endeavored to control the capitalists, and there has grown out of it a long train of mischiefs.

Now, for a series of years, labor and capital alike have been in trouble. Capital has not been able to buy labor, because it could not sell its product. Labor has not been able to buy anything, because it could not earn anything to offer in exchange. It has seemed like an irremediable dead-lock. We look for better times, but they do not come, and there appears to be no mind so gifted with foresight as to be able to predict the date of renewed prosperity. Machinery in vast and multiplied organizations, and capital in large accumulations, lie idle, while labor lives from hand to mouth and waits for something to do. In the meantime, fictitious values have died out, speculation sleeps, and at what point matters can possibly begin to improve surpasses conjecture. Large exportations of produce may start consumption again, and so set capital and labor at work; but nobody knows anything about it.

Of this one fact, however, all men at this time have come to be well aware, viz., that we have the machinery and the labor for producing more of the ordinary materials required in civilized life than we can sell. The further fact, to which we have already alluded, that " the law of demand and supply works clumsily, and often disastrously, when left to itself, is also pretty definitely apprehended. There would seem, therefore, to be no alternative policy but that of "regulated production." That this is possible in limited spheres has already been abundantly proved. There is at this time in Massachusetts a society of paper-makers who are intelligently and successfully "regulating" the production of their mills. They understand that if they run their mills day and night, as they did when business was good, they will produce paper in such quantities as to raise the price of stock and reduce the price | of paper, as well as glut the market. So, by keeping the supply as nearly even with the demand as possible, they manage to run their mills half time—that is, only in the day-time-and to make a profit on which they and their employés can live. This is what may be called "regulated production;" and we know of no reason why the policy may not be adopted by every manufacturing interest in the country.

The government, of course, can have no voice in this regulation, but it can be of incalculable assistance in rendering it intelligent. It can ascertain

approximately at least-how much paper, in all its varieties, how much muslin, how many shoes, how much woolen cloth, how many sewing-machines, reapers, plows, hoes, shovels, how much cutlery, how many hats, are made and sold in a single year. It can also ascertain the producing capacity of the respective groups of manufactories, and thus reduce to the simplest sum in arithmetic the problem of regulated production. This sum, intelligently ciphered out, nothing remains but honest co-operation, free and frank intercommunication, and fraternal loyalty. Our American Silk Association, for instance, with its printed organ, its regular meetings, its thorough intelligence in all matters relating to the supply of the raw material, and the demand for the manufactured product, can so regulate the production of silk that the whole interest can be kept in a healthy condition.

Mr. Bunce cites the combination of the coal companies which recently exploded, with such disastrous results, as a perfectly legitimate one, provided it had been entered into in order to prevent an over-production of coal. We heartily coincide in this opinion, and presume to add that if this had been the only motive of the combination it would not have exploded. The combination to prevent an over-production is not only legitimate-it is necessary. The attempt to force prices and profits on coal, in order to sustain a speculation in railroad stocks, or to bolster up roads that have no legitimate basis, was what burst the combination. Such evils will always correct themselves, though, in the correction, they inflict great disasters. The present low price of coal is not a benefit to anybody, in the long run. The consumers of Pennsylvania cannot suffer without inflicting injury upon the manufacturers of New England and New York, who get their coal for less than it costs to produce it. Regulated production, with all that it promises, means, however, contentment with modest profits-a toning down of the old greed for sudden and enormous wealth. It means also the entrance upon untried fields of enterprise, increased intelligence, and a development of skill. A limitation in quantity will bring an improvement in quality, every man trying his best to lead the market, or to make his market sure. We know that when a manufacturing interest is enormous, like that of iron, or cotton cloth, it is difficult to associate the capital involved, but it can be done-ought to be done-must be done.

TO THE OLD CABINET:-Dost thou remember, most ancient and honorable furniture, the country house from which thou wast removed, to take up thine abode in the loud and multitudinous city? Not, O venerable secretary! that in thy new home thine ears are cracked with noises, and thy brain made dizzy with the endless procession of men.

