CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE JAMES DALLY OLD AND RARE BOOKS Oatlands, Tasmania Telephone Oatlands 90 „„ Cornell University Library PR 9599.D41S6 The songs of a sentimental bloke. 3 1924 013 248 558 DATE DUE 1 mM»aK«99^ ^8^^ 1 6 CAVLORD f«tNTEDINU.».A. The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013248558 THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE "When ire ixiiis at the gate. THE SONG DMTIMI BLOKil TAIL SYDNEY : ANGUS & ROBERTSON LTD. THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE BY C. J. DENNIS Author of "The Moods of Ginger Mick," etc. With Illustrations by Hal Gye SYDNEY ANGUS & ROBERTSON LTD. 89 CASTLEREAGH STREET 1916 Sixiy-fourih Thousand Printed by W. C. Penfold & Co. I,td., 183 Pitt Street, Sydney for Ansfus & Robertson Limited. London Agents: Tlie Oxford University Press Amen Corner, EJ.C. The Author desires to acknowledge the previous publication in " The Bulletin" Sydney, of all the verses here printed, with the exception of numbers XII. and XIV., which are now published for the first time. Dramatic, Cinema and all other Rights are Reserved. TO Mr. and Mrs. J. G. ROBERTS La vie est vaine : Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine . Et puis — bonjour ! La vie est brhve : Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de reve . Et puis — bonsoir ! Leon Montenaeken PREFACE TO THE FIFTY-FIRST THOUSAND Nearly a year ago Henry Lawson wrote in his preface to the first edition of these rhymes: "I think a man can best write a preface to his own book, provided he knows it is good." Now, and at the end of some twelve months of rather bewildering success, I have to confess that I do not know. But I do know that it is popular, and to write a preface to the fifty -first thousand of one's own book is rather a pleasant task; for it is good for a writer to know that his work has found appreciation in his own land, and even beyond. But far more gratifying than any mere record of sales is the knowledge that has come to me of the universal kindliness of my fellows. The reviews that have appeared in the Aus- tralasian and British press, the letters that have reached me from many places — setting aside the compliments and the praise — have proved the existence of a widespread sympathy that I had never suspected. It has strengthened a waning faith in the human-kindness of my brothers so that, indeed, I have gained far more than I have given, and my thanks are due twofold to those whose thanks I have received. I confess that when this book was first published I was quite convinced that it would appeal only to a limited audience, and I shared Mr. Lawson's fear that those minds totally iv PREFACE TO THE FIFTY-FIRST THOUSAND devoted to "boiling the cabbitch stalks or somethink" were many in the land, and would miss something of what I endeavoured to say. Happily we were both mistaken. These letters of which I write have come from men and women of all grades of society, of all shades of political thought and of many religions. But the same impulse has prompted them all, and it is good for one's soul to know that such an impulse moves so universally. I created one "Sentimental Bloke" and he discovered his brothers everywhere he went. Towards those English men of letters who have written to me or to my publishers saying many complimentary things of my work I feel very grateful. Their numbers, their stand- ing and their unanimity almost convince me that this preface should be written. But even the flattering invitation of so great a man as Mr. H. G. Wells, to come and work in an older land, does not entice me from the task I fondly believe to be mine in common with other writers of Australia. England has many writers: we in Australia have few, and there is big work before us. But when I stop and read what I have written here the thought occurs to me that, even in this case, the man has not written a preface to his own book, and Mr. Lawson's advice is vain. For I have a picture before me of a somewhat younger man working in a small hut in the Australian bush, and dream- PREFACE TO THE FIFTY-FIRST THOUSAND v ing dreams that he never hopes to realise — dreams of apprecia- tion from his fellow countrymen and from great writers abroad whose works he devours and loves. And I, the recipient of compliments from high places, of praise from many places, of publisher's reports about the book that bears my name — I, who write this preface, have a kindly feeling for that somewhat younger man writing and dreaming in his little bush hut ; and I feel sorry for him because he is out of it. Later perhaps, when strenuous days are over, I shall go back and live with him and tell him about it, and find out what he thinks of it all — if I can find him ever again. C. J. DENNIS. Melbourne, ist September, 1916. PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION My young friend Dennis has honoured me with a request to write a preface to his book. I think a man can best write a preface to his own book, provided he knows it is good. Also if he knows it is bad. The "Sentimental Bloke," while running through the Bulletin, brightened up many dark days for me. He is more perfect than any alleged "larrikin" or Bottle-O character I ever attempted to sketch, not even excepting my own beloved Benno. Take the first poem for instance, where the Sentimental Bloke gets the hump. How many men, in how many different parts of the world — and of how many different languages — have had the same feeling — the longing for something better — to be something better. The exquisite humour of the "Sentimental Bloke" speaks for itself ; but there's a danger that its brilliance may obscure the rest, especially for minds, of all stations, that, apart from sport and racing, are totally devoted to boiling "The cabbitch stalks or somethink" in this social "pickle found-ery" of ours. viii PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION Doreen stands for all good women, whether down in the smothering alleys or up in the frozen heights. And so, having introduced the little woman (they all seem "little" women), I "dips me lid" — and stand aside. HENRY LAWSON. Sydney, isi September, igi^. CONTENTS Page I. A SPRING SONG The world 'as gfot me snouted jist a treat ... 13 II. THE INTRO 'Er name's Doreen . . . Well, spare me bloomin' days ! . . . 19 III. THE STOUSH O' DAY Ar, these is 'appy days ! An' 'ow they've flown ... 27 IV. DOREEN "I wish't yeh meant it, Bill." Oh, 'ow me 'eart ... 33 V. THE PLAY "Wot's in a name?" she sez . . . An' then she sighs ... 39 VI. THE STROR 'AT COOT Ar, wimmin ! Wot a blinded fool I've been ! 47 VII. THE SIREN She sung a song; an' I sat silent there . . 55 X CONTENTS Pase VIII. MAR "'Er pore dear Par," she sez, " 'e kept a store" ... 63 IX. PILOT COVE "Young- friend," 'e sez . . . Young friend! Well, spare me days! ... 71 X. HITCHED "An' — wilt — yeh — take — this — woman — fer — to— be— ... n XI. BEEF TEA She never magged ; she never said no word 85 XII. UNCLE JIM "I got no time fer wasters, lad," sez 'e . . . 93 XIII. THE KID My son! . . . Them words, jist like a blessed song . . . 101 XIV. THE MOOCH O' LIFE This ev'nin' I was sittin' wiv Doreen . . . Ill THE GLOSSARY 117 I. A SPRING SONG •of ^ ^/J / - .. <■•' "'* M * •" < - i,': 'J t. u .■ 1' ,/ \ 1 -^ aaWU^ ).,\^,(5'i,'»f » fc^ j!,i;,'. ,1,^-,. -, . ,.; ,., , ,« A Spring Song HE world 'as got me snouted jist a treat ; Crool Forchin's dirty left 'as smote me soul ; An' all them joys o' life I 'eld so sweet Is up the pole. Fer, as the poit sez, me 'eart 'as got The pip wiv yearnin' fer — I dunno wot. I'm crook; me name is Mud; I've done me dash; Me flamin' spirit's got the flamin' 'ump! I'm longin' to let loose on somethin' rash. . . Aw, I'm a chump I I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days. The young green leaves is shootin' on the trees. The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer. The bonzer smell o' flow'rs is on the breeze. An' 'ere's me, 'ere, Jist moochin' round like some pore, barmy coot, Of 'ope, an' joy, an' forchin destichoot. 14 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE I've lorst me former joy in gittin' shick, Or 'eadin' browns; I 'aven't got the 'eart To word a torn; an', square an' all, I'm sick Of that cheap tart 'Oo chucks 'er carkis at a feller's 'ead An' mauls 'im . . . Ar! I wisht that I wus dead! , Ther's little breezes stirrin' in the leaves. An' sparrers chirpin' 'igh the 'ole day long; An' on the air a sad, sweet music breaves A bonzer song — A mournful sorter choon thet gits a bloke Fair in the brisket 'ere, an' makes 'im choke . , What is the matter wiv me? ... I dunno. I got a sorter yearnin' 'ere inside, A dead-crook sorter thing that won't let go Or be denied — A feelin' like I want to do a break, An' stoush creation for some woman's sake. The little birds is chirpin' in the nest, The parks, an' gardings is a bosker sight, Where smilin' tarts walks up an' down, all dressed In clobber white. An', as their snowy forms goes steppin' by, It seems I'm seekin' somethin' on the sly. A SPRING SONG 15 Somethin' or someone — I don't rightly know; But, seems to me, I'm kind er lookin' for A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago, Or, maybe, more. Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing? . . . Geewhizz! Me ideel bit o' skirt ! That's wot it is ! Me ideel tart! . . . An', bli'me, look at me! Jist take a squiz at this, an' tell me can Some square an' honist torn take this to be 'Er own true man? Aw,, Gawd! I'd be as true to 'er, I would — As straight an' stiddy as . . . Ar, wot's the good? Me, that 'as done me stretch fer stoushin' Johns, An' spen's me leisure gittin' on the shick, An' 'arf me nights down there, in Little Lons., Wiv Ginger Mick, Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doin' in me gilt. Tough luck! I s'pose it's 'ow a man is built. It's 'ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don't it 'urt When 'e gits yearnin's fer this 'igher life, On these Spring mornin's, watchin' some sweet skirt — Some fucher wife — Go sailin' by, an' turnin' on his phiz The glarssy eye — fer bein' wot 'e is. 16 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE I've watched 'em walkin' in the gardings 'ere — Cliners from orfices an' shops an' such; The sorter skirts I dursn't come too near, Or dare to touch. An' when I see the kind er looks they carst . . . Gorstrooth! Wot is the use o' me, I arst? Wot wus I slung 'ere for? An' wot's the good Of yearnin' after any ideel tart? . . . Ar, if a bloke wus only understood! 'E's got a 'eart: 'E's got a soul inside 'im, poor or rich. But wot's the use, when 'Eaven's crool'd 'is pitch? I tells meself some day I'll take a pull An' look eround fer some good, stiddy job. An' cut the push fer good an' all; I'm full Of that crook mob ! An', in some Spring the fucher 'olds in store, I'll cop me prize an' long in vain no more. The little winds is stirrin' in the trees, Where little birds is chantin' lovers' lays; The music of the sorft an' barmy breeze. . . . Aw, spare me days! If this 'ere dilly feelin' doesn't stop I'll lose me block an' stoush some flamin' cop ! II. THE INTRO ■.^"^N,# H fion It 1) t' f-n' 1-" h> >,;^.-:^-% -^ / V ' ^ ^ ■••- The Intro R name's Doreen . . . Well, spare me bloomin' days! You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick ! Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways. An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click! I just lines up an' tips the saucy wink. But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen. . . . 'Er name's Doreen. I seen 'er in the markit first uv all, Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall. I backs me barrer in— the same ole way — An' sez, "Wot O ! It's been a bonzer day. 'Ow is it f er a walk ?" . . . Oh, 'oly wars I The sorter look she gimme! Jest becors I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start Wiv any tart. 19 30 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE An' I kin take me oaf I wus perlite, An' never said no word that wasn't right, An' never tried to maul 'er, or to do A thing yeh might call crook. Ter tell yeh true, I didn't seem to 'ave the nerve — wiv 'er. I felt as if I couldn't go that fur, An' start to sling off chiack like I used . . . Not intrajuiced! Nex' time I sighted 'er in Little Bourke, Where she was in a job. I found 'er lurk Wus pastin' labels in a pickle joint, A game that — any'ow, that ain't the point. Once more I tried ter chat 'er in the street. But, bli'me! Did she turn me down a treat! The way she tossed 'er 'ead an' swished 'er skirt! Oh, it wus dirt! A squarer tom, I swear, I never seen, In all me natchril, than this 'ere Doreen. It wer'n't no guyver neither; fer I knoo That any other bloke 'ad Buckley's 'oo Tried fer to pick 'er up. Yes, she wus square. She jist sailed by an' lef me standin' there Like any mug. Thinks I, "I'm out er luck," An' done a duck. THE INTRO 31 Well, I dunno. It's that way wiv a bloke. If she'd ha' breasted up ter me an' spoke, I'd thort 'er jist a commit! bit er fluif. An' then fergot about 'er, like enough. It's jest like this. The tarts that's 'ard ter get Makes you all 'ot to chase 'em, an' to let The cove called Cupid get an 'ammer-lock; An' lose yer block. I know a bloke 'oo knows a bloke 'oo toils In that same pickle found-ery. ('E boils The cabbitch storks or somethink.) Anyway, I gives me pal the orfis fer to say 'E 'as a sister in the trade 'oo's been Out uv a jorb, an' wants ter meet Doreen; Then we kin get an intro, if we've luck. 'E sez, "Ribuck." O' course we worked the oricle; you bet I But, struth, I ain't recovered frum it yet! 'Twas on a Saturdee, in CoUuns Street, An' — quite by accident, o' course — we meet. Me pal 'e trots 'er up an' does the toff — 'E alius wus a bloke fer showin' off. "This 'ere's Doreen," 'e sez. "This 'ere's the Kid." I dips me lid. 23 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE "This 'ere's Doreen," 'e sez. I sez "Good day." An', bli'me, I 'ad nothin' more ter say! I couldn't speak a word, or meet 'er eye. Clean done me block! I never been so shy, Not since I wus a tiny little cub. An' run the rabbit to the corner pub — Wot time the Summer days wus dry an' 'ot — Fer my ole pot. Me! that 'as barracked tarts, an' torked an' larft. An' chucked orf at 'em like a phonergraft ! Gorstrooth! I seemed to lose me pow'r o' speech. But, 'er! Oh, strike me pink! She is a peach! The sweetest in the barrer! Spare me days, I carn't describe that diner's winnin' ways. The way she torks! 'Er lips! 'Er eyes! 'Er hair! Oh, gimme air! I dunno 'ow I done it in the end. I reckerlect I arst ter be 'er friend; An' tried ter play at 'andies in the park, A thing she wouldn't sight. Aw, it's a nark! I gotter swear when I think wot a mug I must 'a' seemed to 'er. But still I 'ug That promise that she give me fer the beach. The bonzer peach! THE INTRO 83 Now, as the poit sez, the days drag by On ledding feet. I wish't they'd do a guy. I dunno 'ow I 'ad the nerve ter speak, An' make that meet wiv 'er fer Sundee week! But strike! It's funny wot a bloke '11 do When 'e's all out. . . . She's gorn, when I come-to. I'm yappin' to me cobber uv me mash. . . . I've done me dash! 'Er name's Doreen. . . . An' me — that thort I knoo The ways uv tarts, an' all that smoogin' game I An' so I ort; fer ain't I known a few? Yet some'ow ... I dunno. It ain't the same. I carn't tell wot it is ; but, all I know, I've dropped me bundle — an' I'm glad it's so. Fer when I come ter think uv wot I been. , . . 