Hobart lies about seven miles from the sea, which here runs up into the land like a Norwegian fiord, and at the mouth of the river Derwent. It is built upon sloping ground, between the river and Mount Wellington, a huge mass that dwarfs every other object. Each side of this fiord are green hills, from any one of which are charming views of sea and land. The town much resembles an English country town. The streets are narrower than those of Australian towns, and though mostly at right angles are not so painfully regular. They are mostly named after past Governors, as Macquarie Street, Davey Street, Collins Street, Franklin Square, etc. Over the Town Hall a flag flies, with the proud motto "Sic fortis Hobartia crevit," and the arms of the city, supported by a kangaroo and an emu. Under this same roof is the Public Library, containing about 10,000 volumes. The chief English periodicals are taken here. I remember reading here Froude's "Carlyle in London," which is a biography worthy to stand beside Boswell. It is a real biography, not a mere jumble of undigested letters and diary thrown before the public, which is too much the modern notion of writing Somebody's Life. Hobart has none of the cosmopolitanism of Melbourne. Its habits are essentially provincial—what the Germans call Kleinstaedtisch. There is a small theatre at Hobart, to which companies sometimes come from Melbourne. I saw the "Ticket-of-Leave Man" here. The audience, which almost entirely consisted of the pit, were still in that primitive stage of criticism in which the villain (who was a good actor) was hooted, and the honest man (an indifferent actor) vehemently applauded. I remember asking the way to the theatre of a bearded individual, who turned out to be an officer of the Salvation Army. "Ah, sir!" he said, "We don't believe in theatres, we're booked for Heaven"—a most comfortable conviction to carry through this life, whatever may be the ultimate issue. Lying as it does in the midst of such beautiful scenery, Hobart is a good centre from which to make excursions. A favourite place for picnics is Brown's River, about 10 miles away, the road following the water edge along "Sandy Bay." An Antipodean picnic is nothing without tea. In fact the tea-pot is the centre round which everything revolves. The first thing to be done is to collect wood for a fire. The "billy" is then filled with water and set to boil. Meantime those not connected with these preliminaries wander through the woods or along the shore. At a picnic to Brown's River I saw the famous cherries with the stones growing outside. It certainly is a kind of fruit with the stone outside, but bears no resemblance whatever to the cherry. Near Brown's River is the Blow Hole. This is an opening at the bottom of a rock, through which at certain states of the tide the water rushes, I presume, with much noise and violence, but when I saw it all was quiet. For a two days excursion from Hobart, none can be better than to take the coach along the Huon Road to Victoria, at the head of the Huon River, sleep there, and the next morning take the steamer from Victoria down the small river, along the D'Entrecasteaux channel between the island of Bruni and the mainland, and so back to Hobart. I had arranged for this trip with a friend, and had gone so far as to consult the "Captain of the Pinafore," (the tiny craft above alluded to), as to the time of starting from Victoria, for she does not start every day, but an accident at the last moment prevented us. Subsequently, however, I had in a drive a good opportunity of seeing the best of the scenery along the Huon Road. Along the Huon River I am told there are hermits. At any rate there is one man who has not been seen for nine years. He brings any fruit he has to sell to a certain spot and lights a fire. This is seen, and in exchange for his commodities food is left for him.

