This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.

REMINISCENCES
OF
TRAVEL
IN
Australia, America, and Egypt.

[ ]

BY
RICHARD TANGYE.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. C. MOUNTFORT.

London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, AND RIVINGTON.
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.

1883.

PRINTED BY

WRIGHT, DAIN, PEYTON, AND CO.,

AT THE HERALD PRESS, BIRMINGHAM.

Having made several voyages to Australia, I have often been asked how I managed to relieve the monotony of so long a period on the water. I have never felt this monotony, simply because on each occasion I have set myself something to do.

In Mr. Trevelyan’s “Life of Lord Macaulay” it is stated that when returning from India, that statesman set himself the task of mastering the German language, and accomplished it during the voyage. I did not attempt anything so ambitious, but during my last voyage I occupied the time in writing the following pages; and as they were written under many difficulties, I feel I may confidently rely upon the indulgence of those who may do me the honour of reading them.

R. T.

Gilbertstone, 1883.

CONTENTS.

	PAGE.
Chapter I.—At Sea:—Early Troubles—Cabin’d, Cribb’d, Confin’d—Travelling Companions—“Ordered Abroad by the Doctor”—“In the Bay o’ Biscay O”—Ship Stewards—Racing under Difficulties—A Selfish Amusement—Musical Discords—The Ship’s Newspaper—Our Ship goes too Fast—Why Ship Captains are Tories—Ixion goes Mad—Burial at Sea—The Parson “quite at Sea”—A Congregation Guaranteed—Look Out for Sharks!—“Let the Soup pass, Sir”—The “Scarlet Lady.”	[1]
Chapter II.—At Sea:—“Working off the Dead Horse”—“Poor Old Man!”—“May your Shadow never Grow Less!”—The “Blatant Beast”—The “Generous” Gambler—A Fiery Celt—The “Classic” Dolphin—“Get your Letters Ready”—“A Man of Peace now”—Mixing his Degrees—Good enough for the Colonies!—“Now Fridolin was a Pious Youth”—A Bootless Errand—Cross Signals—Tristan d’Acunha—A Parson Wanted—“The Rolling Forties”—A Hot January Morning.	[21]
Chapter III.—In Victoria:—The Black Death in Melbourne—Melbourne—Education—A Caustic Smile—“All Work and no Play”—“A New Way to Pay Old Debts”—“Happy Land” in Victoria—“Hush! prohibited”—An Opening for “Gentlemen”—“Hallelujah Claim”—The Black Spur—A “Soafler”—Comforting the Widow—Hard Fare—Pioneering—Lovely Marysville—The Five Deadly Poisons—Back to Melbourne.	[40]
Chapter IV.—In Tasmania:—Cologn–ial Smells—Launceston—A Tonsorial Palace—Harvest in February—The Land of Snakes—Der Dichter spricht—“The Dangers of the Seas”—“Sweet Vale of Avoca”—A Charming Village—Where’s Falmouth?—A Lonely Burying-place—A Narrow Escape—Snakes!—“Scotched, but not Killed”—“Acres many, People few”—The Rabbit and the Thistle—Breaking the Pledge—Hobart the Beautiful—Jericho to Jerusalem via Bagdad—Farewell, Tasmania.	[60]
Chapter V.—In New South Wales:—Off to Sydney—“What d’ye think of our Harbour?”—A “Southerly Buster”—Oysters on Trees—A rather particular Couple—Mount Victoria—A Tremendous Leap—A wicked Parrot—“Bail up”—The Laughing Jackass—Let Sleeping Bull-dogs Lie—An Election in Sydney—Beer and Bible—Through Wagga-Wagga—In the Bush—Track-making—Sighing for Old England—“Tommy”—Albury and Wodonga, a contrast—The Bush-rangers.	[80]
Chapter VI.—In Australia:—Victoria, Protection—The Dog subsisting on its own Tail—Cabby over-rides the Tramway—His Profit was not “quite enough”—Protection with a Vengeance—“Quite right to Cheat the Government”—Free Trade, New South Wales—A Genuine “Native Industry”—How Population is attracted—A Prosperous Colony—Demand for Agricultural Labourers—“Young Australia.”	[101]
Chapter VII.—On the Pacific:—Homeward Bound—Ten Months’ Drought—Auckland—Fiji—Kandavu Harbour—A Fearful Voice—Sharks and Dark Skins—Dropping a Day—A Colonial Doctor—Man Overboard—Honolulu—A Square Meal—Dressmaking in Honolulu—A “Brownie”—“Yes, for a Dollar”—A Plague of Centipedes—A Bilious “Down-Easter”—Jefferson Brick, Junior—“Mister”—“A Personal Favour!”—Through “The Golden Gate”—Earning a Cent anyway.	[113]
Chapter VIII.—In America:—San Francisco—The Palace Hotel—Chinese Washermen—The National Habit—Flats and Sharps—Qualifications for a State Governor—John Chinaman in California—The Missing Link—Little Min-ne, a Chinese Bride—Am claimed as a Chinaman—Pacific Sea-Lions—The last of “Mister”—Across America—A Magnificent Country—The Noble Red Man—A Long Arm and Quick Eye—John Bright—A Tremendous Crash—The Trapper’s Story—How Taurus “Meets the Train”—The Alkali Plains—Salt Lake City—“I guess I’ll take your Gold”—Rock Groups—“No, Sah!” said Sambo.	[135]
Chapter IX.—In America:—“Eat and be satisfied”—Chicago—Niagara—Ruthless Desecration—“He must raise his Salary”—The “American Language”—The Hudson—The Celestial Harmonies—A Dealer in Justice—“Rich, but Honest”—“Dear” America—Baggage Arrangements—Philadelphia—The Centennial Exhibition—An Argument for Protection—Artisans’ Wages and Holidays—Protection doomed—Cadgers—Freedom, for Tongue and Foot—Something hot!	[160]
Chapter X.—In Egypt:—Suez—Hassan—Donkeys for Nine—The Languishing Nobleman—Backsheesh—Painting the Lily—Forced Labour, a painful Sight—Agriculture à la Adam—School Interrupted—In the Bazaars—The Jewellers—A Bridal Party—Sultan Hassan—Familiar Devils—Up the Great Pyramid—The Heaven-sent Stick—A Wash and a Shave—To Sakkara—A Great City—At Sakkara—Tomb of the Sacred Bulls—The Tomb of a High Priest—A Graphic Biograph—The Eternal Backsheesh—A Camelcade.	[181]
Chapter XI.—In Egypt:—Pious Orgies—Howlers and Dancers—Miss Whateley’s Schools—“She only steals the Eggs now!”—In Shubra Avenue—A Useful Animal—A Morning Ride—Sultan Selim—“Sir, I am a Christian”—A Holy Fakir—A Statue four thousand years old—Irrigation—Venerable Orphans—Home to Vote.	[209]
Chapter XII.—In Egypt;—Port Said—Hawkers—Bohemiennes—Marines—The last Unmarried Lady—The Harbour—A discerning young Arab—The Red Ribbon Army—“Once a Member, always a Member”—The Spider—“One must be civ-il!”—Our Blue Jackets.	[226]
Chapter XIII.—The Suez Canal:—Arabi in Exile—A ’cute Governor—The French outwitted—“Thomas Cook and Son”—A Black-Guard—Tel-el-Kebir—The Land of Goshen—The Suez Canal—Lord Palmerston—Immense Traffic—Lake Timsah—Predictions—Red Tape—Absurd Restrictions—Lesseps’ Position—A Suggestion—The Dual Control—Arabi Bey—Mutinous Conduct—Irregular Court-Martial—How Arabi recruited his Army—“L’etat c’est moi.”	[238]
Chapter XIV.—Alexandria:—Ras-el-Tin—The Forts—A Courageous Merchant—Alexandria in Ruins—Alexandria not Bombarded—Anglo-Indians—Brindisi—Quarantine.	[260]
INDEX.	[269]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

	PAGE
Portrait	Frontispiece
Vignette	Title
Rabbit and Thistle	[vii]
Terra Firma	[1]
Teneriffe	[7]
The Sports	[8]
The Captain	[11]
Ascension	[17]
Crossing the Line. Why, don’t you see it?	[19]
The Baby Hippopotamus at Play	[21]
Burying the Dead Horse	[23]
The Classic Dolphin	[28]
A Colonial Parson	[31]
In the Tropics	[40]
Gold Mine	[49]
A Big Tree	[52]
On the Black Spur	[56]
The Lyre Bird	[59]
The Doctor Contemplates—a Poem	[64]
Avoca	[67]
St. Mary’s	[68]
Falmouth Hotel	[69]
Burial Place	[70]
Summit of Mount Wellington	[76]
View in Hobart Gardens	[77]
Our Waiter	[79]
Sydney Harbour	[80]
Cottage at Mount Victoria	[86]
Weatherboard Falls	[87]
Descent to Hartley Vale	[88]
The Laughing Jackass	[90]
The Author Sketching	[91]
A Bullock-Team	[94]
A Bush Hut	[95]
An Up-country Town	[98]
The Platypus	[112]
A Fijian	[117]
The King’s Sister	[127]
The Chinaman	[142]
Little Min-ne	[143]
Seal Rocks, San Francisco	[145]
The last of “Mister”	[146]
The Eucalyptus	[148]
Salt Lake	[155]
Monument Rock	[158]
The Devil’s Slide	[159]
Under the Falls, Niagara	[163]
The Pallisades, Hudson River	[166]
John Scales, Justice of the Peace	[168]
A Dragoman	[182]
A Donkey Boy	[184]
The “Orient”	[186]
The Schoolmaster “abroad”	[189]
A “Peep”	[190]
“Bery Cheap, Sah!”	[191]
The Mosque of Sultan Hassan	[193]
Ascending the Great Pyramid	[197]
View on the Nile	[198]
The Sphinx	[199]
A Wash and a Shave	[201]
The Serapeum, Sakkara	[204]
Bas-relief, Tomb of Tih	[206]
A Camelcade	[208]
Prayers in the Desert	[209]
A Runner, or Sais	[212]
In Shubra Avenue	[214]
Water Carriers	[215]
The Tombs of the Khalifs	[218]
A Street in Bûlak	[219]
A Holy Fakir	[222]
A Wrecked Ship of the Desert	[223]
Au Revoir!	[225]
In the Suez Canal	[226]
A Feather Merchant	[227]
Cetewayo Disguised as a Gentleman	[236]
Adenese Women	[240]
A Familiar Face	[261]
The End	[268]

CHAPTER I.

It is commonly supposed by landsmen that the perils of ocean travelling are much greater than those encountered upon land. For my own part, I believe that, once on the open sea, there is no pleasanter or safer mode of locomotion than is to be found in a well-appointed sailing ship or steamer. I certainly was in much greater danger of being drowned while travelling on the railway between Bristol and Plymouth upon one occasion than I have ever known myself to be while on board ship. The autumn had been exceedingly wet, and the low-lying districts in Somersetshire had become flooded, causing the railway to be completely submerged for a distance of about three miles. The water reached to the floors of the railway carriages, while the locomotive in its progress made a great wave in front of the train. The wheels of the locomotive were 8ft. 10in. in height, and the fire-box was 6ft. above the ground. Boats accompanied the train on either side during its passage through the water. Certainly I have never felt in so much danger in the 60,000 miles of ocean travelling which I have had since then. Not that there are no dangers to be met with on the water, as I found to my alarm before I had fairly commenced my last voyage.

Our vessel lay three miles off the Hoe, at Plymouth, and we had engaged a large sailing boat to take us on board. When we had got half way to the ship, and had lost the shelter of the land, a fierce squall struck the sail and turned the boat over on its side, throwing us into a confused heap on its bottom. The boatman tried to lower the sail, but having tied it in a fast knot he could not do so, and had no means of cutting the rope. The rain came down pitilessly all the time, and the waves dashed over us, drenching us to the skin, darkness coming on in the meantime. For a few moments we almost gave ourselves up as lost, but fortunately the violence of the wind lessened, the boat righted itself, and we got alongside our ship, but were unable in the darkness and the rush of the water and the noise of the wind and rain to make ourselves heard. My companion and I had to climb up the rope-ladder attached to the ship, and to scramble over its side as best we could, in the confusion altogether forgetting to take leave of our friends who were in the boat below, and who were lost to sight the instant we got on to the deck.

On entering the saloon the contrast was very great. The big ship riding at anchor was as steady as the land we had just left. The saloon was brilliantly lighted; and the passengers who had joined the ship at Gravesend were sitting round the table engaged in various occupations; some were reading or writing, while others were playing at whist, or were engaged in conversation. Being new arrivals, there was considerable curiosity to see which cabin we should call our own.

To a man taking his first voyage the phrase “cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d” is at once understood as he surveys the cabin, a portion of which is to be his home for a month or two. The first feeling is that it will be impossible to bestow all his belongings in the limited space at his disposal, but before he has been long on board things settle down into their places, and he almost begins to wonder what he shall do with all the room.

The first night on board ship is generally one of great confusion. The passengers seem to be in everybody’s way; but immediately after leaving port the baggage is stowed away, the purser allots the seats at table, and everything goes on with the greatest regularity.

The passengers on board one of the great Australian ships form a perfect epitome of the great world ashore. The line of division is sharply drawn between the various sets or cliques. Many never condescend to notice numbers of their fellow-passengers during the whole voyage; but for the most part fraternisation becomes general after the first fortnight has passed.

A three months’ voyage often enables a man to form a juster appreciation of the character of his fellow-passengers than many years’ residence in the same neighbourhood would do on shore; hence it often happens that life-friendships of the warmest kind are formed on board ship. On steamers bound for the Colonies representatives of almost every class are to be found. Judges returning to their duties after a holiday all too short; colonial statesmen with sufficient time on their hands to allow of their formulating a policy to meet every conceivable combination among their parliamentary opponents; and squatters and merchants returning to the Colonies to look after their property or their business. These men are generally very much preoccupied, and their only anxiety appears to be to get as speedily as possible to their destination.

Another class is composed of clergymen and professional men taking a holiday, and generally speaking with every sign of great enjoyment; while two other classes are largely represented—viz., invalids in search of health, and young ne’er-do-wells sent to the Colonies under the mistaken idea of their being more likely to reform in a new country. The latter class is mainly composed of young fellows who have never been brought up to any trade or calling at home, and who, with their friends, seem to think that the Colonies are a sort of “Tom Tiddler’s ground,” where they can “pick up gold and silver.”

These youths are sent out by their friends as a last chance, under what is known as the “private convict system,” and I believe that a very small proportion of them ever take a position of respectability after landing in the Colonies. Nor is it to be wondered at, for on the principle of “birds of a feather,” etc., these young men get together on the outward voyage, and all their previous vices become much intensified by the association. On the other hand, many young men of good character, going out to the Colonies in search of employment, and showing by their conduct during the voyage that they are self-respecting, and consequently trustworthy, have secured good appointments from colonial merchants before leaving the ship.

Those who take the voyage on account of impaired health mainly consist of men suffering from overwork, and invalids more or less affected with pulmonary disease. In the case of the former a long voyage is the surest remedy; and for those in the earliest stage of consumption it is generally found to be efficacious; but it would be impossible to devise a more cruel fate for such as are thoroughly affected by that fell disease than to send them out on a long voyage. The conditions are all against them; the draught in the saloon is always great, and there is a total absence of those little comforts and delicacies which consumptive patients so greatly need, and the lack of which is so sorely felt. Doctors who have never made a voyage little think to what a miserable fate they are dooming their consumptive patients when they order them to take a sea voyage. In five cases out of six these patients are sent out too late, and the voyage only hastens their inevitable end, while, if they had only been sent in the earliest stages of the disease, they would almost certainly have been restored.

I started on my first Australian voyage on a lovely day in the late autumn. The sun was shining brilliantly, and as there was very little wind we fondly hoped we should cross the Bay of Biscay without having to go through the disagreeable experiences usually met with there; but our hopes were rudely dispelled when, after two days, having fairly got into the bay, we found a strong “nor’-wester” blowing, with heavy seas and torrents of rain.

Our ship was a duplicate of the ill-fated “London,” and the officers comforted us with the information that we were just on the spot where she had gone down a few years before.

The wind and waves had been increasing in force during the day; but at four o’clock, just as we were sitting down to dinner, a heavy sea burst ’tween decks with a great uproar, breaking through the doors leading from the main-deck to the saloon, swamping the nearest cabins, and completely scattering the dinner, dishes and all.

The stewards had a busy time of it for the next two hours in mopping and baling the water out, and in preparing another dinner. Many of us, however, preferred retiring to our berths, the weather in the meantime getting decidedly worse. Presently another sea was shipped, deluging our cabin, amongst others, and leaving us in perfect darkness; while the noise of the sailors tramping overhead, the smashing of crockery, and the falling of blocks and ropes, the shouts of the officers, and the continual roar of the storm, effectually banished sleep for the night. I gained, however, one valuable piece of information, for as a result of the storm I learned a certain cure for sea-sickness! I had been quite ill before the final burst, but the excitement from this cured me instantly.

