Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 55, No. 340, February, 1844

The aboriginal natives of this colony are a very savage race, and all the efforts hitherto made by missionaries, protectors, and others, have never given promise or warrant of effectual civilization. The males are tall, and of fierce aspect; the skin and hair are exceedingly black—the latter very smooth. In many instances, the features are striking and good. The women are slender, and during the summer, naked; in winter, the females in the immediate neighbourhood procure clothes from the inhabitants of Melbourne, and cut, as you may suppose, a very original figure. Nothing will induce the natives to work. They live in the Bush, and the bark of a large tree forms their habitation. There are three distinct tribes around us in a circuit of about a hundred miles, and the difference of features amongst these tribes is easily observed. The three tribes speak three different languages unintelligible to one another. They meet at different periods of the year, and hold what they term a "corroborice,"—that is—a dance. Their bodies on these occasions are covered with oil, red paint, and green leaves. I have seen two hundred at a meeting, but they assemble double that number at times. The festival concludes in pitched battle. There is a grand fight with clubs, or arrows and spears. Three or four are generally killed in the onslaught, and as many of the survivors as are fortunate enough to get a bite, feast upon the fat of the victims' hearts. This fat is their richest dainty. Those who are able to form an opinion on the subject, pronounce the aborigines of this colony to be cannibals. Many of their children disappear, and it is generally supposed that they are devoured by their friends and acquaintances. In many districts of the interior, the blacks have lately committed many depredations amongst the sheep, and many of the devils are shot without judge or jury. Two natives are now in the jail of Melbourne under sentence of death, for committing a dreadful murder upon two sailors who were cast ashore from a whaler. These savages had been for thirteen years under the instruction of a protector and others. They belonged originally to Van Diemen's Land, but migrated to a part of this colony called Portland Bay. They spoke English quite well, yet, notwithstanding all their advantages, they perpetrated this cruel and cold-blooded murder, and then cunningly hid the bodies in the ground. They were detected by the merest chance, in consequence of their having in possession of a few articles which had formerly belonged to the unhappy mariners. None of the natives is allowed to carry fire-arms, and a heavy fine is inflicted upon any individual who is known to give them spirits. They are passionately fond of spirits, and next to these of loaf bread. The females are called by the males "Loubras," and the males are designated "Coolies." There is not promiscuous cohabitation. When a Coolie reaches the age of twenty-one, he is allowed to choose his own "Loubra." Every male who then takes unto himself a helpmate, loses a front tooth, which is knocked out of him. The natives generally tattoo their arms and breasts, but not their faces; many carry a long white wooden pin, or a feather, pierced through the thin part of the nose; and they all twist kangaroo teeth and the bones of fishes more or less in their hair. Every thing small and diminutive they call "Pickaninnie," and any thing very good, "Merri jig." Their language is a queer, rattling, hard-sounding gibberish, incomprehensible to most people; they speak as fast as possible, laugh immoderately at trifles, and are excellent mimics. Their own children they stile "Pickaninnies."

From all that I have seen, I do not hesitate to say, that this country will prove a splendid field for future generations. At the present time, no man should venture here who is unprepared for many privations and a numerous list of annoyances. The common necessaries of life he will certainly find, but none of his ancient and English luxuries. Society is, as you may guess, very limited. You may acknowledge an acquaintance with any one, without committing yourself. To say that you know a man intimately is hazardous; I mean—a man whose friendship you have cultivated only since your arrival. There are many whom you have known at home, and whose friendship it is a pride and a pleasure to renew in your exile. But, as a general rule, "keep yourself to yourself" is a serviceable adage. If it be attended to—well. If it be neglected—you run your head against a stone in less than no time.

