CHAPTER IV.

"Ye vig'rous swains! while youth ferment your blood, And purer spirits swell the sprightly flood, Now range the hills."

POPE.

On the third day after the Fergusons' arrival, Bob Smithers, believing the river had sufficiently subsided to admit of their travelling, organized their party preparatory to their departure; and selected from his own men one of the most useful and experienced bushmen to accompany them, and in conjunction with Joey, to take charge of the pack-horses, follow them over the runs, and guard their camp. They started; and, for the first day, followed the course of the Gibson river, which for nearly thirty miles bounded the Brompton run. At this point its waters were joined by a tributary creek, and here was situated one of the out-stations. It was the intention of Bob Smithers to reach this place before dark; and, owing to the heavy nature of the ground, from its excessive saturation, it was with no little difficulty this portion of the journey was performed. However, they reached the shepherd's hut; and unburdening their horses, they hobbled them and turned them out to graze, while they camped themselves for the night.

The hut, where they made their halt, was on a par with others of the same pretensions, though in no way superior. It was built of slabs split from the log, and freely ventilated on all sides; though in the roof, which was covered with bark, it was perfectly impervious to the weather. The internal arrangements, as might be expected, were as rough as the building itself; against the wall, in each side of the hut, were roughly put up, with battens and saplings, two clumsy-looking receptacles, containing the blankets, and intended for the nocturnal tenancy of the two occupants of the habitation. A box belonging to one of the men, and a rough bench built against the other unoccupied wall, and serving for a table, an iron pot for boiling meat, two tin quart pots in which to make their tea, two pint ones and dishes of the same metal, a two-gallon keg containing water, and which in an inverted position at times had to do duty as a stool, and two suspended bags containing tea and sugar, completed the furniture of the place. In front of the door a large log had been rolled, and was burning with lively force, emitting a lurid glare on the surrounding group; while on its end untouched by the fire, sat the hut-keeper, with his companion standing near him, and their visitors stretched on the ground awaiting the completion of the culinary operations of Bob Smithers' man.

The position of these guardians of the fleece is usually monotonous and dreary in the extreme; and those located here were a fair sample of the general herd. There was a shepherd and a hut-keeper. The duty of the former was to lead out the flocks daily at dawn, to follow and tend them while depasturing, and protect them from the depredations of the blacks, or the molestations of the native dogs; for which purpose in very remote districts, such as this, they are provided with guns. The hut-keeper, on the other hand, remains all day at the hut, resting from his vigils and preparing the meals of himself and coadjutor, in readiness for the latter's return at dusk with his charge; which are forthwith penned and handed over to the safe keeping of the other, who watches them during the night.

These men remain in this happy state of seclusion and ignorance of the proceedings of the world, from which they are thus (by their voluntary act of expatriation) excluded, from year's end to year's end; except at shearing time, when they bring their flocks to the head station to be shorn; and the only being with whom they have any intercourse, is the man who brings them their weekly supply of rations. When "old hands," they in general pass their lives in a lethargic existence; having no apparent thought of past, present, or future; but breathe on in a dreamy obliviousness, until at the expiration of perhaps one or two years, their wages having accumulated to an amount somewhat considerable, they leave their employment to proceed to the nearest public-house and plunge into a course of drinking. After the endurance of a week's delirium, madness, and unconsciousness, they generally find themselves, when robbed of the greater portion of their hard-got earnings, thrust upon the world penniless, wretched, dispirited, and sick, to seek employment and re-enact the same scenes of solitary penance and wild debauchery.

It is true the denizens of these out-stations are not always such characters; occasionally "fresh arrivals," or as they are called "new chums," may be hired by the squatter's agents in town and sent up to the station, whence they are frequently removed to these outposts; but when such is the case, they are generally of a more sociable disposition, and take an early opportunity of being removed to the comfort and social intercourse of the head station. Though in this removal they entail more constant and arduous occupation, they willingly embrace the labour, and leave the indolence of their vacated posts, to be enjoyed by some "old hand" whose mind has been broken by the depressing influence of constant punishment, and whose hopes have been blighted by a constant penal servitude. As this class of men is happily disappearing from the country, and giving place to steady and persevering immigrants, the charge of an out-station, when not in the hands of one with the old leaven of improvidence unexterminated, necessarily becomes the probationary lot of a "new chum."

The two men, with whom our travellers found themselves located, were something of the first mentioned class; and, to give our readers some idea of their characters, we will venture to encroach upon their patience, by recounting an epitome of the conversation that was started after the evening repast.

"Have you been long in this part of the country?" asked John of the shepherd.

"Why no, sir, I ain't been so very long," replied the man; "I've got about three months to make up my year with Mr. Smithers. I came over from New England, and agreed for twelve months, and I like this country far better than the south, it ain't so cold nor so wet."

"Then, I suppose, you will retain your place, and renew your engagement when your year is up?"

"Well, you see, sir, I don't exactly know about that 'ere; after being up in the bush a while one likes to get down the country a bit, just to see what's going on, and to spend one's money."

"But, my good man, what necessity is there for you to go away from the station? If you want to see any change, I've no doubt Mr. Smithers would find you employment at the head station; and you might allow your wages to accumulate, until you had sufficient to purchase some sheep of your own."

"I don't know about that, sir; I expect it would be a precious long time before I would have enough to buy a flock of sheep: and besides, if I had any, I wouldn't know what to do with them; I shouldn't be allowed to graze 'em on other folk's runs; and, after slaving away for I don't know how long, I reckon I should just be swindled out of 'em in the end, and be as poor and 'miserable as a bandicoot' after all: besides, I'd rather not have the bother with them, but just have my spree, and 'knock down my pile,' as usual."

"But, my good fellow, if you were possessed of a flock of sheep, you could, by paying a rent, be allowed to depasture it on some squatter's run; and as to being swindled out of your property, the law of the land would protect you from that."

"I don't know nothing about the law of the land, sir; but I know as how a mate of mine, who served with a master on the Barwan for five years, and was paid his wages in sheep, took his flock to a piece of country he had bought from his master and set his self up. He hadn't been at that game though for more nor two years, when a flood on the river took off half his sheep, and his old master brought him in a bill for some hundreds of pounds for stores and things my mate had got, and he wanted to be paid right off. Now, my mate couldn't pay him; so he had to give him up his sheep and go shepherding again. So you see, sir, I may just as well spend my money when I get it, as let myself be cheated out of it at the end."

"Your friend's case was certainly a hard one, but he seemed to be the victim of misfortune more than of an exacting master; but that does not show, because he did not succeed, that you or any other industrious man should fail. Take my advice and try it; refrain from taking your wages, let them accumulate in the hands of your employer, and when they have reached such a sum as to be of service to you, ask him to invest it, and I am sure you will have no cause to complain; besides, remember as you get old, if you have no friends to care for you and you are destitute as you are now, you will starve."

"That's just it, you see, sir; if I go to save money now (but I know I can't, for I never could), if I dies I've got no one to give it to. I've got no friends, leastwise I don't know of none; and I am sure when I knew there was something coming to me, I would want to spend it; while as long as I live, I can always earn enough to keep me."

"But you say you've never attempted to save your wages; you cannot tell how you may be influenced until you make the attempt."

"There is no use of my trying, sir, I am sure I never could; and I may just take my money when it is due me, and have my spree."

"I can't understand how it is you persist in being so prodigal. What extraordinary influence is it that induces you to spend your earnings as soon as you get them?"

"Well, I don't know, sir, unless it is we get 'em too seldom. You see, when we work for a year and don't get no money perhaps all that time, when we do have our wages all in a lump, it seems such a lot we don't think how hard it cost us to get it; and we don't know what to do with it, so we just spend it. If we got paid, you see, as people down in the towns, at the end of the week, and had to keep ourselves, we might get into the way for saving a little now and then; but as it is, we never know how to do it, and I expect we never shall. You see we ain't like those fellows who let their old women look after their money, who tell 'em it is all gone, while all the time they've got it put away in their old stocking."

