In reply, BERLIOZ says, that although by no means rich, yet the praise of such an artist as PAGANINI, filled his heart with a thousand times more joy, than the royal generosity of his present.

This anecdote of PAGANINI is in strong contrast with his liberality in London, where, we remember, while rolling in wealth, he refused a donation of a pound or two, to a poor woman in a hospital, into which he had been admitted, for the professional purpose of imitating, with his violin, the groans of agony that were extorted from her, during a painful surgical operation. What a comment is this contrast, upon the power of music!

THE second of the subjoined stanzas occupies 'middle ground' in the piece itself, but if merit established precedence, it should have had the first place. It strikes as figurative, and beautiful exceedingly;

STANZAS.

THERE's a time in the first rosy spring-tide of youth,

When the lonely heart pines, like a dove for its mate;

And calls up such visions of love and of truth,

As might well turn to azure the storm-clouds of fate.
But though sweet are those feelings, and dear are those dreama,
There's a time which to me is far dearer than this;

For reality quenches hope's ideal beams,

While care dims the loveliest roses of bliss.

There's an hour when the heart, like a bark o'er the waves,
Seems nearing the port so long anxiously sought,
And the tempests of passion lie hushed in their caves,
And life's gales from the soul a sweet odor have caught;
But the eye may deceive, and the wish may betray,
And the port prove a cloud, or a desolate isle ;
And the heart and the cheek which were happy to-day,
May to-morrow have lost both their hope and their smile,

Oh! the love I would die for, or live but to prize,

Is that which through seasons of sorrow hath passed;
Like the radiant light of the midsummer skies,
Shines on through our lives, but grows loveliest at last;
The hearts which are formed but in sunshine and flowers,
Enraptured to beat, or united to cling,

Know not the bliss shed by time's truth-testing powers,
O'er those whose affections have blunted grief's sting.

L. A. H.

We must make room for a Texian correspondent, who is quite right in suspecting, 'that many of the more authentic, curious, and interesting details, that float in conversation, concerning the 'republic' and her history, never appear in print;' narratives of adventure, reminiscences, general intelligence, anecdotes, etc., which,' he writes, need only to be percolated and crystalized, by such pens as those of your correspondents IRVING and COOPER, to attract universal attention.' Perhaps so; but be that as it may, there are certainly new facts and interesting, in the annexed little sketch :

།

THE RED ROVERS.

DR. S-, of Courtland, Alabama, a native of Virginia, raised a company of eighty young men, who were called the 'Red Rovers,' from the color of the blanket greatcoats which they wore. In this company were a son and a nephew of the captain. Dr. S- with his 'Red Rovers,' was with FANNING when he surrendered; and in common with the other officers, he strongly opposed the surrender, having no confidence in the Mexican faith. But Fanning was resolved; and when he made known his decision, the captain and one or two other officers shed tears. Their fate is well known. They were marched out from a fort, where they were confined, under various pretexts; now they were' to be taken to Copanò, a neighboring sea-port, to be shipped back home to the United States; and again they were sent out to drive in cattle to the fort.' They had not proceeded far, however, before they were ordered to halt, and next to wheel to the right about, so as to stand with their backs to the Mexican line. The orders were given in Spanish. The number of the Texian volunteers was about four hundred, and

of the Mexicans, about the same. The two lines stood about three feet apart, there being only a brush fence between them. Nearly all the prisoners were massacred; a few made their escape. Among the victims of this slaughter, were the Red Rovers, and among them the son of the commander, who was himself spared, probably for the sake of his professional services; and his nephew owed his escape to sickness, which prevented his marching, although he was anxious to accompany them, supposing they were about to return home. Fanning, poor fellow! received the melancholy distinction, as commander, of being shot alone. He was a brave man, and died like a soldier, merely requesting not to have his eyes bandaged, and desiring his watch and miniature to be given to his mother. He was a graduate of Princeton College. There was a jealousy subsisting between Fanning and Houston, and a want of concert. Houston repeatedly sent word to him to join him; but he refused, declaring that he wished to fight on his own hook.' This was the grand faux pas in Texas. The scattered parties ought to have concentrated under Houston; they did not, and were cut off 'singulatim.'

