Cattle Chosen/Appendix

by Edward Shann

APPENDIX

Item	1.	J. G. Bussell to Sophia Hayward, November 1832.
"	2.	J. G. Bussell to Capel Carter, December 1832.
"	3.	Elizabeth Bussell to C. Carter, December 1833.
"	4.	Elizabeth Bussell to C. Carter, April 1835.
"	5.	Elizabeth Bussell to the family at Augusta, November 1835.
"	6.	J. G. Bussell to C. Bussell, circa August 1835.
"	7.	Draft of Letter, in C. Bussell's handwriting, on Aborigines. Date unknown.
"	8.	Mrs. J. G. Bussell to J. G. Bussell, September 1858
"	9.	A Typical Fortnight from F. Bussell's Diary, June 1840.

1. John Garrett Bussell to Sophia Hayward

November 1832.

My dear Miss Hayward,

It is now evening. I am many miles from any civilized habitation in the depths of an unmeasured forest; my attendants are preparing for me a screen of boughs to keep off the wind. I am seated by some rapids on an unknown river, and am probably supposed to making notes of procedure, being on public service. The rest of the party, fatigued with unwonted exertion, have not yet raised themselves from the reclining posture which they adopted at their first halting. I suffer little inconvenience for I am now an old bushranger. The moon, a small crescent, begins to assume a yellow tinge. I conclude therefore that the sun is setting, an operation of Nature indiscernible on these wood-burthened hills. A huge pile is now sending up volumes of smoke, much to the discomfiture of a host of mosquitoes: it will presently burst into flame and yield the light that the fading orbs of Heaven deny. Some coffee boilers are arranged on a smaller and more approachable fire. I shall soon be summoned to the repast. But this procœnium requires explanation.

It was late on Saturday the 2nd of November 1832 when I had retired from coffee with Alfred and was preparing to pass the rest of the evening in quiet with my lamp and books, that the distant plash of oars interrupted as calm a scene as your fancy can well portray. Pearce my servant from the common house distant about thirty yards from my own private cot, or library, or cell, or study, or magazine, or bed-chamber (either form will be equally applicable) was sounding a bugle, our usual mode of greeting strangers. We, that is Alfred, Pearce and myself, had been a long time alone in the woods, or as we say here in the bush, severed some fourteen miles from the rest of the civilized world. We expected that a ship had arrived at Port Augusta from England; all was therefore excitement.

Even I, the Philosopher himself, rose with less than wonted dignity from my seat and dismissed for the night the Empress Theodora, Justinian, Belisarius and Antonia (I was reading The Decline and Fall) and followed Pearce through a small field of wheat to the landing place which he manifested to the approaching crew with a blazing torch. The night was pitch dark.

The reach of the Blackwood, opposite to which our house has been erected, is wide and about three-quarters of a mile long; in consequence of this on a still night the oar may be heard at a great distance, but the boat was now nearing us, the rowers had ceased their labors, the painter was thrown on shore, and made fast round some pins at the root of a tree appropriated to that purpose. First those stout companions, the guns, were handed out and taken up; then followed the usual greeting. The arrivals were Charles, Mr. Green, a young surgeon and medical officer of this station, Mr. Killam, a colonist of Augusta, and Mollony, a soldier.

Long since, and before the boat touched the bank, the question 'Is there a ship in?' had been answered by a packet held out to catch the ruddy gleam of the beacon. This was a moment of some anxiety.

Charles called me on one side, told me he had received nothing; that he had opened a letter addressed to me, which he feared contained ill news. He had stopped, however, when he came upon subjects which he considered sacred. He need have said no more, and I need have read no more. I knew all. I gave Pearce the packet to lay on my table and led my company up to the house, gave them supper, dampers — a sort of bread — pork, cockatoos, coffee.

I was now told that the Government Resident, Captain Molloy, was anxious that I should conduct an excursion to the Vasse immediately if possible and according with my convenience. Four soldiers were to attend me and would reach my house on Monday the next day, with some settlers, on the chance of my assent. I seemed to laugh at the short notice, remaining undecided: and meanwhile retired for a few minutes to my own room, to read three letters, my mother's, Capel's and yours. I cannot say the perusal raised my spirits, but I returned to my company; an opportunity of calling forth my energies was offered. I decided on going to the Vasse.

The vessel that had arrived at Augusta had sailed again. She had come from Swan River and was on her passage to King George's Sound, at which port she was about to leave my old friend and fellow-recluse, Macleod, Lieut. of the 63rd, as Government Resident. He had left the Swan for that purpose, and finding Charles and Vernon at Augusta he had persuaded the latter to accompany him. Vernon, not loath to take advantage of so good an opportunity of seeing a place that had been much talked of, was therefore absent from our party. It was necessary for Charles to return to Augusta, and as two are hardly enough to leave alone in the bush, I appointed one of the men to remain with Alfred and Pearce as guards of my premises. Eight days I was to be absent; in ten the vessel was to return to receive my report and journal, and I trusted also a letter that I might prepare for you.

It was very late when I retired to my hammock on Saturday. I had been too much excited even then to sleep. On Sunday the party arrived, and I was occupied in preparations and in reading letters. On Monday at 12 o'clock I had reached the northernmost reach of the Blackwood by boat, and I was marching, compass in hand, with ten days' provisions at my back. My companions little knew what was weighing on my mind, as I broke them a path through the tangled undergrowth. My leisure on this march is devoted to you.

Wednesday evening. I believe within a very short distance of the Vasse.

The kangaroo is in the swamp,

The wild man in his cell,

And heavy rise the vapours damp

And brood o'er yonder dell.

If water there our search reward,

Our weary limbs will rest;

The turf shall be the genial board,

The chase supplies a feast.

Down with our knapsacks on the sod

Beside yon shelt'ring tree,

Our guns lean charged with ample load

If danger aught there be.

See how these murky woods throughout

Our jolly fire glares:

Full readily the way-worn rout

An evening meal prepares.

We'll fill our cups, and sing our song

Before we sink to sleep,

Our dogs shall then the drear night long

Their faithful vigils keep.

No lurking savage shall assail.

To-morrow, with the day,

O'er stream, savanna, hill and dale

Our compass points the way.

Whither leads all this? you will say, what have I to do with Mr. Bussell's picknick parties? What relation can they have to any misunderstanding that may, or may not, have subsisted between us?

Why, it tends to this. In the first place, I hope and think you will be pleased to learn that the man on whose affections you had made much impression, and who, you say, excited such interest in your own heart, instead of proceeding with piteous whinings, humiliating despondency or dastardly accusations to endeavour to avert you from your purpose, has commenced with vigour and activity to bear the communications of your letter — I was going to say, to combat disappointment, but that is a wrong term for a thing that has been the subject of anticipation, and that I did anticipate what has happened, my last letter testifies. It was on this account partly that I did not attempt to extort a promise, when I thought, and still think, that I might have obtained one, though it was chiefly because there was some little degree of venture, in which I wished to involve no one save ourselves.

