.ia 
     
    
   
   
    
      -a..;»..-..‘M~i,.‘l!’. 3‘ g ., « .;..~;=._~,. ,- 
     
    
   
   
    
     l monsoon’ 
     
    
   
   
    
     ' VOL. -22. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Qtgritulturr. 
     
    
   
   
    
     (Irons the correspondent q‘ the Albany Cultivator.) 
     
    
   
   
    
     AGRICULTURAL ECONOMY. 
     
     : our agricultarista study ecot_toro as attentively as they ought 
     
    
   
   
    
     lo I I do not mean ecoaom t war a n- 
     
     Chas, saving every cent they can and stlnting sup lies. I mean 
     
     & eeonoin of mana eat. ‘free economy adapts means to 
     
     Ode. applying no more or less of the one than is necessary for the 
     
     ouspletion of the other. For example, ten acres of lend well re- 
     
     ps horoughly tilled.’ will produce live hundred bushe s of 
     
     The economical farmer, therefore, who intends to produce 
     
     of corn will not use twenty acres of poorly prepared 
     
     and ' land to accomplish it; because the same amount 
     
     of crop will require mcrelshour on twenty acres in plowing and 
     
     tillirig, however im rfectly performed, than it will on ten acres, 
     
     however well it she I be prepared. A sin, if a former have n hun- 
     
     Ioa of manure only, if he at y economy, he will rather 
     
     supply it all to _a small piece of land and thus manure it well, than 
     
     toe large piece and thus manure it imperfectly; because, in the 
     
     former casa,'it will require less labour to produce a given amount 
     
     of crop, than in the latter. Again, a farmer that has a given amount 
     
     ' itin sufficient quantity to as much land only 
     
     suliicieut fertilization, and thus, by annually 
     
     improvioga small piece, at length render the whole fertile. So, 
     
     also, the owner ofa large trnct oflaad will attempt to cultivate only 
     
     just so much ofit as his forces can cultivate thoroughly. 'I‘wo far- 
     
     mers, each with the same number of acres, ‘and the same amount 
     
     cflabcur, shall shotv very difihrcnt balance sheets at tho end of the 
     
     fir. the one footing up 81000 profits, and the other $500, simply 
     
     me the one studies economy in the application of means to ends, 
     
    

    
     and the other takes no thou lit of the riiatter. 
     
    

    
     One great fault of many armors, may be found in a peculiar aa- 
     
     uioa for e ow muclt wheat will you put in this all P 
     
     250 sores, 600 acres, &c. The question should be, Iiow much will 
     
     you ace this year.’ and the passion should be, for the largo 
     
    

    
     . instead of the large surface seeded. Tho New liiigland far- 
     
    

    
     ‘ from our Iliddlo and Northern State furtiiers in this. 
     
     study economy in all things. 'I‘he do not weaken the 
     
     rssaltof their forces by ditfusion, but strcngthcn them by concen- 
     
    
   
   
    
     There is much want of economy also and much less in not close- 
     
     ly stloudhg to times and seasons. We continually lioar farmers 
     
     complaining, that they have not yet got their hind prepared for fall 
     
    

    
     , sad notv the wee ier wil not admit 0 its preparation; 
     
     one he not finished planting his corn yet; another had not secured 
     
     hi lnrveat before the rain set in, and it is beginning to sprout. As 
     
     a general rule, there is it time and season for every thing to be done 
     
     on I farm, and those who are late in any thing must expect to ant‘- 
     
     fer consequences. 'l‘o study the economy of times and seasons, 
     
     is I much a part of the science of agriculture as is the proper 
     
    

    
     of means to ends; and both are as necessary to success 
     
     iog, as it correct application of skill in mechanics is neces- 
     
     sary to success in any met: zinical employment. Many of our far- 
     
     mul seem to sleep all the wiittor, wake up in the spring, late or 
     
     early as it happens; and go to work when t to humour moves them, 
     
     without system or forethought, go n-head as chance may lead 
     
     in the mmmer, and in the fall grumble at the failure of their crops 
     
     frpm unfavourable seasons. If any one takes this to himself, let 
     
     hlm,—I mean it for him. 
     
    
   
   
    
     tirroimtivci: or AGIHCULTURE. 
     
     Agriculture has been aptly styled “ the nursing mother of all the 
     
     arts. ' ' 
     
     moves a 
     
    
   
   
    
     It i the basis, the soil of our national prosperity. Com- 
     
    

    
     ud manufactures conduce in a great measure to wealth; but 
     
     the cultivation of the soil ever has been and ever will continue to 
     
     he, the fountain-head of the streams of a country's resources. 
     
