Though only away from Sydney three years, on my journey down I saw many improvements, and in Sydney felt, like “Rip Van Winkle,” surely I had been at least twenty years asleep. Such numbers of new buildings, streets formed, the shores of the harbour cultivated, new wharves, and numerous houses and stores in course of construction; the harbour alive with steamers, and ships coming and going. Numbers of shops in the main streets, where formerly there were only a few. Surrey Hills, where I first stayed, had become an extensive suburb, and the South Head Road, now Oxford Street, was full of shops. Service for that parish was held in Darlinghurst court-house. The barracks at Paddington were finished, and Wooloomooloo much altered. It was evident that Sydney was becoming the most important city in the Southern hemisphere, though now she must share the laurels with Melbourne, the latter being laid out with system, and wide thoroughfares with a view to the future. When Sydney was laid out no one could have anticipated her present position, and the consequence was a total disregard of anything like good main thoroughfares or proper alignment of the buildings. A hundred years ago such matters were not so much looked after as they are now. Nature, however, has been lavish in her bounty, and the early colonists were wise enough to make choice of the best site possible for the first Australian city. One who has travelled much says, “It ought to be one of the healthiest, cleanest, and best drained cities of the world, and the harbour will always give it the pre-eminence and proud title of the ‘Queen City of the South.’”

Spending nearly four idle months in Sydney gave me many opportunities of marking the great progress made in and around it. The Museum, Grammar School, and St. Mary’s Cathedral were being enlarged or rebuilt; churches and schools rising in the suburbs, Balmain and Pyrmont were becoming populous places; the Botanic Gardens were enlarged.

I went to a garden party with my future sister at Graycliff, a pretty place near Watson’s Bay, where there is a beautiful view of the harbour; but it was very difficult to get at by land. It was a lovely day, and the hostess being an intimate friend of Soph’s, I was able to ramble about con amore, walking to Vaucluse and taking mental sketches of its many beauties.

After my brother’s marriage I went to Penrith for a few weeks’ stay at “Sara Cottage” situated in the one street of that very quiet town, like an English village with its general store, an inn or two, a church, a doctor’s house, and several cottages. No Bank or School of Arts then, the bridge not finished, and very few well-to-do residents in the town, Mr. Richard’s property being one of the best, and comparing favourably in every respect with his wife’s first home at Montefiores. It gave me great pleasure to share her delight in its beauty and comfort. While there I had an invitation to spend a few days at Dunheved, a real old-fashioned Australian cottage, with its verandahs kept from falling by a wisteria with branches as thick as my arm. It was a mass of blossoms in every shade of lavender, and the sweet perfume pervaded the atmosphere. What a picture it all was, as we drove up, the mistress of the house and her two fair daughters standing under the graceful canopy to welcome me! She was an admiral’s daughter, and her husband, a naval man, had settled some years before in this district; I think their eldest son still owns the property. It was through his visiting Montefiores just before I left that I had now the pleasure of meeting his family. Afterwards his mother wrote to me occasionally, but gradually the correspondence ceased, and place as well as people are now only a memory.

I then went again to Sydney to stay with an old friend at Surrey Hills, a native of the colony, well educated, refined and intellectual. Her father was in the commissariat department, and during the Peninsular War married a Spanish lady. Kate inherited some of her mother’s national character, being proud and passionate; but she was a devoted daughter, and sacrificed her prospects in life to her one brother. She was another of the Rev. Horatio’s children who blessed his teaching, and bore her cross willingly. At this time she had just lost her widowed mother. I was glad to be free to visit her, and remained until Mr. Horatio found another home for me at The Glebe, strange to say, only a few minutes’ walk from my father’s old home. Hereford House was a very different abode, being quite a mansion. The grounds surrounding it were extensive, and kept in exquisite order by a scientific gardener and assistants. The rosary was perfect, with walls and arches of climbers, beds of standard roses of every hue, a shrubbery of camellias, datura, durante, dentzia, stephanotis, gardenia, tecoma, more the size of trees than shrubs; oleanders, pepper trees, and other tropical plants. Then the conservatory, with tea, coffee, and spices in flower, as well as a magnificent specimen of the pitcher plant. I had never seen such a garden in Australia; thirty-two years ago there were few to equal it. There was a fine garden at Toxteth Park full of flowers, but being larger, was not so well kept or so varied. The Glebe was famous for its floral treasures; being well sheltered from the sea air, they flourished better than in many other situations near Sydney.

