The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-09-22 00:00:00

etteraturr. P OET R Y. H OPE. Written for the Liverpool Standard. Away Ambition's'. apes, depart Ye phantoms to deceive us ! Ye promise to the trusting heart What naught of earth can give us. Away ye elves of Plutus ! soon We loathe your sordid pleasures; I woo ye not, I see!: a boon Above your richest treasures. Your bear s are shed on flectiag things, • Like light on vapours plaiting ; Your flowers, alas ! ye plant, where time Is evermore decaying. A hope that Virtue's pilgrim knows, There is, untouch'd by sadness ; A light that shines through cares and woes, And bursts, alone in gladness. This hope can Sorrow's tears assuage, And give to Want new treasure ; And in the wintry heart of age Can re-awaken pleasure. And shed around perennial bloom, When otl er hopes are blighted ; Strew flowers of Eden on the tomb Of joys that once delighted. Death may not quench its radiant light— This hope can ne'er grow hoary; On through mortality's dark night It burns with bright'riing glory. And whence this hope ? 'tis not of earth, Nor with its sunshine blended ; The world nor gives nor steals its worth, . 'Tis from above descended. it looks beyond life's changing clime, Where flood and tempest rages ; Builds not upon the sands of time, But on eternal ages. What is this hope? a voice he hears, Here in li e's narrow portal, Of heritage in happier sphere's : His destiny immortal? His Cynosure ! it beams on high— Through snare and trouble guideth ; Gives foretaste of the ecstacy Where deity abideth. The soul on this shall soar on high, Yet keep her wings unspotted; Till crown'd with immortality, And Virtue's mood allotted. Brunswick-road, September 18th, 1846. SAMUEL HUGGINS. A FIRST LOVE. (Written for the LiveiTcol Standard.) There are periods in the life even of those the most deeply immersed in the vrorld's concerns, when the mind impulsively wanders back into the past, and sees the events and the persons of long-forgotten scenes flit in spectral panorama before its vision. The merchant in his dusky countinghouse, surrounded with records of profit and loss ; the lawyer in his solitary chambers, poring over abstracts or briefs ; the reveller amidst his brimming cups, with the laughter or the wit of boon companions ringing in his ears, at times feels an irresistible spirit-summons, which drags him from this material world, to wander over again through some bright oasis, or to shudder through some dark passage, of his bygone career. All men have experienced, more or less, according to their various tem peraments, these casual awakenings of slumbering me mory, in which the soul seems to assert its independence of, and supremacy over, the dull matter in which it is clothed, and the sordid passions and feelings with which its etherial essence is clogged. But there are some, of more mercurial and imaginative temperament, to whom not merely the seed passages and the persons of tl'e drama of past years, but even some flitting thought, some look of our beloved, some indistinct and isolated event, or scene, or feeling has presented itself at times, which we cannot connect intelligibly with the context of our life, and which is pleasingly or painfully bewildering, accord ing to its character and the impress which it leaves upon as. Many, indeed, there are, upon whom some long dropped link in the chain of memory—some bright or bitter thought—for which we have long ransacked in vain the records of the past, flashes up, when the severed por tions to which it belongs are lost to us for ever. Such a casual and unconnected glimpse of the past pre seated itself to us a few days ago, whilst indulging our selves with a cigar and our nocturnal tumbler of punch. It was the remembrance of a summer afternoon, and of the thoughts and feelings which st.)le with its beauty over our mind and heart. Wordsworth, by the bye, had a si milar return of " One summer's day, when he was young, And Matthew seventy-two." Shelly, in his dreamy poetry, talks of _ . The swift elisfon of a thought ;" and Coleridge's most sublime poems seem more like the portaitures of the dimly-remembered dreams of an opium slumber, than the productions of waking existence. We were young on that summer afternoon ; but, unlike Wordsworth, were done, immersed in our own medita tions. The precise locus in quo of our reverie we cannot distinctly call to mind. It was a cricket ground, how ever, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the place of our nativity ; and having been ingloriously caught out, with out making a score, we - had retired to a secluded corner of the field, and were reclining on the green sward, luxuri ating in an upward vision of " cloud-land, gorgeous land," watching pile upon pile of fleecy sun-tipped exhalations changing their fantastic forms as the wind drifted them over the blue face of heaven, and peopling them with in habitants fitted for such a world of etherial loveliness, each female resembling a certain terrestrial goddess of our acquaintance, and each happy male a kind of fancy portrait of what we imagined our own interesting person might be when a few more years should have passed over our heads. We do not know how long we had indulged in this sublimated love-dream, when our senses were re called to vulgar earth and its concerns, by the not over gentle application of the spike of a cricket shoe to our person, and an impatient summons to take our place in the "long field off." Here our treacherous memory leaves us in the lurch ; and of the remaining events of that summer afternoon we have no record left. But of the goddess of that day-dream shall we ever lose the remembrance ? Sweet Mary Bennett ! We see her even now, as when in her blooming girlhood, she stood behind the counter of her father's odious shop in our native town, her small fat hand folding up ounces of tea, half ounces of tobacco, or half pounds of sugar. Her plump round arm—somewhat of the reddest to be sure—her buxom little figure, and her round rosy face, with eyes looking out from it, to our imagination like the eyes of a Ilouri, but more roguish in their expression than quite became an inhabitant of paradise, are before us still. The smile with which she occasionally exchanged the sixpence which we woekly mustered for raisins or figs ; and, when we had reached the ambition of a diurnal Havanah, the gentle squeeze of our fingers as she handed us the neatly tied up copper, dwelt with us for many a year. Poor Mary Bennett !—but we must rot allow our feelings to run away with us and anticipate our story. We were just fourteen when we first left the grammar school of our native town, to gather the graces and ac complishments of manhood and to be " finished" by a two years course of classics arid belles lettres at the board ing school of an eminent pedagogue in a distant part of the country. How indelibly is the evening before depar ture impressed upon our memory ! We had slipped out tmperceived from the company of a few friends of the family, who were assembled upon the occasion, to take a parting walk with dear Mary—for by this time the in nate bashfulness of our nature had given way before the powerful impulse of a first love ; and we encountered each other beneath the elms of the old church yard, from which a style led to a pleasant shaded path by the stream, which watered the neighbouring meadows. What a taste for the beauty in scenery and situation had the church men of the olden time ! The sacred Panes erected by our fathers arose in the pleasant places of the land. They gleam out from eminences, upon whose beauty even the wearied traveller pauses for a moment to gaze ere he hur ried on in his absorbing worship of the world. They are seen upon gentle slopes, half hid by surrounding wood and coppice, and whose base is washed by meandering rivu lets, or they lie bedded in the heart of sequestered val. lies ; as if placed there, that no ruder sound than that of their church-summoning bell, or the tread of their little throng of simple-hearted worshippers, might break in upon the quiet of those who slumber in their grassy gr a v e yards. Seek one of these sweetly located monu ments of the devotional feeling of a past age ; and mark the chaste beauty of the few flower and shrub-embow ered cottages which surround it—for the " Cottage near the Church" is ever associated, and justly, in the mind of an observer of the scenery of rural England with such dwellings, for which the hand of taste and of nature has done far more than the skill of the builder or the design of the architect. Branching off from the village church are the sweetest walks, the most sequestered retreats, the most cooling shades. The church of the little town of G was a building thus picturesquely and beautifully situated. Alas ! the clear, purling stream, by which we walked that summer evening, is now made turbid by a neighboring worsted factory ; and the once quiet shady path along its margin