m dear departed "Old White Hat!"
Who thought Reformers could not err,
And laid the lash on Dawson Kerr,
Whom he in bitter hues did paint
A sinner, and called him "the saint."
A journal of more modern date
Than the _Gazette_, who's early fate,
Was Phoenix-like to rise resplendent
From ashes of the _Independent_,
Which had at periods now and then,
Emitted Sparks from Johnston's pen,
Which meteor-like shot forth in pride,
Blazed, flickered, then collapsed and died.
And Robert Hardy's name I find,
In the old days long left behind.
James Matthews, too, in death's repose,
In early times was one of those
Who helped to build the ancient town,
Which modern taste is pulling down,
Assisted now and then by fires,
Past recollections primal pyres.
John Bennett, cord-wainer of yore,
And volunteer in Rifle corps,
With muzzle-loaders past and gone,
Gallant and brave old Number One!
Our civic army's primal rib,
Once called by Alexander Gibb,
"The Sleepy's," in the good old time
When he dealt in both prose and rhyme,
And made opponents fume and fret
With caustic in the old _Gazette_--
Rhyme, too, in which a critic's claw
Could scarcely fasten on a flaw,
His verse was standard like his law.

CHAPTER IV.

John Cobb, I'll take a glance at thee,
Firm standard of Free Masonry!
Mine eye delights to rest upon
Thy iron frame, old "Uncle John."
If honesty and simple truth
E'er "flourished in Immortal youth,"
Where time can ne'er their glories rob,
They rest with thee, my friend, John Cobb!
And Dudley Booth, what shall I say
Of this strange mortal passed away?
His was a genius burning bright
With brilliant and uncertain light--
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.
R.W. Cruice in ancient days
Was fond of mirth and sporting ways;
I had almost forgot to tell
How he on horseback cut a swell,
And made a fleet and daring rush
At Barry's hunt and won "the brush,"
When sportsmen gathered full of glee
Around the famed J.P., M.D.
And here diverging from my road
Into a little episode,
I'll tear at once with gesture brief
From memory's book a comic leaf,
A tale from cobweb's volume hoary
Of this Sangrado in his glory,
Many wil