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| Tronnee, ia the old bridge sawmill that used to stand Jesse Ireland's house by the Scugog Bridge. In 1873. to Miss Jauét Tring, a young lady to whom Be was engaged 'when he left Scotland. In the Spring of 1874 he was appointed te ) and street commissioner, filling fhe office of constable until his- death, but resigning the commissionrrship about a year ago. T' December, 1878, Mrs. McKnight died, leaving two children--James a John, both of whom still live. In July, 1879, Mr. "McKnight married 'a second wife being Miss Jessie Carrick, of Goderich. . From this ssiow are four children--Janet, Belle, Andrew and Maggie, the latter of whom died a few years ago. Mrs. McKoight and five children survive the deceased 4 bert McKuight left is home in Dum: alone to try his fortune in Canada.) ws, Everybody knew Robert McKnight hild who conld barely lisp his name, and oman of his terribly sudden death, people its notes of awakening again--for snow had to be shovelled, and. : jovs dnd sory ows. An Spoplecie Fee ly. He has tided many a podE who has felt the pinch of hard cash from Robert McKuight-- , aid matters were at' a 'standstill ue ud racially fe ~~ Would such 4 friend and air always make a good constable? 'peace loving disposition was strong 'in' the man. drunk; who would. perbaps have been shamed into sobriety bad iy home with his friends; Stem, in of the aw was Hot 8 pleasant task fo him. ~ Not doch' fa duly Boflincingly when he feltit 'must be done, | This illustration Was taken fromthe New York Times, and lent to us through the courtesy of World Wide, a live little paper published by the Witness in 'Montreal. The words: came floatin long and were caught as they passed. © They . are respectfull ¥ dedicated to the egg producers of this locality: --the hens. They'll raise no objection. All the world's a stage, And all the new laid eggs are merely players. They have their ups and downs like all the rest; And one egg in its time plays many parts; Their acts being seven ages. - At first the egg, New laid at break of dawn with cackling' song-- A really trily €gg, undimmed by time, Anon the farmer's wife, with*apron held, Gathers the product fair and lays itup Against some market day, keeping it warm the while, Till at the buyer' s stall the egg is sold And packed in crates and then in cars to sell "To men whose fat commissions grow with time, Preserved by pickling lime and storage cold, = . It rests in deep repose--its longest age. © oh Atterwhile the jobber comes to take this pickled a And sell it out again in many a store, 43 Where reads the legend--* These are freshly laid," Te at of votes Then comes. he day