The tide of emigration is rushing so powerfully through the land, that not only labourers and artisans are swept away in its stream, but many of the gentry of the country are beginning to join in the movement, and wonder what they are to do with their young 'olive branches,' 'unless they emigrate to Australia, and found a new home and plant a new family there.' Many of the class have taken this step, and many more are lingering on the brink; and endless and anxious are the inquiries constantly made for the reports transmitted by those adventurous spirits who have led the way to new worlds of enterprise. For the working-classes, all has hitherto been favourable; but for the class above them—the professional man, and the small capitalist—the accounts are not, on the whole, encouraging. 'The labour-market is never overstocked; but,' says a correspondent of a later date, 'I pity the professional men, the doctors and lawyers, who come out, and the clerks, few of whom are wanted, and who find provisions and house-rent much dearer than at home, and to whom the privations they undergo must be great hardships. Men used to the everyday luxuries of a London life, delicate women bred up in habits of expense and idleness, have a severe ordeal to go through on their arrival in that land of work.' The change of climate, and the discomfort of their hastily-raised log-cabin, often entered upon when not half dried, frequently produce fevers, which, at home, would require a long succession of nursing, medical attendance, and afterwards change of air; but with only a help, absent whenever it pleases her, often with no medical advice within reach, a damp and cold house half furnished, an uncertain supply of even common necessaries, and a total absence of all luxuries, it is really surprising that recovery takes place at all. Now, it unfortunately happens, that the previous education of all these emigrants has been directly adverse to that which would have been desirable for such an after-life. Young ladies and gentlemen are taught dependence as a duty of civilised life. Children are naturally independent and active, and would gladly use their activity in helping themselves. How proud is a child to be allowed to do any of the servant's work! and how awful the rebuke that follows the attempt; till at last, poor human nature is cramped, shackled, and gagged.
Hard, then, seems the destiny that removes these pampered children of European society from their luxurious necessaries—the valet, the lady's-maid, and all the other appendages—and leaves them wholly to their own resources, with their self-inflicted ignorance, and their blundering attempts to remedy it.
I have, therefore, to propose to all who intend to emigrate, that they should—before taking a step involving so great an outlay, and the breaking-up of their life here—submit themselves to an ordeal of six or twelve months, in order to ascertain whether, in truth, their bodies and minds are fitted for the situation they are entering upon. Let any gentleman who is thinking of settling in Canada or Australia, take a labourer's cottage in a distant county—a few pounds will supply one infinitely superior in comfort and healthfulness to the log-cabin of the bush that is to be his ultimate destination—let him take a little land and a bit of garden in a good farming county; engage one farm-servant (unless he has sons able to take his place), and a rough country-girl to do the coarse work of the house. The ladies of the family must, of course, perform all the rest: wash all the fine linen, iron, make the beds, sweep the rooms, superintend and assist in the cooking, the dairy, care of the poultry and the pigs; for, of course, such appendages must be indispensable in such an establishment. The gentlemen will work on the farm, cultivate the garden, and gain all the experience they can in manual trades, carpentering and cabinet-making; and thus by degrees the whole family will have their bodies and minds strengthened, and their habits formed for their new work; or they will discover, as many have done when too late to draw back, that the effort is beyond their powers—that the tastes and habits of social life are too closely entwined with their whole being, to leave them the power to withdraw from them at will.
This may seem a forbidding picture, but I can assure them it is very far superior in comfort to the realities they will find in the bush. It is true, that this retirement will effectually withdraw them from their magic circle of friends and luxuries; but let us for a moment compare the two steps, migration and emigration, and ask ourselves if the experiment above mentioned be not worth the trial. In the one, we give up, probably for life, our country, our friends, and generally a part of our family, with all the comforts of a state of law and civilisation; we enter upon a certain and constant life of labour, after a long, tedious voyage; and, if in mature age, bear about with us a never-ceasing yearning for home, which retains its place in our hearts with all the heightened colours with which memory invests it. In the other, we must, it is true, separate ourselves from our long list of acquaintances, and be absent from the dinner-party and the ball; but all our interest in social life will be kept up: we can see at least a weekly newspaper; and although we may have descended a few steps in the social scale, we shall not be obliged to make the acquaintance of convicted felons.
Another view of this plan may be taken. Suppose ten, or twenty, or thirty persons of narrow means were to associate for the purpose of taking some large, old-fashioned house in the country—many such may be found—and agree upon a joint scheme of cheap living and independent labour, plain and economical dress, plain furniture, and a simple but wholesome table: would not this be better than all the risks and privations of expatriation? The Americans do not emigrate—they migrate; and there are spots in any of these three kingdoms, as wild, as solitary, and as healthful, as can be found in the regions of the Far West. But we do not, however, suggest migration as a substitute for genteel emigration—although we suspect it would in many cases prove so—but merely as a step towards it—a school of trial, or training, or both.
COLOURS IN LADIES' DRESS.
Incongruity may be frequently observed in the adoption of colours without reference to their accordance with the complexion or stature of the wearer. We continually see a light-blue bonnet and flowers surrounding a sallow countenance, or a pink opposed to one of a glowing red; a pale complexion associated with a canary or lemon yellow, or one of delicate red and white rendered almost colourless by the vicinity of deep red. Now, if the lady with the sallow complexion had worn a transparent white bonnet; or if the lady with the glowing red complexion had lowered it by means of a bonnet of a deeper red colour; if the pale lady had improved the cadaverous hue of her countenance by surrounding it with pale-green, which, by contrast, would have suffused it with a delicate pink hue; or had the face
'Whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on,'