Chapter II: Part 2

The bill then imposing heavy duties on foreign articles, besides diminishing the number of the cultivators of the soil, would in some degree operate as a tax on its fruits, because, while the price of manufactures was enormously increased, the value of produce would be more than proportionally diminished. For the cultivator, not only deprived of the benefit of a competition between the domestic and foreign consumer in the sale of his articles, is obliged to purchase those of his neighbour, at any price which his cupidity and the tariff may determine. The expenses of the state being still the same and its usual resources dried up, a general but unequal system of taxation would be adopted, which in fact, the farmer bending under the weight of this partial policy, is less able to pay whatever contribution may be levied. These assertions are by no means novel, they are mere corollaries from the plainest and most undoubted principles of political economy. Dr. Adam Smith, the great father of the science, and all whose views on this subject, though not acted upon in a country whose domestic policy was too firmly established to be changed without a most serious revolution, ought to have great weight with us in the adoption of any permanent system, speaks in this decided manner in his "Wealth of Nations," vol. iii. p. 201. "It is thus that every system which endeavours, either by extraordinary encouragements, to draw towards a particular species of industry a greater share of the capital of the society, than what would naturally go to it; or by extraordinary restraints, to force from particular species of industry some share of the capital which would otherwise be employed in it; is in reality subversive of the great purpose which it means to promote. It retards instead of accelerating the progress of the society towards real wealth and greatness; and diminishes instead of increasing the real value of the annual produce of its land and labour. All systems either of preference or restraint therefore, being thus completely taken away, the obvious and simple system of natural liberty establishes itself of its own accord. Every man, as long as he does not violate the laws of justice, is left perfectly free to pursue his own interest his own way, and to bring both his industry and capital into competition with those of any other man or order of men." M. Say, a man no less remarkable for his practical knowledge of manufacturing industry, than his profound acquaintance with every branch of economical science, has given his marked disapprobation of that system which we are discussing. "Lorsqu'au travers de cette marche naturelle des choses," says he, "l'autorité se montre et dit: le produit, qu'on veut créer, celui qui donne les meilleurs profits, et par conséquent celui qui est le plus recherché, n'est pas celui qui convient, il faut qu'on s'occupe de tel autre; elle dirige évidemment une partie de la production vers un genre, dont le besoin se fait sentir davantage." Traité d'Economic Politique, tom. i. p. 168. We can only refer to pages 172 and 201 for the expansion of these ideas. It is thus we find that the arguments adduced in favour of this system neither accord with the convictions of fact nor the suggestions of reason. Whenever the increasing capital devoted to the land can no longer be profitably employed, then manufactures will flourish and the surplus profits of agriculture be legitimately devoted to their support.

During the late war, the prospect of large gains caused by the extravagant price of all European commodities, caused many persons in our country to embark their fortunes in cotton and woollen factories.--These factories were brought into being by a temporary and unnatural state of things. On the return of the peace of 1814, many of these manufacturing establishments came of necessity to an end. Some establishments remain and ought to succeed, because they prove that the profits of their capital may enter into competition with that employed in agriculture. In this case the transfer is not only natural but conducive to national wealth.

But we are asked to patronise manufactures at the expense of agriculture, on the ground of our being rendered really more independent by them. This is, however, but an attempt to conceal private interest under the garb of patriotism,[5] and ought at least to awaken suspicion. We are not to be called _dependant_ merely because a state of war might give rise to many inconveniences. We can do without silks or broadcloths while we possess the real means of sustenance and defence. But these factories once established, say the advocates of this interest, the citizens ought to support them in their present languishing condition, and therefore ought not to buy, even at a much less price, foreign articles in preference to our own. The force and propriety of such reasoning would appear to be similar to that of a gardener, who having in winter devoted himself to the cultivation of flowers, &c., by means of artificial heat, should in the spring apply for an act of the municipal authority, forbidding all persons to pluck a daisy or violet in the field, and requiring them to resort to his hot-house. So far from there being a necessity for any interference on the part of government, we believe we may assert that our manufactures never were so flourishing as since the peace. It is true that many establishments have been broken up and much capital sunk, but it is a fact that those factories which are in the hands of individuals, have generally been successful, while those conducted by incorporated companies wanting the circumspection and prudence of private interest, have as often become bankrupt. In the western states this branch of business has greatly improved, and recent information enables us to affirm, that the profits which are now realised are nearly as large as those during the war. In the east, we might cite an instance, which must put down all cavil on this subject. The cotton factory at Waltham near Boston, begun when manufactures were by no means in so promising a situation as at present, is a triumphant answer to every one who demands additional encouragement for the loom, and a new tax on his brethren to extend its operations.

