AAPLE LEAVES 
 
 V 
 
 AND 
 
 HEffiLecK Branches. 
 
 
 IK COLLCGTI0N er 
 
 POEMSn^ 
 
 Martin Botlcr. 
 

 S\^'Mf 
 
 ',-*■.. 
 
 )m la 
 
 «<196 • eaEEN • STRCET.Wf 
 FREDERICXON, - N. B. 
 
 UGS I Medisines, 
 
 ifi 
 
 \^ %mi% 
 
 ^0/" Coughs, Colds, Hoarseness, Etc., Etc, 
 
 WHYTE'S WHITE LINIMENT 
 
 Is the best External Application for Sprains, Bruises 
 Chapped Hands, Rheumatism, I^ame Back, 
 
 Etc., Etc. 
 
 FOR SALE BY 
 
 J0HN ffl. WILEY, 
 
 WHOLESALE AGENT, 
 
 196QUEI1N STKBET, - FRHDi'RICTUN. 
 
/ 
 
 /nAPLE LEAVES 
 
 AND 
 
 HEfiBieGKBRANGHES. 
 
 A GOLLECTI0N ©E 
 
 <^POEMSp 
 
 BY 
 
 ffiARTlN BfelTLER. 
 
 kkederic;ton, n. h., 
 
 Printod tit tho "Gloaner" Job OfUce. 
 1889, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In i)vesentinp; to the public of New Hruusvvkk and Maine 
 this little volume, with a great many an introduction will be un- 
 necessary, especially the country people, who know me well, 
 with many of whom I have been sheltered and feil and received 
 the "ri<;ht hand of fellowship," to such I make no apology. They 
 will readily condone its many errors and give me due credit for 
 anything it contains worthy of praise. With the exceptiou of 
 The Peddler's Stori/ and three or four short pieces written for the 
 occasion, these poems were written at odd hours during the past 
 fifteen years. 
 
 The first section, designated Maplk Leaves, were chiefly 
 written in, or refer to scenes and places in New Brunswick, 
 and in like manner the Hemlock Branches refer to Maine or 
 the lake region of it where the numerous sole leather tanneries 
 are situated, and where I spent ten years of my life. 
 
 To the chief points in my uneventful career these poems give 
 
 the key, and it is unnecessary to say any more than that I was 
 
 born in Kings Co., N. H., and liope to make this province my 
 
 lome, the kind friends and hallowed associations of which I 
 
 would not exchange for any country on the globe. 
 
 MARTIN BUTLER. 
 
 Frederictou, N. B., Nov. 12, 1889. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MAI'LK r.KAVK«. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 CImrlottc, York ami Simbury, J 
 
 A. Retrospect, 4 
 
 On Leaving RiveiHide 6 
 
 Lake George 6 
 
 The Peddler's Story 8 
 
 An Evening Reverie 22 
 
 Saint John 24 
 
 In the Country 26 
 
 Nashwaak 28 
 
 In Fredericton 81 
 
 A Review 32 
 
 David Main 34 
 
 A Canadian's Song 36 
 
 IIKMLOCK HRANCHKS. 
 
 The Streamlet 89 
 
 The Shamrock 40 
 
 The City of Grand Lake Stream 41 
 
 The Hancock County Mills 44 
 
 Neill Darrah 46 
 
 The Kingman Fire 46 
 
 The Kids of Duffy Street 48 
 
 The Lakes of Maine 51 
 
 A Relic 63 
 
 Wendell Phillips 56 
 
 MISCELLANKOIJS. 
 To my Absent Brother 58 
 
ffJAPUE I2EAVES. 
 
 CHARLOTTE, YORK AND ^UNBURY, 
 
 Broad viilcs in beauty bright expand, 
 And stately mountains towev grand, 
 Dark rivers How unto the sea 
 In Charlotte, Yorlc and Sunbury. 
 
 Snug towns arise by field and flood, 
 And leagues of dark, outspreading wood 
 Fling to the air ; their banners free 
 In Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
 All nature smiles on scenes so grand 
 In this, our own Canadian land ; 
 Teace, happiness, prosperity, 
 To Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
 Hut best of all, the loving hearts 
 Whom God these choicest gifts imparts. 
 The grand and noble peasantry 
 Of Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
 When first I left the State of Maine, 
 The scene of so much toil and pain, 
 I found a home and liberty 
 In Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
 When wounded by misfortune's darts 
 Who was it took me to their hearts ? 
 The stout and stalwart yeomanry 
 Of Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
^♦^laplf )L'c.ibco aub .)l)cmlock lU-anchf* 
 
 I've tnivc'lli'tl nil tlu; coiinlry wide, 
 Itoth (>ii8t iiiul wcHt, 1111(1 fur aiul wido, 
 Hilt fuiiiul no eoiintiuH I coiiid uec 
 Jiikc Cliiulotte, York unci Simhury. 
 
 The kiiul, tiiiHolllHli look uiid word, 
 The liiirinoiiy and sweet iiee(»rd. 
 The bounteoiiH hoHpitallty 
 Of Charlotte, York and Snnbnry. 
 
 How oft among the young and old 
 
 I've found rare treaHures more than gold, 
 
 Affection and fidelity 
 
 Ju Charlotte, Y'ork and Suubury. 
 
 Truth, honesty, and manly worth, 
 Much better far than noble birth, 
 And true CJod-f earing piety 
 In Charlotte, Y'ork and Sunbury. 
 
 The children, bless them — how 1 love 
 With them to romp through field and grove. 
 And join in all their youthful glee 
 In Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
 With sager heads in argument 
 
 I've talked until the night was spent, 
 
 On justice, right, equality. 
 
 In Charlotte, Y'ork and Sunbury. 
 
 And in the morning, with my load, 
 I'd trudge again upon the road 
 While many a door would ope to me 
 In Charlotte, York and Sunbury. 
 
ylh.uioltf. l)o'-h nub 4*unburn. f 
 
 And when by lioiit uiul toil oppiOHt, 
 I'd often Hit me down to roMt 
 lU-iieutli Hoine tiill and ulmdy tree 
 III Cluulotte, York oi- Siiiibury. 
 
 And when the evening shades drew ni<j;h, 
 Into some farm honso 1 would hie 
 Whoso door was never shut to mo 
 In Charlotte, York or Sunbury. • , 
 
 But I can never tell you here 
 Of all the scenes that 1 hold dear 
 In rock, and river, field and tree, 
 In Charlotte, Y'ork and Sunbury. 
 
 Sufllce to say, the laud is blest 
 In my esteem o'er all the rest, 
 Tl.e people, God's nobility. 
 In Charlotte, Y'ork and Sunbury. 
 
 AVlieii weary wondering far and wide. 
 And buffeted by wind and tide, 
 I'll seek peace and obscurity 
 In Charlotte, York or Sunbury. 
 
 Upon some little patch of land. 
 Which I shall till with my own hand, 
 I think I'll gain a competency 
 In Charlotte, York or Sunbury. 
 
 And if there's one will share my lot 
 And occupy my humble cot, 
 We'll live from strife and sorrow free 
 In Charlotte, York or Sunbury. 
 
Jttairlc ^eabes mxb hemlock ^rauchee. 
 
 And when iliis life with me is past, 
 And I am called away nt last, 
 I hope a grave they'll dig for me 
 In Charlotte, Tork or Siinbury. 
 
 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 The day is drawing to a close. 
 
 Athwart the west, the sun a ray 
 Of soft, resplendent beauty throws 
 
 Upon the landscape far away. 
 And as its pale, expiring beams 
 
 Recede beyond yon hill of pines. 
 Flashing a thousand parting gleams ; 
 
 In separate, yet converging lines 
 I see, from out ray casement dim 
 
 The River, decked in shining gold. 
 And on its well remembered rim 
 
 The scenes I loved in days of old. 
 
 The City as of old I savy 
 
 I see again in all its pride, 
 Reposing tranquilly upon 
 
 The old St. John's historic side, 
 A holy quiet fills the vales. 
 
 The breezes whisper soft and low, 
 In which the idly flapping sails 
 
 Of numerous barges float and flow. 
 Full ten years now have passed since when 
 
 I first set foot upon its strand 
 In childhoods' days of hope and joy 
 
 And promise fair of future grand, 
 Oh ! weary years of chance and change 
 
How short, but oh ! how full of woe, 
 How different from those happy clays ; 
 
 I stand beside its waters now. 
 Now, saddened, sickened and forlorn, 
 
 A pilgrim, by its side I stand— 
 A weary traveler, tossed and torn 
 
 By cruel Fate's unspariag hand. 
 
 An air of loneliness enthrals 
 
 The place where once our cottage stood, 
 And ncA'er more its shadow falls 
 
 Against the dark and silent wood. 
 The ''church, from out its sheltered nook, 
 
 Frowns with a visage most austere. 
 Across the swiftly running brook 
 
 Whose rippling music I can hear. 
 The phantoms of the buried past 
 
 Crowd round me in the evening gloom, 
 A dark and mournful glance they cast 
 
 Foretelling some Impending doom. 
 
 But still, the flowers plucked in youth. 
 
 Though withered by misfortune's blast 
 Retain in friendship, love and truth, 
 
 A grateful fragrance that will last— 
 And though my sky is overcast. 
 
 With clouds, portentous and great, 
 I see a halo round it cast 
 
 Impervious to the blasts of Fate. 
 
6 JHaplc ^crtbe"? tuxb ^)emloi:k ^)mnfhc$. 
 
 OK LEA VI NG ''RIVERSIDE;' [FItEDERinrOK.] 
 
 Fuir Riverside in your power and pride, 
 
 I leaAe you for u time, 
 The fruitful theme of many a dream 
 
 In childhood's days sublime. 
 
 My later home, when forced to roam 
 
 By grief and pain pursued, 
 From the winding stream and the lakelet's gleam, 
 
 And the shadowy arching wood. 
 
 I've shared your winters' frost and cold, 
 
 I've shared your summer heats 
 And gaily strolled with young and old 
 
 Along your pleasant streets. 
 
 And my heart goes out in a rapturous shout 
 
 P^or my loved and native land. 
 And no sun that shines in other climes 
 
 Can ever appear so grand. 
 
 Fair Riverside, my joy and pride, 
 
 Of your children I'll ask no more. 
 Than to give me at last, when life is past, 
 
 A grave by your sounding shore. 
 
 LAKE GEORGE. 
 
 Nestling among the mountains 
 Of fair New Brunswick's land. 
 
 Its hills and sparkling fountains 
 And forests spreading grand — 
 
 Lake George lies like a mirror 
 
I^akc C6eorc|c. 
 
 Before the gnzev's eye, 
 A bright and sparkling jewel 
 Against the azure sky. 
 
 The time is radiant summer, 
 
 The roses are in hloom. 
 And shed upon the western wind 
 
 Their exquisite perfume ; 
 A mantle bright of beauty 
 
 Is on the forest trees. 
 While soft, and slow, the tall green grass 
 
 Is waving in the breeze. 
 
 My soul drinks in the rapture 
 
 Of this secluded spot, 
 And happy is my heart again 
 
 Though sad has been my lot. 
 For, hand in hand with Nature 
 
 I tread its beauteous shore, 
 Awaking many a pleasant thought 
 
 Of happy days of yore 
 In fair New Brunswick's bowers, 
 
 And Maine's green forest shore, 
 In happy days of peace and joy 
 
 I'll see again no more. 
 
 "O" 
 
 Thus, o'er my checkered pathway 
 
 In gloom and sudden showers. 
 Will spring up as I go along 
 
 Affection's dearest flowers. 
 For tender words will greet me 
 
 Throughout my native land, 
 And on Maine's forest border 
 
 Will many take my hand. 
 
And 80 with these dear memories 
 
 I weave a golden chain 
 From Canada's fair fiehls and groves 
 
 To sunny shores of Maine ; 
 Remembering, tliough hard my lot 
 
 And dark from childhood's hour, 
 *Tis brightened, as the sun descends 
 
 To lift a drooping flower. 
 
 THE PEDDLER'S STORY. 
 
 NOTE. j 
 
 The following Hues are an attempt to describe the kindness and hospitality of the 
 ivcnijfe country household, as cxparicnced in the course of my travels. 
 
 The old lady gives me her confidence and 1, in return, tell her mystory. I have not 
 picked out any particular family, but the kind and garrulous old lady has many dupli- 
 rates, 
 
 1 have fallen lar short of doing justice to the subject, as I have been obliged to 
 
 :iivt:'.il It on .account of the size of the book and the short time I have to get it ready 
 
 for the press, 
 
 M. B. 
 
 THE PEDDLER'S STORY ; 
 Or how I LOST MY Arm. 
 
 The Old Lady Speaks. 
 
 Good day sir ! — walk into the kitchen, 
 There sit down and take a rest ; 
 
 A stranger is always welcome, 
 Though my home is not the best. 
 
 And I ain't got it tidied up or fixed 
 For strangers or company, 
 
 And Saturday is a busy day, 
 
 And there's no one to work but me. 
 
IMy girls have grown up and left me ; 
 
 Two ire away in the States, — 
 Que is in Minneapolis, 
 
 And one at the Golden Gate. 
 
 Married, and got good husbands, 
 
 And well off, as people say ; 
 But then, they're a long way off you know, 
 
 And I don't see them every day. 
 
 The other, a girl of seventeen, 
 
 Tall and straight as a rule — 
 And she is down at Fredericton 
 
 A going to Normal School. 
 
 And so I must do the housework 
 
 And wait upon the men. 
 But after the term is ended 
 
 I'll have her with me again. 
 
 She wanted an education. 
 
 And I let her have her way ; 
 Though I don't see much inducement 
 
 As there is'ut very much pay. 
 
 And teachers are thick as blackberries, 
 But I let her do as she pleased, 
 
 It's something genteel and dainty. 
 And girls like a. life of er.se. 
 
 It was'nt so when I was young, 
 I worked from morn till night. 
 
 Spinning, and weaving and scrubbing 
 And setting everything right. 
 
And wlien I'd an idle moment 
 
 I'd liave to work in the field, 
 For it took all the help we could muster 
 
 To get in the season's 3'ield. 
 
 People have different notions, 
 And this is a world of change — 
 
 But when I look at it squarely, 
 I can't help but think it strange. 
 
 The men, I forgot to tell you. 
 
 Are out getting in the hay, 
 And they have to work late and early, 
 
 As the sun don't shine every day. 
 
 JJut they'll soon be in to dinner, 
 And then you can see them yourself ; 
 
 Dear me, — I must open the oven 
 And set the pies up on the shelf. 
 
 How many of them? How stupid, 
 
 1 had'ut told you before ; 
 There's John my husband, and Robert, 
 
 And Billy, and Joe, that's four. 
 
 For Andrew is married and settled. 
 
 His lot is next to ours, — 
 That's his house on the hill over yonder. 
 
 With the lawn, and the garden of flowers. 
 
 1 never cared much for flowers. 
 It seemed work thrown away — 
 
 I took more to vegetables, 
 Potatoes, oats and hay. 
 
^hc IJebbler'a ^tonj. 11 
 
 But he got a wife from the city, 
 Poor soul, — In her there's no harm ; 
 
 She's quiet, industrious and clever, 
 But she ain't no good on a farm. 
 
 o' 
 
 We started poor in this country. 
 
 And had to dig and delve ; 
 But managed to make a living 
 
 And raise a family of twelve. 
 
 But five of them lie in the church yard, 
 Their bodies beneath the sod — 
 
 Their spirits I trust in heaven, 
 Close by the Throne of God. 
 
 For 1 am a Christian woman, 
 And the blessed assurance have 
 
 That after life's toil and trouble. 
 There is something beyond the grave. 
 
 We all of us have our troubles, 
 
 Sickness and sorrows too. 
 But we ought to unite together 
 
 And help each other through. 
 
 Drop words of consolation, 
 And smooth the sufferer's bed ; 
 
 Tenderly care for the living 
 And help to bury the dead. 
 
 Who giveth a cup of water 
 
 To those that are in need. 
 Our Blessed Saviour has promised, 
 
 Will not he denied his meed. 
 
12 ^aplc 3t'eabe0 anb hemlock ^tvancluo. 
 
 Far better than all the wrauglinj^, 
 
 Hypocrisy and lies, 
 And the manifold deceptions, 
 
 And the ill-concealed disguise 
 
 IJy which they entrap the unwary, 
 
 And even deceive the elect, — 
 But, in this degenerate age it is 
 No more than we might expect. 
 
 But then, I must stop my preaching ; 
 
 I've worried you most to death, — 
 I'll blow the horn for dinner 
 
 If I've got sufficient breath. 
 
 Blows the horn; the men come in, g;rcet the stranger cordially, and after a cnnver- 
 Katinn with the old man and the boys, in which he is invited to Ktny over Siiiiil.ty, tlie 
 men go out, and the old lady resumes her tiilk. 
 
 Well now ! you must be tired, 
 
 A-travelling this dusty road, 
 And come ten miles since morning, 
 
 And then, such an awful load. 
 
 Good gracious ! ain't it heavy, 
 
 'Tis more than I can lift, 
 And you carry it all on one shoulder 
 
 As you ain't no chance to shift ? 
 
 For the other one looks broken. 
 
 Or as if it had come to harm, 
 But on closer looks, — '*Good Heavens !" 
 
 I see you have lost an arm. 
 
aTIu JJcbbltr'o S\ot\}. 13 
 
 I really before diU'ut notice, 
 
 Hut my eye-sight is'nt good ; 
 Now, if I ask you about it 
 
 1 hope you won't think me rude. 
 
 The Peddler's Story. 
 
 1 was working in the tannery 
 
 Up at the Grand Lake Stream, 
 A-grinding bark on a winter's night, 
 
 They hauled it in with a team. 
 
 The night was cold and frosty 
 
 And the belting wouldn't work, 
 But kept slipping around the pulley. 
 
 And I went to give it a jerk 
 
 To set it again in motion. 
 
 When I found that my arm was woiuid 
 In a cog-wheel, up to the shoulder. 
 
 And terribly crushed and ground. 
 
 And I was left there hanging 
 
 About six feet from the floor, 
 Alone in those jaws of iron 
 
 For lialf an hour or more ; 
 
 Till Knights came up from the leach-house 
 
 And ran and gave the alarm. 
 And told all the night-men and neighbors 
 
 That " Butler had broke his arm !" 
 
 They came in a crowd together, 
 
 And the boss of the tannery, Sym, 
 I don't know what I'd have done that night 
 
 If it hadn't been for him. 
 
14 i^aplc It'rabeo iuxb ^l^mtoik |}ntnchr9. 
 
 He brought tliu hhw und wrenclicu 
 Ami they went to work with a will ; 
 
 Though their faces were white an puper. 
 And their very blood ran chill. 
 