Another beautiful trip from Hobart is a journey of 20 miles up the river Derwent to New Norfolk. The steamer takes about three hours. About halfway the river is crossed by the main line railway at Bridgewater, and up to this point is of a considerable width. On the North the river skirts the wooded sides of Mount Direction, on the South Mount Wellington almost fills up the landscape. After passing Bridgewater the river much narrows, and further on the woods descend to the water's edge in some places, reminding the traveller of the Dart between Dartmouth and Totnes. Just before reaching New Norfolk a huge rock, called from its shape the Pulpit Rock, quite overhangs the river. A branch line from Bridgewater to New Norfolk was being made along the North side, close to the water's edge, and now the Pulpit Rock has been removed, for though a picturesque object it looked dangerous, and everything must, of course, give way to railways. On landing at the wharf at New Norfolk, a boy came forward and offered to drive me to the well-known salmon ponds, where, for a good many years, attempts have been made to rear salmon from ova brought from England, but it is doubtful whether they have met with success. Small fish have certainly been raised, but the question is whether they are salmon, and it is said none have attained a size sufficiently large to solve the enigma. The distance is only a few miles, and the drive is pretty, but ten shillings was too much for the pleasure of a solitary journey, for there was no one else likely to be a passenger in the winter time. New Norfolk lies pleasantly situated in a valley on the South side of the Derwent. The soil is favourable for hops, which have been introduced from England, and grow well here. I have been told that the freight of hops from Tasmania to England is less than the carriage from some parts of Kent to London; but as the carriage, say from Maidstone to London, is about one and sixpence per pocket, they could be carried at such a rate from Tasmania only as a back freight, and when the owner wants anything to fill up. For the night I put up at the "Bush," the favourite and principal inn, but now I was the only guest. After dark I started out to see the little township, but as the moon was only in its first quarter, and there was no artificial light, not much could be made out then. Launceston and Hobart are the only towns that have gas, and while the moon is shining, or is due to shine, even that is not lighted—a piece of economy that may be excused where gas is about ten shillings per thousand. The next day I returned by land to Hobart, travelling to Bridgewater by a top-heavy coach, which at every turn sent my heart into my mouth, but it was skilfully driven.

Tasmania cannot be said to have progressed much of late years, yet it does make progress, and is not now receding as it was when Sir C. Dilke visited it about 20 years ago. I do not know that any land is now allowed to go out of cultivation as was then the case. It has not been entirely its own fault either. The protective duties of Victoria have much checked the exportation of fruit and jam. The question of Protection versus Free Trade is a permanent subject of controversy in the Colonies. At the present moment the Premier of Victoria is a Free Trader, while the Chief Secretary is an ardent Protectionist. If this difference of opinion exists in the most advanced and populous colony, what certainty of policy can be looked for in the others? The best solution would probably be an intercolonial Zollverein, towards which events seem to be tending. Whether eventually it will include Great Britain is a part of the wider question of Federation. That Tasmania is a country with many resources—especially mineral wealth—as yet undeveloped, is a conclusion at which most people will arrive, even after a short visit to the colony; but, how soon and in what way this development will take place depends, of course, upon the character of the inhabitants, and this character will, no doubt, improve as the remembrances of the convict life, which has so blighted this beautiful island, gradually recede into the dim distance of the past.



VI.

Auckland and Sydney.

I do not know that I have any right to say anything about New Zealand, seeing that I was only three days upon the North Island. I had indeed intended to have paid a proper visit. I had intended seeing the famous pink and white terraces (now alas! destroyed), and the rest of the lake district; and at various places I had a good many introductions from friends. But the force of circumstances—sometimes said to be another name for weakness of will—intervened, and my fine schemes ended ingloriously in a flying visit to Auckland, on a business matter.

I have before alluded to the excellent steamers of the Union S.S. Co., of New Zealand. This Company appears to have a monopoly of the trade between Australia and New Zealand, and if their steamers continue as they now are there is not much reason to fear competition. They start from Melbourne, call at Hobart, run across to the South of the island of New Zealand, then, calling at the principal ports along the whole length of the east coast of the two islands till they reach Auckland, they steam straight across to Sydney. The same journey is made back again from Sydney to Melbourne. The route is sometimes varied, but this is the usual course. The names of their steamers are from lakes in New Zealand, Tarawera, Wairarapa, Te Anau, &c., while the steamers of the New Zealand Shipping Co. are named from mountains, as Tongariro, Aorangi, Rimutaka, &c. On the day that I had arranged to leave Hobart by the Union line for New Zealand, it happened that one of the New Zealand Co.'s steamers called in for coal, and as this steamer—a fine vessel of 4,000 tons—was going direct to Auckland it suited me much better. She had come round the Cape, thus avoiding the heat of the Suez Canal. This is a monthly service direct to New Zealand. The Shaw Savill and Albion Line also has a monthly service, so that every fortnight there is a steamer direct from England arriving in New Zealand. The sea was smooth, and consequently the passage was quick. On the morning of the third day we passed the Snares Rocks, to the south of Stewart's Island. On the fifth, the snowy sides of the Kaikoura mountains were glittering in the morning sun as we passed a few miles from shore, and about 4 o'clock on the morning of the eighth day, we were alongside the wharf in the spacious harbour of Auckland. Close by, my eye was caught by the "Ohau," a small steamer, which, as it happened, I had seen launched about nine months previously at Dumbarton—little expecting to see it again.

