[Welland Telegraph April 17, 1903]
Mr Jerry Barnhart, one of Port’s oldest and best known residents died on Monday evening last at the ripe old age of 71 years. Deceased had lived here all his life, having come here with his parents when an infant. After growing into manhood he was tugging for some time, but later went into business as a teamster and practically spent his life at that business. He was a shrewd and saving business man, Only one daughter besides the widow is left to mourn his loss. The daughter is Mrs Stewart, of Port Huron. Deceased was an old member of McNab Lodge, A.F. & A.M and had the respect of all who knew him. The funeral was held yesterday from the late residence to Oakwood cemetery.
The solemn and appropriate Masonic funeral rites were performed by the officers of McNab Lodge. Services were also taken by Rev Mr Mackintosh.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
Mrs Bridget Hughes, wife of Mr Henry Hughes, an old and highly esteemed resident, passed away at the family residence, Queen Street, on Saturday afternoon. Deceased was 65 years of age. She was of Irish birth and had been a resident of Thorold since the early sixties, coming from Ireland with her husband, who was later a member of the Royal Canadian Rifles. She was of a quiet disposition, but by those who knew her most, she was dearly beloved, and her death will be deeply regretted by a wide circle of friends. The funeral took place on Monday morning to the R.C. church, where requiem mass was chanted by the pastor, Rev Father Sullivan, who also officiated at the graveside.
The following acted as bearers: Messrs, John Gearin, John Collins, M Jordon, John Gunning, M Coady and E. Paulin. Interment was at Lakeview cemetery.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
On Sunday last Mr John Soule, one of the most highly respected citizens of Stamford, passed away after a lengthy illness, which culminated in Bright’s disease and caused death.
Mr Soule was born April 27th, 1833, in the Township of Salt Fleet, Wentworth County, his father being Benjamin Soule, a prominent resident of that county. On his mother’s side he came of U.E. Loyalist stock.
He was married in 1861, to Margaret Shaw, of Woodburn, Wentworth County. They came to Stamford township in 1881, where they have resided ever since.
Mrs Soule, two sons and a daughter survive. The eldest son Robert Murray died in 1881.One son, Andrew, is head of the Agricultural Department, in the college at Knoxville, Tennessee. The other son. John A., is studying law in Toronto, having completed his university course a year or two ago. The daughter, Miss Soule, lives at home. One brother and three sisters also survive him. The brother is Walter Soule, Hamilton, and the sisters are Mrs King and the Misses Soule.
[Welland Telegraph February 13, 1903]
A festival celebrated on Feb. 14Th, and established in England, Scotland and France, about the 15th century, was very popular among the upper classes and at many European courts. On St Valentine’s eve many spinsters and bachelors were accustomed to meet in a social way, write upon bits of paper the names of a number of spinsters and bachelors of their acquaintance, throw them into a basket, and then draw them out, one at a time, care being exercised that each should draw one of the opposite sex, the person thus drawn being the “drawer’s” valentine, The festival was introduced into America at an early day, but its observance has since undergone material change, and is annually becoming less and less general, at present being limited to friends exchanging anonymous communications with each other, the same being made in verse or verses, referring to a variety of topics, the subject being also illustrated by cuts of an amusing or sentimental character.
[Welland Telegraph November 19, 1903]
She walks unnoticed in the street;
The casual eye
Sees nothing in her, fair or sweet;
The world goes by
Unconscious that an angel’s feet
Are passing nigh.
She little has of beauty’s wealth;
Truth will allow
Only her priceless youth and health,
Her broad white brow;
Yet grows she on the heart by stealth
I scarce know how.
She does a thousand kindly things
That no one knows;
A loving woman’s heart she brings
To human woes;
And to her face the sunlight clings
Where’er she goes.
And so she walks her quiet ways
With that content
That only comes to sinless days
And innocent
A life devoid of fame or praise,
Yet nobly spent.
[Welland Telegraph October 26, 1903]
She lost her little boy to-day;
Her eyes were moist and sweet
And tender, when he went away
To hurry down the street.
She stood there for the longest while
And watched and watched him; then
She said-and tried to force a smile–
“He’ll not come back again.”
