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 assured his wife with a smile, of the old carpets they had left at home—in England. This was rather an unlucky allusion—it was received with a sigh. Against the sides of the store, hung upon stout nails, were sundry articles, all however coming under the category of useful—certainly not one was ornamental. There were several guns and pistols, a few native weapons, a sugar-bag cunningly suspended from the roof-tree, an arrangement very necessary but not altogether effectual, to protect its contents from the ravages of a small species of ant everywhere found in Australia. Several bags of flour were similarly disposed of to save them from the rats and other vermin. There was something so very homely and comfortable in the appearance presented by some sides of English bacon which hung aloft, that our friends instinctively paused to inspect them: they hung amidst the articles which surrounded them the chef d'œuvres of the collection.

Mr. Weevel was quite overcome as he regarded the spectacle before him, and the question arose in his mind whether the fate of an English pig was not preferable to that of a Port Philip colonist. How he wished he could be instantaneously transported to the land from whence that bacon came!

"Beautiful! and English too," said Mr. Binns to Weevel, as he proceeded to cut some rashers for dinner—"I hope it will not grow rusty."

Mr. Weevel's comprehension of the properties of rust in bacon were, to say the least, original: observing the flitches were hung upon iron, he suggested that probably silver hooks instead would effectually prevent anything like rust.

"All this is very rough" said Mr. Binns, as he was preparing to cook a portion of their dinner; "but these are little matters we must put up with for a time. I shall be able to