After dinner we had a ramble through the bush with our hosts, and
then, towards dusk, we wended our way back to the township. Such was
my first experience of diggers' hospitality in Australia, and it was
by no means the last.

Another afternoon we made an excursion to the Chinamen's gardens,
which lie up the creek, under the rocky point of Gibraltar, about a
mile and a half distant from the township. We went through the
lead--that is, the course which the gold takes underground, and which
can be traced by the old workings. Where the gold lies from five to
seven feet beneath the surface, the whole ground is turned over to get
at it. But where the gold-bearing stratum lies from fifty to two
hundred feet deep, and shafts have to be sunk, the remains of the old
workings present a very different appearance. Then mounds of white
clay and gravel, from twenty to forty feet high, lie close
together--sometimes not more than fifteen feet apart. Climb up to the
top of one of these mounds, and you can see down the deserted shaft
which formerly led to the working ground below. Look round; see the
immense quantity of heaps, and the extent of ground they cover, almost
as far as the eye can reach up the lead, and imagine the busy scene
which the place must have presented in the earlier days of the rush,
when each of these shafts was fitted with its windlass, and each mound
was covered with toiling men. In one place a couple of engine-sheds
still remain, a gaunt erection supporting the water-tanks; the
poppet-heads towering above all, still fitted with the wheels that
helped to bring the gold to the surface. How deserted and desolate the
place looks! An abandoned rush must be as melancholy a sight to a
miner as a deserted city to a townsman. But all is not dead yet. Not
far off you can see jets of white steam coming up from behind the high
white mounds on the new lead, showing that miners are still actually
at work in the neighbourhood; nor are they working without hope.

Passing through the abandoned claims, we shortly found ourselves on
the brow of the hill overlooking the Chinamen's gardens, of which we
had come in search, and, dipping into the valley, we were soon in
front of them. They are wonderfully neat and well kept. The oblong
beds are raised some ten inches above the level of the walks, and the
light and loamy earth is kept in first-rate condition. The Chinamen
are far less particular about their huts, which are both poor and
frail. Some of them are merely of canvas, propped up by gum-tree
branches, to protect them from the wind and weather. But John has more
substantial dwellings than these, for here, I observe, is a neat
little cluster of huts, one in the centre being a well-constructed
weatherboard, with a real four-paned glass window in it.

Crossing the ditch surrounding the gardens upon a tottering plank, and
opening the little gate, we went in. The Chinamen were, as usual,
busily at work. Some were hoeing the light soil, and others, squatted
on their haunches, were weeding. They looked up and wished us "Good
evening" as we passed along. Near the creek, which bounded one end of
the ground, a John was hauling up water from the well; I took a turn
at the windlass, and must confess that I found the work very hard.

The young vegetables are reared with the greatest care, and each plant
is sedulously watched and attended to. Here is a John, down on his
haunches, with a pot of white mixture and a home-manufactured brush,
painting over the tender leaves of some young cabbages, to save them
from blight. He has to go through some hundreds of them in this way.
Making our way into one of the larger huts, we stroll into the open
door, and ask a more important-looking man if he has any water-melon?
We get a splendid one for "four-pin," and have a delicious "_gouter_."
Our host--a little, dry, withered-up fellow, dressed in a soiled blue
cotton jacket, and wide trowsers which flap about his ankles--collects
the rind for his fowls. The hard-beaten ground is the only flooring of
the hut, and the roof is simply of bark.

In one of the corners of the cabin was a most peculiar-looking affair,
very like a Punch and Judy show. On the proscenium, as it were, large
Chinese letters were painted. Inside was an image or idol (the joss),
carved in wood, with gorgeous gilded paper stuck all round him. A
small crowd of diminutive Chinamen knelt before him, doing homage. On
the ledge before the little stage was a glass of _porter_ for the idol
to drink, and some rice and fruit to satisfy his appetite. Numerous
Chinese candles, like our wax tapers, were put up all round inside,
and the show, when lit up, must have looked very curious.

The Chinamen are always pleased at any notice taken of their houses,
so we penetrated a little further into the dwelling. In one little
room we found a young fellow reading a Chinese book with English words
opposite the characters. It seemed a sort of primer or word-book. My
friend having asked the Chinaman to give us some music on an
instrument hanging above him, which looked something like our banjo,
he proceeded to give us some celestial melodies. The tunes were not
bad, being in quick time, not unlike an Irish jig, but the chords were
most strange. He next played a tune on the Chinese fiddle, very thin
and squeaky. The fiddle consists of a long, straight piece of wood,
with a cross-piece fixed on to the end of it. Two strings stretch from
the tip of the cross-piece to the end of the long piece. The
instrument is rested on the knee, and the gut of the bow, which is
between the two strings, is drawn first across one and then the other.
An invisible vocalist, in the adjoining cabin, gave us a song to the
accompaniment of the violin. I should imagine that it was a
sentimental song, as it sounded very doleful; it must surely have been
the tune that the old cow died of!

We were now in the bedroom, which was a most quaint affair. You must
not imagine that the Chinamen sleep on beds at all--at least the
Chinamen here do not. A wooden stretcher, covered with fine straw
matting, is sufficient for their purpose. The room was lit by a small
window; the walls were decorated with a picture or two from the
'Illustrated London News,' placed side by side with Chinese likenesses
of charming small-footed ladies, gaudily dressed in blues and yellows.

