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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408792" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cambaroora Star</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">So you're writing for a paper? Well, it's nothing very new <br>To be writing yards of drivel for a tidy little screw; <br>You are young and educated, and a clever chap you are, <br>But you'll never run a paper like the CAMBAROORA STAR. <br>Though in point of education I am nothing but a dunce, <br>I myself -- you mayn't believe it -- helped to run a paper once <br>With a chap on Cambaroora, by the name of Charlie Brown, <br>And I'll tell you all about it if you'll take the story down. <br> <br>On a golden day in summer, when the sunrays were aslant, <br>Brown arrived in Cambaroora with a little printing plant <br>And his worldly goods and chattels -- rather damaged on the way -- <br>And a weary-looking woman who was following the dray. <br>He had bought an empty humpy, and, instead of getting tight, <br>Why, the diggers heard him working like a lunatic all night: <br>And next day a sign of canvas, writ in characters of tar, <br>Claimed the humpy as the office of the CAMBAROORA STAR. <br> <br>Well, I cannot read, that's honest, but I had a digger friend <br>Who would read the paper to me from the title to the end; <br>And the STAR contained a leader running thieves and spielers down, <br>With a slap against claim-jumping, and a poem made by Brown. <br>Once I showed it to a critic, and he said 'twas very fine, <br>Though he wasn't long in finding glaring faults in every line; <br>But it was a song of Freedom -- all the clever critic said <br>Couldn't stop that song from ringing, ringing, ringing in my head. <br> <br>So I went where Brown was working in his little hut hard by: <br>`My old mate has been a-reading of your writings, Brown,' said I -- <br>`I have studied on your leader, I agree with what you say, <br>You have struck the bed-rock certain, and there ain't no get-away; <br>Your paper's just the thumper for a young and growing land, <br>And your principles is honest, Brown; I want to shake your hand, <br>And if there's any lumping in connection with the STAR, <br>Well, I'll find the time to do it, and I'll help you -- there you are!' <br> <br>Brown was every inch a digger (bronzed and bearded in the South), <br>But there seemed a kind of weakness round the corners of his mouth <br>When he took the hand I gave him; and he gripped it like a vice, <br>While he tried his best to thank me, and he stuttered once or twice. <br>But there wasn't need for talking -- we'd the same old loves and hates, <br>And we understood each other -- Charlie Brown and I were mates. <br>So we worked a little `paddock' on a place they called the `Bar', <br>And we sank a shaft together, and at night we worked the STAR. <br> <br>Charlie thought and did his writing when his work was done at night, <br>And the missus used to `set' it near as quick as he could write. <br>Well, I didn't shirk my promise, and I helped the thing, I guess, <br>For at night I worked the lever of the crazy printing-press; <br>Brown himself would do the feeding, and the missus used to `fly' -- <br>She is flying with the angels, if there's justice up on high, <br>For she died on Cambaroora when the STAR began to go, <br>And was buried like the diggers buried diggers long ago. <br> <br> . . . . . <br> <br>Lord, that press! It was a jumper -- we could seldom get it right, <br>And were lucky if we averaged a hundred in the night. <br>Many nights we'd sit together in the windy hut and fold, <br>And I helped the thing a little when I struck a patch of gold; <br>And we battled for the diggers as the papers seldom do, <br>Though when the diggers errored, why, we touched the diggers too. <br>Yet the paper took the fancy of that roaring mining town, <br>And the diggers sent a nugget with their sympathy to Brown. <br> <br>Oft I sat and smoked beside him in the listening hours of night, <br>When the shadows from the corners seemed to gather round the light -- <br>When his weary, aching fingers, closing stiffly round the pen, <br>Wrote defiant truth in language that could touch the hearts of men -- <br>Wrote until his eyelids shuddered -- wrote until the East was grey: <br>Wrote the stern and awful lessons that were taught him in his day; <br>And they knew that he was honest, and they read his smallest par, <br>For I think the diggers' Bible was the CAMBAROORA STAR. <br> <br>Diggers then had little mercy for the loafer and the scamp -- <br>If there wasn't law and order, there was justice in the camp; <br>And the manly