The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-11-26 00:00:00

tteraturt.

POETRY.

-THE OLD SEAMAN.

(From the Keepsake for 1145.)
-Iron ask me why mine eyes are bent
So darkly on the sea,
While others watch the azure hills
'That lengthi.in on the lee?
The azure hills—they soothe the sight
That falls along the foam;
And those may hail their nearin; height,
Who there have hope or home.
•
But I a loveless path have trod—
A beacon!, ss career;
.113, hope bath long been all with God,
And all my home is—here.
'The deep by day, the heaven by night,
Roll onward, swift and dark •
Nor leave my son! the dove's delight,
Of olive-branch or ark.

For more than gale, or gulf, or sand,
I'vc proved that there may be
• Worse treachery on the steadfast land
Than variable sea.

A danger worse than bay or beach,
A falsehood more unkind—
The treachery of a governed speech,
And an ungoverned mind.
The treachery of the deadly.mart,
\\ here human souls are so d;
The treachery of the hollow heart,
That crumbles as we hold.

Those holy hill quiet lakes—
Ah whereto ould I find
This weary fever-fit, that shakes
Their image in my mind.

The memory of a streamiet's di*.
Through meadows daisy.drest—
Another might be glad therein,
But let I cannot rest.

I cannot rest unless it be
Beneath the churchyard yew;
But God, I thins, hath yet tor me
More earthly work to do.

. 4,

And, therefore, with a quiet will,
I breatha the jaipan air,
And bless tilt v that calls me still,
To wander and to bear.

Let others reek their native sod,
Who there have hearts to cheer ;
.My soul bath long teen given to God,
And ail my home is—here.

NOTICES.

.Faint James's, or the Court of Queen Anne. By Wm.
ltarrison Ainsworth, Esq. 3 vols. London : John
Mortimer, Adelaide-street, Trafalgar-square.
Of the works of this eminent novelist we infinitely pre-
fer those in which the wrier brings his vast stores of
antiquarian research to illustrate. particular localities fa-
mous in the' history of our country. These works may
be said to constitute an entirely new style of romance,
peculiar to Mr. Ainsworth, in which the relation of some
contemporary history, or fiction blended with history; is
made the means of conveying, in a more agreeable form
than that of mere antiquarian dissertation, facts connected
with and a description of buildings and places interesting
to his readers, which otherwise would rernaie a sealed hook
to the majority of them, and be accessible to future ages
only through the musty records of the state paper office,
or some similar uninviting source of information, if they
did not entirely disappear as the perishing objects, which
alone bind them to memory, are swept from ken by the
hand of time and decay, or the march of modern improve-
ment. Amongst this class may be ranked "The Tower
of London," probably the best descriptive work of its
"kind in any languege, and one which must have re-
quired from the writer the most minute and careful per-
sonal investigation of the locality described. " Old Saint
Paul's" is another of the same class, but of more thrilling
interest, arising, perhaps, mainly from the more striking
.period to which it carries us back, viz., that of the plague
-and the great tire in London. " Guy Fawkes" partakes
also of this peculiar feature of Mr. Ainsworth's recent
works ; but it carries us over a greater field, and is espe-
cially interesting to us as rescuing from oblivion a number
of the most interesting personages and localities of ancient
Lancashire. We may add to these his striking romance
,of "•Windsor Castle."
The novel before us has apparently been a portion of a
-design to open up the history and antiquities of another
of our royal palaces—Saint James's. In this, however, it
indeed it was seriously attempted, he does not appear to
have been as successful in finding material of interest' as
in some of his former works. But if Saint James's has
'furnished little ground for the display of antiquarian lore,
it has supplied the scene for a history of the court in-
trigues and court life of one of the most distinguished
reigns in British history, which the pen of the novelist
has hitherto scarcely visited at all. The literary annals of
that age of illustrious writers—the memoirs of the orna-
meats and, alas ! the disgrace of that reign—of Addison,
Steele, St. John, Prior, and the rest—have been again
and again recorded ; the characters of its statesmen—of
Oxford and Bolingbroke, Marlborotieh and Godolphin,
with the ambitious favourite and tyrant of royalty, his
'duchess, are upon the page of history. But the character
and habits of the Sovereign herself, and her amiable-
- although trifling—consort, Prince George of Denmark-,
are little knovan. They have been test into the shade by
the brilliancy of the military achievements and of the
literature of the period in which they flourished.
The p rind of Anne's reign at weich Mr. Ainsworth '
•introducel us to her court, is the year 1702. when the
Duke of Marlborough was at the smith of his fame, as a
soldier and a statesman, (characters which some envious
detracters of the greatest man in modern days have told
us are not compatible with each other,) and when his
haughty duchess had succeeded in establishing an' almost
dominion over, and at the same time arousing the impla-
cable resentment of, her Sovereign, and a determination
on her part of throwing off the yoke imposed upon her.
The introduction to the palace of a young lady of the
bedchamber, Abigail Bill, a relative of the duchess and of '
:her artful rival, Mr. Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford,
is made the means• of precipitating that event which ulti-
mately led, as the reader of history knows, of driving in
exile from his native land, whose name with his own he
had immortalized in Europe, the greatest general cf his
age. The various intrigues by which this end was at
length attained are vividly described, and the characters
mingling in them, the state of parties, and the loose mo-
rals of the time, which contributed to their success,form
a picture, or rather a series of pictures, well worthy cf
study. With +twee, the historical details of his story, the
doings and characters of several inferior actors are skil-
fully wrought up. We have the trial of the celebrated
Dr. Sacheverell, and the high church riots which were the
result. The French adventurer,. the Marquis de Guis-
cardo with his valet, Bimbelot, and his bravo, Sauvageon,
afford us happy specimens of the kind of instruments with
which the court of Louis intrigued for the restoration of
'the exiled Chevalier de St. George, then holding his court
at Saint Gerrnains. The story of the loves of Mrs.
Plumpton and Mrs. Tipping, for the Dukeeof Marlbo-
rough's favourite and valorous serjeant, is a gem in its
way, and throws a pleasant relief upon the more serious
incidents of the work, whilst the character of Proddy, the
queen's coachman, is inimitable. When we have said,
that it descry( s to be ranked in the same scale of funni-
mess and drollery with that of the valorous dwarf Zit,
described in his " Tower of London," we have bestowed
upon it ample commendation.
The work is illustrated, with his usual excellence, by
the initifitable George Cruickshank, who appears, in his
portraiture of the various characters introduced, to have
caught, and keenly relished, the spirit of the author.
We cannot resist extracting the closing incident of the
:work

