The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1833-01-11 00:00:00

118- ~3~~~ ♦ ~♦ THE AWAKENING OF 'THE WIND. (From Tait's Magazine for January. ! the wind, the mighty wind, Like lion from his lair up sprung, llath lefthis Arctic home behind, And off his slumbers flung ; While over lake and peaceful sea. With track of crested foam, sweeps hp .1 Hurrah t the wind, the mighty wind, Hath o'er the deep his chariot driven, Whose waters that in peace reclined. Uplash the roof of heaven ; Then on the quaking cliff-bound shore They foaming dash with deafening roar. The ship loom'd on the waveless sea, Her form was imaged in its breast, And beauteous of proportion she, As ever billow prest ; And graceful there as stately palm, She toWer'd &bald, the sultry calm. Her flag hung moveless 'by the mist, Her sails droop'd breezeless and unbent, And oft the seaman's glance was cast Along the firmament, To note if there he might descry The wakening gale approaching nigh. On came the wind, the reckless wind, Fast sweeping on his furious way, His tempest-rushing pinions brined In wrathful ocean's spray. On came the wind, and, as he past, The shriek of death was in the blast! The tall ship by the shrouds he took, To shivering shreds her canvass rent, Then like a reed her mast he shook, And by the board it went, While-yawn'd the deep with hideous din, As if prepared to gulf her in. With fruitless effort on she reels, The giant wind is in her wake, The mountain billows' coil she feels Around her like a snake ; Lock'd in that unrelenting grasp, She struggling sinks with stilled gasp. Hurrah ! hurrah I the victor wind Bath swept the ocean rover down, And left a shipless sea behind, With many a corse bestrewn; And swift, unfetter'd, strong and free, Like eagle on his path, speeds he! THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG. BY MRS. ÜBMANS. (From Blackwood's Magazine.) FATHER, guide me I Day declines, Hollow winds are in the pines ; Darkly waves each giant-bough O'er the sky's last crimson glow : Hush'd is now the convent's bell, Which erewhile with breezy swell From the purple mountains bore Greeting to the sun-set shore. Isiow the sailor's vesper-hymn Dies away. Father ! in the forest dim Be my stay I In the low and shivering thrill Of the leaves gut late hung still ; In the dull and muffled tone Of the sea-wave's distant moan ; In the deep tints of the sky, There are signs of tempest nigh. Ominous, with sullen sound, Falls the closing dusk around. Father i through the storm and shade O'er the wild, Oh t be Thou the lone one's aid— Save thy child ! Many a swift and sounding plume Homewards, through the boding gloom, O'er my way hath flitted fast, Since the farewell sun-beam passed From the ehesnut's ruddy bark, And the polls, now low and dark, Where the weakening night-winds sigh Through the long reeds mournfully. Homeward, home Ward, all things haste— God of might ! Shield the homeless midst the waste, Be his light! In his distant cradle-nest - Sow my babe is laid to rest : Beautiful his slumber seems With a glow of heavenly dreams ; Beautiful o'er that bright sleep, Hang soft eyes, of fondness deep, Where his mother bends to pray, For the loved and far away.— Father I guard that household bower, Hear that prayer ! Back, through thine all -guiding power. Lead me there ? Darker, wilder, grows the night— Not a star sends quivering light Through the massy arch of shade By the stern old forest made, Thou! to whose unslumbering eyes All my pathway open lies. By the Son, who knew distress In the lonely wilderness, Where no roof to that blest head Shelter gave— Father! through the time of dread, Save, oh ! save ! THE WARRIOR BARD. (From the Monthly Magazine.) The bugle's voice had set the watch of night, And silence walk'd the carnage-cover'd plain. When sad, beneath the dying.,• embers' light, The warrior bard watch'd o'er th' unburied slain, Ere war's soul-stirring blast had rung, His harp the charms of beauty sung. But when his country's voice was heard, And freedom was the rallying word, The minstrel's soul through all its depths was stirr'd. lle sought the fleld—the battle led— And soothed the pains of those who bled— While thus he sung the fame that crown'd the dead : Ye glorious spirits of the mighty dead, Whose cold remains on victory's bosom rest, When hist'ry tells the cause for which ye bled, Your name shall he by freedom's . children blest. To you the ruling hand of heaven, The noblest proudest fate hath given. Your sons shall (lash the tear aside, And show the field with manly pride, (in which, in freedom's cause, their fathers died ; Then should oppression break her chain ; In them your souls shall breathe again ; And tame their pride, or life's last current drain. THE, LIVERPOOL STANDARD. VA"RIETIES. DISCOVERY IN THE PACIFIC.—A Captain Covel, commander of an American merchantship, lately arrived in the United States, mentions that, in latitude 4 0 30 N., longitude 168' 40, he discovered a group of fourteen islands, not laid down on any chart. They were all inhabited, and the natives spoke the Spanish -Language.—Atitenauni. A BATTLE-FIELD INCIDENT.