Ai \^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1^ Hi Hi IIIIIM IIM 1^ 112.5 ll£ 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 6" ► 7. <^ /} Photographic Sciences Corporation # 4G-^ #' ,\ :\ V lV «» <> ^ <^ ^ ^^ \ or 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 y^ i «?< CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical IVIicroreproductions / Instltut Canadian de nr>icroreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notas/Notas tachniquas at bibliographiquas Tha Inatituta haa attam^tad tn obtain tha baat original copy availabia for filming. Faaturaa of thia copy which may ba bibjiographically uniqua, which may altar any of tha imagaa in tha raproduction, or which may aignificantiy changa tha usual mathod of filming, ara chackad balow. Q D D D D Colourad covara/ Couvartura da coulaur I I Covara damagad/ Couvartura andommagAa □ Covara raatorad and/or lamlnatad/ Cou - ■V7 C- '%••«-' £'4"-^ ^^, €-^ "" «• ' , ^SAWNEY'S LETTERS AND CARIBOO «• -BY i^*J r«%JAM3BS^^DBRSON. ■•s t:? '' .s-^-'V .'> 'SjBB* -■;';^:^l !f" •' i4»M Iti^*^ -''Si ;% •, XRCHeR B/iLliI>(AHI>''(fH |.X »AWMEY' LETT AND CARIBOO R. IL-i? a o E^ BY JAMES ANDERSON. TOliONTO. ONT. W. S. Johnston & Co'y, Printers and Book Binders. 18»5. 3 "**!, Il^^o^dy's Ldtt^rs, LETTER NO. I. Written February, 1864. Dear Sawney,— I sit doon to write A screed to you by candle light. In answer to your friendly letter — I ne'er had ane that pleased me better. Your letter cam by the Express, Eight shillins carriage— naethin' less. You'll think this awfu' — 'tis, nae doot— (A dram's twa shillins here about) ; I'm sure if Tamie Ha'— the buddy Was here wi' his three-legged cuddy He hauls ahent him wi' a tether, He'd beat the Express, faith a'thegither — To speak o't i' the truest way, 'Tis Barnard's Cariboo Delay. You'd maybe like to ken what pay Miners get here for ilka day. Jist twa pound sterling, sure as death — It should be four— atweeh us baith. For gin ye count the cost o' livin' There's naething left to gang and come on ; And should you bide the winter here, The shoppy-buddies'll grab your gear. And little wark ane finds to do A' the lang dreary winter thro'. Sawney — had ye your tatties here. And neeps and carrots — dinna speer What price— tho' I could tell ye weel, Ye might think me a leein' chiel ; Nae, lad, ye ken I never lee. Ye a'believe that fa's frae me ; Neeps, tatties, carrots — by the pun' Jist twa for a penny — try tor fun How muckle 'twad be for a ton. ?74l:0 SAWNEY'S LETTERS. Aitmeal four skillins, flour is twa, And milk's no to be had ava. For at this season o' the year There's naething for a roo up here To chaw her cua on — sae ye see Ye are far better aff than me — For while you're sittin' warm at hame, And suppin' parritch drooned in crame, The deil a drap o'milk hae I, But gobble up my parritch dry. Of course, I can get butter here, Twal shillin' a pund — it's far oure dear. Aye — a'thing sells at a lang price, Tea, coffee, sugar, bacon, nee, Four shillins a pund, and something mair, And e'en the weights are rather bare — Sie much for prices. Noo for claims ; And first a word about their names. Some folk were sae oppressed wi' wit. They cad' their claim by name "Coo ," And tho' they struck the dirt by name, They ne'er struck pay dirt in their claim. Some ithers made a gae fine joke And christen'd their bit ground "Dead Broke," While some, to fix their fate at once. Ca'd their location "The Last Chance ;" There's "Tinker," ♦' Grizzly,"— losh, what names — There's" Prince o'Wales"— the besto'claims. There's " Beauregard " and " Never Sweat," And scores o 'ithers I forget— The " Richfield " and the " Montreal," They say they struck the pay last fall — But will they strike it in the spring. Aye, Sawney, that's anither thing ; But by-an'-bye they'll ken, nae doot. If they can pump their water oot. Some strike the bed-rock pitchin' in, And some the bed-rock canna win, But ne'er a color can they see, Until they saut it first a wee ; And syne they tell to ilka man. They struck twa dollars to the pan. You'll see't in the Victoria Press As twenty dollars — naething less . Aye, Sawney, here, a wee bit story, Gin aince it travels to Victoria, Is magnified a hundred fold. SAWNEY'S LETTERS. e, me, lar. g mair, t, )0 ," le, aim. "Dead ce;" 1, what 'claims, Sweat," I," 11— The bed-rock here, doon there is gold ; Some folks would manufacture lees To mak' a bawbee on a cheese. Shame on the man who salts a claim, A man he is — but just in name — No manhood's in him, he's a cheat, A smooth, dissembling hypocrite. Who, if he could but gain his end, Would e'en deceive his dearest friend. There is a set o' men up here, Wha never work thro' a' the year, A kind o' serpents, crawlin' snakes, That fleece the miner o' his stakes ; They're gamblers— honest men some say, Tho its quite fair to cheat in play — If it's no KENT o'-I ne'er met An honest man a gambler yet ! O, were I Judge in Cariboo, I'd see the laws were carried thro', I'd hae the cairdso' every pack Tied up into a gunny sack, Wi* a' the^amblers^ chained thegither. And banished frae the creek forever. But, Sawney, there's anither clan. There's none o' them I'd ca' a man. The ca' them "jumpers " — my belief Is — "jumper " simply means a thief; They jump folks' claims, and jump their lots, They jump the very pans and pots ; But wait a wee— for a' this evil — Their friend '11 jump them. He's the deevil ! And sae ye think o' comin' here. And leavin' a' your guids and gear. Your wife, and bairns, and hame ; Ah ! Sawney ! if ye wad listen to advice — And sae ye will, it ye be wise— This country's no for you ava' Sae bide at hame, and work awa'. Ye mauna think we houk up gold, As ye the tatties frae the mould. Gude faith, ye '11 maybe houk a twal mo't An' never even get a glisk o't ! An' then, what comes o' us puir deevils ? We get as thin and lean as weevils ; O' wark we canna get a stroke. We're what they ca' out here " dead brcke," Which means we hinna e'en a groat To line our stomach or our coat ; Sae doon the country we maun gang. fl SAWNEY S LFTTERS. And this the burden o' our sang To ilka anc that comes alang, " Frecnd, be advised, and turn aboot, For Cariboo is noo ' phiy'd out !'" Noo, Sawney, I'll blaw oot the light, I'll finish this some ither night, ril cast my coat and bieeks, that's a', And sleep until the daylight daw. Dear Sa\vnp:y,— I noo tr>k the time To feenish out my thread o' rhyme, But as my bobbin's gettin' bare, I'll no can spin ye muckle mair. An' sae ye're guid auld mither's dead, This aye keeps runnin' in my head. Eh, weel I mind the awfu' lickin' She gaed us twa, for pusie stickin' ! Noo, even whan 1 think o' that, What gar'd her flyte sae 'boot a cat ? An' it had worried oor she rabbit. An' feckly a' the young anes grabbit ; But when ye're mither fand this out, She ca'd the cat a clarty brute. An' as she'd skelpe*^' •> sae cruel, She fill'd our stamachs fu' o' gruel. Aye, Sawney, lad, auld folks maun dee. An' young' anes may — so let us be Two doonright, honest, trustin' men, Syne we'll be ready noo or then. An' ye hae got anither bairn, Anither stane to haip the cairn. Aye, aye, for ilka ane that dees— There's ane, an' mavbe mair, that sees. S-xe dander-headed Smiddy Jock Is rivet'd wi' Maggie Locke ! I canna think hoo she could mairy Sic a blethrin' harum-scairy ; S ime folks dislike what ithers like, An' some see guid in the warst tyke, Sae Maggie may see this in Jonnie, But, certes me, he is no bonnie ! Ye ken I liked this lass fu* weel An' thocht mysel' a happy chiel. Ah, I should ne'er had trusted Mag, She's like her mither Eve — the hag — Wha fell in love, lang time ago, Wi' that auld blacksmith doon below ; Believin' a' his words were true, She put the aiple in her mou', SAWNEY'S LETTERS. e, !S. An' whan auld Aidam she had gotten, They ate it, but they fand it rotten ! They lost the ^uid, an' ^'ot the evil, A' thro' oor niither's bein* sae ceevil ! Ye ken that like produces like, That bees are bred in a bee's byke. Sae evil doon frae Aidam ran A' thro' the veins o' every man, An' woman, too— sae Maggie Locke FORGAT HER JeAMES, AND SPLICED VVl'JOCK ! Thn-i are sorri*; women on this creek, Sae mode...., ...d sae mild and meek ! The Heep red blush aye uents their cheek, Thcv never swear but when they speak. Each ane's a mistress, too, ye '11 find, To mak guid folks think that she's joined In honest wedlock unto one ; " She's yours or any other man's !" But dinna fear, for me at least, I'll never mak mysel' a beast ! But let this drap — "to err is human," An' " Frailty, thy name is woman." " Love in itsel' is very guid. But 'tis by nae