Part 4

When Father Ranney left the States, In Canada to try the fates, He settled down in Dereham, Then no dairyman lived near him; He was the first there to squeeze His cows' milk into good cheese, And at each Provincial show His famed cheese was all the go.

Then long life to Father Ranney May he wealth and honour gain aye.

He always took the first prize Both for quality and size, But many of his neighbors Now profit by his labors, And the ladies dress in silk From the proceeds of the milk, But those who buy their butter, How dear it is, they mutter.

Then long life to Father Ranney, May he his health retain aye.

The farmers can not be beat, They have both cheese and their wheat, Though now their greatest care is For to watch o'er their dairies, They carefully fill their mows With provender for their cows, And they thus enrich the soil With much profit for their toil.

We will sing this refrain aye, Long life to Father Ranney.

The motto "union is strength" Is carried out at length, In the most compact array At every cheese factory, You'll see without going far as There is one kept by Harris, The factory of Ingersoll, Just out at the first toll.

May he never suffer pain aye, The Father of cheesemen Ranney.

Or you may go all the way To see one kept by Galloway, And out in the Norwiches Dairymen are making riches, And honor has been won By Harvey Farrington, The same path is trodden By folks about Culloden.

May his strength never wane aye, The great dairyman Ranney.

And of late we saw some Very good cheese from Lawson, All around Mt. Elgin Dairymen have well done, And out in East Nissouri They make some scores a day, From Jarvis and Elliott Some good cheese are bought.

And we will all remain aye, Indebted to Father Ranney.

Now we close this glorious theme, This song of curds and rich cream, You can buy your hoops and screws, And all supplies for dairy use, Milk cans and vats, all things like these, In Ingersoll great mart for cheese, Here buyers all do congregate And pay for cheese the highest rate.

So we call on you again aye, To honor Father Ranney.

ODE ON THE MAMMOTH CHEESE.

Weight over seven thousand pounds.

We have seen thee, queen of cheese, Lying quietly at your ease, Gently fanned by evening breeze, Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go To the great Provincial show, To be admired by many a beau In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees, Or as the leaves upon the trees, It did require to make thee please, And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.

May you not receive a scar as We have heard that Mr. Harris Intends to send you off as far as The great world's show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these, For some of them might rudely squeeze And bite your cheek, then songs or glees We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon, You'd cast a shade even at noon, Folks would think it was the moon About to fall and crush them soon.

LINES READ AT A DAIRYMEN'S SUPPER.

It almost now seems all in vain For to expect high price for grain, Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil On the banks of mighty Nile.

And where the Ganges it doth flow, In India fine wheat doth grow, And price of labor is so cheap That it they can successful reap.

Then let the farmers justly prize The cows for land they fertilize, And let us all with songs and glees Invoke success into the cheese.

HINTS TO CHEESE MAKERS.

All those who quality do prize Must study color, taste and size, And keep their dishes clean and sweet, And all things round their factories neat, For dairymen insist that these Are all important points in cheese.

Grant has here a famous work Devoted to the cure of pork, For dairymen find it doth pay To fatten pigs upon the whey, For there is money raising grease As well as in the making cheese.

ENSILAGE.

The farmers now should all adorn A few fields with sweet southern corn, It is luscious, thick and tall, The beauty of the fields in fall.

For it doth make best ensilage, For those in dairying engage, It makes the milk in streams to flow, Where dairymen have a good silo.

The cow is a happy rover O'er the fields of blooming clover, Of it she is a fond lover, And it makes milk pails run over.

FERTILE LANDS AND MAMMOTH CHEESE.

In barren district you may meet Small fertile spot doth grow fine wheat, There you may find the choicest fruits, And great, round, smooth and solid roots.

But in conditions such as these You cannot make a mammoth cheese, Which will weigh eight thousand pounds, But where large fertile farms abounds.

Big cheese is synonymous name, With fertile district of the Thame, Here dairy system's understood, And they are made both large and good.

LINES READ AT A DAIRYMAIDS' SOCIAL, 1887.

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids.

Throughout the world they do extol The fame of our town Ingersoll, The capital of dairyland, To-night it seems like fairy land, The youth and beauty here arrayed, So sweet and neat each dairymaid.

And worthy of a poet's theme, Sweet and smooth flows milk and cream, For song or glee what is fitter In this land of cheese and butter, But no young man should be afraid To court a pretty dairymaid.

And far abroad he should not roam But find a charmer here at home, Find some one now your heart to cheer, Thus celebrate the jubilee year, Remember long this ladies' aid And each bewitching dairymaid.

Lines Read at a Parsonage Opening at the Village where Ranney had once flourished, 1883.

Some do boast of their pedigrees, But Salford's parent of the cheese, Ranney, industrious and wise, Here started this great enterprise.

