PREFACE (continued 2)

An' w'en I look down de well, Johnnie, an' see de ole feller dere, I say on mese'f "you be makin' fou Jeremie Chateauvert, For t'ink you're garcon agen. Ha! ha! jus' 'cos you are close de eye, An' only commence for leevin' w'en you're ready almos' for die!"

Ah! dat's how de young day pass, Johnnie, purty moche lak de t'ing I see, Sometam dey be las' leetle longer, sam' as wit' you an' me, But no matter de ole we're leevin', de tam she must come some day, W'en boss on de place above, Johnnie, he's callin' us all away.

I'm glad I was go on de camp, Johnnie, I t'ink it will do me good, Mebbe it's las' tam too, for sure, I'll never pass on de wood, For I don't expec' moche longer ole Jeremie will be lef', But about w'at I see dat day, Johnnie, tole nobody but yourse'f.

DE STOVE PIPE HOLE.

Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu, W'en ev'ry wan he's go couche, an' dog was quiet, too— Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon, Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.

Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam, An' she was mak' de promise—sure—some day she be his famme, But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl', Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.

He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline, Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen! An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door, An' hear de ole man swear "Bapteme!" he's never come no more.

Young Dominique he's sam' de res',—was scare for ole Maxime, He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem, Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see, An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.

De girl she's waitin' dere for heem—don't care about de rain, So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again, Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say—

"Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon, For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon— It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away, He's got no use for me at all—I see dat ev'ry day.

"He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapre!' An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me, So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place, An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face."

Den Emmeline say "Dominique, ma love you'll alway be An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy— But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole— All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.

"Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true, I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you." Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come, But don't get too moche pleasurement—so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.

Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse Emmeline say, "Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res? Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun'," W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.

Den Emmeline she holler "Fire! will no wan come for me?" An Dominique is jomp so high, near bus' de gallerie,— "Help! help! right off," somebody shout, "I'm killin' on ma place, It's all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she's ma disgrace."

He's kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin' now, W'at's all de noise upon de house—who's kick heem up de row? It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun' upon de stockin' sole, An' firs' t'ing den de ole man walk right t'roo de stove pipe hole.

W'en Dominique is see heem dere, wit' wan leg hang below, An' 'noder leg straight out above, he's glad for ketch heem so— De ole man can't do not'ing, den, but swear and ax for w'y Noboddy tak' heem out dat hole before he's comin' die.

Den Dominique he spik lak dis, "Mon cher M'sieur Gourdon I'm not riche city feller, me, I'm only habitant, But I was love more I can tole your daughter Emmeline, An' if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she's lak de Queen.

"I want you mak de promise now, before it's come too late, An' I mus' tole you dis also, dere's not moche tam for wait. Your foot she's hangin' down so low, I'm 'fraid she ketch de cole, Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole."

Dat mak' de ole man swear more hard he never swear before, An' wit' de foot he's got above, he's kick it on de floor, "Non, non," he say "Sapre tonnerre! she never marry you, An' if you don't look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu."

"Correc'," young Dominique is say, "mebbe de jail's tight place, But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face, So if you don't lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant, Dat's be mese'f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M'sieur Gourdon."

"Come back, come back," Maxime is shout—I promise you de girl, I never see no wan lak you—no never on de worl'! It's not de nice trick you was play on man dat's gettin' ole, But do jus' w'at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole."

"Hooraw! Hooraw!" Den Dominique is pull heem out tout suite An' Emmeline she's helpin' too for place heem on de feet, An' affer dat de ole man's tak' de young peep down de stair, W'ere he is go couche right off, an' dey go on parloir.

Nex' Sunday morning dey was call by M'sieur le Cure Get marry soon, an' ole Maxime geev Emmeline away; Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do, An' have de mos' fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.

"DE SNOWBIRD."

O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin', An' ev'ry fiel' an' mountain top is cover wit' de snow, How far from home you're flyin', noboddy's never knowin' For spen' wit' us de winter tam, mon cher petit oiseau!

We alway know you're comin', w'en we hear de firs' beeg storm, A sweepin' from de sky above, an' screamin' as she go— Can tell you're safe inside it, w'ere you're keepin' nice an' warm, But no wan's never see you dere, mon cher petit oiseau!

Was it 'way behin' de mountain, dat de nort' win' ketch you sleepin' Mebbe on your leetle nes' too, an' before de wing she grow, Lif' you up an' bring you dat way, till some morning fin' you peepin' Out of new nes' on de snow dreef, mon pauv' petit oiseau!

