S.S.  “Coptic”, at sea, latitude 45 degrees south, longitude 142 degrees east, 25th July, 1888.

“And this is my conclusion.” 
—­Much Ado About Nothing.

POSTSCRIPT.

MELBOURNE IN 1888.

“Here, fifty winters since, by Yarra’s stream,
A scattered hamlet found its modest place: 
What mind would venture then in wildest dream
Its wondrous growth and eminence to trace? 
What seer predict a stripling in the race
Would, swift as Atalanta, win the prize
Of progress, ’neath the world’s astonished eyes?”
—­J.  F. Daniell, “The Jubilee of Melbourne.”

“And, behold, one half of the greatness was not told me.” —­2 Chronicles 9:6.

My intended postscript on Melbourne as I found it in 1888 has been delayed until I have seen Sydney also, so that I have a few words of comparison on the two great capitals of the southern section of our empire.

Arrival at Hobart.

Allow me first to complete the outward passage.  I concluded my “Recollections” when still at sea, within about a day of our ship’s destination, Hobart.  The Tasmanian shores gave us a salutation not usually associated with Australia, that, namely, of the snow, thickly sprinkled over the southern slopes of the island.  I welcomed the scene, both as recalling that of Home, and as giving the promise of the highest of civilization, which, as Mr. Froude reminds us, belongs to the countries where the snow remains on the ground.  We shortened our course by a few miles in taking D’Entrecasteaux Channel, and were, as I understood, the first of the large vessels from the other hemisphere to do so.  We cast anchor off Hobart after nightfall, the many bright lights of the city gladdening our eyes, while the babble of English tongues from the boats around us reminded us once more that, after so many thousands of additional miles since at Cape Town, we were still within the British Empire.

Westella hotel.

My first salutation came from an exact namesake of mine, Mr. William Westgarth, whom I had known at Melbourne thirty-five years ago, and who, after varying fortunes, had for the last dozen years been conducting a superior class of boarding house or family hotel.  It was called Westella, and was situated in Elizabeth-street, the chief thoroughfare of Hobart.  The house I recollected as that of Mr. Henry Hopkins, a very early merchant of the city, whom I had met more than once between forty and fifty years ago.  It was the undisputed palace of the city of its day; nor was it disposed, even now, to bend its head to any second position.  As my friend conducted our party over the pretty scene of garden and cliff behind the house, we found it all wrapped in frost, except where the bright morning sun had struck, and we broke the ice, quite quarter of an inch thick, on a fishpond of the grounds.  Thus Tasmanian ascendancy in the civilized world is secured.