During the night we travelled out of the storm into smoother water, and it was curious to note the effect of this improved state of affairs, and of the bright sunshine, in bringing fresh faces on deck.

The life of a steward on board one of these ships is not an enviable one. He has to be up at work at four o’clock, washing and scrubbing the saloon; to wait at table four times a day; to make the beds, and attend to the cabins; and to be generally useful amongst the passengers, rarely finishing before ten o’clock at night. Our steward was a very handy fellow. He informed me he had a brother in New Zealand in practice as a doctor, who wanted him to settle there, but he preferred “a life on the ocean wave.” He strongly recommended us to bathe frequently in salt water, saying it “was good for the spin-ial orgins!”

Eight days after leaving Plymouth we passed the Canary Islands, steaming between Teneriffe and Gomera. The weather was delightful, and we had a fine view of the famous Peak, which rises apparently straight out of the sea to a height of 12,000 feet. These islands form a province of Spain, and are volcanic in their origin. The last eruption was in 1824. The vegetable productions of the islands are very varied. Palms and tropical plants grow near the sea; higher up cereals are grown; above, laurels; and still higher, pines and the white broom. The islands also produce oranges, lemons, dates, sugar-cane, cotton, and silk.

Soon after passing the Canaries the Tropics are entered; and some of us begin to feel, for the first time, what heat really is. Awnings are fixed, and preparations are made for various kinds of amusements, amongst which the most popular are quoits, a run with the hounds, jumping in sacks by moonlight, racing in sacks, etc.

The game of quoits is much in favour with those who can play it, but it is a most selfish affair, for half-a-dozen men monopolise the whole of one side of the deck—and that the best or upper side—and, beginning at ten in the morning, continue till the dinner hour.

These are the day amusements. In the evenings there are concerts, recitations, and occasionally theatrical performances. Some passengers are of a studious turn, and divide their time between reading, writing, and walking, while others—notably young men from the Colonies—recline at ease during the day and become lively at night, often perambulating the decks with heavy heels till the small hours of the morning, to the great discomfort of those sleeping below.

Our second-class fellow-passengers commenced the concert season by giving a very amusing entertainment in their saloon. The first piece on the programme was an “overture by the band”—the band being represented by a single concertina. The chairman, a jolly-looking old tar, tried three pieces, and broke down in amidst roars of laughter and calls for the chorus. An “ancient buffer” sang “My Pretty Jane,” and a few other sentimental things, with looks of fond affection. Then came a solo by “Bones,” and another sailor gave a song which recounted his many ailments. He said he had had “brownchitis,” “scarlatina,” “concertina,” and “tightness in the chest.” Then a melancholy youth ground out something about his love for a “Little brown jug,” calling frequently for a chorus, the whole ending with “God save the Queen.”

We had other concerts during the voyage, and it was noticeable that the peculiarity which is said to attend amateur performances on land was not absent with us, for our concerts were usually productive of anything but harmony—at any rate amongst the singers. Those who were first invited to sing usually had colds, and those who were free from colds often declined because they were not invited first. Even the singing of hymns at the evening service was more than once made the occasion of heated discussion.

Another mode of occupying leisure hours on board ship as soon as the passengers have fairly settled down for the voyage is to start a newspaper. A few of the passengers meet and choose an editor, and the general public are invited to send contributions to him. At the outset promises of help are very abundant, but, as a matter of fact, the work has to be done by a very few persons. The paper appears weekly, in manuscript, and is usually read aloud by the editor after dinner on the day of issue.

Sometimes it is agreed to have the paper printed on reaching the Colony, and when that is determined upon one or two individuals undertake the duty of passing it through the press, and of forwarding it to the various subscribers. As a rule the same persons rarely undertake the duty twice, for it is a very arduous and oft-times thankless task.

Some of the more cautious subscribers object to paying in advance, or require guarantees for due delivery and for the proper performance of the work. On one occasion one of my companions undertook the work of preparing the paper for the press, and correcting the proofs; it took him nearly three weeks to do so, and I am sure he will never undertake a similar task. The colonial printer gave him a great deal of trouble, persisting in ignoring his corrections, and in “improving the text” by altering it according to his own ideas. One peculiarity of amateur authorship came out into strong relief in the printing of this paper—the number of quotations and of inverted commas was so great that our printer’s stock was quite exhausted, and he had to send all round the city to borrow a sufficient supply.

In a three months’ voyage the advantage of having a genial captain is obvious, and in this respect we were most fortunate, for it was impossible for anyone to be kinder or more considerate. Our captain entered heartily into all our amusements and schemes for the relief of the monotony of the voyage, and was ably seconded in his efforts by his amiable wife.

Sometimes it did appear to some of the more eager and impatient of the passengers that the captain was fonder of being on the water than they were; for he had a great regard for his sails, and whenever the wind developed unusual energy had no hesitation in diminishing the rate of our progress by shortening sail. The first officer, perhaps with the rashness of youth, would crowd all sail during his watch before breakfast, but when the captain made his appearance an order to “Take in those sails” would be promptly addressed to the chief.

Our captain had made the voyage more than twenty times, and had very carefully studied and noted the meteorological signs in various latitudes. The sky seemed like a book to him, and often when we could see no indications of change—and it was wonderful how quickly changes sometimes came—he would rapidly make his arrangements, and was rarely caught by the most sudden of tropical squalls. Our first experience of one of these squalls was when we were fifty miles to the south of Madeira. The weather had been fine all day, but about five o’clock we were aroused by great activity on the part of the officers and crew, who acted as though they expected to be boarded by pirates. The sky had become cloudy, and we were told that a squall was expected. The captain stood at the stern and gave his orders to the first officer in a quiet manner, while the latter shouted them to the sailors, who at once began to climb and pull at the ropes, all the while singing their sea songs. In the meantime the wind had come up, and was blowing like a hurricane through the rigging, and then the rain came down in torrents. While this was going on we saw a ship at a little distance, also overtaken by the squall, and it was wonderful to see how soon they took in her sails—it was done in a twinkling. Our vessel rolled and pitched heavily, and everything looked wet and wretched; but the squall passed off almost as quickly as it came, and the sun shone out, and everything looked smiling again. Unfortunately, during the storm the wind changed right ahead.

Our captain was a Tory, as most long-voyage captains are. I have often thought it strange that it should be so, seeing that the whole purpose of a captain’s life is to make progress on his voyage; but it would appear that, although he is always progressing, he invariably comes back to his starting point.

At dinner one day, happening to say I was from Birmingham, the captain said jocularly, “Oh, that’s where all the shams come from!”

Now the captain hails from London, but his wife is an Irish lady, so I answered, “No, captain, the things known as Brummagem shams are like the Irish bulls, and are, for the most part, manufactured in London.”

“That’s so,” said the captain’s wife; “well done, Mr. Tangye,” and the captain subsided.

Truly life on shipboard is a curious medley. Here is a picture of what went on one night. In the lower tier of cabins lies a young man in the last stage of consumption, and almost in the agonies of death; in a cabin just above him is another suffering from scarlet fever; within a few feet of these are mothers nursing their babies. Sitting in a corner of the saloon is another young man, also in the final stage of consumption, away from all his friends, and without a single acquaintance on board; in front of him are two card parties, one of them playing for money, and looking as eager about it as though dear life depended on success.

While all this is going on below, what might have been a tragedy is being enacted on deck, for the quartermaster went suddenly mad while standing at the wheel. The captain had just given him some instructions, but he did not seem to take kindly to them, and was inclined to be disputatious. Presently he said, with an oath, “I won’t argue with you to-night, captain.” The captain then ordered another man to take the wheel, when the poor fellow ran along the deck and fell forward, kicking vigorously. The captain, thinking the man was in a fit, summoned the doctor, who, after waiting till the patient became quieter, tried to persuade him to go forward with him. The man, however, suddenly sprang up and aimed a tremendous blow at the poor little doctor, who, fortunately, being cunning of fence, managed to evade it. He then chased the doctor around the deck, and would doubtless have thrown him overboard if he could have caught him. The first officer then came to the rescue and seized the lunatic, but, although a very strong man, the doctor and he were unable to hold him, and ultimately it took six men to carry him forward. At last they managed to secure him, as they thought, but in a very short time the sailors came rushing pell-mell on to the poop-deck, the maniac having got loose and begun to chase them with a long fork. It was some time before they could again secure him, but finally they succeeded, and put him into a strait-jacket.

In the morning the first officer went to see the poor fellow, who asked him to shake hands, but the officer declined. “Well, sir,” said the man, “I saved all your lives last night, for if I hadn’t put the ship about she would have been right into that other ship on the starboard bow!” Of course this was entirely a delusion, for there had been no ship there.

Soon after entering the Tropics on one of my voyages, one of the second-class passengers was taken ill, and died in a few hours; he had been suffering from an attack of delirium tremens. The funeral was arranged to take place at 7.30 on the following morning, and at the appointed time the body, which had been sewn up in sail-cloth, was placed on trestles on the main deck, opposite a port-hole, the “Union Jack” covering it. Presently the bell began to toll, while the clergyman and captain read the service for the dead, and when the latter came to the passage “We therefore commit his body to the deep,” he looked at the sailors, who at once loosed the corpse, which, being weighted with iron, shot through the open port-hole into the water with a great splash. During the ceremony the engines were stopped.

The day following was Sunday, and it being a glorious day, with a perfectly smooth sea, it was arranged for the service to be held on deck, which was covered with an awning. One of the passengers had brought a set of hand-bells with him, and he and some others rang out a peal before the service, the effect being curious.

The water was of a beautiful purple colour, and the sky a deep blue, and some large white birds were lazily flying around the ship. Under these unusual circumstances, and with the solemn incident of the burial of the poor drunkard on the previous day, one would have thought that even the dullest minister would have felt a thrill of inspiration. Judge, then, of our surprise when the parson commenced talking to us about geology! Nor did he make the slightest reference to the scene around him during the whole sermon. He told us, incidentally, that miners had not yet succeeded in getting more than twelve miles deep! During the afternoon I ventured to ask him where the mine was situated of which he had spoken, as, happening to know something about mining operations, I was anxious to know how the miners managed to pump the water from a depth of twelve miles. He answered testily, “I was not speaking of any particular mine.”

On one occasion a discussion arose as to the best means to be adopted to ensure the attendance of the working classes at church. The reverend gentleman told us that for his part he had no difficulty in getting people to attend his church—all classes and conditions of people came to hear him, and yet he took no special means to secure their attendance. Not being impressed with the parson’s eloquence, we were at a loss to understand how it was that he was so successful, when far abler and more attractive men failed so conspicuously; but he vouchsafed no explanation. On arriving in the Colony the explanation was forthcoming, for I found that our reverend friend was chaplain to a cemetery!

On another occasion the old gentleman preached a sermon in which he related an anecdote of a soldier who was mortally wounded on the field of Waterloo. One of the chaplains found the poor fellow, who showed him a Bible which he had always carried in his pocket, it having been given him by his mother on leaving home. “Doubtless,” said the clergyman, “this young man, having served his country to the death, went straight to glory.” Curiously enough, in the lesson for that day occurred the verse, “Love your enemies,” etc., so during the day I asked him how he reconciled the verse with the idea of the red-handed soldier going straight to glory? The parson (who was an Irishman) replied, “Sure, the soldier was heaping fire on his enemy’s head!”

In about eighteen days after leaving Plymouth we reached the island of Ascension, whose fine group of volcanic peaks formed a magnificent object from our steamer. The island is used as a sanatorium for the British Colonies on the west coast of Africa. It has an area of about thirty-five square miles, and produces an abundance of turtles, pheasants, peafowl, and eggs, while tomatoes, castor-oil plants, and pepper, are indigenous.

The first officer went ashore with a boat to take our letters, and to bring back some turtles for use during the voyage. Immediately the boat left the ship we saw a big shark following close in its wake, the brute’s fin showing above the water until the landing-stage was reached. This gave us some concern, as sharks are very bold at times, and have been known to snap at a hand hanging over the side of a boat. We saw large numbers about the ship during our stay, and one of the passengers shot several of them with a rifle. One was quite near to the ship when shot, and on feeling the bullet leaped right out of the water, and was instantly attacked and doubtless devoured by its brethren on falling back into the sea. We also put out a hook baited with pork, and observed several of the sharks make attempts upon it; but they appeared to be very clumsy, for they repeatedly missed it. Presently, however, one fellow got the hook firmly into his mouth, and we hauled him in over the stern on to the poop. He dashed about madly, looked very vicious, and reared right up on end, when the sailors barbarously hacked his tail off. Soon he was hauled on to the main-deck and quickly despatched, his teeth being on sale at a shilling each in less than an hour afterwards. Three turtles were brought on board “all alive,” and placed on their backs on the deck until they were required by the cook. They each measured 5ft.6in. long by 3ft. wide, and 6ft.8in. in girth, and each weighed about 330 lbs.

One day we had very rough weather, with an occasional sea dashing over the deck, along which the dinner was brought from the kitchen. My steward quietly told me to take none of the turtle soup, and I obeyed. After dinner I asked him why he advised me to let the soup pass? He said that as they were coming along the deck a sea came over and washed half the soup out of the tureen, decidedly mixing what was left! Those who partook of the soup remarked that the cook had put rather too much salt to it; but they libelled that useful functionary.

One of our fellow-passengers was an old German lady, who was returning from a visit to her fatherland. She was very lively, and informed us she had not told her husband she was returning by this ship, intending, as she said, “to catch him on de hop,” but she did not know that the passengers’ names were all sent on by the mail, which went faster than we did; so when we got to the port her husband, “Shemmy” (Jemmy), as she called him, had come out with the pilot, and was very near catching her on “de hop,” for she was a very lively old lady. One morning, while we were in the Tropics, upon getting on deck, we found the old lady dressed from head to foot in scarlet! It was too much, with the thermometer at 101° in the shade, so a deputation waited upon her and begged her to shade her glory, for it was too overpowering.

CHAPTER II.

After being a month at sea the sailors performed the ceremony called “Burying the Dead Horse,” the explanation of which is this: Before leaving port seamen are paid a month in advance, so as to enable them to leave some money with their wives, or to buy a new kit, etc., and having spent the money they consider the first month goes for nothing, and so call it “Working off the Dead Horse.” The crew dress up a figure to represent a horse; its body is made out of a barrel, its extremities of hay or straw covered with canvas, the mane and tail of hemp, the eyes of two ginger beer bottles, sometimes filled with phosphorus. When complete the noble steed is put on a box, covered with a rug, and on the evening of the last day of the month a man gets on to his back, and is drawn all round the ship by his shipmates, to the chanting of the following doggerel:—

BURYING THE DEAD HORSE.

You have come a long long way,
And we say so, for we know so.
For to be sold upon this day,
Poor old man.

You are goin’ now to say good-bye,
And we say so, for we know so.
Poor old horse you’re a goin’ to die,
Poor Old Man.

Having paraded the decks in order to get an audience, the sale of the horse by auction is announced, and a glib-mouthed man mounts the rostrum and begins to praise the noble animal, giving his pedigree, etc., saying it was a good one to go, for it had gone 6,000 miles in the past month! The bidding then commences, each bidder being responsible only for the amount of his advance on the last bid. After the sale the horse and its rider are run up to the yard-arm amidst loud cheers. Fireworks are let off, the man gets off the horse’s back, and, cutting the rope, lets it fall into the water. The Requiem is then sung to the same melody.

Now he is dead and will die no more,
And we say so, for we know so.
Now he is gone and will go no more;
Poor Old Man.

After this the auctioneer and his clerk proceed to collect the “bids,” and if in your ignorance of auction etiquette you should offer your’s to the auctioneer, he politely declines it, and refers you to his clerk!

As we neared the Equator the heat became very oppressive. On October 2nd, when 7° north of the line, the thermometer stood at 120° in the sun, while under the awning it registered 85°. On the thermometer being dipped into the sea the temperature of the surface water was found to be 82°, while in the cabin at midnight the thermometer stood at 80°, with the wind blowing in at the open porthole.

In passing under the vertical sun the old proverb “may your shadow never grow less” is entirely out of place, for it is impossible it can diminish, unless, indeed, one should become like poor misguided Peter Schlemihl, and find oneself altogether without one! When standing upright my shadow was about two feet in diameter, and it looked like the shadow of the brim of my hat all round my feet.

The wife of the captain of our steamer had been very unwell until we had passed the Equator, and had not come out of her cabin. One evening, soon after she made her first appearance, I was chatting with her, when, finding I was from Cornwall, she asked me if I knew a certain watering-place in that county which she named. It happened that I had a residence at the place in question, and curiously enough she had been a visitor at the same house before I had it, and she said, “last year my sister was staying in the neighbourhood with some friends, when they were nearly caught by the tide on the beach opposite the house, and had to scale the face of the cliff, climbing up some old ladders left in an abandoned mine.” I told her if they had taken my advice, and had turned back, they would not have had such an unpleasant adventure, for I happened to be on the beach at the time, and warned the party of their danger, but they disregarded it! It was curious to be reminded of this occurrence under such circumstances.

