"Christ is risen from the dead and become the first fruits of them that slept. "For since by man came death; by man came also the resurrection of the dead. "For as in Adam all die; even so in Christ shall all be made alive."

Christ is risen! Jesu lives; He lives His faithful ones to bless; The grave to life its victim gives— Our grief is changed to joyfulness.   The sleeping Saints, whom Israel slew, Waking, shall list the joyful sound; He—their first fruits—doth live anew, Hell hath a mighty conqueror found.   Paschal offering! spotless Lamb! For us was heard thy plaintive cry; For us, in agony and shame, Thy blood's sweet incense soar'd on high.   By erring man came woe—the grave— The ground accurs'd—the blighted tree— Jesus, as man, for ransom gave Himself, from death to set us free.   Christ is risen! saints, rejoice! Your hymns of praise enraptured pour— Ye heavenly angels, lend your voice— Jesus shall reign for evermore!

Hallelujah! Amen.

THE SINNER'S COMPLAINT AND CONSOLATION.

Oh for a conscience free from sin! Oh for a breast all pure within— A soul that, seraph winged, might fly 'Mid heav'n's full blaze unshrinkingly, And bask in rays of wisdom, bright From His own throne of life and light.   Peace, pining spirit! know'st thou not that Jesus died for thee— For thee alone His last sigh breathed upon th' accursed tree; For thee His Omnipresence chain'd within a mortal "clod"— And bore thy guilt, to be as well thy Saviour as thy God: Aye, suffered anguish more—far more—than thou canst e'en conceive, Thy sins to cleanse—thy self-earnt condemnation to relieve.   And did He suffer so for me? Did He endure upon the tree A living death—a mortal's woe, With pangs that mortals cannot know! Oh triumph won most wofully! My Saviour died for me—for me!   And have I basely wish'd to make this wondrous off'ring vain; Shall love so vast, be unrepaid by grateful love again? Oh! true affection never chafes at obligation's chain, But hugs with joy the gracious yoke whose guidance is its gain; And such the Saviour's ardent love—His suff'ring patience—these Most unlike human bonds, are cancell'd by their own increase.   Rejoice, my soul! though sin be thine, Thy refuge seek in grace divine: And mark His Word—more joy shall be In heav'n for sinners such as thee Repenting, than can e'er be shown For scores whom guilt hath never known.

In explanation of my having become, in 1840, printer of the Church newspaper, I must go back to the date of Lord Sydenham's residence in Toronto. The Loyalist party, as stated already, became grievously disgusted with the iron grasp which that nobleman fastened upon each and every person in the remotest degree under government control. Not only the high officers of the Crown, such as the Provincial Treasurer and Secretary, the Executive Councillors, the Attorney-General and the Sheriff, but also the editors of newspapers publishing the government advertisements, in Toronto and elsewhere, were dictated to, as to what measures they should oppose, and what support. It was "my government,"—"my policy"—not "the policy of my administration," before which they were required to bow down and blindly worship. There were, however, still men in Toronto independent enough to refuse to stoop to the dust; and they met together and taking up the Toronto Herald as their mouth-piece, subscribed sufficient funds for the payment of a competent editor, in the person of George Anthony Barber, English Master of Upper Canada College, now chiefly remembered as the introducer and fosterer of the manly game of cricket in Toronto. He was an eloquent and polished writer, and created for the paper a wide reputation as a conservative journal.

About the same time, Messrs. Henry and William Rowsell, well-known booksellers, undertook the printing of the Church newspaper, which was transferred from Cobourg to Toronto, under the editorship of Mr. John Kent,—a giant in his way—and subsequently of the Rev. A. N. Bethune, since, and until lately, Bishop of Toronto.

Being intimate friends of my own, they offered me the charge of their printing office, with the position of a partner, which I accepted; and made over my interest in the Herald to Mr. Barber.





CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE CLERGY RESERVES.

I have lately astonished some of my friends with the information, that William Lyon Mackenzie was originally an advocate of the Clergy Reserves—that is, of state endowment for religious purposes—a fact which makes his fatal plunge into treason the more to be regretted by all who coincide with him on the religious question.