No, the house over which thou lordest is hidden and compassed about by sky-confronting walls. The jingling of the horse-cars; the long, high note like that of a flageolet which the freight-car wheels make as they sweep round the corner under the Washington monument; the cry of the peach-vender and the hot-corn man; the shrill noon-whistle of the

factories; the rumbling of the wagons; the booming of the clock in the steeple; the drone of the hand-organs; and at night the bellowing of extras by the deep-voiced and mendacious newsboys-all these sounds come to thee, in thy city hermitage, mellowed and mixed with the nearer and gentler songs of the barber's trained canaries, the singing of the telegraph wires high over thy head, the fluttering of the vines about thy windows and the household clamor of the parrot which calls "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!" from the second story window of thy next-door neighbor, the carpenter.

But surely thou hast not forgotten thy former home! It is of this that I send tidings to thee. In the corner where thou once stoodst, the chintzcovered sofa has taken thy place. But the fire on the hearth is lighted, as when thou wast here, on cool days of summer. Out-doors, the gigantic button woods came out late this year, but they are in full foliage now and show no signs of the mortality which hath taken hold upon others of their kind. The black-heart cherry-tree whose twigs used to knock against the window of the room above, that had gone the way of all black-hearts, before thou didst depart from these shades. now it has been followed by its brother that stood at the edge of the grove. It was farmer Abner's ax that put the poor old creature out of its misery: the last of its sturdy race. It was burned, not buried; and as in life its fruit and shade had given pleasure to many, so was its last end gay and hospitable. The grove is not much changed. The myrtle has spread still wider over the deserted flower-beds. The branches of the pines stretch out still farther, but the sound that the wind makes in their tops is the same as when thou didst last hear it.

But

WHEN a man goes back to the scenes of his childhood, one of his most curious experiences is that of looking over fences beyond his former range of sight. A fence or hedge once bounded his thoughtless vision in a certain direction, when a boy; now he stretches up and looks over or through and sees how the land lies. Then it is that he discovers that the blacksmith's garden does not open out into infinity, but that it backs up against the shoe-maker's yard. For that vague, yet fixed landscape of the mind, suggested to the youthful gazer, a new one is substituted-correct and limited. He is disturbed, he has even a feeling of melancholy. It is thus that one by one the conventions of life are brought into a new view as we grow older. It is thus that science opposes itself to imagination. Say what any poet or man of science will, the first effect of science upon imagination, as upon religion, is deadening. Keats was right when he drank "confusion to the memory of Newton." The scientific spirit is opposed to the emotional and the imaginative spirit. The poet or the man of religion may recover himself, and be all the stronger and wider in his poetry and in his faith for the shock and for the broader knowledge; but that there is and must be a shock it is idle to deny.

There is a great deal of nonsense talked about

the necessity that the modern poet should gather "material" from science. He certainly ought to know all that he can learn in every direction. But when it comes to his poetry he can ignore science, like Keats, or make much of it, like Tennyson. But Keats is the greater poet; not, indeed, because Tennyson's science has hurt him, but simply because the author of "Hyperion" is more of a poet than the author of "In Memoriam."

IN revisiting the old town, year after year, it is interesting to watch how different families "turn out." One constantly sees careful training result happily and honorably. On the other hand, there are the A-s, who live down near the little brick school-house. They have been a notoriously bad lot as long as I can remember,-the parents, at least,-a drinking, brawling, cursing couple, who brought up their children apparently like pigs. Marvelous to relate, every one of those children has turned out well.

This I remember about the father and mother: quarrel as long and as loudly as they might, they were always together or not far apart. To this day, in their bent and halting old age, they go trailing up the road after the cow,-just as they have done for the past thirty years,-the woman walking a rod or two behind the old man; and as both are deaf as posts, they keep bawling at each other at the top of their lungs, in conversation which may be either friendly or unfriendly.

A YOUNG missionary made an address here Sunday morning. I was anxious to hear how he would justify his conduct in going away from his present congregation, his wife and his three children, to be absent three years on the fever-stricken West African coast. Although he did not enter into all the particulars of the case, I knew that he had been over there before, with a plucky young wife, who, however, was compelled to leave. I knew, too, that he had not asked to be sent, but had merely put himself in the hands of the Board, who had thought it necessary to use him. I went to church a good deal prejudiced, but I thought the young man made out a strong case for himself, if not for his superior officers, and perhaps incidentally for them also. Men accept equal dangers for the chance of a fortune, he urged, why not for the sake of religion. The lists of European army officers anxious to be sent out to the military stations in that country are crowded, simply because promotion is more rapid. Shall a "soldier of the Lord" be less willing? The least convincing part of his argument was in reference to "conversions." It was painful to hear him make so much of the mere repetition of the Lord's Prayer by an imitative old savage woman. He brought forth better instances than this, however, and in his own mind seemed to be well satisfied with the results of the work at the "station." He moreover laid special stress on the doing away with certain brutal customs, even among those not fully "converted."

