OUR ANTIPODES.
In direct contrast to the bright frosty day we have described in the
last chapter, the reader must be introduced to the clear atmosphere,
cloudless sky, and bright sunshine of a midsummer day at
Melbourne--almost England's antipodes. The inhabitants are enjoying a
long summer's day on this 29th of January, and the surrounding country
is presenting a verdant aspect and leafy foliage something akin to
England in July. Midsummer when we have Christmas. Cold and frosty
weather while we enjoy June sunshine; picnics and evening strolls in the
calm summer moonlight, while we are shivering by the fire, or preparing
for a Christmas party; midnight while we have noon, and short summer
nights when with us darkness sets in at four in the afternoon and
continues until eight the next morning.
Such are some of the contrasts which astronomers tell us are the
consequences of the earth's varied movements on her own axis and round
the sun. But in neither country are the inhabitants conscious of these
differences, much less can they realise that we in England are walking
feet to feet with our brethren and sisters in Australia. At Melbourne,
indeed, with its broad streets, elegant shops, and noble buildings,
there is too much that reminds one of England to allow of any
consciousness of contrast. Cathedrals, churches, colleges, botanical
gardens, and other proofs of refined civilisation mark the progress of
Saxon energy and enterprise, which have already supplanted in large
territories of our globe the original inhabitants.
The English are carrying with them not only civilisation and refinement,
but also the principles of that "knowledge of the Lord which shall cover
the whole earth as the waters cover the sea."
True, the seed so scattered is mixed with the tares which settlers in
distant lands carry with them from Christian England to her shame. But,
like the grain of mustard seed, Christianity will grow and flourish into
a large tree wherever the seeds of the "kingdom of heaven" are sown, in
spite of the tares.
In a large drawing-room, luxuriously furnished, and lighted by noble
windows overlooking a broad street more than a mile long, reclined a
pale, delicate-looking lady, about thirty-four years of age. Her sofa
had been drawn near the open window, and as she gazed upon the gaily
attired passengers passing to and fro on the broad pavements, or making
purchases in the shops, she sighed deeply.
"What makes you sigh, mamma?" said a pretty little girl of nine years,
who sat reading in a low chair by her mother's side.
"If I sighed, darling," she replied, "it was because this place reminds
me of England, and I could almost fancy myself in that broad street in
London that you have heard me speak of, Mabel."
"Regent Street, you mean, mamma. Yes, I know, for I've heard papa say
Bourke Street reminded him of it. He says there are just the same sort
of beautiful shops, and lots of carriages, and ladies and children so
handsomely dressed. Oh, mamma, I should so like to go to England, and
see grandpapa and grandmamma, and uncle Henry. Do you think we ever
shall?"
"Perhaps _you_ may, my dear, but go on with your book, Mabel. I cannot
bear talking."
The child gladly obeyed; she was a great lover of reading, and never
more happy than when allowed to bring her book and her low chair, and
sit near her mother, ready to attend to her every wish.
Mrs. Franklyn leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Some
recollections of England had during the past few months been very
painful to her from their contrast to the present time.
She had left her home at Englefield Grange, and readily consented to
what appeared a sentence of banishment to every one but herself, for was
she not sure of happiness with the man of her choice, even at the other
side of the world to which they were going?
None of her friends could deny the apparent suitability of the marriage
between the young lawyer, Arthur Franklyn, and Fanny Halford, the
schoolmaster's only daughter. Arthur had been one of Dr. Halford's
earliest pupils, and being an orphan and under the care of his aged
grandmother, he often remained at school during the holidays. The boy
soon became very fond of playing with the little Fanny, then nine years
younger than himself, and this childish acquaintance was kept up long
after he had left school to be articled to a solicitor. The almost
friendless youth paid frequent visits to his old schoolmaster, and was
always received with a kind welcome.
To make Fanny Halford his wife had been the purpose of Arthur Franklyn's
heart for many years, but to mention the subject to her father until his
means were sufficient to maintain a wife he well knew would be useless.
He had reached his twenty-ninth year, when the death of his grandmother
made him the possessor of about fifteen hundred pounds. Now the way
seemed open to him. But he had another scheme in view, which very nearly
caused him the loss of Fanny. Australia had for many years been the El
Dorado of his hopes; he had also distant relatives doing well at
Melbourne, who had often expressed a wish that he should join them, but
Fanny Halford had been the tie that bound him to England.
The little girl had learnt to love her boy playfellow in childhood as
they grew older, and the young people, as if by mutual consent, seemed
to take it for granted that some day they should be husband and wife.
Although no word had passed on the subject either between them or to
Fanny's parents, Dr. Halford felt towards the young man almost as much
affection as for his own son, Henry Halford being at that time a mere
child. It was not till his grandmother's legacy had altered Arthur
Franklyn's position that his eyes were opened to the fact that the young
man and his daughter might be attached to each other.