"Well, why don't you get married, and have an old woman, as you call it; and by her means you may make yourself more happy, and be enabled, after a time, to become your own master?"

"I've often thought I wouldn't mind that sort o' thing, sir; but where do you think I would get a young woman as'd look at the likes of me? When they comes out to this country, specially when they gets up here into the bush, they're so mighty saucy, they cocks up their noses at fellers likes us; and besides, you know masters don't care to have men with what they calls 'incumberances.'"

"No doubt there is some truth in that; but if you by your thriftiness can possess yourself of a little money, and be in a position to establish yourself, you'd have no difficulty, I should say, in inducing some industrious girl to accept you; take my advice now, and try."

"All right, sir, I will," replied the man; after which the conversation took another turn, and the party very shortly separated.

As they were leaving the fire, Bob Smithers remarked to John that all his advice to the man would be lost in five minutes. He told him it was impossible to instil prudence into the minds of such; "their whole enjoyment," he said, "is in having their spree. They perceive no pleasure in hoarding money to provide comforts in their old age; the very thought of it is distasteful to them, and as to that fellow (pointing to the man John had been conversing with), if he succeeded in passing the year without drawing his wages, some of his mates would tell him he was a fool; and thinking so himself, he would not rest until he had been paid and gone through his course of drunkenness."

"I am aware," said John, "such is his present feeling; and I have met with many like him, but have succeeded in persuading, not a few, to practise a life of frugality; and I am convinced, with a little admonition, that that man could be induced to adopt a similar course."

"Well, perhaps, he could," replied Smithers; "but, for my part, if those fellows feel inclined to spend their money foolishly, I don't think it is our interest to prevent them. If we induced all the men in the country to save their wages, or take them in sheep, we would have the colony overrun with a set of "stringy bark squatters," who would be so infesting our lands that our runs would be cut up into innumerable small parts, just to serve vagabonds."

"You must admit," replied John, "that if a provident spirit were to be infused into the people, it would be the means of stocking the country by an industrious and thrifty population; and be far more beneficial to the colony than allowing the lands to remain in the hands of a few wealthy squatters."

"Oh, pooh! pooh!" cried Smithers; "but I'm not going to argue with you; we had better start in the morning soon after daylight; so, now, let's take a snooze." With this the young men entered the hut, and, rolling themselves in their blankets, settled for sleep; which they enjoyed uninterruptedly until an early hour in morning. They then arose; and, after taking a matin ablution in the creek, returned to the hut to partake of their breakfast, which was being prepared by Joey; while Bob Smithers' stock-man brought in the horses.

It may, no doubt, appear strange to the reader that horses should be turned out loose in the bush, with only the simple precaution of "hobbling" their fore-feet, without the danger of the animals being lost to their owners; but such is rarely to be apprehended, except in the case of some incorrigible beasts who are not to be trusted. We certainly have known horses, so hobbled, make off in a sort of shambling gallop, by drawing up the two confined feet together, and progressing in short leaps; but, in general, a horse so turned out at night, after a day's hard ride, has a sort of tacit understanding with his master that he is to be at hand when required: or at least his natural instinct prompts him to make the most use of his leisure time, and occupy the period of his release in diligently administering to his own wants, and satisfying the calls of hunger and exhausted nature; and if searched for at daybreak, before having had time to wander, he is generally found in a convenient proximity to "the camp." Such was the case in the present instance.

When the horses were saddled and ready for a start, the party mounted, and the cavalcade moved off. The country they intended to visit was situated on the main river, some considerable distance further down its course; but, owing to the numerous creeks that mingled their waters with the main stream, it was impossible for them to follow the bank of the river without meeting with many interruptions and impediments. They therefore traced up the creek; and, by means of their compass, they shaped their course so as to either head all the creeks, or so far reach their sources, as to be enabled to cross them without difficulty. This circuitous route necessarily occupied more time than what would have been required under more auspicious circumstances; and the still heavy nature of the ground, from its late pluvial visitation, rendered the journey extremely tedious; while it prevented them from reaching Strawberry Hill, the only station on the river below Brompton, that night. This run had been sold to the present occupants by Bob Smithers, and had been taken possession of by them some eighteen months previously. It had been Smithers' intention to have made this place their quarters for that night; but finding it could not be reached before dark, and there being situated in the line a deep and awkward river called the Wombi, running into the Gibson, and for which he preferred daylight to cross, he determined to keep higher up the Wombi, and camp on its bank where the country was open and flat.

Arriving at the "Dingo plains," a place so named from the number of those animals which frequented it, they halted for the night, intending to camp and cross the river in the morning. They would thus, by making this detour, keep high above Strawberry Hill; and Smithers therefore purposed taking his companions round the back and lower boundaries of the run they wished to see; thence through its extent to its other extreme on the Gibson river; making occasional deviations to the principal water courses and eminences, from which a good view of the country could be obtained; and thence to return. Smoking their pipes over their fire, Bob detailed these plans to the young men, who perfectly agreed with their judiciousness, and determined to put them in practice on the following day. They then fell into a desultory conversation; through which we will not trouble the reader by following; but merely remark that it was principally upon the occupants of the station on the river, the character of the blacks in the neighbourhood, and the likelihood of annoyance from the dingos. That these latter were numerous it was pretty evident; for the travellers more than once had intimation, of a close proximity to their camp, of a tribe of those canine aborignals, who prefer the enjoyment of a pristine independence to the blessings of civilisation, except in so far as that civilisation can be made subservient to their comfort and sustenance.

The dingo, or as it is generally called, the native dog, occupies in the social scale, much the same position in the southern hemisphere, as the fox does in the northern; and also approaches more nearly to that animal in semblance and character than any other known. Its colour is generally of a dark sandy or reddish brown, with hair rather long, a bushy low-hanging tail, long ears, which except while being pursued he usually keeps erect, pointed snout, and sharp piercing eyes. He is stupid and cowardly; generally creeping along with a slinking gait to surprise his prey, which he usually siezes by the throat. He is easily frightened, and deterred from his purpose by the simplest contrivances; and is quite devoid of that cunning which characterizes his antipodean prototype. His course of destruction has been known to be arrested by an ordinary four-wire fence, through which he could have easily passed; though he sat on the exterior of the enclosure, moaning piteously at the flock within; while his mental obtuseness failed to percieve a means of ingress. To sheep he is most destructive; and if a flock is so carelessly tended as to admit of his insinuating himself, the havoc he makes is frightful: for not content with fastening on one, he will snap, tear, worry, and mangle possibly half the flock; and passing from one to another, with the rapidity of thought, the mortality that results from his visit is truly disastrous. He never barks like a domesticated dog, but yelps and howls; and at night when he sounds his note, it is taken up by the entire pack, and made to resound with a mournful cadence over the face of the country. As they sit on their haunches, with their noses extended in an elevation to the sky, chorusing their lachrymose and supplicatory lamentations, the effect is one of the most dismal that can be conceived.

To society such as this the young men had a decided objection; and concluding, that if they did not take steps to disperse their nocturnal visitors (who treated them to numerous appeals which were anything but euphonic), they would stand a very poor chance of enjoying any rest. Besides the probability that a keen appetite might induce the dogs to extend their favours to the horses, it was also a matter of prudence to insist upon their removing themselves to some more distant location; and to support this with a forcible argument, the travellers got their guns in readiness, and moved away in silence into the darkness.

Our friends were not left long to ascertain in what direction to expect a recontre, for a fresh eructation of the metrical whine gave them sufficient notice. The black boy soon descried the disturbers of their peace by the glitter of a host of canine optics, and directed his masters and their friend where to fire. This they did; and the effect of their shots was instantly apparent, from the excessive yelping that greeted their ears, and satisfied them that some, at least, of their annoyers had got something to remember; while they were gratified to listen to the fast receding sounds of these "mercurial inhabitants of the plain." The dogs quickly "made themselves scarce," nor did they afterwards attempt to reduce the distance they had placed between themselves and the travellers; who, upon the establishment of quiet, and after supplying fresh material to their fire, nestled themselves in their blankets around the cheerful blaze, and stretched themselves to sleep under the "starlit canopy of heaven."

