The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-09-29 00:00:00

—were the rage
) be round in every neighbourhood, who

❑g penny worth.
people, however, who shook
sted that the thing could not
feeling grew. when the do-

captiswed by a chap-100

nd the r

arrangements and expenses of the new firm were
served to be placed daily on a more pretending and ex-
isive scale. We heard ourselves, young as we were,
eof this. The impression which we bad, however,
s certainly that all was not as it ought to be ; and un-
r that impression we returned once more to school.
iere, immersed in our studies, we very shortly ceased
think of Mary Bennett or her poor father's concerns,
' a casual remark. in a letter from home informed us
_ !o be in difficulties. Subsequently
rd that a compromise had been effected with the
and that the business was still " pushed" by the
c. 1g and clever junior partner. Peter himself.
however, never looked up afterwards. He never could be
persuaded that periodical failures were reputable features
that a few well-managed the modern system of trade;

pensive scale
*le of this

the firm was s,,i,

RUSSIAN Poercn.—The secret police of Russia has its
ramifications both in the upper and lower classes of so-
ciety. Nay, many ladies notoriously act as spi. s, and are
yet received in society, and have company at home ; even
men who are stigmatised with the sane reputation, are not
the worse treated on that account, and bear their disgrace
with a kind of haughty dignity. There is not a single re-
giment of the guard which has not several spies; in the
theatres, and especially in the French theatre, there are
often a larger number of spies than of mere spectators. In
short, there are so manv spies that people imagine they
see them everywhere.—Russia under the Autocrat.
A SCORPION-EATER.—In the douar of the Abides
tribe, Captain Kennedy fell in with a scorpion-eater.
This was a disgusting-looking boy, who, being an idiot,
was looked upon by the Arabs as a saint—deprivation of
intellect constituting in their opinion a high claim to ho-
liness. This urchin bolted, sting and all, a fine lively
scorpion upwards of two inches long—the reptile writhing
between his teeth as he deliberately crunched it. Cur
traveller had heard of such explots, but had naturally been
rather incredulous concerning the non-removal of the
sting. In this case, however, be was pert.- ctly satisfied
that no deception was practised. The buy afterwards de-
voured another of the same dangerous species of vermin.
He belonged to the religious sect of the Aisaoua, who
claim the privilege of being proof against the venom of
reptiles and the effects of fire.—Bleekwood's Magazine.
THE " ECRIVAIN PUBLIC.''—Who has resided in Pa-
ris for any length of time without becoming acquainted. at
least by sight, with some of those humble temples of lite-
rature which abound in that city, resembling cobblers'
stalls, kept by the very poorest of the brethren of the
quill, who announce their calling to the world by the some-
what magniloquent title, inscribed on the little bricks, of
" Ecrivains Publics ?" How many a tale of love in hum-
ble life, how many an intrigue, bow many a reputation, lie
at the mercy of these humble and busily employed agents
of illiterate Paris 1. They are said to be a class of men
who, though steeped to the lips in poverty, invariably dis-
play the most scrupulous integrity and discretion towards
their employers ; and, according to general report, the
confessionals of St Roch or Notre Dame de Lorette are
not more sacred than the secrets confided to the penman.
ships of these miserable scribes. Their boutiques are
usually found in retired parts of the town, where a spot of
waste ground, or a friendly gable of a house, affords space
for their erection, without the awkwardness of a demand
for rent. A description of this class of the sons of litera-
ture, so totally unknown to fame, would be worthy the pen
of the Fielding of former days, or the Charles Dickens of
our own.—P'oser's Magazine.
INDIAN MEAL.—There is no sort of grain that can be
turned to so many uses as Indian corn, and with so little
expense and trouble. It contains infinitely more nourish-
ment than rice ; and there are few constitutio, s with which
it does not agree perfectly well. Many persons do not
like it at first, but eventually become fond of it. As food,
Indian meal is very nutritious; it is, perhaps, more
strengthening and wholesome than any other farinaceous
substance. There are numerous modes of preparing it
that, though simple and easy, are palatable and excellent,
and particularly convenient where close economy is expe-
dient. The flier r preparations of Indian meal are found
on the best tables in America. It requires more cooking
than wheat flour. Indian meal is also the best possible
food for all kinds of poultry, pigeons, &c.; mixed into a
soft dough, with cold water in summer, and warm water
when the weather is cald. It should be set down to them
in shallow pans, and given twice or three times a day.
When the large fowls are fed with Indian corn in grains,
wetted Indian meal should always be prepared for the
young chickens. If mixed with treacle, to a stiff dough,
it will fatten poultry very fast. I have seen calves fed on
warm mush and milk. and nothing can be better for
them. The yellow Indian meal is decidedly the sweetest
and best, and it is almost universally used in America in
preference to the whi'e, which is comparatively tasteless,
resembling very coarse rough wheat flour. In buying
Indian meal, take care that it is not in the least sour,
either in taste or smell. If there ie the al:s6teet
about it, do not attempt to use it. as it is then unwhole-
some, having been kept too long. It will remain sweet
much longer, if, soon after it is brought home, you have
the whole of it sifted at once through a sieve into another
barrel, box, or jar. The lighter and looser it lies, the
better it will keep. It should be kept in a dry and cool
place and carefully covered.—lndian Meal Book.
HOME.—The love of home, the charms of the native
soil,—the endearments they possess when present, and the
beauty and dignity shed over their remembrance whilst
absent,—these are feelings which can steal into all breasts
without speech or language _

" 'Tis nature's voice. and understood

Alike by all mankind."