In Lindsey's "Memoirs" we read (vol. 1, p. 46):

"A Calvinist in religion, proclaiming his belief in the Westminster Confession of Faith, and a Liberal in politics, yet was Mr. Mackenzie, at that time, no advocate of the voluntary principle. On the contrary, he lauded the British Government for making a landed endowment for the Protestant clergy in the Provinces, and was shocked at the report that, in 1812, voluntaryism had robbed three millions of people of all means of religious ordinances. 'In no part of the constitution of the Canadas,' he said, 'is the wisdom of the British Legislature more apparent than in its setting apart a portion of the country, while yet it remained a wilderness, for the support of religion.'

. . . "Mr. Mackenzie compared the setting apart of one-seventh of the public lands for religious purposes to a like dedication in the time of the [early] Christians. But he objected that the revenues were monopolized by one church, to which only a fraction of the population belonged. The envy of the non-recipient denominations made the favoured Church of England unpopular.

. . . "Where the majority of the present generation of Canadians will differ from him, is that on the Clergy Reserves question, he did not hold the voluntary view. At that time, he would have denounced secularization as a monstrous piece of sacrilege."[15]

How much to be regretted is it, that instead of splitting up the Clergy Reserves into fragments, the friends of religious education had not joined their forces for the purpose of endowing all Christian denominations with the like means of usefulness. We are now extending across the entire continent what I cannot help regarding as the anti-Christian practice of non-religious popular education. We are, I believe, but smoothing the road to crime in the majority of cases. Cannot something be done now, while yet the lands of the vast North-West are at our disposal? Will no courageous legislator raise his voice to advocate the dedication of a few hundred thousand acres to unselfish purposes? Have we wiled away the Indian prairies from their aboriginal owners, to make them little better than a race-course for speculating gamblers?

Even if the jealousy of rival politicians—each bent upon self-aggrandizement at the expense of more honourable aims—should defeat all efforts in behalf of religious endowments through the Dominion Legislature, cannot the religious associations amongst us bestir themselves in time? Cannot the necessity for actual settlement be waived in favour of donations by individuals for Church uses? Cannot the powerful Pacific Railway Syndicate themselves take up this great duty, of setting apart certain sections in favour of a Christian ministry?

The signs of the times are dark—dark and fearful. In Europe, by the confession of many eminent public writers, heathenism is overspreading the land. In the United States, a community of the sexes is shamelessly advocated; and there is no single safeguard of public or private order and morality, that is not openly scoffed at and set at nought.

Oh, men! men! preachers, and dogmatists, and hierarchs of all sects! see ye not that your strifes and your jealousies are making ye as traitors in the camp, in the face of the common enemy? See ye not the multitudes approaching, armed with the fell weapons of secular knowledge—cynicism, self-esteem, greed, envy, ambition, ill-regulated passions unrestrained!

One symptom of a nobler spirit has shown itself in England, in the understanding lately suggested, or arrived at, that the missions of any one Protestant Church in the South Sea Islands shall be entirely undisturbed by rival missionaries. This is right; and if right in Polynesia, why not in Great Britain? why not in Canada? Why cultivate half-a-dozen contentious creeds in every new township or village? Would it not be more amiable, more humble, more self-denying, more exemplary—in one word, more like our Master and Saviour—if each Christian teacher were required to respect the ministrations of his next neighbour, even though there might be some faint shade of variety in their theological opinions; provided always that those ministrations were accredited by some duly constituted branch of the Christian Church.

I profess that I can see no reason why an endowment should not be provided in every county in the North-West, to be awarded to the first congregation, no matter how many or how few, that could secure the services of a missionary duly licensed, be he Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Congregationalist, Disciple—aye, even Anglican or Roman Catholic. No sane man pretends, I think, that eternal salvation is limited to any one, or excluded from any one, of those different churches. That great essential, then, being admitted, what right have I, or have you, dear reader, to demand more? What right have you or I to withhold the Word of God from the orphan or the outcast, for no better reason than such as depends upon the construction of particular words or texts of Holy Scripture, apart from its general tenor and teaching?

Again I say, it is much to be deplored that Canada had not more Reformers, and Conservatives too, as liberal-minded as was W. L. Mackenzie, in regard to the maintenance and proper use of the Clergy Reserves.

It was not the Imperial Government, it was not Lord John Russell, or Sir Robert Peel, or Lords Durham and Sydenham, that were answerable for the dispersion of the Clergy Reserves. What they did was to leave the question in the hands of the Canadian Legislature. It was the old, old story of the false mother in the "Judgment of Solomon," who preferred that the infant should be cut in twain rather than not wrested from a rival claimant.

