diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053-8.txt | 4137 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053-8.zip | bin | 0 -> 68227 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 91148 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053-h/38053-h.htm | 4463 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 0 -> 17384 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053.txt | 4137 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 38053.zip | bin | 0 -> 68195 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
10 files changed, 12753 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38053-8.txt b/38053-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..91fc6cb --- /dev/null +++ b/38053-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4137 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Coo-ee Reciter + +Author: Various + +Release Date: November 18, 2011 [EBook #38053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE COO-EE RECITER. + + BY + + AUSTRALIAN, BRITISH, AND AMERICAN AUTHORS. + + + _HUMOROUS, PATHETIC, DRAMATIC, DIALECT, RECITATIONS & READINGS._ + + WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, LONDON, MELBOURNE & TORONTO. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + I Killed a Man at Graspan M. GROVER. + Kitty O'Toole W. L. LUMLEY. + The Ballad of the Drover HENRY LAWSON. + The Rescue EDWARD DYSON. + Saltbush Bill A. B. PATERSON. + Drought and Doctrine. J. BRUNTON STEVENS. + The Martyr VICTOR J. DALEY. + The Carrying of the Baby ETHEL TURNER. + The Old Gum FLORENCE BULLIVANT. + Murphy shall not Sing To-night MONTAGUE GROVER. + Christmas Bells JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + Wool is Up GARNET WALCH. + Wool is Down GARNET WALCH. + The Highland Brigade Buries its Dead LIEUT.-COL. W. T. REAY. + Australia's Call to Arms JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + Good News GARNET WALCH. + Free Trade _v._ Protection GARNET WALCH. + The Lion's Cubs GARNET WALCH. + The Little Duchess ETHEL TURNER. + Australia's Springtime W. L. LUMLEY. + The Man that saved the Match DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + Ode for Commonwealth Day, 1st January, 1901. + A Desperate Assault + The Game of Life JOHN G. SAXE. + Prejudice CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON. + The Poor and the Rich JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + The Engineer's Story Seeing's not Believing. + THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY. + Caudle has been made a Mason DOUGLAS JERROLD. + Mrs. Caudle's Lecture DOUGLAS JERROLD. + Jim Bludso COLONEL JOHN HAY. + How Uncle Mose Counted the Eggs + The Negro Baby's Funeral. WILL CARLETON. + Der Shpider und der Fly CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. + Lariat Bill G. W. H. + The Elf Child; or, Little Orphant Annie JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. + Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene + MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS (Monk Lewis). + An All-around Intellectual Man. TOM MASSON. + Her Ideal KATE MASTERSON. + The Happy Farmer. MORTIMER C. BROWN. + The Son of a Soldier OWEN OLIVER. + The Mile DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + + + + +THE COO-EE RECITER + + + + +_I KILLED A MAN AT GRASPAN._ + +(_The Tale of a Returned Australian Contingenter done into verse._) + + + I killed a man at Graspan, + I killed him fair in fight; + And the Empire's poets and the Empire's priests + Swear blind I acted right. + The Empire's poets and Empire's priests + Make out my deed was fine, + But they can't stop the eyes of the man I killed + From starin' into mine. + + I killed a man at Graspan, + Maybe I killed a score; + But this one wasn't a chance-shot home, + From a thousand yards or more. + I fired at him when he'd got no show; + We were only a pace apart, + With the cordite scorchin' his old worn coat + As the bullet drilled his heart. + + I killed a man at Graspan, + I killed him fightin' fair; + We came on each other face to face, + An' we went at it then and there. + Mine was the trigger that shifted first, + His was the life that sped. + An' a man I'd never a quarrel with + Was spread on the boulders dead. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + I watched him squirmin' till + He raised his eyes, an' they met with mine; + An' there they're starin' still. + Cut of my brother Tom, he looked, + Hardly more'n a kid; + An', Christ! he was stiffenin' at my feet + Because of the thing I did. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + I told the camp that night; + An' of all the lies that ever I told + That was the poorest skite. + I swore I was proud of my hand-to-hand, + An' the Boer I'd chanced to pot, + An' all the time I'd ha' gave my eyes + To never ha' fired that shot. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + An hour ago about, + For there he lies with his starin' eyes, + An' his blood still tricklin' out. + I know it was either him or me, + I know that I killed him fair, + But, all the same, wherever I look, + The man that I killed is there. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + My first and, God! my last; + Harder to dodge than my bullet is + The look that his dead eyes cast. + If the Empire asks for me later on + It'll ask for me in vain, + Before I reach to my bandolier + To fire on a man again. + + M. GROVER. + + + + +_KITTY O'TOOLE._ + + + Och! a charmin' young cratur' was Kitty O'Toole, + The lily ov shwate Tipperary; + Wid a voice like a thrish, and wid cheeks like a rose, + An' a figger as nate as a fairy! + Oi saw her wan noight--och! she look'd loike a quane + In the glory ov shwate wan an' twinty-- + As she sat wid McGinty's big arm round her waisht, + Och! how I invied McGinty! + + Six months afther that, in the shwate summer days, + The boys an' the girls wor' invoited + By Micky O'Toole, ov the cabin beyant, + To see Kate an' McGinty unoited; + An' whin in the church they wor' made into wan, + An' the priesht gave thim blissin's in plinty, + An' Kitty look'd shwater than iver before-- + Och! how I invied McGinty! + + But the years have gone by, an' McGinty is dead! + Och! me heart was all broke up wid pity + To see her so lonely, an' mournful, an' sad, + An' I wint an' got married to Kitty! + But now, whin I look where McGinty is laid, + Wid a shtone o'er his head cowld an' flinty-- + As he lies there so peaceful, an' quoiet, an' shtill-- + Och! how I invy McGinty. + + W. L. LUMLEY. + + + + +_THE BALLAD OF THE DROVER._ + +BY HENRY LAWSON. + +(_By kind permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney +and Melbourne._) + + + Across the stony ridges, + Across the rolling plain, + Young Harry Dale, the drover, + Comes riding home again. + And well his stock-horse bears him, + And light of heart is he, + And stoutly his old pack-horse + Is trotting by his knee. + + Up Queensland way with cattle + He travelled regions vast; + And many months have vanished + Since home-folk saw him last. + He hums a song of someone + He hopes to marry soon; + And hobble-chains and camp-ware + Keep jingling to the tune. + + Beyond the hazy dado + Against the lower skies, + And yon blue line of ranges, + The homestead station lies. + And thitherward the drover + Jogs through the lazy noon, + While hobble-chains and camp-ware + Are jingling to a tune. + + An hour has filled the heavens + With storm-cloud inky black; + At times the lightning trickles + Around the drover's track, + But Harry pushes onward; + His horses' strength he tries + In hope to reach the river + Before the flood shall rise. + + The thunder from above him + Goes rolling o'er the plain; + And down on thirsty pastures + In torrents fall the rain. + And every creek and gully + Sends forth its little flood, + Till the river runs a banker, + All stained with yellow mud. + + Now Harry speaks to Rover, + The best dog on the plains; + And to his hardy horses, + And strokes their shaggy manes; + "We've breasted bigger rivers + When floods were at their height, + Nor shall this gutter stop us + From getting home to-night!" + + The thunder growls a warning, + The ghastly lightnings gleam, + As the drover turns his horses, + To swim the fatal stream. + But, oh! the flood runs stronger + Than e'er it ran before; + The saddle horse is failing, + And only half-way o'er! + + When flashes next the lightning, + The flood's grey breast is blank, + And a cattle-dog and pack-horse + Are struggling up the bank. + But on the bank to northward, + Or on the southern shore, + The stock-horse and his rider + Will struggle out no more. + + The faithful dog a moment + Sits panting on the bank, + And then swims through the current + To where his master sank. + And round and round in circles, + He fights with failing strength, + Till borne down by the waters, + The old dog sinks at length. + + Across the flooded lowlands + And slopes of sodden loam, + The pack-horse struggles onward, + To take dumb tidings home. + And mud-stained, wet, and weary, + Through ranges dark goes he; + The hobble-chains and tinware + Are sounding eerily. + + * * * * * + + The floods are in the ocean, + The stream is clear again, + And now a verdant carpet + Is stretched across the plain. + But someone's eyes are saddened, + And someone's heart still bleeds, + In sorrow for the drover + Who sleeps among the reeds. + + + + +_THE RESCUE._ + +BY EDWARD DYSON. + +(_From "Rhymes from the Mines," by kind permission of Messrs. Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + There's a sudden, fierce clang of the knocker, + then the sound of a voice in the shaft, + Shrieking words that drum hard on the centres, + and the braceman goes suddenly daft; + "Set the whistle a-blowing like blazes! Billy, + run, give old Mackie a call-- + Run, you fool! Number Two's gone to pieces, + and Fred Baker is caught in the fall! + Say, hello! there below--any hope, boys, + any chances of saving his life?" + "Heave away!" says the knocker. "They've started. + God be praised, he's no youngsters or wife!" + + Screams the whistle in fearful entreaty, + and the wild echo raves on the spur, + And the night, that was still as a sleeper + in soft, charmed sleep, is astir + With the fluttering of wings in the wattles, + and the vague, frightened murmur of birds; + With far cooeys that carry the warning, + running feet, inarticulate words. + From the black belt of bush come the miners, + and they gather by Mack on the brace, + Out of breath, barely clad, and half-wakened, + with a question in every face. + + "Who's below?" "Where's the fall?" "Didn't I tell you?-- + Didn't I say them sets wasn't sound?" + "Is it Fred? He was reckless was Baker; + now he's seen his last shift underground." + "And his mate? Where is Sandy M'Fadyn?" + "Sandy's snoring at home on his bunk." + "Not at work! Name of God! a foreboding?" + "A foreboding be hanged! He is drunk!" + "Take it steady there, lads!" the boss orders. He is white to the + roots of his hair. + "We may get him alive before daybreak + if he's close to the face and has air." + + In the dim drive with ardour heroic + two facemen are pegging away. + Long and Coots in the rise heard her thunder, + and they fled without word or delay + Down the drive, and they rushed for the ladders, + and they went up the shaft with a run, + For they knew the weak spot in the workings, + and they guessed there was graft to be done. + Number Two was pitch dark, and they scrambled + to the plat and they made for the face, + But the roof had come down fifty yards in, + and the reef was all over the place. + + Fresher men from the surface replace them, + and they're hauled up on top for a blow; + When a life and death job is in doing + there's room only for workers below. + Bare-armed, and bare-chested, and brawny, + with a grim, meaning set of the jaw, + The relay hurries in to the rescue, + caring not for the danger a straw; + 'Tis not toil, but a battle, they're called to, + and like Trojans the miners respond, + For a dead man lies crushed 'neath the timbers, + or a live man is choking beyond. + + By the faint, yellow glow of the candles, + where the dank drive is hot with their breath, + On the verge of the Land of the Shadow, + waging war breast to bosom with Death, + How they struggle, these giants! and slowly, + as the trucks rattle into the gloom, + Inch by inch they advance to the conquest + of a prison--or is it a tomb? + And the workings re-echo a volley + as the timbers are driven in place; + Then a whisper is borne to the toilers: + "Boys, his mother is there on the brace!" + + Like veterans late into action, + fierce with longing to hew and to hack, + Riordan's shift rushes in to relieve them, + and the toil-stricken men stagger back. + "Stow the stuff, mates, wherever there's stowage! + Run the man on the brace till he drops! + There's no time to think on this billet! + Bark the heels of the trucker who stops! + Keep the props well in front, and be careful. + He's in there, and alive, never fret." + But the grey dawn is softening the ridges, + and the word has not come to us yet. + + Still the knocker rings out, and the engine + shrieks and strains like a creature in pain + As the cage rushes up to the surface + and drops back into darkness again. + By the capstan a woman is crouching. + In her eyes neither hope nor despair; + But a yearning that glowers like frenzy + bids those who'd speak pity forbear. + Like a figure in stone she is seated + till the labour of rescue be done. + For the father was killed in the Phoenix, + and the son--Lord of pity! the son? + + "Hello! there on top!" they are calling. + "They are through! He is seen in the drive!" + "They have got him--thank Heaven! they've got him, + and oh, blessed be God, he's alive!" + "Man on! heave away!" "Step aside, lads; + let his mother be first when he lands." + She was silent and strong in her anguish; + now she babbles and weeps where she stands, + And the stern men, grown gentle, support her + at the mouth of the shaft, till at last + With a rush the cage springs to the landing, + and her son's arms encircle her fast. + + _She has cursed the old mine for its murders, + for the victims its drives have ensnared, + Now she cries a great blessing upon it + for the one precious life it has spared._ + + + + +_SALTBUSH BILL._ + +BY A. B. PATERSON. + +(_By permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and +Melbourne._) + + + Now this is the law of the Overland, that all in the West obey, + A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day; + But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood. + They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where + the grass is good; + They camp, and they ravage the squatter's grass till never a blade + remains, + Then they drift away as the white clouds drift on the edge of the + saltbush plains. + From camp to camp and from run to run they battle it hand to hand, + For a blade of grass and the right to pass on the track of the + Overland. + + For this is the law of the Great Stock Routes, 'tis written in white + and black-- + The man that goes with a travelling mob must keep to a half-mile + track; + And the drovers keep to a half-mile track on the runs where the + grass is dead, + But they spread their sheep on a well-grassed run till they go with + a two-mile spread. + So the squatters hurry the drovers on from dawn till the fall of + night, + And the squatters' dogs and the drovers' dogs get mixed in a deadly + fight; + Yet the squatters' men, though they hunt the mob, are willing the + peace to keep, + For the drovers learn how to use their hands when they go with the + travelling sheep; + But this is a tale of a Jackeroo that came from a foreign strand, + And the fight that he fought with Saltbush Bill, the King of the + Overland. + + Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough, as ever the country knew, + He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the + Big Barcoo; + He could tell when he came to a friendly run that gave him a chance + to spread, + And he knew where the hungry owners were that hurried his sheep + ahead; + He was drifting down in the Eighty drought with a mob that could + scarcely creep + (When the kangaroos by the thousands starve, it is rough on the + travelling sheep), + And he camped one night at the crossing-place on the edge of the + Wilga run; + "We must manage a feed for them here," he said, "or the half of the + mob are done!" + So he spread them out when they left the camp wherever they liked to + go, + Till he grew aware of a Jackeroo with a station-hand in tow, + + And they set to work on the straggling sheep, and with many a + stockwhip crack + They forced them in where the grass was dead in the space of the + half-mile track; + So William prayed that the hand of fate might suddenly strike him + blue + But he'd get some grass for his starving sheep in the teeth of that + Jackeroo. + So he turned and he cursed the Jackeroo, he cursed him alive or + dead, + From the soles of his great unwieldy feet to the crown of his ugly + head, + With an extra curse on the moke he rode and the cur at his heels + that ran, + Till the Jackeroo from his horse got down and he went for the + drover-man; + With the station-hand for his picker-up, though the sheep ran loose + the while, + They battled it out on the saltbush plain in the regular prize-ring + style. + + Now, the new chum fought for his honour's sake and the pride of the + English race, + But the drover fought for his daily bread, with a smile on his + bearded face; + So he shifted ground and he sparred for wind and he made it a + lengthy mill, + And from time to time as his scouts came in they whispered to + Saltbush Bill-- + "We have spread the sheep with a two-mile spread, and the grass it + is something grand, + You must stick to him, Bill, for another round for the pride of the + Overland." + The new chum made it a rushing fight, though never a blow got home, + Till the sun rode high in the cloudless sky and glared on the + brick-red loam, + Till the sheep drew in to the shelter-trees and settled them down to + rest, + Then the drover said he would fight no more, and he gave his + opponent best. + + So the new chum rode to the homestead straight and he told them a + story grand + Of the desperate fight that he fought that day with the King of the + Overland. + And the tale went home to the public schools of the pluck of the + English swell, + How the drover fought for his very life, but blood in the end must + tell. + But the travelling sheep and the Wilga sheep were boxed on the Old + Man Plain. + 'Twas a full week's work ere they drafted out and hunted them off + again. + With a week's good grass in their wretched hides, with a curse and a + stockwhip crack + They hunted them off on the road once more to starve on the + half-mile track. + And Saltbush Bill, on the Overland, will many a time recite + How the best day's work that ever he did was the day that he lost + the fight. + + + + +_DROUGHT AND DOCTRINE._ + +BY J. BRUNTON STEPHENS. + +(_By kind permission of the publishers, Messrs. Angus and Robertson, +Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + Come, take the tenner, doctor ... yes, I know the bill says "five," + But it ain't as if you'd merely kep' our little 'un alive; + Man, you saved the mother's reason when you saved that baby's life, + An' it's thanks to _you_ I ha'n't a ravin' idiot for a wife. + + Let me tell you all the story, an' if then you think it strange, + That I'd like to fee ye extry--why, I'll take the bloomin' change. + If yer bill had said a hundred ... I'm a poor man, doc., and yet + I'd 'a' slaved till I had squared it; ay, an' still been in yer + debt. + + Well, you see, the wife's got notions on a heap o' things that ain't + To be handled by a man as don't pretend to be a saint; + So I minds "the cultivation," smokes my pipe an' makes no stir, + An' religion an' such p'ints I lays entirely on to her. + + No, she's got it fixed within her that, if children die afore + They've been sprinkled by the parson, they've no show for evermore; + An' though they're spared the pitchfork, the brimstun, an' the + smoke, + They ain't allowed to mix _up there_ with other little folk. + + So when our last began to pine, an' lost his pretty smile, + An' not a parson to be had within a hunder mile-- + (For though there is a chapel down at Bluegrass Creek, you know, + The clargy's there on dooty only thrice a year or so)-- + + Well, when our yet unchristen'd mite grew limp, an' thin, an' pale, + It would 'a' cut you to the heart to hear the mother wail + About her "unregenerate babe," an' how, if it should go, + 'Twould have no chance with them as had their registers to show. + + Then awful quiet she grew, an' hadn't spoken for a week, + When in came brother Bill one day with news from Bluegrass Creek. + "I seen," says he, "a notice on the chapel railin' tied; + They'll have service there this evenin'--can the youngster stand the + ride? + + For we can't have parson here, if it be true, as I've heard say, + There's a dyin' man as wants him more'n twenty mile away; + So"--He hadn't time to finish ere the child was out of bed, + With a shawl about its body an' a hood upon its head. + + "Saddle up," the missus said. I did her biddin' like a bird. + Perhaps I thought it foolish, but I never said a word; + For though I have a vote in what the kids eat, drink, or wear, + Their sperritual requirements are entirely _her_ affair. + + We started on our two hours' ride beneath a burnin' sun, + With Aunt Sal and Bill for sureties to renounce the Evil One; + An' a bottle in Sal's basket that was labelled "Fine Old Tom" + Held the water that regeneration was to follow from. + + For Bluegrass Creek was dry, as Bill that very day had found, + An' not a sup o' water to be had for miles around; + So, to make salvation sartin for the babby's little soul, + We had filled a dead marine, sir, at the fam'ly waterhole. + Which every forty rods or so Sal raised it to her head, + An' took a snifter, "just enough to wet her lips," she said; + Whereby it came to pass that when we reached the chapel door, + There was only what would serve the job, an' deuce a dribble more. + + The service had begun--we didn't like to carry in + A vessel with so evident a carritur for gin; + So we left it in the porch, an', havin' done our level best, + Went an' owned to bein' "mis'rable offenders" with the rest. + + An' nigh upon the finish, when the parson had been told + That a lamb was waitin' there to be admitted to the fold, + Rememberin' the needful, I gets up an' quietly slips + To the porch to see--a swagsman--with our bottle at his lips! + + Such a faintness came all over me, you might have then an' there + Knocked me down, sir, with a feather or tied me with a hair. + Doc., I couldn't speak nor move; an' though I caught the beggar's + eye, + With a wink he turned the bottle bottom up an' drank it dry. + + An' then he flung it from him, bein' suddintly aware + That the label on't was merely a deloosion an' a snare; + An' the crash cut short the people in the middle of "A-men," + An' all the congregation heard him holler "Sold again!" + + So that christ'nin' was a failure; every water-flask was drained; + Ev'n the monkey in the vestry not a blessed drop contained; + An' the parson in a hurry cantered off upon his mare, + Leavin' baby unregenerate, an' missus in despair. + + That night the child grew worse, but all my care was for the wife; + I feared more for her reason than for that wee spark o' life.... + But you know the rest--how Providence contrived that very night + That a doctor should come cadgin' at our shanty for a light.... + + Baby? Oh, he's chirpy, thank ye--been baptised--his name is Bill. + It's weeks and weeks since parson came an' put him through the mill; + An' his mother's mighty vain upon the subjick of his weight, + An' reg'lar cock-a-hoop about his sperritual state. + + So now you'll take the tenner. Oh, confound the bloomin' change! + Lord, had Billy died!--but, doctor, don't you think it summut + strange + That them as keeps the gate would have refused to let him in + Because a fool mistook a drop of Adam's ale for gin? + + + + +_THE MARTYR._ + +BY VICTOR J. DALEY. + +(_From "At Dawn and Dusk" poems, by kind permission of Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + Not only on cross and gibbet, + By sword, and fire, and flood, + Have perished the world's sad martyrs + Whose names are writ in blood. + + A woman lay in a hovel + Mean, dismal, gasping for breath; + One friend alone was beside her: + The name of him was--Death. + + For the sake of her orphan children, + For money to buy them food, + She had slaved in the dismal hovel + And wasted her womanhood. + + Winter and spring and summer + Came each with a load of cares; + And autumn to her brought only + A harvest of grey hairs. + + Far out in the blessèd country, + Beyond the smoky town, + The winds of God were blowing + Evermore up and down; + + The trees were waving signals + Of joy from the bush beyond; + The gum its blue-green banner, + The fern its dark-green frond; + + Flower called to flower in whispers + By sweet caressing names, + And young gum shoots sprang upward + Like woodland altar-flames; + + And, deep in the distant ranges + The magpie's fluting song + Roused musical, mocking echoes + In the woods of Dandenong; + + And riders were galloping gaily, + With loose-held flowing reins, + Through dim and shadowy gullies, + Across broad, treeless plains; + + And winds through the Heads came wafting + A breath of life from the sea, + And over the blue horizon + The ships sailed silently; + + And out of the sea at morning + The sun rose, golden bright, + And in crimson, and gold, and purple + Sank in the sea at night; + + But in dreams alone she saw them, + Her hours of toil between; + For life to her was only + A heartless dead machine. + + _Her_ heart was in the graveyard + Where lay her children three; + Nor work nor prayer could save them, + Nor tears of agony. + + On the lips of her last and dearest + Pressing a farewell kiss, + She cried aloud in her anguish-- + "Can God make amends for _this_?" + + Dull, desperate, ceaseless slaving + Bereft her of power to pray, + And Man was careless and cruel, + And God was far away. + + But who shall measure His mercies? + His ways are in the deep; + And, after a life of sorrow, + He gave her His gift of sleep. + + Rest comes at last to the weary, + And freedom to the slave; + Her tired and worn-out body + Sleeps well in its pauper grave. + + But His angel bore her soul up + To that Bright Land and Fair, + Where Sorrow enters never, + Nor any cloud of care. + + They came to a lovely valley, + Agleam with asphodel, + And the soul of the woman speaking, + Said, "Here I fain would dwell!" + + The angel answered gently: + "O Soul, most pure and dear, + O Soul, most tried and truest, + Thy dwelling is not here! + + "Behold thy place appointed-- + Long kept, long waiting--come! + Where bloom on the hills of Heaven + The roses of Martyrdom!" + + + + +_THE CARRYING OF THE BABY._ + +BY ETHEL TURNER. + + +Larrie had been carrying it for a long way, and said it was quite time +Dot took her turn. + +Dot was arguing the point. + +She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of all +the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being +six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he +could not carry a baby. + +Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other +arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the +red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to help +to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it was +heavy. + +"He is exactly twenty-one pounds," she said, "I weighed him on the +kitchen scales yesterday. I should think a man of your size ought to be +able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so." + +"But he's on springs, Dot," he said; "just look at him, he's never still +for a minute; you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard, and then +I'll take him again." + +Dot shook her head. + +"I'm very sorry, Larrie," she said, "but I really can't. You know I +didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself, +you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy." + +"But you're his mother," objected Larrie. + +He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes +were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat +thumb in his eye and made it water. + +"But you're its father," Dot said sweetly. + +"It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man"--poor Larrie was +mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand--"everyone says so; don't +be a little sneak, Dot; my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for +pity's sake take him." + +Dot shook her head again. + +"Would you have me break my vow, St. Lawrence?" she said. + +She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his +side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was +white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white +Suède gloves, and she carried a white parasol. + +"I'm hanged," said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the +road; "look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or are +you not?" + +Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face. + +"No, my good man," she said; "I don't propose to carry your baby one +step." + +"Then I shall drop it," said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening +position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on. + +"Find a soft place," she called, looking back over her shoulder once and +seeing him still standing in the road. + +"Little minx," he said under his breath. + +Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much +given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look, +one could see capabilities for all manner of things. + +He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft, +green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the +child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or +other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string +from the little rosy foot, and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in +its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot. + +"Well?" she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms; +she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a +hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along. + +"You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that," she +said, looking up at his set side face. + +"You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are," he returned +hotly. "By Jove, if I was a woman, I'd be ashamed to act as you do. You +get worse every day you live. I've kept excusing you to myself, and +saying you would get wiser as you grew older, and instead, you seem more +childish every day." + +She looked childish. She was very, very small in stature, very slightly +and delicately built. Her hair was in soft gold-brown curls, as short as +a boy's; her eyes were soft, and wide, and tender, and beautiful as a +child's. When she was happy they were the colour of that blue, deep +violet we call the Czar, and when she grew thoughtful, or sorrowful, +they were like the heart of a great, dark purple pansy. She was not +particularly beautiful, only very fresh, and sweet, and lovable. Larrie +once said she always looked like a baby that has been freshly bathed and +dressed, and puffed with sweet violet powder, and sent out into the +world to refresh tired eyes. + +That was one of his courtship sayings, more than a year ago, when she +was barely seventeen. She was eighteen now, and he was telling her she +was an unnatural mother. + +"Why, the child wouldn't have had its bib on, only I saw to it," he +said, in a voice that increased in excitement as he dwelt on the +enormity. + +"Dear me," said Dot, "that was very careless of Peggie; I must really +speak to her about it." + +"I shall shake you some day, Dot," Larrie said, "shake you till your +teeth rattle. Sometimes I can hardly keep my hands off you." + +His brow was gloomy, his boyish face troubled, vexed. + +And Dot laughed. Leaned against the fence skirting the road that seemed +to run to eternity, and laughed outrageously. + +Larrie stopped too. His face was very white and square-looking, his dark +eyes held fire. He put his hands on the white, exaggerated shoulders of +her muslin dress and turned her round. + +"Go back to the bottom of the hill this instant, and pick up the child +and carry it up here," he said. + +"Go and insert your foolish old head in a receptacle for +_pommes-de-terre_," was Dot's flippant retort. + +Larrie's hands pressed harder, his chin grew squarer. + +"I'm in earnest, Dot, deadly earnest. I order you to fetch the child, +and I intend you to obey me," he gave her a little shake to enforce the +command. "I am your master, and I intend you to know it from this day." + +Dot experienced a vague feeling of surprise at the fire in the eyes that +were nearly always clear, and smiling, and loving, then she twisted +herself away. + +"Pooh," she said, "you're only a stupid over-grown, passionate boy, +Larrie. You my master! You're nothing in the world but my husband." + +"Are you going?" he said in a tone he had never used before to her. "Say +Yes or No, Dot, instantly." + +"No," said Dot, stormily. + +Then they both gave a sob of terror, their faces blanched, and they +began to run madly down the hill. + +Oh the long, long way they had come, the endless stretch of red, red +road that wound back to the gold-tipped wattles, the velvet grass, and +their baby! + +Larrie was a fleet, wonderful runner. In the little cottage where they +lived, manifold silver cups and mugs bore witness to it, and he was +running for life now, but Dot nearly outstripped him. + +She flew over the ground, hardly touching it, her arms were +outstretched, her lips moving. They fell down together on their knees by +their baby, just as three furious, hard-driven bullocks thundered by, +filling the air with dust and bellowing. + +The baby was blinking happily up at a great fat golden beetle that was +making a lazy way up the wattle. It had lost its "comforter" and was +sucking its thumb thoughtfully. It had kicked off its white knitted +boots, and was curling its pink toes up in the sunshine with great +enjoyment. + +"Baby!" Larrie said. The big fellow was trembling in every limb. + +"_Baby!_" said Dot. She gathered it up in her little shaking arms, she +put her poor white face down upon it, and broke into such pitiful tears +and sobs that it wept too. Larrie took them both into his arms, and sat +down on a fallen tree. He soothed them, he called them a thousand +tender, beautiful names; he took off Dot's hat and stroked her little +curls, he kissed his baby again and again; he kissed his wife. When they +were all quite calm and the bullocks ten miles away, they started again. + +"I'll carry him," said Larrie. + +"Ah no, let me," Dot said. + +"Darling, you're too tired--see, you can hold his hand across my +shoulder." + +"No, no, give him to me--my arms ache without him." + +"But the hill--my big baby!" + +"Oh, I _must_ have him--Larrie, _let_ me--see, he is so light--why, he +is nothing to carry." + + + + +_THE OLD GUM._ + + + Stand here; he has once been a grand old gum, + But it makes one reflect that the time will come + When we all shall have had our fling; + Yet, our life soon passes, we scarce know how-- + You would hardly think, to see him now, + That once he had been a king. + + In his youth, in the silence of the wood, + A forest of saplings around him stood; + But he overtopped them all. + And, over their heads, through the forest shade, + He could see how the sunlight danced and played, + So straight he grew, and so tall. + + Each day of his life brought something new, + The breeze stirred the bracken, the dry leaves flew, + The wild bird passed on the wing: + He heard the low, sad song of the wood, + His childhood was passed in its solitude; + And he grew--and became a king. + + Oft has he stood on the stormy night, + When the long-forked flash has revealed to sight + The plain where the floods were out; + When the wind came down like a hurricane, + And the branches, broken and snapped in twain, + Were scattered and strewn about. + + Oft, touched by the reddening bush-fire glow, + When clouds of smoke, rolling up from below, + Obscured the sun like a pall; + When the forest seemed like a flaming sea, + And down came many a mighty tree, + Has he stood firm through it all. + + Those days of his youth have long gone by; + The magpie's note and the parrot's cry, + As borne on the evening wind, + Recall to his thoughts his childhood flown, + Old memories, fresh, yet faintly blown, + Of the youth he has left behind. + + On the brow of the hill he stands to-day, + But the pride of his life has passed away; + His leaves are withered and sere. + And oft at night comes a sound of woe, + As he sways his tired limbs to and fro + And laments to the bleak night air. + + He can still look down on the plain below, + And his head is decked by the sunset glow + With a glorious crown of light; + And from every field, as the night draws on, + To his spreading arms the magpies come + To shelter there for the night. + + Some night, when the waters rage and swell, + He will hear the thunder roll his knell, + And will bow his head to the ground; + And the birds from their nests will wheel in the air, + And the rabbits burrow deeper in fear, + At the thundering, rending sound. + + And the magpies must find another home; + No more, at the sunset, will they come + To warble their evening song. + Ah, well! our sorrow is quickly flown, + For the good old friends we have loved and known: + And the old tree falls by the tall new grown, + And the weak must yield to the strong. + + FLORENCE BULLIVANT. + + + + +_MURPHY SHALL NOT SING TO-NIGHT._ + + + Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round O'Connor's bar, + Answering the invitation Patsy posted near and far. + All the chandeliers were lit, but did not shed sufficient light, + So tallow candles, stuck in bottles, graced the bar that famous + night. + + All the quality were there; before such talent ne'er was seen; + Healy brought the house down fairly with "The Wearin' o' the Green." + Liquor went around in lashins, everything was going off right, + When O'Connor sent the word round, "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Faces paled at Patsy's order; none were listening to the song; + Through their hearts went vague sensations--awful dreads of coming + wrong; + For they knew that Danny Murphy thought himself a singer quite, + And knew that if he made his mind up, that, bedad, he'd sing that + night. + + Everyone was close attention, knew that there would be a row, + When the chairman said that "Mr. Murphy will oblige us now." + "Not so fasht," said Pat O'Connor, rising to his fullest height, + "This here pub belongs to me, and Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Up jumps Murphy, scowling darkly as he looks at Pat O'Connor: + "Is this the way," he says to Pat, "that you uphold Ould Oireland's + honour?" + "Oi know Oi'm not much at singin'; any toime Oi'd sooner foight; + But, to show me independence, s'help me bob, Oi'll sing to-night." + + "Gintlemin," says Pat O'Connor, wildly gazing round about, + "It will be my painful duty to chuck Danny Murphy out; + It has been a rule with me that no man sings when he is tight; + When Oi say a thing Oi mane it--Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Then says Doolan to O'Connor, "Listen what Oi've got to tell; + If yez want to chuck out Murphy, yez must chuck out me as well." + This lot staggered Pat O'Connor, Doolan was a man of might; + But he bluffed him, loudly crying, "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Then he rushed on Danny Murphy and he smote him hip and thigh; + Patsy looked a winner straight, when Doolan jabbed him in the eye. + All the crowd at once took sides, and soon began a rousing fight; + The battle cry of Patsy's push was "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + The noise soon brought a copper in: 'twas Patsy's cousin, Jim + Kinsella. + "Hould yer row," he says to Doolan, when Mick lands him on the + smeller. + They got the best of Doolan's push, though; lumbered them for + getting tight. + Patsy then had spoken truly, "Murphy did not sing that night." + + EPILOGUE. + + Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round the City court. + There before the awful sentence was a touching lesson taught-- + Then away they led the prisoners to a cell, so cool and white; + And for fourteen days to come Murphy shall not sing at night. + + MONTAGUE GROVER. + + + + +_CHRISTMAS BELLS._ + +BY JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Bells, joyous bells of the Christmas-time, + Dear is the song of your welcome chime; + Dear is the burden that softly wells + From your joyous throats, O tolling bells! + Dear is the message sweet you bind + Dove-like to wings of the wafting wind. + + You tell how the Yule-king cometh forth + From his home in the heart of the icy North; + On his Eastern steeds how rusheth on + The wind-god of storms, Euroclydon; + How his trumpet strikes to the pallid stars + That shrink from the mad moon's silver bars, + Where the cold wind tortures the sobbing sea, + And the chill sleet pierces the pinioned lea, + As the snow king hurls from his frozen zone + The fragments fast of a tumbled throne. + + But what is the song, O silver bells, + You sing of the ferny Austral dells, + Of the bracken height, and the sylvan stream, + And the breezy woodland's summer dream, + Lulled by the lute of the slow sweet rills + In the trembling heart of the great grave hills? + Ah, what is the song that you sing to me + Of the soft blue isles of our shimmering sea, + Where the slow tides sleep, and a purple haze + Fringes the skirts of the windless bays, + + That, ringed with a circlet of beauty fair, + Start in the face of the dreamer there; + O, what is the burden of your sweet chimes, + Bells of the golden Christmas times? + + You sing of the summer gliding down + From the stars that gem bright heaven's crown; + Of the flowers that fade in the autumn sere, + And the sunlit death of the old, old year. + Of the sweet South wind that sobs above + The grass-green grave of our buried love: + No bitter dirge from the stormy flow + Of a moaning sea,--ah! no, no, no! + But a sweet farewell, and a low soft hymn + Under the beautiful moons that swim + Over the silver seas that toss + Their foam to thy shrine, O Southern Cross! + + O, bright is the burden of your sweet chimes, + Bells of the joyous Christmas times! + You bring to the old hearts throbbing slow + The beautiful dreams of the long ago; + Remembrance sweet of the olden Yule, + When hearts beat high in life's young school. + Ah, haply now, as they list to your chimes, + Will the voices rise of the olden times, + Till the wings of peace brood over the hours + Slipping like streams through sleepy bowers, + While you whisper the story loved of One + Who suffered for us--the sad sweet Son-- + Who taught that afflictions, sent in love, + Chasten the soul for the realms above. + + + + +_WOOL IS UP._ + + + Earth o'erflows with nectared gladness, + All creation teems with joy; + Banished be each thought of sadness, + Life for me has no alloy. + Fill a bumper!--drain a measure, + Pewter! goblet! tankard! cup! + Testifying thus our pleasure + At the news that "Wool is up." + + 'Thwart the empires, 'neath the oceans, + Subtly speeds the living fire; + Who shall tell what wild emotions + Spring from out that thridden wire? + "Jute is lower--copper weaker," + This will break poor neighbour Jupp; + But for me, I shout "Eureka!" + Wealth is mine--for wool is up! + + What care I for jute or cotton, + Sugar, copper, hemp, or flax! + Reeds like these are often rotten, + Turn to rods for owners' backs. + Fortune! ha! I have thee holden + In what Scotia calls a "grup," + All my fleeces now are golden, + Full troy weight--for wool is up! + + I will dance the gay fandango + (Though to me its steps be strange), + Doubts and fears, you all can hang go! + I will cut a dash on 'Change. + Atra Cura, you will please me + By dismounting from my crup-- + Per--you no more shall tease me, + Pray get down--for wool is up! + + Jane shall have that stylish bonnet + Which my scanty purse denied; + Long she set her heart upon it, + She shall wear it now with pride. + I will buy old Dumper's station, + Reign as king at Gerringhup, + For my crest a bust of Jason, + With this motto, "Wool is up." + + I will keep a stud extensive; + Bolter, here! I'll have those greys, + Those Sir George deemed too expensive, + You can send them--with the bays. + Coursing! I should rather think so; + Yes, I'll take that "Lightning" pup; + Jones, my boy, you needn't wink so, + I can stand it--wool is up! + + Wifey, love, you're looking charming, + Years with you are but as days; + We must have a grand house-warming + When these painters go their ways. + Let the ball-room be got ready, + Bid our friends to dance and sup: + Bother! _how_ can I "go steady"? + I'm worth thousands--wool is up! + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_WOOL IS DOWN._ + + + Blacker than 'eer the inky waters roll + Upon the gloomy shores of sluggish Styx, + A surge of sorrow laps my leaden soul, + For that which was at "two" is now "one--six." + "Come, disappointment, come!" as has been said + By someone else who quailed 'neath Fortune's frown, + Stab to the core the heart that once has bled, + (For "heart" read "pocket")--wool, ah! wool is down. + + "And in the lowest deep a lower deep," + Thou sightless seer, indeed it may be so, + The road to--well, we know--is somewhat steep, + And who shall stay us when that road we go? + Thrice cursèd wire, whose lightning strikes to blast, + Whose babbling tongue proclaims throughout the town + The news, which, being ill, has travelled fast, + The dire intelligence that--wool is down. + + A rise in copper and a rise in jute, + A fall alone in wool--but what a fall! + Jupp must have made a pile this trip, the brute, + He don't deserve such splendid luck at all. + The smiles for him--for me the scalding tears; + He's worth ten thousand if he's worth a crown, + While I--untimely shorn by Fate's harsh shears-- + Feel that my game is up when wool is down. + Bolter, take back these prancing greys of thine, + Remove as well the vanquished warrior's bays, + My fortunes are not stable, they decline; + Aye, even horses taunt me with their neighs. + And thou, sweet puppy of the "Lightning" breed, + Through whose fleet limbs I pictured me renown, + Hie howling to thy former home with speed, + Thy course with me is up--for wool is down. + + Why, Jane, what's this--this pile of letters here? + Such waste of stamps is really very sad. + Your birthday ball! Oh, come! not _twice_ a year, + Good gracious me! the woman must be mad. + You'd better save expense at once, that's clear, + And send a bellman to invite the town! + There--there--don't cry; forgive my temper, dear, + But put these letters up--for wool is down. + + My station "Gerringhup"--yes, that must go, + Its sheep, its oxen, and its kangaroos, + First 'twas the home of blacks, then whites, we know, + Now is it but a dwelling for "the blues." + With it I leave the brotherhood of Cash + Who form Australian Fashion's tinsel crown; + I tread along the devious path of Smash, + I go where wool has gone--down, ever down. + + Thus ends my dream of greatness; not for me + The silken couch, the banquet, and the rout, + They're flown--the base _residuum_ will be + A mutton chop and half a pint of stout-- + Yet will I hold a corner in my soul + Where Hope may nestle safe from Fortune's frown. + Thou hoodwinked jade! my heart remaineth whole-- + I'll keep my spirits up--though wool be down. + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE BURIES ITS DEAD._ + +BY LIEUT.-COLONEL W. T. REAY. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + +How am I to describe the sadly impressive scene at Modder River on the +evening of the 13th of December? The sun has just set, and the period of +twilight has commenced. The great heat of the day has passed, and +although there is not a breath of wind, the air is cool and refreshing. +The whole British camp at Modder River is astir. Not, however, with the +always gay bustle of warlike preparations; not with the laughter and +jest which--such strange creatures are we--almost invariably come from +the lips of men who dress for the parade which precedes a plunge into +battle. There is this evening a solemn hush over the camp, and the men +move from their lines in irregular and noiseless parties, for the time +their pipes put out of sight, and their minds charged with serious +thought. To what is given this homage of silence as the soldiers gather, +and mechanically, without word of command or even request of any kind, +leave a roadway from the head-quarters' flag to a point a quarter of a +mile away, where a dark mound of upraised earth breaks the monotonous +flatness of the whitey-green veldt? For these are mere spectators, +deeply interested, it is true, yet still only spectators. What, then, is +afoot? Civilians, hats off, and attention everyone. The Highland Brigade +is about to bury its dead. + +Stand here at the head of the lines of spectator soldiers--here where +that significant mound is; here at the spot selected as a last +resting-place--and observe. The whole Brigade, some of the regiments +sadly attenuated, is on parade, and has formed funeral procession, under +Colonel Pole-Carew. First come the pipers, and it is seen that they have +for the nonce discarded their service kit, and are in the full dress of +their several clans. "Savage and shrill" is the Byronic description of +the pibroch, which, in the "noon of night," startled the joyous +revellers before Waterloo. Now it is a low, deep wail, yet voluminous +and weirdly euphonious, that comes from the music-makers of the +Highlands, and every heart stands still to listen. Oh, so sad it is! +"The Flowers of the Forest"--("He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut +down")--they are--playing, shall I say? No; rather does the music flow +out from the very souls of the pipers in a succession of strangely +harmonious moans, and soul calls to soul. Yet beneath it all, beneath +the dominant note of heart-bursting sorrow, lurks that other +element--"the savage and shrill." Yes, indeed; soul calls to soul +through these pipes--calls for sobs and tears for the brave who have +fallen--calls for vengeance on the yet unbeaten foe. The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead. + +Following the pipers marches a small armed party. It would have been the +firing party, but volleys are not fired over soldiers' graves in time of +war. Then the chaplain, in his robes, preceding the corpse of General +Wauchope (who had fallen at the head of his men), borne on a stretcher. +One of the bearers is of the dead man's kin--a promising young Highland +officer. Then come the several regiments of the Brigade, the Black Watch +leading. The men march with arms reversed, stately, erect, stern, grim. +They lift their feet high for the regulation step of the slow, funeral +march. But observe that even in their grim sternness these men are +quivering with an emotion which they cannot control--an emotion which +passes out in magnetic waves from their ranks to those of their comrade +spectators of England and Ireland, and brings tears to the eyes and +choking sobs to the throats of the strong and the brave. "Talk not of +grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!" The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead. + +In a separate grave, at the head of a long, shallow trench, the body of +General Wauchope is laid, in sight of and facing the foe. The chaplain +advances, and the solemn service for the dead is recited in a clear and +markedly Scotch voice, while all bow their heads and either listen or +ponder. A grief-stricken kinsman's quivering hand drops earth upon the +body at the words, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and the grave of the +General is quickly filled in. There, beside the trench, already lie the +corpses of fifty officers and men. They had been carried to the burial +place earlier in the day. There, at the end nearer to the General's +grave, the officers are laid. Beside them their comrades of minor rank +in life, all brought to a worldly level by the hand of death, are placed +in the trench. It is an excavation only about three feet deep, but it is +twelve feet wide, and the dead men are put feet to feet in two parallel +rows, twenty-five on each side. They are fully attired, just as they +were brought in from the battlefield, and each is wrapped in his +blanket. The sporan is turned over on to the dead face, and the kilt +thrown back, the rigid limbs showing bare and scarred in the unfilled +trench. The Highland Brigade is burying its dead. + +Once more the chaplain steps forward, and a new funeral service is +commenced. Again great, powerful men weep. Some grow faint, some pray, +some curse. "Oh, God! oh, God!" is the cry which comes from bursting +hearts as comrades are recognised, and soil is sprinkled over them by +hard, rough hands, which tremble now as they never trembled in the face +of a foe. Then the burial parties get to work, gently as a sweet woman +tucks the bedclothes round her sleeping child. The soft soil falls +kindly upon the shreds of humanity beneath. Men cease to weep, and +catch something of the "rapture of repose" of which a poet has sung. +Mother Earth has claimed her own, and the brave are sleeping their last +sleep in her kindly embrace. Again the dirge of the pipes, and the sweet +strains of "Lochaber no more" fill the evening air. The Highland Brigade +is burying its dead. + +Meanwhile, the cable has carried its budget of sad messages to the old +land. There, in a wee cottage by the bonnie burn side, the bereaved +mother bows her aged head and says, "Thy will be done." There also the +heart-broken once wife, newly-made widow, pours out the anguish of her +soul as she clasps her fatherless bairn to her warm bosom. Her man comes +no more. For the Highland Brigade has buried its dead. + + + + +_AUSTRALIA'S CALL TO ARMS._ + +BY JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Sons of ocean-girdled islands, + Where the southern billows sigh, + Wake! arise! the dread Bellona + Speeds her chariot through the sky; + Yea, the troubled star of danger + On Britannia shineth down-- + Wake! arise! maintain her glory + And renown, and renown! + + In the hour of Britain's peril + Shall we falter, while the fires + Still are glowing on our altars + From the ashes of our sires? + Ho! brave hearts, for Britain's honour, + For the lustre of her crown, + Wake! arise! maintain her glory + And renown, and renown! + + Ye are children of a nation, + Ye are scions of the sires + That of old were in the vanguard + Of the world's wide empires! + With the spirit of your fathers, + With the fulness of their fame, + Wake! arise! maintain the honour + Of her name, of her name! + + Long to Britain may "the crimson + Thread of kinship" bind our wings!-- + Crimson thread that slowly slackens + As the newer race upsprings: + Sons of heroes, men of courage + That reverse could never tame, + Wake! arise! maintain the glory + Of her name, of her name! + + See! the star of ancient Britain, + That hath never known decline, + By your valour lit up newly, + With a glow of fiercer shine, + O'er the burning sands of Afric, + With your loyalty aflame; + Once again maintain the glory + Of her name, of her name! + + + + +_GOOD NEWS._ + + + Moostarchers and hair black as jet, + Tall and thin, with a sad kind of smile; + Soft-handed, soft-voiced, but well set-- + A New Chum in manners and style. + That's him, sir--that's him; he's been here + A matter of nigh fourteen weeks, + Which I know by the rent in arrear, + Though a gent--you can tell when he speaks-- + Came one night about eight, hired the room + Without board--it's four shillings, and cheap, + Though I say it, and me and the broom, + And good yaller soap for its keep; + And a widow with nine, which the twins-- + Bless their 'arts--are that sturdy and bold + At their tricks soon as daylight begins, + Even now when it's perishing cold + O' mornings; and Betsy, my girl, + As answered the door, sir, for you, + She's so slow for her age, though a pearl + When there's any long job to get through; + And Bobby--but there, I forgot; + You'll pardon a mother, I know. + Well, for six weeks he paid up his shot, + And then I could see funds was low. + He dressed just as neat, but his coat + Got buttoned up nigher his chin, + And the scarf twisted round his poor throat + Missed a friend in the shape of a pin. + So the rent it run on, for, says I, + He's out of his luck, I can see, + And wants all his money to buy + His wittles (you brat, let that be). + Where he works I can't tell, but he's out + Every morning at nine from the house, + And he comes back at six or about, + And ups to his room like a mouse. + On Sundays the same, so I s'pose + He visits his friends on that day, + But where it may be that he goes + It's not in my knowledge to say. + He ain't well. I can tell by his walk; + He's as thin as a lath, and _that_ pale; + But I never could get him to talk, + So I can't rightly guess what may ail. + He never sends out for no beer, + He don't smoke, and as far as I see, + Beyond the few clothes he brought here, + And a desk, he's as hard up as me. + What! you bring him good news; I _am_ glad! + A fortune! ten thousand! Oh, la! + That's the physic for _you_, my poor lad. + This way, sir; it's not very far. + Mind that stair, please--the banister's broke. + Here's his door; hush, I'll knock. Ah! asleep. + Can't help it--you'd better be woke; + The news is too pretty to keep. + Ain't he sound, eh? Poor fellow, he's rocked + To rest in the Kingdom of Nod. + We'd better go in. It's not locked. + Follow me, sir. All dark. Oh! my God! + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_FREE TRADE v. PROTECTION._ + + + Yes, they were boys together in the grand old Fatherland, + They fubbed at taw together, played truant hand-in-hand, + They sucked each other's toffy, they cribbed each other's tops, + They pledged eternal friendship in an ounce of acid drops. + + With no tie of blood between them, a greater bond was theirs, + Cemented by the constant swop of apples, nuts, and pears; + And when to manhood they had grown, with manhood's hispid chins, + They held as close together still as Siam's famous twins. + + And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he + Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be, + So Jobbins came with Dobbins across the restless main, + And they traded as D., J. & Co., and gained much worldly gain. + + Each gave the other dinners, each drank the other's health, + Each looked upon the other as a "mine of mental wealth," + And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he + Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be. + + But ah! for human nature--alas for human kind-- + There came a cloud between them, with a lot more clouds behind. + The Tariff was the demon fell which sad disruption made, + For our Dobbins loved Protection, while our Jobbins loved Free + Trade. + + As partners now in business, they could no more agree, + So they forthwith dissoluted and halved the £ s. d. + And the fiercest opposition in every sort of way, + Was carried on by Dobbins _versus_ Jobbins day by day. + + Then Dobbins entered Parliament, and so did Jobbins too, + And each upheld his principles amidst that motley crew-- + And the side that Dobbins voted with were victors of the hour. + And Dobbins was made Treasurer while Jobbins' grapes were sour. + + Then Dobbins went to work with glee, protecting everything, + And gave his pet proclivities the very fullest swing, + Set all the manger-loving dogs a-barking in his praise, + And raised the Tariff up kite-high, a real four-aces' raise. + + He taxed the pots, he taxed the pans, he taxed the children's mugs, + He taxed the brooms, he taxed the mops, He taxed the jars and jugs; + In soft and hardware every line was smothered by his dues, + Except the national _tin tax_--the Ministerial _screws_. + + He taxed each article of food, each article of wear, + He even taxed fresh water, and he tried to tax fresh air; + He improvised new duties, new taxes by the score, + And when he stopped awhile to think he taxed his brain for more. + + And not one blessed class of goods was entered at the port, + But what he advaloremed till he made importers snort; + Till even old Protectionists, grown hoary in the cause, + Began to change to fidgets what had started as applause. + + Poor Jobbins suffered hugely by his whilom partner's tricks, + But found it rather dangerous to kick against the pricks; + He had to grin and bear it, as many a worthy man + Has grinned and borne it in his turn since this mad world began. + + Now Dobbins, flushed with Fortune's smiles, his high ambition fed, + Bethought him that the time had come when he might safely wed. + So by the wire electrical, as he had nicely planned, + He sent this loving message to the grand old Fatherland. + + "Matilda, I am ready, with five thousand pounds a-year; + Come out unto your Dobbins, love, and be his bride so dear;" + To which there sped the answer back that very self-same day, + "As soon as I have packed my things, I'm coming straight away." + + Matilda was an heiress of the old blue Bobbins' blood, + Her ancestors owned land and beeves long years before the flood; + One relative, 'tis said, indeed--a chemist, I'll engage-- + Sold bottled Protoplasm in the prehistoric age. + + Our Dobbins and our Jobbins, too, had loved the maid of old, + But Bobbins _père_ had snubbed them both for lack of needful gold; + Though when the telegram arrived, "Five thousand pounds a-year!" + Pa winked a playful little wink--and said, "Be off, my dear." + + The packing of her luggage was a most stupendous job, + She'd the miscellaneous wardrobe of the highest sort of nob, + New trousseau, plate, and furniture, and presents from her friends, + And Cockle's pills and raspberry jam, and various odds and ends. + + There were eighty zinc-lined cases and portmanteaus full a score, + Of band and bonnet boxes at least some fifty more, + Of carpet-bags three dozen most plethorically crammed, + With nigh-forgotten articles in one wild chaos jammed. + + Our Venus had a transit out particularly quick, + A glorious _transit mundi_, but without the usual _sic_ (k); + Till one fine day she gazed upon the far-famed, Austral strand. + One eye upon her luggage, and one eye upon the land. + + The vessel berthed beside the pier; Matilda's future lord, + The "Honourable Dobbins," stepped jauntily on board; + He clasped the maiden to his breast, nor heeded that close by + The melancholy Jobbins stood with sad reproachful eye. + + "Come, come, my love!" says Dobbins, "let's get your things ashore; + I have a cab in waiting here to take them to my store." + "A cab!" cried she--"twice twenty cabs would not for me suffice; + Behold my things!" He started, as though stung by cockatrice. + + "That lofty mountain yonder, which high its head erects, + That Alp of packing cases--are those, dear, your effects?" + "Of course they are, beloved, for keeping house with _you_, + Enough to furnish us complete, and everything _quite new!