'Er name's Doreen. III. THE STOUSH O" DAY '^^^^. e ^^^ - ^-^ The Stoush o' Day R, these is 'appy days ! An' 'ow they've flown — Flown like the smoke of some inchantcd fag; Since dear Doreen, the sweetest tart I've known, Passed me the jolt that made me sky the rag. An' ev'ry golding day floats o'er a chap Like a glad dream of some celeschil scrap. Refreshed wiv sleep Day to the mornin' mill Comes jauntily to out the nigger, Night. Trained to the minute, confident in skill, 'E swaggers in the East, chock-full o' skite; Then spars a bit, an' plugs Night on the point. Out go the stars; an' Day 'as jumped the joint. The sun looks up, an' wiv a cautious stare, Like some crook keekin' o'er a winder sill To make dead cert'in everythink is square, 'E shoves 'is boko o'er an Eastern 'ill. Then rises, wiv 'is dial all a-grin, An' sez, " 'Ooray ! I knoo that we could win !" 28 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Sure of 'is title then, the champeen Day Begins to put on dawg among 'is push, An', as he mooches on 'is gaudy way, Drors tribute from each tree an' flow'r an' bush. An', w'ile 'e swigs the dew in sylvan bars, The sun shouts insults at the sneakin' stars. Then, lo ! the push o' Day rise to applaud ; An' all 'is creatures clamour at 'is feet Until 'e thinks 'imself a little gawd. An' swaggers on an' kids 'imself a treat. The w'ile the lurkin' barrackers o' Night Sneak in retreat an' plan another fight. On thro' the hours, triumphant, proud an' fit, The champeen marches on 'is up'ard way. Till, at the zenith, bli'me! 'E— is— IT! And all the world bows to the Boshter Day. The jealous Night speeds ethergrams thro' space 'Otly demandin' terms, an' time, an' place. A w'ile the champeen scorns to make reply; 'E's taken tickets on 'is own 'igh worth ; Puffed up wiv pride, an' livin' mighty 'igh, 'E don't admit that Night is on the earth. But as the hours creep on 'e deigns to state 'E'll fight for all the earth an' 'arf the gate. THE STOUSH O' DAY Late afternoon . . . Day feels 'is flabby arms, An' tells 'imself 'e don't seem quite the thing. The 'omin' birds shriek clamorous alarms; An' Night creeps stealthily to gain the ring. But see! The champeen backs an' fills, becos 'E doesn't feel the Boshter Bloke 'e was. Time does a bunk as us-u-al, nor stays A single instant, e'en at Day's be'est. Alas, the 'eavy-weight's 'igh-livin' ways 'As made 'im soft, an' large around the vest. 'E sez 'e's fat inside; 'e starts to whine; 'E sez 'e wants to dror the color line. Relentless nigger Night crawls thro' the ropes, Advancin' grimly on the quakin' Day, Whose noisy push, shorn of their 'igh-noon 'opes, Wait, 'ushed an' anxious, fer the comin' fray. And many lusty barrackers of noon Desert 'im one by one — traitors so soon! 'E's out er form ! 'E 'asn't trained enough ! They mark their sickly champeen on the stage, An' narked, the sun, 'is backer, in a huff. Sneaks outer sight, red in the face wiv rage. W'ile gloomy roosters, they 'oo made the morn Ring wiv 'is praises, creep to bed forlorn. 30 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE All faint an' groggy grows the beaten Day; 'E staggers drunkenly about the ring; An owl 'oots jeerin'ly across the way, An' bats come out to mock the fallin' King. Now, wiv a jolt, Night spreads 'im on the floor. An' all the west grows ruddy wiv 'is gore. A single, vulgar star leers from the sky An' in derision, rudely mutters, "Yah !" The moon. Night's conkerbine, come glidin' by An' laughs a 'eartless, silvery "Ha-ha!" Scorned, beaten. Day gives up the 'opeless fight, An' drops 'is bundle in the lap o' Night. So goes each day, like some celeschil mill. E'er since I met that shyin' little peach. 'Er bonzer voice! I 'ear its music still. As when she guv that promise fer the beach. An', square an' all, no matter 'ow yeh start. The commin end of most of us is — Tart. IV. DOREEN HAU Amj= Doreen WISH'T yeh meant it, Bill." Oh, 'ow me 'eart Went out to 'er that ev'nin' on the beach. I knoo she weren't no ordinary tart, My little peach! I tell yeh, square an' all, me 'eart stood still To 'ear 'er say, "I wish't yeh meant it. Bill." To 'ear 'er voice! Its gentle sorter tone. Like soft dream-music of some Dago band. An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own 'Er little 'and. An' 'ow she blushed! O, strike! it was divine The way she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine. 'Er eyes ! Soft in the moon ; such boshter eyes ! Ah' when they sight a bloke . . . O, spare me days ! 'E goes all loose inside; such glamor lies In 'er sweet gaze. It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's been To look inter the eyes of my Doreen. 34 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon Shone yeller on the sea, all streakin' down. A band was playin' some soft, dreamy toon; An' up the town We 'card the distant tram-cars whir an' dash. An' there I told 'er 'ow I'd done me dash. "I wish't yeh meant it." 'Struth! And did I, fair? A bloke 'ud be a dawg to kid a skirt Like 'er. An' me well knowin' she was square. It 'ud be dirt! 'Ed be no man to point wiv 'er, an' kid. I meant it honest; an' she knoo I did. She knoo. I've done me block in on 'er, straight. A cove 'as got to think some time in life An' get some decent tart, ere it's too late, To be 'is wife. But, Gawd! 'Oo would 'a' thort it could 'a' been My luck to strike the likes of 'er? . . . Doreen! Aw, I can stand their chuckin' off, I can. It's 'ard; an' I'd delight to take 'em on. The dawgs! But it gets that way wiv a man When 'e's fair gone. She'll sight no stoush ; an' so I 'ave to take Their mag, an' do a duck fer 'er sweet sake. DOREEN 35 Fer 'er sweet sake I've gone and chucked it clean : The pubs and schools an' all that leery game. Fer when a bloke 'as come to know Doreen, It ain't the same. There's 'igher things, she sez, for blokes to do. An' I am 'arf believin' that it's true. Yes, 'igher things — that wus the way she spoke; An' when she looked at me I sorter felt That bosker feelin' that comes o'er a bloke, An' makes 'im melt; Makes 'im all 'ot to maul 'er, an' to shove 'Is arms about 'er . . . Bli'me? but it's love! That's wot it is. An' when a man 'as grown Like that 'e gets a sorter yearn inside To be a little 'ero on 'is own; An' see the pride Glow in the eyes of 'er 'e calls 'is queen; An' 'ear 'er say 'e is a shine champeen. "I wish't yeh meant it," I can 'ear 'er yet, My bit o' fluff ! The moon was shinin' bright, Turnin' the waves all yeller where it set — A bonzer night! The sparklin' sea all sorter gold an' green; An' on the pier the band — O, 'Ell! . . . Doreen! V. THE PLAY ^C'Jff iT ,/ ^ I The Play OT'S in a name?" she sez . . . An' then she sighs, An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes "A rose," she sez, "be any other name Would smell the same. Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir? Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker !" Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show — The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know. A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat; A slap-up treat. The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago. About a barmy goat called Romeo. "Lady, be yonder moon I swear !" sez 'e. An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney; An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words Like two love-birds. I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand 1" 'Er eyes is shinin'; an' I squeeze 'er 'and. 39 40 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE "Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno. Billo is just as good as Romeo. She may be Juli-er or Juli-et — 'E loves 'er yet. If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen, Names never count . . . But ar, I like "Doreen !" A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard; Ther's music 'angs around that little word, Doreen! . . . But wot was this I starts to say About the play? I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love 'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove. This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew — A dead tough crowd o' crooks — called Montague. 'Is diner's push — wot's nicknamed Capulet — They 'as 'em set. Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks, Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks. Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words? They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords. An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance, An' that's Romance. But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots. THE PLAY 41 Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day, Is "valler" if yer fur enough away. Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick Wiv Ginger Mick, Of Spadger's Lane. 'E'll be a Romeo, When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so. Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip. Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip; An' if you run agin a Capulet, Jist do a get," 'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean. (Same as I done when I first met Doreen.) They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue I It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! 'E'd break away an' start to say good-bye, An' then she'd sigh "Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt. An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt. Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about A secrit weddin'; an' they plan it out. 'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched: Then they git 'itched . . . Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip ! She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip! 42 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Ar ! but 'e makes me sick ! A fair gazob I 'E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob, 'E'll sigh and spruik, an' 'owl a love-sick vow — (The silly cow!) But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight, 'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate. Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon, 'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio, They 'ave to go An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets. They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets. A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt) Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt. Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go — 'Arf round or so. Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck, "Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check. Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell. "It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell, Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword, 'Ow I ongcored! "Put in the boot !" I sez. "Put in the boot !" "Ush !" sez Doreen . . "Shame !" sez some silly coot. THE PLAY 43 Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do. The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do. An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk An' does a bunk. They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy. "Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!" Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead. Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll think yer dead." (I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo A thing or two). She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room: They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb. Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl. 'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl Tucked in 'er little cofifing, cold an' stiff, An' in a jiff, 'E swallers lysol, throws a fancy fit, 'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit. Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there. Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air, "Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!" An' wif a moan. She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares . . . "Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs. VI. THE STROR 'AT COOT The Stror 'at Coot R, wimminl Wot a blinded fool I've been! I arsts meself, wot else could I ixpeck? I done me block complete on this Doreen, An' now me 'eart is broke, me life's wreck ! The dreams I dreamed, the dilly thorts I thunk Is up the pole, an' joy 'as done a bunk. Wimmin! O strike! I orter known the game! Their tricks is crook, their arts is all dead snide. The 'ole world over tarts is all the same; All soft an' smilin' wiv no 'eart inside. But she fair doped me wiv 'er winnin' ways. Then crooled me pitch fer all me mortal days. They're all the same! A man 'as got to be Stric' master if 'e wants to snare 'em sure. 'E 'as to take a stand an' let 'em see That triflin' is a thing 'e won't indure. 'E wants to show 'em that 'e 'olds command, So they will smooge an' feed out of 'is 'and. i8 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE 'E needs to make 'em feel 'e is the boss, An' kid Vs careless uv the joys they give. 'E 'as to make 'em think 'e'll feel no loss To part wiv any tart 'e's trackin' wiv. That all their pretty ways is crook pretence Is plain to any bloke wiv common sense. But when the birds is nestin' in the spring, An' when the soft green leaves is in the bud, 'E drops 'is bundle to some fluffy thing. 'E pays 'er 'omage — an' 'is name is Mud. She plays wiv 'im an' kids 'im on a treat, Until she 'as 'im crawlin' at 'er feet. An' then, when 'e's fair orf 'is top wiv love. When she 'as got 'im good an' 'ad 'er fun. She slings 'im over like a carst-orf glove. To let the other tarts see wot she's done. All vanity, deceit an' 'eartless kid! I orter known; an', spare me days, I did! I knoo. But when I looked into 'er eyes — Them shinin' eyes o' blue all soft wiv love — Wiv mimic love — they seemed to 'ipnertize. I wus content to place 'er 'igh above. I wus content to make of 'er a queen; An' so she seemed them days . . . O, 'struth ! . . . Doreen ! THE STROR 'AT COOT 4» I knoo. But when I stroked 'er glossy 'air Wiv rev'rint 'ands, 'er cheek pressed close to mine, Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care ; I dreams me dreams, an' 'ope begun to shine. An' when she 'eld 'er lips fer me to kiss. . . . Ar, wot's the use ? I'm done wiv all o' this ! Wimmin! . . . Oh, I ain't jealous! Spare me daysi Me? Jealous uv a knock-kneed coot like that! 'Im! Wiv 'is cute stror 'at an' pretty ways I I'd be a mug to squeal or whip the cat. I'm glad, I am — glad 'cos I know I'm free ! There ain't no call to tork o' jealousy. I tells meself I'm well out o' the game; Fer look, I mighter married 'er — an' then. . . . Ar strike! 'Er voice wus music when my name Wus on 'er lips on them glad ev'nin's when We useter meet. An' then to think she'd go. . . - No, I ain't jealous — but — Ar, I dunno! I took a derry on this stror-'at coot First time I seen 'im dodgin' round Doreen. 'Im, wiv 'is giddy tie an' Yankee soot, Ferever yappin' like a tork-machine About "The Hoffis" where 'e 'ad a grip. . . . The way 'e smiled at 'er give me the pip! 50 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE She sez I stoushed 'im, when I promised fair To chuck it, even to a friendly spar. Stoushed 'iml I never roughed 'is pretty 'air! I only spanked 'im gentle, fer 'is mar. If I'd 'a' jabbed 'im once, there would 'a' been An inquest; an' I sez so to Doreen. I mighter took an' cracked 'im in the street. When she was wiv 'im there lars' Fridee night. But don't I keep me temper when we meet? An' don't I raise me lid an' act perlite? I only jerks me elbow in 'is ribs, To give the gentle office to 'is nibs. .Stoushed 'im ! I owns I met 'im on the quite, An' worded 'im about a small affair; An' when 'e won't put up 'is 'ands to fight — ('E sez, "Fer public brawls 'e didn't care") — T lays 'im 'cross me knee, the mother's joy. An' smacks 'im 'earty, like a naughty boy. An' now Doreen she sez I've broke me vow. An' mags about this coot's pore, "wounded pride." An' then, o' course, we 'as a ding-dong row, Wiv 'ot an' stormy words on either side. She sez I done it outer jealousy. An' so, we parts fer ever — 'er an' me. THE STROR 'AT COOT 51 Me jealous? Jealous of that cross-eyed cow ! I set 'im 'cos I couldn't sight 'is face. 