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The Value of the World and of Oneself
 The Value of the World and of
Oneself
Philosophical Optimism and Pessimism from Aristotle
to Modernity
MOR SEGEV
 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the
University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing
worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and
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Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
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© Oxford University Press 2022
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You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Segev, Mor, author.
Title: The value of the world and of oneself : philosophical optimism
and pessimism from Aristotle to Modernity/ Mor Segev.
Description: New York, NY, United States of America : Oxford University Press, [2022] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022000740 (print) | LCCN 2022000741 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780197634073 (hb) | ISBN 9780197634097 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Optimism. | Pessimism. | Philosophy.
Classification: LCC B829 .S425 2022 (print) | LCC B829 (ebook) |
DDC 149/.5—dc23/eng/20220203
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022000740
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022000741
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197634073.001.0001
To the memory of Martha Leonhardt, née Löwenberg
(1902–1943).
 Contents

Acknowledgments
Abbreviations

Introduction
1. Schopenhauer’s Critique of the Optimism of the Hebrew Bible
and Spinoza
2. Self-Abnegation and Its Reversion to Optimism: Schopenhauer
3. Nihilism and Self-Deification: Camus’s Critical Analysis of
Nietzsche in The Rebel
4. Aristotle’s Critique of Ancient Pessimism
5. Optimism and Self-Devaluation #1: Aristotle
6. Optimism and Self-Devaluation #2: Maimonides on Aristotle and
the Hebrew Bible
7. An Aristotelian Response to Schopenhauer’s Challenge to
Optimism

References
Index
 Acknowledgments

This book is a product of years of thinking about and comparing the

philosophical views of Aristotle, Maimonides, Spinoza, Nietzsche,
Schopenhauer, and Camus. Between 2016 and 2021, parts of this
project were presented in Jerusalem, Oxford, Krakow, Tampa,
Newcastle, Milwaukee, and Budapest, and I am thankful to my
audiences on these occasions for many helpful comments and
suggestions. My ideas took shape over the years with the help of
feedback from and conversations with many individuals, including
Audrey Anton, Hanoch Ben-Yami, Anastasia Berg, István Bodnár,
Robert Bolton, Katarzyna Borkowska, Abraham Bos, Ursula Coope,
John Cooper, John Cottingham, Kati Farkas, Maciej Kałuża, Andrea
Kern, Philipp Koralus, Iddo Landau, Oksana Maksymchuk, Yitzhak
Melamed, Angela Mendelovici, Alexander Nehamas, Sarah Nooter,
Ács Pál, Michael Peramatzis, Max Rosochinsky, Anna Schriefl,
Christiane Tewinkel, Andrea Timár, David Weberman, Robert Wicks,
Jessica Williams, and Eric Winsberg.
I am grateful to the Hardt Foundation for the Study of Classical
Antiquity for granting me the Research Scholarship for Young
Researchers in 2018, to the Institute for Advanced Study at the
Central European University for granting me a fellowship in 2020,
which enabled me to complete most of this book and to present and
discuss it with colleagues from a variety of fields, to St. Catherine’s
College, Oxford, for hosting me as a Visiting Fellow in 2021, and to
the Faculty of Philosophy at Oxford University for allowing me to
present the project at the Workshop in Ancient Philosophy during my
stay. Thanks are also due to Lucy Randall, Hannah Doyle, Sean
Decker, and Leslie Johnson at Oxford University Press, to my
anonymous referees for their helpful comments and suggestions,
and to Nandhini Thanga Alugu and Dorothy Bauhoff for their
assistance with the production of the book.
Chapter 1 is based on my chapter “Schopenhauer on Spinoza’s
Pantheism, Optimism, and Egoism,” in Y. Y. Melamed (ed.), A
Companion to Spinoza (Hoboken, NJ, 2021), 557–67. Chapter 4 is
based in part on my “Death, Immortality and the Value of Human
Existence in Aristotle’s Eudemus Fr. 6, Ross,” Classical Philology
(forthcoming). Parts of Chapters 5 and 6 are based on my “Aristotle
on the Proper Attitude Toward Divinity,” American Catholic
Philosophical Quarterly (2020). I would like to thank the publishers
for allowing me to make use of these materials.
 Abbreviations

The following are the abbreviations used for the titles of the works
by the main authors discussed in this book.

Works by Aristotle:
Cael. De caelo
DA De anima
De phil. De philosophia
Div. De divinatione per somnum
EE Eudemian Ethics
GA Generation of Animals
GC Generation and Corruption
HA History of Animals
IA Progression of Animals
Metaph. Metaphysics
Meteor. Meteorology
MM Magna Moralia
NE Nicomachean Ethics
PA Parts of Animals
Poet. Poetics
Pol. Politics
Protr. Protrepticus
Rh. Rhetoric
Top. Topics

Works by Maimonides:
EC Eight Chapters
GP The Guide of the Perplexed
MT Mishneh Torah
HD Hilchot Deot (in MT )

Works by Spinoza:
E Ethics
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TTP Tractatus Theologico-Politicus

Works by Schopenhauer:
MR Manuscript Remains
PP Parerga and Paralipomena
FHP Fragments for the History of Philosophy (in PP)
WWR The World as Will and Representation

Works by Nietzsche:
BGE Beyond Good and Evil
BT The Birth of Tragedy
BVN Briefe von Nietzsche (Nietzsche’s letters)
EH Ecce Homo
GM The Genealogy of Morals
GS The Gay Science
HH Human, all too Human
NCW Nietzsche contra Wagner
NF Nachgelassene Fragmente (Posthumous fragments)
Z Thus Spoke Zarathustra

Works by Camus:
F The Fall
MS The Myth of Sisyphus
R The Rebel
 Introduction

In evaluating the world and one’s life within it, two positions,
diametrically opposed to one another, have often been taken by
prominent figures in the history of philosophy. The view traditionally
referred to as philosophical optimism may be encapsulated by the
two following propositions:

O1: The world is optimally arranged and is accordingly valuable.

O2: As part of the world, human life is valuable enough to make
one’s own existence preferable over one’s nonexistence.

Philosophical pessimists, by contrast, maintain the following:

P1: The world is in a woeful condition and is ultimately

valueless.1
P2: Our nonexistence in the world is, or would have been,
preferable over our existence.

