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'It's all my fault. I killed him I killed the Captain. I want to die and go with him to the never-never country parson tell us about up there! One of the troopers knocked his hand up. Sir Ferdinand gave a nod, and a pair of handcuffs were slipped over his wrists. 'You told the police the way I went? says I. 'It's all come out of that.
The remarkable poem of 'The Raven' was probably much more nearly than has been supposed, even by those who were very intimate with him, a reflection and an echo of his own history. He was that bird's "'Unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never-never more.
What a fragile, gracile thing is the mind that can leap thus from nine bargain basement hours of hairpins and darning-balls to the downy business of lining a crib in Never-Never Land and warming No Man's slippers before the fire of imagination.
The words of the songs were not Mac's. They belong to the lore of the bushmen; but he sang or crooned them with such perfect mimicry of tone or cadence, that never again was it possible to hear these songs of the Never-Never without associating the words with the songs.
Lady Bridget won Moongarr Bill's good favour instantly by the look in her eyes and the smile with which she answered him. 'I'm from Ireland, Moongarr Bill, and if we Irish know anything we know a good horse, and that's a beauty you're riding. 'Out of a Pitsford mare by a Royallieu colt, and there's not a finer breed in the Never-Never.
Bridget went to sleep with the smell of his tobacco and yet did not seem to mind it in the least coming in whiffs through the door cracks and filling her nostrils. She too dreamed a vivid dream, but by some law of contrariety, not of any idyllic camping ground in the Never-Never Land.
He had come from the Never-Never Land to knock down a cheque in Sydney; in the ordinary course of things he would have been blind to the world till the cheques were all spent. The night of his arrival, when he was only softened by a few drinks after six months' abstinence, the Salvation Army had got him. He had saved his soul, his liver and his money at the same time.
These arguments convinced his Majesty's Government that it would be necessary to annul the Letters Patent issued on March 31, 1905, and make an end of the Lyttelton Constitution. That Constitution now passes away into the never-never land, into a sort of chilly limbo that is reserved for the disowned or abortive political progeny of many distinguished men.
The Sanguine Scot had prophesied rightly. There being "time enough for everything in the Never-Never," there was time for "many pleasant rides along the Reach, choosing trees for timber." But the rides were the least part of the pleasure. For the time being, the silent Reach forest had become the hub of our little universe. All was life and bustle and movement there.
"Not a bad place to ride through, is it?" he said. But gradually as we rode on a vague depression settled down upon us, and when Dan finally decided he "could do with a bit more sunshine," we followed him into the blistering noontide glare with almost a sigh of relief. It is always so. These wondrous waterways have little part in that mystical holding power of the Never-Never.
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