Book-bot.com - read famous books online for free

The Eureka Stockade by Raffaello Carboni
page 6 of 226 (02%)
the yellow boy was all there,--my eyes were sparkling,--I felt a sensation
identical to a first declaration of love in by-gone times.--"Great works,"
at last was my bursting exclamation. In old Europe I had to take off my hat
half a dozen times, and walk from east to west before I could earn one pound
in the capacity of sworn interpreter, and translator of languages in the city
of London. Here, I had earned double the amount in a few minutes,
without crouching or crawling to Jew or Christian. Had my good angel
prevailed on me to stick to that blessed Golden Point, I should have now
to relate a very different story: the gold fever, however, got the best of
my usual judgment, and I dreamt of, and pretended nothing else, than a hole
choked with gold, sunk with my darling pick, and on virgin ground.--I started
the hill right-hand side, ascending Canadian Gully, and safe as the
Bank of England I pounced on gold--seventeen and a half ounces, depth ten feet.




Chapter III.



Jupiter Tonans.


One fine morning (Epiphany week), I was hard at work (excuse old chum,
if I said hard: though my hand had been scores of times compelled in London
to drop the quill through sheer fatigue, yet I never before handled a pick
and shovel), I hear a rattling noise among the brush. My faithful dog,
Bonaparte, would not keep under my control. "What's up?" "Your licence,
mate." was the peremptory question from a six-foot fellow in blue shirt,
DigitalOcean Referral Badge