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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»

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.

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

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103

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1 1 1

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118

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121

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124

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130

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'33

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•37

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'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

"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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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,

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,

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-

h
a
fl
a

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

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

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

•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-

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.

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-

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-

» 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-

:1 1

:i I

■:1Si:

■f'J

! 'i

■; 7

li':

ST. John's church, ancaster

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

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.

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 ■

MRS. SCHOOLCRAFT'S TOMB.
(Daughter of Chief Johnston.)

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»<r9-r:_ •<

links in the fiery chain understood to
be stretching from Halifax to Van-
couver last Tuesday night, also to be
astonishing the inhabitants of Mars,
somehow time seemed to be bridged
over in some strange, real way, as
with a hand stretched out from the
dimness of the past so long gone, tak-
ing with it the major part of all who
could have recalled ihe gala doings
on that night at t'other end of 60 years
ago.

• • •

As the vivid light of the bonfire
danced gleefully over the dewy fields,
and waked up the sleeping woods by
plucking their green sleeves with its
rosy fingers, it glinted, too, on the
Scotch chuTch towers and walls, and
flickered up and down the shining
granite pillars of the newer tombs,
and over the flowery coverlets of many
a one, maybe, who was young and gay
on that coronation night, but who fin-
ished their life work long, long ago;
and "Home have gone, and ta'en their
wages," leaving only a shadow here,
where the sea of human life breaks
round this shora of death with such a
softened sound.

• * *

Our common expressions become
from use so hackneyed that we lose
sight of the original weight and
beauty. Thus those touching words,
"Sacred to the Memory," slip glibly off
our tongues without much realisation
of their true significance, or how ex-
quisite, how pathetic, how expressive
are those tender lingerlngs over the
memory of the dead. A sacred place
in memory, and a narrow, narrow niche
on Mother Earth's brown breast Is all
the dearest claim from us till time
shall be no more,

• * *

Quite in the early days of Ancaster,
before the rearing of church walls,
the Presbyterians and Episcopalians
alike worshipped In a hall adjoining

ANCASTEU IN TMK VICTOHIAN EKA

one of the hotels which stood on the
left hand side of the street Kolng up
the village, hard by the site of the
present town hall. In 1826 the Church
of Scotland sent Its first missionary
minister to establish a soul cure at
Ancaster, and she apparently made a
wise selection in the p<Tson of Rev,
Oeorge Sheed, whose name is vener-

manifested such dlsjjUKt on one oc-
casion, when entertaining a young pro.
batloner of a later school, who hung
heavily in hand converBationally, put-
ting the old minister hard to it, till at
length he asked, "Will ye hae a
snoke?" "Oh, no! I never use to-
bacco In any form," was the reply.
(A p. use.) "Will y« no tak' a glass o'
toddy?"' (Look of horror.) "Oh, I
never touch spirits." Then, contem-
plating him quietly over his spec-
tacles, the old gentleman demanded,
in a politely suppressed voice, "D'ye
eat hay?" "Oh, no, I never eat hay,"
in a very astonished tone, on which
the minister burst forth In a voice of
thunder, "Aweel, then, gang ye'er
ways hame, my man, ye're neither
Kuid ciimpany for man nor beast!"

THE PKEBBYTKKIAN CHUKUH.

ated even to tiiis day by those who
linow him only by tradition, or the
fact that he was the minister who mar-
ried their parents. This good man
came straight from the land o' cakes,
where even to this day there are in-
frequent ministers to be found who
can not only minister to the soul op-
pressed by sin or sorrow, but drink a
glass of toddy when they're damp, as
they very often are in Scotland, and
even dance a good Scotch reel, able,
like true men, to use the good things
of life without abusing them, remem-
bering that great David danced before
the ark, and David's greater Son turn-
ed water Into wine. It was one of these
sturdy, old-fashioned men of God who

Tradition says that this first Scot -h
minister of Ancaster was not on.y
"guid company," but a splendid man
and an indefatigable worker for
church and people. His home was a
mile and more from the village in the
beautiful valley near the Sulphur
Springs, in the original Hermitage
house, of which an Illustration, taken
from an old sketch, is here given.
* « •

An ideal manse it must have been,
standing there amongst the woods and
waters, surrounded by a garden where

.11

! V

WKNTWOKTII LANDMARKS

the minister worked at his leisure, and
contalnlnv within Its walla pleasant
rooms with small-paned windows and
large flreplaces, up from which the
wood smoke curled through the red
chimneys. Life was pleasant there
in those old days, tradition saith, and
delving and studying were varied now
and then by cosy little dinner parties,
where the bachelor minister was the
best of company and most Jovial of
hosts, but whether they had toddy
aiter dinner tradition does not say.
"Albllns" they had, and made the
floors shake with reels, too, perhaps.
• • •

The great object and desire of the
minister's life, unhampered by matri-
monial cares, as the man of Ood
should be, was to see the accomplish-
ed fact of a cliurch at Ancaster for
his people, the Episcopalians having
now for some years been established
In St. John's, at the head of the vil-
lage. Headed by the indefatigable
minister and most materially assisted
by Col. Chep, William Notman and
other pioneer families, the first church
rose gradually near the place occu-
pied by the present building. It was
built entirely of wood and was doubt-
less a source of unmlngled pride and
congratulation In its younger days to
all the assistant Nehemiahs, which
makes it a trifle sad to have to record
that, in spite of the edifying dis-
courses that had saturated Its walls
for years, and the earnest prayers
which must have invisibly perforated
Its roof In their upward flight through
countless Sabbaths, it fell from grace
and survived its usefulness as a
church In the eyes of later genera-
tions and the estimation of the pres-
bytery and was sold, removed into
the next lot and turned into a cigar
factory. Imperial Caesar, turned to
clay, little knows to what strange
uses he maiy come.

Fire, however, quivering hotly with
burning Indignation, entered a speedy
protest, and carried off the poor, little
degraded church up to heaven In a
sheet of flame one December night
some fifteen years ago.

Rather a sad part in this church's
early history is that, like Moses, Mr.
Sheed was not permitted to enjoy the
fruit of his labor. Never within the
walls which he had watched arise
was his voice to be heard in prayer

or sermon! He had built, but another
should inhabit. He had labored, but
that others should enjoy the fruit of
his labor. The opening ceremony of
that church was indeed a solemn
function, being the beloved minis-
ter's funeral, his death occurring be-
fore the completion of the interior
work, a temporary floor of boards
over the beams was laid In haste
that he might be brought within his
church once, at least, and he, being
dead, would yet speak to the hearts
of his people there for the first and
last time.

* * •

Then they carried him forth and
buried him, the first Inhabitant of
that pretty graveyard (perish the
word "cemetery" as ever Inapplicable
to country churchyards!) and his
sepulchre is with us to this day, be-
ing of the ponderous kind, built to
withstand summer suns and winter
rag<es. It guards well beneath that
massive slab and firm stone walls the
precious germ of life immortal, which
has been hidden away there In earth's
safe keeping since five years
before those coronation. bonfires
blazed. The legend on the slab tells
that he was an A.M., also a native of
Aberdeen, and that he planted and
faithfully watched over the church
for the space of six years, when he
was removed to his reward Nov. 26,
1832, aged 43; also that it was erected
by his friends as a memorial of his
worth as a man and his zeal and
abilities as a minister, and below the
deep-cut letters run "The righteous
shall be had in everlasting remem-
brance."

• • •

In the ok' register of St. John's
church, Ancaster, one of the numerous
N.B.'s in, "On Sunday, Dec. 2, 1832, at-
tended the Presbyterian church in the
morning at funeral sermon for Rev.
Mr. Sheed." Things were different
then, but nowadays It would speak
pretty well of his "worth as a man" if
other clergy shut their churches In
order to attend his funeral sermon!

The completing touch to the church
was the bell, which was purchased by
subscription, headed by Col. Chep with
his usual liberality. He also attended
personally to the purchase and sent
one of his teams to meet It at Ham-
ilton. It is now the only thing remain-

ANCASTEK IN THE VICTORIAN ERA

Ing of the original church, but, unfor-
tunately from some defect In the hang>
Ins arrangement It cannot, since Its re>
moval to the new church, be tolled at
furerals, which Is a pity, as It pos-
Besfles a remarkably good tone for its
size. It Is very much to be regretted
that It bears no Inscription of any
kind except the maker's name, "E.
Force, New York, 1835."
• • •
How much the past generations
might have done for us If they had
only been a trifle more explicit. Urev-
Ity may be the soul of wit, but we
would like a little more body regard-
ing facts occasionally. How much
more satisfactory, for Instance, a re-
membered inscription on the tenor bell
In the eight chimes of Skerborne
Minster, Dorsetshire, England, where
anyone with a good head many read to
this day the declaration on the bell
which has been chiming sweetly every
day for three hundred years:

"By Wolsey's gift I measure time to

all.
To mirth, to grief, to prayer I call."

What an additional Interest some of
the donors names would give to this
young bell of '35!

Bell! thou soundest solemnly
When on Sabbath morning.
Fields deserted lie!

Bell! thou soundest mournfully:
Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by!

It appears quite possible to pass hun-
dreds of times along the Sulphur
Springs road, which runs below the
church, and yet remain oblivious of
the rural beauty hiding behind that
prosaic picket fence and playing hide-
and-seek there, among the granite
shafts and old flat tombstones, all In
the sweet June weather with the sun-
light and the bees. The birds have
found it out long ago, and they, too,
find homes there where the tall grrassea
rustle and the bumble bees drone
above the silent company. There where
there Is so lavish an out-pouring
wealth of ox-eyed daisies glancing so
shyly at the grand blue sky, where the
pink clovers nod their heavy heads
and blush hotly at the bold stare of
the sweet wllllama, while the stone
crop clusters cuddling round the

lowly or forgotten dead, wrapping
them in a yellow maze.

"Thou blessed one!" the angel said.

"I bring thy time of peace:
When I have touched thee on the eyes

Life's latest ache shall cease."
• • •

Peax^, indeed, Is everywhere In this
most pleasant place, this unhonored
prophet, where no footfall seems ever
to linger except on Sundays or to a
funeral. What a lot mortals sometimes

! 1

OLD BELL DATED 1835.

lose by stretching their necks out Into
the distance and overlooking quite the
good things at the door!
• * •

Here on this sacred Pisgah see under
what fair horizon the exquisite home
stretch of country spreads far to north
and west, all with verdure clad, de-
lightful to the ravished eye, indeed!
What a setting to those clustered
tombstones; what a sleeping room for
all the days of time is here!
« • *

Just here, pausing by the graves of
a household on the outskirts of an un.
ruffled sea of clover, listen to the pulse

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

t^^^'t^V'*^-^

misr W^v^^^eSTtSii

THE OLD MANSE.

of nature beat, and watch the sun
throwing slanting shadows and fret-
work of headstones and railings over
the gilt buttercups and blue vervain
and clusters of white honey clover, and
drawing a gleam like a big diamond
from one polished obelisk close by on
which appears, below a name, once
known in Arcady, the simple comment,
"She made home pleasant." What
higher tribute, or more flattering to
female virtue was ever, could ever, be
paid by the most courtly husband-
lover. This multum In parvo In Its
very brevity covers every inch of
ground. A woman may, In the words
of St. Paul, give all her goods to feed
the poor and her body to be burnt, but
If she is not a gracious woman who
makes home pleasant she won't retain
favor, or have nice things cut upon

her tombstone!

• * «

How 'Scotch it is here! If only the
daisies were gorse and the pink clover
heather, it might pass muster as a
little God's acre somewhere In the
Hielands, or in that enchanted border-
land over which High Cheviot throws
the shadows of his lordly shoulders in
the waning western sun.

• * *

The names on most of the stones
sure came from Caledonia, stern and

wild. Such a record of Frasers, An-
dersons, Caulders, Pringles, Forbeses
and Robertsons, with here a Turnbull.
there a Campbell, Chapman, Kerr and
Kelly. It would scarcely be safe to
play The Campbells Are Coming on
the pipes in yon kirkyard!

* « «

Past griefs are perished and over.
Past Joys have vanished and died.

Past loves are fled and forgotten.
Past hopes have been laid aside.

* * *

One of the most Interesting burial
mounds stands against the eastern
fence and is surrounded by a railing,
or rather say an old picket fence, fast
going to decay. The enclosure has
VJ :>rally to be crawled into beneath a
tangle of entwining greenery, which
announced that here at least lay a
time-healed sorrow, or the resting
place of someone far from home and
kindred.

By holding down the screen of
boughs by force, an upright slab of
white marble, with a unicorn's head
crest carved In either corner, reluc-
tantly gives up its story so far as to
tell that here lies one Capt, Alexan-
der Roxburgh, who was born June 18,
1784, and died Sept. 19, 1856. Then the
released boughs fly back to hide the
name and date and all but a narrow
rim of the slab besides.

* * *

Kext to this sits a massive death
chest of quaint and venerable aspect
for Canada, claiming to hold the dust
of Euphemia Melville, wife of Capt.
A. Roxburgh, of the Glengarry Light
Infantry, and daughter of Alexander
Melville, Esq., of Barqular, Scotland,,
who died in the prime of life at St.
Margaret's cottage on Oct. 27, 1834.
"A gentle, amiable and most affec-
tionate wife; a kind, anxious and
most exemplary mother; a sincere
Chrlstlaii and an excellent woman
lies here." So she evidently made
home pleasant to whoever she may
have been in those old days.

* * *

While these two souls have been so
long in eternity, time has not been
idle with the place where they left
their bodies. In sooth a most pleas-
ant place, where the good couple rest
well in honorable sepulchre, while the
sun kisses the great slab and makes
it a pleasant place to sit while medi-
tating at leisure amongst the tombs.

ANCASTER IN THE VICTOHIAX ERA

It is so high and S"^ solid that it
stands up lil<e a roclt among green
sf-as, ever encroaching from the north
in waves of sweet briar roses so fresh
and young, coquetting willingly
enough with the lusty honey bees,
but haughtily throwing back their
dainty pink faces from the rough
familiarities of a close pressing squad
of those sturdy Black Brunswickers,
the wild brambles, who will be lus-
cious and sweet enough themselves in
days to come when the rose's bloom is
over.

* • •

One enormous plant of burdock
thrusts up his enormous Panama hat
of a face so broad and cool, Just as if
he had as good a right to watch the
dead couple as his betters.

* • •

The birds appear to resent the brief
intrusion, especially a cat bird who
comes down quite close to see what it
ts all about, and dances upon the
boughs of a tree overhanging from a
neighboring garden, crying, "Hey!
What d'ye want? Eggs, hey?" like a

deaf old woman.

* « *

Investigation receives a check at a
most interesting point, when, in a
rather Jonely corner, there is the most
beautiful mausoleum imaginable, erect-
ed by kind nature over somebody, but
she will not tell us who, and she has
thrown all her heart into her handi-
work here and formed it so firmly and
well out of coils and coils, and grace-
ful waving tendrils and utterly dense
and impenetrable masses of the lithe-
some wild grape vine. "Merrily, mer-
rily shall I sleep naw!" No amount oi'
sunlight could throw any light on this
subject, or only barely enough, assist-
ed by a stick and much poking and
prying to suffice, after the eye became
accustomed to the green gloom within
to reveal a remaining portion of a tot-
tering wooden fence, once entered by
a small gate as the remaining hinge
reluctantly testified, and a slab of the
fashion of a by-gone day raised table-
wise from the ground, and covered
deeply with heaps of the leaf mould of
many an autumn from Its protecting
vine above — and It keeps Its secret
past, only saying In effect up through
the jasper light:

"Having but little eaten, drunk but
little, and deeply suffered. After weary
waiting at last now I am dead. Ye are
all coming^ surely to this."

There is still living In Ancaster a
venerable person in the ninety-seventh
year of his age who for more than 40
years was an eider and officebearer in
this church. We have much pleasure
in adding that the old gentleman oc-
casionally saws wood for two hours at
a time, for exercise, not being able to
walk far now.

« • *

Time flies amongst the tombs, and
from near cottage homes the smoke
begins to curl up against the trees as
the shadows lengthen to evensong,
across the grassy lane and the gold-
spattered field, where the buttercups
drill, and away to the marsh, where
green grow the rushes O, and the
pussy-willows grow tall and slim,
playing in the cool blacu loam. Three
little children in red frocks playing
beneath the thorns on a queer bank
below furnish the foreground with
local color, while distance lends de-
cided enchantment as one of them is
howling dismally, an incipient woman
perhaps, "crying for she doesn't know
what, and won't be happy till she gets
it." They unconsciously make a
beautiful picture of peace and sjm-
mer, in which they are assisted by a
black cow. In the field of the cloth of
gold, and a roan horse and a fat
brown one, all standing at ease, in at-
titudes to delight the soul of Auguste
Bonheur, with the lush pastures
stretching away over gray fences and
sprouting cornfields, under stately
elms and past motherly orchard trees
away to the fringe of woods and Jag-
ged pines melting into the blue dis-
tance of the Flamlinrn helarhts.

REV. GEO. BHKED'ci TOMH.

Already the dew-damp is In the air,
and soon it will be night, calm and
holy, over the little graveyard on the
upland. The sentinel stars will watch,
whore, bivouacked In silence, minister
and people He waiting for the clear
dawning of a greater jubilee.

ALMA DICK LAUDER.

,■■} I

CHAPTER VI

THE OLD RED MILL

\l\\

" All along the valley stream that
flashest white,
Deepening: thy voice with the deep-
ening of the night."

A charming country walk near An-
caster, though few there be that walk
It, may be enjoyed by following the
historic stream, that, by the way,
really ought to have a name (sup-
pose we christen It the Yuba, pro tem),
which, after its escape from the grist
mill and the clutches of Mr. Jackson,
makes a hurried dive across the road,
crawls beneath the bridge on its
hands and knees, and turning to the
left, then

Chatters over stony ways
In little sharps and trebles-
only pausing a moment to lave the
feet of the old willows, and then off
in haste, cutting Its way through the
meadows, rushing past the hanging
wood, and ducking under bending
alders in a curved, deep, rocky chan.
nel, a miniature river of Niagara,
where one lingers with delight on
these autumn evenings, 'twixt the
gloamln' and the mirk, just after the
jolly miller up stream has opened the
gates of Yuba dam, and the flood, set
free from work, comes racing joyously
down to play at hide-and-seek all
night long with the moonbeams; then
come farther down the rocky bed, and
see the grand plunge presently, over
the Red Mill fall, and hearken how
the water voices go echoing on
through the vale below, answering
back deeply to the deepening of the
night.

• • •

So It has been probably for ages,
and so It will most likely continue to
be after we have all been ages in the
beyond with our toilsome days for-
gotten, but the Red Mill, which has
watched the Yuba flashing ever since
the century was young, will have
passed away entirely, It is to be fear-

ed, before many more season light
on it, unless, indeed. President Mills
could induce the women of the Went-
worth Pllstorical society, the old post-
oiTlce being out of the running, to buy
the aged ruin for their museum, and
paint its faded, red coat afresh, and
repair its breaches, and mend the
rent, 36 feet high and broad in propor-
tion in its poor old back, and restore
again the teeth which the old fellow
has dropped out in the shape of grind
stones now lying prone. It hardly
even answers to its name now, for the
snows and rains and suns amongst
them have blistered and frozen and
washed away nearly all that once
was red of it.

* • «

Most wine, some cheese, a few men,
and all buildings, mellow and improve
with age, up to a certain point, be-
yond which, the wine, past perfection,
becomes too crusty; the cheese, from
first being an elegant ruin covered
with creepers, collapses, its dancing
dvys over. Into a motionless heap of
acrid dust; Shakespeare has told us
what happens to the men; and we see
for ourselves how rapidly the build-
ings, once neglect sets in, lapse into
irrevocable decay.

The Red Mill stands on the left-hand
side of the old, and once only, road
from Ancaster to the village of Dun-
das, a road with many interesting as-
sociations of early days and indus-
trleo, but few feet now pass that way.
It stands In a valley, clothed within
fifty years from end to end with
stately forests and even yet the most
picturesque perhaps In Ontario, re-
calling by Its extensive panorama of
hill and dale, crag and water, with
the blue and silver binding of the dis-
tant lake, on a smaller scale, the
valley of the Tay In Scotland. It was
not the pioneer mill of this part of the
country, as some suppose. The first

THE OLD RED MILL

one, which waa really the reason for
Ancaster's existence, was built
soon after 1790 at Ancaster, of whose
prosperity it was the forerunner. At
the close of the war of independence
in 1783, three strong young men arose,
and leaving their home in Pennsyl-
vania to their elder brother, who had
fought under Qen. Washington with
distinction during the war, turned
their steps northward, and, after
many days' hard Journey, heard the
roar of Niagara and saw the forests of
the King's domain rising on their
sight. Following the trail, from the
river boundary it led them on to And
homes in the woods near Ancaster,
where they henceforth lived and mar-
ried, and where they died, leaving
numerous descendants, who occupy
the old sites to-day. At that time
there was no mill of any kind nearer
than Niagara, so the early settlers,
including the Pennsylvanian brothers,
concluded to try a boat, which they
did, and kept it at the Beach, there
being no canal then of course, and
had many a toilsome Journey in
ox wagons with their wheat to get it
aboard the boat, which they then pro.
ceeded to row down the lake to Nia-
gara, returning with the flour In the
same way, a three days' business moat
likely — perhaps longer. Before 1790
saw the light these dwellers In the
wilderness had begun to tire of this
rapid transit milling business, and
suddenly concluded to form a com-
pany among themselves, call a bee,
dam the Yuba, and erect a mill of their
own— all which was done with
promptitude, and soon the Union mill
was an accomplished fact, the only
hitch being to And a man capable of
acting as miller at the start. How-
ever, an old gentleman named Horn-
ing, grandfather or great grandfather
of ex-M.P. Joseph Rymal, rose to the
occasion and the breach was filled.
A very few years after this the Red
Mill arose out of the forest In the
valley, its builder and maker being
the original Hatt, whose bones are
with us to this day and lie In an aged
burying ground on a farm close to the
village. The present owner of the mill
well remembers hearing the old people
tell in his young days how they came
from far, in ox wagons, to have their
milling done here, bringing hams and
butter and feathers with them for
payment.

* * •

Perhaps the fact of there being a

contemporary distillery, mighty con-
venient, close by on the 'Yuba, may
have lent a zest and given local color
to those early and laborious milling
transactions. The oldest Inhabitant's
grandfather, so he tells me, used to
say it was good booze they made in
those times, and the price, 25 cents a
gallon, is enough to make some peo-
ple swear they have lived too late.

• • •

Tradition also says that when the
men of old were making the road
above the Red Mill, known as the
Devil's elbow, they kept a boy in con-
stant employment trotting to and fro
between them and the distillery, with
a gallon pail in each hand. It is pre-
sumed that there was water, occa-
sionally. In the left-hand pall, but the
facts of the case are very much ob-
scured by circumstances, and the
mists which Father Time is so fond
of breathing forth in the wake of old
days. The Women's Temperance Set-
us-all-to-rights union might contend
that these partially unearthed nug-
gets of folklore throw a side light
upon the undeniable fact of the elbow
having remained in the possession of
the devil ever since as a marvel of
stony and unconquerable badness.
Strange sounds have been heard
round that rocky curve at night, and
'tis whispered that twice a year, at
the full of the moon, those road mak-
ers of the good old times are forced,
by one they must not disobey, to re-
turn, and put in ghostly statute lab-
or, replacing all the stones and uncov-
ering all the ruts, supplied by a fiery
eyed spook boy with phantom whiskey
from a phantom pall. This is a suffi-
cient explanation of the fact why the
statute labor one there by earthly
hands never makes the road any bet-
ter.

• * *

Within the old building nothing but
crumbling decay meets the eye,
though the soundness of the massive
beams seem rather to accentuate the
ruin of all else. The enormous rent in
the west wall marks where the 36-foot
water wheel made things hum, within
the last eighty years, and did good
business, having three run of stones
working simultaneously with a capa-
city of turning out twenty barrels of
flour, and from 30 to 35 barrels of pot
barley per diem, bealdes chopping.
The water power supplied by the Yuba
was rated by an experienced mlll-

I? II

WENTWOKTII LANDMARKS

wrlght at 25 horse-power, and was
carried Into the mill across the road
by a long flume, down which, alas!
through someone's blunder, in not at-
tending to the turning off of the power,
the cruel frost came creeping one
bitter night, and had such a battle

or more correctly speaking, the second
story of the mill, and into the presence
of a motley heap of "has beens," the
most interesting of which are the
ancient and original flour buckets, and
the two remaining grind stones, lying
side by side in rest, after their busy

Jii^!n^fc'^ y

KUINS OF A WOOLICN MILL NEAK ANCASTER.

royal with the old king of the mill
that by morning he was shattered and
useless; hence the rent in the wall,
through which his body was removed,
leaving a fearsome, yawning chasm
behind him in the earth, heaped round
by a chaos of fallen stones, not hewn
and trim, but round and rough Just as
they came from mother earth's brown
breast. Using both hands and feet to
clamber up the ladder-like stairway,
we pass into the second circle of chaos.

days. By these we make a long pause,
for are they not the very same ones
that were put in when the mill was
built, and helped to do the first day's
work. And here they are still, with
the sunlight glinting at them round the
broken wall, and the rains pattering
down on their seamy granite faces
through the big holes in the roof.
Still here, good for another century of
toil, but where are the vanished gen-
erations they have helped to feed?

M ■>■

THE OLD KED MILL

the second
le presence
jeens," the
are the
uckets, and
ones, lying
their busy

\'M

jng pause,
same ones
mill was
flrsi. day's
still, with
round the
pattering
ite faces
the roof,
lentury of
shed gen-
feed?

Over the road from the mill decays
another veteran (of the distillery, only
a bit of foundation remains), the
house that Hatt built for the miller
and his family, which is now used as
a stable, and has slight savor of form-
er interest, with the exception of
an old-time stone — rough stone, too —
chimney, reaching to the ground and
visible from the outside. It must
have been a pleasant home In old
flays, when the hills lifted their green
crowns all round about, and though
man may have been distant, Nature,
who is God, was near, even at the
door. Beautiful exceedingly to dwell
there, in daily companionship with
the grey rocks, to watch the light
(•ome creeping up the valley in those
young summer dawns, or to see the
sunsets dying on the hills, and to hear
the Yuba, in Its rocky cradle, go sing-
ing down the night; but, perhaps like
Galilee of an older day, "they cared
for none of these things;" perhaps the
Devil's elbow was too near, and it was
eerie on winter nights, when the trees
crackled queerly, and weird noises
echoed from the rocky glens and lone-
ly hills.

• • *

The mill has seen many changes in
its long days, and known many dif-
ferent owners. For some 30 years be-
fore it passed into the present proprie-
tor's hands, it belonged to one Isaac
Kelly, and before that again to a
Gillespie, and earlier still, to a man
named Cox, of whom we can relate
that all was not grist that came to
his mill, because he ground pepper
and spice, and coffee, too. Between
1820 and 1827 it appears to have been
in the hands of the ubiquitous Mat-
thew Crooks, whose fingers seemed to
be in all those early pies, and an old
friend of mine, a gentleman in a
faded brown suit, and with an ancient
weightiness hanging to his every
word, who has Just come out of his
home, where he maintains a dignified
I)rivacy and seldom goes abroad, to
l)a.ss this evening at my fireside by
special invitation, has just been
narrating in his punctilious, prosy,
polite old way, with regard to the Red
Mill, how that he remembers. In the
year 1827, when he was just beginning

to circulate round amongst the nelfch-
bors, hearing a long story of how, "by
virtue of two writs of fieri facias is-
sued out of his majesty's court of
King's bench, etc., against the lands
and tenements of Matthew Crooks, by
one William Crooks," and so on — (it
is a little hard to keep up with these
old gentlemen when they mount and
ride off into the old days again) — "and
so farther are taken in execution as
belonging to said Matthew Crooks,"
says the old gentleman, "various lands
and buildings. Including," mark you,
"including lastly," says the old gen-
tleman, shaking a shriveled finger in
my face — he had some more, but he
didn't shake them— "lastly the red
grist mill with two run of stones in
complete repair and In good order for
manufacturing flour; an extensive
distillery, with a range of pens and
stables for fatting hogs and cattle;
carding machines, two fulling mills,
clothier shops, one store house, three
dwelling houses for miller, clothier
and distiller, and such quantity of
land as will be necessary to secure
all water privileges, mills, etc., afore-
said." All this property, the old gen-
tleman further informed me, was to
have been sold at the court house in
the town of Hamilton, on Saturday,
the 14th day of July (1827), at 12 noon,
to the highest bidder," but added that
it was postponed "until Saturday, the
17th day of November, by order of
William M. Jarvis, sheriff of the Gore
district." This is what my old friend
has just told me about the matter,
and his authority there is no disput-
ing, because he happens to have a
copy of

THE GORE GAZETTE

and

Ancaster, Hamilton, Dundas and
Flamborough Advertiser,

Published by George
Ancaster.

Gurnett, at

On Saturday; they did everything
worth doing "on Saturday" in those
days, and it was published on Satur-
day. Oct. 20. 1827.

ALiMA DICK LAUDER.

■4

■ p- .■

ANNULS OF BARTON

The Tcrrybcrry Inn. ^ A Forgotten House of Peace. ^
Descriptions of Places of Interest in the Outskirts of the
City. ^ The Old Roman Catholic Cemetery. ^ The
Brewery That Was. ^ The Tragedy of Burlington
Heights. ^ Old Cholera Burial Grounds.

i !'

I 'i'

CHAPTER VII

THE TERRYBERRY INN

eace. ^
ts of the
^ The
irlington

I, too. with my soul and body.
We, a curious trio, pickiner.
Wandering on our way,
Throuirh these doors amid the shadows.
With the apparitions pressing,
Pioneers! O, Pioneers!

— ^Whitman.

• • •

Un-ordinary sensations are not al-
ways pleasant. For instance, we would
mildly protest at a chubby snail drop-
ping down our backs and object to
snakes in our boots as tending to pro-
duce sensations, un-ordinary, but not
pleasant. Yet admit, for the sake of
argument, that most of us are suffi-
ciently akin to the supernatural as to
enjoy having our flesh made to creep,
much as we object to things creeping
on our fle^!

