V.N ;>^ ^<; ^^ •Si ^<' 55 >;.< •St •SI jSt >;.< ^^ ^^ ^^ Wd) @/x ungersoll mings V. BY- i- ^iQhard (^rigg./[^4 INGERSO PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE OXFORD TRIBUNE, 1894. ■A ;>^ ^^ ^^ ^^ i ^\^®g^^ C ngersoll J^^hym '/'(^~^\ BY- :^iePiaLrd ©rigg, V y ^^^^©"x ^ INGERSOLL : PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE OXFORD TRIBUNE, 1894. P^EFKCE. Same time ago, some one wrote to the London "Free Press" askings how many poets there were in Canada. The "Free Press" replied that there were about 75,000 who thought they were poets. So in presenting this Httle tract (not to the world) but to Ingersoll and vicinity, I sin in a very large company, and numbers make one bold. I have been urged by a few friends to collect these little effusions together and print them. A few of them, they are pleased to say, being worth preserving, and as it is easy to jump in the direction of one's vanity, I may confess I have been fairly easily persuaded. I will not vouch for either grammar or strict adherence to the rules of com- position, for really, I do not know much about either, but such as the verses are I present them, believing they will not hurt anyone very seriously. R. GRIGG. Ingersoll, May 9, ^894. TNJ5EX. Rubbing Along" - • . • . e Elegy on Defunct Society - - - 7 Orthodox Herterdoxy - ^ ' *. ' j| Grigious, Macibus, Bellicus - * ,- • 14 Ingni Bexigurm - - ' • ' •, 15 Jubilee Song •' • , . - 17 A Sea Sick Lay \; - • . • jg Cheese Song - .» : * ^ . 20 Home-made Theology - . * . 21 Our Sally - - -',.-. 24 Another Ode to Beautiful Snow - " - 25 TouU'd his Love - - • . 25 The Fair for the Brave - - - 26 Who is She ? - - - - 27 Peccavi " - - - 28 Off Winter - - ' . . 29 A Dog Day Whine • x . * . - 30 Library Song - .. ^ •• - 31 Canada our Canada * :.^ "• - 34 Devonshire Picnic - ♦ ♦J - 36 Remorse - - • ^ - 33 To Lu Lu - • . - . 38 A Word of Advice - - - 39 More Rime - - - - 40 Poking the Poets - - - ^l On to Woodstock ■ - - - 44 Pretty Port Hope - - - 47 Another Maple Ode - , . . ^g The Oxford Knight - - - 49 Rhyme for Reforniers - - - 50 The (K)nightly Rampage - - 52 INDEX. Our John New Year Card Britons, Pull Together A Snarl at Bigotry Watch Night Song Tatriotism Looking Back To a Lady Another Song" A Dull Parson - The Noble Army of Singers Up There New Year Patter More New Year Patter The Wild Wires A Rime of the Sea Ciriggerton Rhymes - Printer Prattle - No Rest - Ruth Penn Fight For Your Own Johnny Who are the Best Song for the Times Farewell our Hopes • - Our Flag - Valentine Day - Shortfellow's First Poem Local Carol Retribution Blythe and Merry Tit for Tat ' - Luella Midwinter Nights Dream Anarchical Reuben Flareup Jinole Jangle A Wild Wish Never, Dick, Never In Memoriam Finis 54 56 56 59 60 61 63 65 65 67 67 68 69 71 73 75 n 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 92 92 93 94 94 95 97 98 103 105 105 106 5 RUBBING ALONG. * Aladdin, in the days of old Did wandering go — a cave he found, In it were trees whose fruit was gold And radient gems bestrew'd the ground. In this deep cave he saw a lamp, He took it home its light to try, His mother saw 'twas somewhat damp, She took a rag to rub it dry. She rubb'd and Lo ! with din, and clatter, A great big niggah filled the room, She scream'd aloud, ^'W'hat is the matter; For gracious sake why do you come ?" "I come" he said, *'to do his will Or hers, who doth this old lamp hold ! All orders I can quickly fill, So great my power, it can't be told. If aught you wish for, give a rub And I will come and be your slave ; t I'll rip the globe from rim to hub, For anything you wish to have." Aladdin rubbed for power and might, Rubbed for a princess for his bride, Rubb'd not so much for level right As for himself and few beside. If we Aladdin's lamp possess'd. And the big niggah whp attends, What should we rub for — to give zest To life, and serve our scanty friends. We'd rub for common sense and health, From taint a soul and body free, A little rub for moderate wealth, For loving heart one rub should be. For labor strong some brains to pen, Despising no true useful work, Be cheerful, humble, honest men. Speaking our thoughts, ashamed to shirk. For faithful friends about our size, Who music love, with song and fun, Who books, and wit, and humor prize That women pure can smile upon. 6 Lovin^^ the past to view again, Scannin^-^ the paths past men have trod Judgin^^ from what hath been, if men Are really growing nearer God. Seeing the hand and will of God In every flower and leaf and stone, f'eeling his goodness spread abroad, '^ Believes his love denied to none. But cannot ope a gaping mouth To swallow all might be scooped in, Loving o'er all things real truth. O'er interest, ease, o'er wealth or sin. Who will not bow the servile knee To idolize Knave -tainted wealth, Wlio every toil-marked worker see. Full, fair and open; not by stealth. . Who tries to love his neighbor, too. Who is not lofty, sour and glum, Nor proudly claims, the very few Should all things say, the many dumb. Is patient with the old, the sad. The awkward, rough, coarse visag'd ones, Nor acts not, as if all were bad, But dainty, smooth, aesthetic fawns. We might desire still further good, But will not too exacting be, Were we with every grace endow'd W' e might be vain and proud — d'ye see ? Alas ! the lamp we cannot get Old Nigj our summons won't obey, \\ e il rub along, try not to iret And fight thee as best we may. Ingersoll, July 25, 1884. 7 ELEGY ON A DEFUNCT LITERARY ^SOCIETY. [About t!io yenr 18'^3-J thoro wa.M a Utorfiry i=ooioty In In- pforsoll, which held xvcokly tnot^tinK''^ in Ihcruoni^ of tlic InK'tT^^oll jVIochrtiiicM' liistihito, over trie "(.'iiroiiiclo" odien : I was lihrnriiin «t the tiirio, and so, was in touch with the So(.'i(;ty. Mr. J C. Noiv.uortliy. Avho war; a niofuher, u-so'l to in\'ito the inomhors to his housi', labont half a luilo eist of tho townt, to a litth' s'.ippur OJCeintho winter. On one occasion he kindly invited l^oct JNTc- Intyrcaud niysolf; wo wore alloxpectod in turn to make a Ki.oech, sin^ a sonar or toll a story. I remnniljor Mac y:ol off some rhymes about an Indian u:ir! and her pantalettes,, wliieh, in the interest of real jj^ood niorality. he did not publish in his books; I stanwnercd a few words, "not beina: aecnstomed, eio., eic.," but while I sat there listening? to the rest, I formed a plan, for tho next year, and blocked out my rhyme then and there, but before the year camo around the Society died, leaving' my sont^ on my hands. T altered it .1 liltle and published it in the Ingersoll Sun as an elegy on the defunct Bociety.] In this good town of In^^ersoU There was a bright society . * Of talking;- inen with learning full And brighter still in piety. '• • - -- . But all things in this world below Doth change ; and int;erest will flag, Their eloquence hath ceas'd to flow — Their fiery tongues no longer wag. , I sing to keep their memory green ; Perchance that eyes unborn may see ^ The glories our dull eyes have seen, •, Transmitted to posterity. - I see them as they sat to sup, " Contentment shining on their faces ; - With fancy's tongue I call them up, And note their various points and graces. A poet first, who rightly said * "The cream of thought is poesy" A poet who is not afraid To rhyme, and rhyme incessantly. His Homerish head, his wildish eye, Lit up by genius' frenzied gleam. Singing of Romley's rabbit pie. Of milk, and whey, of curds and cream. * James Mclntyre. 8 » Sinj^^ing of royal queenly cheeses From numerous cows like swarms of beeses, No little flies its hu'j;e bulk seizes ; No bold bad flies annoys and teases. Its unctuous sides the cheeseman gr. ^s, Its fra.i,^rance loads the evening" breezes, It spreads our fame which still increases, No Yank now at our cheeses sneezes. Sun^r of Dan Hebner, tall and string, Who wild cats, coons, and wolves defied, Sun%^ of his feats when he was young, He ate a bear and tann'd its hide. Of maidens' cries for looking-glasses, Of gushing maidens' nervous "go ma's,'"' Of scheming, artful, wily lasses, For some dark purpose wanting sofas. His later lay was of his hen, His ardent hope for gentle spring. When buds are bursting, then, O then, ■^ New lays his fertile muse will bring. To-day he puns upon the poets, Happy poets they are dead. Could they but hear, and see, and know it, Would they not pun and pun — ch his head. A less ambitious rhymster sings + Some rugged measures rude and simple, A little harmless satire flings, E'en tries to paint the beauties, dimple. He diggeth in a doggerei vein, Snaps out his thought sometimes unruly ; Who so hath reason to complain. He beggeth pardon, humbly, truly. I Two magnates from the Institute, Collegiate, we have here before us. Scholastic giants who can do it. Teach us, lick us, never bore us. * He was about to publish a new edition of his poems. t R. Grig^. t Mr, Merchant principal of the Collegiate Institute and Mr. Bride n afterwards principal. /^ One In the clouds, one walketh lower, * An unmatched team, but they can go Through lo;^'ic, figures, themes a score, ^ All language from their tongues can flow. Down from the east there comes a sage, Sober, solid, staid, demure. Broker, banker, middle age, Whose ways and words, and notes are sure. His name is sometimes called "Nors"— -worthy. Worthier is his tongue we know ; Sophistry falleth topsey turvey, Beneath his intellectual blow. J. C. Hegler, brilliant lawyer, ,. Story teller, humerous joker, Masonic magnate, tip top sawyer, Looses the goat, and heats the poker. Sung the song of Williams' baby, Sung what Aaron said to Moses ; Speculated on what may be, . ' Consequence of Caswell's doses. Here, J. B. Jackson running o'er With modern instances, and saws Full to the tongue with legal lore Can mend, or make (?) the widest flav;s. He pesters not with petty costs His litigations mild, serene Estates and chattels, rarely lost, He gendy, safely, tows them in. We had a word for Doc. McKay t We made a cap we thought would fit But almost fear to say our say, To fully loose our pungent wit. For he's the coroner, bedad ! And him we must not irritate ; If we should vex and make him mad He'll sit upon us sure as fate. There's brother Sumner's shimmering beard, I Whose lofty brow denotes the poet, He hath not yet been fully heard, But when he speaks the world shall know it. "* Mr. Merchent was very tall, Mr. Briden rather short t Present (1894) M. P. P., for South Oxford. i William Sumuer, Insurance agent, ex-Editor, etc. 10 We know his note, we've heard him toot, We go in raptures when we hear him ; Some arc entranced, some lift their boot, To dance or kick in wild delirium. Angus McLeod, we do believe, * That for your measured mystic knockings Some proper boon you should receive. For faithful guarding ^'^crets shocking. Put out your tongue and on its tip Some angel may, put living fire, Then we shall hear some racy lip. When Angus speaks his full desire. • ■ ' ^: And Arthur Williams, M. D., Who skilfulllycan lance and le^ch; Which loves he best next to a fee ; i To roll a pill, or roll a speech. He sniffs afar the wordy fighting. Would roughly rasp our dear conceit. Would knock our favorite theories kiting, And follow close when we retreat. And now the wine kept for the last In fancy let it freely flow, . - In pleasant memories of the past, : . For future joys, for littie Joe. + Silver-tonguey little Joe, Whose tongue one said hung in the middle, And touches notes both high and low. Both grave and gay like Urso's fiddle. Hopeful, mournful, gay, pathetic, On every theme the changes ringing; Humorous, witty, sharp, emphatic. The test of truth to all things bringing. Will not to petty bigness pander, ■ To mark of right for ever pointing. From common sense will never wander. Is never false or disappointing. Now on the top dear Joey is — He's Mayor of Ingersoll my boys ; * Anerus McLeod woodworker at Noxon's factory and tyler at the Masonic Lodges, t Joseph Gibson, ex-Mayor, of Ingersoll, postmaster, a^ talented speaker and local preacher. 11 Assumes no far-off free 'rg phiz, And humble friends may share his joys. Long may he live, long may his tongue Instruct, amuse, or gently scold us; To brains and eloquence belong The right to teach us, form us, mould us. Long may he at the wicket stand To hand us love, and money letters, From friends in this and older lands. And invitations from our betters. ^ Ingersoll, March i, 1886. ORTHODOX HERTERODOXY. Why do we, little purblind men. Indulge in scoMing, nagging, wrangling. With roueh -- \,.:u . "^es, anu ^all tiped pen, Cu:^-..6, glowering, n^v ^ angling? Ever ready to call hard names, Consigning folks to awful places ; We must see through their color'd panes, Or else they load us with disgraces. Can not keep still, keen for a fight. Tap fingers, roll eyes, stamp and shout, With logic, or not, wrong or right. About things we know little about. The good God who reigneth above. And sideways, and endways, and under, Is a God of vast wisdom and love ; Man can't cut his great plans asunder. Man cannot help God, or defy him, Too little are we, he so vast ; Can't hurt him, e'en should we deny him, His power is so firm and fast. Can we curb the stars in their flight. Or stay the wild hurricane's power ? 12 Can we change the day into nisfht, Or check the globe's course for an hour ? Or grow to an hundred feet high, Or hvc on for five hundred years, Or will that we never shall die, Or sleep for six months like the bears ? What is, what to be, v.hat hath been, Is just what God means it to be ; By laws some we see, some unseen, He worketh the grand destiny. In set path the shining orbs fly. The pulses of life blindly beat, The seasons and time fiickers by, - And man goeth on to his fate. If we break His just lav/s, what then ? We suffer, and rightly we ought ; If we do it again and again, P^ace to face with grim death we are brought. Dire sorrow, dull sadness, black woe, Despairing regrets, wringmg pain, Are the fruits of the seeds we sow. When we break His mild laws so benign. For God, although loving and good. Pardons not, nor cannot, such sin ; His laws, be it well understood. Must be kept, we must walk well therein. • God's love, like a bright golden thread. Runneth through all the w^orks of his^hands ; For man, from his birth till he's dead, God shapeth with love all his plans. *Tis joy to breathe in His pure air. To feel quick life thrill in our veins ; -.