As I walked home, I said to myself: Whether

he is right about his mission or not, he has builded better than he knew. The spectacle of a man who, every one is perfectly aware, would not swear falsely about his income, or stuff ballot-boxes, or log-roll in the legislature, or sell his newspaper for an office, but who, on the contrary, is leading, in this sordid and selfish and deceptive world, a pure, ideal and unselfish life,-such a spectacle exerts a spiritual and ennobling influence which it is impossible to estimate. A talk like that calls the hearer out of himself. It is an appeal to his imagination. It is like reading the "Arabian Nights." Better still; it is like reading "Paradise Lost." For not only the imagination is excited, but the higher feelings and aspirations are stirred; and to many who heard the young missionary that morning, the grinding routine of the week-days has a tendency to deaden both mind and spirit. Whatever that young man may accomplish in Africa, it is evident that he has performed a good work in the United States. He has done his part toward bringing about those days of general goodness when we may expect an international copyright, a better understanding between labor and capital, and the reform of the civil service; and when it will be thought neither odd nor infamous for a president to keep his faith with the people.

IN the hammock under the pines it is pleasant to re-read Milton, and profitable to read therewith Landor's "Conversations" about him.

One comes to believe when one reads Milton, Wordsworth and many others of the greatest, that only poor writers and modern Frenchmen fear to be dull. I remember asking a young writer why she did not cut a sentence down by one-half, thus making it clear and unaffected. She was astonished at the suggested pruning, and naïvely declared that she supposed if she wrote "that way " people would say that she wrote stupidly. What she lacked was self-confidence. She should have made her sentence simple and brief, for the same reason that Milton made "Paradise Lost" at least twice too long,because she had no doubt that what she said was worth while.

But after all, who would want Milton trimmed; and whom would we trust to do it? Certainly not Landor, who, though one of the most acute and liberal and just of Milton's critics, has his own cranks, and if he could would omit some of the most memorable verses. If you cut Milton wherever he is dull, or priggish, or shows any kind of bad taste, then you must cut out of Landor all that is narrow and extravagant. Let them both stand as they are, for the example, edification, and intellectual exercise of mankind.

Wood Fires.

WE grant, as has recently been said, that an open fire is "incompetent to heat our houses;" but we believe it can be made such an important factor in the culture of children, that we have no hesitation in urging others to try it. In houses that are wholly warmed by furnace, the family circle is likely to become impaired. The children take their friends to their own rooms, and the mother rarely becomes intimately acquainted with their associates. Around a wood fire, all naturally come together; what interests one, comes in a little while to interest all, and the children learn to be open and free. The fire warms the heart as well as the body. A wood fire lit early in the evening when the children are home from school is all that is necessary. When the boys get used to coming in from the cold and snow to find a cheerful hickory fire blazing on the parlor hearth, with the room not too nicely furnished for them to use, they will not want to leave it for any outside attractions. The moment the familiar whistle is heard in the evening, let some kindling wood be thrust under the logs. The pleasant sensation produced by a blazing fire, if repeated every day, winter after winter, amounts to a great deal of happiness in a boy's life-time, and will never be forgotten. It is difficult to overestimate the value of this central gathering-place for the whole family. Wood fires are not dusty, and when used not for heat, but for VOL. XIV.-55

cheer, and only in the evening, are not costly. The moderate heat of a furnace, or stove is sufficient for the parlor by day, and but little wood in the fireplace is necessary to make it comfortable at night. Indeed, the register often has to be turned off and the doors have to be closed to keep the heat of the house from rushing into the parlor. The wood fire ventilates, and thus, not only are the feet kept warm, but the head remains cool. Half a cord of hickory wood lasts us about a month, and we use it on Sundays after church, and on other days if we have friends to dinner, or the children are to be at home. In spring and fall an open fire-place is particularly useful. Every one knows how the furnace is disliked in moderate weather, but by using at such times the wood alone, the desired heat is obtained and far more than the cost saved in the coal that would be burned to waste. If the fire-place is painted black, there will be a good background for the red flame, and the brick-work will not be made to look shabby by the smoke. Let it be a good hearty blazing fire or none at all. Better to save in fine furniture, or in rich desserts, than put on logs sparingly. Brass andirons are the best, for they never wear out, and the labor in keeping them bright is much exaggerated. The wood should be sawed in but two pieces, so as to reach clear over both andirons. A lot of corn-cobs will make a hot, quick blaze, just before the children go up to bed, and will make their slumber all the HANNAH Snowden.

sweeter.

