 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
In Melbourne the great “Champion”
Upon each New-Year's day is run,
And every little country town
Likes to have races of its own
Or sports or fairs upon that day.
Upon each New-Year's day is run,
And every little country town
Likes to have races of its own
Or sports or fairs upon that day.
Some half-a-dozen miles away
Was a small place to which the Fortes
Went every year to see the sports.
The sports were nothing much to see,
But it bred cordiality
Between them and the people round
If they were seen upon the ground.
And Will was judge, because he'd been
“A C. U. A. C. Blue.” The scene,
If not attractive to the eye,
Presented a variety:—
Merry-go-rounds, and galleries
For rifle shooting with a prize
Which no one ever won, potshots
A penny each at cocoa-nuts,
Aunt Sally, try-your-strength-machines,
And here and there, behind the scenes,
The ‘three-card trick,’ ‘hat-trick,’ ‘roulette,’
And other snares by sharpers set
The simple country folk to gull,
Though dupes were not too plentiful.
And then there were the usual shows—
Fat women, dwarfs, gigantic sows,
A six-legged calf, and mermaid stuffed,
The whole inordinately puffed.
The sports were mostly handicaps
Distinguished chiefly by the traps
Which runners from a distance set
Undue advantages to get.
In nearly every race some tried
To have some one disqualified
For false name, false performances,
Or other insincerities.
Was a small place to which the Fortes
Went every year to see the sports.
The sports were nothing much to see,
But it bred cordiality
Between them and the people round
If they were seen upon the ground.
And Will was judge, because he'd been
“A C. U. A. C. Blue.” The scene,
If not attractive to the eye,
Presented a variety:—
Merry-go-rounds, and galleries
For rifle shooting with a prize
Which no one ever won, potshots
A penny each at cocoa-nuts,
Aunt Sally, try-your-strength-machines,
And here and there, behind the scenes,
The ‘three-card trick,’ ‘hat-trick,’ ‘roulette,’
211
The simple country folk to gull,
Though dupes were not too plentiful.
And then there were the usual shows—
Fat women, dwarfs, gigantic sows,
A six-legged calf, and mermaid stuffed,
The whole inordinately puffed.
The sports were mostly handicaps
Distinguished chiefly by the traps
Which runners from a distance set
Undue advantages to get.
In nearly every race some tried
To have some one disqualified
For false name, false performances,
Or other insincerities.
The handicap draws larger fields,
But in most other ways it yields
To open contests for the best.
Handicaps are no real test.
All that they generally mean
Is that the handicapper 's been
Ill-posted on the winner's form.
You could distinguish by the storm
Of acclamations which outburst
When local runners came in first.
But in most other ways it yields
To open contests for the best.
Handicaps are no real test.
All that they generally mean
Is that the handicapper 's been
Ill-posted on the winner's form.
You could distinguish by the storm
Of acclamations which outburst
When local runners came in first.
For educated lookers-on
There would not have been any fun,
But for an aboriginal
Who started (without fees at all)
For every race—one of the wrecks
Whom white men's vices, without checks
Which white men have, were dragging down
Post-haste to his perdition,
A blear-eyed, whiskey-sodden wretch,
Often too tottering to fetch
A pail of water to a horse.
He almost reeled about the course—
A contrast to the crowd, who were
Far soberer and steadier
Than such a crowd oft is elsewhere.
The crowning merriment was when
This poor degraded specimen
Of the old rulers of the place
Had started in a hurdle race,
And, jumping too close, sat upon
The hurdle-rails as he came down.
There would not have been any fun,
But for an aboriginal
Who started (without fees at all)
For every race—one of the wrecks
Whom white men's vices, without checks
212
Post-haste to his perdition,
A blear-eyed, whiskey-sodden wretch,
Often too tottering to fetch
A pail of water to a horse.
He almost reeled about the course—
A contrast to the crowd, who were
Far soberer and steadier
Than such a crowd oft is elsewhere.
The crowning merriment was when
This poor degraded specimen
Of the old rulers of the place
Had started in a hurdle race,
And, jumping too close, sat upon
The hurdle-rails as he came down.
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |