James McIntyre

The prominent names in Masonry are Kings Solomon and Hiram and St. John. Craft of King Hiram and St. John, They figurative work on stone,

An old man who had charge of field, With pride he saw two birds did build, A broad capacious warm nest,

I bought of land two miles square, I knew not it contained a bear, I never thought there would be any,

The following lines were written at the request of a little girl, who said she would recite them at a Sunday School entertainment. Prof. J. S. Blackie of Edinburgh, in a letter acknowledging the receipt of my book, said he considered this piece worthy of being committed to memory in the public schools. Sir Daniel Wilson of Toronto University also approves of them as containing good sentiments and should be impressed on the minds of the young. Dressing in fashion will be called vain, And they'll call you a dowdy if you are plain,

Poor laborers they did sad bewail, When the machine displaced the flail, There's little work now with the hoes.

We are in ancient stories told, All were brothers in days of old, But these with facts they do not chime

Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow, Sweet and luscious is Longfellow, Melodious songs he oft did pour

A miner in California mine, For his distant home he did repine, In a far off Eastern state,

Of Beachville, village of the plain, We now will sing a short refrain, For here the Thames doth pleasant flow,

Strange incidents do happen ever On the famed Niagara river, This thought to mind it now recalls

A fable of the British and Russian dispute of 1885. Russians suffer sad distress For lack of freedom of the press,

Two youths came over from York state, Bill Brown and Tom Dawes his mate, For many months they were wishing

The following impromptu was given at a banquet to one of the captives of Fort Pit after he had related his experience. Sad memories it doth awake, The death of those fell at Frog Lake,

A poor man stood beside his door, His sad fate for to deplore, For landlord's heart would not relent,

Hail Britannia's noblest daughter, Who is surrounded by the water Of many a lake and broad sea,

Brain Engravings. Great wonder is the human brain, How it impressions doth retain,

In these sketches of towns in Southern Ontario we are not vain enough to suppose that because we have produced some lines thereon that said rhymes are poetry. If we furnish an occasional poetic gleam like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun, it is all we dare hope for. Brantford as thriving city's famed, And after Indian Chief is named,

A man on Nova Scotian Bay On broken raft was borne away, Right out on the open sea

Some in front rank will defiant, Boldly place the poet Bryant.

When Burns did make triumphant entry 'Mong Edina's famous gentry, A discussion did there arise

Poets they do pursue each theme, Under a gentle head of steam, Save one who needed fierce fire on,

The water spouts up from the ground And there doth form a pond around, 'Tis fed from no apparent rills,

Canadian provinces they lay Divided by river and by bay, Many a separate division,

The following response to Canada our home was given at a banquet of the Caledonian Society, Ingersoll: In responding to the sentiment Canada our home perhaps it would be appropriate to point out the prominent and distinguishing characteristics between the land of our nativity and the land of our adoption. In this Canada of ours we have no bonny blooming heath, no banks and braes covered o'er with daisies and gowans, no fragrant hedges showering down white spray in the May time, no whin and broom prodigal in their gaiety of yellow flowers, no hills nor glens where fairies gambol in pleasant and harmless sport, no grand ruins of ancient cathedrals and castles, no feathered songsters like the mavis and blackbird. Full oft we did enraptured hark

Canada is a young giant, Has not yet acquired its strength, On the arts of peace reliant,

Small Scotland nobly held its own Against the might of England's throne, And shall this land with its vast bounds

Here industry is not in vain, For we have bounteous crops of grain, And you behold on every field

Of Kentucky's great hunter bold Old Daniel Boone oft tales are told, Of wild beasts he had no fear,

We have here a sight as fair As bonnie Doon or banks of Ayr, Like modest worth meandering slow

An English youth to Canada came, A labourer, John Roe by name, His little wealth had made him bold,

Burns sang of joys of Hallowe'en But in Canada is often seen By far more jolly times than these

The British soldiers on the Nile With gratitude did kindly smile, On the Canadian voyageurs

Three years ago my vessel lay In a port of Hudson Bay, I started off for the trading post,

In youth we spent a pleasant day Round Castle Gordon on the Spey, There is no Clan can gird the sword on,

The following adventure was participated in by Mr. J. Podmore and Mr. W. D. Grant at Matheson's Cold Spring Cheese Factory in Zorra, 1888. Cheese buyers in hours of leisure Combine business with pleasure,

