Humorous verses

before.

174

For they spoke the gutter language with the easy flow that comes Only to the men whose childhood knew the brothels and the slums. Then they spat in turns, and halted; and the one that came behind, Spitting fiercely on the pavement, called on Heaven

to strike him blind.

Let us first describe the captain, bottle-shouldered, pale and thin, For he was the beau-ideal of a Sydney larrikin; E'en his hat was most suggestive of the city where we live. With a gallows-tilt that no one, save a larrikin, can give; And the coat, a little shorter than the writer would desire, Showed a more or less uncertain portion of his strange attire.

That which tailors know as ' trousers'—known by him as ' bloomin' bags '— Hanging loosely from his person, swept, with tattered

eiids, the flags;

And he had a pointed sternpost to the boots that peeped below (Which he laced up from the centre of the nail of his great toe), And he wore his shirt uncoUar'd, and the tie correctly wrong; But I think his vest was shorter than should be in one so long.

And the captain crooked his finger at a stranger on the kerb, Whom he qualified politely with an adjective and verb. And he begged the Gory Bleeders that they wouldn t interrupt Till he gave an introduction—it was painfuUy abrupt— ' Here's the bleedin' push, me covey—here's a (something) from the bush ! ' Strike me dead, he wants to join us !'

said the

captain of the push.

Said the stranger : ' I am nothing but a bushy and a dunce; ' But I read about the Bleeders in the Weekly Gasbag once:

' Sitting lonely in the humpy when the wind began to

" whoosh," ' How I longed to share the dangers and the pleasures of the push! ' Gosh! I hate the swells and good 'uns—I could burn 'em in their beds; 'I am with you, if you'll have me, and I'll break their blazing heads.'

' Now, look here,' exclaimed the captain to the stranger from the bush, ' Now, look here— suppose a feller was to split upon

the push, ' Would you lay for him and fetch him, even if the traps were round 1 ' Would you lay him out and kick him to a jelly on the ground 'i ' Would you jump upon the nameless—kill, or cripple him, or both 1 ' Speak ? or else I'll—speak !' The stranger answered,

' My kerlonial oath !'

' Now, look here,' exclamed the captain to the stranger from the bush, ' Now, look here—suppose the Bleeders let you come and join the push,

' Would you smash a bleedin' bobby if you got the blank alone 1 ' Would you break a swell or Ohinkie—split his garret with a stone 1 ' Would you have a " moll" to keep yer—like to swear off work for good 1' ' Yes, my oath !' replied the stranger. ' My kerlonial

oath ! I would !'

' Now, look here,' exclaimed the captain to that stranger from the bush, 'Now, look here—before the Bleeders let yer come

and join the push, 'You must prove that you're a blazer—you must prove that you have grit ' Worthy of a Gory Bleeder—you must show your

form a bit— ' Take a rook and smash that winder 1' and the stranger, nothing loth. Took the rock and—smash! They only muttered

' My kerlonial oath !'

So they swore him in, and found him sure of aim and light of heel. And his only fault, if any, lay in his excessive zeal; He was good at throwing metal, but we chronicle with pain That he jumped upon a victim, damaging the watch and chain, Ere the Bleeders had secured them ; yet the captain of the push Swore a dozen oaths in favour of the stranger from the bush.

Late next morn the captain, rising, hoarse and thirsty from his lair, Called the newly-feather'd Bleeder, but the stranger wasn't there ! Quickly going through the pockets of his ' bloomin'

bags,' he learned That the stranger had been through him for the stuff

his ' moll' had earned ; And the language that he muttered I should scarcely like to tell (Stars ! and notes of exclamation !! blank and dash

will do as well).

In the night the captain's signal woke the echoes of the ' Rocks,' Brought the Gory Bleeders sloping thro' the shadows of the blocks;

180 THE CAPTAIN OF THE PUSH

And they swore the stranger's action was a bloodescaping shame, While they waited for the nameless, but the nameless never came.

And the Bleeders soon forgot him ; but the captain .of the push Still is ' laying' round, in ballast, for the nameless ' from the bush.'

Long Bill, the captain of the push, was tired of his estate, And wished to change his life and win the love of something 'straight'; Twas rumour'd that the Gory B.'s had heard Long

Bill declare That he would turn respectable and wed a ' square affair.'

He craved the kiss of innocence ; his spirit longed to rise; The ' Crimson Streak,' his faithful ' piece,' grew hateful in his eyes ; (And though, in her entirety, the Crimson Streak

' was there,' I grieve to state the Crimson Streak was not a

' square affair.')

