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

Dinnerless To The Swampy Margin Of The River Where The Tallest

Tea-Trees Wave Their Feathery Tops In The Wind.

In Like Manner The Human Hawk Was Driven From The Township.  He

Descended In The Scale Of Crime,  Stole A Horse,  And Departed By Night.

Bill,  The Butcher,  Said Next Day:  "Nosey Has Gone For Good This

Time.  He Will Ride That Horse To Death And Then Steal Another."

At This Time I Rode Through The Rises And Called At The Two Huts; I

Found Them Occupied By Two Shepherds Not Unlike The Former Tenants,

Who Knew Little And Cared Less What Had Become Of Their Predecessors.

Time Empties Thrones And Huts Impartially,  And The King Feels No

Pride In His Monument Of Marble,  Nor The Shepherd Any Shame Beneath

The Shapeless Cairn Which Hides His Bones.

At This Time The Old Races Both Of Men And Animals Were Dying Out

Around Lake Nyalong,  And Others Were Taking Their Places.  The Last

Black Child Ever Seen In The Township Was Brought By Its Mother To

The Hut Of A White Woman.  It Was Naked And Very Dirty,  And She Laid

It Down On The Clay Floor.  The White Woman's Heart Was Moved With

Pity At The Sight Of The Miserable Little Bairn.  She Took It Up,

Washed It With Warm Water And Soap,  Wrapped It In Flannel,  And Gave

It Back To The Mother.  But The Lubra Was Loath To Receive It.  She

Said,  "Black Picaninny All Die.  No Good; White Picaninny Live."

The Kangaroo,  Wombat,  And Dingo Were Fast Dying Out,  As Well A The

Blackfellow.  We Could All See Well Enough How The Change Was Brought

About.  Millions Of Years Ago,  New Species May Have Been Evolved Out

Of The Old Species,  But Nothing Of The Kind Happens Now.  The White

Men Of Australia Were Not Evolved Out Of The Black Men.  There Are No

Family Ties,  And Never Will Be,  Between The Kangaroo,  The Wombat And

Wallaby,  And Their Successors,  The Cattle,  The Sheep,  And The Goats.

We Can Kill Species,  But We Can't Create Any.

The Rabbit,  Destined To Bring Nosey To The Gallows,  Was A Favoured

Animal On Austin's Station At The Barwon.  It Was A Privilege To

Shoot Him--In Small Quantities--He Was So Precious.  But He Soon

Became,  As The Grammar Says,  A Noun Of Multitude.  He Swarmed On The

Plains,  Hopped Over The Hills,  Burrowed Among The Rocks In The Rises,

And Nursed His Multitudinous Progeny In Every Hollow Log Of The

Forest.  Neither Mountain,  Lake,  Or River Ever Barred His Passage.

He Ate Up All The Grass And Starved The Pedigree Cattle,  The

Well-Born Dukes And Duchesses,  And On Tens Of Thousands Of Fertile

Acres Left No Food To Keep The Nibbling Sheep Alive.  Every Hole And

Crevice Of The Rocks Was Full Of Him.  An Uninvited Guest,  He Dropped

Down The Funnel-Shaped Entrance To The Den Of The Wombat,  And Made

Himself At Home With The Wild Cat And Snake.  He Clothed The Hills

With A Creeping Robe Of Fur,  And Turned The Garden Of The West Into A

Wilderness.  Science May Find A Theory To Account For The Beginning

Of All Things,  But Among All Her Triumphs She Has Been Unable To Put

An End To The Rabbit.  War Has Been Made Upon Them By Fire,  Dynamite,

Phosphorus,  And All Deadly Poisons; By Dogs,  Cats,  Weasels,  Foxes,

And Ferrets,  But He Still Marches Over The Land Triumphantly.

For Fifteen Years Nosey Roamed From Station To Station Under Various

Names,  Between Queensland And The Murray,  But Wherever He Went,  The

Memory Of His Crime Never Left Him.  He Had Been Taught In His

Boyhood That Murder Was One Of The Four Sins Crying To Heaven For

Vengeance,  And He Knew That Sooner Or Later The Cry Would Be Heard.

Sometimes He Longed To Unburden His Mind To A Priest,  But He Seldom

Saw Or Heard Of One.  The Men With Whom He Worked And Wandered Were

All Like Himself--Lost Souls Who Had Taken The Wrong Turn In The

Beginning Of Their Days,  The Failures Of All Trades And Professions;

Thieves,  Drunkards,  And Gamblers; Criminals Who Had Fled From

Justice; Men Of Pleasure And,  Therefore,  Of Misery; Youths Of Good

Family Exported From England,  Ireland,  And Scotland To Mend Their

Morals,  To Study Wool,  And Become Rich Squatters.  All These Men Get

Colonial Experience,  But It Does Not Make Them Saintly Or Rich.  Here

And There,  All Over The Endless Plains,  They At Last Lie Down And

Die,  The Dingoes Hold Inquests Over Them,  And,  Literally,  They Go To

The Dogs,  Because They Took The Wrong Turn In Life And Would Not Come

Back.

In 1868 Nosey And His Two Mates Were Approaching A Station On The

Lachlan.  Since Sunrise They Had Travelled Ten Miles Without

Breakfast,  And Were Both Hungry And Weary.  They Put Down Their Swags

In The Shade Of A Small Grove Of Timber Within Sight Of The Station

Buildings.  Bob Castles Said:

"I Was Shearing In Them Sheds In '52 When Old Shenty Owned The Run.

