THE

 CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

 DEVOTED TO

 LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. 

 VOL. III. --APRIL, 1863. --No. IV. 

THE WONDERS OF WORDS. 

Every nation has its legend of a 'golden age'--when all was young andfresh and fair--'_comme les couleurs primitives de la nature_'--evenbefore the existence of this gaunt shadow of Sorrow--_the shadow ofourselves_--that ever stalks in company with us;--an epoch of Saturnianrule, when gods held sweet converse with men, and man primeval boundedwith all the elasticity of god-given juvenility:

 ('Ah! remember, This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago. ')

And even now, in spite of our atheism and our apathism, amid all theoverwhelming world-influences of this great 'living Present'--the ghostof the dead Past will come rushing back upon us with its solemn voicesand its infinite wailings of pity: but soft and faint it comes; for thewild jarrings of the Now almost prevent us from hearing its still, smallvoices. It

 'Is but a _dim-remembered_ story Of the old time entombed. '

Besides, what is History but the story of the bygone? The elegy, too, comes to us as the last lamenting, sadly solemn swan-song of thatglorious golden time. And, indeed, are not all poesies but various notesof that mighty diapason of Thought and Feeling, that has, through theages, been singing itself in jubilee and wail?

So it is in the individual--(for is not the individual ever therudimental, formula-like expression of that awful problem which nationsand humanity itself are slowly and painfully working out?): in the'moonlight of memory' these sorrowful mementos revisit every one of us;and

 ----'But I am not _now_ That which I _have been_'--

and _vanitas vanitatum!_ are not only the satisfied croakings of _blasé_Childe Harolds, but our universal experience; while from childhood'sgushing glee even unto manhood's sad satiety, we feel that all arenought but the phantasmagoria

 'of a creature _Moving about in worlds not realized_. '

Listen now to a snatch of melody:

 'The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose, The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, wherever I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth!'

So saith the mild Braminical Wordsworth. Now it will be remembered thatWordsworth, in that glorious ode whence we extract the above, developsthe Platonic idea (shall we call Platonic that which has beenentertained by the wise and the _feeling_ of all times?) of a shadowyrecollection of past and eternal existence in the profundities of theDivine Heart. 'It sounds forth here a mournful remembrance of a fadedworld of gods and heroes--as the echoing plaint for the loss of man'soriginal, celestial state, and paradisiacal innocence. ' And then we havethose transcendent lines that come to us like aromatic breezes blowingfrom the Spice Islands:

 'Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea, Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. '

But, 'descending From these imaginative heights that yield Far-stretching views into eternity, '--

what have the golden age and Platonic _dicta_ to do with ourword-ramble? A good deal. For we will endeavor to show that words, beingthe very sign-manual of man's convictions, contain the elements of whatmay throw light on both. To essay this:

Why is it that we generally speak of death as a 'return, ' or a 'returnhome'? And how is it that this same idea has so remarkably interwovenitself with the very warp and woof of our language and poetry?--so thatin our fervency, we can sing:

 'Jerusalem, my glorious _home_, ' etc. 

Does not the very idea (not to mention the composition of the word) of a'return' involve a previously having been in the place? And we canscarcely call that 'home' where we have never been before. So, that 'oldHebrew book' sublimely tells us that 'the spirit of the man _returneth_to God who gave it. '

Is it possible that these can be obscure intimations of that bygone timewhen WE were rocked in the bosom of the Divine consciousness?Perhaps.... And now if the reader will pardon a piece of moralizing, wewould say that these expressions teach us in the most emphatic waythat--'_This is not our rest_. ' So that when we have dived into everymine of knowledge and drunk from every fountain of pleasure; when, withDante, we arrive at the painful conclusion that

 'Tutto l'oro, ch'è sotto la luna, E che già fu, di queste anime stanche Non poterebbe farne posar una, '

(since, indeed, the Finite can never gain entire satisfaction initself)--we may not despair, but still the heart-throbbings, knowingthat He who has--for a season--enveloped us in the mantle of thissleep-rounded life, and thrown around himself the drapery of theuniverse--spangling it with stars--will again take us back to hisfatherly bosom. 

Somewhat analogous to these, and arguing the eternity of our existence, we have such words as 'decease, ' which merely imports a _withdrawal_;'demise, ' implying also a laying down, a _removal_. By the way, it israther curious to observe the notions in the mind of mankind that havegiven rise to the words expressing 'death. ' Thus we have the Latin word_mors_--allied, perhaps, to the Greek [Greek: moros] and [Greek:moira], [1] from [Greek: meiromai]--to _portion out_, to _assign_. Eventhis, however, there was a repulsion to using; and both the Greeks andRomans were wont to slip clear of the employment of their [Greek:thanatos], _mors_, etc. , by such circumlocutions as _vitam suam mutare, transire e seculo_; [Greek: koimêsato chalkeon hypnon]--_he slept thebrazen sleep_ (Homer's Iliad, [Greek: Lamda], 241); [Greek: ton deskotos oss' ekalypsen]--_and darkness covered his eyes_ (Iliad, [Greek:Zeta], 11); or _he completeth the destiny of life_, etc. This reminds usof the French aversion to uttering their _mort_. These expressions, again, are suggestive of our 'fate, ' with an application similar to theLatin _fatum_, which, indeed, is none other than 'id quod _fatum est_ adeis'--a God's word. So that in this sense we may all be considered'fatalists, ' and all things _fated_. Why not? However, in the followingfrom _Festus_, it is the 'deil' that makes the assertion:

 'FESTUS. Forced on us. 

 LUCIFER. _All things are of necessity. _

 FESTUS. Then best. 

 But the good are never fatalists. The bad Alone act by necessity, they say. 

 LUCIFER. It matters not what men assume to be; Or good, or bad, they are but what they are. '

In which we may agree that his majesty was not so very far wrong. 

Moreover, 'Why _should_ we mourn departed friends?'--since we know thatthey are but lying in the [Greek: moimêtêrion] (cemetery)--the _sleepingplace_; or, as the vivid old Hebrew faith would have it, _the house ofthe living_ (Bethaim). Is not this testimony for the soul's immortalityworth as much as all the rhapsody written thereon, from Plato toAddison?

Some words are the very essence of poetry; redolent with all beauteousphantasies; odoriferous as flowers in spring, or discoursing an awfulorgan-melody, like to the re-bellowing of the hoarse-sounding sea. Forinstance, those two noble old Saxon words 'main' and 'deep, ' that weapply to the ocean--what a music is there about them! The 'main' is the_maegen_--the strength, the _strong one_; the great 'deep' is preciselywhat the name imports. Our employment of 'deep' reminds of the Latin_altum_, which, properly signifying high or lofty, is, by a familiarspecies of metonymy, put for its opposite. 

By the way, how exceedingly timid are our poets and poetasters generallyof the open sea--_la pleine mer_. They linger around the shores thereof, in a vain attempt to sit snugly there _à leur aise_, while they 'callspirits from the vasty deep'--that never did and never would come onsuch conditions, though they grew hoarse over it. We all remember howSandy Smith labors with making abortive _grabs_ at its _amber tails_, _main_, etc. (rather slippery articles on the whole)--but he is not

 'A shepherd in the Hebrid Isles, _Placed far amid the melancholy main!_'

Hail shade of Thomson! But hear how the exile sings it:

 'La mer! partout la mer! des flots, des flots encor! L'oiseau fatigue en vain son inégal essor. Ici les flots, là-bas les ondes. Toujours des flots sans fin par des flots repoussés; L'oeil ne voit que des flots dans l'abime entassés Rouler sous les vaques profondes. '[2]

This we, for our part, would pronounce one of the very best open-seasketches we have ever met with; and if the reader will take even ourunequal rendering, he may think so too. 

 'The sea! all round, the sea! flood, flood o'er billow surges! In vain the bird fatigued its faltering wing here urges. Billows beneath, waves, waves around; Ever the floods (no end!) by urging floods repulsed; The eye sees but the waves, in an abyss engulphed, Roll 'neath their lairs profound. '

'Aurora' comes to us as a remnant of that beautiful Grecian mythologythat deified and poetized everything; and even to us she is still the'rosy-fingered daughter of the morn. ' The 'Levant, ' 'Orient, ' and'Occident' are all of them poetical, for they are all true translationsfrom nature. The 'Levant' is where the sun is _levant_, raising himselfup. 'Orient' will be recognized as the same figure from _orior_; while'occident' is, of course, the opposite in signification, namely, thedeclining, the 'setting' place. 

'Lethe' is another classic myth. It is [Greek: ho tês lêthêspotamos]--the river of forgetfulness, 'the oblivious pool. ' Perhaps isit that all of us, as well as the son of Thetis, had a dip therein. 

There exists not a more poetic expression than 'Hyperborean, ' _i. E. _[Greek: hyperboreos]--_beyond Boreas_; or, as a modern poet finely andfaithfully expands it:

 'Beyond those regions cold Where dwells the Spirit of the North-Wind, Boreas old. '

Homer never manifested himself to be more of a poet than in the creationof this word. By the way, the Hyperboreans were regarded by the ancientsas an extremely happy and pious people. 

How few of those who use that very vague, grandiloquent word 'Ambrosial'know that it has reference to the 'ambrosia' ([Greek: ambrotos], _immortal_), the food of the gods! It has, however, a secondarysignification, namely, that of an unguent, or perfume, hence fragrant;and this is probably the prevailing idea in our 'ambrosial': instanceMilton's 'ambrosial flowers. ' It was, like the 'nectar' ([Greek:nektar], an _elixir vitæ_), considered a veritable elixir ofimmortality, and consequently denied to men. 

The Immortals, in their golden halls of 'many-topped Olympus, ' seem tohave led a merry-enough life of it over their nectar and ambrosia, theirlaughter and intrigues. 

But not half as jolly were they as were Odin and the Iotun--dead drunkin Valhalla over their mead and ale, from

 'the ale-cellars of the Iotun, Which is called Brimir. '

The daisy (Saxon _Daeges ege_) has often been cited as fragrant withpoesy. It is the _Day's Eye_: we remember Chaucer's affectionate lines:

 'Of all the floures in the mede Than love I most those floures of white and rede, Such that men called _daisies_ in our toun, To them I have so great affection. '

Nor is he alone in his love for the

 _'Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flouer. '_

An odoriferous-enough (etymologic) bouquet could we cull from the namesof Flora's children. What a beauty is there in the 'primrose, ' which isjust the _prime_-rose; in the 'Beauty of the Night' and the 'MorningGlory, ' except when a pompous scientific terminology, would convert itinto a _convolvulus_! So, too, the 'Anemone' ([Greek: anemos], thewind-flower), into which it is fabled Venus changed her Adonis. What astory of maiden's love does the 'Sweet William' tell; and how manycharming associations cluster around the 'Forget-me-not!' Again, isthere not poetry in calling a certain family of minute crustacea, whosetwo eyes meet and form a single round spot in the centre of the head, 'Cyclops'--([Greek: kyklôps], circular-eyed)?

And if any one thinketh that there cannot be poetry even in the drytechnicalities of science, let him take such an expression as 'coral, 'which, in the original Greek, [Greek: koralion], signifies a _seadamsel_; or the chemical 'cobalt, ' 'which, ' remarks Webster, 'is said tobe the German _Kobold_, a goblin, the demon of the mines; so called byminers, because cobalt was troublesome to miners, and at first its valuewas not known. ' Ah! but these terms were created before _Science_, inits rigidity, had taught us the _truth_ in regard to these matters. Yes!and fortunate is it for us that we still have words, and ideasclustering around these words, that have not yet been chilled andexanimated by the frigid touch of an empirical knowledge. For

 'Still the heart doth need a language, still Doth the old instinct bring back the old names. '

And may benign heaven deliver us from those buckram individuals whoimagine that Nature is as narrow and rigid as their own contractedselves, and who would seek to array her in their own exquisitebottle-green bifurcations and a _gilet à la mode_! These charactersalways put us in mind of the statues of Louis XIV, in which he isrepresented as Jupiter or Hercules, nude, with the exception of thelion's hide thrown round him--_and the long, flowing peruke_ of thetimes! O Jupiter _tonans_! let us have either the lion or the ass--onlylet it be _veracious_!

To proceed: 'Auburn' is probably connected with _brennan_, and means_sun-burned_, analogous, indeed, to 'Ethiopian' ([Greek: Aithiops]), _one whom the sun has looked upon_. 

How seldom do we think, in uttering 'adieu, ' that we verily say, Icommend you _à Dieu_--to God; that the lightly-spoken _good-by_ means_God be wi' you_, [3] or that the (if possible) still more frequent and_unthinking_ 'thank you, ' in reality assures the person addressed--_Iwill think often of you_. 

'Eld' is a word that has the poetic aroma about it, and is an example(of which we might adduce additional cases from the domain of 'poeticdiction') of a word set aside from a prose use and devoted exclusivelyto poetry. It is, as we know, Saxon, signifying _old_ or _old age_, andwas formerly in constant use in this sense; as, for instance, inChaucer's translation of _Boethius de Consolatione Philosophiæ_, we findthus:

 'At laste no drede ne might overcame tho muses, that thei ne weren fellowes, and foloweden my waie, that is to saie, when I was exiled, thei that weren of my youth whilom welfull and grene, comforten now sorrowfull weirdes of me olde man: for _elde_ is comen unwarely upon me, hasted by the harmes that I have, and sorowe hath commaunded his age to be in me. '

So in the _Knightes Tale_:

 'As sooth in said _elde_ hath gret avantage; In _elde_ is both wisdom and usage: Men may the old out-renne but not out-rede. '

Oh! what an overflowing fulness of truth and beauty is there wrapped upin the core of these articulations that we so heedlessly utter, would webut make use of the wizard's wand wherewith to evoke them! What anexhaustless wealth does there lie in even the humblest fruitage andflowerage of language, and what a fecundity have even dry 'roots'!

'Thinkest thou there were no poets till Dan Chaucer?' asks our greatThomas; 'no heart burning with a thought, which it could not hold, andhad no word for; and needed to shape and coin a word for--what thoucallest a metaphor, trope, or the like? For every word we have, therewas such a man and poet. The coldest word was once a glowing newmetaphor, and bold questionable originality. 'Thy very ATTENTION, doesit not mean an _attentio_, a STRETCHING-TO?' Fancy that act of the mindwhich all were conscious of, which none had yet named--when this new'poet' first felt bound and driven to name it! His questionableoriginality and new glowing metaphor was found adoptible, intelligible;and remains our name for it to this day. '[4]

This seems to be a pet etymology of Carlyle, as he makes ProfessorTeufelsdröckh give it to us also. 

Nor less of a poet was that Grecian man who first named this beauteousworld--with its boundless unity in variety--the [Greek: kosmos], [5] the_order_, the _adornment_. But

 'Alas, for the rarity Of Christian charity, '

and

 'Ah! the inanity Of frail humanity, '

that first induced some luckless mortal to give to certain mysteriouscompounds the appellation of _cosmetics_! But here is an atonement; foreven in our unmythical, unbelieving days, the god 'Terminus' is made tostand guard over every railway station! Again, how finely did the Romancall his heroism his 'virtus'--his _vir_tue--his _manliness_. With theItalians, however, it became quite a different thing; for his 'virtu' isnone other than his love of the fine arts (these being to him the onlysubject of _manly_ occupation), a mere _objet de vertu_; and his_virtuoso_ has no more virtuousness or manliness about him than whatappertains to being skilled in these same fine arts. With us, our'virtue' is ... Well, as soon as we can find out, we will tell you. 

By the way, in what a _bathos_ of mystery are most of our termsexpressing the moral relations plunged! Some philosophers have declaredthat truth lies at the bottom of a well;--the well in which the truth inregard to these matters lies would seem to stretch far enoughdown--reaching, in fact, almost to the kingdom of the Inane. Thebeautiful simplicity of Bible truths has often become so perverted--sooverloaded by the vain works (and _words_) of man's device--as barely toescape total extinction. Witness 'repentance'; in what a farrago ofendless absurdities and palpable contradictions has this word (and, moreunfortunately still, the thing itself along with it) been enveloped!According to the 'divines, ' what does it not signify? Its composition, we very well know, gives us _poenitentia_, from _poenitere_, to _besorry_, to _regret_--and such is its true and _only_ meaning. 'Thisdesign' (that of the analysis of language in its elementary forms), saysWilkins, 'will likewise contribute much to the clearing of some of ourmodern differences in religion; by unmasking many wild errors, thatshelter themselves under the disguise of affected phrases; which beingphilosophically unfolded, and rendered according to the genuine andnatural importance of words, will appear to be inconsistencies andabsurdities. ' Nor would he have gone very far astray had he put_philosophy_ and _politics_ under the same category. Strip the gaudydress and trappings from an expression, and it will have a most markedresult. Analysis is a terrible humiliation to your mysticism and yourgrandiloquence--and an awful bore to those who depend for effect oneither. We have something to say hereafter on those astonishinglyprofound oracles whose only depth is in the terminology they employ. Inthe mean time, expect not too much of words. Never, in all ourphilologic researches, must we lose sight of the fact that _words arebut the daughters of earth, while things are the sons of heaven_. Thisexpecting too much of words has been the fruitful source of innumerableerrors. To resume:

Take a dozen words (to prove our generosity, we will let it be a baker'sdozen) illustrative of this same principle of metaphor that governs themechanism of language, and sheds a glory and a beauty around even ourevery-day fireside words; so that even those that seem hackneyed, wornout, and apparently tottering with the imbecility of old age--would webut get into the core of them--will shine forth with all the expressivemeaning of their spring time--with the blush and bloom of poesy--

 'All redolent with youth and flowers, '

and prove their very abusers--poets. 

The 'halcyon' days! What a balmy serenity hovers around them--basking inthe sunlight of undisturbed tranquillity. This we feel; but how werealize it after reading the little _family secret_ that it wraps up!The [Greek: Halkyôn] (halcyon)--_alcedo hispida_--was the name appliedby the Greeks to the _kingfisher_ (a name commonly derived from [Greek:hals, kyô], i. E. , _sea-conceiving_, from the fact of this bird's beingsaid to lay her eggs in rocks near the sea); and the [Greek: halkyonideshêmerai]--_halcyon days_--were those fourteen 'during the calm weatherabout the winter solstice, ' during which the bird was said to build hernest and lay her eggs; hence, by an easy transition, perfect quietude ingeneral. 

Those who have felt the bitter, biting effect of 'sarcasm, ' will hardlybe disposed to consider it a metaphor even, should we trace it back tothe Greek [Greek: sarkazô]--_to tear off the flesh_ ([Greek: sarx]), _literally_, to 'flay. ' 'Satire, ' again, has an arbitrary-enough origin;it is _satira_, from _satur_, _mixed_; and the application is asfollows: each species of poetry had, among the Romans, its own specialkind of versification; thus the hexameter was used in the epic, theiambic in the drama, etc. Ennius, however, the earliest Latin'satirist, ' first disregarded these conventionalities, and introduced a_medley_ (satira) of all kinds of metres. It afterward, however, lostthis idea of a _melange_, and acquired the notion of a poem 'directedagainst the vices and failings of men with a view to their correction. '

Perhaps we owe to reviewing the metaphorical applications of such termsas 'caustic, ' 'mordant, ' 'piquant, ' etc. , in their _burning_, _biting_, and _pricking_ senses. 

But 'review, ' itself, we are to regard as pure metaphor. Our friend'Snooks, ' at least, found _that_ out; for, instead of _re_-viewing--_i. E. _, viewing again and again his book, they pronounced it to bedecidedly bad without any examination whatever. A 'critic' we allrecognize in his character of _judge_ or _umpire_; but is it that healways possesses discrimination--has he always _insight_ (for these arethe primary ideas attaching themselves to [Greek: krinô], whence [Greek:kritikos] comes)--does he divide between the merely arbitrary andincidental, and see into the absolute and eternal Art-Soul that vivifiesa poem or a picture? If so, then is he a critic indeed. 

How perfectly do 'invidiousness' and 'envy'[6] express the _looking overagainst_ (_in-video_)--the _askance gaze_--the natural development ofthat painful mental state which poor humanity is so subject to! So with'obstinacy' (_ob-sto_), which, by the way, the phrenologists represent, literally enough, by an ass in a position which assuredly Webster had inhis mind when he wrote his definition of this word; thus: ... '_in afixedness in opinion or resolution that cannot be shaken at all, orwithout great difficulty_. '

Speaking of this reminds us of those very capital 'Illustrations ofPhrenology, ' by Cruikshank, with which we all are familiar, and where, for example, '_veneration_ is exemplified by a stout old gentleman, withan ample paunch, gazing with admiring eyes and uplifted hands on the fatside of an ox fed by Mr. Heavyside, and exhibited at the stall of abutcher. In this way a Jew old-clothes man, holding his hand on hisbreast with the utmost earnestness, while in the other he offers a coinfor a pair of slippers, two pairs of boots, three hats, and a largebundle of clothes, to an old woman, who, evidently astonished all over, exclaims, 'A shilling!' is an illustration of _conscientiousness_. Adialogue of two fishwomen at Billingsgate illustrates _language_, and ariot at Donnybrook Fair explains the phrenological doctrine of_combativeness_. '

But peace to the 'bumps, ' and pass we on. Could anything be morecompletely metaphorical than such expressions as 'egregious' and'fanatic?' 'Egregious' is chosen, _e-grex_--_out of the flock_, i. E. , the best sheep, etc. , selected from the rest, and set aside for sacredpurposes; hence, _distingué_. This word, though occupying at presentcomparatively neutral ground, seems fast merging toward its worstapplication. Can it be that an 'egregious' _rogue_ is an article of somuch more frequent occurrence than an 'egregiously' _honest_ man, thatincongruity seems to subsist between the latter? 'Fanatic, ' again, isjust the Roman '_fanaticus_, ' one addicted to the _fana_, [7] the templesin which the 'fanatici' or fanatics were wont to spend an extraordinaryportion of their time. But besides this, their religious fervor used toimpel them to many extravagances, such as cutting themselves withknives, etc. , and hence an 'ultraist' (one who goes _beyond_ (ultra) thenotions of other people) in any sense. Whereupon it might be remarkedthat though

 'Coelum, non animum, mutant qui trans mare currunt, '

may, in certain applications, be true, it is surely not so in the caseof a good many words. Thus this very instance, 'fanatic, ' which, amongthe Romans, implied one who had an _extra share of devotion_, is, amongus--the better informed on this head--by a very curious and veryunfathomable figure (disfigure?) of speech or logic, applied to one whohas a peculiar _penchant_ for human liberty!

 'In the most high and _palmy_ state of Rome, A little ere the mighty Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. '

We do not quote this for the sake of the making-the-hair-to-stand-on-endtendencies of the last two lines, but through the voluptuous quiescenceof the first, 'In the most high and palmy state of Rome, '

to introduce the beautifully metaphorical expression, 'palmy. ' It will, of course, be immediately recognized as being from the 'palm' tree; thatis to say, _palm-abounding_. And what visions of orient splendor does itbear with it, wafting on its wings the very aroma of the isles of theblest--[Greek: makarôn nêsoi]--or

 'Where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold!'

It bears us away with it, and we stand on that sun-kissed land

 'Whose rivers wander over sands of gold, '

with a houri lurking in every 'bosky bourne, ' and the beauteous palm, waving its umbrageous head, at once food, shade, and shelter. 

