Orillia Has Leacock, Gravenhurst Has William Henry Smith and Bracebridge Has Washington Irving: What A Literary Region

CELEBRATING OR NOT, THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NAMING OF BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO

COULD THE RECOGNITION OF WASHINGTON IRVING, EVER BECOME WHAT STEPHEN LEACOCK'S LEGACY, HAS IMPRINTED ON ORILLIA?

     NOTE: SHORT VIDEO OF THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY, OF BRACEBRIDGE'S OFFICIAL NAMING, WILL BE PUBLISHED WITH TOMORROW'S BLOG

     From my office window, at the former Herald-Gazette, on 27 Dominion Street, in Bracebridge, I could look down the street, and see to the top of what was once known as Tanbark Hill, marked by the silhouette of that unique, amalgamated architecture, of Bracebridge and Muskoka Lakes Secondary School; just after the turn of Quebec Street, down into the "Hollow." I watched this street scene change over the four seasons, and each had its interesting maturity of illumination, on the mixed residential area of old homes, two churches, an apartment, and a legal office at its northern corner. It was a wonderful place in which to write, but it had its resident distractions. The staircase just outside the door, was constantly being thumped upon, by a parade of employees and guests, and the newsroom next door, was always a din of conversation, and at times, yelling, when an interview turned adverse all of a sudden. From this vantage point, I could watch when my new bride, Suzanne, was walking from school, where she taught, to meet me for lunch. I would like to sit in that same office today, to rekindle some of those old sensations, of being a young writer, in charge of one of Muskoka's oldest newspapers. Maybe I fancied myself a fledgling author of fiction, because that's what I really wanted to write then, especially from that upstairs office, with the framed view of the neighborhood; where we lived with three cats and great anticipation for our first child, Andrew. Whenever I ponder about Washington Irving, and his relationship to the Town of Bracebridge, I can't help thinking about this office; and how much I thought about the town's folk characteristics, and history, while I wrote news and feature stories about it for The Herald-Gazette and The Muskoka Sun.
     I wrote several features from that office, about Washington Irving, while sitting comfortably at that desk, with a charming view, with the aroma of that antiquated building, reminding me of my own antiquarian interests. My first published pieces on this same story, in the mid 1980's, were inspired somewhat, by that office, with the smell of ink and typewriters, and the noise of community echoing the hallway's connecting offices.
     I would be aghast, seriously so, if even one Bracebridge town councillor, reacted with regret, the municipality had missed this rather significant anniversary; being the 150th anniversary of the naming of the town's post office, in August 1864, by federal civil servant, William Dawson LeSueur. (You can archive back several blogs, to learn more about Dr. LeSueur's role in changing the history of the former "North Falls.") Even if they had some regret, I wouldn't expect they'd wish to admit it to the public.
     The granting of the name, "Bracebridge," of course, was taken from the Washington Irving book, of the same name, "Bracebridge Hall," published in 1822, as a continuation of the earlier "Sketch Book," released in 1819. While LeSueur intended the naming to be a fitting memorial, in Canada, to the literary accomplishments of Washington Irving, who had died some time earlier, it was lost on the local citizenry, who were, at the time, just trying to survive the harsh environs of what was then, frontier Ontario. The fact that LeSueur didn't explain his intentions, after bestowing this literary provenance, has meant one hundred and fifty years of confusion about whether the postal authority's intervention had been a good one, or one that is still contributing to hard feelings. Some residents today, who know their community history, still refuse to accept the rejection of "North Falls," by LeSueur in 1864. It's what the citizens had desired, and to them, LeSueur changed history on a whim, without consultation.
     So while I have donned my party hat, which is really just the hat I wear every day, and just now had a celebratory sip of orange juice, and by the way, I clicked my heels the best I could (for an old fellow), in modest celebration of this 150th anniversary, I am not awaiting any phone call from the town, begging for a chance to jump on this bandwagon. Well, there really isn't a bandwagon, at all, so jumping upon it, would be pointless. I was pleased the local media published my letters to the editor, this week, and especially my monthly column in "Curious; The Tourist Guide."
    I feel that after all these years of saddling up to both Washington Irving, and William Dawson LeSueur, that I owed it to their memory, to acknowledge an anniversary, that otherwise, would have been ignored by the town's governance. As well, the anniversary has been bypassed by the other historians of town, who have better things to do obviously, than try to decipher what a postal clerk from the 1860's, was up to, daring to give our pioneer hamlet a name established by an American author. I was disappointed in 1999, when the town couldn't be bothered, even considering, (for a second in time), a future relationship with their own provenance. I think they thought I invented it! So seeing as I was not the accepted historian, in their favor at the moment, to put forth such an issue, and the fact I lived and worked in Gravenhurst, it was infinitely more comfortable for my critics, to just leave this unwanted history, to fade back into obscurity, once Mr. Currie was tired of bouncing off the political enclave. It no longer troubles me, in this fashion, that local politicians would rather establish a committee, to consider financing a bronze sculpture of Santa Claus, at a potential cost of $40,000, for eventual placement on the main street. It is the way it is, and as they wish to keep history in their own way, I will satisfy myself, by being keeper of this Irving-LeSueur heritage; unless, at some point, a new council decides it's time to bury the proverbial hatchet, and celebrate a wonderful, ever-giving provenance. I just won't hold my breath for a response.

Leacock versus Irving - Why not?

     If Bracebridge wanted to, in case they had a bone to pick with the City of Orillia, they could always fire off a press release, stating with considerable accuracy, "Yea, well our Washington Irving is better known than your Stephen Leacock!" It would, afterall, be the truth. While Stephen Leacock's work is respected in Canada, it is not as well known internationally, as could be said of the literary accomplishments of Washington Irving. But then, for there to be a literary comparison, and the bragging as to which festival is bigger and better, well, Bracebridge would have to, first of all, be mildly aware of who Washington Irving actually was. Now that, to me, is sad. It's just not the same, squaring off Leacock against Santa Claus.
     If the business community, and the local Chamber of Commerce, decided it was worth pursuing, I would go to the ends of the earth to assist. If a town committee wanted to know more about Irving, I would be delighted to attend a meeting. But I will not attempt to sell them on what rightfully belongs to them, as stewards, by repeating the mistakes of 1999, I made, by applying to submit a proper proposal to council. They have their trusted heritage sources, and I'm not one of them.  As for the business community and the citizens, politics aside, they deserve to know more about this important heirloom relationship.
     It does fascinate me, to think that one day, there would be a "Washington Irving Festival," in the summer season, to parallel the "Stephen Leacock" celebrations in Orillia; which I think are fabulous. Actually, it was Leacock's "Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town," that inspired me to write again, back in 1991, when I went into my one and only writing funk. Suzanne handed me a copy of Leacock's book, complaining that my misery, at not being able to write, was extending the bad vibes to everyone in the family. I read it cover to cover in one day. I started writing again the next day. I soon had the template for what became first, the "Historic Sketches of Bracebridge," and then "Muskoka Sketches," published weekly in "The Muskoka Advance." So when I suggest a new rivalry between Orillia and Bracebridge, between great writers of their day, I'm not suggesting Leacock isn't just as important to me as Irving.
     In case there are some Gravenhurst readers, and hobby historians joining today's blog; how about a three town writer's festival. W.D. LeSueur, of course, named Gravenhurst, in 1862 (when post office was granted), after a book written by British poet / philosopher, William Henry Smith, author of "Gravenhurst, or Thoughts on Good and Evil." (For more information on Smith, you can archive back three blogs, and check out the bottom "archive" section from Aug. 2012). Think about the possibilities. Three communities in a row, celebrating connections with revered authors. The only thing stopping this, is political will and a stubbornness against anything "out-of-the-box." I tried to get some movement from Gravenhurst councillors, to celebrate the 150th anniversary of their official naming by LeSueur, two years ago, and it was just as unremarkable, as when I first approached the Town of Bracebridge. So while it would be a great literary run, north and south, to honor Irving, Smith, alongside what is already being done to celebrate Stephen Leacock, it will take many devoted individuals, volunteers, and the support of the business community.    Suzanne told me this morning, by looking at my teeth (as if I was a horse), that I've still got some good years left, just in case it takes a while yet to catch on.
     Don't get me started on Paul Rimstead. I'd sooner see a statue of former Toronto Sun columnist, Paul Rimstead, who became one of the best read, and loved writers in Canada. Rimstead went to Bracebridge High School, played pool with hockey star, Roger Crozier, at Joe's Billiard's on Manitoba Street, and got his first newspaper itch, working in Bracebridge, as a stringer for the Orillia Packet and Times. He used to chase after the trucks of the Bracebridge Fire Department, on his bike, to get the big scoop. Yes sir, I would much prefer to see a tribute to Washington Irving, and Paul Rimstead, than, I'm sorry to say this, because I'm going to make the naughty list, "Santa Claus." It's just not the way I see Bracebridge being celebrated. But then, I'm just an historian.

WASHINGTON IRVING, FROM HIS OWN INTRODUCTION TO THE SKETCH BOOK

     Before I record a few observances by the young author, Washington Irving, as an introduction to The Sketch Book, I'd like to make one aspect of the whole naming-thing, clear. There are those historians, who have also made the mistake, of assuming, that the real honor here, is with the book "Bracebridge Hall," because this is where LeSueur borrowed the name, in 1864, for the new post office. What LeSueur intended by his actions, was to honor the author, more so, than with just one book. He named the hamlet as a memorial tribute to Washington Irving, and the vehicle to do this, was to use the title of one of Irving's books. So thusly, the town's name is an international tribute to Irving, and all of his work, including The Sketch Book, and his stories, such as "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and "Rip Van Winkle." The book "Bracebridge Hall," was just a lead-in, to the bigger story.

