The Book Of The Bush by George Dunderdale (top fiction books of all time .TXT) 📖

Of Which Looked Black And

Rich.  When I Was Trenching The Ground Near My House For Vines And

Fruit Trees,  Making Another Garden Of Paradise In Lieu Of The One I

Had Lost,  I Obtained Cart Loads Of Bones From The Slaughter Yards And

Other Places,  And Placed Them In Trenches; And In Order To Fertilize

One Corner Of The Garden,  I Spread Over It Several Loads Of The

Rich-Looking Black Loam Taken From The Knoll Near The Creek.  After A

Few Years The Vines And Trees Yielded Great Quantities Of Grapes And

Fruit,  And I Made Wine From My Vineyard.  But The Land On Which I Had

Spread The Black Loam Was Almost Barren,  And Yet I Had Seen Fragments

Of Bones Mixed With It,  And Amongst Them A Lower Jaw With Perfect

Teeth,  Most Likely The Jaw Of A Young Lubra.  On Mentioning The

Circumstance To One Of The Early Settlers,  He Said My Loam Had Been

Taken From The Spot On Which The Blacks Used To Burn Their Dead.

Soon After He Arrived At Colac He Saw There A Solitary Blackfellow

Crouching Before A Fire In Which Bones Were Visible.  So,  Pointing To

Them,  He Asked What Was In The Fire,  And The Blackfellow Replied With

One Word "Lubra."  He Was Consuming The Remains Of His Dead Wife,  And

Large Tears Were Coursing Down His Cheeks.  Day And Night He Sat

There Until The Bones Had Been Nearly All Burned And Covered With

Ashes.  This Accounted For The Fragments Of Bones In My Black Loam;

Why It Was Not Fertile,  I Know,  But I Don't Know How To Express The

Reason Well.

 

While The Trenching Of My Vineyard Was Going On,  Billy Nicholls

Looked Over The Fence,  And Gave His Opinion About It.  He Held His

Pipe Between His Thumb And Forefinger,  And Stopped Smoking In Stupid

Astonishment.  He Said--"That Ground Is Ruined,  Never Will Grow

Nothing No More; All The Good Soil Is Buried;  Nothing But Gravel And

Stuff On Top; Born Fool."

 

Old Billy Was A Bullock Driver,  My Neighbour And Enemy,  And Lived,

With His Numerous Progeny,  In A Hut In The Paddock Next To Mine.  In

The Rainy Seasons The Water Flowed Through My Ground On To His,  And

He Had Dug A Drain Which Led The Water Past His Hut,  Instead Of

Allowing It To Go By The Natural Fall Across His Paddock.  The Floods

Washed His Drain Into A Deep Gully Near His Hut,  Which Was Sometimes

Nearly Surrounded With The Roaring Waters.  He Then Tried To Dam The

Water Back On To My Ground,  But I Made A Gap In His Dam With A

Long-Handled Shovel,  And Let The Flood Go Through.  Nature And The

Shovel Were Too Much For Billy.  He Came Out Of His Hut,  And Stood

Watching The Torrent,  Holding His Dirty Old Pipe A Few Inches From

His Mouth,  And Uttered A Loud Soliloquy:--"Here I Am--On A

Miserable Island--Fenced In With Water--Going To Be Washed Away

--By That Lord Donahoo,  Son Of A Barber's Clerk--Wants To Drown Me

And My Kids--Don't He--I'll Break His Head Wi' A Paling--Blowed

If I Don't."  He Then Put His Pipe In His Mouth,  And Gazed In Silence

Story 7 ( Bibliography Of Froebel.) Pg 144

On The Rushing Waters.

