If you are a man of leisure you will find more society in Melbourne, more balls and parties, a larger measure of intellectual life—­i.e., more books and men of education and intellect, more and better theatrical and musical performances, more racing and cricket, football, and athletic clubs, a larger leisured class than in Sydney.  The bushman who comes to town to ‘knock down his cheque,’ the squatter who wants a little amusement, both prefer Melbourne to spend their money in.  The Melbourne races attract three or four times the number of visitors that the Sydney races do; all public amusements are far better attended in Melbourne; the people dress better, talk better, think better, are better, if we accept Herbert Spencer’s definition of Progress.  There is far more ‘go’ and far more ‘life,’ in every sense of these rather comprehensive words, to be found in Melbourne, and it is there that the visitor must come who wishes to see the fullest development of Australasian civilisation, whether in commerce or education, in wealth or intellect, in manners and customs—­in short, in every department of life.

If you ask how this anomaly is to be explained, I can only answer that the shutting out of Sydney from the country behind it by a barrier of mountains hindered its early development; whilst the gold-diggings transformed Melbourne from a village into a city almost by magic; that the first population of Sydney was of the wrong sort, whilst that which flooded Melbourne from 1851 to 1861 was eminently adventurous and enterprising; that Melbourne having achieved the premier position, Sydney has, with all its later advantages, found the truth of the proverbs:  ’A stern chase is a long chase,’ and ‘To him that hath shall be given.’

Passengers by ocean-going vessels to Melbourne land either at Sandridge or Williamstown, small shipping towns situated on either side of the river Yarra, which is only navigable by the smaller craft.  A quarter of an hour in the train brings the visitor into the heart of the city.  On getting out he can hardly fail to be impressed by the size of the buildings around him, and by the width of the streets, which are laid out in rectangular blocks, the footpaths being all well paved or asphalted.  In spite of the abundance of large and fine-looking buildings, there is a rather higgledy-piggledy look about the town—­the city you will by this time own it to be.  There are no building laws, and every man has built as seemed best in his own eyes.  The town is constantly outgrowing the majority of its buildings, and although the wise plan of allowing for the rapid growth of a young community, and building for the requirements of the future rather than of the present, is generally observed, there are still gaps in the line of the streets towards the outskirts, and houses remaining which were built by unbelievers in the future before the city.  In the main thoroughfares you might fancy yourself in an improved Edgeware Road.