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 base to summit with forests of blue and red gum, stringy bark, Tasmanian cedar, and other valuable timber trees.

Now as we glide onward, the homely old city opens out, backed by the steep bulk of Mount Wellington, whose tawny shoulders are now streaked with drifted snow. A fortress is here also in course of construction, though it seems, to my civilian eye, to be easily dominated by the heights at the back. Here lies Hobart at our feet, shining in the sun, and climbing, in errant and leisurely fashion, the easy slope which trends upwards from the water's edge.

A knoll projects out into the water in the middle of the city, and the houses cluster thickly round the two bays thus formed. The farther one is seemingly the busiest, as there are the wharves, warehouses, and populous streets. The warehouses are enormous. The roofs are lichened and grey with age. Alas! they are mostly empty. The old whaling days, and the days when large convoys sailed in from their six months' voyage, with Government stores and European goods have gone, never to return. The great barracks and long dormitories are silent and deserted now. The big stone buildings, built with a solidity which is all unknown to the contractors of this shoddy age, have a forlorn and desolate look, and there is an unmistakable air of decayed gentility and departed grandeur about the place which is somewhat depressing. Away on the left, at the head of the little bay, a multitude of gleaming white