THE SKETCHER.

Globe, Volume VI, Issue 614, 7 June 1876, Page 3

THE SKETCHER.

THE SEVEN COLONIES OF THE SOUTH PACIFIC.

[By Charles Bright. 1

“Commerce and Colonies,” sighed N apoleon, three parts of a century ago, when Europe— England excepted —lay prostrate at his feet. “Commerce and colonies for France.” Since that wish was uttered, French sovereigns, imperial and regal, have sought in vain its practical realization, while England, which owned then merely one insignificant convict settlement in these southern seas, has laid the foundations of seven splendid commonwealths, already competing in commerce and resources with time-honoured European nationalities. We. who act our varying daily parts in this work of colonization, scarcely appreciate the grandeur of the page in history which lies open before us, compared with which, the records of Greek and Roman expeditions, chronicled by ancient historians and immortalized by the poets, fade into insignificance. Within the life time of the present chief of this vast empire—Disraeli —the once dreaded Antipodes has been transformed from a mysterious void into an assemblage of growing nations —republics in all but name. No longer supposed to be the abode of “ Anthropophagi. And men, whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.” The antipodes has taken its place as a notable portion of this globe’s circumference, and our yesterdays doings form a part of today’s news of the world. It has been my fortune to visit the whole of these seven settlements, including even the Northern Territory of the colony, which is still paradoxically styled South Australia, and possibly a few random notes concerning them may not prove uninteresting to the reader. Victoria, I first set foot in towards the end of the winter-such winter as Victoria knows—of 1853. In Tasmania I spent half ’55 and the whole of ’56. Near the close of ’64 a commission from the Argvs to visit and record my irapiessions of the newly formed settlement at Palmerston, Adam Bay, took me a voyage all round the islandcontinent. This trip included a few days’ detention at Sydney, and at Brisbane, the rounding of Cape York—the north-eastern extremity of Australia —the passage of Torres Straits, and a long sail—or rather steam —over the Arafura Sea, and past the four-hundred-mile-wide mouth of the Gulf of Carpentaria—a gulf big enough to take in the whole area of Great Britain and still leave it an island. The return voyage from Adam Bay saw me rounding the North West Cape, passing the shores said to have been visited by some valiant old Dutch navigators two centimes ago, and spending a merry Christmas time in Freemantle and Perth, Western Australia. On leaving that locality, I was honoured with a negative certificate of character—to wit, that I had never been a prisoner of the Crown in that colony. A short stay at George’s Sound, and a week at Adelaide, wound up that excursion. Since that time I have paid other visits to New South Wales and Queensland—have done the “zigzag” in the one colony, and surmounted both Toowoomba heights and rode over the magnificent Downs in the other, and now find myself in New Zealand, the seventh, and in some respects most surprising colony of the South Pacific group. As in the old world, people become attached to localities, because of their antiquity, their changelessness, and the associations which cling to their venerable Avails, colonial life begets its attachments too, but they arise from quite opposite causes. As the progress of settlement gradually conquers the wildness of nature, the minds of those engaged in the work beeome insensibly wedded to the scenes which are being transformed before my eyes. It is for this reason, I persume, that I must OA\ r n to a regard for Melbourne beyond all the colonial cities I have seen. Its history has been one of such rapid movement such remarkable development. When I first knew Melbourne it was an encampment rather than a city—an encampment of weatherboard and corrugated iron, with streets of sludge or dust, as the clerk of the weather might determine. In winter it was possible for the wayfarer to have his boots pulled off without the aid of a bootiack ; in summer, his most intimate friend, even if a detective by profession, would fail to recognize him after half an hour’s ramble. Beyond a few stunted gum trees the encampment could boast no foliage, and flowers outside of the Botanical Gardens’ enclosure were priceless natural curiosities. i.lie charming gardens, which now separates Melbourne from East Melbourne, were fenced in and ploughed up in 1858, the skeletons of defunct bullocks and horses Avhich decorated them were used as manure, ami culture, care, seeds, saplings, fountains and fern trees made the place what it is. _ „ “The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. I wonder what we shall be able to make of the waste, desert, neglected places ot the great family of humanity, when ave cultivate them with similar persistence, earnestness, and affection. _ . Buckle,, in his “ History of Civilization, shows what an important part climate and