I would fain hope that the future may yet see a reversal of that disgrace to our Canadian Statute Book. Not by restoring the lands to the Church of England, or the Churches of England and Scotland—they do not now need them—but by endowing all Christian churches for the religious teaching of the poorer classes in the vast North-West.





CHAPTER XXXV.

A POLITICAL SEED-TIME.

From the arrival of Sir Charles Bagot in January, 1842, up to the departure of Lord Metcalfe in November, 1844, was a period chiefly remarkable for the struggles of political leaders for power, without any very essential difference of principle between them. Lord Cathcart succeeded as Administrator, but took no decided stand on any Canadian question. And it was not until the Earl of Elgin arrived, in January, 1847, that anything like violent party spirit began again to agitate the Provinces.

In that interval, some events happened of a minor class, which should not be forgotten. It was, I think, somewhere about the month of May, 1843, that there walked into my office on Nelson Street, a young man of twenty-five years, tall, broad-shouldered, somewhat lantern jawed, and emphatically Scottish, who introduced himself to me as the travelling agent of the New York British Chronicle, published by his father. This was George Brown, afterwards publisher and editor of the Globe newspaper. He was a very pleasant-mannered, courteous, gentlemanly young fellow, and impressed me favourably. His father, he said, found the political atmosphere of New York hostile to everything British, and that it was as much as a man's life was worth to give expression to any British predilections whatsoever (which I knew to be true). They had, therefore, thought of transferring their publication to Toronto, and intended to continue it as a thoroughly Conservative journal. I, of course, welcomed him as a co-worker in the same cause with ourselves; little expecting how his ideas of conservatism were to develop themselves in subsequent years. The publication of the Banner—a religious journal, edited by Mr. Peter Brown—commenced on the 18th of August following, and was succeeded by the Globe, on March 5th, 1844.

About the same time, there entered upon public life, another noted Canadian politician, Mr. John A. Macdonald, then member for Kingston, with whom I first became personally acquainted at the meeting of the British American League in 1849, of which I shall have occasion to speak more fully in its order; as it seems to have escaped the notice of Canadian historians, although an event of the first magnitude in our annals.





CHAPTER XXXVI.

"THE MAPLE LEAF."

It was in the year 1841, that the Rev. Dr. John McCaul entered upon his duties as Vice-President of King's College, after having been Principal of Upper Canada College since 1838. With this gentleman are closely connected some of the most pleasurable memories of my own life. He was a zealous promoter of public amusement, musical as well as literary. Some of the best concerts ever witnessed in Toronto were those got up by him in honour of the Convocation of the University of Toronto, October 23rd, 1845, and at the several public concerts of the Philharmonic Society, of which he was president, in that and following years. As a member of the managing committee, I had the honour of conducting one of the Society's public concerts, which happened, being a mixed concert of sacred and secular music, to be the most popular and profitable of the series, greatly to my delight.

In 1846, 1847 and 1848, Dr. McCaul edited the Maple Leaf, or Canadian Annual, a handsomely illustrated and bound quarto volume, which has not since been surpassed, if equalled, in combined beauty and literary merit, by any work that has issued from the Canadian press.

Each volume appeared about Christmas day, and was eagerly looked for. The principal contributors were Dr. McCaul himself; the Hon. Chief Justice Hagarty; the late Rev. R. J. McGeorge, then of Streetsville, since of Scotland; the late Hon. Justice Wilson, of London; Miss Page, of Cobourg; the Rev. Dr. Scadding; the late Rev. J. G. D. McKenzie; the late Hon. J. Hillyard Cameron; the Rev. Alex. (now Archdeacon) Dixon, of Guelph; the Rev. Walter Stennett, of Cobourg; C. W. Cooper, Esq., now of Chicago; the late T. C. Breckenridge; the late Judge Cooper, of Goderich; and myself; besides a few whose names are unknown to me.

