Fight With A Bear
The following appeared in Truth in the form of a prose tale of
considerable length. We have concentrated the essence
thereof into the few verses below. It is a tale of the
Canadian North-West, during the times of the Hudson
Bay Company's rule.
Two youths, employed at the fur fort,
Resolved to have half-day of sport ;
From Jasper House, in the far north,
For game, they joyous issued forth.
The factor of the Hudson Bay
Granted them a few hours' play,
And it was in cold winter time,
When thick on lake was glassy rime ;
But beneath, o'er all their route,
They saw below big speckled trout.
With hatchet, ice they did clear
And the beauteous trout did spear,
For they were longing for a dish
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poem by James McIntyre
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Thomas Campbell
As musings on Banks of Canadian Thames doth not necessarily consist of
meditations in verse, but the monotony of the cogitations may be relieved by a
soliloquy in prose, and as Campbell manifested a deep interest in American subjects,
we will give the following anecdote related by that genial American Author Washington
Irvine, to Sir Walter Scott. Irvine, while in Britian, visited Campbell, but found him absent
and he expressed a regret to Campbells wife that her husband did not write more. She said
that he was timid and he felt Byron and Scott o'ershadow him with their great poems. Sir
Walter replied, ' I myself produce pebbles, Scottish pebbles, but Campbell is the creator of
Diamonds of the first water.' Byron also expressed himself in a similar strain as follows :-
'Arise, O Campbell, give thy talents scope ;
Who dares aspire if thou has ceased to hope '
Campbell wrote thus of America in the beginning of the century, and by comparing the facts
as he describes them it shows the wonderous strides which the United States, especially,
have taken on the Banks of Lake Erie, as Lake Ontario seems to be favorite location for
Canadian cities.
On Erie's banks were tigers steal along,
And the dread Indian chaunts his dismal song.
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poem by James McIntyre
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Book Agent Story
As we have given several humorous Scottish stories in verse we will venture to
trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid
in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not
diminished the height, breadth or depth of the humour by grinding it in our
poetical mill and having it flow out in rhyme.
There is a man, his name is Brown,
He lives in a suburban town
And has an office in the city,
His misfortunes you will pity.
His mind it was on stocks and change,
He cared not for things new or strange ;
But agent managed him to hook
And sold to him a costly book.
Brown cared not for those glorious names-
Died for religion in the flames;
Now he felt agent was a Tartar
For selling him a book of martyr.
The agent knew it would make strife,
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poem by James McIntyre
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Lament of the Maple Tree
I laid me down one day in June;
It was late-long after noon-
A very sultry summer's eve,
Such times the senses oft deceive.
The place was 'neath a maple tree,
Soon from all cares and troubles free,
By a gentle, kindly slumber,
No more our sorrows we could number.
But we heard a plaintive wail,
Such as we find in fairy tale ;
It was the genius of the tree,
Who, in sad guise, appeared to me.
And then she sadly did give vent
Unto this awful, grave lament,
'Though I am gay in month of June,
All decked in green ; yet very soon,
Alas ! my beauty will be faded,
And my charms be all degraded,
For is my time of glory brief ;
So often flattered is my leaf.
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poem by James McIntyre
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A Romance of Canada
An English youth to Canada came,
A labourer, John Roe by name;
His little wealth had made him bold-
Twenty sovereigns in gold,
He was industrious and wise,
And e'en small sums did not despise ;
He added to his wealth each year,
For independence he loved dear.
He knew a labourer he would be
Forever, in the old country ;
His forefathers had tilled the ground
And never one had saved a pound ;
On beds of down they did not lie,
And frugally their goods did buy,
Their one luxury around the door
A few choice flowers their garden bore ;
But never hoped to own the soil,
But serve as hinds to sweat and toil.
To work and toil, for him had charm,
He hoped, some day, to own a farm ;
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poem by James McIntyre
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