THE glories of the Adelaide hills have been sung by tongues and described by pens innumerable. They are traversed in every direction by excellent macadamised roads, skilfully graded and strongly-fenced. The routes are many, and the great difficulty for the tourist is to decide which to select. We may take first the southern, which runs nearest the coast, and is generally in sight of the sea. A well-horsed coach will convey us rapidly over the plains, slackening speed as it climbs Tapley’s Hill, rattling along its breezy summit —with the distant Willunga Hills in the foreground and Kangaroo Island looming through the haze —down to Reynella through Morphett Vale, a basin of rural beauty, pulling up to change horses where the horseshoe-shaped curve of the winding Onkaparinga encloses sleepy Noarlunga; then on again over windy uplands and through fertile Maclaren Vale, another lovely valley, to Willunga, thirty miles from town. It is a second Mitcham for site and surroundings, but stagnant now because asphalt pavements and the use of galvanised iron for roofs have robbed its great slate quarries of their value. Another route from Noarlunga will lead by Aldinga to where the Mount Terrible range is crossed at Sellick’s Hill. Through the thickly-wooded Myponga Valley to smiling Yankalilla, and thence close by the shingly beach penetrating a gloom 7 gorge, the scenery is magnificent, and over hill and dale past Rapid Bay to the Talisker mines at Cape Jervis, it retains its charms. A seventy-mile drive this, crowded with interest, and as a coaching trip worthy description by the pen of Dickens or Thackeray.

Another road equally romantic, but in less open scenery, leads past Mitcham, climbs the range round the projecting knoll known as the Devil’s Elbow —whence there is a glorious prospect over wooded hills and fertile vales —through Coromandel Valley to the vine-clad slopes of Clarendon, where the world is excluded and it seems always afternoon. Where a pretty bridge crosses the Onkaparinga, there is exquisite scenery. The river winds its tortuous way between lofty rugged hills and under shaggy cliffs hundreds of feet in height —an artist’s paradise. The road leads on past Kangarilla, a homely village, up the picturesque Dashwood’s Gully, and so through the level and well-grassed Meadows and the Bull’s Creek ranges to Currency Creek and the Goolwa, a splendid run of sixty to seventy miles that is a constant exhilaration.

Passing by for the present the road through Glen Osmond to Mount Barker, and those which, either through Burnside or Magill, conduct to Lobethal and Mount Torrens, each of which has its special charms, a wilder scene may be witnessed by going via Payneham to Fifth Creek. Here a dark ravine is threaded, past frowning cliffs and jutting crags. As the gully widens it is occupied by market gardens. Beyond Montacute, which takes its name from one of the earliest mines, the road becomes steeper, but he who presses on to the summit will be amply rewarded. The view down into the valley of the Torrens is wild and grand beyond description. Crags, hills, and hillocks are heaped in utter confusion. The road zig-zags in many successive turns down the steep descent, but the "corkscrew" leads to gardens where the most luscious strawberries grow. Scarcely inferior to this is a drive that may be taken by turning off at the foot of the hills, and through Athelstone to the savage gorge whence issues the Torrens. From the weir, which throws back the waters of the river a quarter of a mile or more, and along the hillside are laid like a huge black serpent the immense pipes which convey the precious fluid to the reservoirs at Hope Valley and Thornden Park, whence Adelaide and the low-lying suburbs are supplied. The former of these is one hundred and sixty-seven acres in area, and the latter twenty-seven and a-half, so that they are really artificial lakes containing over a thousand million gallons of water.

The north-eastern coach road, after clearing the suburbs of North Adelaide, holds its way over open downs for several miles, runs through Modbury and Steventon, old-fashioned little villages, and enters the hills at Tea-tree Gully, where there has been somewhat persistent prospecting for coal. The gradients are steep, for the road was difficult to construct. At Break-neck Hill there is a cutting fifty feet deep through solid rock. Near Inglewood is a junction with the more direct road from Paradise, over Anstey’s Hill, and through Houghton. A long descent among fertile vineyards here and a picturesque opening there keep interest alive. The Torrens is crossed shortly before reaching Gumeracha, twenty-three miles from town. Thence the road follows its left bank through Blumberg and Mount Pleasant for ten miles farther to its sources at the watershed. This is an excellent country for dairy farming, heavily-timbered all the way; a considerable extent of it is agricultural, and near Blumberg a good deal has been done in goldmining. Down the eastern slopes and across the plains, the drive may be continued to Mannum, formerly an important river-port on the Murray, fifty-one miles from Adelaide.

