The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-01-13 00:00:00

Were it g , as the her bt her two s, whic quire i Tdid in its or Smith him avocado over the c mercurial r by the pc One le and half d " Well,' and most c " What body for tl " And w What c nie, and t three wrapp self; and a s the e held tt ig long previously a ty. The Misses S Morniug P particular ,r, the c suing yea ks, half of to exci ntnittee of zht me I for Caroline and lady pat you know, I shall nave t the recipients of that I- years past ; anti we by getting tinir sec The Misses Smit to this argument of tonates of the City hem I ( ix made for a one at a tnerel h, of course misery; fallen.— anfor- it saving maim Lzdalen Institu with our The benevolence of lady oltronnesses scription. Henceforth Mrs. Smith co blankets and ter flannels at a considers i their I beyond other ;rsed in his or d after above irection a for one of her e poor fainting er lord and r kr, and was to become, c f an hour had honcured factr ary, who had rsonages. we in themselves artant con- present ca guished ornament of the order of Phil the reade The poor port— hers or ever ha isadvantage, s Smith and of the ages :ed, she might a kind of foil. .a was good- taint c from I But 11 charitN for cliff the cc others ar becoming ars indulged the poor seriapstreag was amongst .rds Of flannel presence of her lo dismissed with a paltry pittance, and th,, she ir•urt henceforth seek a mode of pro herself and her child, from a tame henifi, the pocket of Mrs. Joseph Smith, philai she was! course, made of the pawn .B. Smith un- f her chari s of the va (To be continued.) 11. remarkably rum time to a meat, .ollected for -.....-_ th one or be dependent s the close of ble to declaim nces—fur as A WEAZEL ASLEEP.—We can scarc has been 6' a crisis," for Lord Brough to to wn.7-Purick, led them—Mrs the screw upon penditure ose which d upon," in e. - Alas! that fruitful in the hearts of toil- I so often be atron or in a purchase he lips of —the being whose feet Luce of ou .y world— own sex ere pair and t he real, native many Mrs vi.lage the false coy er of gold over and would-be- er coating of ch they so im- le to do person- s rather down upon ness of life, to beneath their hich all their s subsidiary ry witt Joseph usual busi Y were glancing and the more ence with her ,t been delivered to her attention , quizing kind, " this wired the eldest City Magdalen one of their d the same yell:3g s that iirl ,his morning, the for your- on't know how len Institution, re nothing, b have paid for ge our friends, urinal cost." iin to answer The poor unfor x-orked cheaply. of a cheap d distribute her y less outlay to course, a more t more distin- hill to sup- array bad driven her. r reputation for i our reputation rdless of s imposes upon 'Ming, into the The labour :d, and she was knowledge that ?Wing bread, for Put source than thropist though ;ly believe there In has not come ~- THE OREGON TERRITORY.—The name of Oregon is derived from Oreg-ino, the Spanish word for wild mar joram, the Organum vulyare of Linnaeus, which grows abundantly in the western parts of the American conti nent, particularly in the disputed territory. for each ev of degradir and almo we never scended the depth o yond the c Of applyin and if t tion, is ind refer them tunates with on fainting anc _ The poo senger,—, only wedd that., mo . footman condition elapsed to cony may c been a ha reverse; rat nure of } also, b Miss C of 2U 8 natured Mrs. Jo )een y great in f nd worn-o Inn'. use forlorn I As a se act', we m such a r ing, stifle found in ? miss wi and for ceaseles worn down In Joseph Smi oozed out. ing of the r iteratttic GLANCES AT EVERY-D (For the Liver I Stark .-TITE LONDO: CHAPTER II LIFE id 8, or to trace the bas fasbionabl rse perfectly Of the I THE WINTER ROBIN (From Douglas Jer r old' s Shilli n g M agaz i ne .) I mean to say that the man or woman who can deny that the robin which conducted Jane Foster over the ~ and saved her from perishing in the snow !ast win ter, was commissioned by Heaven, is not a whit better than a Pagan. I hold fast to that ;if I didn't, I should be a Pagan. I don't—and I would wish this to be di tinctly understood—l don't believe all that is told -' about it ape after anged its s: 5 from the awe till he tmosphere, or was she saw an angel spread his wings and , round, and that she watched him in dumb in the thick, vapoury _ the blinding snow that came feathring down—l Neither do I much credit the tale don't believe which her old randmott great v acity, how that hitting by her fireside at the time when Jane must have been crossing the moor, and fretting herself lest the child Inee her may in the she heard songs floating in t ily voice could ha: was on eart ), and how very cold ono: evious day ; e air which no long; about the read upon tr nd cheri vssessed, n little on ay days past the cloth had cottage tabs ust of brea ,otatoes alone windfalls of the woods, gleaned weather in ; but only one a that cold morning, and no money to pur , alack, alack ! the baker refused further Grandma d to-day_" and fourpence a .ed against 1 that she had satisfied her warm milk for her grandmother, and woman's bedside. I the child, " I want to go to Rook- ned the going to Rookfield this weather ?" Imam, what are we to do ? potatoes." ve no teen miles afoot on alone common with snow-drifts higher than the hedges? No, no, Jane, stay at home, and— " And s grandmano" ?" " Yes, grandmam." " And does he not feed the young ravens that call upon s, grander '' And do not we say our prayers morn and night : Why then should you go to Ronkfield?" " Because, dear grandmam, God only helps those who help themselves. If we wait both at home, bread won't fall into our laps. I must go out and seek it." " A " I will beg, grandmam." seek -1 " Yes; I will tell the gentlefolks, as they pass by, that have a grandmother at home who is very old by ailing, ld that we have no food to eat. Oh, they are very gene ; the rich people, for they are Christians, you Indmam ; and does not Scripture say, He that the poor, lendeth to the Lord ?' " )oor, poor child ! my poor Jane !" I was very simple—so simple indeed as to ima he had but to utter, in sincere and appealing know, g what was of more conseqUence to her, relief. The old woman, though simple enough in her way. was wiser on that coint than her granddaughter. She had seen a little tie working• man's best on Sundays worn only ly poor Jane, do you suppose that the gentlefolks you ?" " Yes, grandmam ; why not ? I shall tell them that ou are old and hum cold, I walk so fast, you know." " You shall go to Rookfield. God will protect my darling. Fetch me that box, and give me the key from my " Yes, gran( " Not to b man). Oh, how good you are to let me go." g, my child ; you shan't beg yet. I've something left in this box that will keep the wolf from th door a little longer, and who knows but what ,erself, and s hut there, peaking b breath, " best to say nothing of him. Poor shall see you no more till we meet in Hea- rew forth a chain from a box—a gold wedding ich, if we judge from the interest with which she d it, she prized highly. The girl had hastily at- If in shawl and bonnet,—both greatly the worse is, and offering bat slight protec v of the season. She dr tired her: for wear, Lion from I you to Take that to the pawnshop at Rookfield, and ask them hillings upon it.. Mind you don't lose it, ►,P ticket