My own connection, as a writer, with the "Maple Leaf" originated thus: While printing the first volume, I had ventured to send to Dr. McCaul, through the post-office, anonymously, a copy of my poem entitled "Emmeline," as a contribution to the work. It did not appear, and I felt much discouraged in consequence. Some months afterwards, I happened to mention to him my unsuccessful effusion, when he at once said that he had preserved it for the second volume. This was the first ray of encouragement I had ever received as a poet, and it was very welcome to me. He also handed me two or three of the plates intended for the second volume, to try what I could make of them, and most kindly gave me carte-blanche to take up any subject I pleased. The consequence of which was, that I set to work with a new spirit, and supplied four pieces for the second and five for the third volume. Two of my prose pieces—"A Chapter on Chopping," and "A First Day in the Bush"—with two of the poems, I have incorporated in these "Reminiscences:" my other accepted poems, I give below. After this explanation, the reader will not be surprised at the affection with which I regard the "Maple Leaf." I know that the generous encouragement which Dr. McCaul invariably extended to even the humblest rising talent, in his position as head of our Toronto University, has been the means of encouraging many a youthful student to exertions, which have ultimately placed him in the front rank among our public men. Had I met with Dr. McCaul thirty years earlier, he would certainly have made of me a poet by profession.

EMMELINE.

The faynt-rayed moone shynes dimme and hoar, The nor-wynde moans with fittful roare, The snow-drift hydes the cottage doore, Emmeline, I wander lonelie on the moore, Emmeline.   Thou sittest in the castle halle In festal tyre and silken palle, 'Mid smylinge friendes—all hartes thy thrall, Emmeline, My best-beloved—my lyfe—my all, Emmeline.   I marke the brightness quit thy cheeke, I knowe the thought thou dost not speake, Some absent one thy glances seeke, Emmeline, I pace alone the mooreland bleake, Emmeline.   Thy willfull brother—woe the daye! Why did hee cross mee on my waye? I slewe him that I would not slaye, Emmeline, I cannot washe his bloode awaye, Emmeline.   Oh, why, when stricken from his hande, Far flew his weapon o'er the strande— Why did hee rush upon my brande? Emmeline, Colde lyes his corse upon the sande, Emmeline.   Thou'rt too, too younge—too younge and fayre To learne the wearie rede of care— My bitter griefe thou must not share, Emmeline, I could not bidde thee wedde despaire, Emmeline.   Through noisome fenne and tangled brake, Where crawle the lizard and the snake, My mournfull hopelesse way I take, Emmeline, To live a hermitt for thy sake, Emmeline.   Thy buoyaunt spirit may forgett The happie houre when last we mett— My sunne of hope is darklie sett, Emmeline, I'll bee thy guardian-angell yett, Emmeline.

CHANGES OF AN HOUR

ON LAKE ERIE.

Smiles the sunbeam on the waters— On the waters glad and free; Sparkling, flashing, laughing, dancing— Emblem fair of childhood's glee.   Ruddy on the waves reflected, Deeper glows the sinking ray; Like the smile of young affection Flushed by fancy's changeful play.   Mist-enwreathing, chill and gloomy, Steals grey twilight o'er the lake— Ah! to days of autumn sadness Soon our dreaming souls awake.   Night has fallen, dark and silent, Starry myriads gem the sky; Thus, when earthly hopes have failed us, Brighter visions beam on high.

A CANADIAN ECLOGUE.

An aged man sat lonesomely within a rustic porch, His eyes in troubled thoughtfulness were bent upon the ground: Why pondered he so mournfully, that venerable man? He dreamt sad dreams of early days, the happy days of youth.   He dreamt fond dreams of early days, the lightsome days of youth; He saw his distant island home—the cot his fathers built— The bright green fields their hands had tilled—the once accustomed haunts; And, dearer still, the old churchyard where now their ashes lie.   Long, weary years had slowly passed—long years of thrift and toil— The hair, once glossy brown, was white, the hands were rough and hard; Deep-delving care had plainly marked its furrows on the brow; The form, once tall and lithe and strong, now bent and stiff and weak.   His many kind and duteous sons, his daughters, meek and good, Like scattered leaves from autumn gales, were reft the parent tree; Tho' lands, and flocks, and rustic wealth, an ample store he owned, They seemed but transitory gains—a coil of earthly care.   Old neighbours, from that childhood's home, have paused before his door; Oh, gladly hath he welcomed them, and warmly doth he greet; They bring him—token of old love—a little cage of birds, The songsters of his native vale, companions of his youth.   Those warbled notes, too well they tell of other, happier hours, Of joyous, childish innocence, of boyhood's gleeful sports, A mother's tender watchfulness, a father's gentle sway— The silent tear rolls stealthily adown his furrowed cheek.   Sweet choristers of England's fields, how fondly are ye prized! Your melody, like mystic strains upon the dying ear, Awakes a chord that, all unheard, long slumbered in the breast, That vibrates but to one loved sound—the sacred name of "Home."

