The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-12-03 00:00:00

&ELECTIONS.

ANECDOTE OF Trios' as CAMPBELL.—On one occasion,
Profess ,r (af erwards Sir Daniel) Sandford attempted to
take precedence of the Lord Rector at a dinner party, but
was defeated and somewhat humbled by the quickness of
a lady standing at Campbell's side. " Bless me! I was
not dreaming of any precedence," said Campbell; "but
is it nor strange that Mr. Sandford should be so vain
as to think that his being a bishop's son, and a professor
should g!ve him any rank, Why, it merely means the
son of a dissenting clergyman and a respectable school•
master." An anecdote was current at this time of a dig-
nified functionary of the University—a man of pomp and
form. He sneeringly said they would not know where to
address the official announcement ; so obscure, it might
he inferred, did he consider the man whose poetic fame
was bounded only by the limits of civilization. A gentle-
man present promptly answered, " You have only to ad
dress it to the author of the ' Pleasures of Hope,' and
put it into the post-office.—Metropolitan Magazine.
DISSENTERS' BAPTISM.—A conference of Bishops
took place at Easter, 1712, at Lambeth Palace, on the
validity of Dissenters' baprism ; arid they all agreed that
it was valid; four days afterwards, in consequence of
th t conference, the Archbishop of Canterbury drew up
the following declaration : —Forasmuch as sundry persons
have of late, by their preaching, writing, and discourses,
possessed the minds of many people with doubts as to the
validity of their baptism, to their great trouble and dis-
quiet, we, the Bishops arid Archbishops whose names are
underwritten, have thought it incumbent on us to declare
our opinions, in conformity with the judgment and prac-
tice of the Catholic Church, and of the Church of England
in particular, that such persons as have been already bap.
tised with water, and in the names of the Fatl-er, Son, and
Hely Ghost, ought not to be baptised again. Arid to
prevent any such ra.h practice in our respective dioceses,
we do require our several clergy that they presume not to
baptise arty adult person whatever without giving us
timely notice."—Life of Archbishop Sharp.
FALSE DISPARAGEMENT OF THE ENGLISH.—One of
the most ludicrous evidences of the rage that has prevailed
in England during the last and existing centuries for
every thing foreign, without reference to any actual
standard of vain:, is the notion, not yet extinct among
us, that we are not a musical people! Our old ecclesias-
tical music is of the very first ordt r, yet we are not a mu-
sical people 1 The glee we altogether invented, and the
beautiful madrigal we carried to a higher pitch than airy
other country, yet we are not a musical people! Scarcely
two centuries ago, part singing was held an indispensable
accomplishment in every lieeral scieme of English edu-
cation ; and "at a social meeting, when the madrigal
books were laid upon the table, everybody was expected
to take a share in the harmony ; and any one who declined,
on the score of inability, was looked upon with some con-
tempt, as rude and lose bred ;" but for all that we are
not a musical people! Music, of old, marked every stet)
in our devotion tl worship, accompanied every kind of
sport and festival, was carried round to the humblest
d.ior by the itinerant minstrels, and floated from the very
watch-towers of our baronial and title c4stles, where the
waits or watchmen made the long night musical with their
pipings—and yet, sapient Englishmen will have it, we are
not. a musical people. It is true, the unhappy decadence
so visible in all that relates to the welfare and happiness
of the poor, preva Is also, or rather tjh recently did pre-
vail, in regard to our na'ional music. But the e,cepiions
might have told us that it was not owing to any unfitness
of the English mind.—llluminated Magazine.