He wanted clothes, a masher suit, he wanted boots and hat; His girl had earned a quid or two—he wouldn't part with that; And so he went to Brickfield Hill, and from a draper there He 'shook' the proper kind of togs to fetch a 'square affair.'

Long Bill went to the barber's shop and had a shave and singe. And from his narrow forehead combed his darling Mabel fringe; Long Bill put on a ' square cut' and he brushed his boots with care. And roved about the Gardens till he mashed a

'square

affair.'

She was a tony servant-girl from somewhere on ' the Shore;' She dressed in style that suited Bill—he could not wish for more. While in her guileless presence he had ceased to chew

or swear, He knew the kind of barrack that can fetch a square affair.

To thus desert his donah old was risky and a sin, And 'twould have served him right if she had caved

his garret in. The Gory Bleeders thought it too, and warned him to take care In case the Crimson Stffeik got scent of Billy's square affair.

He took her to the stalls; 'twas dear, but Billy said

' Wot odds !' He couldn't take his square affair amongst the crimson gods. They wandered in the park at night, and hugged each other there— But, ah ! the Crimson Streak got wind of Billy's square affair !

■ The blank and space and stars !' she yelled ; ' the nameless crimson dash ! ' I'll smash the blanky crimson and his square affair,

I'll smash '— In short, she drank and raved and shrieked and tore her crimson hair. And swore to murder Billy and to pound his square affair.

184 BILLY'S 'SQUARE AFFAIR'

And so one summer evening, as the day was growing dim, She watched her bloke go out, and foxed his square affair and him. That night the park was startled by the shrieks that rent the air— The 'Streak' had gone for Billy and for Billy's square affair.

The ' gory' push had foxed the Streak, they foxed

her to the park. And they, of course, were close at hand to see the bleedin' lark; A cop arrived in time to hear a ' gory B.' declare ' Gor blar-me ! here's the Red Streak foul of Billy's square affair.'

Now Billy scowls about the Rocks, his manly beauty marr'd, And BUly's girl, upon her 'ed, is doin' six months

'ard; Bill's swivel eye is in a sling, his heart is in despair, And in the Sydney 'Orspital lies Billy's square affair.

'TwAS in the felon's dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue; His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too; He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap— ' It's orful when the p'leece has got a derry on a chap.

' I am a honest workin' cove, as any bloke can see, ' It's just because the p'leece has got a derry, sir, on

me ; ' Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it ain't no joke— ■ It's cruel when the p'leece has got a derry on a bloke.'

186

186 A DERRY ON A COVE

' Why doa'fc you go to work 1' he said (he muttered,

' Why don't you?'). ' Yer honer knows as well as me there ain't no work

to do. ' And when I try to find a job I'm shaddered by a trap— ' It's awful when the p'leece has got a derry on a chap.'

I sigh'd and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred, But, ah ! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months' hard. He only said, ' Beyond the grave you'll cop it hot, by

Jove ! •There ain't no angel p'leece to get a derry on a cove.'

Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! claim your rights with fire and steel! Rise ye ! for the cursed tyrants crush ye with the hiron 'eel! They would treat ye worse than sl-a-a-ves! they would treat ye worse than brutes ! Rise and crush the selfish tyrants

! ku-r-rush them with your hob-nailed boots !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! glorious toilers ! Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers !

Erwake ! er-rise !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! tyrants come across the waves ! Will ye yield the Rights of Labour 1 will ye ? will ye still be sl-a-a-ves ? ! ! !

187

188 RISE YE ! RISE YE !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! mighty toilers ! and revoke the rotten laws ! Lo ! your wives go out a-washing while ye battle for the caws !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! glorious toilers ! Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers !

Erwake ! er-rise !

Our gerlorious dawn is breaking ! Lo ! the tyrant trembles now ! He will sta-a-rve us here no longer ! toilers will not bend or bow ! Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! rise ! behold, revenge is near j See the leaders of the people ! come an' 'ave a pint o' beer !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! Rise ye ! rise ye ! glorious toilers !

Erwake ! er-rise !

Lo ! the poor are starved, my brothers! lo ! our wives and children weep ! Lo ! our women toil to keep us while the toilers are

asleep !

RISE YB 1 RISE YE ! 189

Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! rise and break the tyrant's chain ! March ye ! march ye! mighty toilers ! even to the battle plain !

Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers ! Rise ye ! rise ye ! noble toilers !

Erwake! er-r-rise!

