By Trench and Trail in Song and Story Part 7

An' as sure I'm rebel as you' name is Trudel If it's not some improvement in movement nex' year."

Joe

"O, I know very well, ma cheval is poor breed, But for trav' lak de dev' he is very fine steed; It is true he is slim, but jus' look at his limb-- He is build lak de fly-machine--all for de speed!

"Yes, Marie, I agree dat ma rig is look tough, So I'll spik it to Ingram, or else to Ren Clough: I will horder cheval of de bes' in his stall, An' nex' trip you'll be queen of de May, sure enough."

Marie

"You' sarcast' is not ask it is soun' lak de clown, If you see you'se'f once as you look to de town You would pull in you' horn jus' as sure you are born, For you haven't got sense enough sure to go roun'.

"Yes, sir, ma dear Joe, you don't seem, for to know, On las' trip to de town you was mos' of de show: Wit' t'ree quart whiskey blanc dat you pour down you' craw-- O you bet you forget all 'bout 60 below!

"In Shalbrook on each trip you complain of de grippe, Dr. b.u.m is soon come wit' a "nip" on de hip: You get sick very quick jus' before de physic, But de cure is work sure after tak' de firs' nip.

"Las' tam you was in you begin de ol' trick, An' you' frien' soon atten' to tak' charge of de sick; Soon you smug' a beeg jug to de stall of you' plug-- But Marie' dat is me, an' cheval mak' a kick.

"O dat 2-gallon stein of de jolly highwine, In de provender mix, mak' a bully combine!

If it's good for a fool sure it's good for de mule, An' dat is as true as twice four it is nine.

"I am t'ink if you drink till you' loaded for wreck, I will geeve de ol' nag de sam' jag on de deck; So I pour a few peck of de stuff down his neck An' start in to smash record for trot in Kebec.

"Yes, I mix it de stuff, jus' de full of beeg pail-- Will he eat it or drink it? It's puzzle to tell: But he gobble an' gobbed an' he s...o...b..r and s...o...b..d Until nottings was lef' of de stuff but de smell!

"Bam by it was sly in de eye dat was dull, An' he sneeze an' he wheeze an' de halter he pull; Pretty soon he is grow to ac' jus' lak ma Joe-- Yes a man an' cheval is de sam' w'en its full!

"Come hop on de wagon, it's ready for flight; Load is leaving for Lampton, ol' Joseph sit tight.

Whoa, Boneyparte, whoa! An' Calamity Joe!

Kip still till you bid (hic) ol' Shalbrooke good night.

"An' de soun' of his feet as he dance on de street, Seem to me lak de play of de drum w'en she's beat; An' he rattle his bones on de pavement of stones Till it mak' me feel sure I am winning de heat!

"Wen we pa.s.s it pell mell thru' on ol' Lennoxvell, Peop' is t'ink dat de college is practice hees yell; I am know it's disgrace on such educate place-- But it mak' leetle differ to Joseph Trudel.

"For, more loud as before he is roar on de spot, Boneyparte is respon' an fly on lak de shot-- Frank Bogash is stan' still on de top of Sand Hill, An' say, 'glory to G.o.d, he can beat me for trot!'

"An' his tail in de win' is fly up wit'out bend, Jus' as straight lak de pole dat de trolley car send.

Yes, it stick up behin' lak de mos' of its kin', An' I'm t'ink dat de spark is fly out at de end!

"He is wheeze on de breeze till I'm 'fraid he will bus', An' ma Joe, de ol' fou, is yell 'Go it, you cuss!'

Jus' as soon as he yell Boney do as he tell, An' de city of Cooks.h.i.+re we leave in de dus'.

"It's rat here I got scare, an' declare to him 'Hi!

Can't you steady you nerves an' come down from de sky?'

But I fin' it's no use, for de dev' is seem loose, An' de more as I coax it de louder he cry!

"On de top of de slope w'ere dey bury de Pope I say, 'Joe, you go slow through dis precinct I hope.'

But he yell for protection--'Hoorah for 'lection, Free trade will be hang if it get some more rope!'