geographical peculiarities play in the formation of national character and civic institutions. In the criticism, which the writers of one of these colonies sometimes bestow upon the transactions of another, these considerations are too frequently ignored. Since I have, travelled in New Zealand, I have discerned how inadequately, and even unjustly, Australian writers have generally treated the great question of the day here — that of Abolition. The numerous social and political differences, born chiefly of geographical diversities, which must exist between a colony like this and any of the Australian group have been lost sight of. So with the New Zealand press in treating of Vie torian affairs, a similar tendency is observable to gauge distant events by measures suitable to proximate surroundings. The compactness of the colony of Victoria and its general accessibility have caused a rapid gravitation of its best intellects and most enterprising brains to the metropolis'. Melbourne and its suburbs own a third of the entire population of the colony. The colony is in fact Melbourne, plus the country districts. In this respect Melbourne, more than any othe” Australian capital, may be designated the Paris of the southern hemisphere. Political consequences somewhat similar to those witnessed in France have ensued prominence in the legislature of men who are demagogues rather than statesmen, an impatience of delay or restraint, and a rapid enforcement of the will of the majority in the government of the country. Whether these necessary developments will outwork themselves for good or for ill remains to be seen, but in either case it is idle to criticise them as if they were preventible. The counteracting influences must come from within—not without; must arise from growth, not improvement. For myself I must acknowledge I look without the slightest alarm at the many easily apparent excrescences of the Victorian system, convinced that the magnificent free secular and compulsory educational scheme which is now being carried into effect will ensure the triumph of political reason over impulse. Improving the constituencies is the only method of improving legislatures in a free country, where mere manhood suffrage lias been conceded. Where there is strong political vitality there are bound to be occasional legislative failures and absurdities, but peace and prosperity would be dearly purchased at the price of stagnation. Victorian society manifests much folly, which those who care to look can discern at a glance; it can also boast of noble intellectual effort, which can only be discovered on a closer inspection. Travelling from Melbourne to Sydney is almost like passing from the undisciplined movement and bustle of an American city to the staidness, substantiality, and old-world aspect of a continental town, and the entrances to the ports are as dissimilar as the capitals. The opening to Port Phillip and the vast stretch of water within it are apparent to every passing vessel, but, except to the nautical eye, there is no beauty in the prospect. The gigantic frowning cliffs which guard the delicate and coy fascinations of Port Jackson render it so uninviting that Cook, in his celebrated voyage, passed it by, and indicated Botany Bay, ten miles south of it, as the more suitable site for subsequent settlement. And yet what a bay of bays it is, when once you are well within its granite portals. It is much the same in human life, I think. The step which seems too dreadful to take sometimes leads unexpectedly to a haven of peace and happiness. The world is said to contain three bays of surpassing loveliness—those of Naples, Sydney, and Rio Janeiro. Does it not speak well for the intelligence of our race that the waters of two, at least of these, chefs d'oeuvres of Nature are being slowly but surely poisoned by sewage outpours ? From this cause alone, of late years, the ships of war in Port Jackson harbour had to remove from the anchorage appointed them. The sickness among the tars was unendurable. In things like these we moderns are yet far behind the old Romans and Egyptians. Civilisation seems to make us cleanly as individuals but filthy as communities, or we should never have dreamed of turning the beautiful bays and rivers of the world into huge cesspools. Less advanced in many respects than Victoria—notably in public libraries, picture galleries, and palatial edifices—Sydnev possesses a settled society and substantial ■wealth beyond the present attainment of her youthful competitor. The provincial districts form a distinctive section of the colony, and the metropolis is not, as in Victoria, the heart as well as the brain of the community. The mighty barrier range of mountains formerly divided New South Wales into two countries, and even now, spite of the ingenious railway which zigzags up one side and down the other of the lofty impediment, there are great tracts not easy of access. Therein, I fancy, lies a counterpoising element of conservatism, which will render the history and development of the parent colony markedly different to that of Victoria.