'Is yappin' fair got on me nerves, some'ow. T couldn't stand 'im 'angin' round 'er place. A coot like that! . . . But it don't matter much, She's welkim to 'im if she fancies such. I swear I'll never track wiv 'er no more; I'll never look on 'er side o' the street — Unless she comes an' begs me pardin for Them things she said to me in angry 'eat. She can't ixpeck fer me to smooge an' crawl. I ain't at any woman's beck an' call. Wimmin! I've took a tumble to their game. I've got the 'ole bang tribe o' diners set ! The 'ole world over they are all the same: Crook to the core the bunch of 'em — an' yet. We could 'a' been that 'appy, 'er an' me . . . But wot's it matter? Ain't I glad I'm free? A bloke wiv commin-sense 'as got to own There's little 'appiness in married life. The smoogin' game is better left alone, Fer tarts is few that makes ihe ideel wife. An' them's the sort that loves wivout disguise, An' thinks the sun shines in their 'usbans' eyes. 68 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE But when the birds is matin' in the spring, An' when the tender leaves begin to bud, A feelin' comes — a dilly sorter thing — That seems to sorter swamp 'im like a flood. An' when the fever 'ere inside 'im burns, Then freedom ain't the thing fer wot 'e yearns. But I 'ave chucked it all. An' yet — I own I dreams me dreams when soft Spring breezes stirs; An' often, when I'm moonin' 'ere alone, A lispin' maid, wiv 'air an' eyes like 'ers, 'Oo calls me "dad," she climbs upon me knee, An' yaps 'er pretty baby tork to me. I sorter see a little 'ouse, it seems, Wiv someone waitin' for me at the gate . . . Ar, where's the sense in dreamin' barmy dreams. I've dreamed before, and nearly woke too late. Sich 'appiness could never last fer long. We're strangers — 'less she owns that she was wrong. To call 'er back I'll never lift a 'and ; She'll never 'ear frum me by word or sign. Per'aps, some day, she'll come to understand The mess she's made o' this 'ere life o' mine. Oh, I ain't much to look at, I admit. But 'im! The knock-kneed, swivel-eyed misfit! . . VII. THE SIREN iv^u, l 111'"', I Pilot Cove OUNG friend," 'e sez . . . Young friend 1 Well, spare me days! Yeh'd think I wus 'is own white-'eaded boy — The queer ole finger, wiv 'is gentle ways. "Young friend," 'e sez, "I wish't yeh bofe great joy." The langwidge that them parson blokes imploy Fair tickles me. The way 'e bleats an' brays! "Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez . . . Yes, my Doreen an' me We're gettin' hitched, all straight an' on the square, Fer when I torks about the registry — O 'oly wars ! yeh should 'a' seen 'er stare ; "The registry ?" she sez, "I wouldn't dare ! I know a clergyman we'll go an' see" . . . "Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e chats me straight; An' spouts of death, an' 'ell, an' mortal sins. "You reckemize this step you contemplate 72 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Is grave?" 'e sez. An' I jist stan's an' grins; Fer when I chips, Doreen she kicks me shins. "Yes, very 'oly is the married state, "Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez. An' then 'e mags a lot Of jooty an' the spiritchuil life. To which I didn't tumble worth a jot. "I'm sure," 'e sez, "as you will 'ave a wife 'Oo'll 'ave a noble infli'ince on yer life, " 'Oo is 'er gardjin?" I sez, " 'Er ole pot"— "Young friend!" 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez, "Oh fix yer thorts on 'igh! Orl marridges is registered up there! An' you must cleave unto 'er till yeh die. An' cherish 'er wiv love an' tender care. E'en in the days when she's no longer fair She's still yer wife," 'e sez. "Ribuck," sez I. "Young friend!" 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez — I sez, "Now, listen 'ere: This isn't one o' them impetchus leaps. There ain't no tart a 'undreth part so dear As 'er. She 'as me 'eart an' soul fer keeps!" An' then Doreen, she turns away an' weeps; But 'e jist smiles. "Yer deep in love, 'tis clear, Young friend," 'e sez. PILOT COVE 73 "Young friend," 'e sez — an' tears wus in 'i& eyes — "Strive 'ard. Fer many, many years I've lived. An' I kin but recall wiv tears an' sighs The lives of some I've seen in marridge gived," "My Gawd!" I sez. "I'll strive as no bloke strivved! Fer don't I know I've copped a bonzer prize?" "Young friend!" 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez. An' in 'is gentle way, 'E pats the shoulder of my dear Doreen. "I've solem'ized grand weddin's in me day. But 'ere's the sweetest little maid I've seen. She's fit fer any man, to be 'is queen ; An' you're more forchinit than you kin say, "Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez ... A queer ole pilot bloke, Wiv silver 'air. The gentle way 'e dealt Wiv 'er, the soft an' kindly way 'e spoke To my Doreen, 'ud make a statcher melt. I tell yeh, square an' all. I sorter felt A kiddish kind o' feelin' like I'd choke . . . "Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez, "you two on Choosday week. Is to be joined in very 'oly bonds. To break them vows I 'opes yeh'll never seek; 74 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Fer I coxild curse them 'usbands 'oo absconds !" "I'll love 'er till I snuflE it," I responds. "Ah, that's the way I likes to 'ear yeh speak. Young friend," 'e sez. "Young friend," 'e sez — an' then me 'and 'e grips — "I wish't yeh luck, you an' yer lady fair. Sweet maid." An' sof'ly wiv 'is finger-tips, 'E takes an' strokes me diner's shinin' 'air. An' when I seen 'er standin' blushin' there, I turns an' kisses 'er, fair on the lips. "Young friend !" 'e sez. X. HITCHED I 11 fV' i lllillll'llli' Hitched -woman — fer — to N' — wilt — yeh — take — this- be— Yer— w:eddid — wife?" . . . O, strike me! Will I wot? Take 'er? Doceen? 'E stan's there arstin' me I As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not! Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still, I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot, An' speaks me piece: "Righto!" I sez, "I will." "I will," I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout Come from me bustin' 'eart — I know it did — Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out. An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid. "I will," I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss, An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid To see this solim hitchin' up of us. 77 78 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE "Fer — rich-er — er — fer — ^poor-er." So 'e bleats. "In — sick-ness — an' — in — 'ealth," , , . An' there I stands, An' dunno 'arf the chatter I repeats, Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands. But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands — This white-'aired pilot-bloke — ^but gives it lip. Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands. "In sick-ness — an' — in — " Ar! I got the pip! An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick, 'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out. "I will !" 'e 'owls ; an' fetches me a kick. "Your turn to chin!" 'e tips wiv a shout. An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout. (Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all 'ands!) An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about, Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands. O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick! Got up regardless fer the solim rite. ('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick) An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light To start a fag; an' trembles lest 'e might. Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too; That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' blufif an' skite; An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'. HITCHED 79 But, 'struth, the wimmin! 'Ow they love this frill! Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there; An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil, An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare. I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere ! I felt like I wus up afore the Beak ! But my Doreen she never turns a 'air, Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak. Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me! It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done. We could 'a' fixed it in the registree Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun. I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun Wiv all this guyver, an' 'is nibs's shirt.. But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun, This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt. "To — be — yer — weddid — wife — " Aw, take a pull! Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for? An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full, An' wants to do a duck clean out the door. An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor, Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke. If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke. 80 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book, I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest. But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook! An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest! (I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.) "My little girl!" she 'owls. "O, treat 'er well! She's young — too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!" "Orright, ole chook," I nearly sez. O, 'ell! An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's — A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese. Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars. O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease ! The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece, That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead. 'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase — I likes that pilot f er the things 'e said. E' sez Doreen an' me is in a boat. An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea. E' sez as 'ow 'e opes we'll alius float In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free. Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea; An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt; An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me; Until I feel I'll 'ave to do a bolt. HITCHED 81 Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech — ('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick). "My cobber 'ere," 'e sez, " 'as copped a peach I Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick! I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors, I'm trustin', later on," sez Ginger Mick, "To celebrate the chris'nin'." . . . 'Oly wars! At last Doreen an' me we gits away. An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scran. (We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.) I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran To ketch the train — Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown! We gets the carridge right agen the van. She whistles, jolts, an' starts . . . An' we're alone! Doreen an' me I My precious bit o' fluff ! Me own true weddid wife ! . . . An' we're alone ! She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough — I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze Too 'ard fer fear she'll break . . . Then, wiv a groan I starts to 'ear a coot call, "Tickets, please!" 88 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE You could 'a' outed me right on the spot! I wus so rattled when that porter spoke. Fer, 'struth! them tickets I 'ad fair forgot! But 'e jist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke. "We must ixcuse," 'e sez, "new-married folk." An' I pays up. an' grins, an' blushes red. . . It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke : If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is 'ead! XI. BEEF TEA Beef Tea HE never magged; she never said no word; But sat an' looked at me an' never stirred. I could 'a' bluffed it out if she 'ad been Fair narked, an' let me 'ave it wiv 'er tongue ; But silence told me 'ow 'er 'eart wus wrung. Poor 'urt Doreen! Gorstruth ! I'd sooner fight wiv fifty men Than git one look like that frum 'er agen! She never moved ; she never spoke no word ; That 'urt look in 'er eyes, like some scared bird: " 'Ere is the man I loved," it seemed to say. " 'E's mine, this crawlin' thing, an' I'm 'is wife ; Tied up fer good ; an' orl me joy in life Is chucked away!" If she 'ad bashed me I'd 'a' felt no 'urt! But 'ere she treats me like — like I wus dirt. 'Ow is a man to guard agen that look? Fer other wimmin, when the'r blokes go crook, An' lobs 'ome wiv the wages uv a jag. SC THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE They smashes things an' carries on a treat. An' 'owls an' scolds an' wakes the bloomin' street Wiv noisy mag. But 'er — she never speaks ; she never stirs . . . I drops me bundle . . . An' the game is 'ers. Jist two months wed! Eight weeks uv married bliss Wiv my Doreen, an' now it's come to this! Wot wus I thinkin' uv? Gawd! I ain't fit To kiss the place 'er little feet 'as been! 'Er that I called me wife, me own Doreen ! Fond dreams 'as flit; Love's done a bunk, an' joy is up the pole; An' shame an' sorrer's roostin' in me soul. 'Twus orl becors uv Ginger Mick — the cow! (I wish't I 'ad 'im 'ere to deal wi\r now! I'd pass 'im one, I would! 'E ain't no man!) I meets 'im Choosdee ev'nin' up the town. "Wot O," 'e chips me. "Kin yeh keep one down?" I sez I can. We 'as a couple; then meets three er four Flash coves I useter know, an' 'as some more. " 'Ow are yeh on a little gamble. Kid ?" Sez Ginger Mick. "Lars' night I'm on four quid. Come 'round an' try yer luck at Steeny's school." BEEF TEA 87 "No," sez me conscience. Then I thinks, "Why not? An' buy 'er presents if I wins a pot?" A blazin' fool I wus. Fer 'arf a mo' I 'as a fight; Then conscience skies the wipe . . . Sez I "Orright." Ten minutes later I wus back once more. Kip in me 'and, on Steeny Isaacs' floor, Me luck wus in an' I wus 'eadin' good. Yes, back agen amongst the same ole crew! An' orl the time down in me 'eart I knew I never should . . . Nex' thing I knows it's after two o'clock — Two in the mornin' ! An' I've done me block ! "Wot odds?" I thinks. "I'm in fer it orright." An' so I stops an' gambles orl the night; An' bribes me conscience wiv the gilt I wins But when I comes out in the cold, 'ard dawn I know I've crooled me pitch ; me soul's in pawn. Me flamin' sins They 'its me in a 'eap right where I live; Fer I 'ave broke the solim vow I give. She never magged ; she never said no word. An' when I speaks, it seems she never 'card. I could 'a' sung a nim, I feels so gay! 88 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE If she 'ad only roused I might 'a' smiled. She jist seems 'urt an' crushed; not even riled. I turns away, An' yanks me carkis out into the yard, Like some whipped pup ; an' kicks meself reel 'ard. An' then, I sneaks to bed, an' feels dead crook. Fer golden quids I couldn't face that look — That trouble in the eyes uv my Doreen. Aw, strike I Wot made me go an' do this thing ? I feel jist like a chewed up bit of string. An' rotten mean! Fer 'arf an hour I lies there feelin' cheap; An' then I s'pose, I muster fell asleep. . . . " 'Ere, Kid, drink this" ... I wakes, an' lifts me 'ead. An' sees 'er standin' there beside the bed; A basin in 'er 'ands ; an' in 'er eyes — (Eyes that wiv unshed tears is shinin' wet) — The sorter look I never shall ferget, Until I dies. " 'Ere, Kid, drink this," she sez, an' smiles at me. I looks — an' spare me days ! It wus beef-tea! BEEF TEA 89 Beef-tea ! She treats me like a hinvaleed ! Me ! that 'as caused 'er lovin' 'eart to bleed. It 'urts me worse than maggin' fer a week! 