The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1845-12-09 00:00:00

11E LIVERPOOL STANDARD.

culate the results of the transfer? One issue may be
safely predicted—England must lose; but cannot gain by
the change. With the increasing embarrasments to-com-
merce and industry, which continental states are raising
against Britain, it is essential that we should not allow a
false cry of philanthropy to throw us off our guard in the
Levant. France in Africa, and Russia on the Danube,
are intent on the same object. Their battle-cries are
civilization and religion ; their pretext the improvement
of the Christian populations. But who is there that has
studied the recent policy of the one, and the undeviating
system of the other, since the days of Catherine, that can
question for a moment the purport of both ? And yet
England and Austria have acted recently as if France
were sincere, and Russia disinterested.

YOUNG ENGLAND ATTEMPTING MONKEaY.
(From the Falcon Family, in Chapman and Hall's
Monthly Series.)
" Now, not a word, my dear Crozier; make no apo-
logy." said Moore, to the unfortunate St. John, who met
his guests in great tribulation at the failure of the project
on which he had set his heart.
" Tell us candidly, Crozier, has Ward been with you ?"
asked Lord Lodore, rho had just arrived.
" No, upon my honour," said Crozier, with energy
and solemnity.
"Or Manes ?" asked De Goslyn. " Deal frankly

with us."
" Milnes!"
" Yes, your monastery is so very oriental, that I can-
not hap asking the question—Has Manes made you a
convert to his Hareem system ?"*

No, by the rood !" protested Crozier.
" Crozier, my dear fellow," said Moore, " your fai-
lure, as far as you have failed, only proves the truth of.
what Maitland has strenuously urged. It is easy to say,
I will be a monk of the fourth century, or a monk of
the twelfth :' but when we come to try the experiment,
it ends in our being monks of the nineteenth century, to
which era of the world I consider the monastery oc St.
Ronalds to belong ; and I, therefore, propose that we put
cur heads together, and organise it on hodierno-mediteval
principles."
" But in no century," said Lord Lodore, " do I see
how monastic rule is to be reconciled with the presence
of so great a' number of the fair sex, and very fair too,
as Crozier has assembled upon the present occasion."
" That is my difficulty, too," said Skiddaw.
" In fact," said De Goslyn, " if Crozier had meditated
a heavy blow and a great discouragement to celibacy, he
could not have taken his measures with more address."
" I believe there are precedents in conventual history,"
said Moore, deliberately, " for the re-union of the sexes
under the same monastic roof ; at all events, there is the
memorable example of the Abbey of Theleme, which we
cannot do better than adopt provisionally for our model."
" I don't remember to have heard of that abbey," said
Lord Lodore; " under what rule was it, and by whom

founded ?"
" It was founded by Gargantua the Great, and the rule
had only one clause-4 Do WHAT THOU WILT.' Now,
can we adopt a more agreeable or a more commodious
one, under existing circumstances ? I, therefore, move
that this be constituted a Gargantuan abbey, and that the
blooming Mrs. Falcon be appointed Abbess of Theleme."
Looks were interchanged, and murmurs uttered ; but
in cases of this kind the man of mercurial temperament
and voluble discourse, when he is good-natured and po-
pular, commonly carries his propositon ; and it was
generally but tacitly agreed (Skiddaw being the chief ob-
jector), that the principle of the Thelenaite monastery
should he acted upon provisionally, as least so far as
meeting the women in the refectory, and relaxing con-
ventual strictness in a few other minor matters, out of
compliment to them.
In the drawing-room they found the ladies assembled,
and also two more arrivals from Oxford, Mr. Monk and
Mr,. St. Crispin, looking as much amazed and discon-
certed as if they had been suddenly dropped into a coterie
of mermaids in some sub-marine bower. _
The hour now suggested carnivorous ideas, and Moore
discoursed of the refectories of convents, with great unc-
tion, and more learning than it was supposed he possessed
on monastic affairs. •
" Would you take a crust of our, penis monachalis, or
a few parched peas and a cup of water ?" said Crozier,
perceiving in what channel Dominick's thoughts were

running.
Moore alluded to the time of the day, which was verg-
ing towards six o'clock, and declined to forestal the hour
of refection.
" You forget," said Crozier, " that this is the eve of
St. Munchin."
" No such saint recognised in the Abbey of Theleme,"
replied Moore; " do you fast on St. Munchin's eve, Mrs.
Falcon ?"
The gipsy had never done honour to St. Munchin, or
any other saint in the calendar.
" Moore, be rational!—this..is a fast, and a very strict

one."
" Come, Lord Abbot, be serious, and order dinner."
" I am perfectly serious. I am not an Abbot of
Misrule."