If any man have a competency, let him not travel hither to enjoy it. If he has a little money, and desires with a little trouble and inconvenience to double his capital in the shortest possible space of time—let him come out, and fearlessly. Living is cheap enough as far as the essentials are concerned. Butcher meat, not surpassed in any part of England, Scotland, or Ireland, is to be had at twopence per pound; the fine four pound loaf for sixpence halfpenny; brown sugar, fourpence; white, sixpence; candles, sixpence per pound; tea, the finest, three shillings the pound; fresh butter, one shilling and threepence per pound. Wild fowl in abundance. Vegetables are cheaper than in any part of England. Wines of moderate price, but not of good quality. Spirits first-rate, and every kind cheaper than in England, except whisky, which is seventeen and eighteen shillings per gallon; very old at twenty-one and twenty-two. The wine most wanted here is claret. A great deal of it is drunk during the summer, but the quality of it is bad. Fish are abundant in the river and pools, but the people will not trouble themselves to catch them. However, for eighteenpence or two shillings, you may get a good dish of mutteel, carp, or a small fish called "flatties." I have never seen any of the salmon tribe, or any fish like a sea or river trout. Wild swans—both black and white—quails, snipes, cranes, and water-hens, are everywhere abundant, and in the Bush, the varieties of the parrot kind are out of number. Kangaroos, opossums, and flying-squirrels, are common near the town, and afford plenty of amusement to the sportsman. No game license required! Sunday used to be the tradesman's day for shooting, and to a new comer the proceeding had a very queer appearance. By act of council, Sunday shooting is prohibited under a heavy penalty, which has been inflicted on several transgressors, but, like most laws, this is evaded. Shooting is forbidden, but hunting is not. Accordingly numerous parties sally forth on the Sabbath to hunt the kangaroo. The dog used for the sport is a cross between a rough greyhound and a bull; but others follow in the pack. Every man, woman, and child, keeps a dog. Some families have eight or nine running over a house, and the natives have them without number. A few months ago these animals congregated so thickly in the streets, that the magistrates directed the police to shoot all that were not registered and had a collar with the owner's name; as many as fifty were killed in a morning. It costs nothing to feed a dog; the heads of bullocks and the heads and feet of sheep are either thrown away or given to any one who asks for them. The bone manure system, if brought into operation, would help to keep the streets from a bony nuisance. Memorandum: Let the next emigrant to this colony bring a good strong fox-hound bitch with him; he will find it to his advantage. A cross between her and a Newfoundland or large greyhound would do any thing. There are a couple of fox-hounds here, but no bitch. It would do your heart good to see the pace at which the fellows ride. Twenty miles on horseback they think about as much of as we do of five. There is nothing to obstruct the animals; they are not even shod, and they fly over the smooth sward. A hundred and twenty miles is reckoned a journey of a day and a half. A dray, with eight, ten, or twelve bullocks in it, according, to load, will travel thirty miles a-day. When the folks travel, they take no shelter in a house or hut for the night. When night approaches, they alight, and tie their horses to a stump; they draw down some of the thick branches of the gum-tree, and peel off the bark of a large tree, kindle a fire with a match, or, for want of this, rubbing two sticks together, get up a blaze, and fall to sleep beside it. If the traveller be accompanied by a dray, the tarpauling, is drawn round, and he sleeps beneath it.

Not amongst the least of the annoyances found here are the ants. There are three species of the insect, and they are all very large. Many of them are an inch long, and they bite confoundedly. A hand bitten by some of the monsters will swell to the size of a man's head. Along the coast, and in every house, smaller ants prevail, and fleas innumerable. The number of the latter, which you shall find upon your blanket any day of the year, is literally not to be computed. No house is free from this little disturber, who spares neither age nor sex. I have stood upon the sea beach adorned with white trousers, which in less than ten minutes have been covered with hundreds of the vermin. It is an easy transition from the trousers to the inner legs. But this is nothing when you are used to it. The grey horse won't live in the colony. So it is said; at all events none are seen; and I am very sure that every emigrant ship brings its fair stock. It is a wise ordination that forbids their settling. The mawk fly is indigenous, and thrives wonderfully, as you shall hear. This fly is very like our British bluebottle, with a somewhat greener head, and a body entirely yellow. I have seen two mawk flies strike (as it seemed) a joint of meat, just as it was removing from the spit, leaving their fly blows there. Before the joint had been ten minutes upon the table, small white mawks were moving upon the surface of the meat in considerable numbers. If by any chance these animals are suffered to accompany the meat to the safe or larder, in the course of twenty-four hours the small white mawks increase to the length of one-eighth of an inch, and are found crawling in hundreds and moving about, as you have observed the yellow flies buzzing over the old and rotten carcass of a horse that has been exposed for weeks. In the winter these creatures are, of course, less troublesome than in summer. Wire meat-covers are in constant use during the latter season.

