expected to make our fortunes out of hand, and we had reckoned
without the vermin and the villainy which rendered us more than ever
impatient of delay. In my fly-blown blankets I dreamt of London
until I hankered after my chambers and my club more than after much
fine gold. Never shall I forget my first hot bath on getting back to
Melbourne; it cost five shillings, but it was worth five pounds, and
is altogether my pleasantest reminiscence of Australia.

There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the
dear old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a new captain,
a new crew, a handful of passengers (chiefly steerage), and nominally
no cargo at all. I felt none the less at home when I stepped over
her familiar side.

In the cuddy we were only five, but a more uneven quintette I defy
you to convene. There was a young fellow named Ready, packed out
for his health, and hurrying home to die among friends. There was
an outrageously lucky digger, another invalid, for he would drink
nothing but champagne with every meal and at any minute of the day,
and I have seen him pitch raw gold at the sea-birds by the hour
together. Miss Denison was our only lady, and her step-father, with
whom she was travelling, was the one man of distinction on board.
He was a Portuguese of sixty or thereabouts, Senhor Joaquin Santos
by name; at first it was incredible to me that he had no title, so
noble was his bearing; but very soon I realized that he was one of
those to whom adventitious honors can add no lustre. He treated
Miss Denison as no parent ever treated a child, with a gallantry
and a courtliness quite beautiful to watch, and not a little
touching in the light of the circumstances under which they were
travelling together. The girl had gone straight from school to her