A DESCRIPTION of “the season” in Hobart, whether regarded as a summer
land for tourists, a safe run ashore for the men and officers of the
South Pacific “fleet in being” detailed at Hobart, or as an object
lesson for untravelled inhabitants—would seem to consist mainly of a
record of recreational events. A list of picnics and pleasure parties,
driving and fishing excursions, with pedestrian rambles—chiefly by day,
but occasionally _au clair de la lune_.
The rivers named after Messrs. Brown and Huon, long dead celebrities,
received more than their share of patronage, it would seem, in the
entertainment of reckless revellers, whose polo meets and gymkhanas
alternated with the legitimate annual races and steeplechases.
There must have been business transactions, but they were eluded or
postponed—the only exception being the Great Silver Bonanza, which kept
its bond-slaves hard at work, by means of remuneration on the higher
scale. Night and day, work proceeded with the regularity of one of its
own steam-engines. The Hobart weather was delightful—occasionally
threatening rain but chiefly relenting, and ending towards the close of
day with soft and cooling sea breezes, which refreshed the
pleasure-driven crowds to the inmost fibre of the nervous system.
In all these ingenious projects for lessening the strain upon the minds
and bodies of ordinary humanity the officers and men of H.M. Royal Navy
were conspicuously effective. At all aristocratic entertainments
“Man-of-War Jack” was utilised to keep the gangways clear, to hold the
rope of division in the ball-room, and otherwise, as “the handy man,” in
spotless array, to display his disciplined alertness. Even the naval
Church parade was attended by the fair ones of perhaps the last night’s
entertainment. On each Sunday morning, therefore, boat-loads of
worshippers, in silk or muslin, might be descried crossing the waters of
the harbour, rowed by an ample crew, under the charge of an
all-important middy, to the flag-ship or frigate, where divine service
was celebrated by the Chaplain of the Fleet, or other amphibious
clergyman, provided by the Lords of the Admiralty.
In this sense, perhaps, the gay season of Hobart constituted a social
federation of the Australasian States, when other matters, not of
ephemeral weight, might be suitably discussed. From the wave-beaten
isles of New Zealand, where the mountain-crested billows rolled on their
stormy march from the ice-fields of the ultimate pole, to the
mangrove-bordered marshes of Northern Queensland; from the “Never-Never
country” and the “back blocks”; from “the Gulf” and the buffalo lands of
Essington and Darwin, came languid, fever-stricken squatters, to breathe
the cool air of this southern Lotus Land, differing among themselves in
minor respects as to manner, accent, stature and ordinary habitude, but
in heart and brain, British to the core. Roving sons of the Great Mother
Land, holding God’s Commission of the strong hand, the steadfast brain,
to occupy the Waste Places of the earth and develop their inborn trend
towards justice and mercy, law and order. With such inherited gifts,
going forth conquering, and to conquer, to weld into one solid, enduring
fabric, the Empire of Britain. Thus, handing down to their children’s
children lands of freedom “broad-based upon the people’s will,” where
equal laws administered with moderation and mercy are to be the heritage
of England’s sons. The Greater Britains of the South, for all time; and
whether in peace or war, loyal, self-contained, immovable, one and
indivisible.
The great event of the season was to be the Polo Ball, looked forward to
with almost feverish eagerness, not only by the young men and maidens of
the Happy Isle, but by the large important contingents from abroad,
which exceeded in number, and social value, those of any previous year.
Hence applications for tickets were beyond all calculation.
Requests, even entreaties poured in, almost until the opening of the
doors of the great hall secured for the function. Claude Clinton was, as
he said, “walked off his legs,” having indeed hardly time to dress and
eat his dinner, while the committee, who had the onerous and responsible
task of deciding upon the fitness of applicants, had to improvise a late
sitting, so as not to disappoint the arrivals by the train from
Launceston, just landed from the New Zealand Company’s extra service
boat, the _Rotorua_. The funds of the Club, however, would be benefited
to such an extent, that the secretary and committee worked loyally till
the last moment, and when Mr. Clinton had given a last authoritative
order, and made a final inspection of the decorations, he sat down to
his dinner at the Travellers’ Club, and drank his pint of champagne with
a conviction that everything had been done to deserve success, and that
the issue lay with Fate.