and the money safe home," the chain, carefully wrapped as the s fawn—shaking her glossy curls as she ran—her cheeks glowing with the exercise. She sang like a delighted bird wild and lacked the culture that would have fitted thew for the ear of refinemeit. Onward and onward. Eight .s were accomplished. She waaat Rookfield She entered the pawnbroker's shop boldly, for she was not ashamed of honest poverty, and'felt, perhaps, like many others who have sought, under temporary need, the same accommodation, that it is better to borrow money of a tradesman (not an usurer) in the way of business, than to ask a loan from a friend. The shopkeeper, after many questions, and much impertinence, for he saw the girl was poor, and, in his own opinion, he was an individual of great importance himself, consented to take the ring, but would only lend half the sum demanded. " Five shillings, and if you don't redeem it I shall lose by it," said the man, with as much apparent sincerity as the truth " Well then, five shillings," sighed Jane The ticket was made out. The money was paid, and Jane left the shop. It was a great disappointment to have got only five shillings for the ring. It would not last long, husband it as best they might. She was strongly tempted to beg. ,Would her grandmother be angry ? It was mar ket-day at RookfiM, and there were many well-dressed people walking in the streets—ladies with smiling, happy faces—some of them leading by the hand little girls, younger than herself, who were snugly wrapped up in furs and pelisses. Then these ladies were buying at the shops —not mere necessaries, but luxuries and dainties—toys for their children, ornaments for their houses, fruits and pre serves for family enjoyment. . Ah," thought Jane," those ladies who have so much money to spend will not refuse to help me. I won't show them the five shillings—but no—no," and she hastily corrected herself, " I have five shillings, and that, as grandmam says, will keep the wolf from the door. There are poor folks here who perhaps have not got a penny—let them get alms from tho , e who are disposed to give. If I were to beg, I should only wrong such as have neither money nor food." Thoughts akin to these passed rapidly through the girl's mind, and she determined to return home without delay, lest her grandmam should grow uneasy at her long ab- sence. And, in the act of increasing her pace, she felt for her money, which, folded in paper, she had thrust into her bosom, to assure herself that it was safe. Alas, alas !it was gone ! The ticket was also gone. They were gone. With ashy face and palpitating heart, she felt and felt again. They were gone. Overpowered by her misfortune, she sat down upon a door-step, and wept in agony. The house to which the doorstep belonged was evidently the habitation of a wealthy individual. It was situated in the aristocratic quarter of Rookfield. Moreover, it was exactly fronting the Church, whose ta per spire pointed, like the clergyman's Sabbath finger, upward ; and which, being thus set, even on week dayi, before the eyes of those who dwelt in this and the adjoin ing houses, could not but revive in their minds each morn ing, and every hour of the days of labour, those lessons which had sunk so deep into" their hearts therein, on the preceding day of rest and worship. Not that the owner of the house in question could be supposed to need such ad monition,—for he—the proprietor of the doorstep upon which poor Jenny sat and wept—was the clergymen. Op portunely, or otherwise, it happened that at this critical time the reverend gentleman, who had been summoned half an hour before to attend the bedside of a dying man, jo ined him home, accompanied by a friend who had him on the way. " What—what—what is this ?" exclaimed the clergy ian, pointing with his gold-headed cane to the weeping iild crying on my doorstep. Really, how in servants are ! The old cry. I dare say. Eh, Vant, hunger—that's it, eh ?" " I shouldn't wonder," replied the reverend gentleman's companion, with a shrug. " borne—come—speak out, child," cried the pastor. " Didn't you hear me ask what was the matter ? Do you know who I am, eh? I am a clergyman and a magistrate! Do you hear that ? I allow no beggar in Rookfield. I send them all to prison. What, you an't frightened— an't you ?" Ce - rtainiv Jane Foster, although she had risen hastily and was wiping her eyes, was not in the least alarmed. She curtseyed to the gentlemen, and was in the act of moving away. " Stop—stop—not so fast. I asked you what was the matter? She does look faint,—does she not, Fisher ?" said the clergyman. " 1-e-s, 1 think she does, a lit—tle," replied Fisher. And if she did, there was' nothing extraordinary in the circumstance, for she had walked a long distance, and had not broken her fast since the previous day, and then she had dined off pltatoes. " I feel confident that this is a case of imposition," whispered the clergyman to his companion, with a singu lar inattention to his foregone remark; " I'll unmask it. Now, my little maid," he added aloud, " what is your name, and where do you come from ?" The girl replied to each of his queries. " And what—l ask you for the third time—what do you on my door-step ?" " As if she were following the Hindoo method of sitting in dharna," said Fisher, who had been a traveller. " I—l didn't mean any harm, sir," replied Jane, bursting afresh into tears. " I have lost five shillings; my grandmother sent me to pawn a ring, and I have lost the money." The clergyman looked his friend solemnly in the face. " To pawn, to pawn!" he exclaimed, giving to each sylla ble its due impressive enancation. The vice of the lower classes is abominable—to pawn !" The shock was too immense for the reverend gentleman to contend against. He waved his hand, saying, " There, get away, child, get away ;" and walked into the house, followed by his friend. Jane hurriedly left that neighbourhood. No good, she thought, could come from such a vicinity. But what was she to do ? She must beg now, and haply she might meet with those who imputed to the lower orders something which was not " vice." It was with a heavy heart that, turning out of the street in which the clergyman lived, she stood where the ladies passed home from the market, and looked in their faces with eager, hungry eyes. It be.. gan to snow just at this time. Timid and ashamed, she watched an opportunity to make her first appeal. But every one was in such baste to get borne, now that snow was ing - attitude, and pale, attenuated • . face were scarcer noticed, and gained only a cold, un sympathising stare. Ali; it was sad for the poor girl to see so many fellow-Christians, not one of whom was dis posed to lend to their Maker an unstateable fraction of the wealth He had bestowed upon them. It is true that she had not yet petitioned with her tongue,—but her eyes, her cheeks, her pinched limbs and bare attire, what eloquent tongues they had How impressive their oratory ! But it was a week day, and Charity was a theme for Suodays. Once in seven days, the rich folks of Rookfield conde scended to call the poor their brethren. Faster fell the snow. The girl's bonnet and shawl were white as the roofs of the houses. She shivered and her teeth chattered. The marrow of ber bones was chilled stip hnd ...ignet. reply, dr recognised her existence by so much as a shake of the head, or other mute rejection of her