Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Andrew Sly

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THE HABITANT AND OTHER FRENCH-CANADIAN POEMS

By William Henry Drummond, M.D.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

Louis Frechette

AND WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

Frederick Simpson Coburn

TO MY DEAR FRIEND AND FORMER TEACHER

GEORGE MURRAY, ESQ., B.A., A.K.C., F.R.S.C.

THESE VERSES ARE DEDICATED WITH SINCERE ADMIRATION AND RESPECT

INTRODUCTION

On me demande, pour ce charmant volume, un mot de préface en français; le voici:

Quand, en 1863, je publiai mon premier recueil de poésies—écrites au collège, pour la plupart,—le grand poète américain Longfellow eut la flatteuse bienveillance de m'appeler The pathfinder of a new land of song.

Avec mille fois plus de raison puis-je aujourd'hui passer le compliment à mon sympathique confrère et ami, l'auteur de ce livre; car, si jamais quelqu'un, chez nous, a mérité le titre de pathfinder of a new land of song, c'est assurément lui.

Non seulement il a découvert le champ, la clairière, la vallée fertile et encore inexplorée; il en a fait l'exploitation à sa manière, avec des outils et des moyens de son invention; et, fier de sa conquête, il laisse, de son épaule robuste, tomber à nos pieds le fruit de son travail, la gerbe plantureuse aux ors vierges, à l'arôme sauvage, aux savoureuses promesses, toute fraîche et toute crissante dans sa rusticité saine.

N'est-elle pas, en effet, d'une originalité peu commune, l'idée de prendre un pauvre illettré, de le présenter comme un type national à part, de lui mettre aux lèvres une langue qui n'est pas la sienne et qu'il ne connaît qu' à demi; d'en faire en même temps un personnage bon, doux, aimable, honnête, intelligent et droit, l'esprit en éveil, le coeur plein d'une poésie native stimulant son patriotisme, jetant un rayon lumineux dans son modeste intérieur, berçant ses heures rêveuses de souvenirs lointains et mélancoliques?

Et cela sans que jamais, dans ce portrait d'un nouveau genre, le plus subtil des critiques puisse surprendre nulle part le coup de crayon de la caricature!

Dans ses inimitables contes villageois, George Sand a peint les paysans du Berry sous des dehors très intéressants. Elle nous les montre même d'un sentiment très affiné dans leur simplicité naïve et leur cordiale bonhomie. En somme, elle en fait des natures, des tempéraments, quelque chose de typique, en même temps qu' harmonieux de teinte et de forme.

Mais George Sand faisait parler ses personnages dans la langue du pays, dans la langue de la chaumière, dans leur propre dialecte, enfin. Elle n'avait, pour ainsi dire, qu' à faire pénétrer le souffle de son talent sous le réseau de la phrase, pour animer celle-ci d'un reflet de lyrisme ou d'une vibration attendrie.

La tâche abordée par M. Drummond présentait un caractère beaucoup plus difficile.

Ici, le poète avait bien, il est vrai, le milieu à saisir, placé, droit en face de son objectif. Il était assez familier avec ses acteurs pour les grouper avantageusement, en ménageant les effets d'ombres et de lumière. Il est naturellement assez artiste pour ne rien négliger de ce qui ajoute du pittoresque à la pose; surtout, il connaissait à fond le type à reproduire, ses moeurs, ses passions, ses sentiments, ses penchants, ses superstitions et ses faiblesses.

Mais comment, sans tomber dans la charge ou la bouffonnerie, faire parler systématiquement à ses personnages une langue étrangère, forcément incorrecte dans la bouche de quelqu'un qui l'a apprise par oreille, sans savoir lire même dans sa propre langue?

La tentative était hardie; mais on sait que le succès a un faible pour les audacieux.

Dans son étude des Canadiens-français, M. Drummond a trouvé le moyen d'éviter un écueil qui aurait semblé inévitable pour tout autre que pour lui. Il est resté vrai, sans tomber dans la vulgarité, et piquant sans verser dans le grotesque.

Qu'il mette en scène le gros fermier fier de son bien ou de ses filles à marier, le vieux médecin de campagne ne comptant plus ses états de service, le jeune amoureux qui rêve au clair de la lune, le vieillard qui repasse en sa mémoire la longue suite des jours révolus, le conteur de légendes, l'aventurier des "pays d'en haut," et même le Canadien exilé—le Canadien errant, comme dit la chanson populaire—qui croit toujours entendre résonner à son oreille le vague tintement des cloches de son village; que le récit soit plaisant ou pathétique, jamais la note ne sonne faux, jamais la bizarrerie ne dégénère en puérilité burlesque.

C'est là un tour de force comme il ne s'en fait pas souvent, et c'est avec enthousiasme que je tends la main à M. Drummond pour le féliciter de l'avoir accompli.

Il a véritablement fait là oeuvre de poète et d'artiste.

J'ajouterai qu'il a fait aussi oeuvre de bon citoyen. Car le jour sous lequel il présente mes compatriotes illettrés ne peut manquer de valoir à ceux-ci—et partant à tout le reste de la nationalité—un accroissement désirable dans l'estime de nos compatriotes de langue anglaise, qui n'ont pas été à même de les étudier d'aussi près que M. Drummond.

La peinture qu'en fait le poète est on ne peut plus sympathique et juste; et de semblables procédés ne peuvent que cimenter l'union de coeur et d'esprit qui doit exister entre toutes les fractions qui composent la grande famille canadienne appelée à vivre et à prospérer sous la même loi et le même drapeau.

En lisant les vers de M. Drummond, le Canadien-français sent que c'est là l'expression d'une âme amie; et, à ce compte, je dois à l'auteur plus que mes bravos, je lui dois en même temps un chaleureux merci.

LOUIS FRÉCHETTE.

MONTRÉAL, 13 octobre 1897.

PREFACE

In presenting to the public "The Habitant and other French-Canadian Poems," I feel that my friends who are already, more or less, familiar with the work, understand that I have not written the verses as examples of a dialect, or with any thought of ridicule.

Having lived, practically, all my life, side by side with the French-Canadian people, I have grown to admire and love them, and I have felt that while many of the English-speaking public know perhaps as well as myself the French-Canadian of the cities, yet they have had little opportunity of becoming acquainted with the habitant, therefore I have endeavored to paint a few types, and in doing this, it has seemed to me that I could best attain the object in view by having my friends tell their own tales in their own way, as they would relate them to English-speaking auditors not conversant with the French tongue.

My good friend, Dr. Louis Frechette, Poet Laureate, has as a French-Canadian, kindly written an "Introductory" in his own graceful language, and I have to thank him above all for his recognition of the spirit which has actuated me in writing "dialect" verse.

To Mr. F. S. Coburn, the artist, also, I am deeply indebted for the faithful manner in which he has interpreted the different characters and scenes contained in this volume. All the pictures have been sketched from nature or life, and the keenest critic will agree with me, that Mr. Coburn's illustrations are most typical, both of the people and the soil.

WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.

CONTENTS.

DE HABITANT THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE" LE VIEUX TEMPS DE PAPINEAU GUN HOW BATEESE CAME HOME DE NICE LEETLE CANADIENNE 'POLEON DORÉ DE NOTAIRE PUBLIQUE MAXIME LABELLE MEMORIES PHIL-O-RUM JUNEAU DE BELL OF ST. MICHEL PELANG MON CHOUAL "CASTOR" OLE TAM ON BORD-A PLOUFFE THE GRAND SEIGNEUR M'SIEU SMIT' WHEN ALBANI SANG DE CAMP ON DE "CHEVAL GRIS" DE STOVE PIPE HOLE DE SNOWBIRD THE HABITANT'S JUBILEE ODE OLE DOCTEUR FISET

DE HABITANT.

De place I get born, me, is up on de reever
Near foot of de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc
Beeg mountain behin' it, so high you can't climb it
An' whole place she's mebbe two honder arpent.

De fader of me, he was habitant farmer,
Ma gran' fader too, an' hees fader also,
Dey don't mak' no monee, but dat isn't fonny
For it's not easy get ev'ryt'ing, you mus' know—

All de sam' dere is somet'ing dey got ev'ryboddy,
Dat's plaintee good healt', wat de monee can't geev,
So I'm workin' away dere, an' happy for stay dere
On farm by de reever, so long I was leev.