 1 never saw such excitement ! — 
 I smiled at their needless scare, 
 
 And told them they needn't make such a fuss, 
 And said I did'nt care 
 
 If 1 lived or died, — if they got me out 
 
 It was nothing for me to die, 
 I would'nt be missed ; and looking at 8ym, 
 
 I saw a tear in his eye. 
 
 I forgave all harsh words and scolding 
 
 I got at my daily work, 
 For I was young and thoughtless, 
 
 And often disposed to shirk, 
 
 And my heart was touched as I saw him 
 
 In tears of pity and fright, 
 And has always beat kindly toward him. 
 
 And will since, that awful night. 
 
 They took me up to the office 
 And laid me on Clampet's* bed, 
 
 And never a soul in the village 
 But thought me as good as dead. 
 
 And then, post haste for a doctor, 
 
 A team was started away, 
 But he had to come from Milltown, 
 
 And didn't arrive that day. 
 
 *l''Iie outside agent or foreiniin. 
 
iThc tJfbMcr'o .Story. \r> 
 
 And then, l)y a HcnHulcss hlunilur, 
 They went and gave a fright 
 
 To my poor, heart-broken mother. 
 And woke her up in the night. 
 
 And straightway to the ofBce 
 She hastened from her room, 
 
 Hut fell on its cold stone door-step 
 Id a chill and deathly swoon. 
 
 Poor soul ! She had grief a-plenty, 
 
 For father, a cripple lay ; 
 He had been at work in the leach-housn. 
 
 And a staging bad given away. 
 
 And he fell down off the platform, 
 Full twenty feet, to the floor, 
 
 With fortunately no bones broken. 
 But shaken, and bruised, and sore. 
 
 And our house, that was nearly fmishcd. 
 Was burned but a week before ; 
 
 And in a chilling snow-storm 
 We were turned out of door. 
 
 And having had no insurance 
 
 We didn't receive a cent. 
 And what little we'd scraped together 
 
 Was very quickly spent. 
 
 l^ut John,* he worked like a hero 
 
 To keep us out of debt ; 
 And the people gave some assistance. 
 
 And so the expense was met. 
 
 *My brother. 
 
Ill tihoiit tlirue wecku I rallied, 
 
 And wan able to get aroiiiul ; 
 And very hooii I was strong enough 
 
 To get about the town. 
 
 And White, who had faithfully nursed mo, 
 In a few dayH took me home — 
 
 Poor fellow ! Only a year ago 
 That tannery proved his tomb. 
 
 For a fire broke out and burned it 
 
 In ashes to the ground. 
 And there, in the smouldering embers 
 
 Ills charred remains were found. 
 
 And so in the following spring-time, 
 
 About the middle of May, 
 I bought some goods in St Steplien, 
 
 And started along this way. 
 
 For what, with the hardened Company 
 
 With wliom I'd the accident, 
 Who turned their backs upon me 
 
 Without giving me a cent. 
 
 And other hard-hearted people 
 
 Who gloried in my fall, 
 The very place was hateful, 
 
 And 1 couldn't stand it at all. 
 
 So back to my native country. 
 And to friends that I hold dear, 
 
 I came ; and have been travelling 
 For the most part since that year. 
 
^he iJebblri'e ^tonj. 17 
 
 hut nuiiiy a lengthened vitiit 
 
 I've taken back again, 
 And in my heart I'll remember 
 
 The dear old hillH of Maine. 
 
 For I blame not the place for my trouble, 
 
 Nor the many for the few ; 
 But, hIuiU always remember with plcaHure 
 
 The friends who are good and true. 
 
 I'm able to make a living, 
 
 Which iu all that I can expect, 
 And the present care and kindness 
 
 Outweighs the old wrong and neglect. 
 
 Of course it is not so pleasant. 
 
 With strangers always to bide. 
 As the love, and care, and comfort, 
 
 or one's own fireside. 
 
 And some are proud and selfish. 
 
 And often disposed to frown. 
 Because I'm a poor pack-peddler. 
 
 And on me to look down. 
 
 But, I've never gone cold or hungry, 
 
 And never slept out a night, 
 And I think I will never have to 
 
 If I'm willing to do what's right. 
 
 The Old Lady. 
 
 Dear me ! we have talked a long time ; 
 
 The men will be in to tea, 
 And if I've not supper ready, 
 
 They're apt to " give it " to me. 
 
18 ^aplc |Cc;ibc0 anb hemlock ^ranches. 
 
 You can just go into the parlor, 
 
 And busy yourself with the books ; 
 You're quite an intelligent fellow, — 
 
 I can see it by your looks. 
 
 And here is the Weekly Gleaner^ 
 
 We only got it to-day, 
 We don't get the news soon as printed, 
 
 As we live so far away. 
 
 And it's powerful interesting 
 
 To read all the goings on ; 
 But I must hurry up supper, 
 
 For here come the boys and John. 
 
 The men come in, and the peddler enters into conversation with them, wliile the 
 old lady busies herself about the supper. 
 
 The Old Man Speaks, 
 
 Mister, I'm glad to see you, 
 
 Though I couldn't talk much before ; 
 We had to hurry the hay in 
 
 For fear there would be a shower. 
 
 But you're welcome " just as hearty " 
 
 To my plain substantial fare, 
 And I reckon it's not the worst I've got 
 
 That I'll with a stranger share. 
 
 And Sally has kept you in company ; 
 She'd talk enough for ten men. 
 
 Sally. 
 
 I'll slap your face with a pancake, 
 If you say that over again. 
 
'Che Jj^bblcr'e ^tor^. U, 
 
 She doesn't mean what she's saying, 
 
 She's one of the best of wives ; 
 We'd never a word between us 
 
 In all of our mortal lives. 
 
 And the children we've never " corrected ;' 
 
 I find it doesn't pay 
 To bully, and beat, and scold them, 
 
 And have them run away. 
 
 And get away among strangers, 
 
 And as lijjely go to the bad ; 
 And we'd never a bit of trouble 
 
 With all the children we've had. 
 
 IJut supper's already waiting. 
 
 And I'm hungry as a bear : 
 Here Joe, hang the gentleman's hat up 
 
 And pass him over a chair. 
 
 After Supper. 
 The evening was spent in reading. 
 
 In games, and songs, and play, 
 And passed in such pleasant company 
 
 The hours sped swift away. 
 
 When the evening service was rendered, 
 
 And the evening chapter read, 
 And off with the boys I scampered 
 
 And rolled myself up in bed. 
 
 Sweetly in bed we rested 
 
 Till the Sabbath sun arose, 
 Then shaking off drowsy slumber 
 
 We jumped into our clothes. 
 
And all through the day we rambled, 
 Through bower and shady lane, 
 
 And when the evening descended 
 We made our way back again. 
 
 Monday Morning. 
 
 With a fond good-bye and hand-clasp, 
 
 I parted from the men, 
 And a pressing invitation 
 
 To visit them soon again. 
 
 And then as I was preparing 
 
 To pack up and go away. 
 And came in the room with my bundle, 
 
 I heard the old lady say : 
 
 Why, what is your dreadful hurry. 
 You ain't going now. So soon, 
 
 Why can't you sit down and rest awhile 
 And go in the afternoon. 
 
 Peddler, 
 
 No, thank you ma'am, I'll be going, 
 
 I ought to be on my way, 
 And for whatever trouble I've been to you 
 
 I'm ready and willing to pay. 
 
 Old Lady. 
 
 I don't quite understand you. 
 
 You'll pay me, you say. For what ! 
 
 But come and open your bundle, 
 And let me see what you've got. 
 
Ihe |)cbiiUr'« (^tory. 2X 
 
 I want somo little notions, 
 And I'd rather buy them of you ; 
 
 'Twill save my going away to the store, 
 As I had intended to do. 
 
 Peddler. 
 
 What do you ask for staying? 
 
 Old Lady. 
 
 Don't mention that again, 
 I've lived in this country for forty years. 
 And I've never charged a man. 
 
 And I'd be the veriest heathen 
 
 To ask anything of you, 
 Who work so hard for your living 
 
 At the little that you can do. 
 
 Good-day ! if you must be going. 
 But whenever again you come, 
 
 I hope you will always remember 
 To consider this place your home. 
 
 Good luck to you, and God bless you ; 
 
 And I had to turn my head 
 To keep myself from showing 
 
 The tears that I fain would shed. 
 
22 i^biplc ^'cabcs aub ^)cmlock ^ranches. 
 
 AN E VKMNG RE VERIE. 
 
 In deep reflection, and recollection 
 
 I wandered on in the soft twilight, 
 When the fading pinion of day's dominion 
 
 Was sinking into the silent night. 
 
 The dews were falling, the birds were calling, 
 The sun had sunk in the silent west, 
 
 The moon had risen, and on the village 
 Its beaming splendors did softly rest. 
 
 The winds pathetic, did moan prophetic 
 Of autumn's chillness and winter's gloom ; 
 
 The hay was cut and the harvest garnered, 
 'Twas the closing season of sujnmer's bloom. 
 
 And sorrow's feeling came o'er me st ling 
 Of brighter fancies in days of yore ; 
 
 On wings of light were those visions wafted 
 From childhood's sunny and distant shore. 
 
 In memory's mirror I saw reflected 
 
 The dear home faces of long ago, 
 The sweet spring mornings, the autumn evenings, 
 
 The summer's gladness, the winter's snow. 
 
 The river, sparkling in lines of beauty, 
 The sunbeams dancing along its tide, 
 
 And slight removed from its sloping margin 
 The lofty forest, in all its pride. 
 
