CHAPTER III.
SOUTHERN COLONIES OF AUSTRALIA.

I. Western Australia.

THE first point of Australia which outward-bound steamers make for is Cape Leeuwin, the south-west corner of the continent. It is always supposed that on rounding this cape a change of weather will be experienced, and that one will have a very rough time of it during this operation. But my experience was different, for we had it calm all the way, and more calm after rounding the Leeuwin. The only sight of land one gets, however, is a low line of darkness, with several rocky islets a long way from the shore; and all the coast between this and King George's Sound is low, rocky, and uninteresting.

We are now within the expansive limits of Western Australia, which, of all the Australian colonies, is the most extensive (1,060,000 square miles), and has the smallest population (50,000).

These are remarkable figures. They mean that the colony is nearly twelve times as big as the United Kingdom, with a population only about one thousandth as great, or nearly as much as that of Anglesey. And, moreover, of this population, Perth, the capital, and Freemantle, its port, take over one-third.

It seems all the more curious that this great territory should support so few inhabitants, con­sidering that it is the nearest colony to England, and contains the first port at which most of the large steamers from Europe call. This port is King George's Sound-a name well known to all who take an interest in the British Empire, though its reputation rests almost entirely on the fact that it is a good harbour, and therefore requires defending.

Now, the defence of this place and of Thursday Island, the extreme opposite point of Australia, has probably been more discussed than any other scheme of defence in recent years. Committee after committee, and expert after expert, have at different times proceeded to inspect the place, and issue a voluminous report on the subject. Not that any great difficulties are presented; quite the contrary. But probably by this means much expense may be saved, for if a committee is engaged in drawing up a report on the subject, no one can find fault with the powers that be.

King George's Sound looks as if made for defence. The outer harbour, or sound proper, is formed by some islands, admirably suited as sites for fortifications, and a flat promontory which juts out from the shore, ending in a low rounded hill. Then the inner harbour is separated from the outer by a peninsula consisting of a turtle-backed island connected by a sandy neck. On any of these forts could easily be constructed.

The steamers anchor in the inner harbour, on the north side of which is situated the town of Albany. This place, possibly destined some day to be one of great importance, is at present nothing more than a small village; and yet the large Australian liners have to call in and waste several hours here simply to coal. This must be, however, a great blessing to the good people of Perth (not half the size of its namesake in Scotland. The country round is rocky and undulating, covered with heather and rough grass, and has quite a Scotch look. The usual thing for ladies to do here is to gather wildflowers, which grow in great profusion and variety on the slopes; but there seems to be little else to be done in Albany. It is, however, a thoroughly typical Australian township, and is therefore interesting to anyone newly arrived from Europe.

One of the great peculiarities of Australian scenery is the similarity, not only in the trees, grass, and general appearance, but in the towns and buildings all through the country. From one end to the other of this great continent the ordinary aspect is the same. Go out for a walk round Albany, and you could not tell you were not in the neighborhood of Cape York. There may be a difference in temperature, of course, and a botanist might detect a difference in the varieties of many of the plants, but in general appearance all are the same.

So also with the houses; those you see in the South are just the same as those in the far North—one-storied wooden houses, the walls consisting of a framework covered with overlapping "weather­boards," generally painted white or brown, with corrugated iron roof. The house may be classed by its veranda: only the meanest hovels have none at all; the ordinary cottage always has its roof ex­tended to the front and supported on pillars. When the domicile gets a bit more pretentious, the veranda extends round the sides. Each house, as a rule, stands in its own grounds, though these are often not even fenced in, and are seldom cultivated. Flower gardens are few and far between; and kitchen-gardens hardly exist. One is surprised at this, for when a man settles down on his own property (which is the usual thing out here), and is not as a rule over­burdened with work, one would have thought he would have set to work to make it nice and homely, and spend his spare time in the garden; but he doesn't.

The village, as we should call it, though Australians would designate it “township,” consists, like every other in Australia, of a wide street bordered by a number of such houses.

The streets in these small towns always look of great width; and the inhabitants will generally point out with pride their broad streets, and delight to think what a splendid town it will some day make (for they always suppose the village will soon grow into a city). But when the place does increase and becomes a town, it is surprising how the streets diminish in width, or rather in appearance, as the houses on either side rise up. Probably the Strand (in London) would look a splendid thoroughfare if the traffic were removed, and small one-storied cottages put in place of the existing houses.

Albany does not boast many fine buildings. There is a barn-like post office, and a Custom House. Then, of course, there are several "hotels," as they call public-houses in this country, without which no town would be complete. There is also a very small and rather picturesque-looking church, and that is about all that is to be seen in the way of edifices.

