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Project Gutenberg Australia HomeReturn to Index of Poems
‘Twas Rev’rend Jubb from Wagga way
Whose crock knocked up one sultry day
Along the road to Henty;
And pushed for time, he left the track
To borrow one trustworthy hack
From Callop who had plenty.
“Well,” Callop said, “there’s Bumble Bee,
The same old moke wot carries me,
An’, bless me, you can trust him;
He’s nice to ride, he’s staunch an’ sound,
An’ I’ll go bail he’ll take you round—
But do not try to bust him.”
The good man mounted, not too sure
That Callop’s word was Gospel pure,
And sadly feared he’d tumble;
But ere he’d ridden many miles,
His solemn face lit up with smiles
In soulful praise of Bumble.
He had one ear, one stumpy tail,
And monstrous hoofs that beat like hail
As briskly onward went he;
And confident upon his back,
With brolly up and ribbons slack,
Jubb reached the town of Henty.
Just round the corner stood a pub,
A place abhor’d by Mister Jubb—
‘Twas kept by Dan O’Leary;
And straight for this did Bumble stride,
Nor rein nor spur could draw him wide,
And why?—that was the query.
He kicked and coaxed, he pulled and tugged;
But O’Leary’s front still Bumble hugged,
And towards the horse-rail sidled.
The perspiration teemed from Jubb,
As he observed within that pub
A grinning sinner idled.
Anon came Dan, and thus he spoke:
“Sure, ‘tis yourself’s on Callop’s moke!
Then in his steps ye’ll foller;
Get off awhile—ye needn’t shout—
Just walk you in an’ walk you out,
Or ye’ll be there to-morrer.”
The good man gasped and looked around.
Then timidly he touched the ground,
And dared the grinning devil.
O’Leary laughed; he couldn’t speak,
To see him enter like a sneak,
Where sinners soak and revel.
“An’ now ye’re here, ye won’t go out
Without a glass of ale or stout,”
Said Mrs. Dan O’Leary.
‘Twas very hot, he needed not
Much pressing now he’d reached the spot;
Besides, the man was weary.
He tossed it off; ‘twas rather strong;
The glass likewise was extra long,
Still he no plot suspected.
Then Bumble as per custom sought
The shops where Callop’s duds were bought,
And other bars inspected.
“To call an’ wine was Callop’s plan,”
Each shopman and each publican
Explained in accents humble;
“In fifteen years I’ve known’ that horse,
He’s ne’er been asked off Callop’s course—
So you must humor Bumble.”
They each induced the good young man
To “have just one” till he began
To wobble in his paces;
And one good dame persuaded him.
T’ accept some ducks “from Little Jim,”
Who’d won them at the races.
They hung them over Bumble’s spine,
And lest they’d slip, with yards of twine
They tied them to the crupper;
Then Jubb was hoisted on the horse,
Though he would fain have stopped, of course—
At least till after supper.
Old Bumble knew the signal well—
The fumbling fingers he could tell,
And eke the seat unsteady;
Thus when his rider lurched and roll’d,
Talked to himself and sang, it told
That he for home was ready.
So that sagacious quadruped
Turned from the town and homeward sped—
So fast past camp and hovel,
That people stared and mongrels yapped;
While swinging mallards wildly flapped,
And quacked their disapproval.
The more they beat upon his hide,
The more determined was his stride—
Until the crupper parted.
At once he slackened on the trail,
To kick the cumb’rance from his tail;
And then for home he darted.
A sudden prop the gateway near
Caused Jubb to land upon his ear,
Wherefore he groaned and panted.
Next morn the Callops looked in vain
About the spot where he had lain—
For Parson had levanted.
Nor to this day can Wagga tell
What came of him, or what befel
To cause the Good to stumble,
But Henty oft in secret chides,
As oft it grins when Callop rides
The usual course on Bumble.
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