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respect. What Rogers' answer was at the time, I do not! Why did Lady Byron take the house of Samuel Rogers ? know; but he spoke of the charge to me as a cruel slander, It was consecrated to genius, and what has she to do with and folding the letter, shook his head mournfully, more than that, except as a warning? once muttering, “Poor Byron! poor fellow, he was hardly used!" And now, Lady Byron is to reside in that beautiful -Did you ever see a regular flood in the mountains ? a home, to tread the hall that kings and emperors were proud perfect rush and whirlwind of waters leaping down every to enter, and dispense cold hospitality from that exquisite pass in the hills, and pouring in torrents from the sky? breakfast-room which so many remember with pleasure. I, Three days and nights has the water poured down upon us in for one, could as soon forget a glimpse of the brightest cor- this lovely mountain region, till the very trees stooped to ner of Paradise as the mornings spent in that beautiful resi- the force and burden of the storm, and men walked hurdence. Here is a pansy that he gave me one afternoon as riedly to and fro in the village streets under their saturated we walked in his tiny flower-garden which lay beneath the umbrellas like shanghai's driven from their barnyard shelter. windows of the breakfast-room—and here are the volumes The mountain stream which I could almost have passed of his poems got up under his own eye with so much time dryshod last week, is roaring and swelling and careering and care, miracles of art and genius, all souvenirs of a through the valley like mad. I can see its amber-bued thousand kindnesses, and many a pleasant hour, which waves sweeping downward through gardens and corn-fields, brings sweet thoughts and regretful tears up from the heart but yesterday lifted fifteen feet above its surface, and the together.

rain pours yet. And so Lady Byron is to succeed Rogers. I would rather There will mischief come of this. People look excited hear that the whitest snows of Mont Blanc-cold and icy and frightened. They rush eagerly up and down the street. as she is, but so much more beautiful-were drifting through The waters give a sudden roar and rush on madder than those hospitable rooms. The very sweep of her garments ever. What is it? A bridge has given way up stream, on that genial floor will be like scattering the icicles of and its heavy timbers are tearing away at the mill-dam. Greenland among the roses of Italy. Could no more suita- like hunted tigers. Some plunge over and go pitching up ble purchaser than this be found for one of the most beau- and down through the torrents—some batter against the dam. tiful residences in London ?

There they run again. Of course, nothing could stand How false is the idea that men of genius improve their that! the bulk head has given way at the dam, and half-aprospects of happiness by marrying common-place women, dozen lovely gardens are swept off as a boy would rub picespecially women of narrow hearts. A mind rich in luxuri-tures from his slate. Here comes a barn straggling and rolling ousness both of thought and feelings, matched with a sterile downstream half submerged and with one corner lifted sharply brain, and a heart whose aspirations never rise above pro- up. A half score of dripping fowls are fluttering about it yet, prieties, must be checked in its own natural developments and a fattened pig is squealing lustily, as he battles with the without having the power to exalt the common-place into water. Poor fellow, he's gone before we have time to pity companionship. Genius may dispense with great intellec- him. The pork for some poor family swept off in a minute, tual superiority without an overthrow of happiness, but it along with the cabbage, and corn with which it was to have must have depth of feeling and warmth of heart, or lan- been garnished. guish for want of sympathy.

News from the other end of the village. The tavern Lady Byron was not to blame. She had no idea of the stables are under water, and forty horses stand knee-deep requirements of a nature like Byron's. His fiery passion in their stalls, sensible of their peril, poor animals, and was met with the most rigid decorum, and she had no idea doing their best to break loose. There is some danger of that anything else was of consequence. She would doubt of the tavern itself. The waves are dancing around the less have made an admirable wife to any common lord of long verandah, and that is filled with frightened travellers. the aristocracy, but had no idea of that lofty peerage One is an Englishman with his wife, who thinks it very which takes rank from a higher court than that of St. James. 'orrible to go out a-pleasuring, and 'ave their 'oss drowned She had no sympathy with Byron's excellences, nor forbear- before their faces. The Englishman is helpless. He drove ance with his faults. The extraordinary and the ordinary his own buggy out a-pleasuring, but don't know how to get came together, clashed, and fell apart.