It is doubtful whether New Zealand belongs geographically to Australia or to the Pacific Islands. It is said that some shocks of earthquake in New Zealand have been felt in Tasmania. On the other hand there is above a thousand miles of rough sea between Australia and New Zealand, with no connecting islands between, and nature presents quite a different aspect in the two countries. The gum tree is the principal tree on the Australian continent, the Kauri pine in New Zealand. In the latter country there are no kangaroos, no emus, no snakes, in fact very few indigenous animals. The bones of a gigantic bird, the moa, are to be found, but the bird itself has long been extinct. Every variety of climate and scenery may be found in New Zealand. The winter of the South Island is as rigorous as that of England, while the North Island nearly reaches the tropics. In the North Island are the famous hot lakes; in the South the very lofty range of mountains known as the Southern Alps, which attains a height of 13,000 feet in Mount Cook. The scenery on the South-west coast, from Milford Sound downwards, where the sea runs up many miles into the land, and the steamer passes through narrow straits between perpendicular walls of rock, has often been compared to that of the wilder fiords of Norway. It is little more than forty years since New Zealand was colonized by Europeans, but already shoals of books have been written about it. The Maoris, as is well known, are not the original inhabitants. Their traditions relate—and they are confirmed by independent investigations—that they came about 400 years ago from the South Sea Islands, and drove out or exterminated the natives. As a fact the Maoris are immeasurably superior to the Australian natives. Captain Cook, in describing his landing in 1769, says, "one of the natives raised his spear, as if to dart it at the boat; the coxswain fired, and shot him dead,"—a melancholy omen of the future relations between the natives and the strangers. The Maori wars have cost us many lives, but, of course, have always had the same ending. The natives have gradually been straitened in room, and their numbers have steadily declined. It is true that the census of 1881 shows a rather larger number of natives (44,000 odd) than in 1858, but in the latter year it was probably not so accurately made, and there is little doubt that they are now rapidly diminishing. They are nearly all in the North Island, in the neighbourhood of the Hot Lake district. The portion specially alloted to them is called the King Country, and no European may enter this without permission. Thus they have prevented the ascent of Mount Tongariro, which is tapu, or sacred. They are now much better treated than formerly, and send four members to Parliament. In their language there is no s or f, vowels are very numerous, and every word ends with a vowel. The sound of the words, therefore, is easy and flowing, and the native names are far more euphonious than those of Australia.