     "I was always fond of visiting new scenes, and observing strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child, I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents, and the emolument, of the town-crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with all the places famous in history or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or robbery had been committed, or a ghost seen. I visited the neighboring villages, and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by noting their habits and customs, and conversing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most distant hill, from where I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited." So noted Washington Irving of his curious youth.
     "This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of voyages and travels became my passion, and in devouring their contents, I neglected the regular exercises of the school. How wistfully would I wander about the pier-heads in fine weather, and watch the parting ships bound to distant climes, with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the earth.
     Farther reading and thinking, though they brought this vague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own country; and had I been merely influenced by a love of fine scenery, I should have felt little desire to seek elsewhere the gratification; on no other country have the charms of nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver; her mountains with their bright aerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous verdure; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine."
     Irving writes, "It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passions gratified. I have wandered through different countries, and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher, but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers, of the picturesque, stroll from the window of one print shop to another; caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty, sometimes by the distortions of caricature, and sometimes by the loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern tourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their portfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for the entertainment of my friends. When, however, I look over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose, my heart almost fails me, at finding how my idle humor has led me aside from the great objects, studied by every regular traveller who would make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappointment with an unlucky landscape-painter, who had travelled on the Continent, but following the bent of his vagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks, and corners, and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly crowded with cottages, and landscapes, and obscure ruins; but he had neglected to paint St. Peter's or the Coliseum; the Cascade of Terni, or the Bay of Naples; and had not a single glacier or volcano in his whole collection."
     To begin "The Sketch Book," Irving uses his character traveller, "Geoffrey Crayon, Gent." who is also the story teller in the second book, "Bracebridge Hall," noting, "In travelling by land there is a continuity of scene, and a connected succession of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life, and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We drag, it is true, 'a lengthening chain,' at each remove of our pilgrimage; but the chain is unbroken; we can trace it back link by link; and we feel that the last of them still grapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes - a gulf, subject to tempest, and fear, and uncertainty, that makes distance palpable, and return precarious.
     "Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw the fast blue line of my native land fade away, like a cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world, and its concerns, and had time for meditation, before I opened another. That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contained all that was most dear to me in life; what vicissitudes might occur in it - what changes might take place in me, before I should visit it again? Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither he may be driven by the uncertain currents of existence; or when he may return; or whether it may be ever his lot to revisit the scenes of his childhood?"
     Then there is the famous opening, to one of Irving's best known, and celebrated stories:
     "In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators of the Tappaan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas, when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural fort, which by some is called Greensburg, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given it, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps, about three miles, there is a little village; there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquility.
    I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting, was in a grove of tall walnut-trees, that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.
     "From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen, has long been known by the name, 'Sleepy Hollow,' and its rustic lands are called the Sleepy Hollow boys, throughout all the neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place was bewitched by a high German doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, that the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.
     "The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief, of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war, and who is ever and anon, seen by the country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and the valley, and especially to the vicinity of a church, that is at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning the spectre, allege, that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the hollow, like a midnight blast, is owning to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.
     "Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of 'The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow'."

      I would like to include today's blog, with one of my favorite quotes, taken from W.D. LeSueur, the chap who created this belated memorial tribute to Washington Irving. I have long followed LeSueur's model of criticism, and critical thought, and it has helped me enormously as an historian. I challenge today, what I would never have, as an underling historian, feeling the weight of protocol on my shoulders. I have found since, thanks to Dr. LeSueur, a much better approach to accepted history; to not accept it in the first place, as undeniable fact. Even the essay above, must always stand the scrutiny of my peers over time.
     "Criticism should be the voice of impartial and enlightened reason. Too often what passes for criticism, in the voice of hireling adulation or hireling enmity. Illustrations of this will occur to everyone, but there is no use in blaming criticism, which, as has been said, is an intellectual necessity of the age. The foregoing remarks have been made in the hope that they may help to clear away some prevalent misconceptions by showing the organic connection, so to speak, that exists between criticism as a function, or as a mode of intellectual activity, and the very simplest intellectual processes. Such a mode of regarding it should do away with the odium that in so many minds attaches to the idea of criticism. Let us all try to be critics according to the measure of our abilities and opportunities. Let us aim at seeing all we can, at gaining as many points of view as possible. Let us compare carefully and judge impartially, and we may depend upon it; we shall be the better for the very effort."
     Thank you so much for joining this special 150th anniversary blog. It means a lot to me, to have you along for the journey. We'll go a little further into Sleepy Hollow, before this anniversary series concludes, in the next several days.

FROM THE ARCHIVES-August 2012

GRAVENHURST DESERVES THIS RECOGNITION - BUT HOW TO USE IT?

THE GOOD RELATIONS WE COULD FOSTER IN THE LITERARY WORLD

     "THE STREAM TO THE TREE - I SHINE, YOU SHADE, AND SO THE BEAUTY OF THE WORLD IS MADE."

     "RESTED OR MOVED UPON ITS BROW, AND LO! IT SOFTENS INTO BEAUTY NOW - BLOOMS LIKE A FLOWER. WITH US 'TIS MUCH THE SAME - FROM MAN TO MAN, AS THE DEEP SHADOWS ROLL, BREAKS FORTH THE BEAUTY OF THE HUMAN SOUL."

     "I WAS QUITE ALONE WITH MY LOVE. I GOT ON THE BED BEHIND HIM, THE BETTER TO PROP HIM, IN WHAT SEEMED AN EASY SLEEP - THE HANDS AND FEET STILL WARM. HIS HEAD PASSED GRADUALLY FROM THE PILLOW TO MY BREAST, AND THERE THE CHERISHED HEAD RESTED FIRMLY; THE BREATHING GREW GENTLER AND GENTLER. NEVER SHALL I FORGET THE GREAT AWE, THE BROODING PRESENCE WITH WHICH THE ROOM WAS FILLED. MY HEART LEAPT WILDLY WITH A NEW SENSATION, BUT IT WAS NOT FEAR. ONLY IT WOULD HAVE SEEMED PROFANE TO UTTER EVEN MY ILLIMITABLE LOVE, OR TO CALL UPON HIS NAME.  THE HEAD GREW DAMP AND VERY HEAVY; MY ARMS WERE UNDER HIM. THEN THE SLEEP GREW QUIET, AND AS THE CHURCH CLOCK BEGAN TO STRIKE TEN, I CAUGHT A LITTLE SIGH, SUCH AS A NEW-BORN INFANT MIGHT GIVE IN WAKING - NOT A TREMOR, NOT A THRILL OF THE FRAME, AND THEN VI CAME BACK WITH CLARA'S NURSE, (WHO HAVE A PECULIAR LOVE AND ADMIRATION FOR HIM, I HAD SAID MIGHT COME UP). I TOLD THEM HE WAS GONE, AND I THANKED GOD FOR THE PERFECT PEACE IN WHICH HE PASSED AWAY. HE WAS BURIED IN THE BRIGHTON CEMETERY, IN A SPOT AT PRESENT STILL SECLUDED, AND OVER WHICH THE LARKS SING JOYOUSLY. THERE, A PLAIN GREY GRANITE HEADSTONE RISES TO HIS PURE AND CHERISHED MEMORY, WITH JUST HIS NAME AND TWO DATES, AND THIS ONE LINE, LONG ASSOCIATED WITH HIM IN MY MIND, AND WHICH ALL WHO KNEW HIM HAVE FELT TO BE APPROPRIATE. 'HIS SOUL WAS LIKE A STAR, AND DWELT APART'."

     THE TWO LINES OF POETRY COMMENCING TODAY'S BLOG, WERE WRITTEN BY WILLIAM HENRY SMITH. THE PASSAGE ABOVE WAS COMPOSED BY LUCY SMITH, ON THE PASSING OF HER POET / PHILOSOPHER HUSBAND, AND HIS BURIAL IN BRIGHTON, ENGLAND.

     ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS AGO, THIS COMING JULY / AUGUST, THE NEW POST OFFICE IN OUR HAMLET BY THE BAY, WAS GIVEN THE TITLE "GRAVENHURST," AFTER A BOOK WRITTEN BY WILLIAM HENRY SMITH, FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1862, THE YEAR W.D. LESUEUR GRANTED OUR POSTAL STATUS. HE BORROWED THE NAME, FROM A BOOK HE HAD REVIEWED (MOONLIGHTING AS A LITERARY CRITIC), ENTITLED "GRAVENHURST; OR THOUGHTS ON GOOD AND EVIL," BY MR. SMITH. WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CONSIDERED A GREAT HONOR, AND A SIGNIFICANT LITERARY PROVENANCE, WAS NEVER FULLY EXPLAINED BY LESUEUR, AND THUS, FOR MOST OF THE PAST ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS, NOT MUCH WAS KNOWN ABOUT THE AUTHOR, OR THE HONOR PROVIDED TO AN UNSUSPECTING HAMLET IN CANADA.

     IN 2000, I PUT TOGETHER A SMALL RESEARCH PROJECT ABOUT WILLIAM SMITH, AND PUBLISHED A SEVEN PART SERIES ON THE AUTHOR, AND WHAT IT HAS, AND SHOULD MEAN TO THE PRESENT TOWN OF GRAVENHURST. ALTHOUGH IT WAS ALLUDED TO IN THE 1967 PUBLICATION OF "LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS," IT STILL NOTED THERE WAS A POSSIBILITY, THE NAME OF OUR TOWN COULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN FROM A BOOK BY WASHINGTON IRVING, ENTITLED "BRACEBRIDGE HALL." AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT MANY TIMES BEFORE, THIS WASN'T THE CASE, EXCEPT IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE THE NAME WAS INDEED TAKEN FROM THE IRVING BOOK, IN 1864, ALSO BY POSTAL AUTHORITY, W. D. LESUEUR. IN 2000 WE MANAGED TO PURCHASE A COPY OF THE SECOND, "MEMORIAL" EDITION, FOR THE TOWN, FROM THE 1870'S, WHICH IS IMPORTANT BECAUSE IT CONTAINS THE ABOVE DESCRIPTION BY LUCY SMITH, OF HER HUSBAND'S PASSING. I DID PROVIDE THE TOWN A COPY OF THE SERIES OF ARTICLES THAT HAD APPEARED IN THE GRAVENHURST BANNER. SINCE, THE HISTORY OF SMITH AND THE NAMING OF GRAVENHURST, HAS APPEARED IN MUSKOKA TODAY AND CURIOUS; THE TOURIST GUIDE. STILL NOT ENOUGH TO STIR MUCH INTEREST.

     "There comes a time when neither fear nor hope are necessary to the pious man; but he loves righteousness for righteousness' sake, and love is all in all. It is not joy at escape from future perdition that he now feels; nor is it hope for some untold happiness in the future: it is a present rapture of piety, and resignation, and love - a present that fills eternity.

     "It asks nothing, it fears nothing; it loves and it has no petition to make. God takes back His little child unto Himself - a little child that has no fear, and is all trust."

      The lines above were penned by William Smith, a writer well respected during his period in England. His wife, in her memorial, wrote about how full of affection he was for his young days. "(Hammersmith, England) Here is another glimpse of the enjoyments of those early days. The cheerful drawing room in the Hammersmith home had a window at both ends. Round the one that looked into the garden, clustered the white blossoms or hung the luscious - a swan-egg - the like of which was never met in later years! From the other window the children could watch the following spectacle, which my husband evidently enjoyed recalling in a notice of 'Mr. Knight's Reminiscences, published in 1864'." William Smith himself, writes, from his childhood experiences, "Very pleasant is this looking back over a period of history through which we too have lived. Give a boy a telescope, and if he is far enough away from home, the first or the greatest delight he has, in the use of it, is to point it back, to the house he lives in. To see the palings of his own garden, to see his father at work in it, or a younger brother playing in it, is a far greater treat than if you were to show him the coast of France or any other distant object. And so it is with the past in time. If the telescope of the historian brings back to us, events through which we have lived, and which were already fading away in the memory, he gives to us quite a peculiar pleasure."

