could, as he saw no reason for it), and turning
his back addressed himself again to sleep.
"This won't suit me, young man," shouted the
butcher, "I tell you I want to bid for some
o' they beasts. I want that wide hoop-horn'd
'un—they three red staggy horns—the
strawberry snail-horn, and the dirty-black big 'un
a-lying down. Get up, can't you. Don't lay
there like a precious naked hape, but be
smart!" So saying the butcher dismounted
and began to molest the sleeper in a rude and
ridiculous way with the hook end of his whip,
using very rough language; whereupon our
cornet arose, and "polished him off " in first-
rate style, being a fair boxer. The butcher,
after a few rounds, deliberately remounted
his horse, sat in his saddle looking at his
"young man"—then said, "Well, I'm
blowed!" and rode away.

They had some very cold weather about
this time, especially during the nights,
and they lost six of their horses, almost
entirely from the cold, as they had no means of
sheltering them. After this, the remaining
three horses being needed for the dray, they
followed the drove of bullocks on foot, for
nearly a month. The few clothes that had
remained to them were torn piecemeal from
their bodies in passing through the low scrub
and swampy osier beds, till our cornet's sole
personal effects were a pair of stocking-legs
and a tooth-brush. This latter very useful
article had been found loose in the dray, and
was displayed as a trophy.

They lost upwards of a hundred bullocks
in the bogs and swamps, or by straying away
in the night. Following on foot was a great
disadvantage, to say nothing of the work. At
length they approached a little bush inn, and
a burly old brown-bearded fellow, pleasantly
drunk, issued forth to meet them, crying out,
"My name's Jem Bowles—glasses round!"
He made them all have nobblers of brandy,
and plenty to eat, and got them some clothes—
enough to ride in—and three good bush horses
in exchange for bullocks. He made them
stay there a day and night at his expense.
He had taken a great liking to the cornet.
But he often took likings, and habitually
treated everybody. "Glasses round!"

Jem Bowles was a great stock-keeper, and
well known on the road. It was his habit
to "drink his bullocks" on the way to market,
and then to return home. He had been known
to drink seventy head, in a few days, at one
bush inn. Of course he was robbed, as he
kept no 'count of the "glasses round" to
which he treated everybody all day long. He
was now drinking his last ten head of
bullocks.

Our cornet and his colleagues being once
more horsed, proceeded on their way,
uproariously grateful to Jem Bowles, and eventually
reached Melbourne, leaving the dray behind
them in the bush, where it had at last "given
in," wheel and axle. The journey had taken
them nearly four months. They had lost, in
all, eight horses, and a hundred and three
bullocks: the remainder, nevertheless, sold
well. After paying all expenses, including
everything, our cornet made, as his share,
above one hundred pounds profit. Little
enough for such labour; but still very good
as the first earnings of a "young man." The
very same day, he met in the street the butcher
whose hide he had tanned in the bush; and
the butcher touched his hat to him. This is
a fragment of Australian life.

CHIPS.

FRESH AIR IN FINSBURY.

WE may yet see men with fresh daisies in
their mouths and fresh air unexhausted in
their lungs walking along Cheapside; for
there is great hope of a park within sound
of Bow bells: a park so large that visitors
need never be requested upon large boards
at the entrance not to pluck the daisies.
Four hundred and seventy acres can be had
for the proposed Albert Park, Finsbury; the
present Government cheerfully aids the
scheme; the last approved it, and so did the
Government before. It was not, however,
quite in accordance with the declared principles
of one member of the late administration,
who suggested that four hundred and seventy
acres were too much, and who talked of one
hundred and sixty-five. In the names of
all the pale-faced needlewomen in the lanes
of Clerkenwell, of all tradesmen unable to
afford suburban villas, all the sallow clerks
and housekeepers, men-servants, and maid-
servants, who feed on City pots of mignionette
displayed on smoky ledges of back windows,
we beg that there may be no stint in the
dimensions of the City park. Air cannot be
had without space.

   "How bountiful, how wonderful
   Thou art, sweet Air!
    And yet, albeit thine odours lie
    On every gust that mocks the eye,
   We pass the gentle blessing by
    Without a care."

We must do our utmost to send out of town
dead bodies, and to bring into town the living
turf, trees, flowers, and—sweet air.

Expense ought to be no hindrance. When
the notion of the park was first started,
there was land to be had for a hundred and
fifty pounds an acre, which would now fetch
a thousand; for, the site of the park being
known, land steadily rises in value. While
we wait, therefore, money is wasting, and it
must not be grudged.

A wild theory like that mentioned in a former
number of this Journal for an establishment
which also was to be called an Albert Park,
including another Crystal Palace as one of
the leastparts of the scheme, with colleges,
halls, factories, and organs in the air, is of
course dissipated instantly and very properly