AN UP-COUNTRY TOWNSHIP.

Evening Star, Volume VIII, Issue 2286, 3 September 1870, Page 2

AN UP-COUNTRY TOWNSHIP.

{Continued.)

The following, which appears in the Austrainman of August 6, is by Marcus Clarke, the ‘ ‘ Peripatetic Philosopher”:—

It was not often that we had amusement of this sort in Bullockstown. Except at shearing time, when the “ hands” knocked down their checpics (and never picked them up again), gaiety was scarce- Steady drinking at the Royal Cobb, and a dance at Tro\vb;idge,s were the two excitements. The latter soon palled upon the palate, for there were but five women in the township, three of whom were aged, or as Wallaby said, “ biokeu-mouthcd crawlers, not worth the trouble of culling.” The other two were daughters of old Trowbridge, and could cut out a refaobory bullock with the best stockman on the plains. But what were two among so many? I have seen 15 couples stand in Trowbridge’s to the “ Cruiskeen Lawn,” and dance a mild polka, gyrating round each other like other intelligent weather-cocks. The stationery dance of the bush baud is a fearful and wonderful thing. Two sheepi-h, blushing, grinning stockmen grip each other’s elbows, and solemnly twirl to the music of their loose spurs. They don’t dance, they simply twirl, with a rocking motion like that of an intoxicated teetotum, and occasionally shout to relieve their feelingings. If the Cruiskeen Lawn had been the Old Hundredth they could not have looked more melancholy. Moreover, I think that to treat a hornpipe as a religious ceremony is a mistake. The entertainment was varied with a free fight for the hands of the Misses Trowbridge. One of these liberal measures was passed every ten minutes or so, Trowbridge standing in the background, waiting to pick up the man with the most money. As a study (of human nature the scene was interesting, as a provocative to reckless hilarity it was not eminently successful.

The other public-houses were much of the same stamp. The township was a sort of rule of three sum in alcohol. As the Royal Cobb was to Trowbridge’s, so was Trowbridge’s to the Three Posts. Or you might work it the other way ; as the Three Posts was to Trowbridge’t, so was Trowbridge’s tp the Royal Cpbb. The rcsulf was always the same—a shilling a nobbier. True, that Trowbridge’s did not “lamb down” S3 well as the Three Posts, but then the Three Posts put fig tobacco in its brandy casks, and Trowbridge’s did not do that. True, that the coach stopped at the Royal Cobb, but then the Royal Cobb had no daughters, and some passengers preferred to take their cut of the joint in Tfqwbridgels, Provi. deuce equalised conditions even injßullockstown,

The Royal Cobb was perhapn the best house. It was kept by Mr Longbow, a tall thin, one eyed, and eminently genteel man, who was always smoking. He was a capital host, a shrewd man of the world, and a hand shot with a duck gun. No one knew what he had been, and no one could with any certainty predict what he might be. He shot birds, stuffed beasts, discovered mines, set legs, played the violin, and was “np ” in the Laud Act. He wqs a universal genius, in fact, and had but one fault. His yergeity was too small for his imagination. It was useless to argue with Longbow. He was “all there,” no matter where you might be. The Derby! He had lost 50 thou, in Musjid’s year. The interior of Africa ! He had lived there for months, and spoke gorilese like a nat ve. The Duke of Wellington ! He had been bis most intimate friend, and called him “Arthur" for years, I shall never forget one pathetic evening, when after much unlimited 100, and some considerable hot whiskey, Longbow to’d me of his troubles. “ Beastly colony!” he said, “beastly! Why, my dear boy, when I was leaving; but there, never mind, Buckingham and Chandos was right. Never mind what they may say, sir, Buckingham and Chandos was as right as the mail.” I replied that from the reports I had heard of Buckingham and Chandos, I had no doubt whatever that he was all that could be desired by the most fastidious. Upon which Longbow favored rqe wi(h a history of B. and C. lending him L2O,O(|Q on his note of hand, and borrowing his dress waistcoat to dance at Roshervilie Gardens. Before I left he volunteered to produce—some day when I wasn’t busy—the Duke of Wellington’s autograph letter, containing the celebrated recipe for devilled mushrooms, with a plan of the lines of Torres Yedras drawn on the back of it, and he would not allpiy me tp leqve him until hq told me how her Majesty had said, Long; bow, old man, sorry to lose you, but Australia’s a fine place. Go in and win, and chance the—ducks !” This ’ last story was quite impressive, more especially as Longbow acted the scene between himself and her Majesty, aud—making the whiskey-bottle take the place of the Duchess of Sutherland —alternated parts with himself as poor Jack Longbow, antf himself as the 'flrat lord-in. waiting, crying, “Damme, Jack, come out o' that j she’s going to ory, you big brute!

Can’t you see it ?” I listened with approving patience, and never smiled until the very end of the story, where I onghow rushed frantically from the Presence, and knocked A. Saxe Gotha heels over tip into the brand new coalscuttle on the landing. “Oh! those were the days ! D the Colony, and pass the whiskey !” Opposite to the Royal Cohb was the school hoase. It had four scholars, and the master was paid by results. He used to drink a large quantity of rum to settle any symptoms of indigestion, arising from his plethora of funds, I suppose, and was always appealed to on matters of quotations. He was a very old man with a very red nose, and “had been a gentleman ” Thera was never an upcountry township yet that had not some such melancholy waif and stray in it. _ When the schoolmaster got very drank indeed, he would quote Aristophanes, and on one memorable occasion put FlaAi Jack’s song—“Oh Sally she went up the stairs, and I went up to find her, “And as she stooped to buckle her shoe, 1 tumbled down behind her !” into Horatian alcaics. He quarrelled with the visiting inspector because he (the v i.) said that wigs were not worn by the ancients, and our broken-down gentleman slated him with the case of Astyages as given by Xenophon. He confessed afterwards that setting your superiors right on matters of quotation is not politic, nnd that ho wished he had left it alone, He was from Dublin University. How is it that the wittiest talkers, the most brilliant classics, and the most irreclaimable drunkards, all ased to come from Dublin University ?