Chapter II: Part 2

Brook's progress south is stopped by ridge,
Doth debar its southern course,
So a long journey it don't grudge,
But slowly on its way doth force.

And it discharges at its mouth
Into the pure clear lake Simcoe,
It still flows north for to get south,
As onward still its course doth go.

Rejoicing along its way,
Hundreds of miles it doth flow west,
Blended in the Georgian Bay,
For a moment it doth not rest.

Mingling with Huron and St. Clair,
Erie and Niagara river,
Even at the Falls it don't despair,
But it cheerful flows forever.

One thousand miles round an ox bow,
It hath flowed back near its first start,
To waters of Ontario,
Where ridge at first kept it apart.

From south of ridge two rivers flow,
Both the Don and the Humber,
Embracing city of Toronto,
Hath attractions without number.

The fame will spread far and wide,
First of Don and then of Humber,
Improved rivers like to the Clyde,
With wharves for coal, wood, iron and lumber.

ST. CATHARINES.

Lines read at the Welland House, St. Catharines, at a banquet given to the members in attendance at the Oddfellows' Grand Lodge.

St. Catharines famed for mineral waters
And for the beauty of her daughters,
For some do worship at the shrines
Of the fair St. Catharines.

St. Catharines your greatness you inherit
From the genius of a Merritt,
You still would be a village dreary
But for this canal from lake Erie.

For on its bosom there doth float
Full many a ship and steamboat,
Brings world's commerce to your doors
And many gifts on you it pours.

Among its many great rewards
It gives you dry docks and ship yards,
To drive your mills great water power
It doth give you as a dower.

Since we above lines did compose,
Through new canal vast stream it flows,
The lock gates at the hill at Thorold
Can not be equaled in the world.

BRANTFORD.

In these sketches of towns in Southern Ontario we are not vain enough to suppose that because we have produced some lines thereon that said rhymes are poetry. If we furnish an occasional poetic gleam like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun, it is all we dare hope for.

Brantford as thriving city's famed,
And after Indian Chief is named,
And here the sparkling Grand River
It doth flow a joy forever.

Campbell he sang a dismal tale
Of horrors of Wyoming's vale,
The tale one's mind doth ever haunt,
The cruelties of monster Brant.

But the Chief's son to England went
And Campbell to him did lament,
And all the tale he did recant
About cruel butcheries of Brant.

Now pleasant thoughts it doth awake
When Brantford thinks of her namesake,
She evermore with pride will chant
The bold heroic name of Brant.

We sing of two great Indian names,
Tecumseh on the banks of Thames,
And the Grand River it doth vaunt
O'er the historic name of Brant.

The city's pride it doth find vent
In building him a monument,
And Indians will proudly stalk
Past memorial of great Mohawk.

LINES ON THOROLD.

McCready, the great Irish tragedian, said that the view from Thorold was the finest in America.

Thorold is famous for its mills,
And the grand view from off its hills,
A view so charming and extended,
Nature's beauties sweetly blended.

Poetic thoughts it doth awake
To view Ontario's broad lake,
And husbandmen have their reward in
Fruits of this Provincial garden.

For from the hill you see below
Gardens where choice fruits do grow,
The landscape all within your reach
Doth both produce the grape and peach.

McCready said in the New World
The finest view was from Thorold,
You see St. Catharines thriving town
And steamers sailing up and down.

And you can see on a clear day
All along Toronto Bay,
And you clearly see the haze
Where Niagara doth amaze.

And glance where Grimsby's gardens yield
Or view Beamsville's fruitful field,
Then this thought you can advance,
This is Canada's sunny France.

You see Niagara's ancient town[D]
Though it has lost us old renown,
And you have a splendid view
Of boats on old canal and new.

[D] Niagara once the capital of Upper Canada and an important fortress at the mouth of the Niagara River.

ST. THOMAS, 1884.

At time of Oddfellows Grand Lodge meeting.

Oddfellows once they had to trudge
O'er rough stage road to the Grand Lodge,
But now they town of metal seek
And find it on the Kettle Creek.

For industry it here prevails
As it was built by the steel rails,
And here the wide expanded bridges
Do connect the distant ridges.

No more need to stay at home as
There's lots of railroads to St. Thomas,
You pluckily did boldly venture,
Now you are great railroad centre.

Your city now it hath high hopes
From its great railway workshops,
And higher yet it still will rise,
This seat of so much enterprise.

When young man wants a wedded mate
He seeks Alma girl graduate,
And he loves her Alma mater
For the sake of her charming daughter.

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.

TILSONBURG.

After him who did the mills own,
This place was called in honor Tilson;
Bright gleaming like to a beaming star,
Is clear waters of the Otter.

And it doth form here a vast pond,
Which extends for miles beyond,
A fortune on town it will shower,
This prodigious water power.

No other spots to youth appear,
Like lovely little lakes round here,
And few small towns have fine roadway
Lined with brick blocks like your broadway.

PORT STANLEY.

In winter time 'tis sad and dreary
For to gaze on stormy Erie,
But here in summer time this port
It is a fashionable resort,
For then it is always cheery
For to gaze upon Lake Erie.

Or on the steamer you can sail
All independent of the gale,
Or here the youth can ply the oar
And view the fast receding shore,
And be happy with his dearie
On the bosom of Lake Erie.

