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

LIGHT SOVEREIGNS

The following letter appeared in th
Saturday :

London Times of

, • " TO THE EDITOR OF THE TIMES.
" Sir,—The Royal mandate being in force for a sermon to
be preached for the relief of the distressed mrnufacturers on
some Sunday during the present month, I availed mvself of
the 19th inst., for the purpose of complying with the requi-
sition. The contribution was made after the sermon, and
as the churchwardens were not provided with scales and
weights, sundry light coins were deposited in the plates. On
transmitting the amount of the collection to the Bank, a
difficulty presented itself as to the defective standard of the
coin, which I find is to be made up by, the officiating minister
of the parish. Now it may be a useful caution to the mem-
bers of different congregations, that as scales are not kept at
the church doors for the purpose of weighing the sovereigns,
the contributors to the plate should satisfy themselves on
this point previously, otherwise they may inflict a penalty
upon their Pastors without intending to do so.
" I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
"June 23." " CLERICUS.
[ With respect to the law of the case, as here stated, we
can say nothing; but we certainly admit the individual
hardship complained of. The maxim that " one should
not look a gift horse in the mouth " fails here, for the first
time within our observation.]

A railroad company has been formed, chiefly by the King
of Naples and Grand Duke of Tuscany, for a railroad be-
tween Naples and Florence, by Cevita Vecchia, which, it is
said, will require a million's sterling worth of English rails,

At a late sitting of the Commissioners for Assessed
Taxes in Glasgow, an appeal was brought up by a gentleman
against a charge for armorial bearings On being examined,
the appellant disclaimed the use of any armorial bearings
whatever ; he had no armorial bearings on his carriage, none
on his plate, and, in short, did not wear them in any way
whatever. He was asked if he had no signet, ring, or stamp,
on which armorial bearings were engraved ? and replied that,
at a former period, he had used something of the kind, but
that latterly he had thrown it aside into a box, and did not
now make any use of it whatever. The apellant was here
shown a letter, written by himself, complaning of the very
charge against which he had now appealed, and admitted its
authenticity. The wax with which this letter was sealed,
bearing the impresi of armorial bearings, was then shown to
the commissioners, to the no small confusion of the com-
plainer, and the glaring fact, of course, settled the fate of
his appeal.—Edinburgh Observer.

LORD ASHBURTON'S MISSION.—Lord Ashburton's mis-
sion is nearly closed. The Commissioners from Maine and
Massachusetts have passed through this city for Washington,
there to settle the treaty about the Maine boundary, and
Mr. Webster left here for Washington on the same errand.
All the points of this treaty required by Mr. Webster were
acceded to some time since by Lord Ashburton except one ;
and on this one point he sent borne for, and by the Great
Western received, such special instructions on it as enable
him to grant all that our Government asks, and there is no
doubt that all this matter will be brought to an amicable
close in ten days. There is also a point in this new treaty
by which an arrangement is to be made, yielding us all that
we have desired in regard to impressment and the right of
search, which is to be a separate and distinct arrangement
from the present treaty on this subject between England and
the other European powers. The great difficulty will be,
however, in getting the Senate to agree to any .treaty ; for
the two extremes in Congress are so hostile to President
Tyler, that they will oppose any and every measure calcu-
lated to redound to the credit of his administration.