A BEAR.--" Were you ever hugged by a bear ?"
" Well, I wacret ever hugged ; but onre I was much
closer to one than ever I wish to be again."—" Oh ! when
was that? Do, pray teU us." said Emma —" It was
when I was young, that one day I sounded a tree in the
forest with my axe, and I was certain that there was a
bear in it ; but the animal did not show itself, so I climbed
up the tree to examine the hole at the top, and see if the
bear was at home; if so, I was determined to have him
out. Wel, Miss, I was on the top of the hollow trunk,
and was just putting my head into the hole, when, all of a
sudden, the edge of the tree.on which I knelt gave way,
like so much tinder, and down I went into the hollow;
luckily for me I did not go down head foremost, or there
I should have remained until this time, for the hole in the
middle of the tree, as I found, was too narrow for me to
have turned in, and there I must have stuck. As it was,
I came down with the dust and crumbles smothering me
almost, till I came right on the top of the bear, who lay
at the bottom ; and I fell with such force that I doubled
his head down, so that he could not lay hold of me with
his teeth, which would not have been pleasant ; indeed,
the bear was quite as much, if not more astonished than
myself, and there be lay beneath me very quiet till I could
recover a little. Then I thon_ht of getting out, as you
may suppose, fast enough, and the hollow of the tree,
providentially, was not so wide but that I could work up
again with my back to one side and my knees to the other.
By this means I gradually got up again to the hole that
I fell in at, and I perched myself across the timber to
fetch my breath. I had not been there much more than
a quarter of a minute, and I intended to have remained
much longer, when I perceived all of a sudden the bear's
head within a foot of me; he had climbed up after me,
and I saw he was very angry, so in a moment I threw
myself off my perch, and down I went to the ground at
the foot of the tree, a matter of near twenty feet, even
faster than I went down inside of it. I was severely
shaken with the fall, but no bones were broken; in fact.
I was more frightened than hurt : I lay quite still for a
little while, when the growl of the bear put me in mind
of him ; I jumped on my legs, and found that he was
coming down the tree after me, and was within six feet
of the ground. There was no time to lose; I caught up
my rifle and had just time to put it to his ear and se tle
him, as he was placing his fore-foot on the ground."
"
hat a narrow escape!"—" Well, perhaps it was; but
there's no say ng, Miss, which beats till the fight is over."
—Captain Marryat.

SINGULAR ANECDOTES OF A RAVEN.—The first ap-
pearance of Jim Crow was in the street, where be was tied
by the leg to a stick, while a pack of inhuman boys were
gathering stones to pelt him to death, when Mrs. W., the
landlady, kindly interposed and saved the devoted victim.
He rapidly tamed, and in a few days exhibited both intel-
ligence and amusement to his protectors. Upon the
landlord, from first sight, be appeared to have centred his
affections—and the ardour of the poor bird's attachment
almost exceed belief. He watched for his master in the
morning, followed him through the day, was always at his
elbow when he dined, and if he afterwards in the evening
joined a jovial party—as landlords are wont to do—Jim
Crow was sure to be upon his shoulder, or on the table, if
permitted to make one of the " merrie company." If any
person pretended to beat the host the rook attacked him
furiously—and, as if be knew that a razor was a lethal in-
strument, and the carotid in dangerous contiguity, before
the barber dare commence operations, Jim Crow had to
be secured in another room, to secure; the skater from
maltreatment. It might be imagined that the poor rook
could reason. The communication' over the Tweed, be-
tween Spittal and Berwick, is kept up by diieinutive
steamers which cross the river repeatedly within the hour.
If his favourite were missing, Jim Crow would fly down
to the pier and ascertain if the lost one was on board ; and
in that event, the rook would cross the river, and no
matter where his owner went, he would be found flying
by his side, or settled on his shoulder. Of course this
personal attendance was occasionally to be dispensed
with—but it required no little ingenuity, by turning a
corner, or getting down an entry, to enable his master to
blink his too faithful friend and companion. If he suc-
ceeded, the bird would fly up and down the street, look
anxiously around—and if he could pop on his lost proprie-
tor, his joy would be unbounded, and lest another sepa-
ration should occur, he would stick to him for the re-
mainder of the day close as his own shadow. If, how-
ever, Mr. W. managed to get off—a feat not always to be
effected—after a sharp search Jim Crow would wing his
way across the Tweed, return home, and there anxiously
await a reunion with his lost protector. I said that the
rook was fond of convivial meetings; and there he was
an active auxiliary. Were there a dozen persons at the
table, Jim would hop regularly round, receive the scores
from the guests respectively, pouch the money beneath
his tongue, return to his master, insert the black and
horny bill into the clenched hand of mitre host, and

