shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post!
For he left the others standing, in the straight;
And the rider -- well they reckoned it was Andy Regan's ghost,
And it beat 'em how a ghost would draw the weight!
But he weighed it, nine stone seven, then he laughed and disappeared,
Like a Banshee (which is Spanish for an elf),
And old Hogan muttered sagely, 'If it wasn't for the beard
They'd be thinking it was Andy Regan's self!'

And the poor of Kiley's Crossing drank the health at Christmastide
Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green.
There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died,
And they wondered who on earth he could have been.
But they settled it among 'em, for the story got about,
'Mongst the bushmen and the people on the course,
That the Devil had been ordered to let Andy Regan out
For the steeplechase on Father Riley's horse!

The Scotch Engineer

With eyes that searched in the dark,
Peering along the line,
Stood the grim Scotchman, Hector Clark,
Driver of 'Forty-nine',
And the veldt-fire flamed on the hills ahead,
Like a blood-red beacon sign.

There was word of a fight to the north,
And a column hard-pressed,
So they started the Highlanders forth,
Without food, without rest.

But the pipers gaily played,
Chanting their fierce delight,
And the armoured carriages rocked and swayed,
Laden with men of the Scotch Brigade,
Hurrying up to the fight,
And the grim, grey Highland engineer,
Driving them into the night.

Then a signal light glowed red,
And a picket came to the track.
'Enemy holding the line ahead,
Three of our mates we have left for dead,
Only we two got back.'
And far to the north through the still night air,
They heard the rifles crack.

And the boom of a gun rang out,
Like the sound of a deep appeal,
And the picket stood in doubt
By the side of the driving-wheel.

But the Engineer looked down,
With his hand on the starting-bar,
'Ride ye back to the town,
Ye know what my orders are,
Maybe they're wanting the Scotch Brigade
Up on those hills afar.

'I am no soldier at all,
Only an engineer,
But I could not bear that the folk should say,
Over in Scotland -- Glasgow way --
That Hector Clark stayed here
With the Scotch Brigade till the foe were gone,
With ever a rail to run her on.
Ready behind! Stand clear!

'Fireman,