[5] "Qui est-ce qui solicite des prohibitions ou de forts droits
d'entrée dans un état? ce sont les producteurs de la denrée dont il
s'agit de prohiber la concurrance, et non pas les consommateurs.
Ils disent, c'est pour l'intérêt de l'état; mais il est clair
que c'est pour le leur uniquement.--N'est-ce pas la même chose,
continuent-ils, et ce que nous gagnons n'est-il pas autant de
gagné pour notre pays? point de tout:--ce que vous gagnez de cette
manière est tiré de la poche de votre voisin, d'un habitant du même
pays; et si l'on pouvait compter l'excédant de dépense fait par les
consommateurs, en consequence de votre monopole, on trouverait qu'il
surpasse le gain que le monopole vous a valu." Traité d'Economie
Politique par Jean-Baptiste Say, tom. i. p. 203.

But we hasten to return from our wanderings, and to introduce our readers to the work, of which we have prefixed the title to this article. It is in the form of letters addressed to Professor Pictet of Geneva, from various places in Italy, and contains the author's remarks upon that country. He dwells not on the palaces of Venice, neither worships at the altar of Roman genius in the Pantheon, but taking his silent way through the fields, he describes that which gave birth to both: he informs us of the processes of Italian farming, of the effects of irrigation, and of the general state of Italian agriculture. And, in our opinion, he has shewn as much taste in the execution of his design, as those travellers who have employed themselves upon inquiries commonly thought as interesting, but certainly not as useful. M. de Chateauvieux appears to be an enthusiastic admirer of the subject on which he writes, as well as to have a practical knowledge of all its details. His book is very little known among us, though it has lately been translated in England, and formerly occupied the attention of a celebrated critical journal of that country. It is our intention in this article to put our readers in mind of its existence.

The author divides Italy into three regions, distinguished by their different systems of cultivation.--The first extends from mount Cenis and the Alps of Suza to the shores of the Adriatic. The fertility of Lombardy is proved by the constant succession of its crops, and to this province he has given the name of "Pays de Culture par assolement," or the district of culture by rotation of crops. The second of the regions reposes on the southern declivity of the Appenines, from the frontiers of Provence to the boundaries of Calabria. This is called the District of Olive trees, or, by an association somewhat forced, of Canaanitish culture. The third region is that of _Malaria_, or patriarchal cultivation, from a supposed resemblance, which we are still less able to enter into, between the shepherds of the older and the present time. It is found from Pisa to Terracina, and comprehends the plain between the sea and the first ridge of the Appenines.

Lombardy has been often called the garden of Europe, and seems abundantly entitled to the appellation. The soil is not only rich and alluvial, but deep and perfectly level. The climate is humid, and the system of irrigation supplies water to almost every field. These circumstances, united to the heat of a southern sun, cause a most rapid and luxurious vegetation. Nothing can be more important in the economy of a farm than the situation of the farm-house and its out-buildings. In this respect our American farmers are lamentably deficient, and though we would not recommend as a model the one described by de Chateauvieux as common in Lombardy, still we think it would afford some valuable hints. The buildings raised on the four sides of a square, present on one side a central elevation of two stories. The lower part for the farmer, the upper story for his grain. Adjoining this, at each end, is a stable plastered so as not to let the dust descend, for the cows and oxen; the other three sides of the square are enclosed by a sort of portico, open within and supported by columns, which serves as a depository for straw, hay, &c.--This structure is about twenty-four feet broad, and fifteen high. Half the court is paved, the remainder is used for threshing out the corn, which, in the primitive way, is still done by horses. The place for manure is outside of the court. This plan presents the most space with the least building, and assures the preservation of every product.

The farms in Lombardy are small, and do not often contain sixty arpents;[6] notwithstanding M. de Chateauvieux asserts against Arthur Young, that they bring more to market than the large farms, and that there is no country in the world which can dispose of so large a portion of its productions as Piedmont. If the fact be so, it may possibly arise from the peculiar character of the persons who cultivate the land.--Our author, however, remarks, that this system of small farms can never take place till the advances of capital have carried agriculture to its highest point. Lombardy is cultivated by a species of farmers, called _metayers_. They pay a small fixed rent, valued at one half the produce of the meadow, or forty francs the arpent. The clover belongs to them entirely; the crops of wheat, Indian corn, and flax, and the wine and silk are equally divided between them and their landlord. The latter advances nothing but the taxes, and of course must find such an arrangement singularly advantageous. Father and son continue the same engagement, without the formality of a lease or any registry of the contract. M. Say regards this system as unfavourable to agriculture, and in his treatise on Political Economy, book ii. chap. 9, vol. 2, says, "il y a des cultivateurs qui n'ont rien, et auxquels le propriétaire fournit le capital avec la terre: on les appelle des Métayers. Ils rendent communément au propriétaire la moitié du produit brut. Ce genre de culture appartient à un état peu avancé de l'agriculture, et il est le plus défavorable de tout aux améliorations des terres; car celui des deux, du proprietaire ou du fermier, qui ferait l'améliarition à ses frais, admettrait l'autre à jouir gratuitement de la moitié de l'interêt de ses avances."

[6] An arpent is to an acre nearly as five to four.

(To be concluded in next Number.)

POTATOES.

