Chapter II: Part 2

The abbess now spoke to us from the other side of the plate, "I salute you in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." This person had a lively voice and cheerful manner, and she spoke with perfect freedom and willingness about her own concerns and those of the convent. She told us that she had taken the veil thirty-eight years ago, and had been made abbess at the restoration. She said moreover, that the sisters were happy, enjoyed good health, and that she had never seen a dissatisfied look, or heard a repentant wish. This was no doubt true; people are contented in many conditions worse than that of the Vive Seppolte, and conditions, too, which they never regard as probations or martyrdoms, to be rewarded in another world. In 1815 the Pope had permitted this convent to be re-established, and since that time not a human face, beyond those of the sisterhood, had been seen by any inhabitants of it. Judging from the sound of this woman's voice, and her rapid, pleasant, and animated conversation, it is evident that she had neither regretted nor suffered much from this deprivation. She appeared to have vast vivacity, and much playfulness of mind, and was a great talker. Still it did not often befal her to speak to foreigners through the grate, and much allowance ought to be made for the excitement which a similar situation doubtless awakened. When a small tribute was turned upon the barrel into the convent, she said "God has sent us this gift." "Those, who sent it, will be remembered in our prayers."

Having seen and heard much of the convents of Rome, I am satisfied that the inhabitants of them do not condemn themselves to many deprivations and mortifications, which they would not have suffered in the ordinary chances of a different life; that the passions, which exist there, are less active, violent and frequent, and that the carelessness of mind, health of body, and absence from all gloom and severity, utterly contradict and put to shame the theories and creeds of the world. One cannot discourse too long upon the impossibility of ascertaining the relative amount of happiness in the different courses of life to which habit, inclination, or chance, may call. A foreign gentleman, who had lived twenty years in Rome, told me that he had never heard of any scandalous conduct in any nunnery during all that time.

From the Journal of Science.

ANTISEPTIC POWER OF THE PYROLIGNEOUS ACID.

Results of some experiments made by Mr. W. Ramsay.--

A number of herrings were cleaned on the 10th of July, 1819; and without being salted, were immersed for three hours in distilled pyroligneous acid, specified gravity 1012. When withdrawn they were softened and not so firm as fish taken out of common pickle. They were hung up in the shade; July and August were hot months, but the herrings had no signs of putrefaction about them, but had a very wholesome smell, combined with that of the acid. One being broiled the empyreumatic smell was very strong. The rest, after six months, were in complete preservation.

It was afterwards found that the period of immersion had been too long. If the fish are simply dipped in acid of specific gravity 1012, and dried in the shade, it is sufficient for their preservation; and such herrings, when boiled, are very agreeable and have not the disagreeable empyreuma of the former.

A number of haddocks were cleaned, split, and slightly sprinkled with salt for six hours; then being drained, dipped for about three seconds in pyroligneous acid, and hung in the shade for eight days. On being broiled, they were of an uncommonly fine flavour, delicately white, and equal to the highly esteemed Finnan Haddock.

Herrings were cured in the same way as the haddocks. After being dried in the shade for two months, they were equal in quality and flavour to the best red herrings. The fish retained the shining and fresh appearance they had when taken from the sea.

A piece of fresh beef was dipped for one minute in pyroligneous acid of specific gravity 1012, in July 1819. On March 4, 1820, it was as free from taint as when first immersed. No salt was used in this experiment. A piece of beef was dipped in at the same time in pure vinegar, of specific gravity 1009. It was perfectly free from taint on the 18th of November. This experiment indicates antiseptic powers in pure vinegar; some haddocks were cured with it, which remained free from taint, but when cooked had an insipid taste.

When beef is partially salted, and then steeped for a short time in the pyroligneous acid, after being drained and cooked, it has the same flavor as Hamburg beef.

Mr. Ramsay has no doubt, that with proper modifications, the use of the acid may be extended to the preservation of every species of animal food.

In order to ascertain whether the volatile oil in the pyroligneous acid, or the acid itself, was the agent to prevent putrefaction, Mr. Ramsay dipped haddocks and fresh beef in pure vinegar of specific gravity 1009. When fish were allowed to remain in the vinegar a few minutes, he observed that the muscular fibre was immediately acted on, a partial solution of the fish took place, and the acid became milky. When vinegar of a stronger quality was used, the fish was entirely dissolved, particularly if aided by heat. Both fish and beef which were dipped in vinegar, of specific gravity 1009, and which were afterwards dried in a summer heat, remained for a long time after perfectly free from taint.

Mr. Stodart has repeated some of these experiments, and especially those relating to the haddocks, with perfect success in London.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

The following plan for preparing cheap and nutricious food, received from a friend in England, was about a year ago extensively circulated in this country, by means of several of the daily journals. Whether its utility, has to any considerable extent, been tested by practice is unknown to the writer; but as it is believed to be worthy of preservation, and as economy should still continue to be the order of the day, its republication may possibly be useful.

CHEAP, WHOLESOME, AND SAVORY FOOD.

