e time before, a
working-man, who had some money deposited with us, called in a fluster
to say his receipts had been stolen. This was noted. Now came a
telegram from Ballarat, saying that a receipt of our branch had been
presented for payment, and asking if it was correct. We answered
sharp, ordering the man to be detained. He was accordingly taken into
custody, handed over to the police, and remanded to Newstead, where
the receipt had been stolen. Newstead is a long way from Majorca, but
our manager drove over with a pair of horses to give his evidence. It
turned out that our customer's coat, containing the receipt, had been
stolen while he was at his work. The thief was identified as having
been seen hanging about the place; and the result was that he was
committed, tried, and duly convicted. So you see that we are pretty
smart out here, and not a long way behind the old country after all.

CHAPTER XVI.

PLACES ABOUT.

VISIT TO BALLARAT--THE JOURNEY BY COACH--BALLARAT FOUNDED ON
GOLD--DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN--BALLARAT "CORNER"--THE SPECULATIVE
COBBLER--FIRE BRIGADES--RETURN JOURNEY--CRAB-HOLES--THE TALBOT
BALL--THE TALBOT FETE--THE AVOCA RACES--SUNRISE IN THE BUSH.

One of the most interesting visits to places that I made while staying
at Majorca was to Ballarat, the mining capital of the colony,
sometimes called here the Victorian Manchester. The time of my visit
was not the most propitious, for it was shortly after a heavy fall of
rain, which had left the roads in a very bad state. But I will
describe my journey.

Three of us hired a one-horse buggy to take us on to Clunes, which lay
in our way. The load was rather too much for the horse, but we took
turn and turn about at walking, and made it as light for the animal as
possible. At Clunes I parted with my companions, who determined to
take the buggy on to Ballarat. I thought it preferable to wait for the
afternoon coach; and after being hospitably entertained at dinner by
the manager of our Branch Bank at Clunes, I took my place in the coach
for Ballarat.

We had not gone more than about a mile when the metalled road ended,
and the Slough of Despond began,--the road so called, though it was
little more than a deep mud-track, winding up a steepish ascent. All
the passengers got out and walked up the hill. In the distance we saw
a buggy in difficulties. I had already apprehended the fate of my
mates who had gone on before me, and avoided sharing it by