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Once Upon a Mine
SPECIAL VOLUME 26 THE CANADIAN INSTITUTE OF MINING AND METALLURGY COPYRIGHT (1983) BY THE CANADIAN INSTITUTE OF MINING AND METALLURGY Suite 400, 1130 Sherbrooke Street West, Montreal, Quebec, H3A 2M8 ISBN 0-919086-03-9 PRINTED BY HARPELL'S PRESS COOPERATIVE Ste-Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec This Book is dedicated to Paul Leslie Dean, Once and Future Newfoundlander. Once Upon a Mine: Story of Pre-Confederation Mines on the Island of Newfoundland by Wendy Martin has been electronically reproduced here in its entirety with the permission of THE CANADIAN INSTITUTE OF MINING AND METALLURGY (CIMM). Please note: No part of this online book may be reproduced without obtaining written permission from the publisher, CIMM. This online book presented by the Newfoundland and Labrador Heritage Web Site Project with financial support from the Newfoundland Section of the Geological Association of Canada, St. John's '88 Fund. Table of Contents Introduction Preface and Acknowledgments Map 1: Mines and Quarries of Newfoundland Map 2: Mines of Notre Dame Bay Chapter I: Dawn of Mining Days Chapter II: Fever of the Copper Ore Chapter III: Gold, Fools and Gambled Fortunes Chapter IV: Coal, Quarries and Concessions Chapter V: Isle of Iron, Men of Steel Chapter VI: St. Lawrence Town: its Triumph and Tragedy Chapter VII: Buchans: Company Town in Transition Chapter VIII: For Future Reference Appendix I: Partial List of Companies Incorporated to Work Minerals in Newfoundland Appendix II: Outline of Laws Governing the Acquisition of Mineral Lands in Newfoundland from 1860 to 1951 Footnotes Bibliography Photo Credits Introduction This is book about people, about dreamers and rogues, about shysters and heroes, about travellers and settlers, about governed and governors, about adults and children, about dogs and mosquitoes and black flies, and about their links through mining, the second-oldest profession. -
Men and Memories of San Francisco, in the "Spring of '50." by T.A. Barry and B.A
Men and memories of San Francisco, in the "spring of '50." By T.A. Barry and B.A. Patten PREFACE. Years ago it was no unfrequent thing for old residentes, who, in the course of conversation, had arrived at a point of doubt or difference upon the location of some building, or the names of its occupants, their personal appearance, profession, or peculiarities in the “Spring of '50,” to come to us for information on the mooted point, believing that our long continued residence and peculiar opportunities for observation, together with unusually good memories, rendered our decisions worthy of consideration. As Time's incessant revolution whirls us on and on, still farther from those days, and looking back upon the long vista of years, the once familiar spots and well-known forms and faces fade in the distance. These inquiries increase day by day, and so often have we been correct, that many of our friends have said: “Write some of the reminiscences of those old times, and we will read them.” Disclaiming all merit in these pages, save their mnemonic faithfulness, we offer them to the kind consideration of our friends and the public. B. & P. SAN FRANCISCO, May, 1873. MEN AND MEMORIES OF SAN FRANCISCO IN THE SPRING OF '50. CHAPTER I. Men and memories of San Francisco, in the "spring of '50." By T.A. Barry and B.A. Patten http://www.loc.gov/resource/calbk.204 THE man who has lived in San Francisco for nearly a quarter of a century; who has never been absent from it longer than two weeks in all these years; who can recall vividly all the old and once familiar streets and buildings, and the men who lived in them, can always command attention from those whose memory, less active and retentive, is ever latent and easily awakened with an eager and peculiar pleasure to listen to the reminiscences of the early days. -
My Brilliant Career
My Brilliant Career By Miles Franklin My Brilliant Career CHAPTER ONE I Remember, I Remember "Boo, hoo! Ow, ow; Oh! oh! Me'll die. Boo, hoo. The pain, the pain! Boo, hoo!" "Come, come, now. Daddy's little mate isn't going to turn Turk like that, is she? I'll put some fat out of the dinner-bag on it, and tie it up in my hanky. Don't cry any more now. Hush, you must not cry! You'll make old Dart buck if you kick up a row like that." That is my first recollection of life. I was barely three. I can remember the majestic gum-trees surrounding us, the sun glinting on their straight white trunks, and falling on the gurgling fern-banked stream, which disappeared beneath a steep scrubby hill on our left. It was an hour past noon on a long clear summer day. We were on a distant part of the run, where my father had come to deposit salt. He had left home early in the dewy morning, carrying me in front of him on a little brown pillow which my mother had made for the purpose. We had put the lumps of rock-salt in the troughs on the other side of the creek. The stringybark roof of the salt-shed which protected the troughs from rain peeped out picturesquely from the musk and peppercorn shrubs by which it was densely surrounded, and was visible from where we lunched. I refilled the quart-pot in which we had boiled our tea with water from the creek, father doused our fire out with it, and then tied the quart to the D of his saddle with a piece of green hide.