The indictments of Dalinkua and Dalipia 1858 - 1859

Breakfast Creek was an important Corroboree site for the Turrbal People. Illustration part of the walkway signage opposite Newstead House, Breakfast Creek. 

I recently became aware of the following collection of six letters by two aboriginal spokespeople, Dalinkua and Dalipia. I am collating them into one place as an important repository of a set of primary sources. The letters have been retrieved from the National Library of Australia’s online newspaper archive, Trove.

They are protest letters that accuse  European Christians of hypocrisy in their treatment of Australian Aboriginal people. They are written from an aboriginal camp at Breakfast Creek. This camp was the base of operations for resistance actions against the colonising powers in Brisbane, and the two authors were leaders in that resistance. According to Kerkhove ..

While … unrest was unfolding, Dalaipi based himself at Breakfast Creek, an Aboriginal village comprising several camps that formed the base of attacks on European settlers. The Breakfast Creek camps were burnt down by police and early colonisers at least six times, but were continually rebuilt. They lay opposite Newstead House, home of the government resident and police magistrate Captain John Wickham, and host to the governor-general during the separation debate.

Authorship

I will admit that my first reading led me to question the authorship. It seemed too cosmopolitan in outlook and complex in vocabulary, especially given that first contact probably dated no earlier than 1838 with the establishment of the German Mission, also know as Zion Hill (Langbridge, Sloane and Ganter, n.d.). Furthermore the outlook of the first letter in particular lacks the black pride I am familiar with today. I write this during NAIDOC Week 2024, and the catch cry “Blak, loud and proud,” is not at all the feeling in these letters.

However I am persuaded that my doubts are unfounded.

Note, the spelling of the author’s names vary through the letters, Dalinkua or Dalinqua, Dalipie or Dalipia (which differs again from the spelling Dalaipi which seems to be the accepted spelling today).

Ray Kerkhove in his Indigenous Australia contribution to the Australian Dictionary of Biography on Dalaipi (Dalinkua does not have an entry) comments that …

Dalaipi and Dalinkua’s indictments offered frank and detailed condemnations of European settlement from an Indigenous perspective. Although they were probably embellished by a European ghost writer — presumably someone who met the delegates at their Breakfast Creek camp and supported their cause — the articles’ tone and topics closely align with views Dalaipi voiced on other occasions; for example, he made statements to Tom Petrie on Christian double standards and the injustices his people suffered. The indictments’ religious references can probably be traced to Dalaipi’s frequent visits to Zion Hill.

Dr Wooloombi Waters, Senior Lecturer at the school of humanities, languages and social science at Griffith University, after interviewing Dr Henry Reynolds, probably the leading Australian author in indigenous matters,  and Prof Raymond Evan, Adjunct Professor, Griffith University, Griffith University, specialising in frontier violence, states he was convinced of the indigenous authorship.

Dalinkua and Dalipie were trained by German Lutheran missionaries at an Indigenous settlement called Zion Hill situated in Nundah north of Brisbane. Dalipie in particular showed much promise in the literary arts and was able to speak and write in many languages including English, Greek and Latin.

There are six letters attached. Here are the key points

Letter 1 (17 Nov 1858) The aboriginal race lacked industry and civilisation. Contact with the colonisers could have been their salvation, but the colonisers failed to heed the doctrines of their holy book and thus betrayed their faith. It then asks “Will you hear the indictments we would bring?”

Condon (2010) comments with this letter 

… You can imagine white folk in the coffee houses or yarning at the horse bazaar in Queen Street or drinking at a nearby inn thinking or saying of course we were right, they are indolent savages, useless, worthless. Look, they admit it themselves.

It is the hook that catches the audience, leaving them open to the riposte of following letters.

Letter 2 (24 Nov 1858) First indictment: The colonisers stole hunting and fishing grounds and made no provision for the welfare of Aboriginal people to compensate.

Letter 3 (11 Dec 1858) Second indictment: The colonisers brought disease, poisoned the aboriginal with grog, and introduced a language that degrades them.

Letter 4 (29 Dec 1858) Third indictment: The Christian colonisers have not loved the aboriginal people, despite the teachings of the gospel.

Letter 5 (8 Jan 1859) Third indictment continues: the absence of a clear religion in the aboriginal people has given the colonial powers an excuse in their mistreatment of the aboriginal, especially in comparison to the occupation of India.

Letter 6 (26 Jan 1859) Third indictment continues: The whitefella has not shared the gospel with us in our own language. Christians have been inert, worldly and selfish.

The letters

First Letter -  Wednesday 17 November 1858, page 2

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier.

SIR, — Permit us to thank those gentlemen who have spoken in your paper regarding our helpless state — we do need help. Far back in the unexplored annals of antiquity — sacred now owing to distance — the curse of indolence settled on our ancestors ; and we inherited from them all that rust which ages have gathered and thickened on our minds, so that we cannot open them. The darkness of centuries has stunted, dwarfed, and killed our intellects. All of man that was in us was so fettered that we became more and more stupid and indocile, as one generation succeeded another, until we reached the lowest platform of society, where we have lain stagnant in sluggish torpor until now. All of humanity, all of intellectuality, are long since dead and gone from us for want of exercise; animal gratification was all we or our people desired. Is it to be wondered that our tastes became gross, that our habits became filthy and disgusting, as you now find them to be? There is no tendency to improvement, nor has been for many ages back among our people. No example of industry did we get from our fathers, except when hunger compelled us to hunt, or fierce and revengeful feeling urged us to fight.

No Triptolemus ever came to teach our fathers to cultivate the ground. No Cadmus ever came to them bringing useful arts with him. We never heard of a Mancocapac descending from the Sun to show them the conveniences of civilisation. No John Beck has ever read or told them or us the " Story of Grace'' in our own tongue, so that we could understand it.

We were possessed of a splendid country, not exceeded by any part of this earth. We had a most salubrious climate, and ample space to roam over, until the Anglo-Saxon came from a far way off, and showed us an olive-branch; and we smoked the pipe of peace with him.

Sir, this Anglo-Saxon brought with him a "book of books," containing the laws and commands of the high and the holy One, who was Father of all, black and white ; and we were all brothers, all to love one another. They told us that the law of that book was perfect, converting the soul. Good, said we. — That it's testimony was sure, making wise the simple. Good, also said we.  — That its statutes wore right, rejoicing the heart. Much needed, we often sorry when hungry.—That its commandment was peace, enlightening the eyes. Just suited to us still. — That its judgments were true and righteous altogether. Good also. It said, moreover, the naked were to be clothed, and the hungry were to be fed. We were overjoyed at this. — It was also to enlighten by its light every man and woman. How suitable for our darkness. That it contained streams of comfort for every creature; and to crown the whole, we were told that love was the fulfilling of the whole of this law. That white fellow love us ; and we were told that the Great Father was everywhere present to see that his children observed all things whatsoever he had commanded them.

But, Sir, these Anglo-Saxons have not behaved towards us as if they believed that His eye was on them who has given them these statutes; and who has given them more knowledge than any other nation, also a loftier civilisation. In their dealing with us have they not all been selfish — many of them sensual and devilish? All the above laws have they trampled on, and we are sorry to have to impeach them before high heaven of crimes and misdemeanours. They will find many and terrible counts in that indictment which shall be brought to the bar of the Judge of the Universe who, when He makes inquisition for blood, will proceed on the very principles contained in the above-mentioned book ; and the sentence, " inasmuch as ye did it not to these, ye did it not to me."

We have spoken! If you hear us, we will speak next week more to our white brothers, and read their indictment.

DALINKUA, DALIPIE,

Delegates for all blackfellows Camp, Breakfast Creek, Nov. 16,1858.

Second Letter Wednesday 24 November 1858, page 2

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier

Sir, — Accept our thanks for hearing us last week. Hear us now in the indictment we bring against our Anglo-Saxon brothers' at the bar of Universal Justice. These, our white brothers, have taken our hunting and fishing grounds from us, that spot of earth from which we and our fathers obtained food, which was all we required; and they have not made any provision, to preserve us from starvation. They, the strongest nation on earth, have taken from the weakest nation the domain of their ancestors, and they have driven away defenceless fellow creatures to banishment, hardships and death. This, then, Sir, is the first count in that indictment which we bring against them before that Judge, "whose work is perfect, for all his ways are judgement; a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is He." Such, according to the book brought by our white brother, is the character of the great Father of all men ; and to him we appeal for justice, while we charge them with having robbed us" in the Queen's name."

Now how did our pale-faced brother obtain our land? Not by conquest for no one opposed him! He lost neither blood nor treasure in obtaining it. Not by cession, for no parties that we know off could cede it to him; but being possessed of power and knowledge, and we being weak and ignorant, he merely ran it over with a theodolite, a chain, a hatchet and some pegs or some marks on trees — their titles patent from the Queen, it thus become his property and we may starve, unless we skulk about and spear cattle. Sometimes we are driven away from any river frontage, where we could fish and find game, as was the case some years ago on the Ballona, where we were compelled to go back, because the cattle were frightened at us, to a track of country where no fish were to be got, and where there was not sufficient game to keep us alive to be found within a distance accessible to water; and where, amidst drought and starvation, we were tormented by a formidable species of ant, which infest the forests there in hot seasons. On those who assume the ownership of our land, and grant leases to occupy the same, making no provision that we shall be supplied with food, must and does lie a heavy responsibility; and at their door lies very much of the bloodshed of white and black through the colony. Something must be wrong, either here or in the mother country, for that mother's selfish children in this country have forfeited public honor; they have neither acted according to truth nor love; and they stand condemned by the ever-lasting maxim, " Whatever ye would that men should do unto you do ye also unto them."

But, Sir, our white brothers say that we have no right or proprietorship to the land, because we made no use of it. That we were wandering nomads, raking up grubs and snaring opposums one day, hunting kangaroos another day, and going a long way for some favorite fish on a third day. Now we grant that as we cannot subdue the land and make it productive, we have forfeited our right to as much of it as we do not require to support us; but support we must and ought to have. We were here before white men, and while the habits of our white brother adapt him to live in any climate, no part of the globe would suit us to live on but this the country of our birth. Now we might be content to be killed or starved, or run away and drown ourselves, believing that as our white brothers need all the country we are here by some mistake, and therefore ought to be off and give no trouble. But our white brother's law says he is "to respect aboriginal interests," and his Charter says he was to "invite the natives to the truths of Christianity." Well, then, there were aborigines and natives of the countries expected where colonies were to be planted by any Christian country whose hive swarmed and flew off to some distant shore.

Then, white brother, don't let your avarice or your pride let you seize on more of our former runs than you need — than you need we say, because to that extent only is it yours; and it is ours as much as we need until we gradually sink among the waves on the sea of time, leaving no ripple to mark where we sailed or sank.

But if we are to have no provision made for our few wants—it is but little we want " nor need that little long "— if our aged totter about your streets and stations only to be mocked and hooted, sometimes flogged and dogged; and our wives and children pine in want and hunger, then what a practical demonstration do you give us that you are our protectors and benefactors? Has not your conduct been to us more of malefactors than benefactors? You profess good will to all men, and say we are all children of one common Father, and that to that Father belongs all the silver and the gold — all the oil and the wine — all the wool and the flax — yes! and the cattle on a thousand hills; and that He sends food for every thing that lives. How then do you attempt to grasp our share and your own?

You feed the poor in your own land in times of dearth just to keep them from your throats but you make us poor and leave us to starve. The voice of Him who says "Blessed is he who wisely considereth the case of the poor " is not heard by you because you have no time. You came to make a fortune if possible; you live like a bird of prey, and if you amass wealth you soon become a bird of passage, and fly away to make way for hungry successors. You do not seek the good of the land where you dwell. Your avarice makes you forfeit the blessings of the life that now is — and as for the life to come we should not like you in the same heaven with us, unless you're greatly altered. But, Sir, some brother will perhaps say the Government ought to look to us. So they ought, perhaps; but it's no use our looking to them; if they have taken our lands it's for the good of the inhabitants of these lands for whom they govern; besides the government is what the people made it and it's responsible to the people to do what they wish. The government will not be recognised at that bar to which we appeal. Had our country been defended by gods — our white brother's government would, as it has done in India, have endowed them, and their priests and pagadoes. Had we been led by princes of our tribes to fight, those princes would have been pensioned off to live in affluence on the banks of the Parramatta river ; but as we have no national gods — and never trusted in princes, we leave our case with Him who has all power in heaven and earth.

Second count next week.

DALINKUA. DALIPIA.

Delegates.

Camp, Breakfast, Creek, Nov. 22nd, 1858.

Third Letter -  Saturday 11 December 1858, page 2

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier.

SIR, Permit us this week to tell our Anglo-Saxon brothers the second count in that fearful indictment, which we are compelled to bring against them, before the great Father of us all, white and black. Said second count being, that they have poisoned our bodies by disease ; degraded our habits by drunkenness; and polluted our language by a foul and tainted slang. Now for the proof! Look at our bodies, made like your own, all but the skin. Are we not healthy, sound, strong, and nimble, until we come into contact with our white brother? But look at us after we have been contaminated by a loathsome disease, bequeathed to us by our white brothers, and see how many of us are disgusting spectacles, rotting with putrefaction while yet living; and when the cold of winter sets in, see our numbers fearfully reduced by death. See also our wretched off-spring, masses of putrid sores while yet at their mother's breast, from the same disease conveyed in their very blood. The history of this baneful malady, as introduced among our tribes, we cannot give. It is "naked and open" to the all-seeing One, to Whose tribunal we appeal.

No doubt we could only obtain such a curse as this from coming in contact with that scum and filth, frequently found on the front of the onward wave of civilization; particularly in these colonies; where crime and sorrow were brought — cargo after cargo — and landed to feed as they might, the appetites they had acquired in the worst society of their fatherland. But what have the more respectable portion of the community done to remedy the evil thus inflicted on us? We know nothing of the required medicine for this disease. By us no medical man can be consulted secretly or openly. There is no hospital or "house of mercy" where our sick can be received and treated for such a complaint as we have described. No, we are looked on with ineffable disdain, and left to perish, unpitied sacrifices to civilization. Oh for the spirit of a Howard or a Wilberforce in our land!

But our white brother has also degraded our habits by introducing his fire-water to us, giving us drink from that woeful well of liquid poison which overruns like a flood his fatherland, and branches off to all its dependencies ; and as these colonies were at first founded by the victims of Rum and Co., an abundant supply of the "blue ruin" was, from the earliest period of their history, supplied to them by the then authorities of the land, so that these outcasts might be whirled about in the vortex of vice, and retained in their wretched position ; and that their coercion might be a pretext for creating and sustaining colonial sinecures. Ever since then the Upas tree has been growing day and night. Its branches have untiringly given out its seductive distillations and dews of death, while health and beauty give way before its fearful fecundity. Virtue withers in the land, and patriotism droops and decays. From head to foot it binds our white brother as a slave, but still he nurses it. The members of the House of Lords import the national curse. The members of the Lower House register themselves as "wholesale" distributors of the stream of want, and waste, and woe; and then the keenest, the cutest, and most profit-loving members of the community are eager to dispense the national, drinkable tyrant, in single globules, to moisten the dry clay, and cool the hot coppers who call on them.

Oh, Sir, our white brothers say we savages are foul feeders! Are not they dirty drinkers? and by their drinks given to us we have got an appetite also for stimulants, and we drink, and we go mad ; and our bodies become full of pains and cramps, which we had no knowledge of before. Wild passions lash us into fury — and with eyes starting from their sockets, and with shrieking, rolling, and roaring, friends embrue their hands in each other's blood, for revenge of imaginary grievances. Wives and children are beat and trampled upon; and the young women of the tribe have their throats cut in such wild fits of jealousy as sometimes take white demons, and prompts them to make sure that no one else get her. The intoxicating drink has left among us the insane, the idiot, and the cripple. Yet, Christian reader, those debased, degraded, miserable, and pitiable savages are your neighbors. Can you love them? If so, you will help them — you will no longer allow them the means of degradation.

Again, Sir, it is pitiable to hear the demoralising language given us by our white neighbours; themselves possessed of a language which is capable of conveying the truths of a holy religion, as well as the profoundest science and the purest literature; or varied into lively conversation, and made the medium of disclosing the most hallowed emotions, why should they have given us only foul and sensual slang, full of obscenity, oaths, and blasphemy! (all of which the rising generation round the towns and hamlets are learning from us again). And that nation, that boasts of the language of a Chatham, has in Australia degraded the speech of the savage by the wicked trash taught to him.

Third count next week.

DALINKUA, }

DALIPIA, } Delegates.

Camp, Breakfast Creek, Dec. 3,1858.

Fourth Letter  Wednesday 29 December 1858, page 2

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier,

Sir,—The third count in that indictment which we are compelled to bring against our white brothers is, that though they have received from the Great Father a valuable book containing laws that are holy, just, and good containing precepts inculcating brotherly kindness and charity-containing words more precious than gold, and sweeter than honey — containing sincere milk — and heavenly manna for food; and containing light to those who pine in darkness, all of which they have entrusted to them with the command, that they are to invite "every creature" to share with them out of those abundant supplies, and, to share free gratis without money and without any price; but they have not done so. They are leaving us, their neighbors, ignorant of these inexhaustible treasures — ignorant that our very degradation forms our best recommendation, to the fountain of all goodness, since we have all been bought with a price.

But, Sir, at once let us be understood, that we are not addressing ourselves to infidelity in any of its existing forms. Not to the infidel, who, issuing from darkness, guided — only by the dark lantern of his own reason, and approaching the darkness of eternal annihilation, with no conscience to smite him, no hope to cheer him, nor any dread of punishment to deter him. With his perishing soul and his putrifying body, he can take refuge in his nothingness against the vengeance of that tribunal to which we appeal. Not to the infidel who denies the existence of a God — not to the infidel who annihilates the personality of Deity and knows no God distinct from the universe of being. Not to the infidel who denies the Divine Providential Government of the world, even though he were the author of the "Progress of the Intellects." Not to the infidel who denies the responsibility of man for his conduct, even were he such a one as the author of the "Constitution of Man,'' since society always advances morally in Proportion as the sense of individual responsibility is high. No! nor to the formal infidel who, while he draws near with his lips to his Maker, is far distant — who may be mindful of the claims  — of the treasury of his -own sect, while he contents himself with saying to a needy brother, "be thou warmed and filled," but for which he furnishes no means when it is in his power. He considers not, that in proportion to his ability is his responsibility. He will never be eyes to the blind, feet to the lame, a father to the poor, nor reserve the blessing of them that are ready to perish.

But to those, who recognise the divine authority of the God-like and heaven-sent book above-mentioned, we do speak. Of them we ask, will the treatment of the aborigines of Australia bear the light of Christian love; or will such light not show that if Christians have come into our neighborhood, they have been selfish Christians, contented to sit under their own vine and fig-tree, not wishing to know why they, the possessors of a holy religion, should have been brought from a land of light and knowledge, and settled among "pagans suckled in a creed outworn," not discerning that heavenly light? While our Christian neighbors decline or delay to help us in this matter, they give us great reason to doubt whether they are the disciples of Him whose " marching order" was, " go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature." Let them remember who brought to their fatherland that light from the foun-tain of celestial radiance which still continues to shine on Britain, and has put her in a position to send her sons and daughters to colonise and christianise distant lands; and let them know that Providence evidently intended that they should carry with them the love of Christians, the spirit of Christians, and that grateful for what themselves possessed, they should be ready to impart to any whom they might find destitute. Nor can they either from indolence, insensibility, or cuddled up selfishness, neglect their Master's command, without forfeiting all claim on His promise, "Lo, I am with you"; but to neglect to make known the redemptive economy of the Saviour to his sin-stricken creatures, is to neglect a duty, and necessarily forfeiting all claim to the blessing; for it is only the liberal soul that shall be made fat; it is those who water others that shall be watered themselves. That any one who has a capacity for knowledge should die ignorant is to be deplored; but that a whole people should be left in ignorance is, indeed, a foul stain in the history of the world. Let not Christians clasp their scorpion conscience closer to their breast, when it speaks that something ought to be done for these poor pagans, and still continue to neglect us and our people. Mind if you sow the seeds by conveying to us the great truths, greatest of truths, in our own language, so that we can understand them, you are not accountable for the consequences; and if you do your duty, you may leave the rest to Him with whom are the issues from death.

But let your teaching be accompanied by such treatment as will convince even black-fellows that you love them. Impart to them some of the good things of this world, for if hunger pinched you and none cared for your body, how could you believe that they cared for the soul? It takes stronger faith than any blackfellow has to draw comfort from heaven when the bounty of earth is withheld.

Continued next week.

DALINQUA,

DALIPIE, Delegates.

Camp, Breakfast Creek, Dec. 27,1858.

Fifth Letter - Saturday 8 January 1859, page 2

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier.

SIR,—In continuation of the "third count" in that indictment, which we are forced to bring against our white brothers, we charge them with having disregarded the command of the Great Father, and being unfaithful to the trust reposed in them; insomuch as they leave us and our people, whom they find stripped of land where our fathers hunted on, and driven off naked and wounded, diseased and destitute, to pine away and perish; while their government, like the priest in the parable, passes us by on the one side, and their church, Levite like, passes us on the other, neither of them taking any notice of our utter helplessness; leaving us, perhaps, until some good Samaritan, of another creed and another nation, pass this way, and supply us with what is needful, both for this life and that which is to come.

