It will be remembered that in a previous chapter mention was made of the Reverend Mr. MacKinnon endeavoring to organize a total abstinence society, and how the attempt met with utter failure. Since writing that chapter we have received additional information of this meeting, which does not substantially alter the facts as related. Thomas Lunn, then an elder in the Annan congregation, was one of those who opposed the idea, quoting Scripture in defense of his position. Not one of those present would consent to sign the pledge and Mr. MacKinnon closed the meeting with a tart remark—“Very well, then, we will shut up shop.”

Had Mr. MacKinnon stayed in the community about ten years longer he would have seen a wonderful change there, in the attitude of public sentiment toward temperance reform. This change was particularly noticeable in the young generation, then growing up. The temperance movement was steadily spreading everywhere in the United States and Canada, and thoughtful and earnest minded men were joining it by the thousands. It cannot be denied there was great room for improvement in the habits of the people in this respect. On the Lake Shore Line and at Leith there were families where the fathers rarely drank to excess but who, nevertheless, kept liquor constantly in the house, and who thought it a breach of hospitality if a glass of it were not offered to the neighbor who dropped in for a friendly call. It was a matter of remark that the strongest advocates of total abstinence were to be found among the sons of these same fathers, and these same sons were foremost in the temperance movement, when it got fairly under way.

A temperance society was organized at Annan in the late fifties, (the exact date has been forgotten) and another was shortly afterward started at Leith. The members of both were pledged to total abstinence from the use of liquor as a beverage, which meant something in that day and age. Almost every village in the Province, however small, had its tavern, and licenses were' granted on the flimsiest pretexts. Many of these taverns were a necessity to the travelling public, and were well conducted public houses with an honest reason for their existence. Others were vile drinking dens—traps for the young and weak willed and a curse both to their own proprietors and the communities where they found a foothold. The early temperance societies of Ontario did not stress the idea of total prohibition of the liquor traffic so much as they did the elimination of these latter places, and the evil effects of the traffic in general on the minds and morals of the people. There is no doubt but that they accomplished a great deal of good, but they accomplished it in the face of a flood of ridicule, and the most determined opposition. In the small villages the local’ tavern keeper and his supporters were at open war with the leaders in the temperance movement ,and as from the nature of their surroundings these people were often compelled to do business with one another, the usual civilities of society were apt to be strained in the contact.

Speaking in a general sense, we may accept it as true that it is the pioneers in any movement who bear its heaviest burdens and fight its hardest battles. The Ross brothers, David and Hugh C., had started storekeeping in Annan about this time, and were strong temperance men. They joined hands with James and William P. Telford and a shed was built for the shelter of teams passing through the village and a reading room opened for the accommodation of their drivers, in the store of Ross Brothers, the brothers Telford furnishing the magazines and other reading matter. These were activities that any tavern keeper, who found the patronage of his house suffer in consequence of them, could hardly be expected to survey with a friendly eye, but they showed at least that the gentlemen who indulged in them were not afraid to back their convictions with their good money.

The movement was going strong in Owen Sound also. Sometimes the Annan folks had the pleasure of listening to temperance lectures by the leaders in the movement there. Among these was William Wye Smith, a gentleman so well known to the older generation he needs no introduction here. He was at this time editor of the Owen Sound Times, and a voluminous and interesting writer on many subjects. Among other books he published a gazatteer of Grey County in 1865, copies of which are now rare. It is a most comprehensive work of its kind: as the editor of the Sun-Times told us, “he must have curried the county with a fine tooth comb.” Mr. Smith was a strong temperance advocate, and his appearances at Annan were always hailed with delight by the drys. Other temperance orators from town were William Kennedy, the Reverend Mr. Robinson, and John Blyth, tailor. The Reverend Mr. Robinson was a Congregationalist minister at Owen Sound, and an effective temperance orator. The movement in time grew popular under such ministrations, and the decided majorities given by Sydenham long years afterwards in the prohibition question, could be traced back directly to the efforts of the temperance society at Annan. Of course there were old topers who signed the pledge and became members only to sink back into their old habits, but every good movement has its backsliders.