On the evening of Tuesday, the 27th Ju1y.1714, Oxford
received a sudden and peremptory intimation from the
Queen to resign the staff into her hands without a mo-
ment's delay ; upon which, though it was getting late, he
immediately repaired to the palace.
UShered into the queen's presence, he found Lady Ma-
sham and Bolinebroke with her, and their triumphant
looks increased his ill-dissembled rage and mortification.
Anne looked ill and suffering. She had only just reco-
vered from a severe inflammatory fever, attended with
gout and ague, and had still dangerous symptoms about
her. Her figure was enlarged and loose-, her brow lower-
ing, her features swollen and cadaverous, and her eyes
heavy and injected with blood. She scarcely made an
effort to maintain her dignity, but had the air of a confined
invalid. On the table near her stood a draught prescribed
for her by her physician, Sir Richard Black more, of which
she occasionally sipped.
Moved neither by the evident indisposition of the queen,
nor by any feelings of gratitude or respect, Oxford, ad-
vanced quickly towards her, and eyeing his opponents
with a look of defiance, said, in an insolent tone, and
with a slight inclination of the head—" Your majesty has
'commanded me to bring the staff. I here deliver it to
:you."
Arid as he spoke he placed it with some violence on the
table.

" My lord !" exclaimed Anne, " this rudeness !"
" Lord Oxford has thrown off the mask," said Boling-
broke. ." Your majesty sees him in his true colours."
"It shall not be my fault, Bolingbroke," replied Ox-
ford, bitterly, " if her majesty—ay, and the whole nation
. —does not see you in your true colours—and they are
black enough. And you, too, madam," he added to Lady
..Masham, " the world shall know what arts you have used."
" If I have practised any arts, my Lord Oxford, they
have been of your teaching," rejoined Lady Masham.
" You forget the instructions you gave me respecting the
Duchess of Marlborough."
" No, viper! I do not," cried Oxford, his rage becom-
ing .ungovernable. "I do not forget that I found you a
bedchamber-woman ; Ido not forget that I used you as
..an instrument to gain the queen's favour—a mere instru-
ment—nothing more ; I do not forget that 1 made you
what you are ; nor will I rest till I have left you as low as
I found you."
" .My lord !--my lord !" cried Anne. " This attack is
most unmanly. I pray you to withdraw, if you cannot
-control yourself."
Your pardon, If I venture to dislbev you, madam,"
replied Oxford. " Having been sent for, I shall take leave
to stay until I have unmasked your treacherous favourites.
So good an opportunity may not speedily occur, and I
shall not lose it."
"But I do not wish to hear the exposure, my lord,"
said,Anne.
" I pray your majesty, let him speak," interposed Po.
lingbroke, haughtily.
" Take care of your head, Bolingbroke," cried Oxford;
44 though her majesty may sanction your correspondence
with the courts of St. Germain, her parliament will not."
"'Your majesty can now judge of his baseness and ma-
lignity," Said Bolingbroke, with -cold contempt, " know-
ing how he Itimselfhas duped your royal brother."

