Of this patron of wigs, though constant old Tory."
There was an evening party at Government House, followed by a small dance; the verandah looking so pretty, lighted with coloured Chinese lanterns.
Thursday, November 20th.—Lady Augustus had very kindly arranged a picnic for us to see the Middle Harbour.
"Our harbour" is very beautiful, but you tire somewhat of the incessant repetition of the fact that is required from all new arrivals to Sydney. Perhaps the idea of the officers on board a newly arrived man-of-war was the best, when they hung over the side of their ship a board painted in large letters, "We have seen your harbour and admire it!"
We left the jetty in two launches on a gloriously bright morning, a party of twenty pleasant people. We passed by several of the sheltered bays, where so many of the pretty houses lie; first the one with the soft complex name of Wooloomooloo, and afterwards Darling Point, followed by Double and Rose Bays; and then we put in at a little sandy cove, and some of the party, including ourselves, climbed up the hill to the camp of the Permanent Artillery at the top. Colonel Roberts showed us over the canteen, mess, store, and officers' huts, and C. went over the fortifications, which are very strong.
We re-embarked, noticing the lighthouse, whose friendly beacon we watch every night. Before us were the bold bluffs on either side the "Heads," which form such a beautiful natural opening to the harbour. Passing through them we should have been in the open sea. We, however, took a turn to the right to go up the part of the harbour called the "Middle Harbour," and leaving Manley Beach, the Margate of Sydney, to the right, we got safely past the sandy shoals of the spit, and laid to in a sheltered cove for luncheon. It is a grievous pity that the sparse foliage of the gum is the only vegetation on the banks, and gives to them such a dull, monotonous colouring. But very pretty are the little headlands that jut out into the water, or the larger necks that enclose some bay or inland sea, that gives one an idea of endless little harbours unexplored within the larger one. I think the harbour, or Port Jackson as it is officially called, with its seventy miles of frontage, made up by the windings and turnings, may be likened to a beautiful lake; but how Anthony Trollope thought it "so inexpressibly lovely, that it makes a man ask himself whether it would not be worth his while to remove his household gods, that he might look on it as long as he can look upon anything," I cannot understand.
After luncheon was over we tried some fishing, but too much débris from the feast had already been sent overboard for the fish to do other than nibble at the bait.
In coming home, Clontarf, the spot where the Duke of Edinburgh was shot at, was pointed out to us. We landed two passengers at the camp, anchored for tea in Chowder Bay; then went slowly home, disembarking members of the party at various piers. As we neared our wharf we saw the little Noah's Ark belonging to the American man-of-war plying backwards and forwards with guests returning from the afternoon dance they were giving on board.
C. had a very pleasant dinner at the House that evening, given to him by Mr. Burdett Smith, meeting Sir John Robertson, the Speaker, and many other prominent politicians.
The next day he made an expedition to Parramatta, to see the Premier, Mr. Stuart, who had gone there for change of air after his recent attack of illness.