Che Bulletin Library
Edited by A. G. STEPHENS
Castro's Last Sacrament, and Other Stories, jx, post
free. By ALBERT DORRINGTON.
The Bulletin Story Book, 5$., post free.
The Bulletin Reciter, jx 4$. , post free.
A Book Of Bulletin Verse. [In Preparation.
The Bulletin's Book of Australia. [In Preparation.
Such is Life, by JOSEPH FURPHY. [In Preparation.
OTHERS TO FOLLOW.
Cfte Bulletin Reciter
THE BULLETIN RECITER.
[To face Title-Page.
Cbc Bulletin Reciter
A COLLECTION OF VERSES FOR RECITATION
FROM "THE BULLETIN"
THE BULLETIN NEWSPAPER COMPANY, LIMITED, PUBLISHERS
The contents of this Book were originally published in THE
BULLETIN. The following verses have been republished
"Off the Grass" (p.7>, " How We Won the Ribbon" (p.iSs), "A Scotch
Night" (p.232) in FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES: WITH OTHER
VERSES ; Sydney, The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited, 1898.
"What the Bottle Said" (p. 123) in THE WAYS OF MANY WATERS;
Sydney, The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited, 1899.
"The Anarchist" (p.iaS) in MAORILAND : AND OTHER VERSES ; Sydney,
The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited, 1899.
"The Road to Wyoming" (p. 145) in STARLIGHT SONGS; London,
Kegan, Paul, Trench, Triibner & Co., Ltd., 1895.
"Bashful Gleeson" (p.i66) in RHYMES FROM THE MINES AND OTHER
LINES; Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1896.
"Skeeta" (p.iyo) in WHERE THE DEAD MEN LIE, AND OTHER VERSES ;
Sydney, Angus and Robertson, 1897.
"The Currency Lass" (p.i76) in THE CIRCLING HEARTHS; Sydney,
The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited, 1901.
*'The Tugs of Simpsonville" (p.igs), ''The Bush Missionary" (p.2i8),
in HITS ! SKITS ! AND JINGLES ! Sydney, The Bulletin Newspaper
Company, Limited, 1899.
"Faces in the Street" (p.2i3> in A GOLDEN SHANTY; Sydney, The
Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited, 1890. Also in IN THE DAYS
WHEN THE WORLD WAS WIDE AND OTHER VERSES ; Sydney, Angus
and Robertson, 1896.
"The Last Bullet" (p.22i) in A GOLDEN SHANTY ; Sydney, The Bulletin
Newspaper Company, Limited: also (as "Virginius") in How HE
DIED AND OTHER POEMS; Sydney, Turner and Henderson, 1887.
Copyright^ 1901, by The Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited.
risk and expense of this publication are under
taken by the Bulletin Newspaper Company, Limited.
Should any profits accrue, a share of forty per cent, will be
credited to the writers represented.
Owing to the length of time which, in certain cases, has
elapsed since the original publication in THE BULLETIN,
the names and addresses of some of the writers have been
lost sight of; and their work appears over pen-names. The
editor will be glad if these writers will communicate with
him. Suggestions for revision or improvement of the recita-
tions or of the book will be gratefully received.
THE BULLETIN RECITER is copyrighted by The Bulletin
Neivspaper Company, Limited ; and the contents must not
be reprinted without the permission of the proprietors.
214. George Street ', Sydney, Australia,
ist December, igoi.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE BULLETIN RECITER .... "Hop"
To FACE TITLE-PAGE
THAT DAY AT BOILING DOWNS - - Fred Leist
To FACE PAGE 16
A LEGEND OF THE DARGO - Fred Leist
To FACE PAGE 42
How M'DOUGAL TOPPED THE SCORE - - A.J. Fischer
To FACE PAGE 54
THE WOMAN OF THE FUTURE - - - "Hop"
To FACE PAGE 71
BUCKED OFF ITS BRAND - - A. J. Fischer
. To FACE PAGE 88
THE HOW-WE-BEAT-THE-FAVOURITE AFFLICTION Hugh McCrae
To FACE PAGE 106
MY MATE BILL ... Norman Lindsay
To FACE PAGE 122
THE HAIRY MAN OF KOORAWATHA - - A.J. Fischer
To FACE PAGE 142
BOKO - ... Fred Leist
To FACE PAGE 158
How WE WON THE RIBBON - - - Norman Lindsay
To FACE PAGE 186
TAMBAROORA - D. H. Souter
To FACE PAGE 202
THE BUSH MISSIONARY - - - A. /. Fischer
To FACE PAGE 220
A SCOTCH NIGHT - D. H. Souter
To FACE PAGE 233
LIST OF RECITATIONS.
