r half of the shanty, divided from the rest and from the
chimney-place by the incomplete partition already spoken of, is termed
by us the dairy. It is not in any way separate from the rest of the
house, though, since we use it and sleep in it as part of the general
apartment. But here, arranged on shelves all round the walls, are tin
dishes and billies, a churn, a cheese-press, and the various
appurtenances of a dairy. Humble and primitive as are these
arrangements, we do yet contrive to turn out a fair amount of butter and
cheese. At such seasons as we have cows in milk, this makes a fair show
to our credit every week, in the ledger of the township storekeeper, our
good friend the Mayor.

It will be readily understood that our table equipage is not of the best
or most sumptuous description. It fluctuates in extent a good deal from
time to time, and always presents the spectacle of pleasing variety. We
are never without appliances and substitutes of one kind or other; and
members of the society now and then add to the stock such items as they
severally deem desirable, or happen to pick up cheap "down the river."

Experience has taught us that meat is meat still, although it may be
eaten direct out of frying-pan or stew-pot. It is just as good, better
we think, as when served up on Palissy ware or silver. Knives and forks
are distinctly a product of civilization; custom holds us to the use of
them. But what are a sheath-knife and a wooden skewer, if not
everything that is needed?

Those ultra-conservatives among our number, those rigid adherents to the
most primitive bush-life, of course despise all the refinements of the
table. Plates, forks, and spoons are to them degeneracies,--things that
no noble bushman needs or requires. They scorn any leanings towards
luxury and ease. Give _them_ a life that is totally free from the petty
trammels and slavish conventionalities of the old world!

At one time we were possessed of but a single plate, an iron one, which
had lost its enamel, and was half eaten through by rust; we had only one
fork, and that had only a prong and a half remaining. But we had our
cooking-pots and billies, our sheath-knives, wooden skewers, fingers,
and O'Gaygun's shingle-plates. What more could any one want? And if
there were not enough pannikins or mugs to hold our tea all round, there
were empty preserve-cans, gallipots, and oyster-shells! We were content
and happy. But this blissful state was to be