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

Etttratitm ..----...e..- NO. L-THE LONDON SEMPSTRES CHAPTER II us to 100 and su ith a to Yet t ey have fai re beyond them are f A so ut s, our peniten not too much i ansion of tt her, more footman to tb It menial although a c e y the pleasure - of .oduce of her to the a few words of description, and detail an i. on wh . Jose d her admission wife of an em was either choose n her ap ness was only re gance (in n n the t ;11 their ghts wer f the ? "WI GLANCES AT EVERY-DAY LIFE (For the Liverpool Standard.) streets of tots great m Id have to bear home I the pr arrived at le to the hearts, or to trace Terings, of the with us f crim", v of undeserved lovely and young ; and dittering 'ortune—we never pau'se to oca which they have de- :sought upon hick we have the power :e or their misery; fallen, — s specula iple I—we ,es t our arities,and congratulate our duty to such unfor- if, with our deeding Wounds, and, we had relieved their as unnoticed beyond other re deserving of misery treets of the City, shrinking magined gaze of every pas- d in his or 3 one like her, so obvi grave,—and after above gth at veracity, at the spacious merchant brought no reply, nought only the surly direct Ano ion of a as the fittest entrance for one of her therefore, the poor fainting f work. Even there, reeted her, , no kindly rudely offer( as not until r received ier weary an hour had insolent functionary, mself at leisure u;) stairs that she waited•the and her daughters, to inspect the labours. Before accompanying e illustrious personages, we shoo )f the ages correct ye the s vants are " Yes; I will tell the gentlefolks, as they pass by, that I have a grandmother at home who is very old by ailing, and that we have no food to eat. Oh, they are very gene rous—are the rich people, for they are Christians, you know, grandmam ; and does not Scripture say, ' He that giveth to the poor, lendeth to the Lord ?' " " My poor, poor child ! my poor Jane !" The girl was very simple—so simple indeed as to ima gine that she had but to utter, in sincere and appealing tones, a true and moving tale to gain compassion, and, what was of more consequence to her, relief. The old woman, though simple enough in her way, was wiser on that point than her granddaughter. She had seen a little of the-world, and knew that the Christianity of the rich is too often, like the working• man's best garment, worn only looked to great disadvantage, I on Sundays. Miss Smith and " My poor Jane, do you suppose that the gentlefolks will listen to you ?" " Yes, grandmam ; why not ? I shall tell them that you are old and hungry." " Does it snow now, Jenny bird ?" " No, grandmam : it is quite fine, and I shan't feel the cold, I walk so fast, you know." " You shall go to Itookfield. God will protect my darling. Fetch me that box, and give me the key from my pocket." ' Yes, grandmsm. Oh, bow good you are to let me go." " Not io beg, my child ; yOu shan't beg yet. I've ,ometbing left in this box that will keep the wolf from the door a little longer, and who knowsbut what-but there," added the old woman, checking herself, and speaking be low her breath, " best to say nothing of him. Poor Richard, we shall see you no more till we meet in Hea ven." She drew forth a chain from a box—a gold wedding ring, which, if we judge from the interest with which she surveyed it, she prized highly. The girl had hastily at tired herself in shawl and bonnet,—both greatly the worse for wear, as the saying is, and offering bat slight protec tion from the severity of the season. " Take that to the pawnshop at Rookfield, and ask them to lend you ten shillings upon it. Mind you don't lose it, and see that you bring the ticket and the money safe home," said the old woman, placing the chain, carefully wrapped in paper, into the girl's hand. Cheerily, cheerily, Jane departed on her mission. Blithe as the summer lark—light and agile as the skipping fawn—shaking her glossy curls as she ran—her cheeks glowing with the exercise. She sang like a delighted bird pouring forth rich notes, all the richer for that they were wild and lacked the culture that would have fitted them for the ear of refinement. Onward and onward. Eight miles were accomplished. She was at 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 if he spoke the truth. " Well then, five shillings," sighed Jane. The ticket was made oui.' The money was paid, and Jane left the shop. It was a great disappointment tahave 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 Rookfield, and there were many well-dressed people walking in the streets—ladies with smiling, happy faces—some of them leading by the band 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 ed 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 those who are disposed to give. If I e to beg, I should only wrong such as have neither nor food." Thoughts akin to these passed rapidly through the mind, and she determined ► . o - return home without