The other cause of my commencing my letter as I have is, that these minute details alone are able to convey to England any distinct idea of life in these distant regions. I could neither vindicate my views nor excite sympathy in a person totally ignorant of our domestic arrangements, when as in the present case, such arrangements are to be the subject matter of my discourse; while you would be equally unable to appreciate my sentiments or even, on some occasions, comprehend my meaning.

Some strange error has arisen. I thought that letter of mine expressed my feelings and intentions, particularly with regard to the joint possessions; but it seems otherwise. It was written too precipitately. Could I not have continued the principal director of a large estate of which for certain reasons it was necessary that I should continue the director, without involving the sharer of my lot in the unpleasant contingency of either assuming the rule where she must have felt an intruder, or submitting to a secondary place in her husband's house? An immediate neighbourhood would certainly have been essential, a hundred yards or a quarter of a mile would have mattered little; as it is our interests possibly will require a wider separation: our stock-runs and dairy-farms possibly may be on the Vasse, distant 40 miles from Augusta, for on the banks of that beautiful river we possess 4,000 acres, of the fairest country that ever enticed the settler. In domestic affairs, in her own circle my mother must be paramount: in general external affairs such as are not the province of women, as experience demanded I might assume the control: feeling bound at the same time to furnish either myself or by substitute my share of labour and superintendence. Nor would a distinct household establishment have presented any obstacle, at least so it appears to Charles and myself. Such may be the ultimate state of things; and will not then my connexion with a society of nearest relatives, who ought, and would most exert themselves if they had it in their power, to assist me, facilitate my employing to advantage any income that a wife may bring, for the special benefit of herself and children? Your friends say, forsooth, the scheme will not answer. They no doubt are worthy your confidence and fitted to give you information. You will perceive from what I have said above that I have a separate cottage which I now use as a retirement when I wish to be alone. Can you see no object in my not having an adjoining room for such purposes? No ulterior view in this distant abode? I am anxious to bring these circumstances before you, as I wish to exonerate myself from the imputation of requiring unwarrantable concessions on your part, strange return indeed for what would have been an example of love constancy and devotion, that ought to have claimed all that affection and tenderness could bestow. I was pleased with, or rather approved your letter and so did Charles, and I give you credit for all candour at the time of our personal intercourse, nor do I attribute the small tokens of remembrance that I have received from you, even after my quitting England, to 'coquetry or vanity', whatever may be the opinion of others who have been privy to the transactions. When you mention the 'pain you have suffered in being obliged to decline the happiness' etc., you intend, no doubt, to convey balm to my feelings and I am obliged to you; but if you have declined happiness, though at the instigation of all your friends, you have not done wisely, nor acted naturally, for the actions of mankind have generally a reference to their own ideas of happiness, the grand end of the labors of all; and you were not wont to be so obsequious a listener. I think if you examine your own heart you will find that the real reasons for what you have written are neither the advice of your friends nor what you deem the uncompromising bearing of mine.

If I may read the spirit that directed your pen rather than the words it has traced, the readiness with which 'can never now be realized' were admitted bespeak some what of an ultimate irrevocable decision, which nothing but inclination could dictate. When I close the paper, and recall the events that have passed, such as follow are the impressions left on my mind — she loved me and would have braved difficulties and inconveniences that I would not have exposed her to, but since that a long period has elapsed. England, in consequence of the alliance of her brother and friend, promises her much happiness: this she considers must be sacrificed, and for what? A greater blessing? I suspect she deems otherwise. Yet when she composed this epistle she felt kindly towards me, and seems often to have thought of me; by this time, however, those thoughts are but rare, for she sees less of those who are interested in me. If this my letter ever reaches her, it will on her produce the same effect as the print of Kingston Church on me, a sadly pleasing recollection of the past. — There certainly has been some color for a break, and you have availed yourself, I think readily, else why enter into the disquisition at all with those who could know no more than yourself. You have been unacquainted with me a long time, could you have thought I would have dealt ungenerously with you? One likes a little confidence. You might have perceived the cause of my not proposing when we were together; in fact, I often tried to convey to you my reasons indirectly, and a woman is not slow in construing a lover's words. Did not that cause show that I had not in view the welfare of myself alone? I was not wholly actuated by selfish motives. Oh, that word self! When Self steps in with his deeds and parchments, Love slipping a bunch of quills from the old lawyer's pocket, mends his clipped wings, that have kept long holiday, and is off before you can say Jack Robinson.

Now with regard to the hut that you mention with so much modesty, it never entered my imagination that you should live in a hut or tent at all. The little mansion that I have erected with my own unassisted hands in the hours that were employed in recreation by my brothers, was destined for you, until some other place of residence might have been provided adequate to your wishes. This temporary residence is small and incommodious enough, it must be allowed, but with its glazed windows (a luxury here), looking on the fairest prospect, its mantel looking-glass, its blazing hearth, its dressing and writing-table, its well-stored bookshelves of my own fabric, its pictures of well-remembered objects, it has been the envy of many of my neighbours. And what tho' its floor is of clay, tho' its roof of rushes displays the rafters within, unbarked spars from the wood; what though the gun, the rifle, the pistols, the bugle, the powder-horn, the shot-belt and packets of cartridges ranged around, proclaim too clearly the prevalence of the law of force, and the necessity of the means of defence? There are few roofs under which I have lived an equal portion of time, that have afforded me an equal number of serene and happy moments. It is true we are not clad in purple and fine linen but when I contemplate the colonist, a man perhaps of gentle habits, information, address, and family, stalking through the woods with his well-greased boots, his trowsers of canvas, his shirt of duck, his cap of fur, his faithful provider and protector, his gun, on his shoulder, his dog by his side, and when I draw a parallel with such a portrait and the fops of the English streets; when I think of (as it exists in England) the murmuring and meanness of concealed poverty, the insolence, ignorance and indolence of the rich; the pride of the professors of the lowliest of religions, the elect, those monopolisers of Heaven, and their misleaders, the coxcombs of the pulpit; the result of such reflexions reads me no wholesome lesson on humiliation; and with regard to luxury and ease I can aver with truth that, in my hammock beneath my roof of rushes, I sleep with greater satisfaction to myself than I could under a velvet canopy in the spacious mansion of a munificent patron. 'Gentle sleep', says the poet, 'dis dams not the humble shed of the cottager and the shady bank, nor Tempe agitated by the Zephyrs.'

Strange and unheard of as these sentiments of mine may appear (you know I inhabit a country celebrated for paradoxes) they are nevertheless my sentiments, and since such is the case, what wonder if I would have involved her I love in equal happiness, but it was not to be. I did not know her. If I were to tell you that you have blighted my prospects, reduced me to the verge of despair, plunged me in sorrow from which I could never hope to emerge, my asseverations would be as absurd as you would be silly if you believed them. My happiness depends upon no mortal. I once indeed thought that it ought to have been increased by a union with you. What really might have been the result One only knows. Who orders all for the best, for Whose bounties I am grateful, to Whose decisions I bow.

