This great activity and bustle gave to the town a tremendous impetus, the effects of which are still visible. The Palmer diggings are now deserted, as they are said to be unworkable. Of course many made their fortunes at the time of the great rush, and many likewise spent a fortune. Naturally, as in all great gold-fields, numbers were disappointed, lost what little they had, were unsuccessful, and left the place disgusted, swearing they would never attempt digging again. Talking of the vicissitudes of gold-digging, reminds me of the strange career of Frank Stubley, whom I met in Queensland. He was one of fortune's favourites. He was a hardworking miner in a gold claim at Gympie, one of the most permanent reefing fields in Queensland. He was working on wages, receiving about L3 10_s._ per week, that being the usual rate of pay. He saved a few pounds and invested them in a small interest in the claim in which he worked, and in one or two adjoining. Fortune smiled on him. Everything he put into turned out trumps. His shares rose tremendously in value, and in a short time he developed from a working man into one of the wealthiest capitalists of the colony. He, by pure luck, found himself possessed of the immense sum of a quarter of a million pounds sterling. This, judiciously invested in Australia, meant an income of L20,000 per annum for life. What did he do with his wealth? Did he invest it judiciously? Nothing of the kind. He determined to become a large landed proprietor, bought two or three great estates, turned squatter, and purchased a number of race-horses. He invited all his friends and old mates to champagne suppers, took unto himself a wife of extravagant habits, who was a great help to him in spending money, went before the electors of the district as a candidate for parliamentary honours, and was returned as member by an overwhelming majority. He took his seat in the house of representatives at Brisbane, where, of course, his expenses were still further increased. Everything for a time went merrily as a marriage bell, but the day of reckoning was drawing near, and in the short period of four years he had wasted his substance. His land, race-horses, etc., were sold to pay his debts, and, from a large capitalist, he once more became a working man. Some friends subscribed sufficient funds to carry him to the Croydon gold-field, which had recently "broken out" (1885). There he determined once more to woo the fickle goddess of Fortune and, with his proverbial good luck, retrieve his lost fortunes. But fate decreed otherwise. I saw him on the day he left Cooktown by steamer for Normanton, _en route_ to Croydon, wished him good-bye and good luck. He arrived safely in Normanton, stayed there a couple of days, and with two or three of his mates started on the tramp to Croydon, 100 miles distant.