this tale, and told that Canada was far too young a country to have anything in it so interesting, but here in a beehive lies the key to the legend. No doubt it was the ghost of this horse, who had "met the thing too much." Thus we gen- erally find truth at the bottom of the well, or in amongst the bees after all! • • • The great object in house-building In the early days of Canada West seems to have been to use as much wood, and in as solid a manner, as possible. It is not usual to make one's first en- trance into a house through the cellar, but to leave the cellars of these old- timers unvisited would be to miss half the point. They are so solid, so un- changed, where all is changed, only a little whitewash and a few shelves wanted to bring them up to date again. The cellar beneath the old parsonage strikes the beholder at first sight as having a large open fireplace in the center, but on running to look up the chimney, only a massive floor appears over head, and the flying buttresses of stone which so readily suggest ingle nooks, resolve themselves into two strong shoulders fashioned to bear the weight of the big center chimney of the dwelling. • * • Across the ceiling run the firm beams that hold the flooring, sound and good to-day, and still wearing the bark shirts they brought with them fi-om the forest glades that lay so near to hand, just over the ridge, below the plains • * • If the cellar could talk perhaps we should hear lots of doonestic items. Here the vegetables from the fine gar- den would find refuge from the frosts of winter. Here, on a shelf perhaps, in the draught 'twixt door and win- dow the ministerial Betty, coming carefully down the steep stairs on those far-off Saturday afternoons, would place the Sunday custards all In a row, and other good things ready for the refreshing of his weary rever- 24 WENTWOKTU LANDMARKS ence on the morrow. Life In the early times had one agreeable element which Is sadly lacking now in country places, and the deprivation of many comforts, the want of accustomed things con- genial, which must have been over- whelmingly painful to some imported natures, had at least one redeeming feature in the fact that do-mestic ser- vants were plentiful and cheap! « • « One can but faintly imagine what a change, at the best of times, life must have been for gentlewomen of culture and education, transplanted from the refined surroundings of English life, and set down in the raw aJr of that dawn o* Canada. « * * No doubt the early graves in our old church yards cover the bones of many an uncalendared saint or martyr, and the hearth stones of the aged homes could tell of a few pints of quiet tears dropped on their rough faces, while seeing in the beech and maple embers odd fancies of the homes beyond the sea. So always it seems to be the world over, from Eden downwards, that the man goes forth to the exile of foreign lands, and the woman fol- lows him. Thus did Eve get even with her Adam for sneaking and telling tales on her. * « * Those early colonial women are worthy of most lavish praise! What must they not have endured and suf- fered In the rough, new land of their adoption with six weeks of tossing ocean between them and the dear Brit- ish homes left for long, perhaps for- ever. * • * The inborn loyalty of Canadians is not hard, or far, to trace to those who strongly believe In the permanent ef- fects of pre-natal influence. Through those long months of weakness and hours of pain the very soul would ache and pine for the familiar scenes and faces in the home beyond the wave, crossed and recrossed a score of times a day by love on mighty wings, as the old German song says: That whlck alls me past all healing Is that here alone I stand; Far from father, far from mother. Far from home and native land. it * * * * Ah! were I to hoi.ie returning, Ah! how gladly would I fly. Home to father, ho'me to mother. Home to native rocks and sky. « • * So the old parsonage. It is pretty cer- tain, knew homesick tears within Its walls once upon a time. The effect upon posterity, however, has been un- deniable and immense. Is there an- other nation on the globe who won't put out their plants, or take off their flannels until May 24 except loyal Canucks? Fanny Kemble in the States, and our own queen of Canadian au- thoresses, Mrs. Trail, the aged, have given vivid flash pictures of the lives endured, nobly and well. In those early days, by gentlewomen fresh from the well-oiled life of England. They were not new women at all; they didn't want to b^ emancipated; they wouldn't ALEX. UITCHIE'S TOMB. have known what to do with a tele- phone, and a she-biker, in tan gaiters, would have made them blush, but they were very noble in their devotion, and make one think of the Princess of the Day Dream: And on her lover's arm she leant. And round her waist she felt it fold; And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old. And o'er them many a sliding star, And many a merry wind was borne. And, streamed through many a golden bar, The twilight melted into morn. And o'er the hills and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day. Thro' all the world she followed him. * * « And posterity only hopes Adam duly appreciated the sacrifice. AL,MA DICK LAUDER. y CHAPTER IV .. »,. ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, ANCASTEK Adam duly Sleep, thou art named eternal! Is there then No chance of waking in thy noiseless realm? Come there no fretful dream to over- whelm The feverish spirits of o'erlabored men? * 4i « « * * Shall pain indeed lie folded With tired arms around her head, And "nemory be stretched upon a bed Of t , whence she shall never rise ain? O sleep, that art eternall Say, shall love Breathe like an Infant slumbering at the breast V Shall hope there cease to throb; and shall the smart Of things impossible at length find rest? Thou answerest not! The poppy-heads above Thy calm brow sleep — how cold, how still thou art! — ^Sonnet. * • • ITHOUT doubt the Lord might have made a better berry than the s t r a w b e rry, said the fam- ous Dr. Bote, ler, but with- out doubt He never did. Doubtless Grod might have made a more restful, pretty and attractive burial ground than the one surrounding St. John's church, Ancaster, but doubt- less He never did. When William Chambers, of Edinburgh, embalmed Dundas in his diary as a place to live and die in, he might have added An- caster to his eulogium as a place in which to be buried, and doubtless he would have done so had he seen it. * * * The stiffly tapering line of ever- greens which help to shelter the silent land from the glare of sinking suns and the bite of wintry winds also serve to conceal the charms which stretch away behind them warmly to the south, and in the grey church's shadow towards the sunrise. It may perhaps be conceded that the majority of rural churchyards in Canada, or any comparatively new country, have a bald uniformity of type sufficient to give any but a dreamless sleeper the nightmare. Strange anomalies they are, some of them; neither neat town cemetery, nor neglected country churchyard, but a mix-up of both, commingling a dash of town primness with the untidy want of finish which is the characteristic of country things in general. Sometimes the site seems to have been selected on account of its flatness and aridity and complete absence of large shade trees, places which in the summer heat suggest vague thoughts of dried apples in a paper bag, and vain speculation in the frivolous mind, as to what a dust an unwatered resur- rection would raise. But there are many exceptions to be found, especially in the Grore district. Here, at St. John's, for instance, pass- ing round the corner of the church by the path bentath the big flr tree on the right, surroundings appear which well might furnish a Canadian Gray with material for another elegpy. Ah! that narrow path beneath the firs! A via dolorosa indeed leads here, watered by the tears of generations. Along it and by this way alone, for more than 70 years, the precious seed garnered by death has been carried and sown, with sorrow, In corruption, to be raised again, with joy, in glory. A host is encamped here in these green tents— forgotten and remembered, un- lamented in death, as they were un- t 26 WENTWOKTII LAN DM AUKS appreciated In life; cherished still warmly In the heart of hearts — for- given and understood now too late — under new and costly monuments, or sunken down, down, unmarked and unknown, forgotten of all living. Truly a multitude are here, and the uneven earth gives testimony that it Is honey- combed with graves which appear not, and those who walk over them only The very first tomb close to the path- way takes one back quite to the early days by the dates on its long, ram- bling face. It is to the memory of Jane, wife of Henry Schoolcraft, Esq., born at St. Mary's Falls In 1800. She died, it farther appears, at Dundas in 1842 in the arms of her sister, Mrs. McMurray, during a visit at the house of the rector of this parish, while her ST. JOHN'S CHURCH, ANCA8TEK. \ know by the billowing hollows of the turf that they tread on sacred ground. Thus o'er the gleaming track of life the generations run- Do they to clouded darkness pass, oi to a brighter sun? Does nothing spiritual live? Can soul become a sod? Ts man on earth an orphan? Is crea- tion void of God? And from those lands so near to heav- en have wondrous voices come Of God's eternal Fatherhood and man's celestial home. husband was absent in England and her children at a distant school. She was the eldest daughter of John John- son, Esq., and Susan, daugliter of Wankopeeo, a celebrated war chief and civil ruler of the Ojibbeway tribe. The Inscription runs on to state that "carefully educated and of polished manners and conversation, she was easily fitted to adorn society, yet of retiring and modest deportment. Early imbued with principles of true piety, she patiently submitted to the illness which for several years marked her decline and was Inspired through sea- 1 \ » the path- > the early ong, ram- lemory of raft, Esq., 1800. She Dundas in Iter, Mrs. the house while her land and ool. She hn John- sliter of irar chief ay tribe, bate that polished she was , yet of it. Early 16 piety, le illness ked her ugh sea- \ o o X :1 1 :i I ■:1Si: ■f'J i ! 