I was walking the streets of Tuscumbia, shortly after the massacre of Copand, when I saw a dense crowd of people around a young man, one of the Red Rovers,' who had escaped. He had lost a brother in the massacre, and spoke with great bitterness of the Mexicans. He gave some account of his adventures, and answered divers questions that were propounded to him. He owed his safety to the fact, that he belonged to the van-guard of Fanning's corps, consisting of some twenty or thirty who were separated from the main body, at the time of the surrender. I met, on the same occasion, another Texian volunteer, who had also belonged to the advance guard, whom I recognised as a former acquaintance. He was a native of South Carolina; but at the time the Texian fever was at its height, he quitted school, bought a rifle, and marched with the 'Red Rovers,' in search of land and glory! His brother who went out with him, had also escaped, with two wounds. He was among the massacred, but being only slightly wounded, ran; he was pursued by a Mexican soldier, who was fast gaining on him, when he threw down his gold watch, which the Mexican, with characteristic gold-greediness, stopped to pick up, and he succeeded in making his way to the tall grass, that effectually concealed him. After enduring many hardships, he at length effected his return to the United States.

I subsequently saw Dr. S at Tuscumbia, on his return. He had had a hard time of it. He looked pale and emaciated, and bore the marks of the galling fetters he had worn on his ankles. The people of the town flocked around, to shake hands with him, and welcome his return. It was deemed certain that he had shared the fate of his companions in arms, and he was regarded as one risen from the dead. He was spared on account of his being a surgeon, aided by a little finesse on his part. 'He was travelling in Texas,' he said, merely to look at the country, when he was pressed into the service, in the capacity of surgeon!' The Mexican commandant, at the fort where he was confined, promised to discharge him on parole; but when applied to for a passport, put him off, from time to time. At length, he sent the commandant word: 'If you will not grant the passport, then let me be taken out and shot. I had rather you would do this, than detain me here any longer in suspense. You are welcome to all the credit you may gain by either course.' This produced a favorable effect on the officer, who at once agreed to furnish him with a passport to some town in the interior; one, however, which it was impossible to reach, without great risk from the Indians on the way.

At this conjuncture, suddenly came news of the battle of San Jacinto. Reader, you have seen a pebble hurled by some mischievous school-boy into the centre of a hornets' nest, dependent from the bough of some tall pine? Such was the panic among the Mexicans. The fort was quickly evacuated, only a smail garrison being left with the wounded and prisoners. Our captain then formed, with a fellow physician and prisoner, a plan of escape. They armed themselves' cap-à-pie,' with arms belonging to officers of the fort, each bearing a rifle, a brace of pistols, and a Bowie-knife. They borrowed two fine horses, ready caparisoned from the stables, mounted them, and Aed. They lay concealed in the woods, or in the tall grass of the prairie, during the day, travelling in the night; and thus, after suffering many privations and dangers, they at last entered the happy limits of their own country. Shortly after his arrival in Tuscumbia, the drum was heard, and a party of the military assembled to accompany him home. A cannon was mounted on a car, and fired every mile, to his residence, twenty-two miles distant. When he arrived, the whole population came out to meet him, and among them his wife and children. He bore the whole scene with composure, until a little son came up and grasped him by the knee. At this he shed tears. Painful return! Of his 'Red Rovers, few survived. Nearly all, and among them his son, were sacrificed. They had not died amid the 'shouts of battle, and the shock of arms;' they were slaughtered, like cattle; immolated in a Mexican hecatomb!

C. C.

We must close our selections, for the present, with the following spirited stanzas upon the late unprecedented storm. They will bear more than one perusal; and the

more the reader sees of them, the better he will like them. The author is a young gentleman, who requires but study and time, to ripen his literary repute into fame:

THE FLOOD.

'Tis the sounding of the night-storm! upon the mountain's height
You may see its dread bivouac, amid the cedars white:
You may hear its grand oration as it rides the fitful gale,
Commingled with the plaudits of the torrent in the vale,
And the laughter of the billows 'neath the rock-bound promontory,
As the echoes climb its summit, and shake the pine-woods hoary.

