At length we reached the Chinese district, and the Celestials turned out in great numbers to receive us.  Many handed the clerks the money that was due without a word of comment, and we experienced no trouble until we reached the quarters of Yam Kow, an old fellow whose tail reached to the ground, and who was reported to be the most miserly of all the Chinese at Ballarat.  That he had money there was no doubt, for he was always at work, or trading with his countrymen, and he was never known to spend a shilling for clothing or food.  What he lived on was unknown, and could only be conjectured; but it was said that Kow had been seen nights setting traps for snakes and rats, and even lizards were considered quite delicate meat for him.

Traps of most ingenious and cunning device were also set for birds, and Kow had been known to waste a few grains of rice, for the purpose of attracting them to his fatal snares.

The bodies of the birds were sold by Kow, and if he could find no market, he would hold on to them until he did; and if, after all his trouble, none of his countrymen were disposed to buy, the unhappy Chinaman would devour them himself; and even if fly-blown and slightly decomposed, it made no difference to Kow; his greatest anxiety was on account of not being able to get a shilling for the body of the bird that he was at length compelled to eat.  With the plumage of the birds—­and the feathers of the birds of Australia are of the most gaudy hue—­he made, during evenings, rare trinkets, and magnificent wreaths, and sold them to miners at a fair price, to be taken home as curiosities.  I had a box filled with such articles, and which I valued highly; but they were lost on my voyage home, while crossing the Isthmus of Suez.

We found old Yam Kow seated before his hut, which was made of bits of sticks, pieces of boards, stones, and mud, all cemented and fitted together in the neatest manner, and what was more wonderful than all, perfectly water tight, and as clean inside as possible.

The old man was hard at work, or pretended to be, on one of his wreaths, and seemed not to notice that we were halting in front of his abode.

“Hullo, Yam Kow!” cried the inspector, “putty mi more money, hey?” which barbarous jargon, it seems, is always considered necessary to use when talking with a Chinese, no matter whether the latter understands English or not.

The true meaning of Mr. Brown’s interrogation was, whether Yam’s tax money was ready or not.

“No hab,” returned the Chinaman, without looking up.

“How, no hab?—­putty mi more day.  No can see?” demanded Mr. Brown.

“No hab,” repeated the old fellow, continuing his work industriously.

“Why no hab?” the inspector asked.

“All go—­buy ricey—­buy torayun tan pon, and no hab.”

“Then workey on rodey ten (holding up his fingers) day.  Chinaman no good for shovel—­work more days Englishman.  Come.”  “No can come now.  Pay money by by,” the Chinaman said, thinking that his promise to pay before long would suffice.