and the stock-man, with a thin cloud of smoke issuing from his mouth, is seen in the distance, carrying his bridle in his hand, and tracking his horses, after finding which he will drive them to the huts, to be ready for use. On the side of that bank of clay may be seen a door from which a man has been passing to and fro with clean milking buckets, and tins that glitter in the sun. This is the dairy, which is dug out in the ground like a cellar. Such dairies are often about thirty feet long and fourteen wide, the walls built up with stone, and heavy beams, with boards on the top, forming the roof, which is covered over with earth, and, when finished, is somewhat like the entrance to a railway tunnel. In the interior a row of tables, or more properly very broad shelves, is placed about breast-high to set the milk upon, and down the centre may be seen a large table and other apparatus -as churn, salting-tubs, and the like. On each side is ranged the milk tins, clean and bright, and filled with yesterday's milk, which would have been sour and useless if not preserved with the greatest cleanliness in such cool places. Just outside the door is a large cask half-full of skimmed milk for the pigs; or, if pigs are not kept, a puddle is observed, where the skimmed milk is thrown away. This is sometimes done, but is a wasteful act. At a little distance from the dairy there is a shed, where a large copper is built up, with a stove underneath, to heat water for washing the milk utensils and keeping them scalded. This cleanliness must be particularly attended to, or the whole thing will turn out ill, the cheese not be saleable, and the butter be only fit to grease the dray wheels.

among all classes, and serve to wile away many a dull hour. If in the bush you are hungry, and without the means of obtaining food, then the advice is," Light your pipe and smoke ;" so also, if thirsty,-“ A smoke will relieve you." If tired, there is nothing like smoking; and if particularly lively and happy-smoke; if you have made a good bargain-smoke; if a bad one still smoke; but if you despise the weed, do not smoke, but be miserable and churlish with yourself, and querulous at every trifle. Some of my readers, and these not of the fair sex, will hardly admire this indiscriminate use of the pipe; and will hold that, if at any time, it is only at dusk, after the day's work is over, that the pipe should be brought out. Such is the rule of English propriety, but it is out of its latitude in the colony, where you feel that something is wanting every couple of hours, and the only fill up of that want is smoking. The habit is thought indeed to be anything but agreeable by those who have not experienced its refreshing and consolitory influence, and such inexperience is common among new comers. I well remember one old gentleman using severe language to his son for smoking in the morning, and showing with respectable rhetoric that it was a blackguard habit, and indicated a low and debauched character. His argument could not have been good, for in less than a week I saw him looking after some of his cattle, with a short pipe in his mouth, although he had not then had his break fast.