" I know it—l know it," replied Anne; " and I know
how he has duped me, too. But no more of this, if you
love me, Bolingbroke."
" Oh that your majesty would exert your spirit for one
moment," said Lady Masham," and drive him from youli
presence with the contempt he deserves."
" If your majesty will only.authorise me, it shall be
done," said Bolingbroke.
" Peace ! peace ! my lord, I implore of you," said
Anne. " You all seem to disregard me."
" Your majesty perceives the esteem in which you are
lied by yourjtiends!" said Oxford, sarcastically.
" You are all eike," cried the queen, faintly.
" What crime am I charged with ?" demanded Oxford,
addressing himself to the queen.
" I will tell you," replied Bolingbroke. " I charge you
• with double-dealing, with chicanery, with treachery, with
falsehood to the queen, to me, and to the whole cabinet.
I charge you with holding out hopes, on the one hand, to
the Elector of Hanover, and to Prince James, on the
other. I charge you with caballing with Marlborough—
with appropriating the public monies—"
" Toese charges must be substantiated—must be an-
swered, my lord," interrupted Oxford, approaching him,
and touching his sword.
" They shall be substantiated, my lord," replied Bo-
lingbroke, haughtily and contemptuously.
" Bolingbroke, you are a villain—a dastardly villain!"
cried Oxford, losing all patience, and striking him in the
face with his glove.
" Ha !" exclaimed Bolingbroke, transported with fury,
and partly drawing his sword.
" My lord !" exclaimed the queen, rising with dignity,
" I command you to forbear. This scene will kill me—
oh !" And she sank back exhausted.
" Your pardon, gracious madam," cried Bolingbroke,
running up to her, and falling on his knees. " I have in-
deed forgotten myself." .
" Oh! my head ! my head- !" cried Anne, pressing
her band to her temples. " My senses are deserting me."
" You have much to answer for, Bolingbroke," whis-
pered Lady Masham ; " she will not survive this shock."
" It was not my fault, but his," replied Bolingbroke,
pointing to Oxford, who stood sullenly aloof in the mid. die of the room.
" Let Sir Richard Blackmore and Dr. Mead be sum-
moned instantly," gasped the queen ; " and bid the Duke
of Shrewsbury and the lord chancellor instantly attend
me—they are in the palace. Tue post of treasurer must
be filled without delay. Lose not a moment."
And Lady Masham ran out to give the necessary instruc-
tions to the usher.
Shrewsbury and the chancellor—what can she want
with them ?" muttered Bolingbroke, with a look of
dismay.
Oxford, who had head the order, and instantly divined
what it portended, softly approached him, and touched
his arm.
" You have lost the stake you have been playing for,"
he said, with a look of triumphant malice. " I am' now
content."

Ere Bolingbroke could reply, Lady Masham returned
with Sir Richard Blackmi.re who chanced to be in the
ante-room, and who instantly flew to the queen, over
whose countenance a fearful change had come.
" Your majesty must be taken instantly to bed," said
Blackmore.

" Not till I have seen the Dukes of Shrewsbury and
Ormond," replied the queen, faintly. " Where are
they?"

"I will go and bring them instantly," replied Black-
more ; " not a moment is to be lost."
And as he was about to rush out of the room, Boling-
broke stopped him, and hastily asked, " Is there danger?"
"]mmineat danger!" replied Blackmore. •
" The case is desper.ite. The queen cannot survive
three days."

And he hurried away.
" Then all is lost !" cried Bolingbroke, striking his
forehead.

And looking up, he saw Harley watching him with a
malignantsmile.

" Lady Masham was assiduous in her attentions to her
royal m;stress ; but the latter became momentarily worse,
and continued to inquire anxiously for the Duke of
Shrewsbury.

" Una your majesty no commands for Lord Boling-
broke ?" inquired Lady Masham.
" None whatever," replied the queen, firmly.
At this juncture, Sir Richard Blackmore returned with
the Duke of Shrewsbury, the lord chancedor, and some
other attendants.

" Ah! you are come,. my lords," cried Anne, greatly
relieved. " I feared you would be too late. Sir Richard
will have told you of my danger—nay, it is vain to hide
it from me. My lords, the office of treasurer is at this.
moment vacant; and if anything should happen to me,
the safety of the kingdom may be 6ndangered. My lord
of Shrewsbury, you are already lord chamberlain and
lord-lieutenant of Ireland ; I hare another post for you.
Take this staff," she added, giving him the treasurer's
wand, which lay upon the table, 'eand use it fur the good
of my people."
"As the duke knelt to kiss her hand, he felt it grow
cold in his touch. Anne had fainted, and was instantly
removed by lit r attendants.

" So," cried Oxford, " if the queen's fears are realized,
Lady Masham's reign is over; while your fate, Boling-
broke, is sealed. You have to choose between exile and

the brock."

" If I fly, you most fly with me," cried Bolingbroke.
"No, I shall wait, replied Oxford; " I have nothing
to fear."

" So end the hopes of these ambitious men !" observed
the Duke of Shrewsbury to the chancellor ; " the queen
has found they were not to be trusted. Her people's
welfare influenced the last exercise of the power of Goon&
'QUEEN ANNE.'

The Nature and Treatment of D afness, and Diseases of
the Tar; and the Treatment of the Dtaf and Dumb.
By Wm. Du'ton, Surgeon. Illustrated with Frontis-
piece of Instruments. Churchill, Soho. 1844. Bvo.