"An' I know rat away dat de dev' is to pay, W'en he cry to de sky in dat blood curdle way For John Henry arose, to meet frien' or de foes-- An' said, 'Ladies an' gentlemen, where's Laurier?'

"O, de stones on de graves is look white lak de sheep, An' de fear of ma scare mak' de hair on me creep W'en he lif' up his head, look aro'nd him an' said, 'There ain't nothin' to it,' an' went back for more sleep!

"Bam by I am get over de mos' of ma fright; I don' look to de lef, I don' look to de right.

But kip rat straight ahead for more place of de dead-- For ma pals stop for nottings but spirits tonight.

"An' de rat de tat tat of his iron shoe hoof Soun' lak hail in de gale dat is fall on de roof; An' de stone dat is pa.s.s, an' de dus' in ma face, Of de speed Boney mak' is one jolly good proof.

"An' at Bury, I guess, Joe is want me to res'

An' put down at de tavern of Peter Gilless; But I tole to him plain he was on de wrong train-- No way station stop for de lightning hexpress!

"Whoa! Boneyparte, whoa! W'at's de matter wit' you?

Can't you jus for one minute go little bit slow?

But he don't seem to min' any more as de win', An' pa.s.s out through de swamp w'ere de dam-beaver grow.

"Wen de Meadows we reach, lak de dev' he was hump, An' ol' Chimney de Hill he was climb in t'ree jump; All de Scotch on de road say 'de glory to G.o.d, It mus' sure be de ghost of ol' 'Caillach de fump!'

"At each place of de dead, I say 'Joe, prinnes garde, You kip still on dis hill, an' don' yellen so hard.'

But ma Joseph of course, jus' as crack as de horse Kip on yell to beat tell w'en he see de graveyard!

"At one place as we pa.s.s, I t'ink down de Black Eye, Sleep some dear pioneer--80 year since dey die: Here ol' Joe yell so loud for de clans in de shroud Some is jomp up to see w'at de dev' is pa.s.s by!

"An' jus' leettle way down, Boney stop in his track, An' he spy, an' he shy, an' he try to turn back; But Joe hit him a clip on de hip wit' de whip, An' somebodda in Scotch is yell 'Frangach a cack.'

"But Boney don' need it de crack of de switch, As he jomp through de stomp on de top of de ditch, Yellin' 'Caillach a rad cross! I am los', I am los'!'

An' was chase in de race by de wil' Lingwick witch!

"O de glory to Gordon! her look mak' me chill, As we shoot over reevers lak wisp-o'-de-will; An' den down to de mill, an' up over de hill, W'ere de capitol Gould ro'nd de scales is stan' still.

"But not so de chariot dat's pa.s.sin', you bet: Too much hurry to talk to de peop' dat we met-- It's no stop-over right on Joe's ticket tonight-- He is head on for Lampton an' don' you forget!

"Yes, ol' caillach de crossing is scare Joseph blind, An' I'm t'ink for a while it will help it--his mind-- O you bet he was 'fraid of dat sweet highland maid Who was squeal lak de deil on our heel jus' behind!

"We was gallop through Galson, till Tolsta approach, Near de line dat's dividing de French from de Scotch; Here ol' hag of de fright, scream to Joseph 'Good night!

On de witches of Winslow I mus' not encroach!'

"W'en Joe lose it de vision he's courage come back An' he ask w'at she mean by de 'Frangach is crack'; W'en I tole him he cry 'Dam Scotch haggis good bye!

De nex' tam dat I trav' I will kip from you track!'

"'Who is said I was 'fraid of de sick or de well?

I am not a bit scare of twin devils from Dell; Not one man of my day, but de beeg George MacRae Can lick one of de sides of me, Joseph Trudel!'

"Dat's de way dat you rave, an' behave, an' you boast On de night dat cheval an' his pal see de ghost: An' de tremens was goad you so much on de road I am wonder de load ever get to dis post.

"O, it's joy, for a wife, in dis worl' of de strife, To be shame of de game till it stab lak de knife; An' de peop' are all tell 'Dat's de mate of Trudel, Who is travel lak h.e.l.l on de jo'rney of life.