means solid fuid "— Whan man and woman 's tied thegither, They are made one till death does sever ; So says the pastor — but is't true ? Has Kate an' you the self same mou ? Whan ye sit doon to eat betimes. Does this same mou' fill baith ye're waimes ? It may be sae, but this I ken, Gif ye war ane, ye noo are ten ; There's Jeames, and Sa\v;ney, Kate and Meg, An' Georgie with the crookit leg. There's Wull and Hairry, Shuse and Jock, Nae langer than his father's sock — An' noo, this other brat ye've got — Oh, Sawney ! faigs, ye shud be shot ! Oure mony bairns — oure mony cares — Oure mony saut and pepper hairs ! twa may mak oot to live as ane By pickin' gae close to the bane. But whan there's mair ye'll find this true, That ilka ane has got a mou ! I'm glad to hear ye hae sic oats, And sold sae weel ye're sax fat stots ; That a' gangs right aboot the fairm, That Tarn's fee 'd for anither term ; w 8 SAWNEY'S LETTERS. An' that ye 're plain's no ahent, That ye could pay the Laird his rent. As water's to a thirsty soul, Or drinkin' toddy frae a bowl — Wi' twa-three freens — sae is guid news To him wha's far frae them he loes. Gie my respecks to ye're guid wife ; If ever I get back to Fife, I'll teach Tier hoo to mak loaf bread, Wi' sour dough— oot o' her ain head ! An' gie my love to a' ye're bairns, To guid John Thampson, o' the Cairns ; To ilka ane that speers for me. My kind regards be sure to gie. An' noo, dear Sawney, naething mair I hae to say, yet canna bear The thocht o finishin' my rhyme, 'Tis like we parted second time ; But I'll no fret — whate'er it seems — Ye ken that I'm ye're true freend Jeames. LETTER II. Written March, 1866. Dear Sawney,— What on airth's the matter, Ye hinna answered my last letter ? A thocht sometimes comes i' my head That my freend Sawney may be dead ; But sic a thocht I canna thole, It grieves my very heart and soul, Air sae I'll banish a'misgivin, — An' tak for granted that ye're livin' — I mind me noo o' the old saw, " That ill news faster rins than a' " Sae if ye're sands o' life had run, I wad a heard o't " sure's a gun." Ye canna surely hae forgot Ye're auld freend Jeames, ye're brither Scot? Ye mind in Rabbie Burns' lays What honest Tarn o' Shantc says • About his ancient, drouthy crony. The decent body, souter johnny ; " Tam lo'ed him like a vera bnther. They had been f ou for weeks thegither. " I weel believe their love wad end. SANWEY S LETTERS. 9 /S ns ; ur \MES. matter, d d; er Scot? Nae surety 's in a whisky freend ; A drunken chiel nae man can trust, His word's as brittle as pie crust. Gie me that freend that ne'erwas fou, And, Sawney, him I fand in you ; A doonright honest, sober man As ever stood upon the ian'. Our love was ne'er begot by drink, But o' a purer stream, I think. We baith were puir in warldly gear, ('* 'Twas poverty that drove me here ") But we were rich in haein' health, Itsel' a very mine o' wealth ; An' something o' as great a worth As ane can ever hae on earth — A heart that thro' misfortunes a' Aye manfully o'ercomes them a' ; An independent mind is what " Maks man the man, for a' that." It's likely ye ne'er got my letter. If this be sae, I'm still your debtor. Or that your answer has miscarried. Or in the michty ocean buried Wi' " Brother Jonathan " that gaed doon Some time last year near Crescent toon. But as we canna help what's gane, I'll try if I can tax' my brain To gie ye a' I ken that's new, In this the land o' Cariboo. ler. But first o' a' anent mysel' A word or twa I'm gaun to tell ; Ye nae doubt think my pouch is lined Wi' gowden dust, in Geordies coin'd. That I'm as rich as any Jew That swindles aff auld claes for new ; Noo, just that ye may ken my story, I'll set my dc in's a' before ye. In '68 I left my hame, In that same year I bought a claim Frae Cameron Jock o' Canada — As smart a lad 's ye ever saw, Wh.v's greatest faut was nane uncommon, A gae strong likin' for a woman ; An ill loon wi' some men was Johnny, Because he had sae muckle money ! But I hae travel 'd near and far, And aften hae I met wi' waur ; ■^he claim he sell't me was nae bad. An' ere three months I siller had. f 10 Sawney's letters. f If 1 Gin next year's spring I tried mv luck At prospeckin', but I got " stuck," An Red Gulch eased me o' my cash ; (I wish I hadna been sae rash !) Weel, I began the warld again, An' warked for months wi' mi^ht an' main. An' whan 'twas drawin' towards the fa' I wasna that ill aff ava ; The '* Camero.i " was my auld stay bye. To feed my pouch when pumiced dry. In '63 I gaea to seek My fortune upon Lightning Creek ; I fell in love — noo dinna start. Dear Sawney, I ne'er lost my heart But aince—" the theft I have lang forgive. Forget the thief — ne'er while I live." But to my tale : I fell in love, O'er head and lugs and hand and glove. An' thocht that name could e'er surpass The tocher o' the '* Ayrshire Lass ;" I tried my best to catch her tin. But ah ! the jade, she took me in ; For four lang months I ran her drift. Then wearied oot, ga' 'er in a gift ! Syne back to Williams I did ca' As puir a chiel 's ye ever saw ; A' summer then I staid at hame. An' warked awa at my auld claim, O' luck I had a real guid streak. Whiles makin' thirty punds a week ; And yet I wasna half content. On prospeckin' I still was bent ; Had shares in a' the kintra side, In shafts gaun 'doon thro' slum and slide ; Thocht ilka day I'd strike it big, Sae didna mind the costs a fig. O ! had I kent what I ken noo, I'd sent my siller hame to you ; For long afore the winter's snaw, My cash took wings and flew awa', And left me e'en withoot a groat. But still an independent Scot. And sae I maun begin anew To fecht the ills o' Cariboo ; •' But freedom's battle once begun, Tho' baffled oft, is ever won." Such, Sawney, is a mining life, Cases like muie are unco rife — In fac' there's dozens livin' here Hae seen hard times for mony a year ; SAWNEY'S LETTERS. 11 main, e. )rgive, ss , slide ; Yet still they wrestle on thro' a', Tho' sometimes they do rin awa'. For whan a man can do nae better, He has to leave the creek a debtor — Altho' I think it is a flicht That's no just a'thegither richt ; Hooe'er sae puir a man may be. His MeTTo should be honesty. Still, here the miner on the whole Is a straight gaun' honest soul, Wha pays his debts baith fair and free, If he's the cash to pay it wi' ! O' mining news I am but scant, There's naething on the creek but want ; In this cauld season o' the year, There's little ane can do up here — An' wark is at sae low a figure As ane wad hardly pay a nigger ! There's naught but care on ilka han', On every hour that passes, O ! An' Sawney, man, we hae nae chance To spark amang the lasses, O ! A warldly race that riches chase, Yet a' gangs tapselteerie, O ! An' every hour we tpend at e'en. Is spent without a dearie, O ! Last simmer we had lassies here Frae Germany — the hurdies, O ! And troth I wot, as I'm a Scot, They were the bonnie hurdies, O ! There was Kate and IMa^y, blithe and airy, And dumpy little Lizzie, O ! And ane they ca'd the Kangaroo, A strappin' rattlin' hizzy, O ! They danced at nicht in dresses light, Frae late until the early, O ! But oh ! their hearts were hard as flint. Which vexed the laddies sairly, O ! The dollar was their onlv love, And that they lo'ed fu' dearly, O ! They dinna care a flea for men. Let them coort hooe'er sincerely, O ! They left tht :reek wi' lots o' gold, Danced frae oor lads sae clever, O ! My blessins' on their " sour krout " heads, 12 SAWNItY'S LETTERS. i i Gif they stay awa for ever, O ! Chorus— Bonnie are the hurdies, O ! The German hurdy-gurdies, O ! The daftest hour that ere I spent, Was dancin' wi'the hurdies, O ! What think ye, Sawney, o' my sang ? A good thing, it's no very lang ; The name IVegied 's "The German Lasses." The air's the same's "Green grows the Rashes," Maun, Sawney, ye wad like to see They way they aance in this kintre They hft the lassies aff their feet In SIC a way that's no discreet — Then a' at aince they let them drap ; Syne ilka lad begins to clap, An' thro' the din, an' fun, an' stoure. Ye '11 hear a voice say " sock it to her !" They whirl them round in waltz and galop, Wi' a real Glengary walop ; They strike their hands, and beat their feet, Then turn aboot, and syne they'll meet ; An' after every dance, just think, They walk up to the bar and drink ! They'll jingle glasses left an' right, Their dollar's gane — then " Gesund act," Gif I get hame, I'll put Meg thro' The way they do in Cariboo ! There's ae amusement here oure rife ('Twad be an unco sin in Fife), Here some ne'er fash their heads ava 'Boot the commands or moral law. If gamblin' be a devil's snare. There's scores around wha dinna care. And if they're caught into the trap. They'll hardly fear the deil a snap. Last night as I was lyin' asleep, I had a dream o' thae black sheep ; I saw kent faces doon below A' glourin' thro' the flarnin' glow. An fiendishly were playin' "poker," Wi' auld Clootie an' his stoker ; Then " freeze-out " spme desir'd to play, The deil consentin', all obey ; An' for the whiskey they that nicht Sat doon to play wi' a' their micht ; But, ah, said Clootie, I've nae water. Nor whiskey, tho' there's mony a mal'ter ; There's in my lar ler some mince pies ! ■: 1 ;s, 0! spent, 2S, 0! « : sses." s the ; SAWNEY'S LETTERS. 