_" + + He staggered as if hearing news of pestilence or dearth, + Then gasped in low and anxious tones, "And what's the whole lot + worth?" + She thought that his emotion spoke of joy that knew no bounds, + And whispered gaily in his ear, "Some forty thousand pounds!" + + He bit his lips, he ground his teeth, he tore out hunks of hair, + He looked the full embodiment of desperate despair; + Then with a shriek of agony, the hideous truth found vent, + "There's _ad valorem_ on the lot of ninety-five per cent.! + + "My new amended Tariff comes in force this very day, + I little dreamt that you and I should be the first to pay; + Besides, I haven't got the cash! oh dear, how bad I feel!" + The maiden smiled a scornful smile and turned upon her heel. + + The miserable Dobbins gave a second piercing shriek, + Then leaped into the briny flood, and stayed there for a week; + Though Jobbins tried to find him hard, but failed, with these + remarks, + "He always _was_ too deep for me--besides, there might be sharks." + + The very night of Dobbins' loss, the Ministry went out, + The Jobbins' party took their place 'midst many a ringing shout; + And of our Jobbins in a trice, their Treasurer they made. + Because, as everybody knew, he gloried in Free Trade. + + He took the dues off everything, from thimbles up to tanks, + And passed Miss Bobbins' goods himself, and won that virgin's + thanks; + And what is more, he won her hand, her chattels and her heart, + And she is Mrs. Jobbins now, till death them twain doth part. + + As Dobbins to import his love had spared nor cash nor pains-- + They raised a handsome monument above his cold remains; + The carved inscription to this day is there his tale to tell, + "He _did_ his duties--and himself--not wisely but too well." + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE LION'S CUBS._ + +PATRIOTIC SONG AND CHORUS. + + + Australia's sons are we, + And the freest of the free, + But Love enchains us still with fetters strong + To the dear old land at Home, + Far across the rolling foam-- + The little isle to which our hearts belong. + It shall always be our boast, + Our bumper-honoured toast, + That, should Britain bid us help her, we'll obey; + Then, if e'er the call is made, + And Old England needs our aid, + These are the words Australia's sons will say-- + + There is not a strong right hand, + Throughout this Southern land, + But will draw a sword in dear old England's cause; + Our numbers may be few, + But we've loyal hearts and true, + And the Lion's cubs have got the Lion's claws. + + From our ocean-guarded strand, + O'er the sunny plains inland, + To the cloud-kissed mountain summits faint and far, + Australians bred and born, + Behold yon banner torn, + And greet it with a lusty-lunged hurrah! + 'Tis the brave old Union Jack, + That nothing can beat back-- + Ever waving where the brunt of battle lies; + For each frayed and faded thread + Britain counts a hero dead, + Who died to gain the liberties we prize. + + Then there's not, &c. + + The ever-honoured name + On the bright bead-roll of Fame, + That our fathers held through all the changing Past, + In it we claim our share, + And by Saint George we swear, + We can keep that name untarnished to the last; + Then, when the hour arrives, + We will give our very lives + For the dearest land of all the lands on earth, + And, foremost in the fray, + Show Britain's foes the way + Australia's sons can prove their British birth. + + Yes, there's not, &c. + + Sons of the South, unite + In federated might, + The Champions of your Country and your Queen; + From New Zealand's glacier throne + To the burning Torrid Zone, + We'll prove that welded steel is tough and keen. + The wide world shall be shown + That we mean to hold our own + In the home of our adoption, free and fair; + And if the Lion needs, + He shall see, by doughty deeds, + How his Austral cubs can guard their father's lair. + + For there's not, &c. + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE LITTLE DUCHESS._ + +BY ETHEL TURNER. + + "The tale is as old as the Eden tree, + And new as the new-cut tooth." + + +He was the clerk of the cash tramway, and when the rolling balls gave +him a moment's leisure, used to look down from his high perch at the big +shop beneath his feet, and, in his slow, quiet style, study the ways of +the numberless assistants whose life-books thus opened to him so many of +their pages. + +Lately there had come to the place a slight, grey-eyed girl, who wore +her black dress with such grace, and held her small head with such +dignity, that he whimsically had named her to himself "The Little +Duchess." He liked to look down and catch a glint of her hair's sunshine +when his brain was dulled with calculating change, and his fingers ached +with shutting cash-balls and dispatching them on their journeys. And he +used to wonder greatly how any customer could hesitate to buy silks and +satins when their lustre and sheen were displayed by her slim little +fingers and the quality descanted on with so persuasive a smile. There +were handsomer girls in the shop, girls with finer figures and better +features; but, to the boy in his mid-air cage, there was none with the +nameless dainty charms that made the little Duchess so lovable. + +For, of course, he did love her. In less than two months he had begun to +watch for her cash-ball with a trembling eagerness, to smooth out and +stroke gently the bill her fingers had written, and to wrap it and its +change up again with a careful tenderness that no one else's change and +bill received. He had spoken to her half-a-dozen times in all; twice at +the door on leaving--weather remarks, to which she had responded +graciously; once or twice about bills that she had come to rectify at +the desk, and once he had had the great good fortune to find and return +a handkerchief she had dropped. Such a pretty, ridiculous atom of muslin +it was, with a fanciful "Nellie" taking up one quarter, and some +delicate scent lending such subtle fascination that it was a real wrench +for the lad to take the handkerchief from his breast-pocket and proffer +it to her. + +So great a wrench, indeed, that he profferred his love, too, humbly, but +fervently, and received a very wondering look from the grey eyes, a +badly-concealed smile, a "Thank you" for the handkerchief, and a "No, +thank you" for the love. + +He had kissed her, though, and that was some consolation afterwards to +his sore spirit, kissed her right upon the sweet, scarlet lips which had +said "No" so decidedly, and then, bold no longer, had fled the shelter +of the friendly packing-cases, and beaten a retreat to his desk aloft. + +That was nearly a fortnight ago; not once since had she spoken to him, +and to-day he was feeling desperate. + +It had been a very busy morning, and he had found hardly a second to +raise his eyes from his work. The one time he had looked down she had +been busy with a customer--a girl prettily dressed and golden-headed +like herself. That had been at about ten o'clock. Before twelve her +cash-box, with the notch upon it that his penknife had made, rolled down +its line, and he opened it as he had opened it twenty times that +morning; but this time it bore his fate. With the bill was a little +twisted note, on which "John Walters, private," was written, and the +boy's very heart leaped at the sight. Down below, customers wearily +waited for change, and anxiously watched for their own particular ball +while the _deus ex machina_ read again and again, with eager eyes: +"Please will you meet me at lunch-time in the Strand? Do, if you can. I +am in trouble. You said you loved me." Then, as he began mechanically to +manipulate the waiting balls, he looked down to the accustomed place of +the little Duchess. She was pale, he saw, and her lips trembled oddly +now and again. There was a frightened look in her grey eyes, and once or +twice he thought he noticed a sparkle as of tears. + +At lunch-time he actually tore through the shop and away down to the +appointed place. She was there--still pale, still nervous and +fluttering. + +"Let us go to the Gardens. It's quieter," he said, putting a great +restraint upon himself; then, when at last they were within the gates, +"God bless you for this, Nellie." + +"What?" said the girl, with uncertainty, but not looking at the plain, +rugged face that was all aglow with love for her. + +"For telling me about the worry--asking me to come. Oh, God bless you, +Nellie! Now tell me." + +She sat down on a seat and began to cry, quietly and miserably, till the +boy was almost beside himself. At last, between the sobs, he learned her +trouble, which was grave indeed. She and her sister had very much +wanted to go to a certain ball, and, more than that, to have new dresses +for it, of soft white Liberty silk, such as she cut off daily for +fortunate customers. But her purse was empty, so, in their emergency, +the sisters had hit upon a plan, questionable, indeed, but not +dishonestly meant. The sister came to the silk counter and purchased +thirty yards of silk, paying 15_s._ for it instead of £3 15_s._ + +"That was on account; I was only taking a little credit, like other +customers," said the little Duchess, with a haughty movement of the +head. "On Saturday I was going to make out a bill for an imaginary +customer, and send the £3 up to the desk to you. Don't imagine I would +really wrong the firm by a halfpenny." + +"Oh, no," cried the boy eagerly; "it's all right." + +"That's not all." The girl began to cry again, hopelessly, miserably. "I +had no money to get the dresses made, and the next customer paid £2 +10_s._, and--and--I only sent 10_s._ up to you--I wanted to make it just +£5 I had borrowed. I thought I might borrow enough, as I was +borrowing--don't forget, I would rather have died than have stolen the +£5, Mr. Walters." + +"Of course, of course, I understand," said the cash clerk, seeing it was +a worse fix than he had imagined, but longing to take her in his arms +and kiss away the tears. + +"And then that horrid Mr. Greaves, who signed first in a hurry, asked +for my book and took it for something, and then sent it up to the desk, +and the figures are all confused, and the check-leaf isn't the same as I +sent to you. I hadn't time to make it right, and when the books are +compared to-night it will be noticed, and I shall get into +trouble--and, oh, I am so miserable!" The little Duchess was sobbing +pitifully. + +He kissed her, this time in earnest; on the lips, the cheeks, the hair, +the tear-wet eyes. He only recollected himself when a gardener's form, +and especially his smile, obtruded themselves upon their notice, and +they sat apart looking foolish until the two o'clock bells made them +hurry back to the shop. + +"I'll put everything right--don't you worry," he said; and she smiled +relievedly and went to her counter. + +That afternoon he did what all the other years of his life he had deemed +it impossible for him to do. He made a neat alteration in his books so +that the £5 in question would not be missed. To-morrow, he resolved, he +would take £5 of his own and pay it into the account of the firm. The +little Duchess should be his debtor, and run no more risks. But, alas, +for the morrow! + +Before he had fairly taken his seat in the morning--before Nellie had +finished fastening at her neck the violets he had brought her--some +words were said at his elbow, and he slowly became aware that he--surely +it was a dream!--was being arrested for defalcations in his accounts. He +learned that for some time past the firm had been aware of considerable +discrepancies in the books, and had placed a detective-accountant in the +office. Last night, for the first time, the man had discovered, as he +thought, a clue, and had convinced the firm that in Walters he had found +the offender. + +The lad was ashen pale, horror stricken, as he realised how these things +must go against him. He could not drag in the name of the little +Duchess--even if he did, it would not avail him much; he certainly had +altered his books, and to mention the girl's share would only be to have +two of them brought to trial, and perhaps to gaol. The little Duchess in +gaol! That hair catching the prison-yard sunshine! That slender form +clad in the garments of shame! The boy drew a deep breath, gave one very +wistful glance at the silk counter, and then walked straight to the +manager's room, followed by the policeman. + +"I took the £5 yesterday, and brought it back to-day. On my oath before +God, sir, I have never misapplied one farthing of my moneys." + +His voice trembled in its eagerness, the deep-set eyes gleamed, and the +white lips worked. + +"Your purpose, Walters?" + +The manager looked hard, disbelieving. + +"Direst need. Oh, believe me, sir, I have served you three years +honestly as man can serve--yesterday I borrowed this money and brought +it back this morning--don't ruin my whole life for that one act." + +"Your pressing need yesterday?" + +John drew a deep breath again. + +"I--can't well tell you." + +Then the heads of the firm came in, indignant at their misused trust, +and they scorned his story. The defalcations amounted to almost £50 in +all, and he had confessed to £5, which had been found upon him. Of +course, he and no other was the offender, and they must teach their +employés a lesson. So John walked down that long shop by the side of the +official, his head very erect, his face pale, and his knees shaking; all +his life he would remember the glances of pity, curiosity, and disdain +that met him on every side. As he passed the silk counter, the little +Duchess was measuring a great piece of rose-red, sheeny satin, that +gleamed warm and beautiful beneath her hands. She was very white, and in +her eyes was a look of abject horror and entreaty; his eyes reassured +her, and he passed on and out of the door. All his life he would +remember that rose-red satin and its brilliant, glancing lights. + +After the trial everyone thought him fortunate to get only two years, +and the little Duchess, who had grown thin and old-looking in the +interval, breathed freely as she read the account in the papers, and saw +that her name was not even mentioned in connection with the matter. He +wrote to her a loving, boyish letter, and told her she must be true to +him till he came out, and that then they would be married and go away +where this could never be heard of. + +It was no small thing he had done for her, he knew; and, as he was not +more than human, he expected his reward. And the little Duchess had +cried quietly over the letter, and for several days cut off silk and +satin with a pensive, unhappy look that quite touched her +customers--those few among them who realised that it was human flesh and +blood at the other side of the yard measure. + + * * * * * + +Twenty months later the little Duchess was at the same counter measuring +silk and satin for the stock-taking, when a note was brought to her in a +writing she remembered too well. + +"I got out to-day, Nellie. Come down to the Gardens in the lunch-time." + +She hesitated when the time came, but he might come to the shop, and +that would never do. So she put her hat on thoughtfully and set out for +the Gardens. + +He was awaiting her on the seat where, nearly two years ago, the +gardener had smiled at them. He stood up as she came slowly towards him, +and for a minute they gazed at each other without speaking. + +She was in black, of course, but fresh and dainty-looking, with a bunch +of white chiffon at her throat, little tan shoes on her feet, and her +hair showing golden against the black of her lace hat. + +For him, his face had altered and hardened; the once thick, curling hair +was horribly short, his hands were rough and unsightly, his clothes hung +awkwardly upon him, and his linen was doubtful. + +"The little Duchess!" he said, dully; then he put out his hand, took her +small gloved one, and looked at it curiously. + +"I--I am glad you're out," she said, carefully looking away from him. + +"Yes--we must be married now, Nellie; that's all I've had to think about +all this awful time." + +His face flushed a little and his eyes lightened. + +"It's good not to see the walls," he added, looking round at the +spring's brave show, then away to the blue sparkle in the bay and the +glancing sails. + +"We mustn't talk of that time, though, ever--eh, Nellie?" + +"No," she said, regarding her brown shoes intently. + +His eye noted the smooth roundness of her cheek, the delicate pink that +came and went, the turn of the white neck. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me, Nellie?" he said, slowly; and he drew her +a little strangely and awkwardly to him. + +Then she spoke. + +"I knew it wouldn't be any use, and you'd never have any money or get a +place after this. We couldn't be married on nothing, and it would only +drag you down to have me, too. I'm not worthy of you." + +"Well, little Duchess," he said, softly, as she stopped and faltered; a +slow smile crept over his face, and his deep-set eyes lighted up with +tenderness. + +Not worthy, his little Duchess! + +Then the crimson rushed into her face, and she flung up her head +defiantly. + +"I married the new shop-walker, four months ago!" + + + + +_AUSTRALIA'S SPRINGTIME._ + + + 'Tis a bright September morning, and Australia's golden Spring + Is awak'ning every flow'ret, and retouching every wing; + Everywhere the yellow blossoms of the wattle are in view-- + Even has the solemn gum tree taken on a lighter hue; + And the earth is cover'd over with a vest of fresher green, + And the clear cool air adds brightness to the beauty of the scene. + Now the cockatoo's hoarse screaming, and the magpie's cheery call + Sound in chorus to the music of the plashy waterfall. + Overhead the deep, clear azure is just fleck'd with snowy clouds, + And the green and crimson parrots fly around in chatt'ring crowds; + Far away is all the bustle of the smoky, restless town, + And the timid kangaroo upon the grass lies fearless down; + Nature calmly lieth waiting, in her peaceful solitude, + For the dawning of the morning bright with hopes of future good: + Lies as she has lain for ages, by the white man's foot untrod, + Like a glorious new creation, freshly from the hand of God. + + 'Tis Australia's golden Springtime, and the vision, fresh and green, + Of the lonely, peaceful country, is a swiftly changing scene; + First a few white tents embosom'd 'mid the thickly growing trees, + And the sound of human labour floating on the passing breeze. + First a village--then a city--with an everswelling tide + Passing thro' its busy markets--stretching outwards far and wide; + And while the growing nation overspreads the smiling land, + Nature opens up her treasures with a free and lavish hand: + O'er the verdant fields are roaming flocks and herds of sheep and + kine-- + Deep beneath the sunlit surface works the toiler in the mine-- + Education and religion build their temples o'er the plain, + And the iron horse moves swiftly past broad fields of golden grain, + Where a plenteous harvest ripens to reward the toiler's care, + And each honest, willing worker may obtain a rightful share. + Blessed peace and glorious freedom banish far the warrior's sword-- + Fancy seems to gaze enraptur'd on a Paradise restored! + + 'Tis the Springtime of Australia, and the dazzled eye may see + Wondrous dreams of future greatness--of the glories yet to be: + Visions--not of martial conquest--not of courage, blood and fire-- + But of lands by noble actions growing greater, grander, higher! + Of the wond'ring nations turning--gazing with expectant eyes, + While oppress'd and toiling millions feel new hopes and thoughts + arise + In the march of human progress as Australia leads the van + To the world's great Federation, and the "parliament of Man!" + Such the triumphs--aye, and grander, that the coming days shall see + If Australia but be faithful to her glorious destiny; + With the smile of Heav'n upon her in the future, as the past, + Sweeping back the threat'ning war-clouds that her sky may overcast-- + Like a stately white-wing'd vessel she shall keep her steadfast + way-- + Peace, o'er all her wide dominions, ruling with unbroken sway; + And her progress be continued till the wings of Time are furled-- + Her glorious page the brightest in the history of the world! + + W. L. LUMLEY. + + + + +_THE MAN THAT SAVED THE MATCH._ + +BY DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Our church ain't reckoned very big, but then the township's small-- + I've seen the time when there was seats and elbow-room for all. + The women-fold would come, of course, but working chaps was rare; + They'd rather loaf about and smoke, and take the Sunday air. + But now there's hardly standing room, and you can fairly say + There ain't a man we like as well as quiet Parson Grey. + + We blokes was great for cricket once, we'd held our own so long, + In all the townships round about our team was reckoned strong; + And them that didn't use to play could barrack pretty fair, + They liked the leather-hunting that they didn't have to share. + A team from town was coming up to teach us how to play-- + We meant to show what we could do upon that Christmas Day. + + The stumps were pitched at two o'clock, but Lawson's face was grim + (Lawson was Captain of the team, our crack we reckoned him), + For Albert Wilson hadn't come, the safest bat of all, + With no one there to take his place he counted on a fall. + "Who could we get? There's no one here it's worth our while to play + In place of Albert." At his side was standing Parson Grey. + + "I used to wield the willow once," the Parson softly said; + "If you have no one for the tail, you might take me instead." + The Captain bit his fair moustache--he seemed inclined to swear; + But answered sulkily enough, "All right, sir; I don't care. + There's no one here is worth his salt with breaking balls to play." + "I'll try and do my best for you," said quiet Parson Grey. + + "His best," Bill Lawson said to me, "what's that, I'd like to know? + To spoon an easy ball to point, and walk back sad and slow, + Miss every catch that comes to him and fumble every ball, + And lose his way about the field at every 'over' call. + The blooming team can go below after this Christmas Day; + I'm hanged if I'm to captain it when parsons start to play." + + Bill won the toss, we went in first. I might as well say here + That I'm a weary kind of bat--to stick in for a year. + I can't hit out--it ain't no use; it saddens me to think + A bloke that bowled against us once has taken since to drink. + He couldn't get my wicket, and his balls came in that way + I batted through the innings without a run all day. + + The fun began. By George! to think the way our stumps went down! + Our boys was made the laughing-stock for them swell-blokes from + town. + I kept my end up--that was all, Lawson was bowled first ball, + And six of them went strolling back without a run at all. + Nine wickets down for fourteen runs was all our score that day + When the last man came in to bat, and that was Parson Grey. + + The bowler with the break from leg sent down a hardish ball, + I thought to see the parson squirm and hear the wicket fall; + It didn't happen, for he played a pretty forward stroke; + I knew that moment he could bat, that quiet preaching bloke. + And when a careless ball came down the boys began to roar, + He drove it hard along the ground--we took and run a four. + + Then it was "over," and of course mine was a maiden one, + I broke the bowler's hearts that day for just a single run. + The Parson played a dashing game, his cuts were clean and fine; + I only wish that strokes like them could now and then be mine. + He had a fifty to his name in just an hour's play, + And then--well, then--I run him out, I own, that Christmas Day. + + "By George," said Lawson, "who'd have thought that he could bat so + well! + I could have gone and drowned myself when Bryant's wicket fell; + But, man, he must have been a bat when he was at his best, + I'm glad that Wilson wasn't here, or any of the rest; + Now, if our chaps are on the spot, and bowl as well to-day, + We'll give them news to carry home how country clubs can play." + + Our bowling always has been fair; we couldn't well complain; + We got a wicket now and then--they didn't fall like rain; + But runs were coming rather slow, and fifty was the score + When the ninth man was given out--an honest "leg before." + It was a single innings game, and plainly on the play + It seemed the glory would be ours upon that Christmas Day. + + Last man! The bowling crack came in--of course he couldn't bat, + He could lash out and chance the stroke to show us what was what; + Our hopes were down to freezing-point, twelve runs were to his + score, + To win the match he only had to hit another four. + He swiped; we groaned to think that we were beaten after all; + The stroke was high--a splendid catch--_the Parson held the ball_. + + Then how we yelled, and yelled again; he'd fairly won the match-- + The splendid batting that he showed, the more than splendid catch; + Why, chaps, you'd hardly credit it, that almost every bloke + Goes into church on Sunday now, and does without his smoke; + And no one's likely to forget that sunny Christmas Day, + When we were all surprised a bit at quiet Parson Grey. + + + + +_ODE FOR COMMONWEALTH DAY_ + +_1st JANUARY, 1901._ + + + Awake! Arise! The wings of dawn + Are beating at the gates of day, + The morning star hath been withdrawn, + The silver vapours melt away. + Rise royally, O sun, and crown + The shoreward billow, streaming white, + The forelands, and the mountains brown, + With crested light; + Flood with soft beams the valleys wide, + The mighty plains, the desert sand, + Till the New Day hath won for bride + This Austral land! + Free-born of nations, virgin white, + Not won by blood, nor ringed with steel. + Thy throne is on a loftier height, + Deep-rooted in the commonweal. + O thou, for whom the strong have wrought, + And poets sung with souls aflame, + Born of long hope and patient thought, + A mighty name-- + We pledge thee faith that shall not swerve, + Our land, our lady, breathing high + The thought that makes it love to serve, + And life to die! + + Now are thy maidens linked in love, + Who erst have striven for pride of place; + Lifted all meaner thoughts above + They greet thee, one in heart and race; + She, in whose sunlit coves of peace + The navies of the world may rest, + And bear her wealth of snowy fleece + Northward and west. + And she, whose corn and rock-hewn gold + Built that Queen City of the South, + Where the lone billow swept of old + Her harbour-mouth. + + Come, too, thou Sun-maid, in whose veins + For ever burns the tropic fire + Whose cattle roam a thousand plains, + Come, with thy gold and pearls for tire; + And that sweet Harvester who twines + The tender vine and binds the sheaf; + And she, the Western Queen, who mines + The desert reef; + And thou, against whose flowery throne + And orchards green the wave is hurled; + Australia claims you; ye are one + Before the world. + Crown her--most worthy to be praised-- + With eyes uplifted to the morn; + For, on this day, a flag is raised, + A triumph won, a nation born; + And ye, vast armies of the dead, + From mine and city, plain and sea, + Who fought and dared, who toiled and bled + That this might be, + Draw round us in this hour of fate-- + This golden harvest of thy hand-- + With unseen lips, O consecrate + And bless the land! + + Eternal power, benign, supreme, + Who weigh'st the nations upon earth; + Without whose aid the empire-dream + And pride of states is nothing worth, + From shameless speech, and vengeful deed, + From licence veiled in Freedom's name, + From greed of gold, and scorn of creed, + Guard Thou our fame! + In stress of days that yet may be, + When hope shall rest upon the sword, + In welfare and adversity, + Be with us, Lord! + + GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. + + + + +_A DESPERATE ASSAULT._ + + +I have more than once had reason to admire the British soldier in +battle, but never was there such good ground for admiration as in +watching him prepare. All the blare and tumult, the death and disaster +of actual conflict have no such tense, dramatic, nerve-trying moments as +when a regiment is making ready for some great enterprise. The fight is +a medley of mixed impressions, jostling each other for a moment's +existence ere passing away, but the getting ready is unforgetable. +Everything is clear-cut and within the sum of human emotions--eternal. +So it was with that last grand charge of the Devons, which swept the +Boers from their fringe of the little plateau and finished the long +seventeen hours' ordeal. The enemy were on one side of the Table, we on +the other. A tropical hailstorm howled across it, and beat heavily in +our faces, as Colonel Park led his men up the sheltered face of the +hill, and halted a moment within five yards of the crest, to make ready. +The men knew exactly what they had to do, and the solemnity of a great +and tragic undertaking was upon and about them. All the world for +them--the too brief past with its consequences, the fast-flying present, +and the mysterious beyond--might concentrate in a short desperate dash +across a storm-swept African hilltop. It was the sublimity of life--the +anticipation of death. The Devons were making ready for it, and how +unready a man might feel at such a moment! The line of brown riflemen +stretched away to the left of us, and it seemed that every trivial +action of every man there had become an epic. One noticed most of all +the constant moistening of the dry lips, and the frequent raising of the +water-bottles for a last hurried mouthful. One man tightened a belt, +another brought his cartridges handier to his right hand, though he was +not to use them. It was something to ease the strain of watching. Every +little thing fixed itself on the mind as a photograph. There was no need +of mental effort to remember. One could not see and forget, and would +not, for his patriotism and his pride of kinship, forget if he could. +Then the low clinking, quivering sound of the steel which died away from +us in a trickle down the ranks as the bayonets were fixed--and a dry, +harsh, artificial laugh, in strong contrast to the quiet of the +scene--everything heard easily somehow above the rush and clatter of the +storm, and lost only for an instant in the sudden bursts of thunder. A +bit of quiet tragedy wedged into the turmoil of the great play, and all +unspeakably solemn and awe-inspiring. One must see to understand it. One +may have seen yet can never describe it. The situation was not for +ordinary language; it was Homeric, over-mastering. + +"Now, then, Devons, get ready." There was a dry catch in the colonel's +voice as he gave the word--and the short sentence was punctuated by the +zip-zip of the Mauser bullets, that for a few precious seconds would +still be flying overhead. There was a quick panting of the breath, a +stiffening of the lines of the faces, that with so many of them was but +the prelude to the rigidity of death. It was waiting for them only a few +yards up, and their manhood was being sorely tried. But the Devons +squared their shoulders, gripped their rifles--bringing them up with the +quick whip of the drill, that was too well ground into them to be +forgotten even then. A prompt dressing by the left, and, as though eager +to get it over, the Devons sprang forward to the word into the double +storm of hail and nickel-plated bullets. The killing suspense was +over--they were in action at last, one's whole heart went with them, and +just for one moment, as they stood fully exposed upon the plateau, it +seemed to the watchers that there might be disaster. They had slightly +miscalculated the enemy's strongest point, and had to wheel by the left. +As they did so the line faltered for a moment. A shiver, a +pendulum-like swaying seemed to run down it; that was the history-making +moment, when the regiment might either do something that ever afterwards +they would try to forget, or that all their countrymen would be proud to +remember--the moment in men's lives which, measured by emotion only, +stretch out into centuries. It was the moment of a life, too, for the +commander of men. His chance had come. + +"Steady, Devons, steady," came the clear ringing call, and then, with +one great surging rush, that gathered momentum even as it lost in fallen +units, the regiment went on. + +Boldly though they had taken and held that hill, prudence came to the +Boer riflemen as these eager bayonets bore down upon them. For a moment +they shot the Devons through and through, and then they ran. At that +moment not a man amongst our common-place, drinking, swearing Tommies +but was exalted, deified--but so many of them were something less of +interest on earth than even a common soldier. Where the regiment had +gone seventy of its dead and wounded littered the hilltop, but still it +was the moment of victory, not of lamentations. It may sound strange to +say that the prelude to a battle, like the preface to a book, can be +greater than the actual battle or the book. But so it seemed to me. +Others might view it differently, but challenge our impressions as we +may in the light of riper history, we shall never alter them. They are +indelible. Overhaul the plates again and again as we please, it will +always be the same picture. + +DONALD MACDONALD ("How we Kept the Flag Flying"). + + + + +_THE GAME OF LIFE._ + + + There's a game much in fashion--I think it's called _Euchre_ + (Though I never have played for pleasure or lucre), + In which, when the cards are in certain conditions, + The players appear to have changed their positions, + And one of them cries in a confident tone, + "I think I may venture to 'go it alone!'" + + While watching the game, 'tis a whim of the bard's + A moral to draw from that skirmish of cards, + And to fancy he finds in the trivial strife + Some excellent hints for the battle of Life; + Where--whether the prize be a ribbon or throne-- + The winner is he who can "go it alone!" + + When great Galileo proclaimed that the world + In a regular orbit was ceaselessly whirled, + And got--not a convert--for all of his pains, + But only derision and prison and chains, + "It moves, _for all that!_" was his answering tone, + For he knew, like the earth, he could "go it alone!" + When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar, + Discovered the laws of each planet and star, + And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name, + Derided his learning and blackened his fame, + "I can wait," he replied, "till the truth you shall own;" + For he felt in his heart he could "go it alone!" + + Alas! for the player who idly depends, + In the struggle of life, upon kindred or friends; + Whatever the value of blessings like these, + They can never atone for inglorious ease, + Nor comfort the coward who finds, with a groan, + That his clutches have left him to "go it alone!" + + There's something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold: + Wealth, family, culture, wit, beauty and gold, + The fortunate owner may fairly regard + As, each in its way, a most excellent card; + Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own, + Unless you've the courage to "go it alone!" + + In battle or business, whatever the game, + In law or love, it is ever the same; + In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf, + Let this be your motto, "RELY ON YOURSELF!" + For, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne, + The victor is he who can "go it alone!" + + JOHN G. SAXE. + + + + +_PREJUDICE._ + + + I was climbing up a mountain path, + With many things to do, + Important business of my own, + And other people's too, + When I ran against a Prejudice + That quite cut off the view. + + My work was such as could not wait, + My path quite clearly showed; + My strength and time were limited; + I carried quite a load, + And there that bulking Prejudice + Sat all along the road. + + So I spoke to him politely, + For he was huge and high, + And begged that he would move a bit, + And let me travel by-- + He smiled, but as for moving-- + He didn't even try. + + And then I reasoned quietly + With that colossal mule; + The time was short, no other path, + The mountain winds were cool-- + I argued like a Solomon, + He sat there like a fool. + + Then I flew into a passion, + I danced and howled and swore; + I pelted and belaboured him + Till I was stiff and sore; + He got as mad as I did-- + But he sat there as before. + + And then I begged him on my knees-- + I might be kneeling still, + If so I hoped to move that mass + Of obdurate ill-will-- + As well invite the monument + To vacate Bunker's Hill! + + So I sat before him helpless, + In an ecstasy of woe-- + The mountain mists were rising fast, + The sun was sinking slow-- + When a sudden inspiration came, + As sudden winds do blow. + + I took my hat, I took my stick, + My load I settled fair, + I approached that awful incubus, + With an absent-minded air-- + And I walked directly through him, + As if he wasn't there! + + CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON. + + + + +_THE POOR AND THE RICH._ + + + The rich man's son inherits lands, + And piles of brick and stone and gold, + And tender flesh that fears the cold, + Nor dares to wear a garment old; + A heritage, it seems to me, + One would not care to hold in fee. + The rich man's son inherits cares. + The bank may break, the factory burn, + Some breath may burst his bubble shares, + And soft white hands would scarcely earn + A living that would suit his turn; + A heritage, it seems to me, + One would not care to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, + A hardy frame, a hardier spirit, + King of two hands he does his part + In every useful toil and art; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, + A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit, + Content that from enjoyment springs, + A heart that in his labour sings; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + A patience learned by being poor, + Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it; + A fellow feeling that is sure + To make the outcast bless his door; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + Oh! rich man's son, there is a toil + That with all others level stands; + Large charity doth never soil, + But only whitens, soft white hands; + This is the best crop from thy lands; + A heritage, it seems to me, + Worth being rich to hold in fee. + Oh! poor man's son, scorn not thy state, + There is worse weariness than thine-- + In being merely rich and great; + Work only makes the soul to shine, + And makes rest fragrant and benign + A heritage, it seems to me, + Worth being poor to hold in fee. + + Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, + Are equal in the earth at last-- + Both, children of the same dear God. + Prove title to your heirship vast, + By record of a well-filled past! + A heritage, it seems to me, + Well worth a life to hold in fee. + + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + + +_THE ENGINEER'S STORY._ + +(_From the "Denver Post."_) + + + Well, yes, 'tis a hair-curlin' story-- + I would it could not be recalled. + The terrible fright of that hell-tinctured night + Is the cause of my head bein' bald. + I was runnin' the Git-There Express, sir, + On the Yankee Creek Jerkwater line. + An' the track along there was as crooked, I swear, + As the growth of a field pumpkin vine. + My run was a night one, an' nights on the Yank + War as black as the coal piled back there on the tank. + + We pulled out of Tenderfoot Station, + A day and almost a-half late, + An' every durn wheel was a-poundin' the steel + At a wildly extravagant rate. + My fireman kept pilin' the coal in + The jaws of the ol' 94, + Till the sweat from his nose seemed to play through a hose + An' splashed 'round his feet on the floor, + As we thundered along like a demon in flight, + A-rippin' a streak through the breast of the night. + + As we rounded the curve on the mountain, + Full sixty an hour I will swear, + Jest ahead was a sight that with blood-freezin' fright + Would have raised a stuffed buffalo's hair. + The bridge over Ute Creek was burnin', + The flames shootin' up in their glee; + My God! how they gleamed in the air, till they seemed + Like the fiery-tongued imps on a spree-- + Jest snickered an' sparkled an' laughed like they knowed + I'd make my next trip on a different road. + + In frenzy I reached for the throttle, + But 'twas stuck an' refused to obey. + I yelled in affright, for our maddenin' flight + I felt that I never could stay. + Then wildly I grasped the big lever, + Threw her over, then held my hot breath, + An' waited for what I assuredly thought + Was a sure an' terrible death. + Then came the wild crash, an' with horror-fringed yell + Down into that great fiery chasm I fell. + + When I came to myself I was lyin' + On the floor of the bedroom; my wife + Sat astride of my form, and was making it warm + Fur her darlin', you bet your sweet life! + My hair she had clutched in her fingers, + An' was jammin' my head on the floor, + Yet I yelled with delight when I found that my fright + Was a horrible dream, nothin' more. + I had wildly grabb'd one of her ankles, she said, + An' reversed her clear over the head of the bed. + + + + +_SEEING'S NOT BELIEVING._ + + + I saw her, as I fancied, fair, + Yes, fairest of earth's creatures; + I saw the purest red and white + O'erspread her lovely features; + She fainted, and I sprinkled her, + Her malady relieving: + I washed both rose and lily off! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I looked again, again I longed + To breathe love's fond confession + I saw her eyebrows formed to give + Her face its arch expression; + But gum is very apt to crack, + And whilst my breast was heaving, + It so fell out that one fell off! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the tresses on her brow + So beautifully braided; + I never saw in all my life + Locks look so well as they did, + She walked with me one windy day-- + Ye zephyrs, why so thieving? + The lady lost her flaxen wig! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her form, by Nature's hand + So prodigally finished, + She were less perfect if enlarged, + Less perfect if diminished; + Her toilet I surprised--the worst + Of wonders then achieving; + None knew the bustle I perceived! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw, when costly gems I gave, + The smile with which she took them; + And if she said no tender things, + I've often seen her look them; + I saw her my affianced bride, + And then, my mansion leaving, + She ran away with Colonel Jones! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw another maiden soon, + And struggled to detain her; + I saw her plain enough--in fact, + Few women could be plainer; + 'Twas said, that at her father's death + A plum she'd be receiving: + I saw that father's house and grounds! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her mother--she was deck'd + With furbelows and feathers; + I saw distinctly that she wore + Silk stockings in all weathers; + I saw, beneath a load of gems. + The matron's bosom heaving; + I saw a thousand signs of wealth! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her father, and I spoke + Of marriage in his study; + But would he let her marry me + Alas! alas! how could he? + I saw him smile a glad consent, + My anxious heart relieving, + And then I saw the settlements + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the daughter, and I named + My moderate finances; + She spurned me not, she gave me one + Of her most tender glances. + I saw her father's bank--thought I, + There cash is safe from thieving; + I saw my money safely lodged: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the bank, the shutters up, + I could not think what they meant, + The old infirmity of firms, + The bank had just stopped payment! + I saw my future father then + Was ruined past retrieving, + Like me, without a single _sou_: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the banker's wife had got + The fortune settled on her; + What cared he, when the creditors + Talked loudly of dishonour! + I saw his name in the _Gazette_, + But soon I stared, perceiving, + He bought another house and grounds: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw--yes, as plain as could be, + I saw the banker's daughter; + She saw me, too, and called for sal + Volatile and water. + She said that she had just espoused + A rich old man, conceiving + That I was dead or gone to gaol: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw a friend, and freely spoke + My mind on the transaction; + Her brother heard it, and he called, + Demanding satisfaction. + We met--I fell--that brother's ball + In my left leg receiving; + I have two legs, true--_one is cork_: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY. + + + + +_CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON._ + + +Now, Mr. Caudle--Mr. Caudle, I say: oh! you can't be asleep already, I +know. Now, what I mean to say is this: there's no use, none at all, in +our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made +up, Mr. Caudle; I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing +to-night, or to-morrow morning I shall quit the house. No, no! There's +an end of the marriage state, I think--and an end of all confidence +between man and wife--if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to +himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. +Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. +Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul: tell me, what's +it all about? A pack of nonsense, I daresay; still--not that I care much +about it--still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't +tell me there's nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. +Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a +little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. +Well? + +And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to +say--you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a +passion--not that I care about the secret itself; no, I wouldn't give a +button to know it, for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret +I care about; it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that +a man pays to his wife, when he thinks of going through the world +keeping something to himself which he won't let her know. Man and wife +one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a +Mason--when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you +men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of +them to yourselves; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when +a man becomes a Mason--when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his +heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to +rummage. + +Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute!--yes, Mr. Caudle, an +unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm +sure I don't object to your being a Mason; not at all, Caudle; I daresay +it's a very good thing; I daresay it is: it's only your making a secret +of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me--you'll tell your own Margaret? +You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle. + +DOUGLAS JERROLD. + + + + +_MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE._ + + +There, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were +this morning. There, you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to +bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak, that you don't try to +insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, +you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's +the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon +all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; and it +isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows! + +Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must +almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! +you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a +passion, wer'n't you? Well, then I don't know what a passion is; and I +think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, +to know that. + +It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off +your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never +without a needle-and-thread in my hand; what with you and the children, +I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your +life a button's off your shirt--what do you say "ah" at? I say once, Mr. +Caudle; or twice or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's +buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd +kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to +know where were your buttons then? + +Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me +down. You fly into a rage, and then, if I only try to speak, you won't +hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: +a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a +wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A +pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew +what they had to go through! What with buttons--and one thing and +another! They'd never tie themselves up to the best man in the world, +I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?--Why, do much better without +you, I'm certain. + +And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; +it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to +talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything. +All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; +for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I +am. I only say it's very odd. + +However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with +your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! +And I daresay you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; +that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say +nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife +will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, +Caudle, you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a +blessed button to your back. + +DOUGLAS JERROLD. + + + + +_JIM BLUDSO._ + + + Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives, + Because he don't live, you see: + Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. + Whar have you been for the last three years, + That you haven't heard folks tell + How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks, + The night of the "Prairie Belle"? + + He warn't no saint--them engineers + Is all pretty much alike-- + One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, + And another one here, in Pike. + A careless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward man in a row-- + But he never pinked, and he never lied, + I reckon he never knowed how. + + And this was all the religion he had-- + To treat his engine well; + Never be passed on the river; + To mind the pilot's bell; + And if ever the _Prairie Belle_ took fire, + A thousand times he swore + He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + + All boats has their day on the Mississip'. + And her day came at last-- + The _Movastar_ was a better boat, + But the _Belle_, she wouldn't be passed, + And so came tearin' along that night, + The oldest craft on the line, + With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, + And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine. + + The fire bust out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, + And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For that willer-bank on the right. + There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out + Over all the infernal roar, + "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + + Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, + And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And know'd he would keep his word. + And sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smoke-stacks fell, + And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the _Prairie Belle_. + + He warn't no saint--but at judgment + I'd run my chance with Jim + 'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. + He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing, + And went for it thar and then; + And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard + On a man that died for men. + + COLONEL JOHN HAY. + + + + +_HOW UNCLE MOSE COUNTED THE EGGS._ + + +Old Mose, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a +living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has got the +habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently +makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares +around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front +of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady came out to the +gate to make the purchases. + +"Have you got any eggs this morning, Uncle Mose?" she asked. + +"Yes, indeed I has. Jes got in ten dozen from de kentry." + +"Are they fresh?" + +"I gua'ntee 'em. I knows dey am fresh jess de same as ef I had laid 'em +myse'f." + +"I'll take nine dozen. You can count them in this basket." + +"All right, mum." He counts: "One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, +eight, nine, ten. You kin rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' +on at de school? He mus' be mos' grown." + +"Yes, Uncle Mose, he is a clerk in a bank at Galveston." + +"Why, how ole am de boy?" + +"He is eighteen." + +"You don't tole me so. Eighteen and gettin' a salary already! eighteen +(counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-free, +twenty-foah, twenty-five, and how's yore gal comin' on? She was mos' +growed up de las' time I seed her." + +"She is married and living in Dallas." + +"Wal, I declar. How de time scoots away! An' yo' say she has childruns? +Why, how ole am de gal? She mus' be about----" + +"Thirty-three." + +"Am dat so? (counting) firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, +firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, +forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't +believe you has grand-childruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs old +youself." + +"Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to +be fifty-three years old----" + +"Fifty-free? I jess dun gwinter b'lieve hit, fifty-free, fifty-foah, +fifty-five, fifty-six--I want you to pay tenshun when I counts de eggs, +so dar'll be no mistake--fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, +sixty-free, sixty-foah--whew! Dat am a warm day. Dis am de time of yeah +when I feels I'se gettin' ole myse'f. I ain't long for dis worl. You +comes from an ole family. When your fodder died he was sebenty years +ole." + +"Seventy-two, Uncle Mose." + +"Dat's ole, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, +sebenty-six, sebenty-seven, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine--and your +mudder? she was one ob de noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You +reminds me ob her so much. She libbed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she +was done past a centurion when she died." + +"No, Uncle Mose, she was only ninety-six when she died." + +"Den she wasn't no chicken when she died. I know dat--ninety-six, +ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, +foah, five, six, seben, eight--dar 108 nice fresh eggs--jess nine dozen, +and heah am one moah egg in case I has discounted myse'f." + +Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton +said to her husband, "I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I +am satisfied she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, +for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are +gone. I stood right there and heard Old Mose count them myself, and +there were nine dozen." + + + + +_THE NEGRO BABY'S FUNERAL._ + + + I was walking in Savannah, past a church decayed and dim, + When there slowly through the windows came a plaintive funeral hymn; + And the sympathy awakened, and a wonder quickly grew, + Till I found myself environed in a little negro pew. + Out at front a coloured couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild; + On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child. + I could picture him when living--curly hair, protruding lip-- + And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried Southern trip. + + But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of death + That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little fluttering + breath; + And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy profound + Than was in the chain of teardrops that enclasped those mourners + round. + + Rose a sad, old coloured preacher at the little wooden desk-- + With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance grotesque; + With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face; + With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying race. + + And he said: "Now, don' be weepin' for dis pretty bit o' clay-- + For de little boy who lived dere, he's done gone an' run away! + He was doin' very finely, an' he 'preciate your love; + But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de large house up above. + + "Now, he didn't give you that baby, by a hundred thousan' mile! + He just think you need some sunshine, an' He lent it for a while! + An' He let you keep an' love it till your hearts were bigger grown; + An' dese silver tears your sheddin's jest de interes' on the loan. + + "Here's yer oder pretty childrun!--doan' be makin' it appear + Dat your love got sort o' 'nopolised by dis little fellow here; + Don' pile up too much your sorrow on dere little mental shelves, + So's to kind 'o set 'em wonderin' if dey're no account demselves. + + "Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin' long o'er Sorrow's + way, + What a blessed little pic-nic dis yere baby's got to-day! + Your good faders and good moders crowd de little fellow round + In de angel-tended garden ob de big Plantation Ground. + + "An' dey ask him, 'Was your feet sore?' an' take off his little + shoes, + An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' dey say--'Now what's de + news?' + An' de Lawd done cut his tongue loose, den de little fellow say-- + 'All our folks down in the valley tries to keep de hebbenly way.' + + "An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things he view; + Den a tear come an' he whispers--'But I want my parents too!' + But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little song-- + Says 'If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon be comin' 'long.' + An' he'll get an' education dat will proberbly be worth + Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on earth; + He'll be in de Lawd's big schoolhouse, widout no contempt or fear; + While dere's no end to the bad tings might have happened to him + here. + + "So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid Jesus rest, + An' don't go to critercisin' dat ar One w'at knows the best! + He have sent us many comforts--He have right to take away-- + To the Lawd be praise an' glory now and ever! Let us pray!" + + WILL CARLETON. + + + + +_DER SHPIDER UND DER FLY._ + + + I reads in Yawcob's shtory book, + A couple veeks ago, + Von firsd-rade boem, vot I dinks + Der beoples all should know. + I'd ask dis goot conundhrum, too, + Vich ve should brofit by: + "'Vill you indo mine parlor valk?' + Says der Shpider off der fly." + + Dot set me dinking, righdt avay, + Und vhen, von afternoon, + A shbeculator he comes in + Und dells me, pooty soon, + He haf silfer mine to sell, + Und ask me eef I puy, + I dink off der oxberience + Off dot plue-pottle fly. + + Der oder day, vhen on der cars + I vent by Nie Yorck oudt, + I meets a fraulein on der train, + Who dold me, mit a pout, + She likes der Deutscher shentlemans + Und dells me sit peside her-- + I says: "Mine friendt, I vas no fly, + Eef you vas peen a shpider." + + I vent indo der shmoking car, + Vhere dhey vas blaying boker, + Und also haf somedings dhey calls + Der funny "leedle joker." + Some money id vas shanging hands, + Dhey vanted me to try-- + I says: "You vas too brevious, + I don'd vas been a fly!" + + On Central Park a shmardt young man + Says: "Strauss, how vas you peen?" + Und dake me kindtly py der hand, + Und ask off mine Katrine. + He vants to shange a feefty bill, + Und says hees name vas Schneider-- + Maype, berhaps, he vas all righdt; + More like he vas a shpider. + + Mosd efry day some shwindling chap + He dries hees leedle game; + I cuts me oudt dot shpider biece + Und poot id in a frame; + Righdt in mine shtore I hangs it oup, + Und near id, on der shly, + I geeps a glub, to send gvick oudt, + Dhose shpiders, "on der fly." + + CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. + + + + +_LARIAT BILL._ + + + "Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine + I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express; + An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine, + Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess. + The road were a down-grade all the way, + An' we pulled out of Murder a little late, + So I opened the throttle wide that day, + And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait. + + "My fireman's name was Lariat Bill, + A quiet man with an easy way, + Who could rope a steer with a cow-boy's skill, + Which he'd learned in Texas, I've heard him say. + The coil were strong as tempered steel, + An' it went like a bolt from a cross-bow flung, + An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel, + Just over his head in the cab it hung. + + "Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew, + As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, + An' I give her full steam an' put her through, + An' the engine rocked like a living thing; + When all of a sudden I got a scare-- + For thar on the track were a little child! + An' right in the path of the engine there + She held out her little hands and smiled! + + "I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, + The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold; + But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes, + An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold. + Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lassoo, + An' out on the front of the engine crept-- + He balanced a moment before he threw, + Then out in the air his lariat swept!" + + He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes; + The stranger listened with bated breath. + "I know the rest of the tale," he cries; + "He snatched the child from the jaws of death! + 'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred, + Whose praises the very angels sing!" + The engineer shook his grizzled head, + And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing. + + "He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree, + An' the lariat caught with a double hitch, + An' in less than a second the train an' we + Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch! + 'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out, + I ain't forgot it, and never shall; + Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see--about-- + Yes, it killed about forty--but saved the gal!" + + G. W. H. + + + + +_THE ELF CHILD; OR, LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE._ + + + Little orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, + And wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, + An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, + An' make the fire, and bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; + An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, + We set around the kitchen fire, an' has the mostest fun + A-list'ning to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, + An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs; + An' when he went to bed 'at night, away upstairs, + His mammy heard him holler, and his daddy heard him bawl, + An' whin they turn'd the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! + An' they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press, + An' seeked him up the chimbly flue an' ever'wheres, I guess, + But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout! + An' the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh and grin, + An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin; + An' onc't when they was company an' ole folks was there, + She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! + An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, + They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, + An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she know'd what + she's about, + An' the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' little orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, + An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! + An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is grey, + An' the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squelched away, + You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, + An' cherish them 't loves you, and dry the orphant's tear, + An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at cluster all about, + Er the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. + + + + +_ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE._ + + + A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright, + Conversed as they sat on the green; + They gazed on each other with tender delight; + Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,-- + The maiden's the Fair Imogene. + + "And oh!