John Burrows, too, with serious air, Sung hymns and offered frequent prayer, And taught a Sunday School with might, To spread religion's early light, He held a post in other years Among the Royal Engineers, With Colonel By, a right-hand man, His course of favor he began, And once owned much of the wild land Upon which Ottawa doth stand. John Ghitty is a favorite name, His old hotel was known to fame, And travellers from far and near, Called at his temple of good cheer. A mason of most high degree, In the craft's early dawn was he. So much respected was he here, That unbought friendship o'er his bier Shed many a sad regretful tear. And surly old James Doran, too, A warrior of Waterloo, Kept with a despot's iron hand, The best hotel in all the land; Who entered there of human kind Was forced to leave his dog behind, For Doran had a frowning face For each and all the canine race. And Daniel Fisher, who kept store On Wellington's west side of yore, A most experienced auctioneer In somewhat more contracted sphere, Than circles trade's expanding flow Round Bermingham, McLean and Rowe And Michael Burke, who kept a still-- And made beer down below the hill Where malt and hops together came, And gave the "Brewery Hill" its name-- That hill with pathway to the right, Where Bank Street ends upon the height. And many a barrel of his beer Went down, the Irish heart to cheer, When ancient crowds did celebrate St. Patrick's Day in '28. But patriotism's spirit rose; From words contention went to blows, And ere the little "scrimmage" ended A crack that never could be mended, Was in a luckless cranium made, By one whom justice never paid; I cannot tell what colored ribbon He wore--his name was Dan McGibbon. CHAPTER II.