He did work on the dairy plan, While Farrington was factoryman, Both of these men it well did please To hear of progress making cheese.

The farmers are in cheerful mood, For harvest all it has been good, And all the grain was sown this spring An abundant yield will bring.

And you can scarcely stow away The yield of barley, oats and hay, Such pasture it is seldom seen, E'en now it is so fresh and green.

This beauteous colour nature decks, While it insures you large milk cheques, And certes you've much cause to praise, For hogs and cattle that you raise.

OXFORD CHEESE ODE.

The ancient poets ne'er did dream That Canada was land of cream, They ne'er imagined it could flow In this cold land of ice and snow, Where everything did solid freeze, They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.

A few years since our Oxford farms Were nearly robbed of all their charms, O'er cropped the weary land grew poor And nearly barren as a moor, But now their owners live at ease Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.

And since they justly treat the soil, Are well rewarded for their toil, The land enriched by goodly cows Yields plenty now to fill their mows, Both wheat and barley, oats and peas, But still their greatest boast is cheese.

And you must careful fill your mows With good provender for your cows, And in the winter keep them warm, Protect them safe all time from harm, For cows do dearly love their ease, Which doth insure best grade of cheese.

To us it is a glorious theme To sing of milk and curds and cream, Were it collected it could float On its bosom, small steam boat, Cows numerous as swarm of bees Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

To prove the wealth that here abounds, One cheese weighed eight thousand pounds, Had it been hung in air at noon Folks would have thought it was the moon, It sailed with triumph o'er the seas, 'Twas hailed with welcome, queen of cheese.

WINDMILLS AND STONE STABLES.

Cows suffered in the days of old For want of water and from cold, Now of good water they have fill For it is pumped by the windmill.

No matter how well cows were fed They suffered cold in their board shed, But good stone walls now them enfold, And they are warm and safe from cold.

Now they do enjoy their fodder, And repay with their full udder, If bran slops you on cow bestow Of milk it will increase the flow.

And in your efforts do not halt But let them daily lick the salt, And never let the dogs them chase, But let them walk at their quiet pace.

DAIRY ODES.

The sweet milkmaid of early days Her own household she ably sways, And her daughters now milk the cows, And her sons they now guide the plows.

These pleasing changes on a farm Doth give to rural life a charm, Let occupation none upbraid, But honor plowman and milkmaid.

For Burns with glory did endow And wove a garland round the plow, The source from which all wealth doth spring And happiness to all doth bring.

Our muse it doth refuse to sing Of cheese made early in the spring, When cows give milk from spring fodder You cannot make a good cheddar.

The quality is often vile Of cheese that is made in April, Therefore we think for that reason You should make later in the season.

Cheese making now you should delay Until about the first of May. Then cows do feed on grassy field And rich milk they abundant yield.

Ontario cannot compete With the Northwest in raising wheat, For cheaper there they it can grow So price in future may be low.

Though this a hardship it may seem, Rejoice that you have got the cream, In this land of milk and honey, Where dairy farmers do make money.

Utensils must be clean and sweet, So cheese with first class can compete, And daily polish up milk pans, Take pains with vats and with milk cans.

And it is important matter To allow no stagnant water, But water from pure well or stream The cow must drink to give pure cream.

Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair With breeds from the shire of Ayr, They thrive on our Canadian feed And are for milking splendid breed.

Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter, Yet spring milk also makes bad butter, Then there doth arise the query How utilize it in the dairy:

The milk it floats in great spring flood Though it is not so rich and good, Let us be thankful for this stream Of milk and also curds and cream.

All dairymen their highest aims Should be to make the vale of Thames, Where milk doth so abundant flow, Dairyland of Ontario.

CHEESE CURD FOR BAIT.

The following adventure was participated in by Mr. J. Podmore and Mr. W. D. Grant at Matheson's Cold Spring Cheese Factory in Zorra, 1888.

Cheese buyers in hours of leisure Combine business with pleasure, And when they wish to go abroad They take their gun and fishing rod.

This tale is true we pledge our word, They baited hook with a piece of curd, And let the rod hang from the boat, While curd and hook on pond did float.

And then they start for sport and fun, To try their luck with the shot gun, And quick they raised from their cover, Then brought low eight brace of plover.

Now to the pond they do return, But loss of rod they have to mourn, They see it rushing through the water, And wonder what can be the matter.

But the courage of young Grant, It did not for a moment daunt, Though rod it now is far beyond, He plunged into deep, cold spring pond.

And seized his rod and then drew out A beauteous seven pound trout, Which had grown from the seed From spawn of California breed.

And Californian in its greed, On the sweet curd wished to feed; But, alas, for it's sad fate, It swallowed hook along with bait.

CANADIAN SKETCHES.

