5
Light, always anxiously looked for. So far then on our way, after watching awhile the phosphorescence of the waves as our vessel dashed through them, we turned in, and were awakened at an early hour in the morning by the announcement that Warrnambool was in sight; our toilet quickly made, we went on deck just as we steamed past Curdie's inlet, where, it will be remembered, the "Schomberg" was wrecked, and in a short time the pretty little town which was to be our temporary abiding place, loomed out from its shelter of thick timber. We now pass the mouth of the river Hopkins (about a mile from the port,) which is barred by a reef of rocks whereon the surf dashes heavily, it is a pretty object, the rugged crags dotted here and there, on which rest lazily enough a group of Cormorants, and the little blue Heron, reminding us of the singular tail pieces which illustrate some of Bewick's works. The white sand hummocks thrown up on shore are objects of interest to the stranger; but the anchor drops as we steam into the snug little Bay, so well protected by the dense bed of Kelp, and the Gulls and Terns fly screaming overhead, indignant apparently at our intruding into their usually quiet haunts, but we shall make acquaintance with them anon we dare say. After being landed by the worthy Harbour Master, we prefer, having suffered severely from the feeling of mal-de-mêr, worse infinitely than the reality, to walk to the town, to the residence of an old friend, where the inner man, a dreadful sufferer on these occasions, being recruited, we saunter out through the town. We had resided here for many years, but in a comparatively brief