resounds daily with the ribald talk. or the more offensive curses of a demoralized and over toiled population. But we are digressing. We loitered along that path, poor Mary and ourselves, hand in hand and in silence which, caused by overcharged hearts, is more expressive than words. Language came at length, and it is wonderful how much each had then to say ; and, when when so little time was left to say that much, it was wonderful we thought how we could have trifled with that time. What was said, however, need not be recapitulated here nor what was left unsaid noticed. The reader, male or female, is doubtless in a position to imagine both for him or herself. Enough that the moment of parting came at length, and language again having failed us the sad word farewell took the shape of a part ing caress, of which we may say of poor Mary, with the poet— "'Tomas partly love and partly fear, And partly 'twas a gentle art, That we might rather feel than hear The beating of her heart." Arrangements were, however, made for mutual corres pondence, and the sad ceremony over, we returned home by separate routes. This, we have an indistinct idea, was from some fear of our respective parents. Next day, we left behind us our native town, and our hearts' first object of affection. The events of our first year's absence at boarding-school we need not detail. The novelty of situation and scene, the change of associates, and more strict devotion to study, we must state, despite the sneers with which the assertion w ay be met by worldly minded or giddy people, did not divert our thoughts from dwelling, at every leisure oppor tunity upon dear Mary. Every pulchra puella whom 'Virgil, Horace, or Tibullus painted in lachrymose mood. deserted of her Tityrus, or her Daphnis, we adorned with the lineaments of Mary . Bennett. We pictured her de jected at our departure, sighing occasionally at the thoughts our recent delicious converse, and of that last thrilling embrace, flurried at any mention of our name, and giving, in her embarrasment, wrong change to a customer, moist sugar for brown, or tobacco for tea. Hence when three months had passed over since our parting, we became indescribably anxious for the promised letter, with all the protestations of continued love, which our heart told us it must contain ; and day by day we made inquiry of the private channel, through which we had arranged to inter change our fond communications. At length it came—a dumpy little epistle, written upon something between whitey-brown and tea-paper, and sealed with a thimble. Although not over-impressed with the elegance of the out side, we opened the letter with a flutter of delight, first kissing the seal, as the next best thing to kissing the dear dumpy little finger which had impressed it. The contents, however, although not displaying great excel lence of orthography, grammar, or penmanship, were abundantly gratifying, if professions of " fervent love," " true affection," and all the other al 'ctives, positive, comparative, and superlative, which are usually :,ffixed to these magic words, can convey gratification. We were happy, and should have remained so, but for the discovery of a hitherto unnoticed postscript, ia which the dear girl apologized for not writing sooner, on the ground that " she had been afraid of John seeing her write to any body." Now, who was John ? Our mind misgave us that there was an individual of that name, who had recently been engaged in the shop of Mary's father, as journeyman or assistant—a spruce personage with a shock head of curly red hair, and an undeniably good opinion of himself, prompted, perhaps, by the circumstance that he had served his apprenticeship in a third-rate shop in the county town, and afterwards graduated for a year in London. What John, however, could have to do with Mary's correspond ence puzzled us, until the thought suggested itself that, probably, her abstracted air and the dejection occasioned by the absence of one so titer had' prompted her father's suspicions that a love affair was the cause; and that this monster had been set to watch her movements with a view to get at her secret. The flattering thought that it was for our sake that she feared John, restored us to happiness; and in the tender reply, which we forwarded at the earliest c pportunity, we thanked her ardently for the consideration shown for our love. The year of absence passed rapidly away, contrary to the general rule of such years. Young hearts, let other hearts be what they may, are not very susceptible of undue depression. The non-arrival of further commu nications from our adored—for she never wrote save that one dumpy whitey-brown epistle—troubled us at times; but we thought of John's surveillance, and looked for ward to a meeting under the churchyard elms for an eclair cissement and an exchange of raptures. The time for return home srriced at lengi h. and at dusk in a fine sum mer's evening, we stood once more in our paternal abode ; and when, late at night, we retired to rest, it was to dream of the dear old fashioned shop of Peter Bennett and of its presiding goddess, our beloved little Mary, with a sight of both of which dear objects, the morning sun, we trusted, would favor us. VARIETIES. The deepest part of the ocean which has been sounded is one mile and 65 feet in depth. If we suppose its medium depth to be two miles, the water in it would cover all the dry parts of t e earth—if it could be spread over them—to the depth of about 31,680 feet, or six miles. SINGULAR ROMAN CATHOLIC CEREMONY.—Before we leave the Chapel del Condestable, one of its ceremo nies deserves particular mention. I allude to the Missa de los carneros (sheep.mass.) At early mass on All Souls' day, a feast celebrated in this chapel with extraor dinary pomp, six sheep are introduced, and made to stand on a large block of unpolished marble, which has been left lying close to the tombs, almost in the centre of the chapel • near the six sheep are placed as many inflated skins of I igs, resembling those usually filled with the wine of the country ; to these is added the quantity of bread, produced from four bushels of wheat, and all remain in view during the performance of high mass. At the con clusion of the final response, the sheep are removed from their pedestal and make for the chapel-gates, through which they issue ; and urged by the voice of their driver, the pecnliar shrill whistle of Spanish shepherds, and by the more material argument of the staff, proceed down the entire length of the cathedral to the music of the aforesaid whistle, accompanied by their own bleatings and bells, until they vanish through the great western portal.— Wells' Picturesque Antiquities of Spain. EFFECTS OF CLIMATE UPON THE HUMAN COM PLEXION.—AIthough it cannot be pretended that climate is the single and decisive cause of colour, yet that it is the leading cause our author endeavours to show by an exten sive induction in his second volume, the outline of which we must here trace. It must be observed, that in it he is confining his attention to Europe and Africa. Running rapidly from the north of Europe to the south of Africa, we find, first, in Scandinavia, men with white hair and eye-lashes, grey eyes, fair skin ; all in accordance with the northern latitude. After these we fall in with the au burn hair, blue or grey eyes, and florid complexion, which predominate in Britain and Ireland, a great part of Rus sia, northern Germany, Denmark, and Holland. Ad vancing southward, tLe tints appear to deepen, except where elevation compensates for latitude. Thus, in France the prevalent colour of the hair is chesnut or brown, and of the eves hazel or blue; but when the ground rises, towards the 'Alps or Pyrenees, the colour of the people fades. The Swiss, in the high mountains above the plains of Lombardy, have sandy or brown hair; and in the higher parts of the Biscayan country the natives have a fair complexion, with light blue eyes, and flaxen or auburn hair. Beyond the Alps the traveller, on de scending into the Milanese, finds himself among peasants with black hair, black eyes, and almost "oriental" fea tures ; or, after leaving the Pyrenee highlands behind him, he sees a population with swarthy or olive skin and black hair. All the inhabitants of lowlantls in the Me diterranean region display an immense predominance of the darker tints; the complexion being ordinarily bru nette, the hair and eyes corresponding. On the southern plains of Spain the Andalusians are as swarthy as the Moors on the opposite shores. The ancient Egyptians, in the same latitudes, were swarthy, yellow, or copper red. But, proceeding from the Moors of the Mediterra- nean inland, we have io traverse the great highland coun try known by the name of Atlas, which spreads over the best part of Numidia and Mauritania ; and along this elevated district a series of changes is observed in the hues of the population, the details of which, although stated by us above, may be concisely recapitulated. " The Berbers of the plains are of brown complexion. with black hair ; the Shuluh mountaineers are fair, and the inhabitants of the high tracts of Mons Aurasius are completely xanthous, having red or yellow hair and blue eyes ; which, fancifully and without the shadow of any proof, they have been conjectured to have derived from the Vandal troops of Genseric ;" while the Berbers of Ereag and Ergela are blacks, with negro hairs and fea tures. It farther appeared that the Fulah:, almost under the tropic, yet on table land, are red, not black ; some of the same race, indeed, of a Portuguese tint : moreover that in Abyssinia the hues of the people become lighter as the ground rises, until on the lofty soil of Narea they attain the European standard. With the tropic and low lands of Senegal begins the region of jet-bluk skins, which as far as we know continues through inter-tropical Africa, except in the more elevated regions. Beyond this is the country of copper-coloured men, who in Kafir land are the maiirity ; while between the tropics there are few such tribes, and those only in lofty .places. ' Lastly, towards the Cape, on open and bleak steppes, are ' the tawny Hottentots,—scarcely darker than the Along°. Hans, whom they resemble in many other particulars besides colour.