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CHAPTER XX.
Good-bye to the bluff—A rough passage—Tasmania in the distance—Coast scenery—A nautical race—Ocean fisheries—Neglected industries—Fish-curing—Too much reliance on State aid—The view on the Derwent—Hobart from the sea—An old-world town—"No spurt about the place"—Old-fashioned inns—Out into the country—A Tasmanian squire—The great fruit industry—A famous orchard—Young Tasmanians—The hop industry—Australian investments—The Flinders Islands—A terra incognita—Back to Melbourne.
The icy breath of the South Antarctic was causing finger-tips to tingle as we steamed away from Invercargill in the good ship Wairarapa, and left the shores of Maoriland to fade away in the blue haze of distance. What a feast of picturesque grandeur and beauty had we not stored up in memory! What visions of the wondrous glory of the Almighty's creative skill did we not recall as we pondered over the incidents of our all too short summer holiday! And yet we had not half exhausted the marvels of this land of wonders. The weird solemnity of Lake Taupo, with its volcanic eruptions and abysmal activities; the awful majesty and rugged grandeur of the Alpine gorges and passes; the labyrinthine intricacies and astounding sinuosities of the West Coast Sounds, with their startling contrasts of bluff and craggy
