unexplained conduct should everbring regret.
My sister seemed much affected by my parting words; and I could tellthat her motive for remaining behind was one of no ordinary strength. Iresolved, before leaving her, to place her beyond the danger ofimmediate want.
A woman, apparently respectable, wished some one with a little money tojoin her in the same business, in which my mother and Martha had beenengaged.
I was able to give my sister what money the woman required; and, beforeleaving, I had the satisfaction to see her established in the business,and settled in a comfortable home.
There was nothing farther to detain me in Sydney--nothing, as I fondlyfancied, but the sea between myself and Lenore!
Volume Two, Chapter XIX.
NEWS FROM LENORE.
A large clipper ship was about to sail for Liverpool; and I paid it avisit--in order to inspect the accommodations it might afford for apassenger.
I made up my mind to go by this vessel; and selected a berth in thesecond cabin. Before leaving the clipper, I came in contact with hersteward; and was surprised at finding in him an old acquaintance.
I was agreeably surprised: for it was Mason--the man who had beensteward of the ship Lenore--already known to the reader, as one of themen, who had assisted in setting me right with Mrs Hyland and herdaughter. Mason was pleased to meet me again; and we had a talk overold times.
He told me, that since leaving Liverpool he had heard of Adkins; that hewas the first officer of an American ship; and had won the reputation ofbeing a great bully.
I told the steward in return that I had heard of Adkins myself at alater date--that I had in fact, seen him, in California, where I hadbeen a witness to his death, and that he had been killed for indulgingin the very propensity spoken of.
Mason and Adkins had never been friends, when sailing together; and Iknew that this bit of information would not be received by the oldsteward in any very unpleasant manner. Nor was I mistaken.
"You remember Mrs Hyland, and her daughter?" said Mason, as wecontinued to talk. "What am I thinking of? Of course you do: since inLiverpool the captain's house was almost your home."
"Certainly," I answered; "I can never forget _them_."
On saying this, I spoke the words of truth.
"Mrs Hyland is now living in London," the steward continued. "She isresiding with her daughter, who is married."
"What!" I exclaimed, "Lenore Hyland--married?"
"Yes. Have you not heard of it? She married the captain of a ship inthe Australia trade, who, after the marriage, took her and her mother toLondon."
"Are you sure--that--that--you cannot be mistaken?" I asked, gaspingfor breath.
"Yes, quite sure," replied Mason. "What's the matter? you don't appearto be pleased at it?"
"Oh nothing--nothing. But what reason have you for thinking she ismarried?" I asked, trying to appear indifferent.
"Only that I heard so. Besides, I saw her at the Captain's house inLondon where I called on business. I had some notion of going a voyagewith him."
"But are you sure the person you saw was Lenore--the daughter of CaptainHyland?"
"Certainly. How could I be mistaken? You know I was at CaptainHyland's house several times, and saw her there--to say nothing of thatscene we had with Adkins, when we were all in Liverpool together. Icould not be mistaken: for I spoke to her the time I was at her house inLondon. She was married about two years before to the captain of theAustralian ship--a man old enough to be her father."
What reason had I to doubt Mason's word? None.
I went ashore with a soul-sickening sensation, that caused me to wishmyself as free from the cares of this life, as the mother I had latelylowered into her grave.
How dark seemed the world!
The sun seemed no longer shining, to give light; but only to warm mywoe.
The beacon that had been guiding my actions so brightly and well, hadbecome suddenly extinguished; and I was left in a night of sorrow, asdark, as I should have deserved, had my great love been for crimeinstead of Lenore!
What had I done to be cursed with this, the greatest, misfortune Fatecan bestow?
Where was my reward for the wear of body and soul, through long years oftoil, and with that conscientious and steadfast spirit, the wise tellus, must surely win? What had _I_ won? Only an immortal woe!
Thenceforth was I to be in truth, a "Rolling Stone," for the onlyattraction that could have bound me to one place, or to anything--evento life itself--had for ever departed from my soul.