Other events that were eagerly looked forward to were the soirees, held only in the winter months. These functions were held in the frame school house at Annan, the immediate predecessor of the present brick one. There was no trouble in getting speakers from Owen Sound, as in almost all cases they were eager to come. For a country village, the vocal music at these social gatherings was of an unusually high order. Two exceptionally fine singers of the period were William Garvie and Alexander Duncan. Their taste ran along similar lines and both were partial to the old English sea songs, such as “The Minute Gun at Sea,” “The Bay of Biscay,” “Tom Bowline” and “The White Squall,” and they were always sure of an appreciative audience. Old timers, to whom of course distance may lend its usual enchantment, even yet declare that the rendition, as a duet, of some old favorite song by these gentlemen, was to them a chef d’oeuvre of pure musical enjoyment. Both conducted singing classes in the early days, and helped to develop some splendid local talent. The late James Aitkin had a voice that in range and purity would be hard to excel and which, even though lacking the higher training, was a constant source of delight" to his friends. He was one among many; in fact Annan, between forty and fifty years ago, boasted some as fine vocal talent as would be found in the larger cities of Ontario. The opening of the Annan church in the winter of 1882-83 was made the occasion of a concert by a chorus choir, composed of the best voices in Leith and the Lake Shore. which is still remembered as the best event of its kind ever held in the community. It is unfortunate that a list of the musicians participating and their musical programme cannot be given here.

These soirees were often strictly informal affairs, but none the less enjoyable. In later years they were known by the more intelligible name of tea meetings. The chairman, in Annan at least, was frequently chosen from the audience, on a show of hands. Sometimes the programme was an impromptu one. Every singer in the locality had some favorite Scottish song he could sing better than anyone else and at these impromptu concerts he would, in all probability, be called upon to show proof of his superiority in his special selection. First in the order of business, however, came the satisfaction of the inner man. Coffee was then an outlandish beverage, but the tea served was the best of its kind. It was customary for those who intended being present to forego supper and thus whet their appetites for the occasion. Their strongest onslaughts on the trencher were, however, anticipated in almost every case and some poor family in the neighborhood always rejoiced for about a week afterwards on the leavings of the feast. With the musical numbers that followed, were speeches on the widest variety of subjects. Einstein’s theory of relativity then belonged to a day far in the future, or doubtless it would have come in for a learned dissection. Doctor Allan Sloane discoursed on chemistry, the Reverend Robert Dewar untangled some knot in moral philosophy, and Doctor Lang spoke in his usual vigorous style upon various aspects of the medical profession. Among the speakers from Owen Sound were A. M. Stephens, who held political opinions as widely divergent as the two poles from the great majority of those present, but who was nevertheless always given the heartiest possible reception; William Stephens, who was accused of writing verse and modestly admitted the fact; John Wilson, engineer, and the builder and proprietor of Wilson’s Mills, on Keefer’s creek, who descanted upon the rudiments of engineering practise; John Frost, of the well known Owen Sound family of that name, and several others whose names are now forgotten. While the gentlemen from Owen Sound were doubtless as fond of the sound of their own voices as the average orator is, they made no secret of the fact that they came to Annan to enjoy an evening of pure fun and to hear some Scottish music “as was music.” An occasion is still remembered when one of them, upon his arrival at the schoolhouse, opened the door, stepped inside and lifting up his voice, announced for the benefit of everyone present that he had come all the way down from Owen Sound to hear Miss T- sing “The

Flowers of the Forest.” On certain evenings it was the custom of the chairman to call some of the local poets to the platform; they were directed to march down to the door improvising a stanza of verse on the way, and repeat it while marching back to the rostrum. The result of such hasty preparation was often of such an atrocious character that the poet’s peregrinations were known to end in a near-riot; sometimes, on the other hand, if the divine afflatus came down at the critical moment, and in the proper proportion, it was surprisingly good. But the audience was always sure of a good laugh. Sometimes the soirees broke up with a dance of two or three hours duration, the dancing being remarkable more for its vigor than its grace. Like the witches in Auld Alloway Kirk they danced

“Nae cotillions brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.’'

The assembly then dispersed and the merrymakers went home, much the better of the evening’s enjoyment.

