The Sun.
London, England, 1863-08-03 00:00:00

THE BLIND STUDENT AND HIS DAUGHTER

" The voice came from the farther end of a long, spacious
room, surrounded with shelves, on which books and anti-
quities were arranged in scrupulous order. Here and there,
on separate stands in front of the shelves, were placed a
beautiful feminine torso ; a headless statue, with an up-
lifted muscular arm wielding a bladeless sword, rounded,
dimpled, intantine limbs severed from the trunk, inviting
the lips to kiss the cold marble : some well-preserved
Roman busts, and two or three vases of Magna Grecia. A
large tabla in the centre was covered with antique bronze
lamps and small vessels in dark pottery. The colour of
these objects was chiefly pale or sombre : the vellum bind-
ings, with their deep-ridged backs, gave little relief to the
marble, livid with long burial—the once splendid patch of
carpet at the farther end of the room had long been worn
to dimness; the dark bronzes wanted sunlight upon them
to bring out their tinge of green, and the sun was not yet
high enough to send gleams of brightness through the nor.
row windows that looked on the Via de' Barth.

• __
"The only spot of bright colour in the room was made
by the hair of a tall maiden of 17 or 18, who was standing
before a carved leggio, or reading-desk, such as is often seen
in the choirs of Italian churches. The hair was of a red•
dish gold colour, enriched by an unbroken small ripple,
such as may be seen in the sunset clouds on grandest
autumnal evenings. It was confined by a black fillet above
her small oars, trom which it rippled forward again, and
made a natural veil for her neck above her square-cut gown
of black rascia, or serge. Her eyes were bent on a large

volume placed before her : one long white hand rested on
the reading-desk, and the other clasped the back of her
father's chair,

" The blind father sat with uplifted head and turned a little
aside towards his daughter, as if he were looking at her.
His delicate paleness, set off by the black velvet cap which
surmounted his:drooping white hair, made all the more per-
ceptible the likeness between his aged features and those of
the young maiden, whose cheeks were also without any
tinge of the rose. There was the same refinement of brow
and nostril in both, counterbalanced by a full though firm
mouth and powerful chin, which gave an expression of
proud tenacity and latent impetuousness : an expression
carried out in the backward poise of the girl's head, and
the grand line of her neck and shoulders. It was a type of
face which one could not venture to say whether it would
inspire love or only that unwilling admiration which is
mixed with dread : the question must be decided by the
eyes, which often seem charged with a more direct
message from the soul. But the eyes of the father had long
been silent, and the eyes of the daughter were bent on the
Latin pages of Politian's Miscellanea from which she was
reading aloud."

Romola's character acquires depth and strength
before our eyes, as with interest we follow her tale
of suffering. At first a studious girl, ignorant of
the world as Miranda on her island, then a loving,
suffering woman, shrinking with natural dread
from the heavy burden imposed upon her. Very
effective is the scene where she flies from her un-
happy home at Florence, and is arrested by the
way-side by the warning voice of Savonarola.
" My daughter," exclaims the impassioned preacher,
in words of truthful eloquence that convince and
convert the unhappy Romola, " my daughter, every
bond of your life is a debt ; the right lies in the
payment of that debt ; it can lie nowhere else. In
vain would you wander over the earth, you will be
nowhere at peace." Romola returns, and in the
pursuit of duty finds the only alleviation to he
painful lot. We will not dwell further upon her
history. It will be read with a very vivid interest
by many who will be indifferent to the political
chapters. The opening description of the dawn is
very felicitous :
" More than three centuries and a half ago, in the mid
spring of 1492, we are sure that the angel of the dawn, as
he travelled with broad slow wing from the Levant to the
Pillars of Hercules, and from the summits of the Caucasus
across all the snowy Alpine ridges to the dark nakedness
of the Western isles, saw nearly the same outline of firm
land and unstable sea—saw the same great mountain
shadows on the same valleys as he has seen to-day--saw
olive mounts, and pine forests, and the broad plains, green
with young corn or rain-freshened grass—saw the domes
and spires of cities rising by the river sides or mingled with
the sedge-like masts on the many-curved sea coast, in the
acme spots where they rise to-day. And as the faint light
of hie course pierced into the dwellings of men, it fell, as
now, Cn the rosy warmth of nestling children ; on the
haggard v;lceking of sorrow and sickness ; on the hasty up-
rising of the ilard-handed labourer ; and on the late sleep
of the night-student, who had been questioning the stars or
the sages, or his 0 zvrt soul, for that hidden knowledge
which would break throNgh the barrier of man's brief life,
and show its dark path, that seemed to bend no whither, to
be an arc in an immeasurable circle of light and glory. The
great river courses which have shaped the lives of men
have hardly changed ; and those other streams, the life-
currents that ebb and flow in human hearts, pulsate to the
same great needs, the same great loves and terrors. As
our thought follows close in the slow wake of the dawn, we
are impressed with the broad sameness of the human lot,
which never alters in the main headings of its history—
hunger and labour, seed-time and harvest, love and death."

The moral of the story enforced by Romola's ad-
vice to the youthfulLillo in the concluding chapter is
a most noble one• The author of " Adam Bede" has
done wisely and well in employing great intellectual
gifts in the development of a high principle—to
exLibit the fatal effect of a selfish seeking of our own
pleasure contrasted with the happy results of a
noble performance of our duty to our fellow-men;
For this lesson apart from its high literary merits
" Romola" is entitled to admiration and approval.