Amongst our fellow-passengers were two young men, whose friends, it was reported, had become tired of them at home, and had made a present of them to the Colonies. They were very lively youths, and did their best to keep the ship lively by their pranks and escapades. They were known by the names of “Tall and Fat,” and “Short and Stout,” and were always together. Sometimes, however, the playfulness of these two young men received an unexpected check. On one occasion they had gone “forward” to play some tricks upon the emigrants, who, however, did not see the fun; so, having got the lads into a corner, they covered them, first with molasses and then with flour, and so returned them to the saloon. They did not repeat their visit.

There is one feature on board many ships which always strikes passengers with surprise; and that is the impunity with which the “wild spirits” carry on their disorderly conduct. Drinking, betting, shouting, tramping the deck at unseemly hours of the night, are permitted, to the great annoyance of the majority; but it is in vain that you appeal to the officers—they will not interfere. On one occasion a noisy youth, who went by the name of the “Blatant Beast,” was firing a revolver about “at large,” and although we appealed to the captain, and begged that he would disarm the lad, it was useless—he would not interfere. Ultimately the young man accidentally discharged the pistol and broke his arm, and so relieved his neighbours from further apprehensions for a time.

One night “Short and Stout” and “Tall and Fat,” and a few other rowdies, got drunk, and in their rambles found a poor harmless cat, which they chased all over the ship, and succeeded in killing. On the following day these gallant youths determined, in Irish phrase, to “wake” the cat. They proceeded to fit up one of their cabins as a chapel, and upon a bier the corpse of poor pussy was laid, having been dressed for the occasion, candles surrounding the body. The mourners, or murderers, stood around the body with pipes in their mouths, meggy-howling and cat-a-wauling in a most vigorous fashion, afterwards parading the deck, headed by one of their party, arrayed in a dress coat over a night shirt, and wearing a tall white hat, carrying the dead body of poor puss before him.

Betting is often carried on to a great extent, considerable sums of money changing hands. One passenger told me, after we had been some weeks at sea, that he had cleared enough to pay for his own passage, and also for that of his wife and child, and that it only remained for him to win enough to pay for the nurse, and to take them all from Australia to New Zealand, and he should be happy! I knew one man, the father of a very large family, who lost £700 in three weeks, £400 of it going at a single night’s play; yet, with striking consistency, this open-handed gentleman refused to allow his wife and daughters to go on shore at one of the most interesting of our ports of call on the score of the expense, which he said would amount to at least £2 or £3!

A pleasant sight it is to watch the fish and birds which begin to make their appearance about 30° S. Occasionally flocks of flying-fish are to be seen flying a few feet above the water, pursued by dolphins. Sometimes their headlong flight carries them right on to the deck, or through the cabin windows when lighted up after nightfall. They are caught by the sailors at night by the simple device of suspending a net in front of a lantern, and they are said to be very good when cooked.

We first saw that splendid bird, the albatross, when about 28° S. latitude, and when more than 1,000 miles from land. They appeared in flocks, and would follow the ship for many days. Their flight is exceedingly graceful, and very rapid, the movement of their wings being scarcely perceptible. The capture of the albatross is a favourite amusement upon sailing ships—it is scarcely possible to catch them from a steamer—the plan being to let out a line over the stern, having a strong hook baited with a piece of meat or with red cloth. We were successful in catching a magnificent fellow, which measured 15ft. across its wings. A drop of prussic acid applied to the eye of the poor creature causes instant death. The breast forms an excellent muff, and the wing bones make good stems for pipes of the “churchwarden” pattern. One of our passengers was a fiery Irishman, who was travelling with his newly-married wife. One day, while at dinner, the ship gave a heavy lurch, and the lady fell back, breaking her chair; upon which her husband, in a great rage, seized the chair, and, rushing on deck, threw it overboard, when lo! a flock of albatrosses crowded around it, and one fine fellow “took” the chair, and appeared to be addressing his friends!

One of the most beautiful creatures to be seen in tropical waters is the “Portuguese Man-of-War.” It is often confounded with the Nautilus, but is a quite distinct organism; it has a crest which can be raised or lowered at will, and its body consists of a long, horizontal, oblong bladder filled with air. They vary in size from 12in. diameter to small discs no larger than a shilling, and present a beautiful appearance as the ship passes by a fleet of them.

We caught some dolphins, and an examination of their stomachs proved they were not unjustly suspected of eating the pretty little flying-fish. The pilot-fish, also found in these latitudes, is coloured purple and silver, with five black bands across it, and is about five inches in length. We also saw specimens of the white shark, porpoises, grampuses, Mother Carey’s chickens, booby-birds, etc.

One of the most interesting sights at sea is the passing of ships. I shall never forget our meeting a ship in full sail one glorious moonlight night. It came close to us, the moon shining full on its sails, and being like our vessel, a sailing ship, not a sound was heard until our captain hailed the stranger, and asked him to report us “all well.”

One would think there was not much danger of collision at sea, in broad daylight and in the open ocean, but on one occasion, while in a sailing ship, another came so close to us that it was only by the most dexterous management on the part of our captain that a collision was avoided.

The monotony of a long voyage is occasionally relieved by the opportunity of sending letters in homeward-bound ships, and when we had been out about a month we were told to have our letters ready, for a ship was in sight. Everyone was immediately deeply engaged in writing, and presently the stranger came sufficiently near for us to communicate with her. Our signal was run up, “Will you take letters for us?” to which she quickly replied, “With pleasure,” and then a boat left us to take our letter-bag on board the “homeward-bound.” This vessel was from Moulmein with teak, and she had been one hundred days out. Those on board had heard nothing of the Cabul massacre, but they brought us news of the capture of Cetewayo, having got it from a passing ship. In return for this intelligence we told them of the death of the Prince Imperial, which they had not heard of, although it happened before the capture of Cetewayo.

Some of our passengers went on board the passing ship, and two of them scrambled up the rigging, and presently we saw a sailor follow them and tie their legs to the rigging, releasing them as soon as they had paid their footing. In the evening the two ships parted company, saluting each other with rockets of various colours.

While our letters were being taken on board the homeward-bound ship, we saw a huge shark follow the boat until it reached the vessel, and on hearing a shout, “a big fish!” we ran to the ship’s side and saw a whale not more than a hundred feet off. The monster gave a loud snort, spouted water, and then made off. I wonder if it had any idea what we were?

There was a boxing match going forward one day, when the captain invited the parson to put the gloves on. “Oh, no,” he said, “I am a man of peace now.” He told me he objected to war as much as anyone could do. “But,” I said, “your Church does not.” He replied that there was nothing in the teaching of the Church which advocated war; so I asked him, if that was the case, what that part of the prayer-book meant where a hope is expressed that the Queen may “vanquish and overcome all her enemies.”

At dinner one day our friend undertook to explain to us how drain-pipes were made. He said, “You know those round things that are put in the earth to carry off the water?” Some one suggested drain-pipes. “Ah, yes,” he said, “you know they take a kind of clay not like other clay, and put it into a sort of machine and turn it around and the pipes are made.” I thought his description was not so good as that of the Irishman who explained the manufacture of cast-iron pipes by saying, “You take a round hole and pour the metal around it.”

Some one remarking that we were now 36° south, he said, “Ah, that is just 4° below freezing,” having confused the degrees of latitude with those of the thermometer. Upon being told that 32° was the freezing point. “Really?” he said, “I always thought it was 40°.”

In listening to most of the clergymen with whom I have travelled, I have been irresistibly reminded of the complaint made so bitterly, and with so much truth, by Australian importers in the early gold-finding days, that English merchants and manufacturers were utterly reckless as to the quality of the goods they sent out, acting on the principle that “anything will do for the Colonies.” This idea has long ceased to have any currency, for it has been discovered that the coinage of the Australian mint ranks equally with that of London, but it does not appear that those responsible for the due supply of clergymen to the Colonies have realised the same truth, for on every hand I have had my own experience confirmed. The general complaint amongst the colonists, especially in the country districts, is that either young and totally inexperienced men are sent to them, or else men who have proved failures at home; and they not unnaturally resent such treatment.

In a recent voyage we had a large number of steerage passengers, and amongst them was a very earnest, hard-working evangelist from Mr. Spurgeon’s college; this man had sacrificed his ease during the voyage by attending to the sick and ailing “in season and out of season,” and was admitted on all sides to have done much good; frequently, too, he held religious services amongst the steerage passengers, and met with great acceptance. One man had been very ill for a long time, and had been tenderly waited upon by the evangelist. After a time he became suddenly worse, and some passengers at once went to a clergyman, who suggested that the Communion should be administered. Having obtained the help of another clergyman and two or three of the passengers—none of whom had before shown any interest in the patient—they proceeded on their errand without saying a word to the evangelist, and on the following Sunday the clergyman preached a sermon to the poor people, endeavouring to prove that no one had any right to teach or to preach but members of his Church, who, only, held the true commission, by virtue of what he called the “direct succession from Peter:” and I suppose he thought he was preaching religion, not perceiving that he lacked what Paul described as being the highest of all the Christian virtues—that of charity.

In passing through the Tropics one of the most glorious sights is the phosphorescence in the sea. Of course it can be seen to the greatest advantage in the absence of the moon; it is something wonderful, and worth coming all the way to see. As far as the eye can reach, the track of the vessel is marked out with the utmost brilliancy, and sometimes tiny balls of phosphorus seem to explode, scattering their radiance far and wide.

We had as fellow-passengers three young men who rarely spoke to anyone outside their own party, and during the early part of the voyage they usually sat on the deck for hours at a time engaged in reading their Bibles and making notes on the margin. After we had been out a few weeks the youngest of the three was stricken with scarlet fever, and at one time he was seriously ill.

The trio were known as the “Danite Band.” The eldest was a young man about twenty-one, and one evening I had a little chat with him. He said he belonged to no sect; he had “come out from among them”—that his soul was safe, die when he would, and that he could only look on the poor sinners around him with a pitying eye, and pray for their souls. He was rejoicing at having saved one soul since he came on board. It so happened that this young man occupied the same cabin as the youth who was ill with fever, but becoming alarmed for his personal safety (not his soul’s), he requested to be accommodated elsewhere, while another passenger volunteered to take his place and to nurse the invalid, so they exchanged cabins. On the following Sunday the young man who had volunteered as nurse knocked at the pious young man’s door and asked for his boots, receiving for answer, “I won’t be bothered about boots on the Lord’s Day.”

It is usual to hold a bazaar on passenger ships proceeding to or from the Colonies. These bazaars are almost invariably held in aid of the funds of the Merchant Seaman’s Hospital and other similar institutions, and a large sum is annually obtained in this way. The result in the case of the sailing vessel in which I made one of my voyages was a sum of over £50, besides some annual subscriptions, although the number of adult saloon passengers was only about thirty.

Great preparations were made for this bazaar, it being the event of the voyage. The day previous the sailors were busily engaged closing-in the promenade deck with canvas and bunting, and dividing it off into stalls by means of flags and other coloured materials. While thus engaged, another sailing vessel came in sight, and the sea being nearly dead calm the two vessels approached closely, and parties were speedily passing to and fro. We invited some of the passengers in the stranger to join us to-morrow, and they invested about £5 in lotteries before going back for the night.

Next day was a most lovely one, but a heavy rolling sea was sufficient to prevent our visitors of yesterday joining us. Nevertheless, we thoroughly enjoyed the day ourselves, for the whole ship’s company—passengers, crew, men, women, and children—held high carnival on the promenade deck. It was pretty to see the children of the second class who, owing to the high bulwarks, were rarely able to see over the ship’s side, rush first of all to look over the rail at the heaving sea.

The first officer was dressed as a showman, and presided over the Fine Art Exhibition, his face being painted a fine terra-cotta tint. The crew and stewards were variously costumed as nigger minstrels, etc. The stalls were presided over by the ladies, who, as usual, were very successful in disposing of the various articles, which, by the way, were for the most part made up by the ladies themselves during the voyage. Much curiosity was excited by the announcement of a dramatic performance, entitled “The White Squall,” which was to take place in the Theatre Royal. The corps dramatique evinced great anxiety to secure the attendance of the whole ship’s company, and were fairly successful. The performance did not take long, for as soon as the audience were seated cries of “Let go” were heard from the actors, upon which the air was filled with a veritable “White Squall,” consisting of clouds of flour, causing a general stampede.

Next day we found our companion of yesterday lying at some distance ahead, while a stranger lay on the port quarter. A curious instance of cross-signalling ensued. The stranger asks our companion, the St. Vincent, for latitude and longitude. The St. Vincent missing this, and intent on their investment in yesterday’s lottery, puts up, “What have we won?” The reply, “Nothing.” The stranger runs up, “Don’t understand. Repeat, please.” Then St. Vincent replies, “Very sorry,” upon which our Captain signals the stranger, and removes all further doubt.

We passed close to the Island of Tristan d’Acunha, which lies in the South Atlantic, lat. 37° 6′ S., long. 12° 7′ W. As a curious little history attaches to the island, I make the following extract from our ship’s newspaper:

“Tristan d’Acunha is a volcanic peak of very considerable altitude, so considerable indeed that its summit is covered almost perpetually with snow. It rises sheer out of the water, and there is only a single landing-place on the whole island. Previous to the downfall of Bonaparte it was uninhabited; but when that scourge was despatched to St. Helena, the British Government deemed it advisable to secure this isolated rock, and so prevent the French using it as a base of operations against the place of Napoleon’s internment. A small company of soldiers, in charge of a corporal, was therefore despatched, and left in possession.

“In 1821 Napoleon died, and the necessity for maintaining the garrison at Tristan existed no longer. A man-of-war was accordingly sent to bring away the corporal and his little army. But he and they had by this time comfortably settled down, tilled the—rock we were about to say—and produced excellent potatoes and other vegetables; raised pigs and goats, and having in some mysterious way obtained wives, had raised families too. They were therefore extremely reluctant to leave the scene of their successful labours; and the English Government, nothing loth to encourage colonisation, at once gave the necessary permission to remain, and with it a small pension or annuity.

“They have gone on flourishing and increasing, forming a useful and peaceable community in the very centre of the South Atlantic; useful because whalers and other vessels, by putting in there, are able to obtain fresh potatoes, vegetables, and pigs. Little money is used, barter affording sufficient facility for interchange.

“Crime is almost unknown. We had as well said absolutely unknown, for it is doubtful whether the one case of dishonesty on record as such was not rather an ill-fared joke. It seems that when a marriage takes place a pig is killed by the bride’s father, and dressed the night before the nuptials. On the occasion referred to the pig disappeared before morning, and was traced to the house of a notorious wag, as to whose fate history is silent. It is only fair to add that he admitted taking the pig, but protested that it had been done by way of a practical joke. At one time a missionary existed in the midst of this innocent community, but he eventually disappeared—either died or was removed. His place was never refilled, and the consequences have been rather trying to the budding men and women of Tristan, for whereas in the missionary’s days loving couples could be, to use a nautical phrase, “spliced,” when they had made up their minds, now they must wait until a chance man-o’-war, with a chaplain on board, puts in, and as their visits are nearly as rare as those of the angels, the patience of these Tristan lovers must unquestionably be sorely strained. When, however, like some comet of very eccentric orbit, the parson does at length turn up, he finds plenty of ripe pairs ready—nay, eager—for him.

“What a popular man that parson must be! Last and most interesting fact. When the ‘Sobraon’ put in at Tristan in 1879 the corporal was still living, a venerable patriarch of ninety years.”

After leaving Tristan we soon get “into the forties,” or as the sailors are wont to say, “the rolling forties,” where the westerly winds steadily prevail, and continue right on until we make Cape Leeuwin. These winds cause the magnificent waves, or “rollers,” which tower up over the stern of the vessel, threatening, apparently, to overwhelm it. In a gale of wind, and when the “following seas” are running at a high speed, it becomes necessary for some vessels to “lie to” in order to avoid this catastrophe. We had an opportunity of seeing this operation. Soon after passing the Cape we were overtaken by a heavy gale, and a high following sea. Our vessel being a sailing ship of the old type, with broad bluff bows, necessitated our adopting that course. Our stern was turned in the teeth of the wind and sea, and, with the exception of a top-sail and jib-sail, all our canvas was closely taken in. She lay so all night labouring heavily, and the sea breaking over her decks.

Soon after sighting Cape Otway vessels bound for Melbourne receive their pilot, whose advent is the occasion of great excitement among the betting fraternity. Bets are laid on the colour of his hair and whiskers, whether or not he has a moustache, the letter with which his name begins, and which foot he will first put on deck. As soon as he makes his appearance he is greeted with shouts of “What’s your name?” Evidently he is accustomed to it, for he does not look surprised. In this particular case everyone was out as to the colour of his hair and beard, for he had a black beard and white whiskers. The pilot brought news of a general election in one of the colonies, and one of our passengers, a colonial statesman, eagerly asked him for papers. The statesman’s countenance was expressive of blankness within when he saw he was beaten in his constituency—but soon brightened on hearing he was returned by another.

