the dock and draping the witness-box as a lamp stand, placing the musicians upon the magisterial bench, with, I hardly need to mention, a profuse exhibition of international bunting, a fairly ornamental and highly effective ballroom was secured. It was generally believed, and indeed asserted by the _Turonia Sentinel_, that the Commissioner, who was known to be _beau valseur_, had bribed the contractor, when completing that magnificent edifice, to bestow extra finish upon the flooring, with ulterior views as to its utilisation for society purposes. Be that as it may―and much gossip was current about that high and mighty official of which he took no heed―there _was_ some truth in a subsequent legend that a prisoner and the constable by whom he was being escorted to the dock on the following morning slipped and fell as heavily and unexpectedly upon the glassy floor as if they had been essaying the gliding graces of the rink for the first time. When the Branksome Hall party drove up, the entertainment had commenced, and the two first dances having been got through, the _gêne_ of all beginnings and early arrivals was evaded. The ladies having been first conducted for envelope-removing purposes into the jury-room, and the men’s overcoats and wideawakes deposited in the land office, the stewards with elaborate courtesy escorted them to the hall of dazzling delight. The Commissioner, in blue and gold (at that period of Australian history these officials wore uniforms), looked most military and distinguished, his heavy drab moustache and decided cast of countenance suiting the costume extremely well. The second steward was a broad-shouldered, blonde, blue-eyed personage, whose singular talent for organisation caused his services to be in great request at all public demonstrations―social, military, legal, or ecclesiastical. He looked like a squatter or a naval man, but was in reality a bank manager. The third steward was a tall handsome man, very carefully attired, whose delicate features were partly concealed by an immense fair beard. His manner, his mien, his every look and gesture, told as plainly as words to any observer of his kind of foreign travel, of ‘the service’ in early life of that occasional entire dependence upon personal resources which has been roughly translated as ‘living by his wits.’ On his brow was the imprint writ large, in spite of the faultless toilet, finished courtesy, the perfect _aplomb_, the half-unconscious _fierté_ of his manner, the somewhat doubtful _affiche_ of adventurer. Attended by these magnates, for whom way was made with ready respect, the Hall party sailed into the well-lighted, well-filled room with considerable prestige. Ernest was considerably astonished at the general appearance of matters, while the Colonel openly expressed his admiration and satisfaction.