ZAYDA.

"Come lay thy head upon my breast,  And I will kiss thee into rest." —Byron.
Wherefore art thou sad, my brother? why that shade upon thy brow, Like yon clouds each other chasing o'er the summer landscape now? What hath moved thy gentle spirit from its wonted calm the while? Shall not Zayda share thy sorrow, as she loves to share thy smile?   Tell me, hath our cousin Hassan passed thee on a fleeter steed? Hath thy practised arm betrayed thee when thou threwst the light jereed? Hath some rival, too ungently, taunted thee with scoffing pride? Tell me what hath grieved thee, Selim—ah, I will not be denied.   Some dark eye, I much mistrust me, hath too brightly answered thine; Some sweet voice hath, all too sweetly, whispered in the Bezestein. Nay, doth sadder, deeper feeling dim the gladness of thine eye? Tell me, dearest, tell me truly, why thou breath'st that mournful sigh?   Oh, if thou upon poor Zayda cast one look of cold regard, Whither shall she turn for comfort in a world unkind and hard? Since our tender mother, dying, gave me trustfully to thee, Selim, brother, thou hast always been far more than worlds to me.   Take this rose—upon my bosom I have worn it all the day; Like thy sister's true affection, never can its scent decay: As the pure wave, murm'ring fondly, lingers round some lonely isle, Life-long shall my love enchain thee, Selim, asking but a smile.

THE TWO FOSCARI.[16]

Ho! gentlemen of Venice! Ho! soldiers of St. Mark! Pile high your blazing beacon-fire, The night is wild and dark, Behoves us all be wary, Behoves us have a care No traitor spy of Austria Our watch is prowling near.   Time was, would princely Venice No foreign tyrant brook; Time was, before her stately wrath The proudest Kaiser shook; When o'er the Adriatic The Wingéd Lion hurled Destruction on his enemies— Defiance to the world.   'Twas when the Turkish crescent Contended with the cross, And many a Christian kingdom rued Discomfiture and loss; We taught the turban'd Paynim— We taught his boastful fleet, Venetian freemen scorned alike Submission or retreat.   Alas, for fair Venezia, When wealth and pomp and pride —The pride of her patrician lords— Her freedom thrust aside: When o'er the trembling commons The haughty nobles rode, And red with patriotic blood The Adrian waters flowed.   'Twas in the year of mercy Just fourteen fifty two —When Francis Foscari was Doge, A valiant prince and true— He won for the Republic Ravenna—Brescia bright— And Crema—aye, and Bergamo Submitted to his might:   Young Giacopo, his darling, —His last and fairest child— A gallant soldier in the wars, In peace serene and mild— Woo'd gentle Mariana, Old Contarini's pride, And glad was Venice on that day He claimed her for his bride.   The Bucentaur showed bravely In silks and cloth of gold, And thousands of swift gondolas Were gay with young and old; Where spann'd the Canalazo A boat-bridge wide and strong, Amid three hundred cavaliers The bridegroom rode along.   Three days were joust and tourney, Three days the Plaza bore Such gallant shock of knight and steed Was never dealt before, And thrice ten thousand voices With warm and honest zeal, Loud shouted for the Foscari Who loved the Commonweal.   For this the Secret Council— The dark and subtle Ten— Pray God and good San Marco None like may rule again! Because the people honoured Pursued with bitter hate, And foully charged young Giacopo With treason to the state.   The good old prince, his father— Was ever grief like his!— They forced, as judge, to gaze upon His own child's agonies! No outward mark of sorrow Disturb'd his awful mien— No bursting sigh escaped to tell The anguish'd heart within.   Twice tortured and twice banish'd, The hapless victim sighed To see his old ancestral home, His children and his bride: Life seem'd a weary burthen Too heavy to be borne, From all might cheer his waning hours A hopeless exile torn.   In vain—no fond entreaty Could pierce the ear of hate— He knew the Senate pitiless, Yet rashly sought his fate; A letter to the Sforza Invoking Milan's aid, He wrote, and placed where spies might see— 'Twas seen, and was betrayed.   Again the rack—the torture— Oh! cruelty accurst!— The wretched victim meekly bore— They could but wreak their worst; So he but lay in Venice, Contented, if they gave What little space his bones might fill— The measure of a grave.   The white-haired sire, heart-broken, Survived his happier son, To learn a Senate's gratitude For faithful service done; What never Doge of Venice Before had lived to tell, He heard for a successor peal San Marco's solemn bell.   When, years before, his honours Twice would he fain lay down, They bound him by his princely oath To wear for life the crown; But now, his brow o'ershadow'd By fourscore winters' snows, Their eager malice would not wait A spent life's mournful close.   He doff'd his ducal ensigns In proud obedient haste, And through the sculptured corridors With staff-propt footsteps paced; Till on the giant's staircase, Which first in princely pride He mounted as Venezia's Doge, The old man paused—and died.   Thus govern'd the Patricians When Venice owned their sway, And thus Venetian liberties Became a helpless prey: They sold us to the Teuton, They sold us to the Gaul— Thank God and good San Marco, We've triumph'd over all!   Ho! gentlemen of Venice! Ho! soldiers of St. Mark! You've driven from your palaces The Austrian, cold and dark! But better for Venezia The stranger ruled again, Than the old patrician tyranny, The Senate and the Ten!




