Previous to the death of my friend Owen Stanley, I had made the acquaintance of the distinguished artist who had been cruising with him, Mr. Oswald Brierly, who had arrived in Australia in 1842, in the yacht _Wanderer_, the property of Mr. Benjamin Boyd, a man of means, and of an adventurous turn. [Illustration: _Brierly._] Brierly was already a student of naval architecture, with a love of the sea--in fact he began by studying for the service itself. Mr. Boyd’s schemes were many, one of them a whaling establishment at Twofold Bay, which he placed under Brierly’s control. Boyd then betook himself to the Eastern Archipelago, to collect pearls and pearl-shells, diamonds, etc., and while exhibiting these on board his yacht to a respectable-looking pirate his head fell between his legs, and the yacht disappeared from the scene. Brierly had made friends in Sydney and might have done well, but his heart was on the sea, and he could not resist the offer of a cabin in the _Rattlesnake_. On Owen Stanley’s death he accepted a similar offer from me, until I could land him in England. [Sidenote: Mar. 20.] Sailed from Port Jackson on March 20. It being the time of the recess, a very agreeable party were enabled to accompany us to Tasmania. Among my guests were Captain Fitzroy, A.D.C., with his brother George, Private Secretary, master of a scratch pack of hounds, also Mr. Deas Thompson, whom my friend Colonel Mundy describes as the “Prince of Colonial Secretaries,” and, judging from the directions I received from the Governor as to the care and attention to be shown him, he was not less appreciated at headquarters. [Sidenote: Mar. 25.] Pleased as we were with the appearance of everything about Sydney, we were still more so with that of Hobart Town, where we arrived March 25. [Illustration: Mæander _at Hobart Town_.] As we entered the harbour it was difficult to imagine ourselves in the Antipodes. English fruits and vegetables exposed for sale. Grapes, peaches, and nectarines, in the open air, were breaking the trees down. As soon as we anchored Bowyear came on board to report. Owing to deaths and invalids we had many vacancies. “What chance of men?” I asked. Pointing to a ship lying near, he said, “The whole crew have volunteered.” It was a female convict ship. The doctor who had come out in her told me the most moral were the Irish, the Scotch the least so. In the streets the public carriages, as well as horses, reminded one of the good old coaching days; indeed the road from Hobart Town to Launceston is little inferior to that from London to Birmingham. [Sidenote: Tasmania, March.]