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.”