took an interest in the shipping, the running links with "home,"
whose numbers confirmed the sense of their growing importance.
They made it part and parcel of their daily interests. This was
especially the case in Sydney, where, from the heart of the fair
city, down the vista of important streets, could be seen the wool-
clippers lying at the Circular Quay--no walled prison-house of a
dock that, but the integral part of one of the finest, most
beautiful, vast, and safe bays the sun ever shone upon. Now great
steam-liners lie at these berths, always reserved for the sea
aristocracy--grand and imposing enough ships, but here to-day and
gone next week; whereas the general cargo, emigrant, and passenger
clippers of my time, rigged with heavy spars, and built on fine
lines, used to remain for months together waiting for their load of
wool. Their names attained the dignity of household words. On
Sundays and holidays the citizens trooped down, on visiting bent,
and the lonely officer on duty solaced himself by playing the
cicerone--especially to the citizenesses with engaging manners and
a well-developed sense of the fun that may be got out of the
inspection of a ship's cabins and state-rooms. The tinkle of more
or less untuned cottage pianos floated out of open stern-ports till
the gas-lamps began to twinkle in the streets, and the ship's
night-watchman, coming sleepily on duty after his unsatisfactory
day slumbers, hauled down the flags and fastened a lighted lantern
at the break of the gangway. The night closed rapidly upon the
silent ships with their crews on shore. Up a short, steep ascent
by the King's Head pub., patronized by the cooks and stewards of
the fleet, the voice of a man crying "Hot saveloys!" at the end of
George Street, where the cheap eating-houses (sixpence a meal) were
kept by Chinamen (Sun-kum-on's was not bad), is heard at regular
intervals. I have listened for hours to this most pertinacious