At the end of January we left Melbourne for a few weeks’ tour in Tasmania, taking steamer from the wharf on the Yarra Yarra, the river upon which the capital of Victoria is situated.

The banks of the Yarra have been selected as the scene of the operations of all the most offensive trades in the colony—the bone boilers, tanners, fellmongers, candle makers, chemical manure makers, glue manufacturers, etc., in addition to which all the sewage which is not left on the surface of the streets is run into it. The river is very narrow, the fall to the sea extremely slight, and the traffic great, hence at every revolution of the paddle-wheel or screw-propeller the abominations from the depths below are stirred up and mingled with those coming from the before-named savoury factories, forming a more horrible compound than ever proceeded from witches’ cauldron. In this one respect the New World has certainly shot far ahead of the old, for even the memory of ancient Cologne is made savoury to the nostrils by this colonial stench.Our friends came to say good-bye, and brought quite a sack of peaches and apricots, which were very acceptable during the voyage. If there were on board any roysterers or betting men they had no opportunity for displaying their peculiarities. Until we reached the entrance to the river Tamar almost every person on board was ill, for Bass’s Straits is notorious for its disagreeable cross seas.

Launceston is forty miles up the river, and is the capital of the county of Cornwall, as in England. The scenery along the river banks is very beautiful, and is so exactly like the Truro river at home that it is difficult to believe we are out of England. The river is winding and broad, and the shores slope gently down from high ground covered with trees. Here and there are bright green meadows and villages and scattered farmsteads and churches. I saw nothing in Victoria to compare with it.

Launceston, a quiet city of 10,000 inhabitants, is surrounded by hills. Looking down upon it, one is reminded of Florence from Fiesole, the beautiful climate and clear air being quite Italian, with the lovely Tamar winding its circuitous route for miles away. We drove out towards a place called the “Devil’s Punch Bowl,” walking the last mile through a beautiful wood down a hill, with firs, gum trees, etc., in abundance, with here and there delightful glimpses of green glades. The air was filled with the sounds of the tree locusts and the tremendous hissing noise of the cicadas, the sun shining through the trees and producing a temperature and light which were simply perfect. The only drawback is the presence of snakes, which, our driver said, are very abundant here. The scene is truly English. At the bottom of the little wooded valley we came upon an old wooden shanty, where we tried to get a glass of milk, but there was no one at home. Presently an old man appeared, driving cows. We asked him for milk—he had none, but gave us water, and offered raw eggs. My companion took two, and said he liked them, but I am sure he liked the first best. The old man was seventy-three years of age, and lived there alone, sleeping on a door covered with an opossum rug. He told us his master died there close by the bee-hives a few weeks ago, “so,” said he, “I put the bees in deep mourning, or they would all have left.”

I wrote my notes sitting on a gatepost, out of the way of snakes; the moon shone brightly, and in the distance I could hear the church bells, mingled with the voices of children, the tinkling of cowbells, and barking of dogs.

The shops close at six o’clock, but the public-houses of course remain open. I observed a small fruit-shop, a mere shanty, with the sign of “Pomona’s Temple,” and a hairdresser’s saloon with the high-sounding name of “Tonsorial Palace,” while a democratic opponent in the same street, with a proud humility, called his place of business a “Barber’s Shop.”

Strolling in the town one evening I talked with a policeman, who was an almost exact counterpart of Count Moltke. He had just received his new regulation helmet, and did not like it at all: it was hard and heavy. He was very pleased to hear we liked Tasmania better than Victoria. “Ah,” said he, “you will find real hospitality here; here everybody helps everybody, but in Melbourne everybody helps himself, and the bobby or somebody catches the hindmost.” He said he had been a policeman for twenty years, and, “although I say it as shouldn’t, I will say for the Launceston police, they are the most civillest, honestest body of policemen going,” with which I quite agreed.

Another beautiful ride is to the Cora Linn, seven miles from Launceston. On one side of the road, stretching almost the whole distance, is a hedge of sweetbriar, giving forth delicious perfume. It is difficult to get accustomed to the reversal of the seasons; here in February the farmers are busy cutting and saving their corn, but with no fear of rain to spoil their harvest, as in England. A bridge crosses the Linn, and a cataract-like stream tumbles down over rocks, very much like the Lynn at Lynmouth. Below the bridge is a deep basin, and all around are numbers of queer trees, young and old, with many burnt-out trunks black as negroes, with white spots in them like eyes. The trees and shrubs are full of cicadas making a great noise.

