William Pittman Lett

“ And on a little table, too,
Tin measures were exposed to view,
For thirsty souls their clay to slake,
And draughts of inspiration take—
For then the numbers were but few,
Who shun'd the sparkling mountain dew,
And people under no pretence
Could dream of total abstinence:
Even John B. Gough's most magic sway
Had failed in Bytown's early day.
Vast was the throng assembled there
At Bytown's first and greatest Fair,
And merry were the antics seen
Upon that famous ancient green. ”

“ Within old Bytown's classic ground;
And now I'll close my roll of fame
With a most well-remember'd name,
A man of dignity supreme
Rises to view in memory's dream,
Ultra in Toryism's tariff,
Was Simon Fraser, Carleton's Sheriff,
Personified by the third vowel,
Forerunner of W.F. Powell,
A high and most important man
In the renown'd old Fraser Clan,
Who well had worn the Highland tartan,
For he was bold as any Spartan,
And did his duty mildly, gravely,
And wore the sword and cocked hat bravely. ”

“ A martyr to ill-judging friends,
Will always fall; but end I here
This record of his short career.
Honor, indeed! thy shrine appears,
Surrounded by a sea of tears.
George Shouldice is a man of old,
Henry was too, who 'neath the mould
Lies slumbering in solemn rest—
He many a pompous body drest
With garments fine and quite exotic,
When fashion was not so despotic.
And Charles Friel, an early man
With Bytown's history began,
A man of ready tongue and wit,
A politician who could hit
And sway with eloquence the throng,
Which shouts alike for right or wrong. ”

“ Though strictly not of Bytown fame,
I can't forget John Egan's name,
It well deserves what I can give,
To make it unforgotten live;
For 'mongst the sons of enterprise,
Who rose with Bytown's early rise,
When "Norway Pine" was number one,
John Egan stands almost alone—
The king of the Grand River, then
The Wellington of lumber men
A man of boundless energy,
And vast capacity was he,
All difficulties had to fly,
And cower before his dauntless eye! ”

“ In the contemplation of those names and incidents, I have often, recently, overlooked the fact that I now live in a City with nearly thirty thousand inhabitants, and that its name is Ottawa. It has, nevertheless, been to me a pleasant labor of love to walk in memory among the men and the habitations of byegone times.
Doubtless, of the inhabitants of dear old Bytown, there are some among the dead and others among the living, whose names may not be found in this little work. ”

“ As fancy paints the dauntless throng,
Who dashed with claymore down the slope,
On red Culloden's grave of hope.
And Peter Aylen, who could tell
The path he trod of yore as well
As I, who from an early day
Knew Peter Aylen's every way?
'Tis not my purpose to indite
A history of his life; or write
A record of his strange career,
To interest the reader here.
Howe'er his stirring life you scan,
You'll find that Aylen was a man!
Afraid of nought that ever wore
The human shape on Ottawa's shore! ”

“ Who should not now forgotten be
In this memorial strain by me,
In days of yore, his true-nosed hounds
To the Chaudiere with certain bounds,
Oft chased the anther'd buck before
Their deep-mouthed yells to Ottawa's shore.
He was a sportsman keen and true,
Who dearly loved the "view halloo!"
And Graves, who near the old Scotch Kirk
Dwelt 'neath the shadow of the "birk;"
And Isaac Cluff appears in view,
A loyalist, both staunch and true;
James "Kennedy, the carter," too,
Who the first truck through Bytown drew
With the assistance of a horse,
I mean, to be exact, of course. ”

“ Were rara aves upon Ottawa's shore;
Tho' commerce scarce had spread her gilded wings,
The herald of a costlier state of things;
Tho' such an institution as our own,
Was to our early pioneers unknown,
An institution, let me say, in short,
Worthy of every patriot's support;
Established on a comprehensive base.
Where every man of worth may find his place—
temple of intelligence to give
To mind the sustenance on which to live,
Tho' all such modern glories then were rare,
Yet old Bytonians did not badly fare. ”

“ That I have changed my mind is entirely owing to the solicitations of friends desirous of having them in compact shape, and not to any particular ambition of my own to write a book.
I do not pretend to present the reader with anything perfect in rhythm, polished in measure, or labored in style of construction. I have aimed at the truth, and imagine I have hit it.
My object has been, simply, to gather together as many of the names and incidents connected with Bytown's early history as memory alone could recal. ”

