Under the Southern Cross

After the Samoan group, we passed through or near the Society Islands, encircled by coral reefs, but kept steadily on our course south-southwest, making thirteen knots an hour, and hastening out of the heat of the tropics into a cooler and more comfortable region.

In no other part of the world has the author seen a clearer atmosphere or a grander display of the heavens at night than was enjoyed in the regions through which we were now sailing. Hours were passed in watching the luminous sky, where new and brilliant constellations were serenely gazing down upon us. Venus, the evening star, shone so clear and bright as to cast a long wake upon the wrinkled surface of the sea. There are but about fifteen hundred stars which can be counted from a ship's deck by the naked eye, – a fact which but few persons realize. With an opera-glass or telescope, however, the number can be much increased. We are told that astronomers, by means of their greatly improved facilities, have counted twenty millions of stars. This may be true, and yet it seems almost incredible. We have seen an observer, not familiar with the location of the Southern Cross, examine the heavens long and patiently before being able to find this famous cluster of the Southern Hemisphere, – a visual obtuseness not uncommon among persons who seldom watch the heavens by night. Few give much thought to the stars. Some hastily glance at them and pronounce them beautiful; others regard them with more patient admiration; but not one in a thousand seriously and carefully studies them. A good way of readily finding the Cross is to remember that there are two prominent stars in Centaurus that point directly to it. The one farthest from the Cross is regarded as the fixed star nearest to the earth, but its distance from us is twenty thousand times that of the sun. Stellar distances especially can be realized only by comparison. For instance: were it possible for a person to journey to the sun in a single day of twenty-four hours, basing the time upon a corresponding calculation of speed, it would require fifty-five years to reach this nearest star!

Probably not one half of those who have sailed beneath its tranquil and impressive beauty are aware, that in the middle of the Southern Cross there is a brilliant cluster of stars, which though not visible to the naked eye, are brought out with a strong telescope, – shining like new gems in a beautiful necklace of pearls. In these far-southern waters we saw for the first time what are called the Magellan Clouds. They lie between Canopus, Acherner, and the South Pole. These two light clouds – or what seem to be such, seen in a perfectly clear sky – are nothing more nor less than visible nebulæ, or star-clusters, at such vast distances from the earth as to have by combination this effect upon the human vision.

At sea the stars assume perhaps a greater importance in our estimation than on land, because from them is obtained latitude and longitude, on the principles of terrestrial measurement; and thus by their aid the mariner determines his bearing in the great waste of ocean. Forty or fifty centuries ago the Chaldean shepherds were accustomed to gaze upon these shining orbs in worshipful admiration, but with no idea of their vast system. They were to them "the words of God, the Scriptures of the skies." It has been left to our later days to formulate the methods of their constant and endless procession. All the principal stars are now well known and their limits clearly defined upon charts, so that we can easily acquire a knowledge of them. The inhabitants of North America have the constellation of Ursa Major as also the North Star always with them; they never wholly disappear below the horizon. When the mariner sailing north of the equator has determined the position of this group of seven stars, two of which are known as "the pointers" indicating the North Star, he can designate all points of the compass unerringly. But in the South Sea, where we are writing these lines, a little north of New Zealand, they are not visible. Other constellations however, whose relative positions are as fixed in the Southern Hemisphere, become equally sure guides to the watchful navigator.

How suggestive are these "altar-fires of heaven," particularly when seen from the deck of a ship, alone and at midnight, surrounded by infinite space, thousands of miles from land and home! Generations of men succeed one another in rapid succession, nations rise and fade away, whole races are obliterated from existence, pyramids moulder into dust with thousands of years upon their heads; but the stars fade not; they are the same, unchanged, unchanging, through all the centuries, uninfluenced by the fall of empires or the wreck of human hopes and beliefs.

On the night of the 20th of June the hundred and eightieth meridian was crossed, and the 21st of June was dropped into the sea, so to speak. We had no Tuesday that week; Wednesday followed Monday, – a natural experience in going round the world, which has often been explained. We had been losing time daily in sailing south and west, until this change of date became necessary to regulate the ship's time in accordance with that of Greenwich. An ungeographical Englishman whom we had on board our steamer refused to alter the time of his watch from the first, saying that he only knew that it would come right of itself when he got back to London, which was true enough, though he could not explain why.

