_Swan River Settlement._ The soil of Swan River, from its moist state, is better adapted to the cultivation of tobacco and cotton than any other part of Australia. Both these articles are intended to be cultivated on a large scale, as also sugar and flax, with various important articles of drugs that the climate is peculiarly adapted to the growth of.--_Parliamentary Papers._ _The Harvest Bug_ Is so minute as to be visible only to the keenest eyes, and then only when on any very smooth white surface. Ladies and children are the first to complain of their attacks; and chiefly where any part of the dress fits closely to the skin. There they seat themselves at the intersection of the lines, and lay such firm hold with their feet and jaws, that they cannot be displaced by rubbing, nor by washing, unless a powerful spirit or acid be used. By a microscope, the bug will be seen to have eight legs, two feelers, and an abdomen something egg-shaped; colour livid red; and in size no bigger than the point of a small needle. They lacerate the epidermis in some way or other, as a small hole is observable where they have been seated; and cause extreme itching and considerable inflammation of the part.--_Magazine of Natural History_. We should think _Eau de luce_ or ammonia a remedy for their bite. _Adulterated Flour._ If flour adulterated with potato starch be sprinkled upon black paper, and examined by a powerful lens, or a microscope, the starch may be detected by the brilliancy of its grains. * * * * * NOTES OF A READER. * * * * * A BOTTLE OF GOOD WINE. The following (from the _Ramblings of a Desultory Man_, in the _New Monthly Magazine_) is in the best vein of a _bon vivant_ and will be easily credited:-- "After dinner we ordered a bottle of Sautern, which was marked in the carte at two francs ten sous. It was in a kind of despair that we did it, for the red wine was worth nothing. It came--people may talk of Hocheim, and Burgundy, and Hermitage, and all the wines that ever the Rhone or the Rhine produced, but never was their wine like that one bottle of Sautern. It poured out as clear as the stream of hope ere it has been muddied by disappointment, and it was as soft and generous as early joy ere youth finds out its fallacy. We drank it slowly, and lingered over the last glass as if we had a presentiment that we should never meet with any thing like it again. When it was done, quite done, we ordered another bottle. But no--it was not the same wine. We sent it away and had another--in vain;--and another--there was no more of it to be had. "It was like one of those days of pure unsophisticated happiness, that sometimes break in upon life, and leave nothing to be desired; that come unexpectedly, last their own brief space, like things apart, and are remembered for ever." We remember just such a bottle of _Grave_ at Abbeville. * * * * *