THE WORTHIES OF THE VICTORIA TOWNSHIPS.

353 public usefulness. There are William and Henry Downer, both practical agriculturists; Joseph and Samuel McGee, prosperous farmers; the Jordan family; Henry Perdue, a Tipperary man, noted for his splendid breed of Devon cattle; John Daniel, another successful farmer, who has 1,500 acres under cultivation, and is rapidly subduing the wilderness.

In Mariposa, already mentioned, William Foster and John Glenny are first-class agriculturists, and are full of public spirit. Here is the prosperous family of the Irvins, and as fruitful as prosperous. Stephen Dundas is also prominent as an agriculturist, as is James Moffat. The Davidsons represent "Old Squire Davidson." There is a whole settlement of them-millers, agriculturists, and all most successful.

Behind Fenelon is the Township of Bexley, where we find the Staples, of whom Joseph Staple is the head. This gentleman represented North Victoria in the Commons as a Conservative. He is the first and only Reeve of Bexley, and was for several years Warden of the County. James Moore is one of the foremost agriculturists of Bexley.

In the Township of Bexley, Robert Staples stands in the front as a lumberer and agriculturist. He represented the township in the County Council for years. And there is John Bailey, the present Reeve.

In the Township of Somerville, in the foremost ranks of practical agriculturists stands James Eliot, then we have Benjamin Burchell, Mr. Perdue, and others.

In the Township of Verulam, there is Morsom Boyd, "the King of Pines," as Mr. George Laidlaw called him—the prince of lum bermen in that part, and one of the first settlers. Then we have the Junkin family, sixteen of them, all practical agriculturists and taking a deep interest in municipal matters. The principal hotel keeper is Mr. John Simpson, possessed of plenty of Irish geniality, and no mean judge of a horse. Then there is the Ireton family, a large connection of them, all connected with the Episcopal Church. There is also the Bell family, agriculturists and manufacturers. Nor should we forget that prime agriculturist, William Playfair; nor Jabez Thurston, agriculturist and lumberman, at the head of a large family connection. Then there

is honest Ned Kelly, and W. B. Reed, a successful merchant in

Bobcaygeon.

In the Township of Carden, James Fitzgerald is Reeve, a quiet good fellow, a great pioneer, warring with the bush, but all the time taking a lively interest in municipal affairs.

Mrs. Foley (née Sullivan), of Carden, is a genuine heroine. She was born on the shores of those beautiful lakes which every summer attract tourists from all parts of the world to Killarney. She married early, and had three children. One day she said to her husband: "We shall never do anything here. They say Canada is a fine country, let us go out there, in the name of God, and try our luck." But the husband would not hear of it. She then said: “Well, I must go myself;" and the brave little dark-eyed woman saved enough money to bring her to Toronto. In Toronto she took in washing, and saved enough money to send for her husband and her children. She then said to her husband: "If we are to do anything for our children, we must push out into the woods." She heard there was land to be had in Victoria, and thither she went with her family, and worked like a brave woman. She has now 200 acres of land well cultivated, and each of her four sons has 100 acres. All four are married, and are raising happy families.

It will not be out of place to record an incident which Mr Clarke, an Irish settler in the Township of Drummond, has often told. Clarke had been a soldier. He found he was being plundered. One little pig after another disappeared. He suspected a neighbour who bore no good character, and determined to sit up and watch. Accordingly, having loaded his gun, he lit his pipe, and listened for the sound of intruding footsteps. He waited and watched the whole night, but no sound alarmed him. Just at the dawn he heard the squealing of a pig. He darted out. The squealing came from the Beaver meadow. Jumping the fence, he saw the form, as he thought, of MacNaughton, bearing away his pig. He called to him, but the call was unheeded. He drew near and said: "MacNaughton, if you do not stop, I'll shoot you." The warning was not regarded. Clarke raised his gun and fired at the legs of the robber. The next moment he saw that the robber was a she bear which was taking the little pig to her cubs.

THE COUNTY OF PETERBOROUGH.

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The ball grazed the bear's leg. She paused, threw the pig on the ground, and with a stroke of her paw killed it; then made for Clarke. Clarke ran. Luckily he had brought ammunition with him, and as he ran he loaded, doubled and fired, hitting the brute, which, however, only uttered a cry of anger, and continued pursuit. Clarke loaded again. He was now near the fence, and the bear close on his heels. He turned and fired, striking the animal in the forehead. As he fired, he sprang over the fence. It was well he did, for the bear uttering a cry such as Clarke could never forget, sprang towards where he had been, and fell dead in the act of hugging her fancied prey.

