As I stood on the deck of one of the largest of the Peninsular and Oriental Company’s steamers, that now almost annihilate distance between England and her colonial possessions, taking a last look at the land where I had left youth, womanhood, kindred, friends, and the dust of parents, I thought, “Is there anything I can do in return for all God has done for me here—anything to prove my gratitude to the many true friends I am leaving: the Australians, young and old, who have thronged around us to bid us farewell?” Nearly half a century has passed since the good ship Euphrates came to anchor in this, one of the grandest harbours of the world, and I stood, as I am now standing, looking at the beautiful shores of Sydney Harbour. But what a change! Then few signs of habitation were to be seen, and now one sees stately mansions, countless and beautiful, surrounded by foliage almost to the water’s edge, silent witnesses of God’s goodness and man’s perseverance. One stately house there was, with battlements and tower, set in terraced grounds, with beautiful trees, shrubs, and flowers that only bloom under glass in colder climes; and over all a sky blue and transparent beyond description. In this house there dwell the descendants of two who stood near me when first I saw this lovely land. They are now in a still safer and more beautiful haven, having lived a good life here, and left their children the priceless inheritance of a stainless name. Two of that family have just left us; I need not say, “Go and do likewise,” for already they have laid up treasures in heaven.

Why do I wish to write of Australia, more especially of New South Wales, when such men as Froude, Trollope, and Forbes have done so? Firstly, I promised, and secondly, because travellers like those mentioned are merely birds of passage for a few months or weeks, staying amongst us, feted by a few men in power or position, travelling by special trains through the country, or on mere pleasure excursions, seeing what is to be seen under the most favourable conditions, and listening to interested or interesting descriptions of places and people that they have not had time to investigate. They leave without having the slightest idea of the real homes, lives, intellects, and capabilities of either country or people; and of the best families, scattered over her vast territory, they know little or nothing. The descendants of military and naval men, doctors, lawyers, clergymen, and merchants of the old days, too often not the richest or most powerful men now. Therefore travellers in these days come and go, either disparaging or fulsomely praising, just as some do who have visited England, and give a bad impression of our people and homes. I cannot help alluding to this, as I have heard many stories of colonists’ behaviour when in England during the Colonial Exhibition in London. These may be, and no doubt were, in many instances true, still, if we were to judge the English people, or indeed any nationality, by those who have visited our shores since the “gold mania,” I am afraid our experience would be equally unfortunate. No! let us not be too hasty in judging the many by the few; to my readers in both countries I say it. This record of a woman’s life and experience does not pretend to any literary talent; it is written with the hope of bringing the people of both homes nearer together, especially the young. Let the older country have patience with the younger, and lead them by patience and experience, as well as timely advice, to serve their God, Queen, and country.

To the younger I dedicate “The Golden South.”