New Varieties of Berries.

Of the hundreds of new seedlings varieties of small fruits that are introduced each year, with high praise and flattering recommendations by the originators, and the warm indorsement of the prominent lawyer, minister and store-keeper from the town where the fruit was raised, only very few ever live long enough to get even a position on the “promising | list" of our national or state pomological societies.

Some of these new-fledged aspirants show at first distinctive traits of superior qualities that would indicate to a fond owner, a bright and prosperous future for the bantling, either in size or productiveness or vigorous habits of growth. But with age and experience under different modes of treatment these qualities grow worse instead of better, and by common consent the varieties are soon consigned to a place among the long list of worthless and rejected fruits, never again to be heard from.

Beginners should deal sparingly and with caution in these new and high-priced novelties, no matter how those interested in the sale of plants may speak of their extraordinary qualities, in the advertising or "local" columns of the newspapers. That there is occasionally a rare and valuable new seedling introduced there is no question, and the merits of such are soon recognized and appreciated. But where there is one such instance, there are, speaking within bounds, at least five hundred where the seedlings never get as far as standing alone, before they are fated to oblivion, for lack of any qualities that would warrant their perpetuation. Seedling fruits not infrequently gain local and merited reputations on account of special cultivation or the character of the soil and climate; but when such fruits are transplanted to other and different quarters they turn out to be of little or no value for either garden or field culture. This is the reason why there are, comparatively speaking, so few varieties of fruits that ever attain a high standing in any wide range of territory, and these influences affect the character and growth of small, more than that of large, fruits.

Last season's experience in strawberry culture has developed no marked changes worth mentioning. For family use and garden culture, among the older varieties that have more than held their own, may be named the "Charles Downing," "Seth Boyden" and " Triomphe de Gand," with the "Wilson Seedling" and "Neunan " for market or field cultivation. There are some few new varieties of strawberries that give marked indications of thrift, size of berry and productiveness. Within the confines of their birthplace and under the tender care of their owners, some of these new sorts have attained extraordinary size, while the quality of the fruit is quite promising. But it is yet too soon to allot any of these even an approximate place in the scale of merit. In course of a year or two they will drop into their proper position.

A few of the most noticeable and worthy new kinds are the "Great American," the "President Lincoln " and the "Duncan." The first and second produced during the past summer some of

the largest berries ever grown in this country. If with ordinary cultivation these sorts grow as large and yield as abundantly, they will certainly be valuable acquisitions to the now limited list of choice sorts. The "Duncan," while not so large in size as the others, is productive, firm in texture and of good quality, and bids fair for a place among the market sorts. Another year's trial with these berries will place them where they belong.

In the raspberry fields this year's experience has made few acquisitions to the list for general cultivation. For years past the great desideratum was to get a hardy red raspberry as productive and of as good quality as the "Hudson River Antwerp." Of the new sorts, the "Philadelphia" is hardy and very productive, but soft and inferior in quality. The "Brandywine" is tardy in growth when the vines are young, produces average crops of bright, firm berries of very poor quality. The “Highland Hardy" is one of the promising hardy sorts, a free grower, an early bearer, and with fruit of bright color and good quality, commanding higher prices in open market than the "Antwerp." The "Winant" is another of new sorts that gives strong indications of becoming a valuable addition to the hardy list of red raspberries. It makes a stocky growth of cane and bears freely of a large, handsome berry of good quality and showy appearance. The "Cuthbert" gives promise of being a large, productive crimson berry, and of fine quality. The drawback to this sort is its lateness and irregularity in ripening its fruit. The latter, however, would not be an objection in garden culture for home consumption.

There are no changes or additions worth recording in blackberries. The two varieties that still hold their own for garden and field cultivation are the "Kittitinny" and "Wilson's Early." The first named is by far the better for family use, while the productive habits and the brief time of ripening give the "Wilson" special advantages for market purposes.

Cookery and Cooks.

