"Lissen, ma boy," say Pierre Nadeau, "To some of de t'ing you ought to know: Kip a lookout on de hook an' line, In case dey 're gettin' too far behin'; For it 's purty hard job know w'at to do, If de reever weed 's ketchin' hol' of you.

"But if you want feesh, you mus' kip leetle close, For dat 's w'ere de beeg feller come de mos', Not on de middle w'ere water 's bare, But near to de rushes over dere, 'Cos dat was de spot dey alway feed— All de sam' you got to look out for weed.

"Ho! Ho! a strike! let heem have it now— Gosh! ain't he a'kickin' heem up de row, Pullin' so hard, never min', ma son, W'en he go lak dat he was nearly done, But he 's all right now, so don't be afraid, Jus' hit heem again wit' de paddle blade.

"Yass! over an' over, it 's good advice, An' me, I know, for I pay de price On w'at you call compoun' interes' too, For larnin' de lesson I geev' to you, Close as you lak, but, ma boy, tak' heed You don't run into de beeg long weed.

"An' by an' by w'en you 're growin' up, An' mebbe drink of de black, black cup Of trouble an' bodder an' dunno w'at, You 'll say to you'se'f, 'Wall! I forgot De lesson ole Pierre he know I need,' W'en he say to me, 'Boy, look out for weed'—

"For de worl 's de sam' as de reever dere, Plaintee of weed lyin' ev'ryw'ere, But work aroun' or your life is gone, An' tak' some chance or you won't get on, For if you don't feesh w'ere de weed is grow, You 'll only ketch small leetle wan or so—

"Dere 's no use sayin', 'I 'll wait an' see If some of dem feesh don't come to me, I 'll stay outside, for it 's pleasan' here, W'ere de water 's lookin' so nice an' clear,' Dat 's way you 'll never get w'at you need— Keep feeshin' away, but look out for weed."

* * * *

Dat was de lesson ole Pierre Nadeau Tell to me offen, so long ago— Poor ole Pierre! an' I 'm tryin' too, Tak' hees advice, for I know it 's true, But far as it goes we 're all de same breed, An' it 's not so easy kip out de weed.



The Holy Island

Dey call it de Holy Islan' W'ere de lighthouse stan' alone, Lookin' across w'ere de breaker toss, Over de beeg grey stone; Dey call it de Holy Islan,' For wance, on de day gone by, A holy man from a far-off lan' Is leevin' dere, till he die.

Down from de ole, ole people, Scatter upon de shore, De story come of Fader Jerome, De pries' of Salvador Makin' hees leetle house dere, Wit' only hees own two han', Workin' along, an' singin' de song Nobody understan'.

"All for de ship an' sailor Out on de stormy sea, I mak' ma home," say Fader Jerome, "W'ere de rock an' de beeg wave be De good God up on de Heaven Is answer me on de prayer, An' bring me here, so I 'll never fear, But foller heem ev'ryw'ere!"

Lonely it was, dat islan', Seven league from de coas', An' only de cry, so loud an' high, Of de poor drown sailors' ghos' You hear, wit' de screamin' sea gull; But de man of God he go An' anchor dere, an' say hees prayer For ev'rywan here below.

Night on de ocean 's fallin', Deep is de fog, an' black, As on dey come, to deir islan' home, De sea-bird hurryin' back; W'at is it mak' dem double An' stop for a minute dere, As if in fear of a soun' dey hear, Meetin' dem on de air?

Sweeter dey never lissen, Magic it seem to be, Hangin' aroun', dat wonderful soun', Callin' across de sea; Music of bell 's widin it, An' foller it on dey go High on de air, till de islan' dere Of Salvador lie below.

Dat 's w'ere de bell 's a-ringin' Over de ocean track, Troo fog an' rain an' hurricane, An' w'enever de night is black; Kipin' de vow he 's makin', Dat 's w'at he 's workin' for, Ringin de bell, an' he do it well, De Fader of Salvador!

