found among the ranks of those who had all their lives long, perhaps, submitted to circumstances which were but one remove from the regions of want. So that it is impossible to say who will, or who will not, succeed. There are the materials by which success can be wrought out: if the consummation has been produced in favour of any one individual of ordinary means and energies, its existence is a fact, and no combination of ex parte witnesses can overturn it. The only secret at all is, that the educated man, he of refined habits, full of the associations of an old civilised community, feels an isolation in the bush, difficult of calm and long-continued endurance; hence, in falling back sometimes upon the resources of former years, he neglects the important present, breathes sad indulgence in the spirit of the past, and totally neglects the future. We should wish the emigrant, be he of what class soever he may, to bear in mind always that the first few years are the most trying of a settler's life. He has all to overcome, and a tardy proof of the future benefits of his labours. More self-denial, care, and firmness of mind are then required; for the land is to be redeemed from nature: it is desolate and unproductive, and yields slowly to the dominion of mankind. The forest-trees, as the saw and axe make insidious progress into their trunks, groan forth their stubborn remonstrances, and as they fall, the crashing of huge branches, which have nodded for ages to the blast, thunder forth their reproaches, and awaken every tree of the forest to the sound of the destroyer. Every beast and reptile is scared at the noise; and we have often thought that the crash of the first tree felled on a location must be the signal for the kangaroo and all harmless things to move off with their families and emigrate in their turn. The creaking of despairing saplings, the cracking and banging of green and determined brushwood, are sufficient to warn every denizen of the wild of the advent of civilisation.

It is more necessary, therefore, to the deeply important subject of aftersuccess, that all who meditate emigration should not be merely content with a pleasing conviction of their own capacities or energies, but should endeavour thoroughly to understand the true character to which they aspire-whether they be fitted for it,-whether it accord with those habits which in the course of years have become firmly fixed in the mind, never after to be excluded or driven away. Indeed, however we may differ with some, we never could see the advantage to a colony of a class of settlers unadapted to the work by nature, and whose career should be one solely of dissatisfaction and loss to themselves and others. Rather would we see a labouring population alone subduing the soil, than those energies, that capital, and those spirits, which might, were the thing rightly understood, both enrich and adorn a new country, wasted and destroyed, lost to all useful purposes, there or elsewhere. It is because we wish, above all things, to cherish a better class of settlers than are generally to be found in colonies, and save them from those errors which are too frequently fatal. It is because, at the present hour, the colonies are rightly appreciated, and voluntary emigration has taken its stand among numerous respectable ranks of society as a necessary and an advantageous thing, and is likely to be correctly felt in time to come. Colonisation and immigration go hand in hand; they are inseparably connected with each other, however earnestly and strenuously some enthusiasts may labour to separate them by artificial distribution of the masses of capital and labour. Nature in her turn repudiates this,

and points, as to her best and surest test for proof of the transgression of her laws, to the disappointed colonist, the man who thought that he might, should, and would be the possessor of an estate upon which he would behold a numerous tenantry-something, in short, like fatherland, but in a ruder style. The day, unfortunately, for all this, is long posterior to the early career of a new colony; and hence, natural and inevitable as the consequence was and is, otherwise valuable settlers are chagrined and disheartened.

The true side of the picture, however distasteful to the sight of those who would fain build a Rome in Arcadia, is nevertheless of much interest and gratification to all who wish to take colonies for the real benefits they confer, and not presume to make them ideal things in the place of stern realities. The principles which apply to Western Australia, as far as colonisation and emigration are concerned, will apply to most new settlements or countries of the world. There is little new in delving the earth, save in the assistants of science: a primitive form of existence like that of the settler is the same in the past, the present, and the future. The demand which has been so loudly raised, in this and surrounding settlements, for a continuous stream of useful labour, and of emigrants of the dependent classes, must not lead us to misinterpret the true wants of those places. All colonial history has proved that the great requirement was population; but, at the same time, it has laid down no specific plan, no general rule, as to the employment and sustenance of this population.