13 !" galop, r feet, »t • ct,' lay, I'ter ; s ! " Bully !" an honest miner cries, An' a' the rest were unco glad — (And auld nick's bairns are richlv fed). They play'd for mony an hour that nicht. An' mony a pie was lost to sight. Noo, just as I got thro' my dream, A face I saw I winna name — . 'Twas he who paid foi* a' the pies — An' up his throat came deep drawn sighs. Noo, Sawney, tho' I'm laith to tell, — He was a countryman o' nysel' ; When some folk get awa frae hame They lose a' sense o' sin an' shame. An' sae they care nae hco they're livin', Believin' neither hell nor heaven ! Sma' sins to muckle evils rise, There's danger in auld clootie's pies. We've three toom kirks upon the creek — Oor ministers are a' sae meek — They canna live a year up here, But gang below for warmer cheer ; But maybe this is just as weel, When they're awa' so is the deil. He'll think he has us a' his ain, And for that reason let 's alane An honest man— he's no to blame If he even think the same. For life is such in Cariboo, That ane might weel believe it true ! . B stir we'll try, as " P.abbie " writ, " L.in the corner on him yet." \\ .. h, Sawney, lad, I've said enoo About mysel' an' Cariboo ; Mair reading micht but gie ye trouble, (An' hech ! • the postage wad be double), But yet I maun a word or twa Anent the folks sae far awa' ; . Ah ! Sawney, man, I lang to see The freends at hame sae dear to me ; My guid auld mither, honest soul, Hoo muckle she has had to thole, Frae her wild laddies, thoughtless chiels, (An' some folks ca'd us ne'er-do-weels !) Hoo aften has she ta'en our pairt, Whan faither wad his micht assert, An' 'aff the head, or aff the back Wad screen us frae an unco whack. Oor faither ruled us wi' a whup, But she wi' love — a surer grup ; Whan duty made her thresh us sair, 1 14 SAWNEY'S LETTERS. i She'd aye begin wi' a bit prayer, An' syne she'd tell us that sic evil Wad mak us bairnies o' the deevil ; She'd speak o't till her een were weet, An' then, dear Sawney, we wad greet ; list ane sic tbreshin' irae oor mither Wad mak us guid for weeks thegither. And mony, mony a time since than Has keepit us frae doin' wrang. The threat'nin's o' the moral law Will scarce mak any good ava, But whan love speaks, wha withstand The chastenin's o' sae kind a hand ; Hoo tenderly frae week to week She nursed us baith whan we were sick ! Put a' oor dearest friends thegither, An' Sawney, wha is like a mitner ? Gie my regards to a' at hame. An' tell dear Meg that I'm the same As whan I left the auld countrie, To mak my fortune o'er the sea ; And tho' I'm sair forefoughten, still I'll fecht my way wi' richt guid will. Until auld Scotland sees me back Wi' siller, or without a plack. God bless ye, Sawney, a' ye 're life, Happy at hame, wi' bairns and wife ; At e'enin's whan the fireside gleams Whiles spare a thocht for your friend Jeame«. LETTER NO. III. Dear Sawney.— Little did I think That Eighteen Sixty-seven Wad see me still in Cariboo, A howkin' for a livin'. The first twa years I spent oot here Was nae sae ill ava. But hoo I've lived since syne, my freen' There's little need to blaw ! Like foot-ba' knockit back an' fore, That's lang in reaching goal, Or feather blawn by ilKa wind That whistles 'tween each pole. E'en sae my mining life has been Foo mony a weary day, (Will that sun never rise for me. Sawney's letters. 15 t, t; w HSTAND ND ; ick! nd EAME«. •reen' That sh'nes for makin' hay ?) 'Tis weel for us we dinna ken The future as the past ; Oor troubles wad be doubled then By being sae fore-cast, Unless to us was gi'en the power, Like shelt'rin' frae a shower. To scoug beneath some freendly bield Till ilka blast was oure. Yet man, sae thochtless an' sae rash, Nae doot wad aften sleep, An' like the foolish virgins five. Wad oilless cruises keep, Till vvauken'd by the storms o' life Oure late to rin away ; He'd wish the future had been blank To him, as 'tis to a'. Weel, here at last I'rn workin' oot A lab'rer by the day, 'Mang face-boards, water, slum an' mud. To keep the wolf away ! Adversity's a sair, sair school, An' ane that few can prize, Altho' its hardships aften are But " blessin's in disguise." My sympathies gang wi' the man wha labors for anither, That never kent what 'twas to toil For ten lang hours thegither. Some masters look on workin' men As packers see their trains, But beasts o' burden, naeiiiin mair. For adding to their gains ; But ilka doggie has his day Baith thorough-bred an' cross ; Sae very aft ane sees oot here The mule become the boss ! There's mony a wholesome lessen taught To ane by being " broke," But aye oure readily forgot At the first lucky stroke. Some men weel off in warldly means Are friendship's very sel' As lang as ye are kent to be What folks ca' '' doin' well !" But should ye ever stoop to ask Frae ane the sma'est help, It acts upon them like a stane Thrown at a hameless whelp ! Hoo mony freends the wealthy have, 16 SAWNEY'S LETTERS. Freends o' the sunny hour ! (I've felt this, Sawney, since I stood Bare-headed in the shower). But still I fand a faithfu' few Around rne in my need ; Not rich — but warm and kindly hearts That's weel ca'd "freends indeed." Sometimes I've thocht, on lookin' round, That rogues an' fools thrive maist — While steady, honest, ploddin' men O' fortune hae the least. Tho' 'twad be wrang sae to conclude, Life's no made o' a day. But tak the three-score years an' ten. An' syne the balance weigh, "Appearances do aft deceive," . But here my mind's at rest, That baith o' this world an' the next The upright man has best. Strange v/hat a change a little gold Maks on a little head. That never kent much mair than hoo To chaw its daily bread ! Iv'e seen some chiels weel liked by a' Whan workin' for a livin , Assume mair airs than any daw That ere caw'd under heaven — Whan aince they had a slice o' luck, (And some were raised on parritch), Believe themselves e'en gentlemen ! An' walk'd wi' men o' carritch— But minin' 's like the country here, Has mony an' up an' doon ; Ae day ye're stannin' on ye're feet. The next day on your croon ! Sae thae vain laddies gat a coup, But fell upon their feet ! Their pray'r should be, " O, keep us poor, Or wealth an' wisdom wi' 'it !" I kent a body mak a strike — He look'd a little lord ! An' had a clan o' followers Amang a needy horde. Whane'er he entered a saloon You'd see the barkeep smile — His lordships' humble servant he, Without a thocht o' guile ! A twal months pass'd an' a' is gane, Baith freends an' brandy bottle. An' noo the puir soul's left alane, SAWNEY'S LETTERS. 17 rts ound, le, n. oo ^a' k, D US poor, e, Wi' nocht to weet his throttle ! An' since, I've seen the barkeeper, Wha seem'd sae sweet before, Wi' some persuasion show this chiel The ootsiae o' the door ! Ah ! gold, ^old, gold ! we worship gold- What signihes the man ? Hae ye but siller, ye're a god. Your character wha'd scan ! But be ye poor, then a' maun see What'er ye are aboot ; If there's a "hole in a' your coat," They're sure to find it oot. Yet tak the bawbees frae the ane. An' gie them to the ither, This man will get the warld's hand. And that man its cauld shou'ther ! There's naething like a mining life. In ony trade or art. That Wings to licht sae forcibly Each feelin' o' the heart ; The mean, the selfish, and the proud, Conceited and the vain, Are known by ilka turn they mak In this pursuit o' gain ; While open-hearted, manly souls Made o' finer clay, Tho' strivin' hard for wealth themsels' Help ithers on their way. 'Tis strange, yet true, as soon's a man Has guid luck and weel fares, His friends begin to think him proud. An' gi'en himsel' airs ; Sincerity whiles maks me feel We " saddle the wrang horse," 'Tis we, wha being poor are proud. But he maun get the curse ! Nae doubt there are some men around Wi' self-conceit confined, A consequential body theirs To hide a vacant mind. Puir silly creatures, harmless chiels, O* glory tak your fill ! Thmk highly o' yoursels, my freends, Nae ither body will ! But, Sawney, I could name some men As open as the day ; What matter whether rich or poor, Aye gentlemen are they. What matter tho' the cfaes be fine. 18 SAWNEY'S LETTERS, Or a' their duds threadbare ? 