The commitment to either of these two corresponding pairs of

propositions—regarding the value of the world and the value of
human life—appears again and again in traditional formulations and
characterizations of philosophical optimism and pessimism. Arthur
Schopenhauer, reacting to optimism, characterizes it as a view
countenancing that “the world is what is best” (WWR II.L: 644), and
that “our existence [is] to be gratefully acknowledged as the gift of
the highest goodness guided by wisdom” and is thus “in itself
praiseworthy, commendable, and delightful” (WWR II.XLV: 570).2
Implied in this description is the idea that the world is valuable, and
is ordered rationally and optimally (O1), and that it is these features
that ground the preferability of one’s own existence as a part of that
good whole (O2). Schopenhauer goes on to characterize (without,
however, naming) pessimism as the view according to which “this
[human] existence is a kind of false step or wrong path” and “is the
work of an originally blind will, the luckiest development of which is
that it comes to itself in order to abolish itself” (WWR II.XLV: 570).
Disregarding the details of the metaphysical theory underlying this
statement (to which we shall return later), the general point of
contrast between this view and the optimism that Schopenhauer
objects to is that pessimism rejects the existence of an ultimately
valuable, rationally ordered world, and with it the prospects of
viewing human existence as valuable, worthwhile, or otherwise
choice-worthy. Indeed, Schopenhauer claims, approvingly, that in the
Gospels “world and evil are used almost as synonymous
expressions” (WWR I, §59: 326). He also explicitly speaks of the
“wretched condition of the world” (die jammervolle Beschaffenheit
der Welt), associating it with pessimism (WWR II.XLVIII: 621), and
repeatedly attributes “vanity” (Nichtigkeit) and “valuelessness”
(Werthlosigkeit) to all things (P1),3 which he thinks expresses itself
in the suffering of all that lives (I, §68: 397), and which in turn for
him implies that “complete nonexistence would be decidedly
preferable to” human life (I, §59: 324) (P2).
This understanding of philosophical optimism and pessimism is
still quite standard. The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy, for
example, describes as “the starkest expression of pessimism” the
claim made by the chorus in Sophocles’s Oedipus at Colonus that it
is best not to be born and second best to die as soon as possible (cf.
OC 1224–7) (P2), and associates optimism with, e.g., Aristotelian
philosophy and its “sense of the harmony of nature and the
attainability of ends,” implying, similarly to optimism as we have just
seen Schopenhauer presents it, that the rational ordering of the
world makes both the world itself and one’s existence within it
valuable and their existence worthwhile (O1–O2).4 However, several
other ideas are often associated, and sometimes conflated, with
these two views. Discussions of optimism and pessimism often refer,
respectively, to the ideas that progress is possible or impossible, that
this world is the best or worst one possible,5 and that there is more
good in the world than evil or vice versa.6 For the sake of
terminological clarity, let us distinguish these different ideas from
optimism and pessimism as we have defined them and as they will
be discussed in the rest of this book.7
It is natural enough to associate a view locating value in the
world with the idea that progress is possible or even forthcoming.
But an optimist may well hold the view that progress is unnecessary,
or even impossible, because the world is already perfectly good in its
current condition. By the same token, a pessimist may concede the
possibility of various kinds of progress—say, in the distribution of
resources and the enactment of human rights—while maintaining
that even at their peak, it would be better if human beings and the
world at large had not existed.8 Similarly, although one would
generally expect an optimist to adhere to the Leibnizian idea that
ours is the best of all possible worlds, committing oneself to that
idea is not enough to count as an optimist. Pessimists may
consistently adhere to that same conception of the world, while
arguing that even the best possible world is not good enough to
justify its existence.9 As James Branch Cabell puts it in The Silver
Stallion: “The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all
possible worlds; and the pessimist fears this is true.”10 Furthermore,
both a consistently optimistic view and a consistently pessimistic one
may hold that this world is both the best and worst one possible, if
they maintain in addition that this world is the only one possible.11
Finally, thinking that the world on balance contains more good than
bad is insufficient for motivating an optimistic position, since the
world in that case may still contain enough evil pertaining to the
human species, e.g., so as to make it preferable for humans not to
exist. Sophocles’s dictum—that it is best not to be born and second
best to die quickly—is clearly not meant to apply to the gods, who
are of course repeatedly appealed to throughout the play, and the
worth of whose life is left unchallenged, and this fact nevertheless
does not detract from the pessimistic tone of that dictum. And,
conversely, one may think that evil predominates in the world and
still reject the pessimistic conclusion that a human life is not worth
having.
 Though the terms “optimism” and “pessimism” are fairly recent,12
their basic tenets date back to the earliest stages of recorded
philosophical discussion, and understandably so, given the basic
questions that they address and their relevance to evaluating one’s
environment and one’s own existence. It is sometimes argued that
tracing optimistic and pessimistic views to pre-modern philosophy is
anachronistic. Joshua Foa Dienstag, for instance, claims that
“pessimism is a modern phenomenon” since, “[l]ike optimism,
pessimism relies on an underlying linear concept of time, a concept
that only became a force in Western thinking in the early modern
period,” with ancient thought being dominated by a “cyclical”
conception of time.13 We need not assess Dienstag’s view of the
gradual change in conceptions of time. It suffices for our purposes to
note that optimism and pessimism, as we have defined them, apply
on either conception. As we have noted, both optimism and
pessimism may be consistently adhered to whether or not one even
takes a stance on the possibility or likelihood of historical progress.
Given the definitions we have offered, we seem warranted to look
for optimistic and pessimistic views in any period and culture in
which one could ask—as one clearly already did ask in, say, ancient
Israel and classical Greece—whether the world is perfectly ordered
and good, and whether human life is worth living.
In this book we shall compare the views of several philosophers
who did ask themselves just these questions and have answered
them by constructing views that can appropriately be described as
either optimistic or pessimistic, in entirely different intellectual
environments and historical periods ranging from classical Greece to
twentieth-century France. It would not be feasible, and there shall
be no attempt, to provide a comprehensive survey of relevant views
during that time frame. Instead, we shall focus on representative
cases—Aristotle, Maimonides, Spinoza, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche,
and Camus—which lend themselves particularly well to mutual
comparison, especially since some of them engage with the others’
views explicitly. Maimonides consciously and openly adopts and
develops major parts of Aristotle’s views concerning the value of the
world and of human existence. Schopenhauer engages with Spinoza
and criticizes his view, which he associates with the optimism that he
finds in the Hebrew Bible. Nietzsche criticizes Schopenhauer’s
pessimism, and Camus in turn criticizes Nietzsche and his attempt at
transcending both optimism and pessimism. Of course, by creating a
dialogue between themselves and their predecessors on these
issues, the philosophers in question could have themselves been
guilty of anachronism to some degree. Even if so, it arguably would
still be worthwhile to examine their understanding and use of
previous views, e.g., in order to analyze the chain of influence
leading to modern theories on relevant issues.14 But I hope to show
that, as I have already argued so far, comparing the views of all of
these philosophers on the issues focused on in this book is both
instructive and appropriate.
Even on the assumption that ancient, medieval, and modern
optimistic and pessimistic views may be safely compared, questions
may nevertheless arise concerning the potential import of such a
comparison. To begin with, it is sometimes suggested that optimism
is a puerile position, upheld unrealistically and irrationally by those
who have not been properly exposed to the evils of the world, and
rejected and supplanted by those who have. Discussing ancient
Hebrew optimism, one scholar writes:15

Unclouded skies and perfect happiness are conditions of innocent childhood.

But as the child grows older, clouds appear in the skies and happiness
becomes less and less perfect. Thus while the ancient Hebrews during many
centuries seemed wholly satisfied with the affairs of life, never doubting for
one moment that JHVH had ordered everything for the best, the time came
when they began to ask the why and wherefore of many happenings.

Similarly, as we shall see in Chapter 1, Schopenhauer criticizes

optimism (in its monotheistic and pantheistic varieties), among other
things, for its naïveté, and for failing to account for the suffering and
misfortune prevalent in the world, having instead to blindly assert
that all phenomena are manifestations of the world’s perfection, and
hence that all human and even animal behavior, e.g., is “equally
divine and excellent” (WWR II.XLVII: 590). Perhaps, then, optimistic
views, as such, are too naïve to merit serious consideration?
However, optimism, as we have defined it, need not be naïve in this
way. For one may posit that the world is optimally arranged and is
perfectly valuable without conceding that each and every one of its
parts is equally valuable.
Indeed, as we shall see in Chapters 5 and 6, both Aristotle and
Maimonides offer a complex optimistic theory, on which the world,
though perfectly arranged and valuable (O1), contains an axiological
hierarchy pertaining to its various parts. Since humans are placed
relatively low on that hierarchy, the world’s perfection and absolute
value are not compromised by the imperfections pertaining to and
the pain undergone by them. But, given the world’s perfection, the
existence of such creatures, flawed though they are, is preferable to
their nonexistence (O2). This version of optimism presents a viable
alternative to pessimistic approaches. This is especially true because,
as we shall see in Chapters 2 and 3, both the most influential
modern pessimistic position (by Schopenhauer) and an influential
attempt to do away with both optimism and pessimism (by
Nietzsche) have been criticized for ultimately reverting to optimism,
and hence for being fundamentally inconsistent. This fact raises the
question as to whether “pure” pessimism, or a complete rejection of
optimism, is possible in principle. And, if it is not, then it seems that
conscious and explicit optimism could prove a viable alternative.
As a second consideration, one might argue that the debate
between optimism and pessimism is really a debate over the
existence of a perfect deity. As we shall see in Chapter 3, this is
precisely what Nietzsche does argue (cf. HH I.28). But, if that is the
case, then one might be inclined to bracket the debate between
optimism and pessimism as a theological controversy, and hence as
potentially irrelevant for those who wish to evaluate the world and
human life without recourse to the question of God’s existence.
Indeed, all of the views discussed in this book do engage with the
existence and nature of divinity and with religion, either supportively
or critically. Schopenhauer responds to optimism primarily in its
monotheistic and pantheistic varieties, and he links his own
pessimistic view to Christianity and Buddhism. Nietzsche, while
himself associating both optimism and pessimism with a theological
framework and criticizing both on that account, is himself later
criticized by Camus, ironically, for “deifying” the world and
envisaging a divine human being in the form of an Übermensch. In
turn, Aristotle’s view of the magnanimous person, and Maimonides’s
corresponding notion of the “righteous person” (hassid), are both
informed by the attitude such a person would have toward divinity.
And the world’s perfection, for both thinkers, is a function of its
divinity or its relation to the divine. It is therefore not surprising that
the traditional debate between optimism and pessimism also
reserves a special place (e.g., in Maimonides’s and Schopenhauer’s
works, as we shall see in Chapter 2 and Chapters 6–7) for an
engagement with the classical “problem of evil,” challenging the
existence of a benevolent and omnipotent deity in the light of the
suffering and imperfections contained in the world.
However, though the issues dealt with by philosophical optimism
and pessimism intersect with discussions in theology and the
philosophy of religion, they do not clearly depend on those domains
of inquiry. An optimally ordered world, in principle, may be so
without either having been created by a deity or being identified
with one. And the existence of a given species within such a world
could arguably also be worthwhile regardless of any relation to a
deity. Thus, a pessimistic response to optimism need not attack the
conception of divinity underlying it, and indeed would be potentially
incomplete if it addressed only that conception. Similarly, the
classical problem of evil admits of variations, and ones which need
not appeal to the existence of God. Schopenhauer, as we shall see in
Chapter 1, thinks that this problem confronts Spinozistic pantheism—
which does not countenance the existence of a benevolent and
omnipotent God—because the world as God must on pantheism
make the existence of suffering impossible. By the same token, a
non-theistic and non-pantheistic optimistic view could also be
confronted with a version of the problem of evil, appropriately
modified: How could a perfectly ordered and positively valuable
world include imperfections and untoward agony? In this case, it
seems that neither the question nor the answer needs to appeal to
God or religion.
One may also wonder whether it is neither optimism nor
pessimism, but rather some intermediate position, that is more likely
to ultimately convince. Without committing oneself to the optimal
arrangement of the cosmos, nor to its valuelessness, one may locate
some order and goodness in the world, and may attach such value
specifically to certain human endeavors or experiences, which, if
attained, may make human existence either worth having (O2) or
not (P2), without thereby leading one either to full-fledged optimism
(O1 + O2) or to outright pessimism (P1 + P2).16 We may refer to
views locating enough value to support O2 as quasi-optimistic, and
call those rejecting enough such value to support P2 quasi-
pessimistic. All of these views, as well as an intermediate position
that remains neutral concerning the worth of human life, may be
represented on a spectrum as follows:

