A MONTREAL CHARACTER.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1585, 15 April 1887, Page 3

A MONTREAL CHARACTER.

Perhaps the best-known saloonkeeper in Canada is Charles M'Kiernan, alias " Joe Beef," as a stranger would say, while a Montrealer always thinks of Hirn as " Joe Beef, alias Charles M'Kiernan." Joe Bsof is not abad-lookiug fellow, a little past middle age, and has quite a numerous family. " Joe Baef's canteen " is situated in Montreal, on the banks of the mighty St Inwrence, in other words on the wharf, and is largely patronised by "bears, bums, aud wharf rats," if we are to believe the notice printed conspicuously on the outside walk. Entering, the bar at once attracts the attantioa. On the counter is cheese, old and fragrant, with miniature tunnels cut through it in all directions by rats; also bread in mountains, which serve to regale the aforesaid " bears," &e., when funds are low, gratuitously. Behind the counter are Joe, the bar-tender, his assistants, and the beer. Sometimes Joe is not there, sometimes the bartender is not there, but the beer is always there. G-laacing around, the visitor sees a stove, at this season red-hot and well guarded against passing staggerers, windows barred for the same reason ; also divers printed sentiments of Joe's, expresing his religious convictions, &3. Through a small door is seen the menagerie, consisting at present of two young bears, who shuffla constantly and monotonously from a gloomy iuner den to an outer cage studded with spikes. The cautious visitor will not put his hands inside the bars, for obvious reasons. Joe's business is so large that he has employed a professional bouncer at a salary of sls a week to remove obstreperous or belligerent customers. He gives largely to nearly all charitable funds, his name being frequently seen among the first on subscription lists for many good objects. There is not space to speak of the celebrated buffalo which Joe formerly owned, and which every day knocked down and half-killed at least three hoodlums ; of his museum, one of the sights of Montreal; of his hermetically sealed ancestral relics, net to mention a complete biographical sketch of Joe himself.

Near Montreal, in a lovely valley between two wooded hills, is another city—a quiet one. Here are no brawls, no murders, no breaking hearts. It is the City of the Dead. Thoughtfully,

and slowly descending the incline, one soon stands at the foot of a grave, which, to j ndge from the many footmarks around it, has been much visited. This is Joe's "lot." On a neat headstone over his first wife's grave is some of Joe's poetry, which the historian refrains from chronicling, as he would avoid any approach to ridicule. However, here is the inscription on a handsome granite monument over the grave of his three-year-old son:— " Freddy, dear, are you here alone ? Johnny wants to know from little Joo. Where do you now stay ? Or with what little hoys do you play ? Or where do you roim ? For the little iron cot Poor mother bought Still waits for you at home. John Beef, Montreal."