on the stage were all
supposed to represent various birds disturbed by this strange
sight--cranes, pelicans, black swans, and ducks. The peculiarities of
each bird were well imitated; and as each section in turn was startled,
their cries were realistically given. Hearing which, on the scene came
some armed black fellows, who, seeing what the birds had seen, started
back in astonishment, seemed to have a great dumb-show palaver, then
one by one, clutching their weapons, they came forward to more closely
examine the new 'debbil debbil.' Here some one would stoke the fire,
out would belch through the funnel a big smoke and a lapping flame,
away went the blacks into the bush as if too terrified to stay. But you
can't describe a corroboree, it wants the scenic effects of the grim
bush: tapering, dark Belahs, Coolabahs contorted into quaint shapes and
excrescences by extremes of flood and drought, and their grotesqueness
lit up by the flickering fires, until the trees themselves look like
demons of the night, and the painted black fellows their attendant
spirits stealing into the firelight from what seems a vast, dark,
unknown Beyond.

The sing-song seems to suit it, and the well-timed clicking of the
boomerangs and thudding of the rolled-up rugs. The blacks are great
patrons of art, and encourage native talent in the most praiseworthy
way; although, judging from one of their legends, you might think they
were not.

This legend tells how Goolahwilleel had the soul of an artist, and when
his family sent him out to hunt their daily dinner, he forgot his quest
and perfected his art, which was the modelling of a kangaroo in gum.
When his work was finished, with the pride of a successful artist he
returned for applause.

His family demanded of him meat; he showed his kangaroo.

His masterpiece was unappreciated. Even as did Palissy's--of pottery
fame--wife, so did Goolahwilleel's family revile him.

His freedom to wander at will, seeking inspiration and giving it form,
was taken from him. He was driven out: daily to slay, that his family
might feed, and never again was he let go alone--a crowd of relations
went with him!

Figure to yourself what a damper to inspiration must have been that
crowd of relations; how it must have slain the artist in Goolahwilleel.

How the old legend repeats itself, and now as then, how often the
artist is woman--slain that she by the caterer may live. Surely in the
interests of intellect was