No one here need ever weary
On the borders of Lake Erie,
With quadrille parties at Stanley
And games and sports all so manly,
Or bathe in waves with friends near thee,
You fear no storms of Lake Erie.

PORT BURWELL.

The following lines were given at a concert when Port Burwell was a busy port and there had been a race on the ice the day before.

In winter time who here resort,
To pay a visit to your busy port,
They must be clad in fur well,
For it blows cold at Burwell;
But when you wish to trot your horse
You make Lake Erie your race course,
And we believe at every heat
All other horses you do beat.

SKETCHES ON THE BANKS OF THE CANADIAN THAMES.

"The muse nae poet ever fand her
Till by himsel' he learned to wander
Adown some trotting burn's meander."
--Burns.

The valley of the Thames, we presume, includes Stratford on the north and Woodstock and Ingersoll on the south. The Avon, on whose banks Stratford is located, joins the Thames near St. Marys. The middle branch flows through Embro and Thamesford. The south and middle branches unite and flow through Dorchester and Westminster and blend with the northern branch at London, where it deviates to Elgin in the south.

ENGLISH NAMES ON CANADIAN THAMES.

England has given us the names
To adorn Canadian Thames,
And charms to them she has lent
In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent,
She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
And Scottish names, one north, one south,
And London now it justly claims
'Tis capital of vale of Thames,
And her strong castellated tower
Doth on the river frowning lower,
And Chatham is the river's port,
There slaves for freedom did resort,
And they did industrious toil,
And now many own the soil,
Stratford now shall be our theme,
On Avon tributary stream,
And its clear waters it doth launch
Into the Thames northern branch,
Near that substantial stone town
St. Mary's with mills of renown,
Westward it winds past each town,
Growing broader as it flows down,
Onward it glides never weary,
Meandering so soft and cheery.
The sunbeam on the waters glance,
Skipping about in silvery dance,
From morn till eve the cattle feed
'Neath lofty elms along the mead.
And on its banks in warrior pride
The brave Tecumseh fought and died,
And it has now historic claims
The famous battle of the Thames.
Now soon the waters meet and pair
With the wavelets of St. Clair,
As maids when wed do lose their names,
No longer it is called the Thames.
Rejoicing on its way it smiles,
Kissing the shores of Thousand Isles,
Mingling with St. Lawrance motion,
It soon is blended with the ocean.

LONDON FLOOD, JULY 11th, 1883.

From the long continuous rains
O'erflowing were the swamps and drains,
For each day had its heavy shower,
Torrents fell for many an hour;
At London where two branches join
It seem'd two furies did combine,
For to spread far both death and woe,
With their wild, raging overflow;
E'en houses did on waters float,
As though each had been built for boat,
And where was wealth and joy and bloom,
Soon naught but inmates of the tomb;
Flood o'erflowed both vale and ridges,
And swept railroads, dams and bridges,
A mother climbed in tree to save
Her infant from a watery grave,
But on the house you saw its blood
Where it was crushed 'gainst tree by flood;
Where cottages 'mong gardens stood
'Tis covered o'er with vile drift wood,
O'er flowers and bushes you may travel
For they are buried under gravel,
Or you may walk o'er barren sand,
The crops washed out and fertile land;
Two funerals we at once did see
Of one family who lost three;
No longer river's deep and wide
But gently flows to distant tide.

DISASTER TO STEAMER VICTORIA AT LONDON.

At London Thames is a broad stream,
Which was the scene of a sad theme,
A fragile steamer there did play,
O'ercrowded on a Queen's Birthday,
While all on board was bright and gay,
But soon 'neath the cold waters lay,
Naught but forms of lifeless clay,
Which made, alas! sad month of May.

LINES ON WOODSTOCK.

English Woodstock had a palace
Where the Queen in jealous malice
Slew romance's fairest flower,
Fair Rosamond in secret bower;
Our Woodstock pleasing county town,
This brings it both wealth and renown,
To your strong castle some are sent
To give them leisure to repent.
A charming vista you do view
Gazing on each street and avenue,
Mansions and lawn embowered 'mong trees
Where wealthy owners live at ease,
And through the air there sweetly floats
Harmonious Woodstock organ notes,
And men employment secure
In factory for furniture;
Old Oxford is a seat of knowledge,
Woodstock has a fine new college,
And farm implement work shops,
So farmers easy reap their crops;
The old court house is a disgrace,
Grand structure soon will take its place.

INGERSOLL.

Ex-Mayor Thomas Brown may be considered the father of the town, he projected the first roads and bridges.

The Thames and tributary rills,
Here they do drive numerous mills,
Enabling millers to compete
To pay high price for oats and wheat.
Here streams do drive many a wheel
For to grind both flour and oatmeal,
And town will extend its boundaries
With its enterprising foundries.
For fine pianos town is famed
And highest rank for them is claimed,
And brighter days for it yet dawns
With its grand mansions and fine lawns,
And it has now the title grand
The capital of dairyland.

EMBRO.

O'er various counties of the north,
When cruel order did go forth,
For to destroy many a home,
So that the wild deer free might roam;
The men of Sutherland and Ross,
The broad Atlantic they did cross,
Each seeking for a fertile farm,
These rolling lands for them had charm;
They ne'er desired again to roam,
Each happy in his woodland home,
Where middle branch of Thames doth flow
They built the village of Embro,
And it the hill tops now doth crown
Like its grand namesake Edina Town,
And good flour mills you here do find
And oats also they here do grind.

