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83 I attempted to remonstrate, but I was kicked for my pains, knocked down in the bargain, and thrown naked and senseless into the lock-up.

The prison was crammed to suffocation. We had not space enough to lie down, and so it was taken in turns to stand or lie down. Some kind friend sent me some clothes, and my good angel had directed him to bury my hand-writings he had found in my tent, under a tent in Gravel-pits.

Fleas, lice, horse-stealers, and low thieves soon introduced themselves to my notice. This vermin, and the heat of the season, and the stench of the place, and the horror at my situation, had rendered life intolerable to me. Towards midnight of that Sunday I was delirious. Our growls and howling reached the Commissioner Rede, and about two o'clock in the morning the doors were opened, and all the prisoners from the Eureka stockade, were removed between two files of soldiers to the Camp store-house a spacious room, well ventilated and clean. Commissioner Rede came in person to visit us. Far from any air of exultation, he appeared to me to feel for our situation. As he passed before me, I addressed him in French, to call his attention to my misery. He answered very kindly, and concluded thus:——

"Je ne manquerai pas de parler au Docteur Carr, et si ce que vous venezi de me dire se trouve vrai,je veux bien m'interesser pour vous."

"Vous etez bien bon, Monsieur le Commissionaire," repondis-je.

''Il faut done que j'aie en des ennemis bien cruels au Camp! Avaient-ils soif de mon sang, ou etaient-ils de mercenaires? Voila bien un secret, et je donnerai de coeur ma vie pour le percer. Dieu leur pardonne, moi, je le voudrais bien! mais je ne, saurai les pardonner jamais.''

LXV.

ECCE HOMO.

Monday morning, the fresh air had restored me a little strength. We had an important arrival among us. It was the Editor of The Times newspaper, arrested for sedition. All silver and gold lace, blue and red coats in the Camp rushed in to gaze on this wild elephant, whose trunk it was supposed, had stirred up the hell on Ballaarat.

is a short, thick, rare sort of man, of quick and precise movements, sardonic countenance; and one look from his sharp round set of eyes, tells you at once that you must not trifle with him. Of a temper that must have cost him some pains to