Lines On A Typewriter.

Having received a letter from a gentleman glorying in his typewriter we replied as follows:


        You glory in your typewriter,
            And its virtues you rehearse,
        But we prefer the old inditer,
            For to write either prose or verse.

        And let each man work his will,
            But never never do abuse
        The ancient and glorious quill
            From the wing of a fine old goose.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Province Of Ontario.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Ensilage.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

The Good Man.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Duck And Oyster.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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My Typewriter

I have a trim typewriter now,
They tell me none is better;
It makes a pleasing, rhythmic row,
And neat is every letter.
I tick out stories by machine,
Dig pars, and gags, and verses keen,
And lathe them off in manner slick.
It is so easy, and its quick.

And yet it falls short, Im afraid,
Of giving satisfaction,
This making literature by aid
Of scientific traction;
For often, I cant fail to see,
The dashed thing runs away with me.
It bolts, and do whateer I may
I cannot hold the runaway.

It is not fitted with a brake,
And endless are my verses,
Nor any yarn I start to make
Appropriately terse is.
Tis plain that this machine-made screed
Is fit but for machines to read;
So Wanted (as an iron censor)
A good, s...

Edward

Write On, Write On. A Ballad.

Air.--"Sleep on, sleep on, my Kathleen dear.
                    salvete, fratres Asini. ST. FRANCIS.


Write on, write on, ye Barons dear,
    Ye Dukes, write hard and fast;
The good we've sought for many a year
    Your quills will bring at last.
One letter more, Newcastle, pen,
    To match Lord Kenyon's two,
And more than Ireland's host of men,
    One brace of Peers will do.
                    Write on, write on, etc.

Sure never since the precious use
    Of pen and ink began,
Did letters writ by fools produce
    Such signal good to man.
While intellect, 'mong high and low,
    Is marching on, they say,
Give me the Dukes and Lords who go
Like crabs, the other way.
                    Writ...

Thomas Moore

Lines Written In A Mental Album.

Where each one expressed some sentiment.


        In this album you may trace,
        If not the lineaments of face,
        There at least you will find
        Photographs of the mind.

        Some in earnest some in fun,
        Some do lecture some do pun,
        Here the maiden and the youth,
        Each proclaim some precious truth.

        And there is here some fine pages,
        Written by maturer ages,
        Where they show that time is brief,
        That soon comes sere and yellow leaf.

James McIntyre

Lines For An Album

I would not trace the hackneyed phrase
Of shallow words and empty praise,
And prate of "peace" till one might think
My foolish pen was drunk with ink.
Nor will I here the wish express
Of "lasting love and happiness,"
And "cloudless skies" - for after all
"Into each life some rain must fall."
- No.    Keep the empty page below,
In my remembrance, white as snow -
Nor sigh to know the secret prayer
My spirit hand has written there.

James Whitcomb Riley

The Editor's Guests.

The Editor sat in his sanctum, his countenance furrowed with care,
His mind at the bottom of business, his feet at the top of a chair,
His chair-arm an elbow supporting, his right hand upholding his head,
His eyes on his dusty old table, with different documents spread:
There were thirty long pages from Howler, with underlined capitals topped,
And a short disquisition from Growler, requesting his newspaper stopped;
There were lyrics from Gusher, the poet, concerning sweet flow'rets and zephyrs,
And a stray gem from Plodder, the farmer, describing a couple of heifers;
There were billets from beautiful maidens, and bills from a grocer or two,
And his best leader hitched to a letter, which inquired if he wrote it, or who?
There were raptures of praises from writers of the weakly mellifluous s...

William McKendree Carleton

To The Typewriter

Here's to the Typewriter!
Health to her type!
Whether blond or brunette
Or budding or ripe.
If she be the right type
Be she buxom or slight,
When she doesn't type wrong
She is sure to typewrite.

Oliver Herford