Horses are stolen and ridden off to Melbourne, Geelong, or to the nearest goldfield and sold by auction.  The roads leading to the new diggings become infested with bushrangers; stories of being “stuck up” (or robbed) are more and more frequent; till at length a cartload of ruffians, heavily handcuffed, is seen moving towards the Government Camp well guarded by mounted troopers.  These are the bushrangers who have been hunted down and just captured by the troopers.  And now for a time the roads are safe.

No life can be more independent and free than that of the Australian digger; no travelling more agreeable than summer travelling in the Bush; carrying about with you in your cart your tent, your larder, and all your domestic appointments.  In choosing a halting place for the night you have the whole country open to you—­no walls or hedges to shut you in to a dusty turnpike road.  You drink from the clear running creek; the soft green turf is your carpet; your tent your bedroom.  Your horse duly hobbled, enjoys the fresh pasturage around.  The nearest fallen tree supplies you with fuel for your evening fire.

One of the most fruitful sources of discontent was the method of collecting the gold revenue.  When the first discoveries were made at Ballarat, the Melbourne Government, following the example of that at Sydney, issued regulations by which all miners were required to procure a monthly license to dig for gold, and to pay 30_s._ for the same.  But how was this tax to be enforced among a migratory population, living in tents scattered through a forest?  The mode adopted was, to send out armed bands of police, who, coming down suddenly on a gully or flat, spread themselves over it demanding of everyone his license.  A few mounted troopers formed part of the force to cut off defaulters who might attempt to fly.  All who could not produce their license were captured and marched off, probably some miles, to the nearest magistrates, and, after some detention, were either fined L5, or imprisoned for a month.  Such a system naturally led to great discontent and irritation.  At some of the goldfields a curious plan was hit upon for evading these inquisitorial visits.  No sooner was a party of police seen approaching than the diggers raised the cry of “Joe!  Joe!” The cry was taken up, and presently the whole length of the gully rang with the shouts “Joe!  Joe!  Joe!” and of course all defaulters instantly made off for the depths of the forest.

The dissatisfaction was exasperated by the method of collecting the license fee.  The collector did not call on the tax payer, but the latter had to seek the collector.  The digger was compelled to walk from his own gully to the Commissioner’s Camp—­distant, perhaps, several miles—­and then often wait for hours under a fierce sun while a crowd of others, who had arrived before him, were paying their 30_s._, or weighing their half ounce of gold.  Greater facilities were indeed subsequently