anticipated; but it matters little, for we are in the colonies, walking
with undignified, awkward gait, not on a fashionable promenade, but
upon a little wooden pier.

The first sounds that greet our ears are the noisy tones of some
watermen, who are loitering on the building of wooden logs and boards,
which we, as do the good people of Victoria, dignify with the
undeserved title of PIER. There they stand in their waterproof caps and
skins--tolerably idle and exceedingly independent--with one eye on
the look out for a fare, and the other cast longingly towards the open
doors of Liardet's public-house, which is built a few yards from the
landing-place, and alongside the main road to Melbourne.

"Ah, skipper! times isn't as they used to was," shouted one, addressing
the captain of one of the vessels then lying in the bay, who was rowing
himself to shore, with no other assistant or companion than a
sailor-boy. The captain, a well-built, fine-looking specimen of an
English seaman, merely laughed at this impromptu salutation.

"I say, skipper, I don't quite like that d----d stroke of yours."

No answer; but, as if completely deaf to these remarks, as well as the
insulting tone in which they were delivered, the "skipper" continued
giving his orders to his boy, and then leisurely ascended the steps. He
walked straight up to the waterman, who was lounging against the
railing.

"So, my fine fellow, you didn't quite admire that stroke of
mine. Now, I've another stroke that I think you'll admire still less,"
and with one blow he sent him reeling against the railing on the