Such Is Life by Joseph Furphy (children's books read aloud .TXT) 📕

is an ill phrase, and peculiarly inapplicable just here⁠—we’ll say, reclining, pipe in mouth, on a patch of pennyroyal, trying to re-peruse one of Ouida’s novels, and thinking (ah! your worship’s a wanton) what a sweet, spicy, piquant thing it must be to be lured to destruction by a tawny-haired tigress with slumbrous dark eyes. No such romance for the annalist, poor man.

Such, then, was my benevolent and creditable allotment, such my unworthy vagary, at the time this record opens. I had camped in the Dead Man’s Bend late on the previous evening, had wakened-up a little after sunrise, and turned out a little after eleven. Then a dip in the river, to clear away the cobwebs, and a breakfast which, if not high-toned in its accessories, was at least enjoyed at a fashionable hour, had made me feel as if I wanted a quiet smoke out of the gigantic meerschaum which I unpack only on special occasions, and something demoralising to read.

But the austere pipe resented this unworthy alliance so strongly that, for peace sake, I had to lay aside the literary Dead-Sea-apple. Then I remembered the official letter I had received on the previous day. I had merely glanced over it before acting on the orders it contained; now I reopened the document, and pharisaically contemplated the childlike penmanship and Chaucer-like orthography of my superior officer:⁠—

Sydney 28/11/83

Mr. T Collins

Dr. sir Haveing got 3 months leave of Abscence you are hereby requested to be extra atentive to the Interests of the Dept not haveing me to reffer to in Cases of difeculty or to recieve instructions from me which is not practicacable on account of me being in the other Colonys. I write this principaly to aquaint you Communication from Mr. Donaldson Mr. Strong Mr. Jeffrey representives will meet you at Poondoo on monday 10 prox re matter in dispute. Keep this apointment without fail comunnicate with central Office pending further Orders from me.

Ynnnnnnnnly

R Wmlnlnllnn

I was now on my way to keep the “apointment.” I was still about twenty miles from Poondoo; and the next day would be “monday 10 prox.” I intended to start again at about two o’clock; so I had still a couple of hours to spend in what civilians call rest, and soldiers, fatigue; whilst studying such problems as might present themselves for solution. Pup was safe by my side, and I had nothing to trouble myself about. A thought of the transitoriness and uncertainty of life did occur to me, as it has done to thinkers and non-thinkers of all ages; but I deftly applied the reflection to my superior officer, and so turned everything to commodity.

The unfortunate young fellow, I thought, is a confirmed invalid, sure enough. A trip round the colonies may liven him up a bit, or, on the other hand, it may not; and, if he returns, it is to be hoped that kind hands will soothe his pillow, and so forth; and when, with dirges due, in sad array, they have performed the last melancholy offices, I trust that someone will be found to dress, with simple hands, his rural tomb. I would do it myself, for, as the poet says, “Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns.” A sweet fancy, but not so filling as the cognate reflection⁠—

“Ha-a-ay!”

Somebody calling from the other side of the river; probably some forlorn and shipwreck’d brother, looking for his mates⁠—The cognate reflection, namely, that nothing withdraws but it leaves room for a successor. And this successor⁠—thus favoured by a Providence which has kindly supervised the fall of the antecedent sparrow⁠—will be entitled to live in a four-roomed weatherboard house, with the water laid-on, and a flower-garden up to the footpath, and a few silver-pencilled Hamburgs in the back yard, and everything comfortable. Ah, me! it is the thought of the dove⁠—

“Ha-a-a-ay!”

Peace! peace! Orestes⁠—like, I breathe this prayer. Thy comrades are sleeping; go sleep thou with them.⁠—The thought of the dove that has suggested this fairy picture of the dovecote. And something tells me that Jim Quarterman is not likely to forget a certain cavalier who called one day about a dog. Doubtless her memory holds him enshrined as a person of scientific attainments and courtly address; offering a contrast, I trust, to the uninteresting hayseeds who have come under her purview. And will he not come again? Yea, Jim, mystery and revelation as thou art! he will come again, to lay at thy shapely and substantial feet the trophy of an⁠—

“Ha-a-a-a-ay!”

Ay, lay thee down and roar⁠—Of an Assistant-Sub-Inspectorship. Ah, Jim! tentatively beloved (so to speak) by this solitary, but by no means desolate, heart!⁠—setting aside the rises I would take out of thy artlessness, and the way I would whip thy simplicity with my fine wit till thou wert as crestfallen as a dried pear⁠—I confess a spontaneous thought associated with the mental carte-de-visite of thy wholesome avoirdupois. No less, indeed, than the psychological recognition of an angel-influence⁠—

“Ha-a-a-a-a-ay!”

In vain! in vain! strike other chords! You can call spirits from the vasty deep; but will they come when you do call for them?⁠—An angel-influence, tangible, visible, audible, which would make Jordan the easiest of all roads to travel by thy side. Peerless Jim! crowning triumph of Darwinian Evolution from the inert mineral, through countless hairy and uninviting types! how precious the inexplicable vital spark which, nevertheless, robs thy sculptured form of all cash Gallery-value; and how easy to read in that gentle personality a satisfying comment on the concluding lines of Faust:

The Woman-Soul leadeth us
Upward and on.

A double meaning there, by my faith! Alas! poor little Jim! go thy ways, die when thou wilt; for Maud Beaudesart comes⁠—

“H a-a⁠—a-a-a-a-a y!”

Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, now wherefore stop’st thou me?⁠—For Maud Beaudesart comes o’er my memory as doth the raven o’er the infected house. Get thee to a nunnery, Jim. The chalk-mark is on my door; for Mrs. B. has no less than three