We lived for a time on the heights of Marrickville, our ground opening
on to bush, or what in England would be termed wood or forest-land,
leading to Cooks River, where there were vistas through which we could
see houses “bosomed high in tufted trees;” cleared land, and luxurious
foliage of pittosporum, lily-pilly, and other native trees: ferns too
were very plentiful. We were near old friends, and became intimate with
a family residing near us,--an Englishman, his wife, and five daughters;
the parents arrived in the colony in the early days. The father, a
university man, was master of a private school at Parramatta, and the
mother was the true type of an Englishwoman,--tall, handsome, and
clever, so it is needless to say the daughters of such parents were
agreeable, and became intimate friends of ours. Their mother has gone;
but her children live to show another generation of Australians the
results of a brave unselfish life. A little later we welcomed another
family to our home, as the introduction of a young gentlewoman who
brought letters from my husband’s family ended in a close friendship
with her relatives in Sydney, with whom she stayed a year.
Our little world in Australia was anticipating a great event, the
opening of the first International Exhibition. The site chosen for the
building was a “happy thought,” just inside the Domain gates, near the
principal streets of the city, and with a panorama of earth, sea, and
sky from every part of it, which few, if any exhibitions ever had
before. The building could not be said to be original in design: still
many said, “It was an exhibition in itself;” and certainly the site was
unique for beauty. When filled with our own and the products from many
lands, our anticipations of pleasure were fulfilled. The numerous courts
were always crowded day after day. The Italian, Austrian, and German
especially, so much so that we and others preferred visiting it early in
the morning, and having a quiet view of the sculpture and pictures,
including “St. Cecilia,” “Non Angli sed Angeli,” Meissonier’s marvellous
works, and other poetry of the brush; the china, glass, furniture,
jewellery, and silver, which it would be difficult to give any idea of
from mere description. Several talented musicians visited us, so every
day organ and pianoforte recitals, with concerts, gave pleasure and
instruction to the ear, as so much that was beautiful did to the eye.
The Queensland and island courts showed us much that was
interesting,--pine-apples growing in huge pots, sugar-cane, native
cloth, and many tinted shells; the Chinese and Japanese courts with
their quaint wonders and delicious tea; India with her rich gems and
stuffs,--all not only a pleasure but an educator. Week after week our
people visited this exhibition and the annexes in the grounds, where
machinery and other useful inventions were shown. Sydney was crowded
with visitors, and the first tramway was opened to bring many from the
railway station. From this time many improvements were made in our
shops, as numberless things that had been sent from home for the first
time as exhibits became common. At the end of this year ten years will
have passed since it was opened, and when I left Sydney it was still
talked of; nothing now remains of it except the lovely grounds where it
once stood. Will another ever rise in its place, like a phœnix? It was a
pity that it was destroyed; still, being built of perishable materials,
it would have been a never-ending expense to the country to keep it in
repair.
The last time I visited the building was to see “The Old English
Fayre,”--a very pretty sight. The centre was arranged as a street in the
olden time, with shops on either side with quaint old signs; the wares
were sold by ladies in costumes of the time; and certainly our
Australian beauties looked very fair.
When the Exhibition closed, almost every one felt, “What shall we do
with our afternoons?” For me this was soon answered. My husband’s health
failing, the doctor ordered change, and we left for a tour in the
Western district. This was my first journey by train over the Blue
Mountains. I did not enjoy it; in fact, when we wound our devious way
over the wonderful zigzag, I wished we were on the old road I had last
travelled, with all its discomforts attached to it. When near, terribly
near the edge of the precipices, I held my breath, and looking back on
the way we had come, said, “I wish we were safe at home.” My husband, to
reassure me, remarked, “The engineer-in-chief is in the next carriage,
so it is all right.” “What of that! clever as he is, he cannot prevent
accidents. Perhaps there is something wrong.” Just then we stopped, and
not at a station. “I am sure there is.” “No, nothing of importance,” as
the panting engine went on again. The worst was over when we reached
Hartley Vale, and by the time we reached Bathurst I was no longer
nervous. After dinner we left our hotel and walked through the town, so
altered and improved that I could scarcely recognise it. We inspected
the new block of public buildings, and after trying in vain to find the
cottage residence where I stayed nearly thirty years ago, returned to
the hotel, which we left next morning and took the train to Orange,
remaining there a week with our old friend Marian. We visited a young
friend, whose husband had the best brewery in the town, and inspected
the shops and numerous buildings erected since I drove through some
years previous. We were present at a cricket match and at the laying of
the foundation stone of a public school. Several speeches were made, the
best (and that is not saying much in praise) from an Australian orator,
whose voice is bad, and who never forgets one letter in the alphabet,
though often another, while speaking. We then left for Wellington, where
my brother met us at the railway station. If I had felt like Rip van
Winkle in Sydney after being absent three years, what did I feel now in
Wellington? Now I saw a busy little town with churches, banks, shops,
private residences, and hotels; a substantial road bridge over the
Macquarie, and another, an iron bridge, nearly finished, for the
railway. A few brick cottages in Montefiores was the only difference
there except at Gobolion, now a large comfortable cottage with gardens
and orchard. The children I had left were married, with children of
their own. Since our visit many other improvements had taken
place,--handsome bank buildings, a hall, where last winter they had a
skating rink, had been built, and a volunteer corps and a band founded.
The town is now a municipality, and the Corporation have an idea of
lighting it by electricity. This, for a small town two hundred miles
from Sydney, proves Australian progress. My niece, who has always taken
a great interest in Church affairs, Sunday school, and choir, and has
played the organ in the church for two years, had been presented with a
gold watch and handsome brooch.