by this time the winter rains had commenced to fall. the wild weather of the western coast, with fierce gales from the south-east, and driving storms of sleet, showed clearly that "the year had turned." the roads were knee-deep in mud, the creeks full, the nights long and cold. however, grass was plentiful, and

little cared we for wind or weather,

when youth and i lived "there" together.

so away. vogue la galère. the dray, with joe burge and his wife, and chase, the deerhound, went on ahead, while i, with mr. cunningham, a new companion, who had dwelt in those parts before my arrival, was to follow a day or two later with the herd.

i had made a small exploring expedition a short time before in company with an old stockman; he, for a consideration, had guided me to a tract of unoccupied country. and to this new territory our migration was now tending. this experienced stock-rider—"an old hand from the sydney side,"[pg 34] as such men were then called in victoria—was a great character, and a most original personage. he accompanied the dray, so that all might be in readiness for our arrival. not that much could be done. but my all-accomplished chief servitor, the most inventive and energetic pioneer possible, would be sure to make some "improvements" even in the short interval before we arrived.

our first day's journey was most difficult. the cattle were loath to leave the spot to which they had become accustomed, and were troublesome to drive. however, with two good stock-whips, and the aid of dora the cattle-dog, we got along, and reached rosebrook, on the moyne, close to belfast. mr. roderick urquhart, as manager for mr. james atkinson, was then in charge. he received us most hospitably. the cattle were put into the stock-yard for the night. my companion rode on to town, intending to rejoin me early in the morning.

one may judge of the difficulty in "locating" tenants upon agricultural land in those early days from the fact that mr. urquhart was then supplying the first farmers on the belfast survey with rations. for the first year or two this plan was pursued; after that they were able, doubtless, to keep themselves and pay the moderate rent under which they sat. not that the port fairy "survey" was so fertile as that of farnham park—much of it was wet and undrained, much stony, and but fit for pasture; but it comprehended the greater part of the town of belfast, and ￡5000 would not be considered dear now for 5000 acres, chiefly of first-class pasture land, comprising, besides a seaport town, an [pg 35]exhaustless quarry of limestone, a partially navigable river, and a harbour.

i slept ill that night, oppressed by my responsibilities. at midnight i heard the continuous lowing, or "roaring" in stock-riders' vernacular, which denoted the escape of my cattle from the yard. dressing hastily, i stumbled in pitch darkness through the knee-deep mud. it was even as i feared—the rails were down, trampled in the mud; the cattle were out and away. my anxiety was great. the paddock was insecure. if they got out of it there was endless re-mustering, delay, and perhaps loss.

i could do nothing on foot. i heard the uneasy brutes trampling and bellowing in all directions. i went to bed sad at heart, and, like st. paul's crew at malta, "wished for the dawn."

with the earliest streak of light i caught my horse, and galloped round the paddock without a sight of the missing animals. in despair i turned towards the shore of the large salt-water lagoon which made one side of the enclosure. in the grey light i fancied i saw a dark mass at the end of a cape, which stretched far into it. i rode for it at full speed, and discovered my lost "stock-in-trade" all lying down in the long marshy grass. they had struck out straight for their last known place of abode, but had been blocked by the deep water and the unknown sea—as doubtless the lagoon appeared to them in the darkness.

shortly after breakfast we resumed our journey, and made st. kitts, a cattle station some ten or twelve miles on the western side of belfast. the[pg 36] messrs. aplin were there, having taken it up a year before. the stock-yard was more substantial, as became a cattle station. our hosts were cultured and refined people, not long from england; like myself, enthusiastic about pastoral pleasures and profits. all our work lay ahead. how bright was the outlook! how dim and distant the shoals and quicksands of life's sea! we sat long into the night, talking a good deal of shop, not wholly unmingled with higher topics. i remember we decided that cattle stations were to improve in value, and ultimately lead to a competence. how little could we foresee that the elder brother was to die as resident magistrate at somerset—an unborn town in an unknown colony—and the younger, after nearly thirty years' unsuccessful gold-mining, from suttor's mill to hokitiki, was to make a fortune in tin at stanthorpe! that the writer—bah! "fate's dark web unfolded, lying," did not keep him from the soundest sleep that night; and we again made a successful morning start.