'Er ! 'do 'ad right to turn dead sour on me, Fergives like that, an' feeds me wif beef-tea . . . I tries to speak; An' then — I ain't ashamed o' wot I did — I 'ides me face . . . an' blubbers like a kid. XII. UNCLE JIM ^ ,-. #^w<- ^ ^flC'^*fi „ \d. VJ ,i '■WUlv-- ''■■■■■ '-"f ... I" ■ ■-'llfr . Uncle Jim GOT no time fer wasters, lad," sez 'e "Give me a man wiv grit," sez Uncle Jim. 'E bores 'is cute ole eyes right into me. While I stares 'ard an' gives it back to 'im. Then orl at once 'e grips me 'and in 'is: "Some'ow," 'e sez, "I likes yer ugly phiz." "You got a look," 'e sez, "like you could stay; Altho' yeh mauls King's English when yeh yaps. An' 'angs flash frills on ev'rythink yeh say. I ain't no grammarist meself, per'aps, But langwidge is a 'elp, I owns," sez Unk, "When things is goin' crook." An' 'ere 'e wunk. "Yeh'll find it tough," 'e sez, "to knuckle down. Good farmin' is a gift — like spoutin' slang. Yeh'll 'ave to cut the luxuries o' town, An' chuck the manners of this back-street gang; Fer country life ain't cigarettes and beer." "I'm game," I sez. Sez Uncle, "Put it 'ere!" 93 94 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Like that I took the plunge, an' slung the game. I've parted wiv them joys I 'eld most dear; I've sent the leery bloke that bore me name Clean to the pack wivout one pearly tear; An' frum the ashes of a ne'er-do-well A bloomin' farmer's blossomin' like 'ell. Farmer I That's me ! Wiv this 'ere strong right 'and I've gripped the plough; and blistered jist a treat. Doreen an' me 'as gone upon the land. Yours truly fer the burden an' the 'eat! Yours truly fer upendin' chunks o' soil! The 'ealthy, 'ardy, 'appy son o' toil! I owns I've 'ankered fer me former joys; I've 'ad me hours o' broodin' on me woes ; I've missed the comp'ny, an' I've missed the noise, The football matches an' the picter shows. I've missed — ^but, say, it makes me feel fair mean To whip the cat; an' then see my Doreen. To see the colour comin' in 'er cheeks, To see 'er eyes grow brighter day be day. The new, glad way she looks an' laughs an' speaks Is worf ten times the things I've chucked away. An' there's a secret, whispered in the dark, 'As made me 'eart sing like a flamin' lark. UNCLE JIM 96 Jist let me tell yeh 'ow it come about. The things that I've been thro' 'ud fill a book. Right f rum me birf Fate played to knock me out ; The 'and that I 'ad dealt to me was crook! Then comes Doreen, an' patches up me parst; Now Forchin's come to bunk wiv me at larst. First orf, one night poor Mar gits suddin fits, An' floats wivout the time to wave "good-byes." Doreen is orl broke up the day she flits; It tears me 'eart in two the way she cries. To see 'er grief, it almost made me glad I never knowed the mar I must 'ave 'ad. We done poor Muvver proud when she went out — A slap-up send-orf, trimmed wiv tears an' crape. An' then fer weeks Doreen she mopes about, An' life takes on a gloomy sorter shape. I watch 'er face git pale, 'er eyes grow dim; Till — ^like some 'airy angel — comes ole Jim. A cherub togged in sunburn an' a beard An' duds that shouted " 'Ayseed 1" fer a mile : Care took the count the minute 'e appeared. An' sorrer shrivelled up before 'is smile, 'E got the 'ammer-lock on my good-will The minute that 'e sez, "So, this is Bill." 96 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE It's got me beaf. Doreen's late Par, some way, Was second cousin to 'is bruvver's wife. Somethin' like that. In less than 'arf a day It seemed 'e'd been my uncle orl me life. 'E takes me 'and: "I dunno 'ow it is," 'E sez, "but, lad, I likes that ugly phiz." An' when 'e'd stayed wiv us a little while The 'ouse begun to look like 'ome once more. Doreen she brightens up beneath 'is smile, An' 'ugs 'im till I kids I'm gettin' sore. Then, late one night, 'e opens up 'is scheme, An' passes me wot looks like some fond dream. 'E 'as a little fruit-farm, doin' well; 'E saved a tidy bit to see 'im thro'; 'E's gittin' old fer toil, an' wants a spell ; An' 'ere's a 'ome jist waitin' fer us two. "It's 'er's an' yours fer keeps when I am gone,'' Sez Uncle Jim. "Lad, will yeh take it on?" So that's the strength of it. An' 'ere's me now A flamin' berry farmer, full o' toil ; Playin' joo-jitsoo wiv an 'orse an' plough. An' coaxin' fancy tucker f rum the soil ; An' longin', while I wrestles with the rake, Fer days when my poor back fergits to ache. UNCLE JIM 97 Me days an' nights is full of schemes an' plans To figger profits an' cut out the loss; An' when the pickin's on, I 'ave me 'an's To take me orders while I act the boss ; It's sorter sweet to 'ave the right to rouse. . . . An' my Doreen's the lady of the 'ouse. To see 'er bustlin' 'round about the place, Full of the simple joy o' doin' things. That thoughtful, 'appy look upon 'er face. That 'ope an' peace an' pride o' labour brings, Is worth the crowd of joys I knoo one time, An' makes regrettin' 'em seem like a crime. An' ev'ry little while ole Uncle Jim Comes up to stay a bit an' pass a tip. It gives us 'eart jist fer to look at 'im, An' feel the friendship in 'is warm 'and-grip. 'Im, wiv the sunburn on 'is kind ole dile; 'Im, wiv the sunbeams in 'is sweet ole smile. "I got no time fer wasters, lad," sez 'e, "But that there ugly mug o' yourn I trust." An' so I reckon that it's up to me To make a bloomin' do of it or bust. I got to take the back-ache wiv the rest, An' plug along, an' do me little best. 98 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Luck ain't no steady visitor, I know ; But now an' then it calls — fer look at me J You would n't take me, 'bout a year ago, Free gratis wiv a shillin' pound o' tea; Then, in a blessed 'eap, ole Forchin lands A missus an' a farm fair in me 'ands. XIII. THE KID '^'"''5™ h-^\_ O-'E. The Kid Y son! . . . Them words, jist like a blessed song, Is singin' in me 'eart the 'ole day long ; Over an' over; while I'm scared I'll wake Out of a dream, to find it all a fako My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee, Wus jist two simple, senseless words to me; An' now — no man, not since the world begun, Made any better pray'r than that. . . . My son! My son an' bloomin' 'eir . . . Ours ! . . . 'Ers an' mine ! The finest kid in — Aw, the sun don't shine — Ther' ain't no joy far me beneath the blue Unless I'm gazin' lovin' at them two. A little while ago it was jist "me" — A lonely, longin' streak o' misery. An' then 'twas " 'er an' me" — Doreen, my wife ! An' now it's " 'im an' us" an' — sich is life. 102 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE But 'struth! 'e is king-pin! The 'ead serang! I mustn't tramp about, or talk no slang; I mustn't pinch 'is nose, or make a face, I must'nt — Strike! 'E seems to own the place! Cunnin'? Yeh'd think, to look into 'is eyes, 'E knoo the game clean thro'; 'e seems that wise. Wiv 'er an' nurse 'e is the leadin' man, An' poor ole dad's amongst the "also ran." "Goog, goo," 'e sez, an' curls 'is cunnin' toes. Yeh'd be su'prised the 'caps o' things 'e knows. I'll swear 'e tumbles I'm 'is father, too; The way 'e squints at me, an' sez, "Goog, goo." Why! 'smornin', 'ere 'is lordship gits a grip Fair on me finger — give it quite a nip! An' when I tugs, 'e won't let go 'is hold! 'Angs on like that! An' 'im not three weeks old! "Goog, goo," 'e sez. I'll swear yeh never did In all yer natcheril, see sich a kid. The cunnin' ways 'e's got; the knowin' stare — Ther' ain't a youngster like 'im anywhere! THE KID 103 An', when 'e gets a little pain inside, 'Is dead straight griffin ain't to be denied. I'm sent to talk sweet nuffin's to the fowls; While nurse turns 'and-springs ev'ry time 'e 'owls. But say, I tell yeh straight ... I been thro' 'ell ! The things I thort I wouldn't dare to tell Lest, in the tellin' I might feel again One little part of all that fear an' pain. It come so sudden that I lorst me block. First, it was, 'Ell-fer-leather to the doc, 'Oo took it all so calm 'e made me curse — An' then I sprints like mad to get the nurse. By gum ; that woman ! But she beat me flat ! A man's jist putty in a game like that. She owned me 'appy 'ome almost before She fairly got 'er nose inside me door. Sweatin' I was; but cold wiv fear inside — An' then, to think a man could be denied 'Is wife an' 'ome an' told to fade away By jist one fat ole nurse 'oo's in ' is pay I 104 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE I wus too weak wiv funk to start an' rouse. 'Struth! Ain't a man the boss in 'is own 'ouse? "You go an' chase yerself !" she tips me straight. "Ther's nothin' now fer you to do but — wait." Wait ? . . . Gawd ! . . . I never knoo wot waitin' meant. In all me life, till that day I was sent To loaf around, while there inside — Aw, strike! I couldn't tell yeh wot that hour was like! Three times I comes to listen at the door; Three times I drags meself away once more; 'Arf dead wiv fear; 'arf filled wiv tremblin' joy An' then she beckons me, an' sez — "A boy!" "A boy!" she sez. "An' bofe is doin' well!" I drops into a chair, an' jist sez — " 'Ell !" It was a pray'r. I feels bofe crook an' glad. . . . An' that's the strength of bein' made a dad. I thinks of church, when in that room I goes, 'Oldin' me breaf an' walkin' on me toes. Fer 'arf a mo' I feared me nerve 'ud fail To see 'er lying there so still an' pale. THE KID 105 She looks so frail, at first, I dursn't stir. An' then, I leans acrost an' kisses 'er; An' all the room gits sorter blurred an' dim . . . She smiles, an' moves 'er 'ead. "Dear lad ! Kiss 'im." Near smothered in a ton of snowy clothes, First thing, I sees a bunch o' stubby toes, Bald 'ead, termater face, an' two big eyes. "Look, Kid," she smiles at me. "Ain't 'e a size?" 'E didn't seem no sorter size to me; But yet, I speak no lie when I agree ; " 'E is," I sez, an' smiles back at Doreen, "The biggest nipper fer 'is age I've seen." She turns away; 'er eyes is brimmin' wet. "Our little son!" she sez. "Our precious pet!" An' then, I seen a great big drop roll down An fall — kersplosh ! — fair on 'is nibs's crown. An' still she smiles. "A lucky sign," she said. "Somewhere, in some ole book, one time I read, 'The child will sure be blest all thro' the years Who's christened wiv 'is mother's 'appy tears.' " 106 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE "Kiss 'im," she sez. I was afraid to take Too big a mouthful of 'im, fear 'e'd break. An' when 'e gits a fair look at me phiz 'E puckers up 'is nose, an' then — Geewhizz! 'Ow did 'e 'owl! In 'arf a second more Nurse 'ad me 'ustled clean outside the door. Scarce knowin' 'ow, I gits out in the yard, An' leans agen the fence an' thinks reel 'ard. A long, long time I looks at my two 'ands. "They're all I got," I thinks, "they're all that stands Twixt this 'ard world an' them I calls me own. An' fer their sakes I'll work 'em to the bone." Them vows an' things sounds like a lot o' guff. Maybe, it's foolish thinkin' all this stuff — Maybe, it's childish-like to scheme an' plan; But — I dunno — it's that way wiv a man. I only know that kid belongs to me ! We ain't decided yet wot 'e's to be. Doreen, she sez 'e's got a poit's eyes; But I ain't got much use fer them soft guys. THE KID 107 I think we ort to make 'im something great — A bookie, or a champeen 'eavy-weight : Some callin' that'll give 'im room to spread. A fool could see 'e's got a clever 'ead. I knows 'e's good an' honest; for 'is eyes Is jist like 'ers; so big an' lovin'-wise; They carries peace an' trust where e'er they goes. An', say, the nurse she sez 'e's got my nose! Dead ring fer me ole conk, she sez it is. More like a blob of putty on 'is phiz, I think. But 'e's a fair 'ard case, all right. I'll swear I thort 'e wunk at me last night! My wife an' f am'ly ! Don't it sound all right ! That's wot I whispers to meself at night. Some day, I s'pose, I'll learn to say it loud An' careless ; kiddin' that I don't feel proud. My son! ... If ther's a Gawd 'Oo's leanin' near To watch our dilly little lives down 'ere, 'E smiles, I guess, if 'E's a lovin' one — Smiles, friendly-like, to 'ear them words — My son. XIV. THE MOOCH O' LIFE The Mooch o' Life HIS ev'nin' I was sittin' wiv Doreen, Peaceful an' 'appy wiv the day's work done, Watchin', be'ind the orchard's bonzer green, The flamin' wonder of the settin' sun. Another day gone by; another night Creepin' along to douse Day's golden light; Another dawnin', when the night is gone, To live an' love — an' so life mooches on. Times I 'ave thought, when things was goin' crook, When 'Ope turned nark an' Love forgot to smile, Of somethin' I once seen in some ole book Where an ole sore-'ead arsts, "Is life worf w'ile?" But in that stillness, as the day grows dim. An' I am sittin' there wiv 'er an' 'im — My wife, my son! an' strength in me to strive, I only know — it's good to be alive! 112 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Yeh live, yeh love, yeh learn; an' when yeh come To square the ledger in some thortful hour, The everlastin' answer to the sum Must alius be, "Where's sense in gittin' sour?" Fer when yeh've come to weigh the good an' bad — The gladness wiv the sadness you 'ave 'ad — Then 'im 'oo's faith in 'uman goodness fails Fergits to put 'is liver in the scales. Livin' an' lovin'; learnin' day be day; Pausin' a minute in the barmy strife To find that 'elpin' others on the way Is gold coined fer your profit — sich is life. I've studied books wiv yearnin's to improve. To 'eave meself out of me lowly groove, An' 'ere is orl the change I ever got: " 'Ark at yer 'eart, an' you kin learn the lot.' I gives it in — that wisdom o' the mind — I wasn't built to play no lofty part. Orl such is welkim to the joys they find; I only know the wisdom o' the 'eart. THE MOOCH O' LIFE 113 An' ever it 'as taught me, day be day, The one same lesson in the same ole way: "Look fer yer profits in the 'earts o' friends, Fer 'atin' never paid no dividends." Life's wot yeh make it; an' the bloke 'oo tries To grab the shinin' stars frum out the skies Goes crook on life, an' calls the world a cheat, An' tramples on the daisies at 'is feet. But when the moon comes creepin' o'er the hill, An' when the mopoke calls along the creek, I takes me cup o' joy an' drinks me fill. An' arsts meself wot better could I seek. An' ev'ry song I 'ear the thrushes sing That everlastin' message seems to bring; An' ev'ry wind that whispers in the trees Gives me the tip there ain't no joys like these: Livin' an' lovin' ; wand'rin' on yer way ; Reapin' the 'arvest of a kind deed done; An' watchin', in the sundown of yer day, Yerself again, grown nobler in yer son. 114 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Knowin' that ev'ry coin o' kindness spent Bears interest in yer 'eart at cent per cent; Measurin' wisdom by the peace it brings To simple minds that values simple things. An' when I take a look along the way That I 'ave trod, it seems the man knows best, Who's met wiv slabs of sorrer in 'is day, When 'e is truly rich an' truly blest. An' I am rich, becos me eyes 'ave seen The lovelight in the eyes of my Doreen ; An' I am blest, becos me feet 'ave trod A land 'oo's fields reflect the smile o' God. Livin' an' lovin'; learnin' to fergive The deeds an' words of some un'appy bloke Who's missed the bus — so 'ave I come to live, An' take the 'ole mad world as 'arf a joke. Sittin' at ev'nin' in this sunset-land, Wiv 'Er in all the World to 'old me 'and, A son, to bear me name when I am gone. Livin' an' lovin' — so life mooches on. THE GLOSSARY GLOSSARY For use with "The Sentimental Bloke" and "Ginger Mick." A.I.F. — Australian Imperial Forces. Alley, to toss in the. — To give up the ghost. Also ran, The. — On the turf, horses that fajil to secure a leading place; hence, obscure persons, nonentities. 