place before. Do the people there inhabit houses like the people in England, or do they live underground? Can they read and write, and spell properly? Are they rational beings or do they walk on their heads or their heels?'
I now gave the simple-hearted Doctor, for whom my respect and affection kept on constantly increasing, as full an account as I could of our great Australian colonies, with which I need not trouble the reader. He drank in every word with greediness. If I had sat with him for six months, I could not have satisfied his eager thirst for knowledge of the world.
'Tasmania is an island,' he said. 'When was it discovered?—by whom? How large is it? What kind of a place is it? Is it barren or fruitful?—happy or miserable?—beautiful or ugly? What do its lakes look like?' etc.
'A hundred questions to answer all in a moment. Forbear to ask, sir, and I will tell you all I know. It is one of the most lovely islands of the Southern Hemisphere, worthy of being beloved not only for its healthy and pleasant climate, but for the value of its mineral wealth, and the excellence and variety of its productions.'
I described to my delighted friend in glowing language the surpassing beauty of its mountains, lakes, and rivers; the grandeur of its trackless forests; the glory of its enchanting scenery, here, there, and everywhere. Its temperate climate favoured the growth of cereals and fruits; its delicious apples were famous in London. Its soil was most fertile in many favoured spots. It was free in summer from suffocating heat, and, except in the lake country, from intense frosts in winter. I was also careful to explain that there were thousands of acres of land in Tasmania which were worth nothing, being barren rocks and useless marshes, sandy and impenetrable scrubs, and woods choked with prickly heaths, and dense masses of ferns—land totally