'Tis no the coat that reads the man, The heart's the dial there ; But somehoo, Sawney, as a class Their " backs are at the wa'." 'Tis may be, as a miner said, " Because their brains are sma' ;" Owre sma' to steal, owre sma' to cheat. To gain wealth by a lee. If this be what the wise man meant, May aye their brains be wee ! Amang the hunders livin' here, There's barely ten per cent, That shun the vice o' cards an' dice. Such is the natural bent. I ken some men, aye an' respeck'. Are gamblin's abject slaves, (O, would they only pause an' think. Life ends not in their graves.) There's mony a debt maun gang unpaid, An' mony a promise broken. To gratify an appetite For ever, ever croakin' ; The law can never mak a saint, Hoo'eer severe it be — But gamblin's as a vice affects A whole community. We want an Alderman like " Cute," To " put this nuisance down," Or a grand jury wi' a will To drive it to the groun', Yet gamblers indirectly help To furnish the exchequer. They're prized by mony a whiskey shop As cargoes to a wrecker ; Sae men in power maun shut their een — In fact they dinna care As lang 's the revenue is rais'd. Whether foul the means or fair. Puir honor to be ruled by some Aristocratic swells, Wha guide the reigns o' government Just as it suits themsels ! But " shadows o' a great event," Foreshadow changes near. And Cariboo shall bless the day Proclaims " Dominion " here — A star has risen i' the east, An' on its disc " salvation !" Its ring around wi' letters bound SAWNEY'S LETTERS. 19 heat, t, :e, ik, inpaid, y shop ir een— nent Shines forth " Confederation !" The ".brightest gem in Britain's crown," Is Canada's domain, And when 'tis anchored in the seas, 'Twill strength as lustre gain. There's neither kirk nor Sunday here, Altho' there's mony a sinner ; An' if we're steep'd in a' that's bad. Think ye there's muckle win'er ? There is a little meetin' house That's ca'd the Cambrian Ha', Its members few — but these I view As saut preservin' a' — But if we hinna got a kirk, We hae anither oiggin', (Altho it may nae point sae clear The way abune the riggin',) That gies amusement to the boys, An' brings them a' thegither That gies amusement to the boys, An' brings them a thegither Ae nicht a week foi twa short hours, To laugh wi' ane anitliei. I dinna ken what name to gie'd, A " Play-house " ye despise. Would "Amateur Dramatic Ha' " Look better in your eyes ? You Sawneys are a moral folk, Altho' ye will get fou ! 'Twad do ye a' a sight o' guid, Twa years in Cariboo ! 'Twas my intent to show you a' The hardships o' this life. But second thochts hae changed my mind, For ye wad tell ye're wife ! And weel ye ken that women's tongues Are common to ilk ither ; . An, ere a week or sae was owre. She'd claik it to my mither — Puir body, wha wad grieve her heart, By adding to her care — He's but a coward at the best, Wha troubles canna bear. Your letters, Sawney, are a'boon, An' postage now is less, An' Barnard's Cariboo " Delay," Can fairly claim " Express." Be sure an' write me ev'ry month, If naething but '• cauld kale." If Anything repeated. r- li' i I i 20 SAWNEY's LETT'JRS. To see hoo rruch hame news is prized, Read WAITING FOR THE MAIL. Man's life is like a medley. Composed of many airs, Which make us ^lad or make us sad, And oft our laughter dares ; E'en so our hearts have many cords And strains of light and strong. Which make us glad or make us sad, Like changes in the song; Our smiles and tears, our hopes and fears, Our sorrows never fail — But ev'ry heart knows not the smart Of waiting for the mail. A teamster from the Beaver Pass — " What news of the Express ?" " 'Twas there last night, if I heard right; 'Twill be in to-day, * I guess.' " A miner, next on William Creek Arrived, from wint'ring south, " He heard some say 'twould be to-day Expected at the Mouth," But here comes Poole, in hast his rule — " Hallo ! what of the mail ?" From him we learn, with some concern, "Just two days out from Yale !" Ah ! waiting is a weariness, " The Express is at Van Winkle !" This makes the face deny the case. And quite removes the wrinkle. A few hours more — a great uproar — The Express is come at last ! An Eastern mail, see by the bale, As " Sullivan " goes past; An now, an eager, anxious crowd Await the letter sale. Postmaster curst — their " wrath was nurs'd" By waiting for the mail. " Hurrah !" at length the window's up — " There's nothing, * John,' for me ?" John knows the face — the letter place— '' Two bits on that," says he. And many come and many go, In sorrow or delight. While some will say, " their 's met delay," Whose friends forgot to write ; SAWNEY'S LETTERS. 21 ized, .IL. lad, ds >ad, and fears, art d right ; to-day rule — Dncern, >» e, x — was nurs'd' r's up — e?" place— ;t delay," An anxious heart, who stands apart, Expectant of a letter, With hopeful mind, but fears to find Some loved one still his debtor. The day is pass'd, the office closed, The letters are delivered. And some have joy with out alloy, While some fond hopes are shivered ; A sweetheart w- 1 — a dear friend dead. Or closer tie is uroken ; Ah ! many an ache the heart may take By words tho' never spoken. But whether good or bad the news, This happens without fail— Your letter read— the fire is fed For waiting on the mail. An' noo, dear Sawney, "Fare thee weel !" Tho' we can never meet, Ye'll hae o' h'ltr share o' my heart. As ye hae o' this sheet. My fondest hope is but to find Some hearts as leal an' true 'Mang Scotland's hills an' Scotland's dales'. As friends in Cariboo. PROLOGUE. SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE THEATRE, BARKERVILLE, SATURDAY, JANUARY 16th. 1869. Twelve months ago — 'twas on that social night. When cares are buried, and when joys are bright— When mirth and pleasure hail the new-born year. And friends endeavor to provide good cheer, Our first debut was made in scenic art — With falt'ring accents, and with beating heart, Like a young child, whose mother's arms were all The feet he knew — now walks, yet fears to fall— We came before you, nerves and feelings strain'd. ^ 22 PROLOGUE. Till step by step your confidence we gain'd ; And when your plaudits struck the anxious ear, Care trembling fled, pursued by tim'rous fear, We called you friends, the friends we know you now ; Pleased when you smile, and gratified, we bow. The year sped on ! and many an hour we spent In mutual pleasures, for our hearts were blent— And spoke of more to come— the night was fix'd— Man's cup of pleasure is with sorrow mix'd, " He may propose, but One disposes all, Without Whose will not e'en the sparrows fall "- For ere the sun had risen on that day Our city smould'ring in its ashes lay. But not to linger on so sad a tale, The storm is cer', and past the scorching gale. Our city stands rebuilt — tho' built in haste — A credit to your energy and taste. And here to-night, within this spacious hall, Built by kind labor volunteered by all We meet again— and by your beaming eyes You're pleased once more to see the curtain rise. Whom shall we thank, when thanks to all are due — We'd rob the many, if we prais'd the few — That man who nailed a board upon this frame. Can say, " I built it," and he builds his fame ! And now kind friends we look for your applause, Nor hide displeasure— when you see just cause 'Tis easy finding fault, but you will try. To view our failings wi*^h a friendly eye. If we afford you pleasure for an hour, Our objects gained tho' critics may talk sour We might say more but deeds, are better far, " Where still the waters, deep the channels are ;" * The performance was, " Still Waters run Deep." DEAD BROKE. ' HARD LUCK. 28 we gain'd ; le anxious y tim'rous s we know atified, we n hour we earts were ; night was rrow mix'd, Dses all, le sparrows day lay. I e scorching t in haste — e. )acious hall, by all earning eyes ; the curtain hanks to all i'd the few— d upon this e builds his ok for your ^ou see just will try, \dly eye. hour, [cs may talk ire better far, the channels 3 run Deep." ! Be you the laughing brooks 'mid sunny beams, And we the fountains that supply the streams ; And may the current, bright, unsullied, flow. In rills of pleasure to the house below. DEAD BROKE. Dead broke ! dead broke !