CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. array of festal ornaments, quite enough for their rehearsal. Brutus helped them as well as he could, by carrying branches and garlands in his mouth, and depositing them on the little mound that was to serve them as a Having hung their garlands sort of natural ottoman. and bouquets on the nearest shrubs, and twined flowers and branches of young limes amongst the leaves of stately laurels, Rose desired her companions to imagine as well as they could, that the most beautiful festoons of palm-leaves and show-flowers were hanging the whole way from the house, with cocoa-nut lanterns blazing away at intervals. They were told, likewise, to picture an arch of triumph at either end of the bridge, with an altar of flowers and fruit in the centre; and lastly, that they must fancy themselves looking at the green mound as a most beautiful throne of moss, lotusflowers, jambo-blossoms, and talipot-leaves, with a bower by its side full of wine, and cakes, and fruit, and all the estate people assembled about them, with Tonchee, the old blind harper, and the two horn-blowers, who could play anything from cathedral music down to an Indian war-dance. They all, as in duty bound, fancied what they were bid, whereupon Rose led her elder brother to the imaginary throne, and bade the rest range themselves about. Then the child, in a voice of grave earnestness, told them that the New-year's fête was to begin, that she would act Mamma,' while Edward would At this proposal, the rest take the part of 'Papa.' of the children raised such a shout of laughter as quite astounded the goat. The idea of their papa taking part in any festivities, seemed to their infant minds a joke of such stupendous absurdity as to be beyond their small comprehensions. Why Rose, silly child, might as well have voted him to be the pope of Rome, or even the governor of the island! But she, taking her brother by the hand, bade him act the part allotted him; whereon the boy said he would try and look as grave and unhappy as he could, but he was sure he could not look or feel like his papa. Rose chided him, and said that she was sure their papa was very good, and loved them all, and would not make one of them unhappy for the world, if he knew it. Edward inquired, if that were the case, why did he go away so often and leave their mamma alone for so many days and nights: when she was ill too, it was all the same. But Rose was not going to be put down in that manner; not she. To be sure, she did wish that dear papa would not leave them so often as he did; she wished he would give up those long journeys, burn the nasty canoe on their imaginary altar of flowers, and stay at home to take care of the cane-pieces and the people, and so make dear mamma and all of them quite happy. Then she added, if Edward would not act Papa, she would, and tell them what she would do She would first kiss mamma and say on the morrow. and the new baby, and wish them a happy New Year, and say that she had resolved to give up everything but home from that day; that there was to be no more travelling in the canoe; that mamma and the sugarworks should have all her time. Then she would give a grand fête to everybody on the plantation; and to crown all, and begin the New Year well, old Pierre should have his liberty, and Brutus the goat be decorated with a new set of ribbons. Saying this, Rose embraced her brother, and the whole party raised such a shout of approbation as might have been heard at the house. Perhaps it was; for at that moment, just as they were going to dance, the conch-shell was blown, as a signal for their return to supper and bed. They started away home as rapidly and joyously as they had come; and in a few minutes more the island was as still as the night that was closing fast over it. Again the planter paced that quiet lawn, but this time calmly, slowly, and thoughtfully, until the moon had risen high above the palm-trees. Then, by that pale light, one might have seen how changed he seemed; how something had been busy in his mind, and still was working there; how heavy wintry clouds had passed away, and summer calm reigned gently in their place. Each word and syllable of those dear children's talk had found its way and done its work within. A sweeter The New year's Day broke brilliantly as man sermon man clad in priestly robes had never spoken. need wish to see it. The early morning breeze from off the hill-tops came loaded with the breath of forestflowers; birds caroled merrily from groves of shady trees; the insect world broke forth in one great universal hum of happiness; the little river rippled cheerily past the wooded island; and then the sun came gently over the mountains, heralded by gorgeous rays of rainbow quality, sipping the dewdrops from myriad buds and blossoms. The household of the planter had just begun to stir; dogs shook their shaggy, drowsy heads, and apathy, groaned that the night had fled. The earliest negroes rubbed their heavy eyes, and, in their Oriental sunny rays of morning light that stole through lattice door and window found Florence still asleep: a little more light, a little more warmth, a little more warbling of the birds without, and the sleeper's eyes were opened. Was it a vision of the night, still hovering about her, that she saw?