down, and
then we was sick; and then we fell asleep; and then we was at Port
Albert; and that's all I knows about it."

I walked along the one street past the custom house, the post-office,
and the bank, about three hundred yards and saw nothing beyond but
tea-tree and swamps, through which ran a roughly-metalled road,
leading apparently to the distant mountains. There was nothing but
stagnation; it was the deadest seaport ever seen or heard of. There
were some old stores, empty and falling to pieces, which the owners
had not been enterprising enough to burn for the insurance money; the
ribs of a wrecked schooner were sticking out of the mud near the
channel; a stockyard, once used for shipping cattle, was rotting
slowly away, and a fisherman's net was hanging from the top rails to
dry. Three or four drays filled with pigs were drawn up near the
wharf; these animals were to form part of the steamer's return cargo,
one half of her deck space being allotted to pigs, and the other half
to passengers. In case of foul weather, the deck hamper, pigs and
passengers, was impartially washed overboard.

An old man in a dirty buggy was coming along the road, and all the
inhabitants and dogs turned out to look and bark at him, just as they
do in a small village in England, when the man with the donkey-cart
comes in sight. To allay my astonishment on observing so much
agitation and excitement, the Principal Inhabitant introduced
himself, and informed me that it was a busy day at the Port, a kind
of market day, on account of the arrival of the steamer.

I began sorrowfully to examine my official conscience to discover for
which of my unatoned-for sins I had been exiled to this dreary land.

Many a time in after years did I see a stranger leave the steamer,
walk, as I had done, to the utmost extremity of the seaport, and
stand at the corner of the butcher's shop, gazing on the swamps, the
tea-tree, and the far-away wooded hills, the Strelezcki ranges. The
dismal look of hopeless misery thatstole over his countenance was
pitiful to behold. After recovering the power of speech, his first
question was, "How is it possible that any man could ever consent to
live in a hole like this?" Here the Principal Inhabitant intervened,
and poured balm on the wounded spirit of the stranger. He gently
reminded him that first impressions are not always to be relied on;
and assured him that if he would condescend to take up his abode with