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go + To fight in a far distant land, + Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, + Some other will court you, and you will bestow + On a wealthier suitor your hand!" + + "Oh cease these suspicions," Fair Imogene said. + "Offensive to love and to me; + For if you be living, or if you be dead, + I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead, + Shall husband of Imogene be. + + "If e'er by lust or by wealth led astray I forget my Alonzo the + Brave, + God grant that to punish my falsehood and pride + Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, + May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, + And bear me away to the grave." + + To Palestine hastened the hero so bold, + His love she lamented him sore; + But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold! + A Baron, all covered with jewels and gold, + Arrived at Fair Imogene's door. + + His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain + Soon made her untrue to her vows; + He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain, + He caught her affection, so light and so vain, + And carried her home as his spouse. + + And now had the marriage been blest by the priest, + And revelry now had begun; + The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast. + Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, + When the bell at the castle tolled--one. + + Then first with amazement Fair Imogene found + A stranger was placed by her side; + His air was terrific, he uttered no sound-- + He spake not, he moved not--he looked not around, + But earnestly gazed on the bride. + + His visor was closed, and gigantic his height, + His armour was sable to view; + All pleasure and laughter were hushed at the sight, + All the dogs as they eyed him drew back in afright, + All the lights in the chamber burned blue. + + His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay, + The guests sat in silence and fear; + At length spake the bride, while she trembled, "I pray, + Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, + And deign to partake of our cheer." + + The lady is silent--the stranger complies-- + His visor he slowly unclosed; + Oh God! what a sight met Fair Imogene's eyes! + What word can express her dismay and surprise, + When a skeleton's head was exposed. + + All present then uttered a terrified shout, + All turned in disgust from the scene; + The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, + And sported his eyes and his temples about, + While the spectre addressed Imogene. + + "Behold me, thou false one--behold me!" he cried; "Remember Alonzo + the Brave! + God grant that to punish thy falsehood and pride, + My ghost at thy marriage should sit at thy side, + Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, + And bear thee away to the grave!" + + Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, + While loudly she shrieked in dismay; + And sank with his prey through the wide yawning ground, + Nor ever again was Fair Imogene found, + Or the spectre that bore her away. + + Not long lived the Baron, and none since that time + To inhabit the castle presume; + For chronicles say, that by order sublime, + There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, + And mourns her deplorable doom. + + At midnight four times in each year does her sprite, + When mortals in slumber are bound, + Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, + Appear in the hall of the skeleton knight, + And shriek as he whirls her around. + + While they drink out of skulls, newly torn from the grave, + Dancing around them the spectres are seen; + Their liquid is blood, and this horrible stave + They howl: "To the health of Alonzo the Brave, + And his consort, the Fair Imogene." + + MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS (MONK LEWIS). + + + + +_AN ALL-AROUND INTELLECTUAL MAN._ + + + He was up in mathematics, had a taste for hydrostatics, and could + talk about astronomy from Aristarchus down; + He could tell what kind of beans were devoured by the Chaldeans, and + he knew the date of every joke made by a circus clown. + + He was versed in evolution, and would instance the poor Russian as a + type of despotism in the modern age of man. + He could write a page of matter on the different kinds of batter + used in making flinty gim-cracks on the modern cooking plan. + + He could revel in statistics, he was well up in the fistics, knew + the pedigree of horses dating 'way back from the ark. + Far and wide his tips were quoted, and his base-ball stuff was + noted. In political predictions he would always hit the mark. + + He could write upon the tariff, and he didn't seem to care if he was + called off to review a book or write a poem or two: + He could boil down stuff and edit, knew the value of a credit, and + could hustle with the telegraph in a style excelled by few. + He could tell just how a fire should be handled; as a liar he was + sure to exercise a wise, discriminative taste. + He was mild and yet undaunted, and no matter what was wanted he was + always sure to get it first, yet never was in haste. + + But despite his reputation as a brainy aggregation, he was known to + be deficient in a manner to provoke. + For no matter when you met him he would borrow if you let him, and + he seemed to have the faculty of always being broke. + + TOM MASSON. + + + + +_HER IDEAL._ + + + She wanted to reach an ideal; + She talked of the lovely in art, + She quoted from Emerson's Essays, + And said she thought Howells had "heart." + She doted on Wagner's productions, + She thought comic opera low, + And she played trying tunes on a zither, + Keeping time with a sandal-shod toe. + + She had dreams of a nobler existence-- + A bifurcated, corsetless place, + Where women would stand free and equal + As queens of a glorious race. + But her biscuits were deadly creations + That caused people's spirits to sink, + And she'd views on matters religious + That drove her relations to drink. + + She'd opinions on co-education, + But not an idea on cake; + She could analyse Spencer or Browning, + But the new kitchen range wouldn't bake. + She wanted to be esoteric, + And she wore the most classical clothes; + But she ended by being hysteric + And contracting a cold in her nose. + + She studied of forces hypnotic, + She believed in theosophy quite, + She understood themes prehistoric + And said that the faith cure was right. + She wanted to reach the ideal, + And at clods unpoetic would rail, + And her husband wore fringe on his trousers + And fastened them on with a nail! + + KATE MASTERSON. + + + + +_THE HAPPY FARMER._ + + + The farmer is a happy man, + His life is free from care, + With naught to make his spirit sad + Or make him want to swear; + All day among the cockle burrs + He gaily grubs and hoes, + And money never troubles him, + Unless 'tis what he owes. + + How sweet at early dawn of day + To rise before the sun, + And hustle briskly round the barn + Till all the chores are done; + To feed the cows, and milk them, too, + In brightly shining pails, + The while they tread upon your corns + And thump you with their tails. + + How sweet to hie into the field, + From breakfast smoking hot, + And chase a plough all day around + A forty acre lot, + And, when it strikes against a stone, + Drawn by the horses stout, + To have the handles prance around + And punch your daylights out. + + How sweet at noon to lie at ease + Beneath some spreading tree, + And hold a secret session + With an ardent bumble bee, + And when your rheumatism makes + Your legs refuse to go, + How sweet to lie upon your back + And watch your mortgage grow. + + And when the busy cares of day + Have faded with the light, + How sweet to lie in peaceful sleep + Throughout the dewy night, + And to hear the partner of your joys, + At the first faint tinge of dawn, + Shout, "Come, old granger, hump yourself + The cows are in the corn." + + MORTIMER C. BROWN. + + + + +_THE SON OF A SOLDIER_ + +BY OWEN OLIVER. + +(_Reprinted from "To-Day" by kind permission of the Author._) + + + You'll be sure to know my daddy, + 'Cause he wears a coat of red. + An' a rifle, an' a bay'net, + An' a helmet on his head. + An' he's very big an' handsome, + An' his name is Sergeant Smith, + An' he's gone to fight the Boers + That our Queen is angry with. + He's the good Queen's faithful soldier, + So he's angry, too, of course-- + I expects they _will_ be frightened + When they know my daddy's cross! + + Daddy took me up and nursed me + 'For he went on Friday week; + "Sonny-boy," he said, "Here's sixpence, + Bless you, lad!" and kissed my cheek, + "Mind you write to me and tell me + How you're doing at your books, + How the baby's learning walking, + How your little sister looks, + How you're good and helping mother-- + That's the news I want to find." + Mine is only printing writing, + But my daddy doesn't mind. + + I'm my daddy's little soldier, + An I've often heard him say, + Soldiers ought to do their duty + Though their officer's away. + Mamma says my duty's doing + Just what daddy said I should; + But it's hard to do my lessons; + And its harder to be good! + Teacher says, "Just keep on trying, + They'll come easy by-an'-by;" + Mamma says I do grow better, + And she'll write an' say I try. + + Won't he smile! unless they've shot him! + Mamma said perhaps they would; + An' she cried and cried till I cried-- + But I don't believe they could. + No one couldn't hurt my daddy; + If they did, when I grow tall, + I shall take a sword and rifle, + An' I'll go and kill them all. + If I woke up big to-morrow, + Off to battle I should go; + Then I'd see who'd touch my daddy-- + Please, dear God, do make me grow! + + + + +_THE MILE._ + +BY DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Sports day at the township; the station chaps mustered + From Stewart's and "Flaxland" and Scott's of "Argyle;" + Good sport and good weather, and take things together + The event that they talked most about was the mile. + + Young Wilson from Flaxland could run like a greyhound, + His times were a wonder with no stopwatch by; + From Stewart's, Jack Barry could go like "Old Harry," + And Scott's chaps had pinned all their faith on Mackay. + + The township had three in, and each looked like winning. + The cunning boys smiled when you asked what they knew; + I'd have sooner been resting than stripping and breasting + The mark for the honour of old Waitahu. + + But the chaps that were with me would take no denial-- + I used to run once and could do it to-day; + It was no use complaining I wasn't in training, + I was hard from the hills and could show them the way. + + So they said; but the other blokes smiled at my chances, + Well they might when I hadn't run for a year; + I heard someone mutter, "He's softer than butter-- + He used to win once, but he won't finish here." + + That made me feel foolish, I wished I'd been training, + I felt if I had I could make someone spin, + But still I was thinking, "I'll finish like winking; + Though there isn't a ghost of a chance I can win!" + + We all toed the line, but I wasn't excited, + I fancied the race was all over for Dan; + The slowest could do me--the pistol went through me, + I jumped from the scratch, and the tussle began. + + I'd a yard at the start, but I lost it next moment, + My word, they went off at a terrible bat; + I saw in a minute I wouldn't be in it + If Wilson and Barry kept moving like that. + + They went for a quarter, then Pearce, of the township, + Ran up to the lead like a young cannon ball; + I kept well behind them, I reckoned to find them + About the three-quarters, or else not at all. + + Second round the same order, Mackay creeping closer, + And Pearce, of the township, dropped out at the bend; + They kept the pace going, but Wilson was blowing, + I didn't expect to see him at the end. + + Third round, and, by George, I was closing upon them, + My long steady swing was beginning to tell; + Mackay took the running--he'd played pretty cunning-- + I caught my first man at the three-quarter bell. + + Then I let myself out and I tackled another, + Passed him quickly and got up to Wilson at last; + There was nothing left in him that once looked like winning; + He gave up the struggle the moment I passed. + + Jack Barry was next, and we got going level, + I brought him along till we tackled Mackay; + The whole ground was moving, our pace was improving, + By Jove! at the finish the grass seemed to fly. + + "Come on, Dan! come on! you can leave them both standing!" + "Jack Barry's the winner!" "Mackay leads the way!"-- + The yelling and raving, the rushing and waving-- + I'll always remember the finish that day. + + We were going "eyes out," all three shoulder to shoulder, + I gathered myself for the best I could do-- + I heard my name crying, I took the tape flying + For the honour and glory of old Waitahu! + + + _Other Volumes in this Series._ + + MANNERS FOR MEN + MANNERS FOR WOMEN + A WORD TO WOMEN + HOW TO BE PRETTY + WHAT SHALL I SAY? + THE BOOK OF STITCHES + HEALTH EXERCISES AND HOME GYMNASTICS + THE APPLAUSE RECITER + RECITATIONS + THE GENTLE ART OF GOOD TALKING + CONCERNING MARRIAGE + ATHLETICS OF TO-DAY + MANNERS FOR GIRLS + BEAUTY ADORNED + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + +***** This file should be named 38053-8.txt or 38053-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/5/38053/ + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/38053-8.zip b/38053-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4cbdfc3 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053-8.zip diff --git a/38053-h.zip b/38053-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e83a2f6 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053-h.zip diff --git a/38053-h/38053-h.htm b/38053-h/38053-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a905340 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053-h/38053-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4463 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + +<head> + + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, + compiled by W. T. Pyke. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + } + + .booktitle { + letter-spacing:3px; + } + + .center { + text-align:center; + font-weight:bold; + } + + div.center { + text-align:center; + } + + div.center table { + margin-left:auto; + margin-right:auto; + text-align:left; + } + + .figcenter { + padding:1em; + text-align:center; + font-size:0.8em; + border:none; + margin:auto; + text-indent:1em; + } + + .h1 { + font-size:2em; + margin:.67em 0; + } + + .h1, .h2, .h3, .h4, .h5 { + font-weight:bolder; + text-align:center; + text-indent:0; + } + + h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 { + text-align:center; + } + + .h2 { + font-size:1.5em; + margin:.75em 0; + } + + .h3 { + font-size:1.17em; + margin:.83em 0; + } + + .h4 { + margin:1.12em 0 ; + } + + .h5 { + font-size:.83em; + margin:1.5em 0 ; + } + + hr.chap { + margin-top:6em; + margin-bottom:4em; + } + + hr.tb { + margin:2em 25%; + width:50%; + } + + p { + text-align:justify; + margin-top:.75em; + margin-bottom:.75em; + text-indent:0; + } + + p.spacer { + margin-top:2em; + margin-bottom:3em; + } + + .pagenum { +/* visibility:hidden; remove comment out to hide page numbers */ + position:absolute; + right:2%; + font-size:75%; + color:gray; + background-color:inherit; + text-align:right; + text-indent:0; + font-style:normal; + font-weight:normal; + font-variant:normal; + } + + .poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + margin-bottom:1em; + text-align:left; + } + + .poem .stanza { + margin:1em 0em 1em 0em; + } + + .poem p { + margin:0; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i0 { + display:block; + margin-left:0em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i2 { + display:block; + margin-left:2em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i4 { + display:block; + margin-left:4em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i6 { + display:block; + margin-left:6em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i8 { + display:block; + margin-left:8em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i14 { + display:block; + margin-left:14em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i16 { + display:block; + margin-left:16em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i18 { + display:block; + margin-left:18em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + + .poem span.i20 { + display:block; + margin-left:20em; + padding-left:3em; + text-indent:-3em; + } + .smcap { + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + .tdl { + text-align:left; + } + + .tdlsc { + text-align:left; + font-variant:small-caps; + } + + .tdr { + text-align:right; + padding-right:1em; + } + + </style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Coo-ee Reciter + +Author: Various + +Release Date: November 18, 2011 [EBook #38053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="866" alt="cover" /> +</div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h1 class="booktitle">THE COO-EE RECITER.</h1> + +<p class="h5">BY</p> + +<p class="h3">AUSTRALIAN, BRITISH, AND<br /> +AMERICAN AUTHORS.</p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4"><i>HUMOROUS, PATHETIC, DRAMATIC, +DIALECT, RECITATIONS & READINGS.</i></p> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<p class="h4">WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, +LONDON, MELBOURNE & TORONTO.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#I_KILLED_A_MAN_AT_GRASPAN">I Killed a Man at Graspan</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">M. Grover.</td> + <td class="tdr">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#KITTY_OTOOLE">Kitty O'Toole</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">W. L. Lumley.</td> + <td class="tdr">9</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_BALLAD_OF_THE_DROVER">The Ballad of the Drover</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Henry Lawson.</td> + <td class="tdr">10</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_RESCUE">The Rescue</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Edward Dyson.</td> + <td class="tdr">13</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#SALTBUSH_BILL">Saltbush Bill</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">A. B. Paterson.</td> + <td class="tdr">17</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#DROUGHT_AND_DOCTRINE">Drought and Doctrine.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">J. Brunton Stevens.</td> + <td class="tdr">20</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_MARTYR">The Martyr</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Victor J. Daley.</td> + <td class="tdr">25</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_CARRYING_OF_THE_BABY">The Carrying of the Baby</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Ethel Turner.</td> + <td class="tdr">28</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_OLD_GUM">The Old Gum</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Florence Bullivant.</td> + <td class="tdr">34</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#MURPHY_SHALL_NOT_SING_TO-NIGHT">Murphy shall not Sing To-night</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Montague Grover.</td> + <td class="tdr">36</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHRISTMAS_BELLS">Christmas Bells</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">John B. O'Hara, M.A.</td> + <td class="tdr">39</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#WOOL_IS_UP">Wool is Up</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Garnet Walch.</td> + <td class="tdr">41</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#WOOL_IS_DOWN">Wool is Down</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Garnet Walch.</td> + <td class="tdr">42</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_HIGHLAND_BRIGADE_BURIES_ITS_DEAD">The Highland Brigade Buries its Dead</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Lieut.-Col. W. T. Reay.</td> + <td class="tdr">45</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#AUSTRALIAS_CALL_TO_ARMS">Australia's Call to Arms</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">John B. O'Hara, M.A.</td> + <td class="tdr">49</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#GOOD_NEWS">Good News</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Garnet Walch.</td> + <td class="tdr">51</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#FREE_TRADE_v_PROTECTION">Free Trade <i>v.</i> Protection</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Garnet Walch.</td> + <td class="tdr">53</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_LIONS_CUBS">The Lion's Cubs</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Garnet Walch.</td> + <td class="tdr">59</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_LITTLE_DUCHESS">The Little Duchess</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Ethel Turner.</td> + <td class="tdr">62</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#AUSTRALIAS_SPRINGTIME">Australia's Springtime</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">W. L. Lumley.</td> + <td class="tdr">70</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_MAN_THAT_SAVED_THE_MATCH">The Man that saved the Match</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">David M'Kee Wright.</td> + <td class="tdr">73</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#ODE_FOR_COMMONWEALTH_DAY">Ode for Commonwealth Day, 1st January, 1901</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr">77</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#A_DESPERATE_ASSAULT">A Desperate Assault</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr">79</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_GAME_OF_LIFE">The Game of Life</a> + <span class="pagenum">[6]</span></td> + <td class="tdlsc">John G. Saxe.</td> + <td class="tdr">83</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#PREJUDICE">Prejudice</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Charlotte Perkins Stetson.</td> + <td class="tdr">85</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_POOR_AND_THE_RICH">The Poor and the Rich</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">James Russell Lowell.</td> + <td class="tdr">86</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_ENGINEERS_STORY">The Engineer's Story</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr">88</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#SEEINGS_NOT_BELIEVING">Seeing's not Believing.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Thomas Haynes Bayley.</td> + <td class="tdr">90</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#CAUDLE_HAS_BEEN_MADE_A_MASON">Caudle has been made a Mason</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Douglas Jerrold.</td> + <td class="tdr">93</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#MRS_CAUDLES_LECTURE">Mrs. Caudle's Lecture</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Douglas Jerrold.</td> + <td class="tdr">95</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#JIM_BLUDSO">Jim Bludso</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Colonel John Hay.</td> + <td class="tdr">97</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#HOW_UNCLE_MOSE_COUNTED_THE_EGGS">How Uncle Mose Counted the Eggs</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr">99</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_NEGRO_BABYS_FUNERAL">The Negro Baby's Funeral.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Will Carleton.</td> + <td class="tdr">101</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#DER_SHPIDER_UND_DER_FLY">Der Shpider und der Fly</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Charles Follen Adams.</td> + <td class="tdr">104</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#LARIAT_BILL">Lariat Bill</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">G. W. H.</td> + <td class="tdr">106</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_ELF_CHILD_OR_LITTLE_ORPHANT_ANNIE">The Elf Child; or, Little Orphant Annie</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">James Whitcomb Riley.</td> + <td class="tdr">108</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#ALONZO_THE_BRAVE_AND_THE_FAIR_IMOGENE">Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Matthew Gregory Lewis (Monk Lewis).</td> + <td class="tdr">110</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#AN_ALL-AROUND_INTELLECTUAL_MAN">An All-around Intellectual Man.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Tom Masson.</td> + <td class="tdr">114</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#HER_IDEAL">Her Ideal</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Kate Masterson.</td> + <td class="tdr">115</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_HAPPY_FARMER">The Happy Farmer.</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Mortimer C. Brown.</td> + <td class="tdr">116</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_SON_OF_A_SOLDIER">The Son of a Soldier</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">Owen Oliver.</td> + <td class="tdr">118</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl"><a href="#THE_MILE">The Mile</a></td> + <td class="tdlsc">David M'Kee Wright.</td> + <td class="tdr">119</td> + </tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[7]</span></p> + +<h2>THE COO-EE RECITER</h2> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="I_KILLED_A_MAN_AT_GRASPAN"><i>I KILLED A MAN AT GRASPAN.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3">(<i>The Tale of a Returned Australian Contingenter done into verse.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I killed him fair in fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Empire's poets and the Empire's priests<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Swear blind I acted right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Empire's poets and Empire's priests<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make out my deed was fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they can't stop the eyes of the man I killed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From starin' into mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Maybe I killed a score;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this one wasn't a chance-shot home,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From a thousand yards or more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fired at him when he'd got no show;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We were only a pace apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the cordite scorchin' his old worn coat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the bullet drilled his heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I killed him fightin' fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We came on each other face to face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' we went at it then and there.<span class="pagenum">[8]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine was the trigger that shifted first,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His was the life that sped.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' a man I'd never a quarrel with<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was spread on the boulders dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I watched him squirmin' till<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He raised his eyes, an' they met with mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' there they're starin' still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cut of my brother Tom, he looked,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hardly more'n a kid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An', Christ! he was stiffenin' at my feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because of the thing I did.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I told the camp that night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' of all the lies that ever I told<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That was the poorest skite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swore I was proud of my hand-to-hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the Boer I'd chanced to pot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all the time I'd ha' gave my eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To never ha' fired that shot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An hour ago about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there he lies with his starin' eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' his blood still tricklin' out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know it was either him or me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I know that I killed him fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, all the same, wherever I look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The man that I killed is there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I killed a man at Graspan;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My first and, God! my last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harder to dodge than my bullet is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The look that his dead eyes cast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the Empire asks for me later on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It'll ask for me in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before I reach to my bandolier<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To fire on a man again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">M. Grover.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[9]</span></p> + +<h2 id="KITTY_OTOOLE"><i>KITTY O'TOOLE.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Och! a charmin' young cratur' was Kitty O'Toole,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The lily ov shwate Tipperary;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wid a voice like a thrish, and wid cheeks like a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a figger as nate as a fairy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oi saw her wan noight—och! she look'd loike a quane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the glory ov shwate wan an' twinty—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she sat wid McGinty's big arm round her waisht,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Och! how I invied McGinty!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Six months afther that, in the shwate summer days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The boys an' the girls wor' invoited<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Micky O'Toole, ov the cabin beyant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see Kate an' McGinty unoited;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' whin in the church they wor' made into wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the priesht gave thim blissin's in plinty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' Kitty look'd shwater than iver before—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Och! how I invied McGinty!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the years have gone by, an' McGinty is dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Och! me heart was all broke up wid pity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see her so lonely, an' mournful, an' sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' I wint an' got married to Kitty!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now, whin I look where McGinty is laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wid a shtone o'er his head cowld an' flinty—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he lies there so peaceful, an' quoiet, an' shtill—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Och! how I invy McGinty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">W. L. Lumley.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[10]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_BALLAD_OF_THE_DROVER"><i>THE BALLAD OF THE DROVER.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Henry Lawson.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney +and Melbourne.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the stony ridges,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across the rolling plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young Harry Dale, the drover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes riding home again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well his stock-horse bears him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And light of heart is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stoutly his old pack-horse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is trotting by his knee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up Queensland way with cattle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He travelled regions vast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many months have vanished<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Since home-folk saw him last.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He hums a song of someone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hopes to marry soon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hobble-chains and camp-ware<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keep jingling to the tune.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the hazy dado<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the lower skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yon blue line of ranges,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The homestead station lies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thitherward the drover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jogs through the lazy noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While hobble-chains and camp-ware<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are jingling to a tune.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An hour has filled the heavens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With storm-cloud inky black;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At times the lightning trickles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around the drover's track,<span class="pagenum">[11]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Harry pushes onward;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His horses' strength he tries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hope to reach the river<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before the flood shall rise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The thunder from above him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Goes rolling o'er the plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down on thirsty pastures<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In torrents fall the rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every creek and gully<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sends forth its little flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the river runs a banker,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All stained with yellow mud.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Harry speaks to Rover,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The best dog on the plains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to his hardy horses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strokes their shaggy manes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We've breasted bigger rivers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When floods were at their height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall this gutter stop us<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From getting home to-night!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The thunder growls a warning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ghastly lightnings gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the drover turns his horses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To swim the fatal stream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, oh! the flood runs stronger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than e'er it ran before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The saddle horse is failing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And only half-way o'er!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When flashes next the lightning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flood's grey breast is blank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a cattle-dog and pack-horse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are struggling up the bank.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But on the bank to northward,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or on the southern shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stock-horse and his rider<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will struggle out no more.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[12]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The faithful dog a moment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sits panting on the bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then swims through the current<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To where his master sank.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round and round in circles,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He fights with failing strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till borne down by the waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old dog sinks at length.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Across the flooded lowlands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And slopes of sodden loam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pack-horse struggles onward,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To take dumb tidings home.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mud-stained, wet, and weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through ranges dark goes he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hobble-chains and tinware<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are sounding eerily.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> + + * + * + * + * +</span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The floods are in the ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stream is clear again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now a verdant carpet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is stretched across the plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But someone's eyes are saddened,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And someone's heart still bleeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sorrow for the drover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who sleeps among the reeds.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[13]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_RESCUE"><i>THE RESCUE.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Edward Dyson.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>From "Rhymes from the Mines," by kind permission of Messrs. Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a sudden, fierce clang of the knocker, then the sound of a voice in the shaft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrieking words that drum hard on the centres, and the braceman goes suddenly daft;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Set the whistle a-blowing like blazes! Billy, run, give old Mackie a call—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Run, you fool! Number Two's gone to pieces, and Fred Baker is caught in the fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say, hello! there below—any hope, boys, any chances of saving his life?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Heave away!" says the knocker. "They've started. God be praised, he's no youngsters or wife!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Screams the whistle in fearful entreaty, and the wild echo raves on the spur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the night, that was still as a sleeper in soft, charmed sleep, is astir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the fluttering of wings in the wattles, and the vague, frightened murmur of birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With far cooeys that carry the warning, running feet, inarticulate words.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the black belt of bush come the miners, and they gather by Mack on the brace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of breath, barely clad, and half-wakened, with a question in every face.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[14]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Who's below?" "Where's the fall?" "Didn't I tell you?—Didn't I say them sets wasn't sound?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Is it Fred? He was reckless was Baker; now he's seen his last shift underground."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And his mate? Where is Sandy M'Fadyn?" "Sandy's snoring at home on his bunk."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Not at work! Name of God! a foreboding?" "A foreboding be hanged! He is drunk!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Take it steady there, lads!" the boss orders. He is white to the roots of his hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We may get him alive before daybreak if he's close to the face and has air."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the dim drive with ardour heroic two facemen are pegging away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long and Coots in the rise heard her thunder, and they fled without word or delay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the drive, and they rushed for the ladders, and they went up the shaft with a run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they knew the weak spot in the workings, and they guessed there was graft to be done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Number Two was pitch dark, and they scrambled to the plat and they made for the face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the roof had come down fifty yards in, and the reef was all over the place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fresher men from the surface replace them, and they're hauled up on top for a blow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a life and death job is in doing there's room only for workers below.<span class="pagenum">[15]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bare-armed, and bare-chested, and brawny, with a grim, meaning set of the jaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The relay hurries in to the rescue, caring not for the danger a straw;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not toil, but a battle, they're called to, and like Trojans the miners respond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a dead man lies crushed 'neath the timbers, or a live man is choking beyond.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the faint, yellow glow of the candles, where the dank drive is hot with their breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the verge of the Land of the Shadow, waging war breast to bosom with Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How they struggle, these giants! and slowly, as the trucks rattle into the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inch by inch they advance to the conquest of a prison—or is it a tomb?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the workings re-echo a volley as the timbers are driven in place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then a whisper is borne to the toilers: "Boys, his mother is there on the brace!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like veterans late into action, fierce with longing to hew and to hack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Riordan's shift rushes in to relieve them, and the toil-stricken men stagger back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Stow the stuff, mates, wherever there's stowage! Run the man on the brace till he drops!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's no time to think on this billet! Bark the heels of the trucker who stops!<span class="pagenum">[16]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep the props well in front, and be careful. He's in there, and alive, never fret."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the grey dawn is softening the ridges, and the word has not come to us yet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still the knocker rings out, and the engine shrieks and strains like a creature in pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the cage rushes up to the surface and drops back into darkness again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the capstan a woman is crouching. In her eyes neither hope nor despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a yearning that glowers like frenzy bids those who'd speak pity forbear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a figure in stone she is seated till the labour of rescue be done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the father was killed in the Phœnix, and the son—Lord of pity! the son?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Hello! there on top!" they are calling. "They are through! He is seen in the drive!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They have got him—thank Heaven! they've got him, and oh, blessed be God, he's alive!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Man on! heave away!" "Step aside, lads; let his mother be first when he lands."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was silent and strong in her anguish; now she babbles and weeps where she stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the stern men, grown gentle, support her at the mouth of the shaft, till at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a rush the cage springs to the landing, and her son's arms encircle her fast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>She has cursed the old mine for its murders, for the victims its drives have ensnared,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Now she cries a great blessing upon it for the one precious life it has spared.</i><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[17]</span></p> + +<h2 id="SALTBUSH_BILL"><i>SALTBUSH BILL.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By A. B. Paterson.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and +Melbourne.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now this is the law of the Overland, that all in the West obey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where the grass is good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They camp, and they ravage the squatter's grass till never a blade remains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then they drift away as the white clouds drift on the edge of the saltbush plains.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From camp to camp and from run to run they battle it hand to hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a blade of grass and the right to pass on the track of the Overland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For this is the law of the Great Stock Routes, 'tis written in white and black—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man that goes with a travelling mob must keep to a half-mile track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the drovers keep to a half-mile track on the runs where the grass is dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they spread their sheep on a well-grassed run till they go with a two-mile spread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the squatters hurry the drovers on from dawn till the fall of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the squatters' dogs and the drovers' dogs get mixed in a deadly fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the squatters' men, though they hunt the mob, are willing the peace to keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the drovers learn how to use their hands when they go with the travelling sheep;<span class="pagenum">[18]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But this is a tale of a Jackeroo that came from a foreign strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fight that he fought with Saltbush Bill, the King of the Overland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough, as ever the country knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the Big Barcoo;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could tell when he came to a friendly run that gave him a chance to spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he knew where the hungry owners were that hurried his sheep ahead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was drifting down in the Eighty drought with a mob that could scarcely creep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(When the kangaroos by the thousands starve, it is rough on the travelling sheep),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he camped one night at the crossing-place on the edge of the Wilga run;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We must manage a feed for them here," he said, "or the half of the mob are done!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he spread them out when they left the camp wherever they liked to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till he grew aware of a Jackeroo with a station-hand in tow,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they set to work on the straggling sheep, and with many a stockwhip crack<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They forced them in where the grass was dead in the space of the half-mile track;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So William prayed that the hand of fate might suddenly strike him blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he'd get some grass for his starving sheep in the teeth of that Jackeroo.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[19]</span><span class="i0">So he turned and he cursed the Jackeroo, he cursed him alive or dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the soles of his great unwieldy feet to the crown of his ugly head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With an extra curse on the moke he rode and the cur at his heels that ran,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the Jackeroo from his horse got down and he went for the drover-man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the station-hand for his picker-up, though the sheep ran loose the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They battled it out on the saltbush plain in the regular prize-ring style.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, the new chum fought for his honour's sake and the pride of the English race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the drover fought for his daily bread, with a smile on his bearded face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he shifted ground and he sparred for wind and he made it a lengthy mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from time to time as his scouts came in they whispered to Saltbush Bill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We have spread the sheep with a two-mile spread, and the grass it is something grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must stick to him, Bill, for another round for the pride of the Overland."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The new chum made it a rushing fight, though never a blow got home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the sun rode high in the cloudless sky and glared on the brick-red loam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the sheep drew in to the shelter-trees and settled them down to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the drover said he would fight no more, and he gave his opponent best.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So the new chum rode to the homestead straight and he told them a story grand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the desperate fight that he fought that day with the King of the Overland.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[20]</span><span class="i0">And the tale went home to the public schools of the pluck of the English swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the drover fought for his very life, but blood in the end must tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the travelling sheep and the Wilga sheep were boxed on the Old Man Plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas a full week's work ere they drafted out and hunted them off again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a week's good grass in their wretched hides, with a curse and a stockwhip crack<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hunted them off on the road once more to starve on the half-mile track.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Saltbush Bill, on the Overland, will many a time recite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the best day's work that ever he did was the day that he lost the fight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="DROUGHT_AND_DOCTRINE"><i>DROUGHT AND DOCTRINE.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By J. Brunton Stephens.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the publishers, Messrs. Angus and Robertson, +Sydney and Melbourne.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, take the tenner, doctor ... yes, I know the bill says "five,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it ain't as if you'd merely kep' our little 'un alive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Man, you saved the mother's reason when you saved that baby's life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' it's thanks to <i>you</i> I ha'n't a ravin' idiot for a wife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let me tell you all the story, an' if then you think it strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I'd like to fee ye extry—why, I'll take the bloomin' change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If yer bill had said a hundred ... I'm a poor man, doc., and yet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd 'a' slaved till I had squared it; ay, an' still been in yer debt.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[21]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, you see, the wife's got notions on a heap o' things that ain't<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be handled by a man as don't pretend to be a saint;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I minds "the cultivation," smokes my pipe an' makes no stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' religion an' such p'ints I lays entirely on to her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No, she's got it fixed within her that, if children die afore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They've been sprinkled by the parson, they've no show for evermore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' though they're spared the pitchfork, the brimstun, an' the smoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They ain't allowed to mix <i>up there</i> with other little folk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when our last began to pine, an' lost his pretty smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' not a parson to be had within a hunder mile—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For though there is a chapel down at Bluegrass Creek, you know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The clargy's there on dooty only thrice a year or so)—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, when our yet unchristen'd mite grew limp, an' thin, an' pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It would 'a' cut you to the heart to hear the mother wail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About her "unregenerate babe," an' how, if it should go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould have no chance with them as had their registers to show.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then awful quiet she grew, an' hadn't spoken for a week,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in came brother Bill one day with news from Bluegrass Creek.<span class="pagenum">[22]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I seen," says he, "a notice on the chapel railin' tied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'll have service there this evenin'—can the youngster stand the ride?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For we can't have parson here, if it be true, as I've heard say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a dyin' man as wants him more'n twenty mile away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So"—He hadn't time to finish ere the child was out of bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a shawl about its body an' a hood upon its head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Saddle up," the missus said. I did her biddin' like a bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps I thought it foolish, but I never said a word;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For though I have a vote in what the kids eat, drink, or wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their sperritual requirements are entirely <i>her</i> affair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We started on our two hours' ride beneath a burnin' sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Aunt Sal and Bill for sureties to renounce the Evil One;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' a bottle in Sal's basket that was labelled "Fine Old Tom"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Held the water that regeneration was to follow from.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Bluegrass Creek was dry, as Bill that very day had found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' not a sup o' water to be had for miles around;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, to make salvation sartin for the babby's little soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We had filled a dead marine, sir, at the fam'ly waterhole.<span class="pagenum">[23]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which every forty rods or so Sal raised it to her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' took a snifter, "just enough to wet her lips," she said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereby it came to pass that when we reached the chapel door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was only what would serve the job, an' deuce a dribble more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The service had begun—we didn't like to carry in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vessel with so evident a carritur for gin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So we left it in the porch, an', havin' done our level best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went an' owned to bein' "mis'rable offenders" with the rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' nigh upon the finish, when the parson had been told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That a lamb was waitin' there to be admitted to the fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rememberin' the needful, I gets up an' quietly slips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the porch to see—a swagsman—with our bottle at his lips!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such a faintness came all over me, you might have then an' there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knocked me down, sir, with a feather or tied me with a hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doc., I couldn't speak nor move; an' though I caught the beggar's eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a wink he turned the bottle bottom up an' drank it dry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' then he flung it from him, bein' suddintly aware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the label on't was merely a deloosion an' a snare;<span class="pagenum">[24]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the crash cut short the people in the middle of "A-men,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all the congregation heard him holler "Sold again!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So that christ'nin' was a failure; every water-flask was drained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ev'n the monkey in the vestry not a blessed drop contained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the parson in a hurry cantered off upon his mare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leavin' baby unregenerate, an' missus in despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That night the child grew worse, but all my care was for the wife;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I feared more for her reason than for that wee spark o' life....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you know the rest—how Providence contrived that very night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That a doctor should come cadgin' at our shanty for a light....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Baby? Oh, he's chirpy, thank ye—been baptised—his name is Bill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's weeks and weeks since parson came an' put him through the mill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' his mother's mighty vain upon the subjick of his weight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' reg'lar cock-a-hoop about his sperritual state.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So now you'll take the tenner. Oh, confound the bloomin' change!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lord, had Billy died!—but, doctor, don't you think it summut strange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That them as keeps the gate would have refused to let him in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because a fool mistook a drop of Adam's ale for gin?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[25]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_MARTYR"><i>THE MARTYR.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Victor J. Daley.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>From "At Dawn and Dusk" poems, by kind permission of Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not only on cross and gibbet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By sword, and fire, and flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have perished the world's sad martyrs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose names are writ in blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A woman lay in a hovel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mean, dismal, gasping for breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One friend alone was beside her:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The name of him was—Death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For the sake of her orphan children,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For money to buy them food,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She had slaved in the dismal hovel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wasted her womanhood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Winter and spring and summer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Came each with a load of cares;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And autumn to her brought only<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A harvest of grey hairs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far out in the blessèd country,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the smoky town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winds of God were blowing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Evermore up and down;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The trees were waving signals<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of joy from the bush beyond;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gum its blue-green banner,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fern its dark-green frond;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[26]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Flower called to flower in whispers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By sweet caressing names,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And young gum shoots sprang upward<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like woodland altar-flames;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, deep in the distant ranges<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The magpie's fluting song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roused musical, mocking echoes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the woods of Dandenong;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And riders were galloping gaily,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With loose-held flowing reins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through dim and shadowy gullies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across broad, treeless plains;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And winds through the Heads came wafting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A breath of life from the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over the blue horizon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ships sailed silently;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And out of the sea at morning<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun rose, golden bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in crimson, and gold, and purple<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sank in the sea at night;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But in dreams alone she saw them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hours of toil between;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For life to her was only<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A heartless dead machine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Her</i> heart was in the graveyard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where lay her children three;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor work nor prayer could save them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor tears of agony.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[27]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the lips of her last and dearest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pressing a farewell kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She cried aloud in her anguish—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Can God make amends for <i>this</i>?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dull, desperate, ceaseless slaving<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bereft her of power to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Man was careless and cruel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And God was far away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But who shall measure His mercies?