― 155 ―



IN 1861 I carried a resolution in the Legislative Assembly in favour of two persons with a good knowledge of the colony being sent to England to make known its advantages as a field for emigrants. The late Right Hon. William Bede Dalley (then a young man) came to me to urge me to accept one of these appointments, in which case, he said, he was prepared to accept the other. I assume that he had ascertained that we could be appointed if we chose to accept. After some consideration, and several consultations together, we decided to go to England on this errand, and we received commissions from the Government accordingly.

The following correspondence explains the nature and terms of the offer made to myself, and of its acceptance:

Department of Lands, May 11, 1861.

My dear Mr. Parkes,—It is the intention of the Government to appoint forthwith, at a salary of 1,000l. a year and allowances, two gentlemen, to proceed to the mother-country as Commissioners of Emigration; and my colleagues and

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myself are desirous of placing one of those appointments at your disposal. Will you, therefore, say whether or not you are willing to comply with our wishes? It is unnecessary for me to describe for you the nature of the duties of the office, as the proposal, sanctioned by Parliament, originated upon your own motion.

It may however be proper to mention that a similar communication to this has been made to Mr. W. B. Dalley.

I am, &c.


Mr. Henry Parkes to Secretary for Lands.

Sydney, May 13, 1861.

My dear Mr. Robertson,—I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 11th instant, offering me, on behalf of yourself and colleagues, the appointment of Commissioner of Emigration in England.

After mature consideration I have determined to accept the appointment, principally with the hope that I may be of material use in successfully carrying out the important undertaking sanctioned by Parliament. I beg the Government to accept my assurance that I shall enter on the duties of my office with an earnest and anxious purpose to disseminate a correct knowledge of this colony, to exhibit its real advantages as a field for the better class of emigrants, and to raise its reputation in the estimation of the British people.

I have this morning resigned my seat in the Legislative Assembly, and shall be prepared at once to receive the instructions of the Government, and to proceed to England by the first opportunity.

I have, &c.


We joined the steamship Great Britain at Melbourne, and arrived in Liverpool on August 4, after a very fair passage for those days. Mr. Dalley and I commenced

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our labours without loss of time. We took an office in London, and divided the field of our operations; Mr. Dalley selected the Home Counties and Ireland, and I took the West and North of England and Scotland. As no funds were placed at our disposal for the conveyance of emigrants to the colony, our duties were confined to diffusing information respecting the colony and answering enquiries. For these purposes I held meetings, about sixty altogether, in such large centres as Birmingham, Leicester, Nottingham, Derby, Leeds, Manchester, Glasgow, and Greenock, and in many small country towns in the agricultural districts; and everywhere I had crowded audiences. Among the chairmen at these meetings were Lord Lyttelton, Sir John Pakington, Sir Thomas Bazley, and many other influential persons of the time. If I could have given free passages, I might have sent out to the colony 10,000 emigrants. Mr. Dalley's meetings were, I believe, equally successful in point of numbers and unanimity, though I was never able to be present, being always in a different part of the kingdom. Though at this time the cotton famine was raging in the North of England through the blockade of the Southern States, and thousands of families were destitute, I found little sympathy for the cause of emigration among the class of large employers, or on the part of leading persons of the middle class generally. A few noblemen and philosophical reformers, and men connected with the colonies, were the principal promoters. The gentlemen forming Boards of Guardians and similar bodies were all for getting rid of the unthrifty

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and troublesome, and keeping the steady and industrious at home. The first letter I ever received from Mr. John Bright was in reply to an application which I had made to him to preside at one of my meetings, and it was as follows:—

Rochdale, September 7, 1861.

Dear Sir,—Before you return to your adopted country, I may have the pleasure of meeting you, should you be down in this neighbourhood or when I am in London during the Session of Parliament.

I cannot do anything in reference to your purpose of encouraging emigration from England. I have no doubt you will find persons willing to go away, but the argument for emigration is now much weaker than it was some years ago. There is now more demand for labour, and wages are generally much higher. In this country there has been great difficulty of late in keeping machinery at work owing to the scarcity of labour. Still it is wise for men to emigrate; but the case does not appear to me to require or to justify any special interest in it, or any effort to promote it on my part.

