FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF AUSTRALIA

Mr. Hare’s account of our August Party in 1890 mentions the reason of its being the last for some time. My husband had been already offered the Governorship of Bombay and would have liked it for many reasons, but was obliged to decline as the climate might have been injurious after an attack of typhoid fever from which he had not long recovered. He was then appointed Paymaster-General, an unpaid office which he held for about a year. The principal incident which I recollect in this connection was a lengthened dispute between his Department and the Treasury over a sum of either two pounds or two shillings—I think the latter—which had gone wrong in an expenditure of thirty-five millions. In the end Jersey came to me and triumphantly announced that the Paymaster-General’s Department had been proved to be in the right. How much paper, ink, and Secretary’s time had gone to this conclusion I cannot say. Postage being “On Her Majesty’s Service” would not come into the reckoning.

We had one other experience of pre-war War Office methods, but that was many years later. A rumour arrived in Middleton village that the soldier son of one of our labourers had had his head blown off. As there was no war proceeding at the time, we could not think how this accident had happened, and went to ask the parents where their son was stationed. They had no clear idea, but after a long talk remembered that they had received a photograph of his regiment with the Pyramids in the background. Armed with this information we approached the War Office and ultimately elicited that the poor youth had not lost his head, but had died of fever in Egypt, when arose the question of certain pay due to him. The War Office, with an insatiable thirst for information, would pay nothing until elaborate forms were filled up with the names and addresses of all the brothers and sisters. These proved to be scattered over the face of the Empire, and as the parents could neither read nor write, endless visits to them were necessary before we could find out enough to fill in the forms. Before this was accomplished I had to leave home and one of my daughters took charge.

At last she wrote that the money was really being paid to the old father and would be deposited in the Post Office. Knowing that he was very shaky, I wrote back begging that she would get him to sign a paper naming his heir, but before this was done he suddenly fell down dead, leaving the money in the Post Office, and my daughter corresponded on alternate days with the General Post Office and the War Office before she could get it out. Then some more money was found to be due, and the War Office said they could not pay it until they had certificates from the sexton and the undertaker who had buried the poor old man. I was back by the time these were procured, and lo and behold! one spelt his name Hitchcox and one Hitchcocks. Foreseeing another lengthened correspondence, I enclosed the form with a letter in Jersey’s name vouching for the fact that they referred to the same person but that the villagers spelt the name in two different ways. Fortunately the War Office felt that they were now sufficiently acquainted with the family biography and paid up. No wonder a plethora of clerks was needed even in pre-war days.

To return to our own affairs. The late Lord Knutsford, then Colonial Secretary, in the summer of 1890 asked my husband if he would accept the Governorship of New South Wales, and he consented. Great stress was laid on our not telling anyone before the Queen had approved, and we were most conscientious, though I do not believe that other people keep such offers equally secret from all their friends and relatives. It was rather inconvenient as we wanted to invite my brother Rupert to accompany us as A.D.C. and he was already committed to another appointment abroad. As soon as the telegram announcing the Queen’s approval arrived, I sent a footman to look for him at two or three addresses saying that he must find Captain Leigh somehow. He brought him back in triumph, having caught him in the street. Lord Ancram and my cousin Harry Cholmondeley were the other A.D.C.s, and George Goschen, now Lord Goschen, Private Secretary.

Just before we were due to start, the Queen sent for us to Balmoral to say good-bye. We there met amongst others the Duke of Clarence, the only time I ever saw him, and I thought him a singularly gentle, modest young man. Some old gentleman had lately left him a long gold and turquoise chain which had belonged to Marie Antoinette. He told the Queen about it, and, with genuine surprise, said he could not think why it had been left to him. Her Majesty expressed the greatest interest in anything which had belonged to Marie Antoinette, so he ran upstairs and brought it down for his grandmother’s inspection. He talked of his voyage to Australia, and said he was sorry that he had been too young to appreciate all he had seen as he should have done. I remember the late Admiral Lord Clanwilliam, who had the supervision of the young Princes when they were on board the Bacchante, saying that no boys had ever given him less trouble, and that Prince George (the present King) was equal to boys a year older than himself.

When we went to Australia Lord Hopetoun was already there as Governor of Victoria, and Lord Kintore as Governor of South Australia, while Lord Onslow reigned in New Zealand. These, like Jersey, had all previously been Lords-in-Waiting to the Queen, and Her Majesty said to us, “As soon as I get a nice Lord-in-Waiting Lord Salisbury sends him off to govern a Colony”; to which my husband aptly replied, “You see, Ma’am, how well you brought us up!” A remark rewarded by a gracious smile.

