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An Autobiography

by Catherine Helen Spence · English · Gutenberg #4220 · 409,825 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: An Autobiography

Author: Catherine Helen Spence


        
Release date: July 1, 2003 [eBook #4220]
                Most recently updated: December 27, 2020

Language: English

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Credits: Produced by Col Choat.  HTML version by Al Haines.


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Produced by Col Choat.  HTML version by Al Haines.









An Autobiography


by

Catherine Helen Spence





CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I.     EARLY LIFE IN SCOTLAND.
  CHAPTER II.    TOWARDS AUSTRALIA.
  CHAPTER III.   A BEGINNING AT SEVENTEEN
  CHAPTER IV.    LOVERS AND FRIENDS.
  CHAPTER V.     NOVELS AND A POLITICAL INSPIRATION.
  CHAPTER VI.    A TRIP TO ENGLAND.
  CHAPTER VII.   MELROSE REVISITED.
  CHAPTER VIII.  I VISIT EDINBURGH AND LONDON.
  CHAPTER IX.    MEETING WITH J. S. MILL AND GEORGE ELIOT.
  CHAPTER X.     RETURN FROM THE OLD COUNTRY.
  CHAPTER XI     WARDS OF THE STATE.
  CHAPTER XII.   PREACHING, FRIENDS, AND WRITING.
  CHAPTER XIII.  MY WORK FOR EDUCATION.
  CHAPTER XIV.   SPECULATION, CHARITY, AND A BOOK.
  CHAPTER XV.    JOURNALISM AND POLITICS.
  CHAPTER XVI.   SORROW AND CHANGE.
  CHAPTER XVII.  IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA.
  CHAPTER XVIII. BRITAIN, THE CONTINENT, AND HOME AGAIN.
  CHAPTER XIX.   PROGRESS OF EFFECTIVE VOTING.
  CHAPTER XX.    WIDENING INTERESTS.
  CHAPTER XXI    PROPORTIONAL REPRESENTATION AND FEDERATION.
  CHAPTER XXII.  A VISIT TO NEW SOUTH WALES.
  CHAPTER XXIII. MORE PUBLIC WORK.
  CHAPTER XXIV.  THE EIGHTIETH MILESTONE AND THE END.




CHAPTER I.

EARLY LIFE IN SCOTLAND.


Sitting down at the age of eighty-four to give an account of my life, I
feel that it connects itself naturally with the growth and development
of the province of South Australia, to which I came with my family in
the year 1839, before it was quite three years old. But there is much
truth in Wordsworth's line, "the child is father of the man," and no
less is the mother of the woman; and I must go back to Scotland for the
roots of my character and Ideals. I account myself well-born, for My
father and my mother loved each other. I consider myself well
descended, going back for many generations on both sides of intelligent
and respectable people. I think I was well brought up, for my father
and mother were of one mind regarding the care of the family. I count
myself well educated, for the admirable woman at the head of the school
which I attended from the age of four and a half till I was thirteen
and a half, was a born teacher in advance of her own times. In fact.
like my own dear mother, Sarah Phin was a New Woman without knowing it.
The phrase was not known in the thirties.

I was born on October 31, 1825, the fifth of a family of eight born to
David Spence and Helen Brodie, in the romantic village of Melrose, on
the silvery Tweed, close to the three picturesque peaks of the Eildon
Hills, which Michael Scott's familiar spirit split up from one mountain
mass in a single night, according to the legend. It was indeed poetic
ground. It was Sir Walter Scott's ground. Abbotsford was within two
miles of Melrose, and one of my earliest recollections was seeing the
long procession which followed his body to the family vault at Dryburgh
Abbey. There was not a local note in "The Lay of the Last Minstrel" or
in the novels. "The Monastery" and "The Abbot," with which I was not
familiar before I entered my teens. There was not a hill or a burn or a
glen that had not a song or a proverb, or a legend about it. Yarrow
braes were not far off. The broom of the Cowdenknowes was still nearer,
and my mother knew the words as well as the tunes of the minstrelsy of
the Scottish Border. But as all readers of the life of Scott know, he
was a Tory, loving the past with loyal affection, and shrinking from
any change. My father, who was a lawyer (a writer as it was called),
and his father who was a country practitioner, were reformers, and so
it happened that they never came into personal relations with the man
they admired above all men in Scotland. It was the Tory doctor who
attended to his health, and the Tory writer who was consulted about his
affairs.

I look back to a happy childhood. The many anxieties which reached both
my parents were quite unknown to the children till the crisis in 1839.
I do not know that I appreciated the beauty of the village I lived in
so much with my own bodily eyes as through the songs and the
literature, which were current talk. The old Abbey, with its 'prentice
window, and its wonders in stonecarving, that Scott had written about
and Washington Irving marvelled at--"Here lies the race of the House of
Yair" as a tombstone--had a grand roll in it. In the churchyard of the
old Abbey my people on the Spence side lay buried. In the square or
market place there no longer stood the great tree described in The
Monastery as standing just after Flodden Field, where the flowers of
the forest had been cut down by the English; but in the centre stood
the cross with steps up to it, and close to the cross was the well, to
which twice a day the maids went to draw water for the house until I
was nine years old, when we had pipes and taps laid on. The cross was
the place for any public speaking, and I recalled, when I was
recovering from the measles, the maid in whose charge I was, wrapped me
in a shawl and took me with her to hear a gentleman from Edinburgh
speak in favour of reform to a crowd gathered round. He said that the
Tories had found a new name--they called themselves Conservatives
because it sounded better. For his part he thought conserves were
pickles, and he hoped all the Tories would soon find themselves in a
pretty pickle. There were such shouts of laughter that I saw this was a
great joke.

We had gasworks in Melrose when I was 10 or 11, and a great joy to us
children the wonderful light was. I recollect the first lucifer
matches, and the wonder of them. My brother John had got 6d. from a
visiting, uncle as a reward for buying him snuff to fill his cousin's
silver snuffbox, and he spent the money in buying a box of lucifers,
with the piece of sandpaper doubled, through which each match was to be
smartly drawn, and he took all of us and some of his friends to the
orchard, we called the wilderness, at the back of my grandfather
Spence's house, and lighted each of the 50 matches, and we considered
it a great exhibition. 'MY grandfather (old Dr. Spence) died before the
era of lucifer matches. He used to get up early and strike a fire with
flint and steel to boil the kettle and make a cup of tea to give to his
wife in bed. He did it for his first wife (Janet Park), who was
delicate, and he did the same for his second wife until her last fatal
illness. It was a wonderful thing for a man to do in those days. He
would not call the maid; he said young things wanted plenty of sleep.
He had been a navy doctor, and was very intelligent. He trusted much to
Nature and not too much to drugs. On the Sunday of the great annular
eclipse of the sun in 1835, which was my brother John's eleventh
birthday, he had a large double tooth extracted--not by a dentist, and
gas was then unknown or any other anaesthetic, so he did not enjoy the
eclipse as other people did. It took place in the afternoon, and there
was no afternoon church.

In summer we had two services--one in the forenoon and one in the
afternoon. In winter we had two services at one sitting, which was a
thing astonishing to English visitors. The first was generally called a
lecture--a reading with comments, of a passage of Scripture--a dozen
verses or more--and the second a regularly built sermon, with three or
four heads, and some particulars, and a practical summing up.

Prices and cost of living had fallen since my mother had married in
1815, three months after the battle of Waterloo. At that time tea cost
8/0 a lb., loaf sugar, 1/4, and brown sugar 11 1/2d. Bread and meat
were then still at war prices, and calico was no cheaper than linen,
and that was dear. She paid 3/6 a yard for fine calico to make
petticoats. Other garments were of what was called home made linen.
White cotton stockings at 4/9, and thinner at 3/9 each; silk stockings
at 11/6. I know she paid 36/ for a yard of Brussels net to make caps
of. It was a new thing to have net made in the loom. When a woman
married she must wear caps at least in the morning. In 1838 my mother
bought a chest of tea (84 lb.) for 20 pounds, a trifle under 5/0 a lb.;
the retail price was 6/0--it was a great saving; and up to the time of
our departure brown sugar cost 7 1/2d., and loaf sugar 10d. It is no
wonder that these things were accounted luxuries. When a decent Scotch
couple in South Australia went out to a station in the country in the
forties and received their stores, the wife sat down at her
quarter-chest of tea and gazed at her bag of sugar, and fairly wept to
think of her old mother across the ocean, who had such difficulty in
buying an ounce of tea and a pound of sugar. My mother even saw an old
woman buy 1/4oz. of tea and pay 11/2d. for it, and another woman buy
1/4lb. of meat.

We kept three maids. The cook got 8 pounds a year, the housemaid 7
pounds, and the nursemaid 6 pounds, paid half-yearly, but the summer
half-year was much better paid than the winter, because there was the
outwork in the fields, weeding and hoeing turnips and potatoes, and
haymaking. The winter work in the house was heavier on account of the
fires and the grate cleaning, but the wages were less. My mother gave
the top wages in the district, and was considerate to her maids, but I
blush yet to think how poorly those good women who made the comfort of
my early home were paid for their labours. You could get a washerwoman
for a shilling or 1/6 a day, but you must give her a glass of whisky as
well as her food. You could get a sewing girl for a shilling or less,
without the whisky. And yet cheap as sewing was it was the pride of the
middle-elms women of those days that they did it all themselves at
home. Half of the time of girls' schools was given to sewing when
mother was taught. Nearly two hours a day was devoted to it in my time.

A glass of whisky in Scotland in the thirties cost less than a cup of
tea. I recollect my father getting a large cask of whisky direct from
the distillery which cost 6/6 a gallon, duty paid. A bottle of inferior
whisky could be bought at the grocer's for a shilling. It is surprising
how much alcoholic beverages entered into the daily life, the business,
and the pleasures of the people in those days. No bargain could be made
without them. Christenings, weddings, funerals--all called for the
pouring out of strong drink. If a lady called, the port and sherry
decanters were produced, and the cake basket. If a gentleman, probably
it was the spirit decanter. After the 3 o'clock dinner there was whisky
and hot water and sugar, and generally the came after the 10 o'clock
supper. Drinking habits were very prevalent among men, and were not in
any way disgraceful, unless excessive. But there was less drinking
among women than there is now, because public opinion was strongly
against it. Without being abstainers, they were temperate. With the
same heredity and the same environment, you would see all the brothers
pretty hard drinkers and all the sisters quite straight. Such is the
effect of public opinion. Nothing else has been so powerful in changing
these customs as the cheapening of tea and coffee and cocoa, but
especially tea.

My brothers went to the parish school, one of the best in the county.
The endowment from the tiends or tithes, extorted by John Knox from the
Lords of the congregations, who had seized on the church lands, was
more meagre for the schoolmasters than for the clergy. I think Mr.
Thomas Murray had only 33 pounds in Money, a schoolhouse, and a
residence and garden, and he had to make up a livelihood from school
fees, which began at 2/ a quarter for reading, 3/6 when writing was
taught, and 51 for arithmetic. Latin, I think, cost 10/6 a quarter, but
it included English. Mr. Murray adopted a phonic system of teaching
reading, not so complete as the late Mr. Hartley formulated for our
South Australian schools, and was most successful with it. He not only
used maps, but he had blank maps-a great innovation. My mother was only
taught geography during the years in which she was "finished" in
Edinburgh, and never saw a map then. She felt interested in geography
when her children were learning it. No boy in Mr. Murray's school was
allowed to be idle; every spare minute was given to arithmetic. In the
parish school boys of all classes were taught. Sir David Brewster's
sons went to it; but there were fewer girls, partly because no
needlework was taught there, and needlework was of supreme importance.
Mr. Murray was session clerk, for which he received 5 pounds a year. On
Saturday afternoons he might do land measuring, like Goldsmith's
schoolmaster in "The Deserted Village"--

    Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
    And even the rumour ran that he could gauge.

My mother felt that her children were receiving a much better education
than she had had. The education seemed to begin after she left school.
Her father united with six other tenant farmers in buying the third
edition of "The Encyclopedia Britannica," seven for the price of six.
Probably it was only in East Lothian that seven such purchasers could
be found, and my mother studied it well, as also the unabridged
Johnson's Dictionary in two volumes. She learned the Greek letters, so
that she could read the derivations, but went no further. She saw the
fallacy of Mr. Pitt's sinking fund when her father believed in it. To
borrow more than was needed so as to put aside part on compound
interest, would make the price of money rise. And why should not
private people adopt the same way of getting rid of debts? The father
said it would not do for them at all--it was only practicable for a
nation. The things I recollect of the life in the village of Melrose,
of 700 inhabitants, have been talked over with my mother, and many
embodied in a little MS. volume of reminiscences of her life. I hold
more from her than from my father; but, as he was an unlucky
speculator, I inherit from him Hope, which is invaluable to a social or
political reformer. School holidays were only a rarity in harvest time
for the parish school. At Miss Phin's we had, besides, a week at
Christmas. The boys had only New Year's Day. Saturday was only a
half-holiday. We all had a holiday for Queen Victoria's coronation, and
I went with a number of school fellows to see Abbotsford, not for the
first time in my life.

Two mail coaches--the Blucher and the Chevy Chase--ran through Melrose
every day. People went to the post office for their letters, and paid
for them on delivery. My two elder sisters--Agnes, who died of
consumption at the age of 16, and Jessie, afterwards Mrs. Andrew
Murray, of Adelaide and Melbourne, went to boarding school with their
aunt, Mary Spence, lit Upper Wooden, halfway between Jedburgh and
Kelso. Roxburghshire is rich in old monasteries. The border lands were
more safe in the hands of the church than under feudal lords engaged in
perpetual fighting, and the vassals of the abbeys had generally
speaking, a more secure existence. Kelso. Jedburgh, and Dryburgh Abbeys
lay in fertile districts, and I fancy that when these came into the
hands of the Lords of the congregation, the vassals looked back with
regret on the old times. I was not sent to Wooden, but kept at home,
and I went to a dayschool called by the very popish name of St. Mary's
Convent, though it was quite sufficiently Protestant. My mother had the
greatest confidence in the lady who was at the head of it. She had been
a governess in good situations, and had taught herself Latin, so that
she might fit the boys of the family to take a good place in the
Edinburgh High School. She discovered that she had an incurable
disease, a form of dropsy, which compelled her to lie down for some
time every day, and this she considered she could not do as a
governess. So she determined to risk her savings, and start a boarding
and day school in Melrose, a beautiful and healthy neighbourhood, and
with the aid of a governess, impart what was then considered the
education of a gentlewoman to the girls in the neighbourhood. She took
with her her old mother, and a sister who managed the housekeeping, and
taught the pupils all kinds of plain and fancy needlework. She
succeeded, and she lived till the year 1866, although most of her
teaching was done from her sofa. When my mother was asked what it was
that made Phin so successful, and so esteemed, she said it was her
commonsense. The governesses were well enough, but the invalid old lady
was the life and soul of the school. There were about 14 boarders, and
nearly as many day scholars there, so long as there was no competition.
When that came there was a falling off, but my young sister Mary and I
were faithful till the day when after nine years at the same school, I
went with Jessie to Wooden, to Aunt Mary's, to hear there that my
father was ruined, and had to leave Melrose and Scotland for ever, and
that we must all go to Australia. That was in April, 1839.

As I said, I had a very happy childhood. The death of my eldest sister
at 16, and of my youngest sister at two years old, did not sink into
the mind of a child as it did into that of my parents, and although
they were seriously alarmed about my health when I was 12 years old,
when I developed symptoms similar to those of Agnes at the same age, I
was not ill enough to get at all alarmed. I was annoyed at having to
stay away from school for three months. When the collapse came Jessie
had a dear friend of some years' standing, and I had one whom had known
only for some months, but I had spent a month with her in Edinburgh at
Christmas, 1838, and we exchanged letters weekly through the box which
came from Edinburgh with my brother John's, washing. It was too
expensive for us to write by the post. Well, neither of our friends
wrote a word to us. With regard to mine it was not to be wondered at
much--she was only 13--but the other was more surprising. It was not
till 1865 that an old woman told me that when Miss F. B. came to return
some books and music to her to give to my aunt in Melrose, "she just
sat in the chair and cried as if her heart would break." She was not
quite a free agent. Very few single women were free agents in 1839. We
were hopelessly ruined, our place would know us no more.

The only long holidays I had in the year I spent at Thornton Loch, in
East Lothian, 40 miles away. I did not know that my father was a heavy
speculator in foreign wheat, and I thought his keen interest in the
market in Mark lane was on account of the Thornton Loch crops, in which
first my grandfather and afterwards the three Maiden aunts were deeply
concerned. My mother's father, John Brodie, was one of the most
enterprising agriculturists in the most advanced district of Great
Britain. He won a prize of two silver salvers from the Highland Society
for having the largest area of drilled wheat sown. He was called up
twice to London to give evidence before Parliamentary committees on the
corn laws, and he naturally approved of them, because, with three large
farms held on 19 years' leases at war prices, the influx of cheap wheat
from abroad would mean ruin. He proved that he paid 6,000 pounds a year
for these three farms--two he worked himself, the third was for his
eldest son; but he was liable for the rent. On his first London trip,
my aunt Margaret accompanied him, and on his second he took my mother.
That was in the year 1814, and both of them noted from the postchaise
that farming was not up to what was done in East Lothian.

My grandfather Brodie was a speculating man, and he lost nearly all his
savings through starting, along with others, an East Lothian Bank,
because the local banker had been ill used by the British Linen
Company. He put in only 1,000 pounds; but was liable for all, and, as
many of his fellow shareholders were defaulters, it cost 15,000 pounds
before all was over, and if it had not been that he left the farm in
the capable hands of Aunt Margaret, there would have been little or
nothing left for the family. When he had a stroke of paralysis he
wanted to turn over Thornton Loch, the only farm he then had, to his
eldest son, but there were three daughters, and one of them said she
would like to carry it on, and she did so. She was the most successful
farmer in the country for 30 years, and then she transferred it to a
nephew. The capacity for business of my Aunt Margaret, the wit and
charm of my brilliant Aunt Mary, and the sound judgment and accurate
memory of my own dear mother, showed me early that women were fit to
share in the work of this world, and that to make the world pleasant
for men was not their only mission. My father's sister Mary was also a
remarkable and saintly woman, though I do not think she was such a born
teacher as Miss Phin. When my father was a little boy, not 12 years
old, an uncle from Jamaica came home for a visit. He saw his sister
Janet a dying woman, with a number of delicate-looking children, and he
offered to take David with him and treat him like his own son. No
objections were made. The uncle was supposed to be well-to-do, and he
was unmarried, but he took fever and died, and was found to be not rich
but insolvent. The boy could read and write, and he got something to do
on a plantation till his father sent money to pay his passage home. He
must have been supposed to be worth something, for he got a cask of rum
for his wages, which was shipped home, and when the duty had been paid
was drunk in the doctor's household. But the boy had been away only 21
months, and he returned to find his mother dead, and two or three
little brothers and sisters dead and buried, and his father married
again to his mother's cousin, Katherine Swanston, an old maid of 45,
who, however, two years afterwards was the mother of a fine big
daughter, so that Aunt Helen Park's scheme for getting the money for
her sister's children failed. In spite of my father's strong wish to be
a farmer, and not a writer or attorney, there was no capital to start a
farm upon, so he was indentured to Mr. Erskine, and after some years
began business in Melrose for himself, and married Lelen (Helen?)
Brodie. His elder brother John went as a surgeon in the Royal
Navy--before he was twenty-one. The demand for surgeons was great
during the war time. He was made a Freemason before the set age,
because in case of capture friends from the fraternity might be of
great use. He did not like his original profession, especially when
after the peace he must be a country practitioner like his father, at
every one's beck and call, so he was articled to his brother, and lived
in the house till he married and settled at Earlston, five miles off.
Uncle John Spence was a scholarly man, shy but kindly, who gave to us
children most of the books we possessed. They were not in such
abundance as children read nowadays, but they were read and re-read.