—After they had left us, and my battalion was still standing in front of the position last occn pied by our troops, all .having retired but ourselves, and it now began to draw towards night, and we were preparing to move off, an unfortunate French sergeant attracted our notice. Poor fellow he had been shot in the small of the back, and (on our surgeon examining him) pronounced to be mortally. He ap peared to be a man above forty, and apparently a veteran, who had fought many a hard field; and was, I think, one of the most respectable-looking men of his class that I haVe seen. When he saw us preparing to leave him to his fate, the expres sion of his countenance became the most piteous and beseech ing imaginable . ; imploring us in French not to leave him there to perish. My heart bled for him; but, unhappily, we had no means of removing him, had there even been a hope of his re covery. When he saw that his fate was inevitable, he crawled in the 13est manner he was able to a broken amniunition,box, and, raising himself on his knees, supported h by it, besought that Being who never casts out the cry of the unfortunate, and who, I sincerely hope, imparted to him that strength and com fort which his unhappy circumstances so greatly required. I doubt not he was a sincere christian ; never shall I forget the impression his unhappy fate made on my mind. To be left in solitude and darkness on this blood-stained heath, with the prospect of his own certain death before his eyes, and without any to comfort him in his last agony, must indeed have been a severe trial to his fortitude. Would to God I could have re lieved him! His case was not singular, it is true; but hone ever presented itself to my view under such truly affecting cir cumstances as this unhappy veteran did.— Twenty-five years in the Byte Bryade. GLOOMY WEATHER.—To prevent the gloom and melancholy proverbial to the season, the best thing is to defend the skin from chill and damp by proper clothing, and to seize every favourable glimpse of sunshine to be out of doors. The power of electricity over the body is well known ; in fact, we can never enjoy health nor comfort without a proper portion of it in the system. When this portion is deficient, we feel languid, heavy, and lowspirited, and we very foolishly pronounce a libel on the blood, which is quite innocent, while we never suspect the damp atmosphere for robbing us sf our electricity. Yet so it is. In dry weather, whether it be warm, cold, or frosty, we feel light and spirited; because dry air is a slow con ductor of electricity, and leaves us to enjoy its luxuries. In moist or rainy weather, we fed oppressed and drowsy, because all moisture greedily absorbs our electricity, which is the buoy ant cordial of the body. To remedy this inconvenience, we have only to discover a good non-conductor of electricity to prevent its escape from the body, and this we have in silk, which is so excellent a non-conductor, that the thunderbolt or the forked lightning itself could not pass through the thinnest silk handkerchief, provided always that it be quite dry. Those, therefore, who are apt to become low-spirited and listless in damp weather, will find silk waistcoats, drawers and stockings, the most powerful of all cordials.— Time's Telescope for 1833. GROWTH AND AGE OF THE OLIVE AND ORANGE TREES.— At the late meeting of the Helvetic Society of Naturalists, M. de Kandolle read a memoir by Berthelot, on the growth and age of several kinds of trees, in the vicinity of Nice, from which we extract the subsequent remarks. "There is an olive tree at Villefranche, in the environs of that town, the lowest extremity of the trunk of which, next the surface, measures above thirty eight feet, and three feet and a half above the surface, nineteen feet in circumference; one of its main branches is six and a half in circumference, and the trunk itself eight and a half feet high. This is both the oldest and largest olive tree in that part of the country, and though fast decaying, retains much of its stately appearance. The celebrated olive tree at Pescio, which has hitherto been considered the most ancient in Italy, and is stated by Maschettini to be seven hundred years old, is ranch younger than this wonder of Nice. There are records now ex tant, which show, that, as far back as the year 1516, the latter was accounted the oldest in those parts. In 1818, it bore up wards of two hundred pounds weight of oil; and, in earlier days and good years, more than three hundred and fifty. The orange tree is of so modern a date in Europe, that no certain maximum of age can yet be assigned to it. It may, however, be gene rally observed of, that it attains to a great age, though its trunk has scarcely ever been known to grow to auy considerable height. In the celebrated orangerie, at Versailles, there is a tree of this species, which was raised frOm seed sown in 1421, and has at this moment every appearance of surviving for cen turies to come. There is another orange tree in the yard of the Convent of St. Sabina, at Rome, which is said to have been planted by St. Dominick, in the year 1200. It has never grown to a greater height than thirty feet. In the neighbourhood of Finale may be seen another eight and twenty feet high, which bears nearly 8000 in a single year. And there was one of the kind existing in the neighbourhood of Nice, in 1789, the trunk of which was so thick that two men could scarcely span it with their arms; its age was unknown, but it was nearly fifty feet high, and its foliage afforded shade to a table of forty covers. One year with another, it bore between five and six thousand oranges, and this immense produce was confined to one half of its crown; the other yielding scarcely one hundred; it is re markable that, in the following year, the latter bore a crop of thousands of fruit, whilst the former was almost barren of pro duce. This noble tree perished under the effects of the severe frost of 1789.