Experiment 2. Considering that || in the cask; and therefore the subject good corks would begin to stop the air in the neck of the bottle, before they were balf driven in, and that a portion of air would be condensed, and therefore greatly endanger the bottles, when the temperature was increased, I procured perforated corks, and stopped the perforations, after they were driven in, with pegs, and sealed all over. Neither of these probable experiments were effectual: every hot day was announced by an explosion in the cellar. Giving over every stratagem, that had not an alteration of the liquor in view, it occurred to me that wines did not burst their bottles, and that cider was only a low wine, and also recollecting that small beer was both the weakest and most violently fermentative of all common drinks, I resolved to raise the proof of my cider, by the addition of two tea-spoons of French brandy to each bottle; since which I have had no more explosions nor broken bottles, and the cider is improved by the addition. Plumbs or honey, so much used, must have the same effect, i. e. to raise the proof; for it is only necessary to add a larger quantity of either, to make cider into good wine that will flash in the fire. My method is to get cider made late necessarily involves the cider making, on which you have many excellent papers. From what I understand of the making of cider, it appears that the later the apples hang on the trees, the more powerful will be the cider; hence the cider of France and other temperate countries, is said to be more powerful than ours: our summer apples, therefore, would not make good cider for bottling, because of their quickly arriving at perfection. The cleaning of the liquor from the pumice is the main thing, when good sound late apples are used. It appears that cider made from sweet apples is much more apt to abound with pumice, whilst the acid and ascerb retain their pumice in the press; hence some very bad eating apples make excellent cider. The attenton to this subject, i. e. the defalcation, is all important, especially the first, if well timed and complete, the future fermentations will be moderate and the racking effectual. Blankets have been used with success to get off much of the pumice; they should be spread on the bottom of a flat basket, and that placed on the head of the cask. All strainers will require often washing out, and therefore two or three are necessary, all of which may be made satisfied that a few hair sieves of different fineness, with the coarsest uppermost, placed under the run, would separate quantities of pumice; they in October or in November, from red-from one stout blanket. But I am streaks, catalins, or maiden's blush. In December I put half an ounce of isinglass to each 30 gallons, and bottle it in February. If the isinglass is put in later, it will deposit some sedi-would also require shifting with a sement in the bottles. It is to be dissolv-cond set, and constant attendance to ed, by chipping it into fine pieces and placing it in a covered mug with a quart of cider, for ten hours or more, in a very warm ashes heat, about as much as we use to draw tea; a little scalding to the corks, at the moment they are to be used, will soften them, so that they will fit better and be more readily driven in. wash them out; the size of grain sifters would answer; after these the blanket strainer would render the cider so pure, that the fermentation would be gently and easily managed, so that the first racking and the isinglass would finish the fining. Your's, SYLVANUS. P. S. Some persons are very much pleased to see cider rush out of the bottles like small beer, they think it But it would be needless to expect cider to be made good by bottling, it must be pure and well-flavoured whilst | strong; if they bottle it themselves they will find their mistake, and, like me, be better pleased to see a kind of sparkling fervour, like the wine of Solomon, "that moveth itself aright." MISCELLANEOUS. THE YOUTHFUL SOLITARY. Ladies, TO THE FAIR SEX. The Your numberless charms would, in the imagination of a YOUTHFUL SOLITARY, have surpassed the beauties of the Spring, and the blushing Aurora ; and had he seen them in his tender years, he would have preferred them to the dazzling splendour of the skies, and the lovely prospect of the meads. And indeed, he no sooner beheld your charms, but he felt their force. You far excelled all other objects, and they immediately faded in his eye. sight of the most magnificent palaces no longer invited his curiosity. In a word, he discovered infinite more lustre in your person, than in the jewels which adorn a crown. his infancy, inhabited the woods and groves, where the winged choristers were his only companions; whose delightful harmony used sometimes to cheer his lonely hours. Their innocent melody was his only delight, notwithstanding that he was wholly unacquainted with the meaning of their tuneful language. He had, from To this rural school, his father had brought him, in his infancy, immediately after the death of his mother; and the tender babe was no sooner born, than he removed him far from the sight of any he had not the least idea that there human creature; and for many years were any such in the world; and im agined that there were no other creatures than the tenants of the forest in which he dwelt; such as birds, wolves, &c, who enjoy only a sensitive life, and are not endued with any of the rational