- ■ When wearied with labor or care, Kind sleep sootheth out all our pains. When thirsty to drink, oh how good, How sweet is the water he gave ; Enjoyment goes down with our food. With every function we have. He gave us the beautiful flowers, So fragrant, so graceful, so sweet 13 The birds flash and sing in His bowers ; lie carpets the earth for our feet. His dew, hke gems, pearly and clear, When his sun shoots its glances below, And perhaps, if the summer were here, I might mention tne " beautiful snow." His was the magnificent gift, The glorious power of song. And given, that through it we lift Our grateful souls up to Hi^ throne. But greatest and sweetest of all His great gifts is the power of love ; To know some may spring at our call, A foretaste of heaven above. Yes, God is our father and king. Who doeth all things well and wise ; Lift up soul-tune'd voices and sing Heartful homage to God of the skies. But man — crafty man — loveth power, And wealth, and display, and control, Cajoled from the first to this hour, The poor little credulous soul. For power what will he not do, With blarney and sophistry stuff us, Say that which is really not so, ^ Hoodwink us, and cheat us, and bluff us. And some fibs of the past, oh my ! They were whoppers, and yet some do say, We must swallow them now, you and I, In this truth loving, close searching day. Some can, but others can not ; Pray what's to be done in this matter ? When unto this pass we ha^-e got, W^e must drop out the doubtful for better. And the better for me and for you. To be just, humble, gentle and kind. Faithful, honest, pure minded and true ; Seek in all men what good we can find. We are none of us quite free from guile, Might be juster and wiser no doubt ; 14 Thou^^h our crochets may c^iise a fT^im smile, If they're harmless why let them come out. We should never admire or condone Mean vices in any grand phases, Let no wealth or position atone For the practice of reckless hard cases. Live up to the teaching of Jesus, When he taught us to love one another ; Avoid what (in reason) displeases, Acknowledge each man as a brother. And not be contemptible snobs, Be grateful to patient rough "hands" , Nor fancy the depth of the fob, Is the gage for the soul of a man. Ingersoll, 1885. CRICIOUS, MACIBUS, CAELIUM, BELLICOS. [Some one replied in the **Ingersoll Sun" to "Orthodox Herterodoxy" and used Latin phrases I did not understand, I replied in "Grigious, Macibus, Gaeliunif Bellicos.] Arouse thee Mac ! "^ and "Gael" my hinnie ; A fearful danger loometh up ! Another poetizing ninny . " ^ ; Has woke up and may never stop. ' * He comes ! He comes !! is "bellum" !I! shouting Some barbarous, heathenish, Latinizer ; j I judge from his fierce style of spouting ) He feeds on Globe and Advertiser. - • ^ ' Up Mac, and muster all our forces ! Flash out your blinding fiery genius ! Back m his throat cram his discourses — Ch '^ him they must — they are so heinous. Go for hirw, puissant, potent Mac, And whop him till you lay him out ; * James Mclntyre. i 15 And "GaeP ard I will help-whack ! crack ! He's done, no more will poets flout. Then, Mac, you know a "trick to play" him ; Forever end his wicked chaff ; I'll find a stoney place to lay him, And you shall write his epitaph, "Insanit Homo" goes for me, With heavy rhymes meant to be drastic, And dealeth (as is usual) free, In platitudes, ecclesiastic. I won't review his fifteen verses ; (To call them verses I'll agree): My thought and life somewhat asperses, Painteth unfairly sombre — ly. A sensual stretcheth things a bit, ^ ,eps back, puts forth, and coloreth ; cCrmin — ed my words shall fit His bugbear of distorted faith. One verse, the child of lc j y»ly spleen, While charity his lips were preaching ; Alas ! Alas ! how oft' are seen, The ways of men belie their teaching. » He says from habit I write rough ; I own at paltriness I jeer, But I can scribble smooth enough, - For those I love, what I revere. I love and worship God above, Love truth, and men — have used them right, The gentler, purer part I love — Prototypes from angels bright. Ingersoll, April I, 1886. * 1 16 "INGM BEXK'JRM. ' [The Inst piece was aRain replied to by the same party, still ii^inp: Latin phrases. I inveiit«'(l tie word "Ingin Hexignrm" to p»»ko fun at liini. I afterward licard lie hunted the Latin dictionMr:, to find the word and so 1 had the hiii^h on him. Ingm liexigUiin is a reply to hia effusion. My learned, my poly<^lot friend, A truce to this "showing- olf fighting, Let our ways hke the weather, amend, No longer innuendoes inditing'. The sky hath put on its Hght bkie, The dry air is now fit for breathing-, The clouds trim with rick rack anew, The spring like a baby is teething. The buds show the promise of green, A bee pass'd me yesterday humming ; Not a patch of drab snow to be seen. Through the windows we hear the old strumming. The frogies — the gay festive frogies — - , Sing the song we are most of us singing ; On the "stoop" in the sun sleep the dogies, The cow-bells already are ringing. The dark veils are off the fair faces. The velvets give place to bronze green ; \ No longer March winds tan the graces, ! Though at all times they're good to be seen. We will watch for the opening flowers, For the swallow who skims the soft air, I For the warm the life-giving show ers | Which clotheth the tields that were bare. - The anthem sung by the deep thunder, . : > For the lightning (six miles away,) - J It is glorious and grand; but close under ; It scareth some folks till they pray. / So my polyglot friend you perceive ' ] My taste runs not always to fighting ; But for you and your future I grieve, 1 'Tis you who rough things have been writing. i You are doom'd, for the unchristian sneer, e (Too near truth,) when you said we were glum ; f ) 1 t \ 17 But you stretched it to make it appear We are **crabbit*' and splecny "to hum/' Don't you know "things are not as they seem ?" Seeming sweet is oft tearfully tart, Seeming sour, hidden sweets may redeem ; Under rugged, rough heads, gentle hearts. But I said I was fighting no more, Yet I slip to it easy again, And whatever I scribbled before I will stick to through thick and through thin. But why do you make such a fuss, Since you're sure I am wholly mistaken ? You take up the cudgels for "us," As if your big house could be shaken. Truth never need tremble or fear, 'Tis error that ever is squirming ; Truth proved, established, clear. Needs not so much angry affuming. You were speaking of recriminations, I confess that at that you excel ; And the word hath some ugly relations You had better avoid them. — Farewell. April 14, 1886, ' CANADA JUBILEE SONG. Come, let us sing a song, a hearty song, A song of honest praise to her who reigns ; Our noble, gentle Queen, to whom belongs. The best notes we can raise, our sweetest strains. Shall tremble with rich cadence, or shall roar, With thundering chorus in a storm of praise ; For who, in present time, or times before, Is worthier the song to her we raise.'^ 18 Her glorious reign of fifty happy years, We celebrate with pride and thankfulness ; Grateful and proud to know that fewer tears Well up from bleeding hearts, that woes are less. And blessings greater now, than on that day Of fifty years ago, and we have seen Her power and glory grow, her righteous sway, O'er ever widening lands, and every inch a queen. Virtuous, kindly, just and pure her life, A beacon light for Britain's womanhood ; A loving, natural mother, faithful wife. Her pride and glory — ever doing good. Near fifty years ago we heard the roar. The cannon's thundering roar, and felt the jar ; We saw the rushing rockets heavenward soar, We heard the joyous clarions echoing far. Clanging bells, in flag-draped towering steeples, Rattling drums, shrill fifes, dread wars array ; Streets like rivers flowing streams of people. Shouting till hoarse to celebrate tha; day. Full fifty thousand voices rent the air. We saw the bunting stream from stern to stem, - We saw from hundred ships the blue lights glare, The day Victoria our queen became. The cannon of this day shall louder roar. The rockets of this day reach nearer Heaven ; Ten times the number shout than did before, A hundred million shout for freedom given. In every clime where'er her rule extends, Where loyal hearts respond to honest laws. There peace and happiness with safety blends, There light and progress, truth and knowledge grows. And truth wqll grow^ ; higher ! ever higher ! ! And men grow nearer God, more just, more kind ; Less bigoted and mean, have less desire. For power or wealth to blindly lead the blind. W'hen labor takes its ow^n well-earned place, The frothy cornice grateful to foundation ; When grasping greed and lust is foul disgrace. And useless drones the still ones of the nation. 19 And these good times will come, for God doth reign, Me wisely reigneth, all his laws abide ; His ways immutable, what he ordains Will be ; man cannot turn his deep laid-plans aside. God save the Queen, God keep us British men From lawless follies, from all mad desire ; May common sense guide every tongue and pen, And every step we take, be higher I Higher I ! Ingersoll, May loth, 1887. A SEA-SICK LAY, The engine thumps, the water swishes, The Babel tongues above are clashing. The cooks are rattling plates and dishes, In one unending, noisy washing. This ship has learned some shameful tricks, Her bad behavior "beats the Dutch," Cocks up her nose, she rolls, she kicks, She even takes a drop too much. Such wobbling stairs, who ever saw ? She turns her floors to sidling roof. She seemeth drunk, breaks every law. Takes no advice and scorns reproof. My stomach heaves, head seems to split, All smells are vile, this horrid motion Won't let me eat or sleep a bit — I fear I hate this dam — p old ocean. I seek the refuge of my bed, And think of friends I left behind me, When lo ! I hear close by my head * A joyous laugh that does remind me * A lady in the adjoining berth. Some weeks after, while strolling in Kew gardens, London, I came across a lady, who was on the ship, and who remembered my face. On comparing notes I found it was her who was in the next berth, and the fun was, she was heavy and fat, and had to climb up to the top berth, the two other young women helping her and laughing over the fun. 20 Of other iaiij,'hers, far away ; I5ut, not so far but still I hear them — In darkening night, and opening day, Mysterious something brings me near them. She's off again ! Ha-ha-ha-ha ! Like silver bells on rippling \v'ater, Like singers, trilling la-la-la, Happy, hearty, joyous laughter. Laugh on, laugh on, thou unknown lass, 'Tis good to hear you laughing so ; And, may it never come to pass, Your hiugh be drowned in sea-sick woe. White Star Steamship, Haltic, June 25, 1887. CHEESE SONG. (After Mclntyre.) Still another song of cheese Numerous cows Hke ''swarms of bees" Flowing vats like white capp'd seas Curds the cheeseman cut and squeese Flavoi-'d, color'd, taste to please In whatsoever style it pays. Muddy farm yard, whoa's and gee's Under dripping maple trees Swaying in the rainy breese In cloudy sombre stormy days Or scorch'd by Sols slant evening rays Bit by ravenous flies and fleas Singing shrill in various keys Who sting and buzz and bite and teaze 21 Hired man on his bended knees Kippeth out the bi^(, big D's \'ents his ire in awful ways In angry, smashing, bloody frays Not waiting till his victim prays. Milk maid stripping at her ease Hears, but doubts, his rural "lies" May, or may not yield the fees She owes to him, he boldly says, Or cruelly his ardor freeze If sweeter swain the maiden sees Now having drawn down to the lees We end our silly song of cheese. HOME-MADE THEOLOGY. Long, long ago, back countless years, When men were low, low down the scale, W^hen sIl es to ignorant, barbarous fears, When ever}' mystery turned them pale. In every sound God's anger heard. In ever pain His vengence felt, What'ere they did not know they feared. To all things strange, in terror knelt. Believed men saw and talked with God, Whose awful face forever frown'd ; Upon the earth He fiercely trod, Spreading dismay and misery 'round. Before his fiery, withering breath. As leaves before devouring flame, Unnumbered millions fell in death. In fear and terror of his name. Whose hand let fly the lightning stroke. Whose voice frowned in the thunder's roar The screaming winds His threat'nings spoke. Engulfing waves displeasure bore. As King of Love men knew Him not, They saw Him through their hate and fear ;- For love in men was scarce begot, — ■ Judged God to be just as they were. Then '^aft uprose, which claimed to scan Behind the veils of mystery ; To stand between dread God and man, To turn His vengful wrath away. Taught gleams of truth 'mid heaps of lies, Tasted of power and found it sweet, Fill'd awe-struck ones with dumb surprise And brought them trembling at their feet. Doing some good, but how much wrong ! They "skinned" the slaving, laboring poor ; Greedy, repacious, high fed, strong, Crying forever, "More 1 Give more 1" Tii^ " strife crept in, hard words arose, False prophet, heathen, heresy. Till wboso struck the deadliest blows Decided what belief should be. Still theologians thump and fight, Still warring creeds hot shot deliver, Each doubly sure "they only right,'* To-day, to-morrow and forever. With fiery zeal seek yet to force On this keen, thoughtful, reasoning age, Some misty myths from mortal source, Ere history scrawl'd her prentice page. If God appeared in those dark days. When men were ignorant, brutal, low. He hath not changed His law nor ways. As He did then, so He does now. What is the truth ? What shall we own ? Doth God appear to man to-day ? Yes ! In His works He's partly shown, And love and goodness mark His way. He speaks to those who love to hear, Is seen by who have eyes to see ; His voice is heard distinct and clear, In glorious, endless harmony. In murmuring streams, the roaring sea, The thunder's anthem deep and grand ; The diamond lightnings, wild and free, The full cloud bursting on the land. 23 In insects' hum, the birds' refrain, The gentle breeze, the leaflet's sigh, The blessed cry of summer rain. The sportive fire-fly flashing by. The starry hosts, the blushing light, Spread o'er the face of Northren skies, The stranger comet's headlong flight. As 'round its master, "Sol" it flies ; The hissing song of potent steam, • The locomotive's "vriU"-like * puff. His strident gait, his curdling scream, Whose fiery maw ne'er cries enough. Roaring, tearing, thundering, flying, • Rushing eighty miles an hour. The echoing hills and dales replying, Emblem of grand, resistless power. The handiwork of modern man, In imitation of his God, Who lent him brains to bridge and span Both time and space, to look abroad. To see and learn His certain laws. To know and feel His glorious might, To search and find effect and cause, To see the wrong, to choose the right. To watch His modes, His skilful plans, To see that love marks all His ways, Our marc^ is onward, never still. And knowing more sing more His praise. No going back, but onward moving, No matter what the creeds may say, For even creeds may need improving. Accepting truths revealed to-day. For God is Love, and God is just. But old-time men were steeped in gall, Who taught that fire and brimstone must Be meted out to almost all. And these whom good men say are blind, Accept, revere what Jesus said : The loving, honest, gentle, kind, "The just need never be afraid." t Bulwer's Coming Race. Psalm XV. Ingersoll, Ont., Aug., '91. 24 OUR SALLY. Our Sal, is the fairest and dearest, So piquant, yet modest and mild ; Her voice was the swetest an clearest, And sat all the song singers wild. Her movements are graceful and gay, So sylph like, so easy, so airy ; Her face flashes light on our way, Which without her is dreary, so dreary. Her lips are a pair of twin roses ; Her teeth ; well, we think we may venture To say, pearls her sweet mouth discloses. At least two or three in the centre. Her breath must be fragrant as posies ; Her cheeks, not too white nor too red, A study for sculpture her nose is, Well poised is her neat little head. Deep and blue as the sea are her eyes, 'Twixt silver and gold is her hair. When Nature her prettiest tries, She makes such as Sal — O so rare I Such, such is sweet Sally our dear, We strongly suspect that we love her ; We've other convictions quite clear, We could not fi"om spinsterhood move her. For she certainly turns up her nose, And we know that her shoulder is cold ; No north wind more chillily blows, If we look, speak, or act the least bold. _. She. will trot on her tony highway. But trot by her side, we can never ; No look, no word, that way can she say> Never, no never, for ever. Oct. 20, 1 886. 25 ANOTHER ODE TO BEAUTIFUL SNOW. [Some one wrote and pnblished in the papers another ode to beautiful snovv.in the ordinary patter, 1 tried my iiand at it too as bu'low.] Beautiful snow, beautiful snow — 'Tis thus romancing poets greet you ; We cannot sing as others do, We neither wish to know or meet you- Beautiful snow, beautiful snow, We own you show some pretty prisms, — But something more we sadly know. We know you bring us rheumatisms. Beautiful snow, beautiful snow. Had you a spark of christian feeling, Out on the road you'd always go. Not ever on the sidewalk stealing — ^ WHiere soon you turn to guilty slush, Sending death chills up through our bodies — •• - And yet some gentle poets gush About your charms, as if a goddess. Then out comes Northgraves * from his lair, *'Clear I clear !I the walk in six short hours," And don't forget it, if you dare He'll have you up in Chad wick's bowers, t Is there a place you do not get ? You heavy on our woodpiles sit, Vou make our valued kindlings wet, Our split wood will not burn a bit. Oh I heartless, soulless, lifeless snow, What have you got to brag about ? We're always glad to see you go — Be off, be of?, get out, get out. " \ ^ Northgraves;, Chief of Police. \ Chadwick, police magistrate. . - • TOULL'D HIS LOVE. On the marriage of Mr. John TouU to Miss Miller. Jan. the eighteenth, one eight eighty eight Touli told his love, Miller took TouU 26 Proving that all men can find a mate If the body contains a good soul. Hammer and pegs, lap stone and leather Hammer triumpliantly, hammer with joy Hammer in solus, Hammer together Hammer in praise of the gallant old boy. His best strung bow, gay Cupid took. Took careful aim^ let arrow fly. And hit a kindly, genial cook, Full fair and square, in heart or eye. She being hit, what did she see ? A fine, big man ; head grandly shaggy; For her he moved quite gracefully, To her bis best clothes were not baggy. O I what a blessing, Cupid can Pull color'd wool across bright eyes ; Dear, loving eyes that see poor man, Not as he is — but as a prize. To win and love, to fuss about, To mend his rents, to comb his hair. To scold him when too late he's out To class, or lodge,, or any where. Shoot on gay Cupid — low and high, Right and left, and up and down — A well aimed love-tip't dart let fly, • For every loveless wight in Town. Ingersoll, January 23rd, 1888. THE FAIR FOR THE BRAVE. L»ine8 on the third marriage of James Mclntyre, Esq. the In.