The outcry, indeed, has mainly originated in the fact of there not being mouths to consume the produce of those territories, and in there not being hands sufficient to tend the flocks and herds, and avert that peculiar yet positive evil which arises from their increase, whereby men are rendered actually poorer and more embarrassed as their property augments around them. In the scarcity of a labouring population, the man of 30,000 head of sheep may be in a worse position than he of 1000, because he can find no one to tend the separate portions of his flocks-to prevent loss, degeneracy, and decay; least of all can he see the prospect of getting rid of them through any of the ordinary channels. Here the necessary and absolute demand for labour is obvious: not so in the legitimate operations of husbandry. In the latter, labour is too valuable, or too expensive, to permit of a constant use of it. To clear a few acres, to fence them in, and to erect the first necessary farm-buildings, the services of artizans and labourers may be required: in the expense attendant upon these works consists the preliminary outlay of location; and it is needless to say, that the clear profits of such an operation will only bear the first outlay, while not only the superintendence, but the chief labour, must be performed in future by the farmer himself and his family. The settler pursuing this early course of prudence and foresight will not only find his reward, but be by such care, and by that alone, enabled in after years, or in the decline of life, to relieve himself of his wonted toil, and give temporary or continued employment to that labour which his circumstances and gains formerly denied.

The opportunities now offered by Western Australia for the safe and profitable pursuit of the more numerous class of emigrants from the mothercountry with moderate capitals, if not so great as those of her sister settlements in a national point of view, are very far from discouraging. As we have formerly stated, the work of pioneering has been long since com

pleted; and in addition to that there is the one important matter by which, at the present time, she in some measure surpasses them—namely, in the cheapness of her private lands, stock, houses, and other descriptions of property. That this is not a bare assertion, the reader may very readily believe when his attention is directed to the sure test which emigration itself furnishes.

It is well known that the colony of which we speak has been all along passed by in favour of rising and rival settlements, which, blessed by interest at home and puffery abroad, succeeded in securing the great bulk of the emigrant body; while, in consequence of her small population and steady plodding, she possessed neither the means nor the energy to launch out either in defence of her claims, or to remove the stigma which it pleased her neighbours to cherish regarding her. Therefore, whilst the flocks, herds, and personal property of the settlers have increased, as we shall hereafter show, there has been no corresponding movement to her shores; and hence the fallen prices have been sadly and inevitably maintained, as the merchants say, to the detriment of the colonist, and at the same time to the gain of the new comer. Having already endeavoured, in as brief a form as possible, to warn all who take interest in these matters against the fantastic and often disastrous notions of great gains from the simple pursuits of the settler—but, at the same time, urging the prospects of independence to men of steady, plodding habits, who are willing to work themselves, and be frugal for the first few years-we merely recapitulate one or two of the most valuable features in this small settlement. Drought seasons have never yet been experienced in Western Australia, so that crops are throughout the year safe to the agriculturist; the north-west and westerly winds bring their showers unfailingly during the rainy season again, its geographical position is one of vast importance, inasmuch as it commands the future trade with the East, and occupies a prominent position with regard to the Mauritius and our Cape Colonies, with which a future traffic will doubtless spring up. Its giant timber, which is found in various available tracts of land near the sea-coast, having already been tested in her majesty's dockyards and elsewhere, is destined to be an article of export of inexhaustible profit and trade to the colony. A valuable trade with India in horses might be commenced at once by any enterprising capitalist or associated body.

The colony has long been condemned for a small parliamentary grant which it receives from the mother-country. We can only say that if, instead of this pittance, it had been aided at first by a small item of the large amounts lavished upon pet settlements, whose self-supporting faculties have been announced amid a loud flourish of trumpets, it would have long since displayed a very different front to that which it presents at present. That which was the child of nobody was not likely to be very well brought up and nurtured. It has, however, risen above the neglect and trouble of its youth. With few friends, it has still fewer obligations; and it offers, in no seductive and alluring terms, an asylum and an independence to the struggling multitudes of the mothercountry.

A SUMMER'S SUNDAY IN TOWN.

