SO YER travlin for yer pleasure while yer writin for the press?
An yer huntin arter copy?well, Ive heerd o that. I guess
You are gorn ter write a story that is gorn ter be yer best,
Bout the blunders an advenchers ov a new chum in the west?
An you would be very thankful an acknowledge any hint?
Well, I karnt say as I hankers fur ter see my name in print;
But I know a little story an Ill tell it out ov hand
If yerll put it down in writin that the swells kin understand
(Its a story ov a new chum, anda story ov the land.)
He had lately kum from Inglandyou cud tell it by s cap
Fur kerlonial experence (an he got it, too, poor chap).
Twas in town he met the squatter, an he asked, as if in fun,
If the boss ud want a flunkey or a coachy on the run?
Well, it riz the bosss dander, an he jumps clean orf is oss
Now, me fresh, sweet-scented beauty, watyer givnus? sez the boss;
I hev met yer kidney often, an yer mighty fresh an free,
But yer neednt think yer gorn ter come a-lardin over me!
But the new chum sed that onest he was lookin for a job,
An in spite of his appearance he had blued is bottom bob.
An as beggars karnt be choosers same as people wot are rich,
Said hed go as stoord or gardner, but he warnt partickler which.
Well, the joker seemed in earnest, so the boss began ter cool,
An he only blanked the new chum for a thundrin jumpt-up fool.
Then he sed, Well, theres the fencin, if yerll tramp it up from Perth,
The boys ll find yer suthin praps, an giv yer wat yer worth.
Ov course the squatter never thort ter see im any more,
But he want the kind ov new chum that the squatter tuk im for;
No, he want the kind er cockeroach that ony kums ter shirk,
That wants ter git the sugar, but is fritened ov the work;
For he sold is watch n joolry, n lardi-dardy suits,
Stuck a swag upon his shoulder, n is feet in blucher boots;
An I dunno how he did it, he was anythin but strong,
But he umped his bluey ninety mile an kum to Bunglelong.
He earnt is pound and tucker borin holes an runnin wire,
An hed work from dawn to sunset, an he never seemed to tire;
But he must have suffered orful from the tucker an the heat,
An the everlastin trampin made im tender in the feet,
An he must hev thort ov England wen the everlastin flies
Ware a-worrit, worrit, worrit, an a-knawin at is eyes;
An he used to swear like thunder wen the yaller sergeant ants
Took a mornin stroll, promiscus, on the inside ov is pants.
He uster make is damper six or seven inches thick
It was doughey on the inside an the shell was like a brick,
An while the damper made im dream ov days ov long ago,
The little boodie rats ud kum an nibble out the dough.
He biled is taters soggy, an is junk was biled to rags
(The little boodie rats ud kum an chew s tucker bags),
But he took is troubles cheerful, an he fixed em like a pome,
An writ em in his darey to amuse the folks at home.
At first he flashed a coller an was keerful with is hat,
An hed black is boots ov Sundays, but he soon grew out of that;
An he lernt ter bake is damper, an he leant to bile is junk
An sleep without a-getting up all night ter shake is bunk.
He soon got out ov takin shorter cuts across the flats,
An he learnt to fling ole bottles to the sorror of the rats,
An learnt to sling kerlonial and like the bushmans way,
An it did us good to see im smoke is nigger in a clay.
He would sing an play is fiddle when we gathered round the blaze,
Till ole Frenchy got excited while hed play the Mascylays;
An Bill ud take is hat off while hed spout the Light Brigade,
An Scotchy got oneasy when the Bony Ills was played.
So we got ter like the new chum for wed met with many wuss,
An we made it easy for im an he seemed to take to us:
The toilin an the trampin was a-cookin im we found,
So we made im cook an stoord just ter keep the chap around.
Well, the months went bakin broilin on until Christmas nex,
When we tramped it down to Perth to spend our ollyday (and cheques);
But Possum sed hed save is tin an stay and mind the camp,
So we left im in possession an we started on our tramp;
(We useter call im Possum, but for short we called im Poss,
For is eyes was black an twinklin and a little chap he was),
We never would have left im if wed knowd (but thats the ru,
Comin back we found im dyin in is gunyah in the scrub.
We fixed im up an nursed im; but we seen without a doubt
That consumption was the matter, an the chap was peggin out;
But the lion heart inside im was as strong an stout as six,
An while hed smile an thank us he would joke about is fix;
An he said twas very jolly to be dry-nursed in a tent,
An he reckoned that the Christmas was the best hed ever spent;
He would talk of ome and Inglan when is head began ter swim,
But he never blamed the country that had been so ard on him.
He would say, I like the country; if a fellers blind er halt,
Or if hes got konsumption, why it aint the countrys fault.
The tea thats boild in billies is far sweeter stuff, I know,
Than the cursed drink wat blasted all my chances long ago.
I would hev cum out sooner if it was my destiny,
An I daresay that the country would have made a man ov me.
But wats the good ov energy, an wats the good er push
Wen a fellers sick an dyin in a gunyah in the bush.
But he tole me all about it as I sat beside is bunk
How hed spent is tin in Melbourne an was allers gettin drunk;
How he thort hed take it easy while he had a little gold,
And, before he turned the new leaf, how he scribbled on the old;
An among a lot ov nonsense wen is mind began to drift,
He told me that the new leaf was a heavy leaf to lift.
But wats the good er writin this, its nothin very new,
The land will see enough ov it an suffer for it, too.
An he said wen he was dying, (when his lung was spit away)
An we all was standin round im in the gunyah where he lay,
An he said, Ive watched the sunsetwhen the wind began to woosh,
Like a layer ov coals a-glowinon the dark bed ov the bush;
An I felt my fingers slippinslippinslowlyfrom the ropes,
Wen the West was coldlike asheslike the ashes of my hopes;
AnI Sit beside mePeterlet me oldabushmans hand,
For Imgorn toumpmy blueythrough the gates ovNewchumland.