In another adjoining hut we found a Chinaman whom we knew,--a man who
comes to the bank occasionally to sell us gold. He was cooking his
supper, squatting over the fire, with an old frying-pan containing
something that looked very like dried worms frizzling in fat. "Welly
good" he told us it was; and very good he seemed to be making it, as
he added slice after slice of cucumber to the mixture. John showed us
the little worm-like things before they were put in the pan, and he
told us they came "all the way Canton." He offered us, by way of
refreshment, his very last drop of liquor from a bottle that was
labelled, "Burnett's Fine Old Tom," which he kept, I suppose, for his
private consumption. John's mates shortly after came in to their meal,
when we retired--I with a cucumber in my pocket, which he gave me as a
present, and a very good one it was. I often afterwards went over to
see the Chinamen, they were so quaint and funny in their ways.

I observe that in the cemetery the Chinamen have a separate piece of
burying-ground apportioned to them. There their bodies are interred;
but only to be dug up again, enclosed in boxes, and returned to China
for final burial; the prejudice said to prevail amongst them being
that if their bones do not rest in China their souls cannot enter
Paradise. Not only are they careful that their bodies, but even that
bits of their bodies, should be returned to their native land. There
was a Chinaman in Majorca whom I knew well, that had his finger taken
off by an accident. Shortly after, he left the township; but, three
months after, he one day made his appearance at our bank. I asked him
where he had been, and why he had come back to Majorca? "Oh!" said
he, holding up his hand, "me come look after my finger." "Where is
it?" I asked.

"Oh! me put 'em in the ground in bush--me know." And I have no doubt
he recovered his member, and went away happy.

My greatest pleasure, while at Majorca, was in riding or walking
through the bush--that is, the country as Nature made it and left
it--still uncleared and unoccupied, except by occasional flocks of
sheep, the property of the neighbouring squatters. North of Majorca
lies a fine tract of country which we call the high plains, for we
have to cross a creek and climb a high hill before we get on to them.
Then for an invigorating gallop over the green turf, the breeze
freshening as we pace along. These plains are really wonderful. They
look like a large natural amphitheatre, being level for about fifteen
miles in every direction and encircled all round by high hills. There
is very little timber on the plains.

The bush covers the ranges of hills between Majorca and these plains
or lower grounds, amidst which the creeks run. Here, in some places,
the trees grow pretty thickly; in others, the country is open and
naturally clear. There is, however, always enough timber about to
confuse the traveller unless he knows the track.

Shortly after my settling in Majorca, having heard that one of my
fellow-passengers by the 'Yorkshire' was staying with a squatter about
fourteen miles off, I determined to pay him a visit. I thought I knew
the track tolerably well; but on my way through the bush I got
confused, and came to the conclusion that I had lost my way. When
travellers get lost, they usually "_coo-ee_" at the top of their
voice, and the prolonged note, rising at the end, is heard at a great
distance in the silence of the bush. I _coo-ied_ as loud as I could,
and listened; but there was no response. I rode on again, and at
length I thought I heard a sort of hammering noise in the distance. I
proceeded towards it, and found the noise occasioned by a man chopping
wood. Glad to find I was not yet lost, I went up to him to ask my way.
To my surprise, he could not speak a word of English. I tried him in
German, I tried him in French. No! What was he, then? I found, by his
_patois_, a few words of which I contrived to make out, that he was a
Savoyard, who had only very recently arrived in the colony. By dint of
signs, as much as words, I eventually made out the direction in which
I was to go in order again to find the track that I had missed, and I
took leave of my Savoyard with thanks.

I succeeded in recovering the track, and eventually reached the
squatter's house in which my friend resided. It was a large stone
building, erected in the modern style of villa architecture. Beside it
stood the original squatter's dwelling. What a contrast they
presented! The one a tall, handsome house; the other a little,
one-storied, shingle-roofed hut, with queer little doors and windows.
My friend, as he came out and welcomed me, asked me to guess what he
had been just doing. He had been helping to put in the new stove in
the kitchen, for the larger house is scarcely yet finished. He told
me what a good time he was having: horses to ride, doing whatever he
liked, and enjoying a perfect Liberty Hall.

The host himself shortly made his appearance, and gave me a cordial
welcome. After dinner we walked round and took a view of the place.
Quite a little community, I found, lived about; for our host is a
large squatter, farmer, and miller; all the people being supplied with
rations from the station store. There is even a station church
provided by the owner, and a clergyman comes over from Maryborough
every Sunday afternoon to hold the service and preach to the people.
After a very pleasant stroll along the banks of the pretty creek which
runs near the house, I mounted my nag, and rode slowly home in the
cool of the evening.




CHAPTER XI.

AUSTRALIAN WINTER--THE FLOODS.

THE VICTORIAN CLIMATE--THE BUSH IN WINTER--THE EUCALYPTUS, OR
AUSTRALIAN GUM-TREE--BALL AT CLUNES--FIRE IN THE MAIN STREET--THE
BUGGY SAVED--DOWN-POUR OF RAIN--GOING HOME BY WATER--THE FLOODS
OUT--CLUNES SUBMERGED--CALAMITY AT BALLARAT--DAMAGE DONE BY THE
FLOOD--THE CHINAMEN'S GARDENS WASHED AWAY.


