One must put in the pause, there, to fetch the reader up with a slight jolt, and keep him from gliding by without noticing the lake.

One must notice it; for a lovely lake is not as common a thing along the railways of Australia as are the dry places.

Ninety-two in the shade again, but balmy and comfortable, fresh and bracing.

A perfect climate.
Forty-five years ago the site now occupied by the City of Ballarat was a sylvan solitude as quiet as Eden and as lovely.

Nobody had ever heard of it.