When driving to the hotel we were struck with the deserted appearance of the streets, as very few persons were seen during our three miles’ ride from Sandridge. It did not occur to us that this arose from the earliness of the hour, our day having commenced about three A.M., when we began to make preparations for landing; but, as will be seen, the fact became of startling significance to us. While waiting for breakfast I took up the newspaper, and had not proceeded far before I came to an article headed “The Black Death in Melbourne.” This article gave a detailed and circumstantial account of the progress of the disease, which was stated to have been raging for the past four or five weeks. Among other things, the article stated that the number of deaths had become so great that it was impossible to dig separate graves; that the bodies were placed in trenches, one being dug each day; that all who could leave the city had fled; and that the mob had surrounded the Town Hall, demanding to see the Mayor and Corporation, who, however, had already disappeared. Getting alarmed, we rang for the waiter, and asked him how we could get to Adelaide. He naturally enough seemed surprised, as we had only just arrived. I told him it was too bad he had not warned us of the state of the city, and of the existence of the plague. The man looked astonished. I asked him if there had not been great illness and mortality in the city. He answered that there had been a few cases of measles, and a whooping-cough or two, and that six people had died during the last week from these causes. I began to suspect we had been “sold,” and was about to pass the paper to him when I caught sight of an asterisk placed against the heading, and on looking at the foot of the column saw that the article was written as a prediction of what would happen in Melbourne within 100 years unless sanitary matters were at once attended to.

Melbourne is a city of fine broad streets, handsome public buildings, splendid shops, and vast warehouses. Indeed, a stranger cannot fail to be struck with its metropolitan-like character. Only forty years ago the site on which it stands was a mere swamp with a few log huts; now its population is about the third of a million souls. For this population a series of educational institutions of an unusually high character have been founded, and are in active operation. The Free Library, which we visited, is a handsome room, and seems in every way well adapted to the requirements of a large number of students and readers. We were impressed with the quietude which prevailed, notwithstanding that the room was well filled with readers, most of them apparently of the artisan class. The Art Gallery is a free institution, and contains a very fair collection of good paintings.

The Natural History Museum, which by the way is really a museum of general science, is a truly magnificent institution. Very fine collections are here classified in a manner which, while perfectly lucid to the student, is also in strict accordance with the views of modern scientific authorities. We noticed particularly a good collection of sedimentary fossils, well preserved and fairly comprehensive. A fine meteorolite weighing 30 cwts., a portion of one weighing four tons which fell in Victoria a few years ago, is a prominent object near the entrance. This museum, in common with the Art Gallery and Free Library, is the resort of vast numbers of students, and it is cheering to be informed that the working classes largely avail themselves of the advantages thus provided for them.

As in the other Australian colonies, education here has been taken up in a vigorous and thorough manner, and the State schools are a credit to the colony. Although the population of Victoria is under one million, we observed in Melbourne a school bearing the inscription No. 1465. But with all this liberality and foresight, a strange blot exists in the educational course, for the study of history is, in deference to the prejudices of a portion of the population, absolutely interdicted. It is impossible, however, that this absurd concession to ignorance can long be endured. In leaving Aden on one occasion I began to have doubts as to whether geography was also excluded, for a young man, son of a well-to-do squatter, hearing me speak of Suez, asked which end of the canal that town stood at; and another youth, in passing the island of Candia, said he always thought Canada was somewhere in America.

Happily, no fears exist in Australia as to the policy of thoroughly educating the people; on the contrary, it is commonly recognised that the future prosperity of the State—indeed its very existence—depends upon the universal diffusion of education.

At the time of our visit party feeling ran very high in connection with the doings of the “Berry” Ministry, and as extraordinary personalities were nightly being indulged in by both sides in the House, we went one evening to hear a “debate.” The regular business seemed to be conducted as well as it is at Westminster, but it was curious to see the careless way in which the members, in brown holland or yellow silk coats, lay about on the sofas, or lazily lounged off to the table for frequent draughts of what was said to be iced water. The shouts, cries, and interruptions were very unseemly, much worse than anything we had then experienced, giving us a very low opinion of the representatives of the people. One honourable member, in the course of debate, hurled a heavy tome across the house at the head of one of his opponents with crushing effect, while another member characterised the smile of the Minister of Lands as being such as to “sour all the milk in the colony, and to take the varnish off all the mahogany in the house.” This compliment the Minister lightly parried by remarking that anything coming from the son of a cabbage hawker could not affect him.