In these early readings the Calvinistic teaching of the church and the
shorter catechism was supported and exemplified. The only secular books
to counteract them were the "Evenings at Home" and Miss Edgeworth's
"Tales for Young and Old!" The only cloud on my young life was the
gloomy religion, which made me doubt of my own salvation and despair of
the salvation of any but a very small proportion of the people in the
world. Thus the character of God appeared unlovely, and it was wicked
not to love God; and this was my condemnation. I had learned the
shorter catechism with the proofs from Scripture, and I understood the
meaning of the dogmatic theology. Watts's hymns were much more easy to
learn, but the doctrine was the same. There was no getting away from
the feeling that the world was under a curse ever since that unlucky
appleeating in the garden of Eden. Why, oh! why had not the sentence of
death been carried out at once, and a new start made with more prudent
people? The school in which as a day scholar I passed nine years of my
life was more literary than many which were more pretentious.
Needlework was of supreme importance, certainly, but during the hour
and a half every day, Saturday's half-holiday not excepted, which was
given to it by the whole school at once (odd half-hours were also put
in), the best readers took turns about to read some book selected by
Miss Phin. We were thus trained to pay attention. History, biography,
adventures, descriptions, and story books were read. Any questions or
criticisms about our sewing, knitting, netting, &c., were carried on in
a low voice, and we learned to work well and quickly, and good reading
aloud was cultivated. First one brother and then another had gone to
Edinburgh for higher education than could be had at Melrose Parish
School, and I wanted to go to a certain institution, the first of the
kind, for advanced teaching for girls, which had a high reputation. I
was a very ambitious girl at 13. I wanted to be a teacher first, and a
great writer afterwards. The qualifications for a teacher would help me
to rise to literary fame, so I obtained from my father a promise that I
should go to Edinburgh next year; but he could not keep it. He was a
ruined man.




CHAPTER II.

TOWARDS AUSTRALIA.


Although my mother's family had lost heavily by him, her mother gave us
500 pounds to make a start in South Australia. An 80-acre section was
built for 80 pounds, and this entitled us to the steerage passage of
four adults. This helped for my elder sister and two brothers (my
younger brother David was left for his education with his aunts in
Scotland), but we had to have another female, so we took with us a
servant girl--most ridiculous, it seems now. I was under the statutory
age of 15. The difference between steerage and intermediate fares had
to be made up, and we sailed from Greenock in July, 1839, in the barque
Palmyra, 400 tons, bound for Adelaide, Port Phillip, and Sydney. The
Palmyra was advertised to carry a cow and an experienced surgeon.
Intermediate passengers had no more advantage of the cow than steerage
folks, and except for the privacy of separate cabins and a pound of
white biscuit per family weekly, we fared exactly as the other
immigrants did, though the cost was double. Twice a week we had either
fresh meat or tinned meat, generally soup and boudle, and the biscuit
seemed half bran, and sometimes it was mouldy. But our mother thought
it was very good for us to endure hardship, and so it was.

There were 150 passengers, mostly South Australian immigrants, in the
little ship. The first and second class passengers were bound for Port
Philip and Sydney in greater proportion than for Adelaide There was in
the saloon the youthful William Milne, and in the intermediate was Miss
Disher, his future wife. He became President of the Legislative
Council, and was knighted. There was my brother, J. B. Spence, who also
sat in the Council, and was at one time Chief Secretary. There was
George Melrose, a successful South Australian pastoralist; there was my
father's valued clerk, Thomas Laidlaw, who was long in the Legislative
Council of New South Wales and the leading man in the town of Yass.
"Honest Torn of Yass" was his soubriquet. Bound for Melbourne there
were Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, of Melrose, and Charles Williamson, from
Hawick, who founded a great business house in Collins Street. There
were Langs from Selkirk, and McHaffies, who became pastoralists. Our
next cabin mate, who brought out a horse, had the Richmond punt when
there was no bridge there. All the young men were reading a thick book
brought out by the Society for Promoting Useful Knowledge about sheep,
but they could dance in the evenings to the strains of Mr. Duncan's
violin, and although I was not 14, I was in request as a partner, as
ladies were scarce. Jessie Spence and Eliza Disher, who were grown up,
were the belles of the Palmyra. Of all the passengers in the ship the
young doctor, John Logan Campbell, has had the most distinguished
career. Next to Sir George Grey he has had most to do with the
development of New Zealand. He is now called the Grand Old Man of
Auckland. He had his twenty-first birthday, this experienced surgeon(!)
in the same week as I had my fourteenth, while the Palmyra was lying
off Holdfast Bay (now Glenelg) before we could get to the old Port
Adelaide to discharge. My brother saw him in 1883, but I have not set
eye on him since that week in 1839. We have corresponded frequently
since my brother's death. In his book "Poenama," written for his
children, there is a picture of the Palmyra, with an account of the
voyage and the only sensational incident in it. We had a collision in
the Irish Sea, and our foremast was broken, so that we had to return to
Greenock for repairs, and then obtained the concession of white biscuit
for the second class for one day in the week. Sir John Campbell's gift
of a beautiful park to the citizens of Auckland was made while my
brother John was alive. Just recently he has given money and plans for
building and equipping the first free kindergarten in Auckland--perhaps
in New Zealand--and as this includes a training college for the
students it is very complete. These Palmyra passengers have made their
mark on the history of Australia and New Zealand. It is surprising what
a fine class of people immigrated to Australia in these days to face
all the troubles of a new country.

The first issue of The Register was printed in London, and gave a
glowing account of the province that was to be--its climate, its
resources, the sound principles on which it was founded. It is
sometimes counted as a reproach that South Australia was founded by
doctrinaires and that we retain traces of our origin; to me it is our
glory. In the land laws and the immigration laws it struck out a new
path, and sought to found a new community where the sexes should be
equal, and where land, labour, and capital should work harmoniously
together. Land was not to be given away in huge grants, as had been
done in New South Wales and Western Australia, to people with influence
or position, but was to be sold at the high price of 20/ an acre. The
price should be not too high to bring out people to work on the land.
The Western Australian settlers had been wellnigh starved, because
there was no labour to give real value to the paper or parchment deeds.
The cheapest fare third class was from 17 pounds to 20 pounds, and the
family immigration, which is the best, was quite out of the reach of
those who were needed. The immigrants were not bound to work for any
special individual or company, unless by special contract voluntarily
made. They were often in better circumstances after the lapse of a few
years than the landbuyers, and, in the old days, the owner of an
80-acre section worked harder and for longer hours than any hired man
would do, or could be expected to do.

In the South Australian Public Library there is a curious record--the
minutes and proceedings of the South Australian Literary Society, in
the years 1831-5. As the province was non-existent at that time, this
cultivation of literature seems premature, but the members, 40 in
number, were its founders, and pending the passage of the Bill by the
Imperial Parliament, they met fortnightly in London to discuss its
prospects, and to read papers on exploration and on matters of future
development and government. The first paper was on education for the
new land, and was read by Richard Davies Hanson. The South Australian
Company and Mr. George Fife Angas came to the rescue by buying a
considerable area of land and making up the amount of capital which was
required. It is interesting to note that the casting vote in the House
of Lords which decided that the province of South Australia should come
into existence was given by the Duke of Wellington. Adelaide was to
have been called Wellington, but somehow the Queen Consort's name
carried the day. The name of the conquerer of Waterloo is immortalized
in the capital of the Dominion of New Zealand, in the North Island,
which, like South Australia, was founded on the Wakefield principle of
selling land for money to be applied for immigration. The 40 signatures
in the records of the South Australian Literary Society are most
interesting to an old colonist like myself, and the names of many of
them are perpetuated in those of our rivers and our streets:--Torrens,
Wright, Brown, Gilbert, Gouger, Hanson, Kingston, Wakefield, Morphett,
Childers, Hill (Rowland), Stephens, Mawn, Furniss, Symonds. The second
issue of The Register was printed in Adelaide. It was also The
Government Gazette. It gave the proclamation of the province, which was
made under the historic gum tree near Holdfast Bay, now Glenelg. It
also records the sales of the town acres which had not been allotted to
the purchasers of preliminary sections. These were of 134 acres, and a
town acre, at the price of 12/6 an acre. This was a temptation to
invest at the very first, because afterwards the price was 20/ an acre,
without any city lot. From this cheap investment came the frequent
lamentation, "Why did not I buy Waterhouse's corner for 12/6?" But
there was more than 12/6 needed. The investment was of 80 pounds, which
secured the ownership of the corner block facing King William street
and Rundle street, and besides 134 acres of valuable suburban land.

There were connected with The Register from the earliest days the
enterprising head of the house. Robert Thomas, who must have been well
aided by his intelligent wife. The sons and daughters took their place
in colonial society. Mr. George Stevenson left the staff of The Globe
and Traveller, a good old London Paper, to try his fortunes in the new
Province founded on the Wakefield principle, as Private Secretary to
the first Governor (Capt. John Hindmarsh, R.N.). It is matter of
history how the Governor and the Commissioner of Lands differed and
quarrelled, the latter having the money and the former the power of
government, and it was soon found that Mr. Stevenson could wield a
trenchant pen. He had been on the "Traveller" branch of the London
paper what would be called now a travelling correspondent. The Governor
was replaced by Col. Gawler, and Mr. Stevenson went on The Register as
editor. Mrs. Stevenson was a clever woman, and could help her husband.
She knew Charles Dickens, and still better, the family of Hogarth, into
which he married. My father and mother were surprised to find so good a
paper and so well printed in the infant city. Then there were A. H.
Davis, of the Reedbeds, and Nathaniel Hailes, who wrote under the
cognomen of "Timothy Short," who had been publisher and bookseller.
There was first Samuel Stephens, who came out in the first ship for the
South Australian Company, and married a fellow passenger, Charlotte
Hudson Beare, and died two years after, and then Edward, manager of the
South Australian Bank, and later, John Stephens who founded The Weekly
Observer, and afterwards bought The Register. These all belonged to a
literary family.

People came out on the smallest of salaries with big families--H. T. H.
Beare on 100 pounds a year as architect, for the South Australian
Company, and he had 18 children by two wives. I do not know what salary
Mr. William Giles came out on with nine children and a young second
wife, but I am sure it was less than 300 pounds. His family in all
counted 21. But things were bad in the old country before the great
lift given by railways, and freetrade, which made England the carrier
for the world; and the possibilities of the new country were shown in
that first issue of The Register in London in the highest colours. Not
too high by any means in the light of what has been accomplished in 73
years, but there was a long row to hoe first, and few of the pioneers
reaped the prizes. But, in spite of hardships and poverty and struggle,
the early colonial life was interesting, and perhaps no city of its
size at the time contained as large a population of intelligent and
educated people as Adelaide.

Mrs. Oliphant, writing in 1885 at the age of 57, says that reading the
"Life of George Eliot" made her think of an autobiography, and this was
written at the saddest crisis of her life. She survived her husband and
all her children, and had just lost the youngest, the posthumous boy.
For them and for the family of a brother she had carried on the
strenuous literary work--fiction, biography, criticism, and
history--and when she died at the age of 69 she had not completed the
history of a great publishing house--that of Blackwood. Her life
tallies with mine on many points, but it is not till I have completed
my 84 years that her sad narrative impels me to set down what appears
noteworthy in a life which was begun in similar circumstances, but
which was spent mainly in Australia. The loss of memory which I see in
many who are younger than myself makes me feel that while I can
recollect I should fix the events and the ideals of my life by pen and
ink. Like Mrs. Oliphant, I was born (three years earlier) in the south
of Scotland. Like her I had an admirable mother but she lost hers at
the age of 60, while I kept mine till she was nearly 97. Like Mrs.
Oliphant, I was captivated by the stand made by the Free Church as a
protest against patronage, and like her I shook off the shackles of the
narrow Calvinism of Presbyterianism, and emerged into more light and
liberty. But unlike Mrs. Oliphant, I have from my earliest youth taken
an interest in politics, and although I have not written the tenth part
of what she has done, I have within the last 20 years addressed many
audiences in Australia and America, and have preached over 100 sermons.
My personal influence has been exercised through the voice more
strongly than by the pen, and in the growth and development of South
Australia, to which I came with my parents and brothers and sisters
when I was just 14, and the province not three years old, there have
been opportunities for usefulness which might not have offered if I had
remained in Melrose, in Sir Walter Scott's country.




CHAPTER III.

A BEGINNING AT SEVENTEEN


Perhaps my turn for economics was partly inherited from my mother, and
emphasized by my father having been an unlucky speculator in foreign
wheat, tempted thereto by the sliding scale, which varied from 33/ a
quarter, when wheat was as cheap as it was in 1837, to 1/ a quarter,
when it was 70/ in 1839. It was supposed that my father had made his
fortune when he took his wheat out of bond but losses and deterioration
during seven years, and interest on borrowed money--credit having been
strained to the utmost--brought ruin and insolvency, and he had to go
to South Australia, followed by his wife and family soon after. It
seems strange that this disaster should be the culmination of the
peace, after the long Napoleonic war. When my father married in 1815 he
showed he was making 600 pounds a year, with 2,000 pounds book debts,
as a writer or attorney and as agent for a bank. But the business fell
off, the book debts could not be collected; the bank called up the
advances; and for 24 years there was a struggle. My mother would not
have her dowry of 1,500 pounds and other money left by an aunt settled
on herself--neither her father nor herself approved of it--the wife's
fortune should come and go with her husband's. My father first
speculated in hops and lost heavily. He took up unlucky people, whom
other business men had drained. I suppose he caught at straws. He had
the gentlest of manners--"the politest man in Melrose," the old
shoemaker called him. My paternal grandfather was Dr. William Spence,
of Melrose. His father was minister of the Established Church at
Cockburn's Path, Berwickshire. His grandfather was a small landed
proprietor, but he had to sell Spence's mains, and the name was changed
to Chirnside. So (as my father used to say) he was sprung from the tail
of the gentry; while my mother was descended from the head of the
commonalty. The Brodies had been tenant farmers in East Lothian for six
or seven generations, though they originally came from the north. My
grandfather Brodie thought abrogation of the Corn Laws meant ruin for
the farmers, who had taken 19 years' leases at war prices. But during
the war times both landlords and farmers coined money, while the
labourers had high prices for food and very little increase in their
wages. I recollect both grandfathers well, and through the accurate
memory of my mother t can tell how middle-class people in lowland
Scotland lived and dressed and travelled, entertained visitors, and
worshipped God. She told me of the "dear years" 1799 and 1800, and what
a terrible thing a bad crop was, when the foreign ports were closed by
Napoleon. She told me that but for the shortlived Peace of Amiens she
never heard of anything but war till the Battle of Waterloo settled it
three months before her marriage. From her own intimate relations with
her grandmother, Margaret Fernie Brodie, who was born in 1736, and died
in 1817, she knew how two generations before her people lived and
thought. So that I have a grasp on the past which many might envy, and
yet the present and the future are even more to me, as they were to my
mother. On her death in 1887 I wrote a quatrain for her memorial, and
which those who knew her considered appropriate--

    HELEN BRODIE SPENCE
    Born at Whittingham, Scotland, 1791.
    Died at College Town, Adelaide, South Australia, 1887.

    Half a long life 'mid Scotland's heaths and pines,
    And half among our South Australian vines;
    Though loving reverence bound her to the past,
    Eager for truth and progress to the last.

Although my mother had the greatest love for Sir Walter Scott, and the
highest appreciation of his poems and novels, she never liked Melrose.
She liked Australia better after a while. Indeed, when we arrived in
November, 1839, to a country so hot, so dry, so new, we felt like the
good old founder of The Adelaide Register, Robert Thomas, when he came
to the land described in his own paper as "flowing with milk and
honey." Dropped anchor at Holdfast Bay. "When I saw the place at which
we were to land I felt inclined to go and cut my throat." When we sat
down on a log in Light square, waiting till my father brought the key
of the wooden house In Gilles street, in spite of the dignity of my 14
years just attained, I had a good cry. There had been such a drought
that they had a dearth, almost a famine. People like ourselves with 80
acre land orders were frightened to attempt cultivation in an unknown
climate, with seed wheat at 25/ a bushel or more, and stuck to the
town. We lived a month in Gilles street, then we bought a large
marquee, and pitched it on Brownhill Creek, above where Mitcham now
stands, bought 15 cows and a pony and cart, and sold the milk in town
at 1/ a quart. But how little milk the cows gave in those days! After
seven months' encamping, in which the family lived chiefly on rice--the
only cheap food, of which we bought a ton--we came with our herd to
West terrace, Adelaide. My father got the position of Town Clerk at 150
pounds a year twelve months after our arrival, and kept it till the
municipal corporation was ended, as the City of Adelaide was too poor
to maintain the machinery; but 75 pounds was the rent of the house and
yards. We sold the cows, and my brothers went farming, and we took
cheaper quarters in Halifax street.

The Town Clerkship, however, was the means of giving me a lesson in
electoral methods. Into the Municipal Bill, drawn up under the
superintendence of Rowland Hill (afterward the great post office
reformer, but then the Secretary of the Colonization Commissioner for
South Australia), he had introduced a clause providing for proportional
representation at the option of the ratepayers. The twentieth part of
the Adelaide ratepayers by uniting their votes upon one man instead of
voting for 18, could on the day before the ordinary election appear and
declare this their intention, and he would be a Councillor on their
votes. In the first election, November, 1840, two such quorums elected
two Councillors. The workmen in Borrow and Goodear's building elected
their foreman, and another quorum of citizens elected Mr. William
Senden; and this was the first quota representation in the world. My
father explained this unique provision to me at the time, and showed
its bearings for minority representation.

After the break up of the municipality and the loss of his income my
father lost health and spirits. The brothers did not succeed in the
country. My sister had married Andrew Murray, an apparently prosperous
man, in 1841, but the protecting of the Government bills bought for
remitting to England, and other causes, brought down every mercantile
firm in Adelaide except A. L. Elder, who had not been long established;
and Murray & Greig came down too. Mr. Murray was a ready writer, and
got work on The South Australian, the newspaper which supported Capt.
Grey's policy of retrenchment and stoppage of public works; so, with a
small salary, he managed to live. When I left Scotland I brought with
me a letter of recommendation from my teacher, Miss Sarah Phin,
concerning my qualifications and my turn for teaching. I don't know if
it really did me any good, for the suspicious look and the question
about how old I was at the time embarrassed me. Of course I was only 13
1/2 and probably my teacher over-estimated me a little, but here is,
the letter, yellow with the dust of over 70 years.


Melrose. June 20, 1839.

My dearest Catherine--Our mutual friend, Mrs. Duncan, told me that you
were not to sail for Australia till next month, and I have been
thinking if my poor testimonial to your worth and abilities could be of
any service to you I ought to give it but how can I trust myself?--for
could any one read what I feel my heart dictates it would be thought
absurd. You were always one of the greatest ornaments of my school,
best girl and the best scholar, and from the time you could put three
letters together you have evinced a turn for teaching--so clear-headed
and so patient, and so thoroughly upright in word and deed, and your
knowledge of the Scriptures equal to that of many students of Divinity,
so should you ever become a teacher you have nothing to fear. You will
be able to undertake both the useful and the ornamental branches of
education--French, Italian, and Music you thoroughly understand. I feel
conscious that you will succeed. Please to remember me to your
excellent mother, and with love to Miss Spence and my darling Mary,
believe me, my beloved Catherine, your affectionate friend and teacher.
Sarah Phin.


My knowledge of music was not great, even in those days, but I could
teach beginners for two or three years with fair success. We thought
that my mother and the two eldest girls could start a school, and
brought out with us a good selection of schoolbooks, bought from Oliver
J. Boyd. Edinburgh, superior to the English books obtainable here,
which we used up in time; but we dared not launch out into such a
venture in 1840, and my sister Jessie had no desire to teach at all.
The years at Brownhill Creek and West terrace were the most unhappy of
my life. I suffered from the want of some intellectual activity, and
from the sense of frustrated ambition and religious despair. The few
books we had, or which we could borrow, I read over and over again.
Aikin's "British Poets," a gift from Uncle John Spence, and Goldsmith's
complete works, a school prize of my brother William's, were thoroughly
mastered, and the Waverley novels down to "Quentin Durward" were well
absorbed. I read in Chambers's Journal of daily governesses getting a
shilling an hour, and I told my friend, Mrs. Haining, that I would go
out for 6d. an hour. Although she disliked that way of putting it, it
was really on that basis that I had made my beginning when I reached
the age of 17. In the meantime I had taught my younger sister Mary
(afterwards Mrs. W. J. Wren) all I knew, and in the columns of The
South Australian I wrote an occasional letter or a few verses. Through
Mr. George Tinline we made the acquaintance of Mrs. Samuel Stephens her
brother, Thomas Hudson Beare, and his family, who had all come out in
the Duke of York, and lived six months on Kangaroo Island before South
Australia was proclaimed a British province. I have been mixed up so
much with this family that it is often supposed that they were
relatives, but it was not so. Samuel Stephens had died from an accident
two years after his marriage to a lady much older and much richer than
himself, and she was living on two acres in North Adelaide, bought with
her money at the first sale of city lands in 1837, and Mr. Tinline
boarded with her till his marriage. The nephews, and especially the
nieces, of the old lady interested me--Lucy, the eldest, a handsome
girl, was about two years younger than myself; Arabella, about the age
of my sister Mary; Elizabeth, the baby Beare, who was the first white
person to set foot on South Australian soil after the foundation of the
province, died from a burning accident when quite young. The only
survivor of that first family now is William L. Beare (84), held in
honour as one of our earliest pioneers. By a second marriage there were
nine more children. Several died young, but some still survive.

