"DAN" (THE GROOM'S) EXPAYRIENCE OF COLONIAL SHPORT.

Oamaru Mail, Volume III, Issue 619, 27 April 1878, Page 4

"DAN" (THE GROOM'S) EXPAYRIENCE OF COLONIAL SHPORT.

The following sketch has been handed to us by " Dan" a fresh caught son of the Emerald Isle:— "Begorra, Sir, its a qnare soort av a coonthry anyhow, an as for shport it batesall. Themasther an meself,an a little gintleman oat av wan av the banks wint up be the thrain to the Wymatty Jnnkahin for a bit av dock shootin. Well, whin we got there the masther sez, Dan, sez he, take liontt av the bag wid the grog, tucker, an carthridges. AH right. Sir, aez I, so I tuk it on me back, an a purty good wateit was, an off we thrttdged acrass the counthry. The masther sed we wor goin to the Fieo'.i Lake. Well, God help us, we howled along, but the divil a take was to ho seen, at alt at all. Anyhow the little gmtlcnian axed me f..r the clainm rod to pump <>ttt lusotild blundherbush av a gun wid, he got it, an m afther workin wid it till he was black tn the face, I tuk it back, an afther going about a quarther av a mile, I mowed it : and, aez I to meself, Oh, holy Moses, Ive losht the little claiuin rod. So down I dhropt the bag, an back I goes to look for the little rod. Well, sir, I sthravagned ahont for an hourlookin for the little rod, till at lasht I losht miself into the bargain. Thin, I sez, how the divil will I find the bag wid the tucker now ] • ho off I goes lookinforthebagavcombushtibles, an I thrapesed up an down till I was dead bate; an all the time I'm sure the masther an the little gtntleman wor swarin miles away for a dhrop o T the dhrink or a bit to ate ; anyhow, the divil a claimn rod or bag could poor Dan come acrass. Thin, whin it was near dark, I thried to make the besht o' me way back to the thrain, an a divil av a job it was, np to the shouldher blades in tushoks an niattycowrie, or whatever the divil they calHt; tumblin into wather holes, an out av em agm; climbin over Mowrey's heads an undher 'em, till mi heart was nearly broke; an thin, to mind the mather, whin I wint to the thrain, more like a dhrownded rat than a Chrishthen, a peeler ehtuck me up; an, Dan, sez he, I want a pound for yer game license. I sez, its mighty little game there's about me. I'm as free av money a3 a frog is av feathers, an I'm as dhry as concrate, an the divil a thing I have to keep body an sowl together but this dirty bit av a return ticket. "Well, aff we shtarted in the thrain for Ammaroo ; but the masther an the little gintleman wor dhrnv home be the hunger an thirst, an I found 'em down shtairs at the Irapire disgushtin shteaks an ingins, baked murphy 3, an other thropical fruit; an the masther axed me in a bit av a hurry like, wid a thrifle av shwarin, how I injtde miself; an I sez, 0, purty well. sir, but bad luck to such a haythen counthry I ever was in for shport. The masther may be purty cute, but hell wake moighty airly the next time he ketches Dan wid a little clainin rod an a bag av some nation, he calls it—but its Latin, or some other haythen lingo —ffoppin about all day up to the neck in thishtles, an swimmin watherholes an ditches an tushocfcs. Its not work, sur, f»r any dacent boy ; an be me sowl, I'll shtick'to the shtable for the fewther.