-It was her husband, indeed, and with their new-born infant in his arms! He laid it gently by her side, and bending softly over her, as though she still had slept, and he had feared to wake her, kissed her a score of times, called her darling wife, and year. Blessed wife! It seemed as though a new world wished her and all beneath that roof a happy long new had opened before her with a fresh existence. And when he took her hand in his, and asked her to forgive him all the past, to look only to the future, rich in each other's love, Florence could not speak; but tears of happiness, more eloquent than words, told all she had to tell. That was a busy bustling day for all the household. As usual upon the first day of the year in that island, the slaves crowded in after the morning-meal with their simple gifts of fruit, flowers, or cakes. Pomegranates, oranges, limes, citrons, bananas, pine-apples, in, as though all the corners of the earth had been jambos, and many other tropical fruits, came pouring robbed for the occasion. If some fairy, reversing the story of Cinderella, instead of transforming fruit into carriages had converted all the vehicles of the island into fruit, there could hardly have been a greater abundance than was heaped in the planter's ample veranda on that morning. Every one perceived how changed was the manner and tone of the master; and many were astounded to see how he worked at something that was evidently in preparation. Under various pretences, he contrived to despatch the children upon errands all day long; then were told to prepare for the New-year's fête. As the the dinner-hour came, and then evening, and then they whole family walked down the avenue of bananas and rose-apples towards the bridge, one long exclamation of wonder and delight burst from the children's lips. Pretty festoons of bright green leaves and flowers of while midmany colours drooped across their path from tree to tree; at intervals hung, swinging in mid-air, small cocoa-nut lanterns; further on, at each end of the way between them stood the very altar that Rose had bridge, was an arch of evergreens and fruit; the evening before wished to see placed there; and, stranger still, upon its summit lay burning, like some sacrificial monster, the identical canoe, the detestable canoe, that had so often robbed them of their dear papa! Wonder seemed never ending upon that eventful evening. Well might the children feel astonished at all they saw, and ask inwardly if it were not a dream. Why, there was the little mound on which Rose and Edward had stood the previous night, decked and ornamented as they had pictured in their play! Some wizard of the woods had transformed the simple spot to a festive throne. While, stranger still, there was the identical bower by its side that Rose had conjured in her mind, full of all sorts of refreshments, boiling over with wine and cakes! And there, too, were the horn-players and the blind old negro harper. And as the party approached from the bridge, surveying all this work of fairyland, the brass and stringed music welcomed them with such a voluntary, as quite took away the children's breath. It would need some time to relate one-half of what occurred on that joyful evening; but I may venture to tell how happily everything passed off: how old Pierre was made a free man; how the goat was decorated by Rose's hand with a new garland of ribbons and flowers; and how, in the very midst of some intricate piece of dancing, Brutus insisted on joining in the amusements, tripping up many a vigorous dancer by the force of his horns, and utterly perplexing and bewildering every kind of figure that was attempted. The last of the guests had disappeared, the little island was once more quiet, and again the moon shone brightly upon tapering leaves and quivering grass; but this night two walked there. How differently, how happily did their hearts beat then! As they gently strolled towards their home, the planter whispered to his wife that there was yet one thing left untold, which he would break to her. He had not done so earlier, lest it should have marred the pleasure of the day. He was a ruined man-a beggar! He had been following a deceptive bubble; it had burst, and all was lost save home, and that was won. The loss of fortune had been a gain to him; and amidst the struggle which had then to come, the memory of that happy New-year's Day would lighten many a task. The sequel of their fortune is soon told. A few years of steady application made the planter once more a thriving man; a few more years on that, and all was safe. If you wish to know how many New-year's Days they passed together, you must multiply twenty years by three hundred and sixty-five; for every day in their life was to them a New-year's Day, and a happy one! REVELATIONS ABOUT SACKS. EVER since the drinking-cup of Joseph was found in the sack of Benjamin, and we don't know how long before, sacks have maintained a distinguished position among the commercial nations of the earth, as the receptacles of the food of man, and of a multitude of other things besides, which we are fortunately not under the necessity of enumerating. There can be but little doubt that a sack was the first portable depository for property constructed by human ingenuity, and that it was formed from the skin of an animal. Such were the bottles of ancient peoples, before the potter's or the glass-maker's art was known, or was extensively practised, or popularly adapted to meet the common want; and such, at the present day, are the vessels of many nomadic and pastoral tribes