Well, one of these wild November
evenings, desiring to feel creepy, I
took my soul and body, and went to
meditate an hour in the dusk amongst
walls once bright with the fires of
hospitality, but now, by Time's hard
fists, battered into clinks through
which the night wind whistled and
the moonlight poured in floods. But
we had to wait awhile for that, for
we got there first in a glory of sun-
set, which made the sky flame to the
zenith, and all the brimming dykes
along the roads and the ditches In
the fields blush rosy red.

In at the broken gateway, over the
oblong patch of green, fringed with
ragged bushes, and up on to the an-
cient porch where many an early set-
tler has lingered in the twilights long
ago, passing through the battered
doorways "-:d avoiding a fearsome
black hole in the floor, we stand amid
the shadows under the roof tree, once
linown far and wide to the pioneers
of Canada West as Terryberry's tav-
ern.

• • «

Situated on the main road from Ni-
agara to Ancaster, this commodious
house must have been hailed with de-
light by those early travelers through

the forest, and we fancy there must
have been good cheer there then, and
that man and beast alike found com-
fort In that inn, now a palsied, tot-
tering old relic with both feet in the
grave of forgotten things, but once
so young and trim and snug and
warm! Once, these worm-eaten rafters
rang with laughter, and up that aged

^rtt»,-.' ^^^> "^^ ''^-'
THE RUINED POUCH.

stairway what merry feet may not
have twinkled! Those rows of vacant
vindows through which the dusk will
ooon steal creeplly, to fill the empty
nooks and crannies with strange
shapes, once smiled back like rows of
diamonds to the rising sun! But be-
fore going farther in, let us glance at
the old stable, or as much of it as re-
mains, across the yard on the west
side of the house. Not very much, or
very large now, but built in the maa-

?lin

■Hi

.1'

WEN'rVVORTIl LAN DM AUKS

THE OLD TERRYBERKY INN.

sive fashion of a day when wood was
no object. A more interesting find
was an ancient well, a real old timer,
discovered by lifting a heap of mossy
boards lying in a corner of the yard
near the house, then kneeling, peer-
ing down Into the watery past which
lay sullcing far below, covered with a
stagnant, dlphtheria-typhoid-suggegt-
ing scum. The round stones whidh
formed the sides were loosely put to-
gether, and green and dank with age
and disuse. In former times we im-
agine a young oaken bucket hung by
that well, and there, like enough, at
eventides, some rural Jacob drew
water for and looked love into the eyes
of his Rachel, thus combining business
with pleasure. We did not, frankly
speaking, like the look of this particu-
lar "palmy well," and shut the
boards down again with a reverential
bang, and went back to the house.

The porch is a perfect curiosity in
itself, being Grecian in design and
lathed and plastered beneath the peat-
red dome and flat side pieces. Quite
a work of art in its day, and pretty
and quaint enough to copy now. On
it, so the story goes, an early settler
stood one day, and shot an Indian
who was skulking through the forest
on what are now the asylum fields.
The reason why has become detached

from the legend, but presumably he
had one, beyond the fact that there
were plenty more Indians where that
one came from, redmen and firewood
both abounding In thos» early days.

The old house even now, in more
than half ruins, has an impalpable
charm of its own, and throws a glamor
over one, especially when viewed at
the dying of the day, which suits it
somehow better than the garish sun-
light. They built well and comfortably
to live in then, and the Terryberry
tavern contrasts favorably in plan
and execution with some of the mod-
ern horrors of architectural triumph
to be seen among us — those shells,
gaudy with stained glass, and breath-
less with coal furnaces.

Here, in the old house, the sun must
have been a welcome guest, admitted
at all the tall, high windows, and the
splendid wood fires that roared up
the chimneys in all the rooms but one
must have kept life fresh and healthy.
The hall is broad and long, running
back through the entire length Of the
house, and the stair is broad and low-
stepped, and apparently once boasted
handsome bannisters up the side and
all along the upper hall; but, like the
frames at the wlndaws, they are gone,
and only the top railing and curious
old posts remain to show what was.

;vi-,

imably he
that there
vhere that
^ firewood
y days.

in more
mpalpable
s a glamor
v'iewed at
h suits it
Irish sun-
mfortably
'erryberry
in plan

the mod-
triumph
shells,

d breath-

sun must

admitted
and the

ared up
but one
healthy,
running

:h Of the

and low-
boasted

side and
like the

Lre gone,
curious

hat was.

I.,,';,

■j:

It-
O

•A

Q
O

J I !l

1:5?

ft I

I Jl

!
1

■ * i

1 j|

! !

r: ! I^i

ii '

ivii

THE TEKUYnEUKY INN

On the left-hand side of the entrance
Is the most old-fashioned room in
Canaaa. Low, and wainscoted In dark
wood, except where a large break In
the wall lets In old Boreas "fra" a' the
alrt9 the wind can blaw," and framed
the mild face of a large white cow
who looked so ghostly In the gloamln',
and seemed to take such an Interest
in our proceedings that we set her
down as the reincarnation of the or-
iginal Terryberry. Above the old flre-

flreplaoe. In the thickness of which
we discovered two more cupboards,
one with delightful three-cornered
shelves (woe to the nation when her
people build cupboard houses, look
out for decadence!), we stood In a
large room which had suffered the
loss of its fireplace, as the chimney,
in some winter gale, had found It cold
upon the roof, and so simply slldden
down Into the fireplace below, which
it choked up, and left a ghastly heap

AN OLD-FASHIONED FIUKPLACE.

place were a couple of those quaint
chimney cupboards, In which the early
builders seem to have delighted, and
where they kept their wills and their

'baccy.

* * *

On the left hand side a big cupboard
runs from the celling to the floor, and
Is Imagined to have been the whisky
cupboard, being the biggest we saw.
and that this was the bar-room; so
we played that it was that way any-
how, and the white cow never said
one word to contradict us.

A narrow door leading straight out
on to the green further confirmed us
In this belief. Passing through a
doorless doorway on the iln;ht of tYe

of rubbish 'over besides; and also was
the means of preventing us from
opening the door of cupboard r.'j.i' er
six, a big one on the right su!' , "2-
tween the fireplace and the east win-
dow. Possibly It was the one where
they kept the family skeleton, and has
never been opened yet. A window,
also, opposite the fireplace, looked out
to the south, across the brown fields
to lacey silhouettes of trees against
the paling sky.

Over the hall from the bar-room
were two more good-sized, well-light-
ed rooms, containing curious corner
fireplaces (and cupboards, it goes
without saying). Through them we
passed into the back of the hall, under

WKNTWOUTH LANDMAUKS

'H:i :'

the broad staircase, to find ourselvea
coTifronted by a yawrnlng black de-
cennus avemuB, down which we had
to go, of course, though It was un-
pleasantly dusky, and we only had
three matches, and one of them was
a toothpick — besides not knowing
what might befall us below In the
way of holes and broken steps and
spooks. We need not have feared
those cellar stairs, for, truly, "they
dreamed not of a perishable home who
thus could build," for each separate
step was a huge solid beam of wood,
with no give to it. So in time we got
landed below In the damp, finding a
great deal of darkness In our hands
when we got down, but fully rewarded
In various ways, such as seeing a place
under the foot of a chimney, where
probably the first potatoes who set-
tled In Barton found a temporary rest-
ing place.

* * *

It was easier to ascend the bannis-
terleas stairway to the second story,
where the first thing noticeable was
the charming broad landing in front
of a big window, and the thought
flashed of what a cosy corner it may
once have been, and might again be,
"just built for two," though capable
of containing half a dozen.

Here an the right hand are three
rooms, more cupboards, and a myster-
i(His look down at the back of one
fireplace, through a hole made doubt-
less by that chilly chimney in Its de-
scent to the room below. A large at-
tii' seemed to extend the whole size of
the house, and was well lighted by
several* windows and the huge gaps
which the departed chimneys had
omitted to take with them In their
downward flight. Here research was
baflfled and nipped in the second story,
so to speak, as we had not brought
our ladder, and Father Time, or some-
body, had made off with the stairs,
and we had to content ourselves with
bringing away a mental photograph
of the hole where they had been.
Turning to the left at the head of the
stairs, we passed in at a shaky grey
door — and, by-the-bye, such curiosities
in the way of latches and hasps were
never seen — and exclaimed: "What a
charming drawing room this would
make!"— for behold a large, long room,
still pinky with the last flush of sun-
set, towards «rhlch Its four tall win-
dows gBze. Out Into the center of
the room a huge old fireplace stuck
Us feet, and round three sides ran the
rickety remains of a low fixed fender.

where the pretty, long-ago glrl.n. not
hello girls, nor yet bloomer bicycle
females, sat at the vanished balls,
with the firelight dancing on their
glossy curls, waiting for the gay mili-
tia man to pick them out. Those old
walls have heard the fiddles scraping,
to be sure, and seen many capers acted
by those long dead and gone. We ma.v
well fancy how the old place mu'
have buzzed with excitement durlr
the war of 1812, and gone wild with
triumph over the battle of Stony
Creek. It was here before the war
broke out that the militia met for
drill, and livened up the green imfote
the door with their red coats, and
clanked their swords up the steps,
under the Grecian porch, on their way
to the bar. And later on those walls
no doubt rang with news of a victory
greater than Stony Creek, for thoy were
In their hey-day when the thunders of
Waterloo shook the world. Hither
also came sprinklings of the regulars,
and here most probably the American
prisoners when on their way from
Stony Creek to the jail in Ancaster
called n halt. Some of the wounded
soldiers after the battle must certain
ly have been brought here also, fc
it is common tradition, or rather >i
matter of history that the original
old wooden Barton church was at that
time converted into a hospital and
that some of the soldiers died there
of their wounds and were burled in
the then new churchyard. To the
tavern, 'tis said, one day in war times
came Governor Simcoe on his way to
or from Ancaster, in state, attended
by his staff, and it was on this occa-
sion, 'tis further recorded by the old-
est inhabitant's great maiden grand-
aunt, that one of the officers, a gay
young blade, afterwards high In the
service, occasioned some scandal by
clanking and jingling down the solid
steps in the wake of the pretty bar-
maid, going a message to a cask which
stood by the chimney foot, hard by
the potatoes, and behind which he
Doldly kissed her, not once nor twic«>.
which is Interesting history, proving
that boys were boys in 1814, all the
same as in '96. What apparitions
haunt the old house, to be sure! The
gallant young officer has mustered
with the spirit army long, long ago,
and as for the pretty maid,

" The mossy marbles rest
On the lips which he then pressed,
In the cellar."
— O. W. Holmes, sllghitly altered to suit
the circumstances.

i.^i

TIIK TEKIIYHKHIIY INN

INTEUIOK OF THR BALLUOOM.

These old tales are apt to be a lit-
tle mixed, but we are safe to accept
tiiis one, and conclude that here are
very few old cellars that haven't seen
Some kissing in their day; but they
never, never tell. It would give a
zest to a kiss, in the eyes of most
men, If they had to risk their necks
and bump their heads down a dark
stair to get one! Ah! those must have
been the good old times, when whisky
was cheap and red coats plenty, and
'twas:

Then hey! for boot and spur, lad,
And through the woods away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,
And every dog nis day.

But here comes the big November
moon poking her yellow face in at the
ompty sockets of the windows, and
l)ainting strange splatters of white-
ness on the dusky walls. If she could
only open her silver lips and tell all
she knows of the tide of life which
ebbed and flowed for so many years
round these old walls, since the far-
off nights when she and the wolves
watched them rising out of the forest
beside the Indian trail, as the wolves
called the road for many years after'
They had a great respect for the moon
and held concerts in her honor, and
thought her a big and beautiful bright

thing, but wise heads nowadays sav
she is nothing but a cinder on the
high road to extinction. However that
may be, she has not lost her strange
power of animating the inanimate,
evolving gruesome things from the
corners of these empty rooms, throw-
ing a beam over there near the ball
room door that has a queer gleam,
like a white dress; and a glance up-
wards, towards the deserted attic, has
the effect of making one's ears rise
up and try to flee, pushing one's scalp
in front of them. So, prithee, let's
begone, for, truly:

" All houses, wherein men
Have lived and died
Are haunted houses" —

Especially by moonlight.

• • *

O Strong hands, so long dust! O
stout hearts, so many yeare at home
with God! we would fain wave the
mists of time aside and get a clearer
view of your far-off past! But we can
only guess you lived and loved, suf-
fered, hoped and tolled, as men do
still.

You peaceful pioneers! we can see
you gathered round the glowing logs
in those genial fireplaces at Terryber-
ry's, spinning your hunting yarns and
war stories at your ease, undisturbed
by the marital telephone darling at

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

your ears. A manly, stalwai^t race,
you— unspoilt by riches, unwlthered
by self-feeder stoves and flat pies.
Your faces, mayhap, were scorching at
that glorious blaze, while your backs
were cold; but, O pioneers! they were
straight, not yet hunched up like a
racoon on the trot, as the coming race
will be from the "scorching" of to-
day!

• • •

Perhaps you missed much by living
too soon, but we hope that such a
share of health and freedom was yours
in those fresh, strong young days, so
full of action, as almost to make up
for having ante-dated the X-rays, the
electric button, end the Liocal Council
of Women. Lucky pioneers!

All honor to the memory of these
early settlers of our land, the youth-
ful, sinewy race, who bore not only
the brunt of danger and hardships of
life, past our comprehension, but
fought and bled and died for their
country In her hour of need! May
their dreamless sleep be sweet to them
in their scattered and forgotten
graves, until

Still with sound of trumpet
Far. far off the daybre<ak call —
Hark! How loud and clear I hear it

wind.
Swift! to the head of the army!
Swift! spring to your places,
Pioneers! O, Pioneers!

— Whitman.

—ALMA DICK LAUDER.

l;l[!

1 ■!»

CHAPTER VIII

A FORGOTTEN HOUSE OF PEACE

^1 , '-A

— ^-x"^^ ..^ts?^

^"^^

Rest, rest, a perfect rest,
Shed over brow and breast:
Rest, rest at the heart's core

Till time shall cease;
Sleep that no pain shall wake:
Niffht that no morn shall break
Till joy shall overtake

Their perfect peace.

— Christina Rosettl.

If there's a dear spot in Erin, as the
song says, there is also a pathetic lit-
tle spot in Barton of which few have
ever heard, and fewer still would care
anyth'iig about. It is so old now, so
lonely, so unthouf'ht of, and uncared
for, so off the beaten track, and the
Inhabitants have dwelt therein silently
throus^h such long years of waiting
that it is little wonder they hold no
plac€ or part In the thoughts of the
younger generations, who, without
them, had never been.

There is such a thing as going
through the world with one eye in a
sling, so to speak, and the othe half
shut, and in this way missing i big
share of the fun, and the battle, and
the beauty, and the pathos, and the
common objects of the country, as we
go. Hundreds of people in a year pass
over the mountain road through Bar-
ton, quite unaware of the fact that it
is leading them in the early footsteps
of Indians, Jesuits, pioneer settlers,
and thr soldiers of King George,
through one of the most Interesting
and historic parts of Canada.

The cruel Iroquois nation from the

States, who depopulated Canada in old
Indian days, when Fort Orange, on the
present site of Albany-on-the-Hudson,
was the one and only trading post be-
tween Montreal and New Amsterdam
(New York), no doubt pursued their
victories along this trail, following it
through where Ancaster came in later
times, to where it turns up to Fid'llers'
Green, and so passes onward to the
Grand river.

* * •

The noble Jesuits passed to and fro
by it, with their lives in their hands,
carrying their spiritual warfare, under
a commission generally sealed, sooner
or later, with their blood, into the
midst of the filthy aborigines. But,
as Kipling says, "that is another
story," and the time we want to speak
of was of later date, being in the days
already mentioned elsewhere, when the
first settlers had carved themselves out
new homes in the forest near where
Barton (old) church now stands.

The three strong men from Pennsyl-
vania, apoken of elsewhere, who left
Washington at the height of his glory,
and journeyed northward through the
wilds, because they preferred to live
under British institutions, were newly
come here and formed the nucleus of a
vigorous settlement by-and-bye. The
crop that never fails under any possi-
ble circumstances began to spring up
around the parent tree, so one of the
most apparent needs of the settlement
became a schoolhouse, and this we can
picture being supplied out of the vir-
gin forest in about 24 hours, old time,
by a bee.

Christians, apparently, did not hate
one another so veil in those primitive
days as they dc now, and, probably.
Episcopalians could speak of a Scotch
church without calling it "a Presby-
terian place of worship," with a super-
cilious sniff, as a lanky, low-brov ed
curate did lately in our hearing; so
this new school house was used for the
minds of the children, on week days,

I'l

WKNTWORTH LANDMARKS

::■

and the benefit of everybody's soul on
Sundays. This was away alon^r about
the year of grace 1790. In later days
they found leisure and ambition to
build them a real church, but not for
a good many years. Then another
bee hummed, and the first Barton
church arose, standing back In what
l9 now the burlal-grround, considerably
behind the present deserted building,
which replaced It, we believe, about
■4a or '50.

bushes on the knoll which marks the
desolate spot. A high fence and about
three acres of Barton clay. In a state
of liquidation, had to be crawled over
and waded through In the first place,
but mud Is a mere circumstance when
Interest is aroused and antiquity the
goal. A more eerie spot seen on that
dusky afternoon could not well be Im-
agined. All the tints were brown and
sere, and all the tones were sad and in
a minor key. The wind moaned through

IN THE DESERTED GHAVEYAUD.

This is a digression, but long before
a church was thought of, or at least
built, "that dark mother, always glid-
ing near with soft feet," had found
out this settlement in the woods, and
the people had remembered how to die,
and thus there comes to be with us to
this day that little quaint God's acre
on the grassy hillock, which so many
pass, but few suspect contains Im-
mortal seed.

• • •

A great soft mass of blue-blaok rain
cloud was spreading itself all over the
west, and making the dark November
day darker, when we reached the cross-
roads Just beyond the church, and saw
before us In the distance the clump of

the thicket, and the field round about
looked as if it had been weeping for
its own ugliness, for the tears stood all
over its wet brown face in puddles
and runnels, while the distance be-
came blurred by splashes of rain,
blowing along slowly from the west.

Being naturally honest, however
rich, we paused to remove as much as
possible of the good man's farm from
our boots, with the aid of a stick, and
then pushed aside the branches and
stood, feeling rather awe-struck, within
this ancient city of the dead.

It Is now the one wooded part.where It
evidently once was the only cleared
space, in a circle of woods. The trees
and bushes have grown up so thickly

■Biafi!

A FORGOTTEN HOUSE OF PEACE

that only by getting down on hands
and knees can the I'ew remaining
headstones be deciphered. The bushes
scratched and clawed mysteriously, as
if they resented any intrusive prying
into the treasure they have guarded
night and day so well. The ground
\3 here all humps and hollows, and
suggests the idea that one Is treading
on sunken graves, which is no doubt
the case, as here and there crops up
a tottering headstone, half buried in
the mould. In the middle of the knoll
are three graves, comparatively young
and fresh, only 75 years having come
and gone since the last of them was
carried along the path through the
wood, and put here for a good long
rest. The lettering on a few. merely
initials, Is evidently amateur work.cut
laboriously by some loving hand, long
before marble works arose in the land.
It is probable that many a one who
lies here never had a tombstone at all,
perhaps only a rough bit of granite or
a wooden headboard.

Tombstones, like flax shirts, were of
home manufacture in those times.
Three, there to be seen, one of which
has fallen, certainly answer to that
dcLcription, being plain slabs of Cana-
dian granite, roughly hewn into a
shape at the top, and all bearing, for
inscription, two letters only. No dates,
no hopes for the future, or regrets for
the lest, merely on the fallen one a
plainly cut M. R., and on the two re-
maining upright,though tottering.S.R.,
and again M. R.

* • •

How we should like to raise a corner
of that curtain of oblivion and see the
simple ceremony with which the one
tired first was put away to sleep sound
in that new bed, by the hand of the
"strong dellveress," as the master poet
of the days to be, calls death — an old
man, by chance, it was, soon defeated
in his v/restle with those strong young
days, and pleased and willing to hear
his curfew ring; or may be there was
a heart-break there, healed long since;
and perhaps there was put in the
ground that day a wee, wee box, a tiny
colflln, so rough without, so tenderly
.soft within, torn from the arms of
some Rachel weeping, with the secret,
endless, ever-springing tears, such as
the mothers of dead babies only know.
Can't we see her still, away back
through all the years, by the light of
her own feeble home-made candle, as
she stands in the doorway of her log
home, looking out into the night, down

A TUBE GROWING OUT OF A GKAVE.

through which the rain falls drearily,
and each drop as it patters on the
leaves, smites the wounded heart, and
the sorrow gushes forth afresh of her
little "golden son" sleeping alone there,
out in the dismal forest, while her
breast is so soft, and her arms so
empty! Poor Rachel! She has long
been comforted!

• * *

The ancient family of Hess appear to
he well represented in the silent house
of assembly. Many can still remember
their farm house as being one of the
old land marks, trodden down by the
march of "improvement" within com-
paratively recent years. It stood, still
flanked by some gnarled stragglers of
its old orchard, on King street west,
between Queen and Caroline streets,
where a trim new row now makes a
bad apology for its departed quaint-
ness.

Here, in this old burial place, lies
the dust of the flrst arrival of the
handsome, well-known Rousseau
family, one of the makers of Ancaster.
As his name tells, he was a French-
man, and emigrating from France
after the revolution of 1793, finally

■ 51 ii'

•■*,

WENTWORTII LANDMARKS

drifted to Ancaster, where his descend-
ants to the fifth generation still reside.
He died previous to the war of 1812,
and the fact of his body being taken
from Ancaster all the way to the burial
place in Barton, proves conclusively
that it was the first, and for many
years the only, house of peace in these
parts. The adjacent graves of the
Hess's recall an interesting circum-
stance concerning these two families.
It appears that "Monsieur" Rousseau.

A PREHISTORIC TOMBSTONE.

at the time of his death, owned a very
considerable amount of real estate in.
or rather, near, the village of Hamil-
ton, which in those days was not
thought much more valuable than real
estate in Ancaster would be to-day. In
his will he, very unfortunately, left
his widow full control of his property.
She, as might have been expected,
made a calamitous hash of the things
committed to her charge, regardless of
the interests of her husband's heirs,
against whose wishes she caused to be
sold 200 acres of the estate, a strip nf
land extending from Charles street to
where the present Hess street stands,
and on the north to the bay, to one
Jacob Hess, who appeared to be as
«vride-awake to his own interests, as
the previous Mr. Jacob, with whose
business transactions we vere all early
made familiar. The s) > goes that
long after the mismanaging widow had
been giathered to her departed hus-
band, and stowed safely away at his
side on the grassy hillock, the heirs of
a later day attempted to prove a flaw,
and recover their property, now passed
Into various hands. However, f. ' e

considerable litigation, conducted for
them by John Hllyard Cameron, and
after a large sum of money had been
already expended on examining the
will and other law preliminaries, the
heirs decided to let well alone, and the
claim was abandoned. Thus, as the
one-who-knew-everythlng tells us, the
evil that men (and women) do, lives
after them; but we hope sincerely the
poor old dame is not getting "het
ehlns for't the day," for having proved
herself an unjust steward, minus his
astuteness. It would be hard to hear
(he mistakes and false steps of a life-
time commented on by injured descend-
ants, over one's head, when it had
been lying low some eighty years,
imder the dark leaves and ever-en-
rroachlng bushes of that burial
mound.

« * «

This old-time place, so full of name-
less graves, those ships that have gone
down in the night, leaving no trace be-
hind, fastens itself on one as sad and
pathetic in the last degree. Far more
belittling to human vanity than any
amount of meditation among modern
tombs. No display of costly marbles
or lying epitaphs here; nothing but the
rotting leaves and bare, damp boughs,
black against the autumn sky, to come
between us, and this gaunt reality of
life and death, that bugbear at which

tt' isai

i^-'

we squirm and shrivel, and cry oiit in
fear, while Nurse Nature only smiles,
pointing to the wintry branches over-
head, where she has long been busy,
fastening on the chrysalis leaves,
ready painted in delicate and wondrous
hues, and now wrapped up closely,
tenderly as a dead babe, and gummed
Bo firm and so secure, to sleep, in
warmth and safety, till the spring's
eweet kiss shall call them forth to
light and beauty.

ALMA DICK LAUDER.

CHAPTER IX

i 'M

HISTORIC HOMES ON THE MOUNTAIN

li- •

ry out In

y smiles,

hes over-

;en busy,

leaves,

wondrous

closely,

gummed

sleep, In

spring's

forth to

O M E people
will know the

, — II location of the

Ji g^ "X flag-staff shown

* in this Initial
scene; other
people will not.
Without Intend,
ing at all to ad-
vertise a place
which has, sad
to say, been
turned into a
money - making
spot, it would
be a good thing
for the reputa-
tion of Hamil-
ton, if not only

all her own

■ people, but all

the strangers who come within her
gates, could be able to climb the moun.
tain and view the valley and surround-
ing hills from the point of observation
around the flag-pole. It is at the
northwest point of the Chedoke park
property, and right alongside of it one
gazes down a precipice over which It
would be death to tumble, for it
drops into the bed of the Chedoke falls
basin, where huge boulders lie moss-
covered and . water-washed, and
where the vegetation of an almost
natural wilderness flourishes all season
long. To the north and west, away
across the valley of the marsh and
bay, tower the hills of Flamboro, taking
on hues of all colors as the summer
season advances and the crops along
their fertile sides ripen. To the west
nestles Dundas, and to the east the
city lies. The flag-pole has been there
many a long year, as has also the resi-
dence, built by a Great Western rail-
way magnate for his own private use.
It was a bold conceit, the building of
that fine house up there on the moun-
tain's edge, and It meant the expendi-
ture of a great deal of money, but
those were the days when money was

more easily made than now, and
there were fewer ways of spending It.
Throughout the residence was built in
fine style, and there are some bits of
interior there antique enough to be
almost curious.

« • •

In the day when that house was built
there were no numerous bakeshops,
no grand hotels, and few of the con-
veniences known in this day around
the city. For this reason there was
built in the Chedoke house a great
kitchen and bake room. The artist
shows the picture of the bake oven.
There on the hot bricks the bread was
baked and browned and in the great
cavity behind the two doors above the
snroking of hams and other meats was
dore. The floor in front of the bake
ovens is made of great slabs of stone,
and close by in the room is a pump
running down into a spring of the
finest clear, cold water. On the other
side of the room is a dresser. Not one
of the small pieces of furniture that
we know In this day, but one of the
old kind that takes up nearly the whole
sjiace of the side wall and reaches
almost to the ceiling.

The grounds up there simply abound
with old buildings. There was room
enough and seemed to be money
enough for every department of the es-
tablishment to be under a separate
roof. The chickens, the pigs, the
horses and all the other animals had
homes of their own and all separate.
Nor were they poorly constructed
places either, all being well enough
built to have served as habitations for
human beings. They had a chapel-
there too; at least It was a chapel
when it wasn't something else. Billiard
tables are said to have found a home
In it, and the floor was too good a one
to be left Idle when the sound of music
was heard and the young people
wanted to dance. The stairway to

i: I

I'l 1

« l'!!i

ilHi

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

this part of the establishment leads up
from the outside and is still in exist-
ence, as the picture shows.

But by no means all the glories of
ancient architecture center about the
houses at Chedoke. There are other
places within a stone's throw almost
that are much more picturesque and
beautiful. The old family home of the
Buchanans is one of these set In the
midst of a grand old grove of trees and
looking quaint and beautiful as one
approaches It. It cannot be called the
house of seven gables, but it nearly
approaches it, there being Ave along
its front. From the outside one begins
to feel the spell of the gothic in archi-
tecture, and once In the house the im-
pression is soon firmly fixed that when
he had the house built Hon. Isaac
Buchanan was in everything a disciple
of the old European style. There does
not seem to be a thing m the place in
which it was possible at ull to make a
curve that is not curved, and with the
Gothic curve, too. Fire places, win-
dow arches, windows, doors and even
celling decorations are all the same
and the impression is more pleasing

than otherwise.

* • *

Hon. Isaac Buchanan, whose name
and memory are so closely linked to
the past history of Hamilton, is dead
— long since gathered to his fathers.

-f^^^^^a^^^^i^^A^j^MU^im^*

His good wife, who endeared herself
to countless numbers of persons in her
life time, has also gone to her reward,
and for many years now the old Buch-
anan homestead has been that in name
only. Auchmar they called the house
and Clalrmont park distinguished the
cool, shady grove surrounding the
house. The whole place was vacant
for several years after the Buchanan
family moved into the city, and then
a cultured English gentleman named
Capt. Trigg became its owner. He has
had repairs made, and while he re-
mains there it is sure that the olden
time beaut> of the place will remain.
* * •
Almost the first thing that is calcu-
lated to impress one when approach-
ing Clalrmont park is the massive
stone wall surrounding the grounds.
From a distance it gives the impres-
sion of a little walled fort. And,
strangely enough, in the whole wall
there Is not an angle, every change
in direction being arrived at by a
graceful curve, which, though it wast-

ins'

red herself
sons In her
ner reward,

old Buch-
lat In name

the house
uished the
[nding the
uras vaoant

Buchanan
and then
nan named
er. He has
hlle he re-
the olden
fill remain.

t Is calcu-
approach-
e massive
le grounds,
the Impres-
ort. And,
whole wall
ry change
at by a
gh it wast-

HISTORIC HOMES ON THE MOUNTAIN

ed ground space, greatly added to the
general beauty of the place. In keep,
ing with the massive wall surrounding
the grounds, there is not an entrance
to the house, either by window or
door that is not securely guarded by
iron bars, which, in this day, give one
the idea of a prison, but which, no
doubt, at the time the house was
built, were regarded as quite the proper
thing in the line of safety. It was

and gold ornamentation. Across the
hallway from this la the ball room.
Capt. Trigg does not use this room as
a ball room any more. It has become
his preaching room, and for a consid-
erable time he held religious service
there every Sunday.