—Athemeunt. COOKERY.—There is - a very general idea abroad, that the French are peculiarly artificial in their preparation of meats for the palate, and that the,English taste is distinguished by its simplicity. In this, as in so many other things, we apprehend that the superficies alone is looked at. True, the Englishman prides himself on his joint, and pretends, when he sits before his mountain of flesh, that he is approaching to a state of nature. But with how many conaiments is he not prepared to savour his viand's ? has he not vinegars and sauces innume rable, mustard, pepper, salt, horse-radish, and other flavorous pungencies, which, when joined to gravy rich and hot, altoge ther make up . a plat worthy of any continental epicure ! This is called plaid living, simply because the cookery goes on in the dining-room instead of the kitchen. A Frenchman takes his dish as it pleases the chef de curiae to send it, and he would as soon think of tampering with his coat as his meat, — both tailor and cook are artistes, and each considered equal to his business. In England a gentleman relies upon his servant, a mere subordinate, for nothing but precise roasting and boil ing, and is himself in reality his own meat-preparer. England expects every man to be his own cook. All that is trusted to the kitchen is the application of heat. The composition of flavours is- supposed not only an art above the Leonora of the realms below, but to reqaire the test of each individual's-palate.. Thus it would seem that a general system of cookery serves France, while the individuality in this country demands that each Man should interfere in the composition of his own dish. What is called sectsoiting is carried to an Oriental pitch at ail English tables; while in France we are struck by the extreme insipidity of their most elaborate chef d'irea t) es. 'What is called rench cookery in this country is in fact truly English ; ;it is the table composition manufactured over the. kitchen stoves, and owns no original in France, where they strive after variety of flavours, but to the utter contempt of what an.alder man would esteem in the way of richness. Vegetable heat is absent from every French work of Culinary art. There is a story of a French cook leaving his English master because he added salt to one of his preparations on its - appearing at table ; deeming himself' an artiste probably of the first class, he was as Much offended as a painter would be with an amat eur p ur chaser who newly tint e d his 'skies. No English cook would be offended to hear that her master had emptied all Lazenby's shop on her choicest dish. This is but a trivial discussion, hut illus trates a favourite position of ours,—that national 'differences consist more in words than things, and that any apparent dif ference in the forms of things arises from some material differ ence in the. resources of the country. Thus, continuing the same train of illustration, in Loudon fish is boiled because we have it fresh; in Paris it is stewed, in all forms, because the distance from the coast presents it in a putrid shape to the Paris market, and makes it unfit to be cooked in any other fashion. For the same reason, animal food of all.kinds is stewed down in that country, because from a deficiency in the breed of cattle, and the art of grazing, it . is neither sufficiently fender nor juicy' to be offered to the masticators without having pre viously.undergone one of the stages of digestion. The respect entertained for French cookery in Englaudis the respect felt for regular art above empiricism. In .England every man quacks his plate ; in Prance the artist proceeds on a well un derstood system. The profession thus comes to be acknow ledged, and the art acquires a technology which gives it impor tance, and, to those who glory in hard words, affords an oppor tunity for a vain display. 'Though an individual epicure may succeed on his own plate, by means of a variety of condiments, in fabricating a delicious compound, he can neither offer it to another no r g i ve i t a name ; the French artist, on the contrary, when he has studied forth a new variety of palatable flavours, ern offer it to a whole table, and sanctions and canonizes the dish for ever by the imposition of a title. Here arc the ele ments of the apparent superiority of French cookery over English.