Take one pound of RICE, steep it in cold water for at least one hour, (longer would be better;) then put it into boiling water, and, if previously steeped enough, it will be sufficiently boiled in about five minutes; then pour off the water, and dry it on the fire, as in cooking potatoes.

Use it with the following gravy or sauce: two or three ounces of mutton suet, fried with onions until done enough; then add some flour and water, (as in making gravy,) with salt and about as much Cayenne pepper, as will lie on a sixpence, (or twelve and a half cent piece;) the different ingredients, however, may be varied to the taste.

At the present wholesale prices of RICE, the above would only cost about three pence, (a fraction more than _five and a half cents_,) and would be sufficient meal for _a family of six persons_.

I will merely add, that having eaten of the food prepared in exact conformity with the foregoing directions, it was found by no means unpalatable.

I.

GINGER.

The cultivation of this root is nearly similar to that of potatoes. The land is first well cleansed from weeds; it is then dug into trenches similar to those which gardeners, make for celery; and the plants are set in these trenches in March or April. They flower about September and in January or February; when the stalks are withered, the roots are in a proper state to be dug up.--These are prepared for use in two ways. When intended for what is called _white ginger_, they are picked, scraped, separately washed, and afterwards dried with great care by exposure in the sun. For _black ginger_, they are picked, cleansed, immersed in boiling water and dried. This process is much less laborious and expensive than the other; consequently the price of the article is not so great. By boiling, the ginger loses a portion of its essential oil, and its black colour is owing to this.

The use of ginger, both in medicine, and as a spice, are numerous and well known. In the West Indies, it is frequently eaten fresh in sallads, and with other food, and the roots when dug up young, namely, at the end of three or four months after they have been planted, are preserved in syrup, and exported as a sweet meat to nearly all parts of the world. The ginger brought from the East Indies is much stronger than that coming from Jamaica.

WARS OF THE ANTS.

"The guard or sentry of the ant-hill will furnish us with the first proof of their social relations. We could, without doubt, irritate ants on the surface of the nest, without alarming those in the interior, if they acted isolately, and had no means of communicating their mutual impressions. Those who are occupied at the bottom of their nest, removed from the scene of danger, ignorant of what menaces their companions, could not arrive to their assistance; but it appears, that they are quickly and well informed of what is passing on the exterior. When we attack those without, the most part engage in their defence with a considerable degree of courage; there are always some, who immediately steal off and produce alarm throughout their city; the news is communicated from quarter to quarter, and the labourers come forward in a crowd, with every mark of uneasiness and anger. What however, is highly worthy our remark is that the ants, to whose charge the young are confided, and who inhabit the upper stories, where the temperature is highest, warned also of the impending danger, always governed by that extreme solicitude for their charge, which we have so often admired, hasten to convey them to the deepest part of their habitation, and thus deposit them in a place of safety.

"To study in detail the manner in which this alarm spreads over the ant-hill, we must extend our observations to the individuals of the largest species: the Herculean Ants, who inhabit hollow trees and who quit them only in the spring, to accompany the males and females, have very much assisted me in this object.

"The labourers are from five to six lines in length; the winged individuals are also proportionally large; they may be frequently seen running about the trunk of an oak, at the entrance of their labyrinths. When I disturbed those ants that were at the greatest distance from their companions, by either observing them too closely, or blowing upon them lightly, I saw them run towards the other ants, give them gentle blows with their heads against the corslet, communicating to them in this way, their fear or anger, passing rapidly from one to the other in a semicircular direction, and striking several times successively against those who did not put themselves in instant motion. These, warned of their common danger, set off immediately, describing in their turn different curves, and stopping to strike with their heads all those they met on their passage. In one moment the signal was general, all the labourers ran over the surface of the tree with great agitation, those within receiving notice of the danger, and probably by the same means, came out in a crowd and joined this tumult. The same signal which produced upon the workers this effect, caused a different impression upon the males and females; as soon as one of the labourers had informed them of their danger, they sought an asylum, and re-entered precipitately the trunk of the tree;--not one thought of quitting its temporary shelter, until a worker approached and gave them the signal for flight. The solicitude of the labourers in their favour, is manifested in the activity they display, in giving them advice or intimating to them the order for their departure; they redouble then the above signals, as if conscious of their understanding their intent less readily than the companions of their labours; the latter understand them, if I may use the expression, at half a word."

"Of all the enemies of the ant, those most dreaded are the ants themselves; the smallest not the least, since several fasten at once upon the feet of the largest, drag them to the ground, embarrass their movements, and thus prevent their escape. One would be astonished at the fury of these insects in their combats; it would be more easy to tear away their limbs and cut them to pieces, than compel them to quit their hold. It is nothing uncommon to see the head of an ant suspended to the legs or antennæ of some worker, who bears about, in every place, this pledge of his victory. We also observe, not unfrequently, the ants dragging after them the entire body of some enemy they had killed some time before, fastened to their feet in such a way as not to allow of their disengaging themselves.

