There is something in the dress of an Australian Settler that is no less
characteristic than becoming,—what a splendid turn-out of this class may
be seen at some of the townships as they meet on the Sunday for Divine
service. I have looked at such assemblages in all parts of the colony,
until my eyes have dimmed with national pride, to think that to England
should belong the right to own them; the old-fashioned Sunday scenes and
manners of England, seen in her younger colonies, being thus revived.
The gay carts, the dashing gigs, that are drawn round the fence of the
churchyard enclosures,—the blood-horses, with side saddles, that are
seen quietly roaming about, add much to the interest of the scene. True,
there are no splendid equipages, but, then, there are no poor. The
dress,—the appearance of the men,—the chubby faces of the children,—the
neat and comfortable habiliments of the women (and here let me
remark,—for the information of some of the gay young bachelors of
England, that, among these Sabbath meetings may be seen here and there
the blooming native maiden in a riding habit of the finest cloth, and of
the newest fashion, the substantial settler’s daughter riding her own
beautiful and pet mare; I say “pet mare,” because some of these maidens
have a little stud of their own)—all these realities of rural life
strongly impress a stranger with the real comforts which these people
enjoy.