All the arrangements of Hereford House were in good taste; the owner, an Englishman, and his pretty gentle wife, an Australian, treated their children’s governess as a trusted friend. We had a pretty ante-room, with French windows opening on to the garden, for study,—not with bare walls and uncarpeted floor, too often considered good enough for a schoolroom, but pictures, bookcase, and covered desks. As my eldest pupil was nearly sixteen, teaching under such auspices was delightful indeed. Amongst many visitors there, I met two young people with whom I formed a friendship, to end only by the “Great Reaper’s scythe.” They had been in the colony a year or two, when they met our mutual friends travelling in the interior. James was an engineer of no mean ability, having been appointed before he had reached his twenty-first birthday to superintend some important engineering work in Spain. And at the time the gold fever was at its height, he resigned an excellent appointment in London to accompany a friend to Sydney in one of the large steamers so frequently leaving for the New El Dorado, where he met a young Irish lady travelling with some friends, hoping to meet a brother in Melbourne, if not, to return to her family by the same steamer; but “Don Cupid” stepped in, and there was no going back for Maria, as before they arrived in Sydney she was James’s promised wife. Like two foolish young people, they married at once, and might have realised the proverb “Marry in haste” had not James’s very excellent testimonials and letters of introduction soon procured him a Government appointment. His first work was the superintendence of the construction of engineers’ workshops and a dry dock at an island in Sydney Harbour, where they were residing in a pretty cottage when I met them at Hereford House. When I used to complain of the miserable accommodation of Bush inns, Maria would remind me it was through that they met Mr. and Mrs. Woolley, who, travelling with an invalid child, arrived at the best inn at Mittagong, to find the only private sitting-room occupied by James and Maria, he having been inspecting some iron-mines in the district. Of course they offered the room, and from that time had become their intimate friends, always welcome at Hereford House as long as his duties would permit them to stay. They were an acquisition to our circle, he a fine handsome fellow, who had seen a good deal of the world, and she as fascinating and bright as young Irishwomen generally are.

How sorry we were when our friends left for a long sojourn in England, the beautiful home broken up, the house and lovely garden left to strangers! I felt more lonely than ever, after being nearly a year with such a family, the mother like an elder sister, the children so companionable. James and Maria made me pay them a visit at their island home, which brightened me considerably. It was impossible to be low-spirited there, for he was full of fun, and her housekeeping was a constant source of amusement to us all. When anything was lost, she would say, “Have you looked on the floor?” On one occasion, when some friend sent them a basket of small aloes for the garden, she thought they were Australian artichokes, and told their convict servant to prepare them for dinner. She was a great favourite with every one, kind-hearted and generous. James used to say “inconveniently generous sometimes.” I remember an occasion when this was the case. A lady she knew, who had seen better days, called on her in great distress; she had been promised an appointment, and had been given several articles of clothing, requisite to make her presentable to her employer in a respectable manner, but, sad to say, her boots were terribly worn. “Why, Mrs. ——, mine will fit you, so you need not cry about that.” At once a pair was sent for, and that little difficulty arranged, forgetting she was going out that afternoon with James and me. What a walk we had! He kept asking, “Why she allowed her dress to sweep the roads? Look at Miss L——, she holds hers up, why don’t you?” “You know, James, it tires me.” “Well, I will hold it up for you.” “How absurd that will look!” “Well, I shall go on first, for the dust is covering all of us.” I whispered, “Tell him.” “I dare not; he will be so vexed; he has not forgotten about the coat.” The coat meant that he had, at her urgent request, consented to his wife’s giving away some worn clothes of his to one of her numerous pensioners, and she in her impulsive way had given away a nearly new coat. We arrived at our destination without discovery, but unfortunately when leaving, one of our friend’s daughters remarked, “You have forgotten to change your shoes, Mrs. ——” He looked, and we were no sooner outside the house than I told him. He was such a kind-hearted man, so did not say much, but suggested that “she should always keep a pair in reserve,” and telling me “he would never be surprised to find his wardrobe consisted only of the clothes he had on.”

