nment immigrant ship 'Downshire' fell into Hobson's Bay, in
August, 1851, was Mary H----, the heroine of my story. No regret
mingled with the satisfaction that beamed from her large dark eyes, as
their gaze fell on the shores of her new country, for her orphan
brother, the only relative she had left in their own dear Emerald Isle,
was even then preparing to follow her. Nor could she feel sad and
lonely whilst the rich Irish brogue, from a subdued but manly and
well-loved voice, fell softly on her ear, and the gentle
pressure of her hand continually reminded her that she was not alone.

Shipboard is a rare place for match-making, and, somehow or another,
Henry Stephens had contrived to steal away the heart of the 'Downshire'
belle. Prudence, however, compelled our young people to postpone their
marriage, and whilst the good housewife qualities of the one readily
procured her a situation in a highly respectable family in Melbourne,
Henry obtained an appointment in the police force of the same town.

Their united savings soon mounted up, and in a few months the banns
were published, and Christmas-Day fixed on for the wedding. Mary, at
her lover's express desire, quitted her mistress's family to reside
with a widow, a distant relative of his own, from whose house she was
to be married. Delightful to the young people was this short period of
leisure and uninterrupted intercourse, for the gold mania was now
beginning to tell upon the excited imaginations of all, and Henry had
already thrown up his situation; and it was settled their wedding trip
should be to the golden gullies round Mount Buninyong.

And now let me hasten over this portion of my narrative. It is sad to
dwell upon the history of human frailty, or to relate the oft-told tale
of passion and villainy triumphant over virtue. A few days before
Christmas, when the marriage ceremony was to be performed, they
unfortunately spent one evening together alone, and he left her--ruined.
Repentance followed sin, and the intervening time was passed by Mary in
a state of the greatest mental anguish. With what trembling eagerness
did she now look forward to the day which should make her his lawful
wife.

It arrived. Mary and the friends of both stood beside the altar, whilst
he, who should have been there to redeem his pledge and save his victim
from open ruin and disgrace, was far away on the road to Ballarat.

To describe her agony would be impossible. Day after day, week