One challenge facing positions falling in between optimism and

pessimism is to provide specific criteria for determining just how
much value found in the world justifies supporting either the
optimistic assessment of human existence as worthwhile, or the
pessimistic counterpart of that assessment. Another challenge would
be to show that value of the right kind and amount, once
determined, can be reliably expected to persist so as to support
those assessments consistently. Part of the attraction of a fully
optimistic or pessimistic theory, by contrast, is that it provides an
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evaluation of the world that is clear-cut and unfluctuating.
Furthermore, optimism provides a unique reason for maintaining
that human existence is worthwhile, which seems unavailable to
other theories. For, if the world is perfectly ordered and good, then
human life, however individually potentially distressing, may be
worthwhile simply insofar as it contributes to that perfection as one
of its parts (as we shall see in Chapter 4, Aristotle reasons along
these lines in motivating his view of death as an evil). Granted, it
may be the case that both optimism and pessimism can be
conclusively shown to be false, with some intermediate theory being
shown to be more plausible. Even in such a case, however,
examining optimism and pessimism exhaustively would still prove
beneficial. These theories could function as limiting cases, and their
shortcomings may point out which type of intermediate theory is
more likely to be true—one falling in the “optimistic camp” (i.e.,
upholding that there is enough value in the world to make human
life preferable over nonexistence) or in the “pessimistic camp.”
In Chapter 1, I examine Arthur Schopenhauer’s critique of the
optimism he reads in the Hebrew Bible and in Spinoza’s philosophy.
According to Schopenhauer, the Hebrew Bible presents a consistently
optimistic worldview. Already in Genesis, Schopenhauer points out,
the acts of creation are followed by the locution: “And God saw that
[it was] good” (‫)וירא אלהים כי טוב‬. In fact, Schopenhauer
continues, so good is this creation, according to the biblical view,
that it leaves nothing to look forward to outside of this world, and
the Bible consequently recommends simply rejoicing in the joys of
the present (Ecclesiastes IX. 7–10). On that view, the world in all its
parts is impeccable by hypothesis. Any seeming imperfection within
the world, including those pertaining to human beings and their
lives, must be merely apparent.
Schopenhauer finds an equivalent view in Spinoza’s pantheism.
For Spinoza, God is a being whose “essence excludes all
imperfection and involves absolute perfection” (E1p9s), and it is the
only substance of which we can conceive (E1p14) and in which we
(like everything else) have our being (E1p15). The conclusion to
draw is that we, too, are parts of that perfect entity. And so, as
Schopenhauer sees it, Spinoza’s theory, just like the biblical
worldview, is essentially optimistic. By the basic assumption of these
two systems, there can be no fault in our existence, and hence
nothing to improve. Schopenhauer, however, finds this optimistic
outlook unconvincing, for two main reasons. First, given the
immense suffering one witnesses in the world, optimism generally
generates some version of the classical problem of evil, which it is
unable to solve. One’s individual life cannot plausibly be construed
as “perfect,” as it must be if we consider it a part of a perfectly
created cosmos. Second, optimism itself, once adopted, ironically
makes individuals worse than they otherwise would have been. For,
since optimism encourages one to look favorably upon one’s
individual life, it also promotes egoism, which inevitably leads to
cruelty.
In Chapter 2, we shall turn to Schopenhauer’s own pessimistic
theory and to Nietzsche’s critique of it. Schopenhauer presents an
alternative to Jewish and pantheistic optimism, and the
unreasonable self-commendation that he believes they promote.
Human life, as Schopenhauer thinks it is standardly lived, is
objectively futile and indeed miserable. Life, for him, involves
continuous strife (WWR I, §61: 331), which is inescapable even by
means of suicide (§54: 281). Whenever we find ourselves under the
impression that our human condition is any better than that, we are
simply mistaken. However, Schopenhauer also thinks that there is a
way out of this predicament. The solution is to be found in his notion
of the “denial of the will-to-live” (§68: 397). Knowing and
acknowledging that no form of life can be free from suffering, and
that attempting to alleviate one’s suffering from within the
framework of one’s life is necessarily done in vain, one gradually
grows frustrated with living as such, and ceases to will it. Such a
process, if carried out properly, ultimately yields “[t]rue salvation”
(§68: 397). By dimming (and, ultimately, eliminating) the subjective
investment in one’s own life, with its various aims, goals, choices,
and values, Schopenhauer thinks, one could potentially exist in an
objectively praiseworthy way.
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 The Echidna is eaten by the natives, who declare it to be
“cobbong budgeree” (very good,) “and, like pig, very fat.” Europeans
who have eaten of them, confirm this opinion, and observe that they
taste similar to a sucking pig. This animal, when scratching, or rather
cleaning itself, uses only the hind claws, lying in different positions,
so as to enable it to reach the part of the body to be operated upon.
The animal is pentadactyle, the two first claws of the hind feet being
long, the first the longest; that of the great toe the shortest: they
seem to have the power of erecting their spines, and, rolling
themselves into a spherical form, making an excellent defence
against many of their enemies.
I consider there are two species of this genus existing:—first, E.
hystrix, Desm., or Spiny Echidna, which is found on the mountain
ranges in the colony of New South Wales; and the second, E.
Setosa, Desm., or Bristly Echidna, which is found more common in
Van Dieman’s Land. The first species attains a large size: it is stated
in our works of natural history as being the size of a hedge-hog: my
young specimen was fully that. At “Newington,” the residence of
John Blaxland, Esq., I had an opportunity of seeing a specimen full
fourteen inches long, and of proportionate circumference: it fed
upon milk and eggs, the eggs boiled hard and chopped up small,
with rice; its motion was heavy and slow; it was of a perfectly
harmless disposition. When disturbed from its place of retreat, it
would feed during the day; but was difficult to remove from the cask
in which it was placed, on account of its firmly fixing itself at the
bottom: it feeds, by thrusting out the tongue, to which organ the
food is attached, and then withdrawing it. Mine moved about, and
drank milk at night, taking little other food. After keeping it for
nearly seven months, I found it one morning dead.
There is an affection of the eye, which much prevails at this
season of the year in the interior of the colony, attacking both
European settlers and natives, and is called by the colonists the
“blight:” it occurs only during the summer season: the attack is
sudden, no doubt proceeding from the bite of a gnat, or some other
insect. I had an opportunity of witnessing a case of this malady,
which occurred in a native. The integuments surrounding the orbit
were puffed up so much, as totally to close the eye, which was
found much inflamed, as in acute ophthalmia, and attended with
symptoms, in some degree similar, with severe itching and pricking
pain, as if sand had been lodged in it, with a profuse flow of tears.
This disease seldom continues for more than three days, even if no
remedy be applied. A spirit lotion has been found the most beneficial
application. Last summer every individual at one of the farms was
attacked by it in both eyes, occasioning temporary blindness, and
much inconvenience was experienced from all being attacked at the
same period.[118]
On the 14th of December, I left the Tumat country on my return to
Yas. Day had just dawned when I commenced my journey; the sky
was clear and serene; the rising sun gilded the summits of the
picturesque mountains; the sparkling dew was not yet dispelled, and
all nature looked refreshed; the atmosphere was cool and agreeable,
and the birds chanted, as if to salute the rising orb with their early
melody; the dark foliage of the swamp oaks, and a brighter
vegetation, would indicate the proximity of the river, whose
murmuring stream was occasionally heard, although its waters were
not seen. But as the day advanced, it became more sultry;
vegetation drooped with excessive heat; the feathered songsters
ceased their carolling, and only a few herons, magpies, (“Karo” of
the aborigines,) and crows, were visible. I arrived at Darbylara late
in the afternoon.
The banks of the Murrumbidgee were beautifully picturesque. How
delightful it is in this country, so destitute of large streams, to sit
under the overshadowing branches of the Eucalypti, near the river,
watching the flights of wild fowl, engaged in catching the fish, with
which this river abounds, or seeing the young amphibious blacks
amusing themselves by throwing stones into the deep part of the
stream, and diving in order to catch them before they reach the
bottom. In this amusement, they displayed much activity, and in
nearly every instance succeeded in regaining the stone before it
reached the bottom. The competition among them to catch it, was
highly amusing.
There were a number of the aborigines about this farm, who
made themselves occasionally useful by grinding wheat, and other
occupations; but no dependence can be placed upon their industry
for they work when they please, and remain idle when they like; the
latter being of most frequent occurrence; but they are encouraged
for their valuable assistance in finding strayed cattle, as they track
the beasts with an accuracy seldom or never attained by a
European.
The river’s banks abounded in trees of enormous size, and were
profusely embellished with elegant flowers. I saw a species of the
Eucalyptus, called the “Water Gum,” full a hundred feet in elevation,
and six or seven feet in diameter.[119] I also observed a swamp
oak[120] growing from the trunk of one of these trees, having quite a
parasitical character; the former being about twelve feet high, and
the latter full forty, both in a flourishing condition. An animal, called
“Water-rat” by the colonists, and Biddunong by the aborigines,
burrowed in the banks; but I was not able to procure a specimen.
There are also two species of the Kangaroo-rat found about this part
of the colony; one called “Cannamung,” and the second, a larger
species, called “Talbung” by the blacks.
About the river’s banks an elegant species of fly-catcher,
“Birinberu” of the natives, was numerous, burrowing for some
distance in the sand, where it lays its eggs, and produces young. It
is about the size of a lark, of beautiful and varied plumage, migrating
from this part of the country in the winter, and returning in the
summer to build about its old haunts. I examined several of the
burrows, which were situated on a sandy flat, near the river; the
entrance was two inches and a half at its broadest diameter,
continuing of a breadth seldom exceeding three inches, to the length
of three feet generally,—although some were even longer,—
terminating in a space from six to eight inches broad, where the
eggs are laid, no nest was constructed, and, on examining the first
burrow, I found four young ones reposing upon the bare sand. I
covered the burrow as well as possible, leaving the young ones to a
mother’s care, who soon returned to her progeny. Other burrows
contained from four to five white nearly round eggs. The length of
these birds was ten inches from the beak to the two projecting tail
feathers, which last were usually an inch and a half beyond the
others: the irides were of a beautiful bright-red colour.
There are several species of birds seen here during the summer
season, migrating in the winter, and others returning in the winter,
and taking their departure in the summer. Observations upon the
migration of birds in this colony would be interesting, as the
accounts are often contradictory. The elegant “satin-bird,”
(Ptilinorynchus of Temminck,) it is said, leaves the Murrumbidgee
country during summer, returning in autumn: it is also mentioned,
that the aborigines never kill this bird.[121]
Cattle and sheep stations now extend for some distance down the
Murrumbidgee probably as much as fifty miles. The following is a list
of them, commencing from below Mr. Warby’s farm at Darbylara. At
a distance of two miles from Darbylara, proceeding down the
stream, is the

