It was a horrible day, plagued by the hot winds. A blast of the hurricane
winding through gravel pits whirled towards the Eureka this shouting of "Joe."
It was the howl of a wolf for the shepherds, who bolted at once towards
the bush: it was the yell of bull-dogs for the fossikers who floundered
among the deep holes, and thus dodged the hounds: it was a scarecrow
for the miners, who now scrambled down to the deep, and left a licensed mate
or two at the windlass. By this time, a regiment of troopers, in full gallop,
had besieged the whole Eureka, and the traps under their protection ventured
among the holes. An attempt to give an idea of such disgusting and
contemptible campaigns for the search of licences is really odious to an honest
man. Some of the traps were civil enough; aye, they felt the shame
of their duty; but there were among them devils at heart, who enjoyed the fun,
because their cupidity could not bear the sight of the zig-zag uninterrupted
muster of piles of rich-looking washing stuff, and the envy which blinded
their eyes prevented them from taking into account the overwhelming number
of shicers close by, round about, all along. Hence they looked upon
the ragged muddy blue shirt as an object of their contempt.

Are diggers dogs or savages, that they are to be hunted on the diggings,
commanded, in Pellissier's African style, to come out of their holes,
and summoned from their tents by these hounds of the executive? Is the garb
of a digger a mark of inferiority? 'In sudore vultus lue vesceris panem'*
is then an infamy now-a-days!

[* In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread.]

Give us facts, and spare us your bosh, says my good reader.--Very well.

I, CARBONII RAFFAELLO, da Roma, and late of No. 4, Castle-court, Cornhill,