Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Four.
The Yarra-Yarra.
Soon after my return from Callao, I accompanied two acquaintances, upon a hunting expedition up the Yarra-Yarra.
There is some beautiful scenery along the banks of this river—beautiful, as curves of shining water, bordered by noble forms of vegetable life, can make it.
There is some pleasure to be found in a hunting excursion in Australia—although it does not exactly consist in the successful pursuit of game.
In the morning and afternoon, when your shadow is far prolonged over the greensward—and you breathe the free genial atmosphere of that sunny clime—an exhilarating effect is produced upon your spirits, a sort of joyous consciousness of the possession of youth, health, and happiness. To breathe the evening atmosphere of Australia is to become inspired with hope. If despair should visit the soul of one, to whom fate has been unkind, it will come in the mid-day hours; but even then, the philosopher may find a tranquil contentment by lying under the shade of a “she oak,” and imbibing the smoke of the Nicotian weed.
One of my companions in the chase chanced to have—living about twenty miles up the river—an acquaintance, who had often invited him to make a visit to his “station.”
Our comrade had decided to accept the invitation—taking the two of us along with him, though we were in no haste to reach our destination—so long as we could find amusement by the way.
The squatters, living on their “stations”—at a distance from large towns, or assemblages of the digging population—are noted for their hospitality. They lead, in general, a lonely life; and, for this reason, visitors with whom they can converse, and who can bring them the latest news from the world of society, are ever welcome.
Both the climate and customs of Australia make visitors less troublesome to their hosts, than in almost any other part of the world.