The Leith soirees were replicas of the same events at Annan, with one exception. After his coming to the village in 1857, it would have been deemed little short of sacrilege at such a gathering not to invite Mr. Adam Ainslie to officiate as chairman. Nobody fitted more naturally into such a position, or discharged its duties with the same eclat. The classic phrase, the ready jest and the rounded periods flowed from his exuberant fancy like water from the spring. His education and his training as an attorney, together w’ith a fund of Scottish wit and humor that seemed inexhaustible, were other factors that made his chairmanship at a soiree worth the price of admission alone. Before coming from Galt to Leith he had been the leading figure in a social club that had received the soubriquet of “the Knights of the Round Table,” which met almost nightly in the Queen’s Arms Hotel, the leading hostelry in that town, when politics, local gossip, games and conviviality were indulged in. He had a pleasing baritone voice and at the Leith soirees, after opening the evening’s programme with an apposite address that put everybody in good humor, used to give it expression in an old Scottish song yclept “The barring o’ the door,” the closing line of which was always drowned in a thunderous applause that threatened to lift the roof. There is no record of his first appearance in this happy capacity at such gatherings, but we have a vivid personal recollection of his last one. It was at a cricket concert in 1884, which year swims within our ken. Mr. Ainslie was then well stricken in years, but he carried the honor of his position with as pungent a wit and readiness of expression as ever.

At one of these entertainments Mr. Ainslie called upon an old Highlander in the audience for a song, to be in his native Gaelic. The request was not complied with. “She’s left ta Gaelic at home with her wife” was the Highlander’s excuse.

The summer season was naturally the gala time for sport by both flood and field, in North Sydenham. Cricket began to be played in Annan in the late fifties, and was soon followed to the exclusion of every other form of sport. An old diary, kept at Annan between the years 1860 and 1864, is by our hand. From the beginning of June until the end of August in these years there are frequent entries of the practises engaged in, and the matches played. One item tells of a match between the Old Men and the Young Men, in which filial respect was thrown to the winds and the young men gave their elders a severe drubbing. Briar Hill and Balaclava also had good teams at this time. The Scott brothers, George and John, the latter of whom is at this writing still living at Annan, were among the best players at Balaclava. The first match in the township was played there about 1864. The leading feature of this, and subsequent matches, was the enthusiastic rooting of the partisans of the opposing elevens. The Annan team won, but some bitter feeling was engendered and the return match, played at Annan in the following year, was never finished. In the first half of the se-second inning a decision was given by the Balaclava umpire to which an Annan bowler objected. He was told by the umpire to shut his mouth, and the subsequent proceedings were marked by personalities of a painful directness, the whole ending in a general row which broke up the game. A few years later, or along about 1868, P. C. MacGregor, having arrived at cricket age, commenced playing with Balaclava and, both as a batsman and bowler, soon became feared by other elevens in the township. He soon divided his affections between the Briar Hill, Balaclava and Leith clubs and was warmly welcomed to all of them. Briar Hill about this time had an umpire known as Mr. D- and Mr. D-’s appearance at a match was always accepted by Briar Hill’s opponents as an augury they had lost the match before a bat was lifted. When one enquired the reason for such direful forebodings he was generally met by a bitter diatribe against Mr. D- and all his works, more particularly his decisions at a cricket match. There was a possibility, it was explained, of beaming the men from the Hill in a fair and honest fight but no chance of beating them with D-as their twelfth man. His unpopularity never disturbed that gentleman’s equanimity for a moment, however; he always finished a match in as jaunty a spirit as he began it.

The game was introduced in Leith by Mr. Jones, next . successor to Robert Grierson, who was Leith’s first school master. Mr. Jones was a fine all round player, and a great coach. Round arm bowling was first taught Leith cricketers by Archie Ainslie, and the old system of underhand, or lob bowling, was about 1870 almost universally discarded. Leith developed a fine eleven in the seventies, and those who regard cricket as a slow game should have witnessed some of the battles waged in the Old Distillery Field, at this period and in the early eighties. Among their worthiest opponents was an eleven from Walters Falls. They were always accompanied by an enthusiastic crowd of boosters, prepared to root energeticaly for their home team, and when the two sides closed in a grapple which meant nothing short of disgrace for the loser the savage interest displayed by the partisans of both surpasses all description. It is all part of an almost forgotten memory now, but there are still a few old men living who remember it, and the roar of cheers that followed every wicket taken and every run added to the score, near the close of a hard fought game. There was no betting and a thrown game was undreamed of ; every man fought for his team and gave the last ounce that was in him.