The Queen was indeed more than kind, and was very much upset when our departure was delayed, just when all preparations were made, by my being seized with an attack of typhoid fever. She telegraphed constantly, and when the Court returned to Windsor sent a messenger daily to inquire. We were told that her kind heart led her to imagine that my illness was either caused or intensified by our having been summoned to Balmoral just at the last minute, because she had forgotten that we were starting so soon. Of course it had nothing to do with it, but the Queen was well aware what typhoid fever meant. As she wrote to Jersey, she was “but too well acquainted with this terrible illness not to feel anxious whenever any relations or friends are suffering from it.”

The result was that when I was convalescent Jersey had to start alone, and I went with my children to spend Christmas at Stoneleigh, following him in January. Lady Galloway was a true friend, for since our London house was let she took me from Claridge’s Hotel, where I was taken ill, to her house in Upper Grosvenor Street and nursed me there for weeks. Everyone was kind, Lady Northcote offering that I should take possession of her house and have Lady Galloway there to look after me, but in the end I stayed in Upper Grosvenor Street till I could move to Stoneleigh. Christmas at Stoneleigh was an unexpected pleasure, and my parents, brothers, and sisters did all they could to further my convalescence. An addition to the family party was my brother Dudley’s charming new American wife, of whom he was intensely proud. When we greeted them or drank their healths, however, in the course of the festivities he invariably prefaced his words of thanks with “I and my wife” despite the laughing protests of his auditors. On Twelfth Night we drew characters, with the result—perhaps not quite fortuitous—that my eldest girl Margaret and her youngest brother Arthur, aged seven, were Queen and King. Their healths were duly drunk, and Arthur eagerly and emphatically responded, beginning “My wife and I!”

Mrs. Dudley Leigh had been in her girlhood much admired in the Court of Napoleon III and the Empress EugÉnie. She was greatly attached to the Empress and was one of the young ladies recorded in Filon’s Memoirs as having helped to cheer the deposed monarchs in the first part of their exile when they resided at Cowes.

HÉlÈne Leigh (then Beckwith) told me that she and her sister often went to spend an evening with the Empress, who, as is well known, had a leaning towards spiritualism and table-turning. The Emperor disliked the experiments, and on one occasion begged them to stop. Presently he went to bed and then EugÉnie determined to resume. The table moved, and rapped out “Janvier.” The Empress asked what the date implied, and the answer came “La Mort.” In the following January the Emperor died. Personally none of these coincidences convince me, as I have known automatic and other prophecies which did not “come off.” The Emperor was very ill and his death must have seemed imminent to many present, but I allow that it is curious that the date as remembered by my sister-in-law should have proved accurate.

At last I was considered well enough to start, and went off accompanied by four children, two governesses and three servants, the rest of the household having preceded us. We had a bitterly cold journey, and Lady Galloway, who joined us in London and went with us across France and Italy, had her work cut out to keep us warm and fed. She then went to stay with some of her friends, having promised to visit us later in Australia.

It was very sad leaving all my family, and particularly my eldest boy Villiers. He had to finish his time at Eton and was then to come to us before going to Oxford. Everyone who has to leave children behind—and, alas! that is the lot of only too many English parents—knows what it means, and I will not dwell upon it.

All our friends were most sympathetic and helpful, and I was particularly touched by Lord Derby’s thoughtfulness. In his first letter on hearing of the appointment he wrote: “You are a queen and an exile. Are you to be congratulated or condoled with?...” He went on with serious words of encouragement, and a little later took the trouble voluntarily to write out for our use notes on Australia “founded on the reports of many friends and on some experience of C. O.”

Among his very shrewd remarks was:

Again he says that the Governor—

Fortunately Jersey always liked to be among his fellow-men and understood them, and the Australians soon found that out, and never forgot it. Also Lord Derby truly said:

Many of Lord Derby’s further comments are much to the point, but I only cite one which is somewhat of a forecast:

During our absence Lord Derby was an excellent correspondent and I may refer to his letters later on.