his 'oss out of danger, and has no idea how his harness The high-born common-place woman could not compre. should be put on. Dallas, one of the best designers in the hend the heart she still had power to torture, and all his country, is there, and teaches the Englishman, with his own genius had not force enough to lift her one step higher hands, how to 'arness a 'oss. than the level in which birth and education had left her. Everybody works manfully, and the animals are saved, The rashness and the fault were Byron's in thus mating Englishman, wife, and all. himself; in attempting to gather grapes from brambles, and There comes a boy in great distress, his wet hair fiying moss-roses from ice-drifts, he filled his life with bitter disap back, his cap crushed under one arm, the mud splashing pointment, and died, leaving behind many a record of around him as he runs. degraded genius that a true mate would have saved him What is it? Why, Big Jake and a colored gentleman from.

have gone over to the point, fishing out floodwood; the It is a curious thing, but told me as a fact in England, by river has suddenly made an island of the point; they are those who know Lady Byron well—that since Byron's death prisoners, and—oh! dreadful—without whisky. Nothing to she has become desperately attached to his memory, and drink-wet through—and nobody daring enough to carry a speaks of him with the most respectful fondness.

whisky-bottle over. Something must be done.

The boy A little of this womanly tenderness might have saved the wants a wooden bottle and a rope ; it is just possible that a poet from his early death, but it is of little consequence to strong man may Aling the bottle within reach—that Big the ashes that lie in the shades of Newstead Abbey. Affec- Jake and the colored individual may not get out of spirits tion that comes too late is but a mockery to the dead.

and give up.

The boy goes off, and comes back again, looking joyful | under Maretzek, and what will come of it; the new and greatly comforted. His friends are rescued; Big Jake theatre driving ahead so fast for Laura Keene, with specuwaded waist deep into the flood, and holding out his brawny lations as to what it will be like, and what sort of dishes will arms, received the whisky-bottle with shouts of thanksgiv- be served up; the Metropolitan, under Burton, and its prosing, as it came whirling over the torrent. He and the pects, with who he will have, and what he can get; Walcolored individual have removed the stopper, and are imbib. lack's, so certain of being delightful, and up to the reach of ing its contents, turn and turn, as brothers in affliction its rivals, whatever that may be—all these points, with the should.

incredible fact that the Dramatic Copyright Bill has really News from down stream: the noble tannery over which become a law, and the hope that men of genius will, in con. we walked last Tuesday, is swept away; the torrent is sequence, give us some really good plays, renders the con. sweltering with hides, sprinkled with leather, and red ing theatrical season of unusual interest and general discuswith tan bark. The dam goes, too, and portions of the cot- sion. The Broadway, it is said, comes down at the end of ton factory which we were admiring at our last ride for its the season. As it appears now undermined and propped up, picturesque effect in a gorge of the hills. No mail to-day ; in consequence of building upon the adjoining lot, it looks no news but of broken bridges, and property swept away; as though it might come down at any moment. The only poor men made poorer, and rich men disabled from helping matter of dramatic talk that isn't prospective, is Bourcicault's them in their misfortunes.

new play of “Victor and Hortense.” Bourcicault is an excelI wish you could see the Fall, back of the fine old coun- lent joiner-workman. He cuts, and joins, and fits to perfectry mansion in which the hospitality of dear friends has tion, but the product of his labors is frequently like Joseph's housed me. Indeed, I wish you could see Prattsville this coat, of many colors. “Victor and Hortense ” is made up moment, all in commotion, as it is, like a beautiful woman of a rag from Don Cæsar, a slip from The Lady of Lyons, in a passion. But I see Dallas going up in all the storm a bit here and a fragment there—the result, a very pleawith his charming young wife, both artists, and rest assured sant, smart, agreeable sort of garment. We should like to we shall have a sketch of the Fall, at least, for the Magazine. see Bourcicault and charming Miss Robertson permanently How fortunate that Dallas should have come this way, on with us. Bourcicault is thoroughly intellectual, perfect in his bridal tour. Monday we all stood around him, as his knowledge of the stage as an art, and of all men brings he took a sketch from under the very bridge that has been the purpose, ambition, attainments and knowledge requisite swept away. Lucky that we did not venture under it again, for the elevation of the drama to its proper and attainable and fortunate to have got the sketch before the flood swept artistic level. it away.