I am, truly yours,


Henry Parkes, Esq.

For fourteen months I worked hard in the mission I had undertaken, and though no visible stream of emigration flowed or could flow from the joint services of Mr. Dalley and myself, as each emigrant had to find his way out to the colony at his own expense, I have met many persons who brought character and skill and capital to New South Wales in consequence of our labours.

Some of the incidents at my meetings were curious

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and sometimes comical, but everywhere an earnest attention was paid to what I had to say. The chairman usually enquired whether anyone in the audience desired to ask any questions. On one occasion I was asked, ‘Is there any mosquitoes in that country?’At another time a gentleman, after a long pause, asked if I knew Tenterfield, ‘because,’said he, ‘I have got a son there.’At one meeting I had stated, in enumerating the live stock in the colony, that we possessed upwards of 2,000,000 of horned cattle, and in explaining the price of the necessaries of life, I had quoted the retail price of milk. A grave man in the audience asked me triumphantly how I could reconcile the two statements—2,000,000 of horned cattle and milk 8d. a quart? The work introduced me to many men of very interesting character; the late Mr. Charles Holt Brace-bridge of Atherstone, Lord Hatherton of Teddesley, Mr. Podmore of Worcester, Sir John Pakington, and others, who made my stay at their hospitable houses very gratifying.

When I was leaving Melbourne, Charles Gavan Duffy gave me notes of introduction to three eminent men in London, one of whom was Thomas Carlyle, in whose estimation, as I discovered afterwards, the Young Ireland leader had a warm place. I sent my note to 5 Cheyne Row through the post. In two or three days I received the following:—

5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, October 2, 1861.

Dear Sir,—We shall be happy to see you on your return to town. Tea is at 8 P.M.; in general my wife and I lean over it,

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and nobody else. Have the goodness to name some evening that will suit you—and then come, if you hear nothing to the contrary.

In haste,

Yours sincerely,


On coming up to London some days afterwards, I wrote to Mr. Carlyle, naming an early evening, and ‘hearing nothing to the contrary,’I found my way to Chelsea, and with a strange feeling of mingled curiosity and reverence, I knocked at the famous door from which celebrities were often turned away. My knock was answered by a demure young person who at once ushered me into the presence of the grim philosopher and his gentle wife. The evening meal was of the most frugal—thin cakes, I think of oatmeal, and a cup of richly-made tea. After tea my host sat down on the floor with his back straight up against the wall and his legs stretched out at full length, and, charging and lighting a long white clay pipe, he happily puffed away, stopping at short intervals to talk on all manner of things in the style of one of his later books. He spoke unreservedly of great men whom he had known, and he asked many curious questions about Australia, which showed the original light in which he viewed some well-threshed-out subjects of colonisation. For instance, he contended that, if governing men could only free themselves from the trammels of custom and be truly wise, they would remove the Sovereign and the Court and all the machinery of Government to Australia, where the field for national life was so wide, attractive, and unencumbered,

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and so leave the contracted spaces and the murky atmosphere of England behind them. Of modern statesmen he spoke most approvingly of Peel, and in bitterest terms of Lord Melbourne. Alluding to the alleged compact between the Melbourne Ministry and O'Connell, he said that a British statesman, inspired by true patriotism, would have addressed the great Irishman thus:—‘What! I rule England with your aid? No, I'll hang you as a public enemy!’ He spoke of America and of the Civil War then raging, which subjects were renewed again and again in later conversations. He said he had met Daniel Webster when in England, and regarded him as a great man. Something brought up the name of Mr. Howe of Nova Scotia, who was on a visit to England, and of whom he spoke very favourably.

In this first visit to Cheyne Row, nothing could excel the charming manner of Mrs. Carlyle, whose conversation sparkled with quaint humour and womanly sympathy with noble effort. Immediately after this visit I went into Warwickshire, and among other places I visited the birthplace of Shakespeare at Stratford-on-Avon. While there I wrote to Mrs. Carlyle, asking her acceptance of a small volume of verse which I had published some years before, and suggesting that, as a break to his literary toil on ‘Frederick the Great,’her distinguished husband should spend a day or two with me at Stratford. I received the following letter in reply:

5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, October 22.