"Supposing the ants to be of equal size, those furnished with a sting have an advantage over those who employ only for their defence their venom and their teeth. The whole of those ants whose peduncles has no scale, but one or two knots, are provided with a sting; the Red Ants, which are said to sting more sharply than the rest, possess both these sorts of arms. In general the ants furnished with a sting are, in our country, some of the smallest. I know but one species of middle size; but it is very rare and only inhabits the Alps.

"The wars entered into by ants of different size bear no resemblance to those in which ants engage who come to combat with an equal force. When the large attack the small, they appear to do it by surprise, most likely to prevent the latter from fastening upon their legs; they seize them in the upper part of the body and strangle them immediately between their pincers. But when the small ants have time to guard against an attack, they intimate to their companions the danger with which they are threatened, when the latter arrive in crowds to their assistance. I have witnessed a battle between the Herculean and the Sanguine Ants; the Herculean Ants quitted the trunk of the tree in which they had established their abode, and arrived to the very gates of the dwelling of the Sanguine Ants; the latter, only half the size of their adversaries, had the advantage in point of number; they however acted on the defensive. The earth, strewed with the dead bodies of their compatriots, bore witness they had suffered the greatest carnage; they therefore, took the prudent part of fixing their habitation elsewhere, and with great activity transported to a distance of fifty feet from the spot, their companions, and the several objects that interested them. Small detachments of the workers were posted at little distances from the nest, apparently placed there to cover the march of the retreats and to preserve the city itself from any sudden attack. They struck against each other when they met, and had always their mandibles separated in the attitude of defiance. As soon as the Herculean Ants approached their camp, the centinals in front assailed them with fury; they fought at first in single combat. The Sanguine Ant threw himself upon the Herculean Ant, fastened upon its head, turned its abdomen against the chest of its adversary or against the lower part of its mouth, and inundated it with venom. It sometimes quitted its antagonist with great quickness: more frequently, however, the Herculean Ant held between its feet its audacious enemy. The two champions then rolled themselves in the dust and struggled violently. The advantage was at first in favour of the largest ant; but its adversary was soon assisted by those of its own party who collected around the Herculean Ant and inflicted several deep wounds with their teeth. The Herculean Ant yielded to numbers[3]; it either perished the victim of its temerity, or was conducted a prisoner to the enemy's camp.

[3] I retained in close captivity in the same box nearly a month,
about an equal number of Red and Yellow Ants. It would seem that a
general feeling of compassion for their unfortunate imprisonment
had given birth to a suspension of hostilities, and that rankling
animosity had been exchanged for good will and social order.
During this period I seldom witnessed any affray on the exterior
of the nest, and on breaking it up, the interior gave me no room
to suppose it had been the scene of much contention; but scarcely
were they liberated, scarcely did they feel the fresh breeze passing
over them, than their animosity rekindled, and the field of their
liberty became the theatre of sanguinary combat. For a few moments
each party seemed engaged in discovering a place of retreat, and
it was only on returning to the ruins of their original prison, to
bring off the rest of their companions, that they encountered and
waged war upon each other. What was as singular as unexpected, they
fought in pairs, in no one instance _en masse_; indeed, it only
twice happened, although the ground was strewed with combatants,
that a third came to the aid of its companion, and even then, as if
conscious of the unequal contest, one immediately retired. It was
inconceivable with what desperate fury, and with what determined
obstinacy they fastened upon each other. With their mandibles alone
they often succeeded in effecting a complete separation of the body
of their antagonist, of which the ground exhibited many proofs when
I revisited it.

T.

"Such are the combats between ants of different size; but if we wish to behold regular armies war in all its form, we must visit those forests in which the Fallow Ants establish their dominion over every insect in their territory. We shall there see populous and rival cities, regular roads passing from the ant hill as so many rays from a centre, and frequently by an immense number of combatants, wars between hordes of the same species for they are naturally enemies and jealous of the territory which borders their own capital. It is in these forests I have witnessed the inhabitants of two large ant-hills engaged in spirited combat. I cannot pretend to say what occasioned discord between these republics. They were composed of ants of the same species, alike in their extent and population; and were situated about a hundred paces distance from each other. Two empires could not possess a greater number of combatants.

"Let us figure to ourselves this prodigious crowd of insects covering the ground lying between these two ant-hills, and occupying a space of two feet in breadth. Both armies met at half-way from their respective habitations, and there the battle commenced. Thousands of ants took their station upon the highest ground, and fought in pairs, keeping firm hold of their antagonists by their mandibles; a considerable number were engaged in the attack and leading away prisoners. The latter made several ineffectual efforts to escape, as if aware that, upon their arrival at the camp, they would experience a cruel death. The scene of warfare occupied a space of about three feet square; a penetrating odour exhaled from all sides; numbers of dead ants were seen covered with venom. Those ants composing groups and chains, took hold of each other's legs and pincers, and dragged their antagonists on the ground. These groups formed successively. The fight usually commenced between two ants, who seized each other by the mandibles, and raised themselves upon their hind legs, to allow of their bringing their abdomen forward, and spirting the venom upon their adversary. They were frequently so closely wedged together that they fell upon their sides, and fought a long time in that situation, in the dust; they shortly after raised themselves, when each began dragging its adversary; but when their force was equal, the wrestlers remained immoveable, and fixed each other to the ground, until a third came to decide the contest. It more commonly happened that both ants received assistance at the same time, when the whole four, keeping firm hold of a foot or antenna, made ineffectual attempts to gain the battle. Some ants joined the latter, and these were, in their turn seized by new arrivals. It was in this way they formed chains of six, eight, or ten ants, all firmly locked together; the equilibrium was only broken when several warriors, from the same republic, advanced at the same time, who compelled those that were enchained to let go their hold, when the single combats again took place. On the approach of night each party returned gradually to the city, which served it for an asylum. The ants, which were either killed or led away into captivity, not being replaced by others, the number of combatants diminished, until their force was exhausted.

