The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1852-09-14 00:00:00

nstinct, that only

interest and welfi

!ratanding : cunning is often to
(selves, and in persons who are
t removes from them. In short, cunning is
of discretion, and may pass upon weak
y is often taken for wit,

id good

met with in

but the fe
only the 1

men in the same manner a
and gravity for wisdom.—,

fddison:
THE STOCKMEN OF THE AUSTRALIAN BUSH.—The
lives on horseback. He has always a good—
has selected the best—young horse in his em-
ad, and is the only person aware of his superior
He has need of a good and fast horse, and one

quality
that

not afraid of a three-rallied fence or a wild bullock's

.. The riding after cattle in the bush, for the pur-
pose of driving them in or collecting them for muster, is
very hard and sometimes dangerous work. It is so ex-
- an employment as not only to become a favourite
one with stockmen, but of the bush gentlemen ; nay, the
stock-horse himself is said to enjoy the

ort—,,

4luch as

the high-mettled hunter at borne, when.not distressed,
seems to relish his gallop with the hounds. By this
rcuzli work, however, many a fine young horse has been
broken down or stumpt up' before he has shed his colt's
teeth; and many a broken rib or limb has fallen to the
stockman's share. The stockman brags of his horse's
prowess and his own, and contemns the shepherd's sloth-
ful life. You know the stockman by his chin-strapped
cabbage-tree hat, his bearded and embrowned visage, his
keen quick eye. He wears generally a jacket and trousers
of colonial tweed, the latter fortified with fustian, or lea-
ther, between his thin bowed legs. But the symbol of
his peculiar trade is the stock-whip—a thick but tapering
thong of twelve or fourteen feet, weighing, perhaps a
couple of pounds, affixed to a handle of a foot and a half
at most. At the end of this cruel lash is a " cracker,"
generally made of a twisted piece of silk handkerchief, or,
what is better than anything, a shred from an old infan-
try sash. The wilderness echoes for miles with the
cracks of this terrible scourge, which are fully as loud as
the report of a gun, and woe betide the lagging or unruly
bullock who gets the full benefit of its stroke, delivered
by an experienced hand. I have seen a pewter quart pot
all but cut in two by one flank of the stock-whip.—
" Our Antipodes," by Col. Mundy.
HINTS ON PAPER HANGING.—Many a fever has been
caused by the horrible nuisance of corrupt size used in
paper-hanging in bed-rooms. The nausea which the
sleeper is aware of on waking in the morning, in such a
case, should be a warning needing no repetition. Down
should come the whole paper at any cost or inconvenience ;
for it is an evil which allows of no tampering. The care-
less decorator will say that time will set all right—that
the smell will go off—that airing the room well in the day,
and burning some pungent thing or other at night, in the
mean time will do very well. It will not do very well;
for health, and even life, may be lost in the interval. It
is not worth while to have one's stomach impaired for
life, or one's nerves shattered, for the sake of the cost and
trouble of papering a room, or a whole house if necessary.
The smell is not the grievance, but the token of the grie-
vance. The grievance is animal putridity, with which we
are shut up, when this smell is perceptible in our cham-
bers. Down should come the paper ; and the wall behind
should be scraped clear of every particle of its last cover-
ing. It is astonishing that so lazy a practice as that of
putting a new paper over an old one should exist to the
extent it does. Now and then an incident occurs which
shows the effect of such absurd carelessness. Not long
ago a handsome house in London became intolerable to a
succession of residents, who could not endure a mysterioul
bad smell which pervaded it when shut up from the outes
air. Consultations were held about drains and all tha
particulars that could be thought of, and all in vain. At
last a clever young man, who examined the house from
top to bottom, fixed his suspicions on a certain room,
where he inserted a small slip of glass in the wall. It
was presently covered, and that repeatedly, with a sort of
putrid dew. The paper was torn down, and behind it was
found a mass of old papers, an inch thick, stuck together
with their layers of size, and exhibiting a spectacle which
we will not sicken our readers by describing•—Dickens's
Household Words.

