Holing and planting......18 men... Carriage of plants..... Brought over £2 9 8 First light hoeing 64 men......... The above is the amount of charge in Spain, and supposing the same work to be done by the same number of hands in this Island, at 7d. daily wages, you have a reduction of 117 men at 3d............ Making per acre.............. 0 7 6 £7 12 8 19 41 £6 2 3 And should there be no necessity for irrigation.£5 5 7 The Expense of the ratioon crop will be→ Burning the trash and trimming, 7 men at 7d......£0 4 2 ploughings.... 0 6 0 3 0 0 0 13 4 0 6 8 £4 10 5 Upon rich lands manure may be dispensed with, for first and Total...97 Men, average wages 9d. per day..........£3 12 9 1 Blacksmith and assistant 2s 6d. 2 Carpenters................................... ..38....... 25 Bullock Carts to make 5 journeys each and £0 6 6 bring to Mill 65 tons of canes, 1s. 6d...... 1 17 6 3 foremen £5 per month each, or 10s. per day... 0 10 6 Total charges per day of 24 hours (the above num ber of men being a double set) to make from four to five tons of sugar.................................. ****** 6 5 9 Upon these data which I believe to be nearly correct, it will be easy to form a calculation as to the expense of producing sugar in this Colony subject to the various modifications of situation and soil. I see no reason to doubt an average produce of 30 cent per acre will be obtained-and this being the case, no question exists upon profitable returns. Before leaving the subject, I would suggest the advantage of Planters endeavouring to induce the Natives to plant canes in their paddy fields; from what I have been able to gather, it will not he astended with much difficulty, many with whom I have conversed profess themselves quite ready to do so, as soon as we are able to give them plants and grind their canes: a public sugar mill is in itself a very profitable speculation, whilst it enables the small proprietor to obtain an annual crop from his land of much greater value than he could otherwise proeure. The Gatherer. Among the extravagant pretensions of the alchemists, that of forming a universal medicine was perhaps not the most irrational. It was only when they pretended to cure every disease, and to confer longevity, that they did vio lence to reason. The success of the Arabian physicians in the use of mercurial preparations naturally led to the belief that other medicines, still more general in their application, and effica cious in their healing powers, might yet be brought into light; and we have LO doubt that many substantial discoveries were the result of such overstrained expectations. Tycho was not merely a believer in the medical dogmas of the alchemists, he was actually the discoverer of a new elixir which went by his name, and which was sold in every apothecary's shop as a specific against the epidemic diseases which were then ravaging Germany. The Emperor Rudolph bay. ing heard of this celebrated medicine, obtained a small portion of it from Tycho by the hands of the Governor of Braudisium; but, not satisfied with the gift, he seems to have applied to Tycho for an account of the method of preparing it. Tycho accordingly addressed to the Emperor a long letter, dated September 7, 1599, containing a minute account of the process. The base of this remarkable medicine is Venetian treacle, which undergoes an infinity of chemical operations and admixtures before it is ready for the patient. When properly prepared he assures the Emperor that it is better than gold, and that it may be made still more valuable by mixing with it a single scruple either of the tincture of corals, or sapphire, or hyacinth, or a solution of pearls, or of portable gold, if it can be obtained free of all corrosive matter! In order to render the medicine universal for all diseases which can be cured by perspiration, and which, he says, form a third of those which attack the human frame, he combines it with antimony, a well known sudoriffic in the present practice of physic. Tycho concludes his letter by humbly beseeching the Emperor to keep the process secret, and reserve the medicine for himself alone! The Marty's of Science. THE DEATH OF QUILP.- A knocking at the gate he had closed. A loud and violent knocking. Then a panse į as if those who knocked, bad stoppeď to listen. Then the noise again, morg clamorous and importunate than before. 'So soon!' said the dwarf. · And so eager! I am afraid I shall disap point you. It's well I'm quite preparedi̟ Tally, I thank you! As he spoke, he extinguished the candle. In his impetuous attempts to subdue the brightuess of the fire, he overset the stove, which came tumbling forward, and fell with a crash upon the burning embers it had shot forth in its descent; leaving the room in pitchy darkness. The noise at the gate still continuing, he felt his way to the door, and stepped into the open air. At that moment the knocking ceased. It was about eight o'clock," but the dead of the darkest night would have been as noon-day, in comparison with the thick cloud which then rested upon the earth, and shrouded everything from view. He darted forward for a few paces, as if into the mouth of some dim, yawning cavern; then, thinking he had gone wrong, changed the di rection of his steps; then stood still, not knowing where to turu. If they would knock again,' said Quilp, trying to peep into the gloom by which he was surrounded, the sound might guide me. Come. Batter the gate once more! He stood listening intently, but the noise was not renewed. Nothing was to be heard in that deserted place, but at intervals the distant barking of dogs. The sound was far far away-now in one quarter, now answered in another -nor was it any guide, for it often came from shipboard, as he knew, If I could find a wall or fence,' said the dwarf, stretching out his arms, and walking slowly on, I should know which way to turn. A good, black, devil's night this, to have my dear friend here. If i bad but that wish, it might, for anything I cared, never be day again.' As the word passed his lips, he staggered and fell; and next moment yas fghting with the cold, dark water. For all its bubbling up and rushing In his ears, he could hear the knock ing at the gate again-could bear a shout that followed it-could recognize the voice. For all his struggling and splashing, he could understand that they had lost their way, and had wandered back to the point from which they started; that they were all but looking on while he was drowned; that they were close at hand, but could not make an effort to save him; that he himself had shut and parred them out. He answered the shout-with a yell, which seemed to make the hundred fires that danced before his eyes tremble and Bicker as if a gust of wind had stirred them. It