Southerly Busters

In conclusion, he recommended his friends to take the fat with the lean through life, and not to grumble because some one else appeared to have all the prime-cuts of fortune, and all the rich fat of prosperity, and they only the fag-end and the bone. He sat down (on the deserted ant's nest) amid loud and reiterated applause.

Festivities then commenced The guests sat on their haunches and drank the blood of the grape out of hogs' heads.

The toasts drunk were the "Gallus" – not the gallows; the block and cleaver, &c. The juniors played "rounders," and (raw) "hide and seek." Dancing was kept up with animation until a late hour. Old Tommy Hawk danced a porka, and his peculiar shambling gait called forth rounds of applause. Several games of chance were played for beef stakes.

A butcher who dealt largely in goat's flesh sang the touching Scotch ballad, "Oh, Nanny, wilt thou gang wi me," and old Pork Chops sang "Those evening chines" in a most affecting manner. The festivities continued until they could not very well continue any longer, and every body returned home perfectly satisfied.

THE OYSTERMEN'S AND FISHMONGERS' PIC-NIC

MON DAY was a great day. Though the bosom of the ocean was apparently unruffled by a zephyr, terror and excitement raged beneath its surface. Influential members of the finny tribe darted hither and thither in a manner which indicated that something unusual was afloat, and the piscatorial republic was shaken to its very centre. The military (that is, the sword-fish) were under arms, or rather fins, at an early hour, and formed a roe in martial array. The less warlike betrayed their agitation in a variety of ways. Sawfish from the Gulf of Carpentaria left their usual occupation of cutting the water, rose to the surface, and sawed the air in an agony of in tench excitement; mercantile fish abandoned their scales and took their weigh to places of security; limpets, becoming enervated, relaxed their hold upon the rock; oysters tossed restlessly on their beds, and even the jelly-fish trembled. Nor was this surprising; for were not the fishmongers and oystermen about to hold carnival – to celebrate the rites and ceremonies of their order? and, knowing this, could any member of the finny tribe remain unmoved, or even a molusc be calm?

In spite, perhaps unconscious, of all this, the jubilant fishmongers proceeded to the enjoyment of their pic-nic with light hearts. The oystermen, most of whom were natives, were appropriately clothed in shell-jackets, and wore barnacles. Miss Annet Snapperton, resplendent in a sea-green fishu, with cochineel trimmings, and a sea-anemone in her hair, proved an irresistible bait to young Codlington, a susceptible periwinkler and oysterman. He swore by the beard of the sacred oyster that she was an angel – called her his turtle and his pet (limpet, in fact) – and, while he besought her to fly with him and share a "grotter of hyster shells," he stated his intention of adhering to her heart like a limpet to its native rock, or the teeth of a skate to the finger of a too-confiding fisherman. At the conclusion of the banquet a speech was called for, and old Grampus rose. He said: – "Fishmongers and Fellow-oystermen (hear, hear), to meat you here on this ausfishous occasion" [he lisped a bit after eating salmon] "eels the wounded spirit and warms the cockles of this heart. Star-fish and stingarees! May I be scolloped if this aint the proudest moment of my life!" (Cheers.) He proceeded to state his views on things in general – regretted that a more able speaker had not been chosen to offishiate – hoped they wouldn't expect along speech from him, as he wasn't a parson – in fact he understood more about the curing of herrings, than the cure of soles – and the only school he ever attended was a "school" of mackerel which appeared off the coast one Sunday morning when he was a boy at home. His father had on that occasion taken him by the hand, and together they attended that Sunday-school. Subsequent proceedings made such an impression on his mind that he henceforth resolved to become a fish-dealer, and became one accordingly. He had read his Bible, and had heard about the "miraculous draught of fishes" – thought it must have been a brandy-p(r)awnee – always thought fish were something to eat before, though lie had known fishermen drink their whole week's catch on Saturday night – was a sober man himself, and didn't go in for mackarelous "draughts" of that kind. If not a religious man, he always strove to do his duty! Though he had been a fisherman in his time, he had never been a plaice hunter, and, Ecod! he thought few M.P's. could say that. What were his religious principles? Well, he wasn't a mussle-man, and though he dealt, in shell-fish, he abhorred shellfishness. He had heard about some all-fired heathens who worshipped Zorooyster (? Zoroaster); he couldn't say as he was acquainted with that mollusc, and wouldn't worship him if he were. Oysters was good things if you didn't put brandy a top of 'em, and he believed in cockles (the molluscs, not the pills), but worship a hoyster! Thank'eaven, he wasn't so far gone as that! Such ideas was incongerous.