^ersoll poet. Oh Mac ! yon wily, secret sinner— You meek eyed, Oscar Wildish daisy — How did you go to work to win her ? So quick, so slick, so safe, so easy. While others lag in blank dispair. And slowly limp far in the rear 27 You marching up, with courage rare. With flying colors to your dear. Which of your ditties did you sing her ? What song did you put on your hook ? What stanza did you use to bring h ^r ? Or, did you bait with all the book ? W^ell, Mac, we wish you all the joys — White cuffs, full buttons, collars gleaming, And should fate send you girls or boys. We hope fate will not send them screaming. Accept good wishes, genial Mac, And when the honey mooning's over We'll all be glad to see you back, - The happiest man — a married lover. WHO IS "SHE." Like sunbeams on a wint'ry day Breaking through the sombre clouds, So is a lady womanly, Who is not haughty, cold, nor proud. She seems to warm a coldish town, She seems to leave a ray behind her, She neutralizes many a frown And as she grows in years grows kindef. She does not snub, she does not cut, She's far above such small- beer ways ; With dignity at ease she puts The grateful hearts who sing her praise* The poor, the sad, bask in her smile, She knows the young, the fair, the strong, Should do their duty all the while. She doeth hers ; and hence my song, Who is this lady, genial, fair ? Handsome, wmsome, no one kinder, I must not dare her name declare. Observe the ladies till you find her. Ingersoll, Oct. 29th 1856. 28 PECCAVI. [Mr. E. B prs inserted hi the "Sun" a A'ery pfood piece, as an original "Ode to spri.i«r." It vva^ very K<^od indeed, so g:ood that T HUHpected it was not original, but waa meant as a take down for nie, 1 pnt two verses in the following week's paper which drew from him the foUowinc: bit of real Ji urs : Ingersoll's bard to life hath woke . And venomous words his pen halh wrote His artillery in vain he tries to bring To bear upon that "Ode to S])ring" His right hand grasping the assassin's knife, - Aims his deadly blow at the author's life And oh, with whjit dreadful T>ains ' Must have ran through his dudeish brains Like the mountain that brought forth a mouse, . ^ He only could bring forth a little louse. Be merciful, O stay thy wrath, Thy fiercely ^^leaming eye avert ; We'll cease to trespass on your path, No more will deadly venom spirt. We'll throw away the butchering knife. No more will aim the murderous blow, We'll spare your precious, precious life. The world can't spare you yet — we know. - But still we have a lurking thought That you can make mistakes — 'tis clear ; 'Twas not in vain the critic brought His ''red artillery" to bear Upon your "ode" to poor young spring, You squeal as if you had been hit, Else why indulge in that mad fling, And foam and fume, as in a fit ? Tis you, we notice, wield the knife, 'Tis you who slash, and wound and pain, 'Tis you are worrying out our life By jibes and libels on our brain ; And sneer, and twit, and snicker "dude." Of course we shave, we wax, perfume, Our tone is high, blue is our blood, And ^\ hen we walk must have some room. That "louse" the "product" of our skill. Its mission filFd, — we iindc"stand ; It bit the sage of Striwbcrry Hill, Whose cry is ringing through the land. 1885. 29 OFF WINTER-COME SPRING I Begone, grim winter ! Clear out ! Go ! Pick up your traps, and haste away ; Pack in your trunks, your ice and snow, And take a long — long holiday. Your leaden clouds, roll up in bales. And load them on your blizzard car ; And may the kindly southern gales Push strong behind and push you far. Your deadly breath, direct away. Nor turn not, look not, back again ; March — till you reach the pole — we pray, And when yoi get there — there remain. Now, smiling sprmg, the way is clear 1 Now bring your work, come in ! come in ! You have a lot to do, my dear ! You have to paint the landscape green. You have to breathe among the trees, For where you breathe the blossoms glow Ycwa have to wake the slumbering bees. And bid the maple's sweetness flow. The flowers paint, red, purple, blue^ To give an eye to buds and leaves ; To match the colors hue, — to hue ; To bring the showers the earth receives. To give the birds the true key-note, To wake the frogs in rushy cove ; To pour from every warbling throat, " The one great song, the song of love. Ingersoll, April 5, 1888. . CRICIOUS. MACIBUS AGAIN BELLICOSE. Gabriel, Gabriel, blow thy horn, I have heard the critic's fiat ; I am soberd, sad, forlorn. Yet even now, cannot be quiet. 30 On King Street West, this ogre sits, * Calling our wit and pathos "Rot 1" Delights to give our muses fits. Would send poor Mac. and I to pot. O ! Thunderbolts and Charleston quakes, O II cyclones, hurricanes, arise ! O li- mumps, and measles, ague shakes, Go for this monster, till he cries. Enough, enough, have mercy, G.. But G. will not ; he's been too bad ; _ Brass bold was he, and made so free That mercy now cannot be had. Where can w^e find a dam — p cold place Deep enough to jam him, stuff him, Cover him with black disgrace, ' * Legal, Literary, Ruffian. Wonder if we let him up, Would he be so bad again ? Would his vile revilings stop ? Would our treatment make him sane ? . * « * 4( I'm cooling down — I do not know But I'll forgive him ; — Let me see, Yes, — he shall buy a gallon — raw t And Mac. and I, be asked to tea. * J. H. Hegler, Sr. - t Gallon of oysters. \^ A COIVUVION DOC-DAY WHINE. We seek to pierce the far-off haze, And wonder, where is Dolly gone From north to east instinctive gaze, Dreaming of Doll, the truant one. Muskoka-ward we see a light Reflected in the northern sky- Can it be Dolly, all in white, Is it a flash from Dolly's eye. 31 What "worn one" baskcth in her smile, Catching- the pearls her lips may drop ? Oh I Ug^h ! I we dread once in a while, The stream of pearls may neatly stop. Oh, dear ! we fear a sorrow near, We fear some (s)-camping, fishing fellow Will hook our Dilly, Dolly, dear. While all are "left," to sulk, or bellow. A SONG ABOUT THE INGERSOLL MECHANICS' INSTI- TUTE LIBRARY. (An advertisement for the In^ersoU Mechanics' Institute Library 1887.) W^est side of Thames street half-way down, There is a table thickly spread. Where wits and authors of renown Are waiting-, waiting to be read. In volumes large, medium and small, Here wise old saws and pungent wit, Come up, kind friends, come one, come all — Come fill ye full, or pick a bit. Here's dear old genial, peerless, Charles,* Who truly painted youth and age, Here's keen St. Barbe,+ though said to snarl, He snarls with vice on every page. Of days gone by some tell the story, Tell many truths, and perhaps some lies, Of nation's shame, of nation's glory, Of foolish people, people wise. Of battles fierce, of victories won. Of dire defeats, of truth beat down, Of shameful deeds, of vil^ wrongs done By sharpest fangs of human hounds, Of privileged tryants brought to book. Of vulgar bullies straightened out When trod-on sufferers courage took. And brought a righteous change about ; Of noble deeds, of courage grand, Of men, bold in defence of right, Who planted justice in the land, Whc built on truth and love their might, * Dickens, t Thackery. 32 Who met the proud, lust-pampered foe, The foe who ground beneath his heel All other's rights, and made to flow H is dastard blood, with gleaming steal. Some wander o'er the mountains grand, Or tell of valleys deep and sweet, The beauties limn, of every land. The sylvan glade, the city street. The ho .77 tower, the donjon keep, The rampart high, the cannon grim. The storm-swept coast, the rocky steep, The lava stream, the crater's rim, Of burning sands, of fervent heat, Of fierce tornado's awful roar. When earth and clouds in fury meet. When lightnings blaze and torrents roar ; Of icebergs from the frigid north, Glittering, gorgeous, toweling high, Grandly moving slowly forth, Drifting southward, there to die, Impelled by fate their fate to meet — Onward till the god of day. With fatal kisses, warm though sweet, Kiss their beauteous forms away. The poet's dish, fit for a king — Or, better still, for woman sweet — Composed of every dainty thing. Of cherub's wings, of angels' feet. Of pearly dews, of maidens' tears, Of blessed hopes, of longing sighs, Of faithful hearts, of groundless fears, Of chaste desire, of loving eyes. Of passion pure, oif gentle peace, Of consolations from- above, Of hopes, and joys that never cease, All flavored with God's nectar — love. Longfellow sings "Evangeline," Grand Alfred's verse flows like a river Of noble thoughts in glorious rhyme. Which like his "Brook." may fiow forever ; Tom Campbell, winds his martial note, Tom Hood, weeps o'er his frail forlorn, Tom Moore, pipes through his dainty throat, And Collins, raves through passion's horn 33 And belted Will * of all—the king, And yet may no one ever prove One dolorous song the king did sing, That true love never did run sn-iooth. Of fiction much is ver>' good. Humorous, witty, full of feeling, Hea'thiLil intellectual food, 'lo solid common sense appealing — Showing we sli Hild he not too stiff, Showini- we re moital, everyone, Subject to quips, and cranks, and tiffs, And sometimes stin-^' in wanton fun. But some we will not brag about. Nor recomniend it very squarely, Some we might get along without. Or take it in small doses, sparely — Revels in wealth and great display. Of priceless gems, of countless gold, Of generals, admirals, cavaliers gay. Of haughty, beauty, proud and cold; Of lawyers, bishops, politicians. Judges, presidents of banks. Of factory magnates, great physicians, Of scheming syndicatic cranks — Setting our hopes and aims too high, And common life disparages. For things we cannot get we sigh. And loathe the humble marriages. Of magazines a goodly store. Harper, Century, "Pop," Cornhill, Scribner, Chambers', several more, Enough your heads and minds to fill. Come bring your dollar, quickly bring it. Come every mother's son and daughter, I make this song (and try to sing it) Because I really think you "oughter." And now perhaps enough is said, O ir limping rhymes should fully stop ; The books are waiting to be read. Pray, do not let us shut the shop. Shakespeaie, 34 CANADA, OUR CANADA. Dear Canada, our own, own land, How beautiful thy lakes and streams, Around thv waist like silver bands, They rush, they ripple, sparkle gleam. Glitterintf wavelets, ^'ently swelling", Kiss'd by summer zyphers playinj,'", Murmuring^, like to love tales telling^, And fancy hears what they are saying. fair are thy valleys, wide thy fields, (jreen and golden alternating, Generous crops thy harvest yields, Peace and joy thy bounties bring. The roseate fruit of laden trees, Flavor'd by the sweetening sun, Health and life, is in thy breeze. Pure the brooks that through thee run. Warbling birds and fragrant flowers. Trees umbrageous, loftv, grand. Sparkling springs in shady bowers Bubbling up in all the land. Even thy snow is doubly pure ; Crystal ice thy winters make. Dazzling harvest, always sure. The thirsts of summer heat to slake. Snow-capped mountains, towering high. Bathed in splendor, grand, sublime, Piercmg the clear cerulean sky, Eternal beauty, robeing time. The whitest clouds, the bluest skies, . Above, the purest atmosphere ; Matching thy maidens' limpid eyes Beaming," laughing, truthful, clear. Thy honest, manly, sterling men — Men not afraid of work nor foe. As they have done, will do again, Where duty calls they grimly go. This is our land, our own, our own. Shall we prove recreant to our trust, 35 Shall we liovv down before the tlirrne Of Ki't<-'il iind blather, in the dust ? Toward the south 've cast no glance, Will not be to their turmoil tied ; We will not to their piping dance ; We \^ill not squabble by their side. Will not f()r sake of place s.nd power, Tracku (• our country, foul our nest ; While hungry "Outs'' may scold and glower. We'll k( rp in power the very best. W^e will not wish our chieftain dead, * But ruthcr wish him life forever ; The clearest, wisest, level head ; Geniiil. jovial, honest, clever. It once was said the traitor's hand Was on thy throat, Ontario ; Who arc the false ones in thy land ? 'Twerr well we all should really know. Are they the men to choose and trust. Who d sell our country for a son; Who'd (hjig our honor in the dust, Merely to make their purses long ? The greed of power, the greed of purse,' The lying frauds of idle men. Have ever been a nation's curse, ' May ever bring a bloody end. Awake, Awake, all honest men ! Down with the brazen party god ! Walk in the patriot road again, The road you once with honor trod. Nor will we break the family tie, The lore of twice five hundred years ; We will not let grand memories die. Our heritage as much as theirs. Ungrateful backs we will not turn -' On deijr old Britain in her age ; W^ith her rejoice, with her we mourn. Together stand if tyrants rage. * Sir John IMatdonald. »tJ, 36 Hip I hip!! hurrah!!! for Canada, Hurrah for our great Empire's flag ; For all our friends aj^ain, hurrah ! For jealous foes a trailiiig rag. Ingersoll, Oct. 22, 1888. A DEVONSHIRE MOORLAND PICNIC. [An arclrlental picnic, at the Lee Mror porcelian c]ay ■works, on the south edge of Dartmoor, ten or twelve miles firni >My mouth. South Devon, Km^land, in AiigiiRt, 18S7. The p uty were Htrantrers to me. We rode down to near Plymouth, on the horse tram trucks, on a load of flit tiles throucrh lovely scc:iery. We went slow enough to enjoy it, as well as plenty of tongue lun.] I half believe Vm "mash'd" Miss Bella, But don't believe you meant to do it ; I thought it was that other follow, And quite believed he'd never lue it. We were cold strangers — you and I, Vou rich and cultured, I — ah — hum ; But waiting till the trucks roll by, We break some ice before they come. The purple heather bloom'd around, The dwarf oak leaves were whispering ; The earlier ferns were coloring brown, The fluttering skylark 'rose to sing. We heard the wild wood pigeons coo. The foaming stream its anthem singing ; The golden plovers whistling flew. And down the vale the %ells were ringing. Across the sky, so clean and blue. The marshall'd clouds were slowTy moving" ; And sobering hues their shadows threw. Where Devon kine and sheep were roving. High rugged tors— an ancient mound, The boulder litter'd upland steep; t "Pen Beacon's" e/e glance i camly down, And watchful **Shell Top" took a peep. * The beautiful deep-toned bells of the Old Abbey Church of Plympton, 8t. Mary, situated in a deep valley. t Two sharp points of rocks, on the moorland ridge, about a mile apart— 1,200 feet above the sea level, which is about 11 miles distant. ¥ << 37 Some timbers lay beside the road, We put the balanced teeters going" ; Some watched the clay trucks slowly load ; Some played the common game of wooing. You teeter'd with such easy grace, And even fell off gracefully ; While innocence bewreathed your face, In "G sharp" laughs proclaim'd your glee. One said (and it was true,) "you're sweet, Vour mien and manner womanly ;" T did not note your arched feet. Your kind frank face, enough to see. My joke of *'mash'd" was only fun, I can't control a vice of chaff ; Though many a friendship hath begun, And grown immoral through a laugh. The friendship born on Martin's"^ tiles, W^hich lived and died in half a day, My small beer wit, your bantering smiles, Were not all lost or thrown away. For what is life, but give and take. You charmed with grammar, I gave brogue No harm could come, you did not quake. In fear the brogueist was a rogue. The kindly words, the accents sweet, The graceful ways of ladies fair ; Are dear to rough old men they meet. And cherished long, as treasures rare. So Bella , I wish you well, I have no more to sing or tell ; No youth or heart to give or sell, But 'tis a pleasant memory Bell. Ingersoll, August 28, 1887. Martin" the name of the owner of the works. 