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From The Wit and Humor of America, edited by Marshall P. Wilder, Volume IV, New York and London: Funk and Wagnalls and Company, 1911; pp. 774-778.




Dat’s very cole an’ stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W’en ev’ry wan he’s go couché, an’ dog was quiet, too —
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gour-
Was leevin’ on her fader’s place, Maxime de Forgeron.

Poor Dominique he’s lak dat girl, an’ love her mos’ de
An’ she was mak’ de promise — sure — some day she be his
But she have worse old fader dat’s never on de worl’,
Was swear onless he’s riche lak diable, no feller’s get hees

He’s mak’ it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat’s mebby nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she’s not
            de queen!
An’ w’en de young man’s come aroun’ for spark it on de
An’ hear de ole man swear “Bapteme!” he’s never come
            no more.

Young Dominique he’s sam’ de res, — was scare for ole
He don’t lak risk hese’f too moche for chances seein’
Dat’s only stormy night he came, so dark you can not see,
And dat’s de reason w’y also, he’s climb de gallerie.

De girl she’s waitin’ dere for heem — don’t care about de
So glad for see young Dominique he’s comin’ back again,
Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an’ mak de embrasser
An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominque is say —

“Good-by, dear Emmeline, good-by; I’m goin’ very soon,
For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon —
It’s all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,
He’s got no use for me at all — I see dat ev’ry day.

“He’s never meet me on de road but he is say, ‘Sapré!’
An’ if he ketch me on de house I’m scare he’s killin’ me,
So I mus’ lef’ ole St. Mathieu, for work on ’noder place,
An’ till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.”

Den Emmeline say “Dominique, ma love you’ll always be
An’ if you kiss me tow, t’ree tam I’ll not tole nobody —
But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he’s gettin’
            ole —
All sam’ he offen walk de house upon de stockin’ sole.

“Good-by, good-by cher Dominique! I know you will be
I don’t want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit’ you,”
Dat’s very quick he’s kiss her den, before de fader come,
But don’t get too moche pleasurement — so ’fraid de ole

Wall! jus’ about dey’re half way t’roo wit all dat love
Emmeline say, “Dominique, w’at for you’re scare lak all
            de res’?
Don’t see mese’f moche danger now de ole man come aroun’,”
W’en minute affer dat, dere’s noise, lak’ house she’s fallin’

Den Emmeline she holler “Fire! will no wan come for
An’ Dominique is jomp so high, near bus’ de gallerie, —
“Help! help! Right off,” somebody shout, “I’m killin’ on
            ma place,
It’s all de fault ma daughter, too, dat girl she’s ma dis-

He’s kip it up long tam lak dat, but not hard tellin’ now,
W’at’s all de noise upon de house — who’s kick heem up
            de row?
It seem Bonhomme was sneak aroun’ upon de stockin’
An’ firs’ t’ing den de ole man walk right t’roo de stove
            pipe hole.

W’en Dominique is see heem dere, wit’ wan leg hang be-
An’ ’noder leg straight out above, he’s glad for ketch
            heem so —
De ole man can’t do not’ing, den, but swear and ax for
Nobody tak’ heem out dat hole before he’s comin’ die.

Den Dominique he spik lak dis, “Mon cher M’sieur Gour-
I’m not riche city feller, me, I’m only habitant,
But I was love more I can told your daughter Emmeline,
An’ if I marry on dat girl, Bagosh! she’s lak de Queen.

“I want you mak de promise now, before it’s come too
An’ I mus’ tole you dis also, dere’s not moche tam for
Your foot she’s hangin’ down so low, I’m ’fraid she ketch
            de cole,
Wall! if you give me Emmeline, I pull you out de hole.”

Dat mak’ de ole man swear more hard he never swear be-
An’ wit’ de foot he’s got above, he’s kick it on de floor,
“Non, non,” he say “Sapré tonnerre! she never marry
An’ if you don’t look out you get de jail on St. Mathieu.”

“Correc’,” young Dominique is say, “mebbe de jail’s tight
But you got wan small corner, too, I see it on de face,
So if you don’t lak geev de girl on wan poor habitant,
Dat’s be mese’f, I say, Bonsoir, mon cher M’sieur Gour-

“Come back, come back,” Maxime is shout — “I promise
            you de girl,
I never seen no wan lak you — no never on de’ worl’!
It’s not de nice trick you was play on man dat’s getting’ ole,
But do jus’ w’at you lak, so long you pull me out de hole.”

“Hooraw! Hooraw!” Den Dominique is pull heem out
            tout suite
An’ Emmeline she’s helpin’ too for place heem on de feet,
An’ affer dat de ole man’s tak’ de young peep down de
Were he is go couché right off, an’ dey go on parloir.

Nex’ Sunday morning dey was call by M’sieur le Curé
Ge marry soon, an’ ole Maxime geev Emmeline away;
Den affer dat dey settle down lak habitant is do,
An’ have de mos’ fine familee on Village St. Mathieu.

 *  From “The Habitant and Other French Canadian Poems,” by William Henry Drummond. Copyright 1897 by G. P. Putnam’s Sons.

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