s difference, however--the impression
of Niagara is instantaneous; it stamps itself upon you in a moment, and
though further observation may make the details more clear, it cannot add
to the depth of the impressions. But Sydney Harbour grows upon you. At
the first glance I think you will be a little disappointed. It is only as
you drink in each fresh beauty that its wonderful loveliness takes
possession of you. The more you explore its creeks and coves--forming
altogether 260 miles of shore--the more familiar you become with each
particular headland or reach, the greater your enchantment. You fall in
love with it, so to speak, and often I look up at the water-colour sketch
of Double Bay which hangs over my dining-room mantelpiece, and hope the
hope which partakes of expectation, that before long I shall see Sydney
Harbour again.

And it is as admirable from a practical as from an artistic point of
view. The _Austral_ and the _Orient_ can be moored alongside natural
wharves in the very heart of the city. There are coves sufficient to hold
the combined fleets of the world, mercantile and naval. The outer harbour
is the paradise of yachtsmen; the inner, of oarsmen. The gardens of
suburban villas run down to the water's edge along the headlands and
points, and there are thousands of unoccupied building sites from which
you can enjoy a view fit for the gods.

One feels quite angry with the town for being so unworthy of its site.
Certainly, one of the greatest charms of the harbour must have been
wanting when it was uninhabited, and the view of the city and suburbs as
you come up into port is as charming and picturesque, as that of
Melbourne from Port Philip is commonplace and repellent. But when you get
near the wharf the charm vanishes. Never was there a more complete case
of distance lending enchantment to the view. Not but that there are
plenty of fine buildings, public and private; but the town is still much
farther back in its chrysalis stage than Melbourne. Time alone can, and
is rapidly making away with the old tumble-down buildings which spoil the
appearance of their neighbours. But time cannot easily widen the streets
of Sydney, nor rectify their crookedness. They were originally dug out by
cart-ruts, whereas those of nearly every other town in Australia were
mapped out long before they were inhabited. But if they were not so
ill-kept, and the footpaths so wretchedly paved, I could forgive the
narrowness and crooke