men it is best to meet the whole truth in this matter, whatever ugly faces it may wear. No man conquers a difficulty until he sees it plainly.

We think the orators of the annual fairs are disposed to give a little too much of rose color to their statements. One form of exaggeration is that which glorifies it as the primal business of humanity; which makes it not only elemental and of first importance, but endows it with romantic colors, exalts it with quotations from Cato and Columella,-with pictures of milkmaids that might be shepherdesses in Watteau's pictures, -with thatched cottages and purling brooks, and beds of pinks and pleasant odors ad nauseam.

The other form of exaggeration is to elevate it into the position of one of the exact sciences; to declare all its problems soluble by the retort of the chemist; all its topography traceable by the geologist; and to assume that all of its multiform operations are reducible to certain scientific formulæ, in virtue of which an accomplished student may grind out cabbages and barley and potatoes with as much assurance and completeness as a pedagogue would grind us a gerund.

The poetic aspect is rather the favorite one for oratorsFourth of July and other. People like to be told that the world rests on their shoulders. Country folk like to know that such grand old fellows as Varro and Palladius told the world in good Latin long ago, how much they loved the country and good cresses. It is pleasant to think that a Roman senator concerned himself in our business; it makes it highly respectable; it gives a toga-ish fling to the creases in our smock frock. And when Mr. Everett, or such like mellifluent speakers enlarge upon the subject,-although they put the stramonium in barren fields where it never grew; or like Mr. Ward Beecher make the female birds (in his "Papers ") chant us a gay carol,—we overlook special ignorance of detail. Why should such men trouble themselves to learn that stramonium loves only the fattest soils, or that mother birds (unlike mothers of the "Rights" movements) keep a modest tongue in their little heads, and chirp blessings, without ever warming to a "bravura ?" When the great visitor comes, and pats our little boy on the

head, and says, "You've a fine girl here, madam," why correct him? It is such an honor that our bantling should be patted at all!

The misfortune about this farm rhetoric is the notable fact, that it is most persistently and persuasively indulged in by those who know very little about the practical drift and intent of farm life. They do not have the kicking cows to milk, or the corn to replant after the crows, or the bar-posts to re-set after an Irish teamster. They never reach to the core of the matter.

It is extraordinary, indeed, how a man of fine imagination can make a dazzling and fascinating thing out of only earthy materials. Goldsmith stewing in London chambers, strolling out of the dirty Strand for a steak, greasy and savory with onions, at his chop-house, can yet spin for us as pretty and deft rhyme, about "the loveliest village of the plain," and honest rustics, as one could wish for. And yet, if Goldsmith had lived among them they would have fleeced him just as surely as the landlady in the Strand. Not because they were worse people, but because they were people, and not shepherds and sheperdesses with pretty crooks and rosettes in their shoes;not because rogues, but because struggling for such livelihood as their wits and work would earn them; and because country pursuits are, after all, no sufficient panoply against the devices of the Devil.

Oaks are fine things; and rivers are fine things; and so are sunsets, and morning-glories, and new-mown hay, and fresh curds, and spotted calves; but, after all, a farm and farming do not absorb all the romance of life, or all its stateliest heroics. There is width, and beauty, and independence indeed: but there is also-sweat, and anxiety, and horny hands, and a great deal of hay-dust in the hair.

For a man who is thoroughly in earnest, farming offers a grand field for effort; but the man who is only half in earnest, who thinks that costly barns, and imported stock, and smooth fences, and a nicely rolled lawn are the great objects of attainment, may accomplish pretty results, but they will be small

So the dilettante farmer who has a smattering of science.

whose head is filled with nostrums, who thinks his salts will do it all; who doses a crop now to feebleness, and now to an unnatural exuberance; who dawdles over his fermentations while the neighbors' oxen are breaking into his rye field; who has no managing capacity,-no breadth of vision,-who sends two men to accomplish the work of one,-let such a man give up all hope of making farming a lucrative pursuit. But if a man, as we said, be thoroughly in earnest, if he have the sagacity to see all over his farm-to systematize his labor, to carry out his plans punctually and thoroughly; if he is not above economies, nor heedless of the teachings of science, nor unobservant of progress otherwheres, nor neglectful of such opportunities as the Yale Agricultural Lectures afford,―let him work; for he will have his reward.