—New li,icnititly Magazine. A VINEYARD DISTRICT ON THE BANKS OF THE GARONNE. (From "French Wines and Politics," by Miss Martineau.) It was on kglorious afternoon in July 1788, that an English man, named Steele, landed on the banks of the Garonne, a few miles south of .Bordeaux, whence he had come up in a boat on an excursion of part business, part pleasure. Steele was set tled as a factor at Bordeaux; and his business was to purchase wines from the growers, ard ship them to his employers in England. His occupation had brought him acquainted with almost every vine-grower within fifty leagues of Bordeaux; and in the case of one of these, Antoine Luyon, the acquaintance had ripened into a friendship. Antoine was part owner of some vineyards on the western bank of the Garonne, one of which produced claret of a singularly fine quality,—too good to com mand an advantageous sale at Paris, where second and third rate wines are iu nearly equal esteem with the first. The pro duce of this small and rich vineyard was therefore set apart for English sale, and had been 'bargained for by the house which Steele represented, and the terms agreed upon for the vintage of the five next seasons. Other vineyards belonging to the same parties touched upon this peculiarly .favoured one; but not alt the care and pains that could be taken availed to make their produce better than second or third-rate. Their aspect was a little more to the east and less to south; they were not so perfectly sheltered behind ; and no art could temper their soil to the exact point of perfection enjoyed by La Haute Favo rite, as this distinguished vineyard was called. Their produce was, however, as valuable as that of most of the estates around, and was in good esteem at Paris, where Antoine's partner, his brother Charles, was settled as a wine -merchant; and where he bestowed as much pains on the maturing of the stock in his cel lars as Antoine did on its first ripening in the form of grapes, or their friend Steele on the processes of fining, racking, and. „mixing, which were carried on at his employers' depot at Bor deaux. Much care and skill were required in all these depart ments of business, and the young men were exemplary in both, pursuing their occupation as a matter of taste as well as of ne cessity. Steele watched the thermometer in his cellars as care fully as Antoine observed winds and clouds ; and their common interest in the welfare of La Favorite quickened their friendship, in one way among many, .by occasioning more frequent meet ings than they would otherwise have thought practicable. Many a trip to Bordeaux did Antoine contrive, to ascertain the effects of heat or cold on the wines in their third or fourth season • or to give the alarm if he heard rumours of buildin g s b e i ng pulled down or erected so near the premises as to have any influence over the temperature within; and during the summer, Steele was wont to go up the river on Saturdays, and spend the Sun day with his friend Antoine for the avowed purpose of paying his devoirs to La Favorite. There was much to tempt him to these excursions, if wine had made no part of his interest, for a fairer territory than that through which the Garonne held its course was seldom seen. There were harvests of a more pictu resque growth than even those which embellished the vineyards. Interspersed with the meadows which sloped down to the river, were groves of olives and forests of chestnuts; and in due sea son, the almond trees put forth their pink blossoms amidst the dark shadows of the evergreen woods. Boats heavily laden with the merchandise of the Levant, brought hither by means of the grand Languedoc canal, passed down the blue and brim ming river, or returned, borne rapidly on the tide, and empty of all but the boatmen in their red jackets, whose snatches of sow" reached the shore on the fragrant breeze. The cottages of t i ne peasantry were indeed few, and comfortless in appear ance,- but the chateaux of the gentry arose here and there, not half buried in woods, like English mansions, but co ns pi c u ous on terraces, and rendered in sonic degree imposing by the appli ances of art, which did not, however, in the eye of the English- Man, compensate for the natural attractions which a fine taste would have gathered round them. Even stone balustrades and fountains, and artificial terraces, however, as long as they were intermixed with corn-fields and olive groves, had charms for one whose residence was commonly in the city; and in process of time, lie began to contemplate the chateau of 'the Marquis de Thou, which commanded the vicinity of Antoine's residence, with something of the admiration, though with nothing of the awe, with which it was regarded by the peasantry round. Whether this admiration was increased or lessened by the glimpses he occasionally obtained of its inhabitants, he could himself have hardly determined. The first time he saw the Mar quis he was moved to laughter; but then the Marquis was alone (except the laquais in his rear) sitting bolt upright on his horse, with his enormous queue reaching down to the little skirts of his coat, and his large light blue eyes and pursed-up mouth giving a ludicrous mixture of vacancy and solemnity to his countenance. But when the Marquis de Thou was seen pa rading the terrace with his beautiful daughter, the Lady Alice, by his side, or following the SpOrts of the field with a train of the noblesse, assembled iu all the grandeur of feudal array, he who looked insignificant in his individuality 'gathered some advantage from the grace or splendour around him. He was regarded as the father andprotector of the