Dog-bite-me!" said he, "but we'll diddle 'em yet.

"We'll slip out the mare from her stall in a crack, And put in her place the old broken-down hack; The hack is so like her, I'm ready to swear The bailiff will think he has Mulligan's mare.

"So out with the racer and in with the screw, We'll show him what Mulligan's talent can do; And if he gets nasty and dares to say much, I'll knock him as stiff as my grandmother's crutch."

Then off to the town went the mare and the lad; The bailiff came out, never dreamt he was "had"; But marched to the stall with a confident air-- "I levy," said he, "upon Mulligan's mare."

He watched her by day and he watched her by night, She was never an instant let out of his sight, For races were coming away in the West And Mulligan's mare had a chance with the best.

"Here's a chance," thought the bailiff, "to serve my own ends, I'll send off a wire to my bookmaking friends: Get all you can borrow, beg, snavel or snare And lay the whole lot against Mulligan's mare."

The races came round, and a crowd on the course Were laying the mare till they made themselves hoa.r.s.e, And Mulligan's party, with ardour intense, They backed her for pounds and for shillings and pence.

And think of the grief of the bookmaking host At the sound of the summons to go to the post-- For down to the start with her thorough-bred air As fit as a fiddle pranced Mulligan's mare!

They started, and off went the boy to the front, He cleared out at once, and he made it a hunt; He steadied as rounding the corner they wheeled, Then gave her her head and she smothered the field.

The race put her owner right clear of his debts, He landed a fortune in stakes and in bets, He paid the old bailiff the whole of his pelf, And gave him a hiding to keep for himself.

So all you bold sportsmen take warning, I pray, Keep clear of the running, you'll find it don't pay; For the very best rule that you'll hear in a week-- Is never to bet on a thing that can speak.

And whether you're lucky or whether you lose, Keep clear of the cards and keep clear of the booze, And fortune in season will answer your prayer And send you a flyer like Mulligan's mare.

The Matrimonial Stakes

I wooed her with a steeplechase, I won her with a fall, I made her heartstrings quiver on the flat When the pony missed his take-off, and we crashed into the wall; Well, she simply _had_ to have me after that!

It awoke a thrill of interest when they pulled me out for dead From beneath the shattered ruins of a horse; And, although she _looked_ indifferent when I landed--on my head-- In the water, it appealed to her, of course!

When I won the Flappers' Flat-race it was "all Sir Garneo", For she praised the way I made my final run.

And she thought the riding did it--for how _could_ the poor girl know That a monkey could have ridden it and won!

Then they "weighed me in" a winner--it's not often that occurs!

So I didn't let my golden chances slip, For I showed her all the blood-marks where I jabbed him with the spurs, And the whip-strokes where I hit him with the whip.

Then I asked her if she loved me, and she seemed inclined to shirk For a moment, so I took her by the head (So to speak) and rushed her at it; and she seemed to like the work When she kissed me, though she blushed a rosy red.

She's a mouth as soft as velvet, and she plenty has of heart; I could worship every little step she takes; And the saddling-bell is ringing, so we're going to the start, Certain winners, for the Matrimonial Stakes!

The Mountain Squatter

Here in my mountain home, On rugged hills and steep, I sit and watch you come, O Riverina Sheep!

You come from fertile plains Where saltbush (sometimes) grows, And flats that (when it rains) Will blossom like the rose.

But, when the summer sun Gleams down like burnished bra.s.s, You have to leave your run And hustle off for gra.s.s.

'Tis then that--forced to roam-- You come to where I keep, Here in my mountain home, A boarding-house for sheep.

Around me where I sit The wary wombat goes-- A beast of little wit, But what he knows, he _knows_.

The very same remark Applies to me also; I don't give out a spark, But what I know, I _know_.

My brain perhaps would show No convolutions deep, But anyhow I know The way to handle sheep.

These Riverina cracks, They do not care to ride The half-inch hanging tracks Along the mountain side.

Their horses shake with fear When loosened boulders go, With leaps, like startled deer, Down to the gulfs below.

Their very dogs will shirk, And drop their tails in fright When asked to go and work A mob that's out of sight.

My little collie pup Works silently and wide; You'll see her climbing up Along the mountain side.

As silent as a fox You'll see her come and go, A shadow through the rocks Where ash and messmate grow.

Then, lost to sight and sound Behind some rugged steep, She works her way around And gathers up the sheep;

And, working wide and shy, She holds them rounded up.

The cash ain't coined to buy That little collie pup.

And so I draw a screw For self and dog and keep To boundary-ride for you, O Riverina Sheep!

And when the autumn rain Has made the herbage grow, You travel off again, And glad--no doubt--to go.

But some are left behind Around the mountain's spread, For those we cannot find We put them down as dead.

But when we say adieu And close the boarding job, I always find a few Fresh ear-marks in my mob.

So what with those I sell, And what with those I keep, You pay me pretty well, O Riverina Sheep!

It's up to me to shout Before we say good-bye-- "Here's to a howlin' drought All west of Gundagai!"

Pioneers