38 REMORSE. [WhenI was Librarian of the Tnj?ersoll Mechanics' Institute Some ladies complained the Library was not kept neat enough. They were not far wrong,— but perhaps made it out to be a little worse than it really was. In this most literary town There is a table thickly spread With inky blotters, black and brown And stumps of pencils, lacking lead. Some rusty pens, and paper scraps Some mouldy bottles (vile array) Some straggling strings and parcel wraps Some matches lit and thrown away. Upon the chairs there is a crust How thick I hardly dare to say Of most disgraceful dusty dust, The windows scarce let in a ray. The corner dirt a twelvemonth old The stove with ashes nearly full The w^oodpiles secrets can't be told Even the gas is faint and dull. I can't go on — my conscience pricks I burn with shame my head hangs down Come ! some one ! ! give me cuffs and kicks My shiftless ways and sin I own. Remorse ! Remorse!! O! 01! O!!! O!!! Forgive dread ladies, O forgive I'll dust, I'll sweep, I'll bow me low O let the contrite slattern live. TO LU-LU. Lu-Lu, suggests this valentine Lu-Lu, who stamps the filiagree Lu-Lu, who is not yours or mine, Would not jump high for you or me She sits amid red, white and blue, 'Mong golden floss her fingers gleaming Her buds and leaves are outlined true As on her art her eyes are beaming 39 Stitch on, stamp on, knit on, Lu-Lu, Till some one comes to stay your stitches And we'll sn. back and wish for you Good health, good sense, friends, love and riches. A WORD OF ADVICE. [Some one, of Ingcrsoll, wrote a poem praising and glorify- ing Scotland— (it had been done once or twice before). The writer claimed, too, that people said "Eui^land" too much, instead of "Great Britain," The poem was tirst read at a concert and after- wards published in a local paper. Prompted, I suppose, by natu- ral depravity, I put the following two verses in the same news- paper the next week :— Oh, wicked England, blatant bull You hoof poor Ireland in the dust Your cup of crime is now brim full You tramp on holy Scotland "wuss" Arise! in rage I! up'.!! Angus! up!! The claymore seize cease useless fretting And cut! and slash!! and never stop Till England ownes we are Great Britain I got a rap on the knuckles the next week in the shape of "A Word of Advice," as below.] Well R. G. we saw your pitiabe verse And think — -(if possible) — your fast getting worse Your intellect seems in a rapid decline Judging at least from the style of your rhyme And we hope this advice will not be in vain Never, — write, — such, — sickly, — rubbish, — again. Had the "Old Harry" only got it in time And gived poor Job a dose of your rhyme I doubt if the story had ever been told Of the patience and faith of the good man of old But stop, and be wise, while yet there is time And quit once and for ever your detestable rhyme. 40 MORE "RIME." I [The first four stanzas of the following, answers "A Word of Advice,"— The others refer to some good humored banter or fun poked at me, which I will not speak about. "Mr. Unknown, — I scorn your advice ^ I will not cease rhyming' to please you Though you rave, though you scold, or talk nice, I'll still rhyme a little to tease you. "Tit-for-tat ! Those who give must take back, There are two sides to every thing ; Scots wallop England, I the Scots whack, - But in fun and with mild humor sing. (( ( Old Harry' won't look at my rhymes, He hateth all good — you should know ; ^ When he dealeth with outrageous crimes, ^ He needs other rhymes down below. "Poor Old Job — with his horrible sores — Whose fame hath come down to our times ; Small were his sores, compared to the bores (Apart from R. G.) who make rhymes-" One said we should never be missed. My brother, 'twas truth you were telling ; One by one, as we drop off the list. The debris of death ever swelling. Remembrance soon fades away, W^hen our singing or sighing is done ; The flowers are as sweet and as gay. And the sun shines as bright when were gone. Have we done our square duties like men ? Have we honestly carried our loads 1 Are we worn out by labor ? W^hy, then, Off, off to our lonely abodes. Rarely missed for the work we have done, Hard service is quickly forgotten ; While honors are oft crowded on W^ily schemers whose morals are rotten. 41 Have we whispered, and slandered and stung ? Have we skinn'd folks; made love to their wives? And jilted their girls; and then sung Of our deviltries half of our lives. Such may be remembered awhile, Through the stings they are leaving behind ; By the tears that have blotted out smiles. By the wrongs they have done to their kind. And why should it be, if some sing, And their notes be passably mellow ; Why should all the long-ear'd things bring Their brayings to bear on a fellow"^? Expect that poor genius will kneel To the waddlers with featherless wings, Who are hurt, and annoyed, and who feel 'Tis an outrage that poets will sing, Poor genius will do no such thing, Bold genius will snap out its say ; Its honest thoughts sing, with a ring, If the sky falls — convictions obey. For twaddlee Twaddlee Twad Political, Social, Religious Will blaat bad is good, and good bad, With sophistry truly prodigious. Ingersoll, Feb. 15, 1888. * A dig at some one who was always going for me hard. POKING THE POETS. Ye bards of Ingersoll, awake ! Marshall your rhymes in dread array, March boldly in, to take the cake Which bard can sing the wildest lay. In faultless tune screw^ up your strings, Play fiats, and sharps, and natural key, Your keenest wit, and pathos bring, To win your fame this trial day. 42 Come forth, bard Mac, you lead the van, 'Twas you bej^an the rhyming strife. Rhymed when a boy, rhyme now, a man, Will cease to rhvme when ceases hfe. You sung — 'though distant hills seem green/ Illusions false may intervene, Roseate glamors spread between, May sadden hearts when nearer seen. You sung of cows, like swarms of bees, Of extraordinary cheese. Made out south by one James Harris, And carted off as far as Paris. Of Romley who a rabbit shot, And stewed him in his iron pot. But the police soon w^as him "arter,'' And Romley bribed him with a quarter. Of many other thrilling themes Around, about, Canadian Thames, Of nooks, and glades, and rippling streams. Did sing our genial laureate James. ( Now pensive one, recite your lays, In mournful cadence, soft and low, In tender plaintive minor keys, Your own, and others grief and woe. Or sing another dearer theme, v Of soulful pipes, of Highland clan, . Whose broadswords flashed a fiercer gleam, - Than e'er was flashed by southern man. -^ Although her eyes have never seen The heather bloom on Scotia's hill's Nor mountain crag, nor valley green. Nor roaring tide, nor sparkling rills, . Yet, in her heart she knows so sure There are no hills so grand as those, i No grass so green, no air so pure, „ ^ " The thistle sweeter than the rose. No men so grand, no girls so svv^eet, No brains so keen, no blood so pure, 43 None quite so brave, no feet so fleet, No hearts so true, no words so sure. Upon the hill above the town * Reclining' in his easy chair, In different ways one looketh down Upon the many strugglers there. His muse can grasp a million years, Epoch's and era's clearly seen ; He waves his wand and lo I appears The sapphire tinge, the silvery sheen. The myriad stars, the changing hues, The lights, the shades of evening time, The gathering gloom, the pearly dews, The crisp keen air, the frosty rime. Or, in his buggy graceful sits. Dictating to his old black nag, Or else, in argument giving fits To whosoever he can gag. * Mr. Wm. Hunt. At "Evendale" the robin grusome sings, Through chilly haze his dubious note is heard. He ofttimes makes mistakes about his springs, When snow storms prove him a too previous bird. But, when spring really comes wnth all his soul. With wings, and tail, with head, eyes, throat, and tongue, Out gushes his full song, without control, At early morn, at eve, and all day long. Is it to God he pours his joyous lay ? ' Or is it to his mate, his setting hen. Defying perhaps, some chap some trees away, - Regardless of the way the planets wend. He hardly thinks of God, yet does his will, The line his maker mark'd he follow^s true, He mates, he builds, he feeds, he sings his trill, Repeats the story old, yet ever new. 44 One twancfs his lyre to A B C, * To I) and E, to F and G, To X Y Z, to U and I, His .Masolcne to glorify. Wistful eyes, pathetic pleading, Sweetly, smoothly, poetizing, Mama's buying after reading His soul stirring advertising. A. D. Hogg. O. J. may you get lots of trade, * Yours is a goodish do<^gerel puff, The lines you scratch are fairly made, Showing O. J. is up to snuff. O. J. Mitchell. James Sinclair strikes the patriot keys. And strikes them with a master hand, Through wily, sordid, humbug, sees, Strikes boldlv for all British lands. Down at the bottom of the class, Misbehaving, scribbling free, His rhymes confess, alas, alas. Scant grain, much chaff, all mark'd R. G. 1889. ON TO WOODSTOCK. [There is a town ten miles east of Ingrersoll called Wood- Ftock, in that same town there is a newspaper called the Scntinel- Pevirw, that same paper had the unparrelled impudence, the reckless temerity, the presrniptnons, effrontery, to poke fun at Ingersoll poets; it said it felt a jrreat deal of sympathy for Inger- soll, on account of its beiti.Hr so afflicted .vith poets, that the l)opulation were leaving:, would continue to leave, must leave, that in addition to the mif-ery of a to^vn poet (an old established afflic- tion) a certain barrister had neen makiniT" and "siniring" topical songs, and now as the last feather to hrcak the camel's back, ''One Grigg" had leen at it: ihis same "One Grigg'' took up the cudgels in defence of the persc<^uted muses; but the offence could not be condoned, or atoned for by any ordinary scolding; by law, or by diplomacy, nothing short of war, fierce, hot. blazing, burning, withering war. 80 with colors flying, drums beating, and faces black and stern, he headed an army, sat down before Woodstock, promulgated his demands, brought them to terms, and marched home again without the loss of a man or a woman.] 45 Ho! -men of Ingersoll, arise, Ten miles away sits down the foe, His night Hghts tinge the North East skies, Now up, and strike a stunning blow. We have accounts to scjiuire with him, Dry jokes and jibings by the score, Now, set your faces stern and grim, And revel in some kind of gore. '^ We've had an army several years. No battle have they fought as yet. Now is the time to test their spears, Now is the time to ''up and get." Come, Jim — my Child, come ensign Nap. Fling out of your banner, march away. Come Aunt — te — Right, let both eyes snap Look black toward the East this day. Now march I — and march through Centerville, Augment your force with volunteers, The Centrevillians have the will, To settle all the vast arrears. Of insults heap'd upon their town, Their blood is up, they will not fail, t To kick the Woodstock court house down, And vent their ire upon the jail. Speak not to Beachville, on the fence . She sits.— and squinteth up and down, Dreamily smiles, gives no offence, To which she thinks the biggest town. Ho I Woodstock I list to our demands, Before we wholly chew you up, We do not want your gold nor lands, We neither ask a bite or sup. We ask not genius, wit, nor skill ' * We need no orator or poet, Of such fine game we have our fill, Your ruffled feathers clearly show it. High toney Woodstock! Don't suppose We want your belles, desire to catch 'em * A part of Woodstock I believe is built on a gore. t This event took place in the old court house times, before the new one was built. A6 We've human Violets, Lillies, Rose, You've nothin^^ in your town lo match 'cm. But we will have a saucy fellow, A paper man, too fond of chaff, His name sounds something^ like P llo. We want to make the scoffer laugh The other side of his sweet mouth ; To be m future much more civil, If not, we'll take this jx)rtly youth And harness him with his own d 1. Or tie him to some common Tory, The contrast will be sharp and glaring". Of course he'll scratch with chestnuts hoary. He may seek solace in tall svvearing. * ' ■ V fearsome thing this man hath done, A crime of deepest, darkest dye ; He hath been poking wanton fun At J. C. Hegler, Mac, and I, At J. C. Hegler, I and Mac, Poets of divine afflatus. And we insist he taketh back The words with which he did berate us. And in the future well behave. He must, he "shall" be less uncivil; Else nothing can his bacon save Down! Down I! he goes to Now soldiers, tarn toward the West, Back to the haven whence you came, Back to enjoy your w^ell earned rest. Back to receive your meed of fame. You stole no spoils, no wedge of gold, You left no stain of blood behind, Would have no captives young or old, To Woodstock's faults were even blind. But, Woodstock ! — heed the words we speak, Don't irritate our bards again. For if you do, — the lightning streak. The pounding hail, the floods of rain. The thunder crash, the roaring wind, The hissing cyclone, ruin blue, 47 All this is gentle, mild, benii^Ti, Compared to what well do to you. Ingersoll, Nov. 12th, 1888. PRETTY PORT HOPE. A dawdling stranger from the smooth-faced west, Would sing thy praise, Port Mope, (if you can stand it) Your score is high and ranges "good to best," That we must use our choicest marks to brand it. The healthful breeze from olT the wavey lake, Fiavor'd and filtered through your tremulous pines ; Your crazy brawling stream wild babblings make, But gives the sun-like glejam that nightly shines. Your crested streets, your valleys deep and green, Your tasteful villas, nestling in sweet nooks ; While here and there the blue expanse is seen, Aud little songs are sung by little brooks. Your ups and downs are like a smiling face, A woman's loving face, and blushing flowers, Your pretty dells and winsome hillsides grace. And happy homes half buried in your bowers. Behind your back the hills in bold outline, In clear cut beauty, or in hazy hues ; Distant or near, a panorama fine Of hill and dale, of varied sun-fleck'd views. Off to the south Ontario's vastness lies In shimmering radience, shining in sweet peace ; Reflecting back the clear cerulean skies, As love reflecting love its joys increase. The Devon tongue we hear "zumtimes, and zo" W'e "zing our zong" in "that there" slipshod brogue ; As spoke Salvation Yeo, at "westward hoe," Long ere the crispier English came in vogue. Pretty Port Pope, good-bye, and I will flit Eight score hot miles before I let this off ; In fear of those w^ho give poor poets fits. Who laugh, and jump on faults, and jibe, and scoff. Port Hope, Aug., 1889. 4$ ANOTHER MAPLE TREE ODE. Come, Mac! let us sln^' of the trees ! Just now, the are j^orgeously gay, Bhisliing, tliey sway in the mid-day breeze, And blush in the dim waning day. In purple, green, yellow and brown, In silver drab, dappled with red ; Some hold the fort, some tlutter down, Sleepy and going to bed. • Up leafy, unbrageous Thames street, The colors with light and shade play, Glint in and out, like fairy feet. Who dance through the tinted way. How good is our P\ather above, Who gave so much beauty so free ; How boundless His kindness and love, Who gave us the privilege to see The glory above and below, The beauty so la\'ishly spread, The exqusite flowers that glow. The grand stars that blaze overhead — The bright hill, the valley, the stream, The landscape which seemcth to smile, • The lakes, how like silver they gleam, How grand is the vast rocky pile. Fresh breezes in glowing sunshine, The song of the birds, and their sheen, The face oif our dear is divine. Who reigns in our hearts, king, or queen. Let us thank him for health, for love, For song, for speech, for sight. For the mvsterv of muscles to move, For the sleep that comes with the night. For life, with its numberless joys, For crochets to hang jokes upon, For good girls and (som.etimes) good boys, And year in and year out, for Sir John. * Ingersoll, Oct. 5, 1890. - Sir John McDonald. 49 THE OXFORD KNIGHT. [The four following (pocniH?) were written durinar the unre- stricted reciprocity oK'tatioti, wiiich I considered a disloyal bid for annexation to the S^aten ; that the leaderH in the fad were not loyal men ; cneniicH of the Kmpiie. rather. The flrwt one of the four was KUKK«>*tcd by hearing Sir 11. Cartright's, now celebrated "Ingersoll speech.