Thirty Years in Australia
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Ada Cambridge. Thirty Years in Australia
Thirty Years in Australia
Table of Contents
CHAPTER IToC
"ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL!"
CHAPTER IIToC
AUSTRALIA FELIX
CHAPTER IIIToC
THE BUSH
CHAPTER IVToC
THE FIRST HOME
CHAPTER VToC
DIK
CHAPTER VIToC
THE SECOND HOME
CHAPTER VIIToC
THE THIRD HOME
CHAPTER VIIIToC
THE MURRAY JOURNEY
CHAPTER IXToC
LOCAL COLOUR
CHAPTER XToC
THE FOURTH HOME
CHAPTER XIToC
THE FIFTH HOME
CHAPTER XIIToC
THE SIXTH HOME
CHAPTER XIIIToC
THE BOOM
CHAPTER XIVToC
THE SEVENTH HOME
CHAPTER XVToC
TOBY
CHAPTER XVIToC
THE GREAT STRIKE
CHAPTER XVIIToC
OVER THE BORDER
CHAPTER XVIIIToC
THE END OF BUSH LIFE
CHAPTER XIXToC
THE EIGHTH HOME
CHAPTER XXToC
CONCLUSION
Отрывок из книги
Ada Cambridge
Published by Good Press, 2019
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It was not quite bush, to start with, because we travelled by railway to our immediate destination, and that was a substantial township set amongst substantial farms and stations, intersected by made roads. But on the way we had samples of typical country, between one stopping-place and another. First, there were the ugly, stony plains, with their far-apart stone fences, formed by simply piling the brown boulders, bound together by their own weight only, into walls of the required height. This dreary country represented valuable estates, and remains of the same aspect and in the hands of the same families, I believe, still. Gradually these stone-strewn levels merged into greener and softer country, which grew the gum-trees we had heard so much of; and presently we came to closely-folded, densely-forested hills, the "Dividing Range"—a locality to be afterwards associated with many charming memories—where snow and cloud-mists enwrapped one in winter, and from which the distant panorama of the low-lying capital and the sea was lovely on a clear day. But it was like eating one's first olive, that first acquaintance with Bush scenery; we had not got the taste of it. I cannot remember that we admired anything. Rather, an impression remains—the only one that does remain—of a cheerless effect upon our minds. Perhaps the weather had changed.
There was no lack of cheer in the welcome awaiting us at our journey's end. Our clergyman-host met us on the railway platform with the face of a father greeting children home from school. There was a cab waiting, into which our traps were thrown, but we preferred to walk up to the parsonage through the streets of the clean little town, that we might study its unexpected points and see how enterprising and civilised the Bush could be. The parson's wife, aged twenty-one and four years married, received us on the doorstep of the cheerful house, and at once we were as perfectly at home in it as in our own. That was the way with all Australian houses, we found.
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