But here also one first becomes acquainted with the Australian native—I do not mean black, but the bony, lanky, long-bearded individual, full of brag and whisky, in a wide-awake hat, a loose shirt and moleskin trousers. He may be seen riding a horse of somewhat the same description-that is to say, lanky, large-boned, and shaggy, and with a tendency to try to get the best of you—leisurely cantering down hill with loose and rotten-looking reins, the horse, with mangy mane (for a variety of horse-mange is very prevalent throughout Australia), looking as if at every step it must fall. Or you may see such a man, gun in hand, followed by a couple of coarse looking greyhounds, going out after kangaroo.

When I was at Albany, the only means of getting to Perth was either by a very rough coach, or by a wretched little steamer, not at all the sort of vessel one would choose for making the trip round that storm-bound coast, either route taking two days. But since then a railway has been opened connecting the two towns. Not far from Albany good timber is to be got, especially the “jarrah,” a species of eucalyptus, which grows to a great size, and is a most useful wood for building purposes, being proof against white ants, which cause so much destruction in tropical Australia.

Under the circumstances one does not, or, at all events, I did not, feel inclined to make a long stay in Western Australia. No inducements are held out to visit Perth, and, as far as I could gather, there is absolutely nothing else to be seen in this colony that cannot be better seen elsewhere.

The interior of the colony is comparatively little known, and many a zealous traveller has had to turn back, baffled by the everlasting waterless plains and deserts. We hear unkind stories of one exploring party which got on very well for the first part of their journey, so long as the public-houses lasted, but after that they found the hardships too severe to continue the penetration of the great unknown.

II. South Australia.

The first land belonging to South Australia that is sighted by the steamer is Kangaroo Island.

This is a large, uninteresting-looking island, over eighty miles long, consisting of a flat-topped, grass covered plateau, with cliffs all round, and with only a cloud of smoke here and there from some bush fire to relieve the monotony. Later on we sight to our left Yorke's Peninsula (not to be confounded with the great Cape York Peninsula on the other side of Australia). And then, passing through the Gulf of St. Vincent, we get to Largs Bay. All the country near the coast appears flat and low, but some miles inland it rises abruptly in good-sized hills.

Adelaide is peculiarly situated, being some five miles inland, and though so close to the sea, it can hardly be called a port. Port Adelaide is a small town close to Largs Bay. On arriving at the latter, we land at a pier, and get our things passed at the Custom House, and then take train for Port Adelaide, and thence to the capital itself, which by this route is a journey of some ten miles.

Adelaide is decidedly a fine town, and is built in a regular pattern. All the streets run at right angles; exactly in the middle of the city is Victoria Square; and four other similar squares lie towards the four corners of the town. King William Street, the principal thoroughfare, runs right through the centre and through Victoria Square. Most of the principal buildings, which are of fine architectural design, are situated in this street.

Here one first becomes associated with the town life of Australia, and one is at once struck with the independence and “well-to-do-ness” of the inhabitants. The streets are full of people, but all are well clothed and contented-looking. Itinerant musicians, discoursing really good music 0n violins and harps, are common. At night the place is well lighted, and theatres and all places of entertainment abundantly patronized. Hansom cabs ply in the streets, as well as numerous tramcars. Everything looks English, and it is almost dis­appointing to find it so familiar; the crowds are not even wanting for the typical soldiers, as we see many of the permanent artillery dressed just the same as our Royal Artillery, as well as other members of the defence force and volunteers in familiar uniforms. There is, however, one dress that strikes a newcomer as peculiar, and that is that of the Mounted Infantry, consisting of a loose fitting, khaki-coloured coat, gray breeches, leather gaiters, and a wide-awake hat, with one side hooked up. It is a workmanlike if ugly dress, and is almost of the same pattern for Mounted Infantry throughout Australia.

One soon gets to understand the typical Australian. He is good-natured, and ever ready to ask you in to have a drink. Jack is everywhere as good as his master, and the cry is ever, “Australia for the Australians,” meaning, of course, not for the true Australian aboriginals, but for the English colonists. It would, however, never do to put it that way, for this British-Australian colonist is very jealous, and hates the coming of rivals from England. So those born in Australia become proud of the fact, and like to style themselves “natives.”

Talking of native-born Australians, I have been told a remarkable fact by doctors, though, being almost impossible to prove, it must perhaps be con­sidered rather as a theory than a fact. It is that the bones of Australian-born children are much weaker than those of other people. The cause is supposed to be that almost all the drinking water is got from rain run into tanks, which is, of course, deficient in lime.