Leaving Launceston, we drove to Falmouth, ninety miles away. The road lies through a beautifully-wooded country; indeed, the entire ride is just like going through a park in England. We saw lots of magpies, very much larger than ours, but quite as mischievous. A gentleman told us a person once asked him to change a sovereign, which he did, and then looked for the sovereign, but it could not be seen. Presently, looking up, he saw Master Mag in a shrub, with one eye shut, his head on one side, and standing on one leg, with the piece of gold in his mouth.Our first night’s stopping-place was at Stoney Creek, where there is a comfortable hotel, just like a private house, with only one other house for miles around. Near to the hotel flows the River Esk, a black, silent, swiftly-flowing and suicidal-looking stream, suggestive in its motion of some huge black snake, of which there are many in the neighbourhood. In crossing a field to look at the river our clothes became covered with burrs and spines from the prickly pear. We sat down on a grassy mound to watch the flowing of the river, but had quickly to move, as we found ourselves in the midst of a colony of great ants. The following verses were written on the occasion by one of my companions:

THE DOCTOR CONTEMPLATES—A POEM

THOU AND I.

Thou art in happy England
With peace, content, and joy,
And there no poisonous reptiles
Thy comfort can destroy;
No hissing sound the startled ear
With fear of death awakes—
Thou art in happy England,
I, in the land of snakes.

About thy household duties
Serenely thou canst go,
No fear of fierce tarantulas
Or scorpion brings thee woe;
And day by day flows calmly on,
And sleep wings through the night—
Thou art in happy England,
I, where mosquitos bite.

Thou hast the trusty faithful dog,
The quiet, harmless cat,
But I the fierce Tasmanian D—,
Opossum, and wombat;
Familiar objects greet thy sight,
Here all is strange and new—
Thou art in happy England,
I, with the kangaroo.

Thou hast the blithe canary,
The robin chirps to thee,
While here the magpies chatter
And rail from every tree;
Bright parrots glint beneath the sun,
And shriek their hideous song—
Thou art in happy England,
I, wattle-birds among.

Thou canst recline in any place,
And watch the moments pass,
Here burrs and prickles fill the clothes
While lying on the grass,
They stick into the flesh, and sting
Like gnat, or wasp, or bee—
But thou in happy England
From all such plagues art free.Hurrah for happy England,
For all the folk at home!
From hill and dale resounds the cry,
No matter where we roam.
Rare scenes of beauty greet the sight,
The balmy air is sweet,
But still I sigh for England
Where thou and I shall meet.

DR. L—.

The landlady was a widow, her husband having recently died. Her son had just returned from sea, where he had been for twelve years. He had been wrecked three times, and the last time should have given him enough of the sea for the rest of his life. It was in the ship “Euxine,” taking 3,000 tons of coal to the Mauritius. She took fire off the Cape of Good Hope in the midst of a terrific storm. The captain was washed overboard and drowned; a sailor was also swept away, and while only twenty feet from the ship was attacked by a flock of albatrosses, right in sight of his comrades. He fought with them, but all in vain, and the wretches literally pulled him in pieces with their strong bills in a very few minutes. The crew got out the boats, but of course they were in a bad state. It was, however, a choice between burning and drowning, so they put off, preferring to risk the latter. After two or three days, two of the boats were picked up, but the third was out for eleven days. The poor wretches on board had nothing whatever to eat, and in their extremity were driven to cast lots which among them should die. One unhappy man was disposed of, and in two hours after a ship came in sight and picked them up.A lovely drive through Epping Forest brought us to Avoca, where “the bright waters meet,” the North and South Esk uniting here. Our route lay along a fine road, through avenues of gum trees, wattles (acacias), cultivated for their bark, the sweetbriars and hawthorns scenting the air delightfully. We saw a splendid eagle, and large numbers of parrots, magpies, and hawks.