This is a neatly-cot-out work of 118 pages. The style
is correct and simple, disburtherml of that tedious quo-
tation everlastingly from authorities often no longer such,
though paraded like men of straw, to be knocked down
cleverly by the author. Both legal and medical lore are
so burthened with precedents and references, that the
task of selection constitutes one of the most difficult of
literary labours nowadays. Flowerer, in this particular,
we congratulate the members of physic in their rapidly
attaining this selecting tact; whilst their twin brother,
t ,e law, is still busied collecting cases and precedents—
ever and anon working their Irbyrinthical way from misty
folds into the broad glare of truth and justice. Law dare
not yet enunciate a proposition of right in the abstract,
apart from some decision on a case in point by the Lord
Chancellor Woolsack: it is a cripple still leaning on the
crutches provided for it by its foster parent, the middle
ages ;—whilst medicine has dared to be free. Its fetters
of traditional error and wrung-directed judgment broken,
it can discuss a quest'on on its simple merits alone, com-
prebend it in all its relations to other questions, and state
a fact or a principle in nature without deference to anv
authority, human or canonised ; and appeal to no tribunal,
even on writ of error, but simply leaving it to be testedby the mirror of truth itself held up in ever ylhuman breast
--can go on from the station of exp:rintent to that of
sound Baconian induction, and thence to the terminus,
where truth, arrived at, is to be put in practice—and
then, like the last function of animated being, transmit
the possession of such rower to others, and close its la-
bours in the didactics of the schoolmaster, happy in the
attainment of a portion of valuable truth, and rejoicing
in the self-satisfaction of philanthropic effort of doing
good. Law is at present stopping at the halfway station
of harm's way, if Irish Courts of Queen's Bench and
English law lords are to be taken in evidence. Let her
alone a bit : she is bruised herself with the awkward
handling of her own weapon; self-interest will be ballast
enough, we trust, to right her, and bring her on safety at
last to the terminus of Good-end, close by the village of
Good-will. _ . .

In contrast with the useless tediousness of law, how
pleasant to take up a book without much pretension,
written in earnest simplicity, unsophisticated in its state-
ments, and whose pleasant purport is to amend some of
the ills, or soothe some of the trials, to which our won-
drously-compounded being is obnoxious! And amongst
these infirmities, that of de ifness occupies no insignificant
corner in Pandora's box"; and if the modesty of the pre-
sent production, along with its scientific claims, adds but
an hour's instructive reading to the devoted student of
the divine art, or is the means, directly or indirectly, of
procuring benefit to any " who having ears cannot hear,"
so that even one chord of nature's ever-varying and all-
musical sounds, or one dulcet cadence of the human
voice, shall be caught up by the ear beforetime deaf as
the adder (though the adder is not deaf), yet will it have
accomplished more good than many au act of parliament !

SELECTIONS,

USEFUL INVENTION.—An individual has discovered a
process .by which v.ood can be so impregnated with iron
as vei'y much to increase its hardness. He is preparing
a considerable quantity of wood in this manner, which,
with the sanction Of the Poor Law Commissioners, he
intends to convert into boards of guardians.—Punch.

EDITORIAL DUTY IN CONTROVERSY.—It is no part
of a journalist's duty, as'some persons seem to suppose,
to publish all that can be said on both sides of a contro-
versy. His duty is to give only what in his best judg-
ment he thinks likely to prove of public advantage. Let-
teas that bear the stamp of hypocrisy and falsehood on
the face of them he commits to the flames at once. No
appeals to his sense of justice should ever induce him to
lend his columns to the propagation of eiror.—Britan-
nia.

ENGLISH SEAMANSHIP IN A Szor.m.--During the
recent storm at Boulcg ne, a vessel appeared in a situation
to excite the greatest alarm. However, the opinion of
the crowd decided at once upon the vessel and the com-
mander. "No other vessel hut the Princess Maude, no
other captain but Capthin Monger, would dare to face
Bimlogne Bay to-d .y." The conjecture was correct ;it
was the Princess Maude and the gallant commander
named. It was long doubted whether the great steam
power of the vessel could win the offing necessary to give
her a free sweep in between the lighthouse and the bar.
"• She will do it "—" It is i .mpossibe," ran from mouth
to mouth in anxious whispers. Having secured his offing,
Captain Monger brought his vessel about : and, to the
amazement of the timid and unskilful, spread a broad ex-
tent of canvas, under the tremendous gale, bearing down
upon the mouth of the harbour with a rapdity perfectly
terrific. As the vessel passed the lighthouse almost every
heart sunk under the impression that nothing could check
or divert her direct progress to the sands. A stifled
moan was heard through the crowd, when, as if by magic,
the sails dropped instantly, the vessel chang d her course
full 93 degrees, and then shot up the harbour at the rate
of at least 15 miles an hour. The enthusiasm of the
spectators found expression in a loud cheer, which was
again and again repeated.

Standard-4ice, Eleven o'clock,

COURT OF REQUESTS.

PARKER. v. BROWNBILL.

The Commissioner of the Court of Requests having
adjourned the case from Friday until this day, that he
might consider how he should decide upon it, it was ac-
cordingly resumed at nine o'clock this morning. Both
.the parries, and several of their frierlds, were present, but
the att,ndance of others w*6Ve'ry nVeagre.
The COMMISSIONER said, that before he gave judgment
he wished to put a question or two.
The defendant, being sworn, said, in reply to questions
put, that the application for payment of the promissory
note was first made to his brother-in-law, James Brown-
bill, by Mr. Parker's clerk, ou the 2d November_ De-
fendant was not himself present, and his brother-in-law
was not now here. He was his brother-in-law, though of
the same narn?, as they were cousins, and had married
two sisters. He supposed Mr. Parker's collector had
called on his brother-ia.law in mistake. •
Mr. Wigge, the collector, being called. said, he had
called on the brother-in-law of defendant on Friday fort-
night, the 9th instant. He had mistaken the man, as
both were watchmakers, and both of the same name. He
did no see the defendant about it until Saturday fortnight.

