AN ANGLER A T THE ANTIPODES, 107 



And believe me, he who has launched his boat from 

 one of the quays of Sydney, with the first streak of a 

 summer dawn, and stealing down the harbour has 

 marked the sun come forth above the eastern sea, 

 throwing out in clear relief islet after islet and head- 

 land behind headland, lighting up the spires and 

 villas of the many-ridged city, and deepening the 

 purple shadows on many a northern creek and inlet, 

 has seen a sight of beauty, not unsurpassed perhaps, 

 but in its own kind unrivalled. Nor will the rambles 

 of the Australian angler be wanting in living objects 

 of interest. The common complaint as to the scanti- 

 ness of the fauna of New Holland applies only to its 

 quadrupeds, which, with a few unimportant excep- 

 tions, are all marsupials. Even in these there is 

 greater variety than Englishmen generally suppose. 

 Sometimes on a grassy slope, between hill and stream, 

 you surprise a group of tall kangaroos, and perhaps 

 see "Joey" throw a somerset into the maternal pouch, 

 before the whole party, and make off with those 

 amazing bounds which it is scarce a metaphor to 

 describe as flight. Sometimes a rock Wallaby, whisk- 

 ing his bushy tail, scuttles along an overhanging cliff. 

 In the bare scrub of the uplands, the nimble little 

 kangaroo-rat starts up at your feet. In the semi- 

 tropical brushes which fringe the rivers towards the 

 coast, you have the brush Wallaby and Paddy-melon 

 dodging and doubling among the tangled growth of 



