The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-12-31 00:00:00

Utraturt.

NOTICES.

" Tr7asperings for th 2 Deaf Ear."

The poet rhapsodizes on the fact, that Time is short:
the moralist clothes the conviction with his choicest di-
dactics : the preach( r urges the truth of the solemn pro-
position with the fittest energy of elocution and manner ;
he appeals to the commonest conviction of his hearers,
and to the shortest and most limited range of experience;
nay, a child has already re:ped the golden sheaves of
hours gone by for ever : but Heaven affirms its truth as
the reason for its call upon all men to reflect upon the
relation each indi%idual bears to this universal fact. Do
men therefore listen, and ponder their ways ? No. Do
they desire to know it ? No. Why ? Because they are
busywith the [Arming of the very contrary ! Deeds,
not words, are always regarded as tests. Look around
and see what thousands are busy in giving the practical
lie to the statements ef the above three classes of school-
masters. Ask no questions, but look at the busy idlers
and the idly busy : look at the games, t lie loungings, the
asking on all hands for some mode of killing time—the
suicidal inquiry " for some new thing "—nay, the reward
offered for a new game. But the culprit to be killed off-
hand for you is described, that you may hit him off. He
always carries an hour-glass, and is bald-headed, except
one lock on his forehead; and, like a bird, he has power-
ful wings for flight; and he carries, as an emblem of the
warfare he is ever waging, an implement of husband, y.
High rewards for any who shall invent another mode of
pass-time—of kill-time ! The pauper has a mite to be-
stow, as well as the rich his gold, to remunerate the
Thug of Time I Some classes can never rid themselves
quick enough of their time; they are even kind enough
to treat you with some of their burden; and this night,
the very last of the old year, will millions help each other
most charitably with their burdens, by games, and folly,
and dizzy pleasures—gilding the hours that they may
dazzle their owners, and begone the smoother and the
faster ! Time is long, then, and the parties have joined
issue ; and the evidence and pleadings are enrolled in the
Courts of Heaven ! But the worldling has one merit—
that of consistency ; for he practises what he believes,
and he believes what he practises. If he deny that in
this light he wears a merit, let him try himself by the
invariable rule that the bel of rules a man's conduct.
Does he hear that his house is on fire, he acts upon it if
he believes the fact, and he cannot help himself, be-
cause motives rule him : if he does not act, he does
not believe it. But he believes that Time is short,
and Eternity long ; for he joins in the rehearsal of
these two propositions every Sabbatical service, but he
does not act upon them, and the next hour puts in prac-
tice the opposite dogma of his life and practice. Where
is he then ? Are his parrot lips or his truth-telling actions
to be taken in evidence? If the former, he is a hypo-
crite, and the matter is made worse ; but he still hourly
affirms the lying proposition that time is long, and the
converse of this—that eternity is short, or, perhaps,
uncertain altogether—will he fairly established as his
creed by his actions. No wonder, then, that the last
day of the old year should prove to so many a very fid-
getty period. It would have been kind if the almanack
had quietly dropped notice of it ; numbers would approve
of this being always juggled in and out as a kind of allow-
ance for false reckoning—a leap-day sort of thing—only
the sun will keep it himself—there's the bore !—and the
ledger ogles it ; the ball drops at Greenwich to tell every-
body, too, when half the day is gone, just like any other
day. Couldn't the Astronomer Royal manage it some-
how or other, to distribute its hours over the succeeding
month ? Wages might be paid, and so might interest
run on, and, in fact, discount granted, and " a holiday
at all the public offices ;" but heaven's anointing angels
will jot it down, unfortunately, because there are not a
hundred such days granted to every one. Come, then,
prepare, gentle reader, for taking account, as usual, of
profit and loss!
This is actually the last day of the year current—no-
thing more can be done now in 1844—but this very even-
ing to take stock of the past year's business. Has heaven
balanced the good and evil of your past doings? Are you
heaven's creditor in the account ? Is the Creator a deb-
tor in the books of the creature ? Or, what is more likely,
are not you " a debtor to mercy" at this present moment !
If so, where then is the gratitude of the debtor ? Does it
accumulate at interest in the bank of heaven ? Probably
nothing of the kind ! Well, then, you are insolvent ! A
debtor all through your past life, and withal having no-
thing to pay off the score against you. You believe that
to-morrow will come in the shape of January, first in a
new year of grace—viz. : 1845. You believe this, and
you act upon it in trust, or you are insane; but it is not
the more certain to dawn upon you because you believe
it ; and yet ycu wont pause, but kill the Time, perhaps
waning for ever; the last sands must be running out for
some—of this there can be no doubt, since every moment
some souls depart for the other world,—but you hope you
are not of the number of the fated ones ;—yet it is possi-
ble you may be the very one, nay, many chances may be
against your life ! Yet you are for pastime—well, then,
be merry to the last ! and treasure up food for remorse
for ever, rather than by repentance, during Time, to turn
the scale in your own favor—both here and hereafter.
No ! you won't exactly and deliberately commit spiri-
tual suicide on 1814 opportunities; but you will let the
old year quietly go by the board, and sink into ocean of
Time Past—there to be engulphed without recal until
washed up again on the shore of Eternity—a wreck of
your year 1844! The plank will have your own name in-
scribed on it in burning characters, and you will own it,
in spite of yourself—your conscience will speak as loudly
then as your passions do now . What you would do then,
do now before the day closes on your year. So I would,
but I scarcely dare begin—l cannot rake over the
whole year's doings without pain and sadness and self-
humiliation ! No ; certainly not. But this would
be wise, and this would be desirable ! Consider on,
but do so, and repent you of your misdoings, and strive
to live an angel life on earth—as a temple of the
Holy Spirit !—dedicated to Jehovah Jesus—devoted to
your neighbours—ready as a self-sacrifice on the altar of
faith—with a will regulated by your heavenly Father's
will—and Christ pillowed on your frail bark, ready to
speak peace in every storm. and to bid the waters bear
thee up, instead of engulphing thee. Yes! this would
be to live a life of gain, or to die ready for the golden
shores of bliss ! I will try. to be such. To-morrow a
new year will perhaps afford me a new starting-point.
But how will you do this? Oh ! by good resolutions in
my best frame, and avoiding all temptations to the con-
trary path, I will keep myself from sin and folly, and
reform my plan. We are glad you are come so far—we
welcome you to the half-way-house on the road to your
Father's mansion of bliss. But you are not there—
you are only half way l How is that ? Are we
not told to turn and repent ? Yes ! it is indeed so
enjoined in Scripture; but it is to be done in you, and
through your will, but not by you. For Christ saith,
" Without me you can do nothing." His Holy Spirit
then must operate in you this great change, and to this
alone source must you apply for help, or you will utterly
fail. Could you change your own evil heart from dark-
ness to light, then would the glory be your own ; but all
the glory of your purification, as well as your justification,
must belong to the Triune Jehovah—though the eternal
advantage is yours as fully as if the doxology of your own
praise resounded incessantly in your own breast—even
more fully, immensely fuller, because then you share with
the Head, as a member of His body, and you are filled
with His fulness, instead of your own emptiness !
Empty yourselves, and present to the throne of grace but
the wish, embodied in a prayer, to amend your life, to be
taught the heavenly grace of repentance, and then the
new heart will be given, and the sound root shall send
forth fruitful branches ; but do not be misled by the
Father of Lies, who delights in the threefold cord whereby
he drags victims down to the lake which burneth, to wit :
" Time is long"—the efficacy of mere good resolutions—
and the mercifulness of the Judge, without the cross and
without the dove. In such case and temper we wish you
a happy new year!

