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 murders which, at almost every page, have blotted with blood the history of the British Colonies, cry out against us unto the Most High God, with a voice that has not always been unanswered, for national calamity to succeed national wickedness."

Many years ago I fell in with one of the lowest order of convicts, who assured me that he liked to kill a black fellow better than smoke his pipe; adding, "and I am a rare one at that, too." He related the following adventure. Out one evening with some armed stock-keeping mates, he climbed Maloney's Sugar Loaf, and saw a tribe lighting their fires for the night. He returned with the news. Then, abstaining from noise and supper-fire themselves, they waited till just before dawn, advanced toward their unsuspicious victims in a crescent line, so as to cut off retreat, and fired close. He quietly remarked: "There wasn't many of them got off." I dissembled a little, and in an off-hand way inquired how many he had cleared off. He shook the stump of his amputated arm, smiled archly at me, and said, "No—no—that's not a fair question."

Dr. Nixon, Bishop of Tasmania, is forced to say of such scenes: "There are many such on record, which make us blush for humanity when we read them, and forbid us to wonder that the maddened savages' indiscriminate fury should not only have refused to recognise the distinction between friend and foe, but have taught him to regard each white man as an intruding enemy, who must be got rid of at any cost."

My worthy friend Mr. Shoobridge, a much respected Tasmanian colonist, is my authority for the story of a sad tragedy. Two men went out shooting birds. Some Natives, seeing them approach, hastily fled. A woman, far advanced in pregnancy, unable to run with the rest, climbed up a tree, and broke down the branches around her for concealment. But she had been observed by the sportsmen. One of these proposed to shoot her, but the other objected. The first, however, dropped behind, and fired at the unfortunate creature. A fearful scream was heard, and then a new-born infant fell out of the tree. That very day the wife and child of this monster were crossing the Derwent, when a sudden squall upset the boat, and both were drowned.

That gentleman also told me that, when young, a fellow gave him an account of some capital fun, as it was called. He and