'i ■; 7 li': ^^ I ST. John's church, ancaster 29 sons of bodily and mental depression with the lively hope of a blessed im- mortality." The inscription ends with a long poem beginning, "Here rests, by kin- dred hands enshrined." The mention of this lady's grand- father being an OJibbeway war chief conjures up a vision of war paint and feathers and takes one back a long way Into the last century. Perhaps the oldest gravestone in good preservation in the churchyard is one very massive slab serving to keep green the memory of "Alexander Ritchie and Mary Lucia, his wife, who both departed this life at Ancaster on the nth of April, A. D. 1823." It would be nice to know more about this couple who, it is to be hoped, found tlieir lives together lovely and pleas- ant, as It seems they were not death- divided for even a day, which might be looked upon as the very height of blessedness, or the reverse, just as the case might be. Though dead, and under the big slab for more than 65 years, they have only at a comparatively re- cent date found a final rest under the oaks and roses in St. John's church- yard, having been removed from the old Hatt burying ground about a mile away. • * * The glory of the churchyard Is its grove of oaks which are sprinkled here and there amongst the graves and even close up to the chancel win- dows — very beautiful trees and grow- ing more oracular every year, with bushier heads and sturdy, rugged boles — where they stand grouped thick- ly together with interlacing boughs down near the eastern boundary fence, an old and mossy one, In the oldest part of the yard as well as the fair- est—very peaceful, very quiet, very overgrown with great bushes of sweet white syringa, and roses, almost re- verted to type by now, nodding over beds of llly-of-the-valley, sending up its rank green spears like signals from the dead below. Here the birds sing and fly all summer long and the shadows play in the sunlight, and it is so enchantingly peaceful that it seems to take away all gruesome shrinking from being dead — only we feel sorry for the people under the big tombs, for they seem more dead a-nd far away than those who have only a sheet of earth and a green quilt be- tween them and the light and warmth of the air and sunshine Down here, right in amongst the oaks, are several old upright slabs, dated more than 60 years ago. Most of them are of the Gurnett family, one of the real old pioneers, who, coming originally froim France, where their name was then De Gumey, settled for a longer or shorter space in the south of England, and Anally some of the family crossed the ocean and took root at young An- caster. They evidently brought French wit and English push with them, for one of them was editor and founder of the Gore Gazette in the twenties, and another attained civic honors as mayor of Toronto, and so the succeed- ing generations as they pass are laid In a most pleasant resting place there GRAVE OP LIEUT. MILNE, R.N., IN ANCAS- TER CEMETERY. beneath the green canopy of oak leaves in this still garden of the souls. Then be not fearful of the thought of change, For though unknown the tones that are to be, Yet shall they prove most beautifully strange. • * • In the old portion of the churchyard. In th? southeast corner, beneath a very heavy tombstone of the fashion of the day, lies anchored for time a British heart of oak, high and dry enough now under the shadow of the oak trees, far from the sea he loved, and over which he sailed and fought under Lord Nelson when the century was young. He who put in at last to this quiet haven in 1826, was, so the legend above him runs, Lieut. Milne, of the Royal navy, born at Falkirk in 1766. lii 30 WENTWORTH LANDMARKS ■^^ I i ONE OF THR OLDKHT TOMBSTONES IN ANCASTKR CKMKTERY— THAT OF LEMUEL GURNETT. The Tiffany monument, a tall shaft surmounted by an urn, is rather a conspicuous and venerable, not to say mossy, object, not far from the oak trees either. Here rest many of the Tlffanys, notably Dr. Oliver Tiffany, who also left a remembrance to pos- terity In the name "Tiffany's Falls," given to a water fall on hla property, not far from the village. This old gentleman died in May, 1835, aged 72 years, and the old records state that more than 600 people came to his fun- eral. • * • Some of the inscriptions on the stones are utterly obliterated by moss and weather. Two simple ones, just behind the chancel, excite curiosity by their brevity — only two initials on each and the date 1823. And year by year the laborer tills His wonted glebe, or lops the glades And year by year our memory fades From all the circle of the hills. One memory has been kept very un- faded, in so far as being writ in stone can preserve it, through the storms of 70 years. The swirling snows of all those winters have remembered to seek it out low down there amongst the rustling sere grasses, and tracing out the Inscription with their softest white Angers, have clothed it always new in a pure white co\ering, meet for the virgin dust which rests there, far from home and kindred. The birds know it too, and trill their sweet mat- ing songs every spring above the Stranger's Tomb. The wild rose bush throws caressing arms across the slab, guarding its treasure there through such long flights of time, and the grasses creep up to listen to the winds blowing soft above it, and whispering to the flowers of what they saw so long ago. The sun In his noonday glory seeks it out, and even in the evening shadows sends a beam to kiss the pa- thetic inscription Into warmth, and bring out in fresh relief the ancient quaintness of the carved weeping wil- lows at each corner of the slab that look so formal, as if their hair was parted in, the middle into exactly eleven strands on each side, and In between which is carved also, on a stiff, box- like pedestal, an urn bearing the name "Eliza." Bordering the slab all round is cut an ornate wreath of oak leaves and acorns, within which the fast blackening letters tell that this dark, ponderous stone is sacred to the mem- ory of "Eliza M. Johnson, daughter of Elisha Johnson, Esq., of Rochester, New