partially, if at all, acquainted with the ceramic or textile processes. But the cattle on a thousand hills, if every one of them surrendered his skin for the purpose, would not supply a thousandth part of the sacks which modern commerce demands for the reception of its merchandise. The millions stowed away in granaries and warehouses-the millions more constantly traversing the ocean in every directionand, more than all, the millions in daily use wherever are congregated-all these defy calculation to number, or the imagination to conceive. A sack is men truly a comprehensive subject, and although it can be examined only on two sides-the outside and the inside-it may be considered from many and various points of view; but in order to keep ourselves within bounds, we shall confine our remarks, upon the present occasion, to the sacks which undergo a London experience. The bulk of the sacks used in this country are woven by power-loom in Dundee, and by hand-loom in Norwich and various other places throughout the kingdom. The material is either hemp, which forms the best and most durable, or jute, a fibrous plant imported from the East Indies. The woven sacking, though partly made up in the provinces, is brought in great quantities to London, and being cut up into lengths, is sewn into sacks by women, who, working for very moderate wages upon a rough and cumbersome material, do not cut a very imposing figure among the fair professors of needlecraft. There is a large sack-manufactory in Tooley Street, and the sack-making women may be seen at early morn and at eventide laden with piles of sacks, made or unmade, upon their heads, proceeding over London Bridge to and from the factory. These hardworking females have latterly found a formidable rival in the new sewing-machine, which makes a sack in a fraction more than no-time, and threatens ultimately to throw them out of employment. Fortunately for them, however, there is an incessant demand for sacks -a demand which is always increasing in something like an arithmetical ratio. A question here naturally arises: What becomes of all the sacks? the answer to which, if it could be definitely given, would involve, we are afraid, an amount of moral delinquency which, if it could be measured by the sackful, would astound the questioner. Perhaps we shall arrive at some idea of the response by the time we have got to the end of our paper. It might be reasonably supposed, that the immense demand for sacks would have the effect increased consumption has on other species of manufacture-the effect, namely, of improving their quality. But the fact happens to be just the reverse; the truth being, that the actual desideratum at the present time is, not a strong sack-not a tough, serviceable sack-not by any means a good sack, or any such kind of thingbut-hear it, ye men of inventive genius!-a sack not worth the stealing! Here is a field for enterprise! If any cunning contriver or persevering experimentalist can produce a sack which will barely carry its load once, and defy replenishing when empty, and sell it at a corresponding price-a price, that is, proportionate to the value of its temporary service-we will guarantee him a fortune. A good sack will cost 2s., or thereabouts, and will last for eight or ten years, and might be filled, perhaps, forty or fifty times or more; but the same 2s. spent in sacks at 4d. apiece, if such could be got, to be filled but once, would be beyond comparison a better investment on the part of the miller. We calculate by moral arithmetic. Mention the word 'sack' to a metropolitan miller or corn-dealer, and down go the corners of his mouth instinctively. It is an ominous word, suggestive of a drawback upon his profits to an alarming but an indefinite amount, the sum-total of which he has no accurate notion of, and cannot have until the ceremony of stock-taking reveals the awful deficit. For we know not how long, but at least for some generations past, a property in sacks in use has been the most equivocal kind of property a man can possess. From the custom of the trade in corn, flour, grain, pulse, and agricultural productions of all kinds, the sacks in which they are contained are not chargeable to the purchaser, but are returnable to the owner when empty. Unhappily, they are liable to the other contingency, and a prodigious percentage of them never find their way back to the proprietors at all. It is marvellous to CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL. what a variety of uses such an apparently unmanageable material as a stray sack may, by a stretch of ingenuity, be applied. It becomes not merely a bedsacking, a door-mat, fuel for the oven, roofing for the loft, but a pathway for the garden, wainscotting for the summer-house, raw material for the paper-mill, or daubed with pitch or tar, it finds its way from the warehouse of the corn-factor to the wagon of the coalmerchant, or from the shop of the baker to the hold of some outward-bound vessel, to be expatriated for ever. So outrageous is the tendency of sacks to a mysterious and unaccountable disappearance, which some owners term 'evaporation,' that we have known a single miller, doing no extraordinary trade, to lose, in the space of three years and a half, 16,500 sacks-a loss of nearly 5000 in a year, amounting to little less than a third of his entire issue. Between twenty and thirty years ago, the depredations upon this unprotected property had risen to