We use cookies
When you visit our website, if you give your consent, we will use cookies to allow us to collect data for aggregated statistics to improve our service and remember your choice for future visits. Cookie Policy & Privacy Policy
Dear Reader, we use the permissions associated with cookies to keep our website running smoothly and to provide you with personalized content that better meets your needs and ensure the best reading experience. At any time, you can change your permissions for the cookie settings below.
If you would like to learn more about our Cookie, you can click on Privacy Policy.
Your cookies settings
Strictly cookie settingsAlways Active
Chapter 522
"At half-past nine," says Péron, "we were at the mouth of Swan River. This spot appeared to me to exceed in beauty and picturesque effect anything that I had hitherto met with. Seven mountain ranges rise one above the other, forming the background of the harbour; whilst on the right and left lofty hills shut it in, and present the appearance of a number of rounded capes and romantic creeks. Vegetation is most luxuriant, the shores abound in hardy trees, growing so densely that it is almost impossible to penetrate into the forest. Flocks of paroquets and cockatoos, of most brilliant plumage, hover above them, while the blue-ringed tomtits sport beneath their branches. The sea was almost calm, and scarcely ruffled by the passage of the innumerable black swans continuously passing to or fro."
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD
