planted, where the choice Herefords roamed at will, where The Caliph and The Don were located, may still be recognised. There the rye-grass and clover—in after-years destined to overspread the land—were introduced; and more wonderful still, where the first swing-gate for drafting cattle was put up in 1842 or 1843 (pace Mr. Lockhart Morton). At the thriving township of Macarthur I had the pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with my old friend Mr. Joe Twist, formerly the crack stock-rider of the Port Fairy district.
At a little distance on the old Port Fairy road to Hamilton, now left untouched by the present railway, is Lyne, once the station of Messrs. Lang and Elms. At Macarthur, where I again beheld the deep, unruffled waters of the Eumeralla, still exists a compact freehold, running back to Mount Eeles and the volcanic country, which is now, I am afraid, an extensive rabbit preserve. This is known as Eumeralla West, at present in the occupation of Mr. John Learmonth, in whose hands it presents a thriving well-managed appearance. On the other side of the river is Eumeralla East, cut off from the original run by an authoritative decision of Mr. Commissioner Fyans, and now in the possession of Mr. Staughton.
Dunmore alone—once a show station for the quality of its sheep, cattle, and horses—has suffered a melancholy change. The last of the three partners, Messrs. Campbell, Macknight, and Irvine, strong in youthful hope and sanguine trust in fortune when I first knew the district, died but a few months since.
'Tis a saddening task to run over the list of the companions of one's youth and to note how the summons of death, the warning, the unsparing hand of time, has thinned or menaced their ranks.
Poor dear old Dunmore! How many a jolly muster have we shared in there! How many a loving 'look through' the stud—how many a race had we talked over with the first owners! It was taken up only a year or two before Squattlesea Mere. What dances and picnics, rides and drives, had we there joined in! What musters of well-bred bullocks, fat and high-priced, had we escorted from Paradise Camp when 'Long John Mooney' reigned as king of the cattle-dealers! And now, to think of all this greatness departed! The pity of