The palm being to the Oriental of such passing price, we can easilyimagine how he would so enhance its value as to make it the type ofeverything that is prosperous and glorious and 'palmy, ' the _beau-ideal_of everything that is flourishing. Hear what Sir Walter Raleigh says onthis subject: 'Nothing better proveth the excellency of this soil thanthe abundant growing of the _palm trees_ without labor of man. _Thistree alone giveth unto man whatsoever his life beggeth at nature'shand. _'

'Paradise, ' too, is oriental in all its associations. It is [Greek:paradeisos], [8] that is, a _park_ or _pleasure ground_, in which senseit is constantly employed by Xenophon, as every weary youth who has_parasanged_ it with him knows. By the LXX it was used in a metaphoricalsense for the garden of Eden:

 'The glories we have known, And that imperial palace whence we came;'

but a still loftier meaning did it acquire when the Christ employed itas descriptive of the splendors of the 'better land'--of the glories andbeauties of the land Beulah. 

But, look out, fellow strollers, for we are off in a tangent!

What a curiously humble origin has 'literature, ' contrasted with themagnitude of its present import. It is just 'litteral'--_letters_ intheir most primitive sense; and [Greek: grammata] is nought other. Norcan even all the pomposity of the 'belles-lettres' carry us any fartherthan the very fine 'letters' or _litteral_; while even Solomon So-so maytake courage when he reflects (provided Solomon be ever guilty ofreflecting) that the 'literati' have 'literally' nothing more profoundabout them than the knowledge of their 'letters. ' The Latins wereprolific in words of this kind; thus they had the _literatus_ and the_literator_--making some such discrimination between them as we dobetween 'philosopher' and 'philosophe. '

'Unlettered, ' to be sure, is one who is unacquainted even with his'letters;' but what is 'erudite?' It is merely E, _out of_, a RUDIS, _rude_, _chaotic_, _ignorant_ state of things; and thus in itselfasserts nothing very tremendous, and makes no very prodigiouspretensions. Surely these words had their origin at an epoch when'letters' stood higher in the scale of estimation than they do now; whenhe who knew them possessed a spell that rendered him a potent characteramong the 'unlettered. '

A 'spell' did we say? Perhaps that is not altogether fanciful; for'spell' itself in the Saxon primarily imports a _word_; and we know thatthe runes or Runic letters were long employed in this way. For instance, Mr. Turner thus informs us ('History of the Anglo-Saxons, ' vol. I, p. 169): 'It was the invariable policy of the Roman ecclesiastics todiscourage the use of the Runic characters, because they were of paganorigin, and had been much connected with idolatrous superstitions. ' Andif any one be incredulous, let him read this from Sir Thomas Brown:'Some have delivered the polity of spirits, that they stand in awe ofcharms, _spells_, and conjurations; _letters_, characters, notes, anddashes. ' And have not the [Greek: Alpha] and [Greek: Ômega] somethingmystic and cabalistic about them even to us?

While on this, let us note that 'spell' gives us the beautiful andcheering expression 'gospel, ' which is precisely _God's-spell_--the'evangile, ' the good God's-news!

To resume:

'Graphical' ([Greek: graphô]) is just what is welldelineated--_literally_, 'well written, ' or, as our common expressioncorroboratively has it, _like a book_!

'Style' and 'stiletto' would, from their significations, appear to beradically very different words; and yet they are something more akinthan even cousins-german. 'Style' is known to be from the [Greek:stylos], or _stylus_, which the Greeks and Romans employed in writing ontheir waxen tablets; and, as they were both sharp and strong, theybecame in the hands of scholars quite formidable instruments when usedagainst their schoolmasters. Afterward they came to be employed in allthe bloody relations and uses to which a 'bare bodkin' can be put, andhence our acceptation of 'stiletto. ' Cæsar himself, it is supposed, gothis 'quietus' by means of a 'stylus;' nor is he the first or lastcharacter whose 'style' has been his (_literary_, if not _literal_)damnation. 

'Volume, ' too, how perfectly metaphorical is it in its presentreception! It is originally just a _volumen_, that is, a 'roll' ofparchment, papyrus, or whatever else the 'book' (i. E. , the _bark_--the'liber') might be composed of. Nor can we regard as aught other suchterms as 'leaf' or 'folio, ' which is also 'leaf. ' 'Stave, ' too, issuggestive of the _staff_ on which the runes were wont to be cut. Indeed, old almanacs are sometimes to be met with consisting of theselong sticks or 'staves, ' on which the days and months are represented bythe Runic letters. 

'Charm, ' 'enchant, ' and 'incantation' all owe their origin to the timewhen spells were in vogue. 'Charm' is just _carmen_, from the fact that'a kind of Runic rhyme' was employed in _diablerie_ of this sort; so'enchant' and 'incantation' are but a _singing to_--a true 'siren'ssong;' while 'fascination' took its rise when the mystic terrors of the_evil eye_ threw its withering blight over many a heart. 

We are all familiar with the old fable of _The Town Mouse and theCountry Mouse_. We will vouch that the following read us as luminous acomment thereon as may be desired: 'Polite, ' 'urbane, ' 'civil, ''rustic, ' 'villain, ' 'savage, ' 'pagan, ' 'heathen. ' Let us seek themoral:

'Polite, ' 'urbane, ' and 'civil' we of course recognize as beingrespectively from [Greek: polis], _urbs_, and _civis_, each denoting thecity or town--_la grande ville_. 'Polite' is _city-like_; while'urbanity' and 'civility' carry nothing deeper with them than thegraces and the attentions that belong to the punctilious town. 'Rustic'we note as implying nothing more uncultivated than a 'peasant, ' which isjust _pays_-an, or, as we also say, a 'countryman. ' 'Savage, ' too, or, as we ought to write it, _salvage_, [9] is nothing more grim or terriblethan one who dwells _in sylvis_, in the woods--a meaning we canappreciate from our still comparatively pure application of theadjective _sylvan_. A 'backwoodsman' is therefore the very best originaltype of a _savage_! 'Savage' seems to be hesitating between its civiland its ethical applications; 'villain, ' 'pagan, ' and 'heathen, 'however, have become quite absorbed in their moral sense--and this by acontortion that would seem strange enough were we not constantlyaccustomed to such transgressions. For we need not to be informed that'villain' primarily and properly implies simply one who inhabits a villeor _village_. In Chaucer, for example, we see it without at least anymoral signification attached thereto:

 'But firste I praie you of your curtesie That ye ne arette it not my _vilanie_. '

 _Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. _

So a 'pagan, ' or _paganus_, is but a dweller in a _pagus_, or village;precisely equivalent to the Greek [Greek: kômêtês], with no other ideawhatever attached thereto; while 'heathen' imported those who lived onthe _heaths_ or in the country, consequently far away from_civilization_ or _town-like-ness_. 

From all of which expressions we may learn the mere conventionality andthe utter arbitrariness of even our most important ethical terms. Howprodigiously _cheap_ is the application of any such epithets, considering the terrible abuse they have undergone! And how poor is thatphilosophy that can concentrate 'politeness' and 'civility' in thefrippery and heartlessness of mere external city-forms; and convert theman who dwells in the woods or in the village into a _savage_ or a_villain_! How fearful a lack do these numerous words and their soprolific analogues manifest of acknowledgment of that glorious principlewhich Burns has with fire-words given utterance to--and to which, wouldwe preserve the dignity of manhood, we must hold on--

 'A man's a man for a' that!'

Ah! it is veritably enough to make us atrabiliar! Here we see words intheir weaknesses and their meannesses, as elsewhere in their glory andbeauty. And not so much _their_ meanness and weakness, as that of thosewho have distorted these innocent servants of truth to become tools offalsehood and the abject instruments of the extinction of all honestyand nobleness. 

The word 'health' wraps up in it--for, indeed, it is hardlymetaphorical--a whole world of thought and suggestion. It is that which_healeth_ or maketh one to be _whole_, or, as the Scotch say, _hale_;which _whole_ or _hale_ (for they are one word) may imply entireness orunity; that is to say, perfect 'health' is that state of the system inwhich there is no disorganization--no division of interest--but when itis recognized as a perfect _one_ or whole; or, in other words, notrecognized at all. And this meaning is confirmed by our analogue_sanity_, which, from _sanus_, and allied to [Greek: saos], hasunderneath it a similar basis. 

Every student of Carlyle will remember the very telling use to which heputs the idea contained in this word--speaking of the manifold relationsof physical, psychal, and social health. Reference is made to hisemployment of it in the 'Characteristics'--itself one of the mostauthentic and veracious pieces of philosophy that it has been our lot tomeet with for a long time; yet wherein he proves the impossibility ofany, and the uselessness of all philosophies. Listen while hediscourses thereon: 'So long as the several elements of life, all fitlyadjusted, can pour forth their movement like harmonious tuned strings, it is melody and unison: life, from its mysterious fountains, flows outas in celestial music and diapason--which, also, like that other musicof the spheres, even because it is perennial and complete, withoutinterruption and without imperfection, might be fabled to escape theear. Thus, too, in some languages, is the state of health well denotedby a term expressing unity; when we feel ourselves as we wish to be, wesay that we are _whole_. '

But our psychal and social wholeness or health, as well as our physical, is yet, it would appear, in the future, in the good time _coming_--

 'When man to man Shall brothers be and a' that!'

Even that, however, is encouraging--that it is _in prospectu_. For weknow that _right before us_ lies this great promised land--this_Future_, teeming with all the donations of infinite time, and burstingwith blessings. And for us, too, there are in waiting [Greek: makarônnêsoi], or Islands of the Blest, where all heroic doers and all heroicsufferers shall enjoy rest forever!

In conclusion, take the benediction of serene old Miguel de CervantesSaavedra, in his preface to 'Don Quixote' (could we possibly have abetter?): 'And so God give you _health_, not forgetting me. Farewell!'

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This alliance may be fanciful (though we observe some ofthe best German lexicographers have it so); a better origin might, perhaps, be found in the Sanscrit _mri_, etc. ]

[Footnote 2: 'Les Orientals, ' par VICTOR HUGO. _Le Feu du ciel. _]

[Footnote 3: The 'by' may, however, have the force of going or passing, equivalent to 'fare' in 'farewell, ' or 'welfare, ' _i. E. _, may you havea good passage or journey. ]

[Footnote 4: 'Past and Present, ' pp. 128, 129. ]

[Footnote 5: Compare with this the Latin _mundus_, which is exactlyanalogous in signification. ]

[Footnote 6: En-voir. ]

[Footnote 7: Perhaps nothing could better prove how profoundly_religious_ were the Latins than a word compounded of the above; namely'profane. ' A 'fanatic' was one who devoted himself to the _fanum_ ortemple--'profane' is an object devoted to _anything else'pro'_--_instead of_--the '_fanum_, ' or fane. ]

[Footnote 8: The word is more properly oriental than Greek, _e. G. _, Hebrew, _pardes_, and Sanscrit, _paradêsa_. ]

[Footnote 9: See the Italian _setvaggio_ and the Spanish _salvage_, inwhich a more approximate orthography has been retained. ]

THE CHECH. 

"Chcés li tajnou véc aneb pravdu vyzvédéti, blazen, dité, opilyclovék o tom umeji povedeti. "

 "Wouldst thou know a truth or mystery, A drunkard, fool, or child may tell it thee. "

 _Bohemian Proverb. _

 And now I'll wrap my blanket o'er me, And on the tavern floor I'll lie; A double spirit-flask before me, And watch the pipe clouds melting die. 

 They melt and die--but ever darken, As night comes on and hides the day; Till all is black;--then, brothers, hearken! And if ye can, write down my lay!

 In yon black loaf my knife is gleaming, Like one long sail above the boat;-- --As once at Pesth I saw it beaming, Half through a curst Croatian throat. 

 Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling, And wilder, wilder turns my brain; And still I'll drink--till, past all feeling, The soul leaps forth to light again. 

 Whence come these white girls wreathing round me? Baruska!--long I thought thee dead! Kacenka!--when these arms last bound thee, Thou laidst by Rajhrad cold as lead!

 Now faster, faster whirls the ceiling, And wilder, wilder turns my brain; And from afar a star comes stealing, Straight at me o'er the death-black plain. 

 Alas!--I sink--my spirits miss me, I swim, I shoot from sky to shore! Klarà! thou golden sister--kiss me! I rise--I'm safe--I'm strong once more. 

 And faster, faster whirls the ceiling, And wilder, wilder turns my brain; The star!--it strikes my soul, revealing All life and light to me again. 

 * * * * *

 Against the waves fresh waves are dashing, Above the breeze fresh breezes blow; Through seas of light new light is flashing, And with them all I float and flow. 

 But round me rings of fire are gleaming: Pale rings of fire--wild eyes of death! Why haunt me thus awake or dreaming? Methought I left ye with my breath. 

 Aye glare and stare with life increasing, And leech-like eyebrows arching in; Be, if ye must, my fate unceasing, But never hope a fear to win. 

 He who knows all may haunt the haunting, He who fears nought hath conquered fate; Who bears in silence quells the daunting, And sees his spoiler desolate. 

 Oh wondrous eyes of star-like lustre, How ye have changed to guardian love! Alas!--where stars in myriads cluster Ye vanish in the heaven above. 

 * * * * *

 I hear two bells so softly singing: How sweet their silver voices roll! The one on yonder hill is ringing, The other peals within my soul. 

 I hear two maidens gently talking, Bohemian maidens fair to see; The one on yonder hill is walking, The other maiden--where is she?

 Where is she?--when the moonlight glistens O'er silent lake or murm'ring stream, I hear her call my soul which listens: 'Oh! wake no more--come, love, and dream!'

 She came to earth-earth's loveliest creature; She died--and then was born once more; Changed was her race, and changed each feature, But oh! I loved her as before. 

 We live--but still, when night has bound us In golden dreams too sweet to last, A wondrous light-blue world around us, She comes, the loved one of the Past. 

 I know not which I love the dearest, For both my loves are still the same; The living to my heart is nearest, The dead love feeds the living flame. 

 And when the moon, its rose-wine quaffing Which flows across the Eastern deep, Awakes us, Klarà chides me laughing, And says, 'We love too well in sleep!'

 And though no more a Vojvod's daughter, As when she lived on Earth before, The love is still the same which sought her, And she is true--what would you more?

 * * * * *

 Bright moonbeams on the sea are playing, And starlight shines o'er vale and hill; I should be gone--yet still delaying, By thy loved side I linger still!

 My gold is gone--my hopes have perished, And nought remains save love for thee! E'en that must fade, though once so cherished: Farewell!--and think no more of me!

 'Though gold be gone and hope departed, And nought remain save love for me, Thou ne'er shalt leave me broken-hearted, For I will share my life with thee!

 'Thou deem'st me but a wanton maiden, The plaything of thy idle hours; But laughing streams with gold are laden, And sweets are hidden 'neath the flowers. 

 'E'en outcasts may have heart and feeling, E'en such as I be fond and true; And love, like light, in dungeons stealing, Though bars be there, will still burst through. '

PICTURES FROM THE NORTH. 

It is worth while to live in the city, that we may learn to love thecountry; and it is not bad for many, that artificial life binds themwith bonds of silk or lace or rags or cobwebs, since, when they are rentaway, the Real gleams out in a beauty and with a zest which had not beensave for contrast. 

Contrast is the salt of the beautiful. I wonder that the ancients, whocame so near it in so many ways, never made a goddess of Contrast. Theyhad something like it in ever-varying Future--something like it indouble-faced Janus, who was their real 'Angel of the Odd. ' Perhaps it ismy ignorance which is at fault--if so, I pray you correct me. The subtleNeo-Platonists _must_ have apotheosized such a savor to all æstheticbliss. Mostly do I feel its charm when there come before me picturestrue to life of far lands and lives, of valley and river, sea and shore. Then I forget the narrow office and the shop-lined street, the rattlingcars and hurried hotel-lodgment, and think what it would be if nature, in all her freshness and never-ending contrasts, could be myever-present. 

I thought this yesterday, in glancing over an old manuscript in mydrawer, containing translations, by some hand to me unknown, of sketchesof Sweden by the fairy-story teller Hans Christian Andersen. Reader, will they strike you as pleasantly as they did me? I know not. Let usglance them over. They have at least the full flavor of the North, ofthe healthy land of frost and pines, of fragrant birch and of sweetermeadow-grass, and simpler, holier flowers than the rich South evershowed, even in her simplest moods. 

The first of these sketches sweeps us at once far away over theNorthland:

 'WE JOURNEY. 

 'It is spring, fragrant spring, the birds are singing. You do not understand their song? Then hear it in free translation:

 ''Seat thyself upon my back!' said the stork, the holy bird of our green island. 'I will carry thee over the waves of the Sound. Sweden also has its fresh, fragrant beechwoods, green meadows, and fields of waving corn; in Schoonen, under the blooming apple trees behind the peasant's house, thou wilt imagine thyself still in Denmark!'

 ''Fly with me, ' said the swallow. 'I fly over Hal-land's mountain ridges, where the beeches cease. I soar farther toward the north than the stork. I will show you where the arable land retires before rocky valleys. You shall see friendly towns, old churches, solitary court yards, within which it is cosy and pleasant to dwell, where the family stands in circle around the table with the smoking platters, and asks a blessing through the mouth of the youngest child, and morning and evening sings a holy song. I have heard it, I have seen it, when I was yet small, from my nest under the roof. '

 ''Come! come!' cried the unsteady seagull, impatiently waiting, and ever flying round in a circle. 'Follow me into the Scheeren, where thousands of rocky islands, covered with pines and firs, lie along the coasts like flower beds; where the fisherman draws full nets!'

 ''Let yourself down between our outspread wings!' sing the wild swans. 'We will bear you to the great seas, to the ever-roaring, arrow-quick mountain streams, where the oak does not thrive and the birches are stunted; let yourself down between our outspread wings, --we soar high over Sulitelma, the eye of the island, as the mountain is called; we fly from the spring-green valley, over the snow waves, up to the summit of the mountain, whence you may catch a glimpse of the North Sea, beyond Norway. We fly toward Jamtland, with its high blue mountains, where the waterfalls roar, where the signal fires flame up as signs from coast to coast that they are waiting for the ferry boat--up to the deep, cold, hurrying floods, which do not see the sun set in midsummer, where twilight is dawn!'

 'So sing the birds! Shall we hearken to their song--follow them, at least a short way? We do not seat ourselves upon the wings of the swan, nor upon the back of the stork; we stride forward with steam and horses, sometimes upon our own feet, and glance, at the same time, now and then, from the actual, over the hedge into the kingdom of fancy, that is always our near neighborland, and pluck flowers or leaves, which shall be placed together in the memorandum book--they bud indeed on the flight of the journey. We fly, and we sing: Sweden, thou glorious land! Sweden, whither holy gods came in remote antiquity from the mountains of Asia; thou land that art yet illumined by their glitter! It streams out of the flowers, with the name of Linnæus; it beams before thy knightly people from the banner of Charles the Twelfth, it sounds out of the memorial stone erected upon the field at Lutzen. Sweden! thou land of deep feeling, of inward songs, home of the clear streams, where wild swans sing in the northern light's glimmer! thou land, upon whose deep, still seas the fairies of the North build their colonnades and lead their struggling spirit-hosts over the ice mirror. Glorious Sweden, with the perfume-breathing Linea, with Jenny's soulful songs! To thee will we fly with the stork and the swallow, with the unsteady seagull and the wild swan. Thy birchwood throws out its perfume so refreshing and animating, under its hanging, earnest boughs--on its white trunk shall the harp hang. Let the summer wind of the North glide murmuring over its strings. '

There is true fatherland's love there. I doubt if there was ever yet_real_ patriotism in a hot climate--the North is the only home ofunselfish and great union. Italy owes it to the cool breezes of herApennines that she cherishes unity; had it not been for her northernmountains in a southern clime, she would have long ago forgotten tothink of _one_ country. But while the Alps are her backbone, she willalways be at least a vertebrate among nations, and one of the higherorder. Without the Alps she would soon be eaten up by the cancer ofstates' rights. It is the North, too, which will supply the greatuniting power of America, and keep alive a love for the great nationalname. 

Very different is the rest--and yet it has too the domestic home-tone ofthe North. In Sweden, in Germany, in America, in England, the family tieis somewhat other than in the East or in any warm country. With us, oldage is not so ever-neglected and little honored as in softer climes. Thank the fireside for that. The hearth, and the stove, and the long, cold months which keep the grandsire and granddame in the easy chair bythe warm corner, make a home centre, where the children linger as longas they may for stories, and where love lingers, kept alive by many acheerful, not to be easily told tie. And it lives--this love--lives inthe heart of the man after he has gone forth to business or to battle:he will not tell you of it, but he remembers grandmother andgrandfather, as he saw them a boy--the centre of the group, which willnever form again save in heaven. 

Let us turn to

 'THE GRANDMOTHER. 

 'Grandmother is very old, has many wrinkles, and perfectly white hair; but her eyes gleam like two stars, yes, much more beautiful; they are so mild, it does one good to look into them! And then she knows how to relate the most beautiful stories. And she has a dress embroidered with great, great flowers; it is such a heavy silk stuff that it rattles. Grandmother knows a great deal, because she has lived much longer than father and mother; that is certain! Grandmother has a hymn book with strong silver clasps, and she reads very often in the book. In the midst of it lies a rose, pressed and dry; it is not so beautiful as the rose which stands in the glass, but yet she smiles upon it in the most friendly way; indeed, it brings the tears to her eyes! Why does grandmother look so at the faded flower in the old book? Do you know? Every time that grandmother's tears fall upon the flower, the colors become fresh again, the rose swells up and fills the whole room with its fragrance, the walls disappear, as if they were only mist, and round about her is the green, glorious wood, where the sun beams through the leaves of the trees; and grandmother is young again; a charming maiden, with full red cheeks, beautiful and innocent--no rose is fresher; but the eyes, the mild, blessing eyes, still belong to grandmother. At her side sits a young man, large and powerful: he reaches her the rose, and she smiles--grandmother does not smile so now! oh yes, look now!----But he has vanished: many thoughts, many forms sweep past--the beautiful young man is gone, the rose lies in the hymn book, and grandmother sits there again as an old woman, and looks upon the faded rose which lies in the book. 

 'Now grandmother is dead. She sat in the armchair and related a long, beautiful story; she said, 'Now the story is finished, and I am tired;' and she leaned her head back, in order to sleep a little. We could hear her breathing--she slept; but it became stiller and stiller, her face was full of happiness and peace, it was as if a sunbeam illumined her features; she smiled again, and then the people said, 'She is dead. ' She was placed in a black box; there she lay covered with white linen; she was very beautiful, and yet her eyes were closed, but every wrinkle had vanished; she lay there with a smile about her mouth; her hair was silver white, venerable, but it did not frighten one to look upon the corpse, for it was indeed the dear, kind-hearted grandmother. The hymn book was placed under her head--this she had herself desired; the rose lay in the old book; and then they buried grandmother. 

 Upon the grave, close by the church wall, a rose tree was planted; it was full of roses, and the nightingale flew singing over the flowers and the grave. Within the church, there resounded from the organ the most beautiful hymns, which were in the old book under the head of the dead one. The moon shone down upon the grave, but the dead was not there; each child could go there quietly by night and pluck a rose from the peaceful courtyard wall. The dead know more than all of us living ones; they are better than we. The earth is heaped up over the coffin, even within the coffin there is earth; the leaves of the hymn book are dust, and the rose, with all its memories. But above bloom fresh roses; above, the nightingale sings, and the organ tones forth; above, the memory of the old grandmother lives, with her mild, ever young eyes. Eyes can never die. Ours will one day see the grandmother again, young and blooming as when she for the first time kissed the fresh red rose, which is now dust in the grave. '

 'THE CELL PRISON. 