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His ways are in the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, after a life of sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He gave her His gift of sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rest comes at last to the weary,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And freedom to the slave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her tired and worn-out body<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sleeps well in its pauper grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But His angel bore her soul up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that Bright Land and Fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Sorrow enters never,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor any cloud of care.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They came to a lovely valley,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Agleam with asphodel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soul of the woman speaking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Said, "Here I fain would dwell!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The angel answered gently:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"O Soul, most pure and dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O Soul, most tried and truest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy dwelling is not here!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Behold thy place appointed—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long kept, long waiting—come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where bloom on the hills of Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The roses of Martyrdom!"<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[28]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_CARRYING_OF_THE_BABY"><i>THE CARRYING OF THE BABY.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Ethel Turner.</span></p> + +<p>Larrie had been carrying it for a long way, and said it was quite time +Dot took her turn.</p> + +<p>Dot was arguing the point.</p> + +<p>She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of all +the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being +six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he +could not carry a baby.</p> + +<p>Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other +arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the +red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to help +to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it was +heavy.</p> + +<p>"He is exactly twenty-one pounds," she said, "I weighed him on the +kitchen scales yesterday. I should think a man of your size ought to be +able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so."</p> + +<p>"But he's on springs, Dot," he said; "just look at him, he's never still +for a minute; you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard, and then +I'll take him again."</p> + +<p>Dot shook her head.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, Larrie," she said, "but I really can't. You know I +didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself, +you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></p> + +<p>"But you're his mother," objected Larrie.</p> + +<p>He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes +were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat +thumb in his eye and made it water.</p> + +<p>"But you're its father," Dot said sweetly.</p> + +<p>"It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man"—poor Larrie was +mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand—"everyone says so; don't +be a little sneak, Dot; my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for +pity's sake take him."</p> + +<p>Dot shook her head again.</p> + +<p>"Would you have me break my vow, St. Lawrence?" she said.</p> + +<p>She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his +side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was +white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white +Suède gloves, and she carried a white parasol.</p> + +<p>"I'm hanged," said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the +road; "look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or are +you not?"</p> + +<p>Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.</p> + +<p>"No, my good man," she said; "I don't propose to carry your baby one +step."</p> + +<p>"Then I shall drop it," said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening +position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.</p> + +<p>"Find a soft place," she called, looking back over her shoulder once and +seeing him still standing in the road.</p> + +<p>"Little minx," he said under his breath.</p> + +<p>Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily<span class="pagenum">[30]</span> it was a pleasant mouth, much +given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look, +one could see capabilities for all manner of things.</p> + +<p>He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft, +green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the +child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or +other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string +from the little rosy foot, and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in +its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms; +she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a +hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along.</p> + +<p>"You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that," she +said, looking up at his set side face.</p> + +<p>"You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are," he returned +hotly. "By Jove, if I was a woman, I'd be ashamed to act as you do. You +get worse every day you live. I've kept excusing you to myself, and +saying you would get wiser as you grew older, and instead, you seem more +childish every day."</p> + +<p>She looked childish. She was very, very small in stature, very slightly +and delicately built. Her hair was in soft gold-brown curls, as short as +a boy's; her eyes were soft, and wide, and tender, and beautiful as a +child's. When she was happy they were the colour of that blue, deep +violet we call the Czar, and when she grew thoughtful, or sorrowful, +they were like the heart of a great, dark purple pansy.<span class="pagenum">[31]</span> She was not +particularly beautiful, only very fresh, and sweet, and lovable. Larrie +once said she always looked like a baby that has been freshly bathed and +dressed, and puffed with sweet violet powder, and sent out into the +world to refresh tired eyes.</p> + +<p>That was one of his courtship sayings, more than a year ago, when she +was barely seventeen. She was eighteen now, and he was telling her she +was an unnatural mother.</p> + +<p>"Why, the child wouldn't have had its bib on, only I saw to it," he +said, in a voice that increased in excitement as he dwelt on the +enormity.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," said Dot, "that was very careless of Peggie; I must really +speak to her about it."</p> + +<p>"I shall shake you some day, Dot," Larrie said, "shake you till your +teeth rattle. Sometimes I can hardly keep my hands off you."</p> + +<p>His brow was gloomy, his boyish face troubled, vexed.</p> + +<p>And Dot laughed. Leaned against the fence skirting the road that seemed +to run to eternity, and laughed outrageously.</p> + +<p>Larrie stopped too. His face was very white and square-looking, his dark +eyes held fire. He put his hands on the white, exaggerated shoulders of +her muslin dress and turned her round.</p> + +<p>"Go back to the bottom of the hill this instant, and pick up the child +and carry it up here," he said.</p> + +<p>"Go and insert your foolish old head in a receptacle for +<i>pommes-de-terre</i>," was Dot's flippant retort.</p> + +<p>Larrie's hands pressed harder, his chin grew squarer.</p> + +<p>"I'm in earnest, Dot, deadly earnest.<span class="pagenum">[32]</span> I order you to fetch the child, +and I intend you to obey me," he gave her a little shake to enforce the +command. "I am your master, and I intend you to know it from this day."</p> + +<p>Dot experienced a vague feeling of surprise at the fire in the eyes that +were nearly always clear, and smiling, and loving, then she twisted +herself away.</p> + +<p>"Pooh," she said, "you're only a stupid over-grown, passionate boy, +Larrie. You my master! You're nothing in the world but my husband."</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" he said in a tone he had never used before to her. "Say +Yes or No, Dot, instantly."</p> + +<p>"No," said Dot, stormily.</p> + +<p>Then they both gave a sob of terror, their faces blanched, and they +began to run madly down the hill.</p> + +<p>Oh the long, long way they had come, the endless stretch of red, red +road that wound back to the gold-tipped wattles, the velvet grass, and +their baby!</p> + +<p>Larrie was a fleet, wonderful runner. In the little cottage where they +lived, manifold silver cups and mugs bore witness to it, and he was +running for life now, but Dot nearly outstripped him.</p> + +<p>She flew over the ground, hardly touching it, her arms were +outstretched, her lips moving. They fell down together on their knees by +their baby, just as three furious, hard-driven bullocks thundered by, +filling the air with dust and bellowing.</p> + +<p>The baby was blinking happily up at a great fat golden beetle that was +making a lazy way up the wattle. It had lost its "comforter" and was +sucking its thumb thoughtfully. It had kicked off its white knitted +boots, and was curling its pink<span class="pagenum">[33]</span> toes up in the sunshine with great +enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"Baby!" Larrie said. The big fellow was trembling in every limb.</p> + +<p>"<i>Baby!</i>" said Dot. She gathered it up in her little shaking arms, she +put her poor white face down upon it, and broke into such pitiful tears +and sobs that it wept too. Larrie took them both into his arms, and sat +down on a fallen tree. He soothed them, he called them a thousand +tender, beautiful names; he took off Dot's hat and stroked her little +curls, he kissed his baby again and again; he kissed his wife. When they +were all quite calm and the bullocks ten miles away, they started again.</p> + +<p>"I'll carry him," said Larrie.</p> + +<p>"Ah no, let me," Dot said.</p> + +<p>"Darling, you're too tired—see, you can hold his hand across my +shoulder."</p> + +<p>"No, no, give him to me—my arms ache without him."</p> + +<p>"But the hill—my big baby!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>must</i> have him—Larrie, <i>let</i> me—see, he is so light—why, he +is nothing to carry."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[34]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_OLD_GUM"><i>THE OLD GUM.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stand here; he has once been a grand old gum,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it makes one reflect that the time will come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we all shall have had our fling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, our life soon passes, we scarce know how—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You would hardly think, to see him now,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That once he had been a king.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In his youth, in the silence of the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A forest of saplings around him stood;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he overtopped them all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, over their heads, through the forest shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could see how the sunlight danced and played,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So straight he grew, and so tall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each day of his life brought something new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The breeze stirred the bracken, the dry leaves flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wild bird passed on the wing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard the low, sad song of the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His childhood was passed in its solitude;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And he grew—and became a king.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oft has he stood on the stormy night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the long-forked flash has revealed to sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The plain where the floods were out;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the wind came down like a hurricane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the branches, broken and snapped in twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were scattered and strewn about.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[35]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oft, touched by the reddening bush-fire glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When clouds of smoke, rolling up from below,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Obscured the sun like a pall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the forest seemed like a flaming sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down came many a mighty tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has he stood firm through it all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those days of his youth have long gone by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The magpie's note and the parrot's cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As borne on the evening wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recall to his thoughts his childhood flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old memories, fresh, yet faintly blown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the youth he has left behind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the brow of the hill he stands to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the pride of his life has passed away;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His leaves are withered and sere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And oft at night comes a sound of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he sways his tired limbs to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laments to the bleak night air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He can still look down on the plain below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his head is decked by the sunset glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a glorious crown of light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from every field, as the night draws on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To his spreading arms the magpies come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To shelter there for the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Some night, when the waters rage and swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He will hear the thunder roll his knell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And will bow his head to the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the birds from their nests will wheel in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the rabbits burrow deeper in fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the thundering, rending sound.<span class="pagenum">[36]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the magpies must find another home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more, at the sunset, will they come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To warble their evening song.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, well! our sorrow is quickly flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the good old friends we have loved and known:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the old tree falls by the tall new grown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the weak must yield to the strong.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Florence Bullivant.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="MURPHY_SHALL_NOT_SING_TO-NIGHT"><i>MURPHY SHALL NOT SING TO-NIGHT.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round O'Connor's bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answering the invitation Patsy posted near and far.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the chandeliers were lit, but did not shed sufficient light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tallow candles, stuck in bottles, graced the bar that famous night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the quality were there; before such talent ne'er was seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Healy brought the house down fairly with "The Wearin' o' the Green."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Liquor went around in lashins, everything was going off right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When O'Connor sent the word round, "Murphy shall not sing to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Faces paled at Patsy's order; none were listening to the song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through their hearts went vague sensations—awful dreads of coming wrong;<span class="pagenum">[37]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For they knew that Danny Murphy thought himself a singer quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And knew that if he made his mind up, that, bedad, he'd sing that night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Everyone was close attention, knew that there would be a row,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the chairman said that "Mr. Murphy will oblige us now."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Not so fasht," said Pat O'Connor, rising to his fullest height,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This here pub belongs to me, and Murphy shall not sing to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up jumps Murphy, scowling darkly as he looks at Pat O'Connor:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Is this the way," he says to Pat, "that you uphold Ould Oireland's honour?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oi know Oi'm not much at singin'; any toime Oi'd sooner foight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, to show me independence, s'help me bob, Oi'll sing to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gintlemin," says Pat O'Connor, wildly gazing round about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It will be my painful duty to chuck Danny Murphy out;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has been a rule with me that no man sings when he is tight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Oi say a thing Oi mane it—Murphy shall not sing to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then says Doolan to O'Connor, "Listen what Oi've got to tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If yez want to chuck out Murphy, yez must chuck out me as well."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This lot staggered Pat O'Connor, Doolan was a man of might;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he bluffed him, loudly crying, "Murphy shall not sing to-night."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[38]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he rushed on Danny Murphy and he smote him hip and thigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patsy looked a winner straight, when Doolan jabbed him in the eye.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the crowd at once took sides, and soon began a rousing fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The battle cry of Patsy's push was "Murphy shall not sing to-night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The noise soon brought a copper in: 'twas Patsy's cousin, Jim Kinsella.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Hould yer row," he says to Doolan, when Mick lands him on the smeller.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They got the best of Doolan's push, though; lumbered them for getting tight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patsy then had spoken truly, "Murphy did not sing that night."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round the City court.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There before the awful sentence was a touching lesson taught—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then away they led the prisoners to a cell, so cool and white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for fourteen days to come Murphy shall not sing at night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Montague Grover.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="CHRISTMAS_BELLS"><i>CHRISTMAS BELLS.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By John B. O'Hara, M.A.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bells, joyous bells of the Christmas-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear is the song of your welcome chime;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear is the burden that softly wells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From your joyous throats, O tolling bells!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear is the message sweet you bind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dove-like to wings of the wafting wind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You tell how the Yule-king cometh forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From his home in the heart of the icy North;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his Eastern steeds how rusheth on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind-god of storms, Euroclydon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How his trumpet strikes to the pallid stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shrink from the mad moon's silver bars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the cold wind tortures the sobbing sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the chill sleet pierces the pinioned lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the snow king hurls from his frozen zone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fragments fast of a tumbled throne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But what is the song, O silver bells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You sing of the ferny Austral dells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the bracken height, and the sylvan stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the breezy woodland's summer dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lulled by the lute of the slow sweet rills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the trembling heart of the great grave hills?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, what is the song that you sing to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the soft blue isles of our shimmering sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the slow tides sleep, and a purple haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fringes the skirts of the windless bays,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[40]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That, ringed with a circlet of beauty fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Start in the face of the dreamer there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, what is the burden of your sweet chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bells of the golden Christmas times?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You sing of the summer gliding down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the stars that gem bright heaven's crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the flowers that fade in the autumn sere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sunlit death of the old, old year.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sweet South wind that sobs above<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grass-green grave of our buried love:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No bitter dirge from the stormy flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a moaning sea,—ah! no, no, no!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a sweet farewell, and a low soft hymn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the beautiful moons that swim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the silver seas that toss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their foam to thy shrine, O Southern Cross!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, bright is the burden of your sweet chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bells of the joyous Christmas times!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You bring to the old hearts throbbing slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beautiful dreams of the long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remembrance sweet of the olden Yule,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When hearts beat high in life's young school.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, haply now, as they list to your chimes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will the voices rise of the olden times,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the wings of peace brood over the hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slipping like streams through sleepy bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While you whisper the story loved of One<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who suffered for us—the sad sweet Son—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who taught that afflictions, sent in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chasten the soul for the realms above.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[41]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="WOOL_IS_UP"><i>WOOL IS UP.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Earth o'erflows with nectared gladness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All creation teems with joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Banished be each thought of sadness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life for me has no alloy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fill a bumper!—drain a measure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pewter! goblet! tankard! cup!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Testifying thus our pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the news that "Wool is up."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Thwart the empires, 'neath the oceans,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Subtly speeds the living fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall tell what wild emotions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spring from out that thridden wire?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Jute is lower—copper weaker,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This will break poor neighbour Jupp;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for me, I shout "Eureka!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wealth is mine—for wool is up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What care I for jute or cotton,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sugar, copper, hemp, or flax!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reeds like these are often rotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Turn to rods for owners' backs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fortune! ha! I have thee holden<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In what Scotia calls a "grup,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All my fleeces now are golden,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full troy weight—for wool is up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I will dance the gay fandango<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(Though to me its steps be strange),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubts and fears, you all can hang go!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I will cut a dash on 'Change.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Atra Cura, you will please me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By dismounting from my crup—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Per—you no more shall tease me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pray get down—for wool is up!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[42]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jane shall have that stylish bonnet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which my scanty purse denied;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long she set her heart upon it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She shall wear it now with pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will buy old Dumper's station,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reign as king at Gerringhup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my crest a bust of Jason,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With this motto, "Wool is up."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I will keep a stud extensive;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bolter, here! I'll have those greys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those Sir George deemed too expensive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You can send them—with the bays.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coursing! I should rather think so;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, I'll take that "Lightning" pup;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jones, my boy, you needn't wink so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can stand it—wool is up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wifey, love, you're looking charming,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Years with you are but as days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We must have a grand house-warming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When these painters go their ways.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the ball-room be got ready,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bid our friends to dance and sup:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bother! <i>how</i> can I "go steady"?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'm worth thousands—wool is up!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Garnet Walch.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="WOOL_IS_DOWN"><i>WOOL IS DOWN.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blacker than 'eer the inky waters roll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the gloomy shores of sluggish Styx,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A surge of sorrow laps my leaden soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For that which was at "two" is now "one—six."<span class="pagenum">[43]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come, disappointment, come!" as has been said<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By someone else who quailed 'neath Fortune's frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stab to the core the heart that once has bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(For "heart" read "pocket")—wool, ah! wool is down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And in the lowest deep a lower deep,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou sightless seer, indeed it may be so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The road to—well, we know—is somewhat steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And who shall stay us when that road we go?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrice cursèd wire, whose lightning strikes to blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose babbling tongue proclaims throughout the town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The news, which, being ill, has travelled fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dire intelligence that—wool is down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A rise in copper and a rise in jute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fall alone in wool—but what a fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jupp must have made a pile this trip, the brute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He don't deserve such splendid luck at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smiles for him—for me the scalding tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's worth ten thousand if he's worth a crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While I—untimely shorn by Fate's harsh shears—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Feel that my game is up when wool is down.<span class="pagenum">[44]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bolter, take back these prancing greys of thine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Remove as well the vanquished warrior's bays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fortunes are not stable, they decline;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aye, even horses taunt me with their neighs.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, sweet puppy of the "Lightning" breed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through whose fleet limbs I pictured me renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hie howling to thy former home with speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy course with me is up—for wool is down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why, Jane, what's this—this pile of letters here?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such waste of stamps is really very sad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your birthday ball! Oh, come! not <i>twice</i> a year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good gracious me! the woman must be mad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'd better save expense at once, that's clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And send a bellman to invite the town!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There—there—don't cry; forgive my temper, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But put these letters up—for wool is down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My station "Gerringhup"—yes, that must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its sheep, its oxen, and its kangaroos,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First 'twas the home of blacks, then whites, we know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now is it but a dwelling for "the blues."<span class="pagenum">[45]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">With it I leave the brotherhood of Cash<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who form Australian Fashion's tinsel crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tread along the devious path of Smash,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I go where wool has gone—down, ever down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus ends my dream of greatness; not for me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silken couch, the banquet, and the rout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They're flown—the base <i>residuum</i> will be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mutton chop and half a pint of stout—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet will I hold a corner in my soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Hope may nestle safe from Fortune's frown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hoodwinked jade! my heart remaineth whole—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll keep my spirits up—though wool be down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Garnet Walch.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_HIGHLAND_BRIGADE_BURIES_ITS_DEAD"><i>THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE BURIES ITS DEAD.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Lieut.-Colonel W. T. Reay.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<p>How am I to describe the sadly impressive scene at Modder River on the +evening of the 13th of December? The sun has just set, and the period of +twilight has commenced. The great heat of the day has passed, and +although there is not a breath of wind, the air is cool and refreshing. +The whole British camp at Modder River is astir. Not, however, with the +always<span class="pagenum">[46]</span> gay bustle of warlike preparations; not with the laughter and +jest which—such strange creatures are we—almost invariably come from +the lips of men who dress for the parade which precedes a plunge into +battle. There is this evening a solemn hush over the camp, and the men +move from their lines in irregular and noiseless parties, for the time +their pipes put out of sight, and their minds charged with serious +thought. To what is given this homage of silence as the soldiers gather, +and mechanically, without word of command or even request of any kind, +leave a roadway from the head-quarters' flag to a point a quarter of a +mile away, where a dark mound of upraised earth breaks the monotonous +flatness of the whitey-green veldt? For these are mere spectators, +deeply interested, it is true, yet still only spectators. What, then, is +afoot? Civilians, hats off, and attention everyone. The Highland Brigade +is about to bury its dead.</p> + +<p>Stand here at the head of the lines of spectator soldiers—here where +that significant mound is; here at the spot selected as a last +resting-place—and observe. The whole Brigade, some of the regiments +sadly attenuated, is on parade, and has formed funeral procession, under +Colonel Pole-Carew. First come the pipers, and it is seen that they have +for the nonce discarded their service kit, and are in the full dress of +their several clans. "Savage and shrill" is the Byronic description of +the pibroch, which, in the "noon of night," startled the joyous +revellers before Waterloo. Now it is a low, deep wail, yet voluminous +and weirdly euphonious, that comes from the music-makers of the +Highlands, and every heart stands still to listen.<span class="pagenum">[47]</span> Oh, so sad it is! +"The Flowers of the Forest"—("He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut +down")—they are—playing, shall I say? No; rather does the music flow +out from the very souls of the pipers in a succession of strangely +harmonious moans, and soul calls to soul. Yet beneath it all, beneath +the dominant note of heart-bursting sorrow, lurks that other +element—"the savage and shrill." Yes, indeed; soul calls to soul +through these pipes—calls for sobs and tears for the brave who have +fallen—calls for vengeance on the yet unbeaten foe. The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead.</p> + +<p>Following the pipers marches a small armed party. It would have been the +firing party, but volleys are not fired over soldiers' graves in time of +war. Then the chaplain, in his robes, preceding the corpse of General +Wauchope (who had fallen at the head of his men), borne on a stretcher. +One of the bearers is of the dead man's kin—a promising young Highland +officer. Then come the several regiments of the Brigade, the Black Watch +leading. The men march with arms reversed, stately, erect, stern, grim. +They lift their feet high for the regulation step of the slow, funeral +march. But observe that even in their grim sternness these men are +quivering with an emotion which they cannot control—an emotion which +passes out in magnetic waves from their ranks to those of their comrade +spectators of England and Ireland, and brings tears to the eyes and +choking sobs to the throats of the strong and the brave. "Talk not of +grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!" The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead.</p> + +<p>In a separate grave, at the head of a long,<span class="pagenum">[48]</span> shallow trench, the body of +General Wauchope is laid, in sight of and facing the foe. The chaplain +advances, and the solemn service for the dead is recited in a clear and +markedly Scotch voice, while all bow their heads and either listen or +ponder. A grief-stricken kinsman's quivering hand drops earth upon the +body at the words, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and the grave of the +General is quickly filled in. There, beside the trench, already lie the +corpses of fifty officers and men. They had been carried to the burial +place earlier in the day. There, at the end nearer to the General's +grave, the officers are laid. Beside them their comrades of minor rank +in life, all brought to a worldly level by the hand of death, are placed +in the trench. It is an excavation only about three feet deep, but it is +twelve feet wide, and the dead men are put feet to feet in two parallel +rows, twenty-five on each side. They are fully attired, just as they +were brought in from the battlefield, and each is wrapped in his +blanket. The sporan is turned over on to the dead face, and the kilt +thrown back, the rigid limbs showing bare and scarred in the unfilled +trench. The Highland Brigade is burying its dead.</p> + +<p>Once more the chaplain steps forward, and a new funeral service is +commenced. Again great, powerful men weep. Some grow faint, some pray, +some curse. "Oh, God! oh, God!" is the cry which comes from bursting +hearts as comrades are recognised, and soil is sprinkled over them by +hard, rough hands, which tremble now as they never trembled in the face +of a foe. Then the burial parties get to work, gently as a sweet woman +tucks the bedclothes round her sleeping child. The soft soil falls +kindly upon the shreds of humanity<span class="pagenum">[49]</span> beneath. Men cease to weep, and +catch something of the "rapture of repose" of which a poet has sung. +Mother Earth has claimed her own, and the brave are sleeping their last +sleep in her kindly embrace. Again the dirge of the pipes, and the sweet +strains of "Lochaber no more" fill the evening air. The Highland Brigade +is burying its dead.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the cable has carried its budget of sad messages to the old +land. There, in a wee cottage by the bonnie burn side, the bereaved +mother bows her aged head and says, "Thy will be done." There also the +heart-broken once wife, newly-made widow, pours out the anguish of her +soul as she clasps her fatherless bairn to her warm bosom. Her man comes +no more. For the Highland Brigade has buried its dead.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="AUSTRALIAS_CALL_TO_ARMS"><i>AUSTRALIA'S CALL TO ARMS.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By John B. O'Hara, M.A.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sons of ocean-girdled islands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the southern billows sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake! arise! the dread Bellona<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Speeds her chariot through the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, the troubled star of danger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On Britannia shineth down—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake! arise! maintain her glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And renown, and renown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the hour of Britain's peril<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall we falter, while the fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still are glowing on our altars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the ashes of our sires?<span class="pagenum">[50]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ho! brave hearts, for Britain's honour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the lustre of her crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake! arise! maintain her glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And renown, and renown!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye are children of a nation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye are scions of the sires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That of old were in the vanguard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the world's wide empires!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the spirit of your fathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the fulness of their fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake! arise! maintain the honour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her name, of her name!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long to Britain may "the crimson<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thread of kinship" bind our wings!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crimson thread that slowly slackens<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the newer race upsprings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sons of heroes, men of courage<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That reverse could never tame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake! arise! maintain the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her name, of her name!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See! the star of ancient Britain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That hath never known decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By your valour lit up newly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With a glow of fiercer shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the burning sands of Afric,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With your loyalty aflame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once again maintain the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her name, of her name!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[51]</span></p> + +<h2 id="GOOD_NEWS"><i>GOOD NEWS.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moostarchers and hair black as jet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tall and thin, with a sad kind of smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft-handed, soft-voiced, but well set—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A New Chum in manners and style.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's him, sir—that's him; he's been here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A matter of nigh fourteen weeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which I know by the rent in arrear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though a gent—you can tell when he speaks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came one night about eight, hired the room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without board—it's four shillings, and cheap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I say it, and me and the broom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And good yaller soap for its keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a widow with nine, which the twins—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bless their 'arts—are that sturdy and bold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At their tricks soon as daylight begins,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Even now when it's perishing cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O' mornings; and Betsy, my girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As answered the door, sir, for you,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's so slow for her age, though a pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When there's any long job to get through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Bobby—but there, I forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You'll pardon a mother, I know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, for six weeks he paid up his shot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then I could see funds was low.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dressed just as neat, but his coat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Got buttoned up nigher his chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the scarf twisted round his poor throat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Missed a friend in the shape of a pin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So the rent it run on, for, says I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's out of his luck, I can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wants all his money to buy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His wittles (you brat, let that be).<span class="pagenum">[52]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where he works I can't tell, but he's out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Every morning at nine from the house,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he comes back at six or about,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ups to his room like a mouse.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Sundays the same, so I s'pose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He visits his friends on that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But where it may be that he goes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It's not in my knowledge to say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He ain't well. I can tell by his walk;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's as thin as a lath, and <i>that</i> pale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I never could get him to talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So I can't rightly guess what may ail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never sends out for no beer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He don't smoke, and as far as I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the few clothes he brought here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a desk, he's as hard up as me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What! you bring him good news; I <i>am</i> glad!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A fortune! ten thousand! Oh, la!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That's the physic for <i>you</i>, my poor lad.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This way, sir; it's not very far.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mind that stair, please—the banister's broke.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here's his door; hush, I'll knock. Ah! asleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can't help it—you'd better be woke;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The news is too pretty to keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't he sound, eh? Poor fellow, he's rocked<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rest in the Kingdom of Nod.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'd better go in. It's not locked.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Follow me, sir. All dark. Oh! my God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Garnet Walch.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></p> + +<h2 id="FREE_TRADE_v_PROTECTION"><i>FREE TRADE v. PROTECTION.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, they were boys together in the grand old Fatherland,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They fubbed at taw together, played truant hand-in-hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sucked each other's toffy, they cribbed each other's tops,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They pledged eternal friendship in an ounce of acid drops.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With no tie of blood between them, a greater bond was theirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cemented by the constant swop of apples, nuts, and pears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when to manhood they had grown, with manhood's hispid chins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They held as close together still as Siam's famous twins.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So Jobbins came with Dobbins across the restless main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they traded as D., J. & Co., and gained much worldly gain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Each gave the other dinners, each drank the other's health,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each looked upon the other as a "mine of mental wealth,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be.<span class="pagenum">[54]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But ah! for human nature—alas for human kind—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There came a cloud between them, with a lot more clouds behind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Tariff was the demon fell which sad disruption made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For our Dobbins loved Protection, while our Jobbins loved Free Trade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As partners now in business, they could no more agree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So they forthwith dissoluted and halved the £ s. d.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fiercest opposition in every sort of way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was carried on by Dobbins <i>versus</i> Jobbins day by day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Dobbins entered Parliament, and so did Jobbins too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each upheld his principles amidst that motley crew—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the side that Dobbins voted with were victors of the hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Dobbins was made Treasurer while Jobbins' grapes were sour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Dobbins went to work with glee, protecting everything,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gave his pet proclivities the very fullest swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set all the manger-loving dogs a-barking in his praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raised the Tariff up kite-high, a real four-aces' raise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He taxed the pots, he taxed the pans, he taxed the children's mugs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He taxed the brooms, he taxed the mops, He taxed the jars and jugs;<span class="pagenum">[55]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In soft and hardware every line was smothered by his dues,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except the national <i>tin tax</i>—the Ministerial <i>screws</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He taxed each article of food, each article of wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He even taxed fresh water, and he tried to tax fresh air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He improvised new duties, new taxes by the score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when he stopped awhile to think he taxed his brain for more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And not one blessed class of goods was entered at the port,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what he advaloremed till he made importers snort;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till even old Protectionists, grown hoary in the cause,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Began to change to fidgets what had started as applause.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Poor Jobbins suffered hugely by his whilom partner's tricks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But found it rather dangerous to kick against the pricks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had to grin and bear it, as many a worthy man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has grinned and borne it in his turn since this mad world began.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now Dobbins, flushed with Fortune's smiles, his high ambition fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bethought him that the time had come when he might safely wed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So by the wire electrical, as he had nicely planned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sent this loving message to the grand old Fatherland.<span class="pagenum">[56]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Matilda, I am ready, with five thousand pounds a-year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come out unto your Dobbins, love, and be his bride so dear;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which there sped the answer back that very self-same day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"As soon as I have packed my things, I'm coming straight away."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Matilda was an heiress of the old blue Bobbins' blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her ancestors owned land and beeves long years before the flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One relative, 'tis said, indeed—a chemist, I'll engage—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sold bottled Protoplasm in the prehistoric age.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our Dobbins and our Jobbins, too, had loved the maid of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Bobbins <i>père</i> had snubbed them both for lack of needful gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though when the telegram arrived, "Five thousand pounds a-year!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pa winked a playful little wink—and said, "Be off, my dear."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The packing of her luggage was a most stupendous job,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd the miscellaneous wardrobe of the highest sort of nob,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New trousseau, plate, and furniture, and presents from her friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Cockle's pills and raspberry jam, and various odds and ends.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were eighty zinc-lined cases and portmanteaus full a score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of band and bonnet boxes at least some fifty more,<span class="pagenum">[57]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of carpet-bags three dozen most plethorically crammed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nigh-forgotten articles in one wild chaos jammed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our Venus had a transit out particularly quick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glorious <i>transit mundi</i>, but without the usual <i>sic</i> (k);<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till one fine day she gazed upon the far-famed, Austral strand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One eye upon her luggage, and one eye upon the land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The vessel berthed beside the pier; Matilda's future lord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "Honourable Dobbins," stepped jauntily on board;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He clasped the maiden to his breast, nor heeded that close by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The melancholy Jobbins stood with sad reproachful eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, come, my love!" says Dobbins, "let's get your things ashore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a cab in waiting here to take them to my store."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"A cab!" cried she—"twice twenty cabs would not for me suffice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold my things!" He started, as though stung by cockatrice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That lofty mountain yonder, which high its head erects,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Alp of packing cases—are those, dear, your effects?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Of course they are, beloved, for keeping house with <i>you</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough to furnish us complete, and everything <i>quite new!</i>"<span class="pagenum">[58]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He staggered as if hearing news of pestilence or dearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then gasped in low and anxious tones, "And what's the whole lot worth?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She thought that his emotion spoke of joy that knew no bounds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whispered gaily in his ear, "Some forty thousand pounds!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He bit his lips, he ground his teeth, he tore out hunks of hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He looked the full embodiment of desperate despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then with a shriek of agony, the hideous truth found vent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There's <i>ad valorem</i> on the lot of ninety-five per cent.!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My new amended Tariff comes in force this very day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I little dreamt that you and I should be the first to pay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Besides, I haven't got the cash! oh dear, how bad I feel!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maiden smiled a scornful smile and turned upon her heel.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The miserable Dobbins gave a second piercing shriek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then leaped into the briny flood, and stayed there for a week;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though Jobbins tried to find him hard, but failed, with these remarks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He always <i>was</i> too deep for me—besides, there might be sharks."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The very night of Dobbins' loss, the Ministry went out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Jobbins' party took their place 'midst many a ringing shout;<span class="pagenum">[59]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of our Jobbins in a trice, their Treasurer they made.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because, as everybody knew, he gloried in Free Trade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He took the dues off everything, from thimbles up to tanks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And passed Miss Bobbins' goods himself, and won that virgin's thanks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what is more, he won her hand, her chattels and her heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she is Mrs. Jobbins now, till death them twain doth part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As Dobbins to import his love had spared nor cash nor pains—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They raised a handsome monument above his cold remains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The carved inscription to this day is there his tale to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"He <i>did</i> his duties—and himself—not wisely but too well."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Garnet Walch.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_LIONS_CUBS"><i>THE LION'S CUBS.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3">PATRIOTIC SONG AND CHORUS.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Australia's sons are we,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the freest of the free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Love enchains us still with fetters strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the dear old land at Home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far across the rolling foam—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The little isle to which our hearts belong.<span class="pagenum">[60]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall always be our boast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our bumper-honoured toast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, should Britain bid us help her, we'll obey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, if e'er the call is made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Old England needs our aid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These are the words Australia's sons will say—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">There is not a strong right hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throughout this Southern land,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But will draw a sword in dear old England's cause;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our numbers may be few,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But we've loyal hearts and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the Lion's cubs have got the Lion's claws.