taken by professor Wildenow, of Berlin, a botanist of considerable reputation. His route was through Vienna to Trieste and Venice.

Francois de Neufchateau, the exdirector, is preparing a work on agriculture. One part is already published, containing the results of experiments on the cultivation of carrots and parsnips by the plough. It is found, by M. Parmentier, that the best method of preserving eggs consists in plunging them, for two seconds, in boiling water; they may be then kept for many months, if deposited in a cool place, or in salt.

For the Literary Magazine.

DUTIES OF EDITORS.

To the Editor, &c.

I AM a warm well-wisher to your work, and am sorry that it does not seem to have attained a popularity and circulation quite as extensive as I think it merits. I have been casting about a good deal to divine the cause of this, and being unwilling to impute it to any deficiency, either of real merit in yourself, or of penetration or munificence in the public, I am inclined to ascribe it to the neglect of certain arts, by which the respect and attention of the world is much more certainly won than by any solid excellence.

You seem not to know that the mob of readers are glad to have the labour of judging taken off their hands, that they are grateful to those who will take that trouble on themselves. Instead, therefore, of thrusting your prose and verse on their attention, just as it came to your's, naked and without comment, you should always carefully seize the opportunity of delivering your own opinion of its merits, by way of preface or supplement. Your word will frequently be taken by those

who read the piece itself, however adverse it may be to the sentence which their unaided judgment might pronounce upon it; and, of course, will be oracle to those, and they constitute the greatest number, who do not read the essay referred to. If you tell them the essay is highly ingenious, or the verse remarkably poetical, it is enough. They will not read, or, if they do read, they will not take the trouble of a cautious survey, because you have read and judged for them: and your essay or your poem will have all the merit, in their eyes, which you think proper to ascribe to it.

You seem likewise ignorant that the world sets a great value upon every thing original. It is of no consequence that the reader has never before met with the dish you offer him; neither its intrinsic excellence, nor its absolute novelty to him is any recommendation of a dish which has frequently been served up before. It must now be offered for the first time.

You will probably insist upon the difficulty of obtaining original communications of real value; but this plea is a very feeble one, for you ought, by this time, to know that your purpose is equally answered, whether what you publish be really original, or be only supposed by your readers to be so. Nothing is more easy than to mislead the most wary and sagacious in this respect. The world of books has never been thoroughly explored by the most enterprising student, and it can hardly be imagined how very unfaithful and illusory the memory of the most indefatigable reader becomes. The more we read, according to the common observation, the more we forget; and the most noted passages, in the most noted books, may be frequently palmed upon the world as original, and either nobody detects the imposture, or the few that do so have no interest in making the detection equally public with the imposition.

However innocent this kind of

imposture may be, and beneficial to yourself and others, you, perhaps, may feel some scruples about employing it. These scruples are impertinent and groundless: but no thing is more easy than to satisfy or silence them. You have only to forbear any direct or positive assertion respecting the performance; divest it of the needless parade of references to author's name, to volumes, and to pages; only give the reader leave to suppose it original, and the supposition, if he never met with it before, will be readily admitted. There are, indeed, a thousand modes by which the reader can be impressed with the belief that the page before him ne'er craved the press, and ne'er knew type before, without loading your conscience with the expence of falsehood. A single equivocating epithet, or dexterous ambiguity, will frequently answer this purpose.You may easily confound the translator, and even the transcriber, of a piece with the author of it, and yet effectually preserve a loop-hole, through which, when assailed by a knowing or malignant reader, you may seasonably escape.

There is one thing, indeed, in which you are principally and particularly deficient. You by no means pay sufficient regard to your correspondents. You think, perhaps, that you fully perform your duty to them by promptly publishing what you approve, or silently omitting what you condemn. But here you commit a double mistake. The first kind of correspondents think them selves entitled to a particular note, expressing your gratitude and admiration; or, at least, their vanity would be highly gratified by this particular notice, and you would thereby not only secure their general good-will, but you would afford a powerful stimulus to new efforts in your favour. In the second place, instead of passing over in silence those you disapprove and reject, you should eagerly seize the opportunity of displaying your wit,

if you have any, at their expence. Nothing diverts us more than sarcasms and contempts, of which other people are the mark. It is true you insult and displease a man who never offended you, but who, on the contrary, has intended you a service; but that is a trivial consideration. It is only one of your readers whom you offend, while you entertain and edify all the rest. You likewise exalt the reputation of your critical sagacity in the general opinion, for the test of a critical judgment will always be placed in finding fault. You will impress us, too, with a notion that your letter. box is well supplied, and will lay new claim to our gratitude, on account of the judgment and labour you employ in selecting, from a vo luminous and crowded store, the materials of our entertainment.

You seem, likewise, to have overlooked one very obvious means of effecting this purpose. Your stupidity or scrupulosity prevents you from reflecting that to this end an imaginary correspondent is just as useful as a real one. You forbear to notice the correspondents you really have, instead of adding to the list a multitude of handsome signatures, and giving us monthly an agreeable medley of compliment and sarcasm. You might thus enhance your importance in what degree you pleased. By dealing out dark illusions, you would afford agreeable employment to the fancy, which delights to be puzzled; which is never more zealously busy than in drawing out a hint to its full length; clearing up a mystery; or translating an inuendo. In this way you might indulge yourself in a boundless liberty of speculation, and press into your service, without the possibility of detection, all the wits and sages of the nation.

I hope this well-meant counsel may not be thrown away upon you, but that your ensuing numbers will manifest a thorough reformation in all these respects: and so I conclude, Your's,

N. W.

For the Literary Magazine.

KOTAN HUSBANDRY.