“ A grander altar than of yore,
The ancient "Black mouth's" knelt before.
And Robert Sheriff, stately man,
Who the Crown Timber Office "ran"—
To use a well worn Yankee phrase
Unknown in Bytown's early days.
And A.J. Christie, what shall I
Say of this old celebrity?
An M.D. of exceeding skill
Who dealt in lancet, leech and pill,
Cantharides and laudanum, too,
When milder measures would not do;
A polished scholar and a sage,
A thinker far before his age,
A writer of sarcastic vein
And philosophic depth, who's train
Of thought was comprehensive, deep,
Peace to his ashes! ”

“ Of Bytown's distant early days
Before my vision doth appear,
To claim his right of entry here.
And Robert Stethem, too, his brother,
Of village denizens another;
John Miller too, of leather fame,
Who from the County Wexford came,
And first made here such boots and shoes
As fashion could not now refuse
In this fastidious age to take
And wear them for their matchless make. ”

“ Gazing on Bytown's elder sons,
The portly Colonel I behold
Plainly as in the days of old,
Conjured before me at this hour
By memory's undying power;
Seated upon, his great black steed
Of stately form and noble breed.
A man who knew not how to flinch—
A British soldier every inch. ”

“ Who in their last dissolving throes,
Gave evidence that power to kill
Was mingled with Vancortlandt's skill—
When to that distant coast he'll steer,
No crowd of ghosts will hover near,
And cry out. "Van, you sent us here!"
Edward McGillivray, how is this,
That I by accident should miss
So long an ancient name like thine,
'Twould be unpardonable, if mine
The fault to leave thy well-known name
Unwritten in my roll of fame?
Bytown was young, and so wert thou,
Years long before the "Shannon's" prow
Cleft Ottawa's bosom on her way
To Grenville in our early day. ”

“ Stood in the good old days of yore;
There William Stewart flourished then,
A man among old Bytown's men;
And there, Ben Gordon ruled the roast,
Evoking many a hearty toast,
And purchase from the throngs who came
To buy cheap goods in friendship's name. ”

“ Where now, is Turner, who of yore,
Kept school near the old Ottawa's shore?
And Heath who came across the line
In able teaching here to shine?
And old John Stilman, who shoes made,
And flourished in St. Crispin's trade?
William McCullough, where is he?
Gone to the unknown country—
A steady, harmless, quiet man,
Who here in '32 began
A race unmixed with hate or strife,
Which ended only with his life. ”

“ Proud in inventive dignity,
And dark in inmate mystery,
It flickered only, when sublime,
It might have left a light for time,
And wondering mortals to admire,
Tis gone! I saw its flame expire.
And John R. Stanley was among
Old Bytown's well remembered throng,
Whom memory's tuneful measure bears
Back from the shades of other years. ”

“ How grand the sight which doth their vision bound;
A city stands in fair and youthful grace,
Where once old Bytown had its primal place;
And lo! in grandeur towering the skies
In marbled splendor upon yonder hill,
Our Legislative Temples proudly rise,
A columned glory of the artist's skill!
Thanks to our gracious Queen, who's royal hand
Made Ottawa chief city of the land!
Thanks to the men who fought through good and ill
The fight of right, and bravely battled still ”

“ Gone is its fair renown of yore,
It's schoolboy battles all are o'er,
Which made it then a "Campo Bello"
For many an embryo daring fellow—
Too young to know what men of sense
Have called the art of self-defence;
There buttons flew, from stitching riven,
Black eyes and bloody noses given—
Even conflicts national took place,
Among old Bytown's youthful race. ”

“ Are now the mothers of our land, and men—
The wilderness has vanished, the old trees
Have disappeared before improvement's breeze;
Commercial enterprise is busy now,
The Ottawa's breast is cleft by many a prow,
The roaring, rushing locomotives scour
Along the track at forty miles an hour—
The electric current cleaves the ambient air,
Shooting the rays of thought round everywhere,
Darting like sunbeams to the left and right,
The swift-winged messengers of mental light! ”

“ Is he who once was Bytown's Mayor,
Ere, J.B. Turgeon took the chair?
Lost 'mid the overwhelming blaze
Of changes new; gone from the gaze
Of public life, like many a man
Who, once for public honors ran.
And George and Robert Lang are gone,
Men of intelligence and tone,
Who held positions marked and high
In Bytown's old society. ”

“ We seldom meet with such as he.
John Rochester, a man of old,
Who's life a tale of goodness told,
He steered through time from envy free,
You'd scarcely find an enemy,
Who o'er his honored dust would dare
Defame the ashes resting there;
For such as he laws ne'er were made,
Peace to his gentle vanished shade!
Well, will it be for James and John
If they walk the same path upon
Which their departed sire trod
With love alike to man and God!
James Joynt is 'mong the living yet
A printer of the old Gazette.
Who plied the typographic trade
Ably in Bytown's first decade. ”

