ed
to Launceston,* at the head of the Tamar, thirty miles from the sea.
Large vessels are prevented from approaching close to the town by a bar.
The greatest difficulty found in navigating the river is Whirlpool Reach;
near the middle of this lies a rock, an attempt to remove which, by
blasting, was made; the top was blown off, so that now vessels are liable
to be carried upon it, whereas, before, when it broke the surface, such
was not the case.

(*Footnote. The latitude of the Port office I found to be 41 degrees 26
minutes 5 seconds South longitude 4 degrees 42 minutes 24 seconds West of
Sydney. High water 3 hours 35 minutes; springs rise 12 feet. During the
winter, after rains, the stream sets down for days together at the rate
of from one to three knots.)

The valley, through which the Tamar winds, is narrow, with sides
generally steep and densely wooded; in some places, the reaches are wide,
and the hills recede; on their lower slopes, near Launceston, are
situated many pretty villas, peeping through garden shrubberies; whilst
further down are the straggling habitations of the more recent settlers,
surrounded by clear patches, with difficulty won from the forest by the
axe and the firebrand. On the whole, therefore, it may be said that art
and nature combine to render beautiful the scenery on the banks of this
important stream.

The first view of Launceston, the second town in Tasmania, is very
pretty. The valley of the river expands as you approach, and over a low
tract of land on the east bank, the straggling mass of buildings forming
the town is descried. Though very healthy it lies on a kind of flat,
backed with open woodland undulations at the junction of the North and
South Esks; and, during the winter, is subject to fogs so dense that many
persons well acquainted with the town frequently lose themselves. Where
the streams unite, they become the Tamar, one of the principal rivers in
Tasmania. At the distance of half a mile from the confluence, the North
Esk makes a by no means insignificant waterfall. This forms one of the
first sights to which strangers arriving at Launceston are conducted, by
a path which, winding along the face of a precipice, suddenly brings the
cataract in sight, tumbling and roaring over the rocks into the pool,
which seethes like a cauldron below, and sends up a steaming mist into
the air. From the waters of the South Esk, the country around Launceston
derives its fertility; and pe