Blackwood's Magazine/Volume 1/Issue 2/Review of New Publications
REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Private Memoirs, which, with the Work of M. Hue, and the Journal of Clery, complete the History of the Captivity of the Royal Family of France in the Temple. Translated from the French, with Notes by the Translator; 12mo, pp. 138. London, Murray; Edinburgh, Blackwood.
There is something interesting even in the title of this little publication. Sovereigns and princes are so far removed from the observation of the rest of mankind, that public curiosity has always been directed with peculiar eagerness to their private history. We feel a very natural desire to "enter within the vail," which ceremony interposes between them and their subjects; to see them lay aside the overpowering lustre, which prevented our near approach and our steady gaze; and to observe how far they, who never appeared to our imaginations but in the full meridian of felicity and of power, approach in their retirement the level of humanity, and are influenced by the common motives and feelings of men.
The memoirs of princes, therefore, are always read with avidity, even though there be nothing very extraordinary in their details.—We contemplate with interest any portrait, which exhibits the minds of such exaltated personages without the disguise of court costume: we have a secret pride in comparing them with ourselves; and in observing how completely their superiority vanishes, when they are viewed apart from those external advantages, which threw around them an adventitious glare.
The abatement of admiration, however, which such memoirs generally produce, is amply compensated by the better feelings which they excite.—We enter with full sympathy into the joys and sorrows to which we see royal hearts equally accessible with our own. The familiarity into which we seem admitted with them is repaid with a proportionate degree of amity.—Their faults, estimated by their temptations, are scanned with a very indulgent eye; and their virtues derive additional lustre, not only from the extent of their influence, but from the difficulty of maintaining them amidst the innumerable facilities afforded to vice, by the obsequiousness and flattery of servile dependants. Their happiness appears so far above all ordinary competition, that we view it without envy; and over their miseries, perpetually contrasted in our minds with the brighter aspect of their lot, we shed a tear of unmingled compassion.
Never have the best of these feelings been more powerfully awakened in our own breasts, than by the perusal of this journal. Nothing, indeed, can be conceived more interesting than the circumstances in which it has appeared. It is continued to the day of the dauphin's death, and of course contains much information which Clery and Hue, in their journals, could not give. It is composed from notes, either made by stealth at the moment, with pencils which the princess had found means to conceal from her persecutors, or added immediately after her release from prison, and has therefore an air of simplicity and nature, which the feeling of the moment alone could impress. It was written without any view to publication, and therefore represents, without disguise or concealment, the miseries and the conduct of the ill-fated captives. It is written by the Orphan of the Temple, whose restoration to her former dignity affords some compensation for her protracted sufferings; and who, by her virtues and her heroism, has commanded the admiration of the world, and proved how much she had profited in the school of affliction. This interesting little work is not accompanied by any name, but it is avowed at Paris; and it is impossible to read one page of it, without being convinced that it is the genuine production of the illustrious personage to whom it is ascribed.