delay, lest her grandmam should grow uneasy at her long aby 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, the 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, evert.on week days, 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 bad 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, returned home, accompanied by a friend who had joined him on the way. " What—wftat—what is this ?" exclaimed the clergy ointing with his gold-headed cane to the weeping 4 child crying on my doorstep. Really, how in ! The old cry. I dare say. Eh, that 's it, eh ?" ' replied the reverend gentleman's Fisher ? Want, hunger— " I shouldn't wonder,' companion, with a shrug " Come—come—speak out, child," cried tha 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 I Do you hear that ? I allow no beggar in Rookfield. I send them all to prison. • What, you an't frightened— an't you ?" Certainly 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—net so fast. I asked you what was the matter ? She does look faint,—does she not, Fisher?" said the clergyman. " Y-e-s, 1 think she does, a lit—tie," 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 bad dined off potatoes. " 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 enunciation. 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 t'leir 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 ne was in such haste to get home, now that snow was Hinz, that her supplicating attitude, and pale, attenuated ticed, and gained only a cold, un- Ah, it was sad for the poor girl to sympat ising stare 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 checks, her pinched limbs and bare attire, what eloquent tongues they bad ! How impressive their oratory ! But it was a week day, and Charity was a theme for Sundays. 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 her bones was chilled. She had addressed five or six individuals, non. of whom deigned a reply, or 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 ; I have lost five shillings, and we have nothing to eat at home." Faster fell the snow, and those who were thus entreated walked faster on the way. water." He 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 be'— id.. ing beggar git.. 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, deprecating looks, and threats of Bridewell, but not one halfpenny, not one. And 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. He 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 frame to bear. At every step she took, her strength grew less and less. The snow fell now so fas.t 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—how horrible ! To sit frantically down, and—as she remembered to have heard it told that people had so perished—to heap the 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 waste of snow, that made the eye-balls ache to look upon. Faster and faster yet, and feebler and feebler grew her 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. A chirp, as 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 for a moor. There was not a tree for a bird to perch Only a few shrubs, and they were now hidden by upon the snow Chirp,—chirp. It was only a simple robin,—but God alone knows how greatly its presence cheered our little maiden. battling against the storm on that shelterless and dreary moor. What trifling circumstances infusetnew life into the de spond;ng breast I The Scotch warrior gleaned new vigour 'rom watching the efforts of a spider. ',lung° Park, Then resigned to die in the African desert, beheld a tiny reed lifting its obscure head to the heaven that encloseth lithe world, and felt that God, who planted that humble ezetation there, and did nat withdraw from it his sus ut sent the breeze to fan it, and the rain to t,—would succour the child of his own likeness LEGEND OF CAIRN-THIERNA (Prom 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 Castletown-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 objectq, looks into itself, and, like a glassy lake, unruffled 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 cloud 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 hastening to an eternity of 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 share it." " Oh, Eleanor, ask not this," replied her lord; "seek 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 his doublet, the lady restrained him. " Maurice," she exclaimed with tenderness, "since I left my father's halls at Ashby, and sailed the sea with thee,l have ever studied to bear myself towards you as a fond wife should." 