EDITOR’S NOTE: In a tradition dating back to at least 1834, the Gazette published a “Carrier Boy’s Address” in its New Year’s issue, and also printed them separately. These seem to be original compositions, as they make mention of details specific to Picton and the Gazette (e.g., Thomas Donnelly, who was the editor from 1847-53 and the one who gave the paper the name it still bears today). The poem reflects upon the passing of time and makes mention of events of the past year. It is sad to note that there was a Crimean War underway 170 years ago, just as there is today. Other contemporary references are glossed in these links: Gavazzi, Gough, Kossuth and Stowe.
Time! Time ! It passes rapidly
How fast the moments fly,
How very solemn is the thought
A year’s about to die.
And yet how peaceful and how calm,
No groan or cry or shock;
And yet tis past the hour of twelve
By our old office clock.
But I must think of my address,
To-morrow’s New Year’s Day.
No, I will watch till ’53
(My friend) has passed away.
It makes me sad to leave a friend,
My cheeks with tears are wet
And for a pocket-handkerchief
I’ll use an old Gazette.
Twelve strikes, and ’53’s no more,—
And ’54 is here—
So I had better change my tune,
To welcome the good New Year.
Our Politicians change their coats,
Without a pang or sigh,
And if such men forget their friends,
Why so can one like I.
In fact this world is nought but change,
Friends meet and pass away—
Love breath’d by friends but yesterday
Is changed to hate to-day.
T. Donnelly, our chief in days of yore,
Is now fulfilling a different mission;
And in his bang-up new cheap store
Has taken, in trade, a famous position.
And here I’ll say (but not aloud)
What—perhaps some of you know,
He must have hook’d—not bought—his goods,
He sells so awful low.
So as this world is naught but change
And all have proved it true
And as you all have felt a change
I’d like to feel some too.
What has transpired in ’53
Of it I need not speak,
You know it all, as just you should,
I’ve told you every week.
The Lions who have figured too,
Them all by name you know;
Gavazzi, Gough, and I myself,
Kossuth and Mrs. Stowe.
You’ve heard about the war between
The Turkey and the Bear;
If not—I’ll tell you how it is,
And you tell if its fair.
The Emperor of Russia is
A mortal wicked sinner,
He tried to rob a roost, and steal
A Turkey, for his dinner.
But the old bird was wide awake
He got his fingers bit—
And now he’s gone to war he finds
The fine old Turkey’s grit.
But I must stop—long live our Queen,
In health, wealth, peace and joy,
You all will cry amen to that
With me, the CARRIER BOY.
And now I wish you, every one
Good times, good Friends, good cheer,
Good health; and all and every one
A happy good New Year.
***
To the Ladies.
To you I know not what to say,
So for you I shall have to pray
So listen to my prayer.
May ever you be blithe and gay
As happy as you seem to day,
And ever look as fair:
May ROSES ROUND YOUR FATE be strewn,
While passing through this world of gloom
And may your love prove true.
May all your Friends be friends indeed,
But friends, I hope you’ll never need,
For friends in need are few.
PICTON,. 1st JANUARY,
ANNO DOMINI MDCCCLIV.
See it in the newspaper
0° Mostly Cloudy
