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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE OF POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.

APRIL, 1875.

Vol. XV, No. 88




TABLE OF CONTENTS


AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES.
CONCLUDING PAPER.

THE GOLDEN EAGLE AND HIS EYRIE by W. A. BAILLIE-GROHMAN.

THREE FEATHERS by WILLIAM BLACK.
CHAPTER XXIX MABYN DREAMS.
CHAPTER XXX FERN IN DIE WELT.
CHAPTER XXXI "BLUE IS THE SWEETEST."
CHAPTER XXXII. THE EXILE'S RETURN.

SONNET by F. A. HILLARD.

NICE by R. DAVEY.

THE RASKOL, AND SECTS IN RUSSIA.
I. ORIGIN OF THE RASKOL.
II. OPPOSITION TO MODERN CIVILIZATION.
III. INTERNAL DIVISIONS.

ELEANOR'S CAREER by ITA ANIOL PROKOP.

AN AMERICAN LADY'S OCCUPATIONS SEVENTY YEARS AGO by
ETHEL C. GALE.

A MARCH VIOLET by EMMA LAZARUS.

WHAT IS A CONCLAVE? by T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.

MONSOOR PACHA by GEORGE H. BOKER.

HOW HAM WAS CURED by JENNIE WOODVILLE.

ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS by KATE HILLARD.

OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.
ARTISTS' MODELS IN ROME by T. A. T.
FAUST IN POLAND by E. C. R.
A LETTER FROM HAVANA by F. C. N.
FRENCH SLANG by F. A.
NOTES.

LITERATURE OF THE DAY.

Books Received.

FOOTNOTES.




ILLUSTRATIONS

FOREST OF COCKATOOS.

SYDNEY.

ASTROLABE AND ZÉLÉE ON CORAL REEFS

CANNIBAL FIRES.

MONUMENT TO BURKE AND WILLS.

BAS-RELIEF: RETURN TO COOPER'S CREEK.

BAS-RELIEF: DEATH OF BURKE.

BAS-RELIEF: FINDING OF BURKE.

VALLEY OF LAUNCESTON, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.

COURSE OF THE TAMAR, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.

GORGE OF THE TAMAR, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.

HOBART TOWN.

ON THE WAY TO THE WOOD-DRIFT.

OUR ARRIVAL AT THE DRIFT-KEEPER'S COTTAGE.

INTERIOR OF TOMERL'S COTTAGE.

"FIXING THE BOAT-HOOK INTO AN INDENTATION, I PULLED MYSELF IN."

ENTERING THE EYRIE.


* * * * *




LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE

OF

_POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE_.


APRIL, 1875.

Vol. XV, No. 88


* * * * *




AUSTRALIAN SCENES AND ADVENTURES.

CONCLUDING PAPER.

[Illustration: FOREST OF COCKATOOS.]


People who go to Australia expecting every other man they meet to be a
convict, and every convict a ruffian in felon's garb, will assuredly
find themselves mistaken. And if contemplating a residence in Sydney or
Melbourne they need not anticipate the necessity of living in a tent or
a shanty, nor yet of accepting the society of convicts or negroes as the
only alternative to a life of solitude. Neither will it be necessary to
go armed with revolvers by day, nor to place plate and jewels under
guard at night. Sydney, the capital of the penal colony, is a quiet,
orderly city, abounding in villas and gardens, churches and schools, and
about its well-lighted streets ride and walk well-dressed and well-bred
people, whose visages betray neither the ruffian nor the cannibal. Some
of them may be convicts or "ticket-of-leave-men," but this a stranger
would need to be told, as they dress like others, their equipages are
quite as stylish, and many of them not only amass more property, but are
really more honest, than some of those never sentenced, because they
know that the continuance of their freedom depends on their reputation.

[Illustration: SYDNEY.]

The city, built on the south side of a beautiful lake, is perfectly
unique in design, being composed of five broad promontories, looking
like the five fingers of a hand slightly expanded. All the important
streets run from east to west, and each terminates in a distinct harbor,
while clearly visible from the upper portion of the street is a grand
moving panorama of vessels of every description, with masts, sails and
colors that seem peering out from every interstice between the houses.
Each day witnesses the arrival and departure of eight or ten steamers,
ferry-boats leave every half hour all the principal landings for the
various sections of the city, and the wharves are lined with the
shipping of every nation, many of the vessels ranging from fifteen
hundred to two thousand tons burden. On a huge rock in Watson's Bay
stands the lighthouse at the entrance of Port Jackson. The sea lashes
the black rock with ceaseless fury, the light from the summit rendering
even the base visible at a great distance. The light is 350 feet above
the level of the sea, yet it was almost under its very rays that the
good ship Dunbar came to grief. Missing the passage, she was engulfed in
the raging sea, and her three hundred and ninety passengers perished in
full view of the homes they were seeking.