P. T. Q.

STEW-PANS and gridirons have seen three changes of rulers in as many generations. Our grandmothers, in the majority of cases, were their own purveyors and cooks. They broiled venison and stirred mush in western cabins, or, if they were so lucky as to be the mistresses of a household, themselves taught the slave or white "bound girl" the mysteries of salting beef or whipping syllabubs. Their daughters, grown rich and fashionable, suddenly dropped the whole matter into the hands of German Lena or Irish Ann, fresh from the cabin and pot of potaThen came the reign of disorder, dirt, and dyspepsia, until it occurred to some bold reformer about ten years ago to present cookery in theory and practice as a fine art, and to offer it again to the consideration of women. The bait took. Ranges and sauces were suddenly discovered to have their aesthetic, scientific, even sentimental, side. Our young matrons crowded to study under Professor

toes.

Blot; private classes were established. Even young girls in New York and Philadelphia, last winter, had their cooking clubs. The leading newspapers find they can fill column after column for their women readers with acceptable recipes for frying, brewing, and baking.

Now, we have one word of advice for our zealous readers, especially such among them as are young housekeepers. It is right and proper that they should understand cookery in its hygienic and chemical bearings, especially if there are any invalids in their families. Certain hereditary tendencies to disease require as a preventive certain kinds of food; the physical peculiarities of each child demand a peculiar diet. Yet this is a matter which few physicians will enter into in detail. Every intelligent woman ought to understand it for herself. She ought also to exercise such supervision over her kitchen that she may be confident when a meal is served, that it has been cooked and served with the daintiest cleanliness. Every woman ought to be able also, with her own hands, if need be, to make tea, coffee, and bread, and to cook a wholesome, savory meal of meat and vegetables. Farther than that it is not necessary she should go; unless, indeed, she have a genius for the art, and take such pleasure in it that she finds in it her true vocation.

stick to his last. Mrs. Bligh's table will be more wholesome and acceptable to her guests if she offers them only the savory roasts and broils and the simple desserts which she or any intelligent girl can prepare; let her eschew elaborate dishes until she can afford to employ people to make them who have taken cookery as the business of life, and who understand it as she cannot do.

One word, too, upon the subject of cooks. It is a popular belief that the ignorant Irish still rule in our kitchens. This is no longer true. They have fallen out of employment in most respectable houses in the larger cities, and their places are filled by Scotch, Swedes, Germans, or Irish no longer ignorant. The majority of servants in the houses of the readers of SCRIBNER, we venture to say, are self-respecting, partially educated women, with intelligence sufficient to reward culture. Housekeepers would find it to their own interest to lay aside the popular habit of regarding them as chinabreaking machines, and to treat them in their human capacity.

The same amount of study and interest given to the cook, her work, her personal story, hopes and capability that is now given to crockery, would result in a better moral atmosphere in the house, and we have no doubt in an improved table.

Note on "Blue India China."

THE writer of "Blue India China," in the August number of SCRIBNER, wishes to state, in answer to numerous inquiries, that the story of the willow pattern plate, there referred to, is now being printed, with a wood-cut of the plate, in the "Tea-Cup," a little sheet issued monthly by the Oriental Tea

Gill's "Life of Poe."*

"ABOVE all," said Talleyrand to a young diplomate,-" above all, no zeal." Mr. Gill would have done well if he had remembered this little anecdote while he was writing his "Life of Poe." He is too zealous. In a word, he is so violent a partisan that he has injured the cause he has espoused so warmly. He has convicted Griswold of many flagrant errors, and we are glad to have him convicted of them: for no one now cherishes animosity toward Poe,

*The Life of Edgar Allan Poe. By William F. Gill. Illustrated. C. T. Dillingham: New York. Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger: Philadelphia. William F. Gill & Co.: Boston. 1877.

whatever he may have done thirty years ago. And no one has any respect to spare for Griswold. This fact being understood, the besmirching of Griswold is certainly unjustifiable. He was no saint, perhaps, but he was not a sensualist, as Mr. Gill charges, and a libertine of a very low order. It is not true that "he knew no standard of morality higher than his own." Mr. Gill is mistaken in saying that Poe's susceptibility to the influence of drink became manifest during his first period of isolation from his child-wife at Richmond. It began while he was at the University of Charlottesville. Mr. Gill errs in attributing the passage on page 33 of his "Life" to Griswold. The paper in