It may strike you from the above that, had you joined me, it would have been requisite for you to have renounced the pleasures of life, but such is not the case. Your income here would have been not merely a competency, but affluence. With regard to myself, to sum things up, I believe I am an old young man. I have seen much of high, low, rich and poor, sage and savage; for most of their pleasurable pursuits I must own I have little taste remaining, and it is but a short experience that has given me the surfeit, but so it is, — and as I review the scenes that I have witnessed, and that no doubt are daily renewed and as often enjoyed, not omitting at all those from which I derive pleasure myself, I feel tempted to explain with the Vandal king as he followed the triumph of his conqueror 'Vanity, Vanity, all is vanity'.

Tho' the halls of the wealthy no more shall invite me

to join in their revels, or feast at their board,

Tho' the soft strains of music no longer delight me,

Though I'm spoiled of whate'er the gay world can afford,

Though rarely society's voice can deliver

My soul from its thoughts, my abode from its gloom

Where the depths of the wood, and the still rolling river

Afford me the spot where I've chosen a home,

Yet do I repine not ; the calms of reflection

Have soothed the wild tumults that once tossed my breast,

The past I regret not, nor shun recollection

Of pleasures once followed, of pains once possessed.

Farewell.

J. G. BUSSELL.

This letter was not prepared for the intended conveyance: I have since added to it considerably.

2. J. Vernon Bussell to Capel Carter, December 1832.

My dear Capel,

We have taken two thousand acres of our Grant on the Blackwood. The place we have fixed upon to commence is a peninsula of forty acres, between two and three hundred yards across the neck, which we have fenced with a post and rail of split mahogany.... It will be advisable for some of us to go to the Vasse where we have taken 3,700 acres, the remainder of our grant. What a pity we did not know of that country before! What a quantity of labour it would have saved us, no trees to get up, the land rich, bearing nothing but grass! In fact it resembles an English park, only instead of deer you see an abundance of kangeroo. You cannot imagine anything more beautiful; but then the Blackwood is open to the Southerly winds, which in the summer time make it a most delightful climate, whereas Geographe Bay is open to the northerly, so that our peninsula on the Blackwood may be a nice cool retreat in the hot weather. I don't think, therefore, we shall ever desert it; indeed I hope we shall not, for I have formed a regular attachment for it, having seen the forest by degrees levelled to the ground, a good garden rising, paths made to the most frequented parts, instead of the thick jungle that used to be, and a good well of water, etc. Considering all these, and they are the work of our own hands, you will not wonder at the attachment. You should be here, my dear Capel, but I will not attempt to persuade you, for you know best.

Why does not Cousin Bob come out? And Uncle Bowker? We will undertake to supply them with wheat at a cheap rate. Tell Emily her seeds are most acceptable, English cabbage seed giving larger hearts than the colonial. Believe me to be ever yours,

VERNON BUSSELL.

Note. The grant on the Blackwood was afterwards exchanged for an additional area on the Vasse.

3. Elizabeth Bussell to Cape! Carter, December 1833.

I left the dear Adelphi about three weeks since, at about eight in the evening, accompanied by Phœbe and Emma, our pigs, poultry, cats, dogs, cockatoo and pigeons, Mr. Green, John, Alfred, Lenox and Vernon for our crew and the two boats in tow, very deeply laden, so you can imagine we did not expect to make a very quick passage. It was a lovely balmy moonlight night. We contrived to banish from our minds that we were going to leave the place that had formed so delightful a home, and the home, too, where we anticipated the meeting of so many dear relations who would have looked round on all the improvements with such wonder and delight.

After the first song we all became gradually gay. The song, the laugh and the joke went round, and about daybreak we reached Dalton Island, which belongs to Captain Molloy. Mr. Green commenced fishing for our breakfast. Captain Molloy's men were employed in making poor Bess eatable, for the old pig had drowned herself, and I can hardly say how deeply she has been regretted. Everything was done to recover her; she was rubbed, caressed and entreated to come to life, for she had known all the ups and downs with them ever since they had been in the colony, and was therefore to have died a natural death. But, as Ally said, 'She terminated her existence because she was tired of being any longer a pig. Her soul has now migrated unto something superior.' She was really very near humanity.

Two of the boys went to look out a good place to pitch the tent. The other two employed themselves in releasing the poor imprisoned pigs, cocks, hens and chickens. When I had seen them all liberated, they accompanied me to the highest part of the island, where I feasted my eyes on the beautiful woods, rivers, hills and lagoons with the sun just rising upon this wide, wild and almost uninhabited country. In a short time, Mr. Green returned with a number of delicious fish. Emma cooked them and boiled eggs, all assisted in frizzling pork and making pancakes. We then all sat down and made a hearty breakfast. I had the top of a tin saucepan for my plate, but the night air had sharpened my appetite and put all fastidious ideas to flight.

After breakfast, John, myself, Len and Mr. Green embarked in a light boat to dispose of our fresh pork, and to leave me at Augusta, where I was to see dear Fanny. We had not been together for a month. It is now a fortnight since we have commenced this new epoch in our colonial life.

After I had written the above, and had just left our now almost comfortable house to ask Mrs. Molloy for some wine — for she keeps ours in her cellar — the boys came running in crying 'A ship! a ship!' This morning dear Charley returned from Swan River, with Captain Molloy, Mr. Toby, Mr. McLeod, all of whom are going to dine with us to-day. We have already employed them all shelling peas.

Little Jimmy Turner has just thrown upon my desk a sweet bouquet of wall-flowers, mignonette, sweet peas and clover.

Adieu, my dear Capel. All's well here. You must blame Mr. McLeod for this abrupt termination. Give our love to the Henleyites, the inhabitants of Tête á tête cottage, Dewes, Mr. Mayo, and the Bartholomews, Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Foot.

4. Elizabeth Bussell to Capel Carter. April 1835.

My dearest Capel,

We have lately returned from a picknick party up the river, where we went that Mamma and Mary might see the old 'Adelphi' before we went to the Vasse. Our party consisted of Mamma and our three selves, Charles, Mr. Green, Selina and Mr. Tom Turner. Mamma and Mary were delighted with our beautiful river. We came to many places that had never yet been named. I was asked to name a very pretty little island near a magnificent wind in the river, and I called it the 'Capel', and the point of land a little distance from it 'Point Caroline', and I can assure you our boatmen on our return did not forget to let us know when we were off these spots that are now dear to us as being identified with the individuals so beloved by us all.

We dined at a tranquil little inlet called Fanny Bay, and then proceeded without any further interruption than occasional song to the 'Adelphi,' which we did not reach till late on the most splendid moonlight night.

I could hardly trace my way up to the deserted banqueting hall, which was overgrown with cabbage and sow thistle. When there we were not long in finding out John's little dwelling, 'The Hermitage', which had had a narrow escape from being demolished by the falling of some large branches of the trees that had been girdled [i.e. ring-barked] near it.