    

    
     There can be no strength in state, and o moral health among 
     
     the le, wlten the tillage ofthe land is neglected. \Vo can date 
     
     the of power and virtue of many nations from the decay of 
     
     their agrkniltural industry. In Iionie. for instance, when the wise 
     
     polic offostering agriculture was pursued. a healthful spirit per- 
     
     varied the w state. Then the laws were impartially ndniiiiis- 
     
     teredaad justice done to all. 'I‘hen labour was accounted lionorn- 
     
     hle.andstatoernen and generals and philosophers cultivated their 
     
     farms with their own liauds. It was then, that from uinongthe 
     
     tilltll of the soil, arose a Regulus, u Ciiicinnatus, an an invinci- 
     
     ble soldiery. It was then, that tho “ scvcn-liilled " city hrcntlit-d 
     
     defines to enemies, and caused nation after nation to yield to the 
     
     resistless power ofher legions until the Roman eagle waved over 
     
     the known tvorld. But when the ltirgesscs of corn were bestowed 
     
     upon an idle populace, when a riculture was neglected, and war 
     
     laid waste the fertile fields of Ital , then Roman vigor oon 
     
    

    
     trigue, vice, and vciiality took us hold in the state, until liiially 
     
     the "pale mother of empires ” was abandon to her enemies, 
     
     and the palaces of the Careers echoed the trend of the victorious 
     
    

    
     ' ri. History abounds in examples illustrative of the iinpor- 
     
     taat Ikct, that the enduring greatness of a nation is mainl founded 
     
     upon its agriculture, and rulers will do well to increase I e prospe- 
     
     rit of those who s'wing the scythe and hold the plough. 
     
    

    
     tconntry tvhich does not possess within itself the means of 
     
     all‘ subsistence to its otvn inhabitants, is, if we may trust the 
     
     voice 0 experience, destined to sink to early ruin. National potv- 
     
     er, upon commerce alone unsupported by a flourishing in- 
     
     dulry, which ministers to human wants and gratilications, must 
     
     fall to the round. Merely commercial ‘ ‘ .de rident upon con- 
     
     t ies or their very life-blood, and imbued with that spirit of 
     
     speculation which tends to enervnte the body and corrupt the mind, 
     
     contains within their own bottoms the seeds of dissolution—l’htnni- 
     
     :3, Venice and Holland. of the sixteenth and seven- 
     
    
   
   
    
     cio Oari 
     
     ' There is much truth 
     
    
   
   
    
     teeth centuries, all bear witness to this fact. 
     
     in these verses of Goldsmith : 
     
     ‘ ' 'I‘rade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
     
     ocean sweeps o e away; 
     
     While self-dopondont toil can time defy, 
     
     As rocks resist the billows and the sky.’ 
     
    

    
     To her unsurpassed agriculture, England is most indebted for 
     
     en in the midst of the tremendous pressures which so often have 
     
     threatened to crush her. It is the unparalleled cultivation of her 
     
     soil that has enabled the British ple, laced upon it rock island, 
     
     to expel the world in every unit: e of fabric, to maintain an unri- 
     
     valled usv , sud laut their power in ever uarter of the Globe. 
     
     Firmsrothe foua ations of the strength o tist nation, which in 
     
    

    
     of peseeis nourished from the resources of its own industry, 
     
     and is war can rely u u the strong arms and undaunted yeomaary, 
     
     to mstain its r tits in the din of strife or in the roar of brittle ! 
     
    

    
     U a lcu tnre in addition to the necessaries and common com- 
     
     fortsof lie, depends the auccemof every other employment. It 
     
     h agriculture that builds a our crowded cities, covers our fields 
     
    

    
     w grain, and di uses life and vigour throughout the land. 
     
     ' ultnre t t supports our gigantic mannfactorics, ringing 
     
     basement to the attic with the nitisie of free labour, an 
     
     cause our ten thousand ships to dance up every rolling billow, and 
     
     their sails to every propitious gale. Says Lord Erskine, in 
     
     h pslklml Romance. called Arniata : You might as well hope 
     
     to man boil in active motion, when palsy had reached 
     
     the heart of a tree flourishing altpr its roots were decayed. as ex- 
     
     peette lssmsnafaoturos, or arts, or industry of any description, 
     
     mm, when riculture has declined." Paralyae it, and you 
     
     pulse enter ise, stilfen the linger of iiiachiacry. and 
     
     clip the wings of botnni ostroy it, and you bury in one com- 
     
     mon pars, astioaet power and indivulaal prosperity. - 
     
    
   
   
    
     .dllsr¢llnutous. - 
     
    
   
   
    
     IIIVILICII or uses airs saaas.-riss or ini.s:xir.ss. 
     
     Thain in lerebthnh ' , ' I be — 
     
     ..t.""’ ”=.p‘"m.s'"t .r waist’ i1°°.‘.".:l,'.l-..i.‘...".'..t 
     
    
   
   
    
     sset lets hes. sspretsswl ed ‘tied r . 
     
     not. live mil-u-Tans is. sineai-i.uiii":'i.n.t.i.it 
     
    
   
   
    
     betuisstprsvise iaoetshrilsisslr. tie h 
     
     :'a'atierIwrewlaa:fe;bstusstresra|snIcs.;r'e°tisoii'lil'iii 
     
     ' . 
     
    
   
   
    
     Ith, 
     
     float 
     
    
   
   
    
     iii 
     
    
   
   
    
     from thp weather. He does not, like the or find his nourishment 
     
     under_his feet, but must hunt or cultivate the ground. 'I‘o ca .i- 
     
     tats him for those necessary duties, he has received 1 bod tied 
     
     for labour, and a mind calculated to direct his exertions; while the 
     
     exteriial_world has been created with the wisest adaptation to his 
     
     constitution—hav_ing the material for every necessary comfort and 
     
     el nee he can imagine, or desire, or create by labour. 
     