O! dat was de place w'en de spring tam she's comin',
W'en snow go away, an' de sky is all blue—
W'en ice lef' de water, an' sun is get hotter
An' back on de medder is sing de gou-glou—

W'en small sheep is firs' comin' out on de pasture,
Deir nice leetle tail stickin' up on deir back,
Dey ronne wit' deir moder, an' play wit' each oder
An' jomp all de tam jus' de sam' dey was crack—

An' ole cow also, she's glad winter is over,
So she kick herse'f up, an' start off on de race
Wit' de two-year-ole heifer, dat's purty soon lef' her,
W'y ev'ryt'ing's crazee all over de place!

An' down on de reever de wil' duck is quackin'
Along by de shore leetle san'piper ronne—
De bullfrog he's gr-rompin' an' doré is jompin'
Dey all got deir own way for mak' it de fonne.

But spring's in beeg hurry, an' don't stay long wit' us
An' firs' t'ing we know, she go off till nex' year,
Den bee commence hummin', for summer is comin'
An' purty soon corn's gettin' ripe on de ear.

Dat's very nice tam for wake up on de morning
An' lissen de rossignol sing ev'ry place,
Feel sout' win' a-blowin' see clover a-growin'
An' all de worl' laughin' itself on de face.

Mos' ev'ry day raf' it is pass on de rapide
De voyageurs singin' some ole chanson
'Bout girl down de reever—too bad dey mus' leave her,
But comin' back soon' wit' beaucoup d'argent.

An' den w'en de fall an' de winter come roun' us
An' bird of de summer is all fly away,
W'en mebbe she's snowin' an' nort' win' is blowin'
An' night is mos' t'ree tam so long as de day.

You t'ink it was bodder de habitant farmer?
Not at all—he is happy an' feel satisfy,
An' cole may las' good w'ile, so long as de wood-pile
Is ready for burn on de stove by an' bye.

W'en I got plaintee hay put away on de stable
So de sheep an' de cow, dey got no chance to freeze,
An' de hen all togedder—I don't min' de wedder—
De nort' win' may blow jus' so moche as she please.

An' some cole winter night how I wish you can see us,
W'en I smoke on de pipe, an' de ole woman sew
By de stove of T'ree Reever—ma wife's fader geev her
On day we get marry, dat's long tam ago—

De boy an' de girl, dey was readin' it's lesson,
De cat on de corner she's bite heem de pup,
Ole "Carleau" he's snorin' an' beeg stove is roarin'
So loud dat I'm scare purty soon she bus' up.

Philomene—dat's de oldes'—is sit on de winder
An' kip jus' so quiet lak wan leetle mouse,
She say de more finer moon never was shiner—
Very fonny, for moon isn't dat side de house.

But purty soon den, we hear foot on de outside,
An' some wan is place it hees han' on de latch,
Dat's Isidore Goulay, las' fall on de Brulé
He's tak' it firs' prize on de grand ploughin' match.

Ha! ha! Philomene!—dat was smart trick you play us
Come help de young feller tak' snow from hees neck,
Dere's not'ing for hinder you come off de winder
W'en moon you was look for is come, I expec'—

Isidore, he is tole us de news on de parish
'Bout hees Lajeunesse Colt—travel two forty, sure,
'Bout Jeremie Choquette, come back from Woonsocket
An' t'ree new leetle twin on Madame Vaillancour'.

But nine o'clock strike, an' de chil'ren is sleepy,
Mese'f an' ole woman can't stay up no more
So alone by de fire—'cos dey say dey ain't tire—
We lef' Philomene an' de young Isidore.

I s'pose dey be talkin' beeg lot on de kitchen
'Bout all de nice moon dey was see on de sky,
For Philomene's takin' long tam get awaken
Nex' day, she's so sleepy on bote of de eye.

Dat's wan of dem ting's, ev'ry tam on de fashion,
An' 'bout nices' t'ing dat was never be seen.
Got not'ing for say me—I spark it sam' way me
W'en I go see de moder ma girl Philomene.

We leev very quiet 'way back on de contree
Don't put on sam style lak de big village,
W'en we don't get de monee you t'ink dat is fonny
An' mak' plaintee sport on de Bottes Sauvages.

But I tole you—dat's true—I don't go on de city
If you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent—
I rader be stay me, an' spen' de las' day me
On farm by de rapide dat's call Cheval Blanc.

THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE PLANTE."

A LEGEND OF LAC-ST. PIERRE.

On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow, blow, blow,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
Got scar't an' run below—
For de win' she blow lak hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more,
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre
Wan arpent from de shore.

De captinne walk on de fronte deck,
An' walk de hin' deck too—
He call de crew from up de hole
He call de cook also.
De cook she's name was Rosie,
She come from Montreal,
Was chambre maid on lumber barge,
On de Grande Lachine Canal.

De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes,'—
De sout' win' she blow too,
W'en Rosie cry "Mon cher captinne,
Mon cher, w'at I shall do?"
Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre,
But still the scow she dreef,
De crew he can't pass on de shore,
Becos' he los' hees skeef.

De night was dark lak' wan black cat,
De wave run high an' fas',
W'en de captinne tak' de Rosie girl
An' tie her to de mas'.
Den he also tak' de life preserve,
An' jomp off on de lak',
An' say, "Good-bye, ma Rosie dear,
I go drown for your sak'."

Nex' morning very early
'Bout ha'f-pas' two—t'ree—four—
De captinne—scow—an' de poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore,
For de win' she blow lak' hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more,
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
Wan arpent from de shore.

MORAL.

Now all good wood scow sailor man
Tak' warning by dat storm
An' go an' marry some nice French girl
An' leev on wan beeg farm.
De win' can blow lak' hurricane
An' s'pose she blow some more,
You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre
So long you stay on shore.

LE VIEUX TEMPS.

Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me—so
An' I will tole you story of old tam long ago—
W'en ev'ryt'ing is happy—w'en all de bird is sing
An' me!—I'm young an' strong lak moose an' not afraid no t'ing.

I close my eye jus' so, an' see de place w'ere I am born—
I close my ear an' lissen to musique of de horn,
Dat's horn ma dear ole moder blow—an only t'ing she play
Is "viens donc vite Napoléon—'peche toi pour votre souper."—

An' w'en he's hear dat nice musique—ma leetle dog "Carleau"
Is place hees tail upon hees back—an' den he's let heem go—
He's jomp on fence—he's swimmin' crik—he's ronne two forty gait,
He say "dat's somet'ing good for eat—Carleau mus' not be late."

O dem was pleasure day for sure, dem day of long ago
W'en I was play wit' all de boy, an' all de girl also;
An' many tam w'en I'm alone an' t'ink of day gone by
An' pull latire an' spark de girl, I cry upon my eye.

Ma fader an' ma moder too, got nice, nice familee,
Dat's ten garçon an' t'orteen girl, was mak' it twenty t'ree
But fonny t'ing de Gouvernement don't geev de firs' prize den
Lak w'at dey say dey geev it now, for only wan douzaine.

De English peep dat only got wan familee small size
Mus' be feel glad dat tam dere is no honder acre prize
For fader of twelve chil'ren—dey know dat mus' be so,
De Canayens would boss Kebeck—mebbe Ontario.

But dat is not de story dat I was gone tole you
About de fun we use to have w'en we leev a chez nous
We're never lonesome on dat house, for many cavalier
Come at our place mos' every night—especially Sun-day.

But tam I'member bes' is w'en I'm twenty wan year—me—
An' so for mak' some pleasurement—we geev wan large soirée
De whole paroisse she be invite—de Curé he's come too—
Wit plaintee peep from 'noder place—dat's more I can tole you.