But even such an one will never come to his "four in hand," except they be colts of his own raising; or to private concerts in his grounds-except what the birds make.

ARTICLE IV.-MODERN WARFARE: ITS SCIENCE AND ART.*

Ir is true, lamentably true, that war is not extinct. Its auimating causes are too deeply lodged in nature and in human nature, to be soon eradicated or brought in subjection to higher and holier motives. Our paleontologists, fresh from the grand wars of antique saurians; our entomologists, familiar with the wiles of the spider and the aggressions of the scorpion; our ornithologists, studious of fly-catchers and birds of prey; our herpetologists, learned in the elaborate mechanism of poisonous fangs; our naturalists, curious in the teeth and claws of carnivorous mammals; all will tell us that nature is not, never has been, and never will be a member of the peace society. Why this is so, is one of those hard ethical questions which, when pursued, takes refuge in the regions of cavernous

*During the recent meeting, in August, of the American Association for the Advancement of Science at Newport, Rhode Island, the Association was invited to inspect the fortifications in the neighborhood at Fort Adams, which are said to be unsurpassed in magnitude, except in a single instance, by any of our national works of defense. On the occasion of this friendly visit of such a body of scien tific men, it was thought proper that some account should be given of the resour ces of modern warfare, and the relations between science and the military art. This duty was delegated by Capt. Cullum, now in charge of the fortification, to Capt. E. B. Hunt, Corps of Engineers, U. S. A., who read a paper, the substance of which we have now the pleasure of laying before our readers. The views of so intelligent an officer, on a subject which is attracting a large share of the attention of the world, are deserving of attention, and will be received, we doubt not, with interest by the readers of the New Englander.

It may be well in this connection to state that "Fort Adams has been the scene of various researches, highly useful to the science of construction. It was chiefly designed and built by Gen. Totten, the present able chief engineer. He here largely experimented on limes, cements, mortars, concrete, and masonry, and his results have greatly influenced the building practice of the country. He here trained a superior school of masons, from whom the building fraternity has taken up higher ideas of its art. Major Brown, since well known as an honored representative of American engineering in Russia, here made, under Gen. Totten's direction, a set of useful observations on the expansions by heat of various building stones. The views embodied in our national system of defense here found one of their earliest expressions, and we believe that the most influential report on this subject was here elaborated."-ED. NEW ENGLANDER,

gloom, where "the origin of evil" dwells. Man, too, has his flesh-teeth, and his history gives sadly continuous evidence that he has never yet lacked power and will to use them. Enlightened Christianity may wonder and weep over human perversity, but it would seem as if ages must yet pass before its great millennial victory, and man, meantime, will be, as he always has been, a creature of passions, infirm in reason, unconsecrate in heart and life. So history teaches; so wise men must see; and, seeing, will strive by all means to defend him against himself.

The long peace which had preceded the London Exhibition, and the broad spirit of human brotherhood which that event betokened, inspired sanguine hopers to prophecy smooth things. Scarcely were the medals awarded, ere the Eastern question drifted three leading nations into gigantic battle around the bed of that "sick man," whom the world, now horror struck by Syrian massacres of the unarmed and defenseless, would most "willingly let die." The feu d'enfer of Sebastopol was scarce soothed to silence, ere insurgent Sepoys and Cawnpore massacres taught the world new horrors, and a sharp New Year's greeting ushered in that great war drama which culminated in the sublime slaughters of Magenta and Solferino. The afterpiece has now progressed through its Palermo bombardment, truly styled "a horror," and harsh toned Sicilian vespers are perhaps heralding the fresh matins of liberty in Naples and united Italy. The present state of Europe, even to a peace optimist or enthusiast, can offer but little ground of hope, while to the political philosopher, its tokens are full of "storm and stress." Not merely from its diplomatic complications, but from its whole organic condition, obtrudes clear, unwelcome evidence of great wars to come, in which unborn generations will reenact the military ritual. Europe has about four millions of soldiers, full one-half of whom are habitually on duty. The military budgets of the European states appropriate three hundred and fifty millions of dollars for military purposes, to which, if we add the value of time taken from industrial pursuits and other contingents, a total expenditure of about six hundred millions results, besides the great amounts lavished on navies. When we see a hundred and sixty mil