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a teacup full of pease in a bag, leaving them a little room to increase ; they will probably take some time before they are sufficiently softened, then pound them in the bag till they are quite a paste, and put them into your soup with a little onion, pepper, a leaf or two of mint, if you like the taste, and let all boil up well together. If it is not then as good as you could wish, add a spoonfull of made mustard, when you take it off the fire, and have some nice crisp toast cut in small squares in the bason in which you pour it. Your husband when returning cold and hungry from his day's work, if he finds this quite ready on his arrival, will probably make it suffice for his supper with the addition of a little bread and cheese, which would be rather comfortless without it. What a pleasure it would be to you, whilst you sat enjoying your tea comfortably beside him, to think that by a little management you had saved the expence of one meal of animal food, and yet that your husband should not feel its loss. You will be amply repaid by it, for any little trouble you have taken. You will scarcely believe it till you have tried it, how many times the bones of beef, and particularly the head, may be so stewed, and yet afford a tolerable soup with the addition of barley and herbs instead of peas, which last are best with pork only. Whenever you make broth, you should be sure to put nothing into it, at first but the meat and some shelled barley ; let it boil an hour or two according to the quantity of your meat; the night before would be still more convenient, that it might have sufficient time to cool, if not set it out in a safe place for an hour or two, till you can take the fat entirely off, which renders the broth more wholesome for yourselves, and saves you the skimmings for other purposes, as I pointed out before ; whereas, if you leave it till you put in the herbs, you are obliged to throw it away, or leave it on the broth, when it it is very apt to disagree ; besides you lose the flavour of the herbs, which ought never to be added till the last hour. You may put in small pieces of turnip, carrots, onions or chives ; a little thyme and majoram, parsley and marigold ; not too much of any, but a little of all, these give your broth a good taste. Potatoes are best added when you eat it, if you like these better than bread, which is a saving of the latter. A little piece of beef or mutton, if done very slowly makes a cheap and nice dinner in this way, and coarse pieces are as good as the best when stewed till they are tender. Another dish in which a little meat goes a good way, is an Irish stew, and which, when properly made, is most excellent, either baked or boiled. The best way of preparing it, is to out your meat, (which ought not to be too fat) in small pieces, then season it a little with pepper, and salt, and place it in layers in your pan or dish, intermixed with layers of potatoes, peeled and sliced, and a little sliced onion to your taste. If baked, put only as much water as will cover it, and have some ready boiling when it comes out of the oven, that you may add to it, if necessary. Shake some pepper on the top of all, and an hour and a half, or two hours will bake it, according to its size, or the heat

If you prefer this dish boiled, you may prepare it exactly in the same way, except that you put more water to it, and let it simmer very slowly over a low fire, or it wlll be very apt to burn, which you must prevent by stirring it often. A pound of sliced lean beef would make a dinner for a large family, prepared in this way. This reminds me of what I have too frequently seen wasted, that is a good piece of onion, which if put by on a small plate and covered close with a teacup or small bason, would keep good for some days, recollect that it is exposure to the air that makes most things spoil, particularly anything that has been peeled ; so you should always cover it up, as it might be of use to you another time.

To be continued.

of the oven.


Nay, let a thousand darts be hurled,

Whate'er be said of dull pretence ;
Slay hydra-headed ignorance,

The curse of Albion and the world.

Do you

THERE is generally more of cowardice an prudence fear, hence long before the nature of any undertaking is well understood, a storm of voices cry out, “It is impossible, do not attempt it.” This is the fear, that makes us ever deferring to others, the task we ought ourselves to perform, till under the guise of quaking modesty, we skulk out of the duty of individual responsibility. Be it the formation of a Book Society, the establishment of a Mechanics’ Institute, the publication of a Magazine, a civil reform, or a social adjustment; what is manifestly the duty and advantage of all, is frequently and unfortunately left to the few.

Do you sneer upon the beginnings of things, because, though undoubtedly good, they are as certainly small ? Do you fear for our success, or tremble, lest in our progress across an evil world, some of its irt should stick to our heels ? take alarm lest we fail to please everybody? “ Rome was not built in a day,” is a good and wholesome adage, and what we are at first, is a mean index of what we may ultimately become; and whatever result, we take it, that the world of letters like the world of nature, has not the term annihilation in all its vocabulary. The spark, struck here, may fly and blend itself with other fires; yet it is unextinguished. The atom, which is the microcosm of our literary existence, may roll onward, and taking up congenial elements become a globe; yet we are not lost. The stream from the stricken rock, may leap, and gather, and swell into the ocean tide; yet there its identity, not its being is engulphed. Evil may be mingled with our doings as dregs are with our ink; but we will write as limpidly as possible, and rather cease, than pollute our pen with the foul sediment of harm and error. As to pleasing every body, we might as well enact the Old Man and Donkey; or expect that a large family, from the infant to the adult, would all be delighted with the same toy; or that good men and bad, wise and ignorant, had all tastes and ends in


But there are other fears more apart from ourselves, and which we may discuss with greater ease.