My dear Sir,—Is it a compliment to my judgment or my mercy, your sending the little book of poems to me rather than

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to my husband, ‘on second thoughts’? Anyhow, I am decided to take it as a compliment to something, which you think I have more of, not less of, than my husband has! and so I thank you heartily. My husband, who is up to the roots of his hair in work, has bade me thank you in his name for your kind invitation, which ‘would be a fine thing to accept,’he says, ‘if he were situated like other men.’ And I was to explain to you how it was ‘impossible for him to take any holiday, or have any peace or satisfaction, till this infernal——’ &c. &c.

But Heaven forbid I should jest on so wide and woeful a theme!

Also I was to tell you, that he found the Almanac a great curiosity, and that you were ‘not to suppose that he wished any foul play to the wretched scoundrels of criminals, only he could not approve of wild attempts to wash black men white—the thing being hopeless!’

Please come back when you are again in London.

Yours truly,


On the occasion of my next visit to Mr. Carlyle we had some fresh conversation about Mr. Howe, which awoke in me a desire to make his acquaintance. Accordingly I wrote to Mr. Carlyle a few days after, asking if he could give me Mr. Howe's address. I received the following reply, which has a special bearing on what I have already said of his views on colonisation:—

Chelsea, December 31, 1861.

Dear Sir,—Mr. Howe's card seems to be irrecoverably lost, and I am sorry therefore to answer that I do not know his address. He merely sent up his card; was rejected (as many have to be at this door); his name suggesting no notion or suspicion of who he was, not for two or three days after, when I heard that the Nova Scotia Mr. Howe was in this country. He has not called again, nor did I yet find time to make a counter-attempt

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on him. The card, I can remember, had ‘St. James's’ on it—‘Street,’‘Place,’or ‘Square,’uncertain to me—and I have a dim persuasion that the number was ‘3.’ This is all I can say. Of course, you will have no difficulty to make out the actual address when you return; it is only enquiring of the postman in that locality, or at the utmost, investigating a little in the haunts of colonial people. I should be well pleased if you found him, and (among other more important matters) were so kind as explain to him the above mistake of mine on that head. In former visits of his, I found him an intelligent, energetic, sagacious man, very well worth talking to, of course especially if you had business in his department of activity.

I have no recollection what I said to you about colonisation that evening. The subject used to be of earnest, almost of painful, interest to me in old years; it seemed to me there had no nation ever had such glorious opportunities of changing its nearly intolerable curses and choking nightmares into blessings and winged angels, as has Britain in our day, by colonising; it was so scandalously throwing said opportunity away. I have since learned that Great Britain will go on with her parliamentary palaver—her &c. &c.— were the Day of Judgment close at hand, and turn a totally deaf ear to all considerations of that or the like kind; and so I have dropped the speculation long ago, and it lies quite dead in me for years and decades past. And to tell you the truth, I am afraid my notions would be of little or no use to you, and indeed are not executable, except on the hypothesis that we had something of a king among us again, and that the reign of parliamentary jargon and penny-news-papering had a good deal terminated again, which is to say in other words that the current opinions of English and other men had (with the current practices) immensely changed for the better! Better to ‘drop’a subject of that kind, if one have practically any use to turn one's own poor span of life to! In a word, according to the anarchic system colonisation seems to me to be going on quite as well as one could expect, and anarchy (under fine names) being the established faith for the time being, there is nothing more to be said.

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I was never in my life so busy; but if you came (about 8, some lucky evening) would try to give you an hour again.

