pFHE BUSH TITAN [
(J? ? : ? = ? ^y Magnificent in his strength, loose limbed, alert, and pmud, he strides across the hill. Presently the sound of the pick is heard ringing down the valley. Round the corner of the creek, sheltered from the westerly winds,
is a hut, built and thatched with bark and held together by saplings. Inside, a sapling stretcher does not rest on the floor, but is hung by rope from the roofing. At the other end of tho hut is an open fireplace, and a home-made stove covers half of it. The smoke is carried away by a chimney made of kerosene tins. There is a case of books wrapped in a piece of canvas — a man of learn ing, maybe! Here he lives, the Bush Titan, a man of splendid physique and great mental power. What does he do all day, living alone, save for a few dogs, far from civilisation and the company of his kind? Down by the creek he is working, dressed in a Jackie Howe shirt, open throated and short sleeved, bronzed and sweating, with an indefinable air of freedom, and the largeness about him could be the model of any illus- trated magazine of industry. This man's work is immense. The creek is well over a man's head; it is 12ft wide, yet because it inter- fered with his tin mine, which he works alone, he moved the course of the creek a quarter of a mile, alone and unaided. Stupendous task! This man is a Hatter, peculiar to Australia, a dreamer, a worker, a philosopher, a voluntary outcast from the great gregarious human family. — NELLE TRITTON.