 The nooks and corners, the secret places 
 Where mosses gathered in clusters bright. 
 
 The dainty gems and wild-wood flowers, 
 The spreading foliage hid from sight. 
 
Jlu (gbcning ${c\)fi-if. 28 
 
 Likewise the brook, wliich with merry nuisic, 
 
 Rippled througliout the lonely glade, 
 Where ray companions, wilh happy faces, 
 
 In childish pastime l)e8ide me plnyed. 
 
 It seemed a haunt for forms elysian, 
 
 Where nymphs and naiads weave their spells ; 
 
 And many a sweet entrancing vision, 
 I've often had in those witching dells. 
 
 How strange it seemi, that my wayward foot-steps, 
 
 As I journey on in the road of life, 
 Should leave behind, perhaps forever, 
 
 That lovely valley with gladness rife. 
 
 And, 'though scarce more than a score of summers, 
 In light and shadow have passed my head, 
 
 Those days are past, and those flowers ided. 
 Those garlands withered, those blossoms dead. 
 
 And grave and careworn, in toil and sorrow, 
 
 I plod along for my daily bread, 
 With none to care, if perhaps to-morrow 
 
 I might be laid with the silent dead. 
 
 But though my hopes are forever faded, 
 Though cold my prospects in future now, 
 
 And the grim shadow of gaunt misfortune 
 Sits like a spectre upon my brow. 
 
 Those hallowed memories will surround me. 
 
 My feet will travel that distant shore. 
 And still retrace those familiar pathways, 
 
 Till life and sorrow with me's no more. 
 
24 JHaplt ]^m\)t9 anb Demlock Jpnmchee. 
 
 SAINT JOHN. 
 
 Fair City by the sea, of wharves and docks, 
 
 And busy marts of trade ; 
 Of towering palaces and tumbling rocks, 
 
 Of sunlight and of shade. 
 
 Dear to my heart I hold tl y memory still. 
 
 As when in days long gone 
 I paced thy streets and climbed thy rugged hills, 
 
 A wanderer and alone. 
 
 I saw thee in thy day of grief and woe, 
 
 Sackcloth and ashes then 
 Evoked a true and sympathetic flow 
 
 From out the hearts of men. 
 
 I saw thee in thy beauty and thy pride, 
 
 A new Jerusalem, 
 Beloved by men and honored far and wide. 
 
 Wearing thy diadem. 
 
 Into the furnace of affliction cast. 
 
 Awoke to life and strength 
 The busy hum of enterprises rast 
 
 Throughout thy breadth and length. 
 
 The warm and generous heart of Province land 
 
 Beats with the ebb and flow 
 Of tides that beat upon thy rocky strand, 
 
 Where good ships come and go. 
 
 From distant islands of the summer seas. 
 
 From groves of pine and palm, 
 From regions where the giant icebergs freeze. 
 
 From sunny shores of calm. 
 
in the (iTouutrn. 25 
 
 Homeward and outward bound, they come and go, 
 
 And on a summer day. 
 Watched from the beach, they make a goodly show. 
 
 Cleaving the salt sea spray. 
 
 The homesick wanderer's heart b imds, as he sees 
 
 Thy shores appear in view, 
 And wafts a blessing on the landward breeze 
 
 Across the waters blue. 
 
 And pleasant memories yet with me remain 
 
 Of many a holiday, 
 When on thy breezy beach I oft have lain. 
 
 And whiled the hours away. 
 
 My home, my country, fair Canadian land. 
 
 How do I sigh for thee, 
 When thou shait rise, a Nation brave and grand 
 
 And glorious and fbee. 
 
 The day is distant, and in grief I wait 
 
 Within a foreign land ; 
 Oh come ! sweet freedom e're it be too late, 
 
 And let me clasp thy hand. 
 
 IN THE COUNT MY. 
 
 I leave behind me the dusty street, 
 
 And off to the country I take my way, 
 With the violets blooming beneath my feet, 
 
 And the small birds singing their roundelay. 
 I cross the river and leave the town ; 
 
 Afar, in the twilight its steeples rise, 
 And its stately mansions seem to frown 
 
 When looked upon by a poor man's eyes. 
 
iHaple ICeabee anli ^iiemlock |Jrancl\f«. 
 
 The same oUl tale that has oft been tokl 
 
 Id every city, the wide world o'er, 
 Of the bloated minions, of power and gold, 
 
 And the wronged and wretched, and suffering poor. 
 
 The vile assassin, the lurking thief, 
 
 The bane of public and private life, 
 The manifold forms of joy and grief, 
 
 And the heat and fever of party strife. 
 
 The prison, that frowns at the passer-by, 
 And the outraged laws of the land maintains, 
 
 The gallows, that shocks the horrified eye, 
 And stamps the earth with the brand of Cain. 
 
 I leave these all for a fairer sky, 
 
 And a clearer and purer atmosphere, 
 As onward my weary foot-steps hie 
 
 To scenes and friends that my heart holds dear. 
 
 I lean my head upon Nature's breast, 
 
 And tell to her all my tale of woe, 
 As I sit on a grassy knoll to rest, 
 
 And dream of the days of long ago 
 
 Before I knew of the grief and sin, 
 
 The want and suffering, pain and care 
 That my short life has been crowded in, 
 
 Till the burden's harder than I can bear. 
 
 But I will not tell to the world my woes, 
 
 Too sacred the feelings of my heartj 
 For the sport, and gossip, and scorn, of those 
 
 Who wound me each day with a cruel dart. 
 
in the Qloimtiij. if 
 
 Hut Hafc in the arms of friends, I tell 
 
 My hopes (if any) my cnrcs and pain, 
 And among the faithful, who wish me well 
 
 I live o'er my boyhood's days again. 
 
 With the tender hand that can smooth my brow, 
 And the kind voice that bids me hope for the best, 
 
 I fling to the winds my care and woe 
 And safe in the arms of peaco I rest. 
 
 I hate not the world for its selfish greed. 
 Its scorn and contempt for the suffering poor, 
 
 While there yet remaineth a noble deed, 
 
 Or a heart that is steadfast, strong and sure. 
 
 And I envy not, in their heartless glee. 
 
 The wealthy, who walk through blood to thrones, 
 
 Who mock at the cries of misery. 
 And feast their souls on the dying groans 
 
 Of the slaves of labor, who toil and sweat 
 
 To keep them aloft in regal state. 
 Who work, and suffer, and starve, and fret. 
 
 While they dine off their costly silver plate. 
 
 The river is tranquil, rolling wide. 
 
 The trees lean o'er it, the bushes wave. 
 And the grass and flowers creep close to its side, 
 
 And in its waters their rootlets lave. 
 
 And my spirit is tranquil, though all around 
 Are the great seas of Anguish, Sin and Woe ; 
 
 For apart, I walk upon hallowed ground 
 And calm my heart with the brooklet's flow. 
 
'2H ^nplf Xfitbfo ;inb l^nnloch AUanchfd. 
 
 I live my life. I pawH to the grave, 
 
 Hut just an wweet will the roHes bloom, 
 
 And Jiiat as j^reenly the gniHHe« wave 
 Above me, as over the rich man's tomb. 
 
 ^ASUWAAK. 
 
 1 love thy gentle winding stream, 
 Thy intervales outstretching wide, 
 
 Thy hills that catch the sunrise gleam, 
 And tower grand on either side. 
 
 With hope elate or bowed with care, 
 I've trod thy verdant vales along, 
 
 And now thy hills and valleys fair 
 Shall be the burden of ray song. 
 
 I see the old familiar scenes, 
 
 The trees, outspreading far and wide. 
 Also the cool and blessed springs 
 
 'i'hat gush from out the mountain side. 
 
 Where oft beneath the clustering shade, 
 Removed from summer's scorching heat, 
 
 My weary body I have laid 
 And drank their waters pure and sweet. 
 
 And when the toils of day were o'er, 
 A generous shelter I would find. 
 
 And kind, unselfish, tender care 
 That set at rest my troubled mind, 
 
 Oh, better far, than power and fame, 
 And all that riches can impart, 
 
 A spotless, pure, untarnished name, 
 A kind and hospitable heart. 
 
Ilaohluaah. S9 
 
 Of Hucli arc Nuwhwauk's valU'VH Idowt, 
 
 Ainon^ the Iioiiich of licli and poor 
 Tlu! weary traveller HikIh a rest, 
 
 And ne'er is tnrned from out their door. 
 
 And trained in (^IiriHtian hope and faith, 
 
 And nurtured in the (ioUlen Rule, 
 The life triumphant over deatli, 
 
 The Uiblc and the district school. 
 
 Here, worthy sons to sires succeed, 
 
 A nation's bulwark strong and sure, 
 Foremost in every noble deed. 
 
 With hand that's clean and heavt that's pure. 
 
 And Nashwaak's daughters, fair to see 
 
 And gentle as the opening rose, 
 Can sigh for others' misery, 
 
 Can drop a tear for others' woes. 
 
 Long years ago thy stream was rife 
 
 With battle's fierce and bloody lance, 
 And waged in internecine strife. 
 
 The pride of England and of France. 
 
 And later on there came a band 
 Forth from the land, where rose the Stars, 
 
 Both brave of heart and strong of hand, 
 Although from unsuccessful wars. 
 
 The crimson banner of St. George 
 
 Receded to the rising sun, 
 From Lexington and Valley Forge, 
 
 Where Freedom's cause was nobly won. 
 
