he'll say, 'Tough? Well, what of it? You have to have it tough to sole boots with it.'" With which cryptic observation he left the subject of Sydney Harbour, of which he was quite incapable of giving any further description.
We are in not much better case. But let us say at once that whatever one might expect of Sydney Harbour, whether having heard so much of its beauties, one came to it prepared to deny them, or whether merely eager to confirm one's expectations, Sydney Harbour would always be ready with its surprise. It reminds one of that Street in Tours to which Balzac paid so affectionate a tribute, the Street where there was always sunshine and shadow and a fountain playing, the Street that was like a coquette . . . in brief, the Street where he was born. For Sydney Harbour, too, is everchanging; the Pacific is at its gates; and it has a beauty which captures affection; in brief, it has charm. But it is quite unlike what one expects of it. Our first glimpse of it was from a heavy vehicle ferry, and when we rubbed the rain from the windows of our car, we looked through rain on a prospect that might have been Portsmouth, so little could we see. But if anyone should come to Sydney Harbour by sea, he might arrive at the right first impression. If you will lay your hand on the table with the fingers spread,