" But minor matters, you know-"
" Do you call feasting a minor matter ?"
" No, but fasting is.
Several of the monks were with Moore in their hearts,
although they venerated St. Munchin nearly as much as
if he had been an evangelist, or one of the apostles.
" Come, Crozier, order dinner," said Moore again,
uncertain whether his Puseyitical friends were in jest or

earnest.
" Moore's idea of the monastic system is a little too
secular," said St. Crispin, who was not severe in his lan-
guage. as he was very hungry.
" Were I to paint the Genius of the monastic system,"
said Moore. " I would represent it fair and festive,
comely and convivial, social and free, bountifully giving,
aye, and bou❑tifully taking, and enjoying, too :—let it be
mediceyal, if you like; nay, I have no objection to a
touch of the dark ages, just enough to give it a gipsy
bloom: in fact, I would petition our Mother Abbess to
sit for the picture. Ah !—what do I see ?" he continued
in the same strain of pleasant personality (the gaiety of
his manner redeeming what was objectionable in it),
`' have I forgotten my Greek, or do I not recognise in
that embroidered scarf she wears, one of the most an-
cient and imposing of our ecclesiastical vestments? I
think, Crozier, you call it the stole."
The name was certainly appropriate; and Miss Crozier
was happy to recover in so pleasant a way, her brother's
oraritme, which was identified beyond all doubt by the
word Agios in her own needle-work upon the border.
The incident caused some amusement, and Mrs. Falcon
enjoyed the conviction of her sacrilegious theft as hear-
tily as any of the company.
" I was always called the Magpie," she said. " when I

was a girl."
Just at this momenta bell was heard, and Mr. St.
John Crozier started, looked at Monk, and then at his
sister

"Wily ti

,'s the refectory bell!" all three ex,

claimed

together.
" I knew the fast was a jest," cried Moore.
It must be a mistake of.the refeetionarius,." said
Crozier, against the prospect of a dinner.
" Or the caquinarius," said Monk.
" A mistake for which I am not sorry," said De Gos-
lyn aside to Lodore.
" My eoquinarius is generally accurate," said Crozier.
" Can the mistake have been ours?" said Skiddaw,
lookine at his pocket calendar, or compotes, as he called
it. " I protest," he exclaimed, " your coquinarius is
right,—this is St. Munchin's Day."

* The work of Mr. Monkton Milnes, entitled, " Palm
Leaves," contains the germ of a project for orientalising the
relations of the sexes. It is gratifying to think that the zeal of
our " 1i ely young men" for Eastern trssel is one according
to knowledge; and that one of their objects is to exalt WOMAN
from the deeraded position she holds in England, to the state of

dignity and ihzportance she enjoys in Turkey
fp-

WHY Is BREAD SO DEAR ?—The price of bread is
very high already, and is not likely to fall; and the rea-
son a baker would assign for this is the high price of
wheat—a very plausible reason, and to which most peo-
ple would too good-humouredly assent ; but examine the
earticnlars of the case, and the reason adduced will be
found based on a fallacy. During all the last year, the
aggregate average price of wheat never expeeded 56s a qr.
and in that time the price of the 4d loat was 54d ; at least
I paid no more for it with ready money. The highest
mark that wheat has yet attained in this market, is 88s
per quarter, and it is notorious that this market has, for
the present year, been the dearest throughout the king-
dom. As lOs a. quarter makes a difference of ld in the
4th loaf, the loaf, according to this scale—which, be it re-
marked, is of the bakers' own selectionshould be at
84(1 when the wheat is at 88s. Can you. nevertheless,
believe that, whilst the present price qf bread is 84 the
loaf is made wholly of wheat which cost the baker 88s the
quarter ? The bakers tell you they always buy the best
wheat, and yet, though they ate the largest buyers in the
wheat market, the aggregate average of the kingdom did
not exceed 58s sa on the Bth November. The truth is.
the bakers are trying to make the most they can ; and
they are not to blame, provided their gains were not im-
puted to the farmers. But we all know, that when bread
gets inordinately high in price, clamour is raised against
dear wheat—that is, against the farmer--and this again is
made the pretext for a free trade in corn; whilst the high
price secured to.the baker by the pfivilege of his trade is
left unblamed and unscathed.—Blackwood's Magazine.
REWARDS OF AUTHORSHIP.—Among the female no-
velists and story writers, we believe the most popular,
and of ccurse the best paid, are Mrs. Howitt, Mrs. Gore,
Lady Morgan, Mrs. Trollope, Mrs. Crowe, and Mrs.
Johnstone. The last named lady is in receipt of a very
handsome income by her contributions to the periodlcal
literature of the day. ',Mrs. Howitt was very handsomely
remunerated for her translations of the Swedish novels.;
and for her stories in the periodicals she is remarkably
well-paid ; for one alone, forming a few sheets in one of
the periodicals of the day, she was paid upwards of seventy
rounds; for the series of little works published by Mr.
Tegg, she is said to receive sixty guineas each. Mrs.
Gore is a very voluminous writer, and contributes largely
to most of the periodicals of the diy. She occasionally
writes plays also ; and for one, the " Quid pro Quo," she
was paid five hundred pounds. Lady Morgan, for one
work, " France in 1839," received two thousand guineas.
So much for the female novelists ; a word in conclusion
about those of the other sex. If our information be cor-
rect, James (G.P.lt.) has long been making upwards of a
thousand per annum by his novel manufactory.Bulwer
makes a much larger sum ; his " Rienzi," which we are
told was written in two months, procured him sixteen
hundred pounds. " Peter Simple" produced the sum of
two thousand pounds to Captain Maryatt. Last of all we
may mention Charles Dickens, who, it is said, has accu-
mulated a fortune of fall fifty thousands pounds by his ad.
mirable fictions. Considerable incomes, too, are derived
from writing for the reviews and magazines, and for the
newspaper press. By some of the leading reviews one
hundred and one hundred and fifty guineas are frequently
paid for a single article, while the sums paid by the best
11 magazines vary from eight to fourteen gumeas.—Floggs
Weekly Instructor.