During the heat of the day, if no particular work presents itself, you remain in your hut to talk or read, smoke and drink tea; but if you are busy, either draughting, branding, or seeking cattle, you pay little attention to the broiling sun. There is plenty of exAfter looking over the rest of the establishment, as citement attending many of the common occupations the piggery, arable land and garden, your breakfast is of cattle farming, such as hunting and sorting out the ready, consisting of either a damper or leaven bread, cattle on the runs, branding and draughting them in bacon, ham, beef, fowls, eggs, mutton, butter, or cream. the yards, yoking and breaking in the young steers for All these ought to be the produce of your own farm; draught, all which have to be done among most likely the only foreign articles are tea and sugar, but which a good proportion of wild and savage looking cattle. have been supplied by the sale of your butter. During Some of the old stock-keepers are as cool as possible, breakfast, you settle the mode of passing the day, even in a yard filled with a mixed lot, among which whether you will stay at home to garden, or work are many termed Russians; and have only a small among the cattle; take a horse and look over the run; staff waddy, or knobby stick, wherewith to protect see a friend at some near station; or take the dogs and themselves. You may perhaps see one huge beast hunt the wild dog, kangaroo, or emu; or sally out, gun look at the stock keeper for a few seconds, and begin in hand, accompanied by a pointer, to shoot quails or to scrape the dirt up with his feet, evidently meanducks; or creep after and get a chance at the native ing mischief. The man shows no timidity, but watchturkey, which is capital eating, though the best fare in ing when the brute comes at him with his head lowmy opinion is the bronze-winged pigeon, a beautiful ered, ready to throw him a sumerset in the air, he bird, which is a general favourite at table. Perhaps gently, and commonly with the greatest unconcern, some butcher or cattle dealer has come into the neigh-raises his stick at the exact moment, and giving the bourhood to purchase fat cattle, and take a ride with brute a tap between the horns, brings it to its knees you to the place where your herd are feeding, to look for a couple of minutes, from which it gets up lookthem over, find fault with the breed, and talk about the ing very stupid, but a wiser and a better beast for all low price of meat. This you treat as "all gammon,' ," that. Presence of mind is always required among catlittle heeding any remarks of the kind; but you tle, which nothing but being accustomed to them and endeavour to make the best bargain you can for ready their habits can give. It is, however, rare to hear of money, or at least for a check on the bank. You any accident happening to the men through their feromust beware of the buyers, for they are never pleased city; indeed, they only want determination and couwith a beast. If you have any animal you particularly rage to put them to the right about. admire, and expect to make a high price by, you are Dinner is generally on the table at two or three sure to hear the buyer talk in a disrespectful way of o'clock, and consists of vegetables and salads grown your favourite, and find all kinds of fault with it. If, upon the farm, and meat reared and fattened upon the after you have sold it, you want to be convinced whe-pastures surrounding. It is accompanied by tea, which ther your judgment be good or not, try to purchase back the beast; and you will then see the difference between the buyer and seller. After a long deal, you probably make some sales, when the whole mob is driven to the yards, and, the sold cattle being draughted out, you help to drive them a couple of miles along the road beyond their old run, after which they go steadily on to the

town.

Whoever comes to your hut, whether a stranger or not, drinks with you, not wine but tea, for which the kettle is always on the hob, to be ready for any new arrival. Tea drinking and tobacoo smoking are in vogne

makes its appearance at every meal; and among the polite you may be asked to take a cup of tea instead of wine during the repast. At the tables of the rich and luxurious, the difference is not seen between Adelaide and England; yet the difference ought to be great for any man who has to make his fortune and provide against a rainy day.

It should always be remembered that the master's eye makes the horse fat; which rule applies to sheep, to cattle, and to everything. Always, therefore, contrive to look after all the concerns about the station yourself; to see that the dairy utensils are scalded and clean; that

the cattle are not kept too long in the yards for milking; that the calves and pigs are dry and littered down; the horses well looked to, and their saddles duly stuffed and cleaned, to prevent injury to their backs. Unfortunately, too little attention is paid to this point; and almost every horse over five years old either has, or has had, a sore back, some being thus completely ruined and useless at the age when they should be in their prime. I advise the emigrant to take out one or two good saddles, but let them be strong and well made, without "fancy work," and provided with straps and buckles wherewith to fasten on a coat or a blanket.

of food brought from town, with a bottle or two of wine for the female travellers, and something stronger for the male part of the family. If, reader, you ever find yourself in one of these drays, be careful of your spirits, or the men in charge of the cattle will drink them, and say that the bottle has fallen off on the road. Generally speaking, indeed, your stock of wines or spirits will not last long, and, if you make any considerable stay in the bush, you will forget the taste of both, not being able to procure them nearer than twenty or thirty miles off. Public houses are rare after the first twenty miles out of town, and for All work is over about six P.M., and tea ready; and this good reason men are seldom found tipsy at the if no friend or traveller is passing the night at the sta-out-stations; and perhaps, on account of the same tion, the evening is consumed over a paper or book, constrained abstinence, they frequently take too much accompanied by smoking and tea drinking; or, if you when they can get it. please, your horse is put in requisition to carry you to a friend's hut, or whithersoever pleasure attracts or business requires.

wheat, a man thrashing in a good barn, a comfortable house, surrounded by a pretty and useful garden, stocked with vegetables and embellished with numerous flowers, the seeds of some of which have been brought from home, and are cherished on that account: in a word, where nothing but open bush was seen a year before, there are now the symptoms of thriving industry. Health and happiness beam on every face, and hardly any one would recognise the strong men and lads in their homely appropriate dresses, as the same with the party of shabby genteel emigrants noted on the journey down.