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From our ocean-guarded strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the sunny plains inland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the cloud-kissed mountain summits faint and far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Australians bred and born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold yon banner torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And greet it with a lusty-lunged hurrah!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis the brave old Union Jack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That nothing can beat back—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever waving where the brunt of battle lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each frayed and faded thread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Britain counts a hero dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who died to gain the liberties we prize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Then there's not, &c.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ever-honoured name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the bright bead-roll of Fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That our fathers held through all the changing Past,<span class="pagenum">[61]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In it we claim our share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by Saint George we swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We can keep that name untarnished to the last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, when the hour arrives,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will give our very lives<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the dearest land of all the lands on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, foremost in the fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show Britain's foes the way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Australia's sons can prove their British birth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Yes, there's not, &c.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sons of the South, unite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In federated might,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Champions of your Country and your Queen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From New Zealand's glacier throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the burning Torrid Zone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We'll prove that welded steel is tough and keen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wide world shall be shown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we mean to hold our own<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the home of our adoption, free and fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if the Lion needs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shall see, by doughty deeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How his Austral cubs can guard their father's lair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">For there's not, &c.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Garnet Walch.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[62]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_LITTLE_DUCHESS"><i>THE LITTLE DUCHESS.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Ethel Turner.</span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The tale is as old as the Eden tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And new as the new-cut tooth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He was the clerk of the cash tramway, and when the rolling balls gave +him a moment's leisure, used to look down from his high perch at the big +shop beneath his feet, and, in his slow, quiet style, study the ways of +the numberless assistants whose life-books thus opened to him so many of +their pages.</p> + +<p>Lately there had come to the place a slight, grey-eyed girl, who wore +her black dress with such grace, and held her small head with such +dignity, that he whimsically had named her to himself "The Little +Duchess." He liked to look down and catch a glint of her hair's sunshine +when his brain was dulled with calculating change, and his fingers ached +with shutting cash-balls and dispatching them on their journeys. And he +used to wonder greatly how any customer could hesitate to buy silks and +satins when their lustre and sheen were displayed by her slim little +fingers and the quality descanted on with so persuasive a smile. There +were handsomer girls in the shop, girls with finer figures and better +features; but, to the boy in his mid-air cage, there was none with the +nameless dainty charms that made the little Duchess so lovable.</p> + +<p>For, of course, he did love her. In less than two months he had begun to +watch for her cash-ball with a trembling eagerness, to smooth out and +stroke gently the<span class="pagenum">[63]</span> bill her fingers had written, and to wrap it and its +change up again with a careful tenderness that no one else's change and +bill received. He had spoken to her half-a-dozen times in all; twice at +the door on leaving—weather remarks, to which she had responded +graciously; once or twice about bills that she had come to rectify at +the desk, and once he had had the great good fortune to find and return +a handkerchief she had dropped. Such a pretty, ridiculous atom of muslin +it was, with a fanciful "Nellie" taking up one quarter, and some +delicate scent lending such subtle fascination that it was a real wrench +for the lad to take the handkerchief from his breast-pocket and proffer +it to her.</p> + +<p>So great a wrench, indeed, that he profferred his love, too, humbly, but +fervently, and received a very wondering look from the grey eyes, a +badly-concealed smile, a "Thank you" for the handkerchief, and a "No, +thank you" for the love.</p> + +<p>He had kissed her, though, and that was some consolation afterwards to +his sore spirit, kissed her right upon the sweet, scarlet lips which had +said "No" so decidedly, and then, bold no longer, had fled the shelter +of the friendly packing-cases, and beaten a retreat to his desk aloft.</p> + +<p>That was nearly a fortnight ago; not once since had she spoken to him, +and to-day he was feeling desperate.</p> + +<p>It had been a very busy morning, and he had found hardly a second to +raise his eyes from his work. The one time he had looked down she had +been busy with a customer—a girl prettily dressed and golden-headed +like herself. That had been at about ten o'clock. Before twelve her +cash-box, with the notch upon it that his penknife had made, rolled down +its line,<span class="pagenum">[64]</span> and he opened it as he had opened it twenty times that +morning; but this time it bore his fate. With the bill was a little +twisted note, on which "John Walters, private," was written, and the +boy's very heart leaped at the sight. Down below, customers wearily +waited for change, and anxiously watched for their own particular ball +while the <i>deus ex machina</i> read again and again, with eager eyes: +"Please will you meet me at lunch-time in the Strand? Do, if you can. I +am in trouble. You said you loved me." Then, as he began mechanically to +manipulate the waiting balls, he looked down to the accustomed place of +the little Duchess. She was pale, he saw, and her lips trembled oddly +now and again. There was a frightened look in her grey eyes, and once or +twice he thought he noticed a sparkle as of tears.</p> + +<p>At lunch-time he actually tore through the shop and away down to the +appointed place. She was there—still pale, still nervous and +fluttering.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to the Gardens. It's quieter," he said, putting a great +restraint upon himself; then, when at last they were within the gates, +"God bless you for this, Nellie."</p> + +<p>"What?" said the girl, with uncertainty, but not looking at the plain, +rugged face that was all aglow with love for her.</p> + +<p>"For telling me about the worry—asking me to come. Oh, God bless you, +Nellie! Now tell me."</p> + +<p>She sat down on a seat and began to cry, quietly and miserably, till the +boy was almost beside himself. At last, between the sobs, he learned her +trouble, which was grave indeed. She and her<span class="pagenum">[65]</span> sister had very much +wanted to go to a certain ball, and, more than that, to have new dresses +for it, of soft white Liberty silk, such as she cut off daily for +fortunate customers. But her purse was empty, so, in their emergency, +the sisters had hit upon a plan, questionable, indeed, but not +dishonestly meant. The sister came to the silk counter and purchased +thirty yards of silk, paying 15<i>s.</i> for it instead of £3 15<i>s.</i></p> + +<p>"That was on account; I was only taking a little credit, like other +customers," said the little Duchess, with a haughty movement of the +head. "On Saturday I was going to make out a bill for an imaginary +customer, and send the £3 up to the desk to you. Don't imagine I would +really wrong the firm by a halfpenny."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," cried the boy eagerly; "it's all right."</p> + +<p>"That's not all." The girl began to cry again, hopelessly, miserably. "I +had no money to get the dresses made, and the next customer paid £2 +10<i>s.</i>, and—and—I only sent 10<i>s.</i> up to you—I wanted to make it just +£5 I had borrowed. I thought I might borrow enough, as I was +borrowing—don't forget, I would rather have died than have stolen the +£5, Mr. Walters."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, I understand," said the cash clerk, seeing it was +a worse fix than he had imagined, but longing to take her in his arms +and kiss away the tears.</p> + +<p>"And then that horrid Mr. Greaves, who signed first in a hurry, asked +for my book and took it for something, and then sent it up to the desk, +and the figures are all confused, and the check-leaf isn't the same as I +sent to you. I hadn't time to make it right, and when the books are +compared to-night it will be noticed, and<span class="pagenum">[66]</span> I shall get into +trouble—and, oh, I am so miserable!" The little Duchess was sobbing +pitifully.</p> + +<p>He kissed her, this time in earnest; on the lips, the cheeks, the hair, +the tear-wet eyes. He only recollected himself when a gardener's form, +and especially his smile, obtruded themselves upon their notice, and +they sat apart looking foolish until the two o'clock bells made them +hurry back to the shop.</p> + +<p>"I'll put everything right—don't you worry," he said; and she smiled +relievedly and went to her counter.</p> + +<p>That afternoon he did what all the other years of his life he had deemed +it impossible for him to do. He made a neat alteration in his books so +that the £5 in question would not be missed. To-morrow, he resolved, he +would take £5 of his own and pay it into the account of the firm. The +little Duchess should be his debtor, and run no more risks. But, alas, +for the morrow!</p> + +<p>Before he had fairly taken his seat in the morning—before Nellie had +finished fastening at her neck the violets he had brought her—some +words were said at his elbow, and he slowly became aware that he—surely +it was a dream!—was being arrested for defalcations in his accounts. He +learned that for some time past the firm had been aware of considerable +discrepancies in the books, and had placed a detective-accountant in the +office. Last night, for the first time, the man had discovered, as he +thought, a clue, and had convinced the firm that in Walters he had found +the offender.</p> + +<p>The lad was ashen pale, horror stricken, as he realised how these things +must go against him. He could not drag in the<span class="pagenum">[67]</span> name of the little +Duchess—even if he did, it would not avail him much; he certainly had +altered his books, and to mention the girl's share would only be to have +two of them brought to trial, and perhaps to gaol. The little Duchess in +gaol! That hair catching the prison-yard sunshine! That slender form +clad in the garments of shame! The boy drew a deep breath, gave one very +wistful glance at the silk counter, and then walked straight to the +manager's room, followed by the policeman.</p> + +<p>"I took the £5 yesterday, and brought it back to-day. On my oath before +God, sir, I have never misapplied one farthing of my moneys."</p> + +<p>His voice trembled in its eagerness, the deep-set eyes gleamed, and the +white lips worked.</p> + +<p>"Your purpose, Walters?"</p> + +<p>The manager looked hard, disbelieving.</p> + +<p>"Direst need. Oh, believe me, sir, I have served you three years +honestly as man can serve—yesterday I borrowed this money and brought +it back this morning—don't ruin my whole life for that one act."</p> + +<p>"Your pressing need yesterday?"</p> + +<p>John drew a deep breath again.</p> + +<p>"I—can't well tell you."</p> + +<p>Then the heads of the firm came in, indignant at their misused trust, +and they scorned his story. The defalcations amounted to almost £50 in +all, and he had confessed to £5, which had been found upon him. Of +course, he and no other was the offender, and they must teach their +employés a lesson. So John walked down that long shop by the side of the +official, his head very erect, his face pale, and his knees shaking; all +his life he<span class="pagenum">[68]</span> would remember the glances of pity, curiosity, and disdain +that met him on every side. As he passed the silk counter, the little +Duchess was measuring a great piece of rose-red, sheeny satin, that +gleamed warm and beautiful beneath her hands. She was very white, and in +her eyes was a look of abject horror and entreaty; his eyes reassured +her, and he passed on and out of the door. All his life he would +remember that rose-red satin and its brilliant, glancing lights.</p> + +<p>After the trial everyone thought him fortunate to get only two years, +and the little Duchess, who had grown thin and old-looking in the +interval, breathed freely as she read the account in the papers, and saw +that her name was not even mentioned in connection with the matter. He +wrote to her a loving, boyish letter, and told her she must be true to +him till he came out, and that then they would be married and go away +where this could never be heard of.</p> + +<p>It was no small thing he had done for her, he knew; and, as he was not +more than human, he expected his reward. And the little Duchess had +cried quietly over the letter, and for several days cut off silk and +satin with a pensive, unhappy look that quite touched her +customers—those few among them who realised that it was human flesh and +blood at the other side of the yard measure.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Twenty months later the little Duchess was at the same counter measuring +silk and satin for the stock-taking, when a note was brought to her in a +writing she remembered too well.</p> + +<p>"I got out to-day, Nellie. Come down to the Gardens in the lunch-time."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[69]</span></p> + +<p>She hesitated when the time came, but he might come to the shop, and +that would never do. So she put her hat on thoughtfully and set out for +the Gardens.</p> + +<p>He was awaiting her on the seat where, nearly two years ago, the +gardener had smiled at them. He stood up as she came slowly towards him, +and for a minute they gazed at each other without speaking.</p> + +<p>She was in black, of course, but fresh and dainty-looking, with a bunch +of white chiffon at her throat, little tan shoes on her feet, and her +hair showing golden against the black of her lace hat.</p> + +<p>For him, his face had altered and hardened; the once thick, curling hair +was horribly short, his hands were rough and unsightly, his clothes hung +awkwardly upon him, and his linen was doubtful.</p> + +<p>"The little Duchess!" he said, dully; then he put out his hand, took her +small gloved one, and looked at it curiously.</p> + +<p>"I—I am glad you're out," she said, carefully looking away from him.</p> + +<p>"Yes—we must be married now, Nellie; that's all I've had to think about +all this awful time."</p> + +<p>His face flushed a little and his eyes lightened.</p> + +<p>"It's good not to see the walls," he added, looking round at the +spring's brave show, then away to the blue sparkle in the bay and the +glancing sails.</p> + +<p>"We mustn't talk of that time, though, ever—eh, Nellie?"</p> + +<p>"No," she said, regarding her brown shoes intently.</p> + +<p>His eye noted the smooth roundness of her cheek, the delicate pink that +came and went, the turn of the white neck.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to kiss me, Nellie?"<span class="pagenum">[70]</span> he said, slowly; and he drew her +a little strangely and awkwardly to him.</p> + +<p>Then she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I knew it wouldn't be any use, and you'd never have any money or get a +place after this. We couldn't be married on nothing, and it would only +drag you down to have me, too. I'm not worthy of you."</p> + +<p>"Well, little Duchess," he said, softly, as she stopped and faltered; a +slow smile crept over his face, and his deep-set eyes lighted up with +tenderness.</p> + +<p>Not worthy, his little Duchess!</p> + +<p>Then the crimson rushed into her face, and she flung up her head +defiantly.</p> + +<p>"I married the new shop-walker, four months ago!"</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="AUSTRALIAS_SPRINGTIME"><i>AUSTRALIA'S SPRINGTIME.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis a bright September morning, and Australia's golden Spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is awak'ning every flow'ret, and retouching every wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everywhere the yellow blossoms of the wattle are in view—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even has the solemn gum tree taken on a lighter hue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the earth is cover'd over with a vest of fresher green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the clear cool air adds brightness to the beauty of the scene.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the cockatoo's hoarse screaming, and the magpie's cheery call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sound in chorus to the music of the plashy waterfall.<span class="pagenum">[71]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Overhead the deep, clear azure is just fleck'd with snowy clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the green and crimson parrots fly around in chatt'ring crowds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far away is all the bustle of the smoky, restless town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the timid kangaroo upon the grass lies fearless down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature calmly lieth waiting, in her peaceful solitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the dawning of the morning bright with hopes of future good:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies as she has lain for ages, by the white man's foot untrod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a glorious new creation, freshly from the hand of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis Australia's golden Springtime, and the vision, fresh and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the lonely, peaceful country, is a swiftly changing scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First a few white tents embosom'd 'mid the thickly growing trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sound of human labour floating on the passing breeze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">First a village—then a city—with an everswelling tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passing thro' its busy markets—stretching outwards far and wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the growing nation overspreads the smiling land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature opens up her treasures with a free and lavish hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the verdant fields are roaming flocks and herds of sheep and kine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep beneath the sunlit surface works the toiler in the mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Education and religion build their temples o'er the plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the iron horse moves swiftly past broad fields of golden grain,<span class="pagenum">[72]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where a plenteous harvest ripens to reward the toiler's care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each honest, willing worker may obtain a rightful share.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blessed peace and glorious freedom banish far the warrior's sword—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancy seems to gaze enraptur'd on a Paradise restored!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis the Springtime of Australia, and the dazzled eye may see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wondrous dreams of future greatness—of the glories yet to be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Visions—not of martial conquest—not of courage, blood and fire—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But of lands by noble actions growing greater, grander, higher!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wond'ring nations turning—gazing with expectant eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While oppress'd and toiling millions feel new hopes and thoughts arise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the march of human progress as Australia leads the van<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the world's great Federation, and the "parliament of Man!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such the triumphs—aye, and grander, that the coming days shall see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Australia but be faithful to her glorious destiny;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the smile of Heav'n upon her in the future, as the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeping back the threat'ning war-clouds that her sky may overcast—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a stately white-wing'd vessel she shall keep her steadfast way—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peace, o'er all her wide dominions, ruling with unbroken sway;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her progress be continued till the wings of Time are furled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her glorious page the brightest in the history of the world!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">W. L. Lumley.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[73]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_MAN_THAT_SAVED_THE_MATCH"><i>THE MAN THAT SAVED THE MATCH.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By David M'Kee Wright.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our church ain't reckoned very big, but then the township's small—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I've seen the time when there was seats and elbow-room for all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The women-fold would come, of course, but working chaps was rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They'd rather loaf about and smoke, and take the Sunday air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now there's hardly standing room, and you can fairly say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There ain't a man we like as well as quiet Parson Grey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We blokes was great for cricket once, we'd held our own so long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all the townships round about our team was reckoned strong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And them that didn't use to play could barrack pretty fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They liked the leather-hunting that they didn't have to share.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A team from town was coming up to teach us how to play—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We meant to show what we could do upon that Christmas Day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The stumps were pitched at two o'clock, but Lawson's face was grim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Lawson was Captain of the team, our crack we reckoned him),<span class="pagenum">[74]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Albert Wilson hadn't come, the safest bat of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With no one there to take his place he counted on a fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Who could we get? There's no one here it's worth our while to play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In place of Albert." At his side was standing Parson Grey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I used to wield the willow once," the Parson softly said;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"If you have no one for the tail, you might take me instead."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Captain bit his fair moustache—he seemed inclined to swear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But answered sulkily enough, "All right, sir; I don't care.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's no one here is worth his salt with breaking balls to play."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'll try and do my best for you," said quiet Parson Grey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"His best," Bill Lawson said to me, "what's that, I'd like to know?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To spoon an easy ball to point, and walk back sad and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Miss every catch that comes to him and fumble every ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lose his way about the field at every 'over' call.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blooming team can go below after this Christmas Day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm hanged if I'm to captain it when parsons start to play."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bill won the toss, we went in first. I might as well say here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I'm a weary kind of bat—to stick in for a year.<span class="pagenum">[75]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can't hit out—it ain't no use; it saddens me to think<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A bloke that bowled against us once has taken since to drink.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He couldn't get my wicket, and his balls came in that way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I batted through the innings without a run all day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fun began. By George! to think the way our stumps went down!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our boys was made the laughing-stock for them swell-blokes from town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kept my end up—that was all, Lawson was bowled first ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And six of them went strolling back without a run at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nine wickets down for fourteen runs was all our score that day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the last man came in to bat, and that was Parson Grey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bowler with the break from leg sent down a hardish ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought to see the parson squirm and hear the wicket fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It didn't happen, for he played a pretty forward stroke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew that moment he could bat, that quiet preaching bloke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when a careless ball came down the boys began to roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drove it hard along the ground—we took and run a four.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then it was "over," and of course mine was a maiden one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I broke the bowler's hearts that day for just a single run.<span class="pagenum">[76]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Parson played a dashing game, his cuts were clean and fine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only wish that strokes like them could now and then be mine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had a fifty to his name in just an hour's play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then—well, then—I run him out, I own, that Christmas Day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"By George," said Lawson, "who'd have thought that he could bat so well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could have gone and drowned myself when Bryant's wicket fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, man, he must have been a bat when he was at his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'm glad that Wilson wasn't here, or any of the rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, if our chaps are on the spot, and bowl as well to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We'll give them news to carry home how country clubs can play."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our bowling always has been fair; we couldn't well complain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We got a wicket now and then—they didn't fall like rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But runs were coming rather slow, and fifty was the score<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the ninth man was given out—an honest "leg before."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was a single innings game, and plainly on the play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed the glory would be ours upon that Christmas Day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Last man! The bowling crack came in—of course he couldn't bat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could lash out and chance the stroke to show us what was what;<span class="pagenum">[77]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hopes were down to freezing-point, twelve runs were to his score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To win the match he only had to hit another four.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He swiped; we groaned to think that we were beaten after all;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stroke was high—a splendid catch—<i>the Parson held the ball</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then how we yelled, and yelled again; he'd fairly won the match—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The splendid batting that he showed, the more than splendid catch;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, chaps, you'd hardly credit it, that almost every bloke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes into church on Sunday now, and does without his smoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no one's likely to forget that sunny Christmas Day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we were all surprised a bit at quiet Parson Grey.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="ODE_FOR_COMMONWEALTH_DAY"><i>ODE FOR COMMONWEALTH DAY</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><i>1st JANUARY, 1901.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Awake! Arise! The wings of dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are beating at the gates of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morning star hath been withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The silver vapours melt away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rise royally, O sun, and crown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shoreward billow, streaming white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The forelands, and the mountains brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With crested light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flood with soft beams the valleys wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mighty plains, the desert sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the New Day hath won for bride<br /></span> +<span class="i6">This Austral land!<span class="pagenum">[78]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Free-born of nations, virgin white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not won by blood, nor ringed with steel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy throne is on a loftier height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Deep-rooted in the commonweal.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O thou, for whom the strong have wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And poets sung with souls aflame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born of long hope and patient thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A mighty name—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We pledge thee faith that shall not swerve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our land, our lady, breathing high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The thought that makes it love to serve,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And life to die!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now are thy maidens linked in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who erst have striven for pride of place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifted all meaner thoughts above<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They greet thee, one in heart and race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She, in whose sunlit coves of peace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The navies of the world may rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bear her wealth of snowy fleece<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Northward and west.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she, whose corn and rock-hewn gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Built that Queen City of the South,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the lone billow swept of old<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Her harbour-mouth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, too, thou Sun-maid, in whose veins<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For ever burns the tropic fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose cattle roam a thousand plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, with thy gold and pearls for tire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sweet Harvester who twines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tender vine and binds the sheaf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she, the Western Queen, who mines<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The desert reef;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, against whose flowery throne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And orchards green the wave is hurled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Australia claims you; ye are one<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Before the world.<span class="pagenum">[79]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crown her—most worthy to be praised—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes uplifted to the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, on this day, a flag is raised,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A triumph won, a nation born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ye, vast armies of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From mine and city, plain and sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who fought and dared, who toiled and bled<br /></span> +<span class="i6">That this might be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw round us in this hour of fate—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This golden harvest of thy hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With unseen lips, O consecrate<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And bless the land!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Eternal power, benign, supreme,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who weigh'st the nations upon earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without whose aid the empire-dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And pride of states is nothing worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From shameless speech, and vengeful deed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From licence veiled in Freedom's name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From greed of gold, and scorn of creed,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Guard Thou our fame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In stress of days that yet may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When hope shall rest upon the sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In welfare and adversity,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Be with us, Lord!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">George Essex Evans.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="A_DESPERATE_ASSAULT"><i>A DESPERATE ASSAULT.</i></h2> + +<p>I have more than once had reason to admire the British soldier in +battle, but never was there such good ground for admiration as in +watching him prepare. All the blare and tumult, the death and disaster +of actual conflict have no such tense, dramatic, nerve-trying moments as +when a regiment is making ready for some great enterprise. The fight is +a medley of mixed impressions, jostling each other for a moment's +existence ere passing away, but the getting ready is unforgetable.<span class="pagenum">[80]</span> +Everything is clear-cut and within the sum of human emotions—eternal. +So it was with that last grand charge of the Devons, which swept the +Boers from their fringe of the little plateau and finished the long +seventeen hours' ordeal. The enemy were on one side of the Table, we on +the other. A tropical hailstorm howled across it, and beat heavily in +our faces, as Colonel Park led his men up the sheltered face of the +hill, and halted a moment within five yards of the crest, to make ready. +The men knew exactly what they had to do, and the solemnity of a great +and tragic undertaking was upon and about them. All the world for +them—the too brief past with its consequences, the fast-flying present, +and the mysterious beyond—might concentrate in a short desperate dash +across a storm-swept African hilltop. It was the sublimity of life—the +anticipation of death. The Devons were making ready for it, and how +unready a man might feel at such a moment! The line of brown riflemen +stretched away to the left of us, and it seemed that every trivial +action of every man there had become an epic. One noticed most of all +the constant moistening of the dry lips, and the frequent raising of the +water-bottles for a last hurried mouthful. One man tightened a belt, +another brought his cartridges handier to his right hand, though he was +not to use them. It was something to ease the strain of watching. Every +little thing fixed itself on the mind as a photograph. There was no need +of mental effort to remember. One could not see and forget, and would +not, for his patriotism and his pride of kinship, forget if he could. +Then the low clinking, quivering sound of the steel which died away from +us in a trickle down the<span class="pagenum">[81]</span> ranks as the bayonets were fixed—and a dry, +harsh, artificial laugh, in strong contrast to the quiet of the +scene—everything heard easily somehow above the rush and clatter of the +storm, and lost only for an instant in the sudden bursts of thunder. A +bit of quiet tragedy wedged into the turmoil of the great play, and all +unspeakably solemn and awe-inspiring. One must see to understand it. One +may have seen yet can never describe it. The situation was not for +ordinary language; it was Homeric, over-mastering.</p> + +<p>"Now, then, Devons, get ready." There was a dry catch in the colonel's +voice as he gave the word—and the short sentence was punctuated by the +zip-zip of the Mauser bullets, that for a few precious seconds would +still be flying overhead. There was a quick panting of the breath, a +stiffening of the lines of the faces, that with so many of them was but +the prelude to the rigidity of death. It was waiting for them only a few +yards up, and their manhood was being sorely tried. But the Devons +squared their shoulders, gripped their rifles—bringing them up with the +quick whip of the drill, that was too well ground into them to be +forgotten even then. A prompt dressing by the left, and, as though eager +to get it over, the Devons sprang forward to the word into the double +storm of hail and nickel-plated bullets. The killing suspense was +over—they were in action at last, one's whole heart went with them, and +just for one moment, as they stood fully exposed upon the plateau, it +seemed to the watchers that there might be disaster. They had slightly +miscalculated the enemy's strongest point, and had to wheel by the left. +As they did so the line faltered for a moment. A shiver,<span class="pagenum">[82]</span> a +pendulum-like swaying seemed to run down it; that was the history-making +moment, when the regiment might either do something that ever afterwards +they would try to forget, or that all their countrymen would be proud to +remember—the moment in men's lives which, measured by emotion only, +stretch out into centuries. It was the moment of a life, too, for the +commander of men. His chance had come.</p> + +<p>"Steady, Devons, steady," came the clear ringing call, and then, with +one great surging rush, that gathered momentum even as it lost in fallen +units, the regiment went on.</p> + +<p>Boldly though they had taken and held that hill, prudence came to the +Boer riflemen as these eager bayonets bore down upon them. For a moment +they shot the Devons through and through, and then they ran. At that +moment not a man amongst our common-place, drinking, swearing Tommies +but was exalted, deified—but so many of them were something less of +interest on earth than even a common soldier. Where the regiment had +gone seventy of its dead and wounded littered the hilltop, but still it +was the moment of victory, not of lamentations. It may sound strange to +say that the prelude to a battle, like the preface to a book, can be +greater than the actual battle or the book. But so it seemed to me. +Others might view it differently, but challenge our impressions as we +may in the light of riper history, we shall never alter them. They are +indelible. Overhaul the plates again and again as we please, it will +always be the same picture.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Donald Macdonald</span> ("How we Kept the Flag Flying").</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_GAME_OF_LIFE"><i>THE GAME OF LIFE.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a game much in fashion—I think it's called <i>Euchre</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Though I never have played for pleasure or lucre),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which, when the cards are in certain conditions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The players appear to have changed their positions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one of them cries in a confident tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I think I may venture to 'go it alone!'"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While watching the game, 'tis a whim of the bard's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moral to draw from that skirmish of cards,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to fancy he finds in the trivial strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some excellent hints for the battle of Life;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where—whether the prize be a ribbon or throne—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The winner is he who can "go it alone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When great Galileo proclaimed that the world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a regular orbit was ceaselessly whirled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And got—not a convert—for all of his pains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only derision and prison and chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It moves, <i>for all that!</i>" was his answering tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he knew, like the earth, he could "go it alone!"<span class="pagenum">[84]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discovered the laws of each planet and star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Derided his learning and blackened his fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I can wait," he replied, "till the truth you shall own;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he felt in his heart he could "go it alone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! for the player who idly depends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the struggle of life, upon kindred or friends;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever the value of blessings like these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They can never atone for inglorious ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor comfort the coward who finds, with a groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That his clutches have left him to "go it alone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wealth, family, culture, wit, beauty and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fortunate owner may fairly regard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, each in its way, a most excellent card;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless you've the courage to "go it alone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In battle or business, whatever the game,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In law or love, it is ever the same;<span class="pagenum">[85]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let this be your motto, "<span class="smcap">Rely on Yourself</span>!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victor is he who can "go it alone!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">John G. Saxe.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="PREJUDICE"><i>PREJUDICE.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was climbing up a mountain path,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With many things to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Important business of my own,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And other people's too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I ran against a Prejudice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That quite cut off the view.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My work was such as could not wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My path quite clearly showed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My strength and time were limited;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I carried quite a load,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there that bulking Prejudice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sat all along the road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I spoke to him politely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he was huge and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And begged that he would move a bit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And let me travel by—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He smiled, but as for moving—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He didn't even try.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then I reasoned quietly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With that colossal mule;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The time was short, no other path,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountain winds were cool—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I argued like a Solomon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He sat there like a fool.<span class="pagenum">[86]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I flew into a passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I danced and howled and swore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pelted and belaboured him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till I was stiff and sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He got as mad as I did—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he sat there as before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then I begged him on my knees—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I might be kneeling still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If so I hoped to move that mass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of obdurate ill-will—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As well invite the monument<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To vacate Bunker's Hill!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I sat before him helpless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In an ecstasy of woe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mountain mists were rising fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sun was sinking slow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a sudden inspiration came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As sudden winds do blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I took my hat, I took my stick,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My load I settled fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I approached that awful incubus,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With an absent-minded air—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I walked directly through him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if he wasn't there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Charlotte Perkins Stetson.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_POOR_AND_THE_RICH"><i>THE POOR AND THE RICH.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The rich man's son inherits lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And piles of brick and stone and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tender flesh that fears the cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dares to wear a garment old;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One would not care to hold in fee.<span class="pagenum">[87]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rich man's son inherits cares.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bank may break, the factory burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some breath may burst his bubble shares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft white hands would scarcely earn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A living that would suit his turn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One would not care to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What does the poor man's son inherit?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stout muscles and a sinewy heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hardy frame, a hardier spirit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">King of two hands he does his part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every useful toil and art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A king might wish to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What does the poor man's son inherit?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Content that from enjoyment springs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heart that in his labour sings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A king might wish to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What does the poor man's son inherit?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A patience learned by being poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fellow feeling that is sure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make the outcast bless his door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A king might wish to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! rich man's son, there is a toil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That with all others level stands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Large charity doth never soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But only whitens, soft white hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is the best crop from thy lands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worth being rich to hold in fee.<span class="pagenum">[88]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! poor man's son, scorn not thy state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is worse weariness than thine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In being merely rich and great;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Work only makes the soul to shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes rest fragrant and benign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worth being poor to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Both, heirs to some six feet of sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are equal in the earth at last—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both, children of the same dear God.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prove title to your heirship vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By record of a well-filled past!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A heritage, it seems to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well worth a life to hold in fee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_ENGINEERS_STORY"><i>THE ENGINEER'S STORY.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3">(<i>From the "Denver Post."</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, yes, 'tis a hair-curlin' story—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would it could not be recalled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The terrible fright of that hell-tinctured night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the cause of my head bein' bald.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was runnin' the Git-There Express, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the Yankee Creek Jerkwater line.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the track along there was as crooked, I swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As the growth of a field pumpkin vine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My run was a night one, an' nights on the Yank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">War as black as the coal piled back there on the tank.<span class="pagenum">[89]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We pulled out of Tenderfoot Station,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A day and almost a-half late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' every durn wheel was a-poundin' the steel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At a wildly extravagant rate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My fireman kept pilin' the coal in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The jaws of the ol' 94,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the sweat from his nose seemed to play through a hose<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' splashed 'round his feet on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we thundered along like a demon in flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-rippin' a streak through the breast of the night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As we rounded the curve on the mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full sixty an hour I will swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest ahead was a sight that with blood-freezin' fright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would have raised a stuffed buffalo's hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bridge over Ute Creek was burnin',<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The flames shootin' up in their glee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My God! how they gleamed in the air, till they seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like the fiery-tongued imps on a spree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jest snickered an' sparkled an' laughed like they knowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd make my next trip on a different road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In frenzy I reached for the throttle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But 'twas stuck an' refused to obey.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I yelled in affright, for our maddenin' flight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I felt that I never could stay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then wildly I grasped the big lever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Threw her over, then held my hot breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' waited for what I assuredly thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was a sure an' terrible death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then came the wild crash, an' with horror-fringed yell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down into that great fiery chasm I fell.<span class="pagenum">[90]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I came to myself I was lyin'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On the floor of the bedroom; my wife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat astride of my form, and was making it warm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fur her darlin', you bet your sweet life!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My hair she had clutched in her fingers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' was jammin' my head on the floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I yelled with delight when I found that my fright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was a horrible dream, nothin' more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I had wildly grabb'd one of her ankles, she said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' reversed her clear over the head of the bed.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="SEEINGS_NOT_BELIEVING"><i>SEEING'S NOT BELIEVING.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her, as I fancied, fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, fairest of earth's creatures;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the purest red and white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'erspread her lovely features;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She fainted, and I sprinkled her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her malady relieving:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I washed both rose and lily off!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I looked again, again I longed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To breathe love's fond confession<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her eyebrows formed to give<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her face its arch expression;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gum is very apt to crack,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whilst my breast was heaving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It so fell out that one fell off!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<span class="pagenum">[91]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw the tresses on her brow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So beautifully braided;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never saw in all my life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Locks look so well as they did,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She walked with me one windy day—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ye zephyrs, why so thieving?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lady lost her flaxen wig!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her form, by Nature's hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So prodigally finished,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She were less perfect if enlarged,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Less perfect if diminished;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her toilet I surprised—the worst<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of wonders then achieving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None knew the bustle I perceived!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw, when costly gems I gave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The smile with which she took them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if she said no tender things,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I've often seen her look them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her my affianced bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then, my mansion leaving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She ran away with Colonel Jones!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw another maiden soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And struggled to detain her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her plain enough—in fact,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Few women could be plainer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas said, that at her father's death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A plum she'd be receiving:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw that father's house and grounds!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her mother—she was deck'd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With furbelows and feathers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw distinctly that she wore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silk stockings in all weathers;<span class="pagenum">[92]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw, beneath a load of gems.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The matron's bosom heaving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw a thousand signs of wealth!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her father, and I spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of marriage in his study;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But would he let her marry me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alas! alas! how could he?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw him smile a glad consent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My anxious heart relieving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I saw the settlements<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw the daughter, and I named<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My moderate finances;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spurned me not, she gave me one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of her most tender glances.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw her father's bank—thought I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There cash is safe from thieving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw my money safely lodged:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw the bank, the shutters up,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I could not think what they meant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old infirmity of firms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The bank had just stopped payment!