MISCELLANEOUS.

Southland Times, Issue 1600, 2 July 1872, Page 3

MISCELLANEOUS.

The report that Great Britain has made a treaty with its Canadian colonies, confirming the independence of the latter, in case of war with the United States, is, says the New York Tribune, sturdily supported by the Chronicle of Halifax, in which journal the story originally appeared. The statement carries on its face such an air of extreme improbability that it seems to need but a repetition to mako it an utter absurdity. Yet it is gravely repeated in the Chronicle, in spite of the ridicule and contradictions of the Dominion press, and with so much circumstantiality, that one's faith in the improbability of the existence of such a treaty must be shaken. As there is small possibility that the contingency, on which it is reported that the treaty is based, will ever arise, the world must remain in ignorance of the real facts in the case. Poor Frenchmen's Passion fob Land. — A peasant who hears of fields in the market will give as much as £100 an acre for the freehold of sterile soil out of which it would take the toil of Hercules to make a living. He will work persistently, stubbornly, almost savagely, to wring every sack of potatoes and barrel of coarse wine out of his sandy fields and stony vineyard. To get more out of the land he sacrifices others besides himself. His willing wife slaves and drudges like a London cab-horse, and changes with hideous rapidity from a young to an old woman, over the daily task in all weathers. His children toil more than is good for the straightening of young backs and the shapeliness of tender limbs, in the service of the Moloch of a farm. Up at the earliest dawn, busy till dark night, scraping and haggling, pinching and saving, the whole family struggle on, spending as little as they can, making the most possible to them. But " sic vos non vobis" might be the motto of the French peasantry. These poor folks practise the severest self-denial, and display an almost heroic courage as workers, for the emolument less of themselves than of M. Deslunettes, the notary. Of the notary, or of " his friend in the city," who found the exorbitant purchase money for the meadow beside the brook, who lent wherewith to buy the cows, and the horse to replace old Quatreblanes when he fell lame, and who advanced the portion of the married daughter, established in the nearest town as a petty shopkeeper. The interest is high ; but then M. Deslunettes gently deplores that his invisible client exacts a large return for the cash lent, and money, as the peasant very well knows, is scarce. So Jacques goes home, and works furiously, and livea as hard as he works, under the spur of the fierce land-hunger, and loves the barren soil which he could sell — and well — to-morrow, only that he prefers to toil on, and so much the better for canny, comfortable M. Deslunettes. — All the Year Bound.