honestly deposit there every, coin he had collected. A
still more curious anecdote of the bird remains ; and, upon
my life ! it goes far beyond my philosophy. The first
movement in the morning in the landlords chamber, the
first cough or creak of the shoe which announced that his
master was afoot—was hailed by this singular bird with
loud and exulting cawitts. The I. ndlord was a wag—his
marriage bed had not been blessed by a family, and open-
ing the room door he would remonstrate with his noisy
favorite—" What the diet are ye at, mon ? Hauld ye'r
tongue or ye'll wauken the bairns !" In a moment the

loud and ciamarons caw was changed to one so piano and
subdued that had Rubini been his preceptor, Jim Crow's
descending scale could not have been more rapid or more
euphonious.— Wunderings in the Highlands.

A FRENCH HOTEL.—The walls blazed with rows of
copper stew pans, highly burnished; ranging, in nice
gradations of size, from comfortable elbow-room for a
sheep to boil in, whole, down to the guage you would se-
lect to do one fritter. Among these hung here and there
vessels with implements of a more contorted shape, and
apocalyptic meaning—culinary slembics, probably to dis-
til the finer flavours ; " portentous e ngines and strange
gins," applied when deep and obstinate essences are to be
tortured forth for princely deguetation. They filled me
with respect for the chef de cusim ; a meagre, thoughtful
man ; clad in pure white from head to font, like to some
antique hierarch, surpliced for sacrificial rites. He, with
daring hand, had set a-going seventeen simultaneous pans,
big doubtless with the fate of seventeen separate break-
fasts. Among them his vigilant eye wandered up and
down—active, yet serene ; like Goethe's planet, "without
haste, without rest." Some of the pans were simmering
tenderly ; some frizzled in a louder key ; some rumbled
under cover; some, lidless, bubbled full in view. Each
had its crisis, and doubtful turning-points—its special
contingencies of failure and success. Yet all these com-
plicated issues his clear mind kept apart, arid severally
overlooked. I noted with delight the nice discrimina-
tions of his artistic torches—so fine, and yet so decisive.
Into one pan he let fall one single drop from the cruet..
Another lie strired with a spoon ; frowned, and cast iii
three sorts of spice. One little one he tasted, and, with
a smile gently laid back the lid.—Hood's Magazine.
THE PRINCE OF PEACE V. THE DUKE OF WELLING.
TON.—I heard a curious account of the condition of the
Soto de Roma, the estate of the Duke of Wellington. It
is well known this estate was selected by him out of three
royal domains, which were off-red to his choice by the
first Cortes, as a reward for his great services in the
i war
~f independence. This grant was confirmed by the abso-
lute king, and never I believe attempted to be interfered
with during the successive changes which have taken
place, until quite recently, when, of all persons living,
which, by the by, he was not generally supposed to be
until his reappearance on the stage in the guise of a chan-
cery suitor, but the Prince of Peace ! This personage
has brought what is equivalent to an action of ejectment
against the duke, and claims the estate as his property by
a former grant of the royal possessor. I understand that
the Audiencia, or supreme tribunal of Granada, has more
than once decided in his favour, but an appeal being laid
at Madrid, the superior court declared itself incompetent
to enter on the question, and so it rests. I heard that the
title of only the house and a small tract of land adjoining
it is effected by this curious claim, and not the greater
part of the property. The person alluded to is living at
Madrid quite retired, and, it is said, in great poverty,
which may readily be believed ; but he finds money suffi-
cient to carry on the process, and fee not only the bar and
solicitors, but the judges also, who must be paid, if you
are to credit the Spanish accounts of the mode of admi-
nistering justice in their courts, though it may be hoped
not universally nor to the extent they state.—Captain
Widdrington.
A ROTHSCHILD IN WANT OF SIX SOUS.—The Chari-
sari gives a pleasant anecdote of M. de Rothschild, which
it affirms is founded on fact. The day was very wet. A
thick fog, dark as a prologue, overspread the streets and
over shadowed a splendid house at the corner of the Rue
Laffi,te. Then a cloud burst, and down came torrents of
rain. At this moment a gentleman emerged from the
pavement—he was as wet as Dutch soup. He looked for
a hackney-coach, and saw nothing but gutters. The gate-
ways were crowded with persons seeking shelter. The
gentleman hesitated an instant—saw an omnibus. dashed
into it like lightning, and took his seat, bathed like a Tri-
ton. lie looked less like a man than a duck. The vehi-
cle pursued its course, and the gentleman, wrapped in a
tweed and a pelisse, seemed to try to dry himself. At
