CHAPTER VIII.

Climate Hot Winds Sudden Changes — An Australian Winter-Moonlight Nights-Sun

sets House-Rent- Servants

- High Wages

-A Cook à la Soyer-High Life below Stairs.

THE climate of Australia is very delightful; indeed, for about ten months in the year I thought it almost perfection, and that it could scarcely be surpassed by any climate in the world. Its only drawbacks are the hot winds and sudden changes from heat to cold, and vice versá.

The hot wind, which blows from the interior of the continent, is like a blast from a furnace, but it only lasts for two or three days at a time, and comes but four or five times during the summer-sometimes not

so often. Whilst this wind is blowing the doors and windows of houses are kept closed; and then, in a well-built house of brick or stone, with lofty rooms, the temperature within doors is quite bearable. I never felt the heat too much at these times, though I was glad enough when a change came, and the windows could be opened to admit a fresh breeze into the room. Indeed, I felt less languid and oppressed by the heat in Australia than I have done on a summer's day in Cheltenham, in Devonshire, or in London, which may be accounted for by the fact of the Australian atmosphere being particularly dry and clear. But the heat of a wooden or ironhouse, which class of houses I hope will soon become extinct, is most oppressive, and has a serious effect on some constitutions. I have seen unfortunate ladies, who were condemned by economy to live in small houses of wood or iron, looking haggard and careworn at an age when in

England they would have been in full bloom. The hot winds are said by old colonists to become less frequent each year, in consequence of the country being more cultivated.

The last summer I spent in the colony I thought very little warmer than an English summer, as, though it was quite hot enough, we had not one of those winds which (as I said before) are like a blast from a furnace. These winds are always succeeded by one from the opposite direction-colonially called "a southerly buster,"—and the air then becomes filled with dense clouds of dust. After the dust has subsided, the windows are thrown open, and there is a general rush into the verandahs; and occasionally this south wind is so keen that persons who have a few minutes before been panting for breath, begin positively to shiver with cold. The wind changes very suddenly, at times, from heat to cold, which changes are trying to some constitutions, and to persons susceptible of cold. I have gone out lightly

clad on a warm sunny day, and the wind has sometimes suddenly veered round, and I have returned home feeling quite frozen. Then, again, I have gone out on a cold, chilly morning warmly clad, and returned home quite oppressed with heat.

Many persons prefer the Australian winter to the summer. It is certainly the pleasantest season (when the heavy rains have subsided) for walking and general exercise. The streets in Melbourne are all well paved, and the pathways flagged, so that they soon dry up, and ladies have not now to wade through mud in Hessian boots, or such like, as we read of their doing once in legends of the early days of Melbourne, and even so lately as six or nine years ago. Now, in these modern times, only the most exquisite of Balmorals are tolerated. The winter in Australia is said to resemble that of Palermo. To me it felt like a cold English June, or like early October weather.

H

The

summer is said to resemble that of Baden or Marseilles. I have asked old colonists and travellers their opinion of the Australian climate, and many have told me that it is not so good as that of the Cape or of parts of New Zealand. Still, judged by an English standard, it is, in my opinion, very enjoyable-sunshine is the general rule, and clouds are the exception. The nights in Australia are exquisite beyond description, and especially when it is moonlight. If travellers were to see the country for the first time by the light of the moon only, they would call it fairy-land; for she lends enchantment to views which by broad daylight have no beauty in them. The difference of the two aspects is as great as that of Naples and Mount Vesuvius by night, at the Zoological Gardens, and the same seen by the light of the sun. I often tried to read by moonlight, having heard of travellers doing so, but it was only with an effort that I succeeded. Still, I can well