There is already a good deal of literature about the Maoris, their habits and customs and religious ideas. No doubt they are of the widely-spread Malay race, which has over-run the South Pacific. The religious notions of the most different races in a certain stage of civilization much resemble one another. We know, for instance, that the Greeks of Homer's time (whatever that was) besides worshipping the gods of Olympus, identified every ruin, mountain, or cape with some superhuman person—whether demon, or hero, or nymph. So we read (in Wakefield's adventures in New Zealand) that the chief Heu-Heu appeals to his ancestor the great mountain Tongariro, "I am the Heu-Heu, and rule over you all just as my ancestor, Tongariro, the mountain of Snow, stands above all this land." Heu-Heu refused permission to anyone to ascend the mountain, on the ground that it was his tipuna or ancestor,—"he constantly identified himself with the mountain, and called it his sacred ancestor." The mountains in New Zealand are accounted by the natives male and female. Tarawera and Taranaki, two male mountains, once quarrelled about the affections of a small volcanic female mountain in the neighbourhood. A great deal about the transactions between the New Zealand Government and the natives may be learnt from the recent interesting libel action of Bryce v. Rusden, in which the former, who has been native minister in the Government, recovered L5000 damages against the defendant, the author of a History of New Zealand. Up to 1876 the islands were divided into nine provinces, each of which had a separate Council, subject to the central Government at Wellington, but in that year the provincial Councils were abolished, and the Government is now like that of the Australian Colonies, with a governor and two houses of Parliament. The members of the Lower House are paid. In "Greater Britain," Sir Charles Dilke, making a contrast between New Zealand and Australia, suggests that New Zealand is aristocratic and Australia democratic. To me they appeared equally democratic. The payment of members is an advanced step even in a democracy.

Auckland is by far the largest town in the North Island, with its suburbs, now containing nearly 50,000 inhabitants. Up to 1864 it was also the seat of Government, but that was then moved to Wellington as being a more central town. There is much rivalry between Auckland and Dunedin, the largest town in the South Island. Dunedin is the capital of the pro-provincial district of Otago, which is chiefly inhabited by Scotch, or people of Scotch descent. The Scotch have the great merit of sticking to their friends. If there is anything to be done or gained, a Scotchman naturally gets the preference. I heard an amusing illustration of this on the way to New Zealand. At one of the ports in Otago a steamer required new boilers, and tenders were asked for. One was much lower than the others, and was accepted. The name of the contractor appeared to be Macpherson, but when sent for he turned out to be a Chinaman. He had been shrewd enough to see that he had no chance of getting the work in his own name. The total population of New Zealand is a little over 500,000, and the public debt is about L37,000,000. This seems to show that taxation must be high. A good deal of this large amount has, it is true, been expended on railways, which all belong to the State, and therefore the burden, though heavy, is not quite so heavy as it appears at first sight. A friend at Auckland told me that New Zealand is a paradise for working-men and for men with capital, who can safely lend it at a high rate of interest. It is probably, too, a capital place for domestic servants, who everywhere in the Colonies seem to have pretty much their own way. I have also heard that dentists are much in request. A lady, living near Auckland, had to drive twelve miles, and then put her name down in a book three weeks beforehand, to see the dentist! But for people who want to find something to do, and have no money and no manual skill, the prospect is not so smiling. For instance, I should not imagine that teaching is a lucrative pursuit—private teaching that is to say, for in public teaching the supply is in excess of the demand, and, no doubt, rightly so, in a young community. New Zealand annually spends on education L500,000, or L1 per head of the population, a higher proportion than is spent by any other country. Formerly there was the University of Otago and the University of New Zealand, but the former has now ceased to have the power of conferring degrees, and has been virtually amalgamated with the University of New Zealand. This University has affiliated colleges at Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, and Dunedin, though the latter is still styled the University of Otago. Each of these colleges has a staff of highly-paid professors, with not much to do as yet in the strict line of business, to judge by the number of students. But of course the taste for advanced education has to be created before it can be much in request. The salaries are large enough to tempt over some of the best men from England, but a professor is expected to come out as a public man much more here than at home. He is expected to deliver a course of lectures in public, to entertain socially, and to interest himself in local affairs. At Auckland they boasted that on their School Board they had a Senior Classic and a Senior Wrangler.