A DAPS EXCURSION IN NEWFOUNDLAND

(From Fraser's Magazine.)
It would net be easy to give a correct idea of a New-
foundland fishing village. Village ! the word calls up
visions of quiet hamlets embosomed in trees. We see
cottages, each with a little garden, from which floats up-
ward a scent of wallflowers and stocks. The women are
working at their open doors ; the children are rolling on
the green, or sailing their boats in the willow-shaded pond
or swinging in the old elm near,the church. The church
itself is half hidden by two or three dark yew trees, that
throw deep shadows over the daisied graves about them ;
and there is a winding walk that leads to the very gate of
the pretty parsonage. The old manor-house is near, with
its noisy rookery and its rich woods, from whose shades
flows forth all day a stream of merry song; and far away
are yet statelier mansions and broader parks.
Far other is the scene presented by a so-called village on
the coast of Newfoundland. A few low wooden huts
perched here and there among the rocks, with a rude path
of communication between them ; a small, plain church,
also of wood ; and a building, generally of more preten-
sion, surmounted by a small cross, the Roman Catholic
chapel ;—such are its component parts. No flowers ; no
gardens, save here and there a patch of potatoes ; no par-
sonage,for a clergyman comes from a distance to perform
divine service on a Sunday.
Tier above tier along the coast, supported by fir-poles
fixed in the rock, are the stages on which the salted fish
is spread to dry. The scent rising from these is an anti-
dote to all romance. The " breath of the sweet south,"
blowing fresh from the waters, passes over the " cod-
flakes," and becomes tainted with the sickening odour.
Even at a considerable distance from the shore the same
annoyance is felt, poisoning the pure air of heaven. There
are other horrors of a similar description connected with
the fisheries, but I pass them by with a shudder.
The bare-footed children, lying among the stones, raise
their unwashed faces to watch the stranger with looks of
stupid wonder. The women, if it be summer, sit basking
in the sun ; few, alas! great as the need may be, with nee-
dle in hand.

Their talk is of seals and cod-fish, of hauling and jig-
ging; and their jargon generally betrays an Irish origin.
All this is little cheerful, but there is a sadness induced
by the silence of Nature in the scenery of Newfoundland,
that none that have not felt it can understand. You may
pause again and again as you wander among the stunted
woods, and strain your ear to bear the voice of a bird, the
hum of an insect, in vain. All is lonely and desolate,
yourself the only living, breathing creature as far as the
sight can reach. The continuous murmur of life and joy
that fills the summer air of our own country is unknown
there. The wind cannot " shake music front the boughs"
of the stunted fir-trees. Here and there a stream bound-
ing along its rocky bed, or a stray ouzel, with its poor
chirping, may strive to break the melancholy spell ; but
the general aspect of Nature is mournful, and where
beauty exists it is as the beauty of a statue—cold, and
voiceless, and dead.
It was on a warm and sunny day in July that I first vi-
sited a fishing village, about nine miles from what was
then my home in Newfoundland. The road (almost the
only one the island could then boast), after skirting the
shores of a fine lake, entered a picturesque valley, the hills
on either side rising in rich and varied undulations,
clothed with the dark green foliage of the low fir-trees,
varied occasionally by the white blossoms of the wild pear
and cherry, or the young leaves of birch and balsam-pop-
lar. Here and there a huge mass of rock chewed itself
above the trees ' • in one place stone was heaped on stone
as if by the hand of man, and in the crevices, shrubs, and
mosses, and wild-flowers, had found root, and were hang-
ing like garlands round a gigantic tomb. As we neared
the place of our destination the valley widened, the one
range of hills stretching on the right, the other trending
away to the left along the coast of the bay; which lay calm
and beautiful before us. An island, above, whose rocky
and precipitous coast were green slopes, to which a thin
haze lent unwonted beauty, stretched across the quiet
waters ; and far away were the blue hills of the opposite
horn of the bay. By the road-side a small stream from
one of the hills danced along its way, broken by many falls
and tumbling headlong at last over a tall rock into the
sea. There were fishing boats moving in the bay, and the
little packet-boat was waiting, with loosened sails, for a
passenger, I suppose.
We spent some time in exploring on foot some of the
rugged paths made by the water-courses of spring on the
hill-sides, finding here and there patches of grass, and
sometimes even of clover, and catching, as we rose higher,
glimpses of scenery that awakened our admiration. At
length we made our way to the unsightly village, and vi-
sited the school. It was with a strange feeling that I
heard the familiar words of holy writ stammered forth by
the ragged children in that wild place. ‘l, e obtained a
holiday for the poor little creatures, and moved on towards
the church. It was a low wooden building, with a dis-
proportionately small tower at one end • the interior was
plain and neat. The burying-ground about it was on the
slope of a hill, so rocky and hare, that when a corpse was

to rbe interred, the mould fo cover it was necessarily
brought from a distance. Scanty, coarse grass grew about
the little mounds th,t were scattered here and there, with
rude, unengraved stones at their head. Two graves were
distinguished from the rest by a covering of stone, sur-
rounded by a light wooden railing. One of them, I knew;
contained the ashes of a little child, whose parents had
chosen to bury her in that sad place; the other was the
resting-place of one to whom a sorrowful history belonged.
I had felt a strange interest in her who lay sleeping there,
and now all I bad heard of her trials came vividly back to
my mind. _ _ _