We sailed in the Arcadia, the same ship which had taken us to India, with the same Captain Andrewes. The usual incidents of a long voyage were not wanting—the natural effect on young men and women was exemplified in the growing attachment of a very clever Australian Professor to our English governess—an attachment which ultimately ripened to a wedding in Australia, when Miss Mason became Mrs. Harry Allen. She is now Lady Allen, and when the Prince of Wales visited Australia she sat at a banquet between H.R.H. and the Governor-General, so our Australian experiences were quite successful as far as she was concerned.

I do not recollect much of the other events on board ship, for I was still not very strong and lived mostly with my children, in a nice large cabin which the P. and O. had arranged for me. There was, however, one couple who excited considerable interest—a youth who always appeared in spotless white and a coloured sash, and a girl who wore white frocks, displaying varied ribbons to match her admirer’s. When we reached Ceylon passengers were forbidden to send any washing ashore, as there was small-pox in Colombo, and the young man went nearly frantic at being unable to refresh his wardrobe. His fellow-passengers cruelly ragged him, and he was reported to have run up and down in front of his cabin with a drawn sword.

I suppose the small-pox was only in the native quarters, for we were allowed to land, to our great joy, had a delightful drive to Mount Lavinia, where we saw the mango trick—not very impressive—had dinner at the Colombo Hotel, and re-embarked for the longest and dullest part of our voyage. The monotony of the nine days between Ceylon and Australia was relieved in a manner more stirring than pleasant. We were met by a cyclone, and had to go considerably out of our course to avoid its full fury, but what we did encounter was quite bad enough and we were very thankful when we sighted Australia.

We were fortunate during our sojourn in having the old friends whom I previously mentioned, and their wives, as colleagues. Lady Hopetoun and Lady Kintore were away when we landed, having been on a trip home; but Lord Kintore met us at Adelaide and took us up for the day to his beautiful house in the Mountains—Marble Hill—while Lord Hopetoun looked after us with equal hospitality at Melbourne. We only stayed a few hours at each place, as our great object was to reach our destination, which was primarily the Governor’s little country house, Hill View, situated in the hills. Here I spent about a fortnight to rest and revive before going down for the assembling of the Federation Convention at Sydney.

This was a very stirring introduction to Colonial life. (The words “Colony” and “Colonial” are now taboo, but before Federation the present Australian States were called “Colonies,” and “Colonial” was freely used by everyone!)

Delegates from all the States were assembled in Sydney and most of them had brought wives, so it was somewhat confusing to a new-comer to be at once introduced to a number of people, however kindly disposed towards her, whom she had never seen before, in totally novel surroundings. As far as I recollect the initial banquet took place on the evening of my arrival, March 1st, 1891. It was given in the Town Hall, a really fine building in which we afterwards attended endless functions of all descriptions. It was arranged that Lady Innes, wife of Sir George Innes, a judge, should dine alone with me and accompany me to the Gallery to hear the speeches after the banquet. All the guests courteously rose on my arrival; my cousin Harry Cholmondeley escorted me, very magnificent in his A.D.C.’s uniform. As the Cholmondeleys had been in the habit of acting with us at Middleton, I felt very much as if I were taking part in private theatricals.

The principal speeches were made by Jersey and the New South Wales Premier, Sir Henry Parkes, who was the main promotor of Federation. Sir Henry was a remarkable character in his way. He was the son of a small farmer on my grandmother’s property at Stoneleigh, where he attended the village school, and his first pair of breeches was made by the village tailor (the same parish clerk who made me find his places in church). Henry Parkes emigrated to Australia, and a lady there told me how he kept a sort of toy-shop and “fancy repository” where she could take her umbrella to be mended. He became a Member of Parliament and almost an autocrat. He had a fine head, like a shaggy lion, and was a good speaker, though I fear that the education given him in Stoneleigh School had not altogether overcome a certain difficulty with his “h’s,” and in the transaction of business he was somewhat slow in thought. He was, however, undoubtedly able and tenacious, and did a great deal for his growing country. He was a trifle like the German Kaiser in his desire for his city’s progress in art, and had filled the National Park and the Botanic Gardens with statues and busts more notable for quantity than quality—but the intention was good, though the expenditure was large. I believe that he had originated the motto of the Federation: “One People, One Destiny.”

Jersey’s speech was extremely well received, though his reference to the Union of the Saxon Heptarchy as precursor to that of the Australian States enabled one of the papers to indulge next day in witticisms. It declared that it had greatly perplexed the audience, some thinking that “Heptarchy” was the name of one of His Excellency’s ancestors who had fought at CrÉcy—others that it was a kind of cake!