such a pitch, that a few of the millers and factors who had suffered most severely resolved to submit to it no longer. They met together, and organised an association for the purpose of inflicting the penalty of the law upon transgressors. Writs were issued and warrants enforced against some of the petty plunderers, and not a few of them were brought to the slow and unwilling conviction, that to steal a sack was a theft, at least in the eye of the law; but they suffered the penalty with the air of martyrs enduring persecution, and were far from acknowledging its justice. But when a prosecution was threatened, and indeed commenced, against a wholesale purloiner, who was caught in the act of shipping a whole cargo of wheat in sacks belonging to his neighbours, proceedings were stopped by one of the most influential men in the association, who, doing a large business with the delinquent, preferred compromising the crime to disobliging As a consequence, that association fell a customer. to pieces. Let us glance for a moment at the experience of a sack in London. When a baker or corn-chandler buys flour or grain from a factor in Mark Lane, he receives an order upon the wharfinger for a specified number of sacks of flour or grain, as it may be. These, in the course of a few hours, are 'delivered at his place of business operations. He does not pay for the sacks, but they are returnable when empty-a consummation which may occur to-morrow, or six or twelve months hence. He is not, however, called upon to return them himself. There are in London at the present timeand have been for these fifty years past-sack-collectors, men, or firms, whose sole occupation is the Some of these collection of sacks and the delivering of them to their owners, or the agents of their owners. collectors keep a number of light carts continually driving about the town and suburbs on this errand. The collector charges 2s. 6d. a dozen, or 24d. each, for every sack he rescues from the hands of the customer. In order to stimulate the baker or chandler to produce them as soon as empty, he is obliged to divide this premium with him, awarding him 1d., and sometimes 1d. per sack for all he is able and disposed to surrender. It is the collector's business to sort them, to pack them in bundles, and forward them to the proprietors, before he presents his account for payment. At the period above alluded to, it is supposed that the collectors, or their agents, were principally concerned in the plunder carried on; although it was sufficiently shewn by the prosecutions of the day, that they did not want for countenance among dishonest tradesmen and dealers, rogues in grain, who profited by their complicity. Some years after the demise of the first association, the necessities of the commerce in grain called into existence another, which, under the designation of The Sack protection Society,' yet exists, and holds its periodical meetings at Jack's Coffee-house, Mark Lane. It is a sort of guardian guild, enforcing the rigour of the law against The sack has other enemies in London besides the There is a prevailing and universal prejudice in favour of sacks among bakers and corn-chandlers. Barrels are to them an abomination-the reason being, that these cannot, like sacks, be folded up, and thrown as full; and London tradesmen being proverbially short aside when empty. Barrels take up as much room empty of room, would soon find themselves built out of their own premises by an accumulation of empty barrels. Large quantities of American flour are constantly imported in barrels, but the bakers, for the most part, will There is have nothing to do with it until it has been shot into sacks. This ceremony is continually going on at the wharfs on the banks of the Thames, and furnishes daily employment to a particular class of men. another objection to barrels: from lack of the occasional movement and shaking which it undergoes in sacks, the flour settles down in them, and, if untouched for a long period, has to be dug out in lumps, and set in rapid motion. Again, a third objection to their pulverised again by rotating in a close wire cylinder use is found in the negligence of the Americans, who, in their eagerness to do a fast trade, will, upon emergency, make them of green wood, in consequence of which the flour becomes impregnated with a disagreeable flavour. They are, in general, however, made remarkably well, with interiors astonishingly clean and neatly finished; but they are a drug to the English factor, who is often too glad to get rid of them at six or eight shillings a dozen. The above revelations on the subject of sacks do not afford a very agreeable view of the practical morality of trade. But this is only one example, though an example on a large scale, of the imprudence of reposing confidence in a class, among whom it is impossible to distinguish the rogues from the honest men. There was a time when purchasers bought the sacks when they bought the flour or grain, and were credited with their value when they returned them empty. A return to that straightforward practice appears to be the only remedy for an evil which has resulted from its abandonment. It will deprive the rogues of the opportunity which has made so many of them what they are; it will put an end to the perplexities of the owners of the sacks; and, in abolishing the troublesome machinery contrived with a view to protect them, will remove from the honest members of