On an Austral ‘Beach. 
S we sat, half asleep, on the shady verandah 
ii of the local public house (otherwise the 
“ Royal Hotel ”) listening to the ceaseless pound¬ 
ing of the surf on the ever-restless bar, a dusty, 
slouch-hatted horseman rode along the baking 
street, pulled up when he saw us, and, in a 
voice indicative of a mighty thirst, besought us 
to have a drink with him. We consented, and 
then Sandy Macpherson—that was his name— 
gladdened our hearts by telling us that he and 
his mate wanted us to come out to their camp 
on the ocean beach for a couple of days’ fishing 
and shooting. The two men were beach¬ 
mining, that is, working the deposits of auri¬ 
ferous sand that are to be found all along the 
north coast of New South Wales, and their camp 
was situated on the margin of a tidal lagoon at 