"The ants returned to the field of battle before dawn. The groups again formed; the carnage recommenced with greater fury than on the preceding evening, and the scene of combat occupied a space of six feet in length, by two, in breadth. Success was for a long time doubtful; about mid-day the contending armies had removed to the distance of a dozen feet from one of their cities, whence I conclude some ground had been gained. The ants fought so desperately, that nothing could withdraw them from their enterprize; they did not even perceive my presence, and although I remained close to the army, none of them climbed upon my legs; they seemed absorbed in one object, that of finding an enemy to contend with."

THE DIAMOND.

Of all transparent substances, none can be compared to the brilliancy of the diamond; and its hardness is such, that no kind of steel instrument can make any impression upon it. Notwithstanding which, it has been proved that the diamond is but carbon or charcoal, in a pure or chrystallized state. When strongly heated, it consumes entirely away. Diamonds, when rubbed together, have a peculiarly, and scarcely to be described grating sound, which is remarkably characteristic of this gem; so that by this circumstance alone, rough diamonds may be accurately and expeditiously distinguished from every other gem. When the diamond is rubbed, it will attract bits of straw, feathers, hairs, and other small objects, and if exposed to the rays of the sun, and immediately taken into a dark place, will appear luminous.

The largest diamond ever known, is in the possession of the Queen of Portugal, and weighs about eleven ounces. It was found in Brazil, and sent from thence to London, in the year 1746. It is still uncut, and has been valued at twenty-five million six hundred thousand dollars.

Diamonds are much worn in England as ornaments. When converted into powder or dust, the diamond is used with steel instruments to divide pebbles and precious stones. Its use in cutting glass is generally known. Rock crystal, brought from Brazil, is divided into leaves, and ground and polished with diamond dust for spectacles, and other optical instruments.

EXTRACTS FROM WIRT.

"Excessive wealth is neither glory nor happiness. The cold and sordid wretch, who thinks only of himself; who draws his head within his shell and never puts it out, but for the purposes of lucre and ostentation--who looks upon his fellow creatures not only without sympathy, but with arrogance and insolence, as if they were made to be his vassals, and he was made to be their lord--as if they were formed for no other purpose than to pamper his avarice, or to contribute to his aggrandizement--such a man may be rich, but trust me, that he can never be happy, nor virtuous, nor great. There is in fortune a golden mean, which is the appropriate region of virtue and intelligence. Be content with that; and if the horn of plenty overflow, let its droppings fall upon your fellow men; let them fall, like the droppings of honey in the wilderness, to cheer the faint and wayworn pilgrim. I wish you indeed to be distinguished; but wealth is not essential to distinction. Look at the illustrious patriots, philosophers and philanthropists, who in various ages have blessed the world; was it their wealth that made them great? Where was the wealth of Aristides, Socrates, of Plato, of Epaminondas, of Fabricius, of Cincinnatus, and a countless host upon the rolls of fame. Their wealth was in the mind and the heart. Those are the treasures by which they have been immortalized, and such alone are the treasures that are worth a serious struggle."

ON THE ADVANTAGES OF NARROW RESOURCES.

In minds of a certain cast, the title of this essay may possibly excite surprise. It might be imagined that the writer was guided in the choice of a subject, as the Cynic was directed in his tub, by that misanthropy which affects to look on good and evil, with an equal frown; or by that pride which finding itself linked to poverty, strives to dignify the despised partner of its destiny. Yet, in spite of these suggestions, much may be said in favour of those narrow resources, which the superficial view with pity, and the worldling with scorn. And further, the assertion may be hazarded, that they are favourable to individual character and happiness, as well as to the general cause of literature and virtue.

Repeated proofs of the first position, may be drawn from the common scenery of life.--Observe that boy, in the early stages of his education.--Why does he destroy his books, and cast about him his pens and his pencils? Why are his pages the repository of blots, and deformed with dogs-ears, and his volumes alternately his sport, and his footstool? Because he feels that his parents are able to purchase more. Why does he occasionally fix on their contents, a scowling eye, and the bent brow of discontent? Fear of present discipline, or a listless desire of winning the dainties and praises of parental indulgence, are forcing a reluctant attention to his lesson.

