We believe it was the same Jack who once complained to the late Egerton Smith that he had not reported something that he had said fairly, when that respected editor facetiously replied, that “if he ever grumbled again, he would report everything he uttered on the bench or elsewhere, _verbatim et literatim_, exactly as he delivered it.” But our readers must not suppose that because, by some strange metamorphosis more wonderful than any related by Ovid, this awful Jack was translated into a Town-Councilman, we had, therefore, a whole council of such men. Far from it. Jack was a pelican in the wilderness, a thing out of place, an accidental nuisance, how and why admitted into that body, it is impossible now even to guess. As a whole, and with this exception, the old Town Council of Liverpool consisted of some of the first and most respectable and most respected men in the place. Its fault was, that it was too exclusive; like the late Whig cabinet, too much of a family affair. It did its work well in its day; we may, indeed, say remarkably well, considering its irresponsibility. But a change was demanded with the changing times. We sometimes question, however, whether we have improved the class of men. Then it was selection, without election; now it is too often election, without selection. But the present system has this great advantage: a black sheep is not a perpetuity. We can get rid of him at the end of his three years, and that is something, and a great something. CHAPTER IX.