     One of his childhood reminiscences I enjoyed reading, addresses the matter of changes in the means of transportation, progress on wheels and steam innovation: "This great revolution in our mode of traveling, the substitution of the steam engine for the horse, will soon be matter of history, and older men will begin to record, with that peculiar zest which belongs to the recollection of youth, the aspect which the highway roads leading out of London, presented in their time. The railway-train rushing by you at its full speed is sublime - it deserves no timid epithet. You stand perhaps in the country, on one of those little bridges thrown over the line for the convenience of the farmer, who would else find his fields hopelessly bisected. A jet stream is seen on the horizon, a whir of a thousand wheels grows louder and louder on the ear, and there rushes under your feet the very realization of Milton's dream, who saw the chariot of God, instinct with motion, self-impelled, thundering over the plains of heaven. You look around, and already in the distant landscape the triumphal train is bearing its beautiful standard of ever-rising clouds, white as the highest that rest stationary in the sky, and of exquisitely involved movement. For an instant the whole country is animated as if by the stir of battle; when the spectacle has quite passed, how inexpressibly flat and desolate and still, have our familiar fields become! Nothing seems to have a right to exist that can be so still and stationary."

     Smith writes, "Yet grand as this spectacle is, we revert with pleasure to some boyish recollections of the high road, and to picturesque effects produced by quite other means. We are transported in imagination to a bay-window that commanded the great western road - the Bath Road, as people at the time often called it. Every evening came, in rapid succession, the earth tingling with the musical thread of their horses, seven mail-coaches out of London. The dark red coach, the scarlet guard standing up in his solitary little dickey behind the tramp of the horses, the ring of the horns - can one ever forget them. For some miles out of London, the guard was kept on his feet, blowing on his horn, to warn all slower vehicles to make way for his Majesty's mails. There was a turnpike within sight of us; how the horses dashed through it! With not the least abatement of speed. If some intolerable blunderer stopped by the way, and that royal coachman had to draw up his team, making the splinter-bars rattle together, we looked upon it as almost an act of treason. If the owner of that blockading cart had been immediately led off to execution, we boys should have though he had but his just deserts. Our mysterious seven were still more exciting to the imagination when, in the dark of winter nights, only the two vivid lamps could be seen borne along by the trampling coursers. No darkness checked the speed of the mail; a London fog which brought ordinary vehicles to a standstill, could not altogether subdue our royal mails. The procession came flaring with torches, men shouting before it, and a man with a huge link at the head of each horse. It was a thrilling and a somewhat fearful scene."

     Other than the kindness shown by the publishers of the Gravenhurst Banner, Muskoka Today, and Curious; The Tourist Guide, the only time I was asked to do a full presentation on William Henry Smith, and his connection to Gravenhurst, Ontario, was at a lecture series sponsored by the Muskoka Lakes Museum, in Port Carling. The theme that night was, "Why no one cares about William Smith," or why Bracebridge has little or no interest in their literary provenance, to Washington Irving. So the small crowd in attendance heard about two years of wasted research, on my part, to provide a link no one wanted. Pretty sad right? Two literary shining stars, in world literature, and regardless how aggressively or enthusiastically I pitched the ideas, to council and the business association, on ways to capitalize, on this provenance, of which they are entitled to exploit, I never got five minutes of council time in either town. You'd think that would be a clear message, to "buzz off!" So what's different in 2012? Well, in Gravenhurst, we are presently celebrating 125 years since incorporation. A municipal thing! Historic! Not enough to warrant a parade. But I think I read that we're having one anyway. Yet by golly, having a 150 year anniversary, this summer, to commemorate the naming of our town, (by adopting the name "Gravenhurst" for our post office, ) back in 1862, must be worth half a parade, a crumb of ceremonial cake, or a single nearly deflated ballon that thanks W.D. LeSueur, for connecting us to William Henry Smith. Watch. The only way you're going to find out much about this Smith fellow, is via this blogsite. I will be writing a special feature for the July issue of Curious; The Tourist Guide, which you can find online or at shops around Muskoka.

     For posterity, if nothing else, I intend on publishing, online, a meaty history, with a lot of provenance included, about the handiwork of LeSueur, and the reasons we should all be honored, to have the name of our town associated, with the legacy of one of the world's finest writers. I plan to launch the series of articles, beginning on Canada Day. I'm hoping by this time, that we have been successful on some of the British contacts we're presently trying to make, to find out even more about Mr. Smith. With all the other Royalty Celebrations going on this year, and in Canada, we'll have our own taste of Britain right here in Gravenhurst. I don't have money to throw a party or anything, or get a plaque made up, but I hope we can make what appears online, robust enough, and festive, to attract a few readers. I think it's important. I'm betting I can convince you, just how important. Just watch me. Right here. On Ted Currie's Gravenhurst blog. We'll hoist a make-believe pint, in the pub of choice, to a fine poet…..we really should know.

Bracebridge Should Get To Know The Work Of Dr. William Dawson LeSueur

SO WHO WAS WILLIAM DAWSON LESUEUR, AND WHY BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST SHOULD BE IMPRESSED BY THE HISTORIC CONNECTION

NOT QUITE THE POSTAL CLERK, HISTORIANS HAVE PREVIOUSLY OBSERVED OF DR. LESUEUR

     Listening to world news, these days, we probably all feel a little guilty, living in such a democratic and safe country, where missiles aren't criss-crossing the azure sky, and explosions don't rock the solitude every few minutes. There are no ugly, unsettling plumes of black smoke caused by bombing attacks, and no long lines of stretcher-bearers, running down the debris-strewn streets, parading the human casualties and miseries of war. It does then, seem moot on my part, and almost disrespectful to crisis all around us, to take this column space, to write about some misconception of local history, that occurred one hundred and fifty years ago. Aren't there more urgent concerns to deal with? More demanding editorials to pen? But even at its weakest point, it is still a story about history, and its truthful accounting; its interpretations and misunderstanding. It can be applied, as a legacy, to parallel world events, of similar scale, that have, for time and memoriam, caused inherent confusion, and the collateral damage of ongoing misconception. An unchallenged error in the chronicle. Even something routine, clerical, and unassuming, as the stroke of a civil servant's pen, on a postal document in the 1860's, caused an inaugural tribute, to be misconstrued instead, as a slight of protocol. This, without any urgency, is the question I have tried to answer for the past fifteen years. This is how long I have tried to represent the facts of August 1864, as relates to the official naming of the newly granted post office, in North Falls, Ontario.

     "There is no person whose statement on any point, can be absolutely accepted; and any one who supposes that he can write a final authoritative account, of any historical event, is likely to find himself disappointed." W.D. LeSueur.

     Suffice then, that I have, at the very least, made this attempt, in July 2014, to correct a misconception, of town history, that needs now to feel the cool freedom of a new generation, that may be looking for something, or someone, to inspire the future. Maybe this is one of those forgotten gems from the past, that can be resurrected, into a positive, glittering reunion for all concerned. You be the judge. Have I convinced you, that it's worth another look?