WE wake with a sound of bells-the music nearest heaven, as Elia hath it-ringing, chiming, pealing, metallic pæans to the Sabbath's dawn: not all in unison; for elevations and depressions tell upon steeples as upon humanity, and some, like those which offered to the "fair Ophelia" an image of Hamlet's o'erthrown mind, "jangle out of tune and harsh." The streets, save for the milkmen and the venders of watercresses, and such small luxuries for poor men's tables, have no cries in them. A few foot-passengers hurrying to rail or steamboat stations -a sprinkling of cabs bound for the same goal-scattered pedestrians of the middle classes returning from an early ramble in the parks-and artisans who have been enjoying the health-giving privilege which cheap baths afford-are to be met with in the principal thoroughfares; while others, of the same class but of a different moral grade, in dirty clothing and of cadaverous aspect, looking still more so from the presence of fresh hawthorn boughs in blossom, and other floral trophies in their hands, fractional purchases from itinerant traders who have rifled overnight the leafy coverts of some distant wood, to supply them with this one day's means of living (Nature, like a fond mother, slipping sideways into the hand of her unfortunates some trifling largess for their present need), are to be seen mingled with pilgrims from the purlieus of Little Britain and Field Lane, or expatriated tenants of St. Giles's, who traverse the intricate alleys that circulate the city, followed by dogs of different degrees, which they have been airing in the neighbourhood of Primrose Hill or Hampstead Heath-the silken ears, pug noses, and sagacious eyes of choicer specimens peeping from out the breast and side-pockets of their capacious shooting-jackets. Here and there, in the thickly-populated regions of Somers Town, Battle Bridge, Tottenham Court Road, or Shoreditch, the scenes of Saturday night are repeated-the low shops and glittering gin-palaces stand open, and continue so till towards church-time, when the police look round, and the proprietors are compelled reluctantly to close them. The overnight abominations in the shape of food, stale vegetables, fetid fish and meat, display themselves upon the stalls and open shopboards, and taint the atmosphere with their bad odour. Yet for these refuse viands there are purchasers-eager, half-starved, wretchedlooking men and women. But amidst this repulsive picture some signs of beauty show themselves; and piles of plants, and baskets of fair flowers, soften by their presence the air of pollution, moral and physical, which the scene suggests-germs of good in the wild fields of evil-soft voices whispering of pure and lovely things, amidst all this rankness, and filth, and rags! And many, ay, many a sacrifice is made to home by the purchase of them as an offering to it-an offering that obviates half its coarseness, and lets in a glimpse of heaven on its unclean obscurity; for a sense of sweetness, an appreciation of beauty, enters with them, and love is not all lost, nor a latent sentiment of niceness banished, from the meanest room wherein flowers find a place.

Meanwhile the twittering of the mated sparrows, the golden sunshine

watering the walls, the roulades of a caged lark here and there, are so many signs of holiday for the week-long-wearied inmates of the city. The cross-surmounted dome of St. Paul's; the Abbey's minarets; the church-spires and cupolas; the statues, streets, dingy wharfs and flagdressed shipping, are all touched with the bright glory of the summer's morn; while on the river, sometimes ferrying a single fare, sometimes a group of passengers, badged watermen in slender wherries and blueand-scarlet coats (brilliant as dragon-flies on some still pool), dart to and fro from shore to shore, dexterously avoiding the larger craft and the on-rushing heads of up-bound steamers.

There has been a long pause in the music of the church bells, but now they break forth again in a succession of running chimes, more loud, continuous, and general than the prelusive outpourings of the early morning; every belfry bears its part in the clanging chorus, and all the dull-looking streets, with their closed doors and windows, grow gay and animated with groups and rows and couples of well-dressed people wending their ways to various places of worship-long lines of charityschool children, two deep-girls in blue gowns, Clarissa Harlowe caps, and spotless mittens and tippets, looking all the prettier for the quaint simplicity of their dress; with corresponding files of boys, in the unredeemed ugliness of green coats, yellow breeches, blue or red stockings, and muffin caps. Other schools are there also-the ladies' seminary, with its limited number of fair pupils, redolent of summer roses and suburban air, and full of school-room grace and school-girl coquetry; the latter chiefly aimed at the semi-grown youths of certain classical and commercial academies, who, with all the " pomp and circumstance" of attendant ushers, and a presiding Dr. Blimber at their head, move on towards the orthodox establishment to which the bevy of young spinsters are progressing.

There an old lady and gentleman, lustrous in superfine broadcloth and French satin-the victims of an apparent plethora of prosperity-jog on from their house in the square to the church at the corner, followed by a page and prayer-books. There a dainty lady, with a tall footman in her wake, and an aroma of "attar" clinging to her, passes with noiseless steps along the pavement: there is something so sabbatically pure in her downcast eyes and gentle movements, that one would think only devotional thoughts had place within her, and hardly suspect that the ink is not yet dry on a note of censure to Madame B- "artiste en corsets," for a misfit in the article sent home overnight. Carriages roll through the streets towards the same destinations, and crowds of would-be-fine people tread on the heels of rank and wealth; carefullooking parents divide their attention between their neighbours' appearance and the behaviour of their own offspring; now bidding "John" not to look about him, now commenting sotto voce on the dress and air of the passers-by. Occasionally parties are encountered who have turned their backs upon the city's sanctuaries, and are about to keep holiday in the green fields and pleasant places, which six days' toil leaves only open to them on the seventh.

Others again, for the most part housewives of the humbler classes, are met bearing their frugal dinners to the bakehouse-that earthly place of endless punishment, where no sabbath-rest is known, or holiday enjoyed