The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1848-12-26 00:00:00

Dec. 26, IS4B. tatrature. --,•-•......-- VARIETIES. I observe in England that people talk much less of liberty than we do on the Continent, but practice it more. =Merle d'Aubigne. THE DIFFERENCE.—When a poor loafer is keeled up, with an empty rum bottle by his side, the papers say, "Another victim of intemperance." When a respectable citizen eats a dinner that kills him in a few hours, with or without the help of a doctor, the same papers head his obituary notice, Mysterious Providence. —American paper. DEAR-BOUGHT WIT.—A gentleman observing, with a /significant shake of the head, as a compliment to his own sagacity and experience, that wit was nevergood till it was dear-bought, another, whose opin ion of the speakers wit was at a very low ebb, made the following galling remark Then we may presume, sir, you bought your portion of the commodity under prime cost. " THE " RAW-HEAD AND BLOODY BONES" STYLE. — " It will be written in history that Ferdinand of Austria, the most remarkable monster of modern times, after bombarding the three principal cit ies of his empire , Prague, and Vienna, and savagely murdering, in cold blood as well as hot, thousands of their inhabitants in the course of a few short months of the year 1848, descended from the gore-bespattered throne and retired from the curses of mankind into private life, there to revel in and gloat over his reminiscences of blood. In announcing this retreat of the half-witted butcher of his people, the .Allgemeine Zeitung informs us," &c.—LiverpooLlibion. THE NEW FRENCH PRESIDENT.—Loafs Napoleon Bonaparte, the first President of the French Republic, was born in Paris in the month of Api il, 1808. His tether was Louis Bonaparte, afterwards King of Holland, who, on the fall of Napoleon assumed the title of Comte de St. Len. His mother was the beautiful, the accomplished, the affectionate, the beloved Queen Hortense—the danzh ter of Josephine, the sister of Eugene Beauharnais. The Emperor Napoleon and the Empress Josephine were his 'godfather and godmother. Louis Napoleon was the se -cond son of Louis and Hortense ; their eldest son Napo leon, who was a great favourite with the Emperor, was `killed in an emeute in Rome, in the year 1831, in which Vrneute Prince Louis Napoleon also took part. The Em- Peror, before his marriage with Maria Louisa, had de lwed that in the event of his dying without issue, it was J'is desire that he Imperial Crown should descend to the eldiSt Son of hte brother rntiw; and - it was - upon the quetei -bequest of the Emperor that Prince Louis Napoleon founded his claims to the Imperial Throne of France. After the events of 1814-15, when the Bonapartes were expelled from France, the Comte de St. Leu and his eld est son took up their residence in Italy, while Queen Hor tense and her second son, Louis Napoleon, retired to Switzerland, where the Prince was educated and brought tip under the eye of his mother. On the death of his brother, and of the Duke of Reichstadt, Prince Louis Napoleon considered himself as the representative of the Bonaparte family, and a', therefore entitled to the Impe rial Crown of France. He at once adopted measures to make good his claims against those of the House of Or leans, which certainly had no more legitimate right to the French throne than had Prince Lou s Napoleon himself. In April, 1836, the French Chambers, on the motion of M. Tillers, then Prime Minister of France. relected a pe tition from the members of the Bonaparte family, praying for a restoration of their civil rights as Frenchmen, and for permission to return to France, and within a few months Prince Louis Napoleon made an effort to seize the fortress of Strasburg by a coup de main. The at tempt was unsuccessful, and the nephew of the Emperor became the prisoner of Louis Philippe, who had the Prince conveyed on board the frigate Anctromedr, which sailed with sealed orders. Oa opening his orders the cap tain found that he was directed by the King to keep at sea for five months, and then to land Princes Louis Napoleon at New York. No sooner had the Andromeda sailed than Louis Phillippe caused a notification to be in serted in the Government journals that Prince Louis had passed his word of honour never to return to Europe; and, consequently, when the Prince returned to Europe to visit his mother, it was universally believed that he had violated his word. The Procureur-General of Louis Phil lip was forced to admit this fact on the trial of Prince . Louis Napoleon for the Boulogne affair, in 1840. In the year 1837 Prince Louis Napoleon landed in England from America, in order to proceed at once to Switzerland to visit his mother, who was dying. The French King, however, threw every possible obstacle in his way, and it was only by the personal intervention of the late Duke of Sussex that he was enabled to obtain passports for Swit zerland. At the death of his mother Prince Louis Napo leon took up his residence in England. In August, 1840, the Prince landed at Boulogne, and was again made pri soner by the French government. Among the papers in his possession when taken at Boulogne were several pro clamations, all, however, of a monarchial tendency. " I command you," he says in his manifesto to the command ing officers of regiments, "I command you to place the eagles on the colours of your regiments, to raise them with the cries of France for ever, long live the Emperor." He was tried before the Chamber of Peers on the 6th Oc tober, and sentenced to perpetual imprisonment in the Castle of Ham, but from which, however, he escaped in 1847, and came then to reside in England. MRS. HEatANS. — Felicia Dorothea Browne—such was the maiden name of Mrs. Hemans—was born in Liver pool, 25th September, 1793. She is described as distin guishrd " almost from her cradle by extreme beauty end precocious talents." When of the age of seven years, her father, who had been a merchant of considerable opulence, mu wan a reverse - or - rornme - , — sint — rt. ,--- famiiT Wales, "where for the next nine years they resided at Gwrych, near Abergele, in Denbighshire,—a large old mansion, close to the sea, and shut in Ly a picturesque range of mountains,"—a change of residence which was, at all events, highly propitious for the development of the poetic character. "In the calm seclusion of, this roman tic region, with ample range through the treasures of an -extensive library, the young poetess passed a happy child hood, to which she would often fondly revert amidst the vicissitudes of her after-life. - Here she imbibed that in tense love of nature which ever afterwards haunted her like a passion,' and that warm attachment for the green land of Wales'—its affectionate, true-hearted people — their traditions, their music, and all their interesting cha: xacteristics, which she cherished to the last hours of her existence." A pleasant picture this—the large old house near the sea, and amongst mountains, with Welsh harpers and Welsh traditions, and great store of books, and the little girl ranging at will through all. This, and the pic ture we have of the young student conning her Shalispeare, her choicest recreation, " in a secret haunt of her own—a seat amongst the branches of an old apple-tree—where she 'revelled in the treasures of the cherished volume"—are all we learn of her childhood, and all perhaps that re mained to tell. Our poetess was very soon in print. Few have commenced their life of authorship 30 early. In the year 1808 some friends, " perhaps more Partial than judicious," published a collection of her poems, written at and before the age of fourteen, in a quarto volume. Not long after this first publication of her poems, the next great event of her life took place— her introduction to Captain Hemans. " The young poe tess was then only fifteen, in the full glow of that radiant beauty which was destined to fade so early. The man tling bloom of her cheeks was shaded by a profusion of natural ringlets, of a rich golden brown ; and the ever varying expression of her brilliant eyes gave a changeful play to her countenance, which would have made it im possible for any painter to do justice to it." No wonder that so fair a being should excite the admiration of a gal lant captain. And the love on both sides was ardent and sincere: it supported the absence of three years; for Capt. Hemans, soon after their introduction, was called upon to embark with his regiment for Spain. On his return, in 1812, they were married. Of their domestic happiness. or unhappiness, nothing is said ; but, six years -after, in 1818, we are simply told that the Captain went to Rome, and never returned. The separatPd pair never met again. "To dwell on this subject," says her biographer, would be unnecessarily painful; yet it must be stated, that nothing like a permanent separation was contem plated at the time, nor did it ever