772 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTURIST 
[June  i,  1893. 
TASMANIA  REVISITED. 
(j By  Old  Colonist.) 
But  a truce  to  tea-drinking  and  Hobart  gossip. 
Let  us  forth  to  the  fields  to  note  what  progress 
Tasmania  has  made  in 
AGRICULTURE 
during  the  past  seven  years ; for  well  I wot  the 
always-about-to-retire  Ceylon  planter  wants  to  know 
what  prospect  there  really  is,  of  making  a.comfortable 
home  for  the  evening  of  life  in  “ the  best  climate 
in  the  world.” 
Around  Hobart  the  progress  is  so  characteristically 
slow,  that  there  may  be  said  to  be  no  change.  The 
best  land  at  the  base  of  Mount  Wellington  is  still 
in  the  primitive  bush,  “ belonging”  it  is  said  to  a 
big  Brewing  Syndicate  and  to  other  dogs  in  the 
manger  who  are  always  ready  to  snarl  at  the  approach 
of  any  intending  settler.  The  few  orchards  there 
are  in  the  creeks,  have  not  however,  fallen  off  in 
productiveness,  while  acreage  has  been  somewhat 
extended. 
About  5 miles  out  from  Hobart  or  half  way  to 
Glenorcby  there  is  a very  successful 
APPLE  ORCHARD 
now  in  full  bearing  which  I saw  planted  seven  years 
a, go.  At  Glenorchy  itself  there  are  considerable  addi- 
tions, though  the  father  of  the  district— good  Mr. 
Shoobridgeisno  more.  He  was  really  a good  orchardist 
and  so  admirable  an  example  of  the  strict  teetotaler, 
that  the  grief  of  his  life  was  the  fact  that  his  own 
brother  should  cultivate  such  a wicked  weed  as  hops. 
It  seems  strange  to  think  that  while  the  erratic 
Ebenezer  is  still  flourishing,  the  altogether  pure,  the 
careful  and  industrious  husbandman  has  himself 
been  garnered. 
At  Bridgewater  there  are  a few  more  houses,  but 
there  is  still  an  absence  of  anything  worthy  the 
name  of  cultivation,  and  beyond  this  for  many  miles 
matters  remain  in  statu  quo. 
Near  Jerusalem  I see  a field  of  late  oats  being 
harvested,  the  outturn  of  which  my  travelling  com- 
panion—a farmer— helps  me  to  estimate  at  10  bushels 
to  the  acre  ; this  I believe  is  a fair  average  for 
the  district. 
Beyond  this  the  country  gets  bleaker  and  mere 
neglected.  On  the  left  is  the 
“LAKE  OP  TIBERIAS  ” 
a filthy  swamp  of  some  1,500  acres,  belonging  to  a 
Mr.  Harrison  and  we  wonder  if  it  ever  occurs  to  Mr, 
Harrison  what  a valuable  property  he  is  here  neglect- 
ing. To  drain  it  would  evidently  be  a simple  matter, 
and  to  turn  the  accummulated  deposits  of  ages  to 
good  account  could  not  fail  to  be  very  profitable 
There  is  little  worthy  of  remark  as  we  pass  on 
towards  Launceston.  On  the  right  the  beautiful 
erection  called  Mona  Vale — built  to  entertain  the 
Duke  of  Edinburgh  in — and  since  a white  elephant, 
still  stands  in  striking  contrast  to  its  surroundings. 
On  the  other  side  is 
IIORTON  COLLEGE 
an  educational  establishment  which  looks  like  “ a lodge 
in  a vast  wilderness.”  Ihen  come  the  decaying  villages 
of  Boss  and  Campbell  town,  after  which  the  more 
promising  valley  of  the  Esk,  a pretty  river  almost 
equal  to  its  namesake. 
THE  VALLEY  OF  EVANDALE 
is  to  the  agriculturist  one  of  the  most  interesting 
in  Tasmania,  closely  cultivated  in  neat  little  fields 
extendingfor  many  miles  eastward  The  hardy  farmer 
has  here  made  a cosy  home,  and  plods  along  in  a 
quiet  industrious — albeit  in  a very  primitive  way. 
We  pass  an  eight  oxen  plough  at  work,  similar  to 
what  our  grandfathers  held  100  years  ago  and  doing 
about  half  the  work  a pair  of  horses  have  to  do  in 
Aberdeenshire  today.  The  crops  raised  here  are  not 
equal  in  bulk,  to  what  we  grow  in  Scotland  and  the 
markets  are  decidedly  more  uncertain.  Yet,  here 
Jhere  are  greater  possibilities,  The  climate  is  in- 
finitely more  agreeable  and  although  the  soil  is  not 
rich  it  could  readily  be  made  so  by  labour  and  water. 
Irrigation  in  short  is  what  Tasmania  most  needs. 