suit. Only a penny,—'tis for my grandmother; have lost shillings, and we have nothing to eat at home." o were thus entreated walked fast, snow, and n the vc hose w We that piveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord. In asmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these my brethren, ye did it not to me. Holy words, accredited by those who turned a deaf ear to the petition of the shiver ing beggar girl. CJJ Upwards of two hours did Jane stand, exposed to the thickly-falling snow, and suffering the severest privation from the combined effects of cold and hunger. And dur ing all that time she got angry and even abusive words, breats of Bridewell, but not one deprecating looKs, halfpenny, not one A:nd now the day was so far advanced that the night would soon close in. It still snowed fast—fast. The cold was extreme. As she hurried along the pavement, she caught frequent sights of rousing fires in grates, and happy people warming themselves thereby. The cold was in her limbs, and in her heart. She must hasten' home, lest her poor grandmother should die with fright because of her long absence. Yet once more she would beg—yet once more, for her aged relation's sake, she would beg... A sailor, rather an uncommon personage in Rookfield, approached. She raised her hands in supplication, her pale face, streaming with tears, and her supplicating atti tude, attracted the worthy tar's attention. She told her story, and the humane seaman drew from his pocket a leathern purse, and placed five shillings in her hand, say ing that he gave it her for the sake of hii mother, who was also an old woman, and whom he was hurrying to meet, after a long—long absence—if she were still alive—if she were still alive. lie should have a child too, he said, but he thought she was dead,—he didn't know. Oh, joy —oh, light-hearted joy! Heaping uncounted blessings upon the head of the generous son of Neptune, our happy Jane set her face homeward in good earnest. She was on the moor now ; but soaked to the skin by the penetrating snow, and chilled almost beyond the power of her slight, enfeebled ft ame to bear. At every step she took, her strength grew less and less. The snow fell now so fast and thick, that objects at a trifling distance were obscured, and her little feet sank deeper every in stant. Oh—to die upon that lonely moor—bow horrible ! To sit frantically down, and—as she remembered to have snow wildly round her, and build herself a frightful tomb therewith ! Were such to be her end, through the long hours of that bitter winter's night. how would her old grandmother rave in mad despair, and call vainly upon heaven to aid her darling child ! Thicker and faster—thicker and faster yet. No sky, no horizon, no object on which to rest the eye, but all one wACtP of .nn._ th.t made the eve-balls ache to look upon. Faster and faster yet, and feebler and ref steps. A dizziness came over her—a strange sensation spread around her heart. She could not hold out much longer. She felt herself sinking—Yet one more struggle for her young life. bier grew her A chirp, aZ of a little bird, sounded in her ear. It was close beside her—a robin—a winter robin. The moor was, in summer, particularly barren, even There was oot a tree for a bird to perch ew shrubs, and they were now bidde❑ by Chi rp,—chirp. It was only a simple robin.—but God alone knows bow greatly its presence cheered our little maiden. battling against the storm on that shelterless and dreary moor. What trifling circumstances infuseinew life into the de- spondinfr, breast ! The Scotch warrior gleaned new vigour from watching the efforts of a spider. Mungo Park, when resigned to die in the African desert, beheld a tiny weed lifting its obscure head to the heaven that encloseth all the world, and felt that God, who planted that humble vegetation there, and did ILA withdraw from it his sus tain'ng hand, but sent the breeze to fan it, and the rain to water it,—would succour the child of his own likeness ing thought, there grew such energy, that his limbs received new strength thereby, and he prosecuted his path_ anew, and arrived safely at the . . t conso —this humble robin, dearly beloved by tale and fable, and home'y rhyme—of the music of its speech, of its chirp, chirp, chirp—were begotten such resolution and courage in the heart of the sinking child, that there was no longer any question of her drooping and dying; but a certainty that she should behold her grandmother again, and live, please God, to bless him in after years for pre serving her amidst the dangers of that afternoon. The robin, too, became her guide. Not that she could have missed her way, but the trodden path being hidden by the snow, one direction, so that she did not wander farfrnm the conjectured track, was as go d as another. And the robin went right onward, hopping now,—now flying, and ever strengthening her resolution. And so she found herself, ere long, at the door of her grandmother's cottage, and then she saw the robin no more. She related the story to her grandmother while warm ing herself at the fire which blazed on the hearth. And oh, what ferver.t thanksgivings ascended that night from that lowly roof to the throne of Glory ! The next morning there came a knock at the cottage door, and when Jane opened it, who should present him. self but the sailor who had given her five shillings on the previous afternoon. He started with surprise at seeing Jane, and enquired whether Dame Foster lived there. When Jane replied that she did, the seaman gave a cry of joy._ —" That's Richard's voice," exclaimed the old woman from within. " I know it is. God be praised. He has sent me back my son•" " My mother, my dear mother," cried the sailor rush ing into the cottage. We pass the scene which followed. '• And so this is my Jane,—roy own child," said the seaman, presently, taking her in his lap, and kissing her for full five minutes without drawing breath. " Yes, that iF; poor dead Mary's child," said the grand mother. "It was her mother's wedding-ring that she pawned yesterday." The old woman, the neighbours, Jane herself, all assert that it was no robin; but an ang-1 from the skies, that led her over the moor that afternoon. Who shall dare laugh at their belief? For are not the resolves which, nobiv taken, enable us to battle successfully with the storms of life, and conduct us safely Home—angels, and guardian angels, too? So, here's God speed the Winter Robin on repeated missions ! NEW Yon.x BOARDING-HOUSES.