*'! Sir Richard came to Inji^ersoll, To give his henchmen soothing pap, And fal, lal, lal, and tol de rol, Did sing this knightly muddhng chap. In seeming deference to the pope, Just hinted at the Jesuit, (Being chary to destroy a hope). He did not sing that song a bit. He came to show our state was bad. To show ours is a dangerous case, Came riding on a Yankee fad, On which he hopes to ride to "place." To tell us we should bend the knee. And beg the Yank to yank us in, To yank our trade and coun-tr-ee, To own to him we've naughty been. To give up house and home, and board With uncle Sam and bolt his hash ; To wait upon his bumptious word, To mix with his anarchist trash. . Protection ban'd, and cursed, and yet Would tie us to the greedy States, Who build up tarifts high, and set Up tall and thick protection gates. He told us patriotic John"^ Was really wicked, — vile, indeed — \ Although an able, loyal one. Was bad as Walpole, worse than Tweed. Censured the press, (Tory be sure). Surmised it was not white as snow — As is his Globe, whose ways are pure. Honest and fair, as all men know (?). * Sir John McDonald. *' 50 The couniry to the dogs doth go, And he would save it, in his way ; Turn out wise men at once, and so The cash shall roll where he shall say. In that nice way it might be met, Restore the tactics we have seen, The Tories bounce, and let the Grit His old-time muddling ways bring in. Bow to the Yank, snub Father Bull, Be traitors to our race and Queen, With Judas lucre purse be full, Down British flag, up stripes, or green. But no ! old John, the skilful elf. Will not let go, nor can we make him ; He shows the dangdest phase of self. And holds on tight, the d 1 take him I O, hope deferred I O, heart so sick ! We hope 'gainst hope, from year to year. Bootless each demagogueic trick, • We starve ! we shrink I O, dear ! O, dear ! Ingersoll, Nov 20, 1889, A RHYME FOR HONEST REFORMERS. A wail goes up througnout the land, A simulated dry-eyed cry — A hungry, sour, impatient band Grows reckless as the years roll by. Doleful times and ruin, crying. Grimly painting black and blue : A morbid fancy, fibs supplying, Put forth the false, keep back the true. Droning in the minor key. Their songs so mournful, dour and sad. Flatter, flatter, day by day. Artistic stars at singing bad. Yet sing with method, with an aim — Which all may see, if all will look — 51 The meaning of the wily game Is patent as an open book. The drift, the hope, beh: id the whine, The sprincr, the motive of these cranks, The front and rear of their desi|:^n — Would sell us to the greedy Yanks. Canadian men of British stock, '*^^ Are you content to be thus sold ? To stand as slaves upon the block, By those who hope for Yankee gold ? What wage doth Sour-boy plan to win ? What hope doth Slimby hope to fill ? Will Wrastie slip his fingers in ? With Globby grabble in the till. Ax\d all strut big at Washington ? And all unite to jab John Bull ? To glory in the injury done — With Britains foes conspire and pull ? Will you stand that ? Will you stand still, x\nd let these frauds beguile your brains ? Have you no pride ? Have you no will, " To give them ashes for their pains ? This is our country, fair and wide, - By valor won, by manly toil — Which we will hold, and stand beside Our brave old sire, and help to foil. The wiles of mean, unchristian hate — , .; Hatred begot by blatant lies. Which venomed tongue and pen repeat, Whose heathenish rancour never dies. Idle frauds, who rave and swagger, Dark and crafty, matchless liars, Prowl with dynamite and dagger, Whose only law are mad desires. Shall such as those your allies be ? Choose ye for masters such like men } To mourn the days when you were free But can't retrace your steps again. Awake and think, and, thinking, see That faith to party may be wrong— 52 That party oft is tr}'anny, And hope of power and pickings strong. Let not small hope of petty gain, Or little place, your actions sway — Unpatriotic, grovelling, mean, Are those who ever squint that way. And minds should change with circumstance, For changes com.e which we should note, In honor with the times advance. For love of country cast our vote. When creed sets creed above the law, When creed inculcates racial hate. There's vrork to do; there is a flaw To finfi, and mend, e're 'tis too late. When opposition's sour and glum, Wagf^ civil war with tongue and pen ; 'Tis well to vote to keep them home, And rule the land by wiser men. Ingersoll Oct. 20, 1890. THE (K)N!CHTLY RAMPAGE. We came upon the Gloh one day, A tattered copy seme v» eeks old. We read, then threw the thing away, But noted what we had been told. We noted Richard's speech again, W'hich Glohhy prints and ftings abroad, Where we are told the preaching men, W^ith loyal hearts, are pious frauds. Who sit upon his sophistries, Who can't endorse his spiteful blather, Throughout, throuioetic well dry. ril try to pump up one small lay, ril sing you a song to remember, In your village I spent my first day. Sixty-five years ago last September. My life hath been mixed pretty fair. With sunshine and shade, pain and joy. Since I ran with my head and legs bare, A meddlesome, close, peering, boy. Soon, soon will the journey be done. We limp down the well beaten road, Let us hope when we've had all our fun. We shall rest in the angel's abode. Jan. I St, 1885. BRITON'S PULL TOGETHER. [The fo^.lowing lines were read at the last meeting: of the Imperial Federation Ix'agiie, held on Friday evening last, by Mr. K. Grigg and wah well received : ] All ye who love the grand old land Firm anchored in the stormy sea, Come, brothers, lend a helping hand To shape a nobler destiny. ^7 But e'er we plan our fabric fair, The world's ^^reat nations notice claim, Their ways and ours we may compare And claim the right to praise or blame. Despotic Russia, strident, treads, Her wily, crafty, grasping hand, With fraud and force together leads Her mongrel hordes on every land. The hoary Kaiser whets his sword, His groaning land despondent yields, When Moltkc and Bismarck's ominous word Bids myriad hosts to bloody fields. And France, though pleasant is her land. Her speech is smooth, her words polite, Yet pride and envy shapes her plan. Her feverish love to snarl and fight. The spangled banner fiaunteth high, But waves o'er many doubtful things. It shelters vile conspiracy Where blatant, loud mouth'd license rings. An out-growth from it seeks to build A nation new on, dynamite. Whose murderous acts the world hath fiU'd With loathing horror, pale-faced fright. We own, Sam acted prompt enough. When he was hurt, did quick arise And smote the mad communist rough, But Sam is deaf when England cries. Say, lukewarm friends, or covert foes. Who in our midst would jibe and sneer, Which for your master, will ye choose From the dread list we show you here. Shall knouting Russia's iron heel, Shall ?vIoltke and Bismarck bend you low? Shall fitful France's cruel steel .'' Shall tricky Sammy's bounce and blow? Mark out the path your feet must tread And make you dance as they may sing, You humbly follow where they lead. You tribute to their, coffers bring ? 58 No ! we will stand by Britain's flagf. Nor let ^'^reen jealousy, or hate, Nor sordid gain, conspire to drag Its glories to ignoble fate. Can we a nobler flag unfurl ? Do not fair minded men confess ^ It blazes out all round the world, A synonym for righteousness. Come ! let us plant it firmer still, Come ! let us raise it higher I higher f Defending right, to do God's will, To higher Christian life aspire. Where can we find old Britain's peer ? Where nobler men ? more true, more just? By Christian rules, who lives more near, Who safer than her sons to trust ? Then let us firmer bind the tie, Prove to the world that blood will tell, Build up our Empire broad and high, And govern justly, wisely, well. And now we've traced our Christian plan^ On righteousness our union build. Our grand design that every man Shall reap his own, where he hath till'd^ May love and truth our motto be, May even justice guide our hand And own at last that industry Must reign the "King" in every land. Come stand together, east and west. Come Africa, and teeming India, Come Canada, our own, the best, Stand back to back with Australia. While all stand by old father Bull, A generous father he hath been, And thus united, who shall pull Such friends apart? — God Save the Queen. Ingersoll, Sept. 24, 1886. 59 A SNARL AT BIGOTRY. Oh bigotry — great are thy crimes — How bloody the road thou hast trod ; From earhest, down to our times, Thy hands have been dripping with blood. Like Nebuchadnezzar of old, (Whose after fate was to eat grass,) He set up his idol of gold, As you raise your forehead of brass. You tell honest men, who love truth. They are blind, — that only yoii see ; You rave bold assertions as proof That truth outside you cannot be. Is the God of the universe weak ? Is he foolish and poor, that your aid Is needed, and that ijou should speak Of the way His great laws should be made ? Like glow-worms, directing the sun How to warm, how attract, how to shine To keep the vast worlds on the run — He needeth no help such as thine. What oceans of blood hath been shed, With hellish and horrible pains. What myriads of men have been led To agonies, loaded with chains. Crowning with thorns, crucifying. Weary 'neath galling cross bending, Long days and nights slowly dying, Life in dread agony ending. Poison, starvation, and stake, Faggot and fire, bloody swords, Devilish inventions, to make Good people accept lying words. Water, drip, drip, numbing, freezing, Starving and thirsting^ no sleeping, Cu.ing and flaying and squeezing, Down on the jagged rocks leaping. Darkness and nakedness, dirt, Friendlessness, gibing contempt, 60 Sickness unsoothed, every hurt, All misery, from no woe exempt, In hopeless and ' clime, Barbarous hatred would confound yoiir Ingersoll, July i, 1880, 63 LOOKING BACK. [Tho flrst ohnrch T renv»mber was Plyinpton, St. Mary, in the South West cornor of I)ev():». Kiij^lainl, 4 mihi.s East of tho 1 irgo town of Plymouth; I atteiidiMl it till I was 18 years old, after t '»at I do not ronienihiT hcin;^ in it for fifty years, till ono Sur)day in Auu:ust 18^7. I fotmd niy-stdf sitinjj: in it aj^ain. While look- ir)tf at tho t'on«?rcjj:ation. not ono of whom I know, and noting? tho ch inj?es of half a e.'utury, my mind wont hack to the old days a'lout 1S24. It sornniMl as if I oojild in fanoy (and memory too) seo an 1 hear tho peOMlo of those days as eloarly as if onl^ a week in>*tead of tuoro than Ct') yeirs hi I pas-sod. T ^ot to rhymiuK) in my mind) and jotted them down when I got to where I was stopping, and now I present them. To a g:ray old church, sixty odd years a<^^o, I toddled, atid dawdled, with round, childish eyes ; With a feelin^*^ of awe, a forebodinof of woe, Half scared at what possible sprites might arise The graves in the yard, seenVd to beckon me in, The bells grumly growl'd up some mysterious place ; The terrible sexton was worse than a fiend. Severe was the butt-woman's woe begone face, ^' The stocks in the porch, so threatning and grim. Where legs of rude culprits were pinched for their sins ; For pilfering trifles, when nights were dim, For whopping with fists when the cider was in. The earl and the squire, came in in great state. The hob-nailed boys enjoyed their own clatter ; The red-faced farmers' slow, bulcolic gait. The shame-faced girls in pattens would patter. The high up Parson's big sonorous voice. The Clerk, through his nose, entoning "a — men ;" Bewildering choir— bawled „Rejoice ! rejoice 1" Repeating and fugeing again and again. The red fiddles shriek'd with flourishing din, When Giles in broad brogue would bawl "Let us zing;'^ The big double-bass put its discords in, The damp old church playing tricks with its string. With the last word said, the final a — men. With scamper and rush they hasten away ; Like dissatisfied sheep, from a hateful pen, They joyfully fly to the outside day. 64 Sixty odd years ago the above was the style, With morals and practices just so ! so ! The Squire and the Church held the whip all the while, The poor drank their cup of dull labor and woe. We enter again — after fifty long years, No face do we see that ever we knew ; Though the days of our youth, our sorrows and fears. Flash back ! Oh, so clearly, remembrances true. With memory's eye, we still seem to soe, The long -gone faces, some kindly, some stern ; Still hear (in fancy) the rough harmony, : Of the voices and days that can never return. Rich and poor, proud and humble are gone — all gone — Friends and foes resting peacefully under the tiowers ; And I clean forgott in — forgotten as one Who never had played in the shade of its towers. And poor Jennyette, I hear she is gone. Gone from a life that was sad I So sad ! Link'd to a brute, who her young love had won. Who used her shamefully ! shamefully bad ! In the Devonshire lane I met her once Coming from church, with ii;^r new silk on ; ♦ I thought her a Queen ! But felt like a dunce, Ashamed of the thought that my love she had won. I wonder ! I wonder if it could have been, *' The love that I gave her, 'twere v/ise to return, Would she have remained m.y darlmg, my Queen, Or would love have died and as dead love be mourned? Who knows, who knows ? We out-grow one another, Drifting away, through diversified souls. One feels, hears, sees, v/hat is trash to the other, One values and loves what the other annuls. And so the half lust, of green, callow youth. Which we fancy is love, will not bear the test Of reason, of years, of taste, of truth, And sooner or later, we long for the best. But the bells still ring ! Their jubilant voices Still fling their !xarmonies o'er hill and dale ; Waking the echoes, with nature rejoices, Up to the moorlands, up Nuneham Vale. 65 Through Chaddlewood glades, 'gainst Plympton Castle,* Down Saltram Woods, o'er the tide water ; Drowning out Plympton bells, who vainly wrestle With giants, who answer their tinkle with laughter. Glorious old beUs ! I, even now, hear them, Hundreds I Aye, thousands of miles away ; What is the mystery, brings me so near them ? Have they souls ? Do they ride on the wings of the dav? Good-bye ! Old Church ! I may never again D'eam and rhyme, by your old granite walls, My story is closing ; but few years remain E're I aaswer '^adsam" when the Great Master calls. * The reniiiins of an old Norman castle, in the town of Plympton, which is one of the old boroughs disenfranchised by the Keform billof 1S32, and about a mile from Plympton, St. Mary ;— Bells small compared to the old Abbey church, lower down the valley « TO A LADY. Sitting in Plympton, St. Mary's church, 1887. I havi •' ^v ... ze or twice in the course of my days A stn .. '• 'lown from the realms of space ; Lighting the night with its splendrous rays, And so twice or thrice, I have seen a bright face. Flash out from a crowd, her soul in her eye, With purity stamped so clearly upon her ; A halo of love 'round her as she passed by. Kindliness, gentleness, truthfulness, honor. Cross barr'd, and stiff, the white dress she wore, The parson's broad back tow-ard her beautiful face; 'Twas well for his prayers, she sat not before. He surely would stammer, perhaps quite lose his place. ANOTHER SONG. , ^ About Plympton, St. Mary's Church and Parish. I *r»ddled to church in the days long gone by * Where Giles (through his nose), long entoned A — men; * About the year 1824. 66 When all things seem'd sirani^-e to my roiURl childish eye, When all things I heard were wonderful then. AVhen "Coppers""^ was parson, with sonorous voice, Wlien Giles in broad brogue, would bawl "Let us zing" Tom Cross, and Dick Grigg,+ sung rejoice, rejoice, Bill Tall, the cross sexton, the big bell did ring. Bury Elford, Jen. ^crry, Tom Witnal, George Lake, The red fiddles scraped with flourishing din ; Gay Jonathan Toop, the bass part did take, And Stephen "the brave" wove the counter point in, Elias Crooker, did thunder, on big double bass. Bill Marchant (the wild one) the smaller one played, A mother and daughter, a sweet voiced lass. With Mary Toop, sung, and fair music they made. "Early" J Morley, George Woolcombe, G. Rosedew,Squire Strode, Paul Treeby the hunter, who ''Kittibats"§ wore Major Syinors, George Salteau, Zack Mudge, Cap'n. Pode Were the nobs of the church in the old days of yore. Stern .Pollard of Newnham, was head of next grade, Yalland of Merivale, up check by a Jowl ; Creber the bankrupt, of Applethorn slade, • _ Horton of Edgecoome who loved the bowl. Dewdney, of Holland, John Beer of Coombe, Pearse (I think) of Chaddlewood 'ood ; Cork of the farm who met a sad doom, Borindon Butland who ploughed so good. Willing of "Yardick"|[ the Yealmstone Pearse, The Rustic Rowe of fair Challons leigh ; W^hite of Smithleigh so fussy and fierce, Olver, of Venton, Barnes over the way. Kingdons and Stanburys, Brookings and Listers, Badcock's and Worth's and Anderson's buns ; Old Dr. Osbourne, whose bleedings and blisters Killed or cm'ed, as the luck might run. Next came the tramp of the humbler fry, Stockmans, and Duckhams, Gulletts and Lukes ; Bill Cannon, Sam Patch, the Cockrams (Oh fie) Ned Trethvvey, Joe West, Prue Smalet^ with her books. * Coppard. t Uncle Dick. J The Earl of Morley. § A kind of le^erins. || Hardwicke. ^ Prue Smale weis the Tillage fortune teller. 