     "In April, 1871, an article on the French poet, and critic, Sainte-Beuve, appeared in the 'Westminster Review'. It was for the most part highly appreciative of Ste.-Beauve's life-long commitment to 'the critical spirit'. In 1830 Ste.-Beuve had written, 'It is the nature of the critical spirit to be quick, suggestive, versatile, and comprehensive. The critical spirit is like a large, clear stream, which winds and spreads out around the works and monuments of poetry." Quoting this passage, in the original French, the author of the Westminster Review article, added that 'No words could more happily or accurately describe what criticism was, in his hands, throughout the whole of his long career.' Moreover, the writer claimed, Ste-Beuve was important not simply because he was critical, but also because he was systematic about it'."
     "The first thing that strikes us when we look in Ste.-Bueve's works is, that criticism with him is not a mere thing of rules and precedents but, so to speak, a living science.' Ste.-Beuve had been adverse to all rigid systems of thought, and therefore, was suspicious when criticism was subordinated to any preconceived idea, or pre-established authority. Nevertheless, his criticism was not without its own controlling idea; it should consist of systematic intellectual enquiry. 'One consequence of the effort which Ste- Beuve made, to pursue criticism in a scientific spirit, is that of all critics he is the least dogmatic. 'Indeed,' included the anonymous reviewer, he is 'less a judge than an enquirer who tells us of his discoveries, and invites us to verify them for ourselves'."
     The above passages were taken from the book, entitled "A Critical Spirit, The Thought of William Dawson LeSueur," by A.B. McKillop, for this Carleton Library Original publication, circa 1977. A few readers might be surprised, the humble postal clerk, often referred to by regional historians, in the past, as the man who awarded the postal titles, "Gravenhurst," in August 1862, and "Bracebridge," in August 1864, would be the subject of a Carleton University biography. It's critical, in the spirit of this enquiry, that we know more about W.D. LeSueur; so that those nagging questions about his motives, for naming our two South Muskoka towns, can finally be put in a more revealing and truthful light. The we can judge based on enlightenment, not on the fictions that have dogged the story for all these years.
    He (LeSueur) was serious about literature, with great interest in the classics, as author McKillop points out. (I purchased an extra copy of his book, to donate to the Gravenhurst Archives Committee).
     A.B. McKillop writes, "The author of that essay, had also been an enquirer more than a judge. Exactly a year earlier he had appeared before the Literary and Scientific Society, of Ottawa, to deliver a shorter version of the Westminster Review piece. Then entitled 'The Greatest Critic of the Age,' this critical appreciation of the French poet-critic (who had died only a few months earlier), was by a young Canadian civil servant named William Dawson LeSueur. By the year 1871, LeSueur, born in 1840, had worked for the Post Office Department of the Canadian civil service for fifteen years. He had by then completed his formal education, which had taken him from the Montreal High School to the Ontario Law School, and the University of Toronto. There he graduated to Silver Medallion in Classics in 1863. In his career as a civil servant he remained with the Post Office until his retirement in 1902 (from 1888 to 1902 he was chief of the Post Office money order system). After his retirement he became the Secretary of the Dominion Board of Civil Service Examiners.
     "W.D. LeSueur's connection with the Literary and Scientific Society of Ottawa, was also a long one. Almost every year from 1871 until the turn of the twentieth century, LeSueur held an executive position with the group, either as Librarian, Vice-President, or (most frequently) President. This long association with an organization dedicated to the joint study of literature, and science, indicates that while LeSueur's occupation was that of a civil servant, his preoccupations far transcended the normal concerns of the administrator. Much of his biography must therefore be seen as an inner one, for his significant life was primarily that of the mind."
     Author McKillop continues, by noting, "LeSueur insisted throughout his life, that the essence of civilization lay in an individual's ability to exercise, in a responsible fashion, a critical enquiry that asked nothing more than honesty and sincerity, and sought nothing less than truth. His was a moral as well as an intellectual vision. The thought of William Dawson LeSueur, as set forth in scores of essays published over the last quarter of the nineteenth century, provides abundant evidence of a mind that knew no intellectual boundaries. The range of its interests and the sources of its concern, were those of its age. LeSueur deserves, then, the attention of anyone interested in the intellectual and cultural history of Canada. The modern student will not only re-discover the most diverse and pre-eminent Canadian intellect, of the age of Macdonald, and Laurier, but also enter into the trans-Atlantic nature of the controversies, in which those of LeSueur's generation engaged."
     "The fact that history and criticism today, are continually at war with the myth-making, legend forming, tendencies of mankind. It is not what is true that takes the strongest hold on the popular mind; it is what is cast in a mould to fit popular needs; and when the people want to believe a thing, it is very hard to prevent them doing so." W.D. LeSueur, "History: Its Nature and Methods," 1913.
     The above quotation, by Dr. LeSueur, is probably the most profound to me, working on this project. As a result of writing popular histories, like LeSueur openly accused author, Stephen Leacock, of compiling a text to appease sponsors, as a non confrontational, critical, Canadian history, Muskoka historians simply didn't follow through on their research requirements. If they had been critical in their enterprise, they would have found it strange and awkward, and somewhat troubling, that LeSueur refused names, democratically chosen for both the new post office facilities, in McCabe's Landing, and North Falls. What would give this civil servant the impetus to do such a thing, risking a polite revolt of the inhabitants, of those same South Muskoka hamlets. Why didn't these historians, who have become iconic in the years since, address the issue of two names, apparently pulled out of a hat; or as a number have written, taking the name(s) from a book he (LeSueur) was reading at the time. Whenever I read these references, I get this image of LeSueur, on coffee break in his office, his feet up on the desk, reading either William Henry Smith's book, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil," circa summer of 1862, or "Bracebridge Hall," by Washington Irving, in the summer of 1864; 150 years ago, this coming Friday. This is the simplistic view that was taken, and some historians still accept as the truth, and again, I am drawn to the above quotation. "It is what is cast in a mould to fit popular needs." It is a difficult task, to then break this mould, and the progression of historical inaccuracy.
     "How can school children, it may be asked, attain to such convictions? They can investigate for themselves and boldly settle doubtful historical problems? Must they not receive some one version of history on authority? They should receive nothing on authority, I would reply. They should be distinctly told that in history there is no authority in the strict sense of the word; that there are simply authors, some better, some worse informed, some more, some less competent; some with clearer, some with obscurer vision; some more accurate in observation and statement, some less so; some with too little imagination, some with too much; some whose facts have no theory to hold them together; some radical in their views and some conservative; some who theorize to excess, some whose judgements are warped by party passion or private interest; some flatterers of power, some of the populace; some mere rhetoricians, some special pleaders, some servile copyists, some simple prevaricators; finally that no one at his best is able to do more than approximate to the truth, in his redaction or interpretation of facts."
     As a matter of irony, LeSueur's own words have come back to haunt us, in Gravenhurst and Bracebridge, because of his own lack of clarity, when he named the new hamlet post offices, in 1862 and 1864. How would history have favored Dr. LeSueur, had he simply written down, in both cases, the reasons he selected those two names, taken from books he approved? He was young at the time he named the communities, and may not have fully appreciated, what historians down the road, would gather from the evidence, of his unwelcome interventions, in the refusal of the names chosen; being McCabe's Landing and North Falls. Clarity then and now, might have allowed for 150 years plus of celebration, of both William Henry Smith, and Washington Irving, and even for LeSueur himself, who was no slouch with anything he put his mind to create and improve upon. Instead of my droning on about these three chaps, of our past, I might be heading out now, to have lunch at the "Sleepy Hollow Restaurant" in Bracebridge, or the "William Henry Smith Pub," in Gravenhurst, for a cold pint of ale. In South Muskoka, there might well be familiar names like "Ichabod Crane Lane," or "Rip Van Winkle" parkette; "Headless Horseman Avenue," or a "Squire Bracebridge," ice cream shop. Bracebridge, Ontario, might now have a strong tourism relationship with Irving's restored home, at Sunnyside, in New York, (of which I was trying to establish in 2000), and there might be an annual literary gathering, to celebrate the work of William Henry Smith, his book, "Gravennhurst," still being used in university studies to this day. (Look it up on "googlebooks"). How would we have benefitted over the long term, if only we had known, even a hundred years ago, that LeSueur's meddling, was actually meant to be a preamble honor, and deep provenance, for two tiny, struggling hamlets, in South Muskoka? As it turns out, in 2014, the toughest assignment I have ever experienced, as a regional historian, is to convince both communities, that W.D. LeSueur had only the best intentions, when he took those names, and granted them to our first post office outlets. There is a huge difference, when his handiwork is seen in its true, historic light, as being an honor; not the unwelcome intrusion it has been interpreted as, for the past 150 years. For both towns, it is an important provenance, whether it is ever observed this way, by either town, or not. History is what it is!
     I think that if there is one highly critical aspect, of this general non-acceptance of what, for all intents and purposes, is a golden provenance, full of potential for both towns, it's in this issue, of LeSueur's intentions, selecting both names, from books and author, whose work he approved. He would not have selected names of books he disliked. As I wrote earlier, there is nothing in his background, as a postal clerk, literary critic, or historian, that exhibits any evidence whatsoever, that he was capable of being a practical joker, or even light-hearted in his writing efforts; or most important, would have made fun of the pioneer hamlets, by giving them names that could, in the future, have burdened the blossoming communities with unwanted attention; or been any source of unflattering anecdote. It wasn't in his character. Possibly he was a practical joker at home, and out with his friends, but certainly not when his professional services were involved.
    Both communities should be proud of their association with not only William Henry Smith, and Washington Irving, but Dr. William Dawson LeSueur, all gentlemen of considerable accomplishment in the world of literature, philosophy, history and criticism. Does honoring these writers, come at the cost of reducing the character of our own century and a half's heritage; the Muskoka legacy of community building? Absolutely not, although there will be a few critics out there, who will suggest to the contrary, that we would be compromising our history, to impose the character of two well known authors, one from Britain, and the other from the United States, upon our Canadian values. We have to keep in mind, that W.D. LeSueur, the man who created this situation in the first place, became a leading national historian, with many scholarly publications to his credit. Also considering the fact, that both Smith and Irving became part of our legacy, probably without many in the settlements knowing about it, except LeSueur, since those dates, of 1862 and 1864. It was part of our South Muskoka history before Confederation, yet many still consider it an imposition of a post office clerk, tampering with our right to govern according to democratic rule.
     I guess the bottom line here, is if we have worn the names "Gravenhurst," and "Bracebridge," successfully well, for all these years, why then would we consider it an error caused by LeSueur. How would history have treated our towns, with names like "McCabe's Landing," and "North Falls"? Not that there is anything wrong with the names, and there are still "McCabe" family members in Gravenhurst today. But if those two names, have not destined our communities to hard times, and precarious centuries, then we do have to offer some thanks, at the very least, to Dr. LeSueur, for awarding titles that have stood the test of time, and vigorous competition, from other neighbor communities for long and long.
     In tomorrow's blog, I will have a little party planned, in the literary sense, to recognize the first of August, as the 150th anniversary of Bracebridge's official naming. It will be a low key celebration, but as it is the last major anniversary I'm going to be around for, at least in this mortal coil, I want it to be a little bit memorable. I have no plan, at its conclusion, to make any formal submission to either town council, on the reasons I believe, the naming provenance should be celebrated, not ignored. I will undoubtedly get pissed off, when I read again, that a committee has been set up to study the proposal, to have a bronze statue of Santa Claus, created by a noted sculptor, to be set down somewhere on the main street; to acknowledge I suppose, the town's long relationship with Santa's Village, opened back in the 1950's. What makes me mad, more than anything else, is the fact it warrants a committee's attention, when for my submission, back in the late 1990's, I couldn't even generate a wee spark of interest; or get an invitation to talk to just a few curious councillors, about the positives of their name connection to Washington Irving. So to jump to attention now, to consider a $40,000 expense, to sculpt a main street Santa, does seem a little superficial; versus taking a closer look at what provenance the town already has, that it has never fully utilized. As far as tourism goes, I don't think it's going out on a limb, to suggest, a Washington Irving promotion, would draw lots of international attention. Bracebridge was named as both an honor to the memory of Washington Irving, author of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and "Rip Van Winkle," and to the picturesque town, built along the shore of the Muskoka River.
     Will it ever be seen this way, or not? It would be a shame, if not, but the historian is only, in this case, the messenger.
     More on Washington Irving, in the coming days.
     Note: Son Robert and Andrew, have helped me, by producing a short video clip, with companion music Robert created, to go with Friday's blog. Like the Gravenhurst video, done for their 150th anniversary, I wanted a simple, contemporary, short video to highlight what I have long believed, was the great, overlooked story, of our South Muskoka history. Hope you can visit my blog, for the continuation of this special collection of stories about Washington Irving, William Henry Smith and William Dawson LeSueur.


FROM THE ARCHIVES AUGUST 2012

LEASE TAKE TIME TO VIEW THE COMMEMORATIVE MUSIC VIDEO, CELEBRATING THE 15OTH ANNIVERSARY. YOU CAN CLICK ONTO THE IMAGE ABOVE TO SEE THE VIDEO. DEPENDING ON YOUR INTERNET SERVICE, YOU MAY HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE VIDEO TO LOAD, BEFORE IT COMMENCES.

THE UNSUNG HERO OF GRAVENHURST -  OR THE UNSUNG WRITER WE NEVER KNEW

WHY WE SHOULD GET TO KNOW WILLIAM HENRY SMITH

    ONE THING'S FOR SURE. WHEN IT COMES AROUND TO THE 200TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE OFFICIAL NAMING OF GRAVENHURST, I WON'T BE AS SPRY AS I AM TODAY. AND THAT'S HALF AS SPRY AS A FEW YEARS AGO, WHEN I COULD STILL PLAY THREE PERIODS OF HOCKEY, AND HOIST A PINT IN THE TAVERN AT THE HOT STOVE LEAGUE.....WITHOUT HAVING TO CALL PARAMEDICS.

    IF YOU THOUGHT THERE WAS GOING TO BE A PARADE DOWN MUSKOKA ROAD, TO RECOGNIZE THE NAMING OF OUR FIRST POST OFFICE, IN AUGUST 1862, IN HONOR OF THE GENTLEMAN WHO PENNED THE NAME "GRAVENHURST," WELL, THEN YOU WOULD HAVE OBVIOUSLY BEEN LINED-UP FOR NOTHING. THERE WASN'T A "WILLILAM HENRY SMITH" DAY, LIKE THEY HAVE FOR ROBBIE BURNS, AND THERE WASN'T A MEMORIAL BASEBALL GAME OR SOCCER MATCH HELD IN HIS HONOR. WHY WOULD THERE BE? SMITH WASN'T ALL THAT ATHLETIC ANYWAY. JUST A REALLY GOOD WRITER.