The same scale of magnificence that
marks the arrangement of everything

iiiiiii

THE BUCHANAN HOMESTEAD.

all right then; it looks strange now.
The eastern entrai^ice to the house is
next the conservatory, and the visitor
is at once ushered into a most cathe-
dral-like main hallway running the
full length of the house, east and west,
from the conservatory at one end to
the reception and ball room at the
other, making a full distance of per-
haps 80 feet. The hall is cathedral-
like because its celling is Gothic. Nor
Is It gloomy, as one might imagine.
The effect is not gloom; it is some-
thing different— a dim, religious light.
• * •

At the western end of the hall is the
reception room, and a beautiful room
it is, with its grreat windows opening
out on the grounds, its curiously carv-
ed window arches and its rich white

on the upper floors applies to the
basement, which, as Capt. Trigg says,
is roomy enough to hide a whole regi-
ment of soldiers and still have space
for more. There are great vaults and
roomy store rooms beneath the whole
house, and the construction work
down there is on a par with that In
every other part of the place.
• • *
Hon. Isaac Buchanan was a msLn
who was daring in enterprise and as
successful as he was daring. Nor did
the marks of his individuality cease
there. He was peculiar, in his unlim-
ited generosity and perhaps no man
ever gave more genuine pleasure and
enjoyment In the distribution than did
he. When he oame to Hamilton it
was as the partner and Canadian rep-

!ii; ,i

i!;w)

I i J

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

'%'Kv

~JJI^.

FOR THE BIRDS AT AUCHMAR.

resentatlve of a great firm of Scotch
merchants. He helped to make not
only this city, but this country, what
it is to-day. His was one of the first
voices raised in approval of the G.
W. R. enterprise, and he became one
of the. directors of that rcid. He was
always giving to the churches and re-
ligious objects, and his gift of a thous-
and pounds for the establishment of
branches of the Free Church of Scot-
land in Canada will be long remem-
bered. In 1837 he was a prominent
figure in the quelling of the Macken-
zie rebellion, and for several years he
represented Hamilton in the house of
parliament. His last appearance in
political lir was in 1865, when he was
opposed by Major McElroy. The elec-
tion continued two days and the vot-
ing was open. At the close of the
poll on the second day Mr. Buchanan
was ahead by 14 votes and a protest
was entered. Before anything was
done In It, however, he resig^ied and
retired to private life. It was at the
close of election campaigns that
Auchmar was best known by the peo-
ple, (or then It was that Mr. and Mrs.
Buchanan were to be seen at their
best, receiving their friends and mak-

ing them happy. Many has been the
reception to his constituents held in
the park grounds, and many has been
the cheer sent up from the throats of
the hundreds of people gathered for
the success of the man they all loved

and honored.

* * *

Nor has Auchmar been limited as to
guests to the plebeian class, if that
term will be allowed in this age of
democracy. On many an occasion has
its solid walls sheltered and its
charming host and hostess entertain-
ed the great men and women of the
old world. Lord Monck, Col. Lord
Russell, Sir Francis Hincks, Sir Geo.
E. Cartier and many another such
have been honored guests in the now
old house at different times, while Sir
John A. Macdonald was a frequent
visitor there. Nor is this all, for it
is said that during the time Imme-
diately following the unfortunate
Ridgeway affair the wounded men,
who happened to come that way,
were taken in and sheltered, and dur-
ing the time the regulars were sta-
tioned In the city the officers had no
better entertainers than the master
and mistress of Auchmar. The master

HISTORIC HOMES ON THE MOUNTAIN

died on Oct. 1, 1883,
lives after him.

but his name

Away back of the Buchanan home-
stead, several concessions south, there
is an old, weather-beaten frame build-
ing: which is best known as the Rymal
homestead and which marks the birth,
place of Honest Joe, whose name is as
well known In county politics as the
alphabet to the school children. The
old place stands on a hill and overlooks
broad acres of fertile roliingr land on
all sides. Old Jacob Rymal, the build-
er of the place, came to this country in
th« very early years of the present
century, and he was of sturdy United
Empire Loyalist stock. The first house
he lived in was one of the original log
dwellings of which so few are left.
Then as things prospered he built the
frame clapboard structure. Beyond
the fact that the house was the home

of Honest Joe, it Is famous for but
one thing. Grandfather Jacob Rymal
and William Lyon Mackenzie were fel.
low members of the Upper Canada
house of parliament and friends. At
the time when Mackenzie started his
famous rebellion In Toronto in ]G37 the
Rymal house came into soma promin-
ence. When William Lyon was
beaten at Toronto and had to run for
his life, he came through the woods
to the house of his friend, Jacob
Rymal. There he was sheltered for an
hour or two and furnished with a
horse. On. this horse he escaped by the
old Indian trail road to Niagara and
the American side. It is not on record
whether he returned the horse or not.
Descendants of the Rymal family still
occupy the old house, and it looks as
if it would continue to be the Rymal
homestead for some years to come
yet. J. E. W.

been the
held in

has been
throats of
hered for

all loved

ited as to
if that
age of
asion has

and its
entertain-
en of the
!ol. Lord

Sir Geo.
her such
the now

while Sir
frequent
all, for it
ne imme-

fortunate
led men,
hat way,

and dur-
were sta-
rs had no

e master

he master

RYMAL HOMESTEAD.

! M

S I

( J

.•a

CHAPTER X

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY

ARDLT would a
person go Into a
burying ground
on pleasure bent,
and yet that la
what artist and
writer did In their
pleasureable task
of delving among
ruins. Just a bit
tired o<f the coun.,
try side and
wanting a breathing spell before start,
Ing out from the city in other direc-
tions for new llelds of research, they
have taken a day off, and in among
the tombs of worthies long since dead
have sat them down upon old moss-
grown stones to think and muse a
while. But not In the modern city of
the dead has their leisure hour been
spent. Rather where graves have lost
all likeness to their former selves;
where tablets lie about In rare con-
fusion, not one among a score serv-
ing its proper office, marking the spot
particular where this or that one lies;
and where the careless hand of time,
unchecked, has done its wrecking
work, making the former well-kept
ground a wilderness where none would
go of choice, save those who love the
night and deeds of darkness.
• • *
And this spot lies within the city
limits, out on the King street road, as
It dips into the deep ravine of the
Dundas marsh to the west. It is the
old Roman Catholic burying ground,
first used about the year 1850, and left
to ruin and decay in 1875, Just 21 years
ago. Those years have done their
work of mischief with the place, and
it is to-day all over just what the
picture shows it in a single spot.
Many a stone lies broken on the
ground, many a grave is sunken In.
Some of the bodies have been taken
to the newer cemetery across the bay;
others are there still, as if no friend

were left alive among their kin to
care for human clay. For years the
clergy of the Roman Catholic church
have tried to Impress upon their
people that these bodies should be re-
moved, but still some are there in
spite of pleas and protestations. The
place is no longer guarded, fences are
down and vandal hands have aided in
the general work.

The picture shows a vault — the only
one — its side walls crumbling In, Its
door of Iron bars loose, hanging on
its hinges and from above Its portal a
nameplate gone. It was the last long
resting place of the Larkln family,
but since Its dead have been removed
Its purpose seems to be to serve the
ends of vagrants, thieves and others,
fearful not of spirits, man or Deity.
More than one criminal has found
refuge in Its long, narrow cells where
once has lain a body, stilled In death;
more than one vagrant tramp has
sought its shelter In the storms of
winter, glad enough of even such a
hiding place from the cutting, chilling
blast.

Thanks to the good records kept, it
Is not a trying task to tell all about
the burial places of the Roman Catho-
lics of the city. The books go back
to 1838, and from then on till about 1850
it will be a surprise to many to know
that the dead found their last resting,
place beneath St. Mary's cathedral.
Not so very long ago a great pile of
bones was taken from the ground In
excAvatlng a furnace cellar in the
basement, and they were relnterred
with reverential care In another spot.
In 1849 Bishop Gordon, of the cathe-
dral, began an agitation for a ceme-
tery ground, and the record says that
on the day of Aug. 19, 1849, he called
together the following influential mem-
bers of his congregation to deal with
the matter: J. G. Larkln, Timothy
Murphy, Donald Stuart, J. L. Egan,
C. J. Tracey, Maurice Fitzpatrick, Wm.

ON THE OUTSKIUTS OK THE CITY

inr^.:

OLD BARTON STONE CHUUCH.

Harris, Charles Warmall, Timothy
Brick, T. Clohecy, John O'Grady, Den-
nis Nelligan, Thomas Beatty, Neal
Campbell and S. McCurdy. These men
were constituted a cemetery commit-
tee, and, not coming to any satisfac-
tory agreement with the City qouncll
for the purchase of a part of the gen-
eral cemetery ground, they purchased
the King street site from Richard
Blaekwell. The record goes on and tells
of all the Interments, with very full
description of each person buried. It
was then the beginning of cholera time
and page after page Is filled with
names of victims of the dread scourge.
Those were the days when doctors'
certificates were not required in cases
of death, and in many a case the cause
of death is recorded in the book "un-
known." Judging from the large
number of cases recorded "smother-
ed," it looks as if the day of "heart
disease" recording had not arrived. In
1874 the cemetery had served Us time
and a new one was opened across the
bay — one of the prettiest and best
equipped to be found anywhere. The
church still owns the King street
ground, but has no use for it. It is

for sale, and the day may yet come
when the plow will remove ali trace
of grave and monument, and garden
stuffs will grow where grave grass

once did flourish.

• * *

Writing of burying grounds and
their surroundings, there is another
one worth considering quite near the
city on the mountain top. It Is the
old Barton stone church premises on
the back road over the mountain. Both
church and burying ground are his-
toric In their way. At the time the
church was built, somewhere about
1822, the road on which it was situated
was the main highway of the county
from Ancaster way to Niagara Falls.
Over that road in even earlier years
the Indians had traveled, it being, In
fact, the original Indian trail. Staunch
U. E. Loyalist families, including the
Muirheads, Bonds, Kerns, Flllmans,
Frenchs, Gourlays and others had set-
tled about this place, and they con-
ceived the Idea of building a meeting-
house for themselves. They clubbed
together and held building bees. In
this way the stone was quarried, haul-
ed, put in place and- the church edifice

WKNTWOUTH LANDMARKS

built. At that time the now aged
end revered Canon Bull, of Niagara
Falls, was a student at college, and
Dean Gteddes was In ofTlce in the city
below the mountain brow. The then
new church became a part of his
charge and for some time he supplied
its pulpit. Then Canon Bull was or-
dained for the priesthood of the
church, and this became his charge.
There was nothing very remarkable
about the history of the place. The
little ones— now the men and women

cemetery around It Is well filled with
graves and the headstones tell of lives
passed out Into the great eternity both
years ago and in recent dates. Amongst
the most ancient are the FlUman plot,
1822, and the French plot, 1825. An old-
fashioned stone fence surrounds the
church and cemetery, and the whole
place bears the stamp of historic In-
terest. It is a dearly loved spot to all
the old residents, and they all still
speak with reverence of the old stone
church of Barton on the mountain.

i ! t

■

i I

THE BREWBKY THAT WAS.

workers of Holy Trinity church — were
christened there, they were some of
them married there, and others of them
were laid beneath the sod there. W.
Muirhead, who is one of the few old
ones left, remembers the church In Its
prime. His daughter played the
organ and the choir used to meet at
his house once a week for practice.
Then there came a time when the peo-
ple began to populate further east,
and it was decided to build another
church in that direction. This was done
and the old church was closed about
twenty years ago. To-day its windows
are boarded up, its walls are showing
the effects of Time's destroying hand,
and as each year passes it will become
a more and more interesting relic of
the days and times that were. The

From a cemetery to a church, and
from the church to an old brewpry
seems a rather peculiar line of fh; .
slon, but it means nothing. hey an
all In the relic and nii and to-

day around the old \ uin mem-

ory is Just as swet . wholesome

as it is about the ch 1 or cemetery,
at least In the minds . some i)eople.
The old brewery relic is dow in the
valley at the Junction of Wain and
King streets in the west end of the
city, and it is rapidly disappearing.
The ruin is so old that it is a hard
matter to get any authentic informa-
tion as to its inception as a beer maji-
ufactory. It has changed hands many
times, too, and so far as history goes
back, every proprietor seems to have
been a German. The place is certain-

^1'

filled with
»I1 of Uvea
rnlty both
. Amongst
Iman plot,
6. An old-
lunds the
the whole
Istoric In-
ipot to all
f all still
old stone
iintaln.

P-

lih

^>k:

?v*S(lI^'v

-W-

lurch, and
J brewery

of ?!'1('(

hey as.
and to-
uin mem-
vvholesome
cemetery,
Tir people,
in the
Main and
nd of the
appearing,
is a hard
informa-
beer man-
.nds many
story goes
8 to have
is certain-

^' ,

/•^

iii

iki

' ;

'iln^

;if

! I

:3il

'][ !

i i«

!li

'1^

ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY

ly much over 50 years old, ahd It was
in operatiow up to within fifteen years
ago, John Eydt being the last proprie-
tor. Twenty-nine years ago the pro-
prietor was Edmund Ekhardt. That
was Just at the close of the stay of
the rifle brigade here, and for two
years previous to that time it had
been vacant. The quality of the beer
made there was such that the place
was a regular hangout for the sol-
diers when off duty. Eckhardt died
by an accident, falling from his deliv-
ery wagon and breaking his neck. His
widow aiterward married Archie
Coutts, the hackman, being still mis-
tress of his house. The glory of the
brewery v. as Its beer. There are men
in the city to-day who delight to tell
of their experiences up there. When
the place was in its prime it was the
most popular resort for miles around.
The grounds around it were well kept
and the proprietor had a large space
fixed up as a summer garden. There
the young men of the city used to as-
semble and drink beer that was beer,
so they say. They could get half a

gallon of it for 10 cents, and when they
finished it they were Just as sober
and as bright as when they started.
It was beer made out of barley and
hops, pure and simple, and the people
liked it. The entrance to the garden
was by a vine-covered arch, and over
the arch was a big sign which read,
"Positively no beer sold on Sunday."
It what the men who patronised the
place say is true, there never was a
place In the city before, nor has there
been one since, that could equal it.
There is little of it left to-day. The
picture shows the ruin ana in a few
years It will all be gone. The ground
now belongs to the Pattison estate,
and is used as pasture land. The
place is said to have been built by a
German named Muntzeimer, and
among the men who ran it afterward
were Messrs. Beck, Schwartz, Schuch,
Fletcher, Ekhardt and Eydt. It Is
now a pretty ruin and many amateur
photographers have taken snap shots
of it to add to their collections.

J. E. W.

i -it

^<'^\,^

THE OLD OHOLUHA CKMETEHY ON THE HEIOHTB.

i;!i

CHAPTER XI

BURLINGTON HEIGHTS

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Nil

Not anywhere else In or near the
city of Hamilton is it at all likely
that a more historically gruesome
ground can be found than that around
Eurlington Heights and the Desjar-
dins canal. Nor is it likely that in
any other district of similar size here-
abouts so much money has been spent.
And all this is simply in the tale of
the last half century — not going back
to the times before Hamilton was.
The other day a farmer, plowing In a
field on the side of the heights over
the canal, unearthed a skeleton. Un-
doubtedly it was that of an Indian:
possibly that of a warrior, and if rec-
ords only went back far enough the
story of the hills might be one of wars
and conflicts, of tribe extinctions and
horrible butcheries; for the heights
have ever been regarded as an unusu-
ally fine strategic point, and for that
purpose they were undoubtedly used.
But their more modern day history is
sufficient in itself for a chapter In
melancholy and figures, and it can
best be started off by a sketch of the
canal— that canal which is the God-
given right of the Dundas man, and
which, from its inception to the pres-
ent time, he has guarded with the
same care he would his purse.

Somewhere about the year 1816 the
government granted a royal charter
for the cutting of a channel through
the Beach at the lake end of Hamil-
ton bay and another one of the same
kind for a canal through Burlington
heights and up to the town of Dun-
das. Those were the days when steam
power for general use was a visionary
project and when nearly all carrying
was done by sailing vessels and canal
boats. For that reason the cutting
of the Canal to Dundas was a wonder-
ful thing for the town, as it made it
the head of navigation and brought
all kinds of boats to its very doors,
metaphorically speaking. But though

the charter was granted in 1816, the
work was not completed In iS3?, and
when it was done it was in a veiy
different way than appears to-day.
Persons traveling out the town line
road north of the present canal bridge
will have noticed the apparently clear
waterway turning north some distance
from the present canal outlet. This
waterway is crossed by the taw a line
road and further north again by the
London division of the Grand Trunk
system, and further to the north and
east again by the Toronto branch
tracks of the same railway. The old
waterway, which can readily be traced
by its clearness and freedom from the
ever-present rushbeds, was the orig-
inal course of the canal, which found
Its outlet Into the bay at a point be-
hind the Valley Inn and at the place
Where the Toronto branch tracks run
along on the high embankment. Get-
ting into the bay there the channel
wound its way due south, being span-
ned by a swing bridge where the pres-
ent plains road bridge crosses It, and
getting out into deep, clear water past
the point of land at Bayview. It was
a circuitous, winding way, but the eas-
ier way, from an engineering sitand-
polnt, there being no great hills \.o cut
through. By this way the commerce
of the great lakes came and went to
Dundas town, and Dundas town, in
consequence, began to feel very much
up on itself.

* « *

Next to earthquakes they do say that
railway engineering and buildings are
the best medium for changing the
topography of a country. People in
Hamilton will readily admit that the
building of railways about and in this
city has done a wonderful lot to make
differences in the looks of things, and
the same can truthfully be said of the
Burlington heights region. In the
early days of the winding Dundas
canal there were no railways. Had
there been it is not likely there ever

M:i

BURLINGTON HEIGHTS

1816, the
iS3?, and
I a veiy
s to-day.
;own line
nal bridge
ntly clear
e distance
let. This
tawn line
In by the
nd Trunk
north and
:o branch
The old
be traced
from the
the orig-
lich found
point be-
the place
racks run
ent. Get-
channel
ing spam-
the pres-
?s it, and
i^ater past
It was
t the eas-
ig sitand-
ills io cut
commerce
went to
town, in
ery much

say that
dings are
Ing the
eople in
that the
Id in this

to make
ings, and
id of the

In the
r Dundas
Had
lere ever

o
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WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

would have been a canal. But there
were no railways, and the canal was,
and so long as the railways stayed
away Dundas and the canal had their
Inning:. When the railway came it was
different. This was in the beginning
of the flftiefl, and the railway in pros-
pect was the 'reat Western. It want-
ed to get into the city of Hamilton and
the city wanted it to come. These two
things being so, nothing like an old
canal outlet was going to make any
difference. The picturesque turning,
winding channel must be blocked.
Railway engineers figured that it would
be cheaper to close up the old outlet
than bridge it, even if it was necessary
that a new outlet should be cut, Just
the canal width at some other point
through the hill. With this end in view
negotiations were commenced with the
canal company. The proposition was
that the railway was to be allowed to
fill in the old outlet and cut a new
one, which would make the canal pas-
sage very much shorter (the present
outlet). For shortening up the arti-
ficial waterway the railway received
no less than $65,000 from the canal
company, and this was merely a small
part of the amount required to finish
the work. Figures are not obtainable
as to the actual cost of filling in the
ravine and old outlet of the old canal
and making the new canal, but
it must have been enormous. It is
known and remembered that the fill-
in of the old canal bed was a long
and tedious work, the marsh being ex-
tremely absorbent just there, taking
In all kinds of things and still show-
ing nothing for it.

Then it was that the face of nature
around the heights began to change.
The railway ran along the east side of
the hills and on the top was the King's
highway. At the new canal outlet the
canal company built a bridge on the
high level, one long suspension span,
a picture of which is shown with this
article. The railway company, too,
built a bridge at a much lower level —
a swing bridge, so as to allow vessels
to pass through the canal to the
metropolis — Dundas. This was about
the year 1853, and it was from this
time that the day of Dundas began to
decline. With the railway it was
easier, and in the end cheaper, to do
shipping from Hamilton, and the swing
bridge at the canal making It incon-

venient at times for vessels to get into
the canal, they gradually came to
make Hamilton their stopping point.
Of course, Dundas people did not like
this, but there did not seem to be any
way for them to stop it. However,
there came a day when, so it was said,
they saw a chance to have their re-
venge on both railway and city in an
indirect way. In 1857, during a high
wind storm, one August night, the high
level suspension bridge across the
canal was blown down. Then to get
into Hamilton it was necessary to
drive around by Dundas, and the Dun-
das people were not slow to see that
if the farmers could be persuaded in
some way to come there instead of to
Hamilton it would be a good thing for
them. They had to rebuild the high
level bridge, but they did it in such
a way, and after it was built kept It
in such state of repair that people had
no vivid hankering for driving over it.
This was the argument used in court
when the Hamilton and Milton Road
company went to law with the canal
company, and there were many peo-
ple who believed it.

The legal action arose in this way:
The toll road company, using the high
level road and bridge, discovered that
owing to the bad condition the bridge
was in it was losing business, farmers
going around by Dundas. The canal
company did not seem anxious to
make the necessary repairs' and finally,
after a long continued argument, the
toll company purchased and secured
privileges over land along the east of
the hill. Its intention was to make a
new road there, cross the canal with
a low level, permanent bridge and go
around the heights to the north on
either side. In fact the work pro-
gressed to the bridge before any op-
position came, and then the canal
people kicked. A. injunction was se-
cured and the work stopped while
the matter was fought out In the
courts. It was said that the Great
Western railway people had combined
with the toll road company and ad-
vanced $15,000 to defend the toll com-
pany's action, it being understood that
the railway hoped, by the success of
the toll company in getting a perman-
ent bridge across to do away with its
swing bridge, which was a nuisance,
and substitute a permanent one. But
the time was not just then ripe, and
the canal company won its case, the
toll road company being ordered for

BURLINGTON HEIGHTS

the time being to stop its low level
bridge work. This was in 1871.

The low level bridge work, however,
was far enough completed to allow
traffic over it, and traffic there was, as
two men, at least, have every reason
to know. The structure was of wood
and close to the railway bridge. It
was a shaky affair at best, and In
crossing one had to drive most care-
fully. On March 16, 1874, two men

ceased to be the promenade of masted
vessels of merchandise. And this
brings ordinary history to present
date, though even now they will not
leave things as they are. and by the
coming of the T., H. and B. another
high level road bridge la to come,
while a second low level railroad bridge
takes Its place.

But there is another history of the
bridges. It is told in the Issue of the

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THi: NEW T. H. & \\. lUUDOE OVEU THE CANAL-THE PKESENT KOAD BKIDQB AND
G. T. K. intlDGE IN THE UACKGKOUND.

from Carlisle, John Moore and Francis
Gray, had been in the city with loads
of wood. Driving down the hill on
their return with their heavy wagons
they went onto and through the
frail bridge structure, landing in
the canal. Three of the horses were
drowned and the fourth had to be shot.
The men were not seriously hurt. In
the same year, by act of parliament,
the road company was allowed to cross
the canal by a low level, permanent
bridge and the old high level bridge
was torn down soon afterward. Of
r-ourse, a permanent railway bridge
followed, and from that day the canal

Spectator for March 13, 1857. On
March 12 of that year, early in the
e\ ening, the train on the Great West-
ern, Toronto branch, went through
the bridge and down into the canal,
which was covered with a two-foot
coat of ice. There were 95 persons on
the train, and of that number at least
61) were either killed, drowned or died
shortly afterward from injuries re-
ceived. It was an appalling railway
horror, and sk) far as the evidence
went before the coroner's jury there
seemed to be no one to directly blame.
As nearly as can be made out the
engine left the track just before it

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WfiNTWORTH LANDMARKS

reached the bridge, running into the
structure on the ties and breaking it
through. A broken axle was said to
have been the real cause and the jury
blamed no one. So terrible was the
accident that people all over America
were Interested in the details, and.
Frank Leslie's Illustrated, of April 4
of that year, contained a long illus-
trated account of it, referring to it as
the moat awful railway catastrophe
the world had at that time ever seen.
The letter press of the report was
taken from the daily issues of the
Spectator, and they vividly describe
the fatality in all its harrowing de-
tails. The Illustration here shown is
from a wood cut In the New York
weekly. The Coroner's jury was sit-
ting on that accident for over a month,
holding sessions one might say daily.
On March 22, less than two weeks
after the accident, a new bridge was in
place, tested and in operation. Fol-
lowing the accident also came the
statement that the government in-
tended introducing a bill at the next
session of parliament to provide for
the inspection of all railways by gov-
ernment engineers. Newspaper re
ports of the time also state that after
the new bridge was put in running
order many railway passengers re-
fused to ride over it and the trainfi
were stopped to let those people get
out and walk across. Since then there
have been several other railway hor-
rors, not on the bridge, but in that
vicinity, and for this the locality has
become unenviably famous.
• • •

If there is any place about the city
where spirits should come from theii
graves at midnight and flit about in
the darkness it is the heights. Just as
If the loss of life there by railway hor-
rors was not sufficient, there is a bury,
ing ground there— away up on the high

level to the north of the canal. This
bleak, barren looking spot is the lasi
resting place of countless cholera vic-
tims who died in the city of the dreaa
scourge in the years 1849 and 1854. Nu
drearier spot could be found for a
burying ground. Perhaps a dozen flr
trees are there; stunted and forlori
looking, their branches sighing in the
wind as in keeping with the eternal
fitness of things. To the west from the
cemetery the marsh lies in the hollow
and the snakelike canal shows Itself
through the rush bed maze. Mists
rise from the dead waters In early
morning and night and malaria and
fever seem to breed there. Not a head
stone shows in the cemetery; even the
fences are down. "What are these
little hills, papaV" asked the Spectator
artist's little girl as she jumped from
one to another. "They are graves,"
she was told, and at once she stopped
her jumping and was serious. "And
what are those holes? ' she asked again,
pointing, to somewhat larger hollows.
"They are graves, too," was the re-
ply. "That big hole, too?" she queried
again. In wonderment, pointing to a
hollow fully fifteen feet square. "Yes."
"Oh, papa, nobody ever was as big as
that," she replied. Incredulous.

Innocent little thing. She did not
know that In that dread time though
at first the dead wagon came over from
the city with one body at a time, the
day soon came when they were taken
in twos and threes, and finally In cart
loads, to be dumped in great holes and
covered up. And there the mounds
and holes are still, mute references to
that awful time when the death-tipped
wand of pestilence was held above the
city. This, In brief. Is the history of
the heights, not perhaps complete in
detail, but fairly correct In general
outline. J. E. W.

^'J ) mi

the canal. This

spot is the las I
less cholera vic-
city of the dreaa
849 and 1854. Nu

be found for a
laps a dozen fir
ted and forlori
s sighing in the
Ith the eternal
le west from the
es in the hollow
lal shows itself
1 maze. Mists
aters in early
id malaria and
ere. Not a head
letery; even the
hat are these
;d the Spectator
le jumped from
iy are graves,"
nee she stopped

serious. "And
she asked aerain,

larger hollows.
" was the re-
o?" she queried

pointing to a

square. "Yes."
• was as big as
!dulous.

She did not
id time though
came over from

at a time, the
ley were taken

finally in cart
irreat holes and
the mounds
e references to
le death-tipped
held above the

the history of
3s complete in
;t In general
J. E. W.

NORTH OF HAMILTON BAY

The Valley Inn and the Old Channel Through the Heights.
^ Brown's Wharf. ^ By Medad's Marshy Shores. ^
Remains of a Prehistoric Indian Village. .^ Relics From
its Ossuaries. j» Legends of the Lake.

tt m

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CHAPTER XII

NORTH OF HAMILTON BAY

lil

OTHING can be
truer than this,
that in the his.
tory of the In-
animate as well
as animate, the
phr a s e holds
good, "Each gives
place to each."
There never was
anything so good
but that some,
thing better was
born to supersede
it. It is this con-
dition that causes ruins, and the point
is so happily illustrated in the
scene of the initial letter. It is the
heights north of the canal mouth as
It appeared not long ago. The old
frame building in the back ground
was once the home of a man who is
now living in a city residence much
more pretentious; the pile of stone
blocks in the foreground is all that is
left of the old suspension bridge so
much talked of. They were the anchor
stones of one of the cables. There are
better ways of building bridges now,
and men have laid the piers deep in
the rock on either side of the cut and
erected a newer, more modern piece of
. bridge construction. But one other evi.
dence of the old days remains there.
That is the telegraph poles and wires,
the latter strung across the chasm,
and at that point ever humming
mcurnfully, no matter how zephyr-like
the breeze may be elsewhere.

where the water came from, bubbling
perhaps from some natural spring or
leaking out in a hundred places from
some broad marsh land.

That same spirit of exploration came
over this man when first he saw that
arm of Hamilton bay, leading up
through dense rush beds, past the Val-
ley Inn, spanned by two bridges and
losing Itself somewhere away north-
east between the hills. One knows It
must come from somewhere, and that
it is not mere stagnant bay water,
wandered up the valley and lost. It
has a current, which the open water-
way through the rush bed shows, and
the current must have a starting
point. But inviting and beautiful as
that place is now in summer, it was
a veritable paradise for the exploring
youngster many years ago, before the
old canal mouth was closed up and
the railway ran across there. In those
davs there were two ways to go If
one did not care for the northeast trip
he could turn northwest and find him-
self In the maze of the great Dundas
marsh, shut in all about by the giant
hills. Now the railway fill spans that
gap, and though the open water-way
leading past the Valley Inn has never
become weed-choked, it leads but to
the steep bank of the fill-in. It is a
peaceful looking little place, that Val-
ley Inn. nestling at the water's edge
in the valley, just at the junction of
all traveled roads, and there Is a good
deal of what is known as that sweet
calm In the lives of Its Inhabitants.

When this man was a small boy he
was like nearly every other small boy
— most heartily fond of exploration.
Around the home of his childhood were
innumerable creeks and streams, some
navigab'e on an inch plank, others
only by bare legs. Those creeks and
Btrean'S led somewhere, and into the
heart of great shady forests this man
would wade till he found the place

There are two wavs of describing
locations in the country north and
west of Hamilton. Either a place is
on the hill or In the valley; there is
nothing on the flat, because there Is
no flat, speaking topographically of
the land. The heights, where the
winds blow, the vales, where streams
flow, and you have it all. And if it Is
a mill of any sort that has to be lo-

NORTH OF HAMILTON BAY.

