It was long believed that fruit trees would not grow in that baked and waterless plain around Horsham, but the agricultural college has dissipated that idea.  Its ample nurseries were producing oranges, apricots, lemons, almonds, peaches, cherries, 48 varieties of apples—­in fact, all manner of fruits, and in abundance.  The trees did not seem to miss the water; they were in vigorous and flourishing condition.

Experiments are made with different soils, to see what things thrive best in them and what climates are best for them.  A man who is ignorantly trying to produce upon his farm things not suited to its soil and its other conditions can make a journey to the college from anywhere in Australia, and go back with a change of scheme which will make his farm productive and profitable.

There were forty pupils there—­a few of them farmers, relearning their trade, the rest young men mainly from the cities—­novices.  It seemed a strange thing that an agricultural college should have an attraction for city-bred youths, but such is the fact.  They are good stuff, too; they are above the agricultural average of intelligence, and they come without any inherited prejudices in favor of hoary ignorances made sacred by long descent.

The students work all day in the fields, the nurseries, and the shearing-sheds, learning and doing all the practical work of the business—­three days in a week.  On the other three they study and hear lectures.  They are taught the beginnings of such sciences as bear upon agriculture—­like chemistry, for instance.  We saw the sophomore class in sheep-shearing shear a dozen sheep.  They did it by hand, not with the machine.  The sheep was seized and flung down on his side and held there; and the students took off his coat with great celerity and adroitness.  Sometimes they clipped off a sample of the sheep, but that is customary with shearers, and they don’t mind it; they don’t even mind it as much as the sheep.  They dab a splotch of sheep-dip on the place and go right ahead.

The coat of wool was unbelievably thick.  Before the shearing the sheep looked like the fat woman in the circus; after it he looked like a bench.  He was clipped to the skin; and smoothly and uniformly.  The fleece comes from him all in one piece and has the spread of a blanket.

The college was flying the Australian flag—­the gridiron of England smuggled up in the northwest corner of a big red field that had the random stars of the Southern Cross wandering around over it.

From Horsham we went to Stawell.  By rail.  Still in the colony of Victoria.  Stawell is in the gold-mining country.  In the bank-safe was half a peck of surface-gold—­gold dust, grain gold; rich; pure in fact, and pleasant to sift through one’s fingers; and would be pleasanter if it would stick.  And there were a couple of gold bricks, very heavy to handle, and worth $7,500 a piece.  They were from a very valuable quartz mine; a lady owns two-thirds of it; she has an income of $75,000 a month from it, and is able to keep house.