The entrance to Hobson’s Bay is very narrow, and the distance therefrom to Melbourne is about 40 miles. We landed soon after six on a January morning, and found the heat almost unbearable. Taking a cab to our hotel, we made our first experience of the high charges in a Protectionist colony, for we were obliged to pay a guinea for this service.

CHAPTER III.

When driving to the hotel we were struck with the deserted appearance of the streets, as very few persons were seen during our three miles’ ride from Sandridge. It did not occur to us that this arose from the earliness of the hour, our day having commenced about three A.M., when we began to make preparations for landing; but, as will be seen, the fact became of startling significance to us. While waiting for breakfast I took up the newspaper, and had not proceeded far before I came to an article headed “The Black Death in Melbourne.” This article gave a detailed and circumstantial account of the progress of the disease, which was stated to have been raging for the past four or five weeks. Among other things, the article stated that the number of deaths had become so great that it was impossible to dig separate graves; that the bodies were placed in trenches, one being dug each day; that all who could leave the city had fled; and that the mob had surrounded the Town Hall, demanding to see the Mayor and Corporation, who, however, had already disappeared. Getting alarmed, we rang for the waiter, and asked him how we could get to Adelaide. He naturally enough seemed surprised, as we had only just arrived. I told him it was too bad he had not warned us of the state of the city, and of the existence of the plague. The man looked astonished. I asked him if there had not been great illness and mortality in the city. He answered that there had been a few cases of measles, and a whooping-cough or two, and that six people had died during the last week from these causes. I began to suspect we had been “sold,” and was about to pass the paper to him when I caught sight of an asterisk placed against the heading, and on looking at the foot of the column saw that the article was written as a prediction of what would happen in Melbourne within 100 years unless sanitary matters were at once attended to.

Melbourne is a city of fine broad streets, handsome public buildings, splendid shops, and vast warehouses. Indeed, a stranger cannot fail to be struck with its metropolitan-like character. Only forty years ago the site on which it stands was a mere swamp with a few log huts; now its population is about the third of a million souls. For this population a series of educational institutions of an unusually high character have been founded, and are in active operation. The Free Library, which we visited, is a handsome room, and seems in every way well adapted to the requirements of a large number of students and readers. We were impressed with the quietude which prevailed, notwithstanding that the room was well filled with readers, most of them apparently of the artisan class. The Art Gallery is a free institution, and contains a very fair collection of good paintings.

The Natural History Museum, which by the way is really a museum of general science, is a truly magnificent institution. Very fine collections are here classified in a manner which, while perfectly lucid to the student, is also in strict accordance with the views of modern scientific authorities. We noticed particularly a good collection of sedimentary fossils, well preserved and fairly comprehensive. A fine meteorolite weighing 30 cwts., a portion of one weighing four tons which fell in Victoria a few years ago, is a prominent object near the entrance. This museum, in common with the Art Gallery and Free Library, is the resort of vast numbers of students, and it is cheering to be informed that the working classes largely avail themselves of the advantages thus provided for them.

As in the other Australian colonies, education here has been taken up in a vigorous and thorough manner, and the State schools are a credit to the colony. Although the population of Victoria is under one million, we observed in Melbourne a school bearing the inscription No. 1465. But with all this liberality and foresight, a strange blot exists in the educational course, for the study of history is, in deference to the prejudices of a portion of the population, absolutely interdicted. It is impossible, however, that this absurd concession to ignorance can long be endured. In leaving Aden on one occasion I began to have doubts as to whether geography was also excluded, for a young man, son of a well-to-do squatter, hearing me speak of Suez, asked which end of the canal that town stood at; and another youth, in passing the island of Candia, said he always thought Canada was somewhere in America.

Happily, no fears exist in Australia as to the policy of thoroughly educating the people; on the contrary, it is commonly recognised that the future prosperity of the State—indeed its very existence—depends upon the universal diffusion of education.

At the time of our visit party feeling ran very high in connection with the doings of the “Berry” Ministry, and as extraordinary personalities were nightly being indulged in by both sides in the House, we went one evening to hear a “debate.” The regular business seemed to be conducted as well as it is at Westminster, but it was curious to see the careless way in which the members, in brown holland or yellow silk coats, lay about on the sofas, or lazily lounged off to the table for frequent draughts of what was said to be iced water. The shouts, cries, and interruptions were very unseemly, much worse than anything we had then experienced, giving us a very low opinion of the representatives of the people. One honourable member, in the course of debate, hurled a heavy tome across the house at the head of one of his opponents with crushing effect, while another member characterised the smile of the Minister of Lands as being such as to “sour all the milk in the colony, and to take the varnish off all the mahogany in the house.” This compliment the Minister lightly parried by remarking that anything coming from the son of a cabbage hawker could not affect him.

The Melbourne legislators evidently do not believe in having “all work and no play,” they have consequently provided themselves—of course out of the public purse—with billiard tables, and, with a spirit of rare generosity and thoughtfulness, have made the parliamentary reporters for the Press free of the rooms.

With such provision for their comfort, and with handsome salaries paid them for their services by a grateful country, what wonder that there should be considerable competition for seats within the walls of the Victorian House of Parliament? and with what feelings of commiseration must they regard their brethren of New South Wales, who, when one of their number recently proposed to imitate the example of Melbourne in the matter of billiard tables, were reminded, in unmistakable terms by their exacting constituents, that they were sent to Parliament to work and not to play! And what makes the matter harder for the Sydney legislators is the fact that, unlike their Melbourne friends, they are not paid for their services.

The question of the payment of Members of Parliament has acquired considerable interest in England of late, mainly in consequence of Mr. Chamberlain’s declaration in its favour; and it appears not unlikely that at no distant date it may be carried into effect. There are two modes by which the object in view may be attained;—either by a general charge upon the Imperial Revenue, or by each constituency paying its own representative; in either case the amount of salary would be determined by Parliament; and, if the latter course be adopted, its payment would be made obligatory. In Victoria the salaries are paid direct from the Treasury, and those who have seen how the system works are the least enthusiastic in its favour.

Time was, when to be a Member of Parliament was looked upon as a certain way to repair a broken fortune, or to make a new one; but since the days when George III., of pious memory, taught his Ministers how to corrupt the Parliament, a seat in that assembly has not been considered to be pecuniarily advantageous. But in some of the Australian colonies the case is different, politics being looked upon, to a great extent, as a trade or profession, and very largely because of the salary attached to the position of Members of the Legislature.

One of my customers in Victoria, who had long owed me £50, told me he would soon be able to discharge his debt as he had been nominated for Parliament, and would pay me out of his first quarter’s salary! It is only fair to say that, although he failed to secure the seat, he nevertheless paid his debt.

The Houses of Parliament stand on a slight elevation, and though still unfinished, promise to be a magnificent pile of buildings, of which many an old-established country, with far greater pretensions than Victoria, might well be proud. The Great Hall, a sort of ante-chamber to the Houses, impressed me as much as any building of the kind I had ever seen. It is about 180ft. long, by 60ft. wide, and 60ft. high, without galleries, seats, or anything to detract from its magnificent proportions. The whole surface of the walls and roof is covered with a beautiful enamel-like cement, brilliantly white and polished quite smooth, the floor being of white marble, and a superb white marble statue of the Queen in the centre. The whole effect is startlingly beautiful. I subsequently went over the Town Hall and Council Chamber, but these are much inferior to corresponding buildings in Birmingham. The councillors wear cocked hats and gold-braided coats, and the aldermen black stuff gowns or robes.

I have already spoken of the tension in party politics at the time of our visit. This was seized upon by the theatrical people, who produced an adaptation of the burlesque known in England as “Happy Land,” the principal characters being Mr. Berry—the Premier, the man with the caustic smile, and another prominent member of the Administration. On the morning of the day on which the first representation was to have been given, a Cabinet Council was hastily summoned, and the question gravely debated as to whether the safety of the State, or at any rate the Cabinet, would not be compromised by tolerating the performance. It was quickly and unanimously decided to prohibit it, and this decision was announced. Such a universal storm of ridicule was thus aroused that the infatuated Berryites were driven to reconsider their course, ultimately licensing an emasculated version of the play, with all the political references erased. The newspapers, ever alive to the chance of turning a penny, and showing up an opponent, published the original in extenso, and when the performance began large numbers of the audience had copies before them. When an excised passage was reached, the actor or actress would pause, and, holding up the hand, whisper audibly, “Hush! prohibited,” giving time for those with copies to read the obnoxious reference. For days after people in the street would, on meeting, put up the finger, and greet each other with “Hush! prohibited.” The Government were overwhelmed with ridicule, and were glad to compromise with the persons they had so injudiciously provoked.

During the summer Melbourne is occasionally visited by what are called “hot winds.” They blow from the north, and derive much of their arid character from coming over the great wastes of the interior. We were unlucky enough to experience one of these hot winds, and we subsequently learned that the shade temperature had reached 117°—as high a point, I believe, as any that had previously been recorded in the city. It is no exaggeration to say that while exposed to the wind it felt like the hot blast from the cupola of a foundry when iron is being melted. The clothes were little or no protection against its scorching influence. The air was filled with choking clouds of dust, which penetrated everything and everywhere. In the evening, however, the wind fell off, leaving the temperature very high.

The sanitary arrangements in Melbourne are extremely defective, and to my mind fully justify the writer of the article on the “Black Death,” which so much startled us on our arrival there. There is literally no system of sewerage, the whole drainage of the town running by the side of the pathways in wide ill-paved channels, crossed by wooden foot bridges. The whole runs into the river Yarra. In heavy rains these channels become surcharged, and the lower-lying streets are flooded with diluted sewage. On such an occasion I was crossing one of these gutters, when a street-sweeper approached, holding his cap in one hand and his broom in the other, and asked me to remember “an old shipmate, your honour.” I soon recognised him as our old friend “Tall and Fat”. I could not help looking surprised, whereat he assured me he had found a most excellent berth as a street-sweeper—that none but gentlemen were engaged in the “profession,” all being Oxford or Cambridge men—the wages being 7s. per day. I asked after his friend “Short and Stout.” He said he held a similar appointment at an adjoining corner, and he promised to share my gratuity with him.

The country between Melbourne and Ballarat is flat and somewhat uninteresting, but near the latter city it becomes more hilly and diversified. Ballarat is a well-built city, containing about 40,000 inhabitants. A few years ago there were 10,000 more, but in consequence of the alluvial gold becoming exhausted a considerable exodus took place. The streets are wide, and have trees on each side; in some there are trees in the middle as well. The houses are substantially built of stone or brick, and altogether it has the air of being a busy and prosperous place.

We visited one of the gold mines, and as we approached the office saw three persons coming towards it, one of them carrying a parcel, which appeared to be heavy. It proved to be a brick of gold weighing 33 lbs., and worth about £1,200, being the result of one week’s working. We were shown the various processes of obtaining the gold from the quartz, and were rather surprised at the somewhat primitive character of the machinery employed.

Several of the companies with big-sounding names occupy spaces of only 60ft. by 50ft., and yet yield substantial returns. One such little patch is part of the Church land, and is called “Hallelujah Claim,” in honour of the Church. The total value of gold raised in Australia up to end of 1879 was 275 millions sterling.

One of the prettiest features of this handsome city is a fine sheet of water called Lake Wendouree. This lake is about a mile across, and lies in the crater of an extinct volcano. The Botanical Gardens are on the farther side of Wendouree, which has a fine boulevard round each side leading thereto. On the lake are several pretty little steamers, which make frequent excursions. In the evening they are provided with coloured lamps, and music and dances may be enjoyed by the passengers. Ballarat is less than thirty years old, yet has quite an old-world appearance. It is a charming city and well worth a visit, and we were well pleased to have seen it.

A favourite excursion from Melbourne is to the Black Spur Mountains, about two days’ drive from the city. Leaving Melbourne the route passes through some miles of suburban villa residences with beautiful gardens. After about ten miles “the bush” is reached, and continues for the remainder of the journey, relieved here and there by a clearing or by a little village. The term “bush” must not be understood as scrub, furze, etc., but all kinds of uncultivated land, thick forests, and open country. A curious feature of colonial life is to see in full operation the old stage coaches, so long ago discarded in England. They are painted a brilliant red, and indeed appear to be the veritable machines used in the “good old days when George the Third was king.” They are frequently drawn by six or more horses, and, true to their ancient traditions, now and then have a spill, for roadmakers in the Colonies have the same habit as their English brethren of making short “right about turns” at the bottom of steep hills. We drew up at a small wayside inn, intending to bait the horses, but found it was closed, owing to the death of the landlord. This man was a large wine grower, and his vineyards extended for a considerable distance round his house. After passing through many miles of country under vine cultivation we pulled up for the night at a little village called Healesville, where a very miscellaneous company sat down to a substantial repast, ending with what the waiter called a “soafler.” The light being dim it was difficult to see what the dish really was, and curiosity being awakened, inquiry elicited the fact that it was intended for a soufflé. The hotel being quite full of visitors, two of our party had to sleep in the parlour on sofas of the horse-hair order. The landlord, coming in to see if we were all right, informed us we could not have our boots cleaned in the morning, as his man was just then out on a boose. A colonial friend travelling with us remarked that it was “awkward when master or man took to boosing.” Our friend had previously told us that the landlord was generally “on that line.” “You never saw me boosy!” said he. “Never!” retorted our friend, with peculiar emphasis, which summarily stopped the discussion. We were awakened early in the morning by the screams of laughing jackasses and the crowing of cocks. Our toilette was performed somewhat under difficulties, one of us having to use the piano as a washstand, and another being constrained to go through the same operation in the open street under the hotel verandah. Our route now lay over a steep hill, through a forest of gum trees, the fragrance arising from the latter in the early morning air being delightfully refreshing. The main roads are kept very fairly, a certain number of men being told off for each section at 9s. per day wages. The old corduroy roads, formed by laying trees across the track and filling the interstices with earth, are being gradually superseded by Macadam. The men seemed to work in very leisurely fashion. We were to have breakfasted at a cottage on the road, but when we arrived there found that the old lady who kept it had gone to a ball at some village public-house, several miles away, as also had the owners of all the other cottages along the route. A little girl left in charge told us that after the ball all these good people were going to the funeral of the wine grower and innkeeper previously mentioned, and our friend told us they would doubtless stay there to comfort the widow as long as there was any wine left in the house. We soon after entered the region of the big gum trees and of the tree ferns, and a wonderfully beautiful sight it was.

The whole valley is filled with tree ferns, and the fronds, in many cases being new, with the sunlight falling upon them, formed a picture not soon to be forgotten. Some of the gum trees were enormously large—we saw several 15ft. in diameter and over 200ft. in height—but these were small when compared with some found in the less frequented parts. In the midst of such surroundings lies the pretty little village of Fernshaw. When we were first invited to spend a week at the country house of our friend we rather unreasonably pictured in our minds an English country or seaside residence, and anticipated much pleasure in the change from dusty Melbourne. Our surprise was great, therefore, when after jolting over some half-formed roads we came upon a clearing among the gum trees, and were told that the wooden shanty before us was the Melbourne citizen’s country house. We were not disposed, however, to be very critical, for the sixty miles drive in the mountain air had made us hungry, and we were quite ready to respond to the invitation to the evening meal. But our disillusion was complete upon entering the sitting room and finding that no provision had been made for the satisfying of our keen appetites. By some accident the supplies from Melbourne had not arrived; the rough table was covered with a couple of towels, and on it was spread a repast consisting of some bad bread and sour raspberry jam, while the “cup which cheers but not inebriates” was innocent of milk and sugar. It was Saturday evening and we were “out of humanity’s reach,” being many miles from any source of supply, so had to content ourselves as best we might with this Spartan fare until the Monday, when our host proposed an excursion to a distant part, involving the staying a night at an hotel. We gladly embraced the proposal, and finding that the hotel was a comfortable one I determined to excuse myself from joining in the excursion on the following day in order that I might have the opportunity of recruiting nature’s exhausted powers by an extra meal, a resolution I had much satisfaction in carrying into effect. Our friend and his sons own about one thousand acres, at present covered with trees, with the exception of a small clearing round the house. When a piece of land is taken, the first care is to fence it, which is done with logs, at a cost of £25 per mile, including the cutting of the logs. The next step is to “ring” the trees—that is, to cut a deep groove round them, and so by killing them prevent any further exhaustion of the soil. The trees being dead, vegetation rapidly springs up, and there is soon abundance of food for cattle. Clearing the ground of trees and stumps is a very costly operation, and takes many years to finally accomplish. The Government with a view of preventing the accumulation of lands in a few hands, refuse to sell more than 320 acres to one person, but of course this is easily evaded. At the time of our visit the price was £1 per acre, payable in ten years by equal instalments, a condition being that some one should reside upon the allotment. At the end of three years the owner can obtain from Government a lease of the land, and can then pay up the full value, which leaves him at liberty to sell if he wishes to do so. Of course the building up of large estates is thus encouraged, but this could, perhaps, be prevented by imposing a tax on every acre. The 20,000 acre men would soon be compelled to dispose of some of the land which they hold in the expectation that it will increase in value. Such a plan has been proposed, but it naturally met with great opposition from the landed interest.