Imogen had condescended to inform her relations that a friend of hers
had arrived from Melbourne, who, having made up her mind at the last
moment, would dress and join their party after dining at the Orient
Hotel, where rooms had been secured for her previously.
She had written confidentially to Mr. Clinton and had her name properly
submitted to and passed by the committee. All was arranged, and she
would go under Imogen’s chaperonage to the ball, and perhaps stay with
them all night.
“What is her name? Do I know her, Imogen?” inquired her husband. “You
are very mysterious, my dear!”
“You have seen her, she tells me, but I am not certain whether you will
recognise her. She comes from some place near Adelong in New South
Wales; her people used to live in Tumut.”
“Then the probability is that she will be good-looking,” said Mr.
Blount. “Some of the handsomest girls I ever saw came from that
sequestered spot. However, we must wait till she shows up. Was she a
schoolfellow of yours?”
“No, not exactly, but I knew her when she was younger. You will know all
about her when the time comes. I feel desperately hungry, after this
exciting day. Oh, I hear the dinner gong.”
The dinner was not unduly prolonged, as any one of experience in the
anxieties and precautions which precede such an important function will
understand. So that after an adjournment to the drawing-room, when,
about nine o’clock, the maid delivered a message, _sotto voce_, to Mrs.
Imogen, who forthwith left the room, everyone revolved great
expectations. These were chiefly realised, when the hostess reappeared,
accompanied by a tall, handsome, exceedingly well-dressed girl, who
blushed and smiled, as she was introduced to the company as “Miss
Maguire of Warranbeen.” “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Maguire,” began
Blount, but, with a sudden alteration of tone and manner, “Why, it’s
Sheila! by all the Powers, what a transformation!” as Mrs. Bruce shook
her warmly by the hand, while Imogen stood by her charge, apparently
charmed with the metamorphosis which leisure, the use and reputation of
“money” had effected in the unformed country girl, so lately the “maid
of the Inn,” at the secluded village of Bunjil, on the Upper Sturt.
“You didn’t know me, Mr. Blount, I could see that. I had half a mind to
ask you what you’d like for breakfast. I’m turned into a young lady,
nowadays, you see! And Mrs. Blount, in her great kindness, persuaded me
to come to the ball to-night, with her and Mrs. Bruce. I’ve been to the
Show Ball at Wagga, and one or two in Tumut, by way of a start. But this
is such a grand affair; I feel frightened.”
“I am sure, Sheila, you have no cause to be,” said Mrs. Bruce,
reassuringly; “you native girls can all dance—it seems an instinct; your
dress is charming, and you will gather confidence as the ball goes
on—and your card is filled. You are a mysterious stranger, for the
present. That alone will be an attraction. We’ll see to your
introductions; and there are naval men in profusion.”
“I like sailors,” said Sheila, “they are so unaffected and jolly, put on
no side” (she had been at a country ball at the age of sixteen, to which
the officers of a man-of-war, then in Sydney, had been bidden by a
liberal-minded squatter, who had invited the whole of the “township”
inhabitants, in one act, and a great success it was), for Sheila bore
about with her for all time the memory of two polkas, a waltz, and a
galop danced with the Honourable Mr. de Bracy, midshipman of the period,
to their mutual satisfaction and enjoyment.
“I think you will have your share of partners, Sheila,” said her
hostess; “you certainly do credit to your dressmaker, and the Upper
Sturt complexion will give you a chance with these Tasmanian girls, who
are justly celebrated for theirs.”
“What a transformation!” said Blount to his wife, before they put on
their wraps. “I never could have believed it. Of course she has fined
down since the Bunjil days. I believe old Barney sold a Queensland
station, with 30,000 head of cattle, just before the seasons turned dry.
So she and her sister are considerable heiresses. She has, as you see,
self-possession, and sense enough to avoid anything _outré_.”
“You’ll see she’ll get on quite well—make a success, indeed. People say
money isn’t everything; but it goes a long way in this, or any other
country, especially combined with looks, and other good qualities. You
had better dance the opening set of lancers with her for a start.”