Mary, assisted by Mr. Herring, commenced doing the honors of the Adelphi while the rest of us wandered about, losing and finding ourselves in the once well-beaten paths. Mr. Green and I came upon the well, where the old tin can and rope were still hanging, which we had left for the use of whoever might think it worth while to pay the old place a visit. I think it will rarely have other visitors than our sable friends, Naabin and Wooberdung, whose descendants will, I daresay, long continue to feel grateful to Mitter Buttle, or 'Mowen', for leaving in their territory such deliciously pure water.

We then strolled to the garden, but I could not recognize the neat and well-kept paths and beds in the present wilderness, where trees and shrubs have grown up considerably higher than myself. However, the 'quarter-deck' walk was tolerably clear, and we continued to walk up and down until we were summoned to tea with the old cry 'All hot, all cold here!'.

In John's room we found Mary, who had all quite snug. The fire burned brightly, the candle was lighted, some seats were contrived and we all sat down to compare notes and lament the alterations that had taken place. Tea dismissed, the floor was strewed with rushes, we undressed and rolled ourselves in the blanket which each had brought. When lying down we completely covered the room. Mamma was much amused with the scene and said, when we were curling our hair, etc., we looked very like a picture of strolling actresses, of Hogarth's. However, we all managed to sleep soundly till the next morning when we again commenced our rambles. Fanny and myself visited our favourite haunts. Charley beaued Selina about, and explained to Mamma and Mary what each heap of ruins had been. After breakfast we all walked to a delightful place called the Belvedere, where we used to say we would have the house. It is situated on a very high bank of the river, looking up two very long reaches till they are quite lost in the thick dark woods.

We then embarked once more, and our four oars soon brought us to a beautiful peppermint tree, which resembles a weeping willow. Anything with an English appearance has still some charms for us. A few miles further up is situated Mr. Chapman's grant, which like our own has been forsaken for the Vasse. As soon as we had satisfied our curiosity, we began to think Mr. Herring would be in despair at our absence. So we made all possible haste home, where the dear old man had made all so comfortable. We fired a gun at the other side of the peninsula for auld lang syne, the evening passed merrily off, but we could not help grieving to think we must soon leave the quiet country for the town(!)

The next morning, after taking a last long lingering look we returned to Augusta, stopping at the Baldwins to dine, and at Twinwood to drink tea. It is wonderful the progress Mr. Thomas Turner has made, but it is very melancholy to think there is a probability of its not answering. When we came home we found little Jimmy and Maria Turner had taken all possible care of our geese, turkeys and chickens, and now here we are, again returned to our usual employments, and I must e'en leave you now and go and iron.

Affectionately your own
BESSIE.

5. Elizabeth Bussell to the Family at Augusta. November 1835.

Dear Mamma, Mary, Fanny and Charley,

I know you will be all anxious to hear of my safe arrival at 'Cattle Chosen'. Well as you all know we started at a good hour on Tuesday the 17th of November 1835, and my courage did not fail me one minute except I must own, when I wished you all Good-bye and saw you for the last time, just over the fence. Dear Charley, who accompanied me to the little Creek, described me to you I dare say making two efforts to cross it and Prince's determination to thwart me in my endeavours. I was doubly anxious to do it, for I thought if you heard I had accomplished that you would feel more confidence. However, I was obliged to walk across a fallen tree, and we continued our road with all the dogs with us (for none of them returned with Charley), plunging through what I then thought fearful swamps until we came to Glenartie, where we dined. I was then, however, neither hungry nor tired, and when each opened his pack and had eaten, they stretched them selves out under a large shady tree. I offered my knee to John for a pillow and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him fast asleep, as likewise Alfred and Vernon, whose packs answered that purpose.

Dawson tethered the horse (who while we were dining was allowed to roam where he liked), and followed the example of the rest of the party; after sleeping an hour and a half I mounted and we continued our route till we reached McLeods Creek. I could hardly keep the poor horse from returning to Augusta: he seemed to have a perfect horror of the place. I dismounted and he was unladen. I was sent into the bush while they changed their trousers, as they were making up their minds for a good ducking, which done I returned to see poor Prince immersed. They had laid down sticks on the swampy ground, which he crossed over very well, and then in he went into the stream, rolling and snorting until he reached the other bank, where he shook himself and looked very angry at us all.

They then came back for me and to cut some spars for me to walk over upon. I managed passing over this bridge of sighs with their assistance without getting the least wet, mounted with the horse 'kicking violently' in reality, and took my leave for ever of the 'Adelphi,' which was not far distant, and from whose gardens we had often admired the increased breadth that the mouth of the Creek gave our magnificent Blackwood. By way of encouragement, Dawson said: 'You will surprise all the people at Datchet, Miss. They told me I must carry a week's provisions, but we will be at the Chapman to-night. Dr. Green said you would not be further than Glenartie to-day, and the creek to-morrow.' But you tell him with — I can't say regards because he was behaving so ill when I left — that I am of opinion that I made the Vasse sooner than he did the Granite house and by not quite such easy stages. After the creek I think we did not go a mile without encountering some stream with very muddy and perpendicular banks. When the horse was drawing himself out he seemed to be completely sucked into the mud, the dear boys gave me great genuine help, and were very considerate.

At the Governor's bivouac, John said 'Now, Bessie, sing "Fleuve de Tage". This is the last time you will see the Blackwood.' I did not sing but I said I had seen many happy days upon it. About two hours before sunset we reached the Chapman, we did not cross because Vernon had brought no change and did not wish to be wet all night. John's foot was very much rubbed with his shoe; my head ached a little. In fact we were all ready for a halt. We ate our supper after collecting wood for a huge fire, round which we all sat till it was quite dark; the horse was then tied up and we pulled out Fanny's little saddle bags of coffee and sugar, which were more reviving than I can describe. I wished all the evening that you could picture me to your selves as well as I was instead of dying with fatigue. After discussing various topics, John spread our blankets, Vernon and Alfred who had none, drew close into the fire; Dawson with his two kept a respectful distance.

We slept tolerably till daybreak, the extreme cold of which awoke us. We commenced our journey without our breakfast Fanny, at least with a piece of biscuit. We had to cross the Chapman immediately, Dawson carried me over, the whole day we were up one hill and then down another, and in the valleys there was always water more or less steep, deep and muddy.

At 'The Sight of the Hills', so called because you can see the Hills at the back of our house at Augusta, we halted. About eleven we dined. To-day I was less polite, and instead of offering my knee as a pillow I was glad to stretch myself, and go to sleep before I could make up my mind to eat anything. It was intensely warm, the sun had burnt me beyond anything. I think I must have rivalled the red creeper, John said I was more the color of the horse.

I was awoke, however, with the sun shining upon me, which added most likely another shade. We were all now glad of our dinner, after which I changed my situation and went fast asleep again until it was time to go. I found myself stiff and otherwise affected, but when I was on the horse I felt more in my natural position, and went on very well.

