Then came the "Jack of Clubs." Lord Thurlow, we are told, once enabled a stranger to single out in a crowd Dunning, afterwards Lord Ashburton, by telling him to take notice of the first man he saw bearing a strong resemblance to the "Jack of Clubs." In the present case it was a worthy trader in provisions who had acquired among his fellow-townsmen a sobriquet from a supposed likeness to that sturdy court-card figure. He was a short, burly Englishman, whose place of business was just opposite the entrance to the Market. So absolutely did the epithet attach itself to him, that late-comers to the place failed to learn his real name: all which was good-humouredly borne for a time; but at last the distinction became burdensome and irritating, and Mr. Stafford removed in disgust to New York. A well-known character often to be seen about here, too, was an unfortunate English farmer of the name of Cowper, of disordered intellect, whose peculiarity was a desire to station himself in the middle of the roadway, and from that vantage-ground to harangue any crowd that might gather, incoherently, but always with a great show of sly drollery and mirthfulness. On occasions of militia funeral processions, observant lads and others were always on the look-out for a certain prosperous cordwainer of the town of York, Mr. Wilson, who was sure then to be seen marching in the ranks, with musket reversed, and displaying with great precision and solemnity the extra-upright carriage and genuine toe-pointed step of the soldier of the days of George the Second. He had been for sixteen years in the 41st regiment, and ten years and forty-four days in the 103rd; and it was with pride and gusto that he exhibited the high proficiency to which he had in other days attained. The slow pace required by the Dead March gave the on-looker time to study the antique style of military movement thus exemplified. It was at a comparatively late period that Sir John Smythe and Spencer Lydstone, poets, were notabilities in the streets; the latter, Mr. Lydstone, recognizable from afar by a scarlet vest, brought out, ever and anon, a printed broadside, filled with eulogiums or satires on the inhabitants of the town, regulated by fees or refusals received. The former, Sir John Smythe, found in the public papers a place for his productions, which by their syntactical irregularities and freedom from marks of punctuation, proved their author (as a reviewer of the day once observed) to be a man _supra grammaticam_, and one possessed of a genius above commas. But his great hobby was a railway to the Pacific, in connection with which he brought out a lithographed map: its peculiarity was a straight black line conspicuously drawn across the continent from Fort William to the mouth of the Columbia river.