DOWN THE RIVER. 



33 



own kinds indeed resume their song at different periods, and amongst ttese 

 the Thrush and Redbreast hold the first place, for the Skylark, our finest 

 songster, scarcely sings at mid-day, except in spring. Perhaps all this is 

 as it should be, for the songs of all our summer visitants, enlivening and 

 heartful as they are, are vastly enhanced by the scene of which they 

 form a part, and might not perhaps assimilate so well with bare fields 

 and leafless trees, whilst the solitary note of the Redbreast and Thrush 

 are first apparent enough to enliven without making the prospects appear 

 more dreary. 



DOWN THE RIVER. 



BY J. S, WALKER, ESQ. 

 (Continued from page 275, vol. T.^ 



At length we persuade our friends to resume their labours at the oar, 

 and glide gently down the stream; but our progress is not rapid, for 

 now the ladies insist upon stopping to gather wild flowers, which grow 

 in thick profusion on the banks, and weave garlands to ornament the 

 children's broad hats, who clap their tiny hands in admiration of the 

 brave colours. 



As we round a projecting bank, we come suddenly upon a family of 

 Black Swans; the parent birds wing their way at our approach, leaving their 

 five half-grown young ones to the tender mercies of our guides. Away 

 we start in pursuit, and despite the diving of the Cygnets, we capture 

 three, which are reserved for pets. They were easily tamed, and in a 

 few days would accompany the Tame Geese on their daily visits to the 

 ponds, and with them would punctually return at nightfall. The facility 

 with which nearly all the animals and birds of Australia are domesticated, 

 is one of the strange peculiarities of this strange country. A small species 

 of Kangaroo about the size of a rabbit, and which is inelegantly called , . / 

 by the Settlers, 'The Kangaroo Rat' is so soon accustomed to the loss '^i a j 

 of its freedom, that if set at liberty only a few days after being caught, 

 it will follow its captor quietly home. 



Here a, huge forest tree had fallen into the water, and on its dead . 

 branches which protruded from the stream, a score of Pelicans were 

 perched, their large bills resting placidly upon their white breasts; doubt- 

 less dreaming of the shoals of fat mullet they intend to devour when 

 night comes on; but they are too wary to permit our approach. Pyke 

 and Pluck witness their departure without betraying any anxiety, for the 

 flesh is too rank and tough even for the stomach of a blackfellow. 



We see numbers of Cormorants, called by the blacks 'Fisherman Jack.' 

 One of these is so gorged with fish that it is actually unable to fly; and 



VOL. VI. F 