—Pi ichard's Physical History of Man kind. AN ADVENTURE IN AUSTRALIA.—On landing, I di rected Mr. Tarrant and one of the boat's crew to follow with the rest of the instruments. The walking was very bad, the reef being strewed with coral fragments, and in terspers?d with large pools. With my mind fully occu pied with what we had seen of late, I hurried on without waiting, and reached the observation spot, just glancing towards the cliff, which presented nothing to the view but the silvery stems of the never-failing gum trees. I had just turned my head round to look after my followers, when I was suddenly staggered by a violent and piercing blow about the left shoulder; and ere the dart had ceased to quiver in its destined mark. a loud long yell, such as the savage only can produce, told me by whom I had been speared. One glance sufficed to show me the cliffs, so lately the abode of silence and solitude, swarming with the dusky forms of the natives, now indulging in all the exu berant action with which the Australian testifies his delight. One tall bushy-headed fellow led the group, and was evidently my successful assailant. I drew out the spear, . which had entered the cavity of the chest, and retreated with all the swiftness 1 could command, in the hope of reaching those who were coming up from the boat, and were then about half way. I fully expected another spear while my back was turned ; but, fortunately, the savages seemed only to think of getting down to the beach to , complete their work. Onward I hurried, carrying the spear which I had drawn from the wound, and determined if, as I expected, overtaken, to sell my life dearly. Each step less steady than the former one, reminded me that I was losing blood : but I hurried on, still retaining the chronometer, and grasping my only weapon of defence. The savage cry behind soon told me that my pursuers had found their way to the beach : while at every respiration, the air escaping through the orifice of the wound, warned me that the strength by which I was still enabled to struggle through the deep pools and various other impe diments in my path, must fail me soon. I bad fallen twice, each disaster being announced by a shout of vin dictive triumph from the bloodhounds behind. To add to my distress, I now saw with utter dismay that Mr. Tar rant and the man with the instruments, unconscious of the fact that I bad been speared, and therefore believing that I could make good my escape, were moving off to wards the boat. I gave up all hope, and with that rapid glance at the past, which in such an hour crowds the whole history of life upon the mind, and one brief mental act of supplication, or rather submission, to Him in whose hands are the issues of life and death, I prepared for the last dead struggle. At that moment the attention of the re treating party was aroused by a boat approaching hastily from the ship; the first, long, loud, wild shriek of the natives having most providentially apprized those on board of our danger, they turned and perceived that I was completely exhausted. I spent the last struggling energy I possessed to join them. Supported on each side, I had just strength to direct them to turn towards our savage enemies, who were hurrying on in a long file, shouting and waving their clubs, and were now only about thirty yards off. Our turning momentarily checked their advance, whilst their force increased. During these very few and awfully anxious moments, a party beaded by Lieutenant Emery hastened over the reef to our support : another moment and ours would have been the fate of so many explorers. The band of the savage almost grasped our throats ; we should have fallen a sacrifice in the course of discovery, and our bones, left to moulder on this distant shore, would have been trodden heedlessly under foot i by the wandering native.—Stokes' Discoveries in An : tralia. THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. LIFE IN THE PRAIRIE. (From England in the New World.) In one of my transatlantic voyages in a steamer, I met with a very singular man, a German by birth, who was on his return from Europe to America. He was about thirty years of age, of a rather small but active and wiry frame, his features very handsome, of a chiselled and distinct outline; his bright black eye never met yours, but watched as you looked away, with penetrating keenness ; the expression of his mouth was wild and somewhat sen sual, with two perfect rows of large teeth, white as ivory ; his hair was black, worn long behind ; complexion fresh and ruddy, but swarthed over by sun and wind. He was never still, but kept perpetually moving to and fro, even when seated, with the restlessness of a savage animal, al ways glancing round and behind, as though he expected, but did not fear, some hidden fee. His voice was soft and rather pleasing, very low, but as if suppressed with effort. This strange being had been educated in a Ger man university, and was very well informed; the Euro pean languages were all equally familiar to him ; he spoke them all well, but none perfectly, not even German; in several Indian tongues he was more at home. When still young he had left his country ; struggling out from the down-trampled masses of the north of Europe, he went to seek liberty in America. But even there the restraints of law were too severe : so he went away for the Far Wrest, where his passion for freedom might find full vent. Hunting and trapping for some months on the upper branches of the Missouri, he acquired money and influ ence enough to collect a few Indians and mules, and drive a dangerous but profitable trade with the savage tribes round about. In course of time his commerce prospered sufficiently to enable him to a ssemble twenty four men, hunters, Canadian voyagers, and Indians, well armed with rifles, with many mules and wagons laden with the handiwork of the older states. He started with his company in the beginning of April for the Rocky Mountains, from Independence—the last western town, originally settled by the Mormons. four miles from the Missouri River. They travelled from twelve to fifteen miles a-day through the " Bush" and over the Prairies, and were soon beyond the lands of friendly or even neu tral tribes, among the dangerous haunts of treacherous and warlike Blackfeet. By day and night the party were ever on the watch ; though they rarely saw them, they knew that enemies were all around. The moment there was any apparent carelessness or irregularity in their march, they were attacked with horrible whoop and yell ; if there was sufficient time, they ranged their wagons round, and used them as rests for their rifles, and for protection from the bullets and arrows of the Indians. Once they were suddenly surrounded by a more than usu ally numerous and determined body, all well mounted ; there was no time to form the accustomed defence ; so each man fell on his face ; the bowie knife, stuck in the ground, gave him in its handle a rest for his aim, and the hunter of the Prairie seldom shoots in vain ; but when he fired he turned on his back to reload, thus always expos ing the smallest possible surface to the unskilful eye of the Blackfoot marksman. Many of the assailants were slain, and the survivors attacked openly no more. These travellers carried no tents, sought no shelter; wrapped in their blankets, they braved the wind, dew, and rain; their rifle: gave them abundance of buffalo, deer, and mountain sheep ; and they sometimes had the luxury of wild potatoes, roots, and nuts. They did not burthen themselves by taking with them spirits, salt, flour, food, or luxury of any kind ; for their horses there were rich