The narrative commences from the 13th of August 1792, when the king and his family were committed to the Temple. They were accompanied to this melancholy abode by the Princess de Lamballe, of the house of Savoy, widow of Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Lamballe. Her attachment to the queen was enthusiastic. The preparations for the journey to Montmedy separated them for a time; and Madame de Lamballe sought refuge in England; but when she heard of the queen's recapture, no earnestness of entreaty, or fear of danger, could prevent her from rejoining her royal friend, whom she accompanied and cheered during her dreadful trials, with unequalled magnanimity and affection. The unfortunate queen was not long permitted to enjoy the soothing conversation of this generous companion. The tyrannical mandate of the Commune de Paris forced Madame de Lamballe from the Temple, to expiate the crime of her devoted attachment to the royal sufferer, by a death attended with circumstances of atrocity, "unparalleled even in the annals of France." This barbarous event was communicated to the unhappy family in the Temple, in a manner which strongly marked the brutality of the Revolutionists. " At three o'clock, (3d of September) just after dinner, as the king was sitting down to tric-trac with the queen, (which he played for the purpose of having an opportunity of saying a few words to her unheard by the keepers,) the most horrid shouts were heard. Several officers of the guard and of the municipality now arrived,—the former insisted that the king should shew himself at the windows; fortunately the latter opposed it; but, on his majesty's asking what was the matter, a young officer of the guard replied: "Well, since you will know, it is the head of Madame de Lamballe that they wish to show you." At these words the queen was overcome with horror;—it was the only occasion in which her firmness abandoned her. The noise lasted till five o'clock. The prisoners learned that the people had wished to force the door, and that the municipal officers had been enabled to prevent it only by putting across it a tricoloured scarf, and by allowing six of the murderers to march round the tower with the head of the princess, leaving at the door her body, which they would have dragged in also. When this deputation entered, Rocher (the goaler) shouted for joy, and brutally insulted a young woman, who turned sick with horror at this spectacle."—This Rocher was (to adopt again the emphatic words of the journal) "the horrible man who had broken open the door of the king on the 20th of June I792, and who had been near assassinating him. This man never left the tower, and was indefatigable in endeavouring to torment him. One time he would sing before the whole family the Carmagnole, and a thousand other horrors; again, knowing that the queen disliked the smoke of tobacco, he would puff it in her face, as well as in that of the king, as they happened to pass him." Such were the indignities to which they were daily exposed: but the horror of the picture is relieved by the devoted affection of this amiable family for each other, which seemed to beguile them of the sense of their individual misery,—to console them for all they had lost,—to support them under all they had to suffer, and to fortify them against all they had to fear. The health and education of the dauphin was their principal care. For the sake of his health, they went every day to walk in the garden, though Louis never failed to be insulted by the guards, The king taught him geography; the queen, history, and to get verses by heart; and Madame Elizabeth gave him little lessons in arithmetic. But of the hope which mingled with these soothing employments they were soon to he deprived. On the 22d of September the republic was proclaimed; and one evening in the beginning of October, the king, after he had supped, was told to stop; that he was not to return to his former apartments; and that he was to be separated from his family. At this dreadful sentence the queen lost her usual courage; and the officers were so much alarmed by her silent and concentrated sorrow, that they allowed her and the other princesses to see the king, but at meal times only, and on condition that they should speak loud, and in good French. At length, on the llth of December, the king was summoned to the bar of the Convention. The anxiety of his family during his absence may be easily conceived. The queen, to discover what was going on, condescended for the first time to question the officers who guarded her—but they would tell her nothing. On his return in the evening, she requested to see him instantly, but received no answer. Next day she repeated her request to see the king, and to read the newspapers, that she might learn the course of the trial, or if that should be refused, that the children at least might be permitted to see his majesty. The newspapers were refused; but the children were allowed to see their father, on condition of being separated entirely from their mother. To this privation, however, the king was too generous to expose her.
The circumstances immediately preceding and attending the execution of the unhappy monarch are known to all:—we cannot deny ourselves the satisfaction of transcribing the tribute paid by his daughter to the greatness of his conduct during his rigorous captivity.—"During his confinement, he displayed the highest piety, greatness of mind, and goodness;—mildness, fortitude, and patience, in bearing the most infamous insults, the most horrid and malignant calumnies; Christian clemency, which forgave even his murderers; and the love of God, his family, and his people, of which he gave the most affecting proofs, even with his last breath, ad of which he went to receive the reward in the bosom of his Almighty and all-merciful Creator."
After the death of Louis, the persecutions of his family became every day more rigorous. A decree of the Commune, that the dauphin should be separated from his mother and the princesses, gave rise to a scene of affliction, which is described with the most touching simplicity.
