Humour of the North — Poems
THE CORDUROY ROAD
De corduroy road go bompety bomp, De corduroy road go jompety jomp, An' he's takin' beeg chances upset hees load De horse dat'll trot on de corduroy road.
Of course it's purty rough, but it's handy t'ing enough, An' dey mak' it wit' de log all jine togeder W'en dey strek de swampy groun' w'ere de water hang aroun' Or passin' by some tough ole beaver medder.
But it's not macadamise, so if you're only wise You will tak' your tam an' never min' de worry, For de corduroy is bad, an' will mak' you plaintee mad By de way de buggy jomp, in case you hurry.
An' I'm sure you don't expec' leetle Victorine Leveque She was knowin' moche at all about dem places, 'Cos she's never dere before, till young Zepherin Madore He was takin' her away for see de races.
Oh, I wish you see her den!
dat's before she marry, w'en She's de fines' on de lan'; but no use talkin'.
I can bet you w'at you lak, if you meet her you look back Jus' to watch de fancy way dat girl is walkin'.
Yass, de leetle Victorine was de nices' girl between De town of Yamachiche an' Maskinongé, But she's stuck up an' she's proud, an' you'll never count de crowd Of de boy she geev it w'at dey call de congé.
Ah!
de moder spoil her, sure, for even to Joe D'Amour, W'en he's ready nearly ev'ry t'ing to geev her If she mak' de mariée, only say, "Please go away," An' he's riches' habitant along de reever.
Zepherin he try it too, an' he's workin' somet'ing new, For he's makin' de old woman many presen'-- Prize package on de train, umbrella for de rain-- But she's grompy all de tam, an' never pleasan'.
Wall, w'en he ax Ma-dame tak' de girl away dat tam See dem races on Sorel wit' all de trotter De moder say, "All right, if you bring her home to-night, Before de cow's milk, I let her go, ma daughter."
So Victorine she go wit' Zepherin her beau On de yankee buggy mak' it on St. Bruno, An' w'en dey pass hotel on de middle of Sorel Dey're puttin' on de beeges' style dat you know.
Wall!
dey got some good horse dere, but Zepherin don't care.
He's back it up, hees own paroisse, ba golly, An' he mak' it t'ree doll-arre w'en Maskinongé Star On de two mile heat was beating Sorel Molly.
Victorine don't min' at all, till de "free for all" dey call-- Dat's de las' race dey was run before de snow fly-- Den she say, "I t'ink de cow mus' be gettin home soon now An' you know it's only clock ole woman go by.
"An' if we're comin' late w'en de cow pass on de gate You'll be sorry if you hear de way she talk dere, So w'en I see de race on Sorel or any place Affer dis, you may be sure I got to walk dere."
Den he laugh, dat Zepherin, an' he say, "Your poor mama, I know de pile she t'ink about her daughter So we'll tak' de short road back on de corduroy race track;
Don't matter if we got to sweem de water."
No wonder he is smile till you hear heem half a mile, For dat morning he was tole hees leetle broder Let de cattle out de gate, so he know it's purty late By de tam dem cow was findin' out each oder.
So along de corduroy de young girl an' de boy Dey was kipin' up a joggin' nice an' steady.
It isn't heavy load, an' Guillaume he know de road For many tam he's been dat way already.
But de girl she fin' it slow, so she ax de boy to go Somet'ing better dan a mile on fifteen minute, An' he's touch heem up, Guillaume; so dat horse he lay for home, An' de nex' t'ing Victorine she know she's in it.
"Oh, pull him in," she yell, "for even on Sorel I am sure I never see de quicker racer," But it's leetle bit too late, for de horse is get hees gait An' de worse of all, ba gosh!
Guillaume's a pacer.
See hees tail upon de air, no wonder she was scare!
But she hang on lak de winter on T'ree Reever.
Cryin' out, "Please hol' me tight, or I'm comin' dead to-night, An' ma poor old moder dear, I got to leave her."
Wit' her arm aroun' hees wais'--she was doin' it in case She bus' her head, or keel herse'f, it's not so easy sayin'-- Dey was comin' on de jomp t'roo dat dam old beaver swamp An' meet de crowd is lookin' for dem cow was go a-strayin'.
Den she' cryin', Victorine, for she's knowin' w'at it mean-- De parish dey was talkin' firse chances dey be gettin'.
