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 crookedness of the Sydney streets, on account of their homely appearance.  They are undeniably old friends, such as you can meet in hundreds of towns in Europe.  Their very unsuitableness for the practical wants of a large city becomes a pleasant contrast to the practical handsomeness of Melbourne and Adelaide.  The size and handsomeness of individual buildings is lost in the Sydney streets.  You look at the street from one end, and put it down in your mind as no better than a lane; you walk down it without noticing the merits of the buildings it contains; whereas in Melbourne both the general effect and each individual building are shown off to the greatest advantage; but there is a certain picturesqueness and old-fashionedness about Sydney, which brings back pleasant memories of Old England, after the monotonous perfection of Melbourne and Adelaide.