Mark that boy at his side. Why does he so carefully use his scanty writing materials, and so faithfully return his books to their place, when his task is finished? Because he has learnt their value by the difficulty of obtaining them. Why does he pursue his studies with unremitting application, yet with a cheerful countenance? Because he considers it a privilege to be permitted to acquire knowledge, and his studies are but a recreation from severer labours. His mind takes its pastime along with its nourishment, while his companion, like a prisoner, is only anxious to escape from durance. One, in toiling to gain instruction, feels himself the indebted party: the other, if he ever submits to it, fancies he has conferred a favour which entitles him to commendation and reward. This diversity of motive, will naturally produce diversity of action; and action, long continued, becomes confirmed into habit. Time, while he palsies the springs of energy, and quenches the ardour of thought, adds force to those habits, which indulgence has fostered and nourished. And will it be supposed that habits of carelessness, watchfulness, and mental indolence, continued through the important period of school education, will have no influence on the future character? Is the productiveness of Autumn, not affected by the poverty of the blossoms of Spring; or the future symmetry of the tree, uninjured by the excrescences of the sapling? No one imagines that early habits of industry, economy, and application, stamped on the character in its formation, will ever be wholly obliterated; why then, is that state of fortune considered as an evil, which aids their implantation by the strength of necessity?

Mark that student at the University. Why is he lounging in the fashionable walks, ogling the ladies, displaying an expensive dress, contracting bills at the confectioner's and tailor's, late at prayers, listless at recitations, satisfied only in the resorts of folly, vanity, and dissipation? Why does he return home, uninformed in mind, undecided in profession, tinctured with extravagance, or involved in debt? Because he knew his parents were rich, and believed that wealth was a substitute, both for science and for virtue.

Why does a youth from the same neighbourhood, perhaps his inferior in talents, maintain the first standing in his class, and gain the honours of his seminary? What heightens his love of knowledge, brightens his eye with intelligence, incites him to mark every hour with diligence, every day with duty; what enables him to scorn luxurious indulgence, and to endure privation with a noble hardiness of soul? The consciousness that his family are poor, and that by his own exertions he must stand or fall.

Thus excited to perseverance, he ascertains the extent of his own talents, bends them to their proper objects, brightens them by exercise, and entrusts them "to the usurer, that the Giver, at his coming, may receive his own."--The indolent mind, weakened by indulgence, views knowledge as "an austere man," and committing its talent to the earth, beholds its harvest in the mildew, the mouldering, and decay of its own powers.

Where a taste for literature exists, and the means of attaining it are not precluded, narrow resources are favourable to its acquisition. Would Johnson, the giant of English literature, have gained the proud eminence which he commands, without aid from the strong hand of necessity? Did he not even express gratitude, that the touch of adversity had been appointed to rouse him from the slumber of his native indolence? Is it probable that mankind would have been delighted with the elegance of his "Prince of Abyssinia," if affluence had enabled him to discharge the mournful debt of his mother's obsequies? Did not the classical Beattie trace his ardour of literary pursuit, and his premature proficiency to the stimulus of his bursary at Aberdeen? Did he not refer some of the most descriptive stanzas in his "Minstrel," to his state of seclusion and poverty, when a parish schoolmaster, and precentor, at the foot of the Grampian Mountains?--Would the Ayrshire ploughman's "wild bird of heaven," have displayed such varying plumage, such fearless compass of tone, had it been confined in a gilded cage, and pampered with the enervating luxuries of fortune?

Whatever enforces mental application, is favourable to mental improvement; and nothing teaches the lesson of application more thoroughly than necessity. Whatever exercises the inventive powers, is favourable to genius, and necessity executes this office so powerfully, that it is styled even by the common people, "the mother of invention." The affinity between restricted resources, and virtue, is of obvious perception. Habits of self-denial, and self-control, insensibly lead to moderated desires, and inspire that content which is the secret of happiness. A well-regulated mind, by accustoming itself to privation, and sacrifice, rises superior to selfish gratifications, and improves in that disinterested state of the affections, which is one of the greatest objects of piety to cultivate.--The man, whose narrow possessions are the fruit of his own industry, will better understand their value, more studiously avoid the vices that dissipate them, and more conscientiously limit his expenses by his income.--Thus will he keep his spirit unhumbled by the embarrassments of debt, and his heart unchilled by dread at the face of a creditor. Rational economy, while it supplies him with the means of rendering every man his due, will prove also the legitimate fountain of charity. Profusion is no friend to pity; and how can he have a right to be liberal, whose debts are unpaid. The movings of Charity are silenced, by the "cry of the labourers whose wages are kept back;" while he, whose industry has satisfied the claims of justice, may make glad the hearts of theirs, while his own reproaches him not. May we not suppose that the remembrance of having ourselves known want, would soften the feelings to the wants of others? as a participation in the sufferings of sickness, creates deeper sympathy for the victims of disease? Who, with a warmer overflowing of charity, would impart bread to the hungry, and a garment to the shelterless, than the man, who had himself felt the need of one, or by his own labour obtained possession of the other? A class of distresses, of which the rich can have no conception, he has entered into; and in his humble gift there will be more charity, than in the ample donations of Pride, listening to hear Fame extol her bounty. As the Israelites were incited to hospitality, by the remembrance that they had once "been strangers in the land of Egypt," so the heart that has endured the privations of poverty, can better estimate, and more feelingly relieve them.

