the perpetual snow of-lofty peaks is reflected on fields of golden
maize and on meadows that gleam and glitter in the bright sunlight as
if paved with emeralds. It is contrast, not similitude, that attracts
the eye, novelty more than beauty, and quaintness rather than such
gorgeous sights as one meets everywhere within the tropics.

[Illustration: ABORIGINES OF THE EASTERN COAST.]

The harbors are very marvels of commodiousness, that of Port Jackson,
the entrance to Sydney, being fifteen miles long. It is landlocked on
both sides, without a shoal or rock to mar its perfectness, and broad
enough to afford safe anchorage to all the navies of the world. Here
ride at anchor vessels of almost every nation, their gay pennons
flaunting in the breeze, while worming their way in and out among the
shipping may be seen multitudes of native boats made of bark, quaint
as frail, and looking for all the world like a shoal of soldiers'
cocked hats. A man on land carries his tiny craft on his shoulders
with less difficulty, apparently, than the boat carries him on the
water. Rowing one seems about as difficult an operation as balancing
one's self on a straw would, be; but it has an especial point of
merit--it never sink, only purls, and an Australian takes a good
ducking as nonchalantly as he smokes his pipe. The natives usually
paddle in companies of three, and when one of the triad is purled the
other two come to the rescue. One on each side taking a hand of their
unlucky comrade, and reseating him, they move on rapidly as before,
cutting the blue water with their slender paddles and enlivening the
scene by occasional songs. The presence of numerous sharks in these
waters is the chief drawback to the pleasures of boating, and many an
ill-fated oarsman pays the forfeit of life or limb for his temerity in
venturing out too far. The nose of the shark is his most vulnerable