The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-11-20 00:00:00

20, 1855.] `II XOl SUPP (I:l4them Qe Nil 6 'eld regi ons , you mos t re l ue tl an tl y tr . f tte 4 t% I was Were not ripe, but in the season i s Pe gt lold, strawberries, plums, and other iced, fe ,413undance, very good of their kind. 41: 4 , for cattle, and these regions, when (/‘ be the least valuable of California. l l tt Z,.. te -4 OsS OF ENGLISH c . " le OV_E R B S. 4 44 c, 04 'ltig) l liii e I°-(t aY is I'' - tl two to-morrows." ~I , 44 , gh t , .or 1 4 ile h ' tayi„ 4e written about this quaint,._ but ( 1 4 W e i l q t o 7 of "poor Richard." Our object, how ' ,°1)800 11 , 1 il rnish a book, but to fill up a corner . hqqatiotileted journal —to glean, from reading ~*'",,, t hi ° f4' her illustrations of the subject as ergs,€l, sl - rli 'ter inquiry. of thi s ai ii , 'o h y et , s proverb is universally . acknow b 41 ' a kiV o 4.',°0 frequently one's daily life and . con t:ll42;let,_thit th e lie to it. l n lefleet ! Can it be V e k t ' il t illl a liiie 'l e T t is . ? uneer r t e . i health uncertain — A there no contingencies Nt' l3 'Y 1 4 1 1 0 Ilutaain affairs ? May we not be out 'Ll°ln.,. 7 °) Q p l'e Wa a t n hful and active rivals, and lose tl,A7 l .,'e e h e , 4 vour e able to success F '` b" ) ,Aur g3! while the sun shines," is the course ' ' 4 l le c i e 4al l4e s ii lled by the diligent farmer. A ship ANe : Witib, . t ed at high water. Iron must be ' 'B, L li e - P is hot. How did the traveller lose \``, oe, - a ,"eferred to supply a nail, and lost his ,:( 1 4 4 he delayed to supply the shoe, the horse ', N tlll ibl o e-- tile lameness is not attended to, the 118. 8 ,„ the rider is killed. Verily, delays are I, ii th 4t ~-uoo many have found out by fatal expe k\ SI, and is the thief of time." h t t'+and well-known thoughts these, say you. he out, then, into action--practge \ oe wiser and 1 her ! better persons. them ! \ x „ " There is a tide in the affairs of Inen' 11711.e1i aken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; I once • %omitted all the rest of life tl lld in shallows and in misery." " " 'l \ ess, h °l k o , Iv.sqo,„ver e h' row is a period nowhere to be found, 'th Oiß m ance in the fool's calendar ; (1 41, 41 ese' lir lisn; the word, nor holds society use it.---- 1) e ti e w v 4 e l l r in, night approaches —now, now G.D. It E 4tb 14 - &ARY 4 ) . 1e only way for a rich man to be and abstinence; to live as if he e a st Temple. —The humours of the .s it t 4 : ll teep tib ai , e 7 d and . a regular course, which impel I,t 4. other guide our will. They co-operate \ l4 4i thi t r, and exercise successively a secret I A il ; US ;so that they have a considerable tis/toaetions without our being able to know itl)q°ll4;Vottcattld.—Anguish of mind has t o , ° \''e g - 4 . 1 ,48 to suicide - anguish of body, none. ; 44( .111 ‘1 , at the health' of the mind is of far '1:1,1 hlt}, - :°O to our happiness than the health of I t ' i i t hai l " ii r,h both are deserving of much more o ar either of them receives.—Cotton. hl mis W ho lways taking care of their health are 5 44 e t are hoardin a treasure which they 11111,0ssitit.,enough to enjoy. —Sterne. vo e gers Paris, at this very time, reside I,iih4stlie,ll44led Fontaine, one of whom is blind 4 latn: leaf. The blind brother acts as fore ., 7 0 , liderrpoolstery manufactory, and, by means ,:04e 4 u tlY acute sense of touch, is able to f aul t Piece of furniture is unfaithfully kktlkt 'Y Proportions, as readily as the most Nk l ''k eer who can see. The deaf brother is a 1, 4 41 1 t a b; a t a suburban theatre, and has pub- V,lvitT i g r aPhY, from which we must trouble e t a brief extract, and then pass on. ° the well-known fact that deaf per fe I, p 11 entirely insensible to the action of ,414:11teliticilitine proceeds : " Moreover, their ‘ itl th aftl 4B frequently so exceedingly delicate Il t b leY not only feel the ordinary sounds )q°l 4. iltpare sensible even to the harmony of °l ‘ my own part, although, strictly ,EMENT TO THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. speaking, I am totally unable to hear, in dancing all my motions are timed by the music, just as those of dancers who are not deaf. The only difference is, I require to be nearer the music than they do. I then experience a delightful confusion of the nerves, such as I am convinced can be known nothing of except by those in whom the sense of feeling strongly predomi nates over that of hearing."—Home Coinpanion. THE WOLF'S ATTACK.