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Memoir of John Murray
Charles Joseph Latrobe to John Murray, 15 December 1840
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. 1 Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Chapter XI.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter XVI.
Chapter XVII.
Chapter XVIII.
Chapter XIX.
Vol. 2 Contents
Chap. XX.
Chap. XXI.
Chap. XXII.
Chap. XXIII.
Chap. XXIV.
Chap. XXV.
Chap. XXVI.
Chap. XXVII.
Chap. XXVIII.
Chap. XXIX.
Chap. XXX.
Chap. XXXI.
Chap. XXXII.
Chap. XXXIII.
Chap. XXXIV.
Chap. XXXV.
Chap. XXXVI.
Chap. XXXVII.
Index
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Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
Produced by CATH
 
December 15th, 1840.

You, my dear Sir, have never been transported 16,000 miles from civilization, and cannot imagine what it is to be cast so far beyond the reach of the thousand daily means of improvement and enjoyment which they possess who breathe the air of Europe; you therefore cannot know the pleasure we experience when we feel that, so far removed, there is still a chain connecting us with the old country which vibrates occasionally, and proves to us that we are at least upon the surface of the same planet with our kind and kindred. I have called our present position Exile, and so it is, to all intents and purposes. We may be content with it, but still we look forward steadily to its termination some bright day. I hope you have never done us the despite to count us as Emigrants. No, no; I do not exactly say that I would rather be hung in England than die in Australia; but still, I deprecate the latter event, if so please God. . . Society here is, of course, as you may suppose, in its infancy. The arts and sciences are unborn. Nature itself seems to be only in her swaddling clothes. The natives, for their part, look like a race of beings that were never intended to be swaddled at all, and you are almost surprised at discovering that he or she is not marsupial, like the other wild animals upon the same uncouth continent. The main interest here in everything consists in the oddity, and odd enough everything is, if that be to your taste; but there is but little variety, and one soon tires of any monstrosity. Meanwhile English, and I should say British, perseverance and industry are
AUSTRALIA IN 1840.457
effecting their usual marvels; and, in spite of many disadvantages, the Colony of Port Phillip is advancing physically with extraordinary rapidity. This may be gathered from the public prints, maugre their lies and their fustian. My position thus far has been a singular one, and not without its difficulties; but I have scrambled forward with as good courage as I could muster, not troubling myself much about difficulties that might be in advance, but just grappling with that of to-day, sometimes removing it according to rule and square, and sometimes jumping over it. My people are rapidly increasing in number, a good-natured, busy, speculative, impatient set, giving me three cheers one day and abusing me like a pickpocket the next, with equally poor reasons for their praise or their blame. Recent intelligence from home seems to point to the probability of this Colony being separated from New South Wales before long. Mrs. Latrobe has not been over strong since her arrival in these regions of the globe, though enjoying good general health. I am not quite sure that standing with the head downwards (as you know we are all obliged to do here) suits the female constitution, though one gets wonderfully used to it after the first month’s trial. We live in tolerable tranquillity, despite our pre-eminence, in a pretty cottage about a mile out of Melbourne, which is really becoming a town. . . I had the common sense to start at once with the determination that whatever my supposed position and liabilities might be, so long as Her Majesty’s Government neither gave me a house nor the means of keeping an open one, I would not pretend to do so to please the little world around me. A man with a fortune may spend it, and ruin himself, to please people, if he think proper; but, having no fortune, I could not even do that. Consequently, I drew my line at once. Persons arriving in the Colony with letters from any dear friend, I welcome with all my heart, and show them every attention in my power; while to gentlemen who arrive with lithographed letters of recommendation from the Colonial Office, pronouncing their eulogy in set phrase and form, I show them the door. Que faire? I want to get back in due time to see you again in Albemarle Street, and to see something that dates further back than the year 1834. What you wrote to me of Fellows’ doings in Asia Minor quite made my heart
458 MEMOIRS OF JOHN MURRAY
ache. When shall I discover an ancient city, or see one? . . . And now, my dear Mr. Murray, believe that on this side of the world people have warm hearts as well as in your own, and that we are not tempted to forget those who, like yourself, have always treated us with kindness and great indulgence. Your worthy friend, Sir John Franklin, now and then writes me a friendly line. He is quite well. Lady F. is off to Adelaide. Ross is off to the South Pole; we have not seen him.

Ever, my dear Sir,
Your faithful Friend and Servant,
C. J. Latrobe.