Auckland is, as I said, the only town I actually visited in New Zealand. Of the town itself there is not much to be said. It is not particularly interesting, and the climate is rather relaxing; when it rains the roads are almost impassable with mud. But its situation is most charming from its beauty, and most advantageous for trade. The harbour of Auckland is thought by some to rival that of Sydney for beauty and commodiousness. From the summit of Mount Eden, an extinct volcano, with a perfectly formed crater (its extinction, however, does not appear so certain, after the recent experience of Mount Tarawera, which was thought to be equally extinct), an extensive view of Auckland and the two seas is to be obtained. For at this point the North Island is so narrow, that Manukau harbour on the west side comes close up to Auckland, and at one point the distance across is only a mile and a half. There has been a project mooted to cut through the narrow isthmus, and thus lessen the journey to Sydney by about 300 miles, but all the harbours of New Zealand lie towards the Pacific, not towards Australia, and there is a formidable bar at the entrance to Manukau harbour, so that after all the expense would probably be too great. Auckland is on the direct track for steamers from San Francisco to Sydney, and up to last year there was a regular service of three steamers, once a month—I forget the name of the line. Many went by this route, as the fare from Sydney to London this way is only L66, including the rail across America, but there were many complaints of the inferiority of the steamers. That line has now ceased, but the Union Line of New Zealand now run their steamers along the same route, and, I believe, have a subsidy from New Zealand and New South Wales for the mail service to America. It was by one of the steamers of the former line, the "Zealandia," that I left Auckland for Sydney on the 28th June. The voyage took five days over a calm sea, and was quite without incident. We were, however, enlivened by the presence of Mr. Dion Boucicault, the well-known playwright and actor, with his company, who were on their way to fulfil engagements in Melbourne and Sydney, after some years stay in America; we had many amusing, but highly-coloured anecdotes. Among them one alone, told by an actor who died sadly and suddenly at Melbourne a few weeks later, now remains in my memory. Some time previously he had been acting at Ottawa, and the play was Richard III. He was Richmond, and in reply to his speech the Duke of Norfolk says, "Your words are fire, my lord, and warm our men." On this occasion the army consisted of one man, one woman (dressed as a soldier) and a boy, and the very conscientious duke replied, "Your words are fire, my lord, and warm our man." I tell it as it was told me, but my friend must have made some mistake. These words do not occur in Shakespeare's Richard III. (though they may in the acting version) and at any rate there is no conversation between Richmond and the Duke of Norfolk.

On arrival at Sydney I made no stay, but returned to Melbourne the next day by steamer. However, I paid my visit of five weeks to Sydney a short time afterwards. This time I left Melbourne by the very fine steamer Buninyong, of 3000 tons, belonging to Howard, Smith & Co., I believe the largest of the Inter-Colonial Steamers. After passing Wilson's Promontory, the extreme South point of Victoria, and indeed of Australia, the coast is in sight the whole way. After about 54 hours we entered Sydney Heads. It was then twilight, and quite dark before we came alongside the wharf. The entrance to the Heads at Sydney is about a mile wide, but is scarcely seen before it is entered. The Cliffs on each side are several hundred feet high. The projecting points of the Cliff on the North side, when seen at a certain angle, made a good imitation of the Duke of Wellington's profile. A fast steamer from Melbourne takes about 48 hours, but then fast steamers are sometimes dangerous; most people have read of the terrible wrecks of the Cahors and the Lyeemoon, within a few months of each other, the two fastest steamers of the Australian Steam Navigation Co.; the latter wreck caused the loss of 70 lives. Both were the result of steering too close inland, to save an hour or two. To suspend or cancel a captain's certificate, or even to prosecute him, is a small consolation for such things as these. Moreover, when there is time to use the boats, they are too often found to be unseaworthy. The steamers themselves are inspected by the Marine Board, and certificates granted for 6 months, but the boats, though included in the certificate, are not separately examined. Being exposed to the hot sun day after day, they become very dry, and consequently leak when wanted for use. If the captain was bound to keep the boats seaworthy as distinct from the ship, he would be more careful to have them tested now and then. Mr. Wm. Smith, of Sydney, has recently invented a life-boat, which, it has been proved, cannot be upset. He has offered it freely to the Government, but owing to differences with some officials of the Marine Board, it has never received a fair trial at their hands. The recent loss of life at sea will not have been entirely useless, if it directs public attention to his most valuable invention. The harbour of Sydney has been often described, and I will not attempt to do so, especially as all descriptions of scenery are unsatisfactory. They seldom convey any definite impression, and a good photograph is better than any number of them. However, it disputes with that of Rio Janeiro, the name of the "finest harbour in the world"—whatever that may mean exactly. In shape it somewhat resembles a huge octopus, the innumerable creeks and inlets branching out like so many feelers, yet there can scarcely be said to be a centre from which they radiate. Numberless steamers ply all day to various points, mostly starting from the "Circular Quay," the principal wharf of the city. Small steamers rush in everywhere up the smallest rivers, and have to be of the lightest draught. In the summer many of the rivers are dry. The captain of one, not to be outbid by his rival, advertised to start "the next heavy dew."

