I
did not make the acquaintance of either till 1854 and 1855. Jessie
Cumming and Mary Spence shook hands and formed a friendship over
Carlyle's "Sartor Resartus." My brother-in-law (W. J. Wren) had fine
literary tastes, especially for poetry. The first gift to his wife
after marriage was Elizabeth Browning's poems in two volumes and Robert
Browning's "Plays and Dramatic Lyrics" in two volumes, and Mary and I
delighted in them all. In those days I considered my sister Mary and my
sister-in-law the most brilliant conversationalists I knew. My elder
sister, Mrs. Murray, also talked very well--so much so that her
husband's friends and visitors fancied she must write a lot of his
articles; but none of the three ladies went beyond writing good
letters. I think all of them were keener of sight than I was--more
observant of features, dress, and manners; but I took in more by the
ear. As Sir Walter Scott says, "Speak that I may know thee." To my
mind, dialogue is more important for a novel than description; and, if
you have a firm grasp of your characters, the dialogue will be true.
With me the main difficulty was the plot; and I was careful that this
should not be merely possible, but probable. I have heard scores of
people say that they have got good plots in their heads, and when
pressed to tell them they proved to be only incidents. You need much
more than an incident, or even two or three, with which to make a book.
But when I found my plot the story seemed to write itself, and the
actors to fit in.

When the development of the Moonta Mine made some of my friends rich
they were also liberal. Edward Stirling said that if I wanted a trip to
England I should have it at his cost, but it seemed impossible. After
the death of Mr. Wren my mother and I went to live with my sister, and
put two small incomes together, so as to be able to bring up and
educate her two children, a boy and a girl. My brother John had left
the railway, and for nine years had been Official Assignee and Curator
of Intestate Estates; and in 1863 he had been appointed manager of the
new Adelaide branch of the English, Scottish, and Australian Bank. My
friend, Mr. Taylor, had helped well to get the position for one he
thought the fittest man in the city. He had lost his wife, Miss Mary
Ann Dutton when on a visit to England, and at this time was engaged to
Miss Harriet McDermott. His sisters both were very cold about the
engagement. They did not like second m