We proceeded to Melbourne by rail and put up at one of the principal hotels.  Here we discovered that our accident had caused us to miss the China mail boat which was to have conveyed us to Point de Galle, and I would now have almost a whole month to remain at Melbourne.  This news was I fear more welcome than otherwise.  I wished to see something of Melbourne, and here was the opportunity forced upon me, so I decided to make the very most of my time.

Melbourne, even at this period, was a considerable city, handsome and well laid out on the most approved modern principles, with straight and spacious streets and squares, and possessing throughout architecture equal to that of the best modern English towns, in addition to some really magnificent public buildings.  A considerable portion of the city stood on a gentle slope, and along many of the streets between the roadway and the footpaths, ran continuous streams of pure spring water, over which, when in flood, foot passengers were taken by carriage.

Along the banks of the Yarrow were lovely gardens and extensive parks, and many a pleasant row I had under the shade of the huge pine and gum trees.  The river frequently overflowed its banks and submerged the low-lying country between the city and the port, at which times I have travelled by train while the rails were under water.  Some of the suburbs and watering places around Melbourne, such as St. Kilda, were exceedingly picturesque.

A railway was just then opened from Melbourne to Ballarat, the scene of the famous gold diggings to which Melbourne is primarily indebted for her present magnificence and prosperity.  Extensive quartz crushing by machinery was then being carried out, and a visit to the locality was most interesting.  We made many excursions up country, and altogether thoroughly enjoyed our time.  So much so indeed that had another accident detained me longer I would not have felt any regret.

Early in August I started by the P. and O. mail boat for Ceylon, with mutual regrets on Burton’s part and on my own that our pleasant holiday was ended.  I never met Burton again.

At King George’s Sound, Northern Australia, was a small coaling station, possessing only a score or so of houses or stores, and one hotel so-called.  On arrival we went on shore and were immediately greeted by a number of the most wretched specimens of humanity I had yet seen.  They were diminutive in stature, perfectly naked with the exception of a dirty rag of blanket twisted about the shoulders and waist, out of the folds of which issued a wreath of smoke from the fire stick without which the Australian aboriginal rarely leaves his or her wigwam.  Their hair was plastered down on the head with thick ochre paint, and they were disgustingly filthy and altogether unpleasant to look at.  They invariably asked for “sixpence,” which amount seemed to represent the sum of their earthly happiness, and with most of them was the only word of English they could speak.