st dreamers ever
borne in a vessel's hull! Up over long blue ocean ridges, down into long
blue ocean gullies; on to lands so new, and yet so old, where above the
sunny glow of the southern skies blazed the shining names of Ballarat!
and Bendigo! The deck seemed to lurch, and the fossicker fell forward
against the face of the drive. The shock recalled him, and he lifted his
pick once more.

But the blows slacken again as another vision rises before him. It is
Ballarat now. He is working in a shallow claim at Eureka, his brother by
his side. The brother looks pale and ill, for he has been up all night
dancing and drinking. Out behind them is the line of blue hills; in
front is the famous Bakery Hill, and down to the left Golden Point. Two
mounted troopers are riding up over Specimen Hill. What do they want?

They take the brother away, handcuffed. Manslaughter last night.
Cause--drink and jealousy.

The vision is gone again. Thud, thud, goes the pick; it counts the years
that follow--one, two, three, four, up to twenty, and then it stops for
the next scene--a selection on the banks of a bright river in New South
Wales. The little homestead is surrounded by vines and fruit-trees. Many
swarms of bees work under the shade of the trees, and a crop of wheat is
nearly ripe on the hillside.

A man and a boy are engaged in clearing a paddock just below the
homestead. They are father and son; the son, a boy of about seventeen,
is the image of his father.

Horses' feet again! Here comes Nemesis in mounted troopers' uniform.

The mail was stuck up last night about five miles away, and a refractory
passenger shot. The son had been out 'possum shooting' all night with
some friends.

The troopers take the son away handcuffed: "Robbery under arms."

The father was taking out a stump when the troopers came. His foot is
still resting on the spade, which is half driven home. He watches the
troopers take the boy up to the house, and then, driving the spade to
its full depth, he turns up another sod. The troopers reach the door of
the homestead; but still he digs steadily, and does not seem to hear his
wife's cry of despair. The troopers search the boy's room and bring
out some clothing in two bundles; but still the father digs. They have
saddled up one of the farm horses and made the boy mount. The father
digs. They ride off along the ridge with the boy between them. The
father never lifts his eyes; the hole widens round the stump;