Every
One, Except Myself, Was To Walk, And We Furthermore Determined To "Camp
Out" As Much As Possible, And Thus Avoid The Vicinity Of The Inns And
Halting-Places On The Way, Which Are Frequently The Lurking-Places Of
Thieves And Bushrangers.
* * * * *
On the Sunday previous to the day on which our journey was to commence,
I had a little adventure, which pleased me at the time, though, but for
the sequel, not worth mentioning here.
I had walked with my brother and
a friend to St. Peter's Church; but we were a few minutes behind
time, and therefore could find no unoccupied seat. Thus disappointed,
we strolled over Princes Bridge on to the other side of the Yarra.
Between the bridge and the beach, on the south side of the river, is a
little city of tents, called Little Adelaide. They were inhabited by a
number of families, that the rumour of the Victoria gold-mines had
induced to leave South Australia, and whose finances were unequal to
the high prices in Melbourne.
Government levies a tax of five shillings a week on each tent, built
upon land as wild and barren as the bleakest common in England. We did
not wander this morning towards Little Adelaide; but followed the Yarra
in its winding course inland, in the direction of the Botanical
Gardens.
Upon a gentle rise beside the river, not far enough away from Melbourne
to be inconvenient, but yet sufficiently removed from its mud and
noise, were pitched two tents, evidently new, with crimson paint still
gay upon the round nobs of the centre posts, and looking altogether
more in trim for a gala day in Merry England than a trip to the
diggings.
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