— aft said in joke, Sae truth is sometimes spoken ; But to the man " wha bears the gree," 'Tis onything but jokin'. Aiild tattered claes, an' girnin' boots, Admittin' A^ind an' weather. Like freends that stood — whan he was guid — But no a' gang thegither. Dead broke ! dead broke ! words eas'ly spoke. But ah ! to feel their meanin' ; Without a penny in ye're pouch, Or yet a freendly leanin' ; With out a credit at a store. But wi' an empty larder ! For wark— desire — yet nane to hire Can life be muckie harder ? Dead broke ! dead broke ! — a gae sair stoke, An' unco hard to thole ; But wi' a will, determid'd still, We'll warstle thro' the hole. An' should it ever be oure lot To meet wi fortune's smile. Whan we foregather some poor chiel, Let's help him o'er the stile. HARD LUCK. Last night I sat and watch'd Beside a comrade's bed — An' a' was still, within an' out, Save the watch-beat overhead ; My thochts gaed back and fore, Frae now lo " ould lang syne," — Till a' resolved to this at last, *• Was ever luck like mine ?" A voice then struck my ear — Sae weary an' sae wae — In words I couldna choose but hear, II " i 24 RESIGINATION. And " helpless," thrice did say ; I mark'd the sufferer's face, Read pain in ilka line — A taunting spirit in me asked, " Was ever luck like thine ?" This touch'd me to the heart — I weaken'd richt awa — I couldna thole to see my case Compared wi' his ava. And sae a lesson's taught, That we should never tine — However hard your lot may be, There's ithers waur than thme ! RESIGNATION. Winds are grieving, summer's leaving, And my hopes are leaving too ; Hopes Spring gladdens — Autumn saddens — " Why does Autnmn change their hue ?" Ah! "why they change," does this seem strange? Summer needs no blanket coat ; Bees have honey — you have money — I at sea in open boat ! Winter's calling, leaves are falling, And I tremble at the sight ; Snow-capp'd mountains, frozen fountains — '* Why snould dead leaves give you fright ?" Ah ! you task me, you who ask me, For to feel another s smart You must borrow from his sorrow, And his hardships share a part. " But your reason, tells the season Of green leaves shall come again ; Hopes now sadden'd will be gladden'd, Then why nourish needless pain ? "What can't be cured must be endured." Thanks, my friend ; give me your arm. Your bread I'll share — you well can spare Till the spring renews the charm. THE PROSPECTOR'S SHANTY. See yonder shanty on the hill; 'Tis but an humble biggin', Some ten by six within the wa's — Your head may touch the riggin' — I SONG OF THE MINE. 25 laddens — tiue ?" this seem r— luntains — u fright ?" en'd, dured." arm, in spare NTY. The door stands open to the south, The fire, outside the door ; The logs are chinket close wi' fog — And nocht but mud the floor — A knife an' fork, a pewter plate. An' cup o' the same metal, A teaspoon an' a sugar bowl, A frying pan an' kettle ; The bakin' board hangs on the wa', Its purposes are twa-fold — For mixing bread wi' yeast or dough, Or panning oot the braw gold ! A log or twa in place o' stools, A bed withoot a hangin'. Are feckly a' the furnishin's This little house belangin' ; The laird and tenant o' this sty, I canna name it finer, Lives free an' easy as a lord, Tho' but an "honest miner." SONG OF THE MINE. Drift! Drift! Drift! From the early morn till night. Drift ! Drift ! Drift ! From twilight till broad-day light. With pick, and crow-bar and sledge, Breakmg a hard gravel face ; In slum, and water and mud. Working with face- board and brace ; Main set, false set, and main set — Repeated, shift after shift — Day after day the same song — The same v/earisome Song of the Drift. Run ! Run ! Run! Rush to the shaft the rich pay ! Backward and forward in haste — Watching the track by the way — Run ! Run ! Run ! In a kind of nervous dread, Fearing that ' ' cap '.' that oft makes A batt'ring ram of your head ; This "curve,"— that b-^dly built "switch," Look out ! you know what they are. Run ! Run ! thro' all the long day, Sings this hasty Song of the Car. fff - m i\ h' 26 LIFE LIKE A RIVER. Hoist ! Hoist ! Hoist ! No music there is in that sound ! Hoist ! hoist ! hoist !— Impatient voice underground ! You may wish your arm a crank Attachea to a water wheel ! With no acking bones at night, Nor a weary frame to feel — Tis vain ! Hoist ! Hoist away ! Hoist ! — The dirt comes heavy and moist, And thirty buckets an houi " Foot " to the tune of Hoist ! Hoist ! Wash ! Wash ! Wash ! And rattle the rocks around. Is the song the Dump-box sings, So cheery the whole week round ; And on Sunday " clean me up," And gather the precious " pay." " Better the day— better the deed," Should read, better the deed — the day ! Now say, what have you " wash'd up ?" Small wages — well, never repine — You know, we'll do better next week ! And so ended the Song of the Mine. .' LIFE LIKE A RIVER. Bright river ! flowing from the spring, Bubbling from the fountain — Lauging, leaping over rocks — Tumbling down the mountaii — Rushing wildly thro' a canyor. — Now plunging over falls — Past the woodlands and the lowlands- Now greeting cots and halls. Thro' the meadows quietly stealing, Now Gliding to the sea — Gliding onward to the ocean Of Immensity. Life, like a river at its source Seems but a pleasant stream — But soon, the canyon of our youth Proves opening life a dream ; The falls of manhood's early days Fast follow boyhood's years. But smooth our future journeyings A RETROSPECT. 27 Thro'out this vale of tears — Till in the meadows of old age, Life's river flowing free — Flowing onward to the ocean Of Eternity. )ist !- It! A RETROSPECT. day ! up?" !ek ! e. mg. rids g. *' Life Is real, life Is earnest, And the grave Is not Its goal." Strange what a change a few short years Make on that creature — man A wiser, better change ? How rare Such changes in this life's plan ; On looking back, how short the time Appears to you and me. Since we found happiness in homes Of stern morality. Six days a week to labor giv'n. And one— from cares opprest — And when the Sabbath bells rung out. We went — you know the rest — But mark our present way of life, Compare it with the past— Oh ! Mem'ry, while you pain, bring back Those joys — no sorrows blast — For pleasures are but "fleeting forms" On "angel wings " of flight ; Like tropic climes— where brighter day But leaves the darker night — For what is life— a little lake, A span from shore to shore ! A miner's cabin, but a step From bedstead to the door ! When death records that "wee hill claim," 'Tis not our last condition — The tombstone's but the title-page Of life— -a new edition. Then, come resolve, and prudence come, Since longest life is brief ! And when the book of time's unclasp 'd Unspotted be each leaf. I!!; THE ROUGH BUT HONEST MINER. Air—" Castles in the Air." SUNG BY MR JAMES ANDERSON, AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, BARKERVILLE, 13TH FEB., 1869. The rough but honest miner, Wha toils night and day, Seeking for the yellow gold. Hid amang the clay — Howkin' in the mountain side. What does he there — Ha ! the auld " dreamer's" " Biggin' castles in the air.,' His weather-beaten face, An' his sair-worn hands Are tell-tales to a' O' the hardships he stands ; His head may grow gray, And his face fu' o' care. Hunting after gold, " Wi' its castles in the air." He sees an auld channel. Buried in the hill, Fil'd fu' o' nuggjets— Sae gaes at it wi' a will. For Tang weeks and months, Drifting late and air'. Cutting out a door To his "castle in the air "— He hammers at the rock, Believin' its a rim, When ten to ane 'tis naething But his fancy's whim — Sure when he gets thro' 'S Bspgn m CARIBOO SONGS. 