In a great city hospital There lay poor Mary Crosby small, She had no friends her heart to cheer,

Johnston he is an engineer, He always looks if track is clear, For he hath a keen eagle eye,

England had triplets at a birth, Coleridge, Southey and Wordsworth, And these three are widely famed,

Canadians oft by light of moon Love to go a hunting coon, But this our tale it is no yarn,

The following lines were read at the festival after the stone had been laid by Grand Master Col. Moffat, of a church on the Culloden road, with Masonic honors. In this quiet spot this day of June, Which will not be forgotten soon,

The Credit Valley Railway Company having placed a car at the service of the council we were kindly invited to accompany them to Toronto. Whene'er we take a tour abroad We love to travel o'er new road,

At the announcement that Britain was to declare war Kossuth the Hungarian Patriot declared in an address in England that the British Lion was a sea dog but helpless on land. When the British Lion offered aid to the Turk, Round many lips a sneer of serious doubt did lurk,

The sweet milkmaid of early days Her own household she ably sways, And her daughters now milk the cows,

For to save life one great solver Would be to prohibit the revolver, Weapon of coward and of bully,

With a glance at Sir John A. Macdonald and Blake, the two living leaders, 1884. Joseph Howe, none higher stood than thou, Thou wert a man with lofty brow;

The Thurso baker Robert Dick[E] Armed with his hammer and his pick, Dame nature's secrets did reveal,

At London Thames is a broad stream, Which was the scene of a sad theme, A fragile steamer there did play,

By the side of a moss Lived young Donald Ross, Among the heathery hills

Genius of Dryden and of Pope, Both did take a mighty scope, The first he virgil did translate,

Once on a time there lived a duck, And by its fishing it did thrive; So one day it longed to suck

Wilmot of fish culutre fame, To this tale he lends his name, A pair of eagles built their nest

A lad brought up in Highland vale Who did believe each fairy tale, Which his grannie oft' to him told,

O'er various counties of the north, When cruel order did go forth, For to destroy many a home,

England has given us the names To adorn Canadian Thames, And charms to them she has lent

Tercentenary ode on Shakespeare read by the author at the anniversary concert, 1864. Three centuries have passed away Since that most famous April day,

The farmers now should all adorn A few fields with sweet southern corn, It is luscious, thick and tall,

There was a maiden all forlorn, She loved a youth, his name was Thorn, But he was shy for to disclose

The farmers they now all make rich Since Farrington went to Norwich, And the system first there began

This is our earliest cheese ode. The Ingersoll factory has been removed to Thamesford. When Father Ranney left the States, In Canada to try the fates,

"Revenge is sweet, especially to women." - Byron. I heard Bill say to-day, Mary, That you are a charming fairy,

In barren district you may meet Small fertile spot doth grow fine wheat, There you may find the choicest fruits,

A buffalo, lord of the plain, With massive neck and mighty mane, While from his herd he slowly strays,

Two youths employed at the fur fort Resolved to have half day of sport, From Jasper House, in the far north,

'Tis noble for to fight for home, But some nations fight to plunder, For conquest o'er the world to roam,

A hawk while soaring on the wing, O'er a tiny sparkling spring, Beheld a sleek and beauteous mink,

This is a tale, but it is truth, Of maiden lady named Ruth, She owned a small four acre farm,

John Galt was the manager of the Canada Company's lands, and he was a Scottish Novelist. Dunlop was at one time an eminent British Journalist, but he finally settled near Goderich. The town of Galt is named after John Galt. John Galt and Doctor Dunlop witty They located and planned the city

About one third of a century ago there flourished in Canada three Scottish editors, all of whom were poets, McQueen of the Huron Signal, Goderich, who wrote a grand song on "Our Broad Lake," and McGeorge of the Streetsville Review. The following lines are on George Menzies who was a Woodstock editor. One day while passing 'long the road On a small book we almost trod,

In ancient times we have been told A goose did lay an egg of gold, She did produce one every day,

At great reunion of the South, Of those had faced the cannon's mouth, Where each could show a glorious scar

When the Chinese did rebel, Gordon alone he could them quell, With justice they his name revere,

Once on a time a lady quarrelled With the witty Douglass Jerrold, Because that he had been so bold,

'Twas on a pleasant eve in May, Just as the sun shed its last ray, The bell it rang, citizens to warn,

A tale we'll tell of what hath been When maids and youths kept Hallowe'en, It is a tale of old world lore