'The noble pressed her band to his lips with fondness. " When leagured by the kern, I never blenched ; when taken 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 clearer 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, Eleanor, be it so. I tell thee most unwillingly, 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 beard 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 9n the prostrate columns of the en trance, anti was vefikang my es-es to glance from broken tower to fallen battlement, my thoughts ever recurring to thee, dearest, and to oar 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 features furrowed 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 templus ; •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 intrudest on my privacy ?' de manded the stranger. I briefly stated my name—that, tempted by the beauty of the night, I had prolonged my walk, and ere I returned, paused to admire the ruins. I 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.' Foolish, 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 I Slowly and mournfully the as trologer repeated the following lines, which tears, like biting acid, hafe graven on my memory:— i"Tweity 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 ! 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 swelled with agony, her presence of mind 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 first appearing at the Court, the superb banquet that was given in the hall I wandered in.that night, sad 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, I 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 myself 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, fearful 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 us no more—his ac cents cease to answer our call—his eyes be closed in death. What 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 ore, indeed, she might hops ; and boasted as osten ;tern as t liars or habit-s ' is of the e: sive be was exposed to by her exci such a pride, so sordid i _.;asions, ct kind of foil. t quite in keeping with her refinement of taste and yed a fact, which was Ttain of her " good viz., the fact that ys occupied precisely the she ha, repressed with a faint con and inaptitude for becoming lady had for years indulged Irks of philanthropy. Her list of subscribers to several She gave away, annually, amongst is, some hundred yards of flannel blankets, which, of course, made to the Lands of the pawn -because Mrs. Smith un he variety of her chari s?rvings of the va- was also remarkably from time to 3 economical scraps, broken meat, ere duly collected for was never without some es, with one o real or imaginary, and a goad - left her to be dependent and, as the close of ly a lost silver spoon, ith her servants, she - of being able to declaim poor, and the impositions filuenee who, like herself, too feeling a heart. the extravagances—for as e secretly regarded them—Mrs a the habit of putting the screw upon of the domestic expenditure. In elf upon the low prices whicil spared with those which utfitter,' or haberdashers' iously and as frequently " imposed upon," in its or the working of stent of imposition she nevolence. Alas! that rigin, so fruitful in the s and hearts of toil should so often be matron or ich it heaps upon tt suffering, starving fou - nd in woman I It is your baiinin-lovi whose inc whose prid calico or c srthings a yard in a purchase ie bread from the lips of s the loom amidst pesti- :e and r orn tor mar It is,. alas ! too often woman—the being sappiness and pride, and at whose feet 'omfort we lavish the produce of our nd enterprise in this weary world—by ions the unprotected of her own sex are le grave, or driven to de=pair and to eature of her character, the real, native s. Joseph Smith—and how many Mrs. sere are in every town and_ vidage I and for wk whose petty exa worn d Joseph Smiti oozed out charity was the false cover n—the lacquer of gold over ing of the niggard the base metal—E attire and would-be re the outer coating of 'ashior le and r manner, ch tbc SO ICO- ye little to do person- looked down upon other c rich hot re, in fact, beings of erious business of life, to voted, as beneath their on which all their ge, with its subsidiary This trio, on tit breakfast—dawdlir those of their class in question, were seated 1g with that meal, as is customary with —the provider of the meal, Mr. Joseph g previously at his usual business the Misses Smith were glancing Smith himself, being over the columns of mercurial mother pe city and fashionable 1 by the postman. Morning Post, and the more g her correspondence with her Is, which had just been delivered One letter, in particular, med to excite her attention, k SoliloQuizing kind, d half directed at, not to, her venile listeners. Joseph Smith, " this is kind, 3 most complimentary it, maa dly inquired the eldest s Smit ;ommittee of the City Magdalen onsly appointed me one of their Institution have u ode* for the e aroma ?" inquired the same ycung nother ; he honour which it confer :an you no' ..ages besides? Now, there is that girl down stairs, who has brought me home, this morning, the three wrappers for Carol:ne and the night dress for your self; and who will charge for them I don't know how mueb. As lady patroness of the Magdalen Institution, you know, I shall have them made for a mere nothing, by the recipients of that bounty which we have paid for years past ; and