The colonial taste for good liquor was spoiled from the very beginning, first by black strap and rum, condensed from the steam of hell, then by Old Tom and British brandy, fortified with tobacco—­ this liquor was the nectar with which the ambrosial station hands were lambed down by the publicans—­and in these latter days by colonial beer, the washiest drink a nation was ever drenched with. the origin of bad beer dates from the repeal of the sugar duty in England; before that time beer was brewed from malt and hops, and that we had “jolly good ale and old,” and sour pie.

A great festival was impending at Colac, to consist of a regatta on the lake, the first we ever celebrated, and a picnic on its banks.  All the people far and near invited themselves to the feast, from the most extensive of squatters to the oldest of old hands.  The blackfellows were there, too—­what was left of them.  Billy Leura walked all the way from Camperdown, and on the day before the regatta came to my house with a couple of black ducks in his hand.  Sissy, six years old, was present; she inspected the blackfellow and the ducks, and listened.  Leura said he wanted to sell me the ducks, but not for money; he would take old clothes for them.  He was wearing nothing but a shirt and trousers, both badly out of repair, and was anxious to adorn his person with gay attire on the morrow.  So I traded off a pair of old cords and took the ducks.

Next day we had two guests, a Miss Sheppard, from Geelong, and another lady, and as my house was near the lake, we did our picnicking inside.  We put on as much style as possible to suit the occasion, including, of course, my best native wine, and the two ducks roasted.  Sissy sat at the table next to Miss Sheppard, and felt it her duty to lead the conversation in the best society style.  She said: 

“You see dose two ducks, Miss Sheppard?”

“Yes, dear; very fine ones.”

“Well, papa bought ’em from a black man yesterday.  De man said dey was black ducks, but dey was’nt black, dey was brown.  De fedders are in de yard, and dey are brown fedders.”

“Yes, I know, dear; they call them black ducks, but they are brown—­ dark brown.”

“Well, you see, de blackfellow want to sell de ducks to papa, but papa has no money, so he went into de house and bring out a pair of his old lowsers, and de blackfellow give him de ducks for de lowsers, and dems de ducks you see.”

“Yes, dear; I see,” said Miss Sheppard, blushing terribly.

We all blushed.

“You naughty girl,” said mamma; “hold your tongue, or I’ll send you to the kitchen.”

“But mamma, you know its quite true,” said Sissy.  “Didn’t I show you de black man just now, Miss Sheppard, when he was going to de lake?  I said dere’s de blackfellow, and he’s got papa’s lowsers on, didn’t I now?”