Ye children of the Land of Gold,

I sing a song to you, And if the jokes are somewhat old, The main idea 's new. So be it sung, by hut and tent, Where tall the native grows; And understand, the song is meant For singing through the nose.

There dwelt a hard old cockatoo

On western hills far out. Where everything is green and blue, Except, of course, in drought; A crimson Anarchist was he—

Held other men in scorn— Yet preached that ev'ry man was free.

And also ' ekal born.'

He lived in his ancestral hufc—

His missus wasn't there— And there was no one with him but His daughter, Mabel Clare. Her eyes and hair were like the sun; Her foot was like a mat; Her cheeks a trifle overdone; She was a democrat.

A manly independence, born

Among the trees, she had. She treated womankind with scorn, And often cursed her dad. She hated swells and shining lights, For she had seen a few, And she believed in ' women's rights '

(She mostly got 'em, too).

A stranger at the neighb'ring run

Sojourned, the squatter's guest. He was unknown to anyone, But like a swell was dress'd ; He had an eyeglass to his eye, A collar to his ears. His feet were made to tread the sky, His mouth was formed for sneers.

192 THE BAFXAD OF MABEL CLARE

He wore the latest toggery,

The loudest thing in ties— 'Twas generally reckoned he Was something in disguise. But who he was, or whence he came, Was long unknown, except Unto the squatter, who the name And noble secret kept.

And strolling in the noontide heat.

Beneath the blinding glare. This noble stranger chanced to meet The radiant Mabel Clare. She saw at once he was a swell—

According to her lights— But, ah ! 'tis very sad to tell, She met him oft of nights.

And, strolling through a moonlit gorge,

' She chatted all the while Of Ingersoll, and Henry George, And Bradlaugh and Carlyle : In short, he learned to love the girl, And things went on like this, Until he said he was an Earl, And asked her to be his.

' Oh, say no more, Lord Kawlinee,

' Oh, say no more !' she said ; ' Oh, "say no more, Lord Kawlinee,

' I wish that I was dead : ' My head is in a hawful whirl,

' The truth I dare not tell— ' I am a democratic girl,

' And cannot wed a swell!' ♦

' Oh love !' he cried, ' but you forget

' That you are most unjust; ' 'Twas not my fault that I was set

' Within the upper crust. ' Heed not the yarns the poets tell—

' Oh, darling, do not doubt ' A simple lord can love as well

' As any rouseabout!

' For you I'll give my fortune up—

' I'd go to work for you ! ' I'll put the money in the cup

• And drop the title, too. ' Oh, fly with me ! Oh, fly with me

' Across the mountains blue ! ' Hoh, fly with me ! Hoh, fly with me 1 '

That very night she flew.

194 THE BALLAD OF MABEL CLARE

They took the train and journeyed downAcross the range they sped

—

Until they came to Sydney town, Where shortly they were wed.

And still upon the western wild Admiring teamsters tell How Mabel's father cursed his chUd Fbr clearing with a swell.

' What ails my bird this bridal night,'

Exclaimed Lord Kawlinee; ' What ails my own this bridal night—

' O love, confide in me !' ' Oh now,' she said, ' that I am yaws

' You'll let me weep—I must— ' I did desert the people's cause

'To join the upper crust.'

O proudly smiled his lordship then—

His chimney-pot he floor'd— ' Look up, my love, and smile again,

' For I am not a lord !' His eye-glass from his eye he tore, The dickey from his breast. And turned and stood liis bride before A rouseabout—confess'd !

THE BALLAD OB" MABEL CLARE 195

' Unknown I've loved you long,' he said,

' And I have loved you true— ' A-shearing in your guv'ner's shed

' I learned to worship you. ' I do not care for place or pelf,

' For now, my love, I'm sure That you will love me for myself

' And not because I'm poor.

' To prove your love I spent my cheque

' To buy this swell rig-out; ' So fling your arms about my neck

' For I'm a rouseabout!' At first she gave a startled cry, Then, safe from care's alarms, She sigh'd a soul-subduing sigh

And sank into his arms.

He pawned the togs, and home he took

His bride in all her charms ; The proud old cockatoo received The pair with open arms. And long they lived, the faithful bride.

The noble rouseabout— And if she wasn't satisfied She never let it out.

Most unpleasantly adjacent to the haunts of lower orders Stood a '

terrace' in the city when the current year began, And a notice indicated there were vacancies for boarders In the middle house, and lodgings for a single gentleman. Now, a singular observer could have seen but few attractions Whether in the house, or ' missus, or the notice, or the street. But at last there came a lodger whose appearances and actions Puzzled Constable M'Carty, the policeman on the beat.

