There was a man in our town,
In our town, in our town –
There was a man in our town,
He made a logging-bee;
And he bought lots of whiskey,
To make the loggers frisky –
To make the loggers frisky
At his logging bee.

The Devil sat on a log heap,
A log heap, a log heap –
A red hot burning log heap –
A-grinning at the bee;
And there was lots of swearing,
Of boasting and of daring,
Of fighting and of tearing,
At that logging bee.

J.W.D.M.

Susanna Moodie writes that logging bees during pioneer days in the bush brought out the very worst in men. Barn raising bees were a more sober affair – the men were under the direction of a head carpenter and the work required skills which would disappear under the influence of strong drink. At a logging bee, much work was accomplished before dinner. After dinner, which some washed down with copious amounts of whisky, things degenerated. Not all the men partook of the whisky, but their work efforts were hindered by those who had.

Evidently Susanna Moodie’s husband was of the same opinion as she, as he wrote the above verses. J.W.D.M. stands for John W. Dunbar Moodie.