The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1838-01-12 00:00:00

SELECT EXTRACTS

GENERAL. Ste JOHN COLBORNR.—At the storming of the
heights of Beira, on the Bth October, 1813, Colonel, now Sir
John Colborne, who commanded the second brigade of the
rifles, addressed his men, before leading them up to the enemy's
redoubt, with "Now, my lads, we'll just charge up the edge of
the ditch, and if we can't get in, we'll stand there and fire in
their faces.' They charged accordingly; the enemy fled from
their works, and in following them up the mountains, Sir John,
in rounding a hill, accompanied only by his brigade major and
a few riflemen, found that he had headed a retiring oody of
about 3JO of the French; and, whispering to his brigade major
to get as many men together as he could, he, without hesitation,
boldly rode up to the enemy's commander and demanded his

sword. The Frenchman surrendered it with the usual grace of
his countrymen, requesting that the other would bear witness
that he had conducted himself like `' a good and gallant soldier."
Sir John answered with an approving nod, for it was no time to
refuse bearing witness to the valour of three hundred men in the

act of surrendering to half a duzen.—RandomShots from a
Rifleman.
Slit WALTER SCOTT'S PECUNIARY MISFORTUNES.—The 4rst

intimation he had of any danger hanging over him from the
failure of Constable's house, Was communicated by Mr. Lock-
hart; but it will be seen by the following extract, that, though
the information, disturbed bun, he did not credit it:—A few

days, however, after my arrival at. Chetswood, I received a
letter from the legal friend already alluded to—(Mr.W►n Wright,
the eminent barrister of Lincoln's Inn=who, by the way, was
also on habits of great personal familiarity with Constable, and
liked the Czar exceed iugly)—which renewed my apprehensions,

or rather, for the first Clone, gave me any suspicion that there

really might be something ' rotten in the state of Afu,cory.'
Mr. Wright informed me, that it was reported in London, that
Constable's London banker had thrown up his book. The letter
reached me about live o'clock, as I was sitting down to dinner;

and about an hour afterwards, I rode over to Abbotsford, to
communicate its contents. I found Sir Waiter alone, over his
glass of whiskey and water, and cigar—and at this time, when-
ever there was no company, `his custom always in the after-
noon.' I gave him Mr. Wright's letter to read. Ile did so,
and returning it, said, quite with his usual tranquil good-hu-
mour of look and voice, ` I am much obliged to you for coming
over; but you may rely upon it, Wright has been hoaxed. I
promise you, were the Cralty's book thrown up, there would be
a pretty decent scramble among the bankers for the keeping of
it. Them may have been some little dispute or misunderstand-
which malice and envy have exaggerated in this absurd
style; but I shan't allow such nonsense to disturb my siesta.
Don't you see.' he added, lighting another cigar, ' that Wright

could riot have heard Of such a tiansaction the very day it hap-
pened ? And can you doubt, that if Constable had been in-
formed of it yesterday, this day's post must have brought tne

intelligence (-tired fromhim ?' I ventured to rliggest, that this
last point did nut seem to sue clear; that Constable might not,
perhaps, in such a case; be in so great a hurry with his .intelli-

Bence. Ah said he, 'the Crafty and James Ballantyne have
been so much connected in business, that Fatsmen would be

sure to hear of any thing so important; and I like the notion of
his hearing it, and not sending me one of his mala,rurous bil-
let-doux. -He could as soon keep his eyebrows in their place if
you told him tljere was a tire in his nursery.' Seeing how coolly
he treated my news, 1 went home, relieved and gratified. Next
morning, as 1 was rising, beheld Peter Mathieson at my door,
his horses evidently off a journey, and the sheriff rubbing his
eyes, as if the halt had shaken him out of a sound sleep. I made
what haste I could to descend, and found him by the side of the
brook, looking somewhat worn, but with a serene and satisfied

countenance, busied already, in helping his little grandson to
feed a fleet of ducklings. You are surprised,' he said, to see
me here. The truth is, 1 was more taken aback with Wright's
epistle than I cared to let on; and so, as soon as you left me, I
ordered the carriage to' the door, and never stopped till I got to
Patton, where I found Constable putting on his nightcap. I
stayed au hour with him, and I have now the pleasure to tell
you that all is right. There was not a word of truth in the
story. He is fast as Ben Lomond; and as mamma and Anne
does not know what my errand was, 1 thought it as well to come
and breakfast here, and set Sophia and you at your ease before
I went home again. —Lockhart's Life of Scott.