Yours sincerely,


From this period, and throughout the first nine months of 1862, I often spent part of an evening with Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle, and, judging from letters addressed to me in Australia years afterwards, I had the good fortune to be more favourably regarded by them than I ever suspected at the time. These later letters will appear when I come to speak of the attack made upon the life of the Duke of Edinburgh at Sydney, and of the struggle for non-sectarian education. Sometimes I received quaint little notes asking me to come to Cheyne Row on particular evenings, or on a Sunday morning. I seldom did more than listen, as the ‘Sage of Chelsea’resumed his place on the floor with his long clay pipe. Speaking of the war between the North and the South, he exclaimed, ‘Let them blaze away—it is the dirtiest chimney that has been on fire for many a long day!’ On one occasion I was rather incautiously led into speaking of the equality enjoyed in Australia, and used some such language as this: There every man can stand erect and look his fellow in the face. Mr. Carlyle looked at me with a half pitying, half-ironical gleam in his eyes: ‘Did you see the Lord Mayor's Show?’ he asked. I replied, ‘Yes.’‘Well,’said he, ‘there were a hundred men in that crowd who would stand erect, and look you in the face, and knock your hat over your eyes into the bargain!’ On my next visit he said: ‘I have been thinking over your praise of

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your responsible governing machine out there which you have set up in place of the Old Fogies of the Nominee days; on the whole, I think it is better—if you must have one or other—than the Old Fogies.’ On another occasion I said to Mr. Carlyle: ‘I have sometimes thought that it would be a good thing for a man like me—imperfectly educated and with many things always pressing upon his time, to put aside all books, saveten or twelve authors, and thoroughly master them. In such case, what authors would you suggest?’ He made some curt observation which I interpreted as unfavourable, and I felt half ashamed of what I had said. When I called again he said, ‘I have jotted down some books for you, if you carry out your plan of studying a few authors,’and he fetched me the list written in pencil on a torn sheet of paper. A facsimile of it faces this page.

I doubt if many persons would adopt this selection of books, famous as was the selector, and excellent as many of the works undoubtedly are. Another book which Mr. Carlyle frequently urged upon my notice was Collins's Peerage (I think the fourth edition), from which, he said, he had learnt more of English history than from all other books put together. He described Collins as an old London bookseller, who devoted all the spare hours of his life to the acquisition of knowledge, from original sources, about the governing families of England; and he thought much more of this particular issue of his work than of the costly edition by Sir Egerton Brydges.

On one of my visits (on a Sunday morning) I was

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called upstairs by the voice of the philosopher, to a room at the top of the house, where he was engaged upon the proof sheets of ‘Frederick the Great.’The walls of the room bore portraits of his hero, and plans of Frederick's battle-fields; no other engravings or pictures of any kind. There were no books in the room except a few relating to the subject of the great work then going through the press.

One Sunday afternoon Mr. Carlyle had an engagement in Grosvenor Square, and he invited me to accompany him on the way. When some distance from Chelsea I was accosted by a little begging girl. I gave the child a sixpence, which called forth a rebuke from my companion. ‘The other day I was asked for alms in one of these squares by a poor little weeping girl,’said he; ‘I had a profound conviction that no gift from me could benefit her, but, nevertheless, I gave her some loose pence. After walking a short distance, I turned round to see what she did with herself, when I saw another beggar girl taking the pence from her, and beating her to make her cry for more. It is of no use —it is worse; it is supporting their tyrants to give to these children.’

When the day came for my departure for Sydney, I called on the Carlyles to say ‘farewell.’We recalled much of our conversations during the year that had passed since my first call; again I sat down with the grand old author of ‘Sartor Resartus’and his gracious wife at the simple tea-table. Mrs. Carlyle unbent to a little innocent gossip of fashionable life. A gentleman of rising reputation, who had lately returned

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from the colonies, and had established himself in London society, felt himself under an obligation to entertain an old colonial acquaintance just arrived; ‘but,’said he to Mrs. Carlyle, ‘I don't know who to ask to meet him—will you come?’ As I was on the point of leaving, never to see them again, Mrs. Carlyle gave me a photograph of her husband, with his name written underneath it; and that photograph is still among the most precious things in my quiet home in Sydney. The memory of those days will never leave me; and I trust I have not altogether failed to profit by the lessons I received from the great Professor of heroic wisdom.