Avoca

On our way we passed many residences of great woolgrowers, owning as much as 20,000 acres of land each, but living, for the most part, in England, their affairs in the Colony being managed by agents. They keep only one man on each 5,000 acres. There is scarcely any agriculture, although the land is very suitable, but being taken up in this way, there is no room for population to increase, and the people have to emigrate.

At Fingal we stopped at an hotel, kept by an Irishman married to a Jewess. They presided at either end of the table, and kept us short of food; indeed, I never saw a small joint go so far before. Next day we left the hotel, still hungry, although the charges were quite as high as those at the Great Western Hotel, Paddington.

Soon after leaving Fingal we saw something by the roadside which looked very like a snake, and on examining it we found it was one—a black snake, 4ft. 6in. long. It lay perfectly still, and presently we found it was dead; but the sensation was not pleasant. A gentleman at the hotel told us he had killed four the night previously, and doubtless this was one of them.

St. Mary’s

After passing through the charming village of St. Mary’s, embowered in trees, we entered a lovely avenue, two miles in length, filled with beautiful flowers and ferns, the air laden with scents from the gum and other trees, and on emerging came upon St. Mary’s Pass. This is an immense gorge, four miles long, filled with fine trees, the road, which is remarkably good, being cut in the side of the cliff by convicts in the old days of Van Diemen’s Land. It winds down the valley to the sea at Falmouth, and on either side rise lofty hills, while the valley below is 1,000 feet deep, and filled with immense trees of various kinds, including the tree fern. I have seen most of the passes and valleys in the Tyrol, but have never seen one to excel this in grandeur or beauty.

Falmouth Hotel

In the map the word “Falmouth” was printed in rather large letters, so we expected to find a somewhat considerable place. At the head of the pass we were told the township lay between the foot of the hill and the sea. On getting down the hill we could plainly view the sea and the intervening land, but no town was visible. Inquiring of some little boys the way to Falmouth, they directed us away to the right. We went on, feeling assured we were going wrong; and presently, meeting a gentleman, we inquired again, when he told us to retrace our course, to go through an ordinary field gate, and that we should then get to Falmouth in three minutes! We told him that the little boys had directed us the other way, but he said we should have asked for “Hotel.” The town of Falmouth, where the boys lived, consisted of two or three houses, and was a mile from the hotel. On exploring the place next day we were informed that fifty years before it was much more important than now. Miles of streets were marked out, but were grass-grown, and there were not more than a dozen houses in the place, all built of wood, and of one storey in height. The burying-place for the district is about a mile away, on the open common, each grave being surrounded with stakes, with no wall or fence enclosing the whole. It was a melancholy sight, reminding me strongly of the graves on the battlefields of the Franco-German war.

Burial-Place at FalmouthThe beach and sands are very fine, like those of my native county. The bathing is delightful, but you must keep a sharp look out for sharks. One morning, however, while bathing, we stood in much greater danger from the mad folly of some Cockneys who had recently come to the hotel. We had been bathing in an arm of the sea, the point beyond which it was not safe being marked by a stake driven into the sand. Between our bathing place and the hotel was a high sand bank, screening us from sight, the stake being visible from the verandah of the hotel. After dressing, we were leisurely walking up the sandbank towards the hotel, when we were startled by a bullet passing between our heads and lodging in the sand behind us! We threw up our towels and shouted, and then saw the Cockney sportsman standing on the platform under the verandah, from whence he had been aiming at the stake in the sand with his rifle for the past half hour. On examination we found the sand riddled with bullets, not 50ft. from where we had been bathing. The little burying ground possessed a new significance in our eyes after this incident. We found some beautiful sea-shells during a delightful walk along the beach towards Swansea, and on our return called upon the gentleman who put us right for Falmouth on our arrival. He is a farmer from near Oxford, and had been here seven or eight years, finding it a terribly lonely place. Recently his nine children and his servants took the measles, and his wife being ill, he had to nurse them all. When they got well his wife sickened and died, leaving him with seven daughters and two sons, the eldest being only fourteen years old. The nearest doctor lived more than thirty miles away.In order to get to Hobart Town, we had to retrace our steps some sixty miles, as there is only one road on this side of the island. We stayed a night at Avoca, a charming place, but the roads were a foot deep in dust. Although the climate is so fine, and everything favours the growth of fruit, there is very little grown. It is alleged that fruit trees do not prosper, but I had ample evidence that the cause is to be found in the indifference or laziness of the people. Strolling in the neighbourhood of the village, we came upon a beautiful orchard, and were admiring the large, ripe plums, when a voice behind said, “Walk in, gentlemen, and help yourselves.” The speaker was a hearty old man, who had lived here forty-six years. He came from Ledbury, and was much interested in hearing about Birmingham. He told us that the day before he left England he walked from Ledbury to Birmingham to see the Nelson statue in the Bull Ring.

