nd in the following January
the foundation of Sydney, the future capital of the penal settlement,
was laid. Little, however, was done in the way of exploring the
country until the discovery of gold within its borders. Then, indeed,
the world woke up, and long-forgotten, neglected Australia came to be
reckoned a point of interest, at least to fortune-hunters.

Seen in the distance, the view of this great island is scarcely
attractive. Its abrupt shores wear a sombre hue, and the traveler, ere
he sets foot on the soil, detects a sort of savage air that seems to
reign triumphant over the demi-civilization that has been the growth
of only a score or two of years. Tiny native huts, looking as though
the architect had studied how small, uncouth and inconvenient a human
dwelling could possibly be made, contrast strangely with the tasteful
white cottages surrounded by flower-gardens and wreathed with vines,
or the elegant mansions of stone and slate, that form the homes of
foreign residents; natives in filthy garb, or no garb at all, prowl
about the dwellings or worm their devious way among the costly
equipages of Europeans; orchards and vineyards are planted under the
very shadow of forests where roam in all their savage freedom herds of
wild cattle and their wilder masters; and out from the rocks and
boulders of the most rugged spots rise clusters of the graceful
umbrella palm, with a foliage, fern-like and feathery, of the
loveliest emerald, and a cone expanding like a lady's fan. The odor of
English cowslips mingles with the spicy aroma of tropical fruits, and
the perpetual snow of-lofty peaks is reflected on fields of golden
maize and on meadows that gleam and glitter in the bright sunlight as
if paved with emeralds. It is contrast, not similitude, that attracts
the eye, novelty more than beauty, and quaintness rather than such
gorgeous sights as one meets everywhere within the tropics.

[Illustration: ABORIGINES OF THE EASTERN COAST.]

The harbors are very marvels of commodiousness, that of Port Jackson,
the entrance to Sydney, being fifteen miles long. It is landlocked on
both sides, without a shoal or rock to mar its perfectness, and broad
enough to afford safe anchorage to all the navies of the world. Here
ride at anchor vessels of almost every nation, their gay pennons
flaunting in the breeze, while worming their way in and out among the
shipping may be seen multitudes of native boats made of bark, quaint
as frail,