An' de years go by, an' quickly, An' many a sailor's wife She 's prayin' long, an' she 's prayin' strong Dat God he will spare de life Of de good, de holy Fader, Off w'ere de breakers roar, Only de sea for hees companie, Alone on Salvador.

* * * *

Summer upon de islan', Quiet de sea an' air, But no bell ring, an' de small bird sing, For summer is ev'ryw'ere; A ship comin' in, an' on it De wickedes' capitaine Was never sail on de storm, or gale, From here to de worl's en'!

"Geev' me dat bell a-ringin' For not'ing at all, mon pere; Can't sleep at night, w'en de moon is bright, For noise she was makin' dere. I'm sure she was never chrissen, An' we want no heretic bell; W'ere is de book? For you mus' look An' see if I chrissen it well!"

Leevin' heem broken-hearted, For Fader Jerome is done, He sail away wit' de bell dat day, Capitaine Malcouronne; An' down w'ere dead man 's lyin', Down on de ocean deep, He sink it dere, w'ile he curse an' swear, An' tole it to go to sleep.

An' t'ree more year is passin', An' now it 's a winter night: Poor Salvador, so bles' before, Is sittin' among de fight Of breaker, an' sea-bird yellin', An' noise of a tousan' gun, W'en troo de fog, lak a dreefin' log, Come Capitaine Malcouronne!

Gropin' along de sea dere, Wonderin' w'ere he be, Prayin' out loud, before all de crowd Of sailor man on hees knee; Callin' upon de devil, "Help! or I 'm gone!" he shout; "Dat bell it go to you down below, So now you can ring me out

"To de open sea, an' affer I promise you w'at I do, Yass, ev'ry day I 'll alway pray To you, an' to only you— Kip me in here no longer, Or de shore I won't see again!" T'ink of de prayer he 's makin' dere, Dat wicked ole capitaine!

An' bell it commence a-ringin', Quiet at firse, an' den Lak tonder crash, de ship go smash, An' w'ere is de capitaine? An' de bell kip ringin', ringin', Drownin' de breakers' roar, An' dere she lie, w'ile de sea-birds cry, On de rock of Salvador.



The Riviere des Prairies

I see de many reever on de State an' ev'ryw'ere, From Maine to California, New York to Michigan, An' wan way an' de oder, I tell you I don't care; I travel far upon dem as moche as any man— But all de t'ousan' reever I was never pass along, For w'at dey call de beauty, from de mountain to de sea, Dere 's wan dat I be t'inkin,' de wan w'ere I belong, Can beat dem all, an' easy, too, de Riviere des Prairies!

Jus' tak' de Hudson Reever, an' de Mississippi too, Missouri, an' de res' of dem, an' oders I can't t'ink, Dey 're all beeg, dirty places, wit' de steamboat gruntin' troo, An' de water runnin' in dem is black as any ink, An' de noises of dem reever never stoppin' night or day, An' de row along de shore, too, enough to mak' you scare; Not a feesh is wort' de eatin', 'less you 're starvin by de way, An' you 're feeling purty t'orsty if you drink de water dere!

So ketch de han' I geev' you w'ile I 'm on de humor now, An' I bet you won't be sorry w'en you go along wit' me, For I show you all aroun' dere, until you 're knowin' how I come so moche to brag—me—on de Riviere des Prairies. It 's a cole October mornin', an' de maple leaf is change Ev'ry color you can t'ink of, from de purple to de green; On de shore de crowd of blackbird, an' de crow begin' arrange For de journey dey be takin' w'en de nort' win's blowin' keen.

Quick! down among de bushes!—don't you hear de wil' goose cry An' de honk de great beeg gander he was makin' up above? On de lake dey call Two Mountain is de place dey 're goin' fly, But only spen' de night-tam, for dey 're alway on de move; Jus' see de shadder dancin' up an' down, up an' down, You t'ink dem geese was passin' in an' out between de tree W'en de branch is bendin' over on de water all aroun' Now you see de place I 'm talkin', dat 's de Riviere des Prairies!

