Broomielaw, December 1866.
It is too late to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year in
this letter. In order to allow them to reach you in time I should
have sent my good wishes in October's letter; I must remember to do
so next year. I am writing on the last days of the month, so I
shall be able to tell you of our own Christmas doings; though,
first, I must describe the festivities attending a "coming of age in
the Bush," to which we were invited about the middle of this month.
How strange Christmas picnics and balls will appear in your eyes,
before which still dangle probably the dear old traditional holly
and ivy! I am obliged to preface all my descriptions with an
account of a ride, if I am to begin, according to your repeated
injunctions, at the very beginning; for a ride is quite certain to
be both the beginning and end of each excursion, simply because we
have no other means of going about, except on our feet. The ride
upon this occasion was to Rockwood, where the birthday party was to
assemble, but the road had not now so many terrors for me. In
consequence of the fine dry weather, most of the bad places were
safer and firmer, and the numerous creeks were only shallow
sparkling streamlets over which a child could jump, instead of the
muddy noisy wide brooks of three months ago. The day on which we
started, this time, was a great contrast to the former one. When we
reached the saddle I have before told you of, instead of being met
and nearly driven back by a violent "sutherly buster," we stopped
before beginning the steep descent to admire the exquisite view
before us.

Close on our right hand rose the Government bush out of which we get