67 Sixty years after, I saw the ^reen mounds, Markin^^ the spot where most them sleep ; Beneath the old tower where still the bell sounds, That toll'd their last knell in the valley so deep. A DULL PARSON. * And the consequence. O dear this poor parson is flat, 1 feel I must sing a bad son^" ; If rhymes should come wickedly pat, I must sing them, if even 'tis wrong. Now what shall my song be about. Shall I sing of some dark dreamy eyes ; Of some lips, — though I have seen them pout. As clouds tone the light of the skies. Of her velvetty cheek, like a peach, Of her carriage so stately and grand ; Shall I sing,— but keep out of the reach Of her shapely, her tapering hand. Or rave of the sheen of her hair — Oh, the parson has come to his "Now to" And Underwood's smilling back there, And E. looks as if she must bow to The master of infinite love. Her ideal of sweet purity ; Who smiles from His throne up above, On those who his true followers be. Now the organ is going to roar, I must cease, and be rhyming no more ; Or I may be set down as a bore, Even told !I that my verses are poor !!! A stranger. TO THE NOBLE ARMY OF SINGERS. A Song of praise. A song to the singers; we hold singers dear. Though they thank us, or flout us, still praise is due, 68 For tones full, decided, rin.q-ing- so clear ; Brilliant, yet mellow, tender and true. We have a wild fancy, the souls nearest God, Are those whose sweet voices relationship prove, Warbling- their way to their father's abode ; Prompted, impelled, by the Spirit of Love. The deep toned thunder re-echoing* high. The roar of the tempest, sounds far and near ; The wave's solemn rhythm, the zephyr's soft sigh, Are all set to meter for those who can hear. But sweetest of all the sweet music we know, The thrillingest, purest, the crown of the whole. Are the tones of the woman — when haply they flow, From the gentle, the humble, the true loving soul For strains they pour over the singing seat's rail We thank them, we bless them-long- may they sing; Sweeter, still sweeter, their voices ne'er fail ; May hearers be prompted full tribute to bring. I too am a singer and venture a bit On the notes I can manage, risking the rneers, Of those who are crying, conceit, conceit, Of those whose esthetical critical ears. Cannot, Oh, cannot endure the dull strain, Warbled outside a thin shakey high wall ; We must chirp our note not wishing to pain. Meaning no wrong to the great nor the small. Ingersoll, April I, 1889. - UP THERE. The glorious city of radiant light, Lit up by the sun of God's gracious love, There angels and cherubs in dazzling white, Welcome tired mortals to mansions above. O, city of rest, where grief never comes, Pride never stmgeth, gentleness reigns, 69 Poor ones on earth find beautiful homes. Free from all toiling, from wearying pains. - Sorrow and suffering fly far away, Anger and spite no citizen knows, No lies there, nor greed, lust cannot stay, Envy faints dead in the city's repose. Jealousy withers, for love is supreme. And God over all, the lover of all — The light of His smile doth equally beam On humble and sad ones, great ones and small. Love never cooleth, ill humor not known. Peevishness banished, high treason to pout, No scowling, no nagging, no black looks shown. No snapping, no snarling, no tempers put out. The flowers of earth though graceful and sweet, Fade into nothingness, when they compare With blooms of that city, where angel feet Gleam 'mong the fragrance of blossoms so rare. Diamonds and rubies are 'kin to their glow. Aromas, exquisite, fill the sweet air, Beauty and color the earth cannot show Filleth that city with brightness so fair. Through the great arches the echoes v.'ill roll, Of music ail glorious, ravishing, grand, Symphonies voicing the joy of the soul, . Led by the viols of the angels' string band. The voice of the tempest, the lightening's hiss, E'en the thunder arranged m choruses rare — And we'll join the song, recounting our bliss. When called by our Father to mansions "up there." Ingersoll, June 26, 18S9. NEW YEAR PATTER. One more small song, a Christmas rhyme, Serving as well for New Year's day ; For all should sing this festive time. The smooth-haired young, the old and grey. 70 I sinjj^ to wish all every K^od, May full-voiced joy be our refrain, .♦ All seeming" queerness understood. All tangled things and thoughts made plain. Sweet, purring peace, delightful health, The dearly-loved one's answering smile, A good, big pile of well-won wealth, A Christ-like hand to spread the pile. Clear, cheerful minds, and tempers sweet ; Gentle and kindly, fair and square ; Clean, genial humor, well-timed wit, Soothing sad sorrow, drowning care* Courage to speak our real thought, Good common sense to shape our mind, Not easy s( .1 or cheaply bought, Nor lag in progress much behind. Seeking all truth, nor fear to seek it. Loving all truth and hating lying, Every falsehood, prick it^ break it. Shoot it crowing, crawlmg, flyin ft* Give what is due to every one, Bury vile envy ten feet deep. Small jealousy be sat upon, Carping sore ones put to sleep. - Should pride assert itself, be sure Of scrip or patent for our pride ; Beneficent, creative power, To give us claim to stand aside As better folks, — or strength to dig, Qr skill to hammer, brains to plan, ^ To do and make things grand and big, A proudly skilful working man. Singing in tune, nor shrill, nor flat. With true expression, crisp and neat. Pure and clear, and clean, and pat, Sprightly, joyous, tender, sweet. I could sing more, but will refrain — I'll make none sick with needless chatter, And should I never sing again, Condone, kind friends, all by-gone patter. Ingersoll, December 28, 1892. 71 MORE NEW YEAR PATTER. The new year hath come a^^ain; how the years fly, As fields seem to fly past a fast-moving train, A shadow, a j^ learn, and the seasons flit by, As white blossoms bloom but to lan)^uish again. So life flieth past—so our pleasures and pain, • Old time keeps his course, and we haste to our goal, Rejoicing and sorrowing, sunshine and rain, We worry for body, alarm for the soul. Some are wise, some foolish, some sorry, some glad. And fate pricketh all (more or less) with his sting ; Few^ faultlessly good, some almost quite bad. All folly, well followed, its bitter fruits bring. Wealth lifteth some beads, bright beauty is proud. Position a joy, and power is sweet, And gold in its arrogance crieth aloud, Come worship, come worship, fall down at my feet. From the birth of the year to its dying day, The struggle, the strife is for gold — more gold ; Is gold every good, is cold pride alway The blessing of blessings, to hug and to hold ? Yet all may be proud, with the best claim the right. Though not clothed in beauty nor moulded with grace, Not loaded with cash, not "first cut" quite, , , Not top of the heap, nor first in the race. God hath many gifts and he giveth to all » Something or other — to some, inner eyes. Or ears of fine fibre, to hear His kind call In the wind's faintest whisper, the song of the skies. To note nature's modes, as we sit at a play. Her ten thousand beauties, God's wonderful plans, To need no dear ticket, have nothing to pay. To feel he hath wealth for the moneyless man. The turretted clouds, like to castles hung high, The lightening's wide reach, the thunder's grand roar, The colors of promise, the bow in the sky. The rollickmg wmds and the blessed down-pour. The white gleaming beach, the glittering sea. The rain stippled waves as they tumble and roll, 72 The ;^rcat, erand ship dashiniv thron^rh fire-like spray, The amyllicst gleams Hashing- up from the pole. The birds chant God's praise in his beautiful bowers, The cloud shadows race over pur])le hued heath, ' The smile of our Father is seen in his flowers, Their exquisite fragrance, a hint of His breath. (3od i^ives some .food hrmor, ;rood temper, good health, Who take life's small ills with a reconciled smile ; Who lo\e not hot greed, whose great God not pelf, Not spiteful, nor hateful (but once in a while). He gives some the glory of heaven-like grace. To some holy beauty's all-conquering sp»ell. The love owning eye, the hnlf divine face, The touch, tone and rhythm of music's sweet swell. ♦ To some be gives strength, to some he gives wit, And many there are who have got common sense ; A few think they have it, who have not a bit, And some have no status — ^just straddle the fence. And some feel and act in the spirit of love, Are gentle and kindi}% honest and truo. Are proud to do duty, all meanness abr-e, Who smile on the many as well as tl.j tew. Are proud of the conscience which hateth all wrong. Who love not to deal out gratuitous pain. Who reap where they sow, who singeth the song Of square honest labor with hand or with brain. Who are not thin skinned, who drag no coat tail. Who itch for no fight for the sake of the fray ; Who if they can't govern don't gruesomely wail. Are prompted by reason, truth, sense and fair play. And now pass the plate, the sermon is done, Is It worth a copper, or good humored smile. For life is a farce \\nthor.t some small fun. And men may be cheerful without a BIG pile. Ingersoll, Jan. i, 1894. 73 "WHAT ARE THE WILD WIRES SAYING?" What is it the wild wires are saying, What themes are they humming and strumming, What are the weird tunes they are playing, What stories are going and coming ? Like spirits dissatisfied waiHng, Tlieir anger or sorrow expressing, Low growl or exuberant feeimg, Approving, or cursing, or blessing. The tramp of the armies resounding. The dread of dire war cries and pain, Distrust of the navies abounding, The G. O. M. prosing again. The bomb fiend is seeking to set The world right by murderous wrong. That those who have nothing may get The wealth of the world for a song. Red apples are up, says the cable, And cheese is a quarter cent higher. But poor wheat is really not able To look in the face of the buyer. The earthquakes are quaking and shaking The cities and towns to the ground, And death, his grim tribute is taking. The cholera is prowling around. A hum from far south, the old story. The joys of Republican ruling, The bomb-shell, the sword stroke is glory, No safety, no progress, no schooling. I hear of great Samuel awailing, Smgs not as he did, when he bragged, McKinley can't keep banks from failin And still his horizon looks jagged. Peppery France gloats over her plans, Like her old plans of long years ago, Eyes aglare on other men's lands, Sniffmg for carnage, rapine and woe. Zulu of Europe, screaming for blood. Dubbing it glory — and it were well 74 • We look to our arms, see they are goody Ready to meet a possil)le yell. I place my ear to the hummirii,' post, Some angry squeals come over the wires Like the wail of a comfortless i^host When old Harry is stirring the fires. For red Home Rule poor Ireland hums, , Red is the rule at New York we hear, We hear of vile political slums, We hear, too, they make others fear, A chitter which sounds P. P. A. like. Though faintly, it comes very clear, » With a threat to upset in the dyke Some schemes there seems reason to fear. Dear Sandy lets off a slight scream. Because folks say "England" too cheeky, W^on't own (as they should) that the cream Of the empire is north, at "Auld Reekie" 'Tis a heart-rending trouble, a sore That can't be endured much longer, That twenty-five millions or more Can't see that four millions are stronger. 'a Friend Sandy, we own to your merit. You can hold your head high with the best. In intellect, courage and spirit, But you're just on a par with the rest. A grand hum, pull, pull, all together, Send jealousy back to the devil. No needless distinguishing feather Allowed to work old-time evil. A fierce, shrill note, like an angry bee. With strong suggestion of sting behind. War ! war I hot war against heresy, 'Gainst questioning doubt of every kind. We know we are right and you are wrong, Our creed, the only one quite true, What'er your thought, whatever your song. As I believe, why so must you. Or else look out, sad, sad your case. You're bad without, you're bad within. 75 No good at all in any phase. Corrupt, depraved, just soaked in sin. A snake like hiss, the note of black hate, Jealousy, envy, slander and spite. Snarls of the churches, lies of the state. To show right is wrong, to prove wrong is right. But listen with care, when coarse passions lull. For notes voiced by heaven, tender and sweet, Softly, yet joyful, with harmony full. The song sung by love, for small and for great. Gentleness, kindness, honesty, truth. Beauty and purity, tongues smooth and clean. Feeble old age well treated by youth, A rare pleasant song, a happy refrain. .But list, like a soft whisper stealinsf, In tones gentle, childlike and winning, To all and to any appealing, The poor Outs may soon have their inning. Then hunger and debt, deadly cold, Hardupness and want will be flying, Mortgages paid, none bought nor sold, No trouble no sickness, no dying. Ingersoll, Jan., 1894. A RIME OF THE SEA. • » Read at a concert on board the State Line steamship, Nebraska, Sept. 2G, 1887. The good staunch steamship. State Nebraska, September sixteenth, eighty-seven. Sped away from roaring Glasca', Pointing prow to New York haven. At ten o'clock the tide was deep. The night was dark, the Clyde not seen ; We growl'd, then went below to sleep. Next morning woke in green Erm. . " - Tw^elve pleasant hours at Larne we lay, Stroll'd o'er the fields, the landscape scan'd, 76 On jaunting'' cars some spent the day, Then night fiew by, lost was the land. The sky was blue, dark blue the water, Clean cut the horizontal line ; From stem to stern the gleeful laughter, Joyous uprose, like sparkling wine. Our ship did play some shippy tricks. She taught the people's heads to swim ; But, did not show the fancy kicks She knew so well, when in the trim. We sang, and played, in tune and out, Charm'd some maybe, and some disgusted, r>ut pleased ourselves without a doubt. In scouring notes a little rusted. We organized, pianoforted, Let off shrill trebles, various basses ; The women thought the men transported. The men felt sure they charmed the lasses. We Saved the Queen, and Yankee Doodle, We Ruled Brittania, Hailed Columbo ; For ten whole days heard nought of boodle, Nor knew the fight o'er poor old Jumbo.* Fiddled a bit on several strings, To tinkling trills by Lady Parclay, While would-be wits said such mean thing's. And nudged and winked and whispered darkly. 'Twas said there was some flirting done, About midships, and 'fore and aft ; It could not be — no not upon This sober Presbyterian craft. Wai*'s horrid face, with portents dire, Appeared, with baleful, threatening mien; But, peace uprose, no deadly fire • Blazed out, and all remained serene. Stern justice sat enthroned on high, To try a loathsome, brutal fellow. Who caused a trusting lass to sigh — We heard the angel even bellow. * Poor old JnTTibo hnd heen killed at St. Thomas. On t.,.inst before. There uas some jaugle about who was respouwible for the loss. 77 The sentence passed was dreadful, dreadfiil,-- We must not tell vou what it was — # 'Twas fearful, terrible and fateful, But sweet to angry pa's and ma's. A human bud burst into flower, A little life its race^ bei,^1n ; So he should ^row from ht)ur to hour, Till he grows up a sailor man. To captain, mates and eni^incers, To seamen rough, to stokers grim. Whose skill and care dispelled all fears. We tenders hearty thanks to them. To cooks and waiters thanks are due, For tripe and onions, grapes and figs, For oraui^es, and Irish stew. For chickens, ducks, calves, lambs and ^)igs. A special vote to Captain Braes, For he is genial, kindly, frank — A jolly fellow, too, he is — So, captain dear, accept our thanks. Norlh Atlantic Ocean, lat. 41, Ion. 70. MCRECRIGCERTONIAN RHYMES. [Although Mr. .T. H. Hcglcr, Sr., who filed a year or two ago, and 1 were friends, yet onr friendship did not keep him from poking ^nunerciful lull atniy rhyming, in fact he called it "Rot" and Gri'JTfxert on rhymes, and such like disparaging names. 1 felt justitled in heing a little "liiled" and went for him in a eeven stanza sonnet (page 30) wherein I called him an "ogre;" then J. H. was mad, and engaged a journeyman poet to go for me, to snuff me out, to shut me up. This poet produced a long string of verses he represented himself as a householder, having a wife and a cellar, this cellar was infested with rats, who would not eat poison nor gfit into traps, nor let cats Cc%tch them. At last the wife thought of "Grij^'gertoii Rhymes" and laying a few near the rat holes, was delighted to And the rats could not endurerhem, but went off disgusted, and never came back;-then he said the man owed an exacting lawyer a sum of money he could not pay just then. The lawyer came one day looking very glum and grim, they were afraid of him, but were very nice and civil, asked him into the hou^e, etc., and noticing some white hairs on his coat, he having driven after a white horse, otfered to wipe them off, but instead of taking a wisp, or a brush, took some "Griggerton Rhymes;" the man sickened at once, went home and died, and they never heard of his claim afterwards. Then he said that I was "gone" on a lady, that she did altogether, entirely, object, but for the rhyming; that she could vot stand, and so it came to nothing. The poem was signed, "Cris Columbo.' I will now tell 3'ou what became of the rats, and where the lawyer went,— The Lady? There "wasn't no sich a pusson." 