For the first few weeks of their residence at Ballarat the ill-matched couple did all of their trading at our store, until at length so many stimulating luxuries were purchased by Maria, that Barney requested us to refuse her credit, which, in compliance with his wishes, we did, and received such a torrent of abuse from the wife for so doing, that we wished her back to her old haunts, in Radcliff Highway, and had serious thoughts of attempting to recover damages from the “Moral Emigration Society” which exported her.  For a woman with so fair a face, she had the vilest tongue that I ever heard.

After the credit system was abolished, Maria transferred her favors to a store on Gravel Pit Hill, where, for a time, she was quite a favorite, and thrived wonderfully; but her husband got wind of her doings, and threatened to shoot the first man that he saw taking improper liberties with his property, and that rather dashed the spirits of the gallants, for Barney was bold as a lion, and carried a pair of very good pistols in his belt, in addition to a bowie knife of wondrous keenness.

The poor, depraved woman, finding that she was watched, and that her male companions kept aloof, after the threat which Barney made, got up a clandestine correspondence with a young fellow who was smitten with her pretty face, and to put a stop to it Barney was obliged to break one of his rival’s arms with a pistol bullet, one morning, just as he was putting a letter under a log that stood in front of his tent.

The wife, for the first few days, refused to be comforted, and then she apparently forgot the matter, and seemed to care no more about it.  To her husband’s surprise, she paid more attention to his comfort than usual—­remained at her tent while he was absent, forsook the company of strange men entirely, no longer run in debt, and such a complete change was observed in her, that the Rev. Mr. Blackburn ventured to call once, and inquire if her sinful heart had melted.  What answer Maria returned is unknown, as the reverend gentleman never divulged; but it was noticed that he left her tent walking quite rapidly, and that he never ventured there a second time.

I think that it was about six weeks after Barney had broken the gallant’s arm, that he suddenly presented himself in the store, his face radiant with happiness.

“I’ve got some good news for you,” he said, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.

“What is it, Barney?” I inquired; “have you found a nugget?”

“Better than that,” he cried.

“Then you have found a chunk.”

“No; something better than that—­ten times better.”

“Well, relate it.  We are impatient to learn what good has befallen you.”

“You would never guess,” Barney said, in a mysterious manner, as though what he had to impart would bear keeping for some time; “but,” and here his face once more beamed with smiles, “my wife has cut stick.”