THE HABITANT'S JUBILEE ODE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



OLE DOCTEUR FISET.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END