although, beyond the broad expanse of water, dotted, nay, closely studded with shipping at anchor, there is nothing to relieve the dull monotony of the place. At Liardet's, however, the scene changes, and from the solitude of the shore and your own reflections, you are once more aroused by the din of human voices. Here they are again—shopkeepers, shopmen, diggers, ladies, diggers' wives, horses, hackney carriages, shandies, gigs, and almost every possible, and sometimes very questionable modes of conveyance, all congregated on the sand. Pedestrians wandering, promenading, flirting, drinking, laughing, talking, on the pier and in the shade of the cool verandahs; pic-nics in the scrub; mirth and merriment everywhere; boatmen lustily bawling for passengers, and waiters for more drink at the bar of the hotel. Tents are pitched upon all the ground surrounding this house of entertainment, wherein many a new chum for the first time indulges in a glass of ale, and when he has paid sixpence, declares that 'it is not half so good as Burton or Alton.'
"A good deal of novelty is added to this scene by the constant transit to and from a large ship, the Duke of Bedford, which is here moored off the pier, and turned into a model lodging-house. 'Bed and board, sir,' said our conductors on board, the other day, 'for two pounds a week; delightful marine residence and boatage found into the bargain.' Decidedly the accommodations are excellent, and the worthy proprietor keeps a good table. His apartments are full. It would be well if a few more of the dozens upon dozens of idle ships lying in harbour were turned to an equally useful and profitable account to their owners. I was a good deal surprised to find, amidst all the recreations of all classes and all kinds who visit the beach upon Sunday, so little riot or intoxication. Except upon the arrival of a lot of 'new chums,' with more money than sense, you will hardly observe any riot or drunkenness. Noise there is, but still there is order.
"The road from the beach to town lies through a low marshy scrub, which presents not one single pleasing feature, except we diverge at the Emerald Hill and take a look in at the encampment of the tents of gold-diggers in transitu to the Mount or elsewhere. There are the coverings erected by poor new-comers to shelter them from the heavens, and to make a temporary but safe refuge for themselves, their luggage, and their families. And, oh! such squalor, such misery. It is pitiable to see well-dressed and genteelly-reared females, young and tender infants, as well as grown-up persons, crouching and squatting in miserable wigwams, of which a North-American Indian would be ashamed. But what can the creatures do?