 

I Planted My Ground With Vines Of Fourteen Different Varieties,  But,

In A Few Years,  Finding That The Climate Was Unsuitable For Most Of

Them,  I Reduced The Number To About Five.  These Yielded An Unfailing

Abundance Of Grapes Every Year,  And As There Was No Profitable

Market,  I Made Wine.  I Pruned And Disbudded The Vines Myself,  And

Also Crushed And Pressed The Grapes.  The Digging And Hoeing Of The

Ground Cost About 10 Pounds Each Year.  When The Wine Had Been In The

Casks About Twelve Months I Bottled It; In Two Years More It Was Fit

For Consumption,  And I Was Very Proud Of The Article.  But I Cannot

Boast That I Ever Made Much Profit Out Of It--That Is,  In Cash--

As I Found That The Public Taste For Wine Required To Be Educated,

And It Took So Long To Do It That I Had To Drink Most Of The Wine

Myself.  The Best Testimony To Its Excellence Is The Fact That I Am

Still Alive.

 

The Colonial Taste For Good Liquor Was Spoiled From The Very

Beginning,  First By Black Strap And Rum,  Condensed From The Steam Of

Hell,  Then By Old Tom And British Brandy,  Fortified With Tobacco--

This Liquor Was The Nectar With Which The Ambrosial Station Hands

Were Lambed Down By The Publicans--And In These Latter Days By

Colonial Beer,  The Washiest Drink A Nation Was Ever Drenched With.

The Origin Of Bad Beer Dates From The Repeal Of The Sugar Duty In

England; Before That Time Beer Was Brewed From Malt And Hops,  And

That We Had "Jolly Good Ale And Old," And Sour Pie.

 

A Great Festival Was Impending At Colac,  To Consist Of A Regatta On

The Lake,  The First We Ever Celebrated,  And A Picnic On Its Banks.

All The People Far And Near Invited Themselves To The Feast,  From The

Most Extensive Of Squatters To The Oldest Of Old Hands.  The

Blackfellows Were There,  Too--What Was Left Of Them.  Billy Leura

Walked All The Way From Camperdown,  And On The Day Before The Regatta

Came To My House With A Couple Of Black Ducks In His Hand.  Sissy,

Six Years Old,  Was Present; She Inspected The Blackfellow And The

Ducks,  And Listened.  Leura Said He Wanted To Sell Me The Ducks,  But

Not For Money; He Would Take Old Clothes For Them.  He Was Wearing

Nothing But A Shirt And Trousers,  Both Badly Out Of Repair,  And Was

Anxious To Adorn His Person With Gay Attire On The Morrow.  So I

Traded Off A Pair Of Old Cords And Took The Ducks.

 

Next Day We Had Two Guests,  A Miss Sheppard,  From Geelong,  And

Another Lady,  And As My House Was Near The Lake,  We Did Our

Picnicking Inside.  We Put On As Much Style As Possible To Suit The

Occasion,  Including,  Of Course,  My Best Native Wine,  And The Two

Ducks Roasted.  Sissy Sat At The Table Next To Miss Sheppard,  And

Felt It Her Duty To Lead The Conversation In The Best Society Style.

She Said:

 

"You See Dose Two Ducks,  Miss Sheppard?"

 

"Yes,  Dear; Very Fine Ones."

 

"Well,  Papa Bought 'Em From A Black Man Yesterday.  De Man Said Dey

Story 7 ( Bibliography Of Froebel.) Pg 145

"Well,  Papa Bought 'Em From A Black Man Yesterday.  De Man Said Dey

Was Black Ducks,  But Dey Was'nt Black,  Dey Was Brown.  De Fedders Are

In De Yard,  And Dey Are Brown Fedders."

 

"Yes,  I Know,  Dear; They Call Them Black Ducks,  But They Are Brown--

Dark Brown."

 

"Well,  You See,  De Blackfellow Want To Sell De Ducks To Papa,  But

Papa Has No Money,  So He Went Into De House And Bring Out A Pair Of

His Old Lowsers,  And De Blackfellow Give Him De Ducks For De Lowsers,

And Dems De Ducks You See."

 

"Yes,  Dear; I See," Said Miss Sheppard,  Blushing Terribly.

 

We All Blushed.

 

"You Naughty Girl," Said Mamma; "Hold Your Tongue,  Or I'll Send You

To The Kitchen."

 

"But Mamma,  You Know Its Quite True," Said Sissy.  "Didn't I Show You

De Black Man Just Now,  Miss Sheppard,  When He Was Going To De Lake?