It was not till 1843 that I went as a daily governess at the rate of
6d. an hour, and gave two hours five days a week to the families of the
Postmaster-General, the Surveyor-General, and the Private Secretary.
Thus I earned three guineas a month. I don't recollect taking holidays,
except a week at Christmas. I enjoyed the work, and I was proud of the
payment. My mother said she never felt the bitterness of poverty after
I began to earn money, and the shyness which, in spite of all her
instructions and encouragement, I had felt with all strangers,
disappeared when I felt independent. When a girl is very poor, and
feels herself badly dressed, she cannot help being shy, especially if
she has a good deal of Scotch pride. I think mother felt more sorry for
me in those early days than for the others, because I was so ambitious,
and took religious difficulties so hard. How old I felt at 17. Indeed,
at 14 I felt quite grown up. In 1843 I felt I had begun the career in
Australia that I had anticipated in Scotland. I was trusted to teach
little girls, and they interested me, each individual with a
difference. I had seen things I had written in print. If I was one of
the oldest in feeling of the young folk in South Australia in my teens,
I am the youngest woman in feeling in my eighties; so I have had
abundant compensation.




CHAPTER IV.

LOVERS AND FRIENDS.


It is always supposed that thoughts of love and marriage are the chief
concerns in a girl's life, but it was not the case with me. I had only
two offers of marriage in my life, and I refused both. The first might
have been accepted if it had not been for the Calvinistic creed that
made me shrink from the possibility of bringing children into the world
with so little chance of eternal salvation, so I said. "No" to a very
clever young man, with whom I had argued on many points, and with whom,
if I had married him, I should have argued till one of us died! I was
17, and had just begun to earn money. I told him why I had refused him,
and that it was final. In six weeks he was engaged to another woman. My
second offer was made to me when I was 23 by a man aged 55, with three
children. He was an artist, whose second wife and several children had
been murdered by the Maoris near Wanganui during the Maori insurrection
of the forties, and he had come to Adelaide with the three survivors.
The massacre of that family was only one of the terrible tragedies of
that time, but it was not the less shocking. The Maoris had never been
known to kill a woman, and when the house was attacked, Mr. Gilfillan
got out of a back window to call the soldiers to their help. Though
struck on the back of the head and the neck and scarred for life--owing
to which he was always compelled to wear his hair long--he succeeded in
his mission. His wife put her own two children through the window, and
they toddled off hand in hand until they met their father returning
with the soldiers. The eldest daughter, a girl of 13, escaped with a
neighbour's child, a baby in arms. She was seen by the Maoris, struck
on the forehead with a stone axe, and left unconscious. The crying of
the baby roused her, and she went to the cowyard and milked a cow to
get milk for the hungry child, and there she was found by the soldiers.
She was queer in her ways and thoughts afterwards, and, it was said,
always remained 13 years old. She died in November last, aged 74. Her
stepmother and the baby and her own brother and sister were murdered
one by one as they tried to escape by the same window that had led the
rest of the family to safety. One of the toddling survivors still lives
in New Zealand. Now, these are all the chances of marriage I have had
in my life. Dickens, in "David Copperfield," speaks of an old maid who
keeps the remembrance of some one who might have made her an offer, the
shadowy Pidger, in her heart until her death. I cannot forget these two
men. I am constantly meeting with the children, grandchildren, and even
great-grandchildren of the first. As for the other, Andrew Murray gave
me a fine landscape painted by John A. Gilfillan as a slight
acknowledgment of services rendered to his newspaper when he left it to
go to Melbourne, and it hangs up in my sitting room for all to see. Mr.
Gilfillan had a commission to paint "The Landing of Capt. Cook" with
the help of Portraits and miniatures of the principal personages, and
some sketches of his of Adelaide in 1849 are in the Adelaide Art
Gallery. If the number of lovers has been few, no woman in Australia
has been richer in friends. This narrative will show what good
friends--men as well as women--have helped me and sympathized in my
work and my aims. I believe that if I had been in love, especially if I
had been disappointed in love, my novels would have been stronger and
more interesting; but I kept a watch over myself, which I felt I knew I
needed, for I was both imaginative and affectionate. I did not want to
give my heart away. I did not desire a love disappointment, even for
the sake of experience. I was 30 years old before the dark veil of
religious despondency was completely lifted from my soul, and by that
time I felt myself booked for a single life. People married young if
they married at all in those days. The single aunts put on caps at 30
as a sort of signal that they accepted their fate; and, although I did
not do so, I felt a good deal the same.

I went on with daily teaching for some years, during which my father's
health declined, but before his death two things had happened to cheer
him. My brother John left Myponga and came to town, and obtained a
clerkship in the South Australian Bank at 100 pounds a year. It was
whilst occupying a position in the bank that he had some slight
connection with the notorious Capt. Starlight, afterwards the hero of
"Robbery Under Arms," for through his hands much of the stolen money
passed. In 1900, when Mrs. Young and I were leaving Melbourne on our
visit to Sydney, we were introduced to "Rolf Boldrewood," the author of
that well-known story. His grave face lit up with a smile when my
friend referred to the author of her son's hero. "Ah!" and he shook his
head slowly. "I'm not quite sure about the wisdom of making heroes of
such sorry stuff," he replied. I thought I could do better with a
school. I was 20, and my sister Mary nearly 16, and my mother could
help. My school opened in May, 1846, a month before my father's death,
and he thought that our difficulties were over. My younger brother,
David Wauchope, had been left behind for his education with the three
maiden aunts, but he came out about the end of that year, and began
life in the office of the Burra Mine at a small salary. My eldest
brother William, was not successful in the country, and went to Western
Australia for some years, and later to New Zealand, where he died in
his eightieth year, soon after the death of my brother John in his
seventy-ninth, leaving me the only survivor of eight born and of six
who grew to full age. My eldest sister Agnes died of consumption at the
age of 16; and, as my father's mother and four of his brothers and
sisters had died of this malady, it was supposed to be in the family.
The only time I was kept out of school during the nine years at Miss
Phin's was when I was 12 when I had a cough and suppuration of the
glands of the neck. As this was the way in which Agnes's illness had
begun, my parents were alarmed, though I had no idea of it. I was
leeched and blistered and drugged; I was put into flannel for the only
time in my life; I was sent away for change of air; but no one could
discover that the cough was from the lungs. It passed away with the
cold weather, and I cannot say that I have had any illness since. My
father died of decline, but, if he had been more fortunate, I think he
would have lived much longer. Probably my mother's life was prolonged
beyond that of a long-lived family by her coming to Australia in middle
life; and if I ever had any tendency to consumption, the climate must
have helped me. There were no special precautions against infection in
those days: but no other member of the family took it, and the alarm
about me was three years after Agnes's death.

But to go on to those early days of the forties. There were two
families with whom we were intimate. Mr. George Tinline (who had been
clerk to my fathers' old friend, William Rutherford, of Jedburgh), who
was in the bank of South Australia when in 1839, my father went to put
our small funds in safety, introduced us to a beautiful young widow,
Mrs. Sharpe, and her sisters Eliza and Harriet, and her brother, John
Taylor. Harriet afterwards married Edward Stirling, a close friend of
my brother-in-law, Andrew Murray, and I was a great deal interested in
the Stirlings and their eight children. Mr. William Bakewell, of
Bartley & Bakewell, solicitors, married Jane Warren of Springfield,
Barossa, and I was a familiar friend of their five children. In one
house I was "Miss Spence, the storyteller," in the other "Miss Spence,
the teller of tales!" Some of the tales appeared long after as
Christmas stories in The Adelaide Observer, but my young hearers
preferred the oral narrative, with appropriate gestures and emphasis,
and had no scruple about making faces, to anything printed in books. I
took great liberties with what I had read and sometimes invented all.
It was a part of their education, probably--certainly, it was a part of
mine, and it gave me a command of language which helped me when I
became a public speaker. My brother-in-law's newspaper furnished an
occasional opportunity to me, though no doubt he considered that he
could fill his twice-a-week journal without my help. He was, however,
helpful in other ways. He was one of the subscribers to a Reading Club,
and through him I had access to newspapers and magazines. The South
Australian Institute was a treasure to the family. I recollect a
newcomer being astonished at my sister Mary having read Macaulay's
History. "Why, it was only just out when I left England," said he.
"Well, it did not take longer to come out than you did," was her reply.
We were all omnivorous readers, and the old-fashioned accomplishment of
reading aloud was cultivated by both brothers and sisters. I was the
only one who could translate French at sight, thanks to Miss Phin's
giving me so much of Racine and Moliere and other good French authors
in my school days.

But more important than all this was the fact that we took hold of the
growth and development of South Australia, and identified ourselves
with it. Nothing is insignificant in the history of a young community,
and--above all--nothing seems impossible. I had learned what wealth
was, and a great deal about production and exchange for myself in the
early history of South Australia--of the value of machinery, of roads
and bridges, and of ports for transport and export. I had seen the
4-lb. loaf at 4/ and at 4d. I had seen Adelaide the dearest and the
cheapest place to live in. I had seen money orders for 2/6, and even
for 6d., current when gold and silver were very scarce. Even before the
discovery of copper South Australia had turned the corner. We had gone
on the land and become primary producers, and before the gold
discoveries in Victoria revolutionized Australia and attracted our male
population across the border, the Central State was the only one which
had a large surplus of wheat and hay to send to the goldfields.

Edward Wilson of The Argus, riding overland to Adelaide about 1848, was
amazed to see from Willunga onward fenced and cultivated farms, with
decent homesteads and machinery up to date. The Ridley stripper enabled
our people to reap and thresh the corn when hands were all too few for
the sickle. He said he felt as if the garden of Paradise must have been
in King William street and that the earliest difference in the
world--that between Cain and Abel--was about the advantages of the
80-acre system. Australia generally had already to realize the fact
that the pastoral industry was not enough for its development, and
South Australia had seemed to solve the problem through the doctrinaire
founders, of family immigration, small estates, and the development of
agriculture, horticulture, and viticulture. We owed a great deal in the
latter branches to our German settlers--sent out originally by Mr. G.
F. Angas, whose interest was aroused by their suffering persecution for
religious dissent--who saw that Australia had a better climate than
that of the Fatherland. We owed much to Mr. George Stevenson, who was
an enthusiastic gardener and fruitgrower, and lectured on these
subjects, but the contrast between the environs of Adelaide and those
of Sydney and Melbourne were striking, and Mr. Wilson never lost an
opportunity of calling on the Victorian Legislature and the Victorian
public to develop their own wonderful resources. When you take gold out
of the ground there is less gold to win. When you grow golden grain or
ruddy grapes this year you may expect as much and as good next year. My
brother David went with the thousands to buy their fortunes at the
diggings, but my brother John stuck to the Bank of South Australia. My
brother-in-law's subscribers and his printers had gone off and left him
woefully embarrassed. He went to Melbourne. My friend John Taylor left
his sheep in the wilderness and came to Adelaide to the aid of The
Register. He had been engaged to Sophia Stephens, who died, and her
father John Stephens also died soon after; and Mr. Taylor shouldered
the management of the paper until the time of stress was over.

When Andrew Murray obtained employment on The Argus as commercial
editor, he left his twice-a-week newspaper in the charge of Mr. W. W.
Whitridge, my brother John, and myself. If anything was needed to be
written on State aid to religion I was to do it, as Mr. Whitridge was
opposed to it. This lasted three months. The next quarter there were no
funds for the editor, so John and I carried it on, and then let it die.
At that time I believed in State aid, which had been abolished by the
first elected Parliament of South Australia, although that Parliament
consisted of one-third nominees pledged to vote for its continuance.




CHAPTER V.

NOVELS AND A POLITICAL INSPIRATION.


It was the experience of a depopulated province which led me to write
my first book, "Clara Morison--A Tale of South Australia during the
Gold Fever." I entrusted the M.S. to my friend John Taylor, with whom I
had just had the only tiff in my life. He, through his connection with
The Register, knew that I was writing in The South Australian, trying
to keep it alive, till Mr. Murray decided to let it go, and he told
this to other people. At a subscription ball to which my brother John
took me and my younger sister Mary, she found she had been pointed out
and talked of as the lady who wrote for the newspapers. I did not like
it even to be supposed of myself, but Mary was indignant, and I wrote
an injured letter to my friend. He apologized, and said he thought I
would be proud of doing disinterested work, and he was sorry the
mistake had been made regarding the sister who did it. Of course, I
forgave him. He was the last man in the world to give pain to anyone,
and I highly admired him for his disinterested work on The Register. He
reluctantly accepted 1,000 pounds when the paper was sold. He must have
lost much more through neglect of his own affairs at such a critical
time. He was taking a holiday with his sister Eliza in England and
France, where the beautiful widowed sister was settled as Madam Dubois,
and I asked him to take "Clara Morison" to Smith, Elder & Co.'s, in
London, and to say nothing to anybody about it; but before it was
placed he had to return to Adelaide, and in pursuance of my wishes,
left it with my other good friend, Mr. Bakewell, who also happened to
be visiting England with his family at the time--1853-4. I had an idea
that, as there was so much interest in Australia and its gold, I might
get 100 pounds for the novel. Mr. Bakewell wrote a preface from which I
extract a passage:--"The writer's aim seems to have been to present
some picture of the state of society in South Australia in the years
1851-2, when the discovery of gold in the neighbouring province of
Victoria took place. At this time, the population of South Australia
numbered between seventy and eighty thousand souls, the greater part of
whom were remarkable for their intelligence, their industry, and their
enterprise, which, in the instance of the Burra Burra, and other copper
mines had met with such signal success. When it became known that gold
in vast quantities could be found within 300 miles of their own
territory, they could not remain unmoved. The exodus was almost
complete, and entirely without parallel. In those days there was no
King in Israel, and every woman did what was right in her own sight."
Another reason I had for writing the book. Thackeray had written about
an emigrant vessel taking a lot of women to Australia, as if these were
all to be gentlemen's wives--as if there was such a scarcity of
educated women there, that anything wearing petticoats had the prospect
of a great rise in position. I had hoped that Smith, Elder, & Co. would
publish my book, but their reader--Mr. Williams, who discovered
Charlotte Bronte's genius when she sent them "The Professor," and told
her she could write a better, which she did ("Jane Eyre")--wrote a
similar letter to me, declining "Clara Morison," as he had declined
"The Professor," but saying I could do better. J. W. Parker & Son
published it in 1854, as one of the two-volume series, of which "The
Heir of Redcliffe" had been most successful. The price was to be 40
pounds; but, as it was too long for the series, I was charged 10 pounds
for abridging it. It was very fairly received and reviewed. I think I
liked best Frederick Sinnett's notice in The Argus--that it was the
work of an observant woman--a novelist who happened to live in
Australia, but who did not labour to bring in bushrangers and convicts,
and specially Australian features. While I was waiting to hear the fate
of my first book, I began to write a second, "Tender and True," of
which Mr. Williams thought better, and recommended it to Smith, Elder,
and Co., who published it in two volumes in 1856, and gave me 20 pounds
for the copyright. This is the only one of my books that went through
more than one edition. There were two or three large editions issued,
but I never got a penny more. I was told that nothing could be made out
of shilling editions; but that book was well reviewed and now and then
I have met elderly people who read the cheap edition and liked it. The
motif of the book was the jealousy which husbands are apt to feel of
their wives' relations. As if the most desirable wife was an amiable
orphan--if an heiress, so much the better. But the domestic virtues
which make a happy home for the husband are best fostered in a centre
where brothers and sisters have to give and take; and a good daughter
and sister is likely to make a good wife and mother. I have read quite
recently that the jokes against the mother-in-law which are so many and
so bitter in English and American journalism are worn out, and have
practically ceased; but Dickens and Thackeray set the fashion, and it
lasted a long time.

While "Clara Morison" was making her debut, I paid my first visit to
Melbourne. I went with Mr. and Mrs. Stirling in a French ship consigned
to him, and we were 12 days on the way, suffering from the limited
ideas that the captain of a French merchantman had of the appetites of
Australians at sea. I intended to pay a six weeks' visit to my sister
and her family, but she was so unwell that I stayed for eight months. I
found that Melbourne in the beginning of 1854 was a very expensive
place to live in, and consequently a very inhospitable place. Mr.
Murray's salary sounded a good one, 500 pounds a year, but it did not
get much comfort. His sister was housekeeper at Charles Williamson &
Co.'s, and that was the only place where I could take off my bonnet and
have a meal. From the windows I watched the procession that welcomed
Sir Charles Hotham, the first Governor of the separated colony of
Victoria. He was received with rejoicing, but he utterly failed to
satisfy the people. He thought anything was good enough for them. One
festivity I was invited to--a ball given on the opening of the new
offices of The Argus in Collins street--and there I met Mr. Edward
Wilson, a most interesting personality, the giver of the entertainment.
He was then vigorously championing the unlocking of the land and the
developing of other resources of Victoria than the gold. It had
surprised him when he travelled overland to Adelaide to see from
Willunga 30 miles of enclosed and cultivated farms, and it surprised me
to see sheepruns close to Melbourne. With a better rainfall and equally
good soil, Victoria had neither the farms nor the vineyards nor the
orchards nor the gardens that had sprung up under the 80-acre section
and immigration systems of South Australia. It had been an outlying
portion of New South Wales, neglected and exploited for pastoral
settlement only. The city, however, had been well planned, like that of
Adelaide, but the suburbs were allowed to grow anyhow. In Adelaide the
belt of park lands kept the city apart from all suburbs. Andrew Murray
was as keen for the development of Victoria agriculturally and
industrially as Mr. Wilson, and they worked together heartily. Owing to
the state of my sister's health I was much occupied with her and her
children; but in August she was well, and I returned with Mr. Taylor
and his sister in the steamer Bosphorus, when it touched at Melbourne
on the way home. He brought me 30 pounds for my book, and the assurance
that it would be out soon, and that I should have six copies to give to
my friends. Novel writing had not been to me a lucrative occupation. I
had given up teaching altogether at the age of 25, and I felt that,
though Australia was to be a great country, there was no market for
literary work, and the handicap of distance from the reading world was
great.