I t !

AT THE VALLEY INN.

cated the water-fed valley is sure to
be the spot. All the valleys have their
distinctive names, and one of them,
north of the bay, is called Apple-
garth's hollo K'. Applegarth may have
owned a few hills as well, but they do
not christen the hills. This hollow, of
course, has its stream (perhaps It Is
the stream that runs into the bay
past the Valley Inn), and it also has
its mill. That mill is one of the most
picturesque pieces of ruin to be found
anywhere about the country. It was
built some time long enough ago to
have had several owners and pass
Into the ruin stage some ten or twelve
years ago. Its stone walls are actual-
ly falling to pieces, and yet Insids
there is a full and complete milling
plant, looking as if it was waiting for
the owner to come along, open the big
sluice-gate, let In the rushing stream
to turn the big wheel and start it all
going. But that will never happen
Its day is done, and a few more years
at most will see it a pile of rubbish.

Last spring, when the freshets came,
the water rushed in on the great wheel,
filled the wheel-pit and out came a
great block of stone from the build-
ing's side. Another and another fol-
lowed, and in a few hours fhe world,
or that portion of It that chose to
come and look, could see the ponderous
wheel through the hole, hanging for-
lorn-looking and still, save for the
water-drip from Its paddles. To-day the
ice king has the old wheel bound fast,
and the wheel-pit Is hung with glit-
tering crystals.

John Applegarth, one of the original
settlers in that district, built the mill,
and for years ran it. Since then it
has had several masters, but none bet-
ter than its first. John Applegarth was
known the country over as a white
man. He was one of those men not
now often found, who, if a man came
to him for work, would never turn
him away. If he had no work for him
to do he would give him a Job any-
way and start some new work to keep
him going. He and his sons had a
grocery and bakery in Hamilton,
where they disposed of the products of
the mill. The family is all scattered
now — most of them in California,
one In England, and one, a daughter.
In Hamilton on a visit. Close by the
mill in the valley is a great elm tree.
It has three giant trunks, springing
from one parent shoot at the ground
surface. It knows all the history of
the valley, for it was born there. It
must know something of the hill-top
history, too, for for many years its
topmost branches have been kissed by
the sunshine before it threw its beams
over the hill. The trees are among the
most enduring of nature's many short-
lived creations and more enduring
than man's best effort; If they could
but speak!

* • *

There is no one who has lived in
Hamilton a summer who has not
heard of Brown's wharf. If there was
nothing else by which It might be
identified than a half sunken pile,
water washed and weather beaten, it

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I M i

WENTWOKTH LANDMARKS

would still be Brown's wharf, and for
the reason that It has a past history.
There was a time, not so very many
years ago, when the old wharf was a
busy place, both winter and summer.
It was built somewhere about forty
years ago by Alexander Brown, an
early settler, and it soon became the
shipping point for the whole country
north of the bay. Those wore the
days when the Ontario Navigation

for many men, but the day of coal
came and the cutting of wood ceased.
The steamers Ocean and Persia were
two Hamilton boats which clung to
wood for fuel purpo.ses for a longer
time than any others. Of course the
wharf was a great shipping point. Be-
fore the Intercolonial railway was
built Sir William Rowland's flour mills
at Waterdown were supplying a great
part of the flour for the maritime prov-

. -* f^ir -J
— . ■' If

■ y

THE OLD APPLEGARTH MILL.

company's steamers (now the Riche-
lieu) came to Hamilton. They were
the days, too, when all the lake boats
burned wood, and as the country
around Hamilton was heavily timber-
ed, they shipped much of the fuel here.
For years Mr. Brown had a contract
with the Richelieu people to supply
their boats with fuel, and In one year
the contract amounted to 4,500 cords.
Other boats wooded up there, too, and
5,000 cords a season was an easy esti-
mate of the amount taken from the
old wharf. The farmers worked at
the wood in the winter, hauling It to
the wharf, where Mr. Brown took
charge of It. It meant employment

Inces, and it was all shipped by boat
from Brown's wharf. Lumber was
another article shipped In large quan-
tities, and among the young men who
earned a living at that business were
the White brothers, one of whom is
now Dr. White, of Hamilton. They
were lumber measurers in those days,
laying fotindations for future great-
ness with measuring sticks in hand.
The lumber wagons, drawn by great
Clydesdale horses, used to come in
trains all the way back of Pusllnch
township, near Guelph. With the big
shipping and the presence of the sail-
ors came that time-honored necessity
— a tavern and a bakery. Their pro-

lay of coal
ood ceased.
Persia were
1 clung to
)r a longer
course the
' point. Be.
illway was
3 flour mills
Ing a great
rltlnne prov-

V- \ 1

-^';#f

ed by boat
imber was
large quan-
g men who
slness were
f whom Is
;on. They
those days,
ture great-
s in hand,
n by great
come In
Puslinch
1th the big
of the sall-
d necessity
Their pro-

NOKTII OF HAMILTOX BAY

prletors did big business while the
boom was on; none when It was over.
To-day the wharf Is getting some-
what dilapidated In appearance. It is
not out of use entirely, this fall be-
tween 15,000 and 20,000 barrels of
apples bc?lng shipped from there, but
It looks as If It had seen better days,
which It certainly has. It Is a good
place for Ashing, and that Is what it

is mostly used for In these days of
its degenerateness. It may have
another busy day; it may not. Hut
whatever happens— whother It has a
second youth or Is wa.shed and beaten
to pieces by wind and wave — It will
always be known in reality, or us a
memory of the past, as Brown's
wharf. .1. K. W.

VIEW ALONG THE 8H0UE OF LAKE MEDAD.

[■■'
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^|!l^

CHAPTER XIII

i'v

III

HY MEDAD'S MAHSIIY SJIORES

ijl!

OME 60 years ago
Richard Thomson,
one of the old
•pioneers of East
■Flamboro, with
•William Rose, an-
■other old resident,
announced to his
•boys, James and
Aleck, the Rice
boys and the
•writer, that they
I would take us to
see Lake Medad.
So on a fine May
I morning we start-
^-d from the front
'edge of his back
j(;>i«''^\»'l..-^'^*' clearing, lot 3,
fouriu concession. On lot 2 we di-
verged Into the forest, and after some
delay struck a faint footpath, which
could not have been retained long If
certain remembered landmarks had
not occasionally appeared on the wind-
ing path. There was a large tree,
whose foundation was on a large rock
about five feet high and whose im-
mense roots reached the ground down
the sides of the rock. Another further
on was our walking through a hollow
tree, and lastly striking a spring, the
rivulet from which they said was one
of the feeders of the lake. On wind-
ing up a hemlock ridge we emerged
from the woods Into a small clearing,
the only house visible being a small log
one surrounded by fruit trees and oc-
cupied by an old colored man named
Solomon, who, from the wonderful
stories and mysterious doings related
to us of him by our guides impressed
us boys as being the embodiment of
his namesake's wisdom.

Some doubt arose then as to where
we should descend a precipitous na-
tural stone cliff that surrounded the
lake on that side, and which probably
was not more than 30 or 40 feet high,
but to our youthful minds was Invest-
ed with the dignity of a mountain.

On gaining the bottom another diffi-
culty arose as to where we should
penetrate the dense forest to strike
the right landing, so as to see the
lake to the best advantage.

At last a log In the. brushwood was
discovered, on which we walked In-
dian file, having had direction to be
careful not to step off It, as the soil
was so treacherous that we might
sink out of sight. Leaving it we
stepped or were lifted across danger-
ous places, and forced our way
through the thick underwood, not ob-
serving the lake till we were within a
few feet of it. Then, as we had
fortunately struck the right wharf or
landing, which was a large prostrate
cedar, fallen, perhaps, In the 1700s,
and fully one-third protruding from
the bushes into the water. Its top
was worn flat by constant use. Here
and there short upright limbs were
found, to which in after years
rafts and boats were tied. (There were
none at that time about the shores.)

The great beauty of the large ex-
panse of clear, bright, spring water
surrounded by the dark green over-
hanging foliage of dense forest, was
a scene never to be forgotten, and
now in after life I confess that no
scene, not even that of Niagara Falls,
could be compared to It. Having no
fishing tackle, we had to content
ourselves with observing the various
shoals of sunfish, shiners and perch,
and then hungry, tired, but happy,
we went home again. LANTERN.

The description above of Lake Medad
ajt it was sixty years ago would not do
as a description for to-day. Not only
has time but farm settlement changed
the appearance of things. Sixty years
ago one had to go through dense woods
to reach the lake from the fourth con-
cession; now it would be necessary to
go a considerable distance out of the
true line to find a woods dense enough

)ther dlffl-

ve should

to strike

) see the

iwood was

miked In-

on to be

IS the soil

ve might

sr it we

as danger-

our way

d, not ob-

e within a

we had

wharf or

prostrate

the 1700s,

ding from

Its top

use. Here

mbs were

;r years

here were

shores.)

large ex-

ing water

Ben over-

>rest, was

tten, and

that no

ara Falls.

laving no

content

le various

.nd perch,

t happy,

KTERN.

ike Medad
uld not do
Not only
t changed
llxty years
nse woods
>urth con-
cessary to
)ut of the
se enough

BY MEDAD's MAUSIIY 8IIOUKS

i^Asi^

Ti'

Q
H

h
O

ill i

Pi^'-'

;' I

ii: iiipl

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

to hide cleared land on its farther side.
There are boats on the lake now and
a wharf. The old cliff spoken of is
still there, but badly disfigured by the
action of both air and light, for the
stone in it is soft. About the lake
now are farm houses and for the most
part well cleared, well tilled farm
lands. Down about the lake edge and
all around is the marsh land, soft and
soggy now as sixty years ago, and this
Is thickly wooded with hemlock, birch
and cedar. Good roads from all parts
of the surrounding country lead to the
place, and it has become a veritable
Mecca for picnic parties during the
summer season.

* * •

Some people have said that Lake
Medad is the basin or crater of some
long extinct volcano, and the forma-
tion pretty well justifies the belief. But
all that must have been in the days
even perhaps before Noah had occasion
to change his business from farming
to navigating. It is a queer fact,
however it may be accounted for, that
the lake basin is placed away up on
the hills behind the valley of the bay,
and that by actual measurement the
hard bottom is not struck until a
depth of nearly 80 feet has been
reached. Of course there is not an 80-
foot depth of water. The water at its
deepest point is never more than 20
feet deep, but tiiere is a substance be-
low the water that is in many places
almost as yielding, and it Is thro"L.n
this substance that the greater aepth
is reached. All around the lake basin
is the marsh or bog land, so soft in
places that at this season of the year
when spring dampness prevails a pole
may be thru>st down into it to almost
any depth with the greatest ease. It
gives one a very insecure sensation to
walk on the spongy substance, but it is
safe enough, there being no record of
anyone ever having disappeared be-
neath its surface.

* * *

Around all places where the original
aborigine of th's country has been
found to have existed, we people of
these latter days have been pleased to
weave all sorts of mysteries and ro-
mances. Lake Medad has not been
left alone in this respect, and the im-
aginative mind will be able to fairly
revel in myth and legend about its
banks, on its placid waters, in its
dense adjoining swamp growth or on
the hill to the south overlooking it all

—that same hill down which Lantern
and his friend clambered some 60 years
ago. For Lake Medad and its imme-
diate vicinity was in one age of the
world's history one of the great gath-
-^rlng places of the original Indian
peoples. They seemed to have been
fascinated with the spot and not only
lived^but buried their dead there. No
doubt they had their legends and stor-
ies regarding its even earlier history
and formation, and it is a pity some
record of their knowledge has not been
handed down to us of this day. As it
is, the place is most interesting to the
relic , anter, and many a valuable In-
dian find has been made around there.
T?ut that is another story.

There is one thing which the trav-
eler to Lake Medad cannot fail to note
as he walks, rides or drives over the
winding road, A short distance be-
yond Waterdown he passes over a
bridge spanning a swift-running creek,
the waters of which are tumbling over
the stones in a mad race for their final
absorption in Hamilton bay. But a
short distance further along the road
he crosses another bridge over another
creek, whose waters are turned in the
opposite direction and seek their out-
let in Lake Medad, Somewhere be-
tween these two points is the great
ridge; the backbone of the hills, mak-
ing the fall north and south. The
waters that tumble into the bay
have this advantage over the
waters flowing into Lake Medad— they
remai'i in full view of all the world
till they reach the ocean.

And now gather the children ubout
in the dusk of the evening, when
creeping shadows grow longer and
longer and the world without looks
weird and gliost-like, and tell them
this, in a deep sepulchral tone and
with eyes wide open: The waters flow
into the lake and are never seen again.
They rush on in high glee, dancing
over the stones in the creek bed,
sparkling in the bright sunlight, play-
ing tag about the little eddies, never
thinking for a moment of their ter-
rible fate until suddenly they find
themselves swallowed up in the lake
expanse and can find no way of es-
cape. Night comes and the wind
jjighs through the marsh trees making
uncanny sounds; the Imprisoned

BY MEDAd's marshy SHOKKS

i;l'

INDIAN KELICS.

1— Clay pipe found at Lake Medad.

2— Totem pipe.

3— Totem pipe of death's head.

4— Brass nug found on 10th conceseion of East Flam-
boro, probably received from a French wriest 200 years
iigo.

5 — Iron bracelet, Lake Medad.
6 — Fl'nti spear head,,') inches long.
7— Heci pipestone necklace, ' *-
8— Blue-green glass bead necklace.
9— Conch shell necklace.

bay
the
id— they
world

n about
when
er and
looks
11 them
e and
ers flow
n again,
dancing
bed,
t, play-
never
eir ter-
ley find
he lake
of es-
le wind
making
trlscned

waters lap the boggy shore in mourn-
.''liI meiancholy; other waters come
rushing in, just as they did, thought-
le.ss and joyous, and they give way,
sinking to the depths, never to be
s.'en again. For though Lake Medad
takes all the waters it can get it
never willingly gives up any, so far
as mortal eye can see. Down below
somewhere there may be an outlet,
and in some dark subterranean pas-
sage, some great fissure in the founda-
tion rocks of the earth, it may escape,
liut to where no one knows. The lake
takes and takes, but never gives.

It has been a popular delusion with
many people that to fall into the lake
meant sure disappearance for good.
'I'liis is not so. Twice In the history
iif this generation have the waters
tlnre claimed human victims, but in
I oth cases the bodies have been yleld-
"il up again after a brief period. In
loth cases the drowned ones were

skaters — boys who ventured on the ice
when it was not safe. In fact the
bog bottom is stable enough to hold
tools that have been dropped in by
the ice cutters during the winter, and
in summer picnic parties go in bath-
ing along the shore without danger
of disappearance in the soft bottom.

When the water-power lur the
Waterdown niill.s began to fail some
years ago it was thought by the
Waterdown peojile that if they dug a
cf.nal from Lake Medad to the Water,
down creeks they would be sure to
have a perpetual and efficient water
supply. So sure were they that the
canal was dug and opened, but the
vain hope of the men who did the
work was never realised. At flrst there
was a great rush of water and every-
thing went well, but very soon th«'
lake level dropped to the level of the
bottom of the canal and no trore water
came. This showed that though many

irr

liiir

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

springs and creeks ran into the lake,
siifficient to keep it full, It would
stand no large draw off and was quite
wt 11 able to dispose of all its own
surplus in its own way, whatever that
way Is. And so the Waterdown people
were disappointed and had to turn to
steam-power for their salvation and
the lake saved Itself. It has to give
up some of itself in the winter time,
thcugh, for there is no ice to the farm-
ers round those parts like Lake Me-
dad ice, and there are busy scenes
there during the ice harvest season.

• * •

And now, in this day, when every-

thing in the shape of natural
beauty is sacrificed for the sake of
utility, some utilitarian has discover-
ed that the bog of the lake is rich with
Portland cement marl, and that there
is enormous wealth in It. A Hamilton
ccmpany has been formed and there
is promise that at some day not far
distant the spoi, so long saved In its
natural beauty, will become the seat
of an industry; that the hand of the
capitalists, careless of everything save
wealth, will destroy the last traces of
original loveliness about the place and
that the Lake Medad of old will live
only as a memory.

J . B. W.

ijl

1— Bone necltlace. Dr. McGregor.

2 — Tally bone, Dr. McGregor.

3— Grooved neclclaco bono, G. Allison.

4— Indian scalps, Lake Medad, G. Allison.
5 -Grey granite axes, early make, Dr. McGregor.
6 — Perforated granite axes, later make, Dr. Mc-
Gregor.

7— Conch shell, breastplate. Dr. McGregor.

8— Curiously marked slate gorget, or breast

plate. Dr. McGregor.
9— Highly polished grueu slate totem, Dr. Mc-
Gregor.
10— Hunting arrowhead.
11— War arrowhead.

natural

sake of

1 discover-

3 rich with

that there

Hamilton
and there
ly not far
.ved in its
e the seat
md of the
thing save
t traces of

place and
a will live

. E. W.

i:^

^i)

Gregor.
)t, or breast

tern, Dr. Mc-

* 1

No w:
The V

And t
■s

Of brf
c

Save
t

try's h
ligible
these t
miglit
multitii
times t
Indian
tribes :
nature,
acres,
life, fu
strange
iug- fro:
— forg-oi
«ere t
tories?
Hwers 1
ijabblin
ping w
and m<
trees ai
liiem.

La Sa

'•»>

lai

CHAPTER XIV

AT-TI-WAN-DAK-O-NI-A

No wigwam smoke is curling there;
The very earth is scorched and bare,
And they pause and listen to catch a

sound
Of breathing life, but there comes not

one.
Save the fox's bark and the rabbits

bound.

— Whittier.

* * *

T-TI-WAN-DAR-
O-NI-A, thou land
of the fierce and
warlike At-ti-

vv a n - d a, r - o n,
where are thy
children now, and
who can write
their nation's his-
tory? If thy
Kreat forest trees,
[with proudly wav.
ling tops with-
IstaiuMng tempest
'blasts of many
centuries, could
only speak their
story it would
enrich the coun-
try's history. Could but a voice intel-
ligible be given the lapping waves of
these thy rnlghty inland waters, tales
might be told to feed the fancy of «
multitude. Tales of life in days and
times unknown, unhuard of; befort^ the
Indian age, when people* of great
tribes now extinct both in name and
nature, peopled thy broad and fertile
acres, lived out their little spans of
life, fulfilled their missions in t.ie
.strange economy of nature and pass-
ing from the stage of action were lost
—forgotten. At-ti-wan-dai-o-ni-a, wiio
were thy peoples? What their his-
tories? And At-tl-wan-dar-o-nt-a an-
swers not, save by the unintelligilii(>
babblings of her many brooks, the lap-
jiing waves along her sandy shores
and mournful mu;5ic from her giant
trees as tempest blasts rush through

ihem.

* * *

La Salle, the lion hearted, brave ex-

plorer, has told of At-ti-wan-dar-o-ni-a.
He penetrated its forests, sailed over
it« waters, and, if history be correct,
actually came to Lake Medad, where
he found a great encampment of its
people. The early Jesuit missionaries
followed and spent long winters in its
great forests, learned the native
language and listened to the old men
of the tribes repeat the stories of their
race as handed to them by their fath-
ers. They listened to the legends, too;
stories of history then grown so anci-
ent that even the Indians themselves
in telling them would not vouch at all
times for their truthfulness. Tliey had
no written language, these early peo-
ples; no way of saving records but by
the telling of the story from father to
son, thus down from generation to gen-
eration until all was lost, save the
scraps gathered by the Jesuits and
other early pioneers and saved by them
in writing. What we know now of
them can be but guessed at by the
relics found within their graves. They
are a race almost entirely lost to his-
tory.

« « *

Authentic records tell us that these
AL-ti-wan-dar-o-ni-a were a mighty
race. They peopled all the land with-
in Niagara's fruitful peninsula and
many miles upon the American side.
It is told that they were warlike, too,
and battled much with tribes upon
the west and sonth of their lands. Yet
they were peaceful with their north-
ern and eastern ri3lghbors, the Hurons
and Iroquois, and would not enter into
conflict with them, gaining for them-
selves by this the name of neutrals.
Though the Hurons and Iroquois were
always at war, it was an understood
tiling that when they met upon At-tl-
wan-dar-on territory both were safe
and no fighting was to be done. But
an evil day came to the Neutrals. They
had practically exterminated a Michi-
gan tribe of Indians in one of their
western raids early in the sixteen'th
century, and in a very few years were

VVEXTWORTII LANDMARKS

EARLY JESUIT MAP.

treated to the same fate themselves.
The Irociuois tiecame jealous of them
and seizing as an excuse for hostili-
ties the fact that the Neutrals had
granted some favor to the Hurons,
made war upon them, practically wip-
ing- them out of existence, at any rate
as an important power. It was thus
in Indian life that each gave place to
each, not in a peaceful way but with
war and bloodshed. It was thus that
the wind-dried, sun-scorched At-ti-
wan-dar-on hunters and warriors of the
peninsula came to be regarded by the
Indian orators of that day as the d&ad
leaves of the forest, withered and scat,
tered abroad. As they had given, so
they took the inhuman, horrible tor-
tures inflicted upon them by their con-
querors with stoical indifference, en-
during without a murmur the pains of
tortiient until, when overcome by sheer
exhaustion, they would fall or become
Insensible and a murderous stone or
tllnt tomahawk would cleave their
skulls.

* « •

The old map printed herewith forms

a link between the busy present and
long-forgotten past about this neigh-
borhood. It is a map made by the
Jesuits and the comments upon it in
the Fr.^nch tongue are those of these
early workers for the church. There
is Lake Erie at the bottom, the wind-
ing Gi-and river to the left, the rush-
ing Niagara to the right and Lake On-
tario on the north, with Hamilton bay
nestling in between. The comments
regarding land and hunting are very
explicit. In the lower left hand cor-
ner, so the map says, there is excellent
land, while higher up it is inclined to
be low and marshy. Away up again
—possibly the land beneath the Flam-
boro heights— the comment is fairly
good land. There is but one villag<.'
marked on the map and it occupies a
position suspiciously close to Lake
Medad. A comment says that ii was
at this village and al)out it that then^
was grand hunting, and this can lie
readily believed, for game of all sorts
—big and little — would naturally seek
Its quiet sides at all seasons as a
watering place.

■PVH

A r--|r-\VA\-DAR-()-Nl-A

present and

this neigh-
ide by the

upon it in
>se of these
irch. There
n, the wind-
't, the rush-
id Lake On-
amilton bay
e comments
ng are very
t hand cor-
i is excellent
5 inclined to
ly up again
h the Flam-
at is fairly

one village
t occupies a
e to Lial<e

that ii was
it that thert^
his can be
; of all sorts
iturally seek
?asons as a

\y\:>\

[\-

!,\

-^s^

h ,1'

-•-'^'.

1, ^^- - •" t£

,;3Ss?i)-t.

■"■' Lift!

i/ii', 1, \\m',P', -^s

-^s

^^:?^

trp=^

'/;/

VlU '

.^, /

ll >

?/ '* <;' <'il

K
O
<;
►J

IHIi

WENTWOKTIl LANDMARKS

.' I ,

I ■ i;

III )

III ^

This bank in which t)he dead were laid
Was sacred when Its soil was ours;

But now the wheat is green and high
On clods that hid the warrior's breast,

A.nd scattered in the furrows lie
The weaponar of his rest.

No man can know Indian history
without a reference to the rel'cs of the
Indian age. No county in Canada is
more prollflc of Indian relics than this
county of Wentworth, and no part of
the county furnishes better results for
the relic hunters than that part now
known as the Flamboros and Beverly.
Not every man has a taste for relic
hunting; with some men It is a mania.
Some of the men with the mania live
about the village of Waterdown and
they have learned to love their pastime
by their visits to Lake Medad and its
vicinity. There are relic collections in
and about Waterdown that are worth
thousands of dollars and will be in-
valuable historically before many
years. For it must be remembered
that as the years have gone by the
old Indian mementos have been un-
earthed rapidly and valuable finds are
even now few and far between. Geo.
Allison is one of the most enthusiastic
of Waterdown's Indian relic hunters
and his collection is one well worth
Bpendlng many hours with. Dr. Mc-
Gregor, the warden of Wentworth
county, is another enthusiastic collect-
or, but he has never yet had time to
get his collection in shape. The late
Luke Mullock, who began collecting in
1865, left another large and Interesting
collection at the time of his death four
years ago.

* * «

But why write of the Indians as a
race that is past and dead? Men in
this day are interested only in person.s
and things that appear as in the pres-
ent. Let the vision of the past en-
shroud you until it lives again in your
minds as an active present. Come in
ycur vision to Lake Medad, and, un-
noticed, watch. This is the year 1600
and the face of the virgin earth is as
yet practically unchanged by mon's
hand or design. A great forest sur-
rounds the little lake, and in the forest
shade roam the animals of the earth-
deer, bears, wolfs, foxes — all these and
others too. The waters of the laki=
sparkle in the sunlight and in its clear
depths reflects the passing cloud, the
faces of the Indians who come to ml)
it of its abundance, or of the many ani-

mals who clamber down the rocky
paths to reach its edge and slake their
thirst. Back from the lake and on
the hill overlooking it from the nortti.
east are habitations. Not houses but
teepees, conical shaped and made of
skins roughly sewn together witli
needles such as are shown In the pii( -
ture. In semi-circle the teepees ai>-
placed, just as the crosses on the pit -
ture show, the only opening being that
toward the lake. It is early fall and
all the villagers are home. The child-
ren play around upon the grass in
nature's garb, the men, too, play and
nature's garb aiorns their persons alsn.
But their play is not the play of child-
ren. They are gamesters, and in theii-
Indian games they risk all they pos-
sess, even sometimes themselves.
Where did they get their gaming
tendencies? No one knows. Mayhaji
'twas born inherent In the human race
frcm Adam's day. At any rate tli ■
Indian was no worse, no better, than
the white man who followed him, in
this particular.

* * *

The women are the only ones at
work. They are also the only ones
who boast of clothing, wearing about
their thighs a skin or woven coverin^^
showing the Inherent shame of Mother
Eve, come down through many cen-
turies. They are seated on the ground
and before them are great rough stones
hollowed out in the center — mortars ii
which the corn is ground and whicli
the picture Illustrates. (Mr. Allison
has a curiosity in his front yard a;
Waterdown to-day in the shape of a
great stone about five feet long and a
foot thick with several mortar holes in
it. It is a relic of this Indian villajr^
locality.) It comes evening in the vil-
lage and the fires are lighted. Why?
To keep away the prowling wolf, the
bear and other animals. The sun goes
down, its last light glinting througli
the forest trees; shadows lengthen, and
in an hour the mournful murmur of
the night breeze is heard gently sway-
ing the tree tops and fanning th''
flames of the camp fires. The moon
comes up In all her silver glory, th.
stars shine brightly, blinking in the
faces of the Indian children lying on
their backs and gazing heavenward in
infantile wonderment at the grand dis.
play. "What are these lights?" they
ask of the old men, and vhe old m^n
answer that they are the lights of the
gr^at spirit land.

A r-Tr-\VAN-I>AK-()-\I-A

the rocky
slake their
le and im

the norlli-
houses bin
made "!
•ther witli
In the pic-
eepees arc
Dn the pii-

belng that
ly fall and

The child-
grass in
>, play ami
ersons alsn.
ly of chlld-
nd in theii
I they pos-
themselvep.
ir gam in 4
Mayha]!
luman rate
y rate th ■
)etter, than
ed him, in

y ones at
only ones
iring about
!n covering.
B of Mother
many cen-
the ground
ough stones
-mortars in
and which
Ir. Alliscm
nt yard at
shape of a
long and a
tar holes in
iian villafT'
in the vit-
ted. Why .'
g wolf, the
he sun goes
ng througli
[igthen, and
murmur ot
ently sway-
fanning tht'
The moon
glory, th'
ing in thf
■n lying on
.venward in
grand dis.
:hts?" they
he old m-r-n
ghts of the

A yelping howl soun^ .rough the
still air, making the .dren shiver.
tlif mothers start and the men look
that their weapons aie at hand. It is
the wolf's snarling cry. The nlgnt
hirds skim swiftly through tht;
phadowed air; they call i. each other
from the trees. There Is a crackling of
branches down by the lake on its
farther side and it tells of some wild
animal disputing human rights to
forest territory, and coming to the lake
for water. The strange, uncanny
sounds of night; the paradox of forest
stillness. Sleep comes and with it rest,
except to him who watches. And this
is At-tl-wan-dar-o-nl-a, in miniature
and In a single phase of life, so many
sided within Its borders.
* * *

Another day comes — another phase
ot life In At-tl-wan-dar-o-nl-a. There
are rushlngs to and fro within the vil-
lage. With paint stones rubbing the
men, the warriors are decorating their
faces. The chiefs are assembling, the
war chant is being sung. A foreign
.southern tribe Is pressing toward the
borders of their land and the signal
for conflict has come. The days of
fasting are over, the chiefs come out
and lead their forces off, through for-
est, up hill and down, along valleys,
free and easy In march while In their
own territory, catlike and wary when
following strange and unknown paths
in the land of the enemy. They meet
in conflict. With stone tomahawk and
cruel flint-headed war arrow they bat-
tle. Here Is a brave In whose breast
an arrow shaft sticks. An At-ti-wan-
dar-o-nl rushes up, pulls it out — head-
less. The jagged flint head remains
within the wound to hurry deatli.

