a brave-hearted Spanish gentleman, who
spread his bosom to the Turkish bullet, and
thought all lost if honour was lost, and the
other was a clever appropriator of other
men's thoughts, the fame of the one will
make an Eden of the La Manchan deserts,
the other will not delay for a moment the
decay of the Asturian cities.

FRIENDS IN AUSTRALIA.

I HAD been pronounced by the doctor to
be consumptive, and was ordered a sea-
voyage— to India or to Australia. I chose the
latter. I went with no other object than the
search for health; but the listlessness with
which I had started wore away as months
passed, and I found myself arrived at Sydney
in such good spirits, and with so much
inclination for enjoyment, that I scarcely
recognised myself. Everything was so strange
and yet so familiar. With English sights and
sounds around the feeling was un-English. I
did not intend remaining in the city, I wished
to see the country; but I shrunk from
starting on my solitary journey, and put it off
from day to day. I never yet could enjoy
myself alone; so sitting one afternoon in
luxurious idleness at the Australian Club in
Bent Street, I saw a familiar face. O joy! in
a strange land. I could not remember who it
was I saw, but the features were well known.
With an exclamation I started to my feet, and
the recognition was mutual.

"What brings you here? " he exclaimed,
surveying me from head to foot. " I thought
you were a quiet-going sort of fellow who
would never think of starting for a new
world."

I told him all. I remembered him
perfectly well now. He had been at school
with me, and his name was Harrington.

"I tell you what," he said, after we had
sat talking for above half-an-hour, " you had
better come home with me."

"Home! " I exclaimed, for I had no other
meaning for the word than England.

"Yes, home;" said Harrington, "to my
place, beyond the plains of New England. I
start the day after to-morrow. I promise you
you shall see enough of the country.  You
ride, of course?"

"I have not ridden for years almost,"
replied I; "in fact, my lungs—"

"Will be all the better for the expedition,
I'll warrant. One condition I must make
with you, if we join company; you must
forget your lungs."

I smiled weakly, and was inclined to
demur; but before the evening closed in I
was over-ruled. I dare say it was very
foolhardy. I do not know what the doctor
would have said to it. Two days afterwards
Harrington and I stood on deck of a steamer
bound for Maitland.

"What is that?" asked my friend, moving
a piece of my property with his foot.

"That is my medicine-chest," I replied.

"Your what?" asked he, almost in a
howl.

I repeated my information, and he answered
me with a long whistle. I was much annoyed,
when we landed at Maitland, late in the
evening, to find that my medicine-chest had
fallen overboard. I could not imagine what
I should do without it. I hastened to
Harrington and informed him of the fact; but
he expressed himself as being not in the least
surprised; people are so careless on board
packet-boats.

It was the month of August, winter
time out there; but bright, clear, and pleasant.
Harrington had horses and servants
waiting for him at Maitland; a white man
and an Australian. We mounted, left the
town, and rode over the plains. As I had said,
I had not been on horseback for a long while,
and it seemed like a renewal of youth and
hope to me, as if I passed over like a fancy
or a dream the interval of disease and
suffering and anxiety. Besides, Harrington's
mind seemed buoyant as the air, as he
conversed on subjects so new and interesting
to me. So several days we rode, and at
night we rested at the houses of farmers or
gentlemen to whom my friend was well
known, and who received me warmly, as an
intimate acquaintance. Then we entered upon
wilder country where we had to depend upon
our own resources. The native servant, or
attendant, or whatever he called himself,
carried before him a bag of provisions,
besides various other things for which we
had not yet found a use. Harrington
commented as we passed, upon the changed state
of the country in this region of Dartbrook,
laying the neglected state of the land to the
discovery of the gold-mines. I made some
moral reflections in return upon the general
evil effects of the love of money; but my
friend cut me short with—

"Talking, my dear fellow, is waste of
breath. Seeing is believing. Look round you
on all sides; take all this neglect and poverty
and waste to heart; but don't talk about
it. Facts are more significant than words.
However," he added, with a sigh, "I suppose
everything will right itself in time."

The aboriginal tribes of this district appear
to have gradually dwindled away, I believe
principally from the effects of ardent spirits.
You meet with the natives scattered about
singly tending sheep generally; but they are
but a miserable remnant of what were once
gallant tribes. My friend Harrington seemed
on intimate terms with most of them, and they
would walk by the side of his horse
conversing for a short distance, or join us in the
evening at our camp-fire, and tell tales of
by-gone days.

I had forgotten my lungs for the last
few days, and had lost the various pains
and aches which I was accustomed to, for
I was each night so tired with our day's