BEACHVILLE.

Of Beachville, village of the plain,
We now will sing a short refrain,
For here the Thames doth pleasant flow,
And charm to landscape doth bestow;
Though river here it is not deep,
Yet banks slope graceful up the steep,
And from the summit of the hills
You look down on the famed lime kilns,
And 'tis full worthy poet's rhyme
The whiteness of your pure white lime,
Your glory never shall be gone
While you have quarries of this stone,
In influence you yet will wax
With mills for flour and also flax.

STRATFORD.

Our Canadian county Perth,
Commemorates great bard of earth,
Stratford and Avon both are here,
And they enshrine the name Shakespeare.

For here in Stratford every ward
Is named from dramas of great bard,
Here you may roam o'er Romeo,
Or glance on Juliet bestow.

And it is a railway centre,
Many a train doth here enter,
And railroad shops do men employ,
And gives them work and wealth and joy.

LINES ON THAMESFORD.

The middle branch of Thames doth flow
O'er pebble bed and it doth glow
And sparkle like silver in the sun,
As it through pasture lands doth run.

In dam is ample water stored,
To drive flour mills in Thamesford,
Besides the power of the stream,
Saw mills and flax are drove by steam.

Our mind it doth with pleasure fill,
To see fine brick church on each hill,
And that substantial one of stone
Owned by congregation of St. John.

THE VALE OF THAMES.

In vale of Thames oft' times are seen
The cattle graze 'mong sweetest green,
Or there contented with their fate
The gentle cows do ruminate.

And enjoy a double pleasure
In re-chewing hidden treasure,
The cow is a kindly creature,
Kind and pleasant in each feature.

About her is a homely charm,
And her the dog should not alarm,
But let all safe guard her from harm,
The gentlest creature on the farm.

DAIRY AND CHEESE ODES.

As cheese making first began in this county and it has already become the chief industry of many counties, it is no insignificant theme. About the middle of this century Canada was a great importer of cheese, and now cheese is the principal article of export from the Province of Ontario, and this Province will soon export no less than ten millions of dollars worth of cheese per annum. Mr. Ranney was doing a thriving business in the dairy line, manufacturing cheese after the century was half gone on the dairy plan from the products of his own cows, and one decade later Mr. Farrington introduced the factory system. Both of these gentlemen have departed this life but Canada is enjoying the fruits of their labors, and about eight hundred cheese factories are in operation in this Province of Ontario.

RANNEY, 1856, DAIRY SYSTEM.

Ranney began with just two cows,
Which he in winter fed on browse,
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.

FARRINGTON, 1866, FACTORY SYSTEM.

The farmers they now all make rich
Since Farrington went to Norwich,
And the system first there began
Of making cheese on factory plan;
He came from Herkimer county,
To Canada he was a bounty;
Norwich village moved but slow,
Till railways made it quickly grow,
And industries here now take root,
The township's famous for its fruit.

Among the earliest champions of the Factory System of making cheese were Messrs. Chadwick, Casswell and Ballantyne. The North Oxford Company were awarded the highest honor at the Centennial Exhibition. Messrs. J. L. Grant & Co. have a fine large cold storage warehouse on the G.T.R., and the C.P.R. have erected one on their line, which is leased by Mr. Riley. Ingersoll being the great dairy centre of Ontario it was deemed requisite to have those facilities for preserving the cheese in the hot season. The following is a list of the most prominent cheese factories in this district and the salesmen thereof:

Dereham and West Oxford--W. Nancekivell.
Harris Street--T. R. Mayberry.
W. Oxford--G. Galloway.
N. Oxford--D. J. Dundass.
Maple Leaf--Thomas Caddy.
W. Zorra--John Blair.
Burnside--H. George.
Gore--H. C. Hopkins.
Salford--Foster & Gregg.
Mt. Elgin--W. Tripp.
Brownsville--Hopkins & Fulton.
Prouse's--T. Prouse.
Kintore--G. Alderson.
Harrietsville--R. Facey.
East Nissouri--W. J. Walker.
Cold Springs--H. Matheson.
Dorchester--L. D. Monk.
Lawson--N. Wilford.
Wilkinson--J. H. Wilkinson.
Dereham and Norwich Union--W. Fewster.
Verschoyle--James Hunter.
Avon and Firby--W. Kirkly.
Thamesford--F. Patterson.
Lyons--James Mitchell.
Lakeside--T. Marshall.
Belmont--John Evans.
Cherry Hill--H. Webster.

FATHER RANNEY, THE CHEESE PIONEER.

This is our earliest cheese ode. The Ingersoll factory has been removed to Thamesford.

When Father Ranney left the States,
In Canada to try the fates,
He settled down in Dereham,
Then no dairyman lived near him;
He was the first there to squeeze
His cows' milk into good cheese,
And at each Provincial show
His famed cheese was all the go.

Then long life to Father Ranney
May he wealth and honour gain aye.

He always took the first prize
Both for quality and size,
But many of his neighbors
Now profit by his labors,
And the ladies dress in silk
From the proceeds of the milk,
But those who buy their butter,
How dear it is, they mutter.

Then long life to Father Ranney,
May he his health retain aye.

The farmers can not be beat,
They have both cheese and their wheat,
Though now their greatest care is
For to watch o'er their dairies,
They carefully fill their mows
With provender for their cows,
And they thus enrich the soil
With much profit for their toil.