"As soon as the young prince heard this sentence pronounced, he threw himself into the arms of his mother, and entreated, with violent cries, not to be taken from her. The unhappy queen was stricken to the earth by this cruel order. She would not part with her son; and she actually defended, against the efforts of the officers, the bed in which she had placed him. But these men would have him, and threatened to call up the guard and use violence. The queen exclaimed, that they had better kill her than tear her child from her. An hour was spent in resistance on her part, in threats and insults from the officers, in prayers and tears on the part of the two other princesses. At last they threatened even the life of the child, and the queen's maternal tenderness at length forced her to this sacrifice. Madame Elizabeth (the king's sister) and Madame Royale dressed the child, for his poor mother had no longer strength for any thing. Nevertheless, when he was dressed, she took him and delivered him into the hands of the officers, bathing him with her tears, foreseeing, possibly, that she was never to see him again."
The only pleasure the queen now enjoyed was, seeing her child through a chink as he passed from his room to the tower: at this chink she used to watch for hours together. The barbarity with which the dauphin was treated has no parallel. He was committed to a man of the name of Simon, a shoemaker by trade, then one of the municipal officers. To this inhuman wretch, the boy's crying at being separated from his family, appeared an unpardonable crime—and he soon impressed him with such terror that he did not dare to weep. Simon, to insult the miseries of the unhappy sufferers through the voice of this beloved child, made him every day sing at the windows the Carmagnole, and other revolutionary songs; and taught him the most horrid oaths and imprecations against God, his own family, and the aristocrats. " The queen fortunately was ignorant of these horrors. She was gone before the child had learned his infamous lesson. It was an infliction which the mercy of Heaven was pleased to spare her." While this unfortunate boy remained under the care of Simon, his bed had not been stirred for six months, and was alive with bugs, and vermin still more disgusting. His linen and his person were covered with them. For more than a year he had no change of shirt or stockings! every kind of filth was allowed to accumulate about him, and in his room. His window, which was locked as well as grated, was never opened, and the infectious smell of this horrid room was dreadful. He never asked for any thing, so great was his dread of Simon and his other keepers. He passed his days without any kind of occupation. They did not even allow him light in the evening. This situation affected his mind as well as his body, and it is not surprising that he should have fallen into the most frightful atrophy.
But we must forbear to indulge farther in these melancholy details, earnestly recommending to our readers the perusal of the journal itself. The queen and Madame Elizabeth, a princess distinguished by her virtues and piety, were successively dragged from the Temple to the Conciergerie, and thence to the scaffold.—The dauphin, though originally of a vigorous constitution, fell a victim, at the age of ten years and two months, to the studied barbarity of his treatment.
We have to regret that these memoirs are not continued after the dauphin's death, though Madame Royale (now the Duchess of Angouleme) remained in the Temple six months after that event, exposed alone to the persecutions and insults of her enemies. She was released on the 11th of December, the seventeenth anniversary of her birth, to experience vicissitudes no less wonderful, though happier in their issue, than those through which she had already passed.
Whatever opinion may be entertained of the principles which led to the revolution in France, no diversity of sentiment can prevail with regard to the atrocities of the Revolutionists. It will ever remain a problem in the history of mankind, that a people distinguished by their refinement, should have become all at once equally distinguished by their barbarity;—that a people almost singular in their attachment to monarchy, should, under the reign of the best of their monarchs, have forgotten their loyalty and allegiance; and, in the wildness of republican frenzy, have sought to annihilate every thing connected with a government, for which, but lately before, they thought it all their glory to live and to die. The poison administered by their philosophists might, perhaps, vitiate the principles of the whole mass of the community; the corrupt example of a court might have diffused through all ranks its pernicious influence; but will these causes account for the violence of their revolutionary fury, unless we suppose, that the force of the revulsion, which burst asunder all their former political associations, tore up at the same time all the good principles of their nature, and drove them from the excess of admiration and devotion, to the opposite extreme of contempt and hatred?
The translation, conducted on the most correct ideas, combines, very successfully, the simplicity of the original with the purest English idiom. The translator has occasionally elucidated the text with notes, which will be found very useful to those who are not intimately acquainted with the early history of the French revolution.
