TALES OP THE COLONIES.

IN spite of a rather matter-of-fact style in scenes of interest, whets such a style is out of place, and occasionally of too obvious an art to introduce incidents exhibitive of colonial life, Tales of the Co- lonies is an able and interesting book. The author has the first great requisite in fiction—a knowledge of the life he undertakes to describe ; and his matter is solid and real. The early struggles of a settler and the social system in a penal colony is a fresh subject, and possesses more attraction from its novelty than equal or greater powers might attain on an "historical" or " fashionable " theme. This freshness of subject incidentally creates a further freshness : the author most probably has drawn his materials from an original observation of life. It is clear that he could not have imitated them from previous novels; and he has had the good sense to avoid any attempt at transplanting " romance."

Tales of the Colonies is the history of a settler in Van Diemen's Land, from the early formation of the colony till nearly the present time ; and consists of a series of adventures connected with the family—not of a series of distinct tales. Mr. Thornley, the auto- biographer, is a Surrey farmer, with a wife and five children, who soon after the close of the war finds himself compelled to encroach upon his capital. In this dilemma, he resolves to emigrate; and we next meet the Thortslejs at Van Diemen's Land, the husband. in search of a location in the yet scarcely inhabited island. The next stage is the family's departure from Hobart Town with bag and baggage ; the erection of a log-house, the breaking-up of land, the purchase of flocks with their increase, and all the usual inci- dents in the life of a colonist, till the emigrant becomes a man of property, and sees his children comfortably settled around him. The routine of life, however, is rather indicated than described at large, though it forms the framework of the novel. The main substance- of the book, and the more interesting parts of it, are the striking in- cidents of colonial life. A night-attack upon an out-settler by bushrangers, the abduction of the head of the family, the pursuit of the gang by the raised neighbourhood, and the varying circumstances of the chase, the fight, and the capture, suffice to give a picture of the dangers to which a new settler is exposed in a penal colony, or, in the absence of convicts, from the savage natives. Mr. Thornley gets lost in the bush ; and the difficulties he has to encounter, from anxiety, hunger and thirst, and finally from an attack of the aborigines, exhibit a risk of constant occurrence to the man whose position renders him liable to be called into the wilderness. The arrival of a new emigrant, and a visit to the magistrate of the district during a magis- terial sitting, exhibits a practical working of the convict system; as a conversation afterwards discusses the principle of transportation. Crab, an English head ploughman, who has emigrated to better himself; but, dissatisfied with the climate, the society, and the sys- tem of farming, is always railing at the country and threatening to quit it, is an individual sui generic in the novel, but is designed, perhaps, to represent the class of unreasonably dissatisfied colonists. The episodical tale of the bushranger's little daughter, who has become the heiress to a large property, and whom the next in suc- cession is endeavouring to kidnap, is not a very probable story ; but story is subordinate to the exhibition of the police of Van Diemen's Land, and the pursuit of criminals by tracking them through the country, Indian fashion, by their trail ; and this pursuit forms one of the most interesting parts of the novel. Besides these larger and occasional occurrences, many of the in- cidents of colonial employment or amusement are interwoven with the narrative ; which also contains many statistics connected with the profit of sheep and other stock,—nowadays, we suspect, to be received with caution, and only applicable at any time to the lucky.

The style of the book is homely, and minute in its description, to represent the character of the journalist ; for it is written in the form of a journal. This assumption of character has not altogether escaped affectation, and sometimes a too obvious artifice ; but it is favourable to distinctness of description, and adapted to the nature of the subjects, excepting now and then when the greater rapidity of narrative is required, into which the writer might easily have passed.

This peculiarity of the work is not favourable to its appreciation by extracts, as it requires the perusal of an entire subject to be well apprehended ; but we will take a passage or two as specimens of the manner.

DRIVING HOME HALF-WILD CATTLE.

In collecting them from their various runs, it is the practice for three to five or six horsemen to set out together at the earliest break of day. The horse- men are provided with a roughly-made whip, with a leather thong, and a pecu- liar sort of lash at the end of it, made from an old silk handkerchief, which is the best material for producing a loud crack. To make this lash, two strips of an old silk handkerchief, about six inches long, are wetted, and twisted tight separately, and then twisted tightly toge- ther. It is surprising to those who have never tried this peculiar lash, to hear the astonishing loud crack that it will make. It is the noise of these cracking whips that frightens the cattle into the required direction ; and without these whips it would be useless to attempt to drive them.

