Even with the most cursory glance I can see how great have been the changes that have taken place since I was here first, thirty-five years ago, which is tremendously apparent as compared with that observable in Adelaide. The train glides into the station, an interviewer confronts me, and telling me that it is only a couple of hundred yards to Menzies Hotel, and that my luggage needs no supervision from me, escorts me up a gently inclined street, putting one eager question after another, among which, however, I do not hear, "How do you like Melbourne?" I have not time to notice more than one palatial building—not of the sky-scraper order, but conforming more to the quiet dignity of similar piles at home, the newly finished offices of an Australasian insurance company—when I find myself in the hotel, with my indefatigable reporter still plying me with eager questions, for he represents the only evening newspaper in this city of nearly half a million inhabitants, and wants a story for this afternoon's issue. Fancy a monopoly like that! But I don't know why he should make me say that I considered the Herald to be the finest evening paper I had ever read in the world, since I did not know of its existence half an hour ago, and certainly have not yet read a line in it! But que voulez vous from a reporter?
VI MIGHTY MELBOURNE
From my bedroom window this morning I look down upon the little river Yarra, with the big ships lying snugly alongside of the substantial wharves, and realise what a vast change, in that aspect of Melbourne at any rate, has been wrought since my last visit, when where what is now a splendid area of water accommodation for ships of great size up to a draught of 24 feet, and a most up-to-date congeries of warehouses, wharves, bridges, embankments, and factories, was an apparently hopeless muddle of quaint huts and swampy land, out of which it seemed impossible that order could ever emerge. In those days almost every one spoke contemptuously of the Yarra as an insignificant creek which it was folly to waste money upon in the attempt to make it navigable for vessels of any size, and the pet project was a huge breakwater extending from Williamstown to Sandridge (now Port Melbourne) enclosing the whole of the bay between, including, of course, the embouchure of the Yarra. Around the whole of the coast of this bay was to run a line of deep-water wharfage, alongside of which ships of any tonnage might lie in perfect quiet as in a vast dock. This scheme was fully matured and presented in practical form to the existing Victorian Government by Sir John Coode, but its magnitude of conception, and, of course, its cost, staggered them. So they compromised on the Yarra improvements, with the result that the old piers are still used for the accommodation of the largest ships at Port Melbourne itself, and so they must lie at the piers in what is, owing to the great size of Hobson's Bay, quite an open and unprotected roadstead during certain winds.
But though Hobson's Bay is so noble in area it is not too well off in the matter of depth, and ships drawing over 25 feet have to be most carefully navigated within its limits. More than that, the great ships of the White Star Line which trade here from England around the Cape are terribly handicapped by the fact that if they were loaded to their full paying capacity they could not get out of Hobson's Bay at all, owing to the want of depth at Port Phillip Heads. Strange, is it not, that at two such important points of ocean traffic as Suez and Port Phillip want of water should so long be allowed to hinder development, especially when it is remembered that there are no real engineering difficulties in the way? But of course it must never be forgotten that all really great public works in this country are heavily handicapped by the artificial restraints placed upon development by the restriction of population and consequently of revenue. All great schemes mean great expenditure, and with a population in the whole of this vast country of less than five millions this is impossible. Moreover, at present we have the grave spectacle of a declining birth-rate and an increasing emigration rate, a state of things which, in a country so full of natural wealth as this, is almost inexplicable. At present almost all politicians are agreed that the future of the country depends entirely upon her getting more population, but I do not see anything being done that will really tempt desirable immigrants who have no capital.
This, however, is a question which confronts the visitor at every turn, and so must be dealt with in small doses lest it become monotonous. At present I am anxious to get out and see Melbourne itself, wondering whether I shall notice as great a change in the city as I do in the development of the Yarra. As I step out into the noble width of Bourke Street, in full enjoyment of the glorious crisp morning (for the weather is still perfect), the hotel porter greets me with, "Very cold this morning, sir," to which I only mumble unintelligibly in reply, for I really cannot say anything uncomplimentary to this lovely climate. A double tramcar without seats on top comes swiftly up the hill from the river-bank, and I jump on, noticing as I do that it is a cable-car. The pace is good, the road splendidly wide and straight, giving a view, when you are at its highest point, clear from one end to the other, a distance of about two miles. But I get a shock when I have to pay threepence for a ride of about half a mile; for there are no sections, as in most other places. Within certain limits of what may be called the metropolitan area the price is threepence any distance; but you may purchase eight tickets for a shilling, each of which will frank you for a threepenny ride.
I do not think, however, that the average man saves much in this way, since it is a very common form of hospitality, when acquaintances meet on a car, to say, as hands go groping in pockets, "Oh, all right, I've got tickets!" and hand the conductor two. Outside the city limits these tickets are not available, but the fare remains the same. These very swift and comfortable cars are in the hands of private companies, who, I should think, must make a fine dividend, although it must be remembered that the wages are high and the service exceedingly good, commencing at 5.30 or 6 in the morning, and running most frequently until midnight. And as the city is built on the American square plan, with all the principal streets crossing one another at right angles, locomotion is very easy within the city limits.
My first trip was down Bourke Street, which I remembered thirty-five years ago as the principal, the finest street in Melbourne; and I confess that I was somewhat disappointed with its unequal appearance and the dearth of fine buildings, for I had expected, from what I had heard, much greater development. The Post Office is a fine building, but not so favourably situated as that at Adelaide, so that, notwithstanding its fine tower and façade, it will not look imposing. Moreover, it is obviously much too small for the requirements of Melbourne, for there is a mean-looking shed devoted to telephone work; and for parcel-post delivery of poste restante letters and money-order business the customer must go a considerable distance round into little Bourke Street of unsavoury fame. Before leaving this part of the question, let me say that nothing, I should think, would strike the British new chum more forcibly than the immense congeries of telegraphic, telephone, and other wires carried on posts at the sides of all the principal streets of the Australian cities, in emulation of the way these things are done in the United States. In Perth and Fremantle there are, in addition to the other cobwebby arrangements overhead, electric-car wires, and I could not help wondering what would be the result if one of these enormously high-tension car wires were to get broken and flung into the midst of a lot of telegraph and telephone wires by its side, especially on a night when the streets were crowded, as they often are, with people.
Adelaide is, as I have said before, still in the thrall of the mediæval horse-car, wherein, if she did but know it, she is behind the smallest provincial town in England and some of the districts of London, so that at present she has nought to fear from so dire a catastrophe. Melbourne is served, as I have also said, with cable-cars, and for the life of me I cannot see why she should want anything better, especially as there is no question of linking up. I have been told that the cost of the upkeep of the cables is much greater than that of electrical power, but when I humbly inquire what the cost of conversion will be I am met with vague generalities. A little bird has whispered to me that when I get to Sydney I shall know the reason, which is that Sydney has converted her cable-cars into trolley electrics, and Melbourne, feeling a back number on this question, is of course furious, and must ante-up. You remember in the "Naulahka" how cheerfully, whole-heartedly, and venomously the two rival cities, Rustler and Topaz, hated one another? Even so do the rival cities in Australia in like manner disobey the greatest commandment of all, and, remembering the misdirected affections of Liverpool and Manchester, I cannot throw any stones.