MR. SOUTHWICK,

I have stated in my former communications, the result of my experience in the cultivation of potatoes. So long as I practised setting my crop with small potatoes, the cullings of my potato bins, my crops degenerated, grew less and less for several years, and finally run entirely out.--I changed my practice, and the result has been a continued improvement for near ten years, both in quantity and quality. My practice has been to select the largest, soundest, and best potatoes for seed, to cut them into 4 quarters, and plant 4 pieces in each hill in a square of about 9 inches. The results have been every way satisfactory. My potatoes have been large, constantly improving in size, earlier, better, and more abundant from year to year. I have never been nice enough to weigh my seed, to ascertain exactly whether a potato of one ounce or two ounces be as perfect a root as one of 6 or 12 ounces. My experience both in planting and in distillation has left on my mind a strong impression that small unripe seed is very improper, and very unprofitable. I am aware that many farmers hold firmly that small seed potatoes are as good as large ones; but I also know that I have sold potatoes to these men at 5 and 6 shillings per bushel, and some of them have been convinced that good seed was an object even at those prices. In the south I am aware that it is the practice almost uniformly to plant small sweet potatoes. But I am fully persuaded it is an error. To this cause I think may be justly attributed the decrease and deterioration in the crops of this valuable root.

_Middlesex, August 3, 1820._

[_Plough Boy._

ECONOMY IN FUEL.

While economy is the order of the day, it may not be amiss to point out an item of which it is believed a general ignorance prevails. It is well known to philosophers that when water commences to boil in the open air no additional fire can make it any hotter. A contrary opinion prevails, and those employed in cooking victuals, in order to accelerate the operation think that they cannot make the fire too intense. The fuel added for this purpose is, in fact, not only a wanton waste, but by causing a violent ebulition, it forces from the victuals, with the steam its finest flavour. How much fuel in families might be saved if, in cooking, no more were used than to keep the water that is used just at the boiling point, and it is certain the victuals would be the better for it.

[_Ib._

MAKING CIDER.

Directions for making sweet, clear Cider, that shall retain its
fine vinous flavour, and keep good for a long time in casks,
like wine.

It is of importance in making cider, that the mill, the press, and all the materials be sweet and clean, and the straw clear from must. To make good cider, fruit should be ripe, (but not rotten) and when the apples are ground, if the juice is left in the pummice twenty-four hours, the cider will be richer, softer, and higher coloured; if fruit is all of the same kind, it is generally thought that the cider will be better; as the fermentation will certainly be more regular, which is of importance. The gathering and grinding of the apples, the pressing out of the juice, is a mere manual labour, performed with very little skill in the operation; but here the great art of making good cider commences; for as soon as the juice is pressed out, nature begins to work a wonderful change in it. The juice of fruit, if left to itself, will undergo three distinct fermentations, all of which change the quality and nature of this fluid. The first is the vinous; the second the acid, which makes it hard and prepares it for vinegar; by the third it becomes putrid. The first fermentation is the only one the juice of apples should undergo, to make good cider. It is this operation that separates the juice from the filth, and leaves it a clear, sweet, vinous liquor. To preserve it in this state is the grand secret; this is done by fumigating it with sulphur, which checks any further fermentation, and preserves it in its fine vinous state. It is to be wished that all cider makers would make a trial of this method; it is attended with no expense, and but little trouble, and will have the desired effect.

I would recommend that the juice as it comes from the press, be placed in open headed casks or vats: in this situation it is most likely to undergo a proper fermentation, and the person attending may with correctness ascertain when this fermentation ceases; this is of great importance, and must be particularly attended to. The fermentation is attended with a hissing noise, bubbles rising to the surface and there forming a soft spongy crust over the liquor. When this crust begins to crack, and white froth appears in the cracks level with the surface of the head, the fermentation is about stopping. At this time the liquor is in a fine, genuine, clear state, and must be drawn off immediately into clean casks: and this is the time to fumigate it with sulphur. To do this, take a strip of canvas or rag, about 2 inches broad and twelve long; dip this into melted sulphur, and when a few pails of worked cider are put into the cask, set this match on fire and hold it in the cask, till it is consumed, then bung the cask and shake it, that the liquor may incorporate with and retain the fumes; after this fill the cask and bung it up. The cider should be racked off again the latter part of February or first of March; and if not as clear as you wish it, put in isinglass to fine it, and stir it well; then put the cask in a cool place, where it will not be disturbed, for the fining to settle. Cider prepared in this manner will keep sweet for years.

It is certainly of great importance to the people of America to cultivate the fruit that is natural to the soil of their country, and to make the most of the fruit which the soil produces; especially, when its produce is an article of value and of great consumption in this country.

A LOVER OF GOOD CIDER.

_Am. D. Adv._]

CABBAGES FOR CATTLE.

