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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. 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