maintain the line in due efficiency, because, unfortunately, it has neither capital nor credit to do so.  Nor can the amount needed for that purpose be permitted to be taken out of earnings, because that only increases the guaranteed interest properly payable on the bonded debt of the line by the Government.  Nor can the Government keep back any of this latter amount, because the “innocent and helpless bond-holders,” or the company as their advocate, are at once down upon them for such atrocity.  Nor, lastly, can the colony buy up the line and thus be extricated from the mess, because the company utterly scouts the idea of a sale at mere valuation.

The river Tamar.

Next day we were steaming down the Tamar, famous for its beauty as a narrow inlet of the sea from Launceston downwards, rather than properly a river.  A small boat took us the first twelve miles, and we were then transferred to the larger vessel in which we were to cross the Straits.  In the former we were rather crowded, for some twenty-five youths of Geelong were returning from a football contest with some Tasmanian young folks.  They kept us lively with songs and recitations, in which the praises of Geelong were dutifully mingled.  I was delighted to see the small Geelong of my early memory turning out in such strength; and recalling in a parental way this said small past of the place, I might have maundered in the “bless you, my children,” sort of vein, had I not been kept in check by the frolicsome humour of the boys.

Port Phillip harbour.

Two disappointments awaited me on entering the Heads of Port Phillip:  first, it was early morn, just before daybreak, and next, when the day did develop upon us half-way up the Bay, it was in such mist and rain as all but deprived us of any view.  But the mist and cloud lifted somewhat as we approached Hobson’s Bay, and thence I was rushed into the multitudinous shipping of Williamstown and Port Melbourne, the great harbour works going on all around, the New Cut, the crowded wharves, and all the other marvels of modern Melbourne.

Melbourne.

Here apartments had been provided for us at Scott’s Hotel, as Menzies’, in its near neighbourhood, the more usual place for families, was quite full with Exhibition visitors.  But although our hotel had the noise of ceaseless business below, we on the floor above were so quiet, with the best of attendance and cooking, and with every other comfort, that we are, by choice, to return to it after visiting the other colonies.  Here, then, we opened our campaign amongst old scenes and old friends, separated for more than a generation.  I had to ascertain who were dead and who still alive.  A glance over the city soon revealed to me that one old friend—­the oldest, I might say, upon the ground—­had entirely passed away, and that was the old Melbourne itself which I had left behind me more than thirty-one years before.  But happily the old street names remained, and thus I began to feel again at home.