South Australia is a peculiarly named colony. It might just as well be called North Australia, for it extends from top to bottom of the continent. But the northern districts are separated from the southern by a desert, so that the readiest means of communication between the two is by sea, going right round Victoria, New South Wales, and Queens­land. Besides, all the most northerly portion of Australia (except the narrow York Peninsula) is in “South Australia,” while all the most southerly part is in Victoria.

South Australia is the greatest wheat-growing colony, having some 1,800,000 acres under wheat alone.

III. Victoria.

Victoria is the smallest of the important Australian colonies as regards size, and yet is nearly as big as Great Britain, and it is the most thickly populated.

Port Philip is the large bay or harbour on which Melbourne lies. As we passed in we saw a large wreck on the sands outside, or rather a ship aground, for it appeared but little broken, although it had been there for some years. It seems that when she was being driven ashore they cast out the bow anchors, so that she drifted on to the beach stern first, dragging her anchors. The result is that the seas all break over her bows without doing much harm, although the vessel is so damaged as not to be worth dragging off.

Once inside the `heads,' one seems to be in an inland sea, for the harbour is some thirty miles across. Williamstown is the port at which the large steamers land their passengers for Melbourne, and one has to go on by rail to get to the city.

Melbourne is undoubtedly a grand town. Though in 1836 it consisted of but thirteen huts, it now possesses some of the finest buildings in the Southern Hemi­sphere, and has nearly half a million inhabitants.

It supplies all the comforts of any town of its size. There are capital hotels, theatres, and shops, and at least three good clubs. Down the centres of all the principal streets runs a convenient system of cable cars, looking like so many garden seats out for a walk. The town-hall is a splendid building containing one of the largest organs in the world; a big cathedral is in course of erection, and some grand new Houses of Parliament are also on the rise.

Government House is an enormous place, well situated on some rising ground to the south of the city, surrounded by extensive grounds. There is a magnificent ballroom, in which I have seen 250 come without any crowding.

Adjoining the grounds are the Botanical Gardens and a large public park.

I was in Melbourne (for the second time) at the time of the great exhibition in 1888.

The opening ceremony was a grand sight, the huge lofty exhibition building being packed full with spectators, while the platform looked resplendent with all the Governors of the different colonies, and their staffs in full uniform, together with their wives and other ladies.

As for speeches, presentations, and addresses, there was no end to them; but they were not re­markable for any very distinctive or novel features.

Then, of course, other festivities followed-big public dinners in the exhibition and in the town hall, official lunches, balls at Government House, and big dinners there too.

There is a very fine racecourse at Flemington, where, among many other races, the “Melbourne Cup,” the “Derby” of Australia, is annually competed for. The course, like all the principal ones in Australia, is well laid out and nicely kept. They differ in many details from the usual English course. For instance, no one is ever allowed on the actual track except for crossing at certain points. The lines of police sweeping the course, like so many brooms, are therefore quite an unknown sight in Australia. Another institution is the “totalizator,” now becoming common on European racecourses (indeed, in Russia no other kind of betting is al­lowed). It seems infinitely the best system of ready money betting, and, if gambling is to be allowed, it might with advantage be introduced in England. You put down your sovereign at the ticket-office, and get a ticket for the horse you wish to back. All the money so paid in, except, of course, a small percentage, is divided up and paid out to all those who produce tickets on the winning horse. In this way you are sure of getting correct odds, and “welshing” is an impossibility.

Victoria is the greatest wine-producing colony; but the native wines somehow do not seem to be properly appreciated by the people, probably only because they are cheap. It is told of a certain Governor of one of the colonies, that, with the most patriotic intentions, he ordered nothing but the wines of the country to be drunk at his table. But, unhappy man! He was extensively abused for his supposed parsimony.

Victoria is well provided with railways, and many places, such as Ballarat (one of the oldest and largest goldfields in Australia), Castlemaine, Geelong, etc., may be visited, though all these Australian towns greatly lack any special interest. Train may be taken to Sydney, passing Albury, or the journey to Sydney may be continued on the steamer, which calls in at Melbourne for some days.

IV. New South Wales.

New South Wales is the oldest of the Australian colonies, and the most populous. In 1769 Captain Cook first discovered Botany Bay, near Sydney, which later on received a world-wide reputation as a penal settlement, although, as a matter of fact, the convicts who were landed there only remained a few days, and were very soon removed to a spot in Port Jackson, which is now one of the busiest parts of Sydney.

