The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-01-27 00:00:00

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THE STEAM VESSELS OF THE UNITED STATES.—But
to return to the magnificent steamers on the north and
east rivers. They are as, truly surprising in their dimen-
sions as they are convenient. and profuse in their decora-
tions. Fifteen steam-boats make a mile : this is a new
rule of arithmetic, only found out in America, and I
mention it because it is much more easy than to remem.
her that they are three hundred and fifty feet long each.
The Americans of all classes are a travelling people, emi-
nently so as confined to their own country ; but they
nothing of any other countries. The United States
gh, they think, to satisfy the most greedy of

kn
is large en

filers, and the price of travelling is so cheap that, as
the whole population lives in boarding-houses, it is as
cheap to be travelling as to be stopping at home, if you
can apply such a word as home to a boarding-house. For
instance, in these moving places, which go twice a-day to
Albany, one hundred and fifty miles, as far as Margate
and back again, I paid two shillings, but I might have
gone the same day for one shilling, by another boat not
quite so new and splendid. Only think, to Margate and
back for one shilling ! We sate down two hundred to
dinner, and an excellent dinner we had, but it was two
shillings each, rather a high price. 1 noticed that every
body drank water. I hardly remember one single cork
being drawn during the whole dinner; perhaps there was
not one ! Now, here is a fact as truly astounding as the
vast proportions and magnificent fittings of the steamer,
and I thought to myself, who can stop the progress of a
natton that, to an unlimited extent of fertile land, adds
these two grand auxiliaries of steam and temperance ?
Steam has done wonders for America, and is only in its
infancy ; and yet omnipotent as it is for developing the
power and wealth of the growing states, yet the univer-
sal diffusion of temperance is calculated to secure the
greatest amount of ipdividual happiness.—Rambles in the
States.
EVIL RESULTS OF LONG ENGAGEMENTS.—" Yes—
yes—they wear the heart out. They are very, very bad—
nothing worse," said Carrington, "1 admit—were I a
parent, nothing would ever induce me to suffer these con-
tracts, for Heaven only knows the amount of misery
which they involve. Well—well—we talk sagely now ;
young people often do "—he continued more cheerfully—
perhaps when we grow old, we, too, shall talk wisely
about ' prudential considerations.' It is a remarkable
thing, Rivers, that these prudential people should con-
stantly be doing such very imprudent things. I know
nothing more imprudent than to permit an engagement
betwe-en two young people at opposite ends of the world."
" Prudence, like ambition, often ' overleaps itself, and
falls on the other " said Rivers, " How badly do old
people calculate—they are the worst reckoners in the
world—they shake their heads, and talk very solemnly
about the ultimate happiness' of the young. The ` ul-
timate happiness,' those were the words which were so
often in the mouth of her father. It was very painful, he
knew—separation always is painful—but to secure our
eventual—our ultimate happiness—and God knows he
was right, too, but not in the sense in which he desired
his words to be understood. He was right—the very
prudential old man ! he was right—for be did secure the
ultimate happiness of his daughter—He made her happy
before her time—perfect happiness—perfect peace—among
the angels in heaven." Carrington felt that it would be
idle to attempt to calm the deep passion of his friend with
any common offerings of consolation. What could he
say ? Better he thought to give free vent to the tide cf
emotion—to suffer its force to expend itself. So he sat
silent in his sympathy, and Rivers continued Old
people, I say, are very prone to make dire mistakes.
They know not—they have forgotten what youth is—and
when they handle young hearts, they are utterly undon-
scions of the delicacy of the materials composing them.
At three-score we arc apt to forget that the coldness of
old age has grown upon us, not grown with us ; and when
we make laws for the young, we are oblivious of the kind
of people we are legislating for. It went do, Carrington
—it wont do. You may sever loving hearts, and tell
them to be happy—talk of prudential considerations and
eventual happiness—but whilst the young hearts are
learning these bitter lessons, their education is cut short
by death—perhaps we might discipline our hearts in time,
but they break beneath such hard schooling. So it was—
so it was with her—she died—she was not strong enough
—she was always very delicate—very sensitive—almost
morbidly sensitive—ever apprehensive of evil—of a most
excitable temperament. You could not have conceived a
person less able to bear up against such trials. She said
she could not bear up against them—but prudential consi-
derations—eventual happiness—the solemn barbarity of
three-score. It was as certain, though less merciful p.l
immolation, than if the old man had sacrificed his daugh-
ter with a sharp knife. It was agreed at last that I should
return to India—that something should be done to in-
crease the scanty store of my poor subaltern's pay—a
staff appointment—or, failing in that, promotion must
come sooner or later—could not be so very far off. They
say that she never smiled—that the little, it was very
slight, bloom upon her cheek forsook it then—and there
was not even a tinge—all so white—until there came a
little round spot. And time passed. She wrote very long
letters—was always writing letters—it was her only work
—her only consolation—and upon this she might have
lived for some time—might have been still living—but for
this accursed war. When she knew I was in Affghanis-
tan, she ceased to hope. They did not tell me how much
worse she was—nor did she ever complain—but still her
letters revealed the truth. I could see, every month, that
the handwriting was more feeble more tremulous—.
and they were shorter, too—those dear letters—written
with painful effort—and in such a strain—the letters,
Arthur, of a departing saint.- And then one month, I was
prepared for it, the letter was written by her mother—and
I knew that she had gone to heaven—l knew that her
' eventual happiness' bad been secured."—Chapman and
Hall's Monthly Series.