The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1842-09-20 00:00:00

VARIETIES.

SCRUPLES.--" Jo, how many scruples is there in a
drachm ?"—" Don't know, zur." " Well, remember,
there's eight."—" Eight ! pooh ! dad always takes his
siithout no scruples."—New York paper.

- .
Beautiful is the love, and sweet the kiss of a sister; but
when you haven't a sister handy, try your cousin—'tisn't
much worse.

" Well, Miss," said a knight of the birchen rod, " can you
decline a kiss?" " Yes, Sir," said the girl, dropping a per-
plexed curtesy, " I can—but would rather not."

A gentleman was one day composing music for a lady to
whom he paid his addresses. " Pray, Miss D.," said he,
" what time do you prefer ?" " Oh !" she replied, carelessly,
" any time will do,—but the quicker the better." The com-
pany smiled at the rejoinder, and the gentleman took her at
her word.
Two glances make a bow' two bows a how d'ye do, four
bow d'ye do's a conversation, three conversations an acquain-
tance, nine hundred and ninety-nine acquaintances a friend.

THE FRENCH LANGUAGE.—When some one was expa-
tiating on the merits of the French language to Mr. Canning,
he exclaimed—" Why what on earth, Sir, can be expected of
a language which has but one word for liking and loving, and
puts a fine woman and a leg of mutton on a par—J'amie
un gigot !"
TROTTERS AND GALLOPERS.—A young man, whose
father had made a fortune by keeping a trotter-shop, very
soon lost it by keeping race-horses, which caused a wag to
say, " his father made his money by trottere, and the son
lost it by gallopper•s."

SINCERITY AND MORALITY SUPERIOR TO POLICY.—TO
live with our enemies, as those who one day become our
friends, and live with our friends as those who, some time or
other, may become our minks, equally contradicts the
nature of hatred and the rules of friendship. It may be a
good maxim in policy, but it is a detestable one in morality.
- -

ROUNDABOUT EVIDBNCE.—Mother Hopkins told me
that she heard Green's wife say that John Glarrie's wife
told her Granny Hopkins heard the widow Basham say that
Captain Weed's wife thought that Colonel Hodkin's wife
believed that old Miss Lamb reckoned that Samuel Dun-
ham's wife had told Spalding's wife that she heard John
Trinks say that her mother told her old Miss Jenks heard
Granny Cook say that it was a matter of fact. —American
paper.

