I had to leave by the steamer from the A. S. N. Company’s wharf at night, and so missed seeing anything of the route until we arrived at Newcastle, when I went on deck, anxious to get a view of the Hunter River. As I expected, the scenery was totally different in character from that of the Western district,—flat, but very pretty with very luxuriant vegetation; many farms with fine pasture lands and orchards. The vineyards too were a new feature to me. We stopped at several places to land passengers, mails, and cargo, then proceeded to Morpeth, where my journey ended, and in a short time I reached my future home, which was at the house of Mr. Edward Close.

The trying ordeal of introducing myself to perfect strangers, being my first experience of this position, was anything but pleasant. The house was large, standing in extensive paddocks, and surrounded by flower garden, shrubbery, and orchard. The members of the household were the owner, a retired military man in his seventieth year, his eldest son, wife, and their two little girls, Rosie and Susie. Rosie and Susie, with the daughter of a friend near, were to be my pupils.

We were close to the Bishop of Newcastle’s residence and the church; for walks we had no need to go beyond our own grounds. Morpeth was not pretty, merely one long street with few buildings of any size; the bishop’s house and Mr. Edward Close’s were the only two of any importance in the place at the time I write of. The bishop living so near was a great advantage, as he generally preached at our church on Sunday evenings. Our clergyman was very wearying to listen to, and my little pupils were terribly tried by his long sermons. Strange to say, almost invariably the poorest preachers preach the longest sermons. My dear little girls on such occasions showed their difference in temperament. Susie would whisper very audibly, “When will Mr. W—— stop? I am so tired;” while Rosie with her earnest eyes listened attentively. I once asked her what the sermon was about. “I don’t know, Miss L——, but thought it must be good, as it is from the Bible.”

We lived a quiet uneventful life at Morpeth House. Mr. Edward Close senior was without exception the most Christian-like man I ever knew; he had lived in the district for years, and the only fault that could be found in him during a long career was, “He was too good, too lenient to the faults of others.” At the time I write of he had given up the management of his estate to his eldest son, spending his mornings in his flower garden, and after dinner reading in his study. Mrs. Edward Close junior had been his ward, knowing no other father, as she once told me, and certainly she was devotedly attached to him. Her husband was a fine-looking man and enthusiastic volunteer, looking in his uniform every inch a soldier. Both husband and wife were Australians.

Our evenings were spent in a way in every respect congenial to my taste; Mr. Edward Close senior for years had read aloud to those in the house who wished to listen. Mrs. Close and I with our work were always willing to pass our time thus. The other day, in looking over a diary kept in that year, I found a list of the books he read, amongst them being Lord Dufferin’s Letters from High Latitudes, Farrar’s Julian Home, The Tent and the Caravan, The Crescent and the Cross, Life of Kitto, and Life of the Duke of Wellington, the last was most interesting, as the reader had been an actor in many of the scenes described, and in answer to our questions would place the book aside, and fight his battles over again; the kind old face would then light up and the clear eyes flash at the recollection of the days of his youth. Once I remarked, “I cannot understand how you, Mr. Close, could have ever wished to kill, when even the sport of shooting is distasteful to you.” “I cannot understand myself now; but when once the word of command is given, discipline and duty led us on, and afterwards excitement made the animal nature forget all else but the desire to conquer. After the battle to me was always terrible, and I used to think, ‘I can never fight again.’ Yet I have always felt I could not have been an onlooker only. War is a terrible necessity; but as long as the world lasts inevitable. When I read the accounts of the Indian Mutiny, and heard from the lips of those who witnessed them its horrors, I felt it was indeed so.” This I could understand, remembering one amongst the many tragedies. A girl I knew married a young officer visiting Sydney, and soon afterwards left for India. They were at Meerut with his regiment when the mutiny broke out, and tried to escape by the river; they were seen from the shore and pursued. As all hope of getting away from their pursuers was gone, he whispered a few words to his young wife, to which she evidently agreed; then clasping his wife in his arms, jumped into the river, and they were saved from the fate of many which they had witnessed.

When Sir John and Lady Young paid their first visit to the Hunter River district, they held a reception and a grand review of the volunteers. We went of course. Maitland was en fÊte with carriages of all description, full of gaily-dressed ladies, and numbers of equestrians of both sexes. Flags, triumphal arches, and our military made up quite an imposing spectacle. Mr. Close sent her ladyship a basket of fruit, amongst it the largest loquats I ever saw, so different from the usual specimens to be purchased now; they were as large as hens’ eggs, with very few seeds. Of late this fruit has been very much neglected; a great pity, as when properly cultivated it is very delicious, and coming at a season when we have so little fruit, is a great boon. I have never seen it so fine anywhere as at Morpeth House, and excepting there have not tasted bananas ripened on the trees, and by comparison those brought from Queensland and Fiji are not so delicate in flavour.

