In due course our ship entered the estuary called the Derwent, at whose head stands Hobart, the capital of Tasmania. The Derwent's shores furnish scenery of an interesting sort. The historian Laurie, whose book, "The Story of Australasia," is just out, invoices its features with considerable truth and intemperance: "The marvelous picturesqueness of every point of view, combined with the clear balmy atmosphere and the transparency of the ocean depths, must have delighted and deeply impressed" the early explorers.

The Aboriginal Tasmanians (Tasmanian: Palawa) are the indigenous people of the Australian state of Tasmania, located south of the mainland.

Before British colonisation in 1803, there were an estimated 3,000–15,000 Palawa. In 1847, the last 47 living inhabitants of Wybalenna were transferred to Oyster Cove, south of Hobart. Two individuals, Truganini (1812–1876) and Fanny Cochrane Smith (1834–1905), are separately considered to have been the last people solely of Tasmanian descent.

October 28 Monday

October 26 Saturday – The Clemens party left Maryborough at 5 a.m. and took the train through Castlemaine to Melbourne and the Spencer Street Station. They likely took rooms again at the Menzies Hotel on Latrobe Street. Sam gave a 3 p.m. matinee performance of “Mark Twain At Home” in Athenaeum Hall, Melbourne. (MTDBD)

Cooper (p125-6) tells of Twain's adventure with the railroad:

...I changed for a while to a smoking-carriage. There were two gentlemen there; both riding backward, one at each end of the compartment. They were acquaintances of each other. I sat down facing the one that sat at the starboard window. He had a good face, and a friendly look, and I judged from his dress that he was a dissenting minister. He was along toward fifty. Of his own motion he struck a match, and shaded it with his hand for me to light my cigar. I take the rest from my diary:

The Clemens party left Bendigo at 5 a.m. and arrived in Maryborough in the afternoon. In Chapter 31 of Following the Equator, Twain includes a bit of burlesque about a meeting with a man claiming to be studying for the ministry. This man warns him of the inadequacies of the Maryborough Hotel and of the Railroad from Maryborough to Melbourne.

On the rail again—bound for Bendigo. From diary:

Frequently, in Australia, one has cloud-effects of an unfamiliar sort. We had this kind of scenery, finely staged, all the way to Ballarat. Consequently we saw more sky than country on that journey. At one time a great stretch of the vault was densely flecked with wee ragged-edged flakes of painfully white cloud-stuff, all of one shape and size, and equidistant apart, with narrow cracks of adorable blue showing between. The whole was suggestive of a hurricane of snow-flakes drifting across the skies.

From Horsham we went to Stawell. By rail. Still in the colony of Victoria. Stawell is in the gold-mining country. In the bank-safe was half a peck of surface-gold—gold dust, grain gold; rich; pure in fact, and pleasant to sift through one's fingers; and would be pleasanter if it would stick. And there were a couple of gold bricks, very heavy to handle, and worth $7,500 a piece. They were from a very valuable quartz mine; a lady owns two-thirds of it; she has an income of $75,000 a month from it, and is able to keep house. 

The Great Western Vineyard

At the hotel. The weather divine. Across the way, in front of the London Bank of Australia, is a very handsome cottonwood. It is in opulent leaf, and every leaf perfect. The full power of the on-rushing spring is upon it, and I imagine I can see it grow. Alongside the bank and a little way back in the garden there is a row of soaring fountain-sprays of delicate feathery foliage quivering in the breeze, and mottled with flashes of light that shift and play through the mass like flash-lights through an opal—a most beautiful tree, and a striking contrast to the cottonwood.