paper, something like the following:

On July 10th, at her residence, Eureka Cottage, Ballarat-street,
Tally Town, the wife of James Smith of twins (boy and girl);
all three doing well.

And Bill marks it with a loud chuckle and big crosses, and sends it
along to Jim. Then Bill sits and thinks and smokes, and thinks till the
fire goes out, and quite forgets all about putting that necessary patch
on his pants.

And away down on Auckland gum-fields, perhaps, Jim reads the par with a
grin; then grows serious, and sits and scrapes his gum by the flickering
firelight in a mechanical manner, and--thinks. His thoughts are far away
in the back years--faint and far, far and faint. For the old, lingering,
banished pain returns and hurts a man's heart like the false wife
who comes back again, falls on her knees before him, and holds up
her trembling arms and pleads with swimming, upturned eyes, which are
eloquent with the love she felt too late.

It is supposed to be something to have your work published in an English
magazine, to have it published in book form, to be flattered by critics
and reprinted throughout the country press, or even to be cut up well
and severely. But, after all, now we come to think of it, we would
almost as soon see a piece of ours marked with big inky crosses in the
soiled and crumpled rag that Bill or Jim gets sent him by an old mate
of his--the paper that goes thousands of miles scrawled all over with
smudgy addresses and tied with a piece of string.

MITCHELL DOESN'T BELIEVE IN THE SACK

"If ever I do get a job again," said Mitchell, "I'll stick to it while
there's a hand's turn of work to do, and put a few pounds together. I
won't be the fool I always was. If I'd had sense a couple of years ago,
I wouldn't be tramping through this damned sand and mulga now. I'll get
a job on a station, or at some toff's house, knocking about the stables
and garden, and I'll make up my mind to settle down to graft for four or
five years."

"But supposing you git the sack?" said his mate.

"I won't take it. Only for taking the sack I wouldn't be hard up to-day.
The boss might come round and say:

'I won't want you after this week, Mitchell. I haven't got any more work
for you to do. Come up and see me at the office presently.'

"So I'll go up and get my money; but I'll be pottering round as usual
on Monday, and come up to the kitchen for my breakfast. Some time in the
day the boss'll b