ember several things which he, no doubt, would rather forget,
including

... the hiding you got from the boys.

The song is decidedly personal.

But Sam Holt makes a pile and goes home, leaving many a better and worse
man to pad the hoof Out Back. And--Jim Nowlett sang this with so much
feeling as to make it appear a personal affair between him and the
absent Holt--

And, don't you remember the fiver, Sam Holt,
You borrowed so careless and free?
I reckon I'll whistle a good many tunes

(with increasing feeling)

Ere you think of that fiver and me.

For the chances will be that Sam Holt's old mate

Will be humping his drum on the Hughenden Road
To the end of the chapter of fate.

. . . . .

An echo from "The Old Bark Hut", sung in the opposition camp across the
gully:

You may leave the door ajar, but if you keep it shut,
There's no need of suffocation in the Ould Barrk Hut.

. . . . .

The tucker's in the gin-case, but you'd better keep it shut--
For the flies will canther round it in the Ould Bark Hut.

However:

What's out of sight is out of mind, in the Ould Bark Hut.

. . . . .

We washed our greasy moleskins
On the banks of the Condamine.--

Somebody tackling the "Old Bullock Dray"; it must be over fifty verses
now. I saw a bushman at a country dance start to sing that song; he'd
get up to ten or fifteen verses, break down, and start afresh. At last
he sat down on his heel to it, in the centre of the clear floor, resting
his wrist on his knee, and keeping time with an index finger. It was
very funny, but the thing was taken seriously all through.

Irreverent echo from the old Lambing Flat trouble, from camp across the
gully:

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!
No more Chinamen will enter Noo South Wales!

and

Yankee Doodle came to town
On a little pony--
Stick a feather in his cap,
And call him Maccaroni!

All the camps seem to be singing to-night:

Ring the bell, watchman!
Ring! Ring! Ring!
Ring, for the good news
Is now on the wing!

Good lines, the introduction:

High on the belfry the old sexton stands,
Grasping the rope with his thin bony hands!...
Bon-fires are blazing throughout the land...
Glorious and blessed tidings! Ring! Ring the bell!

. . . . .

Granny Mathews fails to coax her ni