Mrs. Imogen’s predictions were verified. There was a certain amount of
romantic interest attached to the fresh-looking, handsome stranger,
reputed wealthy, and who danced so well. “Came, too” (people said),
“with that nice, high-bred-looking Mrs. Bruce and the bride.” She danced
the first lancers with Mr. Blount, and while exhibiting familiarity with
the figures, moved with the graceful indifference which has succeeded
the erstwhile precision with which the “steps” were anciently performed.
Mr. Blount managed to secure an early waltz, and the naval men coming by
shiploads, as it appeared to her, Sheila’s programme was filled in no
time.
That there could not have been a better ball, all the authorities
combined to declare. The ever-successful secretary and plenipotentiary
had once more covered himself with glory; the arrangements were perfect,
the supper was “a dream,” and when Sheila found herself taken in by the
Captain of the flag-ship, the Admiral and the Governor being in the
immediate vicinity, she wondered whether she was likely to fall down in
a fit, or if some other kind of death would result from such an
overflowing flood of triumphant, ecstatic bliss.
However, she did not die, or indeed was she likely to perish of nervous
excitement consequent on pure, unadulterated pleasure; the early
bush-training, together with a naturally good constitution, would always
preserve her from such an untimely fate.
Imogen was carefully, prudently, introduced to Miss Laura Claremont, who
prophesied that they would be great friends, and invited her and her
sister to Hollywood. Both of which Imogen accepted conditionally on her
husband’s—she laid a slight emphasis upon that very possessive word—“on
her husband’s not being hurried away by Mr. Frampton to that horrid
Zeehan.” The Upper Sturt party, as we may for convenience describe them,
got their full share of partners it may be believed, being all of the
age when, if there be an ear for music, and a terpsichorean taste “what
time the raving polka spins adown the rocking floor,” with good music,
suitable partners, and a smooth surface, nothing much better among the
lighter enjoyments of life is to be found. With Miss Claremont Blount
had danced before, when their steps appeared to suit extremely well. On
this occasion, he saw no reason why he should deny himself the fleeting
indulgence of once more gliding and sliding about with her in the
accepted fashion.
She graciously acceded to his request for an after supper dance, and in
one of the partly deserted side-rooms they came to a mutual
understanding, which each felt was more or less needed.
“I owe you a few words,” she said, “if our friendship is to continue—and
I should be sorry for it to end abruptly. It appears to me that we were
both in an exceptional state of mind when we met at Hollywood for the
first time, and if something had not happened—which _did_ happen—one of
us would have felt a right to blame the other.”
“You have stated the position most fairly,” he said.
“I hope you don’t think I am so logical,” she replied, “as to be
deficient in feeling. Believe me when I tell you”—and here her dark eyes
glowed with a transient gleam of hidden fire, which he had never before
noticed in them—“I don’t exaggerate when I say that it was a fateful
crisis, such as I had never before experienced.”
“It was most truly a supreme moment in _my_ destiny,” he replied, as she
faltered and then stopped, overcome by emotion.
“But, let me go on, I entreat, to make open and full confession, for I
can never recur to the subject, and I trust you to make a similar
promise.”
“It is given,” said Blount in all sincerity.
“Then,” said Miss Claremont, “I will not deny that I was attracted to
you at our first meeting, more, perhaps, than towards any man whom I had
ever met, with one exception. You were different from any one with whom
I had previously come into contact. This impression was confirmed as we
saw more of each other. I recognised your mental qualities. I approved
highly of your opinions, your personal attributes and general character
appealed to me strongly. My heart was in an unsettled state; I was weary
of waiting, and began to doubt whether Richard Dereker, with whom I had
been in love ever since I could remember, intended to declare himself. I
am not believed to be impulsive, but, under certain conditions, am very
much so.”
“All women are,” interjected Blount.
“Possibly; but let me finish;” and she hurried on—her voice changed from
the deliberate calmness with which she usually spoke, to a hurried
monotone—“If you had proposed to me that night, I should have consented,
I believe. But your departure next morning gave me time to reflect;
saved me, most likely, both of us, from life-long incompleteness, which,
to a woman at least, means settled unhappiness. Then, just after you
left, my fairy prince ‘made up his mind,’ as people say, and I am the
happiest girl in Tasmania. I need not ask about your feeling—it is
written in large print over both of you, and—here she comes! I don’t
wonder.”