I saw the hollow tree which Mr. Herring baled out. We came soon after to Ludlows well, which he has kindly dug in the middle of the path. Of course Prince got in, and I can hardly tell how he got out. I took every means lawful and unlawful to hold on like grim death. I knew no one could help me. 'By Jove', they all exclaimed, 'she might go through the creek after that'! Do not forget to offer him my best thanks. About three in the afternoon we reached the Rapids, it was still very warm, I went to the waterside, took my basket, soap, towel, &c., to 'arranger un peu', dressed my hair; the stream, however, was too rapid to allow of my admiring my reflection. So I returned to them all in propria persona. I suppose, however, they were all captivated with my appearance, for they all followed my example, and I can assure you we all looked quite the thing when we assembled round the fire to sip our coffee. To-morrow at this time, we said, we will be in the land flowing with milk, &c., &c. The idea was very cheering, for I was very stiff, and I could not rise without assistance.

We spread our blankets to-night in a different manner, John's on the ground and mine over us both. He had but a bad night, for I could not move without help. He was so kind.

At daybreak we started again. First John and Vernon, however, changed shoes. I was called on to be cobbler; my work I performed to their satisfaction. John seemed eased, and Vernon not inconvenienced. The Rapids, altho' wide are shallow, and with an ironstone bottom, so that I crossed on horseback without difficulty. In a few minutes we came to a place where I was quite surprised at having to dismount; it appeared a mere nothing. Dawson carried me. I was hoping that I was not very heavy, indeed nearly imagining I was Ariel, when Dawson suddenly sank up to the middle in black mud. He called out to some one to take me off him. I was first handed to Alfred and then to Vernon, all of them sinking deeper and deeper under my weight. When I found myself safely landed on the bank I could not but say, 'Think how nearly it was a case of Betty Sow'.

We continued to ride on through a country so exactly similar to the woods at Augusta that if you had been put down there asleep you would certainly have conceived yourself at the back of Mr. Turner's grant. The ironstone hills, which we soon reached, formed an unpleasing variety. Besides being in constant fear of the horse breaking his knees by falling on some loose fragments of rock, we had to make considerable detours to avoid the fallen branches which, as you come nearer the Vasse, are more numerous.

The streams here are very difficult to cross, the horse always attempted to turn when he came to any that he remembered as being more dangerous than others. At one he made a most determined halt; after a great deal of urging he attempted to leap, and came down on the other side on his knees! It was luckily soft ground, so when he recovered himself he only sank dreadfully. I kept my seat, I do not know how, but Dawson said, 'If that does not beat anything I ever saw I'll be hanged'. At the foot of the ironstone hills we dined. They all determined that whenever the horse was very obstinate I should dismount, as he was never so without cause. We were all very much tired, and I slept without ceasing, with my back against a tree (for I could not lie down) for the hour and a half halt. I forgot to mention that on the ironstone hills you catch a glimpse of Cape Naturaliste. The country now was very flat and swampy. When we came upon the Vasse plains we started three kangaroos, as the dogs all three of them went off in full chase we determined to wait their return. Ranger seemed very close. In about a quarter of an hour they all returned, but not to show their game, for they had not caught one of these extraordinary fleet animals, the rapidity of whose movements far exceeded my expectations.

Prince began to feel he was near home, and quickened his pace so much that he did not require the spur that Vernon had given him nearly all the way by throwing Blackboy tops at him. Indeed, they could hardly keep up with him, and I began to fear that I should find myself at 'Cattle Chosen' all alone in the midst of the horses.

He turned out of his road to avoid some unnoticed difficulty, and we were surprised to observe a spear, cloak and woomera. When looking up a tree we espied one of our black brethren concealed among the branches. He appeared much frightened, and when he perceived that he was noticed he commenced gabbling 'Womani Talum' (Augusta). Going thro' the plains is very uninteresting and tedious, and I was not sorry when he pointed out a beautiful paper bark tree which marked the road to 'Cattle Chosen.' Prince now commenced his attack upon the grass, and I could hardly get him on.

I put on my spectacles that I might see the house immediately it opened upon us from among the beautiful peppermint trees. You can form no idea of my sensations on beholding our dwelling for the first time, and as the possibility of undressing and again getting into bed dawned upon my imagination my fatigue became intense. I can find no other terms that can describe my feelings; I could hardly bestow a look upon our beautiful sleek cattle as they lay ruminating beneath the trees.

Dear Len, who heard the two guns that were fired to announce our arrival came out to meet us. I think I should hardly have known him, only I knew there was no one else, not that he appeared the least fatter; but so very much sunburnt. He really is quite mahogany colour, without the slightest exaggeration.

Phœbe was delighted to see me. 'I should have come to meet 'e, Miss Bessie, only I be afeared of the ducks and dogs. Look at the geese — did you ever see the like of them? I kept the akin of one that died to show you what they were once. But ye be tired — will ye have a cup a tea?' 'Oh, no, Phoebe, I should like to go to bed, when once I am there I think I shall never get up again.' She took my meaning literally. 'There now that be a pretty thing. Too much for 'e. Too much for 'e. I thought so.'

She then began to make her bed for me, during which occupation she went off into her usual strain about her maladies, 'plexy fits, leaders and sinners, &c. While this was going on John had prepared his cot for me, and came to escort me to his house, where I found the bed so nicely made.

Lennox brought me a tub of water, soap and towels, and they all vanished to leave me to my own inventions. I begged them to come and have tea as usual in the room, for that would allow me three or four hours of repose and by that time I should be glad of something to eat, so they need not be afraid of disturbing me. They promised to come back, and in a short time I found myself in bed! I awoke when it was dark, with a sort of murmuring in the room. They lighted the candle and the tea was ready. Some delicious hot bread and new butter was put before me, which I ate with an appetite which my previous sleep had by no means diminished.

Len begged me to observe he had made himself a Dandy on my arrival, and he certainly looked very different, tho' still rather like a native dressed up.

I forgot to mention that before I got into bed I descried a small looking-glass hanging up; although tired, my vanity, or rather my curiosity, prompted me to unhang it to see what I was like. I really did not know myself. I was such an altered being. I never remember but twice before starting at my own appearance. That was at school when I had not seen my face for three years, and when I had the jaundice. I am convinced that no one would have known me as the same person that left Augusta three mornings before.

At daybreak next morning I got up, dressed with all despatch and met them at breakfast much refreshed, but with a certain 'Je ne sais quoi'. Phœbe saluted me with 'I be so glad to see 'ee, Miss Bessie, that can hardly wag. I be ill with joy — as bad to be ill with joy as sorrow. You look tired though. Too much for 'ee.'

She gave me some delicious tea out of her little black teapot, after which I churned the butter, and then slept nearly the whole day. To Sunday, I have devoted myself to giving you a history of all that will interest you. We had prayers, since which I have been taking a survey of our territories.

The dear boys have indeed worked hard, but there is an immensity yet to be done, though I think for the pleasure of being together again we would put up with much inconvenience.

