It seems in the retrospect but a very short time since Yonge Street south of King Street, now so solidly and even splendidly built up, was an obscure allowance for road, visited seldom by any one, and for a long while particularly difficult to traverse during and just after the rainy seasons.
Few persons in the olden time at which we are glancing ever dreamed that the intersection of Yonge Street and King Street was to be the heart of the town. Yet here in one generation we have the Carfax of Toronto, as some of our forefathers would have called it—the Quatrevoies or Grand Four-cross-way, where the golden milestone might be planted whence to measure distances in each direction.
What are the local mutations that are to follow? Will the needs of the population and the exigencies of business ever make of the intersection of Brock Street and Queen Street what the intersection of Yonge and King Streets is now?
In the meantime, those who recall the very commonplace look which this particular spot, viz.: the intersection of King Street and Yonge Street, long wore, when as yet only recently reclaimed from nature, cannot but experience a degree of mental amazement whenever now they pause for a moment on one of the crossings and look around.
A more perfect and well-proportioned rectangular meeting of four great streets is seldom to be seen. Take the view at this point, north, south, west, or east, almost at any hour and at any season of the year, and it is striking.
It is striking in the freshness and coolness and comparative quiet of early morning, when few are astir.
It is striking in the brightness and glow of noon, when the sons and daughters of honest toil are trooping in haste to their mid-day meal.
A few hours later, again, it is striking when the phaetons, pony-carriages, and fancy equipages generally, are out, and loungers of each sex are leisurely promenading, or here and there placidly engaged in the inspection and occasional selection of "personal requisites,"—of some one or other of the variegated tissues or artificial adjuncts demanded by the modes of the period,—while the westering sun is now flooding the principal thoroughfare with a misty splendour, and on the walls, along on either side, weird shadows slanting and elongated, are being cast.
Then, later still, the views here are by no means ordinary ones, when the vehicles have for the most part withdrawn, and the passengers are once more few in number, and the lamps are lighted, and the gas is flaming in the windows.
Even in the closed up sedate aspect of all places of business on a Sunday or public holiday, statutable or otherwise, these four streets, by some happy charm, are fair to see and cheery. But when drest for a festive gala occasion, when gay with banners and festoons, in honour of a royal birthday, a royal marriage, the visit of a prince, the announcement of a victory, they shew to special advantage.