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On that Thursday, November 30th, more memorable than the disgraced Sunday,
December 3rd, the SUN was on its way towards the west: in vain some scattered
clouds would hamper its splendour--the god in the firmament generously
ornamented them with golden fringes, and thus patches of blue sky far off
were allowed to the sight, through the gilded openings among the clouds.

The 'SOUTHERN CROSS' was hoisted up the flagstaff--a very splendid pole,
eighty feet in length, and straight as an arrow. This maiden appearance
of our standard, in the midst of armed men, sturdy, self-overworking
gold-diggers of all languages and colours, was a fascinating object to behold.
There is no flag in old Europe half so beautiful as the 'Southern Cross'
of the Ballaarat miners, first hoisted on the old spot, Bakery-hill.
The flag is silk, blue ground, with a large silver cross, similar to the one
in our southern firmament; no device or arms, but all exceedingly chaste
and natural.

Captain Ross, of Toronto, was the bridegroom of our flag, and sword in hand,
he had posted himself at the foot of the flag-staff, surrounded by
his rifle division.

Peter Lalor, our Commander-in-chief, was on the stump, holding with his
left hand the muzzle of his rifle, whose butt-end rested on his foot.
A gesture of his right hand, signified what he meant when he said,
"It is my duty now to swear you in, and to take with you the oath
to be faithful to the Southern Cross. Hear me with attention. The man who,
after this solemn oath does not stand by our standard, is a coward in heart.

"I order all persons who do not intend to take the oath,