But I forget mos' all ma French since I go on de State.

     Dere's 'noder t'ing kip on your head, ma frien', dey mus' be tole

     Ma name's Bateese Trudeau no more, but John B. Waterhole!"

     "Hole on de water's" fonny name for man wat's call Trudeau;

     Ma frien's dey all was spik lak dat, an' I am tole heem so.

     He say, "Trudeau an' Waterhole, she's jus' about de sam,

     An' if you for leev on State, you must have Yankee nam'."

     Den we invite heem come wit' us, "Hôtel du Canadaw,"

     W'ere he was treat mos' ev'ry tam, but can't tak' w'iskey blanc.

     He say sat's leetle strong for man jus' come off Central Fall,

     An "tabac Canayen" bedamme! he won't smoke dat at all!

     But fancy drink lak "Collings John" de way he put it down!

     Was long tam since I don't see dat—I t'ink he's goin' drown!—

     An' fine cigar cos' five cent each, an' mak' on Trois-Rivières!

     L'enfant! he smoke beeg pile of dem—for monee he don't care!

     I s'pose, meseff, it's t'ree o'clock w'en we are t'roo dat night.

     Bateese, hees fader come for heem, an' tak' heem home all right;

     De ole man say Bateese spik French, w'en he is place on bed—

     An' say bad word—but w'en he wake—forget it on hees head.

     Wall! all de winter, w'en we have soirée dat's grande affaire

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