THANKSGIVING ODE, NOVEMBER 15TH, 1888.

September came and with it frost The season's pasture it seemed lost, And the wondrous yield of corn Of its green beauty it was shorn.

Frost it came like early robber, But gentle rains came in October, Which were absorbed by grateful soil; With green once more the pastures smile.

And cows again are happy seen Enjoying of the pastures green, And flow of milk again they yield From the sweet feed of grassy field.

And we have now a fine November, Warmer far than in September; The apple, which is queen of fruits, Was a good crop and so is roots.

The rains they did replenish springs, And it gratitude to each heart brings, When we reflect on bounteous season, For grateful feelings all have reason.

AGRICULTURAL IMPLEMENTS.

Poor laborers they did sad bewail, When the machine displaced the flail, There's little work now with the hoes. Since cultivators weed the rows.

Labor it became more fickle, When the scythe took place of sickle, Labor still it did sink lower, By introduction of mower.

And the work was done much cheaper When they added on the reaper, Another machine to it they join, Mower, reaper, binder, all combine.

Machines now load and stow away, Both the barley and the hay, And the farmers do get richer With the loader and the pitcher.

There's very few men now hand sows, No more broad cast the grain it grows, They sow and rake by the machine, Hand labor is 'mong the things have been.

Armed with scythes the old war chariot, Cut men down in the fierce war riot, Round farmers' chariot fall the slain, But 'tis the sheaves of golden grain.

WHEN TO SELL GRAIN AND FARM PRODUCE.

Grain it should be sold in the fall Even if the price it should be small, For if you keep it till the spring Sometimes a less price it doth bring.

For grain with whole world doth compete, You cannot raise the price of wheat, Then at once you should embark it On its way to world's market.

We hope our views you don't despise, For grain doth shrink in weight and size, If you sell wheat you can get gold, Retain it, damp may make it mould.

Remember too that of your wheat The rats of it will fondly eat, Sell it and money then invest, And you can get good interest.

The same remarks apply to cheese, It shrinks and frosts make it to freeze, Then careful man you have to hire At great expense to keep up fire.

If you your produce quick do move, The business soon it will improve, And then mankind will you bless For alleviating their distress.

And it pays best to sell each pig, Plump and young, not old, fat and big, Young and tender now's the vogue Either in cattle or in hog.

FOUR ACRE FARM.

This is a tale, but it is truth, Of maiden lady named Ruth, She owned a small four acre farm, Which possessed some rural charm.

This maiden she was past her youth, But none e're fell in love with Ruth, Though you must not infer from thence That she possessed not grace nor sense.

She was handsome in her day, But beauty quickly fades away, Good vegetables and fine roots She growed and choicest kind of fruits.

And a first-class good milch cow She kept, and a fine breeding sow, Her butter high price did command, Cow fed on best of pasture land.

On it was pond where swam her geese, From small flock of sheep she sheared fleece, And thus she passed year after year, Her cares they kept her in good cheer.

Each year she raised large chicken brood, And for them she grew lots of food, In winter time it was her rule To knit and spin up her own wool.

And thus her uneventful life Doth pass without jar or strife, 'Tis seldom she e're feels alarm, But quietly tills her little farm.

To plow her little fields of course She does require to drive her horse, This little pony looks quite smart Drawing old maid in little cart.

HARVEST HOME FESTIVAL.

In summer time it doth seem good To seek the shade of the green wood, For it doth banish all our care When we gaze on scene so fair.

And birds do here in branches sing So merrily in early spring, And lovingly they here do pair Their mutual joys together share.

Here nature's charming, never rude, Inspiring all with happy mood, Tables had choice fruits of season, And we too had feast of reason.

To dinner table all did march Through evergreen triumphal arch, On top the Union Jack it floats, On each side sheaves of wheat and oats.

Great pumpkins and big ears of corn, They do this rural arch adorn, We are reminded now 'tis fall, And boys enjoy game of baseball.

With joy at night each one did gaze At the mighty bonfire's blaze, The tree leaves shone like silver bright, The lanterns too were pleasing sight.

CORNER STONE LAYING.

The following lines were read at the festival after the stone had been laid by Grand Master Col. Moffat, of a church on the Culloden road, with Masonic honors.

In this quiet spot this day of June, Which will not be forgotten soon, For when your little church on hill You overflowingly did fill, You then resolved there should arise Church worthy of your enterprise, You've laid foundation broad and deep, And showers of blessings may you reap.

Craft of King Hiram and Saint John Have come to lay the corner stone, At the call of our Grand Master Who was invited by your pastor, With silver trowel all so fair He laid foundation on the square, May you be blessed with Christian love, And we all meet in Lodge above.

LINES ON METHODIST UNION, SEPTEMBER, 1883.

