An Old Thanksgiving Ode by James McIntyre

For the weekend, Thanksgiving verse from James McIntyre, the poet who gave us 'Ode to the Mammoth Cheese'. This version, taken from Poems of James McIntyre, published in 1889 by the Ingersoll Chronicle, serves to remind that Canadian Thanksgiving was once celebrated in November. It was moved forward after the slaughter of the Great War and the recognition of Remembrance Day.

We Canadians have so much for which to be thankful.

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.

Related posts:

Jean Blewett's 'Thanksgiving Song'

Jean Blewett's 'Thanksgiving Prayer'

Edna Jaques' Award-Winning Thanksgiving Verse

Thanksgiving in the Midst of War
'October in War Time'

A Thanksgiving Hymn

Thanksgiving Day Advice

'Thanksgiving Morn'

An Expatriate Canadian Poet's New England Thanksgiving

for Canadian Thanksgiving

The Great Fire of Ingersoll Remembered

One hundred and forty years ago today – May 7, 1872 – the small Ontario town of Ingersoll lost Oxford Street, then its main commercial thoroughfare, to fire. Newspaper reports of the day record that flames were first spotted just before eight in the evening in the stables of the Royal Exchange Hotel.

The disaster inspired verse by townsmen James McIntyre, Cheese Poet and undertaker. He included "Great Fire in Ingersoll, May, 1872" in his 299-page Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889).

Though a nobler town did indeed rise, today the corner upon which the Royal Exchange Hotel once stood now serves as a parking lot used by folks visiting the Dollarama across the street.

'Burns' by James McIntyre, the Cheese Poet

The Robert Burns Memorial

Square Dorchester (né Dominion), Montreal

Photograph by Wally Gobetz

BURNS 

The following ode was read by the author at the Centennial Anniversary of Burns in the year 1859.

This night shall never be forgot
   For humble life none now despise,
Since Burns was born in lowly cot
   Whose muses wing soars to the skies. 

'Round Scotia's brow he wove a wreath
   And raised her name in classic story
A deathless fame he did bequeath,
   His country's pride, his country's glory. 

He sang her hills, he sang her dales,
   Of Bonnie Doon and Banks of Ayr,
Of death and Hornbook and such tales
   As Tam O'Shanter and his mare. 

He bravely taught that manly worth
   More precious is than finest gold,
He reckoned not on noble birth,
   But noble deeds alone extolled. 

Where will we find behind the plow
   Or in the harvest field at toil
Another youth, sweet bard, like thou,
   Could draw the tear or raise the smile. 

We do not think 'twas Burns' fault,
   For there were no teetotalers then,
That Willie brewed a peck of malt
   And Robin preed like other men. 

'Tis true he loved the lasses dear,
   But who for this would loudly blame,
For Scotia's maids his heart did cheer
   And love is a true heavenly flame. 

So here we've met in distant land
   Poor honest Robin to extol,
Though oft we differ let us stand
   United now in Ingersoll.

From Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889) 

Victoria Day Poetry Disaster

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

Returning to James McIntyre – for the final time, I think – this poem inspired by the 1881 capsizing of the Victoria. The horrific event took place 129 years ago today, by sad coincidence Victoria Day, on Canada's River Thames, just outside London, Ontario. It remains one of the country's greatest maritime disasters, and like so any of the others was entirely avoidable. One likes to think that with current regulations such a thing could not happen. Perhaps. But on 24 May 1881, no law prevented a poorly-designed paddle-wheeler from accepting 600 passengers, 200 more than capacity. The captain, Donald Rankin, seemed able; he recognized the vessel was in trouble. His attempt to beach the Victoria was thwarted by a race that had begun by two members of the London City Rowing Club. Enthusiastic spectators rushed starboard to watch, the boiler rolled off its mount, the upper deck collapsed and hundreds of passengers were thrown in the river.

All took place within 30 metres of shore, yet at least 182 people died – infants and children who couldn't swim, ladies who were pulled to the riverbed by their long, heavy dresses.

The loss of life approached one percent of the population of London.

It was Victoria's 62nd birthday. She sent her condolences.

Related posts:

A Civil Servant's Awful Victoria Day Poem

Queen Victoria and He

Verse for Victoria Day by the Master of All Poets

Cheery Victoria Day Verse from the Cheese Poet

'Away to Canada' – A Song for Victoria Day

'Poetry to us is given'

James McIntyre's obituary in the the Globe of 2 April 1906, two days after his death. Not a word about his verse.

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

James McIntyre's Fair Thames

The end of National Poetry Month approaches, and with it the stragglers in the parade of things McIntyre. I suppose he'll always be remembered as "The Cheese Poet"... a bit unfair, but as noted at the start of the month, the poet brought this on himself. Certainly, the couplet feaured on the title page of his 1889 Poems of James McIntyre didn't help:

"Fair Canada is our Theme,

Land of rich cheese, milk and cream."

