part in
one of those festive entertainments, known as a "Bull-dance "; that is
to say, a dance at which women were conspicuous by their absence. In
this case, though, we were in luck, for there were actually four women
among about a hundred men, namely, the landlord's wife, a buxom matron
of fifty, weighing about fourteen stone, but "game yet," as she herself
said, "to shake a leg with the youngest;" his two daughters, fair,
freckled, sandy-haired damsels, who were the objects of far greater
attention than their very moderate charms appeared to sanction; and
pretty Lizzie, the barmaid. We always called her "Pretty Lizzie," and
if she had any other name I never heard it. She was a dainty little dark
thing, with soft dark eyes and bright pink cheeks, and seemed somehow
above her station. What adverse fate had drifted her into the service of
old Long Potter I 'm sure I don't know, for she had bewitching ways, and
a gentle voice that won all hearts. I don't think it was the absence
of all feminine society that made us find "Pretty Lizzie" so specially
charming. I even think, looking back now with all the accumulated wisdom
of more than thirty years, that there was something wonderfully sweet
about her. Anyhow, I, along with some hundred others, was very much in
love with Lizzie, and, like them, had the pain of knowing--it was really
a very keen pain in those days--that my love was unrequited.

The Eldorado was but a shanty, part calico tent, part corrugated iron.
The room we danced in had only a hardwood floor, and for all furniture
had a counter running across one end, on which were arrayed glasses,
pannikins, and bottles, Behind this, Long Potter stood, dispensing
refreshments to his guests, for which they paid in coin of the realm or
gold dust. The music was provided by an old sailor with a fiddle and two
concertinas, and if the guttering tallow candles and evil-smelling oil
lamps did not provide light enough, outside was the glorious moon, now
at the full, a round yellow disc poised in the dark, velvety sky. They
were a rough crowd, those diggers, rowdy and foul-mouthed, and they
squabbled not a little over their partners. First and foremost each man
wanted to dance with Pretty Lizzie; Long Potter's two daughters came
next, and failing them their buxom mother proved a bone of contention;
the non-successful ones, and their name was legion, having to dance with
each other.

And dance they did with a will. Never before o