ness of doing nothing, that it becomes a sort of necessity for them either to destroy their consciousness by intemperance, or to escape from idleness by undertaking some laborious employment. The former is the usual resource of the gold digger, for it is very difficult for men who have been successful in the exciting lottery of gold digging to settle down to the sober routine of daily life. Those, however, who after severe toil have returned unsuccessful, or who, with constitutions incapable of combating the numerous causes of disease peculiar to the employment, have been forced, at the risk of their lives, to abandon their labours, settle down quiet and industrious men, probably improved by their failure, which has convinced them of the necessity of resting their hopes of fortune on steady application rather than lucky accidents.

(Continued.)

ESSAY ON INDUSTRY.

A HISTORY of the triumphs of industry would fill many volumes. It would, in truth, be a history of the labours of the human race. All that can be expected from a writer in the PESTONJEE BOMANJEE JOURNAL is a few cursory remarks on the general bearing of the subject.

Industry is true wisdom displayed in the employment of time. It is assiduous, indefatigable perseverance in endeavouring to do something useful. Opposed to industry is indolence, the parent of want and shame. The votaries of the latter are ignorant of the importance of time, and become enervated, so that they cannot take advantage of the passing moments.

There is a spurious industry—a kind of busy trifling—

in which too many are engaged, without effecting any good for themselves, or their brethren of mankind. A certain Athenian sage had a pupil, to whom he was anxious to impart a knowledge of the philosophy for which Greece was famous. But the youth, like too many of his own age, loved amusement better; he practised carriage-driving-then a favourite pastime of the Athenians-till he acquired such dexterity in the art that he could drive a carriage round a given circle, keeping the wheels within an inch, and yet never touching its perimeter. He had just finished one of these circuits, and was receiving the plaudits of the spectators, when his master burst through the crowd, and thus addressed him :

"With indignation I survey

Such time, such talents thrown away!
The time profusely squander'd there
On vulgar arts, beneath thy care,
If well employed, at less expense,

Had taught thee knowledge, virtue, sense;
And raised thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men, and guide the state."

Some of the modern aristocracy might find their prototype in this truant Athenian youth, were it not that his amusement was far more dignified than are the modern contrivances for killing time. True, when the vis-inertia seizes upon a sick man, or when he wastes his precious time in counting the flies of summer, or something equally useless, the consequences may not be, personally, so fatal as to the poor man whose industry is his all, but the example is pernicious, his country has a right to complain, and there is a far higher accountability, which such idlers would do well to think of.

To the great mass of the British nation these remarks

do not apply. The untiring and well-directed industry of Britain has made her the envy and model of surrounding nations. While she must be allowed to have many degenerate sons, the great majority of her population seem to have adopted these favourite maxims of Sir Joshua Reynolds, "Industry is the right hand of fortune;""nothing is denied to well-directed industry."

In a country well-nigh the antipodes of Britain as regards geographical position, viz. New Holland, exists a race certainly her opposite as regards intellect and industry. Instead of building for himself a commodious house, the New Hollander, too slothful to erect even a hut, burrows in the ground like a rabbit, or shelters himself from the wind by placing a piece of bark with its edge on the ground; and it requires the most pressing demands of hunger to rouse him to any degree of industry in searching for his food.

This is the nadir of human existence. The passions of jealousy and revenge alone sometimes rouse them to sanguinary conflicts; and they display a savage joy in the capture of prisoners, as they form not only an evidence of victory, but provide a feast to crown the triumph. All attempts to civilise this barbarous race have hitherto signally failed of success.

Imagine, if you can, such a people becoming eminent philosophers, enlightened agriculturists, skilful manufacturers, or enterprising merchants and mariners, and sending out their fleets to explore and colonise other countries. The idea seems preposterous, unless they were, by something like a new creation, to be imbued with a spirit of industry. Suppose them to be governed for centuries by a race of chiefs of the same stamp as Peter the Great of Russia, and a change in their habits

and capabilities would become even probable. If we had leisure to examine in detail such a progression with its results, we should obtain a bright view of the benefits industry has conferred on the human race.

(Continued.)

WEEKLY RECORD.

DEATH has twice paid us a visit since our last number was issued. His first victim-a babe of three monthshad scarcely opened its eyes to the light of day, and had not yet by infantile graces wound round its parents' hearts the deep and tender cords of love, that, growing with time, cause, in breaking at a more advanced age, such incurable sorrow. The grief, however poignant for the moment, occasioned by such a loss, admits of consolations, which being elegantly expressed in verses in another page of this Journal, requires no additional reflections here:

"God plants His flowers where He thinks fit,
And plucks at any age."

His second victim-a young sailor-was precipitated accidentally with a watch-mate from the poop into the sea. Instantly the appalling cry was raised, “A man overboard!" all hands rushed to aid in rescuing them. Every possible effort was made for the purpose, but only one was saved; the other found a premature tomb. It appears strange that men pursue the precarious life of a sailor without acquiring-what we consider a necessary accomplishment-the art of swimming; and yet it is too true that numbers do so, and perish, like this unfor

tunate man, from the want of a little foresight and application.

These examples of the uncertainty of life have placed a cloud on every brow, and sent a throb through every heart in this ship. Death is ever standing at our side, with his arm raised in readiness to strike the final blow. Be prepared, then, for ye know not when it will descend!

D. R.