But the Bench indignant vood it,
As in dooty they were bound;
And they made the crewil plucker,
Pay down for his pluck ten pound.

And ses they, "It's very hard if
People cannot say their say
In the public journals, in a

Fare and hopen sort of way.

But they must indoor the risk of Blemisht chin, or broken crown; This mite do in Kalifawnyer,

But it will not here go down."

Ow I wish these beaks judishus
In our Pleese Kourt did preside;
Or that in this uprite spirit,

Smith and Sturt would both decide.

Then the Bench would be entitled To the Publick's best respex. And perhaps immortalized in Verse by me Perleesmen X.

PROGRESS,

Punch is, and no doubt Doctor Murphy will be, delighted to learn that owing to the improved condition of the roads between Melbourne and Reechworth, a fast dray, only sixty-four days out from the former city, had been spoken with at the Honeysuckle, and others were reported in sight. Sanguine bullock-drivers speak with confidence of the passage from the metropolis to the Ovens being ultimately accomplished in less than ninety days: but in the opinion of the more judicious, this expectation is looked upon as extremely visionary.

A painful incident occurred in this city, last week. A drayman who had been absent from Melbourne for two years (consumed in the passage up to and down from Beechworth), returned to his home and found that his wife had married another husband. She had done so in the belief that the daring voyager's dray had foundered, and that the driver had foundered with it. The unfortunate man intends, it is said, to bring an action for damages against the President of the Road Board.

DIRT CHEAP.

"Land in the neighbourhood of town," is advertised in the Argus, at eighteenpence a foot-a price which seems to place its value on a par with bar iron or printed calico. Now, a few yards of this material, with tent, stretcher, and ryingpan, might be obtained for something under a five pound not, and would consti ute a cheap furnished freehold residence for a gentleman of limited means.

MORE GEELONGESE.

The Geelong Advertiser announced Madame Bishop's arrival at Ballarat so intelligibly that we were led to hope that the editor had been taking six easy lessons of Mr. Needham, or some other professor of the art of writing. But the sentence, "a host of really first-rate musical talent, to wrap our senses in the elysinm of sweet sound," dashed our hopes completely. Zephyr coats are common enough now, thanks to Nicholl snd Co.; but not even those eminent artists have succeeded in wrapping the senses in an elysium, especially one of sweet sounds, and how a host of musical talent -supposing such a thing to exist-is to bring about this envelopment of the senses, baffles our comprehension completely.

As ever swept the southern wave,
To sprinkle salt upon the tail
Of any unsuspecting whale.

Stick up the poor confiding lubber,
And then appropriate his blubber-
Now Captain Joues had passed his life
Amid these scenes of fishy strife,
And dreamed of no more pleasing task
Than packing blubber in a cask-
If times were dull, he found a crumb

Of comfort in a pint of rum;

And all good fortune round him falling,
Pursued his piscatorial calling,

While heaps of fish he caught and mangled,
That Isaac Walton never angled.

Now whether trade was really bad,

Or how it was, we feel it sad

To tell that Captain Jones had come
To recreate his mind with rum,
In highly persevering sort,

From day to day--got drunk, in short,

Which made the sailors swear their chief
Must mend his ways, or come to grief;
And so (to briefly sum the matter)
The wretched skipper chose the latter,
And one day when he'd had a double
Allowance, got his ship in trouble,
In Bass's Straits, whose waves appear
Sometimes well up, like Bass's beer.
'Twas there a rough unfeeling rock
Came bump, like an electric shock-
And crashing through the splintered plank,
Fast fixed them on a stony bank-
Right sober then the skipper grew,
And turned his nose from red to blue,

And as to Bass's Strait, he swore

He ne'er was in such strait before;

And could he but by grace escape

This once from such a fishy scrape;

If ever anyone should catch him

Drunk, after that may Old Nick fetch him.

Referring to the captain's notes, It seems the party took to boats, Just huddled on some extra rags, And put some provender in bags,

Filled up the boats with beef and biscuit,

And said they'd leave the wreck, and risk it.

VOL. III.

The skipper also did a something.
Which (all considered), was a rum thing.
He took on board the very cargo

On which he should have laid embargo-
Though did his late disasters come
In close companionship with rum,
He goes and fills a case of wicker
With bottles of that very liquor,
Just took a "nip," to make things right,
And made for shore as best they might.
Leaving their late lamented home,
Midst roaring waters churned to foam,
They pulled their very best to reach
The land, and bumped upon a beach,
Where, just inside Port Phillip Head,
The sea was smooth as moiten lead.

Now rowing hard is apt to make
A sort of hungry stomach ache;

And when the sailor's gained the scrub,
And safely landed all the grub,
They naturally sought relief

In pitching into bread and beef-
Feasting away till fit to burst,
Brought consequent amount of thirst,
And all their beef and biscuit slaughter
Suggested strongly rum and water;
Till, feeling dry about the throttle,
The skipper hunted up a bottle,
Which same right, speedily I ween,
He turned into a dead marine;
Tippled away in humour prime,
And drank to better luck next time.
Forgetful of the promise made,
To quite give up the tippling trade;
Forgetful of the wish expressed

That he might be old Brimstone's guest,

If e'er by any chance he'd come

To take the least excess of rum.

Now, whether 'twas fatigue or grief,
The
rum, the biscuit, or the beef,
Each after each in slumber drops,
And dozed away like drowsy tops.
The skipper drank in steady sort,
And soaked away about a quart;
Till gradually met his view
An empty bottle turned to two-
Enveloped in a sort of mist
That didn't previously exist.
The atmosphere appearing foggy
Suggested he was getting groggy;

And fancies wild came thick and thicker,
Fast flowing with the flow of liquor ;-
When suddenly the "dead marine
(Most wonderful to tell) was seen,
Expanded to a monstrous size,
Upon its bottom end to rise-
Thrust out a pair of legs and walk
About the ground with tragic stalk;
Open his mouth, no longer dumb,
And smelling very strong of rum;
This spirit bottle, bottle spirit,

Or what the name the thing might merit,
Did then amaze the skipper rather,
By talking to him like a father;
This glassy goblin seemed inclined
Just then and there to tell his mind,
Foamed at the mouth as one who wallowS
In flood of speech, and spoke as follows:

"You scrubby, ill-conditioned toper,You pettifogging interloper

On this fair shore the first to fix
The stigma of your tippling tricks :
Already is the drunkards' brand

Scarred on the 'scutcheon of the land;

M