My younger sister married in 1855 William J. Wren, then an articled
clerk in Bartley & Bakewell's office, and afterwards a partner with the
present Sir James Boucaut. Mr. Wren's health was indifferent, and
caused us much anxiety. My brother John married Jessie Cumming in 1858,
and they were spared together for many years. As the Wrens went on a
long voyage to Hongkong and back for the sake of my brother-in-law's
health, my mother and I had the charge of their little boy. But in that
year, 1859, my mind received its strongest political inspiration, and
the reform of the electoral system became the foremost object of my
life. John Stuart Mill's advocacy of Thomas Hare's system of
proportional representation brought back to my mind Rowland Hill's
clause in the Adelaide Municipal Bill with wider and larger issues. It
also showed me how democratic government could be made real, and safe,
and progressive. I confess that at first I was struck chiefly by its
conservative side, and I saw that its application would prevent the
political association, which corresponded roughly with the modern
Labour Party, from returning five out of six members of the Assembly
for the City of Adelaide. But for blunders on ballot papers the whole
ticket of six would have been elected. They also elected the three
members for Burra, and Clare. I had then no footing on the Adelaide
press, but I was Adelaide correspondent for The Melbourne Argus--that
is to say, my brother was the correspondent, but I wrote the
letters--he furnished the news. I read Mill's article one Monday night,
and wrote what was meant for a leader on Tuesday morning, and went to
read it to my brother at breakfast time, and posted it forthwith. I
knew The Argus had been dissatisfied with the recent elections, and
fancied that the editor would hail with joy the new idea; but I
received the reply that The Argus was committed to the representation
of majorities; and, though the idea was ingenious, he did not even
offer to print it as a letter. About two years later Mr. Lavington
Glyde, M.P., brought forward in the Assembly Mr. Fawcett's abstract of
Hare's great scheme, and I seized the opportunity of writing a series
of letters to The Register, signed by my initials. Mr. Glyde, seeing
the House did not like his suggestions, dropped the matter, but I did
not. I was no longer correspondent to The Argus--the telegraph stopped
that altogether. My wonderful maiden aunts made up to me and my mother
the 50 pounds a year that I had received as correspondent, and did as
much for their brother, Alexander Brodie, of Morphett Vale, from 1,000
pounds they had sent to invest in South Australia. It was as easy to
get 10 per cent. then as to get 4 per cent. now; indeed I think the
money earned 12 per cent. at first. My brother John was accountant to
the South Australian Railways, then not a very great department--I
think the line stretched as far as Kapunda to the north from Port
Adelaide. He was as much captivated by Mr. Hare's idea as I was, and he
said that if I would write a pamphlet he would pay for the printing of
1,000 copies, to be sent to all the members of Parliament and other
leading people in city and country. I called my pamphlet "A Plea for
Pure Democracy," and when writing it I felt the democratic strength of
the position as I had not felt it in reading Hare's own book. It cost
my brother 15 pounds, but he never grudged it.

While the pamphlet was in the press, I heard of the dangerous illness
of my friend Lucy Anne Duval (nee Beare), one of the original
passengers in the Duke of York, the first ship which arrived here. I
went to consult Mr. Taylor and Mr. Stirling at their office. I saw only
Mr. Stirling. I said, "I should like to go and nurse her," and he said.
"If you will go, I'll pay your expenses;" and I went and stayed with
her for three weeks, till she died, and left five children, three of
them quite young. There were Duvals in England in good circumstances,
and I wrote pleading for the three little ones, though every one said
it was quite useless; but an uncle by marriage was touched, and sent
100 pounds a year for the benefit of the three children, and I was
constituted the guardian. The youngest died within two years, but the
allowance was not decreased, and I was able to get some schooling for
an elder boy. This was my first guardianship.

My pamphlet did not set the Torrens on fire. It did not convert The
Register, but Mr. Fred Sinnett, who was conducting The Telegraph, was
much impressed, especially as he had the greatest reverence for John
Stuart Mill, and thought him a safe man to follow. I had another novel
under way at the time, and Mr. Sinnett thought it would help The
Telegraph to bring it out as a serial story in the weekly edition; and
I seized my opportunity to bring in Mr. Hare and proportional
representation. In England Mr. Hare, Mr. Mill, Rowland Hill, and his
brother, and Professor Craik, all considered my "Plea for Pure
Democracy" the best argument from the popular side that had appeared. I
got the kindest of letters from them, and my brother considered my
labour and his money well spent. Professor Craik, writing to Miss
Florence Davenport Hill about the "Plea for Pure Democracy," says--"It
is really a pity that the pamphlet should not be reproduced in this
country--modified, of course, to the slight extent that would be
necessary. It is really a very remarkable piece of exposition--the best
for popular effect by far on this subject that has come in my way. I
rejoice to hear that there is a chance of Mr. Hare's plan being adopted
in South Australia." I may be allowed to observe that there is still a
chance, but not yet a reality. My aunts at Thornton Loch were applied
to by my English admirers to see if they would be at the cost of an
English edition; but, though they were goodness itself to our material
needs, they thought it was throwing money away to bring out a pamphlet
on an unpopular subject that would not sell. Why, even in South
Australia, though the price was marked at one shilling, not a single
shilling had been paid for a single copy; and in South Australia I was
known! Not so well known, however. I wrote under initials only, and
many thought my letters and pamphlets were the work of Charles Simeon
Hare, one of the tallest talkers in South Australia, who said Mr.
Thomas Hare was his cousin. My novels were anonymous up to the third,
which was not then written. If my name would have done the cause any
good it would have been given, but it was too obscure then.

The original title of my third book was "Uphill Work," and it took up
the woman question as it appeared to me at the time--the difficulty of
a woman earning a livelihood, even when she had as much ability,
industry, and perseverance as a man. My friend Mrs. Graham, who had
been receiving 100 pounds a year and many presents and much
consideration from the Alstons, of Charles Williamson & Co., had to
return to Scotland to cheer her father's last years. After his death
she became housekeeper to the Crichton Asylum for the Insane, with 600
or 700 patients, at a salary of 30 pounds a year. This started me on
the story of two girls educated well and soundly by an eccentric uncle,
but not accomplished in the showy branches, who, fearing that the elder
and favourite niece would marry a young neighbour, and that the other
might be a confirmed invalid, disinherited them, and left his estate to
a natural son with a strict proviso against his marrying either of his
cousins. In that case the property was to go to a benevolent
institution named. Jane Melville applied for the situation of
housekeeper to this institution at 30 pounds a year, but was refused
because she was too young and inexperienced. After all sorts of
disappointments she took a situation to go out to Australia, and her
sister accompanied her as a lady's maid in the same family. You may
wonder how I brought in proportional representation, but I managed it.
I think, on the whole, it is a stronger book than either of the others.
The volume has two interesting associations, one which connects it with
Mrs. Oliphant. My friend Mrs. Graham knew I had sent it to England for
publication, and when she read the anonymous "Doctor's Family" she was
sure it was mine, and was delighted with it. When I read of the brave
Australian girl Nettie, taking on herself the burden of the flabby
sister and her worthless husband and their children, I wished that I
had written such a capital story. In a subsequent tale of Mrs.
Oliphant's, "In Trust," a father disinherits the elder girl from a fear
of an unworthy marriage, but he leaves a letter to be opened when Rosy
is 21, which--should Anne not marry Cosmo Douglas--restores her to her
own mother's fortune, which was in his power. There was no saving
clause in my book. The nieces were left only 20 pounds a year each. Mr.
Williams did not think "Uphill Work" as good as "Tender and True," and
it was hung up till circumstances most unexpectedly brought me to
England, and I tried Bentley, and found that his reader approved, but
wished me to change the name, as the first critic would say it was
uphill work to read it. Then let it be "Mr. Haliburton's Will." That
would clash with "Mrs Haliburton's Troubles." So the name was changed
to Hogarth, and the title became "Mr. Hogarth's Will." It was well
reviewed, and I got 35 pounds as my half-share of the profits on a
three-volume edition, besides 50 pounds from The Telegraph. But the
book was to have more effect in unexpected quarters than I could
imagine. When staying with my aunts in Scotland I had a letter from Mr.
Edward Wilson's secretary, saying that he had wished to write an
article for The Fortnightly on "The Representation of Classes," which
was his cure for the excesses of democracy; but, as he could not see,
and his doctor had forbidden him even to dictate, he had reluctantly
abandoned the idea. He had, however, heard that I was in Scotland, and,
though my idea was different from his, he believed that I could write
the article from some letters reprinted from The Argus and a few hints
from himself, and that I could adapt them to English conditions. I
gladly undertook the work, and satisfied Mr. Wilson. Just before I left
for Australia I went to Mr. Wilson's, and we went through the proofs
together. Mr. Wilson, being a wealthy man, did not ask any payment from
The Fortnightly, but he gave me 10 pounds and thanked me for stepping
in to his assistance when he needed it. He said that my novel had been
the subject of a great deal of discussion in his house. I asked, "Why?"
He replied, "The uncle and the nieces, of course." I thought no more of
it till the death of Mr. Wilson revealed that he had left his estate to
the charities of Melbourne. Then my brother told me that when he was in
England in 1877 Mr. Wilson had told him that it was seldom that a novel
had any influence over a man's conduct, but that reading his sister's
novel had set him thinking, and had made him alter his will. He did not
think it to the advantage of his nieces to be made rich, and he would
leave his money to Victoria and Melbourne, where he had made it. I was
the innocent cause of disappointing the nieces, for I think I made it
clear that the uncle did very wrongly. But when I see 5,000 pounds a
year distributed among Melbourne charities, and larger gifts for the
building of a new hospital, I cannot help thinking that these are the
results of Mr. Wilson reading "Mr. Hogarth's Will" and it may be that
other similar trusts are the results of Mr. Wilson's action.

Another literary success I had during that visit to England. I went to
Smith, Elder, & Co. to ask if I could not get anything for the shilling
edition of "Tender and True," and was answered in the negative; but I
had not talked ten minutes with Mr. Williams before he said that if I
would put these ideas into shape, he thought he could get an article
accepted by The Cornhill Magazine. "An Australian's Impressions of
England" was approved by the editor, and appeared in The Cornhill for
January 1866, and for that I received 12 pounds, the best-paid work I
had ever had up to that time. The Saturday Review said of "Mr.
Hogarth's Will" that there was no haziness about money matters in it
such as is too common among lady writers. Mr. Bentley advised me to
give my name, and not to sell my copyright; but the latter has been of
no value to me; 500 copies of a three-volume novel exhausted the likely
demand. I got 12 copies to give to friends, and one copy I gave to Mr.
Hare. His daughters were a little amused to see their father in a
novel, and as the book was in the circulating library their friends and
acquaintances used to ask, "Is that really your papa that it is
intended for?" I did not at the time think of facing anybody in
England, but I had been both amused and annoyed with the portraits I
was supposed to have drawn from real people in and about
Adelaide--often people I had never seen and had not beard of. "But
Harris is Ellis to the life," said my old Aunt Brodie of Morphett Vale.
"Miss Withing is my sister-in-law," said another. Neither of these
people had I seen. Of course, Mr. Reginald was Mr. John Taylor, the
only squatter I knew, but I myself was not identified with my heroine
Clara Morison. I was Margaret Elliott, the girl who was studying law
with her brother Gilbert; but my brother and my cousin Louisa Brodie
were supposed to be figuring in my book as lovers. In a small society
it was easy to affix the characteristics to some one whom it was
possible the author might have met; but I shrank from the idea that I
was capable of "taking off" people of my acquaintance, and for many
reasons would have liked if the book had not been known to be mine in
South Australia. There must, however, have been some lifelike
presentment of my characters, or they could not have been recognised.
About this time I read and appreciated Jane Austen's novels--those
exquisite miniatures, which no doubt her contemporaries identified
without much interest. Her circle was as narrow as mine--indeed,
narrower. She was the daughter of a clergyman in the country. She
represented well-to-do grownup people, and them alone. The humour of
servants, the sallies of children, the machinations of villains, the
tricks of rascals, are not on her canvas; but she differentiated among
equals with a firm hand, and with a constant ripple of amusement. The
life I led had more breadth and wider interests. The life of Miss
Austen's heroines, though delightful to read about, would have been
deadly dull to endure. So great a charm have Jane Austen's books had
for me that I have made a practice of reading them through regularly
once a year.

As we grew to love South Australia, we felt that we were in an
expanding society, still feeling the bond to the motherland, but eager
to develop a perfect society, in the land of our adoption.




CHAPTER VI.

A TRIP TO ENGLAND.


I have gone on with the story of my three first novels consecutively,
anticipating the current history of myself and South Australia. There
were three great steps taken in the development of Australia. The first
was when McArthur introduced the merino sheep; the second when
Hargreaves and others discovered gold; and the latest when cold-storage
was introduced to make perishable products available for the European
markets. The second step created a sudden revolution; but the others
were gradual, and the area of alluvial diggings in Victoria made
thousands of men without capital or machinery rush to try their
fortunes--first from the adjacent colonies, and afterwards from the
ends of the earth. Law and order were kept on the goldfields of Mount
Alexander, Bendigo, and Ballarat by means of a strong body of police,
and the high licence fees for claims paid for their services, so that
nothing like the scenes recorded of the Californian diggings could be
permitted. But for the time ordinary industries were paralysed.
Shepherds left their flocks, farmers their land, clerks their desks,
and artisans their trades. Melbourne grew apace in spite of the highest
wages known being exacted by masons and carpenters. Pastoralists
thought ruin stared them in the face till they found what a market the
goldfields offered for their surplus stock. Our South Australian
farmers left their holdings in the hands of their wives and children
too young to take with them, but almost all of them returned to grow
grain and produce to send to Victoria. It was astonishing what the
women had done during their absence. The fences were kept repaired and
the stock attended to, the grapes gathered, and the wine made. In these
days it was not so easy to get 80 acres or more in Victoria; so, with
what the farmers brought from their labours on the goldfields, they
extended their holdings and improved their homes. For many years the
prices in Melbourne regulated prices in Adelaide, but when the land was
unlocked and the Victorian soil and climate were found to be as good as
ours it was Mark lane that fixed prices over all Australia for primary
products. After the return of most of the diggers there was a great
deal of marrying and giving in marriage. The miners who had left the
Burra for goldseeking gradually came back, and the nine remarkable
copper mines of Moonta and Wallaroo attracted the Cornishmen, who
preferred steady wages and homes to the diminishing chances of Ballarat
and Bendigo where machinery and deep sinking demanded capital, and the
miners were paid by the week. These new copper mines were found in the
Crown leases held by Capt. (afterwards Sir Walter) Hughes. He had been
well dealt with by Elder, Smith, & Co., and gave them the opportunity
of supporting him. At that time my friends Edward Stirling and John
Taylor were partners in that firm, and they shared in the success. Mr.
Bakewell belonged to the legal firm which did their business, so that
my greatest friends seemed to be in it. I think my brother John
profited less by the great advance of South Australia than he deserved
for sticking to the Bank of South Australia. He got small rises in his
salary, but the cost of living was so enhanced that at the end of seven
years it did not buy much more than the 100 pounds he had begun with.
My eldest maiden aunt died, and left to her brother and sister in South
Australia all she had in her power. My mother bought a brick cottage in
Pulteney street and a Burra share with her legacy--both excellent
investments--and my brother left the bank and went into the aerated
water business with James Hamilton Parr.

We made the acquaintance of the family of Mrs. Francis Clark, of
Hazelwood, Burnside. She was the only sister of five clever
brothers--Matthew Davenport, Rowland, Edwin, Arthur, and Frederick
Hill. Rowland is best known, but all were remarkable men. She was so
like my mother in her sound judgment, accurate observation, and kind
heart, that I was drawn to her at once. But it was Miss Clark who
sought an introduction to me at a ball, because her uncle Rowland had
written to her that "Clara Morison," the new novel, was a capital story
of South Australian life. She was the first person to seek me out on
account of literary work, and I was grateful to her. I think all the
brothers Hill wrote books, and Rosamond and Florence Davenport Hill had
just published "Our Exemplars." My friendship with Miss Clark led to
much work together, and the introduction was a great widening of
interests for me. There were four sons and three daughters--Miss Clark
and Howard were the most literary, but all had great ability and
intelligence. They were Unitarians, and W. J. Wren, my brother-in-law,
was also a Unitarian, and had been one of the 12 Adelaide citizens who
invited out a minister and guaranteed his salary. I was led to hear
what the Rev. J. Crawford Woods had to say for that faith, and told my
old minister (Rev. Robert Haining) that for three months I would hear
him in the morning and Mr. Woods in the evening, and read nothing but
the Bible as my guide; and by that time I would decide. I had been
induced to go to the Sacrament at 17, with much heart searching, but
when I was 25 I said I could not continue a communicant, as I was not a
converted Christian. This step greatly surprised both Mr. and Mrs.
Haining, as I did not propose to leave the church. The result of my
three months' enquiry was that I became a convinced Unitarian, and the
cloud was lifted from the universe. I think I have been a most cheerful
person ever since. My mother was not in any way distressed, though she
never separated from the church of her fathers. My brother was as
completely converted as I was, and he was happy in finding a wife like
minded. My sister, Mrs. Wren, also was satisfied with the new faith; so
that she and her husband saw eye to eye. It was a very live
congregation in those early days. We liked our pastor, and we admired
his wife, and there were a number of interesting and clever people who
went to the Wakefield Street Church.

It was rather remarkable that my sister's husband and my brother's wife
arrived on the same day in two different ships--one in the Anglier from
England, and the other in the Three Bells from Glasgow--in 1851; but I
did not make the acquaintance of either till 1854 and 1855. Jessie
Cumming and Mary Spence shook hands and formed a friendship over
Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus." My brother-in-law (W. J. Wren) had fine
literary tastes, especially for poetry. The first gift to his wife
after marriage was Elizabeth Browning's poems in two volumes and Robert
Browning's "Plays and Dramatic Lyrics" in two volumes, and Mary and I
delighted in them all. In those days I considered my sister Mary and my
sister-in-law the most brilliant conversationalists I knew. My elder
sister, Mrs. Murray, also talked very well--so much so that her
husband's friends and visitors fancied she must write a lot of his
articles; but none of the three ladies went beyond writing good
letters. I think all of them were keener of sight than I was--more
observant of features, dress, and manners; but I took in more by the
ear. As Sir Walter Scott says, "Speak that I may know thee." To my
mind, dialogue is more important for a novel than description; and, if
you have a firm grasp of your characters, the dialogue will be true.
With me the main difficulty was the plot; and I was careful that this
should not be merely possible, but probable. I have heard scores of
people say that they have got good plots in their heads, and when
pressed to tell them they proved to be only incidents. You need much
more than an incident, or even two or three, with which to make a book.
But when I found my plot the story seemed to write itself, and the
actors to fit in.

When the development of the Moonta Mine made some of my friends rich
they were also liberal. Edward Stirling said that if I wanted a trip to
England I should have it at his cost, but it seemed impossible. After
the death of Mr. Wren my mother and I went to live with my sister, and
put two small incomes together, so as to be able to bring up and
educate her two children, a boy and a girl. My brother John had left
the railway, and for nine years had been Official Assignee and Curator
of Intestate Estates; and in 1863 he had been appointed manager of the
new Adelaide branch of the English, Scottish, and Australian Bank. My
friend, Mr. Taylor, had helped well to get the position for one he
thought the fittest man in the city. He had lost his wife, Miss Mary
Ann Dutton when on a visit to England, and at this time was engaged to
Miss Harriet McDermott. His sisters both were very cold about the
engagement. They did not like second marriages at all, and considered
it a disrespect to the first wife's memory, even though a decent
interval had elapsed. When he wrote to me about it I took quite a
different view. He said it was the kindest and the wisest letter I had
ever written in my life, and he knew I had loved his late wife very
much. He came to thank me, and to tell me that he had always wished
that I should be in England at the time he was there, and that he was
going in a P. & 0. boat immediately after his marriage. Although Mr.
Stirling had promised to pay my passage, I hesitated about going. There
were my mother, who was 72, and my guardianship of the Duvals to think
about. I had also undertaken the oversight of old Mrs. Stephens, the
widow of one of the early proprietors of The Register. These objections
were all overruled. I still hesitated. "I cannot go unless I have money
to spend," I urged. "Let me do that," was the generous reply.--"I have
left you 500 pounds in my will. Let me have the pleasure of giving you
something while I live." I was not too proud to owe that memorable
visit to England to my two good friends. John Taylor had put into my
hands on board the Goolwa, in which I sailed, a draft for 200 pounds
for my spending money, and in the new will he made after his marriage
he bequeathed me 300 pounds. I said "Goodby" to him, with good wishes
for his health and happiness. I never saw him again. He took a sickly
looking child on his knee when crossing the Isthmus of Suez--there was
no canal in 1864--to relieve a weary mother. The child had smallpox,
and my friend took it and died of it. He was being buried beside his
first wife at Brighton when the Goolwa sailed up the Channel after a
passage of 14 weeks--as long as that of the Palmyra 25 years
before--and the first news we heard was that Miss Taylor had lost a
brother, the children a favourite uncle, and I, a friend. It was a sad
household, but the Bakewells were in London on business connected with
some claims of discovery of the Moonta Mines, and they took me to their
house in Palace Gardens. Kensington, till I could arrange to go to my
aunt's in Scotland. All our plans about seeing people and places
together were, of course, at an end. I was to go "a lone hand." Mrs.
Taylor had a posthumous son, who never has set foot in Australia. She
married a second time, an English clergyman named Knight, and had
several sons, but she has never revisited Adelaide, although she has
many relatives here. So the friend who loved Australia, and was eager
to do his duty by it--who thoroughly approved of the Hare system of
representation, and thought I did well to take it up, was snatched away
in the prime of life. I wonder if there is any one alive now to whom
his memory is as precious. The Register files may preserve some of his
work.

