The Book Of The Bush by George Dunderdale (books to read to improve english .TXT) 📕

The Genius Of His Race.  He Is Still Unrivalled In Sculpture And

Architecture,  In Painting,  In Poetry,  And Philosophy; And In Every

Handicraft His Fingers Are As Deft As Ever.  But Empire Has Slipped

From His Grasp,  And Empire Once Lost,  Like Time,  Never Returns.  Who

Can Rebuild Ninevah Or Babylon,  Put New Life Into The Mummies Of The

Pharoahs,  And Recrown Them; Raise Armies From The Dust Of The

Warriors Of Sesostris,  And Send Them Forth Once More To Victory And

Slaughter?  Julian The Apostate Tried To Rebuild The Holy City And

Temple Of Israel,  To Make Prophecy Void--Apparently A Small

Enterprise For A Roman Emperor--But All His Labours Were Vain.

Modern Julians Have Been Trying To Resuscitate Old Rome,  And To Found

For Her A New Empire,  And Have Only Made Italy Another Ireland,  With

A Starving People And A Bankrupt Government.  'Nos Patriae Fines,  Nos

Dulcia Linquimus Arva'.  The Italians Are Emigrating Year After Year

To Avoid Starvation In The Garden Of Europe.  In Every City Of The

Great Empire On Which The Sun Never Sets They Wander Through The

Streets,  Clad In Faded Garments Of Olive Green--The Toga Long Since

Discarded And Forgotten--Making Sweet Music From The Harp And

Violin,  Their Melancholy Eyes Wandering After The Passing Crowd,

Hoping For The Pitiful Penny That Is So Seldom Given.

The Two Shepherds Were Employed On A Station North Of Lake Nyalong.

It Is A Country Full Of Dead Volcanoes,  Whose Craters Have Been

Turned Into Salt Lakes,  And Their Rolling Floods Of Lava Have Been

Stiffened Into Barriers Of Black Rocks; Where The Ashes Belched Forth

In Fiery Blasts From The Deep Furnaces Of A Burning World Have

Covered The Hills And Plains With Perennial Fertility.

Baldy Had Been Entrusted With A Fattening Flock,  And Nosey Had In His

Care A Lambing Flock.  From Time To Time The Sheep Were Counted,  And

It Was Found That The Fattening Flock Was Decreasing In Numbers.  The

Squatter Wanted To Know What Had Become Of His Missing Sheep,  But

Baldy Could Give No Account Of Them.  His Suspicions,  However,  Soon

Fell On Nosey.  The Latter Was His Nearest Neighbour,  And Although He

Had Only The Same Wages--Viz.,  Thirty Pounds A Year And Rations--

He Seemed To Be Unaccountably Prosperous,  And Was The Owner Of A Wife

And Two Horses.  He Had Been Transported For Larceny When He Was Only

Fifteen Years Of Age,  And At Twenty-Eight He Was Suspected Of Being

Still A Thief.  Girls Of The Same Age Were Sent From Great Britain To

Botany Bay And Van Diemen's Land For Stealing One Bit Of Finery,

Worth A Shilling,  And Became The Consorts Of Criminals Of The Deepest

Dye.  You May Read Their Names In The Indents To This Day,  Together

With Their Height,  Age,  Complexion,  Birthplace,  And Other Important

Particulars.

Baldy Went Over To Nosey's Hut One Evening When The Blue Smoke Was

Curling Over The Chimney,  And The Long Shadows Of The Wombat Hills

Were Creeping Over The Stoney Rises.  Julia Was Boiling The Billy For

Tea,  And Her Husband Was Chopping Firewood Outside.

"Good Evening,  Julia," Said Baldy; "Fine Evening."

"Same To You,  Baldy.  Any News To-Day?" Asked Julia.

"Well,  There Is," Said Baldy,  "And It's Bad News For Me; There's Ten

More Of My Fatteners Missing"  (Nosey Stopped Chopping And Listened)

"And The Master Says I'll Have To Hump My Swag If I Can't Find Out

What Has Become Of Them.  I Say,  Nosey,  You Don't Happen To Have Seen

Any Dingoes Or Blacks About Here Lately?"

