A paddle-wheel ferry glides to the pier. Melbourne is on holiday. A string quartet delights with waltzes by Strauss. Eight, nine hundred people make their way along the wooden spine to the shore. Everywhere is movement, clamour.
Small boys run and dodge.
Elegant ladies in pastel puffs of crinoline try not to trip on the uneven planks. Fine leather shoes and laced skirt hems now wear a mantle of pale cream, as nervous horses whinny and stamp and the limestone roadway exhales a fine layer of dust. People are now climbing to the steam tram platform, barely a breath away from my pool of shade. Others have climbed the hill behind and are pushing open the doors of the Sorrento Hotel. Built with no concern for expense, it is the equal of any in Melbourne.