Saltbush Bill J.P., and Other Verses | Page 5

same we did out Queensland
way a score of years ago.
Now Isaac was a squatter man, and Jacob was his son,
And when the
boy grew up, you see, he wearied of the run.
You know the way that
boys grow up -- there's some that stick at home; But any boy that's

worth his salt will roll his swag and roam.
So Jacob caught the roving fit and took the drovers' track To where his
uncle had a run, beyond the outer back;
You see they made for
out-back runs for room to stretch and grow, The same we did out
Queensland way, a score of years ago.
Now, Jacob knew the ways of stock -- that's most uncommon clear --
For when he got to Laban's Run, they made him overseer;
He didn't
ask a pound a week, but bargained for his pay
To take the roan and
strawberry calves -- the same we'd take to-day.
The duns and blacks and "Goulburn roans" (that's brindles), coarse and
hard, He branded them with Laban's brand, in Old Man Laban's yard;
So, when he'd done the station work for close on seven year, Why, all
the choicest stock belonged to Laban's overseer.
It's often so with overseers -- I've seen the same thing done By many a
Queensland overseer on many a Queensland run.
But when the
mustering time came on old Laban acted straight, And gave him
country of his own outside the boundary gate.
He gave him stock, and offered him his daughter's hand in troth; And
Jacob first he married one, and then he married both;
You see, they
weren't particular about a wife or so --
No more were we up
Queensland way a score of years ago.
But when the stock were strong and fat with grass and lots of rain,
Then Jacob felt the call to take the homeward road again.
It's strange
in every creed and clime, no matter where you roam, There comes a
day when every man would like to make for home.
So off he set with sheep and goats, a mighty moving band,
To battle
down the homeward track along the Overland --
It's droving
mixed-up mobs like that that makes men cut their throats. I've travelled
rams, which Lord forget, but never travelled goats.

But Jacob knew the ways of stock, for (so the story goes)
When
battling through the Philistines -- selectors, I suppose -- He thought he'd
have to fight his way, an awkward sort of job; So what did Old Man
Jacob do? of course, he split the mob.
He sent the strong stock on ahead to battle out the way;
He couldn't
hurry lambing ewes -- no more you could to-day -- And down the road,
from run to run, his hand 'gainst every hand, He moved that mighty
mob of stock across the Overland.
The thing is made so clear and plain, so solid in and out, There isn't any
room at all for any kind of doubt.
It's just a plain straightforward tale
-- a tale that lets you know The way they lived in Palestine three
thousand years ago.
It's strange to read it all to-day, the shifting of the stock; You'd think
you see the caravans that loaf behind the flock, The little donkeys and
the mules, the sheep that slowly spread, And maybe Dan or Naphthali
a-ridin' on ahead.
The long, dry, dusty summer days, the smouldering fires at night; The
stir and bustle of the camp at break of morning light; The little kids that
skipped about, the camels' dead-slow tramp -- I wish I'd done a week or
two in Old Man Jacob's camp!
~But if I keep the narrer path, some day, perhaps, I'll know How Jacob
bred them strawberry calves three thousand years ago.~
The Reverend Mullineux
I'd reckon his weight at eight-stun-eight,
And his height at
five-foot-two,
With a face as plain as an eight-day clock
And a
walk as brisk as a bantam-cock --
Game as a bantam, too,
Hard and
wiry and full of steam,
That's the boss of the English Team,

Reverend Mullineux.
Makes no row when the game gets rough --
None of your "Strike me

blue!"
"You's wants smacking across the snout!"
Plays like a
gentleman out-and-out --
Same as he ought to do.
"Kindly remove
from off my face!"
That's the way that he states his case --

Reverend Mullineux.
Kick! He can kick like an army mule --
Run like a kangaroo!
Hard
to get by as a lawyer-plant,
Tackles his man like a bull-dog ant --

Fetches him over too!
DIDN'T the public cheer and shout
Watchin'
him chuckin' big blokes about --
Reverend Mullineux.
Scrimmage was packed on his prostrate form,
Somehow the ball got
through --
Who was it tackled our big half-back,
Flinging him down
like an empty sack,
Right on our goal-line too?
Who but the man
that we thought was dead,
Down with a score of 'em on his head,

Reverend Mullineux.
The Wisdom of