and plentiful grasses. Sometimes, but that very rarely happened, they ate their beasts of burthen. when the chase had been for a long period unsuccessful; fuel was not always to be had, arid then they were fain to devour their meat raw. There is one great salt prairie, where some white men lost their way, fainted, and died of thirst. Occasionally these adventurers had lack of water ; but when they had got five hundred miles on, and into the Rocky Mountains, they found abundance, with many mineral springs, some of them of rare virtues, and a few sait lakes. The peaks of this grim range are here ten thousand feet high, always white with snow ; but the company, keeping in the gorges and the valleys, felt no great cold at any time. They steered their course by the compass through the wilderness. Besides the Blackfeet they had fierce but seldom unprovoked enemies, in the huge grizzly bears. Some of the hunters were dainty in their food, and liked the flesh of this monster, and they were very vain of his spoils, the rich fur and the terrible claws : he can run very fast, and may be struck by many a bullet before he drops and yields ; he knows no fear, and never declines the combat when offered ; if he once gets within reach to grasp, the hunter must perish; but, somehow, these white men, weak in body, strong in mind, in the end crush alike the stalwart and active Indian, and the fierce and grizzly bear. For five hundred miles more their way lay thrpugh these Rocky Mountains ; for six hundred beyond them, they still steered for the north west, till they struck on the upper forks of the Columbia River. Here they met with more friendly natives, and some of a race mixed with French Canadian blood, be sides a few lonely hunters and trappers. Here and fur ther on they traded, and got great quantities of rich and valuable furs, in exchange for their blankets, knives, guns, and other products of civilization. The burning of the prairies is one of the dangers and hardships to which these traders are exposed. In the autumn the tall rich grasses dry up and wither; the slightest spark of fire suffices to set them alight, and then, whichever way the wind may carry it, the flame only ends with the mountain, the lake, or the river. The heat is but for a few moments, as the blaze sweeps by, but it leaves no living thing behind it, and the smoke is dense and acrid. When the fire approaches no man mounts his horse and trusts to its speed ; that would be in, vain ; but they fire the prairie to leeward and follow the course of the burning, till enough desolation lies between them and their ravenous pursuer to starve it into tameness. The German once found the blackened tract of the fire for nine hundred miles, and could only obtain scanty grating for his cattle by the borders of the lakes and rivers on his route. In the year 1844 he was delayed much beyond his usual time in collecting mules sufficient for his exNclition, and could not start for Santa Fts till the middle of Septem ber. There is a low, hollow country, many miles in ex tent, about fifty days' journey on their road ; it is covered with gravel, sand, a.id stone; there is no hill, rock, or shelter of any kind ; it supports no animal or vegetable life, for a strong withering wind sweeps over it, summer and winter. The adventurers have named this hideous place—probably from the wind—the Simoom. Great caution is always taken to pass it before the winter begins ; this year they were late, and the rigour of the season set in very early ; and, when they were well advanced into thedanger, a thick snow-storm fell. There was no track ; the cattle moved painfully; they were without fuel, and the stock of forage was soon exhausted. Many animals dropped by the nay ; and, in one night, a hundred arid sixty mules died from cold, weariness, and hunger. Then the hunters, who had faced many great dangers and hard ships before, became appalled : for the snow still fell hea vily, and the way was far and dark before them. The next morning they consulted together, and agreed to abandon the convoy and hasten back to save their lives. An old hunter, who had served long and faithfully, and was known to be much esteemed by their leader, was cho sen to state this determination to him. The delegate came forward, and, in a quiet but determined way, declared the mutiny. As be spoke the German shot him dead : the rest returned to their duty. Leaving orders to his company to remain where they were, the leader, es corted by two Indians, rode back to the settlements: they had but little food with them ; the journey was seven hun dred miles, and they had to cross many rapid, swollen streams, but he arrived safely, prccured supplies, returned to his people, and, after a prosperous expedition, they all came back in safety. His narrative of these events was as free from bravado as it was from the expression of human feeling or romance. The adventurer, being now wealthy, went to Europe, with the intention of settling, or at least spending some time with his friends in Germany. He re mained in London for a month, where he met some con nexions who treated him with kindness. But the bond of society proved intolerable to him ; he gave up his plan of going home, and once again turned to seek the wild but fascinating life of the prairie. This strange man was tho roughly well informed on all the political and social con. 4itions of the nations of the earth, in their poetry, philo. sophy, and even their novels. He had read and thought much ; with an anxious effort to overcome this love of sa vage life, he felt deeply the evil of yielding to its influence, but succumbed. By this time he is again in the deep gorges of the Rocky Mountains, or chasing the buffalo on the prairies of the west. A FRENCH SCHOLAR. " Aimez vous la musique, M onsieur ? ' inquired her Majesty, addressing me in the court dialect, which she evidently saw I understood. " Oui, votre Majeste," I answered promptly ; "Jesuix un grand amand de cola." "Dans ce cas, Monsieur, it est possible que vous possi dez le talent du chant." I was not quite sure that I understood her Majesty's meaning, for royalty loves to envelope itself in a disguise, and I hesitated a moment, but recollecting that the word "chanter" means to sing, my natural acuteness came to my aid, and I replied— " J'ai le plainer depouvoir un petit." The Queen smiled at my readiness, and continued. " Quel est votre genre, Monsieur?" " Je suis masculin, votre Majesti," I returned. " Sans doute, Monsieur, je ne suppose pas le contraire, mais, dans quel genre chantez vous—ltalien, Francais, Anglais ou Allemand ?" I saw that I made a slight mistake here, in supposing that the word "genre" meant gender, but I speedily re covered myself, when I found, by the question being put in English, that her Majesty wished to know what was my style of singing. "Moi chanter, Madame, Anglais chansons: je non savoir pas plusieurs." " Quels sont les noms de ceux auquels vous donnez la preference, Monsieur?" It was not a very easy task to express their names in French, but I made the attempt. tan " t -L — e c c h h e i z en .m v o ia i, nd d e ou li c o e cmmhee.oi — z Leßl ßg lse ; eB e en plein por ritannia_ Ecossais qui out—La jeune mai lune—Mon aparternent garni est sur la froide terre—Sautez Jacques corbeau— et un peu autres." THE DUTCH FISHERIES 1N SHETLAND.—It is stated, apparently on good authority, that for many years the Scotch herring-fishery yielded the enterprising Holland.. ers a revenue of about £3,000,000 sterling. Dr. Camp bell, after premising that the value of the Dutch fishery has often been exaggerated, and that, therefore, he will give " a modest computation," proceeds to observe, that it would be no difficult thing to prove to the satisfac tion of the candid as well as critical inquirer, that while it continued to flourish in their hand, they drew from their fishery out of the ocean washing the coasts of Shet land, to the amount of two hundred millions sterling 1" Tbis shews what an immense and inexhaustible field of wealth our remote seas in days of yore proved to those who had skill and enterprise to cultivate it.—Eraser's Magazine. THE KABYLES OF MOUNT ATLAS.—Amongst the most determined enemies of the French in Africa, are to be enumerated the Kabyles, tribes dwelling in the'ranges of the Lesser Atlas, from Tunis to Morocco. 01 differ ent race from the Arabs, they are believed to be the abo riginal inhabitants of Northern Africa. Secure in their wild valleys, they have ever preserved their independence. Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Arabs, all failed to subdue them ; and, although some of the tribes, whose territory is the least inaccessible, are now partially under the rule of the French, the maritime range, from the east of the Metidjah to lhilippeville, remains unconquered. Their numbers are inconsiderable, roughly estimated at eighty thousand. This would give a fiihting population of at most from sixteen to twenty thousand men; but that small force has been found efficient to preserve from fo- reign domination the almost impregnable fastnesses in which they dwell. Although the tribes wage frequent war amongst themselves, a common enemy unites them all. Tne attachment of the Kabyles to their country and tribe is remarkable. Like the SWiss, or the Spanish Ga- licians, they are accustomed to wander forth when young, and seek their fortune in other lands. Kabyle's servants and labourers are found in all the towns and villages of Northern Africa. But if they learn that their tribe is threatened or at war, they abindon their situations, how ever advantageous, and hasten home, and to arms. They are very brave, but barbarously cruel, giving no quarter, and torturing their prisoners before cutting off their heads.—Blackwood's Magazine. SKETCH OF T. S. DUNCOMBE, ESQ., M.P.—He is the most gentlemanlike demagogue of whom we have any re collection. Of course we speak of the exterior man alone, not desiring to go the length of assuming that other men, of perhaps more ardent patriotism, but of manners more rough, may not possess quite as many of the real qualities of the gentleman, those which are independent of conven tional customs, habit, and dress. In those externals, however, let their worth be what they may, Mr. Dun combe is certainly distinguished from the members gene rally of the House of Commons, so much so, that a stran ger entering the assembly would naturally observe the singular elegance and finish of his attire as Oistinzuishing him even in a place where well-dressed men are rather the rule than the exception. We have been almost tempted to think, too, that in proportion as his Tribuni tian displays grow more bold, and his principles more democratic, he has become more and more anxious to preserve his old character as one of the most fashionable men about town,—thus, as it were, drawing the personal distinction more and more strongly, the more he approxi mated towards the principles of the working classes. Strange as it may seem, the most able parliamentaty ad vocate of the " great unwashed" is himself a perfect model of every thing that is recherche in dress, manners, and carriage, —nay, be has even been called the " Dandy Demagogue." One thing, at least, is certain, that he is, to look at, almost the very last man from whom you would expect such powerful, nervous, and humorous speeches as he has made during the last few years, or the bold and clever tactics, followed out under every disad vantage, and against overwhelming odds, with which he has puzzled and sometimes discomfited the most distin guished masters in •the petty strategies of party politics. It is well that we should get over our surprise at this contrast between the man and his doings, because we shall then be better able impartially to estimate the value of those doings, and to examine the machinery by which he has obtained his unquestionable influence in the de bates of the House of Commons, besides exciting a cer-: tain degree of interest in the public mind on behalf of whatever subjects he may choose to bring before parlia ment ; otherwise we should be continually puzzled with practical contradictions. Not in his careful attention to dress alone does he so differ from his colleagues in Radi- calism ; the contrast extends to his physical and mental organisation, his whole bearing and demeanour. There is not one of them, however honest may be his intentions, or respectable his conduct. who does not prepossess a casual observer unfavourably rather than favourably. They have all some physical defect to overcome, or some want of mental training, or some jaundiced, distorted view of things, grating on the feelings of a lazy public, and creating a predisposition not to attend to their represen tations. A Wak ley is considered too palpably to embody in his person and style of speaking some of the more commonly received ideas of the demagogue. With all his shrewdness, clear-sightedness, and information, he still has a stout array of prejudices to overcome, before he can make his way to the feelings of a fastidious audi ence. A Roebuck, nn the other hand, with fewer natural disadvantages, more authorised pretensions, and more regular training, wilfully deprives himself of these privi leges, by indulging in distorted views of existing things, and in a habit of spiteful but pointless personality, which renders him at once annoying and ridiculous. The mind of a Hume, though well constituted, is too contracted for an assembly which, with all its short-comings, is so en lightened ; and his defective address destroys what little influence his steadfastness of character and consistency of purpose have acquired for him. And so in like man ner is it with most of the leading members of the extreme Liberal section. They all seem to have been forced by some accident, not harmonising with their previous ca reer, into the position they hold, without having had that power of adaptation so singularly displayed by Mr. Cob den and some others, by which a stranger to the forms and customs of the house becomes at once amalgamated in feeling with those whom he finds there, as if he had been all his life accustomed to these new duties. But Mr.Duncombe has every natural advantage in his favour. Whatever disapprobation he may at times excite by the license he occasionally gives himself when making his personal attacks, it is a difficult thing for him to destroy the prestige at first created on his behalf. Tall and very well proportioned, there is a striking air of elegance in his whole figure, which is rendered still more pleasing by, the absence of all affectation ; which is, in fact, precluded by a peculiarly frank and manly deportment, and a capti: eating openness of manner almost amounting to famili arity. A handsome face, singularly expressive of the humorous, a remarkably intell gent eye, and a voice at once sonorous and harmonious, complete the attractions of this fortunate and favoured candidate for popularity.— Fraser's Magazine. A HousE TO LIVE IN.—Another acquaintance of ours —and this we will say that we are proud of being known to him—dwells in an old-fashioned gloomy house at Pe tersham. It is a respectable old gentleman in a-brown coat, black shirts, white waistcoat, and a pigtail; and is a member of the Royal Society as well as of the Society of Antiquarians. The house in question suits him, and he suits the house ; it was built in the time of that impu dent intriguing Dutchman who came over here and drove out his uncle and beau pere ; and it accordingly possesses all the heavy dignity of the Dutch houses of that period. The windows are pedimented and cased with mouldings ; they are lofty and sufficiently numerous ; the doorway has two cherubs flying, with cabbages and roses round the shell that hangs over it ; and the lawns are still cut square, and have queer-shaped beds and parterres. There is something dignified and solemn in the very bricks of tLe mansion, wearing as they do a more regular and sombre hue of Ted than the dusty-looking things of the present day ; and when you once get into the spacious rooms, all floored and all pannelled with oak, you feel a glow of veneration for olden times—though not for those times — that you cannot define, but which is nevertheless excess ively pleasing. While sitting in the well-stored library of this mansion, you expect to see Addison walking in at one door, and Swift at another ; and you are not quite sure but that you may have to meet Bolingbroke at dinner, and take a glass of wine with Prior or Pope. There are numberless large cupboards all over the place ; you could sit inside any of the fireplaces, if the modern grates were, as we wish them, removed ; and as for opening or slam ming a door in a hurry, it is not to be done ;. they are too heavy ; no such impertinences can ever be tolerated in such a residence. And then our friend himself—we could tell you such a deal about him, but we are writing about houses, not men—you must go and get introduced to him yourself. Let it be put down in your pocket me moranda, whenever you hear of a house of this kind to let, either take it yourself or recommend somebody else whom you have a regard for to do so. It is not a hand some, stylish kind of house, but it is one of the right sort to live in.—Blackwood's Magazine. MICHAELMAS GOOSE.