Of learning. Some persons are as much afraid of learning as of the plague, and do all in their power to keep it up in a corner, and hinder its progress, lest forsooth it should do men an injury, by making them wiser than their betters, and disaffected towards their condition. We wish these monopolists a mental surfeit, or an intellectual apoplexy; but of this we are sure, that pent up knowledge, like confined air, is converted into a curse : and as to their ancient apprehension, we leave common fact to reply.

Of defeat. There is the fear of attempting to do more than one is able, which if yielded to, makes a man just do nothing at all; for if you never face a difficulty that defies you, nor strive to move a weight whose ponderous gravity stretches every sinew, you will never know, either the complexion of your spirit, or the strength of your arm.

Take nothing for granted: difficulties vanish as you come at them, as ghosts flee into thin air on inspection. It is time enough to pipe, when the battle is lost; but as we buckle on our armour, let us remember, that every uplifted arm has might in it; that our phalanx is invincible, save where a craven heart, throbs under a coat of mail ;-there alone is the open door for disaster and the herald of defeat.

Of progression. There is a foolish, though more pardonable apprehension, which is found in fathers, when advising their children to “ Let well alone.” In their times, the stage and bridle way were the sure and slow means of transit, and a dozen miles, an honest day's journey. Wonder not that they tremble at steam boat and railway, and suspect a demon agent in electricity. This is the timidity of an old hen, set upon ducks eggs, who after incubation, sees her young ones break the thin shell, and rush into the nearest pool ; while she, forgetting that nature has given them the ability to sail on its surface, clucks out on the bank “You'll all be drowned"

Cluck, Cluck, Cluck,

Come out of the water;
Your chick is a duck,

And nature has taught her.

The cop

Of comparison. This is the fear either of impotency or conceit; for no common man ought to be ashamed that he is not a giant. Would you keep your infant at home until manhood, or the mind in swaddling bands and leading strings, waiting for its maturity? Turn your sons to the winds of heaven and the toils of labour; give your mind its training, set it out with its fellows, try its nerve with competitors. The village contrasted with the city, is not rendered insignificant; on the contrary, its just size is ascertained ; and the currency mark of virtuous intellect, will stamp an appreciable value, on the humblest as well as the most exalted effort. per farthing, will never blush before the golden sovereign, whilst both have their fixed worth, and indisputable utility.

Of ridicule. From whom? The base and the ignorant! for assuredly none others will act the mountebank. “Their praise is censure, and their censure praise.” They may hiss at your heels, but the sibillation of a thousand geese is harmless sound, and should hardly move your anger; much less excite your fear. Every tom fool laughs, when he ought to blush; and he who cannot endure the pointed finger of contumely, is not likely to be a far traveller on the path, either of religion or letters. Beside, this is a distinction, which has been more or less common, to all good men, and, which you will neither wish, nor be able to avoid.



Continued from Page 22.

(In excuse of one or two slight verbal and about as many constructional inaccuracies in the last communication, the writer has only to say, that being from home at the time of going to press, he was unable to inspect and correct the proof copy.]

What can be more deeply, pungently, affecting than the reflection, that by far the greater portion of mankind, are, and have been, from the earliest ages, habitually acting, living so as to render it notoriously unquestionable that to what incalculably most imperiously concerns them, they are totally, perversely, obstinately insensible ? It is the same in effect as if the capacity of forming a just estimate, a distinct conception, of their supreme interest had been blotted out; and the race-a race of intelligent.creatures abandoned to the folly of dissipating amongst trifles the term allotted them for securing their eternal well-being. Anchorism is justly condemned and censured as unworthy, alike, of the man and the christian; but, indeed, the fanaticism of abstracting oneself from the great stage occupied by one's species, and from them, and of retiring into voluntary and permanent exile, has, in a multitude of instances, owed its existence to a thousand far less venial follies, combined with a prodigious host of vices --and preeminently to that monster vice, that compound of infatuation and wickedness, the parent of all other vices and follies-indifference to the supreme interest. Let a serious person of extreme sensitiveness, whose intellectual and moral nature shall be but slightly defective in the reasoning faculty and in the principle of benevolence ; and who, in consequence, will be subject in a degree corresponding with that of the excess, in the one case, and of the deficiency, in the other, to the gloomy influence of a morbid imagination; let such a person come unavoidably into frequent contact with mankind as they are in the mass, and it will not be surprising, however much it may be a thing to be deplored, if, overwhelmed with mingled pity and disgust, he should suddenly quit, for ever, a scene where at every tnrn he had been lacerated by a thousand goads, urging him on to desperation. He had been accustomed from the examples, included in his earlier associations to regard his fellow-creatures, on the whole, as reasonable beings; to consider them as possessed of the capacity and the disposition to estimate things according to their nature and value, and direct their conduct, in the main, in accordance with the relative importance of the numerous objects which claim their attention, and solicit their pursuit; that they were, at least, rational, however, unfortunate: and that the numerous ills by which they were afflicted, although originating, for the most part, in their own misconduct, were owing rather to ignorance than to perversity. He, however, had no sooner gone out into the broad daylight of actual life than he discovered with dismay that in judging of the many from the select few he had committed a grievous mistake ; that the mental character which this mistake had conspired with other causes in forming for him, was of a description to render it certain, that his continued association with mankind would be attended with a corresponding series of painful impressions, often in a degree amounting to agony; and that solitude was the only condition in which he could expect to find repose. Who does not remember to have sometime read, or heard related, the beautiful and touching story of one of the most lovely of youths, one of the most excellent and extraordinary of men? When Europe was about to emerge from the more than Egyptian darkness in which Popery—the most terrible beyond comparison of all the plagues which have been permitted to scourge the human race—had enveloped it for a frightful number of centuries, a young man of extraordinary amiability, remarkable equally for his talents, his erudition and his piety ; remarkable for his intellectual and moral elevation, his unearthliness; and more remarkable still for the symmetrical perfection of his character-himself enlightened by Revelation ; seeing clearly through the gross absurdities and grosser impieties of the papacy ; thinking in his inexperience that nothing more would be requisite to enlighten and liberate mankind than for the truth to be presented in the manner in which he could and would present it; and prompted by that benevolence which will undertake any task however arduous, and confront any difficulty however formidable, to do good went forth, bent on the reformation of the world. Not long afterward he was heard to sum up the issue of the enterprise in the memorable exclamation “Old Adam was too strong for young Melancthon!” Had the character of Melancthon's mind been of the description above alludled to, would be not, on finding his fellow mortals, inveterately, perversely, wedded, to the very thing which befooled, enslaved, and destroyed them, have quietly, but irrevocably retired into the solitude of his cell.