Twenty-one days from San Francisco the light at Tiri-tiri Point, on the coast of New Zealand, was sighted, twenty miles distant from Auckland. We entered the harbor early in the morning, and were soon moored at the Union Company's wharf, at the foot of Queen Street. Here the ship not only had freight to discharge, but two or three hundred tons of coal to take on board; so we enjoyed a whole day wherein to stroll about the city, and in the evening we witnessed the "Pirates of Penzance" at Abbott's Opera House. The play was admirably performed by an itinerant company, which regularly makes the rounds of the colonial cities of both Australia and New Zealand.

The outer and inner harbors of Auckland are very beautiful, having picturesque headlands, dominated by volcanic mountains and extinct craters, – indeed the city stands upon the lava vomited from the bowels of Mount Eden. The first land made on coming from the Samoan group was great Barrier Island, which separates the ocean eastward from the Hauraki Gulf, upon which Auckland is situated.

As we shall return in future chapters to this interesting country, no more need be said of its northern metropolis in this connection.

Early on the morning after our arrival the "Zealandia" was again under way, steering north-northeast, until the most northerly point of New Zealand was doubled, then an exact due-west course sped the good ship on her way to Sydney, Australia, twelve hundred and eighty miles distant. It is a stormy ocean that lies between these two countries, and it is useless to disguise the fact that the voyager who crosses it must make up his mind to great and unavoidable discomfort. Any one pursuing the course indicated in these pages, however, will have become pretty well seasoned before entering upon this stage of the long journey. The famous English man-of-war "Challenger" essayed this voyage between Sydney and Auckland twice before she accomplished it, finally fighting her way through the boisterous waves and adverse currents with the united power of sails and steam.

We approached the coast of Australia in tempestuous weather and at night, the "Zealandia" stoutly ploughing her way through a heavy head-sea, while half a gale of wind blew in our faces, and hailstones nearly as large as marbles cumbered the deck. The ship seemed to evince almost human instinct, pausing for an instant now and again, and trembling in every seam as huge waves blocked the way; then, bending down determinedly to the work of forcing a path through the opposing billows, she forged ahead, with the bows at one moment lifted high in air, and the next half buried in the sea. A few days previous we were in the burning latitudes of the Samoans, now we were on the verge of freezing. This temperature was perhaps exceptional, and indeed after landing we were satisfied that it was so. The storm gradually abated during the night, and the clouds rapidly cleared away, racing madly across the sky like retreating cavalry. While we were still fifty miles off the shore, which was hidden in night and distance, the first officer of the ship, knowing that we would thank him for doing so, awoke us from sleep, and as soon as we joined him on deck he pointed out a glow on the far-away horizon, which he said was caused by the light-house on Sydney Heads. Having carefully watched the ship's reckoning, we knew her position very nearly, and looking at him in surprise, we asked, —

"Is it possible to make out a light-house at sea from such a distance as your reckoning shows you to be from land?"

"Certainly," he replied, "for there is Hornby Light."

"It seems impossible," we exclaimed.

"Perhaps I should qualify the remark," said he.

"In what way?" we asked.

"I do not mean that we actually see the light itself, but we clearly see its reflection upon the horizon."

"Still," we rejoined, "it seems incredible."

"You must remember," said he, "that this is an electric light, placed on the top of a very lofty cliff; and also that the light-house itself is many feet in height."

"Seeing is believing," was all we could say.

But we had not before supposed that a light under any circumstances could be made out at such a distance on the sea. Hornby Light occupies one of the most important headlands on the entire coast of Australia, and great care is taken to maintain its efficiency.

After a sea-voyage of nearly a month's duration, the sight of land was indeed welcome. One could not but feel a burning impatience once more to tread the solid earth. This was no isolated volcanic island lying half submerged amid a broad expanse of turbulent seas; it was literally terra firma, the visible portion of a whole continent. A steamer of two or three hundred tons brings the pilot off the shore in these vexed and boisterous seas. The struggle to board us was one requiring coolness and courage, nor was it accomplished without considerable risk.

Six hours after sighting the distant light of Sydney Heads we were running in between the two bold, frowning, giant cliffs which form the entrance of this remarkable harbor. The ship was on half speed. Botany Bay was passed, – a now lovely retreat, retaining nothing of its ill-repute but the name. It is seven miles below the capital, and now forms a pleasure resort for the citizens of Sydney. Wooloomaloo Bay, McQuade's Point, Garden Island, and the forts were passed one after the other, as we slowly forged ahead through the channel. Some surprise was felt at the indifferent nature of the visible defences of Sydney harbor, assuming that defensive means are required at all; but it seems that there are torpedoes, booms, and submarine appliances all ready to be sunk should such defences be called for by any hostile demonstration.

