THE SIGHTS OF SYDNEY.

Otago Witness, Volume 02, Issue 2420, 2 August 1900, Page 67

THE SIGHTS OF SYDNEY.

Bt Cigaehtth.

A VISIT TO AN OSTRICH FARM. Winter in Sydney is certainly the best time for sight-seeing, especially if thero is much walking tc do. it was a regular Dunedin day — fine, cold, and misty — when a small party of us started off to Watson's Bay ho view the ostrich farm. The harbour was halfshrouded in fog, but wo managed to get a glimpse jf the mammoth warship Europa as we glided past Garden Island in the littleWatson's Bay steamer This great man-of-war has the biggest appetito for coal of all the ships in the Briti=li navy. Engineers have decided there is " something \yroug inside," so on her return Home she is to be com-

pletely overhauled. The trip to Watson's Bay takes about 20 minutes by water; then there is a steep hill to climb to the famous ' " Gap," where the Dunbar was wrecked. , But we are not going there to-day; so, leaving it on the left, we wend our way to a little refreshment room, and, having fortified ourselves with tea and sandwiches, we

set out on our long walk to the ostrich farm. I It is a 'beautiful walk, all along the coast, ; on top of the cliffs, but the day is too misty ; to see far, and the great, ' rugged headlands jut out in the foreground, while the rest is lost in cold, grey fog. The South Head lighthouse stands like a ghostly sentinel on the , cliffs. We leave it far behind, and another 1 mile brings us to the ostrich farm. All that can be seen from the road is the roof of a cottage, a few outbuildings, and some pine trees. A savage dog drags at his chain, and, I barking furiously, announces our arrival. The proprietor is out, but his wife invites us to enter, and show us the birds, which are con1 fined in an enclosure in front of the house, 1 and only a yard or two from tho verandah. Their objectionable odour is the first thing that strikes me, and I make a mental note that if ever I keep an ostrich farm I shall not live too close to it. There are nine birds altogether, haughty-looking creatures, stalking about in a stiff-necked manner, and eyeing "us in a contemptuous fashion, occasionally opening their cavernous beaks in treS mendous yawns. The male birds are black, with a few white feathers ; the females are grey. They are fed on green food, and, unlike the other residents in Australia, they never , know thirst.

"Are they savage?" we ask, having memories of the ostriches of " Jess " and the " Story of an African Farm."

Well, these are not savage," is the reply, " though I was knocked down by one of them once," adds the owner. We look at the camel-like feet of the birds, and decide to keep at a safe distance.

I " There was a girl in South Africa scratched [ to a jelly by one of them!" remarks the son j and heir of the establishment, with that morbid love of horrors so characteristic of children ; then he adds that his brother Jack ■ had a ride 011 one of the tamest, 'but it waa rather bumpy.

1 These few birds keep their owners busy, and have proved a lucrative investment, the proprietress, thoroughly understanding the dyeing and curling of the feathers. Every six months the feathers grow and are out. I "' We don't pull them, out," she says, "it seems too cruel, thougn in South Africa they pluck them naked." "But do they stand still?" we ask. Oh, yes ; when the cap is over their heads they'll let you do anything with them." " Have you reared any young ostriches?" we ask. " No ; they only laid one 3gg, and that was a soft one." t On entering the dwelling house we are

,' shown some of the products of the farm in j the shape of beautiful feather fans, boas, and ! curled feathers. These, we are told, are all [ done on the premises, girls being employed ;in the dyeing and curling. It requires great care and special aptitude for the task to turn out tho beautiful feathers we see adorning ' hats ant. bonnets. 1 " It's like learning the piano," continues our informer. '"You must learn it when you're young, or you're no good at it."

Then she tells us that special knives are used in the operation, and special finger,? to perform it. "Long fmgsrs are no good; the-"- only get in the way. Look at mine," she says, and shows us her small thin hands, with the knuckle* slightly enlarged from the constant occupation of "i feather curling. I '"How much is this fan?" 'asks one of the j party, taking up an exquisite white feather fan and opening it. i " That is £4- 10s. and these boas are 2gs each. Those long Mack feathers are 15s, and the short ones 63 6d. "

Mabel is lost in a reverie, waving the whitefan to tuid fro. £fc calls up visions of bygone balls and operas galore; her thoughts are far away from the ostrich farm.

" You should have seen tha one we made for tho x ranch Consul's wife," is the next tlune; she hears. "What was that like?" v.-c ask.

"On. il was a heaulv. It cost 75.0;s — all white f either,, and ivory, sncl her initials in diamonds jii tlio handle."

Thwe is no doubt Frenchmen understand tha art of giving presents. _" Do you find this climate suits the ostriches?"' we ask presently. "Tos, it agrees with them very well. In' fact, the feathers we get from our own birds , arf far better than those we import. Look . at the difference,' and ?he shows us a package jof undressed imported feathers, comparm*? } them with Jiose grown on the farm, much to the advantage of the Australian-grown. After a little further conversation we take our departure, havino cone to the conclusion that ostrich farming is a lucrative buri- • ness, for fine feathers adorn female faces, and as long as ths world lasts feminine vanity will never go out of fashion.