The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1853-08-23 00:00:00

)ARD, AND GENERAL COMMERCIAL ADYER'i

A DAmrzn.—A young man, residing within a mild of
Bedford, lately volunteered his services to a young lady
home from a party. On his way he cudgelled his brain
for some interesting topic ,of conversation to amuse her
with ; he could hit upon nothing until they met several
cows, when the swain added, with much simplicity of
manner, " Now isn't it strange what a motherly appear-
ance a cow has ?" To which the lady replied, "I do not
think it strange at all, sir, that a cow should have a
motherly appearance to a calf." The beau was silent
during the rest of thelvalk.
ARCADIA.—What a nice place it must have been to be
sure ! A perpetual 'Picnic, without wasps or thunder-
storms, and with nothing to pay. A similar landscape,
all gently undulating—no fierce rocks or yawning chasms.
Banks on which wild thyme and violets continually grow.
Eternal summer ! Fruits, flowers, and odoriferous herbs.
Innocent flocks of more innocent sheeplings ; soft, mild,
benignant, undesigning bleaters with dainty coats of

whitest wool, hanging in worsted ringlets, un;mirched by
the red oehre or cinnabar of mercenary grazier. And then
the shepherds with their long hair confined by an azure
ribbon ; their abundance of clean linen, and guilelessness
of braces ; their silken hvse and shoon with purple heels ;
their harmless sports cOnsisting -in shooting at a stuffed
bird on a highly decorated Maypole with a crossbow
bedecked with ribbons. And the •Shepherdesses, with
auburn tresses and wide spreading straw hats, with golden
crooks, and wreaths of flowers, and petticoats of gold and
silk and satin brocade. And the old women—the Dor-
cases and Cieelys—dear old dames with silvery hair, scar-
let cloaks, and ebony crutchsticks ; but who never scolded,
oh no, nor had the rheumatism, nor groaned about their
precious bones and the badness of the times. There were
no Game Laws in Arcadia, no union workhouses, no beer-
shops, no tally-men, no police.—Household Words.

A HOUSEKEEPER'S GRIEVANCE.--A " Sufferer," writ-
ing to The Times, says—How can the lords of the crea-
tion expect their wives to be of a meek and quiet spirit,
when their tempers are continually ruffled by the ineffi-
ciency, carelessness, incivility, and wastefulness of the
generality of servants ? At present a young girl goes from
a slatternly mother to act as helper or nurse in the house
of a small farmer or tradesman, and after a year or two
goes to a tradesman or farmer of higher degree. She then
hires herself a servant to a gentleman's family, in the
capacity she thinks herself most fitted for. Now comes
the tug of war—she has not been brought up as house-
maid, laundress, cook, or anything, but she has a little
smattering of all—always in her work, because she has not
method, wasteful because she has not been early taught
the admirable economy of nature, where not an atom is
lost, disrespectful through ignorance, dishonest in prin-
ciple. This, sir, is the state of our servants in the country.
From the experience I have had of the better class of
English servants, they are far superior, but wasteful to a
frightful degree. Had I. the time I could get ten thou-
sand signatures to this. It is a growing evil; and did the
torment affect our husbands it would have been legislated
upon and remedied ere this. Let the workhouse be con-
verted into proper training schools for servants, and let
the expense be liquidated by subscriptions from the ladies
of each county. Thousands of well-educated women will
respond to this appeal and will rejoice if this relief be
afforded to them in their declining years, and for the
knowledge that their daughters wiil be more fortunate
than themselves.

MILS. ZEBEDEE SMITH'S PHILOSOPHY.—Dear me ! how
expensive it is to be poor ! Every time Igo out, my best
bib and tucker has to go on. If Zebedee was worth a cool
million, I might wear a coal-hod on my head, if I chose,
with perfect impunity. There was that old nabob's wife
at lecture, the other night, in a dress that might have
been made for Noah's great grandmother. She can afford
it ! Now if it rains knives and forks, I must sport a forty-
shilling chapeau, a ten-pound dress, and a twenty-guinea,
shawl. If I go to a concert, I must take the highest-
priced seat, and ride there and back, just to let " Mrs.
Tom, Dick, and Harry" see that I can afford it. Then we
Must hire the most expensive pew in the broad-aisle of a
tip-top church, and give orders to the sexton not to admit
any strangers into it who look snobbish. Then my little
children, Napoleon Bonaparte and Donna Maria Smith,
cannot go to a public school, because, you know, we
shouldn't have to pay anything. Then if I go shopping,
to buy a pair of needles, I have to get a little chap to
bring them home, because it wouldn't answer for me to be
seen carrying a parcel through the streets. We have to
keep three servants where one might do ; and Zebedee's
coats have to be sent to the tailor when they need a button
sewed on, for the look of the thing. Then if Igo to the
sea-side, I can't take my comfort, as rich people do, in
gingham dresses, loose shoes, and cambric sun-bonnets.
My senses ! no ! I have to be screwed up by ten o'clock in
a Swiss muslin dress, a French cap, and the contents of
an entire jeweller's shop showered over my person ; and
my Napoleon Bonaparte and Donna Maria can't go off the
promenade, because the big rocks and little pebbles cut
their toes so badly through their patent kid slippers. Then
if Zebedee goes a fishing, he wouldn't dare to put on a
linen coat for the price of his reputation. No, indeed !
Why he never goes to the stable without first drawing on
his white kids. Then he orders the most ruinous wines
at dinner, and fees those white jackets, till his purse is as
empty as an egg shell. I declare it is abominably expen-
sive. I don't believe rich people have the least idea how
much it costs poor people to live !—Fanny Fern.
" DON'T SPEAK TO HER!"—" Don't speak to her !"
There was a bitter sneer upon the little girl's face as she
and her companion turned away from the poorer dressed
school companion. No, little Miss, don't speak to the
poor girl. Your father swindled poor people out of their
hard earnings. He was a low-bred vagabond when a
young man, and universally despised, but is now one of
the " upper ten." At heart he is as base and low as ever
he was. But he deals in stocks, and robs by shaving
bonds and mortgages. He is a monied man. He is rich.
He is your father, Miss, and would not like it were you
to place yourself on a level with honourable poor people.
Don't speak to her ! The girl is plainly clad, and has a
humble home and a poor mother. Her father was ruined
by one who rolls in wealth, and died a stricken man.
His fine house—the early home of the poor gfrl—was sold
at a sacrifice, and purchased by the man who ruined him.
Her mother, the once beautiful and accomplished belle
and noble woman, takes in washing. Don't speak to her !
Her sweet face is pale and sad, and her dress is coarse and
plainly made. Why can't the vulgar thing dress as well
as you do, and why can't her sad-hearted mother have a
fine house and ride to church in a carriage ? What busi-
ness have folks to be poor ? How exceedingly vulgar it is
to work for a living. Don't speak to her ! She ain't fit
for your company—she don't dress well enough. No
matter if she does hear the cutting words. Poor children
have no feeling. It's your privilege to say what you like
to say about such kind of folks. There is a tear in her
mild blue eye, and a quick flush on her pale cheek ; and,
as she passes the group with their hoops, she draws her
checkered bonnet tightly around her face and steals away
with many a bitter sob. Her young heart is learning its
first sorrow. Her woman's heart will need all its bravery.
She may triumph in the stern and trying struggle, or she
may give way and go down to worse than a grave.—Fanny
Fern.

