type of system if you want to have guns.

To end on a lighter note, heres a Poem from A.B. Paterson, one of our finest.The Bush Christening by "Banjo" Paterson

On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,And men of religion are scanty,On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,One Michael Magee had a shanty.

Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad,Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no restFor the youngster had never been christened,

And his wife used to cry, "If the darlin' should dieSaint Peter would not recognise him."But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.

Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,With his ear to thekeyhole was listenin',And he muttered in fright while his features turned white,"What the divil and all is this christenin'?"

He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,And it seemed to his small understanding,If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,It must mean something very like branding.

So away with a rush he set off for the bush,While the tears in his eyelids they glistened-"'Tis outrageous," says he, "to brand youngsters like me,I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!"

Like a young native dog he ran into a log,And his father with language uncivil,Never heeding the "praste" cried aloud in his haste,"Come out and be christened, you divil!"

But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,And his parents in