Lines Read At A Maple Sugar Social, April, 1888.

        Our first Canadian job when boy,
        In the big woods we did enjoy,
        Large maple bush we then did tap
        And to camp carried maple sap.

        We stored it in great wooden trough,
        Then in big kettles sugared off,
        Though often it did try our mettle
        To keep up fire beneath each kettle.

        For it was a serious toil
        To cut the wood to kettles boil,
        To-night it is a pleasant joke,
        No trouble from the fire and smoke.

        Of old we thought our neck was broke
        By having on it a neckyoke,
        And on each side a heavy pail
        Suspended from the yoke by bail.

        We waded through the snow and slush
        And stumbled o'er the logs in bush,
        But no doubt the maple's sweeter
        Than any other thing in meter.

        Unless it is the lips of lass,
        Which maple sugar doth surpass,
        And may it be each young man's fate
        For to secure a charming mate.

        For birds will soon begin to sing
        And seek their mates in early spring,
        When found each pair do feel they're blest,
        When they have finished their warm nest.

        Let none at sugar making scoff,
        Webster was rocked in a sap trough;
        When boiling sap it is quite handy
        To pour some in snow to make candy.