One Christmas Day In
Melbourne
Poverty—do I know what poverty means? I set out from England with my heart full of hope and youth for the "Golden South"—Australia—and landed with another "new chum," as the colonists contemptuously call all fresh arrivals from home, thinking to find the place paved with gold and the gutters running with water in which gold dust sparkles.
I had read much about the country—all those fairy tales which are so attractive to the susceptible school-boy, which drive him to the gold fields as surely as Marryat's sea stories drive him to sea.
Well, we landed at Sandridge Pier, cleared from the old ship which had been our home for a completely happy ninety-six days, and started off together to seek our fortunes. My chum had about fifty pounds; I had in all fifteen, but we were young, and these seemed a fortune to us. Melbourne, mavelous Melbourne as it is called, was before us, and we never gave a thought to the morrow.
It was not until our fortunes had dwindled to within an inappreciable distance of zero that we sat one night in solemn conclave over our pipes to discuss the momentous question, What was to be done?
We had to get to work, but what and how? Then came the tug. We presented our letters of introduction and everyone was charmed to see us, asked us to luncheon, to dinner, to supper, to race-meetings, to theatres, everywhere; but the moment we suggested that we were on the lookout for work we became less
