could scarcely creep,
But up the Alma heights he rushed like greyhound after hare,
And in a moment by the throat he seized the Russian bear,
Which begged so hard for mercy his life he did it spare,
And closely now it is confined within its native lair,
For its strong fortress of Sebastpol
Was forced to submit to Great Britain’s rule.
A Christmas Tree
To night the children meet with glee
To view the fruits on Christmas Tree,
And when its beauties we behold
We’re very sorry we are old.
The children all they have good cause
To feel grateful to old Santa Claus,
And to each teacher, and each friend,
Who did these handsome presents send.
To us it is a pleasant treat,
With so many friends here to meet,
You’ve well conducted public school
Where master doth judicious rule;
The union it doth give its strength,
Gives section breadth, as well as length.
Nissouri here should build a Hall,
For exhibitions in the Fall;
Its claims they cannot be ignored,
For first in township stands Thamesford.
This village keeps up with the age,
For it hath a good daily stage
And in its efforts never fails
To carry passengers and mails.
Dr. Springer
Lines on presenting Dr. Springer with a diamond ring, when he was bidding farewell to Ingersoll, and was about journeying to California.
Though we know we are no singer,
Yet we will chaunt farewell to Springer,
One of our oldest past grands,
About to visit distant lands.
And we all sincerely hope
You may enjoy Pacific slope,
And when you gaze on this ring
May it pleasant memories bring.
Of good old Lodge, Samaritan,
Where friendship makes us all as one;
’Tis hard to strike your name from roll
With us so long in Ingersoll.
Though we regret to say farewell,
May blessings rest where ’ere you dwell,
And on the partner of your joy
Happiness without alloy.
When we went down to London in midst of the champaign
A brother looked at me as though I had been Cain,
And in a voice of thunder, as I sat at the table,
He fiercely asked of me “where is your Brother Abel?”
To which I did reply “I’m not my brother’s keeper,
But at home you’ll find him, in his bed asleep, sir.”
Burns and Scott in Edinburgh
When Burns did make triumphant entry
’Mong Edina’s famous gentry,
A discussion did there arise
Among those solons learned and wise,
About some lines by a new poet.
The author’s name none did know it,
Poem was of Canadian snow
And how o’er it the blood did flow,
For it had then been swept by war
Where armies met in deadly jar.
But ’mong philosophers was boy
Of tender years now Scotland’s joy,
He there did quickly quote each line
And author’s name he did define,
Burns glanced at him with loving eyes,
Youth ever more that look did prize,
The happiest moment in his lot
Ever revered by Walter Scott.
Thus Scotlands greatest poets met,
And they did part with sad regret.
Galt and Dunlop
John Galt was the manager of the Canada Company’s lands, and he was a Scottish Novelist. Dunlop was at one time an eminent British Journalist, but he finally settled near Goderich. The town of Galt is named after John Galt.
John Galt and Doctor Dunlop witty
They located and planned the city
Of Guelph, and they cut the first tree down,
The stump was the centre of the town.
From thence the streets radiate like fan,
And they projected on this same plan
The towns of Stratford and Goderich,
The last it stands near broad Huron’s beach,
Conspicuous on a bluff so grand,
’Neath which doth flow the clear Maitland,
Of glorious view you may partake,
Gazing on Huron’s mighty lake.
Agricultural Implements and Machinery
Poor laborers they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail,
There’s little work now with the hoes.
Since cultivators weed the rows.
Labor it became more fickle,
When the scythe took place of sickle,
Labor still it did sink lower,
By introduction of mower.
And the work was done much cheaper
When they added on the reaper,
Another machine to it they join,
Mower, reaper, binder, all combine.
Machines now load and stow away,
Both the barley and the hay,
And the farmers do get richer
With the loader and the pitcher.
There’s very few men now hand sows,
No more broad cast the grain it grows,
They sow and rake by the machine,
Hand labor is ’mong the things have been.
Armed with scythes the old war chariot,
Cut men down in the fierce war riot,
Round farmers’ chariot fall the slain,
But ’tis the sheaves of golden grain.
Snake and Potato Bug
A True Tale
“Can such things be and overcome us like a summer cloud, without our special wonder.”
Shakespeare
In a grocery store in Ingersoll our attention was called to a copper-headed snake wriggling in a glass jar. We noticed a peculiarity about its head, but soon found out it was a potato bug, which was afraid of being drowned; and the only above water being the snake’s head and neck, it was fondly clinging thereto. There being “no jutty-frieze buttress or coigne of vantage, where it could make its pendant bed, elsewhere.”
Some poets they abroad do roam,
But we find themes are near to home;
As we do seldom travel far,
This is a song of a glass jar.
Snake of species of the copper,
And on its head there was live hopper,
For we saw that funny sight
In a store, it was last night.
There in water was a snake,
And a bug so wide awake;
He was afraid that he would drown
So he clomb up on the snake’s crown.
This snake it is near a foot long,
Which doth suffer this great wrong,
It thinks the bug wants it to throttle
This makes it wriggle in the bottle.
But fondly the kind hearted bug,
It doth its preserver hug,
For the bug when on the water
It is only but a squatter.
And hath taken up homestead
On the top of the snake’s head,
And on the waters it doth float
Safe and happy on this boat.