The dairy does distract, but McIntyre is honest in writing that his theme is Canada. "Canada Before Confederation", "Canada's Future" and "Birth of Canada as a Nation" kick things off, leading to poems about maple sugar, the railway, the North-West Rebellion and a tribute to politicians, living and dead.


The centrepiece of this self-published collection is not McIntyre's seventeen "Dairy and Cheese Odes", but "Sketches on the Banks of the Canadian Thames". Twelve poems in all, they deal with the river that McIntyre calls the "Happiest spot". It's the same body of water that in April 1891, two years after publication, overflowed its banks and quite literally carried away his livelihood.

He never published another book.

The vale of the Thames, St Marys, Ontario

Before Apple, Before the Bic Banana

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

Here's to Robert Gourlay!

Three or so years ago, I happened upon a newly installed bust of Robert Gourlay in Toronto's St. James Park. It was a pleasant surprise; we have so few of these sorts of things in Canada. Gourlay, being very much a forgotten figure, I suppose it was felt that something of an introduction was warranted. The pedestal reads: "Banished from Upper Canada in 1819 on false charges of sedition brought by the Family Compact. His writings had an impact on events leading to the 1837 rebellion." True enough, though Gourlay would be the first to add that he condemned that rebellion; indeed, he fought against it by sending Lieutenant-Governor Francis Bond Head intelligence on rebel activity south of the border.

It's simply not possible to reduce such a complex and confusing life to a couple of sentences – and I'm sure not going to try it here. The best account of Gourlay's life, written by S.F. Wise for The Dictionary of Canadian Biography, is recommended reading, if only for the description of the "darling system" (which proponents of electoral reform are encouraged to study).

When James McIntyre met this frustrated man, Gourlay was an octogenerian. Newly married to a 28-year-old bride, he was attempting one last time to gain some small amount of influence in a run for parliament. McIntyre reports his sad defeat.

In The Four Jameses, William Arthur Deacon treats the poet rather unfairly, writing that Gourlay "returned to Canada in 1856; and contested the Oxford seat in 1860, not in 1858 as McIntyre asserts." In fact, McIntyre is correct, though he does misspell Gourlay's surname – an obvious error that appears to have escaped the critic's notice.

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

Drowning by the Dock of the Bay

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

It seems they were forever fishing bodies out of Toronto Bay in the 19th century. Here's a small sad story from the 29 June 1886 New York Times in which authorities dragging the bay for one man found another.

The next day the paper used the the very same headline in reporting the death of a third man.

James McIntyre's young Montrealer of genteel form and dress may have been Henry Jaques, eldest son of Great Lakes shipping magnate G.E. Jaques, whose body was found floating in the harbour in May of 1873. Though initial reports drew attention to head and facial wounds as evidence of foul play, a coroner's jury found otherwise. According to the 28 May 1873 Montreal Daily Witness, his "features were much swollen and discolored from immersion in water", not as "the result of violence." Blame was instead placed upon the dangerous state of Toronto's Hamilton Wharf, from which, it was presumed, Jaques fell.

Nineteenth-Century Logrolling

In this hectic week it took me three days to realize that Thomas Conant's cautious praise of James McIntyre was part of an exchange of mutual admiration that began with this awkward verse:

Though the date these lines were sent is unrecorded, we know it must have been before they appeared in Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889). Conant was a frequent contributor to the Globe, and did indeed "give fine sketch of bird and fowl", but his masterpiece, Upper Canada Sketches (Toronto: Briggs, 1898), dealt with much more than ornithology. An entertaining blend of nature writing and history, it gives the Conant family a bit more weight than might be their due. That said, it is worth mentioning that Thomas' namesake, his grandfather, was one of the four people killed during the Upper Canada Rebellion.

The scene was imagined by Edward Scrope Shrapnel.

The artist contributed twenty-six paintings to Upper Canada Sketches, making it one of the most attractive books to come out of nineteenth-century Canada.

The Verse Inside

Newspaper editor John Stephen Willison was an admirer of James McIntyre, which may explain the position of the poet's name above those of Alexander Charles Stewart, Bliss Carman and Charles Sangster in the 23 December 1893 edition of the Globe. What follows is a brief overview of "real Canadian poets" by critic Thomas Conant. All is quite polite. Of McIntyre, Conant cautions:

The great majority of his fellow poets will, I suppose, be disposed to pass him over in silence because he is deficient in grammar and early elementary education. No doubt he has written some lines which would have been better never to have seen the light, and doggerel, I am afraid, they must be termed. Yes, and so have the best of his fellows of the muse done the same to some extent! Not that I mean to be at all ungenerous, but only just to Mr. McIntyre: for he has really the verse in him, and gives us some here and again quite worth while.