And further yot it Htill hIuiII }^o 
 
 Until it (IropM into tlic hcu, 
 And bright upon our IuIIh Hhull glow 
 
 Our own proud banner waving free. 
 
 I leave thee now, for other Hhorow, 
 But when I bid thy fleIdH adieu 
 
 I'll love no people more than yours, 
 Or any Htreanilet more than you. 
 
 And if no more again I see 
 
 Thy banks, with all their memories dear, 
 I can but hope, on leaving thee, 
 
 And letting fall the heartfelt tear 
 
 That peace and plenty may abound, 
 And gifts from the Almighty baud 
 
 Be scattered thick and fast, around 
 Thy lovely and deserving iand. 
 
 For loving memories cluster round 
 Thee, gentle river ! rushing Tair, 
 
 And blessings in my path abound, 
 I scarce can hope to find elsewhere. 
 
 Amid this world of sin and shame, 
 And avarice, and grasping greed, 
 
 The angels of the Highest Name 
 Are sowing day by day the seed 
 
 That finds in grateful hearts, a soil 
 
 Congenial, its fruits to bear, 
 In which unscathed by care and toil 
 
 'Twill bud and blossom evermore. 
 
In ^rfbericton. »! 
 
 IN FHKDEIlirroN. 
 
 TliP inidniglit hIiucIowh Iiovci* o'er tlio Iniul, 
 Ah Hittinf{ in my (thuniber, pen in linnd, 
 
 My mind rucallH full muny a huppy Hcenc, 
 Full many u blJHHful hnnnt of Joy Hciene ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 The rain iu falling heavily without, 
 
 'i'lie wind Im toHHing the Hticwn leaveH about, 
 
 The river mnrmurH with a wild unrout, 
 An inky })lackneH8 hovers o'er its breast ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 Just so with me ; my sky is overcast, 
 A gleam of light, too beautiful to last, 
 
 Illumed my early morn with ruddy light, 
 
 But now, has sunk in dark, and endless night ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 There was a time, with high, exultant head 
 And gay, elastic step, I used to tread 
 
 The verdant valleys by the St. John's side. 
 
 With blithe companions, once ray joy and pride ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 Tiie opening bloom of manhood's years were rife 
 With budding promise for ray future life, 
 
 Ambition, hope, and intellectual fire 
 Taught me each day to look for something higher ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 But Fate transported me to other lands, 
 Subjected me to chill misfortune's pangs, 
 
 And wrecked and ruined, hope and sunshine gone, 
 I wandered through the weary world alone ; 
 
 To Fredericton. 
 
32 Jtajjlf ^ciibcs aiib l^emlork Drrmchee. 
 
 And ouce iigaiu as on its shores I stand, 
 I feel as if some bright celestial baud 
 
 In wayward pit falls, never more to roam. 
 Have taken me by the hand and led me home ; 
 
 To Fredericton. 
 
 And kneeling down, I breathe an earnest prayer, 
 Though filled with grief, misfortune and despair. 
 
 That while the Lord prolongs my life, I'll stay 
 And pass ray later years in peace away. 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 And when the messenger of death shall come 
 To bear me to my last eternal home, 
 
 I only wish ' i happiness to die, 
 
 And here, beneath the soft, green turf to lie. 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 Then let the trees their quivering branches wave, 
 The autumn winds blow o'er my peaceful grave. 
 
 And in the spring above my lowly tomb 
 Let violets sweet, in rich profusion bloom ; 
 
 In Fredericton. 
 
 A REVIEW. 
 
 One evening, sad and weary. 
 
 When the toils of day were o'er, 
 I sat me down in my chamber 
 
 A dreaming of days of yore ; 
 A.nd in slow and sad procession. 
 
 Before my vision passed 
 The ghosts of vanished years. 
 
 The memories of the past. 
 
Jl $el)ieto. «« 
 
 I thouglit of a quiet river, 
 
 Witli a cottage by its side, 
 Wiiere, with happy heart I wandered 
 
 With my playmates by my side. 
 And the sound of our merry voices 
 
 Echoed along the vale, 
 As it floated away to the forest 
 
 On the wings of the summer gale. 
 
 I next remember a cottage 
 
 By a river, flowing free, 
 Where I lived for a few short summers 
 
 In youthful jollity. 
 Still stalking on toward manhood, 
 
 With hope and promise true, , , i , 
 And ready for what the future 
 
 Was waiting for me to do. 
 
 I next remember a streamlet 
 
 By a dark and gloomy lake, 
 And a village, forest encircled 
 
 In rock, and bush, and brake ; 
 Where I entered upon the pathway 
 
 That leads to man's estate, 
 And took my place With the workers, 
 
 Defying the blasts of fate. 
 
 And the world was full of stiUshlne, 
 And my mates were blithe and kind, 
 
 And I had nearly forgotten 
 The land I had left behind ; 
 
 But, the sun Will not sbitie always. 
 The clouds will gather blaok, 
 
 :..fA 
 
84 illa^lc i|)eab£d anb |!)£mlock |}rauched. 
 
 Aud the winds and the roaring tempest 
 
 Will follow upon their track. 
 As I found by sad experience 
 
 When the tempest o'er me broke 
 And shattered my hopes and prospects 
 
 At one fell, mighty stroke. 
 
 And, from home and old companions 
 
 And scenes that my heart holds dear, 
 J started, and have been drifting 
 
 l^^or many a weary year ; 
 Jf I visit the place I'm welcomed 
 
 In many a cheery tone, — 
 Hut I there have no friends or relations, 
 
 Or a place I can call my own. ■'> «Ji '/ 
 
 But I go on uncomplaining 
 
 At my sad and lowly lot. 
 For there's manv have not the blessings 
 
 That even J have got. 
 Trusting that through my lifetime, 
 
 A living I may have, 
 And, after life's fitful fever, 
 
 A rest beyond the grave. 
 
 DAVID MAIN. 
 
 (Late Editor and founder ofthe Saint Ckoix Courier, St. Stephen, \. B.) 
 
 The winter's wrath has fled th^ feky, n i 
 
 The wintry storms are gone and past — 
 
 No more we heat* the cold winds sigh, ' 
 Or feel the rushing of the blasts ''<•'' "* * 
 
Bnbib iHaui. 3d 
 
 And while the world is glad with May, 
 Aud trees and flowers in verdure wave, 
 
 I come, a simple wreath to lay 
 Upon a friend's untimely grave. 
 
 He was my friend, — thoagh time and place 
 
 Had often kept us far apart ; 
 Yet, often met we face to face 
 
 And talked together, heart to heart. 
 
 My struggling and uncultured thought, 
 
 He gave to it encouragement — 
 And through his skilful fingers wrought 
 
 It forward on its mission went. 
 
 And in the dear old Courier 
 
 I always found a welcome spot, ' ^ 
 
 And though those days are now no more. 
 
 By me they'll never be forgot. 
 
 Great, grand and good ; his sympathy 
 Was not confined to class or creed. 
 
 His hand and purse were always free 
 To succor those who were in need. 
 
 Confined in narrow bounds his soul 
 
 Had not the chance to grow and yield— 
 
 Inmeasurable ; from pole to pole, * ** , 
 
 His brilliant genius unconcealed 
 
 Was fit for deeds of high emprise 
 In field or forum, hall of state ; 
 
 Strong, self-concentred, prudent, wise, 
 Such men as he are truly great. 
 
36 4HiVi»l« 3Ecatoc0 itnb ^tmlock ^rnucltee. 
 
 But centred in his native land, 
 And faithful to his dear old town, 
 
 He sought no foreign conquest grand, 
 Nor pined for riches or renown. 
 
 Content to earn his daily bread 
 Among the friends he loved the best, 
 
 Who loved him living, mourn him dead, 
 There, let his bones in quiet rest. 
 
 Breathe soft and low, oh ! whispering wind 
 Above his green and lowly grave, 
 
 And let the branches of the pines 
 In mournful undulations wave. 
 
 While St. Croix's waters flow to sea, 
 Or Charlotte's pines in beauty stand, 
 
 I'll ne'er see such an one as he, 
 Or grasp again so kind a hand. 
 
 A CANADIAN* 8 SONG, 
 
 I am a son of Canada, 
 
 I love my native land ; 
 And hope some day to see it rise 
 
 A Nation free and grand ; 
 When, waving high to greet the sky 
 
 Shall stream from tower and crag, 
 And light with pride the patriot's eye 
 
 Our Country's Native Flag. 
 
 The land, where at a mother's knee 
 I lisped my evening prayer, 
 
 In happy hours of childish glee 
 Remote from paiil and care ; 
 
That is the land whose praise I'll sing 
 
 While God provides me breath, 
 And only cease to love it when 
 
 My heart is oold in death. , ,. 
 
 Let others prostitute their muse ' ' 
 
 To sing of kings and courts, 
 Their goings out, and comings in, / 
 
 Their pleasures and their sports ; -I UfA 
 
 The sturdy democratic race 1 
 
 From whence my fathers sprung, 
 Will not permit one word of praise 
 
 For them, from off my tongue. 
 
 -!' '-in 
 
 The day will come when foreign Idr^y, 
 
 Who neither spin nor toil, 
 Who get the best the land affords. 
 
 And fatten on the spoil. 
 And hang, a weight around the neck 
 
 Of struggling Liberty, 
 Shall pack their trunks and find their way 
 
 To climes beyond the sea. 
 
 Better than regal camps and courts. 
 