"I Ain't Seen E'er A One,  Neither Dingo Nor Blackfellow.  But,  You

Know,  If They Were After Mischief They'd Take Care Not To Make A

Show.  There Might Be Stacks Of Them About And We Never To See One Of

Them."

Nosey Was Proud Of His Cunning.

"Well," Said Baldy,  "I Can Hear Of Nobody Having Seen Any Strangers

About The Rises,  Nor Dingoes,  Nor Black Fellows.  And The Dingoes,

Anyhow,  Would Have Left Some Of The Carcases Behind; But The Thieves,

Whoever They Are,  Have Not Left Me As Much As A Lock Of The Wool Of

My Sheep.  I Have Been Talking About 'Em With Old Sharp; He Is The

Longest Here Of Any Shepherd In The Country,  And Knows All The

Blacks,  And He Says It's His Opinion The Man Who Took The Sheep Is

Not Far Away From The Flock Now.  What Do You Think About It,  Nosey?"

"What The----Should I Know About Your Sheep?" Said Nosey.  "Do You

Mean To Insinivate That I Took 'Em?  I'll Tell You What It Is,  Baldy;

It'll Be Just As Well For You To Keep Your Blasted Tongue Quiet About

Your Sheep,  For If I Hear Any More About 'Em,  I'll See You For It; Do

You Hear?"

"Oh,  Yes,  I Hear.  All Right,  Nosey,  We'll See About It," Said Baldy.

There Would Have Been A Fight Perhaps,  But Baldy Was A Smaller Man

Than The Other And Was Growing Old,  While Nosey Was In The Prime Of

Life.

Baldy Went To Nyalong Next Day.  His Rations Did Not Include Gin,  And

He Wanted Some Badly,  The More So Because He Was In Trouble About His

Lost Sheep.  Gin,  Known Then As "Old Tom," Was His Favourite Remedy

For All Ailments,  Both Of Mind And Body.  If He Could Not Find Out

What Had Become Of His Sheep,  His Master Might Dismiss Him Without A

Character.  There Was Not Much Good Character Running To Waste On The

Stations,  But Still No Squatter Would Like To Entrust A Flock To A

Shepherd Who Was Suspected Of Having Stolen And Sold His Last

Master's Sheep.

Baldy Walked To Nyalong Along The Banks Of The Lake.  The Country Was

Then All Open,  Unfenced,  Except The Paddocks At The Home Stations.

The Boundary Between Two Of The Runs Was Merely Marked By A Ploughed

Furrow,  Not Very Straight,  Which Started Near The Lake,  And Went

Eastward Along The Plains.  In The Rises No Plough Could Make A Line

Through The Rocks,  And The Boundaries There Were Imaginary.  Stray

Cattle Were Roaming Over The Country,  Eating The Grass,  And The Main

Resource Of The Squatters Was The Pounds Act.  Hay Was Then Sold At

80 Pounds Per Ton At Bendigo; A Draft Of Fat Bullocks Was Worth A

Mine Of Gold At Ballarat,  And,  ORAL TASTE IS NOT OF FORCE TO

TURN VICE INTO VIRTUE; BUT IT RECOMMENDS VIRTUE WITH SOMETHING LIKE THE

BLANDISHMENTS OF PLEASURE, AND IT INFINITELY ABATES THE EVILS OF VICE.