Everyone ought to know of Sydney Harbour. Sydney people always declare it is the most beautiful in the world, but in reply to the question, `What others have you seen?' the more usual reply is “Oh, Port Philip and Moreton Bay,” or perhaps even “Suez and Brindisi” may be added. Certainly, as far as beauty goes, while not for a minute wishing to undervalue it, I may say I know many far finer. Sydney Harbour may be very well compared to the Bosphorus, without the picturesqueness and peculiarity of the mosques and Oriental buildings of the latter. But as a harbour it is, of course, almost without a rival. Not only is there a very large expanse of water of good depth, but it is intersected by so many promontories jutting out like piers from the shore that the whole thing looks as if made expressly for a big harbour.

The  entrance is imposing. It is about a mile wide, and on each side are the "heads," remarkably perpendicular cliffs, giving quite the appearance of a gateway through a wall.

Sydney Harbour is properly called Port Jackson, but the former designation is more familiar, and will probably in time supersede the older name.

Sydney lies on the south side, about three or four miles from the entrance. One of the most prominent features on steaming in is Government House, situated on a promontory, on the near side of which is Farm Cove, where the men-o'-war lie, and on the far side is Sydney Cove, where the large liners deposit their passengers. On the other side of the harbour, to our right, is North Shore, a flourishing suburb, and here is Admiralty House and its grounds.

As for Sydney itself, it is a large and prosperous city, more like a large English town than Melbourne is, for the streets are narrower and less regularly laid out.

Government House here is also very different to that in Melbourne. It is like an ordinary English country house built in Tudor style, and, though comfortable enough, is altogether too small for the present requirements of the ever-growing place.

I was once present at a most interesting event in Government House. It was the delivery, of a message from Mr. Gladstone to Lord Carrington by the phonograph. Doubtless, in a few years' time this will be considered nothing out-of-the-way, and, indeed, phonographs are common enough even now in America, but I do not suppose that anything of this kind had taken place before in Australia. The apparatus was rigged up and the wax cylinder applied, and in a few minutes Mr. Gladstone's clear voice was distinctly heard by all in the room, delivering an address of congratulation to Lord Carrington! On another occasion the machine was brought up again, and Lord Hopetoun and Lord Kintore spoke messages into it to be forwarded to the other side of the world.

Amongst the many farewell ceremonials to Lord Carrington on giving up the Governorship of New South Wales (1890), in which he had made himself extremely popular, none was more magnificent than the great banquet given in the fine new town-hall. Everyone of note was asked, including all the other Australian Governors, the galleries were crowded with ladies, and I have seldom heard a better set of speeches than those delivered by Lords Carrington, Hopetoun, and Kintore, and Sir Henry Norman.

The Houses of Parliament in Sydney are rather disappointing. The chamber of the Lower House is small, and is arranged more like a music-hall. It had an unenviable notoriety for pugilistic encounters between some of its Radical members.

Sir Henry Parkes is, undoubtedly, the most prominent man, not only in New South Wales, but in Australia. He is known as the Grand Old Man of Australia, and is quite as well known in antipodean politics as Gladstone in English and European.

Sir Alfred Stephen, the Lieutenant-Governor, is another wonderful character. Though eighty-eight years old, he came to dine at Government House, and seemed as hale and hearty as could be. He was Chief justice in '44.

Sydney has, like all other large towns, extensive suburbs. Here we find familiar names, such as Hyde Park, Victoria Park, and Paddington, along­side Woolloomooloo and other native names. Then, as we get further still from the madding crowd, we come across numerous small watering-places dotted about the harbour, the Parramatta, and Botany Bay.

Further off is the beautiful Hawkesbury River, forming in its lower reaches really an arm, or arms, of the sea. The water lies surrounded by steep hills, suggestive of the Italian lakes. It has recently been bridged by a tremendous work of engineering, and trains now run uninterruptedly from Sydney to Brisbane.

The Blue Mountains are the great holiday resort of New South Wales. After leaving Sydney, the train passes for some hours over the flat country at the back, and then begins a gradual ascent into the mountains, which soon becomes steeper, and a fine view is obtained over the plains. Katoomba, where there is a fine new hotel, is a usual starting point for seeing the sights. One then has to do the neighbourhood in true tourist fashion. There are three classes of sights—the waterfalls, the fern gullies, and the rocky cliffs. There are numbers of specimens of each sort, but they are all very much alike. The country consists of tablelands falling in abrupt precipices to wide forest-clad valleys below, the cliffs winding about in a manner suggestive of the sea coast, with capes and bays. The epithet “blue” appears to me to apply better to the mist covered valleys than to the mountains, which latter, in the ordinary sense of the word, can scarcely be said to exist. Over the cliffs in places run the waterfalls, and these water the gullies of tree-ferns below. Certainly a pretty sight, and well arranged with footpaths, notice-boards, and every convenience for excursionists.