 Sceptre or diadem ; 
 The freeman's vote in peace shall rule 
 
 A race of free-born men ; 
 When pomp and pride are cast aside 
 
 And haughtiness and scorn 
 Are buried deep, in blackest night 
 
 That never finds a morn. 
 
 Then, here's to Vulcan, may he forge 
 
 A hammer stout and strong. 
 To break in twain the clanking chain 
 
That's iiiiug OD lis so long ; 
 Unless our royal masters learn 
 
 To act the better part, 
 And with their hands undo the bands 
 
 They cannot with their hearts. 
 
 Oh ! glorious mother Canada, 
 
 May peace and plenty reign, 
 And Freedom spead her healing wings 
 
 Above thy broad domain ; 
 Thy sons in harmony unite, ' 
 
 A brave and gallant band, "''-if 
 
 And stand, a wall of adamant 
 
 Around their native land. 
 
>:-'iihii' 
 
 HEffil20GK BRANCHES. 
 
 THE STREAMLET. 
 
 Morning. ' ' 
 
 The streiimlet glides with a ripple 
 
 Of joy on its seaward way, 
 And the grass and the flowers are brightened 
 
 In the light of the new-born day. 
 
 The crystal lake, in its slumber 
 
 Is kissed by the sun's first rays, 
 And a halo of mystic beauty 
 
 Over its surface plaj's. 
 
 From the peaceful homes of the village 
 
 Rise columns of pale, blue smoke— 
 For the bell, with its sounding clangor 
 
 Has the slumbering denizens woke. 
 
 And the rattling wheels of labor 
 
 Again with their rush and din, 
 Mid the songs of the busy workmen, ykmf^ ''>'■ > 
 
 The work of the day begin. • ^oif^-?: 
 
 " j^^'itJ - m ai 'i: ■■ ' . 
 
 Evening. 
 
 The breezes gently whisper 
 
 As the sun sinks down to rest, 
 With a halo of golden glory 
 
 Kncircling his glowing breast. 
 
 / 
 
40 iHnplc Iteabee anb hemlock ^ninchte. 
 
 'And the MOund of thu bell's soft cadence 
 ^ Is echoed o'er vale aud hill, ^^ \j u 
 Till it dies away into silence, 
 And all is hushed and still. 
 
 And the night comes treading slowly 
 In the path of the setting day, 
 
 As the roseate hues of sunset, 
 Sink and vanish away. 
 
 And'the full-moon sheds a glory 
 
 Of light on the silent plain, 
 And the stars keep watch o'er the flowers 
 
 Till the morning comes again. 
 
 THE SHAMROCK. 
 
 (InscribedtR\)r. 4k,,, Mw:4rtoey, VVatertordiJreJ/^^nl.) , , 
 
 Oh ! dainty gem of Celtic soil, 
 Fresh plucked from out thy native earth. 
 What visions of immortal birth 
 
 Thy presence brings unto my soul. 
 
 Of meadows green, with violets strewed, 
 O'er which the bright-eyed daisies nodi 
 And hope in life, and trust in God 
 
 Comes to me in my solitude. 
 
 And memories dear unto my heart 
 Of one, whose path in boyish life 
 Was near my own ; birt fortune's strif fe 
 
 Has now us sundercict fur apart. 
 
-j1 
 
 il\\t Shamrock. 41 
 
 When jtty's fair winys Imve taken lliglil 
 And life is one long bitter wail, 
 I see, beyond these hluidoww pule, 
 
 The «Uiwuing of u hiii)piei' light. 
 
 It is the sound of one, whose voice 
 Sends greetings fur across the foiun, 
 And from Old Erin's lovely home 
 
 liids my poor siiddened heart rejoice. 
 
 I'll nurse thee with a tender hand. 
 And may the sunimer bid thee bloom, 
 And ne'er to an untimely tomb 
 
 Be thou consigned in Freedom's laud. 
 
 And dear unto my heart shall be 
 The memory of that early friend. 
 And may our friendship never end, 
 
 But strengthen in eternity. , j:jt.:i 
 
 !. ..;,: 
 
 And though that land I ne'er may see, 
 The breezes from it gently blown 
 Shall waft unto this frozen zone ,.|] 
 
 Dreams of a happier day to be. 
 
 THE CITY OF GRAND LAKE STREAM. 
 
 Where lofty mountains tower high. 
 
 And rivers sparkling gleam, 
 Is found a quiet spot, that's called 
 
 The city of Grand Lake Stream.'"'" " 
 
 The trees, their spreading branches toss 
 Against the sultry sky, ; : 
 
Wlicn Slimmer sweeps our valleys with 
 
 Tho hot brenth of Jul v. 
 'Tis then, their cool, refreshing shade 
 
 Knvelopes us serene ; 
 In fact there's plenty of them here 
 
 Jn the City of Grand Lake Streanv 
 
 The rocks, a fortress rear so high, 
 
 Should any foreign foe 
 Kssay invasion of our land 
 
 They would resist his blow. 
 And here, beneath those barriers strong, 
 
 We'd rest safe and serene ; 
 A western Gibraltar is 
 
 The City of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
 The streets are narrow, dark and drear. 
 
 Without a ray of light 
 To guide the traveller on his way. 
 
 On dark and stormy nights. 
 And o'er their rocky surface ne'er 
 
 Has plough or spade been seen, 
 O'er rocks and stumps we have to jump, 
 
 In the City of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
 The business done, is tanning hides, 
 
 You work here by the day, 
 If you can but subsist upon 
 
 The very scanty pay ; 
 You go to work at grinding bark 
 
 Or scraping on the beem, 
 And take your pay out of the store 
 
 In the City of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
^lu City of (if aiib X^kc <j^tiMm. 
 
 Old B. F. Fickott mm the church 
 
 And Uetta keeps the school ; 
 She cannot learn the children much 
 
 She's such an arrant fool ; 
 Hut Clampet keei)s her in the place, 
 
 They are a pretty team ; 
 Vou often see them strolling down 
 
 The streets of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
 The government is based upon 
 
 The monarchial plan, 
 The ruler, too, is said to be 
 
 A very moral man. 
 And should the Czar of Russia stray 
 
 These realms for to see. 
 He'd find a friend and comrade 
 
 In Mr. A. B. C. 
 
 The fish are numerous in the lakes, 
 
 And "sports" from far and near 
 Their visits pay without delay 
 
 On each succeeding year ; 
 And C. G. Atkins has a plan 
 
 To hatch them out by steam, 
 They understand well what this means 
 
 In the City of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
 The population is quite small, 
 
 Except when summer's nigh, 
 It then is quite augmented by 
 
 Mosquitoes and black flies ; 
 'Tis then, those bark-peelers will rage 
 
 And tear their hair and scream, 
 And curse the day they ever came 
 
 To the City of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
44 ^\rtple IValif-? anb >Umlc»cl: Ifirauclus. 
 
 THE I/AN('()('h'rorNTY HILLS. 
 
 IW'voiul the llet'cy veil of uiist 
 
 'I hv pk'jiwant vulU^y IIIIh, 
 1 soe, misin^ tall mid gniiul, 
 
 The H uncock Coiiut^' Hilltt. 
 
 T]u' riioiiiiii<; Him illnniOH their tops, 
 
 The bhic sky Kpreads above, 
 The river niiMimirH at tlieir lase 
 
 Auou of p^ace au'l love, 
 
 Of late, within thin forest i?latle 
 
 The wild deer roamed at will ; 
 Hut now, the sounds of labor rise 
 
 Fioni out tlie busy mill. 
 
 The lofty wmoke-stack points afar 
 
 To mountains clad in white, 
 And 'gainst the darkling hemlock trees 
 
 There shines a ruddy light. 
 
 'Though far removed from busy port 
 
 Or city's bustling strife, 
 'Tis here, within this forest fort, 
 
 We can enjoy our life. 
 
 All fashion's fetters cast aside, 
 
 Convention's rules and paint, 
 With only Nature for our guide 
 
 Regardless of restraint. 
 
 We while the merry hours away 
 
 With laughter, mirth and song. 
 After the labors of the day, 
 
 Throughout the evenings long. 
 
Tlio winter wind ItJowH kiM-n witiiont, 
 
 Tlu; Know fiilJN Miick tind fiiHt, 
 The forest treos heHJde tlio lionwe 
 
 Are hcndin^r in tlio hlawt. <| 
 
 Him what care we for winter'H wrath. 
 
 IIm hlindinji; hU'cM. and Hnow, 
 It nmnot cliili our vital l»reulli [ 
 
 Or (inench our lire'n glow. 
 
 And cnHllnp; Horrow to the winds 
 
 Onr hearts in love conihino 
 Anionjj; the Hancock County HIIIh 
 
 In Township Thirty-nine. 
 
 Karwcll ! those days are ^'oiie and past, 
 
 The wheel of Time moves on, 
 My lot in other lands is cast 
 
 To wander on alone. 
 
 II.- 1 
 
 But wheresoe'er my feet shall roam, 
 Through hai)piness or ills, 
 
 My heart will always bo at home 
 In Hancock County's Hills. 
 
 NEILL DAERAH. 
 
 He lay upon a bed of pain 
 
 Breathing his life av/ay ; 
 But dreams of youth would come again 
 
 And visions fair and gay. 
 He thought he sat again beneath 
 
 His own dear mother's smile, 
 And heard the summer breezes blown 
 
 O'er fair Prince Edward Isle. 
 
