20 THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MIRANDA. 



that in spite of the vigorous thumps it had received the par- 

 ticular egg in question needed no mending. Had it ever been 

 hatched, a Shanghai rooster, perhaps, would have been the 

 natural result. 



''How well this crowd seems to get along," remarked a 

 man opposite me at table, "in spite of the fact that before 

 leaving New York scarcely one man in the crowd knew 

 another." 



"Well," said an Englishman upon my right, with the 

 slow deliberation of his race and the air of a man who had 

 given the subject careful consideration — "well, but we are a 

 very superior crowd, you know." There was no dissent from 

 this opinion. 



Late in the afternoon of July 11, we steamed into the beau- 

 ful harbor of Sydney, one of the finest harbors in tlie world. 

 A ray of the light that never was on land or sea seemed to 

 have broken from the unknown void to shed its glory on land 

 and sea and sky. On either hand the dual town of Sydney 

 stood bathed in the dying light, and out in the harbor, sud- 

 denly, as if by magic, a gleaming French man-o'-war loomed 

 into sight, "clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful." 



It was evening when we ran alongside of a wharf at North 

 Sydney ; for we had to take in a supply of coal here, as well 

 as live stock and provisions. A speedy outpouring there was, 

 as everybody was delighted to get a chance to stretch his legs, 

 and North Sydney was quickly overrun by what looked like a 

 band of pirates, for every one rushed on shore in sea-clothes. 

 It did not take the crowd long to discover a restaurant, 

 and soon there gathered here a festive throng who managed 

 to sing and eat at the same time ; next to the dining- 

 room was a sitting-room furnished with a melodeon, which 

 was kept in constant service by some musical members 

 of the company. Suddenly there passed by the windows a 

 band of the Salvation Army, and then there was a general 



