ourable winds,
pursued our voyage at an average rate of ten or twelve knots an hour.
As we neared the English coast, our excitement increased to an awful
height; and for those who had been many years away, I can imagine every
trivial delay was fraught with anxiety.

But we come in sight of land; and in spite of the cold weather, for it
is now February, 1853, every one rushes to the deck. On we go;
at last we are in the Downs, and then the wind turned right against us.

Boats were put off from the Deal beach. The boatmen there rightly
calculated that lucky gold-diggers wouldn't mind paying a pound a-piece
to get ashore, so they charged that, and got plenty of customers
notwithstanding.

On Sunday, the 27th of February, I again set foot on my native land. It
was evening when we reached the shore, and there was only an open
vehicle to convey us to the town of Deal itself. The evening was
bitterly cold, and the snow lay upon the ground. As we proceeded along,
the sounds of the Sabbath bell broke softly on the air. No greeting
could have been more pleasing or more congenial to my feelings.

Chapter XVIII.

CONCLUSION

As I trust that, in the foregoing pages, I have slightly interested my
readers in "our party," the following additional account of their
movements, contained in letters addressed to me by my brother, may not
be quite uninteresting.

The Ovens diggings are on the river of the same name, which takes its
rise in the Australian Alps, and flows into the Murray. As these Alps
separate New South Wales from Victoria, these diggings belong to the
latter province. They are about forty miles from the town of
Albury. They are spread over a large space of ground. The principal
localities are Spring and Reid's Creeks.

Now for the letters.

"Melbourne, January 5, 1853.

"My dear E--,

"You'll be surprised at the heading of this but the Ovens are not to my
taste, and I'm off again with Frank and Octavius to Bendigo tomorrow. I
suppose you'll like to hear of our adventures up to the Ovens, and the
reasons for this sudden change of plans. We left Melbourne the Monday
after you sailed, and camped out half-way to Kilmore, a little beyond
the 'Lady of the Lake.' The day was fine, but the dust made us
wretched. Next day, we reached Kilmore--stopped there all night. Next
day on again, and the farther we went, the more uncivilized it
became--hills here, forests there, as wild and savage as any one could
desi