This is Port Adelaide! Port Misery would be a better name; for nothing
in any other part of the world can surpass it in everything that is
wretched and inconvenient, packages of goods and heaps of merchandise
are lying about in every direction as if they had cost nothing. Stacks
of what were once beautiful London bricks crumbling away like
gingerbread, and evidently at each returning tide half covered with the
flood; trusses of hay, now rotten, and Norway deals, scattered about as
if they had no owner--iron ploughs and rusty harrows--cases of
door-frames and windows that had once been glazed--heaps of the best
slates half tumbling down--winnowing-machines broken to pieces--blocks
of Roman cement, now hard as stone, wanting nothing but the staves and
hoops--Sydney cedar, and laths and shingles from Van Diemen's Land in
every direction; whilst on the high ground are to be seen pigs eating
through the flour-sacks, and kegs of raisins with not only the head out,
but half the contents; onions and potatoes apparently to be had for
picking up.
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