قراءة كتاب By Trench and Trail in Song and Story
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
new!
Shoo! dat dance has mak' me tire—
Rosie pass de pipe of clay—
Plenty more rat here in Weedon,
We're Pete Tanguay give it 'way.
Here's tobac dat's raise in Compton,
Tak' it too an' pass it ro'nd—
Plentay more way do'n at Lampton—
Jus' for twenty cent one po'nd.
Smoke ma frien' an' take it heasy,
Till de fiddler res' his bow—
Smudge dis room till it grow hazy,
Den we'll have one nodder go!
Rig-a-gig-gig jus' wash ma feet go,
Put some movemen' in dat tune;
If a man is want for beat Joe—
Mus' get up before its noon!
Oh ba gosh! de hole man's happy!
Wish you all feel sam' lak me.
Canada's de place spen' Chris'mas
Up at Weedon 'mong de tree!
I feel bad for Wilfrid Laurier,
An' for all de beeg Frenchman,
Who can nevair know henjoymen'
In dis worl' de sam's I can.
Troub' is all he gets for breakfas',
An' for dinnair too I guess—
Charlie Tupper's eat for supper—
An' hee's awful hard diges'!
Den de nightmare kick lak blazes,
W'en a leetle sleep dey foun'—
I can sleep me in dis shanty
Twice as fas' an' twice as soun'.
I don' henvey any rich man,
He can tak' ma house an' lan',
But he can't tak' ma henjoymen'
Lak de res' w'en hee's deman'.
Hee's live in one gran' beeg cassil—
All light up wit' 'letric lamp—
I am Joseph in dis shanty,
An' my shanty's in de swamp;
But ba gosh I'm far more happies
Den beeg man in house of stone—
Byemby he'll be lak Joseph—
Six feet land is all he'll own!
Come here Pierre ma troat's grow wheezy,
Pass de glassware roun' for change—
Wash ma Rosie, a'nt she daisy?
She's de bes' cook on de range.
Ev'ry year w'en it come Chris'mas,
Rosie geeve me lots to heat—
Pie an' stoughnut—cake an' cookie—
Bun an' two t'ree kin' of meat.
Ev'ryt'ing she's good for cook it,—
An' de pork she's good for fry,
She can flip dat bockwheat pancake
Lak de twinkle of you' eye!
Yes ba gosh! ma wife hee's good wan,
Nevair scold me w'en I'm sick:
An' she raise it twenty young wan
Nevair learn dat "Yankee trick"!
Plenty vote to swing de 'lection—
Twenty-two or twenty-three;
But I'm ask for no Protection
For my Infant Industry!
Dat's de cry I like, "all ready"!
Sopper's on de tab' at las'—
Girl an' boy fall in ma hearty—
Hungry fom de midnight Mass.
Come Joseph an' bring Louiser,—
Don' be squeeze her all night long—
Joe, I know is lak hee's fadder—
Jus' de sam' w'en I was young!
Now I'll pass de jug for luck, me,
Drink de he'lt' of frien' an' foe—
Plenty more at Dudswell Junction,
Ma frien' Gauthier tole me so.
Dis is firs' class liquidation,
Jus' one glass will pay de tax;
Two or tree will lif' de mortgage—
All de worl' is mine wit' six!
What's de use for feel downhearted?
Plenty life in barley juice;
Dat's w'at mak' dis ol' man happy—
But some tam it raise de duce.
Eat an' drink an' feel contentmen',
'Till de holiday pass by;
Den ol' Joe mus' tackle snow
An' chop de hood an' hew de tie.
I got credit from de storekeep—
Bean an' pork an' pea an' flour,
An' I promise pay in cordhood—
An' its tak' me many hour.
Scoonkin coat I got from Tanguay,
For to tak' me warm to church,
An' he tole me pay heem sometam',
W'en I haul de spruce an' birch.
Plenty work for Joe in winter—
Brak de road an' haul de hood,
But hole Joe hee's nevair worry—
Not so long hees he'lt' is good.
Dis is holiday at presen',
I won't cut me one dem stick
'Till I have ma Chris'mas hoorah,
An' it always las' a wick!
Den I'll say good bye to ol' year
An' w'en New Year come on deck,
I'll tole Yankee how ol' Joseph
Spen' his Chris'mas on Kebec.
Rig-a-gig-a-gig, jus' wash me moccasin,
An' ol' Paul will kip good tam;
Pass de jug aro'n' de grog is in
An' we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram."
"THE CLEVELAND MESSAGE."
The seeming hostile spirit towards the United States pervading some of the sketches in this volume is more apparent than real, as they were introduced in the spirit of fun to accentuate the oddities of certain characters, and not to disparage our neighbor; for notwithstanding petty quarrels and misunderstandings we always loved our great big, bluff brother to the South.
We always maintained that closer relationship with our kindred people was our manifest destiny and that nothing could happen that would keep us permanently apart. According to this song, written many years ago, we have been "interwooing" and "intermarrying" for a long time. We have been flocking to their cities and they have been flocking to our farms, and naturally the ties between us have been growing stronger with the years.
Consequently when the present great war engulfed the world in a holocaust of blood, kindred cried to kindred and the resulting alliance was both natural and logical.
Time alone can prove the value of the services rendered the Allied cause in this great war by British Americans and Americanadians residing in the United States.
The Germans and pro-Germans of this country thot in their overweening pride with overbearing Kultur to obtain a greater "pull" with Uncle Sam than we possessed. By the most cunning propaganda ever known they endeavored to widen the breach between brother Jonathan and John Bull, but failed miserably. While they "hoched" for the "fatherland" till the cows came home, we "coached" for the "motherland" till the children came home!
Kultur may be a powerful persuader but the call of the blood is more powerful still, and when the old lion roared his appeal the sound went round the world, and the whelps, true to their breed, gathered from all corners of the earth, not into alien jungles, but home! The fur is now flying and blood is flowing, and when the combatants shall have emerged from the great conflict the two powerful branches of the English-speaking peoples will be