Australian Tales - Setis

parishioner. Out ran the astounded villagers from their homes — men,
women, and children — to gaze at the passing phenomenon. They
shuddered for the fate of widow Blunt, and turned pale as they whispered
the name of the person whom they supposed was driving her; while
Goliah continued to roar and shout, and stamp his feet purposely to
increase their wonderment, until all the children ran indoors again and
hid themselves under their beds from the “terrible old Bogy who was
flying away with poor old Mrs. Blunt.”
“Oh, for goodness gracious sake, Mr. Trump, stop the donkey; we shall
be upset! O dear, dear me, do stop him, pray do, sir! The wheels will
come off, I'm sure. Woa, Jacky,” said the widow, in a state of intense
trepidation.
“Barn him, I'll give it him!” roared Goliah, louder than ever. “Lazy
jackass, I'll let thee know thee'st got a Sydney man behind thee, and I'll
teach thee to shew better manners to a Sydney man's mother. Hoogh!
Hoogh! Hoogh! get along thee lazy rogue! Blurr — r! I'll blow thee into
beanskins.”
The poor donkey was scared into a perspiration, and he had never been
known to perspire before. As he had no winkers he could see the furious
antics of the burly man beside his mistress, and he flew along at a rate
that he had never even dreamt of, and which made all the old superannuated
asses that were grazing under the hedges “hee hau” with
astonishment. Onward he sped with outstretched head, and his tail as stiff
as a crow-bar, and not an effort did he relax till his eccentric driver
pulled him up, or rather pulled him down on his hind quarters at the gate
of cousin Goodwin's farm, then began to laugh till the joints of the old
gig rattled again, and all the little Goodwins ran out to see “what was the
matter.”
“O lawk a mercy me! how you have frightened me, Mr. Trump,”
exclaimed the widow, jumping out of the gig with unusual agility for a
lady of seventy-two. “I declare I'm all of a shake. But I'm thankful we are
not killed. Dear, deary me! I shall never forget this terrible ride, never.”
“Bless thee dear old heart, mother! there was no danger. I could have
pulled him down in a second. Don't thee believe I'd have risked thee
neck, not I, thee son Sam would shoot me when I got back to Sydney, if I
had only hurt his darling mother's little finger nail. That dose will do
master Jacky more good than a bundle of sticks would do about his back.
That's what I call moral suasion. Thee saw I didn't beat him a bit, I only
spoke out like a man, and that's the right way to deal with asses of all
sorts, for barn em, they haven't got more courage than goslings.”
* * * * *
Prior to getting into the gig to return home, after spending a merry day