THE BILLIARD-MARKER'S YARN -
SPELL OH ! -
OFF THE GRASS
THE BRUMBY'S DEATH -
THAT DAY AT BOILING DOWNS -
THE BELLBIRD RANG HER HOME
OUT BACK ....
AFTER THE FLOOD
A STRANGER AT THE U
THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME -
A LEGEND OF THE DARGO -
IN THE FACE OF THE DEAD
THE MAN WITH RUBBER PEDALS -
IN THE DEAD-LETTER OFFICE -
How M'DOUGAL TOPPED THE SCORE
THE MAN WHO TOLD You So
A SEA TRAGEDY -
- Edmund Fisher I
W. . Carew 5
- Will H. Ogilvie ^
- Ethel Mills 12
Jack Mat '/lieu 14
Randolph Bedford 17
P. P. Qtiinn 19
- Dora Wile ox 22
J. Crawford 28
- "Sendee" 31
T. H. Ord 34
C. H. Souter 38
- W. Long 39
Ethel Castillo. 43
- R. Stewart 48
-Thos. E. Spencer 51
-/. S. Neilson 56
- "Styx" 59
F. Rollett 6 1
THE BULLETIN RECITER.
THE SILENCE OF MULLOCK CREEK
WHEN MOTHER CALLS TO DINNER
M'GINTY'S HAPPY THOUGHT
A SONG OF GOLD
THE WOMAN OF THE FUTURE
WHERE ARE MY DOLLARS GONE?-
WATTLE FLAT -
THE WOMAN SPEAKS
AT THE DIGGINGS STORE
BUCKED OFF ITS BRAND -
THE PRICE OF A Kiss -
MICK DOOLEY'S PANTS
THE BALLAD OF STUTTERING JIM
LIFE'S PARADOXES -
Edward Dyson 62
E.J. Dempsey 67
- JDcra Wilcox 68
"P. Luftig" 70
- "Quilp'N." 72
- Cecil Poole 78
- "Alone" 8r
Ambrose Pratt 83
- Z. /?. Madeod 84
R. A. F. 85
- R. A. F. 87
Ehse Espinasse 89
- G. Essex Evans 91
- Samuel Chall White 93
"P. Luftig" 101
- "The ." 103
WHEN DACEY RODE THE MULE
THE HOW-WE-BEAT-THE-FAVOURITE AFFLICTION
N. M. O 'Donne II 105
GIG FOURS - "McG" 107
DON'T LET THE MOTH GET IN -7". A. Wilson no
THE WINNER OF THE SQUATTERS' CUP Frank Bellman 112
LIST OF RECITATIONS.
- Victor J. Daley 114
THE THREE ROADS -
MY MATE BILL
WHAT THE BOTTLE SAID
A GERMAN LAMENT -
THE ANARCHIST -
THE FALL OF PATRICK DOOLEY -
THE JESTER OF THE DAMNED -
THE HAIRY MAN OF KOORAWATHA -
A BIG "BUST" -
A TIGHT CORNER
THE ROAD TO WYOMING
JIM JAMIESON, OF TRINGABAR
THE MALLEE FIRE
AMONG THE PALMS -
DREAMS AND DEEDS
THE FAT MAN AND THE WAR
THE COCKY'S HANDY MAN-
"John Carew" 116
G. H. Gibson 120
- E. J. Brady 123
Arthur H. Adams 128
- E.J. Dempsey 132
- J. H. Greene 134
- ' ' Tom Freeman " 1 40
Edward Dyson 143
C. fl. S outer 144
Evelyn Threlfall 145
- "Pan" 150
- C. H. Souter 152
E.J. Dempsey 155
- Bernard Espinasse 160
/. M. L. 163
"Ben Sun" 164
Edward Dyson 166
THE BULLETIN RECITER.