fair creature who seemed to tread on air within the vast circumference of her hoop, and whose eyes shone forth from beneath her enormous head dress like glow-worms in a thicket; and again, the Marquis was the host of the wealthy and the gay who held sway in the land which was for dyer boasting its own likeness to Paradise : so that, in time, the Marquis - became mixed up with his con nexions even in the mind of the Englishman; and instead of laughing, Steele learned to uncover and bow low at the approach of the great man, in the same manner as Antoine. if he had known as much as the natives of the territory Of certain deeds which were done and certain customs which were prevalent there, his English heart might have forbidden his raising his hand to his head in token of respect; but though he disliked the French peasantry, he was not fully aware how many of their bad qualities were directly attributable to the influence of the order of which the Marquis de Thou was one of the re presentatives. On the present occasion, Antoine awaited on the bank the landing of his friend. " Ah, ha !" cried the Frenchman, as soon as he could make himself beard; "you look up into our blue sky with the same adiniration as when you first saw it, four seasons ago. Well; even Bordeaux has its smoke, and now and then a sea haze " "So thick an one this morning," replied Steele, " that I could have fancied myself in an English port." " Do the captains foretel a change of wind ? " " inquired An toine. "I rather apprehend one; and it is a pity that Favorite should risk losing a particle of her beauty. Come and see her, —as bright as a May morning; as rich and mellow as an au tumn moon. It would grieve my soul if au unkind wind should hurt her; but there are signs of a change." MISERIES OF `WEALTH.—It is to have a subscription-paper handed you every hour, and to be called a niggard if you once refuse your natne.,-.-It to- have every college, infirmary, and asylum make a run upon the bank of .your benevolence, and then rail at the smallness of the dividend.—lt is to pay the tailor for all his bad _customers, and compensate the tradesman for what he loses by knavery or cxtravagance.—lt is either to be married for money, or to have a wife always casting up the sum total of the fortune she brought.—lt is to be invited to drink poor wine, that you may give better in return.—lt is to have gi cal er temptations than others in this world; and to find the entrance to a better more difficult than to the rest of man kind.—The Mother's Story Book. WHAT CAN BE THE MATTER ? OR A FEW MINUTES OF TH E SIEGE OF BADAJOZ.-We waited till about ten o'clock, when the fire first commenced from the castle upon the third division, as they approached it; but the fire from thence did not appear very heavy. Not long after it opened out at the breaches, and was most awfully severe; indeed it was so heavy and so inces sant, that it appeared like one continued sheet of fire along the ramparts near the breaches, and we could distinctly see the faces of the French troops,. although' the distance was near a mile. All sorts of arms, &c. were playing at ouce,—guns, mor tars, musketry, grenades, and shells thrown from the walls, while every few minutes explosions from mines were taking place. The firing, too, appeared tohave suchu, strange, death like sound, quite different from all I bad ever heard before. — This was occasioned by the muzzles being pointed downwards into the ditch, which gave the report au unusual and appalling effect. This continued without a moment's cessation, or with out. any apparent advantage being gained by our struggling ' but awfully circumstanced comrades. Lord Wellington had also taken his stand upon this hill, and appeared quite uneasy at the troops appearinc , to make no progress, a nd o ft en as k ed , or, rather, repeated to himself, "What can be the matter?"— The enemy had adopted an excellent plan to ascertain where our columns were posted ; they threw an immense number of light balls on all sides of the town, and ,when they found out where there was a large body, a rocket was fired in the direc tion of where it stood, and instantly every gun, mortar, and howitzer, not previously engaged, was turned in that direction, and grievous was the destruction their shot made in the ranks of these columns. Still our people at the breaches did not get forward, - although we distinetly heard; with emotion, the bugles of our division sounding the advance. His. lordship • seemed now to lose.all patience, and aides.de-camp were sent to ascer, tam the cause of the delay. They flew like lightning, while the. whole rampart round the town seemed enveloped in one flame of fire. Our brave but unsuccessful comrades were heard cheering every now and then; but still the fire at the breaches did not slacken. At length a despatch arrived from General Picton, stating that he had established himself in the castle.— This was cheering news to his lord Ship, who expressed very ' strongly' the gratitude he felt f or th a t gallant general.