SAW UP AND SAW DOWN.

A TALE.

(Concluded from p. 374.)

ALTHOUGH it does my heart good to recur to these teachings of my mother, yet I will not now linger upon this evening, when she first assembled us around the family altar, and dedicated us all to the Father of mercies. I remember how she named each name, and commended us to the restraining providence and the gracious love of our Lord and Saviour. We seemed to feel that something new had happened to us, and that we were standing upon higher and more responsible ground than we had ever done before. And then, with what patience did she carry out her principles !

"Ah!" said Madison the other day," it was sawing wood that made me."

dison took up his saw and went to work; little by little saw up and saw down, patiently and courageously, and it was done! Madison declared it was the hardest struggle he ever had; the first thing he ever persevered in, but it was done! The pile disappeared before his own resoluteness.

"Yes, it was the first time I ever felt myself worth anything," he says, laughing; "then I knew I was greater than a wood-pile."

My mother neither praised nor paid him when the work was done; she left him to the first conscious enjoyment of his ability to do, and it was plainly visible in the firm, independent step with which he entered the kitchen.

But a cow, a cow would add greatly to our stock of comforts, and a cow my mother was anxious of possessing. As for the boys, it formed the sum-total of their wishes; the consummation most devoutly to be wished for. It was ascertained that Mr. Giles would sell one of his heifers.

"But there is no way for us to earn her," said Phil, for the hundredth time, as we were talking over the matter one afternoon in the empty barn; "and earn her we must. Where there is a will there is a way, mother says."

"Yes, I suppose so," added Madison, reluctantly; "but if somebody would only give us one"-he had ceased speaking of Mr. Madison Jones in that light, for Mr. Madison seldom came to see us.

"But we must not depend upon people's giving us, or any such chance-like sort of ways, mother says. We must look to ourselves; that's the true way," said Philip.

a little tin pail beside him, and watching, with delight, the movements of his two brothers, as they tossed about the new-mown hay, and longing to be with them. Alas! his lesson was patient-waiting. They worked as the sun rose higher and higher, and the last dew-drop dried on the grass.

Up and be doing!" said his companion; "let's not flinch. We must go through with what we undertake, mother says," as he put his last rake-full on the cock.

"I suppose it is," slowly admitted poor Madison. Behold three boys in Mr. Giles's mowing field; the Now Madison's duty, at one time, consisted in saw-smallest, a pale child, sitting under an apple-tree, with ing eleven sticks of wood every morning, which duty he thoroughly hated; not that sawing was so very bad, but working was; he would rather lounge upon the green. It was very apt to be, in his estimation, either too warm, or too cold, or too pleasant to work, or too bad some way or other, unless, indeed, a troop of boys were aroused to inspirit him. The presence of Philip "I am sick of it, that's a fact," at last said the tallor James Giles was quite indispensable to a steady saw-est, as he tumbled on a new-mown swath. ing, to help him or admire him, or to urge him on, some way or other. It happened one morning, that Philip was gone upon some errand, and Madison went forth to his morning's work alone. It was not long before he appeared before our mother, begging her to come and see how well he could work; but she could not leave just then. He soon appeared again, complaining that the wood was too knotty: she begged him not to be daunted by a knot. A third time he came, and it was too warm, too warm by half;" a fourth, and his foot was lame, "dreadful lame; he must give his work up that morning, he was certain." Upon this, he flung himself with an air of satisfaction" into a chair. Madison was fruitful in excuses. Our mother quietly arose, and taking him by the hand, led him back to the wood-house. Pointing to the wood, she said, with that firmness which meant something