—The old custom of eating goose on Michaelmas-day has much exercised the inge nuity of antiquaries. Brady remarks that this festival is no longer peculiar for that hospitality which we are taught to believe formerly existed, when the landlords used to entertain their tenants in their great halls upon geese ; then only kept by persons of opulence, and, of course, considered as a peculiar treat, as was before the case at Martinmas, which was the old regular quarterly-day ; though, as geese are esteemed to be in their greatest per fection in the autumnal season, there are but few families who totally neglect the ancient fashion of making that bird a part of their repast on the festival of St. Michael." There is a current, but erroneous, tale, assigning to Queen Elizabeth the introduction of this custom of the day. Being on her way to Tilbury Fort, on the 29th Septem ber, 1588, she is alleged to have dined with Sir Neville Humfreville, at his seat near that place, and to have par taken of a goose, which the Knight, knowing her taste for high-seasoned dishes, bad provided ; that after her dinner she drank a half-pint bumper of Burgundy to the destruction of the Spanish Armada; soon after which she received the joyful tidings that her wishes had been ful filled ; and that, being delighted with the event, she com memorated the day annually by having a goose for dinner, in imitation of Sir Neville's entertainment; and that, consequently, the court adopted the like practice, which soon became general throughout the kingdom. This anecdote is a strong proof that the usage w as sanctioned by royalty in the days of Queen Bess, but there is evi dence that it was practised long anterior to the destruc tion of the Spanish Armada. Among other services, John de la Hay was bound to render to William Burnaby, Lord of Lastres, in the county of Hereford, for a parcel of the demesne lands, one goose fit for the lord's dinner on the feast of St. Michael the Archangel ; and this as early as the tenth year of King Edward the Fourth. The custom may have originated in a habit, among the rural tenantry, of their bringing a good stubble goose with their rent to the landlord at Michaelmas, in the hope of making him lenient. In the Posies of George Gascoigne, 1575. are the following stanzas : " And when the tenants come to pay their quarter's rent. They bring some fowl at Midsummer, a dish of fish in Lent, At Christmas a capon, at Michaelmas a goose; And somewhat else at New-year's tide, for fear their lease fly loose." "We may suppose," observes a writer before quoted, " that the selection of a goose for a present to the land lord at Michaelmas would be ruled by the bird being then at its perfection, in consequence of the benefit derived from stubble-feeding. It is easy to see how a general custom of having a goose for dinner on Michaelmas -day might arise from the multitudes of these presents, as landlords would, of course, in most cases, have a few to spare for their friends." In Poor Robin's Almanack for 1695, under September, are these q uaint lines : " Geese now in their prime season are ; Which, if well roasted, are good fare: Yet, however, friends take heed How too much you on them feed, Lest when, as your tongues run loose, Your discourse do smell of goose."—Sharpe's Jiag, THE EXECUTIONER OF LOUIS XVl.—When Louis the Sixteenth was about to suffer death, Sanson, the public executioner, had the resolution to refuse the dreadful office. "Say not to," said one of the regicides, "your own life will be the penalty of your unwise disobedience." "Be it so then," instantly replied Sanson, "do with me as you please ; I will never be the murderer of my king." One of this man's relatives performed that execrable deed, and it is to be regretted that, having the same name, the odium of that act has been attributed to a person meriting a better fame.—Brady's Claris Calendaria. ENJOYMENT FROM PlCTURES. — Pictures are a set of chosen images, a stream of pleasant thoughts passing through the mind. It is a luxury to have the walls of our rooms hung round with them, and no less so to have such a gallery in the mind, to con over the relics of anci ent art, bound up " within the book and the volume of the brain, life passed among pictures in the study and the love of art, is unmixed, (if it were possible) with baser mater 1" A happy, noiseless dream ; or, rather, it is to dream and to be awake at the same time ; for it has all " the sober certainty of waking bliss," with the romantic voluptuousness of a visionary and abstracted being. They are the bright consummate essences of things ; and "he who knows of these delights to taste and interpose them oft, is not unwise !"—Haelitt. LEARNED COURTIERS.—It was while the king was 'rom home upon this Assyrian war, that his queen Bere- . . . . nice, in Egypt, sacrificing a bull to the gods, vowed that if they brought her husband safe home she would cut off her beautiful tresses, and hang them up in the temple in token of her thankfulness. Euergetes soon afterwards . _ returned a conqueror, and the queen's locks were yielded up to the knife, while the whole court praised her hero ism. Conon, the astronomer, was then busy in noting the places of the fixed stars, and immediately grouping together into a constellation one of those many clusters which the earlier astronomers had left unnamed, he marked it out on his globe, and gave it to the world as the new constellation of the Hair of Berenice. Callima chus took the hint from the courtly astronomer, and, in a poem which we know only in the translation of Catullus, makes the hair swear by the head from which it was cut off, that it was against its will that it left the queen, and was raised to the skies; but, what could it do against the . _ force of steel ? The poet and the astronomer have here been of use to one another ;. the constellation of Coma Berenices is known to hundreds who have not read Cal- lirnachus or Catullus, but it is from the poet that we learn why the queen's locks were set among the stars.— Sharpe's History of Egypt. 'Baal-Ines GARDEN.—There is another fine garden in the vicinity of Cairo, which belongs to Ibrahim Pacha, and occupies the whole of the little island of Rhoda ; the locality pointed out to travellers as the soot where Pna roh's daughter went down to the river to bathe, and found the infant Moses among the bulrushes. This garden is under the superintendence of Mr. Trail, a Scotch horti culturist; and is rich in every variety of tropical vegeta tion and Indian trees, besides whatever European pro- ductions can be made to succeed in this dry and burning climate. It is laid out in the English style; and the beautiful flower beds, and the graceful willows drooping their flexible branches over marble balustrades into the calm Nile, reminded me of the fair gardens of the West, and some of those lovely creations of my own country which have no equal in any other part of the world. No pains or expense have been spared in rendering the gar dens of Rhoda as complete as possible ; but when I in- quired of Mr. Trail whether Ibrahim Pasha understands enough of botany or horticulture to appreciate the rare collecti , n of plants and trees he has assembled together there, he assured me that all his highness's knowledge of that science is comprised in enjoying a fine peach when it is served at his table. The ladies of his harem are oc- casionally permitted to visit the gardens; but Mr. Trail declares that he would rather see a flight of locusts alight upon the premises than these fair recluses. They gather halt the flowers, tread down the remainder, devour all the fruit within their reach, and six months are scarcely suf ficient to repair the ravages effected in less than six hours by them when they are let loose in the bowers of _ _ Rhoda."—Mrs. Romer. MEXICAN SuPEnsTrrloN.7— . But Mexico has one fatal feature which makes the mind despair of her ever holding the rank of a great nation. However glaring may be the superstition of continental Europe, it is of a feeble hue to the extravagance of Mexican ceremonial. In those re mote countries, once guarded under the Spanish govern ment with the most jealous vigilance from the strangers eye, every ceremonial was gradually adopted, of every shape and colour, which the deepest superstition, aided by great wealth, the influence of a powerful hierarchy, and the zeal of a people at once desperately ignorant and sin gularly fond of show, could invent. Rome, and even Na ples, were moderate, compared with Mexico. The con veyance of the Host to the sick was almost a public pa geant ; and its carriage to the wife of Santa Anna was ac companied by twenty thousand people. The feast of Corpus Christi exhibits streets through which thirty or forty thousand people pour along, of all classes of society. with thousands of soldiery, to swell and give military bril liancy to the display. At the head of the pageant moves a platform, on which the wafer is borne by the highest dignitaries of the church. Then_ follows, in a similar ye- hide, " Our Lady of the Remedies," the blessed Virgin Mother, a little alabaster doll, with the nose broken and an eve out. This was the image of herself given by the Virgin to Cortes to revive the valour of his soldiers after their Mexican defeat; and this the priests profess to be lieve, and the populace actually do believe. The doll's wardrobe, with its precious stones, is valued at a million of dollars. The doll stops all contagious diseases, and is remarkably active in times of cholera.—Blackwoods Ma gazine. THE RAVEN.