— Twanti ' fire „Years in the Rifle Brigade. is of this It would le of the men, that Iges which rs. Ewart iect these A NAVAL WAR INCIDENT ON SHORE. We were about.ten.miles to the eastward of Marseilles, when we saw a vessel at anchor in a narrow bay. Prize-monay to a sailor is like blood to a blood-hound ; once tasted, never relin quished, unless indeed superior force interfere. To see this little vessel, small as she was, and to know that a certain sum, however insignificant, would result from her capture, were suf ficient excitements. Sir Peter Parker, who closely watched the position of this miserable settee, and who had satisfied-him self of her very defenceless situation, manned the boats, S and desired one of the lieutenants t o b r i ng ou t th e p r i ze , f or sd we named her, long before we had her. On this expeditied - we had only three boats employed; for, as tie could not distinguish the slightest fortification, or any thing like a battery, or numerous men assembled, the small force was deemed amply sufficient, and we left the ship just as certain of a bloodless prize;as we were of our existence. Three marines had been placed in each boat, in order to attract notice, in the event of one or two French soldiers being in the neighbourhood. We approached the land about noon, and shortly were within pistol-shot. It was a fine calm day, the shore looking attractive beyond meastre to our long-wanderin g eyes; the wood which overhung the right-hand entrance of the bay cast a calm and beautiful shade over the landscape. At the extremity of the bay stood a low hut, which could scarcely be dignified by the name of cottage, near which an old woman sat spinning, and who continued her toil without bestowing the slightest notice on the approach of her nation's enemies. It was a dead calm, and "ocean slumbered like an unweaned child." The boat almost silently sprung through the water; and war and all its horrors seemed far distant from this pretty, retired spot. The bowman was a corpse. A musket-bail had been fired from behind a rock On the left-hand entrance, and that first shot was fatal: it wss succeeded by another from the same place, and one marine was disabled; a third tore the cravat from the lieutenant's neck, but otherwise was harmless; a fourth, and the cockswain lost his arm. Still no one was visi ble; and the distance of time between each shot convinced us that we had not more than two people opposed to us at the most. This deliberate murder was by no means pleasant. Concealed behind the rock the Frenchmen fired in perfect security; and so small were the apertures from which they issued their de struction, that they were imperceptible to us We gave three cheers, and pulled right for the place. Only one more shot was fired, and that struck an already wounded man. A small sandy cove offered a landing, and one and all, saving the wounded, jumped on shore, and commenced a search for the enemy. The lieutenant, myself; and a marine, took one direc tion ; the other marine and the boat's crew began to examine the rock near which we had landed. In the mean time the other boats pulled to the vessel, cut her cable, and began to tow her out. To this there was not the slightest opposition, and not a man was to be seen iu the vicinity of the bay. After examining every place with the utmost precaution, we had well nigh declared the search as fruitless; but, in turning a narrow point of rock which led to a wider path, another shot convinced us we were close to our enemy. We pushed on, one after the other, for the path was rugged and narrow, until coming into a broader and more open view, we perceived a man and boy re treating with all speed. The instant we hailed him to stop, he turned round and tired. It was a harmless shot. The lieutenant instantly fired, but missed his mark; and the marine who levelled his musket was desired to do the same, but to be cautious not to hit the child. The Frenchman, who had loaded his musket as lie retreated, turned round and fired again. It was so completely a running tight and fire, that little - harm was likely to occur. The marine now stopped, and, resting his gun over a small pro jection of a rock, filed, and shot the child: he fell in the act of offering another cartridge to the French soldier. Thedather in stantly dropped his musket, and fell by the side of lria son. Of course we made a rush to the spot, and both were prisoners at a moment. The soldier seemed as insensible to our movements ' as if we were miles from the spot: he perfectly disregarded our approach: he had seated himself in the centre of the road, and, having placed the boy's head upon his lap, began to wipe away the blood as it oozed from a wound in the child's forehead. Oil being desired to get up and follow us, lie paidnot the least atten tion. The world and the world's light were shut to him: he saw not—thought not—spoke not; but, with a kind of mecha nical motion, apparently involuntary, he wiped and wiped the blood, as the increasing flow gushed through the wounu. The eye rested upon the spot; but with such inanimation as almost made it a mockery of sight. There were no tears; no sighs; and save now and then a gurgle in the child's throat, as he made an endeavour to breathe, the stillness of death itself could not have been more profound. At last a shivering seized the boy; the eye became fixed and glassy; and the opened jaw, gradu ally distending., marked the rapid approach of death; then came one short convuisive sigh, and the