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 to the shattered fortunes of a gallant husband, and so on and so on! All this was poured into my ears as we sped along, and it was with much difficulty I restrained the tender-hearted little dame from trotting back to verify her romance from the poor boy himself.

In the summer season most of the houses are let to visitors from Sydney and Melbourne, and there are certainly large numbers of decayed gentlewomen and retired officers on half-pay, and such like, who eke out their slender incomes in this fashion.

Here is another evidence of the antiquity of the place. The names of the curious old inns—they transport one back to dear Old England at once. Here is The Queen's Head, The Bell and Dragon, The Eagle Hawk, the Maypole Inn, and so on through all the old familiar nomenclature. The gable ends elbow their way into the streets; the bow windows project over the pavements; the mossy roofs, with quaint dormer windows half hidden by trailing creepers, the stone horse troughs and mounting steps, the dovecotes and outside stone stairs to the stables, the old stone walls bulging out in places and tottering to their fall, all speak of "merrie England;" and one can scarce fancy that these dull dead masses on the distant hills are gum-trees, and that this is part of Australasia.

We quickly hire an open landau and are driven by a rosy-faced young Jehu into the open country. The suburbs are very pretty. We pass