Next day began the serious work of the Convention. Delegates were present from the six Australian Colonies; there were also three New Zealanders, including the celebrated Sir George Grey, who held a “watching brief” to see what the Australians were doing, though New Zealand had no intention of federating with the others. She was quite right, for although in those days people were apt to think of New Zealand as part of “Australasia,” she is too far off and too different in origin and natural conditions to form a portion of what is a very distinct continent.

No doubt the most intellectual and probably efficient member of the Convention was the President, Sir Samuel Griffith, Chief Justice of Queensland and afterwards Chief Justice of the High Court of Australia. It is not for me to attempt a summary of the debates and of all the questions to which they gave rise, naturally the most difficult being the relations between the States. No doubt the result ultimately achieved did credit to the statesmanship of many who took part. Probably the weakest point was leaving to the separate States every power not expressly transferred to the Commonwealth; in Canada everything not expressly reserved to the Provinces went to the Dominion, which certainly tends to closer union. However, this is looking a good deal ahead.

One of the points which seemed to add interest, perhaps dignity, to the convention was the great size of the delegates. They averaged over six feet in height, and I really forget how many pounds avoirdupois in weight—but something quite remarkable. Australian legislators were undoubtedly of sturdy growth, and whatever else they favoured had a great predilection for tea. I sometimes attended debates in New South Wales Parliament. My husband was precluded from doing so, but members seemed to think it rather a compliment that I should be present. However exciting the discussion, and whoever the orator, as sure as six o’clock struck a cry of “Tea, tea, tea!” arose from all sides of the house, and out rushed everybody to refresh himself before returning to duty.

The great antagonist to Sir Henry Parkes was Mr., afterwards Sir George, Dibbs. He was an immense man, who had had a varied career, but was generally esteemed for his direct and downright honesty. When in his turn he became head of the Government he was noted as the first Australian-born Premier. When we first arrived in the Colony he was supposed to have Republican tendencies, but these seemed gradually, indeed rapidly, to evaporate. While we were in Australia he paid his first visit to England, where many prominent people, including our family and friends, paid him much attention. The final touch was put by the Prince of Wales (afterwards King Edward), who had discovered his liking for a big cigar, and with unfailing tact he gave him one to smoke. Dibbs said, “No, he should keep it,” whereupon the Prince replied that he was to smoke that, and he would give him another. Of course this got into the Sydney papers, and when the traveller returned the street boys used to shout out, “Geordie, where’s the cigar the Prince of Wales gave you?”

The papers afforded us endless amusement during his trip. They used to come out with heavy headlines. “Dibbs meets one King—several Princes,” etc. “Dibbs visits the Queen,” and on one occasion, mixed up with it all, “Lady Leigh desires that Dibbs should bring out Lord Jersey’s son.” The Bulletin had a wicked page of drawings caricaturing Parkes’ wrath as he read these items.

Dibbs returned a rabid imperialist. I said to him one day, “I suppose that talk of republicanism was only your fun?” “Only my fun,” was his hasty reply.

The Chief Justice, Sir Frederick Darley, and his delightful wife and family were among our greatest friends. Sir Frederick was a tall, handsome man; his resemblance to my father was often noticed by those who knew them both. Lady Darley was a very cultivated woman, sister to Rolf Boldrewood, author of Robbery under Arms, whose real name was Thomas Browne.

Lady Darley was great at “spirit-drawing”—a power in which she quite honestly believed. It was curious, but I think instinctive. She would take a pencil between her fingers, and talk and look about the room while the pencil drew shading on a sheet of paper. Ultimately the shading would evolve a large head with no outline but the shadow. Once when in after years the Darleys were staying at Middleton Lady Darley showed her powers at my request, and another lady who was among our guests confided to me afterwards that she had produced an exact portrait of a relative long since dead who had held my friend in great affection. I am certain that Lady Darley did not know of this person’s existence—the result must be left between telepathy and imagination! Anyhow, these mystic powers never interfered with Lady Darley’s care for her family and for her duties to the community—she was a real influence for good. She and Sir Frederick have now passed away, but some of their daughters live in England and are still among our friends.