ROUSSEAU, A WRITER OF GREAT FORCE AND VIVACITY, IS TOTALLY DESTITUTE OF

TASTE IN ANY SENSE OF THE WORD. YOUR MASTERS, WHO ARE HIS SCHOLARS,

CONCEIVE THAT ALL REFINEMENT HAS AN ARISTOCRATIC CHARACTER. THE LAST AGE

HAD EXHAUSTED ALL ITS POWERS IN GIVING A GRACE AND NOBLENESS TO OUR

NATURAL APPETITES, AND IN RAISING THEM INTO A HIGHER CLASS AND ORDER

THAN SEEMED JUSTLY TO BELONG TO THEM. THROUGH ROUSSEAU, YOUR MASTERS ARE

RESOLVED TO DESTROY THESE ARISTOCRATIC PREJUDICES. THE PASSION CALLED

LOVE HAS SO GENERAL AND POWERFUL AN INFLUENCE, IT MAKES SO MUCH OF THE

ENTERTAINMENT, AND INDEED SO MUCH THE OCCUPATION, OF THAT PART OF LIFE

WHICH DECIDES THE CHARACTER FOREVER, THAT THE MODE AND THE PRINCIPLES ON

WHICH IT ENGAGES THE SYMPATHY AND STRIKES THE IMAGINATION BECOME OF THE

UTMOST IMPORTANCE TO THE MORALS AND MANNERS OF EVERY SOCIETY. YOUR

RULERS WERE WELL AWARE OF THIS; AND IN THEIR SYSTEM OF CHANGING YOUR

MANNERS TO ACCOMMODATE THEM TO THEIR POLITICS, THEY FOUND NOTHING SO

CONVENIENT AS ROUSSEAU. THROUGH HIM THEY TEACH MEN TO LOVE AFTER THE

FASHION OF PHILOSOPHERS: THAT IS, THEY TEACH TO MEN, TO FRENCHMEN, A

LOVE WITHOUT GALLANTRY,--A LOVE WITHOUT ANYTHING OF THAT FINE FLOWER OF

YOUTHFULNESS AND GENTILITY WHICH PLACES IT, IF NOT AMONG THE VIRTUES,

AMONG THE ORNAMENTS OF LIFE. INSTEAD OF THIS PASSION, NATURALLY ALLIED

TO GRACE AND MANNERS, THEY INFUSE INTO THEIR YOUTH AN UNFASHIONED,

INDELICATE, SOUR, GLOOMY, FEROCIOUS MEDLEY OF PEDANTRY AND LEWDNESS,--OF

METAPHYSICAL SPECULATIONS BLENDED WITH THE COARSEST SENSUALITY. SUCH IS

THE GENERAL MORALITY OF THE PASSIONS TO BE FOUND IN THEIR FAMOUS

PHILOSOPHER, IN HIS FAMOUS WORK OF PHILOSOPHIC GALLANTRY, THE _NOUVELLE

ÉLOISE_.

WHEN THE FENCE FROM THE GALLANTRY OF PRECEPTORS IS BROKEN DOWN, AND YOUR

FAMILIES ARE NO LONGER PROTECTED BY DECENT PRIDE AND SALUTARY DOMESTICD First Maybe.  And If

You Don't Do Him You'll Be Lagged Again For The Sheep,  And In My

Opinion,  Nosey,  You Are Not Game.  Yes,  By The Powers,  You Are,

Nosey,  Damned If You Ain't.  Who's Afeered?  And You'll Do It Quick

--Do It Quick.  Now Or Never's Your Time."

While Talking Thus To Himself,  Nosey Was Pacing To And Fro,  And He

Glanced At The Axe Every Time He Passed The Door.  The Weapon Was

Ready To His Hand,  And Seemed To Be Inviting Him To Use It.

"Baldy Is Going To Light His Pipe,  And While He Is Stooping To Get A

Firestick,  I'll Do Him With The Axe."

When Baldy Turned Towards The Fire,  Nosey Grasped The Axe And Held It

Behind Him.  He Waited A Moment,  And Then Entered The Hut; But Baldy

Either Heard His Step,  Or Had Some Suspicion Of Danger,  For He Looked

Around Before Takingup A Firestick.  At That Instant The Blow,

Intended For The Back Of The Head,  Struck Him On The Jaw,  And He Fell

Forward Among The Embers.  For One Brief Moment Of Horror He Must

Have Realised That He Was Being Murdered,  And Then Another Blow

Behind The Head Left Him Senseless.

Nosey Dragged The Body Out