boy was ,a corpse. My voice; like the death-raven's, -croaked out the miserable truth; on which the father sprang from his scat, the marine brought his bayonet to the charge, and the Frenchman endeavoured to,throw himself upon its point; but the marine, as the father rushed on, dropped his musket and encircled him in his arms. We immediately secured his hands, and desired him to lead us to the beach near the cottage. The marine carried the dead boy; and the fathe' walked by the side, his eyes riveted on the corpse, in perfect silence, without a tear, and apparently without a thought. V C , certainly did not return the way we auvanced, for we had passe , ' our boat before we came suddenly upon the rear of the cottage' 'lle woman was still at her wheel; she was very old, and ay' patently childish. She never raised her eyes from her employ' ment until we were within about two yards - of her, when, lifting her head, she fixed her eyes upon her son, bound, and iu tlar custody of strangers: she gave a violent shriek; and, allo t gazing a short second, she turned the wheel again, and Leant. to spin out her thread. The shriek was not ineffectual; for fine woman, about thirty, immediately rushed from the hut, and there saw, in painful reality; her husband a prison e r, her chit, dead, and her mother an idiot. She looked lint at her parer" and then rushed.to seize her dead child froth the arms of its reUr deter. She kissed it, hugged it, gazed on it; then, giving et a deep and audible sigh, fell at the feet of her -mother. The hu' l baud had been unbound, and looked at the scene in pertes j stone-like apathy; the grandmother still turned the wheel al' pinched the thread with all the indifference of mechanism; tr 6 wife still clung to the dead child,- which she convulsively graspe, and we, the cause of all this ruin and desolati o n, remained s fixed eyes upon the melancholy sight before us.—Front the 1 4" ! vf a Sailor. ' SHEATHING FOR SHIPS' BOTTOMS.—A new metallic she ing, the invention of Baron Wetterstedt, has r ecen tly K r made for covering ships' bottoms, which, ac cordin g t o the jo,"`; meat of the editor of the Nautical Magazine, possesses iii i practical advantages over copper. 'lbis new compound described aslighly tenacious and elastic, and is said to pot'' e * % ., the peculiar Mid, advantageous power of adapting itself to face, so much so, that by a violent strain or blow, it re'llu l ' yields to the force of the percu s si o n. Thi s po wer o f adaptillgo, itself to any form of surface, will not only be. found ad-vantaS..'o.° it On first sheathing the vessel,. but will also prevent the evil enec .c.) Of any subsequent strain or blow, and even tend much , to l' 1 :4 serve her from external injury. The price is considerably l' as * , , than that of ordinary copper 'sheathing, whilst it is found to far more durable. • PROSPECTS OF YOUNG SEA OFFICERS.—The ruidshipme l lo berths presented the usual number of human casts between ages of fourteen and thirty; and some among them were as m, lads as ever took 14eisou for a leading star. 'What a field I. " c ,i physiognomist is a middy's berth! In it we s ee a happY " 0 3 Just emancipated from school; a few years older, a youth prti of the watch on deck just intrusted to him; another trenabliv4 anxious as the hour of passing approaches. Tile eyes of an0t1, 1 ,," 0 , More advanced, - beam with the prospect of speedy proinat i v is pn the manly cheek of another the cancer of hope delay e,'he - beginning to develop itself; and silent in the corner may a t p ti seen one - brooding over long and often renewed disappointbl e 1 which have worn his spirit till it became callous to reproacb . o 6 , never enter a crowded - berth without thinking that the ye' l l o":1 ster, who is buoyantly mirthful over his glass, had better be ee ,l l where than there, %iewing the interval of mental agony hetor to him and the care-worn neglected oldster at the other elici i - t er which state he must come have he no interest, and the biigl i pe his mind the deeper his pain. Two of my messmates in}' sunk under the weight of disappointment, and became tbe.es mates of a mad-house. It is against the dictates of justice , s ' o d son, and clemency, the way in which midshipmen are allq , p rtl. to pine away the best years of life, deprived of ordinary coo' 0' and common-place education, in expectation of—ivhat? ninety pounds a . year as the reward of long years of toil, ' 111 1;e 3 tilential clinics May be,—a reward delayed - until it is not than ,or for, and, except per se, useless, as an old midshipman whett.iroo mOted is never employed. Thus, estranged -from his conne%ok by long absence, a stranger to his country and its institute ,t he sits down in it at the age of thirty to vegetate for. the re.' l ,o, life, condemned by a system to be a pauper-gentleman ; 4 0 1 1 1 often, by the consciousness of inferiorit, to the pothouse 4 4 relict'. Think of this; parents ! - this faint outline of a gl°,W !i tg ic o tu o lie t „ h a ir n t d een let fo n r o fi t it t y lie po b u a n i d t s of a: getting rid of . your suns al :ie‘i ) , i' oo on board of one of his Madesty'r ships'il se l'ht them r a ther behind a counter in a situation where their'here a rv it e exertions will avail them, and they wil l bless y ou. 0 expenses incl your re uf osio present above two thousand midshipmen on the lists, nol p ot t g o a ge t t e c ir ou e l o na m is !u si j o s i s l i s on a s t all, arui .ti ore till they one-fourth of passed ciUht, `he ten, even expect e l V i o i t t l. ( , ) ' eive years. \ hat Irian (with terest) would knowingly allow his son to enter sudi a " of,De4ond."