29 T MINER. Am." N, AT THE VILLE, He'll find his hame-stake there ; There's miners mair than ane, Built this " castle in the air." He thinks his "pile" is made, And he's gaein' name gin fa'— He joins his dear auld mither, His faither, freends and a' His heart e'en jumps wi' joy. At the thochts o' bein' there, Ane's mony a happy minute "Biggin' castles m the air." But hopes that promised high, In the spring time o' the year. Like leaves o' autumn fa' When the frost o' winter's near ; Sae his biggin' tum'Ies doon, Wi' ilka blast o' care, 'Till there's no a " stane left stannin," O' his " castle in the air." " Toiling and sorrowing, On thro' life he goes ; Each morning sees some work begun, Each evening sees it close " — But he has aye the grit, Tho' his " tum-tum " may be sair. For anither year is coming, Wi' its " castles in the air." Tho' fortune may not smile Upon his labors here. There is a warld abune. Where his prospects will be clear— If he now accept the offer O' a stake beyond corilpare — A happy hame for aye, Wi'a "castle in the air." CASTLES IN THE AIR. WORDS BY JAMES BALLANTYNE. The bonnie, bonnie bairn, ^ Wha' sits pokin' in the aise, Glow'rin at the fire. Wi' his wee round face Laughin' at the fuffiin' lowe, What sees he there, Ah ! the youi g dreamer's 30 CARIHOO SONGS. ! i ■i i Biggin' castles in the air. His wee chubby face, An' his touzie curly powe, Are laughin' and noddin' To the dancing lowe — He'l brown his rosy cheeks, An' he'l singe ' sunny hair, Glow'rin at thvj imps Wi' their castles in the air. He bees muckle castles Tow'rin' to the moon — He sees wee sodgers Pu'in' them a' doon — Worlds whom'lin' up and doon — Blazin' wi' a flare. Ah\ How he loups. As they glimmer in the air ; For 't' sae sage he looks, Eh ! what can the laddie ken ? He's thinkin' upon naething, Like mony michty men ; A wee thing maks us think. And a sma' thing maks us stare ; There's mair folk than him Biggin' castles in the air. Sic a nicht in winter May weel mak him cauld ; His chin upon his buf^y hand, Will soon mak him auld. His broo is brent sae braid — ! pray that Daddy care Would let the wean alane, Wi' his castles in the air. He'll glow'r at the fire, An' he'll keek at the licht, But mony a sparklin' star Has been swallow'd up by nicht ; Aulder een than his Has been glamour'd by a glare — Hearts are broken, heads are turned, Wi' castles in the air. fi^ Ml I Y A CARIBOO SONGS. 31 YOUNG TED BROWN. SUNG BY MR. JOHN HUDSON AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, BARKERVILLE, ON NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1867. Air—** Riding on a Railroad Car." Young Ted Brown was a fine young man. At Westminister he staid — He used to attend the The-a-tre, And ran with the Fire Bri^^ade. Ted, he took the Cariboo fever — Folks said he was a fool — But he rolled up his blankets, And started up the river, Riding on his old pack mule. Chorus— "But he rolled," etc. Now, when he got up to the Mouth, And saw the piles or gold Staked on cards and won so free, Like '49, — days of old — Ted staked and lost the usual way — But he took all this quite cool, And he rolled up his blankets, And started on his way Riding on his old pack mule. Chorus — " And he rolled," etc. Next day he got to Williams Creek, Tho' he had ne'er a dime — -. But he made a pile within a week, And left in double-quick time — Now you may see him at the play any night, To enjoy himself is his rule ; He wears boiled shirts, and I saw him yesterday, A riding on his old pack mule. Chorus — " He wears," etc. Anonymous. I ENCORE VERSES. Now, ladies an' gemmen, at your request I have come back again — Your approbation does me proud, And tre-men-di-ously vain — 82 CAKIHOO SONGS. I wish I had but Teddy's luck And my dust all safe with Poole, I'd give a nugget to each one here, Then ride off on my old pack-mule. But Teddy's case was a singular one, And most unlike to mine ; For I've been years in Cariboo, But all in the ciead broke line. I've staked and lost, like Teddy, too, And many another fool — For the man who bets at the Faro-bank, Will ne'er ride on an old pack-mule. And now, dear gals, may it be your lot To enjoy a happy New Year, And get some dear Teddy for your " Scot," Or like " Jack before you here. I wish I were in old England, With a good wife me to rule, I'd bless the times in Cariboo, When I rode on an old pack mule. I LOE NAE A LADDIE BUT ANE." m : iff ill " I loe nae a laddie but ane. An he loes nae a lassie but me ; He's willing to mak me his ain, And his ain I'm willing to be."— Burns. He gave me a bonnie gold ring, Wi' my name initial'd mside — It was a dear present to bring, Oh, he is my darling and pride. Chorus—" I loe nae a laddie," etc. Let ither men travel on " style," And boast o' their high pedigree ; My laddie can look on and smile, For a true honest miner is he. He works ilka day i' the week, An' the " cradle " keeps rockin* awa — And altho' he's his livm' to seek, He's never ashamed o't ava. Chorus — " I loe nae a laddie," etc. Ye laddies wha sigh for a smile. Just gie me a dollar or cheque, I'll throw you a look without gile, That will set a fine *' bend in your neck," But I'll gie my dear laddie my love. In CARIBOO SONGS. B8 An it's just as little's I can, For in a'thing we gan^ hand and glove, An he'll soon be my ain gudenian ! Chorus — " I loe nae a laddie," etc. THE YOUNG MAN FROM CANADA. Air—" Young Man from the Countree." k," I'm a young man from Canada, Some six feet in my shoes — I left my home for Cariboo, On the ftrst exciting news. In New York city there was a gent Introduced himself to me ; Said I, I come from Canada, So you can't come over me. Chorus — " Said I," etc. I sailed in the crazy " Champion," All in the steerage, too ; I thought I'd got among the F"iends, Or other horrid crew. If you had only seen them feed — It quite astonished me — Ana I'd been years in Canada, In a lum-bcr-er's shantee. Chorus — '* I said," etc. Of all the dangers that befell — And of all the jolly sprees, That happened me upon the breasts Of two tre-men-di-ous seas, I will not now stop to relate. Lest it should weary thee ; I'm a young man from Canada, Arrived at Douglas-ee. Chorus — " I'm a young man," etc. With seventy-five upon my back, I started right away ; And at an easy-going pace. Made thirty miles a day — I landed here, without a dime, In 1863 ; But being raised in Canada, 'Twas nothing new to me ! Chorus — " But being raised," etc. . ii 31 CARIHOO SONGS. !) ' t i ii In best of home-spun I was clad, So I was warmly chest ; The wool it grew near Montreal, Sit-u-ate in "Canada West" ! On Williams Creek they call'd me green, And "Jonnie come late-lee." Said I, I am from Canada — I ain't from the old countree. Chorus—" Said 1," etc. I started in my mining life. By chopping co-ord-wood ; But I was born with axe in hand, So I could use it good. My chum was from the Stale of Maine, Somewhere near Tennessee ! ! But ah, I was from Canada — And he couldn't chop with me. Chorus—" But, ah," etc. In a short time I made a "raise," And bought into a claim, And there they made me engineer. Or carman — 'tis the same — The drifters then did try it on. To boss it over me ! Said I, I come from Canada, And I'm on the shoulder-ee. Chorus-" Sai I," etc. After two wcol, > i had a " div," Which drove away all care ; And I went to " Bob," the " Wake-up's," And had a bully "square ;" Then danced all night, till broad daylight. And one gal smiled sweet on me — Said I, I am from Canada, And I'm on the marry-ee ! Chorus — " Said 1," etc. I fitted up my cabin slick — Fine fixins all about — I thought the blue-eyed, fair-haired gal, Wouldf nicely set it out. But when I asked her for to wed, She only laughed at me ; So this young man from Canada Was let out by a shee Chorus — •' So this," etc. Now you young men, who are in love — And sure I am there's some — CARIh(K) SONiJS. 85 Don't count ycur chicks before they're hatched, For they may never come ; And should a gal give you one smile, Don't fancy that she's " stuck," Or you'll find " a soft spot in your head," As did this brave Can-uck. Chorus— "Or you'll," etc. THE DANCING GALS OF 1860. OF CARIBOO, e— TO THE SAME AIR. We are dancing girls in Cariboo, And we're liked by all the men, In gum boots and a blanket coat — And e'en the u[)per ten ! We all of us have swee-eet-hearts, Hut the dearest of all to me ! Is that young man who wistfully Casts those sheep's-eyes at me ! Chorus — " Is that young man," etc. O ev'ry night at eight o'clock, We enter the saloon — Altho' it may be vacant then, 'Tis crowded very soon. Then all the boys they stare at us, But we do not mind that so Like those four-and-twenty Welshmen, All sitting in a row. Chorus — '* Like those " etc. O, what a charming thing it is. To have a pretty face — To know that one can kill as well In calico as lace ; We steal the hearts of everyone, But the dearest of all to me. Is that dear boy with the curlj' head, Who loves me faithfully, Chorus — '* Is that dear boy," etc. To all the boys of Cariboo, This moral — which is right — From the dancing gals of Cariboo, You may see on any night — "Before we either give our hearts, Or yet our sympath-ee. 36 CARIBOO SONGS. You must be like this dear young man, Who spends his all on me !" Chorus — " You must," etc. SINCH. I I M I' l' \\,m '. i! i Air—" The Mousetrap Man." Now kind friends attention and list to my song, 'Tis neither too short, nor yet very long — It's all of a little game play'd on this creek, Ev'ry hour of the day, and every day in the week — Some play for pastime, and some play for beer. Some play because a dear bar-maid is near ; But only the Scotchman can play the game right, tor Sawney hates " scinching," but loves to get tight. CHORUS. Sinch, sinch, who'll take a hand, Sinch, sinch, sinch, who will play ; Drink brandy or rum, or lager who may, Sinch for hot whiskey — hot whiskey 1 11 play. Now give us two beans, and throw round for the deal. This game's on the square, boys, so no one may steal : Ah, 'tis my sell, now who will buy me — Slow Sawney says, " one," while Paddy .