BUSH HORSES 49 



Since Rolf Boldrewood wrote his first novel, 

 and poor Lindsay Gordon committed suicide — 

 the poet's grave will always be well cared for, 

 because a sum of money has been set apart for 

 that purpose — a change for the better has come 

 over English emigrants. They are now a steadier 

 lot as a whole. More of the Bush has been 

 ** taken up " ; bush-rangers are an almost extinct 

 race, and there are not so many feverish "gold 

 rushes " as there formerly were. 



No able-bodied person with common sense and 

 ordinary pluck need starve in Australia. Loiterers 

 in the towns often complain about the scarcity of 

 work ; yet why should we pity confirmed loafers, 

 who have not spirit enough to walk with their 

 "swag "up country? Energetic workers never 

 need forfeit self-respect, even if they cannot afford 

 to keep up the same social position which they 

 were born in. 



Oddly enough, in the Bush, where one man is 

 theoretically as good as another, rough stockmen 

 do not sit down to meals with those who live in 

 the head station, unless they are " camping out." 



A good seat on a rough stock-horse, and a 

 reputation for being a "white man," a colonial 

 term for a good fellow, will serve as a pass- 

 port or obtain introductions to most owners or 

 managers of Australian sheep and cattle stations 

 — no matter whether you choose to bear a feigned 

 name, in order to hide a mistake in the past. 



Australian settlers are rather unkempt, as re- 

 gards their everyday clothes ; they laugh at the 

 tidy costumes which set off the figures of " new 



D 



