rty feet above the
present level of the river. Traces of the natives appeared at every step,
sometimes in their hunting-huts, which consist of nothing more than a
large piece of bark, bent in the middle, and open at both ends, exactly
resembling two cards, set up to form an acute angle; sometimes in marks on
trees which they had climbed; or in squirrel-traps*; or, which surprised us
more, from being new, in decoys for the purpose of ensnaring birds. These
are formed of underwood and reeds, long and narrow, shaped like a mound
raised over a grave; with a small aperture at one end for admission of
the prey; and a grate made of sticks at the other: the bird enters at the
aperture, seeing before him the light of the grate, between the bars of
which, he vainly endeavours to thrust himself, until taken. Most of these
decoys were full of feathers, chiefly those of quails, which shewed their
utility. We also met with two old damaged canoes hauled up on the beach,
which differed in no wise from those found on the sea coast.

[*A squirrel-trap is a cavity of considerable depth, formed by art, in the
body of a tree. When the Indians in their hunting parties set fire to
the surrounding country (which is a very common custom) the squirrels,
opossums, and other animals, who live in trees, flee for refuge into these
holes, whence they are easily dislodged and taken. The natives always pitch
on a part of a tree for this purpose, which has been perforated by a worm,
which indicates that the wood is in an unsound state, and will readily
yield to their efforts. If the rudeness and imperfection of the tools with
which they work be considered, it must be confessed to be an operation of
great toil and difficulty.]

Having remained out three days, we returned to our quarters at Rose-hill,
with the pleasing intelligence of our discovery. The country we had passed
through we found tolerably plain, and little encumbered with underwood,
except near the river side. It is entirely covered with the same sorts of
trees as grow near Sydney; and in some places grass springs up luxuriantly;
other places are quite bare of it. The soil is various: in many parts a
stiff and clay, covered with small pebbles; in other places, of a soft
loamy nature: but invariably, in every part near the river, it is a coarse
sterile sand. Our observations on it (particularly mine, from carrying
the compass by which we steered) were not so numerous as might have been
wishe