of the sun, and of certain other symbols; and I doubt not these people belong to the ancient and simple congregation of sun-worshippers, or fire-worshippers, whom the sage of Persia, not founded, but instructed! They are accused, by our colonists and convicts, of being thieves and murderers; but the point is pretty well settled, that even allowing for the natural resentment and resistance of the people of an invaded country, Europeans, and not the aborigines, are the ordinary aggressors, and that what follows is less robbery and murder, than war and vengeance, and even a struggle for life and food. But what Europeans ask for, and more commonly obtain, is the full power and all privilege to plunder, and commit enormities, without suffering by any reprisal; and from this habitual course of things, their surprise is even as real as their outcries are astounding, if, by any chance, they receive blow for blow! Even when things have taken some shape of order between the strangers and the natives, the outrages of the former, and the patient suffering of the latter, become the established order also. I remember, that when I was in the neighbourhood of the Tuscarora Village, at Lewistown, upon the river Niagara, in North America, and when in other similar neighbourhoods; I never failed to hear, upon white authority itself, that the Indians were discouraged from all attempts at cultivating their little plots of ground, by the constant plunder of the white people; so that for the former to plant corn, or beans, or melons, or cucumbers, with any hope of gathering either, would be absurd! That the Indians would plunder the grounds or gardens of the white people, nobody so much as dreamed of; but that the white people would plunder those of the Indians, was held as cer

tain as it was cruel! Except that, in general circumstances, savages are universally found more honest and less corrupt than the men of civilization, there is no reason why we should expect the natives of New Holland to be more free from crime than their European invaders; but that, while the latter are hourly diminishing the supplies of food, by the destruction of the cangaroos, and of such small deer,' which is the whole that their country affords, the former should fall under the temptation to molest the flocks and herds of the settlers can hardly be thought, even in savages, very extraordinary!"

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'You are so stout a champion,” said Mrs. Paulett, "for the natives of New Holland, who, be it remembered also, are at least in a very inferior condition of humanity to those of the adjacent islands, particularly New Zealand; that I long to hear what you will say for its plants, and still more, for its animals?"

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"The plants of Botany Bay, my love," cried Mr. Paulett, are certainly not scanty, however limited may be the number of those that are singularly useful or ornamental; but here, as well as in what belongs to the naked surface of the country, is space for that progress of improvement upon which I reckon so largely for the future. I have supposed that New Holland is comparatively a new country from the hand of nature, and it is certainly new under the hand of man; and this latter point brings us round again to our singing-birds, and our Robin-red-breasts; and to some other considerations which I am willing, in this discussion, to press upon the memory of our children, as lessons of a fruitful wisdom, to accompany the formal lessons of their geography. We seldom think of, and more seldom, perhaps, do we

justly appreciate, all the changes, direct and indirect, upon the surface of the earth, as well as the more obvious accommodations, which are wrought and fashioned by the labour of man; that is, what advantages, in these respects, belong to one country above another; and what just division we ought to make in our thoughts, between the works of nature, and the works of art, as we find them upon the surface of the globe.

"My dear children," continued Mr. Paulett (but addressing himself, as he now spoke, more immediately to Emily and Richard); "that acquaintance with the sites, the circumstances, and the natural productions of foreign and distant countries, which, with so many other matters of fact, it is, in an especial manner, the education of the day to attempt the fixing of in youthful memories like yours, and to which I am now contributing my share; all this is estimable, no doubt, as connected with what is called liberal knowledge, and to prevent (as is the more common motive) young persons from 'showing,' as it is said, 'their ignorance;" that is, because there are certain, and, in short, innumerable things, of which it is expected that persons, and even children, of a certain condition and opportunity in life (by ancient allusion called the liberal or free condition, and by familiar and not unconnected usage, the respectable, the gentle, or genteel), should never be seen in ignorance. But this memory of facts is, at the last, of very little use or dignity, compared with the higher wisdom which, from instance to instance, it is our duty and our happiness to draw from them; and which, when we are either too young, too dull, too thoughtless, or too ill-informed, to draw it for ourselves, we should learn from the lips of others. Now, the facts of which we have been speaking this

morning (and a great many of which I think you will remember, if it is only from their relation to songbirds, and to our Robin-red-breast in particular), may serve to impress upon your minds two solemn and even practical truths, eminently worthy of a liberal education, because corrective of vulgar prejudices, of narrow estimates, and of idle errors-"

"Listen, Richard," said Mrs. Paulett; " and don't plague poor pussy, Emily, by forcing her bonnet on, while your papa is talking to you!"

"The first thing," proceeded their papa, " which I wish to fix in your young memories, belongs to natural history, and the next to human. You have read, in a poem as elegant as it is pious, that all nature' is filled with music for the ear of man; and you have also seen, in another poem, of much, but of less unmingled merit, the natural earth described as supereminently beautiful, because

As yet untouched by any meaner hand
Than his who made it;"

But, in remarks like these, there is, as you have now
heard, exaggeration, inaccuracy, and, as to the latter,
even a share of superstition. It is not in "all nature,”
that all the charms of nature are always to be found;
and it would be untrue if we were to say, that so mean
a hand as that of man is any where incapable, or is
not continually successful, in giving natural beauty to
scenes of nature otherwise very much in want of it; .
not less than in making the works of nature useful as
to human purposes. In truth, nature supplies all the
materials, and all the principles, either of utility or
beauty; man is the author of none of these, nor has
he the power to make even the smallest of them; but

it is the obvious destiny of art, the power and the privilege of man, to seize upon these materials and these principles, and by their means, to perform works, which, instead of being despised,-instead of being spoken of invidiously, in contrast with those of nature -often dispute the palm of beauty with the works of nature, and always glorify nature, as testifying the powers of the creature which nature has endowed! Looking only to rural objects, and to the surface of the earth, for food, for labour, and for travel; looking only to the landscape and to the ground-plot; and putting out of view our roads and bridges, and other of the more conspicuous of the field and forest works of man, in how many other particulars does not man assist the face of nature, as well for natural beauty, as for human sustenance and ease? It is most certain that, from space to space, and in particular situations, nature herself collects together a whole profusion of her charms, excludes deformity, gives to man all models, and asks nothing from his aid. She has her woods, her lawns, her slopes, her dells; her peaceful vales and awful summits; her sparkling torrents, her clear streams, her limpid springs; her radiant flowers, and all her many-coloured foliages. But in how many other situations, does not, and cannot the hand of man release nature from a thousand thraldoms which obstruct her labours, and transplant into silent, solitary, and sterile spots, treasures which are nature's own, but yet beyond her local reach? How much that is rugged can he not smooth; how much that is uniform can he not vary; how much that is barren can he not fertilize; how much that is pestilential can he not purify? To how many stagnant waters can he not give motion; and upon how many bleak