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5V// No. 10. Messrs. K. and McK. No. 11. Der Breitmann *s Lebeiuohl No. 12. Ministerial Changes PAGE I 12 17 20 24 28 31 36 41 43 45 PAGE Breitmann's Wiedererscheinung 47 Breitmann In Barleyment 49 Thoughts at Home 53 The Willow 56 The Best Nurse of All 58 G. H. Rogers 59 In Remembrance of A. L. G.... 61 Wreck of the Rip 63 Journey of the Wire 64 The President, The Baron, and The Gardener ... 66 A Lancashire Mon's Notions o' th' Kunthri ... 70 No. 11. On Morals 72 Licensing Day, Hemerald III 73 Guid Bye, Jamie 76 Welcome Hame 78 Nothing to Write 81 The Companies in Collins Street... 83 Valedictory 84 Opening of North-Eastern Railway 85 The Loves of Donald and Annie 89 Reminiscences of an Old Actor 92 Racing Rhymes and Touters' Tips — A Request for a Tip. To A. L. G 99 A Good Thing for the Bookmakers 103 Melbourne Cup, 1865 106 Melbourne Cup, 1866 , in The Last Champion Race 121 Melbourne Cup, 1867 127 Racing Rhymes and Touters' Tips— continued. Melbourne Cup, 1868 131 New Year's Day, 1869 133 Melbourne Cup, 1869 138 Melbourne Cup, 1870 139 The Tout 142 A Tout's Tip for the Melbourne Cup, 187 i 145 Melbourne Cup, 1872 147 A Cup Retrospect and Prospect, 1873 149 Scenes in the Assembly — Scene No. i 152 The Stranger in the House — No. 1 155 No. 2 ,. ... 157 No. 3 161 No. 4 164 No. 5 167 The Stranger in the Bay 169 The Stranger at the Races 173 Herr Von Lay in der Callery 177 Nursery Rhymes ... 1S0 Speech on the Land Bill, 1869 , 181 The Tariff, 1867 185 Masonic Song 187 Lines 188 An Address 190 An Address 192 To a Naughty National Bank Shareholder ... 194 TO MY SUBSCRIBERS. *-§£*> J HE means being bountifully supplied, it becomes the duty of the caterer to provide as varied an entertain- ment as possible. But mine is no Apician banquet, there is nothing rich or rare ; no nightingales' tongues deck the board; nearly all is plain roast and boiled. I have endeavoured to group together in tlie different courses all the viands "in season" procurable from a tolerably well-stocked larder. Many have I rejected as being out of date, and better adapted for family use than to the general taste. What you see before you is unpretentious English fare, without kick- shaws, and with but scanty garnishing. But as palates differ with nationalities, and I am happy to number amongst my subscribers a fair sprinkling of all sorts, here and there will be found dishes prepared accordingly. Thus, my Irish friends will have their stew, my Scotch their haggis, while if Vater- landers have been more copiously catered for than others, the exuberance of the German sausage element must be excused by reason of the generous consideration which, I am informed by the editor of Punch, has been publicly accorded to that seasoned comestible. Parliamentary pabulum has not been omitted from the bill of fare, for it will be observed that several leaves have been taken from that ample volume, the Hansard-ciun-Qxxzgory cooking- book. The simple fare on which sporting men thrive while in training will be found near the end of the table (of contents, I hope) ; while if the Foresters and Druids miss their accus- tomed venison, all I can say is, that I have dressed my kid into the cunningest imitation I could manage. As to the potables, they are certainly neither Roederer, Moet, nor Cliquot, but the best gooseberry wine I could manufacture on the premises. If there should be discovered occasionally a smack of the prime juice of the grape — a " beaker of the warm south, with beaded bubble winking at the brim," the many entertainments I have had to attend in my various public capacities must be held accountable for the intrusions of the foreign flavour. The beer I can at any rate guarantee to be British, and I hope not such " small ale" as that XI craved after by Shakespeare's tinker when he awoke from his Bacchanalian revelries. Most of the dishes have been tasted before ; served up at different tables; many of them in Collins Street, by the Sporting Editor of the Austral- asian; some in Elizabeth Street, dressed in "Beacon's" best style; but the bulk of them have been placed on the mahogany of my friend Mr. Punch. There are a few entrees which have not yet had the covers removed, the flavour of which I hope may be to your liking. In conclusion, a good appetite, and that the most excel- lent digestion may wait upon it, with health on both, is one of the least of the good wishes of your greatly obliged servant, JOHN WHITEMAN. Emerald Hill, October 1st, 1873. PREFACE. OME scattered thoughts thrown roughly into rhymes, In musing medleys made at many times, Some jinglxiig melody perchance may ring In simple strains among the songs I sing; Some sparks may flash from off the anvil's face, E'en smoothness, too, my verse may sometimes grace. A gleam of humour glow along one line, While pathos with the next may intertwine. But rude and rough my measures mostly flow, Formed in the smithy by the fire's fierce glow — Amidst the smoke, the noise, the clatt'ring din, That fills the forge's atmosphere within. ' Mid clang of anvil, grating of the rasp, The hammer with the pen has filled my grasp Alternately. This uncongenial scene (No bright blue sky, no moonlight's silvery sheen) Is where the Muse has tempted me to try The little power I have to versify. No banks of Doon, no Avon's winding stream, No towering mountains pregnant with a theme \ PREFACE. No gorgeous island in the tropic seas, No blooming flowers nor sounds of waving trees ; No brilliant book-lore learning do I boast, For classic cloister ne'er my foot has cross'd ; No Tennysonian treasure do I bring, Nor in Swinburnian measure will I sing, Though rolling rhymes and sparkling streams of words May charm the senses in harmonious chords. Nor mine the master spirit which o'er Burns, Moore, Byron, Shelley (hallowing still their urns) Watched, and yet lingers. No, my humble strain Is couched in language of the plainest plain, The simple Saxon of my mother tongue Is all I bring to weave my modest song. If then my lines should lack a polished grace, If I shall fail to gain a standing place Among the sons of poesy and song, — ■ Or genuine bards, that great and gifted throng, — I am content to take my humble stand Beside the lesser lights. With horny hand Some " Thoughts of Home" I've penn'd as they occurred. On simple themes my Pegasus I've spurred : A trifling tribute to a poet's fame, A record of an actor's honoured name; Some "Village Memories" have found a place, And "Home Affections" I have tried to trace; On "Sports and Pastimes" I have had my say, And touched the "Current Topics" of the day. ff The (gzzaL.iri,t g abb leJl cot where th,e e/ie^nzit. traes st&nd SPARKS AND SOUNDS. VILLAGE MEMORIES. Dunchurchy Warwickshire. lOr Y thoughts fly back to boyhood's early days, ~*=2g~^ When youth's light heart within the breast beat free, When life's young morning, gilt with brightest rays Of joyous hope, and fearless liberty, Had never known the bitter cares of life Which we, poor pilgrims here on earth, must know As on we journey through this world of strife, Nor yet had proved the seeming friend a foe : Of that young time, what mem'ries crowd around My busy brain ; what fancies thickly come ! Again I tread the ancient school play-ground, Or shout in fancy still the harvest home. Fair village scenes, and village pastimes, hail ! My boyhood's early spirit greets you still ; B 2 4 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Once more I climb the uplands, roam the dale, And listen to the brooklet's babbling rill. The moonlit nights, the football's noisy bounds, The game at hockey on the slippery pond, The "twanging horn" at "big side" hare and hounds, Are vivid scenes and recollections fond. Then, busy Memory, aid me in my task, Exert thyself in strength, and be my guide Through days and scenes long past — no more I ask Than Truth and thee together at my side. The old village church, I remember it well, With its quaint looking tow'r, and the school Where my youthful companions and I learned to spell, Where we rushed to our places, and hurried pell mell ; Strict time was the schoolmaster's rule. I remember the elms, the machine-house, and cross, And the games that we there used to play, Tick, catch-'em, or marbles, or else pitch-and-toss With buttons, like gamesters ne'er heeding their loss, So long as we had them to pay. The old gabled cot, where the chestnut trees stand Which in youth I have climbed with delight, The smithy and smith with his huge brawny hand, The lurid red fire, round which youngsters would stand To tell tales on a cold winter's night. ' The old Village Church' FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. J The old Lion's Close, with its willows and moat Half circling the orchard around, Its daisies, and cowslips, and green grassy coat, Its hedge-rows, where music poured forth from the throat Of the warbling throstle, whose sweet thrilling note Made my heart feel the magic of sound. The grange, and the lodge, Cawston House, and the Hall Where the lords of the village reside, The white-coated windmill, a land-mark to all, The straight blooming poplars, so graceful and tall, As like soldiers they stand side by side. The inn with its Crown, Mother Red Cap so sly, The Lion so rampant and red, The Sporting " Green Man" with his gun shouldered high, The monstrous Dun Cow, that was killed by great Guy, And the Bell, whose last sound is now dead. I remember the notes of the guard's merry horn (Ere the iron roads stretched through the land) With sounds of "bright chanticleer" hailing the morn, And loud on the echoes "tantivy" was borne As the coach roll'd along through the sand. And the old turnpike road, how my thoughts fondly cling To its hard metal surface ; though now In the bright golden land of Victoria I sing Of its elm-shaded paths,, and the musical ring Of the bells on the team-horses' brow. 6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Of its closely trimm'd hedges, and walks kept so neat, Its beeches, its elms, and its firs, Which in avenues graceful o'ershadowing meet, Tho' lost to my sight, yet how gratefully sweet Are the thoughts which their memory stirs. How often at noon, from the midsummer's sun Have their boughs been a sweet welcome shade, Or, when strolling with friends, when the day's work was done, We have crossed their huge shadows which lay one by one Like giants asleep, while the moon sweetly shone, Unconscious of beauty she made. What scenes, too, were passed, on that road's winding track, In times which our own " Glorious Will" Has immortally pictured — when burly fat "Jack" With his troops marched along (scarce a rag to their back) Lean and lank towards Coventry's citadel black While he "larded" the earth down the hill. In fancy I'm rolling again o'er its face, Or enjoying a brisk morning run Where the pine-cone, frost-bitten and falling apace, Lies smother'd in beech leaves protecting its face From the glare of the winter's bright sun. Or standing once more on the church's old tower, O'er villages, hamlets, and lanes, From the far off Edge hills by famed Shuckburgh's Bower The eye roams to Danetree, that record of power, Of the might of victorious Danes. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 7 Then, glancing around, sees the city of spires, Flashing out on the dark wooded plain, Old Kenilworth, Stoneleigh, with Leamington Priors, And Warwick, bright gem among England's loved shires, Shall I e'er view thy turrets again? Shall I once more behold that most exquisite scene Which our own native poets have sung, Where the Leam gently winds through the willow-clad green, Where the Avon flows calmly, majestic, serene By mansion and castle ; its glittering sheen • Re-echoes the sounds that have rung From its moss-covered banks at the close of the day As shepherd and milkmaid have sped, Each warbling some ditty, some old country lay (The "Banks of Dundee" or a " Morning in May"), While housing the kine in the shed. The loud whistling waggoner joins in the strain, As his horses stroll lazily, where The shrill treble clink of the jingling chain With the herd's lowing bass, as they wind through the lane, Make discord harmonious appear. The hedges of hawthorn with woodbine entwined With freshness my memory greet, Nor can distance or space e'er erase from my mind The joyous impression and pleasure refined Of a morn's early walk, when their sides were all lined With wild flowers and dog-roses sweet. 8 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Inhaling the bean flower's fragrant perfume, Enriched with the scent of sweetbriar, See the bright orb of day with his glory illume The rich glowing East : hear the sky-lark resume His song mounting upward and higher. The autumn brings scenes which are dear to me now, The harvest, and fruit-laden trees, The ivy's green mantle on old oaken bough, Whose leaves richly tinted are murmuring now • In the wild, balmy, wandering breeze. The rude gusty blasts of a southerly wind In the genial clime where I write, Bring thoughts of old Christmas at home to my mind, With its mistletoe, holly, and yule-log, behind The bright fire on a keen frosty night. While the elder-wine simmers, the toast must be browned, Hark! the bells rouse the still midnight air, How my heart throbs as fancy re-echoes the sound Of that Triple Bob Major pealed forth all around From steeples and towers everywhere. Sweet village, endeared to my innermost soul, As through time's fading glass I look back, I see at a glance, as the years onward roll, Old friends disappear ere they reach the bright goal That ambition has shown on their track. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. While others glide onward by Fortune caressed, Care leaves them a bright cheerful face, Success crowns their efforts, they stand all confessed The dame's darling children, and being so blessed, Are content with their part in the race. A thousand other mem'ries rushing come : Visions of youth, of boyhood's early home, Scenes decked by touches of a magic wand, Spreading a halo in a distant land. The bustling village, in those busy times, The antique pedagogue, the hourly chimes, The scores of coaches, and the old post boys, The first of May with all its floral joys Of May poles dressed and ruddy Queens of May, Bedecked with flowers and clad in colours gay. The village wake, its sports and jocund fun, Its greasy pole and treacle-smothered bun, And women frantic racing for a gown, Or winning tea by playing u knock 'em down." The orange dipping and the jingling match, The finger-burning pence for those who'd catch. Sport crowds on sport till twilight ends the scene, And then away to dance upon the green, By golden floods of light from harvest moon, And all complain that pleasure ends so soon. We're severed now some sixteen thousand miles, But thought is mighty and at distance smiles. 10 SPARKS AND SOUNDS What space can terminate the mind's free range, Forbid the fancy thinking, there's no change? The rude old smithy occupies the spot It did of yore, the chestnut trees are not Removed, or withered : all is still the same, E'en to my playmates ready with their game, The cricket matches with* some dear old friends, Whose joyous shouting now in fancy blends With happy memories of those merry days, Enlivened with the light of pleasure's rays. Farewell, old friends, as fondly I recall Those happy times we ne'er may see again, I look around, and ask, where are ye all? Disbanded? Scattered o'er the earth's domain? Some have to India's hottest regions gone, Australia claims for denizens a few, Some plough the deep beneath the torrid zone, While others seek "fresh fields and pastures new." East, west, or north, where'er I turn mine eye I see the trace of friends, alive or dead \ One yielded up in death his latest sigh On Balaclava's plain; his spirit fled With hosts of others on that crimson field, Where rode the brave "Six Hundred" in their might, Who show'd the world that Britons never yield, And charged the Russian guns in desperate fight. — My heart warms kindly to that well-known spot I clung to ere I felt inclined to roam, Where long ago the rustic straw-thatched cot Was fondly cherished as my only home. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. II No wish to stray nor thought of change had I, My world was all contained in that loved place, Till visions of a bluer, brighter sky Enthralled my senses, wafted o'er the space Of mighty waters — from Australian land, Destined to form a nation great to be, Whose creeks and rivers rich with golden sand, Whose fleecy harvests burthen every sea ; Its snowy quartz reefs send their treasures forth, Its vine-clad slopes are glistening far and near ; Rich in all precious gems from south to north, Its teeming wealth lies scattered everywhere. The luscious grape luxuriantly grows, The melting pine in richest hue is seen • Banana's clustering blossom softly blows In lands that claim their title from our Queen. From such a spot, henceforth to be my home, I say "farewell" to those I left behind. I breathe "farewell" reluctantly to some, But hope springs vig'rous in the human mind, And tells that in this fair and far off land (A land where every honest son of toil May by the might of his own horny hand Wring treasures from a fair and fertile soil), Freedom exists which England never knew, And plenty reigns with mild benignant sway, That every prospect wears a brighter hue, And points me to a more auspicious day. Melbotcme, 1858. 