The Melbourne legislators evidently do not believe in having “all work and no play,” they have consequently provided themselves—of course out of the public purse—with billiard tables, and, with a spirit of rare generosity and thoughtfulness, have made the parliamentary reporters for the Press free of the rooms.

With such provision for their comfort, and with handsome salaries paid them for their services by a grateful country, what wonder that there should be considerable competition for seats within the walls of the Victorian House of Parliament? and with what feelings of commiseration must they regard their brethren of New South Wales, who, when one of their number recently proposed to imitate the example of Melbourne in the matter of billiard tables, were reminded, in unmistakable terms by their exacting constituents, that they were sent to Parliament to work and not to play! And what makes the matter harder for the Sydney legislators is the fact that, unlike their Melbourne friends, they are not paid for their services.

The question of the payment of Members of Parliament has acquired considerable interest in England of late, mainly in consequence of Mr. Chamberlain’s declaration in its favour; and it appears not unlikely that at no distant date it may be carried into effect. There are two modes by which the object in view may be attained;—either by a general charge upon the Imperial Revenue, or by each constituency paying its own representative; in either case the amount of salary would be determined by Parliament; and, if the latter course be adopted, its payment would be made obligatory. In Victoria the salaries are paid direct from the Treasury, and those who have seen how the system works are the least enthusiastic in its favour.

Time was, when to be a Member of Parliament was looked upon as a certain way to repair a broken fortune, or to make a new one; but since the days when George III., of pious memory, taught his Ministers how to corrupt the Parliament, a seat in that assembly has not been considered to be pecuniarily advantageous. But in some of the Australian colonies the case is different, politics being looked upon, to a great extent, as a trade or profession, and very largely because of the salary attached to the position of Members of the Legislature.

One of my customers in Victoria, who had long owed me £50, told me he would soon be able to discharge his debt as he had been nominated for Parliament, and would pay me out of his first quarter’s salary! It is only fair to say that, although he failed to secure the seat, he nevertheless paid his debt.

The Houses of Parliament stand on a slight elevation, and though still unfinished, promise to be a magnificent pile of buildings, of which many an old-established country, with far greater pretensions than Victoria, might well be proud. The Great Hall, a sort of ante-chamber to the Houses, impressed me as much as any building of the kind I had ever seen. It is about 180ft. long, by 60ft. wide, and 60ft. high, without galleries, seats, or anything to detract from its magnificent proportions. The whole surface of the walls and roof is covered with a beautiful enamel-like cement, brilliantly white and polished quite smooth, the floor being of white marble, and a superb white marble statue of the Queen in the centre. The whole effect is startlingly beautiful. I subsequently went over the Town Hall and Council Chamber, but these are much inferior to corresponding buildings in Birmingham. The councillors wear cocked hats and gold-braided coats, and the aldermen black stuff gowns or robes.

I have already spoken of the tension in party politics at the time of our visit. This was seized upon by the theatrical people, who produced an adaptation of the burlesque known in England as “Happy Land,” the principal characters being Mr. Berry—the Premier, the man with the caustic smile, and another prominent member of the Administration. On the morning of the day on which the first representation was to have been given, a Cabinet Council was hastily summoned, and the question gravely debated as to whether the safety of the State, or at any rate the Cabinet, would not be compromised by tolerating the performance. It was quickly and unanimously decided to prohibit it, and this decision was announced. Such a universal storm of ridicule was thus aroused that the infatuated Berryites were driven to reconsider their course, ultimately licensing an emasculated version of the play, with all the political references erased. The newspapers, ever alive to the chance of turning a penny, and showing up an opponent, published the original in extenso, and when the performance began large numbers of the audience had copies before them. When an excised passage was reached, the actor or actress would pause, and, holding up the hand, whisper audibly, “Hush! prohibited,” giving time for those with copies to read the obnoxious reference. For days after people in the street would, on meeting, put up the finger, and greet each other with “Hush! prohibited.” The Government were overwhelmed with ridicule, and were glad to compromise with the persons they had so injudiciously provoked.