SELECTIONS.

CHRISTMAS IN THE STREETS.
(From Punch's Snapdragons for Christmas.)

Up from lazy hearth-side and silent chamber ! Up and
forth into the busy places of the city ! Mark the soften-
ing influence of the merry time upcn crowding, swarming
men and women !—forth, and with Christmas in the heart,
find Christmas in the streets.

See how people throng admiringly round that butcher's
shop. There's beef!—there's mutton! A proud ox he
ought to be who furnished forth that sirloin. How jollily
it will smoke, amid its smaller compears on the Christ-
mas table : a right down English dish. Telk of sirloins
and barons of beef ; they should b promoted in the aris-
tocracy ; the " sir " made a " baron" and the baron a
duke. Baron, loin, and duke of beef ! How the jolly
butcher. too, is cutting—hacking away, till his face is as
red as the lean of his meat. Many a Christmas dinner is
he dispensing, lightening his labour with admiring criti-
cism on his fare.

" Never was sich a ox killed, ma'am, as this here !"
And he removes the hunch of evergreens, which appeared
to grow cut of it—like the shady sine on the hind quarters
of Baron Munchausen's horse—and critically displays the
fat, so white, and the lean, so ruddy. How the people
buy ; and with less haggling and chaffering than usual;
for who would wrangle and get angry, about a halfpenny
in the pound, at Christmas time ?
And then the geese, and the turkeys : long rows of
white victims, looking, if possible, fatter and plumper
than the remains of their quadruped of the farm. Sheep
and oxen, look to your laurels ! You have done great
things, but take care ; get fat vnd tender, or the feathered
creatures will carry the day—cut you out at Christmas !
Such an array of two-legged animals, without feathers !
You ask whether there remains a pound in England, en-
livened by the padding of a single goose; or a barn-yard,
musical with the gobble-gobble of a single turkey. They
seem all in London— poor plucked victims of Christmas!
ready to be served up, on its altars—damask-covered
table-cloths—by its high-priests—conks.
What dismal ideas of Christmas must be entertained in
poultry-yards! What fearful yearly visitation sweeps off
the most promising of its inhabitants !—geese from whom
so much was expected; cocks and hens, so amiable in
domestic life ! But King Christmas is King
Death to
them, as he stalks over the land ; his merry songs sound
their doleful dirges ; his wholesome breath is the pestilence
of which they die !
Butchers' and poulterers' shops are great places in
Christmas time ; but it is in the markets that their displays
are most lavish. They are the very penetralia of the tem-
ples sacred to Christmas fare. There the meat looks big-
ger and fatter than ever—as if the world had turned ante-
diluvian, and steaks of mammoth and naegathrion were
commonly sold for beef and mutton. And there, also,
thronging amid stalls, and through narrow passages, hum
and cluster the admiring, enticing, buying, joking, laugh-
ing crowd.