ATROCIOUS OUTRAGE.—We are pained to learn that ma-
nifestations of agrarian discontent are beginning to exhibit
themselves in portions of this country. It seems that on
©“..any ..Mat vou anald vat Ly prooo.dea to the lzommo of
respectable farmer of the name of Patrick Slattery, of Faha,
near Kildimo. Slattery had intimation of the visit, and, to
secure himself from what he conceived would prove the con-
sequences had he remained at home, he went to a neighbour-
ing police-station, informed the police of the circumstance,
and lodged in a friend's house during the night. A party of
police went at once to Slattery's and secreted themselves in
an adjoining barn. About ten o'clock p.m. the armed ag-
gressors made their appearance, broke the windows of Slat-
tery's residence, and were about forcing the door, when it
was opened by persons within. Michael Slattery, the bro-
ther of Patrick, who was inside at the time, was questioned
by the party, and not giving what they appeared to think
satisfactory replies about Patrick, he (Michael) was dragged
outside, placed upon his knees, and threats were uttered by
the party that they would shoot him. At this juncture the
police fired upon the assailants, who returned the fire, and
a general fight commenced, in which one of the police was
severely injured by gun-shot wounds in the leg and arm, and
in which one of the assailants, who subsequently made his
escape, was also desperately wounded, blood having been
traced on the following morning a considerable distance on
the road. None of th party hare been taken : the police
are yet in pursuit. The cause of this atrocious outrage, as

we have heard, is, that Slattery took some land a week or
two before, out of which a widow Madigan had been ejected
which land he was warned not to interfere with. We are
informed that five persons were transported kit year for an
attack on a man of the name of Giltenane relative to the
same farm. Sir Ralph Gorr is the head landlord.—Limer-
ick Reporter.

When you find another man doing more, business than you
are, and you are puzzled to know the reason, just look over
his advertisements in the newspapers. That's all.
" Please, Sir," said the son of a licensed victualler to a
newspaper proprietor, •` my father begs you to lend him your
paper, he only wants to read it." " Tell your father,"
answered the proprietor, " first to send me his dinner, I
only want to eat it."--Welshman.

A boy asked one of his father's guests who his next door
neighbour was, and when he heard his name, asked him it
the gentleman was not a fool. " No, my little friend," said
the guest, " he is no fool, but a very sensible man ; but why
did you ask the question ?" " Why," said the little boy,
" my mother said the other day you were next door to a fool,
and I wanted to know who lived next door to you."
IMAGINARY WANTS.—If we create imaginary wants, why
do we not create imaginary satisfactions ? It was the hap-
pier frenzy of the two to be like the mad Athenian, who
thought all the ships that came into the harbour to be his
own, than be still tormenting ourselves with insatiable de-
sires.—Bulstrode's Essays.
A gentleman, seeing his wife in a very sullen mood, asked
her how she did. She answered him that she was not sick,
nor yet very well. Nay, quoth he, then I may even turn
thee out of doors, for I only promised to cherish thee " in
sickness or health ;" which answer awakened her sullen
humour.

CRITICISM.—A rustic being asked his opinion of a picture
of three pigs feeding, painted by Morland, said, " Well, they
be pure-loike, sure-ly," scratching his head; "but there be
one fault still." When asked what that fault might be, be
replied, " Why, whoever seed three pigs a feeding without
one on 'em having his foot in the trou?"

TUN SUN FLOWER.—ADVANTA Gin' ARISING PROM ITS
CULTIVATION.—A correspondent in an agricultural publi-
cation states, that the oil obtained from the seed of the sun-
flower will produce bas-light at one-fourth the labour. one-
fourth the cost, and in half the time necessary to obtain a
corresponding supply from coal. with the additional and de-
cided advantage of being wholly free from any nauseous
effluvia or smell, affording a light far surpassing in brilliancy
that obtained from coal, and emitting less heat by 100 de-
grees than coal gas. He considers it preferable to any foreign
oil for culinary and domestic purposes, and recommends the
enltivation of the flower as the means of affording a profitable
employment to the increasing population of the British
empire.