During the summer Melbourne is occasionally visited by what are called “hot winds.” They blow from the north, and derive much of their arid character from coming over the great wastes of the interior. We were unlucky enough to experience one of these hot winds, and we subsequently learned that the shade temperature had reached 117°—as high a point, I believe, as any that had previously been recorded in the city. It is no exaggeration to say that while exposed to the wind it felt like the hot blast from the cupola of a foundry when iron is being melted. The clothes were little or no protection against its scorching influence. The air was filled with choking clouds of dust, which penetrated everything and everywhere. In the evening, however, the wind fell off, leaving the temperature very high.

The sanitary arrangements in Melbourne are extremely defective, and to my mind fully justify the writer of the article on the “Black Death,” which so much startled us on our arrival there. There is literally no system of sewerage, the whole drainage of the town running by the side of the pathways in wide ill-paved channels, crossed by wooden foot bridges. The whole runs into the river Yarra. In heavy rains these channels become surcharged, and the lower-lying streets are flooded with diluted sewage. On such an occasion I was crossing one of these gutters, when a street-sweeper approached, holding his cap in one hand and his broom in the other, and asked me to remember “an old shipmate, your honour.” I soon recognised him as our old friend “Tall and Fat”. I could not help looking surprised, whereat he assured me he had found a most excellent berth as a street-sweeper—that none but gentlemen were engaged in the “profession,” all being Oxford or Cambridge men—the wages being 7s. per day. I asked after his friend “Short and Stout.” He said he held a similar appointment at an adjoining corner, and he promised to share my gratuity with him.

The country between Melbourne and Ballarat is flat and somewhat uninteresting, but near the latter city it becomes more hilly and diversified. Ballarat is a well-built city, containing about 40,000 inhabitants. A few years ago there were 10,000 more, but in consequence of the alluvial gold becoming exhausted a considerable exodus took place. The streets are wide, and have trees on each side; in some there are trees in the middle as well. The houses are substantially built of stone or brick, and altogether it has the air of being a busy and prosperous place.

We visited one of the gold mines, and as we approached the office saw three persons coming towards it, one of them carrying a parcel, which appeared to be heavy. It proved to be a brick of gold weighing 33 lbs., and worth about £1,200, being the result of one week’s working. We were shown the various processes of obtaining the gold from the quartz, and were rather surprised at the somewhat primitive character of the machinery employed.

Gold Mine, Ballarat

Several of the companies with big-sounding names occupy spaces of only 60ft. by 50ft., and yet yield substantial returns. One such little patch is part of the Church land, and is called “Hallelujah Claim,” in honour of the Church. The total value of gold raised in Australia up to end of 1879 was 275 millions sterling.

One of the prettiest features of this handsome city is a fine sheet of water called Lake Wendouree. This lake is about a mile across, and lies in the crater of an extinct volcano. The Botanical Gardens are on the farther side of Wendouree, which has a fine boulevard round each side leading thereto. On the lake are several pretty little steamers, which make frequent excursions. In the evening they are provided with coloured lamps, and music and dances may be enjoyed by the passengers. Ballarat is less than thirty years old, yet has quite an old-world appearance. It is a charming city and well worth a visit, and we were well pleased to have seen it.