—It is no less curious than amusing to witness their ingenious mode of attack. If there is no snow, or but little, on the ground, two wolves approach in the most playful and caressing manner, lying, rolling, and frisking about, until the too credulous and unsuspecting victim is completely put off his guard by curiosity and familiarity. During this time the gang, squatted on their hind quarters, look on at a distance. After some time spent in this way, the two assailants separate, when one approaches the horse's head, the other his tail, with a slyness and cunning peculiar to themselves. At this stage of the attack their frolicsome approaches become very in teresting; it is in right good earnest; the former is a mere decoy, the latter is a real assailant, and keeps his eyes steadily fixed on the ham-strings or flank of the horse. The critical moment is then watched, and the attack is simultaneous ; both wolves spring at their victim at the same instant, one to the throat, the other to the flank, and if successful, which they generally are, the hind one never lets go his hold until the horse is completely disabled. Instead of springing forward, or kicking to disengage himself, the horse turns round and round without attempting a defence. The wolf before then springs behind, to assist the other. The sinews are cut, and in half the time I have been describing it, the horse is on its side ; his struggles are fruitless—the victory is won. At this signal the lookers-on close in at a g a ll o p, b ut the small fry of foliowers keep at a respectful distance until their superiors are gorged, then they take their turn unmolested. The wolves, however, do not always kill to eat ; like wasteful hunters, they often kill for the pleasure of killing, and leave the carcases untouched.— The Fur Hunters of the Far West. OPIUM AND OTHER STIMULANTS.—The following is part of an interesting article in Blackwood's .Maga zine for Nov. :—" The universal craving for these stimulants, which confer for the time such enjoyment and spiritual elation, however dangerous may be the indulgence to which it leads, springs from an attribute of our nature which may well be called divine. What occasions that craving but a longing for a higher species of enjoyment that men can find in ordinary life ? In its lower forms, it may be but a craving for sensual excitement—but it is a supreme spiritual joy, and intellectual exaltation that allure the victims of narcotics. They yearn for the dawn of that heaven within which makes their joy. A Plato nist would say it is a yearning of the soul after joys which it once knew, but has now lost, and whose me mories haunt it like the lingering echoes of music heard in dreams. More truly, however, would it be said to be a proof of the divine nature of the soul, which cannot be satisfied with the pleasures of a fallen world, and which yearns after the happiness of a higher state of being—a happiness which is indeed held out in prospect to all, but the true passport to which is not the hasty coining of an indolent counterfeit of it here, but a manly facing of work and purifying sorrows, and the steady cultivation of the noble grace of self-denial. The intense miseries which are the set-off to this fleet ing, artificial enjoyment, may well repel men from re lying upon narcotics as a means of gratification. Truly it may be said of such indulgence, `the end of these things is death.' For what is the existence of the habitual opium-eater but a walking nightmare, a life-in-death ? ' Conceive a poor miserable wretch,' wrote Coleridge of himself, ' who for many years has been attempting to beat off pain by a constant recurrence to a vice that re-produces it. Conceive a spirit in hell employed in tracing out for others the road to that heaven from which his crimes exclude him ! In short, conceive whatever is most wretched, helpless, and hopeless, and you will form as tolerable a notion of my state as it is possible for a good man to have.' How difficult it is to redeem one self from such bondage is known to all, but hardly the agonies and distresses which accompany the efforts of self-deliverance. Even supposing, after the inseparable lapses and relapses of months, the victim triumphs, and the vice is abandoned—what a melancholy paean 181 is that which conies from the lips of the victor ! I triumphed,' says De Quincey : but think not, reader, that my sufferings were ended. Think of me as of one, even when four months had passed, still agitated, writhing, throbbing, palpitating, shattered, and much in the situation of one who has been racked.' " A PICTURE OF PEREKOF AND THE ISTHMUS.