_Extract of a Letter._

Having been in England, I have had an opportunity of observing many improvements in agriculture, which, if I were to see them adopted here, would give me the sincerest pleasure. Among the number of them, I think the culture of cabbages for fattening of cattle stands in the first rank. From strong soils, it may fairly be questioned whether any kind of winter provision can be raised of such weight and quality per acre, as the larger kind of cabbages. For cows, they surpass all other kinds of vegetables, and probably some method may be thought of, by which they may be conveniently preserved through our long winters. The colewort cabbage used to be in most esteem, but I understand that a variety of the large red kind is coming into use, and bids fair to drive out the Scotch drumhead, it being much more hardy. They are exceedingly well adapted to wet land, and will prove very productive where turnips cannot be raised to any good purpose. It is, unquestionably, a crop of far more use and value than the mangel wurzel, which has, in England, within these few years, been in such fashionable culture.

In England and Scotland, I have seen the _parings of potatoes_ planted as seed; and at the same time I was told that they yielded quite as plentifully as cuttings with three eyes, or even whole potatoes.

I never had an opportunity of witnessing the result, but it may be worth while for some experimental agriculturist to plant some in this way, in order to prove or shew the fallacy of the assertion. I should recommend that they cut the parings about two-tenths of an inch in thickness, as those parings which I saw planted always had the eye left in them entire, and the root of the germ not in the least wounded.

[_St. John's paper._

PRESENT STATE OF POMPEII.

From William's Travels in Italy, Greece, &c.

Pompeii, which was entombed in a softer substance, is getting daily disencumbered, and a very considerable part of this Grecian city is unveiled. We entered by the Appian way, through a narrow street of marble tombs, beautifully executed, with the names of the deceased plain and legible. We looked into the columbary below that of Marius Arius Diomedes, and perceived jars containing the ashes of the dead, with a small lamp at the side of each. Arriving at the gate, we perceived a sentry box in which the skeleton of a soldier was found with a lamp in its hand: proceeding up the street beyond the gate, we went into several streets, and entered what is called a coffee house, the marks of cups being visible on the stone; we came likewise to a tavern, and found the sign (not a very decent one) near the entrance. The streets are lined with public buildings and private houses, most of which have their original painted decorations fresh and entire. The pavement of the streets is much worn by carriage wheels, and holes are cut through the side stones, for the purpose of fastening animals in the market place; and in certain situations are placed stepping stones, which give us rather unfavourable ideas of the state of the streets. We passed two beautiful little temples; went into a surgeon's house, in the operation room of which chirurgical instruments were found; entered an ironmonger's shop, where an anvil and hammer were discovered; a sculptor's and a baker's shop, in the latter of which may be seen an oven and grinding mills, like old Scotch querns. We examined likewise an oilman's shop, and a wine shop lately opened, where money was found in the till; a school in which was a small pulpit with steps up to it, in the middle of the apartment; a great theatre; a temple of justice; an amphitheatre, about 220 feet in length; various temples; a barrack for soldiers, the columns of which are scribbled with their names and jests; wells, cisterns, seats, tricliniums, beautiful Mosaic; altars, inscriptions, fragments of statues, and many other curious remains of antiquity. Among the most remarkable objects were an ancient wall, with a part of a still more ancient marble freze built in it as a common stone; and a stream which has flowed under this once subterraneous city, long before its burial; pipes of Terra Cotta to convey the water to the different streets; stocks for prisoners, in one of which a skeleton was found. All these things incline one almost to look for the inhabitants, and wonder at the desolate silence of the place.

The houses in general are very low, and the rooms are small, I should think not above ten feet high. Every house is provided with a well and a cistern. Every thing seems to be in proportion; the principal streets do not appear to exceed 16 feet in width, with side pavements of about three feet; some of the subordinate streets are from 6 to 10 feet wide, with side pavements in proportion; these are occasionally high, and are reached by steps. The columns of the barracks are about 15 feet in height; they are made of tuffa with stucco; one third of the shaft is smoothly plastered, the rest fluted to the capital. The walls of the houses are often painted red, and some of them have borders and antique ornaments, masks, and imitations of marbles, but in general poorly executed. I have observed, on the walls of an eating room, various kinds of food and game tolerably represented; one _woman's_ apartment was adorned with subjects relative to love; and a _man's_ with pictures of a martial character. Considering that the whole has been under ground upwards of seventeen centuries, it is certainly surprizing that they should be as fresh as at the period of their burial. The whole extent of the city, not half of which is excavated, may be about four miles. It is said that Murat employed no less than 2000 men in clearing Pompeii, and that Madame Murat attended the excavations in person every week. The present government have not retained above 100.

After visiting this extraordinary place, which certainly is the most interesting of all the wonders of Naples, we examined the museum of antiquities at Purtici. The collections of ancient paintings are curious and instructing, some of them containing exquisite pieces of art; one room is filled with representations of fruit and flowers, well painted and freely handled; some grapes in particular are remarkable for execution, quite transparent, with the touches of light on them judiciously placed to give effect and clearness. A second room contains various ornaments painted in a masterly manner, and with considerable ingenuity in the design. A third is covered with various animals and birds. Another apartment is filled with landscapes, but these are all extremely bad, having no perspective, nor any truth of colouring: indeed it would seem that the ancient painters had never given their mind to that delightful branch of the art. One landscape, however, with all its faults, interested me greatly, and that was a view of ancient Puteoli, (now Pozzuolo,) about six miles from Naples, supposed to have been painted before St. Paul landed there. The picture is, of course, very different from the present state of the city, but still a likeness may be traced, if we keep in view the site of the various temples and other objects, the foundations of which are still visible.