I was particularly charmed with the climate of Victoria. It is really
a pleasure to breathe the air: it is so pure, dry, and exhilarating.
Even when the temperature is at its highest, the evenings are
delightfully cool. There is none of that steamy, clammy, moist heat
during the day, which is sometimes so difficult to bear in the English
summer; and as for the spring of Australia, it is simply perfection.

It was mid-winter when I arrived in Majorca--that is, about the end of
June, corresponding with our English December. Although a wood-fire
was very pleasant, especially in the evenings, it was usually warm at
midday. The sky was of a bright, clear blue, and sometimes the sun
shone with considerable power. No one would think of going out with a
great coat in winter, excepting for a long drive through the bush or
at night. In fact, the season can scarcely be termed winter; it is
rather like a prolonged autumn; extending from May to August. Snow
never falls,--at least, I never saw any during the two winters I spent
in the colony; and although there were occasional slight frosts at
night in the month of August, I never observed the ice thicker than a
wafer. I once saw a heavy shower of hail, as it might fall in England
in summer; but it melted off the ground directly.

In proof of the mildness of the climate, it may further be mentioned
that the Australian vegetation continues during the winter months. The
trees remain clothed in their usual garb, though the leaves are of a
somewhat browner hue than in the succeeding seasons.

The leaves of the universal gum-tree, or Eucalyptus of Australia, are
pointed, each leaf seeming to grow separately, and they are so
disposed as to give the least possible shade. Instead of presenting
one surface to the sky and the other to the earth, as is the case with
the trees of Europe, they are often arranged vertically, so that both
sides are equally exposed to the light. Thus the gum-tree has a
pointed and sort of angular appearance, the leaves being thrust out in
all directions and at every angle. The blue-gum and some others have
the peculiarity of throwing off their bark in white-grey longitudinal
strips or ribands, which, hanging down the branches, give them a
singularly ragged look, more particularly in winter. From this
description, it will be gathered that the gum-tree is not a very
picturesque tree; nevertheless, I have seen some in the far bush which
were finely proportioned, tall, and might even be called handsome.

The fine winter weather continues for months, the days being dry and
fine, with clear blue sky overhead, until about the end of August,
when rain begins to fall pretty freely. During the first winter I
spent at Majorca, very little rain fell during two months, and the
country was getting parched, cracked, and brown. Then everybody prayed
for rain, for the sake of the flocks and herds, and the growing crops.
At last the rain came, and it came with a vengeance.

It so happened that about the middle of October I was invited to
accompany a friend to a ball given at Clunes, a township about fifteen
miles distant; and we decided to accept the invitation. As there had
been no rain to speak of for months, the tracks through the bush were
dry and hard. We set off in the afternoon in a one-horse buggy, and
got down to Clunes safely before it was dark.

Clunes is a rather important place, the centre of a considerable
gold-mining district. Like most new up-country towns, it consists of
one long street; and this one long street is situated in a deep
hollow, close to a creek. The creek was now all but dry, like the
other creeks or rivers in the neighbourhood.

The ball was given, in a large square building belonging to the
Rechabites, situated in the upper part of the town. The dancing began
about half-past nine, and was going on very briskly, when there was a
sudden cry of "fire." All rushed to the door; and sure enough there
was a great fire raging down the street, about a quarter of a mile
off. A column of flames shot up behind the houses, illuminating the
whole town. The gentlemen of the place hastened away to look after
their property, and the dance seemed on the point of breaking up. I
had no property to save, and I remained. But the news came from time
to time that the fire was spreading; and here, where nearly every
house was of wood, the progress of a fire, unless checked, is
necessarily very rapid. Fears now began to be entertained for the
safety of the town.

The fire was said to be raging in the main street, quite close to the
principal inn. Then suddenly I remembered that I, too, had something
to look after. There was the horse and buggy, for which my friend and
I were responsible, as well as our changes of clothes. I ran down the
street, elbowing my way through the crowd, and reached close to where
the firemen were hard at work plying their engines. Only two small
wooden houses intervened between the fire and the inn. I hastened into
the stable, but found my companion had been there before me. He had
got out the horse and buggy, and our property was safe. Eight houses
had been burnt down along one side of the street, before the fire was
got under.

After this excitement, nothing remained but to go back and finish the
dance. Our local paper at Majorca--for you must know we have "an
organ"--gave us a hard hit, comparing us to Nero who fiddled while
Rome was burning, whereas _we_ danced while Clunes was burning. But we
did not resume the dance till the fire was extinguished. However,
everything must come to an end, and so did the dance at about five
o'clock in the morning.

Shortly after the fire, the rain had begun to fall; and it was now
coming down steadily. We had nothing for it but to drive back the
fifteen miles to Majorca, as we had to be at business by 10 o'clock.
We put on our heaviest things, and set off just as the first streaks
of daylight appeared. As we drove down the street, we passed the
smouldering remains of the fire. Where, the night before, I had been
talking to a chemist across his counter, there was nothing but ashes;
everything had been burnt to the ground. Further on were the charred
timbers and smoking ruins of the house at which the fire had been
stayed.