The science of Political Economy owes its rise to the eighteenth century. Many facts, and several of the principles which now enter into treatises on that subject, had been previously ascertained, but it was reserved for Stuart, Turgot, Smith, and other eminent men of the last age, to combine them into one consistent and harmonious whole, and to analyze, in a much more accurate manner than had ever been done before, the sources of wealth, and the laws which regulate its distribution among the different classes of society. Since the publication of the Wealth of Nations, political economy has been greatly improved. That great work, by shewing its infinite importance to our best interests,—by proving that no legislative measures could be adopted clashing with its principles, but what must be vitally injurious to the community at large,—and by successfully exposing many absurd theories, enactments, and practices, hitherto looked upon, as the acme of genius and wisdom, contributed in a very high degree to draw public attention to the science of which it still continues the brightest ornament. More lately, the profound and original inquiries of Mr Malthus have cast a new light on many subjects, which had either been entirely neglected, or only cursorily noticed by Dr Smith; while the extraordinary events of the last twenty years have enabled us in various instances, to try the deductions of theory by the touchstone of experience. The suspension of cash payments at the Bank of England, with the subsequent depreciation of our currency, and derangement of the exchanges, rendered us much better acquainted with the theory of banking and money. And amid all the complicated evils arising from our general factitious system,—the orders in council, the corn laws, and such like measures, have at least served to bring under our view a variety of unprecedented phenomena in economics, and by interesting the public, and giving rise to much animated discussion, have conspired to disseminate and improve the science.
Among the writers who have signalized themselves in these discussions, Mr Ricardo holds a distinguished place.—His Essay on the "High Price of Bullion," first clearly pointed out the circumstances regulating the amount of circulating medium in all commercial countries; and his Essays "On the Profits of Stock," and on "Currency," develop principles of the utmost importance, and abound in views equally just, novel, and ingenious. Such being the case, a more than ordinary interest must be excited by the appearance of the work before us, in which this able economist has explained his opinions respecting some of the fundamental doctrines of the science, and in which, as it appears to us, he has established some highly important principles, and rectified many prevailing errors.
Nothing has contributed in a greater degree to perplex and confuse the investigations respecting the principles of political economy, than the confounding together of what Dr Smith has termed value in use, and value in exchange. Air is extremely useful; it is not possible to exist without it; but as it can be had at pleasure, as all can acquire it without any exertion, it has no exchangeable value. Utility, then, as Mr Ricardo has observed, is not the measure of exchangeable value, although it is absolutely essential to it. If a commodity were in no way useful,—in other words, if it could in no way contribute to our gratification,—it would be destitute of exchangeable value, however scarce it might be, or whatever quantity of labour might be necessary to procure it.
"Possessing utility, commodities derive their exchangeable values from two sources: from their scarcity, and from the quantity of labour required to obtain them.
"There are some commodities, the value of which is determined by their scarcity alone. No labour can increase the quantity of such goods, and therefore their value cannot be lowered by an increased supply. Their value is wholly independent of the quantity of labour originally necessary to produce them, and varies with the varying wealth and inclinations of those who are desirous to possess them.
"These commodities, however, form a very small part of the mass of commodities daily exchanged in the market. By far the greater part of those goods, which are the objects of desire, are procured by labour; and they may be multiplied, not in one country alone, but in many, almost without any assignable limit, if we are disposed to bestow the labour necessary to obtain them.
"In speaking then of commodities, of their exchangeable value, and of the laws which regulate their relative prices, we mean always such commodities only as can be increased in quantity by the exertion of human industry, and on the production of which competition operates without restraint."
In the early stages of society, the exchangeable value of these commodities, or the rule which determines how much of one shall be given in exchange for another, depends solely on the comparative quantity of labour expended on each.