I became acquainted with Richard Cobden also through an introduction from Sir C. Gavan Duffy. I received an invitation to visit him at Dunford, his country house near Midhurst. I arrived on a frosty evening in the middle of November; Cobden met me at the door, in a wide-brimmed straw hat and a morning coat, and I received from him a warm homely greeting. After dinner we chatted mostly about the colony; I was aware that he had a brother at the diggings in New South Wales, but the brother's name was never mentioned by either of us. He spoke very kindly of Duffy. When the hour for retirement arrived Mr. Cobden lighted me to my bedroom; there was a glowing fire on the hearth, we sat down beside it, and it was long after midnight before he bade me good-night. I explained to him in our conversation the argument of the Australian protectionist that the duty was necessary to foster new industries in their infancy. His first words

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were, ‘There is no accounting for the vagaries and perversities of the human mind.’He pointed out how futile any attempt to give unnatural growth to any industry must ultimately prove itself, and how the cost of the experiment must always fall upon those whom it is proposed to benefit. I listened to Mr. Cobden's quiet wise words in that winter firelight, and, though I had been bitten by the doctrine of fostering infant industries, I never afterwards wavered from the cause of free trade. Dunford was blocked in by large landed estates, and when I took the stage omnibus at Midhurst on my return (there was no railway) I had as my travelling companions two tradesmen of the town. There had lately been a skirmish between the game-keepers and poachers on one of these estates, resulting in the capture of the poachers. My two fellow-travellers were full of the story, and it struck me strangely, fresh from Australia, that all their sympathies were with the aristocratic owner of the game, and against the stealers of his pheasants. I had promised to send some Australian statistics to Mr. Cobden, and in my letter I tried to describe the episode in the omnibus. I received the following reply:—

Midhurst, November 21, 1861.

My dear Sir,—I am very much obliged by your kindness in sending me the statistical and other tables upon your great and growing country, which will be of interest and value to me.

I have been much amused by your graphic account of your companions on the omnibus. They were genuine specimens of traditional Englishmen, who cling to the habits of their ancestry with about as little enquiry as to their utility or suitableness

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to our days as though they were inhabitants of Dahomy clinging to the ‘custom’of their forefathers.

I hope to have the pleasure of renewing our conversation in London at no distant date, and remain,

Very truly yours,


Henry Parkes, Esq.

I spent some hours with Mr. Cobden in London at the house of his friend Mr. Paulton, in the spring of 1862, when our conversation on Australian protection was renewed. His face appeared to me at this time as one of mingled gravity and tenderness, his manner unassuming and gentle, his conversation attractive from its clear thoughtfulness, its point, and its occasional banter. Three years afterwards he died the good man's death.

In the early part of this visit to England I formed the acquaintance of the author of ‘Tom Brown's School Days.’ Mr. Hughes had been described to me in Sydney by a gentleman who knew him well as the ‘manliest of men’; and I have often thought the words had a rich application to his character. I saw much of him at this time, frequently visited at his house in Park Street, went with him to his occasional lectures, accompanied him to the Vere Street Church to hear Frederick Denison Maurice. Our acquaintance has continued to the present time. To him I am much indebted for many courtesies, and for many opportunities afforded me to meet important persons. I have before me now a copy of the ‘History of the United States,’by J. M. Ludlow and Thomas Hughes, containing

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this odd inscription: ‘Thomas Hughes—I meant to have written Henry Parkes, but as he was persistently talking to me all the time, went and wrote my own name instead; but I hope he will accept this book as a token of the good wishes of one of the authors. Lincoln's Inn, March 17, 1862.’ Since then I have received many interesting letters from Mr. Hughes on public questions, especially on the legislation in the cause of education in Australia and in England. The last time I saw Mr. Hughes was in 1884, when I dined with him at his house in Chester; but I never met him or heard from him without feeling myself a better man from the touch of his brave Christian character.

