and reside as well as their Fattori in the city.—On this farm there were four hundred horses, of which, one hundred were broken; two thousand hogs, which ran in the woods and fed on the acorns; some hundreds of cows, who give no other revenue than the sale of the calves, which is estimated at about eight dollars each cow; one hundred oxen used to the plough, and about four thousand sheep. The rent of this farm was about eighteen francs the arpent of cultivated land, amounting in all to about $22,000. The annual profit was about $5000, besides interest at five per cent. on the capital of the flocks.

In the midst of this establishment there was a vast casale or farm house, destitute of furniture and inhabited but a very few days in the year.—Every thing around breathed the most perfect desolation; all was vast and silent. The harvest had just commenced and a thousand labourers, of whom one half were women, had descended from the mountains to gain a small pittance during a few days, by reaping the rich grain of six hundred and sixty arpents for the lordly proprietor, and if they did not perish at their toil, to go back after having respired the elements of a miserable death. Some days had elapsed since the harvest began, and only two labourers had been attacked by the fever of the Malaria; every day would, however, increase the number, till at the completion of their task, scarcely half of them would remain. 'What then becomes of these unfortunate people?' said M. de Chateauvieux. 'They get a piece of bread and are sent off,' was the inhuman reply,—'But where do they go to?' 'To the mountains; some stop on the road, some die, others get home almost expiring with misery and famine, only to follow the same life next year.'

The Malaria is one of those singular phenomena whose origin has baffled every effort at discovery, and the remedy for which has never yet been ascertained. Attempts have been made to cultivate the soil of the Maremma, and colonies were established within its circuit, but the resistless scythe of sure and silent death swept away the presumptuous intruders.—During half of the year, a few miserable beings, armed with lances and clothed in skins, the living images of death, wander over these devoted plains with their flocks; and if accident should delay their return to the mountains, fall certain victims to this fatal disease. Immense numbers of sheep, cows, horses, and goats find a subsistence on these wastes and supply the markets of Rome and the Val d'Arno. The soil is extremely steril; the whiteness of the pure argil being only alloyed by a mixture of sulphur, which is produced in great profusion. The cause of the Malaria, as we before remarked, has escaped all the investigations of science; it still remains a mystery no less profound, than its effects are dreadful. Some have supposed it to arise from the low pools of stagnant waters, which collect on the face of the Maremma; but the disease prevails on the heights of Radiocofani and within the lofty precincts of Volterra.

Some have supposed that the disease was caused by exposure to the sudden changes of temperature at the going down of the sun.[3] This is supported, it is true, by the very weighty face related by de Bonsteten in his Voyage au Latium, of a man who resided at Ardea sixteen years without being indisposed. But we doubt whether any solution that has ever been proposed was so perfectly ridiculous or so completely destitute of foundation. Do the people then die in the towns of this disease, where we know it to be a custom not to go out after dark, of mere exposure to a changing atmosphere? A short distance from the Porta del Popolo at Rome are two villas, one on each side of a small lane, but both situated on high ground. We were informed that during the summer season, a man would run very imminent danger of death in sleeping in one, while he might remain in the other with perfect impunity. How is this to be reconciled with the doctrine that the disease caused by the Malaria is nothing but fever and ague, brought on by exposure? The truth is, this dreadful enemy every year makes further inroads; no longer satisfied with pursuing the wretched thousands of enervated labourers and shepherds, who at evening crowd for safety into Rome, it is advancing into the city in the midst of darkness, and spreading from the Porta del Popolo, on the one side, and from the Palatine on the other, up the sides of the Quirinal. In 1791, says M. de Chateauvieux, Rome had a population of 160,000; at the time of this visit, it numbered only 100,000, of whom more than 10,000 were gardeners, shepherds, and vine-dressers. Four years afterwards we heard it computed at from 80 to 90,000. Undoubtedly political events have had no small effect in diminishing the number of inhabitants; but still we believe the Malaria must have had a no less powerful influence. Annually it roams over the finest villas without the walls, and ravages large districts of the town within; and neither the magnificence of the villa Borghese, nor the luxuriant beauty and towering pines of Doria Pamfili, can resist the assaults of this silent and deadly foe. Time seems to hold its mantle over the queen of cities, and to prepare by a fate as extraordinary as its former history, to blot it out from the admiration of mortals. Encompassed already by the awful stillness of a desolate waste, once filled up with sixty towns, which the antiquarian in vain attempts to trace, perhaps her own site may be hereafter unknown; and some future traveller may boast with enthusiasm of having once again penetrated its deserted streets, of having visited the spot enobled by the heroic virtue of Junius Brutus, or the eloquence and wisdom of Cato the censor. But we must leave a subject, on which we could dwell still longer with delight, and conclude our notice of a book, of which we would hope our readers have received a favourable impression. The subject of the work is not only important in itself, but most interesting to us. Italy is essentially an agricultural country; she is neither a manufacturing nor a commercial state. It is by her agriculture, that she supports more than 17,000,000 of inhabitants, or about 1237 to a square league; a population far superiour to that of France or England. It is her agriculture which laid the foundations of those splendid cities which crowd her plains; it is her agriculture, which, should it ever be protected by an enlightened government, will again yield nourishment to the principles of liberty, and raise her to a level with the most respectable nations of Europe. M. de Chateauvieux has devoted himself to the illustration of this noble subject, and we are confident that his work will not only afford many valuable hints to the practical farmer, but some lessons to our statesmen, in any future attempts which may be made to elevate manufactures at the expense of the most dear and invaluable interests in our country.

From the Edinburgh Farmer's Magazine.

PARMESAN CHEESE DAIRY.

From a Journey in Carniola, &c. by W. A. Cadell, &c.

"On the 14th April (1818,) I went to see a large cheese dairy, 3 miles from Milan, one of the dairies at which that kind of cheese, called in commerce Parmesan, is made. It is called in Italy, Formaggio di grana, because it is commonly used in a granular form, being grated, and brought to table to be eaten with soup. Much of this cheese is also made near Lodi and Pavia.

The word Formaggio is from Formaticum, which signifies, in the Latin of the middle ages, cheese prepared in a form.

The cheese is made in the morning before sunrise.