amount to more than a tacit conventional arrangement, which offered no obstacle to the frequent interchange of correspondence, nor to a constant reference to their father in all things relating to the disposal of her boys. But years rolled on—seventeen years of absence, and consequently alienation ; and from 'this time to the hour of her death, Mrs. Hemans and her husband never met again." We are not in general anxious to pry into the domestic afflictions of-any pair whom wed lock has mismatched. If we fee! a little curiosity to know more than the sister has told us in this instance, it is merely from a wish to learn how far the poetic tempera ment of Mrs. Hemans could be assigned as the real cause of her matrimonial unhappiness. Did the Captain -grow weary of the society of one whose feelings were pitched in too high a key for him to sympathise with ? was there too much of poetry mingled with the daily food of life ? " Men, by St. Thomas! cannot live like bees." Did he yearn for something more homely, as she, on her side, yearned for something more elevated ? Had he been made to feel that he did not approach the ideal of her imagination, and that the admiration she once had given was withdrawn ? Or should we say of her, in lines of her .own " There are hearts So perilously fashioned, that for them God's touch alone bath gentleness enough To waken, and not break, their thrilling strings." Of this perhaps some future biographer may tell us.— Blackwood's Magazine. EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT.—Ten years ago, in the midst of a storm which had raised drifts of snow thirteen feet deep across different spots of the road, a traveller set out in a heavily-laden cart, from Kinguisse, in Badenoch, to cross Drumwachter ; a friend and a Newfoundland dog were with him in the cart. Near to Dalwhinnie Inn, the storm turned horse and cart upside down, threw the traveller and his friend into the road, and carried the dog some way over the drift. The traveller's hat, which con tained an important letter, was blown away out of sight, and, when the dog got back, he was sent in pursuit of it. He disappeared in chase, and only returned just as the horse and cart had been set upright, nearly an hour after the overturn. The journey was completed by aid of a band of twenty Highlanders. On examining his hat the traveller found that the letter had fallen out of it and *seeped the notice of his brave and sagacious dog, and be was put to serious loss by the misfortune. A singular incident remains to be told. The lost letter arrived to its address a few days ago, by post, but the gentleman to whom it was written was no more. He died about eight years ago, and it was given to the writer. It was found on the banks of Loch Ericht, a desolate region, about eight miles from Dalwhinnie, by a shepherd, who simply says on the envelope, " Found at Loch Ericht side, by a shepherd." It is in surprising preservation, considering the number of years it has lain among the mountains. — Perthshire Courier. PROPHECY OF NIXON.—A prophecy of this famed Cheshire prophet, from the papers at Vale Royal, is now exciting considerable attention. It is " When a ,fox without cubs shall sit in the pulpit of the White Chapel of England, then men shall travel to Paris without horses, and kings shall run away and leave their crowns." It is a singular fact that the present incumbent of Daresbury (the White Chapel of England) is the Rev. Mr. Fawkes, who is unmarried. The striking accomplishment—railway travelling and the revolutions of the present year—must be obvious to every one. (So says our friend of the Stockport Advertiser; but we must confess that the no tion of supposing an unmarried clergyman of the name of Fawkes to be the antitype of " a fox without cubs," is rather forcing the interpretation ; and will not be so " obvious to every one" as some persons imagine.) THE DANDY AND HIS TAILOR AT MARRAST'S SOIREE.—An aristocratic young dandy, one of the most exclusive of our most fashionable lions, who, as he de clares, was present at Marrast's reception merely from curiosity, was invited by the mistress of the house to take his place at an ecarte table, where was already seated a gentleman waiting for a partner. The lion obeyed with scornful complaisance, and took the chair opposite to the stranger, who was already beginning to shuffle and sort the cards with agreeable anticipation of amusement, after long expectation. No sooner, however, was the dandy seated than he started with amazement on beholding in his partner the visage which will sometimes strike terror into the bosom of the bravest of mankind, the tailor to whom a long bill is owing. The latter, however, as will ing as the dandy to avoid recognition, merely bowed in answer to the stare of surprise of which he was the ob ject; and said quietly, as he drew his purse from his pocket, " What are our stakes ?" " The coat on my back," replied the impu lent dandy, without moving a muscle. The tailor is a man of humour, and rather enjoyed the joke than otherwise. He played for the coat, and lost, and the dandy walked away rather embarrassed at the novel position in which he stood as wearer of a coat which was really paid for.—Paris correspondent of Atlas. A MORMON MIRACLE.—The , body of the Mormons called upon their prophet. Joe Smith. to perform a miracle in public before all corners, which was to prove to these of their own people who still doubted the doctrine, the truth of what it advanced—(the power of performing miracles was steadfastly declared to be in their hands by the prophets)—and to enlist those who wavered in the Mormon cause. The prophet instantly agreed, and declared, that upon a certain day, be would walk across the broad waters of the Missouri without wetting the soles of his feet. On the appointed day, the river banks were .tbronged — hy expectant crowd. The Mormons sang hymns of praise in honour of their prophet, and were proud of the forthcoming miracle, which was to set finally at rest all doubt as to his power and sanctity. The power of performing miracles, and effecting miraculous cures of the sick, was so generally believed by the Mormons, that physic was never used amongst them. The prophets visited the beds of the sick, and laid hands upon them, and if, as of course, was almost invariably the case, the patient died, it was attributed to his or her want of faith ; hut if, on the contrary, the patient recovered, there was universal glorification on the miraculous cure. ' Joe Smith was a tall fine-looking man, of most plausible address, and possessed the gift of the gab in great perfection. At the time appointed for the performance of the walking water miracle, he duly attended on the river banks, and descended barefoot to the edge of the water. "My bre thren," he exclaimed in a loud voice, " this day is a happy one to me, to us all, who venerate the great and only faith. The truth of our great and blessed doctrine will now be proved before the thousands I see around me. You have asked me to prove by a miracle that the power of the prophets of old has been given to me. I say unto you, not only to me. but to all who have faith. I have faith, and can perform miracles—that faith empowers me to walk across the broad surface of that mighty river without wetting the soles of my unworthy feet ; but if ye are to see this miracle performed, it. is necessary that ye have faith also not only in yourselves but in me. Have ye this faith in yourselves ?" "We have, we have !" roared the crowd. " Then," said Joe Smith, coolly walk ing away, " with such faith do ye know well that 1 could, hut it hoots not that I should do it ; therefore, my bre thren, doubt no more"—and Joe put on his boots and disappeared.—Blackutood. THE COCKNEY AND THE SQUlRE.