we shall be able also to oblige our friends, by getting their sewing done at a merely nominal cost." The Misses Smith, of course, had nothing to answer to this argument of their saving mamma. The poor unfor tunates of the City Magdalen Institution worked cheaply. The benevolence of lady patronnesses was of a cheap de scription. Henceforth Mrs. Smith could distribute her blankets and her flannels at a considerably less outlay to her lord and master, and was to become, of course, a more honoured benefactress to the pooi, and a more distin guished ornament of the order of philanthropic ladies. The poor " girl down stairs." She bad a child to sup `—herself to support. she had to keep herself away - I, edriess to which her lot had driven her. -ith bad to sustain her reputation for barn to gild our reputation , and t from the a But Mrs charity. _ THE WINTER ROBIN. (From Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine.) I mean to say that the man or woman who can deny that the robin which conducted Jane Fostei over the moor, and save,l her from perishing in the snow last 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 dis tinctly understood—l don't believe all that is told about it. For instance, when the neighbours assert that the robin r .I changed its shape after leading her to the cottage door, and I spread his wings and rise fror the him in dumb awe till he and that ;he liatc: disappeared in the thick, vapour , ' atmosphere, or was hidden by the blinding snow that came feathring down—l don't believe that. Neither do I much credit the tale for chirity at the lov the consequences which our sel t cost to ourselves, regardless of ness imposes upon The poor sempstress was ushered, trembling, into the presence of the lady and her daughters. The labour of her long and wea►y hours was examined, and she was dismissed with a paltry pittance, and the knowledge that she must henceforth seek a mode of providing bread, for herself and her child, from a more benificeut source than the pocket of Mrs. Joseph Smith, philanthropist though she was! _ _ (To be continued.) - A WEAZEL can scarcely believe there has been " a crisis," for Lord Brougham has not come to town..—PtiliCh. THE OREGON TERRITORY.—The name of Oregon is derived from Oregano, the Spanish word for wild mar joram, the Organ um vul g are of Linnaeus, which glows abundantly in the western parts of the American conti nent, particularly in the disputed territory. lig, wi grading f crimmali f any r th ropy oval or t gacy, m Maturely we never he depth of th our symp, nd the e applvini refer them to our 1 and our e ielvei that liliserabl hospitals with our ow inting and .ept Ally throe Ike a P may w, nation and it ow upon them selv portant con- may as well state, lest w o any of the numerous tame in the present case Mrs. Joseph smith, the I merchant of the City, or otherwise, as the reader" . neither was nor ever had is, indeed, a little the earance, which coarse- Certain also, by the side of her two daug Miss Caroline Smith, of 20 and 18 respectil be slid to serve, on c Her manners, too, we whispered natured " iciousne; treat in a number o fond of protogee to wh me. expend her accumulat Bing, along with the kite and worn-out clot on the or the disc against t i each wa As a set-off a tch, we must confess, seph Smith articular, s the more conspicuous by the ele the attempted fashionable tour- irninat kindne the bu how that sitting by her firesid time when Jane must 1 fretting herself lest the child should lo snow-storm, she heard songs floating could have sung— e been c earthly voic ng the mo se her way in the the air which no weet holy songs about the or, and bore towards Rile children love which the Divine Frier. while he was t earth, and how he loves and cherishes them now, looking down upon them from his far, -high It was a very cold morning, and they had eaten little on the previous day; and for many days past the cloth had been spread upon the cottage table for potatoes alone. Fuel they possessed, the windfalls of the woods, gleaned before the severe weather set in ; but only one crust of bread on that cold morning, and no money to pur chase any, while, slack, slack ! the baker refused further credit—having three shillings and fourpence scored against them.