She was a member of a respectable family in the west
of England, and had married with the consentof her rela-
tions. Soon after her marriage her husband proposed to
visit America, where he was supposed to possess conside-
rable property. Mill of hope she accompanied him, leav-
ing her home and all the long• tried love that had blest her
there, to follow him with a woman's fearless trust. He
gave some plausible reason for calling at Newfoundland
on his way to the continent of America, and she arrived
there wearied and ill after a tedious voyage. Professing
anxiety about her health, and assuring her it was abso-
lutely necessary for the good of his estates that he should
proceed on his way immediately, he left her in lodgings
and sailed for America. A few days afterwards messen-
gers from England arrived at St. John's in search of
the fugitive husband, who was no more than a common
swindler.
Although deserted, a stranger in a strange land, yet the
poor young wife was not long friendless. Some hvnevo-
lent persons offered her an asylum, and with them she
found a home for some months. There was something
inexpressibly touching in the gentle, uncomplaining pa-
tience, with which, as I have been told, she bore the grief
that had made life dark for her. She never mentioned
him who had so heartlessly deceived and deserted her.
Surely she had loved him well to leave country and kin-
dred to follow him, and surely the grief that had the
sharpest sting was the knowledge of his unworthiness!
Her trust was broken for ever ; and as none could know
the depth and sacredness of the love she had once felt, so
none could have part in the bitterness of her disappoint-
ment and sorrow.
But, though. her lips were silent, her pale cheek and
failing frame bore witness4o the trouble that was slowly
consuming her life. No word ever came from him,
whom, perhaps, even yet she regretted. She did not say
she expected to hear, and yet surely her woman's heart
must have clung to some faint hope that, after all, he
might not be as they said, and that he would come or send,
not leave her utterly desolate to die among strangers !
But time passed on and brought no change, save that she
grew weaker ;:.and when, at last, the long winter was over
and the streams burst gladly from their icy bonds, the
sorrowful stranger passed from the earth for ever.
The remembrance of all this crossed my mind as I stood
beside the grave, and tried to tear away the coarse grass
that had forced its way between the railings, half hiding
the stone slab. the who had been the darling of a happy
home, who had been for a while a happy wife,—she whose
heart sorrow had broken, yet not embittered,—she, the
grateful, patient, sorrowful woman, lay there at my feet.
Of all to whom she had been most dear, not one had
soothed her hours of sorrow, not one had held her dying
head, not one had looked upon her grave; and I, a very
stranger, stood there alone, with tears
,in my eyes and
sympathy in my heart, for grief that had passed by for
ever.
In the meantime my companions had all left me, and,
suddenly waking from my meditations, 1 hurried after
them to a small cottage, which we entered. There was
but one person there, a very aged man, leaning over the
expiring members of a wood fire. The wide chimney was
the only passage through which the light entered, but it
was a matter of little consequence to him, for he had
long been totally blind. He was ninety-six sears old, had
left his native place in Devonshire at the age of five-and-
twenty to seek his fortune in Newfoundland, and had
lived for seventy long years in the village in which we
found him—not in the same house, for he must, I should
think, have outlived many such frail habitations. The
schoolmaster, who had accompanied us, lifted the old
man's red cap, and his long, snowy hair fell over his
shoulders. One of our party was a little child, fair and
gay, the petted darling of us all; and there was some-
thing very affecting in the contrast between the glow and
beauty of her young life and the helplessness and poverty
of that man's old age. "He had children," he said,
" but he knew little of them now ; he was very old ; be
did not often hear any thing of them." Poor old man I
My heart ached ftir him, and the merry child grew silent
and grave, and crept closer to her mother.
But a slow step drew near, and an old woman entered
the cottage, laden with sticks. She took little notice of
us, but made her way to the chimney-corner, and, laying
her hand on the old man's knee, bent over the fire and
heaped up the sticks till there was a cheerful blaze. The
schoolmaster told us she was the old man's wife, younger
than himself by twenty years.
We turned away, and the door closed on the poor old
coupe. The sunshine could not enter their windowless
dwelling ; Poverty and Age were their daily companions ;
and yet there was something beautiful and soothing in the
remembrance of that weak woman still fulfilling her la;
boar of love ! All was not dark in that poor hovel, for
kindliness and affection had lived on through time and
change ; and I thanked Heaven that such things could be.
I remember little else of our excursion. There was a
scrambling walk among the rocks, not the less agreeable
for being almost dangerous. Then we made a hasty
sketch of one of the little coves with which the shores of
the bay abound, and then we all returned to the miserable
inn and made ready for our homeward drive, lingering yet
again to gaze on the sparkling waters—the only lifelike
things in the landscape.
About a year later my father again visited the old man
I have mentioned. The long winter bad tried him
severely, and the hand of death was upon him. His
mind, too, shared the general decay, and he wandered in
his speech. In a few weeks the old fisherman was car-
ried to his grave. The life of nearly a century was over,
leaving no trace, save, perhaps, something of regret in
the heart of the old wife, who must soon have followed
him to the land of forgetfulness.