Thus provided, the hunters proceed to the spots where they divine that cattle have rested the preceding night, observing especially the brows of hills sheltered from the wind. When they see a mob of cattle, a dozen, more or less, they note the spot, and pass on, taking care not to disturb them, and continue their search after more.

In this way they proceed, spreading themselves over the country, and going twenty miles, perhaps, from home, noting the different little mobs here and there on their passage. They then gently urge the mob furthest off towards the mob nearer home, and then urge the mob so joined to the next one ; and

RO on.

After a little while, the cattle begin to suspect mischief, and then the furious riding begins ; and the smaller the number, the more difficult it is to drive them. A horseman takes each Bank of the mob, and the rest of the bunters take charge of the cattle from behind. Every now and then the cattle break off to the right or left; and then the horseman, with loud shouts, pursues them, and with the cracking of his whip drives them back to the main body. Some- times the whole body of ettle will make a rush to escape; and then the utmost efforts of the hunters are necessary to prevent them from dispersing. The country being in a state of nature, and for the most part covered with dead timber, the sort of riding may be imagined. Copses are dashed through, dead trunks of trees are continually to be leaped, for the herd must be followed and kept in the right direction at all hazards to man and horse; and whatever the country, it must be taken, up hill or down bill, up precipice or down pre- cipice.

Sometimes the cattle take a direction round the brow of a steep mountain, with a wall of turf on your left hand, and a precipice of a hundred feet or two on your right I No matter; on you must go; hooting, shouting, and cracking the never-resting whip, and never thinking of the danger till you have passed it. Talk of fox-hunting! It is nothing compared with wild cattle-hunting and as to the excitement, cattle-hunting is ten times more exciting, but, it must be added, incomparably more dangerous! Besides, in cattle-hunting you see your game, and a multitude of wild cattle in a state of fury from hard driving is a grand and imposing spectacle. I say nothing of the additional en- livenment of becoming the pursued instead of the pursuer, from some devil of a bull taking it into his head to resent the affront put upon his independence. Then the chase assumes a very different complexion, and cool must be the man and steady must be the rider to escape when the wild bull is determined and inclined to be vicious.

I remember one of my men was chased between the Shannon and the Clyde for ten miles on end by a furious bullock, who kept his horse at the stretch of his speed the whole way, till the rider came to a deep part of the Clyde, when he dashed in, glad to escape from his tormentor any way. When a pretty good number are collected in this way, they are more easily driven, as they are in each other's way, and impede each other's motions ; but they are the more dangerous when they make a rush at you. The only thing to be done then is to ride with all your speed to the right or left, and keep op with them in a parallel line till their speed is epeut ; then the work has to be done again.

The story of Mr. Crab's troubles with his dollars seems ex- wggerated a shade or two ; though it displays, amid its caricature,

the risk of having valuables in a penal settlement. Crab has just sold some stock at Launceston ; and as he will not trust the banks of " this wretched country," he changes the notes for dollars; when his difficulties begin.

CASH IN A CONVICT COLONY.

" That's a large sum of money," said the landlord, "to have in cash ; and it's a great temptation to servants: I hope you're not a-going to keep it at my inn ?" This was the first of my troubles. "No," said I, "I am going to take myself off home—dollars and all." " I should advise you," said he, "not to let anybody know you have that sum of money about you : it might bring you to mischief." " Never fear," said I, "I know how to take care of myself."

After I had had some dinner, I set out : but I found the dollars a greater weight than I thought for; so I stopped at a settler's but about ten miles from Launceston, and sat down, intending to stay the night there.

" What have you got here ?" said he, trying to lift up my load, and wonder- ing at the weight of it. " Why, they can't be dollars? and yet they feel like 'em."

" Dollars !" said his wife ; "oh, Lord I we shall all be murdered in our beds. Pray, Mr. Crab, don't let them be here. You're sure to have been watched, and the prisoners [a term for convicts] will try to get 'em, and murder us all. How could you think of bringing 'ern here? "

" If I have brought 'em here," said I, a little hurt-like, "I can take them away again. I'll go on to old Simon's, and he'll give me lodging for the night, I dare say.',

The husband did'nt want me to go, and said it was nonsense : but I saw his wife wished me to be off; so I shouldered up my dollars and went on to old Simon's, which wasn't above two miles off by the road-side.