On passing right over the Blue Mountains, the railway descends to the more low-lying country on the other side by a most extraordinary zigzag. The train goes down a long incline, winding round the contours of the hills and passing through tunnels and over viaducts, till it stops on a “safety flat,” and backs down the next incline, and then down a third one.

It is a great piece of engineering, though a novice would have thought the thing could have been done easier by following some less abrupt track.

The Jenolan Caves are one of the great sights of' Australia, and well worth a visit. They are near "nowhere," though best got at from one of the stations in the Blue Mountains. A great road has been made for miles and miles through the Bush, but I heard many a growl from those interested, who declared that this expensive undertaking had been made in quite the wrong place, for it by no means connected the caves with the neatest point of the railway. I would recommend any intending visitors not to try stopping the night halfway to the caves, as I did. It is a very pretty and in­teresting trip, but the “Half-way House” affords but the very poorest of entertainment. Such luxuries as milk and butter were quite out of the question, and anything more than the very roughest food would require arranging for. The few timber hovels around reminded me more of Russia than Australia, though they were, luckily, comparatively clean.

After about thirty miles of road through the Bush, we get out on to the hillside, and the road descends, skirting round the hills, all the way a gradual slope for six or seven miles, with rocky Cuttings along one side, and an embankment on the other, with split timber fence. This is a long, monotonous bit, but it is a wonderful specimen of road-making.

The Jenolan Caves, which, by the way, are not called after some native word, but merely after a surveyor of them, J. E. Nolan, used to be known as the Fish River Caves; but, as the guide-book says, "owing to the absence of the Fish River, ten miles away," it was decided to re-christen them. There is a romantic story, strictly untrue, I believe, that they were originally inhabited by a bush­ranger, who, when pursued by the police, was always able to gain one of the many openings of this extensive warren. The caves are of various kinds. Close to the hotel are the very imposing large "halls," appropriately called the “Grand Arch” and the “Devil's Coach house” (not that I know much about the latter being 'appropriate,' but the place certainly is suggestive of Dante).

The more interesting caves are mostly got at through very small openings, and many of them have had to be artificially enlarged in order that they may be easily visited.

Much as one may dislike the regulation tourist arrangements, there can be no doubt that these caves are well managed. Locked iron gates prevent unauthorized persons—that is, those without an official guide-from entering the caves. This is a most necessary precaution for two reasons: The caves are so intricate that a stranger would be most likely to get lost in them; and, besides this, the more inconsiderate tourist could do an immense amount of injury if he took to breaking the stalactites in order to get specimens. Then, regular paths conduct one right through the interesting parts, with ladders and railings and bridges where necessary, which, although detracting somewhat from the general idea of the natural formations, still are most convenient if you want to see all that is to be seen in a few days. Some of the caves are illuminated by electric light (the power being derived from a stream close by); but this also enables one to see the sights in a manner quite impossible otherwise, and it is, moreover, a great pity that it could not have been introduced many years ago, as it is easy to see that the smoky torches and candles of many hundreds of visitors soon have a bad effect on the beautifully clear crystal formations.

The caves are no mere tunnel, but of all shapes and sizes. Often one appears to be in a chamber with no exit; but on goes the guide—it may be through some narrow winding crack, down some steep incline, or clambering up a ladder to a hole near the “ceiling.” The marvel is, not only the beauty of some of the stalactites and stalagmites, but their wonderful variety. In one cave they all appear like so many, snowballs, above and below. In others are “curtains” of stalactite, looking really just as if made of some “textile fabric,” hanging in folds from above. Then there are others like icicles, clear as glass. The “broken column” is very curious, consisting of a big stalactite, perhaps eight inches or a foot in diameter, which apparently reached the floor, and so formed a perfect column. But it has been broken, and probably by some movement of the rocks, the broken end of the upper part is not exactly over the lower. There are many stalactites which they call ` mysteries,' because it seems impossible to account for their formation; a mass of crystal is seen sticking out sometimes even from the side of the cave, and not only with numerous small crystals hanging down­wards, but some actually going straight up or out sideways. As stalactites are supposed to be formed by water containing an excess of lime trickling through the rock, and gradually depositing a coat of lime, how can we account for these stalactites growing upwards or sideways? There are also many varieties of stalagmites, the result on the floor of the drippings from above. Some of the larger ones have the appearance of rough statues, one being very suggestive of “the Madonna and Child.” Some look like cabbage fields, others like the model of a town with walls and fortifications.

