s, and
full-bearded faces under them. Also a splendid-looking black tracker in
a masher uniform and a pair of Wellington boots.

One or two square-cuts and stand-up collars struggle dismally through to
the bitter end. Often a member of the unemployed starts cheerfully
out, with a letter from the Government Labour Bureau in his pocket, and
nothing else. He has an idea that the station where he has the job will
be within easy walking distance of Bourke. Perhaps he thinks there'll
be a cart or a buggy waiting for him. He travels for a night and day
without a bite to eat, and, on arrival, he finds that the station is
eighty or a hundred miles away. Then he has to explain matters to
a publican and a coach-driver. God bless the publican and the
coach-driver! God forgive our social system!

Native industry was represented at one place along the line by three
tiles, a chimney-pot, and a length of piping on a slab.

Somebody said to me, "Yer wanter go out back, young man, if yer wanter
see the country. Yer wanter get away from the line." I don't wanter;
I've been there.

You could go to the brink of eternity so far as Australia is concerned
and yet meet an animated mummy of a swagman who will talk of going "out
back." Out upon the out-back fiend!

About Byrock we met the bush liar in all his glory. He was dressed
like--like a bush larrikin. His name was Jim. He had been to a ball
where some blank had "touched" his blanky overcoat. The overcoat had
a cheque for ten "quid" in the pocket. He didn't seem to feel the
loss much. "Wot's ten quid?" He'd been everywhere, including the Gulf
country. He still had three or four sheds to go to. He had telegrams in
his pocket from half a dozen squatters and supers offering him pens on
any terms. He didn't give a blank whether he took them or no. He thought
at first he had the telegrams on him but found that he had left them
in the pocket of the overcoat aforesaid. He had learned butchering in a
day. He was a bit of a scrapper himself and talked a lot about the ring.
At the last station where he shore he gave the super the father of a
hiding. The super was a big chap, about six-foot-three, and had knocked
out Paddy Somebody in one round. He worked with a man who shore four
hundred sheep in nine hours.

Here a quiet-looking bushman in a corner of the carriage grew restless,
and presently he opened his mouth and took the liar down in about three
minutes.

At 5.30 we saw a long line of c