University of Virginia Library

Will, a good bushman, knew each track
The kangaroo would likely take
When beaten up, and spread his force
At vantage-points along the course.
He took the first point, that his gun
Might warn the others. Further on
Was Chesterfield, and Lachlan Smith
Still further. Lil was posted with
Her lover—one good reason was
That they enjoyed it, one because
Lil bred to country life had eyes
More open to its mysteries
Than the Professor, and the two
Were posted last, because Will knew
That folks so prepossessed as they
Might hear a gun go off all day
And hardly notice. While they lay
Crouched in the fern, they watched the life
With which the forest depths are rife,—
The cold snake coiling in the sun
On any open space; the dun
And drowsy ‘native bear’ at ease,
Wedged in high forks of lofty trees;
The blue and scarlet lory sitting
Close by his much-loved mate, or flitting
With a discordant scream between
The ‘lightwood's’ dense and sombre green,
Rivalled in his metallic blue
By ‘warbler’ cock ‘superb’ in hue,
But little as a common wren
With a most unpretentious hen;
The jackass, perched upon a branch
Of a bare gum-tree, who would launch
From time to time unearthly peals
Of laughter, watching as it steals
And darts alternately, his prey,
The common lizard, while there lay
Seemingly sleeping in the heat,
A huge iguana 'neath his feet.
The insect-world was everywhere,—
Flies and mosquitoes in the air,
Tyrannical and trumpeting;
Spiders of all kinds ravelling
In filmy threads each bush and tree;
Ants all round far as one could see
Pursuing their eternal march,
Coming and going through an arch
Made by two pebbles in the ground,
Or crossing a ravine profound,
Nothing so little or so great
To baffle them—as stern as Fate.

But strange! in all the hum of life
With which the forest-morn was rife,
No single note of song was heard
Like that the yellow-billed, black bird
Raises when cherries turn to red
In Kent: nor aught was heard instead
Save the deep-throated native thrush
Calling out from the leafy bush
Of some tree-top his ‘who are you,’
Clear-toned but tuneless, and the new
Incomparable chant, bell-like
Resounded by the magpie-shrike.

At last they came, the kangaroo,
Not in a drove but one or two,
And these not the great ‘foresters’
But small ‘brush-kangaroo,’ with furs
Of reddish tinge, not that there was
A dearth of them there but because
The riders, five of them in all,
Two men and Phil and Kit and Hall
Had failed to keep the proper line
Which constituted Will's design.
Phil was in fault: he was to ride
Upon the left on the outside
The shooters being on the right
And the ‘stops’ posted opposite.
And this was how it came about:
Kit was next Phil and he fell out,
Attracted by her pretty face,
To be near her; and thus a space
Was left uncovered on the left
By which the game with instinct deft
Broke sideways out of the cordon.
Only a few were hurried on,
In their blind flight unnoticing
The gap left open on the wing,
And Will had settled two of them,
And Chesterfield one after him,
Bringing them down to one or two,
Which scarcely as much leapt as flew,
So scared were they when they came up
To where the last gun had to stop.
He fired two cartridges away
After the heltering-skeltering prey
Without result, and then crouched still
Until he heard a shout from Will
Calling to lunch, which he discussed
With pleasure, tempered by disgust
Attendant on his ill-success,—
Doomed to be transient none the less.

Lunch over, when the rest had gone
Partly to leave the two alone,
Partly to try the ground once more
In the same order as before
Beginning from the other side,
With Phil and Kit told off to ride
On the two flanks to quite prevent
Any such tender incident
As that which spoiled the morning's sport.

The morning had left Philip Forte
More hopelessly in love than e'er
With Kit. She looked so queenly fair
In her close-fitting habit made
Of light-grey tweed; and in the glade
With her blood dancing as she rode
Full speed, no mortal woman could
Maintain an iciness of mien;
The magic of the time and scene
And motion lured her back into
A mood that really was her true
And natural mood, and she received
Advances with what he believed
Was wakening love, but which in truth
Was just the heartiness of youth
Laid open with excitement's wand.

In course of time the lovers fond
The old adage did illustrate,
That he who can afford to wait
Must win. For, as they sat at ease
Under the overhanging trees
On cushions from the waggonette,
Still lingering where lunch was set,
One of the horses tethered near
Began to snort and prick his ear.
Lil, a good bushman, noticed it,
And bade him load his gun and sit
As still as death, and soon the sound
Of a dull thud upon the ground
Confirmed suspicions, and there hopped
Almost to where they were, and stopped,
Looking about suspiciously
At the strange sights which met its eye,
A full-grown ‘old man’ kangaroo.
“Shoot it,” said Lil, and full and true
Into its head her lover poured
A charge of buckshot, on the sward
Dropping his prey, without a kick
As stiff and lifeless as a stick.
Lil first felt glad that it was shot,
And then she wished that it were not.
Glad that her lover had obtained
What he so much desired, and pained
For the poor beast, whose great dark eyes
Pled mutely for her sympathies.
At last she gave adherence to
Her lover, not the kangaroo.