THE CURRENCY LASS
THE CONFIDENTIAL JOCKEY
How WE WON THE RIBBON
A TWISTED IDYL
THE TUGS OF SIMPSONVILLE
THE SICK CAB-RIDER
FATHER RILEY'S HORSE
O'TOOLE AND M'SHARRY
FACES IN THE STREET
THE BUSH MISSIONARY -
THE LAST BULLET -
THE HONEYMOON TRAIN-
A SCOTCH NIGHT
- Barcroft Boake 170
Roderic Quinn 176
- Francis Kenna 179
Will H. Ogilvie 183
Frank Morton 187
W. T. Goodge 193
- Edmund Fisher 197
- A. B. Pater son 203
Thomas E. Spencer 209
Henry Lawson 213
W. T. Goodge 218
John Farrell 221
A. G. Stephens 229
Hugh McCrae 231
Will H. Ogilvie 232
LIST OF WRITERS.
ADAMS, ARTHUR H.
" ALONE" -
"BEN SUN" -
BRADY, E. J.
CAREW, W. E. -
" CURLEW" -
DALEY, VICTOR J.
DEMPSEY, E. J.
- The Anarchist 128
- Wing Fat 81
- The Bellbird Rang Her Home 1 7
The Winner of the Squatters' Cup 1 12
A German Lament 126
- The Cocky 's Handy Man 164
- Skeeta 170
What the Bottle Said 123
Spell Oh ! 5
- In the Face of the Dead 43
A Stranger at the U 28
The Three Roads 114
M' duty's Happy Thought 67
The Fall of Patrick Dooley 132
-Dreams and Deeds 155
- The Silence of Mullock Creek 62
A B^g"B^(st" 143
Bashful Gleeson 166
THE BULLETIN RECITER.
EVANS, G. ESSEX -
FISHER, EDMUND -
GIBSON, G. H.
GOODGE, W. T.
GREENE, J. H. -
J. M. L. -
MACLEOD, L. R.
"Dunno!" 1 60
The Price of a Kiss 89
Mick Dooley's Pants 91
The Last Bullet 221
The Billiard-Marker's Yarn I
The Sick Cab- Rider 197
My Mate Bill 120
The Tugs of Simpsonville 193
The Bush Missionary 218
The Jester of the Damned 134
- Among the Palms 154
The Shoe 163
Christmas Belle lid
The Confidential Jockey 179
- Faces in the Street 213
- A Legend of the Dargo 39
- Consolation 84
The Fat Man and the War 161
That Day at Boiling Downs 14
The Murder-Night 231
The Man with Rubber Pedals 44
Gig Fours 107
LIST OF WRITERS.
MILLS, ETHEL - - The Brumby's Death 12
MORTON, FRANK A Twisted Idyl 187
NEILSON, J. S. - Marian's Child 56
O'DONNELL, N. M. The How- We- Beat-the- Favourite Affliction 105
OGILVIE, WILL H. - Off the Grass 7
- How We Won the Ribbon 183
A Scotch Night 232
ORD, T. H. - The Whirligig of Time 34
"PAN" ... fimjamieson, of Tringabar 150
PATERSON, A. B. - - - Father Riley's Horse 203
"P. LUFTIG" - - The Woman of the Future 70
,, - - - Where are My Dollars Gone ? 77
,, .... Life's Paradoxes 101
POOLE, CECIL - - - Wattle Flat 78
PRATT, AMBROSE - - - The Woman Speaks 83
"QuiLP N." - - - Stokin' 72
QUINN, P. P. - - Out Back 19
QUINN, RODERIC - - - The Currency Lass 1 76
R. A. F. - At the Diggings Store 85
,, - - Bucked Off its Brand 87
ROLLETT, F. A Sea Tragedy 61
SOUTER, C. H. - - - - Sold- Up 38
,, - - - A Tight Corner 144
,, - - - - The Mallee Fire 152
THE BULLETIN RECITER.
SPENCER, THOS. E.
STEPHENS, A. G. -
WHITE, SAMUEL CLIALL
WILSON, T. A.