—This bird has been highly honoured in some of the ancient British traditions, which record the transmigration of the mighty prince Arthur into the body of a raven, in which shape he shall dwell till the approach of the hour for the restoration of his kingly line, Many of the superstitious notions concerning the raven may have their foundation in the fact that the bird's acute scent enables him to detect the presence of dead bodies, where human senses would fail to impart any information. Murders have thus been discovered, and ignorance has ascribed to the raven supernatural powers. The follow ing account of one of these events is generally put forth as entitled to credit, and it does not contradict any natural law :—A gentleman was murdered in his bed at an inn ; the body was taken to a river near the house, and, to pre vent it from rising, the murderer passed a stake through it, making one end fast in the mud. When this was done a very small part of the stake still appeared above the water. In a few days afterwards some ravens perched near the spot, over which they were constantly flying and croaking. Their numbers increased, and the peasants. alarmed at such an unusual appearance, attempted to drive them away, but the birds persisted in keeping close to a particular part of the river, as if searching for some thing therein. This induced the people to examine the water, but nothing was seen save the end of the stake. This was drawn up, when, to the surprise of the specta tors, a body rose to the surface. Suspicion became ex cited ; the marks of cart wheels were traced from the river to the inn. The owner was apprehended, and, learning the above particulars, was terror-stricken, and confessed his crime. The ravens were probably at first attracted by the effluvia from the decaying body, and one or two would of course soon attract numbers.—Sharpe's London Mag. COSTUME OF THE AFFGHAN LADIES.—When in pub lic the high-born Affghan lady is so completely enveloped by her large veil (literally sheet), that the person is en tirely concealed from head to foot;. there are two eyelet holes in that part of the sheet which covers the face, ad mitting air and light, and affording to the fair one, her self unseen, a tolerable view of external objects. I trust I may be permitted without indiscretion to remove this shroud, and give some slight description of the costume. Over a short white under garment, whose name of kam mese (chemise) sufficiently denotes its use, is a peirau, or jacket, which, amongst the higher classes, is made of Bokhara cloth, or not unfrequently of Russian broad cloth, brought overland through Bukhara. This garment is generally of some glaring gaudy colour, red or bright yellow, richly embroidered either in silk or gold; it is very like the Turkish jacket, but the inner side of the sleeve is open, and merely confined at the wrist with hooks and eyes. A pair of loose trowsers, gathered at the waist with a running silken cord, and large at the ankle, forms a prominent feature in the costume, and is made either of calico, shawl-cloth, or Cashmere brocade, according to the finances of the wearer. Instead of stockings, they wear a kind of awkward-looking linen bag, yellow or red, soled with thick cloth or felt, the top being edged with shawl-cloth. The shoes are similar to the Turkish slipper, with the usual Affghan high-pointed heels tipped with iron ; and as these articles must from their shape be an impediment to walking, I presume that the real use to which they are generally put must have given rise to the common expression in Hindoostan for any punishment inflicted, the term being " jutte mar," literally, beating with the shoe. The weapon put to this purpose would be very formidable, and I have little doubt that the beauties of the harem keep their lords in high discipline by merely threatening with such an instrument. —A Peep into Toorkisthau. MODE OF CONDUCTING THE HERRING FISHERIES.-- The fisheries of the greatest importance to Shetland, speaking commercially. consist of ling, cod, and herring. Obvious though the advantages are that might be derived from this source, yet the prosecution of it by the native Shetlanders beyond the mere supply of food, is compara tively but a modern pursuit. For centuries the Flemings and Dutch were the chief adventurers, and engrossed the whole fishings, not around the islands only, but also on the coasts of Scotland. So early as the twelfth century, it is said, the salting of herrings, in a temporary manner, was known to the Scottish fishermen, and if we may cre dit tradition, the Dutch purchased them from us in that state, and likewise carried away immense quantities of dried cod, which are still known in Holland by the name of haberdien—an evident corruption of the word Aber been, the port from whence they were shipped. The balance of trade, however, appears to have turned against us after the Flemings had discovered (about the year 1307) the method of pickling herrings as a staple article of exportation. During the following century, the Dutch herring-fishery became independent of the Scotch, for they used only large vessels with nets, on board of which the fish were cured, without any communication whatever with the shore, except at Bressay Sound. The vast ad vantages reaped by these enterprising foreigners appear to have aroused the attention of the old Scottish parlia ment, for in the reign of James 111., and in the year 1471, it was enacted, " That certain lords, s piritual and temporal, and burghs, sou d gar ma k grea t s chips, busses, and ither great pink-boats, with nets and ither abuilzie ments for fishing." This act was confirmed by James IV. in 1491, when it was further ordained, that no vessel should be employed in the herring-fishery under the bur den of twenty tons. In 1573 the government of James VI. appointed the herring-barrel to contain nine gallons according to the Stirling jug, which was the standard Scotch pint. By an act of 1660, and several preceding acts, it was ordained that no herrings should be exported before Michaelmas, all those caught before that time being appointed to be sold in the home market for the service of the country.—Fraser's Magazine. Sept. 22, 1846. THE LIVERPOOL EXHIBITION OF WORKS'OF MODERN ART. NOTICE SECOND. We shall commence our notice to-day in the second room, in which we find several paintings of a very high order of talent by Liverpool artists, some of which are in finitely more deserving of a prominent position in the exhibition than many we could point to, which, but for the names of their respective artists, might very justly have been consigned to inferior places. This apparent favouritism, by the committee, of men of established repu tation, or of those who can affix to their names the sym bolic letters R.A., A.R.A., or R.H.A., is one of the greatest difficulties with which the young artist has to struggle. It is the cause too, we doubt not, of much heart-burning. In all the arrangements of such an exhi tion as this merit ought to be the leading test. A❑ ar tist, whose pictures already command notice, might very well afford to give away a little, to allow unknown merit a fair chance to be appreciated. No. 325, Sir Guyon and the Palmer approaching Excesce at the Porch of the Bower of Bliss, by W. Hug gins. The subject is apparently taken from the following passage of Spencer : " Under that porch a comely dame did rest, Clad in fayre weedes, but fowle disordered, . And garments loose that seem'd unineet for Wornanhed; In her left hand a cup of gold she held, And with her right the riper fruit did re - .ch, Whose sappy liquor, that with fulnesse sweld, Into her cup she scrazed with daintie breach Of her fine fingers, without fowle cmpeach, That so faire winepresse made the win. more sweet Thereof she used to give to drinke to each, Whom passing by she happened to meet : It was her guise all straungers goodly so to greet. So she to Guyon offered it to taste." E'penser's Faerie Queene, Book 2, Canto 12. We regard this picture as one of the most meritorious in the whole exhibition. The subject is well told, and the figures, scenery, and adjuncts are faultlessly painted. The principal figure, the Bacchanal in the foreground,--- " Excesse,"—is especially excellent, the flesh, limbs, and attitude precisely those which would belong to a "comely dame" indulging in the habits described by the poet. Sir Guyon is a striking figure, and his shirt of mail a most skilful piece of painting. Mr. Huggins has advanced his own previous reputation and the credit of our local art very materially by this production. No. 318, a portrait of an English and Scotch terrier, by the same artist, is full of truth and merit ; and No. 439, in the third room, we do not hesitate to pronounce the best painted portrait in the exhibition. 