196

He (the single gent) was wasted almost to emaciation, And his features were the palest that M'Carty ever saw, And these indications, pointing to a past of dissipation, Greatly strengthened the suspicions of the agent of the law. He (the lodger—hang the pronoun!) seemed to like the stormy weather. When the elements in battle kept it up a little late; Yet he'd wander in the moonlight when the stars were close together, Taking ghostly consolation in a visionary state.

He would walk the streets at midnight, when the storm-king raised his banner. Walk without his old umbrella,—wave his arms above his head : Or he'd fold them tight, and mutter, in a wild, disjointed manner. While the town was wrapped in slumber and he should have been in bed.

Said the constable-on-duty: 'Shure, Oi wonther phwat his trade is 1'

And the constable would watch him from the shadow of a wall, But he never picked a pocket, and he ne'er accosted ladies, And the constable was puzzled what to make of him at all.

Now, M'Carty had arrested more than one notorious dodger. He had heard of men afflicted with the strangest kind of fads, But he couldn't fix the station or the business of the lodger. Who at times would chum with cadgers, and at other times with cads. And the constable would often stand and wonder how the gory Sheol the stranger got his living, for he loafed the time away A.nd he often sought a hillock when the suu went down in glory, Just as if he was a mourner at the burial of the day.

Mac. had noticed that the lodger did a mighty lot of smoking, And could ' stow away a long 'un,' never winking, so he could; And M'Carty once, at midnight, came upon the lodger poking Round about suspicious alleys where the common houses stood. Yet the constable had seen him in a class above suspicion— Seen him welcomed with effusion by a dozen ' toney gents'— Seen him driving in the buggy of a rising politician Thro' the gateway of the member's toney private residence.

And the constable, oflf duty, had observed the lodger slipping Down a lane to where the river opened on the ocean wide, Where he'd stand for hours gazing at the distant anchor'd shipping, But he never took his coat off, so it wasn't suicide.

For the constable had noticed that a man who's filled with loathing For his selfish fellow-creatures and the evil things that be, Will, for some mysterious reason, shed a portion of his clothing. Ere he takes his first and final plunge into eternity.

And M'Carty, once at midnight—be it said to his abasement— Left his beat and climbed a railing of considerable height, Just to watch the lodger's shadow on the curtain of his casement While the little room was lighted in the listening hours of night. Now, at first the shadow hinted that the substance sat inditing; Now it indicated

toothache, or the headache; and again, 'Twould exaggerate the gestures of a dipsomaniac fighting Those original conceptions of a whisky-sodden biain.

Then the constable, retreating, scratched his head and muttered '

Sorra ' Wan of me can undershtand it. But Oi'U keep me Oi on him, '

Divil take him and his tantrums; he's a lunatic, begorra ! ' Or, if he was up to mischief, he'd be sure to douse the glim.' But M'Carty wasn't easy, for he had a vague suspicion That a ' skame ' was being plotted; and he thought the matter down Till his mind was pretty certain that the business was sedition, And the man, in league with others, sought to overthrow the Crown.

But, in spite of observation, Mac received no information And was forced to stay inactive, being puzzled for a charge. That the lodger was a madman seemed the only explanation, Tho' the house would scarcely harbour such a lunatic at large.

His appearance failed to warrant apprehension as a vagrant, Tho'

'twas getting very shabby, as the constable could see; But M'Carty in the meantime hoped to catch him in a flagrant Breach of peace, or the intention to commit a felony.

(For digression there is leisure, and it is the writer's pleasure Just to pause a while and ponder on a painful legal fact, Being forced to say in sorrow, and a line of doubtful measure, That there's nothing so elastic as the cruel Vagrant Act) Now, M'Carty knew his duty, and was brave as any lion, But he dreaded being ' landed' in an influential bog— As the chances were he would be if the man he had his eye on Was a person of importance who was travelling incog.

CONSTABLE M'CAETyS INVESTIGATIONS 203

Want of sleep and over-worry seemed to tell upon M'Carty : He was thirsty more than ever, but his appetite resigned; He was previously reckoned as a jolly chap and hearty, But the mystery was lying like a mountain on his mind. Tho' he tried his best, he couldn't get a hold upon the lodger. For the latter's antecedents weren't known to the

police— They considered that the ' devil' was a dark and artful dodger Who was scheming under cover for the downfall of the peace.

