I went out a gunnin when I was a boy, and father went with me to teach me.  Well, the first flock of plover I seed I let slip at them and missed them.  Says father, says he, what a blockhead you be, Sam, that’s your own fault, they were too far off, you had’nt ought to have fired so soon.  At Bunker’s hill we let the British come right on till we seed the whites of their eyes, and then we let them have it slap bang.  Well, I felt kinder grigged at missin my shot, and I did’nt over half like to be scolded too; so, says I yes, father, but recollect you had a mud bank to hide behind, where you were proper safe, and you had a rest for your guns too; but as soon as you seed a little more than the whites of their eyes, you run for dear life, full split, and so I don’t see much to brag on in that arter all, so come now.  I’ll teach you to talk that way, you puppy you, said he, of that glorious day; and he fetched me a wipe that I do believe if I had’nt a dodged, would have spoiled my gunnin for that hitch; so I gave him a wide birth arter that all day.  Well, the next time I missed, says I, she hung fire so everlastinly, its no wonder—­and the next miss, says I, the powder is no good, I vow.  Well, I missed every shot, and I had an excuse for every one on ’em—­the flint was bad, or she flashed in the pan, or the shot scaled, or something or another; and when all would’nt do, I swore the gun was no good at all.  Now, says father, (and he edged up all the time, to pay me off for that hit at his Bunker hill story, which was the only shot I did’nt miss,) you han’t got the right reason arter all.  It was your own fault, Sam.  Now that’s jist the case with you; you may blame Banks and Council, and House of Assembly, and “the great men,” till you are tired, but its all your own fault—­you’ve no spirit and no enterprise, you want Industry and Economy; use them, and you’ll soon be as rich as the people at Halifax you call great folks—­they did’nt grow rich by talking, but by working; instead of lookin after other folks’ business, they looked about the keenest arter their own.  You are like the machinery of one of our boats, good enough, and strong enough, but of no airthly use till you get the steam up; you want to be set in motion, and then you’ll go ahead like any thing, you may depend.  Give up politics—­its a barren field, and well watched too; when one critter jumps a fence into a good field and gets fat, more nor twenty are chased round and round, by a whole pack of yelpin curs, till they are fairly beat out, and eend by bein half starved, and are at the liftin at last. look to your farms—­your water powers—­your fisheries, and factories. in short, says I, puttin on my hat and startin, look to yourselves, and don’t look to others.

No.  XXII