informed that any disobedience or disrespect
towards the Baron, would be visited by
summary corporal punishment at Liverpool (then
a little out-settlement three miles from the
farm), and a transfer to an iron-gang.
Insomuch as the Major, though far from being a
cruel man or a hard master, invariably kept
his word with the felonry of the colony, there
was not the least occasion for him to repeat
the admonition; and at the end of three
months there was erected on Waldsthal one
of the prettiest little weather-boarded cottages
that the imagination can conceive. The Baron
was his own architect, and had combined
comfort with good taste. There was his little
dining-room, about thirteen feet by twelve;
his little drawing-room, of the same dimensions;
his little library; his store-room; and
his cellar, and larder; and his hall. The
bedroom and dressing-room were the only large
rooms in the cottage. The flower and kitchen
gardens were also very prettily laid out, and
proportioned exactly in size to that of the
cottage. On the whole, it was a perfect gem
of a cottage residence; and it was furnished
with a neatness and a simplicity which were
really touching.

Now and then—say half a dozen times in
the year—the Major and myself used to visit
the Baron, and spend the day with him.
Upon all occasions, while walking round the
grounds with him, the old gentleman was
to me very communicative. Amongst other
things, he told me that he had never been
married; but that he had a sister who was
the mother of three sons and two daughters;
that he had served in the army of his native
country, and that the military decorations
which were suspended over his fire-place in
the drawing-room were the rewards for his
services in various fields of battle. These
little matters, together with his sword, he
said, had been forwaeded to him through the
kindness and consideration of a distinguished
military man of rank in the service of the
King of England.

Generally, we gave the Baron notice of
our intention to visit him; but on several
occasions, when we had suddenly made up
our minds for the excursion, we omitted this
little formality, and took our chance of finding
him ready to receive us. It would not have
been strange had a gentleman living, like
the Baron, in almost utter seclusion in the
Bush, been negligent of his personal appearance.
But it was not so. Go when we
would— with notice or without notice—we
found him invariably as cleanly in person,
and as neat in his attire, as though he had
been a resident of any capital in Europe, and
in the habit of daily mixing in its society.
One Saturday afternoon, when we invaded
him unexpectedly, we found him in the
farmyard, superintending the feeding of his
poultry; but dressed, as usual, à la Frederick
the Great, in Hessian boots, a brown velvet
coat, elaborate frills and ruffles, a pigtail,
and a three-cornered hat. His establishment
consisted of two men servants (convicts
assigned to the Major) and an old woman who
had been transported, but emancipated shortly
after her arrival in the colony, for giving
timely notice of an intended rise and general
revolt amongst the convicts in Sydney and
its vicinity. This old woman did the washing
and the cooking, and kept the cottage in that
very good order on which the Baron, doubtless,
insisted. He was not a witty man by
any means; but he had an inexhaustible
stock of entertaining anecdotes, which he told
remarkably well, and at the proper moment.
He was, moreover, an excellent musician, and
played upon the violin with the skill of a
professor. Moreover, he took likenesses with
a facility and faithfulness which were truly
astonishing.

A few years after he had first taken up
his abode in the cottage, the Baron was
presented with a free pardon which bore the
autograph of his Majesty George the Third;
and he was informed that if he desired to
return to Germany, the Colonial Government
were instructed to provide him a passage in.
any vessel in which he might think proper to
select a cabin. It was painful to witness, as
I did, the emotion of the old Baron, when
the Major communicated to him this piece of
information. The king's pardon he was
compelled to accept, and he did so in the most
graceful manner; but he expressed a wish to
remain at his 'little paradise' on the George's
River farm, so long as he lived, and on his
death that he might be buried there.

In all, the Baron lived at Waldsthal for
eleven years; and, during that period, had
several visits from those pests called
Bushrangers. On the first occasion they
handcuffed the Baron and the old woman together,
and locked them up in the stables, whence
they were unable to effect an escape. The
men servants they tied separately to trees,
and bound them so tightly they could not
extricate themselves. For upwards of forty
hours they did not taste food or drink.
When discovered by the merest accident,
they were all nearly famished. The culprits
were captured several months afterwards,
and were hanged in the jail at Sydney
for a series of robberies on the highway.
(The old Baron, by the bye, declined to give
evidence against them.) The Major asked
for the dead bodies, and they were given up
to him. He caused them to be suspended in
chains, from the bough of a large tree on the
Liverpool Road, and nearly opposite, though
half a mile distant from, the old Baron's
cottage. This, however, did not operate as an
example or terror to the desperate criminals
with whom we had to deal, for the next
party, four in number, who went to rob the
Baron, cut down the dead bodies; and, locking
the Baron and his household up in the same
room with them, rifled the premises and took
their departure. These men were also captured