The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1842-06-28 00:00:00

memories of the past, which it called u;
remained for hours. Upon that very spot, George,—how
well I remember it !—were spoken the first words of love
which this tongue ever uttered—the last too ! Upon that
very spot, mingled with the gliding of those sweet waters,
was whispered the chaste acknowledgment of a happy heart,
which bore bliss alike to her by whom it was uttered, and to
him whose ears drunk in its soft music.

-- _
" That dawning morn—would that I could recal it ! The
cool air never since played upon this faded forehead so grate-
fully as then. Peace never rushed upon me with such a tranced
suddenness as when I bathed my fevered face in those trans-
lucent waters. My steps absolutely bounded as I passed
along the shaded walks, beneath the chesnut trees and
spreading oaks. And yet, if it be true that
' The coming events cast their shadows before,'

my feet should on that bright morning have been glued to
the green sod. But why prolong my wretched tale ? In a
few hours I had breakfasted, and was careering along
towards the quiet village, in which, the past blotted from my
memory, and a bright dream before me, I pictured the fair
form of her I loved, advancing to greet me, with the smile
' of olden time' upon her cheek, and joy and grace meet-
ing in the wavy motion of ' her form most infantine.'
" I had passed the village green ; I had passed the village
church, and was approaching that spot within which all that
this heart ever loved was nurtured, when the bells rung out
a merry peal, and I observed that every living being whom I
met wore a face of something akin to gladness, and that eyes
familiar to my youth gazed at me as I passed with a com-
miserating look. Yet even these awakened me not from the
dream into which I had fallen. On, on, in a stupid, stony'
trance of fancied bliss, I passed; and not a flitting thought
of ill—not a throb of the startled heart—not a flutter of the
pulse—checked my blindly confiding hopes. I had neared
the little winding path which led across the daised lawn ; my
eye was already fixed upon the latticed windows of that sweet
dwelling place; my senses already drunk in the soft perfumes
of the clustering honeysuckle which hid its porch, when a
sound of approaching wheels and a buzz of voices—happy
voices I thought them—compelled me to turn aside for a
moment. A post-chaise swept past me, its windows down,
and the postillion wearing bridal favors ; and as I looked
around, standing almost at the very gate which had so often
yielded to my hand—at which I had exchanged so many
parting words of love,—my eyes were blasted by the sight of
her upon whose sweet image my fevered and delirious
thoughts had wandered through the lone night, seated in
bridal array, side by side, with the chosen being who was
from henceforth to be her all—the partner of her future
pilgrimage on earth—her husband !
" I sprung forward with the energies of a madman. I
clung to the carriage until it whirled up to the door ; and
when Maria stepped out, blushing and seeming happy, I
sunk down with a wild shriek at her feet, and knew no more,
until I found myself, weeks afterwards, at home,—ill, very
111,—with my beloved sister watching by my pillow. From
that hour, George, I have been the wrecked, lost thing you

see me

He ceased. The feverizli, forced energy which had sup-
ported him through his painful narrative was gone ; and it
was not until nearly an hour had passed that he became
sufficiently composed to enable me to take my leave.

