are beautiful tracts of country, that the railroad passes through, but in a land where the eucalyptus is everywhere the prevailing form of vegetation, and water is rare, monotony is inevitable. On leaving Adelaide the main line towards Melbourne runs through charming park-like country, with green lawns and trees and deep gorges. The train climbs the Mount Lofty range with delightful glimpses of the sea, and an ascent punctuated by peculiarly sulphurous little tunnels, reminiscent of those on the Apennines.
Afterwards we crossed a spacious pastoral country dotted sparsely with homesteads, peaceful in the great calm of the luminous evening, then the swift dusk fell and blotted out all. At Murray Bridge we paused for dinner, in the old-fashioned continental way. Dinner in railway stations in Australia is simple and expeditious, and in our experience invariably excellent. It is thrown at the traveller by a miscellaneous assortment of young women, who fall over each other in their hospitable anxiety to get through the menu in time. That, however, did not suffice, for having hastily despatched our soup and the very good turkey, which is always a standing dish in Australia, and trifled with a sweet, we were summoned back to the train. Here we observed in passing along the corridor to our own carriage