At Palace Gardens the Bakewell family were settled in a furnished house
belonging to Col. Palmer, one of the founders of South Australia,
though never a resident. Palmer place, North Adelaide, bears his name.
Thackeray's house we had to pass when we went out of the street in the
direction of the city. His death had occurred in the previous year. I
had an engagement with Miss Julia Wedgwood, through an introduction
given by Miss Sophia Sinnett, an artist sister of Frederick Sinnett's.
I was called for and sent home. I was not introduced to the family. It
was a fine large house with men servants and much style. Miss Wedgwood,
who was deaf, used an ear trumpet very cleverly. I found her as
delightful as Miss Sinnett had represented her to be, and I discovered
that Miss Sinnett had been governess to her younger sisters, but that
there was real regard for her. I don't know that I ever spent a more
delightful evening. She had just had Browning's "Dramatis Personae,"
and we read together "Rabbi Ben Ezira" and "Prospice." She knew about
the Hare scheme of representation, supported by Mill and Fawcett and
Craik. She was a good writer, with a fine critical faculty. Everything
signed by her name in magazines or reviews was thenceforward
interesting to me. I promised her a copy of my "Plea for Pure
Democracy," which she accepted and appreciated. By the father's side
she was a granddaughter of Josiah Wedgwood, the founder of British
pottery as a fine art. Her mother was a daughter of Sir James
Mackintosh. Mrs. Wedgwood was so much pleased with my pamphlet that she
wanted to be introduced to me, and when I returned to London I had the
pleasure of making her acquaintance. Miss Wedgwood gave me a
beautifully bound copy of "Men and Women," of which she had a
duplicate, which I cherish in remembrance of her.

During my stay I was visited by Mr. Hare. I had to face up to the
people I had written to with no idea of any personal communication, and
I must confess that I felt I must talk well to retain their good
opinion. I promised to pay a visit to the Hares when I came to London
for the season. He was a widower with eight children, whom he had
educated with the help of a governess, but he was the main factor in
their training. The two eldest daughters were married--Mrs. Andrews,
the eldest, had helped him in his calculations for his great book on
"Representation." His second daughter was artistic, and was married to
John Westlake, an eminent lawyer, great in international law, a pupil
of Colenso, who was then in London, and who was the best-abused man in
the church. Another visitor was George Cowan, a great friend of my late
brother-in-law, Mr. W. J. Wren, who wrote to him till his death, when
the pen was taken up by my sister Mary till her death, and then I
corresponded with him till his death. He came to London a raw Scotch
lad, and met Mr. Wren at the Whittington Club. Both loved books and
poetry, and both were struggling to improve themselves on small
salaries. George Cowan had been entrusted with the printed slips of
"Uphill Work," and had tried it at two publishers without success. I
had to delay any operations till I returned to London, and promised to
visit the Cowans there.




CHAPTER VII.

MELROSE REVISITED.


Jack Bakewell and Edward Lancelot Stirling went to see me off by the
night train to Dunbar Station, five miles from Thornton-Loch, and I got
there in time for breakfast. The old house was just the same except for
an oriel window in the drawing room looking out on the North Sea, and
the rocks which lay between it and Colhandy path (where my
great-grandfather Spence had preached and his wife had preferred
Wesley), and Chirnside, or Spence's Mains in the same direction. All
the beautiful gardens, the farm village, where about 80 souls lived,
the fields and bridges were just as I remembered them. My aunt Margaret
was no longer the vigorous business-like woman whom I recollected
riding or driving in her little gig an over the farm of 800 English
acres which my great-grandfather had rented since 1811. Not the Miss
Thompson whom I had introduced into "Uphill Work." She had had a severe
stroke of paralysis, and was a prisoner to the house, only being lifted
from her bed to be dressed, and to sit in a wheeled chair and be taken
round the garden on fine days. The vigorous intellect was somewhat
clouded, and the power of speech also; but she retained her memory. She
was always at work with her needle (for her hands were not affected)
for the London children, grandnieces, and nephews who called her
grandmamma, for she had had the care of their Parents during 11 years
of her brother Alexander's widowhood. But Aunt Margaret could play a
capital game of whist--long whist. I could see that she missed it much
on Sunday. It was her only relaxation. She had given up the farm to
James Brodie, who had married her cousin Jane, the eldest of the two
children she had mothered, and he had to come to the farm once or twice
a week, having a still larger farm of his own in East Lothian, and a
stock farm in Berwickshire also to look after. The son of the old farm
steward, John Burnet, was James Brodie's steward, and I think the farm
was well managed, but not so profitable as in old times. Aunt Mary
said, in her own characteristic way, "she always knew that her sister
was a clever woman, but that the cleverest thing she had done was
taking up farming and carrying it on for 30 years when it was
profitable, and turning it over when it began to fall off." But she
turned it over handsomely, and did not interfere in the management. My
Aunt Mary deserves a chapter for herself. She was my beau ideal of what
a maiden aunt should be, though why she was never married puzzles more
than me. Between my mother and her there was a love passing the love of
sisters--my father liked her better than his own sisters. When my
letter announcing my probable visit reached her she misread it, and
thought it was Helen herself who was to come; and when she found out
her mistake she shed many tears. I was all very well in my way, but I
was not Helen. It was not the practice in old times to blazon an
engagement, or to tell of an offer that had been declined; but my
mother firmly believed that her sister Mary, the cleverest and, as she
thought, the handsomest of the five sisters, had never in her life had
an offer of marriage, although she had a love disappointment at 30. She
had fixed her affections on a brilliant but not really worthy man, and
she had to tear him out of her heart with considerable difficulty. It
cost her a severe illness, out of which she emerged with what she
believed to be a change of heart. She was a converted Christian. I
myself don't think there was so much change. She was always a noble,
generous woman, but she found great happiness in religion. Aunt Mary's
disappointment made her most sympathetic to all love stories, and
without any disappointment at all, I think I may say the same of
myself. She was very popular with the young friends of her youngest
brother, who might have experienced calf love; so very real, but so
very ineffectual. One of these said to her:--"Oh, Miss Mary, you're
just a delight, you are so witty." Another, when she spoke of some man
who talked such delightful nonsense, said, "If you would only come to
Branxholme I'd talk nonsense to you the haill (whole) day."

When I arrived at the old home I found Aunt Mary vigorously rubbing her
hand and wrist (she had slipped downstairs in a neighbour's house, and
broken her arm, and had to drive home before she could have it set). No
one from the neighbour's house went to accompany her; no one came to
enquire; no message was sent. When she recovered so far as to be able
to be out, she met at Dunbar the gentleman and lady also driving in
their conveyance. They greeted each other, and aunt could not resist
the temptation to say:--"I am so glad to see you, and so glad that you
have spoken to me, for I thought you were so offended at my taking the
liberty of breaking my arm in your house that you did not mean to speak
to me again." This little expression of what the French call malice,
not the English meaning, was the only instance I can recollect of Aunt
Mary's not putting the kindest construction on everybody's words and
actions. But when I think of the love that Aunt Mary gathered to
herself from brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, cousins, and
friends--it seems as if the happiest wife and mother of a large family
could not reckon up as rich stores of affection. She was the unfailing
correspondent of those members of the family who were separated by land
and ocean from the old home, the link that often bound these together,
the most tolerant to their failings, the most liberal in her aid--full
of suggestions, as well as of sympathy. Now, in my Aunt Margaret's
enfeebled state, she was the head of the house and the director of all
things. Although she had differed from the then two single sisters and
the family generally at the time of the disruption of the Church of
Scotland, and gone over to the Free Church, the more intensely
Calvinistic of the two, though accepting the same standards--the
Westminster Confession and the Shorter Catechism--all the harsher
features fell off the living texture of her faith like cold water off a
duck's back. From natural preference she chose for her devotions those
parts of the Bible which I selected with deliberate intention. She
wondered to find so much spiritual kinship with me, when I built on
such a different foundation. When I suggested that the 109th Psalm,
which she read as the allotted portion in "Fletcher's Family
Devotions," was not fit to be read in a Christian household, she said
meekly--"You are quite right, I shall mark it, and never read it again."

My mother always thought me like her sister Mary, and when I asked Mr.
Taylor if he saw any resemblance between us, he said, with cruel
candour--"Oh, no. Your Aunt Mary is a very handsome woman." But in ways
and manners, both my sister Mary and myself had considerable
resemblances to our mother's favourite sister; and I can see traces of
it in my own nieces. There can be no direct descent from maiden aunts,
though the working ants and bees do not inherit their industrious
habits from either male or female parents, but from their maiden aunts.
Galton's theory, that potentialities not utilized by individuals or by
their direct descendants may miss a generation or two, opens a wide
field of thought, and collaterals may draw from the original source
what was never suspected. And the Brodies intermarried in such a way as
to shock modern ideas. When my father was asked if a certain Mr.
Dudgeon, of Leith, was related to him, he said--"He is my mother's
cousin and my stepmother's cousin, and my father-in-law's cousin, and
my mother-in-law's cousin." Except for Spences and Wauchopes there was
not a relative of my father that was not related to my mother.
Grandfather Brodie married his cousin, and Grandfather Spence married
his late wife, Janet Parks cousin Katherine Swanston. I cannot see that
these close marriages produced degenerates, either physical or mental,
in the case of my own family.

Of the twelve months I spent in the old country, I spent six with the
dear old aunts. How proud Aunt Mary was of my third novel, with the
sketch of Aunt Margaret in it, of the Cornhill article, and the request
from Mr. Wilson to write for The Fortnightly. I introduced her to new
books and especially to new poets; she had never heard of Browning and
Jean Ingelow. She was so much cleverer than her neighbours that I often
wondered how she could put up with them. How conservative these farmers
and farmers' wives and daughters were, to be sure. These big tenants
considered themselves quite superior to tradesmen, even to merchants,
unless they were in a big way. There was infinitely more difference
between their standard of living and that of their labourers than
between theirs and that of the aristocratic landlords. James Barnet,
the farm steward, said to me--"you have brought down the price of wheat
with your Australian grain, and you do big things in wool, but you can
never touch us in meat." This was quite true in 1865. I expected to see
some improvement in the farm hamlet, but the houses built by the
landlord were still very poor and bare. The wages had risen a little
since 1839, but not much. The wheaten loaf was cheaper, and so was tea
and sugar, but the poor were still living on porridge and bannocks of
barley and pease meal instead of tea and white bread. It was
questionable if they were as well nourished. There were 100 souls
living on the farms of Thornton and Thornton Loch.

A short visit from Mrs. Graham to me at Thornton Loch opened up to Aunt
Mary some of my treasures of memory. She asked me to recite "Brother in
the Lane," Hood's "Tale of a Trumpet," "Locksley Hall." "The Pied
Piper," and Jean Ingelow's "Songs of Seven." She made me promise to go
to see her, and find out how much she had to do for her magnificent
salary of 30 pounds a year; but she impressed Aunt Mary much. Mrs.
Graham had found that the Kirkbeen folks, among whom she lived, were
more impressed by the six months' experiences of two maiden ladies, who
had gone to Valparaiso to join a brother who died, than with her fresh
and racy descriptions of four young Australian colonies. She had seen
Melbourne from 1852 to 1855--a wonderful growth and development. The
only idea the ladies from Valparaiso formed about Australia was that it
was hot and must be Roman Catholic, and consequently the Sabbath must
be desecrated. It was in vain that my friend spoke of the Scots Church
and Dr. Cairns's Church. Heat and Roman Catholicism were inseparably
connected in their minds.

Visiting Uncle and Aunt Handyside and grown-up cousins, whom I left
children, I saw a lot of good farming and the easy circumstances which
I always associated with tenants' holdings in East Lothian. Next farm
to Fenton was Fentonbarns, a Show place, which was held by George Hope,
a cousin of my grandmother's He was an exceptional man--a radical, a
freetrader, and a Unitarian. Cobden died that year. Uncle Handyside was
surprised that George Hope did not go into mourning for him. John
Bright still lived, and he was the bete noire of the Conservatives in
that era; and the abolition of the corn laws was held to be the cause
of the agricultural distress--not the high rent of agricultural land.
George Hope was a striking personality. When my friend J. C. Woods was
minister at St. Mark's Unitarian Church, Edinburgh, Mr. Hope used to be
called the Bishop, though he lived 16 miles off. When the first Mrs.
Woods died, leaving an infant son, it was Mrs. Hope who cared for it
till it could go to his relatives in Ireland. Later he stood for
Parliament himself. In the paper I wrote over the name of Edward Wilson
for The Fortnightly I noted how the House of Commons represented the
people--or misrepresented them. The House consisted of peers and sons
of peers, military and naval officers, bankers, brewers, and
landownership was represented enormously, but there were only two
tenant farmers in the House. It was years after my return to Australia
that I heard of his unsuccessful candidature, and that when he sought
to take another lease of Fentonbarns, he was told that under no
circumstances would his offer be entertained. Fentonbarns had been
farmed by, three generations of Hopes for 100 years, and to no owner by
parchment titles could it have been more dear. George Hope's friend,
Russell, of The Scotsman, fulminated against the injustice of refusing
a lease to the foremost agriculturist in Scotland--and when you say
that you may say of the United Kingdom--because the tenant held certain
political opinions and had the courage to express them. My uncle
Handyside, however, always maintained that his neighbour was the most
honourable man in business that he knew, and far from being an atheist
or even a deist, he had family prayers, and on the occasion of a death
in the family, the funeral service was most impressive. He was one of
the salt of the earth, and the atmosphere was clearer around him for
his presence.

But I must give some space to my visit to Melrose, my childhood's home.
My father's half-sister Janet Reid was alive and though her two sons
were, one at St. Kitts and the other at Grand Canary, she lived with an
old husband and her only daughter in Melrose still.. I can never forget
the look of tender pity cast on me as I was sitting in our old seat in
church, looking at seats filled by another generation. The
paterfamilias, so wonderfully like his father of 1839, and sons and
daughters, sitting in the place of uncles and aunts settled elsewhere.
They grieved that I had been banished from the romantic associations
and the high civilization of Melrose to rough it in the wilds, while my
heart was full of thankfulness that I had moved to the wider spaces and
the more varied activities of a new and progressive colony. My dear old
teacher was still alive, though the school had been closed for many
years. She lived at St. Mary's with her elder sister, who had taught me
sewing and had done the housekeeping, but she herself was almost blind,
and a girl came every day to read to her for two or three hours. She
told me what a good thing it was that she knew all the Psalms in the
prose version by heart, for in the sleepless nights which accompany old
age so often they were such a comfort to her in the night watches. I
had sent her my two novels when they were published, "Clara Morison"
and "Tender and True." She would have been glad if they had been more
distinctly religious in tone. Indeed, the novel I began at 19 would
have suited her better, but my brother's insistence on reading it every
day as I wrote it somehow made me see what poor stuff it was, and I did
not go far with it. But Miss Phin was, on the whole, pleased with my
progress, and glad that I was able to go to see her and talk of old
times. How very small the village of Melrose looked! How little
changed! The distances to the neighbouring villages of Darnick and
Newstead, and across the Tweed to Gattonsville, seemed so shrunken. It
was not so far to Abbotsford as to Norwood. The very Golden Hills
looked lower than my childish recollection of them. Aunt Janet Reid
rejoiced over me sufficiently. "You are not like your mother in the
face, but, oh, Katie, you are like dear Mrs. David in your ways. How I
was determined to hate her when she came to Melrose first. I was not 13
and she was taking away the best of my brothers, the one that I liked
best; but it did not take long before I was as fond of her as of David
himself."

I also had the pleasure of visiting Mr. Murray, the parish
schoolmaster, who taught my three brothers, then retired, living with
his daughter, Louisa, an old schoolfellow at Miss Phin's. There was an
absurd idea current in 1865 that all visiting Australians were rich and
I could not disabuse people of that notion. Of all the two families of
Brodies and Spences who came out in 1839 there was only my brother John
who could be called successful. He was then manager of the Adelaide
branch of the English, Scottish, and Australian Bank. If it had not
been for help from the wonderful aunts from time to time both families
would have been stranded. I had the greatest faith in the future of
Australia, but I felt that for such gifts as I possessed there was no
market at home. Possibly I should have tried literature earlier if I
had remained in Scotland, but I am not at all sure that I could have
succeeded as well. For the first time in my life I had as much money as
I wanted. I am surprised now that I spent that 200 pounds when I had so
much hospitality. In fact, except for a week in Paris, I never had any
hotel expenses. I had got the money to enjoy it and I did. This was
what my friend wished. I made a few presents. I bought some to take
home with me. I spent money on dress freely, so as to present a proper
appearance when visiting. I was liberal with veils, though I hate the
practice. To a woman who had to look on both sides of a shilling since
1839 this experience was new and delightful. Among other people I went
to see was Mrs. C----. the widow of the Tory writer and branch bank
manager, who was my father's successful rival. He was not speculative
like my father. He was a keen business man and had a great hunger for
land.

On the gravestones around Melrose Abbey are many names with the
avocation added--John Smith, builder; William Hogg, mason--but many
with the word portioner. They were small proprietors, but they were not
distinguished for the careful cultivation which in France is known as
"LA PETITE CULTURE." No; the portions were most carelessly handled, and
in almost every instance they were "bonded" or mortgaged. I recollect
in old days these portioners used to make moonlight, flittings and
disappear, or they sold off their holdings openly and went to America,
meaning the United States. The tendency was to buy up these portions,
and a considerable estate could be built up by any shrewd man who had
money, or the command of it. Before we left Melrose in 1839, Mr. C----
had possession of a good deal of land. When he died he left property of
the value of 90,000 pounds, an unheard-of estate for a country writer
before the era of freetrade and general expansion. He had asked so much
revenue from the railway company when the plan was to cut through the
gardens we as children used to play in, that the company made a
deviation and left the garden severely alone. The eldest daughter had
married a landed proprietor, the second was single, the third married
to a wealthy man in the west, the fourth the richest widow in Scotland.
One son had land, and the other son land, and another business
training. All was material success, and I am sure I did not grudge it
to them, but when I took stock of real things I had not the least
glimmering of a wish to exchange. One generally desires a little more
money than one has; but even that may cost too much. I think my dear
old Aunt Reid felt that the Spences had gone down in my father's
terrible smash in 1839, and the C---- family had steadily gone up, and
she was pleased that a niece from Australia, who had written two books
and a wonderful pamphlet, and, more important still in the eyes of Mrs.
Grundy, had money to spend and to give, was staying with her in
Melrose, and wearing good and well made clothes. Old servants--the old
laundress--old schoolfellows were visited. My father's old clerk, Allan
Freer, had a good business in Melrose, though not equal to that of the
Tory firm. I think the portioners were all sold out before he could
enter the field, and the fate of these Melrose people has thoroughly
emphasized for me the importance of having our South Australian
workmen's blocks, the glory of Mr. Cotton's life, maintained always on
the same footing of perpetual lease dependent on residence. If the
small owner has the freehold, he is tempted to mortgage it, and then in
most instances the land is lost to him, and added to the possessions of
the man who has money. With a perpetual lease, there is the same
security of tenure as in the freehold--indeed, there is more security,
because he cannot mortgage. I did not see the land question as clearly
on this 1865 visit, as I did later; but the extinction of the old
portioners and the wealth acquired by the moneyed man of Melrose gave
me cause for thinking.




CHAPTER VIII.

I VISIT EDINBURGH AND LONDON.


