The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-09-25 00:00:00

° cieterith 'i hellattiNiZsliOndeed !" said Goethe, with animation,_ oes f t t er Mt lilte his ' l ke P Tell me all about . him. , D i t ! at 1-1.-with more portrait ?,, It At° see h i e, all ti i ° 4 lll o a r r t ke . d , ch ‘ a ‘ r l a r c e t s er " . sa l l f d y l Ou ever but look - ',nes he m °ne e , rails are naught. One . need . only ' brilli a , irt ake. i ve r te forget him, such an impression l' / 11 0iith - , e ,,Y. , On e fis,eYes are brown, and of the serenest . 1 1 1 I -Pea k even s the effect of his glance. His ft al n iala s y' ev tb ell W henitis closed. He looks a man 1 kik' e st deeds ~,Tghts and has lived throug ea h lm th ly e , li e serenely ' "' 4 ° new can handle the world i: hi e see t' an whom _.e oin oin nothing more can disturb. 1 4ft; •By h ; eas hard and tempered as a . Damascus 1 .e s, is . .ts aphe __ ~ l w I l i, 11 Pri..h t t',..trance, he has far advanced in the 7 1 as se ,_ e iLLliiil te I , B uni, and not very tall or stout. I , kil l 'get n g into his carriage to There 1 , " 1 )(A,, Pas hang tF Ilacconimonly cordial in . i i Ws salutation depart. t° b ' ".1:11le il ,1 1- 41 '"gli the crowd, and, wi G th oe a ,t v he_ er l y is s t light seet,-1 4s e e t i . " 'lig hat with his finger." It l i e l rall:t1 1 1 /4 ti On with visible interest. You Y listened 1 acne 11 1 , ° lilore " said he, " and that is saying c° he, il lat pre ' then talked of Napoleon, , a , nd .d l ft ` 4l 4-1 1) h ',:`‘ . had never seen him. " Truly, said I, `Se?'„`44l4 of also was worth the D th id e h tr e ou lo b o l k e. Li Go eth a s k e. , , the world ! replied lik Wh e so a m t . ea -1 lc" . 4' el c a ett T . "He was something," l it t e r ke N ct 4 4, ll e looked what he. was—that was all." ° g'eh -h. Li 8 Conversation w ith .!_., 1 4? o e , tl, ha 't , lG.lo l`l OF TEE SERFS.—The ser f s, m nor ; I, aS th e v ery limited ideas on the subject read ~. b ea ,rit e; t P', for the greater part, can neither of re- I fast de l , .LleY go to church, where they repeat with ii I eat hic'ttil,°ll acertain number of Ayes and Pater- WI. s th e ,- 'en' own language, or rather Slavonic,. and %1 the is do l ees while the priest is celebrating mass, a : Il tea s i cic ian with more or less pomp, according to l i r e aas -°4 or the riches of the church. If you ask ',,"' °' th i , at, Wh • God P he will point to the corner va etch-roe - ro e ere is . I 0 a ll , ' elit e ,' 4 ', where there are hanging. one or_ _more . badly 1* 71)„ wiliriti,aintings, representing some of their saints, d hat sill lie is firmly persuaded . are . so . many g:o s. p haps, create a smile of pity in England, .• (1 i i t t vtli e l i t t p is ; t ile er natural result of their uneducated state ti,eks. Tlleelmes them from understanding all abstract 0,1 tv' e e , ,Y Cali The have something corporeal—something i* I 1 b ee a and feel • consequently to abolish these 4 I t 4 n t -%•.: ao t° - L e e away with: all religion in their eyes. c'virii WY tl i i' s i, it , o ° ) l l pt e,y are very religious; I ha ve even 1 no' B ' 4 c over 0 ` -11 1 who, when about to commit a Ill bgh t h e ei e r Wilat ts, tfl a Z e Nly their images, that God may y neither j z, b utter, e -hick a a r b e out. They are ver strict very severe, as : I VSll3B4lldiesu Perg.illg'sit'te°dr anything that is produced by and of course, animal is foo o d f t he'r , Lem Tile principal and longest fast, ~ l e tit, fir' '.,' when they do not even eat fish during 4 4 4 ' frOm ulikl a l ast week, nor on Wednesdays and Fri- F.i itiVaany—ason, d• Friday till after mass on Easter -1 Vellin,;" L .Laem eat nothin but spend their time I. Ns eci thaV ta sting and praying, being firmly per- A ktle. But 'ist dies an rise again every year at 4 " 1 ') t , when the mass is over (generally about ~t a h '' ," ' 4t,,g4Ple amends is made for the long fast by 4 I. ty" a degree that is really disgusting to look ti ink t en • for si ll Pg oink of ; nor is the brandy-cup forgotten , . a )' tiett!Let tjthree days that Easter lasts it is almost . Nikirk. the d runk ; nor are the priests backward in l' 1 110 Is e xample in both eating and drinking._ c ill e 'ti e aanther curious custom, which is universal '' 1 LAI nt t . ' ~ ti s ee tw o empire —that of kissing. You fre ' CliN,ti) men, who can hardly keep their Lial.(ltlr'est v:eliskdr uncover in the streets, one saying, the other answering, " Vi-istion leirehsehe'CeY kiss each other three times on alter qaphohy s',a„ntl then walk on to perform the same t e t i en to with the next acquaintance they t m h a i y r 4 ttitci • Iri,eet. They are blin attached _t o o ye _ ekto °V. ' 1° e t heir t his has been th e l mean pi d F, ir enthusiasm for the present war.—Blac 4 N*4)\‘,,t,s N Ce fai r ~Alci) PA SHIONS.