'Ammer-lock (Hammer-lock). — A favourite and effective hold in wrestling. Ar. — An exclamation expressing joy, sorrow, surprise, etc., accord- ing to the manner of utterance. 'Ard Case (Hard Case). — A shrewd or humorous person. 'Ayseed (Hayseed). — A rustic. Back Chat. — Impudent repart(ee. Back and Fill. — To vacillate; to shuffle. Back the Barren — To intervene without invitation. Barmy (Balmy). — Foolish; silly. Beak. — A magistrate. (Possibly from Anglo-Saxon, Beag — a magistrate). Beano. — A feast. Beans. — Coins; money. Beat. — Puzzled; defeated. Beat, off the. — Out of the usual routine. Beef (to beef it out). — To declaim vociferously. Bellers (Bellows).— The lungs. Biff.— To smite. Bird, to give the. — ^To treat with derision. Blighter. — A worthless fellow. Bli' me. — An oath with the fangs drawn. 117 118 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Blither. — To talk at random, foolishly. Blob. — A shap;eless mass. Block. — The head. To lose or do in the block. — To become flustered; ■excited; a,ngry; to lose confidence. To keep the block. — To remain calm; dispassionate. Block, the. — A fashionable city walk. Bloke. — A male adult of the genus homo. Blubber, blub. — To weep. Bluff. — Cunning practice; make believe, v. To deceive; to mislead. Bob. — A shilling. Bokays. — Compliments, flattery. Boko. — The nose. Bonzer, boshter, bosker. — Adjectives expressing the superlative of excellence. Bong-tong. — Patrician (Fr. bon ton). Boodle. — Money; wealth. Book. — A bookie, q.v. Bookie. — A book-maker (turf) ; one who makes a betting book on sporting events. Boot, to put in the. — To kick a prostrate foe. Boss. — Master; employer. Break (to break away, to do a break). — To depart in haste. Breast up to. — To accost. Brisket.— The chest. Brown. — A copper coin. Brums. — Tawdry finery (from Brummagem — Birmingham). Buckley's (Chance). — A forlorn hope. Buck up. — Cheer up. Bump. — To meet; to accost aggressively. Bun, to take the. — To take the prize (used ironically). GLOSSARY 119 Bundle, to drop the. — To surrender; to give up hope. Bunk. — To sleep in a "bunk" or rough bed. To do a bunk. — To depart. Bunnies, to hawk the. — To peddle rabbits. Bus, to miss the. — To neglect opportunities. Caboose. — A small dwelling. Carlton. — A Melbourne Football Team. Cat, to whip the. — To cry over spilt milk; i.e., to whip the cat that has spilt the milk. C.B. — Confined to barracks. Cert. — A certainty; a foregone conclusion. Champeen. — Champion. Chase yourself. — Depart; avaunt; "fade away." q.v. Chat. — To address tentatively; to "word," q.v. Cheque, to pass in one's. — To depart this life. Chest, to get it off one's. — To deliver aspeech; express one's feelings. Chew, to chew it over; to chew the rag. — To sulk; to nurse a grievance. Chiack. — Vulgar banter; coarse invective. Chin. — To talk; to wag the chin. Chip.— To "chat," q.v. Chip in.— To intervene. Chiv.— The face. Chow. — A native of far Cathay. Chuck up. — To relinquish. Chuck off. — To chaff; to employ sarcasm. Chump. — A foolish fellow. Chunk. — A lump; a mass. Clean. — Completely; utterly. CUck. — A clique; a "push." Cliner. — A young unmarried female. 130 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Clobber. — Raiment; vesture. Cobber. — A boon companion. Collect. — To receive one's deserts. Colour-line. — In pugilism, the line drawn by white boxers excluding coloured fighters — for divers reasons. Conk. — The nose. Coot. — A person of no account (used contemptuously). Cop. — To seize; to secure; also s., an avocation, a "job." Cop (or Copper). — A police constable. Copper-top Red hea,d. Copper show. — A copper mine. Count, to take the. — In pugilism, to remain prostrate for ten counted seconds, and thus lose the fight. Cove. — ^A "chap" or "bloke." q.v. (Gipsy). Cow. — A thoroughly unworthy, not to say despicable person, place, thing or circumstance. Crack. — To smite, s. A blow. Crack a boo. — To divulge a secret; to betr^ay emotion. Crack hardy. — To suppress emotion; to endure patiently; to keep a secret. Cray. — A crayfish. Crib. — A dwelling. Croak.— To die. Crook. — A dishonest or evil person. Crook. — Unwell; dishonest; spurious; fraudulent. Superlative, Dead Crook. Cfool (cruel) the pitch. — To frustrate; to interfere with one's schemes or welfare. Crust. — Sustenance; a livelihood. Cut it out. — Omit it; discontinue it. GLOSSARY 131 Dago. — A native of Southern Europe. Dash, to do one's. — To reach one's Waterloo. Date. — An appointment. Dawg (dog). — A contemptible person; ostentation. To put on dawg. — To behave in an arrogant manner. Dead. — In a superlative degree; very. DeaL — To deal it out; to administer punishment; abuse, etc. Deener. — A shilling (Fr. Denier. Denarius, a Roman silver coin). Derry. — An a,version; a feud; a dislike. Dickin. — A term signifying disgust or disbelief. Dile (dial).— The face. Dilly.— Foolish; half-witted. Ding Dong. — Strenuous. Dinkum.— Honest; true. "The Dinkum Oil."— The truth. Dirt. — Opprobrium, a mean speech or action. Dirty left— A formidable left fist. Divvies. — Dividends; profits. Dizzy limit. — The utmost; the superlative degree. Do in. — To defeat; to kill; to spend. Done me luck. — Lost my good fortune. Dope. — A drug; adulterated liquor, v. To administer drugs. Dot in the eye, to. — To strike in the eye. Douse.— To extinguish (Anglo-Saxon). Drive a quill. — To write with a pen; to work in an office. Duck, to do «.— (See "break.") Duds. — Personal apparel (Scotch). Dunno. — Do not know. Dutch. — German; any native of Central Europe. 'Eads (Heads). — The authorities; inner council. 'Eadin'. — "Heading browns;" tossing pennies. 123 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE 'Ead over Turkey. — Heels over head. 'Ead Serang.— The chief; the lea,der. 'Eavyweight. — A boxer of the heaviest class. 'Ell fer leather. — In extreme haste. End up, to get. — To raise to one's feet. Fade away, to. — To retire; to withdraw. Fag. — A cigarette. Fair. — Extreme; positive. Fair thing. — A wise proceeding; an obvious duty. Fake. — A swindle; a hoax. Finger. — An eccentric or amusing person. Flam, — Nonsense, makebelieve. Flash. — Ostentatious; showy but counterfeit. Float, to. — To give up the ghost. Fluff, a bit of. — A young female person. Foot (me foot). — A term expressing ridicule. Footer.— Football. Frame. — The body. Frill. — Affectation. Funk, to. — To fea,r; to lose courage. Furphy. — An idle rumour; a canard. Galoot. — A simpleton. Game. — Occupation; scheme; design. Gawsave. — The National Anthem. Gazob. — A fool; a blunderer. Geewhizz. — Exclamation expressing surprise, Get, to do a. — To retreat hastily. Gilt. — Money; wealth. Give, to. — In one sense, to care. GLOSSARY 133 Gizzard. — The heart. Glarssy. — The glassy eye; a glance of cold disdain. The Glassey Alley. — The favourite; the most admired. Glim. — A light. Going (while the going is good). — While the path is clear. Gone (fair gone). — Overcome, as with emotion. Goo-goo eyes. — Loving glances. Gorspil-cove. — A minister of the Gospel. Graft.— Work. Grafter. — One who toils hard or willingly. GrifSn, the straight. — The truth; secret information. Grip. — Occupation; employment. Groggy. — Unsteady; dazed. Grouch. — To mope; to grumble. Grub- — Food. Guff. — Nonsense. Guy. — A foolish fellow. Guy, to do a. — To retire. Guyver. — Make-believe. Handies. — A fondling of hands between lovers. Hang out. — To reside; to last. Hang-over. — The aftermath of the night before. Hankies. — Handkerchiefs. High-falutin'. — High sounding; boastful. Hitch, to.— To wed. Hitched. — Entangled in the bonds of holy matrimony. Hit things up. — To behave strenuously; riotously. Hot. — Excessive; extreme. Hump, the. — A fit of depriession. Hump, to. — To carry as a swag or other burden. la* THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Imshee. — Begone; retreatl; to take yourself off. Intro. — Introduction; knock-down. q.v. It (to be It). — To assume a position of supreme importance. Jab. — To strike smartly. Jane. — A womain. Jiff. — A very brief period. Job, to. — To smite. Joes. — Melancholy thoughts. John. — A policeman. Joint, to jump the. — To assume command; to occupy the "joint," i.e., establishment, situation, place of business. Jolt, to pass a. — To deliver a short, sharp blow. Jor. — The jaw. Jorb (job). — Avocation; employment. Josser. — A simple fellow. Jug. — A prison. Keekin'. — Peeping. Keeps, for. — For ever; permanently. Kersplosh. — Splash. Kid.— A child. Kid, to. — To deceive; to persuade by flattery. Kiddies. — Children. Kid Staikes. — Pretence. King Pin. — The leader; the person of chief importance. Kip. — ^A small chip used for tossing pennies in the occult game of two-up. Kipsie. — A house; the home. Knob. — The head; one in authority. GLOSSARY 185 Knock-down. — A ceremony insisted upon by ladies who decline to be "picked up"; a formal introduction. Knock-out drops. — Drugged or impure liquor. Knock-out punch. — A knock-down blow. Knut. — A fop; a well-dressed idler. Lark. — A practical joke; a sportive jest. Lash. — Violence. Ledding. — Leaden. Leery. — Vulgar; low. Leeuwin. — Cape Leeuwin on the South-West coast of Australia. Lid.— The hat. To dip the lid.— To raise the hat. Limit. — The end; the full length. Line up. — To approach; to accost. Lingo. — Language. Lip. — Impertinence. To give it lip. — To talk vociferously. Little Bourke. — Little Bourke Street, Melbourne, Australia. Little Lons. — Little Lonsdale Street, Melbourne, Australia. Lob, to. — To arrive. 'Loo. — Woolloomooloof, a part of Sydney. Lunune. — Love me. Lurk. — A plan of action; a regular occupation. Mafeesh.1 — Finish; I am finished. Mag. — To scold or talk noisily. Malice. — A species of Eucalypt; the country where the Mallee grows. Mash. — To woo; to pay court, s. A lover. Maul. — To lays hands upon, either violently or with affection. Meet, a. — An assignation. Mill. — A bout of fisticuffs. Mix. — To mix it; to fight strenuously. 126 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Mizzle. — To disappeaf; to depart suddenly. Mo. — Abbreviation of "moment." Moll. — A woman of loose character. Moniker. — A name; a title; a signature. Mooch. — To saunter about aimlessly. Moon. — To loiter. Mud, my name is. — i.e., I am utterly discredited. Mug, to. — To kiss. Mullock, to poke. — To deride; to tease. Mushy. — Sentimental. Nark. — s., a spoil-sport; a, churlish fellow. Nark, to. — To annoy; to foil. Narked. — Angered; foiled. Natchril. — Natural. Neck, to get in the. — To receive severe punishment, i.e., "Where the chicken got the axe." Nerve. — 'Confidence; impudence. Nick. — Physical condition; good health. Nipper. — A small boy. Nose around, to. — To seek out inquisitively. Nothing (ironically). — Literally "something considerable." Odds, above the. — Beyond the average; outside the pale. Oopizootics. — An undiagnosed complaint. Orfis (office). — A warning; a word of advice; a hint. Oricle (oracle), to work the. — To secure desired results. Orl (all in). — Without limit or restriction. 'Ot Socks. — Gaily coloured hose. Out, to. — To render unconscious with a blow. Out, all. — Quite exhausted; fully extended. THE GLOSSARY 127 Pack, to send to the.— To relegate to obscurity. Pal. — A friend; a mate (Gipsy). Pard. — A partner; a mate. Pass (pass 'im one). — To deliver a blow. Pat, on orAe's. — Alone; single-handed. Peach. — A desirable young woman; "fresh as a peach." Peb (pebble). — A flash fellow; a, "larrikin." Phiz.— The face. Pick at. — To chaff; to annoy. Pick up, to. — To dispense with the ceremony of a "knock-down"' or introduction. Pilot cove. — A clergyman. Pile it on. — To rant; to exaggerate. Pinch. — To steal; to place under arrest. Pip. — ^A fit of depression. Pitch a tale. — To trump up an excuse; to weave a romance. Plant.— To bury. Plug. — To smite with the fist. Plug along, to. — To proceed doggedly. Plunk. — An exclamation expressing the impact of a blow. Podgy. — Fat; plump. Point. — The region of the jaw; much sought after by pugilists. Point, to. — To seize unfair advantage; to scheme. Pole, up the. — Distraught through anger, fear, etc.; also, disappeared, vanished. Pot, a. — A considerable amount; as a "pot of money." Pot, the old.— The male parent (from "Rhyming Slang," the "old pot and pan" — the "old man.") Prad. — A horse. Pug. — A pugilist. 138 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Pull, to take a. — To desist; to discontinue. Punch a cow. — To conduct a, team of oxen. Punter. — The natural prey of a "bookie." q.v. Push. — A company of rowdy fellows gathered together for ungentle purposes. Queer the pitch. — To frustrate; to fool. Quid. — A sovereign, or pound sterling. Quod. — Prison. Rabbit, to run the. — To convey liquor from a public-house. Rag, to chew the. — To grieve; to brood. Rag, to sky the. — To throw a towel into the air in token of sur- render (pugilism). Rain, to keep out of the. — To avoid danger; to act with caution. Rat. — A street urchin; a wharf loafer. Rattled. — Excited; confused. Red •'ot. — Extreme; out-and-out. Registry. — The office of a Registrar. Ribuck. — Correct, genuine; an interjection signifying assent. Rile. — To annoy. Riled. — Roused to anger. Ring, the. — The arena of a prize-fight Ring, the dead. — A remarkable likeness. Rise, a. — An accession of fortune; an improvement. Rocks. — A locality in Sydney. Rorty. — Boisterous; rowdy. Roust, or Rouse. — To upbraid with many words. 'Roy. — Fitzroy, a suburb of Melbourne; its football team. Run against. — To meet more or less unexpectedly. THE GLOSSARY 129 Saints. — A football team of St. Kilda, Victoria. Sandy blight. — Ophthalmia. Savvy. — Common-sense; shrewdness. School. — A club; a clique of gamblers, or others. Scran. — Food. Scrap. — Fight. Set, to. — To attack; to regard with disfavour. Set, to have. — To have marked down for punishment or revenge. Shick, ahickered. — Intoxicated. Shicker. — Intoxicating liquor. Shinty. — A game resembling hockey. Shook. — Stolen; disturbed. Shook, on. — Infatuated. Shyin' or Shine. — Excellent; desirable. Sight. — To tolerate; to permit; also to see; observe. Sir Garneo. — In perfect order; satisfactory. Sky the vyipe.— See "Rag." Skirt or bit of skirt. — A female. Skite. — To boast. Skiter. — A boaster Slab. — A portion; a tall, awkward fellow. Slanter. — Spurious; unfair. Slap-up. — Admirable; excellent. Slats.— The ribs. Slaver. — One engaged in the "'white slave traffic." SUck. — Smart; deft; quick. Slope, to. — To elope; to leave in hastt. Sloppy. — Lachrymose; maudlin. Slushy. — A toiler in a scullery. Smooge. — To flatter or fawn; to bill and coo. Smooger. — A sycophant; a courtier. 