The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1866-10-13

the more unaccountable after the incessani
downfall of rain that has been affecting u
for the last four months.
In this emergency the new pfN0prtetdtre ha
recourse 10 his legal friend now become his
nearest neghbor.
"What can be the reason that nv stream Of
water has suddenly dried upY" inquired NJ.
Buioz, addressing the notary
Evidently some one has intercepted the
water" returned that parsonage; you have
bought the ground, but you have not bous Int
the spring which supplies the water.n
But purchased the ground as found II -
returned M. Buloz, "'and there was water at
that time; therefore I have a right TO the watern
That is what the law must decide" retorted
tne notary. 1.-The spring which supplies your
stream Is in my ground: and If you viii consult
your copy of the deed of sale, you will find IL
distinctly stated that the use of the water pro-
ceedng from that spring is made subject to the
francs" IN
Thoroughly indignant at seeing himself the
victim OF such trick, and on the part of the
very agent whom he had employed to ensure
tne acquisition of his new property without en-
cumbrance of any kind M. Buoz brought q
SUIT against his tTeacheroIs counsellor to COM
pei estitution of the water Of which he found
himself deprived. In the first trial of the affair
tbe verdict was given against him; but nothing
daunted, he at once carried the suit into a
higher court, and has just had the satisfaction
OF seeing himself, through the verdict just given
rascal who had so impudently endeavored to
oVeTreach client. The notary has been sen.
fenced to pay the nominal damages claimed by
the editor OF the Reuue, to defray the costs of
the suit, and to refrain for the rest of his days
and in the person of his future heirs from any
further interference with the usual course of
the contested water.
The Round Table concludes an extended
criticism on Bsyard Taylor's last poem, "The
Picture OF st. John" in which it speaks rather
enthusiastically Of the work with the follow
ing Judgment
The great lack of the poem seems to us to
consist in story or legend. There is not enough
OF interest in the subject-matter. Indeed, so
but poorly told. Mr.. Taylor is certainly but an
Indifferent constructive poet. His verses are
pretty-often beautiful-and the general idea is
pleasant, but there-is a lack of fresh and simple
history. lie has the art of making long poems;
but a long poem must turn upon a story to pos
sess the truest charm. The Picture of St.
John has few demerits of measure, expression:
or style 1t Is evidently a studied effort, and
Will be deservedly praised for its artistic com.
pleteness. But its author will still linger
among the middle luminaries of the literary
armament, for it is in vain to look for place
among the highest upon the merits of sketches
novels or poems which are truly great neither
al plot nor execution. The multitudinous
works OF MIR. Taylor ale all pleasant, but there
is rot one that as a literary venture can be
called so successful as even the little idyl
Snow-Bound'n
Mrs. Elizabeth Akers, better known, perhaps,
under her nOrnItde gplume of Florence Percy"
author of Rock Me to Sleep, Mother" has
written nothing sweeter than the following
stanzas, which we find in her recently pub
lished volume, and which just suit the season
of fading lcaves:-
WHEN THE LEAVES ARE TURNING BROWN.
Never is my heart so gay
In the budding month OF May,
Never does 1t beat tune
Halt so sweet in bloomy June:
Never knows such happiness
As on such day as this,
When October dons her crown
And the leaves are turning brown
Breathe, sW eet children, soft regrets
For the vanished violets;
Sng, you lovers, the delights
or the golden summer nights;
Never in the SUNNI 'r hours
On my way such radiance showers
As from heaven falls softly down
When the leaves arc turning brown.
Braid your girdles, fresh and gay,
Children, in the bloom of May;
Twist your chaplets in young June
Maidens, they will fade full soon
TWlne ripe roses, July-red,
Lovers, for the dear ones head;
will weave my richer crown
When the leaves are turning brown!
An interesting account, by NJ j. Antiques,