 'By separation from other men, by loneliness, in continual silence shall the criminal be punished and benefited; on this account cell prisons are built. In Sweden there are many such, and new ones are building. I visited for the first time one in Marienstadt. The building lies in a beautiful landscape, close by the town, on a small stream of water, like a great villa, white and smiling, with window upon window. But one soon discovers that the stillness of the grave rests over the place; it seems as if no one dwelt here, or as if it were a dwelling forsaken during the plague. The gates of these walls are locked; but one opened and the jailor received us, with his bundle of keys in his hand. The court is empty and clean; even the grass between the paving stones is weeded out. We entered the 'reception room, ' to which the prisoner is first taken; then the bath room, whither he is carried next. We ascend a flight of stairs, and find ourselves in a large hall, built the whole length and height of the building. Several galleries, one over another in the different stories, extend round the whole hall, and in the midst of the hall is the chancel, from which, on Sundays, the preacher delivers his sermon before an invisible audience. All the doors of the cells, which lead upon the galleries, are half opened, the prisoners hear the preacher, but they cannot see him, nor he them. The whole is a well-built machine for a pressure of the spirit. In the door of each cell there is a glass of the size of an eye; a valve covers it on the outside, and through this may the warden, unnoticed by the prisoners, observe all which is going on within; but he must move with soft step, noiselessly, for the hearing of the prisoner is wonderfully sharpened by solitude. I removed the valve from the glass very softly, and looked into the closed room--for a moment the glance of the prisoner met my eye. It is airy, pure, and clean within, but the window is so high that it is impossible to look out. The whole furniture consists of a high bench, made fast to a kind of table, a berth, which can be fastened with hooks to the ceiling, and around which there is a curtain. Several cells were opened to us. In one there was a young, very pretty maiden; she had lain down in her berth, but sprang out when the door was opened, and her first movement disturbed the berth, which it unclasped and rolled together. Upon the little table stood the water cask, and near it lay the remains of hard black bread, farther off the Bible, and a few spiritual songs. In another cell sat an infanticide; I saw her only through the small glass of the door, she had heard our steps, and our talking, but she sat still, cowered together in the corner by the door, as if she wished to conceal herself as much as she could; her back was bent, her head sunk almost into her lap, and over it her hands were folded. The unhappy one is very young, said they. In two different cells sat two brothers; they were paying the penalty of horse-stealing; one was yet a boy. In one cell sat a poor servant girl; they said she had no relations, and was poor, and they placed her here. I thought that I had misunderstood, repeated my question, Why is the maiden here? and received the same answer. Yet still I prefer to believe that I have misunderstood the remark. Without, in the clear, free sunlight, is the busy rush of day; here within the stillness of midnight always reigns. The spider, which spins along the wall, the swallow, which rarely flies near the vaulted window there above, even the tread of the stranger in the gallery, close by the door, is an occurrence in this mute, solitary life, where the mind of the prisoner revolves ever upon himself. One should read of the martyr cells of the holy inquisition, of the unfortunates of the Bagnio chained to each other, of the hot leaden chambers, and the dark wet abyss of the pit of Venice, and shudder over those pictures, in order to wander through the galleries of the cell prison with a calmer heart; here is light, here is air, here it is more human. Here, where the sunbeam throws in upon the prisoner its mild light, here will an illuminating beam from God Himself sink into the heart. '

Last we have

 'SALA. 

 'Sweden's great king, Germany's deliverer, Gustavus Adolphus, caused Sala to be built. The small enclosed wood in the vicinity of the little town relates to us yet traditions of the youthful love of the hero king, of his rendezvous with Ebba Brahe. The silver shafts at Sala are the largest, the deepest and oldest in Sweden; they reach down a hundred and seventy fathoms, almost as deep as the Baltic. This is sufficient to awaken an interest in the little town; how does it look now? 'Sala, ' says the guide book, 'lies in a valley, in a flat, and not very agreeable region. ' And so it is truly; in that direction was nothing beautiful, and the highway led directly into the town, which has no character. It consists of a single long street with a knot and a pair of ends: the knot is the market; at the ends are two lanes which are attached to it. The long street--it may be called long in such a short town--was entirely empty. No one came out of the doors, no one looked out of the windows. It was with no small joy that I saw a man, at last, in a shop, in whose window hung a paper of pins, a red handkerchief, and two tea cans, a solitary, sedate apprentice, who leaned over the counter and looked out through the open house door. He certainly wrote that evening in his journal, if he kept one; 'To-day a traveller went through the town; the dear God may know him, I do not!' The apprentice's face appeared to me to say all that, and he had an honest face. 

 'In the tavern in which I entered, the same deathlike stillness reigned as upon the street. The door was indeed closed, but in the interior of the house all the doors stood wide open; the house cock stood in the midst of the sitting room, and crowed in order to give information that there was some one in the house. As to the rest, the house was entirely picturesque; it had an open balcony looking out upon the court--upon the street would have been too lively. The old sign hung over the door and creaked in the wind; it sounded as if it were alive. I saw it from my window; I saw also how the grass had overgrown the pavement of the street. The sun shone clear, but as it shines in the sitting room of the solitary old bachelor and upon the balsam in the pot of the old maid, it was still as on a Scottish Sunday, and it was Tuesday! I felt myself drawn to study Young's 'Night Thoughts. '

 'I looked down from the balcony into the neighbor's court; no living being was to be seen, but children had played there; they had built a little garden out of perfectly dry twigs; these had been stuck into the soft earth and watered; the potsherd, which served as watering pot, lay there still; the twigs represented roses and geranium. It had been a splendid garden--ah yes! We great, grown-up men play just so, build us a garden with love's roses and friendship's geranium, we water it with our tears and our heart's blood--and yet they are and remain dry twigs without roots. That was a gloomy thought--I felt it, and in order to transform the dry twigs into a blossoming Aaron's-staff, I went out. I went out into the ends and into the long thread, that is to say, into the little lanes and into the great street, and here was more life, as I might have expected; a herd of cows met me, who were coming home, or going away, I know not--they had no leader. The apprentice was still standing behind the counter; he bowed over it and greeted; the stranger took off his hat in return; these were the events of this day in Sala. Pardon me, thou still town, which Gustavus Adolphus built, where his young heart glowed in its first love, and where the silver rests in the deep shafts without the town, in a flat and not very pleasant country. I knew no one in this town, no one conducted me about, and so I went with the cows, and reached the graveyard; the cows went on, I climbed over the fence, and found myself between the graves, where the green grass grew, and nearly all the tombstones lay with inscriptions blotted out; only here and there, 'Anno' was still legible--what further? And who rests here? Everything on the stone was effaced, as the earth life of the one who was now earth within the earth. What drama have ye dead ones played here in the still Sala? The setting sun threw its beams over the graves, no leaf stirred on the tree; all was still, deathly still, in the town of the silver mines, which for the remembrance of the traveller is only a frame about the apprentice, who bowed greeting over the counter. '

Silence, stillness, quiet, solitude, loneliness, far-away-ness; hushed, calm, remote, out of the world, un-newspapered, operaless, un-gossipped--was there ever a sketch which carried one so far from theworld as this of 'Sala'? That _one_ shopboy--those going or comingcows--the tombs, with wornout dates, every point of time vanishing--aliving grave!

Contrast again, dear reader. Verily she is a goddess--and I adore her. Lo! she brings me back again in Sala to the busy streets of this city, and the office, and the 'exchanges, ' and the rustling, bustling world, and the hotel dinner--to be in time for which I am even now writingagainst time--and I am thankful for it all. Sala has cured me. Thatpicture drives away longings. Verily, he who lives in America, and inits great roaring current of events, needs but a glance at Sala to feelthat _here_ he is on a darting stream ever hurrying more gloriously intothe world and away from the dull inanity--which the merest sibilant ofaggravation will change to insanity. 

Reader, our Andersen is an artist--as most children know. But I am gladthat he seldom gives us anything which is so _very_ much of a monochromeas Sala. 

I wonder if Sala was the native and surnaming town of that _other_ Salawhose initials are G. A. S. , and whose nature is 'ditto'? Did itsdulness drive him to liveliness, even as an 'orthodox' training is saidto drive youth to dissipation? It may be so. The one hath a deep mine ofsilver--the other contains inexhaustible mines of brass--and the name ofthe one as of the other, when read in Hebrew-wise gives us 'alas!'

But I am wandering from the Northern pictures and fresh nature, and mustclose. 

THE NEW RASSELAS. 

... And Joseph, opening the drawing room, told me the postchaise wasready. My mother and my sister threw themselves into my arms. 

'It is still time, ' said they, 'to abandon this scheme. Stay with us. '

'Mother, I am of noble birth, I am now twenty, I must have a name, Imust be talked about in the country, I must be getting a position in thearmy or at court. '

'Oh! but, Bernard, when you have gone, what will become of me?'

'You will be happy and proud when you hear of your son's success. '

'But if you are killed in some battle?'

'What of that! What's life? Who thinks about being killed? When one istwenty, and of noble lineage, he thinks of nothing but glory. And, mother, in a few years you shall see me return to your side a colonel, or a general, or with some rich office at Versailles. '

'Well, and what then?'

'Why, then I shall be respected and considered about here. '

'And then?'

'Why, everybody will take off their hat to me. '

'And then?'

'I'll marry Cousin Henrietta, and I'll marry off my young sisters, andwe'll all live together with you, tranquil and happy, on my estate inBrittany. '

'Now, why can't you commence this tranquil and happy life to-day? Hasnot your father left us the largest fortune of all the province? Isthere anywhere near us a richer estate or a finer chateau than that ofLa Roche Bernard? Are you not considered by all your vassals? Doesn'teverybody take off their hat when they meet you? No, don't quit us, mydear child; remain with your friends, with your sisters, with your oldmother, whom, at your return, perhaps you may not find alive; do notexpend in vain glory, nor abridge by cares and annoyances of every kind, days which at the best pass away too rapidly: life is a pleasant thing, my son, and Brittany's sun is genial!'

As she said this, she showed me from the drawing-room windows thebeautiful avenues of my park, the old horse-chestnuts in bloom, thelilacs, the honeysuckles, whose fragrance filled the air, and whoseverdure glistened in the sun. In the antechamber was the gardener andall his family, who, sad and silent, seemed also to say to me, 'Don'tgo, young master, don't go. ' Hortense, my eldest sister, pressed me inher arms, and Amélie, my little sister, who was in a corner of thedrawing room looking at the pictures in a volume of La Fontaine, came upto me, holding out the book:

'Read, read, brother, ' said she, weeping.... 

She pointed to the fable of the Two Pigeons!... I suddenly got up, andrepelled them all. 'I am now twenty, I am of noble blood, I want gloryand honor.... Let me go. ' And I ran toward the courtyard. I was aboutgetting into the postchaise, when a woman appeared on the staircase. It was Henrietta! She did not weep ... She did not say a word ... But, pale and trembling, it was with the utmost difficulty that she kept fromfalling. She waved the white handkerchief she held in her hand, as alast good-by, and she fell senseless on the floor. I ran and took herup, I pressed her in my arms, I pledged my love to her for life; and asshe recovered consciousness, leaving her in the hands of my mother andsister, I ran to my postchaise without stopping, and without turning myhead. 

If I had looked at Henrietta, I should not have gone. 

In a few moments afterward the postchaise was rattling along thehighway. For a long time my mind was completely absorbed by thoughts ofmy sisters, of Henrietta, of my mother, and of all the happiness I leftbehind me; but these ideas gradually quitted me as I lost sight of theturrets of La Roche Bernard, and dreams of ambition and of glory tookthe entire possession of my mind. What schemes! What castles in the air!What noble actions I performed in my postchaise!! I denied myselfnothing: wealth, honors, dignities, success of every kind, I merited andI awarded myself all; at the last, raising myself from grade to grade asI advanced on my journey, by the time I reached my inn at night, I wasduke and peer, governor of a province, and marshal of France. The voiceof my servant, who called me modestly Monsieur le Chevalier, aloneforced me to remember who I was, and to abdicate all my dignities. Thenext day, and the following days, I indulged in the same dreams, andenjoyed the same intoxication, for my journey was long. I was going to achateau near Sedan the chateau of the Duke de C----, an old friend of myfather, and protector of my family. It was understood that he was tocarry me to Paris with him, where he was expected about the end of themonth; he promised to present me at Versailles, and to give me a companyof dragoons through the credit of his sister, the Marchioness de F----, a charming young lady, designated by public opinion as Madame dePompadour's successor, whose title she claimed with the greater justiceas she had long filled its honorable functions. I reached Sedan atnight, and at too late an hour to go to the chateau of my protector. Itherefore postponed my visit until the nest day, and lay at the'France's Arms, ' the best hotel of the town, and the ordinary rendezvousof all the officers; for Sedan is a garrison town, and is wellfortified; the streets have a warlike air, and even the shopkeepers havea martial look, which seems to say to strangers, 'We are fellowcountrymen of the great Turenne!' I supped at the general table, and Iasked what road I should take in the morning to go to the chateau of theDuke de C----, which is situated some three leagues out of the town. 'Anybody will show you, ' I was told, 'for it is well known hereabouts:Marshal Fabert, a great warrior and a celebrated man, died there. 'Thereupon the conversation turned about Marshal Fabert. Between youngsoldiers, this was very natural; his battles, his exploits, his modesty, which made him refuse the letters patent of nobility and the collar ofhis orders offered him by Louis XIV, were all talked about; they dweltespecially on the inconceivable fortune which had raised him from therank of a simple soldier to the rank of a marshal of France--him, whowas nothing at all, the son of a mere printer: it was the only exampleof such a piece of fortune which could then be instanced, and which, even during Fabert's life, had appeared so extraordinary, the vulgarnever feared to ascribe his elevation to supernatural causes. It wassaid that from his youth he had busied himself with magic and sorcery, and that he had made a league with the devil. Mine host, who, to thestupidity inherent in all the natives of the province of Champagne, added the credulity of our Brittany peasants, assured us with a greatdeal of sangfroid, that when Fabert died in the chateau of the Duke deC----, a black man, whom nobody knew, was seen to enter into the deadman's room, and disappear, taking with him the marshal's soul, which hehad bought, and which belonged to him; and that even now, every May, about the period of the death of Fabert, the people of the chateau sawthe black man about the house, bearing a small light. This story madeour dessert merry, and we drank a bottle of champagne to the demon ofFabert, craving it to be good enough to take us also under itsprotection, and enable us to win some battles like those of Collioureand La Marfee. 

I rose early the next morning, and went to the chateau of the Duke deC----, an immense gothic manor-house, which perhaps at any other momentI would not have noticed, but which I regarded, I acknowledge, withcuriosity mixed with emotion, as I recollected the story told us on thepreceding evening by the host of the 'France's Arms. ' The servant towhom I spoke, told me he did not know whether his master could receivecompany, and whether he could receive me. I gave him my name, and hewent out, leaving me alone in a sort of armory, decorated with theattributes of the chase and family portraits. 

I waited some time, and no one came. 'The career of glory and of honor Ihave dreamed commences by the antechamber, ' said I to myself, andimpatience soon possessed the discontented solicitor. I had counted overthe family portraits and all the rafters of the ceiling some two orthree times, when I heard a slight noise in the wooden wainscoting. Itwas caused by an ill-closed door the wind had forced open. I looked in, and I perceived a very handsome boudoir, lighted by two large windowsand a glazed door opening on a magnificent park. I walked into thisroom, and after I had gone a short distance, I was stopped by a scenewhich I had not at first perceived. A man was lying on a sofa, with hisback turned to the door by which I came in. He got up, and withoutperceiving me, ran abruptly to the window. Tears streamed down hischeeks, and a profound despair was marked on his every feature. Heremained motionless for some time, keeping his face buried in his hands;then he began striding rapidly about the room. I was then near him; heperceived me, and trembled; I, too, was annoyed and confounded at myindiscretion; I sought to retire, muttering some words of excuse. 

'Who are you? What do you want?' he said to me in a loud voice, takinghold of me by my arms. 

'I am the Chevalier Bernard de la Roche Bernard, and I come fromBrittany. '... 

'I know, I know, ' said he; and he threw himself into my arms, made metake a seat by his side, spoke to me warmly about my father and all myfamily, whom he knew so well that I was persuaded I was talking with themaster of the chateau. 

'You are Monsieur de C----?' I asked him. 

He got up, looked at me wildly, and replied, 'I was he, I am he nolonger, I am nothing;' and seeing my astonishment, he exclaimed, 'Not aword more, young man, don't question me!'

'I must, Monsieur; I have been the involuntary witness of your chagrinand your grief, and if my attachment and my friendship may to somedegree alleviate'----

'You are right, you are right, ' said he; 'you cannot change my fate, butat the least you may receive my last wishes and my last injunctions ... It is the only favor I ask of you. '

He shut the door, and again took his seat by my side; I was touched, andtremblingly expected what he was going to say: he spoke with a grave andsolemn manner. His physiognomy had an expression I had never seen beforeon any face. His forehead, which I attentively examined, seemed markedby fatality; his face was pale; his black eyes sparkled, andoccasionally his features, although changed by pain, would contract inan ironical and infernal smile. 'What I am going to tell you, ' said he, 'will surprise you. ' You will doubt me ... You will not believe me ... Even. I doubt it sometimes ... At the least, I would like to doubt it;but I have got the proofs of it; and there is in everything around us, in our very organization, a great many other mysteries which we areobliged to undergo, without being able to understand. ' He remainedsilent for a moment, as if to collect his ideas, brushed his foreheadwith his hand, and then proceeded:

'I was born in this chateau. I had two elder brothers, to whom thehonors and the estates of our house were to descend. I could hopenothing above the cassock of an abbé, and yet dreams of ambition and ofglory fermented in my head, and quickened the beatings of my heart. Discontented with my obscurity, eager for fame, I thought of nothing butthe means of acquiring it, and this idea made me insensible to all thepleasures and all the joys of life. The present was nothing to me; Iexisted only in the future; and that future lay before me robed in themost sombre colors. I was nearly thirty years old, and had done nothing. Then literary reputations arose from every side in Paris, and theirbrilliancy was reflected even to our distant province. 'Ah!' I oftensaid to myself, 'if I could at the least command a name in the world ofletters! that at least would be fame, and fame is happiness. ' Theconfidant of my sorrow was an old servant, an aged negro, who had livedin the chateau for years before I was born; he was the oldest personabout the house, for no one remembered when he came to live there; andsome of the country people said that he knew the Marshal Fabert, and hadbeen present at his death'--

My host saw me express the greatest surprise; he interrupted hisnarrative to ask me what was the matter. 

'Nothing, ' said I; but I could not help thinking of the black man theinnkeeper had mentioned the evening before. 

Monsieur de C---- went on with his story: 'One day, before Juba (suchwas the negro's name), I loudly expressed my despair at my obscurity andthe uselessness of my life, and I exclaimed: '_I would give ten years ofmy life_ to be placed in the first rank of our authors. ' 'Ten years, ' hecoldly replied to me, 'are a great deal; it's paying dearly for atrifle; but that's nothing, I accept your ten years. I take them now;remember your promises: I shall keep mine!' I cannot depict to you mysurprise at hearing him speak in this way. I thought years had weakenedhis reason; I smiled, and he shrugged his shoulders, and in a few daysafterward I quitted the chateau to pay a visit to Paris. There I wasthrown a great deal in literary society. Their example encouraged me, and I published several works, whose success I shall not weary you bydescribing. All Paris applauded me; the newspapers proclaimed mypraises; the new name I had assumed became celebrated, and no later thanyesterday, you, yourself, my young friend, admired me. '

A new gesture of surprise again interrupted his narrative: 'What! youare not the Duke de C----?' I exclaimed. 

'No, ' said he very coldly. 

'And, ' I said to myself, 'a celebrated literary man! Is it Marmontel? orD'Alembert? or Voltaire?'

He sighed; a smile of regret and of contempt flitted over his lips, andhe resumed his story: 'This literary reputation I had desired soonbecame insufficient for a soul as ardent as my own. I longed for noblersuccess, and I said to Juba, who had followed me to Paris, and who nowremained with me: 'There is no real glory, no true fame, but thatacquired in the profession of arms. What is a literary man? A poet?Nothing. But a great captain, a leader of an army! Ah! that's thedestiny I desire; and for a great military reputation, I would giveanother ten years of my life. ' 'I accept them, ' Juba replied; 'I takethem now; don't forget it. ''

At this part of his story he stopped again, and, observing the troubleand hesitation visible in my every feature, he said:

'I warned you beforehand, young man, that you could not believe me; thisseems a dream, a chimera to you!... And to me, too!... And yet thegrades and the honors I obtained were no illusions; those soldiers I ledto the cannon's mouth, those redoubts stormed, those flags won, thosevictories with which all France has rung ... All that was my work ... All that glory was mine. '... 

While he strode up and down the room, and spoke with this warmth andenthusiasm, surprise chilled my blood, and I said to myself, 'Who canthis gentleman be?... Is he Coligny?... Richelieu?... The MarshalSaxe?'... 

From this state of excitement he had fallen into great depression, andcoming close to me, he said to me, with a sombre air:

'Juba spoke truly; and after a short time had passed away, disgustedwith this vain bubble of military glory, I longed for the only thingreal and satisfactory and permanent in this world; and when, at the costof five or six years of life, I desired gold and wealth, Juba gave themtoo.... Yes, my young friend, yes, I have seen fortune surpass all mydesires; I became the lord of estates, of forests, of chateaux. Up tothis morning they were all mine; if you don't believe me, if you don'tbelieve Juba ... Wait ... Wait ... He is coming ... And you will see foryourself, with your own eyes, that what confounds your reason and mine, is unhappily but too real. '

He then walked toward the mantlepiece, looked at the clock, exhibitedgreat alarm, and said to me in a whisper:

'This morning at daybreak I felt so depressed and weak I could scarcelyget up. I rang for my servant. Juba came. 'What is the matter with methis morning?' I asked him. 'Master, nothing more than natural. The hourapproaches, the moment draws near!' 'What hour? What moment?' 'Don't youremember? Heaven allotted sixty years as the term of your existence. Youwere thirty when I began to obey you!' 'Juba, ' said I, seriouslyalarmed, 'are you in earnest?' 'Yes, master; in five years you havedissipated in glory twenty-five years of life. You gave them to me, theybelong to me; and those years you bartered away shall now be added tothe days I have to live. ' 'What, was that the price of your services?''Others have paid more dearly for them. You have heard of Fabert: Iprotected him. ' 'Silence! silence!' I said to him; 'you lie! you lie!''As you please; but get ready, you have only half an hour to live. ' 'Youare mocking me; you deceive me. ' 'Not at all; make the calculationyourself. You have really lived thirty-five years; you have losttwenty-five years: total, sixty years. ' He started to go out.... I feltmy strength diminishing; I felt my life waning away. 'Juba! Juba!' saidI, 'give me a few hours, only a few hours, ' I screamed; 'oh! give me afew hours longer!' 'No, no, ' said he, 'that would be to diminish my ownlife, and I know better than you the value of life. There is no treasurein this world worth two hours' existence!' I could scarcely speak; myeyes became obscured by a thick veil, the icy hand of death began tofreeze my veins. 'Oh!' said I, making an effort to speak, 'take backthose estates for which I have sacrificed everything. Give me four hourslonger, and I make you master of all my gold, of all my wealth, of allthat opulence of fortune I have so earnestly desired. ' 'Agreed: you havebeen a good master, and I am willing to do something for you; I consentto your prayer. ' I felt my strength return; and I exclaimed: 'Four hoursare so little ... Oh! Juba! ... Juba ... Oh! Juba! give me yet fourhours, and I renounce all my literary glory, all my works, everythingthat has placed me so high in the opinion of the world. ' 'Four hours oflife for that!' exclaimed the negro with contempt.... 'That's a greatdeal; but never mind; you shan't say I refused your last dying request. ''Oh! no! no! Juba, don't say my last dying request.... Juba! Juba! I begof you, give me until this evening, give me twelve hours, the whole day, and may my exploits, my victories, my military fame, my whole career beforever effaced from the memory of men!... May nothing whatever remainof them!... If you will give me this day, only to-day, Juba; and I shallbe too well satisfied. ' 'You abuse my generosity, ' said he, 'and I ammaking a fool's bargain. But never mind, I give you until sundown. Afterthat, ask me for nothing more. Don't forget, after sundown I shall comefor you!'

