with their established demure melancholy.
Several of the squatters who had thought
themselves ruined came, and suggested that
David should now amply repay himself out
of their flocks, and restore the overplus to
them. But David stood astonished at such
ingratitude. "What! when he had so nobly
stepped in to save them! when he had
relieved them from all their embarrassments,
—rescued them from bankruptcy, snatched
them from the jaws of ruin, and left them to
begin the world anew; he could not have
thought human nature half so bad. But they
were not children,—these matters were too
serious for child's play." In fact, David had
made all fast, and he bowed them out. "Where
would be speculation, indeed,—of what benefit
carefulness and higher sagacity, if men were
thus to be expected to give up their just
rewards?

So, as we have said, David continued to
rake amongst the ruins of the Melbourne of
eighteen hundred and forty-two, and many
a weighty find and precious jewel he dragged
up from the mud and débris of the desolating
torrent that had passed through it. Many a
house, many a piece of land, many a heap of
goods did he secure at nominal prices, which
anon became literally worth their weight in
gold. All these matters comfortably
arranged, David set out on a tour of discovery
amongst the various stations which had fallen
into his hands, and which he averred pulled
so heavily at his heartstrings. We shall
not follow him in his travels, not having the
same interest in the matter. We shall allow
him to gloat nwardly and shake his head
outwardly at the deep grassy meadows, and
luxuriant swamps of Gippsland, where he
found hundreds and thousands of splendid
cattle feeding and flourishing for his benefit.
At the far-stretching plains, and beautiful
uplands of the west, where his tens of
thousands of sheep grazed at the foot of the
picturesque Pyrenees, and clear, dashing
streams came down from the hills, reminding
him of those which he had been used to see
on his journeys of business for the worthy
Baillie Glas, in Perthshire, of Ayr. But, as
we have sympathised in the fallen fortunes
of Tom Scott, we shall just follow the unfortunate
David Macleod to the Loddon, to see
what sort of a burden that luckless fellow
had left upon his hands there.

As David journeyed up the country in a
stout-built gig, accompanied by a stout serving
man, he internally gladdened his heart at
the sight of the rich plains, the green valleys,
the wooded hills, and the velvet slopes
studded with noble, but thinly-scattered
trees. As he rolled along over the hard,
solid ground of low hilly ranges which gave
him the varied view of forest, glen, and
winding stream, with here and there smoke
rising up from the chimney of some solitary
station, or more solitary stockman's hut, he
could not help saying in his heart of hearts—
"Fine country! plenty of room for squatters!
Plenty of squatters, plenty of squatter's
accounts."  And then he would fall into a
calculation, how many goods each station
would need in the year, how many hundred
pounds these would cost, and what would be
the average profit upon them. Next, he
speculated on the weight of wool, and the
probable proceeds. All this was so agreeable,
that he must have sung, in the private parlour
of his soul, had he known the stanza:—

O, pleasant are the green woods,
Where there's neither suit nor plea,
But only the wild creatures,
And many a spreading tree.

But then would come a shock from the
wheel against a stump, which would nearly
precipitate him over the splash-board, or a
plunge into a morass, that would threaten to
swallow him up bodily, and on all these
occasions he did not keep his feelings to himself,
as he did his more agreeable calculations
and cognisances. He would denounce
bitterly and cruelly the whole country, its bogs,
its barren flats, its more sterile hills, its stony
tracks, its yawning, precipitous gullies. Was
this a country for a Christian! Was this a
place for a decent man to waste his years in,
looking after the effects of broken-down
settlers! Was this howling wilderness a
country into which a quiet, religious character
like himself, should have to come, struggling
after the wreck of his fortune, trusted, O!
thoughtless, too soft-hearted David! to
spendthrifts and ne'er-do-weels. An unco' place.
Where there was neither church nor chapel,
neither prayer nor praise; but swearing
bullock-drivers and heathen blacks? A godless
country, "Perdy," turning to his man, "an
awfu', godless country. Would thou and I
were well out of it, and treading the fair
pavements of bonny Glasga!"

David had made good use of his squatter's
map, and duly each evening, he contrived to
turn off the track to some comfortable station,
where he was hospitably received, and made
himself pleasant over a mutton chop, a
pannikin of bush tea, and a comforting glass of
toddy. Before he turned into bed, he had
taken care to speer significantly after the
growth of the flocks, the prospects of the
wool crop, and before he left next morning,
he would contrive to have a peep into the
squatter's store-room, where his practised eye
ran with a telegraphic rapidity over the various
articles which are to be found in that
indispensable apartment of a station. Over the
stock of shoes, boots, wide-awakes, ready-
made clothes of all kinds, sugars, teas, flour,
salt, tobacco, rice, spirits, bridles, saddles and
crockery. He would cast a glance at the
number and extent of the buildings, and
suggest to himself whether he might not
calculate on an extensive order for Tasmanian
shingles. How the squatter was off for drays,
or bullock-yokes, chains, or hobbles. What