    

    
     ’ .0 man has a right to live, that does not earn his living. The 
     
     _actipture tells us. " if ye work not neither shall ye est.” No class 
     
     is exempted, and for this alone is man's body sni He cannot 
     
     defy the doom without a heavy unishment. If he must not earn 
     
     his bread him_self, he must wor harder than a post boy under the 
     
     name of hunting, or he must tvalk up and down t same street, 
     
     El“! El bllllflflli. bowling, cards, cricket, gardening, or at nuvi - 
     
     "0"; ‘If he does none of t things. or similar, he must grow at, 
     
     have indigestion, consult doctors, with the vain hope to baflle Na- 
     
     ture with impunity for some longer, and after a few years of per- 
     
     petual iiuensy fee ings, itis found, that his heart is diseased, his 
     
     liver dried up. his 'oints ossiliod, he becomes dropsical, loses the 
     
     Illegof one half of iis body, and is wheeled about in a chair, im- 
     
     beciloiiiiiiiiid as well as in limbs, or he becomes meluncltoly or 
     
     s_uspicious of his best friends, or by some such winding up, e ar- 
     
     :lVcS at the last scene that ends his coiiiiiton-place eventless his- 
     
    
   
   
    
     ;;.?..tL'.::.° ::>.’..°":.=..‘:;t:;.E.="?:°.’.*.' “““ ‘“"' 4" iv‘ 
     
     < _ , . , juyt. .i orig. 
     
    

    
     No product of the vineyard, the field or the sea, however aided 
     
     by inventive arts, will furiiis i n tveltzoine rt-past to one who sits 
     
     lialftlio day on downy cushions. It is by labour that man compre- 
     
     Iteiids the existence ofthe Di.-iiy, and the beauty and utility of his 
     
     works, to adorn the earth and bring forth its productive power, and 
     
     to expand the huiiian mind and bod '. 
     
    

    
     “very person insocioty slioiild produce pliysicnlly or mentally, 
     
     as much for society as he reqiiircs to receive from society for its full 
     
     eiijoyiiiont. No fzitlior can ti-aiisniit to his son the right to be ll.-‘C- 
     
     less to his fcllotv Cl‘t.‘t.|lu|’QS. ’l'lio man who earns not his brand, 
     
     but cats that of lt.ll<.‘llL‘=‘S, is, so f..:‘ as the origiiizil intention is coit- 
     
     c0l’ll!.‘tl, loading it life of tl0‘lllIrtll iiiorality. A lllU|'tlI lllltl intellec- 
     
     lu.-il bi.-iiig disdtiiiis to luatls rt lilii of uscli.-.-snL‘<~I, for ricli or poor, 
     
     strniig or weak, every idle iitriiiibcr ofsimioty is either it lrnave or 
     
     it fool. Even at the risk of being tiutiqtiatcd, we caiinot help quoting 
     
     the following beautiful extract. 
     
    

    
     ‘ ' iy. man of idleness, labour rocked you in the cradle, and 
     
     has ll0lll’I$llt:tI your |l.’1II‘t]|Bt‘CtI life; without l:iliotir, the woven silks 
     
     and ivool upon your back, would be in tho silIuvoriii‘s nest, and 
     
     the fleece iu the .~lio-plicrd's fold. For the meanest thing that minis- 
     
     ters to liuiiiziii ivaitt, save the air of lieavcii, man is indebted to toil; 
     
     and even the air of (.iod’s wise ordination. is hreutlted with ltilioiir." 
     
    

    
     _ It is only the drones who toil not, who infest the hive of activity, 
     
     like masses of corruption and decay. 'l‘lio lords of the earth are 
     
     working men, who can buildup or cost down at their ivill, and 
     
     who retort the sneer of the soft-li.indcd by pointing to their trophies, 
     
     wherever art, science, t.‘lVlll2Z‘|llU|I, and liuiiiatiity are lmntvn. Work 
     
     On. man of toll! thy royalty is yet to be acknowledged. as labour 
     
     rides forward to the highest tlironc of powcr.—.’V'sw York Forster 
     
     4‘ Meclianic. 
     
    
   
   
    
     LETTER FROM AUSTR.-\LlA.—GOLD. 
     
    
   
   
    
     “The astounding intelligence of vast auriferous ridges being dis- 
     
     covered on the soil ofthe iicighbouring colony ofNctv South \Vales, 
     
     cniiio upon us Ili.‘l’0 in Victoria like a pool of thunder. It was only 
     
     equalled by the gratifying cert.-iiiily of treasures ofthe coveted me- 
     
     tal, hitherto liiddtm front till Jiurnsu ken, being found at our ow 
     
     d \Vlintv'.'cr the ..lti.....te consequences may he, the resent cf- 
     
     fect of tlicso discoveries is I.llllL‘lllIll)ll.‘, as the thirst for go! ltas swal- 
     
    

    
     otv up every consideratioii ofprudciico and forethought. 'I‘lie rage 
     
     for its search hits done infinitely more to dcpo ulato and close tliu 
     
     shops of Melbourne and every other town nnd amlct o the district, 
     
     thnii the bush-fires and postilontial breath ofblack Thursday. l'liy- 
     
     sicians and doctors have lt.-ll their patieiils to die or cure Iliorrisi.-lvcs; 
     
     lawyers their clients; merchants their customers; and almost every 
     
     body who can wield a pick or rock a cradle (and many who can 
     
     do iieitlier) have left home and steady employment to brave the 
     
     vicissitudes and dis.-ippointiiieuts inseparable from the life ofa gold 
     
     digger; ttives and children are deserted by their natural protectors; 
     