We will sing this refrain aye,
Long life to Father Ranney.

The motto "union is strength"
Is carried out at length,
In the most compact array
At every cheese factory,
You'll see without going far as
There is one kept by Harris,
The factory of Ingersoll,
Just out at the first toll.

May he never suffer pain aye,
The Father of cheesemen Ranney.

Or you may go all the way
To see one kept by Galloway,
And out in the Norwiches
Dairymen are making riches,
And honor has been won
By Harvey Farrington,
The same path is trodden
By folks about Culloden.

May his strength never wane aye,
The great dairyman Ranney.

And of late we saw some
Very good cheese from Lawson,
All around Mt. Elgin
Dairymen have well done,
And out in East Nissouri
They make some scores a day,
From Jarvis and Elliott
Some good cheese are bought.

And we will all remain aye,
Indebted to Father Ranney.

Now we close this glorious theme,
This song of curds and rich cream,
You can buy your hoops and screws,
And all supplies for dairy use,
Milk cans and vats, all things like these,
In Ingersoll great mart for cheese,
Here buyers all do congregate
And pay for cheese the highest rate.

So we call on you again aye,
To honor Father Ranney.

ODE ON THE MAMMOTH CHEESE.

Weight over seven thousand pounds.

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze,
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees,
It did require to make thee please,
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.

May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great world's show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon,
You'd cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

LINES READ AT A DAIRYMEN'S SUPPER.

It almost now seems all in vain
For to expect high price for grain,
Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil
On the banks of mighty Nile.

And where the Ganges it doth flow,
In India fine wheat doth grow,
And price of labor is so cheap
That it they can successful reap.

Then let the farmers justly prize
The cows for land they fertilize,
And let us all with songs and glees
Invoke success into the cheese.

HINTS TO CHEESE MAKERS.

All those who quality do prize
Must study color, taste and size,
And keep their dishes clean and sweet,
And all things round their factories neat,
For dairymen insist that these
Are all important points in cheese.

Grant has here a famous work
Devoted to the cure of pork,
For dairymen find it doth pay
To fatten pigs upon the whey,
For there is money raising grease
As well as in the making cheese.

ENSILAGE.

The farmers now should all adorn
A few fields with sweet southern corn,
It is luscious, thick and tall,
The beauty of the fields in fall.

For it doth make best ensilage,
For those in dairying engage,
It makes the milk in streams to flow,
Where dairymen have a good silo.

The cow is a happy rover
O'er the fields of blooming clover,
Of it she is a fond lover,
And it makes milk pails run over.

FERTILE LANDS AND MAMMOTH CHEESE.

In barren district you may meet
Small fertile spot doth grow fine wheat,
There you may find the choicest fruits,
And great, round, smooth and solid roots.

But in conditions such as these
You cannot make a mammoth cheese,
Which will weigh eight thousand pounds,
But where large fertile farms abounds.

Big cheese is synonymous name,
With fertile district of the Thame,
Here dairy system's understood,
And they are made both large and good.

LINES READ AT A DAIRYMAIDS' SOCIAL, 1887.

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids.

Throughout the world they do extol
The fame of our town Ingersoll,
The capital of dairyland,
To-night it seems like fairy land,
The youth and beauty here arrayed,
So sweet and neat each dairymaid.

And worthy of a poet's theme,
Sweet and smooth flows milk and cream,
For song or glee what is fitter
In this land of cheese and butter,
But no young man should be afraid
To court a pretty dairymaid.

And far abroad he should not roam
But find a charmer here at home,
Find some one now your heart to cheer,
Thus celebrate the jubilee year,
Remember long this ladies' aid
And each bewitching dairymaid.

Lines Read at a Parsonage Opening at the Village where Ranney had once flourished, 1883.

Some do boast of their pedigrees,
But Salford's parent of the cheese,
Ranney, industrious and wise,
Here started this great enterprise.

He did work on the dairy plan,
While Farrington was factoryman,
Both of these men it well did please
To hear of progress making cheese.

The farmers are in cheerful mood,
For harvest all it has been good,
And all the grain was sown this spring
An abundant yield will bring.

And you can scarcely stow away
The yield of barley, oats and hay,
Such pasture it is seldom seen,
E'en now it is so fresh and green.

This beauteous colour nature decks,
While it insures you large milk cheques,
And certes you've much cause to praise,
For hogs and cattle that you raise.

OXFORD CHEESE ODE.

The ancient poets ne'er did dream
That Canada was land of cream,
They ne'er imagined it could flow
In this cold land of ice and snow,
Where everything did solid freeze,
They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.

A few years since our Oxford farms
Were nearly robbed of all their charms,
O'er cropped the weary land grew poor
And nearly barren as a moor,
But now their owners live at ease
Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.

And since they justly treat the soil,
Are well rewarded for their toil,
The land enriched by goodly cows
Yields plenty now to fill their mows,
Both wheat and barley, oats and peas,
But still their greatest boast is cheese.

And you must careful fill your mows
With good provender for your cows,
And in the winter keep them warm,
Protect them safe all time from harm,
For cows do dearly love their ease,
Which doth insure best grade of cheese.