329 is a landscape by Copley Fielding, full of that ar tist's style. The subject is from Ariosto, where Angelica, flying from Rinaldo, seeks a refuge in the forest. if any thing, the light thrown upon the figure and steed of the lady is a little too strong, and inconsistent with the idea of a person hiding from pursuit. The objection, how ever, has little to do with the merits of the picture, as a landscape. which are great. 331. The Gypsy's Encampment, Rydal Water, West moreland, by E. Williams, senior, is a fine landscape. Mr. Williams has several other in the exhibition, all of which, especially No. 100 in the first room, are very clever. 291, by F. Pickering, certainly does not owe its place in the exhibition to any merit it possesses. It is a bad pic ture. 294. Deer Slalkers Refreshing, by R. Ansell, is a good specimen of the artist. The dogs in particular, and the elder figure, are well painted. 334. The Vale of Clwyd, by J. Allen, is a fine picture, most elaborately painted. We much question, however, whether it is not throwing art away, to lavish so much detail on such a landscape. The aim, however, of the artist has been to give the scene as presented under a strong and clear light; and he has succeeded triumphantly, at the expense, however, of giving to the picture very much of the character of a panorama. 316. On the Conway, after Heavy Rain, by Mr. West, is a good picture. 245. Touchstone nominating the Degrees of the Lie, by W. L. Windus, a Liverpool artist, is a panting of great merit. The scene is the 4th of Act 5, in "As You Like it. Jaques.--‘ , Can you nominate in order, now, the degrees of the lie ?" Touchstone.—" 0, sir, we quarrel in print, by the book. As you have books for good manners, I will name you the degrees. The first, the retort courteous; the second, the quip modest; the thhd, the reply churlish; the fourth, the reproof valiant; the fifth, the countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the lie with circumstance ; the seventh, the lie direct. All these you may avoid but the lie direct; and you may avoid that, too, with an If.' 1 knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If,' as 'lf you said so, I said so ;' and they shook hands and were sworn brothers. Your It' is the only peace maker; much virtue in ' If.'" The figure of Touchstone is most characteristic, and the stolid expression and attitude of Audrey are inimitable. The whole picture indeed is well managed. 387. Another work of Mr. Windus's, is a pleasing little picture of A Rustic Girl. 238. The Ejectment, by W. Davis, Liverpool, is a painting of great character and ability, though evidently' the accessories and the background require working OP. The subject is the ejection of an Irish family of the far— mer class, and the story is very strikingly told. The figures in the foreground are well painted, and the whole scenery in excellent keeping with the sombre spirit of the Picture. A few more days bestowed upon it would render it a work of great value. As it is, the talent displayed upon it is unmistakeable. 239, 240. The Village Church and A Scene on the Tees, Yorkshire,. by H. J. Boddington, are two beautiful landscapes, as are 209 and 211 in the first room by the same artist. 241. The Letter Writer, by George Keet, Liverpool, and 312, The Lost Game, are Egyptian sketches of much merit. They are not the beat, however, of the artist. His No. 50, in room first, is an excellent little plastere r and No. 124, The Tombs of the Caliphs, which we ob serve marked " sold," is ver7 meritorious. Mr. K. has altogether seven productions in the exhibition. 376. Scone in Bristol, by W. G. Herdman, is an ex cellent picture. 188 Margaret Ramsay, by Miss. E. Hunt, is a most delicate specimen of flesh colouring. If the original was half so ethereal, the smith, " Hal of the Wynd" might well be afraid of taking any of her delicate limbs into his nervous gripe. 304. Harem Captives, by R. Rothwell, is not a success ful effort of the artist. 354. Summer's Evening, by G. A Williams, and 3 35, Dutch Fishing Boats caming to Anchor, by W. A. Knell' are pleasing compositions. 309. The Palace Garden, by J. D. Wingfield, is fist ir affair. 314. Prayer, by H. Tiffin, is a very interesting and clever picture, placed in a corner wherd it cannot be pro perly seen. 272. Old Forest Hall, Arden, Warwickshire, by f: • H. Henshaw, is one of the best landscapes in the exhr : - bition, bold in character and well painted. 278 is a fine specimen of Lance's Fruit. Amongst the other meritorious pictures in this roots are 241, A Welsh Rustic, by J. J. Hill, 251, Heads oft" Village, by H. J. Pidding, a painting full of character , and 276, The Maiden's Gift, by W. Duffield. FREE TRADE AND MANUFACTURING PROSPERITY. Notwithstanding the assurances that the Yankees would pay us in the consumption of cotton for all their previous frauds—that we should array all Pomerania in printed Cs' licoes, and that even Russian furs should give way to the wares of Manchester, it turns out that we are on the brink of a period of great commercial distress. With the popw, lation of Ireland actually starving, a great proportion 01 the labourers of England likely to be thrown on the poor' rates for support, we are about to have the hands of the manufacturing districts turned out for the positive lack of a market. It will be too clear before the winter is over how desperate a last throw of the millowners the attempt, to bribe foreigners to buy by offering to them the markets M the English farmers. Some time ago the manufacturers of Blackburn came to a resolution to reduce their hours of labour. They did so, on finding that the demand was failing, and that to work the ordinary number of hours would be still more to glut a flagging market. The other millowners, however, whether waiting upon the issue of events, or still preserving a hankering belief 1 0 the false prophets to whose " testimonials" they wer e subscribing, or, perhaps for the sake of that phantate which has ruined so many thousands in all classes of life , " keeping uo appearances," refused to follow the examPl e of the millowners of Blackburn, and hence the following resolutions adopted by the latter : " 1. That the cotton-spinners and manufacturers in th is town and neighbourhood having almost universally adop ted : short time, In pursuance of t , :e resolutions un animous:V . . passed at the last meeting, this meeting regrets elree_ur, ingly that, in consequence of spinners and raanufaet e a c 7 s ,. in other towns not uniting with them, it will be n sary to resume working full time. time t° • "2. That seasons of stagnation will, from bu man time, occur in trade, and can be prevented by no t, measures, however wise • but that the evil effect of suc h stagnation may be grea tly diminished by a temporary re duction of the hours of labour, and of the quantity of goods produced. " 3. That the tendency of working full time in present circumstances will be to increase the price of cotton, lola to depress trade in general, and will probably lead to the usual train of evils incidental to over production, limited demand, and want of confidence. " 4. That this meeting cannot separate without record; ing their opinion, that the relative prices of cotton en! cloth and yarns render short time still more n ecessar Z now than at the last meeting; and that although they e ?... journ sine die, the secretary call a melting hereafter tu, reconsider the subject, at the request of any five member* of the association." of Now, if the plea of insanity were allowable in courts h insolvency, could any rational commissioner visit wi t ,: penalties the manufacturers who ride this John GOD' race into their courts? It is not strange that a highly-r,ei spectable authority, the Blackburn Standard, shoo L s t a te that " unless an improvement takes place in th e market, a stoppage of the mills, or a great number of they' partly if not altogether, will be inevitable before winter I over." Let no man interfere with the progress of the Cod den testimonial, the lesser gratuity to Mr. G. Wilson, 11 t the " little go" for Friend Bright, for if the matt, is not done quickly it is likely never to be done at With the prophets o f the League, as with the equal" tO honest seers whose hands you " cross with sixpence, outlive the time of fulfilment is to outlive all belief in til e d powers of vaticination. In the case of the manufactur'‘ this will be evident. The Manchester Guardian 0 ,, 11) . well say that the depression of the labourer " makes roads upon the demand for articles of clothing and toslr l h6 factures." The mill-owners have assisted to destroy home market by oppressing the labourer and the forni c t and when they have sent their goods out to China 5 ; ) , back, like a cargo of Madeira (except the improvenaeo"A sad find that after freight both ways is lost, they 1 0 0 cannot sell their wares in England, it remains f or tu o who warned them of their 'conduct to congratolistO tb on their position. , tha wr( ver IsIE has moi Yoi Abt Ant Hes gov rum Air( terr phu drift She • A Rot Niel Trit Son Chi Jacl Rill 2,7.13 Li v ; .g Ai vrit, Deben Cr oi Rini Na l N Vet,4 I n.i 4 .,_eil :`lai rr e bea