    THE FACT THE TOWN DECIDED TO CELEBRATE THE 125TH ANNIVERSARY OF ITS INCORPORATION, WHICH IS LARGELY A CLERICAL, MUNICPAL THING, INSTEAD OF RECOGNIZING THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF ITS NAMING, BY POSTAL AUTHORITY WILLIAM DAWSON LESUEUR, IS JUST ONE OF THOSE THINGS.......I CAN'T EXPLAIN BUT DON'T FEEL THERE IS ANY REAL NECESSITY TO PURSUE THE MATTER, OTHER THAN TO MAKE SURE THIS LOCAL HISTORIAN UPHOLDS THE HONOR AND TRIBUTE OF THAT OCCASION IN AUGUST 1862. IT WAS THE EVENT THAT LESUEUR INTENDED AS AN HONOR TO THE SMALL HAMLET IN SOUTH MUSKOKA, AND A TRIBUTE TO AN AUTHOR HE FOUND A KINDRED SPIRIT, IN THE PASSIONATE PURSUIT OF GOOD LITERATURE. IT JUST DIDN'T HAPPEN QUITE THE WAY LESUEUR INTENDED IT, BECAUSE HE NEVER FULLY EXPLAINED THE PROVENANCE HE HAD BESTOWED TO THE NEW CITIZENS OF FLEDGLING GRAVENHURST. MAYBE IT WOULD BE DIFFERENT NOW, IF HE HAD OFFERED THIS EXPLANATION, AND THERE WOULD BE "SMITH DAYS" WITH WINE TASTING, REGATTAS, FOOD FESTIVALS, AND QUARTETS PLAYING IN NOOKS AND CRANNIES ALL OVER THIS TOWN.

  ADMITTEDLY, IT IS A LITTLE SAD, YOU KNOW, THAT OUR TOWN HAS FELT IT UNIMPORTANT TO PURSUE THIS WONDERFUL CONNECTION, AND EVEN AS I HAVE BEEN PROMOTING THIS ANNIVERSARY FOR THE LAST TWO MONTHS, THERE HASN'T BEEN A WHISPER OF A RESPONSE......EVEN IN RETROSPECT, OFFERING AT THE VERY LEAST, A MUNICIPALLY ENDORSED PRESS RELEASE, ACKNOWLEDGING THEIR OWN HISTORIC MILESTONE. SEEING AS THEY CAN'T RECLAIM THE NAME "MCCABE'S LANDING," THE NAME LESUEUR REJECTED IN FAVOR OF SMITH'S, "GRAVENHURST," IT WOULD SEEM LOGICAL AND PROPORTIONAL TO THE REALITY "TIME WAITS FOR NO MAN," TO FINALLY EMBRACE THIS HERITAGE WITH ALL ITS LITERARY AND INTERNATIONAL SIGNIFICANCE. OF COURSE THIS IS MY OPINION, AND I'M NEVER CONSULTED TO EXPRESS IT.....BEYOND WHAT I MIGHT POUND ONTO MY BLOG-SPACE HERE AND NOW.

    I WANT TO CARRY ON TODAY, WITH A LITTLE MORE BIOGRAPHICAL MATERIAL ABOUT WILLIAM HENRY SMITH, AND SOME OF THE OVERVIEWS MADE BY HIS WIFE, IN THE PRIVATELY PUBLISHED, 1875 MEMORIAL SECOND EDITION OF HIS BOOK, "GRAVENHURST; OR THOUGHTS ON GOOD AND EVIL," ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1861 / 62. I WILL FINISH THE FOUR PART BLOG-CHAPTERS, BY TAKING A CLOSER LOOK AT LUCY SMITH'S OVERVIEW OF HER HUSBAND'S WRITING AND LOVE FOR LIFE.

A GENTLE AND KIND MAN, WHO CHALLENGED HIS READERS TO THINK CRITICALLY

    (A small section repeated from yesterday for context) "A visit paid to a poor woman in distress, and a conversation held with a dear friend, who keeps alive in me the habit of philosophical discussion, had led my thoughts in this direction. It was the hour of sunset. As I paused upon the parapet of our little bridge, the distant Welsh hills were glowing in their purple splendour; the river ran gold at my feet; every branch of every graceful tree that hung silently in the air received and reflected a new beauty from that entire scene of enchantment, to which also it brought its own contribution. Such harmony there is in nature. The whole which is formed itself of separate parts, gives to each part its meaning and charm," writes Mr. Smith.

    "Yet even here, in this scene of enchantment, I was compelled to recall to my imagination that poor woman whose desolate hearth I had lately visited - I was compelled to revive those discordant scenes of war, of carnage, of treachery, of famine, which my friend, an old Indian general, had been dilating upon. No harmony then, and little peace, in this other world of humanity. Is there truly some diabolic element amongst us? Has the beneficient harmony which human nature should disclose, been invaded, broken up, irrecoverably destroyed by some tyrannous spirit of evil? It seems so."

    Smith responds to his own question, answering that, "I reflected within myself - since wherever science has penetrated, disorder and confusion disappear, and a harmonious whole is presented to us, it may happen that this sense of diabolic confusion in the arena of human life would vanish before light of a wider and clearer knowledge."

    The passage above would have appealed to William Dawson LeSueur's philosophy of critical thought, and found the historical sensibility of attaining a "the light of a wider and clearer knowledge." LeSueur, a huge advocate of using as many resources as possible, to ascertain the truth of situations, and the stability of historic fact, would have had possession of Smith's book, in 1862, as he was a well known literary critic, and author of reviews, when not working as a federal civil service with the Post Office Department. It was in 1862 that LeSueur borrowed the name of Smith's book, and awarded it to the hamlet post office of the former McCabe's Landing. As LeSueur was not a practical joker, it must be assumed he found it an honor to the book, the author, and the community, when he selected this title, from a newly released, scholarly book, that by the way, is still in print and considerable demand to this day. You can read the entire book by visiting Google Books, and typing in the author's name and the title of the book.

    "And now let me say a word or two of the Village of Gravenhurst, near to which I sit and write, and of the friends whose conversations I have here reported," writes Smith. "But, afterall, I cannot describe this Gravenhurst except by expressions which would serve equally well for hundreds of villages in England. (For Smith, the name is fictitious, even though there is an actual village of Gravenhurst in Bedfordshire). "It is a commonplace ordinary village. So much the better, perhaps, for me who have to treat what is common and general amongst mankind. It is well to have under my eye a specimen easily examined of our ordinary pleasures, afffections, miseries, errors and truths; and I think that the more carefully such a specimen were examined the more marvellous would human life appear. I think too, that such an examination would kindle in us a rational love of this human life."

    He suggests, "Here is this village of Gravenhurst - now growing fast into a town - with its long straggling street, its church, its chapel, its bridge over the river, its green fields through which that river flows - what could be more commonplace? The country, we the inhabitants, think beautiful, but it boasts nothing to invite the stranger or tourist, and the villagers are certainly of a quite ordinary stamp. It has its outlying gentry, its clergy, its doctor, and here and there an exceptional character - a curiosity, as we say. If it had do curiosities of this kind it would not be an ordinary village, but a most rare and unexampled one. But this village of Gravenhurst - seated amongst its fields and its pastures, with its sky and the moving clouds above it, and its infinite horizon, and its births, marriages, and deaths of most ordinary people, would be an endless theme for poet or philosopher. To the man of genius this commonplace of nature and of man is inexhaustible.

    "The poet wants nothing else; and of the philosopher the frequency or generality of a fact, or a passion, or a thought, augments its value incalculably. I only wish I had the power given me to represent this commonplace in the glory and the novelty it sometimes reveals itself to me. I wish I had the power given me to teach some men whom I could name - strong headed men perchance, but prone to ponder on the mere dust and dross of humanity - to look abroad with their hearts in their eyes, and note the beauty and wonder there is in the daily spectacle, and the daily passion of our lives."

    "Commonplace! Look up! What is that apparition of dazzling brightness rising softly upon the blue sky from behind the those tall and massive elms? If you saw it for the first time in your life you would say it must be some celestial visitant. Is it light itself from heaven taking shape, and just softened and subdued to the endurance of mortal vision. It is nothing but a cloud! Mere vapour that the unseen wind moves and moulds, and that the sun shines on for a little time. And now it has risen above the massive and lofty tree, and throws light upward to the sky, and throws its pleasant shadow down upon the earth - pleasant shadow that paces along the meadows, leaving behind a greater brilliancy on tree and grass, and hedge, and flower, than what, for a moment it had eclipsed. It is all commonplace. Light and shadow, and the river, the meadow with its clover blossoms and childish buttercups," writes Smith so eloquently, of these taken-for-granted country scenes, we might observe in passing, but seldom spend much time contemplating, for the intracacies of their nature.

    In tommorrow's blog, I will conclude this brief memorial / anniversary tribute to author / philospher William Henry Smith, quoting from his wife Lucy's final words, in the 1875 edition of "Gravenhurst," about his distinguished life and career. It won't be marked by the launch of an anniversary hot-air balloon, or the setting up of a William Henry Smith "petting zoo," for the day, or be the subject of a lecture at the Opera House. No, dear readers, it will be a simple, final tribute to both William Dawson LeSueur, the brilliant chap who gave us our name, and William Henry Smith, who so graciously gave us a wonderful life of literature, and literary review.

    Don't forget to check out the music video, by clicking on the box, at the top of the page, to engage the You Tube connection.

    Thanks for visiting today. Please join me for the conclusion of this four part series, tommorrow. Until then......

CONCLUSION -

PLEASE TAKE THE TIME TO VIEW THE COMMEMORATIVE MUSIC VIDEO CELEBRATING THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NAMING OF GRAVENHURST, ONTARIO. WHEN YOU CLICK ON BOX, YOU MAY HAVE TO WAIT SEVERAL MOMENTS FOR THE VIDOE TO LOAD.

COULD WE EVER FORGE A RELATIONSHIP WITH THE HERITAGE OF WILLIAM HENRY SMITH?

WHAT WE ARE MISSING, OF OUR LEGITIMATE LITERARY CONNECTION?

    A FEW MOMENTS AGO, I WAS STUCK IN A LAWNCHAIR ON THE LAWN OF BIRCH HOLLOW, OUR TINY RESIDENCE ADJACENT TO THE BOG, AND FRANKLY, I HAD TWO CHOICES IN FRONT OF ME. ENJOY THE TRULY AMAZING SUMMER AFTERNOON, LISTEN TO THE BIRDS CHIRPING FROM THE LILAC BRANCHES, ENJOY THE AROMA OF THE SWEET GRASS GROWING SOMEWHERE CLOSE, AND WATCHING THE FAT CLOUDS FLOAT FROM ONE HORIZON TO THE OTHER. OR I COULD RISE AND CHALLENGE THIS FINAL CHAPTER, OF THE FOUR PART SERIES ON THE 15OTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NAMING OF THE FIRST GRAVENHURST POST OFFICE, IN AUGUST 1862, AFTER THE TITLE OF BRITISH AUTHOR, WILLIAM HENRY SMITH'S BOOK, "GRAVENHURST; OR THOUGHTS ON GOOD AND EVIL."