In addition to the lines of traffic which run clear through the hills like main arteries, there are ramifying and intersecting cross-roads in every direction, leading often into deep gullies where the sighing of the wind in the trees, or the sound of falling water, alone breaks the Sabbath stillness; and anon, over lofty height; where the extent and loveliness of the view compel the traveller to pause and gaze until he is surfeited with varied forms and tints of beauty. Glimpses, but only glimpses, are obtainable from the train which traverses one portion of this delightful region, for it rushes constantly into deep cuttings or plunges into tunnels just when an Uninterrupted view is most desired. One of the best ways to form an idea of the hill scenery with the least expenditure of time is to get a light buggy and a pair of staunch horses, and to start reasonably early in the day taking the road through Magill. Seven miles from town the gully seems to terminate in a cul-de-sac. Immense and rugged crags to the right seem almost to overhang the road. There is here a kind of basin that is a favourite resort of bridal and picnic parties. The road turns and winds along the lateral gullies, skirting extensive gardens with fences of hawthorn or sweetbriar. Where it curves round a projecting spur, pleasure-gardens are seen to the left; down to the right is "The Rock" Tavern. Comfortable houses peep through the willows and fruit-trees. Beds of strawberry vines and raspberry canes are in the foreground. Beyond is "The Rock " itself, and the picture is closed in and framed by the encircling hills. Emerging from the gully at Norton’s Summit it is well worth while turning off the road to the pretty church that is perched in a kind of eyrie, for here there is a delicious view of the City looking like an embossed map as it lies along the plains. About two miles farther on a turn is taken to the left, and then a succession of tolerably steep ascents leads to the vice-regal summer residence on Marble Hill. The site is admirably chosen, being almost at the same elevation as Mount Lofty, and commanding in some respects a better view. From the balcony, the eye ranges over mile after mile of apparently unbroken forest clothing the hills and valleys, which lie in picturesque irregularity; in another direction are the wild gorges through which the Torrens has cleft its way-stern, rugged, and grand; with broken country beyond them, and in the distance Mount Crawford against the sky. Diverging to the left on the return track, a rougher road keeps near the dividing crest for several miles past Ashton, in sight of Uraidla, and through Summertown, the highest township in the colony. The valleys below are entrancingly lovely. Masses of heath clothe the hillsides, under the noble forest-trees wherever the ground is uncleared, several varieties of epacris, including the crimson, pink, spotted, and white, make the rugged ridges glow with brilliant colours; there are hundreds of acres of orchards, perhaps gay with blossoms or laden with fruit, and in the fertile bottoms mammoth vegetables grow. From the Greenhill Road, two miles above Summertown, a track winds round the little mount, and then skirts another vale strangely named Piccadilly. Overlooking it is one of Sir Thomas Elder’s residences, a castellated building of white freestone, one angle of which is like the tower of a Norman keep, and five storeys high, surmounted by an embattled turret. The grounds are laid out on both sides of the road with serpentine paths, terraces, arbours, and shrubbery, and from the turret the view rivals that of Marble Hill. A few hundreds of yards more and the lofty beacon-tower on the summit of the mount itself is reached. While the horses rest the panorama may be surveyed at leisure, and the changes noted that have taken place since the first party of Europeans —Major Barker and his companions —stood on the self-same spot. Eastward, Mount Barker, named after the ill-fated explorer, shows its bold outline; north and south are the long ranges of eternal hills, and westward the plains reaching northerly, till they are bounded by the hummocks beyond Port Wakefield, and extending to the sea. The coastline can be traced for very many miles, and the loom of Yorke’s Peninsula is visible across the gulf. So far, there is not and cannot be any alteration, but the hills are now seamed with white lines of well-made roads. Through the trees a puff of steam is seen, and the whistle of a locomotive falls faintly on the ear. The plains are mapped out like a chessboard in cultivated squares. Amid a crowd of buildings, over which hangs a faint film of dust and smoke, Lake Torrens reflects the sun. Through masses of foliage the far-stretching suburbs and the isolated homes of the affluent show themselves. There is a line of watering- places on the coast, a forest of masts where a winding arm of the sea terminates inland, and on the gulf the smoke of steamers and the white sails of numerous vessels give life and animation to the scene. All this is the work of fifty years.

