I could not help being glad that I was back in Glasgow again. Everyone seemed so happy. Yet all was strange, and in the midst of my happy feelings I could not forget the uncertainty at home, or the trouble as to what we were going to do. My dearest ambition was to live at home with my father and brother and sister. But I had a dread of the pinch of poverty, and Glasgow was then in a fearful state. The war in America had broken out, and hundreds and thousands of people were thrown out of employment. All the cotton-mills were stopped, as the raw cotton came from America. Then all the commerce or trade from Glasgow to America was at a standstill. I thought it bad enough before we went to Arran, but it was worse then. Every day persons were coming to the door begging, and one could see tradesmen and mechanics digging in the West-End park for a shilling per day. How often I have found, too, in the morning sleeping in the archway some poor boys that had been there all night. They had no home. I was all the time in sadness, but what could I do? No efforts of mine could lessen the sorrow of even one human being. I should assist my own people first. And despair sometimes possessed me.

Miss Heslip went to her home, and Mr. Mouncey went away to Italy, and when we had things straight I was to have a few days and go to Slamannan. I went and saw my friends at Dr. Fargus', and to the Bible-class, and told Mr. White that I had seen him at Brodic, and I told him about Miss Heslip being a visitor with Mr. Mouncey's people. Mr. White said he knew Mr. Mouncey, but he had never met Miss Mouncey. Before Miss Heslip went there was a concert at the Queen's Rooms, close to us. Jenny Lind was the singer. It was a guinea to go in to hear her. She gave all she got for that night and many other nights to the relief of the poor and the distressed. Our two young ladies were in evening-dress, and I was to bring wraps. While I was waiting, together with some other girls on the same errand, the man at the door asked us if we would like to see and hear the singer, there being a place on the ground-floor from which we could both see and hear her without being seen. We were glad, and thanked the man. There was only Jenny Lind's husband with her to play the accompaniment. She had just commenced to sing "John Anderson, my jo, John," and her husband was at the piano. He seemed older than she was, and his head was bald, but the singing and the playing were beautiful. She sang a Swiss song, too, and that was all I heard. Could anyone ever forget the voice of that woman? And it seemed no effort for her to get the Scotch words so nicely. The ladies were pleased that I saw and heard her, even ever so little. I thought that Miss Mouncey and Miss Heslip sang very well, but both said that they would never sing again after hearing Jenny Lind.

Glasgow was a manufacturing city and crowded with human beings in the struggle to live. Edinburgh did not seem to me so bad, but I never lived there. There was some restless discontent going on in Italy. The world must move on. Life's destiny lay hidden from me. Mrs. Mouncey was good and kind. My sister came to see me. She had a baby girl! I was allowed to go out with her and show her some wonderful places about, and she stopped with me all night. My father and brother called to see me now and again, and my sensitive nature was keenly alive to every act of kindness shown to them.

In conversation with Mr. Malcolm White I told him that Miss Mouncey was going to Miss Heslip's for a time. He said he wished that he was acquainted with Miss Mouncey, as he had something to send to Miss Heslip. It came out very unexpectedly that I heard Miss Mouncey express herself equally anxious for an introduction to him, so I said, "Why not come to-morrow afternoon, Miss Mouncey will be at home?" I went into her room when I got home that night, and told her that Mr. White was coming to see her the next day. She could not understand it, and questioned me a lot as to what I said. She was perplexed, but not angry. He came, and I opened the door to him, and led him to the drawing-room. I found Miss Mouncey and announced her and shut the door, and I learned that the Rev. M. White became Miss Mouncey's husband two years after I came to Adelaide. He was a gentleman, according to my standard, and in every sense of the word she was a lady. Everything came about as I hoped. She often said that if ever she married she would like to marry a minister. I knew that she was sought for by others. I did not forget to ask about the apostles landing at Arran. I asked Mr. Somervill, as well as Mr. White. I had some things made plain to me which need not be added here.

The time came for me to go to Slamannan. All was turmoil there. I had not long been in the little house when my father came in and said, "Anna, why don't you go to Australia?" He had seen two young girls whom I knew, and they had only that day received a reply from London to tell them they were to sail for Queensland in two weeks' time. I sat and looked at him. I thought he was joking, and I said, "No, father, I will do all I can for you, but I will never cross the sea so far."

Later on, when I went out with my brother, I said, "Well, Mac, what would you say if I went to Australia?" He told me how he wished he could go somewhere out of Slamannan. I learned for the first time that he was working down in the coal-pits. And the next day when I saw him come in I made up my mind to come to Australia if they would take me. No one but myself knew my thoughts. My brother was a little over 14 years of age, and I was not 17. When I returned to Glasgow I knew that there were bills all about in the streets notifying that free passages would be given to capable young women as domestic servants to three different colonies, Queensland, South Australia, and Victoria. The notice went on to say that a doctor and a matron would be on board, and that the ships were fitted up with sanitary and other arrangements according to rule. I had often seen the advertisement before, but I never read it. I went to the place in Hope-street, and saw the agent, and asked if I could get my brother to come with me. When I told him the age he said "No," but added that if I had some friends out in the colonies they could send a grant or get an assisted passage for my brother. I said I had no one out there.

"Well," he said, "we will take you, and you can soon send for your brother." He talked to me for a long time, and gave me some papers to get filled in and to bring them back to him again. I took the papers, but I did not like to say anything to Mrs. Mouncey. That night I went to friends at Dr. Fargus', and they tried all they could to persuade me not to go to Australia. The Dr. and Mrs. Fargus were in London at the time, as there was a great exhibition there, and they had gone to see it.

I had no wish to see the world, and doubted if I would have the courage at the end. I mistrusted myself, but still I had the papers filled up. Some said I had lost my senses. When I explained the facts to my master and mistress, and showed them the conditions of the voyage in a printed form, they added their names as to what they knew of my reputation. Then the minister's name and the doctor's name were put on in addition, and the forms were sent to London.