Early on the next morning the journey was resumed; and for three days, with very little variety, they traversed the run, of which we need say nothing; except that the country answered the expectations of the Fergusons, who were pleased with its appearance, and returned with Bob Smithers to complete the purchase at Brompton. Here preliminaries were soon effected. Mr. Ferguson's agents in Sydney had been instructed by him to honour any drafts drawn by his son, and to transact any business he might require; therefore John at once drew upon them for the amount of this purchase, and placed himself in communication respecting the other arrangements; forwarding the note of sale from Smithers, and an obligation from him to sign the necessary deeds of transfer when they were ready for execution. He then took his leave of the family, intending to go down to Moreton Bay, whence a steamer plied to Sydney, and on thence to superintend his business there and select the necessaries for forming the station; at the same time that his brother and Joey returned to New England, to wait there until John had so far perfected his plans, as to be able to bring up his supplies and prepare the station for the reception of the sheep.

It is unnecessary to trace the peregrinations of John Ferguson, or to tire the reader with a detail of William's every day life at Acacia creek; we will simply say that in the course of about six weeks John returned to Brisbane, and wrote to his brother to muster their sheep and start with them for the station as soon as possible. He stated that he had engaged drays to take up their loading, and that he intended to precede them himself; so that he would in all probability reach the station some weeks before either the supplies or the sheep, and would engage some bush carpenters as he went up, to prepare the place for their reception. To carry out this intention, he made all speed for his destination; and arriving at Alma, the nearest township to his place, on the fourth day, he there engaged two men, to whom he gave directions to meet him at Brompton, and pushed on himself for that station.

Alma and Brompton lay about equidistant from his own place; but his inability to describe sufficiently clearly to the understanding of the men the locale of the new station, and his rations having been left at the latter place, it was necessary for him to proceed there first. Upon his appearance at Mr. Smithers', he was welcomed with much cordiality; and every assistance was given him by the kind proprietor, though he had been quite disinterested in the arrangements between Bob and the Fergusons. Yet such was his kindly disposition, that considerations of interest weighed very little with him, and he freely and kindly tendered any aid that lay in his power. He recommended John to go over to the run, and, if he had not done so already, to select a site for his station; and for that purpose he offered him the services of one of his own men; while he promised to have the carpenters directed to the place whenever they made their appearance.

The run had been originally called Fern Vale by Bob Smithers, when he tendered for it to the government; and John Ferguson, who thought he could not improve upon it, had allowed it to retain that name. The part of it which had attracted Bob's attention, and induced him to so christen it, was a gently undulating valley opening to the Gibson river, as the crow flies, a few miles below Strawberry Hill. The north side of the valley was partially covered with the fern plant (which suggested the name); and here, it struck John, would be a good site for his station, and he consequently determined to visit it first.

On the following morning, in company with the man, whose assistance had been so kindly given him by Mr. Smithers, John rode over to the run, and reaching the valley we have mentioned camped for the night. In the morning, at the first sight of his position, he was convinced no better situation could be found; so gave up the idea of any further prospecting, and prepared for the carpenters, by marking out the sites for the house, huts, and yards.

Down the valley, which we have said opened out to the river, meandered a beautiful little limpid stream; on the upper side of the vale, and receding from the banks of the river, rose a gentle acclivity, which pointed itself out as the spot on which to erect the house; while on the flat below was every convenience for the huts and yards. Above this point the river took a considerable bend, making on the other side a deep pocket, which was low and apparently subject to flooding. It was covered by a dense scrub, over which, from the elevated position John had chosen for his domicile, he could catch a glimpse of Strawberry Hill; which, though on the same side of the river as Fern Vale, and some distance round, appeared, when looking across the head of the stream, not very far off.

The carpenters shortly making their appearance, all were soon in a state of animation; and, before long, the crash of falling timber, the echo of the axe in felling, and the mallet in splitting the logs for the fences, resounded through the wood, where hitherto solitude had held undisputed sway; and, long before the arrival of the flocks or the supplies, substantial stock-yards had been erected, as well as huts for the shepherds, and a commodious store-house. The construction of the dwelling-house, being a matter of a secondary consideration, it was necessarily left to the last; and the whole party set to work busily to put up a large shed for shearing, and storing the wool when ready for packing.



CHAPTER V.

"How gaily is at first begun Our life's uncertain race! Whilst yet that sprightly morning sun, With which we just set out to run, Enlightens all the place."

COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA.

When William Ferguson received his brother's letter, he immediately collected the draft of sheep with which they were to commence their station, and started with them for Fern Vale, in company with Joey and two shepherds. The route he intended to adopt, in his migration, was somewhat the same as that taken by his brother and himself on their first journey to Brompton. He was induced to make choice of this, partly to enable him to renew the acquaintance of Mr. Dawson; but principally on account of its leading him through a part of the country little frequented, by which he would be enabled to prosecute his journey with less chance of molestation. He therefore communicated his intention to Mr. Dawson by post, which (though taking a more circuitous route than he) would reach Barra Warra long before he made his appearance with his flock. With a large number of sheep in charge, the travelling was necessarily slow and tedious; and some time had been consumed ere the young man approached the station of his acquaintance. No circumstance worth recording had marked the passage thus far; all things seemed propitious; and as William left his sheep in the charge of his employees, encamped within sight of Barra Warra, he felt certain of a successful termination to his journey.

Upon reaching the house of Mr. Dawson, he was disappointed to find that gentleman from home (having been suddenly called away to town on business); though he left word with his good lady, to express his regrets at the circumstance that prevented his having the pleasure of meeting his young friend, and his hope that William would make Barra Warra his resting-place as long as he could conveniently do so. Mrs. Dawson expressed her happiness to see him, and also pressed her husband's invitation; while the children, who speedily remembered him, uttered their welcomes in tones of joyous gratulation.

William thanked the kind-hearted lady, and accepted the invitation with pleasure; though the visit, he said, would necessarily be short, as he required to urge on the sheep, and he did not like resigning the responsibility to either of the men. He was sorry, he said, that his visits hitherto had been such flying ones; but promised to make amends at an early opportunity, when he anticipated he would be under the necessity of craving the hospitality of Barra Warra for his sister; who purposed joining her brothers when their station was made a little comfortable. The bare proposition quite delighted Mrs. Dawson, who was warm in her expressions of approval; and said she would be charmed to make the acquaintance of Miss Ferguson, and hoped she would have more sociability than her brothers, and not require so much pressing to induce a visit from her.

William assured his friend, that his sister would reciprocate the delight; for she had already, he said, expressed a desire to know Mrs. Dawson, from simply hearing him mention her name.

We need not trace the conversation through all its minutiae, nor delay our narrative by detailing the further progress of William Ferguson; but simply mention, that on the following morning he proceeded on his journey, while we turn to view the movements of his brother.

In the meantime, John had got all his buildings so far completed, as to have them ready for the settlement of the station as soon as the flocks and the drays with the supplies should have arrived. It was not his intention to build the house until they settled themselves, and got some little leisure after shearing time; and, until then, he proposed living with his brother in one of the huts erected for the men. He now looked anxiously for the drays; and as the weather had been fine since they started, and they had been a good time on the road, he believed they could not be far distant; especially as he had received intimation from Mr. Smithers that a man had arrived at Brompton, who had passed them the day before he reached that station. He therefore thought it advisable to leave the carpenters at work on a few odds and ends that still required doing, and proceed along the road to meet the drays, and hurry them on to their destination. He did so; and some few miles past Strawberry Hill he descried the lumbering vehicles jogging on at their (or rather the bullocks') leisure; and he turned with them, in company, until they reached the crossing-place of the Wombi. The appearance of this spot did not, by any means, favourably prepossess the minds of the bullock-drivers: the banks were of black alluvial soil, and had a steep descent to the water; which, though reduced to its ordinary level, looked black from the colour of the banks and the soil through which it passed; and had an appearance of depth, not at all inviting to drivers of heavily-laden drays.