Without  irrigation  it  is  still  found  impossible  to 
grow  sufficient  food  for  the  scanty  population  that 
vegetate  upon  the  island.  With  water,  judiciously 
applied,  the  island  might  well  support  its  millions. 
But  successful  irrigation  means  abundant  labour 
at  a moderate  cost;  this  is  not  to  be  had  in — and 
under  present  conditions  would  not  be  admitted  into 
— Tasmania.  Therefore,  and  to  be  brief,  profitable 
farming  in  this  island  is  an  utter  impossibility  for  those 
icho  have  to  employ  and  pay  for  labour.  I have  not  come 
across  a single  instance  to  the  contrary,  though  I regret 
to  say  scores  of  dishear  teningfailures  maybe  enumerat- 
ed The  matter  being  of  some  public  importance  it 
may  be  well  to  give  one  example  which  will  be  well 
understood  in  Ceylon. 
Ten  years  ago  during  the  memorable  depression 
TWO  CEYLON  PLANTERS 
left  their  blighted  coffee  behind  and  took  passage  for 
Tasmania,  in  the  full  determination  of  forming  a home 
for  themselves  and  families  in  this  favoured  island, 
for  had  they  not  read  as  many  others  have  done 
of  its  perfect  climate  and  prodig'ously  productive 
land  ? And  yet,  they  bad  no  foolish  notions  of  fortune- 
making, believing  that  much  hard  and  unremunerative 
work  lay  before  them. 
Probably  no  fitter  or  more  likely  colonists  ever 
entered  the  bush.  The  one  cautious,  plodding  and 
easily  contented  ; the  other  physically  capable  and 
energetic  beyond  the  average  of  men. 
They  took  up  land  in  the  favorite  district  of  Scots- 
dale,  literally  put  their  heads  and  shoulders  together 
and  lost  no  time  in  starting  work,  Perhaps  they 
were  a little  taken  aback  when  they  first  looked  at 
the  monarchs  they  had  to  cut  down  before  a home 
could  be  made,  and  after  a few  days  of  toil  would  some- 
times exclaim  “appa”  1 as  they  tried  in  vain  to  see 
each  other  across  the  prostrate  trunks;  but  they  were 
not  daunted,  and  soon  began  to  plant  their  little 
plots  of  potatoes  and  sow  patches  of  wheat.  True, 
the  value  of  the  w’hole  produce, — supposing  it  had 
been  all  profit, — did  not  seem  much  to  old  planters— 
barely  equal  to  kanganies  pay.  Yet  they  plodded 
on  contented  and  healthy,  albeit  thinking  occa- 
sionally of  the  society  they  left  behind  them 
and  often  regretting  they  could  not  entertain  the 
old  Ceylon  man  who  came  out  of  his  way  to  call 
at  their  door. 
The  time  came,  however,  when  it  dawned  upon  our 
friends  H.  and  U.  that  life  was  too  short  in  which 
to  make  the  home  they  hoped  to  do,  and  meanwhile 
their  families  were  growing  up  and  needed  change 
of  scene  and  society. 
For  9J  years  the  two  had  worked  together  as  men 
have  rarely  been  known  to  work  in  Tasmania,  and 
the  net  result  was  that  financially  they  were  worse 
off  than  when  they  felled  the  first  tree.  H.  at  length 
gave  in;  U.  determining  to  carry  on  the  struggle 
yet  a while. 
“ Then  don't  let  me  stand  in  the  way  ” was  the  part- 
ing salute  of  H.  as  he  left  the  result  of  nine  and  a 
half  years'  hard  work  behind  him,  and  wended  his  way 
to  Hobart  where  I was  glad  to  find  him  the  other 
day  usefully  employed  in  an  office. 
This  is  by  no  means  an  exceptional  experience, 
and  it  is  well  it  should  be  made  known  in  these 
days  when  an  Agent  General  is  again  “ booming”  the 
colony  as  a Paradise  for  old  Anglo-Indians. 
Cleverly  embellished  as  Sir  E.  Braddon’s  pictures  of 
Tasmanian  life  are,  nothing  can  possibly  be  more 
inaccura'e  than  his  deductions —except  perhaps  his 
figures,  a fair  sample  of  which  may  be  seen  in  a 
recent  number  of  “ Blackwood  ” in  which  he  pictures 
the  Silver  City  Zeehan  with  a population  in  1893  of 
some  50,000— the  unadorned  and  indisputable  fact 
being  that  Zeehan  today  is  a struggling  little  town- 
ship of  between  700  and  800  souls  1 
It  is  but  right  to  say  that  no  one  is  more  ashamed  of 
the  Agent  General’s  mistatements  than  the  Tas- 
manian ministers  themselves. 
(New  South  Wales  in  my  next), 