Miles. Belonging to
1st Station, “Minghee,” Mr. Warby, sen.
2 beyond, 2d Station, “Gundagiar,” Mr. Hutchinson.
5 — 3d Station, “Willeplumer,” Mr. Stuckey.
4 — 4th Station, “Kimo,” Mr. Guise.
3 — 5th Station, “Wadjego,” Mrs. Jenkins.
4 — 6th Station, “Nanghas,” Mr. J. M’Arthur.
8 — 7th Station, “Jabtre,” Mr. Ellis.
2 — 8th Station, “Wandubadjere,” Mr. Thorn.
10 — 9th Station, “Kubandere,” Mr. Tompson.
10 — 10th Station, “Billing billing,” Mr. H. M’Arthur.
 The natives’ names of that part of the country where the stations
are situated have been retained; the distance in miles is nominal.
The family at Darbylara are generally industriously employed in
making butter and cheese, which is taken to Sydney for sale: they
possess numerous herds of cattle, and the luxuriant pasturage about
the farm fattens and enables the milch cows to furnish abundance of
milk. From the industry displayed by this family, they deserve to
realize an independence from their exertions. Formerly flocks of
sheep were kept about the farm; but from great losses being
sustained among them, from a morbid propensity of destroying their
progeny, they were given up, and more attention paid to this as a
dairy farm, for which purpose no land could be better selected.
 CHAPTER XVI.
Flocks of pelicans and grey parrots—Arrive at Jugiong—A busy scene—
The harvest—Quails and Hawks—Mr. Hume’s farm—Domestic life
among the settlers—Miss my way in the forest—Mr. Reddal’s farm—
Disease called the Black Leg—Mr. Bradley’s residence at Lansdowne
Park—Drooping manna trees—Christmas festival—Mr. F. M’Arthur’s
farm—Aboriginal tribes—Native costume—Noisy revelry—Wild ducks
and pigeons—Spiders.