- -
HOOD versus GuosTs.—Ghosts be hanged! No such things
in nature ; all laid long ago, before the wood pavement. ,
What should they come for ? The colliers may rise for higher
wages, and the Chartist may rise for reform, and Joseph
Sturge may rise for his health, and bread may rise, and the
rising generation may rise ; but that the dead should rise only
to make one's hair rise, is more than I can credit Suppose
yourself a ghost, Well, if you come out of your grave to
serve a friend, how are you to help him ? And if it's an
enemy, what's the use of appearing to him ! if you can't
pitch into him.—New Monthly.
DISTRAINING FOR RENT.—" Speaking of Turkeys" says
the N. 0. Picayune, we heard an extensive tale yesterday..
It was told us by a doctor. A man up town on going to din':
ner a day'or two ago, found a magnificent turkey, n weigli
hfi
af tpepeennoe
dr twentyn
Ipi
eoeutntdhsa,t shmeoicl ka
di nigl i
rah oate
lofnp
ut hr ee
htasabelde.a
pAa
is: he
f
,der how
ducks in the market that morning, he began to won
they became transformed into the dish before him. , Ben,"
said he to the boy waiting upon him, " where did this turkey
come from ?" " Why, sa,' said Ben, " dat ar turkey is been
roosin' on our fence dis three nights, and dis mornin' I seize
him for de rent ob de fence 1" A great niggar that ! We
have a shrewd suspicion that he understands the laws of Tur-
key much better than his master.
ANECDOTE OF SHERlDAN.—Sheridan used to say that
the life of a manager was like the life of the ordinary cf
Newgate, a constant superintendence of executions. The
number of authors whom he was forced to extinguish was,
he said, a perpetual literary massacre, that made St. Bar-
tholomew's altogether shrink in comparison. Play-writing,
singly, accounted for the employment of that immense
multitude who drain away obscure years beside the inkstand,
and haunt the streets with iron-moulded visages, and study.
coloured clothes. It singly accounted for the rise of paper,
which had exhausted the rags of England and Scotland, and
had almost stripped off the last covering of Ireland. He
had counted plays until calculation sank under the effort,
and every rejected play of them all seemed, like the clothes
of a Spanish beggar, to turn into a living, restless, merci-
less, indefatigable progeny. . .
THE COCK OF THE WOOD.—Is of the gallinaceous order,
and the noblest species of the genus tetra°. It was formerly
common in the pine forests of Scotland and Ireland, as well
as all over England when a great part of the country was
covered with heath ; 'it is now wholly unknown in the south,
and but for the protection afforded the species by the Marquis
of Breadalbane in Scotland, would probably be now almost
extinct there. It abounds however, in the forests of Russia,
Norway, Sweden, and other parts of the north as well as
among the dense pine woods of the Mps. It varies in weight
from eight to fourteen pounds. The female of the species is
much less, and, as will be seen, entirely unlike the male in
plumage. The general colour of the male on the tipper parts
is chestnut brown irregularly marked with blackish lines
the breast is glossy greenish black, passing into black on the
under surface. In the female the head, neck, and back are
marked with transverse bars of red and black ;
The
the under
bare
beforef for
m e
cones of an
surface is pale orange yellow barred with black.
of the wood when in the forest attaches himself •princicock
pally
latter serving
to the oak and the pine tree, the cones of the.
..
foodsfoorhtiismeswill strip
and
drtilr oneth boughs
treicke
other though just beside him. He feeds also u
ant's eggs and cranberries. He is chiefl pon
moun-
tainous and woody situation. 1 • y fond of a n winter he .
resides in the
darkest and inmost part of the woods , i • n summer he ventures
out for short periods among the corn. The delicacy of his flesh
makes him a valuable prize, much sought after, and on these
occasions he appears most
and those who would take ..cautious ;he is seldom surprised,
find him in his retreats. A Min must at least venture UP to
silence of the black and ~.: s• the
At the earliest return ofsPi.o i,
Dice
of the male wood gloomy forest is broken by dial
grouse calling to his mates from some
stump or branch, and the •continues till
the trees have all their season of courtship ..
leaves and the forest is in full bloom.
During this season dawn and
the cock of the wood is seen at
at sunset extremel active of the largest branches
upon one
of the pine tree, his lowered to the feet,
tail expanded wings
neck protruded, head swollen and red, walking backward
and forward in postures most grotesque to US, while uttering
a cry to be heard at a great distance : this cry is instantly
followed by a noise like the whetting of a scythe, which
ceases and commences alternately for about an hour; and is
accompanied tiy a clapping of the wings, andno sooner
finishes than the female approaches. The numb is
number of females
that resort to his call is uncertain. The trachea of this
bird Makes a loose fold of two curves before it enters
the chest, so as to gain a great increase of length, and
is besides governed by
a peculiar apparatus of muscles.
bird -
this
Upon all other occasions is one of the moat
timorous and watchful in nature, but during the time of
the cry described he seems entirely deaf, and insensible bf
-
every danger; whatever noise may be made near him, or
•
even though fired at which is sometimes the case, for the noise
attracts both friends and foes, he still continues his call.
The female seldom lays more than six or seven eggs, which
are white marked with yellow, of the size of a common hen's.
She hatches them without the company of the cock. When
she leaves them in quest of food she covers them u dull
with moss or dry leaves. She is now extremely par y
tranquil, however wild and timorous in ordinary, tame and
are seen, as with partridge, sometimes running 3T. The young
entirely disengaged from the shell. Ants'
eggs and the wild
mountain berries are their first food ;
as they grow older the
tops of heather and the cones of
hardy bird ; their food lies pine trees. They are a
everywhere before them, and it
would seem that they should '
But this is not the case ; the increase in great abundance.
species, and still more b y their numbers are thinned by other
When the mother's care their own salacious contests.
month or more, the yo ceases, which is at the end of a
keep in great harmony Young males entirely forsake her, 'and
and then adieu to together till the beginning of spring,
all their f
each other like former friendship. They flight
game cocks, and are so inattentive to their
own safety that it 1
a shot. iappens two or three of them are killed at

Vottrp.

THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

How many a year has passed since first the chime
Of those clear bells rung on the morning air
How many are the changes time has brought
Since the long shadow sank at evening fair,
Like a vast dial, from yon worn grey tower,
Then in its pride of strength, its first and vernal hour !
And still on Sabbath morn and festival
Thy music mingles with the stir of life ;
As in the days long past, their joyous call
Swells out in eager yet harmonious strife,
Far o'er the valley and the woodland heard,
Blent with the shrill notes of the soaring bird.
The sun gleams through the tracery of the shrine
On the dark graven stones, whence listless feet
Have swept away the faint and mournful line,
Effacing, where the dead and living meet,
The last memorial of the loved of old,
Left henceforth to their rest, the undisturbed and cold.
Change comes to all on earth ! Another race
Hath gathered round the altar in past years,
And rites antique once filled the holy place,
That cherished other hopes and sterner fears ;
While the lone mass was offered for the dead,
And imaged saints have smiled beneath the fretted shade.
But these are fled! The deep mysterious tone
Hath left no echo as it passed away
Of the old hymns breathed forth in words unknown,
When truth in error's slumberous cradle lay ;
Changed is the adoring crowd, the muttered prayer,
But the Cross triumphs still, the hallowed Faith is there!
Time bath dealt sternly with all prouder things,
Yet pauseth ere he touch thy sacred walls,
As he sweeps.down with his destructive wings
Palace and haughty tower and storied halls ;
But the slow course of years beholds the spire
Through troubled ages riseunharmed,though girt with fire.
Still to thy shadow the full heart of man
Hath brought its burden as those years roll by,
The blessing on his brief and restless span,
The solemn hope bound with the marriage tie,
And the last awful honours of the grave,
When dust returns to earth, the soul to Him who gave.
These are thy gifts ! All scenes of human life
Thy pillowed aisles have witnessed,—that low door,
Duly unclosed, hath welcomed in the wife,—
The child,--ere long the man,—then the dark floor
Is worn by younger steps, and like a dream
A generation fades ! on sweeps the circling stream!
But 'mid the symbols of their mouldering rest
Rises thy treasury of hope and prayer ;
How like a witness to the thoughtful breast !
Truth's ever-burning lamp 'mid worldly glare !
And the deep voice of warning in the tone
Of thy clear bells, the breath of ages gone !
S. V., 1842.