He sat down amid applause, and musical and terpsichorean festivities commenced. Somebody danced the fishmongers' hornpipe. "Sets" were formed, and the (s)caly-donians gone through with great spirit. A gloomy-looking fish-dealer, with a bass voice, sang "My sole is dark and a blighted-looking young oyster-opener gave them, "Shells of the Ocean," and "Oh, shell we never part," alluding to the monotony of his occupation. Young Codlington sang "(T)winkle, (t)winkle, little Star-fish" with great taste and feeling. Fun and frolic became general, and it was late ere the (r)oysterers returned home, thoroughly wearied, but happy.

THE WHEELWRIGHTS' PIC-NIC

THE man who cannot sympathize with a wheelwright in his joys and sorrows ought to be treated to a taste of lynch (or lynch-pin) law. No one with a properly regulated mind can fail to admire their round-about way of doing things, and their untiring energy; and no rightly thinking person could be otherwise than rejoiced on hearing the other day that these jolly good felleys had made up their minds to have a trundle down the harbour, and an afternoon's enjoyment Of course the party started from the Circular Quay, and took with them a plentiful supply of weal and ham pies and roly-poly puddings. They reached their destination in safety, and after a short walk along the beach, the order was given to "right-wheel," and they found themselves in a delightful glade, where the blue gum waved its giant branches in the summer air, and the luxuriant axel-tree cast a grateful shade over the holiday-keepers.

The ladies – with complexions of a smoothness only to be attained by sand-paper in experienced hands – looked as fresh as paint, and shone like varnish. They were at tired, in elegant and becoming costumes. Spokes was nearly missing the affair altogether, as he woke late, and then had to dress, wash, and (spoke) – shave himself in a hurry. Old Wheels – and a wideawake old fly-wheel he was – drove down in his buggy with Mrs. Wheels and the four Miss Wheels, and, what with the front and hind wheels of the trap, the wheals inflicted by the avenging hand of Old Wheels on the horse's behind, and the young Wheels – segments of the parent Wheels – clinging on wherever they could get hand or foot-hold, it was estimated that there couldn't have been less than sixty or seventy wheels to the turn-out. Talking of traps, the four Miss Wheels constituted a four-wheeled trap for the hearts of men of a most dangerous description; and, after they had all partaken plentifully of the weal pies, there was weal within Wheels, and a complicated state of things which set mathematical and digestive theories at defiance.

Old Wheels delivered an address, in which he stated that a bond of unity was the best tire for the public weal, and that if the felleys in the House wern't such a lot of (k)naves, they'd run truer, stick closer together, and endeavour to axelerate public business more than they did. He was proceeding to demonstrate that – was no more use in the House than the "fifth wheel of a coach," when one of the younger Wheels began to squeak in an agonizing manner. It was immediately greased with some strawberrys and cream, and its (s)creams subsided into chuckles of gratification. Dancing, of the "turnabout, and wheel-about, and jump Jim Crow" order, then commenced, and kiss-in-the-ring, rounders, and other circular amusements, became general. A musical young wheelwright, on being called on for a song, suspended his occupation of picking his teeth with a lynch-pin, and gave them "Weel may the keel row," and Axelcior." Spokes proved himself a capital speaker, and made the speech of the day, full of beautifully rounded sentences and quotations from Spokeshave. But all things must have an end unfortunately, and when at length the whistle of the steam-boat sounded for departure, the wheelwrights took their way homeward, happy, but thoroughly tired.