Among the innumerable pictures which are crowded in several rooms, I shall mention the following, which, on slight examination, appeared to be among the best: _Sophonisba drinking the juice of Hemlock_, admirable in expression; _an Infant Hercules strangling Serpents_; _Jove_; _Leda and the Swan_; _the Graces_; _a Venus_; _Education of Bacchus_; _a Medusa's Head_:--these are all slight, but it is that slightness which conveys character and refinement of taste; a _Theseus_ as large as life, in a fine attitude and good expression: Two allegorical figures, representing the river _Nile and Egypt_; _the Education of Achilles_; _a beautiful Female suckling an aged Man_, (corresponding to the Roman Charity,) most delicately expressed: An _Academy of Music_, the figures small, exquisitely painted; harps and flageolets are the only instruments. Among the curious pictures is the interior of a school, in which the master is represented flogging a boy, who is upon another boy's back; so that the practice of _horsing_ is sanctioned by very ancient authority. Our attention was likewise attracted by a shoemaker's and a cook's shop; these last are but indifferently designed and painted; a Wilkie or an Allan would smile at such productions. All these are in fresco, on stucco grounds, and with a considerable polish on the surface. It does not seem that any glazing colours have been used, the effect being produced entirely by body colour. The ancients, however, as Pliny informs us, had a dark, yet transparent mixture, which they laid over their highly finished works, to give the delusion required. From the freshness and clearness of the colouring, they seem to have had the advantage of painting in oil, so far, at least, as durability is of advantage.

The museum at Portici likewise contains many statues and busts of considerable merit; besides a great variety of culinary articles, and specimens, of calcined barley, beans, paste for bread, part of a roll, mustard-seed, straw, rye, pine tops, figs, cloth like tinder, fish nets, with corks attached to them, spunge, soap, rings, earrings, combs, thimbles, looking-glasses of polished metal, and a variety of emblems of luxury and taste, admirably executed. We examined them all with the keenest interest, though the impression would have been more gratifying, had they been left in the ancient towns in which they were discovered.

From the Pennsylvania Gazette, Nov. 18, 1736.

WASTE OF LIFE.

BY. DR. FRANKLIN.

Anergus was a gentleman of a good estate, he was bred to no business, and could not contrive how to waste his hours agreeably; he had no relish for any of the proper works of life, nor any taste at all for the improvements of the mind; he spent generally ten hours of the four and twenty in bed; he dozed away two or three more on his couch, and as many were dissolved in good liquor every evening, if he met with company of his own humour. Five or six of the rest he sauntered away with much indolence: the chief business of them was to contrive his meals, and to feed his fancy beforehand, with the promise of a dinner and supper; not that he was so very a glutton, or so entirely devoted to appetite; but chiefly because he knew not how to employ his thoughts better, he let them rove about the sustenance of his body. Thus he had made a shift to wear off ten years since the paternal estate fell into his hands: and yet, according to the abuse of words in our day, he was called a man of virtue, because he was scarce ever known to be quite drunk, nor was his nature much inclined to lewdness.

One evening, as he was musing alone, his thoughts happened to take a most unusual turn, for they cast a glance backward, and began to reflect on his manner of life. He bethought himself what a number of living beings had been made a sacrifice to support his carcase, and how much corn and wine had been mingled with those offerings. He had not quite lost all the arithmetic that he learned when he was a boy, and he set himself to compute what he had devoured since he came to the age of man.

"About a dozen feathered creatures, small and great, have one week with another (said he) given up their lives to prolong mine, which in ten years amounts to at least six thousand.

"Fifty sheep have been sacrificed in a year, with half a hecatomb of black cattle, that I might have the choicest part offered weekly upon my table. Thus a thousand beasts out of the flock and the herd have been slain in ten years' time to feed me, besides what the forest has supplied me with. Many hundreds of fishes have, in all their varieties, been robbed of life for my repast, and of the smaller fry as many thousands.

"A measure of corn would hardly afford fine flour enough for a month's provision, and this arises to above six score bushels; and many hogsheads of ale and wine, and other liquors, have passed through this body of mine, this wretched strainer of meat and drink.

"And what have I done all this time for God or _man_? What a vast profusion of good things upon a useless life, and a worthless liver! There is not the meanest creature among all these which I have devoured, but hath answered the end of its creation better than I. It was made to support human nature, and it hath done so. Every crab and oyster I have eat, and every grain of corn I have devoured, hath filled up its place in the rank of beings with more propriety and honour than I have done: O shameful waste of life and time!"

In short, he carried on his moral reflections with so just and severe a force of reason, as constrained him to change his whole course of life, to break off his follies at once, and to apply himself to gain some useful knowledge, when he was more than thirty years of age; he lived many following years with the character of a worthy man, and an excellent Christian; he performed the kind offices of a good neighbour at home, and made a shining figure as a patriot in the senate-house; he died with a peaceful conscience, and the tears of his country were dropped upon his tomb.

