Tuesday, June 28th.—I was awakened early by the pattering of rain on the deck, and on looking through the portholes I could not see three yards ahead for the curtain of wet mist which seemed to hang before them. Tom was anxious that we should give up our projected journey, for he was much afraid of the risk I should run from the cold and damp. But, just as I always in England go to a meet on a fine day because it is fine, and on a wet day because I hope it will clear up, I determined to start now. I was already dressed by ten o'clock, when the Governor, and a few others whom Tom had invited to accompany him as far as the Heads, arrived. The fog was still so dense that the deputy harbour-master would not allow the yacht to be unmoored; and after waiting some time, the Governor returned to Melbourne, whither I also went by the 10.45 train. Tom—who had settled to take the yacht round to Sydney—had to postpone his departure, as it was impossible to move out; and we afterwards learned that many accidents happened during the fog. From Spencer Street Station we drove across to Princes Bridge Station, and thence proceeded at a snail's pace—still on account of the fog—out of the city, till we got to Mitcham, when it began to clear. A few minutes afterwards the sun came out brilliantly like an English summer's day, and when we reached Lilydale it really felt quite hot.
Messrs. Cobb & Co. had sent a Tom Thumb sort of coach and a buggy, into which our numerous party could by no means squeeze. However, we packed both vehicles as full as possible, and sent for another conveyance, familiarly known as a 'Tip-up,' its narrow wheels making it liable to upset except on good roads.
About three o'clock we reached St. Hubert's, a pretty house, the owner of which is now in England with his family. One of his sons remains to manage the estate. We were soon comfortably established in pleasant rooms looking on to a sunny verandah. The view from our windows was perfectly enchanting, stretching away over the distant mountains, now covered with snow. A tremendous swamp lies between the house and the foot of the range, which accounts for the heavy mist that rises at sunset. My room was delicious with a blazing fire, and after lunch we went round the cellars with our kind host, and saw all the interesting and various processes of wine-making. Mr. de Castella has introduced the best methods of preparation, as practised in Europe, and has succeeded in producing wines of a quality equal to the finest supplied from the French and German vineyards. By the time we had finished our tour of inspection it was cold and dark, and after dinner we all went early to bed.
Wednesday, June 29th.—We were called at half-past six, and soon after nine made a start, in two coaches, on a cold and wintry morning, for Black Spur. Our way first lay through the vineyards, which were not in their best looks, having only just been scarified, as the process is called. It means cutting off the branches and reducing the vines to small and ugly bushes, destitute of leaves at this season. On our way we passed a large 'selection' belonging to Mr. McNabb, who is a great judge of prize cattle and stock of all kind, and who, like many other Scotchmen in the colony, seems to have prospered in everything he puts his hand to. Further on we came to Koordal, a 'reserve' for the aboriginals. It has a nice house, and the land is good. The aboriginals are rapidly dying out as a pure race, and most of the younger ones are half-breeds. Even in this inclement weather it was sad to notice how little protection these wretched beings had against its severity. We passed a miserable shanty by the side of the road, scarcely to be called a hut, consisting merely of a few slabs of bark propped against a pole. In this roadside hovel two natives and their women and piccaninnies were encamped, preferring this frail shelter to the comfortable quarters provided for them at Koordal. The condition of the men of the party contrasted very unfavourably with their appearance when they presented themselves under the charge of Captain Traill, the Governor's A.D.C., at his Excellency's Jubilee levée last week. To-day they looked like the veriest tramps, and were most grateful for a bit of butterscotch for the baby and the shilling apiece which we gave them after an attempt at conversation.
From Healesville we rattled merrily over an excellent road, the scenery improving every mile, till we reached the picturesque little village of Fernshaw, a tiny township on the river Watt. Important as an absolutely pure water supply is to a city like Melbourne, where the present provision is anything but satisfactory, we could not help regretting that this hamlet and several others must be cleared away in the course of the next two years, in order to provide space for the gathering-ground of the city's drinking water. The increased facilities for travel afforded by the railway, now nearly completed to Healesville, will, however, enable people to make new settlements on the other line of hills further from Black Spur. The memory of Fernshaw will always linger pleasantly, and I rejoice that I have seen it before it is swept off the face of the earth by the requirements of the big city near it.
Ferns
From Fernshaw up the Black Spur must be a perfectly ideal drive on a hot summer's day, and even in midwinter it was enchanting. The road is cut through a forest of high eucalyptus-trees, varying from 100 to 450 feet in height, and from twenty to fifty, and even seventy, feet in girth. At intervals roaring torrents rush down gullies overgrown with tree-ferns, and full of dicksonia-antarcticas and alsophilas. To-day they looked very curious; for, instead of growing as usual, with their fronds erect or nearly level, all were bent down by the weight of the late heavy fall of snow, so that they resembled graceful umbrellas and parasols. So fairy-like was the sylvan scene that I half expected to see the curved branches open softly and disclose naiads or wood-nymphs. I had always been told that these fern-gullies were charming, but I never thought anything could be half so lovely as this romantic ravine. If only the sunlight could have glanced through the trees and thrown some shimmering sunbeams on the bright green leaves, it would have been even more delightful. After climbing up the hill by a steep but good road we arrived at Myrtle Gully, called after the trees which grow there. They are quite different from our idea of myrtles, though their dark and glossy leaves contrast finely with the lighter green of the young tree-ferns and the blue-green of the eucalypti. My botanical ideas are getting quite confused and upset in Australia, and I must study the new forms with the assistance of some kind director of gardens. It is necessary to understand the classification of these plants, for the common names are entirely deceptive and utterly opposed to one's preconceived ideas of the species to which they belong.
We climbed up to the summit of the hill, and on our way saw some rail-splitters at work. These men are peculiar to Australia, and I cannot but think they do harm to the country. On payment of a fee of 1l. a year they are allowed to go into the forests and kill the finest trees by 'ringing' them. Often the trees thus dealt with are left to die as they stand and disfigure the forest. In this way an enormous quantity of valuable timber seems to be uselessly destroyed. The rail-splitters remind me of squirrels, who nibble off nuts before they are ripe, and then take a dozen away to their winter's nests; or of a vixen, who will bite the heads off twenty chickens and only carry one back to her cubs.