Chapter I

SHOWING HOW LOW THE GOLD FEVER MAY REDUCE A MAN.

IT was morning in Sydney harbor. The wharves were crowded with shipping from all parts of the world which were already filled with workmen busily engaged in unloading the cargoes. The hum of the thousands in the city beginning their daily work, rose into the air and spread far over the country.

It was a beautiful scene. Before the city spread the noble bay which forms one of the finest harbors in the world, all smooth and unruffled, for scarce a breath of wind disturbed the air. Encircling the water rose the green shores, here verdant and smiling with fertile meadows, and there wooded and shaded by pleasant groves or orchards. Ships lay around upon the face of the water, from whose masts floated the flag of many a nation, some slowly borne on by the tide, with the wide spread sails flapping idly against the mast, others swinging slowly, from their fast anchors. And queen of all this peaceful scene-appeared the metropolis of Australia, with its white houses, lofty spires, and thronged wharves-thus she appeared-sitting in the prime of youth, laying aside her maidenhood to wed the world.

Among a crowd of passengers who had just landed from one of the newly arrived emigrant ships, two youths might be seen, whose appearance denoted a station in life much above that of their fellow voyagers. One was a tall man, with a noble figure, in which strength and beauty were finely blended, and a countenance upon which rested an expression of frankness. His features were handsome, his hair being dark and glossy, his eyes black, and gleaming beneath his brows as though they might read the soul. His companion was a merry-hearted fellow, with lively features and a pleasant smile.

"Well, Melville, here we are at last," said the younger of the two. "And now what do you propose to do?"

"Stay here of course. Why, Marden, my boy, what else is there to do?"

"Have you forgotten all that we heard coming out?"

"What-that it is hard to live here now-that the emigrants suffer-that the diggings are crowded? Why, I believe it."

"Well, what will you do?"

"I'll look out for a situation."

"Pray, how much money have you?"

"Just half a crown, my dear friend," said Melville, laughingly tossing two silver pieces into the air.

"Half a crown! Whew! Why, I have five pounds, and expect to starve on that."

"My dear boy. A man who has his wits about him need never starve in this world."

"Well, I do not see what we can do in Sydney. I thought the diggings were not more than twenty miles from here, and I find they are more than a hundred miles from Melbourne,--which is, goodness knows, how many miles from this place."

"Well, Marden, take, my advice and be philosophical."

"Be philosophical! It was very well to be so at Oxford, when a fellow lost a few pounds or owed a debt to some tradesman, but it's no go when a fellow is ever so many thousand miles from home, and only in the possession of enough to keep him from starving."

"Do you know how much the immaculate Johnson, who came home so rich, had when he landed at Melbourne?"

"No."

"Just sixpence halfpenny."

"The dickens! Now I tell you I'll put off Melbourne. That's the land, my hearty!"

"Nonsense-you wont do any such thing."

"Yes, I must. I can't do anything here. I want to get to the diggings."

"Pooh, Marden. Don't be cast down. I don't care, though. I am worse off than you."

"You can't leave here, unless you become a bootblack or a servant."

"By the lord Harry then, I would be a servant."

"What! you would-you, the brillliant, the aristocratic Melville-the 'double first' at Oxford? Bah!"

"Certainly. Why not? The truly great man is he who will not let anything cast him down. In short, if the proud Dame Fortune tries to knock him down she can't come it. That's the doctrine, my boy."

"Well, my mind is made up. I will go to Melbourne."

"What-go to Melbourne? O nonsense!"

"I will, certainly. What will you do here? Come with me to Melbourne. We can find a situation there."

"No, not more easily than here. In fact I believe that it is much more crowded."

"Hang it, I wish I had stayed at home."

"But since you are out here, put it through, Marden."

"Ah, well," said he, with a sigh. "I suppose I'll have to,--and I must be off this morning for Melbourne. The sooner the better, for I have little money left. We must part, old fellow. I don't see what you can do here, though?"

"I can earn a living, I have no friends to be ashamed of me here in the antipodes. I suppose yonder is the vessel for Melbourne," said he, pointing to one at the next wharf, on which was a notice to that effect.

"Yes, that is the one."

"Well, I will help to carry your baggage there. Mine will remain here. I am sorry we must separate, but since we seek our fortunes, let us do what we think best. Come on."

And the two youths bearing Marden's trunk, walked over to the Melbourne packet, which was soon to start. Many others appeared upon the wharves who were about to leave Sydney. Some were pale and sickly looking, others appeared like desperadoes; others had a faint gleam of hope on their countenances, but ah, very faint.

"Look at those who have starved here, Melville. Can you stay? No, come. Let me go back and help you here with your trunk."

"No, no, I will remain."

"But, old fellow, do let me divide this money with you."

"Thank you, Marden, you are a generous fellow-too generous. But I would not think of it. I have no fear but that I can live."

