114 THE WOMBAT. 



A FORTNIGHT IN TASMANIA. 



By Snap-Shot. 



A party of four, including myself, arranged for a tour round 

 the mining districts on the West Coast of Tasmania, and on 

 Tuesday, 14th April, we left Melbourne bound for Strahan direct 

 by the s.s. " Australia," an intercolonial trader of 500 tons. 

 We determined to secure a few " shadows " before we returned, 

 and with that object in view, one of our party armed himself 

 with a kodak, arid the writer carried a J plate hand camera, 

 both doing good service during the trip. 



A theatrical company, en route for Zeehan, were saloon 

 passengers by the same boat, and while pleasantly steaming 

 down the bay we were all made happy and jolly by the musical 

 strains of several members of this company who were mono- 

 polizing the " Social Hall," the best and most comfortable 

 part of the ship. 



Everything went well until nearing the Rip, when the 

 music suddenly ceased and the curtain fell, as our little 

 steamship began to roll. Most of us came to the conclusion 

 that it was " time for disappearing," and made for our berths, 



with no desire to leave them until we arrived at our destination. 



* 



One Thursday morning before daylight we arrived at 

 Hell's Gate, the entrance to Macquarie Harbour, and owing 

 to the danger in navigating the narrow bar, our skipper pre- 

 ferred to remain out to sea until daylight. We had no option, 

 so quietly submitted to the additional torture of being " Rocked 

 in the Cradle of the Deep " for another hour or two. 



Everything comes to those that wait, and at last we were 

 quietly" steaming up the harbour, arriving at Strahan Wharf 

 about 8 a.m. 



We were not long in finding out the best hotel, and enjoyed 

 a good breakfast, the first meal since Tuesday afternoon. As 

 is the custom at this house, the jolly landlord quietly located 

 himself in an easy chair by the door of the dining-room, and 

 with a happy smile which we interpreted " pay here," willingly 

 accepted payment as we passed out. 



JOHN BUCHANAN, 



Sail, Tent, Tilt, and Tarpaulin Maker, 



MOORABOOL ST., GKEIELOILTGK 



THE OLD SHOP. . 