To eyes weary of the monotony of the sea the aspect of the famous harbor with its lake-like expanse, its many green islands with handsome residences scattered over them, its graceful promontories and the abundance of semi-tropical vegetation, all together formed one of the loveliest pictures imaginable, heightened as these attractive surroundings were by the dewy freshness and glow of the early morning sun.

The wharf at which we landed was not in the busiest maritime district, but seemed to be situated in the centre of the town as it were, our tall masts taking their place among the multitude of church spires and weather-vanes which crowd together here. The usual custom-house ceremonies were encountered, which in this instance were not of an annoying character, and we soon began to realize that we were upon the soil of this great island-continent which possesses an area of nearly three millions of square miles. So far as we can learn, it was a land entirely unknown to the ancients, though it is more than probable that the Chinese navigators knew of the existence of North Australia at a very early period. Still, until about a century ago it presented only a picture of primeval desolation. The hard work of the pioneer has been done, and civilization has rapidly changed the whole aspect of the great south lands. To-day the continent is bordered by thrifty seaports connected by railroads, coasting-steamers, turnpikes, and electric telegraphs. It is occupied by an intelligent European population numbering between three and four millions, possessing such elements of political and social prosperity as place them in an honorable position in the line of progressive nations.

The first railroad in Australia was begun in 1850, but at this writing there are ten thousand miles of railroad in successful operation, owned by the several local governments. So favorable is the climate, that nearly the whole country might be turned into a botanical garden. Indeed, Australia would seem to be better entitled to the name of Eldorado, so talked of in the sixteenth century, than was that imaginary land of untold wealth so confidently believed by the adventurous Spaniards to exist somewhere between the Orinoco and the Amazon.

This new home of the British race in the South Pacific, surrounded by accessible seas and inviting harbors, inspired us at once with vivid interest. We say "new," and yet geologically speaking it is one of the oldest portions of the earth's surface, containing a flora and fauna of more permanent character than that of the European continent; for while a great part of Europe has been submerged and elevated, crumpled up as it were into mountain chains, Australia has been undisturbed. It is remarkable that in a division of the globe of such colossal proportions there was found no larger quadruped than the kangaroo, and that only man was a predacious animal. He, alas! was more ferocious than the lynx, the leopard, or the hyena; for these animals prey not upon each other, while the aborigines of Australia devoured their own species.

What America was to Spain in the proud days of that nation's glory, Australia has already been to England; and that, too, without the crime of wholesale murder and the spilling of rivers of blood, as was the case in the days of Cortez and Pizarro. The wealth poured into the lap of England by these far-away colonies belittles all the riches which the Spaniard realized by the famous conquests of Mexico and Peru. Here is an empire won without war, a new world called into existence by moral forces, an Eldorado captured without the sword. Here Nature has spread her favors broadcast over a land only one fifth smaller than the whole continent of Europe, granting every needed resource wherewith ultimately to form a great, independent, and prosperous nation; where labor is already more liberally rewarded, and life more easily sustained, than in any other country except America.

Among the most prominent advantages which at first strike the observation of the stranger in Australia are those of an extended shore-line indented with many noble harbors, a semi-tropical climate beneath bright Italian skies, a virgin soil of unequalled fertility, and a liberal form of government; while the hills, valleys, and plains abound in mineral wealth of gold, silver, iron, copper, and coal, inexhaustible in quantity and unsurpassed in quality. To the black diamonds of her coal-fields Australia will owe more of her future progress than to her auriferous products. They already have conduced to the grand success of various branches of manufactures, as may be seen in the many enterprises springing up in the neighborhood of Sydney. The coal-fields extend all along the seaboard from Brisbane to Sydney. Those at Newcastle are of vast proportions, having a daily output which gives employment to a large fleet of steamships and sailing-vessels. This coal is mined and put on shipboard, as we were told, at a cost of eleven shillings per ton. It is of excellent quality, admirable for manufacturing purposes, and very good, though somewhat dirty, for steamship use. Near these Newcastle coal-mines are ample deposits of iron ore of excellent quality, – two products whose close proximity to each other is of great importance in the economical production of manufactured iron and steel. Only immigration is now needed to develop these grand resources, and that requisite is being supplied by a numerical growth surpassed alone by that on the Pacific coast of the United States.

