the pilgrims deciphered it, only to find, however, that the milk had been purchased in the tenth century by some old woman near Constantinople, who was assured by the vendor that it had come from where it had. In the Middle Ages this reason was considered conclusive. We are not told what became of Erasmus's companion, but we strongly suspect that he came to a bad end, like all young men who refuse to be guided by their superiors. In that age, as in this, it was a terrible thing when young men began to lose faith in established institutions. Henry VIII.'s unceremonious commissioners, in 1538, ruthlessly stripped the magnificent Walsingham shrine of all its treasures, and dissolved the religious house of which it was the glory and the well-spring. The wonder-working image, along with the kindred pious frauds of Ipswich, Worcester, and many others, were brought up to London, "with all the jewels that hung about them," and after being stripped were committed to the flames at Chelsea.

When he had seen all that there was to be seen at Walsingham, the pilgrim might go on to the church of the priory of St. Leonard, at Norwich, there to adore the image of the Virgin and that of King Henry VI., which had the merit of curing all kinds of diseases. Margaret Paston, writing to her husband on one occasion, tells him that her mother had raised an image of wax for his benefit and of his weight to the Lady of Walsingham, had sent four nobles to the four orders of friars at Norwich, and had vowed to undertake a pilgrimage to St. Leonard's shrine for him. From Norwich the pilgrim might press onward to see the arm of St. Philip, which was on view at Castle Acre, or the cross of Bromholm, mentioned by Chaucer, at Bromholm Priory; or the head of St. John the Baptist at Trimmingham; or the tomb of St. Walstan, unto whom "all mowers and scythefollowers" were accustomed to repair at Bawburgh, near Norwich; or the good sword of Winfarthing, in the village of that name.

Having exhausted Norfolk, the pilgrim might cross into fenny Lincolnshire, and glut his eyes with a sight of the tomb of Waltheof, in Crossland Abbey, whereunto not a few found their way. Next came Yorkshire and the archiepiscopal city, which boasted the shrine of St. William, an archbishop who died in 1154, where, within a silver reliquary, covered with jewels, was kept the saint's head. The shrine of St. Wilfrid, at Ripon, and the shrine of St. John, at Beverley, were the chief haunts of the pilgrim at this period in the county. Through Yorkshire the pilgrim might jog along to Durham, where was the shrine of St. Cuthbert. Around the last resting-place of this holy man in the cathedral, the pilgrims went and came with ceaseless

monotony. In the North of England St. Cuthbert's shrine had the pre-eminence. If it had a rival in all England, that rival was only St. Thomas's shrine at Canterbury. What was St. Cuthbert's shrine? It was a sarcophagus of green marble. This sarcophagus was richly adorned with gilding, and supported the coffin, strongly bound with iron, that contained his remains. Near at hand was a chest for offerings and cupboards for the reception of relics. We gasp at the catalogue of these relics. Ages of faith, indeed! What with the veil and hair of the Magdalene, part of the rod of Moses, relics of St. Peter, pieces of the tree under which Abraham conversed with the angels, and bones of the victims of Herod, the shrine was a sort of ecclesiastical marine store. Teeth and bones of saints and martyrs reposed in rich profusion, side by side with a number of costly articles, which were snapped up by the Commissioners of Henry VIII. in 1540. One, we are told, was an image of the Virgin Mary, silver-gilt. Another was a cross of gold, set with precious stones, with a silver-gilt pedestal. A third was a silver-gilt cup, A fourth was an ivory casket,

presented by the Countess of Kent. ornamented with gold and silver, and containing the gloves of St. Cuthbert, the gift of Richard de Birtley, a monk of Durham. Over St. Cuthbert's coffin was a movable canopy of wood, carved and adorned with gold and colour. On the anniversary of the saint's natal day, on certain festivals, and whenever an offering was made at the shrine, the canopy was drawn up by the ropes and pulleys which were attached to it for that purpose. Then the silver bells began to chime, and notified to all that a pilgrim was adoring it, or that some valuable relic had been deposited upon it. Here we must pause, for our article is already too long. intended to say much more on our theme, but considerations of space forbid. We may only mention, in conclusion, that after a sort of winter sleep of something like three centuries, pilgrimages have been of late years revived by one ancient ecclesiastical body amongst us; and though the souls of the numerous devotees who have swelled their trains may have benefited but little by the process, it can hardly be denied that, like Ulysses of old, they have seen many cities, many people, and have been furnished with many opportunities eminently calculated to widen their mental horizon.

We had

W. C. SYDNEY.

MEN ON A NEW SOUTH WALES

STATION.

HROUGHOUT Australia one often hears a phrase which

THE

has almost passed into a Colonial proverb: "Here the Scotch have got all the land, the Irish all the billets, and the English anything that is left," and increasing experience only teaches us the truth of this proverb, more especially with reference to the Scot and his possessions. The squatter who can neither claim Scotland as his birthplace nor a Scotch name is rather a rare bird in that part of New South Wales of which we write.