length, however, the shower stopped, and the omnibus
reached the Rue Richelieu opposite 'the Exchange. The
gentleman made a sign to the conductor, rose from his
seat. and got out, and was passing away, " And my six
sous ?" said the conductor. " Your six sous," rei
lied
the gentleman with a German accent, " I forgot." The
gentlemen thrust his hands into his pockets, tried what
was there, and found nothing. " Come, come," said the
conductor, getting impatient, " look sharp." " Parblue,'
said the gentleman, " I have got no change." " You ar e
n farcatr," said the conductor. " Insolent fellow," re-
joined the gentleman, " I am Monsieur de Rothschild."
" Never heard of you," said the man ; " Give me my six
sous." At the name of the illustrious banker the passen-
gers all turned round, whispered, and laughed. "Go to
the d-1," said the banker; "I have important business
at the Exchange, and must go. There is my card." Give
me my six sous," groaned the conductor. M. de Roths-
child became exasperated. The conductor persisted, and
there seemed to be every chance of M. de Roth child
being taken into custody for six sous. " Fury !" said the
banker, " I shall miss a splendid coup. I have only a
order for a million. Give me my change." Saying this,
half laughing, half furious, the banker drew from his
pocket-book a coupon for 50,000 f. of rentes of five per
cent., and presented it to the conductor. The conductor
stared, and at this moment an agent de change came by.
" Oh, my frie,d," sad Rothschild, " how lucky. '1 am a
prisoner r debt. Lend me six sous." The agent turned
round, and threw a sf. piece to the conductor. " The
d—l," said the man. " This must be some one :" and
then, as if struck with remorse, he turned to M. Rubs.
child, and said, " If you want ten francs, Sir, I don't
mind lending them to you."
MARRIAGES IN THE EAST.—The following morning
at daybreak, I was awakened by singing voices, which
sounded strangely through those solemn cloisters. On
descending into the open space in front of the convent., I
found a bridal party assembled, and, there being some
difficulty on the part of the priests, the villagers were
amusing themselves with a dance during the delay. Now,
a dance at sunrise is rather a singular occurrence—but it
was not less so than the solemn and measured step of the
dancers, which David might have imitated without any
appearance of levity. Micnal would scarcely have smiled
at this choral band, that appeared like a procession swayed
about, and slowly undulating to a hymn-like music. All-
the performers were women; the men, including the
bridegroom, decorously sat apart, smoking their pipe s,
with an air of gentlemanly indifference. '1 he poor little
bride (who was only twelve years old) stood all the while
enveloped in a sort of tent, that moved with her like a
May-bush on a chimney-sweep. This singular envelop.
ment, which exactly resembled a large kaleidscope, co-
vered with pink silk, pe.nritted us no glimpse of its fair
occupant. who was surrounded by a group of staid ma-
trons. The dance went on, meantime,.with perseverance,
if not with spirit. Wreathing their arms round one ano-
ther, they advanced and retreated in two parties, keeping
time to their choral voices—then, forming in a circle, they
danced round and round without a smile. Their gay and
various drapery floated in picturesque masses of purple or
crimson folds, as they moved along; their dark tresses
fell in showers la, hind them. or were looped up with golden
ornaments or coloured beads; their voices were passing
sweet, and the music that they made seemed, to me, ten-
der, though very wild. While this was going on, the
fathers of the expectant couple were bargaining with the
priests about the marriage. The dispute was carried on
with the usual violent gesticulations, and arose from the
priests having raised their price. as I understood. The
villagers had brought one dollar, the usual sum demanded
for the business; but the minister required four. The
conference at length broke up angrily. I grieve to say its
is'ue was unfavourable, and I saw the bridal procession
move off with regret. I would willingly have furnished
the necessary expenses, but I confess I grudged them to
the ill-favoured, harsh-spoken friar, who probably, after
all, acted only from necessity. As I had bad s,‘me con-
versation with the elders of the party, I made an offering
towards the dowry of the kaleidoscope, and inquired whi-
the they were going with the bride. "To the Santos,"
they replied, " who will do the business quite as well, and
only cl arge half a-dollar." When I returned to the con-
vent, I found the priest still standing at the door of the
Latin convent, and ventured to inquire w hether this would
not afford a dangerous precedent. " Not so," he said ;
" before a child is born, they'll come here to be married
properly ; for they are respectable people, and would not
have a Moslem child for twice the money.—The Crescent
and the Cross.

