Crockett has charmed us, in guid braid Galloway Scots, with the humour and pathos of the Marrow Kirk of Scotland; Ralph Connor has told us of the Sky Pilot amid the gullies and mining camps of Canada s Far West. Can Australia not step into line and show us that she, too, has her men of quiet devotion, who, without the halo set round the head of the Foreign Missionary, are living in the Nevernever country reminding the scattered world of the bush that man does not live by bread alone? The answer to that question lies before you. Steele Rudd needs no introduction. He has won his place in the native literature, which is happily growing up, by his vivid pictures of the pioneer life of the lonely settler. Australia is not known to the visitor who steams up our beautiful harbour or who gazes with admiration on the architectural symmetry of the General Post Office. City life is much the same in England and A ustralia. The real life of our country cannot be described by the man who knows only the irritating ring of the telephone bell, but not the crack of the stockmans
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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