messes of cooking were to him something
frightful.

The first few days were rather stormy.
Luckily George was well, and could escape
to the deck. As he emerged from the hatch-
way, however, one of his fondest hopes was
at once dissipated. He was met with an
exclamation of surprise by an old acquaintance.
It was Adam Swinburne, who had
passed his apprenticeship as a surgeon in
Newcastle, and was here as the ship's doctor.

"George Widdrington! and below there!
What, in the name of all wonders, is the
meaning of this?" was the young man's
exclamation. George took him by the arm,
and leading him forward, explained so much
of the mystery as that he had suddenly
resolved on a trip to the gold-fields, and as it,
of course, had at first been done without the
knowledge of his friends, he had from necessity
taken an intermediate berth. He begged
Adam Swinburne to keep his confidence as
to who he was, and hoped there were no other
people from the north in the cabin.

"Not a soul! " said the warm-hearted
Adam. "But, my good fellow, you cannot
stay down there. It is impossible. I have
a whole stern cabin, large and airy; that's
your place, and a pleasant time we will have
of it. Come along."

But George hung back. "It can't be,
Adam. It would require forty pounds to
advance me to the dignity of a cabin
passenger; and see, I have just four," pulling out
that number of sovereigns. "My mother
sent me sixty pounds; but I guessed well
enough where it came from, and I sent it
back with my soul's thanks."

"That's all right," said Adam Swinburne,
"but now hear. I shall have half-a-sovereign
for every passenger on arrival. There are
about two hundred. I'll settle all that, and
we'll balance out of the first nugget."

"But if we are drowned," said George,
smiling, "who's to pay for me then?"

"Why, let the proprietors come after
us for it," said the kind-hearted youth, and
laughing, lugged George away by the arm
into the cabin.

"A patient already?" said the Captain,
who was still sitting at the breakfast-table,
with a number of ladies and gentlemen.

"No; a passenger," said Adam, still going
on towards his cabin. George seemed to
breathe again as he entered its airy space
with its books and comfortable furniture,
and recalled the filth, and stenches, and darkness
below, with all its motley crowds. The
business was soon arranged by Adam with
the Captain. George's trunk was carried
in, and a fresh bed added. George's
intelligence and gentlemanly bearing soon
made him a welcome inmate of the cuddy,
and, as the voyage went on, he saw
ample cause to congratulate himself on escaping
from below. Two hundred people who
had been accustomed on land to lives of
daily labour, and to a degree of restraint
from the presence of their employers, here
thrown together for weeks and months,
without an object but to drink of the plentiful
stores of brandy which the ship afforded;
to gamble, and sing, and fight, ere long
presented a strange spectacle, in which the
coarse rioted, and the meek and more refined
shrunk aside and suffered. The pleasantest
hour for contemplating this class was that
after sunset, when, by common consent, they
nearly all turned out, solaced themselves by
singing, and on moonlight nights by a dance.
Repetition, indeed, wore away even the charm
of this, when "The Red Cross Knight," "The
Pope," "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" and "Nora, the
Pride of Kildare," had been each chaunted
their thousandth time. Listening, one evening,
as they leant against the poop-rail,
George heard a lovely voice singing this
homely ballad:

The lord said to his ladie,
    As he mounted his horse,
Beware of Long Lankin
    That lies in the moss.

The lord said to his ladie,
    As he rode away,
Beware of Lone Lankin
    That lies in the clay.

What care I for Lankin,
    Or any of his gang?
My doors are all shut
    And barred with a stang.

There were six little windows
    And they were all shut,
But one little window,
    And that was forgot.
And at that little window
    Long Lankin crept in.

"That's a Northumbrian!" exclaimed George.

"Ay, that it is," said Adam Swinburne. "It
is no other than Tom Boyd, a shepherd of
Todstead; and what do you think? That
he is bound for the diggings? No; but
to wander after a flock in the far bush."

"I wish him joy," said George.

"And he'll have it," said Adam," for he
has a lot of old books, that he has picked up
at the stalls in London, with a lot of old
ballads and legends in his head, and he
actually revels in the idea of years of
uninterrupted solitude. But, hark!" Tom
Boyd was still humming at the ballad, to
the wonder of the town-growth of singers:

Where's the ladies of the hall?
    Says the Lankin:
They're up in the chambers,
    Says Orange to him.

How shall we get them down?
    Says the Lankin.
Prick the baby in the cradle,
    Says Orange to him.