Let it not be thought that we wish a revival of the Protectorate we once had assigned to us; the working machinery of which was badly constructed, and the wrong men often in the right place. But, surely, our white brothers, in their wisdom, could devise means whereby our wants could be met; especially as we are told, that there are orders from mother England that lands be appropriated to our use, and that our support and instruction are to be liquidated out of the land fund. We refer to the despatches of Earl Gray, Lord Glenelg and others, and to the then colonial Governors.

We know also, that our white brother's government, among our neighbors in India, have paid large sums for the maintaining of a religion which they regarded as idolatry. The Marquis Wellesley's instructions to the then British resident at Lucknow was, to pay " liberal attention to the religious establishments and charitable foundations of the country." He was also to furnish to that nobleman "a statement of such public endowments of both the Hindoo and Mahommedan religion as you may propose to confirm "or extend." In the Madras Presidency, at Conjeveram, vast sums were expended by the Government in the support of the Brahmins, in adding to the Pagoda, and even decorating the elephants and danc-ing girls, at the festivals in honor of the idol. At the same place we find a Mr. Lionel Place procured for himself posthumous fame, by a present to the god of a gorgeous head ornament worth a thousand pounds. In fact, throughout a great part of the then Indian Empire, officers were appointed to see the temples were kept in repair, the services duly performed, and the god kept properly clothed. No doubt these were the dark age of India—as this is the dark age with us. Things are altered since in India, but the seeds then sown have indeed produced their fruit now, and they are "bitter clusters."

If we had a temple on Bribie's Island, with a stuffed dugong presiding as the god of health, ministered to by priests and waited on by attendants, it is very probable that we might have obtained some of the £28,000, which the British minister has made the inhabitants of these lands "stand and deliver," for the purposes of religious instruction. Or, if we had a Pagoda at the Bunya Bunya scrub, having a wooden Bunyip to worship as the hero of plenty, surrounded by devotees and frequented by pilgrims, we should have a grant of land for the benefit of the staff required to keep the idol shrine, and funds from the government for the idol festivals. Such grants we would have reason to expect, judging from what took place in the early history of Indian colonisation. We are aware that our country does not yield such a revenue as India ; but of what it does yield how much per cent, is bestowed on our people?

Christians, you are here in this land by the inscrutable Providence of God! Have you brought your religion with you? Is not its precept " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself?" If so, " Love worketh no ill to his neighbor, therefore love is the fulfilling of the law." Governed by this law you can no longer disregard the well-being of your fellow-creatures. Your brotherhood must develop itself more, if ye belong to Him who does not wish that any of His "little one's perish"; nor does He claim from you anything but what He has given you. "Give therefore a portion to seven, and also to eight, for thou knowest not what evil shall be on the earth," to deprive thee of the power to give any.

Continued next week.

DALINKUA,}

DALIPIE, } Delegates.

Camp, Breakfast Creek, Jan. 6,1859.

Sixth Letter -  Wednesday 26 January 1859, page 3

ABORIGINES.

To the Editor of the Moreton Bay Courier.

SIR,— In continuation of that "Third Count" which we bring against our white brothers, we charge them with neglecting a great public duty in not making known to us the truths of Christianity, when it is in their power to do so. And this duty they would find comparatively easy, because with us there is no old prejudices in favor of established abuses — no time honored systems of false theology to clear away. They have only to convey to us the truth in our own language to insure its reception.

But some among our Christian (?) brothers say, "these darkies are a dirty degraded doomed race for whom nothing can be done ; they are incapable of being improved and will soon die off." Now, as to the prophecy that we will soon die off, that has nothing to do with the duty devolving on them; and nothing but culpable indolence or indifference could invent such an excuse. As to the next statement — " that we are incapable of being improved," permit us to say that where the experiment has been tried, with any degree of perseverance, our old as well as our young have been found able and willing to learn. First for our young:— a writer who labored among our people on the other side of the colony, and on whose judgement and testimony reliance may be placed, says; "In reference to the children, they are capable of considerable elevation, intellectually, socially, and morally, if due care be only taken of them." Again, the same writer says, "When taken young they are capable of rapid advancement in every respect, and prove most interesting pupils." Again, "patience and perseverance will overcome every difficulty in connection with the aborigines. I know their very worst qualities as well as their best, and they are certainly not so bad as they are represented to be." Any one having a file of the Moreton Bay Courier, and will turn to the 10th vol. No. 497, dated August 18, 1855, will find the evidence we bring and much more, in a letter to the Editor signed "AMICUS NIGRORUM." The writer being still in our neighborhood, will no doubt state what he knows as further evidence, if further evidence were wanted.

Then, as respects our adults, we might mention many whose honesty and fidelity, and whose Christianity far exceeded that of many whites. We will trespass on your space with only one, in the hope that our white brothers, who surely know something of that charity which "hopeth all things," will believe that what was accomplished in one might, under similar favorable circumstances, be accomplished in many. The case we select will be found in a letter by the Reverend W. M. Cowper, the present respected minister of St. Philips, Sydney, contained in the 34th vol. of the Sydney Morning Herald, the 5167th No., dated Dec. 12th, 1853. Mr. C. says, it is a short account of the Australian black to whose christian death I alluded at the meeting of the Board of Missions last evening." Mr. C. further says he writes to "encourage those who are anxious to do something for the remnant that is left." Of this aboriginal Mr. C. says that he never learnt to read more than very simple words. This shows the necessity of having the word of life translated, and taught to them in their own language: — that it was by oral teaching that he acquired a knowledge of the truths of the Bible — that he was once led astray by his European companions (how likely) — that after having gone through a further course of instruction and probation, he was baptised, and subsequently confirmed by the late Bishop of Sydney. In reference to him further, Mr. C. says, " But from what I have since seen and known of him, I do not hesitate to say, that as far as I could judge, his faith was sincere, and his hope and trust of salvation through Christ simple and intelligent." At the same time his life was upright, and his character marked by truth and justice. He appeared to have learned from the gospel to act on the golden rule, so much neglected by many who call themselves Christians, " Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, even so do unto them"; and he faithfully did his duty in that state of life in which God had placed him." Mr. Cowper's letter is valuable, as exhibiting the progress in knowledge and experience of this man, whose Christian instruction was owing to the pious and benevolent care of the lady of the late Colonel Dumaresq, at Tahlu [Tahlee] — and who was afterwards taken, into the service of Captain King, R.N., after Colonel Dumaresq departed for England, and that when he died of disease of the lungs, he was in the employ of Mr. T. G. King. All honor to the lady who sowed the seeds of life in such (to the faithless) unpromising soil, and to those who watered it from time to time. They shall have their reward.

These, and others which might be given, are instances and evidences that we are susceptible of being taught; and that the difficulty does not lie with us. If Christians will remain so inert — so worldly and selfish — they must see that our blood lies at their door; and it may be required by Him, who though He was rich yet for our sakes became poor; and through a whole life of suffering sought the welfare of men by living among them, teaching them, healing them, feeding them, converting them, and comforting them, and then leaving on record His command to His followers, " I have given you an example that you should do as I have done unto you." Is the unquenchable zeal of British missionaries buried in the graves of a Martyn and a Carey? Is there none to be found worthy of the mantle of the martyr of Erromanga? Although the churches expect that every professed disciple will do his duty attaching to his profession, and duties also which are inalienably attached to property, you who have acquired property in Australia, to what extent have you discharged those duties which are concomitant with your rights? Take up any of the almanacs for 1859 and point, if you can, to any single institution designed for the exclusive benefit of the aborigines, for improving their moral or physical condition? Think, then, of discharging that debt of justice as some reparation for the wrongs inflicted on us by the avarice, the intemperance, and the licentiousness of civilisation! Let your liberality find the means! Your ingenuity, the method of applying them, and your energy and perseverance will, with God's blessing, ensure success.

DALINKUA, DALIPIE } Delegates.

Camp, Breakfast Creek, Jan. 18,1859

References

The letters

ABORIGINES. (1858, November 17). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3721756

ABORIGINES. (1858, November 24). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3716463

ABORIGINES. (1858, December 11). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3723143

ABORIGINES, (1858, December 29). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3716993

ABORIGINES. (1859, January 8). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3723869

[?]rigin[?] Corresponden[?] (1859, January 26). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 3. Retrieved July 9, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3723382 

Sources cited in the letters -

Letter 1 “Permit us to thank those gentlemen who have spoken in your paper regarding our helpless state” may refer to a racist piece of Doggerel that appeared in the same paper 

HELP FOR THE ABORIGINES. (1858, October 27). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 17, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3719075

Letter 6 The letter penned by Amicus Nigrorum

AUDI ALTERAM PARTEM. (1855, August 18). The Moreton Bay Courier (Brisbane, Qld. : 1846 - 1861), p. 2. Retrieved July 17, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article3708767 

Letter 6 The letter to the editor penned by Rev W. M. Cowper.

To the Editor of the Sydney Morning Herald. (1853, December 12). The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 - 1954), p. 5. Retrieved July 17, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article12956814 

Quoted others

Condon, M. (2010) Brisbane. University of NSW Press.

Kerkhove, R.(n.d)  Dalaipi (c. 1795–c. 1863), Australian Dictionary of Biography https://ia.anu.edu.au/biography/dalaipi-29713

Langbridge, C., Sloan, R., and Ganter, R. (n.d.) Zion Hill Mission (1838-1848) German Missionaries in Australia. http://missionaries.griffith.edu.au/qld-mission/zion-hill-mission-1838-1848 

Waters, W. (2015)  What legacy do you want to leave your children?  https://thestringer.com.au/what-legacy-do-you-want-to-leave-your-children-9806

In memoriam of the late Rev. Wm. Hill - A poem by Zachariah Sutcliffe 1869

Portrait of the Rev William Hill.
Photograph by Charles Wherret
Source: National Portrait Gallery

This poem is part of a theme in this blog examining the poems of Zachariah Sutcliffe. An index of blog articles related to Sutcliffe can be found here.

Sutcliffe published this work as a stand alone poem, a copy of which is pasted into a scrapbook in the State of Library of Victoria’s (SLV) Sutcliffe Archive, along with the following newspaper clipping which appears to be from the Mount Alexander Mail of 31 July, 1871.

Mr Z. Sutcliffe has left with us a copy of his new book of poetic effusions. Some of the pieces are very creditably written, more particularly one on the death of the Rev. Wm. Hill.

This indicates that the poem was subsequently printed as part of a collection, probably one of the editions of “A Few Simple Lines”.

The SLV does provide an electronic version of the stand alone poem ... available here.

The poem consists of ten quatrains with an ABCB rhyming pattern. It is undated but probably dates to the year in which the murder took place, 1869. Unless Sutcliffe knew Hill personally it probably postdates the publication of some of the tributes. The line “he who hath carried glad tidings of peace, To swarthy sons of the Orient strand” would be linked to Hill’s missionary work in India, details of which were not present in the first flush of reportage.

