Another warning from the doctor determined me in leaving Sydney for a visit to my brother. Tired of waiting for an escort, I started without; James taking me to Parramatta by train, where I found the coaches now much improved. A friend had promised to send a telegram to some friends of my brother’s to meet me at Green Swamps, and take me to their homestead at Macquarie Plains, where Mr. Henry, being in the neighbourhood, would be my escort to Wellington. I was very glad of this opportunity of rest, and breaking the coach journey. Crossing Bathurst Plains in winter would be bitterly cold under most circumstances, and especially so after being in the coach all day, yet the first part of the journey from Parramatta was very pleasant. The winter in Australia is delightful for travelling; my journeys hitherto had been during the hottest time of the year, so I thoroughly enjoyed this one, free from flies, dust, and heat. We had the advantage of a full moon, and were able to enjoy the scenery. The Blue Mountains appeared more beautiful than ever, so quiet and majestic, like another world, where toil and turmoil are unknown. Then, when starting in the early morning, every tree was jewelled with hoar-frost, till the warm rays of the sun turned them into dripping fountains; but I was not sorry to learn we were approaching the inn where I expected to meet Mr. East; but, alas! only to meet disappointment instead, and I had to arrive in Bathurst alone, with a very vague idea of where I should go for the night, thinking if I can only get to the Royal Hotel, I must send a message to the Plains; but seven years had changed Bathurst, which was now a busy place on a Saturday night. After delivering our mails at the post-office, the coach was driven into the yard of a public-house full of busy men. All alighted, and I stood by the side of another female passenger wondering what I should do, when a gentleman addressed me, “I hear you expected friends from Macquarie Plains to meet you; I am driving past their house, and will take you there with pleasure.” Hesitating as to what answer to give to this offer from a perfect stranger, I heard a familiar voice, turned and saw an old acquaintance; so thanking the unknown gentleman, hastened after Mr. F——, who was much astonished at seeing me there. My troubles were now over, as he looked after my luggage and took me to a quiet hotel near, engaged a private room, and left me to the rest I so much needed. Thoroughly worn out in mind and body, I had a good cry before retiring for the night, and wondered whether telegrams were an improvement on the old-fashioned method of communication by letter. The next morning Mr. Henry arrived, he having called at Macquarie Plains as arranged, and heard that Mr. Hall had sent word where I was to be found. I was glad when we left for Frederick’s Valley, where I remained for a week with Mr. Henry’s sister, and had many pleasant drives in the neighbourhood; one to a deserted gold-field, where a large quartz crushing machine was lying idle. This ugly mass of iron had a peculiar fascination for my friend, who, kindly wishing to share his pleasure with me, explained the use of various cranks and wheels. I fear, in saying Yes, where it ought to have been No, I showed my stupidity. He proposed my going to another part of the field, where there was a pretty view of the valley, and where one might pick up some specimens from amongst those heaps of quartz. The valley was pretty, with a number of farms under cultivation; but English farmers would have been surprised at the rough and ready style adopted, and the Australian want of system; still crops were good, the virgin soil no doubt making up for careless husbandry. The fields were divided by open rails or cockatoo fences, i.e. branches and logs of trees laid on the ground one across the other, with posts and slip rails in lieu of gates. The cultivated land, not being divided by close hedges as at home, appeared more extensive. I enjoyed this journey; and having been over the ground before, could mark the progress that had been made. Orange was becoming a large town, but Molong was still in a very primitive state. We passed through Ironbarks diggings. What a place! Full of activity, few decent houses, tents and huts predominating, though there were several inns, but not comfortable for ladies. We stayed at one for an hour or two, and found the grilled chicken, ham, eggs, bread, and tea were not to be despised, though served on common delf plates placed on a deal table guiltless of a cloth. What a life for men accustomed to the luxuries and comforts of an English home I thought as I watched the groups of diggers. Great heaps of quartz were scattered over the field, and the roads are terribly dusty in dry weather and miry in wet.

Mr. Henry left me to speak with two rough-looking men standing by one of the heaps of quartz, so I walked slowly on, musing on the phantasmagoria we call life. When he overtook me, he said, “One of those men is an earl’s son I met in Melbourne last summer. You would scarcely think so, Kate?” “Yes; for I met a duke’s son in far worse plight a few years ago.”