"The real price of every thing," says Dr Smith, "what every thing really costs to the man who wants to acquire it, is the toil and trouble of acquiring it. What every thing is really worth to the man who has acquired it, and who wants to dispose of it, or exchange it for something else, is the toil and trouble which it can save to himself, and which it can impose on other people. * * * If, among a nation of hunters, for example, it usually cost twice the labour to kill a beaver which it does to kill a deer, one beaver should naturally exchange for, or be worth, two deer. It is natural, that what is usually the produce of two days', or two hours' labour, should be worth double of what is usually the produce of one day's or one hour's labour."
That this is the only real foundation of exchangeable value seems indisputable; and hence it follows, that every increase in the quantity of labour must augment the value of that commodity on which it is necessarily expended, as every diminution of that quantity must proportionally lower its value.
It may perhaps be thought, that although this is the case in early stages of society, in an advanced state it would be different; but Mr Ricardo has shewn that, in all cases, commodities vary in value conformably to this principle. It is of no consequence among how many hands the labour of making a pair of stockings is divided. If the aggregate quantity is on the whole either diminished or increased, the exchangeable value of the stockings will fall or rise in proportion.
From what we have already stated, a most important consequence, first pointed out by Mr Ricardo, necessarily results,—viz. That no increase in the wages of labour can increase the relative exchangeable values of commodities.
If a stocking manufacturer employs one hundred men, during ten days, in manufacturing stockings, which exchange for the gloves manufactured by the same number of men in twenty days, the values of these products are precisely equal. But if some more expeditious method of manufacturing gloves should be discovered,—if one man was enabled to do as much work as was previously executed by two, the value of gloves, compared with stockings, (supposing, for the sake of simplifying the question, that the value of the raw materials consumed in both manufactures are equal,) would be reduced one half. If an equal improvement had been made in the stocking manufacture, the relative values of both commodities would remain the same as at first;—a greater quantity of the one would merely be exchanged for a greater quantity of the other. It is obvious, however, that an increase in the wages of labour could not affect this conclusion. Suppose wages to rise 10 per cent., the stocking manufacturer could not say to the glove manufacturer that he must have a greater quantity of gloves in exchange for his stockings, on account of the increased wages of his workmen, because the other would answer, that the same rise affected him in precisely the same degree. The relation of proportional numbers is not altered by being all multiplied by the same number. If a pair of stockings be exchanged for a pair of gloves when wages are at 1s. per diem, the same exchange would take place after wages had risen to 20s. per diem. In the one case a very small share only of the produce of the labourer's exertions would belong to himself, and a large share to his employer; in the other, the labourer's share would be much augmented, and his employer's proportionally reduced. The value of the commodity would, in both cases, be the same, but it would be very differently divided. Mr Ricardo, however, has not only shewn that a rise in the wages of labour does not raise the price of the commodities purchased by that labour, but he has also shewn, that when fixed capitals, and machinery, are employed in producing, a rise in the wages of labour reduces the price of commodities.
"Suppose," says Mr Ricardo, "that an engine is made, which will last for 100 years, and that its value is £20,000, Suppose too, that this machine, without any labour whatever, could produce a certain quantity of commodities annually, and that profits were 10 per cent., the whole value of the goods produced would be annually £2000 : 2 : 11 ; for the profit of £20,000.
