AN AUSTRALIAN PILGRIMAGE. (Continued.) By LEE L'ACTON. CHAPTER VIII. INTO THE WORLD OF QUIET.

Waikato Times, Volume XXII, Issue 1872, 5 July 1884, Page 2 (Supplement)

AN AUSTRALIAN PILGRIMAGE. (Continued.) By LEE L'ACTON. CHAPTER VIII. INTO THE WORLD OF QUIET.

Sydney ia a world of beauty, which I would like to describe had it not been done to death already, and were it not beyond my scheme. Weeks could be spent in trips up and down that wonderful labyrinthine harbor, with ita turnings and windings, and surprises. Only thi3 must be remarked, the harbor is the only thing of beauty about the Queen City of the South. On land the disenchantment is complete. Stay, there is ancient Parramatta, where the scenery is very pretty, and where one can see fine old gardens and fine old trees, and for that matter some estates which are in the same state as when Captain Cook landed at Botany, dense ironbark forest, forbidding and ogrelike. As a relief to these there are orangeries. After all an orangery is a disappointment. A good apple orchard with the crimson and golden fruit shining in the sun, the dark green leaves acting as a background, is a sight no orangery can rival. Oranges are supposed to be the Hesperidean apples which were guarded by a dragon, but I must think the poets, as usual, make a little too much of them. The orangeries I saw look just like a plantation of bright green dumpy shrubs, through whose foliage peep the golden fruit that has made Sydney famous. But the insignificent size of the trees or shrubs detract greatly from the effect. And there are some other drawbacks in visiting this old old town of Parramatta. The steamer ploughed its way up the river through mud, and when we got to the landing place we had either to trudge through the dust or else to mount an antediluvian omnibus, which, being topheavy, has repeatedly fallen over. We did the trudging and stopped, covered with dust, at a garden, and -partook of fruit, whioh completely revived the party. And. here, departing from the style of these articles, let me say a. word on the humor* of the licensing law in New South Wales. By law, hotels have to be closed at eleven at night, and altogether on Sunday, except to bona-fide travellers, who must have come four miles. Of course to people who are well-known to the publicans this law is no hardship ; they can get in anywhere. The general public are driven to their wits end, and what would become ol them no 090 knows, especially what strangers would do, did not certain facilities i "exist whioh make the l*w * farce. Oh Son-

day all the thirsty souls, baking after a Saturday night carouse, take the boat to Watson's Bay, or elsewhere, four miles off, ( .and there they find open houses. Watson's ) Bay is the favorite Sunday morning haunt, ] and the result is that before noon a large pro- j portion of the larrikin element, mala and fe- , male, are intoxicated. In the afternoon the ( scenes are often very bad indeed. Sumptuary laws do not appear a great success anywhere. But I could not long delay in the city ; I must be on my way out of the hurly-burly, of which I was sick and tired, to seek that quiet for which for years I have panted as the heart panteth for the brooks. Sydney has nothing novel for one who has seen and been- all that ordinary man is likely to see and to be. How of ten have I felt when in the busy world, in the toil and moil of business, in the halls of commerce and of gaiety what the Psalmist so beautifully describes when he wishes to have the wings of a dove wherewith to fly away and be at rest. At rest I Ah, how many a weary soul has wished and prayed and hungered for rest, the rest that never oomeg until we are laid under the cold soda— if then ! If then 1 For thoy tell us that then for some of us the trouble only begins. If so, if this world is a shield from the horrors of what is to come, oh 1 how awful is the fate of humanity, God help us, God pity us, if there be a worse world in store for some of us than this. The panorama of Sydney as we came in when the sun was setting was very beautiful, ' cold greys and blues, and greens, lit up by the orange rays of the dying luminary. Equally beautiful, but more weird and strange, partaking of diablerie, was our passage down the bay at night. Travellers in England will remember the hideous spectacle of the Blaok Country, where, as the train rushes through the darkness, the flash and rush -and roar of a hundred furnaces make one gomprehend what hell must be like. Of a different character is the trip down Sydney Harbor on a moonless night, though equally bizarre in its way. We left Darling Harbor at eleven o'clock bound for the city of black diamonds, Newcastle. As the steamer pulled into the stream the spectacle was very beautiful. Turn what way we would there were rows and clusters and stars of light, reflected tremblingly by the dark water, while a thousand sounds, mostly softened by the distanoe, filled the air — the clank of ohains, the buzz of multitudes, the music of street instruments, mellowed and made pleasant, the rattling of vehicles and trains, skrieks, puffs, whistles I Altogether a Babel on a small scale, but not, on the whole, unpleasing. As we moved down the harbor there was an ever-shifting panorama of light and darkness. The lights of the city and suburbs quivered on one side ; on the other arose the dark promontories like statuesque figures, with here and there perhaps a twinkle like the eye o£ a Cyclopes. On, on ; lights fade, sounds become indistinct, the breeze becomes colder, the lights go out^ as if suddenly quenched, the sounds die in the sullen wash of the sea, the steamer passes between looming headlands, and we are on the great ocean, whose cool breath revives and invigorates. About five o'clock we sight the hobbie3 and turn into the mouth of the Hunter, which make 3 but a poor harbor for the great coal city. No one expected Newcastle to be pretty, and it is needless to say no one was disappointed. Grimy and deserted, it did not look inviting to the few white-faced, sleepy looking passengers who were on deck when the steamer reached the wharf. There had been no time to form acquaintances on that steamer. As I was stumbling about looking for my luggage, I was astounded to see a face appear at the gangway I knew well. It was that of joyous young Boggabri. Explanations ensued, from whioh it appeared that he had escaped from his comrades in Sydney, having become " stumped," and was now on hi 3 way to his station on the back blocks, some 400 miles from Newcastle, where he would thoroughly recover from his long pursuit of pleasure. We were heartily glad to meet, for there ig nothing so lonesome as being among a lot of people, not one @f which you know. We soon got off the steamer, and were able to get a sort of breakfast. Newcastle is the place whence oysters come ; but, as usual in such places, the great commodity of the town is to be found better elsewhere. Oysters in Newcastle at six in the morning were a failure. Of that long day's journey, I need say little. Eailway journeys are much the same all over the world, and when one spends the time in dozing and waking up, when the train stops there is little to interest. Nothing is more unpicturesqne than railway travelling in Australia. Our journey that long, long day might be divided into four portions. In the early morning we steamed through the Black Country of Australia, the region of coal, with its black shafts and weird mine apparatus, dreary, desolate. Then we passed througn the rich agricultural plains of the Hunter, fringed with sylvan timber and dotted with pretty towns and villages. Later we emerged into the great pastoral plains, rich with green grass and backed by undulating hill — truly as pretty a piece of scenery as I have passed through in the colonies. When these ended Boggabri and I parted with great regret, he to speed over the illimitable and dreary plains of the great West towards his station, I to climb the great mountains of the plateau. "If you're in Paris three years from this you'll see me," were the bright youngster's last words. And so I sank back in the carriage alone, and as the rays of the sun began to glow with evening color the train began the ascent, with many a groan and grumble, and wheeze, and whistle, threading its way up the devious windings of mountain watercourses among the giant mountains which guarded the tableland. It was not long before darkness fell, and closing the curtains I sank to sleep, not to wake till the hubbub of the terminus told me the long journey was at a close. (To be continued.)