THE WEATHER AND THE CROPS.

TO TUE EDITOR OF THE SUN.

Sir,—July has been all that could be desired for agri-
cultural purposes. The hay crop has been secured in better
condition than has been known for many years. The corn

harvest has commenced, the wheat reported almost every-
where to look well, with promise of abundance.
We have in this month experienced temperature equal to
the average of our summers, but on the other hand we
have had greater cold than has been hitherto known in
July.

Our average mean temperature of July is 61 deg,, in 1852
it was 63 deg., in 1857 63 deg, and in 1859, 64 deg.
This year it was only 591 deg. The day registers ex-
ceeded 80 deg. on four occasions, culminating at 83 deg. on
the 10th; the appreciable summer readings in the day time
were, however, followed by rapid decline of heat.
The nights were very cold . 14 registered under 45 deg.
On the 19th the register receded to 36.8 deg., being the
lowest for July here on record. In some parts the cold wail
much greater, declining to 30 deg., or 2 deg. below freezing
point, in the neighbourhood of Reading. (Times, July 21.)
For the reasons reiterated in my letter June 27 the mean
temperature of July was, like June, below the average of
former yew's,
The month just closed was the finest of any July on.
record in this locality. Twenty-six days had complete im-
munity from rain, and the total quantity collected did not
amount to an inch.

My prediction, however, pointed to mean temperature
only, and the reasons were stipulated in my letters of
June 17 and 27.---I am, sir, your obedient servant,
TIIOI.IAS L. PLANT,
Member of the British Meteorological Society.
Camp hill, Birmingham, July 31, 1863.

Destruction of the Jersey Theatre by Fire.

JERSEY, Friday.

The Theatre Royal, Crescent, was totally destroyed by a
fire which was discovered about 4 o'clock this morning.
_.

From information obtained through the best channels, it
appears that the theatre was closed on Friday night last, on
the completion of an engagement which Miss Emma Stan-
ley had entered into with Mr. Charles Harrison, the lessee
and manager, whose company was performing in Guern-
sey; but as it was to be re-opened by Mr. Harrison on
Monday next, with Mr. G. Y. Brooke and Miss A. Jones,
the necessary preparations were on the eve of being made.
Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, with the members of their com-
pany, returned to Jersey yesterday, and it was arranged
that the whole of the luggage of the company should be
removed from the packet to the theatre, where the com-
pany were to go for it in the evening. Many did 80, and
had it carried off to their own apartments. The whole of
what Mr. and Mrs. Harrison had, however (including even
their private wardrobes), was allowed to remain, with the
intention of removing it this morning.
About 4 o'clock this morning the theatre was discovered
to be on fire. Two engines were speedily on the spot, and
two others from the garrison, manned by a heavy escort of
the Royal Artillery, accompanied by detachments of the
61st Regiment, who kept back the crowd, which by this
time had become immense. A messenger had communicated
the sad tidings to Mr. Harrison at his private residence,
and that gentleman, who was accompanied by Mrs. Harri-
son, was also on the spot. Colonel de Rinzy, the Deputy
Lieut.-Governor, Colonel Redmond, and most of the other
officers in garrison, arrived early and greatly exerted them-
selves. Extraordinary exertions were made to subdue the
flames, but to little purpose, as the only supply of water
was obtained from the adjoining houses. The adjacent
property was with difficulty rendered secure, and by nine
o'clock the fire had literally burnt itself out, all hopes of
saving anything but the outside walls having been given uP
at least a couple of hours before. The ruins continued
smouldering up to this evening. The origin of the fire is a
mystery.
The theatre belonged to a company, who built it at a cost
of about £5,000. It was a fine building, of the Doric style
of architecture, and was insured for £l,OOO only, a sum far
short of repairing one half of the damage done.
Mr. Harrison, the lessee and manager, is a loser to a
truly lamentable extent, for although the value of the sta-
tionary property is partially covered by an insurance of
£2OO, his loss will amount to between £6OO and £7OO,

Much sympathy has alreadY-bee;;;;;Ssedf; Mr, and
Mrs. Harrison, and there can be little doubt it will take
practical form.

THE PARKS AND THE SUNDAY BANDS.—MtisiO9
flowers, and the sculptor's art have added yearly
to the attractions of the public parks, converting them from
the mere grass plots of our ancestoisi time into pleasure'
gardens of no mean order; nor is Government the sole
agent in effecting this beneficial change. Miss Burdett
Coutts' munificent gift of the large fountain in Victoria-
park has been followed by a public-spirited gardener in
the north-west of London, transferring that portion of the
Regent's-park facing the Colosseum, and on the west side
of the Broad-walk, into a garden of the highest style of
Italian art. This he has done at his own expense, and in
consequence of the approbation bestowed on it by the public/
he has obtained permission to lay out the east side of the
Broad-walk to correspond. The conductors of the Sunday
bands movement claim also to be regarded as public bene-
factors, for though but working men themselves, quitting
they may be seen every
theirsund
Sunday
o f avocationsthe band
dthe
season Saturday,
devoting
their energies to the
self •imposed and unrewarded labour which they believe to
be for the elevation of their Own order. The eighth season
was brought to its ordinary termination yesterday evening,
with fine weather and large audiences; the programme was
extended until darkness was stealing over the scene. An
extra performance is announced for Sunday next, when tile
bands will give their services in aid of the fund for the cow
menceraent of the season 1864,