It is the morning rush hour, and everyone is hurrying, not for train or bus but for the ferry across the harbour which takes the Sydney business girl to work. Here she comes - the Australian "Miss Modern", the smartest business  girl in the World. 

Let me admit, first of all, before you English girls are up in arms at her claim, that conditions are much in her favour. Her work  hours are shorter, her city is cleaner, and the fresh breeze over the harbour blows a colour into her cheeks that no bus or tube can give. When all that is granted, however, we must give ‘this Sydney girl credit for a big share in the work that goes to make up her smartness. 

She believes in it; it is part of her business creed that an attractive appearance will both get and keep a job, and she grudges neither the time nor money to achieve the effect she desires. Her salary is often small compared with that of the Londoner, but if beauty treatments are beyond her purse, she does not, for that reason, consider them impossible. In the evenings, at home, she will shampoo and set her hair, sitting in the glorious Australian sunshine to dry it; she will carefully manicure her hands, and -- probably with a friend‘s help-- experiment with face treatments. She will carry sandwiches to the office for a week to save enough for the latest in powders and lipstick, and when she turns out in the morning it would be hard to tell if she is a typist, mannequin or one of the “idle rich." 

“Her clothes will tell," you protest. They could, if she were not such a clever bargain-hunter and needlewoman. The frock she is wearing with such an air, as she steps on to the ferry, was run up at home for a few shillings and the money she saved bought the perfect silk stockings that clothe her shapely legs. Oh, she certainly has an eye for accessories, has Miss Sydney, and she knows as she takes her seat, that in every detail she is well-turned out as any woman in the City -- a knowledge which gives her the poise and—confidence which is part of her charm. 

Now the ferry is under weigh, with its load of men and girls. The men idly turn the sheets of the morning paper, but to Miss Sydney this journey-time is valuable. All over the boat parcels are being unrolled, and needles begin to flash, as girl after girl gets to work. If Paris undies are exorbitant "down under". That does not worry Miss Sydney she Will save week by week for the finest crepe de chine and her skill will do the rest. 

If you can tell the English seasons by the succession of hoops, tops and marbles in the streets, you can tell it equally well by the marbles in the streets, you can tell it equally well by the type of needlework that comes out on the Sydney ferry. Summer is undie-time, but at the first touch of cold —crepe vanishes in favour of wool; needles lengthen, and gaily coloured jumpers grow in length daily till the arrival of winter sees them, finally out of their parcels and on the backs of the skillful knitter. Soft little fleecy vests and ‘camies appear at times as the chill winds make the harbour crossing more cheerless, till spring brings back the flimsies again. As the summer nears its height, there ia a break in the usual routine Christmas is approaching, and presents must be made rage. The young Australian bride loves embroidery --sheets, pillowcases, towels, all have initials or designs even tea-cloths and kitchen rubbers may have a cluster of daisies. So it naturally follows that the present for the engaged girl or newly-married is a hand-worked cloth or runner. While men passengers relax in the heat, Miss Sydney, aware of the shortening weeks to Christmas, sits up still and composed, embroidering at top speed. 

Did I say Christmas made the only break? I was wrong, for once a week, as Saturday morning comes round, Miss Sydney forgets her work, and prepares for the outdoor week-end which is, to her, a really important side of her life. Her work she does well and neatly, though perhaps she does not take it as seriously as does the  English girl, knowing that, it is almost certain to be but a temporary career, and that before she is far on in her twenties she will have left it for marriage. But she believes, very firmly that “all work and no play make Jill a failure’, and plans, very competently, for a well-balanced life of work and pleasure, of indoor toil and outdoor exercise. 

Her employer, luckily, shares her belief, and when she appears appears on Saturday  in the briefest of sports frocks, her needlework parcel replaced by tennis-racquet golf clubs or bathing-togs, he merely smiles tolerantly, and co-operates with her in getting through the work in double-quick time. By twelve o'clock --don't be envious, English girls! both are on the doorstep, ready for separate sports, and bidding each other "Good Hunting!" with a cheerful camaraderie. 

Work is finished for the week, and, putting it all behind her, Miss Sydney flies to to golf course or tennis-court for strenuous exercise, and later to the glorious beaches where , for long, peaceful Sundays she may bathe and bask, bathe and bask by turn, till tonic of sun and relaxation prepare her mind and body to tackle next week with renewed energy.