contrast between the merino and the common sheep is sufficiently obvious to induce every intelligent farmer to change his stock as fast as he can do it with convenience, and without too much expence. With out speaking of the full blood, which it would be difficult as yet to procure, I will contrast the half bloods with the common sheep kept with them, and fed exactly alike. My half bloods gave in wool 11s. 10d. per head profit, after paying 128. for their keeping; whereas the keeping of the common sheep amounting to a fraction more than 1s. 10d. per head beyond the value of their wool, making a difference of 13s. 3d. per head, between the profit of half bred merinoes and common sheep, supposing the lambs both equal in value, though, in fact, the difference in the value of the sheep must necessarily extend to the lambs, and render the contrast still more striking. Let - any agriculturalist make the calculation upon a flock of one hundred wethers of each sort, and conviction must stare him in the face. One hundred common wethers would give, if well kept, 250lbs. of washed wool, worth 3s. per pound, 527. 10s. The same number of half bred merinoes would yield at least 400lbs. worth 88. or 160l. Deduct the keeping at 128. and the merino flock affords a clear profit of 100l. while the loss upon the common sheep amounts to 77. 10s. They are then a losing stock till sold to the butchers, and then, if killed at 3 years old, do not give 78. a year profit per head. Thus if sold fat they are worth 300.; from this must be deducted the annual loss for three years, 221. 138., leaving an ultimate clear profit of $243 25, at the end of three years, during which time the owner has been paying an annual loss, with the interest of which the flock should be charged. While on the other hand the half blood merinoes will obtain the same price from the butcher at the end of three years, and will in the mean time have paid an annual profit of 100. yearly for the interest of which the flock should be credited, and if sold in the winter when their fleeces are grown. will give an additional profit of $200, beyond the common sheep sold under similar circumstances. Who is there that does not feel the difference between receiving 1007. yearly, and waiting 3 years before your capital produces any thing? It may be said the merinos are less profitable from want of size, as animals of the same species, generally speaking, eat in proportion to their size. I think then is no weight in this objection, if it was really founded. But this I can say, that I have no doubt that if my sheep of the full and mixed breed were weighed against any common flock of equal numbers, they would outweigh them. They are certainly heavier and better woolled than any other sheep that I have seen, except some of the best English breeds. We should add, the merino will yield a greater profit if kept seven years, whereas, every year that a common sheep is kept after he is fit for the butcher is so much loss, inasmuch as the wool does not pay for his keeping. These observations, founded upon undeniable facts, are so striking, that I hope to see this useful breed of sheep as much encouraged as it deserves to be, and I deem it a very happy circumstance, that the introduction of them by col. Humphreys into Connecticut from Spain, and by myself from France in the same year, into this state, furnish the intelligent farmer with means for the gradual change of his flock, which may be effected by the purchase of three quarter and half blooded rams, whose fleeces alone will annually pay 30 per cent. upon the price they cost, so that, in fact, the change may be wrought without any expence, and for a trifling advance of money. I am satisfied that even the introduction of one quarter Spanish blood into a flock will improve the fleece to the value of 58., so that instead of losing annually 1s. 10d. on THE graces, all three sisters, all extremely pretty ladies, and maids of honour to the goddess Venus, the all-powerful queen of love, lived together, for a long time, in the strictest bonds of affection and friendship one towards another, which is somewhat extraordinary, indeed, as they were such near relations, such uncommon beauties, and such distinguished favourites at court. In process of time, however, pride and ambition sowed the seeds of jealousy amongst them. Each began to plume herself on her own imaginary charms, and each insisted on her precedence, as having the most fire in her eyes, the most resistless arts of pleasing in conversation, and the surest and most enchanting ways of making captives of her beholders. The contest, in short, grew so warm, that they entertained thoughts of making their appeal to their mistress Venus on so important and critical an affair. "For my part," said miss Euphrosyne, with a smile of indifference and disdain, "I desire no better a judge, since no one will be more impartial; and we are all sensible that no one can possibly be better qualified to settle and adjust the merit and prize of beauty. Let us lay, I say, my dear sisters, all animosities aside, and at once, without more ado, agree to refer our cause to her decision. Let her declare which of us is in reality possessed of the most prevailing charms, the most resistless arts of pleasing; but, then, let us unanimously agree, likewise, to make no further appeals; let us acquiesce in, and subscribe to, her sentence, as final and conclusive." "Subscribe to her yourself, if you please," replied miss Thalia, not a little nettled, and visibly chagrined at her sister's seeming confidence in the merit of her cause. "Without any further words or dissention between us," said miss Aglae, "I highly approve of the proposal. I don't care, sisters, for my