This king had left his subjects, or, rather,
his companions (for they paid him neither
respect nor taxes), a few miles up the river,
at the Government township, called Raymond
Terrace; and, upon hearing of the arrival of
Mr. and Mrs. Walker, his majesty had hastened
down to pay his respects, and establish
himself comfortably about the premises.

The king, always, summer and winter, slept
in the open air; and, so far, was right royal
enough in his exemption from rent and taxes.
Lords of the bed-chamber were wanting, it is
true; and what was perhaps of still more
importance, blankets and sheets. I had a
great desire to see his majesty in bed—if such
an expression may be used—and, at about
nine o'clock in the evening, I prevailed upon
Walker to go forth with me, from his own
cheerful fire-side, to beat up the black king's
quarters.

The night was dark, and, for New South
Wales, cold. We took a plate full of honey-
comb with us as a present to His Majesty.
About three or four hundred yards off in
the forest, and within forty or fifty yards
of one of the white men's huts, we saw
and heard the black man's fire crackling
and blazing cheerily, and lighting up the
sides of the trees and of the hut with a
rich glare. Strange, and passing melancholy
sight, this startling contrast between civilised
and savage life. Under that cottage roof was
reposing a snug family of whites, tucked in
amongst sheeting and British blankets; and
there, only a few yards off, in the star-light
night, is a black brother, whose only lodging
is "on the cold ground." The white peasant,
it is to be hoped, says his prayers; the black
king, it is to be feared, has no sense, or if any,
the most vague sense, of religion or of Deity.

As we approached, I was a little surprised
that no living figure could be seen near the
fire. "Oh!" said Walker, "he is gone perhaps
to try to get an opossum for his supper." We
had approached within two or three yards of the
fire, without discovering our friend, and I had
concluded that he was away somewhere in the
woods, when suddenly I started as I saw what
at first looked like a huge black maggot
wriggling about under a very rude structure
of bows, placed against the wind, and on the
other side of the fire. A second glance
showed me the king. Completely unrobed,
he was rolling about in ecstasies of warmth.
He looked like an animal roasting itself alive,
and liking it. We presented our honey-
comb, which he ate (wax and all), and when
done, he again abandoned himself to his
repose, without thanking us, or bidding us
good night, or asking us to take any thing—
except the plate, after he had cleaned it
carefully with his forefinger.

After a stay of seven or eight days, Walker
and myself, leaving our wives behind, mounted
a pair of his horses for the purpose of
proceeding through the Bush to Maitland, where
the causes were to be tried by the then Chief
Justice (since dead); and with the trifling
colonial incident of passing a night in a slab
hut, we arrived at Maitland, by ten o'clock
next morning. We pricked our steeds into
the hotel, not unworthy of old England;
and after a hearty breakfast at the bar
mess, donned our wigs and gowns for action.
Our Chief Justice had a charge prepared,
and we were all expected to attend and
hear it.

As soon as this preachment, and the
proclamation against vice and profaneness, had
duly provoked the wit of the bystanders, the
Solicitor-General required two blacks to be
put to the bar, charged with spearing cattle,
the property of a settler. The names in which
these sable offenders rejoiced, were Wellington
and Fryingpan; playful appellatives, originally
conferred upon them by some of the convict-
servants of neighbouring settlers. For some
reason, which I now forget, Fryingpan was
not tried, but Wellington was duly brought up.
He was a tall gaunt fellow, apparently about
thirty-five years old (but probably much
younger, as these blacks soon age in appearance),
with large, flashing, expressive, deep-set
eyes. A dirty blanket was his only covering;
a huge mop of coarse matted black hair, hung
about his shoulders; and he had mouth enough
for two faces. He was led in by the Chief
Constable, and, as it was obviously his first
appearance upon that stage, he was by no means
perfect in the part of a prisoner. He required
considerable shoving and pulling to get him
into a sort of bin, called the dock; and
probably if he had been left to himself, he
would have selected a seat beside the judge.

When fairly confronted with Sir James, a
violent grin broke out half round Wellington's
head, evidently caused by his Honour's wig,
bands, and red gown, on which the savage's
eyes seemed to be fastened with a fascinated
stare. Nor did he, in his unsophisticated
nature, attempt to conceal the emotion
excited within him; for, notwithstanding the
additional gravity laid on by the judge for
the occasion, the joke appeared to improve so
much in the black man's mind, that at last he
laughed outright. Moreover he seemed to
grin a kind of circular invitation to all the
people in Court to join in the laugh with
him. He grinned the rebukeful countenance
of the Sheriff into such a state, that that
solemn officer of justice was obliged abruptly
to turn his face away, and discharge a short
private laugh of his own. He grinned at
the counsel and the crowd, until giggling
became irrepressible, and even the countenance
of the Chief Justice, who had a keen perception
of the ludicrous, was becoming rapidly
unmanageable.

As soon as this general break-out had been
duly snubbed and got under, it became necessary
to appoint an interpreter to act between
the prisoner and the crown, as the prisoner was
utterly ignorant of English. A white man
who understood, or professed to understand,