sort, when it is caused by a funeral. They have too much respect for the dead.
On the way to the cemetery we passed three shearers sitting on the shady side of a fence. One was drunk—very drunk. The other two covered their right ears with their hats, out of respect for the departed—whoever he might have been—and one of them kicked the drunk and muttered something to him.
He straightened himself up, stared, and reached helplessly for his hat, which he shoved half off and then on again. Then he made a great effort to pull himself together—and succeeded. He stood up, braced his back against the fence, knocked off his hat, and remorsefully placed his foot on it—to keep it off his head till the funeral passed.
A tall sentimental drover, who walked by my side, cynically quoted Byronic verses suitable to the occasion—to death——and asked with pathetic humour whether we thought the dead man's ticket would be recognised 'over yonder,' It was a G.L.U. ticket, and the general opinion was that it would be recognised.
Presently my friend said:
'You remember, when we were in the boat yesterday, we saw a man driving some horses along the bank?'
'Yes.'
He nodded at the hearse and said:
'Well, that's him.'
I thought awhile.
'I didn't take any particular notice of him,' I said. 'He said something, didn't he?'
