The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1840-10-13 00:00:00

THE MESS CATERER OF A TROOP SHIP.

Mr. Sparks being voted by unanimous consent " a junior,"
he was condemned to offices that the veriest fag in Eton or
Harrow had rebelled against. In the morning, under the
pseudonym. of Mrs. Sparks, he presided at breakfast, having
previously made tea, coffee, and chocolate, for the whole
cabin, besides boiling about twenty eggs to various degrees
of hardness ; he was under heavy recognizances to provide a
plate of buttered toast of very alarming magnitude, fried
ham, kidneys, &c., to no end. Later on, when others saun-
tered about the deck, vainly endeavouring to fix their atten-
tion upon a novel or a review, the poor cornet might be seen
with a white apron tucked gracefully round his spare pro-
portions, whipping eggs, for pancakes, or with up-turned
shirt sleeves, fashioning dough for a pudding. As the day
waned, the cook's gallery became his haunt, where, exposed
to a roasting fire, lie inspected the details of a cuisine, for
which, whatever his demerits, he was sure of an ample re-
muneration in abuse at dinner. Then came the dinner
itself, that dread ordeal, where nothing was praised and
everything censured. This was followed by the punch-
making, where the tastes of six different and differing indi-
viduals were to be exclusively consulted, in the self-same
beverage ; and lastly, the supper at night, when Sparkie, as
he was familiarly called, towards evening grown quite ex-
hausted, became the subject of unmitigated wrath, and most
unmeasured reprobation.
" I say, Sparks, it's getting late ; the spatchcock, old boy ;
don't be slumbering."
" By the bye, Sparkie, what a mess you made of the
peasoup to-day !By Jove, I never felt so ill in my life." "
Na, na, it was na the soup; it was something he pit in
the punch, that's burnin' me ever since I tuk it. Ou, man,
but ye're an awfu creture wi vittals."
" He'll improve, Major, he'll improve ; don't discourage
him ; the boy's young ; be alive now there ; where's the
toast—confound you—where 'a the toast ?"
" There, Sparks, you like a drum-stick, I know ; mustn't
muzzle the ox, eh ? Scripture for you, old boy ; eat away ;
hang the expense ; hand him over the jug—empty—eh,
Charley? Come, Sparkie, bear a hand, the liquor's out."
" But won't you let me eat ?"
" Eat ! Heavens, what a fellow for eating ! By George,
such an appetite is clean against the articles of war ! Come,
man, it's drink we're thinking of ; there's the rum, sugar,
limes ; see to the hot water. Well, skipper, how are we
getting on ?"
" Lying our course ; eight knots off the log ; pass the call.
Why, Mr. Sparks."
" Eh, Sparks, what's this ?"
" Sparks, my man, confound it;" and then, ' omnes cho-
rusing, Sparks !' in every key of the gamut, the luckless
fellow would be obliged to Jump up from this meagre fare,
and set to work at a fresh brewage of punch, for the others.
The bowl and the glasses filled, by some little management on
Power's part, our friend, the cornet, would be drawn out, as
the phrase is, in some confession of his early years, which
seemed to have been exclusively spent in love-making, devo-
tion to the fair being as integral a portion of his character as
tippling was of the worthy major's.
[We copy the above humourous caricature from the pages
of " Charles O'Malley."]

ON ORGAN PLAYING.

At a period when the legitimate style of true organ playing
is being frittered away, and that noblest of all instruments
reduced to the level of the piano-forte ; when fingers are
made to touch the keys as they would so many pins' points,
and the feet to keep up a continuous race with the fingers;
when solemnity and dignity are displaced with lightness and
frivolity, and the dignity of our church service destroyed by
the unholy agility of the organist ; when expression is made
to give way to execution, and that man is deemed the best
player who can dance a Highland fling upon the pedals ; it
may not be amiss to quote the sound reasoning of a truly
clever writer as to the proper performance of church music.
Avison, in his essay on musical expression, seeing already
a false taste beginning to display itself, thus warns the or-
ganists of his day and generation.
" We seem at present almost to have forgot that devotion
is the original and proper end of our church music. Hence
that ill-timed levity of air in our modern anthems ; that
foolish pride of execution in our voluntaries which disgusts
every rational hearer, and dissipates instead of heightens
true devotion. . _ _