Those were the days of real sport in the country villages. They are gone, and nothing can compensate us for their absence. The village playing grounds which once swarmed with young athletes in the long summer evenings are now silent and deserted. The large cities have swallowed these young men, and are remorselessly reaching out for more. As Byron said :

“In the good old days—all days when old are good!”; but who shall say those were not the good old days of the rural districts and days which, judged from prenent appearances, they shall never see again! Country life has, in certain respects, gained immeasurably since then. We have free rural mail delivery, the telephone, the motor car and a hundred other conveniences, then unknown. In gaining these we have lost the flower of our population and a zest in life that sweetened the hardest toil. Are we the gainers after all? It is an open question. There is always a bitter drop at the bottom of the chalice, and before starting in to commiserate the folks of fifty years ago we should remember we are carrying burdens and wrestling with problems that were .undreamed of in their day.

In the natural exchange of sporting amenities Leith and Annan often clashed in cricket, which may sound a little like a paradox. Among Annan’s best exponents of the game were William Wilson, lately deceased at Treehrne, Man.; Andrew Armstrong, now of Owen Sound ; Robert Dewar, who makes Philadelphia his home; David Burr, who went to Minneapolis; John Alexander, William Couper, John Clark, and a score of others whose names are not so easily recalled after the lapse of years. Of the Leith cricketers, few indeed are left in the village or vicinity to recount the glories of the game, or tell of ancient battles lost or won. The MacNeil brothers, Malcolm, Neil and Walter, all witnessed a good confession in the game, and all are deceased. Robert Glen, a fine round arm bowler, still lives in the West; the Fawcett brothers, Joseph, Richard and Robert, the two first named of whom still survive, were among the best of them in the late seventies; the late John Ainslie was a destructive bowler and a steady batsman and the Scott boys, Marshall and Charlie, always rendered a good account of themselves. John Mac-Keen was among the very earliest players, and in later years was almost invariably the Leith umpire in its contests with other clubs. Theodore Rixon is remembered as an exceptionally heavy hitter, and the Reid brothers, Malcolm and Robert, were dependable men in every department of the game.

From the very earliest settlement in the village the Leith people always evinced the warmest interest in aquatic sports. The easiest way of communication with Owen Sound was by boat, and in the annual regattas held there Leith was almost always represented. In an old letter dated August 15th, 1853, the writer says that “there was a boat race a while ago between Sydenham (Owen Sound) and Leith; the first prize for sailing boats was two pounds and the first prize for rowing boats one pound ten shillings.,, Unfortunately the writer then drops the subject and we are left in the dark as to the names of the contestants in these races, and those of the sailboats with their owners. These are very modest prizes, but the fact that the amount of cash is mentioned in each case is a proof of the scarcity of money at the time. It would be hard in this day to find a business man or farmer who would consent to pull a skiff over the length of a race course of 1853, let alone spend his spare time for weeks in preparation for a race, as the oarsmen of that time did. Yet from the stories that have come down to us, these sailing and rowing contests were as fiercely fought as were the cricket matches of later years. They were genuine trials of skill and strength between rival communities. to find out which had the better men.