Queensland, again, like South. Australia, is a colony of enormous area and inexhaustible resourses, a population scattered as widely as its flocks, and a metropolis which until lately had not the political power to constitute itself a railway terminus, that place of honor for years being usurped by the inland town of Impswich. I do not know on this earth—and my acquaintance with any other planet is at present limited—a less inviting looking locality thanMoreton Bay, where the large ships visiting Queensland cast anchor. The Bluff is a paradise compared with it—and that is saying a good deal. It has been my misfortune—on account, possibly,of some great sins committed in a previous incarnation, for I know nothing perpetrated by me in this life deserving of such condign punishment—it has been my misfortune to reach Moreton Bay twice on a Sunday, and on each occasion in a steamer drawing too much water to cross the bar at the mouth of the river Brisbane, some thirty miles up, on which stands the city of the same name. There was nothing to be done but wait till Monday, staring at the blank cliffs and the two or three buildings on shore, which by recalling the outer woi’ld to memory made the prevailing barrenness more ridiculous. Each time the pilot, who appeared to be a pious man, sat down calmly, and read a good book. I will merely remark that the passengers did not do that. Those people who visit Brisbane and Ipswich, and then consider they have seen Queensland are mistaken. They know as much of Queensland as one who examines the binding of a book knows of its literary excellence. To begin to have an idea of the colony you must take passage by its extram dinary little with its curves so sharp that the engine appears, like

a frolicsome kitten, always seeking to catch its tailmost part, ascend the hills, ever 2000 ft, to Toowoomba, and breathe the exhilarating air of the Downs. Even in the height of summer these vast plateaus, lying from two to four thousand feet above the sea level, are luxuriantly green, mid-deep in gras 3 , and growing such crops of grain as would delight the heart of a Devonshire farmer. I fancy half the inhabitants of Europe might safely be settled in Queensland without unduly taxing the resources of the soil. At present it supports a population rather less than that of Manchester, There is room for expansion. The decade from '34 to ’44 witnessed the first settlement of the colonies of Victoria, Soulh Australia, Queensland, Western Australia, and many parts of New Zealand. Tasmania, is an ancient place, dating from about the year 1805, but it has not progressed of late years like its colonial compeers. Its principal production at present may be said to be beautiful women, but where they are raised, or how they are cultivated, I do not pretend to have found out. It is a startling fact that notwithstanding this attractive feature of Tasmanian agriculture, the young men leave the colony in droves for more enterprising localities. Fortunately there is a periodic influx of male material from the other colonies to keep up the equipoise. The scenery of Tasmania, especially its southern side, is exquisite, reminding travellers of every nationality of the most lovely parts of their respective countries. I have heard Germans comparing the river Derwent favourably with the Khine, its dark gorges and sunny hills reminding them forcibly of the favourite stream of Fatherland. The Swiss are prepared to give it the palm over Switzerland, and some Frenchmen, in confiding moments, have preferred it to La belle France. But, so far as I have seen, New Zealand, in scenic effects, far surpasses the land of Tasman. There is nothing in the latter which can approach the beauties of Milford Sound, or surpass some of the views to be witnessed from the heights between Port Chalmers and Dunedin. A mountain storm in Milford Sound, cold sharp rain and hail for a while, then rainbows and waterfalls, brightening out into a calm, moonlight evening—water like glass, skies like crystal, not a leaf stirring -is a thing to remember. I witnessed one, and stood in mute wouder. “ Eainfall, and wind, and cold, and sleet, Aspiring to an eve so sweet ; No halcyon day, elysian bright Gave mortal ever such a night.” But I must keep my impressions of New Zealand for a future opportunity. I should do it an injustice to drag it in carelessly at the fag end of my sketch.