After twelve months’ residence in Morpeth I left for another visit to Penrith, by this time a much busier place, as the then railway terminus for the Western district. The bridge over the Nepean River was finished, so we could cross without that extremely disagreeable ferry. We spent a few weeks in the mountains, visiting Govett’s Leap, the waterfalls, and other well-known spots, while others we explored on our own account. How lovely it all was! What complete solitude in the gullies and mountain paths! The mountains might well be named “Blue,” for at times they were intensely so. One sunset there was most beautiful. We had spent the afternoon collecting ferns, waratahs, and mountain moss, heedless of time, when a heavy storm came on. Taking shelter under some rocks, we watched the sun emerging from the rain-clouds; in an instant every peak was touched with golden tints, and every valley filled by innumerable rainbows; gradually golden tints faded into purple, clouds broke into silver turrets, and along the horizon was a sea of palest green. My companion whispered, “Can heaven be more beautiful?” We could not so conceive it. The beauty of the scene seemed to make the question “Is there a God?” impossible. If this cannot reach the poorest soul, what can? We often took a drive to “St. Mary’s,” quite an English village in appearance then, with its pretty church and “silent dead” around it. Not silent, for the inscriptions over these last homes are often “sermons in stones.” One always attracted me. It was to the memory of the son of a well-known English house, who, travelling in search of health, gave up the quest here, and died suddenly at the little village inn unknown, in this lonely far-away land. Nurtured in luxury, and favoured with exceptional advantages, he would seem to some safe from common dangers. “The Universal Reaper” says no. This record proves in few words how vain are man’s efforts. But his mother could not have desired a fairer resting-place for her child than here, amidst the humbler graves covered with green turf and shaded by many trees, and under, at night, the emblem of that son’s salvation, “The Southern Cross.”

Now we had a bridge over the Nepean, Mrs. Richard would often suggest drives to various farms on or near Emu Plains. She delighted in paying visits to the farmers’ wives, some of whom had known her in childhood, and would sit and listen with interest to the various details of “how the brindle cow had another calf,” or “when another pig would be killed,” or “the trouble these new-fangled fowls were, not being good mothers, you know,” until we, who were sitting in the waggonette, felt very tired and hot, wishing the good woman to stop this no doubt all-important subject to her. Sometimes our selfish impatience was punished by the kindly offer of “milk and seedcake,” or “any flowers and fruit we could gather.”

The main street of Penrith was not much altered; the railway station not being in it, the post-office was still at a general shop, but the letters were delivered through a window at the end of the verandah, which was used only for that purpose,—a much better plan than that adopted in this English village where I am now staying, twenty-seven years later, where they are delivered at a counter covered with the usual goods of a country store, whence also telegrams are sent, letters registered, and money orders issued, so that inquisitive persons standing near can study their neighbours’ business.

The volunteer movement had fired the ambition of the young men of this district to become soldiers. The son of a captain in the army was the head of “our regiment,” Mr. Richard the lieutenant. A grand volunteer ball was to be held in the hall, and several visitors from Sydney were expected. The stores were very busy, and nothing but the army ball was talked of. It was a most successful affair; not over select certainly, the captain’s wife dancing with one of his men, their butcher’s son, much to her husband’s amusement, who whispered, “Look at my wife; she has not the vaguest idea who her partner is; the uniform does it, you know.” I discovered this later in the evening, when Captain James introduced a partner to me; the face was familiar, and during the first figure of the quadrille I wondered where I had seen it. He did not speak, but danced solemnly; but while waiting for the next figure, he called me “Miss,” and appeared to know me, yet his style of dancing proved he was not accustomed to ladies as partners, for he would put his arm round my waist instead of taking hands. At last I discovered who he was, when, thinking to pay me a compliment, he alluded to my feet. Yes, he had served me with a pair of shoes a few days before. Captain James declared he and Mrs. Richard’s brother knew the instant I found this out by my manner to the poor young man. They were wrong, for I did my best to place him at his ease by talking about the district. It was a very pretty scene; nearly all the men in uniform, and several very pretty girls. The room was gaily decorated with flags. An excellent supper was provided by the ladies of the district, and we left about two o’clock; but the dancing continued till daylight. Being the first affair of the kind, it served as a topic of conversation for months, and the local belles voted picnics and tea-meetings slow by comparison.