The old man told us a snake story, which strikingly illustrates the vitality of these reptiles. A short time previously he and his son went across a neighbouring mountain on horseback to visit one of their farms. Going “single file” between the trees, the son, who was leading, suddenly called out to his father, “Look out, there’s a snake,” and at the same instant his horse started. The old gentleman got off, and finding it was a “carpet snake,”—one of the most venomous species—caught up a stick, and aimed a blow at it. The stick however was rotten, and broke without hurting the reptile, which now prepared to strike; but the old man managed to get his heel upon its head, and ground it into the earth; and having, as he thought, killed it, tied a piece of string around its middle, and bending a wattle tree down, attached the end of the string to one of the branches, and then released the tree. They thought no more of the matter until three days after, when two of his men, returning from his farm with a cart, were seen by their master dragging a snake behind the cart. He asked them where they caught it; they explained that while coming down the hill side, their attention was arrested by a snake in a tree clashing towards them, but unable to release itself. On examination, they found it was tied up! “So that after all,” said the old man, “it was only scotched, not killed.”

A fellow-traveller on the coach told us that he was coming from the tin mines near Mount Bischoff, and that for some months he and his partner had slept in hammocks slung from trees. One night, just as he was going to sleep, something dropped from the tree across his body. He took it in his hand, and finding it was a snake, he flung it from him, when it alighted on his companion. Luckily, both escaped unhurt. He also told me of the experience of a friend of his, a Government surveyor, who was frequently in the woods for weeks together, with one or two men. This gentleman slept in a hammock suspended from trees. The hammock was in reality a sack, hanging some feet from the ground, into which he got at night. One night he had retired as usual, and being very wearied, did not at once notice that there was independent movement at his feet. Very soon, however, he realised the fact that a snake had gone to bed before him, and was coiling itself round his legs. The gentleman quickly got out, unhurt, and soon killed the snake.I also read in a colonial paper another account of a night adventure with a snake. A lady had retired to rest, and was fast asleep; the weather being very hot, one of her arms was outside the clothes, and during the night she was awakened by feeling something trying to force its way between her arm and her side; she quickly realised the situation, and without moving, tightly pressed her arm against her body and prevented the venomous reptile from getting between, when presently it glided over her shoulder and fell on the floor with a thud. She was soon out of bed at the other end, and calling for help and a light the snake was quickly despatched.

The doctor in this place has charge of a district sixty miles in diameter, and always expects his fees before leaving his house; but although he has so large a district, I question if he makes his fortune, for although acres are many, people are few, and the salubrity of the climate does not favour the medical profession.

The main road between Launceston and Hobart is struck at Willis’s Corner, a few miles from Campbelltown—the principal town in the interior of the island. There is a station here on the main-line railway. The gauge of the line is thirty-nine inches, I think.

Campbelltown is a straggling place, with streets enough laid out for a city, but with only few houses, and it is not likely many more will be built, as the railway is expected to take away its trade, which depends mainly upon the coach traffic. The streets are about one hundred and twenty feet wide, which is greatly in excess of all requirements, and causes the traffic to run in ruts, instead of being distributed over the roadway, giving a desolate appearance to the whole place. As a rule, the Tasmanian roads are very good, having been made in the old days by convict labour, but you must not venture to mention the word “convict;” the people all speak of these public works as having been executed by Government. Having had so much done for them by the Government, the Tasmanian people are lacking in energy, and are much too prone to rely upon outside help; and yet when Melbourne people come over to invest capital in mines and other industries, the cry is that the strangers are taking all the money out of the country. As I have said, the farms are of a great size, but the number of men engaged are but few. The farmers have two great enemies—the thistle and the rabbit. It is said the former was introduced into the colonies by a patriotic Scotchman, to remind him of his bonnie Scotland, the rabbit being introduced for the purpose of sport; but, like our old friend the sparrow, they have so increased as to be the cause of serious loss, and are the subjects of special legislation. Some landowners spend many thousands of pounds in putting walls around their estates to keep the rabbits out.