In time these battles for supremacy, continued on up through the sixties, seventies and early eighties, developed some fine oarsmen at Leith. Middle aged men still remember the time when the sailing vessel was, to all practical intents, wiped out on the Great Lakes, and the annual regattas died about the same time or shortly before. The gradual incursions of the motor launch spelled their destruction. It is a vastly more speedy and convenient means of water locomotion, but decidedly less picturesque. Most of them were equally at home handling either the oar or the sail, and some of their feats of endurance seem almost unreasonable in these days, when motor propulsion makes everything so easy. The late John Telford of Durham, formerly of Annan, once rowed up from Meaford to Owen Sound without once going ashore, which may not seem such an extraordinary feat when one learns that Captain John Ainslie rowed down from Tobermory, in a continuous voyage which ended only at the Leith dock. The latter gentleman will always be remembered as one of Leith’s best all round sportsmen. His education was received in Leith, to which he came from Galt as a child of two or three years of age. He followed quite a variety of occupations in his early years but his love of sport was his strongest characteristic, and it seemed as natural for him to sit in a boat and row as walking does to the ordinary man. He was Leith’s first telegraph operator, the office at that time being in the north end of the flour mill, then owned by his father. At another time he was made miller and was quite successful at that trade, only if any game was known to be in the neighborhood John was sure to be after it with his shotgun, at a moment’s notice. When he returned to the mill the stones would sometimes be nearly red hot. It was a proud day for the village when John returned to it as the “champeen” oarsman of the Georgian Bay, but he wore his honors modestly, even though he had been the victor in one of the toughest struggles ever waged for that honor. He had a voice of pleasing quality, even if untrained, and among our earliest recollections is one of hearing him singing a duet in company with the aforesaid John Telford, on a platform at Annan, at one of the big soirees held in the Reverend John Mordy’s time. This song was called “The Two Obadiahs” and, curiously enough, we have never since seen it in print nor heard it sung. But his first love was a boat, and when between twenty and thirty years of age he could navigate a large sail boat with many of our best fresh water fishermen. He then owned a large two masted fishing smack in which, one day with Henry Cameron and Will Burr, he was, through some mishap, piled up on the boulders in a hard gale of wind, and which ended its days lying bottom upward in the Water o’ Leith. In the days when the Rixon lumber mills were at Tobermory, he often left Leith for that point in weather that would have kept prudent men ashore. But his judgment was accurate, and he seemed to know intuitively what a boat would stand and when he had had enough, although in his time he had some very nervous passengers. But no man yet has been able to draw a precise line between courage and recklessness. When one of us takes a long chance in some exploit involving great personal danger, and wins out safely, we hail him as a hero; another with the same skill takes the same chance and loses his life, and we call him a fool.

Another good oarsman who helped on more than one occasion to bring the bacon home to Leith from these annual regattas, was Adam Waddell. Robert Glen was another fine yachtsman, and his square sterned boat, the “Water Lily,” was a frequent entrant at such events. Along about 1885 he brought a yacht of deep draught from some point on Lake Ontario to Leith, which, in sailing qualities, turned out to be a killing frost. Some time in the seventies a four-oared racing shell, built by Glendinning of Toronto, was brought to Leith, and some championship races were rowed in this boat. The authentic record of these races, the crews, the courses and the winners, is not available, with us at least, and it is doubtful if it is in existence at all. It belongs to a day when men depended upon their strength of arm, and not on the horse power of a gasoline engine. If such a record is still to be found it should be given in official form to the public as one of the most interesting phases of the early history of Owen Sound and vicinity, and it is to be hoped this will be done.