6. John Garrett Bussell to Charles Bussell, circa August 1835.

My dear Charles,

Molloy has been sounding the Chapmans as to the price at which they would let him have their land at Augusta. He offered £40, twenty to be paid in bullock hire. Jemmy mentioned this to me, and added that he intended to ask the Captain to lend him £60, at 20 per cent. interest, which in two years' time his rent from the store would liquidate. His ambition is to purchase cows. Will you be surprised to hear that, in the present state of domestic affairs, I told him I thought we could advance the loan? Now for my reasons: in the first place I think the security good, which he offers both upon the purchased stock, house and land. In the second place it is necessary we should keep something in hand, in regular specie, for these next two years. Now as this will flow, in all probability, from Government, it will stand in that stead and at the same time yield a good profit. In the third and last place it is greatly to our interest that our neighbours should get on, and it is advisable to throw every facility in their way when their views turn to the only means by which success can be obtained,... I send Chapman to you to decide, and if you like the thing, to make out the writing.

NOTE BY COMPILER

The usual scarcity of capital in a new country, in proportion to the openings for its use, was accentuated in Western Australia by the Land Regulations of 1828 and 1829. These offered free grants of land in proportion to the outfit brought to the colony by settlers, thereby leading them to spend more on outfit, stock and passages for servants, and to leave themselves short of working capital. — See R. C. Mills, op. cit. p. 69.

7. A Draft of a Letter by Charles Bussell on the Treatment of the Aborigines. The first sheet is missing.

Sheet 2.
began the error of legislation with regard to the aboriginal inhabitant. What was done? Was the slaughter of these valuable animals treated as a national offence? No! On the contrary as a mere transaction between the suffering party and the offender. Some forebore through fear.* Another, taking the perpetrators to the spot where they had formerly banqueted on a favourite horse, endeavoured to represent to them that they had received no injury at his hands, but that he had, on the contrary, treated them with every possible kindness, and to ask them if they conceived that they had returned it in a becoming manner. Alas! they had soon to learn that these were not arguments calculated to soothe the savage heart. Others, taking the Law into their own hands, revenged their losses upon the heads of some of the tools of the ringleaders — while they, cunning above their fellows, absented themselves amid the fastnesses of their own forests, until the white man's ire had subsided. Not so theirs. Long cherished revenge, waxing instead of waning by time, rankles in their heart, and the blood of a white man is, for the first time, spilt upon the land which he had sailed so many miles to replenish and subdue. — Again I ask, what was done? In many cases, nothing. In others, the offender received a formal pardon — and hence arose the heroes, or rather demigods, Yagan, Midgegaroo, Calliote, etc., whose names, under proper treatment, should never have travelled beyond the limits of their own narrow territory.

* This is no picture, and I challenge investigation. — C. B.

But not to occupy too much of your time I pass over to the field of Pinjarra. The causes which gave rise to this action have been variously related. The current opinion is that repeated acts of aggression on the part of the natives, had at length determined the Governor to make an example of them, and God knows they needed it. The more correct is that the Governor and the Surveyor-General set out on an expedition with the intention of marking out a township, that the police of the party came unawares upon, and were opposed by the natives, that the firing which followed in consequence brought up the military, and the rest of the Governor's suite, who terminated the affair leaving 15 dead upon the field. Be this as it may, however, I aver that no one circumstance of whatsoever description, throughout the whole colony, has been productive of greater benefit. — The most powerful and most successfully insolent tribe in the then peopled settlement, received a shock which never has and never will be erased from their memory! They have [Sheet 3] kissed the rod by which they have been scourged and the White is permitted to walk unarmed and unharmed through scenes which have witnessed repeated murders of their unfortunate countrymen.

About this time arrived intelligence from England, that a Law had past enacting that the aboriginal inhabitants of the colonies were to be considered as British subjects, and that they were to be tried and punished by British Law. Since then the abduction of whole flocks and herds, and various murders have taken place, and not one native has been executed. What does this prove? Either that justice is inefficiently administered or that the laws themselves are insufficient. There, Sir, I return to my original proposition, viz. that the existing law has placed the lives and property of the settlers here in a state of dangerous insecurity. And let me ask, why was it necessary to place a people who have hitherto acknowledged no Law, and who are, in 9 cases out of ten, untangible by Law, on a par with the British subject? If it be found expedient to place the soldier without the pale of British law, if the provost-martial can hang, without trial, upon the first tree, a marauding countryman, why should the constable with search-warrant be required to search the premises of the savage? But what are they? To be within bounds, they may be said to be comprised within a circle of 50 miles, and to consist of forest and plain, hill and dale. What settler can afford to search this tract of country? But admitting that he do search it, and find the nightly marauders of his henroost, of his garden, and of his barn. The chances are 20 to 1 against his catching them and to fire upon them is murder. What can he do? Must the labors of the ox be in the meantime suspended? Must his cows remain unmilked? His flocks and herds untended? Must he bear these losses in addition to those by nocturnal robberies, while his foe is walking at large in the forests that he has so diligently traversed? But admitting further that he catch them. They are flogged or imprisoned, and set at liberty to repeat their former offences, and bent upon revenging the insUlt that has been offered to their persons. Their relatives are called together and at no distant period an unfortunate European in no way implicated is found dead, pierced with many spears. The cause of this unlooked for circumstance does not become apparent. But I call God and my fellow colonists to witness that the murder of a white may almost always be traced to revenge for former punishments. But before what tribunal are the murderers brought? The whole tribe are alike implicated and it is found necessary to lay aside the law by which they are protected and to proceed against them with an armed force. Why were not their former aggressions visited in this manner? Is the spearing of a bullock or a horse, or the driving off of a flock of sheep the act of one man? Common sense, unbiassed by timidity would answer No! and if No, do not any of these misdemeanors afford sufficient pretext for breaking off our alliance with the whole tribe? Why then must our little colony be spoiled of its best inhabitants in order to make our legislators learn that it is absurd to hope to dwell in peace in any country until the aboriginal inhabitants have been [Sheet 4] subdued? To those familiar with out-stations, where a handful of men are opposed to hundreds, as well as to the reflecting portion of the more populous districts, this is an axiom as self-evident as that the whole is greater than its part. The generality of the dwellers in the towns, however, resemble well-mounted riders who have heedlessly left their companion to spur in solitude on a difficult and dangerous journey his wither-wrung and broken-winded jade. A Government Resident of the colony, surrounded by ample force, a large whaling vessel at the same time lying in the port, on being officially informed that the peace had been broken in a neighbouring district, and finding that the offending tribe had taken refuge in his neighbourhood, refused to accept the proposal of the commander of the vessel to turn out his crew and aid in breaking their arms, and dismissing them from the whale feast at which hundreds of their brethren were assembled. A fairer opportunity of discountenancing vice, of humbling them before the eyes of their own people, and of asserting a just authority, it is impossible to conceive.

But the selfishness of mankind is not the only obstacle to our maintaining our just rights. Fanaticism — blind and inconsistent fanaticism — has found its way into our counsels, — blind because it will not see that rigorous measures from the beginning are most merciful as well to savage as to European, and inconsistent because while it admits the legality of acquiring property by emigration, it prohibits the means of properly defending it.