—Gregarious habits had no small share in forming the character of the Lon doner a century since. He was indeed a different being from the rustic Englishman. There was not then the in tercourse which now exists between the two classes. Only very great men were in the habit of dividing the year be tween town and country. Few esquires came to the capital thrice in their lives. Nor was it yet the practice of all ci tizens, in easy circumstances, to breathe the fresh air of the fields and woods during some weeks of every summer. A Cockney in a rural village was stared at as much as if he had intruded into a kraal of Hottentots. On the other hand, when the lord of a Lincolnshire or Shropshire manor appeared in Fleet-street, he was as easily distinguished from the resident population as a Turk or a Lascar. His dress, his gait, his accent, the manner in which he stared at the shops, stumbled into the gutters, ran against the porters, and stood under the water-spouts, marked him out as an excellent subject for the operation of swindlers and ban terers. Bullies jostled him into the kennel. Hackney coachmen splashed him from head to foot. Thieves ex plored with perfect security the huge pockets of his horse man's coat, while lie stood entranced by the splendour of the Lord Mayor's show. Money-droppers, sore from the cart's tail, introduced themselves to him, and appeared to him the most honest friendly gentlemen that he had ever seen. Painted women, the refuse of Lewkner Lane and Whetstone Park, passed themselves on him for countesses and maids of honour. If he asked his way to St. James's. -his informants sent him to Mile-end. If he went into a shop, he was instantly discerned to be a fit purchaser of everything that nobody else would buy of second-hand embroidery, copper rings, and watches that would not go. If he rambled into any fashionable coffee-house, he be- came a mark for the insolent derision of fops, and the grave waggery of Templars. Enraged and mortified, he soon returned to his mansion ; and there, in the homage of his tenants and the converlation of his boon compa nions, found consolation for the vexations and humi liations which he had undergone. There he once more felt himself a - great man ; and he saw nothing above him, except when at the assizes he took his seat on the bench near the judge, or when at the muster of the militia he sa luted the lord-lieutenant.—Macaulay's England. 'NEEDLESS OATHS IN LEGAL PROCEEDINGS.—A HINT TO THE LEGISLATURE.--Desiring to speak with the greatest possible diffidence, I nevertheless cannot help ex pressing a fear, that an oath is required far too frequently, and on utterly inadequate occasions, in the conduct of le gal business ; to an extent which is calculated to impair the sense of its awful character and incidents. Surely it is an act of tremendous significance. deliberately to invoke the Deity to witness that what is said on a given occasion is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I have sometimes shuddered at witnessing the unconcern. and even levity, with which oaths are given and taken, so as to degenerate into mere irreverent form. In Scotland the oath to a witness is administered with a grand solem nity. The judge rises from his seat, and raising his hand, requires the witness to do the same ; and then, their hands remaining elevated, he repeats after the judge the fol- lowing words I swear by Almighty God, and as I shall answer to God at the great Day of Judgment, that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth !" What could be more calculated to solemnise the mind, to search and quicken the conscience, than such an oath, so administered ? It might be as well, perhaps, if such were to be the practice in our own court. However this may be, I appeal to every one present whether oaths are not at present taken on a vast number of the most tri vial occasions that can occur in the course of ordinary bu siness ; administered hurriedly—taken without adequate reflection on the nature of the act—given and taken, in fact, almost mechanically—the dread words " So help me God !" pronounced trippingly on the tongue, IA hile the lips touch the sacred volume with hasty and impatient ac tion, the soul taking no part whatever in the matter! * * * * God forbid that on occasions of adequate im portance, a person should not be required to pledge his oath deliberately to the truth of his statement—to the sincerity of his belief and intention ; but in the name of all that is decorous and reverential, why should the same solemn ceremony be adopted in order to obtain a dig tringas—to set aside petty proceedings for petty irregu larities—to satisfy the court or a judge of the due service of rules and notices—that there is a good defence to an action on the indictment —or, in an affidavit of increase, to satisfy the master of the truth of a paltry detail of pounds, shillings, and pence, paid to witnesses, in tavern expenses, and so forth ! You know that I could occupy hours in enumerating the trifling occasions in which we audaciously venture thus to appeal to the Deity.—War ren's Duties of Attorneys. SOMNAMBITLISM.—AItogether, the most interesting case of somnambulism on record is that of a young eccle siastic, the narrative of which, from the immediate com munication of an Archbishop of Bordeaux, is given under the head of Somnambulism in the French Encyclopedia. This young ecclesiastic, when the archbishop was at the same seminary, used to rise every night, and write out either sermons or pieces of music. To study his condi tion, the archbishop betook himself several nights to the chamber of the young man, where he made the following observations :—The young man used to rise, to take paper, and to write. Before he wrote music he would take a stick and rule the lines with it. He wrote the notes, together with the words corresponding with them, with perfect correctness. Or, when he bad written the words too wide, he altered them. The notes that were to be black he filled in after he had completed the whole. After completing a sermon, he read it aloud from begin ning to end. If any passage displeased-him, he erased it, and wrote the amended passage correctly over the other; on one occasion he had to substitute the word " adorable" for " divin," but he did not omit to alte r th e p rece di ng " ce" into " cet," by adding the letter " t" with exact precision, to the word first written. To ascertain whe. ther he used his eyes, the archbishop interposed a sheet of pasteboard between the writing and his face. He took not the least notice, but went on writing as before. The limitation of his perceptions to what he was thinking about was very curious. A bit of •anniseed cake that he had sought for, he eat approvingly ; but when, on ano ther occasion, a piece of the same cake was put in his mouth, he spit it out vvithout observation. The following instance of the dependence of his perceptions upon, or rather their subordination to, his preconceived ideas, is truly wonderful. It is to be observed that he always knew when his pen had ink in it. Likewise, if they adroitly changed his papers, when he was writing, he knew if the sheet substituted was of different size from the former, and he appeared embarrassed in that case; but if the fresh sheet of paper, which was substituted for that written on, was exactly of the same size with the former, he appeared not to be aware of the change. And he could continue to read off his composition from the blank sheet of paper as fluently as when the manuscript itself lay before him; nay, more, he would continue his corrections and introduce the amended passage, writing it upon exactly the place on the blank sheet which it would have occupied on the written page.—Blackwood. THE LIVERPOOL STiNDARD. THE HAUNTED MAN AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN. By CHARLES DICKENS. have injured beyond human reparation. But there is one thing.' " You speak to me of what is lying here,' the Phan tom interposed, and pointed with its finger to the boy. "' I do,' returned the Chemist. " You know what I would ask. Why has this child alone been proof against my influence ; and why, why have I detected in its thoughts a terrible companionship with mine ?' " This,' said the Phantom, pointing to the boy, "is the last, completest illustration of a human creature, ut terly bereft of such remembrances as you have yielded up. No softening memory of sorrow, wrong, or trouble enters here, because this wretched mortal from his birth has been abandoned to a worse condition than the beasts, and has, within his knowledge, no one contrast, no humanising touch, to make a grain of such a memory spring up in his hardened breast. All within this desolate creature is barren wilderness. All within the man bereft of what you have resigned, is the same barren wilderness. Woe o such a man ! Woe, tenfold, to the nation that shall ount its monsters such as this, lying here, by hundreds a nd by thousands !' " REPUBLICAN FIRST FRUITS. (From Blackwood's Magazine.) Never, since humanity first took to stocking-wearing, was a vender of that useful article more scurvily treated than he was by the French republic of 1848. The 25th of February beheld hitn a prosperous man and an ardent re publican,—" a republican of the morrow," certainly. but no worse for that ; four months of liberty and fraternity brought him to ruin and suicide. At first, all his antici pations are rose-coloured. Increase of trade, an unlimi ted demand for hosiery, must be the consequences of the new order of things. He is fully persuaded great days are coming for the renowned establishment at the sign of the Spinning Monkey. The day atter the revolution he opens his shop as usual, but only to be bullied by an ouvrier, who steps in to buy a red cap, finds none but white, curses Bonitrdin for a Carlist, and carries off his national guardsman's musket. Uproar recommences in.the street; the ,hop is shut, and continues so for some days. The end of the month arrives ; there are payments to be made, and M. Bonardin sends t riquet to the bank with bills for dis count—first-rate paper at short date. Criquet brings then► back ; the best signatures no longer find cash. N. Bonardin is in all the agonies of a punctual paymaster who sees a :..hance of his signature's dishonour, when . - 4uddenly he is summoned to his duty as national guard. On his return, after a sleepness night and a fagging day, he has scarcely got amongst the blankets, when he is roused by voices in the street calling out, in a measured chant, for lamps at his windows. _ _ Bonardin, awaking in alarm, and jumping out of What is that? (Cries in the street, `Des lampions ! des lampions !) Good ! here they are again with their infernal lamps ! Impossible to sleep under this republic? Voices of . boys in the street. —Hallo! first floor! Spin ning Monkey LLamps! lamps ! _ M. Bonardin.