On leaving Darbylara, I proceeded to Jugiong by a different road

from that by which I came, keeping near the Murrumbidgee river
during the journey. Occasionally a flock of pelicans (“Guligalle” of the
natives) were seen: this species has black and white plumage; the
back and upper part of the wings being black, the remainder of the
body white, with the bill and legs of a yellowish colour. Black swans
(“Guniock” of the aborigines) were also seen; and among others of
the “plumy tribe” that enlivened the scenery, were flocks of grey
parrots, and several other species of the same tribe; the bell-bird,
razor-grinder, and coach-whip birds, were also occasionally seen or
heard; the latter well named from its peculiar note, which accurately
resembles the cracking of a whip. In the vicinity of this noble stream
the scenery was beautiful; rich and luxuriant pasturage abounded,
and the country had a cheerful and animated appearance. The river,
during its course, occasionally forms pretty cascades, by falling over
huge rocks that oppose its current.
After riding four miles, a station belonging to Mr. Kennedy, called
Kurongullen, gullen, was seen on the opposite side of the river;
about a mile further distant, Mr. Lupton’s station of Guberolong was
passed; and a further ride of eight miles, through a fertile
picturesque country, brought me to Bulbábuck, a station the
property of Mr. Henry O’Brien, where the men were busily occupied
in cutting some fine fields of wheat. In the evening I reached
Jugiong, and on the following day (10th December) arrived at Yas
Plains.
This was the busy season with the settlers, being both the wool
and grain harvest. Shearing had commenced some time before; but
many who had numerous flocks were still engaged in that profitable
occupation; the packing, sorting, screwing, and sewing in bales,
occupying much time; wool being the staple article of the colony,
and forming the principal riches of the settler. It is interesting for a
stranger visiting the country at this period to view the processes of
washing and shearing the animals—sorting, pressing, and packing
the wool;—to often hear the terms of short and long staple wool,
and to see the specimens of it arranged in small locks, showing the
different degrees of fineness. If the shearing season is deferred,
various grass seeds get into the wool, particularly those of the
Anthisteria Australis, or kangaroo grass, one of the most abundant
perhaps of the native grasses, frequently not only injuring the fleece,
but, aided by its awns, penetrating even to the skin of the sheep.
The Australian climate is admirably calculated for wool growing; the
improvement of the fleeces during the late years, and the assorting
of the wool by competent persons educated for the purpose in
Germany, have produced for it so high a character in the London
market, that the quantity exported from the colony is now great, and
annually increasing: many of the settlers sell their wool to buyers in
the colony, who speculate upon it, while others send it direct to
agents in England.
The golden harvest also increases the business of the settler,
usually occurring at the same time with the wool season, and the
fields of grain around the scattered habitations render the scenery
extremely rich. The prospect of the harvest this season was
favourable both for its abundance and quality, although in some
crops smut prevailed, the most were entirely free from it. It is a
curious circumstance that self-sown wheat never smuts; that early
sown is said to have little or none, and the wheat never smuts but
when in blossom. I saw at one farm an ear of wheat from one of the
fields, one side of which bore fine, healthy, and full grains, whilst the
opposite side was entirely destroyed by smut. Wheat appears to
suffer most. At one of the stations in the Tumat country the wheat
suffered from smut, whilst barley and rye were perfectly free from it;
and finer crops of the latter grain had never been seen. There are, I
understand, many kinds of wheat that never suffer from smut in the
colony; why are they not then sown in preference? The plan of
trying different kinds of wheat and other grain, from various parts of
the world, is worthy of attention, and would no doubt eventually
confer much benefit, and add to the resources of the colony. There
is a grain which the settlers have lately commenced to cultivate,
called the “skinless oat,” said to be brought from China, that yields
greater returns than the usually cultivated kind.
On riding through plains, &c. a number of quails are usually
started by the dogs, and numerous eagle hawks, (Mollien of the
natives,) and others of the same rapacious tribe, hover about for the
purpose of darting upon the unfortunate quails when started; these
hawks will also destroy and feed upon snakes, lizards, &c.
On the 23d of December I left Yas Plains for Sydney; in the
evening I arrived at “Lomebraes,” or “Willowdalong,” the farm of Mr.
John Hume, after a journey of twenty-two miles. This farm is
situated close to a river, which I was surprised to find was the
“Lachlan.” At this season it was merely a chain of shallow ponds,
abounding with weeds, and even in the winter season, from the
extent of the banks, it cannot attain any magnitude; probably by aid
of tributary streams, it may in its course become a river of more
importance. About this country the heat of the summer had not
been so great as to parch up the land, which still maintained its
verdure; but the utter want of variety in several parts of the colony,
produces a tedious vacuity in the mind of the traveller when
journeying over it.
A pleasing object in domestic life among the settlers was the
number of healthy, blooming children seen on the farms in the
interior; their little plump forms, with the prevailing flaxen hair,
cheerful and lively disposition, and rosy countenances, sufficiently
indicated that bush fare did not disagree with them: living in the
midst of excellent milk, and other wholesome food, with exercise,
they are never cloyed by the trash usually given to children in large
towns. Sickness is also rarer among the servants, from an inability to
become inebriated; but tobacco is quite a necessary of life among
them; few can undergo any labour without it, and many have told
me that they would rather give up their rations than be deprived of
tobacco; consequently no gift is more acceptable in the bush to a
servant, for any assistance he may render to the traveller, than a
present of tobacco, for money in the distant parts of the colony, is
comparatively useless, and they care little or nothing about it.
On leaving “Lomebraes,” the morning following, I proceeded some
distance on my journey, when thinking I could reach “Mut, mut,
billy,” sooner by taking a nearer cut across the bush, I followed
cattle-paths, until I missed my way; no trifle in the bush of New
South Wales, where many, having lost themselves in the mazes of a
forest, have perished. However, after chancing the direction, I came
to a settler’s hut, about three or four miles distant from Mr. Reddal’s
farm, at Mut, mut, billy; I made inquiry of a man and woman, who
were at that time busily engaged in opening a cow in the stock-yard,
whether I was in the right road; after answering my inquiry in the
affirmative, the man asked me if I had ever seen the disease called
the “black leg,” which prevailed so much, and was still prevailing to
some extent among the cattle in the colony, informing me that the
cow had died of the disease, the first instance of it in this part of the
country.
I felt gratified at having an opportunity of examining a case of this
disease, of which I had only previously heard an account; so
alighting, I entered the stock-yard, and examined the dead animal.
Every part of the internal viscera was in a perfectly healthy
condition, the stomach was distended with food, and there was
nothing in the internal appearances exhibited to account for the
death of the animal; but upon the thigh of the left hind leg, I
perceived a swelling, and on the skin being laid back from it, an
extent of dark extravasated blood was seen, and there was a similar
state of extravasation upon one side of the neck: cutting through the
fascia, the whole of the muscles, which had the appearances just
mentioned, were found saturated with black blood, even to the
bone. I can make no better comparison of its appearance than by
saying it seemed as if those parts of the body had been severely
beaten or mashed.
The animal I examined was a young cow; (the disease is said to
attack principally the yearlings among cattle;) she had been perfectly
well the preceding evening, but was found dead early in the
morning; from the stomach being found distended with food, it could
not have been long ill previous to its death. On arriving at the farm
of Mut, mut, billy, I mentioned the circumstance to the overseer; he
was alarmed at the disease having occurred so near, and expressed
a fear of his cattle becoming attacked, as the disease was
considered contagious; he asserted that none of his cattle had ever
yet been affected, although he had heard of numbers dying in other
districts from the disease.
It was a few days after this, when staying at Goulburn Plains, that
a gentleman arrived, who mentioned his having seen a case of the
disease denominated the “black leg,” in the stock-yard of the farm at
Mut, mut, billy, that morning, so from this circumstance the fears of
the overseer, respecting the extension of the disease, were
unfortunately realized. The Irish assigned servants upon the estates
where the disease has occurred, mention that it is not uncommon in
Ireland, and is there considered contagious.[122] The mode of
treatment adopted for its cure in that country is to bleed and rowel
the cattle, and change the pasturage: it has been asserted that it
was unknown in the colony until within the last twelvemonth; but
some declare that it has existed, although not extensively, for a
much longer period. Dr. Gibson informed me that the disease
prevails principally among calves and yearlings, the first marked
symptoms being a paralytic affection, the animal drawing the leg
after it; a swelling and tenderness are then experienced about the
affected parts, and usually a fatal termination ensues in twelve
hours; bleeding relieves, and even has been known to cure cattle
thus affected, if resorted to in time; but from the rapid progress of
the disease, and among a large number of cattle, it is seldom
observed until too late.
On the 24th of December I arrived at Lansdowne Park, (or, in the
language of the country, “Bungee.”) Goulburn Plains, the residence
of Mr. Bradley; and although the days previous had been sultry and
oppressive, this was so cold as to make it agreeable to see a large
wood-fire blazing on the parlour hearth, giving the close of day the
appearance of a Christmas-eve at home, although in this country it
was the height of the summer season; but such atmospherical
changes occasionally take place in the colony.
The elegant drooping manna-trees (Eucalyptus mannifera) were
numerous, and at this season secreted the peculiar saccharine
mucilaginous substance called manna, which, in greater or less
quantities, was lying upon the ground beneath them, or upon their
leaves, trunks, and branches, in small white flakes, resembling bits
of starch. The taste of this secretion is sweet and mucilaginous,
having a greater or less aperient effect on different individuals; it is
quite a sweetmeat, and seems to consist of mucilage, sugar, and
