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Eucalyptus Globulus.

I.
Wintry days art with us
Muddy, black, and drear,
People looking savage,
Gloomy and severe;
Men and women wailing,
Children looking thin,
Fathers looking out for
Bread they cannot win;
Tailors staring blankly,
Work they cannot see;
Won't take down the shutters
Country's up a tree,

II.
Eucalyptus Globu-
lus is what I mean,
With its graceful branches,
Foliage of green.
Shelter for the weary,
Resting place for all,
Shin it up, my hearties,
Be it e'er so tall;
Sparrows from the house-top,
Merry, blythe, and free,
Tell you every morning
Country's up a tree.

III.
Parliament assembled
Twenty days ago,
Business of the country,
Going very slow;
Honorarium grabbers,
Ministers of Crown,
Smoking in the lobbies
Loafing about town;
Cannot see in thunder
Why they can't agree !
Scheming for more plunder—
Country's up a tree.

IV.
Vogel first was sent for,
Linked himself to Stout,
Country didn't like it,
Members kicked them out;
Akaroa's darling.
Rubicund old Mao,
T'ranga, Wanganui
Tumbled with the sack;
Every honest member
Rubb'd his hands with glee,
Sit till next December—
Country's up a tree.

V.
Thomson was invited
Much to Stout's alarm,
Wasn't he delighted
Ministry to form;
Said to Stout and Vogel,
"He may laugh who wins,"
Christchurch North revolted
Kicked him on the shins;
Limped he in the lobby
Pitiful to see, Shouted for a bobby—
Country's up a tree.

VI.
Next to Grey he hobbled
Asking him to join,
Thomson and his party
Fingering the coin;
Agitator hoary,
Not an easy prey,
Stamped nor raged nor swore he
Mildly said "Good day;"
Thomson's altered visage
Horrible to pee
On a man of his age—
Country's up a tree,

VII.
Shakes his fist in anger
Shuffles out of sight,
For the undertaking
Lost his appetite;
Bellamy's he enters,
Everybody warns.
Listens to Mataura's
"Gentlemanly yarns;"
Lengthened are all faces,
None the joke can see,
Shocking as the case is—
Country's up a tree.

VIII.
Beaten in all quarters
Nothing but rebuff
Come from cliques and parties,
Treatment very rough;
Hies he to Sir William,
With a choking sob.
Grieved enough to kill him,
Chucks he up the job;
Coveted portfolio
He will never see,
Won't admire this olio—
Country's up a tree

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IX.
Coffin sable made him
His constituency,
And by rail conveyed him
Passage-ticket free;
Christian burial decent
Solemnly awaits,
Not allowed to enter
Cemetery gates;
No one cares a button—
What a jubilee !
Cold as frozen mutton—
Country's up a tree,

X.
Bore the burden loathsome
For a pleasure trip,
What a trick they played him,
Plunged in Hatch's dip !
Then with fierce cremation
Went he up the spout,
Summary damnation
'Cos he murdered Stout
And his mates who promised
Set New Zealand free,
This and other rubbish !
Country's up a tree.

XI.
Comes the great Pro-Consul
Boldly to the front,
Ready, aye and eager
Bear the battle's brunt;
Waits he on the Major
With his virgin vows;
What the devil means this
Lowering of brows?
Tells Sir George to leave him,
Just to let him be,
Never could deceive him—
Country's up a tree,

XII.
Poor Sir George is fretting,
Looking very pale.
But his knife is whetting—
Cut the Major's tail!
Stout and Vogel savage
Snap their wicked jaws,
Murder, riot, ravage,
Clip the Major's claws;
Twenty-ninth of August,
Half-past two it be;
Won't they have a braw gust—
Country's up a tree.

XIII.
If they lick the Major
What will happen then?
Parliament possesses
No more able men
Like to those rejected
For the country's good;
All the other fellows'
Heads are made of wood;
Hunger for a billet
Is the game I see;
Rob the country, kill it—
Country's up a tree.

XVI.
Governor's a Tartar
None would like to eatch,
Freedom will net barter
Get them dipped by Hatch;
He alone is able
Stop the little game,
Clear Augean stable—
Cromwell did the same;
Send them to the country.
In each ear a flea,
We'll know how to meet them !
Country's up a tree.

XV.
At the next election,
When they're on their legs,
Very sweet confection,
Flour and rotten eggs,
We'll their jackets plaster
And their heads adorn,
Never ran they faster,
Wish were never born;
Honest men and clever.
Men from meanness free,
Soon will fill their places—
Country's up a tree.

Tm Doolan.

Tin' O'Curry rode. WiUinton,

29th August, 1884.