The most courageous and skillful among these contestants at Leith, however, all took off their hats to the men of the French village, a little hamlet of French-Canadian fishermen which flourished in the early days on the east shore of the bay, near Owen Sound. This is encroaching a little on the history of that city, but as these men carried on their operations as fishermen, in the fall months at least, around Johnstone Harbor and Vail’s Point, such encroachment may be pardoned. Three families of of these fishermen stand out prominently in the early history of the bay ; the Jones, the Desjardines and the Cotures. There are still a few worthy representatives of the three left but they do not carry about with them the flavor of romance some of their fathers did. The water seemed to be their natural element, and this is particularly true of the Jones’ and Cotures. The latter family was a large one and its two best known members were designated “Old Joe” and “Young Joe” respectively. Young Joe was probably the best man in a fishing boat who ever sailed into Owen Sound harbor. The claim will in all probability be disputed, but it is safe to say he was as good as the best. He and his brothers may have been deficient in certain points, such as education, but what they did not known about the dangers of Georgian Bay, the navigation of a fishing boat, and the mysteries of net fishing in deep water or on the shoals was scarcely worth knowing. There was no trick or device known to man of getting the last inch of speed out of a fishing smack with which young Joe was not thoroughly conversant, and which he did not use when hard pressed in a race. Such a record as we have indicated above would show young Joe’s name at or around the top of the prize list, in every-race in which he ever entered. In time he bceame known as one of the most venturesome of the fishermen congregating at Johnstone Harbor, and some of the stories told of his daring, there and in that vicinity, would seem incredible were they not vouched for by witnesses whose veracity is above question. On one occasion he left the Harbor in a howling gale from the north-west, when all the other fishermen thought it safest to stay ashore. Crossing the bar his boat was caught on the crest of two huge waves at once, with the result that her hull was sprung in such a manner that the top of her two spars clashed one against the other. Familiarity with danger bred a sort of contempt for it with him, and in time it came to be that the dirtier the weather was the better he liked it. It gave him the opportunity of displaying his splendid skill in seamanship, and danger has its own fascination for such daring spirits, who sometimes court it to their own destruction. On the afternoon in September, 1882, before the night on which the ill fated Asia was lost, he made a spectacular run from his home near Owen Sound to Johnstone Harbor, and those who still remember the day will realize the chances he took.

The pitcher went once too often to the well. On Thanksgiving Day of 1886, with his brother Jim, he attempted the same trip, in a heavy westerly gale which blew with ever-increasing fury all day. Thanksgiving Day was then observed about the 15th of November, and the first ten days of the month were the closed season for salmon trout. Joe was going down to the Harbor for the late fall fishing, with the usual equipment of nets and other fishing tackle aboard. They left home in the forenoon, with the gale dead astern and in violent snow squalls. It was between two of these sqaulls they were last seen from the land, at a point about four miles below Leith. In the language of the man who saw them, “the boat seemed to jump from the top of one wave to the next.” No trace of the two bodies was afterwards found, but it was rumored some wreckage of the boat was picked up on the Christian Islands, the following spring. They simply disappeared. One would wish that the veil might be drawn aside for a moment, and he could see how these brave men met their death. It is almost a certainty they were drowned at some point west of the Harbor.

The names of Joseph and James Coture were thus added to the long list of death’s victims by drowning on the east shore, from a point about two miles below Leith down to Cape Rich. Coffin Harbor received its ominous appellation from the fact that in the very earliest days a coffin was left there for the remains of a man who had been drowned, but whose body was never recovered. Two men, Simpson and Taylor, were drowned about five miles below Leith; the latter was a son of Henry Taylor of Owen Sound, and his body was found by his father; that of his companion, George Simpson, if recollection serves aright, was never found. It was near the same point a son of David Armstrong, of Annan, was drowned late one fall about fifty years ago. He was crossing the lake from the west shore in heavy weather, also with a companion. About two hundred yards from shore the boat broached to in a heavy sea and foundered. Young Armstrong lost his life, but the other, more fortunate, reached the shore, although in a condition more dead than alive. The body was in this case also recovered, the death of this young man spreading a deep gloom over the whole neighborhood, as he was a universal favorite. The shore between Coffin Harbor and Pine Point is such a mass of huge boulders that one wonders how any one could escape being pounded to pieces in a gale of wind, even if he reached it. At Johnstone Harbor there have been many deaths by drowning, the best remembered being that of George Scott, who met his end there one fall about twenty-five years ago, while trolling. The body was found in the summer following. Mr. Scott is remembered for his powerful physique, which stood up under the severest exertions, and also as one of the most successful trollers that ever haunted the east shore shoals up until the time of his death. The list given here is incomplete, of course, but it will be long enough to reawaken memories, many of them sad ones.