From Campbelltown to Hobart is seventy-six miles, and we rode the whole distance in a single day. The country is very beautiful, and towards the end of the journey we had fine mountain and river scenery. The Derwent is a splendid river, running through a lovely country, sometimes through rich pasture lands and hop gardens, and at other times between high precipices and rugged country.Mount Wellington is a remarkably fine mountain of 4,000 feet in height, and is topped with snow for a considerable portion of the winter.

Summit of Mount Wellington

Villages are very scarce on the road, and shops few, so the inhabitants get most of their requirements from hawkers, who visit all parts of the island with horses and vans, carrying all kinds of goods. We passed several with their wares spread out on the ground. Our coachman told us rather a good story of two of these “merchants,” as they are usually called. These men travelled the road together as partners, having a standing agreement between them that only one should get drunk at a time, so that they were not unfrequently seen riding, one of them as drunk as a lord or a fiddler, while the other was perfectly sober, but merry. One day, however, they broke the rule, and both got drunk together, letting their horse go just as it liked. Unhappily, as they were turning a corner in the road, a coach came bowling along and ran into them, breaking their van and many of their bones, besides spoiling most of their stock-in-trade. The coachman could not tell us if the accident had the effect of making the men teetotallers.

View in the Public Gardens, Hobart

Hobart (as Hobart Town is now called) is most beautifully situated, with extensive public gardens, charmingly laid out, and having the advantage of an abundance of water from the River Derwent. The Governor’s house is admirably placed, commanding extensive views of river and mountain scenery. The citizens are exceedingly hospitable, and we were not long at the hotel before we were visited by a gentleman who informed us he had entered our names on the books of the principal club, and also invited us to a grand representation of “Martha.” There are many charming excursions in the neighbourhood of Hobart. One of the most beautiful is to New Norfolk, about two and a half hours’ steam up the Derwent river. As we approach New Norfolk the river gets very narrow, and we pass through a part called “Hell Gates,” having steep lofty cliffs on one side, and a beautiful tongue of land with trees and lovely green grass on the other. The name I thought particularly ill chosen.

The village of New Norfolk is prettily situated among the hills, with the lovely Derwentwater at its feet. Its principal industry is the growing of hops. We went into the gardens, and saw the people busily picking the hops, which were very fine.

Another beautiful excursion is to Fern Tree Valley, a lovely spot with a fine avenue of tree ferns, and with many immense gum trees in the surrounding woods.

There being no steamer to Sydney or Melbourne for a week, we drove over the road to Launceston, 120 miles distant. Soon after leaving Hobart we crossed the River Jordan, passed through Jericho, near to Jerusalem, stopping at Bagdad for breakfast.

Although February had just gone, the weather was still intensely hot. The harvest was nearly over, and the wheat looked beautiful. I saw some eight feet high, and a person told me he had frequently seen it grow as high as ten feet. Lunching at Melton Mowbray, we came on to Oatlands, driving the last few miles by moonlight, the night being very cool.

At Oatlands is a large gaol, where in old times a number of England’s sons were confined, many of them having been sent there for political “offences,” which in our happier times have conducted the best of Englishmen to the Council Board at Windsor. The gaol is now almost untenanted. In passing along we saw the ruins of many of the miserable old barracks, where the convicts used to live. Everything looks half finished, and I have scarcely seen one window blind furnished with cords for winding; they roll them up and pin them, consequently the blind is full of pin holes. We stopped a night at the best hotel in Campbelltown, a really well-appointed house; but on trying to open the front door, the knob came off in my hand! We greatly enjoyed our three weeks’ stay in Tasmania; in many respects it is more interesting than the mainland, while the climate is much more agreeable to Englishmen. A pleasant passage of twenty hours brought us to Melbourne again, and the weather being still very hot, we decided to go on to Sydney by steamer.

Our Waiter at Campbelltown