faculties. The two motives which prevailed with his father to shun all human com whether they were well or ill founded, merce, were the following; which, I shall not take upon me to determine. The first was his great abhorrence of mankind in general, and the second his fear: for from the time his dear consort had left the world, and winged her way to Heaven, he detested the society of his fellow creatures. When grown weary with the sighs he himself repining of all those with whom he vented; with the continual moan and made him both hate, as well as fear met; the death of his better half ved to turn hermit, and to bring up the rest of her sex; so that he resolhis little son in the same way of life. Upon this, having distributed his wealth among the indigent, he set out his infant son, whom he carried in his alone, and unaccompanied, except by arms, and striking down in a lonely forest, he stopt in the most solitary part of it. Here our hermit studiously the child; not from a severity or conceals a thousand particulars from gloominess of temper, but piety; he least word drop. from him, which takes the utmost care not to let the might intimate that there were any such creatures in the world as women; particularly that of love. Having ator such things as desires or passions, tained his fifth year, he taught him the talked to him about the little birds names of flowers and animals; and they heard and saw. Being now ten years of age, he re vealed to him some few particulars relating to the other world; but not a taught him every thing his mind was word about woman; at fifteen, he tion the most lovely part of creation. susceptible of, but still forbore to menBeing arrived at the age of twenty, with himself. What will my poor our old hermit began thus to argue boy do when I am dead; how will it be possible for him to subsist; being totally unacquainted with the world? tations, the old man finally determined After a thousand resolves and recan to carry him to a neighbouring city, which was magnificent, and where the || edge, begged leave to propose a quesking kept his court; however, tears tion, to which the old man consented. gushed from his eyes, when he consid-He was then asked who was the first ered the temptations to which the lad | circumcised. The Indian immediately would be exposed. Being arrived at the city, our young anchoret, our harmless and innocent youth, in amaze, like one who had dropt from the clouds, cries out, what do you call that thing there? A courtier, replies the father. And those out yonder? Palaces my dear. These here? Statues. He was gazing on these several objects, when some beautiful ladies, with piercing eyes, and most bewitching features, made their appearance before him; and they alone, instantaneously, drew all his attention; bewildered in the pleasing perplexity of the first impression of innocent love on his heart, he regards no longer the palaces, and the other objects he but the moment before admired; but, luckless youth! is seized with another kind of astonishment, for, all in raptures and ecstacy at the enchanting sight, he cries out, with a palpitating heart, What is that sweet thing, so prettily dressed, pray dear father tell me, how is it called? The good old man, who did not in the least relish his question, answers, child, it is a bird, called a goose. Sweet pretty bird, cries the innocent youth, in the utmost transport, pray thee sing a little; let me hear some of thy music: O, that I could get acquainted with thee! Dear, dear, father, I entreat you, if you love me, to let me take that sweet pretty bird with me into the forest. I myself will take care to feed it. LA FONTAINE. FIRST QUAKER. replied, father Abraham: and directly asked the gentleman, who was the first Quaker. He said it was very uncertain, as that people differed in their sentiments exceedingly. The Indian, perceiving the gentleman unable to resolve the question, put his fingers into his mouth, to express his surprise, and told him Mordecai was the first Quaker, for he would not pull off his hat to Haman. And on pillars of National Independence laid the foundation of a great Republic. Twice invested with supreme magistracy, by the voice of a free peo ple, An old American savage, being at an inn at New-York, met with a gentleman who gave him some liquor, and being rather lively, he began to boast that he could read and write English. The gentleman, willing to indulge him in displaying his knowl- || And voluntarily resigning the sceptre He surpassed in the cabinet the glories of the field; noe and the sword, retired to the A spectacle so new and so sublime, found admiration; And the name of WASHINGTON, sounded to the remotest regions of the Earth. Magnanimous in youth, glorious Great in Death. energetically exclaimed, "Though, sir, I may be poor, I am still honest; though I am a beggar, I have still feelings; and though you may esteem me an object unworthy of your charity, why thus cruelly wound me with your frowns?" The fellow's eloquence came home with full power to my heart: he struck the master-string of my nature. I turned my back upon him (for I had not courage to meet the indignant glances of my tattered, though sentimental accuser) to get my purse to reward His highest ambition the happiness of his independent spirit and pathetic Mankind. His noblest victory the conquest Bequeathing to posterity the inherit- And building his monument in the hearts of his countrymen; The ornament of the eighteenth cen tury: He died, Regretted by a mourning world. CHARITY.