Ages have passed away, and the earth and its inhabitants have sustained many convulsions and have undergone many and wonderful revolutions since then; yet who does not see, that the same insensibility to that which alone is of sterling and permanent and unchangeable value is still the prevailing epidemic, the universal delusion? Whatever changes it has undergone are only like those of the moon; it may have presented different phases, but its own stubborn, unconquerable, invulnerable nature is still the same. Go where one may there are to be seen indubious indications that it is there.—Amidst the scenes where nature seems to luxuriate in an endless alternation between beauty and sublimity, and every thing is tuggestive of

the grandeur and resources of that Being by whom all things were made and are sustained, and of the inevitable security and happiness of all who are in subordination to Him; in those regions where nature has done little else than furnish materials for human industry and art, and where, by the absence of every thing calculated to feast the soul of man through the medium of his senses, signifying how utterly barren she can be of all but the means of furnishing food for his body as the reward, only, of his patient and laborious industry, when the sovereign Proprietor has interposed his interdict, she admonishes him to cultivate the favour of that Being who can both give and withold; in the crowded city and the most retired and rural retreat; in the mansion of the rich, and the cottage of the poor ; in the workshop of the artisan, the mart of commerce, the counting house of the merchantman, the laboratory of the man of science, and in the library of the philosopher-it seems as if it had been inscribed in legible characters, Every thing receives due attention here but the chief concern. Nothing can be more affectingly significant that it is so than the full; broad, consciousness one feels at the very moment of writing or giving utterance to remarks like these, that they will be read or listened to, as similar remarks have been read and listened to, myriads and millions of times, and will be as many times again, with far less emotion than would be produced by the mawkish incidents of romance, the commonest occurrence of daily life, or the song or tale of yesterday's folly or misfortune. When will it be otherwise ?' Ah! when? Let the Christian look abroad and say, where are the signs of a general reviviscence from the long spiritual death! It is frightful to think of the multitudes that will pass away in the train of the countless myriads already gone, before then! It seems as if a dark and dreadful cloud had gathered above the horizon and a voice issued, amidst its thunders and its lightenings, pronouncing the terrible words : “ They are joined to idols; let them alone." “They are of their father the devil, and the works of their father they will do." Sohan. To be continued.


The Editors do not wish to be considered responsible for all the sentiments

of their Correspondents.


To the Editor of the Soham Magazine. Sir,—I wish some means could be devised for putting a stop to the horrible inccndiarism which disgraces our town. Here is another destructive fire by which sever tenements and three farm yards are consumed, and still no clue to the motive for the diabolical act, and no trace of the malignant perpetrator. These same premises were fired seven months ago, and that, too, before dark ; but as you remember, the flame was immediately extinguished. And now, at five o'clock in the morning, they are completely levelled to the ground. This is really a dread.ful state of things, and one which needs to be met by the most vigorous efforts of the inhabitants. Surely it is high time that we had the preventive benefit of a few well appointed policemen, who might challenge every one they met at an unusual hour, or in an unfrequented locality! If some decisive and effectual steps are not taken, every thatched building in the place will be destroyed, and all who can, will seek a more reputable neighbourhood. I understand one of the principal farmers already talks of leaving. And no wonder; for he can never go to bed in comfort and safety so long as these deprave ed and determined miscreants prowl at large about our streets.

I am, Sir,

Your obedient Servant,
Soham, March 16th.

P.S. there are more evils than one that a Police force could remedy. I hope to see

a notice of them, in due time, in your Magazine. No. 4. Vol. I.

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