THE MARKETS.

BEEF, pork, and mutton are but in little requisition now. There has been a trifling re-action in the market during the last week: fine mutton fetches the same price as lamb in the wholesale market. Beef also has looked up in fine joints of beef, mutton, lamb, and veal, there is not a halfpenny a pound difference in price. Upon the whole, our last week's prices may be quoted, with perhaps a halfpenny advance in the retail market. Calves heads, if you like them, may be had cheap: a large fine Essex calf's head for two shillings and sixpence, enough to dine a family of six persons: go to the slaughtering butchers about twelve o'clock on a killing day, and you will have it fresh and good; or a calf's pluck, that is, the heart, liver, &c. which you will buy for eighteen pence, or two shillings-six pounds of meat; the heart will keep till the next day: the liver, with some fine bacon (do not buy Irish), will make one good dinner: dress the heart the following day-two good meals for eighteen-pence. If you buy a pound of calf's liver of a retail butcher, he will charge you nine-pence for it: good bacon, its concomitant, is not to be got every where; look well at it; if you see little white knots in it, reject it; such is measly and unwholesome.

FISH-but little now at market: eels, haddocks, salmon, and oysters, with the little fry, all cheap enough.

POULTRY our last quotations.

VEGETABLES of all sorts very abundant, and of course daily decreasing in price, except peas, which are getting scarce and dear; if you have not laid in your stock of vegetables for pickling, lose no time.

FRUIT. AS Autumn waxeth, Pomona showers her bountiful blessings upon us: apples, pears, plums, and all the catalogue of wall-fruit, are now making their daily appearance at the markets. Have you not visited Coventgarden market this Summer yet? Then pray do so, ere its beauties are departed; before breakfast, of course, it is quite a treat.

COALS.-We did intend to make quotations under this head; but a

press of matter, and some serious observations we have to make on the coal trade, deter us from pursuing the subject this week; but we sha not forget the black diamond mer chants en passant.

MODERN MARKETS.-NO. II.

Covent Garden.

A space of about three acres of ground is occupied by this market, chiefly appropriated to the sale of vegetables and fruit; like most other markets, to be properly seen, it should be visited early: from north, -east, west, and south, the waggons come pouring in, but chiefly from the south and west. Hundreds of tons of vegetable provisions are weekly sold here, to supply what Cobbett calls the wen; and after the hurly burly of the early market is over, the shops situated in the centre of the quadrangle, are nicely set out with all in their respective lines that can tempt the eye and the palate: the finest fruit, flowers, and vegetables are here displayed. We hope none of our readers may be saluted by the complimentary recommendation of "Fine young vipers, or lively snails! excellent things, Sir, for a consumption,' from honest Mrs. Dewdney, the physical herb woman, who casts a peering eye at bye-passers, in hopes to get a customer; and I question if the oldest member of the College of Physicians could, by inspection only, more readily discover a pulmonary affected patient. To the economist we need not depict the midnight scenes, so often the subject of praise by the dissipated, and of censure by the moralist. As it was, so it is now: we do not add the sequel, hoping to see reformation. The Finish used to be what is now called the Carpenter's Coffee-house; it has become, we understand, a well-regu lated house; to this succeeded the Queen's Head, kept by Mrs. Oratriz Butler, now no longer the finish: the present (we hope it may be really the finish), is the Hope coffee-house, in James-street, Rowbotham's infamous den: when the neighbouring taverns, coffee-houses, ale-rooms, and

cider-cellars, empty themselves of their most depraved frequenters, this is the last resource. High and low, male and female, vagabonds of each sex, well and ill-dressed human timeconsumers, and life-destroyers, assemble here, mingling together in riot and debauchery; we solemnly warn any of our readers, who may be ignorant of the character of such places, to beware of entering them; and we seriously call upon the magistracy to suppress them: they are just under the eye of the chief of the metropolitan police, and it is a crying evil that they should meet toleration, whilst a poor publican is fined for selling a pint of porter, after eleven at night, to an industrious tradesman, to take home to his own habitation, to refresh him after the hard labours of the day.

