of Wellington "Places" alone, there are ten;
besides several Wellington Streets and Squares.
Royalty spreads its titles over miles and
miles: there are no fewer than thirty-seven
King Streets, twenty-seven Queen Streets,
twenty-two Prince's Streets, and seventeen
Duke Streets; not to mention Courts, Alleys,
Terraces, and brick-and-mortar "Groves"
innumerable, with one or other of these
designations. The list is to be swollen to an
endless confusion; and without some improved
system of "Streetography," it will soon be as
impossible for a stranger to find a Londoner
in London, as it is to trace a fly through the
tangled intricacies of a spider's web.

LAND HO!—PORT JACKSON.

An esteemed Contributor has laid open a
page of his travelling note-bote, to allow us
to extract the following graphic "Chip":—

"LAND HO!" cried the look-out. Blessed
sound to the weary landsman!—a sound
associated with liberty and society, a walk on
turf, a dinner of fresh meat and green
vegetables, clear water to drink, and something to
do. The dark line in the horizon was Terra
Australis, the land of my dreams. As we
approached more near, I was not greeted, as
I had hoped, by sloping shores of yellow
sands, or hills covered with green pasture, or
clad with the bright-coloured forests of
southern climes; but far above us towered an
iron-bound coast, dark, desolate, barren,
precipitous, against which the long rolling swell
of the Pacific broke with a dull disheartening
sound.

No wonder that the first discoverers, who
coasted along its shores in the midst of wintry
tempests, abandoned it, after little investigation,
as an uninhabitable land, the dwelling-
place of demons, whose voices they fancied
they heard in the wailing of the wind among
the inaccessible cliffs.

But soon a pilot boarded from a stout whaleboat,
rowed by a dozen New Zealanders. He
reached the rocks which, divided by a narrow
cleft, or canal, and towering above the coast
line, are the sailors' landmark, known as
Sydney Heads,—the cleft that Captain Cook
overlooked, considering it a mere boat harbour.
Steering under easy sail through this narrow
channel, the scene changed, "as by stroke of
an enchanter's wand," and Port Jackson lay
before us, stretching for miles like a broad
silent river, studded with shrub-covered
islands; on either hand of the shores, the
gardens and pleasure-grounds of villas and
villages descended to the water's edge;
pleasure-boats of every variety of build and
size, wherries and canoes, cutters, schooners,
and Indians, glided about, gay with flags and
streamers, and laden with joyous parties, zig-
zagged around like a nautical masquerade.
Every moment we passed some tall merchant-
ship at anchor,—for in this land-locked lake all
the navies of the world might anchor safely.

It was Sunday evening, and the church
bells clanged sweetly across the waters,
mingling in harmonious discord with the
distant sounds of profane music from the
pleasure parties. On we sailed, until we
reached the narrow peninsula where, fifty
years previously, trees grew and savages
dwelt, and where now stands one of the most
prosperous cities in the world,—there, in deep
water, close along shore at Cambell's wharf,
we moored.

In the buildings there was nothing to
denote a foreign city, unless it were the
prevalence of green jalousés, and the
extraordinary irregularity in principal streets,—
a wooden or brick cottage next to a lofty
plate-glass fronted shop in true Regent Street
style. There were no beggars, and no half-
starved wretches among the working-classes.
In strolling early in the morning through the
streets where the working-classes live, the
smell and sound of meat frizzling for
breakfast was almost universal.

One day, while strolling in the outskirts of
the town, above a cloud of dust, I saw
approaching a huge lumbering mass, like a
moving haystack, swaying from side to side,
and I heard the creaking of wheels in the
distance, and a volley of strange oaths
accompanied the sharp cracking of a whip; presently
the horns of a pair of monstrous bullocks
appeared, straining solemnly at their yokes;
then another and another followed, until I
counted five pair of elephantine beasts, drawing
a rude cart, composed of two high wheels
and a platform without sides, upon which was
packed and piled bales of wool full fourteen
feet in height. Close to the near wheel
stalked the driver, a tall, broad-shouldered,
sunburnt, care-worn man, with long shaggy
hair falling from beneath a sugar-loaf shaped
grass hat, and a month's beard on his dusty
chin; dressed in half-boots, coarse, short,
fustian trousers, a red silk handkerchief round
his waist, and a dark blue cotton shirt, with
the sleeves rolled right up to the shoulders
ot his brown-red, brawny, hairy arms. In
his hands he carried a whip, at least twenty
feet long, with the thong of which, with
perfect ease, he every now and then laid into his
leaders, accompanying each stroke with a
tremendous oath.

A little mean looking man, shabbily dressed
in something of the same costume, trotted
humbly along on the off-side. Three huge
ferocious dogs were chained under the axle of
the dray. This was a load of the golden fleece
of Australia, and its guardians the bullock
driver and bullock watchman. The dust, the
creaking of the wheels, and the ejaculation of
the driver had scarcely melted away, when
up dashed a party of horsemen splendidly
mounted and sunburnt, but less coarse and
worn in features than the bullock driver,
with long beards and moustaches and long
flowing hair, some in old shooting jackets,
some in coloured woollen shirts, almost all in