Madison well knew there was no gainsaying her, and that it must be done: besides, "it was only saw up and saw down," and what was there so formidable in all that? He began to consider, after all, that it did not appear to be much, or a very difficult work; and is it not so with all we have to do? By the bulk, our work may look large and formidable; but if we patiently and courageously go at it, it is only the "saw up and saw down" which lessens, conquers, and finishes, and we are surprised to find what a simple business it is. Ma

"But I don't want to. I would rather never have a cow, than to work for it," he declared, lazily swinging his feet much higher than his head.

"But anything that is worth having is worth working for," answered Philip; and you know what good things a cow will bring us."

"Well, I don't care. Come, let's eat our lunch," as he approached the tin pail, under the apple tree. Come, Phil, come!"

"No, not until I have done more; it is not eleven yet, not until the sun gets over the upper branch of that elm," said Phil, as he kept steadily on with his work. Meanwhile, Madison peered into the pail, and, not only devoured his own part, but made ample encroachments upon his brother's. He then laid himself down upon the grass.

"Come, Madison, come! Don't give up the first day; persevere, boy," cried Philip, courageously; but no, it was too hot to work; he could not work such hot days for all the cows in the world; he was too tired to work; and presently he fell asleep.

Alas! that this should be a specimen for the rest of the week. On Saturday night, Mr. Giles paid off his workmen. Two men were sitting in the barn, talking (ver the week's work; two men were leaning, in their shirt sleeves, over the fence, discussing the merits of Mr. Giles's cabbages; Philip, Madison, and myself— for my brothers were always anxious and willing to help

what we are? Oh, mother! mother! Philip still seeks her direction and advice about every thing concerning him; and his Mary regards her with reverential love; while in little Jane, Jenny we pet her-she seems to

entered the yard.-Philip behind her, Madison by her side, now and then patting her affectionately; mother and I were at the barn-door awaiting her arrival. "It is ours, our cow!" I exclaimed in ecstacy. "Is she not a beauty, mother?" exclaimed Madi-perpetuate her youth. Her last days seem her best days. son, driving her so as to display her broadside to the best advantage. "One of the best heifers that ever Mr. Giles had, he says. Oh, mother, where's the new pail? I learned all about milking over at Mr. Giles's. See her bag; is it not a beauty, mother?"

As Philip threw back his hat, showing his sun-burnt features, lighted up with interest, he looked the impersonation of bright, elastic, healthy boyhood.

It is Monday morning, and we have just returned to town. I never enter the city and my office, after leaving Philip's, without feeling myself a better man; a more tranquil, sober, home-loving, God-fearing man ; and, shall I add it, a greater shrinking from the toils and perplexities of city life. But never flinch" sounds in my ear-" take hold with a stout heart, my son, of whatever lies before you;" and the well-remembered accents of my mother's voice, prompt me to duty.

But sad news awaits me. Cousin Madison Jones is dead. He died poor, and a broken-hearted desolate old man. His sons have ruined him. Ungoverned, idle, and dissolute, they have brought his grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. The last time I saw him, it was my happiness to befriend him. "Thank ye! thank ye!" he exclaimed, kindly and gratefully. I could not realize it as the proud, rich man, who was the teror of my boyhood. "You are a dear boy, a dear boy! I see your mother had the right of it-Jane was right; she taught you not to be afraid of work. That big yard and barn wasn't for nothing-if I could live my life over again!" upon which he drew a deep sigh, and arose to go.