—What a nuisance ! (calling out)— Babet! Babet ! The boys shouting,—Lamps or candles ! . . break the ugly monkey's windows, if he does not light up di rectly ! M. Bonardin.—Lord bless me! Babet ! Babet ! Babel, (running in.)—What is it, sir ? M. Bonardin.—Don't you hear them ? Cut a candle in eight pieces directly. Not a minute to lose ! The boys.—it's a Carlisse, (Carli.st.) Hallo, there ! lamps or candles ! Mr. Bonardin. (in his nightgown, opening the window.) —Directly, citizens, directly ! A minute's patience! 7he boys.—Ah ! there's the old monkey himself ! Bravo ! bravo ! D'un sang impur engraissons nos sillons!' M. Bonardin, (,flourishing his night-cap.)—Yes, yes, my friends, d'un sang impur Certainly, by all means ; Viva la Republique The bogs,—Vive la Rtfpublique I Down with the car lisses (Babet enters with eandle-ends ; .111. Bonardin retreats behind his bed-curtains.) Ah ! there's the mon key's wife lighting up at last. Bravo ! bravo ! Vive la .I?publigue The monkey's wife not bad-looking in her night-dress ! Cabet, (shutting the window.)—Do you hear, sir, those ragamuffins call me your wife? 111. Bonardin.—Well ! are you not flattered ? Babet.—Yes, indeed, the monkey's wife ! It's flatter ing ! They take' me for an ape, then ? M. Bonardin.—lf they will only let me sleep at last. Midnight already. Babet.—Prav, sir, is this to last long ? This is our sixth illumination. A whole packet of fives gone already ! M. Bonardin.—No, no, Babet—it is only the first mo ment. Recollect, the republic is but ten days old. .. . A single decade, no more. Babet.—A proper business it has been, your decade ! Alarms at every hour of the day and night ; the shop shut three quarters of the time, and no buyers when it is open ! A nice decade! And then the bank, that refuses your paper ; and then your bills, which you can't pay ; and then.... M. Bonardin.—Let me sleep, my poor Babet. All that is very true ; but what matter ? We have got the republic ; and you know as well as I do—THERE ARE NO ROSES WITHOUT THORNS." With this trite saying, the epigraph of the book, Bo nardin, a bit of a philosopher in his way, consoles himself, at the close of each disastrous decade, for the annoyances and calamities he has experienced in its course. These Pre countless, and of every kind. Now it is a polite note from the tax-gatherer, requesting him to pay down, in advance, the whole of the year's taxes, including an ex- traordinary contribution just decreed by government. Then Criquet, who has imbibed communist principles, in sists on sharing his master's profits, and M. Bonardin is afraid to refuse. Criquet, however, is glad to fall back upon his wages, on finding that, instead of profit, the shop leaves a heavy loss. Next comes a scamp of a nephew, emancipated from Clichy for the abolition of imprison ment for debt, who gets his uncle into various scrapes ; and a drunken godson, one Pacot, a soldier, who knocks his sponsor under the table, on pretence of his being reac tionary. Benardin goes to Rouen to assist at a wedding, and the railway takes him into a cross-fire, the town be ing in full revolution. Rent-day arrives, and he sets out as usual with receipts and a canvass-bag to collect the quarter's rent from the occupants of the five upper sto ries of his house ; but nobody pays. The workman in the attics takes the receipt and refuses the money, threaten ing to hang out the black flag if his landlord insists. One tenant feigns madness—another declares himself ruined — a third denies himself. Poor Bonardin returns home with a heavy heart and an empty bag. In short, his misfor tunes are innumerable. He is mixed up in revolts against his will, and without his knowledge ; is sent to prison, thumped with musket-buts, hidden in a cask, robbed in the national workshop. Finally, at the end of the thir teenth decade, he stands upon the bridge leading to the National Assembly, his face partly concealed by a hand kerchief, singing republican songs and asking alms. None give them. "lam a proprietor, my poor man," says one; " I can give you nothing." "Impossible, my good fellow," says the next ; " I am a manufacturer." "No change," says a third ; " I am a shopkeeper, and I sell nothing." " Sorry for you, my friend," replies another, " but lam an artist. In these times, that is as much as to tell you, I have not a sou in the world." " Alas !" ex claims a fifth, " I would relieve you with pleasure, but I am a poor employe, and the revolution has struck off a quarter of my salary." " What ill luck !" cries Bonar din ; " the revolution has ruined every body, it seems. But this is about the time when the representatives of the people repair to the National Assembly. They are gene rous, the worthy representatives. The millions they daily vote away sufficiently prove it. Courage ! people who spend so many millions will perhaps give me a few cop pers." He is mistaken ; the deputies pass, but none give him any thing ; whereupon he concludes they have not yet received their five-and-twenty francs. And as the repub lic will not give him bread, he resolves to seek water in the river, climbs the parapet, and throws himself into the the Seine—thus tragically terminating the volume, which, up to that point, is a farce, both broad and long, cram med with jokes and double-entendres of various merit, but all exhibiting, in a light as unfavourable as it is trun, the disastrous effects of the revolution upon the trade and prosperity of Paris. AN EXCEPTIONAL POETESS.-Tt is a remarkable fact that whilst the Ocean has elicited some of the loftiest compositions of Byron and other poets, in Mrs. Hemans it awakened no other thoughts than those of desolation and ruin. More than once she adopts a scriptural phrase, " And there shall be no more sea," as an expression of singular joy and congratulation, whilst throughout her works she looks at the expanse of water as the emblem of a ruthless and destructive Dower. PHONETIC SPELLING.—The remedy which is proposed for the state of things resulting from the extraordinary confusion into which our spelling has fallen, from the ca price or ignorance of those who first reduced it to writing, and the wilfulness of modern scribes, is to have an alpha bet of such a nature, that every letter in it shall have one definite signification, and shall always express the same sound under the same circumstances. The elements which have been chosen for alphabetical representation, are the sounds expressed by the italic letters in the words eel, ale, alms, all, ope, food ; /11, Ell, Am, Olive, Up, foot ; isle, oil, owl, mule; Yea, Way, Hay ; Pea, Bee, The, Doe, chest, Jest, Coat, Goat; Fie, Vie, thigh thy, Seal, Zeal, vicious vision; Lull, Rare; Mum, Nun, sing. Those who take the trouble to separate these sounds from the words which they contain, will see the philosophical order which prevails in the above arrangement. The forms of the letters are those with which we are already familiar. Out of the old alphabet, k, q, z have been re jected ; old letters are used for the 23 sounds in the words commencing with capital letters in the above list. and the 17 new letters introduced for the other sounds bear such a marked resemblance of form to the old letters as to be immediately recognisable; thus the sound in eel is repre sented by a modification of e, that in isle by a modification of i, and so on. Indeed, it is not uncommon to find pm - sons, even in advanced years, who have never made or thography or writing their study, take up works printed in the new alphabet, and read them with ease. Indepen dently of the great results which may be expected from introducing a philosophical alphabet into schools, there is a secondary advantage which is almost as great. This system will be invaluable to the missionary, in reducing unknown languages to writing. Mr. Ellis has already extended his alphabet to embrace all the European and Asiatic languages, and given examples of its use in 27 languages, (in his " Essentials of Phonetics," a scientific treatise on Phonology,) and there must be very few lan guages in the world which have sounds not found in these. In his