I
hate them crosses."
"Really," I replied. "I am sorry to hear that. I am a Catholic myself."
"Oh, lor! Are you, indeed? I always thought you were a Scotchman."
Taylor finished that bottle of wine during the afternoon, and next
day he wanted another. He wanted more every day, until he rose to be
a three-bottle man. He became reconciled to the crosses on the
wall-paper, forgave me for not being a Scotchman, and I believe the
run of my cellar would have made him a sincere convert to popery--
as long as the wine lasted.
Soon after this memorable incident, the Minister and Secretary made
an official pleasure excursion through the Western District. They
visited the court and inspected it, and me, and the books, and the
furniture. They found everything correct, and were afterwards so
sociable that I expected they would, on returning to Melbourne,
speedily promote me, probably to the Bench. But they forgot me, and
promoted themselves instead. I have seen them since sitting nearly
as high as Haman in those expensive Law courts in Lonsdale Street,
while I was a despicable jury-man serving the Crown for ten shillings
a day. That is the way of this world; the wicked are well-paid and
exalted, while the virtuous are ill-paid and trodden down. At a
week's notice I was ordered to leave my Garden of Eden, and I let it
to a tenant, the very child of the Evil One.
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