a-day. I got humble lodgment, also, in
the house of a friendly squatter, who had
failed in that particular line of business
through his own fault— drunkenness.

He told me plenty of stories of the delights
of his own profession— of the snugness of a
log-hut— of the choiceness of kangaroo soup.
Many an evening over our tea (which he
poked into the kettle in company with the
sugar, as it is Bush fashion to do) and
damper-cake, he spake of this and that clearing,
and of crops of maize and wheat; of
boiling-houses, of tallow, and of the charms
of Australian gelatine; but all his eloquence
was spent in vain, until he touched upon
cattle-grazing. The danger and excitement of
this kind of life seemed indeed infinitely preferable
to sweating under weights and burdens.
And yet I knew that I was deficient
in the diligence and perseverance that must
needs be exercised by a good stockman;
what wits I had, I felt were of the civilised
sort; and I was loth to leave the metropolis,
where better things had more chance to befal
me than in a far-away squatting district.
But the final argument which very near persuaded
me to leave Sydney for good (except
when I might return to spend my hard-
earned money in it on dissipation, at long
intervals, as my kind-hearted narrator had
done) was the picture he drew of the stockman's
Centaur-like life: mounted on swift
horses from dawn to dusk, and almost con-
tinually engaged in the wildest description of
hunting; racing by the side of thousands
of cattle—now heading, now turning them,
and now having to escape by whip and spur
from their horned fury.

"Ah! " exclaimed I, with joy; "you've hit
on the very thing. I should like to see the
Australian horse I could not ride!"

"A rider? " he replied. " What! A rough
rider ? Then your fortune's made, and you
need not go far to find it. From Murrumbidgee—
from Wellington Plains, there are
five hundred wild horses in the city, if
there's one, at this present."

So, I left my portering to itself for that
next day, and accompanied him to a horse-
dealer's, and here were, sure enough, fine
spirit horses in plenty, and a great insufficiency
of jocks. One unhappy youth— no
stockman, for he is always a capital rider,
but a sort of parody upon the slang tightly-
dressed boy of the old country— was just
then endeavouring to subdue a mighty
quadruped in the straw-yard. Twice he had been
flung before our eyes, and there seemed every
likelihood of his being flung a third time,
when I offered my services to the master.
He bade me try, if I thought I could do it
better or wanted to get my blessed neck
broke. The boy dismounted; and when I got
up in his place, I felt that I was myself again,
for the first time since I had left Saint
Winifred's. What a joyous exultation—what a
sense of life and power did I experience
with that fiery steed beneath me! He
reared and kicked and plunged, indeed, but I
accommodated myself to his motions with
ease; we understood each other in five
minutes; and in half-an-hour my conquest
was complete for ever. So did I do that day,
but at a fearful risk to life and limb, to half-a-
dozen other horses. The dealer was intensely
pleased, and offered me twenty pounds or my
pick of all his stud if I would break for him
for a week. I chose a horse for the express
purpose of demonstrating my veterinary
skill, rejecting this and that for great or
little blemishes, and fixing at last on the very
best. Finally, I returned him his gift,
observing, "No, I want permanent employment,
and something to keep a horse with,
before I accept one." Without so much
haggling by nine-tenths as would have
happened upon the like matter in England, I
undertook an engagement with this man
from that day. I was to be rough-rider,
farmer, and purchaser, or rather agent, in one.
He was to find the money, and I was to
receive twelve per cent of the profits.

For many successive weeks, and even
months, did Mr. Charles Wroughton (for I kept
my name) exhibit himself upon several scores
of steeds, in turn, at the Tattersall's of Sydney;
and with such success that the whole stock
of the dealer was sold off at very remunerating
prices. I received for my share of
the transaction alone about two hundred
and twenty pounds. I did not in my
prosperity forget what I owed to my bush-
man friend; but rejected his advice that
I should go to the plains, and purchase stock
on my own account, without the intervention
of a third party. I reflected that
one part of the business only I was certain
of— namely, rny judgment of the merits of
the cattle themselves; but, of driving whole
herds of them, of bargaining with honest
stockmen, or of combating with marauding
bushrangers, I knew nothing.

For more than two years, then, I continued
with the horse-dealer; first as his
assistant, and latterly as his partner, taking,
however, any well-paid engagements to
break individual horses that offered themselves
during that time. And after that,
I set up in business, for myself. I soon
bought whole droves of horses, and did a
great trade. I dare say it was very
unspeculative of me— I dare say it was the height
of absurdity, after having got so far— that I
did not try my luck up the hills or in the
gold country; but I was collecting nuggets
fast enough in my own way, and I confess to
having no higher desire than that of growing
rich. For England, where I had experienced
so much unhappiness, I had the most passionate
longing. To return, to resume my
old position as a gentleman among the best
of those I had known at college, or to make
new friends, was my darling scheme.
Although I have not set down the slights and