Thus far had got in my epistle, when a torrent of ill news rushed in upon us, and compelled me to delay my scribble. I am sorry to say, that in addition to the account which I have already given of the depressed state of the markets, I must add some dismal intelligence. The markets are in a deplorable state, and so is the mercantile community in general. Every day there is a fresh bankruptcy, and the heaviest yet has just taken place. I cannot but believe that if more emigrant laborers come out just now, they must starve. Any man with ten or fifteen thousand pounds could buy half of the district for ready cash. The moneyed men are making fearful hauls as it is. Let emigration stop for a time, and the markets must look up again. At the present moment every thing is selling cheaper here than in England; men's wages are down to the ordinary English rate. So long as the banks afford seven per cent for deposits, moneyed men will lie in wait for bargains, and until such present themselves, will lock up the capital which at first was in circulation through the immense speculations in land and stock. The men who saw no end to speculation are gone and floored, every one of them. Will you believe that Messrs —— sent out three thousand pounds worth of brandy to Sydney, and so glutted the market that part of the cargo was bought low enough to make it a good spec to reship it for England. Such is the fact. There never was a better moment than the present for a hit in land—sheep are at so low a figure, and settlers so hard run. The former I still believe will gradually rise; for, on the Sydney side, the process of boiling down sheep for the sake of the tallow, has commenced, and if it succeed, as I believe it will, the standard value of a sheep will be fixed at something like eight shillings. So much for the fleece and skin, so much for the bones, so much for the kidney fat, and so much for the tallow or fat recovered by boiling the carcass. The great object of this colony must be to increase the export produce, and to bring capital in its place. Wool no doubt is, and will prove to be, the staple commodity; and in time, the settlers will pay more attention to the getting up of it, and to the packing. But above all they must speedily rid themselves of their bloodsuckers, a set of men who charge enormous commissions for anticipated sales, and what not, amounting to thirty and forty per cent; a sum that is nothing short of utter ruin to a poor fellow who has nothing but his wool to depend upon. Had Judge Willis remained amongst us, he would have rooted out whole nests of these hornets. I have no fear of the ultimate success of the colonist, if they will but be faithful to themselves. They have a splendid country, and its capabilities are now only beginning to be known. Before the end of the present year, our exports will consist of wool, bark, tallow, gum, hides, furs, and last, although not least, the finest cured beef in the world. If the latter article of produce is acknowledged as it deserves to be, and finds and establishes an eastern market, nothing will prevent the colony from rising to importance. As far as price is concerned, we can compete with any country in the world. We have no politics in Port Philip. The community are far better employed in attending to their commercial affairs. Let them but persevere honestly and prudently in their course, and they must do well.

And so much for my first epistle, honoured Christopher. If it afford you amusement, you shall hear from me again. I have spoken the truth, and have writ down simple facts. As such, receive them, and communicate them to your neighbours. And now, with affectionate remembrances to yourself and all enquiring friends,

Believe me, Reverend Christopher, Your grateful and attached, JOHN WILLIAM.