    I TRIED TO GET OUT OF THE COMFORTABLE ACCOMMODATION THREE OR FOUR TIMES, AND ON EACH OCCASION, I FOUND REASON TO SIT BACK DOWN, AND CONTEMPLATE FOR A FEW MOMENTS LONGER. THE SCENE IN FRONT OF ME, LOOKING OUT OVER THE BOG, OUR BEAUTIFUL LOWLAND HERE IN THE CALYDOR NEIGHBORHOOD, OF GRAVENHURST, AFFORDS THE WRITER EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO BE INSPIRED......IF SO DESIRED. I HAVE FOUND THIS SHADY SPOT, ON THE HOT DAYS OF THE SUMMER, A PERFECT RETREAT WITH PEN AND PAD, AND I MUST SAY, IT HAS BEEN NO WORK AT ALL, TO SPEND MOST OF A MORNING OR AFTERNOON, FINDING THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT WITH THIS SAME, EVER-CHANGING VENUE. THE MOOD OF THE LANDSCAPE CHANGES CONSTANTLY, AT THE WHIM OF A RISING BREEZE; OR THE SUDDEN EVENT OF ENCROACHING  CLOUD COVER, THAT CHANGES SO DRAMATICALLY THE LIGHT AND SHADOW, WHICH CONTRASTS STARKLY, THESE IMPOSING TALL PINES, LEANING BIRCH AND WAVERING, ALMOST FLOATING  CAT-TAILS DEEP IN THE BASIN. IT'S NOT HARD WHATSOEVER, FALLING GENTLY INTO THE WORK OF WILLIAM HENRY SMITH, AND HIS OWN COMPELLING OBSERVATIONS OF THE "FICTITIOUS" GRAVENHURST, AND ITS NATURAL ADORNMENTS. THERE IS NO FICTION HERE TODAY. THIS IS OUR WORLD. THIS IS OUR GRAVENHURST. THIS IS MY LAWNCHAIR, OF WHICH I MUST NOW VACATE, IN ORDER TO COMPLETE THIS FINAL BLOG-CHAPTER ON THE GOOD MR. SMITH.

INVIGORATED AS A WRITER, CONTENTED BY HIS CRAFT, ILLUMINATED BY TRUTH

    "That must have been a happy home at North End, Hammersmith, into which, during the January of 1808, William Henry Smith was born, the youngest of a large family," wrote his wife Lucy, in 1873, a year after the author's death in England. "His father, a man of strong natural intelligence, having early made a fortune sufficient for his wants, early retired from business, in consequence mainly of an asthmatic tendency, which had harnessed him from the age of 30. The impression I gained of him from his son's description was that of one peculiarly fond of quiet and books, but whose will gave law to his household, and was uniformly seconded by the loving loyalty of his wife.

    "Here is another glimpse of the enjoyments of those early days. The cheerful drawing room in the Hammersmith home had a window at both ends. Round the one that looked into the garden clustered the white blossoms or hung the luscious - a swan egg - the life of which was never met in later years. From the other window the children could watch the following spectacle, which my husband evidently enjoyed recalling in a notice of 'Mr. Knight's Reminiscences, published in 1864." In the words of William Smith, from his vantage point as a child, recalled:

    "Very pleasant is this looking back over a period of history through which we have too lived. Give a boy a telescope, and if he is far enough away from home, the first or the greatest delight he has in the use of it, is to point it back, to the house he lives in. To see the pailings of his own garden, to see his father at work in it, or a younger brother playing in it, is a far greater treat than if you were to show him the coast of France or any other distant object. And so it is with the past in time. If the telescope of the historian brings back to us events through which we have lived, and which were already fading away in the memory, he gives us quite a peculair pleasure"

    One of Smith's favorite childhood memories, addressed the matter of changing modes of transportation in England, and the wheels of progress that had brought forth, the steaming train engine, winding through the countryside on those silver rails.

    "This great revolution in our mode of travelling, the substitution of the steam engine for the horse, will soon be matter of history, and older men will begin to record, with that peculiar zest which belongs to the recollection of youth, the aspect which the highway roads leading out of London presented in their time. The railway-train rushing by you at its full speed is sublime - it deserves no timid epithet. You stand perhaps in the country, on one of those little bridges thrown over the line for the convenience of the farmer, who would else find his fields hopelessly bisected. A jet of steam is seen on the horizon, a whir of a thousand wheels grows louder and louder on the ear, and there rushes under your feet the very realization of Milton's dream, who saw the chariot of God, instinct with motion, self-impelled, thundering over the plains of heaven. You look round, and already in the distant landscape the triumphal train is bearing its beautiful standard of ever-rising clouds, white as the highest that rest stationary in the sky, and of exquisitely involved movement.

    "For an instant the whole country is animated as if by the stir of battle: when the spectacle has quite passed how inexpressibly flat and desolate and still, have our familiar fields become. Nothing seems to have a right to exist that can be so still and stationary." Smith continues, "Yet grand as this spectacle is, we revert with pleasure to some boyish recollections of the high road and to picturesque effects, produced by quite other means. We are transported in imagination to a bay window, that commanded the great western railroad - The Bath Road, as people at the time often called it. Every evening came, in rapid succession, the earth tingling with the musical thread of their horses, seven mail coaches out of London. The dark-red coach, the scarlet guard standing up in his solitary little dickey behind, the tramp of the horses - can one ever forget them? For some miles out of London, the guard was kept on his feet, blowing his horn, to warn all slower vehicles to make way for his Majesty's mails. There was a turnpike within sight of us; how the horses dashed through it! With not the least abatement of speed.

    "If some intolerable blunderer stopped the way, and that royal coachman had to draw up his team, making the splinter bars rattle together, we looked upon it as almost an act of high treason. If the owner of that blockading cart had been immediately led off to execution, we boys should have thought he had but his just deserts. Our mysterious seven were still more exciting to the imagination when, in the dark winter nights, only the two vivid lamps could be seen borne along by the trampling coursers. No darkness checked the speed of the mail; a London fog which brought ordinary vehicles to a standstill, could not altogether subdue our Royal mails.  The procession came flaring with torches, men shouting before it, and a man with a huge link at the head of each horse. It was a thrilling and a somewhat fearful scene." Smith, on reflection of what he had seen and witnessed, wrote, "The stream to the tree - I shine, you shade, and so the beauty of the world is made." And he penned the verse, "Rested or moved upon its brow, and lo, it softens into beauty now - Blooms like a flower. With us 'tis much the same, - from man to man, as the deep shadows roll, breaks forth the beauty of the human soul." (Taken from A Tourist's Notebook)

THE AUTHOR'S FINAL CHAPTER

    "I was quite alone with my love. I got on the bed behind him, the better to prop him in what seemed an easy sleep -the hands and feet still warm. His head passed gradually from the pillow to my breast and there the cherished head rested firmly; the breathing grew gentler and gentler," wrote Lucy Smith, while caring for her gravely ill husband, in the year 1872.

  She writes, "Never shall I forget the great awe, the brooding presence with which the room was filled. My heart leapt wildly with a new sensation, but it was not fear. Only it would have seemed profane to utter even my illimitable love, or to call upon his name. The head grew damp and very heavy; my arms were under him. Then the sleep grew quite quiet, and as the church clock began to strike ten, I caught a little, little sigh as a new-born infant might give in waking - not a tremor, not a thrill of the frame; and then Vi came back with Clara's nurse (who have a peculiar love and admiration for him, I said might come up). I told them he was gone, and I thanked God for the perfect peace in which he passed away. He was buried in the Brighton Cemetery, in a spot at present still secluded, and over which the larks sing joyously. There a plain grey granite headstone rises 'to his pure and cherished memory,' with just his name and two dates, and this one line, long associated with him in my mind, and which all who knew him have felt to be appropriate. 'His soul was like a star, and dwelt apart'."

    William Henry Smith once wrote, "There comes a time when neither fear nor hope are necessary to the pious man; but he loves righteousness for righteousness' sake, and love is all in all. It is not joy at escape from future perdition that he now feels; nor is it hope for some untold happiness in the future; it is a present rapture of piety, and resignation, and love - a present that fills eternity. It asks nothing, it fears nothing; it loves and it has no petition to make. God takes back His little child unto Himself - a little child that has no fear, and is all trust."

    I truly believe, if such a chance prevailed, William Smith might find our community here, in South Muskoka, to be an interesting, dynamic, and contenting place in which to live, and a friendly place to visit. If his ghost and William Dawson LeSueur's apparition, were found to be walking side by side, along our main street, one tuned to such things, might hear the two writers admit, to "nice place they've got here!" Of this then, we concur.

    William Dawson LeSueur intended the name "Gravenhurst" to be a tribute to our town, a good book, and a British author, William Smith, who he had considerable respect and admiration. This is the final line. I can't prove this further than I have, at present, and it is ultimately up to the people of our town, to one day feel the honor and provenance of our shared history with biography......entitling us to use his name proudly, and frequently, when we are asked........"Where did the name Gravenhurst come from?" It would be so nice, to this historian's ears, to hear someone speak up and say, "We were named after a great book and an accomplished author, William Henry Smith, and his book, 'Gravenhurst, or Thoughts on Good and Evil." And oh yes, we were named by a great historian, author, literary critic, by the name of William Dawson LeSueur, a federal civil servant with a little bit extra.

    Thanks so much for joining this blog-series commemorating the 150th anniversary of the naming of Gravenhurst, Ontario, Canada. Please join me again soon

Should Bracebridge Embrace The Work Of An American Author? Should Gravenhurst Accept A British Philosopher?