JENNY CARELESS;
OR, ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE

(For the Liverpool Standard.)
How frequently in our sojourn through life do we meet
with characters which, if we saw delineated in a book, we
should conclude were overdrawn and exaggerated. Not long
since our own town furnished an instance of a man who spent
thirty years of his life, and tens of thousands of his money,
in undermining, in every direction, the earth, that infinite
wisdom had made solid, and this for no other reason than
the satisfaction of his own ill-directed mind ; and who that
has ever had a peep at the noisome and innumerable tunnels,
thousand arches, unsightly mounds, and deep holes that dis-
figure one part of Edge-hill, is not struck with amazement at
the magnitude of the mischief, and grief that so large a por-
tion of the time of an immortal and accountable being should
have been so mis-spent, in marring the fair work of creation.
But the opening remark of this paper was suggested to the
mind of the writer more forcibly than ever during a recent
brief visit to a little village near Chester, in the outskirts of
which resides a complete` female outlaw," who is the terror
of the surrounding farmers and landowners. She does not
certainly possess the redeeming traits that some of the males
' of outlaw notoriety have credit for, (for instance, Sir Hum-
phrey linaston, who stole from the rich to give to thepoor,)
unless, indeed, she considers herself the most needy of that
class. The constant risks this strange individual has run has
earned for her the appellation of Jenny Careless ; and
throughout the neighbourhood she is scarcely known by
any other name. Jenny is an unmarried woman, now
about thirty-six years of age, and inhabits a cottage,
in a secluded spot, about a mile from the high road. She
does not possess one perch of land, although she is the pro-
prietess of two cows, three donkeys, and a number of pigs,
&c . ; and in the keep of these quadrupeds the craft of our
spinsteris chiefly displayed, for it requires little ingenuity to
feed cattle when you have plenty of land ; but to graze with-
out a field, and fodder without a farm, and that most abun-
dantly, has been left to the subject of the present sketch to
discover. Jenny has reversed the order of things, and the
time for her cattle to regale themselves is during the silent '
and dingy hours of midnight, while the proprietors of the
adjacent fields, weary with their honest toils, are fast locked
in the arms of Morpheus. Then it is that Jenny, without
shoes and stockings, creeps along a lane, and dislodges a
hedge-stake for her cattle to get over and luxuriate in the
well cultivated pastures of her richer neighbours ; but should
some vigilant farmer surprise her, and prevent their return
by the gap, her magic hand struck sharply on the flank of
her well instructed king, and her more magic voice with
" Now, Betty, for thy life," " Now, Sally, for thy life," is
the signal for a leap from the unwieldy creatures that would
not disgrace a steeple-chase. Occasionally, even Jenny
Careless is outwitted, and her unlucky cattle found in the
Pound. Then she bewails her unhappy fate, and if tears will
not avail for their release, she pays the money, declaring the
obdurate farmer shall be none the richer, as she will have it
out of him before many days are over. Once lately, poor
"Betty" could not resist the odoriferous perfume of a clover
field; and as ill luck would have it, was found there by the
owner, who straightway marched her into the Pound : release
was refused without the payment of 17s. In vain did Jenny
cry, and plead she had not a shilling in the world ; at last,
when nothing else would do, she proposed to give, as a re-
muneration, a heap of manure that stood in front of her cot,
which offer was accepted, and the cow delivered to its mis-
tress, the innocent farmer little calculating that she would
spend the ensuing hours, which he devoted to needful rest,
in removing the
.manure into her cabin ; and that the next
morning, when he took his cart to fetch it, he would be ex-
ultingly told he dared not touch a spadefull.
During this summer there were some bricks to be made
in the neighbourhood, and as it was necessary to burn the
bricks, it was also necessary to provide coals. Vi, ell ; to put
it quite out of Jenny's power to purloin them, a man was
duly ensconced as watchman, but alas the Roman law is not
in force in happy England, and sleeping at his post is not
here punishable with death ; consequently, this poor fellow
was not proof against the attacks of the drowsy god ; but
wnen did Jenny Careless lose aught by sleeping ; and .
though the poor man to his own fancy had " only a wink,"
she contrived to lay in a winter's stock of coal. In tact,
Jenny is the pest of the village ; not a hen can hatch here
brood in peace for Jenny's pigs—not a duck can swim the
pit in quiet for Jenny's ducks—not a lady walk the lanes
without being menaced by Jenny's cows—not a youth pur-
sue his angling without the chance of being kicked into the
water b Jenny's donkeys. Reader, this is no tale of
romance;; but how frequently do we meet with characters
which, if we saw faithfully drawn in a book, we shoulu con-
exaggerated.
sider rr

theLraewin irLkliktieleairpmocokneety via,ritehvearyhloilkeeitnoilto;se and those who
should roll' away How TO F;\ LL FROM A HORSE.—In all falls, the horse-
mant
frequently
canftne,rlheset
fiann
sh,isalndtwruaiygtgflireo from hisris
ehorse i
again
as h
he
soonstri
strike
as h he
wi possiblytil his
injure n the direction in
legs or head.
is apt to crush ai'idhappens that the horse himself
him. Indeed, there is scarcely
which his rider lies,
again self-possession often any. hard rider who
has not been thus served ; but here
stands. his friend. When he sees
the body of his horse approaching
himself by meeting it with one him, he frequently saves
booLd of his feet, and, by obtaining
a fulcrum, shoves his own
InstePae
reach. Coolness in this V likewise serves the
houryofalong' the ground out of his
sportsman in another way.
of losing hold of his
reins, and abandoning his horse to hi's o
nines, he keeps them
as the man
who is flurried at this time invariably does, ''''ill
gentle-
in his band, if not always, perhaps in
and thus secures his horse. It was the remark'ls,out of ten,
we have before alluded, and who
man
from his desperate system of riding,
antndivus
.in
arte) was,
his fine horsemanship,
.known to have more falls thaensPaint,e
to whom
othrr man during the time he hunted Leicestershire, that:
nothing bad so low an appearance as that of a man running
on foot over ft field calling
.out, " Stop my horse."—Th
Horse and the Hound, by N:mrod.