Scalps are torn from heads of dying
warriors, prisoners are taken. The
enemy routed. Homeward they go, re.
joiclng in victory, and long before
they reach the confines of the peaceful
Medad village the children, women
and old men have heard and hurry out
to meet them. For days the song of
victory fills the air and echoes from
the hills. It Is a mournful sound, this
cry of rejoicing, to the sad-hearted
prisoners. They know some awful fate
awaits them and they steel their brave
hearts to meet it. Here Is an At-M-
wan-dar-o-ni-a mother whose only son
was slain In the battle. She picks out
the noblest of the prisoners as a sac-
rifice for his death. The stake !s
driven, the pile of tinder wood piled
high around it. Thel day comes. From
his confinement lashed to a tree and
guarded by the ever watchful braves
the captive is led forth. He is bound
to the stake and the old woman, with
glowing, heated stones, singes his
limbs. He is spit upon, cruel thrusts
are made into his quivering body
with sharp spear points. Hours pass
and still the preliminary torture con-
tinues. Blood streams from the cap-
tive's many wounds, but cry out he
will not. With face firm set and rigid
form he stands voiceless and emotion-
less. At last the fire brand is applied;
quick shoot the flames about his weak-
ening form, the sickening odor of his
burning flesh seems but to add a fury
more Intense to the flendlshness of his
tormentors. His head bends forward,
and as it does the tomahawk crashes
into his skull and all is over. Thus
passes another day, another phase of
life In fair At-ti-wan-dar-o-nl-a.

J. E. W.

PESTLE AND MORTAh (Two Feet in Diameter).
O. A'llison Collection.

CHAPTER XV

'•;

INDIAN IIKI.ICS ANP UKMAINS

,')

! 1

i i

i^l

"A warrior race, but they are gone,
With their old forests, wide anr]
deep;
And we have built our honits upon

Fields where their generations sleep.

Their rivers slake our thirst at noon,

Upon their fields our harvest waves;

Our lovers woo beneath their moon —

Ah, let us spare, at leasit, their

graves."

—Bryant.
* « *

When we left At-ti-wan-dar-o-nl-a
and its people last week there was war
In the land. Victory had come to the
At-tl-wan-dar-ong, and the savagery
of the people was being shown in the
torment to which they subjected their
captives. It reads unreal; pity it were
not. All that has been written, and
more, but poorly describes that bar-
barity characteristic of the Indian na-
ture. But there are other phases of
life In At-ti-wan-dar-o-nl-a more pleas-
ant to view, happier to describe. It is
winter and deep snows cover mother
earth. The forest trees are bare and
the Indians have deserted their teepees
and taken to the lodge houses. These,
built of bark and i^klns, were the rudest
sort of protection from the cold, and
in them lived the population of the vil-
lage. Through those long winter
months the men hunt and the women
and men, too, spend their idle time
making amulets, totems and other
trinkets. The men are fond of smoking,
and their time is spent largely in shap-
ing stone pipes and drilling out their
stems. It is a time of peace within
the village and also a time of suffer-
ing. There are no stovepipes in
the rude lodge house, and from end to
end the air is heavily laden with
pungent smoke from the several fires
smouldering on the hard ground floor.
Eyes may smart, but there is no help
for it unless the suffering one Is will-
ing to rush out In the cold, icy air and
there endure another sort of suffering.
Sometimes the snows are too deep for
hunting, and poverty, even to starva-
tion, comes to the camp. Then again
the life of filth and dirt breeds pestil-

onte, and smallpox carries off Its vic-
tims by the hundred, sometimes de-
vastating every lodge within the na-
tion's limits. No happy life is theirs
at times like these. And this is another
phase of At-ti-wan-dar-on life.

Then came the Jesuits, following
close upon the French explorers, and
the end of Indian life drew near. For
a glittering glasg bead the red miui
would give up in exchange furs and
skins of greatest value. His eye was
always for the bauble, and he had no
real appreciation of commercial val-
ues. In a recent address at a Cana-
dian club banquet Sanford Evans
talked of men being subdued by
nature. In truth this could be said
of Indian character. Of nature the
Indian asked nothing more than he
needed for himself and each day's sub-
sistence. He was content to let the
forest remain, the treasures of the
rocks lie uncovered, the cataract run
on unharnessed, the fields continue in
almost virgin fertility. His present
needs supplied, it mattered little to
him what happened or what came
after. When civiliaation did appear his
heart was broken. He was a remnant
of another time, his life wrapped up in
memories of other and to him far bet-
ter days. English succeeded French,
and the Indian, robbed of his lands,
was placed upon reserves or driven
with the wild animals of his native
forests awiay north and west where
civilisation's march had not disturbed
the origiiial face of things, and where
he might die as he had lived, and as
his fathers, too, had done before him,
a savage, free and unfettered. In how
many a white man's heart there some-
times comes that Indian yearning for
freedom; for a getting away from the
conventionalities prescribed in civilisa.
tion's law, binding men down by rule
and precept to a course of life to them
distasteful and unnatural.
* * *

The landscape on another page is but
a short distance from the Indian vil-

off Its vir-
ptimes de-
In the na-
e Is theirs
is another
Ife.

following
lorers, anrl
near. For
i red mnu
5 furs and
la eye was
he had no
ercial val-
it a Cana-
)rd Evans
ibdued by
Id be said
lature the
e than he
day's suit-
to let the
•es of the
itaract run
continue in
is present
id little to
fhat came
appear his
a remnant
ipped up in
im far bet-
led French,
his lands,
or driven
his native
ivest where
it disturbed
and where
.'ed, and as
before him,
■ed. In how
there some-
earning for
ly from the
I in clvilisa-
iwn by rule
life to them

page is but
Indian vll-

— f

INDIAN UEMCS AND UKMAINS

lifiiiM; ■"

«7

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

V^^

1.0

1.1

1^ 128

1 2.^

— 1 '-'^ III ''^

« 6"

►

fliotographic

Sciences

Corporation

>>■

23 WEST MAIN STRUT

WiBSTER, NY. M5S0

(716) S73-4S03

88.

WENTWORTH I.AXDMAKKS

! iliil ■

1— Bone and shell necklace.

Q— Colored glass necklace.

3— OlasB necklace.

4— Perfect specimen soapstone pipe.

5— Colored fliut Hpear headi.
6— Biuall totem pipe.

7 to lO—Speuiniens of pottery patterns showing reg-
ular designs.

IV I

■ !

lagre shown last week. It is quite near
to Lake Medad and has been at one
time a great buryingr ground among
the At-ti-wan-dar-ons. They had queer
ideas, these Indians, in the burying of
their dead. When the spirit of the
brave fled from its clay prison, that
clay was allowed to remain where it
was in the teepee, and for weeks and
even months the relatives would con-
tinue their mourning in the teepee un-
til the stench from the body compelled
Its removal. They had no respect for
the flesh, but adored the bones of their
dead, and when at last the bodies were
taken from the teepees they were
pkced in mid air, strapped to planks
suspended between tall poles, far
erough away from the ground to keep
away wild animals who would destroy
the bones and beautifully convenient
for the eagles, crows and other car-
rion birds who would pick those bones
clean and leave them to be whitened
by the air, sun and rain. After this
would come the great burial time.
The bones of many a brave would be

gathered in a heap and carried with all
care and solemnity to the burial field,
there to be interred. In with the bones
were buried the weapons of the war-
rior, his wampun strings, his totem
pipes, his beads, and other trinkets.
Mother earth thus covered his remains
and they saw not the light of day
again till the relic hunter, to whom
even graves are not sacred, found
them out. It is a queer thing, too,
how the discoveries of these Indian
ossuaries are made. The plow has un.
covered many a pile, particularly in
dry seasons when the steel cuts deep
in the soil. Perhaps one of the most
peculiar unearthings, and one giving
positive proof of antiquity, was made
by one of the Waterdown collectors
some few years ago. The collector
was out looking for relics when he
came across a great tree recently
blown down and torn out by the roots.
In th« hole where the trunk had been
he began digging out of curiosity, and
soon unearthed an ossuary, finding
many bones and many relics. The tree

INDIAN UEI.ICS AND REMAINS

ihowlng r«R-

d with all
irial field,
the bones

the war-
ils totem

trinkets,
s remains
of day
to whom
d, found
tilng, too,
ie Indian
nr has un.
ularly in
cuts deep

the most
ne giving
nras made

collectors
collector

when he
recently

the roots.

had been
Dsity, and
finding
The tree

is believed to have been all of 160
years old, and bow long it was before
it began to push its little leaves above
the earth that the bones were burled
san only be guessed at.

It has often been remarked that
many of the relics found about Water-
down are of stone and shell uncommon

world's history discovered the rich cup-
per mines there and worked them.
From these Indians would come the
stones :ind shells, and the At-tl-wan-
dar-ons would spend their spare time
shaping them with rude tools. It has
also been a matter for much conjec-
ture how they managed to drill the
holes of the pipe stem for several
inches through the solid stone. Re-

^"t'lttit t mi l y lt i f*"^imitit

1, 2 and 3— Copper cbarms.
5, 6 and 7— Totem pipeu.

in these parts, and the question has
always been. Where did the At-tl-
wan-dar-ons get them? The most
probable solution of the problem is that
they were secured in trade or In battle
with the Indians of the south and .west
of the continent. It is known that the
southern Indians— those who inhabited
the land around the Oulf of Mexico
and had plenty of the famous conch
shells, came as far north as Lake Su-
perior. Indians at some stage of the

4— Bone needle.
8— Metal flsb book.

Bf«rch has pretty well proven that this
was done with pome hollow, hardened
leed, fine sand and water, the » reed
being used as a drill and the sharp
aand to cut the stone. The process was
necessarily slow, and It must have
taken months to drill the stems of
some of the pipes they made.

The Indian love of finery and
baubles was quickly seized upon by

ij I

WKNTWORTll LANDMARKS

the French explorers and traders, and
there can be no doubt but that the
cheap gloBB beads found In many of
the ossuaries were accepted in ex-
change for articles thousands of times
their value In the European and other
markets. These beads must have been
made in France specially for the In-
dian trade, as from their pattern, size
and shape they never could have been
popular in the old world. They are of
the commonest glass, some striped in
many colors, others plain. Some are
round and others long and tubular.
The Jesuit missionaries left their Im.
print and the memory of the Nazarene
there, too, for on some totem pipes the
shape of a rude cross is to be found
chipped in the stone, and brass rings
with the cross on have also been found.

One of the most gruesome finds ever
made near Medad was that of a skull
with a portion of the scalp ard hair
clinging to it. Mr. Allison was the
finder. He was digging one day in an
old ossuary, when he discovered an
old metal pot turned upside down.
On raising this he found beneath the
skull, scalp and hair, along with some
spearheads and other relics. Another
curious incident In relic hunting oc-
curred to Dr. McGregor. One day
several years ago he found a broken
pipe. The stem was gone and a pecu-
liar thing about the bowl was that it
had some tobacco leaf in it. Several
years afterward another collector was
looking at the doctor's broken bowl
and remarked that he had the stem
for it. Sure enough the stem was
produced from his collection, fitting
the break in the bowl exactly. It had
been found at a different time and in
a different ossuary.

From the southern Indians the At-
ti-wan-dar-ons most likely learned all
they knew of pottery making and they
have left some rude specimens in clay
of the work they did. Very few per-
fect ^lay bowls are now found, they
being most of them broken by the
plows when they are turned over. The
picture which appears at the end of this
article represents a very recent find
in the sands of Hamilton Beach.
It was unearthed by some workmen in
excavating for the foundations of a
house early this spring, and from its
apitearance looks as if it might have

been used as an Idol. Many of the
etone totems found are very beauti-
fully polished and well made. They
were used by families as tokens of
family connection and distinction.
Nearly all the bone beads and breast
oniuments found are beautifully pol-
ished and this can have been done
only liy constant contact with the
Liuro skin of the wearers.

Following is another sketch from
the Spectator's rorrespondont, Lan-
tern, on his second visit to Lake Me-
dad. J. E. W.

My second visit to the lake was
perhaps a few years later. Then,
without the aid of guides, the Thomp-
son, B'ce and Gulp boys and my broth-
er Robert and myself, made the ex-
cursion alone. On a beautiful May
morning we all met at Fort Stanlx.
(This place may not be familiar to
many of your readers.) Owing to some
clearings that had been made on lot
No. 2, we experienced much difficulty
in getting on the right trail, but after
many unsuccessful efforts we at last
discovered our landmark — the tree on
the rock. From thence on we made up
for lost time; but on reaching the
borders of the cliff or quarry we failed
to strike the proper entrance, but fin-
ally struck one, which, with the same
difnculties of the former, we had to
overcome. We were well rewarded,
hcwever, as it was the upper landing,
then so called. The wharf was a fal-
len cedar like the other, but projecting
farther out into the lake. The scene
from it was more beautiful than the
other, a49 from it almost the entire
surface of the lake was presented to
our view. After gazing on its unrip-
pled surface, watching numerous flocks
of wild ducks swiftly swimming to the
farther shores, we began fishing. We
had a supply of hooks, lines and bait,
and our next work was to get poles — a
rather hard job, as the only jack-knife
In the crowd wa« an old one, and
nearly worn out at that.

However, we were soon all out on
the log as far as we dare go. Then
the fun commenced. As fast as the
hook reached the water a sunflsh was
secured. Very soon our bait was all
gone, and large strings of very little
Hunfish, one or two small perch and a

Tni

INDIAN KEI.ICS ANH REMAINS

Bhiner was our oatch. We were proud
boys, returning to our startingr point,
happy, but tired and hungry. Granny
Rice cheered us when she aslced us in
and gave us all a well-buttered potato
cake. Did my readers ever eat oneV
If not, let them ask some old Irish-
woman to bake one of them, and if she

has the knack old Granny Rice had
they will relish It.

I think probably some of our folks
were glad to see us safely home, aa
the yielding treachery of the shores of
Lake Medad were widely known and
feared. Yet, withal, I never heard of
a death or casualty there.

LANTERN.

'I,:

THE LATE LUKE MULLOCK 8 COLLECTION OP MEDAL RELICS.

1— Conch shell and red pipestone necklace.

2— Copper finger ring.

3 and 6— Totem pipes.

4— Highly poliBhed bona spoon, Ave inches.

r>— Totem.

7— White wampum beads.
B— Paint stone.
9— Hone needle. Ave inches.
10— Flint arrow head.

UNEARTHED AT HAMILTON BEACH.

iBHuifll

ON THE FLAMBORO PLATEAU

Picturesque Rock Chapel. J^ A Pilgrimage Through Crooks'
Hollow — Once an Industrial Center, Now a Silent Val-
ley Filled with Ruins. j» The History of Fool's College.

CHAPTER XVI

KOCK CMAPEL AND VICINITY

--, T IS not likely
I that in the whole
. of Ontario, and

^k perhaps in all Can-

M^k ada, there is a

M ^ > ! L space of earth as
^" ^^ small in size as

^^^ ^^ Wentworth county
^Hjl m^^ containing the

^^^H ^^^k same number
^^^^^ ^^^^L beautiful
^^^^^ — ^^^^^ the same variety
of Interesting drives and the same or
aa many delighting historic incidents,
whether in mere association with the
deeds and presence of illustrious men
long since dead or In moss-covered,
storm-beaten relics of things and times
that have been but now are not, save
in the memories of grey-headed men
and women who, though they exist in
the present, have their greatest joy In
the long dead past. To the man who
l3 fortunate enough to own a horse
and rig; to the wheelmen and women;
to the pedestrian; to the artist; the
camera flend — to everyone fond of na-
ture and history, Wentworth county is
in nearly every part a veritable mine
of enjoyment; and though the days are
now shortening and the weather can-
not always be depended on, still a
drive, ride or walk in almosrt any di-
rection from the city will surely lead
to some of the points and places of
interest.

And even if it does not do this, the
general scenery, the glory of the trees
in their autumn foliage, the deep ra-
vines with their clear waiter creek bot-
toms, fed by the thousands of bubbling
springs from the hill sides — these and
the Indian summer haze that casts a
quietening, misty shade over the
farther scenes, all go to make the most
pleasant sort of a day's outing. These
are the days when the squirrel and
chipmunk are most busy, gathering
their winter store; these the days when
in the golden sunlight great spider-
webs float like silver threads, lazily
through the air. This is the time when

to the butternut and walnut trees come
the merry nutting parties; this the
time when the good-natured farmer has
tapped his first cider barrel and is
anxious that its contents shall be
sampled. In many respects this is the
loveliest season of all our seasons, and,
perhaps, for that reason, the shortest.
It is the gathering-ln time. The barns
are fllling up with grain, the pits of
potatoes in the fields raise their
mounds of roof above the level, with
wisps of straw stuck in them for venti-
lators. Mother is potting the flowers
from the front garden, father is patch,
ing up the clap-boards on the sheds
and the boys are in the fields husking
corn and gathering the late apples. In
the marsh the muskrat is building his
house, little circles of water among the
rush*^, with centers of built-up rush-
weed telling of his abode. And all this
because — because the end of summer is
near; the glories of autumn are even
now fading. Some of the hill-side trees
have already lost their leafy coverings
and their branches stand out against
the sky, ragged-looking and uncouth.
There are but a few weeks yet and the
wind will sigh, the air will thicken, the
sun seem to grow cold and winter will

reign.

• « *

On the road between Hamilton and
that nestling little village Rock Chapel,
or, as it Is vulgularly known. Monkey-
town, there is an almost historic
curiosity. It is almost historic because
of its age and it is a curiosity because
of Its peculiar proof of right to his-
toric reference. Just before the turn in
the winding road that leads directly
into the village, and standing on the
right of the roadway, are the ruins of
an old stone cottage. Nothing but the
four walls are now standing, each one
with gaping apertures telling where in
years long past doors and windows
once had place. A few oaken rafters,
blackened and weather-beaten, stretch
overhead from wall to wall as if to
hold them in place, and on either wall

I I,

I'M'

WENTWDKTII I.ANDMAItKS

^»it.i -/'

is*.

CUUI0U8 OLD COTTAGE UUIN.

of the north and south, the red brick
tiers of former flre-place chimneys are
crumbling away. Back of the ruins Is
an orchard, sloping down the hillside
into the deep ravine below, and in all
around there is ample evidence of long
disuse. Dozens of squirrels and chip-
munks scramble here and there among
the loose and fast loosening stones,
chattering away and cheekily showing
their sharp teeth to the intruder. All
the wood about the ruin is blackened
and charred. This because one night
many years ago the cottage was burn-
ed. From the time of the fire it has
been deserted, and the curious proof
that this intervening period has been
a long one is seen in the picture. When
the Are occurivd it wiped out every
vestige of flooring In the place and the
earth beneath became the more appro-
priate bottom work for the ruin. Out
of the earth in time came a tiny shrub
and as year by year passed, sheltered
V. Ithin the four »tone walls, it flourish-
ed till It became a young tree and its
head overtopped the walls surrounding
It. Still It grew, till to-day, there
stands within that ruin a locust tree
more than thirty feet high, with wide-
spreading branches.
This tree had its earth rest at the

place where. In the house that was, the
cellar stairway began. Another locust,
to be more pretentious than its fellow,
lodged itself in the old flre-place. Just
as if to glory over the downfall of the
Are demon in his own home. Some
ruthless hand has cut this tree down,
but another one is taking its place. In
fact, the whole Interior of the four
walls is now full of vegetation, and the
view It presents, both from the road
and upon close inspection, is decidedly
picturesque. In one place the bricks
of the chimney-place come in the way
of the locust tree branch. The locust
branch did not change the course of Its
growth, and to-day it reaches out far
beyond the chimney wall, having push,
ed the bricks from its pathway, turn-
ing them right and left and forcing Its
way through.

There are not many people around
those parts now who know much of the
old cottage. As a child, one farmer,
now forty-flve years old, can recall
having played about In it, and it cer-
tainly is much more than half a cen-
tury old. The fire occurred more than
twenty-flve years ago, and since that
time the place has been deserted by
man and occupied by nature— a much
more lovely occupant. Even the child-

IIOCK criAI'Kr, ANP VICINITY

r-^J^

THK FIKKl'LACK AND THK TIIKK.

ren around know that Ward Hopkins
built the cottage, and they will tell
you that at the time of the Are J<ie
Anderson and his wife lived In It.
That It Is part of the Erb estate Is
well known out there, and that It Is
owned by two girls and a boy, children
of J. S. Hatton, of Toronto, can be
sworn to by those who have at differ-
ent times leased the land on which It
stands. Perhaps there Is nothing more
to tell than this. It Is most likely the
cottage has no more right to recogni-
tion In history than the fact that it Is
old and can prove It by the miniature
forest within Its ruins. What of It?
That Is enough.

• « •

It was not called Rock chapel be-
cause It was built of stone, but be-
cause Its foundation was the solid
ledge of rock that Just at that point
on the mountain side Juts out to the
earth's surface. Thus Is the apparent
paradox In connection with the anclert
Methodist meeting house cleared away.
The chapel, instead of being rock built.

Ifl of wood, with clap-lioiirdfd eidos that
lioaHt and glory In the fact that they
have never been painted. Kverybmly
has heard of It and thousands of slght-
.yeers have viewed It as they drove past
over the winding road leading by the
.saw mill, llopklp.s' and Webster falls.
It doesn't look much — more like a
barn than a church, I'ut Its Interest is
not In looks. It has a history. The
curious one who will trouble himself
to get down on hands and knees at the
noi theast corner of the old church will
find there a stone. Not one of those
fancy things with beautifully trimmed
front and beveled ednes, such as are
seen nowailay.^ on the noi theasi cornera

liiii'

■^'To Ye. Ga: 1 C'^ f

IN liOC'K CHAl'KI,.

of large and Important buildings, but
an ordinary sort of stone, moss-covered
and crumbling away. A close exam-
ination of the end of the stone will re-
veal the almost obliterated figures —
1822 — cut In the stone. That means that
for 74 years the building has stood on
the little hill through the blasts of
winter and the heats of summer, and
still stands, a double sort of monu-

W K N TWOH Til I. A N DM A l< K S

) •

ment to the cause of Methodism and to
the thoroughness of the work done
upon it by its builders. If In all the
doings of their lives those old fathers
were as thorough as In their worlt on
the old chapel, no one need for a mo-
ment worry about their present con-
dition. The reward for such con-
tinued good effort could be nothing
short of heaven.

When the Rock chapel was built
there was not another church in the
country for miles, and for many years
the First Methodist church— then a
frame building— and Rock chapel en-

of all kinds on overy Sunday. Then
the Methodists got it Hnd had trouble-
over it. It was in the time of the split
when Wesley Methodists and Metho-
dist Eplncopals were at war. The
Methodist Episcopals claimed the build,
ing, and were bound to have it. The
Wesley Methodists were positive the
place should be theirs and they were
ready to flght fur it. Fight they did
t>erfore peace came, and the building
was theirs. There came a day when
the one side was in the church and
the other side outside on the grass. It
was a baltle-day. The windows were

Te-RockChapll 1

joyed the proud distinction of being the
only two churches around. The old
church out at Rock Chapel was not
built specially for the Methodists. It
was everyone's meeting-house — the
place where Anglican, Baptist, Presby-
terian, Methodist or any other might
come and hold meetings. That was
how ft came to be built. Everyone
felt he had a share in It and everyone
helped. The timbers were hewn and
fitted by hand, and all the other work
done In pretty much the same man-
ner. It was opened— the finest build-
ing for miles around— and for years its
walls re-echoed the words of preachers

stormed from without; they were
raised and the enemy would have
forced their way in had not the inside
party pounded every hand that appear-
ed on the window sills or pricked them
with penknives till they were glad
enough to let go.

The victory ultimately was with the
Wesleyans, and many a good preacher
came there to minister to the people.
Among them were Revs. Ryerson,
James Spencer, W. Jeffers, S. Rose
(father of Justice Rose), Francis Cole-
man (now residing in Hamilton on the
retired list) and many others. Every
preacher in those days had a circuit,

i.^>

I '. "

I l'

{ i

fl *l

111

f. i

whi

h«>r

eh a

mil

)iad

lltt

(lay

In I

met

Kia

tier

ten

tlor

Ins

nlff

onl;

hit(

aio

Fir

a V

not

his

the

U<u K I IIAI'KI. ASM \H.I.\irV

whlih he covprod w<'»'k after we»'k on
hxrHohai Ic. The circuit of the Hock
chai>«) district extended over thirty
mlle.i, and the preacher there alwayH
had plenty of work to do. There was a
little Kiillery In the church In thoat-
(layfl, since removed, and taking It all
in all. It was quite a respectable sort of
meetlnK place. W. J, Morden, whose
Kiandfather was one of the first set-
tlers In that district, at one time at-
tended church there, and as a lad at-
tended the Sunday school. In connec-
tion with the times that were Mr.
.Morden'B uncle, an old man, still llv-
inff near the church, tells of having one
nlsrht borrowed a lumber wagon — the
only vehicle In the nelKhborhood— and
hitching his team — also the only team
aiound— driving all the way to the
First Methodist church In the city to
a tea meeting. Of course he would
not have done It had It not been that
his best girl occupied the other half
of the lumber wagon seat. That was
their big excursion f«»r the .season.

Finally the church l>ecame too old
fashioned, and a new one was planned
and erected, but still the old building
was not allowed to go unused. The
young people of the neighborhood
bought It for a song, and up to the
present time it Is used for a concert
hall, a public meeting-house and n poll-
ing booth. The gallery has been done
away with, and a second story put on.
On the old pillars now hang election
posters and directions to voters, and as
these thln;7s are seen one cannot help
but feel that the place Is degeneratliiK-
There are many clup-boards off thf
sides, the wind has blown th« shinKles
from the roof In spots, while the many
broken window panes tell of m'ub'ct.
Some day there will be a wlndstitmi —
a thunderstorm. The old bulldinK. tli >\
of standing so many years will 11<'
down; the lightning will strike It. ant!
flames will consume Its dro.xs. It. too,
will live only In memory some day. but
may that day be afar off. J. K. W

^-4i^-.>i5!i.,.,

THE ANCIKNT UiSTlLLEKY.

^ r

n .

CHAPTER XVII

INDUSTRIAL RUINS IN UHOOKS IIUl.LOW

HE Rock Chapel
road is by no
means depend-
ent for celeb-
rity solely upon
the old cottage
ruin and the
older church
building pictur-
ed In the last
chapter. It has
other glories
well worth

m e n t i o n ins.
They will come
e of recognition as this
While out in

in for their sha
historic story proceeds.
the Rock chapel district one would be
very foolish to return to the city with-
out visiting the falls along the road-
side. In traveling along, up hill and
down, it will not be noticed particu-
larly that the ups are more than the
downs, and not until Rock chapel
it.self is reached and a glimpse of the
city away down in the valley below,
lit up in the afternoon sunlight,
caught through the trees bordering the
ravine edge, will 'it be discovered that
the altitude there is away up. Not
quite to the heights level, liut pietty
near it. In at least three placf^s on the
road great deep ravines, with almost
perpendicular sides, creep up between
the hills and almost touch the road side.
Inlets perhaps they were of some great
lake in prehistoric days, but now the
watercourses of the creeks above and
the homes of the wildest sort of wood-
land scenery. The first of these creeks,
feeling its way through the marshy
meadow land and reaching down the
easy slope to the ravine edge, is that
running through John Borer's property,
and making, as It goes tumbling down
the rocky ravine end, what is known as
the Saw Mill fall. It is easy to get at
and well worth looking at. Next along
the road and much nearer to Greens-
ville is the Hopkins' fall — the deepest
one around, the water making a drop

of 80 feet. All these creeks wiMe at
one time in their historv the humes of
manufacturing concerns and grist
mills. Only one of them is now in
use and that Is the one leading to Web-
ster's falls, quite near to Greensville.
• • *
It must have been somewhere near
the year 1800 that James Crooks came
to this part of the country, and in his
wanderings through what is now the
county ot Wentworth, came across
the ffitile valley of the creek that fed
what is now known as Webster's falls.
I'fK)ple talk about gold mines being
Itonanzas now-a-days. In that day, and
to the far-seeing mind of James Crooks
the water running through that little
valley was the biggest bonanza for
miles around, and he at once set to
work to acquire the property suriound-
Ing it. In time he secured the right of
ownership to about 300 acres all around
the creek. At a point a short distance
west of Greensville that now is and
upon the borders of the stream he at
once began th(; building up of what he
intended was to become the business
and commercial center of the county.
Mills of all kinds were erected and
businesses of all sorts began to boom
around the prosperous place, until at
one time the locfiting of the county
government buildings in that spot was
seriously contemplated. Its boom came
after that of historic Ancaster, and
while it lasted brought thousands of
dollars to the pockets of Mr. Crooks,
who afterwards became Hon. James
Crooks, and to the pockets of his
children. Then the water-power which
ran all the industries began to fail.
Hamilton started in to show what it
could do in the way of becoming an
Industrial center and the day of the
little manufacturing center in the val-
ley to the northwest was past. Gradual-
ly the place went Into decay, until to-
day there is but one industry in opera-
tion, all the rest being in various con-
ditions of ruin.

INDUSTRIAL RUINS IN CROOKS' HOLLOW

5 wi-ie at
homes of
md srist
s now in
g to Web-
jensvir.e.

here near
3oks oamo
md in his
< now the
ne across
k that ffcd
ter's falls,
les bfing
t day, and
les Crooks
that little
lanza for
ifc set to
surround-
le right of
all around
•t distanc';>
)vv is and
='am he at
if what he
5 business
le county,
cted and
to boom
;, until at
le county
t spot wa.s
iQom came
ster, and
usands of
r. Crooks,
n. James
of his
wer which
n to fail.
V what it
oming: an
ay of the
n the val-
Gradual-
until tn-
r in opera-
,rious con-

HTUTT'S I'APEH MILL.

(Old Darnley Grist Mill).

Crooks' hollow the place is now call-
ed, and its most peculiar historic in-
terest consists in its many ruins. One
of the first buildings to be erected there
was the Darnley grist mill. That was
in 1813, and even to-day, though the
place Is no longer a grist mill and has
been thoroughly remodeled as a paper
mill, the stone over the main doorway
has chiseled In It the original date of
erection — 1813, Just at the close of the
war. That mill is now the only one
running in Crooks' hollow, J. Stutt &
Sons turning out paper there, ami
claiming to do a good business. The
mill stands right at the roadside, which
winds down from Greensville through
the hollow and up the long hill on the
other side, being lost to sight from be-
low behind a heavy clump of trees,
and passing on by the old Crooks' resi-
dence. The building is a most pic-
turesque old one, Its side wall shown
in the picture standing up against the
edge of the creek, the waters of which,
through the low hanging branches of
the trees along Its edge can be seen

CKOOKS' HOLLOW CUKKK.

breaking into foam as they tumble
down a cascade a short distance be-
yond. A rustic old bridge spans the
creek just at the mill, and it is from
this that all sorts of beautiful view.s
can be obtained.

