A Providential Escape
Providential escape of Ruby and Niel McLeod, children of Angus McLeod,
Ingersoll, little Neil McKay McLeod, a child three years of age, was carried
under a covered raceway, upwards of one hundred yards, the whole distance
being either covered over with roadway, buildings or ice.
A wonderous tale we now do trace,
Of little children fell in race ;
The youngest of these little dears,
The boy's age is but three years.
While coasting o'er the treacherous ice-
precious pearls of great price-
The elder Ruby, the daughter,
Was rescued from the ice cold water.
But horrid death each one did feel
Had sure befallen poor little Neil ;
Consternation did people fill,
And they cried 'shut down the mill.'
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poem by James McIntyre
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Canadian Sports and Games and Plays
Burns sang of joys of Hallowe'en,
But in Canada is oft seen
By far more jolly times than these,
At logging raising, paring bees,
For here the youth is not afraid
To dance long side of pretty maid,
For this, at night, is his reward
For working at the bee so hard.
And oft times till the break of day
At forfeits they will merry play,
For he doth win, e'en though he miss,
If from sweet lass he gets a kiss,
But in its place loth justly prize
His tea and cakes, and pumpkin pies.
When winter comes it brings no gloom,
But makes fresh pleasures spring and bloom;
For when the youth longs for a bride
He gives his girl a grand sleigh ride,
Which to them both doth pleasures bring,
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poem by James McIntyre
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Robert Burns
The following ode was delivered by the author at the Centennial Anniversary
of Burns, Ingersoll, in presence of a large assembly in the year 1859:
This night shall never be forgot,
For humble life none now despise,
Since Barns was born in lowly cot,
Whose muse's wing soared to the skies.
'Round Scotia's brow he wove a wreath
And raised her name in classic story,
A deathless fame he did bequeath,
His country's pride, his country's glory.
He sang her hills, he sang her dales,
Of Bonnie Doon and Banks of Ayr,
Of death and Hornbrook, and such tales
As Tam O'Shanter and his mare.
He bravely taught that manly worth
More precious is than finest gold ;
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poem by James McIntyre
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Fight of A Buffalo with Wolves
We were so deeply impressed with the courage displayed by a buffalo
in a prose tale that we transposed the description into verse.
A buffalo, lord of the plain,
With massive neck and mighty mane,
While from his herd he slowly strays,
He on green herbage calm doth graze ;
And when at last he lifts his eyes,
A savage wolf he soon espies ;
But scarcely deigns to turn his head,
For it inspires him with no dread.
He knows the wolf is treacherous foe,
But feels he soon could lay him low.
A moment more, and there's a pair,
Whose savage eyes do on him glare ;
But with contempt them both he scorns,
Unworthy of his powerful horns.
Their numbers soon do multiply,
But the whole pack he doth defy ;
He could bound quickly o'er the plain,
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poem by James McIntyre
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Gordon Cumming - The Lion Hunter
Some thirty years ago, in conversation with an old sea
captain who had visited or voyaged to all quarters of the
globe, he was denouncing fiercely the degeneracy of these
costermonger times. He said there was a book in our
town library which was a tissue of falsehood from begin-
ning to end, and that there never existed such a man as
Gordon Cumming, the Lion Hunter. I told the old gen-
tleman that I had seen the Lion Hunter hundreds of
times and conversed with him in the woods of Aylter,
and that be was a descendant of the Royal Comyn, one
of whom was killed by King Robert the Bruce, and that
I had seen the magnificent person of Gordon Cumming in
the garb of old Gaul, successfully punish a huge prize
fighter who kept grossly insulting him during the excite-
ment of a general election-when Cumming's uncle,
Major Cumming Bruce, was running for member, this
Major being father-in-law to Lord Elgin, formerly Gov-
ernor of Canada. I also told him that Hugh Millar was
a warm friend of the Lion Hunter's mother, as she was
distinguished both as a geologist and a botanist, and that
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poem by James McIntyre
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Reminiscences
On the laying of the corner stone of the Brock Monument, at
Queenston Heights, and the final interment of the General
who had fallen at the battle of Queenston, Oct.13th, 1812.
The remains of his Aid, Col. McDonald, we also depos-
ited under the new tower.
A wail went o'er broad Canada,
When it was known a vile outlaw
Had, at midnight's awful hour,
With ruffian hand, blown up the tower
'Neath which had slept the gallant Brock,
Who bravely fell on Queenston's rock ;
But graceful column soon shall rise,
Its beauteous shaft will kiss the skies.
For, from Queenston's woody height
You may behold a pleasing sight.
The grim old veterans of the war,
Militiamen with many a scar,
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poem by James McIntyre
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Wars In Queen Victorias Reign
We will now sing in thoughtful strain
Of wars in Queen Victoria's reign,
The Russian Bear did ages lurk
All ready for to spring on Turk,
For Russian Statesmen did divine
That they should conquer Constantine;
But like a Grey hound after Hare,
The Lion did drive back the Bear,
And made it feel the British rule,
At gates of strong Sebastapool,
Then insolent was Persia,
Till Lion had to dictate law;
And while engaged in scenes like these,
He was attacked by the Chinese.
And for this outrage all so wanton
He then resolved to seize on Canton,
But soon there came a dismal cry
Of slaughtered Britons from Delhi;
The Bengal Tiger, sick with gore,
Did tremble at the Lion's roar,
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poem by James McIntyre
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Response To Sentiment of Scottish Poets
In replying to this toast, we have no hesitation in saying that Burns stands pre-eminently
in the first rank. His mind was so sensitive to the beauties of nature that he regretted
plowing a daisy under, as evinced in the following tender lines :-
' Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower,
Thou'st met me in an evil hour,
For I maun crush among the stour
Thy slender stem;
To spare thee now is past my power,
Thou bonnie gem.'
He was well aware that he was but little indebted to education, and he finely expresses it
in the following :-
'Gie me a spark o' nature's fire,
'Tis a' the learning I desire ;
Then though I trudge through dub and mire,
At plow or cart,
My muse, though hamely in attire,
May touch the heart.'
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poem by James McIntyre
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St. Andrew and Halloween
Our ancient customs to renew,
We meet to honour St. Andrew,
He was of the Jewish nation;
A fisherman by occupation.
No warlike knight with lance and sword,
But humbly following his Lord,
And Scotia she justly claims
Her soil contains his last remains.
In early times the pilgrims drew
Unto the shrine of St. Andrew;
For miracles it gained renown,
And thence sprang up St.Andrew's town.
And here to night we meet together,
Rose, shamrock and blooming heather,
For no more the Scottish thistle .
With warlike thorns it doth bristle.
But clansmen twine round maple leaf,
When rallying at the call of chief.
And time will come when we'll be one
And proud of name Canadian.
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poem by James McIntyre
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Oxford Cheese Makers Song
When Father Ranney left the States
In Canada to try the fates,
He settled down in Dereham,
Then no dairyman lived near him.
He was the first there to squeeze
His cows milk into good cheese,
And at each Provincial Show
His famed cheese was all the go.
CHORUS.
Then long life to Father Ranney,
May he wealth and honor gain, aye !
He always took the first prize,
Both for quality and size ;
But many of his neighbors
Now profit by his labors.
And the ladies dress in silk
From the proceeds of the milk :
But those who buy their butter,
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poem by James McIntyre
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