To us it is a glorious theme
To sing of milk and curds and cream,
Were it collected it could float
On its bosom, small steam boat,
Cows numerous as swarm of bees
Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

To prove the wealth that here abounds,
One cheese weighed eight thousand pounds,
Had it been hung in air at noon
Folks would have thought it was the moon,
It sailed with triumph o'er the seas,
'Twas hailed with welcome, queen of cheese.

WINDMILLS AND STONE STABLES.

Cows suffered in the days of old
For want of water and from cold,
Now of good water they have fill
For it is pumped by the windmill.

No matter how well cows were fed
They suffered cold in their board shed,
But good stone walls now them enfold,
And they are warm and safe from cold.

Now they do enjoy their fodder,
And repay with their full udder,
If bran slops you on cow bestow
Of milk it will increase the flow.

And in your efforts do not halt
But let them daily lick the salt,
And never let the dogs them chase,
But let them walk at their quiet pace.

DAIRY ODES.

The sweet milkmaid of early days
Her own household she ably sways,
And her daughters now milk the cows,
And her sons they now guide the plows.

These pleasing changes on a farm
Doth give to rural life a charm,
Let occupation none upbraid,
But honor plowman and milkmaid.

For Burns with glory did endow
And wove a garland round the plow,
The source from which all wealth doth spring
And happiness to all doth bring.

Our muse it doth refuse to sing
Of cheese made early in the spring,
When cows give milk from spring fodder
You cannot make a good cheddar.

The quality is often vile
Of cheese that is made in April,
Therefore we think for that reason
You should make later in the season.

Cheese making now you should delay
Until about the first of May.
Then cows do feed on grassy field
And rich milk they abundant yield.

Ontario cannot compete
With the Northwest in raising wheat,
For cheaper there they it can grow
So price in future may be low.

Though this a hardship it may seem,
Rejoice that you have got the cream,
In this land of milk and honey,
Where dairy farmers do make money.

Utensils must be clean and sweet,
So cheese with first class can compete,
And daily polish up milk pans,
Take pains with vats and with milk cans.

And it is important matter
To allow no stagnant water,
But water from pure well or stream
The cow must drink to give pure cream.

Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair
With breeds from the shire of Ayr,
They thrive on our Canadian feed
And are for milking splendid breed.

Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter,
Yet spring milk also makes bad butter,
Then there doth arise the query
How utilize it in the dairy:

The milk it floats in great spring flood
Though it is not so rich and good,
Let us be thankful for this stream
Of milk and also curds and cream.

All dairymen their highest aims
Should be to make the vale of Thames,
Where milk doth so abundant flow,
Dairyland of Ontario.

CHEESE CURD FOR BAIT.

The following adventure was participated in by Mr. J. Podmore and Mr. W. D. Grant at Matheson's Cold Spring Cheese Factory in Zorra, 1888.

Cheese buyers in hours of leisure
Combine business with pleasure,
And when they wish to go abroad
They take their gun and fishing rod.

This tale is true we pledge our word,
They baited hook with a piece of curd,
And let the rod hang from the boat,
While curd and hook on pond did float.

And then they start for sport and fun,
To try their luck with the shot gun,
And quick they raised from their cover,
Then brought low eight brace of plover.

Now to the pond they do return,
But loss of rod they have to mourn,
They see it rushing through the water,
And wonder what can be the matter.

But the courage of young Grant,
It did not for a moment daunt,
Though rod it now is far beyond,
He plunged into deep, cold spring pond.

And seized his rod and then drew out
A beauteous seven pound trout,
Which had grown from the seed
From spawn of California breed.

And Californian in its greed,
On the sweet curd wished to feed;
But, alas, for it's sad fate,
It swallowed hook along with bait.

CANADIAN SKETCHES.

THANKSGIVING ODE, NOVEMBER 15TH, 1888.

September came and with it frost
The season's pasture it seemed lost,
And the wondrous yield of corn
Of its green beauty it was shorn.

Frost it came like early robber,
But gentle rains came in October,
Which were absorbed by grateful soil;
With green once more the pastures smile.

And cows again are happy seen
Enjoying of the pastures green,
And flow of milk again they yield
From the sweet feed of grassy field.

And we have now a fine November,
Warmer far than in September;
The apple, which is queen of fruits,
Was a good crop and so is roots.

The rains they did replenish springs,
And it gratitude to each heart brings,
When we reflect on bounteous season,
For grateful feelings all have reason.

AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS.

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.

WHEN TO SELL GRAIN AND FARM PRODUCE.

Grain it should be sold in the fall
Even if the price it should be small,
For if you keep it till the spring
Sometimes a less price it doth bring.

For grain with whole world doth compete,
You cannot raise the price of wheat,
Then at once you should embark it
On its way to world's market.

We hope our views you don't despise,
For grain doth shrink in weight and size,
If you sell wheat you can get gold,
Retain it, damp may make it mould.

Remember too that of your wheat
The rats of it will fondly eat,
Sell it and money then invest,
And you can get good interest.

The same remarks apply to cheese,
It shrinks and frosts make it to freeze,
Then careful man you have to hire
At great expense to keep up fire.

If you your produce quick do move,
The business soon it will improve,
And then mankind will you bless
For alleviating their distress.

And it pays best to sell each pig,
Plump and young, not old, fat and big,
Young and tender now's the vogue
Either in cattle or in hog.

FOUR ACRE FARM.

This is a tale, but it is truth,
Of maiden lady named Ruth,
She owned a small four acre farm,
Which possessed some rural charm.

