Poetry

century ago, a member from a distance was called on by the gentlemen present to tell his Rabbit story. We got up in a few minutes afterward and gave it in verse as follows:⁠—

Our friend, Mr. Romley,
He told the tale homley,
And yet full of fun,
How the Rabbits did run,
In numbers a score,
All around his door.
They were red, black and white,
Their play folks did delight;
But they got small by degrees,
For the cats did them seise⁠—
All but one big black Rabbit,
He got into the habit
Under ground he would dive⁠—
He long time did survive,
’Till owner, wanting fat pot,
He this great beast then shot.
When police heard the gun,
Full quickly he did run,
In a furious rage;
But his wrath did as‑uage
When he got a quarter
Of the last martyr.

Let Her Go

Will you please to let me go, Ma,
To McIntyre’s, to buy a Sofa.

An Autograph

Lines written at the request of a young lady and inserted in a mental Album. We looked over the book, it was in form of questions and answers. One of the questions was “who is your favorite poet?” We were quite amused to find a number of different persons had written in answer, “McIntyre.” We believe that the most of them were joking, but we hope to inspire them with a loftier idea of our poetic power in the future.

In this Album you may trace⁠—
If not the lineaments of face⁠—
Here, at least, you will find
Photographs of the mind.

Some in earnest, some in fun,
Some do lecture, some do pun;
Here the maiden and the youth,
Each proclaim some precious truth.

And there is some fine pages⁠—
Written by maturer ages⁠—
They show that time is brief,
That soon comes sere and yellow leaf.

But we must cease, ’ere your ire
Be aroused ’gainst McIntyre,
Who doth reside in Ingersoll⁠—
Perhaps you’ll think that he is droll.

Lines on a Typewriter

Having received a letter from a gentleman done with a typewriter, and glorying in its superiority to the pen, we replied as follows:⁠—

You glory in your typewriter,
And its virtues you rehearse,
But we prefer the old inditer,
For to write either prose or verse.

And let each man work his will,
But never never do abuse
The ancient and glorious quill
From the wing of a fine old goose.12

Impromptu

On a young girl showing me a scar on her cheek where a stick of wood struck her.

In its own place ’tis very good
Always to have plenty of wood;
But, striking fair maid, that is rude,
And puts me in an angry mood.

Little Lake

Sonnet on an incident which occurred on a small Lake in Northern Ontario.

Pleasant memories it awakes,
When musing on our northern lakes;
For there I saw a charming Reed,
A friend to me in hour of need.
I wished to cross to other shore,
And deftly she did ply the oar,
And o’er the Lake me swiftly bore.
I was plunged in deep despair,
Before I met this charming fair;
I could not go around by land,
And I felt like shipwrecked on the strand;
Until fair vision hove in sight
Graceful as a fairy sprite.
May she be blest, is the desire
Of her true friend James McIntyre.

Advice to a Little Girl

The following lines were written at the request of a little girl, who said she would recite them at a Sunday School entertainment. Prof. J. S. Blackie of Edinburgh, in a letter acknowledging the receipt of my book, said he considered this piece worthy of being committed to memory in the public schools. Sir Daniel Wilson of Toronto University also approves of them as containing good sentiments and should be impressed on the minds of the young.

Dressing in fashion will be called vain,
And they’ll call you a dowdy if you are plain,
But do what is right, let that be the test,
Then proudly hold up your head with the best.
For people will talk.

You will never be wrong if you do what is right,
And this course pursue with all of your might,
And if you’re a child going to school,
Or full grown up take this for your rule.
For people will talk.

The best way to do is to let them rave
And they’ll think more of you if you are brave,
For no one will ever think you are rude
If you are determined for to be good.
For people will talk.

Little girl on her way to Sunday School class,
Rude boys sometimes will not let her pass,
But if they see she is not afraid
They soon will respect the brave little maid.
For people will talk.

Little girls should learn to knit and to sew,
Then if to womanhood they ever grow,
Their hose they can knit and make their own dress,
And pathway of life for others they bless.
For people will talk.

And their homes they should make tidy and neat,
Everything should be so clean and so sweet,
This line for ourselves out we will chalk
And we are determined in it to walk.
For people will talk.

A Crooked Looking Glass

Dangerous effects of seeing onesself in a crooked glass.

A maiden cried, “Alas!
With horror I’ll expire,
Unless you bring me
That true glass
I bought of McIntyre.”

A Providential Escape

Providential escape of Ruby and Neil McLeod, children of Angus McLeod of this town. Little Neil McKay McLeod, a child of three years of age, was carried under a covered raceway, upwards of one hundred yards, the whole distance being either covered o’er with roadway, buildings or ice.

A wondrous tale we now do trace
Of little children fell in race,
The youngest of these little dears,
The boy’s age is but three years.

While coasting o’er the treacherous ice,
These precious pearls of great price,
The elder Ruby, the daughter,
Was rescued from the ice cold water.

But horrid death each one did feel,
Had sure befallen little Neil,
Consternation all did fill,
And they cried shut down the mill.

But still no person they could tell
What had the poor child befell,
The covered race, so long and dark,
Of hopes there scarcely seemed a spark.

Was he held fast as if in