Such was the exhibition of native domestic life, and such the march of improvement from a contact with the civilized white man ! In the meantime, Simon sat silently and stoically by the fire. He was one who had seen Batman at his first celebrated con ference with the aborigines. His father Jagajaga was an influential and faithful friend to the then humble minded, weak, and smiling whites. As the last of his family, he now wandered a stranger in the land of his forefathers. He was ill, melancholy, and without hope. He told us that there was not a black child in his tribe; adding in a sad tone, “ All black fellow go away.” We desired to gather a few records of their history, especially as they were when the friends of the Wild White Man, and tell the tale to those who show the title deed of lands, for which no adequate return has been given to the right owner, in the faint hope that some justice and kindness will be meted out to the few that remain. There is no shadow of hope of perpetuating the race, or of inducing them to adopt our civilized pursuits. But we may supply their wants, provide them with shelter and attendance when sick, shield them from the brutal licentiousness of their white neighbours, and preserve them from their arch enemy,— strong drink.