De night she's cole an' freeze also, chemin she's fill wit snow
An' on de chimley lak phantome, de win' is mak' it blow—
But boy an' girl come all de sam an' pass on grande parloir
For warm itself on beeg box stove, was mak' on Trois Rivières—

An' w'en Bonhomme Latour commence for tune up hees fidelle
It mak' us all feel very glad—l'enfant! he play so well,
Musique suppose to be firs' class, I offen hear, for sure
But mos' bes' man, beat all de res', is ole Bateese Latour—

An' w'en Bateese play Irish jeeg, he's learn on Mattawa
Dat tam he's head boss cook Shaintee—den leetle Joe Leblanc
Tak' hole de beeg Marie Juneau an' dance upon de floor
Till Marie say "Excuse to me, I cannot dance no more."—

An' den de Curé's mak' de speech—ole Curé Ladouceur!
He say de girl was spark de boy too much on some cornerre—
An' so he's tole Bateese play up ole fashion reel a quatre
An' every body she mus' dance, dey can't get off on dat.

Away she go—hooraw! hooraw! plus fort Bateese, mon vieux
Camille Bisson, please watch your girl—dat's bes' t'ing you can do.
Pass on de right an' tak' your place Mamzelle Des Trois Maisons
You're s'pose for dance on Paul Laberge, not Telesphore Gagnon.

Mon oncle Al-fred, he spik lak' dat—'cos he is boss de floor,
An' so we do our possibill an' den commence encore.
Dem crowd of boy an' girl I'm sure keep up until nex' day
If ole Bateese don't stop heseff, he come so fatigué.

An' affer dat, we eat some t'ing, tak' leetle drink also
An' de Curé, he's tole story of many year ago—
W'en Iroquois sauvage she's keel de Canayens an' steal deir hair,
An' say dat's only for Bon Dieu, we don't be here—he don't be dere.

But dat was mak' de girl feel scare—so all de cavalier
Was ax hees girl go home right off, an' place her on de sleigh,
An' w'en dey start, de Curé say, "Bonsoir et bon voyage
Menagez-vous—tak' care for you—prenez-garde pour les sauvages."

An' den I go meseff also, an' tak' ma belle Elmire—
She's nicer girl on whole Comté, an' jus' got eighteen year—
Black hair—black eye, an' chick rosée dat's lak wan fameuse on de fall
But don't spik much—not of dat kin', I can't say she love me at all.

Ma girl—she's fader beeg farmeur—leev 'noder side St. Flore
Got five-six honder acre—mebbe a leetle more—
Nice sugar bush—une belle maison—de bes' I never see—
So w'en I go for spark Elmire, I don't be mak' de foolish me—

Elmire!—she's pass t'ree year on school—Ste. Anne de la Perade
An' w'en she's tak' de firs' class prize, dat's mak' de ole man glad;
He say "Ba gosh—ma girl can wash—can keep de kitchen clean
Den change her dress—mak' politesse before God save de Queen."

Dey's many way for spark de girl, an' you know dat of course,
Some way dey might be better way, an' some dey might be worse
But I lak' sit some cole night wit' my girl on ole burleau
Wit' lot of hay keep our foot warm—an' plaintee buffalo—

Dat's geev good chances get acquaint—an' if burleau upset
An' t'row you out upon de snow—dat's better chances yet—
An' if you help de girl go home, if horse he ronne away
De girl she's not much use at all—don't geev you nice baiser!

Dat's very well for fun ma frien', but w'en you spark for keep
She's not sam t'ing an' mak' you feel so scare lak' leetle sheep
Some tam you get de fever—some tam you're lak snowball
An' all de tam you ack lak' fou—can't spik no t'ing at all.

Wall! dat's de way I feel meseff, wit Elmire on burleau,
Jus' lak' small dog try ketch hees tail—roun' roun' ma head she go
But bimeby I come more brave—an' tak' Elmire she's han'
"Laisse-moi tranquille" Elmire she say "You mus' be crazy man."

"Yass—yass," I say, "mebbe you t'ink I'm wan beeg loup garou,
Dat's forty t'ousand 'noder girl, I lef' dem all for you,
I s'pose you know Polique Gauthier your frien'on St. Cesaire
I ax her marry me nex' wick—she tak' me—I don't care."

Ba gosh; Elmire she don't lak dat—it mak' her feel so mad—
She commence cry, say "'Poleon you treat me very bad—
I don't lak see you t'row you'seff upon Polique Gauthier,
So if you say you love me sure—we mak' de mariée."—

Oh it was fine tam affer dat—Castor I t'ink he know,
We're not too busy for get home—he go so nice an' slow,
He's only upset t'ree—four tam—an' jus' about daylight
We pass upon de ole man's place—an' every t'ing's all right.

Wall! we leev happy on de farm for nearly fifty year,
Till wan day on de summer tam—she die—ma belle Elmire
I feel so lonesome lef' behin'—I tink 'twas bes' mebbe—
Dat w'en le Bon Dieu tak' ma famme—he should not forget me.

But dat is hees biz-nesse ma frien'—I know dat's all right dere
I'll wait till he call "'Poleon" den I will be prepare—
An' w'en he fin' me ready, for mak' de longue voyage
He guide me t'roo de wood hesef upon ma las' portage.

"DE PAPINEAU GUN."

AN INCIDENT OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION OF 1837.

Bon jour, M'sieu'—you want to know
'Bout dat ole gun—w'at good she's for?
W'y! Jean Bateese Bruneau—mon pere,
Fight wit' dat gun on Pap'neau War!

Long tam since den you say—C'est vrai,
An' me too young for 'member well,
But how de patriot fight an' die,
I offen hear de ole folk tell.

De English don't ack square dat tam,
Don't geev de habitants no show,
So 'long come Wolfred Nelson
Wit' Louis Joseph Papineau.

An' swear de peep mus' have deir right.
Wolfred he's write Victoriaw,
But she's no good, so den de war
Commence among de habitants.

Mon pere he leev to Grande Brulé
So smarter man you never see,
Was alway on de grande hooraw!
Plaintee w'at you call "Esprit!"

An' w'en dey form wan compagnie
All dress wit' tuque an' ceinture sash
Ma fader tak' hees gun wit' heem
An' marche away to Saint Eustache,

W'ere many patriots was camp
Wit' brave Chenier, deir Capitaine,
W'en 'long come English Generale,
An' more two t'ousan' sojer man.

De patriot dey go on church
An' feex her up deir possibill;
Dey fight deir bes', but soon fin' out
"Canon de bois" no good for kill.

An' den de church she come on fire,
An' burn almos' down to de groun',
So w'at you t'ink our man can do
Wit' all dem English armee roun'?

'Poleon, hees sojer never fight
More brave as dem poor habitants,
Chenier, he try for broke de rank
Chenier come dead immediatement.

He fall near w'ere de cross is stan'
Upon de ole church cimitiere,
Wit' Jean Poulin an' Laframboise
An' plaintee more young feller dere.

De gun dey rattle lak' tonnere
Jus' bang, bang, bang! dat's way she go,
An' wan by wan de brave man's fall
An' red blood's cover all de snow.

Ma fader shoot so long he can
An' den he's load hees gun some more,
Jomp on de ice behin' de church
An' pass heem on de 'noder shore.

Wall! he reach home fore very long
An' keep perdu for many day,
Till ev'ry t'ing she come tranquille,
An' sojer man all gone away.

An' affer dat we get our right,
De Canayens don't fight no more,
Ma fader's never shoot dat gun,
But place her up above de door.

An' Papineau, an' Nelson too
Dey're gone long tam, but we are free,
Le Bon Dieu have 'em 'way up dere.
Salut, Wolfred! Salut, Louis!

HOW BATEESE CAME HOME.

W'en I was young boy on de farm, dat's twenty year ago
I have wan frien' he's leev near me, call Jean Bateese Trudeau
An offen w'en we are alone, we lak for spik about
De tam w'en we was come beeg man, wit' moustache on our mout'.

Bateese is get it on hees head, he's too moche educate
For mak' de habitant farmerre—he better go on State—
An' so wan summer evening we're drivin' home de cow
He's tole me all de whole beez-nesse—jus' lak you hear me now.

"W'at's use mak' foolish on de farm? dere's no good chances lef'
An' all de tam you be poor man—you know dat's true you'se'f;
We never get no fun at all—don't never go on spree
Onless we pass on 'noder place, an' mak' it some monee.

"I go on Les Etats Unis, I go dere right away
An' den mebbe on ten-twelve year, I be riche man some day,
An' w'en I mak' de large fortune, I come back I s'pose
Wit' Yankee famme from off de State, an' monee on my clothes.

