"The Hut on the Flat."
--James Henry.
"How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude."
--Cowper.
The rain did follow at night to the full as predicted. I had engaged to
accompany a young friend that evening to spend the next day, Sunday, at
his "country seat" on Richmond Flat, where he had constructed, mostly
with his own hands, a sort of hut or wigwam, under an unchallenged
squattage. Being engaged in a store for long hours on Saturday night, it
was past eleven ere we started. The rain had begun to pour, and the
night was pitch dark. We got into Collins-street, but had much
difficulty in keeping its lines where there were not post-and-rail
fences round the vacant allotments. Only three years had elapsed since
Melbourne had been named and officially laid out, and, excepting the
very centre, there were still wide intervals between the houses on
either side even of Collins-street. After floundering helplessly about
in the foundation-cutting of a new house, which was already full of
water, but happily only a few inches deep, we at length emerged upon the
open of the present Fitzroy Gardens, where for a little time we could
keep to the bush track only by trying the ground with our feet or our
fingers. But in spite of all care we soon lost the road, and wandered
about in the pouring rain for the rest of the night. We were young and
strong, and as the rain did not chill us, we were in but little
discomfort. A beauteous sunny morning broke upon us, with a delicious
fragrance from the refreshed ground. We found ourselves near the Yarra,
between the present busy Hawthorn and Studley Park. Solitude and quiet
reigned around us, excepting the enchanting "ting ting" of the bell
bird. We stripped ourselves, wrung our drenched clothes, and spread them
to dry in the sun, and then plunged into the dark, deep still Yarra for
our morning bath, afterwards duly reaching my friend's country seat.