Ladies and children were comparatively rare
objects. From Tasmania and elsewhere there were a good many "choice
spirits" in more than one meaning of the words. There was a marvellous
consumption of brandy, among such unusual proportions of strong,
venturous, rowdy adults; of tea and sugar, and butcher's meat also;
giving altogether a statistical category worse than useless for accurate
purposes. Manners were rough, to use a mild term. The town was bad, and
the bush was worse. When a pious missionary of those early times, prior
to adventuring into the interior, inquired of a squatter if the Sabbath
were observed in the bush, "Oh, yes," was the prompt reply, "a clean
shirt and a shave."
In such times a large family of ladies might have trodden the soil
somewhat as goddesses come down to the desolate habitations of men. Four
such families of the earliest times, in particular, rise to my
recollection. They were those of Mr. Grylls and Mr. Clow, both
clergymen, the one of the Anglican, the other of the Presbyterian
communion; of Mrs. Williamson, a widow lady from near Edinburgh; and of
Mr. James Smith, Magistrate and Savings Bank manager, whose bustling
form, ever hurrying through our streets, was perhaps the best known of
the place, and who, along with his friend and co-magistrate, Mr.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137