The Press.
London, England, 1857-10-10 00:00:00

it contains a single new story from the pen of
Mr. Reade—the fact being that it is made up
of three tales, two of which, " Art" and " Clouds
and Sunshine," have already appeared in
Bentley's Miscellany. This little trick of trade
(like the reissue of Mrs. Mackenzie's " The
Mission, the Camp, and the Zemma," under
the taking title of "Deihi, the City of the
Great Mogul," published by Routledge) is
hardly worthy either of the author who
lately hurried his publisher into Chan-
cery for a supposed infraction of copy-
right, or of the publisher who places on his
titlepage the proud motto, " Malo mori quam
fixdari." The remaining story, "The Bloomer,"
we conjecture to be new, distinguished as it
is by that absence of commas which Mr.
Reade seems to have assumed as his literary
device, while the other two are punctuated in
the ordinary, and we venture to think prefer-
able, manner.
But the author of " It is Never too Late to
Mend" is always welcome, in whatever guise
he may appear, and neither of the three tales
before us is unworthy of his reputation. In
" The Bloomer," Miss Courtenay, a young
American heiress, with a house at Now York
and an estate in England, engaged to the son
of an old Devonshire neighbour, adopts the
obnoxious costume and quarrels with her
lover in consequence of it, who does not see
the force of tha reasons which have made her
a convert. After his departure, she determines
to visit her property in the old country—(be-
cause her lover has returned?—of course not)
—and is brought back to conventional prin-
ciples of attire by the following dialogue, the
argument of which is rather more forcible
than those commonly urged :

-
Thus spoke the Yankee girl. The English girl coloured
up, but she did not answer bAck—excent by turning brim.
ming eyes and a look of gentle reproach on her.
On this, partly because she was unhappy, partly because
this mild look pricked her great though wayward heart,
the Yankee girl began to cry bitterly.
On this the English girl flung her arms round the
Yankee girl's neck, and cried with her.
" Dearest, he loves you still."
" Still ! he never loved me Harriet. Oh no—he never
loved me—oh, oh !"
" You forget ; I have been home. I have seen him. He
is pale—he is sad."
"That is a c—c—comfort. I wish he was at d—d--
death's door."
" He is far more unhappy than you are."
"lam so glad—l don't believe it."
" You may believe it—l have seen it."
At this moment a servant was seen approaching ; he
came up, touched his hat to Caroline with a world of
obsequiousness and informed her, the parson had called to
see her and was in the drawing•room.

" The Parson ?"
" The Reverend Mr. Tremaine, Miss."
"A great friend of our family," explained Harriet.
" Ah, tell me all about him as we go along."
Mr. Tremaiue : Will she receive me in a Bloomer?
H trriet : I don't know—l hope not. She was decent
a minute ago.
Tremaine : Perhaps she has gone to put one on.
Harriet gave a start, and had a misgiving,Caroline being
a devil, " Heaven forbid !" she cried. '• I will go and
see."
The next minute a young lady of singular beauty and
grace glided into the room. She was dressed richly but
very plainly. Mr. Tremaine looked at her with surprise.
Are you Miss Courtenay ?" She smiled sweetly and told
him she was Miss Courtenay. She added that Mr. Tre•
maine was no stranger to her; she had often heard of him
an 1 his virtues in happier days. After that she thanked
him for being the first to welcome her home.
" We shall all feel flattered at vonr calling it home Miss
Courtenay ; we must try and keep you here after that."
In about ten minutes the intelligent young beauty had
not only dissolved Mr. Treinaine's prejudices against her,
but had substituted a strong prejudice in her favour.
" This quiet ladylike, dignified, gentle, amiable,
heautiftri, young woman, a tom-hoy ?" said he to himself.
"I don't believe it—it surpasses belief—it is false !"
There was a pause.
" Miss Courtenay," began the old gentleman, " your late
father, during the short time he was among us. gained the
respect of the whole county. I cannot help thinking you
will be his successor in our esteem as well as in Courtenay
Court.
Miss Courtenay bowed with quiet dignity.
" The worst of it is we are an old fashioned people here
in Devonshire. We are strait laced—aliern—in short—
shall I be presuming too far on our short acquaintanze
if (pray give me credit for friendly motives) I ask permis-
sion to put yon a question. But no, when I look at yon—
it is impossible."
" What is impossible, sir?"
" That you can ever have " and the old gentleman flashed
a bit; " bv.the•by they say von can swim Miss Courtenay."
" A little, not worth boasting 0.," replied Caroline,
modestly. " I think I could make shift to swim across
this roam ; if the sea was in it."
" Oh no farther than that? well there is not much harm
n that. B lit they do say you have done us the honour,
ihem--to wear male hebiliments—is that true r