The world, that knew the whole series of his life, stood amazed at the mighty change. They beheld him as a wonder of reformation, while he himself confessed and adored the divine power and mercy, which had transformed him from a brute to a man.

But this was a single instance; and we may almost venture to write MIRACLE upon it. Are there not numbers of both sexes among our young gentry, in this degenerate age, whose lives thus run to utter waste, without the least tendency to usefulness!

When I meet with persons of such a worthless character as this, it brings to my mind some scraps of Horace,

Nos numerus sumus, & fruges consumere nati.
----Alcinoique Juventus
Cui pulchrum fuit in Medios dormire dies, &c.

PARAPHRASE.

There are a number of us creep
Into this world, to eat and sleep;
And know no reason why they're born,
But merely to consume the corn,
Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish,
And leave behind an empty dish:
Though crows and ravens do the same,
Unlucky birds of hateful name;
Ravens or crows might fill their places,
And swallow corn and carcases.
Then, if their tombstone, when they die,
Ben't taught to flatter and to lie,
There's nothing better will be said,
_Than that they've eat up all their bread, }
Drank all their drink, and gone to bed._ }

There are other fragments of that heathen poet, which occur on such occasions; one in the first of his satires, the other in the first of his epistles, which seem to represent life only as a season of luxury.

----Exacto contentus tempore vitæ
Cedat uti convivia statur----
Lusisti satus, edisti satis atque babisti;
Tempus abire tibi.

Which may be thus put into English:

Life's but a feast; and when we die
Horace would say, if he were by,
Friend, thou hast eat and drank enough,
'Tis time now to be marching off:
Then like a well-fed guest depart,
With cheerful looks, and ease at heart;
Bid all your friends good night, and say,
_You've done the business of the day._

LESSONS ON THRIFT.

Published for general benefit, by a Member of the Save-all Club.

The caprice of men at different periods has delighted to make much of some darling qualities idolized as virtues, while others, which could not be mistaken for vices, have been tacitly scorned as only fit to occupy grovelling minds, and avert reproach from those who could not aspire to praise.

Among the latter we discover Frugality. What writer has ever thought of making his hero an economist? With a disposition to avoid unnecessary expense, it has long been assumed that a sordid and despicable parsimony must invariably be found, and the world has been accustomed to bestow its tenderest sympathies on the gay, florid, open-hearted rake, who having manifested a disposition to give, where he had nothing of his own to bestow, ruined those honest tradesmen who were credulous enough to trust him, and qualified himself for genteel society by visiting the King's Bench or the Fleet; while the man who disdained to be generous at the expense of others, who would not affect splendour which his means were inadequate to sustain, in fine, who denied himself enjoyments for which he could not honestly pay, has been treated with unsparing ridicule as a mean and pitiful plodder. Our citizens and traders have wisely joined to laugh this character out of countenance, and to applaud the swindling pleasantries of a profligate. Let them look to the effects of this--let them look to their legers, and see if they have not been merry _at their own expense_.

If there be any truth in the remark dropped by one of the greatest ornaments of British literature, that "it would be well if fewer possessed the superfluities, and more the comforts of life;" in times like the present, it is desirable that mankind should be weaned from the admiration of that which ought never to have been defended--that madness and dishonesty should no longer be depicted as the gracefully irregular flow of youthful gayety; and that the modest virtues which find a friend in the author of "Lessons on Thrift," should be recalled from that exile to which they were doomed by sordid dissipation and unreflecting folly.

But we must explain, as we proceed, to guard against mistake or representation. We do not wish to return to that enviable state, which we suppose some of our radical neighbours contemplate, when they talk of a "state of nature;" namely, that in which the first inhabitants of this island found themselves embowered in their native woods. We do not sigh for that economical simplicity which, according to Richard de Cirencester, made blue paint, applied to the human body, a substitute for clothing; nor do we even lift our voices against that most effeminate piece of luxury, as it was considered by some at the commencement of Queen Elizabeth's reign--the introduction of _chimneys to houses_. The votaries of luxury may think that, in the last instance, we make but a very slight concession; but the frightful effects of that departure from old English habits was once thought very alarming. We read in Hollingshed:--"Now have we many chimneys; and yet our tender limbs complain of rheums, catarrhs, and pozes; then had we none but reredosses, and our heads did never ache. For as the smoke in those days was supposed to be a sufficient hardening for the timber of the house, so it was reputed a far better medicine to keep the good man and his family from the quack or poze, wherewith, as then, very few were acquainted."

With all our reverence for economy, assuredly there are practitioners of the present day whom we would prefer to _Dr. Smoke_; even though calling in the former, we must submit to the inconvenience of offering a fee. We do not sigh for the return of those golden days, when our wise progenitors made the same aperture act the double part of a window and a chimney, and when a log of wood was considered an excellent pillow; but sometimes when our reluctant hands are a little embarrassed to find the expected fee, or our purses feel most _awkwardly convenient_ for the pocket, after settling the lengthened bill, we do regret that those who prescribe for us, when indisposed, must at the same time prescribe for their own horses and carriages, and that the period is gone by when a sufferer could hope for relief from the pill of a pedestrian.

