the new squireens. A “cockatoo,” it should be explained,
is a small settler, and the stringy-bark tree is an unfailing
sign of poor land; and the minstrel was much worse treated
when working for “The Stringy-bark Cockatoo” than when
he was a “Squatter’s man.”

So much for the historical element; now as to the songs
themselves. As metrical compositions they cannot be
expected to rank high. In all her history England has produced
only a few good ballads, and ballads do not get justice
from cold print. An old Scotchman, to whom Sir Walter
Scott read some of his collected ballads, expressed the opinion
that the ballads were spoilt by printing. And these bush
songs, to be heard at their best, should be heard to an
accompaniment of clashing shears when the voice of a shearer
rises through the din caused by the rush and bustle
of a shearing shed, the scrambling of the sheep in their pens,
and the hurry of the pickers-up; or when, on the roads, the
cattle are restless on their camp at night and the man
on watch, riding round them, strikes up “Bold Jack
Donahoo” to steady their nerves a little. Drovers know
that they must not sneak quietly about restless cattle—it is
better to sing to them and let them know that someone is
stirring and watching; and many a mob of wild, pike-horned
Queensland cattle, half inclined to stampede, has listened
contentedly to the “Wild Colonial Boy” droned out in true
bush fashion till the daylight began to break and the mob
was safe for another day. Heard under such circumstances
as these the songs have quite a character of their own. A
great deal depends, too, on the way in which they are sung.