18 €
81 pages
Français

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris
Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus
81 pages
Français
Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

Description

18 €

Sujets

Informations

Publié par
Publié le 08 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures 158
Langue Français

Extrait

The Project Gutenberg EBook The Caxtons, byBulwer-Lytton, Part 18 #32 in our series by EdwardBulwer-LyttonCopyright laws are changing all over the world. Besure to check the copyright laws for your countrybefore downloading or redistributing this or anyother Project Gutenberg eBook.This header should be the first thing seen whenviewing this Project Gutenberg file. Please do notremove it. Do not change or edit the headerwithout written permission.Please read the "legal small print," and otherinformation about the eBook and ProjectGutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included isimportant information about your specific rights andrestrictions in how the file may be used. You canalso find out about how to make a donation toProject Gutenberg, and how to get involved.**Welcome To The World of Free Plain VanillaElectronic Texts****EBooks Readable By Both Humans and ByComputers, Since 1971*******These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousandsof Volunteers*****
Title: The Caxtons, Part 18Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton Release Date:March 2005 [EBook #7604] [Yes, we are morethan one year ahead of schedule] [This file wasfirst posted on January 10, 2003]Edition: 10Language: English*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK THE CAXTONS, BY LYTTON, PART 18***This eBook was produced by Pat Castevens andDavid Widger <widger@cecomet.net>PART XVIII.
CHAPTER I.Adieu, thou beautiful land, Canaan of the exiles,and Ararat to many a shattered ark! Fair cradle ofa race for whom the unbounded heritage of afuture that no sage can conjecture, no prophetdivine, lies afar in the golden promise—light ofTime!—destined, perchance, from the sins andsorrows of a civilization struggling with its ownelements of decay, to renew the youth of theworld, and transmit the great soul of Englandthrough the cycles of Infinite Change. All climatesthat can best ripen the products of earth or forminto various character and temper the differentfamilies of man is "rain influences" from the heaventhat smiles so benignly on those who had onceshrunk, ragged, from the wind, or scowled on thethankless sun. Here, the hard air of the chill MotherIsle,—there, the mild warmth of Italian autumns orthe breathless glow of the tropics. And with thebeams of every climate, glides subtle Hope. Of herthere, it may be said, as of Light itself, in thoseexquisite lines of a neglected poet,—          "Through the soft ways of heaven and airand sea,           Which open all their pores to thee,           Like a clear river thou dost glide.           All the world's bravery that delights our
seye           Is but thy several liveries;           Thou the rich dye on them bestowest;           Thy nimble pencil paints the landscape asthou goest." (1)Adieu, my kind nurse and sweet foster-mother,—along and a last adieu! Never had I left thee but forthat louder voice of Nature which calls the child tothe parent, and wooes us from the labors we lovethe best by the chime in the sabbath-bells of.emoHNo one can tell how dear the memory of that wildBush life becomes to him who has tried it with afitting spirit. How often it haunts him in thecommonplace of more civilized scenes! Itsdangers, its risks, its sense of animal health, itsbursts of adventure, its intervals of carelessrepose,—the fierce gallop through a very sea ofwide, rolling plains; the still saunter, at night,through woods never changing their leaves, withthe moon, clear as sunshine, stealing slant throughtheir clusters of flowers. With what an effort wereconcile ourselves to the trite cares and vexedpleasures, "the quotidian ague of frigidimpertinences," to which we return! How strongand black stands my pencil-mark in this passage ofthe poet from whom I have just quoted before!—"We are here among the vast and noble scenes ofNature,—we are there among the pitiful shifts of
policy; we walk here in the light and open ways ofthe Divine Bounty,—we grope there in the dark andconfused labyrinth of human malice." (2)But I weary you, reader. The New World vanishes,—now a line, now a speck; let us turn away, withthe face to the Old. Amongst my fellow-passengers how many there are returning homedisgusted, disappointed, impoverished, ruined,throwing themselves again on those unsuspectingpoor friends who thought they had done with theluckless good-for-noughts forever. For don't let medeceive thee, reader, into supposing that everyadventurer to Australia has the luck of Pisistratus.Indeed, though the poor laborer, and especially thepoor operative from London and the great tradingtowns (who has generally more of the quick knackof learning,—the adaptable faculty,—required in anew colony, than the simple agricultural laborer),are pretty sure to succeed, the class to which Ibelong is one in which failures are numerous andsuccess the exception,—I mean young men withscholastic education and the habits of gentlemen;with small capital and sanguine hopes. But this, inninety- nine times out of a hundred, is not the faultof the colony, but of the emigrants. It requires notso much intellect as a peculiar turn of intellect, anda fortunate combination of physical qualities, easytemper, and quick mother-wit, to make a smallcapitalist a prosperous Bushman. (3) And if youcould see the sharks that swim round a man just
dropped at Adelaide or Sydney, with one or twothousand pounds in his pocket! Hurry out of thetowns as fast as you can, my young emigrant; turna deaf ear, for the present at least, to all jobbersand speculators; make friends with some practisedold Bushman; spend several months at his stationbefore you hazard your capital; take with you atemper to bear everything and sigh for nothing; putyour whole heart in what you are about; never callupon Hercules when your cart sticks in the rut,—and whether you feed sheep or breed cattle, yoursuccess is but a question of time.But whatever I owed to Nature, I owed alsosomething to Fortune. I bought my sheep at littlemore than 7s. each. When I left, none were worthless than 15s., and the fat sheep were worth L1.(4) I had an excellent shepherd, and my wholecare, night and day, was the improvement of theflock. I was fortunate, too, in entering Australiabefore the system miscalled "The Wakefield" (5)had diminished the supply of labor and raised theprice of land. When the change came (like most ofthose with large allotments and surplus capital), itgreatly increased the value of my own property,though at the cost of a terrible blow on the generalinterests of the colony. I was lucky, too, in theadditional venture of a cattle-station, and in thebreed of horses and herds, which, in the five yearsdevoted to that branch establishment, trebled thesum invested therein, exclusive of the
  • Univers Univers
  • Ebooks Ebooks
  • Livres audio Livres audio
  • Presse Presse
  • Podcasts Podcasts
  • BD BD
  • Documents Documents