Page:Life of John Boyle O'Reilly.djvu/695

 Rh Has been mad for years; but he does no harm,

And our lonely settlers feel no alarm

When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane

Was a settler once, and a friend of my own.

Some eight years back, in the spring of the year,

Dave came from Scotland, and settled here.

A splendid young fellow he was just then.

And one of the bravest and truest men

That I ever met: he was kind as a woman

To all who needed a friend, and no man —

Not even a convict—met with his scorn,

For David Sloane was a gentleman born.

Ay, friend, a gentleman, though it sounds queer:

There's plenty of blue blood flowing out here,

And some younger sons of your "upper ten"

Can be met with here, first-rate bushmen.

Why, friend, I— Bah! curse that dog! you see

This talking so much has affected me.

Well, Sloane came here with an ax and a gun;

He bought four miles of a sandal-wood run.

This bush at that time was a lonesome place,

So lonesome the sight of a white man's face

Was a blessing, unless it came at night,

And peered in your hut, with the cunning fright

Of a runaway convict; and even they

Were welcome, for talk's sake, while they could stay.

Dave lived with me here for a while, and learned

The tricks of the bush,—how the snare was laid

In the wallaby track, how traps were made.

How 'possums and kangaroo rats were killed.

And when that was learned, I helped him to build

From mahogany slabs a good bush hut.

And showed him how sandal-wood logs were cut.

I lived up there with him days and days,

For I loved the lad for his honest ways.

I had only one fault to find: at first

Dave worked too hard; for a lad who was nursed,