I spent many of my days in Sydney in exploring the harbour, by the aid of steamers, but to see it adequately would require many weeks. Watson's Bay is near the South Head. Close by is the "Gap," where the City of Dunbar was wrecked on the 20th August, 1857. The anniversary of the day is kept. The Captain, steering straight for the entrance as he thought, ran upon the rocks. There was only one survivor, who was thrown upon a ledge of rock, and was not found for two days. The ship was full of colonists returning home, and the calamity threw nearly all Sydney into mourning. There is now a lighthouse near at hand, with a magnificent electric light, which can be seen thirty miles away. At Manly Beach, near the North Head, is a fine sandy tract; it is a favourite bathing-place, and round about are many pretty villas. A young clergyman, recently come from England as locum tenens to an absent vicar, was then at Manly Beach with his wife. I had known him in England, so we made up a picnic to drive northward from Manly about 15 miles, to a place called Pitwater. A charming drive it was. Now and then glimpses of the sea on the right hand were seen. For several miles the road was bordered with the lovely wild flowers which grow in profusion near Sydney, so much so that in September the ladies of Manly get up a wild-flower show. The varieties of the wattle are especially beautiful. Pitwater consisted of one house, to which the road had been made but a few months previously. It was at the edge of an inlet from the sea, which here comes in some distance, but it looked like an inland lake, so still and solemn were the surroundings. My friend had the reputation of being one of the best, if not the best, preachers in Sydney. He occupied one of the largest churches and kept it full. His matter was excellent, but his reputation he owed chiefly to his admirable elocution, in which art he had taken lessons in London. If only more clergymen would have the sense to do the same! It is very well to say that, as religion is so all-important a subject, any sermon should compel attention. Perhaps that should be so, but men are mortal, and sermons are not listened to any more than any other utterances if they are tedious and badly delivered.

The area of New South Wales is over 300,000 square miles, or half as large again as that of France. Its population is a little under a million. Sydney, with 220,000, is the only large town; there is not another above 15,000. There is little agriculture and no manufactures to speak of. At Newcastle, about 60 miles north of Sydney, coal is found in abundance, and from there most of Australia is supplied, but much of it is of a dirty and smoky kind, more fit for steamers than for domestic use. Coal has now been found in Gippsland, in Victoria, and it is a question of carriage to bring it into use at Melbourne. The New South Wales coal is about 21s. a ton in Melbourne. The pastoral interest (sheep farming) is the principal, almost the only interest in New South Wales, therefore when one drought follows another the whole colony is of course depressed. At these times the public offices in Sydney are besieged by crowds of men out of work, and the Government will employ as many as possible, sometimes uselessly. This is a dangerous thing, for men speedily acquire the notion that if they do nothing for themselves the Government is bound to provide for them. But a man out of work in Sydney or Melbourne is a different animal from the same man in England. If offered 4s. 6d. a day for stone breaking he will object that it blisters his hands. He wants not merely work, but work that he happens to like, and any politician who will provide him with work of this kind will be sure of his vote at the next election.