CHAPTER XXXVII.

ST. GEORGE'S SOCIETY.

My new partner, Mr. William Rowsell, and Mr. Geo. A. Barber, are entitled to be called the founders of the St. George's Society of Toronto. Mr. Barber was appointed secretary at its first meeting in 1835, and was very efficient in that capacity. But it was the enthusiastic spirit and the galvanic energy of William Rowsell that raised the society to the high position it has ever since maintained in Toronto. Other members, especially George P. Ridout, William Wakefield, W. B. Phipps, Jos. D. Ridout, W. B. Jarvis, Rev. H. Scadding, and many more, gave their hearty co-operation then and afterwards. In those early days, the ministrations of the three national societies of St. George, St. Andrew, and St. Patrick, were as angels' visits to thousands of poor emigrants, who landed here in the midst of the horrors of fever and want. Those poor fellows, who, like my companions on board the Asia, were sent out by some parochial authority, and found themselves, with their wives and half a dozen young children, left without a shilling to buy their first meal, must have been driven to desperation and crime but for the help extended to them by the three societies.

The earliest authorized report of the Society's proceedings which I can find, is that for the year 1843-4, and I think I cannot do better than give the list of the officers and members entire:

ST. GEORGE'S SOCIETY OF TORONTO.

Officers for 1844.

Patron—His Excellency the Right Hon. Sir Charles T. Metcalfe, Bart., K. G. B., Governor-General of British North America, &c.

President—William Wakefield. Vice-Presidents—W. B. Jarvis, G. P. Ridout, W. Atkinson. Chaplain—The Rev. Henry Scadding, M. A. Physician—Robt. Hornby, M. D. Treasurer—Henry Rowsell. Managing Committee—G. Walton, T. Clarke, J. D. Ridout, F. Lewis, J. Moore, J. G. Beard, W. H. Boulton. Secretary—W. Rowsell. Standard Bearers—G. D. Wells, A. Wasnidge, F. W. Coate, T. Moore.

List of Members, March, 1844.

E. H. Ades, E. S. Alport, Thos. Armstrong, W. Atkinson.

Thos. Baines, G. W. Baker, Jr.; G. A. Barber, F. W. Barron, Robert Barwick, J. G. Beard, Robt. Beard, Edwin Bell, Matthew Betley, J. C. Bettridge, G. Bilton, T. W. Birchall, W. H. Boulton, Josh. Bound, W. Bright, Jas. Brown, Jno. Brown, Thos. Brunskill, E. C. Bull, Jas. Burgess, Mark Burgess, Thos. Burgess.

F. C. Capreol, W. Cayley, Thos. Champion, E. C. Chapman, Jas. Christie, Edw. Clarke, Jno. Clarke, Thos. Clarke, Thos. Clarkson, D. Cleal, F. W. Coate, Edw. Cooper, C. N. B. Cozens.

Jno. Davis, Nath. Davis, G. T. Denison, Sen., Robt. B. Denison, Hon. W. H. Draper.

Jno. Eastwood, Jno. Elgie, Thos. Elgie, Jno. Ellis, Christopher Elliott, J. P. Esten, Jas. Eykelbosch.

C. T. Gardner, Jno. Garfield, W. Gooderham, G. Gurnett.

Chas. Hannath, W. Harnett, Josh. Hill, Rich. Hockridge, Joseph Hodgson, Dr. R. Hornby, G. C. Horwood, J. G. Howard.