'Twas a simple explanation, though M'Carty didn't know it. Which with half his penetration he might easily have seen, For the object of his dangerous suspicions was a poet, Who was not so widely famous as he thought lie should have been.

204 CONSTABLE M'CARTY'S INVESTIGATIOKS

And the constable grew thinner, till one morning, ' little dhramin' ' A.V

the sword of revelation that was leapin' from its sheath,' He alighted on some verses in the columns of the Fkayman, ' Wid the christian name an surname av the lodger ondemeath!'

Now, M'Carty and the poet are as brother is to brother, Or, at least, as brothers should be ; and they very often meet On the lonely block at midnight, and they wink at one another— Disappearing down the by-way of a shanty in the street. And the poet's name you're asking 1

—well, the ground is very tender. You must wait until the public put the gilt upon the name. Till a glorious, sorrow-drowning, and, perhaps, a final ' bender,' Heralds his triumphant entrance to the thunderhalls of Fame.

'TwAS in a tug-of-war where I—the guvnor's hope and pride— Stepped proudly on the platform as the ringer on my side; Old dad was in his glory there—it gave the old man

^ joy To fight a passage through the crowd and barrack for his boy.

A friend came up and said to me, ' Put out your muscles, John, ' And pull them to eternity—your guvnor's looking

on.' 1 paused before I grasped the rope, and glanced around the place, And, foremost in the waiting crowd, I saw the old man's face.

205

206 AT THE TUG-OF-WAR

My mates were strong and plucky chaps, but very soon I knew That our opponents had the weight and strength to pull them through; The boys were losing surely and defeat was very near, When, high above the mighty roar, I heard the old man cheer !

I felt my muscles swelling when the old man cheer'd for me, I felt as though I'd burst my heart, or gain the victory ! I shouted, ' Now ! Together!' and a steady strain replied, And, with a mighty heave, I helped to beat the other side!

Oh ! how the old man shouted in his wild, excited joy! I thought he'd burst his boiler then, a-cheering for

his boy; The chaps, oh ! how they cheered me, while the girls all smiled so kind. They praised me, little dreaming, how the old man pulled behind.

AT THE TDG-OF-WAR 207

He barracFs for his boy no more—his grave is old and green, And sons have grown up round me since he vanished from the scene; But, when the cause is worthy where I fight for victory. In fancy still I often hear the old man cheer for me.

Old Time is tramping close to-day—you hear his bluchers fall, A mighty change is on the way, an' God protect us all; Some dust'll fly from beery coats—at least it's been declared. I'm glad that wimin has the votes—but just a trifle scared.

I'm just a trifle scared—For why ? The wimin mean to rule; It makes me feel like days, gone by when I was caned at school. The days of men is nearly dead—of double moons and stars — They'll soon put out our pipes, 'tis said, an' close the public bars.

No more we'll take a glass of ale whenipushed with care an' strife, An' chuckle home with that old tale we used to tell the wife. We'll laugh an' joke an' sing no more with jolly beery chums, An' shout 'Here's luck !' while waitin' for the luck that never comes.

Did we prohibit swillin' tea clean out of commonsense

Or legislate on gossipin' across a backyard fence 1

Did we prohibit bustles—or the hoops when they was here ?

The wimin never think of this—they want to stop our beer.

The track o' life is dry enough, an' crossed with many a rut, But, oh! we'll find it long an' rough when all the pubs is shut; When all the pubs is shut, an' gone the doors we used to seek, An' we go toilin', thirstin' on through Sundays all the week.

210 HERE'S LUCK!

For since the days when pubs was ' inns'—in years gone past 'n' far— Poor sinful souls have drowned their sins an'

sorrers

at the bar; An' though at times it led to crimes, an' debt, and such complaints— I scarce dare think about the time when all mankind

is saints.

'Twould make the bones of Bacchus leap an' break his coffin lid; And Burns's ghost would wail an' weep as Bobby never did. But let the preachers preach in style, an' rave and rant—'n' buck, I rather guess they'll hear awhile the old war-cry:

'Here's Luck!'

The world might wobble round the sun, an' all the banks go bung. But pipes'll smoke an' liquor run while Auld Lang Syne is sung. While men are driven through the miU, an' flinty times is struck, They'll find a private entrance still!

Here's Luck, old man—Here's Luck !

There's a class of men (and women) who are always on their guard— Cunning, treacherous, suspicious—feeling softly—

grasping hardBrainy, yet without the courage to forsake the beaten track— Cautiously they feel their way behind a bolder spirit's back.