Inside the house her tears would come
She sank into a chair,
And sobbed above the battered drum
And trumpet lying there.
The sunshine stole into the place–
It only made her sad
With thinking of the pretty grace
His baby tresses had.
She minded all his little ways,
She went to see his crib
Up in the attic; then to gaze
At platter, spoon and bib,
And all the trinkets he had thought
So fair to look upon–
Each one of them this murmur bro’t;
“My little boy has gone.”
She wandered through the house all day,
To come on things he’d left,
And, oh! She missed his romping play
And felt herself bereft!
When he came home, with shining eyes
To tell of school’s delight,
She kissed and held him, motherwise,
With something of affright.
This is the pain in mothers’ hearts
When school days have begun;
Each knows the little boy departs
And baby days are done.
Each mother fain would close her ears
And hush the calling bell,
For, somehow, in its tone she hears
The sounding of a knell.
[Welland Telegraph October 26, 1903]
Fonetic spelling I abhor,
And nawt can rowz mi bile
Or ruffle up mi temker mor
Than Izak Pitman’s style
The Yankee “theater” and such
Az follo in its trane
Anoi mi gentle sole so much
That I becom profane.
A traveler with but one “I”
Will make me simply fome
For fok hoo cannot lern to spel
Had better stop at hom.
Wun needs to be no pedagog
To shun this horrid voge;
Cood he hoo rites down “catalog”;
Be other than a roge?
London Tattler.
[Welland Telegraph October 29. 1903]
The cynics mock her,
The red storms rock her,
But on she rolls!
Downcast, elated–
For ruin slated,
She still goes freighted
With human souls!
The great seas thunder
And rend asunder–
The white stars wonder
As Time grows gray;
But-reaping, sowing,
Her way she’s going,
To meet-unknowing–
A Judgment Day.
But-joy go with her!
Nor slip his tether
When stormy weather
Makes grief and moan!
Tragedy-test world–
Lost-unto-test world,
Still-still the best world
We have ever known!
Atlanta Constitution
[Welland Telegraph October 8, 1903]
What’s the use o’ growin’ up?
You can’t paddle with your toes
In a puddle; you can’t yell
When you’re feelin’ extra well,
Why every feller knows
A grown-up can’t let loose,
I don’t want to no older–
What’s the use?
What’s the use o’ growin’ up?
When I’m big I don’t suppose
Explorin’ would be right
I don’t like to get my clo’s
All water melon juice.
I don’t want to be no older–
What’s the use?
What’s the use o’ growin’ up?
You couldn’t ride the cow,
An’ the rabbits an’ the pig
Don’t like you cause you’re big.
I’m comfortublest now.
Z’raps I am a goose;
I don’t want to be no older–
What’s the use?
What’s the use o’ growin. up>
When you’ve growed, why, every day
You just have to be one thing;
I’m a pirate. Er a king,
Er a cow-boy—I can play
That I’m anything I choose.
I don’t want to be no older–
What’s the use?
Burgess Johnson
[Welland Tribune, 21 August, 1903]
The firing on the Erie tug Silver Spray for poaching in Canadian waters on Lake Erie turns out to have been a great exaggerated incident. Captain Dunn’s log has been received by the Minister of Marine and in it the matter is treated as an ordinary occurrence of no great importance. The Petrel sighted the Silver Spray and gave chase. The Silver Spray turned and made straight for the Government cutter. When the former was almost up. The latter signalled for her to stop, but the tug pushed by a full speed. Captain Dunn fired a rifle across the Silber Spray’s bow, but it failed to bring her to. Thereupon, to quote from the log itself: “I then fired at her with several rifles, but the tug kept on, and as she was as fast as the Petrel, there was nothing to do but lay to until she was out of sight, when we put in for Port Stanley.
This exhausts the details in the log. The department have asked for more information, and Captain Dunn will make an extended report.
*CLEVELAND, March 16. 1911 — Seven lives were lost and a fishing tug was sunk in the gale which swept the lakes yesterday and last night. The tug Silver Spray of Erie, Penn., operated by the Booth Fisheries Company of Cleveland, went down off this harbor early to-day. The crew, six men and a boy, took to the tug’s lifeboat, but were dashed on the breakwater and drowned.
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