12 SPARKS AND SOUNDS BREITMANN IN MELBOURNE. [The year 1869 was prolific of many startling political events in the history of the colony. It also gave to the world Mr. Leland's amusing and popular work "Hans Breitmann's Ballads," an imitation of which has served as a vehicle for the conveyance of a little badinage on the current events of the day. The great bribery cases, the 'expulsion of two Members of Parliament, their re-election, the committal to the Melbourne Gaol of Messrs. Glass and Quarterman, and numerous inci- dents which will be familiar to most of my readers, have been touched upon in a way (not intended to be personally offensive, but) which will make them records of what actually has transpired in our midst. The same may be said of "Scenes in the Assembly," "Stranger in the House," &c. &c] NO. I. Hans Breitmann gooms to Melpoorn, Soom gurious dings to see; He gooms right shtraight from New York Shtate Agross de priny zea; Und fen he kits to Melpoorn, He likes id, you be pound — "Dis shoost der blace," der Breitmann say, "Vare bloonder 's to be vound." Hans Breitmann kits to Melpoorn, He likes der beoble moosh, He likes do see Herr U. Von Claash, Und on der bloonder roosh. Von Ettershang is shoost der poy — Oh let me on him case ; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 3 Oh ! show to me das lovely man, Shoosd led him me emprase. Hans Breitmann kits to Melpoorn; He leafs for Ballaratt, He hears der beobles all der dimes Say "Yones is shoost der ladt. Ve shents him to der Barleymindt, Ve gifs him plenty prass; He kits der shtone at Villiamsdown, Und gifs im to Von Claash." Hans Breitmann drafels all apout Dish gountree efery tay; He drafel poud pig Gollinge-shtreed To see vot beoplish say ; He drafel poud der Gorner, He gifes de ladisd noose; He dells em to der bapers, Und dey puds in what dey shoose. Hans Breitmann efery morning Goes round poudt auction mart ; He meets em pees und minishters. He gifs a treatful shtart, Von morning, mit his frient MacPain, In Herr Von Fraisher's room To see MacCullock's treatful form In ter tistance grantly loom. 14 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Der Breitmann pow bolitely, MacPain holdt out hish handt — "Goot morning, Mr. MacCullock, How do?" Oh den, how grandt Der crate MacCullock toorn afay, De haar oop rise on his het — "How dar you shpeak to me," he say, " MacPain, I coots you tet." Der Mr. Franshis next oop coom, Mit mild und pleashant vace; "Oh, Meester Shames MacPain," he say, "Vot teufel you prings tishgrace, Mit your tam'd gommiddee und your glause, Vhich censures Mac und I? Bei Gott, id ish un treatful ding!" Den Mac peginsh to gry. "Und am I shlighted py mein vriend? Und am I treeded so? Mein dendr hardt vill shoorly boorst, Mein preasht ish fillt mit voe, To dink dat ve, sooch poosom vriendts, Vor sooch a simble ding, Vrom dis dimes vorth moost nefar moore Ash poon combanions gling." Hans Breitmann goes to Barlymindt To see Yones dake ish seat; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 5 De beobles growd de callerie To kit dish mighdy dreat ; Dey roosh to see who pring him in To shake der Shpeaker's handt ; Dey dinks to see a shpecktakle So peaudiful und grandt. Dey vants to hear what Putters zay Poud delling liddle lies, Und Putters nefer shpoke a ford, Moosh to deir crate surprise. Und Mister Gope, das funny man, Say shoost such funny dings ; Der Shairman lofes him all der dimes, Und all der dalk he prings. Hans Breitmann, vhile in Barlymindt, Py shinks vos moosh confus't Do see Yones in valk mit himshelf. He vas nod indrotus't; He never shook der Shpeager's handt ; He shvears himselve, und den He round short dooms und dakes his sheadt Mit Minishterial men. Und all der dimes Yones never shpeage, Bud nodes dake fery vast ; " Der Yones is shoost de poy/' dey say, "To seddle oop ad lasht." 1 6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS He gifs em pack de pesht dey pring, He dalk shoost like a pook ; By donder, he's un defer shap, Der Breitmann like Irish look. Hans Breitmann read der babers : He likes vot beobles say Pout pripery and coorooption, He dinks it mighdy cay; How efery pody dell der druth Like anshels pure and goot; He dinks he'll shtop in Melpoorn, He likes ids liefely moot. Hans Breitmann likes dis city ; He likes der suburbs too ; He likes der goundry und der downs, Und vhat der beobles do. Und if der beobles like oldt Hans, By donder, he'll be proudt, Und dell em efery feek in Poonch, Der noose vots coing apoudt. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 7 NO. II. [Tells of the expulsion of Messrs. C. E. Jones and Butters — Mr. Jones at Ballarat — Reprimand of Mr. Bowman, and the appearance of Messrs. Glass and Quarterman at the bar of the House. ] Der Breitmann vash bleas'd moosh at vhot beobles zay, Pout vhot he vash wriding in Poonch d'oder tay, Vhen he dells apoud Puttors und Yones, und Von Claas, MacCullock und Franshis, und men of deir glass;' De beobles is bleas'd moosh peyond all pelief At Von Ettershang, und MacPain mit ish crief. Und der Breitmann goes indo himshelf all dese dimes Und he comes oud again mit dish poondle of rimes. Und he dells how MacCullock und Franshis kot riFd Apoud de dwelfth glause. Und how Breitmann he shimTd At Wrigson und Plair as dey vent on deir knees Und gry mit crate droples, "Oh, zur, iv you blease, Do vorgif us dese dimes ; ve vill nefer more zin, To offend der crate Mac ve moosht nefer pegin, For nefer vonce more vould der sun efer shine Victoria oopon shouldt MacCullock resine." Den de glause dey out kick vhich ofTented der Mac, Und abbly shtraight de rodt on to Yones's poor pack; Und to Putters ashe veil dey say, "Shoost you kit outl Vhot der teufels you vellers haf peen all apout? You gif und dakes money, you makes a crate pet Mit Bowman, und vhich he moost dremple vor yet. c 1 8 SPARKS AND SOUNDS By dormer, a row vee'll oop kick mil you all ! My vord, vhat a town doomple — vhat a crate vail!" Dere ish von liddle veller der Breitmann likes moosh, Vor he dries on his sead der MacCullock to croosh ; Und he looks at de Shpeager, und vinks all de vhile ; Und he laughs mit his sides, und de mempers all shmile; Und he sits mit himshelf on te pench all alone; "Who gares?" gries der Vrasher. "Dis shild noombers von, Und vill shtay mit himshelf if no mate he gan kit ; Bei Gott, id dakes some dings to vrighden him yet !" Der Breitmann, he read how de Pallarat poys Roosh madly up Yones, amid shouding und noise; Und dat mighdy pig hall, vhich Brince Alfred tid puild, Vas mit Yones's subborders zoon vrantigly vhTd. Und he dells em in bickles a rodt he hash kot Vor Franshis und Schmidt, und dey'll zoon kit it hot; Und dat liddle crate memper vor Prighdon coom next On de lissd, vor his gonduct has Yones moosh perplexed. Und de poys dey shoud louder und louder vor choy, Und say — "Upkeep your pecker! Vee'll shtick to you, poy Vee'll shend you vonce more to der Barlymindt Haus; You're de veller vor us, you kot blenty ov nous, Und py shinks ve vill shend you, und shend you again, If again dey exbels you, dose Barlymindt men. Ash vor nine hoonderd bounds, you shall kit id, 'no vear;" Und dey shoud oud for Yones, und four hoonderd a year. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 9 Der Breitmann hash read vot der bapers all dell, Apoud Captain MacMahon und MacLellan ash veil; Und he reads poud MacKeen und der shmall Yarley Tyte; But he lofes men mit intellects bowerfully pright, Like some of dose mempers who shoud oud, '"Ear, 'ear" — Vhat mighdy crate statesmen dese men all abbear. Und if he ish pad at hish crammar, Gope zay, He's der teufel, you pet, at hish viggers soom tay. Der Breitmann has shoost peen to Barlymindt House, Und he lishens mit awe quite so shtill ash a mouse, Vhile der Shpeager in accends so derriply crand Dell Powmann hesh pound to kit crate rebrimandt. Und he zay, "I now do so, youVe peen naughty poy/ ; "All righd," dinks der Powmann, und shuckles mit choy, Vhile he down sids und shmiles, mighdy bleas'd you pe pound- But he don't gif de hosbidals dat vivty bound. , De dime now ish near vhen Schmidt soon kit hish vish, He kits rid of de shmall fry, now gooms de pig fish. I U. Claas und der Qvarterman, crin ash you vill, Hesh gaught you, my poys — de hooks shtick in your gill. De Sergeant he landsh you in hish liddle net — Id's no use to wriggle, afay you can't kit; Und he rups mit hish handts und looks bleasantly round, Vor shoost in von day he make von hoonderd bound. Vhen der Breitmann shees Claas at de vront of de par, Und der Quarterman too, how it oop coorl hish haar. c 2 20 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Vhen MacCullock he move dat to Vindle's dey coes, How den Cavan Tuffy he dalks und he plows ; Und he dells all de House how de Shquadders moost tie,. Ash de year seven ty-von id coome rabidly nigh; Und he zay, ve moosht teal in de shternest of vays, Und hide dem at vonce from de voorld's bleasand caze. Den dere gooms a ti vision, und beobles all learn, On de motion of Vrasher, de Haus moost atyoorn. ♦*#£-< — NO. III. [Relates how Messrs. Glass and^Quarterman are brought to the bar, and sentenced to Melbourne Gaol — The release of Mr. Glass on a writ of habeas — Messrs. Winter Brothers, Ronald, &c. &c., are sum- moned to appear — Mr. Vale resigns his seat to contest Ballarat with C. E. Jones — Mr. Quarterman still in gaol. ] Ho glear de drack vor Breitmann, und shtan roundt, my pully poys, He'sh coing to shpeak anoder shpeak, und dell vhat make a noise, Apoud de down und all apoud de goundree eferyvhere; Pefore he'sh tun you kits soom vun, or elsh ids mighdy qveer. On Doorsday lasht der Breitmann reads von breddy liddle sbeech, Id make so clad hish noble hardt mit morals vhich it deach ; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 21 Von Hikkinpoddom shpeage it, und he zay mit bleashand foice, •'Revenge" vor droples vhich ve dake, our hardts vill make reyoice. * Das same nacht on, de brisners bofe goom drempling to de par, Potts tausends ! vhat a tretful sighd to see dem shake mit vear! Der Shpeager shpeak — "Oh, U. Von Claas, Yohannes Qvardermann, You're pound to go to Melpoorn Yail, shoost kid out vhen you can. You pripes to left, you pripes to right, dey zay you pripes all round, Und now shoost zay bofe vhat you like, vor cuildy you've peen vound." De brisners dells deir zorrow den, und zay how moosh dey veel, Und de Shpeager zign de varrands, bud he qvide vorgit de zeal. Nexd tay Claas coes to Melpoorn Yail, und Qvardermann ash veil ; Dose qvarders dooshn't shuidt em moosh, und so Claas qvickly dell. Der gounsel, Irelandt, kits a writ to have hish garkiss oud; 'De Yudge he zay — "Oh, Mr. Schmidt, vhat you have peen apoud? 22 SPARKS AND SOUNDS You shends men to de Melpoorn Yail, you nefer zay for vhat; Dese liddle carries veel shtop, my poy — dey're noding elsh put rot." Den §chmidt he shvear a mighdy shvear, he kits into a rage ; He zay de Yudges all moost tramp, ashe "vide Monday's Is offered up, that God will kindly spare / (And bless with health a future bright career Of usefulness) yourself the sick to cheer. May each returning year bring peace and love, And health restored a holy blessing prove. 56 SPARKS AND SOUNDS THE WILLOW. A willow waves on a garden mound, I saw it planted ; Fve seen it grow Till it shades a spacious plot of ground, And a thousand branches crown its brow. And years have passed as Fve watched it blow And shed its leaves, from year to year, While the young have gone where we all must go, Yet the aged still are lingering here. On its bended boughs the sparrows twit, The minah cackles his noisy notes, And the tiny wrens demurely sit In the brilliant hues of their crimson throats ; I've watched them oft through my window pane, Have seen the swallows go skimming by, Their white breasts bared to the wind and rain, Or floating aloft in the bright blue sky. Through my window pane I have seen the sun, When his glories tinged the eastern peaks, The southern cross in its nightly run, And the grand aurora's radiant streaks 'Neath the deep deep blue of a southern sky, As I've lain and looked through my window pane; I have seen the light scud hurry by And heard the plash of the western rain. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 57 The south wind roared at my window pane, The lightning flashed through the thunder cloud, And fiercer the gusts swept back again, And still more brilliant the lightning showed. • Even thus is the thread of human life En woven with sunshine, clouds, and storm, While joys and pleasures are mix'd with strife And troubles and care in every form. My window pane shows the willow bare, With its leafless boughs, its rough brown stem. Ere a little while it will shine as fair In its bright green garb as an emerald gem; And though to-day we are quite cast down, And bare as the willow's branches seem, We'll meet with courage the world's cold frown, And stem the force of a life's rough stream. jf7ine, 1872. 58 SPARKS AND SOUNDS THE BEST NURSE OF ALL. When prostrate with sickness and writhing in pain, When burning with fever and parched up by thirst, When fancies most hideous were thronging my brain, When shapes met my vision like demons accurst, One form was e'er present, one hand cooled my brow, One watcher was there, though the rest might be gone, One sentence was spoken, I hear it e'en now — 'Twas this, " Tell me what can I do for you, John !" Through long dreary nights, as she watched by my side, Each wish, though but whispered, was caught by her ear, And prompt to fulfil it she'd noiselessly glide From chamber to chamber; yet always seemed near, My pillow to smoothe, or my thirst to allay. When hov'ring in anguish between death and life. She then was my comfort, my solace and stay — The patient, devoted, affectionate Wife. When peevish impatience within me arose, No murmur e'er came from her kind loving heart ; When sleep had prevailed on her eyelids to close, How lightly she'd doze, and awake with a start, (If the sound of a murmur should break on her ear From the form which her heart was all centred upon,) And gently breathe forth, in a whisper most clear, The words, " Tell me what can I do for you, John!" FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 59 When danger was over (the crisis quite past), Strength slowly returned to this poor wasted frame, How anxious the looks she would furtively cast • What wife-like devotion she showed still the same ! No flagging of spirit, no shrinking was there, Her duty as nurse was most lovingly done, Each want was forestalled, though I often could hear The words, " Tell me what can I do for you, John !" G. H. ROGERS. Died February 13th, 1872. Another veteran vanished from the stage. The curtain drops — the actor disappears. Another chapter in life's changeful page Discloses mourners weeping bitter tears. Hushed is the pathos — silent now that laugh " That used to set the audience in a roar/' Vanished the wit, the pun, the pleasant chaff, The cheery voice that we shall hear no more. Rogers, old friend, when standing by thy grave What hosts of memories came crowding round Me, thick as leaves which on the cypress wave Whose branches sigh above the sacred ground. Full twenty years I've watched thy artist life — As long I've known thee as the trusted friend, 6o SPARKS AND SOUNDS Struggling most manfully with care and strife, Fighting life's bitter battle to the end. How shall thy place be filled ? Who'll take thy part When arch Thalia makes the stage her home ? Melpomene, through thee, has touched the heart, And caused the gushing tears to freely come. Grandfather Whitehead walks before me now; Sir Peter Teazle stands in bold relief; Sir Anthony appears with threatening brow, Contrasting strongly with Luke Fielding's grief. The pampered Sybarite e'er found in thee A true exponent ; fresh from Nature's mould, Squire, farmer, sailor, each himself could see Like monarch's image stamped on coined gold. Where shall thy mantle fall? On whom descend ? True genius dwells not with us every day, Nor mirth and feeling in one spirit blend, Like that which once enlivened thy cold clay. We've seen the last of that frail tenement Which held within a fertile, subtile brain, To which a spark of genius freely lent Its radiance pure, to shine there without stain. Thousands will miss the old familiar face — And myriad voices syllable thy name ; Years will roll on ere one can fill thy place, Or reach the summit of thy well-earned fame. Sleep calmly then, the pine trees wave close by, The marble tombstone marks thy place of rest, Thy soul has ta'en its flight to realms on high, To be, I trust, with God for ever blest. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 6 1 IN REMEMBRANCE OF A. L. G. Suggested by his absence from the Melbourne Hunt Club Meeting, 1870. Ah ! who shall strike the harp that Gordon swept With pliant fingers to a sporting theme? Its strings are broken, and the Bard is wept — Life's waters o'er him roll in whelming stream. His lays of Field and Course have stirred the soul, Like trumpet-call have fallen upon the ear; Pungent the incense, from its broken bowl, " The Old Black Pipe" emitted year by year. By " Flood and Field" I've wandered with him oft; "Bush Ballads" blend their beauty with the rhymes Which gallop smoothly to sweet music, soft Or loud, like some far sounding village chimes Borne upon evening's echoing changeful blast, Sound clear and near, and gently die away; Bitter and sweet, the memories of the past Are mingl'd with the poet's lifeless clay. I loved the man's true, pure, and simple mind, His honest love of right, straightforward play; No skulker he ; nor lagged he far behind When pluck and daring claimed to lead the way. How many missed his lithe and sinewy form Last Saturday, when jumpers took their place! Who can forget the boisterous, hearty storm Of cheers that used to greet him in the race? 62 SPARKS AND SOUNDS No more his face may glad the sportsman's eye; "The Lawn" shall bear no more his manly tread; To all who loved him he has said " Good-bye," And earth has closed upon his weary head. And no one left to fill the vacant chair Which he, as Sportsman Poet, graced so well; Not one to rouse the dingo from his lair, And all the joys of chase to truly tell. No bard am I to write his epitaph In true poetic numbers ; yet I have Some mournful pleasure in the autograph The poet's hand inscribed. And when he gave The last production of his tuneful muse, With proud anxiety, and bade me read The pages marked with care ; could I refuse To give him joy? and wish him all God speed! It was the last I saw of him in life ; I never clasped, with warmth, his hand again ; But he is free from this world's wearing strife : God rest his soul in peace, and so, Amen. October 17, 1870. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 63 THE WRECK OF THE RIP. On the wreck of the Rip stood the brave fellow Marr ; Undaunted, unflinching, he clung to the spar; With a wave of the hand and a move of the head (When wild desolation before him was spread), He bade them to sever the quivering mast, As the vessel careened to the furious blast. All speechless and helpless, his mates could but gaze With horror and grief on his death-stricken face. ' He nodded, Good-bye, and we saw him no more," The wild cruel sea swept him far from the shore — Engulphed in the roll of the treacherous wave, Torn, mangled, and bleeding, yet cool, and so brave, Poor Preston and Hall found a watery grave. " M'Kenzie was cool;" in the height of the storm No fear was displayed in his sailor-like form, No shriek of despair rent the air as he sank In the seething white whirl of the billowy bank. No help was at hand from the ill-fated boat When the grim King of Terrors was grasping his throat. Nor time for a thought of his loved ones at home, As he battled for life in the midst of the foam. Thus brave men have perished, have died at their post, Nor will the cold sea give them back to the coast. Their graves are not shaded by cypress or yew — What matter ? they rest 'neath the great vault of blue, Near the bubble and boil of the dangerous Rip, Till the Pilot above wakes them all from their sleep. 1873. 64 SPARKS AND SOUNDS THE JOURNEY OF THE WIRE. I start from England's busy mart Across the briny ocean, Prepared to play an active part, And keep the world in motion; I dip, I dive, I hang, I cling, In deeps and erst in shallows, And notes which from my wired harp ring Are heard by skimming swallows. I vibrate in the sun's bright ray, Beneath the seas I quiver; A moonbeam lights me on my way To join the Roper River. My sinuous form ne'er heeds a storm Throughout the broad Atlantic; It winds along where fishes swarm, And drives the mermaids frantic; They swing upon my caoutchouc Fly flip-flaps o'er and o'er me — They follow me through every nook, And wildly dance before me ; But I steal on my lengthy way, And do my best endeavour (While leaving them to sport and play) To reach the Roper River. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 65 I pass the desert's grassy spots, The Red Sea and Grand Cairo, Quite careless of the famed flesh-pots Of Egypt, or of Pharaoh; I rush along from Aden's shore, I dart into Batavia ; I feel I'm stretching more and more, And further from Belgravia. I coil among the reefs and rocks — The tropics see me shiver — But on I go, in spite of shocks, To reach the Roper River. I join the Roper, then make tracks, And off for South Australia, Wandering on through tribes of blacks, Whose chiefs wear no regalia : I twist, I turn, I twine about, To them a perfect wonder, As I pursue my steady route, In spite of rain or thunder; I loiter by a golden reef, I linger 'mid the bushes, I rest beside the rustling leaf And where the water rushes. And on again o'er hill and dale My mission is to carry By lightning flash the newest tale ; Nor tire nor ask to tarry. F 66 SPARKS AND SOUNDS I startle all the world with news ; I join what none will sever — The world in one is mine to fuse, And will be so for ever. THE PRESIDENT, THE BARON, AND THE GARDENER. Scene: The Lands Office, 1873. The President sits in his high-backed chair, Portly in person and pleasant in looks; His countenance wears a most satisfied air, As he glances at papers or turns o'er his books. He deals with the lands in a marvellous way, Each suitor he hears with a dignified grace, And listens most blandly to what people say, Who come with a grievance for him to redress. Then to him, the Baron ; Von Mueller I mean, And Ferguson also, a gardener by trade ; And there was enacted the following scene — The dialogue taken from jottings then made: — The Baron, — " I dinks, Mr. Bresident, faar as I can, My gais it is deis, I'm a much apuis'd maan ; I shows you my crief, und I dells you mine voe, I boint in ze caardins to drees, vhich I crow. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 6*J You do not abbreciate science, I say, Nor dings vhich I do in a vonderful vay; I have veaast gorresbondence mit eminent men, And science is veaastly in debt to my pen. Sir Henry Parkly, he wride und he say, 1 My fery tear Parron, deis is not te vay Dey should deal mit a man of a standing like you, Suberior to many, und eaqvalled by few; In der science of Pottany you stand confest, Of its wotaries ze staunchest, most earnest and best.' Zen ze craade Dr. Hooker, mein eggsellend vriend, Remonstrades, you nodice, deglining to zend A caardner for landscaapes to suberzede me, And mit his sugguesstions, I hope you'll agree. Dus you see, Mr. Bresident, vhat I haf ton, In ze craade gause ov science vot vaame I haf von; Bud deis Viergusson goom mit hish bragticul vays, Dill he blaazes mein reason almost in a graze. He guts down der drees, vhich you know I so lofes, Und he makes mit his axes soom light in ze croves. Deis maan, you shall send him afay mit his drees, Faar in ze staate vorest, so faar ash you bleeze; I shall not apare him to goom neer der blaace, I nevar shall like not to look in his vaace. A poard zit upon me — now deis is not nice, Und I make deis gomblaining more often as tvice. A maan vas abboinded, von Mitchell py naame, He write in ze baabers and sully my faame ; I obyected, you zee, to zis maan on ze poard, I dinks itz not vair if zey shall not affoard F 2 68 SPARKS AND SOUNDS An imbartial inqviry, und deis gannot pe, So long vhat deis maan haf a town upon me ; , You zee in ze Leodar how pidder he writes — He haf boison't my tays and impitter'd my nights : How den shall I pare to be shooged py deis maan? And dis den is vhy I obyect to deir plaan. I vish to egsblain, too, pevore I sid town, Und vhen I haf ton I shall vairly haf shown Gombarizons air nod at all dimes zo vair As vhat you might dink, or as dings may abbear — Ze Potanical Cardens gombaird to Fitzroy! Id is not a vair von, I dells you vor vhy, In von blaace you shoost dearn ze gock, und you zees A vine sdream of wasser among all ze drees. In ze oder ? Veil ! I haf my floot tarn to make Und you air avair vhat a dime dis shall dake. A seurgumsteance during de least year ockkears, Which nevaar haf habbened de laasd deirty years, 'Twas deis, my lakoon id git beervectly try, And if I not eggskawate ? — den py and pye Vhat plame I shall haf vrom de Minisder's hands, As veil vrom de shief in de Office for Lands. Moreover, I dinks vhat it den shall be said Zat de Paron Von Mueller haf cot a thick head. I feurder vould add, Mr. Bresitent, now, As you air so kind — I'll endeavour to show How science is slighted — und how, vhen I gome Veirst indo dis gountry to make it my home, I leafe faar pehint me mein own Vaterlandt, Its moundains, its walleys, und rifers so grandt; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 69 I goom to dis gountry — I gif my whole life To science — I nevaar haf taaken a vife ; No liddle Von Muellers gling to my knee, I haf not a pabee to smile upon me. Ze baabers air spideful, ze Ministers plind; . Zay do not abbreciate science or mind, And Viergusson flourishes vixed in his blaace, Und I am disgarded in shame and disgrace." ^'Um! hah!" quoth the President; "pray let us hear What Ferguson says — Baron, pray take a chair: And, now, Mr. Ferguson, what do you say ? You've listened, I'm sure, to the eloquent way The Baron has stated the whole of his case." A smile mantled o'er Mr. Ferguson's face ; And oxygen glowed in the whole of his veins, As he said: " Well, the Baron's not wise for his pains; If he'll mind his science and let me alone, I'll show him how flowers and plants should be grown." The President smiled in his own pleasant way, And wished them both, blandly, a very good day. 70 SPARKS AND SOUNDS A LANCASHIRE MON'S NOTIONS 0' TH* KUNTHRI. Written during the Famine in Lancashire. Awve lately coom o'er just to see thi \ Awm a Lancashire lad tha mun know ; Awve heerd some foin tales from Australy, Its a gradely loike place — it is so ! Theers some o yo felleys is good uns — Theaws't gotten th' reet koind o yed ; Awm blessed if awve seen mony betther When poor folk is clemming for bread.. Awm towd ut yo've been only lately Subscroibing a rare lot o brass, To help a few o'er to this kunthri — Theaw conno do better, by'th mass. Theawlt foin'd em o nobbut rare workers ; Theaw wilt, ur awm sadly mistaen ; Awm fain to think noan ull be shirkers, So kunthri is beawn to geet gain. Theers t J pappurs an chap tha co'n Iv'rard, Han o bin a takkin their parts; When 't news reoches o'er to owd kunthri, Eh, mon ! it'll gladden thir hearts. The toimes theer ar nobbut bo queer, loike, An folk ha bin scanted o bread ; Awm thinking theers room for em heer, loike. An pasther weer o can geet fed. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 7 1 Aw dunnot see mony folk clemming, Or trailing abeawt i ; disthress; Bo theors beawn to be some ut ar iC loafers," An beawn to be some i' a mess. Awve been a bit looking abeawt me, Things may'nt be so brisk as they wur ; Bo awm thinking they'll mend very shortly, An be just as breet as befur. Theers a chap ? t yon parlymint heawses, By'th mass, heaw hoo reav'd an rapt eawt : Hoo sed ut hoo wanted no moor folk — Aw conno tell what hoo's abeawt. Does hoo think ut hoo'l iver be king heer, An send th J owd kunthri adrift? Awm fain to think no such a thing, fur Aw'd sooner wi Queen still mak shift. Awn gwoin to keawr deawn heer ? Melbourne, So mebbee awl wroite tha next weok; Awle happin see summat to pleaze ma, Iv so, awl do nobbut bo speok. Theirs mony things happin heer daily Ut a felley loike me's niver sean ; Awm beawn to speok eawt pratty freely, So awe rekkon theawlt heer fro' ma agean. 72 SPARKS AND SOUNDS NO. II. ON MORALS. Aw towd tha awd wroite tha agaan, As sune as aw'd toime to look reawnd ; Awve seon a few things pratty plaan Since then, an aw foind ut awm beawnd To speok about some funy maks Ut folk a bin playing o' laate ; Yon felleys they co'n moral chaps, Han gotten a rare chance to praate To a chap they co'n Reiby. Eh, mon, He's a rum un aw rekkon, to be A preocher o' gospel 5 to some He's a regular loominary. Them felleys ut fossick abeawt I' Bourke-street to leuk at th ; gells, May fain take a trip o'er t' say, Un preoch to sum drawing-room belles. Their morals awm thinking are shy, They're brassen i' sum o' thir gams; Bo aw think ut its plaanly seen why, When shepherd asthray leads t' lambs. This scandal is nobbut a blot, A staane, an a lashting disgraace ; Let uz hope it weant happen agaan As long as aw stop i'th plaace. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 73 Them felleys uts bin an caught Power Are nobbut be good uns, aw guess ; That Longmore may raave eawt an roar, He's gotten hissen i ; a mess ; As fur as his slander cud gooa, He's nobbut a blethering ass. Here's lung life to Montford an Hare, An Nicholson, in a full glass. — *~§3-^ — LICENSING DAY, HEMERALD ILL. By Kunstible Keen. [The following little episode, which occurred as related, shows the de- sirability of respecting the Beaks. Mr. Faussit entered an action, but it would not lie. ] Last Satterdy I was hon dootee, Hemerald ill hit was mi bete, Nimmo shines thair hin is beauty; To see im froun hit his a trete. The pubs were hall hassembuld thare 2 Get thair lisenses renued; Hand many a boosum bete with fear, threw ■ Aving hall thare hacts reevued. 74 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Wen i Hallin's name was calFd hout E didn't hansur 2 the saim, Hand tharehupon the chareman balPd hout "Refused," hand cawled hanother naim. Then Mr. Fassit, hoo's a lawyer Hof sum skill hand grate renoun, Hask'd the bench 2 give im justiss, But tha told im 2 sit down. Warehupon e stated boldlee That thare wurships ad done rong, Hand begg'd tha wouldent treate so coldly Is clyent's clame, hand put hit strong. O then hit was a trete to witness Rauth hand hangar hon the brow Hof each beke, wile fear hand tremblin Fell hupon the croud B low. Which these words ware huttered 4thwith Bye the chareman hin his rorth: "Cir, i fine u for t shillins, Hor 2 prison u go 4th. "Uve reflected hon. hour wisdumb, Zouns, cir, this kan never B, We shall teach u better manners Than to dictate 2 us 3. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 75 "Take im hout, hinspectur Birton, Lodge im hin the dunjun sell, Till e payse the for t shillins, That's the plase will soot im well." When Mr. Birton calls the sarjunt, Mr. Fassit folds is harms, Hand survays with stum defiance Hall the bekes with hall thare charms. For a momen \ then is judgment Prompted im to pay the tin, So e forked hout for t shillings With a qureous kind of grin. Then e told the bekes quite karmly That hupon some fuchur da, Hin a cort B 4 a Jewry E shud ave hanuther sa. Hin the menetime is poor clyent As to seese from drawing bier, Just because he wasn't present When tha cawled im 2 happeer. MORAL. Hallus hansur hin the pleece cort, When tha cawl halowd ure naim, Hor ye'll find you'll get in trubble Hand but ave ureself to blaim. 7 6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS GUID-BYE, JAMIE. O, fare thee weel noo, Jamie, Ye're ganging faur away, Ye're gaun awa' to Scotia's hills, Across the saut saut sea. An' we shall greet fu' sair, Jamie, When ye hae ta'en your flight ; For weel I ween there ne'er was seen A baulder, burlier knight. O, Jamie, weel we ken it ; Ye've feathert weel yeer nest; An' for yours el ye ken fu' weel Ye've dune your " level best." An' aye a handle to your name Is tacked for ever mair ; To bid yee noo a lang adieu My heart will greet fu' sair. Dear Jamie, at our parting I'm thinking o' the past ; Departing rays o' vanished days, Thae days that couldna last — When bauld M'Culloch ! was the cry That rous'd up ilka heart, And made the hair upon the heed Of ilka Scotchman start. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 77 Look, Jamie, what an awfu' change Has come across the scene Since ilka chiel in this our land Swore by thy tartan green. Now Duffy is their idol, You'll tak a hinmost seat ; I'm thinking it will dae ye gude, But mon, ye needna greet. Ye just was getting unco big, An' pride maun hae a fa', An' heartily I'll take yere haun When ye are gaun awa'. Ye muckle burlie cannie chiel, Ye're just the mon for me ; Ye've served your kintra an' yoursel — Thafs what I like to see. But when in Scotland, Jamie dear, Ye'll no forget your friends ; Ye'll think some time o' G. P. Smith And Vale, and aye what lends Enchantment to sic charming views As thae whilk ance were near ; That distance is the medium through Which all seems bright and clear. Ance mair adieu ! When steam and sail Have borne you from our sight, And waves are splashing round your heed, An' ye pace the deck at night, 78 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Ye'll calmly think, dear Jamie, then, And bless wi' a' your might, The fates that sent you here a clerk, And back a burlie knight. WELCOME HAME. Welcome bock again, Sir Jamie ! Certes, I am unco' glad ; Man, we've missed ye a'thegither ; 'Ech, I'm pleased to see ye, lad. For ye're looking fierce and frisky, Younger by a twa or three year, I'm thinking ye'll hae taen some whisky Wi' your Hieland kinfolk there ; Doon awa amang the heather, Owre the muirland and the brae, Whar lang syne ye used to gather Blooming wild flowers by the way. An' ye're bock in time, my laddie, Sic an awfu' mull they've made, A' aboot this Mount and Morris ; Man dear, I am sair afraid FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 79 They hae gotten intil trouble, For they're looking varra glum ; Jemmy Grant has blown a bubble, Which will burst amang 'em — some. Ech, Sir James, I much misdoot me But yell see an awfu' change When ye just look roond aboot ye, When your een the front bench range — Scan that bench ye sae lang gracit, See wha sits wi' yere auld mate — Langton ! Gillies ! Cohen ! Kerferd ! ! Men fra whom ye met yere fate. But they've made a fearfu' muddle, Mount and Moms are gane free, And there's gaun to be a scrammle For the bench ca'd Treasury. An' wha kens but we may see ye Bock agin upon that seat Whar sae lang ye ruled the kintra — Eh, Sir Jamie? power is sweet. P'raps ye'll bring Sir George in wi' ye; Ye'll hae baith looked at the Queen, An' the House o' Commons lately, As weel's what else is tae be seen. An' ye'll bring the newest notions Frae the auld respeckit land; Sae we'll greet ye ance mair, Jamie, Grip ye warmly by the hand. So SPARKS AND SOUNDS Greet ye wi' a kindly greeting, Wish ye a' ye wish yersel. Man dear, 'tis a gladsome meeting — Yee'l hae had a fairish spell O'er amang the folk in Lunnon Roon aboot Auld Reekie's towers, Wliar the northern sun has shone on Fairy scenes in by-gane hours. But ye like your squatting stations, And ye loe your fleecy wool, And ye leave the aulder nations And come back, yer heart quite full- Full o' future grand aspirings, Wi' ambition fully chairged ; Full o' wishes, hopes, desirings, W? ideas much enlairged. An yell gie's your crack, my mannie, When election time comes round, An' when in the House sae cannie, On the front seat ye are found. Ance mair, then, a welcome hearty; Gie's yer help as lang's ye can, Free frae all cabals or party, Then yell thrice be welcome, man. FROM A COLONIAL AXVIL. 8l NOTHING TO WRITE. I know not of what I can speak, All seems a dull blank in the press, I've watched every day for a week, Each day there appears to be less; South Melbourne has charge of the Cup, And Clarke's had a very bad night, The sporting world's nearly done up, And I'm puzzled for something to write. There's Rickards, the famous comique, Of babies tie likes to take care ; The Royal has, during the week, Been catching the folks with a Snare. Miss Ernestone has talent, no doubt, And Rickards I've heard with delight, He really knows what he's about — Yet still I have nothing to write. D. Fraser's determined to have The parson who stole the discourse ; No mercy ! on this side the grave, No matter how deep the remorse. These Christians have wonderful hearts : It is such a beautiful sight, To watch the benevolent parts They play for each other's delight. G 82 SPARKS AND SOUNDS There's Thomson, the doctor, disdains To act diphtheretically, And takes an immense deal of pains To infmitesimally Explain the euphemistic dodge, Eclective! wild!! artful!!! delight, And where the chimeras will lodge ; I'm puzzled, but p'rhaps he was right. The ladies have met to discuss, At the School for the Indigent Blind, A grievance — indeed, without fuss, They are right," I to think am inclined. The present committee's a sham — Self-appointed — which cannot be right ; But those who subscribe are to blame — On this I'm not puzzled to write. The mails have arrived, and they bring- Good news, for the Prince has got well, And pseans of thankfulness ring, And feelings of gratitude swell Through the length and the breadth of the land, Where loyalty lives ; with delight, Punch hails it, with heart and with hand — He's thankful he has it to write. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 83 THE COMPANIES IN COLLINS STREET. The street of Collins is a wondrous street, Where curious people every morning meet To transact business with most serious looks, And madly rush about with open books ; A motley group of many sorts of men On speculation bent. And now and then All through their conversation freely runs This story: — I'll buy ' Ajax number ones/ ' Great Gulfs ' I'll sell, or ' Parks,' or 'Newingtons.' Or change the story to another tune, And — I can sell a parcel of 'New Moon/ Or buy some ' Clara's ' or a ' Picaninny/ The 'Ladies' Tribute' is not worth a guinea. 'Koch's Pioneer' looks up among the rest, And ' Royal Hustler's' rank among the best. The 'Golden Fleece' has struck some golden seams, And gold is present in the 'Golden Streams.' 'Lothair' and 'Robin Hood' behave like bricks, 1 Buffalo Heads' are sold at ten and six. 'Black Horses' wanted, and a ready sale For 'Garden Gullys' and for 'Avondale;' The 'Broomielaw' is offered for a crown, The 'Union Jack' is rather looking down; ' Happy-go-Lucky ' go at two and nine, The 'Hope' is buoyant, and the 'Brilliants' shine. The ' Golden Lion Tribute' is the rage, And sales are freely made of ' Golden Age.' g 2 84 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Some ' Mopoke ' or ' New Chum ' are freely bought, And ' Richard Heales' has everywhere been sought. 'Star of the East' is wanted every night, The ' Southern Cross' has shone out very bright. 'Great Comet' shines with no resplendent light. The 'Hercules' has come out rather strong, 'Nil Desperandum' says 'M'Lay's Marong.' Of ' Unity ' there's been a ready sale, ' United Perseverance ' must prevail ; — And thus from day to day goes on the tale. VALEDICTORY. Written on yudge Felloid's departure for England, A few words at parting, to wish him God-speed ! The King of good Fellows, a true friend in need. His good-natured features and mischievous smile, His big, burly form, will be missed for a while. We wish him good-bye, and a speedy return To the scene of his labours. Ah ! many will yearn For the kind, feeling heart, which could never withstand The claims of misfortune — the liberal hand Which ever was open to charity's call, And prompt to relieve the distresses of all ! We ill can afford, now, to lose such a man : The Bar and the Senate may do what they can, But they will not replace him. And so let us say, Farewell! and come back at your earliest day. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 85 OPENING OF NORTH-EASTERN RAILWAY TO SEYMOUR. TEDDY DOOLAN'S ACCOUNT OF THE CELEBRATION. After Barham (a little way). Och, the celebrashun at the railway stashun, On a late occashun, made my hair to shtare ; For going to Seymour, there was Mr. T. Moore, And two or three more M.P.'s were there. 'Twas there you'd see the railway porthers Rushing about to open the doors ; And lots of ladies and the two O'Grady's — All sthanding ready wor the min in shcores. The platform thronging, they all were longing To rush ding dong in, to take their sates ; And widows waiting, their hearts elating, Or wildly bating wid the wildest bates ; And whin they're sated, feel quite elated, And looking plased like, wid a lovely shmile. Prim as a daisy sits Prisident Casey, Wid a beautiful noshegay in hish breasht all the while. There was all the Cabinet, I can't help blabbing it, (The rhyme's not parfect, but I can't help that), They seemed so cheerful, not the laste bit tearful, Nor as if they wor at all inclined to fret; S6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS And Francis laughed wid, and Langton chaffed wid (Indeed I hard he was seen to shmile) All the M.P.'s shtanding upon the landing — Av coorse it's the platform I mane all the while. There was Mr. Walker, though he's no grate talker, He's a dacent fellow; and the good John James, Likewise Mr. Shpaker, and Mr. Jones the quaker, All bound for Seymour to taste the crames. There were lots of lawyers, and some grate top-sawyers, Maning all the big wigs in this famous town; And girls wid hair pads (faix, they're mighty qhuare pads), From the broightest yellow to the darkesht brown. The train at shtarting made a dreadful shnorting, Just like a grampus when he's short of wind, Wid the shmoke and shtaming, and the whishtle schraming, Soon left the staashun far enough behind. And thin another one, just like the t'other one, Was filled as quickly as you could count ten ; Wid the Vice-Ragal party, all looking harty, The ladies as will as the gintlemen. For the Hon. Miss Sutton had this morning put on Hur purtiest dimple and her shwatest shmile, And Lieutenant Terry looked as gay and merry As the noble Viscount singing Annie Lile. Misther Bright was thare too, sitting down quite near to, And chatting gaily in the Governor's ear ; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 87 And the Railway Minishter, looking noway sinishter, But shoining and dapper loike — in fact, all there. But the train's in moshun, and I've a noshun, That it would be betther I should move an too, Among the scenery, whar delightful greenery Is altogether the prevailing hue. In the Vale of Pashcoe we've no fiashco, But pass quoite safely an to East Kilmore, By Wallan Wallan, and don't shtop to call on The station mashter, as IVe done before. Wid the north wind blowing, we shtill keep going, By Broadfoard township and by Tullarook, When Mr. T. Moore sings out — There's Seymour ! And by dad there was then, whin we took a look. Now we rache the stashun, where a great orashun Is read aloud by the local mayor, And a wild Seymorian, in tones Stentorian, Is hoarse wid shouting as he rinds the air. Bedad I'm thinking there'll be some dhrinking, And ateing too, boys, in that monster tent ; So there was that same too, and little blame to The hungry craythurs, as I remarked to Bent. O ! the guests then present all so gay and pleasant, Stood waiting, gathered into little groups, Their mouths all wathering, and prepared for slaughtering Mr. Hughes' turkeys, and to ate his soops. 88 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Whin they'd finished ateing, and were about retrating, Then the Chairman rises up on to his legs, And makes a request there, that every guest there Will rise immadiately, and further begs That they'd charge their glasses, men, women and lasses,. And drink the Queen as Britons always should do. The wine was shplendid, and before they ended, The bottles they emptied, begorra, were not a few ! Then the other spaches, before this raches An end, I'll tell you what they were all about. Shtop! No ! Be japers, they are in all the papers, So if you want to know, you can find it out. Thare was lots of funning, and some wakely punning, And games at whisht, farty-foive and loo, And some bright eyes glancing set some hearts dancing As we travelled homewards — I hope this will do. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 89 THE PIOUS FARMER AND THE THRIFTY MAID-SERVANT ; OR, THE LOVES OF DONALD AND ANNIE. Near to Beaufort lived a farmer, And the place was Middle Creek: Of this pious Highland laddie I am now about to speak, And tell how Donald got quite sweet on (Asking her for her fair hand) A Highland lassie, Annie Beaton — Telling her of crops and land. In this Highland lassie's bosom (Aged only twenty -six) Donald raised up hopes of marriage Ere he played his little tricks ; Talked of future pigs to Annie, Said he was in want of sarks ; Sent her twenty pounds in money, Then commenced to play his larks. Canting, cannie, cautious Donald, Pious too, without a doubt, Put to Annie several questions In a letter most devout. 90 SPARKS AND SOUNDS " Can it be that you are forty ? Have you got bad nature too ? (Donald's love begins to flicker) Won't you wait a year or two ?" Annie has a shrewd old uncle, One whom Donald " honoured much/' And this braw auld Scotchman says, '"If You're a man, pray act as such." Donald then, misquoting Scripture, Tells of " Tamar and of Ammon," Asks her not to go to law, and Talks a deal of pious gammon. In a manner which disgusts, this Cannie, canting Scotchman craves His release from his engagement. Wild with pious rage he raves; Law he dreads with nervous horror, Quoting David ; and the plan Annie threatens doesn't suit him — He " prefers the Lord to man." But the lassie found a lawyer With a speculative mind, Who for her will find the needful — Mr. Walker, too, is kind. So she wrote to dear M'Donald In a business kind of way — " If you don't intend to marry, Just three hundred pounds you'll pay." FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 9 1 Stronger still in texts of Scripture, Less and less inclined to wed, In the court at length we see him, In that court he seemed to dread. And the jury find for Annie; To console her for the loss Of faithless Donald, they award her Something handsome in the gross. MORAL. Pious Highlanders, take warning; If to wedlock you're inclined, Don't you twist or throw your sweethearts; Keep Ann Beaton in your mind : Recollect the fate of Donald, Don't quote Scripture to excuse A shuffling, snivelling course of conduct — Don't wear wicked Donald's shoes. 92 SPARKS AND SOUNDS \ REMINISCENCES OF AN OLD ACTOR. Time — 1972. Scene- -Founder's Cottage, Merri Creek. Dramatis Persons — Grandfather Brown, a retired old Actor; Young Brown, his grandson, a lad, O. B. — My grandfather has told me, boy, that he remem- bered well This city, now so rich and gay, when but a pastoral dell — That bronzewing pigeons built their nests where stands our Senate Hall — That kangaroos hopped fearlessly within the city's wall — That when he was a little boy, about the size of you, He used to hunt the native bear in gum-trees gaunt and blue ; He saw the city quickly spring from forest into town, And ships from every nation bring their commerce for her own; And people madly rushed to grasp the boundless stores of gold Which lay within the teeming lap of Ballarat of old. Boy. — But, grandpa, tell me, for I like to hear you when you speak Of those old times when Bendigo sent so much gold each week. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 93 O. B. — Ah, boy! I've heard my grandsire tell some curious yarns at times, Of strokes of luck, of fortunes made, of many fearful crimes • High hopes and aspirations crushed, pile upon pile knocked down — That was the slang for spending, when they brought their gold to town — And diggers' weddings daily were the outcome of the spree ; While circus clowns and silly girls, in flaunting finery, Dashed through the muddy crowded streets in carriages and pairs ; And Biddy, wid her sathin dress, put on her jauntiest airs. Bushranging then was at its height, and Captain Melville reigned ; Reckless of danger or of life when plunder could be gained. I've heard the old man often speak of Coppin's dodges then — Who'd lost some fortunes, three or four, and won them back again — Who'd started this Dramatic Fund which keeps me here to- day, In independence, my dear boy. That's a'proud thing to say. 'Twas then he had a precious row with Viscount Canter- bury; The papers all were down on him, 'twas hot for Coppin, very. He didn't seem to mind it much \ I've heard my grandsire say That Coppin was a " curious cuss," and mostly had his way. 94 SPARKS. AND SOUNDS IVe laughed to hear the old man talk about a cricket match They played upon the Melbourne ground, when Greville tried to catch The ball within his high-crowned hat — he was a funny " fella"— And Coppin fielded gloriously with Paul Pry's umbrella. But I am getting tiresome, boy. Boy. — Oh, no, grandad, go on; I like to hear of those old times. That story you began The other day, of G. V. Brooke, whose melancholy fate Has made me cry so many times. O. B. — Ah, boy, he was a great And gifted son of genius, a master of his art ; Aye, more than master — monarch! he excelled in every part. My father knew him, and IVe seen his bosom proudly swell, When telling of Brooke's triumphs in the art he loved so well, The grandeur of his presence, the rich tones of his voice, Were graven on his memory ; and, oh ! he would rejoice When telling of Brooke's comedy, " Felix O'Callaghan," And " Pierce O'Hara," " Benedick," — Ah, boy ! he was a man Whose equal has not yet appeared in this or any age, In the annals of the drama, in the history of the stage, Brooke's name stands forth pre-eminent among a mighty host FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 95 Of whom you've read, and who, I've heard my poor old father boast, Were known to him, as boy and man (some were his own confreres). He'd seen them all at intervals for fully fifty years. And giants in the Thespian Art lived in my father's days, Men whom to know was but to feel they were above all praise ; The Lamberts, and the Jeffersons, and Rogers. Ah, my boy 1 When talking of these gifted men, the old man, filled with joy, Would tell of " Rip Van Winkle," as he had seen it played By one who ne'er has been approached in aught that he essayed, Whom Nature marked as all her own, whose presence seemed a spell, Whose pathos none could e'er behold, but tears would quickly well Within the trembling eyelids, and as quickly disappear As some bright bubbling burst of fun broke broadly on the ear. Montgomery, too, the victim of a woman's deep design : No Hamlet that e'er graced the stage could hope with him to shine. And actresses who knew their art, like Cleveland, Kean, and Heir, Like Phillips or poor Vickery, or Ellen Mortyn fair, Were brought as stars to Melbourne, and well each (in her day) Fulfilled the task allotted her ; and I have heard him say That native talent homeward went of no mean order, lad. <)6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Our Mrs. Herman Vezin and our Julia Mathews had A bright career in Britain's Isle among such famous men As Phelps and Robson, Toole and Wright; and further- more, that then Some young aspirants rose who used to nightly charm the town; In " School," " Caste," and " Pygmalion," they " won a great renown." Shepparde and Carey, graceful girls, soon after were the rage, And e'en the Royal Company fill up a famous page Within the written history of that eventful age, (When all the men I've spoken of, of whom my grandsire told, Were in the zenith of their fame, and Melbourne teemed with gold.) Th' Old Iron Pot and erst Tom Nunn are links, too, in its chain, While Farquharson and Sullivan present themselves again, As I have heard them oft described by those who knew them well, And who could all their ways describe, and all their failings tell. When Stewart lived and Harwood reigned, and Coppin ruled the roast, Then Hennings' genius crowned the whole, for he could proudly boast A master's hand, a magic touch, a pencil of such skill That temple, dome or minaret were subject to his will; And fairy scenes and broad burlesque, or old historic play, Were placed in splendour on the stage, in Pitt and Hen- nings' day. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 97 Some other time I'll tell you more. Your father's gone to play In Sydney, did you say, to-night? and only left to-day? Went by the train this morning? that's doing the journey quick. The season at Port Darwin commences, too, next week — Queen Mary Ann's bespeak, I hear, takes place to-morrow night. Your father will be back again? Boy. — He said he would. O. B— That's right, The Federal Council meets next month, as I have just been told. These Congress men are much the same as M.L.A.'s of old. Sad news is flashed from England, for the President is dead, And rumour says another Dilke will chosen be instead. The King of the United States has got a son and heir — The Republicans of Russia are triumphant everywhere. Some other day, my bonny boy, I hope to tell you all I've heard concerning a bazaar held in St. George's Hall — In Coppin's time it was, my lad; my grandmother was there, And had a stall of fancy goods at that same fancy fair; She helped to raise some of the funds which built my home to-day — It was a wise provision, too, made in a simple way. I see the wisdom now, quite plain, which prompted them to start An institution well designed to cheer the old man's heart, And make the later years he has to spend upon the earth Glide smoothly on, till he return to God who gave him birth. t/^j *-§*§-^ — THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1865. [At the request of some of my subscribers, I have made the following pieces records of the actual winners of the races referred to, not with any intention of superseding that admirable production which eman- ates yearly from Messrs. Stillwell and Knight, viz., The Turf Register, but in order to show how easy it is to give a good "tip" after a race is over and won.] Won by Tory Boy, Panic second. Time — 3 min. 44 sees. The hour has come. November's second day Sees thousands deck'd in holiday array, And hastening northward quit the busy town For Flemingtonia's bright and grassy down, Where Bagot's thoughtful head and busy hand Such wondrous alterations there have planned As startle all with wonder and delight, And make a once bright scene look still more bright. The road, the rail, are crowded with the rush From inland townships, and the farthest bush Sends hosts of visitors to view the scene About to be enacted on the green FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. I07 Smooth sward which skirts the saline river's side, \ Whose placid stream receives the rolling tide, > And back returns it to the ocean wide. / Saltwater River — unpoetic name — The silent witness of the deeds of fame Done by the gallant steeds in days before Which to the front their owners' colours bore. Old Petrel's name is link'd along with thine, The predecessor of a gallant line Of winners, noted for their pace and pluck, Staunch as the Jib, and speedy as the Buck. A brilliant sight shall grace thy bank to-day : The Melbourne Cup, the subject of my lay, Contended for by such a goodly field, Shall genuine pleasure to the sportsman yield. The hillside, graced by Nature's fairest forms, • Paddock and stand gay beauty too adorn ; Equine and feminine will all be there Our hearts to gladden and our joys to share. And as we glance around the merry throng, Expectant now with hopes deferred so long, The ringing bell proclaims to hearts elate 'Tis time to saddle for the Maiden Plate. 