Page:Banking Under Difficulties- Or Life On The Goldfields Of Victoria, New South Wales And New Zealand (1888).pdf/30

I had seen a lady and gentleman pass on one or two occasions, and seeing so few gentlemen dressed in black, came to the conclusion that it was a minister of the gospel. Understanding that he was to preach under a gum-tree, I made arrangements for the diggers to go, and I was to act as tent-keeper. After a reasonable time I saw them returning, accompanied by the worthy pair, and judge my astonishment when I found we were well-known to each other. What a pleasure to meet old friends. I gave them a hearty welcome, gave the lady my chair, and the minister a stool. We had no knives and forks for strangers, so I had to exercise my hospitality in the shape of a glass of lemonade—“fizz-up,” as the diggers called it. I need not say that there was very much said about “Auld Lang Syne” and friends at home, and I got a hearty invitation to the manse at Castlemaine. When the minister was about to open the service he said that if any of the congregation would start a psalm tune he would be much obliged. One or two of my party, and a young man camping near, took courage and tried “Stroudwater;” they got through it some way, and at the end of the service the minister went up and thanked them, and was pleased to discover they were the sons of friends he had known at home. Next Sunday was my turn. No Sabbath bell called us together to worship the God of our fathers. The branches of a fine eucalyptus were the sounding board, the ceiling of the temple, the vast canopy of heaven. One after another gathered around us—we were strangers and pilgrims—we had no books, but the line was given out, and all joined in the beautiful psalm, “The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want.” The sound fell on the ears of some who came, the seed was sown broadcast, and the sower will find the fruit in the harvest—“The labourer is worthy of his hire.” I took my bonnet and went round the assembly, the minister pronounced the blessing, and all retired to their tents. A few days afterwards I called at the manse; it stood close to the creek side on the camp ground, at Castlemaine, nearly opposite to the present warden’s office; it consisted of one fine substantial tent, about 12 x 20, lined with carpeting, a good floor-cloth, and divided into two rooms by a chaste and simple screen; the door was canvas at one end, fixed by a colonial lock—good tape. Outside stood a small round tent—I did not intrude—I presumed it served as a place where the minister prepared his sermons, the wife her social meal. I need not say I got a hearty welcome. There was no township then, and consequently no parish kirk, so the minister had to find a congregation where he best could. By-and-bye a canvas church was erected, and a snug little place it was, neatly lined, with rungs of wood driven into the ground, and narrow boards nailed on them as seats. The Rev. Mr. Low was the first to preach there. The manners and customs of the people changed—the walls of a substantial brick church were