LADY SCOTT'S DEATH.—May 15.—:Received tie melancholy
intelligence that all is over at Abbotsford—Abbotsford, May
16. She died at nine in the morning, after being very ill for
two days—easy at last. I arrived here late last night. Anne
is worn out, and has had hysterics, which returned on my arrival.
Her broken accents where like those of a child, the language as
well as the tones broken, but in the most gentle voice of sub-
mission. " Poor mamma— never return again—gone for ever—
a better place." Then, when she came to herself, she spoke
'with sense, freedom, and strength of mind, till her weakness
returned. It would have been inexpressibly moving to me as a
stranger—what was it, then, to the father and the husband?
For myself, I scarce know how I felt; sometimes as firm as the
Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the water that breaks on it.

I am as alert at thinking and deciding as I ever was in my life.
Yet, when 1 contrast this place asit now is, with what it has- been
not long since, I think my heart will break. Lonely, aged, de-
prived of my family—all but poor Anne; an improvished and
embarrassed man, deprived of the sharer of my thoughts and
councils, who could always talk down my sense of the cala-
mitous apprehensions which break the heart that bears them
alone. Even her foibles were of service to me, by giving me
things to think of beyond my weary self reflections. I have
seen her. The figure I beheld is, and is not my Charlotte—toy
thirty years' companion. There is the same symmetry of form,
thoup those limbs are rigid which were once so gracefully
elastic ; but that yellow masque, with pinched features, which
seem to mock life rather than emulate it, can it be the face that
wiis once so full of lively expression ? I will not look on it
again. Anne thinks her a little changed, because the latest
idea she had formed of her mother is as she appeared under cir-
cumstances of extreme pain. Mine go back to a period of com-
parative ease. If I write lung in this way, I shall write down
my resolution ; whiclig should rather write up, if I could. I
wonder how I shall do with the large portion of thoughts which
were hers for thirty years. I suspect they will be hers yet for
a long time at least. But I will not blaze cambric and crape
in the public eye, like a disconsolate widow, the most affected
of all characters. May 18. Another day, and a bright one to
the external world, again open on us ; the air soft, and the
flowers milling, and the-leaves glittering. They cannot refresh
her to whom mild weather was a natural enjoyment. Cereinents
1 of lead and wood already hold her,—cold earth must have her
soon. But it is not my Charlotte; it is not the bride of my
youth, the mother of my children, that will be laid among the
ruins of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in gaiety.and
pastime. No, no, She is sentinal, and conscious of my emo-
tions—somewhere—somehow : where, we cannot tell; how, we
cannot tell ;—yet would I not, at this moment, renounce the
mysterious, yet certain hope, that I shall see her in a better
world, for all this world can give me. The necessity of this
separation—that necessity which rendered it even a relief—
that, and patience, must be my comfort. I do not experience
those paroxj'ms of which others do on the same occasion. I
can exert myself, and speak cheerfully with the poor girls. But,
alone, or if anything touches me, the choking sensation ! I
have been to her room. There was no voice in it—no stirring ;
—the pressue of the coffin was visible on the bed, but it bad
not been removed e'sewhere. All was neat as she loved it ; but
'll was calm—calm as death. I remembered the last sight of.
her;—she raised herself in bed, and tried to turn her eyes after
me; and said, with a sort of smile, " You all have such melan-
choly faces." These were the last words I ever heard her utter;
I hurried away, for she did not seem quite conscious of what
she said. When I returned, immediately departing, she was in
a deep sleep,—it is deeper now. This was but seven days since.
They are arranging the chamber of death—that was long,d.he
apartment of connubial happiness, and of whose arrangements
(better than in richer houses) she was so proud. They are
' treading, fast and thick. For weeks you could have heard a
foot fall. Oh my God !—Sir Walter Scott's Diary.
TIMES OF GEORGE THE FOURTH.—'This day, dined at Ken-
sington en petit comite; no servants, but dumb. waiters. * *
'The princess gave a long detailed account of her marriage, and
the circumstances which brought it about. "I, you know, was
the victim 'of Mammon; the Prince of Wales's debts must be
paid, and poor little I's person was the pretence. Parliament
would vote supplies for the heir-apparent's marriage. The
king would help his little help. A protestant princess must be
found—they fixed upon the prince's cousin. To tell you God's
truth, (a favourite expression,) I always hated it; but to oblige