'Tis done, 'tis won, three cheers the victor greet, Maroon and gold the judge's eye first meet, Just one short race, five furlongs, tells the tale, And marks the winner of the Ascot Vale. A start ! a rush ! she comes on pinions full, And claims the prize, the dashing, smart Sea Gull. Eisher, let's hope thy luck has changed at last, 108 SPARKS AND SOUNDS That Fortune's frowns are only of the past; I know this wish is echoed far and near. And now to don the mantle of the seer. Tis half-past three, metallics fast are plied ; " Nobody names it," rings on every side, The list is lengthy and the field is great, All forms and sizes, and all sorts of weight. Panics and Shadows, Poets and Minstrels too, Mozarts and Playboys, rank and title view. Ellen and Rose, and Alexandra fair, Will tread a measure with the Viscount there. Angler will Frolic by the river bank. A Miller and a Lancer too will rank With Miss Victoria, and in Nightshade's bloom Ebor and Musidora meet their doom. A Songster sweet majestically moves, Best of his lot I'll wager that he proves; His sweeping stride and easy-going gait \ Mark him a racehorse, but it's not his fate > To be the winner of the silver plate. ) Charles Albert, emblem of a royal line, Will not repeat the deed of fifty-nine, Which skill and talent and a slice of luck The champion gave to once-famed Flying Buck. The starter's flag floats in the sunny breeze, The starter's eye the straggler quickly sees ; They take their places, range themselves in form, Each one preparing for the coming storm. They're off! Not yet; 'tis Rose, the fractious elf, That mars the start; together with herself, FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. IO9 Some other fractious creatures stop the way, Loth to depart, yet eager for th' affray. At length away : the Rose is surely there, \ And Alexandra, type of lady fair, > The fashion leads as by the stand they tear. ) Ebor and Poet drive them all along Till past the old grand stand, when through the throng They slily steal, and leave a tail behind Which lengthens out as round the course they wind. The abbattoirs are passed, and now prepare With speed to struggle and with pluck to dare. The rose and black is foremost in the van, And still remains, prevent it if ye can. The Minstrel now attempts to strike his lyre, And Poet's lays are true poetic fire, As stride by stride he overhauls the lot. Excitement quickens as the pace grows hot. Now Oriflamme outstretched to catch the wind — Alas ! the golden standard's left behind. Black and all black are coming to the fore, Where oft in other days they've been before, Borne on the handsome Musidora's back, Mettle and game she ne'er was known to lack. Look out, sweet Rose, and Angler, too, beware, A dangerous foe's the little light-brown mare. Ebor is there with strong determined pace, Nor better steed e'er started in a race. But weight will tell, and dangerous though he be, His sister beats him, I'll lay four to three. Maroon and gold begin to catch the eye, IIO SPARKS AND SOUNDS Frolic and Lancer striving desperately. Wait patiently, my little game, good horse, Your weight is high, the pace you must not force, But bide your time, and all may yet be well, You yet may conquer Fisher's blooming Belle ; Your form is good, your pluck can't be denied, You're hard to beat when collared stride for stride. The little Tory Boy from Emerald Hill, A post of dignity strives hard to fill. The poll when closed, his number must go up, His time, three forty-four, should win the Cup. Sam's luck is out, and If will not be there, \ Nor yet can Cadland to the van bring near > His owner's colours; and I sadly fear ) With Druid's death (a loss we all deplore) Sam's hopes were crushed as man's ne'er were before. A mist surrounds me, and tis hard to see Among the crowd who will the victor be. But hark ! there's a shout as they're rounding the turn, How the hopes of each backer alternately burn; 'Tis the Rose ! 'tis the Poet ! 'tis Ebor ! cries one, As the colours flash brilliantly out in the sun, There's Frolic and Lancer, maroon with the gold, While the names of the rest can be easily told. As they rush up the straight in the front of the crowd, They are whispered, and spoken, and shouted aloud. Old Tory Boy wins! Yes; the neat little grey Has shown them his heels for the rest of the way, Close followed by Panic — his number goes up, And three fourty-four, was the time for that Cup. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. Ill THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1866. Won by The Barb, Exile second. Time — 3 min. 43 sec. Oh ! for a dreamer's vision, Oh ! for a prophet's power, To see by the might of a second sight The future of an hour. Oh ! for a smoke from an old black pipe, Such verses to inspire, As came one day from a short old clay, In language full of fire ; To tell of the sports of Thursday, November's first gay day, To tell of the chances our light-weights have To bear the Cup away • To tell in truthful language The way The Barb will run, If Seagull or Miss Fisher Will beat John Tait's great gun; To tell if Fisher's luck will be As wretched as before, If, with all the blood in his noble stud, He is to win no more ; If Fisherman was but a fluke ; If mares like Gildermire Could never breed a racing steed By such a gallant sire ; 112 SPARKS AND SOUNDS If Marchioness and Cerva, x 7 If Nightlight (Lantern's dam), Are bad and useless animals, Their breeding all a sham ; If Rose de Florence, Omen, And all the noble dames Which form a brilliant galaxy Of high and classic names, With pedigrees untainted, Are nothing else but weeds ; If, looking to the future, We shall approve of deeds Their sons and daughters will perform For the credit of our land, When they meet in force on the Melbourne course, Or on Botany's distant strand. But alas! no dreamer's vision, No prophet's power is mine, I can but very feebly guess Whose star is like to shine, If Sydney's or Tasmania's Will in th' ascendant be, Or, if in South Australians The victors we shall see. Nor can I see distinctly A horse whereon to fix, Which will justify as a prophecy Who wins in sixty-six; FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 113 So I'll be content with giving, In a rambling kind of way, What a friend of mine in the rhyming line Has called a quiet lay — A lay (not by Macaulay, Who wrote of Ancient Rome), But a simple lay of the present day, On a subject nearer home. The sportsmen of Victoria By all their hopes have sworn That the Melbourne Cup from Melbourne Shall ne'er again be borne : By all their hopes they've sworn it, And when the day comes round, They mean to bring a goodly string Of horses young and sound. From far and near they'll bring them — Of every breed and strain, From the stout blood of old Melbourne, To the cocktail's doubtful stain ; And to beat the Sydney horses On that eventful day, Will all prepare the sports to share In the Melbourne Cup affray. Barb, look to your laurels, And Warwick, do the same ; Sultana and brave Volunteer, Both noted for yonr game, 114 SPARKS AND SOUNDS See that your pipes be open, Your legs and feet in form, Your muscles firm 'neath glossy skin, To face the approaching storm ; And when the starter's flag you see, Prepare to dash away — For the light-weights fly, ''Neath the clear blue sky Of a bright November day. In serried rank they muster, In all the pomp and pride Of a gallant troop of the fleetest steeds Whose paces have been tried ; While brilliant colours flash and gleam In the sunshine's glorious light, And the golden bays and the rich dark-browns Contrast with the black and white ; And the varying tints of the chestnut skins Show hues which are rarely seen, Save when autumn grey sheds its slanting ray O'er a sylvan English scene. Now mad with wild excitement The light-weights lead the van, The Barb now makes the running, Now pass him those who can. With hocks well down, with haunches spread, He leaps with a greyhound's bound, O'er the springy turf by the river's surf He lightly skims the ground. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 115 Austral now joins Minstrel, And Songster's with the twain, Now ! Boiardo's raking sons, Your sire's renown maintain. Did not your brother Banker Win the same race before ? In sixty-three to the front went he, Carrying- five stone four. As one by one the light-weights Are racing at The Barb, He shakes them off, they come again In many a varied garb \ Old Barwon with his eight stone seven, Dun Dolo's seven stone five, Will make the race a slashing pace, And keep the game alive. Ashworth steadies Warwick, And Redman holds The Sign, Miss Fisher's right with Carter up, And joins the foremost line. Now, Fisher, show thy breeding, Let Omen's daughters come With a glimpse of the fire which their grand old sire Once let them See at home. Now, the hum of voices Swells loud into a roar, As more than thirty gallant steeds, (A sight ne'er seen before), 1 2 Il6 SPARKS AND SOUNDS In double row careering To the goal they all would gain, Sweeping along in clusters Over the level plain. They reach the straight, and echo Repeats The Barb, Seagull, And the Sydney don still holds his own, While Barwon takes a pull. On, on they come together, The Barb and Keighran's bay, The light bay horse with stockings, And Cieeland's little gray. We've seen the light-weights win before, We've seen them go the pace, And Toryboy was his owner's joy, When he won this self-same race. Now, Warwick, do your utmost, Your country's fame preserve, It has been your wont to go in front, And never flinch or swerve. The excitement grows intense, As nearer still they come, Like a distant whirlwind sweeping, " With a dim and stifled hum. Now for the proud supremacy : Can we not hold our own? Must Sydney win, mid the noise and din, Which has into a Babel grown ? FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 117 Ho ! for a gallant champion, Ho ! for a Mormon bold, A Lantern bring, and his praise I'll sing, If hell win as he did of old. Trainers, now comes the moment When all your skill's required, When muscle, wind, and form must show All that can be desired. Now is the time when blood will tell, And weight will have its force, As the nostrils wide send forth a tide Of steam from each gallant horse ; And the heaving flank speaks volumes, And tells if the work's been done Which will make the steed in the time of need In the front rank bravely run. Nor legs nor feet must falter, No soreness of the shins, Nor staleness now must e'er exist, Or rough and wiry skins ; The sloping shoulder, ragged hip, The quarter long or wide, ' The neck quite firm, the muscles hard Beneath the glossy hide; The gleaming eye which flashes forth Sparks of electric fire, Will never fail to tell the tale, " There's a horse you cannot tire." Il8 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Meanwhile the strife grows thicker, As gallantly they bound, And Seagull rushing onward, Seems scarce to touch the ground. Now Yuille is in high feather, As Toryboy he sees (With colours gaily gleaming), Sniffing the foremost breeze : With bended neck and outstretched legs, He pulls with might and main, For the little grey is well that day. Though he ne'er be right again. Now, who that's for Victoria, And champions her cause, Would like to see her win the Cup Midst thunders of applause, Will not forget fair Helen's son And all his deeds of yore, How he won the Cup With seven stone up. How he carries but eight pounds more? With what ease he beat his horses, With lots of weight to spare, And among the three Which will foremost be, We must look for this little stayer. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 119 Now anxious hearts are beating As through the crowd they fly, A Falcon to the rescue, A Barwon waits hard by. And now The Barb is coming, That little big black horse, He comes with fierce determined air Along the green clad course — A glorious race, The Barb is first, And waving hats proclaim The race is done, John Tait has won, His little hero's game ! And when at future races The sportsmen of to-day Are spoken of by racing men, Quoting this self-same lay; And bookmakers and backers Refer to days gone by, When Sydney vied with Melbourne, In friendly rivalry, — They will tell of Taifs good horses, The Barb and Falcon bold, Of Warwick and of Volunteer, And their brave deeds of old. And in the days of summer, When hot winds from the north Send whirling clouds of blinding dust Careering madly forth; 120 SPARKS AND SOUNDS When at some Champion Meeting Is heard the usual din, Of " I'll lay six to four you don't Name which horse is to win." When the " Number 2 w keeps popping, And the glasses sparkle bright Around John Cleeland's table, On some future settling night ; They will talk about the Demon, Who was worth his weight in gold, And the race then won By the gallant son Of Sir Hercules of old. When the owner of each racehorse Will look with pride upon The racing of his ancestors With John Tait's favourite one; How stable-boys and jockeys Will wonder, when they're told What a brilliant horse First passed the post, In that gallant race of old. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 121 THE LAST CHAMPION RACE. Woii by The Barb ; Volunteer second. Time — 5 *un» 3& sees. Now vanquished is our Exile, Who strove to win the Cup, Not one of all our light-weights Could keep our prestige up. Gone is the fiat forth again, With shouting and midst din, The Melbourne Cup to Sydney ! Victoria could not win. To-day no sound of business Is heard throughout the land, The shopman leaves his counter, The cabman leaves his stand; The ring of trowel is not heard, The anvil's noise is still, For the citizens will meet to-day At the Champion, by the hill. And every Melbourne denizen Hath donned his best to-day, And all the Melbourne ladies Appear in bright array; Their cheerful smiling faces, Their kindly winning ways, Make glad the sky above us On the best of Champion days. 122 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Full seven years have rolled o'er us, Eleven Champions run — (The twelfth and last in Melbourne, To-day has to be won) — Since first the speedy Flying Buck Made a glorious run away, And thousands there gave a deafening cheer On the first great Champion Day. The river saw the finish, The Buck in full career, With Zoe running second, And Nutwith very near ; Old Alice badly beaten, Strop fourth, but far away From the winner of the Champion Race On the first great Champion Day. Now the twelfth and last is near us; Right pleasant ; tis to see Such a goodly throng assembled, Such a joyous company, To welcome in the new year, To pass the hours away, And see who wins the Champion Race On the last great Champion Day. It is a goodly sight, I ween, To see the nags come forth ; The grey from South Australia, Two fleet steeds from the north, FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 23 Sister and brother, youthful pair, Are walking side by side ; Marching along from Marybyrnong, Victoria's pick and pride. See, on the right walks Fishhook, With bold, determined air ; He proudly bears the white and blue, As a Fisherman should bear Those colours which have always run To victory or defeat, With honesty to try to win, Or honestly get beat. And on his left steps Seagull, A gallant raking mare, With a Melbourne head and Melbourne ears, And parti-coloured hair; A head denoting gameness, Such as a racehorse wears, E'en such an one her grandsire owned, And her dam still proudly bears. Behind them stride the Sydney pair, The Barb and Volunteer; Behind them Cowra walks alone, The rest — the rest ! Ah, where ? Where are the rest ? Where is the field Which once appeared so strong? Alas, like many a gallant horse, It's vanished with the throng. 124 SPARKS AND SOUNDS So the five are left contending, And the five can make a race, And the Sydney two, and Fisher's two, Will strive for pride of place. But Cowra (so the prophets say) By no earthly chance can hope For the honour of the winner's name With the Sydney pair to cope. So the five marched on quite proudly Before the lawn and stand, And the thousands gathered on the hill Their action closely scanned. At the paddock gate an old man stands, He stands at the iron-clad gate; And when Seagull approaches His heart is all elate ; Hail ! daughter of a famous sire, Old Omen's daughter, hail! The best of a glorious family, Thy breeding shall not fail. Thy form was made for racing, Thy heart is good and true, The bounding of thy wondrous stride Is a sight we rarely view ; And the flashing wire shall spread throughout This great colonial isle Thy wondrous fame, and thy sire's great name Preserve from slanders vile. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 125 Be like unto old Fisherman, Thy gallant sire so good, Be like the dam who suckled thee With the pure Melbourne blood : Leave to the sons of meaner sires Their handicaps, and claim No race but what is weight for age As worthy of thy name. Thy father loved the racecourse, The cracking whip loved he ; He loved to hear the wild shouts That hailed his victory ; He loved a mile, could stay his three, And never shirked the four. Such was thy sire. To us again His likeness you restore. Would, Seagull, that the Champion, The Champion race were thine, Thine the proud honour to sustain The prestige of thy line \ And in the last great struggle, You might triumph up the straight, But, oh, a clever, dangerous foe You're meeting in John Tait. Cowra will race against thee, From the land of wine and wheat, But her friends will all acknowledge She has met a great defeat. 126 SPARKS AND SOUNDS The Barb shall race against thee, The best colt in the land, Beside him an old hero, Named Volunteer, shall stand ; Thy brother, Fishhook, too, will try To be revenged that day For the beating once sustained by him From the Barb near Botany Bay. Hurrah ! then, for the triumph Old Fisherman has gained, Hurrah for his sons and daughters Who have his fame maintained; For Smuggler and for Sour Grapes, The Lady and Seagull, They have stamped his name on the scroll of fame And filled his measure full. And carping critics still may write, And call them leggy weeds, Their railing will not make them so, And words can't alter deeds; And deeds there yet will be performed By Fisherman's younger sons, Which will make the hair of his critics stare, Where the river slowly runs. But not to-day's thy triumph, John Tait is far too good ; His luck is in, you cannot win Against such form and blood. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 27 The colt that you must meet to-day Appears in sable garb, And a stauncher steed with greater speed Ne'er walked than the gallant Barb. THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1867. Won by Tim Whiffler; Queen of Hearts second. Time — 3 min. 39 sees. While musing near the waters Of Corio's glassy bay, When You Yangs' rising summits In the golden sunset lay, At whose feet the plains were dotted With myriads of sheep, And the mellow light seemed lulling , All creation into sleep. The croaking of the bull-frog, The locusts' chirping song, Made music with the gentle wind Which breathed so soft among The broad leaves of the lightwood, And the shiyak's russet cones, Like a chorus sung by nature In most harmonious tones. 128 SPARKS AND SOUNDS And I heard in every cadence Which sweetly died away, The murmuring of voices in The air, which seemed to say, — Come, and we will show you, And it will delight your heart, The gallant steeds of high renown, Which for the Cup will start. Then my fancy was bewildered In a dreamy kind of mood : I imagined that at Flemington On Thursday next I stood. And saw the five-and-twenty steeds In front of Watson's eye. He lowers his flag; with light'ning speed Away at once they fly, And Falcon bounding to the front, Leads all along the straight, Old Barwon closely follows him, Delighted with his weight. And a sound like cattle rushing, Through the air there seems to hum, As tearing wildly by the stand So furiously they come, All eager to be round the turn, And reach the river's side, Where Exile and the gallant Barb Went dashing stride for stride. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 29 And as they round another turn, The chestnut keeps the lead, Who beats the little horse to-day, May glory in the deed ; With a dash of foot, a nice light weight, He can outstrip the wind, And leave a host of duffers there All straggling far behind. And while he still keeps leading, They near the abattoirs, And shouts for Tait and Sydney swell To wild delirious roars, When from the ruck the Queen steals up, And reaches Barwon's flank; Australia's Rose then shows her nose Among the foremost rank, With Fireworks, too, and Sydney Tim, While Morrison on Craig's Steadies the white-nosed golden bay, Whose courage never flags. Now Tim he passes Falcon When coming to the turn, Which leads into the straight run home, We very soon shall learn. See what a gallant struggle ; Twixt Queen of Hearts and Tim, The Sydney horse maintains the lead, It does not ruffle him ; 130 SPARKS AND SOUNDS His feet are well, his legs are steel, His muscles firm as cord, And like a racehorse see him bound Along the grassy sward. What lazy brute is that which comes ? Passing so many by, By Jove, it is that beautiful And honest mare, The Fly. Now Whiffler, now great Fireworks, Look for the final push, For Queen of Hearts is bound to come With a tremendous rush. She comes too late, — with splendid speed Tim Whiffier keeps the lead And the pride of place ; and wins the race, While shouting crowns the deed. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 131 THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1868. Glencoe Ji7'st, Strop second. Time — 3 min. 42 sec. The rich golden sunset is glowing On casements o'er Emerald Hill, Rare tints on each window bestowing, Gem-sparkling the barracks and mill; The banks and the flats by the river Are flashing with fire from the rays Which dart from Apollo's bright quiver As he sinks beneath headlands and bays : The masts and the spars of the shipping Are fringed by his fast-fading light, While below the horizon is dipping His orb so resplendently bright. The Queen of the night is now sailing In beauty, though dim for a while, And the stars o'er the daylight prevailing Are faintly beginning to smile. And a star-gazing fancy comes o'er me; Like one of the prophets of old, I read in the planets before me Events which shall now be foretold Of the twenty-four steeds which are mounted, And eager to start for the Cup, The number which there will be counted, With riders all ready and up, 132 SPARKS AND SOUNDS For the race on the fifth of November, In colours of rainbow-like hue. What a sight to behold and remember, That phalanx of steeds good and true, At the sound of the starter's " Get ready;" " Keep back, boys, I'll fine you f " Hold hard ;' : " Off;" away they all dash ; now, then, steady The top weights along the green sward. The light-weight division is led by Old Barwon, who bounds like a ball, And Lantern is close to his head by The stand as they tear one and all. Tim Whiffler and Warrior are waiting, With Little Fish just in his front ; Mary Ann and The Fly going straight in The ruck as they near the old punt. Now the abbattoirs gained, Glencoe's leading, And keeps the same place the whole way, For honest and true to his breeding, He cannot be beaten that day. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 33 NEW YEAR'S DAY. Hurdle Race — Prince Alfred first, Elis second. Fletnington Stakes — Charon first, Ferry 77ian second. Derby — My Dream first, Antelope second. Midstimmer Handicap — Gasworks first, PJiosphorus second. Port Phillip Stakes — The Barb first, Glencoe second. Steeple Chase — Viking first, Ballarat second. Fifty Pound Plate — Palladium first, Salem Scudder second. Once more in the fair field of rhyming, Again on a hackneyed old theme, My muse makes an effort at climbing Parnassus' height in a dream. There are dreams which defy all description, And some which are doubtful, some wild, If you don't believe dreams for a tip, shun These lines, they're but weakly and mild. While the yule log at Christmas is hissing In bonny old England's fair isle, Where the mistletoe hangs o'er the kissing, And friend welcomes friend with a smile; The ice and the snow and the hoar-frost Are crisping and gemming the earth, And the winds through the naked woods roar, lost In distance ; the fire on the hearth Burns brightly, the lamps from the ceiling Shine brilliantly over fair dames, And melody, mirth, and good feeling Are mingled with old Christmas games ; While the spiced wine is just on the simmer, The bells rouse the still midnight air, 134 SPARKS AND SOUNDS The stars on the spangled snow glimmer, In scene that's surpassingly fair. We have changed from the frost to the sunshine, From snow to a scorching hot wind ; I would if I could (just in one line) Describe all the sports we here find, Our out-of-door revels and rambles, 'Neath blue skies and light fleecy clouds, Our picnics, our races, our gambols, Our mirth-seeking, holiday crowds. The racecourse, the bay, and the river, The first of the coming new year, When the breeze makes the gay bunting quiver, When beauty and fashion appear In colours so brilliantly blending Their tints with the sun's flashing light, And thousands are anxiously wending Their way on to Flemington height. To behold what I saw in a dreamy-like vision, One night after supping on onions and tripe ; The allusion is stale, but don't laugh with derision, For visions ere now have been seen through a pipe, At least through the fumes which arose from a clay one,. Emitted by one who can write and can ride, And whose form, if he's well on the forthcoming day, on The little horse Viking will there be astride. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 35 I dreamt I had strolled away down to the beach, where The battery stands by the sand-girded sea, And as far as the range of the vision could reach, there I watched the white foam of the waves on my lee. I scanned the horizon all round me quite closely, A boat with a sail met my wandering sight, And a voice shouting loud said in tones quite morosely, "All aboard for a sail ! look alive ! it's all right !" " Keep her head for the river, and silently wander Away to where Footscray looks sullenly down, Away to the crowd which is gathering yonder, Shape her course o'er the bay by the small fishing town." We now near the racecourse, we hear the crowd hallo, The Race over Hurdles, the first on the card, Was won by Prince Alfred; (the favourite Dolo Was nowhere) but Elis has pressed him quite hard. For the Flemington Stakes I have dreamt about Charon, He moves with such ease, in such grand sweeping style ; The Derby I thought would be won by a mare, on Which I have ventured my very small pile ; Yet both horse and mare are descended directly From Fisherman, so (by the talent) despised, And doubtless they all will at once just elect me A fool for my pains, but I shan't be surprised, If I see his descendants run home first and second In both of the races which I have just named; I have looked o'er the names, and I've quietly reckoned My tip on the two won't be very much blamed, 136 SPARKS AND SOUNDS When My Dream and the Boatman run first for the Derby, And Charon and Derby the Two-year-old stake, Though Charon, 'tis said, is a little bit curby, The rest will be forced to run home in his wake. The act is now changed, and the little " Black Demon" Comes forward with Fireworks, with Glencoe and Strop, A famous quartet for a fellow to dream on ; For Sydney the prize is a nice little sop. The Port Phillip Stakes proves a terrible failure As far as a race goes, I venture to state ; Victorian horseowners, bemoan and bewail your Most truly unhappy, lamentable fate. Not a horse in the land that can cope with the Walers, Alas ! not a Fishhook to shorten the odds. Our trainers, they say, are no better than tailors, Our breeders are also all bested ! Ye gods ! Is there nothing at all can be done to retrieve the Lost laurels which for a brief season we wore ; Can we make no attempt in the world to relieve the Whole land from the stigma once, only once more ? Must we always (contented, alas !) cry Peccavi, We're beaten, we're beaten, and meekly give in? O tempora ! O mores I in pity, pray save. I Am thinking we never must, never can win; 5 Tis plain that this time we are getting a beating. What wins ? I don't know, but allow me to state, On the first of the year, on the morn of the meeting, You've only to question the clever John Tait. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 37 For the race which we know we can really excel in, The big one o'er sticks, I must think, let me see If I can, from the style of the Handicap, tell in A very few lines who the winner will be. There are Ballarat, Blue Jacket, Bacchus, and Barmaid, With Babbler, The Baron, and bonny Brunette, Ballarat with his weight is the principal star, made First fav'rite, and four to one all you can get. They say he can win, notwithstanding his weight, yet While Babbler and Viking remain in the race, Tho' a wonderful horse, and he always goes straight, yet I scarcely can think he'll run into a place. Not to bother my readers, and shorten my story For the honour of winning or being close up, I shall look to friend Gordon to add to his glory, And place this great prize with the last Hunt Club Cup. A tip for the seventh and last, in conclusion, As homeward we shortly are destined to start, I In the bustle and noise, in the rush and confusion, Of ladies and carriages as they depart. Ere we turn our boat round by the oar and the rudder, Or push her off gently out into the stream, Palladium has won, Number two's Salem Scudder, And thus ends the story I saw in my dream. ; I've now told you all I could learn of the meeting, And closed my remarks with the Fifty-pound Plate ; \llow me to wish you a happy year's greeting, Success attend racing and those who run straight ! 138 SPARKS AND SOUNDS May the best horses win, and though Sydney has licked us, And taken our prizes, let's wish them good speed, And say, if you've licked us, you also have pricked us, We'll meet you, and meet you, until we succeed. If I know the men at the head of our racing, They're not of the stamp to cave cowardly in, If they don't get a prize, they can lose with good grace, in The knowledge they have that they all cannot win. " Better luck the next time" is the motto to cling to, " Hope on" is the food which keeps sportsmen alive, And coolness and judgment are certain to bring to The genuine sportsman success if he'll strive. Dece77iber 21, 1868. >►#§-< THE MELBOURNE CUP. Won by Warrior, Strop second. Time — ynin. Apsec. Touchstone, ould bhoy, oi've bin thinkin' Yeed p'raps loike a bit ov a tip, Begorra, I'll do't loike winkin', The sorra a chance I'll let shlip. Faix, havn't oi put an me money, An' can't yez be doin' that same, It's myself has been touting, me honey, An' shpotted a noice little game. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 139* Oi wint at the top ov the mornin', Bedad but before it was loight, Mick Byrne and meself got the warning Betoken we shtopped up all noight ; We wint to the coorse an the quoiet, They didn't expect us at all, An' whin we cum purty well noigh it, We shkulked (Mick and oi) at the wall. An' now*; d'ye moind what I tell yez ? Tim drags out his grandfather's watch. Now, listen! Oim not goin to sell yez ! Yez musn't take me for a botch. We marked down the Milboorn Cup winner, His weight's eight stone ten by the card. Its thrue, or bedad I'm no sinner, It's Warrior ! hurroo ! houlding hard. THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1870. Won by Nimblefoot, Lapdog second. Time — ynin. y}sec. Grey grows the first gleam of the morning, The nightrack has vanished away, The stars hide their heads as a warning To herald the forthcoming day. 140 SPARKS AND SOUNDS The sky is serene in its splendour, The clouds from the azure have flown, And Nature seems glad to surrender Herself to-day all her own. And crowds gather gaily together, Forgetting the quick pouring rain; Rejoiced at the sight of fine weather, They stroll off to Flemington plain. By rail and by road how they muster In paddock, on hill-side and course, In groups on the lawn how they cluster, Discussing the chance of each horse. The stand glitters gay with glad faces, The grass wears its loveliest green, And beauty, as fair as the Graces, Gives life to a living life scene. The sheen of the satin-skinned horses Breaks flashingly forth in the sun, The bell for the mustering of forces Proclaims the day's sport has begun. The judge has pronounced on "The Maiden," " The Railway" has also been won. # Each horse with his proper weight laden Prepares for the next race to run. The canter that's needful is taken In front of a crowd of bright eyes, And voices of bookmakers waken The echoes all round to the skies. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 141 " I'll lay again anything," loudly Rings forth on the pure balmy air, " There's nobody names it," as proudly Peals out to the crowd everywhere. " I want to lay odds against Praetor," 11 Sir William," "The Monk," or "Sir John," " Barbelle," or "Milesian/' the cratur; " I'll lay again Strop. Are you on?" Such sounds meet the ear 'mid the bustle And din of a Melbourne Cup day, But no one can tell till the tussle Is over, who bears it away. Whether Winch with his Croydon can win it, Or Tait with his talent can land, If Cleeland can claim to be in it, Or say if Lee's chances will stand. They're off ! Up the straight they come bounding, Along at the top of their speed. The stand's passed ! The corner they're ro unding, And Lapdog and Nimblefoot lead. Freetrader is with Farmer's Daughter, The light-weights are all going fast, The buildings are passed where they slaughter, Too quickly, the pace cannot last. There's Croydon and Warrior together, Tim Whiffler holds yet a good place, He feels the effects of the weather, Or " good-bye" for the rest of the race. 142 SPARKS AND SOUNDS His stable companion's extending Himself, but his jockey holds hard As over the saddle he's bending; He's riding a racehorse trump card. They've passed by the sheds in a cluster, Though many are left in the rear, And smaller in front is the muster As nearer they come and more near. Still Lapdog and Nimblefoot lead them, Their light weight is serving their stead, The spring of the turf too must speed them, And Nimblefoot wins by a head. — >^« — THE TOUT. MELBOURNE CUP 1871. W071 by Pearl, Romula second. Time — 3 min. 39 sees. With eyelids opening wide, With ears distended to catch E'en the slightest sound, may the touts be seen Moving about on the watch. Tout, tout, tout! With the sunrise they are there; And when the evening shadows fall To the racecourse they repair. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 43 Tout, tout, tout! Before the cocks awake ; Tout, tout, tout ! Ere the day begins to break. It's fine to be a tout, And watch them do their work, To see which horses stand the test, And which their gallops shirk. Tout, tout, tout! As they canter over the tan ; Tout, tout, tout ! The manoeuvre of horse and man. Gallop, canter, and walk; Walk, and gallop, and trot! Till every pace of every horse Quite perfect the tout has got. O ! men who mean to bet ! O ! men who want to win ! Don't listen to all the tips you get Or you will be let in. Tout, tout, tout ! As much as you like you may, And when you have witnessed all you can Youll be wiser on the day — The day of the Race I mean, That day which will be the proof Of the goodly state of condition and limb, As well as the fleetness of hoof. 144 SPARKS AND SOUNDS As well as the fleetness of hoof, Their gameness will then be tried With the clashing whip and the dashing spur, As they struggle side by side. Tout, tout, tout! In November's early light; And tout, tout, tout ! When the sun is shining bright. While underneath the roof Of Mrs. M'Lay is seen A number of touts, looking about, With glasses over the green. Oh ! if they did but know What horse was sure to win! If Lang was safe with old Glencoe, Or Crook with Saladin; If Wilson would be in form With Lapdog or a mare ; If Tait with Pyrrhus would be first, Or Cleolite be there. Oh ! but it's hard to guess What horse will win the Cup, No tout can tell whether horse or mare, Till he sees the figures up. A little guess may perhaps be made — "When the race is over and won, John Tait's good training has done the trick With the Pearl, new Warrior's son." FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 45 With eyelids opening wide, With ears distended to catch E'en the slightest sound, may the touts be seen Moving about on the watch. Tout, tout, tout! With the sunrise they are there, And when the evening shadows fall On touters short and touters tall, To the racecourse they are near. A TOUT'S TIP FOR THE CUP. 1871. I reside close by a stable, and they call me Touting Dick, For I daily watch the horses, and I'm up to every trick ; But when they come the double, or attempt to play on me, Like William Nye to Truthful James, I say, " Jim, can this be?" I have crept within the ditches, I have skulked about the walls ] I've sneaked around the stables, and I've been among the stalls ; I have dodged the scraping sheds around, and loitered near the tan ; And you can bet I know as much as any other man. L 146 SPARKS AND SOUNDS I've seen the string of William Lang, Glencoe as well as Foam, And know when they will gallop or when they'll stay at home; And Pyrrhus, Pearl, and Little Dick are very closely watched; While Lord of Linn is seen by me alone, or when he's matched. Barbelle and Baron never breathe their early morning sweats, But my two eyes behold them go, as well as Joseph's pets ; For Praetor never prances forth, and Saladin ne'er sails, But I am close behind their backs to see their trembling tails ; And Warrior never sallies forth, nor Rambler ever roves, ^ To taste the morning breezes in the Ascot valley groves; And Cleolite ne'er canters by, and Niinblefoot ne'er moves > But Touting Dick is with theni all, and knows their every pace, And knowing this, I think I knows what horse will win the race. And there is one among the lot I have not mentioned yet I look upon with loving eyes, she's such a darling pet, Though Lapdog, her companion, is a highly dangerous horse, I look to see her leading when they struggle up the course. And hats are waved, and shouts are raised, and "Romula!" they cry — Hurrah! for such a gallant mare and Wilson's victory ! * Richard was wrong. The Pearl won, with Romula second. Time — 3mm. 39sec. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 47 THE MELBOURNE CUP. 1872. Won by The Quack, The Ace second. Time — 3 viin. 39 sees. On the hill, in the paddock for saddling, to-morrow the people assemble, For at three will George Watson, the starter, despatch at the fall of his flag, All the fleet steeds that gather together, to start with a rush and a scramble, A phalanx of high-blooded horses, as fierce and as fleet as the light-footed stag. How the colours flash forth in the sunlight, from thousands of gay, gleaming dresses, A parterre of the most brilliant poppies seems the newly- made, wide-spreading lawn, As beauty and fashion display the rich hues of their marvellously mingling tresses, . And shed a bright lustre around the fair scene, as the sun flecks the gold-spangled dawn. i Tis the pride and the pick of the staunchest, most earnest, and best of our breeders, Which meet in the forthcoming struggle, which thousands assemble to-morrow to see, When the test will be made as to who, 'mong our different trainers and feeders, Will bear off in triumph the coveted Cup — whether Sydney the victor will be. L 2 I48 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Come forth from the paddock for saddling, all the bright- blooded horses that muster (When the signal is hoisted for starting) in the ken of the starter's quick eye, And the hum of the crowd from the groups on the hill and the flat, as they cluster, Swells out to a roar, as the score of brave horses draw near and pass speedily by. The pace of the Sydney-bred Dagworth will fairly be tested, from starting to ending, When the speedy Contessa, and Dolphin, old Vagabond's daughters, shall race by his side ; And the colours of Coldham and Tait will be seen near the front, gaily blending With the gold and the green of the Ace, who bounds o'er • the ground with magnificent stride. Now, who wins ? Is it Dagworth, or Pyrrhus, or Ace ? Is. speedy Contessa a stayer ? The white and blue spots are well forward; and Dolphin is game and lies down to her work, Early Morn breaks away, through the ruck, like a bird, or an arrow dividing the air — Irish King's in the race, and the blood of his sire won't allow him the contest to shirk. On they rush ! When the last turn is rounded, the hot breath comes thicker and faster, And the struggle grows fierce and exciting, as rowels ! pierce delicate skins, FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 49 Contessa still leads as they come up the straight. All in vain ! There's a horse has gone past her, The yellow and black are borne well to the front, and my tip is that little Quack wins ! A CUP RETROSPECT AND PROSPECT. 1873. Won by Don yuan, DagivortJi second. Tinie — 3 min. 36 sec. Just thirteen short years have passed o'er us, They seem like a shadow gone by, Since Archer the great flashed before us And won the first Cup — with a sigh We saw him depart with the second, We watched his most marvellous stride, And none who e'er saw him but reckoned A racehorse was wrapped in his hide. And then came the third won by Banker, The fourth by a Lantern was lit, A game little horse ! what a spanker He led them whene'er he was fit. Old Toryboy's year was the next one, The next the Black Demon appeared, Tim's followed — and then — oh, it vex'd one To see how our sportsmen were scared. ISO SPARKS AND SOUNDS When Tait made his mind up to win it, And did so with gallant Glencoe, Not one of them claimed to be in it. Nor e'en had the ghost of a show. Then Warrior (another South Waler) Continued to keep up the funk, And pale grew their lips and still paler, When he ran home in front of the Monk. The tenth showed Tasmania victorious, The time was the fastest yet known; The finish was something most glorious, By Lapdog and Nimblefoot shown. The Pearl and the Quack won the next two- Both owned by the clever John Tait, And now I am sadly perplex'd to Pick out the next winner — but wait, While I ponder awhile on to-morrow, And make a few guesses thereon ; To many the day will bring sorrow When the race of the season is won. But who is to win is the question. Sir Hercules ? well, p'raps he may, I venture to make a suggestion That may be of use on the day : His colt's in fine form, has no weight on, Then let him go right to the front, And keep there till fair in the straight run ; And then if he bear well the brunt, FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 151 Of a neck and neck race with Don Juan, And Dagworth, he's certain to win, But No ! they are putting the screw on, And Byron's bold hero is in. Aye ! in well in front, and will stay there ; In fact, it's a clean run away, And the thousands assembled will say, there Was ne'er seen so grand a Cup-day As that which saw Wilson the winner, And Thompson accomplish the coup, So cleverly too — not a keener Or smarter thing e'er was put through. I X' ^(^^t^^^^^^^^^^A, SCENES IN THE ASSEMBLY. ' Mr. G. Paton Smith here left his place on the Ministerial side of the House, crossed the floor, and seated himself on the front Opposition bench." — Vide Argus> December 2, 1870. J HE House had met, and in a pet Smith thus addressed the Chair, "Now, Sir/' said he, quite furiously, "let Govern- ment beware; What is their game ? They're much to blame ; they've left their little Bill, I said, you know, some time ago, 'twould be a bitter pill. " Is this the way that Michie may abandon clause by clause ? Now, Sir, when I brought forward my own measure, did I pause, With anxious gaze, to see the ways the cat inclined to jump ? No, Sir, my style was free from guile, I didn't care a dump." Up rose the Chief to give relief to passion's pent-up flame ; With visage red, hair straight on head, his colour went and came ; "Ye gods, what's this?" with frenzied hiss, loud shouted the bold Knight ; " Avaunt ! Begone ! Leave me alone ! For ever quit my sight, SPARKS AND SOUNDS. 1 53 " False friend — and o'er the Chamber floor pray take your graceful form, And there abide, by Longmore's side, through many a howling storm." Then Smith stalked o'er the Chamber floor, and grinned a pleasant grin ; Crying out, " Oh bliss ! such happiness I have not felt within "This manly breast for years at least. My heart is all on fire; Sir James to-night, to my delight, has granted my desire; And now will be 'twixt him and me the struggle for this power, But I foretell, and know full well, his doom dates from this hour. " Should we in state at some far date erect a statue fine, Be mine the task (no more I ask) the basement to design : With due respect I will select Old Hats of every make, Except the one they call in fun the well known wide-awake." Now mark the stare of David Blair, with withering rage he riles, As bye-and-bye he gets the eye through which the Chairman smiles. 'What bunkum's this, what's gone amiss?" roars David lustily. ' The coward there with trembling fear goes off quite crustily." 154 SPARKS AND SOUNDS With anger pale then uprose Vale, and fixed his wicked eye On David's form, and with a storm of bitter savagery — " Ha, ha I" said he, "my memory has been at active work, And I know one in times bygone (the charge he cannot shirk), " Who for vile pay, so much per day, the temperance van would steer, And then at night got very tight on a la Carlisle beer ; Who slandered men with wicked pen, and then got his reward, With some vile blows, not on his nose, nor out of kind regard/' Eternal smash, there'll be a crash, the adjectives shall fly, " Oh ! poltroon, liar,^-my blood's on fire ! your taunts I here defy." "You're drunk," says Vale, "on Wild's pale ale, or hail from Yarra Bend." "Ye gods !" gasps Blair, "I pant for air, oh! where is this to end !" True Christians these (or what you please), they seem a loving pair, They pant for breath, are pale as death, and rend with yells the air, The people say, and well they may, in converse one with t'other, " 'Tis pleasant now to witness how these Christians love each others FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 55 THE STRANGER IN THE HOUSE. NO. i. Which in Parliament House On a recent debate (Showing great lack of nous) I would wish to relate What occurred in that august Assembly In language quite simple and straight. Which it can't be denied By those Parliament men, That whate'er may be tried By the might of the pen To check them in gabble or talking Is useless, they're at it again. When some one gets up And commences to speak : I'll defy you to cope With the words in a week, They are jammed so one into the other ; But then he his gentle and meek. And when Casey, J. J. In his dignified style, And dogmatical way, With a bland look and smile, Dilates on the Bill that's Permissive, What bunkum it is all the while. 156 SPARKS AND SOUNDS For there's Cohen, that's Ted, Don't believe in a word Of what Casey has said On the Bill I've referred To above : it is called the Permissive ; He'll oppose it, he says, like a bird. And Walsh, too, as well (It is Fred'ric I mean), Which no language can tell How his feelings so keen Will prompt him to kick out the measure ; There'll be a great struggle, I ween. As I mean to be round Just to gaze on the scene, I'll be easily found Where the row is most keen ; Though I reckon they'll turn out the stranger, As the case has in former times been. If they don't, then next week I will make a few notes On the members who speak, And which way go their votes, Respecting the Bill that's Permissive, That " Bill" on which Casey so doats. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 157 NO. II. 'Twas on Wednesday night last, I am free to assert, A most splendid repast, (Or I might say dessert) Was provided by two of the members, But the words used I dare not insert In your paper to-day, It would not be polite. In an indirect way I perhaps may invite You to think on the lamb-like expressions Made use of by some one that night. Which by 'tother provoked, How his hair stood on end, Like a cat when she's stroked The wrong way by a friend ; And his face was quite white-like with passion, Where scorn, rage, and hate seemed to blend. It's refreshing to hear From these eminent men The kind words which endear, And which never cause pain, Informing each one " he's another" They like it, I think, in the main. 158 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Which the row was begun All about two per cent; And a zest to the fun Was undoubtedly lent By Macpherson and Wrixon and Gillies, For whom in a rage Duffy went. While Vale he appeared In a character new, As a peaceable bird; He would just say a few Quiet words, that would suit the occasion, The rancour he'd try and subdue. While Macpherson says " Don't, Francis," L. L. says " Do, Withdraw !" " No ! I won't, Fllbeblowedifldo; I'll punch his d — d head in the city." He thought for a time — he withdrew. And thus ended the row, Which was hot for a while ; But I doubt, even now, Notwithstanding the smile Which adorned the next night some one's features, If the peace is not simply futile. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 159 For he told them that night He would give them a treat, And he seemed so polite, As in accents quite sweet He invited them all on the Nelson, To view our colonial fleet. They could each bring one wife And a daughter, or son, To prevent any strife, When the voyage begun ; That two tickets were all he could issue To members who went for the fun. And I know one or two . Who'll be there for the spree, And to view the review Of the fleet on the sea; While the Moet and Shandon keeps popping, Let's hope they will try and agree. Then on last Tuesday night, When they went for supply, Casey rose in his might To catch Davies' eye, And talked about schools that aren't vested — He raked up again the old cry. 160 SPARKS AND SOUNDS The House could not agree, Though his talk was so bland, And it could not well see (Though the gestures were grand Which were used by Ex-Chancellor Casey, As well as the wave of his hand) That this motion should pass ; So it talked for a while, Till the whole of its gas Was dispersed. Then a smile Illumined the face of the doctor, He looked at the clock — the old file ! They had talked till the Bill Which Permissive is called Could not be brought on. Still He's not at all galled — Oh, no, Mr. Casey is happy, It's seldom that he is appalled. Which he means to go in, And he'll bet his last cent He is certain to win. We shall see if it's meant, Or if it's a popular caper, Or motion called " sham" — vide Bent. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. l6l Which it does not become Me, a stranger, to write Of the doings of some Of that circle polite, Which was gathered together last Friday, And sat until nearly midnight. How they chattered away On that Liquor Law Bill ; And each one had his say On its merits, until He had fairly exhausted the subject, Both Langton and Vale had their fill. Or, how Garratt did fume, And how Burtt he did fret; What a shadow of gloom Fell on those who had met Determined to pass the said measure — They have not accomplished it yet. How a count-out is tried, But it does not succeed ; There are twenty beside Mr. Davies. Indeed, I'm not sure there are not three and twenty, He says, " There's a quorum — proceed." 1 62 SPARKS AND SOUNDS With that night set apart Or at least given o'er By each member, whose heart Had resolved once more To devote a whole week, if 'twere needful- They thought the proposer a bore. After keeping them there For eight solid good hours, He should say it was clear That the opposite powers Were too strong, and then move for reporting Progress. Then his soft voice he lowers — And in tones quite subdued, But " sarkastik" in style (Which his face is imbued With a lamb-looking smile), He throws the whole blame on the Government And says they deceived him. For while They had promised to make Him a House for that night— And there was no mistake They had diddled him quite — There was only one Minister present ; 'Twas Longmore, but he was all right. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 63 Whom the Government Whip Had refused to obey, Which he gave the straight tip (To keep out of way) \ To some members whose minds were unstable, He, also, had something to say. Some one made, in debate, An astounding remark, Which I here would relate (For it fell like a spark Which is known by the name of electric) — Some people might think it a lark. " There are five men asleep On the benches ; look round, Mr. Davies, and weep. Nowhere else could be found Such a sight as the one that confronts you- One member emits a strange sound." And it is " all along O' that very same Bill," Which is urged on so strong, But's opposed to the will Of the men who do not believe in it; I think they're opposed to it still. 164 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Let us hope it is true What I hear of this Bill, That it will not pass through Many stages, until It is thrown in the waste-paper basket, Or sent down to S. Ramsden's milL *~&h+ NO. IV. When they went for supply, It was Thursday night last, Which E. Cohen was by, And he stuck hard and fast For a quantity more of the rhino, Ere he'd let any items be passed. Though they did not " heave rocks," Like the Stanislaw men; Yet they gave some hard knocks To each other, and when E. Cohen called Berry " another," The scene became lively. And then, FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 65 How the Treasurer raved, And he called some hard names, Said they'd much misbehaved, And had been up to games, Had been, in fact, making misstatements ; He scolds just as well as Sir James. For he does it too much, But his temper is vile, And his language is such As is not free from guile; He makes such unpleasant assertions, He's bound all their passions to rile. So the forms were all used, And the language grew warm, For all round were abused, Till at length, 'mid the storm Which had grown to its height, the X Chairman Adopted the usual form To get rid of us all, Viz., the strangers, I mean; But I thought they looked small, While emerging between Two others, I turned back to gaze on That " far, far from gay" gaudy scene. 