Then one comes across pools of water so clear that it is almost impossible to see where the surface of the water begins and ends.

We had a good clamber to see some caves not generally shown to the tourist, which gave one a good idea of the difficulties which the earlier explorers must have had, and the advantage of the artificial openings, ladders. etc.

For some distance we had to get through a horizontal crack not much over a foot high in places. This involved lying flat on one's back or face, and wriggling along as best one could, the ground being covered with a layer of slimy, wet mud. Then we had to climb up a place more like the interior of a good-sized chimney. Part of this had to be accom­plished by pressing one's back against one side, and one's feet or knees against the other; and a nice mess there would have been if one had slipped!

What with big shelving rocks on a slant, up which one had to flounder in bad imitation of a lizard, clinging on loose boulders which would smother one if they fell, and many other similar modes of pro­gression, I think, on the whole, I shall in future only visit the artificially-improved caves.

On leaving the caves, one may return to civiliza­tion by other bush tracks.

New South Wales is a great pastoral country, supporting many times more sheep than any other colony (nearly 50,000,000).

A sheep-station generally consists of a house for the squatter and his family, and several cottages for the various employees. This sort of small village may often be twenty or thirty miles, or even more, from any other habitation. All around it is the sheep-run of open plains or downs. But, of course, care has to be taken to select a suitable kind of grass for the sheep. “Spear grass,” for instance, is common in many places, and this actually kills numbers of sheep. It is not unlike a small kind of oats, the seeds of which are long and sharp. These seeds catch in the wool of sheep, and, as in the well-known trick with a piece of barley, work their way through the wool. But they are so sharp that they soon penetrate right into the skin of the sheep, and then form bad sores which often kill the animal.

In the shearing season the sheep are collected in flocks, and driven to the shearing shed by mounted shepherds. The shearers are merely birds of passage, going on from station to station; and much trouble they often give if they are "unionists," as then they have everything their own way; and if the squatter finds fault with any one of them, they have a way of all quietly going off together to another station, leaving the thousands of sheep unshorn. These shearers' unions are becoming much too powerful an organization; but the squatters have lately been forming their union, which, if properly managed, ought to quite nullify any of the bad attempts at reform of the others.

The shearers are paid by the work they do­4s. a score of fleeces being the usual price. As one good man can shear 130 sheep in a day, it is certainly not bad pay, considering he gets his rations and lodging, too. But then the shearing only lasts a short time.

The shearing sheds are arranged according to the following plan A represents the door at which the sheep are first driven in; they then go into the pens B, etc.—say, eight or ten sheep in each. At C stand the shearers. Each man pulls out a sheep by the hind leg from his pen, sits him up, and shears him. When finished, the sheep is pushed out through a small door to the large pens, D, outside the shed, and a fresh sheep is taken from H. A small boy gathers up the fleece (which is all in one piece as if the skin and all were cut off), and carries it off to a sort of counter, E. Here it is examined by an expert, who judges of the quality of the wool, and after tearing off the “skirtings”—that is, the edges of short, dirty wool-throws it into one of the stalls, F, according to its classification. Good fleeces fetch about 1s.<1lb.; the “skirtings” only about 4d. A good fleece may weigh as much as 10 lb.

The wool thus cut off the sheep is so greasy that if it be twisted and squeezed the oil may be seen running out.

Then comes the packing. All the wool of one kind, from one of the bins, F, is put into a tall wooden tube, or hollow column, G-say three feet square,—under which fits a box, in which a sack has been spread, with its edges protruding. By means of a huge screw all the wool in the tube is compressed down into the sack, and a piece of canvas, which has been laid on top of the wool, is brought in contact with the top edges of the sack, which are then sewn together, and thus a regular bale of wool is formed. But this is not all, for the bale is then carried to the hydraulic press, H, where it is further squeezed into about half its size, and is then bound with iron hoops. These bales are later loaded on to waggons, drawn by perhaps ten horses or oxen, and dragged off slowly to the nearest railway-station.

At Ipswich, in Queensland, is a wool factory, where I have seen the further processes of converting the fleece into cloth.

