storms. A thunder-storm also can be put to
rout by firing cannons at it; "for by the force
of the sound moving the air, the exhalations
are driven upward."—(In the same way, the
plague was said to yield before a cannonade.)
"Some who observe hail coming on, bring a
huge looking-glass, and observe the largeness
of the cloud, and, by that remedy,—whether
objected against, or despised by it, or it is
displeased with it; or whether, being doubled,
it gives way to the other," (in some way or
other one must find out a reason,) "they
suddenly turn it off and remove it." An owl
stuck up in the fields, with his wings spread,
served also as a scarecrow to the tempests.
As lightning conductor on a roof, it was
thought wise to put an egg-shell, out of which
a chicken had been hatched on Ascension-day.
Thunderbolt stones were said to sweat during
a storm, which was not thought a more
wonderful "fact," than the perspiration streaming
out of glass windows "in winter when the
stove is hot." Our ancestors were far too
wise to be surprised at anything.

Secrets of alchemy, magic, and astrology
are, of course, very profound: we pass over
these and many more; among secrets of
cookery we pause, shuddering. Whipping
young pigs to death, to make them tender
eating, used to be quite bad enough; and some
of our own hidden devices in the meat trade
are, even now, equally revolting; but here we
meet with a device of the wise ancestors,
which may, perhaps, stand at the head of all
culinary horrors. Remembering that these
cooks were also apt at roasting men, we will
inflict this illustration on our readers:—"To
roast a Goose alive. Let it be a duck or goose,
or some such lively creature; but a goose is
best of all for this purpose; leaving his neck,
pull off all the feather from his body; then
make a fire round about him, not too wide,
for that will not roast him: within the place
set here and there small pots full of water,
with salt and honey mixed therewith, and let
there be dishes set full of roasted apples, and
cut in pieces in the dish, and let the goose be
basted with butter all over, and larded to
make him better meat, and he may roast the
better; put fire to it; do not make too much
haste, when he begins to roast, walking about,
and striving to fly away; the fire stops him in,
and he will fall to drink water to quench his
thirst; this will cool his heart, and the other
parts of his body, and, by this medicament, he
looseneth his belly and grows empty. And
when he roasteth and consumes inwardly,
always wet his head and heart with a wet
sponge: but when you see him run madding
and stumble, his heart wants moisture, take
him away, set him before your guests, and he
will cry as you cut off any part from him, and
will be almost eaten up before he be dead: it
is very pleasant to behold."

Degenerate moderns would most certainly
be unable to enjoy such hospitality, and would
be cured as thoroughly of any appetite as if
their host had employed another of the secrets
of our ancestors. "That guests may not eat
at table, do this: You must have a needle that
dead people are often sewed up in their
winding-sheet; and at beginning of supper
secretly stick this under the table; this will
hinder the guests from eating, that they will
rather be weary to sit, than desirous to eat:
take it away when you have laughed at them
awhile."

Take it away, we must say now to the old
book. As we have said, our specimens, drawn
from an immense mass of the same kind, do
not represent the sole character of the volume.
It states, also, a very large number of facts,
confirmed and explained in the present day,
being a fair transcript of the average standard
of opinion among learned doctors upon a
great number of things. Have we not made
a little progress since those good old times,
and would it be a pleasant thing to get them
back again? To come home to every man's
breakfast-table, we may ask the public to
decide between the coffee now made, and the
coffee of the good old times. In a somewhat
expensive book, addressed only to wealthy
readers, Drs. Read and Weckir disclose this
secret of good coffee, for the ladies and
gentlemen of 1660:—"Take the berry, put it in a
tin pudding-pan, and when the bread hath
been in the oven about half-an-hour, put in
your coffee; there let it stand till you draw
your bread; then beat it and sift it; mix it
thus: first boyl your water about half-an-hour;
to every quart of water put in a spoonful of
the pouder of coffee; then let it boyl one-third
away; clear it off from the setlings, and the
next day put fresh water; and so add every
day fresh water, so long as any setlings remain.
Often tryed."

STRINGS OF PROVERBS.

"Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs."
This proverb seems in a fair way to become
obsolete, considering the extraordinary number
of instances in which we grandsons have
improved upon the practice of our ancestors,
even in the most homely things—public baths
and wash-houses, to wit; cooking utensils;
tools of gardening and husbandry; farm
utensils, such as the patent churn, &c. The
proverb seems to be derived from the Arabic
—"The lamb came to teach its father how to
feed."

"Reckoning your chickens before they are
hatched." Not only a very agreeable occupation,
but one that is quite inevitable, so long
as there are sanguine temperaments, speculators,
and calculators—in fact, as long as there
is Hope in the world. The unwise part of the
performance is, simply, when no sufficient
care has been taken to procure sound eggs,
and to give attention to the hen who is
patiently labouring at the hatching.

"Das Glück klopft wenigstens einmal an
Jedes Thür; " Fortune knocks once, at least,