SO WHY SHOULD WE EMBRACE THE WORK OF AN AMERICAN AUTHOR? - BY CELEBRATING HIS LITERARY ACCOMPLISHMENTS

WASHINGTON IRVING SAW HIMSELF AS A SORT OF CULTURAL STEWARD - A KEEPER OF OLD STORIES

     Sitting here, on a park bench, looking down along the historic main street of Bracebridge, I can't help but think back to what my mother said, on our first trip across the silver bridge, that spans the cataract of the North Branch of the Muskoka River. The first description of what would become our new hometown, left my mother's lips as if it has been perfectly scripted for the theatre stage. "Well, for better or worse, a long time, or short, here we are now, at home in Sleepy Hollow." At this time, being the late winter of 1966, I don't believe Merle had any idea, that the same author of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," that she had just quoted, was the same author who penned the name "Bracebridge." Might she have thought it curious, then, to find out that our new hometown, was named as a memorial tribute to Washington Irving? I did share this irony with my mother, shortly before she suffered a debilitating stroke. She whispered to me one morning, while enjoying a coffee together, at her Bass Rock apartment, "You know Ted, Bracebridge has been a good 'Sleepy Hollow,' for all these years, hasn't it?" I agreed. By this, she didn't mean that it had been a "sleepy," inactive, and boring community. Knowing that I was working on the Washington Irving story, she understood the irony. What she meant, was that Bracebridge had above all else, been a good choice for a hometown, and that the move north from Burlington, Ontario, had brought much happiness to our family. I remember seeing her walking up River Road, from her apartment, to the main street, where she loved to poke-about in the stores she adored. She had been concerned, initially, that the small town of 2,500 people, back in 1966, was going to be too much of a culture shock, coming from city-life. It took a few years, but she came around, and although she liked the occasional trip to the city, to visit family, she was most comfortable in her riverside residence, and taking her short walks uptown, using the clock tower, of the old federal building, as that comforting, familiar landmark, we first saw, coming over the silver bridge, on that first day as new and unsure residents. When Merle referenced "Sleepy Hollow," it was always in the most kindly terms. It's the same "Sleepy Hollow," they decided to stay for the rest of their lives.
     In the year 1864, when the Town of Bracebridge was officially awarded its name, for its new post office, the period coincided, of course, with the troublesome events of the American Civil War. It was still three years ahead of Canadian Confederation. The Muskoka homesteader's life was a misery of hard work, against terrible conditions; so it's quite understandable, that the first residents of North Falls, didn't have the interest, or feeling of necessity, to challenge the federal post office, for denying the name they thought best for their community. As newspapers from the urban areas of Canada, were making it to the frontier, in the post, by rail to Belle Ewart, steamships up the lakes to Washago, and by cart and on foot, first to the settlement of Muskoka Falls, settlers would have known the key events and battle news from Civil War reports. The name issue, wouldn't have been in the top ten of local concerns, at this point in community history.
     When William Dawson LeSueur rejected the citizens' request, as the name for their soon-to-be granted postal outlet, there is no evidence, there was a march of protest, or any kind of uprising against the decision. There may have been a letter of protest written, but to this point, it hasn't been uncovered. Most regional historians, including Thomas McMurray, who wrote the first book on Muskoka, in the early 1870's, avoided any mention of the naming-incident, suggesting to the contemporary researcher, it never became as contentious as we might believe today. If there was a sense of betrayal, or any anger, that "North Falls," was rejected, as the selected name for the hamlet, on the Muskoka River, there isn't a shred of evidence this created even the slightest ripple until decades later.
     It is left out of the history books generally, if there was any protest, in any form, which indicates it wasn't a matter worth much attention. I suppose the most significant protest, if you can consider it purposeful, has been in recent years, when the Town of Bracebridge has, for all intents and purposes, chosen to ignore this reality of its own heritage; rather than celebrating, what can only be considered, a high honor in the literary world. Naming the hamlet post office, after the title of a book written by American Author, Washington Irving, was as much a memorial tribute, to Irving, blessed upon the fledgling community; although, arguably he was a little weak on his follow-through. Shortly before his death he admitted to a regional reporter, that he had indeed, named the community after the book "Bracebridge Hall." But in August 1864, there was no attachment that clarified this, when notification came to the citizenry of "North Falls," that their mailing address was going to change; and any maps and community governance would have to allow for the name "Bracebridge," instead. Once again, there is no indication that the citizens could have cared less, as there were many more considerations at the time; one being, their survival in a harsh environs, with short seasons, except the relentless winter.
     It is to be supposed, that some of the citizens at this time, would have known who Washington Irving was, just as they probably knew about his contemporary, Charles Dickens. Irving's "Sketch Book," that contains the first mention of "Bracebridge Hall,' and "Squire Bracebridge," were available on the open market from 1819 onward, and in hundreds of different forms, by the year 1864, when W.D. LeSueur, selected "Bracebridge Hall," as the perfect title, for a new frontier town in South Muskoka. He just dropped the "Hall' reference. Even if the citizens at that time, had known Irving was a representative American author, in retrospect, I don't think it would haver mattered. However, there was likely some minor chagrin, in the minds of settlers, estimating via news reports, the danger from the American Civil War escalation, and its eventual outcome; a little more than worrying about the provenance of the hamlet's new name. Many Canadians, and British subjects, did serve on both sides of the Civil War, so it was even a possibility, that a few of the pioneers, at the time, considered crossing the border, and taking up sides. It's worth noting, that there would have been more concern about a change of political focus, after the war, about Canada's British rule; and if another war, like that of 1812, could erupt again, between a resolved America, and an occupying British governance as a neighbor. But it just wasn't a big deal, to unload the name "Bracebridge,' regardless of why it was selected by LeSueur. So the bottom line here, is that it wasn't an issue then, as much as it has been in the past fifteen years. This is where I come in! I can't leave well enough alone. Right?
     As I wrote about in yesterday's blog, Washington Irving, was fascinated by British culture and traditions, and spent time travelling, and residing temporarily in England, to learn more about its folk tales and countryside cultures. As a young man, he found himself in the strange position, of trying to reconnect and promote, what he believed had been a hasty act of severance, of America from its own ancestry. He believed that the American Revolutionary War, while providing independence to the fledgling North American country, at the expense of thousands of soldiers' lives, on both sides, created a hurtful divide, in conscience, between the two nations. Many Americans were of British ancestry, and were entitled to share the culture and traditions this provenance afforded. While he didn't deny the importance of building home-grown traditions, for the generations to come, he felt it was an ill-conceived plan, to abandon British ancestry entirely out of spite; believing that the war, was the sharp blade that cut relations forever. He pointed out that this could not happen, as a family legacy, and shouldn't happen in social / cultural tradition either. To honor and respect one's past, was not disrespectful to the present allegiance. It's one of the reasons he went to England, to reconnect, with the cultural essence, that was fading in America; and diminishing even in England, which he found most alarming. He stayed at the country estate of well known bard, Sir Walter Scott, known as "Abbotsford," which is said to have been Irving's model for the story of "Bracebridge Hall." He went on countryside walks with Scott, who was, as well, a great defender and steward of the old ways and traditions of England and Scotland.
     So when it comes to the name "Bracebridge," W.D. LeSueur shared one particular belief with Irving; he concurred on the importance of conserving cultural traditions, as country or region's ingrained and forged heritage. He would have found that his work, and enthusiasm for British culture, would fit well, as the name of a pioneer settlement on the Muskoka River. The first settlers, afterall, were of British ancestry, who had not even been residents, of this country, a few years prior to 1864. If he had been called to a hamlet meeting, to explain his choice of names, he would have undoubtedly fallen back on this cultural extension, and paid little attention to the fact, Irving was a representative of American literature. The fact Irving had just recently passed away, made LeSueur's action a "memorial" tribute. It is this likelihood, that makes the name "Bracebridge" even more significant, on the literary scene, because if it was indeed afforded the town, as a posthumous tribute to the author, after his passing, it would elevate the historic connection, to its highest level. Washington Irving, at the time of his death, was known around the globe, and his characters, given international acclaim well before 1864. What was LeSueur's actual intent? We are left to ponder.

IRVING'S INTEREST IN THE FUR TRADE IN CANADA

     A couple of weeks ago, as if an act of providence, on it own, I found a good condition copy, from early in the 1900's, of "The Works of Washington Irving," published by the A.L. Burt Company, of New York, that happened to contain a story I had been looking for, but till this point, didn't own. I have been most interested in the opening remarks by Irving, to his story entitled "Astoria." What it demonstrates, in case there are those who object to the author's American leanings, such that we might get too comfortable with his foreign work, is that the author was particularly fond of Canada's wild frontier. The following notes are published in his introduction to "Astoria." He wasn't a stranger to Canada that's for sure.
     "In the course of occasional visits to Canada many years since, I became intimately acquainted with some of the principal partners of the great Northwest Fur Company, who at that time, lived in genial style at Montreal, and kept almost open house for the stranger. At their hospitable 'boards' (tables), I occasionally met with partners, and clerks, and hardy fur traders, from the interior posts; men who had passed years remote from civilized society, among distant and savage tribes, and who had wonders to recount of their wide and wild peregrinations, their hunting exploits, and their perilous adventures, and hair-breadth escapes among the Indians."
     Irving writes, "I was at an age when imagination lends its coloring to everything, and the stories of these Sinbads of the wilderness, made the life of a trapper, and fur trader, perfect romance to me. I even meditated at one time a visit to the remote posts of the company in the boats, which annually ascended the lakes and rivers, being thereto invited by one of the partners; and I have ever since regretted that I was prevented by circumstances, from carrying my intention into effect. From those early impressions, the grand enterprises of the great fur companies, and the hazardous errantry of their associates, in the wild parts of our vast continent, have always been themes of charmed interest to me; and I have felt anxious to get at the details of their adventurous expeditions among the savage tribes that peopled the depth of the wilderness.
     "About two years ago, not long after my return from a tour upon the prairies of the far west, I had a conversation with my friend, Mr. John Astor, relative to that portion of our country, and to the adventurous traders to Santa Fe, and the Columbia. This led him to advert to a great enterprise, set on foot, and conducted by him, between twenty and thirty years since, having for its object, to carry the fur trade across the Rocky Mountains, and to sweep the shores of the Pacific. Finding that I took an interest in the subject, he expressed a regret that the true nature and extent of his enterprise, and its national character and importance had never been understood, and a wish that I would undertake to give an account of it. The suggestion struck upon the chord of early associations, already vibrating in my mind. It occurred to me that a work of this kind might comprise a variety of those curious details, so interesting to me, illustrative of the fur trade; of its remote and adventurous enterprises, and of the various people, and tribes, and castes, and characters, civilized and savage, affected by its operations." Thus, the story, "Astoria." "It was the fur trade, in fact, which gave early sustenance, and vitality, to the great Canadian provinces."
     I wrote most of today's column, while sitting on west side of Manitoba Street, on what was known in my day, as the Queen's Hill, out of respect for the former Queen's Hotel, which later, of course, became the Patterson Hotel. I know this hill well, as I hated it on the many hot summer days, when I had to bike (or push) up its length, or on those occasions when I slid down it, like a curling stone, during winter ice storms going or coming from school. It was the hillside that Bill "Willy" Andison, found entertaining, when he and some of the local lads, would hide around the corner of the hotel, sling-shots in hand, and aim stones at the hind quarters of the horses pulling the wagon-loads up the hillside. Willy told me about the time he hit one of the horses from the dairy, half way up the Queen's Hill, and it reared-up, sending the load of full milk cans tumbling, and rolling quickly down to the intersection of Thomas Street. The milk of course, cascading down the hill like a waterfall. I never travel this hill today, that I don't think of that story. I think Willy would have made a good character in a Washington Irving short story.
     It was a nice, leisurely respite, this morning, to make the notes above. I reminisce about my own place on this main street, with its updated, busy and colorful Victorian architecture, common to most of Ontario's communities of this period. It is an interesting amalgamation of old and new, and the retail component fits in rather well, with all the history that has etched, and been imprinted, along this downtown, north and south corridor. I spent a lot of time here as a kid. A lot of days here as a reporter, and editor of The Herald-Gazette. This was my beat. It's where I covered hundreds of stories, from great fires, to new business launches, and where we huddled at Angie's Delicatessan, to get the big scoops from our informants (usually just our mates). We drank beer and listened to music at the Patterson Hotel, when we weren't further downtown, at a dimly lit table at the old Albion Hotel, on Main Street, where a lot of history was made in this town; in fact, well back into the 1800's, it was a "happening" place. It was across from the picturesque train station, of the Canadian National Railway. There are so many great stories we could tell, each one of us with a little background in this town, if only we put them together as a sort of downtown compendium, of the way we were, and the way we are today. I think Mr. Irving might approve of such an adventure in history.
     I have been researching and writing about the history of my former hometown, since the fall of 1977, when I helped launch the Bracebridge Historical Society; the first step in saving the octagonal homestead, built by Henry Bird, founder of the Bird's Woollen Mill. This good feeling about the history of the community, has been inspired by my lengthy sojourns, in some of the town's historic landmarks, including the home and office of former Muskoka M.P., Dr. Peter McGibbon, on upper Manitoba Street; the former Marrin House, on Quebec Street, the former Lynn House, on lower Ontario Street, and my long work relationship, with the Boyer building, at 27 Dominion Street, which housed the historic weekly newspaper, "The Herald-Gazette," and of course, The Bird House, better known as Woodchester Villa," where I was once operations manager. I have always been eager to, as they say, drink-it-all-in, and these portals have long assisted my immersion in town heritage. Some of my critics, of which I have a number, believe that I lack experience in local history, because I have not been working in this regard for most of my life; as they can comfortably declare. What I don't have in tenure, as a regional historian, I make up with intuition, and the desire to keep history relevant, by writing about it from the contemporary sense instead, with the modern reader's interest being my first consideration. I have had it said to me, that the Washington Irving connection has no real significance, and that we might have been better off, carrying-on with the name "North Falls." I don't agree, and never will. I think the new age of Bracebridge citizenry, needs to decide for themselves, whether it is a provenance worth developing; independent of those who wish I would either stop writing, (with my hands or head falling off) or that I'd finally, as a promise, conclude all references to this period in our history; to never again make their recall, under any circumstance. I have great respect for critics, and I do listen to their suggestions. I have no use for those who simply wish to obstruct, and deny, because it suits their personal opinion. History can be debunked. But it can't be re-written.
     Thanks so much for joining today's blog. Lots more ahead, in this countdown to the rather low-key celebration, of Bracebridge's non-civic 150th anniversary, of its official naming by Dr. William Dawson LeSueur. Sorry I couldn't have afforded at least a few balloons, with Washington Irving's face painted on, or maybe a community cake, so we could share slices with everyone. I did this once, for a Woodchester Villa open house, for Canada Day, and it almost ended in divorce. The baker was not amused. Suffice however, that I haven't forgotten the 150th anniversary, of an occasion in Bracebridge history, deserving some respect. So stick with this blog, for a low key, no parade, no fireworks celebration, over the next few days, as we approach the 150 year anniversary, on August 1st.
     If you don't have Washington Irving's books on hand, and would like to read them, you can check out googlebooks, and check them out online. The same with William Henry Smith's book, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil." Smith, a British poet/ philosopher, was also revered by post authority, W.D. LeSueur, and two years before Bracebridge got its Post Office, he borrowed the name "Gravenhurst," for their new postal outlet.