probably some magnesia: although it readily acts as an aperient on
some persons, upon others it produces no effect; it does not dissolve
in the sun, but, on the contrary, becomes dryer and of harder
consistence, by exposure; rain dissolves it, but more secretion of it
takes place after wet than during a continuance of dry weather.
Many of the colonists supposed the manna was secreted from the
leaves of the tree, but from the foliage having a strong camphorated
taste and odour, which the manna has not in the slightest degree, it
was not probable; others again supposed it to proceed from the
nectaries of the flowers, which are white, growing in clusters, and
give to the tree a beautiful appearance when in bloom, attracting
multitudes of parroquets. This tree, similar to the other Eucalypti,
secretes a red gum, both spontaneously and in larger quantities, on
incisions being made on the trunk. Birds and several insects feed
upon the manna; among others the “Galang, galang,” as they are
named in the language of the country, the “locust” of the colonists,
of which insects, as I have before said, the aborigines declare it to
be the excrement.
The tree is called in the aboriginal language “Bartoman,” and the
manna is named “Cú ningaban;” it is collected and eaten by the
natives. The growth of the tree, when young, is graceful and
elegant; the bark is covered with a whitish powder, which readily
rubs off upon the fingers, and the bark underneath is of a greyish
colour; the bark of the “white gum” (Eucalyptus species) resembles
this tree, but may be distinguished by not having a black butt like
the manna-tree. On examining the tree to ascertain positively from
what part of it the manna was secreted, I found in several that the
manna exuded in a liquid form in minute drops from the bark, and
then concreted; on some it had oozed out and had concreted upon
the trunk in large thin flakes; it exuded about the consistence of
syrup, and in taste was sweet; when secreted from the branches it
falls from those above, upon the leaves, &c. of others beneath, and
upon the ground, where, during a plentiful season, a large quantity
may be collected.
The rain that had fallen the day previous to my examination of
these trees, and the heat of the sun causing a quantity of manna to
exude from them, its mode of secretion could be more readily
distinguished. It is usually secreted about the commencement of
December; but it depends on the weather whether the secretion is
in greater or less quantity: this season it was abundant.
The manna trees had commenced during the latter part of
December, to throw off their outer bark; their trunks, therefore, had
a ragged appearance, and the ground underneath was strewed with
dried crisped pieces which had fallen off, leaving a smooth and
handsome new bark in their place. The black cockatoos
(“Womberong,” and “Bulowla”) were occasionally seen in numbers,
feeding upon the ripe cones of the Banksia, or “honeysuckles;”[123]
and the smaller chattering parroquets were flying about, in
hundreds, and revelling among the Eucalypti trees, which were now
in flower; and, like to the humming-birds, they were extracting
honey from the nectaries of the blossoms. On examining one that
had been shot, the beak was covered, and the mouth filled, with
honey, possessing the peculiar camphorated smell of the leaves and
flowers of the tree, mingled with stamina; the stomach was filled
with a dark, thick honey, among which some quantity of the stamina
of the Eucalyptic flowers were mingled. The Blue Mountain parrot
also sips the nectar from the flowers, as well as from peaches, &c.
The natives, when they kill any of these birds, suck their beaks to
extract the honey with which the mouth is usually filled, and also
recover that collected in the stomach.
The aborigines were now collecting about the farms in expectation
of a feast at the ensuing Christmas festival. I went up to one who
was busily engaged in making an opossum-skin cloak: he sewed the
skins together with the fibres of the bark of the “Stringy Bark” tree
for thread, by first perforating holes in it with a sharp piece of bone,
and then passing the thread through the holes as he proceeded. I
asked him some questions, and then gave him a piece of tobacco:
he asked for two piece tobacco, because “I merry busy, and you ask
me much,” said blackee.
I visited “Northwood,” (distant about six miles from the Plains,)
the neat farm of Mr. Francis M’Arthur, and afterwards rode across the
plains to Dr. Gibson’s farm, at Taranna, which is situated near the
“Soldier’s Flat;” this latter place consists of several small farms, of
about a hundred acres each, which were granted by government to
the discharged veterans. There were small bark huts erected upon
the grants, and several ripe fields of grain and vegetable gardens
about them.
The numerals among the aboriginal tribes of Goulburn Plains are
as follows. One, Metong;—Two, Bulla;—Three, Bulla, metong;—
Plenty, Nerang and Gorong.
Christmas Day is regarded as a festival by the blacks who live near
the habitations of the white men, it being customary at this period
for the settlers to distribute among them provisions and spirits, with
which they contrive to render themselves perfectly happy. Several
tribes had formed their encampment on and about the Plains, for the
occasion, their huts had been speedily erected, by collecting the
branches of trees, and lying over them sheets of bark, so placed as
to form a shelter to windward; the fire being made in front. Some
appeared in “native costume,” with an extra daub of red ochre, and
the “bolombine” round the head; others wore tufts of the yellow
crest of the white cockatoo, pending from their beards; but there
were some who approximated to civilized society in dress, being
arrayed in shirt, trowsers, and handkerchief;—and when thus cleanly
“rigged out” in European finery, their personal appearance was not
unprepossessing,—not that I mean to say they will bear away the
palm for personal beauty.
Some of the “black fellers” had merely a jacket, others only a
shirt: the garments, however, were merely put on for the occasion,
to be soon after laid aside, as they find clothing materially obstruct
them when engaged in hunting or other expeditions. The putting on
the European garments serves merely to gratify their vanity, making
them look “like white feller,” as they express it. Having observed, to
one who petitioned me for a pair of “inexpressibles,” to look “like
white feller,” that his father did not wear breeches; he replied, “My
fadder no see white feller trowsers—if make a light (see) make get;
but no white feller sit down this place when my fadder here.”
The “ladies” are conspicuous principally for their head gear;
glowing in grease and red ochre, the ringlets of these “dark angels”
were decorated with opossum tails, the extremities of other animals,
and the incisor teeth of the kangaroo; some had the “Cambun”
(“Bolombine” of the Tumat country,) or fillet daubed with pipe-clay
bound round the forehead: this ornament is sometimes made from
the stringy bark tree, as well as from the tendons of the kangaroo’s
tail: lateral lines of pipe-clay ornamented the upper part of their
faces, breast, and arms. Both men and women have raised cicatrices
over the breast, arms, and back; but the forms of these personal
decorations are various. They regarded with a degree of awe, a
keyed bugle, with which a gentleman amused himself at this place:
they called it the Cobbong (large) whistle; and were more pleased
with the slow airs played upon it, than those of a lively and quick
movement.
On the evening of Christmas Day we adjourned to the verandah:
the scene was beautiful; the heavy clouds, which had previously
obscured the heavens, had passed away: the sun, about to set, cast
a red glow over the beautiful scenery of fields of golden grain;
numerous herds of cattle and flocks of sheep scattered over different
parts of the extensive plains; the elegant, drooping, young manna
trees, and the sombre foliage of the Banksia, or honeysuckle; the
picturesque wooded hills, with declivities covered with verdure to the
plains beneath, and the farthest view terminated by distant
mountains, formed a splendid prospect.
My attention was recalled from the enjoyment of this tranquil
scene, by the noisy revelry of the blacks, whose approaches towards
civilization were manifested by their getting intoxicated. The camp
was now one scene of tumult and confusion: the huts, of a weak
and temporary construction, were thrown down; the men, inebriated
with “bull,” were chasing the women and children with sticks, who
scampered away to escape the punishment awarded to their
mockery: numerous curses, in English, proceeded from the lips of
the inebriated blacks, being terms more expressive than any their
limited language could afford. As the men swore, the women
screamed and talked incessantly.
One of them came to me the following morning, and said, “You
ought give black feller milliken, (milk,) bullock, and sheep, for white
feller come up here, drive away opossum and kangaroo, and poor
black feller get noting to patta (eat,) merry, merry, get hungry,”—a
very true tale, thought I.
Kangaroo rats, called in the native language “Kánaman,” were
numerous about this place; they are lively playful little animals, and
when in confinement will drink milk and eat manna with avidity;
their fur is as fine as that of the larger species of kangaroo. It is said
to be found abundantly about the “Stringy Bark” ranges, forming
rude nests of the fibrous bark. At a beautiful spot on the Wollondilly,
not far distant from the plains, and at a part of the river forming
even at this, the summer season, a fine sheet of water, called
“Karoa” by the natives,[124] the “Burriol,” or musk ducks, with their
young, the “Gunarung,” or wood-ducks, as well as other kinds of
waterfowl, were seen in great numbers; and occasionally, about the
marshes, the native companion, or Curaduck of the aborigines.
During this short excursion, a young black was stung by a wasp,
and although he no doubt suffered severe pain, he yet disdained to
utter a cry or a groan; he threw himself upon the ground, and rolled
about, but no sound escaped his lips.
The bronzed-winged pigeon, the “Obungalong” in the aboriginal
language, was abundant at this season. It constructs, like the pigeon
tribe generally, a rude nest of sticks upon the forked branches of a
tree, and lays two or more white eggs.
There is a spider which I frequently observed about Yas Plains,
and also at other parts of the colony, which forms a den in the
ground; the opening is about an inch in diameter; over this a lid is
formed of web, incorporated with earth, and a web hinge, accurately
filling the external aperture, which the animal can shut at pleasure. I
have heard of a person who was accustomed to feed one of these
insects; after feeding, it would enter the habitation, and shut down
the lid, by drawing it close with one of its claws. It is nearly
impossible to discover their habitations when the lid is closed, from
its being so accurately fitted to the aperture.
 CHAPTER XVII.
Arrive at Wombat Brush—Animals called Wombat—Parched country—
Road-side houses—Colonial English—Column to the memory of La
Perouse—Death of Le Receveur—Sydney police-office—The Bustard—
Botanic garden—The aborigines—King Dungaree—The castor-oil
shrub—Diseases of Australia—New Zealanders—Australian ladies—
Prejudice against travellers from Botany Bay—Anecdote—A fishing
excursion—Cephalopodous animals—Conclusion of the author’s
researches in this colony.