130 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Snag. — A hindrance; formidable opponent. Snake-'eaded. — Annoyed ; vindictive. Snake juice. — Strong drink. Snare. — To acquire; to seize; to win. Snide. — Inferior; of no account. Snob. — A bootmaker. Snout. — To bear a grudge. Snouted. — Treated with disfavour. Snuff, or snuff it. — To expire. Sock it into. — To administer physical punishment. Solid. — Severe; severely. So-long. — A form of farewell. Sool. — To attack; to urge on. Soot, leadin'. — A chief attribute. Sore, to get. — To become aggrieved. Sore-head. — A curmudgeon. Sour, to turn, or get.^ — To become pessimistic or discontented. Spank. — To chastise maternal-wise. Spar. — A gentle bout at fisticuffs. Spare me days. — A pious ejaculation. Specs. — Spectacles. Splash. — To expend. Splice. — To join in matrimony. Spout. — To preach or speak at length. Sprag. — To accost truculently. Spruik. — To deliver a speech, as a showman. Square. — Upright, honest. Square an' all. — Of a truth; verily. Squiz. — A brief glance. Stand-orf. — Retiring; reticent. THE GLOSSARY 131 Stajum. — Stadium, where prize-fights are conducted. Stiffened. — Bought over. Stiff-un. — A corpse. Stoke. — To nourish; to eat. Stop a pot.— To quafif ale. Stoush. — To punch with the fist. s. Violence. Straight, on the. — In fair and honest fashion. Strangle-hold. — An ungentle embrace in wrestling. Strength of it. — The truth of it; the value of it. Stretch, to do a. — To serve a term of imprisonment. Strike. — The innocuous remnant of a hardy curse. Strike. — To discover; to meet. Strong, going. — Proceedng with vigour. 'Struth. — An emaciated oath. Stuff. — Money. Stunt. — A performance; a tale. Swad, Swaddy. — A private soldier. Swank. — Affectation; ostentation. Swap. — To exchange. Swell. — An exalted person. SVig. — A draught of water or other liquid. Tabbie. — A female. Take 'em on. — Enga,ge them in battle. Take it out. — To undergo imprisonment in lieu of a fine. Tart. — A young woman (contraction of sweetheart). Tenner. — A ten-pound note. Time, to do. — To serve a term in prison. Time, to have no time for. — To regard with impatient disfavour. Tip. — To forecast; to give; to warn. 133 THE SENTIMENTAL BLOKE Tip. — A warning; a prognostication; a hint. Tipple. — Strong drink; to indulge in strong drink. Toff. — An exalted person. Togs.— Clothes. Togged. — Garbed. Tom. — A girl. Tony.— Stylish. Took. — Arrested; apprehended, Top, off one's. — Out of one's mind. Top off, to. — To knock down; to assault. Touch. — Manner; mode; fashion. Toss in the towel— See "Rag." Tough. — Unfortunate; hardy; also a "tug." q.v. Tough luck. — Misfortune. Track with. — To woo; to "go walking with." Treat, a. — Excessively; abundantly. Tucked away. — Interred, Tug. — An uncouth fellow; a hardy rogue. Tumble to, or to take a tumble. — To comprehend suddenly. Turkey, head over. — Heels over head. Turn down. — To reject; to dismiss. Turn, out of one's. — Impertinently; uninvited. Twig. — To observe; to espy. Two-up School.^ — A gambling den. Umpty. — ^An indefinite numeral. Upper-cut. — In pugilism, an upward blow. Uppish. — Proii d. Up to us. — Our turn; our duty. Vag, on the. — Under the provisions of the Vagrancy Act. THE GLOSSARY 133 Wallop. — To beat; chastise. Waster. — A reprobate; an utterly useless and unworthy person. Waterworks, to turn on the. — To shed tears. Welt— A blow. Wet, to get. — To become incensed; ill-tempered. Whips. — Abundance. White (white man). — A true, sterling fellow. White-headed boy. — A favourite; a pet. Willin'. — Strenuous; hearty. Win, a. — Success. Wise, to get. — To comprehend; to unmask deceit. Wolf.— To eat. Word. — To accost with fair speech. Wot price. — Behold; how now! Yakker.— Hard Toil. Yap.— To talk volubly. Yowling. — Wailing; caterwauling. W. C. Pentold & Co, Ltd., Printen, 183 Pitt Street Sydney. Catalogue of Books PUBLISHED BY ANGUS & ROBERTSON LIMITED PUBLISHERS TO THE UNIVERSITY 89 CASTLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY ^ The books in this Catalogue are obtainable in London from the Oxford University Press, Amen Corner, E.G., with the exception of The Man from Snowy River^ Rio Grandees Last Race^ and The Golden Treasury of Australian Verse (which are published for us in Great Britain by Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd.), and Joe Wilson and his Mates (published by Messrs. Wm. Black- wood & Sons). If there is difficulty in obtaining any of the books, they will be forwarded by Angus & Robertson Ltd., Sydney, Australia, on receipt of the price and postage. September, 1916. Over 50,000 copies already sold. THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE. By C. J. Dennts. With new Preface by the Author, Toreword by Henry Lawson, and Illustrations by Hal Gye. Cloth, 4s. {postage 2d.) A Pocket Edition for the Trenches is also published, containing- all the reading matter and illustrations in the ordinary edition. "SENTIMENTAL BLOKE" BRITISH PRESS NOTICES. The Times (London) : "But the best thing in his idyll is neither its idyllicism, nor its genuine bon-honue, nor its moral (at least as wholesome as porridge), nor its Mar, who may have emigrated from the Five Towns, but its extremely skilful versifi- cation. Mr. Dennis is a sedulous as well as a fine craftsman. He uses a variety of complicated stanzas and fails in none." Mr. E. V. Lucas (author of "Over Bemerton's," "The Listener's Lure," etc. ; compiler of " The Open Eoad " and other anthologies), in a, two-column review in the Stab (London) : " I have just received from Australia a little book with so authentic a note that I want others to know of it too. It is at once a study in human nature, an exercise in Australian slang, and a work of art. Incidentally it is also poetry. . . But by virtue of truth, simplicity, and very genuine feeling, the result, although the story is related in a difScult argot, which usually is anything but lovely, is convincing and often almost too moving to be comfortable. . . . These few extracts prove not only the sound human character of the book ; touches of experience common to millions of us ; but they show also that Mr. Dennis has a mastery of his instrument. In almost no stanza could prose have been more direct; and yet there is music here too, a great command of cadences and a very attractive use of repetition. . . So far I have mentioned only the poems which bear upon the drama of Bill's love and marriage. But there is an account of Day fighting Night, and, later, Night fighting Day, in the manner of the prize ring, which should find a place in any anthology devoted to that rare branch of literature — grotesque in poetry." The Dundee Advebiiseb (in a full column review, headed "Something Unique from Australia") : " One of the most original and one of the most delightful books of verse ever done into print ... . Had a German torpedo sent it to the bottom of the Atlantic it would have committed an unforgiveable offence The verse goes with a, swing which is quite irre- sistible The joyous thing about the book is, first of all, 3 BRITISH PRESS NOTICES (continued). its wealth of good feeling, and then its abiding humour.. The imagery is always fine and occasionally extraordinarily vivid. . . This book is a masterpiece, and if there are any more like it in Australia, which has always been a poet's corner, it is high time they were here." Rev. Dr. Hastings in The Expositobt Times (Edinburgh) : "The Bulletin (of Australia) says 'C.J Dennis is a poet.' The Bulletin makes no boast ; but how to prove it ? Only by the quotation of a poem, and the assertion that one is just as good as another. Let us quote the first four and the last two stanzas of 'The Kid' . . . ." Glasgow Herald : " The Bloke and Doreen are two cleverly drawn characters . . . depicted with an amount of humour and humanity which makes them a thoroughly entertaining couple." Eeeeman's Journal (Dublin) : " A most delightful book of verses. . . . The story is a fascinating one The love passages are excellent in delicacy and truth. There is nothing maudlin in the sentiment. . . It is a fine human book of verse, well worthy of a place of honour on every bookshelf." Daily Telegeaph (Sheffield) : " It is all very pleasant reading, the humour and novelty of the dialect being ballasted by the under-current of truth and actuality; and it is probably this juxtaposition of humour and philosophy which is the secret of the book's charm." CoNTEMPOKAKT Eeview : " . . . extraordinarily good . touches with unhesitating truth the very deeps of human nature, . . The realism of it all is wonderful. It is pure sentiment, we repeat, but it is, all the same, pulsating with life. . We • shall hear more of Mr, Dennis." The Bailie (Glasgow) : " It is difficult to write about this daintily produced volume without indulging in hyperbole. The songs are really idylls of the truest and tenderest nature. The humour is deliciously fresh and unforced, and the deeper notes which are struck from time to time ring true and mellow. Both The Sentimental Bloke and his affinity, Doreen, are equally human and lovable characters. Never before has the old old story been simg so sweetly and with such exquisite charm. ." The Aberdeen Feee Pekss : " . . The author has the poet's imagination, and combines tenderness and humour with strength. If he is ' sentimental ' the sentiment is genuine and wholesome. The Qdeen (London) : " The poems are thoroughly entertain- ing . . . The Bloke is a most entertaining person, and veiy human in his outpourings. It is long since we came across so much good fun and so much cheeriness." PRESS NOTICES The Bulletin (Sydney) : "The most typically Australian book published for a decade. Its humour, its sentiment, its genuine humanity, are expressed with feeling and an assured poetic craftsmanship. C. J. Dennis is not only an Australian poet: he is a poet." Sydney Morning Herald: "Bill is a wholly delightful person, and from what he tells us of Doreen, she must be equally delightful . . . Mr. Hal Gye's illustrations deserve mention; their idea is distinctly original." The Argus (Melbourne) : The genuine humour of these love poems is all the more effective because beneath the surface fun there is a suggestion of deeper feelings that ennoble men and unite them in the bonds of common fellow- ship." Daily Telegraph (Sydney) : "Captivatingly fresh and original . . . The verse is very human and clean, and its appeal is universal ... It has the qualities of humour and lifelikeness. Also the feeling in it rings true." The Age (Melbourne): "'The Sentimental Bloke' is a striking conception and his portrayal masterly." The Australasian: "Not merely verse that is amusing, but poetry that goes to the heart of things, even while it raises a smile or a laugh. . . . The story of the courtship is most entertaining. . . ." N.Z. Times (Wellington) : ". . . One of the most exquisite idylls ever written ... It is a wonderful feat. The quaint- ness is like Chaucer . . Hal Gye's illustrations are the quaintest and daintiest. The simple innocence and exquisite humour of the story are illustrated to perfection." Queenslander : "A well-printed, cleverly-illustrated, and pleasant to handle little volume. The humour of the 'Senti- mental Bloke' has an exquisite quality, its sentiment a tender- ness, and its philosophy a soundness which compel attention genuine poetry . . a sensitive appreciation of the beautiful . . . wholesome philosophy . . admirable verses." The Triad: "The book is delightful. . . . The verse sings itself . . Doreen, so lightly and deftly touched-in, is a living woman and a personality. There is fine and original imaglry There is wealth of unaffected good feeling. Thei-e is a constant even flow of delicious wholesome humour In all there is a deft craftsmanship of the accomplished writer. . . . A fine and human book of verse. . . . Well worthy a place of honour on every bookshelf." "SENTIMENTAL BLOKE" PRESS NOTICES (^continued). Auckland Stak: "We hail a new Australian poet, a new Australian humorist. . . itr. Dennis has the eye and the mind of a poet, allied with power of forceful and felicitous ex- pression. He has also a keen sense of humour and a deep insight into human nature. . . Bill, Doreen, Mar, Uncle Jim, Ginger Mick and the rest of them are very real and highly entertaining characters, in whose fortunes the reader becomes deeply interested, and whose story will bear frequent re- perusal." The Register (Adelaide): '"The Register' is glad to re- member that it published his first effort. ... A very memor- able achievement in Australian verse is this book, and it is greatly enlivened by a glossary in which strange verbs and phrases are quaintly defined. . . "' Ltttelton Times (Christchurch) : "One of the most amusing and, in its o^vn curious way, most fascinating books of verse . . . By all means let my readers make early acquaint- ance with the 'Sentimental Bloke' and his Doreen." TiMARQ Herald: " . Mr. Dennis has created more than a remarkable tour de force. His larrikin ... is an engaging character from first to. last . . . And Doreen is certainly 'a little peach.' " The Herald (Melbourne) : "The Bloke is a character who is likely long to remain deservedly popular in this country's literature. 'The sonnet shining in the eyes' has been fixed by Mr. Dennis in what is certainly a classic of its class, and lie secures an effect of true poetry without straining a simile or defying the canons of Australia's colloquial speech." New Zealand Herald (Auckland) : "Its sentiment is ex- cellent, its every verse contains a thought, which is more than one can say of many so-called poets, and it has a decided swing." Mp:lbourne Punch: "C. J. Dennis has evolved the most typical Australian of sorts that our literature has yet pro- duced . . . Conceived with a keen and humorous insight . " West Australian: "Should find countless readers and ad- mirers . . A good companion for an hour of sickness or depression, for nobody could be dull for long In the Senti- mental Bloke's cheerful company." Catholic Press (Sydney) : "Mr Dennis handles his subject with rare skill . as a humorous verss writer he stands at the head of his class , , , He is a true poet." ■• SENTIMENTAL BLOKE " PEESS NOTICES (continued). Hekmes (Sydney University) : "Dennis is only a recent ad- dition to our native bards, but he has already succeeded in es- tablishing a school of his own. There is a freshness in his lines. . . ." The Lone Hand: "Mr. Dennis has given us one of the finest books of humour that Australia has turned out." Australian Worker : "The book is a little masterpiece from cover to cover. What a recitation boom it should create! . ." The World's News : "Beautifully told, vpith any amount of humour, and not a little pathos ... A delightful idyll." Kalgooelie Sun: "It is the work of a poet. The crafts- manship necessary to produce the effect ... is craftsmanship of a very high order indeed; while the sentiment, the exquisite humour, and the genuine human touch with which the 'Senti- mental Bloke' is permeated will appeal to all readers." Table Talk (Melbourne): "So good is the work that future verses from Mr. Dennis' pen are eagerly anticipated, for he shows the feeling and capacity of a true poet." Sunday Sun (Sydney) : "It is literature and literature of a very noteworthy type." Australasian Journalist: "The various episodes are deliciously treated, while there is an undercurrent of pathos and philosophy which reveal the author as being possessed of consummate skill." Church Record (Sydney): "Wholesome, healthy, humorous. pathetic, and full of real humanity. . . All married folk should read the song entitled 'Beef Tea.' The writer of this review read it at a social gathering of men, and it created a profound impression. . . . We are grateful to the author for having written