"I tole you somet'ing else also—mon cher Napoleon
I get de grande majorité, for go on parliament
Den buil' fine house on borde l'eau—near w'ere de church is stand
More finer dan de Presbytere, w'en I am come riche man!"

I say "For w'at you spik lak dat? you must be gone crazee
Dere's plaintee feller on de State, more smarter dan you be,
Beside she's not so healtee place, an' if you mak' l'argent,
You spen' it jus' lak Yankee man, an' not lak habitant.

"For me Bateese! I tole you dis: I'm very satisfy—
De bes' man don't leev too long tam, some day Ba Gosh! he die—
An' s'pose you got good trotter horse, an' nice famme Canadienne
Wit' plaintee on de house for eat—W'at more you want ma frien'?"

But Bateese have it all mak' up, I can't stop him at all
He's buy de seconde classe tiquette, for go on Central Fall—
An' wit' two-t'ree some more de boy,—w'at t'ink de sam' he do
Pass on de train de very nex' wick, was lef' Rivière du Loup.

* * * * *

Wall! mebbe fifteen year or more, since Bateese go away
I fin' mesef Rivière du Loup, wan cole, cole winter day
De quick express she come hooraw! but stop de soon she can
An' beeg swell feller jomp off car, dat's boss by nigger man.

He's dressim on de première classe, an' got new suit of clothes
Wit' long moustache dat's stickim out, de 'noder side hees nose
Fine gol' watch chain—nice portmanteau—an' long, long overcoat
Wit' beaver hat—dat's Yankee style—an' red tie on hees t'roat—

I say "Hello Bateese! Hello! Comment ça va mon vieux?"
He say "Excuse to me, ma frien' I t'ink I don't know you."
I say, "She's very curis t'ing, you are Bateese Trudeau,
Was raise on jus' sam' place wit' me, dat's fifteen year ago?"

He say, "Oh yass dat's sure enough—I know you now firs' rate,
But I forget mos' all ma French since I go on de State.
Dere's 'noder t'ing kip on your head, ma frien' dey mus' be tole
Ma name's Bateese Trudeau no more, but John B. Waterhole!"

"Hole on de water's" fonny name for man w'at's call Trudeau
Ma frien's dey all was spik lak dat, an' I am tole heem so—
He say "Trudeau an' Waterhole she's jus' about de sam'
An' if you go for leev on State, you must have Yankee nam'."

Den we invite heem come wit' us, "Hotel du Canadaw"
W'ere he was treat mos' ev'ry tam, but can't tak' w'isky blanc,
He say dat's leetle strong for man jus' come off Central Fall
An' "tabac Canayen" bedamme! he won't smoke dat at all!—

But fancy drink lak "Collings John" de way he put it down
Was long tam since I don't see dat—I t'ink he's goin' drown!—
An' fine cigar cos' five cent each, an' mak' on Trois-Rivières
L'enfant! he smoke beeg pile of dem—for monee he don't care!—

I s'pose meseff it's t'ree o'clock w'en we are t'roo dat night
Bateese, hees fader come for heem, an' tak' heem home all right
De ole man say Bateese spik French, w'en he is place on bed—
An' say bad word—but w'en he wake—forget it on hees head—

Wall! all de winter w'en we have soirée dat's grande affaire
Bateese Trudeau, dit Waterhole, he be de boss man dere—
You bet he have beeg tam, but w'en de spring is come encore
He's buy de première classe tiquette for go on State some more.

* * * * *

You 'member w'en de hard tam come on Les Etats Unis
An' plaintee Canayens go back for stay deir own contrée?
Wall! jus' about 'dat tam again I go Rivière du Loup
For sole me two t'ree load of hay—mak' leetle visit too—

De freight train she is jus' arrive—only ten hour delay—
She's never carry passengaire—dat's w'at dey always say—
I see poor man on char caboose—he's got heem small valise
Begosh! I nearly tak' de fit,—It is—it is Bateese!

He know me very well dis tam, an' say "Bon jour, mon vieux
I hope you know Bateese Trudeau was educate wit' you
I'm jus' come off de State to see ma familee encore
I bus' mesef on Central Fall—I don't go dere no more."

"I got no monee—not at all—I'm broke it up for sure—
Dat's locky t'ing, Napoleon, de brakeman Joe Latour
He's cousin of wan frien' of me call Camille Valiquette,
Conductor too's good Canayen—don't ax me no tiquette."

I tak' Bateese wit' me once more "Hotel du Canadaw"
An' he was glad for get de chance drink some good w'isky blanc!
Dat's warm heem up, an den he eat mos' ev'ryt'ing he see,
I watch de w'ole beez-nesse mese'f—Monjee! he was hongree!

Madame Charette wat's kip de place get very much excite
For see de many pork an' bean Bateese put out of sight
Du pain doré—potate pie—an' 'noder t'ing be dere
But w'en Bateese is get heem t'roo—dey go I don't know w'ere.

It don't tak' long for tole de news "Bateese come off de State"
An' purty soon we have beeg crowd, lak village she's en fête
Bonhomme Maxime Trudeau hese'f, he's comin' wit' de pries'
An' pass' heem on de "Room for eat" w'ere he is see Bateese.

Den ev'rybody feel it glad, for watch de embrasser
An' bimeby de ole man spik "Bateese you here for stay?"
Bateese he's cry lak beeg bebè, "Bâ j'eux rester ici.
An if I never see de State, I'm sure I don't care—me."

"Correc'," Maxime is say right off, "I place you on de farm
For help your poor ole fader, won't do you too moche harm
Please come wit' me on Magasin, I feex you up—bâ oui
An' den you're ready for go home an' see de familee."

Wall! w'en de ole man an' Bateese come off de Magasin
Bateese is los' hees Yankee clothes—he's dress lak Canayen
Wit' bottes sauvages—ceinture fléché—an' coat wit' capuchon
An' spik Français au naturel, de sam' as habitant.

* * * * *

I see Bateese de oder day, he's work hees fader's place
I t'ink mese'f he's satisfy—I see dat on hees face
He say "I got no use for State, mon cher Napoleon
Kebeck she's good enough for me—Hooraw pour Canadaw."

DE NICE LEETLE CANADIENNE.

You can pass on de worl' w'erever you lak,
Tak' de steamboat for go Angleterre,
Tak' car on de State, an' den you come back,
An' go all de place, I don't care—
Ma frien' dat's a fack, I know you will say,
W'en you come on dis contree again,
Dere's no girl can touch, w'at we see ev'ry day,
De nice leetle Canadienne.

Don't matter how poor dat girl she may be,
Her dress is so neat an' so clean,
Mos' ev'rywan t'ink it was mak' on Paree
An' she wear it, wall! jus' lak de Queen.
Den come for fin' out she is mak' it herse'f,
For she ain't got moche monee for spen',
But all de sam' tam, she was never get lef',
Dat nice leetle Canadienne.

W'en "un vrai Canayen" is mak' it mariée,
You t'ink he go leev on beeg flat
An' bodder hese'f all de tam, night an' day,
Wit' housemaid, an' cook, an' all dat?
Not moche, ma dear frien', he tak' de maison,
Cos' only nine dollar or ten,
W'ere he leev lak blood rooster, an' save de l'argent,
Wit' hees nice leetle Canadienne.

I marry ma famme w'en I'm jus' twenty year,
An' now we got fine familee,
Dat skip roun' de place lak leetle small deer,
No smarter crowd you never see—
An' I t'ink as I watch dem all chasin' about,
Four boy an' six girl, she mak' ten,
Dat's help mebbe kip it, de stock from run out,
Of de nice leetle Canadienne.

O she's quick an' she's smart, an' got plaintee heart,
If you know correc' way go about,
An' if you don't know, she soon tole you so
Den tak' de firs' chance an' get out;
But if she love you, I spik it for true,
She will mak' it more beautiful den,
An' sun on de sky can't shine lak de eye
Of dat nice leetle Canadienne.

'POLEON DORÉ.

A TALE OF THE SAINT MAURICE.

You have never hear de story of de young Napoleon Doré?
Los' hees life upon de reever w'en de lumber drive go down?
W'ere de rapide roar lak tonder, dat's de place he's goin' onder,
W'en he's try save Paul Desjardins, 'Poleon hese'f is drown.

All de winter on de Shaintee, tam she's good, and work she's plaintee,
But we're not feel very sorry, w'en de sun is warm hees face,
W'en de mooshrat an' de beaver, tak' some leetle swim on reever,
An' de sout' win' scare de snowbird, so she fly some col'er place.

Den de spring is set in steady, an' we get de log all ready,
Workin' hard all day an' night too, on de water mos' de tam,
An' de skeeter w'en dey fin' us, come so quickly nearly blin' us,
Biz—biz—biz—biz—all aroun' us till we feel lak sacrédam.

All de sam' we're hooraw feller, from de top of house to cellar,
Ev'ry boy he's feel so happy, w'en he's goin' right away,
See hees fader an' hees moder, see hees sister an' hees broder,
An' de girl he spark las' summer, if she's not get marieé.

Wall we start heem out wan morning, an' de pilot geev us warning,
"W'en you come on Rapide Cuisse, ma frien', keep raf' she's head on shore,
If you struck beeg rock on middle, w'ere le diable is play hees fiddle,
Dat's de tam you pass on some place, you don't never pass before."

But we'll not t'ink moche of danger, for de rapide she's no stranger
Many tam we're runnin' t'roo it, on de fall an' on de spring,
On mos' ev'ry kin' of wedder dat le Bon Dieu scrape togedder,
An' we'll never drown noboddy, an' we'll never bus' somet'ing.

Dere was Telesphore Montbriand, Paul Desjardins, Louis Guyon,
Bill McKeever, Aleck Gauthier, an' hees cousin Jean Bateese,
'Poleon Doré, Aimé Beaulieu, wit' some more man I can't tole you,
Dat was mak' it bes' gang never run upon de St. Maurice.

Dis is jus' de tam I wish me, I could spik de good English—me—
For tole you of de pleasurement we get upon de spring,
W'en de win' she's all a sleepin', an' de raf' she go a sweepin'
Down de reever on some morning, w'ile le rossignol is sing.

Ev'ryt'ing so nice an' quiet on de shore as we pass by it,
All de tree got fine new spring suit, ev'ry wan she's dress on green
W'y it mak' us all more younger, an' we don't feel any hunger,
Till de cook say "'Raw for breakfas'," den we smell de pork an' bean.

Some folk say she's bad for leever, but for man work hard on reever,
Dat's de bes' t'ing I can tole you, dat was never yet be seen,
Course dere's oder t'ing ah tak' me, fancy dish also I lak me,
But w'en I want somet'ing solid, please pass me de pork an' bean.

All dis tam de raf' she's goin' lak steamboat was got us towin'
All we do is keep de channel, an' dat's easy workin' dere,
So we sing some song an' chorus, for de good tam dat's before us,
W'en de w'ole beez-nesse she's finish, an' we come on Trois Rivieres.

But bad luck is sometam fetch us, for beeg strong win' come an' ketch us,
Jus' so soon we struck de rapide—jus' so soon we see de smoke,
An' before we spik some prayer for ourse'f dat's fightin' dere,
Roun' we come upon de beeg rock, an' it's den de raf' she broke.

Dat was tam poor Paul Desjardins, from de parish of St. Germain,
He was long way on de fronte side, so he's fallin' overboar'
Couldn't swim at all de man say, but dat's more ma frien', I can say,
Any how he's look lak drownin', so we'll t'row him two t'ree oar.

Dat's 'bout all de help our man do, dat's 'bout ev'ryt'ing we can do,
As de crib we're hangin' onto balance on de rock itse'f,
Till de young Napoleon Doré, heem I start for tole de story,
Holler out, "Mon Dieu, I don't lak see poor Paul go drown hese'f."

So he's mak' beeg jomp on water, jus' de sam you see some otter
An' he's pass on place w'ere Paul is tryin' hard for keep afloat,
Den we see Napoleon ketch heem, try hees possibill for fetch heem
But de current she's more stronger, an' de eddy get dem bote.

O Mon Dieu! for see dem two man, mak' me feel it cry lak woman,
Roun' an' roun' upon de eddy, quickly dem poor feller go,
Can't tole wan man from de oder, an' we'll know dem bote lak broder,
But de fight she soon is finish—Paul an' 'Poleon go below.

Yass, an' all de tam we stay dere, only t'ing we do is pray dere,
For de soul poor drownin' feller, dat's enough mak' us feel mad,
Torteen voyageurs, all brave man, glad get any chances save man,
But we don't see no good chances, can't do not'ing, dat's too bad.

Wall! at las' de crib she's come way off de rock, an' den on some way,
By an' by de w'ole gang's passin' on safe place below de Cuisse,
Ev'ryboddy's heart she's breakin', w'en dey see poor Paul he's taken
Wit' de young Napoleon Doré, bes' boy on de St. Maurice!

An' day affer, Bill McKeever fin' de bote man on de reever,
Wit' deir arm aroun' each oder, mebbe pass above dat way—
So we bury dem as we fin' dem, w'ere de pine tree wave behin' dem
An de Grande Montagne he's lookin' down on Marcheterre Bay.

You can't hear no church bell ring dere, but le rossignol is sing dere,
An' w'ere ole red cross she's stannin', mebbe some good ange gardien,
Watch de place w'ere bote man sleepin', keep de reever grass from creepin'
On de grave of 'Poleon Doré, an' of poor Paul Desjardins.

DE NOTAIRE PUBLIQUE.

M'sieu Paul Joulin, de Notaire Publique
Is come I s'pose seexty year hees life
An' de mos' riche man on Sainte Angelique
W'en he feel very sorry he got no wife—
So he's paint heem hees buggy, lak new, by Gor!
Put flower on hees coat, mak' hese'f more gay
Arrange on hees head fine chapeau castor
An' drive on de house of de Boulanger.

For de Boulanger's got heem une jolie fille
Mos' bes' lookin' girl on paroisse dey say
An' all de young feller is lak Julie
An' plaintee is ax her for mak' mariée,
But Julie she's love only jus' wan man,
Hees nam' it is Jérémie Dandurand
An' he's work for her sak' all de hard he can
'Way off on de wood, up de Mattawa.

M'Sieu Paul he spik him "Bonjour Mamzelle,
You lak promenade on de church wit' me?
Jus' wan leetle word an' we go ma belle
An' see heem de Curé toute suite, chérie;
I dress you de very bes' style à la mode,
If you promise for be Madame Paul Joulin,
For I got me fine house on Bord à Plouffe road
Wit' mor'gage also on de Grande Moulin."

But Julie she say "Non, non, M'Sieu Paul,
Dat's not correc' t'ing for poor Jérémie
For I love dat young feller lak not'ing at all,
An' I'm very surprise you was not know me.
Jérémie w'en he's geev me dat nice gol' ring,
Las' tam he's gone off on de Mattawa
Say he's got 'noder wan w'en he's come nex' spring
Was mak' me for sure Madame Dandurand.

"I t'ank you de sam' M'Sieu Paul Joulin
I s'pose I mus' be de wife wan poor man
Wit' no chance at all for de Grande Moulin,
But leev all de tam on some small cabane."
De Notaire Publique den is tak' hees hat,
For he t'ink sure enough dat hees dog she's dead;
Dere's no use mak' love on de girl lak dat,
Wit' not'ing but young feller on de head.

Julie she's feel lonesome mos' all dat week,
Don't know w'at may happen she wait till spring
Den t'ink de fine house of Notaire Publique
An' plaintee more too—but love's funny t'ing!
So nex' tam she see de Notaire again,
She laugh on her eye an' say "M'Sieu Paul
Please pass on de house, or you ketch de rain,
Dat's very long tam you don't come at all."

She's geev him so soon he's come on de door
Du vin de pays, an' some nice galettes,
She's mak' dem herse'f only day before
An' he say "Bigosh! dat is fine girl yet."
So he's try hees chances some more—hooraw!
Julie is not mak' so moche troub' dis tam;
She's forget de poor Jérémie Dandurand
An' tole de Notaire she will be hees famme.

W'en Jérémie come off de wood nex' spring,
An' fin' dat hees girl she was get mariée
Everybody's expec' he will do somet'ing,
But he don't do not'ing at all, dey say;
For he's got 'noder girl on Sainte Dorothée,
Dat he's love long tam, an' she don't say "No,"
So he's forget too all about Julie
An' mak' de mariée wit' hese'f also.

