-one was saying to the other: "Why, the last time we met
was on the Coolgardie Coach--wasn't as smooth going as this, eh? ha! ha!
I shall never forget our driver--don't you remember how drunk he was,
and how we had to tie him into his seat?--and when he did upset us we
went flying a couple of hundred yards away. I saw him as I was landing
on my head on the rock tied to his seat turning over, laughing at us. I
wonder what became of the old lady and gentleman inside--they carried
'em off for dead, you know. He did make those horses fly--they were glad
of the rest, never moved when first down, did they?"

I suppose this was the joke of a Hell Fire Tom. Motor-cars will soon be
introduced into Australia; then we shall hear of Hell Fire Harry--and a
funeral.

The Kangarooists really do not value life as we in the Old Country
do--they certainly do not value horseflesh. You can buy a good horse for
one shilling. Catsmeat in London is dearer than live horseflesh in
Australia. They ride and drive anything and everything.

I recollect visiting the best-known horse-bazaar in the Colonies, and
was shown round by an expert.

"That horse is all right, but I can't recommend it as a stayer. You want
it for harness? Well, I don't like to deceive you; it ain't much good
after going seventy miles--no, it's a rotten-hearted beast. It might go
eighty miles at a stretch, but I won't guarantee more."

"Eighty miles! Good heavens! In the Old Country half that distance at a
stretch would mean cruelty to animals."

"Maybe it would--those English horses have the best barrels in the
world, and they are pretty to look at, but no legs. Why, 120 miles is a
decent run here; rough work through the bush too, but then soft as
tan--no hard roads like in the Old Country, you know."

"Yes, but the bush is the bush, and you have to go up and down ravines
and over trees and obstacles of all kinds."

"Right you are. It frightens you at first, but, like the Irishman who
said his wife didn't mind a beating as she had got so accustomed to it,
these horses are accustomed to the ups-and-downs of the bush, and you
get accustomed to it too after a few hours. You may have it pretty
rough. Lor' bless you, some never stop at anything--there's Jack
Madcapper and Tom Devil McCary, why, they are daisies. They buy their
horses here--well, they work 'em, never stop to open a gate, let the
horses go and clear it, over they go buggy and all. Fences? Well it's a
little