1821.] 
Original Poetry. 
m 
causes our paper (that of printing in 
particular) to become diminished in 
that essential quality for strength which 
it formerly possessed.* It is astonishing 
after a few years wear, what a shabby, 
disreputable appearance our modern 
publications carry: the weakness and 
spongy quality of the paper is such that 
the fastenings of the bookbinders in 
boards become speedily detached, ow¬ 
ing to the absolute premature decay in 
this material. The works of Mac- 
kensie, Dr. Moore, and hundreds of 
other cotemporary authors, which are 
offered to our notice at bookshops, ap¬ 
pear like young men who have abused 
the stamina of their constitutions by 
gaieties and intemperance, whereas our 
prior, old fashioned authors, such as 
Addison, Steele, Young, &c. appear 
before us in the birth day suit of their 
muses, properly apparelled—that is, in 
good condition, like the man of mo¬ 
derate propensities, who preserves, by 
not tampering with his physical powers, 
the full measure of his bodily strength. 
The primitive, or leading cause, which 
has forced upon this country such an 
inferior mass of paper, both for print¬ 
ing and writing, may be justly traced 
to the heavy imposts which government 
has inconsiderately laid upon the ar¬ 
ticle. The duty upon common and 
middling quality printing and writing 
paper bears a proportion (at Sd per lb.) 
of from 30 to 35 per cent, of the market 
value ; this is an entailment of money 
weight upon the same, which the pro¬ 
fits of the paper maker is unable fairly 
to sustain; hence arises every one of 
* To corroborate my assertion, I have 
a book in the black letter, printed in the 
reign of Henry the Eighth, entitled “ on 
the Use and Profits of Histories,” the 
paper of which, near 300 years old, is of 
so firm a texture, that it rattles almost 
similar to a thin vellum. 
those numerous modern impositions, 
viz. the attempting by ingeuious con¬ 
trivances,^ substitution for intrinsic 
reality , and which is running through 
every fibre of manufacturing business 
at the present period. Another cause 
of the falling off of the good qualities 
in the papers I have before alluded to, 
arises from the now general introduction 
and working up of German and Italian 
rags in this business, instead of English 
ones, which being altogether coarse , 
bad coloured ,, wealth sea damaged , tgc. 
will naturally only produce paper of 
the same defective characters ; to throw 
an inviting face upon such an article 
when manufactured, recourse is had to 
the deleterious mixture of bleaching 
ashes, whitening by means of retorts, 
loading the engine with plaster of Paris, 
and other trash, to increase its quantity 
of weight, and which occasions the 
cracking in paper so complained of, 
besides another now common compo¬ 
nent mixture of old and new book¬ 
binders cuttings,* thus tending also 
altogether to increase the reputation of 
paper making in the same manner as 
the striving gentry about Leeds and 
Halifax, &c. add to the wearing good¬ 
ness of their waistcoat pieces, and 
broad cloth, by working up from the 
London depots of Rosemary Lane, &c. 
and its precincts, all the second-hand 
blankets, and worn kerseymeres which 
the worthy Londoners are kind enough 
to send the “honest Yorkshiremen.’f 
____ E.S. 
* I just advert to the increased con¬ 
sumption of cotton rags, which create a 
wiriness in the paper especially discernible 
when recourse is had to scratching out, 
t Articles of machinery called breakers 
for the purpose of separating the bodies of 
old woollen, and afterwards retwisting the 
yarns, are now fitting up in most parts of 
this great manufacturing district of Eng¬ 
land. 
ORIGINAL POETRY. 
ODE ON MAN. 
BY THE LATE REV. EDWD. WATERSON, 
Vicar of New Sleaford. 
F OND atheist ! could a giddy dance 
Of atoms, lawless hurl’d. 
Produce so regulai, so fair. 
So harmoniz’d a world ? 
Why do not Arab’s driving sands, 
The sport of ev’ry storm, 
A palace here, the child of chance, 
Or there a temple form ? 
Presumptuous wretch ! thyself survey 
That lesser fabric scau ; 
Tell me, from whence th’ immortal dust, 
The god, the reptile man ? 
Where wast thou, when the embryo earth 
From chaos burst its way; 
When stars exulting sang the morn, 
And hail’d the new-born day ? 
Or tell me, when the vital speck, 
The miniature of man. 
Nurs’d in the womb, and fill’d with life, 
To stretch and swell began? 
What 
