Now, I will suppose you are fairly started. You are rather nervous, yet sanguine. Sundry brave stories keep up your spirits. By one you are told of a fellow benighted in the bush, who could not sleep by reason of the hardness of his bed, but who ascertained by morning-light that he chanced to throw himself down upon a nest of big golden nuggets. Another tells you of a bullock driver in want of a stick, who pulled up a young wattle, and found hanging at the root, a whole family of nuggets like a brotherhood of potatoes; but that he was in too great a hurry to stop to pick them up. On the way you are passed by lots of returning diggers, some of whom carry down bags of treasure, and a few are carrying aches and pains to the hospital. There is some difference between your smooth chin, and their rough beards—your prim appearance and their soiled garb. You may possibly reach the Deep Creek, twenty miles from Melbourne, on the first day. Of course you camp. A fire is lighted, the meal is taken, and the romance of your first night out is enjoyed. You are wrapped in a 'possum rug or blanket beside your fire, or, if you are wise, beneath a canvass thrown over the shafts of a cart. Never start without a good breakfast. The dreary, crab-hole, five-mile plains are to be crossed. I had the satisfaction, when coming down, to be lost in this quarter, wandering about hungry and tired nearly all night, because my geological curiosity allowed the cart and my mates to get some hours a-head of me. It is to be hoped that you have a dry season in which to pass over Jackson’s Creek. On the other side an excellent dinner may be provided for you by Mr. Rainy at the Coffee House. The hills now rise on each side of you, and through one of the loveliest countries in the world you gain the Bush Inn at Gisborne, thirty-six miles from town. There are two inns there. Charges are no object to the successful digger, but usually a consideration to the up-going. A baker’s shop and store will there supply you with necessaries. I paid 2s 6d for a good loaf, 2s 6d for a pound of butter, and 7d for a pound of sugar. Prices vary according to the state of the roads. Near the Bush in winter you have to wade through a “slough of despond.” Going some miles hence, round the foot of Mount Macedon, a pretty watering place is obtained. You may, however, pass at once into the mysterious Black Forest, fourteen miles in extent. Being no alarmist, I shall give you no legend of powder and ball pertaining to those realms.