Leaving our friend’s house a drive of a few miles through the bush brought us to the picturesquely-situated village of Marysville. This little village lies in a deep hollow surrounded by fine ranges of tree-clad hills of extreme beauty. A pleasant hour’s walk from the village, under the shade of the tree ferns, took us to the Stephenson Falls. The principal fall is 80ft., and the volume of water is unusually large for an Australian waterfall. Close to the fall are some magnificently large tree ferns, and while sitting here enjoying the lovely view some little birds came flitting about, one of them hopping on to the shoulder of one of our party, attracted, doubtless, by the aroma of a fragrant “weed” which at the time he was enjoying. English visitors to Australia, especially those in search of health, would find the conditions existing at Marysville most conducive to their restoration. The air is bracing, and as before stated, the scenery most delightful. A tolerably good accommodation is to be had at the inn, which will doubtless be improved as the place becomes more widely known.

Returning to Melbourne, we stayed another night at Healesville, arriving at 7.30, and as we had fared badly during the day we were quite ready for a substantial dinner, and from our previous experience of the house made no doubt of obtaining it. But unfortunately for us, there had been a chapel tea-party during the afternoon, at which a large force of parsons had been present. We had therefore to be content with a tough, woody steak, a wild duck of ancient and fish-like smell, varied by salted mutton. The butter was rancid and full of dead flies, and the bread appeared to have been cast upon the waters. We had to go to bed feeling quite faint, but hoping for a better breakfast. The beds were good, and we should have had a good night’s rest, which we sorely needed after the twig beds of the previous night at the Marysville Hotel, but the partitions between the rooms being only of half-inch plank everything passing around us could be heard all too plainly. A little after midnight some fellows came in from night-fishing, and going into the room next ours woke us up by a great noise. One old donkey was telling the two younger ones he had had a deal of experience among snakes, killing as many as eight a day for many years, and that as the result of a series of experiments during that time he had found an infallible cure for snake bites. He had offered his discovery to the Government for £1,000, and his partner offered to be poisoned by the most deadly snakes to test its efficacy, but all to no purpose. So he had determined to let the secret die with him. The others asked if the sovereign remedy was to be swallowed. “Oh, no,” said the old fellow, “for it is composed of five deadly poisons. You must first cut out the wounded part, and rub the antidote in. But,” added he, “the secret shall now die with me.” “But how about your partner?” asked the others. “Won’t he tell the secret?” “Oh no,” was the reply; “he’s safe enough, for he’s dead.” Then we heard the voice of the landlord’s pretty daughter telling them it was time to go to sleep, upon which the old boy growled, “I wonder people can’t go to sleep without bothering me.” The rest of the night was made miserable for us by the two “night fishers,” who, rising long before dawn, went prowling about the different rooms, ours included, collecting their tackle for a shooting expedition, but leaving behind them, as we found afterwards, their percussion caps.

We returned to Melbourne by another route, affording us some fine views of the plains called Yarra Flats, and the Marysville Hills in the far distance.

CHAPTER IV.

At the end of January we left Melbourne for a few weeks’ tour in Tasmania, taking steamer from the wharf on the Yarra Yarra, the river upon which the capital of Victoria is situated.

The banks of the Yarra have been selected as the scene of the operations of all the most offensive trades in the colony—the bone boilers, tanners, fellmongers, candle makers, chemical manure makers, glue manufacturers, etc., in addition to which all the sewage which is not left on the surface of the streets is run into it. The river is very narrow, the fall to the sea extremely slight, and the traffic great, hence at every revolution of the paddle-wheel or screw-propeller the abominations from the depths below are stirred up and mingled with those coming from the before-named savoury factories, forming a more horrible compound than ever proceeded from witches’ cauldron. In this one respect the New World has certainly shot far ahead of the old, for even the memory of ancient Cologne is made savoury to the nostrils by this colonial stench.

Our friends came to say good-bye, and brought quite a sack of peaches and apricots, which were very acceptable during the voyage. If there were on board any roysterers or betting men they had no opportunity for displaying their peculiarities. Until we reached the entrance to the river Tamar almost every person on board was ill, for Bass’s Straits is notorious for its disagreeable cross seas.

Launceston is forty miles up the river, and is the capital of the county of Cornwall, as in England. The scenery along the river banks is very beautiful, and is so exactly like the Truro river at home that it is difficult to believe we are out of England. The river is winding and broad, and the shores slope gently down from high ground covered with trees. Here and there are bright green meadows and villages and scattered farmsteads and churches. I saw nothing in Victoria to compare with it.

Launceston, a quiet city of 10,000 inhabitants, is surrounded by hills. Looking down upon it, one is reminded of Florence from Fiesole, the beautiful climate and clear air being quite Italian, with the lovely Tamar winding its circuitous route for miles away. We drove out towards a place called the “Devil’s Punch Bowl,” walking the last mile through a beautiful wood down a hill, with firs, gum trees, etc., in abundance, with here and there delightful glimpses of green glades. The air was filled with the sounds of the tree locusts and the tremendous hissing noise of the cicadas, the sun shining through the trees and producing a temperature and light which were simply perfect. The only drawback is the presence of snakes, which, our driver said, are very abundant here. The scene is truly English. At the bottom of the little wooded valley we came upon an old wooden shanty, where we tried to get a glass of milk, but there was no one at home. Presently an old man appeared, driving cows. We asked him for milk—he had none, but gave us water, and offered raw eggs. My companion took two, and said he liked them, but I am sure he liked the first best. The old man was seventy-three years of age, and lived there alone, sleeping on a door covered with an opossum rug. He told us his master died there close by the bee-hives a few weeks ago, “so,” said he, “I put the bees in deep mourning, or they would all have left.”

I wrote my notes sitting on a gatepost, out of the way of snakes; the moon shone brightly, and in the distance I could hear the church bells, mingled with the voices of children, the tinkling of cowbells, and barking of dogs.

The shops close at six o’clock, but the public-houses of course remain open. I observed a small fruit-shop, a mere shanty, with the sign of “Pomona’s Temple,” and a hairdresser’s saloon with the high-sounding name of “Tonsorial Palace,” while a democratic opponent in the same street, with a proud humility, called his place of business a “Barber’s Shop.”

Strolling in the town one evening I talked with a policeman, who was an almost exact counterpart of Count Moltke. He had just received his new regulation helmet, and did not like it at all: it was hard and heavy. He was very pleased to hear we liked Tasmania better than Victoria. “Ah,” said he, “you will find real hospitality here; here everybody helps everybody, but in Melbourne everybody helps himself, and the bobby or somebody catches the hindmost.” He said he had been a policeman for twenty years, and, “although I say it as shouldn’t, I will say for the Launceston police, they are the most civillest, honestest body of policemen going,” with which I quite agreed.

Another beautiful ride is to the Cora Linn, seven miles from Launceston. On one side of the road, stretching almost the whole distance, is a hedge of sweetbriar, giving forth delicious perfume. It is difficult to get accustomed to the reversal of the seasons; here in February the farmers are busy cutting and saving their corn, but with no fear of rain to spoil their harvest, as in England. A bridge crosses the Linn, and a cataract-like stream tumbles down over rocks, very much like the Lynn at Lynmouth. Below the bridge is a deep basin, and all around are numbers of queer trees, young and old, with many burnt-out trunks black as negroes, with white spots in them like eyes. The trees and shrubs are full of cicadas making a great noise.

Leaving Launceston, we drove to Falmouth, ninety miles away. The road lies through a beautifully-wooded country; indeed, the entire ride is just like going through a park in England. We saw lots of magpies, very much larger than ours, but quite as mischievous. A gentleman told us a person once asked him to change a sovereign, which he did, and then looked for the sovereign, but it could not be seen. Presently, looking up, he saw Master Mag in a shrub, with one eye shut, his head on one side, and standing on one leg, with the piece of gold in his mouth.

Our first night’s stopping-place was at Stoney Creek, where there is a comfortable hotel, just like a private house, with only one other house for miles around. Near to the hotel flows the River Esk, a black, silent, swiftly-flowing and suicidal-looking stream, suggestive in its motion of some huge black snake, of which there are many in the neighbourhood. In crossing a field to look at the river our clothes became covered with burrs and spines from the prickly pear. We sat down on a grassy mound to watch the flowing of the river, but had quickly to move, as we found ourselves in the midst of a colony of great ants. The following verses were written on the occasion by one of my companions:

THOU AND I.

Thou art in happy England
With peace, content, and joy,
And there no poisonous reptiles
Thy comfort can destroy;
No hissing sound the startled ear
With fear of death awakes—
Thou art in happy England,
I, in the land of snakes.

About thy household duties
Serenely thou canst go,
No fear of fierce tarantulas
Or scorpion brings thee woe;
And day by day flows calmly on,
And sleep wings through the night—
Thou art in happy England,
I, where mosquitos bite.

Thou hast the trusty faithful dog,
The quiet, harmless cat,
But I the fierce Tasmanian D—,
Opossum, and wombat;
Familiar objects greet thy sight,
Here all is strange and new—
Thou art in happy England,
I, with the kangaroo.

Thou hast the blithe canary,
The robin chirps to thee,
While here the magpies chatter
And rail from every tree;
Bright parrots glint beneath the sun,
And shriek their hideous song—
Thou art in happy England,
I, wattle-birds among.

Thou canst recline in any place,
And watch the moments pass,
Here burrs and prickles fill the clothes
While lying on the grass,
They stick into the flesh, and sting
Like gnat, or wasp, or bee—
But thou in happy England
From all such plagues art free.

Hurrah for happy England,
For all the folk at home!
From hill and dale resounds the cry,
No matter where we roam.
Rare scenes of beauty greet the sight,
The balmy air is sweet,
But still I sigh for England
Where thou and I shall meet.

DR. L—.

The landlady was a widow, her husband having recently died. Her son had just returned from sea, where he had been for twelve years. He had been wrecked three times, and the last time should have given him enough of the sea for the rest of his life. It was in the ship “Euxine,” taking 3,000 tons of coal to the Mauritius. She took fire off the Cape of Good Hope in the midst of a terrific storm. The captain was washed overboard and drowned; a sailor was also swept away, and while only twenty feet from the ship was attacked by a flock of albatrosses, right in sight of his comrades. He fought with them, but all in vain, and the wretches literally pulled him in pieces with their strong bills in a very few minutes. The crew got out the boats, but of course they were in a bad state. It was, however, a choice between burning and drowning, so they put off, preferring to risk the latter. After two or three days, two of the boats were picked up, but the third was out for eleven days. The poor wretches on board had nothing whatever to eat, and in their extremity were driven to cast lots which among them should die. One unhappy man was disposed of, and in two hours after a ship came in sight and picked them up.

A lovely drive through Epping Forest brought us to Avoca, where “the bright waters meet,” the North and South Esk uniting here. Our route lay along a fine road, through avenues of gum trees, wattles (acacias), cultivated for their bark, the sweetbriars and hawthorns scenting the air delightfully. We saw a splendid eagle, and large numbers of parrots, magpies, and hawks.

On our way we passed many residences of great woolgrowers, owning as much as 20,000 acres of land each, but living, for the most part, in England, their affairs in the Colony being managed by agents. They keep only one man on each 5,000 acres. There is scarcely any agriculture, although the land is very suitable, but being taken up in this way, there is no room for population to increase, and the people have to emigrate.

At Fingal we stopped at an hotel, kept by an Irishman married to a Jewess. They presided at either end of the table, and kept us short of food; indeed, I never saw a small joint go so far before. Next day we left the hotel, still hungry, although the charges were quite as high as those at the Great Western Hotel, Paddington.

Soon after leaving Fingal we saw something by the roadside which looked very like a snake, and on examining it we found it was one—a black snake, 4ft. 6in. long. It lay perfectly still, and presently we found it was dead; but the sensation was not pleasant. A gentleman at the hotel told us he had killed four the night previously, and doubtless this was one of them.

After passing through the charming village of St. Mary’s, embowered in trees, we entered a lovely avenue, two miles in length, filled with beautiful flowers and ferns, the air laden with scents from the gum and other trees, and on emerging came upon St. Mary’s Pass. This is an immense gorge, four miles long, filled with fine trees, the road, which is remarkably good, being cut in the side of the cliff by convicts in the old days of Van Diemen’s Land. It winds down the valley to the sea at Falmouth, and on either side rise lofty hills, while the valley below is 1,000 feet deep, and filled with immense trees of various kinds, including the tree fern. I have seen most of the passes and valleys in the Tyrol, but have never seen one to excel this in grandeur or beauty.

In the map the word “Falmouth” was printed in rather large letters, so we expected to find a somewhat considerable place. At the head of the pass we were told the township lay between the foot of the hill and the sea. On getting down the hill we could plainly view the sea and the intervening land, but no town was visible. Inquiring of some little boys the way to Falmouth, they directed us away to the right. We went on, feeling assured we were going wrong; and presently, meeting a gentleman, we inquired again, when he told us to retrace our course, to go through an ordinary field gate, and that we should then get to Falmouth in three minutes! We told him that the little boys had directed us the other way, but he said we should have asked for “Hotel.” The town of Falmouth, where the boys lived, consisted of two or three houses, and was a mile from the hotel. On exploring the place next day we were informed that fifty years before it was much more important than now. Miles of streets were marked out, but were grass-grown, and there were not more than a dozen houses in the place, all built of wood, and of one storey in height. The burying-place for the district is about a mile away, on the open common, each grave being surrounded with stakes, with no wall or fence enclosing the whole. It was a melancholy sight, reminding me strongly of the graves on the battlefields of the Franco-German war.

The beach and sands are very fine, like those of my native county. The bathing is delightful, but you must keep a sharp look out for sharks. One morning, however, while bathing, we stood in much greater danger from the mad folly of some Cockneys who had recently come to the hotel. We had been bathing in an arm of the sea, the point beyond which it was not safe being marked by a stake driven into the sand. Between our bathing place and the hotel was a high sand bank, screening us from sight, the stake being visible from the verandah of the hotel. After dressing, we were leisurely walking up the sandbank towards the hotel, when we were startled by a bullet passing between our heads and lodging in the sand behind us! We threw up our towels and shouted, and then saw the Cockney sportsman standing on the platform under the verandah, from whence he had been aiming at the stake in the sand with his rifle for the past half hour. On examination we found the sand riddled with bullets, not 50ft. from where we had been bathing. The little burying ground possessed a new significance in our eyes after this incident. We found some beautiful sea-shells during a delightful walk along the beach towards Swansea, and on our return called upon the gentleman who put us right for Falmouth on our arrival. He is a farmer from near Oxford, and had been here seven or eight years, finding it a terribly lonely place. Recently his nine children and his servants took the measles, and his wife being ill, he had to nurse them all. When they got well his wife sickened and died, leaving him with seven daughters and two sons, the eldest being only fourteen years old. The nearest doctor lived more than thirty miles away.

In order to get to Hobart Town, we had to retrace our steps some sixty miles, as there is only one road on this side of the island. We stayed a night at Avoca, a charming place, but the roads were a foot deep in dust. Although the climate is so fine, and everything favours the growth of fruit, there is very little grown. It is alleged that fruit trees do not prosper, but I had ample evidence that the cause is to be found in the indifference or laziness of the people. Strolling in the neighbourhood of the village, we came upon a beautiful orchard, and were admiring the large, ripe plums, when a voice behind said, “Walk in, gentlemen, and help yourselves.” The speaker was a hearty old man, who had lived here forty-six years. He came from Ledbury, and was much interested in hearing about Birmingham. He told us that the day before he left England he walked from Ledbury to Birmingham to see the Nelson statue in the Bull Ring.

The old man told us a snake story, which strikingly illustrates the vitality of these reptiles. A short time previously he and his son went across a neighbouring mountain on horseback to visit one of their farms. Going “single file” between the trees, the son, who was leading, suddenly called out to his father, “Look out, there’s a snake,” and at the same instant his horse started. The old gentleman got off, and finding it was a “carpet snake,”—one of the most venomous species—caught up a stick, and aimed a blow at it. The stick however was rotten, and broke without hurting the reptile, which now prepared to strike; but the old man managed to get his heel upon its head, and ground it into the earth; and having, as he thought, killed it, tied a piece of string around its middle, and bending a wattle tree down, attached the end of the string to one of the branches, and then released the tree. They thought no more of the matter until three days after, when two of his men, returning from his farm with a cart, were seen by their master dragging a snake behind the cart. He asked them where they caught it; they explained that while coming down the hill side, their attention was arrested by a snake in a tree clashing towards them, but unable to release itself. On examination, they found it was tied up! “So that after all,” said the old man, “it was only scotched, not killed.”

