It must have been bad, then,
judging from some of the country in Australia which is only fit to carry
sheep. Country that wouldn't carry goats would carry sheep, we think.
Sheep are about the hardiest animals on the face of this planet--barring
crocodiles.

You may rip a sheep open whilst watching for the boss's boots or yarning
to a pen-mate, and then when you have stuffed the works back into the
animal, and put a stitch in the slit, and poked it somewhere with a
tar-stick (it doesn't matter much where) the jumbuck will be all right
and just as lively as ever, and turn up next shearing without the ghost
of a scratch on its skin.

We reached Picton, a small collection of twinkling lights in a dark
pocket, apparently at the top of a sound. We climbed up on to the wharf,
got through between two railway trucks, and asked a policeman where
we were, and where the telegraph office was. There were several pretty
girls in the office, laughing and chyacking the counter clerks, which
jarred upon the feelings of this poor orphan wanderer in strange lands.
We gloomily took a telegram form, and wired to a friend in North Island,
using the following words: "Wire quid; stumped."

Then we crossed the street to a pub and asked for a roof and they told
us to go up to No. 8. We went up, struck a match, lit the candle, put
our bag in a corner, cleared the looking-glass off the toilet table, got
some paper and a pencil out of our portmanteau, and sat down and wrote
this sketch.

The candle is going out.

"SOME DAY"

The two travellers had yarned late in their camp, and the moon was
getting low down through the mulga. Mitchell's mate had just finished
a rather racy yarn, but it seemed to fall flat on Mitchell--he was in a
sentimental mood. He smoked a while, and thought, and then said:

"Ah! there was one little girl that I was properly struck on. She came
to our place on a visit to my sister. I think she was the best little
girl that ever lived, and about the prettiest. She was just eighteen,
and didn't come up to my shoulder; the biggest blue eyes you ever
saw, and she had hair that reached down to her knees, and so thick you
couldn't span it with your two hands--brown and glossy--and her skin
with like lilies and roses. Of course, I never thought she'd look at a
rough, ugly, ignorant brute like me, and I used to keep out of her way
and act a little stiff towards her; I didn't want the others to think
I was gone on her,