Orange and almond trees, with other tropical plants, loaded with
blossoms and fruit, beautify the lowlands, while in more elevated
localities are found the fruits and foliage of the temperate zone, very
many of them exotics brought by the settlers from their English homes.
Down to the very water's edge extends the verdure of tree and shrub,
overshadowing to the right Fort Jackson, and to the left Middle Harbor.
The Government House commands the bay with the imposing mien of a
fortress, and the magnificent reception-rooms are worthy of a
sovereign's court. The garden surrounding it occupies a beautiful
promontory, its borders washed by the sea, the walks shaded by trees
imported from Europe, and the whole parterre redolent with tropical
beauty and fragrance. On the promenades are frequently assembled at
evening two or three hundred ladies and gentlemen in full dress, while
military bands discourse sweet music for the entertainment of the
brilliant throng.

Ballarat may be called the city of gold; Melbourne, of clubs, democracy
and thriving commerce; Hobart Town takes the premium for hospitality and
picturesque beauty; but Sydney bears the impress of genuine English
aristocracy, in combination with a sort of Creole piquancy singularly in
contrast with English exclusiveness, yet giving a wonderful charm to the
society of this city of high life, so full of gayety, brilliancy and
luxury. Who would recognize in the Sydney of to-day, with its four
hundred thousand inhabitants, its churches, theatres and libraries, the
outgrowth of the penal colony of Botany Bay, planted only eighty-seven
years ago on savage shores? It was in May, 1787, that the first colony
left England for Botany Bay, a squadron of eleven vessels, carrying
eleven hundred and eighteen colonists to make a lodgment on an unknown
shore inhabited by savages. Of these eleven hundred and eighteen, there
were six hundred male and two hundred and fifty female convicts, the
remaining portion being composed of officers and soldiers to take charge
of the new penal settlement, under the command of Governor Phillip. From
so unpromising a beginning has grown the present rich and flourishing
settlement, and in lieu of the few temporary shanties erected by the
first colonists there stands a magnificent city of more than ordinarily
fine architecture, with banks and hospitals, schools and churches - among
the latter a superb cathedral - all displaying the proverbial prodigality
of labor and expense for which the English are noted in the erection and
adornment of their public edifices. Among the educational establishments
are the English University, with a public hall like that of Westminster;
St. John's College (Catholic); and national primary and high schools,
where are educated about thirty-four thousand pupils at an annual
expense to the government of more than three hundred thousand dollars.
From the parent colony have sprung others, while the poverty and
corruption that were the distinguishing features of the original element
have been gradually lost in the more recent importations of honest and
respectable citizens.

Apart from the wealth and gayety of Sydney, there is much in its various
grades of society to interest the average tourist. The "ticket-of-leave
men" - that is, convicts who, having served out a portion of their term
and been favorably reported for good conduct, are permitted to go at
large and begin life anew - form a distinct class, and exert a widespread
influence by their wealth, benevolence and commercial enterprise.

[Illustration: ASTROLABE AND ZÉLÉE ON CORAL REEFS.]

Very many of the better class are talented and well educated, with the
manners and appearance of gentlemen; and in some cases there has been
perhaps but the _single_ crime for which they suffered expatriation
and disgrace. Such as these, as a rule, conduct themselves with
propriety from the moment of being sentenced; never murmur at their work
or discipline, be it ever so hard; and probably after a single year of
hardship are favorably reported, and permitted to seek or make homes for
themselves. Many of them own bank shares and real estate, and some
become immensely rich, either by ability or chance good-fortune. The
property is their own, but the owners are always watched by those in
power, and are liable at any moment to be ordered back to their old
positions. These "remanded men" are treated with the greatest severity,
and few have sufficient power of endurance to live out even a short term
with its increase of rigor and hardship. Yet to the energy and
enterprise of the liberated felons is probably due, more than to any
other cause, that increase of prosperity which has long since rendered
these colonies not only self-supporting, but a source of revenue to the
Crown.

