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 disappears, and the scene becomes one of romantic wildness. The exterior of those hollow trees from which the bark has been burnt off for years looks almost white in contrast to their blackened interiors scooped out by the flames; and I have seen a tall, pale stem, denuded of branches and standing like a gigantic stake, to which the fire had given so fine a point as to suggest the notion that to drop upon it from a balloon would be anything but desirable.

But amidst scenery in which the eye finds so much of interest and attraction one looks in vain for any fruit-bearing trees, or indeed for anything that is eatable. The land is essentially a land of flowers, and myriads of lovely plants overrun the ground which are the ornaments of our conservatories at home. To mention two species familiar to all gardeners: we have gathered all kinds of blue lobelias, and also a plant closely resembling the scarlet variety as well, and we have seen the sloping sides of the water-courses thickly covered with the favourite acacia armata in full bloom; but such useless beauty mocks hungry people who have lost themselves in the bush, and I well remember the disgust with which a poor woman spoke of having seen "nothing but great yellow flowers" during several hours that she had spent in walking up and down trying to regain the beaten track from which she had wandered. The only wild fruit that I ever heard of was the native cherry; a fruit almost entirely composed of a hard kernel the size of a marble, with a thin outside rind that has an acid taste, and of which the colonists make a sweetmeat in default of anything better. The stone is buff-coloured, and much corrugated, and when a good many of them are strung