In summer time it doth seem good To seek the shade of the green wood, For it doth banish all our care

A poor man's horse it ran away, Soon man upon the roadside lay, With his leg all badly broken,

Step, step, step, 'tis her lover's walk, She knows his step as well's his talk; He is the favorite of her choice,

Give me a board so I can trace on How high I have gone as a mason, Said worker on true square cut stone

The Romans, Saxons and the Danes Did oft o'er run the Scottish plains. So daring were those mauraders

All those who quality do prize Must study color, taste and size, And keep their dishes clean and sweet,

Meanderings of a stream rises twenty miles north of Toronto and sweeps around the whole of Southern Ontario. We love to sing of tiny stream, Through the lowland meadows running,

O'er flowery fields full oft he roams, The learned and pleasing genial Holmes.

Two hunters near to Hudson Bay, Their names John Grant and Tom McKay, Their skill and courage naught could daunt,

Lines on the death of my only son, who died on the 5th of July, 1876, on the anniversary of his mother's death. His mother from celestial bower, In the self-same day and hour

British infants who were nobly born Were from their bleeding mother's bosom torn, And with the bayonet dashed upon the street

We know a hill is smooth and round, Where Indian relics may be found, This hill it hath a history,

Ex-Mayor Thomas Brown may be considered the father of the town, he projected the first roads and bridges. The Thames and tributary rills, Here they do drive numerous mills,

Moore found the ballads of Green Isle Were oft obscured beneath the soil, As miner digging in a mine

In the great Province of Bengal, The scavenger is the Jackal, For it doth love each night to feast,

The wondrous shepherd James Hogg Was happy with his good sheep dog, Meditating o'er his sweet lays

"We had a dream which was not all a dream." - Byron. I laid me down one day in June, It was late long afternoon,

The first winter which I did spend In Canada was with a friend, And when the snow had passed away

Let others sing their favourite lay, From early morn till close of day, More useful themes engage our pen,

The engineer who drives the train, From scalds he oft doth suffer pain, And they are more noble scars,

(Life of the early settlers.) Canada hath wealthy yeomen Whose fathers overcome the foemen,

In summer time we roam o'er dingle, But winter draws us round the ingle, Why do you remain thus single,

We love cold water as it flows from the fountain, Which nature hath brewed alone in the mountain; In the wild woods and in the rocky dell,

Where it was announced ten days previous that the cereus would bloom, August, 1888. We own we felt a little curious, To see the rare night blooming cereus,

Having received a letter from a gentleman glorying in his typewriter we replied as follows: You glory in your typewriter, And its virtues you rehearse,

A pleasing sight to-day we see, Four churches joined in harmony, There difference was but trivial,

The South of Scotland did produce Heroic Wallace and the Bruce, And even time will never blot

The middle branch of Thames doth flow O'er pebble bed and it doth glow And sparkle like silver in the sun,

This good woman when in this life, She was kind mother and good wife, And managed her household with care,

His identity was discovered by finding the maker's name on the suit he wore and by sending a strip of the cloth to the maker in Montreal. A young man's body long it lay In bottom of Toronto Bay,

McCready, the great Irish tragedian, said that the view from Thorold was the finest in America. Thorold is famous for its mills, And the grand view from off its hills,

Once, while digging 'neath the snow, 'Mid Canadian winter, lo! To our joy and surprise

English Woodstock had a palace Where the Queen in jealous malice Slew romance's fairest flower,

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids. Throughout the world they do extol The fame of our town Ingersoll,

It almost now seems all in vain For to expect high price for grain, Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil

After chatting with each friend, We our way to the table wend, On it we all do make a raid,

Our first Canadian job when boy, In the big woods we did enjoy, Large maple bush we then did tap

Scotsmen have wandered far and wide From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde, McDonald from his sea girt isle,

Scotia's sons to-night we meet thee, With kindly feelings we do greet thee, In honor of the land of heather,

Some do boast of their pedigrees, But Salford's parent of the cheese, Ranney, industrious and wise,

We send to you these rugged rhymes In memory of the olden times, Great chief of our poetic clan,

We do greet thee Thomas Conant, You truthful paint Canadian charms, And you are the great exponent

Where each one expressed some sentiment. In this album you may trace, If not the lineaments of face,

I tell you what my little Dora, You do cause my heart to sorrow, Tell me now you little misses

'Mong silver hills of Nevada There is many a wild bravado, Who oft indulge in lawless vice,

On grassy amphitheatre, Spectators sit to view the war, 'Mong bold contestants on the plain

As one by one the lofty actors of the age Withdraw from changing play on history's page, The act of war and peace of old and new contending

From the long continuous rains O'erflowing were the swamps and drains, For each day had its heavy shower,

Lines written on the arrival of Governor Lorne and the Princess Louise in Canada. The tidings now all hearts do please, That she has landed safe, Louise,

An English ship when homeward bound, Near to its port was shipwrecked found, For it had struck a sunken rock,

With pleasure we would love to dwell On the charming themes of Lowell.