Missouri! Mississippi! better wait till you go back— No tam for talk about dem w'en dis reever you can see, But watch de cloud a-sailin' lak a racer on de track, An' lissen to de music of de Riviere des Prairies— An' up along de shore dere, don't you envy Bord a Plouffe? Oh! dat's de place is lucky, have de reever come so near— I 'm knowin' all de people, ev'ry chimley, ev'ry roof, For Bord a Plouffe she never change on over feefty year!

St. Martin's bell is ringin', can't you hear it easy now? Dey 're marryin' or buryin' some good ole frien' of me, I wonder who it can be, don't matter anyhow, So long as we 're a-lookin' on de Riviere des Prairies. Only notice how de sun shine w'en he's comin' out to peep, I 'm sure he 's leetle brighter dan anyw'ere you see, An' w'en de fall is over, an' de reever 's gone to sleep, De w'ites' snow is fallin' on de Riviere des Prairies!

I love you, dear ole reever, more dan ev'ry Yankee wan; An' if I get de money, you will see me on de train, Wit' couple o' t'ousan' dollar, den hooraw! it 's goodbye, John! You can kill me if you ketch me leavin' Bord a Plouffe again. But sometam it 'll happen dat a feller 's gettin' stop Because he's comin' busy wit' de wife an' familee— No matter, if de good God he won't forget to drop, Ev'ry day an' night, hees blessin' on de Riviere des Prairies!



The Wind that Lifts the Fog

Over de sea de schooner boat Star of de Sout' is all afloat, Many a fine brave feesherman Sailin' away for Newfunlan'; Ev'ry feller from St. Malo, Dem is de boy can mak' her go! Tearin' along t'roo storm or gale, Never sparin' an inch of sail—

Down below w'en de night is come, Out wit' de bottle an' t'ink of home, Push it aroun' till bottle 's drain, An' drink no more till we 're home again, "Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog, No matter how she 's blowin', Nort' or sout', eas' or wes', Dat is de win' we love de bes', Ev'ry sailor an' young sea dog, Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog An' set de ship a-goin'."

Flyin' over de wave she go, Star of de Sout' from St. Malo, Never a tack, before she ran Out on de bank of Newfunlan'— Drop de anchor, an' let her down, Plaintee of comrade all aroun', Feeshin' away till night is fall, Singin' away wit' ev'ry haul, "Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog, No matter how she 's blowin', Nort' or sout', eas' or wes', Dat is de win' we love de bes', Ev'ry sailor an' young sea dog, Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog An' set de ship a-goin'."

* * * *

Star of de Sout'—did you see de light Steamin' along dat foggy night? Poor leetle bird! anoder star Shinin' above so high an' far Dazzle you den, an' blin' de eye, Wile down below on de sea you lie Anchor dere—wit' your broken wing How could you fly w'en de sailor sing "Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog No matter how she 's blowin', Nort' or sout', eas' or wes', Dat is de win' we love de bes', Ev'ry sailor an' young sea dog, Here 's to de win' dat lif' de fog An' set de ship a-goin'"?



The Fox Hunt

I'm all bus' up, for a mont' or two, On account of de wife I got, Wit' de fuss an' troublesome t'ing she do, She 's makin' me sick a lot; An' I 'm sorry dat woman was go to school For larnin' de way to read, Her fader an' moder is great beeg fool For geevin' her more she need!

'Cos now it 's a paper ev'ry week, Dollar a year, no less— Plaintee o' talkin' about musique, An' tell you de way to dress; Of course dat 's makin' her try to sing An' dress, till it 's easy see She 's goin' crazy about de t'ing Dey 're callin'—Societee.