This maiden she was past her youth,
But none e're fell in love with Ruth,
Though you must not infer from thence
That she possessed not grace nor sense.

She was handsome in her day,
But beauty quickly fades away,
Good vegetables and fine roots
She growed and choicest kind of fruits.

And a first-class good milch cow
She kept, and a fine breeding sow,
Her butter high price did command,
Cow fed on best of pasture land.

On it was pond where swam her geese,
From small flock of sheep she sheared fleece,
And thus she passed year after year,
Her cares they kept her in good cheer.

Each year she raised large chicken brood,
And for them she grew lots of food,
In winter time it was her rule
To knit and spin up her own wool.

And thus her uneventful life
Doth pass without jar or strife,
'Tis seldom she e're feels alarm,
But quietly tills her little farm.

To plow her little fields of course
She does require to drive her horse,
This little pony looks quite smart
Drawing old maid in little cart.

HARVEST HOME FESTIVAL.

In summer time it doth seem good
To seek the shade of the green wood,
For it doth banish all our care
When we gaze on scene so fair.

And birds do here in branches sing
So merrily in early spring,
And lovingly they here do pair
Their mutual joys together share.

Here nature's charming, never rude,
Inspiring all with happy mood,
Tables had choice fruits of season,
And we too had feast of reason.

To dinner table all did march
Through evergreen triumphal arch,
On top the Union Jack it floats,
On each side sheaves of wheat and oats.

Great pumpkins and big ears of corn,
They do this rural arch adorn,
We are reminded now 'tis fall,
And boys enjoy game of baseball.

With joy at night each one did gaze
At the mighty bonfire's blaze,
The tree leaves shone like silver bright,
The lanterns too were pleasing sight.

CORNER STONE LAYING.

The following lines were read at the festival after the stone had been laid by Grand Master Col. Moffat, of a church on the Culloden road, with Masonic honors.

In this quiet spot this day of June,
Which will not be forgotten soon,
For when your little church on hill
You overflowingly did fill,
You then resolved there should arise
Church worthy of your enterprise,
You've laid foundation broad and deep,
And showers of blessings may you reap.

Craft of King Hiram and Saint John
Have come to lay the corner stone,
At the call of our Grand Master
Who was invited by your pastor,
With silver trowel all so fair
He laid foundation on the square,
May you be blessed with Christian love,
And we all meet in Lodge above.

LINES ON METHODIST UNION, SEPTEMBER, 1883.

A pleasing sight to-day we see,
Four churches joined in harmony,
There difference was but trivial,
But strove each other to outrival.
In friendship now they do unite,
And Satan only they do fight,
And they'll plant churches in North West,
Where they can serve the Lord the best.

CREDIT VALLEY TRIP.

The Credit Valley Railway Company having placed a car at the service of the council we were kindly invited to accompany them to Toronto.

Whene'er we take a tour abroad
We love to travel o'er new road,
Where scenery to us is new
And landscape pleasing to the view,
When invited for to rally
And take a trip on Credit Valley,
We resolved for to afford
A day with Council and School Board,
For to view the rural charms
Of hills and dales and fertile farms,
With joy we saw the sunbeams gleam
On Grand River beauteous stream,
And those perpendicular walls
Of rock, like old baronial halls,
We saw the great lake ebb and flow,
And queen city of Ontario,
While some enjoyed the genial smile
Of Hanlon on his lake girt isle,
Returning home each one exclaims
"Happiest spot is banks of Thames."

EAGLE AND SALMON.

Wilmot of fish culutre fame,
To this tale he lends his name,
A pair of eagles built their nest
On a lofty pine tree's crest.

And therein they regular rear
A brood of young year after year,
One day he saw one leave its nest,
When for food it was in quest.

It did wing its flight on high,
And then on water cast its eye,
When it quickly did discover
A great salmon in the river.

Like lightning flash down it doth sweep
And its talons it buries deep,
In salmon of enormous size
He trys to rise in air with prize.

But all in vain he quickly found
He could not carry thirty pound,
And had bit more than he could chew
For in the air no more he flew.

Wilmot he did gaze with wonder
At the spot where he went under,
Resolved to know what was the matter
He poled his boat o'er the water.

And he looked down and there he found
That the eagle it was drowned,
And its wings in part outspread,
But alas it was quite dead.

With grappling hook he drew him out,
But attached to him was monster trout,
Eagle could not extract his claws,
And this the death of both did cause.

CAPTAIN'S ADVENTURE.

Three years ago my vessel lay
In a port of Hudson Bay,
I started off for the trading post,
But on the way back I then got lost.

And the thought soon gave me the blues,
Trudging along on my snow shoes,
Over the wastes of drifting snow,
While the wind it did fiercely blow.

I feared that I would be froze hard,
For it was a fearful blizzard,
I was growing faint and weary,
Not the slightest hopes to cheer me.

Without compass to bearing,
My yells were beyond crews' hearing,
But at last to my loud halloo
There came a mournful ho, ho.

From creature white I thought 'twas ghost,
And that I was forever lost,
I heard horrid creature flutter,
As it those strange sounds did utter.

At last I found that all this howl
Was from a noble large white owl,
And a happy apparition,
So runs the Indian tradition.

It guides the lost one in distress
And leads him out of wilderness,
This strange bird I soon follow,
And it still kept up its halloo.