If the happiness of any condition be computed by its usefulness, by the energies which it awakens, and the virtues which it cherishes, may we not believe, that many in making up their account of life, will have reason to bless the Almighty Disposer, that they were shielded by his providence from the enervating influence and the dangerous temptations of wealth.

[_Con. Mirror_.

ACCOUNT OF MAMMOTH CAVE,

_in Kentucky and a remarkable Mummy, or dried Indian woman found in it_.

"I received information, that an infant, of nine or twelve months old, was discovered in a saltpetre Cave in Warren county, about four miles from the Mammoth Cave, in a perfect state of preservation. I hastened to the place; but, to my mortification, found that, upon its being exposed to the atmosphere, it had fallen into dust, and that its remains, except the skull, with all its clothing, had been thrown into the furnace. I regretted this much, and promised the labourers to reward them, if they would preserve the next subject for me. About a month afterwards, the present one was discovered, and information given to our agent at the Mammoth Cave, who sent immediately for it, and brought and placed it there, where it remained for twelve months. It appeared to be the exsiccated body of a female. The account which I received of its discovery, was simply this. It was found at the depth of about ten feet from the surface of the Cave, bedded in clay, strongly impregnated with nitre, placed in a sitting posture, incased in broad stones, standing on their edges, with a flat stone covering the whole. It was enveloped in coarse clothes, (a specimen of which accompanied it) the whole wrapped in deer skins, the hair of which was shaved off in the manner in which the Indians prepare them for market. Enclosed in the stone coffin, were the working utensils, beads, feathers, and other ornaments of dress, which belonged to her. The body was in a state of much higher perfection, when first discovered, and continued so, as long as it remained in the Mammoth Cave, than it is at present, except the depredations committed on its arms and thighs by the rats, many of which inhabit the Cave. After it was brought to Lexington, and become the subject of great curiosity, being much exposed to the atmosphere, it gradually began to decay, its muscles to contract, and the teeth to drop out, and much of its hair was plucked from its head by wanton visitants. As to the manner of its being embalmed, or whether the nitrous earth and atmosphere had a tendency to preserve it, must be left to the speculations of the learned.

The Cave in which the Mummy was found, is not of great extent, not being more than three quarters of a mile in length; its surface, covered with loose limestone, from four to six feet deep, before you enter the clay impregnated with nitre. It is of easy access, being above twenty feet wide, and six feet high, at the mouth or entrance. It is enlarged to about fifty feet wide, and ten feet high, almost as soon as you enter it. This place had evident marks of having once been the residence of the aborigines of the country, from the quantity of ashes, and the remains of fuel, and torches made of the reed, &c. which were found in it."

RECEIPT FOR MAKING ECONOMICAL BREAD.

Separate the bran and grosser part; from the flour; then take five pounds of it (of 16 ounces) and boil them in four gallons and three quarters of water, so that when it is dissolved, there shall remain three gallons and three quarters of glutinous water. With this knead fifty-six pounds of flour, adding salt and yeast, in the same manner and in the same proportion as for other bread. When the dough is ready to be put into the oven, divide it into loaves and let it bake for two hours and a half.

In this way the flour will imbibe three quarters of a gallon more of glutinous, than it would of simple water, and will yield not only a more nutritive and substantial food, but likewise an increase of a fifth beyond the quantity of common bread, a saving of one day's consumption out of six. Upon this plan, fifty-six pounds of meal will yield eighty-three pounds and a half of bread. When this is quite stale (baked since ten days) if it be put into the oven and left there for twenty minutes, it becomes fresh again, a very convenient property in long sea voyages.

BREAD MADE OF RICE AND FLOUR MIXED.

Rice is an excellent substitute for wheat flour. The following receipt for the mixture yields a solid and palatable bread.

Soften well by a slow fire a pound of rice with three quarters of a gallon of water. When it has acquired a certain degree of heat, mix up with it, well, four pounds of flour, some salt and yeast, as in making common bread; knead it and put it near the fire to rise. This will give eight pounds and a half of good bread. If the rice seems to require more water, add, for there are several qualities of rice which swell more than others.

JONAH'S GOURD.

"The bottle gourd, (_lagenaria_) grows in many parts of the world to near six feet long, and two feet thick.

The rinds or shells are used by the negroes in the West India islands as bottles, holding from one pint to many gallons. Barham speaks of one that hold nine gallons; and the Rev. Mr. Griffith Hughes mentions them in his history of Barbadoes, as holding twenty-two gallons. Sloane mentions one of these gourds as large as the human body.