WANT OF WATER.-PERNICIOUS
CONSEQUENCES.

(From Hogy's Weekly Instructor.)
In some things, the present age has made advances on
the past, and left the ancients far in the rear. But in the
supply of water for the masses of the population, we are
still far behind what the Romans were two thousand years
ago. They thought nothing of bringing in water to the
people at the expense of the state, by twenty aqueducts,
forming a total length of more than 200 miles! Taking
the population of Rome at three millions, including child-
ren and slaves, every individual could command a supply
of 100 gallons of pure water daily. What are our sup-
plies compared with this! While London could be easdy
supplied from one noble river, and from a moderate dis-
tance, and Manchester by an aqueduct of ten miles in
length, the former has less than thirty, and the latter not
more than five gallons daily for each person ! This may
at first view seem abundant, but when the quantity which
should be used for public purposes is subtracted, very
little will remain for personal and domestic use. In cast-
ing our eyes over one of the abstracts furnished in the late
government account, we were struck with astonishment
to find the following remarkable cases of deficient supply
in large towns :—Leicester contains 11,741 houses, and has
no public supply of water. Nottingham has 11,617 houses,
of which only 3,500 are supplied by the water companies.
Birmingham has 40,281 houses, and not more than 8,000,
or a fifth of the whole, are supplied. We can add to this
a case in Scbtland which has come under our own notice.
The town of Dundee has a population of nearly 70,0U0,
and there has hitherto been no proper public supply of
water ! There are a few wells open to the people, but
these are not adequate to the supply of their domestic
wants, far less to the cleansing of the streets and lanes of
the town. The deficiency is partially made up by water
sold at a high price in carts. The consequence of ad this
is great local impurity, notwithstanding the utmost vigi-
lance of the police, and a constant and virulent prevalence
of typhus fever. There is one model n city which forms
an honourable exception to this tco common rule : New
York, by the Croton aqueduct, can furnish 180 gallons
per day to each individual, if required. It gives us plea-
sure also to notice, that Glasgow is likely to form another
example, ere long, when the new Gravitation Company
have brought into that city the pure sweet water of Loch
Katrine.
It is important to inquire what is the probable reason
of the stinted supply ? Why have not the labouring classes
a sufficient quantity of water for personal ablution, and for
culinary uses? It has been alleged that they are not ca-
pable of appreciating the advantages either of personal or
domestic cleanliness. This impression, if well founded,
would certainly render nugatory all efforts to better their
condition. But the allegation is groundless, or, at least,
is only applicable to the very lowest and most vici -
ous of the people. We are not very sanguine, indeed, that
the cold bath will be very generally used in this country.
The nature of the climate is a barrier to this, and there is.
not among us the same natural craving for the bath as in
the warmer clime of France. Still we are persuaded that
our artizans and mechanics can appreciate, and will culti-
vate, comparative cleanliness when the means are within
their reach. The chief reason why many of them have
become indifferent, if not insensible to this virtue, is, be-
cause facility has not been afforded them. It is the deli-
berate opinion of her Majesty's commissioners on the
health of towns, that the above allegation " is a most er-
roneous view of the feelings" of the poorer classes. In
proof of this, abundant evidence has been adduced. Se-
veral witnesses examined before the commission, who
were owners of cottages, gave it in evidence, that the peo-
ple warmly expressed their willingness to pay for a better
supply • and that an increased rental had been obtained
after the water had been introduced into their dwellings.
Mr. Smith, an owner of cottages in Preston, states, that
his tenants agree to pay him twopence a-week for a con-
stant supply laid in to their dwellings, but that be has not
charged it to them, as he found that he was sufficiently
repaid by the improved demand for his houses. Medical
witnesses too, have given evidence as to the marked im-
provement in the cleanliness, as well as the health of the
people, where this important change has been made in
their houses.

Notwithstanding such facts as these, it is still surmised
that the poorer classes would not pay for an abundant
supply of water laid in their dwellings. Even although
this were true, still we would contend for its being fur-
nished either at the public expense, or by the landlord,
whose interest it would so plainly promote. But we re-
but the charge of unwillingness to pay. In our large
towns, the poor have hitherto paid a most extrava-
gant price for water. In such cases as Newcastle-upon-
Tyne, where there are sale-pants,' or stand-pipes for the
poor, they pay a price which is more than four times the
rate charged for a private supply to a house. This arises
from the water being doled out in small quantities, and
by the lessee or superintendent of the sale-pant,' who
receives a high commission for his trouble. And in addi-
tion to the high price, the poor are subjected to great loss
of time, waiting to have their vessels filled, not to speak
of the drudgery of carrying it a considerable distance to
their houses. These facts are better than abstract argu-
ments, and strongly incline us to the belief that the la-
bouring part of the population are at once able to appre-
ciate the value of cleanliness and comfort, and would
cheerfully pay for a plentiful supply of water.
The best means for precuring such a supply has long
been a difficult question. But light is now beginning to
dawn on this point, and on the public mind. The whole
of the evidence laid before the government commission
goes to establish the position, that two or more compa-
nies professedly competing in one town, afford no real
guarantee to the public that they shall be furnished with
the purest water at the most reasonable price. Private
individuals and joint stock companies embarking in any
such enterprise, naturally seek the best possible return
for the capital invested, and hesitate to supply the houses
of the poor unless landlords become responsible. While
the exposure to the evils of competition by a second com-
pany, in a locality vihere only one exists, imposes a salu-
tary check on the conduct of managers—still the invest-
ment of a second capital in the same town, with its staff
of officers, and maintenance and management of works,
renders it necessary fir the, public to pay more for their
water than they would do unt'e,r pne compel-1y properly

