groves which yield as many as thirty thousand dozen oranges per annum. One may there literally “sit under his own vine and fig-tree.” If a peach-stone is thrown down in almost any part of Australia where there is a little moisture, a tree will spring up, which in a few years will yield handsomely. A well-known botanist used formerly to carry with him, during extensive travels, a small bag of peach-stones to plant in suitable places, and many a wandering settler has blessed him since. Pigs were formerly often fed on peaches, as was done in California, a country much resembling Southern Australia; it is only of late years they have been utilised in both places by drying or otherwise preserving. A basket-load may be obtained in the Sydney markets during the season for a few pence. The summer heat of Sydney is about that of Naples, while its winter corresponds with that of Sicily. But are there no drawbacks to all this happy state of things? Well, yes; about the worst is a hot blast which sometimes blows from the interior, known popularly in Sydney as a “brick-fielder” or “southerly buster.” It is much like that already described, and neither the most closely-fastened doors nor windows will keep out the fearful dust-storm. “Its effect,” says Professor Hughes, “is particularly destructive of every sense of comfort; the dried and dust-besprinkled skin acquiring for the time some resemblance to parchment, and the hair feeling more like hay than any softer material.” Should Jack or his superior officers land during the heat of autumn, he may have the opportunity of passing a novel Christmas—very completely un-English. The gayest and brightest flowers will be in bloom, and the musquitoes out in full force. “Sitting,” says a writer, “in a thorough draught, clad in a holland blouse, you may see men and boys dragging from the neighbouring bush piles of green stuff (oak-branches in full leaf and acorn, and a handsome shrub with a pink flower and pale green leaf—the ‘Christmas’ of Australia) for the decoration of churches and dwellings, and stopping every fifty yards to wipe their perspiring brows.” Before leaving Sydney, the grand park, called “The Domain,” which stretches down to the blue water in the picturesque indentations around Port Jackson, must be mentioned. It contains several hundred acres, tastefully laid out in drives, and with public walks cut through the indigenous or planted shrubberies, and amidst the richest woodland scenery, or winding at the edge of the rocky bluffs or by the margin of the glittering waters. Adjoining this lovely spot is one of the finest botanic gardens in the world, considered by all Sydney to be a veritable Eden.