It is difficult to believe, while observing the present population, wealth, power, and prosperity of the country at large, characterized by such grand and conspicuous elements of empire, that it has been settled for so brief a period, and that its pioneers consisted of the overflow of English jails and prisons. The authentic record of life in the colonies of Australia during the first few years of their existence is mainly an account of the control of lawless men by the strong and cruel arm of military despotism, often exercised under the most unfavorable circumstances. Situated more than twelve thousand miles away from their base of supplies, famine was often imminent, and the unavoidable sufferings of officers and men, of officials and prisoners, were at times indescribably severe. The earliest shipment of criminals hither was in 1787, consisting of six transports with about eight hundred convicts, two hundred of whom were women. These were disembarked at Port Jackson, in Sydney harbor; so that the first settlement of New South Wales was strictly a penal one.

CHAPTER IV

Interesting Statistical Facts. – Emigration. – Heavy Indebtedness. – Curious Contrasts. – New South Wales. – A Populous City. – A Splendid Harbor. – The Yacht "Sunbeam." – Street Scenes. – Gin Palaces. – Public Gardens of Sydney. – A Noble Institution of Learning. – Art Gallery. – Public Libraries. – Pleasure Trip to Parametta. – Attractive Drives. – A Sad Catastrophe in Sydney Harbor.

Before proceeding to take the reader from city to city, and to depict their several peculiarities, a few statistics gathered by the author on the spot will afford as tangible evidence of the growth and present commercial standing of the colonies of Australasia as anything which could be adduced.

The annual revenue raised by these colonies aggregates a larger sum than that realized by Sweden, Norway, Switzerland, Denmark, and Greece united. Five hundred million dollars are annually paid for imports; and exports to a like amount are sent from the country. Up to the present writing Australia has realized from her auriferous soil over three hundred and thirty million pounds sterling. Her territory gives grazing at the present time to over seventy-five million sheep. This is more than double the whole number of sheep in the United States. When it is remembered that the population of this country is sixty millions, and that Australia has not much over three millions, the force of this comparison becomes obvious. The amount of wool exported to the mother country is twenty-eight times as much as England has received in the same period from the continent of Europe. The combined exports and imports of the United Kingdom of Great Britain are shown to be a little over one hundred dollars per annum for each unit of the population; in Australia the aggregate is a trifle over two hundred dollars per head. The four principal capitals of Australia contain over eight hundred thousand inhabitants. The railroads of the country have already cost over two hundred million dollars, and are being extended annually. New South Wales has in proportion to its population a greater length of railroad than any other country in the world, while there are some thirty thousand miles of telegraph line in the length and breadth of the land. In ten years, between 1870 and 1880, New Zealand doubled her population, having now some six hundred thousand; and the Australian colonies increased at nearly as rapid a rate, while the monthly immigration still going on gives constant and profitable employment to one of the best equipped steamship lines upon the ocean.

The steady and natural increase of population in Great Britain, taken in connection with the circumscribed limits of her territory, demands an outlet for the annual emigration of a large percentage of her people. There are no better lands for those who are thus induced, or compelled, to seek another field wherein to create a new home than Australia and New Zealand. There are several considerations that lead to this conviction. First, such immigrants will still be under the fostering care of their native government; second, the colonial authorities offer great inducements to immigrants, such as grants of land together with free transportation from the old to the new country; and third, there is here a climate far more desirable and healthful than that of England, Ireland, or Scotland. While the necessary cost of living is less, wages are higher, and many luxuries can be enjoyed which at home would not be considered within the reach of persons of moderate means. Bread, the staff of life, and meat, its strong supporter, are both very much cheaper in the colonies than in any part of Great Britain. These considerations enforce the conclusion that Australasia is the natural resort of emigrants from the British Isles, and that it will continue to attract thence a steady flow of population. Canada for the emigrant presents not a moiety of the inducements of these South Sea lands, nor can we understand what possible reason can lead British subjects to select it above the favored country of which we are treating.

While we were discussing the economical and political condition of the colonies with a government official at Sydney, he took occasion to express regret at the large debt of the colonies. We are glad to know, however, that these debts of the several divisions of Australia and New Zealand do not represent the cost of useless wars or expenditures for vain glory; on the contrary, the money has been invested in railroads and other necessary and substantial improvements, which form an ample security or mortgage for the same, and which is yearly increasing in value. Probably some of these enterprises have been premature, but their ultimate value is beyond all doubt.