When gold was discovered in Australia nearly forty years ago, Mr. Thomas Woolner, the famous sculptor of the present day, came to Sydney in the flood of adventurers. He executed medallions of many of the Australian celebrities of that time—Mr. Wentworth, Mr. Martin, Admiral King, and others. I was then at the head of a daily journal; Mr. Woolner and I soon began to know each other. Indeed, I have heard him in later years draw a picture at a distinguished dinner party in London, with a good deal of graphic delineation, of the manner in which we first met. Our acquaintance was renewed on my arrival in London in 1861. I saw much of Mr. Woolner during my stay in England, and received from him many attentions which were of much value to me; and our friendly relations have grown warmer, I trust, as time has worn away. When I first held office, a few years afterwards, I had the privilege of

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giving a commission to Mr. Woolner for the statue of Captain Cook, which now occupies one of the finest positions in Sydney, overlooking the waters of Port Jackson. I have gazed upon many celebrated statues in America, in England, and on the Continent; but I know of none more striking as the embodiment of the sculptor's conceptive genius than Mr. Woolner's great work in Sydney.

In the course of my journeys through England and the arrangements for public meetings, I was brought into communication with many men of the middle class, sheriffs of counties, mayors, master manufacturers, and other persons of local consideration; and I was surprised by the sneering allusions to reform and reformers, and the expressions of thinly-disguised sympathy with the aristocracy which I heard at their social gatherings. Mr. Cobden and Mr. Bright did not appear to me to be idols with the new men of opulence whom their statesmanship had so conspicuously benefited; and even the masses seemed to be deadened by the want of sincerity in high places. It was the period when the Palmerston Ministry were playing with the question of Parliamentary reform. I attended two or three political meetings, but they were miserably tame in comparison with the meetings in the agitations of the first Reform Bill; nor were they equal in spirit and enthusiasm to meetings in Australia.

The American Civil War was dividing English society into opposite camps, the majority of the higher classes siding with the South, and the mass of the working-men, with such leaders as John Bright, standing

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steadily by the North. In November, 1861, an event occurred which shook the very soul of England. The English mail steamer Trent had left Havannah on the 7th with Messrs. Slidell and Mason on board as Confederate Commissioners to Europe; on the 8th she was stopped in the Bahama Channel by the United States frigate San Jacinto, and the Commissioners were seized under the British flag and carried away as prisoners. The news was brought to England by the steamship Plata, which should have brought Messrs. Slidell and Mason, according to their arrangements at Havannah. For some days war seemed imminent and hardly avoidable. After Cabinet consultations, and the assembling of the Privy Council, a Queen's messenger had left on the evening of the third day with a special despatch for the British Minister at Washington. The Southern sympathisers were for chastising the Yankees at whatever cost. The English side of the threatened rupture was concisely expressed in four lines of contemporary poetry:—

Dishonour hath no equipoise in gold,
No equipoise in blood, in loss, in pain:
Till they whom force hath ta'en from 'neath the fold
Of her proud flag, stand 'neath its fold again.

There is no need now to discuss the questions which then agitated the public mind. Right was done and the war-cloud passed away. But the seizure on board the Trent intensified the interest of Englishmen in the tremendous conflict across the Atlantic which threatened to split the great Republic asunder. It is deserving of record that, in all privileged circles, on all the higher

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planes of English life, the rebels—the men who had been plotting and struggling through many years to extend and secure the domain of slavery—commanded sympathy and support. The recognition of the Confederates as a nation was loudly talked of, motions of a friendly character were made in Parliament, and in the great drawing-rooms few words of sympathy with the Federal cause were to be heard. I attended the Commemoration at Oxford, and the name most boisterously cheered by the undergraduates was that of Jefferson Davis. In the House of Commons I heard an attempt made to hoot down William Edward Forster, then comparatively new to Parliament, when speaking in support of the North.

On the morning of December 14, 1861, Prince Albert died. Whatever opinions we may have formed, and whatever may be our political leanings, to a right-minded man it is beautiful to see how the poor lose sight of their own privations and sufferings in the gloom of a mighty sorrow such as then fell upon the heart and home of Queen Victoria. It seemed as if death had entered every household in the land. Rich and poor, high and low, all alike joined in the national mourning. It could hardly be believed at first; it was so unexpected, so sudden, so entirely a thing never thought of. The tolling of the great bell of St. Paul's only set men wondering, until the cold, dark, unmitigable truth spread its shadow over the mighty city, and, far and wide, over the heart of the sorely stricken nation. At the time I wrote the following in a letter sent out to Sydney:—

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The signs of mourning have continued everywhere until today, when the body of the Prince has been consigned to the grave. Never in English history has any death been so visibly felt by all ranks of the English people. The working classes, for the improvement of whose social condition Prince Albert laboured so earnestly, so wisely, so effectually, have assembled in thousands and sung together the Rev. Newman Hall's beautiful adaptation of the national anthem.