78 O Mac, my canny friend, our day is past — Our glory pales before a greater light ; The heaven-born poet has come, is here at last, We must step down and out in obscure night. But, eVe we pass to dull oblivion's shade, We'll give one little kick, as we go by ; We'll call in question, statements he I ath made, And prove that even heaven-born poets lie. Chris, had some clever, cultivated rats, ' Who scorn'd and scouted all his bungling traps, Who laughed at all his sleepy tabby cats. And 'neath his cellar walls, dug holes and gaps. Poison, to Chris., was Griggious lute-like rhymes. To rats he thought they might be poison, too, So to the cellar went one even-time. With grim intent those clever rats to "do." They sniffed them quick, and squeaked, "why ! why, ! O ! O !" What's *'iis delightful fragrance we do smell ? One gentle one squeaked out "I know, I know, 'Tis Griggious rhymes we smell, I know them well. Then off they ran, on myriad hurrying feet To find out Grigious, longmg to get more ; They cried, "come, gentle Griggious, sing, sing sweet, Sing sweeter than you ever sang before. Upon th?ir tails they sat, enraptured were, ^ While Grigious sang a simple natural lay ; And while he sang, "Presto," they changed to fair, Sweet sprites, and fairies, singing, dancing gay. ' Then oft they flew on fancy's handy wings, "To where the \vild thyme grrAvs," where roses bloom; And that dear wife, her cakes and pies and things. Were safe and she the mistress of her room. Chris, thought a lawyer he might surely cheat — (We note his song began with hints of "mammon") — ► We see he thinks 'ti-^ fair to gouge and beat A blue bag man with any kind of gammon. With rhymes he rubbed the man, who cried, "what' this?'* I feel an extraordinary hrill, A strange, ecstatic, soothing, namel bliss, A kind of wafting up on Zion's tklAit 79 Don't stop me now, let me be upward driven, Good-bye old earth, and sordid pride, and pains, I'm soaring somewhere, surely 'tis to heaven, I'm going up with Grlggious rapturous strains, G. hopes he's thankfi.i ^or the blissful favor Of being sent up '..rn * ?. dead-head way, "^Oi many say their geii^/'l >':'iavior, Should take them, — w Ij, — ' hardly care to say. And yet, that wild, romancing, awful fibber, Did say the man was dead, and gone (below?) Where, among bold, bad men, is there a glibber One, to say the vhing that is not so, Chris, fibbed again and said that I was "gone," Slander be dad I perhaps damages to pay ; But, even if we were, is he the one, To blab of sac cd things in that bold way. He said my lady loves not poesy — I know she must, I know her soul abounds With every sweet and meltmg melody, And revels (as she should) in dulcet sounds. Is cheerful, gentle, humble, pure and true, ' Industrious, savinp- skillfui, nakes her dresses, . - Is sunshine in her home — outside it too — Wherever she goes and all she meets she blesses, 'Twas sweet to hear him say, she loveth me, (But such a fib !) for, oh ! too well w^e know By sure instinct by which we clearly see. There is no love for old men here below. We'll change the tune And now old Chris. Golumbo, You are four i^undred years behind the times, A so-so poet, but a towering Jumbo In the menagerie of awful »-hymes. In future when you see a pi y thing, - A fragi'ant flower, a singing bird, a poet, Don't all your cutting wit and satire bring, And print in papers that the world may know it. My rhyming folly now, I think is done ; No harm has come, no broken bones, or skin. Only a linle literary fun — Where none "re hurt unless their skins are thin. Ingersoll, Nov. i8th, i886. 80 PRINTER PRATTLF. \\Tiat's the use of papers, If we do not use 'em? Show our kinks and capers — If weVe foes abuse 'em^ If we've friends amuse 'em. We 1(0 to school and college, We learn a hundred thinj^s ; Let us spread our knowledge — The wisdom learning brings. The Chronicl-e, Tribune, Sun — of radiant glory. Will play you any tune, Grit, Prohiby, Tory — Peaceable, or gory. - Do you ride a hobby ? Do you feel you can - Falhev theories nobby, Surprising mortal man ? Have you lucky guesses ? Can vou see ahead ? Warning of distresses, All who run may read. Have you knack of rhyming Wild imagination ? • ~ Music in you chiming, , Son^s to move a nation. 'O' P'ire them off ! — nor mind If they're not first rate ; Practice I — \-ou may find Crank fame on you wait. Have you had a bad ache ? Found a way to cure it ? Pra.y tell for m^rc^^'s sake, So no one else endure it- How would it do to tell Sacred love distresses ? Waft words to dhtant belle. Hints of soft carresses ? 81 WTiy not? We cannot keep Follies under covers ; From some small chink will peep Secrets, of daft lovers. Have you a wish to buy ? Or anything" to sell ? For cash the press will cry Y- Your wants, both loud and well. Then, like a little man, You'll pay the printer's due ; He'll squeeze your pretty hand, • And think so much oi you. Then, through the potent press, Our wit and learning show ; That "thick heads" may be less. When they learn what WE know, 1888. NO REST. (For the Wicked.) " O, Wad some power the giftie ^ie lis To see ourselves as others see us." ^ / Well, that depends what eyes are peerin^^; The medium through which eyes may peer ; Capacity and love for sneering-, Upon the chance of cheap or dear. Upon the brains behind the eye, Upon the nature of the heart, ' The disposition to decry All others, small attempts at art. ' Bursting, perhaps, with learning big, Feeling humor, wit and skill. Is not worth a little fig, - Unless it dribble through their quill. W^e hardly need the powers implore To show our faults, our shaky places. The work-shop, lodges, streets, the stores Will sift our characters and cases. * The above quotation was sent to me through the post anononiously. 82 It is not true we always are As some folks see us, pride and hate, Dislike and vanity declare As some would wish us — such is fate. My friend, I cannot even guess Who dubbed me "Rhymster," through the post, I won't be mad, nor rhyme the less, Nor feel all joy in life is lost. < Ingersoll, Sept. 19, 1888. RUTH PENN. A bright sparkling lass was "Ruth Penn," But a dire ruthless power she had, She only would shine in the eyes of the men When O ! they were '"took" very bad, Ve- — ry bad, ve ry bad Took dumpish, and glumpisli, and sad.- With her roser., and lilies and smiles. Her pure thrilling voice and her singing ; ' . Her artless and beautiful wiles, Sober men to her feet she was bringing, Bringing, Oh ! bringing, Because her sweet tones were so ringing. They looked, and they dream't, may be sighed, Almost long'd, but hoped never a bit ; For they knew they must not, hope ever denied, * So they tried to think better of it. Better of it, better of it, And prayed to be cured of their fit. O pretty, O piquante Ruth Penn, O how did you, why did you do it, Why wind your sweet spells around foolish poor men, Who had nothing to do but to rue it, Rue it, Oh ! rue it, For you never can ever undo it. We will wish for her health, a long happy life, A sterling young fellow, to wed her and love her ; He a firm manly friend, she a true loving wife, While good stars shine brightly above her, Above her, above her. And everyone speak kindly of her, Ingersoll, Oct. 1882. 83 FIGHT FOR YOUR OWN JOHNNY. A. Mr. Donnolly of (I think) IllinoiB wrote a book trying to prove Shakespeare was not Shakespeare, but possibly, F. Bacon. What's the world coming to ; turned apside down ? Solid old landmarks are fading away ; The noisest blather is dining around ; What was true now is false — the blatherers say. I've seen it in print — I cannot mind where — That the big, stupid Saxon is born without wit ; That none but a Celt could have been sweet Shakespeare; But, as usual, John Bull stole the glory of it. We were proud of great Shakespeare, we thought him our own ; But Paddy- Whack Donnelly finds we're mistaken ; The first step he takes our "Will" to dethrone, Is to swear by the pigs, he was nothing but Bacon. The next thing we'll know, 'twas an Irish hog The Bacon was made from; that no Saxon pig Could have the fine flavor that's bom of the bog, If history's mine we carefully dig. Now, they tell us John Bunyan was nought but a thief ; That an old Gallic priest told the story so grand ; They tell us — is it with a sigh of relief ? The glory belongs not to Johnny Bull's land. Now, mark my words well, the next thing we'll know, 'Twas Dan'l O'Connell wrote Oliver Twist ; In Celtic soil, only, such rich fruit could grow ; No Saxon mills grind out such humorous grist. That civilized safety, justice and law. Were born in green Erin; but Johnny Bull stole All the good things from Erin Go Bragh — Stole skill, stole invention, stole wind, tide and coal. lagersoll, Oct. ii, x888. . 84 WHO ARE THE "BEST?" While strollinj,^ in the woods one day, We saw the owls and cables meet, ' And as they met we heard thcin say We are "best birds," we the elite. • - Why are they "best?" we doiibtin^jf ask — Because they scream? ti: whit, tii woo ? Because they on the top branch ])ask. And scout the singing' birds below ? Because they murder with their bills ? Because they pluck, and tear, and flay ? Because their rushin,->- chari^es kills The weak and simple, da\ by day ? We doubtly doubt if they are "best" — • What do they do that name to claim ? For real worth there is a test, Does greed and grab deserve the name? In this great world of mad turmoil. Where wrop"" ^eems right, and right seems wrong', Are they not " who bear the toil, ; Crealin-' .vhich men long- ? Are they who, honestly, Stern sii -^i with oatient love, Working' ai ) g" faithfully, ^^efiectin^ ( .y), God above ? Who do not ^ ^. unneeded pain. Whose live^ honest, pure and true, Who will not. It ilawful gain, Igmore the rig to all men due. Who scatter blesi gs as they walk. In gentle maRn'. , looks and mien, Are not ashamed t kindly talk To rough old fol whose lives have been A fight with labor, torm and heat, A fight with cold, .vith aches and pain, Who totter down w ch wca. feet Worn out, to miar.c what others gain. We build big churches, bow down low^, We pay big salaries, and say 85 We love the Christ, who, long ago Taught love and goodness day by day. Say — do we practice what we preach ? Say — do we love as we profess ? 'Tis easy work to talk and teach, But hard, so hard, to love and bless. Ingersoll, Jan. 13, 1889. SONG rr:^ 7HE TIMES. Sweet 20-year-oId Summer Girl, poor, (pre<^ty and petted) to fi'iend, "I could not endure the thout^ht of marrying any one but a gentleman, highly educated and rich."— Prompted to a prosy preach From the text we heard above, We will humbly try to teach, Cold ambition is not love. Love is heart, and soul, — to life, What the sun is to the day, -' * So is not a loveless wife, Nor a husband '"built that way," Wealth is good, but wealth may be Bought too dear and breed regrets, Bogus, loveless ecstasy Turns to spats, and pouts, and frets. Walking at the close of day. Clothed in her imperious air, Picking her exclusive way, . Keenly conscious she is fair. Seeing few and hnowiiig less, " ^^oating m her cloud of pride, . .< > Waiting till one comes to bless ' • With heaps of wealth, a haughty bride. Will he come? the lord, the knight. Banking magnate, millionaire } Will her hopes mature aright, "^^^ill her skies be warm and fair ? 86 Will he come ? or will she wane, Wane to loveless spinsterhood ? Wait and hope, alas, in vain, Vexed she did not — if she could. Some perhaps felt towards her, kind, Held by beauty's; potent spell ; * "When she walked perhaps looked behind/' But was unapproachable. Such is life, as in the past It will be in coming times, Hope and love still run to waste As will poet's unread rhymes. I890. * Longfellow. FAREWELL OUR HOPES. So sweetly reticent and still. So gentle, modest, mild and meek ; We hoped and thought with many a thrill The time would come when he would speak. But as the Scottish ploughman said, "The best of plans may 'gang aglee,' " Our hopes are flattened out, dead, dead ; Aghast, and so surprised are we. As eagle swoops upon the fold, The gentlest, whitest lamb his prey, A .vestern birdie, fair, and bold. Hath swooped him off this very day. The postage stamp hath lost its charm, Slate pencils are not what they were, ' ; Vain were our smiles — he took alarm, And fealty own'd to other fair. Ann Eliza Matilda Jane, Ingersoll, May 26, 1886. 87 OUR FLAG. rit was s^ig'^cstcd to mo to try my hand at a patriotic soiif?, on trie oecasioM of raising the ling on t^'o new tlag pole at the Public School at In^ersoll, on Dominion Day, 1891. I did so. as below. 1 composed, loo, four or live tnnes, so there would b<' a choice, hoping it mi;.;ht possibly be Hung, but no— no honor in one's own town— and so my iiong and tunes went to waste.] *'The flag that braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze." Raise our voices, let us sin^, Heartfelt, joyous, clear, true notes ; Cadence whisper, chorus ring. Leaping from Canadian throats. Float our flag ! this gladsome day, In our healthful northern air ; May it wave from now alway, Proudly, honest, fair and square. Flag of stalwart, manly men. Men who work and men who sing ; Hammer, planer, plough and pen. Land and sea your fealty bring. Gentle women, good and fair, Safe, beneath its folds repose ; 'Neath its gleam what men will dare, Every foeman fully knows. , Ring out with our English tongues. Union, loyalty and truth ; Press and pulpi^ prose and son'^^, Teach it fuller to our youth. Teach that sterling honesty, Honesty in act and word ; British faith and probity. Must not, shall not be ignored. Round the world our flag shall fly, Honor, Justice, still its aim ; \^ Right protect, the wrong defy, Floating on to higaer fame, ingersoll, June 6, 1891, 88 VALENTINE DAY To-morrow is Valentine Day, When lovers j^^rind out their wild lines ; Now, ^'^rab your steel and scribble away, - Handsome and homely, sad ones and gay, Fervent and cool, in earnest or play, Go each for your own valentine. Short ones and tall, '^Id ones and young, Big ones and small, sour ones and sweet, Rich ones and poor, weak ones and strong, Those with short purses, those whose are long. Those who choose rightly, those who choose wrong, You all are poor slaves at the feet Of Cupid, whose arrows are keen. Who shooteth outrageously wild, Making the fat ones to hanker for lean. Even "good folks" may sigh for the mean; Very poor subjects to long for a queen. Pricked on by the darts of that child. Yet, 'tis better to love than to hate, 'Tis better to sing than to cry. What e'er your condition, status and state. Your road rough or smooth, whatever your fate, 'Tis better to walk and sing with a mate — As 'tis better to live than to die. So grab your steel pens, sing your lay, Be it your woe, notes or joys. To-morrow, to-morrow is Valentines' Day, Smooth out your paper and scribble away There can't be much harm, nor the d 1 to pay If we sing with the rest of the boys. Ingersoll, Feb. 13th, 18S9, 89 SHORTFELLOW'S FIRST POEM. [An item wa<« pfoinpf the rounds of the papcr;^, entitlod, "Longfellows' First l*oem." This sujrgested another uoeiii by anolher fellow, and that still another by one more fellow.] Jamie : — We have jj^ot an old torn cat, And he is j^ood for to watch The hole where he thinks there is a rat, And he doth hope that rat for to catch, Up in garden hundred cats, , Down in field is fifty cows, In the l)arn five hundred rats, In the pig-pen forty sows. Pa : - • Jamie, Jamie, tell me why You do fib outrageously ? The tale vou tell seems like a lie So many cats there cannot be ; V I'll go myself and take a look. Jamie : — No my pa you need not bother, A liberty with truth I took. There's only our cat and one other. I have got some apples, O ! Small green apples, oh, woe, woe ! Oh my b y acheth so, I must bellow, boo, boo-o ! Pa:— Jamie, my prophetic eye Penetrates the misty years ; I see your glorious destiny, I see the myraid listning ears. Waiting music from your lips, Waiting from your mouth the pearls Of Johnny Roe and Reuben Tripp, And charming "curls" and maple "nurls." Singing hopes of joy forever, (Though mixed a little bit with gore,) For Rrantford's grand and sparkling river, Brantford chanteth evermore. w Of horses never needing'- oats, Of horses' proof aifainst the botts, Who, on a mount of lal^or floats, / Who never tireth when he trots. V ? Of coons and crows, of wolves and owls Of bees and bugs, of doves and hogs, Of fox, and onions, bears and growls, Of tigers, crocodiles and dogs. Of cheese and pumpkins, minks and whey, Of curds and jackals, whales and trout. Of snakes and codfish, Georgian Bay, So many things you'll sing about. Of ducks and oysters, eagles, cows. Tramps and brooms and big fat pot, Seals and moons, and fishes, mows, Of maple sap and candy hot. LOCAL CAROL. Reply to a pretty compliment paid to me by Mr. James Sinclair of IngursoU. J. S. for kindly words of praise, I give you thanks. - but hardly thought My simple unambitious lays, J- Deserved the compliment you brought. ^ ' In life's experience what more sweet. Than frank faced welcome home again, When dawdling up or down the street. Eyes shine to eyes of manly men. For Uncle Sam I've some regard, • ^ Would like him better if I could. His rasping tongue, his blow so hard, His rancourous spirit is not good. His covert threats, his causeless ire. His hankering for his neighbor's coast, His foe like laws against his sire, ^ Rejoicing when he hurteth most. j I have lived long and noted men , The past and present history scan, Had I my life to live again, ^ I'd live again an Englishman, " ' You hint I dream and theonse, So much of truth we can but guess, I do love truth, I do hate lies, And what I think I dare express. From what hath been, jud^^'^e what may be, A gleam, may burst to glorious light, From dire mistakes may struggle free, As daylight drives the sombre night. *'Past the time v/hen folly wages," Never ! Jamie, till we're dea.d, 'Tis seen in poetasters pages, In various freaks were fancy led. Thankful be those who 'scape Scot free, So those whose sins ne'er see the light, Those who at last their folly see. Who fight their sins, and walk aright. Fight lust and greed, the twisting tongue, Fight envy, malice, bigotry, Belittling pride, fight every wrong. Fight every form of cruelty. I note you say I'm blessed with health. Long time I've thought me somewhat sick, But where,! O where.! my hidden wealth, O Jamie,! Jamie, I tell me, quickl! Friend Mac, you noted, did forge The chance to clothe himself with glory, I was surprised he was so slow, In deathless rhymes, to tell the story. Of Johnny Ruddick's ten ton cheese "From numerous cows like swarms of bees" Which no Chicago flies dare seize Our great big whopping Canuck cheese. I scribble thus Tor harmless fun, Perhaps, now and then, a thought may flash, A spark of humor, wit, or fun, 'Mong ordinary rhyming trash. I come then with my local carol. If you think right I should attain, I'll share with you the local laurel, And you and I, will jointly reign, Ingersoll, 1893. 