"PORT ALBERT, GIPPS' LAND.

"March 1st.—Sailed.—Brig Kopperbotham,
with a hundred fat bullocks, a quantity of empty
casks, and a sausage-machine of considerable
power.

     "PORT CHALMUS, DUNEDIN.

"April 1st,—Arrived.—Brig Kopperbotham,
after a protracted passage, consequent on
continual calms.

"The cargo consists of one hundred and fifty
tierces of prime navy beef, ten tons of real
German sausages, and a second-hand sausage-
machine in good preservation."

It is in social topics that our antipodean jester
principally shines. The forms of satire are much
the same as those employed by our English
Charivari; but there is a strong colonial
flavour which preserves their originality. We
find fine-lady-ism, servant-gal-ism, swell-ism,
and all the other 'isms familiar to us at home,
duly represented, but heightened in colour as
befits a young and vigorous state of society,
and accompanied by other elements peculiar to
it. Lord Dundreary has, of course, claims
on colonial attention, and, as may be sup-
posed, he is made to pay a visit to Melbourne in
search of his brother "Tham." His arrival at
the principal hotel is graphically described, as
well as the fears which he expresses to his valet
of being speared by any of the barbarous
aboriginals, his lordship having always had a horror
of anything black—especially the red Indians.
He has not quite got over the associations of the
voyage, and asks if there are any Quakers ahead
before he resolves to venture forth in quest of
his brother. He is astonished to find such a
thing as sherry in a place like Australia, but is
glad to take a glass of Amontillado before
dinner. He is very great with his nautical
knowledge, and talks about the sailors letting
go the binnacle in a high wind, and the captain
asking "how's her head," under the impression
that some lady is unwell. He asks the people at
the hotel what colour the governor is, and
whether he wears an opossum rug over his shoulders,
carries a spear, and puts clay in his hair; and he
is pleasantly surprised at finding that the governor
is white, wears coats and trousers, and is not in
the habit of making his dinner off convicts,
kangaroos, and quartz reefs. Under the circumstances,
he thinks he will call upon him, and has
his pistols prepared, in order that he may traverse
the streets in safety. In the next number he meets
Sam, whose name turns out to be Frederick, and is
characteristically astonished to find that he lives
at a station which is situated in a bush—whether
a gooseberry, a raspberry, or a currant bush, he
cannot undertake to say. He objects to Sam's
brown hands, but consents to shake one of them,
and, learning from their owner a little about the
country, is delighted to find that the natives are
not carnivals who eat one another, nor cornelians
who feed upon nothing but air. The pair then
sally forth, his lordship expressing his opinion
that it is a pity Melbourne is not laid out like
London, so that a fellow can find his way about,
and adding that the person who built it made a
mistake in putting it so much in the sun. The
last we hear of his lordship, is, that he takes
more wine than is good for him at dinner, and
gets into a condition which, it appears, is known
in the locality as "truly rural;" and that
notwithstanding the dissuasions of Sam—who is
represented as thoroughly brisk and colonialised
—he delivers a lecture upon things in general at
the public library, which discourse we will not
inflict upon our readers. The Dundreary joke,
it may be remarked, appeared quite fresh and
healthy at the antipodes, and seemed likely to
have a long run.

Swells in general are fertile food for our
contemporary. The most superb among them
appear to have a particular contempt for the
unfortunate governor. Several "social cuts"
illustrate this prejudice. In one of these we are
introduced to a new arrival of decidedly plebeian
aspect, and in the "truly rural" condition already
referred to. He is leaning helplessly against a
wall, and appeals to a gentleman of aggravated
military appearance who is passing by. The
following dialogue ensues:

"NEW ARRIVAL (with introductions to the
governor).—I say, old f'ler, can you (hic) tell me
where S'renry Barkly lives?

"MELBOURNE CLUB SWELL.—I suppose, my
man, you allude to the present guvnah. I don't
know him."

The order of swell who is too proud to attend to
duties for which he is not too proud to be paid,
appears to be represented at Melbourne as at
most other places. In one of the caricatures he
is found making an excuse for his late arrival at
office, which would not be quite available at
home. His irate superior remonstrates with
him in strong terms. In reply, he says: "Ate
some poisonous fish last night, sir; very ill, sir;
did not expect to come at all this morning,
sir."

It seems that there has been a panic at
Melbourne on the subject of poisonous fish. The
particular excuse is, doubtless, adapted only to
the locality; but we have our poisonous fish in
this country in many shapes. It was remarked
last year that garotting interfered very much
with office hours, and that the victims could be
recovered only by copious draughts of soda-water.

The new comer in the colony—or "new chum"
as he is called—is a favourite mark for satire.
As a general rule, he is the reverse of welcome.
In the first place, it is understood that he
comes to share the local loaves and fishes, and
leave the less to be divided among the old
residents; in the next place, it is assumed that
he is fully prepared to "give himself airs"
as a fresh exportation, and to treat the colonists
and all that belongs to them with utter
contempt. Accordingly they resent him very severely,
and "don't care who knows it." They object to
his whiskers; they think his voice affected; his
coat and trousers they regard as personal affronts.