“I was in a most forlorn and wretched state,” said Blount, “when you
took pity on me and healed my wounds by your sympathetic kindness. Never
think you could have done me an injury—and you must let me say, even
under our changed conditions, that _I_ should not have been a life-long
sufferer. But, as in your case, the fairy princess was persuaded of her
knight’s fidelity; the falsehoods set about by enemies were disproved,
and the castle rang with troubadour ballads, and the usual merry-making,
when the ‘traitours and faitours’ were put in their proper places; and
so the incident is closed, and in all gratitude and enduring friendship
it is a case of ‘as you were.’”
“Yes; I know, I know,” said the fair Laura; “no more protestations, or
else your wife will require explanations, too. Who is the very handsome
damsel she has with her?”
“Well; a great friend of mine, who stood by me staunchly in my
tribulations and rendered me timely aid. She is a New South Wales
heiress. I will tell you about her another time.”
“We have been looking for you, Miss Claremont,” said Imogen. “I was
anxious to introduce my friend, Miss Maguire, a friend of my husband’s,
too, who did him important service at a critical juncture without which
(between you and me) things might have turned out differently.”
“Mr. Blount gave me to understand as much,” said Miss Claremont, “and I
am most happy to welcome any friend of yours or his to our island home.
I hope you have enjoyed yourself, Miss Maguire?”
“More than I ever did in my life before,” said Sheila, with such evident
sincerity, that no one could help smiling. “I think the people here are
the kindest and pleasantest I ever met. I have often heard of Hobart
hospitality, but never expected to find it anything like this.”
“I hope we shall continue to deserve such a good character. Strangers do
generally approve of us, and there is no doubt we are always delighted
to see them. I suppose we ought to make a move, Mrs. Blount, I see
Richard looking out anxiously for me. We must all go and thank Claude
Clinton if he isn’t dead with fatigue. We owe a great deal to him.”
“That we do,” said Sheila, naïvely, “he told me he had been hard at work
since daylight, arranging thousands of things. Poor fellow! I quite
pitied him. I was nearly offering to help with the supper—I am supposed
to be clever in that line.”
“You might have come off as well as the girl who volunteered to take the
parlourmaid’s place when her sister was short of one at a big dinner,
and afterwards married a baronet with ten thousand a year, who thought
she said ‘Sherry, sir?’ so nicely!”
“I see Claude Clinton over there,” interposed Blount, who thought the
situation was becoming critical. “He’ll be fast asleep if we don’t go
and pelt him with congratulations. Say something nice to him, Sheila!”
“That I will,” said she, with effusion, “I quite love him for his
kind-heartedness.”
“You’re not the only grateful one,” said Miss Claremont, “but you’ll
have to wait your turn. Dick must make a speech, and we’ll all say
Amen.”
“I’ll do anything if you’ll come home,” said that gentleman. “You girls
would stay till daylight, I believe. Claude, my boy! come here and be
publicly thanked. These ladies have constituted themselves a deputation
and wish to assure you that this is the best ball they ever were at in
their lives; that it wouldn’t have been half as good but for you; that
they will be everlastingly grateful for the perfect arrangements you
have made. Miss Maguire can’t express her feelings in words, but is most
anxious to—”
“Oh! Mr. Dereker!” cried Sheila, blushing to the roots of her hair,
“pray don’t—Oh!”
“Don’t interrupt. She’s most anxious to say ‘Amen.’”
“Amen!” said Sheila, gravely, and evidently much relieved.
“For what we have received, etc., etc.,” continued Mr. Dereker. “Now for
shawls and the carriage. Can we set you down at the club, Claude? And
you can make a suitable reply on the way.”
Possibly he did, as he was wedged in, close to Sheila, and what he had
to say was in a softly, murmurous tone; akin to that of the surges on
the shore, which the silence of the summer night made clearly audible.
* * * * *
After the triumphant success of the ball, other entertainments followed
in quick succession, in which the visitors, civil, naval and military,
vied with each other in keeping up the excitement, so that the season of
18— was long known as the most successful, harmonious, and generally
mirthful period recorded in Tasmanian annals. Races, regattas, picnics,
gymkhanas, were in turn attended by crowds of visitors from all the
colonies.