The maiden name of the wife of the present member for South Victoria has been mentioned. The father of this lady, Thos. Trotter, one of the oldest settlers of South Victoria, came to Canada previous to the formation of the "Robinson Settlement." His wife is still alive, and lives with her son in Emily Township. The old gentleman is long dead, and the family much scattered. One daughter lives near Cobourg. One son lives on Manitoulin Island, and one at Owen Sound. Another son went to the United States, and has not been heard of for years. Old Mr. Trotter seems to have been a wealthy man when he died, and Mr. McQuade, through his wife, received a portion of the property.

Sixty years ago the County of Peterborough was an unbroken forest. In the Autumn of 1818 a few pioneers found their way into the Township of Smith. The next year another exploring party started for a region where most of them had drawn land and returned well pleased with what they saw.

Where there are now busy factories and well-lighted streets and all the life and wealth of Peterborough, prior to 1825 there were only one or two families. The most sanguine settlers were in despair. But during the Autumn of that year, the Honourable Peter Robinson, after whom Peterborough is named, conducted a large emigration from the South of Ireland. In the May of 1825, the hill of Cove, now known as Queenstown, was a scene of heart-rending grief. Bitter tears were shed. Bitter cries went up to Heaven, At first Cove appeared like a vast fair. More than four thousand persons had crowded from the country into it. Half the number were bound for a distant land which lay beyond the vast and dan

gerous ocean. The other half had come to look their last on daughters and brothers and sons. Gay ribbons were flying from the head-dress of the women. The men tall, stalwart fellows, the women with the glow of health and the beauty for which their country is renowned sauntered about, talking, buying articles for the voyage, and with them the old people, the grey-headed, wrinkled fathers, the mothers with a countenance in which the lines of tenderness contended against the furrows of care. The black ships are lying in that harbour which is among the most beautiful of the works of God. Monkstown shines white against the hill and on the heights opposite, which overlook the road leading from Queenstown to Cork, the furze were already yellow with blossom. The terraced curves of the harbour circle on either side of the harbour's mouth, beyond which the Atlantic beats into foam against the rocky bases of the green hills. No wonder men find it hard to leave such a country. It is like a lover tearing himself away from the woman he has loved and loves. In that hour of grief and madness and tears, her eye seems brighter, her smile sweeter than ever, and her sobs accentuate with fatal charm every beauteous outline. The hour comes. The bells sound. The boats put off to the ships. Anchor is weighed. Those left behind press over the low wall which fringes the long straggling hill commanding the view sea-ward. The emigrants press to the side of the ship. They wave their handkerchiefs, and as the ships move away, a wail from the shore rises like but that is indescribable and beggars comparison. Some faint, others rush madly down to the water's edge. None turn homewards. Seaward they strain their eyes until the ships have become specks and disappeared.

On board the vessels, grief and sickness prostrate most. But one emigrant sits in the bow. He watches the waves rise between him and his beloved country. When the last shadowy outline is gone, to an old harp, an heirloom of his family, which may have sounded in the halls of Tara, and with his forefathers' prowess of song not wholly degraded, he pours forth in words somewhat as follows, a farewell to his country, in which he mourns over her history and dilates on her tender beauty :

Late in June the vessels arrived at Quebec. The passengers, 2,024 souls, were immediately forwarded to Kingston. There they remained for some weeks. The weather was intensely hot, and many suffered in consequence from fever and ague. Mr. Robinson, meanwhile, proceeded to Scott's Plains, as Peterborough was then called, and spent a week exploring the townships. On the 11th of August, he embarked five hundred on board a steamboat and landed them the next day at Cobourg. The remainder of the settlers were brought up in the same manner, the boat making a trip each week. They were next taken from Cobourg to Smith at the head of the Otonabee River. The route lay through a country very thinly inhabited. The twelve miles of road from Lake Ontario to the Rice Lake were hardly passable. The Otonabee River is in many places very rapid, and this year the water was much lower than usual. The first thing Mr. Robinson had to do was to repair the road and make it fit to hear loaded waggons. In ten days so much progress was made that provisions and baggage could be sent over it with ease. Three large boats were transported on wheels to Rice Lake. A boat was built for the special purpose of being able to ascend the rapids of the Otonabee.