Australia is divided into five provincial governments, – New South Wales, Victoria, Queensland, South Australia, and West Australia. The island of Tasmania forms another province, and is separated from Victoria by Bass Strait, the two being within half a day's sail of each other. Sydney is the capital of New South Wales; Melbourne, of Victoria; Adelaide, of South Australia; Brisbane, of Queensland; Perth, of West Australia; and Hobart, of Tasmania. It may be remarked incidentally that South Australia might more properly be designated by some other title, as it is not South Australia at all. Victoria lies south of it, and so does a large portion of West Australia. The governments of these several divisions are modelled upon that of New South Wales, the parent colony of them all.

Though we are by no means attempting to write a history or make a geography of these great southlands, still an enumeration of certain important facts is not inappropriate, and will serve to make matters more clear to the general reader as he accompanies us through the following pages.

We have said that the several governments of these colonies are modelled upon that of New South Wales, which has a constitution and two Houses of Parliament. The first, or Legislative Council, is composed of a limited number of members nominated by the Crown, and who hold office for life; the second, or Legislative Assembly, is composed of members elected from the various constituencies, who are chosen by ballot. All acts before becoming law must receive the approval of the Queen of England, though this is said to be practically a mere form. There is a resident Governor in each colony, also appointed by the Queen. Educational facilities, especially as regards primary schools, are abundant, attendance upon which is compulsory. Where children reside at some considerable distance from school, free passes are given to them on the railroads to facilitate compliance with the legal requirement.

One of the first thoughts that dawned upon us after we had time fully to realize this state of affairs in these Antipodes was that as compared with our own country this is a land of curious contradictions. Here the eagles are white and the swans black; the emu, a bird nearly as large as the ostrich, cannot fly, but runs like a horse. The principal quadruped here, the kangaroo, is elsewhere unknown; and though he has four legs, he runs upon two. When the days are longest with us in America, they are shortest here. To reach the Tropics Australians go due north, while we go due south. With us the seed, or stone, of the cherry forms the centre of the fruit; in Australia the stone grows on the outside. The foliage of the trees in America spreads out horizontally; in this south-land the leaves hang vertically. When it is day with us, it is night with them. Here Christmas comes in midsummer; with us, in mid-winter. Bituminous and anthracite coal are with us only one color, – black, black as Erebus; but they have white bituminous coal here, white as chalk. We are thousands of miles north of the equator; they are thousands of miles south of it. The deciduous trees with us shed their leaves in winter; with them they are evergreen, shedding their bark and not their leaves, – the gardens of Alcinous being not more perennial than the length and breadth of this favored land.

In proceeding with our subject it is proper to begin with New South Wales, at whose capital we landed, this colony being also the oldest if not the wealthiest province of the entire country. Not only her mineral wealth and great agricultural facilities, but her commanding position and numerous admirable harbors will ever enable her to maintain precedence among her prosperous and wealthy sister colonies. As originally founded, New South Wales embraced the whole eastern seaboard of Australia; but in 1851 the southern part was formed into the province of Victoria, and in 1859 the northern part was divided into a separate colony, called Queensland, still leaving her an extensive sea-coast of eight hundred miles in length. When we say that New South Wales is twice as large as California, it will be realized that she is not greatly circumscribed in territory. The present population, in the absence of actual statistics, may be safely stated to amount in round numbers to one million.

Sydney, often called by her citizens the Queen of the Pacific, is built upon two ridges of land of considerable elevation, the valley between being occupied by the busiest portion of the population and containing the best shops in every department of trade. There are many fine large business and public edifices of stone, but these are only too often flanked by buildings of a very low and awkward construction, one story in height. There is no consecutive purpose or uniformity in the street architecture, a wild irregularity prevailing. George Street, which is the main business thoroughfare, is two miles in length, and contains many stores or shops furnished as well as the average of those in Vienna and Paris. These are really fine business edifices, having massive French plate-glass windows and being in all particulars admirably appointed.