I Said Dere's De Blackfellow,  And He's Got Papa's Lowsers On,  Didn't

I Now?"

 

The Times Seemed Prosperous With Us,  But It Was Only A Deceptive

Gleam Of Sunshine Before The Coming Storm Of Adversity.  I Built An

Addition To My Dwelling; And When It Was Completed I Employed A

Paperhanger From London Named Taylor,  To Beautify The Old Rooms.  He

Was Of A Talkative Disposition; When He Had Nobody Else To Listen He

Talked To Himself,  And When He Was Tired Of That He Began Singing.

The Weather Was Hot,  And The Heat,  Together With His Talking And

Singing,  Made Him Thirsty; So One Day He Complained To Me That His

Work Was Very Dry.  I Saw At Once An Opportunity Of Obtaining An

Independent And Reliable Judgment On The Quality Of My Wine; So I

Went For A Bottle,  Drew The Cork,  And Offered Him A Tumblerful,

Telling Him It Was Wine Which I Had Made From My Own Grapes.  As

Taylor Was A Native Of London,  The Greatest City In The World,  He

Must Have Had A Wide Experience In Many Things,  Was Certain To Know

The Difference Between Good And Bad Liquor,  And I Was Anxious To

Obtain A Favourable Verdict On My Australian Product.  He Held Up The

Glass To The Light,  And Eyed The Contents Critically; Then He Tasted

A Small Quantity,  And Paused Awhile To Feel The Effect.  He Then Took

Another Taste,  And Remarked,  "It's Sourish."  He Put The Tumbler To

His Mouth A Third Time,  And Emptied It Quickly.  Then He Placed One

Hand On His Stomach,  Said "Oh,  My," And Ran Away To The Water Tap

Outside To Rinse His Mouth And Get Rid Of The Unpleasant Flavour.

His Verdict Was Adverse,  And Very Unflattering.

 

Next Day,  While I Was Inspecting His Work,  He Gave Me To Understand

That He Felt Dry Again.  I Asked Him What He Would Like,  A Drink Of

Water Or A Cup Of Tea?  He Said,  "Well,  I Think I'll Just Try Another

Glass Of That Wine Of Yours."  He Seemed Very Irrational In The

Matter Of Drink,  But I Fetched Another Bottle.  This Tielmine                               123,  140

Holzhausen,  Herr Von                                            110,  141

Story 7 ( Bibliography Of Froebel.) Pg 146

---- Madame Von                                                 110,  112

Home Of Froebel                                            6,  22,  27,  28

---- Abandoned                                                    15,  35

---- Life                                                         21,  22

Hopf                                                              56,  69

 

Identities And Analogies Sought Out                                  107

Iffland's "Huntsman"                                                  26

Illusions Have A True Side                                            13

Impressions Of Pestalozzi                                             54

Imprisoned For Debt                                              33,  140

Individual Life Key To The Universal                                  16

Inner Meaning Of The Vowels                                           99

Inner Law And Order                                                   87

Instrumental Music Derived From Vocal                                 82

Introspection A Characteristic                                        4,

                              11,  25,  46,  49,  56,  72,  103,  104,  109,  115

"Isis"                                                          102,  117

Isolation Of Froebel                                       4,  5,  91,  107

 

Jahn                                                                 120

Jena,  Life At                                          28,  105,  138,  140

Jesus Christ,  Education Based On                                     120

"Journal Of Education"                                     117,  141,  142

"Journal For Froebel's Educational Aims"                             142

Joy Of Teaching                                                       58

Jussieu's Botany                                                      31

 

Kant                                                                 116

Keilhau,  Life At                        16,  102,  103,  117,  135,  141,  143

Kindergarten Occupations                                             129

Knowledge Of Self Through Objects                                     97

Körner In The "Wilde Schaar"                                          91

Krause,  Carl C.F.                                          102,  103,  116

---- Letter To                                           2,  103-125,  141

Krüsi                                                                 55

 

Lange,  Wichard                                        102,  138,  144,  145

---- Editor Of "Family