spectacle
presented at its running. That spectacle is quite unique as far as I
know. Neither the Derby nor the Grand Prix can rival it for its view of
packed humanity, and neither can approach it for the decorous order of
the crowd. Is it Jane Taylor who tells the story of an English village?
I am not quite sure, but I remember the genesis. You must have a church
to begin with. For a church you want a parson and a parson must have a
clerk. From this established nucleus grows everything. In Australia they
begin with the race-course. This statement is not to be accepted as a
satiric fable, but as a literal fact. Nearly two years ago, travelling
in the Blue Mountains--miles upon miles away from everywhere--I came
upon a huge board erected in the bush. The board bore this inscription,
"Projected road to site of intended race-course." There was not a house
visible, or the sign of the beginning of a house, but half-an-hour
later, in apparent virgin forest, I found another board nailed to a
big eucalypt. It had a painted legend on it, setting forth that these
eligible building sites were to be let or sold. The solemn forest stood
everywhere, and the advertisement of the eligible building sites was
the only evidence of man's presence. It was for the benefit of future
dwellers here that the road to the site of the "intended race-course"
had been "projected."

Again there are more theatres and more theatregoers to the population
than can probably be found elsewhere. The houses and the performances
are alike admirable. Like the Americans, the Australians endure many
performances which would not be thought tolerable in England, but they
mount their productions with great pomp and luxury. Whatever is best in
England finds an early rendering in the great cities, and for serious
work the general standard is as high as in Paris or in London. The
Princess Theatre in Melbourne has given renditions of comic opera which
are not unfairly to be compared, for dressing, _mise-en-scene_ and
artistic finish to those of the Savoy. The general taste is for jollity,
bright colour, cheerful music. Comedy runs broader than it does at
home and some of the most excellent artists have learned a touch of
buffoonery. The public taste condones it, may even be said to relish it
to _finesse_. The critics of the Press are, in the main, too favourable,
but that is a stricture which applies to modern criticism in general.
There is a desire to say smooth words e