The first process the wool undergoes at the factory is to be well washed by machinery. It is then spread out to dry; after that it is usually dyed, and then carded. This carding is a wonderful process, and should be “seen to be appreciated.” Huge rollers, covered with very small wire bristles, are rotated in a series, so nearly touching each other that the bristles on one pick the "fluff" off the next, and so on. All the dirt and foreign matter falls to the ground, and the wool becomes so spread out that it leaves the last roller looking just like a big thick cobweb. It is then divided up and rolled into a string-like form, but without being twisted. It is removed to another machine to be spun into yarn, and finally put into the looms and woven into cloth. But there are still many processes before the cloth is complete. I t must be washed again (to get rid of the grease which is necessary in the weaving) and dyed, if the cloth is to be all one colour. It is then brushed. The brushes used in this process are heads of teasels, which plant produces naturally a more suitable brush than can be made artifi­cially. The minute hooks or “awns” scrape up the cloth, and give it the required “nap.” As a natural sequence to washing and brushing, it is then shaved by being passed under a large sharp “razor.” Finally, the cloth must be pressed, and otherwise finished up.

Considering the millions of sheep there are in Australia (over 80,000,000) which require shearing every year, it is not to be wondered at that inventors have been busy devising means whereby this may be accomplished by machinery. There are at present a number of different machines in the market, though all more or less similar; and one of the first brought out, and probably the best known, is that invented by Mr. Wolseley, the brother of “the hero of Cairo.” After these ingenious machines have been seen in operation, one only wonders why they are not always used on all stations. But they are not, and there is one great reason why. Like so many other great questions in Australia, the matter is ruled by the working man. He argues thus: A shearing machine shears sheep much quicker than a hand-shearer. This means that if machines were always used less labour would be required, and therefore fewer men employed. So, he argues, the machine is the enemy of the labouring man, and must be discouraged. In this short-sighted way the Australian workman continually damages himself. He cannot be got to see that it is to the advantage of sheep-farming, and therefore to the advantage of the colony and of himself.

Although not a large sheep-station, being in reality merely an experimental establishment, Mr. Wolseley has a sheep-run at Liddleton, with some 6,000 sheep. Here he has some sheds fitted up with his apparatus. It must be remembered, however, that there are numerous other sheds throughout Australia fitted with them, but I take this as an instance, being, so to speak, the home of the machine.

The apparatus consists of a handle, on the end of which is a sort of many-pronged fork. On the top of this fork or toothed blade is pivoted another, free to oscillate to and fro in a similar manner to an ordinary horse-clipper, so that the wool between the teeth is cut just as it would be by a pair of scissors. A crank behind the pivot moves the blades, and is revolved by means of a flexible cord which runs up a tube suspended from over the operator's head, which cord is revolved by a wheel from the steam-engine or other motor. Though somewhat difficult to describe, the apparatus is very simple, and easy to work. Not only can it be used by comparatively unskilled hands, but one of its great advantages is that it cuts the fleece so closely off the sheep that more wool is got than by ordinary shearing, and without any chance of nicking pieces of skin out, which is so common in ordinary hand-shearing. A sheep after having undergone his toilet by machinery looks positively indecent.

It is supposed that many sheep and cattle are killed by snakes, and there are many instances in which even a horse going along a road has been bitten and killed by the brutes. Generally, if a sheep dies a natural death, the crows soon come down and feed upon the carcass, but sometimes they don't, and then it is supposed that the sheep must have been killed by a snake, and the flesh rendered inedible. But this would open up an interesting question, for I believe it has been proved that the poison of a snake does no harm if taken internally, therefore one would have supposed that the flesh of an animal so killed would not be poisonous. I t may, perhaps, be disagreeable to the taste, but I would prefer to leave the matter for others to experiment upon.

Snakes abound everywhere in Australia—black snakes, brown snakes, and death adders, being all most poisonous. It is quite bad enough to come across them at every turn when out shooting in the Bush, but when they take upon themselves to return the visit and squeeze their nasty bodies along into your bedroom, why, they become a nuisance! I had several exciting snake adventures, but as the snake generally got the best of it, I will not relate them. Once, however, I found a snake having a swim in my private bathing-place. I did not bathe that morning, but 1 pursued the intruder in a canoe, and after a great fight, during which he repeatedly sprang towards me, I succeeded in breaking his back with the paddle.

Another unpleasant, though comparatively harmless, creature is the iguana. This is a big lizard, sometimes attaining a length of perhaps three feet. They are ugly brutes, and often hang about houses. to pick up eggs and other delicacies in which they delight. They are said to be very good eating in themselves, but I didn't try. One day I shot one close to the root of a tree; the tree was hollow, and he was just able to struggle into a hole in the tree. But there he remained, with the end of his tail out. I seized this, and pulled all I knew, till suddenly it came off

My experiences of sport in Australia were of the poorest. I am assured that there is some excellent duck-shooting in parts, but I went out again and again to different places highly recommended, and seldom returned with more than two or three head of game. Occasionally a black swan or a pelican added weight to the bag, and “redbill” are common in some places; while at times one may get snipe, plover, or curlew.