Our author, to show the evil effects of luxury and extravagance, even in a national point of view, gives the following narrative:

"The Seven United Provinces were at the height of their power and prosperity about 1650, before England, recovering from a destructive civil war, began to reclaim the dominion of the ocean.

"But in their successful periods the private virtues had also their share, and parsimony, as usual produced wealth and industry. In a conversation at Rotterdam this subject was discussed; and as the parties mostly imputed the decline of their republic to political causes, an opulent merchant said, that if the company would dine with him on such a day, he would convince them that there were other causes more in their power.

"The invitation was accepted, and it was hoped that the merchant would explain his sentiments, by which they might improve their speculations in commerce over a glass of wine, after an elegant repast as he was accustomed to give. But what was their surprise to find nothing on the table but salted herrings and table beer! They ate, however, a morsel in silence and dissatisfaction, which the master seemed not to observe, praying them repeatedly to eat and push the glass. At length, when they began to look at their watches, the master ordered in the dinner. At this word they brightened up, when in came a leg of mutton, boiled with turnips, and a pot or two of strong beer. This dish was little more satisfactory than the other, as they expected very different fare in such a magnificent house. There was, however, a great sacrifice of conscience and veracity in praising the mutton and the beer. But some yawned, and half the _gigot_ remained even among a numerous company, when the master, seeing their distress, nodded unnoticed to an old hoary-headed domestic, who alone had appeared along with the mutton, and who stood respectfully at the sideboard to serve the bread or the beer. He went out, and the company was left to a languid conversation; their eyes saying more than their tongues.

"On a sudden the folding doors opened, and a train of twelve servants entered, bearing on massy plate the choicest fish, flesh, fowl, all the delicacies of the season. Two without livery took their places behind their master; the others in splendid uniform behind the guests. The number of wines presented was computed at fifteen, and even the richest guests were astonished at the splendour and variety of the festival.

"When an equal dessert was served, and the wine began to circulate, a prudent and wary guest thought it was time to request our opulent merchant to explain his sentiments, as he had promised. All were fixed in mute attention when he made this memorable answer: 'Gentlemen, my sentiments are already explained; the lesson is already given. When our ancestors were gradually rising to wealth under the yoke of Burgundy, Austria, Spain, their frugality was contented with our first dish, and they even blessed the inventor. In their second period, when the noble house of Orange, when Maurice of Nassau was establishing our power in the East and West Indies, and commercial wealth began to overflow all our ports and canals, still habits of prudence occasioned economy, and our rich senators dined on plain mutton, and drank wholesome beer. The dinner I have had the honour to give you is a very moderate specimen of our present existence. Add the luxury and pomp of houses, furniture and equipages, and judge, as you well can, of the difference of expense--a difference which, I would venture to say, would have, even for one year, been regarded as a fortune by our bearded ancestors.'"

BEAUTIES OF THE MICROSCOPE.

Nothing can be more curious than the appearance exhibited by _mouldiness_, when viewed through a microscope. If looked at by the naked eye, it seems nothing but an irregular tissue of filaments; but the magnifying glass shows it to be a forest of small plants, which derive their nourishment from the moist substance which serves them as a base. The stems of these plants may be plainly distinguish; and sometimes their buds, some shut and some open. They have much similarity to mushrooms, the tops of which, when they come to maturity, emit an exceedingly fine dust which is their seed. Mushrooms, it is well known, are the growth of a single night; but those in miniature, of which we are speaking, seem to come to perfection in a much less space of time than that; hence we account for the extraordinary progress which mouldiness makes in a few hours. Another curious observation of the same kind is, that M. Ahlefeld, seeing some stones covered with a sort of dust, had the curiosity to examine it with a microscope, and he found that it consisted of small microscopic mushrooms, raised on pedicles, the heads of which, round the middle, were turned up at the edges. They were striated also from the centre to the circumference, as certain kinds of mushrooms are. He further remarked, that they contained, above their upper covering, a multitude of small grains shaped like cherries somewhat flattened, which he suspected were the seeds; and finally he observed, among the forest of mushrooms, several small red insects, which probably fed upon them.

The _lycoperdon_, or puff-ball, is a plant of the fungus kind, which grows in the form of a tubercle, covered with small grains, very like chagreen. If pressed, it bursts, and emits an exceedingly fine kind of dust, which flies off under the appearance of smoke. If some of the dust be examined with the microscope, it appears to consist of perfectly round globules, of an orange colour, the diameter of which is only about the 1-50th part of the thickness of a hair, so that each grain of this dust is but the 1-125000th part of a globule, equal in diameter to the breadth of a hair.

The _farina of flowers_ is found to be regularly and uniformly organized in each kind of plant. In the mallow, for example, each grain is an opaque ball, covered over with small points. The farina of the tulip, and of most of the liliaceous kind of flowers, bears a striking resemblance to the seeds of a cucumber: that of the poppy is very like grains of barley, with a longitudinal groove in them.

