Mosman's Bay, and all the suburbs on that side, and say rather sadly, "I can remember the time—ten years ago, twenty . . . when there wasn't a house there." And one cannot help an apprehension lest in years to come, the tree-clothed heights and headlands may not all be whity-brown with the houses of citizens. Doubtless on the side of the harbour opposite to Circular Quay another Sydney will spring up which will be to the old one what Brooklyn is to New York, and will have its own factories and its own Mayor. One can hope only that it will grow up maintaining some idea of public parks—which ought all to come down to the water, and fend off the encroachments of houses—and of town-planning. There is plenty of room now. Room will be dearer later on.
Sydney itself is an object-lesson. It is a fine town in parts. It has a fine park. Macquarie Street is fine; so is the enclosure of the University; and there are the Botanic Gardens, and the Domain. You cannot ask for better than that. At least I cannot, who am a Cockney, and found in Sydney a town which had grown up haphazard very much like London. Its best streets rather narrow and far from straight, just like London's; its Circular Quay bearing signs of reform that must have been very much needed;