It seem'd that it cried to cheer me,
I thought the ship was now near me,
As I walked o'er the banks of snow
I kept up a feeble halloo.

And but a little ways beyond
From my own crew I got respond,
With joy I was received by crew,
So happy all at my rescue.

It must be that some gentle soul
Did then inhabit that strange fowl,
But O to me 'twas wondrous fair,
For it thus saved me from despair.

The man's my foe who now doth growl
At the strange sounds made by the owl,
The sailors all they took delight
To feed this bird so pure and white.

But soon the poor bird was o'erfed,
Early one morn we found it dead,
And my breast it heaved with sighs,
And the tears poured from mine eyes.

But precious relic in glass case
I oft gaze on its kindly face,
And grateful memories it brings,
When I behold its glorious wings.

To stuff such birds I knew the art
On it I worked with my whole heart,
To preserve each grace and feature
Full of charms to me is creature.

INDIAN ROMANCE.

We know a hill is smooth and round,
Where Indian relics may be found,
This hill it hath a history,
Though enveloped in mystery.

All the youth do fondly glory
For to read an Indian story,
This hill was ancient camping ground,
In creek near by did trout abound.

And from hill top they caught a gleam
Of the river's broader stream,
They came in their birch bark canoes
Into this place of rendezvous.

When States did Canada invade,
Great Indian host was here arrayed,
Here they rallied from near and far,
In eighteen hundred and twelve war.

Chief big Wolfe led them on to war,
And bade farewell to morning star,
He wedded her one year before,
And her he fondly did adore.

To him she never seemed so sweet,
Her dress had beads worked o'er so neat,
And her toilet to complete,
Grand moccasins upon her feet.

Tribe marches and they boldly fight,
Longside of Brock on Queenstown height,
With glory they do return crowned,
Into the hill so smooth and round.

Here big Wolfe drank much fire water,
And it led to his own slaughter,
His death alas did blast and mar,
And dimmed the light of morning star.

CANADIAN HUNTER.

Of Kentucky's great hunter bold
Old Daniel Boone oft tales are told,
Of wild beasts he had no fear,
But dangers loved that pioneer.

Canada has hunters many,
Yet perhaps there is not any
For skill and boldness can compare
With our own Daniel Hebner.

In youth he was both tall and strong,
And supple as a willow thong,
He never fled from savage bear,
Though bruin on hind legs would rear.

In hunting mink, or fox or coon,
He was a second Daniel Boone,
His rifle oft brought down the deer,
Which to his table brought good cheer.

But through his life his highest aim
Was to kill the savage game,
To track the wild cat to its lair
And see its eyes so fiercely glare.

But he oft longs for a cut ham,
Sweet as from bear near to Putnam,
For he waged his fiercest war
In big swamp of Dorchester.

Now in the winter Dan he rides
Warm 'mong his bear and coon skin hides,
He lets the younger men now snare
The beaver, muskrat and otter.

FIGHT WITH A BEAR IN THE NORTHWEST.

Two youths employed at the fur fort
Resolved to have half day of sport,
From Jasper House, in the far north,
For game they joyous issued forth,
The factor of the Hudson Bay
Granted them a few hours play,
And it was in cold winter time
When thick on lake was glassy rime,
But beneath, o'er all their route,
They saw below big speckled trout,
With hatchet ice they did clear,
And the beauteous trout did spear.

Soon bear they saw and youths did skate,
Resolved for to seal his fate,
A pistol shot made bruin roar,
And from him trickled drops of gore,
They round him skate and fresh blood drew,
When they at him the hatchet threw;
He first chased one and then the other,
For men on skates did him bother,
But the bold Scottish lad McBeth
Alas he nearly met his death,
When he so boldly did press near
To probe with the sharp fish spear.

They knew their game was no trifle,
So they secured a trusty rifle,
Returning he had fled to wood,
But they traced him with his blood,
They saw the elder bushes sway
While he did force through them his way,
They skated swiftly o'er the ice
And were near brushwood in a trice,
Full soon the savage beast is slain
With rifle bullet in his brain,
And now these hunters do take pride
In skin as large as Buffalo hide.

ORIGIN OF THE TOBOGGAN.

I am a hunter by profession,
And when I make this confession,
Of what I saw with mine own eyes,
It may cause you some surprise.

But we at once now you do warn,
That this is not a made up yarn,
It happened in the interior,
Far north of Lake Superior.

When up the hill setting my traps,
I heard on trees peculiar raps,
It made me then attentive hark,
And then I heard pulling off the bark.

It was a bright and pleasant day,
The distance was three miles away,
And it caused me but slight alarm,
When they around bark placed each arm.

And threw the bark o'er their shoulder,
I being a distant beholder
Knew not what end they had in view,
But I must own my wonder grew.

When I saw those men were warm dressed
With good fur robe each one was blessed,
In single file they marched up hill
With strangest thoughts my mind did fill.

When each man in his robe began
With tough bark to make toboggan,
And quick as lightning down they slide,
It seemed to me a dangerous ride.

The spot was covered o'er with hairs,
And it seem'd mixed with blood of bears,
And my two dogs Bull and Daisy,
At sight and scent of it went crazy.

Could none of these been a true man,
Or was I gross deceived by bruin,
It was a long and glassy slide,
Reached far up the mountain side.

They had been first enjoying the fun
Of sliding down on their bare skin,
Until their hide was getting worn,
And their flesh was somewhat torn.

