Old Melbourne Memories

gales from the south-east, and driving storms of sleet, showed clearly that "the year had turned." The r

we for wind

d I lived "th

erhound, went on ahead, while I, with Mr. Cunningham, a new companion, who had dwe

his experienced stock-rider-"an old hand from the Sydney side,"[Pg 34] as such men were then called in Victoria-was a great character, and a most original personage. He accompanied the dray, so that all might be in readiness

ock-whips, and the aid of Dora the cattle-dog, we got along, and reached Rosebrook, on the Moyne, close to Belfast. Mr. Roderick Urquhart, as manager for Mr. James Atkinson, was

at they were able, doubtless, to keep themselves and pay the moderate rent under which they sat. Not that the Port Fairy "survey" was so fertile as that of Farnham Park-much of it was wet and undrained, much stony, and but fit for pasture; but it comprehended

ape of my cattle from the yard. Dressing hastily, I stumbled in pitch darkness through the knee-deep mud. It was even as I feared-the rails were down, trampled in t

ng and bellowing in all directions. I went to bed sad at hear

e side of the enclosure. In the grey light I fancied I saw a dark mass at the end of a cape, which stretched far into it. I rode for it at full speed, and discovered my lost "stock-in-trade" all lying down

pleasures and profits. All our work lay ahead. How bright was the outlook! how dim and distant the shoals and quicksands of life's sea! We sat long into the night, talking a good deal of shop, not wholly unmingled with higher topics. I remember we decided that cattle stations were to improve in value, and ultimately lead to a competence. How little could we foresee that the elder bro

o the horns, and the grass was magnificent. The rain came down in a way that was oppressive to our spirits. The sky was murky; the air chilling. Our whips soon became sodden and ineffective. My companion had a bad cold, which deprived h

out the f

t disgus

teady rainfall, and how many miles off, in different directions, the cattle would be by morning. My answer was simple but effective-"There's the horse-paddock!" It was even so. Straining my eyes, I had caught sight through the timber of a two-railed sapling fence. It was enough. Paddocks were not th

or Groongal, let alone Ercildoune or Trawalla, and a few others in the west. But then some of the shepherd kings thought[Pg 38] it no dishonour to sleep in a watch-box for a month at a time, and a slab gunyah with a fold of hurdles was held to be sufficient improvement for a med

sight which now met my astonished eyes. A gentleman emerged from the principal building in conspicuously clean raiment, having apparently just arrayed himself for the evening meal. He proceeded calmly to wade through the mud-ocean until he reached the yard, where he took down the clay-beplastered rails, leaving the gate open for our cattle.

from my mind, I followed my chivalrous host to the guests' hut-a snug, separate building, where we made our simple toilettes with great comfort and satisfaction

duct, and where butter is not, how it refreshes one to recall the great jug of cream which graced that comfortable board, the pats of fresh butter, the alluring sh

life's not all-cheerful record. On that evening was commenced a friendship that only closed with life, and which knew for the whole of its duration neither cloud nor misgiving. If a man's future is ever determined by the character of his associates and surroundings at a critical period of life, m

ponding point of the lava country, popularly known as The Rocks, jutted out to meet it. On this was a circular pond-like depression, where old Tom, my venerable guide and explorer, had in a time of drought once seen a dingo drinking. He had christened it the Native Dog Hole-a name which it bears to this day. And at the Doghole-point had my man Joe Burge commenced to fell timber for a brush-yard, put up the w