The world before me seemed not the one through which I had been hithertostraying. I seemed to have fallen from some bright field of manlystrife, down, far down, into a dark and dreary land--there to wanderfriendless, unheeded and unloved, vainly seeking for something, I knewnot what, and without the hope, or even the desire of finding it!
I could not blame Lenore. She had broken no faith with me: none hadbeen plighted between us. I had not even talked to her of love.
Had she promised to await my return--had she ever confessed anyaffection for me--some indignation, or contempt for her perfidy, mighthave arisen to rescue me from my fearful reflections.
But I was denied even this slight source of consolation. There wasnothing for which I could blame her--nothing to aid me in conquering thehopeless passion, that still burned within my soul.
I had been a fool to build such a vast superstructure of hope on afoundation so flimsy and fanciful.
It had fallen; and every faculty of my mind seemed crushed amid theruins.
In one way only was I fortunate. I was in a land where gold fields ofextraordinary richness, had been discovered; and I knew, that there isno occupation followed by man--calculated to so much concentrate histhoughts upon the present, and abstract them from the past--as that ofgold hunting.
Join a new rush to the gold fields, all ye who are weary in soul, andsorrow-laden, and the past will soon sink unheeded under the excitementof the present.
I knew that this was the very thing I now required; and, from the momentof receiving the unwelcome tidings communicated by Mason, I relinquishedall thought of returning to Liverpool.
I did not tell my sister Martha of this sudden change in my designs;but, requesting her not to write, until she should first hear from me, Ibade her farewell--leaving her in great grief, at my departure.
Twenty-four hours after, I was passing out of the harbour of Sydney--ina steamer bound for the city of Melbourne.
Volume Two, Chapter XX.
THE VICTORIA DIGGINGS.
My passage from Sydney to Melbourne, was made in the steamer "Shamrock,"and, after landing on the shore of Port Philip, I tried to believemyself free from all that could attract my thoughts to other lands.
I endeavoured to fancy myself once more a youth--with everything to win,and nothing to lose.
The scenes I encountered in the young colony, favoured my efforts; andafter a time, I began to take an interest in much that was transpiringaround me.
I could not very well do otherwise: since, to a great deal I saw inMelbourne, my attention was called, in a most disagreeable manner.
Never had I been amongst so large a population, where society was in souncivilised a condition. The number of men and women encountered in thestreets in a state of beastly intoxication--the number of both sexes, tobe seen with black eyes, and other evidences, that told of many a mutual"misunderstanding,"--the horridly profane language issuing out of thepublic-houses, as you passed them--in short, everything that met eitherthe eye or ear of the stranger, proclaimed to him, in a sense not to bemistaken, that Melbourne must be the abode of a depraved people. There,for the first time in my life, I saw men allowed to take their seats atthe breakfast tables of an hotel, while in a state of staggeringintoxication!
With much that was disgusting to witness, there were some spectaclesthat were rather amusing. A majority of the men seen walking thestreets--or encountered in the bar-rooms of public-houses--carried gran
driding whips; and a great many wore glittering spurs--who had never beenupon the back of horse!
The hotel keepers of Melbourne did not care for the custom ofrespectable people, just landed in the colony; but preferred thepatronage of men from the mines--diggers who would deposit with them,the proceeds of their labour, in bags of gold dust; and remain drunk,until told there was but five pounds of the deposit left--just enough tocarry them back to the diggings!
I am not speaking of Melbourne at the present time; but the Melbourne often years ago. It is now a fine city, where a part of all the world'sproduce may be obtained for a reasonable price. Most of the inhabitantsof the Melbourne of 1853--owing to the facility of acquiring the means--have long since killed themselves off by drink and dissipation; and apopulation of more respectable citizens, from the mother country, nowsupply their places.
I made but a short stay in this colonial Gomorrah. Disgusted with thecity, and everything in it, a few days after my arrival, I