So Bear invented Toboggan,
Which is a blessing to young man,
And the fair maiden by his side,
For both enjoy the pleasant ride.

BEAR AND FALLS.

Strange incidents do happen ever
On the famed Niagara river,
This thought to mind it now recalls
Event three miles above the falls.

Thrilling ventures there abound,
A bear which weighed eight hundred pounds,
Hunters they do him discover
As he was swimming down the river.

They felt he would be glorious prize
This grand fat bear of mighty size,
Three men they jump'd into canoe,
A skilful and determined crew.

Soon alongside of him they row,
But kindly feelings he doth show,
Quick he scrambled o'er the boat side
For to enjoy a good boat ride.

And as o'er the side he straddles
They hit him on head with paddles,
But all in vain, so two of crew
A short time bade the bear adieu.

And soon they swiftly swam to shore,
But current down the river bore
Man, bear and boat, the sound appals
Of roaring mighty water falls.

But vigorous now he plys the oar,
In hopes to safely reach the shore,
But this made bear to grin and growl
And wear on brow a horrid scowl.

So poor man sore against his will
Finds that in boat he must keep still,
Or else be hugged to death by bear,
While sound of falls becomes more near.

But his two friends so brave and true
Row quick 'longside in a canoe,
And fire in bruin leaden balls,
Thus saving friend from bear and falls.

BROKEN RAFT ADVENTURE.

A man on Nova Scotian Bay
On broken raft was borne away,
Right out on the open sea
Where the storm did blow so free,
No shelter from the wind or wave
He thought the gulf would be his grave,
He had no food life to sustain,
He laid him down there to remain,
What happened he did know no more,
But old man on Prince Edward's shore
Saw raft drifting near his shed
And thought the poor man was quite dead,
He called for help and soon they bore
His lifeless body to the shore,
But old man he did them desire
To place the body near the fire,
And wrap it up in blankets warm,
Which did act like to a charm,
And soon the breath it did return,
With gratitude his heart did burn,
To think he was again restored
Unto his friends whom he adored.

FIGHT OF A BUFFALO WITH WOLVES.

A buffalo, lord of the plain,
With massive neck and mighty mane,
While from his herd he slowly strays,
He on green herbage calm doth graze,
And when at last he lifts his eyes
A savage wolf he soon espies,
But scarcely deigns to turn his head
For it inspires him with no dread,
He knows the wolf is treacherous foe
But feels he soon could lay him low,
A moment more and there's a pair
Whose savage eyes do on him glare,
But with contempt them both he scorns
Unworthy of his powerful horns;
Their numbers soon do multiply
But the whole pack he doth defy,
He could bound quickly o'er the plain
And his own herd could soon regain;
His foes they now are full a score
With lolling tongues pant for his gore,
He hears their teeth all loudly gnash
So eager his big bones to crash,
On every side they him infest,
The north, the south, the east, the west
Fierce rage doth now gleam from his eye,
Resolved to conquer or to die,
'Round him they yelp and howl and growl,
He glares on them with angry scowl,
They circle closer him around,
He roars and springs with mighty bound,
And of his powers gives ample proof,
Felling them with horn and hoof,
Though some lay dead upon the plain,
Yet their attack was not in vain,
For they have tasted of his blood,
Resolved it soon shall pour a flood,
He feels that they have torn his hide
And streams gush from each limb and side,
He rushes on them in despair
And tosses them full high in air,
But others rush on him and pull
Down to the earth that glorious bull;
On the flesh of this noble beast
Their bloody jaws they soon do feast,
Full worthy of a better fate
Far from his herd and his dear mate,
Who now do look for him in vain
His bones do whiten now the plain.

BEAR HUNT.

Two youths came over from York state,
Bill Brown and Tom Dawes his mate,
For many months they were wishing
The sport of hunting and of fishing.

They rowed along the lake in punt,
When tired of fishing they would hunt,
At river's mouth they caught fine trout,
In woods close by they saw bear's snout.

In front of her play little chubs,
Fat and slick her darling cubs,
Kind thoughts in their breasts they smother
And cruelly they shoot the mother.

And bullet fearful tore her jaws,
A bloody wound, but with her paws,
Erect in air an awful sight,
She was prepared for her young to fight.

But this did not daunt bold Bill Brown,
With club he tried to knock her down,
But she gave him an awful hug,
With paws she at him fierce did tug.

He would been smothered but for Dawes,
Who rescued him from her great paws,
With club he knocked her on the crown
And thus he saved the life of Brown.

She rose again with savage frown
And quickly broke two ribs for Brown,
His clothes were all torn with her claws,
She smeared with blood both Brown and Dawes.

But Dawes now quick doth end the strife
By stabbing her with hunting knife,
And now around this hunter bold
His bear skin coat keeps out the cold.

COON HUNTING.

Canadians oft by light of moon
Love to go a hunting coon,
But this our tale it is no yarn,
While chopping down tree Henry Karn
Found therein a hollow chamber
Full of coons who there did clamber,
It made them a home superior,
Warm and snug in the interior.

And he did count therein eleven
Who long had found it a safe haven,
But it is sad to read their fate,
For out of them he slaughtered eight.
But trouble to him now occurs
What shall he do with those fine furs,
Shall he grand overcoat display
Or make them into robe for sleigh.

SAILOR'S YARN.