However, cross it they were compelled to; for there was no other place where the river could be passed with any degree of safety, without going considerably farther; so, after directing John to go over with his horse, that he might see what he had to encounter, the first bullock-driver urged his team down the slope and into the water, where it splashed and floundered on until it succeeded in bringing the dray about half way across. There the bottom was so soft, and the dray wheels had become so embedded in the mud, that only with the assistance of the second team could the passage be effected. The second dray was not even so fortunate as the first; for all efforts of the double team were unavailing to pass the rubicon; and it settled in the mud mid-way between the banks. Adding to this, the fact that the water was already above the axle, and consequently damaging the loading; and that in all probability, if not speedily extricated, the dray would become even more immovable; it was evident, to the men, some strenuous efforts were required to overcome the difficulty.

The Australian bullock dray with its bovine traction, we may remark, is without exception the most primitive means of conveyance that can either be devised or imagined. The ponderous vehicle, in perfect keeping with the heavy and drowsy quadrupeds who draw it at a snail-like pace, stands prominently forth as a reproach to the inventive genius of man; and, excepting perhaps the substitute of iron in coupling and linking the animals, and in some parts of the vehicular construction, the whole equipage possesses not the shadow of an improvement on the popular conveyances of the age of Sesostris. But in this sunny land, settlers are content with the questionable facilities of transit offered by these primeval means; while they console themselves with the belief that no other style of vehicle would stand the wear and tear of being drawn over logs and stumps of trees, rocks and precipices, and through rivers and swamps; and that no other animal but the patient bullock, could endure the fatigue and privation of alternate heat, wet, hunger and thirst, and a constant taxation of strength and resignation. 'Tis true, at times, the obstacles to travelling are almost insuperable, and that the roads have no title to the dignity of such a name; being, in most instances, merely tracks formed by the drays following the course of a predecessor; but still, no attempt even is made to improve the means of conveyance. The settlers content themselves with the existence of things that be, and are satisfied with the progressive rate of from fifteen to twenty miles a day; at which speed a team of ten bullocks, in fine weather, will draw a dray with thirty to forty hundred-weight; while during wet, they may not perform the same distance in a week.

The individuals who manage the guidance of these machines, and who are generally accompanied by an assistant, are too often some of the most reprobate members of the family of man. Their sole accomplishments are the management of their drays; the forcible appeals to their bullocks, made by the application of their long whips (upon the expertness in the use of which they pride themselves); the facile utterance of their blaspheming interjections; and their ability to plunder without detection. The acme of their human felicity is perpetual intoxication; and to gratify this propensity, they have no scruples in assisting themselves to any liquor which they may be entrusted to carry; frequently adopting ingenious plans to abstract it from the bulk, and replace it by water in such a way as to defy detection. They are ignorant in the extreme, and though assumed to be civilised and sentient beings, their vices render them, in the scale of humanity, on a par with the aboriginal blacks; individuals of whom, frequently follow in their train, and, until debased by their vile influence, by far their superiors in an ethical point of view.

In stimulating the propulsion of his team, the bullock-driver addresses each of his beasts by name; such as, "eh, Smiler;" "come up, Strawberry;" "Cap-tain," etc.; accompanying every admonition with a profusion of oaths, and a wholesale application of the lash. If remonstrated with for his use of so ungenteel a vocabulary, he will endeavour, with considerable earnestness, to convince you that the bullocks perfectly understand what is said to them; and that they are so wayward in their disposition, that nothing short of such determined and forcible language is of any avail. He will support his arguments with many stories of the wonderful instinct and percipiency displayed by his animals; all of which stories, though exceedingly marvellous, obtain implicit credence in the mind of the narrator; and only come short, in point of hyperbolical marvel, of the wonderful utterance of Tom Connor's cat, in the plain Anglo-Saxon vernacular. Though we do not intend either to support or refute the sophistry of these men, it is only just to say, that considering every bullock has a name, upon the utterance of which it is made to feel an application of the whip, it is not to be wondered at that the animals are soon taught to recognise their appellations, and in the expectation of chastisement, to brighten up when they hear them.

The reader may imagine we have drawn too depraved a picture of this neglected class of men; but we solemnly affirm we have not. There are, of course, exceptions to this, as to every rule; for we have known many industrious, and even respectable well-conducted men, as bullock-drivers; but unfortunately they were only the exceptions: the general mass are as corrupt and vicious as it is possible for human beings to be. Why this is so, we are at a loss rightly to understand; though we imagine the primary cause is this: Attendant on bullock-driving are many discomforts; more, possibly, than in any other occupation in the bush. Hence it is an employment which industrious or enterprising individuals generally shun; and in the successive scales of advancement, in which the steady immigrant effects his rise, it is left to members of the lowest scum; who prefer the freedom of this erratic life, to the more settled conformities of order and society.

We left John Ferguson on the bank of the river, gazing on the dray safely (or rather unsafely) fixed in the bed of the river. The bullock-drivers had lashed, frantically shouted, and swore; while they performed sundry manoeuvres, and excited evolutions; to induce the bullocks to strain an extra nerve, to extricate the vehicle: but all to no purpose; the efforts of the beasts were unavailing, while the delay only rendered the case more hopeless. In this state of things, the men perceived the only course open to them, was to lighten the load as much as possible, by partially unloading the dray, and carrying the goods over the river themselves. With this determination they set earnestly to work, and succeeded in removing the greater portion of the goods; when they made another attempt, happily with better success than previously; and brought the dray from its miry adherence to a position on the bank. It was then reladen with the goods; while the men, barely recovered from the chagrin caused by the misadventure, performed their work with a sullen moroseness, enlivening their gloom by animadversions on the river, the country, and everybody connected with their peregrination.

In this humour John left them to follow him, while he proceeded to the station, where we will also lead the reader. Upon his return to Fern Vale, he found, during his short absence, that the blacks, attracted by the appearance of a fresh settlement, had congregated in some considerable numbers; though more out of curiosity than with any idea of aggression. At sight of John, a number of them immediately assembled round him; looking at him, and everything about the place, in a sort of inquisitive manner; jabbering amongst themselves; and handling everything portable within their reach. The group consisted of some twenty persons of both sexes and various ages; and were a family of the Nungar tribe, which usually made its home on the other side of the Gibson river, in the scrub, and the mountains and broken country receding from it.

The sight of this visitation did not altogether please the young squatter, for he thought he saw in the future considerable annoyance from similar visits. He therefore demanded of them what they required; and told them, that though he had no objection to their coming about the place so long as they behaved themselves, if he caught them committing any theft, or becoming in any way troublesome, he would not allow one of them afterwards to approach the station.

They seemed to understand this communication; for one of them informed John, that a good many of their tribe had been employed by the squatters, to wash their sheep, and do work about the stations, and would be very glad to do the same for him. Thinking possibly that it might be the means of coming to some friendly understanding with the tribe, and would give him a means of acquiring some knowledge of their movements and disposition, he thought it advisable to take the services of some of them; more especially as in the then rough state of the settlement, their services could be turned to some account. Acting on this impulse, then, he selected two young athletic black boys; who seemed more intelligent than the majority, and who appeared to have a disposition to remain on the station, and to adapt themselves to the ways of the white man. He then distributed some tobacco and rations amongst them, and they took their departure apparently well pleased.

