of a dozen all came down to the workhouse
or day-labour, except one, and he went to
Canada and did well. Mr. M——, the gentleman
from New South Wales, was delighted
to hear of my going with such a useful party,
and got me a cheap passage, on condition
of our looking after his bulls, rams, and
horses.

"We were a large party, and every one able
to work, except the baby; but my capital had
dwindled to a few hundred pounds. Every
one of my servants has done well. Bill
Bouser, my head farm-servant, paid his own
passage; he's one of the richest men in the
colony now. The two young Birkenshaws
married two of my daughters; one of them
is in Port Philip. Betty Ludlow, the dairymaid,
married my second son, Barnard. Hugh
Sands, my ploughman, has a nice farm on the
river; you saw him last night, a dark, stout
little man; and Dolly Russell, our nurse, has
married the rich Mr. N——, and lives in
greater style than the governor's lady, which
she deserves, for she was as good as she was
pretty.

"We sailed to London from Newcastle in a
smack, and sent the stock with the men and
two of my lads by land. The misery of the
voyage and the lodging in London would
almost have turned us back if it had not been
too late. Only my wife never gave in; and
depend upon it, sir, in emigrating, a wife of
the right sort is half the battle.

"We were five months from London to Port
Jackson, calling in at the Cape for water and
fresh provisions, but we only lost one bull.
We were ready to kiss the ground when we
landed. My third son George took a fancy
to the sea; and though he stayed at home
until we were settled, he went off, and now
commands a whaler out of Sydney. I found
it best to sell my live stock, for which I got
great prices. Mr. M——'s letters put me
pretty right; but within a week of landing,
Tom Birkenshaw limped into our lodgings.
We had written to him when we made up our
minds, but the letter did not arrive much
sooner than ourselves. Tom was much older,
worn and grey, with downcast look, but still
something that gave the idea of money in both
pockets, and he rode a tidy nag. The meeting
between him and his orphan lads was a very
moving sight. It seemed curious that times
should so turn round, that my best friend
should be my herd, and he a prisoner too. I
had influence to get a good grant, and Birkenshaw
put me up to what land to ask for, and
what official gentleman to conciliate by letting
him have one of my horses on his own terms.
Birkenshaw bought my team of oxen and
waggons; I had a tent; he engaged me my
hands, a bullock-driver, a stockman and
two others, all from our neighbourhood, all
prisoners.

"I came down to this place when there was
not a settler within a hundred miles, and
literally pitched my tent, a three-poled one,
on the river side. Having been accustomed
to find house and outbuildings, fences, fields,
gardens, beside shops for all clothes and
implements, ready to our hands, we had every thing
to make, and very little to make it with. But
I pulled off my coat and began, and for fifteen
years, from daylight to dusk, never left off for
six days a-week, besides teaching the children
in the evening, when they were not too sleepy
to listen to me. After fifteen years, I found I
could rest a little, and now I only give a hand's
turn at harvest or shearing time. But then I
have had six more children born to me, besides
grandchildren; and in this country truly we
may say with the Psalmist, 'Children are an
heritage of the Lord. As arrows in the hand
of the strong man, so are children; happy is
the man that hath his quiver full of them,'
for food grows faster than mouths, and
they are well earning their worth, when at
home they would want a maid to look after
them.

"It is true I have been very fortunate;
there will never be such times again for
making money—since the free grants of land
and the assignment of prisoners have both
been done away with. Then my land has
always been free from drought, and is right
down good land, needing little work for
clearing; although, as for that, you may take
my word, there is more good land than the
squatters like to own. Why, I have had four
sets of servants that have done well, besides a
lot of idle drinking fellows. There was my
first bullock-driver, Frank Fetlock; he was
transported for stealing corn to feed his
master's horses; when he was before the
magistrates they offered to let him off if he would
enlist, as he was a very fine-looking fellow.
He often laughed about it, saying what a
good job it was he wouldn't consent, although
he rued his answer when first sent to the
hulks for transportation. Frank was an
ingenious fellow, always at work on straw hats
or stockwhips, or something, when not busy
for me. When he left, he had a mare, a few
head of stock, and a little money saved up to
begin with. Yorkshire-like, he was a rare
hand at chopping and swapping, and now he
is one of the richest men in the district. Then
there was Tom Nash, a stockman of mine;
he came out as groom to Colonel I——, quite
a fine gentleman flunkey when he arrived,
a cockney too; he threw up his livery,
because he saw where money was to be
made, gave up all expenses, saved money,
and is a squatter now, with perhaps as fine a
stock as any in the colony. Those of my old
neighbours from Gnarledoak, that have come
out and laid down to work, have done well;
go where you will, the hard workingman, with
a large family, is thriving. But then there
are failures. Farmer Cudworth had £3000
when he landed; he was always grumbling,
hated the country, hated the people, and made
them hate him, spent as much money on
clearing and fencing twenty acres as should