* * * * *

"The gourd called Vegetable Marrow, is of a pale yellow colour. Those I have seen did not exceed from seven to nine inches in length. It has only been known a few years in this country; and, I believe, was not sold in the shops and markets before the summer of 1819; and although they are of so late an introduction, the accounts are very imperfect: but it seems most probable that the seeds were brought in some East India ships, and likely from Persia, where it is called _cicader_. It is cultivated in the same manner as cucumbers, and is said by those who have grown them to be very productive. This fruit is used for culinary purposes in every stage of its growth. When very young, it is good fried with butter; when half-grown, it is said to be excellent, either plainly boiled, and served up sliced on toasted bread, as asparagus; or stewed with rice sauce, for which purpose it is likewise sliced. It is often sent to table mashed like turnips: when full grown, it is used for pies. It has been highly recommended to me by many persons who have grown it, while others speak of it as but little superior to the pompion."

We observe, from Galiffe, that the pumpkin is the principal food of the lower orders in Venice; and have no doubt but that it might be very advantageously introduced into the messes of this country, but for the prejudice against all innovations of this sort, and for purposes of economy. All along the Danube too, the gourd and the melon constitute, during their season, the daily meals of the labouring classes.

THE PROMPTER.--No. X.

_It will do for the present._

Custom, with an iron rod, rules four-fifths of mankind. My _father_ planted corn on a certain piece of land--it answered well--_I_ do the same, though it does _not_ answer well. My neighbour such a one tells me that I had better try a change of crops, deep ploughing, or sowing turnips or clover; it may be the land will recruit; but my neighbour is notional, and fond of _new things_. _I_ do not like projects. My father did so before me, and _it does for the present_.

So says the Virginia planter; he has raised tobacco on a field, until the soil is exhausted; he knows not how to fertilize the land again; his only resource is to clear a new spot, and take the benefit of nature's manure. _This does for the present._ But when his land is _all_ impoverished, what will he do? Go to Kentucky; as the New England men to Genesec. But when the western world is all peopled, what will our _do for the present folks_ do for good land? The answer is easy; necessity will compel them to use _common sense_; and common sense will soon make old poor land rich again. When farmers learn _to work it right_, they will keep it good, for the Prompter ventures to assert, that a _proper tillage_ will for ever keep land good. How does nature _work it_? Why nature covers land with herbage; that herbage withers and rots upon the land; and gradually forms a rich black mould. But farmers, when they have used land till it will bear _no crops_, let it lie without feeding it. No herbage grows on the land, till the weeds and a little grass creep in by chance; after three or four years, the farmer ploughs it for a crop, and has a job at killing weeds. Surely the man _does not work it right_; but he says, _it will do for the present_.

But no _body_ is so apt to put off things with, _it will do for the present_, as _corporate bodies_. If the navigation of a river wants improvement, the _public body_, that is, _any body_, _every body_, and _no body_, immediately exclaims, "how did our _fathers_ get along? The river did well enough for _them--it must do for the present_." If a bad law exists, by which the _public money_ is to be collected in the _worst manner_ that can be imagined; or if a constitution is defective, in permitting the same men to be _makers_ and _judges_ of a law; or the same men to rejudge a cause in a _higher_ court, which they have before judged in a _lower_ court; or which makes a legislature of two hundred men, a supreme court, to review the decisions of all inferior courts, and reverse their judgments; or if a constitution has _no executive at all_, and a _judiciary power_ dependent on the annual votes of two hundred men, which is little better than _none;_ I say, if a man proposes any reformation in those particulars, the public body says, away with your _projects; let us go on in the good old way; it will do for the present_. So in little public bodies, a town or a city, the poor must be provided for, bridges must be built, roads must be repaired--How? By a tax, or by labour. Is it best to raise money enough this year to pay the town debt? No, says the town. We will raise _almost_ enough; _this will do for the present_. Let a little debt accrue every year, till the whole will make a _shilling tax_, and pay the whole at once. Put off, put off, says the town. _And so says the sinner._

A bridge must be built. Is it best to build a good one; of stone, or some materials that will last? No, it will cost _more_, says the town; a wooden bridge _will do for the present_. The water may carry it away; it will decay, and somebody may break his neck by the fall; but no matter, _it must do for the present_.

CHARACTER OF CHARLES JAMES FOX.

_By Sir James Macintosh_.

Mr. Fox united, in a most remarkable degree, the seemingly repugnant characters of the mildest of men, and the most vehement of orators. In private life he was gentle, modest, placable, kind, of simple manners, and so averse from dogmatism, as to be not only unostentatious, but even something inactive in conversation. His superiority was never felt but in the instruction which he imparted, or in the attention which his generous preference usually directed to the more obscure members of the company. The simplicity of his manners was far from excluding that perfect urbanity and amenity which flowed still more from the mildness of his nature, than from familiar intercourse with the most polished society of Europe. The pleasantry, perhaps, of no man of wit, had so unlaboured an appearance. It seemed rather to escape from his mind, than to be produced by it. He had lived on the most intimate terms with all his contemporaries distinguished by wit, politeness, or philosophy, or learning, or the talents of public life. In the course of thirty years he had known almost every man in Europe, whose intercourse could strengthen, or enrich, or polish the mind. His own literature was various and elegant. In classical erudition, which by the custom of England is more peculiarly called learning, he was inferior to few professed scholars. Like all men of genius, he delighted to take refuge in poetry, from the vulgarity and irritation of business. His own verses were easy and pleasant, and might have claimed no low place among those which the French call _vers de société_. The poetical character of his mind was displayed by his extraordinary partiality for the poetry of the two most poetical nations, or at least languages of the west, those of the Greeks and of the Italians. He disliked political conversation, and never willingly took any part in it.