The rain came down heavier and heavier. It seemed to fall solid, in
masses, soaking through rugs, top-coats, and waterproofs, that we had
before deemed impervious. However, habit is everything, and when once
we got thoroughly soaked we became comparatively indifferent to the
rain, which never ceased falling. We were soon in the bush, where
there was scarcely a track to guide us. But we hastened on, knowing
that every moment increased the risk of our missing the way or being
hindered by the flood. We splashed along through the mud and water. As
we drove through a gully, we observed that what had before been a dry
track was now changed into a torrent. Now hold the mare well in! We
are in the water, and it rushes against her legs as if striving to
pull her down. But she takes willingly to the collar again, and with
one more good pull lands us safely on the other side, out of reach of
the ugly, yellow, foaming torrent.

By the grey light of the morning, we saw the water pouring down the
sides of the high ground as we passed. It was clear that we must make
haste if we would reach Majorca before the waters rose. We knew that
at one part of the road we should have to drive near the bank of the
creek, which was sure to be flooded very soon. Our object accordingly
was, to push on so as to pass this most perilous part of our journey.

On we drove, crossing dips in the track where foaming streams were now
rushing along, while they roared down the gullies on either side. It
was fortunate that my companion knew the road so well: as, in trying
to avoid the deeper places, we might have run some risk from the
abandoned shafts which lay in our way. At last we got safely across
the water, alongside the swollen creek, now raging in fury; and glad I
was when, rising the last hill, and looking down from the summit, I
saw the low-roofed houses of Majorca before me.

I found that we had been more fortunate than a party that left Clunes
a little later, who had the greatest difficulty in reaching home by
reason of the flood. At some places the gentlemen had to get out of
the carriages into the water, up to their middle, and sound the
depths of the holes in advance, before allowing the horses to proceed.
And hours passed before they succeeded in reaching their destination.

During the course of the day we learnt by telegraph--for telegraphs
are well established all over the colony--that the main street of
Clunes had become turned into a river. The water was seven feet deep
in the very hotel where we had dressed for the ball! All the back
bed-rooms, stables, and outbuildings had been washed away, and carried
down the creek; and thousands of pounds' worth of damage had been done
in the lower parts of the town.

A few days later, when the rain had ceased, and the flood had
subsided, I went down to Deep Creek to see something of the damage
that had been done. On either side, a wide stretch of ground was
covered by a thick deposit of sludge, from one to four feet deep. This
was the dГ©bris or crushings which the rain had washed down from the
large mining claims above: and as it was barren stuff, mere crushed
quartz, it ruined for the time every bit of land it covered. The scene
which the track along the creek presented was most pitiable. Fences
had been carried away; crops beaten down; and huge logs lay about,
with here and there bits of furniture, houses, and farm-gear.

I find the floods have extended over the greater part of the colony.
Incalculable damage has been done, and several lives have been lost.
The most painful incident of all occurred at Ballarat, where the
miners were at work on one of the claims, when a swollen dam burst
its banks and suddenly flooded the workings. Those who were working on
the top of the shaft fled; but down below, ten of the miners were at
work at a high level, in drives many feet above the bottom of the
claim. The water soon filling up the drives through which they had
passed from the main shaft, the men were unable to get out. They
remained there, cooped up in their narrow dark workings, without food,
or drink, or light for three days; until at last the water was got
under by the steam-pumps, and they were reached. Two had died of sheer
privation, and the rest were got out more dead than alive.

The poor Chinamen's gardens down by the creek, under Gibraltar, had
also suffered severely by the flood. MacCullum's Creek, in ordinary
seasons, is only a tiny stream, consisting of water-holes
communicating with each other by a brook. But during a flood it
becomes converted into a raging torrent, and you can hear its roar a
mile off. Within about five hours the water in it had risen not less
than twenty feet! This will give you an idea of the tremendous force
and rapidity of the rainfall in this country. Of course the damage
done was great, in MacCullum's as in Deep Creek. A heavy timber bridge
had been carried quite away, not a trace of it remaining. Many miners'
huts in the low ground had been washed away; while others, situated in
more sheltered places, out of the rush of the torrent, had been quite
submerged, the occupants saving themselves by hasty flight in the
early morning; some of them having been only wakened up by the water
coming into their beds.

One eccentric character, a Scotchman, who determined to stick to his
domicile, took refuge on his parlour table as the water was rising.
Then, as it got still higher, he placed a chair upon the table, and
stood up on it, the water continuing to rise, over his legs, then up
and up; yet still he stuck to his chair. His only regret, he
afterwards said, was that he could not get at his whisky bottle, which
he discerned upon a high shelf temptingly opposite him, but beyond his
reach. The water at last began to fall; he waded up to his neck for
the bottle; and soon the water was out of the house; for its fall is
almost as sudden as its rise.

I was sorry for the poor Chinamen, whom I found, two days later, still
wandering about amidst the ruins of their gardens. Their loamy beds
had been quite washed away, and their fences and some of their huts
carried clean down the creek. One of them told me he had lost 30_l._
in notes, which he had concealed in his cabin; but the flood had risen
so quickly that he had been unable to save it. I picked up a
considerable-sized stone that had been washed on to the Chinamen's
ground; it was a piece of lava thrown from one of the volcanic hills
which bound the plain,--how many thousands of years ago! These
volcanic stones are so light and porous that they swim like corks, and
they abound in many parts of this neighbourhood.




CHAPTER XII.

SPRING, SUMMER, AND HARVEST.