A post about the murder of Rev. Wm Hill can be found here. It is too long a digression to act as an introduction to a poem.

IN MEMORY OF THE LATE REV. WM. HILL, Who was killed by a Convict (RITSON) while administering the solaces of the Gospel to him, at Pentridge Stockade, on 13th May, 1869.

Hark! what means that loud cry, swelling high on the breeze, 

Resounding the length and the breadth of our land? 

'Tis the voice of a nation, in loud indignation, 

Denouncing a cruel and murderous hand.

A brother has fallen, the beloved lies low, 

A ministering Abel is brutally slain;

And the wails of a people, as tolls from the steeple 

Fall on the ear of a blood-guilty Cain.

Yes, he who hath carried glad tidings of peace 

To swarthy sons of the Orient strand; 

And hath echoed the chime in Australia's clime, 

And won for himself a name in our land;

A name that doth shine fair, illustrious, and perfect, 

And bright among Austral's noblest and best; 

Yet, in criminal's cell, there, bleeding he fell; 

His blood dyed the hand he had labored to bless.

Behold in the horizon a beautiful star 

Shedding its light calm and tranquilly bright, 

When an envious cloud doth its lustre enshroud, 

And shadows are left in the trail of its flight.

Then be hushed every cry, the star has not fallen, 

But hid for a season the brighter to shine; 

When the shadows shall flee, then wondering we'll see 

In the deep rolling cloud a finger divine.

Then fare-thee-well! brother, we cannot deplore thee; 

Thy life was a life of labour and love; 

When death did its duty, its clothing was beauty, 

A herald of glory to take thee above.

There the crown of the martyr shall circle thy brow 

And sweetly the song of victory sing; 

The palm shall be thine, -- Oh! how bright wilt thou shine, 

Whose last moments were spent in serving thy King.

Yet we cannot but think of thy once happy home, 

Of the orphans now so doubly bereft, 

Their light and their guide both winged from their side, 

And they lonely and weeping are left.

True, we cannot restore their dear parents again, 

Or stem the sad tears of their natural grief; 

But the destitute's cry we can surely supply, 

And honor the dead by giving relief.

ZACHARIAH SUTCLIFFE.

[Undated]

The murder of Rev William Hill at Pentridge Stockade - 1869

This post is a work in progress ... publication of which occured to allow for linking from another post.

This post is an introduction to the characters and events that culminated in the murder of Rev William Hill, at the Pentridge Stockade on the 13th May 1869. I present this research as a summary in its own right, but also as an introduction to a poem by Zachariah Sutcliffe, which addresses the same matter.

The post about that poem can be found here.

Key dates mentioned in this post

27 Nov 1867 - The Protestant Hall Riot

24 Jun 1868 - Attempted murder of James Kinsella

31 Dec 1868 - Death of Lucy Mary Hill, wife of William Hill, due to ill health.

13 May 1869 - Murder of Rev William Hill

3 Aug 1869 - Execution of James Ritson

James Ritson the Murderer

The incident that led to Ritson being in the custody of the Pentridge Stockade is recounted thus in the Illustrated Sydney News of 11 July 1868.

A murderous outrage was committed at the Eastern Market on the 24th ult. About 6 a.m., Mr. James Kinsella, market inspector, was sitting inside his inner office, and hearing foot-steps approaching from the outside, he turned round in his seat to recognise his visitor. A young man, decently attired, immediately walked up to within a yard of Kinsella's seat, and deliberately presented a cocked pistol in front of him. The self possession evinced by the ruffian, coupled with the audacity of the proceeding, completely unnerved Kinsella, and before he could adopt any means to insure his safety, the pistol was discharged in his face. The report of firearms in such an unusual place attracted the attention of the people in the market. Mr. Robinson was the first person who entered the office, and was just in time to prevent the escape of the ruffian, who had reached the .street entrance, holding the pistol in his hand. He was instantly secured, and as soon as the facts of the outrage had been explained, he was conveyed to the lock-up. It was then ascertained that the injuries sustained by Kinsella were confined to a severe flesh wound on the nose, and a dangerous singing about the eyes. Search was instituted for traces of shot or ball, but no marks of any missile could be detected. When brought to the watch house, the ruffian gave the name of James Ritson, and described himself as a dealer, but refused to assign any motive for the perpetration of the attempted murder. He is personally unknown to Kinsella, as well as to many of the dealers frequenting the market. In his possession were found a double-barrel pocket-pistol, a flask of gunpowder, a box of percussion caps, and a number of roughly-cast bullets.

VICTORIA. (1868, July 11). Illustrated Sydney News (NSW : 1853 - 1872), p. 6. Retrieved June 2, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article63514064

Ritson was 16 years of ages at the time of the shooting. Fortunately for Kinsella the weapon was not loaded properly and the injury was not fatal. However, the injury did require significant treatment, the timing of which delayed the trial of Ritson, until Kinsella was well enough to give evidence.

The Argus of 21 July 1868 reported

The Eastern-market Shooting Case. James Ritson, a young roan, was brought up, on remand, charged with shooting and wounding. James Kinsella deposed, — I am assistant market inspector. At ten minutes to six on the morning of the 24th June I was in my office at the market. No one else was there. I was engaged looking over the morning's collections. I heard a footstep, but thinking that it was Mr. Robinson, the lessee, 1 did not take any notice. Hearing the step again, I looked up, and saw the prisoner standing beside me. He presented a pistol, and discharged it in my face. I was hit, and put my hand up to my cheek. The blood oozed out between my fingers. Prisoner waited till he saw that the shot had taken effect, then deliberately walked away. I got up and followed, and did not let him out of my sight until Mr. Robinson arrested him. I then cried out, " That is the man who shot me." I have since been under the care of Dr. Beany and an operation was performed on me by him, assisted by other medical gentlemen. I have known the prisoner for three or four years as a hawker. I have had to caution him two or three times in the course of my duty, for trying to evade the market dues. That was about two and a half years ago. I have also seen him since May last. He was then hawking, and I demanded the dues from him. He paid them without any words, but always doggedly and reluctantly. George Robinson, lessee of the market, proved seeing prisoner run out of the office on the occasion referred to. Witness stopped, and arrested him, A flask of powder was found upon him when he was searched at the watchhouse, together with several bullets, and the double-barrelled pistol produced. Mary Pickford stated that she had seen the prisoner walking up and down before Mr. Kinsella's office for about ten minutes before he went in. James George Beaney, surgeon, deposed that Kinsella had been under his treatment ever since the morning of the 24th June. Saw him first that morning at half-past eight. He was bleeding very much from the nose and throat. There was a wound on the left side of the nose — a circular wound. On probing the wound he found that the probe passed in about five inches, and he ascertained that the bone was smashed. On the 7th July he per-formed an operation. There was a distinct communication through the bone of the nose, thence to the jaw-bone and forward to the back of the throat. Witness and the other medical gentlemen who assisted at the opera-tion, had expected to find the bullet buried in the upper jaw, but after the operation they concluded that the bullet, having been spent, merely glided into the throat and into the stomach. There was no doubt that the wound was caused by a bullet. The patient was in a very dangerous state. Constable Rivers proved that after he had taken prisoner to the watchhouse, and duly cautioned him, he (prisoner) said that he shot Kinsella with a bullet similar to the one found on him, and added that he would have done it again if he had not been prevented. He was willing to bear the consequences of the act. He stated that his reason for doing it was that he had received an insult from Kinsella. This being the evidence against the prisoner, he was asked if he had anything to say. He replied in a determined tone, "No, sir, I have nothing to say at present." He was committed for trial.

Ritson was tried and sentenced to death and this was overturned on the basis of insanity.

Rev William Hill the victim

Hill, according to the National Portrait Gallery, was a …

Wesleyan minister, … thought to have spent time as a missionary in India before coming to Victoria around 1854. He worked in Melbourne, Castlemaine, Ballarat and Sandhurst (Bendigo) before becoming superintendent of the Collingwood circuit, in which role he attended to the spiritual needs of prisoners at Pentridge Gaol.

There is some speculation that a poor constitution led to his migrating to Australia, whether that ailment was the cause of the remarked on thin skull is difficult to determine.

He married, and sired five children via his wife, Lucy Mary Hill, who predeceased him after a short illness in December 1868. She was 35 years old.

Family Notices (1869, January 1). The Argus (Melbourne, Vic. : 1848 - 1957), p. 4. Retrieved May 25, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article5820836

The murder

The transcript of the inquest held two days after the event can be found here … LINK

TLDR - Ritson smashed in Hill’s head with a 9 inch long iron hinge he had removed from his bed almost immediately upon entry into into the cell. Help arrived within minutes but it was too late for Hill.

The denouement.

The attack was premeditated, the commentary on the execution reveals that Ritson resented Hill’s determination to have him become contrite for his attempted murder of Kinsella.

I was not able to find a transcript of the trail, but Ritson’s execution on the 3 August 1869 was widely published and much commentary accompanied it. Some of which relates to the trial.

Prior to the execution a plea was made by xxx to have the death penalty removed on account of Ritson’s insanity. It can be found here

Link

Much of commentary was therefore attributes to portraying Ritson as both sane, an accepting 

Perhaps the strangest part of this story (from my perspective) was that at the time of the trial a gory wax recreation of the event was available for street side viewing in Bourke St, Melbourne.

In 1921, The Smith Journal, rewrote the story of Hill’s murder, with a godless sympathy for Ritson’s having to endure the ministry of Rev. Hill. The retell was attributed to the pseudonym “The Man in the Mask” can be found here …

THE MAN WHO SLEW A SERMON (1921, February 5). Smith's Weekly (Sydney, NSW : 1919 - 1950), p. 15. Retrieved May 25, 2024, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article234271256 

A few simple lines (the small blue edition) - Poems of Zachariah Sutcliffe

The ‘small blue’ edition of “A few simple lines” was printed by Kidgell and Hartley Printers, South Melbourne, in 1883. The book consists of 32 pages, a staple-bound work with a pale blue paper cover. The edition I have based this post on was found in the State Library of Victoria’s Manuscript Archive for Zachariah Sutcliffe.

The title “A few simple lines” has the byline “Led by simplicity divine, I try to please and not to shine”. Patronage by HRH the Duke of Edinburgh and the Rt Hon Earl Belmore, late Governor of NSW is acknowledged.

There are 52 separate pieces of writing, 14 of which are untitled (I have titled these numerically to allow for referencing of the work). With a couple of exceptions the pieces are in poetic form. A number of the pieces are dedicated to a specific person, who I assume has supported Sutcliffe in some way. 

I have replicated the formatting in this document even though I don’t quite understand the logic around the indentation.