[Illustration: CANNIBAL FIRES.]

Another and the most dangerous class of convicts are those known as
"bushrangers." They are desperate fellows, composed of the very lowest
scum of England, have ordinarily been sentenced for life, and, having no
hope of pardon or desire for amendment, they escape as soon as possible,
often by the murder of one or more of their guards, and take refuge in
the wilds of the interior. Some of these bushrangers are associated
together in large hordes, but others roam solitary for months before
they will venture to trust their lives in the hands of other desperadoes
like themselves. There are hundreds of these lawless men prowling like
wild beasts for their prey in the vicinity of every thoroughfare between
the cities and the mines, robbing and murdering defenceless passengers,
plundering the mails, and constantly exacting the best of their flocks
and herds from the stockmen and shepherds, who in their isolated
positions dare not refuse their demands. So desperate is the character
of these outlaws that they are seldom taken, though thousands of pounds
are occasionally offered for the head of some noted ringleader. They may
be killed in skirmishes, but will not suffer themselves to be taken
alive. A man calling himself "Black Darnley" ranged the woods for years,
committing all sorts of crimes, but at length met a violent death at the
hands of another convict, whose daughter he had outraged.

A curious memento of the first theatre opened in Sydney and the first
performance within its walls has come down to us from the year 1796,
about eight years after the establishment of the penal colony. It was
opened by permission of the governor: all the actors were convicts who
won the privilege by good behavior, and the price of admission was one
shilling, payable in silver, flour, meat or wine. The prologue, written
by a _cidevant_ pickpocket of London, illustrates the character of
the times in those early days of the colony:

From distant climes, o'er widespread seas, we come,
Though not with much _éclat_ or beat of drum,
True patriots all; for be it understood,
We left our country for our country's good:
No private views disgraced our generous zeal;
What urged our travels was our country's weal;
And none will doubt but that our emigration
Has proved most useful to the British nation.
But, you inquire, what could our breasts inflame
With this new passion for theatric fame?
What in the practice of our former days
Could shape our talents to exhibit plays?
Your patience, sirs: some observations made,
You'll grant us equal to the scenic trade.
He who to midnight ladders is no stranger
You'll own will make an admirable Ranger,
And sure in Filch I shall be quite at home:
Some true-bred Falstaff we may hope to start.
The scene to vary, we shall try in time
To treat you with a little pantomime.
Here light and easy Columbines are found,
And well-tried Harlequins with us abound.
From durance vile our precious selves to keep,
We often had recourse to the flying leap,
To a black face have sometimes owed escape,
And Hounslow Heath has proved the worth of crape.
But how, you ask, can we e'er hope to soar.
Above these scenes, and rise to tragic lore?
Too oft, alas! we've forced the unwilling tear,
And petrified the heart with real fear.
Macbeth a harvest of applause will reap,
For some of us, I fear, have murdered sleep.
His lady, too, with grace will sleep and talk:
Our females have been used at night to walk.
Grant us your favor, put us to the test:
To gain your smiles we'll do our very best,
And without dread of future Turnkey Lockets,
Thus, in an honest way, still _pick your pockets_!