Hark! down the misty mountains the savage storm is roaring,

With the eagles round its turban'd brow on snow-flecked pinions soaring!
Behold! behold! its mantle is fluttering in the sky!

And the breakers, at its advent, lift to heaven a wilder cry,

And the torrent's chant is mingled with the sounding of the sea,

And the groaning of the forest, on the cold and starless lea.

Amid the white sierras, the mountain-winds are yelling;

You may see them through the deep ravines the captive clouds compelling ;
They are chanting in the darkness their hymus of old renown,

They have fashioned for the mountain's brow a glorious flaky crown;
And plucking up the forest from its primitive foundation,
Are ready with their anthems for the gorgeous coronation.

Hark! ocean's mighty orchestra its overture is sounding!
And the torrent's diapason down the precipice is bounding;
The snow-squalls, in shrill treble, are through the valley singing,
And the cataract its chorus to the merry winds is flinging;
And the winds, with joy delirious, are waltzing in their glory,
Where the pine woods skirt the top of the sierra wild and hoary,

To-night, the storm holds carnival upon the boiling main!
To-night the storm-beat mariner shall try his skill in vain!
For the black flag of destruction is streaming in the sky,
And from the icy cliffs is borne the petrel's lonely cry;
And the hoarse voice of the sailor, in the pauses of the storm,
Is heard amid the groaning of the vessel's tortured form.

To-night the breakers will be fed that line the treacherous shore,
For the storm has dimmed the beacon, and its light is seen no more:
The breakers gave a louder laugh, the waves a wilder shout,
When from their dreadful ocean dens they saw its light go out!
And the oath died on the seaman's lip, as from the toppling mast,
He saw it fade and glimmer, in the howling northern blast.

Hark! hark! the flood is rising, the loud waves fill the vale,
And the branches of the pine trees are shivering in the gale!

The torn night clouds crawl swiftly across the haggard moon,

And the foaming of the storm-steeds has dimmed the stars aboon,'

And the wild and snow-clad mountain winds have crowned the mountain's brow,
'Mid the chanting of the torrents in the awful gloom below!

Loud roars the answering ocean, and through night's graud dominion,
The dreadful hurricane responds, and waves his sable pinion!
The wild waves lift their thunder; the mountain forests roar,

And the breakers rave by legions on the cold and stormy shore;
And on the distant hill-tops the dark pine-woods are bending,
For the tempest to the valley in triumph is descending.

WE shall embrace an early occasion to renew and conclude an examination of 'the drawer.' Several articles, in prose and verse, among them 'The Origin of the SnowDrop,'' Mind,' etc., although in type, are unavoidably postponed to another number.

BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND. We would invite the reader's attention to the leading paper in the present number. It is the result of much personal examination and research; while the map which accompanies it, is accurately engraved from recent surveys of the whole ground, made at the expense of not a little time and money, expressly for the writer's purpose.

PARK THEATRE. After a season of extraordinary depression, the Metropolitan is again assuming its old prosperity. The past month has produced a marked change for the better, so far as the treasury is interested. The arrangement entered into with Mr. HAMBLIN, has certainly increased the audiences, whether it has added any lustre to the 'legitimate drama,' or not. The spectacle of 'Rienzi,' succeeded by a revival of 'Peter Wilkins,' and the production of the dramatic novelty of 'Lafitte,' all of the gilt-gingerbread school of modern drama, have well nigh filled the benches of pit and boxes. This is decidedly a utilitarian age, and the drama has become infected. The old moralities which were once advanced, upholding the drama as the handmaid of nature, have lost a trifle of their force. The nutriment which the great mother once fed to her children, has turned sour, and the drama has become a veritable dry nurse, feeding them with meagre pap, out of a gilded spoon. Truly, 't 'the purpose of playing, whose end was and now is to show the very age and body of the time its form and pressure,' comes somewhat tardy off in its influences at the present day. Players are not so much engaged in 'holding the mirror up to Nature,' as they are in distorting the features of the old lady to a degree which would make her forswear herself, if she should find courage enough, some fiue morning, to look in the glass. Behold thyself reflected here!' can hardly now-a-days be considered as a stage motto, particularly complimentary to the audience. The admiration of the public is divided between the horses, and the heroes who ride them. The quadruped Mazeppa' was long the chief star at the Bowery; a horse of less talent, but equal ambition, displayed his ability at the Park, in the spectacle of 'Rienzi.' On the first appearance of this dramatic horse trian, we remarked a degree of modesty, which augured well for his future career. There was none of that bold, intrusive impudence, which is said to characterize the charger of a knight of the road, in this four-footed hero; on the contrary, so great was his diffidence, that it required the earnest persuasions of his attendants at the bottom of the stage, to make him come forward at all. Modesty is so well known to be the attendant of genius, that to mention its possession, is almost to affirm that the proprietor thereof is as surely the happy owner of a portion of the true 'mens divinorum.' There were other sensible and well-disposed animals in this piece, that did their 'possible,' to add to its attractions; but they were evidently old stagers, and made their exits and their entrances, without particular remark.