-A SUBJECT of universal talk, in both town and country, is -MILLARD FILLMORE is an ill-used man. If we were a Mr. Everett's splendid oration before the Scientific ConvenPresidential candidate, and as good a looking man as he is, tion at Albany. We shall not pause to eulogize it. There we should certainly withdraw our name from the canvass, if is not an epithet in the language that hasn't already been we were compelled to see at every step such ill-looking exhausted in its praise ; but let us congratulate our country. "counterfeit presentments” as some of those which now men that Edward Everett is now lifted above all the smoke, stare at us from the shop windows, purporting, by the largest the stain, the bitterness and malignancy of political strife, into artistic license, to be portraits of Mr. Fillmore. The other the clear and higher atmosphere of art and science, where candidates do not appear to be so badly treated. A Presi- his genius shines effulgent and serene. If the fullness of dential candidate expects to have his good name filched fame belongs to any man at this moment, Edward Everett is from him by his enemies, but why must he be robbed of his he. In oratory, the loftiest of arts, he has successively good looks by his friends ?

achieved triumphs of the most complete and enduring kind,

and his efforts are destined to immortality, by the side of -George Sand has been “ deranging," to use her own the finest productions of the Grecian and Roman forum. word, Shakspeare's As You Like It, for the French stage. The Scientific Convention, altogether, was a success. For Her version is not an adaption of that exquisite production, a week the public were crammed high with science. Fashion but a monstrous corruption of it. The plot is essentially caught it up, and led it a dance; it stalked into every altered. The melancholy Jacques is made to fall in love with circle; drawing-rooms became suddenly learned; scandal Celia, and these two become the real hero and heroine of glided trippingly into its abstrusities; beau and belle flirted the story. Violent incidents and melo-dramatic situations over it; young misses shook their curls and lisped its big. are substituted for the tender melancholy, soft love, and gest phrases; Maretzek and La Grange were temporarily innocent gaiety of the original. The spirit of the play is forgotten; fortune-hunters at the watering-places became missed altogether. Its perfect Arcadian beauty, its unsur- fossil-hunters; for a week science was the rage.

The passable sweetness, its pastoral simplicity, do not enter into opera opened—it was shown the back-door, and politely the composition of the French “derangement.” But it is not cut. to be wondered at. The French mind never could understand Among other things demonstrated at the Convention was our great dramatist; and of all his plays this delicious story, a theory of the gradual advancement of the Florida reefs to this sweetest flower, this purest gem in Shakspeare's coro- the island of Cuba, and the probable eventual annexation of net, is the least adapted to the false glitter, shallow senti- this Queen of the Antilles to our shores. This certainly ment, and factitious philosophy of the French drama. would be a realization of the doctrine of “Manifest Destiny"

in a way not exactly apprehended at the Ostend Conference. -Town talk in most circles turns upon matters dramatic If Nature takes to filibustering in our behalf, we might and operatic; the new season at the Academy of Music, as well concede the principle of universal rule at once.

Saratoga, a Tale of 1787, will remind the reader of -The Baked Head, and other Tales, need not alarm our Cooper. It is modelled upon the novels of that distinguished readers. The matter is not near so terrible as the name author, without possessing much of their genius. It is might imply to a nervous imagination. The volume is a absorbing in interest, almost intensely so, and is certain of collection of Tales, being the second issue of “Putnam's carrying those who commence it, through to the end. In Library of Choice Stories,” put together in a neat form, and descriptive passages, it is remarkably fine; but the invention selected with fine taste and good judgment. Many of the of the author appears to have exhausted itself upon the cha- stories come from “ Household Words," which is sufficient racter of Wild Jake, and the incidents appertaining to him. assurance of their excellence. (G. P. Putnam & Co.) Around this character a wild fascination is thrown, but the

-T. B. PETERSON has published a new, complete, and author's genius never gets beyond him. In no other cha- uniform edition of the novels of Mrs. Lee Hentz. The racter is there any successful individuality. Brigham and novels of Mrs. Hentz possess considerable interest. Her McCary are weak dilutions of Cooper's backswoodmen; Cat-circle of admirers will welcome this neat and satisfactory foot and Joe we have had over and over again; and the two edition of her works. young lady heroines are exactly what Cooper's heroines always are—very uninteresting, prosy, sedate, overwise

