to cover them, and sometimes carrying the most
incongruous materials to represent a "swag."
One I saw, not long since, with a piece of old
woolpack, in which he had rolled some empty
bottles, and this comprised the whole of his
bedding.

I am not aware that the sad state of these
men has attracted the attention of the authorities
sufficiently for inquiry to be made as to the
cause of their mental aberration, but this I do
know, that they are supposed to have been
"hocussed" at bush public-houses where they
have spent their money, and the landlords of
which have resorted to this means of saving
their grog, and getting possession of the cheque.
Whether the landlords really commit this crime
or not I cannot say; at any rate, they have the
credit of it, and I can vouch for the fact that I
have lately seen men with a "loose shingle,"
who, a few months since, were in perfect
possession of their senses. It is a well-known fact,
about which there is no sort of secresy [sic], that a
bushman will go to one of these houses, and
handing his cheque over the bar, request to be
told when it is finished. For a cheque of three
or four pounds he may get two days' drinking,
and for anything under thirty pounds about a
week, and so on. I have heard of instances
in which men with two or three years' earnings
of upwards of one hundred pounds have been
brought in debt after three davs.

These men are generally safe from "hocussing,"
and it is those who change their cheques
and keep the money in their pockets, paying as
they go, who are generally supposed to be the
victims. However shocking these facts may
appear, they are nevertheless far from being
overdrawn.

It is this sad practice of "knocking down"
their money which causes the vagrancy—a cure
for which the squatters seek in vain.

Men who have no real liking for drink will,
after they have been for months at work in the
bush, go down towards town, and as a rule the
first "public" pulls them up. They take two
or three nobblers, and it is all up with them.
They become, in fact, after a lengthened
residence in the interior, "dipso-maniacs," and it is
much to be feared that the disease is more likely
to increase than the reverse.

To continue, however, my picture of the
Wallaby tract, it is the custom of a traveller
to make a homestead every evening at sundown,
and, if possible, never to pass one during the
day. To effect this, if the stations are near
together, he "coils" in the bush, out of sight
of the road, until it is time to go up, when the
following short colloquy takes place between
him and the squatter, or his overseer: "Do
you want any 'ands, sir?" " No!" "Can I
stop to-night, sir?" "Yes." And this formula
is repeated nightly until he is fortunate enough
to receive an affirmative answer to his first
question.

The travellers usually get their meals in the
hut occupied by the working hands on the
station, though some few squatters serve out
rations, and let them cook it themselves as they
best can. The sleeping apartment is in almost
every case the shearing-shed, which is generally
a large rambling structure of slabs, through
which the wind can blow in all directions.

When they have supped, the "specimens"
retire to their dormitory, where they scramble
for any old sheepskins they may be fortunate
enough to find, which they use as "hippers"
to ward off the hardness of the boards from their
bones. The blankets are thrown over one or
two of these, and the bed is made. Like the
amateur casual, I cannot give you anything
approaching to a description of the orgies usually
held in these seances. Eyes polite would be
scathed were I to write a tithe of the blasphemy
and oaths which as a rule garnish the conversation.
The characters of the squatters and
their private and domestic concerns, the
capabilities of various shearers, the chances for
or against getting a job, and the best feeding
track, are the never-failing subjects of discussion.
Sometimes an old "t'other sider " will tell the
assembled crowd how he got lagged, the
language used being of course more forcible than
classic. Or another will favour the company
with a song, freely interspersed with the flowery
rhetoric usually adopted by the Tasmanian
bard. Let the following serve as a sample of
a chorus:

   For they chained us toe the plough, my boys,
      Hand they tied us 'and to 'and,
   Oh! they yoked us up like 'or-'orses
      To plough Van Diemen's Land.

The advisability of burning the fences of
obnoxious squatters is another favourite theme,
and this is a punishment which, according to
their own boasts, they would mete out to all
settlers who would not feed them; for they
conceive they have a perfect right to their night's
accommodation, and bitterly blame the squatters
as the cause of their misfortunes, through their
encouragement of immigration. Some of these
worthies make a profession of the "Wallaby,"
and, except at very rare intervals, never take
employment when offered. Such as these make a
practice of "slinging the probe," which means
stealing bread and meat for the next day's
dinner, and which they secrete in handy pockets
while they are at supper. There are also a great
many men. who come out of the larger towns
during the dull season to sponge upon the
sheep-farmers, and it is not to be wondered at
that the squatters should grudge these loafers
the rations which they consume.

I believe that all settlers are willing to grant
hospitality to the bona fide station-hands, and
they can tell at a glance the real from the
counterfeit. The old lag, too, is picked out at once
by a practised eye; the "model," or Pentonville,
is easily distinguished from him again;
and the free immigrant, or square-head, is equally
well spotted.

Few squatters are called upon to feed less
than ten or a dozen of these gentry, on an
average, every night, the numbers sometimes
swelling to twenty or thirty. The Messrs.