for a dray, I walked to some distance with
my pistols; which I now loaded in case
of our being attacked by marauders.

While we were thus sitting, two men and a
young woman approached us carrying bundles.
They were passengers by another ship, and
had been put ashore like ourselves, and left
to right themselves as they could. They
had got a small tent, which they proposed to
set up at once, in a rough style, and good-
naturedly offered to allow us to creep under it.
The tent was hung up between two trees, with
our baggage in front; and, beyond this, the
beach and the sea. We unpacked a part of
our bedding—partook thankfully of some
very dirty cold plum-pudding—and, being
thoroughly fatigued, we all slept soundly till
daylight. I had intended to lie awake all
night, as a watch; but I dropped off, and
never once awoke.

In the morning I confessed to my wife that
I had not sent my money to the bank, as she
had supposed, but that I had it all about me.
We agreed that I should instantly set off to
Melbourne, and lodge it in one of the banks.
I started accordingly. Many new arrivals,
draymen, sailors, and horsemen were going
the same way; so I had plenty of company,
and the distance was only two miles. I passed
Canvass Town on the way. There were no
tents between this and the large bridge over
the Yarra, leading direct into the town. I
walked briskly forward. At this juncture
three men came up to me; and, with horrible
imprecations, demanded my money. I was
utterly confounded. The bridge was not two
hundred yards off, with people passing over it!
The next moment I was knocked down from
behind—tumbled over a bank into the dust
—and rolled in it, till nearly suffocated. When
I recovered myself, a sailor-boy and a new
arrival were helping me to rise. I was
bleeding from a wound in the back of my
head. Every bank-note and every sovereign
I had was gone. A dray on its way to the
beach, took me back to the tent. My wife
dressed my head, for no surgeon could be
found. We heard in the afternoon that the
police were galloping after the robbers; or
rather galloping about to inquire which way
they made off.

The people who owned the tent were
obliged to strike it before the evening; and, as
my wife feared I could not safely be moved for
a day or two, she bought a tarpaulin for six
pairs of boots, and fastened it up between two
trees. The weather, however, suddenly
became so very cold, and the wind and dust
were so distressing, that we agreed next day
to go into a room in a cottage just finished,
which one of the bricklayers proposed to us.
We were to pay three of the best of the hams
per week; and, for two pairs of shoes a man
agreed to carry our baggage there. The
distance turned out to be about eighty yards.

Our baggage being got in, it was discovered
that the cottage had only one room. Other
luggage was then brought in, belonging to the
bricklayer and his wife, and deposited on the
floor. Before night, more baggage came in,
and with it a Highlander and his family!
Three married people, and seven children
were thus arranged to sleep in the same
small room. My wife and I immediately
insisted on our baggage being taken back to
the trees; or, at any rate, placed outside; but
a shower of rain now fell, which presently
increased to a deluge, and we were compelled
to submit to our fate. The Highlander and
his wife never said a word in support of my
objections, that I know of; for what they did
say they spoke in Gaelic. The bricklayer
smoked an hour before he went to sleep. He
said these things were nothing when you were
used to them, with other vulgar remarks.

My wife went out soon after sunrise;
and, by seven o'clock, brought a man with
a dray to the door, and had everything
placed in it, myself included, and we
went straight to Canvass Town. She had
agreed to purchase a tent already set up,
from some people who were going to the
Ovens. She had given her gold watch for it.
It was not a bad tent. By these means I was
got under shelter before the heat of the day
began. The heat was terrible for some hours;
after which the wind changed and the air
became exceedingly cool, with more rain at
night, which ran in a stream all round the
trenches outside the tent.

The quiet of a few days restored me
surprisingly. The rapidity of events had almost
made us forget our ruinous loss. As for the
villains, they had safely eluded the police. It
became all the more necessary that I should
do something. I began to look about me.
Of course, my first walk was round Canvass
Town.

Canvass Town, as the name implies, is a
town of tents; it is on the southern side of the
Yarra, and about a quarter of a mile distant
from Melbourne. At the time I write there
are between six and seven hundred tents—
perhaps more—and the population amounts
to five or six thousand souls. The tents are
arranged in rows more or less regular, and
with a squalid pleasantry some of them have
been called after certain well-known streets
in England—Regent Street, Bond Street,
Liverpool Street; while many of the tents
have assumed ostentatious titles of distinction.
We have the London Coffee Booms, the
European Dining Rooms, the Great Britain
Stores, the Isle of Wight Tent, the Golden
Lion Stores (such a lion!), the National
Dining Rooms and Lodging Tent, Dover Cliff,
Eldorado, the Coffee and Tea-Cake Depot.
There are tailors, butchers, bakers, shoe-
makers, ironmongers, blacksmiths, hardware
and crockery-stalls, tinmen. Almost every
tent exhibits slops, books, cabin furniture
or utensils, with other articles of which
the owners have no need here. Nearly
every second tent also sells ginger-beer, or