Again I wended my way to Sydney, to live with a friend who was a great invalid, and undertake the management of the house and education of her two children. We lived at Surrey Hills, close to the principal nursery garden in Sydney, which was a very extensive property owned by a man who came to the colony with Captain Wilson, R.A., grandfather of my brother’s wife. The land, I think, was a grant from Government; it was a sandy swamp, but eminently fitted for the use it was put to; beautiful flowers and fine vegetables were grown at little outlay. At the time of my brother’s marriage the owner of this extensive property was becoming wealthy, and now it is worth many thousands. Much of it has been built upon. Another very wealthy family in Sydney owe their first step to riches to a similar source, their father having gone to the colony as secretary to my sister-in-law’s grandfather, and acquired land. Captain Wilson only left his children an honourable name; but as I have previously remarked as a curious fact, the large grants of land made to, or large areas purchased for a trifle by the early colonists, especially military or naval men, are not owned by their descendants. The land, apparently of little value, was sold by them to more business-like and far-seeing men; sometimes almost given away.

Afterwards we left Surrey Hills for a house in town near to my first home in the colony, and by doing so formed a close friendship with a family in the neighbourhood; the head of that family was a clever professional man, educated in England, who arrived in the colony when such were few, and by ability and perseverance attained the position he still so ably and honourably fills. A true Englishman of the old school, straight in word and deed, kind and generous—in fact, an example in every relation of life. If we had such men in our colonial parliaments, how very differently they would be conducted, and the country governed; but his professional and home duties during his early career occupied the whole of his time, and now the state of political life is such that good and honourable men often decline to enter the arena; however, he uses his influence and talent in other channels for the benefit of his adopted country.

When the volunteer movement commenced, he became captain of one of the Sydney corps, entering into the various duties of the position with his usual energy. To advance this patriotic movement he sacrificed many precious evenings that otherwise would have been spent with his family or in his well-stocked library. Of his wife it is impossible to speak too highly; the best of mothers, sisters, and friends, she and her sister are now the only two left near my own age of the intimate friends of the “days that are no more.” Through these friends my life in Elizabeth Street was passed in much happiness; their home was a delightful one, well arranged, and as free from care as is possible; their children were good and beautiful. In their carriage I had many drives round Botany and Long Bays, Randwick, Waverley, Five Dock, Burwood, and Homebush, thus gaining knowledge of the environs of Sydney. Mrs. Dawson was one who really deserved a carriage; no one ever saw her out driving alone. It was one of her greatest pleasures to take those with her who were without such a luxury, just as it was a pleasure to her husband to lend books from his library, or to welcome to his home those who were not so well provided with this world’s goods. When I hear people complain, “The world is very selfish,” I think of such as these and others I have known in the limited sphere of colonial life, and believe Charles Mackay is right in saying, “The world is what we make it.”