If you save a bit of money, and you start a little store— Say, an oyster-shop, for instance, where there wasn't one before— When the shop begins to pay you, and the rent is ofi your mind. You will see another started by a chap that comes behind.

2H

So it is, and so it might have been, my friend, with me and you— When a friend of both and neither interferes between the two ; They will fight like fiends, forgetting in their passion mad and blind, That the row is mostly started by the folk who come

behind.

They will stick to you like sin will, while your money comes and goes, But they'll leave you when you haven't got a shilling

in your clothes. You may get some help above you, but you'll nearly always find That you cannot get assistance from the men who come behind.

There are many, far too many, in the world of prose and rhyme, Always looking for another's ' footsteps on the sands of time.' Journalistic imitators are the meanest of mankind; And the grandest themes are hackneyed by the pens

that come behind.

THE MEN WHO COME BEHIND 213

If you strike a novel subject, write it up, and do not fail.

They will rhyme and prose about it till your very own is stale, As they raved about the region that the wattleboughs perfume Till the reader cursed the bushman and the stink of wattle-bloom.

They will follow in your footsteps while you're groping for the light; But they'll run to get before you when they see you're

going right; And they'll trip you up and baulk you in their blind

and greedy heat. Like a stupid pup that hasn't learned to trail behind your feet.

Take your loads of sin and sorrow on more energetic backs! Go and strike across the country where there are not any tracks ! And—we fancy that the subject could be further treated here. But we'll leave it to be hackneyed by the fellows in the rear.

The breezes waved the silver grass,

Waist-high along the siding, And to the creek we ne'er could pass Three boys on bare-back riding ; Beneath the sheoaks in the bend The waterhole was brimming— Do you remember yet, old friend, The times we ' went in swimming ?'

The days we ' played the wag ' from school—

Joys shared—and paid for singly— The air was hot, the water cool—

And naked boys are kingly ! With mud for soap the sun to dry—

A well planned lie to stay us, And dust well rubbed on neck and face Lest cleanliness betray us.

214

THE DAYS WHEN WE WENT SWIMMING 215

And you'll remember farmer Kutz —

Though scarcely for his bounty— He leased a forty-acre block, And thought he owned the county ; A farmer of the old world school, That men grew hard and grim in. He drew his water from the pool That we preferred to swim in.

And do you mind when down the creek

His angry way he wended, A green-hide cartwhip in his hand For our young backs intended ? Three naked boys upon the sand—

Half buried and half sunning— Three startled boys without their clothes

Across the paddocks running.

We've had some scares, but we looked blank When, resting there and chumming, One glanced by chance along the bank

And saw the farmer coming ! And home impressions linger yet Of cups of sorrow brimming ;• I hardly think that we'll forget The last day we went swimming.

It was built of bark and poles, and the floor was full of holes

Where each leak in rainy weather made a pool; And the walls were mostly cracks lined with calico and sacks—

There was little need for windows in the school.

Then we rode to school and back by the rugged gully track, On the old grey horse that carried three or four; And he looked so very wise that he lit the master's eyes* Every time he put his head in at the door.

216

He had run with Cobb and Co.—' that grey leader, let him go !' There were men 'as knowed the brand upon his hide,' And ■■ as knowed it on the course ' . Funeral service : ' Good old horse ! ' When we burnt him in the gully where he died.

And the master thought the same. 'Twas from Ireland that he came, Where the tanks are full all summer, and the feed is simply grand; And the joker then in vogue said his lessons wid a brogue— 'Twas unconscious imitation, let the reader understand.

And we learnt the world in scraps from some ancient dingy maps Long discarded by the public-schools in town ; And as nearly every book dated back to Captain Cook Our geography was somewhat upside-down.

218 THE OLD BARK SCHOOL

It was 'in the book' and so—well, at that we'd let it go. For we never would believe that print could lie; And we all learnt pretty soon that when we came out

at noon ' The sun is in the south part of the sky.'

And Ireland ! that was known from the coast line to Athlone: We got little information re the land that gave us birth; Save that Captain Cook was killed (and was very likely grilled) And ' the natives of New Holland are the lowest race on earth.'

And a woodcut, in its place, of the same degraded race Seemed a lot more like a camel than the blackiellows we knew; Jimmy BuUock, with the rest, scratched his head and gave it best; But his faith was sadly shaken by a bobtaUed kangaroo.

THE OLD BAKK SCHOOL 219

But the old bark-school is gone, and the spot it stood upon Is a cattle-camp in winter where the curlew's cry is heard ; There's a brick-school on the flat, but a schoolmate teaches that, For, about the time they built it, our old master was ' transferred.'