Before this can reach you I must either stand or fall. But as the colony grows, as new districts are occupied, the same farce or rather tragedy will be acted over and over again, and it is for the benefit of those who have to follow in my footsteps that I write. Minor offences will be committed and pardoned. Forbearance, a virtue unknown to the savage, will be called by him timidity. Greater aggressions will follow, until the colonist, roused to just ire, at length becomes his own avenger. But as I have said before, being individually punished, it is not well punished. Punishment in fact wears the appearance of retaliation or of revenge; and the fearful odds of death for death, a mode of acting which would full speedily exterminate the settlement from which I write, becomes in consequence the watchword of the Blacks. Not till now — and perhaps not even now, too late to save many valuable lives, lives in which were centred all the hopes and all the joys of those left to lament their loss, — is the tardy process of the law laid aside. Who can doubt but that to this conduct alone are to be attributed the various robberies and murders which are to this day disgracing the very precincts of the metropolis?

It may occur to you, Sir, after having arrived at this portion of my letter that I am writing under the influence of terror. In reply, I can only say that although I am one of four whose lives are threatened by the natives for having shot one of them while in the act of feloniously entering my house at midnight (and stabbing in the dark they seldom miss their victim), and although my person must necessarily be much exposed in tending my own cattle, for labour is scarce, and mercenaries will not undertake the dangerous office, I feel that my life is in the hand of a just and wise God, and if it please him that I fall a saôrifice — 'His will be done'. My mind is at the same time made up, never to cringe or yield one tittle to my dastard foe. But I must not enlarge further. Yet having dared to differ with my legislators it becomes me to suggest the alteration in the law that I deem necessary and my code should be obscured by few perplexities. At the time of the settlement of any new district I would take the opportunity of calling the native tribes together and telling them that we had come to dwell amongst them, that we were desirous of being on friendly terms, but that the smallest infringement by them on the property of the European would be punished by DEATH. Any daring outrage in which the whole tribe was implicated, the murder of a white or even the threat, I would make a formal declaration of war.

This I would make the law, and I would see that the sentence of the law was rigorously enforced. Had this been done from the commencement of the colony how many lives both black and white would have been spared!

And now, Sir, I conclude, which I do with the earnest request that if you refuse to insert this letter, you will at least bring these sad truths in as forcible a manner as you are able before the British public. Haply they may fix the attention of one spirited legislator whose voice will not in vain be raised on behalf of his fellow countrymen.

8. Charlotte (Mrs. J. G.) Bussell to John Garrett Bussell. Terragong, N.S.W. September 1st, 1858.

My dearest John,

The spring has commenced and so has the lambing. I rode out to one of the stations 4 miles off the other evening to see them. They were looking so well and healthy. The weather is mild and lovely, such a contrast to our lambing season.

The fold was upon the side of a hill, and formed into three compartments, like this:

I was amazed with the odd terms they have for distinguishing the inmates of the different compartments. There were 'the full-bellied mob', 'the strong mob', and 'the green mob.' The first and largest are those that have not yet dropped their lambs, but are expecting to do so daily. The second those that are about a week or ten days old, and the third those that have been born within the last day or two. They are all kept distinct, that they may be driven as far as the strength of each respective mob will enable it to go, and no further. The entrances, you will observe, are all at different sides, so that they go off in opposite directions. The green mob keep nearly in sight of the fold all day, but the shepherds with their long boughs in their hands are perpetually moving about, disturbing the lambs gently, that they may not sleep too long, which I suppose enables their mothers to give them food, I know not what other reason they have for doing this — unless it is to prevent the eagles and hawks, and even crows, from picking out their eyes, which they frequently do when the young lambs are asleep. As soon as the green mob are about a week old, and considered strong enough, they are drafted into the strong mob, and walked to a greater distance. Of an evening, the shepherds shut the green and the strong mobs first. Then all hands go off to assist the shepherd who has charge of the full-bellied mob. Here they find a great number of lambs that have been dropped during the day, or perhaps within the last hour or two, so that they require to be carried home. I saw one ewe tied by her leg to a tree with a young lamb by her side. I inquired why that was done, and was told that she would not take to her lamb, which she had dropped in the morning. So they tied her as they always do on such occasions to a tree and by the evening she has taken to her lamb. If not, they wash the lamb over with a little brine which always has the desired effect. She will begin to lick it immediately, sheep are so fond of salt. In the yards they have a large lump of rock-salt, as big as an immense stone, which the sheep can lick when they like. When they are going to fatten a flock of sheep for the butcher, they always take care to have salt in the yard for them: it gives them such an appetite and makes them feed well. In this flock that John took me to see, there are about twelve to fourteen hundred ewes, and not one lamb has he lost yet, so much does care and a proper system effect. He rides out every morning after breakfast to see how they are going on, and generally again in the evening, and you and I will do the same, dearest, when I come back again. This time next year, I hope ours will be lambing. In April next you must put the rams into the fold and not before, and you must allow two rams for every hundred ewes. If you have a less number a great many of the ewes will not lamb. Some consider three rams necessary for every hundred, so, dearest, you must increase your number forthwith, if you have not already done so.

In selecting, observe that the wool is very close, and apparently ribbed. The more wool upon it, the more valuable the ram is; it should be down to its feet — over its head, so that it can but just see out of its eyes, and its body completely covered underneath as well as on the back. John called me out to the yard the other evening to see one he had given ten guineas for, and for which he has since been offered 20 guineas, but he would not part with it until he had obtained young stock from it. He pointed out to me the peculiar merits which were the quantity and fineness of its fleece. Mr. Morley's rams are celebrated in this particular, and consequently he makes almost a fortune by the sale of them alone. A gentleman called yesterday morning and bade us good-bye. He had just purchased 50 yearlings from him at £2 10s. a head, and was going to drive them to New England, a distance of 200 miles from this. I went out and saw them. He told me he had 250 more a little further on, but he had not given quite so much for them as he had for these.

In washing the sheep in this country they follow a different plan from ours, so that the wool is cleaned until it is as white as snow, and fetches invariably from 2s. 2d. to 2s. 6d. per pound. If they have no means of washing it as well as this, they prefer selling it in the grease, which weighs heavier, and saves them the expense of washing. In South Australia this is generally done on account of the scarcity of water, but then they only average a shilling a pound for this wool.