And Millar poet of Sierras, For bold deeds he doth prepare us, And now he lives by the golden gate,

Like mightiest organ in full tone, Melodious, grand, is great Milton, He did in lofty measures tell

Politeness, perseverance and pluck, To their possessor will bring good luck.

In giving a glance at various Canadian authors perhaps it would be well to commence with that early writer Mrs. Moody. She was a sister of the celebrated Agnes Strickland, author of "The Queens of England." When this country it was woody, Its great champion Mrs. Moody,

It happened once in early spring, While there did float great thick ice cakes, That then a gale did quickly bring

Gazing on rapids mighty sea, Struggling fiercely to be free, But drawn downwards in its course

Hail Canada our young fair land, The world's respect it doth command; How quick her sons at war's alarms

"O for a lodge in some vast wilderness" A man cried out in his distress, For he was tired and sick of life,

We look in vain for our Past Grands, Now scattered over many lands, Now some o'er the wide world do rove,

Weight over seven thousand pounds. We have seen thee, queen of cheese, Lying quietly at your ease,

Goldsmith wrote of deserted village, Now again reduced to tillage, Once happiest village of the plain,

I am a hunter by profession, And when I make this confession, Of what I saw with mine own eyes,

The ancient poets ne'er did dream That Canada was land of cream, They ne'er imagined it could flow

On the shores of the northern lakes An infant giant now awakes, He has long time been in a dream,

Written at the time of the last excitement on the Niagara Frontier. Rejoice, rejoice, we all do stand, United in one mighty band;

A great enchanter too is Poe, His bells do so harmonious flow, Wondrous mystery of his raven

Poetry to us is given, As stars beautify the Heaven, Or, as the sunbeams when they gleam,

Bacon, Hogg, Lamb and Shakespeare. Bacon, philosopher profound, With mighty thoughts his works abound,

The following lines were given at a concert when Port Burwell was a busy port and there had been a race on the ice the day before. In winter time who here resort, To pay a visit to your busy port,

In winter time 'tis sad and dreary For to gaze on stormy Erie, But here in summer time this port

Love it is the precious loom, Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread, And works flowers of exquisite bloom,

Oft' times these handsome gentlemen appeared in the garb of old Gaul. Long 'ere Her Majesty the Queen Had visited of Aberdeen,

The district lying South of Georgian Bay and Lake Simcoe, including Toronto. My friends we sing Canadian themes, For in them we proudly glory,

Providential escape of Ruby and Neil McLeod, children of Angus McLeod of this town. Little Neil McKay McLeod, a child of three years of age, was carried under a covered raceway, upwards of one hundred yards, the whole distance being either covered o'er with roadway, buildings or ice. A wondrous tale we now do trace Of little children fell in race,

In the land of woods and lakes, Pure happiness each one partakes, Who is sound in body and in mind,

Canada proves her devotion To her who rules o'er land and sea, For loyal thoughts do hearts inspire,

Ranney began with just two cows, Which he in winter fed on browse, And now he hath got mighty herds

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 Aide, Col. McDonald, were also deposited under the new tower. A wail went o'er broad Canada, When it was known a vile outlaw

Burns sang so sweet behind the plow, Daisies we'll wreath around his brow, Musing on thee what visions throng,

With our Canadian snow shoes, O'er snow you walk where'er you choose, But on long shoes Norwegian

The Glasgow people do take pride In their river both deep and wide, In early times the youth and maid

Robert F. Gourley was a graduate of St. Andrew's University, Scotland. He was the first to agitate for popular rights in Canada. He was banished from the country and while crossing the Niagara River he asked for a brush to wipe Canadian dust from his feet. He became a champion of popular rights in England and he whipped Lord Brougham in the lobby of the House of Commons, for which breach of privilege he was sentenced by the House. Mr. Gourley owned several farms in Oxford, Ontario, and sought to represent South Oxford in 1858, but Dr. Connor, an uncle of Hon. E. Blake, won the seat; Mr. Blake was his uncle's secretary through the contest when he was a youth. There came to Oxford Robert Gourley, In his old age his health was poorly;

