If we look at a chart showing the depths of the sea, we may 34 notice that Bass Strait is shallow while the surrounding seas are deep. From Wilson Promontory we can trace a connexion through Flinders and Cape Barren Islands, to the north-east horn of the curved coast of Tasmania. A similar bridge runs through from the north-west horn, through the Hunter Islands and King Island. We may be reminded of the shallows of the English Channel and the North Sea, and can easily imagine that Tasmania, like England, at some very remote period formed part of the neighbouring continental mainland. We find, moreover, a general similarity between the plants and animals on the opposite sides of the Strait; but there are also some marked differences which suggest that Tasmania was separated very long ago and so has had a peculiar and isolated development.
We cross Bass Strait and steam up the winding estuary of the Tamar to Launceston. The names remind us of England, and round us 35 are the counties of Devon, Dorset, and Cornwall; but we must not be too ready to take the names as a guide to the character of the country or the climate. Our vessel lands us at a busy wharf in the middle of the town, for Launceston, though second to Hobart in size, is the chief commercial centre for the island. Here is a general view of the town: it is modern and well planned and has 36 fine houses and gardens in the suburbs, like the other Australian capitals.
A glance at the country round soon shows us why the early settlers were reminded of the south-west corner of England. At 37 King’s Bridge we can leave the broad estuary of the Tamar and turn up the narrow valley of the Esk. Notice the fishermen: the streams here abound with fish, mostly introduced from England. The Esk here flows through a rocky and wooded gorge; and we might 38 easily imagine ourselves in Devon or Cornwall. Higher up the scenery is spoilt by an ugly building with great pipes; it is the 39 power station for the electric light of the town. The water power is too valuable to waste, so the picturesque has been sacrificed to the practical needs of the people.
As we leave Launceston and travel up the valley of the Tamar, through beautiful open country, it is still easy to imagine that we are somewhere in the south of England. The apple orchards are 40 everywhere. Here is one on a hill slope, but we notice that it is quite unlike the grass-grown orchards so common in Devon. The trees are grown as low bushes, in straight rows; it is less picturesque but more profitable. They produce the fine even fruit which we can buy in the London market. The climate is cooler and moister here than on the mainland and so is well fitted for most of our English fruits. There are the same orchards and the same English crops all along the line of the railway southward to Hobart. The line follows a narrow sheltered lowland. On the east is a broken mountainous country; on the west a great solid plateau, rising up in tiers or steps, and occupying all the 41 centre of the island. We shall not cross this central block, since it is without road or rail and almost without inhabitants, a bleak bare roof to the island, feeding a few sheep in summer, but even then subject to biting storms and snow.