“ As ancient Bytown went ahead.
Two rows of houses built of wood,
Near Enoch Walkley's brewery stood
With narrow little street between,
This was the village that I mean.
Then William Graham kept the peace
Of all the town with perfect ease;
Potato whiskey then was cheap,
And we had little peace to keep.
Such monstrous practice was unknown
As kicking when a man was down,
Though many a stunning blow was felt,
None ever struck below the belt ”

“ On other people's errant cash;
Who guards, as it is right well known,
Better than e'er he did his own,
The people's money, firm and sure,
To the last cent, safe and secure.
And opposite across the street,
A friend or foe could always meet
A man deserving hero's title,
Uncompromising Watson Litle!
A stern upholder of the law
Who ne'er in justice found a flaw,
With well charged blunderbuss in hand
He asked not order or command,
But sallied forth semper paratus
To aid the Posse Comitatus!
"Peace to his ashes!" many a score
Of heads he smashed in days of yore! ”

“ May heaven give strength and energy to those
Who from political convulsion's throes—
A proud example to the sons of earth,
Brought union and an empire into birth!
May wisdom guide them as they onward steer
The vessel of the State in her career—
Smooth be the wave and gentle be the gales
That fill our ark of safety's well trim'd sails—
Strong be the vision of the pilot, too,
To keep the port of union full in view,
Until the anchor's cast, the sails are furled,
A spectacle of envy to the world! ”

“ James Anderson, a man of yore,
Who pitched his tent in days gone by
'Mong Bytown's ancient company,
An honest hearted jovial Scot
As e'er in exile cast his lot
'Mongst those who pioneered the track
Down which my memory's muse looks back.
And now as I stretch forth my hand
In search of one from Paddy's land,
A man of wit and humour rare,
I touch him still and find him there. ”

“ For boys were boys, as 'twas, and men were men.
And girls were what they always were, the best
Blossoms in the gardens of the blest!
One steamer only cleft the Ottawa's spray,
But did not, like the "Queen," come every day. ”

“ Told Bytown that the boat was in,
And at the sound the signal man
His banner up the flagstaff ran.
It was a good old time when thou
Bought beavers at a price which now,
When beaver skins are somewhat rare,
Would cause even Chauncey Bangs to stare.
Yes, 'twas a fine old time for trade,
Money was plenty—easy made,
And thou wert, aye, a canine blade. ”

“ A scientific engineer;
And Finland, the contractor, who
With coach and four the streets drove through,
The grandest carriage of the kind
E'er seen in Bytown—with behind—
In gorgeous and artistic glare,
A lion and an eagle—where
Is friend Perkins? he can still
Remember that old eagle's bill. ”

“ Is known to histrionic fame;
Who play'd at Shylock on the stage,
When tragedy was more the rage
Than in this sad degenerate age.
And where art thou, my friend, George Story,
A man of yore, though not yet hoary? ”

“ Their difference with strong sinews on each side.
We had no sidewalks then, not much taxation,
No lock-up, county gaol, no corporation,
No aldermanic wisdom, and no mayor,
To fill with dignity the civic chair;
No tax collector with his pressing bill
To cause consumption in an empty till;
Corrupt electors trod not freedom's ground,
No purchaseable franchise could be found—
Money was not the "altar and the God,"
Before which manhood bowed a venal clod! ”

“ Insensible to sight or sound,
'Twas a stone that almost killed him quite,
In a most lively faction fight
In Bytown's celebrated fair,
When stones flew thickly through the air,
I can't forget it, I was there ”

“ Young Bytown oft was wont to meet—
To struggle in the "shinny game;"
Ah! then it was a place of fame,
Full sixty feet from shore to shore,
While now it measures scarce a score;
Modern improvement has prevail'd—
Its fair proportions are curtail'd ”

“ And Wyman who was seldom serious,
Poor fellow! in life's manly bloom
He slept in an untimely tomb.
Time fails me, or I fain would tell
Of many more remembered well,
But end I here my present strain
Till memory wakes it up again.
CHAPTER III.
I cross the Ottawa once more.
From Hull again to Bytown's shore.
And for a moment I behold
The river as it was of old,
Swelling, majestic in its pride,
A glorious stream from side to side!
A "Grand River" was Ottawa then,
The pride of ancient lumbermen,
By slabs and sawdust undefiled. ”