The peculiar conformation of the town makes the lateral streets precipitous, so that a large portion of the city is composed of hilly avenues, to surmount which there is a constant struggle going on with loaded teams. Like the old streets of Boston, those of Sydney were the growth of chance, and were not originally laid out after a system, as in Melbourne, Adelaide, or Brisbane. Our Washington Street was originally a cow-path, while the present site of George Street in Sydney was at first a meandering bullock-track. The names of the streets are historic in their suggestions. George Street was named after George the Third, during whose reign the colony was founded. Pitt Street is named after the Earl of Chatham; Castlereagh, Bathurst, Erskine, and other streets recall familiar names of English statesmen. The higher thoroughfares, those upon the ridges, overlook the inner harbor and shipping, affording a constantly varying maritime picture. Thus from nearly opposite our hotel, on the day of our arrival, we saw lying upon the waters of the bay four large German men-of-war (the same which afterward visited and terrorized the simple natives of the Samoan Islands), and also an iron-clad belonging to Japan fully equal in nautical appearance to the German craft. All were dressed from their hulls to their topmast heads with tiny flags in gayest colors, as it happened to be Coronation day. A little nearer the heart of the town, in what is known as Farm Cove, Lord Brassey's famous yacht, the "Sunbeam," rode quietly at anchor, whose keel has cut the waters of all the notable harbors of the world, and whose significant name the late lamented Lady Brassey has rendered a household word by her delightful pen. The snow-white hull and graceful rig of the yacht was not unfamiliar to the author, who saw it six years ago at Port Said, and who then met its late mistress at Cairo, in Egypt. Excursion steamers, ferry-boats, men-of-war launches, racing-cutters, and a hundred small sailing-craft added life and interest to this impressive picture of Sydney harbor, as seen from the higher streets of the town.

The much-lauded bay is indeed charming, as the most indifferent spectator must admit; yet it did not strike us as so much more beautiful than others that we have visited in various countries. It is better, however, not to challenge the ire of all Sydney by speaking irreverently of the harbor, since the faithful worship of its alleged incomparable beauty is with the citizens a species of religion. It has the advantage of being but slightly affected by the tides, and in consequence has no shoals to spoil the view with their muddy aspect at various times each day, or to emit noxious fumes under the rays of a burning sun. Eight or nine fathoms of water in nearly any part of the bay make it accessible to ships of heaviest draught. It is seven miles from the entrance at the Heads up to the city proper. This capacious basin, with its countless nooks and windings, has a shore line of two hundred and fifty miles, the whole of which is so well protected and land-locked that in all weather it is as glassy and smooth as the Lake of Geneva.

The main thoroughfares of Sydney are not kept in a very cleanly condition, – a statement which even the residents must indorse; but the streets are full of the busy life which appertains to a great metropolis. Cabs and private vehicles dash hither and thither; heavily-laden drays grind their broad wheels over the rough pavements; pedestrians crowd the sidewalks; messenger boys, mounted upon wiry little horses, gallop on their several errands, some of them dressed in scarlet coats, signifying that they are in Government service; newspaper hawkers, boot-blacks, bearers of advertising placards, itinerant fruit-venders, Chinamen with vegetables in baskets slung on a pole across their shoulders, pass and repass one in rapid succession; omnibuses rattle furiously over the pavements, while the "going, going, gone," of the open sham auction-rooms rings upon the ear. Now and then one meets a beggar, blind or decrepit; but such are not numerous, and generally palliate their vocation as well as evade the law by offering some trifling articles for sale, such as pencils, shoestrings, or matches. In European cities, where professional beggary is so often resorted to as a regular occupation, one hardens his heart and passes these people heedlessly by; but here in Sydney he drops a trifle in the hat. Every street-corner has its bar-room, about whose doors are congregated a disreputable crowd of bloated faces and bleared eyes, among whom are seen only too many of the youth of the town, beginners in vicious habits, besides numerous idle but able-bodied representatives of the laboring classes. No part of London even is more numerously supplied with gin palaces and low tap-rooms than Sydney. The sad sight of intoxicated women staggering along the public way shocked the sensibilities, though this unfortunate exhibition was far less common than we have seen it in Liverpool and Glasgow. The demi-monde are fully represented upon the streets, – one of the sad but inevitable concomitants of a great city. Let us add, in all fairness, that this objectionable feature is certainly no more conspicuous here than in Chicago or New York, – a fact which is mentioned not to draw a comparison, but in order faithfully to depict the every-day aspect of a colonial capital.

