FIRST THOUGHTS OF GOING TO AUSTRALIA.--DEPARTURE FROM CALIFORNIA.--LIFE
ON BOARD SHIP.--ARRIVAL AT WILLIAMS TOWN.--DESCRIPTION OF MELBOURNE.--A
CONVICT'S HUT.


It was as hot an afternoon on the banks of the American Fork as ever
poor mortals could be subjected to and still retain sufficient vitality
to draw their breath. Under a small tent, stretched upon their backs,
with shirt collars unbuttoned, boots off, and a most languid expression
upon their faces, were two men--both of them of good size, with a fair
display of muscle, broad-chested, hands hard and blackened with toil,
yet not badly formed; for had they been but covered with neat fitting
gloves, and at an opera, ladies might have thought they were small.

These two men, one of whom was reading a newspaper, while the other was
trying to take a _siesta_, were Frederick Button, and his faithful
companion, the writer of these adventures, whom we will distinguish by
the name of Jack, as it is both familiar and common, and has the merit
of being short.

As I was reading the paper, the contents of which interested me, I paid
but little attention to my friend, until I suddenly laid it down, and
said,--

"Fred, let's go to Australia."

"Go to the d----l," he replied, turning on his side, his back towards
me, and uttering a long w-h-e-w, as though he had found it difficult to
catch his breath, it was so hot.