--Flowers are like fashions .i. ii' ovetieality, e ach who set and wear them ; eacdh rseigtihe I t tl it t p,st am 44.11 fresh -blown mode, is admire tl7 ll the % Re most becoming. What . more charm -11 ki t) , e Nilo sPIPIe unaffected stile of dress introduced L i kid i t a se ? l i v pl'OP, the crocus, the hepatica, and the IP ti les eanties But, as dogs have their day, so have flowers Lk 4 a , 4 . 4.t " Like the waves 'of the summer, as one I "qte h /ve t hilt u fer as bright and as fleeting comes on." I - the first'uelli all the brightest for the time being. generation of spring blooms are turned I INitER 25, 1855. SUPPLEMENT TO THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. to hay and withered leaves, we rapturously admire and ecstatically adore the glories of the tulip, the voluptuous ness of the rose, the luxury of the carnation, and the noble presence of the dahlia. And when they are standinc , with one foot in the grave, ready to be swept to their funeral amidst the compost heaps of autumn, we console ourselves for the loss of our dear departed flowers, by gazing with rapture at the expandin,, petals of chrysanthemums, dwarf, tall and middle - sized,'' white, yellow, orange, red, brown, blush ; in short, of every colour of the rainbow except the best,—blue and violet, for those are the hues of love and friendship. Exactly so with milliner's fashions. Did you ever know a pretty and amiable woman look otherwise than charm ing, whether she wore a ruff, a farthingale, a hoop or a Mary Stuart cap ? Her hair, whether dusted with a bushel of powder, frizzed into a cloud, tortured into cork-screws, braided into long cows'-tails, plastered stiff with Bandoline, or puffed into rolls like Bolonga sausages,—her hair still constituted the head-dress of a beauty ; and you admired its arrangement while you beheld it, however absurd that arrangement might be. Were not you taken in your youth, with coal-scuttle hats, skin-tight sleeves, low-cut bosoms, and high waists on a level with the armpits P Have you not been pleased with decorous dresses buttoned tight round the throat ; with gigot-sleeves, which only require inflation with gas to make your dearly beloved Jenny jump over the moon; with shot-silk-skirts, which answer as admirable substitutes when the street sweeping machines are out of order ; with multiple series of graduated flounces reaching almost to the ears of the wearer, as iF a lady were a sort of pyramido comical obelisk, whose pinnacle was to be reached by climbing up a flight of external steps ? I again assert that women, fashions, and flowers, admit of no degrees of comparison. They are all superlative while they last. The flower season is a succession of brilliant noons, a compressed epitome of many bright summers, a reiteration of culminating points, zeniths, climaxes, from which all shadows of morn and eve, all sunset and autumn, are temporarily and provisionally excluded, till at last old Winter comes to wave his white wand again, and scatters his hoar-frost over the earth, like burning ashes.---Dickens's Household Words. HABITS OF FREDERICK THE GREAT.—The principal part of the life of this monarch was spent in camp, and in a constant struggle with a host of enemies. Yet even then, when the busy day scarcely afforded a vacant moment, that moment, if it came, was sure to be given to study. Let the young shopocracy of Glasgow never forget that Frederick had very early formed an attach ment to reading, which neither the opposition of his father—who thought that the scholar would spoil the soldier—nor the schemes of ambition and conquest which occupied him so much in after life, were able to destroy or weaken. When at last, therefore, he felt himself at liberty to sheathe the sword, he gave him self up to the cultivation and patronage of literature and the arts of peace, as eagerly as he had ever done to the pursuit of military renown. Even before his accession to the throne, and while yet but a young man, he had established in his residence at Rheimsberg nearly the same system of studious application and economy in the management of his time to which he ever afterwards continued to adhere. His relaxation even then were almost entirely of an intellectual charac ter; and he had collected around him a circle of literary associates, with whom it was his highest enjoyment to spend his hours in philosophic conversation, or in amusements not unfitted to adorn a life of philosophy. In a letter written to one of his friends, he says—"l become every day more covetous of my time ; I render an account of it to myself, and lose none of it without great regret. My mind is entirely turned toward philosophy ; it has rendered me admirable services, and I am greatly indebted to it. I find myself happy, abundantly more tranquil than formerly ; my soul is less subject to violent agitations; and Ido nothing till I have full considered what course of action I ought to adopt." Let the ardent and pains-, taking youth contrast such conduct NVith what they read, or may have read, of the follies, the frivolities, to say nothing of the immoral conduct of certain scions of royalty ; and resolve, in the strength of a power higher than