was waiting for you to come round to get a fresh one.” The commissioner took out his book and commenced to write, when Redcap said, “There he goes, cradle and all.” “Who?” said the commissioner. “Don’t you see him,” said Redcap, “He's just rounded that tent.” “I'll have him,” said the commissioner. “Constable, you go that way, I’ll go this.” Away they went; meantime Redcap made off. The commissioner returned soon after, in a profuse state of perspiration after his chase. On inquiring for the man who wanted a license, he was informed that he was non ext.
The same commissioner wore white kid gloves, and on one license-hunting expedition come across a man puddling, “I want to see your license, my man.” “Certainly, sir, put your hand in my waistcoat pocket and you will find it, my hands are too dirty.” The commissioner could not do this without soiling his gloves, so left, saying, “Never mind, all right.” B——— and his mates had a hearty laugh at selling the commissioner.
Dr.——— was a good specimen of an English gentleman, and though now in his blue guernsey and the other accompaniments of a digger’s rig, had not forgotten the “roast beef of Old England.” Previous to his going out on his morning round he had been to the nearest butcher’s stall and procured a prime joint, which he left in charge of his hut keeper, who had mounted an impromptu spit in front of a large fire. The doctor left, saying he would be home by noon. “All right, sir, I’ll have the dinner ready.” The joint was slowly turning round and round when John heard the cry of “Peelers.” He thought at first that somebody was offering an insult to his master, and on looking out of the door was confronted by a policeman, who demanded his license, “It’s in the box,” quoth John, “the doctor has it with the others.” “Doctor be d———d; don’t trifle with me; if you can’t produce your license you must walk this way; you're not the only one; come along.” John remonstrated, pointed to the roast before the fire; but it was of no use, he was marched off with some fifty diggers, who had been “rolled up” from Golden Point.
After relating the foregoing incident it may be most appropriate to give a fuller account of this obnoxious custom, from the pages of Withers’ “History of Ballarat.” It is there stated :— “When the European gold-hunter arrived in Victoria, just after the gold discovery, he no sooner found himself upon the gold-fields than he was unpleasantly brought into contact with a Government, in the construction of which, and in the direction of whose policy he had no more voice than the naked aborigine he saw prowling about the bush. Before he could legally put pick or shovel in the ground the digger had to pay a heavy monthly tax, levied upon him by a Government and Parliament in which he was not represented. At first for £1 10s., then for £3, and