-Kate Coventry, an Autobiography, is a spirited, dashing, young women. This is pretty much the case, also, with the and highly interesting reprint from Fraser's Magazine. Kate hero, and one keeps wondering how anybody could fall in Coventry is a sort of Lady Gay Spanker, as far as fondness love with him, or he with anybody. The whole love part,

for hunting and high-blooded horses are concerned, and the indeed, is weakly managed. It is an attempt to involve that story is made up principally of her horseback adventures, which will not be involved; and, notwithstanding all the and certain love difficulties between two rival suitors. She offorts of the author to create a satisfactory difficulty, the writes as she rides, boldly, with a free rein, and an easy clouds that arise are perversely transparent, and do not agi- seat. The little episode of the “Dangerfield Ghost,” is tate the reader for a single instant. In the conduct of his startling and dramatic. (Jewett & Co.) plot, the author sometimes evinces a lack of ingenuity. You -A SKETCH of the Ecclesiastical History of the Catholic see the “puppet's dallying.” The wires that move the Church in the United States, has been published by Dunigan scenes are clumsily exposed. Events are continually brought & Brother, of this city. It is a translation, with additions, about from the sheer necessity of the plot-forced and from a French work by Henry de Courcy. It appears strained, to meet the exigencies of the story. But the to appeal more directly to our French residents than to any author depicts with great vividness : he paints with bold, other class, the work having been prepared for the public strong colors. His style is of crystal transparency; his of France, the author's interest in the Catholic religion in incidents, graphic and startling, crowd thickly upon each this country arising from his connection with an ancient other, and the reader hurries on from page to page, rapt, French Canadian family, and his descent from officers of the eager, and sometimes with 'bated breath. If the first pro- French navy who enlisted themselves under our flag during duction of a new author, it deserves great credit. (W. the Revolution. The need of a work of the kind has long P. Fetridge & Co.)

existed, and this appears to supply the want with ability. -The second portion of The Angel in the House, under

-FRENCH & Co., of Boston, are just issuing a new edition the title of The Espousals, has just been issued by Ticknor of Walter March’s “ Shoepac Recollections,” first published & Fields, of Boston. Of the “Betrothal,” we spoke in high

a few months ago. Many of our readers may not have read praise in our July issue, and we are glad to discover in the this charming novel—if so, let them not fail to do it. They concluding portion of the poem, the same compact felicity

will find it a delightful picture of American life upon of expression, and happy analysis of emotion, the same dell- the Canadian frontier ; full of pictures delicately limned; of cacy and sweetness, and successful wedding of noble poetry fresh, spirited, true, and almost perfect book.

humor exquisitely touched; of character finely shadeda to simple things, which rendered “The Betrothal ” famous at a bound. It would please us exceedingly, if our space with the title, “ Facta, an Army Memoir.” It will be a pic

The same author will issue early in October a new work, permitted it, to cull some of the many gems of feeling, fancy, and thought, which are so richly strewn through the ture of Army Life by land and sea-graphic, finely touched, pages of this poem, and present them to the reader as justi

full of spirit and power, no reader of “Shoepac Recollec

tions" can doubt. fication of our high commendation ; but we must content ourself in saying, that we have drawn deep draughts of plea- --Life in the Itin rancy, is a history of the toils and sure from its perusal ; that in purity, exquisite grace, deli- triumphs of the Itine, ancy, purporting to be based upon cacy and beauty, we cannot consider any modern production incidents of actual occurrence, in which neither the shady its equal. It is not a passionate nor an emotional poem. nor the sunny side is depicted, but that faithful interinin

I does not reach all our capabilities of feeling and passion, gling of sunshine and shadow which characterizes the realibut gliding smoothly over a calm and transparent stream, ties of not only life in the ministry, but all other kinds of sounds the depths of joy and happiness. It depicts simply life whatever. It appears to be a well written, conscienthe felicities of a successful love. It is the story of a sum- tious, interesting volume, with no very high order of litemer's day, with light and

asing its rary merit either aspired to or reached. (Miller, Orton & calm and stormless blue.

Mulligan.)

clouds

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JAMES HARRINGTON left the breakfast-table with a thought, which filled both his heart and brain with exrestless desire to be alone in the free air. He had not citement. The deep tenderness warred terribly against slept during the night, but spent the silent hours in the strong moral force of his nature, but only as the

Patered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1856, by Mrs. ANN S. STEPHENS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the U.S., for the Southern District of Now York.

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quick tempests of summer strewn against a rock, beat- | the city, down cross roads and by the shore, sometimes ing down all the beautiful wild blossoms and moss upon at a sharp gallop, sometimes giving his well-trained its surface, but leaving it immovable as ever.

horse the head, till both steed and rider flashed like an As he went forth from the breakfast-room, Ralph arrow between the stooping branches. passed him, looking restless and anxious.