To-day I heard seven thousand people of all social degrees mingling their voices in this strain of national sorrow and supplication. In every city and town of England to-day the ordinary pursuits of life have been suspended. But it is not by closed shutters and doors, by habiliments of mourning, by the tolling of church bells, and by drooping flags wreathed with crape that the national sorrow is most touchingly expressed. You see it everywhere in the grief-burdened faces of the people. You see it in the utter absence of any expression or sign inconsistent with this sense of loss. Deeply and with a true love do the people mourn for the Consort of their beloved Queen.

And she, poor Royal Lady! how does her woman's heart bear up in this great and sudden trial? ‘Many poor women have had to bear this trial’was the simple outburst of Victoria's grief and resignation. The people are told that their Queen is calm. Nothing more is known from the seclusion of her island-home.

In the cause of emigration I had the hearty assistance of several influential ladies, Mrs. Nassau Senior (sister of Thomas Hughes), Miss Florence Hill, and others. I held a meeting at Battersea (where a large number of navvies were working), at the instance of Mrs. Senior, and she and other ladies must have done all the work of getting up the meeting, which was very successful. Hundreds of letters used to reach the office

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every week, but in nearly all cases from persons who wanted free passages, and in many cases from persons who did not appear to care where they went if they could leave England without cost to themselves. Still, large numbers of excellent men and women were anxious to emigrate; but very few who possessed the means of conveying themselves and families to the Antipodes.

Mr. Dalley and I worked together very cordially on this mission; we had differences of opinion as to the most expedient course at times, but we always came to a satisfactory agreement. In after years we were drawn into hostile camps, and some bitter things were said; but for some time before his lamented death our friendly relations were renewed. He resigned his office as emigration commissioner, and returned to the colony some months before I did, and when on the eve of leaving England he wrote to me the following farewell letter:—

Liverpool, June 14, 1862.

My dear Parkes,—I write to you within a few moments of my embarkation to say that farewell which I found it difficult to speak last night. At the close of our relationship I am deeply sensible, my dear friend, of your uniform kindness during the whole period of our absence from home—the recollection of which at this moment almost reproaches me for leaving you. I shall religiously regard my undertaking to endeavour in any way which Heaven may suggest to me to bring about an improvement in your boy,note looking upon my success in the effort as the most gratifying proof I can give you of my sense of the value and sincerity of your friendship. God

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bless you, my dear Parkes, and in the hope of soon welcoming you home,

I am, your affectionate friend,


My brother sends his love and heartiest wishes soon again of seeing you.—W. B. D.

The success of men in the Australian colonies, who have arrived from other countries without money and without friends, is to be found on every side of us. And the men born in the country of poor parents furnish as numerous examples of success. The richest man in all Australia at the present time is a native-born Australian, who began his career on his savings as a farm labourer. One of the great men of the early days, whose ambition was to found families, had an assigned servant who acted as his coachman. A few years afterwards, he found himself a ruined man, and the coachman attended the sale of his effects, and bought the carriage and horses, and this ‘assigned servant’of the great man died a wealthy merchant. I have myself seen a man standing by a door laid upon trestles with a few locks, hinges, and nails upon it—all his stock in trade—who soon established himself in a regular hardware business, which grew into one of the largest establishments in the colony. The man is still living, the possessor of large wealth, a member of Parliament, and held in respect by all who know him. In all substantial particulars there are many like him. In a new state of society, when men are too busy to listen to the explanations of others, or to make allowance for

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their mistakes, there is one quality which, of itself, will always secure friends and lead to fortune. That is trustworthiness. I will select a case only distinguished by industry, temperance, thrift, and trustworthiness; it is the case of a personal friend.