A fellow-traveller on the coach told us that he was coming from the tin mines near Mount Bischoff, and that for some months he and his partner had slept in hammocks slung from trees. One night, just as he was going to sleep, something dropped from the tree across his body. He took it in his hand, and finding it was a snake, he flung it from him, when it alighted on his companion. Luckily, both escaped unhurt. He also told me of the experience of a friend of his, a Government surveyor, who was frequently in the woods for weeks together, with one or two men. This gentleman slept in a hammock suspended from trees. The hammock was in reality a sack, hanging some feet from the ground, into which he got at night. One night he had retired as usual, and being very wearied, did not at once notice that there was independent movement at his feet. Very soon, however, he realised the fact that a snake had gone to bed before him, and was coiling itself round his legs. The gentleman quickly got out, unhurt, and soon killed the snake.

I also read in a colonial paper another account of a night adventure with a snake. A lady had retired to rest, and was fast asleep; the weather being very hot, one of her arms was outside the clothes, and during the night she was awakened by feeling something trying to force its way between her arm and her side; she quickly realised the situation, and without moving, tightly pressed her arm against her body and prevented the venomous reptile from getting between, when presently it glided over her shoulder and fell on the floor with a thud. She was soon out of bed at the other end, and calling for help and a light the snake was quickly despatched.

The doctor in this place has charge of a district sixty miles in diameter, and always expects his fees before leaving his house; but although he has so large a district, I question if he makes his fortune, for although acres are many, people are few, and the salubrity of the climate does not favour the medical profession.

The main road between Launceston and Hobart is struck at Willis’s Corner, a few miles from Campbelltown—the principal town in the interior of the island. There is a station here on the main-line railway. The gauge of the line is thirty-nine inches, I think.

Campbelltown is a straggling place, with streets enough laid out for a city, but with only few houses, and it is not likely many more will be built, as the railway is expected to take away its trade, which depends mainly upon the coach traffic. The streets are about one hundred and twenty feet wide, which is greatly in excess of all requirements, and causes the traffic to run in ruts, instead of being distributed over the roadway, giving a desolate appearance to the whole place. As a rule, the Tasmanian roads are very good, having been made in the old days by convict labour, but you must not venture to mention the word “convict;” the people all speak of these public works as having been executed by Government. Having had so much done for them by the Government, the Tasmanian people are lacking in energy, and are much too prone to rely upon outside help; and yet when Melbourne people come over to invest capital in mines and other industries, the cry is that the strangers are taking all the money out of the country. As I have said, the farms are of a great size, but the number of men engaged are but few. The farmers have two great enemies—the thistle and the rabbit. It is said the former was introduced into the colonies by a patriotic Scotchman, to remind him of his bonnie Scotland, the rabbit being introduced for the purpose of sport; but, like our old friend the sparrow, they have so increased as to be the cause of serious loss, and are the subjects of special legislation. Some landowners spend many thousands of pounds in putting walls around their estates to keep the rabbits out.

From Campbelltown to Hobart is seventy-six miles, and we rode the whole distance in a single day. The country is very beautiful, and towards the end of the journey we had fine mountain and river scenery. The Derwent is a splendid river, running through a lovely country, sometimes through rich pasture lands and hop gardens, and at other times between high precipices and rugged country.

Mount Wellington is a remarkably fine mountain of 4,000 feet in height, and is topped with snow for a considerable portion of the winter.

Villages are very scarce on the road, and shops few, so the inhabitants get most of their requirements from hawkers, who visit all parts of the island with horses and vans, carrying all kinds of goods. We passed several with their wares spread out on the ground. Our coachman told us rather a good story of two of these “merchants,” as they are usually called. These men travelled the road together as partners, having a standing agreement between them that only one should get drunk at a time, so that they were not unfrequently seen riding, one of them as drunk as a lord or a fiddler, while the other was perfectly sober, but merry. One day, however, they broke the rule, and both got drunk together, letting their horse go just as it liked. Unhappily, as they were turning a corner in the road, a coach came bowling along and ran into them, breaking their van and many of their bones, besides spoiling most of their stock-in-trade. The coachman could not tell us if the accident had the effect of making the men teetotallers.

Hobart (as Hobart Town is now called) is most beautifully situated, with extensive public gardens, charmingly laid out, and having the advantage of an abundance of water from the River Derwent. The Governor’s house is admirably placed, commanding extensive views of river and mountain scenery. The citizens are exceedingly hospitable, and we were not long at the hotel before we were visited by a gentleman who informed us he had entered our names on the books of the principal club, and also invited us to a grand representation of “Martha.” There are many charming excursions in the neighbourhood of Hobart. One of the most beautiful is to New Norfolk, about two and a half hours’ steam up the Derwent river. As we approach New Norfolk the river gets very narrow, and we pass through a part called “Hell Gates,” having steep lofty cliffs on one side, and a beautiful tongue of land with trees and lovely green grass on the other. The name I thought particularly ill chosen.

The village of New Norfolk is prettily situated among the hills, with the lovely Derwentwater at its feet. Its principal industry is the growing of hops. We went into the gardens, and saw the people busily picking the hops, which were very fine.

Another beautiful excursion is to Fern Tree Valley, a lovely spot with a fine avenue of tree ferns, and with many immense gum trees in the surrounding woods.

There being no steamer to Sydney or Melbourne for a week, we drove over the road to Launceston, 120 miles distant. Soon after leaving Hobart we crossed the River Jordan, passed through Jericho, near to Jerusalem, stopping at Bagdad for breakfast.

Although February had just gone, the weather was still intensely hot. The harvest was nearly over, and the wheat looked beautiful. I saw some eight feet high, and a person told me he had frequently seen it grow as high as ten feet. Lunching at Melton Mowbray, we came on to Oatlands, driving the last few miles by moonlight, the night being very cool.

At Oatlands is a large gaol, where in old times a number of England’s sons were confined, many of them having been sent there for political “offences,” which in our happier times have conducted the best of Englishmen to the Council Board at Windsor. The gaol is now almost untenanted. In passing along we saw the ruins of many of the miserable old barracks, where the convicts used to live. Everything looks half finished, and I have scarcely seen one window blind furnished with cords for winding; they roll them up and pin them, consequently the blind is full of pin holes. We stopped a night at the best hotel in Campbelltown, a really well-appointed house; but on trying to open the front door, the knob came off in my hand! We greatly enjoyed our three weeks’ stay in Tasmania; in many respects it is more interesting than the mainland, while the climate is much more agreeable to Englishmen. A pleasant passage of twenty hours brought us to Melbourne again, and the weather being still very hot, we decided to go on to Sydney by steamer.

CHAPTER V.

The run down Hobson’s Bay to Port Philip Heads takes about four hours, and just inside the mouth of the harbour are two little watering-places, much frequented by the citizens of Melbourne.

Presently we come to a curious feature in the water. The currents of the bay and those of the open sea meet, and produce at their junction the phenomenon locally known as “The Rip.” All at once, as the steamer comes out of the bay, we pass from smooth water into the regular waves of the sea; there is almost a wall between, and as the vessel passes through it a rushing sound is heard, the vessel instantly beginning to roll and pitch. In rough weather passing through “The Rip” is quite exciting, the water frequently rushing over the decks.

After a voyage of a little more than two days, we arrived outside the heads of Port Jackson or Sydney Harbour. Everyone has heard of the extreme beauty of this glorious harbour; indeed if the visitor stays a few days in the city he is likely to hear of it many times. The entrance is about a mile in width, between bold cliffs 250 feet in height. It has a coast line of more than 100 miles, and is full of beautiful creeks and bays, with their banks finely wooded to the water’s edge, and having numerous handsome villas picturesquely placed upon every point of vantage, the city being situated at the head of the bay. The old town of Sydney is very badly laid out, with narrow, crooked streets, while the pavements and roads are most execrable, and the drainage and water supply are as bad as they can well be. The public buildings, and the modern portion of the city, are very fine, the post-office in particular being a very handsome edifice, infinitely superior to the new post-office in Birmingham; but then the citizens of Sydney built their own, while the citizens of Birmingham were not consulted, and had to accept what the London architect was graciously pleased to bestow.

Next to the harbour, the public gardens of Sydney form its principal attraction. The Botanical Gardens are exceedingly fine, and contain a magnificent collection of almost every known tree that will stand the climate. A special feature is the Norfolk Island pine, which grows to a great height, perfectly straight, and with very regular branches. The gardens are finely situated on undulating ground, sloping down to the harbour, which is sufficiently deep 200 yards off to float men-of-war. From these gardens a fine view of the Governor’s house and of other parts of the city is obtained. There is also a beautiful view from the Observatory Hill, which the Sydney people are justly proud of, for it can scarcely be equalled in any other part of the world. The harbour, with its numerous islands, lies spread out before the eyes, while the greatest animation is given to the scene by the large number of little steamers, yachts, and sail-boats continually flitting about, for the youth of Sydney are truly British in their love of the water. While we were admiring this panorama one morning, an old gentleman, observing we were strangers, pointed out the various objects of interest. Presently one of our party observing a strange cloud in the hitherto cloudless sky, called the old man’s attention to it. At first he thought it was a bush fire away to the south, but in a minute he said, “Come on, we had better get under shelter, for it is a ‘southerly buster!’”

A “southerly buster” is one of the institutions of Sydney, and is a hurricane of wind: which comes up suddenly from the south, bringing clouds of dust from the brickfields lying on that side of the city. We had long been wishing to see a genuine example, and here it was with a vengeance. In less time than it takes to describe, the whole city and harbour were completely obscured by a tremendous cloud of dust, blown on at a great pace, roaring like a furnace, and carrying before it sticks, paper, and even small gravel, which strike with the force of hailstones. During the twenty minutes which the hurricane lasts umbrellas are perfectly useless, and every person and thing becomes completely covered with dust. Having experienced the “buster” once, we have no desire for a repetition.

Sydney is fortunate in possessing almost inexhaustible supplies of oysters, and the old gentleman referred to above told us they sometimes grew on trees! There is a tree called the Mangrove, which grows very plentifully on the banks of the Parramatta river; sometimes the water is very high for days together, and the oyster spawn gets fixed in the mud on the branches, and so they grow and are gathered in their season.

One of the most delightful excursions from Sydney is to the top of the Blue Mountains, where there are several villages and some exceedingly fine and interesting scenery. The summit of the mountains is about 3,500ft. above sea-level, and is seventy miles from Sydney, being reached by a picturesque zigzag railway. In the old convict days it was commonly supposed by the prisoners that China lay on the other side of the Blue Mountain range, and many of the wretched men lost their lives in the jungle in trying to escape to the celestial country; one party succeeded in getting to a considerable distance before the guard overtook them, and one of them was found to have in his possession an engraving of a compass, by which he expected to steer his way!

The railway from Sydney passes many charming villages and extensive orange groves, crossing the River Nepean by a handsome iron bridge.

Some of the hotels on the mountain are of a very primitive character. One of those in which we stayed was a single-storied building, with bed-rooms opening into the yard. The house was built of planks, and the partitions were not very thick. I found that the landlord was the brother of an English tradesman with whom I do business. They had not heard of one another for forty years, which was a suspicious circumstance, considering the history of the colony.

In the fireplace of our sitting room we found a “gin” set for rats, which during the night were quite lively. One morning we observed that our waiter seemed to be very anxious for us to finish our breakfast. Presently he asked if we had finished with the coffee-pot, saying that all the others had been sent to be mended, and as he had a rather particular couple in the next room, he did not like to take in the coffee in a tea-pot!

At Mount Victoria, the highest village on the mountain, there are good State schools, to which the children come for twenty-five miles round from the villages along the railway. Both schools and railways in New South Wales belong to the State, and the schoolchildren are allowed to ride free by all trains. Even the goods trains have carriages attached for the use of the children, and the school hours are arranged to enable them to take advantage of the trains. Mount Victoria is a beautiful village, where many of the wealthy citizens of Sydney have charming residences. It has quite an alpine appearance with its wooden houses and tree-clad hills. In the neighbourhood are many delightful places, to which excursions are made; one of the most interesting is to a waterfall called “Govett’s Leap.” The road is a very rough one, and goes through the forest, in which are numbers of large ant-hills more than 5ft. in height, and formed of clay, which has become so hard that a stick makes no impression upon them. The entrances for the little creatures are very narrow cracks, too narrow for any of their enemies to get through. Sometimes, however, a creature called the “iguana” manages to make its way inside, when he always clears the entire colony out.

After a few miles’ drive along an almost level road, we come suddenly upon the edge of a precipice nearly 1,000 feet deep, down which the stream falls forming the waterfall. The “leap” is about 500 feet, and almost all the water becomes spray before it reaches the bottom, its appearance reminding us of the Staubbach Falls at Lauterbrunnen.

From the precipice a fine view is obtained for many miles round. The country is broken up into deep ravines or wide gullies, stretching as far as the eye can reach, and all wooded, while, except the little waterfall, not a drop of water is to be seen.

On the other side of Mount Victoria, towards Bathurst, is another curious zigzag railway, at the foot of which is the village of Lithgow, the seat of iron and coal industries. At present the works are of a very primitive character, but I have no doubt that at no distant date they will assume important proportions.

Outside our hotel door the landlord kept his talking parrot, which was always saying to the passers-by, “a bucket of beer, a bucket of beer.” There was a retired missionary staying at the hotel with his wife, and one day the old lady told me that she thought they might have taught the poor thing something “more Christian.”

One evening some drovers from Bathurst camped for the night near to the hotel; they put their cattle into a field, and having taken their tents from the packhorses, soon made themselves comfortable round their camp-fires, the whole scene being very picturesque and gipsy-like.

This used to be the old coach-road before the railway was opened, and many a coach has been stopped and robbed by gangs of escaped convicts called bushrangers. People were easily frightened in those days. A woman coming out of a cottage at night has been known to stop a coach, and snapping the spring of an old candlestick has ordered the passengers to “bail up” and to throw the mail-bags out, which being done under terror of the supposed pistol, she commanded them to drive on; the coachman of course supposing there was a gang of ruffians lying in wait.

Bushrangers are not yet a thing of the past, for while we were in Sydney four were sentenced to death for the murder of a policeman, who was one of a party sent in pursuit of the gang.

Hard by our hotel is a solitary graveyard, where lie the bodies of many convicts who died while confined in a neighbouring stockade in the old transportation days. A more desolate and melancholy place it would be impossible to imagine. Some of the public-houses have queer mottoes on their sign boards. We observed three not far apart having these inscriptions: “Labour in Vain,” “The Leisure Hour,” “The Rag and Famish.” A favourite drink amongst the people is sarsaparilla, which is generally mentioned on the sign along with the beer.

There are two kinds of birds in the woods about Mount Victoria which make a great noise at night; one is called the “Great Goat Sucker,” and continually cries “more pork, more pork”; while the other, called the “Laughing Jackass,” or the great kingfisher, makes night hideous by its insane laughter; in the day-time, however, it performs a very useful service, in waging perpetual war against the snakes.

The ants in Australia are rather formidable creatures. Some of them are more than an inch in length, and one kind, called the “bull-dog,” is very fierce, and will attack anything; he can run backwards or forwards with equal facility, and never turns his back to the foe. Their hills are very large, and a slight tap brings numbers of them out at once, and unless you want to be well punished, you had better leave them quickly, for their bite is something to be remembered. One morning while on a walk we observed two boys “prodding” an ant-hill; but by the time we had come up to them we found them otherwise engaged, for the “bulldogs” had got up their clothes and were causing the boys to jump about as though they were “possessed;” occasionally they would pause and rub their legs with great devotion; and altogether it was apparent they felt their position keenly. As we passed them they gave us a ghastly smile, and I think they will let “sleeping bull-dogs lie” in the future.

During one of my visits to Sydney the political situation was this:—Two questions were before the Parliament and country—viz., an Amended Education Act, and an Excise Act, by which latter it was proposed to put a tax upon colonial beer.