the trade the odium of living under surveillance as the suspected custodians of other men's goods. A GHOUL IN VALPARAISO. We learn by the Valparaiso Herald that an extraordinary excitement prevails in that place, in consequence of a report having arisen that an Individual-no one knows of which sex-is in the habit of devouring any number of children he or she can get hold of. The juvenile population is of course in as great terror as the papas and mammas; and one day a boy, on being asked by a Frenchman for a light to his cigar, took to his heels in such trepidation, that he stumbled, and rubbed the skin off the point of his nose. This was seen at a glance to be 'the first bite of the ghoul;' and the exasperated populace made a rush at the monster, and would have torn him to pieces if he had not been rescued by the police. These 'put him in a carriage, and whirled him off toward the station-house; the crowd gave chase, and for two miles or so ran hooting and yelling after the carriage: everywhere the alarm spread, and the mob increased; they poured through the streets like a torrent, and ladies, as they swept by, crossed themselves, and exclaimed: "A revolution!" But the unfortunate prisoner was safely landed at the stationhouse, and the mob, by thousands, pressed round, eager and furious: then the story ran: "This is the man who eats our children! he has been at it two years and a half! he has eaten up one hundred and ten infants!" "Two hundred!" says another. "Two hundred and fifty!" says a third. "He eats them raw!" "He broils them on a gridiron!" "He makes them into sausages, and sells them!"' The end of the adventure was, that as the mob seemed determined not to raise the siege of the station-house, the Frenchman was dressed in some disguise, let out by a private door, and so escaped for the time. But the most curious part of the story is to come: it is an ascertained fact, that not one child in Valparaiso is missing! THEORY OF ODOURS. So much has been written on our five physical facultiessight, hearing, taste, touch, and smelling-that it has occupied a large portion of the various published works from the time when printing was invented. The three senses first named have fairly been written out;' but not much has yet appeared relating directly or indirectly to the others. Mr Septimus Piesse now gives us a theory of the olfactory nerve in distinguishing perfumes. Scents appear to influence the smelling nerve in certain definite degrees. There is, as it were, an octave of odours, like an octave in music. Certain odours blend in unison like the notes of an instrument. For instance, almond, heliotrope, vanilla, and orange-blossom blend together, each producing different degrees of a nearly similar impression. Again, we have citron, lemon, verbena, and orange-peel, forming a higher octave of smells, which blend in a similar manner. The figure is completed by what are called semi-odours, such as rose and rose-geranium for the half-note; petty-grain, the note; neroly, a black key, or half-note; followed by fleur d'orange, a full note. Then we have patchouly, sandal-wood, and vitivert, with many others running into each other. From the perfumes already known we may produce, by uniting them in proper proportions, the smell of almost any flower. When perfumes are mixed which strike the same key of the olfactory nerve, no idea of a different scent is produced as the scent dies off from the handkerchief; but when they are not mixed upon this principle, then we hear that such and such a perfume becomes 'sickly,' or 'faint,' after it has been in use a short time.-Bastick's Annals of Pharmacy and Chemistry. LINES ON THE LOST. STRAIN, strain the eager eye, To Ocean's western verge, which bounds the sight From seas, far spread, where day with silent night Rejoins eternity. In vain; no sail appears, Bearing on gladsome wing the long-lost brave While in the long left home, The mother, wife, and children anxious wait, No! Winter marked that crew Of Britons bold brave his relentless reign, Unbar the gates of Night, and to the hall That doomed yet dauntless band. They pass through Death, yet never reach the tomb. Imperishably fixed, they wait the doom Of their still lifelike clay. The seasons come and go; Like Egypt's kings embalmed, they 're resting there, Each in his ice-hewn sepulchre, And pyramid of snow. Yet Ocean tolls their knell, From shore to shore the solemn peal ascends, And with its voice of many waters blends A New Hampshire editor, while recently travelling, had his wallet abstracted from his pocket by an adroit pickpocket, with the result of his exploit, that he returned the plunder while indulging in a short nap. The thief was so disgusted by express, to the address written inside the wallet, with the following note: You miserabil skunk, hears your pockit-book. I don't keep no sich. Fur a man dressed as well as you was to go round with a wellit with nuthin' in it but a lot of noospapur scraps, a ivury tooth-comb, two noospapur stamps, an' a pass from a ralerode directur, is a contemterble impursition on the public. As I hear your a editor, I return your trash. I never robs any only gentleman.'-Country Gentleman (Albany, N. Y.). EDINBURGH: Printed by ROBERT CHAMBERS (residing at No. 1 Doune Terrace), No. 339 High Street, and Published by him at the same place, on SATURDAY, January 7, 1854. OF POPULAR LITERATURE Science and Arts. CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. No. 2. 