How M 'Dougal Topped the Score 5 1
- CfToole and M^Sharry 209
The Honeymoon Train 229
In the Dead-Letter Office 48
The Man Who Told You So 59
When Dacey Rode the Mule 103
The Road to Wyoming 145
The Hairy Man of Kooraiuatha 140
When Mother Calls to Dinner 66
- The Ballad of Stuttering Jim 93
After the Flood 22
A Song of Gold 68
Don't Let the Moth Get In 1 10
THE BILLIARD-MARKER'S YARN.
IT was the billiard-marker of the Gin and Cloves Hotel
A sandy man, with tender feet, no doubt you know
Who told this simple story, in his plain, straightforward
Of the disappointed shepherds and the lamb who went
"The meanest skunk," said Thomas (that's the worthy
" As ever came in here to play a dirty sneakin' game,
Was a swell we called ' the Kernel ' a tollollish breed of
Who never said 'Good-day' but what he'd offer one a
" You must know this 'ere Kernel used to lounge about
A-talking of his 'orses, and his kerridges, an' groom ;
He didn't sport no joolrey except a slap-up ring,
And if we had a pool he 'd drop his shillings like a king.
" Three months or so I 'd know'd 'im, when I put it to
As the Kernel might be good to work a swindle on,
2 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
For he give me the impression that he fancied he 'd a show
To hold his own at billiards with old Chorley Clitheroe.
" Old Chor there ain't his equal for puttin' through a
Had been 'avin' friendly games with Mr. Kernel on and off;
And when the Kernel beat him, then the old 'un used to
As he hadn't got no nerve for playin' billiards like he did.
'* So the boys they sit and watch 'em, O ! so quiet and
And remark, in stagey whispers, as the Kernel was l too
And how he seemed a gentleman wot was n't up to snuff,
Or else he 'd land old Chorley for a tidy lump o' stuff.
" But the Kernel did n't seem to want to have no money
At first the most he played for was a modest 'arf-a-crown ;
And when the game was over, let him win or let him lose,
He was sure to ask the company to order in their booze.
" Yer can't make brass by drinking we was almost in
Of gettin' at our juggins with the 'igh and mighty air
When at last he says to Chorley : ' Will you play me for
a stake ? '
And Chorley, after kiddin', said he would for 'friendship's
THE BILLIARD-MARKER'S YARN. 3
" A ' level thousand up ' for fifty sovereigns was the game ;
Old Chor. put down his ' pony ' and the Kernel did the
A doctor held the money and was chose as referee,
And the boys rolled up next night the bloomin' sacrifice
" We brought up Ikey Gizzard ('im they call the Golden
And several other chaps as makes a ready-money book,
And if we loored the Kernel and his party on to bet
We was promised 'arf the sugar what the layers was to get.
" The Kernel had a crowd of toffs to come and see him
They backed him for their tenners, when they heard
what we 'd to say
Before the game commenced ; and when he got in front
By thirty points, or so we made 'em back 'im for some
" O' course we kept on kiddin' that old Chorley was a
And the toffs, quite fresh and innercent, kept pilin' on the
But when I called ' six hundred h'all,' I sez to Chor,, I
* Don't you notice some improvement in the way the
Kernel plays ? '
4 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
" ' Well, when you come to mention it,' says Chorley, ' I
This covey has been keepin' of a trifle hup his sleeve,
So I think it will be safer now to let him 'ave more show.
Just tip the wink to Ikey, and I '11 teach 'em all I know.'
"Then Chorley has a brandy, and he don't put down his cue
Until he plays a purty little break of sixty-two /
* A hundred pound to forty ! ' shouts out Ikey, when he 'd
The Kernel took that wager, and the trouble then begun.
" For he catches up to Chorley and he works a bit ahead,
And he has a sudden genius for a-shovin' down the red :
He never leaves Chor. nothing but a blessed 'double
To cut the story short, the Kernel did us in a walk.
