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 Melbourne I would advise them at
least to do the last part of their duty--express loudly and generally
their admiration at everything that is mentioned to them. Whether they
have seen it or not is, after all, their own affair.

In this respect a Professor at the Melbourne University, on a holiday
trip to New Zealand, has just told me an amusing anecdote, for the
literal truth of which he vouches. A couple of young Englishmen fresh