| at 10 per cent. is | £2,000 | 0 | 0 |
| And an annuity of 2s. 11d. for 100 years, at 10 per cent. will, at the end of that period, replace a capital of £20,000, | 0 | 2 | 11 |
| Consequently the goods must sell for | £2,000 | 2 | 11 |
"If the same amount of capital, viz. £20,000, be employed in supporting productive labour, and be annually consumed and reproduced, as it is when employed in paying wages, then to give an equal profit of 10 per cent, the commodities must sell for £22,000. Now suppose labour so to rise, that instead of £20,000 being sufficient to pay the wages of those employed in producing the latter commodities, £20,952 is required; then profits will fall to 5 per cent.; for as these commodities would sell for no more than £22,000, and to produce them £20,952 would be requisite, there would remain no more than £1,048, on a capital of £20,952. If labour so rise, that £21,153 were required, profits would fall to 4 per cent; and if it rose, so that £21,359 was employed, profits would fall to 3 per cent. "
But as no wages would be paid by the owner of the machine when profits fell to 5 per cent., the price of his goods must fall to £1007 : 13 : 8, viz. £1000 to pay his profits, and £7 : 13 : 8 to accumulate for 100 years, at 5 per cent, to replace his capital of £20,000. When profits fall to 5 per cent. his goods must sell for £816 : 3: 2; and when at 3 per cent. for £632 : 16 : 7. By a rise in the price of labour, then, under 7 per cent, which has no effect on the prices of commodities wholly produced by labour, a fall of no less than 68 per cent is effected on those commodities wholly produced by machinery lasting 100 years. If the proprietor of the machine sold his goods for more than £632 : 16 : 7, he would get more than 3 per cent, the general profit of stock; and as others could furnish themselves with machines at the same price of £20,000, they would be so multiplied, that he would be inevitably obliged to sink the price of his goods, till they afforded only the usual and general profits of stock."
In proportion as the machine was more or less durable, prices would be more or less affected by a rise of wages; but, for a further elucidation of this subject, our readers must peruse Mr. Ricardo's own statements.
We have here supposed, for the sake of perspicuity, that the value of money was invariable, but whether it is rising or falling has no effect on these conclusions. Like every other commodity, the exchangeable value of money varies as the labour of producing it is increased or diminished.
It does not follow, from the very important principles which Mr Ricardo has with so much talent and ingenuity endeavoured to establish, that wages may be increased in one country, though they should remain stationary in others, without any mischievous consequences being experienced. If the wages of labour in Great Britain, from the effects of taxation,—from the operation of the corn laws,—or from any other cause,—are higher than in any other country of Europe, the profits of stock must be proportionally lower. Hence, there is an inducement to remit capital abroad to where it will yield a larger return; and although capitalists, as well as other men, have a natural repugnance to remove to foreign countries from the land of their fathers and their friends, yet, as Mr Ricardo has justly observed, "There are assuredly limits to the price, which, in the form of perpetual taxation, individuals will submit to pay for the privilege merely of living in their native country."
The vast number of English families which have emigrated to the continent since the peace, is a too convincing proof of the accuracy of this statement; and until the weight of our taxation is diminished, and the profits of stock rendered as high, and the expense of house-keeping as cheap, in this country as on the other side of the water, the tide of emigration will continue to roll on.
Besides adventitious causes, such as taxation, &c. which may raise the wages of labour and lower the rate of profit, Mr Ricardo lays it down as a general principle, that in every country the profits of stock must be diminished according as it becomes more difficult to raise food. If corn, or manufactured goods, always sold at the same price, profits would be high or low, in proportion as wages were low or high. But although corn rises in price because more labour is necessary to produce it, that cause will not raise the price of manufactured goods, in the production of which no additional quantity of labour is required. "If then," says Mr Ricardo, "wages continued the same, profits would remain the same; but if, as is absolutely certain, wages should rise with the rise of corn, then profits would necessarily fall."
Mr Ricardo had already developed this principle, though more concisely, in his "Essay on the Profits of Stock," and had successfully applied it to shew the folly of restricting the corn trade; for, by forcing us to have recourse to land of a very inferior quality for our supplies of food, the restrictive system necessarily lowers the profits of every kind of stock throughout the country, and increases the desire to transfer capital abroad.
Mr Ricardo has also given a satisfactory, and in many respects an original, view of the nature of rent, and of the effects of taxation. As our limits, however, will not permit us to enter on these topics, we earnestly recommend our readers to have recourse to the work itself, which contains much valuable and profound discussion, as well on these as on subjects to which it has not been possible for us even to allude.
