This work was created within the Eastern Townships of Quebec and is a rare first hand account of the old life left behind them in Scotland and life in the new land. It should perhaps be said that the Eastern Townships of Quebec were not necessarily the best or easiest place in Canada to settle at that time.

A Nameless Poem by John Graham (written around 1875)
The poem landed John Graham in court as it was thought to be discouraging Highland immigration into the Eastern townships of Quebec.

Be siod bliadhna na h-eiginn
Shil na speuran na frasan
Bha an crobh air na steillean
Ri dol eug leis an acras
Cha robh connadh ri fhaotainn
Air gach craobh do'n bhaile
'S chaidh gach brutach agus garradh
Chur gu lar air son teine

That was a desperate year, rain poured down from the heavens, the cattle were dying of hunger in their stalls, no firewood to be had from any tree of the town land, and every hillside and garden stripped bare for fuel

Dhuilt an saimarlan siol dhuinn
Air son biadh na siol-chura
'S rinn na ceannaichean cumhnant
Gunn lan an duirn thoirt do dhuine
Mara paigheadh sinn sios e
Leis an iasg bho 'n an dubhan
No le cruna na rioghachd
Cha deid sgriobag air duine

The Chamberlain refused us seed for food or planting and the merchants conspired to give not a handful unless we paid for it immediately with fresh fish from the hook or with cash, no one gets a crumb

'S ann bho loch an Dunain a sheol sinn
Air ar fogradh a Alba
"S iomadh neach a bha tuirseach
Nuar a chaill sinn Muirneag san anmoch
Am bata iarainn gu sunndach
A null leinn gu fairrge
Dh ionnsaidh Baile Doire an Eirinn
Far an d'fhuair sinn te eile gu falbh leinn.

It was from Loch an Dunain we sailed, driven from Scotland; many of us were sad and weary when we lost sight of Miurneag in the dusk; the steamer moved fast to sea, over Derry in Ireland where we got another ship to accompany us

An Ealasaid bhoidheach
'S l an ordugh gu guanach
Le cuid chruinn agau ropan
Dol a sheoladh a chuain leinn
Dh'ionnasaidh fearann Cholumbus
Air an turus bu luaithe dhi
Far an sgap sinn uile
Mar bhucas chuileagan an deidh fhuasgladh

The pretty Elizabeth, a spired craft, with its masts and ropes, ready to sail the ocean with us to the land of Columbus as swiftly as possible, where we all scattered like flies released from a box.

Bliadhna tri fichead 's a tri
Gur tric a bhios 'nam chuimhne
Nuair fhuair Tomas an-t sarraid
An cabhaig an luib sinn;
Ach leam-sa gum bu sholasach
A bith seoladh gu Quebec
Ann a bata gun cheanna-bheart
lan do garbh-chlachan muille

The year of (18)'63, I often think of it, the year that Thomas the Sheriff officer quickly got us in his grasp but I was joyful to be sailing to Quebec in a boat without sails laden with rough mill-stones.

Tha da cheannaaiche lamh rium
Anns a chearnaidh seo dhe' n talamh
Fear anns an Lingwick 'tamh dhiubh
'S fear a fas ann an Winslow
'S cuimhnich ma thig thu
Bi thu aca 'nan inean
Mar gu spionadh tu a chearac
'S gu leigeadh tu I san Fhaoilleach
Chan eil rian agad dhol as bhuapa
Gun bhith air d'fhad anns an Legion

There are two merchants near me in this part of the world, one of them living at Lingwick, the other inhabiting Winslow and remember, if you come, they will get you in their hooks and they'll pluck you the way you would pluck a chicken and let it loose in the winter; there is no way to escape them and avoid being a full member of their Legion of debtors.

Ma chluinneas tu mo dhan
san aite taimh anns a bheil thu
Thoir am muir agau an traigh ort
Mas dig thu a dh'aiteach na coille;
Chan eil saoibhreas ri fhaotainn
Air an taobh seo dhe 'n Atlantic
Ach coille mhor dhe 'n speur
Fad's is leir dhomh ri fhailinn

If you hear my song where you live, head for the sea of the shore rather than come to cultivate the forest; there is no wealth to be had on this side of the Atlantic, but woods to the horizon as far as I can see.

'S e Eilean Leodhais an t-eilean
Anns a bheil gach goireas tha feumail
Pailteas airgid an tasgadh
Am banca Ghlaschu is Dun Eideann
'S tribancannman eile
'Chul air a sin ag eirigh
Stiomearan snasail
Tarruing bho fheilleirean

The Isle of Lewis is the island which has everything you need, plenty of money in the bank of Glasgow and Edinburgh and other three banks to back them up; and fine steamers sailing the coasts.