THE PROPHECY OF THE TWELVE TRIBES

"And Jacob called into his sons, and said, Gather yourselves together, that I may tell you that which shall befall you in the last days. "Gather yourselves together, and hear, ye sons of Jacob; and hearken unto Israel your father." —GENESIS, xlix. 1, 2, &c. The Patriarch sat upon his bed— His cheek was pale, his eye was dim; Long years of woe had bow'd his head, And feeble was the giant limb. And his twelve mighty sons stood nigh, In grief—to see their father die! But, sudden as the thunder-roll, A new-born spirit fill'd his frame. His fainting visage flash'd with soul, His lip was touch'd with living flame; And burst, with more than prophet fire, The stream of Judgment, Love, and Ire. "REUBEN,6 thou spearhead in my side, Thy father's first-born, and his shame; Unstable as the rolling tide, A blight has fall'n upon thy name. Decay shall follow thee and thine. Go, outcast of a hallow'd line! "SIMEON and LEVI,7 sons of blood That still hangs heavy on the land; Your flocks shall be the robber's food, Your folds shall blaze beneath his brand. In swamp and forest shall ye dwell. Be scatter'd among Israel! "JUDAH!8 All hail, thou priest, thou king! The crown, the glory, shall be thine; Thine, in the fight, the eagle's wing— Thine, on the hill, the oil and wine. Thou lion! nations shall turn pale When swells thy roar upon the gale. "Judah, my son, ascend the throne, Till comes from heaven the unborn king— The prophesied, the mighty one, Whose heel shall crush the serpent's sting. Till earth is paradise again, And sin is dead, and death is slain! "Wide as the surges, ZEBULON,9 Thy daring keel shall plough the sea; Before thee sink proud Sidon's sun, And strong Issachar toil for thee. Thou, reaper of his corn and oil, Lord of the giant and the soil! "Whose banner flames in battle's van! Whose mail is first in slaughter gored! Thou, subtler than the serpent, DAN,10 Prince of the arrow and the sword. Woe to the Syrian charioteer When rings the rushing of thy spear! "Crush'd to the earth by war and woe, GAD,11 shall the cup of bondage drain, Till bold revenge shall give the blow That pays the long arrear of pain. Thy cup shall glow with tyrant-gore, Thou be my Son—and man once more! "Loved NAPHTALI,12 thy snow-white hind Shall bask beneath the rose and vine. Proud ASHER, to the mountain wild Shall star-like blaze, thy battle-sign. All bright to both, from birth to tomb, The heavens all sunshine, earth all bloom! "JOSEPH,13 come near—my son, my son! Egyptian prince, Egyptian sage, Child of my first and best-loved one, Great guardian of thy father's age. Bring EPHRAIM and MANASSEH nigh, And let me bless them ere I die. "Hear me—Thou GOD of Israel! Thou, who hast been his living shield, In the red desert's lion-dell, In Egypt's famine-stricken field, In the dark dungeon's chilling stone, In Pharaoh's chain—by Pharaoh's throne. "My son, all blessings be on thee, Be blest abroad, be blest at home; Thy nation's strength—her living tree, The well to which the thirsty come; Blest be thy valley, blest thy hill, Thy father's GOD be with thee still! "Thou man of blood, thou man of might, Thy soul shall ravin, BENJAMIN.14 Thou wolf by day, thou wolf by night, Rushing through slaughter, spoil, and sin; Thine eagle's beak and vulture's wing Shall curse thy nation with a king!" Then ceased the voice, and all was still: The hand of death was on the frame; Yet gave the heart one final thrill, And breathed the dying lip one name. "Sons, let me rest by Leah's side!" He raised his brow to heaven—and died. HAVILAH.

A BEWAILMENT FROM BATH;

OR, POOR OLD MAIDS

Mr Editor!—You have a great name with our sex! CHRISTOPHER NORTH is, in our flowing cups—of Bohea—"freshly remembered." To you, therefore, as to the Sir Philip Sidney of modern Arcadia, do I address the voice of my bewailment. Not from any miserable coveting after the publicities of printing. All I implore of you is, a punch of your crutch into the very heart of a matter involving the best interests of my sex!