The fall trolling, just mentioned, received brief notice in a previous chapter, but a more extended reference may be made to it here, as it was a season of sport regularly recognized and participated in by sportsmen from Leith and Annan. Of late years it is rigidly circumscribed by law; in the olden days there were no such restrictions, except a short close season which was frequently honored more in the breach than the observance. The Scott family, of whom the father, George, is referred to above, were all enthusiastic and successful trollers; just how successful a little incident may be cited as proof. One of the sons, William, went to what is known as the Big Shoal, opposite Vail’s Point, in a late December afternoon about forty years ago, duck shooting. He had a line and trolling bait with him as an emergency measure, but did not anticipate any sport trolling, as the fish bite poorly at that time of year, and he also had a leaky boat. The ducks failed to materialize in any quantity, so William cast his bait overboard in the forlorn hope of getting a salmon or two. It happened the day was without a breath of air, which in view of the condition of his boat and the season of the year was indeed fortunate for him. The salmon trout rarely bite well in a dead calm, for reasons they have never yet disclosed to anybody. But for some reasons they changed their accustomed tactics that day, and started to bite with an eagerness that amounted to ferocity. Unlike the trolling in October, William had the whole bay to himself; he was at last compelled to stop and go ashore, as his boat was full of lake water and fish. He had long lost count of his catch, but when he reached shore he found he had killed over eighty trout. This is the story as it was given us years afterwards by a near relative of his. This unexpected feat was regarded as remarkable even in that day of great catches; were he able to duplicate it today his afternoon’s sport would net him. at least fifty dollars.

Johnstone Harbor was the resort of almost all the fishermen, either with net or trolling bait. The trollers commenced camping there along about 1878, and came in increasing numbers the following ten years. There was in Leith about the year mentioned a huge fishing boat called the “Nancy Bell,” which depended upon sweeps for propulsion. She carried an indefinite crew, up to the number of nine or ten. She was what mariners call a “workhouse,” which, in their vernacular, means a boat that imposes killing hard labor on the crew. The ancient war galleys of the Mediterranean may have been harder to row, but not much. Manned by a crew from Leith or Annan, she seldom went farther from home than Pine Point, but some splendid catches were chalked up by the old craft. She generally went down to the Point in the morning and returned the same evening, but the sport became so attractive that at last they began camping at Johnston Harbor for the last two weeks in October, when the salmon trout had come in from deep water to the shoals to spawn.

The harbor was the resort of most of the fishing parties from Owen Sound, and from 1885 until the early nineties the string of tents just back from the beach was a long one. Of course there was a great deal of lost time on account of rough weather, when it was impossible to troll, and this time was usually spent in hunting such game as the neighborhood afforded. Our own personal contact with, and recollections of, the sport, date back to 1887; in that year a party from Leith and Annan running three boats trolled a little over eight hundred salmon trout in the two weeks, and in view of the time lost through unfavorable weather this was probably as good fishing as was ever had on the east side shoals. Trolling does not rank with deer shooting as a form of sport, or at least such is the popular impression, but it is less expensive and can generally be found closer home.

Leith and Annan had in former times some excellent marksmen, either with the rifle or shotgun. The old shootings matches, usually held in the late fall or early winter at Annan, attracted sportsmen from all parts of the township, Christmas day always being signalized by a monster match, at which turkeys, ducks and geese afforded not only the targets but the prizes as well. The sport seemed to die out about forty or forty-five years ago, just when the breech loading shotgun was coming into popular use. Leith’s crack shot with the old muzzle loading shot gun was George Dixon. In the wild duck season he kept the table at home almost constantly supplied in fresh wild fowl. Two exceptionally good shots, at the lower end of the township, were Hiram Vanwyck and George Scott. The latter gentleman was, in the earliest times when deer were to be found, a famous shot with the rifle and as a young man killed many of them in the vicinity of the Big Clay Banks and Johnstone Harbor, near which he was in later years destined to lose his own life. In 1887 Captain Cleland of No. 2 Company, 31st Regiment, presented a valuable cup to be competed for by teams of five men each, from every company in the Regiment, at its annual rifle matches. The rules governing the contest provided that the team making the highest score for three years in succession should come into complete possession of the trophy. The competition that ensued was keen, and some extraordinarily high scores were made, but No. 3 Company of Leith maintained its old prestige by carrying off the prize in the first three matches following the cup’s presentation. Mr. David Creighton, then M.P.P. for North Grey, and himself a Fenian Raid veteran, then presented the trophy to the winners on the happy occasion of their third straight victory, and the winners, to show they were true sportsmen as well as the Regiment’s best marksmen, immediately presented it back to the Regiment, to be competed for annually and ad infinitum.

