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This sketch is truer of the Quebec of last century than that of today. I am glad to hear that whisky blanc does not "cut the figure" in French festivities now that it did twenty years ago; and no one will rejoice more than Oscar Dhu to see the demon rum utterly destroyed in Canada ere many moons.

Yes, I sincerely hope that the day will soon dawn when the baneful influence of both De Kuyper and de Kaiser will be forever banished from my dear native province, queenly Quebec!

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I got notice some tam lately

Wrote in Yankee dialec',

Ask me Joe how I spen' Chris'mas

On de 10 range of Kebec;

But ba gosh I don' wrote nottings

Till de New Year pass along.

Chris'mas tam I dance an' fiddle,

Eat an' drink an' sing some song!

Yes ma frien' dis ol' man's happy,

Jus' lak' leetle lamb in May!

Ev'ry year I grow lak young one,

W'en it come to Chris'mas day!

Hip ho-orah! I feel lak dancin',

Play for Joe an' kip good tam,

I'm mos' happy man in Weedon,

On his shanty jus' de sam'.

Come Zavier and clear de room off,

An' one dance to you I'll show,

Dat I learn on Lampton Corners

More as t'irty year ago.

It's call cris-cross two-step, quick step,

Up an' down de center, too;

Right an' lef' and swing you' pardner,

Till de tack fly out her shoe!

Come I'll show you how to do it,

Tak' de one you love de bes',

Den you swing it ro'nd lak swirlwind

Or dat slyclone in de Wes'.

Whoop up gee' jus wash ma dances

An' hole Paul will kip good tam,

On dis side de Lac St. Francis

I can skung dem all de sam'.

T'ro' dat stool on top de corner,

Push dat cradle from de room,

Joe hee's got dis floor for shak' down

An' he'll swip it lak de broom.

Jomp up Jacque! and strak dat ceilin'

Till de dus' fall on you' head—

Come Lucinda! stop dat squealin'

Or we'll sen' you off to bed.

Dis is Chris'mas an' one good one—

Chris'mas come but once a year;

Ope dat stove an' t'row some hood on,

An' we'll have one, two, t'ree cheer!

Rig a gig a gig jus' wash ma moccasin

An' hole Paul you kip good tam!

Pass dat jug aro'nd de grog-is-in,

An we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram."

Pass it ro'nd de room ma Rosie

An' be sure you fill de glass;

Ma Joe sen' me twenty dollair

Jus' las' wick from Lowhell, Mass.

Ev'ry year he sen' me monay

And he sen' some ol' clothes too—

But dem duty charge me custom

Jus' de same lak it was new!

Shoo! dat dance has mak' me tire—

Rosie pass de pipe of clay—

Plenty more rat here in Weedon,

We're Pete Tanguay give it 'way.

Here's tobac dat's raise in Compton,

Tak' it too an' pass it ro'nd—

Plentay more way do'n at Lampton—

Jus' for twenty cent one po'nd.

Smoke ma frien' an' take it heasy,

Till de fiddler res' his bow—

Smudge dis room till it grow hazy,

Den we'll have one nodder go!

Rig-a-gig-gig jus' wash ma feet go,

Put some movemen' in dat tune;

If a man is want for beat Joe—

Mus' get up before its noon!

Oh ba gosh! de hole man's happy!

Wish you all feel sam' lak me.

Canada's de place spen' Chris'mas

Up at Weedon 'mong de tree!

I feel bad for Wilfrid Laurier,

An' for all de beeg Frenchman,

Who can nevair know henjoymen'

In dis worl' de sam's I can.

Troub' is all he gets for breakfas',

An' for dinnair too I guess—

Charlie Tupper's eat for supper—

An' hee's awful hard diges'!

Den de nightmare kick lak blazes,

W'en a leetle sleep dey foun'—

I can sleep me in dis shanty

Twice as fas' an' twice as soun'.

I don' henvey any rich man,

He can tak' ma house an' lan',

But he can't tak' ma henjoymen'

Lak de res' w'en hee's deman'.

Hee's live in one gran' beeg cassil—

All light up wit' 'letric lamp—

I am Joseph in dis shanty,

An' my shanty's in de swamp;

But ba gosh I'm far more happies

Den beeg man in house of stone—

Byemby he'll be lak Joseph—

Six feet land is all he'll own!

Come here Pierre ma troat's grow wheezy,

Pass de glassware roun' for change—

Wash ma Rosie, a'nt she daisy?

She's de bes' cook on de range.

Ev'ry year w'en it come Chris'mas,

Rosie geeve me lots to heat—

Pie an' stoughnut—cake an' cookie—

Bun an' two t'ree kin' of meat.

Ev'ryt'ing she's good for cook it,—

An' de pork she's good for fry,

She can flip dat bockwheat pancake

Lak de twinkle of you' eye!

Yes ba gosh! ma wife hee's good wan,

Nevair scold me w'en I'm sick:

An' she raise it twenty young wan

Nevair learn dat "Yankee trick"!

Plenty vote to swing de 'lection—

Twenty-two or twenty-three;

But I'm ask for no Protection

For my Infant Industry!

Dat's de cry I like, "all ready"!

Sopper's on de tab' at las'—

Girl an' boy fall in ma hearty—

Hungry fom de midnight Mass.

Come Joseph an' bring Louiser,—

Don' be squeeze her all night long—

Joe, I know is lak hee's fadder—

Jus' de sam' w'en I was young!

Now I'll pass de jug for luck, me,

Drink de he'lt' of frien' an' foe—

Plenty more at Dudswell Junction,

Ma frien' Gauthier tole me so.

Dis is firs' class liquidation,

Jus' one glass will pay de tax;

Two or tree will lif' de mortgage—

All de worl' is mine wit' six!

What's de use for feel downhearted?

Plenty life in barley juice;

Dat's w'at mak' dis ol' man happy—

But some tam it raise de duce.

Eat an' drink an' feel contentmen',

'Till de holiday pass by;

Den ol' Joe mus' tackle snow

An' chop de hood an' hew de tie.

I got credit from de storekeep—

Bean an' pork an' pea an' flour,

An' I promise pay in cordhood—

An' its tak' me many hour.

Scoonkin coat I got from Tanguay,

For to tak' me warm to church,

An' he tole me pay heem sometam',

W'en I haul de spruce an' birch.

Plenty work for Joe in winter—

Brak de road an' haul de hood,

But hole Joe hee's nevair worry—

Not so long hees he'lt' is good.

Dis is holiday at presen',

I won't cut me one dem stick

'Till I have ma Chris'mas hoorah,

An' it always las' a wick!

Den I'll say good bye to ol' year

An' w'en New Year come on deck,

I'll tole Yankee how ol' Joseph

Spen' his Chris'mas on Kebec.

Rig-a-gig-a-gig, jus' wash me moccasin,

An' ol' Paul will kip good tam;

Pass de jug aro'n' de grog is in

An' we'll have w'at Scotch call "dram."