Of four-in-hand drags there was quite a procession. Agriculture was
prospering. Stock was high in price and quality. Mining operations and
investments not only in this, but in all the other colonies, were
phenomenally payable. The financial glow shed by the ever increasing,
almost fabulous yield of the Comstock, and of the great copper and tin
mines, Mount Lyell and Mount Bischoff, gave a magical lustre to all
monetary transactions. A kind of Arabian Nights’ glamour was cast over
the existence of the dwellers in the land, and of all the excited crowds
who had hurried to the favoured isle, where Aladdin’s Cave seemed
suddenly to have opened its treasure chambers in real life and in broad
day, to the favoured inhabitants of the Far South Isle.
Foremost among the gay throngs who seemed bent upon taking fullest
advantage of the revelries of the period—so appropriate, so suitable, so
thoroughly in harmony with the spirit of the hour, were the festive
celebrities of the Victorian party, by which name they began to be
known.
Mr. Blount had no notion of receiving all the benefits of his newly
acquired possessions without doing something in requital. His liberality
was unbounded. He subscribed generously to all charitable societies and
local institutions. He gave picnics, dances and fishing parties. He even
went the length of chartering a steamer and carrying off a large
fashionable party to the weird, gloomy solitudes of Macquarie Harbour.
Here the frolic-minded crowd found their spirits lowered, and their
imagination darkly disturbed, as they roamed amid the ruinous
prison-houses, where rotting timbers told the tale of long neglect; of
fast-fading memories of crime and suffering. They gazed on the immense,
tenantless buildings, with hundreds of cubicles, the mouldering walls,
roofless and ivy-grown, the church where it was deemed that the wretches
whose lives were one long foretaste of hell, might be turned to hopes of
Heaven, after completing a life of imprisonment, torture and despair.
Vehicles were in attendance, besides saddle-horses and guides, under
whose safe conduct the revellers made their way to the silent, deserted
settlement, whence long ago the ghastly procession of chained men
marched at morn to commence each day—a day in which they cursed their
birth hour at dawn and eve, ending it by trusting that each night might
be their last. The visitors trod the rotting planks of the stage, where
fierce dogs had bayed and torn at their chains, as they scented the
escaping convict—where more than one such desperate felon had been
literally torn in pieces, or escaped the hounds to die a more terrible
death amid the sharks which swarmed around the pier. These and other
relics of the bad old days of mystery and fear, having been shudderingly
regarded by the awed and whispering company, the _Albatross_ departed
with a fair wind, a smooth sea, and her much relieved visitors, who,
“Ignorant of ‘man’s’ cruelty,
Marvelled such relics here should be.”
Yet as the stars came out and sat upon thrones, looking with sleepless
eyes upon the shadowy outlines of the darksome forest and the savage
coast, a wailing nightwind arose sounding as a ghostly accompaniment to
the dirge-like murmur of the great army of the dead—buried and
unburied—around the accursed charnel-houses, which had polluted even
that Dantean wilderness!
“Oh! let us get away from this dreadful place!” said Imogen, clinging to
her husband’s arm, “and I vote against seeing any other Chamber of
Horrors. We come to Hobart for rest and pleasure while this halcyon
season lasts. Let us not sadden our souls by one thought of the terrors
in which this place is steeped. I should like to blot out their very
memory and consume the relics off the face of the earth.”
* * * * *
It must not be considered, either, that the “Truce of God” (as cessation
of siege or battle was medievally termed), which the Happy Isle
proclaimed to the war-worn denizens of other colonies, less happily
situated for rest and recreation, was entirely devoted to Play. This
year was the session, wisely ordained as fitting in with the general
vacation, for the meeting of the Society for the Advancement of Science.