'He went away, ' added my companion, with a tone of despair I can neverforget, 'and this is the last day of my life. ' He then walked to theglazed door looking out on the park (it was open), and he exclaimed:

'Oh God! I shall see no more this beautiful sky, these green lawns, these sparkling waters; I shall never again breathe the balmy air of thespring! Madman that I was! I might have enjoyed for twenty-five years tocome these blessings God has showered on all, blessings whose worth Iknew not, and of which I am beginning to know the value. I have worn outmy days, I have sacrificed my life for a vain chimera, for a sterileglory, which has not made me happy, and which died before me.... See!see there!' said he, pointing to some peasants plodding their weary wayhomeward; 'what would I not give to share their labors and theirpoverty!... But I have nothing to give, nothing to hope here below ... Nothing ... Not even misfortune!'... At this moment a sunbeam, a Maysunbeam, lighted up his pale, haggard features; he took me by the armwith a sort of delirium, and said to me:

'See! oh see! how splendid is the sun!... Oh! and I must leave allthis!... Oh! at the least let me enjoy it now.... Let me taste to thefull this pure and beautiful day ... Whose morrow I shall never see!'

He leaped into the park, and, before I could well comprehend what he wasdoing, he had disappeared down an alley. But, to speak truly, I couldnot have restrained him, even if I would.... I had not now the strength;I fell back on the sofa, confounded, stunned, bewildered by all I hadseen and heard. At length I arose and walked about the room to convincemyself that I was awake, that I was not dreaming, that.... 

At this moment the door of the boudoir opened, and a servant announced:

'My master, Monsieur le Duc de C----. '

A gentleman some sixty years old and of a very aristocratic appearancecame forward, and, taking me by the hand, begged my pardon for havingkept me so long waiting. 

'I was not at the chateau, ' said he. 'I have just come from the town, where I have been to consult with the physicians about the health of theCount de C----, my younger brother. '

'Is he dangerously ill?'

'No, monsieur, thank Heaven, he is not; but in his youth visions ofglory and of ambition had excited his imagination, and a grave fever, from which he has just recovered, and which came near proving fatal, hasleft his head in a state of delirium and insanity, which persuades himthat he has only one day longer to live. That's his madness. '

Everything was explained to me now!

'Come, my young friend, now let us talk over your business; tell me whatI can do for your advancement. We will go together to Versailles aboutthe end of this month. I will present you at court. '

'I know how kind you are to me, duke, and I have come here to thank youfor it. '

'What! have you renounced going to court, and to the advantages you mayreckon on having there?'

'Yes. '

'But recollect, that aided by me, you will make a rapid progress, andthat with a little assiduity and patience ... Say in ten years. '

'They would be ten years lost!'

'What!' exclaimed the duke with astonishment, 'is that purchasing toodearly glory, fortune, and fame?... Silence, my young friend, we will gotogether to Versailles. '

'No, duke, I return to Brittany, and I beg you to accept my thanks andthose of my family for your kindness. '

'You are mad!' said the duke. 

But thinking over what I had heard and seen, I said to myself: 'You arethe same!'

The next morning I turned my face homeward. With what pleasure I sawagain my fine chateau de la Roche Bernard, the old trees of my park, andthe beautiful sun of Brittany! I found again my vassals, my sisters, mymother, and happiness, which has never quitted me since, for eight daysafterward I married Henrietta. 

THE CHAINED RIVER. 

 Home I love, I now must leave thee! Home I love, I now must go Far away, although it grieve me, through the valley, through the snow. 

 By the night and through the valley, though the hail against us flies, Till we reach the frozen river--on its bank the foeman lies. 

 Frozen river, mighty river!--wilt thou e'er again be free From the fountain through the mountain, from the mountain to the sea. 

 Yes; though Freedom's glorious river for a time be frozen fast, Still it cannot hold forever--Winter's reign will soon be past. 

 Still it runs, although 'tis frozen--on beneath the icy plain, From the mountain to the ocean--free as thought, though held in chain. 

 From the mountain to the ocean, from the ocean to the sky, Then in rainy drops returning--lo the ice-chains burst and fly!

 And the ice makes great the river. Breast the spring-flood if you dare! Rivers run though ice be o'er them--GOD and Freedom everywhere!

HOW THE WAR AFFECTS AMERICANS. 

At the outbreak of the present terrible civil war, the condition of theAmerican people was apparently enviable beyond that of any other nation. We say apparently, because the seeds of the rebellion had long beengerminating; and, to a philosophic eye, the great change destined tofollow the rebellion was inevitable, though it was then impossible forhuman foresight to predict the steps by which that change would come. Unconscious of impending calamity, we were proud of our position andcharacter as American citizens. We were free from oppressive taxation, and enjoyed unbounded liberty of speech and action. Revelling in thefertility of a virgin continent, unexampled in modern times for thefacilities of cultivation and the richness of its return to human labor, it was a national characteristic to felicitate ourselves upon thegeneral prosperity, and boastingly to compare our growing resources andour unlimited and almost spontaneous abundance, with the hard-earned anddearly purchased productions of other and more exhausted countries. Ourpopulation, swollen by streams of immigration from the crowdedcontinents of the old world, has spread over the boundless plains ofthis, with amazing rapidity; and the physical improvements which havefollowed our wonderful expansion have been truly magical in theirresults, as shown by the decennial exhibits of the census, or presentedin still more palpable form to the eye of the thoughtful and observanttraveller. Since the fall of the Roman empire, no single government haspossessed so magnificent a domain in the temperate regions of the globe;and certainly, no other people so numerous, intelligent, and powerful, has ever in any age of the world enjoyed the same unrestricted freedomin the pursuit of happiness: accordingly, none has ever exhibited thesame extraordinary activity in enterprise, or equal success in thecreation and accumulation of wealth. It was unfortunately true that ourmighty energies were mostly employed in the production of physicalresults; and although our youthful, vigorous, and unrestricted effortsmade these results truly marvellous, yet the moral and intellectualbasis on which we built was not sufficiently broad and stable to sustainthe vast superstructure of our prosperity. The foundations having beenseriously disturbed, it becomes indispensable to look to their permanentsecurity, whatever may be the temporary inconvenience arising from thenecessary destruction of portions of the old fabric. 

When the war began, the South was supplying the world with cotton--astaple which in modern times has become intimately connected with thephysical well-being of the whole civilized world. At the same time, theNorthwest was furnishing to all nations immense quantities of grain andanimal food, her teeming fields presenting a sure resource against theuncertainty of seasons in those regions of the earth in which capitalmust supply the fertility which is still inexhaustible here. While suchwere the occupations of the South and the West, the North and East wereadvancing in the path of mechanical and commercial improvement, with arapidity beyond all former example. Agricultural and manufacturinginventions were springing up, full grown, out of the teeming brain ofthe Yankees, and were fast altering the face of the world. Newcombinations of natural forces were appearing as the agents of the humanwill, and were multiplying the physical capacity of man in a ratio thatseemed to know no bounds. Commercial enterprise kept pace with thesemagnificent creations, and never failed, with liberal and enlightenedspirit, to avail itself of all the resources which industry produced orgenius invented. Our tonnage surpassed that of the greatest nations; theskill of our shipbuilders was unsurpassed; and the courage, industry, and perseverance of our seamen were renowned all over the world. Onevery ocean and in every important harbor of the earth were dailyvisible the emblems of our national power and the evidences of ourindividual prosperity. But in one fatal moment, from a cause which wasinherent in our moral and political condition, all this prodigiousactivity of thought and work was brought to a complete stand. Such ashock was never before experienced, because such a social and materialmomentum had never before been acquired by any nation, and then beenarrested by so gigantic a calamity. It was as if the earth had beensuddenly stopped on its axis, and all things on its surface had felt thedestructive impulse of the centrifugal force. 

War itself is, unhappily, no uncommon condition of mankind. Wars on agigantic scale have often heretofore raged among the great nations, oreven between sundered parts of the same people. It is not the magnitudeof the present contest which constitutes its greatest peculiarity. It israther the magnitude and importance of the interests it involves and therelations it sunders, which give it the tremendous significance it bearsin the eyes of the world. Never has any war found the contending partiesengaged in works of such world-wide and absorbing interest, as thosewhich occupied both sections of our people at the commencement of thisrebellion. No two people, connected by so many ties, enjoying suchunlimited freedom of intercourse, so mutually dependent each upon theother, and occupying a country so utterly incapable of naturaldivisions, have ever been known to struggle with each other in sosanguinary a conflict. All the circumstances of the case have beenunexampled in history. Accordingly the influence of the contest uponaffairs on this continent, and indeed upon human affairs generally, hasbeen great and disastrous in proportion to the magnitude of the peacefulworks which have been suspended by it, and to the closeness of thosebrotherly relations which have heretofore existed between the contendingparties, now violently broken, and perhaps forever destroyed. 

Almost the entire industry and commerce of the United States have beendiverted into new and unaccustomed channels. The most active andenterprising people in the world, in the midst of their variedoccupations, suddenly find all the accustomed channels of businessblocked up and the stream of their productions flowing back upon them ina disastrous flood, and stagnating in their workshops and storehouses. They are compelled to find new issues for their enterprise and to make acomplete change in their habits and works. It is not merely in thecessation of all intercourse between the two vast sections, North andSouth, that this mighty transformation has taken place; but an equalalteration has been suddenly effected in the character of the businessand the nature of the occupations which the people have heretoforepursued in the loyal States of the Union. Great branches of business, employing millions of capital, have been utterly annihilated orindefinitely suspended. Vast amounts of capital have been sunk andutterly lost in the deep gulf of separation which temporarily dividesthe States; or if they are ever to be recovered, it will be only afterthe storm shall have completely subsided, when some portions of thewrecks, which have been scattered in the fearful commotion, may bethrown safely on to the shores of reunion. It was anticipated, especially by the rebels themselves, that these incalculable losses, these tremendous shocks and sudden changes, would utterly overwhelm theNorth with ruin and tear her to pieces with faction and disorder. Butthis anticipation of accumulated disasters, in which the wish was fatherto the thought, has not been realized to any appreciable extent. Thepecuniary losses have been in a great measure compensated by the immensedemands of the war; and when faction has attempted to raise its head, ithas been compelled to retire before the patriotic rebuke of the people. And although the vast expenditures of the war give present relief; bydrawing largely on the resources of the future, yet the strength weacquire is none the less real or less effectual in overthrowing therebellion. 

But this sudden and grand emergency, with all its appalling concomitantsof lives sacrificed, property destroyed, commercial disaster, and socialderangement, has given a rare opportunity for the testing of ournational character, and of our ability to meet and overcome the mosttremendous difficulties and dangers. Perhaps the versatility of Americangenius and its ready adaptation to the new circumstances, are even morewonderful than any other exhibition made by our people in this greatnational crisis. There has never been any good reason to doubt thecapacity of any portion of American citizens for warlike occupations, nor their possession of the moral qualities necessary to make them goodsoldiers. The long period of peace which has blessed our country, withthe industrial, educational, and moral improvement produced by it, hasrendered war justly distasteful to the Free States of the Union. Theywere slow to recognize the necessity for it; and nothing but the mostsolemn convictions of duty would have aroused them to the stern andunanimous determination with which they have entered on the presentstruggle. Swift would have been our degeneration, if the spirit of ourfathers had already died out among us. But our history of less than acentury since the Revolutionary war has fully maintained theself-reliant character of Americans and demonstrated their militaryabilities; and if the commercial and manufacturing populations ofparticular sections were supposed to have become somewhat enervated bylong exemption from the labors and perils of war, it was certain thatour large agricultural regions and especially our frontier settlementswere peopled with men inured to toil and familiar with danger, constituting the best material for armies to be found in any country. Nor was it in fact true that any considerable portion of our people, even those drawn from the stores and workshops of the cities, had becomeso far deteriorated in vigor of body, or demoralized in spirit, as to beunfit for military service. The Southern leaders looked with scorn uponour volunteer army only until they encountered it in battle. They werethen compelled to alter their preconceived opinions of the Yankeecharacter, and to change their contempt, real or pretended, intorespect, if not admiration. Even when superior numbers or betterstrategy enabled them to beat us, they have seldom failed to bearhonorable testimony to the unflinching courage and endurance of ourtroops. Nor do we need the admissions of the enemy to establish thischaracter for us; our own triumphs, on many glorious fields, are thebest evidences of our ability in war, and of themselves sufficientlyattest the valor and energy of our noble volunteers. In this aspect ofthe matter, we must not forget the peculiar character and constitutionof our vast army. It is indeed worthy to be called the wonder of theworld. It is virtually a voluntary association of the people for thepurpose of putting down a gigantic rebellion and saving their owngovernment from destruction. This is a social phenomenon never beforeknown in history on a scale approaching the magnitude of ourcombinations--a phenomenon which could only take place in a populargovernment, where the unrestricted freedom of individual action promotesthe virtues of personal independence, self-respect, and manly courage. Even the Southern people, fighting on their own soil, in a war which, though actually commenced by them, they now affect to consider whollydefensive--even they, with all their boasted unanimity, and with thefierce passions engendered by slavery, have been compelled to maintaintheir armies by a conscription of the most unexampled severity; whilethe loyal States, fighting solely for union and nationality--interestsof the most general nature, and offering little of mere personalinducement--have so far escaped that necessity, and are now justpreparing to resort to it. After all, it must be acknowledged by everyjust and generous mind, whether that of friend or foe, that there is asubstratum of noble sentiment and manly impulses at the foundation ofthe Yankee character. The vast movements of the Northern people plainlyshow it. Their contributions for the support of soldiers' families andfor the relief of the wounded and disabled, are upon a gigantic scale. They raise immense sums for the payment of bounties to volunteers, andthus, in every way, the burdens of the war are voluntarily assumed bythe people, and to some extent distributed among them, so that every onemay participate in the patriotic work. Nor is this large-heartedliberality confined solely to our own country. The sufferers in otherlands, who have felt the disastrous effects of our great civil war, havenot been forgotten. In the midst of a life-and-death struggle amongourselves, we have found time and means to assist in relieving theirwants--an exhibition of liberality peculiar, and truly American incharacter. 

Nor are these the only interesting features in the bearing of theAmerican people at the present crisis. Perhaps a still more remarkableone is the entire devotion of the national energies--of intellect notless than of heart, of skill, not less than of capital--to the greatpurposes of the war. This was the necessary result of our freeinstitutions; of our untrammelled pursuits; the mobility of our meansand agencies of production; and the plastic character of all ourcreations. The amount of thought expended on this subject has beenprodigious and incalculable. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to enumerate the ten thousand inventions and devices of all kinds whichhave been presented for the purpose of increasing the efficiency ofweapons and of all the appliances of war, as well as for adding to thecomfort and securing the health of the soldier. Every imaginableinstrument of usefulness in any of the operations of the camp, or themarch, or the field of battle, has been the subject of tentativeingenuity, such as none but Yankees could display. The musket, thecarbine, the pistol, have been constructed upon numberless plans, apparently with every possible modification. The cartridge has beencovered with copper, impervious to water, instead of paper, and has itsown fulminate attached in various modes. Cannon shot and shells havebeen made in many new forms; and cannons themselves have been increasedin calibre to an extraordinary size with proportionate efficiency, andhave been constructed in various modes and forms never before conceived. The tent, the cot, the chest, the chair, the knife and fork, the stoveand bakeoven, each and every one of them, have been touched by thetransforming hand of homely genius, and have assumed a thousandunimaginable forms of usefulness and convenience. India rubber and everyother available material have been made to perform new and appropriateparts in the general work. The result of all this unexampled activityand ingenuity has not yet been fully eliminated. It would require yearsof experience in war in order to bring American genius, as at presentdeveloped, to bear with all its extraordinary force on the mechanicaldetails of the military art. Beyond doubt, numberless devices, amongthose presented, will prove to be utterly worthless; but many of themwill certainly stand the test of experience, will be ultimately approvedand adopted, and will remain as monuments of the enterprise andingenuity aroused by the necessities of the country in this hour of itssad calamity. 

It would be a curious and interesting employment to estimate the numberand character of these inventions, due wholly to the existing civilstrife. Only then should we be able to form some adequate conception ofthe immense stimulus which has been applied to the national intellect, and which has caused it to embrace within the boundless range of itsinvestigations, the highest moral and political problems, alike with theminutest questions of mechanical and economical convenience. But weshould be greatly disappointed in not finding this phenomenon evenpartially comprehended by the powers that be. It is truly a melancholything to meet in the highest quarters so little sympathy with thenoblest efforts of the popular mind, and to witness the cold neglect andeven disdainful suspicion with which the most useful and valuabledevices are often received, or rather, we should say, haughtilydisregarded and rejected. Seldom or never do we find these inventionsappreciated according to their merits. The Government is proverbiallyslow to adopt improvements of any kind; and the army and navy, like allsimilar professional bodies, are averse to every important change, andwedded to the instruments and processes in the use of which they havebeen educated and trained. This peculiar indisposition to progressivemovements, in all the established institutions and organizations ofsociety, has frequently been the subject of remark and of regret. It is, however, only an exaggeration of the conservative principle, which, whenconfined within proper limits, is wise and beneficial. Indeed, theactual progress of society in any period, is neither more nor less thanthe result of the conflict between the opposite tendencies, ofretrogradation and advancement--a disposition to adhere to the old, which has been tried and approved, and a tendency toward the new, which, however promising and alluring, may yet disappoint and mislead. In thelong run, however, the latter prevails, and the progressive movement, more or less rapid, goes on continually. Improvements gradually forcethemselves upon the attention of the most prejudiced minds, andeventually conquer opposition in spite of professional immobility andaversion to change. Observation has shown that the most important stepsof progress usually originate outside of the professions, and are onlyadopted when they can no longer be resisted with safety to theconservative body. To the volunteer officer and soldier, or to thoseeducated soldiers who have long been in civil life, will probably be duethe greater part of that accessibility to new ideas which will result inimportant advances in the art of war. This assertion may seem to beparadoxical; but all experience proves that ignorance of old processesis most favorable to the introduction of new ones. And though in athousand instances such ignorance may be disastrous, occasionally itfinds the unprejudiced intellect illuminated by flashes of originalgenius, and open to the entrance of valuable ideas which would have beenutterly excluded by all the old and established rules. 

But the actual work of the unexampled mental activity of the presentday, will not be fully known and estimated until after the close of thewar. Until then there will be neither time nor opportunity to weigh andtest the creations of the national ingenuity. In the midst of campaignsand battles, with the absorbing interest of the great struggle, theinstruments of warfare cannot be easily changed, however important maybe the improvement presented. The emergency which arouses genius andbrings forth valuable inventions, is by no means favorable to theiradoption and general use. On the contrary, by a sort of fatality whichseems to be a law of their existence, they are doomed to struggle withadversity and fierce opposition, and they are left by the occasion whichgave them birth as its repudiated offspring--a legacy to the futureemergency which will cherish and perfect them, make them available, andenjoy the full benefit to be derived from them. 

The navy has always justly been the pride of our country; and it was tobe expected that it would first feel the impulse of inventive genius. Confident in our strength and resources, we had long remainedcomparatively sluggish, and regardless of those interesting experimentswhich other great maritime powers had been carefully making with a viewto render ships invulnerable. We looked on quietly, observed theresults, and waited for the occasion when we should be required to putforth our strength in this direction. When the war commenced, we had nota single iron-clad vessel of any description. It became necessary thatthe immense Southern coast of our country should be subjected to thestrictest blockade. This was a work of vast magnitude, and a very largeand sudden increase of the navy was demanded by the extraordinaryemergency. Cities were to be taken, and strong fortresses to beattacked. The rebels had managed to save some of the vessels intended tobe destroyed at Norfolk, and had converted the Merrimack into aformidable monster, which in due time displayed her destructive powersupon our unfortunate fleet in Hampton Roads, in that ever-memorablecontest in which the Monitor first made her timely appearance. The chiefresult of the vast effort demanded by the perilous situation of ourcountry, was the class of vessels of which the partially successful butill-fated Monitor was the type. These structures are certainly very farfrom being perfect as ships of war; nevertheless, they constitute aninteresting and valuable experiment, and mark an advance in navalwarfare of the very first importance. They establish the form in whichdefensive armor may perhaps be most effectively disposed for theprotection of men on board ships; but at the same time, it must beconceded that they utterly fail in all the other requisites formen-of-war and sea-going vessels. They are deficient in buoyancy andspeed. In truth they are nothing more than floating batteries, useful inthe defence of harbors or the attack of forts. The melancholy end of theMonitor shows too plainly that vessels of her character cannot be safelytrusted to the fury of the open sea. They may do well in favorableweather, or may escape on a single expedition; but a repetition of longvoyages will be almost certain to result in their loss. 

We want lighter and swifter vessels to be equally formidable inordnance, and alike invulnerable to the attacks of any adversary. Tocombine all these requisites is not beyond the ingenuity of Americanconstructors. Most assuredly such vessels will soon make theirappearance on the ocean. Some new arrangement of the propellingapparatus, and lighter and more powerful machinery, will accomplish thisimportant end. And then, too, with greatly increased speed, and with aconstruction suitable to the new function, the principle of the ram willbe perfected; so that the projectile thrown by the most powerfulordnance now existing or even conceived will be insignificant comparedwith the momentum of a large steamer, going at the rate of thirty orforty miles an hour, and herself becoming the direct instrument ofdestruction to her adversary. Ordnance may possibly be devised whichwill throw shot or shell weighing each a thousand pounds; but by the newprinciple, which is evidently growing in practicability and favor, theweight of thousands of tons will be precipitated against vessels of war, and naval combats will become a conflict of gigantic forces, incomparison with which the discharge of guns and the momentum of cannonballs will be little more than the bursting of bubbles. 

The exploits of the rebel steamer Alabama, so destructive to ourcommerce and so humiliating to our pride as a great naval power, sufficiently attest the vital importance of the element of speed inships of war. Her capacity under steam is beyond that of our bestvessels, and she therefore becomes, at her pleasure, utterlyinaccessible to anything we may send to pursue her. We have built oursteamers strong and heavy; but proportionately slow and clumsy. TheAlabama could not safely encounter any one of them entitled to the nameof a regular cruiser; but she does not intend to risk such a contest, and, most unfortunately for us, she cannot be compelled to meet it. Ofwhat real use are all the costly structures of our navy with thetremendous ordnance which they carry, if this comparativelyinsignificant craft can go and come when and where she will, and sailthrough and around our fleets without the possibility of beinginterrupted? They are perfectly well suited to remain stationary and aidus in blockading the Southern ports; but the frequent escape of faststeamers running the blockade, serves still further to demonstrate thegreat and palpable deficiency in the speed of our ships of war. We maystart a hundred of our best steamers on the track of the Alabama, and, without an accident, they can never overtake her. The only alternativeis to accept the lesson which her example teaches, and to surpass her inthose qualities which constitute her efficiency and make her formidableas a foe. This we must do, or we must quietly surrender our commerce toher infamous depredations, and acknowledge ourselves beaten on the seasby the rebel confederacy without an open port, and without anythingworthy to be called a navy. The ability of our naval heroes, and theirskill and valor, so nobly illustrated on several occasions during thepresent war, will be utterly unavailing against superior celerity ofmotion. Their just pride must be humbled, and their patriotic heartsmust chafe with vexation, so long as the terrible rebel rover continuesto command the seas, as she will not fail to do so long as we are unableto cope with her in activity and speed. Nor is it certain we have yetknown the worst. Ominous appearances abroad, and thick-coming rumorsbrought by every arrival, indicate the construction in England ofnumerous other ships like the Alabama, destined to run the blockade andafterward to join that renowned cruiser in her work of destruction. Stores of cotton held in Southern ports offer a temptation to thecupidity of foreign adventurers which will command capital to anyamount, and the best skill of English engineers and builders will beenlisted to make the enterprise successful--a skill not embarrassed bybureaucratic inertia and stolidity. 