__ So Jane pretending that the crust was larger than it re Ily was, and that she bad satisfied her appetite, soaked it in some warm milk for her grandmother, and carried it to the old woman's bedside. " Grandmam," said the child, field to-day." ' I want to go to Rook- "To Rookfield !" exclaimed the old woman. " Is the girl mad,—to think of going to Rookfield this weather?" But grandmam, what are we to do ? We have no bread, and no potatoes." " Is it to get bread and potatoes you would trudge six teen miles afoot on alone common with snow-drifts higher than the hedges? No, no, Jane, stay at home, and— " And starve, grandmam ?" "Why should we starve—isn't there aGod above us all?" " Yes, grandmam." " And does he not feed the young ravens that call upon Him ?" " Yes, grandmam." " And - do not we say our prayers morn and night ? Why then should you go to'Rookfield ?" "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." " And bow will you seek bread ?" `!.I will beg, grandmam." " Beg ?" THE LIVERPOOL STANDARD. that." " No. Maurice ! I perceived you only looked at the dark side. Have confidence in the Almighty—onr 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 he-passes his twentieth year, he shall live where no water can come nigh him, to wet his armies, 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 bead shook doubtingly on hearing the great prepatations 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 the 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 cf 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 Roche was :11 that father could wish the son who was to inherit his , Ne.,:th 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 the 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. He was separated from his mother for 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 mile, 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 Oirds seemed to enjoy a holiday, and piped merrily like boys released from school. These sights and sounds had their effect o❑ the youthful heart of Gerald. He talked with his father on the sports he would enjoy in the vici nity of his mountai❑ castle. The hills were full of hares he was told, and his greyhounds were remarkable for fleetness. Then be would practice with long and cross bow, and win the President of Monster'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 his 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!" exclaimed young Roche, as high in air, piercing the clouds, he beheld the tower he was about to inhabit. 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 glorioui," '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 youth. 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 his side. He called " Gerald," but no Gerald answered. He sum- moned his attendants; their young master was no' , t with them. They called the workman ;he was not with them. Breathless, Lord Roche descended, running into each chamber, and calling out his son's name. The portal was reached, but 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 him to climb the slippery side ? whether the reflection of his figure in the water tempted him to venture in, is unknown, but he was drowned, and fulfilled the prediction. The castle soon went to decay, and the vast heap of stones on the brow of Cairn-Thierna attests the truth of the tale. THE EARTHQUAKE OF 1750.—1 n speaking of the pre dicted earthquake, and the fancied 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 he declared had been cracked by the shock; `, he originally (says 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 rine Felham, lady Frances Arundel, and lady Lucy Gal 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 ing, and then come back—l suppose to look for the bones of their husbands and families under the rubbish ! " SCRIPTURAL GEOLOGY.—If it should turn out, on careful examination of these classes of facts, that there are quiescent as well as disturbed strata, and that con stantly and characteristically so, and that these bear such relation to each other as to account for their being disturbed in the one ease and quiescent in the other ; and if it should appear that a different mode of formation is uniformly indicated by the presence or absence of fossils, or by cleavage, or by crystallization, or any other con stant character; and if, moreover, a distinction can be drawn between formative convulsions and destructive convulsions—that is, between ejections by which strata have been formed, and convulsions which have only broken up the strata in order to their being swept away : if these things should be made manifest, then we can con ceive the possibility of explaining existing phenomena, in accordance with the Mosaic account of the Creation and of the Deluge. But until it is seen and acknowledged that we must have recourse, not merely to the surface, but to the bowels of the•eat th, to find materials for the great formations, the mere facts cannot be accounted for —much less can principles be established ; and,as Chris tians, we cannot admit any principles which are not in accordance with the plain letter of the Scripture. Every notice that appears of the geology of other lands, leads Its to expect that, in proportion as we become better ac quainted with other countries, so, what we already know, will require to be modified ; that formations which are regarded as universal will be found wanting in other lo calities, and that new formations will appear of which we are ignorant. Geology,. which professes to be an univer sal science—professes to give an account of the constitu tion of the whole earth—cannot be allowed these claims, until the structure and arrangement of the strata in all parts of the earth have been examined. It has begun in our hemisphere, and may agree very well with what we know—it may disagree with the facts of the other hemis phere, and may be utterly refuted by its phenomena whenever they shall become known.