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A plain and unassuming man
Was John; his candles never ran.
And many in this ancient place
Owed him a debt for a clean face.
William Kipp, too, doth memory greet,
In a small shop on Rideau Street,
A man of gentlemanly kind,
With a well-cultivated mind;
And Commissary Strachan, too,
And Oriel, who had much to do
Paying the debts of Waterloo,
And many another battle field
Where Britons fought and did not yield.
And old John Ring, "good gracious me!"
I had almost forgotten thee--
Thou "Silky" John of other years,
Gone from this dreary vale of tears,
A passing shade, and more's the pity,
For thou wert ever gay and witty.
And Charles Baines, an old time lawyer,
Stood here professional top sawyer;
He owned a bull dog, arrant thief!
Who plundered Agar Yielding's beef;
And when friend Yielding sought for law,
To deal with canine of such maw,
"Why, there is just one simple way,"
Said Charley, "Make the owner pay;"
"I thank you for your judgment brief,"
Said Agar, "pay me for the beef."
"Seven and sixpence worth of prog,
Was bolted by _your_ big bull dog."
"All right," said Charley, like a flash,
And quickly handed o'er the cash;
But, as friend Yielding turned to go,
"Come back," said Charley, "for you owe
Just seven and sixpence for advice,
So hand it over in a trice."
While on the past I now reflect,
I well and clearly recollect
John Wilson, who kept office here,
And afterwards a Judge austere
Of the Queen's Bench or Common Pleas,
Sat with much dignity and ease.
'Tis past, I shall not here relate
Young Robert Lyon's luckless fate,
Nor shall I stir the tomb and tell
Why he an early victim fell
At folly's shrine, as he who bends
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.
Father of Henry James, who died.
Just as his eye of hope descried
The goal he labored to attain--
The honors he had fought to gain.
Tis no uncommon thing to find
A little man with full grown mind:
And 'mongst those who