RECEEATIOIC NECESSIEY TO HEALTH.—It is very
generally recognised and admitted that deprivation of air
and exercise is a great evil; but it is not so well known
that abstinence from occasional recreation or amusement
is also an evil of no slight magnitude. It is, however, a
primary law of the economy that no organ can maintain
its integrity without regular recurrent periods of activity
and rest. In the case of the muscular system, if any
muscle or set of muscles cease to be used, it wastes and
disappears ; but if it be used too much, it becomes
strained, and loses its power. It is the same with the
nervous system : if the brain be never exercised, its
energy is impaired; but, if it be over-exercised, its energy
is exhausted. If, when a person takes a very long walk,
he return home fatigued, and finds that his muscles are
temporarily thrown into a wrong or disordered condition ;
and if he continues this process,of fatiguing himself every
day, after a certain time he becomes thoroughly knocked
up, ill, and incapable of undergoing even a common
amount of exertion. So it is with the brain. If an in-
dividual keep his attention upon the stretch for an undue
number of hours, he experiences, at the expiration of his
task, brain fatigue, loss of mental power, and a sensible
necessity of rest ; and if this individual persevere, day
after day, month after month, year after year, in subject-
ing his brain, without intermission or repose, to extreme
fatigue, it will set up a peculiar state, which is, unhappily,
excessively common in these times, and is known by the
name of congestion of the brain. The activity of any
organ causes a flow of blood towards itself. If a person
raise his arm by the action of the deltoid muscle, that
action or contraction of the muscle produces a dettrmina-
tion of blood to its interior ; and if a person think, the
act of thought causes a flow of blood to the brain ; but if
a person think intently, this flow of blood is often very
perceptible, for the head becomes hot, and a sensation of
throbbing about the temples, or in the head itself, is ex-
perienced. Now, when a man undergoes too much brain
work, a constant and considerable flow of blood to the
head occurs, which may become chronic, or permanent,
and produce that condition which is called determination
of blood to the head—a condition which not unfrequently
ends in apoplexy or paralysis. Congestion of the brain is
one of the most prevailing diseases that torture humanity.
—Journal of Health.
THE Two PEELS IN PARLIAMENT.—As Coleridge said
of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, that each was the half
of a perfect man, so it may be remembered that if the
natures of Robert and Frederick Peel were conjoined, we
should have a perfect statesman. Separated, each is
afflictingly incomplete ; Frederick all reason—some one
asked once if he was the head of the family, and was
answered, " No, he is only the brains,"—and Robert all
passion ; the steam-boiler in one place, and the wheels and
cranks in the other, motionless and resultless for want of
connexion with the steam. Sir Robert is the greater suc-
cess of the two in the house ; he is a "character," and has
a recognised position, succeeding in some degree to the
now silent place of the decaying Sibthorp. He is an
" independent member ;" that is, no one knows how he'll
vote until they see him in the lobby. He occasionally
joins the standard of the Earl of Derby ; but he has no
particular rule in politics, beyond that of balancing the
Peel interest, by always plumping against his brother.
He is a Liberal Conservative, and he understands that to
mean voting to-day with the Whigs, and to-morrow with
the Tories, occasionally digressing in favour of Radicalism.
Sir Robert represents the free and easy interests ; that is
the style of thought and talk. He's the free-and-easiest
orator in parliament ; he stands with one hand in his
pocket, and he twirls a cane in the other—sometimes
varying his gesture by twirling his moustache. Sir
Robert's position has been obtained in this way ; long
resident abroad, he has no party connexions here, and no
party training, and has apparently quarrelled with his
family, and is thus not under the necessity of consulting
any one, and accordingly gives full swing to his whims,
and manages always when he gets on his legs and cane, to
blurt out, without the slightest arriere pense'e, exactly
what he thinks, which is usually what other people are
thinking at the time, but would not venture to say pub-
licly about prominent public men.- When he gets up, it is
known something insolent—something that Sir Robert
dare say—is to be expected; and his words are hung upon
as if he were a crack debater and a great man. Then his
name and career have made him talked about ; his priVate
affairs extensively discussed, and his disposition and ten-
dencies relentlessly criticised; and thus he has the advan-
tage, when he speaks, bf sneaking to people who know
intimately everywhere about him, and are curious to know
more ; and so all turn their heads towards him and watch
his every syllable, and laugh consumedly. All except Mr.
Frederick, who deepens his demureness, holds his head
down, and ponders on the principle of primogeniture.—
Weekly paper.

with ti

OF COMMONS,