“It happens that a vacancy has occurred in an important constituency, and as these questions are greatly agitating the whole country, the election is looked forward to with great interest as being a sort of test of the public sentiment. The Government candidate of course supports the two measures above referred to, while the opposition candidate is adverse to both, the latter being the largest brewer in the Colony, (which of course accounts for his opposing the excise duty on beer) and, what is not unusual in the case of brewers, he is a decided Churchman, and supporter of what he calls ‘religious education.’ The whole strength of the clergy, publicans, bishops, loafers, avowed atheists, Roman Catholic archbishop, priests, and Irish is most heartily with the Church-loving, beer-brewing candidate, who is socially much liked, and very strong. His opponent is supported by the whole Liberal party, by large numbers of the Churchmen, and by a few Catholics. The Amended Education Act simply provides that whereas at present State aid is given to denominational schools it shall now be withdrawn. The Bible is not read in the schools, but the lesson books of the Irish National Schools are used. Facilities are offered to the various denominations to give religious instruction to the children in the State schools. The bishop and clergy of the Church of England and the Roman Catholic priests unite heartily with the beer interest (as usual), the proposal to tax the beer coming in very opportunely to enlist the sympathies and votes of the idle, drunken, venal, and dissolute portion of the community. The bishop takes an opportunity of stating publicly how much he is in favour of temperance, and his clergy follow suit; the Catholic clergy do the same, and in the evenings clergy of both religious denominations appear at public meetings in support of the brewer! The publicans and their followers are relieved from saying anything about the tax on beer by the existence of the education question, which they heartily oppose, thus avoiding the subject in which they have a selfish interest; so it comes to this—Bible says to beer, ‘I’ll support you, although it is rather inconvenient, for am I not pledged to temperance?’ Beer says to Bible, ‘I’ll support you with all the strength of my lungs, rendered all the noisier by copious draughts of untaxed beer; beer and Bible, Bible and beer for ever!’

“The Roman Catholic clergy anathematise Protestants of all kinds and classes, including the Church of England, but the latter joins hands with the Roman Catholics and the beer party to gain its ends, the said ends being the same with both Churches—viz., the triumph of priestly rule and domination.”

The answer of the constituency, applauded throughout the length and breadth of the land, was to return the Liberal candidate by a majority of two to one.

In reference to this election the Sydney Morning Herald said—“Many of the advocates for the extension and maintenance of the denominational schools lay great stress upon the doctrine that it is not just to deny denominational schools to those who prefer them—that if any citizen pays the education tax he ought to have the sort of education provided for his child that he most desires, and that it is a wrong-doing to his conscience if this claim is not regarded. It is certainly somewhat singular that the few advocates of this line of argument are to be found in the ranks of the two great churches, which, having been national churches, have, to say the least, not distinguished themselves by defending the rights of conscience. In England the march of religious liberty has done much to undo Church-inspired legislation against those outside the pale of the Church; and that being achieved it sounds strangely to hear the ‘conscience’ argument against a uniform treatment of all citizens proceed from a quarter which has not been the home of the rights of conscience.”

Before leaving Sydney it may be well to describe an overland ride I made from Sydney to Melbourne viâ Wagga Wagga and Albury, at a time previous to the completion of the through railway.

Leaving Sydney by the Pullman train at six in the evening, Wagga Wagga is reached about ten next morning: During the night we ascended 2,200ft. A large extent of the country is cleared, and, being New Year’s Day, it was rather strange to our English eyes to see the wheat cut and stacked, and harvesting operations going on.

The country through which our track passes is famous for its sheep runs and for the high quality of the wool produced in it. Here and there in the bush are occasional labourers’ cottages, wretched, uncomfortable looking buildings, constructed of rough planks covered with bark. The children we saw had a very uncared-for look.

Wagga Wagga (pronounced Wogga Wogga) covers a large extent of ground, but at present the number of houses is few, most of them, however, being well built. From this place we hired a buggy and pair of horses to take us to Albury, a distance of some seventy to eighty miles, the charge for which, including the services of a smart, bright boy as driver, was £7. Immediately on leaving Wagga we got into the “bush” country, and during the afternoon passed some large stock “stations.” The land appears to be much more fertile than in the neighbourhood of Sydney, with greater depth of soil. We put up for the night at Jerra Jerra, a place consisting of two or three wood shanties, one of them being the hotel, and left at 6.30 next morning, taking breakfast at a somewhat larger group of wood huts called Germanton. Every driver through the “bush” makes his own track among the trees, and ours was no exception to the rule; he made long detours at intervals, only coming out into the regular road when a creek had to be crossed. We saw many pairs of large magpies, and some other birds which the driver informed us build large mud nests. Then the Great Ants, too, are very numerous, so that one dare not sit down anywhere to rest. The flies are also a great pest, and as my companion said, “won’t take a hint,” requiring to be toppled over before they will move. At about seven a.m. we passed the Royal Mail bowling along amongst the trees, our driver quickly making a fresh track to avoid the fearful dust which it raised. The coach is a big lumbering machine, painted flaring red, and drawn by six horses. It is licensed to carry sixty-five passengers, who can only be got on to it by being packed like herrings in a barrel. The weather being so hot and the dust so great, it must be terrible to be cooped up in it with fat people and thin smokers and others. The coaches are hung upon enormous leather “springs,” and they need them, for the road is so rough, and the coachmen are so daring, that the bumping and thumping are terrific. Each coach is fitted with four large reflector lamps, three in front and one behind.

While baiting the horses I had a chat with a farm labourer, who, like a great many of the immigrants with whom I have spoken, was sighing for old England again. He told me the ordinary farm labourer’s wages here are 12s. to 15s. a week with board, and that 20s. a week is considered exceptionally good, while the great heat, dust, and reptiles are so troublesome that most of the labourers wish they were well out of it. This man told me his little terrier was killed by a snake a day or two before; the poor creature swelled up and died in great agony in ten minutes after being bitten; its death, however, was speedily avenged, his master killing the snake shortly afterwards. The landlady said she was in great terror of the snakes, which were very numerous. Near the run was a large log, and it was well known that a big black snake had taken up his abode there, for he was frequently seen to come out. In the winter season the reptile would very soon have been despatched by the same process adopted by the Chinaman when he wanted “roast pig,” but this being summer, to fire the log meant to cause a general conflagration in the bush.

The power of endurance of Australian post-horses is something wonderful; yesterday we travelled more than thirty-five miles after one o’clock, over a rough bush road, or rather no road at all, bumping up and down in a way that must be very trying to the poor animals, as the “path” is never certain; and to-day we had to go nearly fifty miles more, the heat being intense, and the track covered with dust nearly a foot thick.

Our driver, a mere lad of thirteen years, drove on with the greatest confidence, never having missed the way once, though there were no direction posts, and we did not come across a person or house once in ten miles, and were amongst the trees all the time. Towards evening the horses got rather tired, and so did poor “Tommy,” the driver, who at times had a quiet “weep” to himself, but at last we reached Albury, and found our Melbourne friend awaiting us at the hotel.

For hours before, we had in view a fine range of hills, enclosing a large extent of country, including the valley along which the River Murray runs. Here we got the blue, purple, and roseate tints on the mountains to perfection, and as the sun was going down just as we entered the town I thought I had rarely seen a more delightful picture.

There is a thriving, well-to-do look about the place which is very enlivening, the houses being well built, with wide verandahs projecting from two storeys, the streets straight and wide, and planted on both sides with acacias, poplars, and several varieties of pines, the whole forming a veritable little paradise.

This being the great centre of the wine-growing industry we were desirous of visiting the vineyards and seeing the capacious cellars which are formed in the hills, and for which the district is somewhat celebrated, but our friend, being very anxious to get back to Melbourne, assured us there was “nothing to see here,” and told us to wait till we got into Victoria, and so hurried us off.

We left Albury at 5.30 on the following morning, driving across the Murray to the railway station at Wodonga, the first town on the Victorian side, as Albury is the last on the New South Wales side, and the contrast between the two is great indeed—just the difference between prosperity and decay. New South Wales, with its Free Trade policy, is fitly represented by bright and shining Albury, while Victoria may well read a lesson from the decay and ruin into which Wodonga has fallen. I could not help thinking that a dozen such contrasts along the frontiers of the two States would do more than anything to settle the fate of Protection. Even the omnibus driver was full of the subject, pointing out to us as we rode along the difference between the two places.

The railway ride to Melbourne occupies eight hours, although the distance is only about 180 miles. On the way we passed through Euroa, the town which was “stuck up,” i.e., plundered, by the notorious Kelly and his gang. There were only four of these fellows in the gang, but such was the terror they inspired that they were able to rob a whole town in broad daylight, while a train was passing through the station close by the bank from which they took a considerable amount of cash. Having done this, they next ordered all the people into carts, and drove them some miles out of the town, ordering them not to stir for four hours under pain of death. Having secured their booty the scoundrels rode off, and for two years succeeded in eluding the vigilance of the police, although the Government offered a reward of £8,000 for their capture, alive or dead.

CHAPTER VI.

Before leaving the subject of the Australian Colonies a few observations on the state of the labour market, and upon the social condition of the people, may be interesting.

In most of the Australian colonies Free Trade practically prevails, the exception being Victoria. In this colony the system of Protection is to be found in its most pronounced form, almost every imported article of manufacture being the subject of a heavy duty.

The avowed object of this system is to encourage immigration by offering a premium upon the manufacture of every article in considerable demand in the Colony. I do not know how far this object has been attained as concerns immigration, but it is an admitted fact, and one which is causing Victorian politicians much anxiety, that the colony fails to retain its population. One result about which there can be no question is that this fiscal policy is concentrating the population about the large towns, the city of Melbourne presenting the appearance of the chief town of an old and populous State. A ride in any direction into the country, however, soon discloses the real nakedness of the land as regards inhabitants, the fact being that a very small proportion of the immigrants ever get beyond the towns. An obvious consequence is that the natural resources of the country are greatly neglected, and the evil of this state of things will be apprehended when it is seen that the manufacturing population is increasing in a vastly greater ratio than the constituency upon which its trade depends. Under such conditions the dangers of the situation are seriously augmented when depression of trade occurs. Such a state of things arose before the building of the late Exhibition in Melbourne. The building trade and the mechanical industries in the city being in a stagnant state, large numbers of people found themselves out of employment, their attitude causing the Government some anxiety. The Exhibition was decided upon in the hope that its erection would provide employment until trade should revive. I asked one of the Commissioners of the Exhibition what would happen if trade did not revive on the completion of the building? He replied, “Oh, they shall take it down again, for it will be useless after the Exhibition is over.” Surely a notable instance of the dog subsisting by eating its own tail.

A natural result of all this is to produce in the minds of the working classes a feeling that the Legislature ought to secure to them a constant supply of work at high rates of wages, altogether leaving out of consideration the inevitable effect of such a course in checking demand. Naturally, each class expects to receive the benefit of this policy, and it is not surprising that the example of the manufacturers in demanding Protection should be followed, and even bettered, by the working men.

A curious example of this occurred when I was in Australia. The streets of Melbourne, being very wide and long, are peculiarly well adapted for the introduction of tramways. A Bill was introduced into the House authorising the construction of an experimental line, but it had to be abandoned in consequence of the determined opposition of the cab drivers, the majority of whom own the vehicles which they drive. These men argued, naturally enough, that as manufacturing trades were protected against foreigners, their business also should be protected against competition in the only form in which it could arise. Doubtless this resistance will eventually be overcome, but not without leaving a sense of injustice.

While each class seeks to have the benefit of Protection for its own manufactures, it also seeks to obtain the benefits of Free Trade for the raw material and smaller accessories used in their production. At the time I am referring to, a Tariff Revision Commission was in session, and representatives of the various manufacturing trades were examined with the view of ascertaining whether any changes were desirable. In almost every case extensive additions to the duty were demanded, eliciting from some of the members of the Commission a reminder that on previous occasions the representatives of protected industries declared they only required the tax to be levied for a limited time in order to enable them to establish their business.

The Protectionist newspapers used every means to stir up the various trades to avail themselves of the opportunity the Commission afforded of making fresh claims.

It so happens that most of the materials used for newspaper printing are admitted duty free. The Argus, the leading journal in Victoria, and a consistent advocate of Free Trade, took this opportunity of suggesting that the proprietors of the Protectionist journals should prove the sincerity of their expressed opinions by appearing before the Commission and demanding the imposition of a tax upon newspaper materials in the interests of “native industry.” Of course the suggestion was not adopted, perhaps for this reason, also suggested by the Argus, that the struggle for existence was already sufficiently severe.

The operative printers also demanded of the Commission that printed books should be more heavily taxed, one of their delegates remarking that “there was sufficient talent in Victoria to produce their own books,” while a manufacturer, with great candour, asked for a little increase upon his special productions on the plea that his profit was not “quite enough!”

If profits are not enough prices are certainly sufficiently high, as the following instance will abundantly show. At the close of 1882 one hundred locomotives were required by the Government of Victoria, and although the needs of the country were most urgent—complaints of the inefficiency of the service coming in from all sides—the Protectionist party in the House demanded that the whole number should be made in the Colony, although there was only one firm who could undertake their manufacture, and that firm was unable to deliver the first engine under a period of ten months, and in addition to this, the total price demanded for the contract was £66,000 more than the engines could have been procured for without delay in England. It is admitted that the locomotives made in the Colony are much inferior to those imported, while in addition to the excess in first cost, the expense of maintaining the colonial engines is vastly greater. I was assured by competent authorities on the railways that the colonial engines are frequently under repair, and that their life is much shorter than that of their English rivals. The same evil principle is applied to the purchase of the miscellaneous stores supplied to the railways, thereby greatly enhancing the cost of working. Instances might be multiplied of the mischievous effects of a vicious fiscal policy in a young and undeveloped Colony. It is notorious that the great want of the Colonies is a larger population, and the Government in various ways—notably by making grants in aid of immigration—offer inducements to bring this result about. The manufacturers also require a larger field for their productions; but the working-class element is jealous of this very increase lest it should subject labour to competition, unmindful of the fact that there is ample room for an infinitely larger population.

Neither the agricultural nor the mining industries of the Colony are protected. As regards the former, public opinion would not permit the taxation of food; whilst, in the latter case, the minerals raised are, for the most part, exported, there being scarcely any demand for them in the Colony. But, while these industries receive no benefit from the fiscal policy of the Colony, they are heavily taxed in support of the revenue, for not only are all the machinery and materials used in their development subject to more than 25 per cent. import duty, but the cost of labour is greatly enhanced by the high wages, which become necessary when the purchasing power of money is diminished by Protection. Every year witnesses a considerable expansion of the industries in question; and every year the cry becomes louder against the injustice and inequality of a system which places the natural resources of the country under so great a disadvantage. In consequence of the urgency of these complaints there is now some prospect of a reduction of the duty on agricultural and mining machinery.

I have met with men who were always ready to descant upon the advantages of Protection, but who, almost in the same breath, have told me they have never hesitated to evade the laws when they could do so to advantage, or even to break them when it suited their convenience and they could do so without much risk, justifying their conduct by saying that it was “quite right to cheat the Government when they could, because the Government were always ready to cheat them.” In order to circumvent the practices of such men as these, the Legislature has been compelled to institute a complicated system of accounts in connection with the importation of goods, harassing in the last degree to those who have been accustomed to do business in a country where trade is unshackled.

In spite of the boasted advantages of Protection, it is evident that some manufacturers are not happy under it, as is shown by the fact of my having some time ago received from an important manufacturing firm in Victoria an application for my business agency in the Colony. In their application, the firm stated that the workpeople in the Colony were so very independent and so uncertain that they (the firm in question) would rather at any time sell imported articles at a smaller profit than manufacture them in their own works.

I have stated that the avowed objects of Protection were the attraction of a larger population and the fostering of “native industry.” Now, with these very objects in view, the public men of New South Wales have from the first adopted and persisted in a policy diametrically opposed to that which has for years past been in force in the neighbouring Colony of Victoria. If the principles of Protection be sound, we should expect to find in the Free Trade Colony of New South Wales a state of things even much worse than I have shown to exist in Victoria. But what do we find? A constantly increasing population; abundance of employment; a vast and continually expanding railway system; shipping considerably greater than that of the Port of London one hundred years ago; an import and export trade greater than that of Great Britain at the same period; in short, every evidence of great and enduring prosperity.

As in America, “where acres are many and men are few,” the manufacture of agricultural machinery has been brought to greater perfection than in almost any other country, so in Australia the same conditions have developed a flourishing manufacture of special machinery used in mining—one of the staple industries of the country. A demand for this improved machinery has recently sprung up in other countries, a considerable order having been received from India by an Australian firm while I was there.

In Sydney—not in spite of, but because of, Free Trade—the largest manufacturing concern in the Australian Colonies has grown up. The founders of this large business had the sagacity at the outset to recognise that there were certain articles which must of necessity be better and more cheaply made in the Colony than they could be imported. They put down steam saw-mills for supplying planking, which before had been imported; they next proceeded to make such articles as window-sashes, doors, frames, etc., for house-building, choosing such as could be manufactured almost entirely by machinery, which they obtained from England and America. By such natural means, and altogether free from legislative interference, they have built up the enormous business known as Hudson Brothers, Limited, railway rolling-stock manufacturers. It is clear that with the most improved machinery, purchased in the cheapest markets and imported duty free, and having inexhaustible supplies of native timber, not only cheaper but much better adapted to the climate than that hitherto imported, the opening for a perfectly legitimate business presented itself; in fact, they created a genuine “native industry.” But Messrs. Hudson, recognising, as already pointed out, that other countries have also special advantages for the production of certain articles, wisely abstain from attempting a hopeless competition. For this reason they import such portions of the rolling-stock as wheels, axles, springs, carriage-furniture, etc.