SPRING VEGETATION--THE BUSH IN SPRING--GARDEN FLOWERS--AN EVENING
WALK--AUSTRALIAN MOONLIGHT--THE HOT NORTH WIND--THE PLAGUE OF
FLIES--BUSH FIRES--SUMMER AT CHRISTMAS--AUSTRALIAN FRUITS--ASCENT OF
MOUNT GREENOCK--AUSTRALIAN WINE--HARVEST--A SQUATTER'S FARM--HARVEST
HOME CELEBRATION--AURORA AUSTRALIS--AUTUMN RAINS.


After a heavy rainfall, the ground becomes well soaked with water, and
vegetation proceeds with great rapidity. Although there may be an
occasional fall of rain at intervals, there is no recurrence of the
flood. The days are bright and clear, the air dry, and the weather
most enjoyable. It is difficult to determine when one season begins
and another ends here; but I should say that spring begins in
September. The evenings are then warm enough to enable us to dispense
with fires, while at midday it is sometimes positively hot.

Generally speaking, spring time is the most delightful season in
Australia. The beautiful young vegetation of the year is then in full
progress; the orchards are covered with blossom; the fresh, bright
green of the grass makes a glorious carpet in the bush, when the trees
put off their faded foliage of the previous year, and assume their
bright spring livery. In some places the bush is carpeted with
flowers--violet flowers of the pea and vetch species. There is also a
beautiful plant, with flowers of vivid scarlet, that runs along the
ground; and in some places the sarsaparillas, with their violet
flowers, hang in festoons from the gum-tree branches. And when the
wattle-bushes (a variety of the acacia tribe) are covered over with
their yellow bloom, loading the air with their peculiarly sweet
perfume, and the wild flowers are out in their glory, a walk or a ride
through the bush is one of the most enjoyable of pleasures.

I must also mention that all kinds of garden flowers, such as we have
at home, come to perfection in our gardens here,--such as anemones,
ranunculuses, ixias, and gladiolas. All the early spring
flowers--violets, lilacs, primroses, hyacinths, and tulips--bloom most
freely. Roses also flower splendidly in spring, and even through the
summer, when not placed in too exposed situations. At Maryborough our
doctor had a grand selection of the best roses--Lord Raglan, John
Hopper, Marshal Neil, La Reine Hortense, and such like--which, by
careful training and good watering, grew green, thick, and strongly,
and gave out a good bloom nearly all the summer through.

By the beginning of November, full summer seems already upon us, it is
so hot at midday. Only towards the evening, when the sun goes down--as
it does almost suddenly, with very little twilight--it feels a little
chilly and even cold. By the middle of the month, however, it has
grown very warm indeed, and we begin to have a touch of the hot wind
from the north. I shall not soon forget my first experience of walking
in the face of that wind. It was like encountering a blast from the
mouth of a furnace; it made my cheeks quite tingle, and it was so dry
that I felt as if the skin would peel off.

On the 16th of November I found the thermometer was 98В° in the shade.
Try and remember if you ever had a day in England when it was so hot,
and how intolerable it must have been! Here, however, the moisture is
absent, and we are able to bear the heat without much inconvenience,
though the fine, white dust sometimes blows in at the open door,
covering ledger, cash-book, and everything. On the 12th of December I
wrote home: "The weather is frightfully hot; the ledger almost
scorches my hands as I turn over the leaves." Then again, on the 23rd,
I wrote that "the heat has risen to 105В°, and even 110В°, in the shade;
yet, in consequence of the dryness and purity of the atmosphere, I
bear it easily, and even go out to walk."

My favourite walk in the bush, in early summer, is towards the summit
of a range of hills on the south of the township. I set out a little
before sunset, when the heat of the day is well over, and the evening
begins to feel deliciously cool. All is quiet; there is nothing to be
heard but the occasional note of the piping-crow, and the chatter of a
passing flock of paroquets. As I ascend the hill, passing an abandoned
quartz-mine, even these sounds are absent, and perfect stillness
prevails. From the summit an immense prospect lies before me. Six
miles away to the south, across the plain, lies the town of Talbot;
and beyond it the forest seems to extend to the foot of the Pyrenees,
standing up blue in the distance some forty miles away. The clouds
hang over the mountain summits, and slowly the monarch of day descends
seemingly into a dark rift, leaving a track of golden light behind
him. The greeny-blue sky above shines and glows for a few minutes
longer, and then all is suffused in a soft and mournful grey. The
change is almost sudden. The day is over, and night has already come
on. Darkness follows daylight so suddenly that in nights when there is
no moon, and it is cloudy, one has to hasten homeward, so as not to
miss the track or run the risk of getting benighted in the bush.

But, when the moon is up, the nights in Australia are as brilliant as
the days. The air is cool, the sky cloudless, and walking in the bush
is then most delightful. The trees are gaunt and weird-like, the
branches standing in bold relief against the bright moonlight. Yet all
is so changed, the distant landscape is so soft and lovely, that one
can scarcely believe that it is the same scene we have so often looked
upon in broad daylight. It is no exaggeration to say that the
Australian moonlight is so bright that one may easily read a book by
it of moderately-sized type.