At one time I had occasion to cross Cleveland Paddocks twice or thrice a week about one o’clock, and several times saw a young man leave the yard of a cordial manufacturer at Redfern, where he washed bottles. It was found out afterwards he was Lord F——, son of a duke. I should not have noticed him; but one morning I dropped my handkerchief, which he saw and, lifting his hat, returned it to me. Some time after, at the band in the Domain, a friend introduced the same young man to me, whom I did not recognise until he remarked: “I have met Miss L—— before.” “Have you?” “Yes; one morning in Cleveland Paddocks.” He had drifted, like many other human wrecks, to the golden shores of Australia to fill a neglected grave. He received a regular allowance from home, which was soon gambled away. While it lasted he lived with gentlemen; when penniless, earned enough to keep body and soul together, anyhow, anywhere. Poor young man! he was one of many I heard of then and since who thought Australia a veritable “Tom Tiddler’s ground,” where picking up gold and silver only required the exertion of stooping for it. It certainly was picked up; but it required stalwart arms and steady perseverance to wield the “picks,” and bear other hard work as well as hard fare.

We had fine weather, so my second view of Wellington was under favourable auspices; the township already showed signs of progress—stores, an inn, court-house, and several pretty cottages were now on that side the river. Montefiores was just the same, being on part of the original Nanima estate, and still private property. My brother had purchased the hotel there and converted it into large stores, with a very convenient private house adjoining, fine garden, and orchard. The former owner had planted the best fruit trees procurable in Sydney; better peaches, figs, and nectarines I have never seen. The fences round were covered with climbing roses of various kinds; there was a large bed of violets and daisies just coming into flower. The vegetable garden was most prolific—cauliflowers so large as to require a boiler to cook them in; asparagus in great quantity, lettuces, onions, and in fact all vegetables in profusion. Harry supplied half the township if they would merely go for it; the same with fruit, and yet quantities were wasted. Many changes had taken place during my absence. The Rev. Mr. Watson had been advised to retire on his pension, and another clergyman appointed; a young man, with his wife, now carried on the work most zealously still in the old church, temporarily improved, as when the court-house was finished in Wellington, it was intended that service should be held there. My friends had left Nanima station, and now owned a steam mill property near the river, and close to a pretty little place recently built by Mr. Anthony, the clerk of petty sessions. Dr. Curtis had almost given up practice, and a young M.D. and his wife, just from England, lived in his cottage. Kind, genial Mr. Silva was the Crown commissioner at Mount Arthur. The late owner of my brother’s property had built a very nice house at the junction of the two rivers, appropriately called the “Meeting of the Waters”; unfortunately he did not live long to enjoy its many beauties. Gobolion was uninhabited, but the ground was being cultivated by a wealthy squatter who had purchased another place a few miles from Montefiores. During my visit we spent a day at the Holms, and also went to a dance there, which, as an illustration of what young people went through in those early times to attend such amusements, I will describe. We were to leave my brother’s house at about six o’clock in the evening, to arrive at our destination in time to dress. One carriage contained three ladies, nurse, and infant, Mr. Henry driving; a gig and single buggy contained others, and several gentlemen were on horseback. All went on well for several miles, when flashes of lightning and distant thunder warned us of an approaching storm, which at that time of the year was very alarming. To make matters worse, we had to turn into a bush road, with dense underwood, and trees meeting overhead. A terrific peal of thunder and heavy rain frightened the horses, then darkness fell like a dense cloud over us, and we had to stop till the thunder became more distant, when some of the gentlemen dismounted and led the horses, guided only by the lightning, along the track. We could hear the “coo-ee” of the others who had taken a better road. After nearly two hours we found ourselves at the house, wet and half-dead with fright. We were the last to arrive, as the carriage, being large and heavy, could not get through the bush roads as did those with single horses. Our friends were almost afraid we had turned back, which my brother had wished us to do.

Mrs. G—— suggested that we should take off our crinolines at once. “There are only three hanging before the kitchen fire now, and by the time you have had some refreshment and dressed so far, they will be ready for you,” which they were. Not being strong, I felt “Let me lie here in peace”; but I was soon refreshed, and a little after nine o’clock was ready to laugh at our experiences in “going to a party.” We danced till the first beams of sunrise fell on a picture hanging on the drawing-room wall, when some one (I am sure it must have been a man) drew up the blinds. What a transformation! Pretty women looked worn and haggard, and the flowers sad, drooping, or dead. We did not want to see more, but at once retired to change ball-dresses for more suitable apparel. In an hour breakfast was ready, and after we started on a delightful ride home, none the worse for our dance at the Holms. We had other dances at Mount Arthur, and before I left also at “The Meeting of the Waters.” I paid a visit to “The Mill Cottage” and nearly finished my career. I went for a ride on Mrs. Anthony’s horse, a very spirited animal, which threw me. My companion, Dr. Bohme, a German, living in the neighbourhood, was terribly alarmed, till my laughing at the concern he expressed so strangely, in German and broken English, convinced him I was not seriously hurt. For some days I was not able to move without dreadful pain. My friends were greatly troubled, as we were all going to a dance at “The Meeting of the Waters,” where my brother and his family were to meet us. “What shall we say about you to your brother? I dare not tell him you went out on ‘Parson,’ as he told me on no account to let you ride.” “I will go, and should I be unable to dance, must plead headache.” What torture I went through to get ready! However, the drive into Wellington did me good, and when I told Dr. Costerton “how stiff I felt,” he advised, “Have this dance with me, and you will be all right.” Before the evening was over all pain had left me, and my brother did not hear of my unfortunate fall until years after.