newspaper, it will be instructive to see how the names of foreign persons and places, with which our co lumns are now so incomprehensibly filled, will dwindle down into intelligible sounds. We look forward to seeing Windischgriitz, Jellachich, Czech, and other monstrosi ties thus reduced to utterance. At present they ara mere middles to thousands of our readers. INGRATITUDE AND AVARICE. A REAL INCIDENT IN THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND. I Among the persons concerned in the Rye-House plot was a man named James Burton. By his own confession aiscussea by bis accomplices. When the conspiracy was detected a reward was offered for his apprehension. He was saved from death by an ancient matron, named Eli zabeth Gaunt. This woman, with the peculiar manners and phraseology which then distinguished her sect, had a large charity. Her life was passed in relieving the un happy of all religious denominations, and she was well known as a constant visitor of the gaols. Her political ' and theological opinions, as well as her compassionate disposition, led her to do everything in her power for Burton. She procured him a boat which took him to Gravesend, where he got on board of a ship bound for Amsterdam. At the moment of parting she put into his hand a sum of money which, for her means, was very large. Burton, after living some time in exile, returned to England with Monmouth, fought at Sedgemoor, fled to London, and took refuge in the house of John Fernley, a barber in Whitechapel. Fernley was very poor. He was besieged by creditors. He knew that a reward of a hun dred pounds was offered by the government for the appre hension of Burton. But the honest man was incapable of betraying one who, in extreme peril, had come under the shadow of his roof. Unhappily it was soon noised abroad that the anger of James Ras more strongly excited against those who harboured rebels than against the rebels them selves. He had publicly declared that of all forms of treason the hiding of traitors from his vengeance was the most unpardonable. Burton knew this. He delivered himself up to the government ; and he gave information against Fernley and Elizabeth Gaunt. They were brought to trial. The villain whose lite they had preserved had the heart and the forehead to appear as the principal wit ness against them. They were convicted. Fernley was sentenced to the gallows, Elizabeth Gaunt to the stake. Even after all the horrors of that year, many thought it impossible that these judgments could be carried into execution. But the king was without pity. Fernley was hanged. Elizabeth Gaunt was burned alive at Tyburn on the same day on which Cornish suffered death in Cheap side. She left a paper written, indeed, in no graceful style, yet such as was read by many thousands with com passion and horror. "My fault," she said, " was one which a prince might have forgiven. I did but relieve a poor family, and lo ! I must die for it." She complained of the insolence of the judges, of the ferocity of the gaoler, and the tyranny of him, the great one of all, to whose pleasure Fhe and so many other victims had -been sacrificed. In as far as they had injured herself, she forgave them : but, in that they were im placable enemies of that good cause which would yet revive and flourish, she left them to the judgment of the King of kings. To the last she preser-ed a tranquil courage, which reminded the spectators of the most heroic deaths of which they had read in Fox. William Penn, for whom exhibitions which humane men generally avoid seem to have had a strong attraction, hastened from Cheapside, where he had seen Cornish hanged, to Tyburn, in order to see Elizabeth Gaunt burned. He afterwards rclated that, when she calmly disposed the straw about her in such a manner as to shorten her sufferings, all the bystanders burst into tears. It was much noticed that, whilst the foulest judicial murder which had disgraced even these times was perpetrating, a tempest burst forth, such as had not been known since that great hurricane which had rac , ed round the death-bed of Oliver. The oppressed Puritans reckoned up, not without a gloomy satisfaction, the houses whica had been blown down, and the ships which had been cast away, and derived some consolation from thinking that heaven was bearing awful testimony against the iniquity which afflicted the earth. Since that terrible day no woman has suffered death in England for any political offence.—Macaulay's History. there's the prim-rose. PROBLEM.— Given, An estate in Tipperary. Required, The rents. Any one solving the above problem may have the estate in question to himself.—Punch. THE NORTHERN COUNTIES 160 YEARS SINCE.—A large part of the country beyond Trent was down to the eighteenth century in a state of barbarism. Physical and moral causes had concurred to prevent civilization from spreading to t tint region The air was inc was generally such as required skilful and industrious cultivation ; and there could be little skill or industry in a tract which was often the theatre of war, and which, even when there was nominal peace, was constantly desolated by bands of Scottish marauders. Before the union of the as great a difference between Middlesex ai land, as there now is between Massachus .nd Nortbumbe tts and the set- ), far to the West of the Mississippi, render a rude justice with the rifle and the dagger. In the reign of Charles the Second, the traces tletw:nts of t hose squatters vi left by ages of slaughter and pillage were still perceptible, many miles south of the Tweed, in the face of the country and in the lawless manners of the people. There was still 'roopers, w . dwellings and to drive away whole herds of . cattle. It was found necessary soon after the Restoration to enact laws of great severity for the prevention of these outrages. The magistrates of Northumberland and Cumberland were authorized to raise bands of armed men for the defence of property and order ; and provision was made for meeting the expense of these levies by local taxation. The pa rishes were required to keep bloodhounds for the purpose of hunting the freebooters. Many old men who were living in the middle of the eighteenth century could well remember the time when those ferocious dogs were com- Yet even wit the hills and moraeses ; for the geography of that wild country was very imperfectly known. Even after the ac cession of George the Third, the path over the fells from Borrowdale to Ravengl: s was still a secret carefully kept by the dalesmen ; some of whom had probably in their youth escaped from the pursuit of justice by that road. The seats of the gentry and the larger farm-houses were fortified. Oxen were penned at night beneath the over hanging battlements of the residence, which was known by the name of the peel. The inmates slept with arms at their sides. Huge stones and boiling water were in readi ness to crush and scald the plunderer who might venture to assail the little garrison. No traveller ventured into that country without making his will. The judges on circuit, with the whole body of barristers, attorneys, clerks, and serving-men, rode on horseback from New castle to Carlisle. armed, and escorted by a strong guard under the command of the sheriffs. It was necessary to carry provisions ; for the country was a wilderness which afforded no supplies. The spot where the cavalcade halted to dine. under an immense oak, is not yet forgot ten. The irregular vigour with which criminal justice was administered shocked observers whose life had been passed in more tranquil districts. Juries, animated by hatred and by a sense of common danger, convicted housebreakers and cattle-stealers with the promptitude of a court-martial in a mutiny; and the convicts were hur ried by scores to the gallows. Within the memory of some who are still living, the sportsman who wandered in pursuit of game to the sources of the Tyne found the heaths round Keeldar Castle peopled by a race scarcely less savage than the Indians of California, and heard with surprise the half-naked women chanting a wild measure, while the men with brandished dirks danced a war-dance. —Macaulay's England. SINGULAR COINCIDENCES IN FRENCH REVOLUTIONS. —ln the elder branch of the Bourbons, the Duke de Berri, the son of Charles X., espoused a foreign princess, and had: by her a son, who was regarded as the heir to the throne: in the younger, the son of Louis Philippe 1., likewise espoused a foreign princess, and had by her a son, likewise regarded as the eventual heir to the dynasty. The father to the Duke de Bordeaux was assassinated on the thirteenth of February, 1820: the father of the Count of Paris died by an accident on the thirteenth of July, 1842. In both the years preceding the fall of either monarch, the price of provisions was at an excessive height, the want was great, and the cold such that the Seine was fro zen over—a circumstance which did not