" The bookies dropped * three-fifty,' altogether, on the deal,
And of course they had to settle, howsoever they mighty^/;
The Kernel shouted fizz, and said he 'd never played so
While all as Chorley uttered was the hexclamation c 'ell ! '
" They never come again, not after doin' of the trick,
And to talk about the Kernel turns my stummick fairly
All faith in human nature and religion it destroys
When a masher has the meanness to come robbin' of the
SPELL OH I
5 rp WAS in the Fraser country, where the coast is wild
A and strange ;
And swagging up the long divide that leads to Day-
We came, and reached the saddle where the steep rise
starts to slow ;
Then dropped our loads and, resting, gazed upon the
And out beyond we looked towards the faintly-gleaming
Along the dim horizon-line where forests cease to be ;
And from the white-fringed coast there came the soft, per-
Of countless sighs that dying waves breathed o'er their
And then, in strangest humour, borne on Fancy's win-
Far, far away from Daybreak Range I paced the crowded
The countless thousands passed along with loads that
bent the back
They carried more than " eighty " as they struggled up
the track !
6 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
Some were, alas ! so feeble that they fainted by the way ;
And some rushed wildly through the throng with gestures
of dismay ;
And some there were of giant strength who seemed to
walk in sleep,
And slowly crept with crushing loads in trance un-
And some I saw whose faces held no human destiny
Pale spectres of the men that once they fondly hoped to be;
And some there were but young in years, yet from whom
Hope had fled,
To leave them, careless of their chains, in all but seeming
Then suddenly a sound was heard that thrilled that toiling
A voice that, clear as trumpet-call, went speeding o'er the
And men whose ears were longtime dulled by Labour's
Stopped still with leaping hearts, to hear the cry of
" Spell oh ! Spell ! "
Then loads were dropped, and weary forms sank panting
on the ground,
And Care a moment ceased to brood as respite sweet was
Whilst haggard faces, in the flush of rest, shone almost fair,
And silent tongues were loosed, and babbled music on
the air 1
SPELL OHt 7
And then I woke, or seemed to wake, and on the column
Whilst at its head some unseen band played softly hymns
of rest ;
And in their homes the women of that dumb and
With wasted ringers swiftly sewed another worker's shroud.
But oft at night, when heaven hangs close, there echoes
Some semblance of that clarion-call that speaks the good
When voice of man, or voice of God, in accents all may
Shall waken every deadened soul with cry of " Spell oh !
W. E. CAREW.
OFF THE GRASS.
THEY were boasting on the Greenhide of their nags
of fancy breed,
And stuffing them with bran and oats to run in Gumleaf
But we had n't got a racehorse that was worth a dish of
So did n't have a Buckley's show to take the boasters
8 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
For old Midnight was in Sydney, and we couldn't get him
In time for Gumleaf Races if it had been worth our
The Chorus colt was far too light to win the Gumleaf
And we did n't own a hackney that could finish out the
But we could n't watch them win it while we never had a
So we mustered up the horses, and we caught old
Myall King ;
He 's as brave as ever galloped, but he 's twelve if he 's a
And we could n't help but chuckle at the humour of
But, though shaky in the shoulders, he 's the daddy of
them all ;
He 's the gamest bit of horseflesh from the Snowy to
the Bree ;
One of those that 's never beaten, coming every time you
One of those you sometimes read about but very
He 's the don at every muster and the king of every camp ;
He's the lad to stop the pikers when they take you
on the rush ;
OFF THE GRASS. 9
And he loves the merry rattle of the stockwhip, and the
Of the cock-horned mulga scrubbers when they're breaking
in the brush.
He can foot the Greenhide brumbies if they take a mile
And if they get him winded in a gallop on the plain
He 's as game as any lion, and he carries such a heart
You can never say he's beaten, for he'll always come
So we put up Jack the Stockman with his ten pounds
And he lengthened out the leathers half-a-foot and
gave a smile :
" I don't suppose you'll see us when they're fairly in the
But we '11 make the beggars travel, take my oath ! for
And they started, and the old horse jumped away a
length in front,
And every post they came to gave the brown a longer
Till it seemed that there was nothing else but Myall in
With his load of station honour and his weight of mulga
io THE BULLETIN RECITER.
Then the bay mare, Began Lily, started out to cut him
She had travelled out five hundred miles to win the
And she could n't well get beaten by a hack in Gumleaf
When she had to pay expenses for her owner's journey
So she started out to catch the old brown camp-horse
from the Bush,
And a furlong from the finish she could nose his rider's
Then you should have heard the shouting of the Bogan
And the flinging of their hats up was a sight for you to
But old Myall King had often been as nearly beat before,
And he steadied off a little, while the mare shot out
Then he shook his ears and gripped the bit you should
have heard us roar
As he came at Bogan Lily with his flanks a streak of red !