Turning from these multiform scenes of human life, often ludicrous, but oftener painfully sad, we sought the Botanical Gardens; and after that at Calcutta, and the superb gardens of Kandy in Ceylon, this of Sydney is the next finest we remember to have seen. In round numbers these gardens embrace fifty acres of land, laid out in terraces and irregular elevations, so that many of the broad paths overlook portions of the city and harbor. The grounds extend on a gentle incline to the shores of the beautiful bay, forming a semicircle round what is known as Farm Cove, a picturesque indentation of the harbor. The several main paths are liberally ornamented with statuary representing Flora, Ceres, Commerce, Science, etc. One special charm of these delightful grounds is the fact that they are accessible by a walk of about five minutes from the centre of the city. It is not necessary to organize an excursion in order to reach them, as is the case with many similar resorts elsewhere, such as Sydenham in London, Central Park in New York, or the Bois de Boulogne, Paris. Here semi-arctic and semi-tropical plants and trees were found growing together, and all parts of the globe seemed to be liberally represented. The hardy Scotch fir and the delicate palm of the tropics jostle each other; the india-rubber tree and the laurel are close friends; the California pine and the Florida orange thrive side by side; so with the silver fern-tree of New Zealand and the guava of Cuba. China, Japan, India, Africa, Egypt, and South America, all have furnished representative trees and shrubs for these comprehensive gardens, and here they have become acclimatized. A thrifty cluster of the Indian bamboo, that king of the grasses, was seen here forty feet high, close by a specimen of the native Australian musk-tree, which attains a height of nearly twenty feet and exhales from leaf and bark a peculiarly sweet odor, though not at all like what its name would seem to indicate; it has broad, laurel-like leaves and bears a pale yellow blossom. There was pointed out to us a sheoak-tree, which it is said emits a curious wailing sound during the quietest state of the atmosphere, when there is not a breath of wind to move the branches or the leaves. This tree is almost universally found growing near the sea, and is said to have borrowed the murmur of the conch-shell. No reasonable cause is assigned for its mournful song, which has proved to be the inspiring theme of many a local poet.

Near the very centre of the gardens three Norfolk Island pines attracted particular attention because of their remarkable development. The head gardener told us that they were planted here about 1820, and they are certainly the noblest examples of their kind we have seen. The oldest one, perfect in form and foliage, is ninety-five feet high, and three feet from the ground measures fourteen feet nine inches in circumference; the other two are even taller, but measure one foot less in circumference. The density of foliage, uniformity of shape, and general perfection of these beautiful pines exceed anything of the kind to be found elsewhere.

In walking to the Garden by the way of Bridge Street, there was observed, just opposite the buildings containing the Educational Bureau, a dual tree of great size and beauty. The effect was that of one immense tree, but there were really two trunks which furnished this mountain of foliage. They were Moreton Bay Fig-trees, and were full of green fruit. This tree, the fruit of which we believe is useless, has a singular habit which recalls that of the banyan-tree; namely, that of forming many aerial roots which hang downward from the branches, though they do not grow long enough to reach the earth and produce new stock like the banyan, – which is known, by the way, as the Indian fig-tree.

Within the Botanical Gardens the flowers were as attractive and in as great variety as the trees. Fuchsias, roses, camellias in great variety, pansies of the double species, a whole army of brilliant tulips, and many other plants were in gorgeous bloom, though this was in July, which, it must be remembered, is winter in Sydney. The collection of camellias was remarkable both for the size to which they grew and for the abundance of the blossoms. Over three hundred were counted on one tree, as white as untrodden snow, all being of perfect form and freshness; there were others double, single, striped, and scarlet, all thrifty and lovely, but none of them quite equal to the myriad-decked one in white. The azaleas, double scarlet geraniums, violets, heliotropes, and daphnes were dazzling in color and confusing in their abundance. Nestling among the mounds of rock-work were succulent plants, orchids, cacti, ferns, and other pleasing forms of delicate vegetation. Flowers bloom in every month of the year in this region, out of doors, and are rarely troubled by frost.

As we came out of the Public Garden after this first visit, the last rays of the setting sun threw tremulous shadows over the foliage and the pale faces of the marble statues. The softening colors of the western sky were reflected clearly in the unruffled arm of the bay close at hand, tinging its waters with purple and golden hues. It was a scene and moment to put one at peace with all the world. The atmosphere was intoxicatingly fragrant just at this bedtime hour of the flowers, filling one here, within pistol-shot of the crowded, boisterous life of the town, with sensuous delight.