There is another peculiar old mark-
ing on the Stutt mill. It is over a
large window adjoining the main door,
way, and is shown in the cut. The
markings are without doubt Masonic,
but though Inquiry was made all
around the place from old people and
young people, no one seemed to know
just what they were Intended for. The
square and compass and double tri-
angle were plainly Masonic, but no one
knew why the letter B should have been
cut In the stone. It has been suggest-
ed that this was intended as the mark
of Barton lodge, Hamilton, but though
Barton lodge was in existence some
years before the old mill was built,
there Is no record In the lodge history
to show that the Barton men had any-
thing to do with the corner or other
etcne-laylng of the mill. Another sug-

;

lo:

WKN rwoirnr la\i).ma!{|n.s

jfestlon has been that the stonemascin
who put in the stone was a Mason and
that he wanted to let the world know
the mill was built under proper care.
To do it he cut the two Masonic em-
blems in the stone and added his own
initial, which may stand for Brown,
Bosks, Bell or any other fashionable
or unfashionable name. Whatever it

MmWWm

. >y\v.

I'lV

„N^V

V-

;ir^

MASONIC MAKKS.
(Stutt'a Mill.)

Stands for, it has been for year.s tlie
cause of much fruitless conjecture, ami
even if it has no real significance, is
a curio in itself.

About eleven years ago the old mill,
which was turned Into a paper mill in
the sixties, was the scene of an ap-
palling fataillty. One day the boiler
In the engine room exploded, tearing
out the old wails and instantly killing
one of Mr. Stutt's sons, who was work-
ing around at the time. That has been

the horrible event of Crooks* holluvv,
and to-day the Inhabitants use it as a
date-mark from and to which to trace
the times of other events of less im-
portance. Everything about the mill
speaks of other days and, in vivid con-
trast, everything Inside tells of the
(lays that are. All kinds of modern
papei-making machinery Is there and
It is almost worth the trouble of the
trip to go through the place.

On the opposite side of the road
from the paper mill is to be seen
a .skeleton of two crumbling end wal s
of stone, taken out of the adjoining
hill side. This is all that is left of a
famous old distillery that was in
nj)oration In 1823, and has been for
over twenty years in its present ruin-
ed condition. Following the creek bot-
tom down a short distance on its left
hand shore will be seen a bam with
an old-time stone foundation. That
old stone foundation is all that is left
of what was the first paper mill in On-
tario. It was built a short time be-
fore the Barber mills, and earned
from the government the bonus offered
to the mill turning out the first sheet
of paper in this part of the land. It was
known as the Hellwell mill, being run
by a man of that name for a long time.
It afterward changed hands, a Mrs.
Bansley taking it over. About eighteen
jruis ago it was burned down, and
afterwards was disposed of to a
farmer, who heartlessly built up a
frame barn ujion its ruins. J. K. W.

GOOD KVIDRNCE.
(Htutt'A Mill.!

lOl

' hollow,

e It as a

to trace

less im-

the mill

'ivid con-

of the

' modern

here and

le of the

CHAPTER XVIII

T I i K

1 ■ O O I. s

C O 1. I, K G K

;he road
be seen
end wal.s
adjoining
left of a
was in
been f<<r
3ent ruln-
;reek bot-
»n its left
)arn with
n. That
lat is le^ft
illl In On-
time be-
id earned
us offered
first sheet
nd. It was
being run
long time,
a Mrs.
t eighteen
)wn, and
of to a
uilt up a
J. K. W.

\:UY much that i-
I' / of interest in this
district cannot be
picked up in on>^ tri))
over the Rock

chapel road. Take,
for instance. the
church building at
the left h!tn 1 corner
of the road traveled
as one leaves the
town line. At firsit glance one would
never imagine it had a history worth
considering. If you were to meet with
any of the sons of this present decade
they would tell you it was an Anglican
mission, presided over by Rev. A. E.
Irvir.<f, of Dundaa. hut that would not
be all. True, it is now a church, fixed
up and remodeled for the purprj^e, but

till 10 was a time when it had another
name. Tliat name was Fools' collegf,
not in a slang sense by any means,
but seriously named by the builder
thereof at its christening. That was in
the year IS — , but what use bothering
with dates? It was in the day when
Father Stock and J. H. Smith, county
school inspector, were young fellows,
kicking up their heels around the coun-
try side like the untrained colts that
they were. That is guarantee enough
of old age for all general purposes. In
that day the young minds of the coun-
try had a hungering and thirsting after
knowledge generally and "book
larnin' '" in particular. The govern -
ncnt had Just commenced that very
pialseworthy distribution of funds for
the erection and maintenance of Me-

FOOLS COLLEOK.
(Now a Church.)

i ■'

:■!

l! :

.04

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

CRMETKKY (on tlie hill).

A GUIHT MILL KRLIC.

OLD BOARDING HOUSE.

chanics' Institutes, and this building
was erected specially for that purpose.
Albert B. Palmer, of Mlllgrove, and
father of John Palmer, of this city,
was the builder, and It was he who
gave it its peculiar name. The cus-
tom in those days was to break a bot-
tle of liquor over every new building
at its completion and give it at the
same time a name, and It so happened
that when the time came to do this
with this building no one had thought
of a name. In the dilemma Palmer
came to the rescue. "Do you want a
name for it?" asked he, as he stood
with bottle in hand, ready to throw.
"I'll name it," and as he threw the bot-
tle, smash against the wall, he cried
out, "Fools' college," and Fools' col-
lege it remained in name ever after-
ward.

Shortly after the advent of the Me-
chanics institute library, all the young
men of the neighb; .ood took the de-
bating fever and a debating school was
started. The men divided themselves
into two sections, called the Meadow
Mice (those living In the valley) and
the Mountain Rats (those living on the
hills). M.any a night did these two sec.
tlons fight oratorically In Fools' col-
lege on all those subjects so dear to

the del)ater'3 heart, even to the present
day. Single or married life, which?
The pen or the sword, which? Nature
or art. which? These and many more
were the matters troubling the youth-
ful minds of the period. It was there
Inspector Smith made the first sp' ech
of his life, and that he has improved
since may be known from the fact that
on that occasion his address lasted
about one and one-half minutes. 111.^
opponent on that occat!ion made much
sport of him in his round, and this
angered the inspector-to-be. His l)".oiid
began to boil, and by the time it was
again his turn to talk he was mad
enough to have fought. But he didn't.
He talked, and did so well and in such
marked contrast to his first effort that
for a long time afterward it was said
of him, "If you want Smith to make a
good sijeech just get him mad." De-
bates were often held with the city de-
bating clubs, and the Fools' college
men say yet that in those challenge af-
fairs they had their full share of vic-
tories. Then came the day when the
Mechanics' institute outlived its
greatest usefulness, and finally the
College of the Fools became the church
as it is to-day. That is the history, and
it Is no mean one.

!li

THK KOOI.s' COLLEGE

•"5

HOUSE.

le present
?, which'.'
? Natuie
any more
he youth-
vva.s thet-e
•st speech
impiowd
fact that
ss las-tt^d
jtes. Ills
ade miK'h
and this
His l)"()iid
ne it was
was mad
he didn't,
id in siu'h
■ffort that
was said
;o make a
ad." De-
e city de-
college
,llenge af-
re of vie-
when the
lived Its
lally the
he church
story, and

WOOLKN MILL FllAGMENTS.

WOOL, WOOL.

JOHN ijavif:s &

are now proi'ared to iiay

HIGHEST PUICES IN C.VSH

for any quautity of Wool.

CO.

FAKMKRS

Support Canadian manufacture. Huy clotli
in c.xtihangu for wool at uianufau-
turers' prices.

• * •

Back of Stutts' paper mill and up
the bank of the creek can now \ie geen
a tall chimney place af stone, and that
is all that remains to tell the story of
! a flve-story grist mill. This place was

some time after its erection turned
into a woolen mill and run by T Ber-
kenshaw. It then changed again and
became a cotton-batting mill, run by
two men named Kerbin & Wright, and
fir ally, about eighteen years ago,
was pulled down, nothing being left
but the big chimney-place to tell the
tale of where it stood. On the same aide
of the creek a little lower down at one
time* stood the foundry and carding

mills of John Davies and Co. There
can be no doubt about this, as a short
time ago the bill here reproduced was
found pasted upon a board in its ruins.
Unfortunately the date of the bill was
torn off.

.Tust across the creek from this ruin
V ill be seen a small piece of the wail
of T. & J. Crooks' steam and water
saw mill and out in front of the Stutt
mill now In use and adjoining the old
distillery ruin is all that is left of an
old oil, bark and tannery premises.
Away back of them all— even behind
the chimney ruin of the old grist mill —
is a long, low, two story frame house,
still In use, which at one time was the
boarding-house for many of the mill
hands about the place.

Away beyond the hill to the w«at
Is the old Crooks' residence and on
the hill looking down upon the water-
power that brought so much money to
the Crooks family, Is their family bury-
ing ground. It is a curious old place,
this burying ground, not kept very
well in repair. The top of the hill Is

1 06

WENTWOUTH I.ANDMAUKS

I r

' 1

rot more than twenty yards across,
and this top is fenced In. Within the
enclosure are several tall trees and the
graves of the departed members of the
Crooks family along with those of
some of their friends. The last one
interred there, according to the head-
stones, was Frances, a daughter of
Hon. .Tames Crooks. Her body was
brought from Toronto and buried on
the bleak hill top in January, 1895, she
being at the time of her death 66
years old. The tomb of Hon. James
Crooks, the founder of the settlement,
Is unadorned by any monument, hut
over the mound of earth is gathered an
enormous pile of great stones, as if to
insure for the mouldering clay freedom
from the maraudings of any ghouls
who might come to desecrate the place.
Among the other graves there is that
of Thomas Angus Blair, who is
described as being late captain of the
Fifth Royal Scots Fusileers. He was
born at Blair, Ayrshire, Scotland, in
ISll, and died at Crooks' hollow In IS.".".

There are many other graves, and as
descendants of the Crooks family die
their bodies are interred there. Hon.
James died in 1861, and James, a son,
in 1850. Hon. Adam Crooks, another
eon, died at Ouelph, and was buried
there. The power of the family Is
gone from the place forever. They own
but a fragmentary portion of their
former Inheritance there, and their
present glory is in their unique bury-
ing sround, away on the top of the
bleak hill, from which, If there be
such things as spirits, they may look
down upon what was once theirs, but
has now become the property of others
and has for the most part fallen into
decay and ruin. This, then, is the
s'tory of Crooks' Hollow and Its ruins.
Much more could be written, but for
the sightseer what has been written is
enough to furnish food for a day's out-
ing and this done, the artist and writer
have completed their task. Go and see
it all for yourself. J. E. W.

CK00K8' SAW MILL KUIN.

. (c

•A

■r.

■J
I

X
X

101

THE VALLEY CITY

The Faded Glory of a Town Once the Head of Navigation
From the Sea. J^ Its Canal Basin, Old Buildings, and
Industries That Are But a Memory.

^■f

CHAPTER XIX

KAin.Y msTOKV OK Dl'NDAS

ATTS, Hairs and
Heads — these are
three of the oldest
families in the his-
toric town of Dun.
(las, and they In
their various
l>ranches know a
Kood deal of the
records of the
place. In their
honor streets are
named and big
business blocks

are christened.

But family names are not the most
Interesting things In the old town, nor
are the pretty modern day scenes pic-
tured In the lately published Pic-
turesque Dundas. To regard the Val-
ley City from its really interesting
point of view one must see the old
with the new, the ruin alongside the
modern up-to-date, and perhaps there
is no other town in Canada pos-
sessing so much of the one with an
equal showing of the other. When
they compiled a hymn book for the
Anglican church they entitled it a col-
lection of Hymns, Ancient and Mod-
ern. A fitting descriptive name for
Dundas town would be A Collection of
Houses, Ancient and Modern.

They rail the place the Valley City
and that is quite right. In only one
way can it be reached or departed
from on the level — that Is by the canal
route. All other ways lead the trav-
eler up and down hill; nevertheless,
they are all pleasant ways and well
worth traveling. It took its name—
Dundas — from the name of the long
military highway opened up by Gov-
ernor Slmcoe from the St. Lawrence
to London and christened after Henry
Dundas (Viscount Melville), secretary
of war In the Duke of Portland's cab-
inet. That Dundas street, then the
way of the warrior, is now known bet-

ter among county councilors and others
aH the Governor's road, and la used
solely by followers of the peaceful art
of farming and pleasant pastime of
bicycling or driving. At the time when
the tramp of armed men was more
common in the colony than now, Dun-
das was quite a place, and only the
advent of steam railways saved It
from losing all its natural loveliness
and becoming a great and bustling
center of trade and commerce. Lucky
accident that discovered the value of
steam and saved Dundas! It has been
all evolution In the town In the valley
until finally the place seems to have
discovered Its mission and settled
down to fulfil that mission as a beau-
tiful outsklrt of Hamilton, with a suf-
ficiency of manufacturing and other
business to warrant Its existence as an
Incorporated town.

In those earlier clays when the val-
ley people were flighty and soaring as
the mighty hills about their homes
in enterprise they projected and suc-
(ef»sfuliy carried through the Desjar-
dins canal scheme, and for years
fondly clung to the delusive hope
that their town was to be the future
great city of the province. They had
good enough right to be aspiring, too,
for at that time, with the shipping
they had, their port was the busiest
along Ontario's shores. It was In
those days that the sight of from
twelve to fifteen large masted boats —
grain, lumber and general carriers
from seaport places on the St. Law-
rence river — gathered in the canal
liasin was no uncommon thing. In
those days the shores of the basin
were lined with great warehouses,
where grain and other products were
stored for shipment. From Gait,
Guelph, Preston and all other Inland
centers in Dundas direction the
farmers brought their stuff to the canal
for shipment, and It was no uncommon

■ ;
a;

KAKI.V IIISTOHY OK DINPAS

109

siKlit In the busy seaaon to bp« aa
many as a hundred teams tolling
down King street through the town
to the warehouses at the canal. It
used also to be the headquarters for
importations by water, and many a
ship load of emigrants flrat set foot
on Canadian soil from the basin
wharves. Many of the poor wretches,
too, died about there, and their bones

that at that time lay to the west of
the town. Since that tim«, however,
both canal and marsh have been
gradually undergoing the evolution
process, and to-day hundreds of acres
of land used for wheat growing was
at that time far under water. The
drying up is going on even more rap-
idly now than ever before, and the
day Is sure to come when the fluent

'^'"^V//-iv'" '■•'-.

KUIN8 OK TMK OI,D OATMK.AI, Mil, I,.

to the number of several hundn^d
liodies mingle with the dust of cholera
victims In the dismal cemetery on the
heights, their deaths being due to ship
fever. James Reynolds, now an old
man, was an engineer on the canal
nearly 50 years ago, and handled many
of the vessels whose prows were point-
ed toward the canal mouth from the
lake. The steamer Queen of the West
was one of the first boats to ply the
mad waters, and there were many
others.

The canal was a fine piece of work,
dredged through the immense marsh

garden land in the country will le
found in the marsh land in the valley
between the heights and Dundas.
Coote's paradise they call that piece
of country even to this day, though
most people now who use the name
do not know what it means. In all
past time the marsh has been noted
as the gathering place of water fowl,
and in the early days when the men
of war, stationed at York and other
places, wanted go>d shooting they
would come there for it. Capt. Coote,
of the King's regiment— the Eighth-
was one of these sport lovers, and so
great was his passion and so assidu-
ously did he follow the sport at this

I lO

WKNTNVOHTII I.ANDMAKKS

Iilacc that Is wan nick-named Coote'u
jaiadlHe.

« • •

< tf course, when the boom of shlp-
jilnK was on, the Dundag people ein-
tarked in all kinds of manuraotuiin^c
ventures, and, having an ahundanci'
of water power handy, factories of all
kinds sprang up on every hand. They
were mostly of stone, hewn from the
rocky hills around, and for that rea-
son they will stand, making the town
tlie jilcturesque spot It Is. On nearly
nvery street of the place ruins of some
kind or other are to be found, and
each ruin represents a step In the
evolution of the place. Hack of the
( otton mills and at the foot of the hill
leading up to Col. Gwyn's residence
is a good specimen, which In some
degree illustrates them all. It is all
that la left to tell the story of an oat-
meal and flour mill that flourished in
the fifties. Down about the canal ba-
sin and along the banks of the creek
leading from Ancaster, the deserted
places are most numerous, and wher-
ever they appear they lend a charm
and beauty to the scene. It Is out In
the valley city, too, that the great
iron gates now hanging at the Dun-
durn park entrance once used to
hang, and 'tis said the big stone
blocks on which they rested are still

to be seen.

* * *

But what has Veen written here Is

not Intended to go beyond thf canal
and Its Influence upon tht town. Old
residents will talk of Its past glories;
present day residents see it merely as
a sort of recreation spot where boating
may be indulged In in Hunimer and
where in winter there is good skating.
To-day the basin, instead of being filled
as of ycire with grain laden vts8«'ls wait-
ing the springtime and opening of
navigation to go on their way to .Mon-
treal, Is a deserted looking spot, lo-
and snow <'Overed, its pile lined side
breaking away and ceasing to lie of
value In keeping back the caving shore
line. Nothing in the shape of shipping
but a steam yacht and a few sail lioats
now float on its waters and the entei-
prise of the town Is turned In differ-
ent directions. And yet, even with
other industries, the excitements of th<>
old days are not to be found. To-day
the townspeople find all their fun In
the summer season on but three oc-
casions—the Bertram picnic, the
House of Providence picnic, and the
great fall fair. The rest of their sum-
mer time thoy spend In humdrum mo-
notony, though In the midst of scenes
unexcelled by nature In any other part
01' the world. So beautiful, so wonder-
ful In fact that artists even from far
away Japan have made the place their
home and spent their best effoi-ts upon
the work they found so lavishly 6\it-
triliuted in and around the corpora-
tion confines. J. 10. W.

CHAPTER XX

ns I'lt Kni> I <»i!K' III ii.i)i\(i>

(•WN in the
\ alley wliei'e

dit<arny I>umlas
lies there atf
many mi.sty

landmarks of

Vl h-~'''^^lHfifK^/T >iavlnK their

itlUl^l^^B^^ r counter part s
\^'^: ^^^^^rniA.'l: and verifying

t'videncfs onh'
in the THUS
archivt'H of Iht
county r<'j;ls-
trar's oiHce.

Ther<' has been
many and many
a traveler Btum-
lilo over deep
planted stones on some of the road
sides out there, and It has never oc-
euried to them tliajt the stone they fell
over was valuable at all. But they
are. Some of these are on the o:d
York road and bear the Initials O. H..
standing for George Rolph, a well-
hnown early settler in the valley, but
dead now some years. They date back
to the year 1824. It was a fashion
in the early days to mark by these
stones the remarkable things of the
time, and when Sir Allan MacNab
bought the big iron gates that now
swing on the rusty hinges at Dun-
durn park, Mr. Rolph, who then owned
them, planted a stone to mark the spot
from which they were taken. Tliis
stone is In a vacant lot near (lOrd'm
Wilson's store, and it marks the old
entrance to Mr. Rolph's property. If
anyone is inquisitive enough he may
find In the wall of Dundurn near the
gate an inscription which tells the
date when the huge stone balls over-
mounting the gate posts at Dundurn
were cut from the rook In Dundas.

The records of things that have
Ijeen in Pundas are scattered abroad.
In the t'>wii I'.all out thei'e ihey say

tliey have no infoimation as to the
o|ienlng of the canal, but Inspector
Smith, who has his recreation In lulii
delving, hag documents which tell tti-
day and date of the opening, and also
rehearse the names of the steameis
and other craft that on ojiening day
made their way to the basin and help-
ed to make the afl'air more glorious.
Miss Rolph, daughter' of George Rolph,
referred to al>ove, also has a fund of
information whl<h she Is coiii ctin^
with the zest of an antiquary.

Away out on the road leading to
the driving park, on one's right hand
side, there at the i>resent time stands
an unpretentious little brown house,
right out to the fence line. No one
lives there, nor has anyone for some
years, and the jtlace Is getting a very
weather-beaten look. Down on a level
with the walk there Is a grated win-
dow, hardly large enough for a mans
head to go through, and on tht Inside
In the basement there is a small com-
I)artment divided off from the rest of
the place by a heavy stone partition.
No one in Dundas seems to be al)lto
to say with absolute assurance that
this place was at one time a court
house, and that the pai'tltloned <iff
basement part a cell; but every
oni' l)elieves it, and its ai'pearanie
would indicate that the belief is w-ll
founded. The rambler can get into
the basement tiy climbing the fence
and going down the steps shown in
the picture to the door In the rear.
There is not much In the basement
now. PMrst thing to greet the inquisi-
tive eye is an old elder press, but that
has been put there In rather recemt
times. In the cell at the right of the
picture there Is no mark of any kind
save that of the hand of time, which
shows in the dilapidated condition of
the doorway. No prisoner who may
have been confined there awaiting his
call to the court room above ever ex-

TIW

I 12

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

ITS PREHISTORIC BUILDINGS

THE OLD LOG JAIL

pressed his feelings as prisoners are
usually supposed to do by scribbling
on the whitewashed walls, and the his-
tory of the place, from all that can
be gleaned In and around it, is pretty

much a blank.

* * •

There is another building — a log
structure back of the old court house
and negtling In a ravine with pine
trees all about. This is what is said to
have been the jail proper — the town
jail, for they had a county jail at that
time just outside the town. The old
log building is still in commission, but
nut as a jail. It is now a barn, and
the business-iike hen has taken up her
abode there, cackling and scratching
aliout just as if no one else in the
world had ever had troubles but her-
self. Judge Snider is the happy pos-
sessor of a painting portraying these
two fast crumbling relics of the ju-
dicial past.

* « *

When one begins delving among
ruins the more one delves the more is
discovered thvat calls for further delv-
ing. Dundas was not always known
as Dundas, and there is evidence grav-
en in solid silver to prove there was
once another name by which the place

was known. The Hatt family was
sjii'ken of as one of the oldest in the
place in the last chapter, and they
were there before 1>>17. Un the fii-st
day of January in that year Richard
and Mary Hatt presented a solid sil-
ver communion service to the English
church there. It was a noble gift and
made of sterling metal, and even to-
day it is in use in the church on Hatt
street. Rev. E. A. Irving, the rector
of the church there, keeps the three
pieces safeguarded in his house, hut
kindly allowed a Spectator artist to
sketch them. They are very hea\y,
and as far as appearance go might
not have been in use more than L'O
years. But their antiquity and also
the old name of the place is proven by
the engraving on them. The wording
is as follows:

The Gift of
RICHARD AND MARY HATT.
of Ancaster,
For the use of the church in the vil-
lage of Coote's Paradise. District of
Gore, Upper Canada, Janu-
ary 1, 1817.

This appears on both the tray and
goblets. The box In which the set Is
kept is an old-fashioned one, too, made

114

WENTWOKTII I.A N DM A K KS

of solid British oak, and lined with
now faded silk.

There is another curiosity resting in
a back shed on the chur^ 1: grounds,
displaced by the more n •►dern In
church architecture. It is one of the
old-fashioned pulpit desks, made of
black walnut and standing on a pedes-
tal about six feet high. Steps lead up
from the floor to the pulpit box, and
there about ten feet above his audi-
ence the rector used to preach.

The Haltts brought the communion
service out from England when they
came, and when they presented it to
the church there was no church build-

ing. Meetings were in those days held
from house to house, and when occa-
sion came, from time to time, the
faithful used the gift in their worship.
Ii was used in the present church for
the first time on the first Sunday in
January, 1844. The church was built
in the previous year. For some time
previous to this services were held in
a building down by the canal basin,
called the Free church, Dr. Stark,
Archdeacon McMurray and others of
all denominations holding service
there. Rev. Mr. Osier, father of B.
B. Osier, succeeded Rev. Mr. McMur-
ray. The first person in charge was
Rev. Ralph Leemlng, a missionary,
who was there in 1818, and married a
member of the Hatt family.

J. E. W.

— G

A COMMINION SEUVICK I'KKBKNTKD TO COOTK'S PARADISE IN 1817.

,11

days held
hen occa-
Ime, the
• worship,
hurch for
Sunday in
was built
lome time
re held in
nal basin,
r. Stark,
others of
f service
tier of B.
•. McMur-
large was
ilssionary,
married a

. E. W.

1817.

a
o

The

EARLY HISTORY OF BEVERLEY

The City of Romulus, Planned on Metropolitan Lines, But
Never Realized the Hopes of Its Founder. J- Reminis-
cences of a Centenarian Trojan. ^ A Troy Without
Its Helen.

'■ s

CHAPTER XXI

A CITY 'IJIAT WAS NOT JJUII.T

HERE are few
persons aware
of the fact that
out in the wilds
of Beverly
township there
Is a large city
all laid out
ready to be
built, but be-
yond a few
stray log build-
ings of a more than usually substan-
tial character, and the nicely colored
plan of the burg which exists some-
where there is nothing remaining to
indicate the originally high aspirations
of the place. It can scarcely be called
a dead city, because it never reached
urban importance, except in the mind
of the founder, who, with his imme-
diate relatives, now sleep the long
sleep among the ruins of his hopes.
To that extent, if not a dead city, it
may be called a city of the dead. The
fallowing article on the forgotten me-
tropolis, which is situated two miles
west of Rockton, is from the pen of
the poet of Rushdale farm;

THKRK WEKE (HANTS IN THOSE DAYS.

The man who founded Romulus was
one of them. A giant in courage, en-
durance and resource — he towered
above his fellowmen as the great white
pines of Beverly once towered above
the black birches and the beeches that
grew at their feet. This man was
Henry Lamb, a Pennsyivanian of

Highland °"M' ■:
Loyalist - ^f
ard flat' hi ;

north V •! r.ifc .

tied In M-

Gore dlStric. . .
statles in tils pata i

descent, a U. E.

">. 8r>urnlng a bast-

!^ rebels, moved

iiir'ngs and set-

*i. .ir of the great

jpendous ob-

; for a moment

daunted this old hero. From the door
of the rude shack which he had built
to shelter him and keep the wolves out,
he could not see more than 50 yards
in any direction., and naug;ht but the

moon and stars by night and the sun
by day shining above his little clear-
ing reminded him that the universe
was big and God was greal. All alone
in his splendid isolation, in the superb
stillness and the Titantic uproar of the
forest, in the sweet safety and terrible
peril of the bush, he conceived of
great things. He set words to the
splendid music of peerless pines, the
tapering tamaracks, the heaped-up
hemlocks, the majestic maples, the
honest old oaks, the bizari-e birches
and the cold calm cedars, and he be-
gan to chant that hymn all over the
world. He spread his rude map of
British North America out on the top
of a stump and laid a two-ounce bul-
let on the spot where the deserted
hamlet of Romulus now stands. By
the map he saw that he was located in
the very heart of the British domains
in America, right on the great high-
way from Quebec. This land was
bound to have towns and cities. Why
not have a great city right here under
the bullet? He would build It. He
bore the brand, not of Cain, but of a
Icyal subject and a true man, on face
and forehead. Why should he not
build a city? The wolves crept nearer
and howled In derision, and the owls
hooted with contempt, but he paid no
heed. He took up 2,000 acres of land
around the bullet and named the new
city Romulus. Why, It Is hard to
tell. Did the big sl*e wolif with hang-
ing lugs and golden eyes that looked
at him through the chinks of his cabin
every night put the Idea into his head?
No one knows — but Romulus it was
and Romulus It is, although you will
look vainly in the postoffice directory
for it. It is a melancholy ruin — far
more desolate than the majestic for-
est that Henry Lamb found. Now
there Is nothing but tumbling walls
and broken roofs and weed hidden
paths and cold and barren fireplaces.

Lamb hied him to England and ad-
vertised In the principal London, Blr-

I the sun
tie clear-
universe
All alone
le superb
)ar of the
d terrible
leived of
3 to the
jines, the
leaped-up
pies, the
i birches
nd he be-
over the
3 map of
tn the top
mnce bul-
! deserted
,nds. By
located in
1 domains
reat high-
land was
lies. Why
lere under
i it. He
but of a
n, on face
d he not
ept nearer
I the owls
le paid no
es of land
d the new
hard to
vlth hang-
hat looked
f his cabin
his head?
as it was
h you will
i directory
ruin — far
jestic for-
nd. Now
)ling walls
ed hidden
Ireplaces.
id and eud-
)ndon, Blr-

A CITY THAT WAS NOT BUII-T

mingham, Manchester and Liverpool
papers for artisans and workers in
every art and profession. He promised
them a house and lot and firewood free
and immunity from taxes for 25 years.
He promised them plenty of game and
flsh. He gave a free site for a Church
of England cathedral at the west end
of the town and another site for the
bishop's palace and Roman Catholic
cathedral in the east end, and free
sites and building material for churches
of all other denominations. He gave
a market square, a cricket ground, a
race coui-se; promised to erect a flrst-
class theater, concert hall and ball-
room, and even advertised for an effl-

woods. His became the great half-
way house between the head of navi-
gation — Dundas — and the great Ger-
man and Mennonlte settlement In what
Is now Waterloo county. His wife was
hostess, his brother, Major Lamb, his
right hand man, and besides he had
four stalwart sons, Lemuel, Charles,

1-THE liAMH HOMESTEAD.
2-DOVETAILED LOGS IN THE WALL.

cient chief of police. He came back and
built the first and biggest hewn log
house in Beverly, erected a huge stone
milk house over a living stream of
water, a house big enough to furnish
the milk, butter and cheese of the new
city; opened a tavern, built a church
and whooped her up generally. Set-
tlers clustered round him, a road was
built past his very door, the wagon
wheels knocked chips off the corner
of his house, and the lights In his wln^
dow were a beacon for the weary
travelers through the wolf-Infested

Henry,

and one daughter, the

late Mrs. Andrew Van Every.