By this time the drays were seen making their approach; and great was instantly the bustle in preparation for the reception of the "loading." The articles which constitute a station's "supplies" are of such a kaleidoscopic variety, that their enumeration would almost be endless; and we will merely observe that the heterogeneous mass was safely, and speedily, transferred from the dray to the ground, whence it was deposited in the store. Various edibles; and their condiments such as tea, sugar, flour, oilman's stores, etc., were successively unpacked and stowed away; and everything appeared to be sound, until it was discovered that the salt, which had been placed in the bottom of the dray, was unfortunately damaged; it had, in fact, during its submersion in the water "dissolved," and

"Like the baseless fabric of a vision, Left not a rack behind."

Such events as this are of frequent occurrence; and, where the opportunities of procuring supplies are very rare, severe are the straits, and numerous the inconveniences, to which residents in the interior are subjected. After long and continued wet or dry weather, when travelling is rendered difficult or impossible, from the country being impassable by floods, or impracticable from drought and absence of feed, settlers in the remote districts are often reduced to states bordering on absolute starvation, or at least to a subsistence on meat, without any concomitant "fixins." When such cases occur, which we are happy to say is seldom, the squatters lend to one another the articles most in demand, until they either all become destitute of provisions, or are relieved by the receipt of a fresh supply. But articles that are not in every day consumption, and not considered of paramount importance, they are frequently compelled to do without for months; and so accustomed do they become to this species of self-denial, that the absence of many things is thought very little of. Salt, however, is an article indispensable on a station; for the greater portion of the meat consumed is required to be salted, to preserve it in the hot weather; while it is also frequently necessary, on some stations, to supply it to the sheep and cattle. For this purpose, rock salt is usually provided; but, in its absence, the ordinary coarse salt is put into small canvas bags, and suspended from trees, that the cattle may satisfy their saline cravings by licking the moisture, which, from the nightly dews and the natural dampness of the salt, exudes through the pores of the canvas.

When John saw the nature of his loss, knowing there was no use in complaining, he made the best of his mishap by determining to ride over in the morning to Strawberry Hill, and see if he could not borrow some from his neighbour there until the receipt of his further supplies for shearing. Before going, however, on the following morning, he desired to settle with the bullock-driver for the carriage of his supplies up, and to make arrangements with him for the occupation of one of his teams for the remainder of the season. For that purpose he took his bridle in his hand, and proceeded to catch his horse, which was running in one of the paddocks lately fenced in; and on the way, as he passed the camp of the draymen, he requested the fellow to go up to the hut in a few minutes, to be settled with, and receive his instructions for further employment. He then went in search of his steed, leaving the men stretched on the grass in front of a fire, near which stood their pots of tea, cooling; and in the ashes of which lay embedded their "damper," receiving its finishing heat, preparatory to being subjected to the operation of mastication; while the fellows themselves lay motionless, and careless of everything around them, in the full enjoyment of the everlasting pipe.

Oh, smoke! thou deity of thousands, and the special idol of the bush-man! thou that soothest the dull moments of a weary solitude, and the anguish of a desponding spirit; that satisfiest the cravings of a consuming hunger; that alleviates the pains, brightens the intellects, and dispels illusion of the morbid fancies and diseased imaginations of thy votaries! thou anodyne for melancholy; thou disseminator of good feeling; conciliator and ratifyer of peace offerings! without thee what would mortal bush-man be?—they, to whom thou art a friend in need. All potent smoke! thine influence is supreme; thy virtues are legion; and thy capabilities are boundless as the vapour into which thou meltest as a holocaust for thy happy devotees. If the pipe could but speak, what mysteries could it reveal! the rapturous visions of the inspired lover, rising in the circular imageries of its vaporous fumes, to beguile his fancies in the absence of his loved one; or the workings of a deep despondency and bitter disappointment, carrying its victim with blind impetuosity to a melancholy contemplation of a drear destruction, until the spirit seizes with avidity the proffered consolation, and the phantasmia vanishes under thy narcotic influence. The miseries of an insatiable thirst, and the sufferings of a gnawing hunger, fatigue, and indisposition, are all forgotten during the enjoyment of a smoke; while in a dilemma, or danger, in a deluging discomfort, or the anxieties consequent on being lost in the bush, the pipe is the ever ready comforter; and one which rarely fails to bring consolation to the mind. Well, therefore, may it be imagined that the pipe is "the friend of the people;" and that, not only of the canaille, the "great unwashed," but the entire nation; who in this day of general enlightenment and mental percipiency, have not failed to distinguish its claims, and to "render homage where homage is due." Many are the shifts, and crude the inventions in the bush, when emergencies call forth the application of the old proverb respecting the relationship that exists between destitution and genius; and when to be minus the support of the Virginian weed, is considered a greater misfortune than to be wanting of the necessaries of life. Hence, when requested by John Ferguson to go up to the hut, the draymen had not the remotest intention of disturbing themselves, at least for a time; and they continued to puff in an inert silence, while they contemplated the flames before them, and ejected an occasional expectoration, at an imaginary pandemonium in the embers.

They had remained in this state of statu quo for some time, when John Ferguson, who had caught his horse, and returned to the hut, not finding the men there, came down to where they lay. He then addressed himself to the still recumbent driver, and requested that he would come up with him and be settled with, and arrange for further loading. The independent carrier did eventually condescend to rise, and he slowly bent his steps to the station, accompanied by John, who gave him by the way a sketch of his plans. He wished him to start at once with his dray for Alma, and to bring back a quantity of shingles, window frames, and doors (for which, he told him, he would give him an order to a store-keeper there, who kept a supply of them); and then to return immediately, as the things were necessary for the construction of his house. The carpenters, whom he had on the station, were to employ themselves in cutting the timber and planks required in the erection; which they were to proceed with, anticipating the return of the dray; by which time John expected to be ready for shearing, and would be able to give it a load of wool to take down to the port for shipment. They walked on in this way for some little distance, Ferguson absorbed in his conversation with the bullock-driver, and paying little attention to his path; while the latter listened to his directions, seemingly without noticing his remarks, beyond an occasional grunt of acquiescence, and with his eyes fixed upon the ground.

A tributary (or rather the bed of what after heavy rains formed a tributary) of the creek, though now almost dry, here crossed their path. At some remote age a large tree had fallen across the stream, and, having buried itself in the soil on either side, formed a barrier to the current; which had in the course of years left a deposit of earth and sand, so as to bring its bed above the impediment on a level with the obstruction; while, on the lower side of the log, the bank of sand and pebbles had been hollowed out into a pool by the eddying of a miniature cataract. Though the creek was otherwise dry, in this pool there was water; and John Ferguson, walking along the course with his companion, and leading his horse after him by the bridle, made a short bound to clear the water-hole. He, however, was prevented from effecting his purpose, by the bullock-driver, who, at the moment of his leap, seized him by the arm, and caused him to alight, instead of on the bank, in the middle of the water; where he stood up to his knees, with a look at his companion of enquiring astonishment. The man, hardly able to refrain from indulging in a positive fit of stentorian cachinnation, without deigning any auricular explanation, pointed to the bank, on which Ferguson felt annoyed for not being permitted to reach. He instantly directed his eyes to the spot indicated by his companion, and at once perceived the nature of the escape he had made; for there had lain a large brown snake, on which he would have inevitably trodden, the consequences of which made him shudder to contemplate. Being aroused from its torpor by the approach and close proximity of those, whom its instinct told it were enemies, the reptile raised its head and about two feet of its body in a perpendicular attitude, with the head slightly extended and swaying from side to side; while it protruded its long forked tongue in fitful starts, and expressed a combination of fear and venomous hate in loud hisses. John felt his position, as the beast in a tortuous course slowly curled its body towards him, as being anything but pleasant; and being only armed with an ordinary riding-whip, considered that, if discretion was not the better part of valour, it was certainly more conducive to his safety.