And the little bay mare, beaten, gave him best and threw
it up ,
And we heard her rider murmur, as he saw the brown
OFF THE GRASS. 11
And Jack the Stockman drop his hands and win the
"Beat by a hungry cripple of a camp-horse, off the
grass ! "
Then we led him in a winner, and they cheered him from
With the black sweat running channels from his fore-
arm to his foot,
And the white foam on his shoulder till you could n't see
And the crimson bloodstains scattered over spur and
flank and boot
So we carried off the honours of the meeting and the
And the men on Greenhide River, when they see our
Will tell you this in whispers, "You can train your nags
on oats ;
But be careful when you 're racing those dashed scrubbers
off the grass ! "
WILL H. OGILVIE.
12 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
THE BRUMBY'S DEATH.
J rp WAS only last night I was leading them westward
A O'er hills bathed in moonlight, thro' forests of
Past reed-beds that sang by the deep water-courses,
Thro' thickets of starry- white jasmine in bloom ;
My beautiful troop ! with their wind-toss'd manes flying,
Their hoofs flashing fire as they wheeled on the plain
Ah ! never thro' desert or bird-haunted forest
Shall I lead them in moonlight or shadow again.
It was only last night that we came to the clearing :
The blaze of the camp-fire our halt in surprise,
And the whirr and the sting of the death-dealing bullet,
The last maddened gallop, the fast-dimming eyes.
Then / sank on the reed-beds, they fled in the darkness
Still westward their hoof-beats seemed ringing my
Was there one, do you think, gave a thought to the leader
Who, stricken and helpless, lay still where he fell ?
I had led them of yore to the hills of grey granite ,
I knew where the creepers hung thick o'er the pass
That led to the vale in the heart of the mountains
The clear, crystal river the green slopes of grass.
Ah, me ! those were days when we met in the morning
And galloped in glee while the sweet breezes sang,
And the echoes came up from the hollow, red ridges
As over the gravel our hoofs lightly rang.
THE BRUMBY'S DEATH. 13
I can follow in fancy their flight thro' the darkness
Bereft of their leader, still hurried by fear :
Will they wander till lights of some lonely out-station
Shine out, or a horse-bell sounds far off, yet clear ?
Will they turn then and, seeking the swampland behind
Forget their wild panic in longing for me,
And hasten to guard me ? for bright eyes are gleaming
And swift shadows hasten past thicket and tree.
How weirdly the dingoes are howling around me !
The wings of a night-hawk brushed lightly my mane ;
The eagles will shriek for their feast on the morrow,
But my troop will be with me, nor leave me again
Till these dim eyes grow bright, and far to the westward
I lead them, forgetting this night and its fear . . .
They are slow they are late ah ! I would that they
The stealthy night prowlers draw silently near.
Far away in the hills that have guarded so firmly
The granite-ringed pastures the wild horses know,
They are feeding knee-deep in the grass and the clover
While red grows the east from the dawn's tender glow.
And another as leader looks proudly around him,
Sleek-skinned and fleet-footed, well fit to be head;
But far in the reed-beds the eagles have gathered . . .
One might have remembered as westward they fled !
14 THE BULLETIN RECITER.
THAT DAY AT BOILING DOWNS.
HE was driving Irish tandem, but perhaps I talk at
I 'd forgotten for a moment you are not all mulga-bred ;
What I mean 's he had his swag up through his having
knocked his nag up ;
He had come in off the Cooper anyhow that 's what he
And he looked as full of knowledge as a thirty-acre college
As he answered to the question " How 's things look the
way you come ? "
11 Well, they were a trifle willing for a bit. There ; s been
some killing ;
In fact, I'm the sole survivor of the district . . . mine 's
a rum ! "
Then we all got interested in the chap as he divested
Himself of a fat puppy that he carried in his shirt ;
But he said no more until he had put down his swag and
And had taken off his bluchers just to empty out the dirt.
Bits of cork were tied with laces round his hat in many
Out of which he gave the puppy some refreshment, and