Mr. BALLS has played his routine of characters lately, with considerable applause. Without any great degree of genius, strictly speaking, this gentleman is nevertheless an actor whose vivacity and sprightliness fit him for the gay, butterfly personations of modern farce. His brain seems ever in a glorious whirl, and there is no check to the sparkling, joyous spirit of fun, which hurries him on through scenes that would seem to require quicksilver, both in head and heels, to sustain. Mr. BALLS is exactly one of the persons who ought to be attached to the regular stock company. He would fill one great hiatus, at least, and render less urgent the arduous exertions of some of the lesser aspirants to the honors of the light comic drama. [We have observed an increasing improvement, for some time, in the acting of Mrs. RICHARDSON. She seems to be recovering her old spirits. Miss CUSHMAN, too, gains nightly on her audiences. She has power, and physical ability, joined to good sound sense, which we are happy to see her display with such good success. Mr. WHEATLEY strives hard to succeed, and merits approbation for his strict, straightforward attention to the business of the scene. If he will alter a little more the monotony of his delivery, one great stumblingblock will be removed.

The cause of the depression which the Park has experienced, during the past winter, may be found in the absence of the superior attractions which have heretofore distinguished its career, and in the rivalry of the 'NATIONAL,' which has exceeded all its previous efforts; and for this want of its usual force, the managers may not be so much to blame as the public suppose. The engagement of MADAME VESTRIS, it was thought, would present an attraction, greater than any other which could be brought from that English store-house upon which we have so long been in the habit of drawing; and so, we maintain, it would, if this lady had exercised the same means which have given her the great celebrity she enjoyed at home. In the first place, the public expected to see a handsome woman, an extraordinary beauty. They were led to expect this, from the oft-repeated rhapsodies of the English press. In this they were sadly disappointed. They looked forward, moreover, to the display of her talents in new pieces such at least as were new to them. Here, too, their anticipations were deceived. Madame appeared in those plays which their old favorite, Mrs. KEELEY, had previously performed in a manner that gave universal delight. Some light trifles, it is true, were produced for the first time; perfect in their way, and charmingly performed, both by the lady and her husband; but these noveltics were few, and could not of themselves create sufficient attraction to fill the house. But the greatest mistake which MADAME VESTRIS made, was an affectation (we are forced so to consider it) of overweening modesty, and square-toed respectability, in ber visit to our land of steady habits. There was certainly an implied compliment to the delicacy

