felt the snow drift was a gain.
Blanket Shield
When blanket round us we do fold,
It doth keep out the wind and cold;
And when house is near to great fire,
Wet blankets save from ruin dire.
A General in Mexico
Advanced against Indian foe,
But Indians did hold the field,
Protected by wet blanket shield.
While Mexicans by hundreds fall,
Each pierced by an Indian ball;
Wet blanket it must hang quite loose,
Or for protection ’tis no use.
Thus Indians rushed o’er the field,
And caused the Mexicans to yield;
The savages they were more wise
Than Christian foe did them despise.
As a shield we high must rank it,
So light you cannot outflank it;
The bullets glance off from the blanket,
For its uses we must thank it.
Dime Story
We tell a tale, ’tis all in rhyme,
To show how boy earned a dime:
A parson who his flock did feed,
On written sermons he did read.
One day at top of pulpit stair
He was thrown into despair,
For he had forgot his paper,
And his thoughts were but as vapor.
But fortunate his own dear wife,
Who often soothed his ills in life.
She found sermon on the table,
And found a boy who was able
To deliver it in good time,
By promising to give him dime.
The boy to church did quickly run,
And he the dime then fairly won.
So he went back to parsonage
And demanded then his wage;
The wife she asked the little vermin
If he had delivered sermon.
Said he, “My contract I did cover,
I gave it to parson to deliver,
And he delivers it with feeling.
And the poor folks’ hearts he’s healing.”
Alligator and Boy
This is a true tale and no yarn,
Our boys bathed in Hoxa Tarn;
But for long they had spectator,
Eager, watching alligator.
He wished to make an example
With fattest boy for a sample,
So that the lads no more would fool,
’Nor play around his favorite pool.
His fierce assaults the boys did warn,
But they resolved to hold the Tarn,
As they expertly all could swim;
For time, they out-manoeuvred him.
But they knew sooner or later,
They would be caught by alligator;
So strategy they did employ,
And they rigged up a seeming boy.
He thought, “I here bear sovereign rule,
No boy shall trespass in my pool;
So now I will enforce my laws,
And crunch him quick between my jaws.”
He ope’d his mouth, the earth did shake,
Was it thunder bolt or earthquake?
For there was scattered far and wide
Grease and alligator’s hide.
Disgrace no more we will bewail,
That honest poor are sent to jail
Or allowed to beg from door to door,
When they are old, sick and footsore;
They will have retuge on the farm,
Where cold and hunger will not harm.
McKay he is a clever chap,
Will make good whip for he has snap.
Political
Canada was found by Cabot,
And now the Premier is Abbot.
Cheap sugar to all is a boon,
Folks love it in their tea and spoon,
Cartwright thinks lie could build state coach,
Laurier could drive without reproach.
The Flood on the Creek
April 1891.
Almost broken was the lyre
In the hands of bard McIntyre,
Who long had mused beside the stream,
Till rudely wakened from his dream.
The waters high in each dam pent,
Rushed furious when they found vent;
Through the flood gates opened wide
Madly raged the foaming tide.
He heard the waters awful dash,
And he heard his warehouse crash,
And saw the waves in wild commotion
Bearing his stock to the ocean.
Now thanks he gives unto each friend,
Who a helping hand did lend;
With gratitude they did inspire
The heart-felt thanks of McIntyre.
Old friends and new he’ll gladly meet
On the west side of Thames street,
Where he has a foundation sure,
And a good stock of furniture.
Big Crops of 1891
Eighteen hundred and ninety-one
For good crops it leads the van;
As land had blessed showers of rain,
Which brought abundant crops of grain.
Not scorched with heat, the air was cool,
And the ears were large and full;
Forty bushel to the acre
Makes flour that delights the baker.
None ever saw such crops as these,
So great the yield of oats and peas;
Fifty bushels to the acre
Makes us grateful to our maker.
Death of Parnell
Oct., 1891.
Ireland’s great champion, Parnell,
To worldly strife has bade farewell.
Short Route to the Orient
Having predicted the building of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, in a poem I published in August, 1858, I felt proud to see the wonderful quick passage of the mails from Japan to Liverpool, via this road.
Jules Verne, that brilliant son of France,
Astonished all with wild romance;
Around the world in eighty days,
This tale it doth no more amaze.
For the Canadian Pacific
Runs her cars at speed terrific;
Her steamers swiftly plow the seas,
Which gives to us our cheap, fine teas.
For she is bound to lead the van
With her short, quick route to Japan;
And proudly she may glory vent
In highway to the Orient.
From a small sprout these leaves they grew,
And bard now bids you kind adieu.
Endnotes
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From our experience of over a quarter of a century, writing rhymes on local subjects, we find they are preserved more carefully, and are more impressed on people’s minds than prose articles on the same subjects. This has induced us to compile this little volume. Please accept this apology. —The Author ↩
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The oration on the above interesting occasion was delivered by the late Hon. William H. Merritt, projector of the Welland Canal. He served at the battle when a young man. We witnessed the interesting ceremony and shall never forget it. —The Author ↩
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The nurls and birds’ eyes and curls were highly prized in furniture thirty years ago, when we used the smooth plain. ↩
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James Noxon, Mayor. ↩
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Tom Moore paddled his own canoe along the Canadian shore of Lake Erie and was enraptured with the view. He landed and remained over night at a farm house. His “Canadian