A CANADIAN VOYAGEUR'S ACCOUNT OF THE NILE EXPEDITION.

"MAXIME LABELLE."

Victoriaw: she have beeg war, E-gyp's de nam' de place—
An' neeger peep dat's leev 'im dere, got very black de face,
An' so she's write Joseph Mercier, he's stop on Trois Rivieres—
"Please come right off, an' bring wit' you t'ree honder voyageurs.

"I got de plaintee sojer, me, beeg feller six foot tall—
Dat's Englishman, an' Scotch also, don't wear no pant at all;
Of course, de Irishman's de bes', raise all de row he can,
But noboddy can pull batteau lak good Canadian man.

"I geev you steady job for sure, an' w'en you get 'im t'roo
I bring you back on Canadaw, don't cos' de man un sou,
Dat's firs'-class steamboat all de way Kebeck an' Leeverpool,
An' if you don't be satisfy, you mus' be beeg, beeg fool."

We meet upon Hotel Dufresne, an' talk heem till daylight,
An' Joe he's treat so many tam, we very near get tight,
Den affer w'ile, we mak' our min' dat's not bad chance, an' so
Joseph Mercier he's telegraph, "Correc', Madame, we go."

So Joe arrange de whole beez-nesse wit' Queen Victoriaw;
Two dollar day—work all de tam—dat's purty good l'argent!
An' w'en we start on Trois Rivieres, for pass on boar' de ship,
Our frien' dey all say, "Bon voyage," an' den Hooraw! E-gyp'!

Dat beeg steamboat was plonge so moche, I'm 'fraid she never stop—
De Capitaine's no use at all, can't kip her on de top—
An' so we all come very sick, jus' lak one leetle pup,
An' ev'ry tam de ship's go down, de inside she's go up.

I'm sorry spoke lak dis, ma frien', if you don't t'ink it's so,
Please ax Joseph Mercier hese'f, or Aleck De Courteau,
Dat stay on bed mos' all de tam, so sick dey nearly die,
But lak' some great, beeg Yankee man, was never tole de lie.

De gang she's travel, travel, t'roo many strange contree,
An' ev'ry place is got new nam', I don't remember, me,
We see some fonny t'ing, for sure, more fonny I can tell,
But w'en we reach de Neel Riviere, dat's feel more naturel.

So many fine, beeg sojer man, I never see before,
All dress heem on grand uniform, is wait upon de shore,
Some black, some green, an' red also, cos' honder dollar sure,
An' holler out, "She's all right now, here come de voyageurs!"

We see boss Generale also, he's ride on beeg chameau,
Dat's w'at you call Ca-melle, I t'ink, I laugh de way she go!
Jomp up, jomp down, jomp ev'ry place, but still de Generale
Seem satisfy for stay on top, dat fonny an-i-mal.

He's holler out on Joe Mercier, "Comment câ va Joseph
You lak for come right off wit' me, tak' leetle ride yourseff?"
Joseph, he mak' de grand salut, an' tak' it off hees hat,
"Merci, Mon Generale," he say, "I got no use for dat."

Den affer we was drink somet'ing, an' sing "Le Brigadier,"
De sojer fellers get prepare, for mak' de embarquer,
An' everybody's shout heem out, w'en we tak' hole de boat
"Hooraw pour Queen Victoriaw!" an' also "pour nous autres."

Bigosh; I do hard work mese'f upon de Ottawa,
De Gatineau an' St. Maurice, also de Mattawa,
But I don't never work at all, I'sure you dat's a fack
Until we strike de Neel Riviere, an' sapré Catarack!

"Dis way, dat way, can't keep her straight," "look out, Bateese, look out!"
"Now let her go"—"arrete un peu," dat's way de pilot shout,
"Don't wash de neeger girl on shore," an' "prenez garde behin',"
"W'at's matter wit' dat rudder man? I t'ink he's goin' blin'!"

Some tam of course, de boat's all right, an' carry us along
An' den again, we mak portage, w'en current she's too strong
On place lak' dat, we run good chance, for sun-struck on de neck,
An' plaintee tam we wish ourseff was back on ole Kebeck.

De seconde Catarack we pass, more beeger dan de Soo,
She's nearly t'orty mile for sure, it would astonish you,
Dat's place t'ree Irishman get drown, wan day we have beeg storm,
I s'pose de Queen is feel lak cry, los' dat nice uniform!

De night she's very, very cole, an' hot upon de day,
An' all de tam, you feel jus' lak you're goin' melt away,
But never min' an' don't get scare, you mak' it up all right,
An' twenty poun' you los' dat day, she's comin' back sam' night.

We got small bugle boy also, he's mebbe stan' four foot,
An' firs' t'ing ev'ry morning, sure, he mak' it toot! toot! toot!
She's nice enough upon de day, for hear de bugle call,
But w'en she play before daylight, I don't lak dat at all.

We mus' get up immediatement, dat leetle feller blow,
An' so we start heem off again, for pull de beeg batteau,
De sojer man he's nice, nice boy, an' help us all he can,
An' geev heem chance, he's mos' as good lak some Canadian man.

Wall all de tam, she go lak dat, was busy every day,
Don't get moche chance for foolish-ness, don't get no chance for play,
Dere's plaintee danger all aroun', an' w'en we're comin' back
We got look out for run heem safe, dem sapré Catarack.

But w'ere's de war? I can't mak' out, don't see no fight at all!
She's not'ing but une Grande Piqnique, dat's las' in all de fall!
Mebbe de neeger King he's scare, an' skip anoder place,
An' pour la Reine Victoriaw! I never see de face.

But dat's not ma beez-nesse, ma frien', I'm ready pull batteau
So long she pay two dollar day, wit' pork an' bean also;
An' if she geev me steady job, for mak' some more l'argent,
I say, "Hooraw! for all de tam, on Queen Victoriaw!"

MEMORIES.

O spirit of the mountain that speaks to us to-night,
Your voice is sad, yet still recalls past visions of delight,
When 'mid the grand old Laurentides, old when the earth was new,
With flying feet we followed the moose and caribou.

And backward rush sweet memories, like fragments of a dream,
We hear the dip of paddle blades, the ripple of the stream,
The mad, mad rush of frightened wings from brake and covert start,
The breathing of the woodland, the throb of nature's heart.

Once more beneath our eager feet the forest carpet springs,
We march through gloomy valleys, where the vesper sparrow sings.
The little minstrel heeds us not, nor stays his plaintive song,
As with our brave coureurs de bois we swiftly pass along.

Again o'er dark Wayagamack, in bark canoe we glide,
And watch the shades of evening glance along the mountain side.
Anon we hear resounding the wizard loon's wild cry,
And mark the distant peak whereon the ling'ring echoes die.

But Spirit of the Northland! let the winter breezes blow,
And cover every giant crag with rifts of driving snow.
Freeze every leaping torrent, bind all the crystal lakes,
Tell us of fiercer pleasures when the Storm King awakes.

And now the vision changes, the winds are loud and shrill,
The falling flakes are shrouding the mountain and the hill,
But safe within our snug cabane with comrades gathered near,
We set the rafters ringing with "Roulant" and "Brigadier."

Then after Pierre and Telesphore have danced "Le Caribou,"
Some hardy trapper tells a tale of the dreaded Loup Garou,
Or phantom bark in moonlit heavens, with prow turned to the East,
Bringing the Western voyageurs to join the Christmas feast.

And while each backwoods troubadour is greeted with huzza
Slowly the homely incense of "tabac Canayen"
Rises and sheds its perfume like flowers of Araby,
O'er all the true-born loyal Enfants de la Patrie.

And thus with song and story, with laugh and jest and shout,
We heed not dropping mercury nor storms that rage without,
But pile the huge logs higher till the chimney roars with glee,
And banish spectral visions with La Chanson Normandie.

"Brigadier! répondit Pandore
Brigadier! vous avez raison,
Brigadier! répondit Pandore,
Brigadier! vous avez raison!"

O spirit of the mountain! that speaks to us to-night,
Return again and bring us new dreams of past delight,
And while our heart-throbs linger, and till our pulses cease,
We'll worship thee among the hills where flows the Saint-Maurice.