A visit to Glasgow and to the relatives of my sister-in-law opened out
a different vista to me. This was a great manufacturing and commercial
city, which had far outgrown Edinburgh in population and wealth; but
the Edinburgh people still boasted of being the Athens of the north,
the ancient capital with the grandest historic associations. In Glasgow
I fell in with David Murray and his wife (of D. & W. Murray
Adelaide)--not quite so important a personage as be became later. Not a
relative of mine; but a family connection, for his brother William
married Helen Cumming, Mrs. J. B. Spence's sister. David Murray was
always a great collector of paintings, and especially of prints, which
last he left to the Adelaide Art Gallery. He was a close friend of my
brother John's until the death of the latter. One always enjoys meeting
with Adelaide people in other lands, and comparing the most recent
items of news. I went to Dumfries according to promise, and spent many
days with my old friend Mrs. Graham, but stayed the night always with
her sister, Mrs. Maxwell, wife of a printer and bookseller in the town.
Dumfries was full of Burns's relies and memorials. Mr. Gilfillan had
taken the likeness of Mrs. Burns and her granddaughter when he was a
young man, and Mrs. Maxwell corresponded with the granddaughter. It was
also full of associations with Carlyle. His youngest sister, Jean the
Craw, as she was called on account of her dark hair and complexion was
Mrs. Aitkin, a neighbour and close friend of Mrs. Maxwell. I was taken
to see her, and I suppose introduced as a sort of author, and she
regretted much that this summer Tom was not coming to visit her at
Dumfries. She was a brisk, cheery person, with some clever daughters,
who were friends of the Maxwell girls. When the Froude memorials came
out no one was more indignant than Jean the Craw--"Tom and his wife
always understood each other. They were not unhappy, though after her
death he reproached himself for some things."

I found that my friend had just as much to do from morning to night as
she could do, and I hoped with a great hope that "Uphill Work" would be
published, and all the world would see how badly capable and
industrious women were paid. I fancied that a three-volume novel would
be read, marked, and inwardly digested by everybody! But Mrs. Graham
was appreciated by the matron, the doctors, and by the people of
Dumfries, as she had not been in the village of Kirkbeen. Her
picturesque descriptions of life in the various colonies interested
home-staying folk, for she had the keenest observing faculties. There
was an old cousin of Uncle Handyside's who always turned the
conversation on to Russia, where he had visited successful brothers;
but his talk was not incisive. My cousin Agnes asked me when I supposed
this visit was paid, and I said a few years ago, probably, when she
laughed and said--"Nicol Handyside spent six weeks in Russia 30 years
ago, and he has been talking about it ever since." One visit I paid in
Edinburgh to an old lady from Melrose, who lived with a married
daughter. She had always been very deaf, and the daughter was out. With
great difficulty I got her to see by my card that my name was Spence.
"Are you Jessie Spence?" I shook my head. "No; Katie." "Are you Mary
Spence?" Another headshake, "No; I am Katie." "Then who are you?" She
could understand the negative by the headshaking, but not anything
else. I wanted a piece of paper or a slate badly, but the daughter came
in and made her mother understand that I was the middle Spence girl,
and then the old lady said, "It is a very hot country you come from,"
her only idea apparently of wonderful Australia. And to think that in
times long past some intriguing aunts tried very hard to arrange a
marriage between my father and the deaf young lady who had about 600
pounds a year in land in and near Melrose. She might have been my
mother! The idea was appalling! None of her children inherited the
deafness, and they took a fair proportion of good looks from their
father, for the mother was exceedingly homely. A brightlooking grandson
was on the rug looking through a bound volume of Punch, as my nephew in
Australia loved to do. The two mothers were school companions and
playmates.

My return to London introduced me to a wider range of society. I had
admissions to the Ladies' Gallery of the House of Commons from Sir
Charles Dilke, Professor Pearson's friend, and I had invitations to
stay for longer or shorter periods with people various in means, in
tastes, and in interests. To Mr. Hare I was especially drawn, and I
should have liked to join him and his family in their yearly walking
tour, which was to be through the Tyrol and Venice; but Aunt Mary
protested for two good and sufficient reasons. The first was that I
could not walk 16 or 20 miles a day, even in the mountains, which Katie
Hare said was so much easier than on the plains; and the second was
that to take six weeks out of my visit to the old country was a great
deal too much. If it could have done any good to proportional
representation I might have stood out; but it could not. For that I
have since travelled thousands of miles by sea and by land; and, though
not on foot, I have undergone much bodily fatigue and mental strain,
but in these early days of the movement it had only entered the
academic stage. My "Plea for Pure Democracy" had been written at a
white heat of enthusiasm. I do not think I ever before or since reached
a higher level. I took this reform more boldly than Mr. Mill, who
sought by giving extra votes for property and university degrees or
learned professions to cheek the too great advance of democracy. I was
prepared to trust the people; and Mr. Hare was also confident that, if
all the people were equitably represented in Parliament, the good would
be stronger than the evil. The wise would be more effectual than the
foolish. I do not think any one whom I met took the matter up so
passionately as I did; and I had a feeling that in our new colonies the
reform would meet with less obstruction than in old countries bound by
precedent and prejudiced by vested interests. Parliament was the
preserve of the wealthy in the United Kingdom. There was no property
qualification for the candidate in South Australia, and we had manhood
suffrage.

South Australia was the first community to give the secret ballot for
political elections. It had dispensed with Grand Juries. It had not
required a member of either House to stand a new election if he
accepted Ministerial office. Every elected man was eligible for office.
South Australia had been founded by doctrinaires, and occasionally a
cheap sneer had been levelled at it on that account; but, to my mind,
that was better than the haphazard way in which other colonies grew.
When I visited Sir Rowland Hill he was recognised as the great post
office reformer. To me he was also one of the founders of our province,
and the first pioneer of quota representation. When I met Matthew
Davenport Hill I respected him because he tried to keep delinquent boys
out of gaol, and promoted the establishment of reform schools; but I
also was grateful to him for suggesting to his brother the park lands
which surround Adelaide, and give us both beauty and health. To Col.
Light, who laid out the city so well, we owe the many open spaces and
squares; but he did not originate the idea of the park lands. Much of
the work of Mr. Davenport Hill and of his brother Frederick I took up
later with their niece (Miss C. E. Clark), and their ideas have been
probably more thoroughly carried out in South Australia than anywhere
else; but in 1865 I was learning a great deal that bore fruit
afterwards.

I fear it would make this narrative too long if I went into detail
about the interesting people I met. Florence and Rossamund Davenport
Hill introduced me to Miss Frances Power Cobbe, whose "Intuitive
Morals" I admired so much. At Sir Rowland Hill's I met Sir Walter
Crofter, a prison reformer; Mr. Wells, Editor of "All the Year Round;"
Charles Knight, who had done so much for good and cheap literature;
Madame Bodichon (formerly Barbara Smith), the great friend and
correspondent of George Eliot, who was interesting to me because by
introducing the Australian eucalyptus to Algeria she had made an
unhealthy marshy country quite salubrious. She had a salon, where I met
very clever men and women--English and French--and which made me wish
for such things in Adelaide. The kindness and hospitality that were
shown to me--an absolute stranger--by all sorts of people were
surprising. Mr. and Mrs. Westlake took me on Sunday to see Bishop
Colenso. He showed me the photo of the enquiring Zulu who made him
doubt the literal truth of the early books of the Bible, and presented
me with the people's edition of his work on the Pentateuch.

In all my travels and visits I saw little of the theatre or concert
room, and some of the candid confessions of Mrs. Oliphant might stand
for my own. I had read so many plays before I saw one that the
unreality of much of the acted drama impressed me unfavourably. The
asides in particular seemed impossible, and I think the more carefully
the pieces are put on the stage the more critical I become concerning
their probability; and when I hear the praise of the beautiful and
expensive theatrical wardrobes which, in the case of actresses seem to
set the fashion for the wealthy and well-born, I feel that it is a
costly means of making the story more unlikely. I seem to lose the
identity of the heroine who in two hours wears three or four different
toilettes complete. As Mrs. Oliphant did not identify the "nobody in
white tights" who rendered from "Twelfth Night" the lovely lines
beginning "That strain again; it had a dying fall" with the Orsino she
had imagined when reading the play, so I, who knew "She Stoops to
Conquer" almost by heart, was disappointed when I saw it on the stage.
I was taken to the opera once by Mr. and Mrs. Bakewell, and heard Patti
in "Don Giovanni," at Covent Garden, but opera of all kinds is wasted
on me. I liked some of the familiar airs and choruses, but all opera
needs far more make-believe than I am capable of. It is a pity that I
am so insensible to the youngest and the most progressive of the fine
arts. I am, however, in the good company of Mrs. Oliphant, who,
speaking of the musical parties in Eton, where she lived so long, for
the education of tier boys, writes in words that suit me perfectly: "In
one of these friends' houses a family quartet played what were rather
new and terrible to me--long sonatas and concerted pieces which filled
my soul with dismay. It is a dreadful confession to make, and proceeds
from want of education and instruction, but I fear any appreciation of
music I have is purely literary. I love a song and a 'tune;' the
humblest fiddler has sometimes given me the greatest pleasure, and
sometimes gone to my heart; but music, properly so called, the only
music that many of my friends would listen to, is to me a wonder and a
mystery. My mind wanders through adagios and andantes, gaping, longing
to understand. Will no one tell me what it means? I want to find the
old unhappy far off things which Wordsworth imagined in the Gaelic song
of the 'Highland Lass.' I feel out of it, uneasy, thinking all the time
what a poor creature I must be. I remember the mother of the sonata
players approaching me with beaming countenance on the occasion of one
of these performances, expecting the compliment which I faltered forth,
doing my best not to look insincere. 'And I have this every evening of
my life,' cried the triumphant mother. 'Good heavens, and you have
survived it all' was my internal response." But the worst thing is when
you do not expect a musical evening and this superior music is sprung
on you. Mrs. Webster and I were once invited to meet some very
interesting people, some of the best conversationalists in Melbourne,
and we were given high-class music instead, and scarcely could a remark
be exchanged when a warning finger was held up and silence insisted on.
I could not sing, but sometimes I attempted to hum a tune. I recollect
during my first visit to Melbourne, my little nephew Johnnie, delighted
in the rhymes and poems which I recited; but one day when I was ironing
I began to sing, and he burst out with "Don't sing, auntie; let me hear
the voice of your words." So for my own delectation I began
Wordsworth's "Leechgatherer"--

    There was a roaring in the wind all night,
    The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
    But now the sun is rising calm and bright.
    The birds are singing in the distant woods;
    Over his own sweet voice the stock dove broods.
    The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters,
    And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

"Oh, that's pretty, auntie; say it again," I said it again, and yet
again, at his request, till he could almost repeat it. And he was not
quite 4 years old. He is still alive, and has not become a poet, which
was what I expected in those early days. He could repeat great screeds
of Browning's "Pied Piper of Hamelin," which was his especial
favourite. Music has often cheated me of what is to me the keenest
pleasure in life. Like Samuel Johnson, I enjoy greatly "good talk,"
though I never took such a dominant part in it. There are two kinds of
people who reduce me to something like silence--those who know too
little and those who know too much. My brother-in-law's friend, Mr.
Cowan, was a great talker, and a good one, but he scarcely allowed me a
fair share. He was also an admirable correspondent.

One predominant talker I met at Mr. Edwin Hill's--William Ellis, a
special friend of the Hills, and a noteworthy man. One needs to look
back 60 years to become conscious of how much English education was in
the hands of the church. Not only the public schools and the university
were overshadowed by the Established Church, but what schools were
accessible to the poor were a sort of appanage to the rectory, and the
teachers were bound to work for the good of the church and the
convenience of the incumbent. The commercial schools, which were
independent of the church, to which Non-conformists sent their boys,
were satirised by Dickens, and they deserved the satire. The masters
were generally incompetent, and the assistant teachers or ushers were
the most miserable in regard to payment and status. William Ellis
expended large sums of money, and almost all his leisure, in
establishing secular schools that were good for something. He called
them Birkbeck schools, thus doing honour to the founder of mechanics'
institutes, and perhaps the founder of the first of these schools; and
he taught what he called social science in them himself. He was the
Senor Ferrer of England; and, though he escaped martyrdom in the more
enlightened country he was looked on suspiciously by those who
considered education that was not founded on revealed religion and
permeated by its doctrines as dangerous and revolutionary.

But there was one great personage who saw the value of those teachings
on things that make for human happiness and intellectual freedom, and
that was the Prince Consort. He asked William Ellis to give some
lessons to the eldest of the Royal children--the Princess Victoria,
Prince Edward (our present King), and Prince Alfred, afterwards Duke of
Saxe-Coburg. Mr. Ellis said all three were intelligent, and Princess
Victoria exceptionally so. What a tragedy it was--more so than that of
many an epic or drama--that the Princess Royal and the husband of her
choice, who had educated themselves and each other to take the reins of
the German Empire, and had drawn up so many Plans for the betterment of
the general conditions of the people, should, on their accession to
power, have met death standing on the steps of the throne; and that
only a powerless widow should have been left without much authority
over her masterful son. But my firm belief is that in many of the
excellent things that the Kaiser William has done for his people, he is
working on the plans that had been committed to writing by the Crown
Prince and Princess. Her father's memory was so dear to the Crown
Princess that anything he had suggested to her was cherished all her
life; and I do not doubt that these early lessons on the right relation
of human beings to each other--the social science which regards human
happiness as depending on justice and toleration--is even now bearing
fruit in the Fatherland. Shortsighted mortals see the immediate
failures, but in the larger eye of the Infinite and the Eternal there
is always progress towards better things from every honest attempt to
remedy injustice, and to increase knowledge.

I arranged for a week in Paris with my young friends, Rosa and Symonds
Clark, of Hazelwood, and we travelled as far as Paris with the Hare
family, who went on to the Tyrol. We enjoyed the week. Louis Napoleon
appeared then to be quite secure on his throne, and we saw the fetes
and illuminations for his birthday. What a day and night of rain it
was! But the thousands of people, joyful and good-humoured under
umbrellas or without them--gave us a favourable impression of Parisian
crowds. In London I had been with Mr. Cowan in the crush to the
theatre. It was contrary to his principles to book seats, and I never
was so frightened in my life. I thought a London crowd rough and
merciless. I was the only one of the party who could speak any French,
and I spoke it badly, and had great difficulty in following French
conversations; but we got into a hotel where no English was spoken, and
managed to pull through. But we did not know a soul, and I think we did
not learn so much from our week's sightseeing as we should have done if
Miss Katie Hare had stayed the week with us.

I then paid a visit to Birmingham, and spent a week at the sittings of
the British Association. By subscribing a guinea I was made an
Associate, and some of the sessions were very interesting, but much too
deep for me. I sat out a lecture on the Higher Mathematics, by
Professor Henry Smith, to whom Professor Pearson gave me an
introduction, in hopes that I might visit Oxford; but he was going
abroad, and I could not go to Oxford if I knew nobody--especially
alone. I went, however, to Carr's Lane Chapel, where a humble friend
had begged me to go, because there she had been converted, and there
the Rev. R. W. Dale happened to preach on "Where prayer was wont to be
made." He said that consecration was not due to a Bishop or to any
ecclesiastical ceremony, but to the devout prayers and praise of the
faithful souls within it--that thousands over Scotland and England, and
others in America, Australia, and New Zealand, look back to words which
they had heard and praises and prayers in which they had joined as the
holiest times in their lives. I thought of my good Mrs. Ludlow, and
thanked God for her. When Mr. Cowan took me to the church in Essex
place where he and his friend Wren used to hear Mr. W. J. Fox, M.P. for
Oldham, preach, a stranger, a young American, was there. I found out
afterwards he was Moncure Conway, and he gave us a most striking
discourse. There was going on in Birmingham at this time a controversy
between the old Unitarians and the new. In the Church of the Messiah
the old ministers gave a series of sermons on the absolute truth of the
New Testament miracles. The Old Testament he was quite willing to give
up, but he pinned his faith on those wrought by Christ and His
apostles. Some of the congregation told me they had never thought of
doubting them before, but the more Mr. B. defended them as the bulwarks
of Christianity, the more they felt that our religion rested on other
foundations. I saw a good deal of the industrial life of Birmingham,
and had a sight of the Black Country by day and by night. Joseph
Chamberlain was then a young man; I believe he was a Sunday school
teacher. The Unitarian Sunday Schools taught writing and arithmetic as
well as reading. In the terrible lack of national day schools many of
the poor had no teaching at all but what was given on Sundays, and no
time on other days of the week to learn anything. I could not help
contrasting the provision made by the parish schools of Scotland out of
the beggarly funds or tithes given for church and schools out of the
spoils of the Ancient Church by the Lords of the Congregation.
Education was not free, but it was cheap, and it was general. Scotchmen
made their way all over the world better than Englishmen mainly because
they were better educated. The Sunday school was not so much needed,
and was much later in establishing itself in Scotland. Good Hannah More
taught girls to read the Bible under a spreading tree in her garden
because no church would give her a place to teach in. "If girls were
taught to read where would we get servants?" It was an early cry.




CHAPTER IX.

MEETING WITH J. S. MILL AND GEORGE ELIOT.


I leave to the last of my experiences in the old world in 1865-6 my
interviews with John Stuart Mill and George Eliot. Stuart Mill's wife
was the sister of Arthur and of Alfred Hardy, of Adelaide, and the
former had given to me a copy of the first edition of Mill's "Political
Economy," with the original dedication to Mrs. John Taylor, who
afterwards became Mill's wife, which did not appear in subsequent
editions; but, as he had two gift copies of the same edition, Mr. Hardy
sent it on to me with his almost illegible handwriting:--"To Miss
Spence from the author, not, indeed, directly, but in the confidence
felt by the presenter that in so doing he is fulfilling the wish of the
author--viz., circulating his opinions, more especially in such
quarters as the present, where they will be accurately considered and
tested." I had also seen the dedication to Harriet Mill's beloved
memory of the noble book on "Liberty." Of her own individual work there
was only one specimen extant--an article on the "Enfranchisement of
women," included in Mill's collected essays--very good, certainly, but
not so overpoweringly excellent as I expected. Of course, it was an
early advocacy of the rights of women, or rather a revival of Mary
Wollstoneeraft's grand vindication of the rights of the sex; and this
was a reform which Mill himself took up more warmly than proportional
representation, and advocated for years before Mr. Hare's revelation.
For myself, I considered electoral reform on the Hare system of more
value than the enfranchisement of women, and was not eager for the
doubling of the electors in number, especially as the new voters would
probably be more ignorant and more apathetic than the old. I was
accounted a weak-kneed sister by those who worked primarily for woman
suffrage, although I was as much convinced as they were that I was
entitled to a vote, and hoped that I might be able to exercise it
before I was too feeble to hobble to the poll. I have unfortunately
lost the letter Mr. Mill wrote to me about my letters to The Register,
and my "Plea for Pure Democracy," but it gave him great pleasure to see
that a new idea both of the theory and practice of politics had been
taken up and expanded by a woman, and one from that Australian colony,
of which he had watched and aided the beginnings, as is seen by the
name of Mill terrace, North Adelaide, to-day. Indeed, both Hare and
Mill told me their first converts were women; and I felt that the
absolute disinterestedness of my "Plea," which was not for myself, but
only that the men who were supposed to represent me at the polling
booth should be equitably represented themselves, lent weight to my
arguments. I have no axe to grind--no political party to serve; so that
it was not until the movement for the enfranchisement of women grew too
strong to be neglected that I took hold of it at all; and I do not
claim any credit for its success in South Australia and the
Commonwealth, further than this--that by my writings and my spoken
addresses I showed that one woman had a steady grasp on politics and on
sociology. In 1865, when I was in England, Mr. Mill was permanently
resident at Avignon, where his wife died, but he had to come to England
to canvass for a seat in Parliament for Westminster as an Independent
member, believed at that time to be an advanced Radical, but known to
be a philosopher, and an economist of the highest rank in English
literature. I had only one opportunity of seeing him personally, and I
did not get so much out of him as I expected--he was so eager to know
how the colony and colonial people were developing. He asked me about
property in land and taxation, and the relations between employers and
employes, and I was a little amused and a little alarmed when he said
he was glad to get information from such a good authority. I had to
disclaim such knowledge; but he said he knew I was observant and
thoughtful, and what I had seen I had seen well. He was particularly
earnest about woman's suffrage, and Miss Taylor, his stepdaughter, said
she thought he had made a mistake in asking for the vote for single
women only and widows with property and wives who had a separate
estate; it would have been more logical to have asked for the vote on
the same terms as were extended to men. The great man said
meekly--"Well, perhaps I have made a mistake, but I thought with a
property qualification the beginning would awake less antagonism." He
said to me that if I was not to return to London till January we were
not likely to meet again. He walked with me bareheaded to the gate, and
it was farewell for both.

