The Bushman | Page 3

life must first die away; that the promised
recompense will probably come too late to the exhausted frame; that
the blessings which would now be received with prostrate gratitude will
cease to be felt as boons; and that although the wishes and wants of the
heart will take new directions in the progress of years, the
consciousness that the spring-time of life -- that peculiar season of
happiness which can never be known again -- has been consumed in
futile desires and aspirations, in vain hopes and bitter experiences, must

ever remain deepening the gloom of Memory.
Anxious to possess immediate independence, young men, full of
adventurous spirit, proceed in search of new fields of labour, where
they may reap at once the enjoyments of domestic life, whilst they
industriously work out the curse that hangs over the Sons of Adam.
They who thus become emigrants from the ardent spirit of adventure,
and from a desire to experience a simpler and less artificial manner of
living than that which has become the essential characteristic of
European civilization, form a large and useful body of colonists. These
men, notwithstanding the pity which will be bestowed upon them by
those whose limited experience of life leads to the belief that happiness
or contentment can only be found in the atmosphere of England, are
entitled to some consideration and respect.
To have dared to deviate from the beaten track which was before them
in the outset of life; to have perceived at so vast a distance advantages
which others, if they had seen, would have shrunk from aiming at; to
have persevered in their resolution, notwithstanding the expostulations
of Age, the regrets of Friendship, and the sighs of Affection -- all this
betokens originality and strength of character.
Does it also betoken indifference to the wishes of others? Perhaps it
does; and it marks one of the broadest and least amiable features in the
character of a colonist.
The next class of emigrants are those who depart from their native
shores with reluctance and tears. Children of misfortune and sorrow,
they would yet remain to weep on the bosom from which they have
drawn no sustenance. But the strong blasts of necessity drive them from
the homes which even Grief has not rendered less dear. Their future has
never yet responded to the voice of Hope, and now, worn and broken in
spirit, imagination paints nothing cheering in another land. They go
solely because they may not remain -- because they know not where
else to look for a resting place; and Necessity, with her iron whip,
drives them forth to some distant colony.

But there is still a third class, the most numerous perhaps of all, that
helps to compose the population of a colony. This is made up of young
men who are the wasterels of the World; who have never done, and
never will do themselves any good, and are a curse instead of a benefit
to others. These are they who think themselves fine, jovial, spirited
fellows, who disdain to work, and bear themselves as if life were
merely a game which ought to be played out amid coarse laughter and
wild riot.
These go to a colony because their relatives will not support them in
idleness at home. They feel no despair at the circumstance, for their
pockets have been refilled, though (they are assured) for the last time;
and they rejoice at the prospect of spending their capital far from the
observation of intrusive guardians.
Disgusted at authority which has never proved sufficient to restrain or
improve them, they become enamoured with the idea of absolute
license, and are far too high-spirited to entertain any apprehensions of
future poverty. These gallant-minded and truly enviable fellows betake
themselves, on their arrival, to the zealous cultivation of field-sports
instead of field produce. They leave with disdain the exercise of the
useful arts to low-bred and beggarly-minded people, who have not
spirit enough for anything better; whilst they themselves
enthusiastically strive to realize again those glorious times,--
"When wild in woods the noble savage ran."
In the intervals of relaxation from these fatigues, when they return to a
town life, they endeavour to prove the activity of their energies and the
benevolence of their characters, by getting up balls and pic-nics, solely
to promote the happiness of the ladies. But notwithstanding this
appearance of devotion to the fair sex, their best affections are never
withdrawn from the companion of their hearts -- the brandy flask. They
evince their generous hospitality by hailing every one who passes their
door, with "How are you, old fellow? Come in, and take a nip."
Somehow or other they are always liked, even by those who pity and
despise them.

The women only laugh at their irregularities --