“White Australia,” the pleasant dream of a peculiar political party, is a subject on which a few years ago it would have been inadvisable if not unsafe to venture too unrestrained opinions. There was a time when in certain quarters the euphonious phrase was almost tantamount to a war cry. To some political dreamers it may even have been a perennial dream, full of visions of whiteness and purity, just as to us in England the mention of the “Pearly Pacific” conjures up vistas of prattling palms, wimpling waters and silvery strands. The dream is a pretty one, fitting theme for the poet and artist; Samoa and R. L. Stevenson, what a perfect juxtaposition! What delectable tales our romance weavers indulge us with! The gorgeous colouring, the wondrous life, the glorious moon, the ocean's unceasing sigh—all fine, all beautiful, all seeming perfect—but all superficial or tempered with prosaic features which mar the picture.