PHIL-O-RUM JUNEAU.

A STORY OF THE "CHASSE GALLERIE."

In the days of the "Old Regime" in Canada, the free life of the woods and prairies proved too tempting for the young men, who frequently deserted civilization for the savage delights of the wilderness. These voyageurs and coureurs de bois seldom returned in the flesh, but on every New Year's Eve, back thro' snowstorm and hurricane—in mid-air—came their spirits in ghostly canoes, to join, for a brief spell, the old folks at home and kiss the girls, on the annual feast of the "Jour de l'an," or New Year's Day. The legend which still survives in French-speaking Canada, is known as "La Chasse Gallerie."

He sit on de corner mos' every night, ole
Phil-o-rum Juneau,
Spik wit' hese'f an' shake de head, an' smoke
on de pipe also—
Very hard job it's for wake him up, no matter
de loud we call
W'en he's feex hese'f on de beeg arm-chair,
back on de kitchen wall.

He don't believe not'ing at all, at all 'bout
lates' new fashion t'ing
Le char 'lectrique an' de telephome, was talk
w'en de bell she ring
Dat's leetle too moche for de ole bonhomme,
mak' him shake it de head an' say
"Wat's use mak' de foolish lak dat, sapré!
I'm not born only yesterday."

But if you want story dat's true, true, true, I
tole you good wan moi-meme
An de t'ing you was spik, dat I don't believe,
for sure she was beat all dem.
So he's cough leetle cough, clear 'im up de
t'roat, fill hees pipe wit' some more tabac,
An' w'en de chil'ren is come tranquille, de
ole man begin comme câ.

L'enfant! l'enfant! it's very strange t'ing!
mak' me laugh too w'en I hear
De young peep talk of de long, long tam of
seventy, eighty year!
Dat's only be jus' eighty New Year Day, an'
quickly was pass it by
It's beeg, beeg dream, an' you don't wake up,
till affer you're comin' die.

Dat's true sure enough, you see curi's t'ing,
if you only leev leetle w'ile,
So long you got monee go all de place, for
mebbe t'ree t'ousan' mile,
But monee's not everyt'ing on dis worl', I tole
you dat, mes amis,
An' man can be ole lak' two honder year, an'
not see it, La Chasse Gal'rie.

I never forget de fine New Year night, nearly
seexty year ago,
W'en I'm lef' it our place for attend soiree,
on ole Maxime Baribault,
Nine mile away, I can see tin roof, on church
of de St. Joseph,
An' over de snow, de leaf dat die las' fall,
was chasin' itse'f.

Dere was some of de neighbor house I call,
dat's be de ole fashion style,
An' very nice style too, mes amis, I hope she
will las' long w'ile,
I shak' it de han', I drink santé, an' kiss it
de girl she's face,
So it's come ten o'clock, w'en I pass on road,
for visit Maxime hees place.

But I'm not go more mebbe t'ree arpent, w'en
de sky is get black all roun',
An' de win' she blow lak I never see, an'
de beeg snowstorm come down.
I mak' it my min' she's goin' be soon, de very
bad night for true,
Dat's locky I got plaintee whiskey lef', so I
tak' it wan leetle "coup."

Purty quick affer dat, I'm comin' nice place,
was stan'in' some fine beeg tree
W'ere de snow don't dreef', an' it seem jus'
lak dat place it is mak' for me,
So I pass it on dere, for mak' safe mese'f,
w'ile de storm is blow outside,
As if all de devil on hell below, was tak'
heem some fancy ride.

Wan red fox he's comin' so close, so close,
I could ketch him wit' de han',
But not on de tam lak dis ma frien', "Marche
toi all de quick you can,"
Poor feller he's tire an' seem los' hees way,
an' w'en he reach home dat night
Mebbe he fin' it all was close up, an' de door
it was fassen tight.

But w'at is dat soun' mak' de hair stan' up,
w'at is it mean, dat cry?
Comin' over de high tree top, out of de
nor'-wes' sky
Lak cry of de wil' goose w'en she pass on
de spring tam an' de fall,
But wil' goose fly on de winter night!
I never see dat at all.

On, on t'roo de night, she is quickly come,
more closer all de tam,
But not lak de cry of some wil' bird now,
don't seem it at all de sam';
An' den wit' de rush of de win', I hear
somebody sing chanson
An' de song dey sing is de ole, ole song,
"Le Canayen Errant."'

But it's mak' me lonesome an' scare also, jus'
sam' I be goin' for die
W'en I lissen dat song on night lak dis, so
far away on de sky,
Don't know w'at to do at all mese'f, so I go
w'ere I have good view,
An' up, up above t'roo de storm an' snow, she's
comin' wan beeg canoe.

Den somebody call it ma nam' out loud, firs' tam
it was scare me so,
"We know right away, dat was you be dere, hello
Phil-o-rum, hello!"
An' soon I see him dat feller spik, I 'member him
too mese'f,
We go de sam' school twenty year before, hees
nam's Telesphore Le Boeuf.

But I know on de way canoe she go, dat de crowd
he mus' be dead man
Was come from de Grande Riviere du Nord, come
from Saskatchewan,
Come too from all de place is lie on de Hodson
Bay Contree,
An' de t'ing I was see me dat New Year night,
is le phantome Chasse Gal'rie.

An' many de boy I was see him dere, I know him
so long before
He's goin' away on de far contree—for never
return no more—
An' now on phantome he is comin' home—t'roo
de storm an' de hurricane
For kiss him de girl on jour de l'an, an' see
de ole peep again.

De beeg voyageur w'at is steer canoe, wit'
paddle hol' on hees han'
Got very long hair was hang down hees neck,
de sam' as wil' Injin man
Invite me on boar' dat phantome canoe, for
show it dead man de way—
Don't lak it de job, but no use refuse,
so I'll mak' it de embarquer.

Den wan of de gang, he mus' be foreman, say
it's tam for have leetle drink,
So he pass heem black bottle for tak' un "coup,"
an' it's look lak ma own I t'ink,
But it can't be de sam', I'll be swear for dat,
for w'en I was mak' de go,
I fin' dere is not'ing inside but win', an'
de whiskey's phantome also.

Dey be laugh affer dat, lak dey tak' some fit,
so de boss spik him, "Tiens Phil-o-rum,
Never min' on dem feller—mus' have leetle sport,
dat's very long way we come,
Will you ketch it de paddle for steer us quick
on place of Maxime Baribault?"
An' he's ax me so nice, I do as he please',
an den away off she go.

Wan minute—two minute—we pass on dere,
Maxime he is all hooraw!
An' we know by musique dat was play inside,
mus' be de great Joe Violon,
Dat feller work fiddle on very bes' way,
dat nobody never see
Mak' de boy an' de girl, ole peep also,
dance lak dey was go crazee.

You s'pose dey was let me come on dat house?
Not at all, for de boss he say,
"Phil-o-rum, it's long tam we don't see our fren',
can't get heem chance ev'ry day,
Please stop on canoe so she won't blow off,
w'ile we pass on de house an' see
Dem frien' we was lef' an' de girl we spark,
before we go strange contree."

An' me I was sit on canoe outside, jus' lak
I was sapré fou,
Watchin' dem feller dat's all dead man,
dance heem lak Loup Garou.
De boss he kiss Marie Louise, ma girl,
dat's way he spen' mos' de tam,
But of course she know not'ing of dat
biz-nesse—don't lak it me jus' de sam'.

By tam I'm commence it for feel de col',
dey're all comin' out encore,
An' we start off again t'roo de sky, hooraw!
for mak' de visite some more,
All de place on de parish we go dat night,
w'erever dey get some dance,
Till I feel it so tire, I could sleep right off,
but dey don't geev it me no chance.

De las' place w'ere passin' dat's Bill Boucher,
he's very good frien' of me,
An' I t'ink it's near tam I was lef' dat crowd,
so I'll snub de canoe on tree,
Den affer dead man he was safe inside, an'
ev'rywan start danser,
I go on de barn wat's behin' de house, for
see I can't hide away.