To speak of him justly as an orator would require a long essay. Every where natural, he carries into public something of that simple and negligent exterior which belonged to him in private. When he began to speak, a common observer, might have thought him awkward; and even a consummate judge could only have been struck with the exquisite justness of his ideas, and the transparent simplicity of his manners. But no sooner had he spoken for some time than he was changed into another being. He forgot himself and every thing around him. He thought only of his subject. His genius warmed and kindled as he went on. He darted fire into his audience. Torrents of impetuous eloquence swept along their feelings and convictions. He certainly possesses above all moderns, that union of reason, simplicity, and vehemence, which formed the prince of orators. He was the most Demosthenian speaker since the days of Demosthenes. "I knew him," says Mr. Burke, in a pamphlet written after their unhappy difference, "when he was nineteen; since which he has risen, by slow degrees, to the most brilliant and accomplished debater the world ever saw."

The quiet dignity of a mind roused only by great objects, the absence of petty bustle, the contempt of show, the abhorrence of intrigue, the plainness and down-rightness, and the thorough good-nature which distinguished Mr. Fox, seem to render him no unfit representative of the old English character, which, if it ever changed, we should be sanguine indeed to expect to see it succeeded by a better. The simplicity of his character inspired confidence, the ardour of his eloquence roused enthusiasm, and the gentleness of his manner invited friendship. "I admired," says Mr. Gibbon, after describing a day passed with him at Lausanne, "the powers of a superior man, as they are blended in his attractive character, with all the softness and simplicity of a child; no human being was ever more free from any taint of malignity, vanity, or falsehood."

The measures which he supported or opposed may divide the opinion of posterity, as they have divided those of the present age. But he will most certainly command the unanimous reverence of future generations, by his pure sentiments towards the commonwealth, by his zeal for the civil and religious rights of all men, by his liberal principles, favourable to mild government, to the unfettered exercise of the human faculties, and the progressive civilization of mankind; by his ardent love for a country of which the well-being and greatness were, indeed, inseparable from his own glory; and by his profound reverence for that free constitution, which he was universally admitted to understand better than any other man of his age, both in an actually legal, and in a comprehensive philosophical sense.

PUBLIC LANDS.

_Washington City, Nov. 18._

An interesting document was transmitted by the Secretary of the Treasury to the Senate, in pursuance of a resolution of that house at the late Session, containing a body of information on the subject of the lands of the United States purchased from the Indians; the quantity sold; for how much sold, &c. &c. The sums which have been paid, and remain to be paid under Treaties made with the Indian tribes, to indemnify them for cessions of lands to the United States is 2,542,916 dollars. The expense of surveying the Public Lands, from 4th of March, 1789 to 31st December, 1819, has been 4,243,632 dollars. The whole quantity of land which has been sold by the United states, as well before as since the opening of the Land Offices, up to, 30th September, 1819, is 20,138,482 acres; and the amount for which it has been sold is 45,098,696 dollars. Of this amount, 22,229,180 dollars had been paid, and 22,000,657 _remained to be paid_, at the close of Sept. 1819. The quantity of lands surveyed in the several Land Office Districts is 72,805,092 acres, whereof 13,601,930 acres have been sold, leaving 54,203,162 acres unsold. The quantity surveyed for military bounty lands, is 12,315,360 acres. The whole quantity of land purchased from the Indians by the various treaties and cessions is estimated at 191,978,536 acres.

_Extracts from the last Edinburgh Review._

"Mr. Lewis Burckhardt was a young Swiss, employed by the African Association to make discoveries in that country. He is recently dead; and the society are now publishing the result of his labours. Thoroughly aware that a great part of the failures of African discoveries proceeded from their want of previous education in the customs, manners, and languages of the east, Mr. Burckhardt prepared himself, by the study of Arabic, by a residence of six years in Syria and Egypt, by journies in Nubia, Palestine, in Arabia, and in the countries between Egypt and the Red sea, for his great purpose of penetrating into the heart of Africa. His knowledge of Arabic and the Koran, were so great, that after the severest examination by doctors of the Mohammedan law, appointed for that express purpose by Mohammed Ali, pacha of Egypt, he was pronounced to be not only a real, but a very learned Mohammedan. But as his skill in oriental manners and languages improved, his constitution became impaired; and he became as last the victim of a tour in Arabia: dying better qualified than any traveller hitherto employed by the association for the purpose of discovery in Africa."

"Some of his excursions were very unfortunate--twice, in spite of solemn bargains with shekhs and high blooded Arabs, he is deserted and pillaged in the desert. In one of these instances, the robbers leave him nothing but his breeches. These he thought tolerably secure; but he was not yet sufficiently acquainted with the manners and customs of the east. A female Arab met him with these breeches; and a very serious conflict for them ensued between the parties. The association have not stated the result.