" If our organist is a lover of poetry, without which we
must dispute his love for music ; or, indeed, if he has any
well-directed passions at all, he cannot but feel some eleva-
tion of mind, when he hears the psalm preceding the volun-
tary, pronounced in an awful and pathetic strain. It is then
he must join his part, and in some solemn air, relieve, with
religious cheerfulness, the calm and well-disposed heart.
Yet, if he feels not this divine energy in his own breast, it
will prove but a fruitless attempt to raise it in that of others:
nor can he hope to throw out those happy instantaneous
thoughts, which sometimes far exceed the best concerted
compositions, and which the enraptured performer would
often secure to his future use and pleasure, did they not as
fleetly escape as they arise. He should also be extremely
cautious of imitating common songs or airs, in the latter
kind of performance ; otherwise he will but too much expose
religion to contempt and ridicule.
" It may be thought, perhaps, by thus depriving our or-
ganist of this public opportunity of showing his dexterity,
both in his voluntary and psalm tune, that all performers in-
discriminately, might be capable of doing the duty here
required ; but it will be found no such easy matter to strike
out the true sublimity of style, which is proper to be heard,
when the mind is in a devout state; or, when we would be
greatly. solemn, to avoid the heavy and spiritless manner,
which instead of calmly relieving and lifting up the heart,
rather sinlis it into a state of deprivation."
We would have our organists pay serious attention to
these remarks, and not allow their dexterity to get the upper
hand of their better judgment. The organ is an instrument
of dignity and expression—as such use it ; for, be assured,
any other than the severe and grand is not only abuse of its
powers, but shows a want of decent respect both for the
sanctuary and the holy worship of our God. Musical
Journal.

A CHINESE PalsoN.—Persons who have money to spend
can be accommodated with private apartments, cards, ser-
vants, and every luxury, in the prisons of the Celestial Em-
pire. The prisoners chains and fetters are removed from
their bodies, suspended against the wall till the hour of going
the round occurs. After that ceremony is over, the fetters
are again placed where they hurt nobody. But those who
have not the means of bribing the keepers, are even in a more
woful condition. Not only is every alleviation of their suffer-
ings removed, but actually infliction of punishment is added
to extort money to buy burnt offerings of paper to the god of
the gaol, as the phrase runs. For this purpose the prisoners
are tied up, or rather hung up and flogged ; at night they are
fettered to a board by the neck, wrists, and ancles, amidst
ordure and filth, whilst the rats, unmolested, are permitted
to knew their limbs ! This place of torments is proverbially
called, in ordinary speech, Teynck—a term equivalent to the
worst of sense of the word hell.
PETROLEUM OIL WELL.—About ten years since, while
boring for salt water, near Burksville, Kentucky, after pene-
trating through solid rock upwards of two hundred feet, a
fountain of pure oil was struck, which was thrown up more
than twelve feet above the surface of the earth. Although in
quantity somewhat abated after the discharge of the first few
minutes, during which it was supposed to emit seventy-five
gallons a minute, it still continued to flow for several days
successively. The well being
on the margin and near the
mouth of a small creek emptying into Cumberland river, the
oil soon found its way thither, and for a long time covered
its surface. Some gentlemen below applied a torch, when
the surface of the river blazed, and the flames soon climbed
the most elevated cliffs, and scorched the summit of the lof-
tiest trees. It ignites freely, and produces a flame as brilliant
as gas. Its qualities were then unknown, but a quantity was
barreled, most of which soon leaked out. It is so penetrating
as to be difficult to confine in a wooden vessel, and has so
much gas as frequently to burst bottles when filled and tightly
corked. Upon exposure to the air, it assumes a greenish
hue. It is extremely volatile, has a strong pungent, and in-
describable smell, and tastes much like the heart of pitch
pine. For a short time after the discovery, a small quantity
of the oil would flow whilst pumping the salt water, which
led to the impression that it could always be drawn by pump-
ing. But all subsequent attempts to obtain it, except by a
spontaneous flow, have entirely failed. There have been two
such flows within the last two years. The last commenced
on the 4th July last, and continued about six weeks, during
which time about twenty barrels of oil were obtained. The
oil, and the salt water, which are invariably combined during
these flows, are forced up by the gas, above 200 feet, into the
pump, and thence through the spout into a covered trough,
when the water soon becomes disengaged and settles at the
bottom, whilst the oil is readily skimmed at the surface. A
rumbling noise resembling distant thunder, uniformly attends
the flowing of the oil, whilst the gas which is then visible
every day at the top of the pump, leads the passing stranger
to inquire whether the well is on fire.—Silliman's Journal.