some notion of the locality of which I am now giving a brief and cursory description:— "The spirit that dwells on the wavelets of the Yarra Yarra, if we may use so bold a metaphor, must have gazed up from his sedgy throne in mute astonishment when he beheld the gay, though strange and intruding, company of foreigners that swept up the stream of his ancient domain on a late joyous occasion. We can imagine the rapid and changing shades that chequered his sea-green countenance when he heard the light musical laughter and beheld the beaming of the bright eyes that starred themselves in the waters of his own silent stream, as it were to mock the deep repose from which they had awakened the river god; heedless of his indignant looks, and the wondering gaze of large-eyed 'loobras,' who ran from spot to spot to scan through the mingled foliage of the wild vines and mimosa the movements of the white man's canoes, the boats with their varied freights floated away from reach to reach, until they closed upon the destined theatre of future merriment. We might dwell upon the happiness and gaiety of the scene that followed—the cool tent where the ladies reposed—the sward that bent beneath their 'many twinkling feet'—the dainty viands spread beneath the shade of the ancestral trees—the devoted gallantry of their attendant squires—the flash of the wine cup and the melody of song, till w e fell into despondence over the comparison which the cares of our every-day money-seeking life present to those scenes of unrestrained mirth and pleasure; but it is a part of the philosophy of life which we anxiously cherish to avoid these painful contrasts. Sufficient to say that night came down upon Yarra's stream before the long flotilla was again moored, deserted, and in silence under the shadow of the town houses."
The writer of this stilted effusion I take to be the once gay and jovial George Arden, the Gazette's editor at the time, and though the "flash of the wine cup" glitters through the diction, enough of simple prose remains to show that the Yarra was then a wildly fascinating place.
The first survey of the river was made early in 1839 by a Mr. Nutt, an assistant surveyor. He penetrated to a distance of 112 miles, and so great was the river's sinuosity that he roughly estimated the point he had reached to be in a straight line not more thanfiftymiles from town, but it was certainly much less. A station taken up by Messrs. W. and D. Ryrie was the sixty-mile limit. Mr. Robert Russell, the first principal officer of survey, made short occasional trips riverward; but in 1844 Mr. R. Hoddle, the then head of the Survey Department, traversed a considerable portion of the Upper Yarra country, and submitted an interesting report upon the subject. The Upper Yarra region attracted little or no attention until the gold discoveries impelled adventurous diggers to enter its fastnesses.
On arriving in Port Phillip, I was an expert swimmer for many years, and, one hot summer day, jumped into the Yarra, in the vicinity of the now Punt Road ferry. The river was deep, and down I went, but was astonished to find that my ascent to the surface was impeded by a kind of suction drawing me downward, and it required all the muscular power in my body to get up again, when I effected a safe landing, and never after ventured into Yarra running water. Several instances have occurred where some of the best white swimmers in the colony suddenly and unaccountably lost their lives in this river. As for the blacks, they are amphibious by habit and necessity, and no one ever heard of one of them meeting such a fate.
The "Falls,"
So long spanned by the well-known bridge of that name, mark a spot of some historical interest, as it was there the first attempt was made of anything like a public work in the colony. The "Falls," and not the river, ought to be known as "Yarra Yarra," which is the Aboriginal appellation for a rapid, or any rush of water over rocks. Though fresh water was obtainable above the "Falls" at certain hours, the salt-water impelled by the tide rendered it so brackish as to be often undrinkable. Therefore, an effort was made to stem the deleterious up-flow, and in 1839 a weir, or dam, of the rudest kind was thrown across the "Falls." It was formed of stone, mud and mortar, by the labour of a convict road-gang, and in August the Port Phillip Gazette wrote of it as "simple, neat, and substantial," and equestrians were "requested not to ride on it," being dangerous alike to man, horse, and embankment. The "substantiality" of this undertaking soon gave way, and ere a year had passed the matter was brought so prominently under the notice of Governor Sir George Gipps on his visit to Melbourne in 1841, that His Excellency not only directed the