In the earlier days of station life the squatter was almost like the chief of a clan a clan, it is true, of very mixed blood and sympathies, but still linked together by the tie of common isolation from any centre of civilisation. But now the squatter's chiefdom has become very much a matter of form, while his whole manner of life has grown more economical, for nowadays squatting interests are much "cut up." The squatter himself is generally a fine fellow. In his manner of life there may perhaps be something peculiarly forceful of cheerfulness and independent self-reliance; for does he not spend much of his time in the saddle, enjoying a temperate climate and leading a life that corresponds, having too his anxieties and severe struggles, which his healthy routine prevents from taking a dyspeptic form? So, in an atmosphere of general cheerfulness, the old station hospitality lingers on in open-handed welcome for almost every man and beast. The squatters' guests come from all quarters and from all ranks. We have seen a bishop appear on the station's somewhat dimly-lighted spiritual horizon, during his lordship's tour through the vast territory which represents a diocese, and we have seen this pillar of the Church followed by an itinerant preacher, so little distinguished that his name was never known. But infinite in variety are the men with whom one comes in contact on a station, and as their careers have often been chequered and pursued over many lands, the employés are frequently true cosmopolitans, and generally fairly content with their somewhat Bohemian lot; while their wandering

experiences make them often interesting, even profitable companions.

The men who are found on a station may be divided into two classes those who have come to stay, and those who have come but to go. In the first class are they who have identified themselves with their employers' interests by becoming "selectors" under the Government Scheme; settling down on a certain number of acres which they have to clear in a given time and to cultivate in another period. As a matter of fact it is the squatters, as a rule, who take up these selections and select the selectors, often members of their own families, even young ladies in their teens rejoicing in the title of selectors. The squatter, of course, obtains these grants at a very low rental. The selector builds a house and sleeps in it a certain number of nights in the year, while a Government Inspector comes round to see that the law is being carried out; but this official seldom makes himself disagreeable. It will readily be seen that the employé who settles down on the land in this way becomes, though in a comparatively free and easy fashion, a sort of vassal to his squatter chief. Years ago those who selected, managed, by skilful evasion of the law, to flit from one selection to another: hence the disparaging nickname of "Cockatoo" by which they were known. But now they are generally hard-working and interested in their employers' welfare. Far otherwise is it with the second class, those restless nomads who seldom hold any billet more than two months. Variety is to them as the very breath of life, and they tire of everything, or at least anything that requires work. Men of this class frequently arrive at the station in an almost destitute state, after miles of weary bush tramping; then if they get a job and learn to be useful they think it is time to leave.

When men first turned their attention to the future of sheep in Australia they had to employ numbers of shepherds for their flocks and herds; the shepherds in many cases, and for many months of the year, leading lives of the greatest isolation. This system of shepherding necessitated a large staff, but a complete change occurred upon the introduction of wire fencing and the division of the land into fields or paddocks of some 10,000 acres, and the consequent careful inspection of the sheep, in place of a mounted retinue moving at great distances from headquarters. At present almost everyone employed comes within some touch of the home centre. In critical times all hands have terribly hard and anxious work, for ever and anon the dreaded decimating drought breathes sirocco-like over the pastoral plains, strewing the land of the Golden Fleece with

dying sheep and whitening skeletons. In these perilous days the squatter and his assistants must be men of strong nerve and ready resource; but the man who succeeds, either as owner or overseer, has generally a good share of that most serviceable of qualities"grit."

It is little wonder that the man penned up in the same surroundings with the same sheep and the same men-looks forward with keen and thirsty anticipation to the excursion to Sydney or Melbourne, and will often steadily save up for a year or more, and then start off on what he calls his "trip" to one of the great towns. If his ideas of pleasure be narrow and essentially of the earth-earthy, his pilgrimage does not extend so far ; indeed, not further than the hotel of the nearest township, there to commence an orgie of dissipation which only ends with the disappearance of his cheque. He has often been known on reaching the hotel to hand over this cheque to the proprietor, with instructions to supply him with liquor so long as the money lasted, and then to commence his debauch. His stay, considering the amount lodged with Boniface, was sometimes comparatively short, and must have been profitable to all concerned except the consumer of the alcohol.

To the squatter "the trip" is often a thing of rational enjoyment; and to those who have been immured right away in "the back blocks," sunk out of civilisation, living on a menu in which salt beef is too frequently the pièce de jour, and where fish and fresh vegetables figure not at all, a few weeks in Sydney-Sydney full of gracious welcome and bewitching loveliness-are very delightful, there to enjoy to the full the mixture of strange faces, of old chums, and new dishes.

On a station men of all nations are encountered. We think that those from home are more numerous than Australians. Our friend the Scotchman of course is there, and nearly always he is in a position of responsibility; if not the squatter himself he is one of the overseers, and but rarely is he a hewer of wood and drawer of water. We frequently met specimens of the typical Irishman, the one who has carried to the Colonies his inborn hatred of labour, and who is when not in possession of some sinecure post-generally found doing anything that the Scotchman is not. This Irishman often exhibits a surprising amount of condescension to his Colonial friends, whom he considers altogether inferior mortals to those who have had the privilege of birth in the "ould country." We remember listening to a discussion on the rival merits of Australia and home. The disputants were all Colonials but one-an Irishman.