4G jHa^lc Ik^fitbes iwib |l)emloch l^ranches, 
 
 Hisloviug wife sat by his side 
 
 And took the sufferer's hand ; 
 She spoke to him in soothing words 
 
 He could not understand, 
 lie rallied, looked on all around, 
 
 Then said with pleasant smile, 
 " 1 see again the fields and flowers 
 
 Of fair Prince Edward Isle." 
 
 That was the last. He spoke no more 
 
 With his fast failing breath ; 
 His bosom heaved, he ope'd his eyes. 
 
 Then closed them cold in death. 
 He lies by Grand Lp\e*s rocky shore 
 
 Where winds and waves complain, 
 And sadly wave above his grave 
 
 The moaning pines of Maine. 
 
 But still, his spirit's far away 
 
 Within his native land, 
 Where friends and comrades gone before 
 
 Now take him by the hand ; 
 And back to Maine, through sun and rain, 
 
 I see him with a smile, 
 blessing wave toward his grave 
 
 From fair Prince Edward Isle. 
 
 THE KINGMAN FIB.E, 
 
 Marshalling all its force it came 
 Like a furious beast of prey. 
 
 And seized upon fences, fields of grain, 
 And aught that was in its way. 
 
^hc IKingmun Jire. 47 
 
 And it tossed its arms, and it sang aloud, 
 And it danced in its fiendish glee ; 
 
 And the sun, that night through a smoky cloud. 
 Sank down in a lurid sea. 
 
 And all through the night, till the break of day. 
 
 It roared on the other side. 
 And trampled the forest beneath its tread, 
 
 Like a demon in its pride. 
 
 The Mattawamkeag's waters boiled 
 
 As it ran along its shores. 
 And the cinders and coals fell thick at our feet 
 
 In front of our very doors. 
 
 But help was near, for they soon did hear 
 
 In Bangor, of the flame. 
 And sent us the " Victor "* and her crew 
 
 On botrd of a special train. 
 
 And the people of Kingman breathed again 
 
 "With a freer and fuller breath. 
 And their thanks went out to those gallant men 
 
 Who had saved their town from death. 
 
 The morning sun in quiet rose 
 
 On the village, safe and sound. 
 But oh ! what a sight on the other side 
 
 We saw as we gazed around. 
 
 It seemed as if the fires of hell 
 
 Had blasted and burned up all. 
 From the stately tree's with their crown of leaves, 
 
 To the bushes, short and small. 
 
 *Th€ iteain fire engine " Victor.' 
 
48 4Huplc ^'ciibee luib hemlock |8ranchcs. 
 
 And a sshudder will ruu through the veins of some 
 
 As they tell of that uvvful night, 
 Which with blaze more bright than the uoon-duy sun, 
 
 Illumed the town with its light. 
 
 77//; KIDS OF DUFFY STEEBT, 
 
 Not far beyond tlie tannery 
 
 That stands I y Jackson Brook. 
 Theie is a cosy tenement 
 
 Within a sliady nook : 
 Tis less tlian half a mile in length, 
 
 Its height about ten feet, 
 And there, in sweet contentment, dwell 
 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh ! the kids of Duffy Street, 
 Both bare in head and feet, 
 
 They run about from morn till night. 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 They never are one moment still, , 
 
 Those restless girls and boys, 
 'J'hey frighten all the neighbors with 
 
 Their everlasting noise ; 
 You'll always hear their yelling 
 
 And the clatter of their feet, 
 The3''re worse than a menagerie, 
 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh ! the kids of Duffy Street, 
 In rain or snow or sleet, 
 
 They're always found upon the road. 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
There is no place secure from them, 
 
 They batter in the doors ; 
 And wander all about the rooms 
 
 And dirty up the floors ; 
 They'll even jump upon your beds 
 Right with their muddy feet, 
 Then turn around and laugh at you, 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh, the kids of Duffy Street, 
 I cannot now repeat 
 
 One half the mischief that they do, 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 You cannot write a letter, 
 
 You cannot read a book. 
 You cannot even stop to think 
 
 Or turn around and look, 
 But nt your elbow they are seen, 
 
 Or clustered round your feet. 
 Or even sitting on your lap, 
 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh, the kids of Duffy Street, 
 You'll have to give up beat 
 
 Whene'er they make a raid on vou. 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 The naughty kids of Duffy Street, 
 
 They curse and swear and fight 
 Throughout all of the livelong day, 
 
 And far into the night. 
 You'll get so much enraged at them, 
 
 You'd count it quite a treat 
 
To live ten years in State Prison 
 To one, on Duffv Street. 
 
 Oh, the kids of Duffy Street, 
 Each day they si oiild be beat 
 
 With crow-bars, clubs or anything 
 You happen for to meet. 
 
 If through some strange, mysterious cause 
 
 Thev are one moment still. 
 They very soon are re-enforced 
 
 By those from Mutton Hill, 
 And marching forth, a hundred strong, 
 
 Together they will meet, 
 And make a howling wilderness 
 
 Of poor old Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh, the kids of Duffy Street, 
 Thev have no drums to beat. 
 
 But lungs of brass, and tongues of steel, 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 They're quick and sharp, and bright and smart, 
 
 Oood-hearted, every one. 
 They think not they annoy us so 
 
 When only " having fun," 
 And when to Sunday-school they go 
 
 They look so clean and neat, 
 You never would suspect they were 
 
 The kids of Duffy Street. 
 
 Oh, the kids of Duffy Street 
 
 With happiness I greet. 
 And wish good luck may crown their lives 
 
 And angels guide their feet. 
 
^Iie|:rtkc3 of ^maiuc. 51 
 
 THE LAKES OF MA INE. 
 
 O'wt rouiul with nigged mountains, 
 And vales of forest green, 
 
 h\ all their summer glory 
 The lakes of Maine are seen. 
 
 The bright sun sliines upon them 
 With threads of golden hue, 
 
 And mirrors in their sparkling depths 
 The sky's celestial blue. 
 
 The rocks, stand sentinels close by 
 As bulwarks to their shores ; 
 
 The little bushes, lovingly 
 And gracefully, arch o'er. 
 
 The modest ferns, within their tide. 
 Their slender branches lave ; 
 
 And, on their broad and shining breasts 
 The water-lilies wave. 
 
 The merry loon is heard to sing 
 
 His wild, fantastic lay, 
 And on the arching boughs is heard 
 
 The twitter of the jay. 
 
 The sturdy boatman by my side, 
 
 We steady plied the oar. 
 As up Grand Lake one day we went. 
 
 Along the western shore. 
 
 Old Munson's* rugged shoulders loomed 
 A. half mile from '' The Dam,'' 
 
 And the sharp corners of Half Moon 
 Lay in a sea of calm. 
 
 ♦Islands in Grand Lake, Maine. 
 
.'>2 M^V^t Xcabee anb |)cinlock franehtP. 
 
 And Harwood, a short distance lay, 
 
 " The Sisters," by its side, 
 And further on, a little way, 
 
 Columbus, we espied. 
 
 The gloomy shores of Coffin Point 
 
 Full soon aro!4e in view. 
 And just within the sheltered cove, 
 
 The rock of Caribou. 
 
 We rested by the Junior stream 
 Upon the " horse-back " there ; 
 
 And after dinner made our way 
 To Compass thoroughfare. 
 
 There, in that lovely sylvan glade 
 
 We gaily pitched our tent, 
 And joined a jovial company 
 
 On blueberries intent. 
 
 And how we passed the night I'll not 
 
 Attempt to tell you here, 
 1 thought not when I started out. 
 
 To catch a little dear. 
 
 But morning came, and in " the boat " 
 We started for " The Stream," 
 
 We found it pleasanter to ride 
 The lake, propelled by steam. 
 
 And all too soon we reached our home, 
 
 In such gay company. 
 And took our places, the next day. 
 
 Within the tannery. 
 
^hc SCakes erf 4!^tainc. 5S 
 
 Gone are those scenes, and now removed 
 
 Far from those witching lakes ; 
 I can no more with friends I loved, 
 
 My journey o'er them take. 
 
 But still, sweet memories will come 
 
 When life was young and free, 
 And I had yet a happy home, 
 
 And merry company. 
 
 In visions of the silent night 
 
 I think I'm there again ; 
 And memory flings a golden light 
 
 Around the lakes of Maine. 
 
 A RELIC. 
 
 Being a piece of the beJl of the Grand Lake Stream, Me., tan .,ery, destroyed Bv 
 
 nre in May, 1887, ^ ^ 
 
 A thousand memories you bring 
 
 Of days of old ;— On rustling wing 
 They crowd around me, fair and bright, 
 
 In this, my lonely room to-night. 
 
 Fly backward, years of grief and pain. 
 
 And bring me back my youth again, 
 Let me enjoy the old-time dream 
 
 Beside the banks of Grand Lake Stream. 
 
 Within that wild, secluded spot. 
 
 The world and all its cares forgot, 
 With dear companions, blithe and gay, 
 
 I passed the merry years away. 
 
r*4 .<>l.iplc ICciibe? itnb 3i)cmloch lyraui-luo. 
 
 The fiiHt brief year of idle play 
 
 <Jave place to work, from day to day, 
 
 And i)roud was I to earn my bread, 
 And have some little laid ahead. 
 
 iUjt, woi'k has more of cheer than cure, 
 When all around is bright and fair, 
 
 And, jolly fellows make the day 
 On swiftest pinions pass away. 
 
 I scarcely thought, until I found 
 The week of labor slii) around. 
 
 And Sunday, bring its sports and play 
 To nie and my companions gay. 
 