—Church of England Quarterly Review. PARLIAMENTARY EXECUTIONS.—This Thursday, Bth March, 1648-9, they are voting and debating in a thin house,. hardly above sixty there, whether Duke Hamilton, Earl Holland, Lords Capel, Goring, and Sir John Owen, — our old friend Colonel Owen, of Nottingham Castle, Jen ner,,and Ashe's old friend,—are to die or to live. They have been tried in a new High Court of Justice, and all found guilty of treason,of levying war against the supreme authority of this nation. Shall they be executed ; shall they be respited ? The house by small majorities decides against the first three; decides in favour of the last ; and as to Goring, the votes are equal,—the balance•tongue trembles, " Life or Death !" Speaker Lenthall says, Life. On the morrow morning, poor versatile Hamilton, poor versatile Holland,. with the Lord Capel, who the first of all in this Parliament rose to complain of grievances, meet their death in Palace-yard. The High Court was still sit ting in Westminister Hall as they passed through " from Sir Robert Cotton's house." Hamilton lingered a little, or seemed to linger, in the ball ; still hopeful of reprieve and fine of £lOO,OOO, but the Earl of Denbigh, his bro ther-in-law, a member of the Council of State, stept up to him ; whispered in his ear ;—the poor duke walked on. That is the end of all his diploinacies; his Scotch army of forty thousand, his painful ridings to Uttoxeter, and to many other places, have all issued here. The Earl of Lanark will now be Duke of Hamilton in Scotland ; may a better fate await him. The once gay Earl of Holland has been " converted" some days ago, as it were fur the nonce,—poor earl! With regard to my Lord Capel again, who followed last in order, he behaved, says Bulstrode, " much after the manner of a stout Roman. He had no minister with him, nor showed anv sense of death ap proaching ; but carried himself all the time he was upon the scaffold with that resolution as was to be- admired. He wore a sad-coloured suit, his hat cocked up, and his cloak thrown under one arm : he looked towards the peo ple at his first coming up, and put off his hat in manner of a salute ; he had a little discourse with some gentle men, and passed up and down in a careless posture." Thus died Lord Capel, the first who complained of griev ances c in seven years' time there are such changes for a man ; and the first acts of his drama little know what the last will be!—Croneell's Letters, by Carlyle. 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. Beattie 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 cut of power, and nothing was done. Dr. Shebbeare a n d To m Sheridan each received a pension. The king, it was said, had pensioned a he-bear, 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. His 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." Srnollett sought the assistance of Lord Shelburne, then in power, but nothing was done for the entertaininc , 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 rickle 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. We 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 fine-hearted poet of genuine nature, " Who to the' Illustrious' of his native land, So properly did look for patronage," as, alas, now more I—Fraser's Magazine. CROMWELL'S EJECTION OF THE RUMP PARMA M —Wednesday, 20th April, 1653. My Lord General ac cordingly is in his reception-room this morning, " . 111 plain black clothes a n d gra y wors t e d s t oc ki ngs; " he, wit many officers : but few members have yet come, though punctual Bulstrode and certain others are there. Some waiting ; some impatience that the members would come. The members do not come : instead of members, comes 3 notice that they are getting or, with their bill in the houv; harrying it double-quick through all the stages. Possi ble ? New message that it will be law in a little while, lr 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, with a very high expression of countenance, I think ;—saying or feeling : Who would have believed it of them ? "It is not honest; yea, it is contrary to common honesty !"--• My Lord General, the big hour is come ! 'Young Colonel 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 Bul 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, which 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 onestion being to be put, that this bill do now pass, he reckons again td Harrison, says, " This is the time ; I must do it !"—and so " rose up, put off his hat, and 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 General in a very high key, " we have had enough of this"—and in fazt my Lord General now blazing all up into clear con flagration, exclaims, " I will p u t an 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 sit here any longer !" You have sat too long here for any good you have been doing lately. ‘a You shall now give place to better men !—Call them in !' 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 swift - as the roes upon the mountains ;—not beautiful to honourable gentlemen at this moment ! "_You call yourselves a Parliament,', clear blaze of conflagra- Sume of you are drun "lr. Cha'oner, an 30ttle y Mar , lewd livers is Command and the continues my Lord General in tion : " You are no Parliament! . kards " and his eye flashes on poo r ... official man of some value, addicted to th, "some of you are —," and he glares into Ha ten, and the poor Sir Peter who rose to or( both; living in open contempt of Goc ments. Following your own greedy appetites, _ 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 not : " 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 head : such a scene as you never seen before in any House of Commons. History reports with a shudder that my Lord General, 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 down !" says be to Harrison, flashing on the Speaker. Speaker Leuthall, more an ancient Roman than anything else, declares he will not come till forced. " Sir," said Harrison, " I will lend you a hand ;" on which Speaker Lenthall came dowth and gloomily vanished. They all vanished ; flooding gloomily clamorously out, to their ulterior by- . and respective places of abode : the Lone P- inesaes, ment 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's Letters and Speeches. CITY TlME.—Among the many peculiar feat distinguish city from country life, not the least the different estimation in which ti the country, the rustic plods along the row], c a stile, unknowing and Uncaring for the ho the minute. The deep tones of the churcl tale to very careless and inattentive hea ns over ch less 11 their nd the e with- countryman thinks his watch correct in a giarter of an hour of the village clock', in curacy he places as much confidence as if old 'r self had the winding up of it every day. however, is the manner in which time is ester tain'ng hand also;—and from that consoling thought, there grew such energy, lhat his limbs received new strength thereby, and he prosecuted his path anew, and arrived safely at the village he had despaired to reach. And this little robin, —this humble robin, dearly beloved by tale and fable, and homely rhyme—of the music of its speech, of its chirp, chirp, ehirp—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 ghoul(' 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 farfrom 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 ber grandmother while warm ing herself at the fire which blazed on the hearth. And oh, what fervent 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 seine which followed. " And so this is my Jane,—my own child," said the seaman, presently, taking her in his lap, and kissing her for full five minutes without drawing breath. "Yes, that is poor dead Mary's child," said the grand " 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 angel from the skies, that led her over the moor that afternoon. Who shall dare laugh at thtir belief? For are not the resolves which, nobly 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 on repeated missions ! NEW YORK 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 z the highest two dollars a day, about Is. 6d. 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 teelve o'clock, and supper at si3. 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, net 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 mush in that this last is white maize, ground and boiled in water, whilst mush is yellow corn, ground and boiled. As this sort of food is not known in England, 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. _ HE STAGE NEGRO.—This personation has become a vulgar dancing 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 13r;- tish constitution, and for the liberating influence of sands 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 for the features of the stage negro.- -Cruikshank's Table-Bo,k• Jan. 13, 1846. him- Tent, in a large city. There, where thousands of persons cong and where business of great magnitude is hourly acted, it is of importan - ce that strict punctual served—that the standard of time be correct regate, ty be ob -and that pised. Of r purposes time, even its most fractional parts, be not d course, withoUt this arrangement, no plans could be satisfactorily carried out, and a disorder, uncertainty, and disappointment. 