A ROBINSON CRUSOE COLONY.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 13, Issue 1072, 6 August 1869, Page 2

A ROBINSON CRUSOE COLONY.

Some short time since the Government of Sydney received a memorial purporting to come from the inhabitants of Lord Howe's Island, praying for an investigation concerning an alleged murder in that place. Mr. Robertson had, no doubt, some difficulty in ascertaining the preciso position of his unknown subjects, but perseverance works wonders, and so the discovery was made, and an officer sent to make the proper inquiries. This gentleman and his companions have brought back a curious description of this almost microscopic variety of political life. Tho island is about 450 miles distant from Sydney, and is six and a half miles in length and half a mile in breadth. One-third of this spaco is taken up by two mountains, descending sheer into tho sea, one of which rises to a height of 2,500 ft. On this island, the world forgetting, by the world forgot, live thirtyfivo human beings. About eight or ten of them are able-bodied young men. They are English, or of Australian birth, and settled in their ocean home, it is said with the view of trading with the whalers who used the island as a placo of call. They have no Government, no judge, no church, no school, and no legal marriage. Three or four times in tho year a small craft belonging to some of them brings them, in exchange for their onions and bananas, a supply of flour and sugar and such other articles as they need. They appear to be well fed, well clothed, and well housed, and there seems to be a tacit understanding among them to respect each other's property. They live together happily enough, and disputes among them are very rare. They know nothing and they care nothing about the events of the outside world. They have no wish to leave their island, and they are disinclined even to speak about other countries. In their lonely land, with its semi-tropical productions, they remind us of the country whence the mildeyed, melancholy lotos-eaters come ; and in their apathy towards their old and faroff homes, we seem to. hear the refrain of the lotos-eaters' choral song — "Oh rest ye, brother mariners ; we will return no more 1" — Australasian.