You, dear Mr Editor, who have your eyes garnished with Solomon's spectacles about you, cannot but have perceived on the parlour-tables and book-shelves of your fair friends—by whose firesides you are courted even as the good knight, and the Spectator, by the Lady Lizards of the days of Anne—a sudden inundation of tabby-bound volumes, addressed, in supergilt letters, to the "Wives of England"—the "Daughters of England"—the "Grandmothers of England." A few, arrayed in modest calf or embossed linen, address themselves to the sober latitudes of the manse or parsonage-house. Some treat, without permission, of "Woman's Mission"—some, in defiance of custom, of her "Duties." From exuberant 4to, down to the fid-fad concentration of 12mo—from crown demy to diamond editions—no end to these chartered documentations of the sex! The women of this favoured kingdom of Queen Victoria, appear to have been unexpectedly weighed in the balance, and found wanting in morals and manners; or why this sudden emission of codes of morality?

No one denies, indeed, that woman has, of late, ris' wonderfully in the market; or that the weaker sex is coming it amazingly strong. The sceptres of three of the first kingdoms in Europe are swayed by female hands. The first writer of young France is a woman. The first astronomer of young England, idem. Mrs Trollope played the Chesterfield and the deuce with the Yankees. Miss Martineau turned the head of the mighty Brougham. Mademoiselle d'Angeville ascended Mont Blanc, and Mademoiselle Rachel has replaced Corneille and Racine on their crumbling pedestals. I might waste hours of your precious time, sir, in perusing a list of the eminent women now competing with the rougher sex for the laurels of renown. But you know it all better than I can tell you. You have done honour due, in your time, to Joanna Baillie and Mrs Jamieson, to Caroline Southey and Miss Ferrier. You praised Mrs Butler when she deserved it; and probably esteem Mary Howitt, and Mary Mitford, and all the other Maries, at their just value—to say nothing of the Maria of Edgworthstown, so fairly worth them all. I make no doubt that you were even one of the first to do homage to the Swedish Richardson, Frederika Bremer; though, having sown your wild oats, you keep your own counsel anent novel reading.

You will, therefore, probably sympathize in the general amazement, that, at a moment when the sex is signalizing itself from pole to pole—when a Grace Darling obtains the palm for intrepidity—when the Honourable Miss Grimston's Prayer-Book is read in churches—when Mrs Fry, like hunger, eats through stone walls to call felons to repentance—when a king has descended from his throne, and a prince from royal highnesshood, to reward the virtues of the fair partners to whom they were unable to impart the rights of the blood-royal—when the fairest specimen of modern sculpture has been supplied by a female hand, and woman, in short, is at a premium throughout the universe, all this waste of sermonizing should have been thrown, like a wet blanket, over her shoulders!

But this is not enough, dear Mr Editor. I wish to direct your attention towards an exclusive branch of the grievance. I have no doubt that, in your earlier years, instead of courting your fair friends, as Burns appears to have done, with copies of your own works, you used to present unto them the "Legacy of Dr Gregory to his Daughters"—or "Mrs Chapone's Letters," or Miss Bowdler's, or Mrs Trimmer's, appropriately bound and gilt; and thus apprized of the superabundance of prose provided for their edification, are prepared to feel, with me, that if they have not Mrs Barbauld and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded by the frippery tomes which load the counters of our bazars. This perception has come of itself. If I could only be fortunate enough to enlarge your scope of comprehension!

My dear Mr Editor, I am what is called a lone woman. Shakspeare, through whose recklessness originate half the commonplaces of our land's language, thought proper to define such a condition as "SINGLE BLESSEDNESS"—though he aptly enough engrafts it on a thorn! For my part, I cannot enough admire the theory of certain modern poets, that an angel is an ethereal being, composed by the interunion in heaven, of two mortals who have been faithfully attached on earth—and as to "blessedness" being ever "single," either in this world or the next, I do not believe a word about the matter! "Happiness," Lord Byron assures us, "was born a twin!"

I do not mean to complain of my condition—far from it. But I wish to say, that since, from the small care taken by English parents to double the condition of their daughters, it is clear the state of "single blessedness" is of higher account in our own "favoured country" than in any other in Europe; it certainly behoves the guardians of the public weal to afford due protection and encouragement to spinsters.