It was by the coral-bound Straits of Torres, reckoned by navigators the
most difficult in the world, that the English government determined a
few years ago to send an envoy to open communication between the
Australian colony and the Dutch possessions of Java and Sumatra. The
Hero was the vessel selected for this perilous mission - a voyage of
twelve hundred miles through seas studded thickly with reefs and islands
of coral, many of which lay just beneath the surface of the
waves - hidden pitfalls of death whose yawning jaws threatened instant
destruction to the unwary voyager. The splendid steamer Cowarra had been
wrecked on these reefs only a few months before, but a single one of her
two hundred and seventy-five passengers escaping a watery grave. Her
tall masts, still standing bolt upright amid the coral-reefs, presented
a gaunt spectacle, plainly visible from the Hero's decks as she threaded
her way among the shoaly waters, while a similar though less tragical
warning was the disaster that had overtaken two other vessels, the
Astrolabe and the Zélée, which by a sudden ebb of the tide were thrown
high and dry upon the sands, and remained in this frightful condition
for eight days before the returning waters drifted them off. But the
Hero was a staunch craft - an iron blockade-runner, built at Glasgow
during our late war. She was of twelve hundred tons burden, manned by
forty-two men, and had already weathered storms and dangers enough to
earn a right to the name she bore. Right nobly she fulfilled her
dangerous mission, threading her way with difficulty among whole fields
of coral, that sometimes almost enclosed her low hull as between two
walls; again seeming upon the very verge of the breakers or ready to be
engulfed in their whirling eddies, but emerging at last into the open
channel, a monument of the skill and watchfulness of her officers. Many
of these for days together never left the deck, and the lead was cast
three or four times an hour during the whole passage of these dangerous
seas. Such is the history of navigation in coral seas, but if full of
danger, they are equally replete with picturesque beauty. In the coral
isle, with its blue lagoon, its circling reef and smiling vegetation,
there is a wondrous fascination; while in the long reefs, with the ocean
driving furiously upon them, only to be driven pitilessly back, all
wreathed in white foam and diamond spray, there is enough of the sublime
to transfix the most careless observer. The barrier reef that skirts the
north-east coast of the Australian continent is the grandest coral
formation in the world, stretching for a distance of a thousand miles,
with a varying breadth of from two hundred yards to a mile. The maximum
distance from the shore is seventy miles, but it rarely exceeds
twenty-five or thirty. Between this and the mainland lies a sheltered
channel, safe, for the most part, when reached; but there are few open
passages from the ocean, and the shoals of imperfectly-formed coral that
lie concealed just below the surface render the most watchful care
necessary to a safe passage. The fires of the cannibals, visible on
every peak all along the coast, shed their ruddy light over the blue
waters, illumining here and there some lofty crest, and adding a weird
beauty to the enchanting scene.

[Illustration: MONUMENT TO BURKE AND WILLS.]

"America has no monuments," say our Transatlantic cousins, "because it
is but two hundred years old." Well, Australia, with little more than
three-quarters of a hundred, has already its monument - a beautiful
bronze monument erected to the memory of the explorers Burke and Wills
on a lofty pedestal of elegant workmanship, and occupying a commanding
eminence in the city of Melbourne. The figures, two in number, are of
more than life size, one rising above the other - the chief, with noble
form and dignified air, fraternally supporting his younger confrere. The
pedestal shows three bas-reliefs of exquisite design - one the return to
Cooper's Creek,

[Illustration: BAS-RELIEF: RETURN TO COOPER'S CREEK.]

where the torn garments and emaciated limbs tell with sad emphasis the
woeful tale of hardship and toil through which the heroic explorers had
been passing; another exhibiting the subsequent death of Burke;

[Illustration: BAS-RELIEF: DEATH OF BURKE.]

and the third the finding of the remains.

[Illustration: BAS-RELIEF: FINDING OF BURKE.]