occur between the winters of 1829 and 1847. In both instances, the anti-liberal tendencies of the heads of the state, after most inviting promises, called forth from their best friends remonstrances upon the course they were pursuing, and warnings of an approaching crisis, which in both instances were rejected. In both instances, the last speech of the crown to the parliament assembled, contained words con cerning the " culpable manoeuvres," or " blind inimical passions," of the Opposition which created the discontent and called forth the protest of several deputies, and the resolution to hold the famous banquet. The capture of the Dey of Algiers, and that of Abd-cl-Kader, which im mediately preceded each catastrophe, were both in vain considered as triumphs by the ministry of the day. The ordinances of July suspended the liberty of the press ; an ordinance in February prohibited the banquet. In both cases these ordinances caused a commotion in the capital, and a species of presentiment of revolution on the Monday evening ; on the following day the revolt broke out, and lasted during three days, commencing on the Tuesday, and terminating op the Thursday ; and the power fell into the hands of the insurgents. The gendarmerie in the one case, the municipal guard—another name for the same corps—in the other, offered the chief defence of royalty. were overcome, and finally disbanded. Charles X. fell from his throne at the age of seventy-four, Louis Philippe at the same age ; the one in July, the month in which the Duke of Orleans died—the other in February, the month in which the Due de Berri was assassinated. Each mo narch abdicated in favour of his grandson ; each was met by the fatal cry, "Il est trap lard." In each case a pro , visional government was established, and the royal family ' was obliged to quit the French territory ; both the mo narchs sought a temporary refuge in England. Here, however, the " coincidences" offer a striking dissimilitude. The one monarch was accompanied, in his departure, by his guards and numbers of faithful servitors—the other fled poor, wretched, and in disguise, abandoned by those who had called themselves his friends : the one shed tears on landing in the country of exile—the other hailed it with joy. In both cases the ministers of the fallen king were impeached. In even smaller circumstances, other coinci dences have been recorded. During the combats of both revolutions, the temperature was excessively warm for the season of the year—a circumstance not wholly without its weight, if the well-known barometric nature of the Pari sian temperament be taken into consideration : and a few days after in both years, an extraordinary tempest burst over the capital, obscured it for many hours in darkness, and swept down the new flag placed aloft upon the column of the Place Vendome. Coincidences, predictions, reve lations—all may, perhaps, be looked upon, by the scepti cally reasoning mind of plain matter-of-fact, with scorn. To such, then, they are here only given as curious mat ters of historical interest. At the same time, in the un certainty as to the issue of the convulsions under the throes of which Europe is at present writhing, the trou bled wind may surely attach itself to the obscure revela tions of such strange announcements, and endeavour clea'.ly to see its way through their dimness, without too mrich deserving the stigma usually attached to supersti • tious credulity.—Blackwood's Magazine. (From the Guardian.) Again has Dickens taken up his pen to give us a Christ mas present, this time with more than average success. If not equal to his Christmas Carol, this new tale is very superior to The Battle of Life. As a whole it does not rise above the level of his previous works; there is the same deficiency of plot; the same clever but over-drawn sketChes; the same thin dialogue, and the same abrupt bursts of sentiment, which his readers value as much or as little as they please : . The haunted man is a chemical lecturer at an old col lege, who, on a Christmas Eve, brooding over the memo ries of the past, and his fire at the same time, in a nonde script sort of apartment, is interrupted by the porter bringing his dinner, and his wife and father bearing holly and evergreens for the decoration of his chamber. The old man wishes " a merry Christmas and a happy new year, and many of them," to the anything but merry pro fessor, who avows his disbelief that the old man can have merry and happy recollec:ions of the eighty-seven anni versaries of the season he has passed ; though he delights in referring to an old portrait of the founder of the college, with the motto, " Lord, keep my memory green." On the departure of these domestic visitors we have the ghost ;—but let Mr. Dickens describe the appearance of the apparition : " As they passed out and shut the heavy door, which, however carefully withheld, fired along train of reverbera tions when it shut at last, the room turned darker. " As he fell a-musing in his chair alone, the healthy holly withered on the wall, and dropped—dead branches. " As the gloom and shadow thickened behind him, in that place where it had been gathering so darkly, it took : by slow degrees,—or out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process, not to be traced by any human sense,—an awful likeness of himself ! " Ghastly and cold, colourless in its leaden face and hands, but with his features, and his bright eyes, and his grizzled hair, and dressed in the gloomy shadow of his dress, it came into its terrible appearance of existence, motionless, without a sound. As he leaned his arm upon the elbow of his chair, ruminating before the fire, it leaned upon the chair-back, close above him, with its appalling copy of his face looking where his face looked, and bear ing the expression his face bore. " This, then, was the Something that had passed and gone already This was the dread companion of the haunted man The haunted man bargains with the ghost to lose his memory of the past, " to forget the sorrow, wrong, and trouble he has known," the condition being that he shall " destroy its like in all whom it approaches." Then fol low scenes of happy families made miserable, and the most wretched creatures still more wretched, through coming in contact with the being who looks on happiness as consisting in oblivion of past trouble; till the latter is taught to hate himself, from the selfishness that takes pos session of each individual, as soon as his memory is ren dered by the haunted man, in the hope of conveying hap piness, a dreary blank. The sickly student rising from his couch sees hut selfish officiusness in the tender solici tude of her he has hitherto deemed the kindest of nurses ; the children, instead of sharing lovingly as before, their short commons, fight for the breakfast yet in perspective; the husband and wife revile each other for present misery, forgetful of the sorrow they had shared together • the dy ing penitent returns to blasphemy on his death bed, when the memory of his earlier days are blotted out; the son thinks his old father has lived too long, and the parent, in his turn, becomes a drivelling discontented imbecile; all alike suffer from the intended boon, except an idiot boy, or rather a wholly untaught chili, who defies the haunted man, and is impervious to all attempts to destroy the memory he never had. The counteracting Spirit of Good interferes at last ; herself (she is a woman, of course) unconscious of, her powers ; but the manner of their in terference we must leave our readers to find in the tale it self. We have said enough to give our readers a notion of the moral of the story, and, making full allowance for some inconsistencies in the working out of the plot, it will be found amusing. We shall conclude our notice with a couple of extracts. Here is a sketch of a shop in a coun try town, or out of the way suburbs of a city : Tetterby's was the corner shop in Jerusalem Build ings. There was a good show of literature in the window, chiefly consisting of picture newspapers out of date, and serial pirates, and footpads. Walking-sticks, likewise, and marbles, were included in the stock in trade. It had once extended into the light confectionery line; but it would seem that those elegancies of life were not in de mand about Jerusalem Buildings, for nothing connected with that branch of commerce remained at the window, except a sort of small glass lantern containing a languish ing mass of bull's-eyes, which had melted in the summer and congealed in the winter until all hope of getting them out, or of eating them without eating the lantern too,was gone for ever. Tetterbv's had tried its hand at several things. It had once made a feeble little dart at the toy business ; for, in another lantern, there was a heap of mi nute wax dolls, all sticking together upside down. in the direst confusion, with their feet on one another's