unate in obtaining a good and extensive run, and he
devoted the whole of his time to improving his flocks, and encouraged
his shepherds by rewards; so that in about four years his original
number of sheep had increased from twenty-five hundred (which cost
him L700) to seven thousand; and the breed and wool were also so much
improved that he could obtain L1 per head for two thousand fat sheep,
and 15s. per head for the other five thousand,--and this at a time when
the general price of sheep was from 10s. to 16s. This alone increased
his original capital, invested in sheep, from L700 to L5,700. The
profits from the wool paid the whole of his expenses and wages for his
men."

(5) I felt sure from the first that the system called "The Wakefield"
could never fairly represent the ideas of Mr. Wakefield himself, whose
singular breadth of understanding and various knowledge of mankind
belied the notion that fathered on him the clumsy execution of a theory
wholly inapplicable to a social state like Australia. I am glad to see
that he has vindicated himself from the discreditable paternity. But I
grieve to find that he still clings to one cardinal error of the system,
in the discouragement of small holdings, and that he evades, more
ingeniously than ingenuously, the important question: "What should be
the minimum price of land?"

(6) The profits of cattle-farming are smaller than those of the
sheep-owner (if the latter have good luck; for much depends upon that),
but cattle-farming is much more safe as a speculation, and less care,
knowledge, and management are required. L2,000 laid out on seven hundred
head of cattle, if good runs be procured, might increase the capital in
five years from L2,000 to L6,000, besides enabling the owner to maintain
himself, pay wages, etc.--Manuscript letter from G. B. Wilkinson.

CHAPTER II.

London once more! How strange, lone, and savage I feel in the streets! I
am ashamed to have so much health and strength when I look at those slim
forms, stooping backs, and pale faces. I pick my way through the crowd
with the merciful timidity of a good-natured giant. I am afraid of
jostling against a man, for fear the collision should kill him. I get
out of the way of a thread-paper clerk, and 't is a wonder I am not run
over by the omnibuses,--I feel as if I could run over them! I perceive,
too, that there is something outlandish, peregrinate, and lawless about
me. Beau Brummel would certainly have