In this wild way he rode, unconscious of his course, “Brother James ! Brother James !” he said, “I wish and without any absolute object, save free air and that to speak with you very much, but not now. I have no rapid motion which harmonizes so well with turbulent heart to say anything just yet!”

feelings. The horse took his own way up hill, aloug James smiled, very gravely, but with a look of gentle shore, up hill again, till all at once he came out ou patience, that told how completely his strong passions a green shelf in the hills, upon which a single dwelling were held in control. Few men in his excited state stood. would have proved so thoughtful of others; for he had He drew up his horse suddenly, for there a little way no idea that Ralph had any more important subject to from the house and some distance before him, stood consult him about, than some shooting excursion in the two women in eager conversation. One had her back hills, or a horseback ride with Lina.

toward him, but her left hand was in sight, and in it I am going out for an hour or two,” he said; “I was an open book, with its leaves fluttering in the wind. have been suffering with headache all night. The air The air and dress of this person reminded him so forciseems close to me indoors. After I come back, will bly of Lina's governess, that he remained a moment that be time enough, Ralph ?”

| looking earnestly that way; not that her presence on “I don't know. Yes, of course it will—there is no the hill would have been particularly remarkable, for on hurry," answered the impetuous boy, "only I'm so vex- glancing around he recognized by its position, that ed and troubled just now.”

her mother's house must be in that neighborhood. But "Well, come up to my room. It does not matter that very morning he had seen the governess passing much if I go or not—this miserable headache will not toward Mrs. Harrington's room, and her appearance in probably be driven away."

both these places so nearly at the same time, aroused “No, I can wait. You ought to ride out. How his curiosity, not to say suspicion. pale you are! Why, your face is quite changed! In- But the object that struck him most forcibly was the deed, brother James, I will not speak another word till female with whom she seemed to be conversing. The you get back. I wonder what has come over us all stately person, the picturesque costume, composed this morning. Poor mother ill—the General out of sorts entirely of rich warm colors, the eager expression -you with a headache, and I, yes, I may as well own of features that must once have been eminently handup—I have got something so near heart-sickness here, some-above all, the air of almost ferocious authority, that—but never mind—I'll shake it off, or know the with which she was evidently speaking, struck him as reason why. But one word, James, did you ever think strangely out of place in that solitary spot. Beyond my mother an illiberal woman ?”

this, he felt a vague impression, impalpable and formIlliberal, Ralph | Your mother!"

less, of some connection between that woman and former “Well, I mean this. Is she a woman to reject beauty events of his own life. It might have been her dress and worth, and everything estimable, because_" James so foreign to the place, or her humble mode of life. The Harrington cut the question short by laying a hand on Madras kerchief, folded in a turban over the black hair bis brother's shoulder somewhat heavily.

falling down each side of her face in the heaviest waves “Your mother, Ralph, is a woman so much above of rippling jet, and the massive earrings that gleamed question in all her actions and motives, that even these beneath, were in themselves calculated to awake rememhalf doubts are sacrilegious in her son."

brances of an early youth spent in the South, where The color rushed up to Ralph's forehead. First he this picturesque costume was common among the slaves; had lost confidence in Lina-now, in his mother. but the woman's face fascinated his gaze more than her

“If you have a doubt of your mother, speak it to general appearance. Some recollection too vague for her,” said James more gently, as he drew on his riding embodiment, arose like a mist on his brain so powergloves. “After that, I will talk with you !"

fully, that he was unconscious of the time thus spent in "I wonder what has come over me—James is offend- gazing upon her. ed; I never saw him so grave before," muttered Ralph, At last the woman gave a quick glance toward him, as his brother moved down the hall.

and darting forward, snatched at the book in her com“Everything goes wrong. Even Fair Star started, as panion's hand, talking rapidly. if she would spring at me, when I looked in to see if my There was some resistance—an attempt to ward her mother was up. I will put an end to this !”

off—but the book was at last yielded to her impetuosity. Thus half-passionately, half in thought, he went He saw it, gathered up under the woman's arm, conin search of Lina.

cealed by the folds of an orange-colored scarf, overrun James Harrington mounted his horse and rode away. with a pattern of many gorgeous colors, which she He wanted the clear air and freedom of expan motion, wore, and carried into the house. anything that would distract his thoughts, and bring Then the person whose back had been toward him, back the self-control that had almost departed from turned and looked that way. It was Agnes Barker. him. He rode at random along the highway leading to She saw him, evidently without much surprise, and

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