Sixty-four millions and fifty thousand of pounds, which, estimating the whole at the medium price of thirty sols the pound, makes the sum of ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres tournois - 96,075,000 an immense sum! which the city of Paris might save every year, by the economy of using sunshine instead of candles. If it should be said, that people are apt to be obstinately attached to old customs, and that it will be difficult to induce them to rise before noon, consequently my discovery can be of little use; I answer, Nil desperandum. I believe all who have common sense, as soon as they have learnt from this paper that it is day-light when the sun rises, will contrive to rise with him; and, to compel the rest, I would propose the following regulations: First. Let a tax be laid of a louis per window, on every window which is provided with shutters to keep out the light of the sun. Second. Let the

same salutary operation of police be made use of to prevent our burning candles, which inclined us last winter to be more economical in burning wood; that is, let guards be placed in the shops of the wax and tallow-chandlers, and no family be permitted to be supplied with more than one pound of candles per week. Third. Let guards also be posted stop all the coaches, &c. which would pass the streets after sunset, except those of physicians, surgeons, and midwives. Fourth. Every morning, as soon as the sun rises, let all the bells in every church be set a ringing: and if that be not sufficient, let cannon be fired in every street, to waken the sluggards effectually, and make them open their eyes to see their true

interest. All the difficulty will be in the first two or three days; after which the reformation will be as natural and easy as the present irregularity; for "ce n'est que le premier pas qui coûte." Oblige a man to rise at four in the morning, and it is more than probable he will go willingly to bed at eight in the evening; and, having had eight hours sleep, he will rise more willingly at four the morning following. But this sum of ninety-six millions and seventy-five thousand livres is not the whole of what may be saved by my economical project. You may observe that I have calculated upon only one half of the year, and much may be saved in the other, tho' the days be shorter. Besides, the immense stock of wax and tallow left unconsumed during the summer, will probably make candles much cheaper for the ensuing winter, and continue cheaper as long as the proposed reformation shall be supported.

For the great benefit of this discovery, thus freely communicated and bestowed by me on the public, I demand neither place, pension, exclusive privilege, or any other reward whatever. I expect only to have the honour of it. And yet I know there are little envious minds who will, as usual, deny me this, and say that my invention was known to the ancients, and perhaps they may bring passages out of the old books in proof of it. I will not dispute with these people that the ancients knew not that the sun would rise at certain hours; they possibly had, as we have, almanacks which predicted it: but it does not follow from thence that they knew he gave light as soon as he rose. This is what I claim as my discovery. If the ancients knew it, it must have been long since forgotten, for it certainly was unknown to the mod

erns, at least to the Parisians; which to prove, I need use but one plain simple argument. They are as well-instructed, judicious, and prudent a people as exist any where in the world, all professing, like myself, to be lovers of economy; and, from the many heavy taxes required from them by the necessities of the state, have surely reason to be economical. I say it is impossible that so sensible a people, under such circumstances, should have lived so long by the smoky, unwholesome, and enormously expensive light of candles, if they had really known that they might have had as much pure light of the sun for nothing. I am, &c.

AN ABONNE.

THE WHISTLE:

a true story.

WRITTEN TO HIS NEPHEW.

When I was a child, at seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys for children; and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, which I saw by the way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered him all my money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth. This put me in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of the money; and they laughed at me so much for iny folly, that I cried with vex

ation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me pleasure. This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing on my mind; so that often when I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself Don't give too much for the whistle; and so I saved my money. As I grew up, I came into the world, and observing the actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. When I see any one too ambitious of court favours, sacrificing his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, I say to my. self, This man gives too much for his whistle.

When I see another fond of popularity, constantly employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own affairs, and ruining them by that neglect: He pays, indeed, say I, too much for his whistle.

If I know a miser, who gives up every kind of comfortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to oth ers, all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth; Poor man! say I, you do indeed pay too much for your whistle. When I meet a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere coporeal sensations; Mistaken man, say I, you are providing pain for yourself instead of pleasure: you give too much for your whistle. If I see one fond of fine

clothes, fine furniture, fine equipage, all above his fortune, for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in prison; Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. When I see a beautiful sweet tempered girl, married to an ill-natured brute

THE HANDSOME AND DEFORMED LEG. 25

of a husband; What a pity it is, say I, that she has paid so much for a whistle! In short, I con.

ceived that great part of the miseries of mankind were brought upon them by the false estimate they had made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles.

THE HANDSOME AND DEFORMED LEG.

There are two sorts of people in the world, who, with equal degrees of health and wealth, and the other comforts of life, become, the one happy, and the other miserable. This arises very much from the different views in which they consider things, persons, and events; and the effect of those different views upon their own minds, In whatever

situation men can be placed, they may find conveniencies and inconveniences: in whatever company, they may find persons and conversation more or less pleasing: at whatever table, they may meet with meats and drinks of better and worse taste, dishes better and worse dressed: in whatever climate, they will find good and bad weather: under whatever government, they may find good and bad laws, and good and bad administration of those laws: in what ever poem or work of genius, they may see faults and beauties: in almost every face, and every person, they may discover fine features and defects, good and bad qualities. Under these circumstances, the two sorts of people above-mentioned, fix their ats tention; those who are disposed to be happy, on the conveniencies of things, the pleasant parts of conver sation, the well dressed dishes, the goodness of the