part, how soon our petty controversy is drawn to a final conclusion." This emulation of their's soon reached the ears of their mistress Venus, who summoned them all immediately to make their personal appearance in court; and accordingly assumed the bed of justice with such a grace, and such an air of complacency, as is beyond the power of words to express; reflecting with a secret pleasure, how in time past, upon a dispute of the like nature, the golden apple was adjudged to herself by the shepherd Paris, in preference both to Juno and Minerva. The court being set, and all the contending parties present, Venus directed each of them to exert her peculiar talents, and secret arts of incantation, to which she laid a peculiar claim. Each accordingly prepared to obey her orders: all of them equally fired with a fond desire and restless hope of being pronounced the best qualified charmer, with equal pleasure and cheerfulness practised their studied arts and stratagems to please before her. But those restless hopes, those fond desires of approbation, with which they were all embarrassed, perfectly baffled their ambitious views, and turned out to their equal disadvantage. One screwed up her mouth in so prim a form, that she made the most frightful and disagreeable fi gure that could well be conceived; the second, through an inordinate ambition to show her fine row of teeth, distorted every feature of her face; and the last, proud of her black sparkling eyes, rolled them about to such a violent degree, that, in the eye of her female and impartial judge, she appeared perfectly to squint. "Are these your arts?" said Venus. "Are those your studied charms?Fie, ladies, fie !-I almost blush for you. How dare you put on such artful airs before me? Get out of court: go home directly. Consult your respective mirrors with impartiality, and let me hear no more of your unnatural contentions. If you are desirous of resuming your former title, I mean that of the graces, and my favourite attendants; if you are actually eager and fond of pleasing, never study any of those killing airs, I beseech you. As the least thought of that nature is too much, never think of your charms at all; for it is a maxim with me, that will admit of no exception,that she who is solicitous of pleasing over much, inevitably gives disgust. In a word, "Affectation is the bane of Beauty." Queen Mary. Many curious MS. papers relative to Mary queen of Scots are to be met with in the library of the Scots college at Paris. The last time David Hume was in that city, the learned and excellent principal of the college showed them to him, and asked him, why he had pretended to write her history in an unfavourable manner, without consulting them? David, on being told this, looked over some letters that the principal put into his hands, and, though not much used to the melting mood, burst into tears. Had Mary written the memoirs of her own life, how interesting must they have been; a queen, a beauty, a wit, a scholar, in distress, must have laid hold of the heart of every reader; and there is all the reason in the world to suppose, that she would have been candid and impartial. Mary, indeed, completely contradicted the observation made by the learned Selden in this Tabletalk, "that men are not troubled to hear men dispraised, because they know that though one be naught, there is still worth in others; but women are mightily troubled to hear any of themselves spoken against, as if the sex itself were guilty of some unworthiness:" for when one of the Cecil family, minister to Scotland from England in Mary's reign, was speaking of the wisdom of his sovereign queen Elizabeth, Mary stopped him short, by saying, "Seigneur chevalier, ne me parlez jamais de la sagesse d'une femme; je connois bien mon sexe; la plus sage de nous toutes n'est qu'un peu moins sotte que les autres." The pictures in general supposed to be those of this unfortunate princess, differ very much from one another, and all of them from the gold medal struck of her and her husband Francis II at Paris, and which is now in Dr. Hunter's museum in Wind-mill street, London. This medal represents her as having a turned-up nose. Mary, however, was so graceful in her figure, that when, at one of the processions of the host at Paris, she was carrying the wafer in the pix, a woman burst through the croud to touch her, to convince herself that she was not an angel. Mary was so learned, that at the age of fifteen years she pronounced a latin oration of her own composition before the whole court of France at the Louvre. A very curious account of her execution was published in France soon after that event, and it appears by that, that on her body's falling after decapitation, her favourite spaniel jumped out of her clothes. Immediately before her execution she repeated the following latin prayer, composed by herself; which has lately been set to a very solemn and affecting glee for three voices, by the ingenious Dr. Harrington, of Bath. O Domine Deus, speravi in te! Languendo, gemendo, & genuflectendo, Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me! Desultory Thoughts. The old world and the new have been incessantly canvassing the question, "What makes man happy?" but I never heard that either disputed what meat would best gratify his palate and yet it is as clear, that the same things will not make all men happy, as that the same meats will not please all palates. Our law says, with great propriety, To delay justice is injustice. Not to have a right, and not to be able to come at it, differ but little. When a piece strongly affects you, or raises exalted sentiments, never go about it to examine it by the rules of composition: those emotions are the best proof that it