While voyaging on northern seas For days we could not catch a breeze, But were held fast as if in vice

The mind that's sad it doth relax The humor of the witty Saxe, He puts us in a cheerful mood,

The following ode was read by the author at the Centennial Anniversary of Burns in the year 1859. This night shall never be forgot For humble life none now despise,

Where frosts doth northern bays congeal, There you will find the finest seal, They do pursue them o'er each bay

We have scarcely time to tell thee Of the strange and gifted Shelly, Kind hearted man but ill-fated,

Gent on sidewalk held out his foot While boy in gutter brushed his boot, But at this time, how sad, alas,

There is a peculiar snake, You might almost call it squatter, It loves to dive in pond or lake,

Read at Anniversary. Our ancient custom to renew, We meet to honor St. Andrew,

Lines read at the Welland House, St. Catharines, at a banquet given to the members in attendance at the Oddfellows' Grand Lodge. St. Catharines famed for mineral waters And for the beauty of her daughters,

At time of Oddfellows Grand Lodge meeting. Oddfellows once they had to trudge O'er rough stage road to the Grand Lodge,

A sailor he was swept from deck, In minute he seem'd as a speck, Tossing on each briny wave,

Our Canadian county Perth, Commemorates great bard of earth, Stratford and Avon both are here,

Now let the hero of our song, Be he who gentle treats the throng, And would not cruel treat another,

Having been kindly invited as a member of the Mechanics' Institute some 25 years ago by the late Jeremiah O'Neill, Esq., to meet that gentleman in company with a number of our townsmen, when Mr. McGee was rising from the table the chair being new stuck to him, and it being near a general election he very wittily remarked that he hoped the people of Montreal would be as anxious to retain him in his seat as the people here are. We wrote the following lines at the time, the last verse was added afterwards. D Arcy McGee, All compliment thee,

Of our Laureate we now do sing, His youthful muse had daring wing, He then despised Baronhood,

September came and with it frost The season's pasture it seemed lost, And the wondrous yield of corn

A good kind man who knew no malice, Happy with wife and daughter Alice, More precious far to him than gold,

Cheerful and happy was his mood, He to the poor was kind and good, And he oft' times did find them food,

We let Ontario farmers sing About the joys the woods do bring, But we in regions of Northwest

In early times the pioneer When a few acres he did clear, He found 'an ample recompense

Worthy of either song or story Are the shires round frith of Moray, Here lies the valley of Strathspey,

Do not despise the humble weed, For the Lord He first sowed the seed, Perhaps it bears most precious fruit,

In vale of Thames oft' times are seen The cattle graze 'mong sweetest green, Or there contented with their fate

A picture hung in a public hall, And it was much admired by all, Painted by a true artist's hand,

On Ganges banks roams the tiger, And lion rules by the Niger, Hunter heard shrill cry of peacocks,

After him who did the mills own, This place was called in honor Tilson; Bright gleaming like to a beaming star,

A hungry tramp did long for dish, And he stole a big bunch of fish, But he full soon did come to grief,

When Indian tribes in the Northwest Rebelled against the Eastern laws, Canadian courage it did test,

The United States is wondrous land, Within its mighty borders grand, They are a world unto themselves,

Of the strange virtues of a ring, In simple strains we now will sing, Brave warrior of ancient France,

For erratic style he leads van, Wildly wayward Walt Whitman, He done grand work in civil war,

We will now sing in thoughtful strain Of wars in Queen Victoria's reign. The Russian bear did ages lurk,

Lines written when the Prince of Wales was about embarking for Canada, May, 1860. In his long voyage o'er the sea, To where doth grow the maple tree,

Six hundred miles north of Cape Flattery, On sea there seemed a floating battery, And stream of blood did dye the water,

Grain it should be sold in the fall Even if the price it should be small, For if you keep it till the spring

Others seek for music in the twitter Of the sweet, charming notes of Whittier.

From the regions of the north Where the waters now are frozen, Towards the south they issue forth

In homely apparel one Clothes farming songs Will Carleton, But they have a manly ring

Cows suffered in the days of old For want of water and from cold, Now of good water they have fill