Another local institution which was a source of great interest and enjoyment to everybody in the neighborhood was the Annan Band; more correctly it might have been called an orchestra. Nobody knows the exact date of its organization, but it was some time in the late sixties. It seems to have been like Topsy; it just growed. At last George Henderson, an exceptionally fine clarinet player who had been trained in one of the famous Guards’ bands in England, was secured as its leader, and some sort of regularity and precision injected into its proceedings. The personell of its members and the instruments they played, as nearly as can be recollected, was about as follows : George Henderson, leader and clarinet; James Telford, clarinet; Frank Cathrae, cornet; Robert Dixon, Robert Henry and William Keefer, violins; Adam Waddell, ophcleide; William Telford, cello, and Miss Agnes MacLean, organist. The lady organist was at this time the teacher at the Separate school in the Irish Block. Adam Waddell, who had played the tenor slide trombone in his native Galashiels before coming to Canada, was assigned the ophcleide on that account. It was a large, unwieldy brass instrument, resembling the modern saxophone more than any other, was played with a cup mouthpiece and pitched in E flat. It had a blaring, strident quality of tone ano this one was irreverently nicknamed the giraffe. The ophcleide has long since become obsolete, having been superseded by the modern euphonium.

This orchestra, as we shall call it, was requisitioned for all sorts of local engagements. It even played parades on the streets of Annan, minus the organist of course. The sight of a man marching down street while playing the violin would be thought a ludicrous one now, but tastes change with the passing years. Mr. Henderson afterwards became bandmaster of the regimental band of Simcoe county, with headquarters at Barrie, and died in that town. William Keefer, one of the violin players, had for many years a fine span of driving horses, by means of which the orchestra was conveyed to their engagements in outlying villages. Much of their music was in manuscript, copied out by Mr. Henderson; the old Scottish dance pieces were mostly played “by lug,” or to use a more modern expression, faked.

In one respect these musicians were true artists of an old school long since passed away—they refused to accept a cent for their services. This peculiarity may be deemed a trifle quixotic on their part but it was surely their own business, and it at least showed that they played from the love of playing, and not what they could get out of it. On this basis they played engagements at different times in the town hall at Owen Sound, and at Chatsworth, Massey and Balaclava; beside many closer points. Under exceptional circumstances they once played at Holland Landing. Some of the instruments are still in evidence. The clarinets are of the old yellow variety, with six keys, and the reed attached to the mouthpiece by thread, tightly wrapped around it. Such an instrument has been known, in later times, to start a riot in the theatres of our large cities. There is a tradition among men of the stage that it is hoodooed, and that bad luck will assuredly follow the company if one of these yellow clarinets is used in the pit while they are presenting a play. In consequence of this they have refused to go on, the musicians in the orchestra have waxed wroth, and trouble has ensued. It is a striking example of how an old superstition will survive. However, the Annan musicians never suffered any inconvenience by their use. It is a far cry from this orchestra of fifty and sixty years ago, once the delight of the denizens of Sydenham, to the jazz fiend combinations of today’s music world, and when all allowances are made for modern methods and music, the advantage nevertheless does not all lie on one side.

Getting back to outdoor sports again for a moment before closing this chapter, it may be mentioned that curling was once played at Annan, although in such an early day that it is impossible to give any succinct or authoritative account of either the play or the players. It was played on a large pond in a swamp on the farm of Andrew Biggar, and while some of the curlers may have been skilled players in the Old Land, one naturally wonders how they encompassed the difficulties of securing proper curling stones, or if they were imported from the older settlements. The earliest curling club at Galt solved the same difficulty by turning maple blocks to the required dimensions, drilling holes in them and filling the same with lead. The average curler’s enthusiasm does not stick at a trifle.

Enough has been adduced to show that the pioneers and their children, while their daily labor was hard, knew the value of recreation in its various forms, and how to enjoy it. Between hard work and play in its proper time, their lives never fell into that torpor-like ennui which is the affliction of the lazy, and little better than a living death.