     _many villages are left entirely to the keeping cl’ ilie fair (shall [say 
     
     in too many cases, frail sex) and not it mule inhabitant is to be 
     
     Some of the mo.«:t respectable wurelioust.-s and shops in 
     
     Mt-lbonriio liavu ‘.-ccn forced to close for want of hands, and seve- 
     
     ral inistcis luv: i..:idc a virtue of necessity. and oitlicr accompa- 
     
     nied or IlPii'\‘.\ -‘ll their scrvtiiits, drawn along by this strongest ofall 
     
     iiiagiiets. ' ‘lie nu--t productive lit.-lds,yet discovered, are within 
     
     the trifling Ill~’l.’Iii"<)  60 inilo.-i from Melbourne. My otvn liourc- 
     
     hold has fully Sltll-‘ll illo coiiimoii fate, being left without it male 
     
     servant uiidor t‘.'t y car of :igo,tiltliuiigli a week a six stalwart men 
     
     in their prime were ready at my call. 'I‘lie scenfi the diggings and 
     
     along the line of road leading to tlictii is said to of the most ex- 
     
     traorditiary and exciting kind and resembling iictliing so mticli its 
     
     the march and cncaiiipiiit,-nt of ti liirge besit-ging army, every dray, 
     
     every oqtiestrian, lining full equipped with mining iuslruiiienls. 
     
    

    
     “Much evil is liirboded rent this reckless dcseriion of steady 
     
     and legitimate occupation; nothing short of famine being prognos- 
     
     ticatcd from ll want of labour to secure the harvest. I am lll hopes 
     
     that the excitement is but temporary, and the immense influx of 
     
     strangers lured to our shores by the hope of participitting in our good 
     
     fortune, may ultimately cotnpensato for present inconvenience. 
     
     Uf the existence of gold in the sister colonies of New South Wales 
     
     mid Victoria, to a very great extent, there is not the shadow of it 
     
     doubt; but tvlietlicr its discovery may tend to the happiness or the 
     
     misery ofthe inhtibitaiits, is it question, that time alone can solve. 
     
    

    
     “ 'I'lie wintcrjust closed, has been it long and u looiny o 0. 
     
     Much rain has fallen, which renders tltc travelling both ditlicult 
     
     and dangerous from the primitive state of the roads, and mtiny fatal 
     
     accidents liavo occurred, from iiicantiously crossing Iluutl rivers 
     
     and creeks on horscback—bridgos being but ‘ few and for be- 
     
     tween." 
     
    
   
   
    
     -. 
     
    
   
   
    
     THE AUSTRALIAN GOLD FIELDS. 
     
    

    
     The follcwingis an extract from a letter, dated "Melbourne, 
     
     January 5, l852;"—“ The first excitement caused here was the 
     
     discovery of old at Ballarnt, about 50 miles from Geelong. 
     
     The whole o the population in Melbourne immediately flocked 
     
     there, and many oftliem did extremely well; the majority ofiliem, 
     
     however, got nothing, and returned to their several occupatioiis. 
     
     'I‘hese ‘di;:gings' have been totally eclipsed by the new ones disco- 
     
     vered at Mount Alexander, about 75 miles from Melbourne antl 20 
     
     from Mount Macedon; there everybody is doing well, diid I could 
     
     fill it quire of a r with instances of success. Men are coming 
     
     down daily wit I pounds weight ofthe precious metal, and like fools 
     
     many oftliem are throwing away their money and killing themselves 
     
     with drink. Men who have ‘ ‘ "" ""*i' ' , -0" 
     
     a few weeks‘ work at the ‘ diggins,’ independent. Societ is com- 
     
     pletely upset. and it is a common thing to be stopped in t e street 
     
    

    
     ydruaken diggers, and offered £3a week to go and work for them 
     
     at the ' dlgguis.’ 'I‘his is a sad state of things; but there is no 
     
     doubt thatdiggers, at present, are better olftliaii unfortunate squat- 
     
     ters. on of course now, are not to be had at an price less than 
     
     £100 it your; in fact an able-bodied man can easily get an engage- 
     
     ment in totvnto proceed with a party to tho ‘ diggings,' they finding 
     
     him in every thing, and guaranteeing him an ounce ofgold (wliic 
     
     is worth £3 here) a week. In fact, I know a man who has only 
     
     just arrived in the colony, who has just started for the diggings wit i 
     
     a party on t o terms. was rather astonished it day or two ago: 
     
     sitting in M's otlico, who is n purchaser ofgold, about twenty rag- 
     
     gi:-d-loolting rust-als came in, and the rtvcriige amount ofthe cheques 
     
     I. ey got for their gold dust \vns about £300. . showed me one 
     
     cheque he gave to it digger for J.l,:tl0. To give you an idea ofthe 
     
     wuy’-in which the gold is picked up at Alexander, a young digger is 
     
    
   
   
    
     ' writing at tlte same table wttli me--he is, to judge front his appear- 
     
    
   
   
    
     mire, I7 or 19 yen.s of aga—lie arrived in the colony it few weeks 
     
     sgo, caught the yellow fever. walked up to Ballarat, did nothing 
     
     there, trudged across to Mount Alexander, went to work with a tin 
     
     d‘nh,and washed alone for three weeks, averaging half an ouncuisr 
     
     day. He llien joined it party and tvent to work with the cr lo, 
     
     and from tli:itttine,he ‘ " " , _ " . " , cu ll 
     
     man. to is now having a spell in Melboerne,asd intends starting 
     
    
   
   
    
     l up again in a melt or tire. New I tiutkeepsr of ours in a shop 
     
    
   
   
    
     a 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     CHARLOTTETOWN, PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, TUESDAY, JUNE 1, 1852." 
     