There are certain plants, the leaves of which seem to be pierced with a multitude of small holes. Of this kind is the _hypericum_, or St. John's wort. Now, if a fragment of this be viewed with a good microscope, the supposed holes are found to be vesicles, contained in the thickness of the leaf, and covered with an extremely thin membrane; and these are thought to be the receptacles which contain the essential and aromatic oil peculiar to the plant.

The view exhibited by those plants which have down, such as borage, nettles, &c. is exceedingly curious.--When examined by a microscope, they appear to be covered with spikes. Those of borage are, for the most part, bent so as to form an elbow; and though really very close, they appear by the microscope, to be at a considerable distance from each other. The entire appearance is very similar to that of the skin of the porcupine.

If a needle be viewed through a microscope, though exceedingly fine, it is well known the point will appear quite blunt, more like a peg, broken at the end, than a sharp pointed steel needle. The edge of the finest set razor, when seen through a microscope, will appear more like the back of a penknife, full of irregularities, than what it really is. In these respects the works of art, when carried to the highest pitch of perfection, will not bear to be compared with the operations of nature. The latter, exposed to the microscope, instead of losing their lustre and high polish, appear so much the more beautiful and perfect in regularity and order. When the eyes of a fly are illuminated by means of a lamp or candle, and viewed through this instrument, each of them shows an image of the taper with a precision and vivacity which nothing can equal.

There are two kinds of _sand_, viz. the calcareous and the vitrifiable: the former, examined with a microscope, resembles large irregular fragments of rock; but the latter appears like so many rough diamonds. In some instances, the particles of sand seem to be highly polished and brilliant, like an assemblage of diamonds, rubies, and emeralds.

Charcoal is a fine object for the microscope. It is found full of pores, regularly arranged, and passing through its whole length.

[_English Magazine._

The following melancholy letter alludes to Accum's "Treatise on Adulterations of Food and Culinary Poisons."

From Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine.

LETTER

_From an elderly Gentlewoman to Mr. Christopher North._

My dear Mr. North--I much fear that this is the last letter you will ever receive from your old friend. "I'm wearin' awa, Kit! to the land o' the leal!" and that, too, under the influence of a complication of disorders, which have been undermining my constitution (originally a sound and stout one) for upwards of half a century. Look to yourself my much respected lad--and think no more of your rheumatism. That, believe me, is a mere trifle; but think of what you have been doing, since the peace of 1763, (in that year were you born,) in the eating and drinking way, and tremble. I know, my dear Kit, that you never were a gormandizer, nor a sot; neither surely was I--but it matters not--the most abstemious of us all have gone through fearful trials, and I have not skill in figures to cast up the poisonous contents of my hapless stomach for nearly threescore years. You would not know me now; I had not the slightest suspicion of myself in the looking-glass this morning. Such a face! so wan and wobegone! No such person drew Priam's curtains at dead of night, or could have told him half his Troy was burned.

Well--hear me come to the point. I remember now, perfectly well, that I have been out of sorts all my lifetime; and the causes of my continual illness have this day been revealed to me. May my melancholy fate be a warning to you, and all your clear contributors, a set of men whom the world could ill spare at this crisis. Mr. Editor--I HAVE BEEN POISONED.

You must know that I became personally acquainted a few weeks ago, quite accidentally, with that distinguished chymist, well known in our metropolis by the name of "Death in the Pot."[7] He volunteered a visit to me at breakfast, last Thursday, and I accepted him. Just as I had poured out the first cup of tea, and was extending it graciously towards him, he looked at me, and with a low, hoarse, husky voice, like Mr. Kean's, asked me if I were not excessively ill? I had not had the least suspicion of being so--but there was a terrible something in "Death in the Pot's" face which told me I was a dead woman. I immediately got up--I mean strove to get up, to ring the bell for a clergyman--but I fainted away. On awaking from my swoon, I beheld "Death in the Pot" still staring with his fateful eyes--and croaking out, half in soliloquy, half in tête-a-tête, "There is not a life in London worth ten year's purchase." I implored him to speak plainly, and for God's sake not to look at me so malagrugorously--and plainly enough he did then speak to be sure--"Mrs. TROLLOPE, YOU ARE POISONED."

[7] Frederick Accum, Operative Chymist, &c.

"Who," cried I out convulsively, "who has perpetrated the foul deed? On whose guilty head will lie my innocent blood? Has it been from motives of private revenge? Speak, Mr. Accum[8]--speak! Have you any proofs of a conspiracy?" "Yes, Madam, I have proofs, damning proofs. Your wine merchant, your brewer, your baker, your confectioner, your grocer, aye, your very butcher, are in league against you; and, Mrs. Trollope, YOU ARE POISONED!"--"When!--Oh! when was the fatal dose administered? Would an emetic be of no avail? Could you not yet administer a----" But here my voice was choked, and nothing was audible, Mr. North, but the sighs and sobs of your poor Trollope.

[8] Death in the Pot.