A man who is perfectly at himself does not throw cold detraction at people's architectural productions and picturesque surroundings, and let on that what he prefers is a Dubbonese dust-storm and a pleasing degree of respectful familiarity.

No, these are old, old symptoms; and when they appear we know that the man has got the panegyrics.
Sydney has a population of 400,000.

When a stranger from America steps ashore there, the first thing that strikes him is that the place is eight or nine times as large as he was expecting it to be; and the next thing that strikes him is that it is an English city with American trimmings.
Later on, in Melbourne, he will find the American trimmings still more in evidence; there, even the architecture will often suggest America; a photograph of its stateliest business street might be passed upon him for a picture of the finest street in a large American city.

I was told that the most of the fine residences were the city residences of squatters.
The name seemed out of focus somehow.

When the explanation came, it offered a new instance of the curious changes which words, as well as animals, undergo through change of habitat and climate.