Kirribilli Point is so clear that small shoals of fish can be seen distinctly swimming about the piles, and we watched for some time a little speckled thing that looked like a mouse in shape.
We passed out of the suburbs of Sydney, through the outlying red wooden houses, with corrugated iron roofs, surrounded by greenery and standing in cleared spaces. Then came green fields, sometimes with the dead trees or their stumps still remaining. We noticed numerous orange trees before we left the populated district. The hour was still very early; we slept peacefully for the greater part of the journey. Unless the faculty of sleeping in a train is cultivated, there is no enjoyment for the Australian traveller, for he must always journey scores of miles to get anywhere, and the country, generally speaking, varies little in character. On this occasion we awoke to find ourselves in a sort of Swiss scenery, with range on range of blue hills. This endless vista of gum-covered hill after gum-covered hill made it easy to see why for years the Blue Mountains were the despair of pioneers, who, surmounting one range, found another in front of them exactly the same. The view was only varied by red escarpments in places. The stopping-places, as we slowly mounted higher, were entirely conventional. We might have been
