Somebody is after horses—
Donald, Charlie, or young Mac—
Suddenly his arm he tosses;
Presently you'll hear the crack,
As the symbol of the cross is
Made on Possum's steaming back.
Stirling first! the Masher follows—
Ly-ee-moon and old Trump Card;
Helter-skelter through the shallows
Of the willow-shaded ford:
Up the lane and past the gallows.
Driven panting to the yard.
In the homestead, what a clatter!
Habits black and habits blue.
Full a dozen red lips patter:
‘Who is going to ride with who?'
Mixing sandwiches and chatter;
Gloves to button, hair to do.
Horses stamp and stirrups jingle,
‘Dash the filly! won't she wait?'
Voices, bass and treble, mingle.
‘Look sharp, May, or we'll be late!'
How the pulses leap and tingle
As you lift her featherweight!
At the thought the heart beats quicker
Than an old Bohemian's should—
Beating like my battered ticker
(Pawned this time, I fear, for good).
Bah! I'll go and have a liquor
With the genial Jimmy Wood.
The comparison between city and country indicates whither his thoughts were turning. It was his habit to show me his
