child. To my great surprise she was walking about alone, and picking up
sticks to mend her fire. The infant, whose skin appeared to have a
reddish cast, was lying in a piece of soft bark on the ground, the
umbilical cord depending about three inches from the navel. I remained
with her for some time, during which she was endeavouring to get it off,
to effect which she made use of the small bone of the leg of the
kangaroo, round the point of which Bennillong had rolled some punk, so
that it looked not unlike the button of a foil. She held it every now and
then to the fire, then applied and pressed it to the navel until it
cooled. This was persevered in, till the mother thought the cord
sufficiently deadened, and then with a shell she separated it.*

[* I here find in my papers a note, that for some offence Bennillong had
severely beaten this woman in the morning, a short time before she was
delivered.]

The infant thus produced is by the mother carried about for some days on
a piece of soft bark; and, as soon as it acquires strength enough, is
removed to her shoulders, where it sits with its little legs across her
neck; and, taught by necessity, soon catches hold of her hair to preserve
itself from falling.

The reddish cast of the skin soon gives place to the natural hue, a
change that is much assisted by the smoke and dirt in which, from the
moment of their existence, these children are nurtured. The parents begin
early to decorate them after the custom of the country. As soon as the
hair of the head can be taken hold of, fish-bones and the teeth of
animals are fastened to it with gum. White clay ornaments their little
limbs; and the females suffer the extraordinary amputation which they
term mal-gun before they have quitted their seat on their mother's
shoulders.

In about a month or six weeks the child receives its name. This is
generally taken from some of the objects constantly before their eyes,
such as a bird, a beast, or a fish, and is given without any ceremony.
Thus Bennillong's child Dilboong was so named after a small bird, which
we often heard in low wet grounds and in copses. An elderly woman who
occasionally visited us was named Mau-ber-ry, the term by which they
distinguish the gurnet from other fish. Bennillong told me, his name was
that of a large fish, but one that I never saw taken. Bal-loo-der-ry
signified the fish named by us the leathern-jacket; and there were two
girls in the town named Pat-