heads, and a precipitate of broken arms and legs at the bottom. It had made a move in the millinery direction, which a few dry, wiry bonnet shapes remained in a corner of the win dow to attest. It had fancied that a living might lie hid den in the tobacco trade, and had stuck up a representa tion of a native of each of the three integral portions of the British empire, in the act of consuming that fragrant weed ; with a poetic legend attached, importing that, united in one cause, they sat and joked, one chewed to bacco, one took snuff, one smoked: but nothing seemed to have come of it—except flies. Time bad been when it had put a forlorn trust in imitative jewellery, for in one pane of glass there was a card of cheap seals, and another of pencil-cases, and a mysterious black amulet of inscru table intention, labelled ninepence. But, to that hour, Jerusalem Buildings had bought none of them. In short, Tetterby's had tried so hard to get a livelihood - out of Je rusalem Buildings in one way or other, and appeared to have done so indifferently in all, that the best position in the firm was too evidently Co.'s ; Co., as a bodiless crea tion, being untroubled with the vulgar inconveniences of hunger and thirst, being chargeable neither to the poor's rates nor the assessed taxes, and having no young family to provide for." By way of contrast, we will give the scene where the benign influence of Memory first shadows forth a return of peace to the haunted man : "At such a time, the Christmas .music he had heard before, began to play. He listened to it at first, as he had listened in the churchyard ; but presently—it playing still, and being borne towards him on the night air, in a low, sweet, melancholy strain—he rose, and stood stretch ing his hands about him, as if there were some friend approaching within his reach, on whom his desolate touch might rest, yet do no harm. As he did this, his face became less fixed and wondering ; a gentle trembling came upon him ; and at last his eyes filled with tears, and he put his eyes before them, and bowed down his head. " His memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble, had not come back to him ; he knew that it was not restored ; he had no passing belief or hope that it was. But some dumb stir within him made him capable, again, of being moved by what was hidden, afar off, in the music. If it were only that it told him sorrowfully the value of what he had lost, he thanked Heaven for it with a fervent gratitude. _ _ "As the last chord died upon his ear, he raised his head to listen to its lingering vibration. Beyond the boy, so that his sleeping figure lay at its feet, the Phantom stood, immovable and silent, with its eyes upon him. " Ghastly it was, as it had ever been, but not so cruel and relentless in its aspect—or he thought or hoped so, as he looked upon it, trembling. It was not alone, but in its shadowy hand it held another hand. "And whose was that? Was the form that stood beside it indeed Milly's, or but her shade and picture ? The quiet head was bent a little, as her manner was, and her eyes were looking down, as if in pity, on the sleeping child. A radiant light fell on her face, but did not touch the Phantom ; for, though close beside her, it was dark and colourless as ever. " Spectre !' said the Chemist, newly troubled as he looked, ' I have not been stubborn or presumptuous in respect of her. Oh, do not bring her near. Spare me that 1' " This is but a shadow,' said the Phantom ; when the morning shines, seek out the reality whose image I present before you.' " ' Is it my inexorable doom to do so ?' cried the Chemist. " It is,' replied the Phantom. " To destroy her peace, her goodness ; to make her what I am myself, and what I have made of oth ers !' " I have said " seek her out," ' returned the Phan tom. have said no more.' Oh, tell me,' exclaimed Redlaw, catching at the hope which he fancied might lie hidden in the words, ` Can I undo what I have done ?' " ` No,' returned the Phantom. " Ido not ask for restoration to myself,' said Redlaw, What I abandoned, I abandoned of my own will, and have justly lost. But for those to whom I have transfer red the fatal gift; who never sought it: who unknowingly received a curse of which they had no warning, and which they had no power to shun • can I do nothing ?' " Nothing,' said the Phantom. " ' If I cannot, can any one ?' " The Phantom, standing like a statue, kept its gaze upon him for a while; then turned its head suddenly, and looked upon the shadow at its side. " Ah ! Can bile ?' cried Redlaw, still looking upon the shade. " The Phantom released the hand it had retained till now, and softly raised its own with a gesture of dismissal. Upon that, her shadow, still preserving the same attitude, began to move or melt away. Stay,' cried Redlaw, with an earnestness to which he could not give enough expression. For a moment ! As an act of mercy ! I know that some change fell upon me, when those sounds were in the air just now. Tell me, have I lost the power of harming her ? May Igo near her without dread ? Oh, let her give me any sign of hope !' " The Phantom looked upon the shade as he did—not at him—and gave no answer. " At leasl, say this—has she, henceforth, the con sciousness, of any power to set right what I have done.' " ' She has not,' the Phantom answered. " ' Has she the power bestowed on her without the consciousness " The Phantom answered : Seek her out.' And her shadow slowly vanished. " They were face to face again, and looking on each other, as intently and awfully a s a t th e time of the be stowal of the gift, across the boy who still lay on the ground between them, at the Phantom's feet. • " ' Terrible instructor,' said the Chemist, sinking on his knee before it, in an attitude of supplication, by whom I was renounced, but by whom I am revisited, (in which, and in whose milder aspect, I would fain believe have a gleam of hope,) I will obey without inquiry, pray. ing that the cry I have sent up in the anguish of my soul has been, or will be, heard, in behalf of those whom I THE COLLEGIATE INSTITUTION DISTRIBUTION OF PRIZES. On Thursday, at noon, the customary distribution of prizes to deserving pupils, prior to the breaking up for the Christmrts Collegiate institute. The Right Rev. Dr. Graham, the lord bishop of the diocese, presided; and amongst., the gentlemen on the platform we observed William Brown, Esq., M.P. ; J. Bramley-Moore, Esq., the mayor; Adam Hodgson. Esq. ; Josias Booker, Esq. ; E. Moly - Elena, Esq.; Mr. Bennett, Mr. Walthew, the Rev. Rector Campbell. and the Rev. Dr. M'Neile. The hall was filled in every part by the pupils and their relative fliend s; . . and the animating cheerfulness which beamed from every youthful countenance rendered the ceremony as pleasing as it was interest The proceedings - commenced by the tiful anthem. aging of a beau- The Rev. Mr. HOWSON, the principal, then rose. After adverting, in neat terms, to his connexion with the insti tute, he proceeded. —lt is now six years sinca these schools, founded by generous contributions, and built up amidst sanguine hopes. were finally complete and thrown open to the public. The first principal was one of my intimate friends during those six years, Nvl , ' tute of this kind, are like the .-- school—the ye: manage, but the years on which the future During those six years he laboured with admirable judg ment, perseverance, and courage. (Applause.) Hoer sedulously and generously he has laboured for the best interests of those who are educated here, no one knows better than Ido ; I lieve no one knows so well. Wl.