these songs. They have done us good." The Farm Bulletin (Brisbane): "Would that every woman were as wise as Doreen — men would be better." Mount Alexander Mail: "This latest Australian Welcome Nugget. It is all pure gold." The Scottish Australasian: ". . . Poem after poem im- presses one with the charm of the author's style, his know- ledge of psychology, and his artistic vision of men and things. . . Mr. Dennis is a master in the art of compressed sugges- tion . . . See how much there is in every line! . . . The book deserves, and we are sure it will have because of its genuine worth, a very large sale and thousands of happy readers." Dunedin Stab: "Mr. Dennis is not only a poet, hut a daring '' SENTIMENTAL BLOKE '' PHESS NOTICES (continued). Ballabat Star: "It is a thoroughly and typical Australian book, the humour and sentiment of which are expressed with much feeling and great poetic skill." The Methodist: "Is sure to be popular in the trenches and in other places where homely philosophy expressed in rollick- ing humour — not unmixed with pathos — is specially ap- . preciated." British Australasian (London): "'The Sentimental Bloke' was written in the Victorian bush, on a hillside look- ing over miles of beautiful Australian country. No one who has made the acquaintance of the irresistible • Bloke ' will suspect his creator of living in a villa residence, with a pocket handkerchief lawn, and a red plush drawing-room suite. Nor does he. His home is as unique as his book, and consists of an aged Melbourne omnibus, fitted up as a comfortable den, and situated on the farm land of a friend. ' ' The Mail (Oamaru) : "The two chief characteristics of the book are humour and pathos; and, moreover, there is an under- current of cheerful philosophy quite apart from the cheap cynicism so often adopted as a pose by Australian writers .... And now a word as to the illustrations^ fourteen in number. ... To dress one little nude figure in a tweed cap and tie, and another in a bair-ribbon and handbag, without becoming either comic or vulgar, requires considerable skill and restraint. And Mr. Gye is successful. He is humorous — that and nothing more. . . . Finally, the 'Sentimental Bloke' isi a capital companion for a dull hour — ^an antidote for the blues: and as such we heartily recommend him." Geelong Times : " ' The Sentimental Bloke ' is the best effort of its kind that we have had in Australia. It is human, humorous, and shrewdly philosophical. ' ' The Farmer and Settler (Sydney) : ". . . Mr. Dennis has created a work of art, almos.t entirely complete and perfect, viewed from any standpoint. The humour, the philosophy, the human nature, are all alike eminently satisfying. It is a book the critics will give ungrudging approval and that the people will buy. ..." Australian Financial Gazette (Melbourne): "'The Seiutimental Bloke' is a shrewd study and interpretation of a little-known side of the Australian individual, and it should therefore be widely welcomed. There is a lyric melody in the lines, and dramatic effectiveness in the monologues, that con- vincingly declare the poetic craftsmanship of the author. . ," 8 "SENTIMENTAL BLOKE" PRESS NOTICES (continued). The Cbitic (Adelaide) : "Mr. DenniB has given his little volume an atmoaphere surcharged with vigorous humour, a rugged nobility of sentiment and a genuine humanitarianism. He can make you laugh or make you cry — so powerfully ex- pressive is his gifted pen. ..." Daily News (Albury) : "We may well 'dip our lids' to the Australian writer who can make us feel that what he calls the mooch of life is well 'worth whOe. ' This poem, 'The Mooch of Life,' ia undoubtedly one of the best things written in this country — or any other. ..." Mining Standard (Melbourne): "It would be a thousand pities if anyone should be so misguided as to conclude from the title of Mr. Dennis' latest poetical venture that it ia not the kind of thing he cares for. Such an one, if such there should be, would assuredly do a great wrong, not only to the author, but to himself also. ' ' Southern Cross (Adelaide): "... Mr. Dennis shows himself an artist in versification and a master of metre and rhyme, and his verses scan as perfectly and smoothly as those of Pope or Dryden. ' ' Eteetladt's Journal (Melbourne): "Yes, there is humour of the right sort in ' The Sentimental Bloke, ' and if the reader can successfully arrive at the end of the songs without find- ing the type grow strangely misty, then he can write himsplf down as certainly an MJisentimental bloke. ' ' Austral Light (Melbourne): "Nothing truer to life or more delightfully humorous has come our way from an Aus- tralian source. ' ' Freeman's Journal (Sydney): ". . . . Mr. Dennis' rhymes move briskly. He has a distinct sense of the humorous independent of anything lent by the grotesque forms of ex- pression. ' ' Australian Christian World (Sydney): "It is all im- mensely diverting, but not that alone. It is also immensely instrucitive. The lesson Mr. Dennis reads us is that life's handling of men ia an Evangelical discipline, which, if loyally responded to, even in the ease of a soul so dark, and in circum- stances so unpromising, leads men at least to the very borders of the Kingdom of Heaven, if not, unconsciously, over the threshold itself. We hope everyone who reads will read this book. ' ' Brisbane Sun: "When a writer is at once a poet and a humorist, a student of human nature and a literary crafts- man, everything is possible to him, and Mr. Dennis has given us a book which could emanate only from one thus bountifully equipped. ' ' n THE THBEE KINGS. AND OTHER VERSES. By Will Lawson. With portrait. Cloth gUt. srilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) Will Lawson is a New Zealander who, through the Bulletin. has made an Australasian reputation. His verses are brighf and lively, in the Kipling manner, and full of human interest. A BOOK OF AUSTRALIAN VERSE FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Bertram Stevens. With numerous portraits. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) Tliis book is thoroughly representative of the best Aus- tralian verse, and, although intended mainly as a selection suitable for young folks, it contains many pieces favoured by older readers. A number of the poems are not obtainable in any other book. THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF AUSTRALIAN VERSE. Edited, with lutroduction and Noties, byi Bertram. Stevens. New (fourth) edition, revised and en- larged. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) ATnEX.\EUM : "May be regarded as representative of the best short pieces written by Australians or inspired by life in Australia or New Zealand." London: Macmillan S Co., Limited. THE POETICAL WORKS OF BRUNTON STEPHENS. As finally revised by the author, re-arranged and printed from new type, with photogravure por- trait. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d.; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) The Times : "This collection of the works of the Queensland poet, who has for a generation deservedly held a high place in Australian literature, well deserves study." Daily News: ''In turning over the pages of this volume one Is struck by his breadth, his versatility, his compass, as evidenced in theme, sentiment, and style." 10 WHERE THE DEAD MEN LIE, dND OTHER POEMS. By Barceoft Henry Boakb. Second edition, revised and enlarged, with memoir, portraits, and 32 illus- trations. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d.; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) J. Brtjnton Stephens, in The Bulletin: "Boake's work j« often praised for its local colour, but it has something better than that. It has atmosphere — Australian atmosphere, that makes you feel the air of the place — breathe the breath of the life." AT DAWN AND DUSK: Poems. By Victor J. Daley. Fourth edition. With photo- gravure portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) Bookman: "These verses are full of poetic fancy musically expressed." Sydney Moeninq Herald: "The indefinable charm is here, and the spell, and the music. ... A distinct advance for Australian verse in ideality, in grace and polish, in the study of the rarer forms of verse, and in the true faculty of poetic feeling and expression." WINE AND ROSES: A New Volume of Poems. By Victor J. Daley. With portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s {postage 2d.) Daily Telegraph: "Most of his verse is tinged with sad- ness — as is most Irish poetry — but there is a fine imaginative quality that lifts it to a far higher plane than that of the conventional melancholy rhymer. There are poems in this book that recall the magic of Rossetti .... Victor Daley has left his mark in the beginnings of an Australian literature." HOW HE DIED, AND OTHER POEMS. By John Farrell. Fourth edition. With memoir. appreciations, and photogravure portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d.; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) Melboubne Age: "Farrell's contributions to the literature of this country were always distinguished by a fine, stirring optimism, a genuine sympathy, and an idealistic sentiment, which in the book under notice find their fullest expression." 11 THE MAN FROM SNOWY BIVEB, AND OTHEB VERSES. By A. B. Pateeson. Fifty-eighth thousand. With photogravure portrait and vignette title. Cloth gUt, gut top, 3s, 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) AiHENAEtTM: "Swinging, rattling ballads of ready humour, ready pathos, and crowding adventure . . . Stirring and en- tertaining ballads about great rides, in which the lines gallop like the very hoofs of the horses." London: Macmillan dt Co., Limited. RIO GRANDE'S LAST RACE, AND OTHER VERSES. By A. B. Patersok. Seventeenth thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) Spectatok: "There is no mistaking the vigour of Mr. Pater- son's verse; there is no difficulty in feeling the strong human interest which moves in it." London: Macmillan (t Co., Limited: THE SECRET KEY, AND OTHER VERSES. By George Essex Evans. Second edition, with por- trait. Cloth gUt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; fuU morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) Glasgow Heeald: "There is . . . the breath of that apparently immortal spirit which has inspired . . . almost all that is best in English higher song." The Bookman: "Mr. Evans has written many charming and musical poems . . . many pretty and haunting lines." IN THE DATS WHEN THE WORLD WAS WIDE, AND OTHER VERSES. By Henry Lawson. Twentieth thousand. With photogravure portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) ^ The Academy: "These ballads (for such they mostly are) abound in spirit and manhood, in the colour and smell of Aus- tralian soil. They deserve the popularity which they have won in Australia, and which, we trust, this edition will now give them in England." 13 VERSES, POPULAB AND HUMOROUS. By Henry Lawson. Eighteenth thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d.; full morocco, gUt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) New Yoek Jouenal: "Such pride as a man feels when he has true greatness as his guest, this newspaper feels in introducing to a million readers a man of ability hitherto unknown to them. Henry Lawson is his name." WEEN I WAS KING, AND OTHER VERSES. By Heket Lawson. Tenth thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) The Spectatob: "A good deal of humour, a great deal of spirit, and a robust philosophy are the main characteristios of these Australian poets. Because they write of a world they know, and of feelings they have themselves shared in, they are far nearer the heart of poetry than the most accom- plished devotees of a literary tradition." ON THE TRACK AND OVER THE SLIPRAILS. By Henry Lawson. Twentieth thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, Cs {postage 2d.) Daily Chbonicle: "Will well sustain the reputation its author has already won as the best writer of Australian short stories and sketches." FAIR GIRLS AND GRAY HORSES, WITH OTHER VERSES. By Will H. Ogilvib. Revised edition, completing twentieth thousand. With portrait. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) Scotsman; "Its verses draw their natural inspiration from the camp, the cattle trail, and the bush ; and their most charac- teristic and compelling rhythms from the clatter of horaea' hoofs." 13 HEARTS OF GOLD, AND OTHER VERSES. By Will H. Ogilvie. Fourth thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full moroece, gilt edges, 6s. {postage 2d.) Daily Telegkaph: "Will be welcomed by all who love the stirring music and strong masculine feeling of this poet'8 verse." WHILE THE BILLY BOILS. By Henry Lawson. With eight illustrations by F. P. Mahony. Thirty-second thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) The Academy: "A book of honest, direct, sympathetic, humorous writing about Australia from within is worth a library of travellers' tales . . The result is a real book — a book in a hundred. His language is terse, supple, and richly idiomatic. He can tell a yarn with the best." CHILDREN OF THE BUSH. By Henry Lawson. Eleventh thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; full morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) The Bulletin: These stories are the real Australia, written by the foremost living Australian author . . . Lawson's genius remains as vivid and human as when he first boil d his literary billy." JOE WILSON AND HIS MATES. By Henry Lawson. Eleventh thousand. Cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. ; fuU morocco, gilt edges, 6s. (postage 2d.) The Athenaeum: "This is a long way the best work Mr, Lawson has yet given us. These stories are so good that (from the literary point of view of course) one hopes they are not autobiographical. As autobiography they would be good, as pure fiction they are more of an attainment." London: Wm. Blackwood dt Sons. 14 STORIES OF OLD SYDNEY. By Charles H. Bertie. With 53 pen and pencil drawings by Sydney Ure Smith. Cloth cover, printed in colours, 3s. 6d. (postage Id..) Sydney Morning Herald: "A charming and interesting little book . . . they live and breathe, and he has contrived to make actual to us those remote and almost incredible days . . . Mr. Smith's admirable illustrations are an equally im- portant feature of the book, which, in addition to its interest, presents a great antiquarian value." THE RISING OF THE COURT, AND OTHER SKETCHES IN PROSE AND VERSE. By Henry Lawson. With picture cover {Common- wealth Series), Is. {postage Id.) Queensland Times: "These stories show Lawson at his best, and Lawson at his best is not to be beaten by short story writers in current literature." AN OUTBACK MARRIAGE : A Story of Australian Life. By A. B. Paterson. Ninth thousand, with picture cover {Commonwealth Series), Is. {postage Id.) Scotsman: "The chief virtue of the book lies in its fresh and vivid presentment of the wild life and the picturesque man- ners of the Australian bush, while in form and style it claims recognition as a work of considerable literary distinction." THE OLD BUSH SONGS. Collected and edited by A. B. Paterson. Thirteenth thousand, with picture cover {Commonwealth Series), Is. {postage Id.) Daily Tklegraph: "Rude and rugged these old bush songs are, but they carry in their vigorous lines the very impress of their origin and of their genuineness . . . Mr. Paterson has done his work like an artist." GODS AND WOOD THINGS. By L. H. Allen. Paper boards, Is. {postage Id.) Sydney Morning Herald: "Mr. Allen is one of the seleci band who are saturated with classic lore and who seek _ to translate the beings of pagan mythology to the Australian bush. 