An hour after Melville stood watching the packet, as with all sails set, she left the wharf, and sailed slowly out of the harbor. The wind springing up carried them away, and Melville, as the vessel lessened in the distance, bade good-by to the last of those friends which reminded him of home.

"Now courage!" he murmured to himself--"just let us sit down and form some plans."

He walked over to his trunk, and sat for a while. Strange situation for a well born and well educated gentleman! To be on a foreign shore, with but half a crown in money, and a few clothes in a small trunk as his worldly goods. After a while he opened the trunk, and taking out a piece of cake, made his morning meal.

"And now for business," said he, shouldering his trunk.

He walked off with it to a small boarding-house near by, where he opened it and took out all his good clothes. These he carried to a pawnbroker's who gave him twelve pounds for the lot.

"Hurrah!" he cried, "twelve pounds! That I think will help me along for awhile."

He then bought a suit of rough clothes, and going to his lodgings, put them on, after which he went back and sold his last suit of good clothes for three pounds more.

"Fifteen pounds I have now. Good-again! I will have my watch yet to sell if anything happens. But nonsense, with fifteen pounds I can make a fortune. I may as well prepare now for prosperity at the antipodes."

On the following morning there appeared among the strange crowds of people who throng the Australian capital, a man of most striking appearance. His air was high bred, but his clothes were coarse, and he walked up and down with a large barrow filled with confectionary. He looked around upon all the people with a smile of unutterable complacency, as though he were perfectly content with himself and the whole world.

It was Melville!

"Ha, ha, ha!" he chuckled to himself. "I think I see myself starving. By Jove, wouldn't Aldborough laugh if he were to see me here? And my eldest brother, the baronet-the head of the family-hem-shouldn't I like him to see me now! Ha, ha!"

"Confectionary, confectionary," he cried, bursting into a louder tone of voice, which rang forth clear and deep-toned, as a bell. "Confectionary!" and then he added with grotesque modulations of his voice, "Confecctunarrry!"

"By Jove, how this reminds me of the little fellow in London. I'll go the complete candy-seller. I might as well."

"Ladies and gentlemen! Here's your fine candy, lozenges, apples, oranges, cakes and tarts! Heeeere's your chance!"

He displayed the most imperturbable calmness, walked up to ladies in the streets with the utmost nonchalance, to sell his things, and they, pleased with his uncommonly handsome face and fascinating manner, invariably bought.

"The ladies! Bless their kind little hearts!" said he, gazing after the last two whom he met. "And that little one-what eyes! what a smile! Who can she be, and where does she live? She looked so bewitchingly at me! I'll follow, and see where she lives."

Melville slowly walked after them, keeping at a proper distance. When they stopped at a house or shop, he also stopped at another, till they went on again. Our hero saw the younger occasionally glancing back toward him, and almost fancied that she encouraged him.

"What a lovely creature!" he muttered to himself. "Ah, there is her house, now. By Jove I have it!"

He marked it carefully, and passing by saw the name upon the door-plate. Henry Inglis.

"A finely sounding name. I heard her friend call her Emily-Emily Inglis. Ah, how dear is the name! If I were but rich, now. But I can adore her image till I become so. Yet what hope is there in this contemptible business Bah! never mind. I'll stick to it till something turns up."

On the following morning, Melville dressed as before, with his barrow of confectionary, went along Summer street where Mr. Inglis resided. It was a large stone house, four stories high, and one of the best in Sydney. He rang at the door and after a time Emily herself came. She started, and a half smile came across her beautiful face. Melville himself for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed-but he spoke up, and in the tone of a courtier, said:

"Fair maiden-can a poor confectioner offer you anything this morning."

"What have you?" said she, with a sweet smile.

He brought in his trays and the beautiful girl bent down over them, while her long, dark tresses hid her face from view. Melville's heart beat with delight.

"You will find there as good candy as any in the city," he said at length, in a business way.

She selected a large quantity.

"O thank you, thank you, fair lady, for your kindness to a poor man like me."

"You are a stranger here, are you not?"

"Yes, I arrived only yesterday morning."

"From England?"

"Yes, and another friend came with me, but he is off to Melbourne."

"And will you not go?"

"I decided to stay here when he left, and now I could not-would not leave this place for the world."

"You are prospering, then?" said she, with embarrassment, for Melville's dark eyes rested meaningly upon her.

"Yes, and happy. I have my little--"

"Emmie," said a voice at the head of the stairs.

"Yes, pa, I am coming. Please bring some more to-morrow, good man," added she, in a louder voice, "and if you hear of a footman who wants a place, send him here."

"Thank you, miss," said he, in the tone of a hawker, again, "I will do so. I am very much obliged, miss, for your custom, miss, and I hope it. will be continued, if I can do anything to please you, miss."