an equally grand subject of
contemplation--the rapid rise of one. I have seen what but a small
moiety of the world, even in these days, has seen, and what, save in
this generation, has never been seen before, and will, I think, never
be seen again. I have seen Melbourne. Five years in succession did I
visit that city, and watch each year how it spread and grew until it
was beyond recognition. Every year the press became denser, and the
roar of the congregated thousands grew louder, till at last the scream
of the flying engine rose above the hubbub of the streets, and two
thousand miles of electric wire began to move the clicking needles with
ceaseless intelligence.

Unromantic enough, but beyond all conception wonderful. I stood at the
east end of Bourke Street, not a year ago, looking at the black
swarming masses, which thronged the broad thoroughfare below. All the
town lay at my feet, and the sun was going down beyond the distant
mountains; I had just crossed from the front of the new Houses of
Legislature, and had nearly been run over by a great omnibus. Partly to
recover my breath, and partly, being not used to large cities, to enjoy
the really fine scene before me, I stood at the corner of the street in
contemplative mood. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked round,--it
was Major Buckley.

"This is a wonderful sight, Hamlyn," said he.

"When you think of it," I said, "really think of it, you know, how
wonderful it is!"

"Brentwood," said the Major, "has calculated by his mathematics that
the progress of the species is forty-seven, decimal eight, more rapid
than it was thirty-five years ago."

"So I should be prepared to believe," I said; "where will it all end?
Will it be a grand universal republic, think you, in which war is
unknown, and universal prosperity has banished crime? I may be too
sanguine, but such a state of things is possible. This is a sight which
makes a man look far into the future."

"Prosperity," said the Major, "has not done much towards abolishing
crime in this town, at all events; and it would not take much to send
all this back into its primeval state."

"How so, Major?" said I; "I see here the cradle of a new and mighty
empire."

"Two rattling good thumps of an earthquake," said the Major, "would
pitch Melbourne into the middle of Port Phillip, and bury all the gold
far beyond the reach even of the Ballarat deep-sinkers. Come down and
dine with me at the club."

Chap