The Sun.
London, England, 1829-08-24 00:00:00

to me by sacred ties? And if I had children,.
and those children had happened to be daugh-
ters ! Why, I should have done like others,
who carry women and children out of civilized
society to inhabit the wilderness; I should have
made my tender wife a drudge, and my children
little tartars. Could 14,000 acres of valueless
desert have compensated for such an existence ?
Perhaps you think this a too-highly coloured
picture of my miseries. But remember I was
not bred to labour. I know nothing of farming.
I have not been used to the cabin of a brig of
war, or the mess of a marching regiment. You,
too, have enjoyed the leisure which fortune be-
stows, and have acquired the habits of refine-
ment which belong to a numerous class in tog-
land. Were you a broken farmer, or a poor
Lieutenant, I should say come here by all
means--you cannot be placed worse than you
6rt, and you may gain by the change." But I
am advising a man of independent fortune, who
prefers Otis library to the beauties of nature, and
to whom intellectual society is necessary for his
pae.te of mind. Intellectual society ! I shall
come to that presently.
Dist...rusted with my convict servants, I sent to
Englaird. for shepherds, ploughmen, carpenters,
a blacksmith, bricklayer, and other useful labour-
,e-rs. The men arrived in high spirits, having
been hired from a part of the country where I
was welt known, and having, most of them,
worked for me in England. They knew that
tee could depend on -the high wages that my
F-i-oglish agent had promised them ; their passage
had been paid for by me ; and the sailors had
told them that in New South Wales they would
live like fighting cocks. Being in the desert
when I received notice of their arrival, I !Listened
to Sydney, having first got rid of my convicts,
for fear that they should contaminate the new
corners. The latter, who, my Sydney agent in-
formed me, had, when they were put ashore,
spoken in raptures of the 'Squire, received me
with gloomy looks. They were already coma-
ininated, or at least spoiled, notwithstanding my
pi-mutton. One of them, a harness maker, from
zialishory, acted as spokesman for the party, and
tQ:ii me flatly that they had been imposed upon.
I stared awl asked, in what respect ? " They
had not been told what high wages a man could
'get New South Wales—they were told now
001 they could not live on the wages which had
been promised, and they hoped I should take
their case into my consideration." They had
not been bound by indentures, for I was weak
enough to think that free agents would prove
better servants than bondsmen.—l desired them
to " take into their consideration" the cost of
their passage ; but in the long discussion that
ensued, they carefully avoided that point, and
dwelt with dogged pertinacity on the wages
which men of their class could obtain at and
near Sydney. I was completely in their power.
lay dint of flattery and persuasion, appeals to
their honour, and promises of comfort, I induced
the mere peasants to observe their agreement and
follow me to the wilds; but the mechanics were
impracticable. They had already engaged with
masters at Sydney and Paramatta at double the
high wages that I had promised ; and I could
make no impression on them. I retired to the
wuods with my clod-hoppers, whom I found
'very serviceable for a whole year. But at the
end of that time, they began to grumble and
fidget. Other persons had settled in my neigh-
bourhood ; some of these had been convicts, and
afterwards emancipated servants. They per-
suaded my men to become settlers also. In less
than two years each of my servants saved where-
with to stock a small farm, and one by one they
gradually left me. At last I was glad to obtain
a fresh supply of convicts.
You may imagine that, under these circum-
stances, my estate did not produce largely. My
herds and flocks, however, had rapidly multi-
plied ; and, in the last year of which I speak, I
reaped a hundred and forty acres of wheat. This
was thought immense doings, but as my free la-
bourers were gone, I had no such prospect for
the future ; and as for the flocks and herds, their
increase in number was no increase of value.
The wool produced something, and the flesh
was worth nothing, unless taken to market ; and
then it would scarcely repay the cost of the jour-
ney. Here there are no drovers nor jobbers in
cattle to come between the farmer and the
butcher. In short, there is little division of la-
bour ; and you may roll in plenty, without pos-
sessing any thing of exchangeable value. You
must do almost every thing yourself; and flocks
and herds in the wilderness are not worth much
more than the wilderness itself, of which you
may obtain almost any quantity, for almost no-
thing. I thought of establishing a dairy, under
the idea that cheese would be easily transported,
and would fetch a good price in Sydney. But
I ought to have known better ; my cows were as
wild as hyenas, and almost as wicked. I had no
milkmaids, no dairy women, no churns, nor any
thing that was wanted for the purpose. At
length my impatience got the better of my fool-
ish pride. I wrote to my friends at Sydney, ac-
knowledging that I was sick of the bush, and
that their prophecies of my ill success had been
fulfilled to the letter. By their assistance, I
made over my estate fur twenty years, with every
thing upon it, to a tough Scotch farmer, on con-
dition of receiving one-third of its produce.
This third produces me less than 3 per cent. in-
terest on what I have expended ; but I am, com-
paratively speaking, a happy man, living upon
my English income, in a place where at least
books and men and women, such as they are,
are not quite wanting, and where money will
supply the more pressing wants of civilized life.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Mr. PRICE has been for some time in treaty
with Madame VESTAIS to perform, for a limited period, at
Drury-lane Theatre. The lady's terms are said to be
twenty-five or thirty pounds per night.

The proprietors of Covent-garden- Theatre,
with the exception of Mr. Cexsx and Mr. KEMBLE, are
on the Continent. They have each of them, however, left
with their representatives in London full powers to act for
them upon any emergency.

Mr. YOUNG and Miss PHILLIPS are en-
gaged by the Lessee of Drury-lane.—A tragedy by Miss
Mtrroan, it i 4 said, has been accepted by Mr. PRICE, in
which YouNo has a character equally prominent with
Rienzi, and Miss PHILLIPS will again be the amiable
heroine in his drama.

MACREADY, it is said, is so dissatisfied with
the manage ment of both the National Theatres, that he
is about to exchange the buskin for the pulpit, and is now
engaged in studying theology.—Morning Paper.