A quarter of a century ago this place was the scene of much stir and
excitement, owing to it being the _locale_ where payable gold was
first found in Tasmania. But the excitement was of comparatively brief
duration. Much money was lost, and the place sank into unimportance.
There are two large, substantial hotels, a bank, two or three stores, a
jail, surrounded by a high brick wall, and a church which has remained
unfinished for years. Immediately behind the township is an immense
precipice several hundred feet high, as smooth on the face as a wall,
and as vertical. This marks the line of a very extensive fault, which
runs for many miles through the district to the East Coast. There
is a stoppage here, long enough to enable travellers to partake of
refreshment, post letters, or send telegrams. “All aboard” again, and
in a very few minutes the coach is crossing the Break o’ Day rivulet
on a very neat and substantial bridge, lately thrown across. Before
him stretches the magnificent Break o’ Day valley, about 12 miles long
and from 2 to 3 miles in breadth. It may be considered as an easterly
extension of the South Esk valley. It is the cream of this part of the
country, and is in the tight embrace of the octopus arms of two or
three woolgrowers. According to tradition it was the haunt of one of
the bands of bushrangers in the olden days, and many thrilling tales
are told of the daring exploits of some of these desperadoes, as from
the lofty heights on either side of the valley they could look down
unperceived, and observe what was going on below. To the naturalist
the stream that flows through the vale is of interest for the number
and size of its freshwater mussels, (_unio_) their shining, nacreous
shells strewing the banks――the work of the voracious cormorant. Here,
and indeed for some miles back, at intervals along the valley of the
South Esk he will hear a peculiar half cackling cry, and then perchance
see an apparently wingless bird about the size and shape of a barn-door
fowl, dart through the tall grass with the speed of the emu and make
for the rushes and sedges which line the banks of the stream. This is
the native hen. I have never heard of them being shot for the table,
as an impression prevails that they are tough. The most striking
feature about them is the remarkable speed they attain when running,
for there are very few dogs that can catch them. The traveller is now
passing through a district in which there is much that is geologically
interesting and most paradoxical. High ranges shut in the valley on
either hand. That, on the left hand with a huge precipice ascending
from one side of a “saddle” is