CHAPTER XXI

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I left by steamer for Newcastle to meet the train by which I was to travel as far as Singleton, where a carriage was to meet me. The country we travelled through struck me as being flat and uninteresting compared with the scenery of the mountains so well known to me. Singleton was a well-laid-out town, already possessing several good buildings, a church, large store, and public school. My destination—a large cattle farm some miles out—was very unlike anything I had hitherto lived at, low and flat; the house, however, was very comfortable and nicely furnished. My own apartments were large, and certainly everything was suitable for our requirements: bookcase and piano for study or amusement. My pupil, a girl of sixteen, decidedly above the average in intelligence, promised to be a pleasant companion. There was originality in her character. Under judicious and wider training she was likely to develop into a clever woman; but with present surroundings I used to think, “She will grow hard, and perhaps sceptical.” Wombo was a large farm and station for breeding from famous imported cattle. My pupil, the youngest of the family, seemed quite an anomaly there. Though her mother was of good natural ability, a long residence in such an isolated place had to a certain extent dried up the early impressions of a visit to England and life in Sydney. For the first time I saw there what splendid servants the Chinese can be made. They had a cook equal to the best European I ever met with; his dishes, bread, and butter the best of their kind; his kitchen a picture of cleanliness, as he also was in person. A daughter of his, about fourteen years of age, born on the place, was being trained as a parlour-maid, and already waited at table quickly and well. The cook had married a young emigrant girl from Somersetshire, who had been housemaid at Wombo, and certainly in this union had the best of it; she being an ignorant, lazy woman. She lived in what might have been made a pretty, comfortable home; instead of which it was a miserable, untidy, dirty hole, with numbers of children running about like half-caste savages, unkempt, uncared for. Poor “Jimmy” occasionally asked for half a day from the house, and then had a turn-out of his own. Several times I tried to get his wife to speak of herself, or her early home, but she seemed to have sunk into a state of apathy. She must have been a fine-looking woman; indeed, her former mistress told me she was, and could have married a white man. When she told her she was going to marry the Chinese cook, her mistress had remonstrated with her, asking, “What would your mother say to such a thing as your marrying a Chinese heathen?” “I dunno; he’s as good as she; same God made ’em both.” Mrs. Durham now thought Jimmy was the more to be pitied.

A most agreeable break in our usually monotonous life occurred soon after my advent at Wombo in a visit from W. B. Dalley, who was an old and intimate friend of the family, accompanied by a brother of Mrs. Durham. They spent several days with us. It was a treat listening to the conversation of these men at dinner in the evening; and afterwards Mr. Dalley would come into my sanctum, have a chat, and read to Sophie and me. He was certainly a man his country should honour; was, I have to write, as lately I have heard he has joined the “great majority.” A more courteous gentleman could not be; refined in taste, liberal in views on all subjects, one of Australia’s most gifted sons. The fire of eloquence had touched his lips, and his “silver speech” added beauty to the poems he read to us, which would have given delight to the authors. I had just been reading Longfellow’s Hyperion, and Bulwer’s Pilgrims of the Rhine to Sophie, from both of which he quoted long passages; then he read several of Tennyson’s and Longfellow’s, and with two extracts from the latter, “his especial favourites” he told us, I will close this poor tribute to his memory—

My health being still delicate, I found Wombo too bleak, so after a few months left for Sydney, where I spent several months visiting friends. Before returning I paid a visit to Morpeth by train, and found little alteration there; the same long, quiet, grass-grown streets, the same old houses. Altogether the northern district struck me as being far behind the western in every respect, owing no doubt to the absence of gold-fields in the immediate neighbourhood, as in the western and southern districts. There were many fine estates, such as Duckenfield and others, in this district; but East and West Maitland had not altered since my visit to them nearly ten years before. I heard, after the mining mania later on, when companies were formed to work old fields and new ones were started, business brightened here, as elsewhere in the colony.

On arriving in Sydney, diamonds were much talked about, owing to some fine stones having been found, and it was stated one very large stone was in Sydney, an Australian koh-i-noor. As the Mudgee district was said to be the best diamond field, I remembered the crystals given to me at Pipeclay diggings, some of which I had given to a friend. Staying at Clarendon House in town, where there were so many visitors, my diamonds caused quite a sensation, especially as one was as large as a pigeon’s egg. How earnestly, listening to the opinions for and against their being diamonds, did the gentle face of Mrs. Woolley brighten at the idea of my being so fortunate; what books were examined on the subject! At Mrs. Frederick’s too the same amount of interest was taken in them. One friend tested a specimen by fire, and several windows suffered by scratching on them. At last they were submitted to the best authority in Sydney, whose verdict soon shattered the airy castles of my friends, and my brief reign of having “great expectations” was over.

