A Backblocker's Pleasure Trip

It would be hard to find another place that possessed as many picnic baskets, in proportion to population, as the city of Sydney. Picnicking was a common way of holidaying all over the continent; even in Centralia, when an outing was arranged among neighbours, it merely took the form of a picnic by some waterhole, with games and dancing on the grass for the young, and fishing and gossip for those who were past the age of participation in active amusements; but nowhere did you see such unanimity as in Sydney.

Despite the variety of entertainments provided, the picnic basket was a conspicuous object on every holiday. You met it under all manner of conditions, in the streets and on the less-frequented roads; you found it dotting the greensward in parks and gardens; you bumped it in trams and trains, in 'buses and boats; wherever the eye wandered on holiday morning it encountered a hurrying troop; and in that troop there was at least one who was burdened with the bulging basket. The Sydney home that did not possess one was an exception, and few were the inmates, whether rich or poor, who did not wander forth with it in the sweet time when the buds were bursting. In fact, it did not matter much what the season was; they sallied forth in midwinter just the same as in spring and summer; on dull, threatening days, as well as when the skies were blue and the air was sweet and warm; they went out in the rain gaily, trusting that it would clear up by-and-bye; and they trudged through mud and water, and picnicked under any old cover available. Even when the morning promised a flood, if the forecast in the paper was "fine," they pinned their faith to that, and out they went, with the beloved basket, though ultimately, for want of a dry spot, they might have to sit on it under an umbrella. To them the call of the open was always in the atmosphere.