-A FRAGMENT. By Arthur Owen, Esq. وو "Harrass me no more with thy cant and hypocrisy, I have no money for such a filthy vagabond as thou art,' said I, still approaching the door. The hoary mendicant hung his head, and and with his trembling hand wiped away the tears which stole down his pale, though venerable cheeks, whilst I could faintly hear him repeat, " filthy vagabond as thou art." The repetition, his age, his attitude, and his weeping, touched me; most sensibly touched me. He made a nearer approach, and, after a few struggles, ventured to look me in the face. I was hastening to my pocket, when that demon, suspicion, still whispered me he was an imbut I saw that I had gone to far, that postor. I eyed him with sternness, appeal, when regaining my situation, I found that he had left me. My heart was harrowed to the very quick. Oh! how poignantly did I lament my folly and barbarity, as I had lost (perhaps for ever) the blissful opportunity of asking forgiveness from one, whom I had thus insulted, of pouring my little all into the lap of a man of such sensibility, such intelligence, and such distress; but, says prudence, "curse prudence," replied I; "I have here sacrificed a more ecstatic pleasure than a whole life spent in conformity to the dictates of cold-hearted prudence and ungenerous apathy, can possibly bestow." SOLEMN REFLECTION. evade the obliterating hand of time! As I traversed the dreary wastes of Egypt, on my journey to Grand Cairo, I stopped my camel for a while, and contemplated in awful admiration, the stupendous pyramids. An appalling silence prevailed around: such as reigns in the wilderness when the tempest is hushed, and the beasts of prey iads that had once been employed in rearing these lofty mementos of hu How futile are all our efforts to have retired to their dens. The myr had all been swept from the earth by enlivened the solitude of the desert, man vanity, whose busy hum once my scowl had entrenched his soul; he the irresistible arm of death; all could no longer bear it, and in a moment forgetting his supplication, he all were forgotten. Even the mighty were mingled with their native dust: names which these sepulchres were designed to perpetuate, had long since faded from remembrance; history and tradition afford but vague conjectures, and the pyramids imparted a humiliating lesson to the candidate for immortality. Alas! alas! said I to myself, how mutable are the foundations on which our proudest hopes of future fame are reposed. He who imagines he has secured to himself the meed of deathless renown, indulges in deluded visions, which only bespeak the vanity of the dreamer. The storied obelisk, the triumphal arch, the swelling dome, shall crumble into dust, and the names they would preserve from oblivion, shall often pass away, before their own duration is accomplished." THE METHODISTS. are extending widely in America; and in both countries they number their annual increase by thousands. The history of their founder is little known in his native land, beyond the limits of those who are termed the religious public; and on the continent it is scarcely known at all. In some of the biographers the heart has been wanting to understand his worth, or the will to do it justice: others have not possessed freedom or strength of intellect to perceive wherein he was erroneous. -Lon. Cour. PHILOSOPHY AND CHRISTIANITY. By Dr. Nott, President of Schenectady Philosophy confines its views to this world principally. It endeavours to satisfy man with the grovelling joys of earth till he returns to that earth from which he was taken. Christian Mr. Southey has just published the life of Wesley, in two volumes, a work of a very deep and general in-ity takes a nobler flight. Her course terest, likely to prevent the repugnance which many feel at the very word Methodist. In their original institution nothing more was designed than that they should be strict members of the church of England, regular in their attendance, and methodical in the performance of all their duties. Thence arose their name of Methodists. In the progress of time, and under new pastors, some of them have greatly deviated from the fundamental rules of society, and new sects bearing the same name, have arisen. But in the life of Wesley there is much to revere and to venerate. What is Mr. Southey's opinion, may be collected from the following extract from the introduction to his work. is directed towards immortality.Thither she conducts her votary, and never forsakes him, till, having introduced him into the society of angels, she fixes his eternal residence among the spirits of the just. Philosophy can only heave a sigh, a longing sigh after immortality. Eternity is to her an unknown vast, in which she soars on conjecture's trembling wing. Above, beneath, around, is an unfathomable void; and doubt, uncertainty, or despair, are the result of all her inquiries. Christianity, on the other hand, having furnished all necessary information concerning life, with firm and undaunted step crosses death's narrow isthmus, and boldly launches forth into that dread futurity which borders on it. Her path is marked with glory. The once dark and dreary region lightens as she approaches it, and benignly smiles as she passes over it. Faith follows where she advances, till reaching the summit of the everlasting hills, an unknown scene in endless varieties of |