As no book, small or great—gay or grave, witty or sublime,scientific, dramatic, poetic, tragic, historical, metaphysical, philosophical,polemical, wise or otherwise—can be considered complete,particularly at the beginning, without a preface; I have deemed itexpedient that the contents of the following pages should be dignifiedby a few lines of an introductory nature.
It was not my intention when I commenced these reminiscencesto publish them in their present form, neither had I any idea oftheir extending beyond a few hundred lines. That I have changedmy mind is entirely owing to the solicitations of friends desirous ofhaving them in compact shape, and not to any particular ambitionof my own to write a book.
I do not pretend to present the reader with anything perfectin rhythm, polished in measure, or labored in style of construction.I have aimed at the truth, and imagine I have hit it.
My object has been, simply, to gather together as many of thenames and incidents connected with Bytown's early history as memoryalone could recal. My desire has been to rescue from oblivion—as faras my humble efforts could conduce to such a desirable end—whatotherwise might possibly have been forgotten. In the contemplationof those names and incidents, I have often, recently, overlooked thefact that I now live in a City with nearly thirty thousand inhabitants,and that its name is Ottawa. It has, nevertheless, been to me apleasant labor of love to walk in memory among the men and thehabitations of byegone times.
Doubtless, of the inhabitants of dear old Bytown, there are someamong the dead and others among the living, whose names may not befound in this little work. These broken links in the chain will beto me a source of regret. To the shades of the departed and to theears of the living, whom I would not willingly have overlookedwithout
"A smile or a grasp of the hand passing on."
I shall only say, as an atonement for the unwitting lapses ofan imperfect memory, in the language once used by a friend andcountryman in my hearing, as he passed a very pretty girl:"Remember, my dear, that I do not pass you with my heart."
William Pittman Lett.
Ottawa, March, 1873.