—The Isthmus of Perekop itself is about five miles broad, and stretches from the Bay of Karkinit on the side of the Black Sea to the Sivash, which is connected with the Sea of Azoff by the Strait of Yenitchi. It appe ars that this Isthmus—barring new earth-works—was till lately defended by an irregular fortress erected on the south side of a deep ditch, and protected by a high wall, built of freestone, stretching right across the Isthmus, which rises slightly in the middle. The fosse and the wall are said to have been formed in ancient times by the inhabitants of the peninsula to defend themselves against the incursions of the nomades of the steppes. At the present time there is, according to Mr. Danby Seymour, a bridge across the fosse, and a stone gateway which' presents rather an interesting appearance as seen from the north. On either side are a few straggling houses, inhabited by Tartars, Jews, and Russians, most of whom derived their sup port from the salt lakes in the vicinity. The princi pal part of the town is at a distance of about two miles farther south, and goes by the name of the Armenian Bazaar, from a group of that speculative and industri ous nation having established themselves there. It contains a custom-house, and comptoirs for the brandy distilleries, and salt magazines, besides a number of shops for the supply of the wayfarer, and about 900 in habitants. There are also a mosque with two minarets, and a Russian and Armenian church. The quantity of salt exported by this route is immense. According to Vsevolovski, more than 20,000 waggons are annu ally employed in the trade. The same waggons have been of infinite service _during the present campaign in forwarding men and munitions across the steppe.. They are drawn by oxen , an d generally form large . caravans, the sight of which afford an agreeable relief to the eye of the traveller when wearied by the con tinuous monotony of the plains. The salt is produced by evaporation on the surface of the lakes, some of which have a circumference of upwards of twenty versts (one verst is equal to one-seventh of a geogra phical mile), and are in general shallow, having for merly had communication with the sea. The soil around is also impregnated with salt, and the vegeta tion is consequently in part that of a saline plain. The Tartar ttmi hesue cattle cah s sheep,vt aharaue that w f to o efh n do d t sbhe o ye f itphe t r h se he i P s smaak isiao partake f gsa v o l u e t g r mm e t oee a fat t sd i to. meadow m saas n ina t er to eg n au , las s h : Bentley's Miscellany. PARISIAN MARRIED LADIES.—In the various trades of Paris there are very few, excepting those exclu sively devoted to men, such as tailors, saddlers, and so forth, where the wife and husband are not together, in the shop and counting-ho use , f rom morn i ng till night. They have their home above their shop, and there they repair together, leaving the shop in the care of the premiere demoiselle, to take their meals with their children—enjoying this family meeting as a moment's respite from the daily toils, and talking of their future plans, or the amusements which next Sunday is to bring forth. Now the husband has no need of a confidential friend, to whom to confide his perplexities or embarrassments ; his wife knows all his liabilities, all his resources. She will advise with him, devising the best means to meet them, or with the ready wit and quickness of a woman, find some resource or expedient which he has never thought of. Then he has no anxiety as to his cash, for his wife is cashier, and makes up the books ; all fear of being cheated or robbed is, therefore, removed from his mind. Their interests are mutual, so he can attend to the outside trade, the buying and selling in the wholesale market, in pe r fe c t s ecurity that no one is taking ad vantage of his absence. Madame, however, though she is a woman of business, does not forget that she is a woman, and does her best to be an attractive one, both in her dress and in her manners. In this class a dereliction from virtue is almost unheard of. The change in society which has taken away the pomp of circumstance from the nobility, and reformed its morals, has taken away the only danger to which this class of women was exposed. The seduction of a marchande by one of her own class has, perhaps, never occurred—and were it to happen, the justice of society IS 6 15. 0,