The different bands now played in the Botanic Gardens, a great improvement on the former custom of playing in the Domain, as there were so many shady seats for rest in the former, and flower-scented paths to stroll in. The view from the gardens,—embracing as it does Government House, Farm Cove, where H.M. ships and yachts lie at anchor, a large expanse of the harbour, with the north shore in the distance—is one that can scarcely be surpassed anywhere. We do not require glass houses for winter gardens in “The Golden South.” All the year round tropical plants and evergreens abound, and the sward is brilliantly green, though it is necessary to state that the hot winds in summer are most destructive to all kinds of vegetation. The camellias flower in the winter. What beds of anemones, ranunculus, and pansies have I seen there during the season we term winter, which is certainly not so cold as spring in England! At times the long-continued sunshine tired me, and made me long for grayer skies, especially as the air of Sydney is very relaxing. The summers are longer there than in the country, where cooler weather often begins in March and continues until October. In many parts of the western and southern districts geraniums, heliotropes, and all tropical shrubs have to be housed in winter; but even there the weather is only cool, not cold. Our flower shows used to be looked forward to as important events; now the agricultural shows share the popularity. Only the principal nurserymen and florists, with a few gardeners of wealthy residents, exhibit in Sydney, as the suburbs have their local shows. During this visit to Clarendon House one of my friend’s daughters was married; later on I saw two others of the same family stand at the altar of the dear old church so full of memories of the past. After the wedding was over, I went to my friends at Humberstone, where I remained an ever welcome guest, until I heard of an engagement in a family living near, the home of a widowed lady whose two youngest girls were my pupils. I was very happy, being near many friends, and having the society of an elder daughter of the house, and her young companions—girls of seventeen or eighteen. Miss Mossman was very bright and sang charmingly. Since those merry days she has married well, holds a high position in society, and while in England was presented at court. “The Grove” was a picturesque house, only a pleasant walk from Petersham and Marrickville, half an hour’s drive from Sydney or Burwood, and near two old estates, Annandale and Dobroyd. I am reminded continually of the first by our avenue of pines here, as the old trees at Annandale have been a landmark for years, no doubt to be soon removed by decay or progress. Since the time I am writing about, one portion of the estate has been built on, and is now a largely populated suburb, just as many others have sprung up in a decade or two. The Warren Estate, Hurstville, and Sutherland are instances enough of the growth of the suburbs of Sydney in a few years.

I was glad to be constantly employed, for Death had been busy with his scythe this year. My kind friends, Mrs. Frederick and Mrs. du Moulin, left me sorrowing. Both being in delicate health for years, life was perhaps wearisome to them, and those who mourned for them knew that they had through life garnered above the “golden grain” of true charity. Losing three such friends in two years was a great trial, and certainly the best palliative for grief is the constant companionship of children. It would be selfish to cast a shadow from it over their young lives; their innocent hopes and confidences should never be darkened by the losses time invariably brings. Wreathe his brow with flowers for them; years will entwine the thorns only too soon. The dear old home in Cumberland Street, with the kind hearts there, and the true friends at Humberstone, ever ready to welcome me, with gentle Marian’s companionship always willing to sympathise and cheer, were still left to me.

I left the Grove, and after a short visit to Petersham went to Clarendon House, where I remained until my marriage in September, the kind, generous friend there treating me as a daughter, and her children taking as much interest in my future as though I was one of themselves. Again the old church was visited, and I stood at the altar, where as a girl and woman I had so often knelt, and left many a burden of care and sorrow. Now if it should come, I should not have to bear it alone. The day was bright, and our drive to “Sans Souci” very charming; I had not been in that direction for years, and never beyond Cook’s River dam. Sans Souci was a favourite spot for the honeymoon, especially at this season of the year, when visitors were few. We were the sole visitors, except on one occasion, when the Rev. Mr. Pendrill (master of one of the principal private schools in Sydney) brought a party of young men there for the day. We were much amused at their evident desire to catch a glimpse of the bride, thinking very likely she was young and fair. The hotel being close to the water, we could wander amongst the rocks in one direction, and in another stroll through the bush gathering wildflowers, which at this season were to be found in profusion. The hotel was well managed, and our stay there a peaceful and propitious commencement of a new life to us both.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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