I identify three themes in the work; (1) Sutcliffe’s clear identification with an evangelical form of Christian faith, possibly Salvation Army; (2) grief, possibly the death of a child; (3) feeling abandoned in his quest to be a self-supporting artist.

This third theme nearly had me abandon the Sutcliffe project, as he is in many ways inconsistent and pathetic. However, to some extent this pathetic aspect of Sutcliffe evokes some pathos in me. There is genuine struggle here, loss and loneliness and he is attempting to explain it via poetry. It is not great poetry, but I can read the works of recognised good poets and not be moved. There are a few pieces in here I genuinely liked, and a few others where I could at least see what he was trying to say. Hence my pathos. But I am reeling back the planned project; from giving each poem its own blog post, to publishing each collection in a long form post. It is probably too much for a casual blog reader, but if a person interested in Sutcliffe stumbles in here it is perhaps easier than an index that in the end will exceed a hundred poems.

CHRISTMAS.

(Tune." Come let us be happy together.")

Then let us be merry together, 

This is the day to be glad,

Then why should we fret o'er the weather

But banish all thoughts that are sad. 

Come bring hither your nosegays, 

Let them be scented and gay, 

And join in a song with your schoolmates, 

This is a great holiday. 

Come bring hither the weary, 

The halt, the lame and the blind, 

We will give them a hearty welcome, 

This is the day to be kind. 

Then tell all strangers of Jesus, 

Oh! tell it with earnest delight,

This day was the birth of the Saviour,

Sing praises from morning till night.

CHRISTMAS.

Don't be snuffling Mary Jane,

But dry up every tear,

You may not live, perhaps not I

To see another year.

Mamma is making a cake so nice, 

And Pa is reading rhyme, 

The weather is hot, the flies torment, 

But still it is Christmas time. 

Bushes are tied around the posts, 

The world casts care away, 

The bells are ringing, and boys are singing, 

'Tis Christmas, Christmas day,

Untitled 1

I live on Emerald Hill, 

In an humble lowly cot, 

I work with right good will, 

Who says that I do not.

THE DEPARTING YEAR.

What, is it true, we hear them say

Another year has pass'd away, 

And yet we say we live.

Yes 'tis true another year has past,

But what account can we give of the last,

But say thank God we live.

Many souls have been taken by the tidal wave, 

Thousands more death laid in their grave,

Great God and still we live.

Help us Lord for Heaven to prepare, 

Guard us and keep us from every snare, 

While yet we live.

BEAUTIFUL WORLD.

Beautiful world that we live in, 

Gliding along with all our sin, 

Neither caring for Heaven or Hell, 

This is the truth I now tell.

Beautiful world that God has made, 

The day gives light, the evening shade, 

Man little thinks of Thy great power, 

But sins against Thee every hour.

Beautiful world fair and bright, 

The Creator made the Author right, 

He made me to work and pray, 

And I should love Him every day.

Beautiful world, sunshine and showers, 

Mountains and seas, wheat, flesh and flowers, 

Fruit in abundance covers the earth, 

Beautiful world the place of my birth.

A CONFESSION.

I, Zachariah Sutcliffe live on your charity, 

And I beleive that I will be buried by your charity, 

And I'm certain that I will be in Heaven out of charity, 

For nothing good have I done, 

At least I ast I cannot see, 

Yet still I hear thy sweet voice say 

There's room prepared for me,

THE SALVATION ARMY.

Watch them marching down the street, 

See how our neighbours all do stare, 

Salvation soldiers are singing glory, 

Inviting sinners to God and prayer. 

Hark they sing with voices loudly, 

About a Saviour and loving king, 

And they all seem so happy,

My mind's overburdened with a sting. 

I shall go and and hear their story, 

For I feel so sick at heart, 

I can't say I've got their glory, 

What's this, the tears do start. 

I will go and leave misdoubting, 

Jesus Christ will take me in,

I must go to thy dear fountain, 

Jesus Saviour take all my sin. 

Oh what a precious thing to know, 

And feel Jesus is my king, 

I am a soldier now I'm saved, 

And like a soldier sing.

THE LORD'S PRAYER,

Our father, how sweet to know, 

Who art in Heaven, Thy gift while here below, 

Hallowed be Thy name, by each and every one, 

Thy kingdom come, and Father Thy will shall be done. 

Thy will be done, Lord give us strength day by day be 

On earth, so as we may be ready when Thou callest us away, 

As it is in Heaven Thy holy place where there's no deceit, 

Give us our daily bread, and prepare us Father Thee to meet. 

And forgive us our sins, Lord we need forgiveness every hour, 

As we forgive those that sin, fill us oh God with thy love and power, 

And keep us from all temptation, onward rejoicing while there's breath.

Deliver us Lord from all evil, and we may safely conquer sin and death.

For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, Amen and Amen.

Untitled 2

When all the world frowns on me Lord, 

And all is dark and dead, 

I look to Thee with tearful eyes, 

And plead to Thee for bread.

WINTER.

Dull, cold, wintry, and drear, 

I am sitting writing here, 

Wondering why I was ever born, 

A thing held up for scorn, 

Friends the rhymer has but few, 

Reader what I state is true, 

All that preach are not sincere, 

I proclaim it with a tear. 

The clergy almost to a man, 

Say can't I find some other plan, 

To earn an honest loaf of bread, 

I sometimes wish I were dead. 

Pawnbrokers are a selfish class, 

Put me down for an ass, 

Scarcely one will wish me well, 

But tell me plainly to go to H---

TO E. A. PRAHRAN, 

It is my friend, I to you write, 

With thanks and delight, 

We were sitting down to tea, 

Rat, tat, tat, news for me, 

Post-mark bore name Prahran 

Eager eyes I did it scan, 

Opened letter, news so good, 

Stamps obtained honest food,

Little verses that you sent, 

Were read and gave content, 

They spoke of Jesus meek and low 

And showed the sinners where to go

God in mercy bless you three, 

For remembering even me, 

We join in heart felt love, 

Praising God, God above.

TO Mrs. ----, PRAHRAN.

Another year we say has fled, 

Nearer to heaven and God, 

The Christians have the certain hope, 

Reminded by our Lord, 

Oh God we bow before Thy throne, 

Believing in Thy dear Son, 

Unworthy though we are my God, 

Save each and every one.

TO E. A., PRINCESS STREET, PRAHRAN,

(Tune. “Speak to me gently.")

Write to me kindly, Oh I write, 

Why so long delay, 

If thou art weak and ill friend, 

Let somebody write I pray. 

Write to me earnest and true friend, 

Write to me softly and clear, 

I have been very ill friend, 

A word from you will cheer. 

You ask'd me always to write friend, 

When I was really ill, 

I thought it so kind of you friend, 

To ask with such kind will. 

Then write to me kindly dear friend, 

God help thee to write I pray, 

Jesus is waiting to crown thee, 

And make it one bright day. 

Then write to me kindly, 

Oh! write, Why so long delay, 

If thou art weak and ill friend, 

Let somebody write I pray.

TO A LADY IN SOUTH YARRA.

Why tell such as I, 

So wicked and must die,

A bare-faced lie.

You said when July came,

What you would do, no name,

No shame, 

I accepted with thanks the tea, 

But that don't get over me,

Or the lie. 

Woman why act with such deceit, 

You know you have a God to meet, 

As well as I,

My home is poor, your mansion great, 

I love the poor' the lie I hate, 

And always will,

TO MRS. SHANNON, KING WILLIAM STREET FITZROY.

I've journeyed about a bit in my time, 

And friends I have found but few, 

I've shook the hand of many fair ones, 

But there's none dear friend like you.

  You welcomed my only treasure on earth. 

And kindly gave her some tea, 

As long as life lasts I'll pray for thee, 

Who gave so willing and free.

The little trinkets she wears with pride,

And longs for the time to be 

When she will come to your sweet home 

To have some more good tea.

I with her mamma will come 

To see you some time 'ere long. 

And Alice will read to you dear friend 

Her father's latest song.

TO MR. AND MRS. SHANNON, EMERALD COTTAGE
KING WILLIAM STREET, FITZROY.

Some of our brethren vainly boast 

And herald each act they do, 

Others give with such good heart, 

But few that gives like you.

Money, jam, pictures and eggs, 

You gave us o'er and o'er, 

God bless you both sincerely 

Now and for evermore.

I could not pen our gratitude 

Though I should write all night, 

Such friends to unworthy Zach 

Fills me with delight.

My wife, Alice and myself 

Send you both our love, 

Trusting we will meet again 

In a happy home above.

TO E. A. PRAHRAN,

Thou art to me a sincere friend, 

God keep thee so till the end, 

You gave me help in my distrsss, 

And for that help God will you bless. 

Money, food, and clothing, you sent to me, 

And gave it freely, how kind so free, 

Jesus Saviour be thou to E. A. her greatest friend, 

Then I will meet you at the journey's end. 

With love from wife, myself, and Alice dear, 

I close this rhyme with a reverential tear, 

My heart is full of love to God and thee, 

Sister pray for strength to God for me,

TO Mrs. ----, GORE STREET, FITZROY.

Saviour Thy name is sweet to me, 

Cast all my doubts aside, 

Hear my humble prayer dear Lord,

Let love to Thee abide.

Earnest may I always be, 

Still kneeling at thy throne, 

Saviour God of all mankind, 

I'm nearer Thee and home, 

Nearer each day draw me Lord, 

God bless my wife and child, 

Everlasting thanks to you my friend,

Religion makes me mild.

TO MY WIFE.

Soft and sweet I've heard thee sing, 

And listened to thy gentle voice, 

Rich in tone, the song so sweet, 

And thou my wife made me rejoice.

Heavenly song, do sing it again, 

Soul stirring words, beautiful home, 

Unknown to the soul sunk in sin, 

They like the ship, live on the foam.

Chaste is the wife that clings to home, 

Looking for comfort not elsewhere, 

In Christ alone, the chief corner stone, 

Finds the wife deep in prayer, 

Friends love your God and home, 

Earth is only lent for a little roam,

Untitled 3

There beneath Heaven's high arch, 

Live millions in a selfish greed, 

Their hope is cheating and deceiving,

The world and gold their only creed, 

They think not of a great Creator, 

And never bend the knee to pray, 

Curses seem to them a pleasure, 

Take, Oh I take your God away. 

Beasts are an example to most men, 

Who have not souls to leave behind, 

The horse, the dog, the cat, the bird, 

And animals with a smaller mind, 

Feasts and obeys the human-kind, 

Man with his might and conquering skill, 

Given to him to use and not abuse, 

Turns on his kind with fiendish hate, 

Not thinking he has a soul to lose, 

And tells us sin is the best to choose, 

But never mind time will tell, 

I'll live for Heaven, you live for hell, 

You may have all worldly fame, 

Let me starve, if Heaven I gain. 