Las' week, no sooner I come along From market of Bonsecour, Dan I 'm seein' right off, dere 's somet'ing wrong, For she 's stannin' outside de door Smilin' so sweetly upon de face, Lookin' so nice an' gay— Anywan t'ink it 's purty sure case She marry me yesterday.

Can't wait a minute till supper's t'roo Before she commence to go— "Oh! Johnnie, dere 's somet'ing I mus' tole you— Somet'ing you lak to know— To-morrow we 're goin' for drive aroun' An' it won't be de heavy load, Jus' me an' you, for to see dem houn' T'row off on de Bord a Plouffe road."

"Denise, if dat was de grande affaire On w'at you call a la mode— Lookin' dem fox dog stannin' dere T'row off on de Bord a Plouffe road, You can count me out!" An' she start to cry— "You know very well," she say, "I don't mean dat—may I never die But you 're a beeg fool to-day!

"Johnnie, to-morrow you 'll come wit' me Watchin' dem run de race, Ketchin' de fox—if you don't, you see We 're bote on de beeg disgrace. Dey 're all comin' out from de reever side, An' over from Beaurepaire, Seein' de folk from de city ride, An' ev'rywan 's sure be dere."

All right—an' to-morrow dere's two new shoe, So de leetle horse mak' de show, Out wit' de buggy: de new wan too, Only get her ten year ago— An' dere on de road, you should see de gang Of folk from aroun' de place, Billy Dufresne, an' ole Champagne, Comin' to see de race,

Wit' plaintee of stranger I never see, An' some of dem from Pointe Claire, All of dem bringin' de familee, W'enever dere 's room to spare. Wonderful sight—I 'm sure you say— To see how Societee (W'atever dat mean?) she got de way Of foolin' de w'ole contree.

Den I 'm heetchin' de horse on de fence, for fear Somebody run away, So man wit' de bugle he 's comin' near, An' dis is de t'ing he say— "You see any fox to-day, ma frien', Runnin' aroun' at all, You know any place he got hees den? For we lak it to mak' de call."

An' me—I tell heem, "You mus' be wrong, An' surely don't want to kill De leetle red fox, about two foot long, Dat 's leevin' below de hill; Jompin' de horse till he break hees knee, Wile spotty dog mak' de row, For a five-dollar fox? You can't fool me— I know w'at you 're wantin' now!

"You hear de story of ole Belair, He 's seein' de silver fox W'enever he 's feeshin' de reever dere, Sneakin' along de rocks." But ma wife get madder I never see, An' say, "Wall! you mus' be green— Shut up right away," she 's tellin' me, "It 's de leetle red fox he mean!"

So me—I say not'ing, but watch de fun—- An' spotty dog smell aroun' Till dey start to yell, an' quick as a gun Ev'rywan 's yellin', "Foun'!" An' de way dey 're goin' across de fiel', De lady in front, before, Dunno, but I 'm willin' to bet good deal Somebody mus' be sore!

Over de fence dey 're jompin' now, Too busy for see de gate Stannin' wide open, an' den dey plough Along at a terrible rate; All for de small red fox, dey say, Only de leetle fox, You 're buyin' for five dollar any day, An' put heem on two-foot box.

I 'm foolish enough, but not lak dat— Never lak dat at all, Sam' as you see a crazy cat Tryin' to climb de wall; So I say to ma wife, I 'm satisfy On ev'ryt'ing I was see, But happy an' glad, until I die, I 'm not on Societee!

Losin' a day on de fall 's no joke, Dat 's w'at I 'm tellin' you, Jus' for de pleasure of see dem folk Dress up on de howdy do; So I 'm sorry you go to school, Larnin' de readin' dere— Could do it mese'f, an' play de fool, If money I got to spare.

But potatoes a dollar a bag, An' easy to sell de load, Watchin' de houn' to see heem wag Hees tail, on de Bord a Plouffe road Foolin' away w'en de market 's good For seein' Societee Chasin' de leetle fox t'roo de wood Wit' crazy folk!—no siree!

THE END