But in conditions such as these You cannot make a mammoth cheese, Which will weigh eight thousand pounds, But where large fertile farms abounds.

Big cheese is synonymous name, With fertile district of the Thame, Here dairy system's understood, And they are made both large and good.

LINES READ AT A DAIRYMAIDS' SOCIAL, 1887.

Where the young lady waiters were dressed as dairymaids.

Throughout the world they do extol The fame of our town Ingersoll, The capital of dairyland, To-night it seems like fairy land, The youth and beauty here arrayed, So sweet and neat each dairymaid.

And worthy of a poet's theme, Sweet and smooth flows milk and cream, For song or glee what is fitter In this land of cheese and b.u.t.ter, But no young man should be afraid To court a pretty dairymaid.

And far abroad he should not roam But find a charmer here at home, Find some one now your heart to cheer, Thus celebrate the jubilee year, Remember long this ladies' aid And each bewitching dairymaid.

Lines Read at a Parsonage Opening at the Village where Ranney had once flourished, 1883.

Some do boast of their pedigrees, But Salford's parent of the cheese, Ranney, industrious and wise, Here started this great enterprise.

He did work on the dairy plan, While Farrington was factoryman, Both of these men it well did please To hear of progress making cheese.

The farmers are in cheerful mood, For harvest all it has been good, And all the grain was sown this spring An abundant yield will bring.

And you can scarcely stow away The yield of barley, oats and hay, Such pasture it is seldom seen, E'en now it is so fresh and green.

This beauteous colour nature decks, While it insures you large milk cheques, And certes you've much cause to praise, For hogs and cattle that you raise.

OXFORD CHEESE ODE.

The ancient poets ne'er did dream That Canada was land of cream, They ne'er imagined it could flow In this cold land of ice and snow, Where everything did solid freeze, They ne'er hoped or looked for cheese.

A few years since our Oxford farms Were nearly robbed of all their charms, O'er cropped the weary land grew poor And nearly barren as a moor, But now their owners live at ease Rejoicing in their crop of cheese.

And since they justly treat the soil, Are well rewarded for their toil, The land enriched by goodly cows Yields plenty now to fill their mows, Both wheat and barley, oats and peas, But still their greatest boast is cheese.

And you must careful fill your mows With good provender for your cows, And in the winter keep them warm, Protect them safe all time from harm, For cows do dearly love their ease, Which doth insure best grade of cheese.

To us it is a glorious theme To sing of milk and curds and cream, Were it collected it could float On its bosom, small steam boat, Cows numerous as swarm of bees Are milked in Oxford to make cheese.

To prove the wealth that here abounds, One cheese weighed eight thousand pounds, Had it been hung in air at noon Folks would have thought it was the moon, It sailed with triumph o'er the seas, 'Twas hailed with welcome, queen of cheese.

WINDMILLS AND STONE STABLES.

Cows suffered in the days of old For want of water and from cold, Now of good water they have fill For it is pumped by the windmill.

No matter how well cows were fed They suffered cold in their board shed, But good stone walls now them enfold, And they are warm and safe from cold.

Now they do enjoy their fodder, And repay with their full udder, If bran slops you on cow bestow Of milk it will increase the flow.

And in your efforts do not halt But let them daily lick the salt, And never let the dogs them chase, But let them walk at their quiet pace.

DAIRY ODES.

The sweet milkmaid of early days Her own household she ably sways, And her daughters now milk the cows, And her sons they now guide the plows.

These pleasing changes on a farm Doth give to rural life a charm, Let occupation none upbraid, But honor plowman and milkmaid.

For Burns with glory did endow And wove a garland round the plow, The source from which all wealth doth spring And happiness to all doth bring.

Our muse it doth refuse to sing Of cheese made early in the spring, When cows give milk from spring fodder You cannot make a good cheddar.

The quality is often vile Of cheese that is made in April, Therefore we think for that reason You should make later in the season.

Cheese making now you should delay Until about the first of May.

Then cows do feed on gra.s.sy field And rich milk they abundant yield.

Ontario cannot compete With the Northwest in raising wheat, For cheaper there they it can grow So price in future may be low.

Though this a hardship it may seem, Rejoice that you have got the cream, In this land of milk and honey, Where dairy farmers do make money.

Utensils must be clean and sweet, So cheese with first cla.s.s can compete, And daily polish up milk pans, Take pains with vats and with milk cans.

And it is important matter To allow no stagnant water, But water from pure well or stream The cow must drink to give pure cream.

Canadian breeds 'tis best to pair With breeds from the shire of Ayr, They thrive on our Canadian feed And are for milking splendid breed.

Though 'gainst spring cheese some do mutter, Yet spring milk also makes bad b.u.t.ter, Then there doth arise the query How utilize it in the dairy:

The milk it floats in great spring flood Though it is not so rich and good, Let us be thankful for this stream Of milk and also curds and cream.

All dairymen their highest aims Should be to make the vale of Thames, Where milk doth so abundant flow, Dairyland of Ontario.

CHEESE CURD FOR BAIT.

The following adventure was partic.i.p.ated in by Mr. J. Podmore and Mr. W.

D. Grant at Matheson's Cold Spring Cheese Factory in Zorra, 1888.

Cheese buyers in hours of leisure Combine business with pleasure, And when they wish to go abroad They take their gun and fishing rod.

This tale is true we pledge our word, They baited hook with a piece of curd, And let the rod hang from the boat, While curd and hook on pond did float.

And then they start for sport and fun, To try their luck with the shot gun, And quick they raised from their cover, Then brought low eight brace of plover.

Now to the pond they do return, But loss of rod they have to mourn, They see it rushing through the water, And wonder what can be the matter.