But Australian summer weather has also its _dГ©sagrГ©mens_. The worst of
these is the hot north wind, of which I have already described my
foretaste; though old colonists tell me that these have become much
less intolerable, and occur much seldomer, since the interior of the
country has been settled and comparatively cultivated. But the hot
winds are still bad to bear, as I can testify. They blow from the
parched lands of Central Australia, and bring with them clouds of dust
and insects. I should think they must resemble the African simoom. The
Melbourne people call these burning blasts the "brick-fielders." The
parching wind makes one hot and feverish, and to fly to the bar for
cooling drinks; but there even the glasses are hot to the touch. Your
skin becomes so dry and crisp that you feel as if it would crackle
off. The temperature rises to 120В°--a pretty tidy degree of heat!
There is nothing for it but to fly within doors, shut up every cranny
to keep out the hot dust, and remain in darkness.

While the hot wind lasts, the air is of a heavy copper colour.
Everything looks yellow and withered. The sun appears through the dust
dull red, and no bigger than the moon, just as it does on a foggy
morning in London. Perhaps after an hour or two of this choking heat
the hot wind, with its cloud of dust, passes away southward, and we
have a deliciously cool evening, which we enjoy all the more
contrasted with the afternoon's discomfort. The longest time I have
known the hot wind to last was two days, but it is usually over in a
few hours. The colonials say that these winds are even of use, by
blowing the insect tribes out to sea; and that but for them the crops
would, in summer time, be completely eaten away.

Another source of discomfort is the flies in summer. They abound
everywhere. They fill the rooms, and as you pass along the streets
they rise in clouds. The ceilings are sometimes black with them, and
no food can be left exposed for an instant without the certainty of
its being covered with them. There is one disgusting yellow-bodied
blow-fly, which drops his maggots with extraordinary fecundity. The
flies are also a nuisance in the bush, where veils are usually worn
when driving, to prevent their annoyance. And in the swamps there are
vigorous and tormenting musquitoes, as I have elsewhere described.

After the parching heat of summer, and especially after the excessive
dryness occasioned by the hot winds, the whole face of the country
becomes, as it were, combustible, and bush-fires have at such times
burst forth apparently spontaneously, and spread with great rapidity.
The "Black Thursday" of the colony, some fifteen years since, when
fire covered many hundreds of miles, is still remembered with horror;
but, as settlement and cultivation have extended, these sudden
outbreaks of fire have become comparatively rare.

When Christmas arrives, summer is at its height. It finds us perhaps
gasping with heat, sitting in our shirt-sleeves for coolness, and
longing for the cool evening. Yet there are few who do not contrive to
have their Christmas roast and plum-pudding, as at home. As
strawberries are then in their prime and in great abundance, many hold
strawberry picnics on Christmas Day; while sober church-goers enjoy
them at home.

The abundance of fruits of all kinds affords one of the best proofs of
the geniality of the climate. First come strawberries, followed by
abundance of plums, peaches, and apricots, and afterwards by pears and
apples in plenty. Our manager's garden at Maryborough is a sight worth
seeing in summer time. Having a plentiful supply of water, he is able
to bring his fruit to great perfection. The plum and peach trees
seemed almost overburdened with their delicious loads. Through the
centre of the garden is a cool green alley, shaded with a vine-covered
trellis. The bunches of fast-ripening grapes are hanging on all sides,
and promise an abundant crop.

Some of my pleasantest associations are connected with the January
afternoons spent in the orchards about Majorca. One day a party of us
drove out in search of a good fruit-garden. We went over the hill to
the south, and down the long valley on the Talbot road, raising clouds
of white dust as we went; then up another hill, from the summit of
which, down by the banks of the creek, and almost close to the foot of
Mount Greenock, we discovered the garden of which we had come in
search. We descended and entered the garden, still covered with
greenery, notwithstanding the tremendous heat, and there found the
fruit in perfection.

Mount Greenock is one of the many volcanic hills which abound in this
neighbourhood. It is almost a perfect cone, some eight or nine
hundred feet high. "What a splendid prospect from the summit!" said
one of my companions. "Well, let us go up--there will probably be a
fine breeze on the top." "Too hot by far," was the answer. "Not at
all," said I, "the thing is to be done." "Well," said my friend, "you
may go if you like; but if you do, and are back in three-quarters of
an hour, I'll undertake to shout fruits and drinks for the remainder
of the afternoon."

A noble offer! So I immediately stripped, took one look at the steep
hill above, the withered grass upon it almost glittering in the sun,
and started. I was soon across the nearly-dry creek, and, beginning
the ascent, I went on pretty steadily until I was within about two
hundred feet of the summit, when the great heat began to tell upon me.
I stopped, looked down the steep hill up which I had come, saw what a
little way further comparatively I had to go, and clambered upward
again. It was still a long and fatiguing pull, mostly over loose lava
stones; but at last I reached the top, panting and out of breath.
After such a tremendous pull as that, I do not think any one will
venture to say that my lungs can be unsound.

I looked round at the magnificent view. It was indeed well worth
climbing the hill to see. I first turned my eyes northward towards
Majorca. There it was, with its white streak of pipeclay above it.
Beyond, in the distance, lay Carisbrook, with the bald hill standing
out in bold relief behind it. Nearer at hand are the mining works of
several companies, with their engine-sheds surrounded by huge piles
of refuse. Turning my eyes southward, I saw Talbot, about a mile off,
looking quite an important place, with its numerous red-brick
buildings and clusters of comfortable-looking houses. On the west,
towards Maryborough, lay a wide extent of bush, clad in its never
varying dark green verdure. The sky was clear, blue, and cloudless;
and though the sun was in all his strength, the light breeze that
played round the top of the mount made the air pleasant and
exhilarating to breathe.