—I went to several boarding-houses before finally making a selection. In answer to inquiries for the terms, they were generally reasonable enough : the highest two dollars a day, about Is. 61. sterling ; and the lowest, one dollar. At these last I inquired their hours. Breakfast at six o'clock, and half-past : hot beef-steaks, much and milk, hommaney, rice and molasses, mackerel, salmon, shad, hot cakes, and rolls of every description ; tea and coffee. Dinner at t..elve o'clock, and supper at six. The bill of fare on reading, looks abundant enough; but really, on inspec tion, this well-covered table offers to an Englishman very little that is even eatable, much less palatable. Though every one must admire the early hours and temperance of the Americans, yet only imagine a Londoner, and an old hand, not used to any thing much worse than the shady side of Pall-mall, assembling at six o'clock at the noise of a great bell—washed and shaved, mind, by six o'clock— to look at an immense rump-steak at the head of the table swimming in fat, not half cooked ; then, lower down, a dish of enormous salt mackerel, one of which would make two of our English markerel ; then some Ha lifax salmon, just as taken from the barrel, and as salt as brine; then two or three small dishes, some white mush, a food for pigs, and others with hommaney, only differing from muQh.in that this last is while maize, ground and boiled in water, whilst mush is yellow corn, ground and boiled. As this sort of food is not known in Endand, thank God, except in the penitentiaries, I have been ra ther particular in describing it. No caution is required to my countrymen to avoid it, because the very sight of it will make them sick. The remainder of the table was filled up with some warmed-up tough old hen, called chicken fixings ; all washed down with the most execra ble coffee in the whole world. I used to think that Eng land might defy all creation for bad coffee : but the Ame ricans beat us hollow.—Rambles in the United States and Canada. THE STAGE NEGRO.—This personation has become a vulgar dancirg brute, with a banjo in his hand, and without a bit of sentiment at his heart; a wretch con stantly jumping about, wheeling about, and turning about, but wholly devoid of that solemn admiration for the Bri tish constitution, and for the liberating influence of the sends of Margate, or the shingles of Dover, which we once used to hear with a feeling of pride at being natives of a land that admitted of so much puffing on the part of our dramatists. The stage negro of the present day can only indulge in frivolous allusions to Miss Lucy Long, Coal Black Rose, and other light characters, or call upon some imaginary individual of the name of Josey, to Jim along—a process that we are at a loss to form a conception of. Thus much for the moral attributes of the stage negro, whose physical peculiarities remain, for the most part, unchanged ; and to those who can, therefore, turn our attention without any feeling of disappointment at the alteration which has occurred in the intellectual cha racter. The stage negro still exhibits that remarkable peculiarity of the skin, which is shown by the dark colour, generally finishing abruptly at the wrist, the hand being nerfectly the same as that of one of the white population. The variety of hues is also very remarkable ; for, while the arm is the colour of a black worsted stocking, the face is somewhat less opaque, and, indeed, it would ap pear that nature dealt for her blacking with two different manufacturers, trying Warren for the limbs, and using Day and Martin fo'r the features of the stage negro.- -Cruikshank'B Table-Bonk• LEGEND OF CAIRN-THIERNA,, (From the Dublin University Magazine.) It was the evening of a brilliant day in the autumn of 1592. The sun had sunk behind the purple range of Nagle's Mountains, and his parting rays yet lin gered, sending a stream of light along the Awbeg, that, reflected by the mirror-like waters, shed effulgent through the valley, and gilded the tall keep and battlements of the stately Castlt town-Roche. The air was heavy with the heat of the day ; but, at intervals, the sighing of the evening breeze awoke the slumber of the wide old woods stretched to the water's side. It was a 'sweet and tranquil hour, when the mind, undisturbed by external objects, looks into itself, and, like a glassy lake, uncalled by the wind, gives back the images, with fide lity, by which it is surrounded. In a tastefully-erected Gothic summer-house, within view of the graceful river, since celebrated in Spencer's song, sate Lord Roche and his lady. They listened to the sounds of glee and youth ful merriment which rung from the turrets ; yet, as the laughter came upon their ears, a cl ,, ud of anxiety seemed to darken the brow of the nobleman, and he hurriedly brushed away the tear that had fallen on his cheek. " My dearest Lord," said the lady, " wherefore this de pression of heart ? All nature smiles around us. Be hold those lovely flowers vieing with the stars in bright ness. See the sparkling river hastenin water nd for r THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. Lord Roche shuddered, and cried— " Speak not of it , Eleanor—spare me !" The lady looked up amazed— " What means this, dear Maurice ? I know that some secret woe hangs heavy at your heart. Confide in me, my husband, and if I cannot soften the grief which preys on you, permit me at least to siare it." " Oh, Eleanor, ask not this," replied her lord, not to unlock a secret which conceals unspeakable woe. I alone am the depository—you shall know it too soon— alas! too soon." Mournfully repeating the last words, the noble would have risen ; but gently laying her fairy fingers on hit doublet, the lady restrained him. `• Maurice," she exclaimed with tenderness, left my father's halls at Ashby, and'sailed the thee, I have ever studied to bear myself towards you as a fond wife should." " since I e sea with The noble pressed her band to his lips with fondness. " When leagured by the kern, I never blenched ; when 'aken by the gallowglass I cried boldly till you came to the rescue. At thy bidding I braided my hair with pearls, and wore my brocade stuffs at the court of the lord deputy, though I fain would content me in this castle of thine. But why recur to these thoughts ? I ask - -nay, I demand your confidence, dear husband. The wife should be to man as the ivy round the tree, clinging the closer when the wind blows keenest." Lord Roche rose to his stately height, and clasped his fair wife to his breast. "Faithfully and fondly, dearest Eleanor, hast thou ever comported thyself to me," he replied ; " and, did evil of mortal kind haunt me, to none would I confide it more readily than to thee, or from none would I gain clesrer counsel, or sager advice, to help me through the strait, be it ever so sorely beset. Alas ! no kern or gal lowglass threatens our fortunes now. Would that it were so! My men-at-arms and gallant knights would soon scatter them like chaff before the wind." _ _ " Nay, then, I must know the secret that robs thy bosom of its rest.' `• Well, Elean3r, be it so. I tell t for nought earthly can avert the decrees of fate, and to heaven we commit our child." The lady resumed her seat by her lord's side, and he continued— " At the last parliament of the Pale, I heard much con cerning a man learned beyond all others in occult sciences, and surnamed Nathan the Astrologer. His fame was whis- pered in the court ; but no one of our lords could induce him to disclose the secrets of futurity, no matter what guerdon they offered, for Nathan is rich beyond belief. Impelled by curiosity to behold the famous soothsayer, I left the lOrd deputy's table one afternoon, and strolled by the Lif fey's banks in the direction of the ruined preceptory of the Knights Templars, at Kilmainham—among which, I understood, Nathan had chosen to reside. The shades of evening closed over me, ere I left the city's walls, and the watch-fires cast a lurid blaze upon the distant hills; but the moon arose, and, as her silver beams fell upon the proud pile of the Templars, methought I never witnessed a grander or more solemn spectacle. I had taken a seat almost unconsciously on the prostrate columns of the en trance, end- wrz turiVriog my eyes to glance from broken tower to fallen