Fingal.
A quarter of a century ago this place was the scene of much stir and excitement, owing to it being the locale where payable gold was first found in Tasmania. But the excitement was of comparatively brief duration. Much money was lost, and the place sank into unimportance. There are two large, substantial hotels, a bank, two or three stores, a jail, surrounded by a high brick wall, and a church which has remained unfinished for years. Immediately behind the township is an immense precipice several hundred feet high, as smooth on the face as a wall, and as vertical. This marks the line of a very extensive fault, which runs for many miles through the district to the East Coast. There is a stoppage here, long enough to enable travellers to partake of refreshment, post letters, or send telegrams. “All aboard” again, and in a very few minutes the coach is crossing the Break o’ Day rivulet on a very neat and substantial bridge, lately thrown across. Before him stretches the magnificent Break o’ Day valley, about 12 miles long and from 2 to 3 miles in breadth. It may be considered as an easterly extension of the South Esk valley. It is the cream of this part of the country, and is in the tight embrace of the octopus arms of two or three woolgrowers. According to tradition it was the haunt of one of the bands of bushrangers in the olden days, and many thrilling tales are told of the daring exploits of some of these desperadoes, as from the lofty heights on either side of the valley they could look down unperceived, and observe what was going on below. To the naturalist the stream that flows through the vale is of interest for the number and size of its freshwater mussels, (unio) their shining, nacreous shells strewing the banks—the work of the voracious cormorant. Here, and indeed for some miles back, at intervals along the valley of the South Esk he will hear a peculiar half cackling cry, and then perchance see an apparently wingless bird about the size and shape of a barn-door fowl, dart through the tall grass with the speed of the emu and make for the rushes and sedges which line the banks of the stream. This is the native hen. I have never heard of them being shot for the table, as an impression prevails that they are tough. The most striking feature about them is the remarkable speed they attain when running, for there are very few dogs that can catch them. The traveller is now passing through a district in which there is much that is geologically interesting and most paradoxical. High ranges shut in the valley on either hand. That, on the left hand with a huge precipice ascending from one side of a “saddle” is