I shortly turned my steps down-hill, tacking and zigzagging in the
descent because of the steepness. I was soon at the foot of the mount,
across the brook, and seated in the garden, enjoying the fresh fruit,
with an occasional draught of colonial wine.

Apropos of wine and grapes. It is anticipated by those who have had
the longest experience of the climate and soil of Victoria, that it is
not unlikely before long to become one of the principal wine-growing
countries in the world. The vine grows luxuriantly, and the fruit
reaches perfection in all parts of the colony, but more particularly
in the fine district situated along the River Murray. Most of the
farmers up country make their own wines for home use. It is a rough,
wholesome sort of claret. But when the Germans, who are well
accustomed to the culture of the vine, give the subject their
attention, a much finer quality is produced. There are already several
vineyard associations at work, who expect before long to export
largely to England, though at present the greater part of the wine
grown is consumed in the colony. A friend of mine at Melbourne has
planted an extensive vineyard at Sunbury, some thirty miles north of
the city, cultivated by Swiss vignerons; and, though I am no judge of
wine, the Burgundy which I tasted at his table was very grateful to my
inexperienced palate, and I was told that it was of very superior
quality.[9]

After summer comes harvest, when the farmer gathers in the produce of
his year's industry, takes stock, and counts his gains. Harvest is
well over by the end of February. When I rode out to Perry's Farm, on
the second day of March, I found the fields already cleared, and the
grain housed. All the extra hands had gone. Only a week before, the
fields had been busy with reapers, binders, and machine-men, for whom
enormous meat pies had to be cooked and great joints of meat
roasted,--for labouring men in Australia are accustomed to consume
much larger quantities of flesh meat than at home.

The scene is now perfectly quiet. The cows are coming in to be milked,
and a very fine lot they are--fifteen or more. The great stacks of
straw are shining in the red sunlight, for the sun is getting low,
though it is still warm. We go up to the farmhouse, having hung our
horses' reins over the rail, and saunter in through the back door.
Here no handing in of cards is required, for we know we are sure of
being made welcome; and in Australia hospitality is boundless. We
taste the grapes, which are just ripe, and wash them down with a glass
of home-brewed mead. But beware of that mead! Though it looks very
innocent, it is really very strong and heady.

The farmer then took us into his barn, and proudly pointed with his
heavy whip to the golden grain piled up on the floor; then over his
stable, to look at his horses. There we found our own nags, which had
been taken in for a feed. Bringing them out, and mounting again, we
rode on a little further to another farm situated on a hill-side a
little higher up the valley.

The farmhouse here is a little gem of a dwelling, situated in a nice
shady place, in the midst of a luxurious garden. Here, too, we
dismounted and entered the house, for we knew the host--a most genial
fellow, whose honest English face it was always a pleasure to see: it
was so full of kindness and good humour. We took a stroll round the
garden while the sun was setting, and then turned in for a cup of good
tea, which "missus" had got ready for us.

One of our entertainer's greatest delights was in talking about "old
times"--though they were only a year or two old after all,--yet "new
chums" were always ready to sit listening to his tales open-mouthed.
He had been a digger, like most of the farmers hereabout, and he told
us how he was the first to find the gold at the great rush at
Maryborough; how he saw the gold glistening in the gravel one day
that he was out in the bush; how, for weeks, he lived quietly, but
digging and gathering gold early and late, until, having made his
little golden harvest, enough to buy and stock a farm, he went and
gave information to the commissioner as to the find, and then what a
rush of thousands of diggers there was to the ground! how streets
sprang up, stores were opened, hotels were built, and at last
Maryborough became the great place that it is--the thriving centre of
a large mining as well as agricultural district.

In such old diggers' talk two hours had passed almost before we were
aware; and then we rose to go. The horses were brought out, and we
mounted and rode cautiously home, for it was now quite dark. It was a
fine mild night, and we had plenty of time; so we talked and laughed
our way through the bush--our voices the only sounds to be heard,
except it might be the noise of a bird rising on the wing, startled
from its perch by our merry laughter or the clatter of our horses'
hoofs on the hard ground as we trotted along.

Another day, I drove out with one of the neighbouring farmers to his
place on the other side of the Deep Creek. At this late season the
bush is dried up and melancholy-looking; very different from what it
is in the lovely spring time. Now the bush seems dead-alive, fast
putting on its winter garb, while withered stalks of grass cover the
plains. We pass the neighbourhood of a large squatter's station, the
only one about here,--the run being very large, extending for a great
distance over the plains. It consists of not less than 60,000 acres
of purchased land and 60,000 acres of government land, on which the
squatter exercises the usual rights of pasturage.

Crossing the creek by a wooden bridge, we were shortly at my friend's
farm. We heard the buzzing noise of the threshing-machine in the
adjoining fields. There was the engine busily at work, just as at
home. Steam penetrates everywhere,--across the seas, over the
mountains, and into the bush. We soon came up to the engine, where the
men were at work. It was pretty severe under a hot sun, amidst clouds
of dust and bits of chaff flying about from the thresher. Many of the
men wore spectacles to protect their eyes from the glare of the sun's
heat.

