Had he found there a watery grave,
Or borne along on crest of wave,
Think of the mother’s agony wild,
Gazing through dark tunnel for her child.
But soon as Partlo’ started mill,
Through crowd there ran a joyous thrill,
When he was quickly borne along,
The little hero of our song.
Alas! of life there is no trace,
And he is black all over face,
Though he then seemed as if in death,
Yet quickly they restored his breath.
Think now how mother13 she adored
Her sweet dear child to her restored,
And her boundless gratitude
Unto the author of all good.
Swept through dark passage ’neath the road,
Saved only by the hand of God,
No wonder Father now feels proud
Of little Niel McKay McLeod.
Lines on Rannie, the cheese pioneer, written a quarter century ago.
Rannie began with just two cows,
Which he in winter fed on brouse,
And now he hath got mighty herds,
Numerous as flock of birds;
May he long live, our hearts to cheer,
This great and useful Pioneer.
An old man who had charge of field,
With pride he saw two birds did build,
A broad capacious warm nest,
So full of young with speckled breast,
And when the old man there did pass,
They soon ran merry ’mong the grass,
But of the youth they were so shy,
They made strong efforts for to fly.
Youths tried with old man to prevail,
To let them blaze away at quail,
But though they longed for a fat pot,
At them they never got a shot.
No more the old man doth them shield,
For they have flown to broader field,
Long may they spread their wings and tail,
And may no foe them ’ere assail.
Come, listen, while we sound the lyre,
To announce the fact, that McIntyre
Is back again to his old block,
And he has got a splendid stock.
He also hath a strong desire
To see old friends, and new acquire;
His Furniture is cheap and good,
In every style and kind of wood.
But none in health need ’ere despair,
If they buy from him an easy chair.
When you his Warehouse then do seek,
’Tis where the brick bridge spans the creek.
With a glance at Sir John A. Macdonald and Blake, the two living leaders, 1884.
Joseph Howe, none higher stood than thou,
Thou wert a man with lofty brow;
D’Arcy McGee, so brilliant and free,
From green isle you came o’er the sea.
George Cartier to the French ever dear,
So high you stood without a peer;
John Sandfield14 for long you did build
Power under economy’s shield.
George Brown, thou man of renown,
Confederation you did crown;
You now are all free from the strife
The wrangle and jangle of political life.
But if a glance at this world you take
You will there see John A. and Blake,
But Sir John the greatest power doth wield,
Our Canadian Beaconsfield.15
The following impromptu was delivered in the Methodist Church Concert, March, 1883. It was expected that several announced in bills world take part, but from various causes they were not present. We were unexpectedly requested to fill one of the vacencies. Doctor Gardiner delivered an address, showing how he had triumphed o’er the great snow drifts during the remarkably severe winter then passing away, that we thought his courage and perseverance was worthy of being commemorated in verse; and the music of the White Brothers though simple, is natural, touching and sweet, and reaches the heart more easily than some of the highly artistic styles now in vogue, on arising, we first gave some recitations from the Poets and concluded with the following Impromptu. It was of course impossible for me to have anticipated any of the above occurrences, as the Doctors speech took the turn it did from the remarks of a previous speaker.
To us it is a pleasing sight,
To see so many here to night;
All listening with so much delight
Unto those worthy men of might
The charming songsters, Brothers White.
Gardner told a sad tale of woe,
How he was oft o’erwhelmed in snow;
But was he frightened? no! no!! no!!!
He onward cheerfully did go,
And though that he did freeze his cheek
The fire side he did never seek.
But straight went onward, in his course,
So happy, driving his good horse,
And merrily along the way
The bells did ring around his sleigh.
Lines on the death of my son, Alexander Murray McIntyre, who died on the anniversary of his mother’s death, after being injured in my Furniture Factory. He died, after several days of great suffering, in July 5th, 1876.
His mother from celestial bower,
In the self-same day and hour
Of her death or heavenly birth,
Gazed again upon the earth,
And saw her gentle, loving boy,
Once source of fond maternal joy,
In anguish on a couch of pain.
She knew that earthly hopes were vain,
And beckoned him to realms above
To share with her the heavenly love.
The following sonnet on Brodie Castle Nairnshire, Scotland, was written by my venerable Uncle, Thomas McIntyre, of St. Catherines, and father of John B. McIntyre, Ex-Grand Master of the Independant Order of Odd Fellows, and now, and for many years, an Alderman of the city of St. Catherines. It was written by him as an acrostic on the words Brodie Castle. I have taken the liberty of transfusing it into common verse. The lines prove the old gentlemen to be kind hearted and as having a great affection for his native land. He has been in. St. Catherines for half a century, engaged in the same business I have been employed in for about one-third of a century, in Ingersoll.
Scotland has produced three great shepherds
Talford, the inventor of Suspension Bridges,
Ferguson, the Astronomer, and Hogg the
Ettrick shepherd, the great song writer.
Brodie Castle, ever dear to my heart,
For there I first played my humble part.
When only thirteen, I there had employ.
In the position of a shepherd boy;
For I
