see how every man's day's labour has turned
out. Such inspection proves the lottery-like
character of the employment. Here is a
pan half-full of gold. As the soil and small
pebbles are skilfully washed out, and the
yellow metal appears glistening beneath, the
panner's eyes flash back upon it, glistening
no less. There cannot be less than ten or
twelve ounces in this washing. It is however
from a rich hole, and its worker belongs to a
lucky party. Look on the other hand at the
poor fellow who, with bent body and eager
look, is washing at a few yards' distance
lower down the river. Out of two or three
hundred buckets of stuff passed through the
cradle with incessant labour during the day,
a few miserable pennyweights of gold are all
his gain. His eye devours every small atom
and speck as it becomes visible; and when
he has got through his task, and the result
is evident, he looks despondingly into his
neighbour's pan, and with a sigh of
disappointment wanders moodily up the bank to
his tent, where he will soothe his sorrow and
beget fresh hopes over a quiet pipe.

At sunset, volleys of fire-arms are discharged
up and down the river, and are to be heard
obstinately echoing among the rocks
and hills. By some men this is done simply
to make a noise; by others it is meant as
a hint that there are pistols in their tents
ready for use if necessary. Then the elernal
tea, damper, and mutton is again discussed
under the name of supper, firewood is brought
in and stacked; one of each party is employed
in the manufacture of fresh damper, while
the rest, stretched at full length by their fires,
enjoy themselves as they are able. When
night has closed in, and the moon perhaps
begun to silver the white tents, the trees, and
the water that runs clear again, the scene
grows very picturesque. Hundreds of fires,
with dark figures clustering round them, burn
red and bright in the obscurity. It is the
digger's hour of relaxation. The guitar and
banjo, violin and flute, heard at greater or
less distances, people the night with sounds.
At one part of the diggings, high on a range,
Bome musical Germans encamped there used
in my time to indulge hundreds of their
fellow-diggers nightly with a vocal concert.
Their harmonizing voices, and the noble music
that they sang, heard in a scene like that at
such a time, possessed for me a wondrous
charm; I never remember feeling music so
completely as I did on those occasions. As
it grows later, the moon dips behind the hill,
the groups round the fires thin till they
disappear, the sounds of music die away,
and there is nothing to be heard but the rustle
of the trees—the howling of the watch-dog
—or the dismal cry of his wild brethren in
the distance. Within the recess of their
canvas dwellings, the tired gold-seekers
wrapped up in their blankets sleep soundly,
dreaming perhaps of ounces, or perhaps of
home and friends!

Our own part in these labours can be very
briefly told. At first we roamed about the stream
from place to place, "prospecting "for a good
hole without success. This "prospecting—which
commonly means nothing more than turning
up the ground to the depth of a  few inches
or at the most of one or two feet and trying
a panful of the stuff—was a bad
method of setting to work. The gold was
seldom come upon so near the surface,
and when not immediately found, impatient
and inexperienced "prospectors" generally
abandoned their newly opened claims to
repeat the same useless operation again and
again with the same success. A far better
plan was to dig boldly and perseveringly
down, trying the different layers of soil come
to in the descent, but never deserting the
work until the very bottom or bed rock was
reached, when if nothing was by that time
discovered, of course it only remained to try
again in a fresh place. This course we
afterwards pursued and dug at the least from
fifteen to twenty holes, some of them the
same number of feet in depth, but still found
nothing which would pay us for the working.

In this way three or four months passed
away, our provisions were almost eaten, only
our chamois leather gold bags were exempt
from wear and tear; I grew rather despondent,
but a glimpse of sunshine came with the
returning spring to our relief. A discovery
was made of some rich diggings on the
banks and in the bed of a stream running
into the Turon, called Oakey Creek; and,
taking advantage of the first intelligence, we
shifted bag and baggage and removed our
quarters to a spot between one and two miles
from its junction with the river. Here we
at once "set in" at a likely spot in the bed
and at a bend of the creek. After a day or
two of hard work, we began to get a daily
yield of from one to two ounces, which although
no great things, was a vast improvement on
our previous doings.

It was a solitary place enough on which
we had encamped, very few of the digging
population having fixed their residences near
us. We had very little sky or sunshine. The
place too was dismal, for the creek was
filled with stunted swamp oaks, and steep,
rugged hills rose up from both sides of the
narrow water-course. Only the little heap of
shining metal, to be found every evening at
the bottom of our pan, made up for all
deficiencies. Of course too we were glad
to have the ground much to ourselves.

There was one main discomfort. I have
already said that from some strange
peculiarities of manner, and certain incidents on
the road, I had imbibed a strong and irresistible
suspicion as to the past life of my partner.
He, on his part, perceiving the natural
restraints which such suspicions produced
in my manner towards him, became gloomy,
sullen, and reserved. So it was, that even
before we arrived at the mines, our