The engine was just about to stop, to allow the men to have their
midday spell of rest; and they were soon at their meal of meat and
cold tea. The farmer came upon some of the men smoking quite
unconcernedly beside the great piles of straw; and wroth he was at
their carelessness, as well he might be, for had a fire burst out, it
would have destroyed straw, wheat, engine, and all. The wheat seemed
of excellent quality, and the farmer was quite pleased with his crop,
which is not always the case with farmers.

We afterwards went over the farm buildings, which are neat and
substantial. A large stone barn has at one end of it a kitchen
attached, where the men's victuals are cooked during harvest time;
and, close at hand, is a comfortable stone cottage for the
accommodation of the manager and his family.

After going over the farm, I had a refreshing bathe in the creek, at a
convenient place; though I have heard that it is not unusual for
bathers who get into a muddy water-hole to be startled by a sudden
sting, and when they emerge from the water, to find half a dozen
hungry leeches hanging on to their skin. For leeches are plentiful in
Australia, and even form an article of considerable export to England.

We afterwards went out to Perry's harvest dance and supper, with which
the gathering in of the crops is usually celebrated, as at home. The
wheat had by this time all been sold and cleared out of the barn, and
it was now rigged up as a ball-room. We had a good long spell of
dancing, to the music of a violin and a bush piano. Perhaps you don't
know what a bush piano is? It consists of a number of strings arranged
on a board, tightened up and tuned, upon which the player beats with a
padded hammer, bringing out sounds by no means unmusical. At all
events, the bush piano served to eke out the music of our solitary
violin.

After the dance there was the usual bounteous supper, with plenty to
eat and drink for all; and then our horses were brought out and we
rode homeward. It was the end of harvest, just the time of the year
when, though the days were still warm, the nights were beginning to be
cool and sharp, as they are about the beginning of October in England.
One night there was a most splendid Aurora, one of the finest, it is
said, that had been seen, even in Australia. A huge rose-coloured
curtain seemed to be let down across half the sky, striped with bright
golden colour, shaded off with a deeper yellow. Beneath the red
curtain, close to the horizon, was a small semicircle of bright
greenish yellow, just as if the sun were about to rise; and bright
gleams of light shot up from it far into the sky, making the
rose-coloured clouds glow again. The brilliancy extended upwards
almost to the zenith, the stars glimmering through the darker or less
bright part of the sky. Though I have mentioned "clouds," there was
not a cloud to be seen; the clouds I name were really masses of
brilliant light, obscuring the deep blue beyond. I feel the utter
powerlessness of words to describe the magnificence of the scene.

The weather-wise people predicted a change of weather; and sure enough
a change shortly followed. We had had no rain for weeks; but early on
the second morning after the appearance of the Aurora, I was awakened
by the noise of heavy rain falling upon our slight iron roof. I found
a tremendous storm raging and the rain falling in masses. Our large
iron tank was completely filled in half an hour; and, overflowing, it
ran in upon our bank floor and nearly flooded us out. We had an
exciting time of it, baling out the water as fast as it ran in; for
somehow, the drain running underneath our boarded house had got
stopped. At last the rainfall ceased and the water was got rid of,
leaving everything in a state of damp--damp stools and chairs, damp
sheets, damp clothes, damp books, damp paper, damp everything.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 9: The kinds of wine principally produced in the colony are
Burgundy, Claret, white wine of the Sauterne kind, and a very
excellent sort of still Champagne. There are now regular autumn wine
sales at Melbourne and Geelong, at which large quantities are sold and
good prices realised. The total quantity produced in 1870 was 629,219
gallons.]




CHAPTER XIII.

BUSH ANIMALS--BIRDS--SNAKES.

THE 'POSSUM--A NIGHT'S SPORT IN THE BUSH--MUSQUITOES--WATTLE
BIRDS--THE PIPING-CROW--"MINERS"--PAROQUET-HUNTING--THE SOUTHERN
CROSS--SNAKES--MARSUPIAL ANIMALS.


A favourite sport in Australia is 'possum-shooting. The Australian
opossum is a marsupial quadruped, living in trees and feeding on
insects, eggs, and fruits. Its body is about twenty-five inches in
length, besides which it has a long prehensile tail, with which it
clings to the branches of the trees in which it lives. Its skin is
covered with thick fur, of a uniform smoky-black colour, tinged with
chestnut, and it is very much sought after because of its warmth and
beauty.

The proper time for 'possum-shooting is at night, when the moon is
nearly at her full, and one can see about almost as well as in the
daytime. Even Venus is so bright that, on a night when the moon was
absent, I have seen her give light enough to drive by.

A well-trained dog is almost indispensable for scenting the 'possums
and tracking them to their tree, beneath which he stands and gives
tongue. When the dog stands and barks, you may be sure there is the
"'possum up a gum-tree." I never had the good fortune to be
accompanied by a well-trained dog; but only by young ones new to the
sport.

We had, therefore, to find and sight our own game. This is done by
looking carefully along each branch, with the tree between you and the
bright moonlight; and if there be a 'possum there, you will see a
little black furry-like ball, motionless in the fork of a limb. On the
first night that I went out 'possum-shooting with a party of friends,
we trudged a good way into the bush, and searched the trees for a long
time in vain.

At length the old colonial who accompanied us, coming up to a large
tree, said, "Ah! here is a likely place;" and we began carefully to
spy the branches; "There he is," said the colonial, pointing to a limb
where he said the 'possum was. At first I could make out nothing. But
at last I spied the little round ball. He fired, and the animal fell
to the ground dead.