They dart at the hawk as he
flies from tree to tree. When he alights on a limb they give him no
peace; they flap their wings in his face, and call him the worst of
names. Even the Derwent Jackass, the hypocrite with the shining
black coat and piercing whistle, joins in the public outcry, and his
character is worse than that of the hawk himself, for he has been
caught in the act of kidnapping and devouring the unfledged young of
his nearest neighbour. The distracted hawk has at length to retreat
dinnerless to the swampy margin of the river where the tallest
tea-trees wave their feathery tops in the wind.
In like manner the human hawk was driven from the township. He
descended in the scale of crime, stole a horse, and departed by night.
Bill, the butcher, said next day: "Nosey has gone for good this
time. He will ride that horse to death and then steal another."
At this time I rode through the Rises and called at the two huts; I
found them occupied by two shepherds not unlike the former tenants,
who knew little and cared less what had become of their predecessors.
Time empties thrones and huts impartially, and the king feels no
pride in his monument of marble, nor the shepherd any shame beneath
the shapeless cairn which hides his bones.
At this time the old races both of men and animals were dying out
around Lake Nyalong, and others were taking their places.
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