Life is short to every man, 

Deny it sceptic if you can, 

I love my God, and God loves me, 

Poor souls, God give you faith to see, 

And if you give up all your sins, 

God will make you happy kings,

Untitled 4

Well here we are again my dear, 

And it's good old Christmas time, 

I often wonder how Zach gets on, 

Each year by selling rhyme. 

He says his health is failing fast, 

And friends he has but few, 

I'll watch him well, and if he's sound

I'll help him, so will you.

And if he be not what I think, 

He must be bad indeed,

I'll buy his book and through it look, 

If true, God onward do him speed. 

The strong should help the weak, I know, 

And we have health and money, 

Lord may we use it as we should, 

By spreading truth like honey.

Untitled 5

I am poor and needy,

Lord take me in. 

Thou alone can pardon, 

And wash away my sin. 

I've leaned too much to mankind, 

I've heard men preach and pray,

I've seen God-like ungodly, 

Oh! list to what some say.

We have got no saviour, 

We know nothing of our God, 

So say the Walkerites, 

Take us at our word.

Another says to take a plunge, 

In water cold and clear, 

This will wash your sins away, 

Take my word no fear,

The third one says we'll have a ride, 

To the holy happy land 

If we only join his sect, 

And list to his command. 

He says the Saviour is going to sit, 

On David's throne again, 

And He will rule one thousand years.

This world's wide domain.

But if we die and don't believe,

In his especial creed, 

We are no better than cats or dogs, 

Death finishes the deed.

The fourth sect will tell you, 

Right straight up to your face, 

The Salvation army are all fools, 

They God and man disgrace.

Fifthly another sect will say, 

No harm in getting tight, 

Only just once a week,

It will make a man look bright. 

The sixth sect are a fiery class, 

And if we won't obey their laws, 

Old Nick will drag us down to H---

And tear us with his claws,

Are ye judges of the Great Supreme, 

And declare with laws of your own, 

Reader I rivet my faith on Christ, 

God's well-beloved Son, 

Almighty three in one.

Untitled 6

(Tune. --- “A starry night.”)

I once was very wicked Lord, 

But thou hast changed my heart, 

I saw my saviour on the tree, 

From whom I'll ne'er depart. 

He bore my sins, none else could, 

He took my curse and shame, 

And now I am a soldier, 

Fighting in his name. 

I'll fight with all my might and main, 

With Jesus at my side, 

Salvation through His precious blood, 

Will flow from side to side. 

God bless our brother soldiers, 

God bless our dear good Queen, 

May all the world sing glory, 

Salvation will be seen.

Untitled 7

(Tune.--- " How doth the little busy bee")

Lord have mercy on my soul,

I know thou don't despise,

Thou bid'st me lay my sin all down.

And tells me to arise.

When wickedness entwined my heart

And Satan reigned supreme, 

I thought the world was made for me, 

I found it was a dream. 

Oh! come and get salvation free, 

Come friends and ope your eyes, 

Jesus is waiting to welcome thee, 

And join him in the skies. 

No troubles will e'er enter there, 

No sin nor cold deceit, 

For God alone can save thy soul, 

Come sinners to his feet.

Untitled 8

Place no roses round my head, 

When in my coffin dress I lie, 

Thorns my friends will do instead, 

It matters not when I die. 

Be kind to me while I'm alive, 

And I'll be kind to you, 

This is the place to do all good, 

That God would have us do.

Untitled 9

The creatures that Jesus loves the most, 

Are those of a broken and contrite spirit. 

God's love to man is not half and half, 

He requires the sinner to make full surrender, 

Man's whims and fancies are but a shadow, 

Give them up and go to God, and God alone, 

Sinner He loves you best, and will take you home, 

Surely happiness is a comfort while here on earth, 

Refuse God's love and His salvation, 

You lose more than the world's worth, 

What is fame but a thunder clap of death, 

What is life but one short breath. 

God help you dear reader to realise the fact.

Untitled 10

Father Almighty, omnipotent, omnipresent,

Have mercy and strengthen me both body and soul,

Thou canst do it, I believe Thou will,

Look down in pity, and make Zachariah whole.

Father Thou alone knowest what I require,

It is not worldly wealth neither honour nor fame,

Suffice I had Thy blessing and health,

So I could pay just debts I owe and leave behind an honest name.

Thou knowest my mode I have for earning bread,

It is simply Thy power that I cannot describe or tell,

How beautiful to have Thy gift, so divinely sweet,

And with Thy help dear Father I will use it well.

Have mercy on those who do not place their trust on Thee,

And deem me an idiot born, who is the work of Thy mighty mind,

How dead mankind are, and stupidly senseless,

To Thy Almighty power, and yet so forgiving and kind.

Father Thou dost not ask much only one wise request,

Always looking to Thee for help who alone maketh happiness,

And can make the writer wise, yet meek as a child,

Great Incomprehensible revengeful yet just

Who loveth those that sincerely repent and loveth Thee,

But hatest the being that denies Thee to be the living God

Which some there are, Lord pity them, may they see.

Untitled 11

My mind is troubled, I mean my soul, 

Lord heal my wounds, and make me whole, 

The world is thine and all else I see, 

Lord of the helpless Thou cans't help me, 

Me in distress, weak and in pain,

Pity me my Saviour, I trust in Thy name.

Untitled 12

Clothed in vanity and distress, 

Sin reigning in thy heart, 

Bolstered up with degradation, 

God let it from thee part. 

Thy outward show may look fine, 

Your inward parts are black, 

Deceit may cheat the world you know, 

But God's the One can track, 

Then while there's time give up deceit, 

And from thy soul be true. 

Love the King the mighty Saviour, 

Poor child He died for you.

Untitled 13

Forward every Christian soldier, 

Black or white, bond or free, 

Preach to all Christ's salvation, 

Draw us nearer Lord to Thee. 

May our armour brightly shine, 

No evil spirit daunt our march, 

Giving God alone the glory, 

Eyes fixed on heaven's arch. 

Keep us Lord from all temptation, 

Onward, upward, without sin, 

Waving only Christ's salvation,

Then we are sure to win.

Untitled 14

I love my home, my wife and child, 

Sometimes I’m cross, sometimes I'm mild, 

The cross part is Satan's, whom I do not admire, 

The better part is God's, give me thy fire, 

Wash me Saviour, make me white as snow, 

Each day may I be nearer Thee where'er I go.

A COMMAND.

Jesus Christ has commanded his disciples to go and preach the gospel unto every living creature, and also to go into the highways and hedgeways and preach salvation through His precious blood, bring to Him the halt, the lame, the blind, and every poor creature that has a diseased mind. This class Jesus requires, for this people the Saviour was crucified, and loves those of a broken and contrite heart, these Christ declares I will not despise. Men may have earthly palaces, health and every comfort, and even give money to the churches, hospitals, and all charitable institutions, but if they do not come unto Thee and confess their sins, believing Thee to be their only mediator, friends you are all damned. May God bless you all. Amen.

ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES,

Seek not alone the high born man, put not trust in birth, 

Men with blood as blue as heaven have been worst of all on earth.

Think only of thy happiness, 'tis the best thou canst do, 

And ask thy heart this question,"Is he honest, is he true?” 

Seek not alone for sordid gold, perish such dross as wealth 

If the man thou takest for evermore has honor, strength and health,

Choose such a one, and joy is thine on both sides of the grave, 

Ask thy trusting woman's heart-Is he honest, is he brave? 

O seek not alone for beauty, seek not alone for grace,

If a man but does his duty what care we for a face? 

Maiden ask within these questions, -answer true as God's above,-

Is he upright, is he manly, is he honest, does he love?

And tell me when I ask thee, has he thought, has he mind, 

Does he love his neighbor as himself, has he mercy, is he kind, 

Does he scorn to hear of meanness does he scorn revenge and lust?

Does he hold his head up boldly - Is he honest, is he just? 

If he hate wrong and scorn a lie, respect and love the old.

If more precious to his mother's heart than countless piles of gold.

If he worships with true faith? - let the words be understood, 

He's the man to be thy husband, for he's honest, he is good.

But, what need of all these questions, where one will suffice. 

If a man is simply one good thing, his love's beyond all price; 

Whoever he be, wherever he dwells, in palace, cot or hall, 

Of poor estate, or rich or great, - If he's honest, he is all.

NO BABY IN THE HOUSE,

No baby in the house, I know- 

'Tis far too nice and clean;

No tops by careless fingers strewn 

Upon the floor are seen.

No finger marks are on the panes, 

No scratches on the chairs,

No wooden men set up in rows, 

Or marshalled off in pairs,

No little stockings to be darned, 

All ragged at the toes;

No pile of mending to be done

Made up of baby's clothes,

No little troubles to be soothed, 

No little hands to fold;

No grimy fingers to be washed,

No stories to be told.

No tender kisses to be given,

No nicknames 'love' and 'mouse,

No merry frolics after tea, 

No baby in the house.

THE SEASIDE MARSH.

God made the marsh; and not alone on hill, 

Or mountain-height, sweet field, or golden grove,

I trace His goodness; but behold Him still 

Leaving, even here, the footprints of His love.

The marsh is covered wide with flocks and herds, 

By thousands grazing in their calm content; 

And there innumerable flights of birds 

Find food, mysteriously, but surely sent. 

See from the dyke the broad-winged heron rise, 

Grasping a fish within its lengthy beak: 

And there a beautiful kingfisher flies 

Swift as the wind, with intermittent shriek. 

From yonder bed of tremulous rush and reed, 

A dozen duck and teal, in hasty flight, 

Sweep o'er the marsh, or circle in their speed 

Up the blue heavens, and up, till lost to sight. 

And wild birds overhead with frequent call 

Fly seawards in the shape of figure five. 

Yet He who feeds the raven, feeds them all- 

God's birds are they, and by Him kept alive. 

A marsh is not a melancholy place, 

But wisely formed, and redolent of good; 

High lessons there of providence and grace 

Are taught; it is God's market place for food. 

Down in the marsh ten thousand beasts and sheep, 

In healthful pastures wait the wants of men; 

And there they chew the cud, and eat, and sleep, 

And multiply, earth's millions to sustain. 

Shout in the marsh! sing with the jubilant sise. 

Whose waves are vocal with the hymn of praise, 

Oh man! God made the seaside marsh for thee, 

To give thee pleasant food and length of days.

"LOVEST THOU ME."

I can hear a sweet voice that comes echoing down 

Through the dim fading vista of years that have flown 

Like the last dying note of some beautiful song, 

That 'mid mountain glen faintly is wafted along, 

As I listen my heart seems to tremble with fear, 

For the voice, tho' far distant, seems wondrously near, 

And close to my spirit I feel that there stands

The form of one gently extending his hands. 

Oh! heart do not tremble, 'tis thine to rejoice; 

"Tis Jesus that speaketh, His own gentle voice 

Is melting with tenderness. Speaking to thee; 

It says, "My beloved one, Lovest thou me ?"