In one instance out of very many which might be given, my friend's story shows how beneficial the change from England to Australia has proved a thousand times over to individuals. He was a compositor, and worked for small remuneration in England. He emigrated to Victoria during the early ‘rush’caused by the gold discoveries. He dropped into employment at once at what must have appeared to him fabulously high wages, 10l. to 12l. a week. Fortunately, my friend was a young man of industrious and frugal habits, and instead of living at a rate corresponding to his high wages, he lived thriftily, and commenced saving his money. In a short time he had saved a sufficient sum to enable him to send to England for a ‘general printing office,’namely, the necessary presses and types to establish himself in business as a printer. By the time that the printing office arrived, he had saved a further considerable sum of money, and at the same time had formed the acquaintance of a young woman whom he proposed to marry. The wedding took place without delay; the newly-married man purchased a light dray and a covered van, he put his printing office on the one and his wife into the other, and thus provided, he started off for the goldfields, to find a suitable locality for the establishment of a newspaper. He found a place for his purpose, a comparatively obscure ‘diggings’

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at that time, but a well-known goldfield of later years; and the ‘Bramblewood Advertiser’was started. As he told me in his own house, with a blush of conscious pride, many years afterwards, he was himself very often the editor, reporter, compositor, and pressman. He and his wife folded the paper, and in part delivered it at the diggers' tents.

It was more than thirty years since I parted from my friend in London. Though I knew he was in Victoria, I had never heard from him. He was too busy and practical a man to lose his time in useless letter-writing. In 1870 I happened to be in Melbourne, and walking down Collins Street, I was met by a well-dressed middle-aged man, with the exclamation, ‘This is a pleasure I have been longing for through many years!’ I explained that I could not recollect him. ‘Not recollect me!’ he cried; ‘do you recollect this walking cane?’and held out the cane with which he was walking. I took the cane, and recognised it at once as my own handiwork when a lad—a gift from me to him when we were both lads together. It was indeed my early friend, whose story as a journalist at the goldfields I will finish in his own words: ‘By working hard and keeping down expenses, we soon got on,’said he. ‘The paper grew in circulation and in the support of the advertising public, so much so that a gentleman came up to Bramblewood from Melbourne to establish an opposition paper, and he brought with him a complete newspaper plant, a young university man as editor, a gentleman as overseer, and another as book-keeper. We took the threatened opposition quite calmly. I

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told my wife, who was my only overseer and book-keeper, not to be alarmed, we should soon want to extend our office, and it would be cheaper to buy out our new neighbours than to send to Melbourne for material. As I anticipated, the expenses soon broke down the opposition, and we bought the new office, stock, lock, and barrel, at very satisfactory prices. We went on gradually improving our paper, and all the time laying by money. I bought shares in promising gold companies and bits of land likely to rise in value. I have now come down to spend the rest of my days here, having transferred the paper to other hands, still retaining a large interest in it, and being secured in a good income from my other various little properties.’ I visited my friend in his new home. He had bought a block of land in a pleasant Melbourne suburb, which was bounded on three sides by streets growing every day more important. There were then two houses on this block of land; he lived in the smaller and let the larger. After warmly receiving me, and recounting some of the boyish experiences of our early days, my friend went to a room he called his study and returned with a bundle of mementoes of our divided past; scraps of rhyme written by me and printed by him on slips of paper when we were boys, little articles made by me and given to him as keepsakes in those far-gone days; newspaper portraits and personal descriptions of all which he had come across during his Australian life— all carefully treasured in evidence of that friendship which for so many years had found no voice, and which now broke upon me with such genuine beauty. A few

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years after this, I visited my friend again in his Melbourne home; his block of land was now occupied by rows of houses fronting the three streets; he was himself a magistrate of the colony, a director of large charities, and a wealthy man. But the same features of neatness, economy, and homely comfort marked his unpretending home.

I have given this case because of my personal interest in the fortunes of the man, and also on account of the almost romantic incidents of the story. But on all hands successful men may be pointed out who began with nothing in the shape of worldly goods; they had, however, what was of more value to them in their efforts—the homely qualities of industry, perseverance, and thrift. Idleness and extravagance will not lead to fortune in Australia any more than in other countries.