uced by the adventurous female writer of these latter
days--began to display so marked an interest in the work of Ada
Cambridge, that one not acquainted with the circumstances of the case
might have credited them with a friendly--possibly a patriotic--desire
to give due place to a newly-risen native genius. And when, in the
following year, another story from the same pen appeared, the popularity
of the author was firmly established.

The neat red volumes were on every stall; the Mudie of Melbourne gave
them a place of honour in his show-window, and the leading critical
review said that the second story possessed a charm which ought to
induce even the person who ignored fiction on principle to make an
exception in its favour. It was the kind of gratifying recognition that
the public always believes itself eager to offer the deserving young
writer. Yet Ada Cambridge's literary work had extended over no less a
period than fifteen years. Of course, much of this delay in securing
recognition might have been avoided. Probably in England she could have
won a substantial reputation in a third of the time, and with half the
labour expended by her in contributing to the Australian press. But, as
the wife of a country clergyman, she had other matters besides
literature to occupy her attention, and was content to write when there
happened to be leisure for it, and to see her work in a few of the
leading colonial newspapers.

About half a dozen novels were issued in this way, besides occasional
articles and poems. The publication of the longer stories in the
_Australasian_, a high-class weekly journal, ought in itself to have
made a name for the author, and possibly would have done so, were they
not in most cases so obviously a local product, and therefore not to be
seriously considered. It was a repetition of the experience of Rolf
Boldrewood. In the end, as usual, it was the English public that first
accepted her novels for what they were worth.

Ada Cambridge is a native of Norfolk, the lonely fens and quaint
villages of which are a picturesque background of some of her best
stories. In 1870, shortly after her marriage, she went with her husband,
the Rev. George Frederick Cross, a clergyman of the Church of England,
to Wangaratta, in Victoria. After residing successively in several other
country towns of this colony, they settled in 1893 at Williamstown, a
waterside suburb of Melbourne.

A novel entitled _Up the Murray_, deal