'THE SATURDAY, JANUARY 14, 1854. PARTY.' a a is WHEREVER there is what business language calls good thing,' you may be tolerably certain there is party.' The function and vocation of the party' to advance a little needful money to carry on the concern, receiving the great bulk of the profits in return. Be it some little shop speculation, some new mode of supplying an old want of the public, a successful periodical work, a clever and widely serviceable invention, or whatever else, the originator falls naturally into the hands of a party'-so naturally, or as a matter of course, that he would probably feel his position to be somewhat eccentric were it otherwise. When we see, then, any apparently good thing, or any man to all appearance conducting a large and lucrative concern, it would be rash to take it all as it seems. We need to know the secret arrangement with 'the party' before speculating on the subject. It is like looking over the landlords of an Irish county, where we see only the nominal owners, living or not living on the acres, while the real proprietors are the owners of mortgages-men who derive all the sweets of property, without any duty to perform or state to keep up. It is the part of any honest blundering fellow to keep a shop from morning to night, to tax his brain in writing, in order to keep up some literary undertaking, or to excogitate and realise some adroit piece of mechanism, or some useful chemical compound: it is easy to be the ostensible, toiling, meritorious man in all these cases. But to be a party,' sitting calmly in the rear, making a small sum of money, judiciously applied, serve the purpose usually supposed to be served by talent and diligence-thus to pocket proceeds with little risk, no responsibility, no work-that requires a truly clever person. The nominal man is like a hand; 'the party' is as the head. The former is human and workman-like; the latter is a master and a kind of deity. No one knows what it is to be 'a party' till he has become one himself, or fallen into the hands of "The party' sees his fellow-creatures flocking around him, begging to be saddled, bridled, and ridden by him. He feels like the Evil One buying up human || souls. In the English commercial world, it is scarcely worth while to be anything but 'a party.' In literature, to be an author of name is to be a slave: be 'a party,' even if it be only the stationer who supplies the paper, and you are in comparison as one who sits on Olympus, and shakes the spheres. one. Many years ago, a demand arose among the ladies for a particular kind of lace-work, applicable to various articles of dress, and which could be almost entirely manufactured by machinery. The machines required PRICE 11d. were expensive, and as only a single pattern could be executed on one, the variety in the descriptions of goods produced did not for a long time at all keep pace with the continued and increasing demand. It happened, owing to the illness of the maker of the original machines, which were always kept closed against the prying eyes of visitors, that a young Lancashire machinist was called in to repair one which had suffered fracture. The young man studied its structure well, made drawings of the various parts, and in the leisure of his evenings at home pondered over them, with a view, if possible, of effecting some valuable improvement. After a twelvemonth's thinking and experimenting, and the laborious construction of a working-model, he hit upon a new plan, by which it was practicable to work any number of patterns by a single machine, and that, too, one of a much less complex description, and therefore less liable to need repairs than any then in use. Had he been wise, as he was ingenious, he would have held his peace, and taken measures to secure for himself the advantage of his invention. But the thing got wind, and came to the ears of 'a party,' who flew to the inventor, bought up the entire property in the new machine at a cost of less than L.100, got it rapidly constructed and into work, and has pocketed from that time to this-a period extending over a quarter of a century-an income sometimes amounting to tens of thousands annually, arising solely from that single bargain. The inventor continued a working-machinist to the last day of his life, and died lately, leaving his family to maintain themselves by their own labour. At the late grand show in Hyde Park, were a multitude of ingenious contrivances by men of no previous reputation and of little or no capital. Many of these, which were more clever than useful, died a natural death; and many more, through the attention they there excited, have been brought into use, and have added to the perfection of our means of manufacture, or to the efficiency of our domestic implements or arrangements for home comfort. But if the question could be answered-who has reaped the profit arising from their dissemination? we are persuaded that, in the majority of instances, that smart business practitioner, the party,' would be found to have swallowed the lion's share. Among many examples, is that of a maker of musical instruments, in a small way of business, who by a simple mechanical application, so much improved the power of an instrument in common use, as to effect in those which he produced a very marked superiority over those of rival makers. He was with reason sanguine as to the ultimate results of his invention - but wanting the means of making it |