supplies are passed into the Hunter River district
—gave a very strong Thames Street expression
to the scene. Through this Babel we
gained the deck of the beautiful boat, the
"Rose;" the bell rang; we ran down the
harbour, and in half-an-hour were pitching
(as we passed through the heads) on the heavy
ground swell of the great Pacific. I could
not pass through that mighty gap in the
iron-bound coast, without a sort of admiring
wonder at the vast strides which Englishmen
had made in this part of the world,
since Cook, in his good ship "Endeavour,"
first sighted, some sixty years since, the strange
land. Here were we quite at home in a first-
rate English-built steamer: her swift wheels
grasping the great seas, and throwing them
contemptuously behind her, as she flew
onward upon her course. Here were London
barristers going circuit on the South Pacific!
I thought of man's triumphs over the deep,
until I distinctly felt the deep triumphing
over me—whereupon I went below.

The cabin was, and is (for the beautiful
"Rose" still runs), large and well lighted;
along two tiers of shelves, on which the
beds were made, reclined all the male
passengers in layers, and one over the other, like
bodies in a family vault. Here, we lay for the
next five or six hours. No human sound
mixed itself with the incessant creaking and
thrashing of the ocean by our paddles,
except an occasional faint and plaintive cry of,
"Steward!" Thus we all remained until
dawn, when the mate cried down the stairs,
"Any one for Newcastle?"

We went up. We found we were near the
great Breakwater being formed by convicts:
a yellow and brown parti-coloured swarm
of whom were watching us as we rounded
"Nobby's," a high rock. This Breakwater,
since finished, makes Newcastle a safe and
excellent port, in which vessels of any
tonnage may lie in any wind. In a few minutes
we passed once again into smooth water
(after a night run of eight hours along
the coast), and presently were alongside
the wharf at Newcastle, a dull, dingy,
coal-producing spot. Here, staying an hour,
we took in fuel, and then steamed for the
mouth of the Hunter, near which
Newcastle is situate. The banks of this river were
low, flat, and uninteresting. Between clumps
of dwarf mango-trees, I could just catch
glimpses of what seemed yellow enough to
be a bit of the Great Desert; and in this part
small groups of cattle appeared to be engaged
in a severe search for grass. I learned that
this yellow-looking vegetation was a kind of
marshy reed, of which cattle are passionately
fond. In about an hour—the river being for
the whole distance about as broad as the
Thames at Westminster—we arrived at our
destination, the vessel ran up to Walker's
wharf, and we landed at once upon his
property.

A long and winding road, cut through the
forest of gum-trees, conducted us to his then
temporary house. Having breakfasted, we
sallied forth to look at the property. Along
the river-side, varying in depth inland, the
soil is commonly very rich, as is usually the
case on the banks of Australian rivers.
Here, were settled, some in slab huts, others
in cottages of rather better description,
about twenty or thirty tenants renting small
portions of land on clearing leases; the
little homesteads being visible from the
steamer, as she passed up or down the river.
I visited these cottages, inspected the little
farms, talked with the tenants (who were glad
to find an attentive listener to their narratives
of early difficulties conquered by perseverance),
and found that all but one had been the
very poorest bounty emigrants from England
and Ireland. They did not disguise that they
had flown from little better than starvation in
their own country. Each tenant had small
patches of Indian corn, wheat, barley, potatoes,
and tobacco, besides a very well-stocked
kitchen-garden. Some few had a cow, most
of them possessed pigs, and all were overrun
with abundance of poultry of every kind.
The virgin soil gave them two crops a year of
everything, for a mere scratching on the
surface. All mere animal wants were
supplied in abundance, and some few had books.
There was a school, but no church nearer than
Raymond Terrace, distance some seven or
eight miles. In the course of our long walk
this day, we stumbled across a king. Kings
are by no means uncommon in this country.
I have had a king and two or three black
princes, all warming themselves together upon
a dust-heap in my back-yard in Sydney.
Walker's present king was as black as a coal:
limited in respect of apparel, and, to the best
of my nose, not happy in the royal perfumer.
Round his neck, hanging by a string, was a
brass plate (like a waterman's badge), with
his name and rank, King Toocooico, engraved
on it. This plate, of which he was as proud
(and why not?) as if it were a blue riband or
a garter, had been originally given to him by
some settler, and it was always worn as a
badge of dignity among his tribe. The king
was easy in his manners, lithe as a panther in
his movements, and allowed no false delicacy
to stand between him and his royal comfort.
After obtaining Walker's leave to call upon
his kitchen, he demanded of him (pointing
deliberately at me), "Who dis swell, Sar?"
Now, as I was dressed in plain black, I was a
little disconcerted at this frank and sincere
description of my personal appearance, and
was at first inclined to think that our black
friend thought every man a dandy who was
effeminate enough to wear a pair of pantaloons.
I afterwards learned that the blacks, in
acquiring our language, have seldom had any
other masters than the assigned convict-
servants of the settlers, and that the word
"swell" is used as seriously as we use the
word "gentleman."