of an evil very pernicious to every variety of gossipium, imparts to the cotton plant of Queensland a perennial existence. Here is its paradise. The average yield has been estimated at 400lbs. per acre—mark, in India it is only 50lbs.—and the average value at 1s. 4d. per lb.; and in order to encourage this species of agricultural industry, the government of the colony offers a bonus of 10 acres of land for every bale of cotton of this first-class description, weighing 300 lbs.; all which furnishes data very capable of conducting to inferences of a most important and agreeable complexion, such as make the itching ears of the emigrant to tingle, and his empty mouth to water. I am almost resolved to take out my passage in the next ship sailing from Liverpool.
The most prominent feature in the whole economy of cotton husbandry, which is picking, viewed in relation to Queensland, loses all its formidable aspect. The three months during which this operation continues are May, June, and July, and these compose proverbially the most serene and salubrious of any similar portion of the year. Besides the country above alluded to, there are other immense tracts of alluvial lands on the banks of navigable rivers, and a vast extent of coast from Point Danger to Keppel Bay, embracing altogether many millions of acres, in all respects inviting to the intelligent and industrious emigrant, who with the smallest capital, and the fewest possible number of antecedents, might at once enjoy comfort and independence, and lay the foundation of future opulence. People at home, and people who go abroad, are equally interested in the truth of these facts. Brisbane, the metropolis of the new colony, contains already a population of 7000 souls, and is well stocked with all the necessaries, and many of the luxuries, both of the animal and spiritual life; for even spiritual life has its indulgences. Among things appertaining to the latter may be mentioned fourteen churches and chapels, of nearly as many denominations of religious belief as the sum will admit, a bishop of the English church, and priests of that of Rome being included. Agricultural pursuits are those which are engaged in most actively, and accordingly a demand for men with tastes and habits comporting with these callings is so general and continuous, that, ceteris paribus, agriculturists and field-labourers are the most certain to prosper. The remuneration for labour in general is handsome, taxation very light, provisions exceedingly cheap, and clothing, for a colony, not exorbitantly dear. I have only to add, that although I am not by any means an emigration agent, or, under all circumstances of pressure, a strenuous, out-and-out advocate for tempting fortune in another land; although I have no direct or indirect connection with the welfare and expansion of the colony of Queensland, or with any cotton consuming process, either at home or abroad; I should have no reason to regret the tendency of these remarks, if they turn the thoughts of any number of practical men to the subject of cotton-growing in regions apparently so suitable to the purpose—that grand and profitable purpose of multiplying material for the “silver tissue” which “clothes the world.”
MISAPPLIED ORNAMENTATION.
The decorative arts are, without doubt, making great progress in our country, and people are no longer satisfied with the plain humdrum style of ornamentation that satisfied our fathers. There was room for improvement, no doubt; clumsiness of old was the characteristic feature of all our designs—a clumsiness only second to that prevailing among the Dutch and German nations. But where is our modern fever for ornamention leading us? Entering my old parish church the other day after the restoration, I scarcely knew where I was. There used to stand in the chancel the Tables of the Law, done in very old-fashioned white letters on a black ground. When a child, I used to remark upon the plethoric character of the P’s, and the B’s, and the R’s; but, with all those little old-fashioned imperfections, I could at least read the Commandments plain enough. But now all was altered. In place of the old turnpike-looking board, there was a page from some ancient missal—at least it looked like it. Each Commandment had its illuminated initial letter, and each letter was as unlike the old Roman character as a herald is from a Quaker. Here the tail of an R twisted itself round some distant member of the alphabet with the tenacity of a ring-tailed monkey; there something that looked like an S shot up into the air like a Gothic sky-rocket. It is, no doubt, very fine, and I can readily conceive that the letters are an exact copy of that invaluable MS. which St. Etheldreda spent her life in illuminating in the fifth century; but there was one little difficulty,—I could not read the Commandments thus got up in masquerade. The light was none of the brightest, it must be confessed, and Joseph done in deep purple, together with the Magi in ruby, standing on their toes in the true Byzantine style, as the curate informed me, probably had something to do with my want of clearness of vision. But, why should this over-ornamentation extend also to the service? There was a time when it was read in plain English, but we suppose that, with a love of uniformity, the vicar had ordered it to be intoned to match the illuminated Commandments; at all events, the flourishes and queer intonation given to the fine old English words were so successfully accomplished, that I really could not understand what was said. It was certainly a drawback to public worship, neither to be able to use my eyes nor my ears as I used to do; but, at least, I may pray in my old fashion, I said to myself; but I was reckoning without my host. The roomy old pews had given place to Gothic sittings, in which the agony of kneeling was so great that I could not help suspecting our worthy vicar contrived it with the idea of giving an expression to his congregation that should match the old gurgoyles that grinned upon us from the porch—at all events, prayer under such circumstances was totally out of the question, and I could not help thinking that the services of our modern church ornamenters had resulted in rendering impossible the service of God. But the evils of over-ornamentation are by no means confined to ecclesiastical furniture and decorations; it is spreading to our literature.