themselves, to cling to her whose ways are pleasantness, and whose paths are peace. I shall con clude this paper with a sketch of his doings for the ordinary four-and-twenty hours. Dr. Towers, who has written a history of his reign, informs us that it was his general custom to rise at five o'clock in the morn- 1 1 7 ing, and sometimes earlier. He commonly dressed his hair himself, and seldom employed more than two minutes for that purpose. His boots were put at the bedside, for he scarcely ever wore shoes. After he was dressed, the adjutant of the first battalion of his guards brought him a list of all the persons that had arrived at Potsdam, or departed from thence. When he had delivered his orders to this officer he retired into his inner cabinet, where he employed himself in private till seven o'clock. He then went into another apart ment, where he drank coffee or chocolate, and here he found all the letters addressed to him from Potsdam. and Berlin • foreign letter were placed upon a separate. table. After reading all these letters he wrote hints or notes on the margin of those which his secretaries were to answer, and. then returning into the inner cabinet carried with him such as he meant to write or dictate an answer to himself. Here he employed him self until nine o'clock. At ten the generals who were about his person attended. At eleven he mounted his horse and rode to the parade, when he reviewed and exercised his guards; and at the same hour, says Voltaire, all the colonels did the same throughout the provinces. He afterwards walked for some time in the garden with his generals. At one o'clock he sat down to dinner. He had no carver, but did the honours of the table like a private gentleman. His dinner-time did not much exceed an hour. He then retired into his private apartment, making low bows to his company. He remained in private till five o'clock, when his reader waited on him. His reading lasted about two hours, and this was succeeded by a concert upon the flute which lasted till nine. He supped at half-past nine with his favourite literati, and at twelve the king went to bed.— Vedder. INEXHAITSTIBLE LONDON. The magnitude of London astonishes foreigners ; they never can get to the end of our houses. They perch themselves on omnibuses, and go careering onwards and onwards they know not whither, in the hope of getting some how a glimpse of green trees, and a breath of air, with a flavour of flowers or hay-stacks in it; but it is still houses, houses, houses—interminable brick and mortar, varied, as they touch the suburbs, by a ghastly lilac, or a consumptive creeper nodding its funereal tresses into a parlour window on the road side. They go down the river, and up the river in pursuit of the picturesque; and find it pretty much the same thing everywhere, for they have no sooner arrived at a pastoral break on the banks, and begun to congratulate themselves on having come to a bit of country at last, than a new mist of houses, a fresh city, suddenly looms out over the water, and dissipates the delusion. The magnitude of London is the grand thing : they are astounded and bewildered by the length, breadth, and depth of London ; and having gone east, west, north and south, without being able to extricate themselves from the labyrinth, they are tempted into the horrible suspicion, that the whole of England is covered with London.---Fraser's Maga zine. ELOQUENCE. — EIoquence is the language of excite ment---the language of sincerity and power. " Words that burn" are spoken when he ar t s swe ll. Th e orator is the highest and noblest of the world's great ones - and nature is never grand whe r e s h e i s peaceful ': Excitement makes us sincere; and sincerity is always eloquent. All admire the sincere---all sympathise with the sincere---all are moved by the sincere. More over, it is a fact o f experience and a p r i nc i p l e of philosophy, that excitement develops the high excel lences, the trong powers, the warm energie s o f th e character. It gives activity to the slow, and strength to the weak, and wisdom to the fool. Pow er i s beautiful, and therefore pleases; and animates, and there fore is eloquent. Power is mighty, and therefore moves and persuades, and therefore . is eloquent. Every one i s eloquent at some time of his ; for in the pathway of every destiny there is some great occasion. E xc it e . ment is the exponent, and the law, and the co n diti on of human life. Genuine, effective eloquence, never reasons; The forced; and vague, and vapid definitions, which most authors have rendered of the term " elo quence," express or imply argument its . as end and excellency. The logician convicts—the orator awes ; argument suggests—eloquence concentrates ; reason directs---passion urges ; excitement clings to one thought, one idea : it dies when the attention is diverted by relations, when the mind reasons and argues. Whence, then, is the might of the orator.-- that might which makes the ".warrior's laurel" yield ;5i