-6LADL's Ira rad in Tarke.L. gr.-Dipping TUESDAY, Bth Januar Gnrland. Petrie, from Maceic Ilst November.) Caroline, Hicks, sailed fron December. The Royal Tar, (steamer), frc Arklow Bank, has been got off a Amity, for Hambro', passed : SAlLED.—Trinidad Packet, G tn on, Charleston-Birminghai Wayne, Philadelphia-Olinda krooke, Priestman, Rio :;aueiro ton, Syra, WEDNESDAY, 9th Janu AlumED.—Caledonia, Graha to company with the Sylvanu 'poke the Canada, hence for Is 'poke the brig Brothers, from port for Demerara ;--Peledora, G Pee , ) in company with the I Brown, Higgins, from Savanna] Dauntless,. --, and Ruby, _ _ . bolivar; Martin, (18th Sep.); Tynwald, Dickinson, (4th Oct. H.M.S. Clio, sailed from Vali • Home, Mitchell ; Plutarch, .1 et New Orleans. _ _ Monarch, Monclel, from Dom William Donald, Murphy, he: Mary Wemyss, Murray; henc itaikes, Breton ; Lady Duran Pair Isle, Winn ; and Martha, I William Osborne, McAlanus, Port-a-Ferry, Pollock; from I PrinCe Lee 800, James, henc( Lady Ann, Simpson, hence at Dalmatia, Winson, from New lOtli'Dec., with loss of foreyarC *arks, two of the crew ()verb() the 2nd. The Sir Edward'Codrington, Core by the ice, at Petit Itiviere tad filled with water; Jona, for Loudon, was on sho Lawrence. A ship, supposed to be the Si] to be the Rosalind, are on shore The folloWing vessels - were det hind, for Lonaa—James, for N this port—Cornwall, do—Diana, Northumberland, Mitchell; fri tfter having been on shore near J can, Currie, from Jamaica► fo Dee., in distress, to repair both Mary Jemime, Harnson, hen( hid sails. Liverpool,-Ross,—Ceres,-Vink lenbrooK, (leaky), hence for Os! st. John, Curran—.apd Isabelh Thomas, Richardson, from Tr ‘ _Bahamian, Maxwell, from Ma Head of Kinsale, on 6fli inst. Pandora, Forshaw, sailed fron BAttEn.-111.arys, Burnett, Irav Joseph Winter, Hunter di l'al ra i) Vales—EffcrtCollie, THURSDAY, 10th Janua AltRIVED.—Mary, Anderson; Poole —Hero, arrired.—Condon, Gende roole—Hero, Ball, Dartmouth-1 ;kiln, Taylor, Yarmouth—Sarah Ones, Swansea—George Myrtle, Woodman, Vagg, from hence a Douro, Dickenson, from hence Antigua Packet, Cherry, from Marpret .ghtield, Thorn, t: William Mulvey, ---, faun 'torn Genoa; and Skylark, Keith Jarah, Woolacott, henccrforOs james and Jane, Williams, In with loss of bowsprit, topmast, s: Nymph, Turnbull, Sligo, for thi %hilted, and loss of bulWarks, Thomas Battersby, Yapp, henc Laurel, from Demerara, passed 1 1 f ame b of Athol, from CharentA Ltnma, , Valparaiso, P SAlLuo.—Fredonia, Page, for IS TELEGRAPH OFFIC: i'assed Holyhead, inward bour „ " 5 a. m., and No. 1142, Duke of Intl WEST „,,. 1 3eaforth, Robert:4lm, fm Demo D'r, 90 '5 has 1 brl rum, 50 e 40 pus a , Pas rum, 53 hds sugar, Taylor co—.p Dk t h C hristina, liagarth, fm Demer: O lassesugar , 20 , pn Wilson and Corts 173 lids rum, 1 1 brls s-30 t s :: do, 20 Pns melasses; 17 Ms: R Littledate and co-10 pas Cook-2 bgs pepper, It Fishe t tation)--5 curd dunnage wood UNITED O 44 race Brown, Higgins, ffm Sari t,;s, 1 cask horns, AV and J Bro L 4. Ogden and co-111 do, Wain llithert and co-43 do, .1 Jackson ti,, e kledonia, Graham, fin New Y : . 111 and co-111 d o , Hagartya ~Q ui brig tar, 1297 brls turpeutin Vi r Hindley-139 bras turpen k r ,P, Dennistoun, Mackie and c, ir co -3 do, Sands, •Hodgson an t a Z , Robinson and co-1 uo„1 hf J Swire-1 csk retd goof bx merchandise, It Bell-1 e llts unkn, ar Cson and Lauder- 1 . 4, 1 2. I. White and co-1 bx mine: order—P Dk eleat,,,,Latona, M BRITISH ior, Horsley, fm Miramichi tll fins lathwood, order—Q DI j11',700 bndls salted seal skins, alit 'Nair, fm St John's, tem • d co-148 csks cod and 3',' ka t s ,; a dris ii h and codsounds, abt 2 ~,_ oil, abt 142 c old junk, 3.52 br 1 .1 Di, ,aarah, garnm fm St John, N r ;be timber, 35'e deals, 104 c 20 abs, Blight and co—B Dk El doe, T May, j un, fm Cadiz, w: V , etty and Postlethwaite-6 hds ,1t4 1 3 0 do, A Gibbs and Sons-3 bi +5 do, 4 do, Lewin and Lass %Otis, 56 hds do, order—lande Wine, 58 b ags cocoa s h e ll, 1 b 1 4{ 4 4 De Loquenghira, Pethers, , , de orr—Q Dk INl‘lsatte, fm Ostend, wit] Crosbie-24 dunnage ma - " Q s flax, 32 t oak bark, orde VESSELS ENTER} 14 IN Wood & co EAST I , or Aikin, 30 Nei: ,kselden, 2SI Allert( WEST Ili] !Cqn,jun, 250 John 1 & co, 201 Agnes, 133 Libert, 'UNITED S. O M , Dow., 300 Felicit & co, 464 Freda q x l; l3 . rothers & co, Jupite' 422 Madisi J Brown& co, North 1 kerb ll Icarie & co, t Zte, 8c DLai d ow, 261 Hope, 'aY or naan 224 l'ersev 1' / and co, - Brocklehank, 176 Bonanz W it i gtilfield 278 Nina c, r ' t & co:or Holliwell, 234 Lallah ik 4 IC MEDITERI t ° l' rfaskayile. 108 Mary a r , 1.1 1 EURO 1 . ,, 1 . -- 11 4 ,17. Nyverli Louis k aiot , lski, 123 Julian, klAtr„ - 4 g c \ ,t....:; ATanwell, SOUTH A 2G6 Brothe AYR] 116 Peppel, 203 "Martha E TABLE a 1 1,! 1,1 ' .. : t . ••••• 11 Nlq.c..* 12 1:43i Mrn. Er _ n. I M. 11. M. 2 27 2 53 _►~7 319 346 16 416 448 A •5 20 558 13