b.ittgement, my thoughts ever recur ing to thee, dearest, and to our only child, when the toll of a bell from the distant city came to mine ear. Its tones, muffled by distance, were so meet for the hour, that my feelings kept time to their chiming, and it was not nntil roused from my reverie by the presence of a stranger, that I recollected the knell was for a parted soul. The stranger appeared a man evidently past the prime of life, for grey locks fell down by the side of fe , ttures furrowed Ca by the ploughshare of time. His aquiline nose, black eyes, and thick lips denoted an eastern origin, to which the turban on his head added confirmation. For the rest, he wore the long white mantle of the templars ; but in stead of the heavy, double-edged sword, the terror of the infidels, wore a light sabre, resplendent with jewels. ' Who art thou that thus intiudest on my privacy ?' de manded the stranger. I briefly stated my name—that, tempted by the beauty of the night, I bad prolonged my walk, and ere I returned, paused to admire the ruins. feared the low, base-born feeling of curiosity had tempted the Lord Roche hither,' said Nathan, for it was he; but it is well—avoid curiosity, it is the passion of vulgar minds. Fate is in the hands of God—he sees what we should know, and imparts the knowledge duly." Nay, forgive me, illustrious sir, if I ask thee to inform me on one point.' Foolibb, foolish man! what seekest thou?' he replied. ' Ask not—know not!' The fate of my boy —how long to live, and how to die?' Oh, fatal question! —imprudent curiosity Slowly and mournfully the as trologer repeated the following lines, which tears, like biting acid, have graven on my memory "Twenty times shall Avonmore O'er sands her wintry waters pour ; Twenty times the darksome stream Shall mirror the bright summer gleam ; Twenty years the youth hath sped, Another, lo I the youth is dead ! By water sure, his death must be— He thus shall fill his destiny.' " The noble gazed anxiously on his lady as he repeated these lines ; but though her heart swel!ed with agony, her presence of nu:nd never deserted her, and no outward or visible sign betrayed the maternal solicitude. He con tinued— " The moment the last words of the astrologer died away in the night breeze, and I had recovered from the stunning effects of his sad prediction, I found myself alone. Where Nathan had departed I could not discover, though for hours I rambled amid the venerable pile, to ascertain if there was no way of averting the doom. How desolate felt the tenantless walls, now silent and deserted. I remembered well, on my fir,t appearing at the Court, the superb banquet that was given in the hall I wandered in that night, saJ and heart-broken. Then it blazed with jewels, and the proud array of chivalry. The hum of many voices seemed again present at mine ear ; but all were dead or banished. I looked on the stalls of the knights—their seats were vacant, and their banners torn with ignominy from the scene of their gorgeous blazonry. The evening had given way to night ; and, as the dew fell heavy and cold, 1 thought of our dear boy's watery grave, and hurried back, fearful at being alone, "Thenceforth, as you remarked, life has become a blank to me. I ab sented onset from the council on plea of indisposition, and mingled no more in tilt-yard or banquet. I returned hither at the close of the session, feart . al of presenting myself sooner, lest it should alarm thee sweet one; and oh ! that I should bear such dismal tidings—that, after a lapse of a few short years, our dear boy must cease to ex ist—that his sunny smile will greet ns no more—his ac cents cease to answer our call—his eyes be closedin death. %1 hat have I done, oh, God! to draw down such a cala mity on our house ?" "Maurice," said the lady, her voice struggling with sorrow, " you have told a tale of woe; but who can vouch for the truth? Predictions have been often unful filled, and this may be a false one." " Heaven grant it may, dearest. I never thought of that." •' No, Mauricro. I perceived you only looked at the dark side. Have confidence in the Almighty —oar child's life is in his hands. He gives and takes away—blessed be his name!" " But. the prediction hangs over him," observed Lord Roche. " The time stated for its accomplishment is far distant," replied the lady. " Gerald is barely thirteen, and no danger threatens for seven years." " Meanwhile, then, I will select a site, and build a tower for his residence," said her husband; " and when be passes his twentieth year, be shall live where no water can come nigh him, to wet his ancles, and we shall have him safe and sound." Thus mutually comforting and solacing etch other, as is meet in all domestic trials, the lord and the lady returned to the castle. Ye , rs rolled swiftly on —not unmarked, however, in Castletown-Roche. The story of the prediction got abroad ; and many an aged head shook doubtingly on hearing the great preparations the Lord was making to avert the fate of his heir. As the time approached for the fulfilment of the pro phecy, Lord Roche resolved to try and avert tne ace, om plishment, and selected the eastern extremity of the Nan gle's Mountains as a spot remote from the element which was predestined to deprive his son of life. Here he col lected materials and skilful workmen ; and, before the heir of the title and estates of Maurice Lord Roche com pleted his twentieth year, a spacious. tower looked from the top of Cairn-Thierna over the vast extent of country beneath. _ _ _ The twentieth birth-day came, and Gerald Rocbe was -0! that father could wish the son who was to inherit his ~ :ti, and name,. or mother's care could form. Manly, yet gentle—accomplished in all that befitted his rank. Gerald was not only the darling of his parents, but tire delight of all who knew him; and there was not a lip of man or woman, as he rode by his father's side to enter his new abode, but prayed for the safe return of young Gerald Roche. The youth rode by his father's side. Tie was separated from his mother fur the first time, and there is something at all times in parting , from those we love that brings sad ness to the heart, and depresses the spirits. We miss the accustomed features that ever met us with the kindly smile, the voice that greeted us with the softest tone—and what smile or what voice ever reached us like our mo ther's! For a time Lord Roche and his son rode on in silence ; but the sorrows of the young are of short duration ; their elastic spirits quickly recover, each object affording no velty serves to dissipate their grief. They pursued their journey over the Ballyhooly mountains on a pleasant day in spring. The winter had been cold and desolate, and nature seemed to rejoice at its departure. The snowdrop was seen, with its round white blossoms, and the yellow primrose gleamed from the tender blades of green. The Girds seemed to enjoy a holiday, and piped merrily like boys released from school. These sights and sounds had their effect on the youthful heart of Gerald. He talked with his father on the sports he would enjoy in the vici nity of his mountain castle. The hills were full of hares he was told, and his greyhounds were remarkable for fleetness. Then he would practice with long and cross bow, and win the President of Munster's prize at the next archery meeting. The master of the stable was to entrust the breaking in of a young colt of great