_O sing us a song of days that are gone-- Of men and happenings--of war and peace; We love to yarn of "th' times that was" As our hair grows gray, and our years increase. So--revert we again to our ancient lays-- Fill we our pipes, and our glasses raise-- "Salue! to those stirring, bygone days!" Cry the old non-coms of the Mounted Police._ MEMORIES All day long the blizzard had raged, in one continuous squalling moaning roar--the fine-spun snow swirling and drifting about the barrack-buildings and grounds of the old Mounted Police Post of L. Division. Whirraru!-ee!--thrumm-mm! hummed the biting nor'easter through the cross-tree rigging of the towering flag-pole in the centre of the wind-swe…
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