motor-launch that was to culminate in a real Australian picnic in the bush with "billy" tea and damper, showing us on the way Manly Beach. The morning was drizzling and heavy, but Australian weather at its worst always has lucid intervals, and soon after our early start the rain had cleared off. Our way led through the extensive suburbs of Mosman, past many arms of the harbour, like lovely inland lakes with wooded banks, down to a narrow point called the Spit, from which a ferry crosses to the eastern side. Here we met many other motor-cars, all converging on the same point, and after crossing on the ferry and climbing a steep hill, we had left Sydney and its harbour behind, and presently began to have glimpses of the Pacific. The drive was one of endless charm and novelty: sometimes we passed what looked like a rushy inland lake, sometimes we were close to the shore. Several miles of the coast land here have been bequeathed to the Salvation Army, which has erected various buildings on this beautiful site. At one point a sandy bar separated a reach of still water from the great sunlit breakers beyond, and within it hundreds of black swans were swimming.
There were numerous week-end cottages among the gum trees. The road ended under a steep hill, its hedges covered with a sweet-scented