He Was A Rum Old Miser,  He Was,  Would Skin Two Devils For One Hide;

Believe He Has Gone To Hell; Hope So,  At Any Rate.  He Couldn't Read

Nor Write Much,  But He Could Make Money Better'n Any Man I Ever Heard

Of.  Bought Two Runs On The Murray,  And Paid 180,000 Pounds For 'Em

In One Cheque.  He Kept A Lame Schoolmaster To Write His Cheques And

Teach His Children,  Gave Him 40 Pounds A Year,  The Same As A

Shepherd.  Lived Mostly On Mutton All The Year Round; Never Killed No

Beef For The Station,  But Now And Then An Old Bullock Past Work,

Salted Him Down In The Round Swamp For A Change O' Grub.  Never Grew

No Cabbage Or Wegetables,  Only A Paddock Of Potatoes.  Didn't Want No

Visitors,  'Cos He Was Afraid They'd Want To Select Some Of His Run.

Wanted Everything To Look As Poor And Miserable As Possible.  He Put

On A Clean Shirt Once A Week,  On Sabbath To Keep It Holy,  And By Way

Of Being Religious.  Kept No Fine Furniture In The House,  Only A Big

Hardwood Table,  Some Stools,  And Candle Boxes.  After Supper Old

Mother Shenty Scraped The Potato Skins Off The Table Into Her Apron

--She Always Boiled The Potatoes In Their Jackets--And Then Shenty

Lay Down On It And Smoked His Pipe Till Bedtime,  Thinking Of The Best

Way To Keep Down Expenses.  A Parson Came Along One Day Lifting A

Subscription For A Church,  Or School,  Or Something.  He Didn't Get

Anything Out Of Old Shenty,  Only A Pannikin Of Tea And Some Damper

And Mutton.  The Old Cove Said:  'Church Nor School Never Gave Me

Nothing,  Nor Do Me No Good,  And I Could Buy Up A Heap O' Parsons And

Schoolmasters If I Wanted To,  And They Were Worth Buying.  Us

Squatters Is The Harrystockrisy Out Here.  The Lords At Home Sends

Out Their Good-For-Nothing Sons To Us,  To Get Rich And Be Out Of The

Way,  And Much Good They Does.  Why Don't You Parsons Make Money By

Your Eddication If It's Any Good,  Instead Of Goin' Round Beggin'?

You Are All After The Filthy Lucre,  Wantin' To Live On Other Folks.'

I Was Holdin' The Parson's Horse,  And When He Got Into The Saddle,  He

Turns To Old Shenty,  And Says:  'From Rottenness You Sprung,  And To

Rottenness You'll Go.  Your Money Will Drag You Down To Hell; You'll

Want To Throw It Away,  But It Will Burn Into Your Soul For All

Eternity.'

"I Am Mortal Hungry," Continued Bob,  "And They Don't Give No Rations

Until About Sundown,  And We'll Have To Wait Six Hours.  It's Hard

Lines.  I See There's An Orchard There Now,  And Most Likely A

Wegtable Garden--And Cabbages.  I'd Like Some Boiled Beef And

Cabbage.  It Wouldn't Be No Harm To Try And Get Somethin' To Eat,

Anyhow.  What Do You Say,  Ned?  You Was A Swell Cove Once,  And Knows

How To Talk To The Quality.  Go And Try 'Em."

Ned Went And Talked To The "Quality" So Well That He Brought Back

Rations For Three.

Towards The End Of The Year Nosey Arrived At Piney Station,  About

Forty Miles From The Murray,  And Obtained Employment.  Baldy's Bones

Had Been Lying Under The Rocks For Nearly Fifteen Years.  It Was

Absurd To Suppose They Could Ever Be Discovered Now,  Or If They Were,

That Any Evidence Could Be Got Out Of Them.  Nosey Felt Sure That All

Danger For Himself Was Passed,  But Still The Murder Was Frequently In

His Mind.  The Squatter Was Often Lonely,  And His New Man Was

Garrulous,  And One Day Nosey,  While At Work,  Began To Relate Many

Particulars Of Life In The Old Country,  In Van Diemen's Land,  And In

The Other Colonies,  And He Could Not Refrain From Mentioning The

Greatest Of His Exploits.

"I Once Done A Man In Victoria," He Said,  "When I Was Shepherding; He

Found Me Out Taking His Fat Sheep,  And Was Going To Inform On Me,  So

I Done Him With An Axe,  And Put Him Away So As NobiT WILL ONLY CARRY THE MARK ABOUT IT, AS A TOKEN OF ITS HAVING TORN THE

WOMB IT CAME FROM. TYRANTS SELDOM WANT PRETEXTS. FRAUD IS THE READY

MINISTER OF INJUSTICE; AND WHILST THE CURRENCY OF FALSE PRETENCE AND

SOPHISTIC REASONING WAS EXPEDIENT TO THEIR DESIGNS, THEY WERE UNDER NO

NECESSITY OF DRAWING UPON ME TO FURNISH THEM WITH THAT COIN. BUT

PRETEXTS AND SOPHISMS HAVE HAD THEIR DAY, AND HAVE DONE THEIR WORK. THE

USURPATION NO LONGER SEEKS PLAUSIBILITY: IT TRUSTS TO POWER.

NOTHING THAT I CAN SAY, OR THAT YOU CAN SAY, WILL HASTEN THEM, BY A

SINGLE HOUR, IN THE EXECUTION OF A DESIGN WHICH THEY HAVE LONG SINCE

ENTERTAINED. IN SPITE OF THEIR SOLEMN DECLARATIONS, THEIR SOOTHING

ADDRESSES, AND THE MULTIPLIED OATHS WHICH