A favourite excursion from Melbourne is to the Black Spur Mountains, about two days’ drive from the city. Leaving Melbourne the route passes through some miles of suburban villa residences with beautiful gardens. After about ten miles “the bush” is reached, and continues for the remainder of the journey, relieved here and there by a clearing or by a little village. The term “bush” must not be understood as scrub, furze, etc., but all kinds of uncultivated land, thick forests, and open country. A curious feature of colonial life is to see in full operation the old stage coaches, so long ago discarded in England. They are painted a brilliant red, and indeed appear to be the veritable machines used in the “good old days when George the Third was king.” They are frequently drawn by six or more horses, and, true to their ancient traditions, now and then have a spill, for roadmakers in the Colonies have the same habit as their English brethren of making short “right about turns” at the bottom of steep hills. We drew up at a small wayside inn, intending to bait the horses, but found it was closed, owing to the death of the landlord. This man was a large wine grower, and his vineyards extended for a considerable distance round his house. After passing through many miles of country under vine cultivation we pulled up for the night at a little village called Healesville, where a very miscellaneous company sat down to a substantial repast, ending with what the waiter called a “soafler.” The light being dim it was difficult to see what the dish really was, and curiosity being awakened, inquiry elicited the fact that it was intended for a soufflÉ. The hotel being quite full of visitors, two of our party had to sleep in the parlour on sofas of the horse-hair order. The landlord, coming in to see if we were all right, informed us we could not have our boots cleaned in the morning, as his man was just then out on a boose. A colonial friend travelling with us remarked that it was “awkward when master or man took to boosing.” Our friend had previously told us that the landlord was generally “on that line.” “You never saw me boosy!” said he. “Never!” retorted our friend, with peculiar emphasis, which summarily stopped the discussion. We were awakened early in the morning by the screams of laughing jackasses and the crowing of cocks. Our toilette was performed somewhat under difficulties, one of us having to use the piano as a washstand, and another being constrained to go through the same operation in the open street under the hotel verandah. Our route now lay over a steep hill, through a forest of gum trees, the fragrance arising from the latter in the early morning air being delightfully refreshing. The main roads are kept very fairly, a certain number of men being told off for each section at 9s. per day wages. The old corduroy roads, formed by laying trees across the track and filling the interstices with earth, are being gradually superseded by Macadam. The men seemed to work in very leisurely fashion. We were to have breakfasted at a cottage on the road, but when we arrived there found that the old lady who kept it had gone to a ball at some village public-house, several miles away, as also had the owners of all the other cottages along the route. A little girl left in charge told us that after the ball all these good people were going to the funeral of the wine grower and innkeeper previously mentioned, and our friend told us they would doubtless stay there to comfort the widow as long as there was any wine left in the house. We soon after entered the region of the big gum trees and of the tree ferns, and a wonderfully beautiful sight it was.

A Big Tree

The whole valley is filled with tree ferns, and the fronds, in many cases being new, with the sunlight falling upon them, formed a picture not soon to be forgotten. Some of the gum trees were enormously large—we saw several 15ft. in diameter and over 200ft. in height—but these were small when compared with some found in the less frequented parts. In the midst of such surroundings lies the pretty little village of Fernshaw. When we were first invited to spend a week at the country house of our friend we rather unreasonably pictured in our minds an English country or seaside residence, and anticipated much pleasure in the change from dusty Melbourne. Our surprise was great, therefore, when after jolting over some half-formed roads we came upon a clearing among the gum trees, and were told that the wooden shanty before us was the Melbourne citizen’s country house. We were not disposed, however, to be very critical, for the sixty miles drive in the mountain air had made us hungry, and we were quite ready to respond to the invitation to the evening meal. But our disillusion was complete upon entering the sitting room and finding that no provision had been made for the satisfying of our keen appetites. By some accident the supplies from Melbourne had not arrived; the rough table was covered with a couple of towels, and on it was spread a repast consisting of some bad bread and sour raspberry jam, while the “cup which cheers but not inebriates” was innocent of milk and sugar. It was Saturday evening and we were “out of humanity’s reach,” being many miles from any source of supply, so had to content ourselves as best we might with this Spartan fare until the Monday, when our host proposed an excursion to a distant part, involving the staying a night at an hotel. We gladly embraced the proposal, and finding that the hotel was a comfortable one I determined to excuse myself from joining in the excursion on the following day in order that I might have the opportunity of recruiting nature’s exhausted powers by an extra meal, a resolution I had much satisfaction in carrying into effect. Our friend and his sons own about one thousand acres, at present covered with trees, with the exception of a small clearing round the house. When a piece of land is taken, the first care is to fence it, which is done with logs, at a cost of £25 per mile, including the cutting of the logs. The next step is to “ring” the trees—that is, to cut a deep groove round them, and so by killing them prevent any further exhaustion of the soil. The trees being dead, vegetation rapidly springs up, and there is soon abundance of food for cattle. Clearing the ground of trees and stumps is a very costly operation, and takes many years to finally accomplish. The Government with a view of preventing the accumulation of lands in a few hands, refuse to sell more than 320 acres to one person, but of course this is easily evaded. At the time of our visit the price was £1 per acre, payable in ten years by equal instalments, a condition being that some one should reside upon the allotment. At the end of three years the owner can obtain from Government a lease of the land, and can then pay up the full value, which leaves him at liberty to sell if he wishes to do so. Of course the building up of large estates is thus encouraged, but this could, perhaps, be prevented by imposing a tax on every acre. The 20,000 acre men would soon be compelled to dispose of some of the land which they hold in the expectation that it will increase in value. Such a plan has been proposed, but it naturally met with great opposition from the landed interest.