It is difficult to get at the truth about the state of the labour market in New South Wales. The newspaper accounts are most conflicting. One writer asserts that any man with honesty and determination can make his living at any time; another speaks of the numbers of skilled artisans who cannot get employment. But if some of these latter have the fastidious tastes above mentioned, it will be seen that the destitution is to a certain extent artificial. But reasoning on these subjects speedily merges in the ocean of Free Trade v. Protection, upon which I will not further touch. Sydney is the oldest town in the Colonies, having been founded in 1788. It has quite the air of an old established place—the abode of men for generations. The principal streets run East and West the whole length of the town down to the harbour, a distance of nearly four miles. In the centre is Hyde Park, a prettily laid-out piece of 40 acres, but the most beautiful spot is the Botanical Gardens, which slope down to the water's edge. Especial pains have been taken to render them an admirable specimen of horticulture. Nearly every tree and shrub that will grow in this climate is here to be found. Near them is the "National Gallery," where may be seen many paintings that a few years ago graced the walls of Burlington House. The chief attraction during my visit was a copy of Miss Thompson's, "Roll Call," said to be by the artist herself. L4000 was to be given for it on proof of its authenticity, but it did not require the eye of a connoisseur to judge that such proof was not likely to be forthcoming, and so it proved. It is evidently an inferior copy by another hand. The principal residential street is Macquarie Street, which faces the public gardens. Six years ago an Exhibition was held in these gardens. The building was mysteriously burned down, no doubt by incendiarism, but it was never found out, though it was jokingly said it was the act of some inhabitant of Macquarie Street, for the building quite obstructed their view.

I have before said that rents in Melbourne are very high. In Sydney they are much higher. The small house in which I boarded in Macquarie Street was rented at L5 10s. a week, and the landlord refused to make any repairs whatever, because, as he said, and truly enough, he could any day get L6 a week. In a London suburb the rent would be about L60 a year. Of course it was in the best situation in Sydney. In the outskirts of the town there was much land speculation. Land is sold at so much a foot, i.e. a strip of a foot in breadth, and about 360 feet in length. There is in Sydney a complete system of steam tramways, which run to the distance of six or seven miles out of the town. Accidents to pedestrians are not uncommon. Vehicles are hardly seen in the streets where the trams run. One line goes out as far as Botany. I walked from there along the famous bay which was so nearly having Sydney built upon its shore. It lies about seven miles North of Sydney, and is almost as quiet as when Captain Phillip landed a hundred years ago.

In New South Wales there are two Houses of Parliament and a Governor, as usual. The Lower House is elected by universal suffrage, but the Legislative Council is nominated by the Governor. The late Governor was certainly not popular, in spite of what the guide books say. Whether rightly or wrongly, there was a widespread impression that, being a comparatively poor man he had been sent out, like a Roman proconsul, to increase his private means. It is certain that a Governor of New South Wales cannot adequately discharge his numerous functions on less than his official salary of L7000 per annum, and any appearance of parsimony is naturally resented. It is not exactly the most suitable post for an elderly diplomatist accustomed to the pomps and inanities of European courts. The Attorney General of New South Wales, Mr. (now, I think, Sir William) Dalley, is by many people considered the foremost statesman in Australia. It was he, who, during the illness of the then Premier, despatched the contingent to the Soudan. He is, undoubtedly, a remarkable speaker, and has recently been created a Privy Councillor—the only colonial statesman hitherto raised to that dignity.