Sir Frederick had built a charming house in the Blue Mountains called Lilianfels after a daughter who had died in youth. It was situated on a high plateau among most romantic scenery—deep ravines and almost inaccessible, thickly wooded valleys. One of these valleys plays a leading part in Robbery under Arms, the bushranging hero Starlight having his lair among the rocks. A railway had been made to this high ground, twisting and turning in extraordinary fashion, tradition said because the engineer wanted to pay constant visits to an innkeeper’s daughter at a house somewhere on the way. Once at Katoomba, beyond which lay Lilianfels, the difficulty for the pedestrian would not be to scale mountains, but to descend into the valleys, and in our time not many people attempted it. Tourists, however, came up to admire the splendid views and the picturesque waterfalls, and to visit the famous Jenolan caves in the same neighbourhood.

The whole formation of the valleys and caves showed that this part of the mountain-range had been in bygone ages cliffs washed by the sea. The Jenolan caves were long labyrinths full of stalactites and stalagmites of wonderful forms and colours. About two miles had been opened up when we were there, doubtless much more has since become accessible. Some of us climbed down a primitive iron ladder to view a mystical underground river, source unknown. I seized on it with joy for a child’s story which I published later on.

I believe that there is now a fine hotel near the caves, but when we spent a night there we found a very primitive hostelry; and as we were a party of nine, including the Duchess of Buckingham and her cousin Miss Murray, I am afraid we left little accommodation for other arrivals. We were unconscious of the inconvenience to which we were putting them until some time afterwards, when a little publication was sent us anonymously. It appears that a public room which had been allotted to us as a dining-room had been turned into a bedroom for two travellers after we had retired. Now this hotel was strictly Pussyfoot, and my husband, having been warned, had brought his own wine for our Party. He left two bottles in the room, and our successors frankly confessed that they had carried them off in triumph and shared the contents with their companions without saying where they had found them. The writer in the account sent us said that he did not imagine that the Governor knew how he had hampered the other guests and did not suppose that he realised the fate of his wine until he read this account. I must say that we were more amused than annoyed! All this happened long after our landing in the country, but thinking of the Darleys recalls our visit to my memory.

The Chief Justice in each Colony was a great personality, and in due course Sir Frederick became in addition Lieutenant-Governor, succeeding in that office dear old Sir Alfred Stephen, who held it when we arrived. Sir Alfred was a member of the English family which has given so many distinguished luminaries to the Bar, and he worthily upheld their traditions at the Antipodes. He had been in Tasmania before settling in New South Wales, had been twice married, and had had nine children by each wife, nine born in each Colony, and, if I remember rightly, nine sons and nine daughters in all. With sons, daughters, sons-in-law, daughters-in-law, and other relatives his connections played such a prominent part in Sydney society that my A.D.C. brother found it advisable to devote certain pages in the Government House invitation book to “Sir Alfred Stephen’s family,” instead of entering them in the usual alphabetical lists.

Sir Alfred was a delightful and intellectual man with great devotion to philanthropic schemes. On one point only I was disposed to differ from him—namely, he was extremely anxious to facilitate divorce and was much too serious in the matter to see the comic side of some of the American reasons for separation. Quite late in life, after being nearly bald his hair began to grow again, and he proudly called attention to his newly flowing locks.

I cannot name all the Ministers. Some had (much to their credit) risen from quite lowly positions; others like Sir Frank Suttor, belonged to old Australian families—indeed while we were in Australia a child of the sixth generation was born to the Suttors, quite a record in such a young country.

The general rule was while in Sydney the Governor and his wife could only receive private hospitality from the Chief Justice, Lieutenant-Governor, Admiral commanding the Station, and the Anglican and Roman Catholic Primates. Apart from these they could attend any ball or function given by, I think, six joint hosts—as for instance the Squatters’ Ball, a Club dinner, or a Charity Entertainment. It was a wise rule on the whole, as it would have been exceedingly difficult to discriminate among hosts and hostesses without giving offence; and personally I was very glad that the Ministers and their wives should not have been even indirectly called upon to entertain us, as most of them were anything but rich, and yet had one begun the custom others might have felt bound to follow. Up the country it was different—when we visited the different Districts for agricultural shows, opening of school buildings, or general inspections, it was fully recognised that prominent people should receive us, and I cannot say enough of their kindness and hospitality.

Indeed, open-handed hospitality was the rule in Australia, and the squatters and landowners, such as Mr. and Mrs. Osborne, Dr. and Mrs. Hay, and many others of our hosts and friends, seemed never to regard their own convenience if they could make their guests happy.

Among the oldest families was that of Mrs. Macarthur Onslow, whose ancestor had introduced merino sheep into New South Wales, and who was—and is—universally respected in the State.