Burke and Wills, to whom belongs the honor of being the first explorers
that crossed the entire continent of Australia, extending their
researches from the Australian to the Pacific Ocean, set out on the 20th
of August, 1860, with a party of fifteen hardy pioneers upon their
perilous mission. Burke was in the prime of life, a man of iron frame,
dauntless courage and an enthusiasm that knew neither difficulty nor
danger. Wills, who belonged to a family that had already given one of
its members to Sir John Franklin's fatal expedition, to find a martyr's
grave among the eternal icebergs of the north, was somewhat younger, and
perhaps less enthusiastic, but was endowed with a rare discretion and
far-seeing sagacity that peculiarly fitted him to be the friend and
counselor of the enthusiastic Burke in such an undertaking. All
Melbourne was in excitement: the government gave fifty thousand dollars,
various individuals ten thousand, to aid the enterprise; and every heart
was aglow with aspirations for their success as the little band of
heroes waved their adieus and turned their faces outward to seek paths
hitherto untrodden by the white man's foot. Besides horses, twenty-seven
camels had been imported from India for the express use of the explorers
and for the transportation of tents, baggage, equipments, and fifteen
months' supply of provisions, with vessels for carrying such supplies of
water as the character of the country over which they were passing
should require them to take with them. Their plan of march divided
itself into three stages, of which Cooper's Creek was the middle one,
and about the centre of the Australian continent. At first their
progress was slow, encumbered as they were by excess of baggage and
equipments: then discontents arose in the little band, and Burke, too
ardent and impulsive for a leader, was first grieved, and then angered,
at what he deemed a want of spirit among some of his men. On the 19th of
October, at Menindie, he left a portion of the troop under the command
of Lieutenant Wright, with orders after a short rest to rejoin him at
Cooper's Creek. It was the end of January before Wright set out for the
point indicated. Meanwhile, as month followed month, bringing to
Melbourne no news of Burke's party, the worst fears were awakened
concerning its fate, and an expedition was fitted out to search for the
lost heroes. To young Howitt was given the command, and it was his
fortune to unveil the sad mystery that had enveloped their fate. On the
29th of June, 1861, crossing the river Loddon, Howitt encountered a
portion of Burke's company under the lead of Brahe, the fourth
lieutenant. Four of his men had died of scurvy, and the rest of his
little band seemed utterly dispirited. Howitt learned that in two months
Burke had crossed the entire route, sometimes desert, sometimes prairie,
between Menindie and Cooper's Creek, and had reached the borders of the
Gulf of Carpentaria, on the extreme north of the continent; also, that
he was there in January, enduring the fiercest heat of summer, and men
and beasts alike languishing for water, and nearly out of provisions. It
was all in vain that he deplored the tardiness of Wright, and hoped, as
he neared Cooper's Creek, for the coming of those who alone had the
means of life for his little squad of famished men. Equally in vain that
Wills with three camels reconnoitred the ground for scores of miles,
hoping to find water. Not an oasis, not a rivulet, was to be found, and
without a single drop of water to quench their parched lips they set out
on another long and dreary march. Desiring to secure the utmost speed,
Burke had left Brahe on the 16th of December with the sick and most of
his provisions at Cooper's Creek, to remain three months at least, and
longer if they were able, while he, with Wills, Grey and King, and six
camels, pushed bravely on, determined not to halt till the Pacific was
reached. Battling with the terrible heat, sometimes for days together
without water, and again obtaining a supply when they had almost
perished for want of it, having occasional fierce conflicts with the
natives, and more deadly encounters with poisonous serpents, but with an
energy and courage that knew no such word as failure, the indomitable
quartette went bravely on. The wished-for goal was reached, and the
heroes, jubiliant though worn and weary, then returned once more to
Cooper's Creek, to find the post deserted by Brahe, and Wright not
arrived, while neither water nor provisions remained to supply their
need.

[Illustration: VALLEY OF LAUNCESTON, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.]

All this Howitt learned after his arrival at the rendezvous, where he
observed cut in the bark of a tree the word "Dig," and on throwing up
the earth found an iron casket deposited by Brahe, giving the date of
his departure and reasons for withdrawal before the appointed time. Of
far deeper interest were papers written by Burke, announcing that he had
reached the Pacific coast, and retraced his steps as far as Cooper's
Creek - that for two months the little party had advanced rapidly, making
constantly new discoveries of fertile lands, widespread prairies,
gushing streams and well-watered valleys. Occasionally they had found
lagoons of salt water, hills of red sand, trees of beautiful foliage,
and mounds indicating the presence at some unknown period of the
aboriginal inhabitants. They had discovered a range of high mountains in
the north, and called them the Standish Mountains, while at their foot
lay outspread a scene so lovely, of verdant groves and fertile meadows,
of well-watered plains and heavy forest trees, that they christened it
the Land of Promise. Then they reached again more sterile lands, parched
and dry, without a rivulet or an oasis. They suffered for water and food
grew scarce, but, sure of relief at Cooper's Creek, they pushed bravely
on, and reached the rendezvous to learn that the men who could have
saved them had passed on but seven hours before! After having
accomplished so much, so bravely battled with heat and hunger, serpents
and cannibals, to perish at last of starvation, seemed a fate too
terrible; and we cannot wonder that the little band fought their destiny
to the last. Little scraps of the journal of Burke and his friends tell
the sad tale of the last few weeks of agony. On March 6th, Burke seemed
near dying from having eaten a bit of a large serpent that he had
cooked. On the 30th they killed one of their camels, and on April 10th
they killed "Billy," Burke's favorite riding-horse. On the 11th they
were forced to halt on account of the condition of Grey, who was no
longer able to proceed. On the 21st they reached an oasis - a little
squad of human skeletons, scarcely more than alive.


[Illustration: COURSE OF THE TAMAR, VAN DIEMEN'S LAND.]


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