the start was good, but the day was discouraging. the cattle were safe enough in the new yard, though rather bedraggled after twelve hours of mud up to their knees. however, there was water enough where they were going to wash them up to the horns, and the grass was magnificent. the rain came down in a way that was oppressive to our spirits. the sky was murky; the air chilling. our whips soon became sodden and ineffective. my companion had a bad cold, which deprived him of all of his voice and most of his temper. the dog dora would hardly bark. worse than all, the track[pg 37] was difficult to find. we drove hard for hours, doubting much whether we had not lost our way. my comrade was sure of it. and

it was about the filthy close

of a most disgusting day,

as a somewhat irreverent poetaster hath it, when we disputed in the gathering gloom as to whether or not we were miles distant from dunmore—our port of refuge—or had really hit off the right track. my friend, in hoarse boding tones, commenced to speculate as to how we should pass the night under a steady rainfall, and how many miles off, in different directions, the cattle would be by morning. my answer was simple but effective—"there's the horse-paddock!" it was even so. straining my eyes, i had caught sight through the timber of a two-railed sapling fence. it was enough. paddocks were not then five miles square, and as likely to be twenty miles from the homestead as one. dear labour and limited credit militated against reckless outlay in posts and rails. a 100-acre enclosure for horses and working bullocks was all that was then deemed necessary. to see the paddock was to see the house.

a considerable "revulsion of feeling" took place with both of us as we slogged the tired cattle round the fence and came in view of the old dunmore homestead, then considered one of the best improved in the district. to be sure, it would not make much show now beside burrabogie or groongal, let alone ercildoune or trawalla, and a few others in the west. but then some of the shepherd kings thought[pg 38] it no dishonour to sleep in a watch-box for a month at a time, and a slab gunyah with a fold of hurdles was held to be sufficient improvement for a medium sheep station. at dunmore there were three substantial slab huts with huge stone chimneys, a pisé-work dairy, a loose-box for traveller, the son of camerton, as well as a large milking-yard and cowshed. a great dam across the river shaw provided an ornamental sheet of water.

the season was, as i have stated, verging on midwinter. the day was wet. the drove of milkers passing and repassing had converted the ground outside of the huts, which were protected by the paddock fence, into a sea of mud, depth from one foot to two feet. through this we approached the yard. if i live to be a hundred i shall never forget the sight which now met my astonished eyes. a gentleman emerged from the principal building in conspicuously clean raiment, having apparently just arrayed himself for the evening meal. he proceeded calmly to wade through the mud-ocean until he reached the yard, where he took down the clay-beplastered rails, leaving the gate open for our cattle. i declare i nearly fainted with grateful emotion at this combination of self-sacrifice with the loftiest ideal of hospitality. we had never met before either; but long years of after-friendship with james irvine only enabled me to perceive that it was the natural outcome of a generous nature and a heart loyal to every impulse of gentle blood.

another night's mud for the poor cattle. but i reflected that the next day would see them enfranchised, and on their own "run." so, dismissing the[pg 39] subject from my mind, i followed my chivalrous host to the guests' hut—a snug, separate building, where we made our simple toilettes with great comfort and satisfaction. after some cautious walking on a raised pathway we gained the "house," where i was introduced to messrs. campbell and macknight—for the firm was a triumvirate.

dwelling in a drought-afflicted district across the border, where for months the milk question had been in abeyance, or feebly propped up by the imported swiss product, and where butter is not, how it refreshes one to recall the great jug of cream which graced that comfortable board, the pats of fresh butter, the alluring short-cake, the baronial sirloin. how we feasted first. how we talked round the glowing log-piled fire afterwards. how we slept under piles of blankets till sunrise.

mrs. teviot, the housekeeper, peerless old scottish dame that she was (has not henry kingsley immortalised her?); for how many a year did she provide for the comforts of host and guest unapproachably, unimpeachably. how indelibly is that evening imprinted on my memory. marked with a white stone in life's not all-cheerful record. on that evening was commenced a friendship that only closed with life, and which knew for the whole of its duration neither cloud nor misgiving. if a man's future is ever determined by the character of his associates and surroundings at a critical period of life, my vicinity to dunmore must have powerfully influenced mine. in close, almost daily, association with men of high principle, great energy, early culture, and refined habits, i could not fail to gain[pg 40] signal benefit, to imbibe elevated ideas, to share broad and ennobling ideas of colonisation.

as soon as we could see next morning the cattle were let out and "tailed" on the thick, rich pasturage, which surrounded every homestead in those good old days. after breakfast i set out to find my station; that is, the exact spot where it had pleased my retainers to camp. i found them about seven miles westward of dunmore, on a cape of lightly-timbered land which ran into the great eumeralla marsh; a corresponding point of the lava country, popularly known as the rocks, jutted out to meet it. on this was a circular pond-like depression, where old tom, my venerable guide and explorer, had in a time of drought once seen a dingo drinking. he had christened it the native dog hole—a name which it bears to this day. and at the doghole-point had my man joe burge commenced to fell timber for a brush-yard, put up the walls of a sod hut, unpacked such articles as would not suffer from weather, and generally commenced the first act of homestead occupation. i was greeted with enthusiasm. and as old tom the stock-rider was at once despatched to dunmore to bring over the cattle, with mr. cunningham, my friend and travelling companion, i hobbled out my charger and proceeded to inspect my newly-acquired territory.