Early in the spring I went with my pupils to visit a friend of the family at Newcastle. It was a very pleasant change, especially as Morpeth House was being painted, which had affected my health, and was really the cause of our going. The kind old gentleman having noticed my pale face and constant headache, asked Mr. Bolton to take us for a week or two. It was a contrast to Morpeth—the town built on a rocky height, and the streets a series of ascents. We were on one of the highest points, so we had an excellent view of the glorious ocean with its restless waves. We often wandered about the beach gathering shells and seaweed.

One pet at Mr. Bolton’s caused much amusement, an Australian “native companion,” a species of crane; a pretty tame bird with shaded gray feathers and graceful neck. It would run races with the children’s arms round its neck, up and down the garden paths, standing patiently by my side when they were tired, and waiting for another start.

Newcastle was a busy place then. What must it be after more than a quarter of a century’s progress I can only gather from the newspapers, never having been there since, except in passing from the steamer to the railway station. At Christmas, with Mrs. Close and the children, I went to Sydney. What a journey! A crowded steamer with only one saloon for the ladies and children; and every one was ill but the stewardess and myself. The children were crying, and even Mrs. Close was indifferent to her baby’s wailings. That night’s experience proved that nothing could make me suffer from mal de mer. How glad we were to get on terra firma once more. Mrs. Close left me at my friend’s house in Cumberland Street. What a home it was! The dear, gentle mother and her kind and pretty daughters always ready to welcome their friends, especially those without a home. I have often listened to that mother’s conversation, and thought how innocent and unworldly she was. She had married young, and was not a great reader, so that her mind was purity itself. Until her husband’s death, she had never had to think for herself, and fortunately her eldest daughter, a girl of twenty, had to a great extent taken the husband’s place, sparing her mother business worries. In her widow’s dress she looked so pretty and placid, sitting in her usual place by the large dining-room window looking over the harbour. Always ready to sympathise with the joys or sorrows of others, she now warmly welcomed me. Ah me! that dear old home is now broken up, that good mother and true friend “beyond the stars.” Her children have homes of their own, only the eldest remaining unmarried; she, without the duties of a home, takes upon herself those of many. Truly good and charitable, she has been a “ministering angel” to many of those “we have with us always,” and will be able to meet her beloved parents some day without a pang of regret.

In town Mrs. Close had asked me to call on her at Campbell’s wharf, where she was staying with a connection of her husband’s; so one afternoon I called. She was out, but Mr. John received me, and, before I could explain the reason of my visit, began, “Well, young lady, what do you want a subscription for?” I looked astonished, and he continued, “Do you know you are the third that has asked me for help to-day.” “But I don’t want anything.” “Not want anything?” in a surprised tone. “Well, then, you are very unlike my usual young lady visitors, for they generally want something for a church, chapel, school, poor people, or help of some kind. I have neither wife nor children, so am expected to provide for other men’s.” When he heard my errand he laughed, and said, “You are certain you do not want anything?” “Yes, quite certain, Mr. John.” As I would not wait for Mrs. Close’s return, he escorted me to the gate. This gentleman was the eldest of three brothers, old and wealthy colonists, pillars of the Church of England, and true philanthropists, highly respected and honourable men. The one I have alluded to spent a fortune in doing good, and left a large sum to found a church in one of the Pacific Islands. He and his brothers assisted in forming a bishopric in the Southern district. They have all gone now to reap an eternal reward for good work done here, leaving an honoured name to their descendants.

Soon after our return to Morpeth, the sad news of our beloved Queen’s loss, by the death of Prince Albert, reached us. A sad loss to her, her family, and the nation of which we were part. Sympathy was sincere, and in most homes it was felt almost as a family bereavement. Mr. Edward Close senior was so much affected as to be almost unable to read the usual daily prayer for the Royal family.

We had incessant rain for some time after our return to Morpeth, and fears of floods were entertained, the district lying low, and most of the farms near the banks of the river. One night, hearing the firing of guns and people running about, I knew these fears were realised, and in the morning heard that Mr. Edward Close junior with our men had been rescuing persons from the roofs of houses and tree tops. It was dangerous work, as often the boats would be nearly stove in by striking against the buildings, fences, and tree stumps, or nearly upset by floating debris. What a desolate scene it was, as viewed from our higher ground, now full of stock rescued from the farms! Only the chimneys of houses and the tops of high trees to mark where a few weeks ago stood comfortable homes, orchards, and gardens. Poor people, what places to return to when the water subsided; furniture and clothing soddened with wet and mud; stock drowned and crops washed away! I remarked to Mr. Edward Close senior, “They will never live in those places again.” “Yes, Miss L——, in a few weeks you will see them quite comfortable again.” Which was the case, for in less than two months, owing to the wonderful power of the Southern sun, fresh crops were above the ground, the wooden houses fresh whitewashed, and the soil richer and more productive than ever, owing to the rich soil deposited. I went for a short visit to Maitland at this time, and from Government Cottage on the hill saw more of the effects of the flood than at Morpeth. Dead stock, produce, furniture, and whole stacks of hay floated down the stream. Yet Mr. Day said, “Floods in the Hunter were nothing to those in other districts, where many lives would be sacrificed ere aid could be obtained.”