The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1851-10-21 00:00:00

great phiiosoPlier

EGERTON.-
H A RLEY.-'

" You do not search forher."

"Do we ever search for love ? Does it not flash
upon us when we least expect it? Is it not like the inspiration
to the muse ? What poet sits down and says, I will write a
poem?' What man looks out and says, I will fall in love.'
No ; Happiness, as the great German tells us, falls suddenly
from the bosom of the gods ;' so does love."
EGERTON.—" You remember the old line in Horace:
Life's tide flows away, while the boor sits on the margin and
waits for the ford.' "

HARLEY.—" An idea which incidentally dropped from you
some weeks ago, and which I had before half-meditated, has
since hauntedme. If I could but find some child with sweet
dispositions and fair intellect not yet formed, and train her up,
,•

years. And meantime I shall have gained what Iso sadly
want—an object in life."
EcEaTos.—

`0 You are ever the child of romance

rute,

a messenger

House of commons, wnom Audiev had instructed to seek him
on the bridge should his presence be required—" Sir, the op-
position are taking advantage of the thinness of the House to
call for a division. Mr. —is put up to speak for time, but
they won't hear him."

Egerton turned hastily to Lord L'Estrange, "You see you
must excuse me now. To-morrow I must go to Windsor for
two days ; but we shall meet on my return."
"It does not matter," answered Harley; "I stand out of
the pale of your advice, 0 practical man of sense. And if,"
added Harley, with affectionate and mournful sweetizess—" If
I worry you with complaints which you cannot understand, it
is only because of old schoolboy habits. I can have no trouble
that I do not confide in you."

Egerton's hand trembled as it pressed his friend's; and,
without a word, he hurried away abruptly. Harley remained
motionless for some seconds, in deep and quiet reverie; then
he called to his dog, and turned back towards Westminster.
He passed the nook in which had sate the still figure of Despon-
dency. But the figure had now risen, and was leaning against
the balustrade. The dog which preceded his master naused by

the solitary form, and sniffed it suspiciously
"Nero, sir, come here," said Harley.

" Nero," that was the name by which Helen had said that
her father's friend had called his dog. And the sound startled
Leonard as be leant, sick at heart, against the stone. He lifted
his head and looked wistfully, eagerly, into Harley's face.
Those eyes, bright, clear, yet so strangely deep and absent,
which Helen had described, met his own, and chained them.
For L'Estrange halted also ; the boy's countenance was not
unfamiliar to him. lie returned the inquiring look fixed on
his own, and recognised the student by the boostall
4 1

dog is quite harmless, sir," said L'Estrange with a

"And you called him Nero?" said Leonard, still gazing on
the stranger.

Harley-mistook the drift of the question.
" Nero, sir; but he is free from the sanguinary propensities
of his Roman namesake." Harley was about to pass on, when
Leonard said falteringly,—

" Pardon me, but can it be possible that you are one whom I
have sought in vain, on behalf of the child of Captain Digby ?"
Harley stopped short. "Digby !" he exclaimed, "where is
he? He should have found me easily. I gave him an address."
"Ali, Heaven be thanked," cried Leonard. " Helen is
saved ; she will not die;" and he burst into tears.
A very few moments, and a very few words sufficed to ex-
plain to Harley the state of his old fellow-soldier's orphan.
And Harley himself soon stood in the young sufferer's room,
supporting her burning temples on his breast, and whispering,
into ears that heard him, as in a happy dream, " Comfort,
comfort ; your father yet lives in me."

And then Helen, raising her eyes, said, "But Leonard is my
brother—more than brother—ald be needs a father's care
more than I do."

" Hush, hush, Helen. I need no one—nothing now 1" cried
Leonard ; and his tears gushed over the little hand that clasped
his own.

The Dublin University 211agazine. Dublin : M`Glashan.
The " Leaves from the Portfolio of a Manager," con-
tinue to unfold a curious semi-tragic semi-comic series of
scenes behind the curtain. Truly, the life of an actor is
a strange one, but the life of a manager is yet stranger,
as those who will peruse the memoranda of the Dublin
manager (Mr. Calcraft we believe) will learn. One fact
we must cull from these leaves, illustrative of the boasted
nationality of the Irish. The manager states that during
twenty years " The Warden of Galway (a play written by
the Rev. Edward Groves), and a bustling drama, entitled
" Life in Dublin," were the only original plays brought
out there that produced a remunerative return. So much
for Dublin patriotism and Dublin taste ! " The Warden
of Galway" i 3 a play of great merit, but the " Life in
Dublin" is all riot and racket, undeserving of the name
of drama. " Chatterton ; a story of the year 1770," is
an interesting memoir of the unfortunate boy poet, exhi-
biting his struggles for fame and, daily bred in the heart-
less streets of London, without a shilling in his purse or
a friend to hold forth a helping hand. Poor Chatterton !
thine was a sad lot—the lot of genius in its full vigour.
The works of Korner, " Recent Travels in the Mediter-
ranean and the East," and the " Several Lives of Royal
and Illustrious Ladies lately published," furnish subjects
for critical and biographical notices of great interest.
" Slingsby" continues his perigrinations in Scotland, and
" Maurice Tierney, the Soldier of Fortune," proceeds
gallantly with his adventures. This number of the maga-
zine is altogether an entertaining one.

The American 11Iagazine. London W. S. Johnson.
Brother Jonathan comes out strong in this his first
number, which bears on the outside the stars and stripes
in brilliant colours, and which is adorned within by the
effusions of great stars in the firmament of literature.
The design of this American magazine, published in Lon-
don, is to introduce to the English public the best and
varied fugitive literary efforts of the oldest and of the
most promising of the young American authors. In the
number before us there are articles from the pens of
Daniel Webster, W. C. Bryant, Prescott, R. W. Emer-
son, N. P. Willis, and others, whose names and fame are
known to all the civilised world. This periodical is beau-
tifully printed and brought out, and we doubt not will
become a public favourite. A well executed steel engrav-
ing of the Capitol at Washington embellishes the October
number. Withcbaracteristic modesty, theeditor announces
' Our November part will be a brilliant specimen."
A learned German astrologer has ascertained that the
earth will be destroyed by a comet in exactly twenty-two
million years. The 'cute philosopher deserves the public
thanks for postponing the event to so distant a day.