"Can men love a serpent, can angels a fiend? 

Or sin by hypocrisy ever be screened? 

Then how canst thou speak with such love unto me, 

Whose guilty soul shrinks before thy purity? 

Recall those sweet words, and ne'er speak them again, 

For they fill all my spirit with sorrow and pain- 

My rebel-heart feels that Thy mercy's too great? 

Thy love is not mine, I deserved but Thy hate;" 

I feel that Thy presence still stands by my side, 

Has listened with pity while I have replied. 

A gentle hand touches me, oh! can it be? 

And that voice says more tenderly, Lovest thou Me?

No word can I answer . "I've loved thee so long," 

Said the beautiful voice, "and my love is so strong, 

That I've done all I could-I have died on the cross, 

And in agony perished to heal thy remorse; 

Then come to me, love me, and keep near my side, 

And to thee, my long loved one, no harm shall betide,

"No word can I answer; but He sees my heart, 

He knows all my anguish, He sees the tear start; 

He smiles, and I feel that my sins are forgiven- 

That tear was my first my sweet foretaste of heaven. 

"Thou knowest I love thee, my Saviour, I cry, 

"Do Thou comfort and help me, and ever be nigh.”

Thus happy my new, my first love, I confess, 

Whilst I know that His hands are uplifted to bless.

A LAMENT.

I'm sitting in the room Lizzie, 

This little chamber where 

We have knelt so oft, dear, to 

In morn and evening prayer,

My heart was full of gladness then, 

God made His face to shine, 

And crowned my life with blessings, 

When He joined my lot with thine,

The place is just the same, Lizzie, 

As on that dreadful day, 

When He who gave you to my love, 

Again took you away, 

Took from me in a moment, 

My gentle loving wife, 

The idol of my home and heart, 

The sunshine of my life.

'Tis but a gentle walk, Lizzie, 

To the side of yonder hill, 

Where with many tears I laid you 

Beneath God's eye, until 

The voice that from the sepulchre 

A Lazarus once drew, 

Shall wake again the slumbering dead, 

And raise both me and you.

I mingle with the world, Lizzie, 

Talk with my fellow men; 

But sunshine to my lonely hearth, 

Will ne'er return again. 

I miss the smile at even eventime, 

The kiss at dawn of day, 

And I miss you at my side, Lizzie, 

When I kneel down to pray.

Yours was the simple faith, Lizzie, 

That knew no doubt nor fear, 

That made you more than conqueror, 

When the hour of death drew near, 

And I feel half reconciled at times, 

Thus alone to be 

For though in Heaven now, 

I know Your eyes are watching me.

I knew your words were true, Lizzie 

And, though my heart should break .

I must confess His love in this, 

He took you for my sake; 

He saw an earthly idol claimed 

My worship and my love; 

Round you all my affections turned, 

Instead of things above.

And now through all my pilgrimage, 

I wend my way alone 

But like the ancient patriarch,

Who, pillowed on a stone, 

Saw angels pass 'twixt heaven and earth, 

I feel you come and go, 

And with thy spirit oft' commune 

While I am here below.

And if, when thinking of the past, 

The tears should fill my eyes, 

Accept them, thou Almighty God, 

For a frail sacrifice. 

When turning to the wall my face, 

My spirit rises free; 

May Lizzie at the gates of Heaven, 

Be first to welcome me.

THE DYING GIRL TO HER MOTHER.

Life passes from me, Mother, 

Oh! so rapidly away, 

Eternal voices speak to me 

They will not let me stay; 

Oh there are dark forebodings 

All entwined around my heart, 

And they tell me, dearest Mother, 

That you and I must part.

Oh, let me see the sunshine, 

And the gay and glorious earth, 

With all that's bright and beautiful, 

Just budding into birth, 

They told me, when the spring time came, 

With song of birds and flowers, 

That I should rally and revive, 

Amid its genial hours.

They told me -- but it was not true -- 

I feel its falsehold now, 

The signet of the shadowy land, 

Is set upon my brow. 

It is a long long journey, 

I am going, all alone; 

The pathway to the spirit world 

Is distant and unknown.

Nay, Mother, dearest Mother, nay, 

I would not have thee weep,

Oh, is not a gentle thing 

To lay one down asleep.

Away from all the weariness, 

The sorrow and the pain, 

Which make the fairest things of life 

So empty and so vain.

I would not have thee mourn for me, 

And grieve when I am gone, 

For when thy star of life shall set, 

And hour of death come on, 

Thou'lt join me there within those realms, 

Those regions of the blest, 

Where the wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest.

The shades are gathering o'er me fast

Alas, I cannot see, 

Life's barque is tossed upon the waves 

Of lone Eternity.

The waters are around me, 

They engulph my wavering breath 

Oh, Mother, take my hand in thine. 

This is the night of death.

SONG OF THE SEA-GULL.

I come I come! from a far-off land, 

Where the sea birds gaily roam, 

Where the white waves roll o'er the golden sand 

Of our rock-bound island home.

I've been where the sun with scorching ray 

Shine's fierce on Queensland's shore, 

And I've been where dazzling meteors play 

The glittering icebergs o'er.

I ride on the billows sparkling foam, 

And dive in the blue abyss, 

Or with white wings spread thro' the air I roam 

And each wandering wave I kiss.

I love to float when the rippling waves 

Are calm as an infant's sleep, 

And the moon shines pale on cold dark graves 

In the stronghold of the deep.

I've watched full many a gallant ship. 

In her hour of final doom, 

And I've heard the shriek from each pallid lip 

As she sank within her tomb.

I've seen how the young wife weeping clung 

To her husband's trembling form, 

And nought but my voice their requiem sung,

As they perished in the storm.

I've seen how the mother fondly strove 

Her children from death to save, 

But the sea was deaf to a mother's love 

For they sleep beneath the wave.

Sweetly they sleep where the bright sea flowers 

Are waving in wild array; 

And the glowing tints of the coral bowers 

O'er their up-turned features play.

I go, I go, where the deep blue sea 

Is murmuring its magic spell, 

Where the whisp'ring waves and the wild winds free, 

Have charms that I may not tell.

THE GUESTS OF THE HEART.

Soft falls through the gathering twilight, 

The rain from the drooping eaves, 

And stirs with a tremulous rustle 

The dead and the dying leaves; 

While afar in the midst of the shadows 

I hear the sweet voice of the bells, 

Come borne on the wind of the autumn, 

That fitfully rises and swells.

They call, and they answer each other --- 

They answer and mingle again ---

As the deep and the shrill in an anthem 

Makes harmony still in their strain. 

As the voices of sentinels mingle 

The mountainous regions of snow, 

Till from hill-top to hill-top a chorus 

Floats down to the valleys below.

The shadows, the firelight of even, 

The sound of the rain's distant chime, 

Come bringing, with rain softly dropping, 

Sweet thoughts of a shadowy time,

The slumberless sense of seclusion, 

From storm and intruders aloof, 

We feel, when we hear in the midnight 

The patter of rain on the roof.

When the spirit goes forth in its yearning 

To take all its wanderers home; 

Or, afar in the regions of fancy, 

Delights on swift pinions to roam; 

I quietly sit by the firelight ---

The firelight so bright and so warm, 

For I know that those only who love me 

Will seek me through shadow and storm

But should they be absent this evening, 

Should even the household depart,---

Deserted, I should not be lonely, 

There still would be guests in my heart. 

The faces of friends that I cherish.

The smile, and the glance, and the tone, 

Will haunt me wherever I wander, 

And thus I am never alone.

But with those who've left far behind them 

The joys and the sorrows of time, 

Who sing the sweet songs of the angels 

In a pure and holier clime.

Then darkly, O evening of Autumn? 

Your rain and your shadows may fall, 

My loved and my lost ones you bring me, 

My heart holds a feast with them all,

BROUGHAM.

He stood erect in manhood's golden dawn. 

His work to free the slave and to instruct the free: 

He stood and saw the nineteenth century born, 

With all his gifted life's renown to be. 

Unknown, and yet did he dream of coming years; 

Was there vouchsafed to him, as through the rents 

Of the black clouds of ign ignorance and tears 

All round some dim foreknowledge of events, 

That were to make his time so stored with strife, 

The birth-time of great thoughts to stir mankind

To wake the nations to a nobler life,--- 

The moving power, through all, his marvellous mind, 

Bowd'd in the dust. The thund’rous snow-crowned, 

Grand old head, that bow'd to none in its stern pride

Silent in death, the voice that shook the land, 

Ere Waterloo was fought, or Nelson died, 

But yesterday he stood amongst us still, 

A giant of a generation past, 

All obstacles receding from his will, 

All schemes of good in his conception cast. 

Is it a jealous weakness looking far 

To find its idols, which obscures the array 

Of circling lights where disappear'd this star,- 

Which sees no equal where he passed away. 

Not that he matched in statecraft lesser men, 

If statecraft be the mastery of the hour; 

But that the statue of the citizen 

Still rose above the statesman flushed with power: 

And that his strong heart's sympathies went out 

To meet the struggling millions of his race, 

And that he never paused in fear or doubt 

To raise his fellow to the freeman's place, 

Look down the muster roll of death! and say 

What name is written of his peers; 

Peel, Lyndhurst, Canning, Wellington, and Grey. 

What greater will there rise in after years?

THE MOTHER.

Hush! softly enter there, 

Was ever sight more fair? 

A girlish mother cooing o'er her boy. 

Her tender arms enclose 

The little crimson rose, 

Her bosom heaving with a new found joy.

In accents sweet and low, 

As streamlet's murmuring flow, 

She tells the babe the story of its birth; 

How, when her heart was lone, 

By winds of heaven blown, 

He came her little angel-to the earth.

With lips that never tire 

She tells him of his sire, 

Her brave young soldier fighting for his king, 

And pictures his delight, 

When returning from the fight, 

He marvels at the dainty little thing.

His future in his eyes, 

To read she vainly tries, 

And thinks she sees the warrior within

Then paints with mimic dread, 

A helmet on his head, 

A beard upon his chubby little chin. 

She smoothes his downy cheek, 

And, wishing he could speak, 

She asks him if he'll always love her best; 

The lips that know no guile 

Give answer with a smile, 

At which she folds him closer to her breast.

* * * *

Hush! softly enter there,---

A mother in despair 

Is wailing for her baby who has fled; 

A soldier standing near 

Is weeping tear for tear, 

As she points him to the little empty bed.

THE BROKEN HEART.

I saw her not as others did, her spirits free and wild, 

I knew her heart was often sad when carelessly she smiled; 

Although amidst a merry throng her laugh was often loud 

I knew her mind, her very soul, by bitter grief was bow'd, 

That bright red spot upon her cheek, it was not youth's warn blush,

It was a thing more fatal far, a broken heart's bright flush; 

That white and red so clearly marked upon her lovely face 

Gave every charm that once she had a more seraphic grace. 

