of hardwood that
he had seen Captain Blogg carried up to heaven by angels, instead of
swearing away the lives of men who had taken his part when he was
triced up to the mast. The cook was in this manner tried by his
peers and condemned to die, and he knew it. He tried to escape by
shipping on board a schooner bound to Portland Bay with whalers. The
captain took on board a keg of rum, holding fifteen gallons, usually
called a "Big Pup," and invited the mate to share the liquor with
him. The result was that the two officers soon became incapable of
rational navigation. Off King's Island the schooner was hove to in a
gale of wind, and for fourteen days stood off and on--five or six
hours one way, and five or six hours the other--while the master
and mate were down below, "nursing the Big Pup." The seamen were all
strangers to the coast, and did not know any cove into which they
could run for refuge. The cook was pitched overboard one dark night
during that gale off King's Island, and his loss was a piece of
ancient history by the time the master and mate had consumed the rum,
and were able to enter up the log.

Ex-Attorney-General Gellibrand sailed to Port Philip to look for
country in Australia Felix, and he found it. He was last seen on a
rounded hill, gazing over the rich and beautiful land which borders
Lake Colac; land which he was not fated to occupy, for he wandered
away and was lost, and his bones lay unburied by the stream which now
bears his name.

When Colonel Arthur's term of office expired he departed with the
utmost ceremony. The 21st Fusiliers escorted him to the wharf. As
he entered his barge his friends cheered, and his enemies groaned, and
then went home and illuminated the town, to testify their joy at
getting rid of a tyrant. He was the model Governor of a Crown
colony, and the Crown rewarded him for his services. He was made a
baronet, appointed Governor of Canada and of Bombay, was a member of
Her Majesty's Privy Council, a colonel of the Queen's Own regiment,
and he died on September 19th, 1854, full of years and honours, and
worth 70,000 pounds.

Laming was left an orphan by the death of Lizard Skin. The chief had
grown old and sick, and he sat every day for two years on a fallen
puriri near the white man's pah, but he never entered it. His spear
was always sticking up beside him. He had a gun, but was never known
to use it. He was often humming some ditty about old times before