York, U.S.A., who departed this life 15 September, 1827, In the 18th year of her age — a stranger's grave, hon- ored by her respected local friends." Then below is the hymn, "The hour of my departure's come," etc. This young lady died while on a visit at the house of Matthew Crooks, and one of the invitations to her fun- eral has been preserved. A curious- looking document it is, folded In paper sealed with a huge black seal, and printed card enclosed, of a make and texture to stand a long life of seventy years' esclusion, printed presumably by Editor Gumett, and requesting the recipient to attend the funeral of Miss Eliza Maria Johnson, eldest daughter, etc., froim the house of Matthew Crooks, Esq., Ancaster, to the place of interment at 11 o'clock a.m., on Sept. 15, 1827. • * * They evidently believed in those times that in the place where the tree fell there it should lie, and certainly this young stranger has slept well in St. John's churchyard these seven de- cades nearly past. m ST. JOHN S CHURCH, ANCASTER 3» While the pioneers of the Oore dis- trict were plantlnsT and buildingr and trading and clearing and making homea and names for themselves end postertty, they were not forgotten spiritually by the mother church of the old land beyond the seas. Thus, during the summer of 1818. by Sir John Cockb urn's desire, the society for the propagation of the gospel in foreign parts, sent out to these sheep in the wilderness Rev. Ralph Leemlng as first missionary to Ancaster and parts adjacent. Mr. Leemlng, who was a native of Yorkshire, had grad- uated at St. Bee's college, and been ordained by the Bishop of London. Ancaster being the most Important place, with the exception of Niagara and muddy little York, in those days, he naturally made his headquarters there, visiting Hamilton, Barton, Flamboro and Wellington Square at sta;ted Intervals, generally through roads that must be left to the Imagln. atlon, and always on horseback. Not long after his arrival he caused the first parsonage of Ancaster to be built for his accommodation, of which more hereafter. • • • The first services were held in a hall or school house, built of logs, not far from the present site of the church. Soon after 1820, the Rousseau family, having presented the land for the purpose, the first frame church was built on the Nehemiah plan by the united efforts of both Church of England and Presbyterian people, who jointly held services there for some years, the first Scotch minister not being appointed to Ancaster be- fore 1826, until which year Mr. Leem- lng cured all the souls and provided for all the services, and perhaps that is the reason that he left no scrape of a pen behind him to enlighten us as to the churchly doings of those first days — whom he burled, whom he mar- ried, whom he christened, what their names were; all, all is lost, passed long since unrecorded to the land of for- gotten things. The first church had no chancel, and two white glass win- dows, high up above the pulpit, fac- ing the gallery, which ran across the west end over the door. What music they had we do not know, as the organ was not obtained until the fifties. One wide aisle alone ran down the center, and on one side sat the men and or. the other the women, a relic of cathedral custom. After some years, the money was advanced by Job Loder to enable the Anglicans to buy out the Presbyterians' Interest In the church, who then set about the building of their own, and shortly after the church was consecrated and christened by Its present name of St. John's. But here, rogrettably, Mr. Leemlng's pen failed to record im- pressions! Mr. Leemlng retired from active service as far as Ancaster and the other places mentioned were con- cerned, In 1830, although he lived to be a very old man, dying In 1872, at the age of 83. His grave lies on the south side of the church, and Is mark- ed by a handsome monument as well as a memorial window. The church of his creation survived, with the addition of a stone chancel, until Feb. 28, 1868, when It caught fire through some defect in the heating department and went after the un- written records. ALMA DICK LAUDER. I 'n :i ■ MRS. SCHOOLCRAFT'S TOMB. (Daughter of Chief Johnston.) 1 i 11 ij CHAPTER V ANCASTER IN THE VICTOIUAN EKA Te hasten to the dead! What seek ye there, Ye restless thoughts and busy purposes Of the idle brain, which the world's livery wears. O thou quick heart which pantest to possess All that anticipation feigrneth fair! IShovL vainly ourlous mind that wouldst STuess Whence thou didat come, and whith- er thou mayst go. And that which never yet was known wouldst know — Oh. whither hasten ye that thus ye press With such swift feet life's green and pleasant path. Seeking alike from happiness and woe A refUKe in the cavern of grey death? O heart and mind, and thoughts! What thing do you Hope to inherit in the grave below? —Shelley. * * • NCASTER in June, 1837, so says tradition, had a grand demonstra- tion in honor of our gracious maj- esty's coronation. A few of the old people in the land can still recall the fireworks and the fun of that W tR (!R1 June nig'ht, for K B 'St ^^^ ' ^^^ funnier p ^ ^ 60 years ago, and not so frequent, so it made a more lasting impres- sion, and there was plenty of wood for bonfires in those good old days and no electricity to put their firework* to the blush. * • * Watching the loyal Ancastrians of 1897 Jubilating round a grand bonfire on Gabel's hill, forming one of the ii»