Mr. Parker, being sworn, said he had mentioned-the
amount to be due to his collector amongst other small
debts; but he could not recollect the precise day. His
suspicion had been raised (as he before stated) by the
defendant drawing his attention to the post-mark of the
letter. But he would not have proceeded so hastily
against him, bad he not been informed tbat a member of
the Reform Association had declared that they would
spend £l,OOO sooner than not turn him out of the ward.
He certainly felt hurt at this, and therefore brought the
matter forward.
The COMMISSIONER then proceeded to give his deci-
sion with great slowness of utterance and at great length,
hut we can but give the' heads of his principal remarks.
He said that the court had undivided jurisdiction in claims
of £2, but between £2 and £5 it had a concurrent juris-
diction with the Borough Court, in which last the ques-
tion could be investigated by a jury, and an appeal could
be had to the courts at Westminster. lie remarked
on the evidence of the two parties, and quoted several law
authorities as to what constituted bribery and corruption.
There were two modes in which the court might come to
a conclusion. One was to nonsuit the plaintiff,. which
would not prevent him from proceedirig in another court
if he thought that advisable ; and another was to give judg•-
ment to the defendant, in which case there would be no
appeal, and penalties might he proceeded for in the higher
courts. He had cbme to the conclusion that the case was
one of such suspicion that the plaintiff could not recover
the amount in this court. He had not, however, come to
the conclusion to give judgment for the defendant, for
that would imply that there had in reality been aeor--
rupt transaction and bribe, and a party could pro-
ceed for the penalties upon that judgment as con-
clusive evidence. If he saw this to be a clear
case of bribery, he should have no difficulty in
pronouncing his decision in that form, which would be'
final; hut, under the circumstances, he would not pre-
judice the plaintiff by the selection of courts made by his
collector, a person whose conduct in this court he had
observed to be universally respectable. He should nut
therefore give a conclusive judgment, because he con-
sideredit no more than a case of suspicion. The plaintiff
would, by the decision he should come to, have an oppor-
tunity of proceeding against the defendant in another
court, from which an appeal might be had to the superior
courts if any penalty. were involved. He then decided
that the plaintiff should pay the costs and be nonsuited.

THIRD EDITION.

Slandaed-office, two o'clock.

LIVERPOOL CORN EXCHANGE. Tins DAY.

The arrivals of Grain Coastwise and from Ireland for
the week ending yesterday, are on the whole, for the sea-
son of the year, only limited in amount, but of Oatmeal
and Flour we have to report a good supply ; while the im-
ports from abroad are extremely light.

The leading markets of this district last week having
been generally rather languid,. and the accounts received
this morning from Mark-lane tending rather to coun-
teract than to impart the slightest impulse to the trade,
we have to report a slender attendance of buyers
at our Corn Exchange to-day, and a dull sale for Wheat of
all descrirtions ; the stock of Foreign, however, in the
granaries of the port, hay* been for some time
past gradually decreasing, withou'; the prospect of any
efficient imports during the winter, holders of such
steadily adhere to former prices, which therefore remain
unvaried. English and Irish, on the contrary, declined
ld. to 2d. per 701 b. ; and Flour was difficult of sale at
rather lower rates.

Oats were a little dearer, and new Oatmeal brought
rather more money.
. .

Barley, Malt, Beans, and Pease, were in limited request,
without any material change in. prices.

ARRIV,
From the 19th to the

.S OF CORN,

;sth November, 1844, inclusi

IRE-
LAN D.

'COAST- COLO- FO-
WISE. MAL; REiON

TOTAL.

Wheat 0 -s. 4434
Ba; •ey
Matt Q s. 3
A-5. 3529
Rye Ors. 123
Beans Q s. 125
Pease 0 s.

Shelled Ba:leyQ S.

Inclipn Co 13: Q
Re ueseed.... Q

Oatmeal
Flour. .
Ditto ..

.Loads 7732
.Sacks 7410
.. Br's.

213 52
370

560

316

5057
3 gi
373
3479
123
125
560

8045
;461
652

41 605

Li o lead an.l Covs:mi,e,-W,ileat, 8574,,
Barley, 187 qrs.; Malt, 18 qrs.; 041 s, 4615 cis.;. Or.;:ineal, 3772
loads; Floor, 736 saci:s.

EXPORTS.—Foreiga. Wheat. (Fs.; Ba.:-'ey,— qrs. ; Pease,
647 qrs.: Oats, 1008 qrs.; iodiao Cor, q •s. ; oa...:aseae,
loads ; Flow, ISSB arts.—l+ el. ad. Whert. 1040 o s. ; Ba—
ley, q• s. ; Beans, q Rye, qrs.; 1.14 an Co:.).
qrs. ; Oa:meal, Ids; Four,— sts, 30 Wis.— —Coa,,v:se.
Wheat, I'l2 qrs.; Barley, 60 q-s. ; :Malt, 18 ws.; Oars. 3;
qrs.; Beans, qrs. ; Pease, 27 qrs.; oalrneal, 10 loads ;
Indian Corn, 2 qrs. ; Flour, 330 sacks 1724 brls.