The return to town may be made by way of the Eagle-on-the-hill, past the head of the far-famed Waterfall Gully, one of the most perfect landscapes in Australia, and round the Devil’s Elbow —there are ever so many of them —through Glen Osmond, from the huge quarries of which most of the building-stone of Adelaide has been obtained. A better way is to go back to the Greenhill Road and follow it through Burnside, because instead of diving into a glen it traverses the face of the range. One view on this road at the "Pinch" recalls the gloomy gorges of the Blue Mountains in New South Wales. From the projecting spurs of the green hill itself, the sinuosities of the track are seen below, beyond them are vineyards on the slopes, in the middle distance lies the city, every main thoroughfare distinct, and for a background is the shimmering sea. A unique and wonderful scene is to be witnessed from this point on a clear but moonless night. The starry heavens seem to be reflected from the earth, but with a thousand times greater brilliancy. It is as though some vast bracelet had been opened and cast down upon the ground. The central flashing jewel is supplied by the cluster of lights at and near the Post Office in Victoria Square, the lines of street lamps make a sort of pattern, and the miles of suburbs north and south furnish a continuation of ten thousand scintillating gems. The sight is enchanting, and can never be forgotten.

Besides its wealth of beauty, this hilly region is rich in diversified and abundant natural resources. The first mine opened in the colony was at Glen Osmond, and in hundreds of places gold, silver, copper, lead and other minerals, have since been discovered. From many of the workings large returns have been yielded, a great number await development, and some, especially near Woodside, are still in active operation. The soil and climate of the hills are such that they are capable of becoming the garden, vineyard, and orchard of all Australia, for the demand is the only limitation to the supply. Villages and towns are numbered by the score. Hahndorf is a German settlement, with between four and five hundred inhabitants; Woodside, Lobethal, Gumeracha, Mount Pleasant, and Macclesfield have each from two to four hundred. There are a large number such as Echunga, Clarendon, Houghton, and Kersbrook that are still smaller. Each of these settlements is a local centre, has much rural beauty, is supplied with one or more churches, school, council hall or other place for public assembly, post and telegraph station, and though off the railway line, has sufficient facilities for traffic, and wears an appearance of quiet prosperity. The delightful climate of the hills and their charming scenery render them a perfect sanatorium, and they are becoming dotted all over with the country residences of Adelaide merchants and colonial magnates, whose beautiful homes and the pleasant grounds by which they are usually surrounded constitute an additional attraction. The roads are bordered for miles by great -blackberry hedges, loaded in the season with fruit which may be had for the picking, English oaks and elms thrive excellently, and the original undergrowth is being replaced by the laurestinus and the laurel. Fruits, flowers, and vegetables of all kinds come to absolute perfection. This part of the colony of South Australia exactly corresponds to the prophetic description of a goodly land, for it is "a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat, and, barley, and vines, and fig-trees, and pomegranates; a land of oil olive, and honey; a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig brass." Its value is enhanced by its proximity to the metropolis, and its capabilities are only just beginning to be appreciated.

THE hill railway is a splendid piece of engineering work. The gauge is five feet three inches; it is skilfully planned and strongly built. It begins its climb at Mitcham, tunnels through two projecting spurs, and crosses a double ravine on iron viaducts, where there is one of the most picturesque spots on the line. The first viaduct is three hundred and sixty feet between the abutments, in twelve spans, and one hundred and seven feet above the valley. The second is two hundred and sixty feet in length, in nine spans, and seventy-nine feet in maximum height. Before reaching Blackwood the line returns on itself, and at Belair is a thousand feet above the sea, to gain which elevation the distance by road has been nearly doubled, To the right is a wide, well-timbered basin, known as Government Farm, and destined to be the people’s park of the future. The next station is Mount Lofty, nineteen and a half miles from town and the highest point of the line, having an altitude of sixteen hundred and eleven feet. Exquisite titbits of scenery occur at Bridgewater and other places, for the country is altogether lovely. A branch line turns off to Mount Barker, one of the largest as well as most beautiful towns in the hills. Fifty-one miles from Adelaide is Strathalbyn, on the eastern slope of the ranges, and rivalling Mount Barker in importance. Another branch is thrown off from Sandergrove to Milang on Lake Alexandrina and the main line, by way of Goolwa, reaches Port Victor —a fine harbour sheltered by Granite Island, and a favourite watering place —eighty-one miles by this route from Adelaide. Through and beyond Nairne, on the intercolonial line, for some miles the scenery is bold and striking but across the plains that follow it is monotonous enough. Near the Bremer, which is crossed at Callington, there are extensive copper mines that are closed at present. Sixty miles from Adelaide the Murray is crossed by one of the finest bridges in the colonies. The river is about two hundred yards wide, but on its left bank is an extensive swamp, covered with water in time of flood, which greatly increased the difficulty, and cost of construction. The bridge is of iron throughout, its total length nineteen hundred and eighty feet; it has a clear width for carriage road and railway of twenty-two feet, and two five-feet footways. Across the river there are five spans, each of a hundred and twenty feet, the girders of which are nine feet in depth, and rest on iron cylinders seven feet in diameter. The central pier of this portion is sunk eighty-five feet below the ordinary water level, between which and the girders there is a clear space of thirty-three feet for the passage of steamers. Above the swampy margin there are twenty-three spans of sixty feet. The girders and piers are less massive, but some of the latter had to be stink a hundred and ten feet before a solid foundation as obtained. The bridge contains one thousand nine hundred and thirty-four tons of wrought and two thousand one hundred and ninety-one tons of cast iron, and its total cost was a hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds.

