The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1833-03-15 00:00:00

VARIETIES.

Ax ImPossuntlTY.—Two barristers, of the flames of Doyle
and Yelverton, were constantly quarrelling before the bench.
One day the dispute arose so high that the incensed Doyle
knocked down his adversary, exclaiming vehemently, " You
scoundrel, I'll make you behave like a gentleman !" The
other, smarting under the blow as he lay on the ground, ener-
getically replied, " No, never ! I defy you. You cannot do it,
Sir."—New York Mirror.

TYPOGRAPHY IN THE WEST INDIES.-At the Surrey Assize
Court, Mr. Beaumont, before the jury was sworn, begged to
call the attention of the bench to the very careless manner in
which the island laws were printed. The errors were so gross
and flagrant, that he was afraid the court was, in many in-
stances, misled by them. His attention having been called to
the circumstance, he, with Mr. Watkis, had the day before ex-
amined a copy of the printed laws, with the record in the Se-
cretary's office, and detected several mistakes in the former.—
[lt is difficult to say with whom the blame rests ; but the record
in the Secretary's office ought not to be considered the correct
copy. The mistakes in the latter are numerous; among them
may be noticed one in the Poll Tax Bill of 1824, where the re-
ceiver-general is ordered to pay to the order of the commission-
ers of accounts the sum of X. 6000, to defray the expense neces-
sary for providing 2000 best wrought-iron blankets, for the use
of the troops.—Jamaica Courant.]

ANECDOTE OF CURRAN.—The most severe retort Mr. Curran
ever experienced was from Sir Boyle Roche, the celerated mem-
ber of the Irish Parliament (who, a gentleman, and a good-
hearted person, could scarcely speak a sentence without making
a blunder.) In a debate where Mr. Curran had made a very
strong speech against sinecure offices, he was very tartly replied
to by Sir Hercules Langrish. Curran, nettled at some observa-
tion, started up, and warmly exclaimed, "I would have the baro-
net to know that lam the guardian of my own honour." Sir
Boyle instantly rejoined, "Then the gentleman has got a very
pretty sinecure employment of it, and so has been speaking all
night on the wrong side of the question."—Historic Memoirs of
Ireland.

What is Passion ? The art and act of suffering. What is
Imagination ? The art and act of creating. The two together ?
Poetry, dealing with mortal pleasure and pain, and thereby
subliming even while it saddens, beautifying even while it trou-
bles life and death. Dwell they in more imperial power in
man's or woman's heart? We who are every inch a man, say
in woman's—you who are every inch a woman, say in man's.
Brightly burn they both in both, when fair bosom meets bold,
and saints or sinners feel
" That Love is heaven, and heaven is Love."

The world is in a bad way. Youth used to be clothed, as
with a garment, with genius and innocence, and walked the
earth in joy, unconscious of its own glory, as stars walk the
sky. But now nobody is young except the old. "There are
young women in these days," says the lady to whose delight-
ful book about Shakspeare we return, " but there is no such
thing as youth—the bloom of existence is sacrificed to a fa-
shionable education, and where we should find the rose-buds of
the spring, we see only the full-blown, flaunting, precocious
roses of the hot-bed." If we ever marry, it shall be an old wo-
man—a woman who, whether fat and fair or not, shall at least
be forty. Not a "full-blown, flaunting, precocious rose of the
hot-bed," but an ever-blooming, modest Christmas rose, that
meets you at the door with a snowy shower of blossoms. Can-
ker worse than the smut in wheat soon eats away the one, if
frost blights it not till it wither; the heart of the other is sound
as its leaves are smiling, even like the tree that flowers but in
heaven, immortal amaranth. Yet one sometimes picks up on
the streets Sybilline leaves, scribbled with warnings for the
youth of this enlightened age, against the dangers of romance.
They may as well be bid go armed against the Griffin and the
Arimasyin. The days of chivalry are not gone, for when hay
is at eight-pence a-stone, every Cockney keeps his 'oss; but
the age of romance is gone, we understand, even among mil-
liners, who have betaken themselves to useful and entertain-
ing knowledge. " Where are they," Mrs. Jameson asks,
these disciples of poetry and romance—these victims of dis-
interested devotion and believing truth—all conscience and
tenderness—whom it is so necessary to guard against too much
confidence in others, and too little in themselves—where are
they ?" And the celebrated echo, Paddy Blake, answers,
" Nowhere !"—Blackwood's Magazine.

