the heart of the town, in what is known as Farm Cove, Lord Brassey's famous yacht, the "Sunbeam," rode quietly at anchor, whose keel has cut the waters of all the notable harbors of the world, and whose significant name the late lamented Lady Brassey has rendered a household word by her delightful pen. The snow-white hull and graceful rig of the yacht was not unfamiliar to the author, who saw it six years ago at Port Said, and who then met its late mistress at Cairo, in Egypt. Excursion steamers, ferry-boats, men-of-war launches, racing-cutters, and a hundred small sailing-craft added life and interest to this impressive picture of Sydney harbor, as seen from the higher streets of the town.
The much-lauded bay is indeed charming, as the most indifferent spectator must admit; yet it did not strike us as so much more beautiful than others that we have visited in various countries. It is better, however, not to challenge the ire of all Sydney by speaking irreverently of the harbor, since the faithful worship of its alleged incomparable beauty is with the citizens a species of religion. It has the advantage of being but slightly affected by the tides, and in consequence has no shoals to spoil the view with their muddy aspect at various times each day, or to emit noxious fumes under the rays of a burning sun. Eight or nine fathoms of water in nearly any part of the bay make it accessible to ships of heaviest draught. It is seven miles from the entrance at the Heads up to the city proper. This capacious basin, with its countless nooks and windings, has a shore line of two hundred and fifty miles, the whole of which is so well protected and land-locked that in all weather it is as glassy and smooth as the Lake of Geneva.
The main thoroughfares of Sydney are not kept in a very cleanly condition, – a statement which even the residents must indorse; but the streets are full of the busy life which appertains to a great metropolis. Cabs and private vehicles dash hither and thither; heavily-laden drays grind their broad wheels over the rough pavements; pedestrians crowd the sidewalks; messenger boys, mounted upon wiry little horses, gallop on their several errands, some of them dressed in scarlet coats, signifying that they are in Government service; newspaper hawkers, boot-blacks, bearers of advertising placards, itinerant fruit-venders, Chinamen with vegetables in baskets slung on a pole across their shoulders, pass and repass one in rapid succession; omnibuses rattle furiously over the pavements, while the "going, going, gone," of the open sham auction-rooms rings upon the ear. Now and then one meets a beggar, blind or decrepit; but such are not numerous, and generally palliate their vocation as well as evade the law by offering some trifling articles for sale, such as pencils, shoestrings, or matches. In European cities, where professional beggary is so often resorted to as a regular occupation, one hardens his heart and passes these people heedlessly by; but here in Sydney he drops a trifle in the hat. Every street-corner has its bar-room, about whose doors are congregated a disreputable crowd of bloated faces and bleared eyes, among whom are seen only too many of the youth of the town, beginners in vicious habits, besides numerous idle but able-bodied representatives of the laboring classes. No part of London even is more numerously supplied with gin palaces and low tap-rooms than Sydney. The sad sight of intoxicated women staggering along the public way shocked the sensibilities, though this unfortunate exhibition was far less common than we have seen it in Liverpool and Glasgow. The demi-monde are fully represented upon the streets, – one of the sad but inevitable concomitants of a great city. Let us add, in all fairness, that this objectionable feature is certainly no more conspicuous here than in Chicago or New York, – a fact which is mentioned not to draw a comparison, but in order faithfully to depict the every-day aspect of a colonial capital.
