Encampment near Kilmore, Nov. 7. 1852.

We had not proceeded many miles before we found the linchpin of our cart was broken, and that it was necessary immediately to stop. We had to ascertain where there was water, which we found not very far off.

On examining the extent of the mischief, we discovered that the terrific jolts that our cart had made over stocks, stones, and roots, had broken one of the bushes of the wheels; and this in its turn had broken the linchpin. Here was a situation! alone in the woods, and uncertain how far it was to any place where we could get a smith or a wheelwright.

Scarcely, however, had we encamped, when we saw a man coming whistling up the wood, clad in a blue shirt and trowsers, and without a hat. “That,” said Alfred, “is one of the Kent sailors.” And sure enough up the man came, merrily calling out “Well, Mr. Howitt, how are you?” It was a jolly sailor of the name of Wright, who had gone off in the captain's boat. He could not tell what had become of the rest of his companions, except Smidt, the Dane, who he said was at Mr. Broadhurst's sheep-station near. They had all dispersed on landing, so as the better to get up the country; for, as he observed, seventeen of them together could not get supplied at the same farm-house; and as they had come away without their wages, they could not afford to go to inns.