constituted and well.regulated.' **Under this conviction,
the commission on the health of towns has issued several
recommendations, which, if acted on, will secure to all
classes a cheap and abundant supply of this first necessary
to life, comfort, and cleanliness.

..----.-....ep...-

CORN-CONSUMPTION AND IMPORTATION,

The whole question rests on an assumed deficiency in
the country of human food to last till the fruits of ano-
ther harvest come into use. If the assumption be ccr-
rect, two things are to be desired (whatever else,) namely,
that the present consumption of food should be diminish-
ed, and that as large a quantity of bread-stuffs should be
introduced from abroad as possible.
By universal confession, the only available method of
diminishing the consumption of the country on a large
scale is by raising prices. Were the ports now to be
opened, it is not only confessed, but it is the object aimed
at, to lower prices, perhaps some twenty per cent. GM e
effect. then, of the measure so strongly advocated, would
be to increase very considerably the present consumption,
and consequently to leave a less amount of food to be
consumed during the remainder of this year of scarcity.
The opening of the ports, then, in this point of view,'
would be a disadvantage and not an advantage.
But this disadvantage,—this present increased consump-
tion of human food—would be (it will be argued) much
more than compensated for, by the greatly increased im-
portation consequent upon the opening of the ports.. Let
us look then at this part of the question also.
What regulates the extent of the importation is the pro-
bable amount of profit, according to the views of merchants
and speculators, to be derived from the importation.
Prices are very high in this country at present, and the
confirmed impression of the mercantile community is, that
they will rise to be so high as to admit foreign corn sub-
ject only to a nominal duty. In this belief a very large
importation is about to be made from every quarterwhence
it can be made. Suppose the ports bad been opened by
order in council some six weeks or two months ago. (as
keenly argued for,) and in consequence, prices in this
country had fallen twenty per cent., would the importa-
tion have been as great, or greater, under that posture of
things, than it wilt be under the present, which. the cabi-
net has preferred? We submit it is a question of great

Dee. 0, 1845.

6irtbs, i'larriageo anti Eilsari)'.

BIRTHS.
sßnooOatphnnest,ethhmheielod2s2,2s3on.
dsfdi
Moss-side,
eiult.,st,o.hnto.hoi
ens
nwLa
riorenehd,ooofilf,
Joshua
uel
aacdhlyvi
adoirfme
children,
,iaeayrloi nvrLirsi
co.
rn;eivdde:
asmenovdteirlimakrle;sl yelaritfoes,dbsnahewekeh.lai
v. i Doubts,ng
been
in a weakly however. ar e s
teanttee rtoar! nbeedailloihfdytfhooerf
On the 24th ult., at Carmoyle, county of Limerick, the •
W. S. O'Brien, Esq., M•P., of a dauzhter.
- Louisa 1./ ard of a
On the 27th ult., at Bowood, the Lady Louisa ow •
son.
C oOr bnmoe fttetha,desEa2°ysdiq: lit,nhosetfaan
ladyt 'o
On the 29th ult., the Lady Ashley, of a daughter•
Same day, at Cove of Cork, the lady of Commander De Co
cesya,
On the 4th instant, in Grosvenor-place,
of a son. ,
atof Ljo. nßgannoery
Bailey,
tai
nl , Salop, the lady of gdw•

