ROBERT FLEMING GOURLEY.

Robert F. Gourley was a graduate of St. Andrew's University, Scotland.

He was the first to agitate for popular rights in Canada. He was banished from the country and while crossing the Niagara River he asked for a brush to wipe Canadian dust from his feet. He became a champion of popular rights in England and he whipped Lord Brougham in the lobby of the House of Commons, for which breach of privilege he was sentenced by the House. Mr. Gourley owned several farms in Oxford, Ontario, and sought to represent South Oxford in 1858, but Dr. Connor, an uncle of Hon. E. Blake, won the seat; Mr. Blake was his uncle's secretary through the contest when he was a youth.

There came to Oxford Robert Gourley, In his old age his health was poorly; He was a relic of the past, In his dotage sinking fast; Yet he was erect and tall Like n.o.ble ruined castle wall.

In early times they did him impeach For demanding right of speech, Now Oxford he wished to represent In Canadian parliament, But him the riding did not honor, But elected Doctor Connor.

Lines sent to Alexander McLaughlan, Amaranth Station, with a copy of my poems:

We send to you these rugged rhymes In memory of the olden times, Great chief of our poetic clan, Admired by all, McLaughlan.

PROLOGUE TO SOUTH ONTARIO SKETCHES.

The district lying South of Georgian Bay and Lake Simcoe, including Toronto.

My friends we sing Canadian themes, For in them we proudly glory, Her lakes and rivers and her streams, Worthy of renown in story; And in these leaves we hope is strewn Some wheat among the chaff, And maple boughs by rude axe hewn, Where one may find a rustic staff; To help him o'er the rugged lines If he to weariness inclines.

Some see no beauties near to home, But do admire the distant far, They always love abroad to roam, View glory in but far off star; But let it never be forgot That distant hills when closer seen Are after all a barren spot Not like your own hills clad in green; You'll find they are but idle dreams To seek for happiness afar.

At home there's lovely lakes and streams, Remain content now where you are; At us we hope you will not rage Because we sing of local charms In each varied town and village As well as round our local farms, But our address it must be brief, So now we bid you all adieu, But of our book pray read each leaf Until the whole you have gone through; Each one doth know it is not wise, Though our songs may not be vocal, Chants of our home for to despise, But prize them 'cause they are local.

HOLLAND RIVER AND ITS TRIBUTARIES.

Meanderings of a stream rises twenty miles north of Toronto and sweeps around the whole of Southern Ontario.

We love to sing of tiny stream, Through the lowland meadows running, To us it is a pleasing theme, Tracing it from first beginning.

'Tis strange how far a brook will roam, Moving onwards in its motion, And not content till it reaches home, Two thousand miles to distant ocean.

In county York springs a small brook, A few miles north of Ontario, But it doth take a wondrous crook, It northward many miles doth flow.

Brook's progress south is stopped by ridge, Doth debar its southern course, So a long journey it don't grudge, But slowly on its way doth force.

And it discharges at its mouth Into the pure clear lake Simcoe, It still flows north for to get south, As onward still its course doth go.

Rejoicing along its way, Hundreds of miles it doth flow west, Blended in the Georgian Bay, For a moment it doth not rest.

Mingling with Huron and St. Clair, Erie and Niagara river, Even at the Falls it don't despair, But it cheerful flows forever.

One thousand miles round an ox bow, It hath flowed back near its first start, To waters of Ontario, Where ridge at first kept it apart.

From south of ridge two rivers flow, Both the Don and the Humber, Embracing city of Toronto, Hath attractions without number.

The fame will spread far and wide, First of Don and then of Humber, Improved rivers like to the Clyde, With wharves for coal, wood, iron and lumber.

ST. CATHARINES.

Lines read at the Welland House, St. Catharines, at a banquet given to the members in attendance at the Oddfellows' Grand Lodge.

St. Catharines famed for mineral waters And for the beauty of her daughters, For some do worship at the shrines Of the fair St. Catharines.

St. Catharines your greatness you inherit From the genius of a Merritt, You still would be a village dreary But for this ca.n.a.l from lake Erie.

For on its bosom there doth float Full many a ship and steamboat, Brings world's commerce to your doors And many gifts on you it pours.

Among its many great rewards It gives you dry docks and ship yards, To drive your mills great water power It doth give you as a dower.

Since we above lines did compose, Through new ca.n.a.l vast stream it flows, The lock gates at the hill at Thorold Can not be equaled in the world.

BRANTFORD.

In these sketches of towns in Southern Ontario we are not vain enough to suppose that because we have produced some lines thereon that said rhymes are poetry. If we furnish an occasional poetic gleam like a dewdrop sparkling in the sun, it is all we dare hope for.

Brantford as thriving city's famed, And after Indian Chief is named, And here the sparkling Grand River It doth flow a joy forever.

Campbell he sang a dismal tale Of horrors of Wyoming's vale, The tale one's mind doth ever haunt, The cruelties of monster Brant.

But the Chief's son to England went And Campbell to him did lament, And all the tale he did recant About cruel butcheries of Brant.

Now pleasant thoughts it doth awake When Brantford thinks of her namesake, She evermore with pride will chant The bold heroic name of Brant.

We sing of two great Indian names, Tec.u.mseh on the banks of Thames, And the Grand River it doth vaunt O'er the historic name of Brant.

The city's pride it doth find vent In building him a monument, And Indians will proudly stalk Past memorial of great Mohawk.

LINES ON THOROLD.

McCready, the great Irish tragedian, said that the view from Thorold was the finest in America.