beauty entirely to him, for amusement, and bis mother promised to spend the entire summer with him, as soon as her apartments were ready ; for, owing to a delay in the drying of the plastering, only one sleeping apartment was sufficiently aired for safety. With such converse they whiled away the road, until the castle of the mountain loomed against the skies. " Oh, how noble!" ex air, piercing the clouds, to inhabit. "imed young Roche, as high in eld the tower he was about His father said nothing ; for his heart was full of the fatal prediction, and he wound up the steep ascent mourn fully and thoughtful. "This is glo - rious," said the young man, as they paused mid-way to give the horses breath. Already they had as cended considerably above the plains, yet the tower was as high again as they were from the spot where they di verged from the level road. Whichever way they looked, the eyes took a vast and varied prospect. Beneath lay mountain and moor, valley and plain dotted with villages and habitations of peasants, rivers flashed in the far dis tance. Lord Roche shuddered as he saw the waters, but considered the distance and thought of safety. The cool breeze of the mountain caused a chill which invited motion, and the pair continued their ascent. Ar rived at the castle, they were received with cheers by the workmen, who were engaged finishing some work on the outer walls, and the young man rapidly hurried through the various portions of the dwelling with the eagerness of His father could not keep pace with him. The . . topmost window commanded a splendid view. The sight embraced a rich line of country, enclosed between the Bride and the Blackwater rivers, with the waving trees of numerous forests stretching along the banks. The lofty Galty mountains seemed a wall to the north ; while the waters of the distant sea, near Cork harbour, glimmered with reflected sunshine to the south. The day was un commonly calm, and not too bright, and objects were seen at an almost incredible distance. Perfectly engrossed in the splendour and variety of landscape, Lord Roche for some minutes absolutely for. got the purpose which led him thither ; and when he awoke to consciousness, his son was no longer by kis side. He called " Gerald," but no Gerald answered. He sum moned his attendants; their young master was not with them. They called the workmen ; be was not with them. Breathless, Lord Roche descended, running into each chamber, and calling out his son's name. The portal was reached, bit no Gerald ; the scrutiny of the detached towers was equally fruitless—he was not to be found ! A large vat stood at a distance, a huge black funeral object, used, during the building, to hold water for the making of mortar ; it was nearly full, from the winter rains, and something like a bird floated on the surface. Lord Roche appeared. Gracious heaven !-if was an ostrich feather, such as his son wore in his cap. He looked closer—Oh, God !—the green and stagnant contents held his beloved son, secured in the gripe of death ! What induced Lim to climb the slippery side ? whether the reflection of his figure in the water tempted him to venture in, is unknown, but he was d TF rowned, and fulfilled the prediction castle soon went to decay, and the vast heap of stones on the brow of Cairn-Thierna attests the truth of the tale. SECONI • Standard-office, 2 o'clock LIVERPOOL C RN EXCHANGE. This DAY The arrivals since our report of the 6th instant, com- prise a fair quantity of Wheat and Flour, with a moderate supply of Oats and Oatmeal from Ireland ; the receipts Coastwise, however, are still very trivial; whilst from the Medit week form collectively a tolerably good accession be observed on reference to the list subjoined There was a moderate attendance at this day's as will wheats declined about 3d per 701bs from this day market, which reduction necessitous buyers took to a fai week, at at ls., and Oatmeal at 6tl. to Is. per sack decli x extent, last Tuesday's currenc' A cargo fair Stettin NI 3d. per 701bs. in bond, and States Flour i ne from at 28s. to 28s. 6d. per barrel under lock ARRIVALS OF CORN, From the 6th to the 12th January, inclusive WISE. I STATSS.! REIC Wheat .. Ors. 4127 i Barley Qrs. 273 Malt Qis. 263 Oats Qrs. 3278 Rye Qrs. Beans Qrs. Pease Qrs. ShelledßarleyQrs. Indian Corn. Qrs Rapeseed Qr Oatmeal Flour Ditto 3839 1 7505 2652 I 520 s offered Iwo Runcorn, Ir&and an I Coastwise Barley, qrs.; Malt, qrs.; Oats, sacks; Flour, sacks —Wheat qrs.; Oatn qrs. ; Beans, Oatmeal, Bar- EXPORTS.—Foreign. Wheat. —qrs,; Barley, 2 qrs. ; Oats, 50 qrs.; Indian Corn, qrs_, load; Flour, 30 bils.—l k eland. Wheat, qrs., ley, qrs.; Rye, qrs ; Oats, qrs ; India❑ Corn, qrs. ; Oatmeal, 0 Ids; Flour, 0 sks, 160 Wis. —Coastwise_ Wheat, 49 qrs. ; Barley, qrs. ; Malt, 13 qrs.; Oats, 12 qrs. ; Beans, qrs. ; Pease, 110 qrs. ; Oatmeal, loads ; Indian Corn. qrs. ; Flour, 124. sacks 193 brls. Average prices of Grain, for the week ending Jan. 3, 1546. Wheat 555. id,' Barley 3is. lid,' Oats 225. 3d. ; Rye 335. 6d Beans..37s. gd. ( Pease..3gs. Id Aggregate average of the six weeks. s. 61. I Barley 325. 7d. I Oats 235. 9d. I Rye 343. 7d Beans.. 40s. Od. I Pease.. 425. 4d. ' Duty 04 Foreign Produce this week . Wheatlss Od I Barley 6s lid Oats .. . 5s Od I Rye. Beans 2s 6d I Pease.. Is Od Ind. Corn Os Od Flou Duty on Canadian. Wheat.. Is. od. I Barley.. os. 6d. I Oats ..1 Beans Os. 6d 1 Pease os.6d. I lan. Corn os 0.6 d. f R 3 d. 1 Flour . Os 7id Duty on other British Colonial. Wheat.. 2s. Od. I Barley.. Os. bd. I Oats, 0,6 d. Rye Beans.. Os. 6d. I Pease.. Vs. 6d. I Flour. is. 2. Liverpool Averages, week ending 6th Jan., 1845. Wheat, 2841 qts., price 558 7d ; Barley, 29 qrs., price 30 , Oats, 604 qrs., price 265. 2d. ; Rye, qrs., price —s. Beans, qrs., os. ; Pease, qrs., Os. Od. THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1750.—1 n speaking of the pre• dieted earthquake, and the fsncied shock of 1750, Horace Walpole gives some forcible illustrations of the English characters of that day. On the day of its expected occur ence, he says, Dick Leveson and Mr. Rigby, who had supped and stayed late at Bedford House the night be fore, knocked at several doors, and in a watchman's voice cried cried '• past four o'clock, and a dreadful earth quake." Again, Turner, the celebrated chinaman, had a jar which be declared had; been cracked by the shock; ', he originally (sips Horace) asked ten guineas for the pair ; he now asks twenty, because 'tis the only jar in Europe that has been cracked by an earthquake !!'