eral stores, and a good inn,
built of brick and stone, with very fair accommodation for travellers,
and a large stable and stock-yards.

After leaving Flemington, we passed several nice-looking homesteads;
some are on a very large scale, and belong to gentlemen connected
with Melbourne, who prefer "living out of town." On reaching the
top of the hill beyond Flemington there is a fine view of Melbourne,
the bay, William's Town, and the surrounding country, but the miserable
weather prevented us at this time from properly enjoying it. Sunshine
was all we needed to have made this portion of our travels truly
delightful.

The road was nicely level, fine trees sheltered it on either side,
whilst ever and anon some rustic farm-house was passed, or coffee-shop,
temporarily erected of canvas or blankets, offered refreshment (such as
it was), and the latest news of the diggings to those who had no
objection to pay well for what they had. This Flemington road (which is
considered the most Pleasant in Victoria, or at least anywhere near
Melbourne) is very good as far as Tulip Wright's, which we now
approached.

Wright's public-house is kept by the man whose name it bears; it is a
rambling ill-built, but withal pleasing-looking edifice, built chiefly
of weather-board and shingle, with a verandah all round. The whole is
painted white, and whilst at some distance from it a passing ray
of sunshine gave it a most peculiar effect. In front of the principal
entrance is a thundering large lamp, a most conspicuous looking object.
Wright himself was formerly in the police, and being a sharp fellow,
obtained the cognomen of "Tulip," by which both he and his house have
always been known; and so inseparable have the names become, that,
whilst "Tulip Wright's" is renowned well-nigh all over the colonies,
the simple name of the owner would create some inquiries. The state of
accommodation here may be gathered from the success of some of the
party who had a PENCHANT for "nobblers" of brandy. "Nothing but bottled
beer in the house." "What could we have for dinner?" inquired one,
rather amused at this Hobson's choice state of affairs. "The eatables
was only cold meat; and they couldn't cook nothink fresh," was the curt
reply. "Can we sleep here?" "Yes--under your drays." As we literally
determined to "camp out" on the journey, we passed on, without
partaking of their "cold eatables," or availing ourselves of their
permission to sleep under our