MADELEINE VERCHERES ***




Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]



[Illustration: "O ma ole canoe, wat's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you
be so slow?"]




                       [Illustration: Title page]



                              Phil-o-rum's
                                 Canoe

                                  and

                               Madeleine
                               Vercheres



                              Two Poems by

                                William
                                 Henry
                                Drummond

                             Author of "The
                            Habitant," etc.



                             Illustrated by

                               Frederick
                                Simpson
                                 Coburn




                          G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                        The Knickerbocker Press
                                  1898




                            COPYRIGHT, 1898
                                   BY
                          G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
                  Entered at Stationers' Hall, London



                   The Knickerbocker Press, New York



[Illustration: headpiece]




                          PHIL-O-RUM'S CANOE.


    "O ma ole canoe, wat's matter wit' you,
      an' w'y was you be so slow?
    Don't I work hard enough on de paddle, an'
      still you don't seem to go--
    No win' at all on de fronte side, an' current
      she don't be strong,
    Den w'y are you lak' lazy feller, too sleepy for
      move along?

    "I'member de tam, w'en you jomp de sam'
      as deer wit' de wolf behin',
    An' brochet on de top de water, you scare
      heem mos' off hees min':
    But fish don't care for you now at all, only jus'
      mebbe wink de eye,
    For he know it's easy git out de way, w'en
      you was a-passin' by"----

    I'm spikin' dis way, jus' de oder day, w'en I'm
      out wit' de ole canoe
    Crossin' de point w'ere I see, las' fall, wan very
      beeg caribou,
    Wen somebody say, "Phil-o-rum, mon vieux,
      wat's matter wit' you youse'f?"
    An' who do you s'pose was talkin'?  W'y de
      poor ole canoe shese'f.

    O yass, I'm scare w'en I'm sittin' dere, an'
      she's callin' ma nam' dat way.
    "Phil-o-rum Juneau, w'y you spik so moche,
      you're off on de head to-day:
    Can't be you forget, ole feller, you an' me
      we're not too young,
    An' if I'm lookin' so ole lak' you, I t'ink I
      will close ma tongue.

    "You should feel ashame, for you're alway
      blame, w'en it isn't ma fault at all,
    For I'm tryin' to do bes' I can for you on
      summer-tam, spring, an' fall.
    How offen you drown on de reever, if I'm
      not lookin' out for you
    W'en you're takin' too moche on de w'isky,
      some night comin' down de Soo.

    "De firse tam we go on de Wessoneau, no
      feller can beat us den
    For you're purty strong man wit' de paddle,
      but dat's long ago, ma frien',
    An' win' she can blow off de mountain, an'
      tonder an' rain may come,
    But camp see us bote on de evening--you
      know dat was true, Phil-o-rum.

    "An' who's your horse, too, but your ole
      canoe, an' w'en you feel cole an' wet,
    Who was your house w'en I'm upside down,
      an' onder de roof you get,
    Wit' rain ronnin' down ma back, Bapteme! till
      I'm gettin' de rheumateez,
    An' I never say not'ing at all moi-meme, but
      let you do jus' you please?

    "You t'ink it was right, kip me out all night
      on reever side down below,
    An' even 'bon soir' you was never say, but
      off on de camp you go,
    Leffin' your poor ole canoe behin', lyin' dere
      on de groun',
    Watchin' de moon on de water, an' de bat
      flyin' all aroun'?

    "Oh, dat's lonesome t'ing hear de grey owl
      sing up on de beeg pine tree!
    An' many long night she kip me awake till sun
      on de Eas' I see,
    An' den you come down on de morning for
      start on some more voyage,
    An' only t'ing decen' you do all day, is carry
      me on portage.

    "Dat's way, Phil-o-rum, rheumateez she
      come, wit' pain ronnin' troo' ma side,
    Wan leetle hole here, 'noder beeg wan dere,
      dat not'ing can never hide,
    Don't do any good feex me up agen, no matter
      how moche you try,
    For w'en we come ole an' our work she's
      done, bote man an' canoe mus' die."

    Wall, she talk dat way mebbe mos' de day till
      we're passin' some beaver dam,
    An' wan de young beaver, he's mak' hees tail
      come down on de water Flam!
    I never see de canoe so scare, she jomp nearly
      two, t'ree feet,
    I t'ink she was goin' for ronne away, an' she
      shut up de mout' toute suite.

    It mak' me feel queer, de strange t'ing I hear,
      an' I'm glad she don't spik no more,
    But soon as we fin' ourse'f arrive over dere on
      de 'noder shore
    I tak' dat canoe lak' de lady, an' carry her off
      wit' me,
    For I'm sorry de way I'm treat her, an' she
      know more dan me, sapree!

    Yass, dat's smart canoe, an' I know it's true,
      w'at she's spikin' wit' me dat day,
    I'm not de young feller I use to be, w'en work
      she was only play,
    An' I know I was comin' closer on place w'ere
      I mus' tak' care,
    W'ere de mos' worse current's de las' wan too,
      de current of Dead Riviere.

    You can only steer, an' if rock be near, wit'
      wave dashin' all aroun',
    Better mak' leetle prayer, for on Dead Riviere,
      some very smart man get drown;
    But if you be locky an' watch youse'f, mebbe
      reever won't seem so wide,
    An' firse t'ing you know you 'll ronne ashore,
      safe on de 'noder side.



[Illustration: tailpiece]



[Illustration: headpiece]




                          MADELEINE VERCHERES.


    I've told you many a tale, my child, of the
      old heroic days,
    Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze
    With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the
      Mission of Trois Rivieres;
    But never have I told you yet of Madeleine Vercheres.

    Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily
      the robin sang,
    And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the
      woodman