ery recently arrived in the colony. By dint of
signs, as much as words, I eventually made out the direction in which
I was to go in order again to find the track that I had missed, and I
took leave of my Savoyard with thanks.

I succeeded in recovering the track, and eventually reached the
squatter's house in which my friend resided. It was a large stone
building, erected in the modern style of villa architecture. Beside it
stood the original squatter's dwelling. What a contrast they
presented! The one a tall, handsome house; the other a little,
one-storied, shingle-roofed hut, with queer little doors and windows.
My friend, as he came out and welcomed me, asked me to guess what he
had been just doing. He had been helping to put in the new stove in
the kitchen, for the larger house is scarcely yet finished. He told
me what a good time he was having: horses to ride, doing whatever he
liked, and enjoying a perfect Liberty Hall.

The host himself shortly made his appearance, and gave me a cordial
welcome. After dinner we walked round and took a view of the place.
Quite a little community, I found, lived about; for our host is a
large squatter, farmer, and miller; all the people being supplied with
rations from the station store. There is even a station church
provided by the owner, and a clergyman comes over from Maryborough
every Sunday afternoon to hold the service and preach to the people.
After a very pleasant stroll along the banks of the pretty creek which
runs near the house, I mounted my nag, and rode slowly home in the
cool of the evening.

CHAPTER XI.

AUSTRALIAN WINTER--THE FLOODS.

THE VICTORIAN CLIMATE--THE BUSH IN WINTER--THE EUCALYPTUS, OR
AUSTRALIAN GUM-TREE--BALL AT CLUNES--FIRE IN THE MAIN STREET--THE
BUGGY SAVED--DOWN-POUR OF RAIN--GOING HOME BY WATER--THE FLOODS
OUT--CLUNES SUBMERGED--CALAMITY AT BALLARAT--DAMAGE DONE BY THE
FLOOD--THE CHINAMEN'S GARDENS WASHED AWAY.

I was particularly charmed with the climate of Victoria. It is really
a pleasure to breathe the air: it is so pure, dry, and exhilarating.
Even when the temperature is at its highest, the evenings are
delightfully cool. There is none of that steamy, clammy, moist heat
during the day, which is sometimes so difficult to bear in the English
summer; and as for the spring of Australia, it is simply perfection.

It was mid-winter when I arrived in Majorca--that is, about the end of
June, corresponding with our English December.