independence that is found where diggers are <br>Had a sentinel to guard it in the CAMBAROORA STAR. <br>There was strife about the Chinamen, who came in days of old <br>Like a swarm of thieves and loafers when the diggers found the gold -- <br>Like the sneaking fortune-hunters who are always found behind, <br>And who only shepherd diggers till they track them to the `find'. <br> <br>Charlie wrote a slinging leader, calling on his digger mates, <br>And he said: `We think that Chinkies are as bad as syndicates. <br>What's the good of holding meetings where you only talk and swear? <br>Get a move upon the Chinkies when you've got an hour to spare.' <br>It was nine o'clock next morning when the Chows began to swarm, <br>But they weren't so long in going, for the diggers' blood was warm. <br>Then the diggers held a meeting, and they shouted: `Hip hoorar! <br>Give three ringing cheers, my hearties, for the CAMBAROORA STAR.' <br> <br>But the Cambaroora petered, and the diggers' sun went down, <br>And another sort of people came and settled in the town; <br>The reefing was conducted by a syndicate or two, <br>And they changed the name to `Queensville', for their blood was very blue. <br>They wanted Brown to help them put the feathers in their nests, <br>But his leaders went like thunder for their vested interests, <br>And he fought for right and justice and he raved about the dawn <br>Of the reign of Man and Reason till his ads. were all withdrawn. <br> <br>He was offered shares for nothing in the richest of the mines, <br>And he could have made a fortune had he run on other lines; <br>They abused him for his leaders, and they parodied his rhymes, <br>And they told him that his paper was a mile behind the times. <br>`Let the times alone,' said Charlie, `they're all right, you needn't fret; <br>For I started long before them, and they haven't caught me yet. <br>But,' says he to me, `they're coming, and they're not so very far -- <br>Though I left the times behind me they are following the STAR. <br> <br>`Let them do their worst,' said Charlie, `but I'll never drop the reins <br>While a single scrap of paper or an ounce of ink remains: <br>I've another truth to tell them, though they tread me in the dirt, <br>And I'll print another issue if I print it on my shirt.' <br>So we fought the battle bravely, and we did our very best <br>Just to make the final issue quite as lively as the rest. <br>And the swells in Cambaroora talked of feathers and of tar <br>When they read the final issue of the CAMBAROORA STAR. <br> <br>Gold is stronger than the tongue is -- gold is stronger than the pen: <br>They'd have squirmed in Cambaroora had I found a nugget then; <br>But in vain we scraped together every penny we could get, <br>For they fixed us with their boycott, and the plant was seized for debt. <br>'Twas a storekeeper who did it, and he sealed the paper's doom, <br>Though we gave him ads. for nothing when the STAR began to boom: <br>'Twas a paltry bill for tucker, and the crawling, sneaking clown <br>Sold the debt for twice its value to the men who hated Brown. <br> <br>I was digging up the river, and I swam the flooded bend <br>With a little cash and comfort for my literary friend. <br>Brown was sitting sad and lonely with his head bowed in despair, <br>While a single tallow candle threw a flicker on his hair, <br>And the gusty wind that whistled through the crannies of the door <br>Stirred the scattered files of paper that were lying on the floor. <br>Charlie took my hand in silence -- and by-and-by he said: <br>`Tom, old mate, we did our damnedest, but the brave old STAR is dead.' <br> <br> . . . . . <br> <br>Then he stood up on a sudden, with a face as pale as death, <br>And he gripped my hand a moment, while he seemed to fight for breath: <br>`Tom, old friend,' he said, `I'm going, and I'm ready to -- to start, <br>For I know that there is something -- something crooked with my heart. <br>Tom, my first child died. I loved her even better than the pen -- <br>Tom -- and while the STAR was dying, why, I felt like I did THEN. <br> <br> . . . . . <br> <br>Listen! Like the distant thunder of the rollers on the bar -- <br>Listen, Tom! I hear the -- diggers -- shouting: `Bully for the STAR!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408792" data-title="The Cambaroora Star de Henry Lawson" data-description="So you're writing for a paper? Well, it's nothing very new 
To be writing yards of drivel for a tidy little screw; 
You are young and educated, and a clever chap you are, 
But you'll never run a paper like the CAMBAROORA STAR. 
Though in point of ..."></div>
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