Turning from these multiform scenes of human life, often ludicrous, but oftener painfully sad, we sought the Botanical Gardens; and after that at Calcutta, and the superb gardens of Kandy in Ceylon, this of Sydney is the next finest we remember to have seen. In round numbers these gardens embrace fifty acres of land, laid out in terraces and irregular elevations, so that many of the broad paths overlook portions of the city and harbor. The grounds extend on a gentle incline to the shores of the beautiful bay, forming a semicircle round what is known as Farm Cove, a picturesque indentation of the harbor. The several main paths are liberally ornamented with statuary representing Flora, Ceres, Commerce, Science, etc. One special charm of these delightful grounds is the fact that they are accessible by a walk of about five minutes from the centre of the city. It is not necessary to organize an excursion in order to reach them, as is the case with many similar resorts elsewhere, such as Sydenham in London, Central Park in New York, or the Bois de Boulogne, Paris. Here semi-arctic and semi-tropical plants and trees were found growing together, and all parts of the globe seemed to be liberally represented. The hardy Scotch fir and the delicate palm of the tropics jostle each other; the india-rubber tree and the laurel are close friends; the California pine and the Florida orange thrive side by side; so with the silver fern-tree of New Zealand and the guava of Cuba. China, Japan, India, Africa, Egypt, and South America, all have furnished representative trees and shrubs for these comprehensive gardens, and here they have become acclimatized. A thrifty cluster of the Indian bamboo, that king of the grasses, was seen here forty feet high, close by a specimen of the native Australian musk-tree, which attains a height of nearly twenty feet and exhales from leaf and bark a peculiarly sweet odor, though not at all like what its name would seem to indicate; it has broad, laurel-like leaves and bears a pale yellow blossom. There was pointed out to us a sheoak-tree, which it is said emits a curious wailing sound during the quietest state of the atmosphere, when there is not a breath of wind to move the branches or the leaves. This tree is almost universally found growing near the sea, and is said to have borrowed the murmur of the conch-shell. No reasonable cause is assigned for its mournful song, which has proved to be the inspiring theme of many a local poet.
Near the very centre of the gardens three Norfolk Island pines attracted particular attention because of their remarkable development. The head gardener told us that they were planted here about 1820, and they are certainly the noblest examples of their kind we have seen. The oldest one, perfect in form and foliage, is ninety-five feet high, and three feet from the ground measures fourteen feet nine inches in circumference; the other two are even taller, but measure one foot less in circumference. The density of foliage, uniformity of shape, and general perfection of these beautiful pines exceed anything of the kind to be found elsewhere.
In walking to the Garden by the way of Bridge Street, there was observed, just opposite the buildings containing the Educational Bureau, a dual tree of great size and beauty. The effect was that of one immense tree, but there were really two trunks which furnished this mountain of foliage. They were Moreton Bay Fig-trees, and were full of green fruit. This tree, the fruit of which we believe is useless, has a singular habit which recalls that of the banyan-tree; namely, that of forming many aerial roots which hang downward from the branches, though they do not grow long enough to reach the earth and produce new stock like the banyan, – which is known, by the way, as the Indian fig-tree.
Within the Botanical Gardens the flowers were as attractive and in as great variety as the trees. Fuchsias, roses, camellias in great variety, pansies of the double species, a whole army of brilliant tulips, and many other plants were in gorgeous bloom, though this was in July, which, it must be remembered, is winter in Sydney. The collection of camellias was remarkable both for the size to which they grew and for the abundance of the blossoms. Over three hundred were counted on one tree, as white as untrodden snow, all being of perfect form and freshness; there were others double, single, striped, and scarlet, all thrifty and lovely, but none of them quite equal to the myriad-decked one in white. The azaleas, double scarlet geraniums, violets, heliotropes, and daphnes were dazzling in color and confusing in their abundance. Nestling among the mounds of rock-work were succulent plants, orchids, cacti, ferns, and other pleasing forms of delicate vegetation. Flowers bloom in every month of the year in this region, out of doors, and are rarely troubled by frost.
As we came out of the Public Garden after this first visit, the last rays of the setting sun threw tremulous shadows over the foliage and the pale faces of the marble statues. The softening colors of the western sky were reflected clearly in the unruffled arm of the bay close at hand, tinging its waters with purple and golden hues. It was a scene and moment to put one at peace with all the world. The atmosphere was intoxicatingly fragrant just at this bedtime hour of the flowers, filling one here, within pistol-shot of the crowded, boisterous life of the town, with sensuous delight.
Sydney has two or three moderate-sized but very attractive arcades, – one especially worthy of note leading