Covent-garden forms part of the lands formerly belonging to a convent situated here, which, upon the suppression of religious houses under Henry the Eighth, were bestowed upon John, earl of Bedford. About 1632, the houses forming the north side of the quadrangle were built by Inigo Jones, for Francis, then earl of Bedford; and it was intended

the east and south sides should have corresponded, and handsome piazzas run round three of the sides of the square: the same architect also built the church of St. Paul's, standing on the west side of the market, which was then a chapel of ease to St. Martins-in-the-Fields; it was built at the sole expense of the earl of Bedford. It is related, that upon being questioned as to the shape of the intended building, he replied, "Build a barn." "And so I will," said the architect, "and it shall be the handsomest barn in England." After much contention as to the right of presentation of the curacy between the earl of Bedford and the rector of St. Martin's, St. Paul's, Covent-garden, was created a separate parish in 1645. There is a fine view of this church in Hogarth's excellent moral print of “ Morning.”

Billingsgate Fish Market in our

next.

INTEMPERANCE AND SOBRIETY. (Continued from p. 198),

The Sober Man.

[Illustrated by the Engraving.] We will now turn our attention to a more gratifying pieture-one which will exhibit human nature in a more amiable and interesting light. Let us endeavour shortly to describe the different situation of him who, possessed only of the same means as the former, cultivates those qualities which contribute to the enjoyment of a domestic life. The home of such a man, and the society of those by whom he is beloved, he finds to be the most satisfactory reward for all his toils-and his own comforts are enhanced by contributing to that of others. Behold him, on his return from his daily occupation, surrounded by his children, experiencing that delight and satisfaction from their presence and caresses, which none but a parent, conscious of having performed his duty towards his offspring, can properly appreciate. He looks round upon his smiling and happy family, and his heart dilates with the consciousness that he is the source from which their enjoyments flow. Witness the soul-enlivening smile of gratitude and affection with which he is regarded by his happy and contented wife, who has spared no trouble, during the necessary absence of her husband, to render his habitation comfortable against his return. Her greatest solicitude is to anticipate his wishes-to gratify his desires-convinced that by fulfilling, to the best of her ability, the duties of a wife and mother, will be the most effectual means of insuring the admiration of her husband, and evince her greatest claim to his protection and applause. By mutually endeavouring to overlook or amend the defects in the disposition of each other, they are enabled to overcome the inconve niences of life, and to look forward with confidence to many years of content and comfort, the attainment of which is the desired end of their industry and economy. Seeking no pleasures nor amusements, except those in which they can mutually

participate, and which morality can approve, all bickerings and envy is avoided, and he passes through life with the approbation and esteem of all around him. In adversity, the respect and sympathy of his friends he finds to be his best support- the consciousness of having performed the duties of his situation, his greatest consolation. The difficulties, privations, and fatigues, to which all are subject, are submitted to with cheerfulness, while it forwards, in any degree, the comfort of those on whose welfare his own happiness dependsconceiving, that by contributing as far as lays in his power, to the improvement and interest of those within his influence, or who are dependant on his exertions, he best answers the intention of his being, and secures to himself the satisfaction of an approving conscience.

What a consoling scene will the death-bed of such a man present, when contrasted with that of him we have endeavoured to describe above. When fast approaching" that bourn from which no traveller returns," will he be struggling with mental agony, and suffering under the terrors of a bad conscience? No, no. All will be calm tranquillity and resignation; his last moments will be consistent with his past life, and prove its value. You will find him surrounded by relatives and friends, who show, by their unfeigned and ill-concealed sorrow, that they are conscious of being about to lose one who is valued and beloved. With what emotion his afflicted children listen to the final instructions and advice of their dying parent, who is conjuring them to continue in the paths of morality and virtue, when the obscurity of the grave shall have hidden him for ever from their sight. But what language can adequately describe the feelings of her who has been the promoter and participator of his happiness his best comforter in sorrow and distress-her from whom he will shortly be separated for ever on this side eternity. With what affectionate anxiety she endeavours to alleviate, by her attentive kindness, the pangs of dissolution, whilst she is at the

same time striving to hide the heart rending conviction she so acutely feels, that in a few moments she will sustain a loss which neither time nor circumstance ever can replace. The object of solicitude seems to be the only one present, who in this trying hour retains his self-possession, while he is endeavouring to impart to his sorrowing friends a portion of that resignation which, with the consciousness of having fulfilled the duties of father, husband, and friend, is his chief support in this moment of sepa ration from all that he holds valuable on earth. He stretches forth his hand for the last time-his afflicted partner feels its feeble, but affectionate pressure-his last expressive glance is be stowed upon them who occupy with heaven his latest thoughts, and he resigns his soul with confidence, and without a struggle, into the hands of him who gave it. He is followed to his last home by his sorrowing rela tives-his memory is entombed in their hearts, and his example remains a model for succeeding generations.

