Part 12 (1/2)

”The goat--was he back there? Had anyone heard of him?”

In very short order they got plenty word of him, In fact as they wandered by street, lane and hall, ”The trail of the serpent was over them all.”

A poor little child knocked out stiff in the gutter Proclaimed that the scapegoat was bred for a ”b.u.t.ter”.

The billsticker's pail told a sorrowful tale, The scapegoat had licked it as dry as a nail; He raced through their houses, and frightened their spouses, But his latest achievement most anger arouses, For while they were searching, and scratching their craniums, One little Ben Ourbed, who looked in the flower-bed, Discovered him, eating the Rabbi's geraniums.

Moral:

The moral is patent to all the beholders-- Don't s.h.i.+ft your own sins on to other folk's shoulders; Be kind to dumb creatures and never abuse them, Nor curse them nor kick them, nor spitefully use them; Take their lives if needs must--when it comes to the worst, But don't let them perish of hunger or thirst.

Remember, no matter how far you may roam, That dogs, goats, and chickens, it's simply the d.i.c.kens Their talent stupendous for ”getting back home”.

Your sins, without doubt, will aye find you out, And so will a scapegoat, he's bound to achieve it-- But, die in the wilderness? Don't you believe it!

An Evening in Dandaloo

It was while we held our races-- Hurdles, sprints and steeplechases-- Up in Dandaloo, That a crowd of Sydney stealers, Jockeys, pugilists and spielers Brought some horses, real heelers, Came and put us through.

Beat our nags and won our money, Made the game by no means funny, Made us rather blue; When the racing was concluded, Of our hard-earned coin denuded Dandaloonies sat and brooded There in Dandaloo.

Night came down on Johnson's shanty Where the grog was no means scanty, And a tumult grew Till some wild, excited person Galloped down the towns.h.i.+p cursing, ”Sydney push have mobbed Macpherson, Roll up, Dandaloo!”

Great St. Denis! what commotion!

Like the rush of stormy ocean Fiery hors.e.m.e.n flew.

Dust and smoke and din and rattle, Down the street they spurred their cattle To the war-cry of the battle, ”Wade in, Dandaloo!”

So the boys might have their fight out, Johnson blew the bar-room light out, Then, in haste, withdrew.

And in darkness and in doubting Raged the conflict and the shouting, ”Give the Sydney push a clouting, Go it, Dandaloo!”

Jack Macpherson seized a bucket, Every head he saw he struck it-- Struck in earnest, too; And a man from Lower Wattle, Whom a shearer tried to throttle, Hit out freely with a bottle, There in Dandaloo.

Skin and hair were flying thickly, When a light was fetched, and quickly Brought a fact to view-- On the scene of the diversion Every single, solid person Come along to help Macpherson-- _All_ were Dandaloo!”

When the list of slain was tabled, Some were drunk and some disabled, Still we found it true.

In the darkness and the smother We'd been belting one another; Jack Macpherson bashed his brother There in Dandaloo.

So we drank, and all departed-- How the ”mobbing” yarn was started No one ever knew-- And the stockmen tell the story Of that conflict fierce and gory, How we fought for love and glory Up in Dandaloo.

It's a proverb now, or near it-- At the races you can hear it, At the dog-fights, too!

Every shrieking, dancing drover As the canines topple over Yells applause to Grip or Rover, ”Give him 'Dandaloo'!”

And the teamster slowly toiling Through the deep black country, soiling Wheels and axles, too, Lays the whip on Spot and Banker, Rouses Tarboy with a flanker-- ”Redman! Ginger! Heave there! Yank her!

Wade in, Dandaloo!”