TASMANIA REVISITED.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 348, 8 August 1885, Page 14

TASMANIA REVISITED.

By Yoice-Hawkins. [concluded.] Besides this flowering beauty of Mount Wellington (the waratah), shrubs bearing brilliant purple, red and black-coloured berries, the golden and silver wattle, in the full glory of its blossoming, the mountain laurel, in bloom as well, fragile mosses, and endless varieties of beautiful ferns, of all tints of green, from the delicate maiden hair and carrot-head to the magnificent tree-fern in confused entanglement, adorn the slopes and garnish the dashing, clear, ' spavkling streamlets that rush down the ! gullies of the grand old mountain. Every i shrub bears a flower, and each tree blossoms in this ' Garden of the South.' "Whilst the eye is charmed with the flowers and foliage, every zephyr wafts a delicious odour to the nostrils. I You may obtain a splendid view from the Springs, of the city below, and the country to the east and to the south, but, as a far more comprehensive prospect rewards the toiler to the summit, I shall defer a description of the vista until the top is reached. The Springs are looked upon as a halfway house and resting-place, and tourists generally camp here to partake of an al fresco lunch. A little house, occupied by an old couple, affords shelter, and a roaring fire to dry yoxir clotlies, slioxilcl a storm be encountered either on the journey up from town, or back from the pinnacle. A fresh old pair are there now, for the old ones of the old days are both dead long since. The original hut-keepers possessed a scrap-book which contained the autographs of visitors to the mountain for twenty years before, accompanied in many cases by impromptu verses, and tokens of the travellers' admira- ' tiou of the beauties around them. To our disappointment we were told that some vandal had stolen this tourists' chronicler, and we had to put tip with entering our names in a new book, and look over the few leaves filled by the last year's mountain climbers. The pull up the mountain side to the ploughed field is a stiff one, and when that point is reached vegetation ceases, and I a vast field of boulders is before us. Enor-

mous rocks rounded by ages of winters form what is called the ' ploughed field,' and has every appearance of one in the distance. The surface formed by the tops of the rocks is in a measure of a. level nature, but so wide are some of the fissures, which are deep in places, that you must jump to get from one boulder to another. For half-a-mile this jumping game goes on, and when ladies form a portion of the mountain party there is some rare fun, and fine opportunities are offered for gallant attentions from the chevaliers accompanying them. Once across the ' ploughed field '"you are soon upon the ridge of the mountain ; but yet a full mile of rough walking over*"rocks and through, or around, little patches of snowmust be done before the journey to the pinnacle and summit of the mountain is accomplished. The wind always blows cold here, and on the occasion of my last visit (in October) a snow storm came on, in which we nearly lost our way ; for there is nothing but little heaps of stones to guide you — which, once missed, you may easily travel in the wrong direction — there being a sort of table-land of nothing but rock stretching away for many miles to the westward. What a relief it was when the storm lulled, and the snow clouds lifting showed us our direction. Several adventurous mountain explorers have lost their lives in the snow on this mountain, and still more have endured the bitter cold of a night out Avith nothing but a hard boulder for a pillow. On a clear day may be viewed from the pinnacle a great portion of south-eastern Tasmania, with the ocean stretching away to the south, and a glimpse of it over the hills that skirt the eastern shores of the island. To the southard is the fertile and heavilytimbered district of the Huon, the Frenchman's Cap, or La Perouse — a mountain tipped with snow — D'Entrecasteaux Channel and Bruni Island, with its long, irregular shape. Storm Bay, Tasman's Peninsula, and the lovely Sorrell district, with Hobart lying at our feet, and the beautiful contour of the harbour is mapped out in front of us ; while away to the north lies New Norfolk, the upper waters of the Derwent, and the country is everywhere studded with towns and farms as far as the eye can reach. As the crow flies, it is not more than two miles from the highest peak of the mountain — more than four thousand feet above the sea — to the centre of the city below. Immediately in front of you and below, for you are standing upon the verge of a precipice, is the densely-timbered moum%in slope, the city on the banks of the beautiful river, the whole of the magnificent harbour; while beyond the picture directly in front is made up by alternate forest- covered hills and cultivated plains, including the waters of the deep inlet of Port Sorell. It is impossible to do justice from memory to this enchanting scene. You may trace the steamers as they leave the wharves on their voyages to the other colonies, all the way down the estuary and far out to sea, until the hulls are lost in their distant ocean tracks below the horizon. We ran short of water on the summit, and were obliged to wash our sandwiches down with a lump of snow. The sensation as you, twist it round in your mouth is something like that when you are trying to swallow apiece of hot potato, and excepting that it is an excess of cold instead of heat, it is for all the world the same. One of my companions on this occasion was a Cambridge undergraduate, globe-trotting for the sake of health, who confessed that he had seen nothing to surpass the picturesqueness of the scenery hereabout in old England. You need not toil far up the mountain to see charming fern groves. There's the Bower just off the Huon Eoad a little above the Finger Post, and the Silver Falls, a short distance higher up the stream ; which runs ! into an aqueduct here, and fills the reservoir j where the water supply for Hobart is stored. A little wayside inn called -the Fern Tree. faces the entrance to the Bower, and I don't j know whether the sparkling Cascade ale at ! the inn, or the crystal water that dashes over the rocks at the Silver Falls is the sweeter. The road we are now on is replete with interest all the way to the Huon River, and is much patronised by the visitors who flock over here by thousands in the summer time to escape the hot winds of the arid Australian continent. No doubt the fame of the beauty of the fair Tasrnanian girls has gone before them, for none can look upon their- fresh andlovely faces without losing their hearts straight away. My admiration for a beautiful face will excuse the following lines : — / THE FOREST FLOWEK. Ala ! Where did ray eyes JFirst meet in surprise Xhe tieautiful flower Of the wild forest bower ? * * * * Was it of purple, or of blue ;. Or had its uecals a paler hue ? Did it exhale a sweet perfume, Or revel alone in its beautiful bloom ? I saw it, uob lonely on the wild hill top, Nor"where the withered gum leaves drop. I saw it, not by the river's side, Nor where the murm'ring brooklets glide. 'Twas only a maiden fair to see Of the Huon Eiver, by the sea. In drawing this subject to so abrupt a conclusion, the many reminiscences of which might fill a volume, 1 may state that I may possibly at some future time re-open it, and. contribute some additional chapters.

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