Australian Tales - Setis

that's all. He isn't worth much. Ugh! I shall never like live horses again
as long as I live.”
It fortunately happened, that Mr. Goosgog had not been able to run so
fast as his long-legged friend, so he had had more time for observation as
he ran, consequently he knew the track back to the beach, to which they
made the best of their way, — walking side by side, like the “babes in
the wood”. But when they got there, to their intense horror and grief,
they found that some person or persons had taken away every article of
their apparel, and their market basket too, and had literally left them “on
the strand,” hungry, and totally destitute of every article of civilized
convenience, with the exception of their bathing caps, their Wellington
boots, a few baked potatoes, and the pony chaise.
It would be cruel to picture their unphilosophical endurance of that new
and most trying misfortune. They were not large-brained men, as I before
hinted; but I omitted to say, at the same time, that two more inoffensive
creatures never entered Sydney Heads. Their tempers were sweet and
smooth as “Everton toffee,” or “golden syrup.” Not a single jar — even
of the smallest size — had ever been exchanged by those stanch friends
from the first time their eyes met up to that distressing hour. But now,
alas! that friendship, which ordinary mishaps and the struggles of every
day life had tended to rivet as strongly as a highpressure boiler, was
doomed to a temporary fracture, through the accumulated disasters which
had on that memorable day descended about their devoted heads, like a
cataract of icicles, and, for a time, frozen up the best sympathies of their
kind hearts.
I will but cursorily glance at the events of the next hour and a quarter;
how, alas! their native suavity totally forsook them for a time, and they,
first of all gave vent to intemperate outbursts of wrath at the unknown
peculators who had so disgracefully wronged them; while Mr. Goosgog
brandished his long stick, like a cannibal chief, and loudly declared that
if the thieves were anywhere near, and would come forward at once, he
would thrash them into barley straw. And after that fierce paroxysm was
over, how Mr. Spindle gave vent to his feelings, and rashly cursed his
birthday; and afterwards bitterly inveighed against the pony, and the
chaise too. How Mr. Goosgog just then, with unprecedented haste, and in
terms of caustic severity, condemned his friend for his bombastic vanity
and downright deceit in pretending to drive; when it had been so
miserably evident that he knew no more about a horse than a stupid ass,
or the “tailor's dummy” that stood just inside their shop door. How Mr.
Spindle, at that unexpected thrust and the degrading comparisons, got
madly wrath with his friend; called him a fat China pig, and knocked him
down. How Mr. Goosgog got up again, like a gamecock, and fought
three rounds with Mr. Spindle, and got knocked down six times more.
How they then simultaneously burst into tears, and embraced each other