You

Ye heartless and degraded beings, who have passed your lives in admi nistering to your sensual and depraved appetites, and are now destitute of friends, comfort, health, and home, think on what you have sacrificed at the shrine of dissipation. You for merly possessed all the requisites for an existence like this, and you voluntarily exchanged it for that which has only produced poverty, wretchedness, and unavailing remorse. are avoided as men whose principles are dangerous, and whose example is to be shunned-when, by pursuing an opposite conduct, your after-life might have been cheered by self-approbation, and you would have retired from the world with the ap proval of those from whom praise is truly valuable you might have been a useful member of that society which you now disgrace.

You, who are not beyond recall, think seriously ere you phimge from the precipice on which you stand. Do not blast for ever the hopes and expectations of those who are anxious for your well-being, and whose happiness depends on your future con

duct. You possess the power of distinguishing what is most calculated to forward your own happiness, and yet you pursue that which renders your existence miserable. Will not the many fatal examples that are before your eyes, deter you from continuing in a course beset with so many evils? Some have been cut off, by the effects of intemperance, in the pring of life--many in the pride of manhood-and the very few who have survived its effects beyond those periods, are surrounded, in their old age, by the accumulated horrors of disease, poverty, and guilt. Every day's experience must convince you, that while the drunkard is squandering his subsistence in licentiousness, that the sober and industrious are accumulating that which may be a means of future prosperity-that while the dissipated are abusing and destroying the faculties with which they are endowed, the sober are improving those qualities by which they may become ornaments to society. A few mo ments reflection must surely convince you that, at some future time, you will repent of such a perversion of your reason, and you will then look back with the most painful regret upón your mis-spent life, by which you blasted the opening prospects of your youth, destroyed the intellectual qualities of manhood, and rendered your old age hopeless. City Road.

HOUSE PAINTING.

S.

(Continued from p. 201). [Although the following does not properly come under the head of "House Painting," yet, as it is connected with our former observations on that subject, we have continued the title: next week we shall make a few concluding remarks.]

Oil-cloth Varnish and Colour, of very near Affinity to Oil-Painting, of great Use to Travellers, Officers in Camps and Armies, Seamen, &c.

Take drying or boild linseed oil, set it on the fire, and dissolve in it some good rosin, or gum-lac, which

is better; let the quantity be such as may make the oil thick as balsum, for it must not be so thin as to run about: if spread on a cloth, when the rosin or gum-lac are dissolved, you may either work it by itself, or add to it some colour; as, verdigris for a green, or umber for a brown colour, white-lead and lamp-black for a gray, or indigo and white for a light-blue.

This varnish, if spread on canvas, or any other linen-cloth, so that the cloth be fully drenched, and entirely glazed over with it, and suffered to dry thoroughly, is then impenetrable to all manner of wet; and, if carriers and higglers, and such persons as are obliged to travel in all weathers, had little light canvas cloaks made for them, and varnished with the mixture, they would remain as secure from wet as if they remained in their houses: four-and-twenty hours rain would make no more impression upon it, than if it had never rained at all.

The officers' tents, in an army or camp, and the awnings of ships, if covered over with this varnish, will be preserved as securely from all wet as the best houses, and be as warm and dry; noither will there follow any great inconvenience in decamping; for canvas, so varnished, is almost as pliable as the naked cloth, and scarcely more weighty, especially if the pure varnish be laid on, without the admixture of any colour with it.

A sheep-skin boot, well liquored over with this composition after the boot is made, and so thoroughly done over as to appear glazed on the outside, will keep out more wet than the best neat's-leather boots; being also much more pliable, easy, and light: the same may be said of a good pair of shoes.

The great reason why the oil hatoften in use, is the difficulty of case, or garment, has not been more forming the stuff into such useful habiliments, without various seams: to avoid these, let the garments, &c. be neatly made, and fitted to the wearer, before the varnish is applied; then the seams, &c. will be so perfectly secure in every part, as to prevent