On the 24th ultimodaughter of Joseph iden•ten, Esq., Everton, and niece
Edelsteu, Esq., pin manufacturer, Warrington. Ric
On the 25th ultimo, at St. John the Baptist's Church. R ~ .....
Hug 4
Bentley, Esq., to Charlotte, daughter of tr,e late Thos.
Mr. James Sergent,jun„ to Eleantoors, 00.11,13:
Esq., of Bedford•streef, Toxteth-park.
On the 27th ultimo, at St. Nicholas's Church,
the Right Rev. the Lord Bishop:of that diocese,Archibald Rolle.ll_
son, Esq., M.D., of Northampton, to Anne, fifth d
- atightel: jetrnea.
Here-
late John Matthews, Esq., of Belmont, in the count,' of
lord. by the
Same day, at Aynho, in the county of Nortlnmptoll,
Dal'
Reverend Frederick W. Cartwiight, Matthew Piers
Wtdt Sob°,
top, Esq., of Sew Park, in the county of Oxtor_d, ht ,_.• W.
Staffordshire, to Franc s Eliza Carter, youngest dauger La
R. Cartwr'ght, Esq., M P. for the county of Northampton.of
the
Same day, the Rev. John Gflby I.onsdale, second son
a _.,,e,
Bishop of Lichfield, to Sarah, only surviving child of D. -I vu'
Esq.. Regent's-park, London. John 13.
h Rev •
Same da), at St. Mary's Church, Cowes, by t e • gala
Atkinson, M.A., Henry, only son of Sir William and LadY_ et
Oglander, of Parnham, Dorsetshire, and Nunwell, in George
Wight, to Louisa, youngest datighter of the late Sir tie'
Leeds, Bart., of Cr xton.park, Cambridshire. a'arttefli
On the 30th ultimo, at St. John the Bkptist's Church, --too
Park, Mr. John Bery to Miss Isabella Cunningham, both of
town. 11001 e
Mr J
Same day, at Farnworth, by the Rev. W.Jeff, • '
to Miss Ann Rigby, of Eccleston.Moreland to
Same day, at St. Phillip's Church, Mr. Henry aer
Hereford,o.__,.ll.
Eliza, daughter of the late Mr. Robert Quayle, cabinet-Ma
tter'
On the Ist instant, at St. Peter's Church, Mr. William .8 .q..
son, : arpenter and joiner, to Cordelia, third daughter of '''
James Boult, of Yarmouth, Norfolk. R.
M L.
IteV•
On the 2nd instant, at St. Philip's Church, by the id.
Townsend. M.A., Mr. John Williams, joiner, to Miss AnO
chards Broad. , Wallin!)
Same day, at Newingto a Independent Chapel, Mr.
Pugh to Jane, eldest daughter of Mr. John Rothwell. tsal
Same day, at St. Bride's Church, Mr. Henry ThoMPsO-. '
dealer, to Miss Mary Fennell, both of this town. Ce
Pt•
Same day, at St. Mwy's Church, Marylebone, London, ei,
Wm. Temple Parrett, of the 19th (Ist York North Riding) iflande,.
ment of Foot, youngest son of H. M. Parrett, Esq.. of E -to
ham House, Surrey to Helen Dunbar, eldest daughter of
late Robert Warden, Esq., of Parkhill, Stirlingshire, N.B• 4e,
Same day, at Charlton Church, by the Rev. John B. Ma',,,a,.
Senior Fellow of Queen's College, Oxon, the Rev. Alfred So..‘'W
youngest son of the late Edward Suart, Es, of Bent
Gloucestershire, and of Lime Hill, Tunbridge. Wells, to ,7,0 ,
mond Mary Anne, only daughter of the late Lieut. Col. W11e".
13th Regiment. of Tanbride e Wells._ -
Same day, at St. Bride's Church, by wat,
the Rev. J. Ste .
• re os
M A., Mr. John Gerard Geller, jun. of Everton, to Louisa
land, daughter of the late Mr. Wm. Cockson. of loondon- eai
On the 3d instant. at St George's Church, Everton, hY,;',:r..
Rev. John Fearon, George, eldest son of the late JosePh, "..n.
rison, Esq., Mersey-cottage, Birkenhead, to Eliza, only °au°
ter of Thomas Chegwin, ESQ.. Edge-lane. cabi'
Same day, at Edge-hill Church, Mr. Alexander Procter. „d'
net maker, &c., to Ann, eldest daughter of the late Jas. I,d'
Ewood bridge, Haslinto an. t. tbd
On the 4th instant, g
at St. John the Baptist's Church,„
Rev. J. Hassell, M.A., Mr. Lewis Young, to Ann, eldest daug...
ter of Mr. James Smith, of Toxteth park. • W.
Same day, at St. Georges Church, Everton, by the ReL • 0,
W. Ewbank. Thomas Hampson, jun., son of Thomas Han'tPd°
Do
Esq., of Aigburth, to Alice, eldest daughter of Mr. James
dall, of Edge6th ill Itaf'
On the .h
instant, at Toxteth Chapel, by the Rev. Dr. ..,
flea, Samuel, second son of Mr. John Rutherford to Ma" '
only child of the late Mr. Peter B. Litherland. t• bi
Same day, at the Wesleyan Chapel, Great Homer-Are •,0
the Rev. C. M. Birrell, Ba)tist Minister, the Rev. Canlll,
Pietro Vinceozo Melchiorre Baldassarre Vlapei, D.D , fortoe',:/
a Roman Catholic Priest, Conon of the Cathedral, ExarMov.l.,...
the Clergy, and Professor of Theology, at Penne, in the 101.,
dom of Naples, to Caroline, third daughter of John B• Bil
rows, Esq., surgeon, Great Orford-street.
He
On the 7th instant, at St. Nicholas's Church, Mr. ~.
Hale, foreman in the fitting department of the Ncw Gas cl
pany, to Ellen, daughter of Captain Clancy, Royal EngW.f.ell Co'.
On the 7th instant, at St. Anne's Church, Isaac Row"" ~,a.
Charlotte, second daughter of Mr. Mark Clifford, of this td^"
• . tO
This morning, at St. Catherine'., Church, Mr. J. Bowman
Miss Alice Jeffery.

