Promenaded up to the famous Bendigo.
Had no particular objection to Celestials there, but had no particular taste
for their tartaric water.
Made up my mind to remember my days of innocence,
and turned shepherd. Fine landscape this run on the Loddon: almost a match
for Bella Italia, but there are too many mosquitoes. Dreamt, one day,
I was drinking a tumbler of Loddon wine; and asserted that Providence
was the same also in the south. It was a dream. The lands lay waste
and desolate: not by nature; oh no; by hand of man. Bathing in these
Loddon water-holes, superb. Tea out of this Loddon water magnificent.
In spite of these horrible hot winds, this water is always fresh and delicious:
how kind is Providence! One night lost the whole blessed lot of my flock.
Myself, the shepherd, did not know, in the name of heavens, which way to turn.
Got among the blacks, the whole Tarrang tribe in corrobory. Lord,
what a rum sight for an old European traveller. Found natives very humane,
though. My sheep right again, only the wild dogs had given them a good shake.
Was satisfied that the Messiah the Jews are looking for will not be born
in this bullock-drivers' land; any how, the angels won't announce the happy
event of his birth to the shepherds. No more truck with sheep, and went
to live with the blacks for a variation. Picked up, pretty soon, bits
of their yabber-yabber.
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