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw my future father then<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was ruined past retrieving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like me, without a single <i>sou</i>:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw the banker's wife had got<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fortune settled on her;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What cared he, when the creditors<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Talked loudly of dishonour!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw his name in the <i>Gazette</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But soon I stared, perceiving,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bought another house and grounds:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<span class="pagenum">[93]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw—yes, as plain as could be,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I saw the banker's daughter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She saw me, too, and called for sal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Volatile and water.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She said that she had just espoused<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A rich old man, conceiving<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I was dead or gone to gaol:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw a friend, and freely spoke<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My mind on the transaction;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her brother heard it, and he called,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Demanding satisfaction.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We met—I fell—that brother's ball<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In my left leg receiving;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have two legs, true—<i>one is cork</i>:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh! seeing's not believing!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Thomas Haynes Bayley.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="CAUDLE_HAS_BEEN_MADE_A_MASON"><i>CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON.</i></h2> + +<p>Now, Mr. Caudle—Mr. Caudle, I say: oh! you can't be asleep already, I +know. Now, what I mean to say is this: there's no use, none at all, in +our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made +up, Mr. Caudle; I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing +to-night, or to-morrow morning I shall quit the house. No, no! There's +an end of the marriage state, I think—and an end of all confidence +between man and wife—if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to +himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife<span class="pagenum">[94]</span> can't know 'em. +Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. +Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul: tell me, what's +it all about? A pack of nonsense, I daresay; still—not that I care much +about it—still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't +tell me there's nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. +Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a +little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. +Well?</p> + +<p>And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to +say—you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a +passion—not that I care about the secret itself; no, I wouldn't give a +button to know it, for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret +I care about; it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that +a man pays to his wife, when he thinks of going through the world +keeping something to himself which he won't let her know. Man and wife +one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a +Mason—when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you +men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of +them to yourselves; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when +a man becomes a Mason—when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his +heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to +rummage.</p> + +<p>Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute!—yes, Mr. Caudle, an +unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm +sure I don't object to your being a Mason; not at all, Caudle; I daresay +it's a very good<span class="pagenum">[95]</span> thing; I daresay it is: it's only your making a secret +of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me—you'll tell your own Margaret? +You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Douglas Jerrold.</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="MRS_CAUDLES_LECTURE"><i>MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE.</i></h2> + +<p>There, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were +this morning. There, you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to +bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak, that you don't try to +insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, +you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's +the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon +all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; and it +isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!</p> + +<p>Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must +almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! +you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a +passion, wer'n't you? Well, then I don't know what a passion is; and I +think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, +to know that.</p> + +<p>It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off +your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never +without a needle-and-thread in my hand; what with you and<span class="pagenum">[96]</span> the children, +I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your +life a button's off your shirt—what do you say "ah" at? I say once, Mr. +Caudle; or twice or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's +buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd +kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to +know where were your buttons then?</p> + +<p>Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me +down. You fly into a rage, and then, if I only try to speak, you won't +hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: +a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a +wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A +pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew +what they had to go through! What with buttons—and one thing and +another! They'd never tie themselves up to the best man in the world, +I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?—Why, do much better without +you, I'm certain.</p> + +<p>And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; +it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to +talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything. +All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; +for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I +am. I only say it's very odd.</p> + +<p>However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with +your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! +And I daresay<span class="pagenum">[97]</span> you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; +that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say +nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife +will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, +Caudle, you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a +blessed button to your back.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Douglas Jerrold.</span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="JIM_BLUDSO"><i>JIM BLUDSO.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because he don't live, you see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leastways, he's got out of the habit<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of livin' like you and me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whar have you been for the last three years,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That you haven't heard folks tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The night of the "Prairie Belle"?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He warn't no saint—them engineers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is all pretty much alike—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And another one here, in Pike.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A careless man in his talk was Jim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And an awkward man in a row—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he never pinked, and he never lied,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I reckon he never knowed how.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this was all the religion he had—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To treat his engine well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never be passed on the river;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mind the pilot's bell;<span class="pagenum">[98]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if ever the <i>Prairie Belle</i> took fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thousand times he swore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the last soul got ashore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All boats has their day on the Mississip'.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her day came at last—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The <i>Movastar</i> was a better boat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the <i>Belle</i>, she wouldn't be passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so came tearin' along that night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The oldest craft on the line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a nigger squat on her safety-valve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The fire bust out as she clared the bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And burnt a hole in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And quick as a flash she turned, and made<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For that willer-bank on the right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Over all the infernal roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the last galoot's ashore."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Jim Bludso's voice was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they all had trust in his cussedness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And know'd he would keep his word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sure's you're born, they all got off<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Afore the smoke-stacks fell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Bludso's ghost went up alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the smoke of the <i>Prairie Belle</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He warn't no saint—but at judgment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd run my chance with Jim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Longside of some pious gentlemen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That wouldn't shook hands with him.<span class="pagenum">[99]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And went for it thar and then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a man that died for men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Colonel John Hay.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="HOW_UNCLE_MOSE_COUNTED_THE_EGGS"><i>HOW UNCLE MOSE COUNTED THE EGGS.</i></h2> + +<p>Old Mose, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a +living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has got the +habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently +makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares +around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front +of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady came out to the +gate to make the purchases.</p> + +<p>"Have you got any eggs this morning, Uncle Mose?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed I has. Jes got in ten dozen from de kentry."</p> + +<p>"Are they fresh?"</p> + +<p>"I gua'ntee 'em. I knows dey am fresh jess de same as ef I had laid 'em +myse'f."</p> + +<p>"I'll take nine dozen. You can count them in this basket."</p> + +<p>"All right, mum." He counts: "One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, +eight, nine, ten. You kin rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' +on at de school? He mus' be mos' grown."</p><p><span class="pagenum">[100]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes, Uncle Mose, he is a clerk in a bank at Galveston."</p> + +<p>"Why, how ole am de boy?"</p> + +<p>"He is eighteen."</p> + +<p>"You don't tole me so. Eighteen and gettin' a salary already! eighteen +(counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-free, +twenty-foah, twenty-five, and how's yore gal comin' on? She was mos' +growed up de las' time I seed her."</p> + +<p>"She is married and living in Dallas."</p> + +<p>"Wal, I declar. How de time scoots away! An' yo' say she has childruns? +Why, how ole am de gal? She mus' be about——"</p> + +<p>"Thirty-three."</p> + +<p>"Am dat so? (counting) firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, +firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, +forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't +believe you has grand-childruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs old +youself."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to +be fifty-three years old——"</p> + +<p>"Fifty-free? I jess dun gwinter b'lieve hit, fifty-free, fifty-foah, +fifty-five, fifty-six—I want you to pay tenshun when I counts de eggs, +so dar'll be no mistake—fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, +sixty-free, sixty-foah—whew! Dat am a warm day. Dis am de time of yeah +when I feels I'se gettin' ole myse'f. I ain't long for dis worl. You +comes from an ole family. When your fodder died he was sebenty years +ole."</p> + +<p>"Seventy-two, Uncle Mose."</p> + +<p>"Dat's ole, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, +sebenty-six,<span class="pagenum">[101]</span> sebenty-seven, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine—and your +mudder? she was one ob de noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You +reminds me ob her so much. She libbed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she +was done past a centurion when she died."</p> + +<p>"No, Uncle Mose, she was only ninety-six when she died."</p> + +<p>"Den she wasn't no chicken when she died. I know dat—ninety-six, +ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, +foah, five, six, seben, eight—dar 108 nice fresh eggs—jess nine dozen, +and heah am one moah egg in case I has discounted myse'f."</p> + +<p>Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton +said to her husband, "I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I +am satisfied she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, +for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are +gone. I stood right there and heard Old Mose count them myself, and +there were nine dozen."</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_NEGRO_BABYS_FUNERAL"><i>THE NEGRO BABY'S FUNERAL.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I was walking in Savannah, past a church decayed and dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When there slowly through the windows came a plaintive funeral hymn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sympathy awakened, and a wonder quickly grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I found myself environed in a little negro pew.<span class="pagenum">[102]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out at front a coloured couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could picture him when living—curly hair, protruding lip—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried Southern trip.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little fluttering breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy profound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than was in the chain of teardrops that enclasped those mourners round.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rose a sad, old coloured preacher at the little wooden desk—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance grotesque;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And he said: "Now, don' be weepin' for dis pretty bit o' clay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For de little boy who lived dere, he's done gone an' run away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was doin' very finely, an' he 'preciate your love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de large house up above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Now, he didn't give you that baby, by a hundred thousan' mile!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He just think you need some sunshine, an' He lent it for a while!<span class="pagenum">[103]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' He let you keep an' love it till your hearts were bigger grown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' dese silver tears your sheddin's jest de interes' on the loan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Here's yer oder pretty childrun!—doan' be makin' it appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dat your love got sort o' 'nopolised by dis little fellow here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don' pile up too much your sorrow on dere little mental shelves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So's to kind 'o set 'em wonderin' if dey're no account demselves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin' long o'er Sorrow's way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a blessed little pic-nic dis yere baby's got to-day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your good faders and good moders crowd de little fellow round<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In de angel-tended garden ob de big Plantation Ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"An' dey ask him, 'Was your feet sore?' an' take off his little shoes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' dey say—'Now what's de news?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' de Lawd done cut his tongue loose, den de little fellow say—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'All our folks down in the valley tries to keep de hebbenly way.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things he view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Den a tear come an' he whispers—'But I want my parents too!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little song—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Says 'If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon be comin' 'long.'<span class="pagenum">[104]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he'll get an' education dat will proberbly be worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He'll be in de Lawd's big schoolhouse, widout no contempt or fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While dere's no end to the bad tings might have happened to him here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid Jesus rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' don't go to critercisin' dat ar One w'at knows the best!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He have sent us many comforts—He have right to take away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the Lawd be praise an' glory now and ever! Let us pray!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Will Carleton.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="DER_SHPIDER_UND_DER_FLY"><i>DER SHPIDER UND DER FLY.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I reads in Yawcob's shtory book,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A couple veeks ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Von firsd-rade boem, vot I dinks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Der beoples all should know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd ask dis goot conundhrum, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vich ve should brofit by:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Vill you indo mine parlor valk?'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Says der Shpider off der fly."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dot set me dinking, righdt avay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und vhen, von afternoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shbeculator he comes in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und dells me, pooty soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He haf silfer mine to sell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und ask me eef I puy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dink off der oxberience<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Off dot plue-pottle fly.<span class="pagenum">[105]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Der oder day, vhen on der cars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I vent by Nie Yorck oudt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I meets a fraulein on der train,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who dold me, mit a pout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She likes der Deutscher shentlemans<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und dells me sit peside her—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I says: "Mine friendt, I vas no fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eef you vas peen a shpider."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I vent indo der shmoking car,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vhere dhey vas blaying boker,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Und also haf somedings dhey calls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Der funny "leedle joker."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some money id vas shanging hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dhey vanted me to try—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I says: "You vas too brevious,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I don'd vas been a fly!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On Central Park a shmardt young man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Says: "Strauss, how vas you peen?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Und dake me kindtly py der hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und ask off mine Katrine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He vants to shange a feefty bill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und says hees name vas Schneider—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maype, berhaps, he vas all righdt;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More like he vas a shpider.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mosd efry day some shwindling chap<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He dries hees leedle game;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cuts me oudt dot shpider biece<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und poot id in a frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Righdt in mine shtore I hangs it oup,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Und near id, on der shly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I geeps a glub, to send gvick oudt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dhose shpiders, "on der fly."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Charles Follen Adams.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[106]</span></p> + +<h2 id="LARIAT_BILL"><i>LARIAT BILL.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The road were a down-grade all the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' we pulled out of Murder a little late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I opened the throttle wide that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"My fireman's name was Lariat Bill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A quiet man with an easy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who could rope a steer with a cow-boy's skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which he'd learned in Texas, I've heard him say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The coil were strong as tempered steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' it went like a bolt from a cross-bow flung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just over his head in the cab it hung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' I give her full steam an' put her through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the engine rocked like a living thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all of a sudden I got a scare—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thar on the track were a little child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' right in the path of the engine there<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She held out her little hands and smiled!<span class="pagenum">[107]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lassoo,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' out on the front of the engine crept—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He balanced a moment before he threw,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then out in the air his lariat swept!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stranger listened with bated breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I know the rest of the tale," he cries;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"He snatched the child from the jaws of death!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose praises the very angels sing!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The engineer shook his grizzled head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' the lariat caught with a double hitch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' in less than a second the train an' we<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I ain't forgot it, and never shall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see—about—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yes, it killed about forty—but saved the gal!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">G. W. H.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[108]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_ELF_CHILD_OR_LITTLE_ORPHANT_ANNIE"><i>THE ELF CHILD; OR, LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' make the fire, and bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We set around the kitchen fire, an' has the mostest fun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A-list'ning to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Don't<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Watch<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Out!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' when he went to bed 'at night, away upstairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mammy heard him holler, and his daddy heard him bawl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' whin they turn'd the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' seeked him up the chimbly flue an' ever'wheres, I guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the gobble-uns 'll git you<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Don't<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Watch<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Out!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[109]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh and grin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' onc't when they was company an' ole folks was there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she know'd what she's about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the gobble-uns 'll git you<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Don't<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Watch<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Out!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An' little orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squelched away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' cherish them 't loves you, and dry the orphant's tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at cluster all about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Er the gobble-uns 'll git you<br /></span> +<span class="i14">Ef you<br /></span> +<span class="i16">Don't<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Watch<br /></span> +<span class="i20">Out!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">James Whitcomb Riley.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[110]</span></p> + +<h2 id="ALONZO_THE_BRAVE_AND_THE_FAIR_IMOGENE"><i>ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Conversed as they sat on the green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gazed on each other with tender delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The maiden's the Fair Imogene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And oh!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To fight in a far distant land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some other will court you, and you will bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a wealthier suitor your hand!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh cease these suspicions," Fair Imogene said.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Offensive to love and to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For if you be living, or if you be dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall husband of Imogene be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"If e'er by lust or by wealth led astray I forget my Alonzo the Brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God grant that to punish my falsehood and pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bear me away to the grave."<span class="pagenum">[111]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To Palestine hastened the hero so bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His love she lamented him sore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Baron, all covered with jewels and gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Arrived at Fair Imogene's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Soon made her untrue to her vows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He caught her affection, so light and so vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And carried her home as his spouse.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now had the marriage been blest by the priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And revelry now had begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the bell at the castle tolled—one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then first with amazement Fair Imogene found<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A stranger was placed by her side;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His air was terrific, he uttered no sound—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spake not, he moved not—he looked not around,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But earnestly gazed on the bride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His visor was closed, and gigantic his height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His armour was sable to view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All pleasure and laughter were hushed at the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the dogs as they eyed him drew back in afright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All the lights in the chamber burned blue.<span class="pagenum">[112]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The guests sat in silence and fear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At length spake the bride, while she trembled, "I pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And deign to partake of our cheer."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lady is silent—the stranger complies—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His visor he slowly unclosed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh God! what a sight met Fair Imogene's eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What word can express her dismay and surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When a skeleton's head was exposed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All present then uttered a terrified shout,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All turned in disgust from the scene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sported his eyes and his temples about,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While the spectre addressed Imogene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Behold me, thou false one—behold me!" he cried; "Remember Alonzo the Brave!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God grant that to punish thy falsehood and pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My ghost at thy marriage should sit at thy side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bear thee away to the grave!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While loudly she shrieked in dismay;<span class="pagenum">[113]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sank with his prey through the wide yawning ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever again was Fair Imogene found,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or the spectre that bore her away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not long lived the Baron, and none since that time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To inhabit the castle presume;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For chronicles say, that by order sublime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mourns her deplorable doom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At midnight four times in each year does her sprite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When mortals in slumber are bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appear in the hall of the skeleton knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shriek as he whirls her around.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While they drink out of skulls, newly torn from the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dancing around them the spectres are seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their liquid is blood, and this horrible stave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They howl: "To the health of Alonzo the Brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And his consort, the Fair Imogene."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Matthew Gregory Lewis (Monk Lewis).</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[114]</span></p> + +<h2 id="AN_ALL-AROUND_INTELLECTUAL_MAN"><i>AN ALL-AROUND INTELLECTUAL MAN.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was up in mathematics, had a taste for hydrostatics, and could talk about astronomy from Aristarchus down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could tell what kind of beans were devoured by the Chaldeans, and he knew the date of every joke made by a circus clown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was versed in evolution, and would instance the poor Russian as a type of despotism in the modern age of man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could write a page of matter on the different kinds of batter used in making flinty gim-cracks on the modern cooking plan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He could revel in statistics, he was well up in the fistics, knew the pedigree of horses dating 'way back from the ark.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far and wide his tips were quoted, and his base-ball stuff was noted. In political predictions he would always hit the mark.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He could write upon the tariff, and he didn't seem to care if he was called off to review a book or write a poem or two:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could boil down stuff and edit, knew the value of a credit, and could hustle with the telegraph in a style excelled by few.<span class="pagenum">[115]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could tell just how a fire should be handled; as a liar he was sure to exercise a wise, discriminative taste.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was mild and yet undaunted, and no matter what was wanted he was always sure to get it first, yet never was in haste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But despite his reputation as a brainy aggregation, he was known to be deficient in a manner to provoke.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For no matter when you met him he would borrow if you let him, and he seemed to have the faculty of always being broke.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Tom Masson.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="HER_IDEAL"><i>HER IDEAL.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She wanted to reach an ideal;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She talked of the lovely in art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She quoted from Emerson's Essays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And said she thought Howells had "heart."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She doted on Wagner's productions,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She thought comic opera low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she played trying tunes on a zither,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keeping time with a sandal-shod toe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She had dreams of a nobler existence—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bifurcated, corsetless place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where women would stand free and equal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As queens of a glorious race.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But her biscuits were deadly creations<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That caused people's spirits to sink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she'd views on matters religious<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That drove her relations to drink.<span class="pagenum">[116]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She'd opinions on co-education,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But not an idea on cake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She could analyse Spencer or Browning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the new kitchen range wouldn't bake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wanted to be esoteric,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she wore the most classical clothes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she ended by being hysteric<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And contracting a cold in her nose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She studied of forces hypnotic,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She believed in theosophy quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She understood themes prehistoric<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And said that the faith cure was right.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wanted to reach the ideal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And at clods unpoetic would rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her husband wore fringe on his trousers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fastened them on with a nail!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Kate Masterson.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_HAPPY_FARMER"><i>THE HAPPY FARMER.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The farmer is a happy man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His life is free from care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With naught to make his spirit sad<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or make him want to swear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day among the cockle burrs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He gaily grubs and hoes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And money never troubles him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unless 'tis what he owes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sweet at early dawn of day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rise before the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hustle briskly round the barn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till all the chores are done;<span class="pagenum">[117]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feed the cows, and milk them, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In brightly shining pails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while they tread upon your corns<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thump you with their tails.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sweet to hie into the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From breakfast smoking hot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chase a plough all day around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A forty acre lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when it strikes against a stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Drawn by the horses stout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To have the handles prance around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And punch your daylights out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How sweet at noon to lie at ease<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath some spreading tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hold a secret session<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With an ardent bumble bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when your rheumatism makes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your legs refuse to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet to lie upon your back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And watch your mortgage grow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the busy cares of day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have faded with the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How sweet to lie in peaceful sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Throughout the dewy night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to hear the partner of your joys,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the first faint tinge of dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shout, "Come, old granger, hump yourself<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cows are in the corn."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mortimer C. Brown.</span><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[118]</span></p> + +<h2 id="THE_SON_OF_A_SOLDIER"><i>THE SON OF A SOLDIER</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By Owen Oliver.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>Reprinted from "To-Day" by kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You'll be sure to know my daddy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Cause he wears a coat of red.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' a rifle, an' a bay'net,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' a helmet on his head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he's very big an' handsome,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' his name is Sergeant Smith,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' he's gone to fight the Boers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That our Queen is angry with.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's the good Queen's faithful soldier,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So he's angry, too, of course—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I expects they <i>will</i> be frightened<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they know my daddy's cross!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Daddy took me up and nursed me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'For he went on Friday week;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sonny-boy," he said, "Here's sixpence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bless you, lad!" and kissed my cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Mind you write to me and tell me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How you're doing at your books,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How the baby's learning walking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How your little sister looks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How you're good and helping mother—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That's the news I want to find."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine is only printing writing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But my daddy doesn't mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'm my daddy's little soldier,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An I've often heard him say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soldiers ought to do their duty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though their officer's away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mamma says my duty's doing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just what daddy said I should;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it's hard to do my lessons;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And its harder to be good!<span class="pagenum">[119]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teacher says, "Just keep on trying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They'll come easy by-an'-by;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mamma says I do grow better,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And she'll write an' say I try.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Won't he smile! unless they've shot him!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mamma said perhaps they would;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' she cried and cried till I cried—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But I don't believe they could.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No one couldn't hurt my daddy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If they did, when I grow tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall take a sword and rifle,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">An' I'll go and kill them all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I woke up big to-morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Off to battle I should go;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I'd see who'd touch my daddy—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Please, dear God, do make me grow!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2 id="THE_MILE"><i>THE MILE.</i></h2> + +<p class="h3"><span class="smcap">By David M'Kee Wright.</span></p> + +<p class="h3">(<i>By kind permission of the Author.</i>)</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sports day at the township; the station chaps mustered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From Stewart's and "Flaxland" and Scott's of "Argyle;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good sport and good weather, and take things together<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The event that they talked most about was the mile.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Young Wilson from Flaxland could run like a greyhound,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His times were a wonder with no stopwatch by;<span class="pagenum">[120]</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Stewart's, Jack Barry could go like "Old Harry,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Scott's chaps had pinned all their faith on Mackay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The township had three in, and each looked like winning.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The cunning boys smiled when you asked what they knew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd have sooner been resting than stripping and breasting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mark for the honour of old Waitahu.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the chaps that were with me would take no denial—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I used to run once and could do it to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was no use complaining I wasn't in training,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was hard from the hills and could show them the way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So they said; but the other blokes smiled at my chances,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Well they might when I hadn't run for a year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard someone mutter, "He's softer than butter—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He used to win once, but he won't finish here."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That made me feel foolish, I wished I'd been training,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I felt if I had I could make someone spin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still I was thinking, "I'll finish like winking;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though there isn't a ghost of a chance I can win!"<span class="pagenum">[121]</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We all toed the line, but I wasn't excited,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I fancied the race was all over for Dan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slowest could do me—the pistol went through me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I jumped from the scratch, and the tussle began.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I'd a yard at the start, but I lost it next moment,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My word, they went off at a terrible bat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw in a minute I wouldn't be in it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Wilson and Barry kept moving like that.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They went for a quarter, then Pearce, of the township,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ran up to the lead like a young cannon ball;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I kept well behind them, I reckoned to find them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About the three-quarters, or else not at all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Second round the same order, Mackay creeping closer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Pearce, of the township, dropped out at the bend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They kept the pace going, but Wilson was blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I didn't expect to see him at the end.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Third round, and, by George, I was closing upon them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My long steady swing was beginning to tell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mackay took the running—he'd played pretty cunning—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I caught my first man at the three-quarter bell.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[122]</span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then I let myself out and I tackled another,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Passed him quickly and got up to Wilson at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was nothing left in him that once looked like winning;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He gave up the struggle the moment I passed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jack Barry was next, and we got going level,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I brought him along till we tackled Mackay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whole ground was moving, our pace was improving,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Jove! at the finish the grass seemed to fly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come on, Dan! come on! you can leave them both standing!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Jack Barry's the winner!" "Mackay leads the way!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yelling and raving, the rushing and waving—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll always remember the finish that day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We were going "eyes out," all three shoulder to shoulder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I gathered myself for the best I could do—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard my name crying, I took the tape flying<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the honour and glory of old Waitahu!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="spacer"> </p> + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<p class="h2"><i>Other Volumes in this Series.</i></p> + +<p> +MANNERS FOR MEN<br /> +MANNERS FOR WOMEN<br /> +A WORD TO WOMEN<br /> +HOW TO BE PRETTY<br /> +WHAT SHALL I SAY?<br /> +THE BOOK OF STITCHES<br /> +HEALTH EXERCISES AND HOME GYMNASTICS<br /> +THE APPLAUSE RECITER<br /> +RECITATIONS<br /> +THE GENTLE ART OF GOOD TALKING<br /> +CONCERNING MARRIAGE<br /> +ATHLETICS OF TO-DAY<br /> +MANNERS FOR GIRLS<br /> +BEAUTY ADORNED +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + +***** This file should be named 38053-h.htm or 38053-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/5/38053/ + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/38053-h/images/cover.jpg b/38053-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c9a585 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/38053.txt b/38053.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1b6e77 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4137 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Coo-ee Reciter + +Author: Various + +Release Date: November 18, 2011 [EBook #38053] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + THE COO-EE RECITER. + + BY + + AUSTRALIAN, BRITISH, AND AMERICAN AUTHORS. + + + _HUMOROUS, PATHETIC, DRAMATIC, DIALECT, RECITATIONS & READINGS._ + + WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, LONDON, MELBOURNE & TORONTO. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + + I Killed a Man at Graspan M. GROVER. + Kitty O'Toole W. L. LUMLEY. + The Ballad of the Drover HENRY LAWSON. + The Rescue EDWARD DYSON. + Saltbush Bill A. B. PATERSON. + Drought and Doctrine. J. BRUNTON STEVENS. + The Martyr VICTOR J. DALEY. + The Carrying of the Baby ETHEL TURNER. + The Old Gum FLORENCE BULLIVANT. + Murphy shall not Sing To-night MONTAGUE GROVER. + Christmas Bells JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + Wool is Up GARNET WALCH. + Wool is Down GARNET WALCH. + The Highland Brigade Buries its Dead LIEUT.-COL. W. T. REAY. + Australia's Call to Arms JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + Good News GARNET WALCH. + Free Trade _v._ Protection GARNET WALCH. + The Lion's Cubs GARNET WALCH. + The Little Duchess ETHEL TURNER. + Australia's Springtime W. L. LUMLEY. + The Man that saved the Match DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + Ode for Commonwealth Day, 1st January, 1901. + A Desperate Assault + The Game of Life JOHN G. SAXE. + Prejudice CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON. + The Poor and the Rich JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + The Engineer's Story Seeing's not Believing. + THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY. + Caudle has been made a Mason DOUGLAS JERROLD. + Mrs. Caudle's Lecture DOUGLAS JERROLD. + Jim Bludso COLONEL JOHN HAY. + How Uncle Mose Counted the Eggs + The Negro Baby's Funeral. WILL CARLETON. + Der Shpider und der Fly CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. + Lariat Bill G. W. H. + The Elf Child; or, Little Orphant Annie JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. + Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene + MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS (Monk Lewis). + An All-around Intellectual Man. TOM MASSON. + Her Ideal KATE MASTERSON. + The Happy Farmer. MORTIMER C. BROWN. + The Son of a Soldier OWEN OLIVER. + The Mile DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + + + + +THE COO-EE RECITER + + + + +_I KILLED A MAN AT GRASPAN._ + +(_The Tale of a Returned Australian Contingenter done into verse._) + + + I killed a man at Graspan, + I killed him fair in fight; + And the Empire's poets and the Empire's priests + Swear blind I acted right. + The Empire's poets and Empire's priests + Make out my deed was fine, + But they can't stop the eyes of the man I killed + From starin' into mine. + + I killed a man at Graspan, + Maybe I killed a score; + But this one wasn't a chance-shot home, + From a thousand yards or more. + I fired at him when he'd got no show; + We were only a pace apart, + With the cordite scorchin' his old worn coat + As the bullet drilled his heart. + + I killed a man at Graspan, + I killed him fightin' fair; + We came on each other face to face, + An' we went at it then and there. + Mine was the trigger that shifted first, + His was the life that sped. + An' a man I'd never a quarrel with + Was spread on the boulders dead. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + I watched him squirmin' till + He raised his eyes, an' they met with mine; + An' there they're starin' still. + Cut of my brother Tom, he looked, + Hardly more'n a kid; + An', Christ! he was stiffenin' at my feet + Because of the thing I did. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + I told the camp that night; + An' of all the lies that ever I told + That was the poorest skite. + I swore I was proud of my hand-to-hand, + An' the Boer I'd chanced to pot, + An' all the time I'd ha' gave my eyes + To never ha' fired that shot. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + An hour ago about, + For there he lies with his starin' eyes, + An' his blood still tricklin' out. + I know it was either him or me, + I know that I killed him fair, + But, all the same, wherever I look, + The man that I killed is there. + + I killed a man at Graspan; + My first and, God! my last; + Harder to dodge than my bullet is + The look that his dead eyes cast. + If the Empire asks for me later on + It'll ask for me in vain, + Before I reach to my bandolier + To fire on a man again. + + M. GROVER. + + + + +_KITTY O'TOOLE._ + + + Och! a charmin' young cratur' was Kitty O'Toole, + The lily ov shwate Tipperary; + Wid a voice like a thrish, and wid cheeks like a rose, + An' a figger as nate as a fairy! + Oi saw her wan noight--och! she look'd loike a quane + In the glory ov shwate wan an' twinty-- + As she sat wid McGinty's big arm round her waisht, + Och! how I invied McGinty! + + Six months afther that, in the shwate summer days, + The boys an' the girls wor' invoited + By Micky O'Toole, ov the cabin beyant, + To see Kate an' McGinty unoited; + An' whin in the church they wor' made into wan, + An' the priesht gave thim blissin's in plinty, + An' Kitty look'd shwater than iver before-- + Och! how I invied McGinty! + + But the years have gone by, an' McGinty is dead! + Och! me heart was all broke up wid pity + To see her so lonely, an' mournful, an' sad, + An' I wint an' got married to Kitty! + But now, whin I look where McGinty is laid, + Wid a shtone o'er his head cowld an' flinty-- + As he lies there so peaceful, an' quoiet, an' shtill-- + Och! how I invy McGinty. + + W. L. LUMLEY. + + + + +_THE BALLAD OF THE DROVER._ + +BY HENRY LAWSON. + +(_By kind permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney +and Melbourne._) + + + Across the stony ridges, + Across the rolling plain, + Young Harry Dale, the drover, + Comes riding home again. + And well his stock-horse bears him, + And light of heart is he, + And stoutly his old pack-horse + Is trotting by his knee. + + Up Queensland way with cattle + He travelled regions vast; + And many months have vanished + Since home-folk saw him last. + He hums a song of someone + He hopes to marry soon; + And hobble-chains and camp-ware + Keep jingling to the tune. + + Beyond the hazy dado + Against the lower skies, + And yon blue line of ranges, + The homestead station lies. + And thitherward the drover + Jogs through the lazy noon, + While hobble-chains and camp-ware + Are jingling to a tune. + + An hour has filled the heavens + With storm-cloud inky black; + At times the lightning trickles + Around the drover's track, + But Harry pushes onward; + His horses' strength he tries + In hope to reach the river + Before the flood shall rise. + + The thunder from above him + Goes rolling o'er the plain; + And down on thirsty pastures + In torrents fall the rain. + And every creek and gully + Sends forth its little flood, + Till the river runs a banker, + All stained with yellow mud. + + Now Harry speaks to Rover, + The best dog on the plains; + And to his hardy horses, + And strokes their shaggy manes; + "We've breasted bigger rivers + When floods were at their height, + Nor shall this gutter stop us + From getting home to-night!" + + The thunder growls a warning, + The ghastly lightnings gleam, + As the drover turns his horses, + To swim the fatal stream. + But, oh! the flood runs stronger + Than e'er it ran before; + The saddle horse is failing, + And only half-way o'er! + + When flashes next the lightning, + The flood's grey breast is blank, + And a cattle-dog and pack-horse + Are struggling up the bank. + But on the bank to northward, + Or on the southern shore, + The stock-horse and his rider + Will struggle out no more. + + The faithful dog a moment + Sits panting on the bank, + And then swims through the current + To where his master sank. + And round and round in circles, + He fights with failing strength, + Till borne down by the waters, + The old dog sinks at length. + + Across the flooded lowlands + And slopes of sodden loam, + The pack-horse struggles onward, + To take dumb tidings home. + And mud-stained, wet, and weary, + Through ranges dark goes he; + The hobble-chains and tinware + Are sounding eerily. + + * * * * * + + The floods are in the ocean, + The stream is clear again, + And now a verdant carpet + Is stretched across the plain. + But someone's eyes are saddened, + And someone's heart still bleeds, + In sorrow for the drover + Who sleeps among the reeds. + + + + +_THE RESCUE._ + +BY EDWARD DYSON. + +(_From "Rhymes from the Mines," by kind permission of Messrs. Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + There's a sudden, fierce clang of the knocker, + then the sound of a voice in the shaft, + Shrieking words that drum hard on the centres, + and the braceman goes suddenly daft; + "Set the whistle a-blowing like blazes! Billy, + run, give old Mackie a call-- + Run, you fool! Number Two's gone to pieces, + and Fred Baker is caught in the fall! + Say, hello! there below--any hope, boys, + any chances of saving his life?" + "Heave away!" says the knocker. "They've started. + God be praised, he's no youngsters or wife!" + + Screams the whistle in fearful entreaty, + and the wild echo raves on the spur, + And the night, that was still as a sleeper + in soft, charmed sleep, is astir + With the fluttering of wings in the wattles, + and the vague, frightened murmur of birds; + With far cooeys that carry the warning, + running feet, inarticulate words. + From the black belt of bush come the miners, + and they gather by Mack on the brace, + Out of breath, barely clad, and half-wakened, + with a question in every face. + + "Who's below?" "Where's the fall?" "Didn't I tell you?