    
   
   
    
     yesterday. I saw at once he had just come from the diggins, so 
     
     asked w ether he was successful. ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘ Idoue a 
     
    
   
   
    
     deal better, ner when I was with you.‘ I asked him how muc 
     
     had made. ' Oh!’ he said ‘ we only worked for a fortn' 
     
     three weeks, and me and my mates cleared £59 s- loco.’ 
     
     started next day back again. A friend whom I met at eelong 
     
     me, that he and his party dug 29 holes and only t If I‘hey 
     
     were nearly giving it up in despair, when the 
     
     another. They accordingly went to work, a 
     
    
   
   
    
     252: 
     
    
   
   
    
     about two feet, they hit a on a vein of 
     
    

    
     and passing through the cre lo yielded Ial 
     
     tipsy indeed, came up to me inthe etreeta day or two , a - 
     
     dressing me in a very similar way, asked me. whether could sell 
     
     him a station? uree said. ‘Certainly, but let me have a 
     
     look at your gold 1’ ‘Oh!’ he said, ‘ on don't think, I have got 
     
     say. don't you?’ whereupon he pull out abag with about lilb 
     
     weight in it. I fully expect to find my partner she herding the 
     
     whole of the slice on horseback, with not a man on the establish- 
     
     ment. I tried to ire men to send up tothe station, but found it tit- 
     
     terly impossible at absolutely ruinous wages. There is little or no 
     
     law or order in this town now. ’l‘he police have all resigned their 
     
     ollices, Government not being prepared to give them the wages 
     
     the asked—l0s. a day; and I believe there are only six policemen 
     
     in t to town, besides a few horse patrols. on are bein constant- 
     
     I stopped and robbed, and a digger was rescued from t is hands of 
     
     t to police for some daring robbery only two days ago. The mails 
     
     also. on the principal line of roads up the country, are discontinu- 
     
     ed II 
     
    
   
   
    
     The following is an extract from it letter dated “ Melbourne, 
     
     Dec. 24, l85l.”:—'I‘lie sailing of any ship from this quarter ofthe 
     
     world is now rendered a matter of great ditliculty and uncertainty 
     
     by reason ofthe all-absorbing and astounding fact of gold being 
     
     found l!L‘ft‘.'lll m-iny localities in quantities unprecedented in In 
     
     part ofthe tvnrld, mid never before known in any of her Majesty’: 
     
     coloiiivs. When any able-liodicd man can by little labour dig up 
     
     four or live ounces ofliiic gold (and in some instances some pounds 
     
     ivtiglit) in the cuimtc ofa day, he is not likely to follotv niiy ordi- 
     
     iiiry labouring evocation. The male population of the colony of 
     
     Victoria, by the census uflast Blorcli, appears to be 45,000. mill ill- 
     
     tlic present time there are upwards of 25,000 of that population 
     
     ciigagted at the gold tio.-Ids; so that you may, from this fact, foiiii 
     
     some idea of the distressing condition, to which the settlers and 
     
     llockiiia-tiers in general are rodticird for want of labour. All inter- 
     
     csls are suffering in this respect, and \\ ill continue tosuffcr extreme- 
     
     ly until a liostof cinigrunts shall arrive on our shores. \Vo ll.'l\'I.! 
     
     \\ itli the utmost dilliculty and at great expense got our flocks sliorii 
     
     this year, but we look forward with despondcncy to llte next. The 
     
     profits of the gold field litr exceed any wages that we could ntlbrd to 
     
     give, atid the prices of all sorts of provisions lirtve risen above .50 
     
     per cent. 'I‘lie grain crops (the finest ever beheld on the face of 
     
     tlic eirtli) are now ready for the sickle, but no hands to reap. So 
     
     that, upon the whole, we are about to pas-ttliroiigli It severe ordeal. 
     
    

    
     7’ 
     
    
   
   
    
     Nothing will save us, butitninigratioii in swarms. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     TIIE DIfUNK.\RD‘S FUNERAL. 
     
    
   
   
    
     A scans: IN Nswattx. 
     
    

    
     “ Can you attend a funeral this afternoon at 2 o'clock ! " inquir- 
     
     cd it man beyond the meridian of life, who stood at my door, tvit' 
     
     an expression of sympathy upon his couiitcnaiice—-“(Jinn you at- 
     
     lend a funeral at the comer of n d —— streets ? There 
     
     is a iii.-in dead there, sir ; and although he is poor, yet we do not 
     
     like to ur him wi t some in o ’ r igious service. \Ve should 
     
     be very glad. air. it‘ you could attend.” 
     
    

    
     “ I am sorry to say, that it is out of in enter to comply with 
     
     your request,” re lied, " iutistnucli as I am previotisly engaged to 
     
     attend a funeral at that hour, in another direction." 
     
