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220 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 axe 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,