,
Should memory's record pass thee by?
An artist of the gentle trade,
By whom Bytonians were arrayed
Most fashionably in old times.
When dross among the social crimes
Held not the rank which modern art
Hath given it in fashion's mart.
An agile fireman, danger-proof,
As ever struggled up a roof,
Or to the midnight summons sprang
When the alarm signal rang;
As cat or squirrel of active limb--
A "ridge-pole" was a street to him.
The old extinguishers of flame
Will well remember Malcolm's name.
As the long past I wander through,
Michael O'Reilly comes to view;
A man of stature, somewhat brief,
Who largely dealt of old in beef,
In that cheap time when scanty coin
Was ample for the fattest loin,
Rounds, chops, and beefsteaks were not gold
In those delightful days of old.
'Tis true the tallow-candle's light
Was all the ray that cheered the night,
Before our first assizes term
Was dignified by actual sperm--
The real thing--no "Belmont's" then
Were found among the sons of men.
Another name remembrance brings,
The muse of old John Darcey sings,
In numbers almost a magician--
A wonderful arithmetician,
Whose mode with all others "collided,"
Who added, multiplied, divided,
And even substracted by such rules
As ne'er were known or taught at schools.
No learned professor of the birch
E'er left John Darcey in the lurch;
No pedagogue was ever able
To con his arithmetic table.
And Edward Darcey--no relation--
Except in name, to old Equation,
A son of Crispin, a sole nailer,
Who owned a curly dog called "Sailor"--
A noble, liver-hue'd retriever,
Who'd make one almost a believer
In canine intellectual merit
Which dogs as well as men inherit.
Louis Pinard, in ancient times,
Was always ready with the "dimes"--
Excuse the slang--which a disgrace is--
At gallopping or trotting races,
And A.P. Lesperance beside him,
A good horse kept, and well could ride him,
When horsemanship was more in fashion
Than sitting still and laying lash on,
In four-wheeled vehicle at ease,
Which modern Jehuism doth please.
And Galipean, who kept good whiskey,
And old Jamaica to make frisky
The visitors to his retreat,
On the east side of Sussex Street,
Close to the very spot, I think,
Where now James Thompson deals in mink,
Otter and other kinds of fur,
Prime and unprime, without demur.
'Twas at this inn one afternoon
In '33, the month was June,
That Martin Hennessy once tried
On horseback up the stairs to ride.
And would have don