Average prlces of G a'n, for the week ending' Nov. !6, 1444.
Wheat 465. 4d. 1 Barley 355. gd. 1 Oats..:: Is. 9d. 1 Rye 345. 2d.
Beans.. 38s. 4d. I Pease.. 355. 7d.
Agg.eg•r."ce avera!re o' ie C.: weeks.
Wheat 46s 2d 1 Beriey-31s I Idj Cia:s 21s. le. I Rye.. 36i 10d
Beans.. 375. 3d. j Pease.. 345.
Du' a oo Fore; P odivre is week.

Wheal2Os Ott 1 Bac,ey 4s Od I I
10: . oofßye.. 6s 6d
Beans 556 d I Pease.. Si 6(, ilt.Co.:a Os oil Flour 12s O

1:14,4 on Cr aad'an.
Wheat.. Is. Od. IBe -..05. hid. I oa.s ..2s. Od. I Rye.. Os 6d
Beans Os. 6d I PeazEe us.6d. I i n.. Co os.OC, I Flour.. Os 7.id

Du:y on o;.her Colo&al

Wheat.. ss. Od. IBarley.. s. 6d. I Oats, 2 . I Rye... Cs. 6d.
Beans.. us. 6d. I Peace.. es. 6d. I Pod-. :Is. 0;1.
Liverpool Averages, week ending 19th Nov., 1841.
Wheat, 1751 qrs., price 452. 5d.; Barley, 118 qrs., price 524. Od. ;
Oats, 258..qr5., price ass. 3d.; Rye, qrs., price es. Od.;
Beans, qrs., .Os. Od. ; Pease, qrs.. CS. Od.

Duties paid in Liverpool, for week ending 21st November, 1844.
—Foreign—Wheat, 449 qrs.; Barley, G 2; Oats, 314; IleanS,
14,'• ; Pease, —; Rye, 209 ; Indian Corn, 39; Flour, 2 barrels.
—Colonial—Wheat, qrs.; Flour, 1612 barrels.

A CAPITAL HASH.—A new sauce is advertised under
the title of Sir Robert Peel's Saudtk lt has been concocted,
we believe, from his promises that the income-tax should
not last longer than three years.—Punch.
The NON•RESIDENT RESIDENT.--," I remember a
case in the Exchequer—upon a motion for a new trial, I
think. A clergyman, with a small or no family, lived in
a large roomy parsonage house. Au attorney in the parish,
who had a large family, lived in a house so small as to be
inconvenient for that family. The attorney proposed to
the clergyman to change houses, and the attorney to pay
the clergyman a yearly rent of several pounds in consideu
ration of his residence in the larger and mare valuable
house. The year expired, and the attorney not offering to
pay the rent, the clergyman applied to him for it ; upon
which the attorney insisted that this was a most unreason-
able demand; as he had brought an action against the
clergyman fur eleven penalties, I think of ten pounds each, •
for non-residence in the parsonage house, the law then not
deeming a clergyman's residence, though in the parish,
legal residence, if he did not live in the parsonage house.
I remember Baron Eyre said it was the most abominable
and impudent transaction that he ever remembered, but
that the clergyman could have no :elief."—Lffe of Eldon.
Portsn RAPACITY—Thomas Eastwood, Esq., of
Brindle Lodge, near Preston, a highly respectable Roman
Catholic in a letter to the London Times refers to the
disgraceful case, at Turin, in our last, and says "I am.
Sir, a Roman Catholic, and I say it with grief and shams
that I have beheld a parent set against a child, a wife
against a husband, a brother against a brother, an uncle
against a niece, and for,no other cause than that by such
estrangement the priest might more securely carry off the
property which he coveted. We have, as lamin a situa-
ation to prove, in this country, many " unscrupulous
agents" of the Roman Catholic church ; and the great
misfortune is, that the infatuation is so great in the laity,
that when facts are placed before them showing the wick-
edness of certain priests, they will not believe them, and
this holds out an inducement to crime. To say a word
against' the anointed of the.Lord,' is by many Catholics
looked upon as a mortal sin, and the crafty " unscrupu-
lous agents" take advantage of this in the furtherance of
their ends. The confesiional is a means used by these
' unscrupulous agents' to perfect their designs, yet you
hear them from their pulpits harangue on its inviolability.
If we may judge from the conduct of the Vicar Apostolic
of Lancashire, neither the profanation of the confessional
by a priest nor the detestable crime of perjury is deserving
of his attention or reprobation. I have said enough to
waken Roman Catholics who, like myself, venerate their
religion to serious reflection ; perhaps, more than enough
to rouse a host of bigoted and priest-ridden would-be
saints to point their-shafts at me. But, being girt with
truth, I have nothing to fear."

ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.—The
first and noblest character of the present age to be men-
tioned in- common wi' I, Eton scenes and Eton men, must
be the Duke of Wellington. Wellington was an Eton
boy, and, if tradition may be credited, a daring and ad-
venturous one. He seems to have been a lad not given
to .much study and painful research i to books. Nature
having already placed an original stamp upon him, and
presented him with the highly favoured signet of her own
right hand. He who is now familiarly called the " Iron
Duke," might well have been in the earlier stages of life
yclept the Iron Boy. Instances of the Dike's hardiness,
or rather of young Wellesley's hardiness (as he then
simply was) are on record; and among them it is related,
that when all the good burgomasters and thrifty trades-
men of Windsor and Eton had retired to rest, `young
Wellesley, on the commencement of a cold winter's
night, would be proceeding up old icy Father Thames, in
a lonely skiff, to the vicinity of Maidenhead Bridge, and
there, wrapt in a single blanket, and watching with single
gun, he would be ready by daybreak to get a shot at the
wild ducks, or other wild fowl, which were accustomed
to congregate under shelter of the eyots, and other har-
bours of refuge on the Thames.. '' Every one to his taste,"
a fashionable dandy will exclaim : but young Wellesley
was no man of fashion, and his tastes were all of the dar-
ing and grand. When we consider the stratagem' neces-
sary at a school like Eton to achieve what Wellesley did.;
perhaps the squeezing through a small window, and tra-
versing frozen roofs of houses ; the obtaining clandestinely
the gun. and the skiff, and ammunition, with the convey-
ance of his blanket, and the needful grog; and then the
difficulty of an undiscovered return, loaded with booty;
let us think of these things, and then acknowledge in the
very boy something that progensticated the wonderful and
unexampled career of the European Duke. The poet.
Wordsworth, another Wellington in his way, has written
truly, that " the child is father of the man." Young
Wellesley seems to have been liked i❑ his generation at
Eton, because his feats were admired by the whole school,
and very few could dare to he his companions in many
perilous and persevering endeavours in pursuit of a fa-
vourite abject of pastime.—Bentley'r Miscell(Jny.
THE SOCIALIST SYSTEMS AND IlltEE SOCIETY Con-
TRASTED.—Nothing is more charming to the imagination
than the firm general idea of some new community, where
all men are to be happy, every body active, benevolent,
reasonable. But the moment we leave this general idea,
enter upon particulars, and set about the arrangements
necessary for-this universally comfortable state of things,
there is nothing in the world more tedious and oppressive.
Proposals for new political institutions are sufficiently
wearisome; bur proposals for earthly elysiums, which are
to embrace the whole circle of human affairs, become in-
supportably dull. it is child's play, .played with heavy
granite boulders. No'; if we were capable of beingseduced
for a moment into the belief of some golden age of equality,
where a parental government, presiding over all, should
secure the peace and prooperity of all, we should need no
other argument to recover us from the delusion thatesim-
ply to read on, and learn how this parental government
intends to accomplish its• purpose. When we find that,
in order to be relieved from domestic cares, we are tohave
no home at all; that our parental government, in order to
provide for our children, begins by taking them away from,
us ; when we picture to ourselves the sort of wooden me=-
lancholy figures we must become, (something like the large
painted dolls in a Dutch garden, stuck here and there with-
out choice or locomotion of their own,) we speedily lose all
inclination to enter upon this discipline of happiness. We•
quit with haste this enchanted garden, which turns out to
be an enormous piece of clockwork, and embrace with re-
newed content the old state of personal freedom, albeit at-
tended with many personal inconveniences. Whilst read-
ing of Utopian schemes, the idea has very vividly occurred
to us e suppose that some such.society as this, wi,ere land
and wives, money and children,. are all in common, had
been, for a long time iu existence, and that some clever
Utopian had caught an inkling of the old system so fami-
liar tie /le, and had made the discovery that it would be
possible, without dissolving society, to have a wife of one's
own, a house of one's own, land andaehildren of one's own.
Imagine, after an age of drowsy clockwork existence, one
of these philosophers starting the idea of a free society, of
a social organization based upon individual rights and in-
dividual' effort—where property should not only be pos-
sessed, but really enjoyed—where men should for the first
time stretch their limbs, and strain their faculties, and
strive, and emulate, and endure, and encounter difficul-
ties, and have friendships. What a commotion there
would be r How would the younger sort, rebelling against
the old rotten machine in which they had been incarce-
rated, form themselves into emigrating bands, and start
forth to try upon same new soil their great experiment of
a free life •l. How would they welcome-toil in all its seve-
rity—how willingly practise abstinence, and suffer priva-
tion, f.r the sake of the bold rights which these would pur-
chase l—how willingly take upon themselves the responsi-
bility of their own fate to enjoy a fortune of their own
shaping ! Hope herself would start front the earth where
she had been so long buried, and waviog her rekindled
torch, lead on to the old race of life !—Blaekwood.

MODERN. JERUSALEM GRAPHICAIA,Y DESCRIBED.—
We ascended a mountain ridge, strewed over with enor-
mous grey rocks, piled one on anoilier as if by human
hands. Here and there a few stunted vines, yellow with
the colour of 'autumn. crept along the soil in a few places
cleared in the wilderness. Fig-trees, with their tops
there'd or shivered by the blasts, often:edged the vines,
and cast their, black fruit on the greyrock. On our right,-'
the desert of St. John, where formerly " the voice was
heard crying, in' the wilderness," sunk, like an abyss in
the midst of five or six black mountains, through the
openings of which, the sea of Egipt, overspread with a
dark cloud, could still be discerned. On the left, and
near the eyo,., was an old tower, placed on the top of a
projecting' eminence ; other ruins, apparently of an ancient
aquaduct, descended from that tower, overgrown with
verdure, now in the sear leaf ; that tower is Modin, the
Stronghold and tomb of the last heroes- of sacred story,
the Maccabees. We left behind us the ruins, resplendent
with the first rays of the morning—rays,. not blended as
in Europe in a-confused and vague illumination, but dart-
ing like arrows of fire tinted with various colours, issuing
from a dazzling centre, and diverging over the whole
heavens as they expand. Some were of blue, slightly sil-
vered, 'others- of pure white, sortie of tender rose hue,
melting into grey ; many of burning fire, like the corns-
cations.of a flaming conflagration. All were distinct, yet
all united in one harmonious whole, forming a resplendent
arch in the heavens, encircling, and issuing from a centre
of fire. In proportion as the day advanced, the brilliant
light of these separate rays was gradually dimmed—or
rather, they were blended together, and composed the co-
!oarless light ofday. Teen the moon, which still shoneover-