More lovely day by day she grew; her parents watched with pride,

The fatal bloom of that disease of which at length she died. 

They did not think that form so fair, no earthly power could save.

They did not dream their only child was sinking to the grave, 

She died, they said, in youth's warm life their darling and their pride,

And many mourned the gentle girl who thus so sadly died, 

When life was in its early spring, when all around was gay 

They knew not of the grief within that wasted her away, 

She died, and oh I can but feel how greatly she was blest

Life was to her a misery, only rest. 

She feels no grief, for earthly care she does not have a sigh, 

Is it not better, happier far, when broken hearts can die.

UNTO HIM THAT LOVED US.

Tell me, my soul, if Christ be thine?

Yes, the assurance blest is true! 

In Him I live and He is mine, 

For He hath formed my heart anew.

In Him I live and He in me --- 

Oh! how happy my spirit glows! 

With rapture I my Saviour see --- 

With joy my soul its Saviour knows.

Once a sad stranger to His grace, 

I trod the slippery path of sin; 

But Jesus showed to me His face, 

And sought my vagrant heart to win.

"Sinner, I love thee much," he cried: 

"Wilt thou not give to me thine heart 

It is for thee that I have died; 

Wilt thou not have in Me a part.

"Wilt thou not take the wond'rous prize, 

Now offered to thee in my blood? 

Wilt thou for ever shut thine eyes, 

To peace-eternal peace with God?"

Ah! my Redeemer, did'st thou die 

To save a sinner vile like me? 

Can there be hope that such as I 

May take Salvation full and free?

"Yes! there is hope for thee," He said, 

"Only believe that I can save : 

No more in sin shalt thou be dead, 

For I wilt raise thee from its grave."

"Only believe, only believe; 

My power is great. My word is sure; 

If thou wilt now the truth receive. 

My blood shall wash thee clean and pire

Lord, I believe ! my trembling soul, 

Glad to accept the promise, cried 

He made my sin-sick spirit whole: 

I felt the Lord for me had died.

And now, rejoicing in His name, 

Triumphant in redeeming love, 

It is my never-ceasing aim, 

That I may faithful to Him prove,

Then unto him be all the praise, 

'Tis He the mighty change hath wrought

And to the latest of my days, 

To Him I'll give the life He bought. 

And when at last I reach the sky, 

To dwell with him in endless day,

"All praise to Thee! dear Lamb! I'll cry 

"For Thou didst wash my sins away."

A LETTER FROM HOME

"A letter from home!" oh, what measure of gladness

Do these simple words and their meaning contain,

Tho' the heart is oppressed and bow'd down in sadness,

Those words can awake it to pleasure again.

When parted by fate from the hearts that still love us, 

And outcast from all, amid strangers we roam; 

When the earth frowns beneath, and the sky glooms above us 

How dear to the heart is a letter from home.

Perhaps we can trace the kind heart of a mother, 

Amid tears gushing out, as we think of her love, 

That love which no time nor distance can smother, 

Shed forth from a heart that no absence can move.

And oh! if in reading that page we discover 

A small wrinkled spot with the stain of a tear. 

The fountain of love from its banks will flow over, 

And bathe it with drops that are not less sincere.

A letter from home! when by seas we are parted, 

A voice speaking out from the midst of the gloom; 

'Tis a token of love from the firm and true hearted, 

To tell us we are not forgotten at home.

CHARITY.

Whether you be rich or poor, 

Spurn no beggar from your door, 

Aid him, for you cannot say 

That you may not want some day.

You to him this world doth spare 

Of her gifts a goodly share. 

See the hungry creature fed, 

Freely let him taste your bread.

Visit at his home, and give 

From the substance that you have 

Let your heart with love expand 

Give not with a grudging hand

You who work and hardly toil, 

Bear your burthen for a while, 

Tho' in humble life you are, 

There are many worse by far.

Spare a mite from what you have --- 

'Twas a mite the widow gave 

It is not the sum that's given 

That will pave the road to heaven.

Those who from their treasures part, 

With a glad and cheerful heart, 

They it is who shall receive 

Sweet rewards for what they give

Let us lend a helping hand 

To the poor throughout our land, 

And in every way we can 

Let's assist a fellow man,

OUR DARLING

Bounding like a football. 

Kicking at the door, 

Falling from the table top, 

Sprawling on the floor. 

Smashing cups and saucers, 

Splitting dolly's head. 

Putting little pussy cat 

Into the baby's bed.

Building shops and houses, 

Spoiling father's hat, 

Hiding mother's precious key 

Underneath the mat.

Jumping on the fender, 

Poking at the fire, 

Dancing on his little legs, 

Legs that never tire. 

Making mother's heart leap 

Fifty times a day, 

Aping everything we do, 

Every word we say.

Shouting, laughing, tumbling, 

Roaring with a will, 

Anywhere and everywhere, 

Never, never still.

Present, bringing sunshine, 

Absent, leaving night, 

That's our precious darling, 

That's our heart's delight.

THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER.

Out in the street, with naked feet. 

I saw the drunkard's little daughter; 

Her tattered shawl was thin and small. 

She little knew, for no one taught her.

Her skin was fair, her auburn hair 

Was blown about her pretty forehead; 

Her sad, white face wore sorrow's trace, 

And want and woe that were not borrowed.

Heart-broken child! she seldom smiled, 

Hope promised her no bright to-morrow, 

Or if its light flashed on her night, 

Then up came darker clouds of sorrow.

She softly said: "We have no bread, 

No wood to keep the fire a burning;" 

The child was ill; the wind so chill 

Her thin, cold blood to ice was turning.

But men well fed and warmly clad, 

And ladies robed in richest fashion, 

Passed on one side, where no one cried 

To them, for pity or compassion.

That long night fled, and then the light 

Of rosy day, in beauty shining, 

Set dome, and spire, and roof on fire, 

And shone on one beyond repining.

Asleep alone, as cold as stone, 

Where no dear parent ever sought her, 

In winding-sheet of hail and sleet 

Was found the drunkard's lifeless daughter.

SWEET HOME.

"Sweet Home," oh blissful holy place, 

Where perfect love and peace are found 

Within it, shedding joy and grace, 

To make the threshold "Hallowed ground," 

When heart to heart, and hand to hand 

Are closely linked by silken chains; 

When each one shares the fears and cares, 

The hopes, the pleasures, and the pains.

Where open deeds and guileless speech 

Dissolve all clouds of mean deceit ; 

Where honest eyes without disguise 

Look straight into the eyes they meet. 

Where Manhood, Infancy, and Age, 

With simple faith and earnest trust, 

In lowly reverence hear the page 

In which 'tis written "Be ye just."

Where words that preach "Good will to all." 

And widely herald "Peace on earth,"

Are heard in gentle tones to fall 

Like music of seraphic birth. 

Where the rich flower of conduct blows 

From the pure blood of Christian thought, 

And living practise daily throws 

Truth's halo round the precept taught.

Where merry songs and harmless jest 

At festal tide are heard to blend; 

Where "welcome" greets the stranger guest, 

And loud rejoicing hails the friend, 

"Sweet Home," oh blissful holy place, 

Where "home" is all that "home" should be 

And man despite his fallen race, 

Some trace of Eden still can see.

MOONLIGHT.

Tho moonlight is a silvery light 

That through the window gleams, 

Upon the snowy pillow, where 

My dear mother dreams.

The moonlight is a glorious light 

That comes alike to all, 

Lighting the shepherd's lowly cot, 

The rich man's painted hall.

It shines upon the little boats, 

Out on the lonely sea, 

Or where the little lambs lie down 

Beneath the old gum tree. 

It shineth where the night owl sings 

Above the miner's door; 

It shineth in the lonely glen, 

And also on the moor.

THE CHILD'S APPEAL

"Mamma, Why do the roses fade?”

A little girl did say, 

"Methinks such lovely flowers as these, 

Should never know decay. 

They look so beautiful and fair, 

And such bright tints disclose; 

Then, dear mamma, oh tell me why 

So quickly fades the rose?

"I've often heard you say mamma, 

How life is like the flower? 

Which though it passing fair doth seem 

May wither in an hour. 

But why, mamma, is life so short, 

And why do flowers decay? 

And why is every joy on earth, 

Destined to pass away?

"You said when little brother lied, 

The child we all did love ---

That he has gone where brightest flowers 

Deck the sweet meads above. 

But why, mamma, did brother die, 

And leave us here to pine? 

And wherefore must we sigh in grief 

And every hope resign."

"My sweetest child," the mother cried 

We will no more complain, 

Since mourning never can restore, 

The lost one back again. 

But rather let us joy, my love, 

At this assurance given; 

That all which fadeth here on earth, 

Blooms yet more sweet in heaven.”

OLD TIMES.

Rosy hours of youth and fancy, 

Happy hours of long ago; 

Ah! the playful pictured memories, 

Let us catch them as they flow.

Galaxies of blue-eyed Mary's, 

With a Julia or a Jane 

Or a troop of little Lauras, 

Laugh and blush and romp again.

Moonlight meetings, evening rambles, 

When the night was still around, 

And a sweet voice softly murmuring, 

Or a kiss the only sound.

These remember, and remember 

How the kind stars shone above ---

Keeping in their softened splendour 

Watch and ward upon our love.

Youth is as a diamond dawning, 

Bold it breaks to gorgeous day; 

Heavenly lights of power and beauty 

Glance and gleam along its way.

Far within the mighty future 

There be solemn voices heard; 

Shaped to many a stately anthem 

Floats the music of the world.

But that music in the present 

Softly droops with sad decay, 

Till its echo in the spirit 

Faints and fails, and dies away.

Green be then the tender memory 

Of the past, for ever sped; 

That our youth may be immortal, 

Though its days and dreams are dead

THE TWO CRADLES.

In life's young dawning, fair and bright, 

Baby, what love was thine; 

How met the household deities

Around thy infant shrine.

How all thy little baby looks, 

Thy pretty senseless ways, 

Were chronicled as something great, y

And worth a poet's praise.

How seemed the wind a cruel thing, 

To ward with fur and fold, 

And guard against with anxious care, 

Lest "baby" should be cold.

Midst sunny smiles and hopes unknown, 

They hailed thee at thy birth, 

And on the pillow soft and warm, 

They cradled thee for earth.

Thy little morn has passed away, 

And all thy smiles are fled, 

No matter though the coldest winds 

Blow round thy lowly bed.

Thy crowing laugh, he dimpled arm, 

The curl upon thy brow, 

Thy tiny picture of a foot, 

Alas! where are they now?

Midst falling tears and looks of woe --- 

Oh! be our grief forgiven ---

Upon the churchyard's mouldering turf, 

We cradle thee for heaven.