A FAMILY TRIP TO THE SEASIDE.—PACKING FOR
TRAVELLING.—I wonder whether any one ever liked
packing-up,' as the ingenious process of cramming an
indefinite number of habiliments into impossible spaces
is termed. When I was a bachelor I detested it, though
then it consisted of little more than throwing things in a
heap into portmanteaus and carpet-bags, and stamping
and sitting on them to make the locks close. But, mercy
on us ! if I were to attempt such a process now, Mrs.
Peter would stand aghast with horror at my depravity,
and rate me for a week afterwards on my slovenliness,
carelessness, and want of economy, and ten thousand
other little domestic vices, making in the aggregate an
amount of moral turpitude perfectly shocking to a correct
lady's notions. I am obliged to fold every individual
shirt separately, and flatten the collars, and lay them
neatly between each shirt ; I have to make my coats,
waistcoats, and pantaloons into neat and convenient
packages, roll my docket handkerchiefs, neckcloths, and
socks into little cylinders, twist the tops of my Welling-
ton's round the feet, and wrap each one separately in
paper, while even then, if I should deposit one of them
in the same compartment with my clean shirts, I verily
believe my spouse would faint. And then, when I fancy
my labours are at an end, and that I have done the thing
as it ought to be (for positively the locks will close), Mrs.
Peter will suddenly exclaim, in the blandest of tones,
" And now, dear, I want you to make room for two or three
dozen baby's things' in your portmanteau." Baby's
things ! and in my portmanteau, too ! Why, there isn't
space left to cram in the leg of a fly. Nonsense ! non-
sense ! Mrs. Peter will soon show me that there's plenty.
Out go my boots, out goes my razor-case--ladies never
treat razor-cases with proper respect—out go half a hun-
dred things which Mrs. Peter re-folds, and squeezes into
smaller compass, adding, perhaps, when she comes to
the razor-case, ' Cant you put this nasty thing into your
pocket, dear ?' There, again, is a fallacy of the female
sex—they think that a man's pockets will hold everything.
If you object, they say, ' What ! not hold a little bit of a
thing like that ?' perfectly forgetful of the five hundred
other ' little bits of things' which they have already en-
tombed in the same place, making you feel as heavy as a
felon in fetters, and fearful to sit down, lest you should
smash a scent-bottle or a fan, a sandwich, or a pomatum-
pot. However, the feat is accomplished—six square inches
of space are gained, and two dozen ` baby's things' are
crammed into it. After all, your own packing-up is
nothing to your wife's and your children's. The infinite
number of delicate, gauzy, flimsy little things that make
up the sum of a modern lady's wardrobe are awful to
contemplate ; and if, instead of cleansing the Augean
stable, Hercules had been set to ' pack-up' a fashionable
lady's wardrobe properly, and within the space of three
days, my private opinion is, that he would have pitched
up the labour as a thing impossible of accomplishment.
Perhaps it would more resemble his battle with the Hydra,
where two fresh heads sprung up as soon as he had

...ocked in an old one, for as soon as everything that it
seems possible for a lady to put on any part of her per-
son is knocked into the portmant-au, half a hundred
others, that no one but the oldest and most experienced
of Benedicts in our sex ever dreamt of, start up and claim
admission into the already-crammed receptacle. And
then the children ! Master Tommy's bath and Master
''s cradle • and both young gentlemen's wearing
apparel, toys, baskets, jugs, mugs, and everything that
the infantile mind or infantile body can require for its
amusement, sustenance, or cleanliness—all these, with
household articles without end, and Mary's box, and the
nurse's box, both without locks, and with very weak
and two or three bandboxes that gape and look
, complete an amount of travelling discomfort
to your back, compared with which the barnacles
on a whale, or the parasitical insects that stick to various
animals, and torment them to madness or death, appear
ec ' 13 Mile AVICCIIan
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HORTICULTURE.