But no sooner dat young man stop de horse, he tak' her han' An' w'isper, "Never min', ma chère, won't do no good a-frettin'."
Non!
she isn't cryin' long, for he tole her it was wrong.
She's sure he save her life too, or she was moche mistaken, An' de ole Ma-dame Leveque also kiss heem on de neck An' quickly after dat, Hooraw!
de man an' wife dey're makin'.
DOMINIQUE
You dunno ma leetle boy Dominique?
Never see heem runnin' roun' about de place?
'Cos I want to get advice how to kip heem lookin' nice, So he won't be alway dirty on de face.
Now dat leetle boy of mine, Dominique, If you wash heem an' you sen' heem off to school, But instead of goin' dere, he was playin' fox an hare-- Can you tell me how to stop de leetle fool?
"I'd tak' dat leetle feller Dominique, An' I'd put heem on de cellar ev'ry day, An' for workin' out a cure bread an' water's very sure, You can bet he mak' de promise not to play!"
Dat's very well to say, but ma leetle Dominique W'en de jacket we put on heem's only new, An' he's goin' travel roun' on de medder up an' down, Wit' de strawberry on hees pocket runnin' t'roo, An' w'en he climb de fence, see de hole upon hees pant, No wonder hees poor moder's feelin' mad!
So if you ketch heem den, w'at you want to do, ma frien'?
Tell me quickly an' before he get too bad.
"I'd lick your leetle boy Dominique, I'd lick heem till he's crying purty hard, An' for fear he's gettin' spile, I'd geev' heem castor ile, An' I wouldn't let heem play outside de yard."
If you see ma leetle boy Dominique Hangin' on to poor ole "Billy" by de tail, W'en dat horse is feelin' gay, lak I see heem yesterday, I suppose you t'ink he's safer on de jail?
W'en I'm lightin' up de pipe on de evenin' affer work, An' de powder dat young rascal's puttin' in, It was makin' such a pouf, nearly blow me t'roo de roof-- W'at's de way you got of showin' 'twas a sin?
"Wall!
I put heem on de jail right away, You may bet de wan is got de beeges' wall!
A honder foot or so, w'ere dey never let heem go, Non!
I wouldn't kip a boy lak dat at all."
Dat's good advice for sure, very good, On de cellar, bread an' water--it'll do, De nice sweet castor ile geev heem ev'ry leetle w'ile, An' de jail to finish up wit' w'en he's t'roo!
Ah!
ma frien', you never see Dominique W'en he's lyin' dere asleep upon de bed;
If you do, you say to me, "W'at an angel he mus' be, An' dere can't be not'ing bad upon hees head."
Many t'ank for your advice, an' it may be good for some, But de reason you was geev it isn't very hard to seek-- Yass!
it's easy seein' now, w'en de talk is over, how You dunno ma leetle boy Dominique.
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 driving home de cow He's tole me all de whole beez-nesse--jus' lak you hear me now.
"Wat'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 rich 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 Napoléon-- 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 Presbytère, 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;
Besides, 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, etc. , 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' meself Rivière du Loup, wan cole, cole winter day.
De quick express she come, horraw!
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 stickin' 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 just 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 wat'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 for leev on State, you must have Yankee nam'."
Den we invite heem come wit' us, "Hôtel du Canadaw," W'ere he was treat mos' ev'ry tam, but can't tak' w'iskey blanc.
He say sat'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, de be de boss man dere-- You bet he have beeg tam!
--but w'en de spring is come encore He's buy 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 contree?
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 "Hôtel du Canadaw."
An' he was glad for get de chance drink some good w'iskey blanc!
Dat's warm heem up, and den he eat mos' ev'ryt'ing he see;
I watch de w'ole beez-nesse mese'f--Monjee!
he was hongree!
Madame Charette, w'at's kip de place, get very much excite For see de many pork an' bean Bateese put out of sight-- Du pain doré--potato 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 old man spik.
"Bateese, you here for stay?"
Bateese, he's cry lak beeg bebé, "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 old man an' Bateese come off de Magasin Bateese is los' hees Yankee clothes--he's dress lak Canayen Wit' bottes sauvages--ceinture fléchée--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 Napoléon.
Kebeck, she's good enough for me--Hooraw!
pour Canadaw."
