Of the street on the east side of the grounds of Osgoode Hall we have already spoken. But in connection with the question of changes in street names, we must here again refer to it. In this case the name "Sayer" has been made to give place to "Chestnut." "Elm Street," which intersects this street to the north, probably in some vague way suggested a tree name. "Elm Street," however, had a reason for its existence. Many persons still remember a solitary Elm, a relic of the forest, which was long conspicuous just where Elm Street enters Yonge Street. And there is a fitness likewise in the names of Pine Street and Sumach Street, in the east; these streets, passing through a region where pines and sumachs once abounded. But the modern Chestnut Street has nothing about it in the past or present associated with chestnut trees of any kind. The name "Sayer" should have been respected.
It is unfortunate when persons, apparently without serious retrospective thought, have a momentary chance to make changes in local names. Chancery might well be invoked to undo in some instances what has been done, and to prohibit like inconsiderate proceedings in the future. Equity would surely say that a citizen's private right should be sustained, so long as it worked no harm to the community; and that perplexity in the registration and description of property should not needlessly be created.
Although we shall forestall ourselves a little, we may here notice one more alteration in a street-name near Osgoode Hall. William Street, immediately west of the Avenue leading to the University, has in recent times been changed to Simcoe Street. It is true, William Street was nearly in a line with the street previously known as Simcoe Street; nevertheless, starting as it conspicuously did somewhat to the west of that line, it was a street sufficiently distinct to be entitled to retain an independent name. Here again, an item of local history has been obliterated. William Street was a record on the soil of the first name of an early Chief Justice of Upper Canada, who projected the street and gave the land. Dummer Street, the next street westward, bears his second name.
Of "Powell," his third name we have already spoken elsewhere, and shall again almost immediately have to speak.
When it shall be proposed to alter the name of Dummer Street, with the hope, perhaps, of improving the fame of the locality along with its name, let the case of March Street be recalled. In the case of March Street, the rose, notwithstanding a change of name, retained its perfume: and the Colonial Minister of the day, Lord Stanley, received but a sorry compliment when his name was made to displace that of the Earl of March. (It was from this second title of the Duke of Richmond that March Street had its name.)—It is probable that the Dummer Street of to-day, like the March Street of yesterday, would, under another name, continue much what it is. In all such quarters, it is not a change of name that is of any avail: but the presence of the schoolmaster and home-missionary, backed up by landlords and builders, studious of the public health and morals, as well as of private interests.
Digression Northward at the College Avenue.
The fine vista of the College Avenue, opposite to which we have now arrived, always recalls to our recollection a certain bright spring morning, when on reaching school a whole holiday was unexpectedly announced; and when, as a mode of filling up a portion of the unlooked-for vacant time, it was agreed between two or three young lads to pay a visit to the place on Lot Street where, as the report had spread amongst us, they were beginning to make visible preparations for the commencement of the University of King's College. The minds of growing lads in the neighbourhood of York at that period had very vague ideas of what a University really was. It was a place where studies were carried on, but how or under what conditions, there was of necessity little conception. Curiosity, however, was naturally excited by the talk on the lips of every one that a University was one day to be established at York; and now suddenly we learned that actual beginnings were to be seen of the much-talked-of institution. On the morning of the fine spring day referred to, we accordingly undertook an exploration.
On arriving at the spot to which we had been directed, we found that a long strip of land running in a straight line northwards had been marked out, after the manner of a newly-opened side line or concession road in the woods. We found a number of men actually at work with axes and mattocks; yokes of oxen, too, were straining at strong ploughs, which forced a way in amongst the roots and small stumps of the natural brushwood, and, here and there, underneath a rough mat of tangled grass, bringing to light, now black vegetable mould, now dry clay, now loose red sand. Longitudinally, up the middle of the space marked off, several bold furrows were cut, those on the right inclining to the left, and those on the left inclining to the right, as is the wont in primitive turnpiking.
One novelty we discovered, viz., that on each side along a portion of the newly-cleared ground, young saplings had been planted at regular intervals; these, we were told, were horse-chestnuts, procured from the United States expressly for the purpose of forming a double row of trees here. In the neighbourhood of York the horse-chestnut was then a rarity.
Everywhere throughout the North American continent, as in the numerous newly-opened areas of the British Empire elsewhere on the globe's surface, instances, of course, abound of wonderful progress made in a brief interval of time. For ourselves, we seem sometimes as if we were moving among the unrealities of a dream when we deliberately review the steps in the march of physical and social improvement, which, within a fractional portion only of a retrospect not very extended, can be recalled, in the region where our own lot has been cast, and, in particular, in the neighbourhood where we are at this moment pausing.