A pleasing sight to-day we see, Four churches joined in harmony, There difference was but trivial, But strove each other to outrival. In friendship now they do unite, And Satan only they do fight, And they'll plant churches in North West, Where they can serve the Lord the best.

CREDIT VALLEY TRIP.

The Credit Valley Railway Company having placed a car at the service of the council we were kindly invited to accompany them to Toronto.

Whene'er we take a tour abroad We love to travel o'er new road, Where scenery to us is new And landscape pleasing to the view, When invited for to rally And take a trip on Credit Valley, We resolved for to afford A day with Council and School Board, For to view the rural charms Of hills and dales and fertile farms, With joy we saw the sunbeams gleam On Grand River beauteous stream, And those perpendicular walls Of rock, like old baronial halls, We saw the great lake ebb and flow, And queen city of Ontario, While some enjoyed the genial smile Of Hanlon on his lake girt isle, Returning home each one exclaims "Happiest spot is banks of Thames."

EAGLE AND SALMON.

Wilmot of fish culutre fame, To this tale he lends his name, A pair of eagles built their nest On a lofty pine tree's crest.

And therein they regular rear A brood of young year after year, One day he saw one leave its nest, When for food it was in quest.

It did wing its flight on high, And then on water cast its eye, When it quickly did discover A great salmon in the river.

Like lightning flash down it doth sweep And its talons it buries deep, In salmon of enormous size He trys to rise in air with prize.

But all in vain he quickly found He could not carry thirty pound, And had bit more than he could chew For in the air no more he flew.

Wilmot he did gaze with wonder At the spot where he went under, Resolved to know what was the matter He poled his boat o'er the water.

And he looked down and there he found That the eagle it was drowned, And its wings in part outspread, But alas it was quite dead.

With grappling hook he drew him out, But attached to him was monster trout, Eagle could not extract his claws, And this the death of both did cause.

CAPTAIN'S ADVENTURE.

Three years ago my vessel lay In a port of Hudson Bay, I started off for the trading post, But on the way back I then got lost.

And the thought soon gave me the blues, Trudging along on my snow shoes, Over the wastes of drifting snow, While the wind it did fiercely blow.

I feared that I would be froze hard, For it was a fearful blizzard, I was growing faint and weary, Not the slightest hopes to cheer me.

Without compass to bearing, My yells were beyond crews' hearing, But at last to my loud halloo There came a mournful ho, ho.

From creature white I thought 'twas ghost, And that I was forever lost, I heard horrid creature flutter, As it those strange sounds did utter.

At last I found that all this howl Was from a noble large white owl, And a happy apparition, So runs the Indian tradition.

It guides the lost one in distress And leads him out of wilderness, This strange bird I soon follow, And it still kept up its halloo.

It seem'd that it cried to cheer me, I thought the ship was now near me, As I walked o'er the banks of snow I kept up a feeble halloo.

And but a little ways beyond From my own crew I got respond, With joy I was received by crew, So happy all at my rescue.

It must be that some gentle soul Did then inhabit that strange fowl, But O to me 'twas wondrous fair, For it thus saved me from despair.

The man's my foe who now doth growl At the strange sounds made by the owl, The sailors all they took delight To feed this bird so pure and white.

But soon the poor bird was o'erfed, Early one morn we found it dead, And my breast it heaved with sighs, And the tears poured from mine eyes.

But precious relic in glass case I oft gaze on its kindly face, And grateful memories it brings, When I behold its glorious wings.

To stuff such birds I knew the art On it I worked with my whole heart, To preserve each grace and feature Full of charms to me is creature.

INDIAN ROMANCE.

We know a hill is smooth and round, Where Indian relics may be found, This hill it hath a history, Though enveloped in mystery.

All the youth do fondly glory For to read an Indian story, This hill was ancient camping ground, In creek near by did trout abound.

And from hill top they caught a gleam Of the river's broader stream, They came in their birch bark canoes Into this place of rendezvous.

When States did Canada invade, Great Indian host was here arrayed, Here they rallied from near and far, In eighteen hundred and twelve war.

Chief big Wolfe led them on to war, And bade farewell to morning star, He wedded her one year before, And her he fondly did adore.

To him she never seemed so sweet, Her dress had beads worked o'er so neat, And her toilet to complete, Grand moccasins upon her feet.

Tribe marches and they boldly fight, Longside of Brock on Queenstown height, With glory they do return crowned, Into the hill so smooth and round.

Here big Wolfe drank much fire water, And it led to his own slaughter, His death alas did blast and mar, And dimmed the light of morning star.

CANADIAN HUNTER.

Of Kentucky's great hunter bold Old Daniel Boone oft tales are told, Of wild beasts he had no fear, But dangers loved that pioneer.