On the 30th of December I left Goulburn Plains, and arrived the

same evening at Arthursleigh. On the day following I crossed the
“Uringalle,” (more commonly known by the name of “Paddy’s river,”)
and arrived at “Wombat Brush.” This tract of forest land was so
named from being formerly frequented by a number of the animals
called “Wombat,” but which are now rarely or never seen in the
vicinity of the settlement, the whole having been nearly destroyed.
About the Tumat and Murrumbidgee country I witnessed numerous
burrows; and certain marks of the animals indicative of their
presence; but they can but seldom be seen, as they remain in the
burrows during the day, coming out to feed at night.
One of these animals kept at “Been,” in the Tumat country, alive
and in a tame state, would remain in its habitation until dark; it
would then come out, and seek for the keelers or milk vessels; and
should none be uncovered, would contrive to get off the covers,
bathe itself in the milk, drinking at the same time. It would also
enter the little vegetable garden attached to the station, in search of
lettuces, to which it evinced much partiality; if none could be found,
it would gnaw the cabbage-stalks, without touching the foliage.
Although numerous in the more distant parts of the colony, they are
difficult to procure, from the great depth to which they burrow.
 Having passed the “ploughed ground,” Bong Bong, Mittagong
range, &c. I continued, through a country parched by the summer
heats, or having a burnt aspect, from the custom among the settlers
or natives, of setting fire to the dried grass. The scorched and arid
appearance of the land, as my journey led towards Sydney, was
wretched, compared with the beautiful verdant plains and ranges I
had left in the Tumat, Murrumbidgee, and Yas countries. The harvest
was for the most part reaped; a few scattered patches animated by
the verdure of the young maize springing up, and the yellow flowers
of the native “Jibbong,” (Persoonia sp.,) with a few other flowering
shrubs, scattered about, was all that cheered the eye of the traveller
on the journey. I arrived at Sydney on the 2nd of Jan. 1833.
The houses by the road side, on the approach to Sydney from
Liverpool, or Paramatta, are very neat in their construction. A bark-
hut near the “metropolis” is daily becoming rarer; they are speedily
giving place to neat and even elegant verandah cottages. There are
certainly an abundance of public-houses in the colony, and the neat,
clean appearance of the attendants, as well as the interior of the
inns, may vie with those in the mother-country. The signs of the
taverns assume every variety, all but that of Temperance.
It has often been mentioned by writers upon the United States of
America, that a purer and more correct English is spoken in that
country than in the “old country,” where it is corrupted by so many
different provincial dialects. The remark respecting the United States
of America will equally apply to Australia; for among the native-born
Australians, (descended from European parents,) the English spoken
is very pure; and it is easy to recognize a person from home or one
born in the colony, no matter of what class of society, from this
circumstance.
On a spot near the entrance to Botany Bay, (so named by Sir
Joseph Banks, and “Sting Ray Bay,” from the number of that fish
captured there by Captain Cook,) a neat column has been erected by
Mr. Joshua Thorp, (at that time the government architect,) from a
design by Mr. Cookney, to the memory of La Perouse; the expense of
its erection being paid by a subscription from the officers of the
French discovery ships, which visited the colony in 1824; the colonial
government supplying convict labourers. It is situated on a little
elevation not far from the place at which Captain Cook landed. The
column is circular, standing on a pedestal, and surmounted by a
sphere. Its elevation may be about fifteen feet. This was the last
place whence intelligence was received from the indefatigable but
unfortunate navigator. The inscriptions on the pedestal are in English
and French, and as follow:—“This place, visited by Mons. de la
Perouse in 1788, is the last whence any accounts of him were
received. Erected in the name of France by M.M. de Bougainville and
Ducampier, commanding the frigate La Thetis and the corvette
L’Esperance, lying in Port Jackson. An. 1825.” About one hundred
yards distant, inland from this column, near a red gum tree, are
interred the remains of Pere le Receveur, one of the naturalists
attached to Perouse’s expedition, who died at Botany Bay, in 1788.
On the red-gum tree was the following inscription, carved by one of
the officers attached to Bougainville’s expedition:—“Prés de cet
arbre. Reposent les restes, Du P. Le Receveur. Visité en Mars, 1824.”
During the time that the French discovery ships, La Thetis and
L’Esperance, lay at Port Jackson, this place was also visited by their
commanders and officers; and search having been made for the
exact spot where the remains of the naturalist were deposited, some
of his bones were found, and over that spot a plain monument has
been erected to his memory: on it was placed the following
inscription:—“Hic jacet, Le Receveur, Ex. F. F. Minoribus, Galliæ
Sacerdos, Physicus in Circumnavigatione Mundi Duce de la Perouse.
Obiit die 17 Feb. Anno 1788.”
The following account of the death of Le Receveur is given in
Philipp’s Voyage to Botany Bay, &c. “During the stay of M. de la
Perouse in Botany Bay, Father Le Receveur, who came out in the
Astrolabe as a naturalist, died. His death was occasioned by wounds,
which he received in the unfortunate rencontre at the Navigator’s
Island.” A slight monument was erected to his memory. An
inscription was placed on it similar to the preceding.
 The Sydney police office daily produces a strange compound of
characters; ludicrous scenes and incidents furnish abundance of
aliment for the newspapers, who decorate many of the cases
brought before the magistrate in so facetious a manner as to amuse
their readers and sell the papers. The number of newspapers
published in Sydney is very great, considering the small town, and
many of them are well and ably conducted. The “Sydney Herald” is
published twice a week; the “Sydney Gazette” three times; the
“Sydney Monitor” twice; and there are other smaller papers
published weekly.
At Paramatta I saw two tame specimens of the lesser Otis, or
Bustard, the “Curlew” of the colony, which is abundant in this
country; they were familiar with the man who was in the habit of
feeding them, but averse to approach strangers. It is principally
during the stillness of night that the peculiar melancholy cry and
whistle of these birds are heard, seeming like the harbinger of
death. While sitting one night by the bed-side of a young man,
expiring from a decline, I heard the note of the bird, unbroken by
any other sound; it came over my senses like a knell summoning the
departing spirit to its last long home.[125]
Among the attractions which Sydney presents to the visitor is the
Botanic Garden, with its neat and tastefully arranged walks; it is,
however, to be regretted, that this establishment, as a “botanic
garden,” is not encouraged, it being, in fact, merely a government
vegetable and fruit garden. Such an establishment would be most
valuable as a nursery for the introduction of trees, shrubs, or plants,
estimable either for timber, fruits, flowers, or dyes, and thus add to
the resources of the colony; by its means how many valuable
productions might be introduced: at present exotics are almost
entirely confined to the gardens of a few intelligent settlers. Still
there are several trees and plants introduced from New Zealand, the
north-west, and other parts of Australia, Cape, &c. A fine healthy
specimen of the “Adenanthos sericea” has been successfully
introduced, (which is correctly figured in Labillardiere’s Plant. Nov.
Holl. Tab. 38,) which shows that shrubs, &c. from King George’s
Sound (to which place this one is indigenous,) can be grown in
perfection at Port Jackson.
In a pond the pretty white flowers and dark leaves of
Damasonium ovatifolium were floating, and may be often seen
swimming on the surface of the more tardy streams in the colony.
The New Zealand flax plant does not appear to thrive well, nor has it
yet flowered; the best plants I have seen were at the “Vineyard,” the
residence of H. M’Arthur, Esq., who has planted it in a moister soil.
The Karaka tree, (Corynocarpus lævigata,) of New Zealand, was in
thriving condition, having reached the elevation of from six to nearly
fourteen feet, and borne fruit.
The New Zealand species of Dracæna, (or Tee of the natives of
that country,) grows and flowers well not only in these gardens, but
is frequently seen planted in front of the dwelling houses in and
about Sydney; as also that lofty species of Araucaria, (A. excelsa,)
commonly known by the name of Norfolk Island pine.[126] The
Indian bamboo also grows very luxuriantly in the gardens, and in
that part of the domain near the government house. The Callistachys
ovata, from King George’s Sound, was also in flower; it is an elegant
shrub, having a silvery pubescence over the leaves, and bears
handsome clusters of yellow flowers. The Hibiscus splendens, from
Moreton Bay, was also in full bloom; its large and elegant pink
flowers being full five inches in diameter. Numerous species of
Eucalypti, Banksia, &c. from the interior of the colony, as also from
Moreton Bay, and other portions of the Australian coast, were in a
thriving state; and a species of Dracæna, bearing purple flowers,
and brought from Moreton Bay, was in blossom.
About Sydney, however, in January, the beauty of the floral
kingdom had in some degree passed away: Melaleuca myrtifolia,
Leptospermum, Xanthorrea hastile, and other species; Calicoma
serratifolia; Gompholobium; Lambertia formosa; Isopogon
anethifolius; Enokelia major and minor; Billardieria scandens; and a
few others still remaining, covered with blossoms, to animate the
scene with their varied tints and brilliancy of appearance. The shrubs
of the Staphelia viridiflora were now in fruit; which, when ripe, is of
a purplish black colour, having a sweetish taste, and is gathered and
sold in the shops under the popular name of “five corners:” this
name, no doubt, was applied to it on account of the calyx projecting
in five points above the fruit. The gardens are laid out in very neat
order, and Mr. Richard Cunningham having arrived from England with
an appointment as colonial botanist, it may be hoped from his
known talent and assiduity that the colony will soon have a “Botanic
Garden,” in lieu of a repository for turnips and carrots.
The aborigines are often seen about Sydney; but to me they
appear, probably from their vicious habits, a far worse-looking race
than those I had seen in the interior. The celebrated King Bungaree
had recently ended his mortal career, as well as most of his tribe,
none of them ever having been induced to settle and cultivate the
soil for subsistence. It is related, that in the time of the government
of General Macquarie there was an attempt made, by distributing
seeds among them, to induce the natives to cultivate the ground:
among the packets of seed sent for distribution were some which
contained fish-hooks; these, together with the seeds, were given by
the governor to the sable monarch, King Bungaree. Some time after
the governor inquired of him whether the seeds had yet come up
—“Oh berry well, berry well,” exclaimed Bungaree, “all make come
up berry well, except dem fish-hooks, them no come up yet.”
The castor oil shrub (Ricinus communis) abounds in the colony
both in a wild and cultivated state, thriving even in the most arid
soils; yet the oil is still imported and sold in the colony at a high
price, when by very little attention any quantity could be expressed
from the seeds, not only for medicinal, but likewise for domestic
purposes; such as burning in lamps; for which latter purpose it is
used in some parts of South America, as well as by the Javanese and
others. There are two methods employed to extract the oil—coction
and expression; the first is performed by tying the seeds, previously
decorticated and bruised, in a bag, and then suspending in boiling
water until all the oil is extracted, and, rising to the surface of the
water, is skimmed off.
This mode of preparation is still preferred by many of the West
Indian practitioners; but as the oil is apt to get rancid when thus
prepared, it is now obtained, both at home and abroad, by
subjecting the seeds to the press in the same manner as the
almond. The oil obtained is equal to one-fourth of the weight of the
seeds employed. The acrid principle is contained in the cotyledons,
and not in the embryon, nor in the testa. It is of a volatile nature.
Good expressed castor oil is nearly inodorous and insipid; but the
best leaves a slight sensation of acrimony in the throat after it is
swallowed. It is thick, viscid, transparent, and colourless, or of a pale
straw colour: that which is obtained by coction has a brownish hue;
and both kinds, when they become rancid, thicken, deepen in colour
to reddish brown, and acquire a hot, nauseous taste. It has all the
chemical characters of the other expressed oils, except that it is
heavier, and is very soluble in alcohol, and also in sulphuric ether.
[127]

Few diseases can be said to be produced by the climate of

Australia: dissipation and numerous vices introduced from home
have caused some to prevail extensively in the populous town of
Sydney, but in the interior they are comparatively few. A number of
persons perish from that fatal disease consumption; but I do not
regard it as produced by the climate, as it invariably attacks persons
from England, of dissipated habits, or of employments uncongenial
to health. The vice of intemperance prevails extensively, and renders
the bills of mortality much greater than could be supposed from the
population and acknowledged salubrity of the climate.
New Zealanders are now employed at Sydney as labourers, and
are much esteemed for their steady and sober habits: they are also
careful of the money they earn:—as an instance, one of them, who
had just returned to Sydney from a whaling voyage, on receiving his
wages, placed the amount in the hands of a gentleman, from whom
he drew occasionally, about ten shillings at a time, to purchase
clothes, or any other necessary article.
The Australian ladies may compete for personal beauty and
elegance with any European, although satirized as “corn-stalks” from
the slenderness of their forms. It is true their reserve is great, but it
proceeds from diffidence, for in family intercourse they are both
animated and communicative. Their education, from a deficiency of
good schools, was formerly much neglected, except they were sent
to Europe for that purpose; but now that cause of complaint is
removed by the establishment of several respectable seminaries and
teachers; so the high degree of natural talent the Australian females
really possess may now be improved by proper cultivation. Even
among the male Australians there is a taciturnity proceeding from
natural diffidence and reserve, not from any want of mental
resources: this led one of their more lively countrymen to observe,
“that they could do every thing but speak.”
It has been said that formerly it was dangerous in England to
inform a fellow-traveller of having just arrived from Botany Bay, as
he will soon shun your acquaintance; but visitors from that country
must, after the following anecdote, stand a worse chance in the
celestial empire. A ship arriving at China from Australia, the
commander, when asked by the Chinese where the ship came from,
jocosely answered, “From New South Wales, where all the English
thieves are sent.” The inhabitants of the empire, taking the joke
seriously, reported this and every other ship which arrived from that
country to the mandarin as “ship from thiefo country: one thiefo
captain, three thiefo officers, twenty-five thiefo crew.” And when the
Hooghly arrived with the late governor of New South Wales, it was
—“One thiefo viceroy of thiefo country, with several thiefo
attendants.” The thiefo viceroy’s lady landing at Macao, was not
reported to the mandarin.
One afternoon, a party was formed for a fishing excursion in Port
Jackson: we took a seine with us, and pulled out to a fine bay or
cove, called “Chowder Bay,” a picturesque little spot, and not far
distant in the harbour from the north head at the entrance of Port
Jackson. On the seine being hauled, immense numbers of the
Balistes, more commonly known by the name of “Leather Jackets,”
from the great toughness of their skins, of various sizes were
obtained. This fish is troublesome to hook-and-line fishermen, from
biting their hook into two parts. It was probably this circumstance
that caused the name of File-fish to be conferred upon them. Their
flesh is not used by Europeans; but the blacks eat them. Several
sting-rays (Trygon pastinaca? of Cuvier) were also caught, together
with numerous specimens of Diodon; Sygnathus, and two species of
Mullus; one was the Mullus barbatus, Linn., of a bright-red colour,
“Le Rouget” of the French: this is the species said to be so
celebrated for the excellence of its flavour, as well as the pleasure
the Romans took in contemplating the changes of colour it
experienced while dying.
The “Cat-fish,” (Silurus,) said to have the power of stinging with
the tentaculæ or feelers, which pend from about the external part of
the mouth, large quantities of the Chœtodon fasciata, or Banded
Chœtodon, and several species of bream, were caught in this and
other coves so numerous in the splendid harbour of Port Jackson.
Several large cephalopodous animals, Loligo of Lamarck, Les
Calmars of Cuvier, were frequently taken in the seine. If taken in the
hand alive, they would, with the succulent tentaculæ, draw the
fingers of the person holding them towards their parrot-beaked
mouths, and inflict a severe bite: they also discharge, when
captured, a large quantity of thick black fluid, a very minute
proportion of which suffices to render turbid a large quantity of
water. Should this black liquid fall upon linen clothes, it produces a
stain difficult, if at all possible, to be removed. It is from this fluid
that the material known by the name of China or Indian ink, is
manufactured. The ancients were also accustomed to use it as a
writing ink, and esteemed the flesh as a delicacy. Most of the
eastern natives, and those among the Polynesian islands, partake of
it, and esteem it as food: they may be seen exposed for sale in the
bazaars throughout India.
 Having brought my researches in this colony to a conclusion for
the present, I have to regret the limited portion of time I was able to
devote to the investigation of its various natural productions, &c., so
numerous and interesting in all portions of the great continent of
Australia. The discoveries already made have been numerous; and,
when it is considered that an immense tract of country still remains
unexplored, many treasures in every department of natural history
may yet be looked for from this comparatively new and extraordinary
portion of the globe.
To the botanist and zoologist, objects of peculiar interest are
continually presenting themselves, not previously described, or
indeed known in Europe. While a field of investigation might be
opened by the geologist, the cultivation of which may be expected to
repay his labours a thousand fold.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
Leave Sydney—Rottenest Island—Colonial prospects—Voyage to Batavia
—Prince’s Island—The Java coast—Anchor in Batavia roads—The
river—Alligators—Streets of Batavia—M. Choulan’s tavern—Forests—
Java ponies—A veterinary monkey—Public buildings—The traveller’s
tree—Celebrated Javanese chief—Sketch of his life and actions—
Exactions of the Dutch government—The orang-utan—Society in
Batavia—Animals of Java—Doves—Dried specimen of the
hippocampus.

