After a while this little garden came to make a real difference in my workaday world—to represent such a true oasis in a desert, which was sometimes all despair, that I can but wish there were more such breathing-places in the midst of the bustling city world. St. James, of course, added very considerably to the glamour of the garden in this case; impressing me, as it always did, with a curious air of antiquity, breathing out more of the atmosphere of the old world than any other building in Melbourne. I use the word “curious” because, after all, it is only some seventy-four years old, though it has taken upon itself an air of reverent age, enwrapping itself about with an atmosphere of brooding peace, quite unviolated by all the fury of getting and spending which goes on around it. Perhaps it is the fact of its being surrounded, as it is, by such a medley of youth and vigour that gives it this precocious air of venerable age; like the eldest of a large growing family it has reached a sedate maturity very early in life, as one counts the lives of churches. Indeed, it is more than mature, and English nostrils sniff up greedily from within its portals the only possible odour of mould and mustiness to be found in Melbourne. Dear old church! The services are orderly and reverent, but in the high tide of work days, when it is empty, but—all praise to its Rector!—never shut during business hours, it and its little garden preach to us the best possible sermon on that one text which, English and Australian alike, we all want reminding of in these busy days, bidding us “study to be quiet.” CHAPTER III MOSTLY CONCERNING “SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE AND SAUCE FOR THE GANDER”