All de wood is full on summer, wit' de many bird is sing dere, Dey mus' offen know each oder, mebbe mak' de frien' also, But w'en you was come on winter, never seein' wan strange wing dere Was it mak' you feelin' lonesome, mon pauv' petit oiseau?

Plaintee bird is alway hidin' on some place no wan can fin' dem, But ma leetle bird of winter, dat was not de way you go— For de chil'ren on de roadside, you don't seem to care for min' dem W'en dey pass on way to schoolhouse, mon cher petit oiseau!

No wan say you sing lak robin, but you got no tam for singin' So busy it was keepin' you get breakfas' on de snow, But de small note you was geev us, w'en it join de sleigh bell ringin' Mak' de true Canadian music, mon cher petit oiseau!

O de long an' lonesome winter, if you're never comin' near us, If we miss you on de roadside, an' on all de place below! But le bon Dieu he will sen' you troo de storm again for cheer us, W'en we mos' was need you here too, mon cher petit oiseau!

THE HABITANT'S JUBILEE ODE.

I read on de paper mos' ev'ry day, all about Jubilee An' grande procession movin' along, an' passin' across de sea, Dat's chil'ren of Queen Victoriaw comin' from far away For tole Madame w'at dey t'ink of her, an' wishin' her bonne sante.

An' if any wan want to know pourquoi les Canayens should be dere Wit' res' of de worl' for shout "Hooraw" an' t'row hees cap on de air, Purty quick I will tole heem de reason, w'y we feel lak de oder do, For if I'm only poor habitant, I'm not on de sapre fou.

Of course w'en we t'ink it de firs' go off, I know very strange it seem For fader of us dey was offen die for flag of L'Ancien Regime, From day w'en de voyageurs come out all de way from ole St. Malo, Flyin' dat flag from de mas' above, an' long affer dat also.

De English fight wit' de Frenchman den over de whole contree, Down by de reever, off on de wood, an' out on de beeg, beeg sea, Killin', an' shootin', an' raisin' row, half tam dey don't know w'at for, W'en it's jus' as easy get settle down, not makin' de crazy war.

Sometam' dey be quiet for leetle w'ile, you t'ink dey don't fight no more, An' den w'en dey're feelin' all right agen, Bang! jus' lak' she was before. Very offen we're beatin' dem on de fight, sometam' dey can beat us, too, But no feller's scare on de 'noder man, an' bote got enough to do.

An' all de long year she be go lak' dat, we never was know de peace, Not'ing but war from de wes' contree down to de St. Maurice; Till de las' fight's comin' on Canadaw, an' brave Generale Montcalm Die lak' a sojer of France is die, on Battle of Abraham.

Dat's finish it all, an' de English King is axin' us stayin' dere W'ere we have sam' right as de 'noder peep comin' from Angleterre. Long tam' for our moder so far away de poor Canayens is cry, But de new step-moder she's good an' kin', an' it's all right bimeby.

If de moder come dead w'en you're small garcon leavin' you dere alone, Wit' nobody watchin' for fear you fall, an hurt youse'f on de stone, An' 'noder good woman she tak' your han' de sam' your own moder do, Is it right you don't call her moder, is it right you don't love her too?

Ba non, an' dat was de way we feel, w'en de ole Regime's no more, An' de new wan come, but don't change moche, w'y it's jus' lak' it be before. Spikin' Francais lak' we alway do, an' de English dey mak no fuss, An' our law de sam', wall, I don't know me, 'twas better mebbe for us.

So de sam' as two broder we settle down, leevin' dere han' in han', Knowin' each oder, we lak' each oder, de French an' de Englishman, For it's curi's t'ing on dis worl', I'm sure you see it agen an' agen, Dat offen de mos' worse ennemi, he's comin' de bes', bes' frien'.

So we're kipin' so quiet long affer dat, w'en las' of de fightin's done, Dat plaintee is say, de new Canayens forget how to shoot de gun; But Yankee man's smart, all de worl' know dat, so he's firs' fin' mistak' wan day W'en he's try cross de line, fusil on hee's han', near place dey call Chateaugay.

Of course it's bad t'ing for poor Yankee man, De Salaberry be dere Wit' habitant farmer from down below, an' two honder Voltigeurs, Dem feller come off de State, I s'pose, was fightin' so hard dey can But de blue coat sojer he don't get kill, is de locky Yankee man!