The Church of England flourishes in Sydney. There is the Cathedral of St. Andrew, and many other churches. The Bishop (who is the Metropolitan of Australia), Dr. Barry, the late well-known principal of King's College, has done much by his broadness of view and liberality of sentiment to lessen local religious differences. The Roman Catholics have been building an enormous Cathedral, not yet finished. They, too, are a numerous body. The memory of the late Archbishop Vaughan, who died here in harness, is perfectly idolized by them. The University of Sydney has an imposing building, on a site overlooking the City, with a large hall and spacious lecture rooms. The late Professor of Classics was Dr. Badham, the renowned Greek scholar. The affiliated colleges are denominational, St. Paul's, Church of England; St. John's, Roman Catholic; and St. Andrew's, Presbyterian. There is, of course, a public library in Sydney, but it cannot for a moment compete with that of Melbourne, and, from a casual inspection, it did not appear to me that the books were well selected. There is also a public lending library. In Sydney there are a good many Chinese. Some of them are doctors. One Chinese doctor professes to make a diagnosis of any disease by mere inspection, and will then prescribe medicine to effect a cure in a week, a month, or a year, according to the patient's wish, the less the time the higher the price of the specific. I have heard that in China people pay their doctors as long as they are in good health, but when ill require their services for nothing. This appears a plan worth trying elsewhere. Unfortunately I did not have an opportunity of seeing more of New South Wales than Sydney and its immediate neighbourhood. One of the favourite excursions from Sydney, is to go by rail to Mount Victoria, about 80 miles, to pass over the celebrated "Zig-zag," a specimen of engineering skill, where the train climbs the mountain side, and at one point is so many hundred feet exactly above a point it passed some time before. To judge by a photograph it must resemble the line over the Brenner Pass in the Tyrol, where, near the station of Gossensass, there is a similar zig-zag.

Some large stalactite caverns, called the "Fish River Caves," are well worth a visit. Hitherto they have been nearly inaccessible to the ordinary tourist, but lately the Government has appointed a man to reside there, and the road has been made more practicable. From Sydney I returned by rail to Melbourne. The distance is nearly 600 miles, and the train takes 18 hours including stoppages, so that a very good speed is maintained all the way. At the frontier, which is reached about 6 a.m., the traveller must change trains, as the gauge is wider in Victoria than on the New South Wales lines. After entering Victoria, the line passes through what is called the "Kelly Country," where the famous bushrangers, Kelly and his associates, committed their outrages some years ago. In a very short time Sydney will be connected by rail with Brisbane, and there will then be a continuous line from Adelaide through Melbourne and Sydney to Brisbane, a distance of not less than 1,600 miles. This will no doubt much increase the importance of Adelaide, because many people will be glad to land from a steamer as soon as possible. A few days after arrival at Melbourne, I returned by P. and O. steamer to England, and as I am not prepared to inflict on any one an account of so hackneyed a voyage, I finish at this point.

In ancient times colonists were sent out by Phoenicians or Greeks (the Roman colonies were for military and political purposes) among people who to them were barbarians (which, after all, only means people speaking a foreign tongue) but who might be only a little inferior to themselves in civilization. A Greek colony, for instance, settled among the Egyptians, by whom the Greeks themselves were accounted barbarians. The colonists to America from England two and a half centuries ago, had to contend with somewhat similar difficulties as the first colonists of Australia, but they had not so many modern appliances. The Australian Colonies are particularly interesting, because they exhibit people of an ancient civilization and fixed customs thrown into contact with the elemental conditions of life. They had to start at the very beginning, and that, too, with an overplus of criminal population. Their success hitherto is a testimony to the inherent vitality and tenacity of the English race, and to sneer at them as if they were children, or to patronize them, is not merely bad taste, but shows an utter ignorance of the facts. In many things they have begun where we left off. They have had the advantage of our experience, and in many things we may profitably learn from them. For instance, when we hear much airy talk of the nationalization of the land in England and other equally fundamental questions for a country to have to consider, it would be well to study the problem in Australia, where the greatest landlord is the State. Amid the conflict of forces which make up the struggle of life, it is not much use talking about rights and duties until the actual forces at work are taken into calculation. Not at all that might makes right, as Carlyle is often misrepresented to have said (of which he pathetically complains), but right that in the long run makes might; and the best social results are obtained by looking from this point of view at the many difficulties of our present existence.



M. HARLAND & SON, Printers, Phoenix Works, Manor Street, Hull.

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