South Australia and Western Australia

Adelaide is a pleasant, prosperous town, standing on a fertile plain, about seven miles from the sea, with a line of hills called the Mount Lofty Range forming a background to it. On 31st December, 1871, the city proper contained 27,208 inhabitants, and the suburbs, so called, contained 34,474, making a total of 61,682 persons either living in the metropolis, or so closely in its neighbourhood as to show that they are concerned in the social and commercial activity of the city. On the same date the entire population of the colony was 189,018. Adelaide alone, therefore, contains very nearly a third of the life of the whole community of South Australia. This proportion of urban to rural population,—or I may perhaps better say of metropolitan to non-metropolitan,—is very much in excess of that which generally prevails in other parts of the world.

The same result has come of the immigration to the other great Australian colonies, though not quite to the same extent. The population of Melbourne and its suburbs up to the beginning of 1872 was 206,000, and that of the colony was 755,000. The population of Sydney and its suburbs was 136,000, and that of New South Wales 500,000. In each case the population of the one city with its suburbs is between a third and a fourth of that of the entire colony, and in each case the proportion of urban to rural population is unusually high.

It may, perhaps, be taken as a rule,—though a rule with very wide exceptions,—that the produce of a country comes from the industry of those who live out of the metropolis, and that they who live in the metropolis exercise their energies, and make or mar their fortunes, in the management of that produce. Politicians, lawyers, merchants, government officials, and even retail dealers, with the concourse of people who are got together with the object of providing for them, form a community which can hardly be said to be, itself, productive, though it gives to the products of a country very much of the value which they possess, and which they would not possess without such metropolitan arrangement. I do not know that any political economist has as yet cared to inquire what proportion of the population of a community should be metropolitan,—so that the affairs of the community might be ordered in the very best manner. Nor could such inquiry be made with any exact result, as the circumstances of countries and of towns vary very greatly; but the proportions of population as shown in the Australian cities above named cannot be taken as showing a healthy state of things. It goes towards proving that what we may perhaps call the pioneer immigration into these colonies has been checked,—a fact of which we have much other proof. The men who are here, and the men who come afresh, prefer the city, and eschew a life of agricultural labour. The nomadic race of miners will rush after tidings of gold, and will form communities of their own; but the fields of Australia, the vast territories of the continent which we would fain see bearing crops of wheat and Indian maize, as do the vast prairies of the central States of America, do not entice the population. It will be said, and said truly, that if a people can find a living in a city, with all their wants supplied to them by caterers near at hand, why should such a people encounter the hardships of the backwoods,—or bush, as it is called in Australia? Why should not a man stay in town, if he can live in town? We all feel that, as regards any individual man, the argument is good;—but we feel at the same time that cities without country to feed them cannot long be continued; and that a community with extensive means of management, and sparse powers of production, is like a human body without arms or legs. What is the use of the best stomach which nature ever gave to a man without the means of filling it?

It seems to be the case that immigrants coming to the colony stick too closely to the towns,—and are unwilling to encounter the rough chances of agricultural or pastoral life, as long as any means of living is open to them in the cities. The evil, if it be an evil, must cure itself as rural wages advance in proportion to city wages. In the meantime, it is worthy of remark,—and of speculation as to the causes of the fact,—that the city populations of Australia are excessive. As the excess in Adelaide is greater than elsewhere, I have raised the point while speaking of the capital of South Australia.

Perhaps no city, not even Philadelphia, has been laid out with a stronger purpose of regularity and order than has been shown in the founding and construction of Adelaide. Adelaide proper, as distinguished from North Adelaide,—which has been allowed to deviate somewhat from the good manner of the parent city,—stands in exact conformity with the points of the compass. The streets all run north and south, or east and west. There are five squares,—or open spaces so designated,—one in the centre, and the other four at certain fixed intervals. At the extremities of the town, on the northern, southern, eastern, and western sides there are four terraces. That, however, on the eastern side has been allowed to take a devious course, as the city to the south is longer than it is at the north. But there is a precise regularity even in this irregularity. This terrace on the map of the town takes the form of a flight of steps, for nothing so irregular as a sloping or diagonal line has been permitted in the arrangement of the streets. To me the Quaker-like simplicity of such urban construction never renders easy any practical conception of the topography. I find it quite as easy to lose my way in Philadelphia or Adelaide as I do in the old parts of Paris, or in the meandering lanes of such a city as Norwich. I forget which is north and which west, and what set of streets run at right angles to what other set. I never was able to find my way about Adelaide. But for a man with a compass in his pocket, a clear calculating brain, and a good memory, the thing must be very easy. The northern half of the town is the West End. About midway on the Northern Terrace is Government House, and opposite to it is the Adelaide Club. The Houses of Parliament are close, on the same terrace. King William Street, the High Street of the town, runs at right angles from the North Terrace to Victoria Square, which is the centre of the city. Here, in King William Street, is congregated the magnificence of Adelaide,—comprising the Town Hall, the Public Offices, the Post Office, and various banks, and many of the most money-making shops.