The patriotic passion is not lost for the want of high civi-
lisation : it often burns most purely in breasts the most
unsophisticated ; and one of the worst lessons high culti-
vation and liberal principles instil, is the disregard for lo-
cal sympathies under the high sounding name of cosmo-
politanism. The poor Tyrolese is not yet tinctured by the
new virtue. As he ventures from his rocky nest he al-
ready feels at every step the lengthening chain ; and if by
chance, in the melting of his soul, the strains of the Ranz
des Vaches should meet his ear, the flood of feeling be-
comes irresistible, and the poor wanderer has nothing left
but to seek hastily the air and soil of home, or to die. The
sailor, in his calenture, sees every wave transformed to
green trees of his native village. Speak not of the splen-
dour, the conveniences, the comforts of home !—lliese do
not give it the title of " Sweet, sweet home 1" Take it in
its simplicity, its nakedness, and its deprivations, but you
have not stepped from its endearing charms. Trusting
alone to wealth, Horace could find himself only a splen-
did beggar,—

btagnes inter opes. inops ;"
and his praises were reserved tor the simple objects of

nature,—

" Purw rivns aquae silvscre jngerum
Paucorum, et segetis certa fides mean,"

because they were endeared to him by associations silent
but powerful. The dying hone does not even erase this
stamp of nature, nor can the splendours of the c.ipital can-
cel the rude cot with its magic name. The shout=, that
would at one time have thrilled through the expiring gla-
diator, now move him not ; his heart is occupied in a
more engrossing theme. What beautiful but indignant
expressions were called forth from the captive Israelites,
by the gush of feeling when their thoughts were suddenly
turned to their own land (Ps. 137.) And with what ar-
dour, does David cr.,- out whilst returning to his beloved
city P—
y for the peace of Jerusalem. They shall prosper that
Inv:. thee.

" Peace be within thy walls, and p osperity within thy palaces."
—New Quarterly Review.
THE 13oHE IN QUISITIVE.—He is one of the most teas-
ing persons you can possibly fall in with. All men avoid
him, either instinctively, or from experience; and yet we
walk abroad without meeting him. He is
we

you at night to compare notes with
41f-a•dozen of your intimate Wends, who, as well as

evipihere;

yourself, know him, or rather are known of him, all at one

lay, in pu

lane, in the green meadow or by the sea: store, have been
fated to encounter the bore inquisitive. All regard him
as a perfect pest, and no one ever dared say so to his face.
A bore of this kind is generally a middle-aged, respecta-
ble-looking man, who limps slightly, uses a cane, and
makes slow progress. He is staid, temperate, and rosy-
cheeked ; he is, moreover, well to do, calm and unruffled
in his deportment; and when he comes up to shake hands
and to victimise you, you cannot for your life offer any re-
sistance. His small, blue, unmeaning eye, has a fascinat-
ing itifLlence which you can neither describe nor avoid.
" He holds" you with it until he has wrenched and wrung
your inmost soul. He asks question after question, and
yet never seems to care for your answer. When you are
beginning to give him the necess,,ry amount of informa-
tion on a topic be just seemed anxious to know about, he
stops you with a query respecting the age of your grand-
mother ' • and while you are returning a somewhat uncer-
tain and hesitating response, he will ask you as suddenly
what you regard as likely to be the ultimate fate of ihe last
ministerial measure. But this is not the worst of the
matter; the wretch not unfrequently tortures you with
questions in reference to affairs connected with your own

vokingiy calm end cool. that though you f el he deserves
to be knocked down with the umbrella you are carrying,
you cannot avoid standing, and though blushing and per-

the in'ormation you can stammer out. You are possibly
residing at your father's, out of a situation for the present,
and you must be pestered with inquiries as to what made
you leave your old one. He hears you have been ill used,
and wishes, out of the love he bears you, to get particu-
lars. While you are endeavouring to explain, he cuts you
short, by expressing his sorrow to learn that your brother
Thomas made such an unexpected failure last week ; and
when, to gratify his curiosity. you are about to venture a
guess a 4 to what he is likely to allow his creditors per
pound, he stops your mouth by regretting to hear of the
delicate health of your sister Jane, who has been but re-
cently married, and asks whether there is any truth in the
report that her husband is given to the bottle. You are
about to reply, but his small, calm eye now espies another
victim advancing up the road, and bidding you good day,
he crosses over to him, and as you make your escape, you
heave a wish for him who is now caught by "the button."
—Hoyy's Weekly Instructor.