Looking back on our various expeditions, I realise that our visits must often have been no small tax in remote places and in houses where servants were necessarily few. Quite rich people, having to our knowledge lands and flocks bringing in thousands a year, would have only three or four servants—the daughters of the house would do much of the work, and visitors would be quite prepared to help in making butter and cakes. A good deal that had been said in England about the splendid times which servants had overseas struck me on nearer observation as capable of being looked at from quite another point of view. For instance, much was made at one time of maid-servants having horses to ride. When the nearest town was perhaps fifteen or twenty miles off, when a horse cost £5 or £10, was never groomed, and when the rider himself or herself caught and saddled him as wanted, riding was not such an exceptional privilege.

Again, it was true that wages were about double what they were in England, but accommodation was much rougher, and servants were expected to help in every department as required—no question of saying “that is not my place.” I am speaking of nearly thirty years ago, but certainly almost all the servants whom we took out returned with us to England.

This also applies to any remarks about social conditions. As I said before, Lord Derby was most regular in writing, and begged for any news which I could send him. Having been Colonial Secretary, he retained great interest in the Dominions. He told me in one letter that he was keeping mine, as he thought they might be of use hereafter, and after his death a number were returned to me. I have also preserved many of his; but looking through them, both his and mine refer so largely to topics of the day in both hemispheres that I hardly think that voluminous extracts can be of much present interest.

I, however, quote a few. In one of his first letters he says:

To which I replied:

I do not think that I felt upside down, but nevertheless I had from time to time the feeling of having been buried and dug up again. Born and brought up in a very old house, and having both lived and travelled almost entirely among what was ancient, it was a strange experience to live where there were no relics of an Old World, and hardly any spot where history had been made in the long ago. On the other hand, Australia looked bravely forward, and was, and is, building for the future. As Lord Derby put it in another letter:

Some of his accounts might almost have been written to-day; for instance, July 1891:

And again in November:

Many cats have jumped since then, but the main outlines of politics are not essentially different.

I confess that I was impressed by the extent to which the problem of the unemployed existed in a country with apparently limitless possibilities. Meetings of these men took place constantly near the Queen’s Statue during 1892, and perhaps a portion of a letter which I wrote to Lord Derby may be worth recording as at least a first-hand impression of what took place at the time.

Of course the wages in Australia have risen enormously in the last twenty-five years. At the time I wrote, as far as I recollect, miners had about 14s. a day and other skilled labourers somewhere from 10s. to 13s. The men employed by the contractor were probably unskilled. I continue my letter:

I remark that had Trade Unions found out that these men, whom masters would not employ at full rates, were working instead of sitting with folded hands, it would doubtless have been stopped. Meantime, though ancient history, this is not altogether unenlightening.

One rather amusing incident took place in Parliament. “Eight hours” was the Trade Union rule, but was not enforced by law at the time of which I write. A measure was brought into the Legislative Assembly (the Lower House) to make it legally obligatory. First came the preamble, which was accepted, then Clause Two stating that Eight Hours should be the legal working-day, which was passed with acclamation, then the various clauses with penalties attached which would oblige employers and employed to abide by the new law. All these were promptly negatived. It seems to have struck somebody that two clauses expressing an academic opinion looked a little isolated, so a member brought forward a third clause stating that nobody was to be obliged to work eight hours if he did not want to do so. This was accepted with equal unanimity, and the Bill stood practically thus: 1st. Name. 2nd. Eight hours is a legal working-day. 3rd. No one is obliged to work eight hours. I believe that the whole thing evaporated in a burst of laughter and never went to the Upper House, but of course every sort of stringent regulation as to working-hours has come in since.

However, the immediate sequel of this legislative effort deserves record. A ship came into Sydney Harbour and stevedores were enlisted to unload it. After eight hours’ work they wanted to go on so as to get overtime pay. “Not at all,” said the captain, “I am in no hurry. Eight hours is a legal working-day, and I am not going to break the law.” Whereupon they all struck because they were not allowed to work overtime! This is enough on this burning question, which is certainly not peculiar to Australia.

Before leaving Lord Derby’s letters a few extracts with regard to European foreign affairs may be of interest. In March ’91 he writes:

“Every thing and person on the Continent is quiet; even the German Emperor. At least he has not been emitting any oracles lately. He is said to have grown tired of Caprivi, and another change is talked of. There is a vague idea about that he is ‘going queer.’ I don’t know that it rests on any authority.”