The one building in Adelaide on which the town most prides itself,—and of which at the same time the colony is half ashamed because of the expense,—is the Post Office. I was gratified by finding that the colonies generally were disposed to be splendid in their post-offices rather than in any other buildings,—for surely there is no other public building so useful. At Brisbane, when I was there, they were building a fine post-office. At Sydney they had nearly completed a magnificent post-office, of which I have spoken in its proper place. At Melbourne I found a very large post-office indeed,—though, as I thought, one not very convenient to the public. And here at Adelaide the Post Office is the grandest edifice in the town. It is really a beautiful building, with a large centre hall, such as we had in London as long as we could afford ourselves the luxury. We have built up our hall, compelled by exigencies of space and money,—compelled as I think by a shabby regard to space and money. It will be long before the authorities of Adelaide will be driven to perpetuate a similar architectural meanness,—for surely such a post-office will be more than ample for the population for many a year to come. I went over the building, and knowing something of post-offices, I regret to say that the arrangements might have been improved by consultation with English officials. As regarded the building as a building, it is a credit to Adelaide, and would be an ornament to any city in Europe. The government offices are not magnificent,—but are pleasant, commodious, and sufficient. The Town Hall is a fine room, and forms a portion of a very handsome building. In such luxuries as town-halls, large public concert-rooms, public ball-rooms, and the like, the Australian cities greatly beat our own. I do not say that there is any such an edifice on the Australian continent as St. George’s Hall at Liverpool,—but then neither is there any town with half the number of inhabitants that Liverpool contains. Adelaide itself has less than 30,000, and I doubt whether there be any town in England with double that number which has such a chamber for public purposes as that of which I am speaking. I am sure there is none with four times the number that has a theatre so pretty, so well constructed, and so fit for its purpose as the Adelaide Theatre. Even little Perth with its 6,000 souls has a grand town-hall. In almost every municipality,—even in those of the suburbs of such a town as Adelaide,—halls are erected for public purposes, for speeches, balls, concerts, and the like. In this respect our children in Australia take after their cousins in the United States. In regard to banks also Adelaide flourishes greatly. I must not name any one in particular, lest it be thought that I am making return for accommodation given; but, such was their grandeur, that I felt of them generally that the banking profits in South Australia must be very great, or such edifices could not have been erected.

On the farther or southern side of the square are the Law Courts, as to which I was informed that that intended for the Supreme Court was not used as intended, being less convenient than an older building opposite to it. I did not go into either of them.

Adelaide is well provided with churches,—so much so that this speciality has been noticed ever since its first foundation. It was peculiarly the idea of those who formed the first mission to South Australia, that there should be no dominant Church;—that religious freedom should prevail in the new colony as it never had prevailed up to that time in any British settlement; and that the word dissent should have no meaning, as there should be nothing established from which to disagree. In spite of all this the Church of England has assumed a certain ascendency, partly from the fact that a liberal and worthy Englishwoman, now Lady Burdett-Coutts, endowed a bishopric at Adelaide; but chiefly from the indubitable fact that they of the Church of England who have flocked into the colony have been higher in wealth and intelligence than those of any other creed. It would be singular indeed had it not been so, seeing that the country from which they came had for centuries possessed an established and endowed Church. But the very fact that the Church of England boasted for itself even in this colony a kind of ascendency, and the other fact that the colony had been founded with the determination that there should be no ascendency, have together created great enmity among the rival sects. While I was in Adelaide a motion was before parliament,—as to which I heard the debate then in progress,—for taking away the right of precedency belonging by royal authority to the present bishop. Both Houses had passed a bill, with the purpose of taking away from the prelate the almost unmeaning privilege of precedence. It had been reserved by the governor, with undeniable propriety, for the decision of the government at home. The Secretary of State for the Colonies had returned a dispatch, intended to be most conciliatory, stating that the Crown would be happy to consider any proposition made by the colony, but that the legislature of the colony could not be permitted to annul the undoubted prerogative of the Crown to grant honours. But the matter was again argued as though a great injury had been inflicted. It was well understood by all men that in the event of a vacancy in the bishopric no successor would be appointed by the Crown; and that any future bishop,—appointed as he must be by a synod of the Church,—would have conferred on him by his appointment no privilege of walking out of any room before anybody else. But such is the feeling of the colony in regard to religious freedom, and such the feeling especially in the city of Adelaide, that a politician desirous of popularity felt, not without cause, that a stroke of political business might be done in this direction. Of all storms in a teacup, no storm could be more insignificant than this. That the present bishop, who has the good word of everybody, should be allowed to wear to the last the very unimportant honour conferred upon him, would have seemed to be a matter of course. He has, since, resigned the right. It was, however, thought worth while not only to fight the question, but to re-fight it. The matter is worthy of notice only as showing the feeling of the people on the subject. I may here remark that Adelaide has been called especially a city of churches, so strong has been the ambition of various sects to have it seen publicly that their efforts to obtain places of worship worthy of their religion have been as successful as those of their sister sects. The result has tended greatly to the decoration of the town. Among them all, the Church of England is, at the present moment, by no means the best represented. A cathedral, however, designed by Butterfield, is now rising as fast as its funds will permit.