How do Madison and I rejoice to leave the dry dusty city, for a Sabbath at Philip's.-The Sabbath is truly a Sabbath there, so peace-speaking, and full of love. Madison holds an important post in the extensive firm of Giles and Co. He is a younger brother of old Giles the farmer, Madison's first master, who now gives him as warm a welcome as any in the village. "Do you remember the morning that you came back Need I say that never was milk sweeter, nicer, richer, to work? But thank your mother for that," said the whiter, than was that? Need I say, that never cow ex-old gentleman, chuckling and shaking Madison's hand isted like Bossy, never one so fat, so amiable, so ex- with a right heavy shake. Yes, Madison earned the cellent? Never was cow like that cow, and why? Be- character which Mr. Giles gave of him to his city brocause we had earned her. She was the product of toil, ther. Behold what it has gained for him! resolute, unflinching toil. In her my brothers tasted the sweets of achievement, as well as sweet milk. From that time Madison never grumbled. A change had been gradually wrought in his character. He understood what a power he possessed of doing, and he flung off his lounging, indolent, complaining habits. Ah, our mother understood a great secret, the importance of giving boys something to do, and making them work it out resolutely to the end; the activities of boyhood need to be disciplined and directed. Boys weary of continual play, yearn for something to accomplish. Give it to them, and then compel steady, persevering effort, until it be finished. In the end they are better boys and happier boys for it. It is the only right preparatory training to fit them for success in business, and for steady well-directed effort in mature life. And this is one reason why the country possesses advantages over the city in the training of boys. In the country there is something for them to do, and space to do it in. In teaching children to become useful, parents need much forbearance and great resolution. Their awkward, bungling, or reluctant attempts are discouraging and vexatious, and a father will often angrily send off his hoy and do the thing himself, in far less time and far better style, rather than take the trouble to teach and to encourage his son to execute it. It was not so with our mother. In the garden, the barn, and the wood-house, her looks and words of encouragement every where presided. She gradually accustomed us to active duty, assigning to each of us some work to do, and following us up until it was done, and well done. She inspired us with energy and cheerfulness, and made us relish the work, and bade us witness the good results flowing from industrious habits. Ah, it is our mother who has made us what we are. And now we have just returned from this dear home of our boyhood, no longer the dingy, yellow, one-story house, but a commodious dwelling of two stories, with ample portico in front, and the cool shadows of honeysuckle and acacia inviting you to linger there. It belongs to Philip, the indefatigable fruit grower. Look into his nursery and gardens; they are young yet, but is it not enough to delight one's eyes, to say nothing of the taste? They are the work of his own hands. His vicinity to the city affords him an extensive market, and he has already exceeded our most sanguine expectation. Look at his house, and the young shrubbery growing so luxuriously in every direction. There is a little bedroom in that house, which is a more interesting object still. It commands a beautiful view of the garden and of the western sky, WHO is that small Napoleon-featured Pleader? and of a distant pasture, where Bossy's descendants The sage, whose metaphors, are demonstrations; are quietly grazing, and there, at the window, sits our The bard, whose music yet shall teach all nations, mother, our beloved mother, in her rocking chair. That ignorance is want, war, waste, and treason. She is old and infirm now; but though her eyes are Clear-voiced as evening's throstle, o'er the booming dim, her heart waxes not old. It is full of love and Of conscious forests heard when storms are coming, gratitude, and she blesses God for her boys. "Such Thompson, the Haydn and Moliere of reason, sons!" she says. And, who, under God, has made us | Stills these vext thousands, like a people's leader.

Poor cousin Madison! Ah, yes! I would say to all cousin Madisons, that we were all early indoctrinated, patiently, courageously, "to saw up and saw down ;” that was the secret of my mother's management, and in overcoming the thousand obstacles to advancement and success, which young persons without property, or influential friends, must necessarily meet with in the great world of business; and if necessary for the business of the outward, how much more for the inward life, is this patient, courageous, pains-taking course? Does it not constitute that striving which the Saviour speaks of, by which we can alone secure peace and purity, God's blessing, and Heaven, at last? So ends the brief record of my friend's life.

A PORTRAIT.

COLONEL THOMPSON IN PALACK YARD, WESTMINSTER.

BY EBENEZER ELLIOTT.