'Gods and Wood Things' contains both prose and verse — the latter rhapsodical, the former mystical." 15 BUSHLAND STORIES. By Amy Eleanor Mack. Second edition, with coloured illustrations and decorated cloth cover, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) Academy: "It is not often that we have the pleasure to welcome from Australia a book of so many charming short stories as are contained in the volume before us." Scotsman : "Charming and simple nursery tales, appetisingly touched with local colour of the Bush." BiBMiNGHAM DAILY PosT: "There is a daintiness and dis- tinct charm in these fairy tales." SCRIBBLING SUE, AND OTHER STORIES. By Amy Eleanor Mack. With coloured and other illustrations and decorated cloth cover, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) These stories are written in the same happy vein as "Bush- land Stories." Miss Mack's intense love of nature is reflected in all her books, and her readers, both young and old, are at once attracted by the natural ring of her work. GEM OF THE FLAT: A Story of Toung Australians. By Constance Mackness. With coloured and other illustrations and decorated cloth cover, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) "Gem of the Flat" is a story of Australian bush children. The local colouring is distinctly good; the children are alive, and talk like real children; the incidents are natural and well described. The style is fresh, the dialogue well managed, and the story as a whole is interesting and pleasant, with a good tone about it. DOT AND THE KANGAROO. By Ethel C. Pedley. Illustrated by F. P. Mahony. Third edition, with decorated cloth cover, 2s. 6d. (postage 2d.) Sydney Morning Herald : " 'Dot and the Kangaroo' is with- out doubt one of the most charming books that could be put into the hands of a cnild. It is admirably illustrated by Frank P. Mahony, who seems to have entered thoroughly into ths animal world of Australia. The story is altogether Australian ... It is told so simply, and yet so artistically, that even the 'grown-ups' amongst us must enjoy it." 16 tHE ANNOTATED CONSTITUTION OF THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH. By Sir John Quick, LL.D., and R. R. Garkan, C.M.G. Royal 8vo., cloth gilt, 21s. The Times: "A monument of industry." THE STATE AND FEDERAL CONSTITUTIONS OF AUSTRALIA. By K. R. Cramp, M.A., Examiner, N.S.W. Depart- ment of Public Instruction. With portraits and illustratiions. Second edition, revised. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) N.S.W. Public Instkuction Gazette: "Not only sound and scholarly, but is written by a teacher of long experience. .... Has the additional advantage of being absolutely up to date .... Altogether an admirable piece of work .... An interesting, very helpful, and very necessary handbook." HISTORY OF AUSTRALASIA: From the Earliest Times to the Present Day. By Arthur W. Jose, author of "The Growth of the Empire." Fifth edition, thoroughly revised, with many new maps and illustrations from rare originals in the Mitchell Library. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) The Bulletin: "It is the most complete handbook on the subject available; tlie tone is judicial and the workmanship thorough . . . The new chapter on Australian Literature is the best view yet presented." BISTORT pF THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY. By H. E. Barfp, M.A., Registrar. With numerous illustrations. Cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. (postage 2d.) Published some years ago in connection with the Jubilee Celebrations of the University, this volume contains the official record of its foundation and growth. THE UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY : ITS HISTORY AND PROGRESS. By Robert A. Dallen. With 68 illustrations from photographs. Crown 4to., 3s. 6d. (postage Id.) 17 SOME EARLY RECORDS OF THE MACARTHUBH OF CAMDEN, 1789-1834. Edited by Sibella Macarthur Onslow. With coloured plates and numerous facsimile reproduc- tions of original documents. Cloth gUt, 15b. (vostape 6d.1 Sydney Morning Herald: "No man ever entered on a better fight with his fellow citizens, with the Governors, with the British Government, with the scientists, with the judicial authorities, indeed with almost every authority that was there to be fought, than John Macarthur when he undertook single- handed the great fight which iinally established the wool industry in Australia." Uniform with the above. LIFE OF CAPTAIN MATTHEW FLINDERS, B.N. By Ernest Scott, Professor of History in the Uni- versity of Melbourne, author of "Terre Napoleon," etc. With numerous portraits, maps, manuscripts in facsimile, etc. Cloth gilt, 21s. {postage 6d.) The Bulletin: "Will take its place as one of the great bio- graphies in our language. The inexplicable fact that hitherto no full biography of the first man to circumnavigate Australia has appeared is also a fortunate fact. Flinders has waited a century for his biographer, and it was worth this silence of a hundred years to find Ernest Scott. . . . And to this fervor of research must be added Ernest Scott's lucid literary style and his interest in the personal side of his subject. Equipment, style, sympathy, and his subject combine to make a brilliant achievement in biography. ... A word must in mere justice be added in praise of the publishers. The appearance of the book is worthy of its contents." LIFE OF LAPEROUSE. By Professor Ernest Scott. With Chart of Voyages in the Pacific, and ]3 illustrations. Cloth, 3s. 6d. {postage Id.) This story of Lapfrouse's work as an explorer and his close association with Australia is a most importar.'„ contribution to our history. The illustrations are from authentic sources and very interesting. 18 A FOPVLAB GUIDE TO TEE WILD FLOWERS OF NEW SOUTH WALES. By Florence Sulman. Vol. I., with 51 full-page illustrations. Cloth, 3s. 6d.. Vol. II., with 72 full-page illustrations. Cloth, 6s. {postage 2d. each.) Sydney Mobninq Hbbald: "This book can be taken into the bush, and by its aid practically any flower indentified without previous knowledge of botany. It is a book that has been badly needed." SOME FAMILIAR AUSTRALIAN WILD FLOWERS. Photographed by Mrs. A. E. Sulmait. Paper cover 2s. (postage Id.) AUSTRALIAN WILD FLOWERS: Second Series Photographed by Mrs. A. E. Sulman. Paper cover 2s, {postage \d). These are the best representations by photography of Aus- tralian wild flowers, and are particularly suitable for seni* ing to friends abroad^ THE PLANTS OF NEW SOUTH WALES: An Analytical Key to the Flowering Plants {except Grasses and Rushes) and Ferns of the State, with a list of native plants discovered since 1893. By W. A. Dixon, F.I.C, F.C.S, "With Glossary and 49 diagrams. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {postage 2d.) A BUSH CALENDAR. By Amy Eleanor Mack. Third edition, revised, with 42 photogrphs of birds, flowerg, bush scenes, etc. Cloth, 3s. 6d. {postage Id.) LiTEEAEY Wobld: "A pleasant little book . . . There i« much to interest those who have no personal knowledge of the antipodes ... and to those who know the country, the vivid descriptions will bring back many happ y recollections." BUSH DATS. , ^ , By Amy Eleanor Mack. With 39 photographs. Cloth (uniform with "A Bush Calendar"), 3s. Gd. (postage Id.) _ , , , , , T. P.'s Weekly (London) : "A delightful book of descrip- tive studies in natMre." 19 THE BUTTERFLIES OF AUSTRALIA: A Monograph of the Australian Rhopalocera. By G. A. Watbehousb, B.Sc, B.E., F.E.S., and G. Lyell,. F.E.S. With 4 coloured and 39 un- coloured full-page plates, and numerous figures in the text. Demy 4to., cloth gilt, 42s. {postage 6d.) Nature (London) says: "The study of the butterflies of Australia is certain to be greatly advanced by the appearance of this admirable work, containing 43 excellent quarto plates, of which 4 are coloured. In addition to this abundant and most necessary illustration in plates, the reader is provided with numbers of text-figures as well as a valuable map-index of localities. ... A concluding section, with 'Notes on Collect- ing and Collections,' complete the work by rendering it a sufficient guide to the beginner. The keen Australian naturalist is now provided with a foundation upon which to build." AN INTRODUCTION TO THE GEOLOGY OF NEW SOUTH WALES. By C. A. SussMiLCH, F.G.S. Second edition, thoroughly revised and greatly enlarged, with folding coloured map and 100 other maps and illustrations. Cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. {postage 3d.) Australian Mining Stakoard: "Students are greatly in- debted to Mr. Sussmilch for the able manner in which he has presented in compact form all that is known at the present time on the subject . . . The illustrations throughout are excellent, but the coloured geological map which serves as a frontispiece is a model of what such a nap should be, avoid- ing the opposite evils of overcrowding and meagreness. Mr. Sussmilch's book should be of value, not only to students in tlie colleges, but to those practical miners who are also students." THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF BOILER CONSTRUCTION. By W. D. Ceuickshank, M. I. Meeh. E., late Chief Engineering Surveyor, New South Wales Govern- ment. Second edition, revised and enlarged, with 70 illustrations. Cloth gilt, 15s. {postage 3d.) Journal of the Marine Engineers' Association: "A practical treatise on the construction and management of steam boilers . will be found of great value to practical engineers." »0 CHBI8T0PHEB COCKLE'S AUSTRALIAN EXPERIENCES. By "Old Boomerang" (J. R. Houlding). Eevisea edition, with 2 portraits. Cloth gilt, 5s. (postage 2d.) Originally published under the the title "Australian Gapers," this volume has been out of print for many years, and copies which have come into the market secondhand have been pur- chased at enhanced prices. The author has at last consented to its republication and has thoroughly revised it Afs a picture of Australian life thirty or forty years ago the book is worthy of a permanent place in our literature, and it con- tains plenty of fun and humour for both old and young. THE MOTHER STATE: The Physical Features, Natural Resources, Geology, Scenery, Climate, Industries and Commerce of New South Wales. By J. M. Taylor, M.A., LL.B. With 85 illustrations and maps. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. {postage 2d.) This is the only up-to-date general description of "New South Wales available for sending to friends abroad. All the in- formation is drawn from the latest authentic sources and the illustrations and maps add largely to the book's interest and value. SONGS OF A SUNLIT LAND. By Colonel J. A. Kenneth Mackay, C.B. Cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. (postage 2d.) SIMPLE TESTS FOR MINERALS: Every Man his own Analyst. By Joseph Campbell, M.A., F.G.S., M.I.M.E. Fourth edition, revised and enlarged (completing the twelfth thousand). With illustrations. Cloth', round corners, 3s. 6d. (postage Id.) Ballabat Stab : "This is an excellent little work, and should be in the hands of every scientific and practical miner." Bendigo Evening Mail: "Should be in every prospector's kit. It enables any intelligent man to ascertain for himself whether any mineral he may discover has a commercial value." 31 TEE COMMONWEALTH SERIES. Picture covers, Is. per volume {postage Id.) BY HENRY LAWSON. Prose. While the Billy Boils (First and Second Series) On the Track Over the Sliprails Joe Wilson Joe Wilson's Mates Send Round the Hat The Romance oe the Swag Popular Verses HujioBous Verses When I Was King The Elder Son The Rising of the Court (Contains Prose also) BY A. B. PATERSON. An Outback Marriage (full-length novel) The Old Bush Songs (edited only by ivlr. Paterson) BY WILL OGILVIE. Pair Girls '^ A reprint in two parts of the farourite Gray Horses 3 volume, ' ' Pair Girls and Gray Horses. ' ' BY BRUNTON STEPHENS. My Chinee Cook, and Other Humorous Verses BY CHARLES WHITE. History of Australian Bushranging (in 4 parts, each com- plete in itself, and well illustrated) — The Early Days; 1850 to 1862; 1863 to 1869; 1869 to 1878 BY GEORGE E. BOXALL. History of the Australian Bushrangers — Part I.: To the Time of Frank Gardiner Part II.: To the End of the Kelly Gang HISTORY OF THE AUSTRALIAN AGRICULTURAL COMPANY, 1824-1875. By Jesse Geegson, Ex-Superintendent. With por- traits, cloth gUt, 6s. (postage 2d.) 33 AUSTRALIAN HOUSE DRAINAGE PRACTICE. By H. G. Wills, A.I.S.E., A.R. San. I., Lecturer at Sydney Technical College. With 109 illustrations. Cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. {postage 3d.) This book is indispensable to builders, master-drainers, journeymen and students alike — the only book on House Drain- age suitable for Australasian conditions. Everything is ex- plained in a thoroughly practical manner, and the illustrations and diagrams are exceptionally valuable. DAIRYING IN AUSTRALASIA : Farm and Factory. By M. A. O'Callaghan, Chief of Dairy Branch, Department of Agriculture. Contains over 700 pages and more than . 200 plates. Royal 8vo., cloth, 10s. {postage 5d.) The Daibt (London) : "It gives in clear and unmiatakeable language the whole of the dairy manipulation from beginning to end . . . His book is of world-wide application and use- fulness." THE AUSTRALIAN LETTERING BOOK. Containing the Alphabets most useful in Mapping, Exercise Headings, &e., with practical 'applica- tions. Easy Scrolls, nourishes, Borders, Corners, Rulings, &e. Limp cloth, 6d. {postage Id.) COOKERY BOOK OF GOOD AND TRIED RECEIPTS. Compiled for the Presbifterian Women's Missionary Association. Fourteenth edition, enlarged, completing 200,000 copies. Cloth boards, Is. {postage Id.) Extract from Preface: "The aim of this book has always been, not only to provide wholesome and economical recipes for capable housewives, but to help those who have not had the benefit of maternal guidance and home training. It is significant that many discerning women have made a habit of giving a copy of the • Presbyterian Cookery Book ' to every new bride of their acquaintance." 23 COMMONSENSB HOUSEHOLD COOKEBY BOOK. Compiled by the Cookery Teachers' Association of N.S.W. Cloth boards, Is. (postage Id.) School edition, prescribed by N.S.W. Department of Public Instruction for use in Primary Schools, limp cloth, 9d. {postage Id.) Nearly 20,000 copies already sold. The virtue of this book is that it sets out each ingredient and every step in method separately and distinctly, so that even the veriest novice has jio difficulty in following the directions. C0MM0N8EN8E HINTS ON PLAIN COOKEBT. A companion to the "Commonsense Cookery Book." Compiled by the N.S.W. Cookery Teachers' ' Association. Limp cloth, 9d. {postage Id.) THE CUTTEB'S GUIDE. A Manual of Dresscutting and Ladies' Tailoring. By M. E. Roberts, Lecturer at Sydney Technical College. Fourth edition, revised, with 139 dia- " grams. Cloth gUt, 7s. 6d. {postage 2d.) Tailoes' Abt JotjejSTAL: "To all those inquirers from whom we have had continued correspondence asking for information as to the ways and means of perfecting their knowledge in the rudiments of ladies' dressmaking and tailoring, we can safely say that no book is better suited for their purpose than this." GABMENT CUTTING FOB GIBLS. A Course of Scientific Garment Cutting for Schools. By M. E. Roberts. Prescribed for use in Girls' High Schools. With 50 diagrams. Paper boards, 2s. 6i. {postage Id.) DBESS-GUTTING MEASUBE BOOK. For Students and Pupils using "The Cutter's Guide," and "Garment Cutting for Girls." 6d. {postage Id.) 34