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 illustrations of its paramount importance enough that your watch is right by the parish ci t is not ; the or the question is, is it in accordance with St, Horse Guards ? No genuine Londoner woul passing either of those Chronological stand setting his watch right by it ; which, ha' think of Without g done, he aul's' I❑ passing le on event having talks Of the time with authority, and `right by St is an assertion which cuts shorithe disput along the streets, too, what anxious pulling out of by evidently belated pedestrians, is observab' hand ; what rating of omnibus conductors t stopped for full five minutes.' Here a t, his greatcoat and carpet-bag, and his face gl red coal, urges his way along the crowded a. of being too late for the train ; and there a fast in a crowded thoroughfare, the intna'. that the steamer will have started in enothL. mi nutes. Here a tradesman from the west end is hurry ing to get his cheque cashed at the banking-house, the appointed hour for closing which is even now ready to strike ; and there a country gentleman has arrived just in time to see the door of the pubLe.office whither he was bustling closed against him. Appointments are made to the minute; and a delay of five or ten minutes 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 inqui ries ; and everything testifies to the immense importance of time in the social arrangements of a great city. A s is the immense establishments with which London abounds , and especially in the government offices, punctuality is of the first importance, some amusin g illustrations of the value of time, even in its vulgar fractions,, are there esbi bited, which, to the eye of a stranger, are very striking , arid are probably, from the national superiority of our bu siness-habits, unique. In the morning, as the clock i 5 about to strike nine, omnibuses and stages draw up in the vicinity of the bank, fill e d w ith we ll-d resse d, ger ' menlike men. The ' thousand and one' clerk riving, all of whom are required to be at thei precise time, under pain of a fine. The has filled his situation there for the eller, with ing like a •e of which raves -- , ger Wily arters of 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 contrives to leave his house in the suburbs, where most of the clerks reside, a few mi' 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 at' rive in time. Another and another omnibus unburdens itself of its load ; quick as thought the thir4en inside and five out' are hurrying to the bank gate ; gouty old gentlemen hobble up to the entrance with all the quick ness they can muster; and at ten minutes past nine, the twice five hundred men are at their desks ready for ae tion. Still more animated and striking is the scene at the General Post-office in St. Martin's-le-Grand a for_ minutes before six o'clock in the evening: At a~ quarte r before six the fray has scarcely commenced ; there is am' pie time and few care to hurry themselves, except it b e some unaccustomed dame, who eagerly inquires whether she is too late to post her letter. But the minute-hand silently moves onw ar d s , an d b oys arr i ve with bags 0 , newspapers and packets of letters, which are poured in at the all-receiving window. Onwards, onwards moves the minute hand ; only five minutes to the hour—and boys and men come hur r yE g in from all p ar t s w ith l e tt e rs and papers, the young urchins glorying in just nicking the time.' Bag after bag is thrown in at the window, at the peril of the official who stands there to receive then?' pocket after packet of letters being aimed at him by the i r respective and irrespe c ti ve b earers . St. P au l' s cloe k . strikes —one; still more and more com e r u n ni n g up al: steps—two, a cab draws up, and a sack of newspapers If hastily hauled out and thrown in at the window—threepl Porter puffs up at his very qui c ke s t s p ee d w ith a bag e` letters—four, a panting, meagre horse arrives, and Bo' other sack of papers is safely lodged —five, a young bare armed paper-capped urchin pours in his armful of Sat and Globes—six. the window-keeeper unceremoniou sl y slams to the shutter, and the score of surrounding ur chins, having safely deposited th e i r b ur d ens , salute with a shout of derision the di s con s ol a t e l a d w h o rus h e s up ~ the place with his packet one minute too late.—Chambe r Edinburgh Journal. THE "GENEVESE TRAVELLER."—Matthew L. Davit Esq., of New York, is the writer of the letters wh lc 7; under the above signature, appea r i n Th e Times. ne also the author of " The Spy in Washington," o f tli s " Biography of Aaron Barr," and is now the writer of series of articles signed"A Cal m Ob server ," w hi c h aPPeI", in the TEL National Intelligencer. The largest carriage built in England for many Ye a ke has just been c om pl e t e d b y a ma k er i n L on d on, f ro m t:: rough timbers, in the i ncre dibl y s h ort space o f twenty' three days. The cons t urc ti on b e i ng diff erent f ro m a pp carriage yet built i n thi s country , d e l aye d its compleu°o It is painted a brilli an t ce l est i a l bl ue , reli ev ed with 0 and white, and is a p er f ec t specimen of art. It is sta ted to be for the Emperor of Russia, 11 0 th e Ar i i boa Al e eer Sa v Say er, th e Jan mitt Si ' , er t ; o e4 o , aetti A Pie °l V 414 • CIJ a at , O n . Da : tr o ,: " fro"Rr,