From the river to the Victorian border is a stretch of a hundred and thirty-five miles of generally uninteresting but not barren wilderness, chiefly occupied by pastoralists. There are low ranges of scrub-covered sandhills, with occasionally heavier timber, and recent experiments have proved that even the Ninety-mile Desert has water-bearing strata at no great depth, and with irrigation it will grow anything. Already at the experimental farm it blossoms like the rose. Near Bordertown the country becomes more park-like, and from this point vast areas in the southeast merit that description. Here are still standing some of the quaint slab-huts erected when this was an important stopping-place on the overland route to the diggings. At Wolseley, the nearest station to the border, a bare, unattractive place, and where the mud is horrible in winter, a junction is effected with the southeastern railway system by a narrow-gauge line that runs south a hundred and thirteen miles to Mount Gambier. Much of the country to the west is low-lying and swampy; there are scores on scores of lagoons and meres, some of them very large and teeming with millions of wild fowl. It is a sportsman’s paradise. An extensive drainage system has been carried out by the government, but though the soil is rich through the still superabundant moisture many of the farms have relapsed into the hands of squatters, some of whose estates are magnificent and their residences palatial.

Narracoorte is connected by rail with Kingston on the coast, fifty-two miles distant. It is a healthy- looking town, with numerous buildings of a high order of architecture. Six miles away is a series of wonderful cave, which rival those of Jenolan in interest and beauty, if not in extent. Similar but less important formations abound in the southeast. Penola, the next important station, is a quiet, old-fashioned town, closely girdled by forests and surrounded by rich pastoral country.

Mount Gambier, the terminus of the line, and also of that from Beachport —the snug little seaport of Rivoli Bay —has been termed the garden of the colony. In some respects, it is peerless. It lies along the valley and up the gentle slopes of the Mount, and contains about two thousand five hundred inhabitants. The creamy, coralline limestone and gray or red dolomites that abound in the neighbourhood are easily worked, and the buildings are bright and cheerful; while many of them —such as the numerous churches, schools, banks, hotels, government offices, and other public edifices —are highly ornate. The town hall chambers with tower and clock cost three thousand two hundred pounds. The hospital is one of the finest provincial institutions of its kind, and in one of the most charming situations in Australia. There are two local newspapers, several manufactories, excellently paved streets and footpaths, a public park, and other adjuncts of high civilisation. The soil is a. rich, black, friable mould, with generally a volcanic subsoil. English grasses, shrubs, flowers, trees, and fruits thrive with marvellous luxuriance. Hops are being extensively cultivated. The yield of potatoes is something tremendous, and a distillery has been established to extract the spirit from them, it being found difficult to find a market for all that are produced.

The Mount itself has no great elevation, and the road to Port MacDonnell passes over it about midway between its eastern and western extremities along a kind of saddle that connects the rims of two of the principal craters. Standing near the monument that has been recently erected in memory of Adam Lindsay Gordon, the scene is not only wondrously beautiful, but of a kind that has no parallel. To the east, in a pleasingly irregular but nearly circular basin, almost a mile across, and with generally precipitous sides three hundred feet in height, lies a placid sheet of water as blue as the heavens. Though clear as crystal, it is in places three to four hundred feet in depth. The rocky walls are adorned with shrubs from their verge to the water’s edge. A pathway has been contrived down the face of the cliff, and close to a landing-place a little boat is moored. The western craters have gentler slopes, and the lakes them are shallower and of less superficial area. By the side of one of them a lovely garden has been laid out. The sward is soft, rich, and verdant. A few symmetrical blackwoods are scattered about. The visitor usually lingers long to take in from various points of view the full effect of these scenes of perfect peace. He finds it difficult to imagine them a bewildering chaos of fire and flame, and to realise what is a distinct possibility, that some day their former character may be resumed.

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