my father, any thing. But the first moment I saw myf star and
Lady Jane together, I knew how it was, and I said to
myself, Oh, very well!' I took my partie—and so it would
have been, if—but, oh, mine God !" she added, throwing up her
head, " I could be the slave of a man
-1 love; but to one whom
I loved not, and who did not love me—impossible—.c'est autre
chose." * * .‘ One of the civil things his royal highness did
just at first was to find fault with my shoes; and, as 1 was very
young and lively in those days, I told him to make me a better
pair and bring them to me. I brought letters from the princes
and pridcesses to him from all the petty courts, and 1 tossed
them to him and said, ' There, that's to prove I'm no impostor'
Lady Oxford observed, Well, madam, it is the most surprising
-thing in the world that the prince was not desperately io love
with your royal highness.' " Not at all," she replied; " in the
first place, very few husbands love their wives; and i confes',
the moment one is obliged to marry any person, it is enough to
render them hateful. Had I come over bete as a princess with
my father on a visit, as Mr. Pitt once wanted my father to have
done, things might have been very different; but what is done
cannot be undone." * * 1 asked her if she had left Bruns-
wick with regret ? " Not at all ; I was sick, tired of it ; but I
was sorry to leave my father; I loved my father dearly, better
nor any oder person ;" and the tears poured over her face. "1
will tell you," she went on to say, and she mastered her emotion,
" I will tell you there is•none affliction more powerful than dat
for a good fader; but dere were some unlucky thugs in our court
which made my position difficult." The Princess of Wales
speaks highly of Mrs. Fitzherbert; she always says, "That is
the prince's true wife; she is an excellent woman ; it is a great
pity he ever broke vid her. Do you know I know de man who
was present at his marriage, the late Lord B—d? He de-
clared to a friend of mine that when he went to inform Mrs.
Fitzherbert that the prince had married me she would not be-
lieve it, for she knew she was herself married to him." * *
The princess, in one of her confidential humours, declared that
" Lady H—d was a woman of intact virtue—it is only a
liaison of her vanity on her part with my better half; hut it will
not last long, she is too formal for him." These words were
quickly verified in another attachment to a younger and more
beautiful woman, but one not calculated to be so judicious or
true a friend.—February 10, lBll.—The princess went to the
play, a resource she always reserves to herself, to escape from a
dull dinner. She was accompanied by Lord Fitz—d, her
lady in waiting, and myself. After the play, I was invited to
sup with her royal highness; as usual, she talked of her own
situation and her previous life. " Judge," said she, " what it
Was to have a drunken husband on one's wedding-day, and one
who passed the greater part of his bridal night Under the grate,
where he_ fell and where I left him. If any body say to me at
dis moment, will you pass your life over again, or be killed, I
would choose death—for, you know, a little sooner or later we
must all die ; but. to live a life of wretchedness twice over—oh,
mine God, no ! Well, after I lay in—je eons jure 'tis true,
upon inv honour, upon my soul, 'tis true—l received a message
through- Lord Chohnondley, to tell me I never was to have the
great honour of inhabiting de same room vid my husband again.
I said very well; but, as my memory was short, I begged to
have dis polite message in writing from him. I had it, and was
free; I left Carlton-house and went to Charlton. Oh, how
happy I was! Every body blamed me, but I never repented
me of dis.step. Oh. mine God, what I have suffered Luckily
I had a spirit, or I never should have outlived it."—Diary of the
Times of Georue the Fourth.
NEW I‘l A MNI ALIA.—Some new animals have ban discovered
in Australia,. &c., a portion of which will cause fresh generic
distinctions, and others will take their places in welt-eStabltshed
genera : that named flalmaiurus irma, and belonging to the
kangaroos, is of singular beauty and delicacy, 'frein the distri-
bution of the white and black spots on its head and tail, and its
slender form. It inhabits the banks of the Swan River.
'TILE CHIN•CHOPPER OUTDONE.—'There is a man, we are told,
who goes about to the various public-houses, of an evening, to
exhibit his extraordinary performance on a common tobacco-
pipe. He puts the hell part against his teeth, and holds tie
small end between the finger.and thumb of his left hand; then,
with the fingers of his right hand, he pioduces really two oc-
taves : the tone is diversified by the expansion or closing of the
mouth, something similar to the lew's harp. The manner in
which he plays the " Downfall of Paris" is, we understand, very
extramdinary. particularly the last part of it, which runs up
and down the stale in semi-quavers!—The Musical Kriel.