of American audiences, in this assumption; and so far, we ought to feel grateful to the lady, and are so, no doubt; but as we wish to give an opinion of the true causes of her want of success, we will do so, by honestly declaring, that this sudden exercise of delicacy, on the part of Madame, was one of the strongest. She was known in this country as much from the fame of the peculiar charm which it was said belonged to her delineations of male characters, as by any superiority which attached either to her acting, or singing, in personations of her own sex. Now whether it was alto gether from a bigh sense of the refined delicacy of the Americans, which in her opinion might not brook the metamorphosis in which she had so often appeared to admiring audiences at home, or whether she was guided by a just regard for that respectability with which the marriage-rites had so lately graced her condition, we are unable to decide; but however doubtful the motive, it is true that the result was a complete omission of all male personations in her American engagement, Bachelor though we be, we confess to a reverential horror for ladies in pantaloons, actually or figuratively, in real life; yet if, by assuming these much-abused garments upon the stage, they can for an hour give even a fictitious charm to manhood, by softening down the rough asperities of the masculine gender, we are inclined to applaud the fascinating delusion. One great attraction of M'de VESTRIS' art was thus entirely abandoned; and this, with the other causes to which we have alluded, may account for her want of success, and the unpleasant lurch in which she left the managers, quite as truly as the reasons which some English paragraph-writers have thought fit to assign. The very absurd notion, which the lady and her husband seemed to entertain, that the cause of their disappointment was a foolish report of their conduct at hotels, and a want of republican simplicity in their fashion of eating dinner, is quite too ridiculous to merit a reply. That our theatrical public can and do appreciate foreign talent, the experience of every English man or woman, who has made a professional tour of America, can testify. They have generally goue home enriched, far beyond their highest hopes, and have been tempted over again and again, to add to their wealth and reputation. We know that mony English performers gain more money by one year's engagement here, than they could possibly obtain by five years' arduous labor in their profession at home. M'de VESTRIS would have been equally successful, if she had pursued a course equally honest, and a little less dignified. Mr. MATTHEWS disappointed us most agreeably. His vivacity and humor, and a certain nervousness in his style of acting, reminded us continually of his lamented father. With the really great ability of Mrs. MATTHEWs, it is to be regretted that their visit to this country did not equal, in its results, their favorable anticipations. After all, the great misfortune which the failure of the MATTHEWS' created, falls upon the management. But we hope, as the spring opens, to see the Park resume its wonted attraction, and to behold, before the season closes, its complete revival from the temporary duluess which has so unexpectedly overshadowed it.

C.

THE NATIONAL. This establishment continues to win upon the town. Indeed, it may be said to have wrought out for itself a permanent popularity, through the liberality, good taste, and eficiency of the management. Opera has continued to be the reigning attraction. Amilie,' the never-tiring, all-satisfying, still continues in the ascendant. Although it has lost the gloss of novelty, its representation is more sure to attract, than any other performance that can be brought forward. The spirited acting, not less than the high musical gifts, of Miss SHIREFF, has made her a prodigious favorite. WILSON's sweet, mellow voice, and delightful simplicity of execution, have gained all suffrages; while SEGUIN, with his rich, deep tones, passion-speaking countenance, and general merit as an actor, has not been less successful. We should not omit to award due praise to the chorus-singers, who render their essential services with great credit to their talents and study. The Marriage of Figaro, which crowded the National to the very street-doors, introduced to us Mrs. SEGUIN, as the 'Countess,' a part which she sustained with the highest honors, receiving, ever and anon, the most rapturous applause, in return for the finished efforts of her powerful and well-managed contralto voice. Miss SHIREFF, as 'Suzanna,' was in all respects equally successful. We cannot conscientiously praise the acting of SEGUIN's 'Figaro;' it was over-acted; but the music was rendered with his accustomed force and skill. WILSON, as the 'Count,' erred in another extreme; he under-acted his part, but in his vocal efforts, left nothing to be desired. The melo-drama of 'Lafitte' derived from the personations of Mr. CONNER, a young actor of fine personal presence, and decided talents, as well as from adroit mechanical arrangements, and capital scenery, all that it received in the way of applause. It is intensely melo-dramatic, while the language is either ludicrously forced and unnatural, or lamentably tame and commonplace.

TO CORRESPONDENTS. A Dream,' by GRACE GRAFTON,''The Picture,' and 'Lines written in the Album of an Invalid in Italy,' are in type. The Netherlands,' the first of a series, by Hon. CALEB CUSHING,'' A Third Psalm of Life,'' My Tablets,' 'Sketches of a Trip to Lake Superior,' 'Benevolence,' by 'JUNIUS JUNIOR,' and 'The Sphynx,' with divers others articles, are filed for insertion, or are under advisement.