Vanity Fair (UK), September 22, 1904

(An Australian paper complains that writers of sensational fiction are too much in the habit of shipping their villains to Australia in the last chapter.)

When you’re tired of being wicked in a novel,
 When the charm of horrid deeds begin to pall,
When you’re, so to speak, fed up with an existence
 Which isn’t beer and skittles, after all,
When you’ve plundered all the widows and the orphans
 Till you feel that you can plunder them no more,
You may find a happy, peaceful little haven
 On the far Australian shore.

When the heroine, in spite of your exertions,
 Has been wedded to the hero, whom you hate,
When you’re harried by importunate detectives,
 What profit can you look for if you wait?
Go somewhere where there’s room for honest workers,
 Seek climes where there are happier days in store:
There’s a home for superannuated villains
 On the far Australian shore.

Pack your pistols and your knife in your portmanteau,
 Take your favourite knuckle-duster in your hand,
Slip a little prussic acid in your pocket,
 And quit this unappreciative land.
Though you’re baffled by the author every chapter,
 Till at last the thing begins to be a bore.
Keep a firm, courageous heart, you may make another start
 On the far Australian shore.