THE DEATH OF LORD CHATLIAM.—Chatham, at the
time of his decease, had not, in both Houses of Parlia-
ment, ten personal adherents. Half the public men of the
age had been estranged from him by his errors, and the
other half by the exertions which be had made to repair
his errors. His last speech had been an attack at once on
the policy pursued by the Government, and on the policy
recommended by the Opposition. But death at once re-
stored him to his old place in the affection of his country.
Who could hear unmoved of the fall of that which had
been so great, and which had stood so long? The cir-
cumstances, too, seemed rather to belong to the tragic
stage than to real life. A great statesman, full of years
arid honours, led forth to the senate-house by a son of
rare hopes, and stricken down in full council while strain-
ing his feeble voice to rouse the drooping spirit of his
country, could not but be remembered with peculiar vene-
ration and tenderness. Detraction was overawed. The
voice even of just and temperate censure was mute. No-
thing was remembered but the lofty genius, the unsullied
probity, the undisputed services, of him who was no
more. For once, all parties were agreed. A public fune-
ral. a public monument, were eagerly voted. The debts
of the deceased were paid. A provision was made for his
family. The city of London requested that the remains
of the great man whom she had so long loved and ho-
noured might rest under tife dome of her magnificent Ca-
thedral. But the petition came too late. Everything was
already prepared for the interment in Westminster Abbey.
Though men of all parties had concurred in decreeing
posthumous honours to Chatham, his corpse was attended
to the grave almost exclusively by opponents of the Go-
vernment. The banner of the lordship of Chatham was
borne by Colonel Barre, attended by the Duke of Rich-
mond and Lord Rockingham. Burke, Savile, and Dun-
ning upheld the pall. Lord Camden was conspicuous in
the procession. The chief mourner was young William
Pitt. After the lapse of more than 27 years, in a season
as dark and perilous, his own shattered frame and broken
heart were laid, with the same pomp, in the same conse-
crated mould. Chatham sleeps near the northern door of
the church, in a spot which has ever since been appro-
priated to statesmen, as the other end of the same tran-

sept has long been to poets. Mansfield rests there, and
the second William Pitt, and Fox. and Gran, n, and Can-

(ling, and Wilberforce. In no other cemetery do so many
great citizens lie within so narrow a space. High over
hoSe venerable graves towers the stately monument of
Chatham, and from above, his own effigy, graven by a
cunning hand, seems still, with eagle face and outstretched
arm, to bid England to be of good cheer, and to hurl de-
fiance at her foes. The generation which reared that me-
morial of him has disappeared. The time has come when
the rash and indiscriminate judgments which his contem-
porories passed on his character may be calmly revised by
history. And history, while, for the warning of vehement,
high, and daring natures, she notes his many errors, will
yet deliberately pronounce, that, among the eminent men
whose bones lie near his, scarcely one has left a more
stainless, and none a more splendid, name.—Edinburgh
Review.