Let the genius of American constructors and engineers be brought to bearon the subject, and the important problem will be solved in sixty days. Indeed, there are plans in existence, at this very hour, by which thedesired end could be at once accomplished. But the inertia of officialauthority, and especially of the bureaus in the Navy Department, is suchthat any novel idea, however demonstrably good and valuable, is usuallydoomed to battle for years against opposition of all kinds before it canhope to secure an introduction. In all probability, the war will havebeen ended before anything of great importance ever can be accomplishedthrough those channels. The adoption of the Monitor principle was notdue to the skill and intelligence found in official quarters; it wasforced upon the Navy Department from the outside. And like the boaconstrictor, after having swallowed its prey, the Department mustsluggishly repose until that meal is digested before another can betaken. One idea, of the magnitude of this, is enough for the presentcrisis. We shall not have another, if the stubborn resistance and fixityof ideas in the bureaus can prevent it. The invulnerability of theMonitors, and the peculiar arrangement by which this important end isobtained, are but one of the items necessary to make up the completeefficiency of war steamers. They are only one half what is required. They accomplish one of the great desiderata in armaments afloat; butthey leave another equally important demand utterly unsatisfied. Thereis a counterpart to this achievement--its complement, equallyindispensable to the efficiency of the navy, and waiting to be placed bythe side of the recent improvement. It must and will be brought forth, whether the naval authorities assist or oppose. American genius, onlygive it fair play, is equal to all emergencies. 

The immense activity of thought and ingenuity elicited by the war, andextending to all the departments of enterprise appropriate to the greatcrisis, is a phenomenon peculiar to the American people. It could beexhibited nowhere else, to the same extent, among civilized nations, because nowhere else is the same stimulus applied with equal directnessto the popular masses. The operation of this peculiar cause isconspicuously plain. The Government of the United States is the people'sGovernment; the war is emphatically the people's war. Every man feelsthat he has a personal interest in it. He understands, more or lessclearly, the whole question involved, and has fixed opinions, andperhaps strong feelings, in regard to it. His friends and neighbors andbrothers are in the army, and they have gone thither voluntarily, perhaps impelled by enlightened and conscientious convictions of duty. His sympathies follow them; he ardently prays for their success; and heis stimulated to provide, as well as he can, for their comfort. Allother business being greatly interrupted, if not wholly suspended, hethinks continuously of the mighty operations of the war. He dwells onthem night and day, and in the laboratory of his active mind, excited bythe mighty stimulus of personal and patriotic feeling natural to theoccasion, he produces those extraordinary combinations which distinguishthe present era. 

In addition to these impulses which operate so generally, there is thestill more universal and all-pervading love of gain which stimulates hisinventive faculties, and causes them to operate in the direction inwhich his hopes and sympathies are turned. Aroused by motives of allkinds, the whole mind and heart of the country is absorbed in the greatcontest, and all its energies are applied in every conceivable way tothe work of war. The man who carries the gun and uses it on the battlefield is not more earnestly engaged in this work than he who racks hisbrain and sifts his teeming ideas for the purpose of making theinstrument more destructive. Even the victims who fall in the deadlystrife and give their mangled bodies to their country, are not moretruly martyrs to a glorious cause than the inventors who sometimessacrifice themselves in the course of their perilous experiments, or bythe slower process of mental and physical exhaustion during the longyears of 'hope deferred, ' while vainly seeking to make known the valueof their devices. A great power is at work, operating on the characterand capacity of each individual, and affecting each according to theinfinite diversity which prevails among men. A common enthusiasm, or, at least, a common excitement pervades the whole community to itsprofoundest depths, and arouses all its energy and all its intellect, whatever that energy and intellect may be capable of doing. It carriesmultitudes into the army full of patriotic ardor; it inspires otherswith grand ideas, which they seek to embody in combinations of power, useful and effective in the great work which is the task of the nation, and for the accomplishment of which all noble hearts are laboringearnestly and incessantly. 

But in this tempestuous hour, as in more peaceful times, good and badideas, valuable and worthless devices, noble and generous as well assinister and mercenary purposes are mingled in the vast multitude ofprojects which are presented for acceptance and adoption. The power ofthe nation is magnified by the impulse which arouses it; but in itsexaltation it still retains its errors and defects. It is the samepeople, with all their characteristic faults and virtues, stimulated tomighty exertions in a sacred cause, who have been so often engaged inpetty partisan contests, swayed by dishonest leaders, and carried astrayby the base intrigues of ambition and selfishness. Yet, as the masses, at all times, have had no interest but that of the nation which theychiefly constitute, and have sought nothing but what they at leastconsidered to be the public good, so even now, in these mad and periloustimes, the predominating sentiment and purpose of the people, inwhatever sphere they move, are, on the whole, good and worthy ofapproval. Every one must at least pretend to be controlled by honest andpatriotic motives; and in such an emergency hypocrisy cannot possibly beuniversal or even predominant. Although men may seek chiefly their owninterest and profit, they must do so through some effort of publicusefulness. They must commend themselves, their works, and ideas, as ofsuperior importance to the cause of the country; and in this universalstruggle and competition--this mighty effervescence of popular thoughtand action, it would be strange and unexampled, if some great, newconceptions should not dawn upon us. The very condition, physical, social, and moral, of our twenty millions of people in the loyal Statesis unlike all that has ever preceded it. Their general intelligence, theresult of universal education, makes available their unlimited freedom, and establishes their capacity for great achievements. The presentmomentous occasion makes an imperative demand upon all their highestfaculties, and they cannot fail to respond in a manner which willsatisfy every just expectation. 

What the Government has undertaken in this crisis is worthy of a greatpeople and springs from the large ideas habitual to Americans. Theblockade of the whole Southern coast, with its vast shore line, and itsintricate network of inlets, harbors, and rivers; the controlling of themighty Mississippi from Cairo to the gulf; the campaigns in Virginia, Tennessee, and Arkansas; and the pending attacks on Charleston andSavannah--these gigantic and tremendous operations have something ofthat grandeur which is familiar to our thoughts--which, indeed, constitutes the staple of the ordinary American speech, apparentlyhaving all the characteristics of exaggerated jesting and idle boast. Wefrequently hear our enthusiastic countrymen talk of anchoring GreatBritain in one of our northern lakes. They speak contemptuously of thepetty jurisdictions of European powers contrasted with the magnificentdomain of our States, and they sneer at the rivers of the old continentas mere rills by the side of the mighty 'father of waters. ' The menwhose very jests are on a scale of such magnitude, do not seem to findthe extensive military operations too large for their serious thoughts. No American considers them beyond our power, or for one moment hesitatesto admit their ultimate success. No difficulties discourage us, nodisasters appal. We move on with indomitable will and determination, looking through all the obstacles to the grand result as alreadyaccomplished. Does slavery stand in the way, and cotton seek to usurpthe throne of universal empire, dictating terms to twenty millions offreemen, and demanding the acquiescence of the world? The first isannihilated by a word proclaiming universal liberation; the second isblockaded in his ports, surrounded by a wall of fire, suffocated andstrangled, and dragged helpless and insensible from his imaginarythrone. A proud and desperate aristocracy, rich and powerful, andcorrespondingly confident, undertake to measure strength with thedemocratic millions whom they despise. These Northern people, scornedand detested, have ideas--grand and magnificent as well as practicalideas, nurtured by universal education and unlimited freedom of thoughtand act. The fierce and relentless aristocracy rave in their verymadness, and defy the people whom they seek to destroy; but these beardown upon the haughty enemy, slowly and deliberately--awkwardly andblunderingly, it may be, at first, but learning by experience, andmoving on, through all vicissitudes, with the certainty and solemnity ofdestiny to the hour of final and complete success. The confidence inthis grand result dominates every other thought. All ideas and allpurposes revolve around it as a centre. It is the internal fire whichwarms the patriotism, strengthens the purpose, stimulates the invention, sustains the courage, and feeds the undying confidence of the nation, inthis, the hour of its desperate struggle for existence. 

PROMOTED!

 '_You_ will not bid me stay!' he said, 'She calls for me--my native land! And _stay_? ah, better to be dead! A _coward_ dare not ask your hand!

 'My crimson sash you'll tie for me, My belted sword you'll fasten, love! I swear to both I'll faithful be, To these below! to God above!

 'And if, perchance, my sword shall win A laurel wreath to crown _your_ name, He will not count it as my sin, That I for _you_ have prayed for fame!'

 * * * * *

 His name rings thro' his native land, His sword has won the hero's prize; Why comes he not to ask her hand? Dead on the battle field he lies. 

HENRIETTA AND VULCAN. 

Time, O well beloved, floweth by like a river; sweepeth on by turretedcastles and dainty boat-houses, great old forests and ruined cities. Tender, cool-eyed lilies fringe its rippling shores, straggling arms oflonging seaweeds are unceasingly wooing and losing its flying waves; andon its purple bosom by night, linger merrily hosts of dancing stars. Bright under its limpid waters gleam the towers of many a 'sunken city. 'Strong and clear through the night-silence of eager listening, ring thechimes of their far-off bells, the echoes of joyous laughter: and towaiting, yearning ones come, ever and anon, deep glances from gleamingeyes, warm graspings from outstretched hands. And well windeth the riverinto grim old caves, and even the merriest boat that King Cole everlaunched flitteth by the dark doors, intent only on the brilliant_chateaux_, that shimmer above in the gorgeous sunlight of a brave_Espagne_. But laughing imps, with flying feet, venture singly intothese realms of the Unknown. Bright streameth the light there fromcarbuncles and glowing rubies; but of the melodies that there bewilderthem, no returning voice ever speaketh, for are they not Eleusinianmysteries? But when thou meetest, O brother, sailing down the streamunder gay flags and rounding sails, some Hogarth or some Sterne, whoplayeth _rouge et noir_ with keen old Pharaohs, and battledore withCharlie Buff; who singeth brave _Libiamos_, and despiseth not theChristmas plums of Johnny Horner; who payeth graceful court to the greatand learned, and warmeth the pale hearts of the shivering poor with hiskind cheer and gentle words; who sitteth with Socrates and Pericles atthe feet of an ever-lovely Aspasia, and whispereth _capricios_ to AnnaMaria at the opera; know then, O beloved, if thou hast ever trodden themystic halls, that this man is the brother of thy soul! Selah!

But the bravest stream that ever was born on a mountain side has itsshoals and quicksands, and far out in the sounding sea rise slowly coralreefs. Now, if on every green, growing isle newly rising to thesunlight, the glorious jealousy of some Jove should toss a Vulcan, howwould our Venuses be suddenly charmed by the beauties of a South SeaScheme! how would their tiny shallops dot the curling waves, and whatnew flowers would spring upon the smiling shores to greet their rosyfeet!

'And why a Vulcan?' says the elegant Narcissus Hare, with a shiver; 'agreat, grim, solemn, limping monster, that Brummel would have spurned indisgust! And he to win our ladies with their delicate loveliness! Faugh, sir! are you a Cyclops yourself?'

Alas! my Tinkler, do you remember that Salmasius began his vituperationsof Milton with gratuitous speculations upon his supposed ugliness, andthat great was his grief when he was assured that he contended with anideal of beauty. Have you forgotten that the Antinöus won thedistinguished favor of his merry, courteous queen Christina, and thatthe satirist and man of 'taste' died of obscurity in a year? Beware, mylittle Narcissus, lest the next autumn flowers bloom above your grave inGreenwood, and your fair Luline be accepting bouquets and _bonbons_ fromme. 

You, Roland, are pale from the very contemplation of such a catastrophe, such an unprecedented _hægira_ of dames! It is as if from every gaywatering place, some softly tinkling bell should summon the fairmermaids. Beplaided and betrowsered, with their little gypsy hats, wouldthey float out beyond the breakers, waving aside with farewell, airykisses, the patent life boats and the magical preservers, and pressingon, like Gebers, with their rosy faces and great, hopeful eyes everlaughingly, merrily turned to the golden east--their _Morgen Land_!

Ah! but--have we no Vulcans among us? 'Fair Bertha, Beatrice, Alys, 'come out of the Christmas ecstatics of the dear old year that has juststreamed out like a meteor among the stars;--_you_ know, fair ones, thatthe stars are only years, and the planets grave old centuries; lock awaythe jewels and the lace sets--charming, I know--the glove boxes and thestatuettes, the cream-leaved books, and the fragile, graceful_babioles_; pull up the cushions, and group your bright selves aroundthe register--it's very cold to-day, you roses--and let us settle thequestion--have we a Vulcan among us?

Magnificent essayists, O dearly beloved, have handled 'Our Husbands, ''Our Wives, ' 'Our Sons' and 'Our Daughters' in a masterly style. Verypraiseworthy, no doubt, but so unromantic! Why, there's not a green leafin the whole collection! The style is decidedly Egyptian, solid andexpressive, but dreadfully compact. No arabesques, those offshoots oflazy, dreamy hours and pleasantly disconnected thoughts, disgrace thesolemnly even tenor of these fathers of 'Ephemeral Literature, ' as some'rude Iconoclast' has irreverently styled the butterfly journeyings ofour magazine age. But we, O merry souls and brave, are still young andfrivolous: we still look at pictures with as much zest as before ourdimly remembered teens; and we belong to that happy branch of theScribbleri family, that prefer the sympathy of bright eyes and gaylaughter, to the approving shake of any D'Orsay's 'ambrosial curls, ' orthe most unqualified smile from the grimmest old champion who even nowvotes in his secret heart against the New Tariff, or charges withunparalleled bravery imaginary or windmill giants on the floor of aPlatform or of a Legislature. 

But this, our paper, purporteth to be, in some wise, a disquisition onBeaux, and, by our faith, we had well-nigh forgotten it. _Retournons ànos moutons_, as the ancient lawyers used to say (and many a tyro, inthe interim, hath said the same) when they grew so entangled in themazes of Jack Shepherd cases that they lost sight of their originaldesigns. And lest I should grow wearisomely prosaic, and see the yawnbehind your white hand, _belle_ Beatrice, let me make my disquisition ahalf story, and point my moral, not as fairies do, with a pinch, butwith the shadow of a tale. 

And here, _signorina_, though in courage I am a Cæsar, here I shrink. The birdseye view I would take of a few leaves of beau-dom, should befrom the standing point of your own unquiet, peering eyes; and if evenCupid is blindfold, how may I, to whom you are all tormentinglydelicious enigmas, hope in my own unaided strength to enter the charmedcitadel of your experiences? Oh, no! But happy is the man, who, with aninquiring mind, has also a sister! Thrice happy he whose sisters havejust now flitted down the staircase, from their own inner sanctuaries, into the little library, bearing with them in noisy triumph the Harry ofall Goodfellows, the truant Henrietta Ruyter! Ah! she is the key thatwill unlock for me those treasures of thought and observation that Iwill shortly lay before you, O readers!

And now to you, O much-traduced star, that presided at my _début_ intothis vale of tears, may the most glorious rocket ascend that Jacksonever said or sung, one that shall break out in pæans of brilliantstars!--_for_, when I entered the charmed presence, the very ball that Ihad been wishing to roll was upon the carpet. But of this I wasunconscious as I admired Fanny's new dress, the mysterious earrings ofour stately Bertha, and ventured upon a slight compliment to Henrietta, who lounged upon the divan. With admirable dexterity, the young ladycaught the _fleurette_ upon her crochet needle, reviewed it carelessly, and finally decided to accept it; an event that I had undoubtedlyforeseen, for the compliment was a graceful and artistic one. Butbrothers, as you, Gustav, my boy, have long since discovered, are notevents, and I was presently consigned to the 'elephant chair' in thecorner, with a portfolio of sketches that Henrietta had brought fromover the sea--and the dames continued, in charming obliviousness of mypresence. 

'Girls, ' said Henrietta, having deposited my compliment snugly in herlittle workbasket, whence it may issue to the delectation of some futureyoung lady group, 'how are you going to entertain me? Such a WanderingJew as I am! A perfect Ahasuerus! _What_ a novelty it will be that willinterest _me_!' and with a most laughingly wearied air, the prettyeyebrows were raised, and waves of weariness floated over the goldenhair in its scarlet net. 

Fanny looked concerned. 'We may have a week of opera. '

'I've been--in--Milan, ' returned Henrietta, with a well-counterfeitedair of the disdain with which Mrs. De Lancy Stevens views all republicaninstitutions since her year in Europe. Bertha laughed. 

'You have grown literary, astronomical perhaps, with your star gazing, and Len has become such a Mitchellite of late, that two shelves of hisbookcase are filled with works on the heavenly bodies. What a raptureyou will be in at the sight!'

'Quite an Aquinas, ' said Henrietta, with gravity. 

'How so, Harry, ' asked Fanny, after a pause, during which she had beendeciding that her friend meant--Galileo!

'Oh, he wrote about angels, you know; said these heavenly bodies weremade of thick clouds, and some other nonsense, of which I remembernothing. '

I, in my corner, was devoutly thankful that angels now assume moretangible shapes, which chivalric sentiment, finding expression only inmy eyes, was recognized but by Henrietta, who rewarded me with alightning smile. 

'Bertha, my queen, ' continued she, as that lady's serene countenancebeamed upon her in apparently immovable calmness, '_does_ anything everarouse you? Have you forgotten, my impenetrable spirit, the sad days ofyore, when we sobbed out grand _arias_ to the wretched accompaniment ofProfessor Tirili, blistered our young fingers on guitar strings, wadedunprofitably in oceans of Locke and Bacon, and were oftener at the apexof a triangle than its comfortable base? And you always as calm asthough 'sailing over summer seas!' Come--I am absolutely blue;' and thehalf-fretful belle, who had really exhausted her strength and amiabilityby a grand pedestrian tour in the Central Park that morning, stretchedout demurely her gaiter boots, and drew with an invisible pencil onimaginary paper, the outline of her boldly arched instep. 

'If Landon would only come, ' sighed Fanny, musingly, counting the beadsfor the eye of the Polyphemus she was embroidering on a cushion for thatgentleman's sofa meditations, 'he would entertain you, as well asthe--one--two--three--witches in Macbeth. '

'No doubt of it, ' said Henrietta. 

'Five blues and two blacks, ' said Fanny, not heeding the reply. 'See, girls, ' and she held up the glittering orb, 'what a lovely eye!'

The enthusiasm of her audience was delirious but subdued. I caught anoccasional '_Such_ a love!' 'How sweet--how fierce!'

'Now, ' said Henrietta, decidedly, 'if Medusa had but one eye, and thisdear creature two, I should die as miserably as the lady who loved theApollo Belvidere. I have had _oceans_ of knights errant--but _such_! Ithink of writing a natural history like--Cuvier. '

'Yes, ' said Bertha, quietly, 'or Peter Parley. '

'Suppose I read you the advance sheets some morning?'

'Charming, ' said Fanny, with a little shrug of approaching delight. 

'Mr. Landon Snowe, Miss Fanny, ' said a crusty voice, and from under atower of white turban, Sibyl's face looked out--at the door. 

'We will see him here, Sibyl, ' said Fanny, brightly; 'and oh, Sibyl, askMott to make a macaroon custard for dinner, for Miss Ruyter. '

'Excellent, ' said that lady, again with the De Lancy Stevens air, 'Iate--those--in--Paris. They actually flavor them there with _HautBrion!_ and they are delicious!' and Henrietta's lips fairly quivered atthe remembrance, that was by no means a recollection of the long-agoenjoyed dainties. 

'Such extravagance!' said Fanny, opening her eyes, and arranging sundrylittle points in her attitude that were intended to be very piercingindeed to the gentleman, whose step was now heard in the hall. 'Suchextravagance, Harry! Your father, I suppose. You'll get nothing betterthan Port here. Good morning, Mr. Snowe. '

'Talking of ports, ladies, ' said that gentleman, airily, after he hadprostrated himself, figuratively as well as disfiguratively, before MissHenrietta, bowed over Bertha's hand, and drew his chair to Fanny'ssewing stand, for the triple purpose of confusing her zephyrs, flirtingat a side table, and ascertaining whether Henrietta had fulfilled theluxuriant promise of her earlier youth. Snowe was, womanly speaking, asyou will see, 'a perfect love of a man. ' 'Newport, for example, andcharming drives? Williamsport and the Susquehanna, Miss Fanny?'

Very statesmanly, O Landon G. Snowe, Esq. , both the glance beneath whichmy poor little sister's eyes fell, and the allusions twain to the scenesof many a pleasure past. But Fanny, though not mistress of her blushes, can, at least, control her words. 

'You are not a very good Oedipus, Mr. Snowe; we were discussingimports. '

'Such as laces and silks?'--

'And punch, ' suggested Henrietta. 

Mr. Snowe's eyeglass was here freshly adjusted, and his attentionbestowed upon the young lady who talked of punch, a thing unheard of insociety! The prospect was refreshing. Henrietta was stylish, piquant, and pretty. Fanny was uncertain, indifferent, but, for the moment, divine. He magnanimously sacrificed himself to the impulse of themoment, and the courtesies of hospitality, and walked courageously overto Henrietta, under cover of a huge book. 

'They were views from the White Mountains, he believed. Had Miss Ruyterseen them? Allow him;' and he wheeled her sofa nearer the table, andunfurled the book. Henrietta was charmed. 

'The Schwartz Mountains? She had not understood. These are glaciers? Howthey glisten! And these little flowers below are violets? Such pretty, modest, ladylike flowers. Had Mr. Snowe a favorite among flowers?'

Mr. Snowe was prepared. He had answered the question exactly fivehundred and ten times. To Cecilia Lanner, who was almost a _religieuse_, and who wore her diamond cross from principle, he was the very poet of apassion flower, such holy mysteries as its opening petals disclosed tohim! To Lucy Grey, who wore pensive curls, and had a sweet voice, hepresented constantly fragrant little sprays of mignonette, cunning mossbaskets with a suspicion of heliotrope peeping out, and crushed myrtleblossoms between the leaves of her most exquisitely bound books. To KatyLessing, who rowed a small green boat somewhere up the Hudson in thesummer, he confided the fact that water lilies were his admiration: heloved the limpid water; its restless waves were like heart throbbings(this nearly overwhelmed poor Katy). All great and noble souls loved thewater;--he forgot the sacred fakirs, and the noble lord who preferredMalmsey wine! He had repeatedly assured Regina Ward that the camelia was_his_ flower, so proudly beautiful! His soul was 'permeated withloveliness, ' and asked no fragrance. Regina is a great white creature, lovely to behold, and, perfectly conscious of her perfection, no moreactively charming than the Ino of Foley. He won Milly White's favor byapplauding her love for wild flowers, declaring that a field ofbuttercups reminded him of the 'spangled heavens, ' and that on summerdays he was constantly envying the cool little Jacks in their greenpulpits. 