Wise man as Mill was he did not foresee that his greatest object, the
enfranchisement of women, would be carried at the antipodes long before
there was victory either in England or America. When I received, in
1869 from the publisher, Mr. Mill's last book, "The Subjection of
Women," I wrote thanking him for the gift. The reply was as
follows:--"Avignon, November 28, 1869--Dear Madam--Your letter of
August 16 has been sent to me here. The copy of my little book was
intended for you, and I had much pleasure in offering it. The movement
against women's disabilities generally, and for the suffrage in
particular, has made great progress in England since you were last
there. It is likely, I think, to be successful in the colonies later
than in England, because the want of equality in social advantages
between women and men is less felt in the colonies owing, perhaps, to
women's having less need of other occupations than those of married
life--I am, dear Madam, yours very truly, J. S. Mill." I have always
held that, though the Pilgrim Fathers ignored the right of the Pilgrim
Mothers to the credit of founding the American States--although these
women had to take their full share of the toils and hardships and
perils of pioneer and frontier life, and had in addition to put up with
the Pilgrim Fathers themselves--Australian colonization was carried out
by men who were conscious of the service of their helpmates, and
grateful for it. In New Zealand and South Australia, founded on the
Wakefield system, where the sexes were almost equal in number, and the
immigration was mainly that of families, the first great triumphs for
the political enfranchisement of women were won, and through South
Australia the women of the Commonwealth obtained the Federal vote for
both Houses: whereas even in the sparsely inhabited western states in
the United States which have obtained the State vote the Federal vote
is withheld from them. But Mill died in 1873, 20 years before New
Zealand or Colorado obtained woman's suffrage.

In treating of my one interview with Mr. Mill I have carried the
narrative down to 1869. With regard to my single meeting with George
Eliot, I have to begin in 1865, and conclude even later. Before I left
England Mr. Williams, of Smith, Elder, & Co., offered me an
introduction to George Henry Lewes, and I expressed the hope that it
might also include an introduction to George Eliot, whose works I so
admired. Mr. Lewes being away from home when I called, I requested that
the introductory letter of Mr. Williams should be taken to George Eliot
herself. She received me in the big Priory drawing room, with the grand
piano, where she held her receptions and musical evenings; but she
asked me if I had any business relating to the article which Mr.
Williams had mentioned, and I had to confess that I had none. For once
I felt myself at fault. I did not get on with George Eliot. She said
she was not well, and she did not look well. That strong pale face,
where the features were those of Dante or Savanarola, did not soften as
Mill's had done. The voice, which was singularly musical and
impressive, touched me--I am more susceptible to voices than to
features or complexion--but no subject that I started seemed to fall in
with her ideas, and she started none in which I could follow her lead
pleasantly. It was a short interview, and it was a failure. I felt I
had been looked on as an inquisitive Australian desiring an interview
upon any pretext; and indeed, next day I had a letter from Mr.
Williams, in which he told me that, but for the idea that I had some
business arrangement to speak of, she would not have seen me at all. So
I wrote to Mr. Williams that, as I had been received by mistake, I
should never mention the interview; but that impertinent curiosity was
not at all my motive in going that unlucky day to The Priory.

Years passed by. I read everything, poetry and prose, that came from
George Eliot's pen, and was so strong an admirer of her that Mr. W. L.
Whitham, who took charge of the Unitarian Church while our pastor (Mr.
Woods) had a long furlough in England, asked me to lecture on her works
to his Mutual Improvement Society, and I undertook the task with joy.
Mr. H. G. Turner asked for the MS. to publish in the second number of
The Melbourne Review, a very promising quarterly for politics and
literature. I thought that, if I sent the review to George Eliot with a
note it might clear me from the suspicion of being a mere vulgar
lionhunter. Her answer was as follows:--"The Priory, North Bank,
Regent's Park, September 4, 1876. Dear Madam--Owing to an absence of
some months, it was only the other day that I read your kind letter of
April 17; and, although I have long been obliged to give up answering
the majority of letters addressed to me, I felt much pleased that you
had given me an opportunity of answering one from you; for I have
always remembered your visit with a regretful feeling that I had
probably caused you some pain by a rather unwise effort to give you a
reception which the state of my health at the moment made altogether
blundering and infelicitous. The mistake was all on my side, and you
were not in the least to blame. I also remember that your studies have
been of a serious kind, such as were likely to render a judgment on
fiction and poetry, or, as the Germans, with better classification,
say, in 'DICHTUNG' in general, quite other than the superficial
haphazard remarks of which reviews are generally made. You will all the
better understand that I have made it a rule not to read writing about
myself. I am exceptionally sensitive and liable to discouragement; and
to read much remark about my doings would have as depressing an effect
on me as staring in a mirror--perhaps, I may say, of defective glass.
But my husband looks at all the numerous articles that are forwarded to
me, and kindly keeps them out of my way--only on rare occasions reading
to me a passage which he thinks will comfort me by its evidence of
unusual insight or sympathy. Yesterday he read your article in The
Melbourne Review, and said at the end--'This is an excellently written
article, which would do credit to any English periodical' adding the
very uncommon testimony, 'I shall keep this.' Then he told me of some
passages in it which gratified me by that comprehension of my
meaning--that laying of the finger on the right spot--which is more
precious than praise, and forthwith he went to lay The Melbourne Review
in the drawer he assigns to any writing about me that gives him
pleasure. For he feels on my behalf more than I feel on my own, at
least in matters of this kind. If you come to England again when I
happen to be in town I hope that you will give me the pleasure of
seeing you under happier auspices than those of your former visit.--I
am, dear madam, yours sincerely, M. G. Lewes." The receipt of this kind
and candid letter gave me much pleasure; and, although on the strength
of that, I cannot boast of being a correspendent of that great woman, I
was able to say that I had seen and talked with her, and that she
considered me a competent critic of her work. Mrs. Oliphant says that
George Eliot's life impelled her to make an involuntary
confession--"How have I been handicapped in life? Should I have done
better if I had been kept, like her, in a mental green-house and taken
care of? I have always had to think of other people and to plan
everything for my own pleasure, it is true, very often, but always in
subjection to the necessity which bound me to them. To bring up the
boys--my own and Frank's--for the service of God was better than to
write a fine novel, if it had been in my power to do so." The heart
knows its own bitterness. There might have been some points in which
George Eliot might have envied Mrs. Oliphant.




CHAPTER X.

RETURN FROM THE OLD COUNTRY.


Before leaving Scotland I arranged that my friend, Mrs. Graham of the
strenuous life and 30 pounds a year, should undertake the care of my
aunts, to their mutual satisfaction. My last days in England were spent
in either a thick London fog or an equally undesirable Scotch mist,
which shrouded everything in obscurity, and made me long for the sunny
skies and the clear atmosphere of Australia. I told my friends that in
my country it either rained or let it alone. Indeed, the latest news
from all Australia was that it had let it alone very badly, and that
the overstocking of stations during the preceding good seasons had led
to enormous losses. Sheepfarmers made such large profits in good
seasons that they were apt to calculate that it was worth while to run
the risk of drought; but experience has shown that overstocking does
not really pay. The making of dams, the private and public provision of
water in the underground reservoirs by artesian bores, and the
facilities for travelling stock by such ways have all lessened the
risks which the pioneer pastoralists ran bravely in the old days. An
Australian drought can never be as disastrous in the twentieth century
as it was in 1866; and South Australia, the Central State, has from the
first been a pioneer in development as well as in exploration. The hum
of the reaping machine first awoke the echoes in our wheatfields. The
stump-jumping plough and the mullenicer which beats down the scrub or
low bush so that it can be burnt, were South Australian inventions,
copied elsewhere, which have turned land accounted worthless into
prolific wheat fields.

If South Australia was the first of the States to exhaust her
agricultural soil, she was the first to restore it by means of
fertilizers and the seed drill. When I see the drilled wheat fields I
recollect my grandfather's two silver salvers--the Prizes from the
Highland Society for having the largest area of drilled wheat in
Scotland--and when I see the grand crops on the Adelaide Plains I
recall the opinion that, with anything like a decent rainfall, that
soil could grow anything. In 1866 the northern areas had not been
opened. The farmers were continuing the process of exhausting the land
by growing wheat--wheat--wheat, with the only variety wheaten hay. I
recollect James Burnet's amazement when I said that our horses were fed
on wheaten hay. "What a waste of the great possibilities of a grain
harvest!" He was doubtful when I said that with plenty of wheaten hay
the horses needed no corn. South Australia, except about Mount Gambier,
does not grow oats, though Victoria depends on oaten hay. The British
agriculturist thinks that meadow hay is the natural forage for horses
and cattle, and for winter turnips are the standby. It was a little
amusing to me that I could speak with some authority to skilled and
experienced agriculturists, who felt our rivalry at Mark lane, but who
did not dream that with the third great move of Australia towards the
markets of the world through cold storage we could send beef, mutton,
lamb, poultry, eggs, and all kinds of fruit to the consumers of Europe,
and especially of England and its metropolis. I did not see it, any
more than the people to whom I talked. I still thought that for meat
and all perishable commodities the distance was an insuperable
obstacle, and that, except for live stock from America, or canned meat
from Australia, the United Kingdom would continue self-supporting on
these lines.

I returned to Australia, when this island continent was in the grip of
one of the most severe and protracted droughts in its history. The war
between Prussia and Austria had begun and ended; the failure of Overend
and Gurney and others brought commercial disaster; and my brother, with
other bankers, had anxious days and sleepless nights. Some rich men
became richer; many poor men went down altogether. Our recovery was
slow but sure. In the meantime I found life at home very dull after my
interesting experiences abroad. There was nothing to do for
proportional representation except to write an occasional letter to the
press. So I started another novel, which was published serially in The
Observer. Mr. George Bentley, who published it subsequently in book
form, changed its title from "Hugh Lindsay's Guest" to "The Author's
Daughter." But my development as a public speaker was more important
than the publication of a fourth novel. Much had been written on the
subject of public speaking by men, but so far nothing concerning the
capacities of women in that direction. And yet I think all teachers
will agree that girls in the aggregate excel boys in their powers of
expression, whether in writing, or in speech, though boys may surpass
them in such studies as arithmetic and mathematics. Yet law and custom
have put a bridle on the tongue of women, and of the innumerable
proverbs relating to the sex, the most cynical are those relating to
her use of language. Her only qualification for public speaking in old
days was that she could scold, and our ancestors imposed a salutary
cheek on this by the ducking stool in public, and sticks no thicker
than the thumb for marital correction in private. The writer of the
Proverbs alludes to the perpetual dropping of a woman's tongue as an
intolerable nuisance, and declares that it is better to live on the
housetop than with a brawling woman in a wide house. A later writer,
describing the virtuous woman, said that on her lips is the law of
kindness, and after all this is the real feminine characteristic. As
daughter, sister, wife, and mother--what does not the world owe to the
gracious words, the loving counsel, the ready sympathy which she
expresses? Until recent years, however, these feminine Rifts have been
strictly kept for home consumption, and only exercised for the woman's
family and a limited circle of friends. In 1825, when I first opened my
eyes on the world, there were indeed women who displayed an interest in
public affairs. My own mother not only felt the keenest solicitude
regarding the passing of the Reform Bill, but she took up her pen, and
with two letters to the local press, under the signature of "Grizel
Plowter," showed the advantages of the proposed measure. But public
speaking was absolutely out of the question for women, and though I was
the most ambitious of girls, my desire was to write a great book--not
at all to sway an audience. When I returned from my first visit to
England in 1866, I was asked by the committee of the South Australian
Institute to write a lecture on my impressions of England, different
from the article which had appeared in The Cornhill Magazine under that
title, but neither the committee nor myself thought of the possibility
of my delivering it. My good friend, the late Mr. John Howard Clark,
Editor of The Register, kindly offered to read it. I did not go to hear
it, but I was told that he had difficulty in reading my manuscript, and
that, though he was a beautiful reader, it was not very satisfactory.
So I mentally resolved that if I was again asked I should offer to read
my own MS. Five years afterwards I was asked for two literary lectures
by the same committee, and I chose as my subjects the works of
Elizabeth Browning and those of her husband, Robert Browning. Now, I
consider that the main thing for a lecturer is to be heard, and a
rising young lawyer (now our Chief Justice) kindly offered to take the
back seat, and promised to raise his hand if he could not hear. It was
not raised once, so I felt satisfied. I began by saying that I
undertook the work for two reasons--first, to make my audience more
familiar with the writings of two poets very dear to me; and second, to
make easier henceforward for any woman who felt she had something to
say to stand up and say it. I felt very nervous, and as if my knees
were giving way; but I did not show any nervousness. I read the
lecture, but most of the quotations I recited from memory. Not having
had any lessons in elocution, I trusted to my natural voice, and felt
that in this new role the less gesticulation I used the better. Whether
the advice of Demosthenes is rightly translated or not--first
requisite, action; second, action; third, action--I am sure that
English word does not express the requisite for women. I should rather
call it earnestness--a conviction that what you say is worth saying,
and worth saying to the audience before you. I had a lesson on the
danger of overaction from hearing a gentleman recite in public "The
dream of Eugene Aram," in which he went through all the movements of
killing and burying the murdered man. When a tale is crystallized into
a poem it does not require the action of a drama. However little action
I may use I never speak in public with gloves on. They interfere with
the natural eloquence of the hand. After these lectures I occasionally
was asked to give others on literary subjects.

At this time I began to study Latin with my nephew, a boy of 14. He was
then an orphan, my youngest and beloved sister Mary having recently
died and left her two children to my care. My teacher thought me the
more apt pupil, but it was really due more to my command of English
than to my knowledge of Latin that I was able to get at the meaning of
Virgil and Horace. When it came to Latin composition I was no better
than the boy of 14. Before the death of my sister the family invested
in land in Trinity street, College Town, and built a house. Mother had
planned the house she moved into when I was six months old, and she
delighted in the task, though she said it seemed absurd to build a
house in her seventy-ninth year. But she lived in it from January,
1870, till December, 1887, and her youngest daughter lived in it for
only ten months. Before that time I had embarked with my friend, Miss
Clark, on one of the greatest enterprises of my life--one which led to
so much that my friends are apt to say that, if I am recollected at
all, it will be in connection with the children of the State and not
with electoral reform. But I maintain now, as I maintained then, that
the main object of my life is proportional representation, or, to use
my brother John's term, effective voting.




CHAPTER XI

WARDS OF THE STATE.


In a little book which the State Children's Council requested me to
write as a memorial of the great work of Miss C. E. Clark on her
retirement at the age of 80, I have given an account of the movement
from the beginning down to 1907, which had its origin in South
Australia under the leadership of Miss Clark. When I was on my way cut
from England, Miss Clark wrote a letter to The Register, suggesting
that the destitute, neglected, or orphaned children should be removed
from the Destitute Asylum and placed in natural homes with respectable
people; but the great wave which came over England about that time for
building industrial schools and reformatories affected South Australia
also, and the idea was that, though the children should be removed from
the older inmates, it should be to an institution. Land was bought and
plans were drawn up for an industrial school at Magill, five miles from
Adelaide, when Miss Clark came to me and asked me to help her to take a
different course. She enlisted Mrs. (afterwards Lady) Colton and Mrs.
(afterwards Lady) Davenport in the cause, and we arranged for a
deputation to the Minister; Howard Clark, Neville Blyth, and Mr. C. B.
Young joined us. We offered to find country homes and provide lady
visitors, but our request was simply scouted. As we did not offer to
bear any of the cost it would be absurd to give us any share in the
administration. Children would only be given homes for the sake of the
money paid, and Oliver Twist's was held up as the sort of
apprenticeship likely to be secured for pauper children. So we had to
play the waiting game. The school built to accommodate 230 children was
on four floors, though there was 40 acres of good land. It was so
popular that, though only 130 went in at first, in two years it was so
full that there was talk of adding a wing. This was our opportunity,
and the same men and women went on another deputation, and this time we
prevailed, and were allowed to place out the overflow as an experiment;
and not only the Boarding-out Committee, but the official heads of the
Destitute Department, were surprised and delighted with the good homes
we secured for 5/ a week, and with the improvement in health, in
intelligence, and in happiness that resulted from putting children into
natural homes. What distinguishes work for children in Australia from
what is done elsewhere is that it is national, and not philanthropic.
The State is in loco-parentis, and sees that what the child needs are a
home and a mother--that, if the home and the mother are good, the child
shall be kept there; but that vigilant inspection is needed, voluntary
or official--better to have both. Gradually the Magill School was
emptied, and the children were scattered. Up to the age of 13 the home
was subsidized, but when by the education law the child was free from
school attendance, and went to service, the supervision continued until
the age of 18 was reached. For nearly 14 years, from 1872 to 1886, the
Boarding-out Society pursued its modest labours as auxiliary to the
Destitute Board. Our volunteer visitors reported in duplicate--one copy
for the official board, and one for the unofficial committee. When the
method was inaugurated, Mr. T. S. Reed. Chairman of the Board, was
completely won over. We had nothing to do with the reformatories,
except that our visitors went to see those placed out at service in
their neighbourhood.

Our success attracted attention elsewhere. The late Dr. Andrew Garran,
who was on The Register when I went to England, had moved to Sydney in
my absence, and was on the staff of The Sydney Morning Herald. When
Miss Clark went to England in 1877, after her mother`s death, Dr.
Garran wrote to me for some account of our methods, and of their
success, physical, moral, and financial. Dr. Garran came out with Mr.
G. F. Angas and the Australian Constitution in 1851 in search of health
and work, both of which he found here. The first pages of my four
volumes of newspaper cuttings are filled with two long articles, "The
Children of the State," and this started the movement in New South
Wales, led by Mrs. Garran, nee Sabine, and Mrs. Jefferis wife of the
leading Congregational minister, moved from Adelaide to Sydney.
Professor Henry Pearson asked me a year or two later to give similar
information to The Melbourne Age. Subsequently I wrote on this subject,
by request, to Queensland, New Zealand, and I think also Tasmania,
where we were imitated first, but where there are still to be found
children of the State in institutions. In Victoria and New South Wales
a vigorous policy emptied these buildings, which were used for other
public purposes, and the children were dispersed. The innovation which
at first was scouted as utopian, next suspected as leading to neglect,
or even unkindness--for people would only take these children for what
they could make out of them--was found to be so beneficial that nobody
in Australia would like to return to the barrack home or the barrack
school. If the inspection had been from the first merely official,
public opinion would have been suspicious and sceptical, but when
ladies saw the children in these homes, and watched how the dull faces
brightened, and the languid limbs became alert after a few weeks of
ordinary life--when the cheeks became rosier, and the eyes had new
light in them; when they saw that the foster parents took pride in
their progress at school, and made them handy about the house, as they
could never be at an institution, where everything is done at the sound
of a bell or the stroke of a clock--these ladies testified to what they
knew, and the public believed in them. In other English-speaking
countries boarding-out in families is sometimes permitted; but here,
under the Southern Cross, it is the law of the land that children shall
not be brought up in institutions, but in homes: that the child whose
parent is the State shall have as good schooling as the child who has
parents and guardians; that every child shall have, not the discipline
of routine and redtape, but free and cheerful environment of ordinary
life, preferably in the country--going to school with other young
fellow citizens, going to church with the family in which he is placed,
having the ordinary ditties, the ordinary difficulties, the ordinary
pleasures of common life; but guarded from injustice, neglect, and
cruelty by effective and kindly supervision. This movement, originated
in South Australia, and with all its far-reaching developments and
expansions, is due to the initiative of one woman of whom the State is
justly proud--Miss Caroline Emily Clark.

Even while we were only a Boarding-out Committee, it was found
necessary to have one paid inspector; but there was great
dissatisfaction with the Boys' Reformatory which had been located in an
old leaky hulk, where the boys could learn neither seamanship nor
anything else--and with some other details of the management of the
destitute poor, and a commission with the Chief Justice as Chairman,
was appointed to make enquiries and suggest reforms. The result was the
separation of the young from the old absolutely; and a new body, the
State Children's Council, of 12 men and women of nearly equal
proportions, had authority over the reformatories, as well as what was
called the industrial school, which was to be reduced to a mere
receiving home, and all the children placed out, either on subsidy or
at service. Most of the old committee were appointed; but, to my great
joy, Dr. Edward C. Stirling and Mr. James Smith, the most enlightened
man on the Destitute Board, were among the new members. We had a paid
stall, with a most able secretary--Mr. J. B. Whiting.