One evening James and I were sitting in the verandah enjoying the cool sea breeze after a fearful hot wind all day. Maria was playing and singing in the drawing-room, when between one of her songs we heard the sound of screaming from the opposite shore; we listened, but it ceased, so Maria continued her music. As it was growing late and the moon setting, we thought of retiring, when the sound of a boat approaching the island—a very unusual and dangerous proceeding at that hour—roused James, and seeing only a woman in the boat, he left us and went down to the wharf near his cottage. The constable had seen the boat, and was speaking to the occupant, warning her not to come nearer. “What do you want at this hour of the night?” asked my friend. “Oh, sir,” answered a girlish voice, “do, for God’s sake, come with me to the other side, or murder will be done.” Here sobs stopped her utterance. Addressing the girl, my friend asked, “Was it you I heard screaming some time ago?” “Yes.” Turning to the constable, “Blake, it’s all right; I will go.” “Thank you, sir,” said the girl. He ran back and told us he would not be back for an hour or two, that Maria and I need not be uneasy. The girl was evidently well accustomed to the use of the sculls, and made rapid way to the opposite shore. By the time they landed the moon had set, and heavy clouds rising from the south rendered the night dark and gloomy. He followed the girl through the scrub, her light frock being the only guide. At last they came to a small slab building, and a young man met the girl. “Where have you been, Sarah?” “To Cockatoo Island for assistance.” “No need for that; what a fool!” “But you told me to go.” “Did I?” James here advanced, asking, “What does all this mean? what dark work has been going on here?” “No dark work, sir, only a man in a fit.” “That’s all nonsense; girls don’t risk a shot for that. Well, I am here, and intend going into the house and seeing for myself, so lead the way at once.” After a few whispered words with the girl, the young fellow said, “Go in, Sarah, and see how he is now.” In a few minutes she returned, saying, “I think he is asleep.” James followed his young guide into a room, where, lying on a rough bush bedstead, was a man half dressed. He stood looking down on the recumbent figure, and heard some whispering in another room. Touching the man, he inquired, “Are you awake?” “Who are you? You have come too late,” and a pair of keen gray eyes were raised to his face. “Oh! I am a doctor.” “Are you? what do you want here?” “I heard that some one was ill.” “Did you?” with a frown, and looking towards the girl. “That’s what you say, is it? then I am well now and out of danger.” The girl and young man stood like sentinels, watching. “Can I help you in any way?” asked my friend abruptly. “I suppose I have been brought out at this hour for a purpose.” “Yes, we three agreed it would be better to have a witness, but it is all settled without. They have got all they wanted, so will let me rest in peace,” with a heavy sigh, turning round, as if to intimate all was over. As the man evidently did not wish him to remain, James followed the girl and young man out of the room, and when outside said, “I am not at all satisfied with your conduct; who are the others in the hut?” “There is no one.” “That is false; I heard voices. Have you been bought since your sister left? Is that man your father?” “No, brother.” “Why, he is years older than either of you.” Here the girl, who James saw was much cowed and frightened, said, “He is our stepbrother.” James stood considering for a minute, then said, “Well, take me back to the island.” He was about to utter a warning as to the steps he intended to take, but decided it would be imprudent and put them on their guard. The young man said, “I will row you over, sir; Sarah is too done up.” “I am quite agreeable, as long as I get back to Cockatoo Island quickly.” He tried in vain to get the young man into conversation on the way, but a laconic “Yes” or “No” was the extent of his answers. The mystery of that night was never cleared up. My friend tried to find the slab building, but it seemed to have disappeared. The night had been so dark, and the bush so dense, as to preclude any certainty as to the direction taken after leaving the boat. Even if he had succeeded in finding the place, an investigation thirty years ago, with such evidence, would have been difficult to carry through, when the principal in the affair had evidently given in.

Sir William Denison was Governor of New South Wales at this time, and taking great interest in my friend’s work at the island, often visited it. The officers of Her Majesty’s ships found the cottage very pleasant to spend the evenings at, for Maria, like many of her countrywomen, was fascinating, full of life, and fond of society. She could sing and play with expression, and was never put out if half a dozen came in when three were only prepared for; she somehow so managed that you would suppose her resources were inexhaustible. I really think this is a peculiarity of the Irish, as I have known many with the same gift of making the best of everything. It was a strange life for Maria on this island, as there was only one other family to visit there.