Æ. Irving, Jr.

Hon. R. S. Jameson, W. B. Jarvis, H. B. Jessopp.

Alfred Laing, Jno. Lee, F. Lewis, Henry Lutwych, C. Lynes, S. G. Lynn.

Hon. J. S. Macaulay, Rich. Machell, J. F. Maddock, Jno. Mead, And. Mercer, Jas. Mirfield, Sam. Mitchell, Jno. Moore, Thos. Moore, Jas. Moore, Jas. Morris, W. Morrison, J. G. Mountain, W. Mudford.

J. R. Nash.

Thos. Pearson, Jno. E. Pell, W. B. Phipps, Sam. Phillips, Hiram Piper, Jno. Popplewell, Jno. Powell.

M. Raines, J. D. Ridout, G. P. Ridout, Sam. G. Ridout, Ewd. Robson, H. Rowsell, W. Rowsell, F. Rudyerd.

Chas. Sabine, J. H. Savigny, Hugh Savigny, Geo. Sawdon, Rev. H. Scadding, Jas. Severs, Rich. Sewell, Hon. Henry Sherwood, Jno. Sleigh, I. A. Smith, L. W. Smith, Thos. Smith (Newgate Street), Thos. Smith, (Market Square), J. G. Spragge, Jos. Spragge, W. Steers, J. Stone.

Leonard Thompson, S. Thompson, Rich. Tinning, Enoch Turner.

Wm. Wakefield, Jas. Wallis, Geo. Walton, W. Walton, Alf. Wasnidge, Hon. Col. Wells, G. D. Wells, Thos. Wheeler, F. Widder, H. B. Williams, J. Williams, W. Wynn.

Thos. Young.

The list of Englishmen thus reproduced, may well raise emotions of love and regret in us their survivors. Most of them have died full of years, and rich in the respect of their compatriots of all nations. There are still living some twenty out of the above one hundred and thirty-seven members.

The following song, written and set to music by me for the occasion, was sung by the late Mr. J. D. Humphreys, the well-known Toronto tenor, at the annual dinner held on the 24th April, 1845:—

THE ROSE OF ENGLAND.

The Rose, the Rose of England, The gallant and the free! Of all our flow'rs the fairest, The Rose, the Rose for me! Our good old English fashion What other flow'r can show? Its smiles of beauty greet its friends, Its thorns defy the foe! Chorus—The Rose, the Rose of England,                     The gallant and the free!                 Of all our flow'rs the fairest,                     The Rose, the Rose for me!   Though proudly for the Thistle Each Scottish bosom swell, The Thistle hath no charms for me Like the Rose I love so well. And Erin's native Shamrock, In lonely wilds that grows, Its modest leaflet would not strive To vie with England's Rose. Chorus—The Rose, the Rose, etc.   Yet Scotia's Thistle bravely Withstands the rudest blast, And Erin's cherished Shamrock Keeps verdant to the last; And long as British feeling In British bosoms glows, Right joyfully we'll honour them, As they will England's Rose. Chorus—The Rose, the Rose, etc.

Before closing my reminiscences of the St. George's Society, it may not be out of place to give some account of its legitimate congener, the North America St. George's Union. Englishmen in the United States, like those of Canada, have formed themselves into societies for the relief of their suffering brethren from the Fatherland, in all their principal cities. The necessity of frequent correspondence respecting cases of destitution, naturally led the officers of those societies to feel an interest in each other's welfare and system of relief, which at length gave rise to a desire for formal meeting and consultation, and that finally to the establishment of an organized association.

In 1876, the fourth annual convention of the St. George's Union was for the first time held in Canada, at the City of Hamilton; in 1878 at Guelph; in 1880 at Ottawa; and in August, 1883, at Toronto—the intervening meetings taking place at Philadelphia, Bridgeport and Washington, U. S., respectively.

To give an idea of what has been done, and of the spirit which actuates this great representative body of Englishmen, I avail myself of the opening speech of the President, our fellow-citizen and much esteemed friend, J. Herbert Mason, Esq., which was delivered at the City Hall here, on the 29th of August last. After welcoming the delegates from other cities, he went on to say:—

"Met together to promote objects purely beneficent, for which, in the interests of humanity, we claim the support of all good citizens, of whatever flag or origin, we may here give expression to our sentiments and opinions without reserve, and with confidence that they will be received with respect, even by those who may not be able to share in the glorious memories, and vastly more glorious anticipations, with which we, as Englishmen and the descendants of Englishmen, are animated.