-- + Didn't I say them sets wasn't sound?" + "Is it Fred? He was reckless was Baker; + now he's seen his last shift underground." + "And his mate? Where is Sandy M'Fadyn?" + "Sandy's snoring at home on his bunk." + "Not at work! Name of God! a foreboding?" + "A foreboding be hanged! He is drunk!" + "Take it steady there, lads!" the boss orders. He is white to the + roots of his hair. + "We may get him alive before daybreak + if he's close to the face and has air." + + In the dim drive with ardour heroic + two facemen are pegging away. + Long and Coots in the rise heard her thunder, + and they fled without word or delay + Down the drive, and they rushed for the ladders, + and they went up the shaft with a run, + For they knew the weak spot in the workings, + and they guessed there was graft to be done. + Number Two was pitch dark, and they scrambled + to the plat and they made for the face, + But the roof had come down fifty yards in, + and the reef was all over the place. + + Fresher men from the surface replace them, + and they're hauled up on top for a blow; + When a life and death job is in doing + there's room only for workers below. + Bare-armed, and bare-chested, and brawny, + with a grim, meaning set of the jaw, + The relay hurries in to the rescue, + caring not for the danger a straw; + 'Tis not toil, but a battle, they're called to, + and like Trojans the miners respond, + For a dead man lies crushed 'neath the timbers, + or a live man is choking beyond. + + By the faint, yellow glow of the candles, + where the dank drive is hot with their breath, + On the verge of the Land of the Shadow, + waging war breast to bosom with Death, + How they struggle, these giants! and slowly, + as the trucks rattle into the gloom, + Inch by inch they advance to the conquest + of a prison--or is it a tomb? + And the workings re-echo a volley + as the timbers are driven in place; + Then a whisper is borne to the toilers: + "Boys, his mother is there on the brace!" + + Like veterans late into action, + fierce with longing to hew and to hack, + Riordan's shift rushes in to relieve them, + and the toil-stricken men stagger back. + "Stow the stuff, mates, wherever there's stowage! + Run the man on the brace till he drops! + There's no time to think on this billet! + Bark the heels of the trucker who stops! + Keep the props well in front, and be careful. + He's in there, and alive, never fret." + But the grey dawn is softening the ridges, + and the word has not come to us yet. + + Still the knocker rings out, and the engine + shrieks and strains like a creature in pain + As the cage rushes up to the surface + and drops back into darkness again. + By the capstan a woman is crouching. + In her eyes neither hope nor despair; + But a yearning that glowers like frenzy + bids those who'd speak pity forbear. + Like a figure in stone she is seated + till the labour of rescue be done. + For the father was killed in the Phoenix, + and the son--Lord of pity! the son? + + "Hello! there on top!" they are calling. + "They are through! He is seen in the drive!" + "They have got him--thank Heaven! they've got him, + and oh, blessed be God, he's alive!" + "Man on! heave away!" "Step aside, lads; + let his mother be first when he lands." + She was silent and strong in her anguish; + now she babbles and weeps where she stands, + And the stern men, grown gentle, support her + at the mouth of the shaft, till at last + With a rush the cage springs to the landing, + and her son's arms encircle her fast. + + _She has cursed the old mine for its murders, + for the victims its drives have ensnared, + Now she cries a great blessing upon it + for the one precious life it has spared._ + + + + +_SALTBUSH BILL._ + +BY A. B. PATERSON. + +(_By permission of Messrs. Angus and Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and +Melbourne._) + + + Now this is the law of the Overland, that all in the West obey, + A man must cover with travelling sheep a six-mile stage a day; + But this is the law which the drovers make, right easily understood. + They travel their stage where the grass is bad, but they camp where + the grass is good; + They camp, and they ravage the squatter's grass till never a blade + remains, + Then they drift away as the white clouds drift on the edge of the + saltbush plains. + From camp to camp and from run to run they battle it hand to hand, + For a blade of grass and the right to pass on the track of the + Overland. + + For this is the law of the Great Stock Routes, 'tis written in white + and black-- + The man that goes with a travelling mob must keep to a half-mile + track; + And the drovers keep to a half-mile track on the runs where the + grass is dead, + But they spread their sheep on a well-grassed run till they go with + a two-mile spread. + So the squatters hurry the drovers on from dawn till the fall of + night, + And the squatters' dogs and the drovers' dogs get mixed in a deadly + fight; + Yet the squatters' men, though they hunt the mob, are willing the + peace to keep, + For the drovers learn how to use their hands when they go with the + travelling sheep; + But this is a tale of a Jackeroo that came from a foreign strand, + And the fight that he fought with Saltbush Bill, the King of the + Overland. + + Now Saltbush Bill was a drover tough, as ever the country knew, + He had fought his way on the Great Stock Routes from the sea to the + Big Barcoo; + He could tell when he came to a friendly run that gave him a chance + to spread, + And he knew where the hungry owners were that hurried his sheep + ahead; + He was drifting down in the Eighty drought with a mob that could + scarcely creep + (When the kangaroos by the thousands starve, it is rough on the + travelling sheep), + And he camped one night at the crossing-place on the edge of the + Wilga run; + "We must manage a feed for them here," he said, "or the half of the + mob are done!" + So he spread them out when they left the camp wherever they liked to + go, + Till he grew aware of a Jackeroo with a station-hand in tow, + + And they set to work on the straggling sheep, and with many a + stockwhip crack + They forced them in where the grass was dead in the space of the + half-mile track; + So William prayed that the hand of fate might suddenly strike him + blue + But he'd get some grass for his starving sheep in the teeth of that + Jackeroo. + So he turned and he cursed the Jackeroo, he cursed him alive or + dead, + From the soles of his great unwieldy feet to the crown of his ugly + head, + With an extra curse on the moke he rode and the cur at his heels + that ran, + Till the Jackeroo from his horse got down and he went for the + drover-man; + With the station-hand for his picker-up, though the sheep ran loose + the while, + They battled it out on the saltbush plain in the regular prize-ring + style. + + Now, the new chum fought for his honour's sake and the pride of the + English race, + But the drover fought for his daily bread, with a smile on his + bearded face; + So he shifted ground and he sparred for wind and he made it a + lengthy mill, + And from time to time as his scouts came in they whispered to + Saltbush Bill-- + "We have spread the sheep with a two-mile spread, and the grass it + is something grand, + You must stick to him, Bill, for another round for the pride of the + Overland." + The new chum made it a rushing fight, though never a blow got home, + Till the sun rode high in the cloudless sky and glared on the + brick-red loam, + Till the sheep drew in to the shelter-trees and settled them down to + rest, + Then the drover said he would fight no more, and he gave his + opponent best. + + So the new chum rode to the homestead straight and he told them a + story grand + Of the desperate fight that he fought that day with the King of the + Overland. + And the tale went home to the public schools of the pluck of the + English swell, + How the drover fought for his very life, but blood in the end must + tell. + But the travelling sheep and the Wilga sheep were boxed on the Old + Man Plain. + 'Twas a full week's work ere they drafted out and hunted them off + again. + With a week's good grass in their wretched hides, with a curse and a + stockwhip crack + They hunted them off on the road once more to starve on the + half-mile track. + And Saltbush Bill, on the Overland, will many a time recite + How the best day's work that ever he did was the day that he lost + the fight. + + + + +_DROUGHT AND DOCTRINE._ + +BY J. BRUNTON STEPHENS. + +(_By kind permission of the publishers, Messrs. Angus and Robertson, +Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + Come, take the tenner, doctor ... yes, I know the bill says "five," + But it ain't as if you'd merely kep' our little 'un alive; + Man, you saved the mother's reason when you saved that baby's life, + An' it's thanks to _you_ I ha'n't a ravin' idiot for a wife. + + Let me tell you all the story, an' if then you think it strange, + That I'd like to fee ye extry--why, I'll take the bloomin' change. + If yer bill had said a hundred ... I'm a poor man, doc., and yet + I'd 'a' slaved till I had squared it; ay, an' still been in yer + debt. + + Well, you see, the wife's got notions on a heap o' things that ain't + To be handled by a man as don't pretend to be a saint; + So I minds "the cultivation," smokes my pipe an' makes no stir, + An' religion an' such p'ints I lays entirely on to her. + + No, she's got it fixed within her that, if children die afore + They've been sprinkled by the parson, they've no show for evermore; + An' though they're spared the pitchfork, the brimstun, an' the + smoke, + They ain't allowed to mix _up there_ with other little folk. + + So when our last began to pine, an' lost his pretty smile, + An' not a parson to be had within a hunder mile-- + (For though there is a chapel down at Bluegrass Creek, you know, + The clargy's there on dooty only thrice a year or so)-- + + Well, when our yet unchristen'd mite grew limp, an' thin, an' pale, + It would 'a' cut you to the heart to hear the mother wail + About her "unregenerate babe," an' how, if it should go, + 'Twould have no chance with them as had their registers to show. + + Then awful quiet she grew, an' hadn't spoken for a week, + When in came brother Bill one day with news from Bluegrass Creek. + "I seen," says he, "a notice on the chapel railin' tied; + They'll have service there this evenin'--can the youngster stand the + ride? + + For we can't have parson here, if it be true, as I've heard say, + There's a dyin' man as wants him more'n twenty mile away; + So"--He hadn't time to finish ere the child was out of bed, + With a shawl about its body an' a hood upon its head. + + "Saddle up," the missus said. I did her biddin' like a bird. + Perhaps I thought it foolish, but I never said a word; + For though I have a vote in what the kids eat, drink, or wear, + Their sperritual requirements are entirely _her_ affair. + + We started on our two hours' ride beneath a burnin' sun, + With Aunt Sal and Bill for sureties to renounce the Evil One; + An' a bottle in Sal's basket that was labelled "Fine Old Tom" + Held the water that regeneration was to follow from. + + For Bluegrass Creek was dry, as Bill that very day had found, + An' not a sup o' water to be had for miles around; + So, to make salvation sartin for the babby's little soul, + We had filled a dead marine, sir, at the fam'ly waterhole. + Which every forty rods or so Sal raised it to her head, + An' took a snifter, "just enough to wet her lips," she said; + Whereby it came to pass that when we reached the chapel door, + There was only what would serve the job, an' deuce a dribble more. + + The service had begun--we didn't like to carry in + A vessel with so evident a carritur for gin; + So we left it in the porch, an', havin' done our level best, + Went an' owned to bein' "mis'rable offenders" with the rest. + + An' nigh upon the finish, when the parson had been told + That a lamb was waitin' there to be admitted to the fold, + Rememberin' the needful, I gets up an' quietly slips + To the porch to see--a swagsman--with our bottle at his lips! + + Such a faintness came all over me, you might have then an' there + Knocked me down, sir, with a feather or tied me with a hair. + Doc., I couldn't speak nor move; an' though I caught the beggar's + eye, + With a wink he turned the bottle bottom up an' drank it dry. + + An' then he flung it from him, bein' suddintly aware + That the label on't was merely a deloosion an' a snare; + An' the crash cut short the people in the middle of "A-men," + An' all the congregation heard him holler "Sold again!" + + So that christ'nin' was a failure; every water-flask was drained; + Ev'n the monkey in the vestry not a blessed drop contained; + An' the parson in a hurry cantered off upon his mare, + Leavin' baby unregenerate, an' missus in despair. + + That night the child grew worse, but all my care was for the wife; + I feared more for her reason than for that wee spark o' life.... + But you know the rest--how Providence contrived that very night + That a doctor should come cadgin' at our shanty for a light.... + + Baby? Oh, he's chirpy, thank ye--been baptised--his name is Bill. + It's weeks and weeks since parson came an' put him through the mill; + An' his mother's mighty vain upon the subjick of his weight, + An' reg'lar cock-a-hoop about his sperritual state. + + So now you'll take the tenner. Oh, confound the bloomin' change! + Lord, had Billy died!--but, doctor, don't you think it summut + strange + That them as keeps the gate would have refused to let him in + Because a fool mistook a drop of Adam's ale for gin? + + + + +_THE MARTYR._ + +BY VICTOR J. DALEY. + +(_From "At Dawn and Dusk" poems, by kind permission of Angus and +Robertson, Publishers, Sydney and Melbourne._) + + + Not only on cross and gibbet, + By sword, and fire, and flood, + Have perished the world's sad martyrs + Whose names are writ in blood. + + A woman lay in a hovel + Mean, dismal, gasping for breath; + One friend alone was beside her: + The name of him was--Death. + + For the sake of her orphan children, + For money to buy them food, + She had slaved in the dismal hovel + And wasted her womanhood. + + Winter and spring and summer + Came each with a load of cares; + And autumn to her brought only + A harvest of grey hairs. + + Far out in the blessed country, + Beyond the smoky town, + The winds of God were blowing + Evermore up and down; + + The trees were waving signals + Of joy from the bush beyond; + The gum its blue-green banner, + The fern its dark-green frond; + + Flower called to flower in whispers + By sweet caressing names, + And young gum shoots sprang upward + Like woodland altar-flames; + + And, deep in the distant ranges + The magpie's fluting song + Roused musical, mocking echoes + In the woods of Dandenong; + + And riders were galloping gaily, + With loose-held flowing reins, + Through dim and shadowy gullies, + Across broad, treeless plains; + + And winds through the Heads came wafting + A breath of life from the sea, + And over the blue horizon + The ships sailed silently; + + And out of the sea at morning + The sun rose, golden bright, + And in crimson, and gold, and purple + Sank in the sea at night; + + But in dreams alone she saw them, + Her hours of toil between; + For life to her was only + A heartless dead machine. + + _Her_ heart was in the graveyard + Where lay her children three; + Nor work nor prayer could save them, + Nor tears of agony. + + On the lips of her last and dearest + Pressing a farewell kiss, + She cried aloud in her anguish-- + "Can God make amends for _this_?" + + Dull, desperate, ceaseless slaving + Bereft her of power to pray, + And Man was careless and cruel, + And God was far away. + + But who shall measure His mercies? + His ways are in the deep; + And, after a life of sorrow, + He gave her His gift of sleep. + + Rest comes at last to the weary, + And freedom to the slave; + Her tired and worn-out body + Sleeps well in its pauper grave. + + But His angel bore her soul up + To that Bright Land and Fair, + Where Sorrow enters never, + Nor any cloud of care. + + They came to a lovely valley, + Agleam with asphodel, + And the soul of the woman speaking, + Said, "Here I fain would dwell!" + + The angel answered gently: + "O Soul, most pure and dear, + O Soul, most tried and truest, + Thy dwelling is not here! + + "Behold thy place appointed-- + Long kept, long waiting--come! + Where bloom on the hills of Heaven + The roses of Martyrdom!" + + + + +_THE CARRYING OF THE BABY._ + +BY ETHEL TURNER. + + +Larrie had been carrying it for a long way, and said it was quite time +Dot took her turn. + +Dot was arguing the point. + +She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of all +the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being +six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he +could not carry a baby. + +Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other +arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the +red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to help +to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it was +heavy. + +"He is exactly twenty-one pounds," she said, "I weighed him on the +kitchen scales yesterday. I should think a man of your size ought to be +able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so." + +"But he's on springs, Dot," he said; "just look at him, he's never still +for a minute; you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard, and then +I'll take him again." + +Dot shook her head. + +"I'm very sorry, Larrie," she said, "but I really can't. You know I +didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself, +you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy." + +"But you're his mother," objected Larrie. + +He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes +were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat +thumb in his eye and made it water. + +"But you're its father," Dot said sweetly. + +"It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man"--poor Larrie was +mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand--"everyone says so; don't +be a little sneak, Dot; my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for +pity's sake take him." + +Dot shook her head again. + +"Would you have me break my vow, St. Lawrence?" she said. + +She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his +side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was +white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white +Suede gloves, and she carried a white parasol. + +"I'm hanged," said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the +road; "look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or are +you not?" + +Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face. + +"No, my good man," she said; "I don't propose to carry your baby one +step." + +"Then I shall drop it," said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening +position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on. + +"Find a soft place," she called, looking back over her shoulder once and +seeing him still standing in the road. + +"Little minx," he said under his breath. + +Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much +given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look, +one could see capabilities for all manner of things. + +He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft, +green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the +child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or +other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string +from the little rosy foot, and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in +its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot. + +"Well?" she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms; +she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a +hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along. + +"You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that," she +said, looking up at his set side face. + +"You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are," he returned +hotly. "By Jove, if I was a woman, I'd be ashamed to act as you do. You +get worse every day you live. I've kept excusing you to myself, and +saying you would get wiser as you grew older, and instead, you seem more +childish every day." + +She looked childish. She was very, very small in stature, very slightly +and delicately built. Her hair was in soft gold-brown curls, as short as +a boy's; her eyes were soft, and wide, and tender, and beautiful as a +child's. When she was happy they were the colour of that blue, deep +violet we call the Czar, and when she grew thoughtful, or sorrowful, +they were like the heart of a great, dark purple pansy. She was not +particularly beautiful, only very fresh, and sweet, and lovable. Larrie +once said she always looked like a baby that has been freshly bathed and +dressed, and puffed with sweet violet powder, and sent out into the +world to refresh tired eyes. + +That was one of his courtship sayings, more than a year ago, when she +was barely seventeen. She was eighteen now, and he was telling her she +was an unnatural mother. + +"Why, the child wouldn't have had its bib on, only I saw to it," he +said, in a voice that increased in excitement as he dwelt on the +enormity. + +"Dear me," said Dot, "that was very careless of Peggie; I must really +speak to her about it." + +"I shall shake you some day, Dot," Larrie said, "shake you till your +teeth rattle. Sometimes I can hardly keep my hands off you." + +His brow was gloomy, his boyish face troubled, vexed. + +And Dot laughed. Leaned against the fence skirting the road that seemed +to run to eternity, and laughed outrageously. + +Larrie stopped too. His face was very white and square-looking, his dark +eyes held fire. He put his hands on the white, exaggerated shoulders of +her muslin dress and turned her round. + +"Go back to the bottom of the hill this instant, and pick up the child +and carry it up here," he said. + +"Go and insert your foolish old head in a receptacle for +_pommes-de-terre_," was Dot's flippant retort. + +Larrie's hands pressed harder, his chin grew squarer. + +"I'm in earnest, Dot, deadly earnest. I order you to fetch the child, +and I intend you to obey me," he gave her a little shake to enforce the +command. "I am your master, and I intend you to know it from this day." + +Dot experienced a vague feeling of surprise at the fire in the eyes that +were nearly always clear, and smiling, and loving, then she twisted +herself away. + +"Pooh," she said, "you're only a stupid over-grown, passionate boy, +Larrie. You my master! You're nothing in the world but my husband." + +"Are you going?" he said in a tone he had never used before to her. "Say +Yes or No, Dot, instantly." + +"No," said Dot, stormily. + +Then they both gave a sob of terror, their faces blanched, and they +began to run madly down the hill. + +Oh the long, long way they had come, the endless stretch of red, red +road that wound back to the gold-tipped wattles, the velvet grass, and +their baby! + +Larrie was a fleet, wonderful runner. In the little cottage where they +lived, manifold silver cups and mugs bore witness to it, and he was +running for life now, but Dot nearly outstripped him. + +She flew over the ground, hardly touching it, her arms were +outstretched, her lips moving. They fell down together on their knees by +their baby, just as three furious, hard-driven bullocks thundered by, +filling the air with dust and bellowing. + +The baby was blinking happily up at a great fat golden beetle that was +making a lazy way up the wattle. It had lost its "comforter" and was +sucking its thumb thoughtfully. It had kicked off its white knitted +boots, and was curling its pink toes up in the sunshine with great +enjoyment. + +"Baby!" Larrie said. The big fellow was trembling in every limb. + +"_Baby!_" said Dot. She gathered it up in her little shaking arms, she +put her poor white face down upon it, and broke into such pitiful tears +and sobs that it wept too. Larrie took them both into his arms, and sat +down on a fallen tree. He soothed them, he called them a thousand +tender, beautiful names; he took off Dot's hat and stroked her little +curls, he kissed his baby again and again; he kissed his wife. When they +were all quite calm and the bullocks ten miles away, they started again. + +"I'll carry him," said Larrie. + +"Ah no, let me," Dot said. + +"Darling, you're too tired--see, you can hold his hand across my +shoulder." + +"No, no, give him to me--my arms ache without him." + +"But the hill--my big baby!" + +"Oh, I _must_ have him--Larrie, _let_ me--see, he is so light--why, he +is nothing to carry." + + + + +_THE OLD GUM._ + + + Stand here; he has once been a grand old gum, + But it makes one reflect that the time will come + When we all shall have had our fling; + Yet, our life soon passes, we scarce know how-- + You would hardly think, to see him now, + That once he had been a king. + + In his youth, in the silence of the wood, + A forest of saplings around him stood; + But he overtopped them all. + And, over their heads, through the forest shade, + He could see how the sunlight danced and played, + So straight he grew, and so tall. + + Each day of his life brought something new, + The breeze stirred the bracken, the dry leaves flew, + The wild bird passed on the wing: + He heard the low, sad song of the wood, + His childhood was passed in its solitude; + And he grew--and became a king. + + Oft has he stood on the stormy night, + When the long-forked flash has revealed to sight + The plain where the floods were out; + When the wind came down like a hurricane, + And the branches, broken and snapped in twain, + Were scattered and strewn about. + + Oft, touched by the reddening bush-fire glow, + When clouds of smoke, rolling up from below, + Obscured the sun like a pall; + When the forest seemed like a flaming sea, + And down came many a mighty tree, + Has he stood firm through it all. + + Those days of his youth have long gone by; + The magpie's note and the parrot's cry, + As borne on the evening wind, + Recall to his thoughts his childhood flown, + Old memories, fresh, yet faintly blown, + Of the youth he has left behind. + + On the brow of the hill he stands to-day, + But the pride of his life has passed away; + His leaves are withered and sere. + And oft at night comes a sound of woe, + As he sways his tired limbs to and fro + And laments to the bleak night air. + + He can still look down on the plain below, + And his head is decked by the sunset glow + With a glorious crown of light; + And from every field, as the night draws on, + To his spreading arms the magpies come + To shelter there for the night. + + Some night, when the waters rage and swell, + He will hear the thunder roll his knell, + And will bow his head to the ground; + And the birds from their nests will wheel in the air, + And the rabbits burrow deeper in fear, + At the thundering, rending sound. + + And the magpies must find another home; + No more, at the sunset, will they come + To warble their evening song. + Ah, well! our sorrow is quickly flown, + For the good old friends we have loved and known: + And the old tree falls by the tall new grown, + And the weak must yield to the strong. + + FLORENCE BULLIVANT. + + + + +_MURPHY SHALL NOT SING TO-NIGHT._ + + + Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round O'Connor's bar, + Answering the invitation Patsy posted near and far. + All the chandeliers were lit, but did not shed sufficient light, + So tallow candles, stuck in bottles, graced the bar that famous + night. + + All the quality were there; before such talent ne'er was seen; + Healy brought the house down fairly with "The Wearin' o' the Green." + Liquor went around in lashins, everything was going off right, + When O'Connor sent the word round, "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Faces paled at Patsy's order; none were listening to the song; + Through their hearts went vague sensations--awful dreads of coming + wrong; + For they knew that Danny Murphy thought himself a singer quite, + And knew that if he made his mind up, that, bedad, he'd sing that + night. + + Everyone was close attention, knew that there would be a row, + When the chairman said that "Mr. Murphy will oblige us now." + "Not so fasht," said Pat O'Connor, rising to his fullest height, + "This here pub belongs to me, and Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Up jumps Murphy, scowling darkly as he looks at Pat O'Connor: + "Is this the way," he says to Pat, "that you uphold Ould Oireland's + honour?" + "Oi know Oi'm not much at singin'; any toime Oi'd sooner foight; + But, to show me independence, s'help me bob, Oi'll sing to-night." + + "Gintlemin," says Pat O'Connor, wildly gazing round about, + "It will be my painful duty to chuck Danny Murphy out; + It has been a rule with me that no man sings when he is tight; + When Oi say a thing Oi mane it--Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Then says Doolan to O'Connor, "Listen what Oi've got to tell; + If yez want to chuck out Murphy, yez must chuck out me as well." + This lot staggered Pat O'Connor, Doolan was a man of might; + But he bluffed him, loudly crying, "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + Then he rushed on Danny Murphy and he smote him hip and thigh; + Patsy looked a winner straight, when Doolan jabbed him in the eye. + All the crowd at once took sides, and soon began a rousing fight; + The battle cry of Patsy's push was "Murphy shall not sing to-night." + + The noise soon brought a copper in: 'twas Patsy's cousin, Jim + Kinsella. + "Hould yer row," he says to Doolan, when Mick lands him on the + smeller. + They got the best of Doolan's push, though; lumbered them for + getting tight. + Patsy then had spoken truly, "Murphy did not sing that night." + + EPILOGUE. + + Specimens of Ireland's greatness gathered round the City court. + There before the awful sentence was a touching lesson taught-- + Then away they led the prisoners to a cell, so cool and white; + And for fourteen days to come Murphy shall not sing at night. + + MONTAGUE GROVER. + + + + +_CHRISTMAS BELLS._ + +BY JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Bells, joyous bells of the Christmas-time, + Dear is the song of your welcome chime; + Dear is the burden that softly wells + From your joyous throats, O tolling bells! + Dear is the message sweet you bind + Dove-like to wings of the wafting wind. + + You tell how the Yule-king cometh forth + From his home in the heart of the icy North; + On his Eastern steeds how rusheth on + The wind-god of storms, Euroclydon; + How his trumpet strikes to the pallid stars + That shrink from the mad moon's silver bars, + Where the cold wind tortures the sobbing sea, + And the chill sleet pierces the pinioned lea, + As the snow king hurls from his frozen zone + The fragments fast of a tumbled throne. + + But what is the song, O silver bells, + You sing of the ferny Austral dells, + Of the bracken height, and the sylvan stream, + And the breezy woodland's summer dream, + Lulled by the lute of the slow sweet rills + In the trembling heart of the great grave hills? + Ah, what is the song that you sing to me + Of the soft blue isles of our shimmering sea, + Where the slow tides sleep, and a purple haze + Fringes the skirts of the windless bays, + + That, ringed with a circlet of beauty fair, + Start in the face of the dreamer there; + O, what is the burden of your sweet chimes, + Bells of the golden Christmas times? + + You sing of the summer gliding down + From the stars that gem bright heaven's crown; + Of the flowers that fade in the autumn sere, + And the sunlit death of the old, old year. + Of the sweet South wind that sobs above + The grass-green grave of our buried love: + No bitter dirge from the stormy flow + Of a moaning sea,--ah! no, no, no! + But a sweet farewell, and a low soft hymn + Under the beautiful moons that swim + Over the silver seas that toss + Their foam to thy shrine, O Southern Cross! + + O, bright is the burden of your sweet chimes, + Bells of the joyous Christmas times! + You bring to the old hearts throbbing slow + The beautiful dreams of the long ago; + Remembrance sweet of the olden Yule, + When hearts beat high in life's young school. + Ah, haply now, as they list to your chimes, + Will the voices rise of the olden times, + Till the wings of peace brood over the hours + Slipping like streams through sleepy bowers, + While you whisper the story loved of One + Who suffered for us--the sad sweet Son-- + Who taught that afflictions, sent in love, + Chasten the soul for the realms above. + + + + +_WOOL IS UP._ + + + Earth o'erflows with nectared gladness, + All creation teems with joy; + Banished be each thought of sadness, + Life for me has no alloy. + Fill a bumper!--drain a measure, + Pewter! goblet! tankard! cup! + Testifying thus our pleasure + At the news that "Wool is up." + + 'Thwart the empires, 'neath the oceans, + Subtly speeds the living fire; + Who shall tell what wild emotions + Spring from out that thridden wire? + "Jute is lower--copper weaker," + This will break poor neighbour Jupp; + But for me, I shout "Eureka!" + Wealth is mine--for wool is up! + + What care I for jute or cotton, + Sugar, copper, hemp, or flax! + Reeds like these are often rotten, + Turn to rods for owners' backs. + Fortune! ha! I have thee holden + In what Scotia calls a "grup," + All my fleeces now are golden, + Full troy weight--for wool is up! + + I will dance the gay fandango + (Though to me its steps be strange), + Doubts and fears, you all can hang go! + I will cut a dash on 'Change. + Atra Cura, you will please me + By dismounting from my crup-- + Per--you no more shall tease me, + Pray get down--for wool is up! + + Jane shall have that stylish bonnet + Which my scanty purse denied; + Long she set her heart upon it, + She shall wear it now with pride. + I will buy old Dumper's station, + Reign as king at Gerringhup, + For my crest a bust of Jason, + With this motto, "Wool is up." + + I will keep a stud extensive; + Bolter, here! I'll have those greys, + Those Sir George deemed too expensive, + You can send them--with the bays. + Coursing! I should rather think so; + Yes, I'll take that "Lightning" pup; + Jones, my boy, you needn't wink so, + I can stand it--wool is up! + + Wifey, love, you're looking charming, + Years with you are but as days; + We must have a grand house-warming + When these painters go their ways. + Let the ball-room be got ready, + Bid our friends to dance and sup: + Bother! _how_ can I "go steady"? + I'm worth thousands--wool is up! + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_WOOL IS DOWN._ + + + Blacker than 'eer the inky waters roll + Upon the gloomy shores of sluggish Styx, + A surge of sorrow laps my leaden soul, + For that which was at "two" is now "one--six." + "Come, disappointment, come!" as has been said + By someone else who quailed 'neath Fortune's frown, + Stab to the core the heart that once has bled, + (For "heart" read "pocket")--wool, ah! wool is down. + + "And in the lowest deep a lower deep," + Thou sightless seer, indeed it may be so, + The road to--well, we know--is somewhat steep, + And who shall stay us when that road we go? + Thrice cursed wire, whose lightning strikes to blast, + Whose babbling tongue proclaims throughout the town + The news, which, being ill, has travelled fast, + The dire intelligence that--wool is down. + + A rise in copper and a rise in jute, + A fall alone in wool--but what a fall! + Jupp must have made a pile this trip, the brute, + He don't deserve such splendid luck at all. + The smiles for him--for me the scalding tears; + He's worth ten thousand if he's worth a crown, + While I--untimely shorn by Fate's harsh shears-- + Feel that my game is up when wool is down. + Bolter, take back these prancing greys of thine, + Remove as well the vanquished warrior's bays, + My fortunes are not stable, they decline; + Aye, even horses taunt me with their neighs. + And thou, sweet puppy of the "Lightning" breed, + Through whose fleet limbs I pictured me renown, + Hie howling to thy former home with speed, + Thy course with me is up--for wool is down. + + Why, Jane, what's this--this pile of letters here? + Such waste of stamps is really very sad. + Your birthday ball! Oh, come! not _twice_ a year, + Good gracious me! the woman must be mad. + You'd better save expense at once, that's clear, + And send a bellman to invite the town! + There--there--don't cry; forgive my temper, dear, + But put these letters up--for wool is down. + + My station "Gerringhup"--yes, that must go, + Its sheep, its oxen, and its kangaroos, + First 'twas the home of blacks, then whites, we know, + Now is it but a dwelling for "the blues." + With it I leave the brotherhood of Cash + Who form Australian Fashion's tinsel crown; + I tread along the devious path of Smash, + I go where wool has gone--down, ever down. + + Thus ends my dream of greatness; not for me + The silken couch, the banquet, and the rout, + They're flown--the base _residuum_ will be + A mutton chop and half a pint of stout-- + Yet will I hold a corner in my soul + Where Hope may nestle safe from Fortune's frown. + Thou hoodwinked jade! my heart remaineth whole-- + I'll keep my spirits up--though wool be down. + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE BURIES ITS DEAD._ + +BY LIEUT.-COLONEL W. T. REAY. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + +How am I to describe the sadly impressive scene at Modder River on the +evening of the 13th of December? The sun has just set, and the period of +twilight has commenced. The great heat of the day has passed, and +although there is not a breath of wind, the air is cool and refreshing. +The whole British camp at Modder River is astir. Not, however, with the +always gay bustle of warlike preparations; not with the laughter and +jest which--such strange creatures are we--almost invariably come from +the lips of men who dress for the parade which precedes a plunge into +battle. There is this evening a solemn hush over the camp, and the men +move from their lines in irregular and noiseless parties, for the time +their pipes put out of sight, and their minds charged with serious +thought. To what is given this homage of silence as the soldiers gather, +and mechanically, without word of command or even request of any kind, +leave a roadway from the head-quarters' flag to a point a quarter of a +mile away, where a dark mound of upraised earth breaks the monotonous +flatness of the whitey-green veldt? For these are mere spectators, +deeply interested, it is true, yet still only spectators. What, then, is +afoot? Civilians, hats off, and attention everyone. The Highland Brigade +is about to bury its dead. + +Stand here at the head of the lines of spectator soldiers--here where +that significant mound is; here at the spot selected as a last +resting-place--and observe. The whole Brigade, some of the regiments +sadly attenuated, is on parade, and has formed funeral procession, under +Colonel Pole-Carew. First come the pipers, and it is seen that they have +for the nonce discarded their service kit, and are in the full dress of +their several clans. "Savage and shrill" is the Byronic description of +the pibroch, which, in the "noon of night," startled the joyous +revellers before Waterloo. Now it is a low, deep wail, yet voluminous +and weirdly euphonious, that comes from the music-makers of the +Highlands, and every heart stands still to listen. Oh, so sad it is! +"The Flowers of the Forest"--("He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut +down")--they are--playing, shall I say? No; rather does the music flow +out from the very souls of the pipers in a succession of strangely +harmonious moans, and soul calls to soul. Yet beneath it all, beneath +the dominant note of heart-bursting sorrow, lurks that other +element--"the savage and shrill." Yes, indeed; soul calls to soul +through these pipes--calls for sobs and tears for the brave who have +fallen--calls for vengeance on the yet unbeaten foe. The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead. + +Following the pipers marches a small armed party. It would have been the +firing party, but volleys are not fired over soldiers' graves in time of +war. Then the chaplain, in his robes, preceding the corpse of General +Wauchope (who had fallen at the head of his men), borne on a stretcher. +One of the bearers is of the dead man's kin--a promising young Highland +officer. Then come the several regiments of the Brigade, the Black Watch +leading. The men march with arms reversed, stately, erect, stern, grim. +They lift their feet high for the regulation step of the slow, funeral +march. But observe that even in their grim sternness these men are +quivering with an emotion which they cannot control--an emotion which +passes out in magnetic waves from their ranks to those of their comrade +spectators of England and Ireland, and brings tears to the eyes and +choking sobs to the throats of the strong and the brave. "Talk not of +grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!" The Highland +Brigade is burying its dead. + +In a separate grave, at the head of a long, shallow trench, the body of +General Wauchope is laid, in sight of and facing the foe. The chaplain +advances, and the solemn service for the dead is recited in a clear and +markedly Scotch voice, while all bow their heads and either listen or +ponder. A grief-stricken kinsman's quivering hand drops earth upon the +body at the words, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," and the grave of the +General is quickly filled in. There, beside the trench, already lie the +corpses of fifty officers and men. They had been carried to the burial +place earlier in the day. There, at the end nearer to the General's +grave, the officers are laid. Beside them their comrades of minor rank +in life, all brought to a worldly level by the hand of death, are placed +in the trench. It is an excavation only about three feet deep, but it is +twelve feet wide, and the dead men are put feet to feet in two parallel +rows, twenty-five on each side. They are fully attired, just as they +were brought in from the battlefield, and each is wrapped in his +blanket. The sporan is turned over on to the dead face, and the kilt +thrown back, the rigid limbs showing bare and scarred in the unfilled +trench. The Highland Brigade is burying its dead. + +Once more the chaplain steps forward, and a new funeral service is +commenced. Again great, powerful men weep. Some grow faint, some pray, +some curse. "Oh, God! oh, God!" is the cry which comes from bursting +hearts as comrades are recognised, and soil is sprinkled over them by +hard, rough hands, which tremble now as they never trembled in the face +of a foe. Then the burial parties get to work, gently as a sweet woman +tucks the bedclothes round her sleeping child. The soft soil falls +kindly upon the shreds of humanity beneath. Men cease to weep, and +catch something of the "rapture of repose" of which a poet has sung. +Mother Earth has claimed her own, and the brave are sleeping their last +sleep in her kindly embrace. Again the dirge of the pipes, and the sweet +strains of "Lochaber no more" fill the evening air. The Highland Brigade +is burying its dead. + +Meanwhile, the cable has carried its budget of sad messages to the old +land. There, in a wee cottage by the bonnie burn side, the bereaved +mother bows her aged head and says, "Thy will be done." There also the +heart-broken once wife, newly-made widow, pours out the anguish of her +soul as she clasps her fatherless bairn to her warm bosom. Her man comes +no more. For the Highland Brigade has buried its dead. + + + + +_AUSTRALIA'S CALL TO ARMS._ + +BY JOHN B. O'HARA, M.A. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Sons of ocean-girdled islands, + Where the southern billows sigh, + Wake! arise! the dread Bellona + Speeds her chariot through the sky; + Yea, the troubled star of danger + On Britannia shineth down-- + Wake! arise! maintain her glory + And renown, and renown! + + In the hour of Britain's peril + Shall we falter, while the fires + Still are glowing on our altars + From the ashes of our sires? + Ho! brave hearts, for Britain's honour, + For the lustre of her crown, + Wake! arise! maintain her glory + And renown, and renown! + + Ye are children of a nation, + Ye are scions of the sires + That of old were in the vanguard + Of the world's wide empires! + With the spirit of your fathers, + With the fulness of their fame, + Wake! arise! maintain the honour + Of her name, of her name! + + Long to Britain may "the crimson + Thread of kinship" bind our wings!-- + Crimson thread that slowly slackens + As the newer race upsprings: + Sons of heroes, men of courage + That reverse could never tame, + Wake! arise! maintain the glory + Of her name, of her name! + + See! the star of ancient Britain, + That hath never known decline, + By your valour lit up newly, + With a glow of fiercer shine, + O'er the burning sands of Afric, + With your loyalty aflame; + Once again maintain the glory + Of her name, of her name! + + + + +_GOOD NEWS._ + + + Moostarchers and hair black as jet, + Tall and thin, with a sad kind of smile; + Soft-handed, soft-voiced, but well set-- + A New Chum in manners and style. + That's him, sir--that's him; he's been here + A matter of nigh fourteen weeks, + Which I know by the rent in arrear, + Though a gent--you can tell when he speaks-- + Came one night about eight, hired the room + Without board--it's four shillings, and cheap, + Though I say it, and me and the broom, + And good yaller soap for its keep; + And a widow with nine, which the twins-- + Bless their 'arts--are that sturdy and bold + At their tricks soon as daylight begins, + Even now when it's perishing cold + O' mornings; and Betsy, my girl, + As answered the door, sir, for you, + She's so slow for her age, though a pearl + When there's any long job to get through; + And Bobby--but there, I forgot; + You'll pardon a mother, I know. + Well, for six weeks he paid up his shot, + And then I could see funds was low. + He dressed just as neat, but his coat + Got buttoned up nigher his chin, + And the scarf twisted round his poor throat + Missed a friend in the shape of a pin. + So the rent it run on, for, says I, + He's out of his luck, I can see, + And wants all his money to buy + His wittles (you brat, let that be). + Where he works I can't tell, but he's out + Every morning at nine from the house, + And he comes back at six or about, + And ups to his room like a mouse. + On Sundays the same, so I s'pose + He visits his friends on that day, + But where it may be that he goes + It's not in my knowledge to say. + He ain't well. I can tell by his walk; + He's as thin as a lath, and _that_ pale; + But I never could get him to talk, + So I can't rightly guess what may ail. + He never sends out for no beer, + He don't smoke, and as far as I see, + Beyond the few clothes he brought here, + And a desk, he's as hard up as me. + What! you bring him good news; I _am_ glad! + A fortune! ten thousand! Oh, la! + That's the physic for _you_, my poor lad. + This way, sir; it's not very far. + Mind that stair, please--the banister's broke. + Here's his door; hush, I'll knock. Ah! asleep. + Can't help it--you'd better be woke; + The news is too pretty to keep. + Ain't he sound, eh? Poor fellow, he's rocked + To rest in the Kingdom of Nod. + We'd better go in. It's not locked. + Follow me, sir. All dark. Oh! my God! + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_FREE TRADE v. PROTECTION._ + + + Yes, they were boys together in the grand old Fatherland, + They fubbed at taw together, played truant hand-in-hand, + They sucked each other's toffy, they cribbed each other's tops, + They pledged eternal friendship in an ounce of acid drops. + + With no tie of blood between them, a greater bond was theirs, + Cemented by the constant swop of apples, nuts, and pears; + And when to manhood they had grown, with manhood's hispid chins, + They held as close together still as Siam's famous twins. + + And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he + Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be, + So Jobbins came with Dobbins across the restless main, + And they traded as D., J. & Co., and gained much worldly gain. + + Each gave the other dinners, each drank the other's health, + Each looked upon the other as a "mine of mental wealth," + And Dobbins swore by Jobbins, and Jobbins vowed that he + Would never break with Dobbins, whate'er their fate might be. + + But ah! for human nature--alas for human kind-- + There came a cloud between them, with a lot more clouds behind. + The Tariff was the demon fell which sad disruption made, + For our Dobbins loved Protection, while our Jobbins loved Free + Trade. + + As partners now in business, they could no more agree, + So they forthwith dissoluted and halved the L s. d. + And the fiercest opposition in every sort of way, + Was carried on by Dobbins _versus_ Jobbins day by day. + + Then Dobbins entered Parliament, and so did Jobbins too, + And each upheld his principles amidst that motley crew-- + And the side that Dobbins voted with were victors of the hour. + And Dobbins was made Treasurer while Jobbins' grapes were sour. + + Then Dobbins went to work with glee, protecting everything, + And gave his pet proclivities the very fullest swing, + Set all the manger-loving dogs a-barking in his praise, + And raised the Tariff up kite-high, a real four-aces' raise. + + He taxed the pots, he taxed the pans, he taxed the children's mugs, + He taxed the brooms, he taxed the mops, He taxed the jars and jugs; + In soft and hardware every line was smothered by his dues, + Except the national _tin tax_--the Ministerial _screws_. + + He taxed each article of food, each article of wear, + He even taxed fresh water, and he tried to tax fresh air; + He improvised new duties, new taxes by the score, + And when he stopped awhile to think he taxed his brain for more. + + And not one blessed class of goods was entered at the port, + But what he advaloremed till he made importers snort; + Till even old Protectionists, grown hoary in the cause, + Began to change to fidgets what had started as applause. + + Poor Jobbins suffered hugely by his whilom partner's tricks, + But found it rather dangerous to kick against the pricks; + He had to grin and bear it, as many a worthy man + Has grinned and borne it in his turn since this mad world began. + + Now Dobbins, flushed with Fortune's smiles, his high ambition fed, + Bethought him that the time had come when he might safely wed. + So by the wire electrical, as he had nicely planned, + He sent this loving message to the grand old Fatherland. + + "Matilda, I am ready, with five thousand pounds a-year; + Come out unto your Dobbins, love, and be his bride so dear;" + To which there sped the answer back that very self-same day, + "As soon as I have packed my things, I'm coming straight away." + + Matilda was an heiress of the old blue Bobbins' blood, + Her ancestors owned land and beeves long years before the flood; + One relative, 'tis said, indeed--a chemist, I'll engage-- + Sold bottled Protoplasm in the prehistoric age. + + Our Dobbins and our Jobbins, too, had loved the maid of old, + But Bobbins _pere_ had snubbed them both for lack of needful gold; + Though when the telegram arrived, "Five thousand pounds a-year!" + Pa winked a playful little wink--and said, "Be off, my dear." + + The packing of her luggage was a most stupendous job, + She'd the miscellaneous wardrobe of the highest sort of nob, + New trousseau, plate, and furniture, and presents from her friends, + And Cockle's pills and raspberry jam, and various odds and ends. + + There were eighty zinc-lined cases and portmanteaus full a score, + Of band and bonnet boxes at least some fifty more, + Of carpet-bags three dozen most plethorically crammed, + With nigh-forgotten articles in one wild chaos jammed. + + Our Venus had a transit out particularly quick, + A glorious _transit mundi_, but without the usual _sic_ (k); + Till one fine day she gazed upon the far-famed, Austral strand. + One eye upon her luggage, and one eye upon the land. + + The vessel berthed beside the pier; Matilda's future lord, + The "Honourable Dobbins," stepped jauntily on board; + He clasped the maiden to his breast, nor heeded that close by + The melancholy Jobbins stood with sad reproachful eye. + + "Come, come, my love!" says Dobbins, "let's get your things ashore; + I have a cab in waiting here to take them to my store." + "A cab!" cried she--"twice twenty cabs would not for me suffice; + Behold my things!" He started, as though stung by cockatrice. + + "That lofty mountain yonder, which high its head erects, + That Alp of packing cases--are those, dear, your effects?" + "Of course they are, beloved, for keeping house with _you_, + Enough to furnish us complete, and everything _quite new!_" + + He staggered as if hearing news of pestilence or dearth, + Then gasped in low and anxious tones, "And what's the whole lot + worth?" + She thought that his emotion spoke of joy that knew no bounds, + And whispered gaily in his ear, "Some forty thousand pounds!" + + He bit his lips, he ground his teeth, he tore out hunks of hair, + He looked the full embodiment of desperate despair; + Then with a shriek of agony, the hideous truth found vent, + "There's _ad valorem_ on the lot of ninety-five per cent.! + + "My new amended Tariff comes in force this very day, + I little dreamt that you and I should be the first to pay; + Besides, I haven't got the cash! oh dear, how bad I feel!" + The maiden smiled a scornful smile and turned upon her heel. + + The miserable Dobbins gave a second piercing shriek, + Then leaped into the briny flood, and stayed there for a week; + Though Jobbins tried to find him hard, but failed, with these + remarks, + "He always _was_ too deep for me--besides, there might be sharks." + + The very night of Dobbins' loss, the Ministry went out, + The Jobbins' party took their place 'midst many a ringing shout; + And of our Jobbins in a trice, their Treasurer they made. + Because, as everybody knew, he gloried in Free Trade. + + He took the dues off everything, from thimbles up to tanks, + And passed Miss Bobbins' goods himself, and won that virgin's + thanks; + And what is more, he won her hand, her chattels and her heart, + And she is Mrs. Jobbins now, till death them twain doth part. + + As Dobbins to import his love had spared nor cash nor pains-- + They raised a handsome monument above his cold remains; + The carved inscription to this day is there his tale to tell, + "He _did_ his duties--and himself--not wisely but too well." + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE LION'S CUBS._ + +PATRIOTIC SONG AND CHORUS. + + + Australia's sons are we, + And the freest of the free, + But Love enchains us still with fetters strong + To the dear old land at Home, + Far across the rolling foam-- + The little isle to which our hearts belong. + It shall always be our boast, + Our bumper-honoured toast, + That, should Britain bid us help her, we'll obey; + Then, if e'er the call is made, + And Old England needs our aid, + These are the words Australia's sons will say-- + + There is not a strong right hand, + Throughout this Southern land, + But will draw a sword in dear old England's cause; + Our numbers may be few, + But we've loyal hearts and true, + And the Lion's cubs have got the Lion's claws. + + From our ocean-guarded strand, + O'er the sunny plains inland, + To the cloud-kissed mountain summits faint and far, + Australians bred and born, + Behold yon banner torn, + And greet it with a lusty-lunged hurrah! + 'Tis the brave old Union Jack, + That nothing can beat back-- + Ever waving where the brunt of battle lies; + For each frayed and faded thread + Britain counts a hero dead, + Who died to gain the liberties we prize. + + Then there's not, &c. + + The ever-honoured name + On the bright bead-roll of Fame, + That our fathers held through all the changing Past, + In it we claim our share, + And by Saint George we swear, + We can keep that name untarnished to the last; + Then, when the hour arrives, + We will give our very lives + For the dearest land of all the lands on earth, + And, foremost in the fray, + Show Britain's foes the way + Australia's sons can prove their British birth. + + Yes, there's not, &c. + + Sons of the South, unite + In federated might, + The Champions of your Country and your Queen; + From New Zealand's glacier throne + To the burning Torrid Zone, + We'll prove that welded steel is tough and keen. + The wide world shall be shown + That we mean to hold our own + In the home of our adoption, free and fair; + And if the Lion needs, + He shall see, by doughty deeds, + How his Austral cubs can guard their father's lair. + + For there's not, &c. + + GARNET WALCH. + + + + +_THE LITTLE DUCHESS._ + +BY ETHEL TURNER. + + "The tale is as old as the Eden tree, + And new as the new-cut tooth." + + +He was the clerk of the cash tramway, and when the rolling balls gave +him a moment's leisure, used to look down from his high perch at the big +shop beneath his feet, and, in his slow, quiet style, study the ways of +the numberless assistants whose life-books thus opened to him so many of +their pages. + +Lately there had come to the place a slight, grey-eyed girl, who wore +her black dress with such grace, and held her small head with such +dignity, that he whimsically had named her to himself "The Little +Duchess." He liked to look down and catch a glint of her hair's sunshine +when his brain was dulled with calculating change, and his fingers ached +with shutting cash-balls and dispatching them on their journeys. And he +used to wonder greatly how any customer could hesitate to buy silks and +satins when their lustre and sheen were displayed by her slim little +fingers and the quality descanted on with so persuasive a smile. There +were handsomer girls in the shop, girls with finer figures and better +features; but, to the boy in his mid-air cage, there was none with the +nameless dainty charms that made the little Duchess so lovable. + +For, of course, he did love her. In less than two months he had begun to +watch for her cash-ball with a trembling eagerness, to smooth out and +stroke gently the bill her fingers had written, and to wrap it and its +change up again with a careful tenderness that no one else's change and +bill received. He had spoken to her half-a-dozen times in all; twice at +the door on leaving--weather remarks, to which she had responded +graciously; once or twice about bills that she had come to rectify at +the desk, and once he had had the great good fortune to find and return +a handkerchief she had dropped. Such a pretty, ridiculous atom of muslin +it was, with a fanciful "Nellie" taking up one quarter, and some +delicate scent lending such subtle fascination that it was a real wrench +for the lad to take the handkerchief from his breast-pocket and proffer +it to her. + +So great a wrench, indeed, that he profferred his love, too, humbly, but +fervently, and received a very wondering look from the grey eyes, a +badly-concealed smile, a "Thank you" for the handkerchief, and a "No, +thank you" for the love. + +He had kissed her, though, and that was some consolation afterwards to +his sore spirit, kissed her right upon the sweet, scarlet lips which had +said "No" so decidedly, and then, bold no longer, had fled the shelter +of the friendly packing-cases, and beaten a retreat to his desk aloft. + +That was nearly a fortnight ago; not once since had she spoken to him, +and to-day he was feeling desperate. + +It had been a very busy morning, and he had found hardly a second to +raise his eyes from his work. The one time he had looked down she had +been busy with a customer--a girl prettily dressed and golden-headed +like herself. That had been at about ten o'clock. Before twelve her +cash-box, with the notch upon it that his penknife had made, rolled down +its line, and he opened it as he had opened it twenty times that +morning; but this time it bore his fate. With the bill was a little +twisted note, on which "John Walters, private," was written, and the +boy's very heart leaped at the sight. Down below, customers wearily +waited for change, and anxiously watched for their own particular ball +while the _deus ex machina_ read again and again, with eager eyes: +"Please will you meet me at lunch-time in the Strand? Do, if you can. I +am in trouble. You said you loved me." Then, as he began mechanically to +manipulate the waiting balls, he looked down to the accustomed place of +the little Duchess. She was pale, he saw, and her lips trembled oddly +now and again. There was a frightened look in her grey eyes, and once or +twice he thought he noticed a sparkle as of tears. + +At lunch-time he actually tore through the shop and away down to the +appointed place. She was there--still pale, still nervous and +fluttering. + +"Let us go to the Gardens. It's quieter," he said, putting a great +restraint upon himself; then, when at last they were within the gates, +"God bless you for this, Nellie." + +"What?" said the girl, with uncertainty, but not looking at the plain, +rugged face that was all aglow with love for her. + +"For telling me about the worry--asking me to come. Oh, God bless you, +Nellie! Now tell me." + +She sat down on a seat and began to cry, quietly and miserably, till the +boy was almost beside himself. At last, between the sobs, he learned her +trouble, which was grave indeed. She and her sister had very much +wanted to go to a certain ball, and, more than that, to have new dresses +for it, of soft white Liberty silk, such as she cut off daily for +fortunate customers. But her purse was empty, so, in their emergency, +the sisters had hit upon a plan, questionable, indeed, but not +dishonestly meant. The sister came to the silk counter and purchased +thirty yards of silk, paying 15_s._ for it instead of L3 15_s._ + +"That was on account; I was only taking a little credit, like other +customers," said the little Duchess, with a haughty movement of the +head. "On Saturday I was going to make out a bill for an imaginary +customer, and send the L3 up to the desk to you. Don't imagine I would +really wrong the firm by a halfpenny." + +"Oh, no," cried the boy eagerly; "it's all right." + +"That's not all." The girl began to cry again, hopelessly, miserably. "I +had no money to get the dresses made, and the next customer paid L2 +10_s._, and--and--I only sent 10_s._ up to you--I wanted to make it just +L5 I had borrowed. I thought I might borrow enough, as I was +borrowing--don't forget, I would rather have died than have stolen the +L5, Mr. Walters." + +"Of course, of course, I understand," said the cash clerk, seeing it was +a worse fix than he had imagined, but longing to take her in his arms +and kiss away the tears. + +"And then that horrid Mr. Greaves, who signed first in a hurry, asked +for my book and took it for something, and then sent it up to the desk, +and the figures are all confused, and the check-leaf isn't the same as I +sent to you. I hadn't time to make it right, and when the books are +compared to-night it will be noticed, and I shall get into +trouble--and, oh, I am so miserable!" The little Duchess was sobbing +pitifully. + +He kissed her, this time in earnest; on the lips, the cheeks, the hair, +the tear-wet eyes. He only recollected himself when a gardener's form, +and especially his smile, obtruded themselves upon their notice, and +they sat apart looking foolish until the two o'clock bells made them +hurry back to the shop. + +"I'll put everything right--don't you worry," he said; and she smiled +relievedly and went to her counter. + +That afternoon he did what all the other years of his life he had deemed +it impossible for him to do. He made a neat alteration in his books so +that the L5 in question would not be missed. To-morrow, he resolved, he +would take L5 of his own and pay it into the account of the firm. The +little Duchess should be his debtor, and run no more risks. But, alas, +for the morrow! + +Before he had fairly taken his seat in the morning--before Nellie had +finished fastening at her neck the violets he had brought her--some +words were said at his elbow, and he slowly became aware that he--surely +it was a dream!