"For green verandahs hung with flowers, For marble founts, and orange bowers?" And when nearly cooked by the scorching sun--when tortured at every turn by reptiles, and maddened by the worry of winged insects--we sigh for the bracing breezes of a northern clime, and the social joys of the homes which are there found--a happiness such as my brother might now be permitted to enjoy, but which was for ever denied to me. With such reflections constantly passing through my mind, I felt that London, large as it was, could not contain me much longer; and I only waited, until some slight turning of Fortune's wheel would bestir me to make a fresh start for the Antipodes. Volume Three, Chapter XXIV. OLD ACQUAINTANCES. One day, while riding inside a "bus" along the Strand, and gazing out through the slides, I amused myself by looking at the "fares" seated upon the "knife-board," or rather their images, reflected in the plate-glass windows of the shops in front of which we were passing. While thus engaged, my attention became more especially fixed upon one of my fellow passengers so reflected; and, on continuing my second-hand scrutiny, I became convinced that an old acquaintance was directly over my head. I requested the conductor to stop the "bus," and, upon his doing so, I got out, and climbed to the top of it. On raising my eyes to a level with the roof, I saw that I had not been mistaken. Cannon, whom I had last seen in Melbourne, was one of the row of individuals that occupied the knife-board. We got off the "bus" at Charing Cross, stepped into Morley's Hotel, and ordered "dinner for two." "Cannon," said I, "how came you to be here? I left you in Melbourne, without any money. How did you get a passage home?" "Well," replied Cannon, with a peculiar grin, "it's easily explained. My well-wishing friends here sent me a little money, which came to hand, shortly after I saw you. I knew why they did it. They were afraid, that I might get hard up out there, and, someway or other find my way home. They weren't so cunning as they thought themselves. On receiving their cheque, I did with it, just what they didn't intend I should do. I paid my passage home with the money, for fear I mightn't have the chance again; and I'll take precious good care, they don't send me out of England a second time--not if I can help it." "What has become of Vane?" I asked. "Vane! the damned insidious viper! I don't like to say anything about him. He had some money left him here; and got back to England, before I did. He's here now." "And how are our friends up the Yarra Yarra. Have you heard anything of them, since we were there together?" "Yes; and seen them, too--several times. They were well the last time I saw them. I mean well in bodily health; but I think a little wrong in the mind. They became great friends with that fellow Vane."