Southerly Busters. Gibson George Herbert

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      Countless sheep and countless cattle

      O'er his vast enclosures roam;

      But you heard no children prattle

      'Round that squatter's hearth and home.

      Older grew that squatter, older,

      Solitary and alone,

      And they said his heart was colder

      Than a granite pavin'-stone.

      Other squatters livin handy,

      Wot had daughters in their prime.

      For that squatter "shouted" brandy

      In the Township many a time;

      And those gals kept introdoocin'

      In their toilets every art

      With the object of sedoocin'

      That old sinner's stony heart.

      Thus they often made exposures

      Of their ankles, I'll be bound,

      When they, in his vast enclosures,

      Met that squatter ridin' round.

      Their advances he rejected,

      Scornin' both their hands and hearts,

      'Till one day a cove selected

      Forty acres in those parts.

      And that stalwart free-selector

      Had the handsomest of gals;

      Conduct couldn't be correcter

      Than his youngest daughter Sal's.

      Prettily her head she tosses —

      Loves a thing she don't regard;

      Rides the most owdacious hosses

      Wot was ever in a yard.

      She was lithe and she was limber —

      Farmers daughter every inch —

      Not averse to sawin' timber

      With her father at a pinch.

      In remotest dells and dingles,

      Where most gals would be afraid,

      There she went a-splittin shingles,

      Pretty tidy work she made.

      And that free selector's daughter,

      Driving of her father's cart,

      Made the very wildest slaughter

      In that wealthy squatter's heart.

      He proposed, and wasn't blighted,

      Took her to his residence,

      With his bride he was delighted

      For she saved him much expense.

      Older grew that aged squatter,

      White and grizzly grew his pate,

      'Till his weak rheumatic trotters

      Couldn't bear their owner's weight.

      Then he grew more helpless, 'till he

      Couldn't wash and couldn't shave,

      And one evening cold and chilly

      He was carried to his grave.

      Then that free selector's daughter

      Came right slap "out of her shell;"

      Calm and grave as folks had thought her,

      She becomes a howling swell.

      To the neighb'ring township drove she

      In her chariot and pair,

      Splendid dreams and visions wove she

      While she braided up her hair.

      She peruses Sydney papers,

      Sees a paragraph which tells

      Her benighted soul the capers

      Cut down there by nobs and swells;

      Then she couldn't stop contented

      In a region such as this,

      While the atmosphere she scented

      Of the great metropolis.

      Her intention she imparted

      To the neighbours round about;

      Packed her duds, farewell'd, and started,

      And for Sydney she set out.

      Now her pantin' bosom hankers

      Spicily her form to deck,

      So she sought her husband's bankers

      And she drew a heavy cheque.

      She, of course, in dress a part spent,

      Satins, sables, silk and grebe,

      And she took some swell apartments

      Situated near the Glebe.

      With the very highest classes

      In her heart she longed to jine —

      Her opinion placed the masses

      Lower in the scale than swine.

      But she found it wasn't easy

      Climbin' up ambition's slope;

      Slippy was the road, and greasy,

      To the summit of her hope.

      If into a "set" she wriggled,

      She'd capsize some social rule,

      Then those parties mostly giggled,

      Loadin' her with ridicule.

      Many an awkward solecism —

      Many a breach of etiquette,

      (Though she knew her catechism)

      Often made her eyelids wet.

      Her plebeian early trainin'

      Was a precious pull-back then,

      Which prevented her from gainin'

      Footin' with the "upper ten."

      Strugglin' after social fame was

      Simply killin' her out-right,

      So she settled that the game was

      Hardly worth the candle-light.

      Things got worse and things got worser,

      'Till she had a vision strange,

      The forerunner and precurser

      Of a most decided change.

      In a dream she saw the station

      Where her father now was boss,

      And his usual occupation

      Was to ride a spavined hoss.

      Round inspectin' every shepherd

      With his penetratin' sight,

      And those underlings got peppered

      If he found things wasn't right.

      When she saw her grey-haired sire

      "Knockin' round" among the sheep,

      For her home a strong desire

      Made her yell out in her sleep.