    

    
     " I am very sorry, sir," he replied; but after a moment's re- 
     
     flection, again in uired—“ Could you not come a little later, if we 
     
     were to defer it an hour? Could you not come at 3 o'clock 2" 
     
    

    
     “ I think I can, I replied. " At all cneuts, I will come as near 
     
     that hour as possible." . 
     
    

    
     He left me, and at the appointed time I went to fulfil my first 
     
     engagement. A man of four-score years was sleeping his last long 
     
     slee . Relatives and friends were occupying the comfortable and 
     
     well-furnished apartments absorbed in grief. The services being 
     
     over, the longtliy prncclllotl moved sloivly onward to the peaceful 
     
     mansions ofthe ea . twas not it costy burial, but such as we 
     
     on esiro for ourselves—plain, solemn, appropro |’l.'|IO-—llt)ll|l.l|g 
     
     extravagant, yet nothing wanting; and wltile we felt that tho_burinl 
     
     was true i as we could desire, there was a congeuiality also in the 
     
     place selected for the lust slocp of death, even our own beautiful 
     
     and quiet ceineter . 
     
    

    
     I hasten from these solemn, orderly and appropriate obsequies, to 
     
     obey my second summons. An 0 )en wnggoii, w’ h one liorso at- 
     
     tached, and four or live individnalrwere standing near the door. 
     
     I felt a chill run through my veins. Part of a fearful truth was 
     
     noiv revealc . ‘ho keen November tviiid was blowing, the sky 
     
     were its glomii_. autumnal aspect; but I feared there was keener 
     
     anguish and deeper glooiit tviihiii. I entered, and at one glance at 
     
     the table, was told, it was tliofuncrril of a drimkard ! A small 
     
     cold and desolate chamber was appropriated for the solemn services. 
     
     Indeed, it was all they had. Hero for a season had lived, and here 
     
     lizid died, and notv from here was to be buried, a husband and it 
     
     father, who had lived and died a drunkardl ! t was it drear 
     
    

    
     ace. ’I‘hcre in one corner, upon it rou ll old rickety table, from 
     
     which they had often eaten their cold no chcerless fare,was placed 
     
     the cofliii, made of rough pine boards, slightly stained with red. in 
     
     which was placed the corpse. was a man, perhaps, of lilly; 
     
     coarsely clad with grave clothes. Ilis countenance, if an in ax to 
     
     his state of mind, bespoke nothing but gloom. Around and under- 
     
     neath his head, where in otltcr places, I had often seen the downy 
     
     pillow and the rich satin linings, were stuffed a few of the shavings 
     
     roughly taken from the boards which composed his collin. 
     
    

    
     I oo o with a spirit almost crushed within me, first at this new 
     
     trophy of the reign ofdoaih, and then at the living scone around 
     
     me. Both were expressive of the doc est wretchcdness. In an 
     
     opposite corner, upon a pile of old cle es, rudely thrown together, 
     
     siitthe unhapp widow, a tall spare woniiin, pale as the corpse 
     
     before me. I or eyes were large and sunken, and she was thinly 
     
     and poorly clad: and as she sat, she wrung her hands as if to relieve 
     
     the ngon slio felt within, tvliile with almost ever breath she gave 
     
     a low, hollow, consumptive cough, which to! me too lninly 
     
     that death had marked her for his victim also. Several little c iildrcii 
     
     were standing around and beside the table were coffin the re 
     
     shivering with cold, and weeping from some cause—wliether they 
     
     understood the meaning of a father’s death or not-and the tears 
     
     rolled down tiieir pale and hollow cheeks, upon the uncnrpeted door, 
     
     in large and brin A few of the neighbours had gnlhered to 
     
     attend the solemn services connected with the funeral. I‘liay were 
     
     seated, some on boxes, others upon an old tvom-out trniik, while 
     
     others stood. It was a gloom scene, gloomier than the day with- 
     
     out, and the anguish keencr n the biting blzist. 
     
    

    
     stood there, in the midst of that group, a minister of Christ. 
     
     'I‘lis Bible was before me-the Bible so ful of denunciations against 
     
     sin. But as I looked around too, it seamed as if sin had denounced 
     
     ‘ self. There were the visible, tangible, lisriit-reading fruits o 
     
     a godless life, and if possible, the more revolted spectacle of it od- 
     
     less death; upon a which seemed written, forsaken, hspeess, 
     
     miserable. Istrove to direct iittention to the necessity of reli ion 
     
     to preserve us from the vices and miseries of life, and to its ol 
     
     consolations to support us under the trials of our earthly pilgrimage. 
     
     Ilntl feared then, and still fear, that it was too late or such ad- 
     
     vice. ’I'liere were hearts tliorc, w it: had been so long accustom- 
     
     ed to the trtineht-ry of men, so stee in sorrow and accustomed to 
     
     sin, that they could hardly be I to repose confidence in God. 
     
     lltiving notniitonded them to the care of heaven, and especially to 
     
     the God of the coffin was carried down the narrow stair- 
     
     way, mid the drankitrd'e family, half-clnd, and shivering in the 
     
     keen November wind, was laced ' the one-horse open we on at 
     
     the door, and following the hearse, drove lonel and and through 
     
     the streets of our Christian city, to the Potter's ield, the last resi- 
     
     ing-placc of the friendless poor, where the drunkard sleeps to-day, 
     
     anisnaoared audunltnovru.--Scnthief. 
     