What would have happened had the
first three lived twenty years longer
than they did it is hard to tell. The
hardships and terrors of the American
revolution, the great hejira north-
ward, the perils and dangers of the
unknown woods had sapped their
strength and they died within a short
time of one another. And these two
heroes and that one heroine sleep side
by side and are the only occupants of
one of the strangest a«d most pathetic

\ i

120

WENTVVORTH LANDMARKS

graveyards In the world. Henry Lamb
built his city on a rock, and he and his
were determined to be buried in the
middle of the town. The bodies were
placed in their rude coffins side by
side on the top of the ground and
were covered with tons of great stones.
A stone wall was built around them,
and this filled in and over with soil,
so that when it was finished it formed
a cairn 18x27 feet at the base and ten
feet high. There they slept peacefully

like the ancient Egyptian kings and
queens in the pyramidal tombs, and
every night the wolves foregathered
above them and fought for the highest
seats of the mighty. To-day these
graves are unkempt and the wall in
ruins. Groundhogs make their homes
there down among the dead men's
bones and the wind and weather of
three-quarters of a century have left
the cairn only four feet high.

THE KHAN.

i !

GRAVES OF HENRY LAMB, HIS WIFE AND HIS BROTHER MAJOR LAMB

i\\

CHAPTER XXII

I, K G ENDS O V K O M f L U S

■I^^-^T^^-

E(iAR DING
the home of
Henry Lamb
as he first es-
tablished it. I
should have

said that It
was a fort, or
more properly
a stockade. The
property reach-
ing as far as
the dam, east
:£^as far as the
"Bishop's pal-
ace, south be-
yond the mill, and north bordering
what is now the old orchard. It was
enclosed with a hewn log wall in
some places ten feet hirh. It was
really the rancherio of South America
and the kraal of South Africa. As
Lamb kept the first tavern in the Gore
district he early recognised that men
who relied on their rifles for fresh
meat, and whose gorge rose against
fried bear, boiled black venison, and
stewed ground hog; looked upon hens
and eggs as the greatest luxury on top
of earth.

Therefore Henry Lamb kept hogs,
and the great tide of humanity, prin-
cipally G3rmAn, that flowed west, look-
ed upon Romulus as the land of plenty.
Here the first pig's foot was pickled;
in that old and solemn house the first
sllpi)ery, gummy head cheese was
made; in that front yard the first intes-
tines were scientifically cleansed under
the supervision of an old Dutchmati
who had hob-nobbed with Van Der
Bllt and Jacob Astor. And this leads
up to my story:

The Indians, "our friends and allies,"
as the British government kindly called
them, but painted barbarians just the
same, whose descendants to this day
preserve as heirlooms the scalps their
enemies, not their fathers, wore at
St(my Creek and Queenston Heights,
used to drop down in a friendly way
on the unsophicticated U. E. Loyalist.

They vLsited Henry Lamb once, and
only once. Some travelers found him
bandaged with weasel skins, which in
those days were supposed to cure any-
thing from a sore nipple to Bright's
disease, and asked him what was
wrong.

"Injuns," he said; "I had to fight
like the devil. A man might as well
lose his life as his pork."

This saying has been handed down
to this day In Beverly.

Henry Lamb Is a mystery. Even
his sons could tell nothing about hln ,
or little about his antecedents, and
what added to their terror of this re-
markable man was the fact that one
great room at the top of the log cas-
tle was always closed. The door was
•Icu'ole locked, the windows heavily
curtained. No one entered that room
but Henry Lamb and his associates,
and these associates came from afar.
Weary and travel-stained they came
through the bush, and put up their
horses in the great log corral. They
looked like other men, Init there was
.something uncanny aliout them.

The rough and dangerous bully of
the bush, whose only law was his
strong right hand, was different when
these men came near. The wolf de-
fier, the hear hunter, the bartender,
the lio.«tlcr, the money lendei-, the
lay leader, the ready fighter, the man
whose expressive oaths are yet a leg-
acy, became In the presence of these
men a genial gentleman of the old
school, with subdued speech and man-
ner of the old regime. Lamb's wife,
a scion of one of the oldest French
families, the I">e Boucherviller.. don-
ned her best old silk and put on the
manners of the grande dame that she
■was (her French school books are
preserved in Beverly), and the best
in the house was theirs — these stran-
gers!

They were strange people these;
they came from the noith and the

122

WENTVVORTH I.ANDMAHKS

•1

[

II:

' r'

II r

■^

BUILDING ON THE SITE CH08BN FOK THE CATHOLIC CATHEDKAL.

south, the east and the west. One of
them one night turned his back to the
fire, parted his coat tails and recited
Virgil. Another, a Cambridge man,
gave Sophocles' Chariot Race, and
when his weird and strange compan-
ions brolce into a more or less discor-
dant shout of eulogy, a she wolf
screamed in the yard. Later, one by
one they went upstairs into that se-
cret room. The settlers shook their
heads, the Pennsylvania Dutch talked
of witchcraft, good Caitholics crossed
themselves, an old Indian employed
about the place cut his wrist, and let
the blood fall drop by drop on a bur-
dock leaf. Crafty hunters watched
the curtained window, daring wolf
killers studied the men who went up
those stairs. But all was silent, save
when that silence was punctuated
with unholy laughter. Then these
men. Lamb at their head, would come
down stairs and eat and eat and eat,
and drink and drink and drink just
like common folks. Other folks shook
their heads. No good would come of
it. One night after the orgies were
over, Henry Lamb, Judge O'Reilly
(father of ex-Mayor O'Reilly), and
another whose name I cannot get,
stole out of the house alone. They
bore a. box be'tween them containing
all of Henry Lamb's wealth in crowns,
half crowns and florins. They buried
the box In the hen house (right under
the hens), and then Henry Lamb
mounted a horse aind disappeared
through the moonlit forest on his way
to New York to take a degree of some

kind as a Royal Arch Mason. He was
gone four months, and when he re-
turned his crowns, half crowns and
florins were safe under a wagon box
full of superior fertiliser, almost equal
to guano.

* • *

Majoir Lamb died first. The location
of the romantic burying ground is In
this wise: He was very dropsical and
had traveled round the world seeking
health, and had once, as he always
boasted, had an audience with the
Pope. Knowing that he was going
to die four days before his demise, he
bid them put him in the old chariot
which had come from Philadelphia and
drive him round the city. "I wish to
be buried there," he said, pointing to
a knoll — and there he was buried on
the solid rock, for the rock Is very
near the surface all over that locality,
except where there is such a knoll.
When Henry Lamb died Judge O'Reilly
and two other men visited the great
log castle, broke open the door of the
secret room, stripped It of everything
withiin and departed, to the great re-
lief of the people in the little locality.

That room is the haunted room, and
no man in his senses would go into It
alone or sleep In it for all the farms
in Beverly.

Just this side of the old house is a
culvert, over which the people drive
to-day. I often wonder if the wheels
ever wake the old ghosts or if the peo-
ple who ride over the culvert ever
think that they are driving through a
city that lived in a great man's brain.

I.EdENDS OF KOMUM'S

'-.1

A,.. .

Ui — •
ih.

He was
n he re-
wns ard
igon box
ost equal

J location
jnd is In
sioal and
i seeking
! always
with the
as going
emise, he
a chariot
phia and
wish to
►inting to
juried on
is very-
locality,
a knoll,
e O'Reilly
the great
or of the
very thing
great re-
! locality,
oom, and
g-o into it
he farms

ouse is a
pie drive
le wheels
the peo-
ert ever
hrough a
n's brain,

and that some day in another world
he will show them hl» opera house and
his skating rink. No! They are won-
dering what the price of potatoes is in
Gait:

« • •

The splendid property was divided
among the children, but the mighty
boom had burst; Moses was dead, and
there was no Joshua. The government
moved the road to the other side of the
milk house and the dairy was turned
Into a tavern. A lean-to barroom
and a great fireplace were built against
the sooith wall, and there are their
ruins to be seen to-day. The old
milk house still stands stout and
strong with the pure and blessed
water flowing through it, but the bar.
room is a melancholy and rotted
wreck. Talking about this stream of
water reminds me that about the last
man who kept tavern there before
Watty Barons got it was a man
named Strahan. There was a trap-door
to reach the water which flowed be-
neath the floor. Mrs. Strahan was
found drowned In it one morning.
There were rumors that she had been
pushed in, but nothing was ever done
about it. There was no use making
a fuBs. The ruins of Lamb's mill that
furnished so much lumber for the dis-
trict are still to be seen directly south
of the old hotel. The mill is built on
the solid rock, worn smooth as glass,
and on its surface may be seen scratch-
ed deep lines from northwe.st to south-
east by the glaciers of acres unknown.
The old Mow.ierry tavern stanrls oti
the site of the proposed Catholic
cathedral and is still in good repair.

The old Lamb homestead is a won.
derful old building. There are four
great six-foot fireplaces In It— two up-
stairs and two down. They say that
walls have ears. Oh, if they only had
a tongue, what rare old stories would
those walls tell! As I passed from
room to room ghosts seemed to flit
noiselessly before me, and as I went
upstairs I noticed two ax marks on the
old bannister rail, made in a desperate
flght one wild winter's night. I
would hate to sleep all night alone In
that house.

It may be Interesting to know that
the village of Rockton was once part
of the estate of Lemuel Lamb, and it
came near being called Lambvllle.
When Hemon Gates Barlow was trea.s-
urer and chief magistrate of Beverly
his wife gave a party at which were
present Mrs. Belden, Mrs. Andrew
Kernighan, Mrs. Pettlnger, the Mls-sea
McVane, Miss Kate and Miss Aggie
Barrle, Mrs. Seth Holcomb, Mrs. Klrk-
patrlck and other ladles. The late
Mrs. Cranly was waiting on the table.
A government official had arrived to
establish a postofllce and he was in-
troduced to the ladies, had tea with
them, and stated his mission. None
of the ladies liked the name of Laml)-
vlUe, and In the midst of an animated
discussion as to what would be a good
appellation, Mrs. Cranly sang out:

"Call It Rocktown— dlvil a better
name you'll get than that!"

And amid screams of laughter the
little village received Its postofllce
name of Rockton. THE KHAN.

•,»/■,

■ > T, . 1 .S'

¥m

'\^M

't^m^f^A

^/,

RUINS OF THE KOMULUB GRIST MILL.

mi?

CHAPTER XXIII

AN ANCIENT T K OJ A N

<)|

i ''I!

iii

I i

ilr

111

E wandered down th<»
old Troy road (not the
old Kent road), looking
about for Interesting
things. It was early
mornilng, and the bright
warm sun shone strong
and clear over the
snow-covered earth, making fields,
fences and housetops sparkle as if be-
decked with diamonds. The smoke
from many a farm chimney went
shooting straight heavenward like in-
cense in the frost-laden air, and there
was a wonderful quiet all around. Our
good friends the farmer.s are not es-
pecially early risers in the winter time,
though they may make up for It in
summer, and for some time along the
up hill and down dale road the only
sounds that greeted us as we pas.sed
farm house after farm house was the
patient mooing of the cows and the
harking of the collie dogs. But there
was life inside the houses, as the smoke
showed, and as our watch hands show-
ed beyond the half-past eiglit o'clock
all along the way w.-is dotted by the
figures of the youngsters hurrying off
to school. The school liell soon after-
ward broke the universal stillness,
and another day had begun in earnest.

* * *
I wanted to go into the schoolhouse
and have a talk with the teacher on
the subject of Ontario's school sys-
tem, but the artist, he wouldn't have
It that way. Just as soon as he dis-
covered he was in Troy his artistic
soul yearned to see the ruins of tlie
walls of the historic old place, and as
soon as he located these he bethought
him of the noble Helen and wanted
to knock at every door to see if she
might not be somewhere in hiding.
We asked at the postofflce, but they
said there wasn't a Helen any more in
Troy, so he had to be satisfied for the
time with his snow-covered walls and
an old stone bridge. The walls did
not at any time in their history sur-

round Troy, but marked the confines
of a grist mill, which, like maay an-
other, has had Its day and fallen In
the march of the ages. It stood at
the right of the main road, by a bridge
spanning a wide and fast flowing
creek, whose source was somewhere
north in the Beverly swamp. Just
below the bridge was a cascade, much
narrowed and made the more fierce
by Ice bounds, and below this again
was another old bridge, with loose,
piled stone supports and abutments.
These were enough for the artist for
a little while, and the writer left him
and wandered about to find something
more interesting. And he found It, or
rather him.

* • *

Thou (verpresent shadow in the path

of man.
Thy .steps are lagging, slow:
TliDU and thine icy bosom friend,

gaunt death.
Taint all with dissolution's clammy
l)reath,
And make men fear thee ere they
know

Old Age.

The children, nut yet entered in the

(•(iiirse uf life-
Vet full of youthful glee—
Oft see thy jxiwer in M'^andame's

trembling hand.
In grandpa's Mhakiiig iitn'*s as near
they stand —
All fuUsome evidence of i;i;e.
Old Age.

And thus thy darkening form is seen

thrtiugh all our life,
A spectral token drear
Of what we all must come to— every

una—
Before our life work here on earth is
done.
So thou and gaunt old death appear.
Old Age.

Directly alongside the school house in
Troy Is a little frame cottage set on
stone foundation that tells one of a
capacious cellar below. In the school
yard the youngest of the present gen-

AN AVCIKNT THOJAN

•^5

in the

is seen

ADAM MISENER, THE CENTENAUIAN OF TROY

l« i;

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126

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

eration play about; from the cottage
window In winter and leaning against
the line fence In summer the oldest
man In many a county watches them
and has pleasant thoughts of his own
childhood, so long gone from him.
This was my find, and a most happy
find It was, for though Uncle Adam
Misener is so old — ^99 years on Feb. 20
of this year— he is young enough in ac-
tivity to pass for a much younger
man, and in conversation is a most
delightful companion. When the
Psalmist wrote, "The days of our years
are three score years and ten; and If
by reason of strength they be four
score years, yet is their strength labor
and sorrow, for it is soon cut off and
we fly away," he certainly did not In-
clude Uncle Misener, for though he is
long past the allotted span of life's
years his strength, according to his
own statement, is not yet labor and
sorrow.

• • •

"I sawed and split all the wood we
are using last summer, besides attend-
ing to the garden," said he, cheerfully.
"Didn't it tire me? I wouldn't work
till I got tired. I would take rests In
between. But I will not be able to do
so much next summer," he went on.
And then he dramatically described
what he called 'his first stroke." It
came one day last fall when he was
alone in the diningroom lying on the
sofa. The room was warm and he had
been dosing. "I got up," he said, "to
open a door, but before I had taken a
step I lost my breath, and with the
feeling that my pulse had stopped
there was a great flash In my eyes and
I fell on the floor. I got over It all
right, but I haven't been the same
since, and have had one or two more
strokes. The doctor says It
would have settled me the first time
If it had been a little harder."

Uncle Adam comes of sturdy stock.
His grandfather, also named Adam,
was a Hollander, and came to America
In 1720, settling In New Jersey. One
of his sons, Nicholas— the father of the
present Adam— married a pretty Irish
girl named Jane McLean right after
the American revolution, and in 1793
he started out from New Jersey with
a yoke of oxen, ( ne cow, a mare, his
wife and a ten weeks' old baby to
tramp tc Canada. The wife rode on the
mare, whiCh was harnessed to the cow,

and carried the baby in her arms as
far as Oswego. From that port, just
to give dlverseness to the trip, the
father, mother and child boarded a
little vessel and set sail for Niagara,
sending the cattle around by shore.
They landed at Niagara on July 4, 1793,
and went to Crowland township. In
Welland county. After a stay of 40
days there the father walked to To-
ronto (then known as Little York),
took the oath of allegiance to the
British ruler, paid a fee of $4 and
walked back home, the happy pos-
sessor of a land patent. In Crowland
township he cut down the forest and
built him a log hut. There he cleared
land and planted apple tree seeds
which in time grew Into fine fruit trees,
some of which may be seen there yet.
And there also was Uncle Adam born.

Uncle Adam was a slip of a boy
when the battle of Lundy's Lane wa'o
fought, and as his father's house was
but very few miles from the scene of
hostilities, and he was around at the
time, he heard a good deal of the row,
though, like a good sensible boy, he
did not get in the thick of it. He will
tell you now, if you care to ask him
about it, how he and his sisters were
out in his father's field picking peas
on the day of the battle. They had
heard there was to be an engagement
Bcon and were looking for it. It start-
ed about half an hour before sundown,
and as the old man now says, with a
wave of his arms, "when I tell about
it I get the same feeling I had then."
The first noise the youngsters heard
was the bang of a "2-pounder which
nearly soared them ou* of their wits.
Then came a rattle like hai! on a roof,
dyinr;: away and coming tliicker and
faster, just as the storm might increase
01 subside. This was the musketry dis.
charge, and every once in a while
would roar out like a great thunder
peal the big piece of ordnance.

Afterward the children went to the
battle ground, saw the blood-stained
earth, counted 42 bullet holes in one
fence rail, gathered a great stcire of
emptied cartridges and went home
with their little hearts sorrowful and
their minds full of wonderment, just
the same as little Peterkin.
* * *

One day when he was a small boy

AN ANCIENT TKOJAN

arms as
ort, juat
rip, the
arded a
Niagara,
y shore.
ly 4, 1793,
ship, In
ay of 40
1 to To-
e York),
: to the
$4 and
py pos-
ZJrowland
(rest and
e cleared
ee seeds
•ult trees,
here yet.
am born.

>f a boy
Lane wa:^
ouse was
scene of
id at the
: the row,
boy, he
, He will

aslc htm
ters were
<ing peas
They had
gagement

It start-
sundown,
'3, with a
tell about
ad then."
ers heard
ier wliich
heir wits.
on a roof,
icker and
t increase
iketry dis_

a while
thunder
ce.

nt to the
od-stained
es In one
t store of
ent home
owful and
Tient, just

small boy

Uncle Adam lost the sight of one eye.
It happened In a peculiar way, too. He
was playing knife with some other
boys, and when he came to "eyes"
the blade of his knife went too far,
blotting out the sight forever. When
one considers that even now at 99
years of age Uncle Adam Is just be-
ginning to use glasses, though for
nearly all his life the strain of sight

knots for torches, and one night, when
my partner quit work, he went right
home instead of calling at my house
and waking me up. When he left he
threw the pine-knot embers into the
creek, as he thought. A little while
afterwards I woke up and my room
was all of a glare. I looked out of the
window just in time to see the mill
roof fall in and a great sheet of flame

■ i&HiU

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—l^V'-iPp

RUINS OF THE OLD MILL.

has been upon one eye, one cannot but
wonder.

• * •

"March 13, eighteen and eighteen,"
as he puts it himself, was the time
when the old man first came to Bever-
ly. There were at that time seven
families in the place and sixty-three
names on the assessment roll, and
forest abounded everywhere. Like
nearly everyone else in those early
days. Uncle Adam had to have a mill
of some kind. He had a saw mill, and
with it bad luck. It had been running
but a month when It burned down with
all the product of the month's sav/ing.
He tells how the flre occurred: "I
went in with another young man in
the mill business, nnd we kept it run-
ning all the time, he working from
noon till midnight and I from mid-
night till noon. At night we used pine

catch the piles of lumber we had cut.

The pine-knot embers got into some

sawdust."

« * •

Three years after settling there
Uncle Adam married Miss Mary Mil-
ler, who died five years «■ 'torward. In
3831 he married Miss Ellen Coleman,
who died in April, 1895, at the good old
rge of ninety-five years. Ten children
were the joy of Uncle Adam's wedded
life, and but one of them has died as
yet. The sturdiness of the Mlsener
stock may he judged when it is said
that of twelve brothers and sisters, of
V hlch Adam is one, all but two have
lived to be over eighty years old. One
of these two died young of scarlet
fever and the other at seventy-nine
yrars. A sister— Elizabeth— died a
month ago, having reached ninety-
three years, and now Uncle Adam Is

i\ :

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128

WENTWOKTH LANDMARKS

the only one left of his father's fam-
ily. But he has perpetuated his fam-
ily's name, for last November there
were in the little cottage at dinner no
Ipss than five generations represent-
ed. Mrs. Clement, 271 Mary street, is
a daughter of Uncle Adam.

I cannot begin to tell you all the In-
teresting talk I had with the old man
as we sat by his kitchen fire that
morning. He told me, and I can readily
believe It from the steadiness of his
hand, that he shaves himself yet. I
learned that all his long life he has
been a staunch Reformer in politics,
and but twice since 1818 has missed

recording his vote for Reform candi-
dates. He admitted that he would
like very much to live till he had
passed the 100 year mark, though he
sometimes thinks that one of those
strokes will carry him off before that
time comes. I gave him a paper to
read, and as he sat by the fire the
artist, back from his ruined walls and
his search for Helen, sketched him as
he sat, he not knowing 4 thing about
it, so Interested was he in reading
about the developments of the Cretan
trouble. Goodly, kindly old Uncle
Adam: may he live to pass the century
mark. J. E. W.

h I

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'^'4u

i^'

?^?Iliri=.-

-f

=':}

. I!

A TKOJAX HKIUGE.

WHERE THE BATTLE WAS FOUGHT

Saltflcct's Claim to Historic Remembrance. ^ The Battle-
Ground and Its Environs. ^^ The Romantic Ravine at
Albion Mills. ^ A Post Mortem on Certain Stony
Creek Remains.

CHAPTER XXIV

A HATTI.EFIELD OK lSl2

i i

i :

i'!

Travelers who journey to Niagara
Falls or the villages and towns between
on the Queen's highway, cannot fail
to have noticed, a short distance west
of Stony Creek and to the south of the
road, a long, rambling sort of wooden
structure which would not present an
apiifarance of habitation, were it not
that the surroundings of vineyards,
apple and peach trees and other
products of luscious fruit show that
man is somewhere very near, and that,
in all likelihood, he is to be found In
the big wooden building before men-
tioned. That frame structure, odd as
it looks, has a history, and a lively
one; the chief events being connected
with the great battle of Stony Creek
In 1812. In and around that house oc-
curred some strange events, such as
have, not infrequently, changed the
whole course of a country's history.

That big, wooden house, 84 years
ago, was the homestead of James Gage
and the scene of the repulse of the
American soldiers, under Glen. Winder,
by Col. Harvey and his small force of
I3ritisher3 and faithful Indians. But
for that set-back for the American
troops, Canada — or this part of it —
might have been a northern hump on
the back of the great American repub-
lic, geographically speaking. In those
days of guerilla warfare the face of
nature on all sides of the Gage farm
presented a different aspect from what
It does to-day. Then, the road wound
around to the south of the big wooden
house and Gage's store close by, while
the present roadway had not evoluted
from the cedar swamp that spread It-
self to the north. Because or these
things. Gage's home was picked out by
the American officers as being both
commodious and comfortable and also
commanding an excellent view of the
surrounding country. True, nature
took a rise out of It a little to the
south, but the hill failed to have the
compensating comforts of a home, and
the Yankees were not dwellers in tents,
especially when they could get such a

nice, cosey place as Gage's, with the
concomitant of having plenty to eat.

It is an old, old story, familiar to
many, that lingers round and about the
old homestead of the Gages. The
winds that whistled under the eaves,
along the big verandas and round
the chimneys tell it, the floors and the
stairways tell It, and the surrounding
landscape bears mute testimony to the
stirring events of that time. One day
the Americans oame along, and Gen.
Winder and his ofRcers took possession
of the Gage house, turning the owner
and his family into the cellar. That
night, when the Yankees least ei-.pected
It. the British and the Indians came
down upon them. The Indians, with
their yells and war whoops, made the
Americans fear several tribes of red
men were upon them, and they fled in
double-quick order.

The famous and historical house will
be seen no more in its present form,
as the present owner, D. A. Fletcher,
has torn down one half of the build-
nig and converted what was left into
a more modern structure. Standing,
as it did, on rising ground, the house's
prominence brought out more plainly
Its venerable and nearly-a-century air.
It had not worn a coat — that Is, a coat
of paint — for several years, perhaps
not less than forty, and there was a"
decided let-me-lean-agalnst-j'ou style
from one end to the other of the por-
tion facing the road. The building was
70 feet long and 30 feet wide. On the
north side was a piazza, running the
length of the house, which was of two
stories. The front of the building,
which still faces south, as it did when
the road ran a short distance from It,
had a piazza and a veranda running
along more than two-thirds of it.
Years ago, a former owner, Col. Nelson,
added to the single story, and the front
has the appearance of two houses, the
western portion having a doorway with
a somewhat ornate arch — as orna-
mentation went in those days.

So much for the exterior. The in-

A BATTLEFIELD OK l8l2

131

OLD FRONT OF HEADQUAUTEUS, NOW THE BACK OF THE HOUSE.

terior was very much what would be
expected from such a big structure.
Taking the basement first, the visitor
descended to it on big blocks of stone
for steps. The earthen floor showed
that many thousands of feet had
passed over it, for It was hard as a
rock. The cellars were roomy and not
so bad a place for a refuge. In the
eastern end of the basement the
Gages made their home, while the Am-
erican officers bad possession of the
upper rooms and had a pleasant time,
when they were not dodging bullets.
In the northeast corner of the cellar
was a sort of recess, In which James
Gage made his bed during the dark
days of the Yankees' visit. Up-stairs
were big hallways, roomy corridors
ond apartments of large size. There
was enough room in the corridors and
hails to find room for several families.
The rooms had no striking feature,
and how much they had been changed
since the days of the Gages cannot be
told. One large room of that time is
now divided into two by a partition.

A locksmith of nowadays would look
with horror upon the locks and keys
used in that house. Under the stairs
in the main portion of the building was
a cupboard, which has a history, and
also a lock and key to make the lock-
smith's stout heart quail. The case of
the lock was nearly two inches across,
and the bolt was big enough to be used
in a hank safe. The key — well, there
was material in it for several keys of
the 1S96 pattern. The shank was nearly

an inch thick, and several inches long.
They say the keysmith was a black-
smith; the key bears out the state-
ment.

Although it was wood, wood every-
where in the old building, there was
no likelihood that anything less than
an earthquake would bring it down.
One reason for its stability was that
every three feet, along the whole length
of the east end, a beam 12x12 ijiches
was placed across the structure; while
down in the cellar at one end was an
Immense slab of stone, a foot thick
and twelve to fifteen feet long, which
made a portion of the foundation.

Another relic of the past soon disap-
peared with the half of the old house
— James Gage's old store, which now
stands a short distance away to the
southwest. It Is now nothing but a
shell and will make good kindling
wood. Along the front, over the front
door, can yet be faintly seen the words:
"J. Gage's Store." Some time ago they
were painted out, and soon the whole
concern will be blotted out.

Opposite the big house is shown the
stump of a tree to which was speared
by the Indians one of the American
sentries. A short distance away was
found what appears to be a spear-
head, although it is not said it is the
identical one that impaled the Yankee
Soldier.

A visit to the old home is not com-
plete without a climb to the top of the
hill at the rear, down which the In-
dians ran and scared off the American

132

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

scldiers that night. Mr. Fletcher, the
prt-eent owner of the house and land,
aays that with the aid of a telescope,
on a fine day, Hamilton, Toronto,
(juelph and St. Catharines can be
seen. Mr. Fletcher came Into posses-

sion of the property last May, and be-
fore him it belonged to the Gage, Nel-
son, Glover, Williams and Fisher fam-
ilies, Mr. Fletcher purchasing it from
George S. Fisher.

i I

'■ i
! *

(

1 and 2— Look on cellar door, 10 inches long. 3— Key, 6 inches long. 4— Fluted brass door latch.
6— Wrought iron extension pot hook, used at soldiers camp Are. 6— Sword or spear blade, found
under the tree where one of the sentries was buried.

and be-
ige, Nel-
her fam-

It from

CHAPTER XXV

ALBION MILLS U A V I N E

i door latch.
)lade, found

There's a fascination frantic
In a ruin that's romantic.
Do you think this is sufficiently de-
cayed?

HE South Rid-
ing of Went-
worth, from a
picturesque and
historic point of
view, presents no
point of greater
interest and
beauty than the
Mount Albion
ravine, at the
head of which
stands the grist
mill, and, on the
level ground
above it, the remains of other build-
ings erected early In the present cen-
tury. The road which leads around
it is a favorite drive, consequently the
plare is familiar to the residents of
both town and country. To see it at
its most Impressive, when it forms a
picture not soon or easily forgotten,
is to see it when the nights are moon-
lit, when the "lamp of heaven" swings
just high enough to throw long lanes
of light to the bottom of the dark ra-
vine. Standing on the bridge which
spans the water where it takes its
first leap downward, one might fancy
the silent mill a fortress, guarding
grimly the mouth of the pass. The
pass Itself — half hidden, half revealed—
l^ filled with strange, lurking figures,
and a suppressed murmur of voices.
Wo know the figures are only shadows
cast by the somber swaying pines, and
the voices are the voices of nature em-
bodied in the trees, and running water;
yet heard In connection with the idea
of a fortress, they make us think of
soldiers preparing for the attack, in
obedience to orders passed along th*
line. Aided by imagination the sounds
take meaning and grow distinctly on
the ear. A ray of moonlight flashes
on some bright object among the

shadows. Firearms surely! and in-
stinctively we turn, half expecting to
hear an awful salute from the fortress.
An owl hoots dismally that weird note
which turns the thoughts to death and
disaster. The grey bird flits past the
face of a rock that rises to a height
of SO feet, and from the top of which a
young girl cast herself to death, rather
than face desertion on the part of her
lover, who, when the wedding feast was
ready, failed to appear. Out of the
gloom where the bird has vanished
comes another mournful cry and the
gorge Is filled with ghostly echoes

We are now in a mood to thoroughly
believe all the tales in connection with
a house that once stood a short dis-
tance from the mill, and of which noth-
ing remains but a part of the chim-
ney and a reputation for having been
"haunLed." One of the stories, clearly
authenticated, is that a woman who
was sleeping one night in an upper
loom of the house, awoke suddenly to
find the clothes slipping from the bed.
S'he pulled them up. and again, as if
drawn by an unseen hand, they went
slowly creeping towards the foot of the
bed. Three times was this repeated,
and the third time the process was ac-
companied by an Impatient jerk. The
woman shrieked and fied down the
stair, where she fell in a swoon from
which she did not recover for hours.
Another story runs In this wise: A
gentleman whose name I shall not pub-
lish, but who Is a good judge of the
supernatural, was driving with some
ladies past the house after dark. The
horses suddenly stopped and snorted
as if in terror. An apparition (white,
of crurse), passed by the side of the
can i«ige. The ladles screamed and the
gentleman valiantly struck at it with
his whip. The whip lash cut right
through it, without causing Its ghost-
ship any apparent Inconvenience, for
It continued on its way to the house,
ar.d the horses, relieved of its presence,
started on again. By daylight our im-

■HB

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134

WENTVVORTII I-ANDMAKKS

pressions of the place are less roman-
tic, and more realistic. The hum of
machinery and the dumping of bags
over the mill door is a scene which
does not admit of any frills of fancy. We
even gaze on the "Lovers' Leap" with
nineteenth century apathy, and think
for what a trifle a woman will cast
away life! Let us hope that for Jane
Riley "the bitter lesson taught by
time" will be sweetened, in an eternity
blest by the presence of "Joseph," and
all danger of further trouble avoided
by the fact that there is there "no
marrying or giving In marriage."