«avs "three." I can make three myself, I don't know what to do, But I'll take the beans, Pat, seeing it's you ; So Paddy gets " sinch'd " — he has only High Jack — While Sawney says " bar keep, hot whiskey I'll tak !" Chorus—" Sinch, sinch," etc. Then we play'd to sinch Sawney, but the rogue he was shy, And long ere each game closed, auld Sawney was dry ; But after ten rounds his eyelids were clinch'd, And Sawney unconscious, was thoroughly sinched. CARIBOO SONGS. 87 for says what you} High We played all that night, and next morning was found On a bench by the stove, Sawney sleeping Quice sound. Till a lall on the floor, half awakened the Scot, And he hiccup'd out "barkeep gie me whiskey hot." Chorus — " Sinch, sinch," etc. There's some things I see, I can't well explain. How some men can drink, who ne'er treat again — And breakfast at home on a chip of dry toast. To dine at a restaurant on pudding and roast While others around play billiards and sport, Without any visible means of support — And often play sinch without even a red. And sometimes, like Sawney, go drunk to their bed. Sinch, sinch, who hasn't been sinched, Sinch'd, sinch'd in a dollar or two — The barkeep, the baker, the miner, the Jew, Have each one beer, sinched by rough Cariboo. COME BA^K FARO. Air— "Pet»i;r Gra-y." I'll sing you now a mournful song, ^'. "^ a fine old man, Who liv'd some years in Cariboo, All by his sleight of han'. CHORUS. Come back, Faro, come back Faro, pray. Or I'll sing tooral la de O ! Sing tooral la de A ! Altho' he lay in his bcJ all day, He was wide awake at night ; And when the luck was on his side, His face beam'd with delight. Chords. — " Come back. Faro," etc. 38 CARIBOO SONGS. I've often watched his little game, And even been case-keeper ; And tho' his eyes were pretty sharp, • I've sometimes " snailed a sleeper." Chorus — "Come back, Faro," etc. At times he'd grumble of hard luck, And say he'd ne'er a dollar — Yet he lived jolly as a lord, And wore a paper collar. Chorus — " Come back, Fa'"0," etc. Ah, many a time he found me grub. When I had ne'er a red — Now I must work ten hours a day. Since good old Faro's dead. Chorus — "Come back. Faro," etc. But what is worse, I dare not dance, Mor squeeze a little paw — I'll tell the reason, but "ddn't ment'cb," I cannot " shoot my jaw." Chorus — " Come back. Faro," etc. Some say old Faro was a rogue, Tho' 'tis not my belief ; But if he were — then I am sure Young Lansquenet's a thief. Chorus — "Come back, Faro," etc. Whate'er you were, oM Faro, dear, I'll not detame the dead — Your ghost might haunt me some cold night. And " freeze me out" in bed. CHORUS. Good bye. Faro, good bye old Faro, dear, And may you strike it in White Pine, And we mav strike it here. I !tl I BELONG TO THE FIRE BRIGADE. Air—" Riding on a Railroad Car." Oh ! I belong to the Fire Brig -'e, "And don't you think I ovght to ".' A prettier boy was never maue. My uniform I bought too ! My shirt of wool, in scarlet dyed. And pants and belt agree — With helmet hat, and badge on that, CARIBOO SONGS. 39 night, ear, iDE. VR. Of the W.C.F.B. Chorus—" With hehnet hat," etc. We have an engine house, for show, A stable — but no 'oss — Which grieves me very much indeed, And makes me rather cross. We are to have tanks on the hill, And trust to luck for wa (r) ter — Were the choice mine, I'd have engine, Arid look to Heav'n 'arter ! Chorus — " Were the choice mine. " etc. I know, hydraulics is the thing, To break a gravel bank — And very soon would drown a fire — Tho' I don't like the " tank." But still I'll muster with the boys, For we should pull together, "No trog nor mouse" shall burn a house, Our Fire Brigade forever ! Chorus — " No frog nor mouse," etc. "THE FLOWER OF GERMANY." A: R— "Captain with his Whiskers." Y'u ir.riy sing of "Annie Laiirie," Or f "Emma of the Rhine," Or " the lass that loves the sailor," I will sing of Kitty mine. You may love the " English Rose," Or the brave "Old Scottish Chief." Or the " Shamrock " of the " Isle.'^ Or the bonnie " Maple Leaf ;" But, tho' dear the emblem be. Thou art dearer far to me, Bright, merry, laughing Katy, 'he " Flow'r of Germanie ;" And my feet are " on the dance," And my heart is full of glee, When Katie, little Katie, " Casts a sly glance on me." You may fancy ballet dancers, In their snowy clouds of lace. My Katie, in her calico, ■ For me has ev'ry grace ; Her step is lighter than the deer. 40 CARIBOO SONGS. I ! : ll I '!' 1 : Upon the heather bell, And sweeter is her bieath than those Sweet violets in the Jell, And she trips it light and gay. Like a fairy in the ring, And her waltzing, smoothly glides Like a bird upon the wing ; t- ' "ig of " Annie Laurie,"— i rather Scotch for me — I '* sour krout and lager beer," Ana " Ye Flow'r of Germanic." BAR-ROOM SONG. Am—" 1<0R A' That, an' a' That." i . Hurrah ! tur rum and whiskey hot, That fires the brain, an' a' that ! The sober man, we pass him bye, We dare be drunk, for a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that ! Tumble, rough, an' a' that ! The mind is out the weak man's plea ; The Muscle's man for a' that ! See ye that miner — in his cups — Wi' shou'thers broad an' a' that ! Wha calls himsel' a man o' micht, O' principle, an' a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that ! Paper collars, an' a' that ; The man that's on the shoulder, he Keeps his ain side for a' that ! Tho' gold may buy a man good claes, May steal his sense, an' a' that ! It's only Muscle wha can win His battles ain, an' a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that ! Their billiards, balls, an' a' th,at ! Whan Muscle taks the cue, he breaks Baith heads an' balls, an' a that ! Then let us pray that come it may, *• As come it will," for a' that ! Micht shall be richt the warld o'er, In dance, saloon, an' a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that ! Hurrah ! for hell, an' a' that ! ! Let's drink and fight, and gourge and bite, We're gentlemen tor a' that ! CARIBOO SONGS. G. N. B. Rejoice, young man, whan in ye're prime, Live fast, get drunk, an' a' that ! Auld age, should you e'er live to see't. Will put an end to a' that ! For a' that, an' a' that ! Ye'Il pay the debt for a' that ! Whan nature's sel' demands o' you, A true account o' a' that ! CHEER, BOYS, CHEER. Am— "Toll the Bell." bite, Come, miners, listen to my song — A song I sing for you, To cheer you on your rough hewn way. While here in Cariboo ; Tho' hard the lot of "cruel fate," Hopes lost — fall after fall — And " Hard Times " for a cabin mate, Still persevere thro' all. chorus. Cheer up, my boys, let not your courage fail. But spread your canvass open to the gale ; You know not how soon the fav'ring breeze may steer, Then sing to-day with hearts so gay, cheer, boys cheer. The sailor braves the stormy sea, And dares the angry wave — And the soldier fights for glory. That finds him in the grave. More daring still, the miner's strife, In scaling Fortune's height— For in the " battle-fleld of life," His is the hardest fight. Chorus — " Cheer up, my boys," etc. Tho' sick the " tum-tum " of your heart. From oft depressing blows — Ah, never, boys, thro' up the sponge, Till death your eyes do close — Tho' dark the future may appear, The sky with clouds o'ercast. The sun that's shirting in the rear. Will burst the veil at last. Chorus — " Cheer up, my boys," etc. !!' 42 CARIBOO SONGS. THE SPRING FLOWERS. Air—'* The Midges' Dance." The miner leads a weary life, In search o' hidden gain — For year by year he reaps a crop O' trouble, care and pain — But still unmindfu' o* the past, O'. storms that round him blaw, He's ne'er cast down by Fortune's frown, But struggles on thro' a'. When nature bursts her icy robe, Aiid shews her " mantle green," The miner's hopes, like flowers o' spring. Enliven ilka scene — And something whispers in himsel'. ** Ye'U hae guid luck this year," Sae throws his pack upon his back, Nor thinks the load severe. Th'- summer comes and passes bye, Aince mair returns the fa' Aince mair the pack is on his back, A heavy load — tho' sma' — Cauld winter, wi' his icy breath, Mair ills than " Zero " bring ; Wi' show'rs o' snaw he buries a* The miner's flow'rs o' spring! ANTHEM FOR THE DOMINION OF CANADA. God bless our native land, Our own Dominion land, God bless our land ; May she united be, Wall'd in by sea an sea — Emblem of purity — God bless our land. May she be leal and true, Mother-land dear to you, In weal or woe — Till a vast nation grown, Ably to hold her own, Supporting the ancient throne 'Gainst every foe. May all her laws be just. And all her pow'rs the trust Of great and small ; CAFUBOO SONGS. 