Lyre-birds and cassowary are said to exist in the Bush, but they are rare.

The kangaroo is an animal which one would expect to be very common in Australia. But I had been over a year travelling about the country before I saw any real wild ones. They always keep very much away from civilization. However, I have seen wallaby, a small variety of kangaroo, not far from the Blue Mountains, and it is a very pretty sight to watch them skipping along among the fallen timber. The wonder is that they never trip up, for it looks as if they must catch their toes occasionally in jumping a log, and if they did, they could not help falling flat on their noses.

There are a great many varieties of kangaroo, but the name is usually only applied to the larger species, the wallabies being smaller and commoner. Smaller still is the pademelon, not much bigger than a hare, and excellent eating; and, finally, there are the kangaroo rats and mice. The hunting and shooting of kangaroos is now only to be got in out­of-the-way districts.

One of the funniest looking animals is the native bear. He has but little resemblance to any other bear, being more like a monkey, and yet is a marsupial. He has great strong claws for gripping on to the trees, large ears, and mild eyes, and looks a typical fool. But all marsupials, as may be seen by the form of their brains, are not so intelligent as other animals. Opossums and native bears offer but poor sport; flying foxes, which do great damage to the fruit-trees, are common enough in some places. Wild horses may be shot occasionally, and there are some red deer in one place.

Gay-coloured parrots are very common throughout Australia, and in New South Wales they are especially numerous. The good old laughing jackass is often to be heard chortling in his glee over a feast of snake or other reptile.

Although I never came across the gentleman, no book about Australia would be complete without a reference to that amphibious, mole-like, egg-laying, duck-billed monstrosity, the platypus. No wonder it was a puzzle to naturalists when first discovered His sharp hind-claws are connected with a gland, which gave the idea that the beast must be venomous; I believe there is no further proof of it. He is, however, quite wonderful enough without. The animal is very local, and Wolseley's sheep-station is one of the only places I went to where it was said to be common.

Driving through the Australian bush is a curious experience for the "new chum." The road generally consists of the merest track among the trees. Occasionally there is some sort of fence on each side; but even then, as often as not, the trees are not cleared between them. But it is marvellous how the horses go, and how the drivers guide them in and out of the standing and fallen logs, over mounds of earth and deep boggy patches. Somehow, the horses drag the coach or buggy through everything, and at a good pace too.

Then a word must be said about riding and buck­jumping. The Australian bushman, who, by the way, very seldom, if ever, wears the boots and breeches so often depicted in illustrations, but is usually attired in moleskin trousers, occasionally donning a pair of gaiters, is by no means a pretty horseman. But there are two reasons why he ought to be good. First, he is always in the saddle, though, remember, this only applies to the bushman, and not the townsman; and, secondly, he has any amount of rash pluck.

I saw some buck-jumping competitions; but the best rider I saw there was an African negro. The horse burst his girths and threw the saddle, but he vaulted on to his back again and successfully rode him barebacked!

The Australian saddle is peculiar, being very high in the cantle, and with large knee-pads protruding from the sides. Some are even fitted with a handle on the pommel to seize when the horse begins his bucking games.

I bought my experience in due course. A good-looking, if rough, young horse was the object. He was quiet enough for a day or two, but he then took to moving about as I mounted him. Next he developed a taste for standing erect on his hind legs, and correction affected his temper, which he vented with his heels; he was not long before he took to his national propensities, and on several occasions I found myself quickly transferred from his back on to my own. It is almost impossible to sit a buck jumper in an English saddle. Finally, one day he shied at a little barking cur, took to his heels, carried me two or three miles in not many more minutes, and then slipped up rounding a corner. I still possess the marks of that ride, but the horse himself did not remain long in my possession.

		B. F. S. Baden-Powell, In Savage Isles and Settled Lands: Malaysia, Australasia, and Polynesia, 1888-1891. Chapter IV. Queensland. (in preparation).
		Major Baden F. S. Baden-Powell was one of B-P's younger brothers.  He was a pioneer of military aviation, an officer in the Scot's Guards and a Fellow of both the Royal Aeronautical Society and Royal Geographical Society. He was also author of In Savage Isles and Settled Lands published in 1892.
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