murder Prettyboy was hanged in Melbourne.

In the dusk I mistook the swagman for a stray aboriginal who had
survived the destruction of his tribe, but on approaching nearer, I
found that he was, or at least once had been, a white man. He had
gathered a few sticks, which he was breaking and putting on the fire.
I did not recognise him, did not think I had ever seen him before,
and I rode away.

During the next twenty-four hours he had advanced about half-a-mile
on his journey, and in the evening was making his fire in the Church
paddock, near a small water-hole opposite my house. I could see him
from the verandah, and I sent Jim to offer him shelter in an
outbuilding. Jim was one of the two boys who had represented the
public in the jury box at the Palmerston court seven years before.
He came back, and said the man declined the offer of shelter; never
slept under a roof winter or summer, if he could help it; had lived
in the open air for twelve years, and never stayed a night in any
building, except for three months, when he was in Melbourne gaol. He
had been arrested by a constable near Palmerston seven years before,
although he had done nothing, and a fool of a beak, with a long grey
beard, had given him three months, while two puppies of boys were
sitting in the jury box laughing at him.

He also gave some paternal advice to the youth, which, like a great
deal of other paternal advice, was rejected as of no value.

"Never you go to Melbourne, young man," he said, "and if you do,
never stop in any boarding-house, or public. They are full of
vermin, brought in by bad characters, mostly Government officers and
bank clerks, who have been in Pentridge. Don't you never go near
'em."

This advice did not sound very respectful; however, I overlooked it
for the present, as it was not unlikely I might have the advantage of
seeing him again in custody, and I sent to him across the road some
hot tea, bread, butter, and beef. This softened the heart and loosed
the tongue of the old swagman. It appeared from his account of
himself that he was not much of a blacksmith. He was ostensibly
going about the colony looking for work, but as long as he could get
food for nothing he did not want any work, and he always avoided a
blacksmith's shop; as soon as he found himself near one he ceased to
be a blacksmith.

When asked about his former life, he said a gentleman had once
advised him to write the particulars of it, and h