Since den w'en dey're comin on Canadaw, we alway be treat dem well, For dey're spennin' de monee lak' gentil-hommes, an' stay on de bes' hotel, Den "Bienvenu," we will spik dem, an' "Come back agen nex' week, So long you was kip on de quiet an' don't talk de politique!"

Yass, dat is de way Victoriaw fin' us dis jubilee, Sometam' we mak' fuss about not'ing, but it's all on de familee, An' w'enever dere's danger roun' her, no matter on sea or lan', She'll find that les Canayens can fight de sam' as bes' Englishman.

An' onder de flag of Angleterre, so long as dat flag was fly— Wit' deir English broder, les Canayens is satisfy leev an' die. Dat's de message our fader geev us w'en dey're fallin' on Chateaugay, An' de flag was kipin' dem safe den, dat's de wan we will kip alway!

OLE DOCTEUR FISET.

Ole Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet, Sapre tonnerre! he was leev long tam! I'm sure he's got ninety year or so, Beat all on de Parish 'cept Pierre Courteau, An' day affer day he work all de sam'.

Dat house on de hill, you can see it still, She's sam' place he buil' de firs' tam' he come Behin' it dere's one leetle small jardin Got plaintee de bes' tabac Canayen Wit' fameuse apple an' beeg blue plum.

An' dey're all right dere, for de small boy's scare No matter de apple look nice an' red, For de small boy know if he's stealin' some Den Docteur Fiset on dark night he come, An' cut leetle feller right off hees head!

But w'en dey was rap, an' tak' off de cap, M'sieu' le Docteur he will say "Entrez," Den all de boy pass on jardin behin' W'ere dey eat mos' ev'ryt'ing good dey fin', Till dey can't go on school nearly two, t'ree day.

But Docteur Fiset, not moche fonne he get, Drivin' all over de whole contree, If de road she's bad, if de road she's good, W'en ev'ryt'ing's drown on de Spring-tam flood, An' workin' for not'ing half tam' mebbe!

Let her rain or snow, all he want to know Is jus' if anywan's feelin' sick, For Docteur Fiset's de ole fashion kin' Doin' good was de only t'ing on hees min' So he got no use for de politique.

An' he's careful too, 'cos firs' t'ing he do, For fear dere was danger some fever case, Is tak' w'en he's come leetle w'isky chaud, Den 'noder wan too jus' before he go, He's so scare carry fever aroun' de place!

On nice summer day w'en we're makin' hay Dere's not'ing more pleasant for us I'm sure Dan see de ole man come joggin' along, Alway singin' some leetle song, An' hear heem say "Tiens, mes amis, Bonjour!"

An' w'en de cole rain was commence again An' we're sittin' at home on some warm cornerre, If we hear de buggy an' see de light Tearin' along t'roo de black, black night, We know right off dat's de ole Docteur!

An' he's smart horse sure, w'at he call "Faubourg," Ev'ry place on de Parish he know dem all, An' you ought to see de nice way he go For fear he's upsettin' upon de snow, W'en ole man's asleep on de cariole!

I 'member w'en poor Hormisdas Couture Get sick on hees place twenty mile away An' hees boy Ovide he was come "Raquette" W'at you call "Snowshoe," for Docteur Fiset, An' Docteur he start wit' hees horse an' sleigh.

All de night before, de beeg storm she roar, An' mos' of de day it's de sam' also, De drif' was pilin' up ten feet high You can't see not'ing dis side de sky, Not'ing but wan avalanche of snow.

I'm hearin' de bell w'en I go on de well For water de cattle on barn close by, But I only ketch sight of hees cheval blanc An' hees coonskin coat wit' de capuchon An' de storm tak' heem off, jus' de sam' he fly.

Mus' be le Bon Dieu dat is help him t'roo, Ole Docteur Fiset an' hees horse "Faubourg," 'Twas somet'ing for splain-me, wall I don't care, But somehow or 'noder he's gettin' dere, An' save de life Hormisdas Couture.

But it's sam' alway, lak' dat ev'ry day, He never was spare hese'f pour nous autres, He don't mak' moche monee, Docteur Fiset, An' offen de only t'ing he was get Is de prayer of poor man, an' wan bag of oat.

* * * * *

Wall! Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet He is not dead yet! an' I'm purty sure If you're passin' dat place about ten year more You will see heem go roun' lak' he go before Wit' de ole cariole an' hees horse "Faubourg!"