92 RETRIBUTION. \\' hile on a visit to Port Hope in (I think) 1890 some oiiepiic an item in tno Inj?er.J0l] Tribune statcing that it v;as more tiitm probable that 1 would not return empty handed, anyone couid l»iO])e)'ly interpret the diabolical sui^^estion; I ser.t the followi^^ rhymes, as a hint to him, what would happen when I got home. Some bold bad one of In^ersoll, Having no fear before bis eyes, Who lovetb long bow taU to tell, Coquetting on the brink of lies. Suspecting this, surmising that. Because at Hope I take a squint, He jumps at wild conclusions pat. And puts his wicked thoughts in print. Old boy, if ever I come home, I'll find mv wav to vour old side, And will not empty handed come, But grimly bring a big Raw hide. BLYTHE AND MERRY. Blythe and merry, frank and fair, Open as a summer day, A sunny face, a loveing air, Beaming, blooming, genial, gay. !| A beam of light, a general pet. And just as nice as she can be. Her smile is sweet as love, and yet " I've known her give a smile to me. ," i I hope the course of her true love, * iVIay smooU'ier ficv/ than rn}- poor rhymes, Her husbanr! ever lover p^ove, , And both have easy jolly times. ' \^ I hope the course of her true love, A brimming stream may smoothly flow. All honest men and saints above. Conspire to bless her here below. ' , 93 May health and hope, may love and peace, From year to year her steps attend, May joy and g^ladness never cease, May friends be true till life shall end. Ingersoll, Jan. i, 1883. TIT FOR TAT. fo: A Mr. McCrinnon of (I think) Zorra in Oxford County, Ont,, published in one of the local papers, a characteriBtic Scotch eong full of eulogy of Scotch bravery, etc., etc., itwas written with, special twits and sneers at the "Southron," and in the spirit that might have existed 300 years ago, the following lines are intended to be "sarkasticall." We humbly sing of the Englishman, If Celtic Sandy will permit us, In reverence bow to holy Clan, In fear lest awful Mac should meet us. Not like McCrinnon ; we shall find Poor Englishmen are small and puny. No stalwart limbs, no giant mind, ♦ Eut silly, shallow, homely, luny. From Gretna Green to Scilly isles, The heavenly bagpipes rarely screels, In consequence there are no smiles, ^ - No soul the lumpish saxon feels. - There is no beauty, sense nor wit, *^ No valor, gallantry, or worth. For Mac hath scraped up every bit, And lugged it all beyond the Forth. No genius, skill, nor enterprise, No singers, poets, truthful writers, Theli histories are Saxon lies. They are not, nor were ever, fighters. 'Tis they who always shirked the steel, 'Tis they who always ran away, ^ To Sandy always humbly kneel, Was never known to win a day. 94 We've heard of battles where the Celt, Did scamper off like common men, When they the gleaming metal felt, They turned their tails and may again. McCrinnon, cease your boasting cant, The days you rhyme of, long are past ; The days of bigotry and rant, Of barbarism haply lost. And thank your sister isle for much. You now enjoy, and cultivate Respectful love, the friendly clutch. Write no more stuff which fosters hate. LUELLA. There is a lass with winning way, Through the breast high wicket peering, Dealing trump cards all the day, In other ways endearing. Her love lit eye, her smile oh my ! Bewildereth the fellv>ws, They loiter by, they sigh ;.nd cry Luella, oh Luellos. But they may gaup, but they may stare May whine, may groan, may bellow. This sweet faced lass, this maiden fair Is not their Lu Luella. A MIDWINTER NIGHT'S DREAIVT The tug boats' bellow, whistles scream, Pandemonium a roaring, Awoke me from a lovely dream, With din e'en greater than my snoring. My dream was of a a peerless belle, 1 never dream of any less. And feel impelled my dream to tell, Because 'tis proper to confess. , A- 95 I dreamt I was not old, but young i Wealthy, winsome, tall and slender, And march'd on her street hale, and strong", With heart (and feet) and feelings tender. To where one waited at a gate. And from the step she made a spring And landed, — where, I will not state, Nor blab, nor gab, of anything. 'Twas then the devilish whistles yell'd. And tore to shreds my short lived bliss, ^ff^ off she flew could not be held. Although her lips (seem'd) purs'd to -. And I awoke to age and pain. To creepy chills, and agueish shakes, And laugh — ed at myself again, For dreaming thus with all these aches. Jan. I, 1892. ANARCHICAL. I once was dubb d an anarchist, A grotesque missive stirred my i » iwsi qz^i I reckoned up a longish list, Who loved that crass word whip to use. What is an anarchist' we ask. Is it not one who hates the law ? And loves to break it, shirks each task, And ^Us the world with lying jaw. The law declares, thou shalt not lie, Thou shalt not take another's life. Nor steal, nor perjure, bold nor sly, Nor hanker for thy neighbor's wife. But many break the law to smash. They lie and steal in various ways, Impeird by love of unearned cash. They even murder, if it pays. We galvanize, adulterate, We fill thin cloth with nasty shoddy, Give nippy measure, scrimp in weight, Mix poisonous drugs, to sell as toddy. 96 Keep back the truth, prevericate, Sell shakey things and call them sound, Roll up big cost, 'gainst those whom fate, Puts in our clutch, we do them brown. The honest woHd is sorely cursed, With anarchists both high and low, 'Tis hard to say which are the worst. From which the greatest miseries flow. The high in faultless accents lying, Burning stores and scuttling ships. Robbing banks, on dark nights flying, Broomstxk marrying seal clad snips. The low ones steal in other styles, Are coarser in their modes, and grammer, With brutpl force, or sneaking wiles, With drill, with dynamite, and hammer. Spouting slangy rant and blather, Claiming the world owes them a living, That good and bad should share together, Industrious to the lazy gnvin^. Both skin the patient working man. Both feel contempt for those who toil, Both feel 'tis right if they can plan To squeeze the delver in the soil. Square justice is not anarchy, Who fights for labor fights for right, Equipp'd and armed with honesty. The victory's sure and is in sight. Before we call hard names be sure. We know for certain w^iat we state, For many a slander men endure, Is born of greed, of pride, or hate. >•■*; 9 97 REUBEN FLAREUP, CRITIC. .y Some one wrote some very ^ood poetry which the London Free Press often publislicd, after a while some critic went for the poet savagely, I having ti kind of fellow feeling in my "buzzum," took np the end^rels for the poet, as below, but got the usual reward for meddling. They cried down the poets of Greece and of Rome, Abused the sweet singers of Britain "Galore" Turned up their small noses at warblers of home, As they make jealous Flareup's"*^ cranky and sore. We need not hang Homer, 'twas done in his time, The Flareup's lived then as they vegetate now ; Old Virgil was told he could not make a rhyme, His pathos, nor wit, would the Flareup's allow. The strains of our Milton were sold for a song. The deer stealing Shakespeare, despised and ignored. But Flareup's could not snub them down very long. Though they lunged with proud tongue or with dull wooden sword. The Nightingale filling the gloaming with joy, Roars "Rough like a lion" a donkey might say, Say music is noise, as pipes this green boy. Unless with his own voice he bellows the lay. We know Reuben Flareup, his aunties and cousins, Abnormal high stomachs afflict the whole crew, Book crammed and priggish they swarm now in dozens, Sneering friend Hayseed at "Grangers" like you. They spat on young Bryon, struck Chatterton dead, Called Wordsworth a noodle, starved poor Tommy Hood, E'en dear Tom Pinch Charley, was low and ill bred, Said Titmarsh the great one, was not very good. Smg on Harry Hayseed, your notes true and clear. The black feathered crows will be croaking of course. Don't heed them at all times nor falter nor fear. Though they croak in grim chorus and croak themselves hoarse. 1892. 98 JiNCLE JANGLE. On the 12th of Feb., 1.S9K there was .1 grr^at snow storm ; very severe at Iiv^crsol!. the weather wns very eolcl, and for some dav« the snow was six feet deep on Thaines street. Times were dull, business very niueh depressed, and faces blue. High piled the snow, and tliroui;"h the street A howlinL^', whirhny, Ronring- blast, With pelting', Stin^nni;, small shot sleet, Merci-less-ly whizzini,' past. Spectre-like streets betin^.(ed with blue, Redected from the sober faces, As day by day they longer g'rew, As fewer caine the packing- cases. But from the corner drug store beams, The sn^iles that cheers the saddened streets, George Beck, next door, — his barrel teems. With sweets to match the corner sweets. Tasty herring's, Finnan haddies, Oranges and nuts and crackers, Dainties in aesthetic caddies. Great flat oysters, oli I such whackers. Jolly Alex, brushing' watches, Jeweller is A. McCarter : Eyes and specs he deftly matches. Sells you fair ones for a quarter. *Couch, next door, a pubhc joy, Warms in winter, summer cools us. Shapes with g^race, both man or boy, Gives us fits and seldom fools us. tBrowett hoping all will dye. All to feel they needed pills, All to have a questioning" eye So he may cure all blurry ills. Jones, in chains, and varnish revels. Tar and anvils, carpet sweepers. Axes, glue, and spirit le\els, - • Binding twine for Noxon's reapers. Gibson, sweet, among the sweets, ice Cream, candies, cakes and tarts, Tempting girls to smile for treats. Dickering with the boys for hearts. * Ice aud coai merchant, and Gltt'..ier. t Optican and druggist. > X 99 Sir Henry Ilcarn, cannot be stern, Smooth as bis silks, bis wools and flosses, He cannot let resentment burn / No matter vvbat his luck or crosses. William Woolson — butter, honey, Tracious mixture, salmon, ccdfish, Flavor'd all with jokelets funny, Pinch of wit in every dish. Next the "Chronicle'' the newsful. Then Jim lierry, and we know sir He is most "Oncommon useful" But he cannot, cannot blow sir. Measures, cuts and fits for swell ones, Watches too, the country's rii;hts, Grits and Tories, the old bell oiies, Here they wa.'^'^e their ton^^uey lights. Bi-o-lo-gy, the-o-lo-g^y, The-os-o-phy, mesmerism, Politics, North Pole, all history, Scjuarein;,'" ciixles, light and p- isims. Near by a council daddy stays, In fact next door he's heard and seen, Piano, or''s kinks Pointing the way all men should go, How all should vote, how all should think, Infallable (or nearly so). I step out on the street to see, And see some inky youthful codgers, And what I heard turns out to be The Tribune engine printing dodgers. Logee's foot gear weareth well. So doth Logee, — and may he ' Continie long good shoes to sell. And may he sell some more to me. And now for Smiths and Robinsons — — S I spoke of Jones some time before, , • ■^There were bad boys long time agone, - It can't be them I'm pretty sure. * There was in the old Enjjlish spelling books a story of Smith, Jbnes and Kobinson who played hooky. 1 io:i I wish them well — abundant trade, All honest fun, and priceless healthy And when their forf.L.ies all are made, Maybe they'll let me see their wealth. Thou^^h wearied out, I'll try to cross The street, where Harry Richardson Lights up the scene with golden gloLS, Re -ected by the Western sun. George Clark, 'gainst you I have no spite, What must be, must be, all must see, q You carry people out of sight. And soon I s'pose will carry me. Ingersoll, Mar. 2, 1894, A WILD WISH. Friend A., I thank you, that you bid A heavy, limping, dull old man To come and see you duly wed, To note the love that smoothly ran» "^"Zilver and things" I cannot bring, Would bring them gladly if I could, Pearls, rubies, sapphires, sparkling ring, And crystal glassware clear and good. It would be nice if I could spare A thousand dollar banking cheque, Put tiara on your brow so fair, Hang golden chains around your neck. Or should I find a pile of gold, As big as, — big as — let me see, As much as one horse cart could hold, I'd give at least a keg to thee. I wonder would you like to have. Say, — fifty thousand in the bank ; So that you need n&t scrimp and save, So with the big folks you could rank. * An old relation of the family used to sing a Cornish song about •'Zilver aud things," 104 An "archltectolooral" home, The furniture mahogany, To entertain friends when they come, ^ To visit for a hoUday. > A spanking team, both strong- and safe, A carriage on the easiest springs, Soft harness that won't rub nor ci^afe, And rugs, and robes and such nice things. And wishing this, — if it should come, I'll not be envious 'cause you have it, Be glad you're happy in your home. Nor dictate to you how to leave it. But there is something more than weaim, Though wealth is good, it is not all. One glorious good is priceless health, / And pure true love within our call. ^ Good common sense, a temper sweet, Nice gentle manners, mind serene. May blessings follow where'er your feet Trip through the home where you are Queen. To bless a man, — a real man, Honest and kindly good and true, Whose love will live, will firmly stand. You loving him, — him, loving you. Ingersoll, 1893. i 105 "NEVER, DICK, NEVER." I ne'er spoke of love by word, song, nor letter, Some walls stood between us a thousand feet high, One wall was position, she held herself better, And rightly she held so, I could not deny. She was milking a cow,* I, playing the fife, Like an angel she sung, (so it seemed to me). In a dull dismal road, the light of my life, Was this maiden who warbled the sweet melody. I put down my fife and with both ears and eyes, Drank deep of her beauty, her soul thrilling notes, As her sweet eyes gazed off to the sun set skies, And the skylarks above us poured songs from their throats. From her stool by the cow, she glanced in my face, And ceased for a moment her oboe toned quaver, And gently, half sadly, with woman like grace. Shook heJ beautiful head and said, "Never Dick Never.'? May, 1894. * At Coombe f -^i, Plympton, Devoii, _ .igland, 1836. IN ME.VlORiAM. Sleep on, dear friend, sleep on, Life's strife and worry o'er. Sweet rest and peace are won Forever ever, more. Though lost from sight a w^hile, You still in memory live. Your step, your voice, your smile, Is with us while we grieve. We keep your memory green, And tears may tremble yet, For sorrow true and keen, Does not, cannot, forget. s. X 106 FINI^. Written on the last page of a lady's alburn. There is an end to every road, A fini'3 pa^^e to every book, A parting time from each abode, A last regret, a last fond look. A last word said and wish expressed, A last embrace and parting" kiss, The last of home, the love confessed. The last time people call you Miss. And so upon this book's last page, My latest vv'ish I wish for you, Wish health and love, a good old age, With common sense to guide you through. Not wealth enough to make you proud, To raise your nose high in the wind. To make you hard and rude and loud. To cut poor friends you leave behind. A humble mind a temper sweet, A smile for friends and even foes, The love of whosoe'er you meet, A feeling heart for others woes. Be yours a quiet peaceful life, Loveing all good things pure and true, If gentle maid or happy wife. May all good fortune come to you.