On the 14th of March I left Sydney, in the ship “Sir Thomas

Munro,” for Batavia, taking the southern passage, the winds obliged
us to pass round Van Dieman’s Land. On the 22nd, “Schouten’s
Island” was seen bearing west by south, and “St. Patrick’s Head,”
north-west by compass, about twenty-five miles distant; and on the
23rd, Cape Pillar bore west by south-half-south; and “Maria Island”
north by west-half-west by compass; distant about thirty miles. We
had to beat against strong westerly winds; and at noon, of the 22nd
of April, D’Entrecasteaux Point bore east by north, distant about
twenty miles, and extreme of the land to the northward, north-east
by compass. The appearance of the coast was sterile. On the 23rd,
we passed “Cape Leeuwin.” When first seen, it had the appearance
of a moderately high island, the land connecting it with the main
being low, and not at that time visible from the deck.
On the 26th, we were off “Rottenest Island,” which was of a
moderate height, and most sterile appearance. The main land was
sandy and scrubby: numerous fires were seen where land was
clearing. A boat came off as we were endeavouring to beat into
Gage’s roads, and came alongside, with two gentlemen in her. They
could furnish us, however, with no news respecting the Dutch war, to
attain information respecting which was the object of our wishing to
touch at this place. In reply to our inquiries respecting the state of
the new colony, they said it was rapidly progressing. Of the
settlements at King George’s Sound and Port Augusta, the latter was
reported as succeeding better than the former. There had been lately
several arrivals with live stock from Hobart Town, and a brig, the
“Dart,” from Sydney, was then standing in for Gage’s roads with a
cargo of provision and live stock. Sheep at this period were selling
from thirty to forty shillings each; flour from twenty to thirty pounds
per ton; and potatoes at the enormous price of twenty-five pounds
per ton. It was expected, however, that in the course of another
year the colony would be able to raise produce sufficient for its
consumption. No vessels had been lost at Swan River since the first
year, and with common precautions it was considered there was no
risk.
At two p.m. we proceeded on our voyage to Batavia. On the 13th
of May we had the south-east trade, in lat. 21° 15′ south, lon. 138°
13′ east. On the 4th of May we crossed from 108° 13′ to 106° 58′
east longitude, (in a run of eight days from Swan River,) being the
track recommended by Horsburg, to look for the “Trial Rocks,” but
did not see them.[128] On the 5th, several tropic birds, of the
roseate and white species, were about the ship, although we were
then distant three hundred and seventy miles from “Christmas
Island,” which was the nearest land.[129] On the 7th, boobies, frigate
birds, and white and rose-coloured tropic birds, indicated the vicinity
of “Christmas Island,” which was seen about midnight, by the light of
the moon, bearing north-east by north, by compass, distant twelve
or fourteen miles. On the 10th we were becalmed three or four miles
off the south-west side of “Clapp’s Island,” which was low, densely
wooded with cocoa-palms, and other trees, even to the water’s
edge: a heavy surf rolled upon the sandy beach, and on reefs
extending from each extremity.
Early in the morning, on the 11th, we were off the north-west side
of “Prince’s Island,” and the land wind brought with it a delicious
balmy fragrance; the extensive reef, running out a long distance
from the south-west point, on which a heavy surf broke, was
distinctly seen. This island, low at one part, is high and mountainous
at another. It was late in the afternoon before we had a clear view of
its lofty peaked mountain. The island was densely wooded, having a
picturesque and verdant appearance. During the morning, which was
showery, we slowly coasted along the island, at about four or five
miles distant. As the weather cleared up about noon, the scenery
gratified the eye with its varied tints, refreshed by the genial
showers, and recalled to my memory those gems of the ocean
distributed over the Polynesian Archipelago.
As we proceeded along the Java coast, having the lofty Crokatoa
Peak, and others of the adjacent islands in view, light and variable
winds and calms, with adverse currents, rendered our passage slow
and tedious, and often obliged us to anchor. We were, on these
occasions, visited by canoes, with fowls, eggs, turtle, &c. The outline
of this island is at some parts low, wooded, and uninteresting; whilst
at others, lofty mountains rise one above the other, until the
towering “Mount Karang” terminates the view. The varied tints of the
vegetation, covering the mountains from the margin of the sea to
the loftiest summits the eye could attain, had a rich and beautiful
appearance, as the setting sun cast its rays over the landscape.
Occasionally the thatched Javanese habitations became visible,
peeping from beneath a canopy of wood. Most Malay villages are
buried amidst the foliage of tropical fruit and other trees, which form
a cool and agreeable shelter; but such situations cannot be regarded
as conducive to health.
After a tedious passage since making the Island of Java, we
passed “Onrust Island,” which is the marine depôt, where ships are
hove down and repaired; there are some neat buildings erected
upon it, with rows of trees before them, in the usual Dutch style: but
silence reigned; there was no bustle; and the black countenances of
two sepoys were all the human beings visible. We anchored in
Batavia Roads on the 21st; and the scene before us was a low
wooded coast, lofty mountains in the distance; a few tiled houses, or
native huts, scattered among the trees; and an extensive jetty,
which is erecting on each side of the river: the town being built on a
swamp, and planted with trees, was entirely concealed from the
shipping in the roadstead.[130]
The following day we passed up the river, by the boat being
tracked: (the current running down at a rapid rate, preventing boats
being pulled against it;) on each side an extensive wooden jetty was
erecting, a great portion of which was now completed; it extended
to the bar at the river’s entrance, with a breakwater in front, having
a passage on each side for boats. The expense of the construction of
this jetty is paid by a duty of five per cent. being levied upon the
amount of duties on all imported goods. A number of native convicts
were employed in driving piles, &c. to complete this very useful
undertaking.
On arriving at the Custom House, our boat was searched.
Miserable houses lined the river on either side; cocoa-nut palms, and
other trees, including the Thespesia populnea, were planted about
the dwellings; masses of filth, dead and putrid bodies of dogs, hogs,
and other animals, float down the river, impeding the boats in their
passage: these carcases serve to feed the numerous alligators
(Buáya of the Javanese) which infest the river in great numbers, but
are useful in removing the putrefying substances, which would
otherwise be destructive to health in this sultry climate.
The alligators are held sacred by the Javanese, who consequently
never destroy them: indeed, the good understanding seems mutual;
for I observed native convicts working up to the waist in the water,
not far from these voracious creatures, (reposing like logs on the
surface of the water,) without fear or apprehension, injury from them
never being experienced. Some say the alligators are too well fed
with the offal and carcases coming down the river; others, that the
reptiles have a respect for black skins; for should a European enter
the river like the natives, he would be attacked by these formidable
creatures. I saw a number of these reptiles, one morning, assembled
about a dead buffalo, which had floated down the river near the bar;
from the size of some of them, they must have survived several
generations.