head, " p7il,A,her ineffectual fire," and.melted away in the
general illumination of the heavens. After having as-
cended a second ridge, more lofty and naked than the
f,rmer, the horizon suddenly opens to the right, and pre-
sents a view of all the country which extends between the
last summits of Judea and the mountains of Arabia. It
was already flooded with the increasing light of the morn-
ing ; but beyond the piles of grey rock which lay in the
foreground, nothing was distinctly visible but a dazzling
space, like a. vast sea, intersperceds with a few islands of
shade, which stood forth in the brilliant surface. On the
shores of that imaginary ocean, a little to the left, and
about a league distant, the sun shone with uncommon
brilliancy on a massy tower, a lofty minaret, and some
edifices, which crowned the summit of a low hill of which
you could not see the bottom. Soon the points of other
minarets, a few loopholed walls, and the dark summits of
several domes, which successively came into view, and
fringed the descending slope of the hill, announced a city.
It was Jerusalem, and every one of the party, without
addressing a word to the guides or to each other, enjoyed
in silence the entrancing spectacle. We rested our horses
to contemplate that mysterious and dazzling apparition ;
hut when we moved on, it was soon snatched from our
view ; for as we descended the hill, and plunged into the
deep and profound valley which lay at its feet, we lost
sight of the holy city, and were surnunded only by the
solitude and desolation of the desert.—Lamarline's
7ravels.

PAISLEY IN 1800 ANIXlB4l.—From 1790 to 1800 nearly
one half of Pais ey was hull( by weavers from savings of
•their ordinary wages. Every house had its garden; and
every-wea%er being his own master, could work it when
he pleased. Many were excellent florists, many possessed
a tolerable library, and all were politicians, so that about
the period of the French Revolution, Mr. Pitt expressed
more fear of the unrestricted political discussions of the
Paisley weavers, than 10,000 armed men. Had Paisley
been then what Paisley is now, crowded with half-in-
formed Radicals and Infidels, his fears would have been
justified ; but truth and honest dealing could fear nothing
from a community constituted as Paisley then was.; and
never, perhaps, in the history of the world, was there a
more convincing proof of the folly of being afraid of a
universal and thorough education, especial W when im-
pregnated with the Religion of the Bible, than in the state
of Pailey at that period. At the period alluded to,
every man, woman, and child, above eight or nine yea s
Of age, could read the Bible ; arid many could write ai.d
cast accounts; and not a few of the weaver's suns went
throgh a regular course at the grammar-school. To have

had a distant relative unable to read, or one sent to prison,
would have been-felt as equally disgraceful. The inha-
bitants -were so universally regular in their attendance
upon church, and ,trict afterwards in keeping in-doors,
that .it is recollected, at the end of the last century, or
the commencement of the present, that not a living crea-
ture, save two or three privileged blackguards, were ever
seen walking the streets after Divine service ; or if any
chanced to.appear, an errand for the doctor was supposed
to be the probable cause. In 1818-10, during the Radical
reriod, there were found full three thousand, Paisley-born
and Paisley-bred, who could not read; and the decline of
intelligence has been followed by the decline of that tem-
perance, prudence and economy, which are the cardinal
virtues of the working-classes, by which alone they can
elevate their condition, or preserve themselves from sink-

. .
ing into the most abject poverty. The Paisley weaver of
forty years ago married -ea:ly, because he foresaw that he
could, in decency, suitort a family, and even sieve some-
thing for sickness, or age, or the flactuations cf hia traJe.
The Paisley weaver lad, in 1842, marries equally early on
a pittance that scarcely supports himself ; because he has
neither judgment to reflect on the misery which he is en-
tailing on himself and others, nor moral principle. to feel
the solemn obligations of the state into which he is enter-
in. Those who have no consideration concerning the
things of this life, are not likely to have any forethought
regarding the life to come ; and just in proportion as the
modern Paisley weaver is without religion. does he
despise it. All clergy are necessarily hypocrites, as all
kings and magistrates, in their estimation, tyrants. Uni-
tarianism, infidelity, or reckless profanity, too generally
abound ; and the popular cry is against all the Church
Establishments, however much demanded by the poverty
and irreligion of our own town; and against all distinc-
tions of ranks. Thus, measuring themselves by them-
selves, they would reduce society to their own level.
Paisley thus furnishes an affecting illustration of the dt -
elaration of holy writ,. "That righteousness exa'teth
city; but siq is the ruin of any people."—No, th &Jags
Review.