"Can you give me a night's lodging ? " said I. " With all my heart," said he. " Jem, put on some mutton chops." " What have you got here ? " said he. " I'll tell you at once," said I, "because I know I can trust you : I've been selling some sheep, and these are the dollars I got for 'ern."

"Dollars I " said he ; " how could you think of going about with such a heap of dollars ? You'll be robbed and murdered before you get home. But let's put 'em out of sight."

With that he clapped an empty tripod over 'ern ; just in time, for his man came in a moment after with the meat.

I had hardly finished eating a few chops, when who should come in but three strange men : one was a ticket-of-leave man, and the other two were Government men [convicts] just arrived; and they were going on to Latin- c,eston to the master that they had been assigned to. Simon gave me a look, as much as to say " Here's a mess ! " But there was no help for it: he coal'a'l well refuse shelter to travellers on a winter-night. So they looked about to sit themselves down; and says one, "Any harm in moving this tripod, master, to let this seat come nearer the fire?"

Simon gave me another look, and I saw he didn't like it. So I got up and said, " Take my chair, I've been sitting by the fire all the evening, and Pm warm enough. So I sat myself down on the tripod. It wasn't an easy seat, for the three prongs stuck up very awkward, let alone its being so low; but I thought that was the best thing to do : so I sat there, very uncomfortable, but trying to look easy. " You seem to have rather a hard seat, master," said one of the prisoners, kind-like.

"Not a bit," said I: for a thought came across me that he had a suspicion of what I sat there for ; "not a bit ; I had rather stay where I am." Then the others offered me their seats: but the more they wanted me to get up, the more I wouldn't. No, no, thought I, here I'll stick, my fine fellows, till I've seen you safe out of the house.

Old Simon was very fidgety. He had only one spare bed, which the prisoners offered to me, seeing that I was respectable-looking : but I wouldn't move from my tripod, although the ends grieved me sorely : and there I was obliged to stay all night, for I didn't dare to move, like a hen sitting on eggs: and a more miserable night I never passed."

We all burst out a-laughing at this narrative ; which made Crab very in- dignant.

" It's all very well to laugh," said be; "but how would you like to sit on a tripod all night yourself?"

" Well," said I, "and how did it end ?"

"End! I thought it never would end! But every thing ends at last. In the morning the men went away; and then old Simon said directly, "Fur Heaven's sake, Mr. Crab, make haste home. I haven't had a wink of sleep all night."

Says I, " I won't trouble you long, you may depend on it." And I tried to get up; but I couldn't. 1 was so cramped with sitting, that I was quite stiff, and the tripod seemed to have grown to me."

" No wonder," said I; " but how did you manage to get on ? " Old Simon was so wishful to get rid of me and my load of dollars, that he lent me his bullock-cart to forward me on a bit ; and we put the bag of dollars in the tripod, and covered it over with siftings, to make it look natural-like. He helped me to lift it into the cart ; and his man drove the bullocks for about a dozen miles, and then he stopped and looked at me, and then at the bullocks. I took that as a hint to get out : but I was sadly puzzled to know what to do with my money ; and the tripod plagued me almost as bad. He took hold of one side of the tripod, and I of the other, and we set it down by the road-side. " Bless me," said he, " how heavy the old pot has got ! It can't be the sift- ings : it's like a pot of dollars." This made me quake, and I looked in his face : but I saw he said it quite innocent-like, and gave it no more thought ; and so he drove back, and I stood there for some time by the side of my money, musing a bit, for I didn't well know what to do. Presently I heard a precious noise of whips cracking ; and I saw a lot of cattle a scampering down the road, that the stock-keepers were driving to the Government Store at Launceston. There were thirty of 'em or more. On they came helter-skelter, the stock-keepers after them, cracking their whips and hallooing to them to keep them on the road. My first thought was to bit on my tripod to guard my dollars: but before I could well know what to do, on they came ; and as 1 sat crouched up, they didn't see me till they were close upon me, and the hindmost cattle pushing on the foremost, and the men urging them on behind with their whips and shouts: before I could avoid them they were on me, and one heifer, giving a snort at me with her nose, and a nuzzle with her head, tumbled me over and over, tripod and all; and the stock- keepers damned me as they dashed by, for putting their cattle out of the road; and there I lay.