" Is it not unaccountably strange, sir," added the stranger,
"that a religion which its divine founder gave to his creatures,
as the bond of peace and universal love, should be converted into
the instrument of discord, hatred, and persecution ?"—" It
would be strange," replied the father, "it the corruption of
our nature did not reconcile the anomaly; the grace of God
must prepare the heart for the reception of truth, and the com-
prehension and practice of Christian charity, or the seeds of
the gospel fall upon barren ground."—"Then, what a dif-
ference there is between the physical and moral soil of your
country. Your priesthood among the most learned in Europe;
why is it that their mental cultivation produces to their country
nothing but bitter fruits—the apples of Asphaltites ?"—"Be-
cause that it is not their country, but is governed by strangers."
—"When was it better governed? Aud why call your brethren
of fice centuries strangers?"—" What made them our brethren?
the sword."—"lt is the common introduction of nations to each
other—it is in the wise dispensations of Providence; and, like
the rod of the preceptor, hated by the pupil whose intellect it
cultivates and interest it advances."—"'We wanted no master."
—"True; you had them before Henry's invasion even to a
curse. Your toparchs, your priests, your prejudices, and your
brutal passions."—" God help us," groaned the father, "the
last curse is upon us still."—" Civilization is neither simulta-
neous nor voluntary. The sun does not shine with equal beat
upon all parts of our globe at the same time. Civilization is a
boon from the conqueror; an infliction only when resisted."—
" Leave us our country and our religion, and let us civilize our-
selves."—" Yes; had the Romans so left us here in Britain, we
might still have our Druids, our human sacrifices, and our
painted bodies; where would be the arts and their noble monu-
ments which surround us? What has your religion done for
your country? Blood and massacre are bad evidence of civili-
zation and Christianity. IRELAND MUST BE CONQUERED
AGAIN."—" God in his mercy arrest from my unhappy country
the punishment which her crimes so loudly call for; no Chris-
tian can excuse her now."—Loue and Loyalty.—Dublin Uni-
versity Magazine.
IRISH DUELLING.—Mr. Curran and Lord Clare, whilst the
latter was attorney-general, had on one occasion a controversy
which could only be terminated by a personal battle. The com-
batants fired two cases of very long pistols at each other, but
certainly with very bad success and very little eclat; for they
were neither killed, wounded, satisfied, nor reconciled; nor did
either of them express the slightest disposition to continue the
engagement. In those times, the 'usual mode of deciding points
of honour' never was dispensed with; but in more modern and
refined days, not only gentlemen civilians, but even military
officers of his majesty's forces, frequently and
,placidly refer
their 'points of honour' to be decided by the lord chief justice of
the King's Bench, who generally punishes one of the disputants
in person, and both of them in pocket,—undoubtedly the safest,
though certainly the most expensive mode of settling personal
differences. Mr. Curran was not at all pugnacious or quarrel-
some, or what was then termed in Ireland a gentleman 'fire-
eater,' yet he had the singular fortune of fighting frequently,
and in every case without any disastrous result, or any inevitable
necessity. He fought his most bitter enemy, Lord Clare, and he
fought his most intimate friend, Mr. Egan. His duel with Major
Hobart (Lord Buckinghamshire) was a singular one. A Mr.
Gifford (nick-named in Dublin the 'dog in office') grossly offend-
ed Mr. Curran, who declared 'he would rather do without fight-
ing all his life' than fight such a fellow as Gifford; but as Gif-
ford was a revenue officer, lie expected Major Hobart would
dismiss him for his impertinence, or fight in his place. To
either alternative the secretary demurred; Curran insisted, and
at length the major referred his case to his friend, Lord Car-
hampton, then commander-in-chief in Ireland. Carhampton,
a man of singular wit and acuteness, quickly decided the points
on clear principles. "A secretary of state fighting for an ex-
' ciseman," said. he, "would be rather a bad precedent for his
Majesty's diplomatists; but a major in the King's service is
pugnacious by profession, and must fight any body that asks
him;" the result was a meeting. Curran did his best to hit the
major, the major curled his upper lip, and asked Curran with a
sneer, "If he wanted any more of it?" Curran shook his head
as a negative, and both left the ground, neither better nor worse
friends than when they entered it. The portrait of Currau, here
annexed, is a perfect fore-line of him. Being asked if he had
nut sat for that portrait, "No," said he, "no, it 'was the por-
trait that sat for me."—Historic Memoirs of Ireland.
CONFESSION OF ti IRISH PEASANT.—Luke M. Gentian
being at confession, owned, among other things, that he had
stolen a pig from. Tim Carrol. The priest told him he must
make restitution; Luke couldn't—how could he, when he had
eaten it long ago? Then he must give Tim one of his own.
No; Luke didn't like that—it wouldn't satisfy his conscience—
it wouldn't be the downright identical pig he stole. Well, the
priest said, if he wouldn't he'd rue it, for that the corpus delictum,
fim's pig, would be brought forward against him at his final
reckoning. " You don't mane that, lather ?" " Indeed but
tke father did." "And may be Tim himself will be there too?"
" Must certainly." "Och, then, why bother about the trifle
this side the grave ? If Tim's there, and the pig's there, sure I
can make restitution to him then, you know."—Monthly Mag.