He had no objections to acknowledge acquaintance with a man who had been hung--after my having admitted that man's wife to be my mother; and, freely confessed, without any further circumlocution, that he had been intimate with a man named Mathews, who had eloped from Sydney with a shopkeeper's daughter. He supposed it must be the same, that I claimed as my stepfather. Wilson's Mathews had arrived in Sydney several years before. About a year after his arrival he was followed by his wife from Dublin--with whom he had lived for a few weeks, and then deserted her. Wilson had seen this woman; and from the description he gave me of her, I had no doubt that she was my mother. The tavern-keeper had never heard of her, after she had been deserted by Mathews, nor could he answer any question: as to whether she had brought my children to the colony. He had never heard of her children. This was the sum and substance of the information I obtained from Mr Wilson. My mother, then, had actually emigrated to Australia; and there, to her misfortune, no doubt, had once more discovered the ruffian who had ruined her. Where was she now? Where were her children? My brother William, and my little sister Martha, of whom I was once so fond and proud? "I must visit Australia," thought I, "before going back to England. Until I have recovered my relatives I am not worthy to stand in the presence of Lenore!" Volume Two, Chapter X. THE PARTNER OF THE IMPATIENT MAN. As my return to Liverpool and Lenore was now indefinitely postponed, I was in less haste to leave San Francisco. I wished to see something of this singular city, which had grown up, as it were, in a single day. The citizens of the Californian capital--composed of the young and enterprising of all nations--were at that time, perhaps, the fastest people on record; and more of real and active life was to be seen in the streets of San Francisco in a single week, than in any other city in a month--or, perhaps, in a year. The quick transformation of the place--from a quiet little seaport to a large commercial city--astonished, even those who had witnessed its growth, and played a part in the history of its development. Half of the present city is built upon ground, which was once a portion of the bay, and under the water of the sea. Boats used to ply where splendid buildings now stand--in the very centre of the town! On my visit to San Francisco on this occasion, I saw fine substantial houses, where, only one year before, wild bushes were growing--on the branches of which the bachelors of the place used to dry their shirts! Mountains had been removed--carried clear into the bay--and hundreds of acres had been reclaimed from the encroachments of the sea.