The good old gentleman, however, when once brought to understand the
case, readily agreed to Arthur's proposals; and Mrs. Halford, much as
she dreaded the loss of her child from her home, raised no objections.
Her daughter would still of course be at a visiting distance now
railways and omnibuses were becoming so general, and she could therefore
often see her.
Arthur Franklyn's intimation, therefore, came upon them like a
thunder-clap. "Australia! Our antipodes! No, no, Arthur, the idea is
impossible, we cannot part with our child to such a distance," were the
doctor's words. But neither the father's objections nor the mother's
tears could influence Fanny, she would go with Arthur all over the
world; and so at last the parents were conquered by the pale face and
failing health of their only daughter, and they consented to the
marriage.
To Arthur's legacy was added the 1000_l._ saved by Dr. Halford for his
daughter's marriage portion, and the young people sailed for Australia
with their own hopes for the future bright and glowing, and followed by
the earnest prayers of their reluctant parents.
Fourteen years have rolled by since then, and what are Fanny Franklyn's
reflections as she now reclines on the sofa in her luxurious home? What
had she to complain of beyond the failing health and strength to which
we are all liable? She had a kind and loving husband, four healthy,
intelligent children, and every comfort and attention she required. But
all this was on the surface; only wife or husband can detect faults in
each other which are hidden from the world, unless those faults lead to
or produce consequences which eventually become matters of publicity.
And a fear of this latter result had been the one bitter drop in Fanny
Franklyn's happiness, the bane of her married life.
Arthur on arriving at Melbourne established himself as a solicitor, and
for a time with moderate success. Then he became restless and
dissatisfied. He wanted to make a fortune more rapidly, gave up his
profession, and commenced speculating. With this began Fanny's
anxieties. She had quickly discovered her husband's want of business
knowledge. She could see how differently he acted from her own parents,
to whose careful, saving habits she owed her marriage portion.
Fortunately for Arthur, his wife was thoroughly domestic, and more than
once she had warded off an impending blow by her economy and good
management.
But as their family increased her anxieties became greater. The very
good nature, and pleasant unsuspecting sociability which had won them
all at Englefield Grange, proved Arthur's greatest danger. Sanguine to
the highest degree respecting the results of a new speculation, he would
recklessly act upon the mere hope of success, and involve himself in
difficulties, and so it had been going on; at times living in a style of
elegance and luxury, in consequence of a successful speculation, and at
others in obscurity and almost penury.
No wonder poor Fanny Franklyn's health sunk in the midst of such
vicissitudes.
While reflecting over the past which has been so briefly described, the
sound of a hasty footstep roused her, and presently her husband stood by
her couch anxiously questioning her.
"How are you, darling?" he said gently as he stooped to kiss the pale
cheek. "I have been so much engaged all day, or I should have come in to
see you before this." And then, without waiting for her to reply, he
walked to the window and looked out on the gay and busy scene in the
street beneath.
"You will soon get well in this lively place, Fanny," he said; "I cannot
tell you how anxious I have been to get you out of that dull cottage on
the hills, with nothing to look at but gardens and fields and trees."
"Yes, but, papa," said little Mabel, rising from her seat and coming to
his side, "we were close to the Botanical Gardens and the park, and
mamma used to go out in a chair every day."
"Well, so she can here, Mabel, and I should think you and Clara like
these large noble rooms better than those low ceilings and cramped
apartments at the cottage."
"There are some rooms I should prefer far beyond those at the cottage,
or even these," said Mrs. Franklyn, gently.
Mr. Franklyn smiled, and was delighted to see a smile and a slight tinge
of colour on his wife's face as she spoke. "Where are they, darling?" he
exclaimed. "I have only taken these for a month certain; we would move
directly if I thought it would do you good."
"I'm sorry I expressed my thoughts aloud, Arthur," she said, "for you
must not incur any farther expense; but the rooms I mean are at
Englefield Grange."
Arthur Franklyn became silent. He was longing to return to England
almost as much as his wife; but at that moment he had more than one
speculation in view, which he felt sure would make him a rich man; and
then to return to his native land and star it amongst his schoolfellows,
who had often scorned the penniless orphan, would be indeed a triumph.
"I wish I could take you to England at once, dearest," said her husband;
"indeed, I should like to send you and the two girls now, and remain
here alone for a year or two; but I cannot allow you to attempt such a
voyage in your present weak state."
"No, no, Arthur," she replied, "I will not leave you, I could not go
alone. Let us continue in this house as long as you like, rather than go
to greater expense. I hope I shall be better as the weather becomes
cooler."
The appearance of the tea-tray put a stop to the conversation, and Fanny
consoled herself by the thought, "I cannot leave him of my own
free-will, and if God sees fit to remove me before he is able to return
to England, I can leave him and the dear children in His hands."