Diemen’s Land much need not be here said, although, however small in comparative extent, its population was in 1836 above half of that of the whole colony of New South Wales. It is, therefore, and always will be, an important island, though, from its mountainous character and confined limits, it cannot, of course, be expected to keep pace with the increasing population of the sister colony. Van Diemen’s Land was discovered in 1642, by the Dutchman, Tasman, who first sailed round its southern point, and ascertained that the great Southern Land, or Australia, did not extend, as it had been supposed, to the South Pole. The island was apparently overlooked, until, in 1804, a colony was founded there by the English, and it was taken possession of in the name of his Britannic majesty. Since that time, with the exception of those early hardships to which all colonies seem liable, it has been flourishing and increasing. To many Englishmen its colder climate, (which is yet sufficiently mild,) and its supposed resemblance in appearance and productions to their native land, have appeared preferable to all the advantages which the larger island possesses. Van Diemen’s Land is divided from New Holland on the north by Bass’s Straits, its extreme points of latitude are 41° 20', and 43° 40' S., and of longitude 144° 40', and 148° 20' E. Its shape is irregular, being much broken by various inlets, but its greatest extent from N. to S. is reckoned to be about 210 miles, and from E. to W. 150 miles, containing a surface of about 24,000 square miles. The native inhabitants of this smaller island have entirely disappeared before the superior weapons and powers of civilised man.

travellers in the bush.

CHAPTER I.

THE BUSH, ON OR NEAR THE COAST.

All that country, which remains in a state of nature uncultivated and uninclosed, is known among the inhabitants of the Australian colonies by the expressive name of the Bush.[3] It includes land and scenery of every description, and, likewise, no small variety of climate, as may be supposed from the great extent of the island of New Holland. Accordingly, without indulging in surmises concerning the yet unknown parts, it may be safely said, respecting those which have been more or less frequently visited and accurately explored, that the extremes of rural beauty and savage wildness of scenery,—smiling plains and barren deserts, snowy mountains and marshy fens, crowded forests and bare rocks, green pastures and sandy flats,—every possible variety, in short, of country and of aspect may be found in that boundless region which is all included under the general appellation of the Bush. To enter into a particular or regular description of this is clearly no less impossible than it would be tedious and unprofitable. And yet there are many descriptions of different portions of it given by eye-witnesses, many circumstances and natural curiosities belonging to it, and related to us upon the best authority, which are likely to please and interest the reader, who can see and adore God everywhere, and is capable of taking delight in tracing out and following the footsteps of Almighty Wisdom and Power, even in the wilderness and among the mountain-tops. It is proposed, therefore, to select a few of the pictures which have been drawn by the bold explorers of the Bush, so as to give a general idea of the character, the scenery, the dangers, and the privations of that portion of the Australian islands. And, having first become familiar and acquainted with these, we shall be better able to set a just value, when we turn to the state of the colonies and their inhabitants, upon that moral courage, that British perseverance and daring, which have, within the memory of man, changed so many square miles of bush into fertile and enclosed farms; which have raised a regular supply of food for many thousands of human beings out of what, sixty years ago, was, comparatively speaking, a silent and uninhabited waste. When the troops and convicts, who formed the first colony in New South Wales, landed at Port Jackson, the inlet on which the town of Sydney is now situated, “Every man stepped from the boat literally into a wood. Parties of people were everywhere heard and seen variously employed; some in clearing ground for the different encampments; others in pitching tents, or bringing up such stores as were more immediately wanted; and the spot, which had so lately been the abode of silence and tranquillity, was now changed to that of noise, clamour, and confusion.”[4]

And still, even near to the capital town of the colony, there are portions of wild country left pretty much in their natural and original state. Of one of these spots, in the direction of Petersham, the following lively description from the pen of a gentleman only recently arrived in the colony, may be acceptable. “To the right lies a large and open glen, covered with cattle and enclosed with bush, (so we call the forest,) consisting of brushwood and gigantic trees; and, above the trees, the broad sea of Botany Bay, and the two headlands, Solander and Banks, with a white stone church and steeple, St. Peter’s New Town, conveying an assurance that there are Englishmen of the right sort not far from us. And now we plunge into the thicket, with scarcely a track to guide our steps. I have by this time made acquaintance with the principal giants of the grove. Some are standing, some are felled; the unmolested monarchs stand full 200 feet high, and heave their white and spectral limbs in all directions; the fallen monsters, crushed with their overthrow, startle you with their strange appearances; whilst underfoot a wild variety of new plants arrest your attention. The bush-shrubs are exquisitely beautiful. Anon a charred and blackened trunk stops your path: if you are in spirits, you jump over all; if you are coming home serious, weary, and warm, you plod your way round. Well,—in twenty minutes’ time you reach a solitary hut,—the first stage of the walk: you pass the fence, the path becomes narrow,—the bush thickens round you,—it winds, it rises, it descends: all on a sudden it opens with a bit of cleared ground full twenty yards in extent, and a felled tree in the midst. Here let us pause, and, kneeling on the turf, uncovered, pour forth the voice of health, of cheerfulness, and gratitude to Him who guides and guards us on our way. And now, onward again. The land falls suddenly, and we cross a brook, which a child may stride, but whose waters are a blessing both to man and beast. And now we rise again; the country is cleared; there is a flock of sheep, and a man looking after them; to the left, a farmhouse, offices, &c.; before us the spire of St. James’s, Sydney, perhaps three miles distant, the metropolitan church of the new empire, and, a little to the right, the rival building of the Roman church. Beneath us lies Sydney, the base-born mother of this New World, covering a large extent of ground, and, at the extreme point of land, the signal station, with the flags displayed, betokening the arrival of a ship from England. Till now we