    
   
   
    
     THE POWER OF THE I'I'..‘1'CE. 
     
     A ‘II!!! asaircnse-run cross. 
     
    
   
   
    
     The rm. 1. B. one, It. A. of Bilstoa. in the course ‘or .-. lee- 
     
     tare delivsredla the Liverpool Concert Hall, in connection with 
     
    
   
   
    
     e 
     
    
   
   
    
     O 
     
    
   
   
    
      ar2ttz. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Ito. into. 
     
    
   
   
    
     the Church of lhglaut! Institution, u 
     
     folsted an anecdote, s ' illustrative 
     
     in the hands of the work‘ 
     
    

    
     for; and indepeudgnu, if 
     
    

    
     cs co-printer, was, on his weddi -do , usded b his wife to 
     
     allow her two half-pints of ale a 1 I P." ’ He ra 
     
     W under the bargain, fort 
     
     have preferred a perfectly sober w e. 
     
     I ,poorrnan,wasseldeinout ofthe ichomeassoon 
     
     the fa closed. The wife and husband saw little of nah other 
     
     kfast;but as she kept things tidy about ha, 
     
     van selfish allowance for ‘ 
     
     demands upon her, he never con la’ 
     
    
   
   
    
     "4 59. psrlts had his two or so quarts; and neither hterfe- 
     
     red with the , except at times, she a , by dht of 
     
     one little gentle artifice or another, to win him home as hour_or 
     
    
   
   
    
     two _earlier at night, and now and then to speed an entire evening 
     
     at his own house. But these were rare occasions. They had been 
     
     married a year; and on the morning of their ' anniversary, 
     
     the husband looked askance at her neat and comely person with 
     
     some shade of remorse, as he observed, "M , we’a no 
     
     holiday sin’ we were wed; and, only that I haven't a penny i' th’ 
     
     Wofldt we‘ take a jaunt to th' village to see ee mother 9'' 
     
     “Would’st like to go, John?” asked she solily, between .'a mnile 
     
     and a tear, to hear him speak kindly as in old times. hee'd 
     
     like to 0, John, I’ll stand treat.” “ Thou eta treat!” 
     
     with hn f a sneer 2 "best ot a fortun’ weuch .3" 
     
     lllo. " but I’n gotten the pint o’ ale 3'‘ “ Gotta 
     
    

    
     " The pint o’.ale !" was the re ly. John still did'nt understand 
     
     her, till the faithful creature reuc ed down an old stock’ 
     
    

    
     under a loose brie up the chimney, and conntin out her y pint 
     
     of.ale in the shape of365 three pence: (s'. e. 4 II C), and put 
     
     it into his hand, exclaiming “ Thee shall have the holiday, John." 
     
     John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-smitten, c . o 
     
     vvoitldn’t touch it. " Ilusn‘ thee had thy share.’ then I'll ha’ no 
     
     more,’’_ he said. They kept their wddding-day with the old dome; 
     
     and ilie wif'o‘s Iittle'cn ital was the nucleus of a series of investments 
     
     that ultimately stve l into shop, factory, warehouse, country-sent, 
     
     ti carriage, and for ought Mr. Owen knew, John was Mayor of his 
     
     native borough at last. 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
     MARKET FOR. YOUNG WOMEN IN HUNGARY. 
     
    

    
     Every year, at the feast of St. Peter, which comes on in the lat- 
     
     tcr days of J une, the peasantry of this district (Ilihar) meet together 
     
     at a certain phice, for the purpose of a general fair. ' tr as 
     
     _a _very peculiar interest for the young men on young maidens, for 
     
     it is there, that whilst purchasing household utensils, and family ne- 
     
     cessaries, they choose for themselves partners,‘ and conclude mar- 
     
     riages. Tilt; parents bring their n.arri.-igenble daughters, with each 
     
     one her little dower accompanying her, loudcd u in a small can. 
     
     This dower is, of course, proportionate to the owl condition of 
     
     these mountaineers; some sheep, sometimes a few ogs, or even 
     
     chickens. The girit are attired in their best, or what gold or silver 
     
     they may possess or strong upon a string and neatly attached to the 
     
     braids o t e hair. Thus fitted out, every gir who eeires a has- 
     
     nd, betakes herself to the fair. Site quits the house ofber father, 
     
     perhaps, forever; and hide her mother adieu, quite ignorant of what 
     
     roof is to shelter her, or what fate awaits her journey’s-end. As 
     
     to her fortune, it is in the cart that attends her. The object of her 
     
     journey is never mistaken, nobody wonders at it, nor is there cc- 
     
     cision for a public clliccr to make record of the deed. On the other 
     
     hand, the youths who wish to procure themselves wives, hasten to 
     
     the fair, arrayed in the very best skin-garments their chests contain. 
     
