For what did we come into this colony? 'Chi sta bene non si move,'
is an old Roman proverb. If then in old Europe, we had a bird in hand,
what silly fools we were to venture across two oceans, and try to catch
two jackasses in the bush of Australia!
I had a dream, a happy dream, I dreamed that we had met here together
to render thanks unto our Father in heaven for a plentiful harvest,
such that for the first time in this, our adopted land, we had our own food
for the year; and so each of us holding in our hands a tumbler of Victorian
wine, you called on me for a song. My harp was tuned and in good order:
cheerfully struck up,
'Oh, let us be happy together.'
Not so, Britons, not so! We must meet as in old Europe--old style--improved
by far in the south--for the redress of grievances inflicted on us,
not by crowned heads, but blockheads, aristocratical incapables,
who never did a day's work in their life. I hate the oppressor, let him wear
a red, blue, white, or black coat.--And here certainly, I tackled
in right earnest with our silver and gold lace on Ballaarat, and called on all
my fellow-diggers, irrespective of nationality, religion, and colour,
to salute the 'Southern Cross' as the refuge of all the oppressed
from all countries on earth.--The applause was universal, and accordingly
I received my full reward:
Prison and Chains! Old style.
Chapter XXX.
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