Alas, poor Jane Riley, for Joseph she

did die
By Jumping off that dizzy brink full

sixty cubits high. —Slater.

The above lines are all that is avail-

able of a poem (?) written by one
Slater, at the time of the sad occur-
rence. In speaking of Slater my in-
formant said: "He was a smart man
and did not know it." I carefully made
a note of it. Slater should be one of
the features of picturesque and historic
Wentworth. "A smart man" is rare
enough; but "a smart man unconsci-
ous of his smartness" should be re-

ALBION MILLS RAVINE

'.VS

:n\

garded as an antique, if not, Indeed.
as an extinct species. Joseph's mother
said: "Let the blame rest on my should-
ers," which was very magnanimous;
and goes to prove that, like the aver-
age mother-in-law-elect, she objected
to her son's choice of a wife. Some
years later, when in apparently good
health, she suddenly shrieked: "Jane's
hand Is on my shoulder," and fell dead
on the floor. Jane had evidently taken

for John Sccord by a millwright whoso
descendants have made the name
familiar throughout the country.
Squire Secord employed as a miller a
colored man named Owen. One Sat-
urda.v the millwright happened into
the mill, and detecting with practiced
ear an unusual sound, ordered the mil-
ler to stop a certain stone. Owen de-
murred. He was willing to take
chances on the stone, and his employer

r^ia

'ft!iiil!!lli;2L''_

|!^a-«,::fT«Sr

- — , ^^ ■■'''■■ il' |7 ?!- \\'

--'7-. a, _..,..

A VERY OLD WAREHOUSE.

her at her word. As for the ghost-
rldden house, we refused to listen to
explanations, though we are inclined
to agree with Dickens when he says:
"They were afraid of the house and
believed in its being haunted; and yet
they would play false on the haunting
side so surely as they got an oppor-
tunity. The Odd girl was In a state
of real terror, and yet she invented
many of the alarms she spread and
made many of the sounds we heard."

It Is difficult to find out just when
the first mill was built at Mount Al-
bion. There was one there In 1814
which was repaired and set in order

agreed with him. For the sequel I can-
not do better than give it in the exact
words of "Hans:" "It was very tempt-
ing to the miller to let the mill run
on till Sunday morning. He felt a lit-
tle guilty, but there was a fine head
of water, and the mill was making
rapid work. When daylight looked in
at the windows his guilty sensations
sat more lightly upon him. Pretty
soon, before the neighbors had risen to
witness his transgressions, he would
shut off the water. Leaving the stone
flat he went below, where the chopped
grain was being discharged. While
there a fearful crash was heard above
—a sudden vibration and a hiss which
sent a thrill of horror through him. He

'! f '

: ;

I i

136

WENTWORTH LAXDMAHKS

.,... f^ '' '

''t-y¥^.

THE LOVERS' LEAP.

sprang to an open window, through it,
and up the hill as fast as his legs would
carry him. Gasping for breath he
looked down on the mill. Guilt and
fear had nearly overpowered him. By
and bye he ventured back and thrust
his head through the open window.
He saw no smoke and smelt no brim-
stone. So creeping to the foot of the

stair he found one half of the mill-
stone poised at the top, while the other
had gone Into a bin of grain." Others
affirm that the negro turned white with
fright, and never quite returned to his
original color. At any rate he was
never again "cotched" breaking the
Sabbath. The next to own the mill was
Peter Reed, whose sons, Adam and
Peter Reed, the latter ex-reeve of
Saltfleet, are now resident In the town-
ship. He, while quarrying a pit for a
new mill wheel, struck a vein of gas,
which, however, was not utilised until
the property became Mr. Crooks', when
it was piped and brought In to light the
mill. They also attempted to carry it
to the storeroom, which is a very old
building indeed, and every nail used in
the building of it hand wrought. Mr.
Cook, whose son, James Cook, owns the
property, suffered great losses by fire.
He had a large farm as well as the
mill property, and his barns were burn-
ed to the ground three times about the
year i860. A number of horses and
cattle were destroyed each time. In
fact, all that was in the buildings,
with the exception of one horse, which,
unaided, struggled out of the flames,
but with both eyes completely destroy-
ed. After the third fli-e suspicion of
incendiarism fell on an inmate of the
house, a girl whom the Scotch would
call "a natural," and who was employ-
ed to do rough work about the
kitchen. She imagined that her rights
were not properly defined, and took
this way of adjusting the matter. One
narrator says it was because her mis-
tress would not allow her to share her
bed with a youthful and orphaned pig.
She was anested and taken to Hamil-
ton. Not being in the days of patrol
wagons, constable and prisoner walked
together along the street. A friend
of the former met them, and having
some information to impart to the con-
stable, stopped him. He said to his
prisoner: "Walk on a few steps and I
will catch you." He hasn't caught her
yet. TONY REEK.

CHAPTER XXVI

EAUI.V DAYS IN SALTKLEE l'

Liafien, ye men of the cities,

To a page from the long ago,
Nor deem it a thousand pities

That the story's simple flow
Throbs not with the blood of warfare,

Political heat and strife,
But is only a homely record

Of the early settler's life.

ND It came to pass
that there rose up
out of the land of
the Philistines, one
named Adam, whose
surname was Green.
After Journeying
many days he
came to the creek
which is called Stony, and flows
through the land of promise, and there
he abode, he and his children and his
grandchildren, even unto the fourth
and fifth generation. Otherwise, or in
nineteenth century parlance, Ensign
Green, of Gen. Burgoyne's army, left
his home in the state of New Jersey
and came to the province of Ontario,
where on June 11, In the year 1791, he
staked his claim and became the first
settler in that part of the country
known later as the village of Stony
Creek. To his grandson, Samuel Green,
a gentleman vigorous in mind and
body, and bordering on 80 years, I am
indebted for my knowledge of many
incidents, handed down from father to
son, in connection with the pioneers of
the township of Saltfleet. "Why did he
leave New Jersey?" came as a natural
question. "Because he had to,", was
the blunt reply. This was refreshing,
and furnished food for thought. Hav-
ing been taught to regard the U. E.
Loyalist as a man who, for pure love
of the mother country, had, when the
United States gained their independ-
ence, shaken the dust of republicanism
from his loyal feet, and of his own free
will and accord had turned him to a
land that seeks no greater Independ-
ence than that furnished by the pro-
tection of the British crown, to say

that he left "because he had to" strips
the U. E. L. of the romantic halo
through which he shines a splendid
figure of faithful adherence to allegi-
ance.

* * •

In the days of the early settlers scien-
tific cooking would have labored under
difficulties. Wheat ground by hand
In a hollowed buttonwood log, and sift-
ed through a wolf skin, which, punched
full of small holes and stretched on a
wooden frame served the purpose of a
sieve, turned out a brand of flour that
a scientific cook wouldn't care to fool
with. Such an one was the mill made
by Adam Green, and the settlers as
they gathered in and formed a neigh-
borhood had either to use it or shoulder
their grain and take the Mohawk trail
to Niagara, where even there It was
not sifted, only ground. Succeeding
this primitive affair, and during the
next 40 or 50 years, nine different mills
were erected on the creek north of the
falls. At that time the volume of
water was great enough to turn a
mill wheel all through the summer
months. Now its feeble trickle dries
up completely, and Its course is naught
but a bed of stones at that season of
the year. Some day, when even that is
filled up and built over, and all trace
of the creek erased, future generations
will wonder to what the place is in-
debted for its name. People from
commonplace, thriving villages fiout
the idea of a future growth, and jeer
at our stagnation and our toll gate.
Let them! Stony Creek will live in
history when the thrifty village that
never had a battle ground or a toll gate
is forgotten. We don't deny its broken-
down, out-at-elbows look. That is its
patent of nobility. It is only plebian-
ism that must needs look sleek and re-
spectable.

* * *

The children of the first settlers had
peculiar school privileges. Their teach-
ers were mostly men from the Eastern

'3»

WKNTWORTH I.A.VI>My\HKS

RUINS OF THE OLD CHURCH AT STONY CREEK.

States who, traveling westward, would
engage a room In some log dwelling
house and announce their Intention of
keeping a school for a term of three
months. Each scholar signed an agree-
ment to pay so much, and the teacher
dealt out knowledge In proportion to
the amount paid, and "boarded round"
among the families. Some of the teach-
ers were Puritans. Others were men
out of the army, who flogged the boys
most unmercifully, believing that the
absorption of knowledge Is made easier
if taken with large doses of beech gad.
School books were a scarce article anl
writing material consisted of a quill
F-en, and for Ink the juice of the
equawberry. The first school house
ei-ected bore over the door the date
1822. After that better teachers were
available, but it was at considerably
later date than the building of the
school that geographies were intro-
duced, and also Kirkham's grammar.
In those days the minister of education
wasn't continually grinding out scho<'l
books and Bibles to suit the timer,; nor
teachers with relentless faces ordering

the last grist from the educational
mill. The first school house and the
first church, or Methodist chapel, were
built in different corners of the present
burying ground. Not a trace of them
remalneth. Even the second erections
for teacher and preacher are in ruins.

Spiritually the wants of the peop'.e
were provided for in much the same
way as their schooling. Once in two
or three months a Methodist preacher
or "circuit rider," oame In from
Niagara and delivered a sermon
straight from the shoulder. Lacking
that, they ministered to each other.
Kent and Gorman, settlers who follow-
ed close on the heels of Green, being
the presiding elders. On one occasion
the promised preacher not having ar-
rived, prayer and praise were conduct-
ed by Mr. Kent. Upon leaving the
church they were confronted with the
following lines, painted with lamp-
black on a shingle and set up at the
door:

KAUI.V I»AVS IN SAI/rKLliKT

ducational
i and the
iai>e!, were
he present
!e of them
I erections
in ruins.

the people
the same
ice In two
t preacher
In from
a sermon
Lacking
Eich other,
ho follow -
een, being
e occasion
lavlng ar-
e conduct-
ivlng the
I with the
th lamp-
up at the

On a certain Sabbath day,

There came no jjreacher with us to

pray;
So Satan, out of pity, sent
His faithful servant. William Kent.

Which would ar.iue that Mr. Kent

had an enemy.

• • •

The oldest butldinic in the village is
the Exchange hotel. Its exterior has
been somewhat altered, but in many
reapet I" the same as when built

In 181 .nother, the Canada house,

wan built in the nelKhborhood of 65

slowly on the veranda. Naturally, cas.
ual visitors decided at a glnnce that
the Canada house was doint; the busi-
ness of the place. Hostelrlos were as
thick as blackberries half a century
ago, and, owing to the large .iinount of
toaming, drove a thriving trade. Now
those old buildings are an eyesore,
gaunt and hungry looking, and totter-
ing to decay — with, of course, a few ex-
ceptions.

* • •

Very few of the old dwelling houses
arc left standing. One, the \'an Wag-

THE VAN WAONEU HOMESTEAD,

years ago. It boasted a dark room,
and doubtless many gentlemen of Ham-
ilton, prominent In political circles,
have pleasant recollections of holding
"a flush" or a "full house" within Its
friendly seclusion. One of the pi prie.
tors of its early days was wont to
spread his web with consummate skill
for the trapping of unwary travelers.
He had two vehicles which he kept In
the yard to make It appear that the
stable was full. To one of these he
would hitch his horse before anyone
else was astir in the morning, and drive
up and down, up and down, before the
house, the numerous tracks Just made
making it look as though a great deal
of traffic stopped at his door. Then on
tho principle of throwing a sprat to
catch a salmon, the usual loafers were
given cigars and told to smoke them

ner house. Is still to the fore, and in
close proximity to the modern resi-
dence occupied by Townsend Van
Wagner and family. It was built 80
years ago by the father of the oldest
present generation, a man who, as one
of his descendants expresses it, "came
t3 this country backwards," having
rowed in a rowboat all the way from
Albany, N.Y. His family are too well
known to make further comment neces-
sary; and I feel while dwelling on
these incidents of the past that I may
be spoiling material that under Hans'
treatment would have been a thing of
beauty and a Joy forever. From Col.
Van Wagner, should the occasion arise,
we may expect to see the fruits of the
spirit which animated his ancestors
when they fought for the British gov-
ernment in the wars of the revolution.

sssaisf^s

140

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

m I

v.i

THE RED HHiL ROAD.

li IP

While on the subject of schools I for-
got to make mention of one that 30 or
40 years ago was considered the best
country school in the county. I refer
to the one known, as its successor also
is, as the "Red Hill school" — called so
from the color and texture of the soil
which forms the bluff on which the
school house stands. In those days the
attendance averaged 100, and such
teachers as Harte, Smith and Cameron
(now Rev. T. Cameron, of Toronto),
were employed at a salary of $500 a
year. They grounded the older schol-
ars in Greek roots and Latin verbs,
and turned out pupils that have since
done credit to themselves and their
early teaching. Aid. Henry Car^callen,
Q.C., was an attendant for some years,
and his father was trustee of the
school for more than half a century.

Ex-AVarden J. W. Jardine and ex-
Vv''6rden J. W, Gage are familiar
names that were on the old school
roll, only, of course, without the pre-
fix which signifies municipal honors.

Fifty years ago the red clay
or chalk before mentioned was
used for making figures on the
blackboard, which consisted of some
roughly planed pine boards railed to
the wall. The building itseif was
wooden, and part of It moved from Its
foundation serves as a woodshed in
connection with the new school house
of to-day. The road leading past it
was an Indian trail leading from Lake
Ontario to the Grand river. It is pic-
turesque in the extreme, particularly
in the region of A'^ine Vale farm and
round about Mount Albion. When the
world was younger (we will not be par-
ticular as to dates), that part of the
road was not thought safe to travel on
after sundown. The cry of the wolver.
ine and "painter" was often heard at
nightfall, and different men could tell
thrilling tales of hairbreadth escapes.
The trees hung )ver the roads on both
sides, -nd one night Col. Gourlay, rid-
ing ba». . on h<>rseback, heard an omin-
ous rustling in the branches overhead.

EAKI.V DAYS IN SALTFLEET

'e..-.

ed clay-
ed was

on the

of some
i^alled to
seif was

from its
dshed in
Dol house
past It
•om Lake
It is plc-
rticularly
arm and
Vhen the
)t be par-
r-t of the
travel on
e wolver-
heard at
tould tell

escapes.

on both
rlay, rid-
an omin-
)verhead.

followed by that terrible cry, half
warning, wholly defiant. The colonel
rode a little further down the road, dis-
mounted and tied his horse. Before the
fierce wild animal in the tree knew
what it was all about, he was looking
into the business end of a revolver, and
with a very determined man at the
other end of it. He came down out of
the tree, and unlike the generality of
wild animals, had two legs instead of
four. From that night the road was
free of wolverines and "painters."

It has even been called picturesque.
To prove it I will tell of a remark

feet was "hitting the pipe." In the
gutter and on the veranda played a
group of dirty children; dogs basked
dreamily in the sun. The lady was
delighted. "It looks," said she, "like
one of those dear, dirty Italian vil-
lages." As an example of the small-
ness of human nature, we, who a mo-
ment before were going to disclaim all
knowledge of the place and pretend we
lived at Winona or on the mountain —
anywhere — took the compllmenr as a
compliment to ourselves, and began to
point out other interesting "bits." Mod.
esty forbade us, however, claiming kin.

--^^

n/=. ...

OLD HOUSE ON THE BATTLKti.ELD.

Tiiis building is on the uorth side of the road and was in existence some time before the
battle wan fouglit.

made by a lady — a southern lady —
traveling from Hamilton to Grimsby
camp ground via the H., G. and B.
The car stopped at the company's wait,
ing room, which is situated in a part
of the village calculated to impress a
stranger with a sense of its pictur-
esque loveliness. Next 'lOor to it is a
building, once an hotul (se« sketch),
then a boarding house for navvies
working on the construction of the T.,
H. and B. The roof of the veranda
was on this occasion covered with
orange peels, banana skins and other
refuse of a fruity nature. At a win-
dow appeared a pair of very large bare
feet, presumably the property of a
person uom under warmer skies than
ours, being a study in brown.
Wreaths of smoke curled from the win-
dow In evidence that the owner of the

ship with the owner of the feet. Visit-
ors of a material nature, who see no
beauty except when it represents dol-
lars and cents' worth, we take up into
a high mountain (like Satan), and show
them the country lying between it
and the lake. It is a picture which
never fails to call forth exclamations
of delight, as, indeed, how could it
fail to do? And if It happens to be
summer time the pleasure of the visitor
Is redoubled. Vineyards and orchards
stretching to the east and west fur-
on the north side ly the lake and a blue
Ifne of hills. To tiie south peach trees
and lusty grape vines clamber up the
lusty grape vines clamber up the
mountain side to mingle with up-lyins
fields of young wheat, trembling a 'j11-
vor grey in the light stirring of the
wind. The beach, crescent shaped.

142

WENTWORTH LANDMARKS

lylngr like a huge sickle sliarply divid-
ing the lake and the bay, and the bay
Itself resting like a pearl in the shadow
of the hills, has been compared, in its
beauty, with the Bay of Naples. In
looking over the country from the
brow of the mountain, one would like
to be able to call up a Mohawk chief
from the shades of the departed and
show him the difference a century has
made. Perhaps he would view It with
tho calm indifference common to the
Indian. If so, we would point out to
him the electric car gracefully describ-
ing the curves of his erstwhile trail.
That would move him, and cause him
to mutter in the language of the Mo-

hawk something about "the horrors
that we know not of." Still we need
not go back that far to make the
street car a matter of surprise, and we
find it difficult now to believe that
only three years ago we "staged It" to
Hamilton— said stage, by the way, al-
ways "smelled to heaven," and inclin-
ed one to think that the last occupant
must have been on his way to the
mortuary, and the horses gave one the
impression of having aged through
fast living rather than an accumula-
tion of years. But I am forgetting. It
is of the past, the long past, that I
should be writing.

TONY REEK.

! &!> -'

'. ■ fl,

A MILL OP YE OLDEN TIME.

wmmmm

horrors
ve need
ike the

and we
ve that
d It" to
ir&y, al-
d inclin-
ccupant

to the
one the
through
cumula-
tlngr. It

that I

:EEK.

I^Z

THE STAGE COACH DAYS

Recollections of Life on the Old Post Road Between Ham-
ilton and Caledonia. ^ The Wayside Inn Ruins that
Mark the Route Through Barton and Glanford.

•sasmmm

ft i

'ill''

'i -

CHAPTER XXVII

THE CALEDONIA STAGE HOAD

With a pull of the line and a crack of
the whip
We're off on the Caledonia stage;
Give modern-day cares and worries the
slixi
And live for an hour in another age.

(
If the road is good we may get there
soon;
If it isn't we'll possibly have to
walk;
But, speedy or slow, grant this one
boon—
Si't down and listen to old men talk.

UCH as one may
rejoice that his life
ihas been set in the
immediate present
In this century of
wonderful things
there is a mine of
Interesting incident to be opened up
and delved into when one considers the
earlier years of the century around
this neighborhood In almost any di-
rection. As, for instance, the records
of the old stage coach days along the
road over the mountain and Into Cale-
donia. We people of this day know
next to nothing of the real old-fash-
ioned stage coach other than what we
read about It in the school books, but
there are plenty of the old folks left
who knew no other mode of travel in
their younger days. And an interest-
ing method of travel it used to be, too,
particularly In the springs and falls
of the years. For it must be remem-
bered that in stage coach days the
science of rdad building In this land
v\Tas a thing undreamed of, and the
best roads of the country were those
known as plank roads. These were
good enough in the summer, when
everything was dry, and in the winter,
when everything was frozen up, b
In the spring and fall — well, they were
different. That Caledonia road, now
BO beautifully kept by a generous toll
road company, was one of those plank
roads in the early days, and from

what the old people say it had a rec-
ord for wickedness in spring and fall
seasons. The stage would leave Ham-
ilton in the early morning, four big,
heavy horses pulling it, and at Terry-
berry's hotel the change of beasts
would be made. When the roads were
very bad it would be impossible for
passengers to travel to Caledonia
without saying something to each
other, or in some way coming to-
gether. If they refused to be sociable
in any other way a lurch of the stage
would throw them unceremoniousl/y in
a heap. The mud of the road was
so deep and soft at these times of the
year that the coach would sink to the
hubs in many places, and it was no
uncommon things for passengers to
have to get out and walk for miles of
the way. And yet there are some of
us who fall to appreciate modern
methods of travel and make our lives
unhappy by grumbling and growling
because street cars or trains are too

slow.

• * *

If there are any people around this
part of the country who ought to re-
joice at the progress their pet reform
has made within 50 years they are the
temperance people. According to what
the old folks tell us there was a time
when no less than fifteen hotels lined
the road from John Clark's, at the top
of the mountain, to Caledonia. Now
there are but two. And more than
that; in those days there was practi-
cally no license law, and the man who
wanted to drink could do It at any
time of the day or night, and not get
the very best sort of liquor for his
drinking either. Shortly before 1856,
Jacob Terryberry, who died last fall,
went out Into Gl^nford township and
cast his eyes upon about 400 acres of
beautifully timbered land. It pleased
him and he bought It. There was a
good deal of money In the lumber busi-
ness In those days, and In a short
time Mr. Terryberry had saw mills

THE CALEDONIA STAGE ROAD

145

THE ANCIENT HESS HOSTLEKV.

going and mill hands at work all over
his property. Being a good business
man, and not given to wasting where
he could by any means save, he con-
ceived the idea of building a big hotel,
where his mill hands could board and
where the traveling public could get
all the accommodation they liked, liquid
and other sorts. So he sought him out
a builder — John Dickenson by name,
and father of John, the present M.L.A.
for South Wentworth. To him he
gave his orders, and in a short time
100,000 bricka were put in place, and
the big hotel became an accomplished
fact, as the picture will show. In its
day that hotel did a great business,
but with the decline of the lumber
trade and the loss of stage traffic, it
ceased to pay and was shut up. It Is
a curious thing, too, that the man
who built the place — Mr. Dickenson —
happened to be a license commissioner
for the riding when the licen.se was
cut off and the place closed up.

In the earlier days the postofflce of
the township was in the Terryberry
place, too. It was stationed right In
the bar, so 'tis said, and it was this
fact that led to Its removal. There
came a growth in the religious and
temperance sentiment of the commun-
ity, and It was thought unwise that
the preacher and his flock should have
to walk into a bar-room to get letters.

It may even be surmised that such a
condition of affairs might have led to
some very wicked deception on the
part of some of the good appearing
people, who may have been glad
enough of the postofflce excuse to get
Into the bar-room and leave tlieir
thirsts behind them. Whatever was
thought an agitation was begun, led
by Rev. Canon Bull, who is .so in-
timately Identified with the early his-
tory of a large part of Wentworth
county, for the removal of the post-
office to some more congenial, heaven,
blessed spot. No one could think of
any place better than Mr. Dickenson's
and he was finally persuaded to be-
come postmaster. He has held this
position ever since, all through the
long regime of the wicked Tory govern,
ment, and will likely continue to hnid
it till he dies, unless his own party
turns him out of office. The position
brings him in .?18 a year, which is
quite an Item.

* • *

It was over sixty years ago that
Jacob Hess, at that time not a very
young man, sailed Into Hamilton bay
In a boat, bound for the city of Dun-
das. Hamilton was a mighty small
place at that time, but its prospects
looked well, and as Mr. Hess looked
from the boat to the shore hla eye
was pleased with the scene. He was
looking for a place to settle, and he
had peculiar ideas of his own about

ppam

•i'

146

WENTWOKTH LANDMAKKS

the sort of place he wanted. There
was one thing he was bound to have
on his premises, and that was a living
spring. With this idea in his head he
carefully examined the shore of the
bay till he came to a place where a
swift running, business-like little
stream of cold spring water made Its
way into and was lost in the larger
body. That was what he was after,
and at the source of that stream he
determined to pitch his tent, wherever
that source might be.

• • *
Like an African explorer striking
Into the jungle, he started along the
banks of the stream. It was no easy
task he had set himself, for there was
an abundance of wild growth and
underbrush along «ts edge, and he
eventually found himself up against
the side of the mountain, looking up
many feet at the place where the water
came tumbling joyously over the
rocks. Up the side he clambered, and
once on the table land followed the
water course again. Three days
through the dense woods he followed
the stream. East and west, but ever
southerly, it led him, until at last he
found what he started out to discover
— the place where It bubbled up out
of the rocks. There he stopped, built
him a log hut and took up land. We
know the spring now as the Hess
spring. It tumbles its waters over
Chedoke falls, and It isn't so very
many years ago that some interested
persons tried to get the city aldermen
to buy the water course as a feeder
for a high level reservoir. It atill
flows, though the man who discovered
its source has long since been gather-
ed to his fathers, and a new owner Is
master of its destiny. Water flows
and time goes on forever.

Jacob Hess was one of the Interest-
ing old men of his time. He was one
of the pioneers who found it necessary
to use the old Indian trail to Niagara
Falls when he wanted to get his grist
ground, and before his death he often
told how he shouldered his first bag
of wheat and tramped along the trail
all the way to the Falls, there getting
It ground and tramping back again
with the bag of flour. When he first
built his log house he and his family
had to sit up at night fearful lest
wolves or other wild animals would In
some way get In at them. But the

scene quickly changed. The timbered
land was cleared away and a frame
house took the place of the log shanty.
Then one of the ! oys built a hotel on
the Caledonia road (everyone seemed
to have a hotel in those days). The
Hess tavern was a curious old place
and still stands, an old frame wreck
on the main road. It has long since
been deserted as a hotel and to-day
its only occupant Is Jim Jones, the
central market pickle prince. He may
be found there on any day but a
market day and Sunday, making
pickles in what used to be the bar-
room.

* • *

Just where the town line crosses the
stone road, making a four-corners,
there Is a section known as Ryck-
man's Corners. It received that name
many years ago, when Samuel Ryck-
man came along and received in pay-
ment for his services to the govern-
ment large tracts of land. In all he
owned about 700 acres of soil, at that
time heavily timbered. He was one
of the earliest settlers in that local-
ity, having come from Pennsylvania,
where his parents lived. He was a
good Hollander and a land surveyor.
There was plenty of land around this
part of the country at that time in
need of survey, and he was appointed
crown land surveyor for a large dis-
trict. Thus he acquired his large
property. Building a log house and
barn on the northeast corner of the
cross roads, he lived an honest life,
raised a family of worthy children,
and ultimately, at the age of 70, and
In the year 1846, died. One of his sons
was Major Ryckman, another one
Ward Ryckman and another Hamil-
ton Ryckman. The major received a
piece of his father's estate a short
distance down the town line, there
living out his life, following in his
father's footsteps as to raising a fam-
ily of worthy sons, among them being
S. S. Ryckman, ex-M.P., and W. H.
Ryckman. Ward Ryckman became
famous in early history as the owner
of the noted Victoria mills, which
supplied the lumber from which many
a Hamilton house still standing has
been built. Hamilton, the other son,
stuck to the old homestead, and he
also aided In perpetuating the family
name by his cons George, Edward,
John and some more. Hamilton did
not make farming his hobby by any
means. He branched out as a railway

=; K

THE CALEDONIA STAGE ROAD

'47

contractor and became responsible
for the building of large sections of
the Michigan Central railway. He
fixed up the old homestead, put a
brick front on It, and there his family
lived until grown up. Hamilton's
wife was a Miss Gage, daughter of
William Gage, whose home is on the
town line to the west, near the Union
schoolhouse. Both he and his good
wife are still living, he being 75 years
old and she two years younger.

• • «

In those days of the past thero were

hte north is the Fenton homestead,
and it isn't at all likely that the gen-
eral public knows that there, in a
low lying piece of ground, is a gas
well that to this day supplies the
Fenton house with heat and fuel. In
connection with the well a good story
is told. Years ago some master mind
conceived the idea that if he bored
far enough on the Fenton property he
would strike oil. A company was
formed and boring began. After a
time, however, no oil being struck,
ond funds running low, the sharehold-
ers did not want to produce the neces-

:5 ?-vv^j<» _

TEKKYBEURY'S BIG HOTEL,

no burying grounds, such as are now
known, and it was a coi-nmon custom
for every family to have its own
burial place somewhere on the farm.
Tiie Ryckman Jjurial ground is to be
seen yet, a little to the north of the
homestead, and the many tombstones
there of members and friends of the
family and connection are mute evi-
dences of a past that in this day oan
hardly be understood, much less ap-
preciated. At one time the Ryckman
burial ground and that other one of
the old Barton church were the only
two in the country round.

* * •

Next to the Ryckman homestead to

sary cash for further exploration.
Then the cunning manipulators of
the scheme poured coal oil down the
hole, pumped it out again, and shout-
ed: "We have struck oil." Of coursa
more money was at once forthcoming
and boring went on again. Finally,
however, when the hole was down
many thousands of feet, the job was
given up as a bad one and the hole
plugged. One day it was opened
again, and a flow of gas noticed.
From that time till now it has proved
a source of profit and pleasure to the
Fenton family. There ai'e all sorts of
mineral waters on the property, and
it may be there will some day be a
fortune on the place for its owner.

J. E. W.