THE UNDERTAKER'S PIC-NIC

WE have a special regard for undertakers. Watching funerals was the first species of dissipation we indulged in in early youth. We have witnessed Shakesperian tragedies since with less satisfaction, and have respected undertakers proportionately in consequence. But for them we should never have known how much of the latent spirit of tragedy there is in horses' tails and feathers, and we especially admire the dramatic style in which they proclaim to the world the fact that another saint has gone to occupy his reserved seat in the celestial dress circle, or another sinner sneaked into his place in that "pit" which is notoriously bottomless, and where the free-list is by no means "confined to gentlemen of the Press."

Holding these views, we were naturally pleased to hear that our friends meditated a pic-nic, and we are still more gratified to be able to lay before the public the only reliable report of the proceedings in existence. The day was everything that could be desired. Huge masses of black cloud lay piled away to the south'ard, imparting a sombre and funereal aspect to everything, and the spirits of the excursionists rose in proportion. The picturesque cemetery of Haslem's Creek was the spot chosen for the celebration of the festivities, and the cheerful recesses of its cypress-shaded labyrinths that day re-echoed outbursts of merriment which must have been particularly trying to misanthropic ghosts. Every available hearse and mourning-coach was pressed into the service to convey the holiday-keepers to the mortuary railway station, from which a special train was to start at nine sharp, and the party in full gala costume – hat-bands, gloves, plumes and feathers – presented quite a lively appearance as the cortège moved down Brickfield Hill, the band playing "The dead march in Saul."

Arrived at the scene of the intended festivities, a luxurious al fresco banquet was set forth, the numerous marble slabs in the vicinity making the most delightful substitutes for tables imaginable, and the epitaphs and inscriptions forming an agreeable mental repast after the grosser bodily appetites had been subdued.

Messrs. Compagnoni, on this occasion, surpassed themselves, and the black-puddings, and other funereal delicacies – served on (brass) – plates – were decorated with "In memory of," "Requiescat in pace," and other appropriate mottoes calculated to raise the spirits of the party, and promote hilarity in the highest degree. Old Elmplank said he hadn't had such a lively time, or felt in such good spirits, since the measles were around that time three years. Meanwhile the young folks were: enjoying themselves, and fun and flirtation wore carried on in a decorous manner, out of respect to the emblems of mortality by which they were surrounded.

An amiable young coffin-maker, with the most fascinating hearse-suit appendages, made great inroads on the heart of Miss Grace Bugles. He requested her to enter his heart, which he compared to an unoccupied tomb, and reside there rent free. Should love like his, he asked, be "coffined, cribbed, confined" within the narrow limits of a flannel waistcoat? No; he invited her to come to his arms, shroud herself in his bosom, and stop the process of cremation which was going on in his heart.

Songs and recitations were in the programme. Miss Bugles sang "Those funeral bells," and "The old elm tree," and her admirer gave them a Bacchanalian, or rather a coffin-nailian ditty, with a chorus of "Bier, bier, beautiful bier," and a skull and thigh-bones accompaniment, which provoked thunders of applause; and when old Tassels, of the mourning livery-stables sang, there was scarcely a dry eye in the assembly.

"But one golden tress of her hair I'll twineIn my hearse's sable plume,"

There were no healths drunk, such a custom being considered out of character with the proceedings, and not conducive to the prosperity of business generally. Undertakers who were sociably disposed took each other's measures, composed epitaphs, and talked about cremation. Old Elmplank, in his speech, said that any allusion to such a mode of disposing of the dead wounded him to the quick. "Introduce that process," he said, "and the whole romance of a funeral was done away with. The invention," he added, "was worthy of a cove as was mean enough to drink another cove's ealth." But even undertakers cannot keep up at the high-pressure pitch of hilarity for ever, and as evening drew on, the rain having been falling heavily for several hours, the cemetery was by common consent voted damp, and a general move was made for the railway station. The party returned to Sydney, well satisfied with their outing, and the number of colds caught must have made business lively for the next six months.