Dr. Stirling was unanimously voted in as President, and we felt we
began our new duties under the most promising auspices. But, alas, in
two years there was so much friction between the council and the
Ministry that we all resigned in a body, except Mrs. Colton (who was in
England) and Mrs. Farr. We were fighting the battle of the unpaid
boards, and we were so strong in the public estimation that we might
have won the victory. The Government had relieved children on the
petition of parents, contrary to the strong recommendation of the
council. Although the commission had declared that the reformatory boys
should be removed at once from the hulk Fitzjames, they were still kept
there, and the only offer of accommodation given was to share the
Magill Industrial School with the reformatory girls. Now, this the
council would not hear of, for we felt that the Government plans for
separate entrances and separate staircases were absolutely futile and
ridiculous for keeping apart these two dangerous classes in a single
building. The Government gave way on the point of providing a separate
building for the reformatory girls; and the committee, with the
exception of Dr. Stirling and Mr. James Smith--our two strongest
members--were reappointed. The official staff was increased by the
appointment of clerks and inspectors, many of them women, who have
always given every satisfaction, and who justify the claim made that
women's work is conscientious and thorough.

More departments were gradually added to our sphere of action. The
separate trial of juvenile delinquents was strongly advocated by the
council. Miss Clark and Mr. C. H. Goode were particularly keen on the
introduction of Children's Courts. In this reform South Australia led
the world, and in the new Act of 1896, after six years of tentative
work, it became compulsory to try offenders under 18 at the Children's
Court in the city and suburbs, and in the Magistrate's room in the
country. The methods of organization and control vary in the different
States of the Commonwealth, but on one point the six are all
agreed--that dependent and delinquent children are a national asset and
a national responsibility, and any forward step anywhere has every
chance of being copied. The result of Children's Courts and probation
has been that, while the population of the State has greatly increased,
the committals to the Gaol and for penal servitude have steadily
decreased, and the Boys' Reformatory has been reduced to one-third of
the number in earlier days. There are, of course, many factors in all
directions of social betterment, but the substitution of homes for
institutions, and of probation carefully watched for summary
punishment, are, in my opinion, the largest factors in, this State. The
affection between children and their foster parents is often lifelong;
and we see thousands who were taken from bad parents and evil
environments taking their place in the industrial world, and filling it
well. The movement in South Australia initiated by Miss Clark spread
from State to State, and the happy thought of the President and
Secretary of the Council that I should write an account of
"Boarding-out and its Developments" as a memorial of her great work
bore fruit in the legislation of the United Kingdom itself. A letter I
received from Mr. Herbert Samuel, then Under-Secretary of State in the
British Government, was gratifying, both to the council and to
me:--"Home Office, Whitehall, S.W., August 5, 1907. Dear Madam--I have
just read your little book on 'State Children in Australia;' and,
although a stranger to you, would venture to write to thank you for the
very valuable contribution you have made to the literature on the
subject. The present Government in England are already engaged in
promoting the more kindly and more effective methods of dealing with
destitute, neglected, or delinquent children, which are already so
widely adopted in South Australia. We are passing through Parliament
this year a Bill to enable a system of probation officers, both paid
and voluntary, to be established throughout the country, for dealing
not indeed with child offenders alone, but with adult offenders also,
who may be properly amenable to that treatment. And next year we
propose to introduce a comprehensive Children's Bill, which has been
entrusted to my charge, in which we hope to be able to include some of
the reforms you have at heart. In the preparation of that Bill the
experience of your colony and the account of it which you have
published will be of no small assistance. Yours sincerely, Herbert
Samuel."

Another department of our work for the protection of infant life, and
this we took over from the Destitute Board, where some unique
provisions had been initiated by Mr. James Smith. The Destitute Asylum
was the last refuge of the old and incapacitated poor, but it never
opened its doors to the able bodied. In the Union Workhouse in England
room is always found for friendless and penniless to come there for
confinement, who leave as soon as they are physically strong enough to
take their burden--their little baby--in their arms and face the world
again. In Adelaide these women were in 1868 divided into two classes,
one for girls who had made their first slip--girls weak, but very
rarely wicked--so as to separate them, from women who came for a second
or third time, who were cared for with their infants in the general
asylum. Mr. James Smith obtained in 1881 legislation to empower the
Destitute Board to make every woman sign an agreement to remain with
her infant, giving it the natural nourishment, for six months. This has
saved many infant lives, and has encouraged maternal affection. The
Destitute Board kept in its hands the issuing of licences, and
appointed a lady to visit the babies till they were two years old, and
did good work; but when that department was properly turned over to the
State Children's Council there was even more vigilance exercised, and
the death rate among these babies, often handicapped before birth, and
always artificially fed after, was reduced to something less than the
average of all babies. We have been fortunate in our chief inspectress
of babies. Her character has uplifted the licensed foster mothers, and
the two combined have raised the real mothers. It is surprising how few
such babies are thrown on the State. The department does not pay any
board or find any clothing for these infants. It, however, pays for
supervision and pays for a lady doctor, so that there need be no excuse
for not calling in medical assistance if it is felt to be needed.
Occasionally a visitor from other States or from England is allowed as
a great favour to see, not picked cases, but the ordinary run, of the
homes of foster mothers, and the question, "Where and how do you get
such women?" is asked. We have weeded out the inferiors, and our
instructions with regard to feeding and care are so definite, and found
to be so sound, that the women take a pride in the health and the
beauty of the little ones; and besides they keep up the love of the
real mother by the care they give them. A recent Act has raised the age
of supervision of illegitimate babies from two to seven years, and this
has necessitated the appointment of an additional inspectress. In South
Australia baby farming has been extinguished, and in the other States
legislation on similar lines has been won, and they are in process of
gradually weeding out bad and doubtful foster mothers. And the foster
fathers are often as fond of the babies as their wives--and as
softhearted. "Did you see that the poor girl had on broken boots this
weather?" said he. "Yes, it's a Pity; but we are poor folks
ourselves--we can't help it," said she. "Let her off the 6/ for a
fortnight, so as she can get a pair of sound boots for her feet, we'll
worry through without it." And they did. The extreme solicitude of the
State Children's Department, as carried out by its zealous officers,
for the life and the wellbeing of their babies serves them in Public
extenuation, and the children are often so pretty and engaging that
they win love all round. A grown-up son in the home was very fond of
little Lily. "Mother will you get Lily a cream coat, such as I see
other babies wearing, and I will pay for it."

A most pathetic story I can tell of a girl respectably connected in the
country, who had been cast off in disgrace, and came to town to take a
place, committing her infant to a good foster mother. When he was old
enough to move about, and was just trying to walk, the mother was taken
dangerously ill to the Adelaide Hospital. The foster mother thought the
girl's father should be sent for, and wrote to him giving her own
address, but not disclosing her connection with the patient. The father
of the girl came, and was told that he had better be accompanied by his
informant, who could prepare the sick woman for the interview. The
little boy was running about, and the old man took him on his knee
while the woman got ready to go out. "You must come with us, Sonny,"
said she. "I can't leave you alone in the house." "A very fine little
chap. Your youngest, I suppose. I can see he is a great pet." "No,"
said the woman slowly, "he is not my son, he is your grandson." "Good
God, my grandson," Then, clasping the little fellow to his heart, he
said, "I'll never part with him!" The mother recovered, and was taken
home with her child and forgiven. Such is often the work of the good
foster mother. In all the successes of the irresponsible committee and
of the responsible State Children's Council the greatest factor has
been the character of the good women who have been mothers to the
little ones. The fears that only self-interest could induce them to
take on the neglected and uncontrollable children were not borne out by
experience, and in the ease of these babies not really illegitimate--it
is the parents who deserve that title, no infant can--the mother's
instinct came out very strong. At a conference of workers among
dependent children, held in Adelaide in May, 1909, when all six States
were represented, a Western Australian representative said that the
average family home was not so good for its natural circle that it
could be depended on for strangers; but our answer was that, both for
the children of the State and for the babies who were not State
children, we insisted on something better than the average home, and
through our inspection we sought to improve it still further. We have
not reached perfection by any means. When we begin to think we have, we
are sure to fall back. Another good office the State Children's
Department fills is that of advice gratis. One of the most striking
chapters in Gen. Booth's "Darkest England" dealt with the helplessness
of the poor and the ignorant in the face of difficulties, of injustice,
and of extortion. When I was in Chicago in 1893 I saw that the first
university settlement, that of Hull House, presided over by Miss Jane
Addams (St. Jane some of her friends call her) was the centre to is
which the poor American, German, Italian, or other alien went for
advice as well as practical help. A word in season was often of more
value than dollars. To be told what to do or what not to do at a crisis
when decision is so important may be salvation for the pocket or for
the character.




CHAPTER XII.

PREACHING, FRIENDS, AND WRITING.


My life now became more interesting and varied. A wider field for my
journalistic capabilities was open to me, and I also took part in the
growth of education, both spiritual and secular. The main promoters of
the ambitious literary periodical The Melbourne Review, to which I
became a contributor, were Mr. Henry Gyles Turner (the banker), Mr.
Alexander Sutherland, M.A. (author of "The History of Australia" and
several other books), and A. Patchett Martin (the litterateur). It
lived for nine years, and produced a good deal of creditable writing,
but it never was able to pay its contributors, because it never
attained such a circulation as would attract advertisements. The
reviews and magazines of the present day depend on advertisements. They
cheapen the price so as to gain a circulation, which advertisers cater
for. I think my second article was on the death of Sir Richard Hanson
(one of the original South Australian Literary Society, which met in
London before South Australia existed). At the time of his death he was
Chief Justice. He was the author of two books of Biblical
criticism--"The Jesus of History" and "Paul and the Primitive
Church"--and I undertook to deal with his life and work. About that
time there was one of those periodic outbursts of Imperialism in the
Australian colonies--not popular or general, but among politicians--on
the question of how the colonies could obtain practical recognition in
the Legislature of the United Kingdom. Each of the colonies felt that
Downing street inadequately represented its claims and its aspirations,
and there were several articles in "The Melbourne Review" suggesting
that these colonies should be allowed to send members to the House of
Commons. This, I felt, would be inadmissible; for, unless we were
prepared to bear our share of the burdens, we had no right to sit in
the taxing Assembly of the United Kingdom. The only House in which the
colonies, small or great, could be represented was the House of Lords;
and it appeared to me that, with a reformed House of Lords, this would
be quite practicable. An article in Fraser's Magazine, "Why not the
Lords, too?" had struck me much, and the lines on which it ran greatly
resemble those laid down by Lord Rosebery for lessening in number and
improving in character the unwieldy hereditary House of Peers; but
neither that writer nor Lord Rosebery grasped the idea that I made
prominent in an article I wrote for The Review, which was that the
reduction of the peers to 200, or any other number ought to be made on
the principle of proportional representation, because otherwise the
majority of the peers, being Conservative, an election on ordinary
lines would result in a selection of the most extreme Conservatives in
the body. My mother had pointed out to me that the 16 representative
Scottish peers elected by those who have not a seat as British peers,
for the duration of each Parliament, were the most Tory of the Tories,
and that the same could be said of the 28 representative peers for
Ireland elected for life. So, though the House of Lords contains a
respectable minority of Liberals, under no system of exclusively
majority representation could any of them be chosen among the 200. I
had the same idea of life peers to be added from the ranks of the
professions, of science, and of literature, unburdened by the weight
and cost of an hereditary title, that Lord Rosebery has; and into such
a body I thought that representatives of the great self-governing
colonies could enter, so that information about our resources, our
politics, and our sociology might be available, and might permeate the
press. But, greatly to my surprise, my article was sent back, but was
afterwards accepted by Fraser's Magazine. This was better for me, for
what would have been published for nothing in The Melbourne Review
brought me 8/15/0 from a good English magazine. I continued to write
for this review, until it ceased to exist, in 1885, literary and
political articles. The former included a second one on "George Eliot's
Life and Work," and one on "Honore de Balzac," which many of my friends
thought my best literary effort.

It was through Miss Martha Turner that I was introduced to her brother
and to The Melbourne Review. She was at that time pastor of the
Unitarian Church in Melbourne. She had during the long illness of the
Rev. Mr. Higginson helped her brother with the services. At first she
wrote sermons for him to deliver, but on some occasions when he was
indisposed she read her own compositions. Fine reader as Mr. H. G.
Turner is he did not come up to her, and especially he could not equal
her in the presentment of her own thoughts. The congregation on the
death of Mr. Higginson asked Miss Turner to accept the pastorate. She
said she could conduct the services, but she absolutely declined to do
the pastoral duties--visiting especially. She was licensed to conduct
marriage services and baptized (or, as we call it, consecrated)
children to the service of Almighty God and to the service of man.
During the absence of our pastor for a long holiday in England Mr. C.
L. Whitham afterwards an education inspector, took his place for two
years, and he arranged for an exchange of three weeks with Miss Turner.
She is the first woman I ever heard in the pulpit. I was thrilled by
her exquisite voice, by her earnestness, and by her reverence. I felt
as I had never felt before that if women are excluded from the
Christian pulpit you shut out more than half of the devoutness that is
in the world. Reading George Eliot's description of Dinah Morris
preaching Methodisim on the green at Hayslope had prepared me in a
measure, but when I heard a highly educated and exceptionally able
woman conducting the services all through, and especially reading the
Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments with so much intelligence that
they seemed to take on new meaning, I felt how much the world had been
losing for so many centuries. She twice exchanged with Adelaide--the
second time when Mr. Woods had returned--and it was the beginning to me
of a close friendship.

Imitation, they say, is the sincerest flattery; and when a similar
opportunity was offered to me during an illness of Mr. Woods, when no
layman was available, I was first asked to read a sermon of Martineau's
and then I suggested that I might give something of my own. My first
original sermon was on "Enoch and Columbus," and my second on "Content,
discontent, and uncontent." I suppose I have preached more than a
hundred times, in my life, mostly in the Wakefield Street pulpit; but
in Melbourne and Sydney I am always asked for help; and when I went to
America in 1893-4 I was offered seven pulpits--one in Toronto, Canada,
and six in the United States. The preparation of my sermons--for, after
the first one I delivered, they were always original--has always been a
joy and delight to me, for I prefer that my subjects as well as their
treatment shall be as humanly helpful as it is possible to make them.
In Sydney particularly I have preached to fine audiences. On one
occasion I remember preaching in a large hall, as the Unitarian Church
could not have held the congregation. It was during the campaign that
Mrs. Young and I conducted in Sydney--in 1900, and we had spent the
day--a delightful one--with the present Sir George and Lady Reid at
their beautiful home at Strathfield, and returned in time to take the
evening service at Sydney. I spoke on the advantages of international
peace, and illustrated my discourse with arguments, drawn from the
South African War, which was then in progress. I seized the opportunity
afforded me of speaking some plain home truths on the matter. I was
afterwards referred to by The Sydney Bulletin as "the gallant little
old lady who had more moral courage in her little finger than all the
Sydney ministers had in their combined anatomies." For one of my
sermons I wrote an original parable which pleased my friends so much
that I include it in the account of my life's work. "And it came to
pass after the five days of Creation which were periods of unknown
length of time that God took the soul, the naked soul, with which He
was to endow the highest of his creatures--into Eden to look with him
on the work which He had accomplished. And the Soul could see, could
hear, could understand, though there were neither eyes, nor ears, nor
limbs, nor bodily organs, to do its bidding. And God said, 'Soul, thou
shalt have a body as these creatures, that thou seest around thee have.
Thou art to be king, and rule over them all. Thy mission is to subdue
the earth, and make it fruitful and more beautiful than it is even now,
in thus its dawn. Which of all these living creatures wouldst thou
resemble?' And the Soul looked, and the Soul listened, and the Soul
understood. The beauty of the birds first attracted him and their songs
were sweet, and their loving care of their young called forth a
response in the Prophetic Soul. But the sweet singers could not subdue
the earth--nay, even the strongest voice could not. Then the Soul gazed
on the lion in his strength; on the deer in his beauty. He saw the
large-eyed bull with the cow by his side, licking her calf. The stately
horse, the huge elephant, the ungainly camel--could any of these subdue
the earth? He looked down, and they made it shake with their heavy
tread, but the Soul knew that the earth could not be subdued by them.
Then he saw a pair of monkeys climbing a tree--the female had a little
one in her arms. Where the bird had wings, and the beasts four legs
planted on the ground, the monkeys had arms, and, at the end of each,
hands, with five fingers; they gathered nuts and cracked them, and
picked out the kernels, throwing the shells away--the mother caressed
her young one with gentle fingers. The Soul saw also the larger ape
with its almost upright form. 'Ah!' sighed the Soul, 'they are not
beautiful like the other creatures, neither are they so strong as many
of them. But their forelimbs, with hands and fingers to grasp with, are
what I need to subdue the earth, for they will be the servants who can
best obey my will. Let me stand upright and gaze upward, and this is
the body that I choose.' And God said, 'Soul, thou hast chosen well,
Thou shalt be larger and stronger than these creatures thou seest thou
shalt stand upright, and look upward and onward. And the Soul can
create beauty for itself, when it shines through the body.' And it was
so, and Adam stood erect and gave names to all other creatures."

In the seventies the old education system, or want of system, was
broken up, and a complete department of public instruction was
constructed. Mr. J. A. Hartley, head master of Prince Alfred College,
was placed at the head of it, and a vigorous policy was adopted. When
the Misses Davenport Hill came out to visit aunt and cousins, I visited
with them and Miss Clark the Grote Street Model School, and I was
delighted with the new administration. I hoped that the instruction of
the children of the people would attract the poor gentlewomen who were
so badly paid as governesses in families or in schools; but my hope has
not been at all adequately fulfilled. The Register had been most
earnest in its desire for a better system of public education. The late
Mr. John Howard Clark, its then editor, wanted some articles on the
education of girls, and he applied to me to do them, and I wrote two
leading articles on the subject, and another on the "Ladder of
Learning." from the elementary school to the university, as exemplified
in my native country where ambitious lads cultivated literature on a
little oatmeal. For an Adelaide University was in the air, and took
form owing to the benefactions of Capt. (afterwards Sir Walter Watson)
Hughes, and Mr. (afterwards Sir Thomas) Elder. But the opposition to
Mr. Hartley, which set in soon after his appointment, and his supposed
drastic methods and autocratic attitude, continued. I did not knew Mr.
Hartley personally, but I knew he had been an admirable head teacher,
and the most valuable member of the Education Board which preceded the
revolution. I knew, too, that the old school teachers were far inferior
to what were needed for the new work, and that you cannot make an
omelette without breaking eggs. A letter which I wrote to Mr. Hartley,
saying that I desired to help him in any way in my power, led to a
friendship which lasted till his lamented death in 1896. I fancied at
the time that my aid did him good, but I think now that the opposition
had spent its force before I put in my oar by some letters to the
press. South Australians became afterwards appreciative of the work
done by Mr. Hartley, and proud of the good position this State took in
matters educational among the sister States under the Southern Cross.

It was due to Mrs. Webster's second visit to Adelaide to exchange with
Mr. Woods that I made the acquaintance of Mr. and Mrs. E. Barr Smith.
They went to the church and were shown into my seat, and Mrs. Smith
asked me to bring the eloquent preacher to Torrens Park to dine there.
I discovered that they had long wanted to know me, but I was out of
society. I recollect afterwards going to the office to see Mr. Smith on
some business or other, when he was out, and meeting Mr. Elder instead.
He pressed on me the duty of going to see Mrs. Black, a lady from
Edinburgh, who had come out with her sons and daughter. Mr. Barr Smith
came in, and his brother-in-law said, "I have just been telling Miss
Spence she should go and call on the Blacks." "Tom," said Mr. Barr
Smith, "we have been just 20 years making the acquaintance of Miss
Spence. About the year 1899 Miss Spence will be dropping in on the
Blacks." What a house Torrens Park was for books. There was no other
customer of the book shops equal to the Torrens Park family. Rich men
and women often buy books for themselves, and for rare old books they
will give big prices; but the Barr Smiths bought books in sixes and in
dozens for the joy of giving them where they would be appreciated. On
my literary side Mrs. Barr Smith, a keen critic herself, fitted in with
me admirably, and what I owed to her in the way of books for about 10
years cannot be put on paper, and in my journalistic work she
delighted. Other friendships, both literary and personal, were formed
in the decade which started the elementary schools and the University.
The first Hugh

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