     These savage looking chaps, who would be quite enough to me e 
     
     our. young ladies run tiud ltido themselves, proceed with a great deal 
     
     of interest and zest, to itis (‘Ct the fair mountain lasses that are 
     
     brought thither b their fathers and their uncles", casting many side 
     
     glances and wist ul looks towards the captivating merchandise. 0 
     
     giv_cs his fancy a free rein, and when he finds one, that seems to 
     
     claim his proference, he at oiico addresses the arents, asks what 
     
     they linve given her, and asks what price they ave set upon the 
     
     “ lot ” so exposed for snle—-at the same time stating his own pro- 
     
     pcrty and ll€|lI(IIllg.. Ifthe parents ask too much, these gal ant 
     
     “ boys " make their own offer, which, if it dd not suit the other 
     
     to agree to, tho fond lovcr passes to seek some one else. “is may 
     
     suppose, that the proud young men always keep a “ top-eye" open 
     
     to the correspondence of loveliness upon the other. At last he 
     
    

    
     liiids one for wltoni he is willing to give the price, and a loud cla 
     
     tug of the hands together, announces to the bystanders that iii; 
     
     nrgain is com eto _ hat a heavy blew this must be for 
     
     me azy riva considering whether she will suit him, and 
     
     whether she is as level and in household 
     
     matters, as some of the others. ' done, 
     
     and the_ bargain is completed, and forthwith the young girl 
     
     (poor thing) proceeds also to clasp the hand of her future husband. 
     
     What a moment of interest and anxiet to her I The destiny of‘ 
     
     her life is sealed by this rude clasp o the hand. In this act she 
     
     as much as said, “yes, I will be yours for life, and] consent to 
     
     partake of your joys and your troubles, to follow you through weal 
     
     and woe !” 'I‘lie umilies of the bethrotlied pair then surround them 
     
     offering their congratulations, and at once, the priest, who is on 
     
     the ground for the occasion, pronounces the nuptial benediction. 
     
     The young woman presses the parting hand of that family who 
     
     have reared her, but of which site is no longer a part—mounte the 
     
     car of her new husband, whom, but it few hours before she never 
     
     so much as knew, and escorted by her dower, is conducted to the 
     
     house lienceforward to be her home. 'I‘ho Iluugririnn Government 
     
     have long tried, but in vain, to suppress these fairs for young girls. 
     
     ositivo orders have been given. that they should no longer take 
     
     place, but such is the force of long establish custom, united to 
     
     the necessities of this nsiorul race, all such orders have been dis- 
     
     regarded. The fair still continues, and over year such cavalcades 
     
     as we have escribcd, may o seen desccn ing into the plains of 
     
     Kalinasa, tlioro to barter olftliese precious jewels of the us o , 
     
    

    
     as tliotigli they were senseless beeves or more produce of the soil. 
     
    
   
   
    
     m‘ 
     
     (From C.’....nberr'r Iidiiilmrgli Journal.) 
     
    
   
   
    
     INDUS'I‘RIAL HEROES. 
     
    

    
     Richard Arkwright, it would seem wits not a beautiful man; no 
     
     romance hero, with haughty eyes, Apollo lip, and gesture like the 
     
     herald Mercury; it plain, almost gross, bag-checked, pot- ' 
     
     Lancashire man, with an air el'painful reflection, yet also of copious 
     
     free digestion-—a ni.-in stationed by the community to shave certain 
     
     dusty boards, in the northern part of England, at a half-penny each. 
     
     To such end, tve say, b forethou ht, oversight, accident, and ar- 
     
     rniigement, had Riclia Arkwrig t been, by the community of 
     
     England and his own consent, set apart. Nevertheless, in strap- 
     
     ping fl17.(‘l’<l, in lathcring dusty beards, and the contradictions and 
     
     confusiorw attendant theroon,thri man had notions in that rough 
     
     head of his; spindles, shuttles, wheels, and contrivances, plying 
     
     ideally with the snmo—ratlier hopelessly looking-which, however, 
     
     did he at last biing to bear, not without dilliculty. His townsfolk 
     
     rose 'in mobs around liiin—for threatening to shorten lsbor—to ehor. 
     
     ten wages-so that he had toll with broken ivaslipots, scattered 
     
     household, and seek refuge e setvliero. Nay, his wife too, as I 
     
     learn, rebelled; burnt his wooden model of his spiniiin wheel, re- 
     
     solute that he should stick to his razors rather: for whic , however, 
     
     he decisively, as then wilt rejoice to understand, packed her out of 
     
    
   
   
    
     oers. 
     
    

    
     Oh reader! what a historical phenomenon is that pot-bellied, 
     
     much enduring, much inventing man and barberl Preach Revolu- 
     
     tions were a-brewing: to resist the sarneiu an ' ' 
     
     ltnisars wore impotent. without the cotton it cloth of England; 
     
     and it was this man, that bad to gi_re En land tbe'ppwer of cotton. 
     
    

    
     Nor had Watt of the _steam engine a role or in-any kindred 
     
     with the rinces of this world_. The princes o this world were 
     
     shooting i_ eir partridgcs.-—noisy in I‘_arlinment, or elsewhere, solving 
     
     the question, head or tail—while this man, with blackened fingers, 
     
     and grim brow_was searching out.tn_ his work shop the Ire secret; 
     
     or having found it, was I wendisg to and fro in quest of a 
     
     ' motieyod man,‘ as ind e rnan-midwife of the same. Read. 
     
     or, thou shalt admire what is admirable, not what fifi. 
     
     rnirsblc. Thou shalt learn to know the British lion, u 
     
     is not I supporter, and also the British jackass, er L. 
     
     is. Ali, eoaldet thou always, what a world were it! But has the 
     
     Berlin Bo al Academy, or any En Iish 'seful_ Boeiggy 
     
     didover for instance, who scralc earth with a stiek,aud threes 
     
     ‘ta penis, the biggest he could t'iad—seed grains of a certain grace,