"Pray let us have them," said Mr Tankardew. Mr Randolph complied, and proceeded: "This is an Australian sketch: you see those curious-looking trees, they are blue and red gums: there is the wattle, too, with its almond-scented flowers, and the native lilac. That cottage in the foreground was put up by an enterprising colonist, who went out from England some fifteen years ago; you see how lovely its situation is with its background of hills. I was out late one evening with a young companion, and we were rather jaded with walking, when we came upon this cottage. We stood upon no ceremony, but marched in and craved hospitality, which no one in the bush ever dreamt of refusing. We found the whole family at supper: the father had died about a year before of consumption, after he had fenced in his three acres and built his house, and planted vineyard and peach orchard. There were sheep, too, with a black fellow for a shepherd, and a stock yard with some fine bullocks in it; altogether, it was a tidy little property, and a blooming family to manage it. The widow sat at the head of the table, and her son, a young man of two-and-twenty, next to her. There were three younger children, two girls and a boy, all looking bright and healthy. We had a hearty welcome, and poured out news while they poured out tea, which with damper (an Australian cake baked on the hearth), and mutton made an excellent meal. When tea was over we had a good long talk, and found that the young farmer was an excellent son, and in a fair way to establish the whole family in prosperity. Well, the time came for parting, they pressed us to stay the night, but we could not. Just as we were leaving, my companion took out a flask of spirits, and said, `Come, let us drink to our next happy meeting, and success to the farm.' I shall never forget the look of the poor mother, nor of the young man himself; the old woman turned very pale, and the son very red, and said, `Thank you all the same, I've done with these things, I've had too much of them.' `Oh! Nonsense,' my friend said; `a little drop won't hurt you, perhaps we may never meet again.' `Well, I don't know,' said the other, in a sort of irresolute way. I could see he was thirsting for the drink, for his eye sparkled when the flask was produced. I whispered to my friend to forbear, but he would not. `Nonsense,' he said; `just a little can do them no harm, it is only friendly to offer it.' `Just a taste, then, merely a taste,' said our host, and produced glasses. The mother tried to interfere, but her son frowned her into silence. So grog was made, and the younger ones, too, must taste it, and before we left the flask had been emptied. I took none myself, for never has a drop of intoxicants passed my lips since I first left my English home. I spoke strongly to my companion when we were on our way again, but he only laughed at me, and said, `What's the harm?'"