But the bark-school comes again with exchanges 'cross the plain —

With the Out-Back Advertiser ; and my fancy roams at large When I read of passing stock, of a western mob or flock. With ' James Bullock,' ' Grey,' or ' Henry Dale ' in charge.

And I think how Jimmy went from the old bark school content, With his ' eddication ' finished, with his pack-horse after him ; And perhaps if I were back I would take the self-same track, For I wish my learning ended when the Master ' finished' Jim.

You lazy boy, you're here at last,

You must be wooden-legged; Now, are you sure the gate is fast And all the sliprails pegged And all the milkers at the yard, The calves all in the pen 1 We don't want Foley's calf to suck His mother dry again.

And did you mend the broken rail

And make it firm and neat 1 I s'pose you want that brindle steer All night among the wheat. And if he finds the lucerne patch.

He'll stuff his belly full; He'll eat till he gets ' blown ' on that

And busts like Ryan's bull.

TROUBLE ON THE SELECTION 221

Old Spot is lost 1 You'll drive me mad,

You will, upon my soul! She might be in the boggy swamps Or down a digger's hole. You needn't talk, you never looked ; You'd find her if you'd choose. Instead of poking 'possum logs.

And hunting kangaroos.

How came your boots as wet as muck 1

You tried to drown the ants ! Why don't you take your bluchers off, Good Lord, he's tore his pants ! Your father's coming home to-night; You'll catch it hot, you'll see. Now go afltl wash your filthy face And come and get your tea.

When you've knocked about the country—been away from home for years ; When the past, by distance softened, nearly fills

your eyes with tears— You are haunted oft, wherever or however you may

roam. By a fancy that you ought to go and see the folks at home. You forget the family quarrels—little things that used to jar— And you think of how they'll worry—how they

wonder where you are; You will think you served them badly, and your own

part you'll condemn, And it strikes you that you'll surely be a novelty to them,

223

For your voice has somewhat altered, and your face has somewhat changed— And your views of men and matters over wider fields

have ranged. Then it's time to save your money, or to watch it (how it goes !) ; Then it's time to get a ' Gladstone' and a decent suit of clothes; Then it's time to practise daily with a hair-brush and a comb, Till you drop in unexpected on the folks and friends at home.

When you've been at home for some time, and the novelty's worn ofif, And old chums no longer court you, and your friends

begin to sco£F; When ' the girls ' no longer kiss you, crying ' Jack !

how you have changed !' When you're stale to your relations, and their manner

seems estranged; When the old domestic quarrels, round the table thrice a day, Make it tog much like the old times—make you wish you'd stayed away,

224 THE PROFESSIONAL WANDERER

When, in short, you've spent your money in the fulness of your heart. And your clothes are getting shabby . . . Then it's high time to depart.

'Tis a yarn I heard of a new-chum'trap'

On the edge of the Never-Never, Where the dead men lie and the black men lie,

And the bushman lies for ever.

'Twas the custom still with the local blacks To cadge in the ' altogether '— They had less respect for our feelings then,

And more respect for the weather.

The trooper said to the sergeant's wife :

' Sure, I wouldn't seem unpleasant; ' But there's women and childer about the place,

' And—barrin' a lady's present—

' There's ould King Billy wid niver a stitch

' For a month—may the drought cremate him !—

' Bar the wan we put in his dhirty head, ' Where his old Queen Mary bate him.

226

' God give her strength ! —and a peaceful reign—

' Though she flies in a bit av a passion ' If ony wan hints that her shtoyle an' luks

' Are a trifle behind the fashion.

' There's two of the boys by the stable now— ' Be the powers ! I'll teach the varmints

' To come wid nought but a shirt apiece, ' And wid dirt for their nayther garmints.

' Howld on, ye blaggards ! How dare ye dare ' To come widin sight av the houses 1—

' I'll give ye a warnin' all for wance 'An' a couple of ould pair of trousers.'

They took the pants as a child a toy,

The constable's words beguiling A smile of something beside their joy ;

And they took their departure smiling.

And that very day, when the sun was low. Two blackfellows came to the station ;

They were filled with the courage of Queensland rum And bursting with indignation.

A LITTLE MISTAKE 227

The constable noticed, with growing ire, They'd apparently dressed in a hurry ;

And their language that day, I am sorry to say, Mostly consisted of '

plurry.'