A pretended Lavater--and there have been such--would have convictedSnowe at once of the most artful penetration, could he have seen thelowering curve of his brows as he watched the nervous fluttering ofHenrietta's hands over the pictures, and the decided but softly pleasantrounding of her white chin. But it was the general unconsciouslypowerful indifference of manner, that advised him to prefer, in reply toher question:

'The snapdragon, yes, beyond the shadow of a doubt. I have an oddfashion (very odd, Gustav!), Miss Ruyter, of associating ladies withflowers, and that gorgeous three-bird snapdragon always looks to me likesome brilliant belle, who holds her glittering sceptre and wields it, capriciously perhaps, but always charmingly. '

'A sort of Helen, ' observed Henrietta, calmly. 

'A witching, arbitrary, lovely Helen, ' promptly returned Snowe, who hada vague idea of Greek helmets and golden apples, wooden horses, a greatwar, and 'all for love. '

Henrietta heard the magnificent vagueness, and became so intentlyinterested in a view, that Snowe came softly over to my window, andlooked into the garden. Lilly Brennan coming in just then, theconversation became general, and presently Snowe accompanied her downthe street. 

'Fanny, ' said Henrietta, with an inquisitorial air, after the girls haddecided that the slides on the bows of Lilly's dress were too small, andthat her 'Bird of Paradise' was lovely enough to fly away with them all, 'Fanny, are you the 'bright, particular star' of that man?'

'I believe so, ' said Fanny, with a stare. 

'Do you intend to beam on him for any length of time?' persistedHenrietta. 

'I haven't decided, ' said Fan, honestly. 'I love beauty, and LandonSnowe is magnificent. '

'So is the Venus de Medicis, ' said Henrietta, fiercely; 'but look at herspine! What sort of a brain do you think _could_ flourish at the top ofsuch a spine? Not that I suppose that man to have the least fragment ofone; don't suspect such a thing! Don't you observe his weak, disjointedway of carrying his head, and the Pisan appearance of his sentences? Ishould dread an earthquake for such a man as Mr. Snowe--you'd havenothing but remnants to remember him by, Fanny. '

'But earthquakes _are_ phenomena, ' said Fanny, stoutly, 'and I'm not inthe least like one. As long as Landon never fails except spiritually, Iam contented--and even in that light _I_ never knew him to trip, ' andthe child was as indignant as her indolent nature would permit. 

'Trip! of course not, ' echoed Henrietta, 'when he's buried like adelicate Sphinx up to his shoulders in the sands of your good opinion, and the mummy cloths of his own conceit; but just remove these, andyou'll see a downfall. My dear FRANCESCA, this man is your CECCO, andhe'd far better retire into a monastery than hope to win you. Why, I'drather marry you myself, FRANCESCA! Such charms!' and Henrietta, withher own delicate perception and enjoyment of the beautiful, kissed mysister's deprecatingly extended hand, and, as the dinner bell rang, waltzed her out of the room. 

'It's perfectly bewildering the interest some people take in music, ' sheresumed later, building a little tent on the side of her plate with the_débris_ of fish. 'There's Bartlett Browning, telling me the otherevening a melancholy story of some melodious fishes, off the coastof--_Weiss nicht wo_; oysters, I suppose; conceive of it! the mostphlegmatic of creatures. I suppose some poor fisherman heard a merladysinging in her green halls, and fancied it the death song of some of hisshells. But that's nothing to some of Bartlett Browning's musical tales. The man's a perfect B flat himself!'

'Well, ' said Nelly, Phil's little girl, who had come around to show hernew velvet basque, 'but shells _do_ sing, for I've often listened tomamma's, and Bessy gives it to me at night to put me to sleep. _You_know, Aunt Bertie, for you once made me learn what it said:

 'Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!'

'Fish-land, my beauty, ' said Henrietta, playfully; 'let us hear _your_song, fishlet, ' and she held a little gleaming shrimp by his tail, andlooked expectantly at his silent mouth. And here I remember, with asmile of amusement and some astonishment, that Herman Melville, innervous fear of ridicule, apologized, most gracefully, of course, forhis beauteous Fayaway's primitive mode of carving a fish; but I fancy Ihear myself, or you either, sir, begging the community to shut its deareyes, while Harry's little victim, all unconscious of his fate, disappeared behind the walls, coral and white, of her lips and teeth. 

Oh, isn't it perfectly delicious to meet a real, frank, merry, wise sortof a girl, who doesn't wear spectacles or blue stockings, nor disdainthe Lancers or a new frock with nineteen flounces? Just fancy it, Gustav, my dear fellow, chatting with the Venus of Milo, in a New Yorkdining room, and she all done up in blue poplin, with cords and tasselsand all that, with that lovely hair tumbling about in a scarlet net, andsuch a splendid enjoyment of her own great grace, and royal claiming ofhomage! Eating mashed potatoes too, and celery, and roast beef, to keepup that magnificent physique of hers! Oh, it's rare!

But Henrietta couldn't forget Snowe, any more than Snowe could forgethimself; so, after she had gazed with delight at the red veins of winethat threaded the jelly-like custard, with its imprisoned macaroons, looking like gold fish asleep in a globe of sun-dyed water, she went on, as if the conversation had not been interrupted:

'Do you know, Fan, that he reminds me constantly of champagne. Ifthere's anything on earth or in a cellar that I do detest, itschampagne; such smiling, brilliant-looking impudence, that comes outfizz--bang! and that's the end of it; there's not so much as the quaverof an echo. You drink it, and instead of seeing cool vineyards andpurple waters and cataracts of icicles in your glass, you find a pale, gaunt spectre, or a poor, half-drowned Bacchus, staring at you. It'sjust so with your Landon Snowe. You, and other people, too, have a_habit_ of admiring him, a great creature with eyes of milky blue, whogoes about disbursing his small coin like some old Aladdin! Why, my dearchildren, the man, I don't doubt, is this moment congratulating himself, in his solitude at Delmonico's, upon his great penetration. Didn't yousee him studying me with a great flourish of deference, and throwinghis old, three-birded snapdragons into my White Mountains? If he hadbeen as ugly as a Scarron, now, and had known what he said, I could haveloved him for that, for, of all things, I do delight in dragons! Suchsieges as I have had at zoological gardens and menageries, from Dan toBeersheba, just to see one; and ugly old lizards have been pointed outto me, and scorpions, and every imaginable object but a dragon. But oneday I dug a splendid old manuscript--a perfect fossil--out of some oldlibrary in Spezia, and opening it, by the merest chance came upon a mostlovely, illuminated, full-grown dragon, the very one, I suppose, thatConfucius couldn't find! I gazed in raptures, my dearest; he perfectlysparkled with emeralds; his eyes were the most luminous opals. Dear, happy old Indians, who had their dragons at the four corners of theearth, and could go and look over at the lordly creatures whenever theyfelt melancholy. And besides, I have a little private system ofdragonology of my own, that approaches the equator more nearly. I'vealways worn opals since that day on every possible occasion; I mean tobe married in them. '

Hurra! _belle Henriette!_ thou hast a weakness. At the end of a longaisle, shrouded in sumptuously colored perfumed light, stands an altar, and white surplices gleam through the effulgence. --Thou queen! and thatthy crowning!

'Len, ' said Fanny the next morning, as I sat, after breakfast, over thepaper, 'don't you think Harry is a little, just a little, satirical, and--well--not _perfectly_ ladylike and kind, to talk so dreadfully ofone's friends?'

'Satirical!? Bless your little, tender heart, not the least mite in theworld; she's quite too straightforward for that. Unladylike! Why, mydear Fanny, don't you know 'the wounds of a friend'? Did you neverthink, little sister, that some girls are sent into the world to performthe office of crumb-scrapers for your serene highnesses, and themselvesas well?'

'Like a lady, who gives a dinner party, jumping up and brushing off herown table, ' said Fanny with an amused laugh. 

'Just so, dear; and as they go wandering about, not a fragment can beomitted. Now, a little dwarf of a thing like you couldn't do that withany grace; but Harry _could_, you know, and make everybody think it wascharming. So, if fragments of poor Snowe fall under her unsparing hand, and she brushes them off carelessly, don't let anybody's tears gorolling after, don't let anybody's heart ache, for such a trifle; thinkof the dessert, Fanny, that is sure to follow. '

'Then you too, Len, you _want_ me to give up Landon?'

'Yes, my dear, let Landon--slide. '

Fanny here boxed my ears with emphasis, and retreated, with anexpression of great disgust on her pretty face. 

'Come back here, my child, ' I said, pulling her down on my knee, 'andlet me reason with you. '

Such an oracle as I am with the girls! There's nothing like it, Gustav;for every fan or bracelet you give your sisters, you'll be amplyrewarded by revelations and love; and it's something to have a dear, white, undulating wreath of a girl in your arms, and rosy lips on yours, even if it is your sister. Bless the sweet creatures!

'What do you want to marry Snowe for?'

'Well, you see, Len, it's so grand to have such a great beauty always atone's hand, and the girls are all dying for him; and, you know, Len, thetruth is, ' (very low, ) 'he loves me, as you see, and--we girls are suchsilly creatures--and I suppose the compliment pleases me, ' and thefrank, darling face crimsoned, and tears stood in the blue eyes. Ikissed them both, and laid her hands on my shoulders. 

'Pet, ' I said, earnestly, 'you are worth a gross of Landon Snowes. Heloves you, of course--he'd have been an icicle to have failed in soobvious a duty; but it's only a matter of pure admiration, scarcely ofany complicated feelings. Besides, dear, these whitewashed, sinewless, variable fellows fade like the winter sun, without any twilight; theirfeatures go wandering off in search of becoming expressions, and theywould want a wife like a chameleon to satiate their variety-lovingnatures. No, dear; give Landon to Henrietta, and when Napoleon comesback, I will enter no protest, even Harry will be silent, and'--

'Oh, Len, what nonsense! couldn't you recommend me to the man in themoon, through a telescope?'

Fanny laughed, and we went again into the library, where Harry, asusual, was tapping her rings with the carved handle of the crotchetneedle, that was as ornamental, and about as useful, as Cleopatra's. 

'I am going to live in a new country, ' said she, gravely, as we enteredthe room; 'I would go sailing off like a squirrel on a piece of bark. Ibegin to have intense yearnings after my double. _Where_ do you supposeI'm to find him, the gorgeous, tropical anomaly?'

'In Pompeii, or the Cities of the Plain?' I suggested. 

'Fanny, ' she continued, laughingly, 'is very grave about her vanishingSnowe-flakes; but for poor me, who have been persecuted by the mostdistressing men, she has no pity. Girls, I promised you an inventory ofthese treasures. '

'Oh yes, ' said Fan, gleefully; 'go out, Len, or you will never be ableto endure Harry afterward, for your counterpart will be peeping out, andthen woe to your pride!'

'No danger, ' said Henrietta, '_that's_ perfectly invulnerable. Lenox mayremain; it will be a wholesome discipline for him--a warning, you know, my hero; although, girls, Lenox is tolerably faultless, 'Little _he_ loves but a Frau or a feast, Little he fears but a protest or priest. '

Praed altered. Sit down, disciple, at my feet if you will; I am in theoratorical mood to-day. Hypatia, if you please, _not_ Grace the Less. '

There was a pretty picture of the _Immaculée Conception_ over the sofa, one of those lithographs that you see in every bookstore, that Berthafancied because it was 'sweet. ' The Virgin, a woman with a child-angel'sface, and the mezzo-luna beneath her feet. That artist knew what he wasabout, sir. I'd give more for a picture with a good, deep idea, boldlylaunched forth, than for a thousand of your smiling, proper, natural'studies, ' and Bridal Scenes, and Dramatic or Historical Snatches. Ifartists, now, were all poets and scholars, as they should be, it wouldbe the work and delirious rapture of a life to go through a gallery aslarge as our Dusseldorf. Men would go there to write novels andhistories, and women to learn to be good and beautiful--that is, tolearn to think. Oh, what a school for great and small! But when is thisnew era of the real and the true in art to begin? You boy artists, whoare just opening glad eyes to the glorious light, the great world looksto _you_ to inaugurate the new, to pour ancient lore and mystic symbolsand grand old art into the waiting crucible, and melt the whole, withyour burning, creative genius, into forms and conceptions before which, hearts shall be silent in very rapture. But the time is not yet. Onehere and there cannot change the Iron to a Golden Age, and it is tothoughts rather than their great embodiments that earnestart-worshippers now bow. And yet men fancy they are artists, dream of afame glorious as that of Phidias! Why there's young Acajou, whochiselled a very respectable hound out of a stray lump of marble, stealthily, by a candle, or more probably a spirit lamp, in his father'scellar--was discovered and straightway heroized. I don't say the boyhasn't talent, genius if you will; but it isn't the genius that willoverflow his soul and etherealize his whole nature. Yet already he'progresses like a giantess, ' has attracted some attention in theAcademy, and will directly be sent to Rome. But the idea! I know him toowell! The other night I heard him criticizing Michael Angelo! and when Igave him an engraving of that delicious Psyche of Theed's to admire, thecreature talked as if she were a manikin or a robed skeleton! Is therenothing due to the idea, Acajou? 'The idea!' dear me, why he didn'texactly know what the _idea_ was! So he'll go trolling about the Louvreand the Luxembourg gallery, the Pitti palace and all Rome, and his mindwill be as full of elbows and collar bones as the catacombs; he'll talkto you of the Grecian line of beauty and of 'pose, ' and sketch you sucha glorious arm or ankle that you, fair lady, wouldn't know it from yourown! But do you see a single softened line in his own face? Has he everdrunk deep draughts from old fountains of poesy? Has he ever thought ofthe Vatican library--even though to long is all he may do? Oh no! Hesays mythology is a wornout dream, and insulting to a Christian age;that it's all well enough to know Jupiter and Bacchus (Silenus too?) andVenus and the head men back there, but this century wants originality, progress! Oh, pshaw!

Oh, but I was saying that Our Lady stood over the half moon, andHenrietta sat below it, with that soft cashmere morning dress, fightingall around her to see which fold should cling most lovingly to hergraceful form. It was all a delicious poem to me, and if I were Horace, you would have had a splendid ode. Oh, well!

'Why, what a Joseph he is!' said Henrietta, waking me out of thisreverie. 

'Oh, ' said I, starting, 'how did you know that?'

'Only conjecture, my dear friend; but when we see a man with his eyesfixed in that ghostly way, and his mustaches and all in perfect repose, we reasonably imagine that he's seeing visions; and I suppose you'llcome flaming out presently with some dreams that shall have, for remoteconsequences, a throne in some Eastern paradise, and a princess, perhaps--who knows?'

'Who knows?' echoed I; 'but go on, Hypatia. '

'Oh yes! where shall I begin? Oh! there is Penhurst Lane, girls, youremember?'

'The raven?' said Bertha. 

'No, ' said Fanny, 'that is Mr. Rawdon. Penhurst Lane is an idealist. '

'A _very_ idealist, just so, ' returned Harry. 'Well, the way I've been amartyr to that man's caprice is perfectly heart-rending. He came of somegorgeous family in the middle of Pennsylvania, where all the tribes, like leaning towers, incline toward Germany. To be sure, you'd neverdream it from his looks, for he is a perfect Mark Antony in thatrespect. You needn't laugh. Didn't he have _bonnes fortunes_ as well asAlcibiades? Not that Penhurst had _bonnes fortunes_, or ever dreamed ofsuch things; but he always had such a proclivity toward any one whowould listen to his harangues; and I must say, just _inter nos_ (theonly bit of Latin I know, Lenox, I got it from the English 'DonGiovanni'), that I have quite a talent for listening well. But I'd aslief encounter a West India hurricane or a simoom. I used to feel himcoming an hour beforehand. Then I would read a little in Blair, take apeep at Sir Charles Grandison, swallow half a page of Cowper's 'Task, 'and look over the Grecian and Roman heroes; then I was fortified. 'Whydidn't I take Shelley?' Oh my! why, he couldn't endure Shelley, said hewas a poor, weak creature, _all gone to imagination_! Then I wouldassume a Sontag and thick boots, if the weather was cold, to appearsensible, you know, and await his coming; that is, if I didn't becomeexasperated before that stage, and rush in to see Lil Brennan to avoidhim. And his opinions, such an unfolding! You never caught him lookingwith admiration, oh no! I might have laid a wilderness of charms on thefloor, at his very feet, and he would have brushed them all away withindifference. His mind revolved around a weightier theme than any 'ladyof fashion;' like a newly discovered moon, he flew around the earth, andwith miraculous speed. He stopped in China to say 'Confucius;' in India, to say 'Brahma;' in Persia, to say 'Ormuzd;' and so on around. My dearLenox, if you had asked him whether Ormuzd was at peace with all theworld, he would have retired into himself, for he hadn't the faintestidea. As for music, or any fine art, he never approached it but once, when he led me to the piano, begging for some native American melody, and not a German romance. Well, I played him 'God save the Queen, ' withextravagant variations, which he took for 'Yankee Doodle. ' No matter! Imade a mistake when I spoke of his opinions; he hadn't any. He was whatsome call 'well read, ' that is, he had a distant desire to 'improve hismind, ' but his magnificent self so filled his little vision, that hisgreat desire was obscured and distorted. Like my beloved Jean Paul, hehad once said to himself, _Ich bin ein Ich_ (I am a ME), and the nobleconsciousness overwhelmed him, and excluded all after thoughts on anyminor subject. He never heard Grisi, never saw Rachel; they weretriflers, 'life was too grave, too short;' but he escorted meoccasionally to lectures and orations. I remember two or three of these. A lecture on the 'Fossils of Humanity and Primeval Formations, ' whichwas unintelligible, consequently to him 'sublime;' one on 'the Exalted, 'that soared out of sight and beyond the empire of gravity, and one on'Architecture, ' by Dr. Vinton, a splendid production, the fruit andevidence of years of study and rare talent, that sent me home withlongings and unaccustomed reverence for the Great in every form, andwith grief that my own ignorance rendered it only a half-enjoyedpleasure to me; while Penhurst talked as if it were only the echo of hisown thoughts; pretended to say it was very 'sensible!' But you've hadenough of Mr. Lane, who was never known to laugh except at his own wit, who patronized me because I was a 'solid' young lady, and not given toflights. You may readily imagine that our interviews were generally_tête-à-têtes_, for general society was to him a thing 'stale, flat, andunprofitable. ' Of course you know I only endured his visits becauseamong the girls it was considered a compliment to receive them, and theywere all dying of envy. Besides and principally, it is neither politicnor pleasant to offend any one, and I could not have denied myself tohim, without doing this; so'--

'But, Harry, he is married now. '

'Ah me! yes. He saw me in a cap and bells once with you, Lenox, and notmany weeks afterward married a damsel who reveres him as a Solon, thisman, who said:

 ----'The wanderings Of this most intricate Universe Teach me the nothingness of things. Yet could not all creation pierce Beyond the bottom of his eye. '

'_Are_ you done, Harry?'

'Yes, Lenox. '

'Then sing us Béranger's _Grace à la fêve, je suis roi_. '

She has such a delicious voice. 

'And while I am on tiresome people, who think only of themselves, let merecall P. George Rawdon; the Raven, Bertha; I always believed his firstname was Pluto, because of the shades around him. They say every one hasa text book; his was neither the Bible, the Prayer Book, Thomas àKempis, _La Nouvelle Héloise_, or 'Queechy, ' but Mrs. Crowe's 'NightSide of Nature. ' Talk of having a skeleton in the house! the mostdistressing ones that ever preceded Douglas and Sherwood's were nothingto him! he reminded one constantly of an Egyptian feast. He lookedsadly at children, and gave little Henry Parsons, his godchild, aminiature dagger with a jewelled handle, with which the child nearlydestroyed his right hand. When poor Mary was married, he walkedmournfully up to the altar, and stared during the ceremony unmistakablyat an imaginary coffin, hanging, like Mohammed's, midway between theceiling and the floor. Poor man, it's really curious, but he contrivesto be always in mourning, and everybody knows that he goes only to seetragedies, and has the dyspepsia, like Regina and her diamond cross, from principle. He composes epitaphs for all the ladies of hisacquaintance, and presents them, like newspaper-carrier addresses, onNew Year's days. I have one in my writing desk in a very secret drawer;a _soul_-cheering effusion, but not particularly agreeable to thephysical humanity. This I intend to bequeath to the British museum, where it will be in future ages as great a treat to the antiquary as theElgin marbles. What a doleful subject--pass him by!'

'Don't forget Leon Channing, ' suggested Fanny, who was listening withgreat interest, and from a natural dread of ghosts and vampires was gladto see that Mr. Rawdon had come to a crisis. 

'Dear me, no!' said Henrietta, cheerily, 'it's quite refreshing to cometo an individual who creates a smile. I never was born for tears andlamentations, Bertha, any more than a lily was made to be merry; and ifit were not for Len Channing, I don't suppose I should ever have beensharpened to such a dangerous degree; it's this constant friction, youknow; well, as some darling of a cosmopolite has said, 'We must allowfor friction in the most perfect machinery--yes, be glad to find it--fora certain degree of resistance is essential to strength. I like Leonvery well. No one is more safe in a parlor engagement, always in theright place at the right tune, never embarrassed, never _de trop_; butthen the queer consciousness, when he's giving you a meringué or an ice, that if you were a 'real pretty, ' graceful, conversible fawn or dove hewould be doing it with the same interest! _Why?_ Oh, because he sayswomen belong to a lower order in the animal creation! Yes, veil yourface, Mr. Lenox Raleigh, and be mournful that you are a man! 'A lowerorder of humanity!' Well, of course, I'm always quarrelling with him. Tobe sure he's a shallow kind of a philosopher, one of your rationalists;thinks Boston is the linchpin of the whole universe; has autographletters from Emerson and Longfellow, and all that sort of thing. Now, Idare say it's very fine for a Schelling or a Hegel once in a while tobeam over the earth, but it always seems inharmonious to me to seelittle jets of philosophers popping up in your face and then down again, all the time, thinking themselves great things. That's the way withLeon. Let me tell you what happened when I saw him last; and that was inCologne, more than a year ago. I was sitting in our room with a greatfolio of Retzsch's engravings before me, and father writing horriblenotes in his journal at the table, and wishing the eleven thousandvirgins and all Cologne in the bottom of the Rhine, when I looked up, and somehow there was Leon. Of course we were rejoiced to see him, it'salways so pleasant to meet friends abroad. After some talk, father wentout to take another look at the cathedral, and indulge in speculationsand legends, and left Leon and me in the window. It's as queer andhorrible an old town, girls, as you ever dreamed of, and, as there wasnothing external very fascinating, Leon soon turned his gaze inward, and, after twanging several minor strings, began to harp on his endless'inferiority of woman. ' I plied him, you may know; I gave him Zenobiasand Didos and de Staels and de Medicis--in an emergency Pope Joan, andfinally the Boston Margaret Fuller. Leon only stroked his beard andsmiled. 

''Miss Henrietta, ' said he, at last, when I stopped in exultation, 'doyou grant the Africans the vigor or variety of intellect of theEuropeans?'

''No, ' said I. 

''Yet you concede that there may be instances among them, whereeducation and culture have developed great results. '

''Yes, ' I thought, 'there might be. '

''Just as I, bewildered by Miss Henrietta's keen shafts and gracefulmanoeuvres, yield that a woman is, once in a century, gifted with aman's depth of thought and her sex's loveliness. ' The comparison wasodious. What did I do? Oh, I (the swarthy Ethiop) only rose from myfaded arm chair, saluted Mr. Channing (the lordly European) as if I werehis partner in a quadrille, and brought out my cameos and mosaics toshow him. In about half an hour the beauty of his reasoning andcomparison reached his brain, but mine was impenetrable to his mosthoneyed apologies; as I very sweetly assured him, 'I couldn'tunderstand, didn't see the drift, couldn't connect the links. ' Leon saysancient history is a fable, and Herodotus a myth, and all because a_woman_ sat upon the tripod at Delphi, and because a _woman_ wore thehelmet and carried the shield of wisdom. '

'What's the matter, Harry?' asked Fanny, compassionately, as her smallfingers were stretched like infant grid-irons before her eyes, and asilence ensued. 