FROM THE ARCHIVES

WHO WAS THIS WILLIAM HENRY SMITH ANYWAY - AND WHY SHOULD WE CARE?

SHOULD WE BE PROUD OF OUR ASSOCIATION - OR TUCK IT AWAY WITH THE OTHER DUST OF AGES?

     TO VIEW THE MUSIC VIDEO, COMMEMORATING THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NAMING OF THE FIRST POST OFFICE IN GRAVENHURST, YOU CAN CLICK ON THE BOX ABOVE. YOU MAY HAVE TO WAIT FOR IT TO LOAD BEFORE IT CAN BE VIEWED WITHOUT STOPPING.

     "HIS POEMS 'GUIDONE' AND 'SOLITUDE,' WERE PUBLISHED TOGETHER IN 1836, AND ABOUT THE SAME TIME HE REVIEWED BULWER AND LANDOR IN "THE QUARTERLY. IN 1839 HE PUBLISHED HIS 'DISCOURSE ON ETHICS OF THE SCHOOL OF PALEY,' WHICH, IN PROFESSOR FERRIER'S OPINION, 'WAS ONE OF THE BEST WRITTEN AND MOST INGENIOUSLY REASONED ATTACKS UPON CUDWORTH'S DOCTRINE THAT EVER APPEARED'. IN THE SAME YEAR HE BEGAN HIS CONNECTION WITH 'BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE,' CONTINUED TO NEARLY THE END OF HIS LIFE. HE CONTRIBUTED ALTOGETHER 126 ARTICLES ON THE MOST DIVERSE SUBJECTS, STORIES, POEMS, ESSAYS IN PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICS, BUT PRINCIPALLY REVIEWS AND CRITICISMS, ALL VALUABLE, AND ALL DISTINGUISHED BY ELEGANCE AND LUCIDITY OF STYLE."

     WILLIAM SMITH, WHILE WRITING FOR THE PUBLICATIONS SUCH AS THE "LITERARY GAZETTE," AND "ATHENAEUM," USED THE PEN NAME, "THE WOOL-GATHERER."

     YOU MIGHT ALSO WISH, AFTER READING THIS, TO LOOK UP THE TEXT OF "GRAVENHURST; OR THOUGHTS AND GOOD AND EVIL," ON GOOGLE BOOKS, WHERE IT HAS BE FULLY RE-PUBLISHED.    

     It might appear, from using this detailed, literarily complicated opening biography, first released in 'The Dictionary of National Biography,' published by the Oxford Press, that I'm actually trying to scare readers off. I'm pretty sure, this information won't stir the younger readers, and I can't imagine the hisses I'd get, if I had to present this to a high school history class. Those not hissing, would be snoring, or asking to go to the washroom.....repeatedly. It's a tough sell but then I've been doing this historical stuff since I was a kid.....so I've gotten used to people switching me off for self preservation; which does speak to my own rather boring existence mired in the archives of local history.

      I'm so positive about this particular story, and the connection we've never really made with William Henry Smith, that it's worth the risk, to keep plugging along, in this 150th anniversary month, of the official naming of the Town of Gravenhurst's first post office, by postal authority William Dawson LeSueur, after the title of the British author's book, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil." That date was August Ist, 1862, and one hundred and fifty years later, there is virtually no buzz, little interest, and no will to pursue much more knowledge than presently exists, about the historial and literary connection with old England. Well, that's never stopped me before. So here goes some more biographical information from the National Biography:

     "His novel 'Ernesto,' a story connected with the conspiracy of Fiesco, had appeared in 1835. It has considerable psychological but little narrative interest. Similar qualities and defects characterizes his tragedy of 'Athelwold,' (1842) although it was greatly admired by Mrs. Taylor, the Egeria of Stuart Mill, whose scrap of criticism is one of the very few utterances of hers that have found their way to print. Macready produced a curtailed version in 1843, and his and Helen Faucit's acting, procured it a successful first night; more was hardly to be anticipated. It was published in 1846 along with 'Sir William Crichton,' another tragedy,  and 'Guidone,' and 'Solitude.' From this time Smith lived chiefly at Keswick in the Lake District. In 1851, he unexpectedly received an offer from Professor Wilson to supply temporarily his place as professor of moral philosophy at Edinburg, but he was diffident, and had begun to write 'Thorndale,' and the tempting offer was declined. 'Thorndale; or the Conflict of Opinions,' was published in 1857, and, notwithstanding its length and occasional abstruseness, speedily gained acceptance with thoughtful readers. In the previous year he had become acquainted with his future wife, Lucy Caroline, daughter of George Cumming, M.D. whom he married at St. John's Church, Notting Hill, on the 5th of March, 1861," records the National Biography.

     "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil,' was published the same year. It confirmed and extended the reputation acquired by 'Thorndale,' but Smith owes much more to his wife's beautiful and affectionate record of their married life, almost devoid of incident as it is. His health began to decline in 1869, and he died at Brighton on the 28th of March, 1872. Mrs. Smith survived until the 14th of December 1881. Apart from her memoir (which the Gravenhurst Archives possesses in its collection), her literary work had principally consisted of translations from the German, both in prose and verse.  Next after the biography, which has embalmed his name, Smith will chiefly be remembered by his philosophical dialogues, 'Thorndale,' and 'Gravenhurst'. The mutual relation of the books is indicated by the author himself, when he says that "Thorndale,' is a conflict of opinions, and 'Gravenhurst,' a harmony. No man was better qualified by inate candour and impartiality to balance conflicting opinions against each other, or by acuteness to exhibit the strong and weak points of all. The eclectic character of his mind aided the diffusion of the books; every one found much that commended itself to him, while less popular views were expressed with an urbanity which disarmed hostility, and the hesitation to draw definite conclusions was an additional attraction to a public weary of dogmatism. If these really charming compositions have become in a measure obsolete, the chief reason is the importation of physical science as an element in moral discussions, but their classic elegance will always secure them an honorable, if not influential place in the history of modern speculation.

     "Smith's dramatic gift was not inconsiderable; his personages are well individualised both in his dialogues and his dramas. Of the latter, 'Sir William Crichton,' a play of the story times of James II of Scotland, is the more effective. 'Athelwold,' is a clear immitation of the style of Sir Henry Taylor, and, like the latter's 'Edwin the Fair,' brings Dunstan upon the stage. Both plays are full of wisdom, beautifully expressed, but neither is very vital nor very real."

     "I call this somewhat irregular esssay on a very old subject by the name of the place in which it was written, because allusions to that place and its inhabitants, and some conversations with neighbouring friends, have crept into it," wrote William Henry Smith, in his book, "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil," published in Edinburgh, originally in 1861. "One evening when returning from my walk through a village which, at least in these pages, bears the name of 'Gravenhurst,' I found myself meditating on the old problem of good and evil, and that apparently disproportionate amount of evil, which has often perplexed profoundest thinkers, and which has often startled into thought the most simple-hearted of men, when suffering themselves under any sharp calamity," wrote Smith of the community he used as the model for his study.

     "A visit paid to a poor woman in distress, and a conversation held with a dear friend who keeps alive in me the habit of philosophical discussion, had led my thoughts in this direction. It was the hour of sunset. As I paused upon the parapet of our little bridge, the distant Welsh hills were glowing in their purple splendour; the river ran gold at my feet; every branch of every graceful tree that hung silently in the air received and reflected a new beauty from that entire scene of enchantment, to which also it brought its own contribution. The whole which is formed itself of separate parts, gives to each part its meaning and charm,"

     More on the good Mr. Smith in tomorrow's blog. Please join me for another in the series of blog-chapters, recognizing the 150th anniversary of the naming of the Town of Gravenhurst, Ontario, on August 1st, 1862.

     To view the music video, celebrating this milestone, you can click onto it for a viewing, in the box at the beginning of today's blog.