1 66 SPARKS AND SOUNDS And I'm told when they'd got All the House to themselves, That the whole blessed lot, Like the fairies and elves, Disported and played till past midnight; Some brought in big books from the shelves. And I've heard for a fact, Which I here would unfold, That a very compact Little coterie told G. B. they would stick for a session, But what they would collar the gold Which the sick and the poor Could not well do without. When I just think it o'er, I believe there's no doubt They were right, and that Berry should give it ; It's hard to tell what he's about. For a wail and cry Has gone out through the land, Yet he calmly stands by With the help in his hand They require, and will not let them have it ; It is more than I well understand. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 67 NO. V. So on Thursday again, When the charity vote Caused the Treasurer pain, In the language I quote He addressed the Committee quite quiet; One sentence I here wish to note. " If they want any more At the end of the year, Though refusing before, It has now been made clear They must have it, and therefore I promise, What more can I offer ?" Hear ! Hear! Then E. Cohen went on With a sly, quiet grin, And dilating upon All the virtues within Contained by each local committee, A good yarn he managed to spin. But I cannot conceal E'en a tittle or jot Of the joy that I feel At their getting the lot They went for; I'm sure they deserved it, Aye, whether they got it or not. 1 68 SPARKS AND SOUNDS But before I conclude, Or the session is o'er, I was present and viewed, Standing up on the floor, Charles Gavan, with nostrils extended, The night he caused such a furore. For I heard him declaim In a masterly style, On the slander his name Had been subject to — while His hearers were thrilled with emotion ; He seemed all their hearts to beguile, When he told of the wrong That was done in the land Of his birth, and the strong Depth of feeling the band Of devoted young patriots cherished ; His language approached on the grand. And a cheer rent the air When the last sounds had ceased, Then a buzz and a stare Showed his hearers were pleased, And had hung on his words with enjoyment Each sentence had simply increased. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 69 Now it seems like a dream, When we look back a space, On the change of esteem Which has since taken place In the minds of a good many people, Respecting that gentleman's race. For it was to be short, It bids fair to be long ; He has met with support Which is hearty and strong From the House. Let us hope he'll deserve it. He'll not then go very far wrong. THE STRANGER IN THE BAY. When on Thursday morn last, With the sky all serene, And hurrying quite fast, All the members are seen On their way to the Spencer-street station ; They're bound for the Nelson, I ween. 170 SPARKS AND SOUNDS And the train is quite jammed With the guests of the day, And each carriage is crammed As it starts on its way, With bright hopes of a fine day's enjoyment; They had one, I'm happy to say. Now I'd got an invite Sent by Snikney my friend, Which I thought most polite ; So among them I wend My way to the famed fishing village, My steps to the Nelson I bend. Where I find on the deck, With his spy-glass in hand, A gold band round his neck, And he really looked grand, That Turner whom Whiteman and Clark had Assailed as not fit to command. But Fm free to confess He was courteous and kind, And I here would express What was then in my mind — He behaved like a man and a sailor ; I think he has been much maligned. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 171 When all hands were on board, And the Viscount had come, And the big guns had roared To the sound of the drum, Then the fleet started off on its voyage, It went but a few miles from home. Then the Cerberus fired At a mark on the lee, And the gazers admired, But 'twas said the fusee Would not burst the big shell in its transit, It fell quite intact in the sea. While the luncheon was on, All the guests were below; When the speeches were done, Which were voted as slow, The deck was got ready for tripping " Upon the fantastic light toe." Then the guns roared again, And the ladies screamed out, And I here would explain What it all was about : We had sent off the vice-regal party, Had told them, in fact, to get out. 172 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Then we steamed off once more, And the flirting was on, While each countenance wore Happy traces of fun ; All went in a burster for pleasure, — E'en Berry seemed happy for one. And M'Lellan's face beamed With a good-humoured smile, While O'Grady's eye gleamed With a twinkle of guile, Full of mischief, as eggs of albumen, He enjoyed his cigar all the while. Now suffice it to say, For the rest of the trip An enjoyable day Was enjoyed on that ship, By most of our famed legislators, By ministers, members, and whip. Ah! "But who pays the bill?" Is a query IVe heard, And there's no doubt it will . By some folks be inferred, Should it ever again be discussed, That it was most extremely absurd. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 73 For while members are paid Their three hundred a year, It should never be said They indulged in good cheer At the cost of the State. But I fancy That none of the grumblers were there. THE STRANGER AT THE RACES. On Wednesday the House "Resoluted" to go To a whitebait carouse, And the next day to show Its delight as it witnessed the races ; The Stranger "delighted" also. And the scene in the stand, O'er the hill, on the lawn, Was bewitchingly grand • While the carriages, drawn Up in rows, were all filled with gay faces. As bright as a beautiful dawn. 174 SPARKS AND SOUNDS And the rich, dazzling hues Of the dresses are seen Softly blending, the blues With the -crimson and green; While tresses of marvellous colour Adorn this most wonderful scene. ; Twas a glorious sight, And the Stranger felt proud To behold the delight Of the numerous crowd That assembled on Thursday together, Such quiet demeanour they showed. After scanning around All the beauty and blood, Which is there to be found From the mansion and stud, And a couple of contests are over, Away to the luncheon all scud; Where a magic white cloth O'er the green sward is spread, And the bright creamy froth Sparkles up to a head, And Cliquot and stout are the tipple To wash down the poultry and bread. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 175 Which it's one of the best Institutions he knows, And gives quite a zest To the day, as it goes Far to cheer up a fellow who's losing, And mitigates some of his woes. When the luncheon is o'er, And the sweepstakes are drawn, Then the ladies once more Are away to the lawn, To look at the long list of starters, As well as the numbers withdrawn. Now with feelings intense, Every eye on the course, The excitement's immense As each highly bred horse Emerges to take the first canter — The starters all muster in force. As they rank up in line With G. Watson close by, And to start all incline When it's Go! is the cry, And the flag drops in front of the horses, Away from the jump they all fly. 176 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Like the rush of a herd Of wild oxen they bound, Madly tearing the sward With a thundering sound. Barbelle leads while passing the paddock,. And close to her Praetor is found. When down goes the Monk And his Lordship of Lynne, And a terrible funk Poor old Glencoe is in, As Lang steers him wide of the horses, His chance is extinct for a win. They are speeding away By the abbattoirs' gate, And the game little grey Won't allow them to wait; A good many now are in trouble, While watching the colours of Tait. With a rush and a swirl Round the corner they come, "It's Pyrrhus ! if s Pearl ! % No, it's Lapdog!" cry some; The little grey horse couldn't finish, The pace was too fast coming home. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 177 Then a look of dismay Spread itself all around, And the faces so gay- Just before, might be found To have lengthened some distance on learning That Pearl as the winner was crowned. For he had not been backed, Though a hundred to one Had been offered ; they lacked (As is frequently done) The courage to back an outsider, So once again Sydney has won. Which the prophets were out In their tips, to a man; And there can be no doubt That the Pearl, when he ran To the front, was a fluke of that nature Few dreamt of before he began. !»f#-< HERR VON LAY IN DER CALLERY. On Mr. Higinbotham's clattses to give the franchise to the Ladies. Mein Gott ! vot a row in ze Haus is Oop kicked py a Memper lashd night, Ven he prings in zome nice liddle glauses To make all ze vomen qvide right. 178 SPARKS AND SOUNDS As he rises mit mildest of woices, Round, resonant, glear, und distinct; Und tells how his poosom reyoices, Und how air his sympathies linked Mit vomen, zeir wrongs und zeir drouble, Zeir crief und zeir voe are hish own, Hish heart id pead often ash double Ven he dinks how zey suffer and croan. Das bolidicks all coes to plazes, Bolidicians are not voorth a mouse, Und to make all dings vit in zeir blaces, Ze fraus moost goom into ze Haus. Ze vomen must all pecome voders, Ze voorld isn't save iv zey don't; Men? Psha! zey air noding pud doters — I'll shlade 'em, you zee iv I von't. Zen Purvis oop rise, mit hish bockeds All villed mit his hants, und he zay : " Led vomens vear vatches und lockeds, Und home mit zeir vamilies stay. " Ve nod vants em here on ze penches; Mein Gott, vhat a sight shall us greet If eight shdrapping coot-looking venches Should down sid oopon ze vront seat. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 79 u Ve gits zen no more obbozition, Ze shief rises oop mit a shmile, 4 Misdress Sbeaker, mit your kind bermission I glaims your attention avhile, ' Et zetera und zo vort und zo on.' " Vale enters ze list vor ze fraus, Und Vhideman, M'Lellan, und Cohen Take oop z'oder side ov ze Haus. Und Mac lie zay dis, " Ven he kits home He shbeak mit hiss posom 7 s own vife, 'My tear, id is dime vhat ve make some Arrangement in vuture vor life. 'You coes mit ze Barleymint houses, I shtops mit za papies, my tear; You shtay vhere ze memper garouses. ; ; ' Veil! veil! id does zeem fery qveer! Doze grotchets men gets in zeir vancies, Doze vhimsies zey gonstantly air, Who vant to gif vomen ze franchise, Und uproot se voorld efry vhere. All vomen may priten zeir peauty, Gif Measure vhenever zey come, Mit love und avection und duty, In ze real magic circle ov home. n 2 l8o SPARKS AND SOUNDS NURSERY RHYMES. Hey diddle diddle, what's this about Hiddle ? Who makes such a bother and fuss, And says that he never will play second fiddle To any colonial cuss. Hickory dickory dark, To listen to Williamstown Clark, As he states Hiddle's case To the House, in his place, Is a Parliamentarian lark. Woods, what is the matter, that you chatter, chatter, chatter, In that never-ending style you know so well, That your tongue goes clatter clatter, In a ceaseless patter patter, Like the tintinnabulation of a new electric bell ? Now, really, Graham Berry, 1 am sorry for it, very, That you havn't got a trifle more of nous — That you shout, and rave, and storm, In a most obnoxious form, Till you weary everybody in the House. FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. l8l What a row is kicked up about Stanley, They say that his conduct's not manly, Though he once took a Riddell, He wouldn't take Hiddle — He's obstinate, very, is Stanley. There is one of the Smiths called the Major, Can be backed for a very large wager To talk by the hour, with a forty-horse power — He's a tall 'un for talk is the Major. [The many personal allusions in the preceding pieces will, I trust, be taken in good part by those referred to ; they were not written ill- naturedly, nor with the desire to wound the feelings of any one men- tioned.] I have been requested to publish from Hansard the two following 1 speeches. It may not be wise to do so perhaps, but, nevertheless, at the risk of whatever may be said about them, I have ventured to comply therewith : — SPEECH ON THE LAND BILL. At this late period of the debate, I rise with diffidence, to briefly state What my opinions are upon the Bill Before the House. In doing so, I will SPARKS AND SOUNDS Keep within view one most important part, Which other speakers who have had the start Of me have brought before your notice. Sir, I mean the squatting tenure, and the stir Which it has caused among their many friends, Who deem it just, and those who think the ends, Of justice will be foiled, and that a wrong Most gross, most palpable, a glaring wrong, Will be perpetuated. Sir, I'm bound To think this tenure will become the ground- Work of, and tend to centralise, a power Within th' administration of the hour Which never should exist in one man's hands. Is it not monstrous, sir, that all the lands This colony possesses, east and west, From north to south, from mallee to the best Broad acres clear and ready for the plough, Should be so dealt with ? Sir ! I put it now To this Assembly, in plain spoken words, If one provision in this Bill affords To tenants of the Crown freedom of thought ? If they're not all politically bought? If every squatter's acts will not be scanned, If every free selector who has land Will not be governed by the Minister In power ? And none can tell what sinister Designs some men may basely entertain. My duty, sir, appears to be so plain- Ly pointed out, that I don't hesitate To say, " and say it boldly," if the fate FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 83 Of this Land Bill of eighteen sixty-nine Depended on my vote, it would not shine Among the statutes which adorn our shelves ; But members are not true unto themselves In times like these. What do 'we hear them say In this debate, spun out from day to day? " We'll pass the second reading of the Bill With this proviso, only wait until We get it in committee, then you'll see What ducks and drakes we'll make of it." For me, I disapprove entirely of the plan They would adopt. Sir, I am not the man To vote for what I feel convinced is wrong. It's monstrous, sir, that after all the strong Long-winded arguments which we have heard From legal gentlemen; and seems absurd To laymen like myself, how they arrive (And to do so most earnestly they strive) At such conclusions as they seem to do. It's very funny from the point of view From which I see it. Sir, have we not seen An honourable member, James M'Kean, For three hours nearly labouring hard to show The great defects this Act contains ? We know That in proportion as he pulled the Bill To pieces, so he would support it. Still Further, we've had from members on both sides The House, some curious speeches. But what guides Me chiefly in the course I shall pursue, In voting, sir, as I intend to do, 184 SPARKS AND SOUNDS Against the second reading of this Bill, Is principle. I feel within, a still Small voice, which whispers to me, " You are right In what you are doing." Sir, I do not quite Approve of all this 'arbitrary power, Which to a Government will be a tower Of strength. And, sir, I do believe in laws. I am aware the forty-second clause Has done a wonderful amount of good Throughout the land ; and there is no one would Sooner than I, see James Macpherson Grant Administer the laws to those who want To get a home within this wide domain, Where he, as lord o' the soil, shall proudly reign ; But instances have frequently occurred Where gross injustice has been done. We heard Last night one case of hardship brought to light, And doubtless more exist ; and perhaps we might (If opportunity were but allowed To have them sifted) not be quite so proud Of some transactions, and should slightly pause Ere we confer this sought-for power — this clause, Which gives this arbitrary, potent sway To those in office, and which, members say, Will be remodelled in committee. Well, Perhaps it will ; but thus much I will tell These honourable gentlemen, I'll be No party to oppose it there. I see A combination likely to take place Which I don't mean to join in. Take the case FROM A COLONIAL ANVIL. 1 85 Of some who say they will support this Bill — A sham support I call it ; they would kill The measure. But I think they are not game To say so. Sir, these very poor and lame Excuses do not suit my book at all. I shall oppose it, let what may befall. Another word or two, Sir, in conclusion. If I may be allowed, without intrusion, I'll venture on this very slight remark, If honourable members hit the mark They aim at when the Bill is in committee, It will be riddled so that I shall pity The feelings of the draftsman. It is plain To me he'll never know his Bill again. THE TARIFF— 1867. Twill tax us in eating, 'twill tax us in drinking, 'Twill tax us in sleeping, and tax us while thinking, Or walking, or riding ; 'twill be all the same With the man at his work, or the boy at his game — The bat which he handles, the ball which he kicks — The trowel that's used in the laying of bricks ; From the carpenter's saw, to the costly chronometer ; The mariner's compass, the seaman's barometer; 1 86 SPARKS AND SOUNDS. From the gardener's spade, to Sir Francis's wig; From the barrow or cart, to the brougham and gig ; From the matches that little boys hawk in the street, To the carpet that's spread at the wealthy man's feet ;. The child's penny trumpet, the lollies it sucks, The ponderous steam locomotive and trucks ; The physic that's needful in life's many ills — From cod-liver oil down to Holloway's pills ; The fruits for dessert, both bananas and figs, Are arranged side by side with bandanas and wigs ; The dishes we eat off, the spoons which we use, The water-tight, hobnailed, and white satin shoes; The chairs that we sit in, the bed we recline on, The table round which we assemble to dine on ; The moleskins and blankets the swagman provides, Ere he roams through the bush o'er the blue mountain sides : The pick of the miner, the oil which he burns, The lamp it's consumed in, the rope as it turns Round the drum of his windlass — are all taxed their share; And a curse on the Tariff resounds through the air. cfr etf> e**> r\*^ e°& efr <& efo fjp e^> r~*~-> ftp ffr c^ cfo (fr MASONIC SONG. jTLTAIL to the star of Masonry! whose pure and radiant