'My new bonnet, Fanny dear, I am wondering what it shall be; we must godown this very morning and decide. '

Did you ever think, Narcissus, and you, Gustav, and all of you boys, when you are engaged in your small diplomacies and _coups de main_, andfeeling like giants in intellect beside the dear little girls who playpolkas for you of evenings and sing sweet ballads, that _pour bien jugerles grands, il faut les approcher_? I thought so that morning, as Iheard the animated discussion that succeeded Henrietta's monologue; adiscussion into which all sorts of delicate conceits of lace and flowersentered largely, and which savored about as much of the precedingelements as last night's Charlotte Russe of this morning's coffee. 

Since Henrietta's oration, I am more than ever afraid of a Vulcan. It isvery plain that our most fashionably cut suits and most delicatelyperfumed billets are not all powerful, --that the dear creatures areeither waking or we have been asleep. _Reveillons!_

'_Aux armes, citoyens!_'

Now, while I was writing that last word, a heavy hand was laid on myshoulder, and looking up, I saw--Nap. I love Nap. I have a girlishweakness (let some lady arraign me for this hereafter) for him; so Ishouted out and grasped his hands. 

'How are the boys?'

'Flourishing. Come to stay?

'Yes, old fellow. '

'Stocks up?'

'To the sky. '

'The governor?'

'All right. '

_I_ haven't any governor. Nap has; and one that saw fit to persecute himfrom twenty to thirty, because he declined to take 'orders. ' _PerBacco!_ Never mind, a fit of paralysis has shaken the opposition out ofthe old gentleman at last, and Nap is in sunshine in consequence, andrushes around Wall street like a veteran. 

But I didn't promise to tell you about Nap, or the girls either; it wasonly a few rays of light I had to dash over 'our beaux;' so where isyour mother, belle Beatrice? I must make my adieux. 

What say you, little one? You like Henrietta; you want to see her again?You pull me back with your wee white hands; I will talk to you for anhour longer, if I may hold the little kittens in my own. I may? And kisseach finger afterward? Ah! you dear child! Well, then--

'Are you going to Van Wyck's to-night, Lenox?' asked Bertha of me, as werose from dinner, a month afterward. 

'Yes, after the opera. And you? I fancy--yes--from your eyes. '

Bertha did not answer, and I strolled up stairs into the little backdrawing room. From the library above I could hear Fanny's merry voiceand the ring of Nap's cheery replies. Such a comfort as it was to me tosee those two so fond of each other. You see I am, in a way, Fanny'sfather, and took no very great credit to myself when she half laid herhand in the extended one of Snowe. How curiously that witch Harrymanaged the thing, though! Dear little Fan; she stood in more than onetwilight by the garden window, and whispered over: '_Addio_, FRANCESCA!_addio_, CECCO!' and Snowe faded in the returning spring of her heart, and into the blooming vista of their separation, hopefully walked Nap, and was welcomed with many smiles. 

This afternoon, I walked over to the garden window, and there was Harry, scrawling an old, bearded hermit on the glass with her diamond ring. Weboth looked out--nothing much to see--a New York garden, thirty feetsquare, with the usual gorgeousness of our winter flowers!

'You are thinking of Shiraz, Harry. '

'Yes, ' said she, dreamily, 'I am thinking of Shiraz!'

She didn't say it, but don't you suppose I knew just as well that shewas wishing for her Vulcan and a great rose garden? I began to sing the'Last Man, ' but didn't succeed admirably; then I lighted my pipe--Harrydidn't mind, you know, indeed she only looked at it wishfully. 

'In my rose garden, ' said she, with a laugh, 'I shall smoke to kill therosebugs. '

'Don't wait, ' said I, taking down a dainty _écume de mer_ (the backdrawing room was my peculiar 'study, ' and the repository of severalgentlemanly 'improprieties'), and I adjusted the amber mouth piece tothe cherry stem, 'Don't wait for Persia, make your rose garden here. '

Harry shook her head: 'You know, Len, ' she said, 'that my roses wouldgrow like so many witches in a Puritan soil. I always thought that storyof the Norwegians' taking rosebuds for bulbs of fire, and beingterrified, was a very delicate and poetical satire upon _all_superstition. '

'Are you going to wash away _all_ superstition?' I asked hastily. 

'No, ' said she, with a smile at my fierceness; 'no, I like to see thesun shine on the dew drops that the webs catch and swing between thetops of the grasses. '

I looked at her as she laid her head back against the curtains. Mynonchalance was as striking as hers, and--as genuine! We were nochildren to be awkward in any event. I took her hand; it was a glowingpulse--and mine? She wore one of those curious little cabal rings; therewere the Hebrew characters for Faith, traced as with a gold pen dippedin melted pearls on black enamel. My seal was an emerald, Faith also, impaled. I snatched it up and laid it by the ring on her hand. Shesmiled--such a smile! intensest sympathy, deepest! Could it be? to lovethe same old symbols, the same weird music? I caught her close, and bentover her lips. The gold hair waved over my shoulder; the great, glittering eyes foamed into mine, then melted and swam into deep, quivering seas of dreams. I whispered, '_Zoe mou!_' Oh, the quick, golden whisper, the flash of genial heartiness, the daring--oh, _how_tender! '_Sas agapo. _' I held her off, radiant, glowing, fragrant, andBertha's dress rustled up the stairs. 

Henrietta stooped to pick up the seal, which had fallen; she balanced iton the tip of her finger--the nervy Titan queen! and drew Bertha down byher side on the sofa. It was growing dark. 

'I must be off, girls, and get your camelias. What will you have, Bertha? a red or a white, you've a moment to decide?'

'Neither, Len; I do not go. '

'Why, Bertha? Oh! I remember, it is your anniversary, ' and I kissed her. 

'And you, princess!' I turned to Henrietta. 

'Only roses, good my liege. '

What was the opera that night? Pshaw! what a rhetorical affectation thisquestion! as if I could ever forget! _Die Zauberflöte_, and it rang pureand clear through my thrilled heart. It followed me around to VanWyck's, where I found Henrietta and Fanny. A compliment to madame, aGerman with mademoiselle, and home again. A great light streamed out ofthe drawing room. I pushed the door open. With a cry of joy, Fan rushedinto the arms of the grave, fair man who put Bertha off his knee towelcome her. Nap, who had followed us in, for a moment stood transfixed, and Henrietta, more quiet, stood by their side, saying: 'Here is Harry, Fred, when you choose to see her. ' And he did choose, her own brother, whom she had not seen for three years!

'Come in, Nap, ' I said. 'Fred Ruyter. '

'Nap and Fanny, ' I whispered; Fred smiled invisibly. 

And Bertha? Oh, you know, of course, that she's Bertha Ruyter, and thatFred is her husband, just home from six months in Rio, and exactly ayear from his wedding night! Oh, Lionardo! what mellow, transparent, flowing shades drowned us all that night!

'Harry, ' I said, the next morning, before I went down town, as I loungedover her sofa, 'you have my emerald?'

'Yes!' and her bright face turned up to mine. 

'You will keep it, and take me also, dear?'

'_Ma foi! oui_, ' was the sweet, smiling reply. 

'I'm not quite ugly enough for a Vulcan, I know; but after a while, ifyou are patient, who knows? What sayest thou, Venus?'

'I will try you, _bon camarade_. '

'Your hand upon it, Harry. '

She gave it; I kissed the gold hair that waved against my lips. Fannyrushed impetuously upon us, with half-opened eyes, and stifled us withcaresses. 

'Such a proposal, ' said she musingly, after she had returned to herwools and beads, '14° above zero!'

'And the Polyphemus, Fanny?'

'Is for Nap, ' and Fanny blushed and laughed. She was wondering if thatgreat event, an 'engagement, ' always came about in so prosaic a way. Butlooking at Bertha, I caught the bright, long, gravely humorous gleamfrom her dark eyes, and walked upon it all the way down to ExchangePlace. 

Adieu, little Beatrice; my story hath at last an ending. Keep the littlehands and little heart warm for somebody brave by and by. Go shiningabout and dancing, and smiling, Hummingbird; may sweetest flowers alwaysbloom around you; may you dwell in a fragrant rose garden of your own, _mignonne_! Adieu. 

ETHEL. 

FITZ FASHION'S WIFE. 

 Take the diamonds from my forehead--their chill weight but frets my brow! How they glitter! radiant, faultless--but they give no pleasure now. 

 Once they might have saved a Poet, o'er whose bed the violet waves: Now their lustre chills my spirit, like the light from new-made graves. 

 Quick! unbind the braided tresses of my coroneted hair! Let it fall in single ringlets such as I was wont to wear. 

 Take that wreath of dewy violets, twine it round their golden flow; Let the perfumed purple blossoms fall upon my brow of snow!

 Simple flowers, ye gently lead me back into the sunny years, Ere I wore proud chains of diamonds, forged of bitter, frozen tears!

 Bring the silver mirror to me! I am changed since those bright days, When I lived with my sweet mother, and a Poet sang my praise. 

 My blue eyes are larger, dimmer; thicker lashes veil their light; Upon my cheek the crimson rose fast is fading to the white. 

 I am taller, statelier, slighter, than I was in days of yore:-- If his eyes in heaven behold me, does he praise me as before?

 Proudly swells the silken rustle--all around is wealth and state, -- Dearer far the early roses twining round the wicker gate, Where my mother came at evening with the saint-like forehead pale, And the Poet sat beside her, conning o'er his rhythmed tale. 

 As he read the linked lines over, she would sanction, disapprove: Soft and musical the pages, but he never sang of love. 

 I had lived through sixteen summers, he was only twenty-one, And we three still sat together at the hour of setting sun. 

 Lowly was the forest cottage, but the sweetbrier wreathed it well; 'Mid its violets and roses, bees and robins loved to dwell. 

 Wilder forms of larch and hemlock climbed the mountain at its side; Fairy-like a rill came leaping where the quivering harebells sighed. 

 Glittering, bounding, singing, dancing, ferns and mosses loved its track; Lower in it dipped the willows, as to kiss the cloudland's rack. 

 Soon there came a stately lover, --praised my beauty, softly smiled: 'He would make my mother happy, '--I was but a silly child!

 Came a dream of sudden power--fairest visions o'er me glide-- Wider spheres would open for me;--dazzled, I became a bride:

 Fondly deemed my lonely mother would be freed from sordid care; Splendor I might pour around her, every joy with her might share. 

 Then the Poet, who had never breathed one word of love to me, -- We might shape his life-course for him, give him culture wide and free. 

 How I longed to turn the pages, with a husband's hand as guide, Of the long-past golden ages, art and science at my side!

 To my simple fancy seemed it almost everything he knew-- Ah! he might have won affection, faithful, fervent, trusting, true!

 I was happy, never dreaming wealth congeals the human soul, Freezing all its generous impulse--I but saw its wide control. 

 Years have passed--a larger culture poured strange knowledge through my mind-- I have learned to read man's nature: better I were ever blind!

 How can I take upon me what I look upon with scorn, Or learn to brook my own contempt, or trample the forlorn?

 I cannot live by rote and rule; I was not born a slave To narrow fancies; I must feel, although a husband rave!

 I cannot choose my friends because I know them rich, or great; My heart elects the noble, --what cares love for wealth or state?

 Very lovely are my pictures, saints and angels throng my hall-- But with shame my cheek is flushing, and my quivering lashes fall:

 Can I gaze on pictured actions, daring deeds, and emprise high, And not feel my degradation while these fetters round me lie?

 Once the Poet came to see me, but it gave me nought but pain; I was glad to see the Gifted go, ne'er to return again. 

 For my husband scorning told me: 'True, his lines were very sweet, But his clothes, so worn and seedy--scarce for me acquaintance meet!

 Artists, poets, men of genius, truly should be better paid, But not holding our position, cannot be our friends, ' he said. 

 'As gentlemen to meet them were a very curious thing; They were happier in their garrets--there let them sigh or sing. 

 There were Travers and De Courcy--could he ask them home to dine, At the risk of meeting truly such strange fellows o'er their wine?'

 Then he said, 'My cheeks were peachy, lips were coral, curls were gold, But he liked them braided crown-like, and with pearls and diamonds rolled. 

 I was once a little peasant; now I stood a jewelled queen-- Fitter that a calmer presence in his stately wife were seen!'

 Then he gave a gorgeous card-case; set with rubies, Roman gold, Handed me a paper with it, strands of pearls around it rolled;

 Names of all his wife should visit I would find upon the roll:-- Found I none I loved within it--not one friend upon the scroll!

 And my mother, God forgive me! I was glad to see her go, Ere the current of her loving heart had turned like mine to snow. 

 Must I still seem fair and stately, choking down my bosom's strife, Because 'all deep emotions were unseemly in his wife'?

 Must I gasp 'neath diamonds' glitter--walk in lustrous silken sheen-- Leaving those I love in anguish while I play some haughty scene?

 I am choking! closer round me crowds convention's stifling vault-- Every meanness's called a virtue--every virtue deemed a fault!

 Every generous thought is scandal; every noble deed is crime; Every feeling's wrapped in fiction, and truth only lives in rhyme!

 No;--I am not fashion's minion, --I am not convention's slave! If 'obedience is for woman, ' still she has a soul to save. 

 Must I share their haughty falsehood, take my part in social guile, Cut my dearest friends, and stab them with a false, deceitful smile?

 Creeping like a serpent through me, faint, I feel a deadly chill, Freezing all the good within me, icy fetters chain my will. 

 Do I grow like those around me? will I learn to bear my part In this glittering world of fashion, taming down a woman's heart?

 Must I lower to my husband? is it duty to abate All the higher instincts in me, till I grow his fitting mate?

 Shall I muse on noble pictures, turn the poet's stirring page, And grow base and mean in action, petty with a petty age?

 I am heart-sick, weary, weary! tell me not that this life, Where all that's truly living must be pruned by fashion's knife!--

 I can make my own existence--spurn his gifts, and use my hands, Though the senseless world of fashion for the deed my memory brands. 

 Quick! unbraid the heavy tresses of my coroneted hair-- Let its gold fall in _free_ ringlets such as I was wont to wear. 

 I am going back to nature. I no more will school my heart To stifle its best feelings, play an idle puppet's part. 

 I will seek my banished mother, nestle closely on her breast; Noble, faithful, kind, and loving, there the tortured one may rest. 

 We will turn the Poets' pages, learn the noblest deeds to act, Till the fictions in their beauty shall be lived as simple fact. 

 I will mould a living statue, make it generous, strong, and high, Humble, meek, self-abnegating, formed to meet the Master's eye. 

 Oh, the glow of earnest culture! Oh, the joy of sacrifice! The delight to help another! o'er all selfish thoughts to rise!

 Farewell, cold and haughty splendor--how you chilled me when a bride! Hollow all your mental efforts; meanness all your dazzling pride!

 Put the diamonds in their caskets! pearls and rubies, place them there! I shall never sigh to wear them with the violets in my hair. 

 Freedom! with no eye upon me freezing all my fiery soul; Free to follow nature's dictates; free from all save God's control. 

 I am going to the cottage, with its windows small and low, Where the sweetbrier twines its roses and the Guelder rose its snow. 

 I will climb the thymy mountains where the pines in sturdy might Follow nature's holy bidding, growing ever to the light;

 Tracking down the leaping streamlet till the willows on it rise, Watch its broad and faithful bosom strive to mirror back the skies. 

 Through the wicker gate at evening with my mother I will come, With a little book, the Poet's, to read low at set of sun. 

 'Tis a gloomy, broken record of a love poured forth in death, Generous, holy, and devoted, sung with panting, dying breath. 

 By the grassy mound we'll read it where he calmly sleeps in God, -- My gushing tears may stream above--they cannot pierce the sod!

 Hand in hand we'll sit together by the lowly mossy grave-- Oh, God! I blazed with jewels, but the noble dared not save!

 I am going to the cottage, there to sculpture my own soul, Till it fill the high ideal of the Poet's glowing roll. 

 * * * * *

 Stay, lovely dream! I waken! hear the clanking of my chain! Feel a hopeless vow is on me--I can ne'er be free again!

 His wife! I've sworn it truly! I must bear his freezing eye, Feel his blighting breath upon me while all nobler instincts die!

 Feel the Evil gain upon me as the weary moments glide, Till I hiss, a jewelled serpent, fit companion, at his side. 

 Vain is struggle--vain is writhing--vain are sobs and stifled gasps-- I must wear my brilliant fetters though my life-blood stain their clasps!

 Hark! he calls! tear out the violets! quick! the diamonds in my hair! There's a ball to-night at Travers'--'tis his will I should be there. 

 Splendid victim in his pageant, though my tortured head should ache, Yet I must be brilliant, joyous, if my throbbing heart should break!

 I shudder! quick! my dress of rose, my tunic of point lace-- If fine enough, he will not read the anguish in my face!

 I know one place he dare not look--it is so still and deep-- He dare not lift the winding sheet that veils my last, long sleep!

 He dreads the dead! the coffin lid will shield me from his breath-- His eye no more will torture----Joy! I shall be free in death!

 Free to rest beside the Poet. He will shun the lowly grave: There my mother soon will join us, and the violets o'er us wave. 

THE SKEPTICS OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 

It is remarkable that while, in a republic, which is the mildest form ofgovernment, respect for law and order are most highly developed, thereis in an aristocracy (which is always the most deeply based form oftyranny) a constant revolt against all law. Puritanism in England, Pietism in Germany, and Huguenotism in France, were all directly andstrongly republican and law-abiding in their social relations; while foran example of the contrary we need only glance at our own South. Aristocracy--a regularly ordered system of society into ranks--is thedream of the slaveholder, and experience is showing us how extremelydifficult it is to uproot the power of a very few wicked men who havefairly mudsilled the majority; and yet, despite this strength, there wasnever yet a country claiming to be civilized, in which the wild capricesand armed outrages of the individual were regarded with such toleration. 

_Republicanism is Christian. _ When will the world see this tremendoustruth as it should, and realize that as there is a present and a future, so did the Saviour lay down one law whereby man might progress in thislife, and another for the attainment of happiness in the next, and thatthe two are mutually sustaining? There was no real republicanism beforethe Gospels, and there has been no real addition to the doctrine since. The instant that religion or any great law of truth falls into the handsof a high caste, and puts on its livery, it becomes--ridiculous. Whatthink you of a shepherd's crook of gold blazing with diamonds?

It is interesting to trace an excellent illustration of the naturalaffinity between the fondness for feudalism and the love of law-breakingin Sir WALTER SCOTT. Whatever his head and his natural common sensedictated (and as he was a canny Scot and a shrewd observer, theydictated many wise truths), his heart was always with the men of bow andbrand; with dashing robbers, moss troopers, duellists, wild-eaglebarons, wild-wolf borderers, and the whole farrago of autocraticscoundrelism. With his soul devoted to dreams of feudalism, his fondlove of its romance was principally based on the constant infractions oflaw and order to which a state of society must always be subject inwhich certain men acquire power out of proportion to their integrity. The result of this always is a lurking sympathy with rascality, a secretrelish for bold selfishness, which is in every community the deadliestpoison of the rights of the poor, and all the disinherited by fortune. 

It is very remarkable that Walter Scott, a Tory to the soul, should, byhis apparently contradictory yet still most consistent love of the_outré_, have had a keen amateur sympathy for outlaws. It is much moreremarkable, however, that, still retaining his faith in king and nobles, Church and State, he should have pushed his appreciation of such men tothe degree of marvellously comprehending--nay, enjoying--certain typesof skepticism which sprang up in fiercest opposition to authority; urgedinto existence by its abuses, as germs of plants have been thought to beelectrified into life by sharp blows. And it is most remarkable of all, that he did this at a time when none among his English readers seem tohave had any comprehension whatever of these characters, or to havesurmised the fact that to merely understand and depict them, the writermust have ventured into fearful depths of reflection and of study. Intreating these characters, Walter Scott seems to become positively_subjective_--and I will venture to say that it is the only instance ofthe slightest approach to anything of the kind to be found in all hiswritings. Unlike Byron, who was painfully conscious, not of the natureof his want in this respect, but of _something_ wanting, Scott nowhereelse betrays the slightest consciousness of his continual life underlimitations, when, _plump!_ we find him making a headlong leap rightinto the very centre of that terrible pool whose waters feed theforbidden-fruit tree of good and of evil. 

The characters to which I particularly refer in Sir Walter Scott'snovels are those of the Templar, Brian de Bois Guilbert, in 'Ivanhoe;'of the gypsy Hayraddin Maugrabin in 'Quentin Durward;' of Dryfesdale, the steward, in 'The Abbot;' and of the 'leech' Henbane Dwining, in 'TheFair Maid of Perth. ' There are several others which more or lessresemble these, as, for instance, Ranald Mac Eagh, the Child of theMist, in 'Montrose, ' and Rashleigh, in 'Rob Roy;' but the latter, considered by themselves, are only partly developed. In fact, if Scotthad given to the world only _one_ of these outlaws of faith, there wouldhave been but little ground for inferring that his mind had ever takenso daring a range as I venture to claim for him. It is in his constant, wistful return, in one form or the other, to that terrible type ofhumanity--the man who, as a matter of intensely sincere faith, has freedhimself from all adherence to the laws of man or GOD--that we find theclue to the _real_ nature of the author's extraordinary sympathy for themost daring, yet most subtle example of the law-breaker. In comparingthese characters carefully, we find that each by contrast appears farmore perfect than when separate--as the bone, which, however excellentits state of preservation may be, never seems to the eye of thephysiologist so complete as when in its place in the complete skeleton. And through this contrast we learn that Scott, having by sympathy andhistorical-romantic study, comprehended the lost secret of all_illuminée_ mysteries--that of human dependence on nought save the lawsof a mysterious and terrible Nature--could not refrain from ever andanon whispering the royal secret, though it were only to the rustlingreeds and rushes of fashionable novels. Having learned, though in anillegitimate way, that the friend of PAN, the great king of the goldentouch, had ass's ears, he _must_ tell it again, though in murmurs andwhispers:

 'Qui cum ne prodere visum Dedecus auderet, cupiens efferre sub auras, Nec posset reticere tamen, secedit, humumque Effodit: et domini quales aspexerit aures, Vox refert parva; terræque immurmurat haustæ. '[10]

It is to be remarked, in studying collectively these outlaws as setforth by Scott, that while the same characteristic lies at the basis ofeach, there is very great variety in its development, and that theauthor seems to have striven to present it in as many widely differingphases as he was capable of doing. When we reflect that Scott himselfcould not be fairly said to be perfectly _at home_ in more than half adozen departments of history, and yet that he has taken pains to setforth as many historical varieties of minds absolutely emancipated fromall faith, and finally, when we recall that at the time when he wrote, the great proportion of the characteristics of these _dramatis personæ_were utterly unappreciated, and that by even the learned they weresimply reviewed as 'infidels, ' we cannot but smile at the care withwhich (like the sculptor in the old story) he carved his images, andburied them to be dug up at a future day by men who, as he possiblyhoped, would appreciate more fully than did his contemporaries his owndegree of forbidden knowledge. I certainly do not exaggerate theimportance of these characters when speaking in this manner. They couldnot have been conceived without a very great expenditure of study and ofreflection. They are, as I said, subjective, and such portraits ofhumanity always involve a vastly greater amount of penetrative andlong-continued thought, than do the mere historical and socialphotographs which constitute the bulk of Scott's, as of all novels, andform the favorites of the mass of readers for entertainment. 