Dubbo, a small township farther down the river, was increasing in size and population. When we first went to the district it was not much larger than Montefiores, but had made great progress, and was fast becoming an important place. It is not so picturesque as Wellington, and much hotter.

Before gold was discovered, living in the Dubbo district must have been very trying. A lady living some distance below Dubbo told me they had to keep their buggy and harness in a pit to prevent the extreme heat from cracking them terribly. Butter could not be made, and meat had to be cooked soon after the animal was killed. Vegetables and grass in the dry seasons were not to be had. This state of things I could easily realise, as one summer, while in Wellington, butter could not be had. That was an exceptionally hot year throughout Australia, culminating in the long-to-be-remembered “Black Thursday,” which was almost beyond description. People died from the terrible heat, birds fell from the trees dead, and all vegetation was scorched up, while bush fires added to the misery. With us it ended in an awful thunderstorm, which cleared the air, and we were able to breathe freely again.

As the country was opened up by clearing away the trees and undergrowth, the climate became cooler. During my residence in Wellington and many wanderings through dense scrub and bush roads, I never saw a snake, but lizards and iguanas of all sizes; some were three feet in length, like young crocodiles. Kangaroos we saw at a distance; I knew what they were like, having seen some at the Zoological Gardens in the Regent’s Park. I had also seen the dingo—the native dog of Australia—in England, as my father had a puppy given to him by a friend from Sydney, which, when full grown, was a nuisance to the neighbourhood.

The wallaby makes a pretty outdoor pet, and some people like the opossum and native bear. The birds are very beautiful,—the Blue Mountain and Lowrie parrots, Regent bird, brilliant scarlet and green king parrot, leadbeater, and snow-white cockatoos. The galahs, with their delicate gray and rose-pink plumage, are the prettiest parrots, and become splendid talkers; the tiny budgeric gar, sometimes called the shell parrot; honeysuckers, with yellow eyes, like animated jewels; the butcher bird, crow, eagle, lyre bird, and the kookaburra, or laughing jackass, are well known. The last-named are very useful, as they are destroyers of snakes. A gentleman, travelling along a lonely mountain road, heard this bird’s extraordinary Ha! ha! ha! following him for some distance, until he came close to water and rocky ground, where he saw a large snake basking in the sun. In an instant “Jack” swooped down, caught the reptile by the back of the head, flew with it to a great height and dropped it on the rock, then flew down and dashed it against the stones till it was quite dead. These birds are met with all over the country, and are still seen close to Sydney. Flying foxes, a species of bat, are most destructive to fruit, knocking it off the trees and biting pieces out of the ripest. Some writers have stated the Australian birds do not sing. This is a mistake; they have not a continuous song like many of the English birds, such as the lark and thrush, but they have some very sweet notes, especially the bellbird, young magpies, and many others, and enliven the bush with their songs. English sparrows are very numerous everywhere in the colonies, and are surely the greediest, and most impudent birds. My verandah flowers in Sydney were nearly ruined by them; they would eat begonias and fuchsias while I was almost within reach of them.

My stay in the country had quite restored me to health, and hearing from a friend in Maitland of another appointment in the Hunter River district, arranged to take it, and left in the autumn for Morpeth, once more braving the perils and discomforts of the road to Bathurst by coach. During a few days’ stay in that town, now quite an important place, I went with a friend to witness the ceremony of consecrating the new Roman Catholic Church. The grand service, with many priests in gorgeous vestments, girls in bridal-like confirmation dresses, acolytes, incense, music, and chanted prayers, all reminded me of early childhood when I went with my maternal grandmother to her church in Spanish Place, London. After a short visit to my friends in Cumberland Street, Sydney, and promising to spend part of my Christmas holidays with them, I was again on the wing.