With this belief, and with his eyes fixed upon the reptile, he made a retrograde movement to extricate himself from the unpleasantness of at least his damp location; but he was not a little surprised to find the snake approaching still nearer to him. This puzzled him exceedingly; he could not understand the idea of a snake attacking a man, when there was a chance open for it to escape; such a thing he had never heard of, and had hitherto believed it never to have occurred. But such in this instance was evidently (he thought) the intention of his opponent, or why should it continue to diminish the distance between him and itself. If John did not witness this diminution with alarm, he at least desired to be better supplied with defence, and shouted to his companion to procure a stout stick. Obtaining no reply, he cast a hasty glance over his shoulder, to see what had become of the man; when the snake, taking advantage of the momentary withdrawal of his eyes, made a rapid movement towards him. This John instantly perceived, and believing the reptile was determined to attack him, "he joined issue" at once, and gave a furious cut at it with his whip. The brute, however, evaded the blow, and once more erected itself in front of Ferguson, hissing its malevolence almost in his very face. This movement decided its fate, for with a motion as quick as thought he gave another cut with his whip; which, with a whiz that discomposed the nerves of his horse, encircled with its supple thong the extended neck of the reptile, and terminated its existence by dislocation. He then effected another fulfilment of the prognosticated command of an inscrutable divinity, by crushing its head under his heel; when he was joined by his companion, who had been searching for a weapon to aid in the strife. The snake thus destroyed was of the brown species, and deadly venomous; it measured about six feet, and, if it had been trodden upon by John Ferguson, would have in all human probability saved us from the further pursuit of this narrative. Its pertinacity in approaching to its destruction, we may state, was owing to the fact of John preventing it from reaching its hole; which they now discovered under the log, and close to where he had stood. The couple now pursued their course, and after arriving at the huts and settling with the drayman for the work he had already performed, and giving him an order to the store-keeper in Alma, with the necessary instructions, John took his departure for Strawberry Hill.



CHAPTER VI.

"The mistress of the mansion came, Mature of age, a graceful dame; And every courteous rite was paid, That hospitality could claim."

SIR W. SCOTT.

"I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Rainsfield," said John Ferguson, as he rode up to a gentleman at Strawberry Hill, who by his appearance indicated himself as the proprietor of the station.

"That is my name," replied he addressed; "and I presume I have the honour of meeting Mr. Ferguson?"

John acknowledging to his appellation, dismounted from his horse, and shaking hands with his newly-made acquaintance, the latter remarked: "I have to apologize, Mr. Ferguson, for not making my respects to you before; but you will pardon me, when I tell you I have been away from the station for some little time, and it was only yesterday when I returned, that my people told me of your settlement. However, I am happy that you have anticipated me in this visit; and if you are not in any very particular hurry, let one of my fellows put your horse in the stable, and just step into the house, that I may introduce you to the folks inside. They will be delighted, I am sure, that you have favoured us by introducing yourself;" saying which, he called one of the boys about the place to look after John's steed, while he led its owner to the dwelling. Of the mansion itself we need say nothing: it was simply a weather-boarded verandah cottage; the like of which is to be met with so frequently in the bush, as to give the idea of their being built to an universal plan; it was neat, and apparently comfortable.

When John Ferguson entered with Mr. Rainsfield he was ushered at once into the sitting-room; where, at the table, sat two ladies busily employed on some description of needlework, whose destined use was a mystery to the uninitiated. On the table before them, and at their feet, were strewn their necessary paraphernalia; and so busily engaged were they at their occupation, that they were not aware of the presence of any one besides themselves, until Mr. Rainsfield gave them notice of the fact by remarking, "Mr. Ferguson has waived all ceremony, my dear, and called upon us to make himself known, and commence a friendship, which I trust will remain uninterrupted."

The ladies then rose, and were introduced to John, as "Mrs. Rainsfield, my wife," and "Miss Rainsfield, my cousin;" and both expressed to our hero their welcomes and delight, that they had been so fortunate as to secure friendly and companionable neighbours. Mrs. Rainsfield at once gave a carte blanche to the young man and his brother; and stated that she hoped she would see as much of them at Strawberry Hill as their time would admit, and trusted that their society would be a mutual enjoyment.

John expressed himself highly flattered with his kind reception and invitations; and in the name of his brother and himself, promised to avail himself frequently of their hospitality, from which he anticipated much pleasure. But leaving them to continue their conversation without interruption, we will, with the indulgence of the reader, describe the several members of the Rainsfield family.

Mr. John Rainsfield, the proprietor of the station, was a gentleman of about two-and-thirty years of age; his appearance was what might be called gentlemanly; though, while being perhaps prepossesing, having nothing about it to attract any particular attention. In his disposition he was thought to be morose; though it was not indicative of a confirmed ill-temper, but arose from a reserve occasioned by a distaste for the popular practices of his neighbours. Those who knew him found him anything but distant, and by his friends he was pronounced a good-hearted fellow. It is true, on his station, he was a strict disciplinarian, and had a mortal enmity to the blacks; notwithstanding which he was usually liked by his men, and rarely had so much trouble with the aborigines as his neighbours. His history was that of most of his class; an emigration to the country to better his circumstances, and a pastoral servitude in various grades, until he had accumulated sufficient to either take up or purchase country, and procure a flock of sheep; which could have been purchased at a few shillings a-head. Thus, having once procured a start, his success was almost certain; and, in fact, at the time of which we write, he had firmly established himself in a position of comfort and respectability.

Mrs. Rainsfield was a lady some few years the junior of her husband; was kind and amiable, with a pleasing expression of countenance, which, if not absolutely pretty, was certainly winning, and calculated to demand attention. The attachment between herself and her husband had been a very early one; and when he had left his native land to seek his fortune in a far away home, it had been determined that as soon as he was in a position to support her, she should join him in Australia. This plan had been carried out; and after a short sojourn in the country he had been enabled to send home for her. She joyfully responded to his call, and upon her arrival was united to her faithful lover. Since their union their life had been an uninterrupted course of domestic bliss; and they were blessed, at the period of our narrative, with four pledges of their happiness.

Eleanor Rainsfield, who, as already introduced to the reader as Mr. Rainsfield's cousin, was the daughter of that gentleman's deceased uncle, who had early emigrated, with a newly-married wife, to the colony. He was by profession a medical man, and for many years during his early residence in the country, pursued his avocation profitably; but in the midst of an extending practice he lost his wife, to whom he was fondly and devotedly attached. The effect of this blow he never thoroughly got over, but gradually became in every respect an altered man. From one of unflinching energy and firm determination, he degenerated into a desponding, weak, and vacillating imbecile; and lingered on in a mental aberration for some two years, when he died. During the period of his distraction it is not surprising that his practice rapidly declined, and ultimately became completely destroyed; hence, upon his demise, his family were left perfectly destitute.

From the time of her mother's death Eleanor became the director of all the family affairs, and the domestic responsibility gave her an appearance of thoughtfulness and care hardly consistent with one so young; while the effects still adhering to her, her manner seemed to retain an habitual reserve and melancholy. At the period of her introduction to John Ferguson she was about sixteen; her figure, though not absolutely slender, was light and active, and of that altitude which, in women, would be considered the medium; not so short as to appear little, nor so tall but that she could look up to a man of ordinary stature. Her form was well modelled, and rounded off to perfection. Her shoulders were of that description so generally fashioned by the chisel of the sculptor, though, possibly, they were rather a shade too broad; being such as would give the beholder the idea of the owner, when more matured, of being a "fine woman." Her movements were effected with a native grace, at once denoting the lady; and her elasticity of tread, and firmness of step, were only equalled by her loftiness of carriage. Her face was of the oval form, with a wide marble forehead (which, but for her winning modesty and gentle manner, would have been considered as bearing the stamp of coldness and hauteur); eyebrows so well defined, as almost to give an idea of pencilling; deep blue lustrous eyes, protected by long lashes; a nose slightly tending to the aquiline; a mouth of enticing sweetness, and an alabaster cheek, almost imperceptibly tinged with the faintest pink. Her hair of "bonny brown," and of which she had a luxuriant crop, was worn slightly off the cheek. Her dress was neatness and elegance combined; so made as to come up to the throat, and there terminate in a neat open collar; under which was a pink ribbon, contrasting pleasingly with the otherwise pale-looking features of the wearer. Her sleeves ended in a band, which encircled her wrists, and displayed a pair of hands, rivalling in symmetry the choicest sculpture, and in whiteness the calico on which she was industriously employing herself. Her features, though not perfect, were calm and beautifully expressive, and the lustre of her complexion at once struck the beholder with admiration; while, to her, affectation being unknown, the easy confidence with which she approached and welcomed a stranger, rendered her perfectly bewitching; and to this description we may add, that, though in the florescence of youth, she was in the full bloom of womanhood.

