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enough back to preclude the possibility of his being taxed with either plagiarism or romance.
In the long, bright, starry nights these old fellows are to be seen in perfection; it is then that they shine in all their self-glorification, which may almost be seen exuding from their pores, if their audience be attentive and numerous.
When there chances to be a dozen or two of one tribe camped together, one of these old fellows will get up, nude as he came into the world, with the exception of his waist-belt, which is of the narrowest, place his back to the fire, and with a flourish of his womera[1] (which he holds in his hand in readiness to emphasise his flowing periods) to attract the attention of his audience, who, nothing loth, subside into silence, and so remain for hours together (with perhaps an occasional ejaculation of wonder), listening with mouths and ears agape to the savage stories of the ancient narrator, who never seems at a loss for matter, and it is only when tired nature asserts herself, that these savage seances come to a conclusion.
These legends and histories, and in fact all their knowledge, is kept alive and handed down from one generation to another in this manner; therefore, whatever cannot be woven into an entertaining garb for winter's evening amusement is entirely lost and forgotten. This, therefore, quite accounts for their scarcity of historical lore, and the entire absence of anything like reliable testimony as to their antecedents—that is to say, if we endeavour to trace them back for several generations. Of course, any telling incident, such as a sanguinary midnight conflict, may not be
- ↑ Womera: Throwing stick. This instrument is used for propelling the lighter spears. It is also invariably employed by aboriginal orators whilst speaking, to give effect to their eloquence.
