Town Life in Australia | Page 2

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. In a few years Collins and
Bourke Streets will be very like Westbourne Grove. The less
frequented streets in the city are like those of London suburbs. There
are a few lanes which it is wiser not to go down after ten o'clock at
night. These are known as the back slums. But nowhere is there any
sign of poverty or anything at all resembling Stepney or the lower parts
of an European city, The Chinese quarter is the nearest approach
thereto, but it is quite sui generis, and squalor is altogether absent.
The town is well lighted with gas, and the water-supply, from
reservoirs on the Yarra a few miles above, is plentiful, but not good for
drinking. There Is no underground drainage system. All the sewage is
carried away in huge open gutters, which run all through the town, and
are at their worst and widest in the most central part, where all the
principal shops and business places are situated. These gutters are
crossed by little wooden bridges every fifty yards. When it rains, they
rise to the proportion of small torrents, and have on several occasions
proved fatal to drunken men. In one heavy storm, indeed, a sober strong
man was carried off his legs by the force of the stream, and
ignominiously drowned in a gutter. You may imagine how unpleasant
these little rivers are to carriage folk. In compensation they are as yet
untroubled with tramways, although another couple of years will
probably see rails laid all over the city.
It is a law in every Australian town that no visitor shall be allowed to
rest until he has seen all its sights, done all its lions, and, above all,
expressed his surprise and admiration at them. With regard to their
public institutions, the colonists are like children with a new
toy--delighted with it themselves, and not contented until everybody
they meet has declared it to be delightful. There are some people who

vote all sightseeing a bore, but if they come to