Start not, gentle reader, at the paradox we have uttered; for in Australia, that land of precocity, where both vegetable and animal nature shoots up into maturity so quickly, the transition appears almost miraculous; and those we have known yesterday as children, we are surprised, probably, after a year or two's absence, to see grown to man or woman's estate. Such cases are not the exception, but the rule. So, therefore, be not surprised when we state that at an age, when, in this staid old-fashioned going country, match-making matrons may be thinking of introducing their daughters to the world, their cognates, the fair "corn-stalks" of Australia, will not only have long since made their debut in society, but have settled into devoted wives and happy mothers. And, bless their little hearts! we doubt not, but that, as they are matured both in person and mind at an earlier age, and have consequently less time and opportunities to acquire the deceptions of society, they are as much, if not more, calculated to fulfil their worldly destiny, with credit to themselves and happiness to their concomitants, as their more favoured sisters of our own glorious isle.

Eleanor Rainsfield, as we have hinted, retained a cast of melancholy in her features, which gave her an appearance of coldness and reserve to strangers, aided, perhaps, by a natural diffidence and desire for seclusion; which she preferred to thrusting herself forward, or mixing much with the world. When known, however, she was gentle and kind, with an amiability and candour exceedingly attractive; and when interested with the conversation of one for whom she entertained respect, a smile usually played over her placid features and made her perfectly irresistible. This smile would vanish with the cessation of the conversation, and the evanescent animation pass with it; leaving the stranger in doubt, when gazing on the returning gloom, if the former sunshine had been the effect of pleasurable emotions, or a shadowing forth of a latent melancholy. She was highly accomplished, and her mind was the emblem of purity itself. Her present refuge had been offered to her by her cousin upon the death of her father, and gratefully accepted; while the remainder of the family had been dispersed amongst various relatives.

The other members of the Rainsfield family were the children, of whom we have already made mention, and Thomas Rainsfield, a junior brother of the proprietor of the station, with whom he was "acquiring experience." He was a fine, frank, open-hearted young fellow of about three-and-twenty; but as he was absent from home at the period of which we write, we will defer introducing him to the reader until we can do so in propria personae. In a small cottage, a short distance from the house, resided Mr. Billing (who acted as clerk and storekeeper, and whose duties were to keep the accounts of the station, and distribute the rations to the men) and his wife (who officiated as governess); with sundry olive branches, who bore unmistakeable evidences, from their facial delineations, of their Billing paternity.

John Ferguson, in a few words, explained the nature of the mishap which had occasioned his visit, and begged Mr. Rainsfield to supply his wants, until such time as he could receive a further supply. The required accommodation was willingly acceded to; and Mr. Rainsfield remarked that he would give instructions to Mr. Billing to send it over to Fern Vale, the first time that he sent out the rations; and as that would be on the following day, he had no doubt that the arrangement would suit his neighbour.

John replied to Mr. Rainsfield, that he was exceedingly obliged to him for his kind offer; but stated that as he would be returning to the station at once, he would save him the trouble by taking a bag with him on his horse.

"Nonsense," cried his entertainer, "I can never think of letting you leave us in such a hurry; you have nothing that requires your immediate return, and you may as well favour us with your company for a few days, at any rate until you hear of the approach of your sheep; by which time I expect Tom will have returned, and no doubt we may manage to give you a hand to get them over the river. Besides, the ladies are always complaining of ennui, and will be happy of your society in the disposal of a few leisure hours. I am sure I need not appeal to my wife, to confirm my welcome; for though she now preserves a strict silence, I know she is desirous for you to remain."

"Indeed, my dear," replied the lady, "you are perfectly correct in your conjectures. I should indeed be pleased if Mr. Ferguson would remain with us for a few days; not to make a convenience of him in the manner which you describe, but to impress him with a favourable idea of the neighbours amongst whom he has settled. So, if he will allow himself to be persuaded, we will arrange his domestication in as short a time as possible."

"I am exceedingly indebted to you, Mrs. Rainsfield, for your expression of kind feeling," exclaimed John; "and, if not putting you to too great inconvenience, I will accept the hospitality of your worthy husband and yourself, to await the approach of my brother."

"Inconvenience?" replied Mrs. Rainsfield; "who ever heard of inconvenience in the bush? I have long forgotten the application of the word; and at any rate, if I could call to mind its meaning, I never could think of allowing it to influence me, when the wishes of my husband are in question;" saying which, and looking archly at her spouse, she quitted the room.

"Ah! she's up to some little game now;" exclaimed that victim laughingly, as his wife left the apartment: "depend upon it she intends backing up that soft soap, with some little scheme of personal aggrandizement. You can't think, my dear sir," he continued, addressing John Ferguson, "how these women manage to get round us, when they take it into their little heads to flatter our vanity. If ever you submit to the thraldom of a marital character, you must be proof against that weakness."

"I have no idea of the nature of the bondage to be borne by you self-constituted slaves," replied John; "but judging from what I have witnessed in this house, I should imagine the allegiance required from you was not exacting, nor the servitude of a crushing nature. What do you think, Miss Rainsfield," said he, turning to the young lady; "is your cousin's case a specimen of the general rule or a solitary exception?"

"Well, sir, I can hardly say," she replied; "but would think the happiness of a married life depended in a great measure upon a congeniality of temper, mutual forbearance, and reciprocity of kindly feeling, existing between the parties concerned; and that if amiability is allied to impetuosity, or petulance to generosity, the result must necessarily prove disastrous."

"Well done, my little oracle," ejaculated her cousin; "there now, sir, you have a dissertation on matrimony, and a moral, the truth of which I doubt if you'll ever dispute. But my cousin has surely turned philosopher, and is moralizing in expectancy on her own engagement; but forgive me, Nell" (he continued, as the young lady cast a reproachful look at him that made him regret the allusion), "I did not intend to pain you by any reference to your affair d'amour; I had no idea it was an unpleasant subject with you." So, after making what he thought the amende honorable to his cousin; but in reality only doing, as all men do who attempt to explain away some pain-giving remark; that is, adding poignancy to the wounding shaft; he led off his visitor to accompany him round the station.

In accepting the invitation to sojourn with this family for a few days, we suspect it was something more than the mere desire to wait for his brother, that influenced John Ferguson. It had been his intention, when he left his own place, to proceed on the road to meet William, and lend him his assistance in driving the sheep; and, therefore, there appears something inexplicable in his remaining inactive at Strawberry Hill. Could it be that any feeling of admiration for his entertainer's fair cousin had exercised any spell in his detention; or that he was merely pleased with the people with whom he found himself, and desired to cultivate their acquaintance? We suspect, rather, that the fascination of the young lady was the secret cause, though, perhaps, unknown even to John himself. 'Tis true, he could not divest his thoughts of her image; from passing events they continually wandered, and incessantly reverted to a contemplation of her calm and placid features. In his thoughts, Eleanor Rainsfield was ever present; and though each meditation of her intruded itself without causing a thought of the nature of the feeling he was fostering, he at last found himself deeply involved in a mental enunciation of her charms; which concluded in the decision, that she was indeed a creature to be prized; and if not perfection itself, the nearest approach to it, that it is the fortune of mortals to witness.