The constable heard, and he wished himself back In the land of the'bogs and the ditches—

' You plurry big tight-britches p'liceman, what for ' You gibbit our missuses britches 1'

And this was a case, I am bound to confess, Where civilisation went under ; Had one of the gins been less modest in dress

He'd never have made such a blunder.

And here let the moral be duly made known, And hereafter signed and attested : We should place more reliance on that which is shown

And less upon what is suggested.

' A SAiLOB named Grioe was seen by the guard of a goods train lying close to the railway-line near Warner Town (S.A.) in a nude condition. He was unconscious, and had lain there three days, during one of which the glass registed 110 in the shade. Orice expressed surprise that the train did not pick him up.'—Daily paper.

In consequence, the muse :—

He was bare—we don't want to be rude— (His condition was owing to drink)

They say his condition was nood,

Which amounts to the same thing, we think (We mean his condition, we think,

'Twas a naked condition, or nood,

Which amounts to the same thing, we think)

Uncovered he lay on the grass That shrivelled and shrunk ; and he stayed Three hot summer days, while the glass

Was one hundred and ten in the shade.

228

(We nearly remarked that he laid, But that was bad grammar we thought—

It does sound bucolic, we think

It smacks of the barnyard— Of farming—of pullets in short.) Unheeded he lay on the dirt;

Beside him a part of his dress, A tattered and threadbare old shirt Was raised as a flag of distress. (On a stick, like a flag of distress—

Reversed—we mean that the tail-end was up

Half-mast—on a stick—an evident flag of distress.) Perhaps in his dreams he persood

Bright visions of heav'nly bliss; And artists who study the nood Never saw such a study as this. The ' luggage' went by and the guard

Looked out and his eyes fell on Grice— We fancy he looked at him hard.

We think that he looked at him twice.

230 A STUDY IN THE "NOOD"

They say (if the telegram's true) When he woke up he wondered (good Lord !) ' Why the engine-man didn't heave to—

' Why the train didn't take him aboard.' And now, by the case of poor Grice,

We think that a daily express Should travel with sunshades and ice, And a lookout for flags of distress.

Texas Jack, you are amusin'. By Lord Harry, how I laughed When I seen yer rig and saddle -with its bulwarks fore-and-aft; Holy smoke ! In such a saddle how the dickens can yer fall t Why, I seen a gal ride bareback with no bridle on at all! Gosh! so-help-me! strike-me-balmy! if a bit o'

scenery Like ter you in all yer rig-out on the earth I ever see! How I'd like ter see a bushman use yer fixins, Texas Jack; On the remnant of a saddle he can ride to hell and back.

231

Why, I heerd a mother screamin' when her kid went tossin' by Ridin' bareback on a bucker that had murder in his eye.

What ? yer come to learn the natives how to squat

on horse's back ! Learn the cornstalk ridin'! Blazes!—w'at yer giv'n'

us,

Texas Jack ? Learn the cornstalk—what the flamin', jumptup!

where's my country gone 1 Why, the cornstalk's mother often rides the day afore

he's born !

You may talk about your ridin' in the city, bold an'

free, Talk o' ridin' in the city, Texas Jack, but where'd yer be When the stock horse snorts an' bunches all 'is quarters in a hump. And the saddle climbs a sapling, an' the horse-shoes

split a stump 1

No, before yer teach the native you must ride without a fall Up a gum or down a gully nigh as steep'as any wall—

«

You must swim the roarin' Darlin' when the flood is at its height Bearin' down the stock an' stations to the great Australian Bight.

You can't count the bulls an' bisons that yer copped with your lassoo— But a stout old myall bullock p'raps 'ud learn yer somethin' new; Yer'd better make yer will an' leave yer papers neat

an' trim Before yer make arrangements for the lassooin' of Mm ; Ere you'n' yer horse is catsmeat, fittin' fate for sich galoots, And yer saddle's turned to laces like we put in blucher boots.

And yer say yer death on Inj ins ! We've got somethin' in yer line—

If yer think your fitin's ekal to the likes of Tommy Ryan.

Take yer karkass up to Queensland where the allygators chew And the'carpet-snake is handy with his tail for a lassoo; Ride across the hazy regins where the lonely emus wail An' ye'll find the black'U track yer while yer lookin'

for his trail; He can track yer without stoppin' for a thouBand miles or more— Come again, and he will show yer where yer spit the year before. But yer'd best be mighty careful, you'U be sorry you kem here When yer skewered to the fakements of yer saddle with a spear— When the boomerang is sailin' in the air, may heaven help yer ! It will cut yer head off goin', an' come back again and skelp yer.