The following particulars are taken from a French translation of a German author, who has filled a volume with economical reveries of the same kind. They are fanciful, but not destitute of some solidity, and may amuse those whom they do not instruct.

HUSBANDRY, the most important of all arts, has been reduced to very simple principles, and been brought within a very narrow compass, by this nation. There is no art susceptible of greater variety in its operations than this, and none in which the western nations have actually adopted a greater number and diversity of modes. This obviously arises from the dispersed and unconnected situation of the cultivators, and from their stupidity and ignorance. The learned and curious have laid out their wealth and their curiosity on different objects, and the art of extracting human subsistence from the earth has been treated with contempt and negligence.

There is no one circumstance, which strikes the sense of the stranger with a stronger sense of novelty, than the system and all the appendages of Kotan husbandry. A man, fresh from Europe, and somewhat familiar with the agriculture of his native country, and finding himself among a civilized nation, looks around him in expectation of meeting with the same objects, but almost every object he meets with informs him that he has fallen among a new race of men.

In the first place, he will notice with surprise the degree of unifor. mity which he will meet with. As he passes from district to district, and from province to province, he will naturally look for new subjects and modes of culture, but he will be disappointed. As he passes from one extremity of the empire to another, farms of similar dimensions, distributed and cultivated in the same manner, stocked in the same

manner and degree, and with buildings and tenants of the same fashion, will be every where found. I need not observe, that, in these respects, an absolute sameness prevails. Variety is the necessary attendant on all human affairs, and some differences necessarily flow from soil and climate. Exclusive of these last, however, the variety confines itself within narrow limits, and is much less in districts a thousand miles from each other, than in German farms, within the same parish.

As the country was formerly divided into numerous petty states, the modes of cultivating the earth were as diverse as possible; but since one of these states has gained an absolute ascendancy over the rest, the whole mass, in all its modifications and ingredients, has been rapidly assimilating to the conquering state. There is no circumstance in which the ruling powers have more zealously laboured to produce a uniformity, than in the cultivation of the earth. They seem to have thought that one mode of husbandry was more beneficial than any other, and that the prosperity of the state eminently depended on the kind and quantity of provision which was drawn from the soil. Hence, having conceived the notion of a farm as it ought to be, they have bent their mightiest efforts to destroying every other scheme of cultivation, and establishing this in its stead.

Their plan of husbandry, in its objects and operations, would no less surprise a stranger by its simplicity, than by its extensive prevalence. The care of every husbandman has properly but one object. This is a root called beel. From this root is derived the whole vegetable food of the society, and with this are fed all the domestic animals.

Instead of a great variety of grains, some of which are confined to man, and some to beasts, some to satisfy the cravings of the poor and laborious, some to pamper the rich; instead of a great number of esculent

and garden vegetables, the Kotan field and garden are acquainted with but one. As agriculture is entirely confined to this one plant, and as its culture and properties are universally known, it will be proper to enter into some particulars respecting it. The food of the nation being entirely drawn from this root, directly or indirectly, it is necessary to be well acquainted with it.

The beel is a species of potatoe or yam. It possesses, like that root, a smooth, thin skin; and several roots are connected with one stalk. Its shape, however, is more regular, inclining almost always to the oval.

Its taste is much more lively, pungent, and saccharine than that of the potatoe. The pulp is of a yellowish hue, and all the preparations of this plant have a tincture of that kind.

The size of the root, and. the number belonging to one stalk, depend very much on the soil and culture. The plant, in a poor soil and totally neglected, will produce two or three roots, the whole weight of which is equal to about eight ounces avoird.; whereas, if aided by manure, plentifully watered, and frequently tilled and dressed, the product will be equal to ten pounds. The difference, therefore, which is made by human art, is as twenty to

one.

This is a hardy plant, and is a native of the soil, as a small kind is is found in desert places, which is found capable of being improved, by culture, into an equality with the largest and best; and the best kinds, if wholly neglected, are found to degenerate into a resemblance to this wild one.

It will grow in every soil which is not exceedingly bad. It will flourish most in the blackest and richest, but will grow wherever there is a small proportion of productive particles: the product being in proportion to the goodness of the soil, and the labour, manure, and especially the watering bestowed upon it. It is commonly planted in squares,

whose sides are sixteen inches. The seed consists of a small root of the previous harvest. The ground is prepared for it, by being well broken up by a hoe, and the dung of cattle is put into the hole which receives the seed. It is then covered up, four or five inches deep.

The subsequent duty of the husbandmen merely consists in loosening the earth, in the intervals, extirpating all weeds, and in supplying the ground with water. The thriving of the plant depends more upon the use of the hoe than on any other circumstance. It is hardly possible to give it too much hoeing. It is well known that a single plant, carefully hoed every day, during the whole period of its growth, will produce twenty pounds of roots, provided some manure, and seasonable irrigation in dry weather, be likewise used.

The water may be frequently given, but sparingly. It must not be overflowed with water, but only sprinkled, and the oftener this is done, not exceeding once in twentyfour hours, in dry weather, the more flourishing is the plant.

This degree of attention it is not possible to pay where the fields are large, and the hands few; and yet if one plant, fully tended, will produce as much as ten or twenty, attended with less assiduity, it is evident that, if the labour be in both cases equal, the first case is prefer able to the latter, since ground is saved in the same proportion that labour is expended.

To this plant their whole husbandry, as to edibles, is confined. The vegetable part of the food of man consists wholly in this, and this being the mere subsistence of their cattle, it supplies them likewise, indirectly, with all their meat, milk, butter, and cheese. Beel espree, or beel-planting, is, therefore, another name for agriculture or farming.

A small, but stout, well-looking species of the bovine genus is the only cattle which is known. Instead of that variety with which I was