Saltbush Bill, J. P Part 13

But ah, you should have heard the cheers that shook the members' stand Whenever Tommy Corrigan weighed out to ride Lone Hand.

They were, indeed, a glorious pair--the great upstanding horse, The gamest jockey on his back that ever faced a course.

Though weight was big and pace was hot and fences stiff and tall, "You follow Tommy Corrigan" was pa.s.sed to one and all.

And every man on Ballarat raised all he could command To put on Tommy Corrigan when riding old Lone Hand.

But now we'll keep his memory green while hors.e.m.e.n come and go, We may not see his like again where silks and satins glow.

We'll drink to him in silence, boys--he's followed down the track Where many a good man went before, but never one came back.

And let us hope in that far land where shades of brave men reign, That gallant Tommy Corrigan will ride Lone Hand again.

The Maori's Wool

_Now, this is just a simple tale to tell the reader how They civilised the Maori tribe at Rooti-iti-au._

The Maoris are a mighty race--the finest ever known; Before the missionaries came they wors.h.i.+pped wood and stone; They went to war and fought like fiends, and when the war was done They pacified their conquered foes by eating every one.

But now-a-days about the pahs in idleness they lurk, Prepared to smoke or drink or talk--or anything but work.

The richest tribe in all the North in sheep and horse and cow Were those who led their simple lives at Rooti-iti-au.

'Twas down to town at Wellington a n.o.ble Maori came, A Rangatira of the best, Rerenga was his name-- (The word Rerenga means a "snag"--but until he was gone This didn't strike the folk he met--it struck them later on).

He stalked into the Bank they call the "Great Financial h.e.l.l", And told the Chief Financial Fiend the tribe had wool to sell.

The Bold Bank Manager looked grave--the price of wool was high.

He said, "We'll lend you what you need--we're not disposed to buy.

You s.h.i.+p the wool to England, Chief!--You'll find it's good advice, And meanwhile you can draw from us the local market price."

The Chief he thanked him courteously and said he wished to state In all the Rooti-iti tribe his mana would be great, But still the tribe were simple folk, and did not understand This strange finance that gave them cash without the wool in hand.

So off he started home again, with trouble on his brow, To lay the case before the tribe at Rooti-iti-au.

They held a great korero in the Rooti-iti clan, With speeches lasting half a day from every leading man.

They called themselves poetic names--"lost children in a wood"; They said the Great Bank Manager was Kapai--extra good!

And so they sent Rerenga down, full-powered and well-equipped, To draw as much as he could get, and let the wool be s.h.i.+pped; And wedged into a "Cargo Tank", full up from stern to bow, A mighty clip of wool went Home from Rooti-iti-au.

It was the Bold Bank Manager who drew a heavy cheque; Rerenga cashed it thoughtfully, then clasped him round the neck; A hug from him was not at all a thing you'd call a lark-- You see he lived on mutton-birds and dried remains of shark-- But still it showed his grat.i.tude, and, as he pouched the pelf, "I'll haka for you, sir," he said, "in honour of yourself!"

The haka is a striking dance--the sort they don't allow In any place more civilised than Rooti-iti-au.

He "haka'd" most effectively--then, with an airy grace Rubbed noses with the Manager, and vanished into s.p.a.ce.

But when the wool-return came back, ah me, what sighs and groans!

For every bale of Maori wool was loaded up with stones!

Yes--thumping great New Zealand rocks among the wool they found; On every rock the Bank had lent just seven pence a pound.

And now the Bold Bank Manager, with trouble on his brow, Is searching vainly for the chief from Rooti-iti-au.

The Angel's Kiss

An angel stood beside the bed Where lay the living and the dead.

He gave the mother--her who died-- A kiss that Christ the Crucified

Had sent to greet the weary soul When, worn and faint, it reached its goal.

He gave the infant kisses twain, One on the breast, one on the brain.

"Go forth into the world," he said, "With blessings on your heart and head,

"For G.o.d, who ruleth righteously, Hath ordered that to such as be

"From birth deprived of mother's love, I bring His blessing from above;

"But if the mother's life He spare Then she is made G.o.d's messenger

"To kiss and pray that heart and brain May go through life without a stain."

The infant moved towards the light, The angel spread his wings in flight.

But each man carries to his grave The kisses that in hopes to save The angel or his mother gave.

Sunrise on the Coast

Grey dawn on the sand-hills--the night wind has drifted All night from the rollers a scent of the sea; With the dawn the grey fog his battalions has lifted, At the call of the morning they scatter and flee.

Like mariners calling the roll of their number The sea-fowl put out to the infinite deep.

And far over-head--sinking softly to slumber-- Worn out by their watching, the stars fall asleep.

To eastward, where resteth the dome of the skies on The sea-line, stirs softly the curtain of night; And far from behind the enshrouded horizon Comes the voice of a G.o.d saying "Let there be light."

And lo, there is light! Evanescent and tender, It glows ruby-red where 'twas now ashen-grey; And purple and scarlet and gold in its splendour-- Behold, 'tis that marvel, the birth of a day!

The Reveille

Trumpets of the Lancer Corps, Sound a loud reveille; Sound it over Sydney sh.o.r.e, Send the message far and wide Down the Richmond River side-- Boot and saddle, mount and ride, Sound a loud reveille.