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--
“Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away,
As he paced thy streets and courtyards, sang in thought his careless lay:
Gathering from the pavement’s crevice, as a floweret of the soil,
The nobility of labour,--the long pedigree of toil.”
“Honour to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our daily needs,
And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low!”
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.