— " But what will you think (he adds) of lady Lucy Cathe- . . way, who go this evening to an inn, ten miles out of town, where they are to play at brag till five in the morn- ' ins . h , and then come back-1 suppose to look for the bones of their husbands and families under the rubbish ! " LITERARY REWARDS IN THE DAYS OF GEORGE 111. —The accession of George 111. opened a new and brighter prospect to men of literary merit, who had been honoured with no mark of royal favour in the preceding reign. The new minister, Lord Bute, gave a pension of £3OO a•year to Dr. Johnson, and the same sum to Home, the author of Douglas. Boattie and Mallet were pensioned by the crown. The King condescended to converse with Dr. Johnson. His minister recommended a literary work of great national importance to the pen of Walpole, and held out hopes that the work would meet with the encouragement of government. But Bute went out of power, and nothing was done. Dr. Shebbeare and Tom Sheridan each received a pension. The king, it was said, had pensioned a he-boar, meaning Dr. Johnson, as well a she-bear (Dr. Shebbeare). No one knew why Tom Sheridan received a pension. " What !" said Johnson, " have they given him a pension ? Then it is time for me to give up mine." The wisdom of rewarding literature in the person of Tom Sheridan may well be doubted. Mallet had no great claims upon the government as a literary man. Ilis ballad, it is true, is very beautiful; but William and Margaret did nothing for him. He was pensioned for the dirty work he had executed for a ministry in want of support. Many writers of sterling reputation were in the mean time overlooked. The de lightful author of The Vicar of Wakefield became, for very existence, a mere literally hack or drudge for book sellers. "In Ireland," says Goldsmith, " there has been more money spent in the encouragement of the Padareen ware, than given in rewards to literary men since the time of Usher." Sinollett sought the assistance of Lord Shelburne, then in power, but nothing was done for the entertaining novelist ; and he was allowed to end his days in perpetual exile, pinched in his means, and enfeebled in body, from the incessant employment of his pen. Burns was snatched from the sickle and the plough "to gauge ale firkins," and support a wife and family on the poor emoluments of an excisemen's office A word to the Commissioner's of Excise in Scotland, from one who quoted his poems to Mr. Addington with the highest ap probation, would have given him a lift in his office, glad dened the hearth, and lengthened the life of a true-born poet. \%e refer to Mr. Pitt ; when Mr. Addington re minded that great statesman of the poet's genius, and the poor situation it was his lot to fill, Mr. Pitt promised to do something for him, pushed the bottle on, and remem bered his promise, if he remembered it at all, when the floe-hearted poet of genuine nature, " Who to the' Illustrious' of his native land, So properly did look for patronage," as, alas, now more !—Freaer's Mayazine. CROMWELL'S EJECTION OF THE RUMP PARLIAMI OII ' —Wednesday, 20th April, 1653. My Lord General or cordingly is in his reception-room this morning, " 111 plain black clothes an d gra y wors t e d s t oc ki ngs ; " be, with many officers : but few members have yet come, though punctual Bulstrode and certain others are there. Sana a waiting ; some impatience that the members would cons& The members do not come : instead of members, comes° notice that they are getting On with their bill in the houee.; hurrying it double-quick through all the stages. Posts!. ble ? New message that it will be law in a little while, If no interposition take place ! Bulstrode hastens off to the house : my Lord General, at first incredulous, does also now hasten off ; nay, orders that a Company of Muske teers of his own regiment attend him. Hastens off, w i th a very high expression of countenance, I think ;—saying or feeling : Who would have belie ve d it o f th em ? " is not honest ; yea, it is contrary to common honesty !"--- My Lord General, the big hour is come ! Young Colon!! Sidney, the celebrated Algernon, sat in the house this morning ; a house of some fifty-three. Algernon has left distinct note of the affair ; less distinct we have from Bill' strode, who was also there, who seems in some points to be even wilfully wrong. Solid Ludlow was far off in Ire land, but gathered many details in after-years ; and faith fully wrote them down in the unappeasable indignation of his heart. "The Parliament sitting as usual, and being in debate upon the bill with the amendments, w hi c h it was thought would have been passed that day, the Lord General Cromwell came into the house, clad in plain black clothes and gray worsted stockings, and sat down, as he used to do, in an ordinary place." For some time he lis tens to this interesting debate on the bill ; beckoning once to Harrison, who came over to him, and answered dubitatingly. Whereupon the Lord General sat still, for about a quarter of an hour longer. But now the question being to be put, that this bill do now pass, he ceckons again to Harrison, says, " This is the tim e ; I mus t do . - - so " rose up, put off his h a t, an d , spake. At the first, and for a good while, he spake to the commen dation of the Parliament for their pains and care of the public good; but afterwards he changed his style, told them of their injustice, delays of justice, self-interest, and other faults,"—rising higher and higher, into a very ag gravated style indeed. An honourable member. Sir Peter Wentworth by name, not known to my readers, and by me better known than trusted, rises to order, as we phrase it ; says, " It is a strange language this; unusual within the walls of Parliament this ! And from a trusted servant too ; and one whom we have so highly honoured ' • and one"—" Come, come !" exclaims my Lord G enera l in a very high key, " we have had enough of this"—and fazt my Lord General now blazing all up into clear con flagration, exclaims, " I will p u t au en d t o your prat i ng , and steps forth into the floor of the house, and " clapping on his hat," and occasionally " stamping the floor with his feet," begins a discourse which no man can report He says—Heavens ! he is heard saying : " It is not fit that you should zit here any longer !" You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing lately. " Yotl, shall now give place to better men !—Call th em i n 1' adds he briefly, to Harrison, in word of command and "some twenty or thirty" grim musketeers enter. with bullets in their snapchances ; grimly prompt for orders; and stand in some attitude of carry-arms there. Veteran men : men of might and men of war, their faces are as the faces of lions, and their feet are swif, as the roes upon the mountains ;—not beautiful to honourable gentlemen at this moment ! " You call yourselves a Parliament," continues my Lord General in a cl , ar blaze of conflagra• tion : " You are no Parliament! Some of you are drun kards," and his eye flashes on poo r M r . Ch a ' oner . a n official man of some value, addicted to the bottle ; " some of you are -." and he glares into Harry Mar ten, and the poor Sir Peter who rose to order, lewd livers both ; ".living in open contempt of God's Command ments. Following your own greedy appetites, and the Devil's Commandments. ' Corrupt unjust persons,' " and here I think he glanced at Sir Bulstrode Whitlocke, one of the Commissioners of the Great Seal, giving him and others very sharp language, though he named them no Corrupt unjust persons ; scandalous to the pro fession of the Gospel :' how can you be a Parliament for God's People? Depart, I say ; and let us have done with you. In the name of God—go !" The house is of course all on its feet—uncertain almost whether not on its bead such a scene as you never seen before in any House of Commons. History reports with a shudder that my Lord Gene ral, lifting the sacred Mace itself, said, " What shall we do with this bauble ? Take it away !"