The critic is selective in quoting McIntyre's verse, drawing lines from "Prologue to South Ontario Sketches" and "Province of Ontario". I take the same liberty in presenting the first 28 of the latter:

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

"This is certainly from the pen of a man who loves Ontario," observes Conant.

Those in need will find an antidote in "The Flight" by McIntyre's contemporary Susie Frances Harrison, otherwise known as "Seranus":

S. Frances Harrison. Pine, Rose and Fleur de Lis (Toronto: Hart, 1891)

A Poetic Argument for Gun Control

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

Nablo in Paperback

Not much more to say about the elusive Nablo, though these paperback covers of The Long November are worthy of mention. The first, published by News Stand Library in 1948, juxtaposes a "Vigorous, lusty; a tale of passion and virile drive" with "AN R.C.A.F. VETERAN'S SENSATIONAL NEW NOVEL", as if to say: "Before you label this as smut, the publisher would like to point out that this novel was written by one of our heroic servicemen."

The artwork is a touch better than most News Stand Library covers, but makes the whole thing look like some light-hearted, mildly risqué romp. And where in Canada do leaves begin falling in November?

News Stand Library's second cover, from 1949, isn't a whole lot better. Does it not look like Steffie Gibson is drowning? Poor little rich girl, caught in a whirlpool with tiny autumnal leaves floating above her beautiful visage.

Predictably, the finest of the lot belongs to the 1952 Signet edition. "Too Many Women - Too Little Time" might not be the most original of pitches, but the cover captures the novel's dark mood and does depict an actual scene.

This last beat-up cover was rescued a couple of decades back from a store's 25¢ bin. It was being rained on and, I'm betting, was within an hour or two of being tossed. Appropriate then, that today's James McIntyre poem was inspired by a neglected book happened upon while out for a stroll, its pages "scattered o'er the ground".

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

The volume concerned is The Posthumous Works of the Late George Menzies, Being a Collection of Poems, Sonnets, &c., &c., Written at Various Times When the Author was Connected with the Provincial Press. Published in 1850 by his widow, Harriet, it can't be bought for under two hundred dollars.

Related posts:

The Mysterious Mister Nablo

Nablo in Hollywood

Shorter Shelley

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

Bit of an Edward Gorey feel to it, don't you think?

James McIntyre had such a hard time with names. For instance, there's that tribute to Susanna Moodie, in which he not only messes up her surname, but refers to William Lyon Mackenzie as "McKenzie". Here, of course, "Shelly" is Shelley. Perhaps a good thing that McIntyre didn't include the full name – Percy seems safe, but Bysshe is tricky.

Wildly Wayward Walt Whitman

To Toronto this evening for the launch of my friend George Fetherling's third novel, Walt Whitman's Secret, at Ben McNally Books.

So... in anticipation of this joyous event, James McIntyre's verse about the Good Gray Poet:

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

D'Arcy McGee, All Compliment to Thee

James McIntyre's warm tribute to the great Thomas D'Arcy McGee, assassinated 142 years ago this morning.

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)

T.D. MCGEE.

Having been kindly invited as a member of the Mechanics' Institute some 25 years ago by the late Jeremiah O'Neill, Esq., to meet that gentleman in company of a number of our townsmen, when Mr. McGee was rising from the table the chair being new stuck to him and it being near a general election he very wittily remarked that he hoped the people of Montreal would be anxious to retain him in his seat as the people here are. We wrote the following lines at the time, the last verse was added afterwards.

D'Arcy McGee,

All compliment to thee,

The hope of the land

On your lecture so grand.

Though that is your forte,

Oh give us the sport

Of an hour of your chat,

Then we'll laugh and grow fat.

For none but the vile

Could 'ere cease to smile,

When near to thee

So brilliant and free.

Plant of green Erin's isle,

Long in Canadian soil,

May you take deep root

And bear much noble fruit.

Our hopes were in vain,

Alas he is slain,

By a crankish hand

The flower of the land.

Related posts:

'O Martyr'd McGee!'

D'Arcy McGee's Query (with a response)

A St. Patrick's Day Fragment

'IN MEMORIAM! The Hon. T.D. McGee'

A Poet's Angry Word With the Fenian Brotherhood

Funny He Never Married

Ingersoll's 1897 Fireman and Police Banquet. Hardly a woman in sight.

Today's James McIntyre poem is "Lines Addressed to an Old Bachelor". Here the twice married poet does his best to flog the idea of matrimony to one who does not care for female company.

Why not?

Do I read too much into the use of the word "wingle" – slang for penis?

Poems of James McIntyre (Ingersoll, ON: Chronicle, 1889)