"And in the term Englishmen, I wish to be understood as including all loyal Irishmen, Scotchmen, and Welshmen. There need be no division among men of British origin in regard to the objects we are banded together to promote.

"The city of Toronto is in some respects peculiarly suitable as a place for holding a convention of representative men of English blood. Its Indian name, Toronto, signifies a place of meeting. Ninety years ago its site was selected as that of the future capital of Upper Canada, by General Simcoe, a Devonshire man, distinguished both as a soldier and a statesman, who, in the following year, founded the city.

"At that time the shore of our beautiful bay, and nearly the entire country from the Detroit river to Montreal, was a dense forest, the home of the wolf, the beaver and the bear. In earlier years the surrounding country had been inhabited by powerful Indian tribes; but after a prolonged contest, carried on with the persistence and ferocity which distinguished them, the dreaded Iroquois from the southern shores of Lake Ontario had exterminated or driven away the Hurons, their less warlike kinsmen, and at the time I speak of, the only human beings that were found here was a single family of the Mississaga Indians. The story of the contest which ended in the supremacy of the Iroquois Confederacy, taken from the records of the Jesuit fathers, who shared in the destruction of their Huron converts, so graphically described by Parkman, the New England historian, furnishes one of the most interesting and romantic chapters of American history. In the names and general appearance of its streets, the style of its habitations, in its social life, and the characteristics of its people (if the opinions of tourists and visitors may be accepted), Toronto recals to Englishmen vivid impressions of home in a greater degree than any other American city.

"The opening up of the Canadian North-West, and the increased tendency of English emigration towards this Continent, instead of, as formerly, towards those great English communities in the Southern hemisphere, proportionately increases the responsibility thrown upon their kindred living here, to see that all reasonable and necessary counsel and assistance are afforded to them on their arrival. One of the most suitable agencies for effecting this object is the formation of St. George's Societies in every city and town where Englishmen exist. To the friendless immigrant, suddenly placed in a new and unknown world, not understanding the conditions of success, and, in many cases, suffering in health from change of climate, the familiar tones, the kindly hand, and the brotherly sympathy of a fellow-countryman, are most welcome. It supplies to the stranger help of the right kind when most needed, and is one of those acts of divine charity which covers a multitude of sins. One of the chief objects of the St. George's Union is to increase the number and usefulness, and enlarge the membership of such societies, and if, under its fostering influence and encouraging example, Englishmen generally, and their descendants, are aroused to a more faithful discharge of their duty in this respect, the Union is surely well worth maintaining. In this connection, and for the information and example of younger societies, permit me to point out some features of the work of the St. George's Society of this city. It was organized in 1835, when the population of the city was only 8,000. In the nearly fifty years of its existence, it has had enrolled among its chief officers, men of distinguished position and high moral excellence. It is a notable circumstance, that at the time of the meeting of this Union in Toronto, the Lieutenant-Governor of Ontario, whose official residence is here, as well as the Mayor, the Police Magistrate, the Treasurer, the Commissioners, the Acting Engineer, and the Chairman of the Free Library Board of Toronto, are all members of the St. George's Society, and two of them past-presidents of it. It has a membership of about six hundred, an annual income of about $2,400, and invested funds to the amount of nearly $9,000. The office of the Society is open daily, where cases requiring immediate advice or assistance are promptly attended to by its indefatigable Secretary, Mr. J. E. Pell. The Committee for General Relief meets weekly. Every case is investigated and treated on its merits. Efforts are made to secure employment for those who are able to work, and all tendencies towards pauperism, or the formation of a pauper class, are severely discouraged. One feature in the work of this society I invite special attention to, which is its annual distribution of 'Christmas Cheer' to the English poor. Last Christmas Eve there were given away 7,500 pounds of excellent beef; 4,400 pounds of bread; 175 pounds of tea, and 650 pounds of sugar. Each member of the society had, therefore, the satisfaction of knowing when he sat down to his Yule-tide table, loaded with the good things of this life, and surrounded by the happy faces of those he loved best, that every one of his needy fellow-countrymen was, on that day, bountifully supplied with the necessaries of life."

From the Annual Report of the Committee I gather a few items: