The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1849-07-10 00:00:00

VARIETIES.

At the coronation of Edward 1., 300 horses were let
loos?, to be the property of those who could catch them.
" To make a man eligible to the Senate of South Caro-
lina," says the New Maryland Washingtonian, "he must
own 500 acres of land and ten negroes.'
A CLASSICAL QUESTION.—Master Tibbs, of the First
Form : " Please, sir! if the Romans are destroyed, will
there be any more Latin Grammar ?"—Punch.
Oniony OF TUNNELS.—A. on one side of the hill re-
quires to communicate with B. on the other, but think-
ng it a bore, he hollows out to him.—Punch.
IT RUNS BOTH HIGH AND Low.—There is no man,
however high, but who is jealous of some one • and there
is no man, however low, but has some one who is jealous
of him 1
A. London beggar is said to have obtained a livelihood
by counterfeiting a bowel complaint, and successively
entering druggists' shops to beg pieces of ginger, which
he afterwards sold to a maker of ginger-beer.
Professsor Christison exhibited the other day a green
powder, purchased at a confectioner's, in Edinburgh, de-
signed to colour jellies, blancmanges, &c., which he had
found, by a process which he described, to consist of su-
gar mixed with verdigris and arsenite of copper.
A DOMESTICATED PlKE.—There is now to be seen in
a pond, at Wootton Bassett, the property of J. Neeld,
Esq., a pike, apparently about three pounds weight, which,
on food being presented, and " Jack" called, will rise to
the surface of the water, and open his mouth to receive it.
ANCIENT ALMANACK.—The following is the title of an
almanack published one hundred and ninety years ago :
" Goldsmith, 1660 an Almanack for the year of our
Lord God, 1660. Wherein is contained many observa-
tions, pleasant, necessary, and useful. Amongst the rest
you may behold the longitude, latitude, and aspects of
the planets. As also a description of the highways and
fairs. The like not extant by any other. Composed by
John Goldsmith. London : printed by R. White, for the
Company of Stationers, 1660."
STARTLING INTELLIGENCE.—We understand that, in
a certain village down east, there is a new society about
to be established, which is to be established, which is to
bear the name of the " Celebrity of Matrimony Society,"
the members to consist exclusively of ladies. We have
been informed that one of the rules, a principal one, for
the regulation of the society is to run thus,—" That the
men do forfeit the privilege nitherte enjoyed I.)y them, of
' proposing' for the ladies, inasmuch as it has been so
long allowed to remain a dead letter, and that it be con-
ferred exclusively on the ladies, who without the least
feeling of vanity, flatter themselves that they will make at
least a better use of it ; and the ladies hereby pledge
themselves to put their privilege into operation on every
available occasion." This is truly startling intelligence.
American paper.

A FIRE IN THE BACKWOODS.
(From Fraser's Magazine.)
I was awakened by a shout in the street below the win-
dows. Immediately after Frankland rushed into my room:
he almost tore the door off its hinges.
Get up !' he cried ; quick ! put your clothes on, the
town's on fire !'
He pulled me out of bed, and helped me to hurry on
my things. In a few minutes we were standing in the
street. It was dam ; numbers of people I heard, more
than saw, were hurrying past, to and fro. I looked down
the street ; there was a light, glowing and changing on
the sky towards the back part of the house. In front we
could not see from whence it came. A noise of a dull
but strengthening roar of voices came from the same
quarter. Suddenly a light, like a lurid star, appeared on
the roof of a house far down at the end of a road on
which we stood. Then a cloud of smoke ; then all the
windows seemed suddenly illuminated from within ; then
a burst of rose-red flame, and it fell; and the flames leapt
onwards to the next house, and the next, and the next,
and a glare of intolerable brightness began to fill all the
space around. People were growing wilder and wilder
with terror, answering at random any questions made to
them as they flew past.
Oh, the fire 's come from the woods !'
No, it was old Wilcox's forge set all a-fire!'
The barracks are blazing, and the wood-yards, too !'
0, good Lord ! what will be the end of this ?'
Here, take charge of these children !' said one half-
distracted woman, mistress of a school, who had lost her
house with every thing it contained, and was running
about uncertain as to the fate of her mother and sister.
In this country, happily, the fears of the consequences of
a fire, however awful, have some bounds. There are open
country, shipping on the rivers, and plenty of places to
look to for shelter. How different the same calamity in
a place where every thing on the face of the land acts as
so much dry tinder, where the town is built of slight
wooden buildings, where forests surround the house of
every man, where all food, corn, cattle, and every kind of
comfort, and possession, and life itself, all lie at the
mercy of the most frightful of elements when roused to a
pitch of fury, endowed with a vast power of destruction,
and placed in a position of illimitable command,—at once
the greatest engine of comfort, and the most cruel scourge
for the settler in the New World !
I stood in the street, seated beside a heap of trunks
and goods, that had been flung out of the doors and win-
dows of the house ; chairs, tables, boxes, books, clothes,
were lying in a mass of strange confusion. Two brick
houses made a stand against the fire ; they were com-
pletely burnt within, but retarded the progress of the fire
on one side. On the other, the heat, the brightness, in-
creased rapidly ; while hoarse shrieks for Water ! water !'
told the distress of the sufferers in that quarter. Frank-
land and Fairfax had both left the spot where I was. The
wife and family of the latter were sitting on the trunks,
boxes, or chairs and tables, volunteering themselve:s
guardians of any stray children ' • and numbers flocked to
our corner of women and poor, shivering, frightened little
ones ; and so the dawn broke slowly upon us, huddled
together speechless for the greater part of the time, un-
less some new-corner flew towards us to detail some ad-
ditional loss of life and property. At daylight Fairfax
came back for a few moments.
Be prepared,' he said, to make for the church. I
believe it will be almost the only building left, from its
situation and being of stone. come back when you 'll
have to go. That or the river.'
As he spoke he threw into a box clasped with steel some
of his plate that he valued most. He and his eldest son
carried it towards the water. A quarter of an hour, I
suppose. after that, the first house in the street where we
stood took fire ; it was the house of a merchant. He had
refused to take out his things for fear of being robbed,
and he lost every article that he possessed. His wile,
poor woman, was screaming in hysterics, and Mrs. Fair-
fax ran to her assistance. As she did so the opposite
house blazed up, a small grocer's shop : a rafter fell on
the head of the poor man, who was attempting to save
some of his books and bills; he could not be rescued
from the furious burning of the roof above, which fell in
a few minutes after. A party of soldiers was stationed at
the river's edge to hand up buckets of water for the
engines ; but it was, indeed, like a drop on an ocean of
flame : the fire licked it up with a hiss, and flew on. And
now our time drew nigh. The house next but one fell ;
the shrieks, roars, and cries of the people became perfectly
maddening. Fairfax was seen rushing along the street.
At that moment fire burst out in another direction ; the
smoke became suffocating, blackening even the ghastly
glare of the furnace around us. Fairfax came, his eyes
bloodshot, his brows singed, and his dress too, with the
intense heat to which he had been subjected. He took
hold of his wife and youngest child, telling us to follow.
We ran along the street to the southwest. In. doing so
we saw the line of the barracks burning fiercely; the en-
gines were playing no longer : it was hopeless. Above
the river stood the wood-yard, with fuel laid up for the
winter, blazing away like one huge pyre at once : all be-
hind lay in black ruins. The wind had sunk, but the fire
was spreading,—whether from the woods, or from some
accident in the town, could not then be known. On the
whole bank of the river on which the town stood nothing
was to be seen but fire, smoke, and ashes ; half-blackened
heaps of houses and goods; ruin, and death, and fear,
that bad become cowardice and ferocity in many. On
the other side the morning sun was breaking through the
smoke, and shining in broken gleams on the autumnal
foliage ; the peace and security beyond us mocked our
misery. Oh, for the opposite shores ! A boat ! a boat!!
a canoe ! a raft !—anything ! But we were hurried to the
church. Numbers followed and crowded in; it was soon
filled ; but more yet poured to the two doors. Many
sat on the gravestones without. A row of trees sur-
rounded the wooden paling of the grave-yard, connected
by an avenue that led to another cemetery. We had not
been long in the church when we saw the houses opposite
burst into a fierce, strong blaze ; a shroud of smoke
rushed through the building where we were ; it became
quite dark ; there were shrieking women lying on the
altar steps, crying out that it was the last day, that Christ
was coming to judgment. One poor girl, who had lost
her father and brother (their house had been the first de-
stroyed), was singing a hymn in a high, shrill voice, and
waiving her arms to the Saviour, whom she saw, she cried
out to us repeatedly, in a chariot of fire. The chariots
of Israel and the horsemen thereof !' she screamed out
unceasingly; while others hid their faces, some sobbing
in grief and horror, others silent and terror-stricken,
others calmly awaiting another signal to fly to the river ;
and still the flames swept on and on. A ring of fire en-
circled the church-yard as the trees took fire, and the grass
was burnt up, and a hundred more tried to crush into the
building ' • and great broad ribands of fire, crimson and
yellow, glittered flashed along the windows like vivid
lightning ; and then such a sense of suffocation fell on
all, that the door at the opposite end was flung open, and
numbers poured out and made their escape through a
shower of sparks, and over burning grass and branches,
out into the square. I made my way out too. I stood
alone among a terrified and selfish crowd. My agony of
horror had reached its climax, when I saw, hurrying
through the smoke from one of the burning streets, Louis
the Indian. He flew to me, took roe up in his arms, and
ran quickly to the river. Here I saw Frankland ; he had
pushed off from the flaming shores of the miserable place.