Hither came, therefore, to leaven the ordinary frivolities, learned
professors from Australasian universities, legal luminaries, judges, the
Q.C. and the rising barrister, mercantile magnates, statisticians of
world-wide fame, even, indeed, Sir Gregory Gifford, also Sir Harold
Harfager, an ex-Proconsul of our Indian empire. They were vice-regal
guests. Minor luminaries, such as authors, war correspondents,
politicians, home-grown and foreign—in fact almost all the men of “light
and leading” were represented at this unique gathering. Missionaries
from far Pacific Isles, who had faced cannibal hordes, and heard the
yell from crowded war canoes, when poisoned arrows were in the air. They
had their philological treasures and hard-won trophies to exhibit. The
crowded lecture rooms testified to the interest taken in the soldiers of
the Army of Peace. To add to the satisfaction with which the various
excitements and entertainments were availed of by the party from the
Upper Sturt, it so chanced that, in consequence of the favourable
seasons Edward Bruce was enabled to join them a month earlier than he
had expected. He was, moreover, in excellent spirits, openly avowing his
intention to devote his stay in Hobart to pleasure unalloyed, as
compensation for his late pastoral anxieties. He was not contented,
however, after a fortnight’s “idlesse,” without organising a trip to The
Mine, which had lately so developed in wealth, prestige, and reputation,
that it was difficult to say whether it belonged to Tasmania or Tasmania
belonged to it.
Everything and everybody appeared to be in a state of unprecedented
prosperity in that happy and care-free _annus mirabilis_ if ever there
was one. Mrs. Bruce and Imogen mildly reproached Bruce for being in such
a hurry to leave his family after so long an absence, and what was
worse, carrying off Imogen’s husband. However, he, a man of unresting
energy and enterprise, declared that he could not stand any more of this
lotus-eating life, and that if he did not get away out to the mine, he
would have to return to Marondah.
At this dreadful threat Mrs. Bruce capitulated, fearing a premature
departure from this land of Utopian delights, where the children were
improving so fast, and gaining a reserve of vigour impossible in a
hotter climate. This consideration, in the devoted mother’s eyes,
overbore all others, and caused her to look philosophically upon the
proposed expedition—which was accordingly decided upon, and a day fixed
for the start, the which came off without accident or delay.
* * * * *
It may be doubted whether, except in theatrical stage life, anything
surpasses in rapidity of transformation the change from a fragment of
the primeval wilderness into a thickly populated town, founded on a gold
or silver field of proved richness. Macadamised streets and level
footpaths take the place of miry dray tracks and sloughs of despond. So
was it in the city of Comstock. Handsome hotels and shop fronts, with
plate glass windows, had succeeded weatherboard and slab shanties with
bark roofs. The electric light in globe and street lamps shed its
searching radiance through main thoroughfare and alley.
The diurnal coach, by which our travellers arrived, was well horsed and
punctual to a fault. The police magistrate and warden of goldfields,
assisted by a strong body of police, preserved order and punished
evil-doers with such deterrent strictness that offences against the laws
were almost unknown. A municipality, with mayor, councillors, and
aldermen had been formed after the British pattern. Thus the foundations
of earliest English law had been laid, and as the erstwhile barren,
hopeless lodge in the wilderness increased in wealth and population, so
the State, “broad based upon the people’s will,” emerged ready made,
only awaiting that gradual development which comes instinctively in
Anglo-Saxon communities, to pass from the rude stage of the mining camp
to the perfected organisation of the city. It was soon made apparent to
the party that Hobart was not the only place where public entertainments
and festive gatherings were to be found. The mayor and corporation of
Comstock, waiting upon the distinguished visitors, whose arrival was
duly chronicled in the _Clarion_, invited them to a formal banquet,
where champagne in profusion was exhibited, and the health of their
guests proposed by the mayor, Mr. Frampton Tregonwell, who made
honourable mention of that distinguished pastoralist and explorer, Mr.
Edward Hamilton Bruce.
Before this function they had been taken to the lower levels of the
mine, when the “drives” being lighted up, and a few judiciously selected
masses of “native silver” and malachite looked up for the occasion, Mr.
Bruce formed the opinion that he stood in a “quarry” of one of the chief
precious metals. Being a man of business habits, as well as of pastoral
experience, he took the opportunity, under Mr. Tregonwell’s authority,
to inspect the accounts of the Company, and, after examining the
astonishing values of crude and treated ore, he came to the conclusion
that his sister-in-law (untoward as had been the early stages of their
acquaintance) had displayed the unerring instinct with which her sex is
credited in her venture in the matrimonial lottery. The audit
demonstrated the cheering fact that an income of from ten to twenty
thousand a year was assured to each of the four original shareholders in
this most fortunate enterprise.
