re inclined to spread than grow
tall. The smaller trees and shrubs resemble, with some variety, those of
the continent.* The tree producing the yellow gum is of a very diminutive
size; but, unlike that of Cape Barren island, it bears a reed
correspondent to itself. These were going into flower, and their length
was only from nine inches to two feet.**

[* Mr. Pennant allows its claim to this distinction. Vide Pennant's
'Outlines of the Globe.']

[** This dwarf gum tree is of much use to the natives of New
South Wales, as may be seen by the following distribution of its
properties. The gum from the body of the tree, which they term
Goolgad-ye, is used for repairing their canoes. Of the reed they make a
fiz-gig, which they call Moo-ting. Of the grass or rushes which grow at
the top of the tree, they make torches, named Boo-do. A gum which they
extract from these rushes, and which is named Wangye, they use in
fastening the joints of their spears; and from the centre of the tree
they procure a loathsome worm, which they call Boo-roo-gal, and deem a
great luxury. The tree itself is named Ye-gal.]

The few rocky shores of the river presented nothing remarkable, being
generally either of a rough iron-stone, or a soft grid-stone.

The grey kangaroo of a very large size, abounded in the open forest; the
brushes were tenanted by the smaller black kind, or, as it is named by
the natives of Port Jackson, the Wal-li-bah.

The plumage of the parrots forms a gloomy contrast with the rich lustre
of those near the settlement, their colours being rather grave than gay.
The melancholy cry of the bell-bird (dil boong, after which Bennillong
named his infant child) seems to be unknown here. Many aquatic birds,
both web-footed and waders, frequent the arms and coves of the river; but
the black swans alone are remarkable in point of number. Mr. Bass once
made a rough calculation of three hundred swimming within the space of a
quarter of a mile square; and heard the 'dying song' of some scores; that
song, so celebrated by the poets of former times, exactly resembled the
creaking of a rusty sign on a windy day! Not more than two thirds of any
of the flocks which they fell in with could fly, the rest could do no
more than flap along upon the surface of the water, being either
moulting, or not yet come to their full feather and growth, which they
require two years to attain. They swam and flapped alternately, and went
along surprisingly fast