ScHooL Boys.—Start not, parental reader, nor, in the
terror of anticpation, send, without loss of a single day, for
your son at a distant academy, mayhap pursuing even such
another career. Trust thou to the genial, gracious, and be-
nign vis mediatrix nature. What though a few clouds be-
dim and deform " the innocent brightness of the new born
day ? " Lo, how splendid the naeridan ether ! What though
the frost seem to blight the beauty of the budding and blow-
ing rose ? Look how she revives beneath dew, rain, and
sunshine, till your eyes can even scarce endure the lustre !
What though the waters of the sullen fen seem to pollute the
snow of the swan ? They fall off from her expanded wiags,
and, pure as a spirit, she soars away, and descends into her
own silver lake, stainless as the waterlilies floating
enroundarl:!`..
breast. And shall the immortal soul suffer lasting
ec
nt
~lL
nation from the transient chances of its nascent state--an
that ! iff_
less favoured than material and immaterial thing.
_lsevery
rish ? No, it is undergoing endless transmigrations,
of impressions
hour a being different, yet the stainssame—darkure
—rueful incriptions effaced—many an erasure blotted out
forgotten—and
once thought permanent, but soon altogethererrnption in which it
vindicating in the midst of the earthly'
character, and end—often
but all at
is immersed its own celestial origin;
flickering, or near blown out, like in inextinguishable and
once self-reillumined,and h
8 •inheaven. Therefore, bad as
self-fed radiance, like a star in eto the mother who ad
h they were rocked—the nurse by
patiently for a few years, and
suckled—the schoolmaster by whom they
whom they were hangman by whom it was prophesied
boysth —the
—inawnbdieadisgrac
were flogged—and
they were to be
ae 1
le
at altchuuest
louse
do—f
transfigured—one into
senates and
a preacher of
you wilt see
vi
ti et n 1 n g
tirmuence, that lie almost all '
persuades men to
such winning 1
e "pother into a parli
be Christians— . amentary orator, who
commands the app
1 • - in •
Reads his history a nation's eyes "
--
one
into a painter, before whose thunderous heavens the
storms of Poussin " pale their ineffectual fires "—another
into a poet, composing and playing, side by side, on his own
peculiar harp, in a concert of vocal and instrumental music,
with Byron, Scott, and Words th
wor —one into a great soldier,
who, when Wellington is no more, shall, for the freedom of
the world, conquer a future Waterloo—another, who, hoist-
ing his flag on the " mast of some tall ammiral," shall, like
Eliab Harvey in the T •
enaeratre, lay two three-deckers on
board at once, and clothe some now nameless peak or pro-
montory in immortal glory, like that shining on Trafttlirm—
Recrealioits of Christopher North.

turning the old nursery tale in verse, after the style of the
Ingoldsby Legends. He has succeeded very well on the pre-
sent occasion. The story is well done, and is now made food
for laughter, jest, and merriment. We defy any one to read
this work without frequently indulging in " a roar." The
illustrations are capitally executed, and are full of spirit.

PASSAGES FROM AN EDITOR'S NOTE-BOOK
(For the Liverpool Standard.)

HENRY MELTON

CHAPTER 111

It will not be necessary that I should bring before the
reader any thing more than I have already mentioned, inci-
dentally, with respect to the early life of the subject of my
present sketch. In fact it was only as a schoolboy that I
knew him, previously to the meeting detailed in the preced-
ing chapter ; and boyhood seldom pursues his inquiries into
the history of individuals very far beyond the surface which

•—, -
,nted to him. Besides, to enter into particulars, even

if they were of interest sufficient to warrant me in doing so,
would involve more of my own personal history than I choose
at present to disclose ; and the reader must therefore be con-
tent with so much of that of my friend as he may be able to
gather from—(l am afraid I must call them)—the confessions
which will be hereafter brought before him.
On the day succeeding the interview described in the last
chapter, I found myself, towards evening, seated with poor
Melton by the window of his little apartment in Walnut-tree
Walk. I had shared with him his tea,—which, by the kind
hands of his landlady, had been neatly prepared and fur-
nished with a few such little delicacies as were suited to his
—and our conversation had assumed a vein of
cheerfulness which had restored much of the equable and
even buoyant spirits which he naturally possessed. An oc-
casional vein of sadness, it is true, flowed through his re-
_ glanced upon any topic calculated to call up
ctions of the past ; and there was a bitterness of tone,
,ingled here and there with his most lively sallies. He
-lore collected, however, and at ease ; and, in a while,
he could speak freely of his future prospects, and even, with
tolerable equanimity, recur to past sorrows and disappoint-

invalid state,-

marks if they

" You will wonder, George," he remarked, after a pause
in our conversation, during which a thoughtful and saddened
expression had crept over his features. " You will wonder,—
to see your early school friend as you

and well you may !

