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, 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. 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. 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 |