“I suppose you and Imogen will be taking a trip home in a few months?”
he said. “With all this money, and the prospects of the season in
London, Australia will lose some of its interest.”
“Such is our intention; unless anything unforeseen comes in the way
after the Hobart season has come to an end and you good folks have
wended your way back to the Upper Sturt, I think of taking our passage
by the first P. and O. steamer from Sydney.”
“Won’t it be rather cold to arrive in England so early in the year?”
“We propose to stay a month or two in Cairo on the way, refreshing our
memories of the _Arabian Nights_; trans-shipping by the Brindisi route,
and after a week or two in Paris, reaching London in May, in time for
Imogen to hear her first nightingale.”
“A very sensible programme, I wish we were going with you. However,
later on, if the seasons and the stock keep up, we may come and stay at
your country seat.”
“It was the most fortunate day of my life when I stayed at yours, though
appearances were against me, I confess. However, I look forward to
seeing you and Hilda in my native county, which is not wholly without
interest, especially in shooting, hunting, and fishing. However, I think
it’s drawing on to feeding time. Champagne goes better _after_
subterranean experiences than before.”
The banquet was a success. Blount found himself referred to, not only as
the original capitalist in the formation of the great Mineral Property,
which had advanced Tasmania by half a century, socially, commercially,
and mineralogically (the last word a trifle slurred), but as “a patron
of the fine arts, a generous supporter of local charities, and a citizen
of whom they would all be proud, and would remember gratefully in days
to come. They trusted that even in the splendid pageantry of the old and
venerated society, in which he and his amiable wife were so soon to
share, the humble, but heartfelt hospitality of the ‘tight little
island,’ called Tasmania would not be wholly forgotten. Their honoured
guests had accepted invitations to be present at a ball to be given that
evening for the purpose of supplementing the funds of the local
hospital, and all hoped to meet them there. They knew that there were
several representative institutions, including the library, of which
they were justly proud, to inspect. They would not detain the guests by
making further remarks.”
Mr. Blount had no hesitation in saying that he was never more genuinely
surprised than by witnessing the astonishing, he might say unparalleled,
progress made by the town and district since his last visit. In the
formation of the streets, in the water service, in the installation of
electric lighting, in the hospital and library, Comstock was ahead of
many old-established country towns in Britain. Personally, he should
always take a deep interest in the municipal, as well as the material,
progress of the city, and feel genuine pride in having contributed to
its inception and development.
A general inspection of the local institutions filled up the afternoon.
The free library attracted much attention. It had been commenced by
subscription, and with private donations, supplemented by books from
tourists and visitors, who generally left any they brought to read by
train or steamer on the journey up. It was a heterogenous collection,
ranging from _very_ light fiction to works on metallurgy, theology, and
civil engineering. However, there was no lack of works of solid value,
so that the miner who wished to improve or distract his mind had no
difficulty in finding books to suit his taste. At the hospital, apart
from typhoid fever and dysentery patients, the cases were mostly
fractures and other injuries resulting from mining accidents. This
establishment, as at all gold and silver fields, was most liberally
supported, irrespective of race, creed, or colour. No working miner knew
whose turn it might be the next to be carried there in agony or
insensibility. Many were the gifts, unostentatiously bestowed, by former
patients in the shape of necessaries or luxuries for convalescents.
These duty visits performed, dinner was undertaken at the Palace Hotel,
a stately three-storeyed building, with a verandah nearly twenty feet
wide and balconies to match. After a more or less sumptuous repast in
the _salle à manger_, electric lighted, where they were served by
well-dressed waiters, with wines of undoubted excellence, and a _menu_
almost extravagant in variety, and but sparingly partaken of; Messrs.
Bruce, Blount, and Tregonwell sallied forth accompanied by a dozen
dignitaries to the Town Hall. In this imposing building, a crowd of
dancers in “plain or fancy” dress were already in the full swing of
pleasurable excitement.