see him now

There was a time when if I could have looked
forward to this day, I should have thought that I gazed upon
a dismal impossibility—the phantasy of a disturbed dream.
And yet how infinitely more happy am I now—here, in this
poor apartment"--(and he looked round upon his neat, though
humble dwelling with a smile of bitterness)—" than I have
been when, in a worldly sense, brighter and better prospects

were still before me!"
He paused for a few moments, and then resumed in a tone
of melancholy earnestness—" Yes, George, the first bright
dream of life—the dream of love, of a happy home, of a holy
calling—is gone for ever ; and now—but why trouble you

with my miseries e"
I strove to lead his thoughts into another channel, and he
listened to me—at least I thought he listened--whilst I
pointed out to him the path of ambition, which was still open
to one gifted as he was. I saw his eyes glisten ; I saw his
cheek flushing, and his breast heaving with excitement ; tears
at length—heavy tears—rolled down his cheeks, and he
sobbed aloud. I painted a bright prospect before him—a
calm and hoppy lot, if not one such as hope had painted in
his earlier years ; but he heard me not. The notes of a
strolling musician turning a French piano beneath the win-
dow, had abstracted alike ear, eye, and sense ; and poor
Melton was alone for a time, communing with the past.
" That strain, George," at length he murmured faintly,
" what memories does it bring to me ! How it whispers to
me of the scenes of boyhood which we trod together—

Of Brignal banks so fresh and fair,
And Greta's woods so green!'

I see them at this moment rising up before me, called up
by the magic of that simple air ; and its notes, like mocking
fiends, drag me to that latticed chamber with its clustering
flowers, which used to " lap the senses in Elysium ;" and to
the presence of that fair being, sweeter than they, and
faded, now, as they are. I hear at this moment the notes
streaming from her parted lips ; I see her, at this moment,
' Trembling to hear the sound
Of her own voice and lute ;
Blushing to look around
On listeners so mute.'
Oh! I would give worlds to forget all, of which that
simple air brings to me the harrowing memory ; and yet that
poor fellow who comes, day by day, to play it beneath my
window, has had—how often heaven knows !—the last
penny which I have possessed ; and has seldom indeed, as
now, gone away without some token—aye, for the very pain
which in his innocence he has inflicted upon me. To how
many a thoughtless happy heart the strolling musician
brings gladness ; to how many bereaved ones misery un-

utterable !"
The chord once struck which vibrated to the seat of poor
Melton's grief, I foresaw that the veil which hid all his
heart from me would not long be permitted to remain ; nor
was I mistaken, for, after a short period, he went on—
" You knew Maria B--; how formed she was to win
adoration ; how I loved her. But no ; you cannot conceive
the depth of such a love as mine. Yet she, even she it was
whose inconstancy has wrecked this heart. But she knew it
not. Oh, no' they told her that I was unworthy ; that I
was an outcast; that I loved another : and she cast me
away to be the thing I am. I have promised, George, that
I
would tell you all, and I will do so ; but why make a long
storyo! what may be conveyed in a few words ? I was mad,
and vain,nameand wild ; I had won honours and a distinguished
that career which was my chosen one ; I was
courted andattered, and I fell ;—but not to guilt ! I
trifled with
tb,ti
loved her still, e a
love which I had vowed t) Maria ; but I
and her only .'The close of another term—
my last—was to make her mine ; the close of that term saw

her another' s ! ~

An exclamation which escaped me roused poor Melton
from the stupor of grief into which the recital of this deso-
lating tale had cast him. No, no," he interrupted plead-
- " she was not false ; she loved me still—
But treacherous tongues can poison truth ;

And to he wroth with those we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.'
She loved me still with all the deep love of a woman's heart ' •
but she thought that she had been slighted—betrayed ; and
the madness of that love itself
,gaie to the arms of
another ; and that other a villain. '

CHAPTER IV

bridge to London," he resumed,
I had run up from C
a pause, "to spendaamfew days, and was—why should I
?—immersed in a roundofydoisnsliyparteimonaiannidngfoslilsyt,ewr.beni
a letter reached me, written by m
George, our
bad three once, you know, , buttakenthaawt scourgeay,tao; of
arid
the
—consumption—had already
last is now at rest beneath the quiet sboedrofNo,eurnr
evniltlagm.e.heihcluirhcaa
hd-
yard. That letter told me of the ea
befallen me ;—that Maria was no longer my own ;
that in
few short days she would be,irrevocably,. the bride of
another. It enclosed, too, a brief and hurried note from
beloved object—not blaming me for my guilt--not re-
but breathing an earnest prayer for mfyren.e...
happi-
ness, whilst she bade me a firm and yet a tender a
' You will not be happy, llarry,'—she told me, and oh,
how
prophetic has been the assurance you will not be happy
in the course of life which you have chosen. Yet humble
though the pretensions of your Maria may be to share the
lot of one to whom such prospects are within reach, if you
use rightly the opportunities and the talents which you pos-
sess, she dares not incur the risk of building up her future
happiness upon the love of one so unstable—so utterly reck-
less—even if that love was hers. They tell me, however,
ithat you love another ; and I do not complain. You deserve
a brigh better than I could ever be to you.

deny it

family—

proaching me,

► raP I knot thae, bitt

duaornont, such 28 lora olon,

on would no

you could not, be unkind to your early playmate ; and yo

. . . .
poor Maria shall therefore not be a hindrance to your future
peace. Your sister will have told you of the step whieh I
am about to take—that in a few days you will be freed from
our foolish and childish engagement. I have nothing there-
fore to do more than to wish you happy—happier than I can
ever be—and to bid you, eternally, farewell !'

"George—that cutting, cruel, though kindly intended
letter is impressed, and will ever be impressed, as if in letters
of fire, upon my heart. Yet, at the moment when received,
it only seemed to plunge me into more reckless abandon-
ment. For some days—for above a week, I flew madly from
crime to crime. I drank until my senses reeled in delirium.
I did worse—l gamed, and I only awoke to consciousness
when prostrated upon a bed of sickness ; and my heart
knawed, and my brain on fire with the knowledge that, in my
madness, I had wrecked my fortune irrecoverably, and that
I was now, at the outset of life, with all the fond hopes
which were built upon me—with a doting father looking up
to me as the stay of his declining years—with a sister who
loved me as her own soul—with one, too, whom, lost as sbe
was to me, I loved still, better than the world, or, I fear,
than eternity itself ;—in that hour I felt that I was become
that wretched, outcast thing—a beggared gamester !"
His features writhed in unutterable agony, whilst he al-
' most shrieked from betwixt his clenched teeth this climax of
his misery. With a strong effort, at length he mastered his

emotion and proceeded.
" The first hour of consciousness however, wretched though
it found me, was not one of inaction. I started from my bed
of sickness ; and fevered as I was, (and at this distance of
time I can fancy no other than that I was delirious too,) I
threw myself into the mail, and on the following evening I was
seated in the hotel at Greta Bridge, within a few miles of the
little village of G-, pale and haggard, and wondering
almost upon what errand I had come, or by what instrur-
tality I had been borne, to that well remembered, once loved,
but now loathed and distressful scene.

" How I passed that fearful night to this hour, I never
knew. It was not, however, in sleep ; for the dawn found
me seated upon a mossy stone, in the park at Rokeby, by
the confluence of the Tees and Greta, where, lulled, perhaps,
by the silver sound of the meeting waters, or by the busy
) within me, I bad