48 1 hen shall the nations see A kingdom of liberty, And the Great God shall be Her fort and wall. CHEER, BOYS, CHEER, FOR THE DOMINION NATION. Air—" Cheer, Boys, Cheer," . Cheer, boys, cheer, for the "Dominion Nation," Glorious the race that's before her to run ; Cheer, boys, cheer, for the Confederation; The fairest, the free-est land under the sun. For Britain hath said that the land is your own, Then take and possess it from shore unto shore ; On the west lay your lines by Pacific's white foam, On the east where Atlantic waves sullenly roar. Chorus. — " Cheer, boy?, cheer," etc. And rich is the heritage, worthy the ^iver, Her children in millions can here hnd a home, In the forests and valleys, by lake and by river, And on plains where the herds of the bison now roam. Chorus — "Cheer, boys, cheer," etc. Then cheer, loudly cheer, let no thought of care smother Your bright bounding joy, or your fullness of glee ; To the south stretch your hands, grasp that of a brother. From one common race sprung the sons of the free. Chorus— " Cheer, boys, cheer, etc." And deep breathe the prayer, may no after strife sever The Dominion from Albion, the brave and the free ; Long live our Queen ! Rule Britannia for ever ! 44 CARIBOO SONGS Dear land of our sires, proud Queen of the sea. Chorus — "Cheer, boys, cheer," ete. Then cheer, boys, cheer, for the "Dominion Nation," Glorious the race that's before her to run ; Cheer, boys, cheer, for the Confederation, The fairest, the free-est land under the sun. C. Booth. THE NEW DOMINION. Words and Music by W. W. Hill. Oh ! land of the maple and beaver, we love To hear thy praises afar ; Federation thy strength. Dominion thy name, Thou bright, and new shining star ; May wisdom, strength and power combine. To make the a giant so grand, While from ocean to ocean thy empire extends. Hail, Dominion, our own fatherland ! CHORUS. Hail, New Dominion, thou glorious and free ! Soon may thy empire span from sea to sea ! Dear Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Red River And Columbia allied with you. With Canada joined, say who can e'er sever A country and flag firm and true ; Thy sister Columbia, whose resources are many, Would improve 'neath thy fostering hand ; Then, say come with us, thou land of the West, We'll make one great fatherland. Chorus — "Hail, New Dominion," etc. THE EMIGRANT'S CANADIAN HOME. Music and Words by W. W. Hill- Written IN 1833. There is a spot, tho' far away No matter where we roam. That's ever held to mem'ry dear, CARIBOO SONGS 45 md; the 'Tis home ! sweet home ! Tho' we've enjoy'd a happy time, Since we cross 'd ocean's foam. We'll ne'er forget our native land, Our childhood's happy home. Tho' we may dwell in foreign lands, Or on the wide sea's breast, Our thoughts will love to linger still Round homes where fathers rest ; The shamrock, rose, and thistle, all Have glorious laurels won, Which ever sheds a lustre on Our own adopted home ! While war and bloodshed reign so near To our adopted land, And men, who should as brothers be, In deadly combat stand ; Let's thankful be to Him, who has So many favors shewn, And smiles upon us c'ay jy day In our Canadian home. If, in the order of events, Our land should be menaced, Nobly will we defend our flag. Which ne'er has been disgraced ! For here the " Flag of Freedom " waves From ev'ry spire and dome- While Love and Liberty ind Right, Guard our Canadian home ! MY NATIVE LAND. Am— "My Native Land." 'Tis when the sun, adorning The east in golden hue. Dispels the mist of morning, And quaffs the diamond dew — 'Tis then my thoughts are flying O'er continent and sea — 'Tis then my heart is sighing. My native land for thee. CHORUS. My native land, Tho' 'twixt us lies the sea, Thy craggy hills and laughing rills Have still their charms for me. Ye Scots may long for Scotia, And Erin's sons their Isle — But I for Venedotia Am sighing all the while — ■•■ I 40 CARIHOO SONCS Where Snowdon's summit rises O'er Gelert's silent i^rave, And Glaslyn's water kisses Atlantic s rolling wave. Chorus—" My native land," etc. Amongst these lofty mountains, Amongst these golden vales. Far from thy sparkling fountains. Exiled from thee, fair Wales — The love that first I bore thee Is now as 'twas before, I always shall adore thee, For ever, evermore. Chorus — " My native land," etc. This silent land feels lonely, No song's borne on the breeze. But morn's wind sighing only. Amongst the tallest trees. This makes my fancy wander Along thy distant shore. And mem'ry loves to ponder Upon the days of yore. Chorus — " My native land," etc. Tal. o Eifion. AWAY WITH CARE AND SORROW. Music by Wat. C. Price. 'Tis when we think we're nearest To gain the golden prize — 'Tis when the hope that's dearest Is nursed away — it flies ; The fairest prospects blighted, Deserving fruits withheld ; The sun of hope's benighted. And Fortune's smile's dispelled. CHORUS. But still we say, away, away, Away with care and sorrow ! Let's all be gay, and hope to-day To see a bright to-morrow. 'Tis said " the darkest hour's Before the break of day ;" 'Tis thro 'the falling showers We see the brightest ray. 'Tis when the heart is sadden'd, And fears ill luck's our doom, 'Tis then we're oftest gladden'd— Success dispels the gloom. CARIBOO SONGS 47 CHORUS. And then we say, away, away, For ever care and sorrow ! Let's all be gay, and hope to day To see a bright to-morrow. Tal. o Eifion. O, GIVE ME A COT. Music by Rev. James Reynard. O, give me a cot on the slope of a hill, 'Neath the shade of an old oak tree, By the side of a sparkling and roaring rill, Within sight of the briny sea ; Where I'll hear the sweet song of the morn- ing lark. As he rouses mankind from rest, And gaze on the form of the buoyant bark, As It rides on the ocean's breast. chorus. O, give me a cot on the slope of a hill, 'Neath the shade of an old oak tree. By the side of a sparkling and roaring rill, Within sight of the briny sea. I wish for no palace with riches untold — I wish for no vast domain — I crave not the pleasures begot by gold, For much more than the joys the pain ; But give me a cot, be it e'er so poor, For iis r.c mty the fare I need — And give me the wild, bleak, healthy moor, I'll the life of a shephard lead*! Chorus — "O, give me a cot," etc. I long f'^r the mountains, those mountains afar, Where I've roam'd wit*' a boy's delight. From the break of the day 'till the evening star Shone clear thro' the veil of night ; Where often I've gazed on the distant tide, As its billows were kissed by the breeze ! O, give me a cot on that mountain side, And I'll live and I'll die in peace ! Chorus — " O, give me a cot," etc. Tal. o Eifion. 48 CARIBOO SONGS I LOVE TO SNORE. Air—" I Love to Roam." O, I love to snore On a bar-room floor, And sleep a drunk away ! And dream of bilks Who dress in silks, And girls who dance for pay ; And whiskey imps, And gambling pimps, Who are supported by Their ready tools, A thousand fools, Such fools as you and I ! Against a glance I have no chance, I love the barley bree ! I love to whirl The dancing girl, I love the jolly spree ! I bet the tin. But rarely win, I taste the beer once more ; My bones do ache Wnen I awake Upon a b,"r-room floor ! When I drink deep, And sink to sleep, It seems a happy trance — The drunken snore Of half a score, The music and the dance ! I wake and think. Again I drink, My drooping thoughts to cheer. Oh, I love to snore On a bar-room floor, Just once in twenty year ! 1 I C y V V Bard of Lowhee. 4, 2/j \^ {y\jlj},i r>l-iJV-«- ^iO/vlUiA.^^ i )i ■^ L CARIHOO SONCiS 49 THE OLD RED SHIRT. A miner canie to my cabin door, His clotlics they were covered with dirt ; He held out ;i piece he desired me to wash, Which I found was an old red shirt. His cheeks were thin, and furrow'd his brow, His eyes they were sunk in his head ; He said that he had got work to do, And be able to earn his bread. He said that the "old red shirt " was torn, And asked me to give it a stitch ; But itvvas threadbare, and sorely worn, Which show'd he was far from rich. O ! miners with good paying claims, O ! traders v ho wish to do good. Have i)ity on men who earn your wealth, Grudge not the poor miner his food. Far from these mountains a poor mother mourns The darling that hung by her skirt, When contentment and plenty surrounded the home Of the miner that brought me the shirt. Rebecca Gibbs. ^OM- //Cr^iic^?