Seldom was heard the Sabbath’s welcome chime—­
Yet brotherhood abounded in the land,
And charity with soft and tender hand
Relieved distress, and made the weeper smile,
Scarce conscious of the good she did the while,
And not the worst among poor sons of men,
Money was plenty in the village then,
For Mother Britain with a lavish hand
Scattered her treasures over all the land. 
Simplicity then held her peaceful reign,
And vice and crime were seldom in her train. 
No litigation marked our young career,
No Police Magistrate with brow severe,
And frown of justice upon trembling crime,
Made culprits shiver in that happy time;
Neighbor to neighbor owed so little grudge,
Disputes were settled then without the Judge—­
The learned profession boasted not one gown,
And but one lancet was in all the town—­
And it was busy, and got wondrous praise,
For venesection flourished in those days. 
People owed little, and were seldom sued,
No bailiff marred our ancient solitude;
Duns were a nuisance in our soil not grown,
Fifteen per cent, was totally unknown! 
Things then were taken as they happened quite,
And insults were decided by a fight,
In boyhood I have witnessed many a fray
Within the ring by daylight and fair play—­
No constable poked his unwelcome nose
Between the pastime of two transient foes,
Who choose like Sayers and Heenan to decide
Their difference with strong sinews on each side. 
We had no sidewalks then, not much taxation,
No lock-up, county gaol, no corporation,
No aldermanic wisdom, and no mayor,
To fill with dignity the civic chair;
No tax collector with his pressing bill
To cause consumption in an empty till;
Corrupt electors trod not freedom’s ground,
No purchaseable franchise could be found—­
Money was not the “altar and the God,”
Before which manhood bowed a venal clod! 
The reign of truth, ere politics was made
By infamy a money-making trade! 
No costly vehicles with horses gay,
In gilded trappings graced that ancient day;
Pedestrianism was fashionable then,
For boys were boys, as ’twas, and men were men. 
And girls were what they always were, the best
Blossoms in the gardens of the blest! 
One steamer only cleft the Ottawa’s spray,
But did not, like the “Queen,” come every day. 
No railroad engine snorted o’er the plain,
Dragging along behind its ponderous train—­
No telegraphic line with speed of light
Scattered intelligence with lightning flight;
No gas-flame shed its artificial ray,
Turning nocturnal darkness into day—­
The tallow candle blazed away supreme,
And of the age of coal oil did not dream;
Yet, ’twas “a gay old time,” a happy time,
And could I strike an upward note sublime,
I’d strain my very heartstrings with the blast
Of glory that I’d give the fine old past! 
But times are changed, and things are altered too,