THE HAIRDRESSERS' PIC-NIC

EVEN barbers require change of (h)air occasionally; consequently there were no dissentient voices when Potts proposed an excursion, and suggested the Gap, where the "yesty waves" seem never to tire of their monotonous occupation of shampooing the South Head. The pic-nic took place eventually among the romantic glades in the immediate vicinity of Pearl (-powder) Bay, where the "maidenhair" (capillis veneris) grew luxuriantly – having been neither cut by the north-east wind, nor brushed by machinery – while the rabbit and false-hare frisked fearlessly among solitudes seldom disturbed by the presence of man, and that beautiful bird the antimacassowary flew with well-oiled pinions from branch to branch of the Eucalipsalve.

It might be imagined by ignorant people that hairdressers, who pay so much attention to the adornment of the outward man, would be apt to forget the requirements of the inner entirely; this, however, was not the case, jugged hairs and barbercues being among the least of the delicacies provided.

Of course there were speeches. That old demagogue – Bearsgrease, shampooed, no, pooh! poohed everything, everybody else. Being a wig-maker, it was natural that in politics he should be a Whig; and though, as he said, he had never appeared as a candidate for Parliamentary honors, or been at the head of an electioneering poll, he knew as much about heads and polls as some who had.

But why enlarge on all this? Can we not imagine how young Potts led Miss Glycerina Crimpington for a stroll by the sounding sea, and directed her attention to the magnificent crests of the billows, fresh from the curling-tongs of Nature, tumbling over one another, and doubling themselves into such exquisite "frizettes" and "waterfalls" that they were enough to excite envy in the breast of any young lady, especially if she happened to be a hair-dresser's daughter.

Can we not picture to ourselves the thousand and one incidents which go to make up what is called a pic-nic? How some were stricken hungry, and others sentimental; how some satisfied their cravings with kisses, others with pie; how Potts charmed the ear of his adored Crimpington with recitations from "Locksley Hall," and the "Hair of Redcliffe;" how the young folks danced the Kalydorians (arranged by Rowlands); and last, not least, how the old folks got maudlin on limejuice and glycerine, and talked of the days when their feet were as light, and their chevleures as heavy as those of any young scalp-lock trimmer present We can, I think, imagine all this so it will not be necessary to say more than that the whole thing was a thorough success, especially Potts's song of "(H)airy spirts round us hover," with a comb accompaniment, after which a general stampede was made for the boats.

THE GREAT CRICKET MATCH

BREWERS v. PUBLICANSThe day was wet, down poured the rainIn torrents from the sky;Great coats, umbrellas, were in vain,But every lip was dry.The clouds seemed disinclined to part,The wind was from the West,Yet worked each brewer's manly heartLike (y) east within his breast.Along the road each brewer spentHis coin in frequent drains,For mere external moisture wentAgainst those brewers' grains.And with a bright triumphant flush,Their Captain, Mr. Staves,Swore they should crush those sons of lushWho dealt in "tidal-waves"For, speaking of the L. V. A.,14The brewers said, and laughed,"A most efficient team were theyFor purposes of draught."'Twas thus they talked upon the wayUntil they reached the ground;But in their friends the L. V. A.,Rum customers they found.I havn't space to speak of allThe glories of the match —Of every well-delivered ball,And every well-caught catch.I fain would tell of Mr. Keggs(They spiled and bunged his eye)Of Barley-corn, and how his legsGot twisted all a rye;How Stoups, the umpire, stood too near,And came to grief and harm;How, when he fell they gave him beer,Which acted like a barm;Of Hope, who keeps the Anchor barAnd vendeth flowing bowls(My feet have often been that farAnd anchored fast their soles)Mark how he bustles, snorts, and spits —His brow he mops and wipes,And though I couldn't praise his hits,I'll gladly praise his "swipes;"Of Corks, who funked the second ball,And by a sudden turnReceived the straightest one of allUpon his ample stern.He raised a loud and fearful roar —With fury he was blind,And, though they called it "leg-before"He felt it most behind!Of Marks, the scorer – best of men!Sure everybody talks;He chalked the runs correctly whenHe couldn't walk his chalks.Despite the flasks of monstrous sizeHe'd emptied to the dregs,He scored "wides," "overthrows," "leg-byes,"And runs attained by legs.For all the ceaseless rain which flows,The rival teams care naught;Though runs were made by many a nose,And many a cold was caught.Inside and out they all got wet —Each drank what he could hold;I'm sure a bowl was oversetFor every over bowled.The daylight fails; at length 'tis gone:There's little left to tell;For as the shades of eve drew onThe stumps were drawn as well.Then to the tent each man resorts:On food intent were they.Who won the sports? the pints and quarts —The gallant L. V. A.Beneath the canvas let us pass —Old Bottle-brush was there,And well he filled his empty glass,And well he filled the "chair."At length the Maltsters cleared the tent,And several hops ensued;But stay! Both time and space are spent —In truth, I must conclude.A vict'ler rose amid the host —A burly man was he —"My lads," he said, "I'll give a toast,And here's my toast d'ye see:"John Barley-corn, the king of seeds!"And round the glasses go,"For that's a corn that ne'er impedesThe light fantastic toe!"

