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28, 1860.] I was staying at the country residence of a family, the two oldest sons of which were amongst the first to make that melancholy experiment of a settlement on Swan River. Emigration, especially to Australia, was a very different affair at that time from what it is now. The two sons were taking out with them a number of workmen, each to be mated with a wife, or if not married, the men and women were to be equal in number; and by way of preparation for at least two years’ payment of these people in clothing instead of money, an immense assortment of goods had been made ready, besides a wood house in compartments, to be fitted up on their arrival.

It would be impossible to describe the interest at that time attaching to such transactions, all going on within and around a spacious country mansion, to which almost everything was brought before the final departure of the little company. Amongst other provisions were a number of fighting dogs, intended as a defence against the wild dogs of the country, and specimens of this tribe of animal were brought every day to have their warlike capabilities tested in single combat with other dogs; so that the sounds, as well as the sights, by which we were surrounded, were both animated and extraordinary.

All went on, however, steadily and successfully, with only one exception. The case of one female of the party seemed doubtful. I forget whether it was that one of the men did not feel secure in his matrimonial speculations; but so it was, that failing this one woman, another must be found. My friend, the sister of the emigrants, was never at a loss. Devoted to the interests of her brothers, she did not fail them here; but spoke confidentially to a robust young kitchen-maid in the house, whose characteristic reply was, that she “didn’t mind.” She was therefore kept in reserve to supply the deficiency, as the case might turn out; and in the meantime, she milked her cows, washed her dishes, and went about her work in every respect exactly the same as usual. The place from which the party were to sail was distant about twenty miles; and, as the time drew near, and all things were got into a state of readiness, the probability of this girl being wanted died away.

I shall never forget the morning of the great departure, for such things were great in those days, nor how my friend and I stood at the dining-room windows, looking out over the then silent fields, wondering and prognosticating what would be the probable future of the party, though scarcely apprehending anything so disastrous as the reality which ensued. Indeed, there was a good deal of hope mingled with our speculations; only that the vast amount of bustle, and life, and interest about the place suddenly ceasing, had left us rather flat.

We had risen early, and had a long morning for our cogitations. We knew the vessel was to sail that afternoon. Silent as everything was around us, we were constantly looking out from the windows, when, a little before twelve o’clock, we espied a man on a great horse, tearing the ground at full gallop, with an empty pillion behind him. He had come at that speed to fetch the kitchen-maid to go out to Australia. The other woman had failed them; and he must be back, over his twenty miles ride, as fast as the horse could carry them both. And what did the kitchen-maid do? She neither screamed, nor shed a tear; but washed her hands, and packed up her things in a bandbox and bundle, and was off in half an hour on the pillion behind the man at full gallop. If this was not behaving like a heroine, I should be glad to know what is.

In connection with the same friend of my early years—a sort of Diana Vernon in her way—there