"She really is a charming girl," he mentally exclaimed; "but why am I continually thinking of her? I have no desire to be married; besides which, her cousin taxed her with an engagement, and, by the bye, she did not relish the allusion. I wonder what it can mean; she seemed dejected too; and, now I remember, she appeared to lay particular stress upon the requisites that ensured happiness to the married state. She must already be engaged, and that engagement, if I divine rightly, cannot be congenial to her spirit; there is some slight mystery that requires solving. Dear me!" he continued, after a few moments of inert meditation, "I can't get that girl out of my head. I can't think what makes me take such an interest in her affairs; it is surely no concern of mine. I must shake off the thoughts of her:" and with that amiable determination he commenced whistling a popular air to delude himself, while he turned to his companion, who had in the meantime stopped in his walk to watch his abstractedness.

After spending some time in looking over the domestic arrangements of the station, the two gentlemen bent their steps to the Wombi river. In the course of their walk John Ferguson remarked, that he thought the present crossing-place did not appear a very judicious choice, and asked his companion if a safer and more eligible spot could not be found.

"I think not," replied Mr. Rainsfield. "At the place where you crossed the river it is at its widest point; and at the time I selected it, it was the shallowest part of the stream. Then there was a sand bank right in the bed of the river, which made a crossing quite practicable; but, since the last 'fresh' I find the sand bank is washed away, and nothing is now left in its place but a deposit of mud; so I fear nothing will improve it now. I have had an idea for some time of putting up a bridge, if I could get any of the settlers to join me; but you see at present there is no one besides you and I, who would be benefitted by it; and it would be rather too expensive an undertaking for us to perform by ourselves."

"As you say," replied Ferguson, "at present we are the only ones that would be convenienced by its erection; but if we can't procure any assistance from government, we might induce Mr. Robert Smithers to join us: for if he has taken up all the country down the river bank for the distance which I understand he has, it would be to his interest to afford us assistance; for a bridge over the Wombi would materially affect the sale of his runs."

"I am inclined to differ from you there," said Mr. Rainsfield. "I don't think Smithers would see the advantage in the same light which you and I do; he is perfectly aware that any one wanting the country, would be very little influenced by the existence of a river in his way. People are too well accustomed to such impediments, and, I doubt not, would make a deviation of fifty miles from the direct course, by travelling up the stream to find another crossing, rather than expend a small sum in putting up a bridge, for, what they would consider, our exclusive benefit. And as to government assistance, you might as soon expect the aid of Jupiter. Never, until the country is settled some hundreds of miles further out, and they have, after repeated importunities, established a post-office somewhere beyond this, and had half the postmen in the country drowned from swimming the river in times of flood, would they think a bridge at all necessary. If you like to accompany me to the river I will show you a spot I have often looked upon as a likely one for a bridge; where the banks are steep and the river narrow. I think a log bridge could be put over at a very moderate cost, and if we can induce Bob Smithers to fall into our views (though I doubt it), I would propose that we go about it at once. To ascertain his inclination, however, I will write him; and if I think any good can be done, I will myself ride over to Brompton and see him."

The plan met with the ready concurrence of John Ferguson; and they continued their walk, to look at the spot to which Mr. Rainsfield referred; and arriving there, they stood contemplating its advantages. As Mr. Rainsfield had remarked, the banks were very steep and lofty; and the river confined within narrow limits, ran more rapidly than elsewhere. On the sloping banks grew some gigantic gum trees, which Mr. Rainsfield proposed felling in such a way, as to fall across the stream (which he calculated they would do); and then two or three so placed, with a flooring of smaller saplings, and a coating of earth, a substantial, and economical structure could be erected; while with a little labour expended in partially levelling the approaches, it would answer the purposes of the most solid edifice. They both agreed that the site was an eligible one, and offered facilities which should not be neglected; and with this belief, and determining to use some exertions to carry out their idea, they turned to retrace their steps to the house; when Mr. Rainsfield drew John's attention to the forms of some aborigines, who were skulking behind the trees in the distance on the opposite side of the river.

"Those fellows," said he, "are all abroad; their camp is on the other side of the Gibson, in the scrub below us; and they evidently want to get over here, to cross by 'the flats' beyond our place, instead of swimming the river above. Bob Smithers must be out of the way, or they would not venture a chance of falling in with him; he always keeps them off his brother's run if he can help it; and he generally succeeds, for he has the active management of the station, and his word is law. I have been obliged to follow his example lately myself, for I have been so much troubled by their pilfering, that I have determined to keep them away from the place. Not long ago, I caught one of them walking off with one of the men's rations, which the stupid fellow left exposed; and I gave the delinquent a charge of shot, which made him speedily relinquish his booty, and impart to his tribe a healthy dread of the consequences of pilfering from Strawberry Hill. Now, unfortunately, I anticipate further trouble with them; for the blackguards have got a ruffian amongst them who is perfectly conversant with our usages and customs; and he has assumed the chiefship of the tribe."

"I had a visit from them myself yesterday," replied John, "and detained two of their boys on my station. I expect to be able to make use of them in many ways; and, if need be, I can keep them as hostages for the well behaviour of their countrymen."

"I am afraid that you are labouring under a delusion," said Rainsfield; "and you will find that you are adopting the very worst course you could. By retaining those fellows on your station you will encourage the others of the tribe to come on your run: indeed, while you detain these boys, you will not be able to keep their friends away. And if they take into their heads to rob you (which in all probability they will), the two that you have in your service will be made by their fellows to communicate regular intelligence of your movements; and you will find you have been harbouring a viper in your bosom."

"I have already," replied John, "been inclined to think that kind treatment towards the blacks is better policy than harshness; conciliation is more natural than banishment; and I cannot think any race of savages can be so morally depraved as to commit depredations on their benefactors. They are far more likely to indulge in acts of reprisal, where their evil passions are excited by cupidity, or animated by a thirst to revenge some act of aggression or cruelty. For my own part (and my brother agrees with me in the policy), I intend to cultivate their good feeling, by acting towards them in a kindly manner; of course with a certain degree of firmness; for I would resent any of their peccadillos. I am fully cognizant of their predilection for appropriation, and will take every precaution to prevent an exercise of their propensities; but, at the same time, I can't reconcile myself to the idea, of visiting petty delinquencies with the severity which you recommend."

"Well, we shall see how you succeed," returned his companion; "I found from experience it was perfectly impossible to preserve order, and retain my property, while the black villains were permitted to overrun my place; and I had no peace until I adopted stringent measures, and got rid of their annoyance by expatriation. I don't believe your principle of leniency is practicable, and am convinced you will soon have cause to regret its trial, and will be brought to my way of thinking; therefore, I should strongly advise you to relinquish the idea at once, and relieve yourself of an immensity of trouble and anxiety in the future."

"No," replied John, "my mind is fixed; I am determined to try the working of my plan, and am sanguine of success. It is true the blacks in this part of the country, are wilder than those I have been accustomed to mix with; but I've very little doubt, but that I'll be able to live on terms of amity with them, and avoid all those hostile contiguities, which we are led to expect are incidental on a residence in this district."

"Well," said Rainsfield, "I must confess myself sceptical of a favourable result, and only trust your experiment may not have a tragical termination; for I've no faith in the aborigines: they are treacherous in the extreme, and will commit any act of violence to possess themselves of a coveted article. I myself have known shepherds on out-stations murdered by them, for the sake of their rations, or even a blanket, which had excited their avarice."

"It is true," said John, "we hear of such cases; but, in nine out of ten, I believe the black perpetrating the act of violence, has been one who has been domesticated with the whites; and having been brought into contact with the vilest of our race, and acquired all the vices which have been daily presented to his sight, it is not to be wondered at, that (having these constantly submitted to him for his example and emulation, and without the influence of moral obligations) he should perpetrate the very acts he has heard lightly treated of, or perhaps extolled. But, with the aboriginal in his native state, and without the degrading influence of civilised immorality, you rarely, or never, meet with such violation of the ethical and natural laws."