comes from a masterly hand. False greatness is morose and inaccessible, as if, sensible of its unworthiness, it sought concealment; or just showing what may dazzle the world, but not its open face, for fear of discovering its real sordidness. True greatness, on the contrary, is free, complaisant, familiar, popular, suffers itself to be touched and handled, loses nothing by a near view, but rather is the more admired the more it is known. It bends to inferiors, and with a natural greatness erects itself again. Sometimes it is all loose and negligent, lays aside all its advantages, yet never loses the power of resuming them and commanding reverence; it preserves dignity amid the sallies of laughter and jocularity; we approach it at once with freedom and awe; it is noble and humane, inspiring respect, but not destroying cheerfulness. Hence we view good princes, though exalted to the height of greatness, without any mortifying recurrence to the lowness of our own condition. To feel the want of reason is next to having it: an idiot is not capable of this sensation. The best thing next to wit is a consciousness that it is not in us: without wit, a man might then know how to behave himself so as not to appear to be a fool or a coxcomb. That men usually grow more covetous as they grow older, does not so much proceed from the increase of their affection for wealth, as from the decrease of their inclinations for any thing besides: their regard for money continues the same, but they meet with fewer temptations to part with it: their love of pleasures is lessened by satiety, their ambition by disappoint❤ ments, their prodigality by experience, and their generosity by ingratitude. Honour is but a fictitious kind of honesty; a mean, but a necessary substitute for it, in societies who have none: it is a sort of paper credit, with which men are obliged to trade who are deficient in the sterling cash of true morality and religion. Women are certainly not at all inferior to men in resolution, and perhaps much less in courage than is commonly imagined; the reason why they appear so is, because women affect to be more afraid than they really are, and men pretend to be less. For the Literary Magazine. NATURAL HISTORY OF THE BEE. THE skill and dexterity of the honey-bees, displayed in the construction of their combs or nests, have at all times called forth the admiration of mankind. They are composed of cells regularly applied to each other's sides. These cells are uniform hexagons or six-sided figures. In a bee-hive, every part is arranged with such symmetry, and so finely finished, that, if limited to the same materials, the most expert workman would find himself unqualified to construct a similar habitation, or rather a similar city. In the formation of their combs, bees seem to resolve a problem which would be not a little puzzling to some geometers, namely, A quantity of wax being given, to make of it equal and similar cells of a determined capacity, but of the largest size in proportion to the quantity of matter employed, and disposed in such a manner as to occupy in the hive the least possible space. Every part of this problem is completely executed by the bees. By applying hexagonal cells to each other's sides, no void spaces are left between them; and, though the same end might be accomplished by other figures, yet they would necessarily require a greater quantity of wax. Besides, hexagonal cells are better fitted to receive the cylindrical bodies of these insects. A comb consists of two strata of cells applied to each other's ends. This arrangement both saves room in the hive, and give a double entry into the cells of which the comb is composed. As a farther saving of wax, and preventing void spaces, the bases of the cells in one stratum of a comb serve for bases to the opposite stra tum. In a word, the more minutely the construction of these cells are examined, the more will the admiration of the observer be excited. The walls of the cells are so extremely thin, that their mouths would be in danger of suffering by the frequent entering and issuing of the bees. To prevent this disaster, they make a kind of ring round the margin of each cell, and this ring is three or four times thicker than the walls. It is difficult to perceive, even with the assistance of glass-hives, the manner in which bees operate when constructing their cells. They are so eager to afford mutual assistance, and, for this purpose, so many of them crowd together, and are perpetually succeeding each other, that their individual operations can seldom be distinctly observed. It has, however, been plainly discovered, that their two teeth are the only instruments they employ in modelling and polishing the wax. With a little patience and attention, we perceive cells just begun; we likewise remark the quickness with which a bee moves its teeth against a small portion of the cell. This portion the animal, by repeated strokes on each side, smooths, renders compact, and reduces to a proper thinness of consistence. While some of the hive are lengthening their hexagonal tubes, others are laying the foundations of new ones. In certain circumstances, when extremely hurried, they do not complete their new cells, but leave them imperfect till they have begun a number sufficient for their present exigencies. When a bee puts its head a little way into a cell, we easily perceive it scraping the walls with the points of its teeth, in order to detach such useless and irregular fragments as may have been left in the work. Of such fragments the bee forms ball about the size of a pin-head, comes out of the cell, and carries this wax to another part of the work where it is needed. It no sooner leaves the cell than it is suc a |