- h, in an insti pent by a boy at s the niost difficult to .8 which are al h oolboy ever may be the maturity of this institutic days have been under his training. What ture may hereafterbe raised,—and I hope it will be a large one,—he has laid the foundation, and he has laid it well. Those general principles of education which he adopted will continue to be the rules of our conduct ; the same general course of instruction will be pursued, and that discipline, to which I attach as much importance as he did, will be carefully maintained. (Applause.) My hope is to follow his example; and with the assistance of those who assisted him, to continue to develop as well as lam able what he has so successfully begun. (Applause.) And now, my lord, I come to say that which, under ordi nary circumstances, ought to be said first. In the name of all the masters, and all the boys, and of all who are present, and I am sure of many who are absent, I thank you for your kindness in appearing amongst us to day. (Loud applause.) By presiding on this occasion, yon strengthen our hands in a difficult and important work. To your lordship's predecessor in office these schools are under many obligations; and you, my lord, in your first year of residence in our neighbourhood, have already con ferred upon us an obligation for which we are sincerely grateful. (Applause.) In the midst of eJ many changes, (and how that word change rings in our ears at the close of this wonderful 1848)—in the midst of so many changes. it is a comfortable reflection that in these three English schools there is no change in one of the advantages which we value most highly; but that in our efforts to train up good men and good citizens for the service of England, our ecclesiastical superior still comes to encourage us; and that those words, of exhortation that used to be ad dressed to us in this place by Archbishop Sumner, will now, my lord, be succeeded by your's. (Loud applause.) The Right Rev. BISHOP said,- -Before I proceed to discharge the very pleasing duty that brings me here— that of distributing the prizes to the successful candi dates—l may be permitted, perhaps, to say a single word in a prefaratory form. The future master and principal of this collegiate establishment has already addressed you, and spoken in justly-deserved terms of his prede cessor. There was one point on which he could not have gracefully touched himself--I mean his own During the time he was a student at Cambridge I tad not the pleasure of any personal acquaintance with him ; but I had many opportunities of knowing well his course and career in that university. I know that by his excellent conduct he gained the confidence and esteem of all the authorities of the college—of all his fellow students; and I myself had the very pleasing office, in conjunction with other persons of my own station in rho university. to adjudge to him prizes open to the compe tition of the whole university, and bestowed as the re ward for eminence in classical learning. (Applause.) 1 am able to speak from that experience and that moot; I am able to speak with confidence of him as a person admirably and eminently qualified to fulfil the duties of the very high, and important, and responsible office in which he has now been placed ; and I beg to wish him all success and prosperity in the discharge of those duties. (Applause.) lam sure, from the manner in which you have received him, he will meet with what he must rook to for his support, the cordial friendship and good-will of the inhabitants of this great town ; and especially the parents of those children, the future hope and promise of the country, who are now receiving their education in this institution. (Applause.) The learned bishop then acknowledged the compliment which the principal had paid him. He had felt it it his duty, he said, to attend to testily his appreciation of the motives on which the Collegiate Institution had been founded, and to express his ardent desire for its prosperity. He continued—l wish it had been in my power to make myself more ac quainted with many details of the institution than I at all know at present, before I presented myself before you; but at all events, the duty which I have to perform to-day, that of conferring the prizes upon the suc cessful candidates, requires nothing but the few words of kind greeting which I shall be happy to address to all who are called up to receive them ; and before another twelve months is over, I hope to be well acquainted with by my many inquiries, that .I welfare. Liverpoc ion, and s' full of instances of liberality in every way in which it can be shown ; but I look upon this institution as one of the most gratifying of them, and I hope, under the Divine blessing, it will be productive of the most lasting benefit to the town itself. It seems to me to have evidently one advantage—it enables you to command for your children all the benefits of education in a large public school, while, at the same time, you can have them under your own eye, and exert se what is as valuable as school disci pline, the kindness and affectionate attention of a parent* love. The PRINCIPAL next eulogistically referred to the Evening School, and The successful scholars were then called up on the plat form, two or three at a time, to receive their prizes from the bishop's hands. His lordship addressed encouraging words to each, and delivered, at intervals, neat discourses to the meeting on the subjects in which the pupils before him were stated to excel. UPPER SCHOOL PRIZES. SPECIAL PRIZES.—Senior Divinity Medal—P.H.Newnham ; Senior Historical Medal—T. Webster; Senior Mathematical Medal—W. Lindsay. CLASS PRizcs.lst, (Egerton Scholarship,) Richard Hart; 2nd, T. Bowman; 3rd, W. B. Jones; 4th, W. Tattershall ' - sth, J. H. Killick; 6th, Joseph Peel; Preparatory Class, John Greenhall. EXTRA PRIZES.-401. (Mathematical,) C. Wilson; sth and 6th, (Divinity,) Gazebrook ; Preparatory Class, (Divinity,) Ould ; Latin Prose Composition, T. Webster. Those who have obtained Certificates are—Buckley, S. Jones, S. Webster, Nixon, Kershaw Lindsay, Mott, Cropper, Mulva ney, G. Rawdon, Llewellyn,Jones, Killick. MIDDLE SCHOOL PRIZES, SPECIAL PRlZES.—Divinity Medal—Coltart ; Nomination to Upper School—Rigby; Historical and Geographical Medal— Coltart and Rigby, equal ; Mathematical and Arithmetical Certificates—Preller, jun., Wright, Bond, Hughes, Grice, Phil lips, and Radcliffe; French Medal—Strong; French Certifi cates—Crane and Allender; Drawing Medal—James Lindsay; Drawing Certificates—Coltart, W. Lewis, and Dixon; Penman ship Medal— Belk ; Penmanship Certificates Richardson. Barnard, and H. Herbert. _ CLASS' PRIZES.—iSt, Potter Scholarship —Pearce ; Certifi cates—ltimman, Mott, Metcalfe; 2nd, Prize of Books—Lind say, W. Preller ; Certificates—Preller, Towns, Daly; 3rd, Prize of Books—D. Maddock; Certificates—M. D. Lewis, Hughes, Roberts, Johnson ; 4th, Prize of Books--R. B. Rowson ; Certi ficates—Dobell. Grice, Fawcett ; Junior Divinity—Woodward; 7th, Prize of Books — Brown; Certificates—R. ilson, J. Her bert, Clay, J. Nicholson; Bth, First Prize—Edward Herbert; Certificates—W. Nicholson, G. Carpenter, A. M. Bennett; Classical Prize—C. Ireland; Singing Prize—Bowman; Certifi cate—Moult. LOWER SCHOOL PRIZES SPECIAL PRIZES.—Senior Divinity—John Halden ; Nomin ation to the Middle School—Thomas Whitby; Historical Prize —John Ramsden ; Certificate—John Hidden; Arithmetical Medal—John Hornby ; Certificate—Frederick Wainwright; Penmanship Medal—John Wilson; Drawing Prize—John ``Wil son; Drawing Prize—John Hidden; Singing Prize—Wm. Wharton; Certificate—J. Lazarus. CLASS PRIZES.-ISt, Molyneux Scholarship—Alfred Kirby. George Drummond; Certificate—J. Davies; 2nd—J, Wain wright; Certificate—J. Hornby ; 3d—George Lingham, James Morgan; 4th—Robert Tinker, Wm. Baker; sth—Evan Jones John E. Bryant ; 6th—Thomas Crosby, James Stephenson ; 7th—J. W. Bates, C. H. Alsop ; Bth—Edward Potbury ; Certi ficate=Edward Musgrove. EXTRA SPECIAL - PRlZES.—lfit—William Wharton ; 3d Henry Barkley ; 4th —T. J. Edwards ; :sth—W. C. Stride ; 6th— R. H. Richmond, Ashbridge, Stephenson; 7th—C. H. Alsop; Bth—R. M. Alsop. The names of those who have obtained Certificates are—A. P. Kirby, Thomas Whitby, John Ramsden, Miller, Morgan, J. W. Sutton, C. Chamberlain, Richard Clare, Gordon, James,• Lei cester, Miller, Smith, Willings, White, Walker, Hodgson, Dunn, Arrowsmith, Birch, Barclay, Bunnell, Chessworth, Chapham, Henderson, Clare, Johnson, Leah, Morgan, Morti mer? Potbury, Sewerly, Smith, Evans, Goulbora, Carnes, Christian, Cooke, Cross, Drinkwater, Gardner, Ginball, Hodg- Kin, Procter, Robinson, Rogerson, Suddler, Talbot, Woo& ward, Leatherbarrow, Hurst, Watson, Simpson, Jones, Hard man, Welsby Ritson„ Hall, Hewitt, Stride, Halliday, Whitaker, Talbot, Whitaker, Smith, Richmond, Roberts, Ball, Ford, Har ris, Barker, Evan, Ellis, Newton, Shaw, Jackson, J. C. Jackson, Dutton, Carter, Jones, .T. Halden. COURT AND FASHION. The Court remained at Osborne in the Isle of Wight until Thursday, when her Majesty and the Royal Family, with the whole of the household, removed for the Christ mas holidays to Windsor Castle. The baron of beef, which formed the principal dish on the Royal banquet table, at Windsor Castle, on Christ mas-day, was a portion of a splendid ox, bred by his Royal High - -es 3 Prince Albert, at Flemish Farm, near Windsor. The baron is of the great weight of 94 stone, or 7521b5. and occupied 10 hours in cooking. LAW INTELLIGENCE VICE-CHANCELLOR'S COURT—FRIDAY ( Before Sir J. WIGRAM.) EAST AND WEST INDIA DOCK COMPANY V. LITTLEDALL The Vice-Chancellor gave judgment on the three mo tions in this case, and dissolved the injunction restrainin g Messrs. Littled ale from proceeding with their action of trover against the Dock Company for the recovery of the cotton wool which is the subject of the interpleader in this cause; the defendants, Pestonjee and othev, the P ar see merchants, being at liberty to defend the action in the name of the Dock Company, but execution 'to be stayed ; and the same defendants, the Parsee merchants, to have the time which they asked for putting in their answer in the suit. 3 otel, Ply a For a ived n at the twa Or a re the the ness d it he in ch )0,