—and gave it to a musketeer. And now—" Fetch him doivn !" says he to Harrison, flashing on the Speaker. Speaker Lenthall, more an ancient Roman than anything else, declares be will not come till forced. " Sir,' said Harrison, " I will lend you a band ;" on which Speaker Lenthall came down, and gloomily vanished. They all finished • flooding gloomily clamorously out, to their ulteri or businesses, and respective places of abode : the Long Parliament is dissolved ! " It's you that have forced me to this," ex claims my Lord General : " I have sought the Lord night and day, that he would rather slay me than put me upon the doing of this work."— Carlyle's Oliver Cromwell': Letters and Speeches. CITY TlME.—Among the many peculiar features which distinguish city from country life, not the least striking In the different estimation in which time is regarded. In the country, the rustic plods along the row!, or leans over a stile, unknowing and uncaring for the hour, much less the minute. The deep tones of the church bell tell their tale to very careless and inattentive hearers ; and the countryman thinks his watch correct enough if it be with in a quarter of an hour of the village clock, in whose ac curacy he places as much confidence as if old Time him self had the winding up of it every day. Very different, however, is the manner in which time is estimated in a large city. There, where thousands of persons congregate, and where business of great magnitude is hourly trans acted, it is of importance that. strict punctuality be ob served—that the standard of time be correct—and that time, even its most fractional parts, be not despised. Of course, without this arrangement, no plans or purposes could be satisfactorily carried out, and all would be disorder, uncertainty, and disappointment. It is, how ever, in a colossal city like London that we see to per fection Time exercising his uncontrolled dominion ; and perhaps no city in the world could furnish such striking illustrations of its paramount importance. Here it is not enough that your watch is right by the parish clock ; the question is, is it in accordance with St, Paul's or the Horse Guards ? No genuine Londoner would think of passing either of those chronological standards without setting his watch right by it ; which, having done, he; talks of the time with authority, and right by St. Paul's' is an assertion which cuts short the dispute. In passing along the streets, too, what anxious pulling out of watches by evidently belated pedestrians, is observable on every hand ; what rating of omnibus conductors for having stopped for full five minutes.' Here a traveller, with his greatcoat and carpet-bag, and his face glowing like a red coal, urges his way along the crowded street, fearful of being too late for the train ; and there a cab is stuck fast in a crowded thoroughfare, the inmate of which raves that the steamer will have started in enother three mi nutes. Here a tradesman from the west end is burn , ' ing to get his cheque cashed at the banking-house, the appointed hour fur closing which is even now ready to strike ; and there a country gentleman has arrived just in time to see the door of the public-office whither he was bustling closed against him. Appointments are made to the minute; and a delay of five or ten minut e s in keeping one, is at the hazard of disarranging the next. Clocks are conspicuous in most of the better descripti.•n of shops watches are ticking in every business-man's packet. How goes the enemy ?' is one of the commonest imam' ries ; and everything testifies to the immense importance of time in the social arrangements of a great city. As 01 boundr ,ne immense establishments with which ,ondon and especially in the government offices, punctuality is of the first importance, some amusing illustrations of the value of time, even in its vulgar fractions, are there exbi° bited, which, to the eye of a stranger, are very striking► and are probably, from the national superiority of our be.' siness-habits, unique. In the morning, as the clock ill about to strike nine, omnibuses and stages draw up in tbC vicinity of the bank, filled with well-dressed, gentle' menlike men. The thousand and one' clerks are ar riving, all of whom are required to be at their post by th e precise time, under pain of a fine. The old st ger wh c) , has filled his situation th ese f or th e l ast t h ree quarter s 0' a century, and fears lest, peradventure, something on the road might detain him, and who prides himself not a lit tle on his punctuality, always contriv- - -ve his house c, sea to leave, _ in the suburbs, where most of the clerks reside, a few tay nutes before the necessary time ; but some of the younger ones, who are not so wary, show by their flushed faces the quick step they have been obliged to adopt in order to ar rive in time. Another and another omnibus unburden s itself of its load ; quick as thought the ' thirkeen inside and five out' are hurrying to th e b an k gate ;gouty 01° gentlemen hobble up to the entrance w ith a ll t h e quic,l,`: ness they can muster ; and at ten m i nu t es past nine, t'''" twice five hunlred men are at their desks ready for ac tion. Still more animated and striking is the scene at the General Post-office in St. Martin's-le-Grand a fel l minutes before six o'clock in the evening. At a quart er before six the fray has scarcely commenced ; there is am ple time and few care to hurry themselves, except it b e some unaccustomed dame, who eagerly inquires whethl she is too late to post her letter. But the miriute-hae f silently moves onwards, a nd b oys arr i ve w i th bags et newspapers and packets o f l e tt ers , w hi c h are poured i n !: the all-receiving window. Onwards, onwards moves the minute band ; only five minutes to the hour—and has and men come hurryi,ig in from all parts with letters air. papers, the young ur c hi ns g l ory i ng i n j ust ' n i c ki ng the time.' Bag after bag is thrown in at the window, a t the peril of the official who stands there to receive there; packet after packet of l e tt ers b e i ng a i me d at hi m by 0 6 ,, respective and irrespective bearers. St. P au l' s cloc k strikes —one ; still more a n d more come runn i ng up the steps—ln o, a cab draws up, and a sack of newspapers 1a hastily hauled out and thrown in at the window—three, 7 Porter puffs up at his very quickest speed with a bag letters—four, a panting, f. eagre horse arrives, and an - other sack of papers is safety lodced—five, a young bare armed paper-capped urchin pours a his armful of Sufi! and Globes—six. the window-keeeper uncerem onious? , slams to the shutter, and the score of surrounding t,I, L b chins, having safely deposited their burd'ens, salute cy",, a shout of derision the disconsolate lad who ru s hes uP the place with his packet one minute too late.—Chambe r Edinburgh Jori?nal. THE "GENEVESE TRAVELLER. " —Matthew L. Da: ll ,, °. Esq., of New York, is the writer of the letters svhi c ;; under the above signature, appear in The Ti m es. tle u 'i also the author of " The Spy in 'Washington," of W s " Biography of Aaron Barr," and is now the writer of, series of articles signed"A Calm Observer," which apPe' r in the Washington National Intelligences. The largest carriage built in England for many yea has just been completed by a maker in Lo n don, from rough timbers, in the incredibly short space of twen"„ three days. The consturction being diff e rent from ! n , carriage yet built in this country, delayed its completi° o' o It is painted a brilliant celestial blue, relieved with bold white, and is a perfect specimen of art. It is `fate to be for the Emperor of Russia. Jan. 13, 1846.