Mr Ricardo's style is simple and unaffected; but there are some parts of his work in which, perhaps, he is a little obscure, and others in which there appears too much of controversy. Of all the writers on Political Economy, M. Say stands unrivalled for perspicuity,—for natural and luminous arrangement,—and for instructive and elegant illustration.
This work well entitles its author to rank among the friends of youth. It is really what it pretends to be, a repository of useful knowledge, containing a clear and interesting account of many of these productions which are useful to man in the mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdoms.
That part of it which treats of animals has been executed on a plan similar to that of Mavor, Bigland, and others; and the subjects of the two first parts are to be found in systems of mineralogy and botany; but there is no work with which we are acquainted, in which so much valuable information in all these departments is comprised within the same extent. There is, we are persuaded, no class of readers to whom this book will not be both amusing and instructive. To those who have already studied the subjects in larger works, it will serve to recall the particulars which are most interesting, and may be advantageously employed as a book of reference. Those, on the other hand, who have not entered upon such inquiries, will find a great deal to gratify their curiosity, conveyed in an agreeable manner. To young persons, especially young ladies, who have seldom an opportunity of studying large systems of natural history, we would particularly recommend this work. If it were read in small portions daily, and an account of the pupil's progress rendered, either in writing or in conversation, the young would soon be found to have acquired more information on the topics of which it treats, than many who have perused larger systems in a vague and cursory manner. Besides affording much information,—as it is arranged on the plan of the best systems, it will insensibly accustom the mind to the classifications of natural history, and thereby prepare the reader for the study of more extensive works.
We must not, however, forbear to mention some slight defects, which we would wish much to see supplied, whenever it comes to another edition. In addition to the general index, there should be a separate index to each volume. In the first volume, only some of the families of minerals are enumerated, and for no other reason than that the Table might all be contained in one page. Another defect in the same part of the work is, that little is said of what are called compound rocks, or even of the different soils; and nothing at all of what every one has often occasion to hear mentioned, we mean the manner in which the earth is supposed to have been formed. Now we think that it would be interesting, and at the same time easy, to give a short account of these rocks, and, above all, of the different kinds of soils, and also to give some idea of what is meant by the theories of the earth. Another subject which we should have expected to see noticed, is fossil remains. In this there is much to interest and amuse; and it certainly falls within the author's plan. All these things would add little to the size, while they would greatly increase the value of the publication. It is proper also to remark, that the author might have taken more frequent occasion than he has done to impress on the minds of his readers the appearances of wisdom and goodness which are so often to be met with in the works of nature. In books intended for the use of the young, this is a duty that ought never to be omitted; and the performance of it constitutes one great excellence in the writings of Bigland and Mavor. Of the style and manner we cannot give a better idea, than by making an extract almost at random, which may be considered a fair specimen of what the book contains.
"The common pear is a well-known garden fruit, derived from an English stock, the wild pear tree (Pyrus communis), which grows in hedges and thickets in Somersetshire and Sussex. It would be an endless task to describe the different known varieties of the cultivated pear. Some of these are very large, and others extremely small: some have a rich and luscious flavour, and others, as the iron pear, are so hard and disagreeable to the taste, as to be absolutely unfit to eat. Pears are chiefly used in desserts; and one or two of the kinds are stewed with sugar, baked, or preserved in syrup.
"The fermented juice of pears is called perry, and is prepared nearly in the same manner as that of apples is for cider. The greatest quantities of perry are made in Worcestershire and Herefordshire. The Squash, the Oldfield, and the Barland perry are esteemed the best. Many of the dealers in champaigne wine are said to use perry to a great extent in the adulteration of it: and indeed, real good perry is little inferior in flavour or quality to champaigne.
"Of the wood of the pear tree, which is light, smooth, compact, and of a yellowish colour, carpenters' and joiners' tools are usually made, as well as the common kinds of flat rulers, and measuring scales. It is also used for picture frames that are to be stained black. The leaves impart a yellow dye, and are sometimes employed to communicate a green colour to blue cloth."