The people at the Rose Hill horse races and in fact all the people we have seen at the various other places we have been in Sydney appear very much like the New Zealanders, raw, slovenly and unpolished. They appear to have the saving grace of tenderness and although undoubtedly unintelligent and unphilosophic, and pretty sporty and mercenary, are rather kind and jolly. They are not a bad bunch to get along with. There are no real places of aesthetic entertainment in Sydney, for although they have a fine art museum it is only visible by day, and the descent of evening finds the movies and a few frothy dramas the only defense against utter boredom. Sunday, August 21st. (Sydney). Turned out to be the dullest day I have ever spent in my life. The evening meal came down upon us like a hurricane and appeared to be the speediest breeziest thing that had ever occurred. After it had finally come, spent itself, and disappeared, there was of course a terrible lapse and reaction. There is much agitation tonight about the im- pending of Sacco and Vanzetti. A great mass meeting on the steps of the Town Hall led in song and speeches by a high powered six-cylinder, triple expansion Laborite, whose voice resembled the surf at South Beach, Martha's Vineyard. He denounced the United States, the capitalist government of Australia, the speaker who had spoken before him, American goods, American trade, birth control and Governor Fuller. In fact, he denounced everything that had taken place since the history of man to oppress