All round the city there are reserved lands, of which I may best explain the nature to English readers by calling them parks for the people. These reserves are of various widths in different parts, but are full half a mile wide on an average. They are now being planted, and are devoted to air and recreation. I need hardly explain that they cannot as yet rival the beauty and the shade of our London parks: but that they will do so is already apparent to the eye. And they will have this advantage,—which, indeed, since the growth of the town towards the west belongs also to our London parks,—that they will be in the middle, not on the outside, of an inhabited city. As Adelaide increases in population, these “reserves” will be in the midst of the inhabitants. But they will have also this additional advantage,—which we in London do not as yet enjoy, in spite of efforts that have been made,—that they will not be a blessing only to one side or to one end of the city. They will run east and west, north and south, and will be within the reach of all Adelaide and her suburbs. There are here also public gardens,—as there are in every metropolis of the Australian colonies. The gardens of Adelaide cannot rival those of Sydney,—which, as far as my experience goes, are unrivalled in beauty anywhere. Nothing that London possesses, nothing that Paris has, nothing that New York has, comes near to them in loveliness. But, as regards Australian cities, those of Adelaide are next to the gardens of Sydney. In Melbourne the gardens are more scientific, but the world at large cares but little for science. In Sydney, the public gardens charm as poetry charms. At Adelaide, they please like a well-told tale. The gardens at Melbourne are as a long sermon from a great divine,—whose theology is unanswerable, but his language tedious.

I have said that the city has a background of hills called the Mount Lofty Range,—so called by Captain Flinders when he made his first survey. The only pretension to landscape beauty which the city possesses is derived from these mountains. It was indeed said many years ago by one much interested in Adelaide, that she was built on a “pretty stream.” The “stream” is called the Torrens, after one of the founders of the colony, but I utterly deny the truth of the epithet attached to it. Anything in the guise of a river more ugly than the Torrens it would be impossible either to see or to describe. During eleven months of the year it is a dry and ugly channel,—retaining only the sewer-wards property of a river. In this condition I saw it. During the other month it is, I was told, a torrent. But the hills around are very pretty, and afford lovely views and charming sites for villa residences, and soil and climate admirably suited for market gardens. As a consequence of this latter attribute Adelaide is well supplied with vegetables and fruit. By those who can afford to pay the price already demanded for special sites, beautiful nooks for suburban residences may still be obtained.

The city receives its water from an artificial dam constructed about eight miles from it, but the reservoir used when I was there had been deemed insufficient for the growing needs of the town. A larger dam, calculated to hold innumerable gallons, had been just finished as far as the earthworks were concerned, and was waiting to be filled by the winter rains. A tunnel had been made through the hillside for its supply,—so that it might water Adelaide and all her suburbs for generations to come. But generations come so quickly now, that for aught I can tell Adelaide may want a new dam and infinitely increased gallons before one generation has entirely passed away. If it be so, I do not doubt but that the new dam and all the gallons will be forthcoming. While speaking of water, I must acknowledge that during three months of the year water is a matter of vital consideration to the inhabitants of Adelaide. I was not there in December, January, or February; but from the admission of inhabitants,—of Adelaideans not too prone to admit anything against their town,—I learned that it can be very hot during those three months. I liked Adelaide much,—and I liked the Adelaideans; but I must confess to my opinion that it is about the hottest city in Australia south of the tropics. The heat, however, is not excessive for above three months. I arrived in the first week of April, and then the weather was delightful. I was informed that the great heats rarely commence before the second week in December. But when it is hot, it is very hot. Men and women sigh for 95 in the shade, as they, within the tropics, sigh for the temperate zones.

But in all respects such as that of water,—in regard to pavements, gas, and sewers, in regard to hospitals, lunatic asylums, institutions for the poor, and orphanages,—the cities of Australia stand high; and few are entitled to be ranked higher than Adelaide. I had an opportunity of seeing many of these institutions, including the gaol inside the city and the gaol outside; and I saw some of them under the auspices of one who was perhaps better entitled to judge of them than any other man in the colony. It seemed to me that they were only short of absolute excellence. When I remembered how small was the population, how short a time had elapsed since the place was a wilderness, how limited the means, how necessarily curtailed were the appliances at the command of what we should call such a handful of men,—and when I remembered also what I have seen in our own workhouses at home, what I have heard of some of our own gaols, what but a few years since prevailed in many of our own lunatic asylums,—I could not but think that the people of Adelaide had been very active and very beneficent. Of course every new town founded has the advantage of all the experience of every old town founded before it. It is easier for a new country, than for an old country, to get into good ways. No man has visited new countries with his eyes open without learning so much as that. But, not the less, when the observer sees 60,000 people in a new city, with more than all the appliances of humanity belonging to four times the number in old cities, he cannot refrain from bestowing his meed of admiration. I will now finish my remarks about this town with saying that no city in Australia gives one more fixedly the idea that Australian colonisation has been a success, than does the city of Adelaide.