was of no avail. The strong tide filled his throat, and bore him on, upon its rapid current. Another mortal struggle, and he was up again, beating the water with his hands, and looking out with wild and glaring eyes that showed him some black object he was drifting close upon. The hull of a ship! He could touch its smooth and slippery surface with his hand. One loud cry now-but the resistless water hore bim down before be could give it utterance, and driving him under it, carried away a corpse. It toyed and sported with its ghastly freight, pow bruising it against the slimy piles, now hiding it in mud or long rank grass, now dragging it heavily pver rough stones and gravel, now feigning to yield it to its own element, and in the same action luring it away, until, tired of the ugly plaything, it Hung it on a swamp-a disiral place where pirates had swung in chains, through many a wintry night-and left it there to bleech. And there it lag, alone, The sky was red with game, and the water that bore it there, had been tinged with the sullen light as it dowed along, The place, the deserted carcase had left so recently, a living man, was now a blazing ruin. There was something of the glare upon its face. The hair, stirred by the damp breeze, played in a kind of mockery of death-such a nockery as the dead man himself would have revelled in when alive-about its head, and its dress fluttered idly in the night wind. - Humphrey's lock, The position of women in Japan seems to be unlike what it is in all other parts of the East, and to ends stitute a sort of intermediate link be tween their European and their Asi atic conditions. On the one band, Ja panese women are subjected to no exclusion; they hold a fair station in society, and share in all the innocent recreations of their fathers and hus bauds. The fidelity of the wife and the purity of the maiden are commit ted wholly to their own sense of hos mour, somewhat quickened, perhaps, and invigorated, by the certainty that death would be the inevitable and im mediate consequence of a detected lapse from chastity. And so well is this confidence repaid, that a faithless wife is, we are universally assured, a phenomenon unknown in Japan. The minds of the women are as care. fully cultivated as those of men; and amongst the most admired authors, historians, moralists, and poets, are found several female names. neral, the Japanese ladies are descris bed as lively and agreeable compa nions, and the elegance with which they do the honours of their houses, has been highly eulogized. In ge But if thus permitted to enjoy and adorn society, they are, on the other hand, beld during their whole lives in a state of tutelage, of complete des pendence upon their husbands, sons, or other relations. They are without legal ri, hts, and their evidence is in admissible in a court of justice. Not only may the husband introduce as many subsidiary, unw.dded helpmates as he pleases into the mansion over which his wife presides,-and the women, though inferior to her in rank, dignity, and domestic authority, in proof of which, they are not permitted to share their eyebrows, are not deems ed criminal or dishonoured-he bas also a poyer of divorce, which may be called unlimited, since the only lis mitation proceeds from his sruse of economy and expediency. A husband must support his repudiated wife according to his own station, unless he can allege grounds for the divorce, satisfactory to a Japanese tribunal; among which grounds, barrenness is one that leaves the unfortunate, child less wife, no claim in any kind of maintenance. Under no circumstance, upon no plea whatever, cap a wife demand a separation from her husband. At home, she is mistress of the family; hut, in other respects, she is treated rather as a toy for her hus baud's recreation, than as the rational, confidential partner of his life. She is to amuse bim by her accomplishments, to cheer him by her lively conversation, not to relieve, by sharing, his anxieties and cares. So far from being admitted like Portia, topar take the secrets of his heart," she is kept in profound ignorance of bis affairs. public or private; and a ques tion relative to any such matters would be resented as an act of uppardonable presumption and audacity.— Manners and customs of the Japanese, A TURKISH PREACHER-One day plied the audience. "Then there is MALIBRAN AND TEMPLETON.-Templeton came to me oue evening, and observing that Malibran had treated bim in a most unbecoming and rude manner, even while on the stage, ask ed my advice as to the line of con duct he should pursue, I told him to call upon her, state his feelings, and ask if he had committed any of fence that had incurred ber displeasure, and led to such a total want of good breeding-he did so the next morning. Her reply, between an in. clination to laugh and a disposition to be serious, was, I thought you want. ed, sir, to kiss me.' At this moment when she was the idol of the people, the admired of all beholders, when peers would have riven their coronet to press only the tips of her fingers, and the world at large was sighing at her feet, imagine the phlegmatic songster exclaiming Gude God, is that all? Mak your mind easy, would na kiss you for ony considera tion;" and shaking hands, be left the house.- Burn's Stage. MALIBUAN AND THE PINT OF РonTER-It may be an acceptable diver. sion from the painful details which we shall have to enter upon, to record a humorous incident which led to the thrilling, the more than brilli ant, the not to be forgotten, execution by Madame Malibran, of the finale to this opera, (The Maid of Artois.) I had occasion, during its last rehear strong terms at her leaving the stage sal but one, to express myself in an hour and a half, for more than to go and gain 251. at a morning pieces of music, nor the situation of concert. Neither the concentrated could possibly be proceeded with, and the drama in which she was involved, the great stake we were then contend. Jeopardy by unworthy grasp of a few ing for was likely to be placed in pounds, to the prejudice of a theatre. paying her nightly five times as much. She knew she had done wrong; and she atoned for it by her genius, while her to do so, She had borne along her pride would not have permitted the two first acts on the first nights of performance in such a flood of triumph, that she was bent, by some almost superhuman effort, to continue its glory to the final fall of the cur tain. I went into her dressing-room previous to the commencement of the third act, to ask now she felt; and she replied, "Yery tired, but," (and here her eye of fire suddenly lighted up), "you angry devil, if you will contrive to get me a pint of porter, in the desert scene you shall have an encore to your finale." |