there is a certain picturesqueness and old-fashionedness about Sydney,
which brings back pleasant memories of Old England, after the monotonous
perfection of Melbourne and Adelaide.

The most unpleasant feature about Sydney is, that there is a thoroughly
untidy look about the place. It is in a perennial state of _déshabille_;
whereas Melbourne nearly always has its dress-clothes on. In keeping with
the wretched pavements, the muddy crossings, and the dust, are the
clothes of the people you meet in the streets. Nobody seems to care much
how they dress, and without being exactly countrified in their apparel,
the Sydneyites succeed in looking pre-eminently dowdy.

The water-supply is not always quite as plentiful as could be wished; but
on the other hand, there is an excellent system of deep drainage, and the
eye is not offended by open sewers, as in Melbourne. You will notice that
there are not so many private carriages here, and fewer horsemen. The
traffic appears greater, but this is entirely owing to the narrowness of
the streets. It is not so rapid, as you will easily perceive.

You land, as I think I mentioned, in the heart of the city, and, unless
you prefer Shanks's pony, must perforce take a hansom to your hotel, or,
if you have much luggage, two hansoms, for four-wheelers are almost
unknown. In compensation, the Sydney hansoms are the cleanest and fastest
you will ever have the good fortune to come across. Steam trams run out
to the railway station, which is at the farther end of the town, and to
all the suburbs. There is practically but one hotel to go
to--Petty's--and that very inferior. In most matters of this kind Sydney
is only a second-rate edition of Melbourne.

The beauties of Sydney are certainly rather natural than artificial, and