IF any reader has conscientiously borne with me even unto the end, he may be ready to exclaim – "But where are the 'Southerly Busters?' No allusion to them except in the title and frontispiece. It's been a dead calm all the way."

Gentlest of a proverbially gentle class, what you say is perfectly true; but I have excellent precedent for this inconsistency. No one, not even an evangelical parson, sticks to his text now-a-days; and the gentleman who objected to being told "in mournful numbers" that "things are not what they seem," was a self-deceiving visionary who wanted to close his eyes to what everyone else knows to be an established fact. An M.P.'s speech on free trade seldom alludes to the subject; the daring feats and marvellous situations depicted outside a circus are never seen inside; light literature, advertised as such, is proverbially heavy; – 's "Vermin Destroyer" has rather a nutritious and invigorating effect on vermin than otherwise, according to my experience; Young's "Night Thoughts" were written in broad day-light; and few can have failed to remark the absence of pork and the presence of cat in a restaurant pork-sausage.

The author of the most confused piece of literary mechanism that ever was printed, calls it "Bradshaw's Guide."

Did it ever guide anyone anywhere except to outer darkness? Did it ever awaken any other feeling in the bosom of a deluded traveller than a thirst for revenge? Bradshaw merely followed the universal rule of contraries when he christened his mystifying treatise a "guide," for none knew better than he that "throwing a light on a subject" means involving it in gloom and obscurity, as surely as that "just one glass more, and then straight home," means twenty, and the most circuitous route the neighbourhood will admit of. I trust I have said enough to vindicate the somewhat obscure and deceptive title of this book; or, at any rate, to avert the worst catastrophe an author can dread – that of being blown to atoms by a Southerly Buster of Public Opinion.

1

Mizen-course o' course.

2

Coin

3

Flour.

4

Justice compels me to state that the condition of the swamp referred to has been materially improved of late, and it is no longer the all-powerful and putrifying nuisance it was.

5

Written for the Town and Country Journal, March 25th, 1876, with reference to the well-known Cataract near Berrima.

6

A species of Eucalyptus which flourishes on the Paroo and in the west of Queensland.

7

Ward and Payne's sheep shears are or were most in use in the Australian Colonies when the above was written.

8

See reference b.

9

Murrumbidgee whalers are a class of loafers who work for about six months in the year – i.e. during shearing and harvest, and camp the rest of the time in bends of rivers, and live by fishing and begging.

10

A small farmer.

11

Ward and Payne's sheep-shears.

12

Sheep badly shorn are marked with a cross in red chalk, and are not paid for

13

"Poker."

14

Licensed Victuallers' Association.