MARRIED

DIED. tat°
In May last, at Calcutta, of cholera. in his 27th year, CaP
William Penn, of the barque Coaxer, of this port, second son u"
the late Mr. Joseph Penn, cabinet-maker, Maryport. „r.
On the 24th ult., aged 54 years, at her residence in CroPIEI.-c-ii
street, after a lingering illness, which she bore with u„1,
patience and resignat on, Mary, the beloved wife of Josef

France. 34r•
On the 22d ult.. at Driffield, in the 67th year of his age, s of
John Winrow. He was one of the most eccentric character.,„
the day, being faithful in his attendance at the Hymeneal alla
upon all marriage occasions, nor was h 2 less so at the shrine cid
death, keeping a re^ ular diary of all marriages, births,
deaths, for a number of years.
On the 26th ult., at Conway, aged 41, Thomas Parry,
surgeon. mr.

Toxteth-park

Same day, in Mann-street,
Worrall, formerly of Wrexham.
Same day, at Milnthorpe, at the advanced age of 102, Mfr
John Shepherd, a native of Cumberland. Jobn
On the 27th ult., at Nannerch, Flintshire, the Rev.
Hughes, rector of te above place. other
Same day, at Bridlington, aged 93, Mrs. Mary Pe:ritt, Moth
of Mr. J. Perritt, schoolmaster, of that place.
licOennsethdev2ictittthudnlletr.:
Scotland-road.ah, wife of Mr. W. Ye,arjsolei::
On the 29th ult., at his residence, Kensington, aged 5 ,
Claypole, Esq.
Same day, at the residence of his grandmother. SY-
Trammere, aged 2 ',cars, John Law-on.
Same day, at Tyldesley, of a rapid consumption, aged 42,
George Hand Bond, son-in-law of John Jannion,
Churchli id-house, Runcorn.
Same day, much respected, aged 77, Mrs. Eleanor Highfielt
On the 30th ult., in London, in his 67th year, John
Martineau, Esq.
Same day, at the residence of her
Edge-hill, aged 70, Ann, relict of the
Jaques, R.N.
Same day, Christina Sudworth, wife of Mr. N. Glynn,

IneY-Place°

Mr.
sq.' of

son-io-law, Mt T. Martin►
e late Lieutenant Anthoni

Duke-street, Edge•hill.
Same day, aged 35, Mary, th

wife of Mr. J. Read, Heath'

street.
Same day, Mary Ann, eldest daughter of the late E. Yates,
Es Same
of Ince, in the county of
day, at Ravenhead, near Chester. St. Helen's, aged 72, "Ais6
Haddock.
Same day, at Oxton, Isabella King, daughter of Mr. T. In°
of her Majesty's Customs.
Same day, at his residence, Pembroke-place, in the 7Stlritar....
of his age, Mr. Thomas Drewry, gentleman, formerly of Lan
en
O, Staffordshire.
n the Ist inst., at Southport, Elizabeth Livesey, daughter °
the late J. Eccles, Esq., of Lower Darwen. d,
Same day, at T rquay, Lady Johnstone, wife of R. Weylaa,:r
Esq ,of Woodeaton Oxfordshire, and widow of the late
J. L. Johnstone, Bart., of Westerhall, Dumfriesshire. fCaPa
Same day, at Greenock, aged 13, Ann, eldest daughter o
taro Wm. Blackie, of the -lames Dean, now in this port, a"
granddaughter of Mr. J. Maitland, of Bittern-street. •
On the 2d inst., at the residence of her brother-in-law. CLP,:,
taro J. W. Little. Hill-street, Miss Margaret, daughter of 0."
W. Bell, of Whitehaven.
Same day, Patty, relict of the late S. N. Bennet.,
Ch ez- ter. Elea
Same day, at Edge-hill, in her 72d year, Mrs. Elizabeth stOr -
widow of the late Lieut,nant John , R..
Same day, aged 61, Mr. ThomasStoyle CroskellN, upholsterer sod
cabinet-maker, Shaw's-brow.
Same day, in Kent-street, Henrietta, daughter of
French, of her Majesty's Customs at this port. Mr
On the 3d inst., aged it) mcnths, Hannah, daughter of - •
Johnson, timber merchant.
Same day, aged 43, .
Rotunda Inn, Waterloo- ro,

400581. 111223

t. Esq.' °

/tilerslie Harvey, from Dalhousie off ditto
Marmora, (steamer,) sailed from Dalhousie for Malta on 30th
November
Watchwo: d, Cole, hence for Trieste at Holyhead
Arequipa, Cragg, trom Lima at London
Henry Bliss, Curnm.ngs, from this port for New Orleans has
Put back
HOLDERA, Nov. 4.—The Dibdin, Haggan, partly loaded for
Naples, which was driven on shore on the west coast during a
gale on the 23d October. has been got off and into the bay.
BALLINA, Nov. 2g.—A vessel of about 150 tons, laden with
tallow and sugar, has been driven on shore at Cross in Erris

ARRIVED

N ?.?,DAY, DECEMBER 3.—Wiod W.N.W. fresh.
.—Dumbarton, Pendleton, and Herman, Welsh, New
umberland, Power, Maranham—Cincinnati, Wilson,
—Dourado, Rijer, Lisbon—Margaret, Barcelona—

Albion, Viiei)

Belle, Murray, from Teneriffe at this port, with palm oil from

the wreck of the Ayrshire
Josephine, Masters, hence at Tampico
from Taganrog for this port 7th

November

Mary
Noveni