--was being arrested for defalcations in his accounts. He +learned that for some time past the firm had been aware of considerable +discrepancies in the books, and had placed a detective-accountant in the +office. Last night, for the first time, the man had discovered, as he +thought, a clue, and had convinced the firm that in Walters he had found +the offender. + +The lad was ashen pale, horror stricken, as he realised how these things +must go against him. He could not drag in the name of the little +Duchess--even if he did, it would not avail him much; he certainly had +altered his books, and to mention the girl's share would only be to have +two of them brought to trial, and perhaps to gaol. The little Duchess in +gaol! That hair catching the prison-yard sunshine! That slender form +clad in the garments of shame! The boy drew a deep breath, gave one very +wistful glance at the silk counter, and then walked straight to the +manager's room, followed by the policeman. + +"I took the L5 yesterday, and brought it back to-day. On my oath before +God, sir, I have never misapplied one farthing of my moneys." + +His voice trembled in its eagerness, the deep-set eyes gleamed, and the +white lips worked. + +"Your purpose, Walters?" + +The manager looked hard, disbelieving. + +"Direst need. Oh, believe me, sir, I have served you three years +honestly as man can serve--yesterday I borrowed this money and brought +it back this morning--don't ruin my whole life for that one act." + +"Your pressing need yesterday?" + +John drew a deep breath again. + +"I--can't well tell you." + +Then the heads of the firm came in, indignant at their misused trust, +and they scorned his story. The defalcations amounted to almost L50 in +all, and he had confessed to L5, which had been found upon him. Of +course, he and no other was the offender, and they must teach their +employes a lesson. So John walked down that long shop by the side of the +official, his head very erect, his face pale, and his knees shaking; all +his life he would remember the glances of pity, curiosity, and disdain +that met him on every side. As he passed the silk counter, the little +Duchess was measuring a great piece of rose-red, sheeny satin, that +gleamed warm and beautiful beneath her hands. She was very white, and in +her eyes was a look of abject horror and entreaty; his eyes reassured +her, and he passed on and out of the door. All his life he would +remember that rose-red satin and its brilliant, glancing lights. + +After the trial everyone thought him fortunate to get only two years, +and the little Duchess, who had grown thin and old-looking in the +interval, breathed freely as she read the account in the papers, and saw +that her name was not even mentioned in connection with the matter. He +wrote to her a loving, boyish letter, and told her she must be true to +him till he came out, and that then they would be married and go away +where this could never be heard of. + +It was no small thing he had done for her, he knew; and, as he was not +more than human, he expected his reward. And the little Duchess had +cried quietly over the letter, and for several days cut off silk and +satin with a pensive, unhappy look that quite touched her +customers--those few among them who realised that it was human flesh and +blood at the other side of the yard measure. + + * * * * * + +Twenty months later the little Duchess was at the same counter measuring +silk and satin for the stock-taking, when a note was brought to her in a +writing she remembered too well. + +"I got out to-day, Nellie. Come down to the Gardens in the lunch-time." + +She hesitated when the time came, but he might come to the shop, and +that would never do. So she put her hat on thoughtfully and set out for +the Gardens. + +He was awaiting her on the seat where, nearly two years ago, the +gardener had smiled at them. He stood up as she came slowly towards him, +and for a minute they gazed at each other without speaking. + +She was in black, of course, but fresh and dainty-looking, with a bunch +of white chiffon at her throat, little tan shoes on her feet, and her +hair showing golden against the black of her lace hat. + +For him, his face had altered and hardened; the once thick, curling hair +was horribly short, his hands were rough and unsightly, his clothes hung +awkwardly upon him, and his linen was doubtful. + +"The little Duchess!" he said, dully; then he put out his hand, took her +small gloved one, and looked at it curiously. + +"I--I am glad you're out," she said, carefully looking away from him. + +"Yes--we must be married now, Nellie; that's all I've had to think about +all this awful time." + +His face flushed a little and his eyes lightened. + +"It's good not to see the walls," he added, looking round at the +spring's brave show, then away to the blue sparkle in the bay and the +glancing sails. + +"We mustn't talk of that time, though, ever--eh, Nellie?" + +"No," she said, regarding her brown shoes intently. + +His eye noted the smooth roundness of her cheek, the delicate pink that +came and went, the turn of the white neck. + +"Aren't you going to kiss me, Nellie?" he said, slowly; and he drew her +a little strangely and awkwardly to him. + +Then she spoke. + +"I knew it wouldn't be any use, and you'd never have any money or get a +place after this. We couldn't be married on nothing, and it would only +drag you down to have me, too. I'm not worthy of you." + +"Well, little Duchess," he said, softly, as she stopped and faltered; a +slow smile crept over his face, and his deep-set eyes lighted up with +tenderness. + +Not worthy, his little Duchess! + +Then the crimson rushed into her face, and she flung up her head +defiantly. + +"I married the new shop-walker, four months ago!" + + + + +_AUSTRALIA'S SPRINGTIME._ + + + 'Tis a bright September morning, and Australia's golden Spring + Is awak'ning every flow'ret, and retouching every wing; + Everywhere the yellow blossoms of the wattle are in view-- + Even has the solemn gum tree taken on a lighter hue; + And the earth is cover'd over with a vest of fresher green, + And the clear cool air adds brightness to the beauty of the scene. + Now the cockatoo's hoarse screaming, and the magpie's cheery call + Sound in chorus to the music of the plashy waterfall. + Overhead the deep, clear azure is just fleck'd with snowy clouds, + And the green and crimson parrots fly around in chatt'ring crowds; + Far away is all the bustle of the smoky, restless town, + And the timid kangaroo upon the grass lies fearless down; + Nature calmly lieth waiting, in her peaceful solitude, + For the dawning of the morning bright with hopes of future good: + Lies as she has lain for ages, by the white man's foot untrod, + Like a glorious new creation, freshly from the hand of God. + + 'Tis Australia's golden Springtime, and the vision, fresh and green, + Of the lonely, peaceful country, is a swiftly changing scene; + First a few white tents embosom'd 'mid the thickly growing trees, + And the sound of human labour floating on the passing breeze. + First a village--then a city--with an everswelling tide + Passing thro' its busy markets--stretching outwards far and wide; + And while the growing nation overspreads the smiling land, + Nature opens up her treasures with a free and lavish hand: + O'er the verdant fields are roaming flocks and herds of sheep and + kine-- + Deep beneath the sunlit surface works the toiler in the mine-- + Education and religion build their temples o'er the plain, + And the iron horse moves swiftly past broad fields of golden grain, + Where a plenteous harvest ripens to reward the toiler's care, + And each honest, willing worker may obtain a rightful share. + Blessed peace and glorious freedom banish far the warrior's sword-- + Fancy seems to gaze enraptur'd on a Paradise restored! + + 'Tis the Springtime of Australia, and the dazzled eye may see + Wondrous dreams of future greatness--of the glories yet to be: + Visions--not of martial conquest--not of courage, blood and fire-- + But of lands by noble actions growing greater, grander, higher! + Of the wond'ring nations turning--gazing with expectant eyes, + While oppress'd and toiling millions feel new hopes and thoughts + arise + In the march of human progress as Australia leads the van + To the world's great Federation, and the "parliament of Man!" + Such the triumphs--aye, and grander, that the coming days shall see + If Australia but be faithful to her glorious destiny; + With the smile of Heav'n upon her in the future, as the past, + Sweeping back the threat'ning war-clouds that her sky may overcast-- + Like a stately white-wing'd vessel she shall keep her steadfast + way-- + Peace, o'er all her wide dominions, ruling with unbroken sway; + And her progress be continued till the wings of Time are furled-- + Her glorious page the brightest in the history of the world! + + W. L. LUMLEY. + + + + +_THE MAN THAT SAVED THE MATCH._ + +BY DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Our church ain't reckoned very big, but then the township's small-- + I've seen the time when there was seats and elbow-room for all. + The women-fold would come, of course, but working chaps was rare; + They'd rather loaf about and smoke, and take the Sunday air. + But now there's hardly standing room, and you can fairly say + There ain't a man we like as well as quiet Parson Grey. + + We blokes was great for cricket once, we'd held our own so long, + In all the townships round about our team was reckoned strong; + And them that didn't use to play could barrack pretty fair, + They liked the leather-hunting that they didn't have to share. + A team from town was coming up to teach us how to play-- + We meant to show what we could do upon that Christmas Day. + + The stumps were pitched at two o'clock, but Lawson's face was grim + (Lawson was Captain of the team, our crack we reckoned him), + For Albert Wilson hadn't come, the safest bat of all, + With no one there to take his place he counted on a fall. + "Who could we get? There's no one here it's worth our while to play + In place of Albert." At his side was standing Parson Grey. + + "I used to wield the willow once," the Parson softly said; + "If you have no one for the tail, you might take me instead." + The Captain bit his fair moustache--he seemed inclined to swear; + But answered sulkily enough, "All right, sir; I don't care. + There's no one here is worth his salt with breaking balls to play." + "I'll try and do my best for you," said quiet Parson Grey. + + "His best," Bill Lawson said to me, "what's that, I'd like to know? + To spoon an easy ball to point, and walk back sad and slow, + Miss every catch that comes to him and fumble every ball, + And lose his way about the field at every 'over' call. + The blooming team can go below after this Christmas Day; + I'm hanged if I'm to captain it when parsons start to play." + + Bill won the toss, we went in first. I might as well say here + That I'm a weary kind of bat--to stick in for a year. + I can't hit out--it ain't no use; it saddens me to think + A bloke that bowled against us once has taken since to drink. + He couldn't get my wicket, and his balls came in that way + I batted through the innings without a run all day. + + The fun began. By George! to think the way our stumps went down! + Our boys was made the laughing-stock for them swell-blokes from + town. + I kept my end up--that was all, Lawson was bowled first ball, + And six of them went strolling back without a run at all. + Nine wickets down for fourteen runs was all our score that day + When the last man came in to bat, and that was Parson Grey. + + The bowler with the break from leg sent down a hardish ball, + I thought to see the parson squirm and hear the wicket fall; + It didn't happen, for he played a pretty forward stroke; + I knew that moment he could bat, that quiet preaching bloke. + And when a careless ball came down the boys began to roar, + He drove it hard along the ground--we took and run a four. + + Then it was "over," and of course mine was a maiden one, + I broke the bowler's hearts that day for just a single run. + The Parson played a dashing game, his cuts were clean and fine; + I only wish that strokes like them could now and then be mine. + He had a fifty to his name in just an hour's play, + And then--well, then--I run him out, I own, that Christmas Day. + + "By George," said Lawson, "who'd have thought that he could bat so + well! + I could have gone and drowned myself when Bryant's wicket fell; + But, man, he must have been a bat when he was at his best, + I'm glad that Wilson wasn't here, or any of the rest; + Now, if our chaps are on the spot, and bowl as well to-day, + We'll give them news to carry home how country clubs can play." + + Our bowling always has been fair; we couldn't well complain; + We got a wicket now and then--they didn't fall like rain; + But runs were coming rather slow, and fifty was the score + When the ninth man was given out--an honest "leg before." + It was a single innings game, and plainly on the play + It seemed the glory would be ours upon that Christmas Day. + + Last man! The bowling crack came in--of course he couldn't bat, + He could lash out and chance the stroke to show us what was what; + Our hopes were down to freezing-point, twelve runs were to his + score, + To win the match he only had to hit another four. + He swiped; we groaned to think that we were beaten after all; + The stroke was high--a splendid catch--_the Parson held the ball_. + + Then how we yelled, and yelled again; he'd fairly won the match-- + The splendid batting that he showed, the more than splendid catch; + Why, chaps, you'd hardly credit it, that almost every bloke + Goes into church on Sunday now, and does without his smoke; + And no one's likely to forget that sunny Christmas Day, + When we were all surprised a bit at quiet Parson Grey. + + + + +_ODE FOR COMMONWEALTH DAY_ + +_1st JANUARY, 1901._ + + + Awake! Arise! The wings of dawn + Are beating at the gates of day, + The morning star hath been withdrawn, + The silver vapours melt away. + Rise royally, O sun, and crown + The shoreward billow, streaming white, + The forelands, and the mountains brown, + With crested light; + Flood with soft beams the valleys wide, + The mighty plains, the desert sand, + Till the New Day hath won for bride + This Austral land! + Free-born of nations, virgin white, + Not won by blood, nor ringed with steel. + Thy throne is on a loftier height, + Deep-rooted in the commonweal. + O thou, for whom the strong have wrought, + And poets sung with souls aflame, + Born of long hope and patient thought, + A mighty name-- + We pledge thee faith that shall not swerve, + Our land, our lady, breathing high + The thought that makes it love to serve, + And life to die! + + Now are thy maidens linked in love, + Who erst have striven for pride of place; + Lifted all meaner thoughts above + They greet thee, one in heart and race; + She, in whose sunlit coves of peace + The navies of the world may rest, + And bear her wealth of snowy fleece + Northward and west. + And she, whose corn and rock-hewn gold + Built that Queen City of the South, + Where the lone billow swept of old + Her harbour-mouth. + + Come, too, thou Sun-maid, in whose veins + For ever burns the tropic fire + Whose cattle roam a thousand plains, + Come, with thy gold and pearls for tire; + And that sweet Harvester who twines + The tender vine and binds the sheaf; + And she, the Western Queen, who mines + The desert reef; + And thou, against whose flowery throne + And orchards green the wave is hurled; + Australia claims you; ye are one + Before the world. + Crown her--most worthy to be praised-- + With eyes uplifted to the morn; + For, on this day, a flag is raised, + A triumph won, a nation born; + And ye, vast armies of the dead, + From mine and city, plain and sea, + Who fought and dared, who toiled and bled + That this might be, + Draw round us in this hour of fate-- + This golden harvest of thy hand-- + With unseen lips, O consecrate + And bless the land! + + Eternal power, benign, supreme, + Who weigh'st the nations upon earth; + Without whose aid the empire-dream + And pride of states is nothing worth, + From shameless speech, and vengeful deed, + From licence veiled in Freedom's name, + From greed of gold, and scorn of creed, + Guard Thou our fame! + In stress of days that yet may be, + When hope shall rest upon the sword, + In welfare and adversity, + Be with us, Lord! + + GEORGE ESSEX EVANS. + + + + +_A DESPERATE ASSAULT._ + + +I have more than once had reason to admire the British soldier in +battle, but never was there such good ground for admiration as in +watching him prepare. All the blare and tumult, the death and disaster +of actual conflict have no such tense, dramatic, nerve-trying moments as +when a regiment is making ready for some great enterprise. The fight is +a medley of mixed impressions, jostling each other for a moment's +existence ere passing away, but the getting ready is unforgetable. +Everything is clear-cut and within the sum of human emotions--eternal. +So it was with that last grand charge of the Devons, which swept the +Boers from their fringe of the little plateau and finished the long +seventeen hours' ordeal. The enemy were on one side of the Table, we on +the other. A tropical hailstorm howled across it, and beat heavily in +our faces, as Colonel Park led his men up the sheltered face of the +hill, and halted a moment within five yards of the crest, to make ready. +The men knew exactly what they had to do, and the solemnity of a great +and tragic undertaking was upon and about them. All the world for +them--the too brief past with its consequences, the fast-flying present, +and the mysterious beyond--might concentrate in a short desperate dash +across a storm-swept African hilltop. It was the sublimity of life--the +anticipation of death. The Devons were making ready for it, and how +unready a man might feel at such a moment! The line of brown riflemen +stretched away to the left of us, and it seemed that every trivial +action of every man there had become an epic. One noticed most of all +the constant moistening of the dry lips, and the frequent raising of the +water-bottles for a last hurried mouthful. One man tightened a belt, +another brought his cartridges handier to his right hand, though he was +not to use them. It was something to ease the strain of watching. Every +little thing fixed itself on the mind as a photograph. There was no need +of mental effort to remember. One could not see and forget, and would +not, for his patriotism and his pride of kinship, forget if he could. +Then the low clinking, quivering sound of the steel which died away from +us in a trickle down the ranks as the bayonets were fixed--and a dry, +harsh, artificial laugh, in strong contrast to the quiet of the +scene--everything heard easily somehow above the rush and clatter of the +storm, and lost only for an instant in the sudden bursts of thunder. A +bit of quiet tragedy wedged into the turmoil of the great play, and all +unspeakably solemn and awe-inspiring. One must see to understand it. One +may have seen yet can never describe it. The situation was not for +ordinary language; it was Homeric, over-mastering. + +"Now, then, Devons, get ready." There was a dry catch in the colonel's +voice as he gave the word--and the short sentence was punctuated by the +zip-zip of the Mauser bullets, that for a few precious seconds would +still be flying overhead. There was a quick panting of the breath, a +stiffening of the lines of the faces, that with so many of them was but +the prelude to the rigidity of death. It was waiting for them only a few +yards up, and their manhood was being sorely tried. But the Devons +squared their shoulders, gripped their rifles--bringing them up with the +quick whip of the drill, that was too well ground into them to be +forgotten even then. A prompt dressing by the left, and, as though eager +to get it over, the Devons sprang forward to the word into the double +storm of hail and nickel-plated bullets. The killing suspense was +over--they were in action at last, one's whole heart went with them, and +just for one moment, as they stood fully exposed upon the plateau, it +seemed to the watchers that there might be disaster. They had slightly +miscalculated the enemy's strongest point, and had to wheel by the left. +As they did so the line faltered for a moment. A shiver, a +pendulum-like swaying seemed to run down it; that was the history-making +moment, when the regiment might either do something that ever afterwards +they would try to forget, or that all their countrymen would be proud to +remember--the moment in men's lives which, measured by emotion only, +stretch out into centuries. It was the moment of a life, too, for the +commander of men. His chance had come. + +"Steady, Devons, steady," came the clear ringing call, and then, with +one great surging rush, that gathered momentum even as it lost in fallen +units, the regiment went on. + +Boldly though they had taken and held that hill, prudence came to the +Boer riflemen as these eager bayonets bore down upon them. For a moment +they shot the Devons through and through, and then they ran. At that +moment not a man amongst our common-place, drinking, swearing Tommies +but was exalted, deified--but so many of them were something less of +interest on earth than even a common soldier. Where the regiment had +gone seventy of its dead and wounded littered the hilltop, but still it +was the moment of victory, not of lamentations. It may sound strange to +say that the prelude to a battle, like the preface to a book, can be +greater than the actual battle or the book. But so it seemed to me. +Others might view it differently, but challenge our impressions as we +may in the light of riper history, we shall never alter them. They are +indelible. Overhaul the plates again and again as we please, it will +always be the same picture. + +DONALD MACDONALD ("How we Kept the Flag Flying"). + + + + +_THE GAME OF LIFE._ + + + There's a game much in fashion--I think it's called _Euchre_ + (Though I never have played for pleasure or lucre), + In which, when the cards are in certain conditions, + The players appear to have changed their positions, + And one of them cries in a confident tone, + "I think I may venture to 'go it alone!'" + + While watching the game, 'tis a whim of the bard's + A moral to draw from that skirmish of cards, + And to fancy he finds in the trivial strife + Some excellent hints for the battle of Life; + Where--whether the prize be a ribbon or throne-- + The winner is he who can "go it alone!" + + When great Galileo proclaimed that the world + In a regular orbit was ceaselessly whirled, + And got--not a convert--for all of his pains, + But only derision and prison and chains, + "It moves, _for all that!_" was his answering tone, + For he knew, like the earth, he could "go it alone!" + When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar, + Discovered the laws of each planet and star, + And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name, + Derided his learning and blackened his fame, + "I can wait," he replied, "till the truth you shall own;" + For he felt in his heart he could "go it alone!" + + Alas! for the player who idly depends, + In the struggle of life, upon kindred or friends; + Whatever the value of blessings like these, + They can never atone for inglorious ease, + Nor comfort the coward who finds, with a groan, + That his clutches have left him to "go it alone!" + + There's something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold: + Wealth, family, culture, wit, beauty and gold, + The fortunate owner may fairly regard + As, each in its way, a most excellent card; + Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own, + Unless you've the courage to "go it alone!" + + In battle or business, whatever the game, + In law or love, it is ever the same; + In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf, + Let this be your motto, "RELY ON YOURSELF!" + For, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne, + The victor is he who can "go it alone!" + + JOHN G. SAXE. + + + + +_PREJUDICE._ + + + I was climbing up a mountain path, + With many things to do, + Important business of my own, + And other people's too, + When I ran against a Prejudice + That quite cut off the view. + + My work was such as could not wait, + My path quite clearly showed; + My strength and time were limited; + I carried quite a load, + And there that bulking Prejudice + Sat all along the road. + + So I spoke to him politely, + For he was huge and high, + And begged that he would move a bit, + And let me travel by-- + He smiled, but as for moving-- + He didn't even try. + + And then I reasoned quietly + With that colossal mule; + The time was short, no other path, + The mountain winds were cool-- + I argued like a Solomon, + He sat there like a fool. + + Then I flew into a passion, + I danced and howled and swore; + I pelted and belaboured him + Till I was stiff and sore; + He got as mad as I did-- + But he sat there as before. + + And then I begged him on my knees-- + I might be kneeling still, + If so I hoped to move that mass + Of obdurate ill-will-- + As well invite the monument + To vacate Bunker's Hill! + + So I sat before him helpless, + In an ecstasy of woe-- + The mountain mists were rising fast, + The sun was sinking slow-- + When a sudden inspiration came, + As sudden winds do blow. + + I took my hat, I took my stick, + My load I settled fair, + I approached that awful incubus, + With an absent-minded air-- + And I walked directly through him, + As if he wasn't there! + + CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON. + + + + +_THE POOR AND THE RICH._ + + + The rich man's son inherits lands, + And piles of brick and stone and gold, + And tender flesh that fears the cold, + Nor dares to wear a garment old; + A heritage, it seems to me, + One would not care to hold in fee. + The rich man's son inherits cares. + The bank may break, the factory burn, + Some breath may burst his bubble shares, + And soft white hands would scarcely earn + A living that would suit his turn; + A heritage, it seems to me, + One would not care to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, + A hardy frame, a hardier spirit, + King of two hands he does his part + In every useful toil and art; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, + A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit, + Content that from enjoyment springs, + A heart that in his labour sings; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + What does the poor man's son inherit? + A patience learned by being poor, + Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it; + A fellow feeling that is sure + To make the outcast bless his door; + A heritage, it seems to me, + A king might wish to hold in fee. + + Oh! rich man's son, there is a toil + That with all others level stands; + Large charity doth never soil, + But only whitens, soft white hands; + This is the best crop from thy lands; + A heritage, it seems to me, + Worth being rich to hold in fee. + Oh! poor man's son, scorn not thy state, + There is worse weariness than thine-- + In being merely rich and great; + Work only makes the soul to shine, + And makes rest fragrant and benign + A heritage, it seems to me, + Worth being poor to hold in fee. + + Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, + Are equal in the earth at last-- + Both, children of the same dear God. + Prove title to your heirship vast, + By record of a well-filled past! + A heritage, it seems to me, + Well worth a life to hold in fee. + + JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + + +_THE ENGINEER'S STORY._ + +(_From the "Denver Post."_) + + + Well, yes, 'tis a hair-curlin' story-- + I would it could not be recalled. + The terrible fright of that hell-tinctured night + Is the cause of my head bein' bald. + I was runnin' the Git-There Express, sir, + On the Yankee Creek Jerkwater line. + An' the track along there was as crooked, I swear, + As the growth of a field pumpkin vine. + My run was a night one, an' nights on the Yank + War as black as the coal piled back there on the tank. + + We pulled out of Tenderfoot Station, + A day and almost a-half late, + An' every durn wheel was a-poundin' the steel + At a wildly extravagant rate. + My fireman kept pilin' the coal in + The jaws of the ol' 94, + Till the sweat from his nose seemed to play through a hose + An' splashed 'round his feet on the floor, + As we thundered along like a demon in flight, + A-rippin' a streak through the breast of the night. + + As we rounded the curve on the mountain, + Full sixty an hour I will swear, + Jest ahead was a sight that with blood-freezin' fright + Would have raised a stuffed buffalo's hair. + The bridge over Ute Creek was burnin', + The flames shootin' up in their glee; + My God! how they gleamed in the air, till they seemed + Like the fiery-tongued imps on a spree-- + Jest snickered an' sparkled an' laughed like they knowed + I'd make my next trip on a different road. + + In frenzy I reached for the throttle, + But 'twas stuck an' refused to obey. + I yelled in affright, for our maddenin' flight + I felt that I never could stay. + Then wildly I grasped the big lever, + Threw her over, then held my hot breath, + An' waited for what I assuredly thought + Was a sure an' terrible death. + Then came the wild crash, an' with horror-fringed yell + Down into that great fiery chasm I fell. + + When I came to myself I was lyin' + On the floor of the bedroom; my wife + Sat astride of my form, and was making it warm + Fur her darlin', you bet your sweet life! + My hair she had clutched in her fingers, + An' was jammin' my head on the floor, + Yet I yelled with delight when I found that my fright + Was a horrible dream, nothin' more. + I had wildly grabb'd one of her ankles, she said, + An' reversed her clear over the head of the bed. + + + + +_SEEING'S NOT BELIEVING._ + + + I saw her, as I fancied, fair, + Yes, fairest of earth's creatures; + I saw the purest red and white + O'erspread her lovely features; + She fainted, and I sprinkled her, + Her malady relieving: + I washed both rose and lily off! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I looked again, again I longed + To breathe love's fond confession + I saw her eyebrows formed to give + Her face its arch expression; + But gum is very apt to crack, + And whilst my breast was heaving, + It so fell out that one fell off! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the tresses on her brow + So beautifully braided; + I never saw in all my life + Locks look so well as they did, + She walked with me one windy day-- + Ye zephyrs, why so thieving? + The lady lost her flaxen wig! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her form, by Nature's hand + So prodigally finished, + She were less perfect if enlarged, + Less perfect if diminished; + Her toilet I surprised--the worst + Of wonders then achieving; + None knew the bustle I perceived! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw, when costly gems I gave, + The smile with which she took them; + And if she said no tender things, + I've often seen her look them; + I saw her my affianced bride, + And then, my mansion leaving, + She ran away with Colonel Jones! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw another maiden soon, + And struggled to detain her; + I saw her plain enough--in fact, + Few women could be plainer; + 'Twas said, that at her father's death + A plum she'd be receiving: + I saw that father's house and grounds! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her mother--she was deck'd + With furbelows and feathers; + I saw distinctly that she wore + Silk stockings in all weathers; + I saw, beneath a load of gems. + The matron's bosom heaving; + I saw a thousand signs of wealth! + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw her father, and I spoke + Of marriage in his study; + But would he let her marry me + Alas! alas! how could he? + I saw him smile a glad consent, + My anxious heart relieving, + And then I saw the settlements + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the daughter, and I named + My moderate finances; + She spurned me not, she gave me one + Of her most tender glances. + I saw her father's bank--thought I, + There cash is safe from thieving; + I saw my money safely lodged: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the bank, the shutters up, + I could not think what they meant, + The old infirmity of firms, + The bank had just stopped payment! + I saw my future father then + Was ruined past retrieving, + Like me, without a single _sou_: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw the banker's wife had got + The fortune settled on her; + What cared he, when the creditors + Talked loudly of dishonour! + I saw his name in the _Gazette_, + But soon I stared, perceiving, + He bought another house and grounds: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw--yes, as plain as could be, + I saw the banker's daughter; + She saw me, too, and called for sal + Volatile and water. + She said that she had just espoused + A rich old man, conceiving + That I was dead or gone to gaol: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + I saw a friend, and freely spoke + My mind on the transaction; + Her brother heard it, and he called, + Demanding satisfaction. + We met--I fell--that brother's ball + In my left leg receiving; + I have two legs, true--_one is cork_: + Oh! seeing's not believing! + + THOMAS HAYNES BAYLEY. + + + + +_CAUDLE HAS BEEN MADE A MASON._ + + +Now, Mr. Caudle--Mr. Caudle, I say: oh! you can't be asleep already, I +know. Now, what I mean to say is this: there's no use, none at all, in +our having any disturbance about the matter; but at last my mind's made +up, Mr. Caudle; I shall leave you. Either I know all you've been doing +to-night, or to-morrow morning I shall quit the house. No, no! There's +an end of the marriage state, I think--and an end of all confidence +between man and wife--if a husband's to have secrets and keep 'em all to +himself. Pretty secrets they must be, when his own wife can't know 'em. +Not fit for any decent person to know, I'm sure, if that's the case. +Now, Caudle, don't let us quarrel, there's a good soul: tell me, what's +it all about? A pack of nonsense, I daresay; still--not that I care much +about it--still, I should like to know. There's a dear. Eh? Oh, don't +tell me there's nothing in it; I know better. I'm not a fool, Mr. +Caudle; I know there's a good deal in it. Now, Caudle, just tell me a +little bit of it. I'm sure I'd tell you anything. You know I would. +Well? + +And you're not going to let me know the secret, eh? You mean to +say--you're not? Now, Caudle, you know it's a hard matter to put me in a +passion--not that I care about the secret itself; no, I wouldn't give a +button to know it, for it's all nonsense, I'm sure. It isn't the secret +I care about; it's the slight, Mr. Caudle; it's the studied insult that +a man pays to his wife, when he thinks of going through the world +keeping something to himself which he won't let her know. Man and wife +one, indeed! I should like to know how that can be when a man's a +Mason--when he keeps a secret that sets him and his wife apart? Ha! you +men make the laws, and so you take good care to have all the best of +them to yourselves; otherwise a woman ought to be allowed a divorce when +a man becomes a Mason--when he's got a sort of corner-cupboard in his +heart, a secret place in his mind, that his poor wife isn't allowed to +rummage. + +Was there ever such a man? A man, indeed! A brute!--yes, Mr. Caudle, an +unfeeling, brutal creature, when you might oblige me, and you won't. I'm +sure I don't object to your being a Mason; not at all, Caudle; I daresay +it's a very good thing; I daresay it is: it's only your making a secret +of it that vexes me. But you'll tell me--you'll tell your own Margaret? +You won't? You're a wretch, Mr. Caudle. + +DOUGLAS JERROLD. + + + + +_MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE._ + + +There, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were +this morning. There, you needn't begin to whistle: people don't come to +bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak, that you don't try to +insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, +you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's +the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon +all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; and it +isn't often I open my mouth, goodness knows! + +Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must +almost swear the roof off the house. You didn't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! +you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a +passion, wer'n't you? Well, then I don't know what a passion is; and I +think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, +to know that. + +It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off +your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never +without a needle-and-thread in my hand; what with you and the children, +I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your +life a button's off your shirt--what do you say "ah" at? I say once, Mr. +Caudle; or twice or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's +buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd +kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to +know where were your buttons then? + +Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me +down. You fly into a rage, and then, if I only try to speak, you won't +hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: +a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a +wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A +pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew +what they had to go through! What with buttons--and one thing and +another! They'd never tie themselves up to the best man in the world, +I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?--Why, do much better without +you, I'm certain. + +And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't off the shirt; +it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you might have something to +talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything. +All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; +for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I +am. I only say it's very odd. + +However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with +your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha, you may laugh! +And I daresay you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; +that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say +nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we shall see how your second wife +will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, +Caudle, you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a +blessed button to your back. + +DOUGLAS JERROLD. + + + + +_JIM BLUDSO._ + + + Wall, no! I can't tell where he lives, + Because he don't live, you see: + Leastways, he's got out of the habit + Of livin' like you and me. + Whar have you been for the last three years, + That you haven't heard folks tell + How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks, + The night of the "Prairie Belle"? + + He warn't no saint--them engineers + Is all pretty much alike-- + One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, + And another one here, in Pike. + A careless man in his talk was Jim, + And an awkward man in a row-- + But he never pinked, and he never lied, + I reckon he never knowed how. + + And this was all the religion he had-- + To treat his engine well; + Never be passed on the river; + To mind the pilot's bell; + And if ever the _Prairie Belle_ took fire, + A thousand times he swore + He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last soul got ashore. + + All boats has their day on the Mississip'. + And her day came at last-- + The _Movastar_ was a better boat, + But the _Belle_, she wouldn't be passed, + And so came tearin' along that night, + The oldest craft on the line, + With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, + And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine. + + The fire bust out as she clared the bar, + And burnt a hole in the night, + And quick as a flash she turned, and made + For that willer-bank on the right. + There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out + Over all the infernal roar, + "I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank + Till the last galoot's ashore." + + Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat + Jim Bludso's voice was heard, + And they all had trust in his cussedness, + And know'd he would keep his word. + And sure's you're born, they all got off + Afore the smoke-stacks fell, + And Bludso's ghost went up alone + In the smoke of the _Prairie Belle_. + + He warn't no saint--but at judgment + I'd run my chance with Jim + 'Longside of some pious gentlemen + That wouldn't shook hands with him. + He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing, + And went for it thar and then; + And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard + On a man that died for men. + + COLONEL JOHN HAY. + + + + +_HOW UNCLE MOSE COUNTED THE EGGS._ + + +Old Mose, who sells eggs and chickens on the streets of Austin for a +living, is as honest an old negro as ever lived; but he has got the +habit of chatting familiarly with his customers, hence he frequently +makes mistakes in counting out the eggs they buy. He carries his wares +around in a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. He stopped in front +of the residence of Mrs. Samuel Burton. The old lady came out to the +gate to make the purchases. + +"Have you got any eggs this morning, Uncle Mose?" she asked. + +"Yes, indeed I has. Jes got in ten dozen from de kentry." + +"Are they fresh?" + +"I gua'ntee 'em. I knows dey am fresh jess de same as ef I had laid 'em +myse'f." + +"I'll take nine dozen. You can count them in this basket." + +"All right, mum." He counts: "One, two, free, foah, five, six, seben, +eight, nine, ten. You kin rely on dem bein' fresh. How's your son comin' +on at de school? He mus' be mos' grown." + +"Yes, Uncle Mose, he is a clerk in a bank at Galveston." + +"Why, how ole am de boy?" + +"He is eighteen." + +"You don't tole me so. Eighteen and gettin' a salary already! eighteen +(counting), nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-free, +twenty-foah, twenty-five, and how's yore gal comin' on? She was mos' +growed up de las' time I seed her." + +"She is married and living in Dallas." + +"Wal, I declar. How de time scoots away! An' yo' say she has childruns? +Why, how ole am de gal? She mus' be about----" + +"Thirty-three." + +"Am dat so? (counting) firty-free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, +firty-seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, +forty-free. Hit am so singular dat you has sich old childruns. I can't +believe you has grand-childruns. You don't look more den forty yeahs old +youself." + +"Nonsense, old man, I see you want to flatter me. When a person gets to +be fifty-three years old----" + +"Fifty-free? I jess dun gwinter b'lieve hit, fifty-free, fifty-foah, +fifty-five, fifty-six--I want you to pay tenshun when I counts de eggs, +so dar'll be no mistake--fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, +sixty-free, sixty-foah--whew! Dat am a warm day. Dis am de time of yeah +when I feels I'se gettin' ole myse'f. I ain't long for dis worl. You +comes from an ole family. When your fodder died he was sebenty years +ole." + +"Seventy-two, Uncle Mose." + +"Dat's ole, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty-free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, +sebenty-six, sebenty-seven, sebenty-eight, sebenty-nine--and your +mudder? she was one ob de noblest lookin' ladies I ebber see. You +reminds me ob her so much. She libbed to mos' a hundred. I bleeves she +was done past a centurion when she died." + +"No, Uncle Mose, she was only ninety-six when she died." + +"Den she wasn't no chicken when she died. I know dat--ninety-six, +ninety-seben, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, two, free, +foah, five, six, seben, eight--dar 108 nice fresh eggs--jess nine dozen, +and heah am one moah egg in case I has discounted myse'f." + +Old Mose went on his way rejoicing. A few days afterward Mrs. Burton +said to her husband, "I am afraid we will have to discharge Matilda. I +am satisfied she steals the milk and eggs. I am positive about the eggs, +for I bought them day before yesterday, and now about half of them are +gone. I stood right there and heard Old Mose count them myself, and +there were nine dozen." + + + + +_THE NEGRO BABY'S FUNERAL._ + + + I was walking in Savannah, past a church decayed and dim, + When there slowly through the windows came a plaintive funeral hymn; + And the sympathy awakened, and a wonder quickly grew, + Till I found myself environed in a little negro pew. + Out at front a coloured couple sat in sorrow, nearly wild; + On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was a child. + I could picture him when living--curly hair, protruding lip-- + And had seen perhaps a thousand in my hurried Southern trip. + + But no baby ever rested in the soothing arms of death + That had fanned more flames of sorrow with his little fluttering + breath; + And no funeral ever glistened with more sympathy profound + Than was in the chain of teardrops that enclasped those mourners + round. + + Rose a sad, old coloured preacher at the little wooden desk-- + With a manner grandly awkward, with a countenance grotesque; + With simplicity and shrewdness on his Ethiopian face; + With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed, undying race. + + And he said: "Now, don' be weepin' for dis pretty bit o' clay-- + For de little boy who lived dere, he's done gone an' run away! + He was doin' very finely, an' he 'preciate your love; + But his sure 'nuff Father want him in de large house up above. + + "Now, he didn't give you that baby, by a hundred thousan' mile! + He just think you need some sunshine, an' He lent it for a while! + An' He let you keep an' love it till your hearts were bigger grown; + An' dese silver tears your sheddin's jest de interes' on the loan. + + "Here's yer oder pretty childrun!--doan' be makin' it appear + Dat your love got sort o' 'nopolised by dis little fellow here; + Don' pile up too much your sorrow on dere little mental shelves, + So's to kind 'o set 'em wonderin' if dey're no account demselves. + + "Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, creepin' long o'er Sorrow's + way, + What a blessed little pic-nic dis yere baby's got to-day! + Your good faders and good moders crowd de little fellow round + In de angel-tended garden ob de big Plantation Ground. + + "An' dey ask him, 'Was your feet sore?' an' take off his little + shoes, + An' dey wash him, an' dey kiss him, an' dey say--'Now what's de + news?' + An' de Lawd done cut his tongue loose, den de little fellow say-- + 'All our folks down in the valley tries to keep de hebbenly way.' + + "An' his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de pretty things he view; + Den a tear come an' he whispers--'But I want my parents too!' + But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy a little song-- + Says 'If only dey be fait'ful dey will soon be comin' 'long.' + An' he'll get an' education dat will proberbly be worth + Seberal times as much as any you could buy for him on earth; + He'll be in de Lawd's big schoolhouse, widout no contempt or fear; + While dere's no end to the bad tings might have happened to him + here. + + "So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your hearts wid Jesus rest, + An' don't go to critercisin' dat ar One w'at knows the best! + He have sent us many comforts--He have right to take away-- + To the Lawd be praise an' glory now and ever! Let us pray!" + + WILL CARLETON. + + + + +_DER SHPIDER UND DER FLY._ + + + I reads in Yawcob's shtory book, + A couple veeks ago, + Von firsd-rade boem, vot I dinks + Der beoples all should know. + I'd ask dis goot conundhrum, too, + Vich ve should brofit by: + "'Vill you indo mine parlor valk?' + Says der Shpider off der fly." + + Dot set me dinking, righdt avay, + Und vhen, von afternoon, + A shbeculator he comes in + Und dells me, pooty soon, + He haf silfer mine to sell, + Und ask me eef I puy, + I dink off der oxberience + Off dot plue-pottle fly. + + Der oder day, vhen on der cars + I vent by Nie Yorck oudt, + I meets a fraulein on der train, + Who dold me, mit a pout, + She likes der Deutscher shentlemans + Und dells me sit peside her-- + I says: "Mine friendt, I vas no fly, + Eef you vas peen a shpider." + + I vent indo der shmoking car, + Vhere dhey vas blaying boker, + Und also haf somedings dhey calls + Der funny "leedle joker." + Some money id vas shanging hands, + Dhey vanted me to try-- + I says: "You vas too brevious, + I don'd vas been a fly!" + + On Central Park a shmardt young man + Says: "Strauss, how vas you peen?" + Und dake me kindtly py der hand, + Und ask off mine Katrine. + He vants to shange a feefty bill, + Und says hees name vas Schneider-- + Maype, berhaps, he vas all righdt; + More like he vas a shpider. + + Mosd efry day some shwindling chap + He dries hees leedle game; + I cuts me oudt dot shpider biece + Und poot id in a frame; + Righdt in mine shtore I hangs it oup, + Und near id, on der shly, + I geeps a glub, to send gvick oudt, + Dhose shpiders, "on der fly." + + CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. + + + + +_LARIAT BILL._ + + + "Well, stranger, 'twas somewhere in 'sixty-nine + I wore runnin' the 'Frisco fast express; + An' from Murder Creek to Blasted Pine, + Were nigh onto eighteen mile, I guess. + The road were a down-grade all the way, + An' we pulled out of Murder a little late, + So I opened the throttle wide that day, + And a mile a minute was 'bout our gait. + + "My fireman's name was Lariat Bill, + A quiet man with an easy way, + Who could rope a steer with a cow-boy's skill, + Which he'd learned in Texas, I've heard him say. + The coil were strong as tempered steel, + An' it went like a bolt from a cross-bow flung, + An' arter Bill changed from saddle to wheel, + Just over his head in the cab it hung. + + "Well, as I were saying, we fairly flew, + As we struck the curve at Buffalo Spring, + An' I give her full steam an' put her through, + An' the engine rocked like a living thing; + When all of a sudden I got a scare-- + For thar on the track were a little child! + An' right in the path of the engine there + She held out her little hands and smiled! + + "I jerked the lever and whistled for brakes, + The wheels threw sparks like a shower of gold; + But I knew the trouble a down-grade makes, + An' I set my teeth an' my flesh grew cold. + Then Lariat Bill yanked his long lassoo, + An' out on the front of the engine crept-- + He balanced a moment before he threw, + Then out in the air his lariat swept!" + + He paused. There were tears in his honest eyes; + The stranger listened with bated breath. + "I know the rest of the tale," he cries; + "He snatched the child from the jaws of death! + 'Twas the deed of a hero, from heroes bred, + Whose praises the very angels sing!" + The engineer shook his grizzled head, + And growled: "He didn't do no sich thing. + + "He aimed at the stump of a big pine tree, + An' the lariat caught with a double hitch, + An' in less than a second the train an' we + Were yanked off the track an' inter the ditch! + 'Twere an awful smash, an' it laid me out, + I ain't forgot it, and never shall; + Were the passengers hurt? Lemme see--about-- + Yes, it killed about forty--but saved the gal!" + + G. W. H. + + + + +_THE ELF CHILD; OR, LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE._ + + + Little orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, + And wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, + An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, + An' make the fire, and bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; + An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, + We set around the kitchen fire, an' has the mostest fun + A-list'ning to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about, + An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs; + An' when he went to bed 'at night, away upstairs, + His mammy heard him holler, and his daddy heard him bawl, + An' whin they turn'd the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! + An' they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press, + An' seeked him up the chimbly flue an' ever'wheres, I guess, + But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout! + An' the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh and grin, + An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin; + An' onc't when they was company an' ole folks was there, + She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! + An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide, + They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, + An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she know'd what + she's about, + An' the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + An' little orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, + An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! + An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is grey, + An' the lightnin' bugs in dew is all squelched away, + You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, + An' cherish them 't loves you, and dry the orphant's tear, + An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at cluster all about, + Er the gobble-uns 'll git you + Ef you + Don't + Watch + Out! + + JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. + + + + +_ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE._ + + + A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright, + Conversed as they sat on the green; + They gazed on each other with tender delight; + Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,-- + The maiden's the Fair Imogene. + + "And oh!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go + To fight in a far distant land, + Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, + Some other will court you, and you will bestow + On a wealthier suitor your hand!" + + "Oh cease these suspicions," Fair Imogene said. + "Offensive to love and to me; + For if you be living, or if you be dead, + I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead, + Shall husband of Imogene be. + + "If e'er by lust or by wealth led astray I forget my Alonzo the + Brave, + God grant that to punish my falsehood and pride + Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side, + May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, + And bear me away to the grave." + + To Palestine hastened the hero so bold, + His love she lamented him sore; + But scarce had a twelve-month elapsed, when behold! + A Baron, all covered with jewels and gold, + Arrived at Fair Imogene's door. + + His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain + Soon made her untrue to her vows; + He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain, + He caught her affection, so light and so vain, + And carried her home as his spouse. + + And now had the marriage been blest by the priest, + And revelry now had begun; + The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast. + Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, + When the bell at the castle tolled--one. + + Then first with amazement Fair Imogene found + A stranger was placed by her side; + His air was terrific, he uttered no sound-- + He spake not, he moved not--he looked not around, + But earnestly gazed on the bride. + + His visor was closed, and gigantic his height, + His armour was sable to view; + All pleasure and laughter were hushed at the sight, + All the dogs as they eyed him drew back in afright, + All the lights in the chamber burned blue. + + His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay, + The guests sat in silence and fear; + At length spake the bride, while she trembled, "I pray, + Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, + And deign to partake of our cheer." + + The lady is silent--the stranger complies-- + His visor he slowly unclosed; + Oh God! what a sight met Fair Imogene's eyes! + What word can express her dismay and surprise, + When a skeleton's head was exposed. + + All present then uttered a terrified shout, + All turned in disgust from the scene; + The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out, + And sported his eyes and his temples about, + While the spectre addressed Imogene. + + "Behold me, thou false one--behold me!" he cried; "Remember Alonzo + the Brave! + God grant that to punish thy falsehood and pride, + My ghost at thy marriage should sit at thy side, + Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, + And bear thee away to the grave!" + + Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound, + While loudly she shrieked in dismay; + And sank with his prey through the wide yawning ground, + Nor ever again was Fair Imogene found, + Or the spectre that bore her away. + + Not long lived the Baron, and none since that time + To inhabit the castle presume; + For chronicles say, that by order sublime, + There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, + And mourns her deplorable doom. + + At midnight four times in each year does her sprite, + When mortals in slumber are bound, + Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, + Appear in the hall of the skeleton knight, + And shriek as he whirls her around. + + While they drink out of skulls, newly torn from the grave, + Dancing around them the spectres are seen; + Their liquid is blood, and this horrible stave + They howl: "To the health of Alonzo the Brave, + And his consort, the Fair Imogene." + + MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS (MONK LEWIS). + + + + +_AN ALL-AROUND INTELLECTUAL MAN._ + + + He was up in mathematics, had a taste for hydrostatics, and could + talk about astronomy from Aristarchus down; + He could tell what kind of beans were devoured by the Chaldeans, and + he knew the date of every joke made by a circus clown. + + He was versed in evolution, and would instance the poor Russian as a + type of despotism in the modern age of man. + He could write a page of matter on the different kinds of batter + used in making flinty gim-cracks on the modern cooking plan. + + He could revel in statistics, he was well up in the fistics, knew + the pedigree of horses dating 'way back from the ark. + Far and wide his tips were quoted, and his base-ball stuff was + noted. In political predictions he would always hit the mark. + + He could write upon the tariff, and he didn't seem to care if he was + called off to review a book or write a poem or two: + He could boil down stuff and edit, knew the value of a credit, and + could hustle with the telegraph in a style excelled by few. + He could tell just how a fire should be handled; as a liar he was + sure to exercise a wise, discriminative taste. + He was mild and yet undaunted, and no matter what was wanted he was + always sure to get it first, yet never was in haste. + + But despite his reputation as a brainy aggregation, he was known to + be deficient in a manner to provoke. + For no matter when you met him he would borrow if you let him, and + he seemed to have the faculty of always being broke. + + TOM MASSON. + + + + +_HER IDEAL._ + + + She wanted to reach an ideal; + She talked of the lovely in art, + She quoted from Emerson's Essays, + And said she thought Howells had "heart." + She doted on Wagner's productions, + She thought comic opera low, + And she played trying tunes on a zither, + Keeping time with a sandal-shod toe. + + She had dreams of a nobler existence-- + A bifurcated, corsetless place, + Where women would stand free and equal + As queens of a glorious race. + But her biscuits were deadly creations + That caused people's spirits to sink, + And she'd views on matters religious + That drove her relations to drink. + + She'd opinions on co-education, + But not an idea on cake; + She could analyse Spencer or Browning, + But the new kitchen range wouldn't bake. + She wanted to be esoteric, + And she wore the most classical clothes; + But she ended by being hysteric + And contracting a cold in her nose. + + She studied of forces hypnotic, + She believed in theosophy quite, + She understood themes prehistoric + And said that the faith cure was right. + She wanted to reach the ideal, + And at clods unpoetic would rail, + And her husband wore fringe on his trousers + And fastened them on with a nail! + + KATE MASTERSON. + + + + +_THE HAPPY FARMER._ + + + The farmer is a happy man, + His life is free from care, + With naught to make his spirit sad + Or make him want to swear; + All day among the cockle burrs + He gaily grubs and hoes, + And money never troubles him, + Unless 'tis what he owes. + + How sweet at early dawn of day + To rise before the sun, + And hustle briskly round the barn + Till all the chores are done; + To feed the cows, and milk them, too, + In brightly shining pails, + The while they tread upon your corns + And thump you with their tails. + + How sweet to hie into the field, + From breakfast smoking hot, + And chase a plough all day around + A forty acre lot, + And, when it strikes against a stone, + Drawn by the horses stout, + To have the handles prance around + And punch your daylights out. + + How sweet at noon to lie at ease + Beneath some spreading tree, + And hold a secret session + With an ardent bumble bee, + And when your rheumatism makes + Your legs refuse to go, + How sweet to lie upon your back + And watch your mortgage grow. + + And when the busy cares of day + Have faded with the light, + How sweet to lie in peaceful sleep + Throughout the dewy night, + And to hear the partner of your joys, + At the first faint tinge of dawn, + Shout, "Come, old granger, hump yourself + The cows are in the corn." + + MORTIMER C. BROWN. + + + + +_THE SON OF A SOLDIER_ + +BY OWEN OLIVER. + +(_Reprinted from "To-Day" by kind permission of the Author._) + + + You'll be sure to know my daddy, + 'Cause he wears a coat of red. + An' a rifle, an' a bay'net, + An' a helmet on his head. + An' he's very big an' handsome, + An' his name is Sergeant Smith, + An' he's gone to fight the Boers + That our Queen is angry with. + He's the good Queen's faithful soldier, + So he's angry, too, of course-- + I expects they _will_ be frightened + When they know my daddy's cross! + + Daddy took me up and nursed me + 'For he went on Friday week; + "Sonny-boy," he said, "Here's sixpence, + Bless you, lad!" and kissed my cheek, + "Mind you write to me and tell me + How you're doing at your books, + How the baby's learning walking, + How your little sister looks, + How you're good and helping mother-- + That's the news I want to find." + Mine is only printing writing, + But my daddy doesn't mind. + + I'm my daddy's little soldier, + An I've often heard him say, + Soldiers ought to do their duty + Though their officer's away. + Mamma says my duty's doing + Just what daddy said I should; + But it's hard to do my lessons; + And its harder to be good! + Teacher says, "Just keep on trying, + They'll come easy by-an'-by;" + Mamma says I do grow better, + And she'll write an' say I try. + + Won't he smile! unless they've shot him! + Mamma said perhaps they would; + An' she cried and cried till I cried-- + But I don't believe they could. + No one couldn't hurt my daddy; + If they did, when I grow tall, + I shall take a sword and rifle, + An' I'll go and kill them all. + If I woke up big to-morrow, + Off to battle I should go; + Then I'd see who'd touch my daddy-- + Please, dear God, do make me grow! + + + + +_THE MILE._ + +BY DAVID M'KEE WRIGHT. + +(_By kind permission of the Author._) + + + Sports day at the township; the station chaps mustered + From Stewart's and "Flaxland" and Scott's of "Argyle;" + Good sport and good weather, and take things together + The event that they talked most about was the mile. + + Young Wilson from Flaxland could run like a greyhound, + His times were a wonder with no stopwatch by; + From Stewart's, Jack Barry could go like "Old Harry," + And Scott's chaps had pinned all their faith on Mackay. + + The township had three in, and each looked like winning. + The cunning boys smiled when you asked what they knew; + I'd have sooner been resting than stripping and breasting + The mark for the honour of old Waitahu. + + But the chaps that were with me would take no denial-- + I used to run once and could do it to-day; + It was no use complaining I wasn't in training, + I was hard from the hills and could show them the way. + + So they said; but the other blokes smiled at my chances, + Well they might when I hadn't run for a year; + I heard someone mutter, "He's softer than butter-- + He used to win once, but he won't finish here." + + That made me feel foolish, I wished I'd been training, + I felt if I had I could make someone spin, + But still I was thinking, "I'll finish like winking; + Though there isn't a ghost of a chance I can win!" + + We all toed the line, but I wasn't excited, + I fancied the race was all over for Dan; + The slowest could do me--the pistol went through me, + I jumped from the scratch, and the tussle began. + + I'd a yard at the start, but I lost it next moment, + My word, they went off at a terrible bat; + I saw in a minute I wouldn't be in it + If Wilson and Barry kept moving like that. + + They went for a quarter, then Pearce, of the township, + Ran up to the lead like a young cannon ball; + I kept well behind them, I reckoned to find them + About the three-quarters, or else not at all. + + Second round the same order, Mackay creeping closer, + And Pearce, of the township, dropped out at the bend; + They kept the pace going, but Wilson was blowing, + I didn't expect to see him at the end. + + Third round, and, by George, I was closing upon them, + My long steady swing was beginning to tell; + Mackay took the running--he'd played pretty cunning-- + I caught my first man at the three-quarter bell. + + Then I let myself out and I tackled another, + Passed him quickly and got up to Wilson at last; + There was nothing left in him that once looked like winning; + He gave up the struggle the moment I passed. + + Jack Barry was next, and we got going level, + I brought him along till we tackled Mackay; + The whole ground was moving, our pace was improving, + By Jove! at the finish the grass seemed to fly. + + "Come on, Dan! come on! you can leave them both standing!" + "Jack Barry's the winner!" "Mackay leads the way!"-- + The yelling and raving, the rushing and waving-- + I'll always remember the finish that day. + + We were going "eyes out," all three shoulder to shoulder, + I gathered myself for the best I could do-- + I heard my name crying, I took the tape flying + For the honour and glory of old Waitahu! + + + _Other Volumes in this Series._ + + MANNERS FOR MEN + MANNERS FOR WOMEN + A WORD TO WOMEN + HOW TO BE PRETTY + WHAT SHALL I SAY? + THE BOOK OF STITCHES + HEALTH EXERCISES AND HOME GYMNASTICS + THE APPLAUSE RECITER + RECITATIONS + THE GENTLE ART OF GOOD TALKING + CONCERNING MARRIAGE + ATHLETICS OF TO-DAY + MANNERS FOR GIRLS + BEAUTY ADORNED + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Coo-ee Reciter, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COO-EE RECITER *** + +***** This file should be named 38053.txt or 38053.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/0/5/38053/ + +Produced by Nick Wall, Matthew Wheaton and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/38053.zip b/38053.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e91f73 --- /dev/null +++ b/38053.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ba9c0c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #38053 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38053) |