We went for a change to Manly Beach this summer staying at the Lagoon, a pretty little place on the ocean side. Thallie and I did not find fault with the rooms being small, nor did we feel the want of piano, or books, as we lived as much as we could out of doors, exploring rocks, beach, and bush. Here were fairy nooks, silent beaches, all unknown to the public, for Manly was not, as at present, a fashionable watering-place, or inhabited by wealthy citizens. Two steamers were quite sufficient for passenger traffic except on holidays. Lodging-houses, two or three hotels, and small shops constituted “our village.” The view of the ocean outside of the North Head is very fine. I used to sit on the beach, watching the white-winged ships “come and go,” earnestly wishing I could sail away to my “ain countrie,” that was hallowed by youthful recollections into sacred ground, where the great and noble lived and died. I am in that land now, learning over again that anticipation is often illusive. Unfortunately we have had an unusually rainy season; this, with fog, snow, and dull skies, by comparison with our sunny, clear Australian weather, has considerably damped my patriotic ardour, and has made me feel sometimes that before another winter I will go, like the swallows, to a more genial clime. To compare England with the Golden South would be folly; the two countries are so utterly unlike. In the cities of one age has darkened, and progress improved and added to the massive constructions of a wealthy nation’s palaces, churches, and homes. The country too in summer is like a well-kept farm or garden, rather too well kept, as where we live nearly every acre is private property, nothing but the roads that you may walk on. Only the other day a friend went (into what we call a paddock) to gather some wildflowers, when she was ordered off by a man, and the flowers she had picked by the public roadside taken from her. Thousands of acres covered with fern, heath, and firs are kept to give pleasure only to the few. I cannot understand this, as in Australia, except in grounds immediately surrounding the houses or in a state of cultivation, few persons object to sharing the beauties of nature with their kind. This closing up of all the best features of English country spoils its charm, beautiful as it is, when one can only view it by peeping through hedges or barred gates. Who will wonder if I prefer the country where all who possess land are willing to share the pleasures of it with others? How often have we walked through pleasant grassy slopes instead of keeping the dusty highway, resting when tired under the trees’ shade; if riding or driving, taking down the slip-rails to avail ourselves of shady spots, and this through the property of people we did not even know. One old friend of ours at Burwood allows football and cricket-matches to be played on his grounds without a murmur of disapproval. This is another digression for which I must beg my readers’ pardon—another wandering from the subject to many years later. Let me see what event happened at this period. A new cricket ground was opened on what was only a few years ago sandhill and swamp; the roads to it were, and are still, through that terrible enemy of Sydney housekeepers, red dust and sand. A visit to the ground (Albert) was a treat indeed, as the relatives and friends of the knights of the “Willow” could also enjoy their Saturday afternoons and holidays watching from the grand stand, or seated on the grassy terraces, the prowess and skill of the players. Not being a judge of the game, or specially interested in any of the players, one visit was sufficient for me at that time. When I saw the place again, shrubs and trees surrounded it. My English readers know how well our colonial youths play their favourite game, having witnessed it on many a well-fought field. In this as well as in all outdoor sports they are proficient, and as time rolls on, year after year will bring them more to the front intellectually. Steam now bridges the ocean. During the few weeks spent on board our floating hotels on their way to the centre of the empire and of intellectual culture they become more cosmopolitan in their views every day. I know this to be the case, as last year we experienced it on the P. and O. boat. We had Englishmen returning from a tour in the colonies, Americans, a judge from India, a Chinese lieutenant, two governors from English colonies, and some members of the aristocracy, with a few colonials who had not been beyond their own land. Before we left the steamer I could see what an impression had been made upon our young people.

I will name a few Australians who in earlier days made their mark with fewer advantages, compared with those of the present generation—Wentworth, Dalley, Cowper, Windeyer, Stephen, Kendall, Macarthur, Hamilton, Hume, and Kemmis; then Martin, Dowling, and others, who, though not born in, were educated in the colonies, and this at a time when it took months instead of weeks to learn what was going on beyond the waves of the broad Pacific. Every young man who can afford it would benefit by spending some time in the older parts of the world before he settles down, that his views may be enlarged by learning what class of men there are to compete with. It may be the want of such extended competition that makes so many rest content in Australia, where it is comparatively small. Much has been done during the last twenty years to increase the number of our good men; and when some of our present political charlatans, only greedy for place, patronage, and pay, die out, I hope they will work with voice and pen for the real benefit of the country. Our girls must not be forgotten; but so many have been chosen by Englishmen, and transplanted into English homes, that their qualities are better known. That they are equal in accomplishments, love of literature, personal appearance, and all that makes woman the light of home to their English sisters, I can truthfully state, having seen three generations of them in their homes.