 We'd boat and bathe upon the lake, 
 And oftentimes our journey take 
 
 Into the forest deep, close l»y, 
 To see if game we could espy. 
 
 Or, maybe, in the month of June, 
 Beneath the bright and silvery moon. 
 
 We'd take our sweethearts out to walk, 
 And spend the eve in idle talk. 
 
 Of the wide world we saw no more 
 Than straggling Calais' sea-girt shore. 
 
 Where once a year we'd always go 
 To " Fourth of July " or a show. 
 
 Thus, settled in my forest home, 
 I never had a wish to roam ; 
 
 The world to me had naught so dear 
 As blessings that I cherished there. 
 
I turn tho pn^ro, tlio ycai-H spocd on, 
 My l.on.c, n,y hopes, my h'winh aiv «.,»(., 
 
 A-nd I, in wolitiulo iilone 
 Am dohtined tliioiigh the world to roam. 
 
 I've giiined Home wisdom ;-lourned the ways 
 Of the woild, inori' than in those days : 
 
 Itiit Jih ! it lias been dearly bought, 
 Nor rest or happiness has brought. 
 
 ^ly horizon has broader grown ; 
 
 The i)ower to know and to be known, 
 Is mine— but ah ! I've planted rue, 
 I've got the power to suffer too. 
 
 Jf some kind angel eould but takt* 
 
 ^re to my cottage by the lake, 
 ^\nd lay me on my snug, warm bed, 
 
 My mother sitting at the head. 
 
 I'd think the years of toil and pain 
 % me, had not been lived in vain, 
 
 And back, in childhood's careless joy, 
 I'd bless the Lord I was a boy. 
 
 But no ;— The house the flame devours. 
 
 We can no longer claim as ours ; 
 I and my mother miles divide, 
 
 She cannot sit by my bedside. 
 
 This wrecked and ruined frame can ne'er 
 Resume its previous form, and wear 
 
 The strong right arm, to earn my bread. 
 For it is in the graveyard laid' 
 
 .').') 
 
•'>G i>laplc 3Ccabf0 anb ^kinlock ^SJiauchce. 
 
 The Hhij) diHinuHted, r'ulcn the wave 
 Without u hand outsttetcheil to hivvo, 
 
 Till, Biifo into hoiiio frioiuUy port, 
 Or l)y the rockw jiiid breuUurH ciiught. 
 
 So, uneqnippod, I sail life's Hoa, 
 
 Unknowing of my destiny, 
 Wliiuli nnirtt ere long yet bring me through 
 
 Or sink me iu the gulf below. 
 
 WENDELL PHlLLlPtS. 
 
 Cold lies the turf above his head, 
 
 lint the Howers on his grave, 
 With the mild, sweet breath of summer 
 
 In verdure green shall wave. 
 
 And spring in their vernal beauty 
 Through all the corning years 
 
 Guarded well by a nation's hand. 
 And wet with a nation's tears. 
 
 The cry of an outraged peo[)le rose 
 On the wings of prayer to God, 
 
 Ground down by the heel of a despot foe, 
 And scourged by his cruel rod. 
 
 lie heard their cry, and quickly sprang 
 
 To succor and defend. 
 And his clarion voice in warning rang 
 
 In behalf of his fellow-men. 
 
ollcnbcll IJhilhpo. 57 
 
 His iiohlo HOiil YOHO lii^li above 
 
 DiHtinetioiiH of oIush or creeci ; 
 He <,Miv(' till' vvoultii of liiH licart of lovo 
 
 Tluit the (lown-troddtMi uu^hl ]ui freed. 
 
 And whctlu'i- tlio hated African serf 
 
 Or tho wretched IriHJiit au, 
 Hound down in opprewHion wcmhc than death, 
 
 A Hhiv<' in hiH native hind. 
 
 At the risk of hin liberty, life and fame, 
 
 He took up the battle-cry, 
 And won hiniself an immortal name 
 
 That never on earth shall die. 
 
 Peace is better, but when old wounds 
 
 Will canker, fester and bleed, 
 And a harvest of wrath is gathered 
 
 By those Vho have sowed the seed. 
 
 Then— Oi)en war, in the name of God, 
 
 To set the i-aptive free, 
 To scourge tho proud with a chastening rod. 
 
 And establish Liberty. 
 
 And the praise of a nation, yet in chains. 
 
 Is sounding across the sea, 
 And her tears fall fast o'er the low remains 
 
 Of that son of Liberty. 
 
 But the day will come, when O'Connell's land 
 
 A garland bright shall send 
 Fresh from the grasp of her Fuee right hand, 
 
 For Liberty's chosen friend. 
 
ffllSGElibANEOaS. 
 
 TO MY AIif<KNT Bmrnihlli. 
 
 'V\\i\wisA\\i' yoiiiK liuvo paHHCtl iiwuy, 
 
 Since on that nienioiablo day 
 You held nie in your fond onibrace, 
 
 An»l hiMt I li)oked upon your face. 
 
 W'i' waiwlorcd up the river bank, 
 
 The piiu'H above looked dark and dank, 
 
 A more abHtracted look yon wore 
 Than ever I had seen before. 
 
 We walked awhile, and then wat down 
 Upon a knoll with grnws o'ergrown ; 
 
 Yon took me on your knee to rest. 
 
 And fondly clasped nie to your breast. 
 
 I could not tell the conflict sore 
 Within your breast, that fateful hour, 
 
 The agonicH of mind and heart 
 
 From all you loved on earth to part. 
 
 You gently told me to go home. 
 Assuring me you soon would come, 
 
 And toddling off, in childish pride, 
 J soon was at my mother's side. 
 
 That night, the news to us did come, 
 That Ben had ran away fiom home ; 
 
 He'd left the word with neighbors near. 
 Well knowing that we soon would hear. 
 
®o i!l9 ^b»fnt IBrothfr. fl0 
 
 I do not l)luiitu him, tliougli my liourt 
 
 WuH lu'tirly broken for to piut, 
 Ami HH(l(l(;r growH (^ueli paHHJng your, 
 
 Still lioldiiijr hiH rememhrnnco (lonr. 
 
 Imi'iilHivo, (jliallng at rcHtniint, 
 
 Altlioiiuli hf novor mtule complaint, 
 He'd miit'li to jjiiiii and naught to lose 
 
 lint poverty and kiokw and i)lowH. 
 
 Twonty-llvo yearn in Hun and whade 
 
 The homely dwelling low IniH laid. 
 '1 lie family moving on to Maine, 
 
 Have taken up life's load again. 
 
 A mother, feeble, old and gray, 
 
 A father, Hinking day by day, 
 The only winter, gone to rest 
 
 Within the manwionH of the blent. 
 
 The oldent brothers nettled down 
 
 And married, and theyouugent grown, 
 And travelling on in middle age 
 
 Hi« sad and lonely pilgrimage. 
 
 Oh poet-lirother ! if you knew 
 
 The many tears we've shed for you. 
 Our mother's cries, our father's prayers. 
 
 You'd come and bless their hoary hairs. 
 
 The poverty and grief and tears 
 
 Of more than three-score weary years, 
 Would be forgotten in their joy 
 
 To clasp again their wandering boy. 
 
(00 ^Vli'jccllancoue. 
 
 But iiitiyitt' you Jire dead and gone, , 
 And cold btMioatli llio churcli-yard stono, 
 
 Tcrisli tho tlioiiolit ; I'll not believe— 
 .My inner seuBC will neer deceive. 
 
 In dreams I've seen yon. with you talked, 
 And bv your side ajjain have walked, 
 
 And noticed that the hand of chan<>c 
 Mas? tak(!n yon within its ran<^e. 
 
 Oh I could yon come to me to-night, 
 You'd turn my darkness into lijiht ; 
 
 A (inarter centuiy's grief and pain 
 Of it, would not a trace remain. 
 
 Oi' could I follow where you are, 
 
 I'd rty to the remotest star, 
 In time or in eternity, 
 
 In life or death, to be with thee. 
 
 I cannot drive the thought away 
 
 That here on earth, we'll meet some day, 
 
 And talk together face to face, 
 As in that well-remembered place. 
 
I iMiiMi %hm 
 
 i«iisiiiiiiiiiiiB>iBMiMaM«iiiiiaii«iii<ig 
 
 ^Bar Iroim a^idl Steele 
 
 Cook Ranges * Stoves. 
 
 FARLnR, niNINC RnOM s Hnx 
 
 WITH A LARGE STOCK OF 
 
 -AND- 
 
 MiTGHEi HHiiWiRE 
 
 For Sale at the Usual Low Prices. 
 
 ■ ((■KatiaiiaiiaiiaHiiiiaiiaiiiiiBiiaiiiMB 
 
 RenoieQiber t%m @>M Staiaid, 
 
 QUEEN STREET, EREDERICTON, N. B. 
 
-i 
 
 B, EDGESOM 
 
 H 
 
 Importer of 
 
 s 
 
 ^ A PI R i 
 
 ^ uu < i 
 
 is 
 
 H 
 
 TM" 
 
 WHQbCSAbE AND RETAIb. 
 
 The stock is always so well assorted that \ou arc 
 
 sure to get what you may ask tor, and obtain 
 
 them at the Lowest Possible Prices. 
 
 -^Elcia^t Forget the Flaee,^ 
 
 •^194 ♦ QBECN # STREET, ^^ 
 FREDERICXON, - N. B 
 
 OPPOSITE NORMAL SCHOOL. 
 
 _ Fred. B. Edgecombe, city agent for C P. 
 Railway Tickets to all points West.