“Waste not, want not.” An adage which received a touching sanction when, after a miraculous feast, and when He could have converted the whole region into bread, the Saviour said, “Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost.” And in the progress of discovery, God is constantly teaching us not to waste anything, for this is a world of which nothing need be lost. At the woollen factories of Rheims there used to accumulate a refuse, which “it cost something to throw away.” This was the soap-water containing the fatty matters washed from the woollen stuffs, along with some soda and other ingredients. With its offensive scum this soap-water was a nuisance, and required to be put out of the way with all convenient speed. But now, from one portion of it gas is manufactured, sufficient to supply all the works, and the remainder yields a useful soap.[8] In the same way, when Lord Kaims found himself proprietor of an extensive peat-moss in the neighborhood of Stirling, with characteristic energy he commenced its improvement. On digging through the moss, he came to a rich alluvial soil; so that to his sanguine imagination, fifteen hundred acres, at whose barrenness his neighbors laughed, were a splendid estate, covered over meanwhile by a carpet seven feet thick. To lift this carpet was the puzzle: for every acre of it weighed some hundred tons. But “the mother of invention” is the near kinswoman of most Highland lairds, and “necessity” suggested a plan to Lord Kaims: a plan which must have approved itself to the mind of a judge, for, by a sort of retributive process, it forced the element which had done the damage to undo it again. By a hydraulic contrivance, a powerful current of water was made to traverse the moss and carry off the loosened fragments, till they reached the river Forth, and were finally floated into the German Ocean. And now “a waste,” which last century was the haunt of the curlew, is covered with heavy crops, and yields its proprietor a revenue of two or three thousand pounds a year. But had Lord Kaims foreseen Mr. Reece’s researches into the composition and capabilities of “bog-earth,” he would, perhaps, have hesitated before he consigned such a treasure to the deep. At this moment we are writing by the light of a candle which last year was a peat! And, however opinion may differ as to the probable expense of the process, there can be no doubt that peat yields in large quantities the ammonia which is so largely used by farmers; the acetic and pyroligneous acids, extensively employed by calico-printers, hatters, etc.; and, along with naptha, a fatty substance capable of being converted into beautiful candles; so that Mr. Owen’s benevolent calculation will, doubtless, sooner or later be fulfilled, and “Irish moss” become a cure for Irish misery.[9] It is pleasant to know that on every side we are surrounded with mines of unexamined wealth. Some of the old workings may be