On the Black Spur

Leaving our friend’s house a drive of a few miles through the bush brought us to the picturesquely-situated village of Marysville. This little village lies in a deep hollow surrounded by fine ranges of tree-clad hills of extreme beauty. A pleasant hour’s walk from the village, under the shade of the tree ferns, took us to the Stephenson Falls. The principal fall is 80ft., and the volume of water is unusually large for an Australian waterfall. Close to the fall are some magnificently large tree ferns, and while sitting here enjoying the lovely view some little birds came flitting about, one of them hopping on to the shoulder of one of our party, attracted, doubtless, by the aroma of a fragrant “weed” which at the time he was enjoying. English visitors to Australia, especially those in search of health, would find the conditions existing at Marysville most conducive to their restoration. The air is bracing, and as before stated, the scenery most delightful. A tolerably good accommodation is to be had at the inn, which will doubtless be improved as the place becomes more widely known.

Returning to Melbourne, we stayed another night at Healesville, arriving at 7.30, and as we had fared badly during the day we were quite ready for a substantial dinner, and from our previous experience of the house made no doubt of obtaining it. But unfortunately for us, there had been a chapel tea-party during the afternoon, at which a large force of parsons had been present. We had therefore to be content with a tough, woody steak, a wild duck of ancient and fish-like smell, varied by salted mutton. The butter was rancid and full of dead flies, and the bread appeared to have been cast upon the waters. We had to go to bed feeling quite faint, but hoping for a better breakfast. The beds were good, and we should have had a good night’s rest, which we sorely needed after the twig beds of the previous night at the Marysville Hotel, but the partitions between the rooms being only of half-inch plank everything passing around us could be heard all too plainly. A little after midnight some fellows came in from night-fishing, and going into the room next ours woke us up by a great noise. One old donkey was telling the two younger ones he had had a deal of experience among snakes, killing as many as eight a day for many years, and that as the result of a series of experiments during that time he had found an infallible cure for snake bites. He had offered his discovery to the Government for £1,000, and his partner offered to be poisoned by the most deadly snakes to test its efficacy, but all to no purpose. So he had determined to let the secret die with him. The others asked if the sovereign remedy was to be swallowed. “Oh, no,” said the old fellow, “for it is composed of five deadly poisons. You must first cut out the wounded part, and rub the antidote in. But,” added he, “the secret shall now die with me.” “But how about your partner?” asked the others. “Won’t he tell the secret?” “Oh no,” was the reply; “he’s safe enough, for he’s dead.” Then we heard the voice of the landlord’s pretty daughter telling them it was time to go to sleep, upon which the old boy growled, “I wonder people can’t go to sleep without bothering me.” The rest of the night was made miserable for us by the two “night fishers,” who, rising long before dawn, went prowling about the different rooms, ours included, collecting their tackle for a shooting expedition, but leaving behind them, as we found afterwards, their percussion caps.

The Lyre Bird

We returned to Melbourne by another route, affording us some fine views of the plains called Yarra Flats, and the Marysville Hills in the far distance.