He was in a canoe, waiting for me. Louis plunged into
the water with me: it was hot with the reflection of the
heat around. Louis placed me in the canoe, and Frank-
land made off with me. Louis swam till he reached a
canoe lying floating bottom uppermost ; it had held some
refugees, who had been drowned in crossing from over-
filling the bark, slight thing that it was. We left the
shore, burning, blazing, lined with shrieking wretches,
who were making the best of their way to rafts, sloops,
boats and canoes. I lay shivering and speechless.
God help them ! cried Frankland, as we threw our-
selves on the green and secure shores of the eastern bank.
Opposite, for miles and miles along the river, the forest
was blazing away to ashes. Frankland clasped his hands
in silence as we looked over the water, and Louis joining
us, we plunged into the thick woods before us,—all cool
and lovely they looked. Yet the scent of burning was
becoming stronger every moment as we hurried on. Still
we trusted that the fire bad not reached this bank on
which we stood. We walked more and more quickly,
and, lo ! a sudden glimmer of flame shot through a rolling
cloud of smoke to our right. The fire, the forest fire, was
upon us ! We saw the horrible rapidity of its progress ;
the woods, dry as dust with a burning long summer, lay
like wool and timber beneath the broad wings of tha flame
that swept rejoicing on its way. Brightening, roaring,
reddening, whitening in its fury, it came upon us. We
ran with all our speed along the narrow track in file. We
looked back, the fire was circling about us; like fiery ser-
pents it flew from tree to tree, wreathing in glittering
rings round the trunks, bursting into one oroad blaze in
the foliage, then coursing along the ground fanning itself
with its own fury, rolling along flaying the earth with its
keen scimitar, leaving raw, blackening sods behind it.
Hotter and hotter became the fiery breath as it blew more
and more fiercely upon us. Our eyes were bloodshot, our
tongues parched, our breathings were painful gasps for
life. Yet we flew on, and when I fell at last Louis raised
me up, flung me over his shoulders, and rushed along
faster than before. I almost lost consciousness, except
knowing that we had to change our course. The fire
closed upon us ; it flew out here and there, encircling us
in a death-clasp almost. Still the Indian posted on,
faster and fasten—noble creature, faithful as a dog and
swift as a deer ! My head was giddy, confused ; a dreamy
sense of flying through clouds of smoke and lightnings I
can now remember, but that is all, until I was again on
the river in a canoe, and laid down on my back, smoke
and fire still around us, Frankland and Louis urging the
little bark on its way by every exertion ; and as we drew
near the settlement I raised my head. Great heaven,
what a scene of destruction was there ! Not a house was
left standing ; all was black, deserted. A log-hut or two
on the African Hill had escaped ; there some of the in-
habitants bad collected their families and their goods,—
the very little, at least, that they had been able to save.
My family were safe, and my father hurried down to the
shore to receive me from Frankland. I lay on the bank,
and saw Frankland push off again, away for the Oro-
nocktoo.
In after days 1 heard from others what had been the
fate of Frankland's home. He reached it, and made his
way across from the river to the lake. Not a vestige of
wood was left,—all level and black. The lodge was gone,
a heap of smouldering ruins lay on the spot where it had
stood. Frankland searched the ashes ; nothing was
found except a few things that would not burn to atoms.
He searched further, with agony that no words of mine
can describe, and close under the bank of what had been
the chiefs' burial-place he found two half-burnt remains;
one clasped in his blackened hand some steel beads that
it had valued more than any other toy. The water had
been no protection to them, as they bad no boat ; their
only servant, it was supposed, was burnt in the house.
There, alone, unprotected, victims to the most awful
agonies of fear and torture, the two little children died,—
' Lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death
they were not divided. But poor Frankland never reco-
vered the horrors of his loss. He died a fortnight after-
wards, of grief, fatigue, and exhaustion.