The free importation of mining and agricultural machinery into New South Wales has given these industries such a stimulus that they have been more generally developed throughout that Colony than those of Victoria, causing a continuous and increasing demand for labour. The immigration into New South Wales is greatly in excess of that into Victoria; and, in addition to this, large numbers of artisans and others are continually crossing the border from the latter into the former Colony. In 1880, forty-five thousand persons arrived in New South Wales from other than Australian ports, and it is not too much to say that there is ample room for four times their number every year.

Until a few years since the great shipping companies had their repairing yards and shops in Victoria, but the extremely high cost of everything required by them compelled them at last to remove their establishments to her Free Trade neighbour, thereby effecting a very considerable saving. The same causes have doubtless been influential in securing to New South Wales the remarkable development of its shipping interests during the last generation.

So little is known in England of what our friends in the Colonies are doing, that probably many will be startled to learn that whereas in 1782 the total imports and exports of Great Britain amounted in value to about £23,850,000, in New South Wales, in 1881, the value was £27,650,000.

During the last thirty years the shipping annually arriving in Sydney has increased from 90 vessels, with a tonnage of 48,776, to 1,389 vessels, with a tonnage of 973,425; and the clearances in the same period increased from 47 vessels, with a tonnage of 24,081, to 1,322 vessels, with a tonnage of 941,895.

During the last ten years, too, the population of New South Wales has increased 53 per cent., while that of Victoria has only increased 18 per cent., and while the excess of immigration over emigration in the former Colony has quadrupled, it has been almost stationary in the latter.

During the same period the Customs revenue in Victoria, notwithstanding the high tariff, has remained almost stationary; while in New South Wales, with a low tariff and smaller population, it has increased nearly one-half. The imports, too, have increased 80 per cent., against 17 per cent. in Victoria, and the exports 94 per cent. against 28 per cent.

These figures, taken from official papers in 1882, have never been dealt with by Victorian Protectionists, but are full of meaning to all those whom vested interests have not made blind. While it is true that Australia presents, and will continue to present, a great field for the surplus population of older countries, it is, in my opinion, a mistake to suppose that the upper grades of English artisans improve their position much by going there. Wages are higher it is true, and eight hours make up a day’s work; animal food also is cheaper, but almost everything else is dearer than in England—house-rents, indeed, enormously so. An artisan who in Birmingham would be well housed for 5s. to 6s. a week would have to pay £1 for much inferior accommodation; this remark applies generally in Australia, the principal cause being the great lack of artisans in the building trade. Many too, may consider the higher wages and shorter hours of labour as not too great a compensation for the exhaustion induced by the heat and dust of the climate and the annoyance from insect life. But for unskilled labour and for skilled agricultural labour there can be only one opinion,—viz., that the Colonies present a field where sobriety and industry are certain to bring a reward such as is altogether unattainable at home.

The education of the people is admirably provided for by the Legislature, every district being well supplied with first-rate schools, while the means of intercommunication by rail, post, and telegraph are superior to those of any country in the world, when the smallness of the population and the immense distances to be covered are taken into consideration.

In Australia, especially in the southern Colonies, there is happily no native question to absorb the attention of the people and to upset the calculations of financiers, consequently the colonists are able to devote all their energy to opening up the natural resources of the country. At the present time many millions of money are set aside for the construction of new railways and for the supply and storage of water, and when these are completed vast areas of agricultural land will be opened sufficient to accommodate all the spare population of England for many years to come.

If “Young Australia,” like his cousin in America, has an unbounded confidence in the future of his country, he has even more in himself, as is well illustrated by the following story told me by an old resident. In one of the cities a number of young men had established a Debating Society, which met every Wednesday evening in a room in a narrow street. On the other side of the street was a church where service was held at the same time. The weather being hot the windows of both buildings were usually open, and the important deliberations of the young men were much interrupted by the preaching and singing in the church. With a delightful unconsciousness of what in slang phrase is called “cheek,” they instructed their secretary to write to the minister of the church, requesting him to hold his service upon some other evening of the week!

The people of Australia are possessed of vast energy and great intelligence: and, having unlimited and well-grounded faith in their capacity to conquer the many difficulties which lie before them, they determined that their future career shall do no discredit to the great country from which they have sprung, and of whose history they are so proud.

CHAPTER VII.

We left Sydney in the first week in April, and although we had greatly enjoyed the beautiful scenery of its fine harbour and the neighbouring Blue Mountains, and had experienced the greatest kindness and hospitality on every side, we were not sorry to depart.

In the first place, we were homeward-bound, and I had recovered the health, in search of which I had left home and friends, and the weather had been so oppressively hot and the dust so troublesome, that we were glad of the prospect of the abatement of the one and the total disappearance of the other.

For ten months the Colony had had no rain, and in the neighbourhood of Sydney trees were dying by hundreds, and gardens which had been carefully tended for fifteen or twenty years were nearly spoiled. The outlook for agriculturists was dark indeed, very indifferent hay was selling for £10 a ton, and the cattle were perishing for want of water. I saw a statement in the paper that one farmer had already lost 45,000 sheep, and if the drought lasted a few weeks longer he would lose 50,000 more. The most inveterate grumbler at the moisture of the English climate would, if here in Sydney, soon arrive at the conclusion that six months’ rain is to be preferred to ten months’ drought and dust under a scorching sun.

Some friends accompanied us on board our steamer, and observing that the sky had become overcast with every prospect of a heavy downpour, I endeavoured to persuade them to return to shore, but they said the sky often looked overcast but soon became clear again, and that there would be no rain; still I was not comfortable, and presently induced them to go. Half-an-hour afterwards our time was up, the ship’s gun was fired, and down came the rain in such torrents as made me very apprehensive for the safety of my friends, lest their boat should be swamped. On arriving at New York I found a letter from them informing me that the rain filled the boat so fast that it was with some difficulty they could keep it afloat.

Our vessel was an exceedingly fine one, and was on her first voyage. Her length was 400ft. and she was 40ft. wide across the saloon. The appointments seemed to be all very good, although it soon appeared that she was insufficiently supplied with stewards, the consequence being that the meals were badly served. Everything, however, was done according to rule, and it was curious to see the order in which the various dishes were brought in. The chief steward rang a bell once, and the stewards marched into the saloon in single file, dishes in hand; two rings, right wheel; three times, place dishes on the table; and at the fourth ringing of the bell, remove covers and march out with them. It looked like a pantomime, and caused us considerable merriment. The head steward was a negro, and it was curious to note how he lorded it over the white stewards.

A rough passage of four days brought us to the entrance of Auckland harbour. The previous day it was very stormy, and an albatross which had been following us for some time, frequently flying across the ship between the masts, at length either flew, or was blown, against one of the masts, and fell dead upon the deck.

In approaching the town of Auckland a number of islands of curious shape, surmounted with rocks bearing the appearance of castles are passed. Auckland looks well from the harbour, which is a very fine one; behind the town a mountain rises to a considerable altitude, greatly adding to the picturesqueness of the view.

Our ship was the largest that had ever been in the harbour, and we expected soon to have a number of boats plying for hire, but none appeared until half our limited time had expired, and consequently very few passengers went ashore. We took a quantity of coal on board, the quality of which was very bad, giving off volumes of the densest smoke. It is much inferior to the New South Wales coal, which in its turn is not equal to English.

For the first ten days the Pacific greatly belied its name, being in a state of great commotion the whole time; indeed, most of the way to San Francisco the roll was very considerable. As we neared Kandavu, in the Fiji Islands, the dreaded coral reefs began to come in sight. Some of them stretch out for fifteen miles from the land, and are known to approaching vessels by the white crests of the long lines of breakers. Navigation is very dangerous, and the harbour of Kandavu is a very difficult one to make. Just before entering we passed within fifty feet of the masts of a sunken ship; but, having brought a native pilot from Sydney, we got inside safely. The harbour is exceedingly beautiful. For some distance from the water on each side the ground is covered with cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, large ferns, and a great variety of bright green foliage, while beyond is a range of hills of beautiful shapes and well wooded.

It being Sunday only two or three boats made their appearance, the missionaries not permitting the natives to come out to trade or to gratify their curiosity on that day. Knowing this we were not a little amazed to receive a visit presently from the missionaries themselves, who were rowed by eight very intelligent natives, having no clothing worthy of mention. Some of our party taxed the missionaries with their lack of consistency, and were answered that they came “by invitation.” The natives have fine open faces, with good foreheads, bright and restless eyes. They are of a dark chocolate or liver colour. Their hair is very abundant, but they spoil it by putting quicklime upon it, turning it to a dirty reddish brown. Their vivacity is astonishing. They laugh and chatter in a ceaseless chorus, but their language is not musical. One old fellow was particularly voluble; he was in a boat, and was giving instructions to his crew in a fearfully loud voice, which sounded like the slipping of a ship’s cable through the hawser-hole.

It was great fun to watch the children diving for money. If you threw a sixpence into the water they would go after it and catch it before it had gone down many feet, quickly reappearing to ask—like Oliver Twist—for more, and with a grin, disclosing teeth which made us envy them.

Some of our fellow-passengers went ashore, and were much charmed with all they saw. The little children very much delighted them by coming up and putting their hands into those of their visitors, leading them off to show them the bread-fruit and banana trees.

Just as daylight was going our gun was fired, and with our pilot on board we steamed out of the harbour, having the pilot’s boat in tow, manned with as merry a crew as ever rowed a boat. The captain was very anxious to get clear of the reefs before dusk, and so went at a pretty good speed, and although the pilot-boat was half out of the water, and was constantly being swamped, the crew laughed and shrieked with delight, shouting and making curious noises like Christy Minstrels.

Presently they commenced a song, one old fellow beating time with an oar—but we preferred the shrieking. Soon the pilot clambered down the ship’s side, and after giving him three cheers we set off at full speed.

There are many sharks in these waters, but it is said they are not fond of the dark skins. Whether that is so or not I do not know, but certainly both boys and men disregard the presence of these monsters in diving for money.

The day after leaving Kandavu we passed through a beautiful group of islands surrounded with coral reefs. We passed so close to two of these islands that we were able to see the cocoa-nut trees quite distinctly, the bright green vegetation rising just above the pure white surf, and the whole surrounded by the glorious purple and azure of the ocean. While passing one of the islands we saw a huge waterspout burst, and were glad our ship was well out of it.

Soon after leaving the Fiji Islands the crew were put through fire-brigade practice. The bell was rung continuously, the whistles blown, and the crew and stewards rushed to the fire-engines, and got out the buckets and hose, and soon began playing over the ship, while the first officer superintended the getting out and lowering of the boats. As very few persons were warned of what was going to be done, there was naturally great excitement amongst the passengers, one lady fainting in the saloon, thinking the ship was really on fire. I was not impressed with the smartness or efficiency of either officers or crew, and was devoutly thankful that there was no need for their services; and yet I often wondered there were no fires, there being so many kerosene lamps all over the ship, to say nothing of the immense kitchen fires, where twice in one morning I saw a regular burst of flame through an unskilful cook overturning the fat in the absence of his chief.

In going from England to Australia, and returning via the Pacific, and across America, one day is gained, and in order to keep our calendar right we had to “drop a day,” or when we arrived at Liverpool we should be a day in advance of our home friends. This is done by having two days of the same name and date in one week. It appears rather curious but is plain enough, for our general course since leaving home was eastward, and continued so until we reached home. Now, as in going east, four minutes to each degree are gained (the reverse in going west), it follows that in the 360 degrees into which the earth’s circumference is divided, a total gain of 360 × 4 = 1,440 minutes, or 24 hours is made.

Our doctor was somewhat of a curiosity. One evening he told me that one of the passengers, who was suffering from an ailment of the eyes, had declined his further services, preferring to pay one of the passengers who was a medical man. He assured me he had no feeling about it, he was quite above that sort of thing. “Our profession,” he said, “is one in which we should always practice the virtue of charity in accordance with the teaching of Christ, whose follower I trust I am.” But observing that during the conversation he frequently swore, I gave him a hint about it. “Ah,” said he, “you remind me of my little wife at home; whenever I swear or consign any one to a warm place, she puts her finger up and says, ‘Ah, don’t do that, you know you don’t mean it,’ which of course is perfectly true, so there is no harm in it.” One of our doctors was re-named a “compound-conceited-cuss-of-a-colonial-cockatoo-quack-of-a-doctor.” He believed in the Australian “spread eagle”—in the cockatoo, that is—and had visions of a time when England would be a “foreign” country. But he was labouring under the impression that there were eight millions of people in the Australian colonies, whereas there were not more than 2½ millions of white, black, yellow, and brown.

Life on shipboard is not more free from little personal difficulties than on land: one of our colonial friends daily raised the susceptibilities of his neighbours at the dinner table by emptying a favourite dish of fruit into his pocket for home consumption; while just before reaching Honolulu it was rumoured there was to be a duel as soon as we arrived at the island. One of the English travellers had an objectionable habit of turning the fruit over with his fingers at dessert, and picking out the best. A colonial gentleman frequently rebuked him mildly for his breach of good manners, telling him he should “touch and take”; and so it resulted in a quarrel which it was said “blood alone can quell.” It is satisfactory, however, to know that the deadly encounter did not come off.

Being told by the Captain that we might expect to land at Honolulu at 6 p.m., the four o’clock dinner table was comparatively deserted, most of the passengers preferring to reserve themselves for what the Yankees call a “good square meal” on shore. We arrived off the entrance to the harbour in good time, and made the usual signals for a pilot, but with no result. After sunset, guns and rockets were fired, but no pilot appearing, the Captain decided to run in without one. In consequence of the delay it was ten o’clock before we landed, when we found the islanders were en fête, and were informed that on such occasions the pilots decline to go out for vessels. Just as we were about to land, one of our passengers, in the darkness, fell overboard, but being a good swimmer and a strong, fearless man, he managed to get aboard again, with no worse result than a wetting. This gentleman had the reputation of being somewhat of a sceptic, and that afternoon I had been discussing with him the subject of a future state. When he was safe on deck again I reminded him of our conversation, and asked what his thoughts were when under the water in such a perilous situation. He replied, “I will tell you exactly what I did think. When I fell overboard I had three shillings in my hand, and my first thought when under water was as to their safety; so, before doing anything else, I safely deposited them in my pocket, and then proceeded to ‘go aloft.’” On landing we found ourselves amongst a motley throng, whose faces, however, were too dark to be seen, the majority dressed in light coloured raiment, and all laughing, shouting, jabbering and shrieking in a ten times more lively manner than a mob of gay Neapolitans on the arrival of a train at Naples. We found the hotel about a mile from the landing place, and very much enjoyed the walk along the wide unpaved streets, lined with houses of various shapes and sizes, many with gardens around them. Myriads of fire-flies lit up the darkness, and the air was laden with the perfume of tropical flowers. On arriving at the hotel, we found it to be a spacious, well-lighted building, with lofty reception rooms, through which we wandered in quest of waiters to whom to give our orders for supper, but no servant could we find, neither could we get any response to the bells, which were vigorously rung by a hungry crowd. We made our way to the office, and were there informed that we could get nothing to eat till next morning, as the servants had “gone home,” and nothing was served after nine o’clock. It was in vain we declared we were starving; the only reply was that we could get what we liked to drink at the bar. A Yankee standing by, pitying our plight, said it was quite true we could get nothing that night, but told us how we could be the first to be served in the morning. He recommended us to order our breakfast at the office before leaving, and to pay for it there and then, and to be at the hotel again before seven o’clock next morning. This we did, and then returned to the vessel, where we also were too late to obtain anything to eat. In the morning we were early at the hotel (buying some delicious strawberries on the way), and proceeding to the breakfast room, were informed we could not obtain admission until seven o’clock. At the appointed hour the folding doors were opened by two natives of the “Flowery Land,” and we were soon seated at the tables, which were crowded with a bountiful supply of most tempting viands, and quantities of luscious fruit.

As soon as all the seats were occupied the Celestial waiter closed the door, and was most assiduous in seeing that his staff attended carefully to the wants of his guests. Presently there were loud knockings at the door, to which no attention whatever was vouchsafed by the smiling Chinee; and when the knockings were varied by angry exclamations from our friends outside, his face became blander still. It could not be said of this “Heathen Chinee” that his “tricks they were vain,” for they were only too effectual in keeping the hungry crowd at bay. When we had quite finished (and I fear we were in no haste to depart), the doors were opened to admit a further batch of impatient voyagers, and even then only one half of the expectant throng could be admitted, the remainder being advised to betake themselves to the restaurants in the town. We shall not soon forget our experiences at the Honolulu Hotel, the landlord of which is no less a personage than His Most Gracious Majesty the King of the Hawaiian Islands.

Reminiscences of Travel in Australia, America, and Egypt

REMINISCENCESOFTRAVELINAustralia, America, and Egypt.