The plan of washing followed here is to select a running stream, where they make two soaking pens, like the one you had when you used to throw the sheep from the platform. One man stands in each of these pens, into the first of which are thrown about 40 sheep. The man keeps them moving about with his hands, to prevent them from drowning, and then lets them swim into the adjoining soaking pen, where that man does the same. He merely keeps them moving. They then swim out of this, where six men are standing and where each sheep passes through the hands of each of the six men, so that it has six good washings, until when they squeeze the wool the water comes off quite clean. They are then allowed to go out, but [the shepherds] are most particular that they should not have to struggle through mud or dirt of any kind or description. If the bottom of the stream is not gravelly or strong, they take the trouble to make a place for them so that the wool should not be in the slightest degree soiled. About three or four days afterwards they shear them in a large floored shed which I will describe when I come home, and the table, which is very curious, on which the fleeces are placed, to be folded up. For washing the sheep the men are paid by the day, the shearing is 3s. 6d. a score. It used to be 2s. 6d. before the gold diggings, when labour rose to an exorbitant price all over the colony. So you see we have been paying immensely for our shearing.

To-morrow I am going to ride out with John, to his mountain station, where I have not been yet. It is about five miles off. The flock we have at the homestead is a wether flock, with rams included, altogether about 1,200. You would be surprised to see how the wealthy squatters in this country keep branching out and form new stations. They think nothing of distance and difficulties. The greater the difficulty the more pleasure they seem to have in contending with and overcoming it. Mr. Clerk, in addition to the one he has in New England, where he resides, 200 miles from this, has another at Port Curtis, 600 miles off. They are very fond of asking me questions about Western Australia, and seem astonished at the small way in which we go on, after being there so many years. 'The Swan River settlers, Mrs. Bussell, appear to have no grasp of mind. Their views are too narrow, too confined. They should come here and learn a lesson. We never allow anything to daunt us. We don't believe in impossibilities.'

You say, or at least the girls do, that Mr. Wright is very fond of this expression. I suppose he acquired it here. I hope, my own darling, you will use it when you think of fetching me from King George's Sound, and not let the difficulty of the undertaking annoy you. ' As to the funds, something will be sure to turn up, but you must not delay — for the present arrangement for steam communication is only promised until the 11th of December. After that the Home Government are going to make another arrangement with the Cunard Company, which may cut off King George's Sound; so that if I do not leave Sydney by the December mail of the 11th, no one can say how long I may have to wait....

A few mornings since when seated at the breakfast table I was startled at the sight of a large number of cattle, grazing on the opposite hill. On going down to dine at Mr. Morley's afterwards I met Mr. Cooper, who told me they were his, and had arrived that morning from his station at New England. This drove consisted of 700 head, full grown and all going to be branded. Two men will brand 500 a day, without roping them! How do you think they manage? Why, they drive them into a long, narrow yard, over which there is a platform. Upon this platform the men stand and thrust the brand through upon each animal with perfect ease. They are so jambed in that they cannot move or turn or struggle, and it comes down so suddenly upon them before they know what is coming.

9. A Typical Fortnight from Fanny Bussell's Diary. 7th to 20th June, 1840.

June 7th, Sunday. A fine cold day. Prayers in the evening by John, and a sermon by Sydney Smith. Two of Captain Coffin's sailors arrived with a letter from him to Bessie. Mamma still confined to her room. Tom started for Leschenault with letters from me to Mr. Bull and Mr. Eliot. Returned Oliver Twist, and sent a packet of letters to Mr. Vaughan.

8th Monday. Mrs. McDermott and Fanny washing. Mr. Green and Alfred hunting. One kangaroo. Larkham killed a pig, No. 3. John and Barsey engaged with the house. Charlotte made butter. Vernon and Dawson water-furrowing. Brown ploughing. Bessie washing blankets, 11. Sawyers erecting a roof to the saw pit.

9th Tuesday. Mrs. McDermott and Fanny washing. John and Barsey engaged with the house. Larkham carting wood and stone. Very fine weather. Vernon, Dawson and Lawrence draining. Dick and Baichin erecting shed over the sawpit. Mamma improving.

10th Wednesday. Fanny and Mrs. McDermott folding. The native, Onion, arrived from Augusta, with a hammer from Mr. Turner for John. Fanny made some rearrangements upstairs. Dawson and Lawrence draining. Vernon hoeing turnips. The beer tapped. John and Charlotte washing.

11th Thursday. Charlotte made butter. Mrs. McDermott and Fanny washing. Mamma joined the party downstairs. An express from Leschenault for Mr. Green. Letters from Mr. Eliot to Charles and Fanny. Dawson and Vernon hoeing turnips. [In margin: Lawrence half a pound of butter. Larkham blanket 10s.]

12th Friday. Brown ploughing. Vernon and Dawson sowing old meadow. Mamma nearly well. Fanny working on Charles' accounts. Charlotte ironing. Larkham killed a pig, No. 4. John and Barsey building. Alfred set a spring-gun in hopes of catching a wild-dog, which has committed sad depredations in the goat fold and hen roost.

13th Saturday. John and Barsey engaged about the house. Alfred agonizing about goats and wild-dogs. Vernon finished sowing the old meadow with Brown and Dawson. Mr. Green started for Leschenault on Jack, with letters from Charles, Vernon and Fanny for Mr. Vaughan. Larkham killed a pig, No. 5. Fanny sat with Bessie in the afternoon and mended trousers for Alfred. Bryan started for Augusta. Box of candles opened.

14th Sunday. Beautiful ride with Charley, on Betsy. Prayers and sermon in the evening from John, a large congregation attending. The spring gun again set.

15th Monday. Charlotte and Mrs. McDermott called on Mrs. Molloy. Miss Kennedy spent the day here. Vernon and Alfred grinding; four bushels of rye for pigs. John and Barsey engaged with the house. Brown, Dawson and Lawrence draining. Charlotte made butter.

16th Tuesday. John, Charlotte, Fanny and Mrs. McDermott washing. Vernon grinding: ten bushels of wheat. Charles' accounts and evening meal. Brown, Dawson and Lawrence draining. Barsey and Larkham building. Occasional showers all day, but fine in evening.

17th Wednesday. Charlotte, Fanny, and Mrs. McDermott ironing. Vernon grinding; 6 bushels of wheat, 4 bushels of rye, two bushels for pigs, two for natives. Brown and Dawson clearing the town of Busselton, John and Barsey building. Beautiful weather. Charles accounts and sundries.

18th Thursday. Waterloo Day. Children spent the day at Fairlawn.* Mr. Green arrived from Leschenault. Vernon and Mrs. McDermott rode to Toby's Inlet, and on their return the latter received a severe fall. Charles accounts and sundries. John, Barsey, and Larkham building.

19th Friday. Fanny attacked with rheumatism. John and Mr. Ommanney started on an expedition to 'Hurfordshire'. Vernon and Brown ploughing. Larkham killed a pig, No. 6. Mrs. McDermott confined to her room. Charles, Brown and Larkham, when in search of a cow who had calved in the bush, found Daffodil with a dead calf.

20th Saturday. Fanny in bed all day. Arrival of soldiers from Leschenault with letters for Charles, John, Fanny, and the Ommanneys. One English newspaper and letters from Mr. Lawrence and Miss Matilda Cunningham. Employments as usual.

* Fairlawn was the homestead of Captain Molloy, who had fought at Waterloo with the Rifle Brigade. The house is just across the Vasse from 'Cattle Chosen', a little nearer the coast.