She's nice place de barn, an' got plaintee warm,
an' I'm feel very glad be dere,
So long dead feller don't fin' me out, an' ketch
it me on de hair,
But s'pose I get col', work him hard all night,
'cos I make it wan leetle cough,
W'en de rooster he's scare, holler t'ree, four tam,
an' whole t'ing she bus' right off.

I'll never see not'ing so quick again—Canoe an'
dead man go scat!
She's locky de rooster he mak' de noise, bus'
ev'ryt'ing up lak dat,
Or mebbe dem feller get me encore, an' tak' me
on Hodson Bay,
But it's all right now, for de morning's come,
an' he see me ole Bill Boucher.

I'm feel it so tire, an' sore all de place, wit'
all de hard work I do',
'Cos I'm not very use for mak' paddle, me, on beeg,
beeg phantome canoe,
But Bill an' hees boy dey was leef me up, an'
carry me on maison
W'ere plaintee nice t'ing dey was mak' me eat,
an' drink it some whiskey blanc.

An' now w'en I'm finish, w'at you t'ink it youse'f,
'bout story dat you was hear?
No wonner ma hair she is all turn w'ite before I
get eighty year!
But 'member dis t'ing, I be tole you firs, don't
los' it mes chers amis,
De man he can leev him on long, long tam, an'
not see it La Chasse Gal'rie!

* * * * *

He sit on de corner mos' every night, ole
Phil-o-rum Juneau,
Spik wit' hese'f, an' shak' de head, an' smoke
on de pipe also,
But kip very quiet, don't wak' him up, let him
stay on de kitchen wall,
For if you believe w'at de ole man say, you
believe anyt'ing at all.

DE BELL OF ST. MICHEL.

Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel,
For if you do, I can't stay here, you know dat very well,
No matter how I close ma ear, I can't shut out de soun',
It rise so high 'bove all de noise of dis beeg Yankee town.

An' w'en it ring, I t'ink I feel de cool, cool summer breeze
Dat's blow across Lac Peezagonk, an' play among de trees,
Dey're makin' hay, I know mese'f, can smell de pleasant smell
O! how I wish I could be dere to-day on Saint Michel!

It's fonny t'ing, for me I'm sure, dat's travel ev'ryw'ere,
How moche I t'ink of long ago w'en I be leevin' dere;
I can't 'splain dat at all, at all, mebbe it's naturel,
But I can't help it w'en I hear de bell of Saint Michel.

Dere's plaintee t'ing I don't forget, but I remember bes'
De spot I fin' wan day on June de small san'piper's nes'
An' dat hole on de reever w'ere I ketch de beeg, beeg trout
Was very nearly pull me in before I pull heem out.

An' leetle Elodie Leclaire, I wonner if she still
Leev jus' sam' place she use to leev on 'noder side de hill,
But s'pose she marry Joe Barbeau, dat's alway hangin' roun'
Since I am lef' ole Saint Michel for work on Yankee town.

Ah! dere she go, ding dong, ding dong, its back, encore again
An' ole chanson come on ma head of "a la claire fontaine,"
I'm not surprise it soun' so sweet, more sweeter I can tell
For wit' de song also I hear de bell of Saint Michel.

It's very strange about dat bell, go ding dong all de w'ile
For when I'm small garçon at school, can't hear it half a mile;
But seems more farder I get off from Church of Saint Michel,
De more I see de ole village an' louder soun' de bell.

O! all de monee dat I mak' w'en I be travel roun'
Can't kip me long away from home on dis beeg Yankee town,
I t'ink I'll settle down again on Parish Saint Michel,
An' leev an' die more satisfy so long I hear dat bell.

PELANG.

Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher garçon,
I t'ink of you—t'ink of you night and day—
Don't mak' no difference, seems to me
De long long tam you're gone away.

* * * * *

De snow is deep on de Grande Montagne—
Lak tonder de rapide roar below—
De sam' kin' night, ma boy get los'
On beeg, beeg storm forty year ago.

An' I never was hear de win' blow hard,
An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane—
But ev'ryt'ing 'pear lak' it's yesterday
An' whole of ma troub' is come back again.

Ah me! I was foolish young girl den
It's only ma own plaisir I care,
An' w'en some dance or soirée come off
Dat's very sure t'ing you will see me dere.

Don't got too moche sense at all dat tam,
Run ev'ry place on de whole contree—
But I change beeg lot w'en Pelang come 'long
For I love him so well, kin' o' steady me.

An' he was de bes' boy on Coteau,
An' t'ink I am de bes' girl too for sure—
He's tole me dat, geev de ring also
Was say on de inside "Je t'aime toujours."

I geev heem some hair dat come off ma head,
I mak' de nice stocking for warm hees feet,
So ev'ryt'ing's feex, w'en de spring is come
For mak' mariée on de church toute suite.

"W'en de spring is come!" Ah I don't see dat,
Dough de year is pass as dey pass before,
An' de season come, an' de season go,
But our spring never was come no more.

* * * * *

It's on de fête of de jour de l'an,
An' de worl' outside is cole an' w'ite,
As I sit an' watch for mon cher Pelang
For he's promise come see me dis very night.

Bonhomme Peloquin dat is leev near us—
He's alway keep look heem upon de moon—
See fonny t'ing dere only week before,
An' say he's expec' some beeg storm soon.

So ma fader is mak' it de laugh on me'
"Pelang he's believe heem de ole Bonhomme
Dat t'ink he see ev'ryt'ing on de moon
An' mebbe he's feel it too scare for come."

But I don't spik not'ing I am so sure
Of de promise Pelang is mak' wit' me—
An' de mos' beeg storm dat is never blow
Can't kip heem away from hees own Marie.

I open de door, an' pass outside
For see mese'f how de night is look
An' de star is commence for go couché
De mountain also is put on hees tuque.

No sooner, I come on de house again
W'ere ev'ryt'ing feel it so nice an' warm,
Dan out of de sky come de Nor'Eas' win'—
Out of de sky come de beeg snow storm.

Blow lak not'ing I never see,
Blow lak le diable he was mak' grande tour;
De snow come down lak wan avalanche,
An' cole! Mon Dieu, it is cole for sure!

I t'ink, I t'ink of mon pauvre garçon,
Dat's out mebbe on de Grande Montagne;
So I place chandelle we're it's geev good light,
An' pray Le Bon Dieu he will help Pelang.

De ole folk t'ink I am go crazee,
An' moder she's geev me de good night kiss;
She say "Go off on your bed, Marie,
Dere's nobody come on de storm lak dis."

But ma eye don't close dat long long, night
For it seem jus' lak phantome is near,
An' I t'ink of de terrible Loup Garou
An' all de bad story I offen hear.

Dere was tam I am sure somet'ing call "Marie"
So plainly I open de outside door,
But it's meet me only de awful storm,
An de cry pass away—don't come no more.

An' de morning sun, w'en he's up at las',
Fin' me w'ite as de face of de snow itse'f,
For I know very well, on de Grande Montagne,
Ma poor Pelang he's come dead hese'f.

It's noon by de clock w'en de storm blow off,
An' ma fader an' broder start out for see
Any track on de snow by de Mountain side,
Or down on de place w'ere chemin should be.

No sign at all on de Grande Montagne,
No sign all over de w'ite, w'ite snow;
Only hear de win' on de beeg pine tree,
An' roar of de rapide down below.

An' w'ere is he lie, mon cher Pelang!
Pelang ma boy I was love so well?
Only Le Bon Dieu up above
An' mebbe de leetle snow bird can tell.

An I t'ink I hear de leetle bird say,
"Wait till de snow is geev up it's dead,
Wait till I go, an' de robin come,
An' den you will fin' hees cole, cole bed."

An' it's all come true, for w'en de sun
Is warm de side of de Grande Montagne
An' drive away all de winter snow,
We fin' heem at las', mon cher Pelang!

An' here on de fête of de jour de l'an,
Alone by mese'f I sit again,
W'ile de beeg, beeg storm is blow outside,
An' de snow come sweesh on de window pane.

Not all alone, for I t'ink I hear
De voice of ma boy gone long ago;
Can hear it above de hurricane,
An' roar of de rapide down below.

Yes—yes—Pelang, mon cher garçon!
I t'ink of you, t'ink of you night an' day,
Don't mak' no difference seems to me
How long de tam you was gone away.