have brought us suddenly
within the influence of the currents said to prevail along the coast. The
ship's position was 40 miles east of Jervis Bay when we first met it.

July 24.

This morning the clearness of the atmosphere enabled us at an elevation
of 50 feet, to distinguish the light near the entrance of Sydney Harbour,
while at a distance of thirty miles from it. Its site has been admirably
chosen for indicating the position of the port from a distance at sea,
but it has been placed too far from the entrance to be of much service to
vessels when close in shore.* The low land in the vicinity of Sydney and
Botany Bay, presents a striking contrast with the coast of the Illawarra
district, a little further southwards; where the sea washes the base of a
lofty range of hills, which sweeping round some distance in the rear of
the two former places, leaves an extensive tract of low country between
them and the sea. Upon the summit of these hills there rest almost
invariably huge clouds, which serve even through the gloom of the darkest
night, to assure the anxious navigator of his position.

(*Footnote. Some years since a ship with convicts was driven at night by
a South-East gale, close in with the light, and was obliged to run for
the harbour, but being then without anything to guide her into the
entrance, was wrecked on the south point. The loss of life was dreadful.
The light lately erected near the Sow and Pigs reef, has in some measure
remedied the evil here pointed out: but being too far within, and on the
south side of the entrance, it is not made out till, with southerly
winds, a ship has approached dangerously close to the North Head.)

APPROACH TO SYDNEY.

On approaching Sydney, a stranger cannot fail of being delighted with his
first glance at the noble estuary which spreads before and around him.
After sailing along a coastline of cliffs some 200 feet in height, and in
general effect and outline not unlike those of Dover, he observes an
apparent breach in the sea-wall, forming two abrupt headlands, and ere he
has time to speculate upon the cause of that fancied ruin, his ship
glides between the wave-worn cliffs into the magnificent harbour of Port
Jackson. The view which solicits the eye of the sea-wearied voyager as he
proceeds up the harbour, is indeed well calculated to excite a feeling of
mingled admiration and delight--the security and capacity of the
port--its many snug coves and quiet islets with th