First among these characters, and most important as indicating directhistorical familiarity with the obscure subject of the Oriental heresiesof the Middle Ages in Europe, I would place that of the Templar, Briande Bois Guilbert, who is generally regarded by readers as simply 'ahorrid creature, ' who chased 'that darling Rebecca' out of the window tothe verge of the parapet; or at best as a knightly ruffian, who, likemost ruffianly sinners, quieted conscience by stifling it with doubt. Very different, however, did the Templar appear to Scott himself, who, notwithstanding the poetic justice meted to the knight, evidentlysympathized in secret more warmly with him than with any other characterin the gorgeous company of 'Ivanhoe. ' Among them all he is the only onewho fully and fairly appreciates the intellect of Rebecca, and, seenfrom the stand-point of rigid historical probability which Scott wouldnot violate, _all allowance being made for what the Templar was_, heappears by far the noblest and most intelligent of all the knightlythrong. I say that though a favorite, Scott would not to favor him, violate historical probability. Why should he? It formed no part of hisplan to give the public of his day lessons in _illuminée_-ism. Had hedone so he would have failed like 'George Sand' in 'Consuelo;' but avery small proportion indeed of whose readers retain a recollection ofthe doctrines which it is the main object of the book to set forth. Itrust there is no slander in the remark, but I _must_ believe it to betrue until I see that the majority of the readers of that work have alsotaken to zealously investigating the sources of that most forbiddenlore, which has most certainly this peculiarity, that no one can_comprehend_ it ever so little without experiencing an insatiable, never-resting desire to exhaust it, like everything which is prohibited. There is no such thing as knowing it a little. As one of its sages saidof old, its knowledge rushes forth into infinite lands. 

It was, I believe, some time before 'Ivanhoe' appeared, that Baron vonHammer Purgstall had published his theory that the Knights Templarswere, although most unjustly treated, still guilty, in a certain sense, of the extraordinary charges brought against them. It seems at least tobe tolerably certain that during their long residence in the East theyhad acquired the Oriental secrets of initiation into societies whichtaught the old serpent-lore of _eritis sicut Deus_, and positiveknowledge; the ultimate secret, being the absolute nothingness of allfaith, creeds, laws, ties, or rules to him who is capable of risingabove them and of drawing from Nature by an 'enlightened' study of herlaws the principles of action, of harmony with fellow men, and ofunlimited earthly enjoyment. Such had been for ages the last lessons ofall the 'mysteries' of the East--mysteries which it was the peculiardestiny of the Hebrew race to resist through ages of struggle. It wasthrough the teaching of such mysteries of pantheistic naturalism that, as the unflinching Jewish deists and anthropomorphists believed, manfell, and their belief was set forth in their very first religioustradition--the history of the apple, the serpent, and the Fall. And itis to the very extraordinary nature of the Hebrew race, by which theypresented for the first time in history the spectacle of a peopleresisting nature-worship, that they owe their claim to be a peculiarpeople. 

The Templars, under the glowing skies of the East, among its thousandtemptations, those of superior knowledge not being the least; in an agewhen the absurdities of the Roman church were, to an enlightened mind, at their absurdest pitch, fell readily into 'illumination. ' Whether theyliterally _worshipped_ the Oriental Baphomet, a figure with two heads, male and female, girt with a serpent, typifying the completestabnegation of all moral relations, and the rights of knowledge, no onecan say now--it is, however, significant that this symbol, which theyundoubtedly used, actually found its way under the freemasons into theChristian churches of the West, as a type of 'prudence' among therepresentations of Christian virtues. When we remember that the Gnosticstaught that _prudence_ alone was virtue, [11] we have here a coincidencewhich sufficiently explains the meaning of this emblem of 'the baptismof mind. '

Nothing is more likely than that a portion of the Knights Templars wereinitiated in the mysteries of such Oriental sects as those of the _Houseof Wisdom_ of Al Hakem, the seventh and last degree of which at first'inculcated the vanity of all religion, and the indifference of actionswhich are neither visited with recompense nor chastisement here orhereafter. ' At a later age, when the doctrines of this society hadpermeated all Islam, it seems to have labored very zealously to teachboth women and men gratuitously all learning, and give them the freestuse of books. At this time it was in the ninth degree that the initiate'learnt the grand secret of atheism, and a code of morals, which may besummed up in a few words, as believing nothing and daringeverything. '[12]

Bearing this in mind, Walter Scott may be presumed to have studied withshrewd appreciation the character of the Templars, and to haveconjectured with strange wisdom their great ambition, when we find Briande Bois Guilbert declaring to Rebecca that his Order threatened thethrones of Europe, and hinting at tremendous changes in society--'hopesmore extended than can be viewed from the throne of a monarch. ' For itwas indeed the hope--it _must_ have been--for the proud and powerfulbrotherhood of the Temple to extend their secret doctrines over Europe, regenerate society, and overthrow all existing powers, substituting forthem its own crude and impossible socialism, and for Christianity thelore of the serpent. How plainly is this expressed in the speech of BoisGuilbert to Rebecca:

 'Such a swelling flood is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no mean member, but already one of the Chief Commanders, and may well aspire one day to hold the baton of Grand Master. The poor soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot upon the necks of Kings--a hemp-sandall'd monk can do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne--our gauntlet shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not the reign of your vainly expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed tribes as my ambition may aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, and I have found such in thee. '

 'Sayest thou this to one of my people?' answered Rebecca. 'Bethink thee'--

 'Answer me not, ' said the Templar, 'by urging the difference of our creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long remain blind to the idiotic folly of our founders, who forswore every delight of life for the pleasures of dying martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of savages, while they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition. Our Order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our immense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high military fame, which brings within our circle the flower of chivalry from every Christian clime--these are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders little dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak spirits as embrace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose superstition makes them our passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. '

We may well pause for an instant to wonder what would have been thepresent state of the now civilized world had this order with itsOriental illuminéeism actually succeeded in undermining feudal societyand in overthrowing thrones. That it was jointly dreaded by Church andState appears from the excessive, implacable zeal with which it wasbroken up by Philip the Fair and Pope Clement the Fifth--a zeal quiteinexplicable from the motives of avarice usually attributed to them bythe modern freemasonic defenders of the Knights of the Temple. I maywell say modern, since in a freemasonic document bearing date 1766, reprinted in a rare work, [13] we find the most earnest protest anddenial that freemasonry had anything in common with the Templars. Butthe Order did not die unavenged. It is by no means improbable that thesecret heresies which, bearing unmistakable marks of Eastern origin, continually sprang up in Europe, and finally led the way to Huss and theReformation, were in their origin encouraged by the Templars. 

Certain it is that the character of Bois Guilbert as drawn by Scott--hishabitual oath 'by earth and sea and sky!' his scorn of 'the dotingscruples which fetter our free-born reason, ' and his atheistic faiththat to die is to be 'dispersed to the elements of which our strangeforms are so mystically composed, ' are all wonderful indications ofinsight into a type of mind differing inconceivably from the mereinfidel villain of modern novels, and which could never have beenattributed to a knight of the superstitious Middle Ages without a strongbasis of historical research. Very striking indeed is his fierce lovefor Rebecca--his intense appreciation of her great courage and firmness, which he at once recognizes as congenial to his own daring, and believeswill form for him in her a fit mate. There is a spirit of reality inthis which transcends ordinary conceptions of what is called genius. Todeem a woman requisite aid in such intellectual labor--for so we maywell call the system of the Templars--would at that era have beenincomprehensibly absurd to any save the worshippers of the bi-sexedBaphomet and the disciples of the House of Wisdom, with whom the equalculture of the sexes was a leading aim. The extraordinary tact withwhich Scott has contrived to make Bois Guilbert repulsive to the mass ofreaders, while at the same time he really--for himself--makes himundergo every sacrifice of which the Templar's nature is _consistently_capable, is perhaps the most elaborately artistic effort in his works. To have made Bois Guilbert sensible to the laws of love and of chivalry, which in his mystical freedom he despised, to rescue her simply fromdeath, which in his view had no terrors beyond short-lived pain, wouldnot have agreed with his character as Scott very truly understood it. Himself a sacrifice to fate, he was willing that she, whom he regardedas a second self, should also perish. This reserving the truecomprehension of a certain character to one's self by a writer is not, Ibelieve, an uncommon thing in romance writing. 'Blifil' was the favoritechild of his literary parent, and was (it is to be hoped) seen by himfrom a stand-point undreamed of by nearly all readers. 

Closely allied in the one main point of character to Bois Guilbert, andto a certain degree having his Oriental origin, yet differing in everyother detail, we have Hayraddin Maugrabin, the gypsy, in 'QuentinDurward. '

When Walter Scott drew the outlines of this singular subordinate actorin one of the world's greatest mediæval romances, so little was known ofthe real condition of the 'Rommany, ' that the author was supposed tohave introduced an exaggerated and most improbable character amonghistorical portraits which were true to life. The more recent researchesof George Borrow and others have shown that, judged by the gypsy of thepresent day, Hayraddin is extremely well drawn in certain particulars, but improbable in other respects. He has, amid all his villany, acertain firmness or greatness which is peculiar to men who can sustainpositions of rank--a marked Oriental 'leadership, ' which Scott might bepresumed to have guessed at. Yet all of this corresponds closely to thehistorical account of the first of these wanderers, who in 1427 came toEurope, 'well mounted, ' and claiming to be men of the highest rank, andto the condition and character of certain men among them in theSlavonian countries of the present day. If we study carefully all thatis accessible both of the present and the past relative to this singularrace, we shall find that Scott, partly from knowledge and partly bypoetic intuition, has in this gypsy produced one of his most marvellousand deeply interesting studies. 

Like Bois Guilbert, Hayraddin is a man without a God, and thepeculiarity of his character lies in a constant realization of the factthat he is absolutely _free_ from every form or principle of faith, every conventional tie, every duty founded on aught save the mostnatural instincts. He revels in this freedom; it is to him like magicarmor, making him invulnerable to shafts which reach all aroundhim--nay, which render him supremely indifferent to death itself. Whether this extreme of philosophical skepticism and stoicism could beconsistently and correctly attributed to a gypsy of the fifteenthcentury, will be presently considered. Let me first quote those passagesin which the character is best set forth. The first is that in whichHayraddin, in reply to the queries of Quentin Durward, asserts that hehas no country, is not a Christian, and is altogether lawless:

 'You are then, ' said the wondering querist, 'destitute of all that other men are combined by--you have no law, no leader, no settled means of subsistence, no house or home. You have, may Heaven compassionate you, no country--and, may Heaven enlighten and forgive you, you have no God! What is it that remains to you, deprived of government, domestic happiness, and religion?'

 'I have liberty, ' said the Bohemian--'I crouch to no one--obey no one--respect no one. --I go where I will--live as I can--and die when my day comes. '

 'But you are subject to instant execution at the pleasure of the Judge?'

 'Be it so, ' returned the Bohemian; 'I can but die so much the sooner. '

 'And to imprisonment also, ' said the Scot; 'and where then is your boasted freedom?'

 'In my thoughts, ' said the Bohemian, 'which no chains can bind; while yours, even when your limbs are free, remain fettered by your laws and your superstitions, your dreams of local attachment, and your fantastic visions of civil policy. Such as I are free in spirit when our limbs are chained. You are imprisoned in mind, even when your limbs are most at freedom. '

 [14]'Yet the freedom of your thoughts, ' said the Scot, 'relieves not the pressure of the gyves on your limbs. '

 'For a brief time that may be endured, ' answered the vagrant, 'and if within that period I cannot extricate myself, and fail of relief from my comrades, I can always die, and death is the most perfect freedom of all. '

Again, when asked in his last hour what are his hopes for the future, the gypsy, after denying the existence of the soul, declares that hisanticipations are:

 'To be resolved into the elements. * * * My hope and trust and expectation is, that the mysterious frame of humanity shall melt into the general mass of nature, to be recompounded in the other forms with which she daily supplies those which daily disappear, and return under different forms, --the watery particles to streams and showers, the earthy parts to enrich their mother earth, the airy portions to wanton in the breeze, and those of fire to supply the blaze of Aldebaran and his brethren. In this faith I have lived, and will die in it. Hence! begone!--disturb me no further! I have spoken the last word that mortal ears shall listen to!'

That such a strain as this would be absurd from 'Mr. Petulengro, ' or anyother of the race as portrayed by Borrow, is evident enough. Whether itis inappropriate, however, in the mouth of one of the first corners ofthe people in Europe, of direct Hindustanee blood, is another question. Let us examine it. 

In his notes to 'Quentin Durward, ' Scott declares his belief that therecan be little doubt that the first gypsies consisted originally ofHindus, who left their native land when it was invaded by Timur orTamerlane, and that their language is a dialect of Hindustanee. That thegypsies were Hindus, and outcast Hindus or Pariahs at that, could be nosecret to Scott. That he should have made Hayraddin in his doctrinesmarvellously true to the very life to certain of this class, indicates adegree either of knowledge or of intuition (it may have been either)which is at least remarkable. 

The reader has probably learned to consider the Hindu Pariah as a merelywretched outcast, ignorant, vulgar, and oppressed. Such is not, however, exactly their _status_. Whatever their social rank may be, thePariahs--the undoubted ancestors of the gypsies--are the authors inIndia of a great mass of philosophy and literature, embracing nearly allthat land has ever produced which is tinctured with independence or wit. In confirmation of which I beg leave to cite the following passages fromthat extremely entertaining, well-edited, and elegantly published littlework, the 'Strange Surprising Adventures of the Venerable Goroo Simpleand his Five Disciples':

 'The literature of the Hindoos owes but little to the hereditary claimants to the sole possession of divine light and knowledge. On the contrary, with the many things which the Brahmins are forbidden to touch, all science, if left to them alone, would soon stagnate, and clever men, whose genius cannot be held in trammels, therefore soon become outcasts and swell the number of _Pariars_ in consequence of their very pursuit of knowledge. * * * To the writings of the _Poorrachchameiyans_, a sect of _Pariars_ odious in the eyes of a Brahman, the Tamuls owe the greater part of works on science. * * * To the _Vallooran_ sect of Pariars, particularly shunned by the Brahmans, Hindoo literature is indebted almost exclusively for the many moral poems and books of aphorisms which are its chief pride. 

 'This class of literature' (satiric humor and fables) 'emanated chiefly from those despised outcasts, the Pariars, the very men who (using keener spectacles than Dr. Robertson, our historian of Ancient India, did, who singularly became the panegyrist of Gentoo subdivisions) saw that to bind human intellect and human energy within the wire fences of Hindoo castes is as impossible as to shut up the winds of heaven in a temple built by man's hand, and boldly thought for themselves. '

Of the literary _Vallooran_ Pariah outcasts and scientificPoorrachchameiyans, we know from the best authority--Father Beschi--thatthey form society of six degrees or sects, the fifth of which, when fiveFridays occur in a month, celebrate it _avec de grandes abominations_, while the sixth 'admits the real existence of nothing--except, _perhaps_, GOD. ' This last is a mere guess on the part of the goodfather. It is beyond conjecture that we have here another of thosestrange Oriental sects, 'atheistic' in its highest school and identicalin its nature with that of the House of Wisdom of Cairo, and with theTemplars; and if Scott's gypsy Hayraddin Maugrabin is to be supposed oneof that type of Hindu outcasts, which were of all others most hateful tothe orthodox Moslem invader, we cannot sufficiently admire theappropriateness with which doctrines which were actually held by themost deeply initiated among the Pariahs were put into his mouth. To havemade a merely vulgar, nothing-believing, and as little reflecting gypsy, as philosophical as the wanderer in 'Quentin Durward, ' would have beenabsurd. There is a vigor, an earnestness in his creed, which betraysculture and thought, and which is marvellously appropriate if we regardhim as a wandering scion of the outcast Pariah illuminati of India. 

Did our author owe this insight to erudition or to poetic intuition? Ineither case we discover a depth which few would have surmised. It wasonce said of Scott, that he was a millionaire of genius whose wealth wasall in small change--that his scenes and characters were all massed froma vast collection of little details. This would be equivalent todeclaring that he was a great novelist without a great idea. Perhapsthis is true, but the clairvoyance of genius which _seems_ to manifestitself in the two characters which I have already examined, and thecautious manner in which he has treated them, would appear to prove thathe possessed a rarer gift than that of 'great ideas'--the power ofcontrolling them. Such ideas may make reformers, critics, politicians, essayists--but they generally ruin a novelist--and Scott knew it. 

A third character belonging to the class under consideration, is HenbaneDwining, the 'pottingar, ' apothecary or 'leech, ' in the novel of 'TheFair Maid of Perth. '

This man is rather developed by his deeds than his words, and these areprompted by two motives, terrible vindictiveness and the pride ofsuperior knowledge. He is vile from the former, and yet almost heroicfrom the latter, for it is briefly impossible to make any man intenselyself-reliant, and base this self-reliance on great learning in men andbooks, without displaying in him some elements of superiority. He is soradically bad that by contrast one of the greatest villains in Scottishhistory, Sir John Ramorney, appears rather gray than black; and yet wedislike him less than the knight, possibly because we know that men ofthe Dwining stamp, when they have had the control of nations, often dogood simply from the dictates of superior wisdom--the wisdom of theserpent--which, no Ramorney ever did. The skill with which the crawling, paltry leech controls his fierce lord; the contempt for his power andpride shown in Dwining's adroit sneers, and above all, the ease withwhich the latter casts into the shade Ramorney's fancied superiority inwickedness, is well set forth--and such a character could only have beenconceived by deep study of the motives and agencies which formed it. Todo so, Scott had recourse to the same Oriental source--the same fearfulschool of atheism which in another and higher form gave birth to theTemplar and the gypsy. 'I have studied, ' says Dwining, 'among the sagesof Granada, where the fiery-souled Moor lifts high his deadly dagger asit drops with his enemy's blood, and avows the doctrine which the pallidChristian practises, though, coward-like, he dare not name it. ' Hissneers at the existence of a devil, at all 'prejudices, ' at religion, above all, at brute strength and every power save that of intellect, areperfectly Oriental--not however of the Oriental Sufi, or of theinitiated in the House of Wisdom, whose pantheistic Idealism went handin hand with a faith in benefiting mankind, and which taughtforgiveness, equality, and love, but rather that corrupted Asiaticvanity of wisdom which abounded among the disciples of Aristotle and ofAverroes in Spain, and which was entirely material. I err, strictlyspeaking, therefore, when I speak of this as the _same_ Oriental school, though in a certain sense it had a common origin--that of believing inthe infinite power of human wisdom. Both are embraced indeed in thebeguiling _eritis sicut Deus_, 'ye shall be as GOD, ' uttered by theserpent to Eve. 

Quite subordinate as regards its position among the actors of the novel, yet extremely interesting in a historical point of view, is thecharacter of Jasper Dryfesdale the steward of the Douglas family, in'The Abbot. ' In this man Scott has happily combined the sentiment ofabsolute feudal devotion to his superiors with a gloomy fatalism learned'among the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany. ' If carefully studied, Dryfesdale will be found to be, on the whole, the most morallyinstructive character in the entire range of Scott's writings. In thefirst place, he illustrates the fact, so little noted by the advocatesof loyalty, aristocracy, 'devoted retainers, ' and 'faithful vassals, 'that all such fidelity carried beyond the balance of a harmony ofinterests, results in an insensibility to moral accountability. Thus inthe Southern States, masters often refer with pride to the fact that acertain negro, who will freely pillage in other quarters, will 'neversteal at home. ' History shows that the man who surrenders himselfentirely to the will of another begins at once to cast on his superiorall responsibility for his own acts. Such dependence and evasion is ofitself far worse than the bold unbelief which is to the last degreeself-reliant; which seeks no substitute, dreads no labor, scorns allmastery, and aims at the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but thetruth. Such unbelief may possibly end in finding religious truth afterits devious errors, but what shall be said of those who would have mensin as _slaves_?

Singularly and appropriately allied to a resignation of moralaccountability from feudal attachment, is the contemptible and cowardlydoctrine of fatalism, which Dryfesdale also professes. It is not withhim the philosophic doctrine of the concurring impulses of circumstance, or of natural laws, but rather the stupendously nonsensical notion ofthe Arabian _kismet_, that from the beginning of time every event wasfore-arranged as in a fairy tale, and that all which _is_, is simply theacting out of a libretto written before the play began--a belief revivedin the last century by readers of Leibnitz, who were truer than thegreat German himself to the consequences of his doctrine, which hesimply evaded. [15] In coupling this humiliating and superstitious meansof evading moral accountability with the same principle as derived fromfeudal devotion, Scott, consciously or unconsciously, displayed genius, and at the same time indirectly attacked that system of society to whichhe was specially devoted. So true is it that genius instinctively tendsto set forth the _truth_, be the predilections of its possessor whatthey may. And indeed, as Scott nowhere shows in any way that _he_, forhis part, regarded the blind fidelity of the steward as other thanadmirable, it may be that he was guided rather by instinct than will, inthus pointing out the great evil resulting from a formally aristocraticstate of society. Such as it is, it is well worth studying in thesetimes, when the principles of republicanism and aristocracy are broughtface to face at war among us, firstly in the contest between the Southand the North, and secondly in the rapidly growing division between thefriends of the Union, and the treasonable 'Copperheads, ' who consist ofmen of selfish, aristocratic tendencies, and their natural allies, therefuse of the population. 

It is very unfortunate that the term 'Anabaptists' should have ever beenapplied to the ferocious fanatics led by John of Leyden, Knipperdolling, and Rothmann, since it has brought discredit on a large sect bearing thesame name with which it had in reality even less in common than thehistorians of the latter imagine. It is not a difficult matter for themind familiar with the undoubted Oriental origin of the 'heresies' ofthe middle ages, to trace in the origin at least of the fierce andlicentious socialists of Münster the same secret influence which, flowing from Gnostic, Manichæan, or Templar sources, founded theWaldense and Albigense sects, and was afterward perceptible in a branchof the Hussites. At the time of the Reformation their ancient doctrineshad subsided into Biblical fanaticism; but the old leaven of revoltagainst the church, and against all compulsion--keenly sharpened bytheir experiences, in the recent Peasant's War--was as hot as ever amongthem. They had no great or high philosophy, but were in all respectschaotic, contradictory, and stormy. Unable to rise to the cultivated andphilanthropic feelings which accompanied the skepticism of their remotefounders, they based their denial of moral accountability--as narrow andvulgar minds naturally do--on a predestination, which is as insulting toGOD as to man, since it is consistently comprehensible only by supposingHIM a slave to destiny. Among such vassals to a worse than earthlytyranny, the man who as 'a Scottish servant regarded not his own life orthat of any other save his master, ' would find doctrines congenialenough to his grovelling nature. So he was willing to believe that 'thatwhich was written of me a million years before I saw the light must beexecuted by me. ' 'I am well taught, and strong in belief, ' he says, 'that man does nought for himself; he is but the foam on the billow, which rises, bubbles, and bursts, not by its own effort, but by themightier impulse of fate which urges him. ' And the combination of histwo wretched doctrines is well set forth in the passage wherein he tellshis mistress that she had no choice as regarded accepting his criminalservices. 'You might not choose, lady, ' answered the steward. 'Long erethis castle was builded--ay, long ere the islet which sustains it rearedits head above the blue water--I was destined to be your faithful slave, and you to be my ungrateful mistress. '

Freethinkers, infidels, and atheists abound in novels, but it is to thecredit of Sir Walter Scott that wherever he has introduced a _sincere_character of this description, he has gone to the very origin for hisfacts, and then given us the result without pedantry. The four which Ihave examined are each a curious subject for study, and indicate, collectively and compared, a train of thought which I believe that fewhave suspected in Scott, notwithstanding his well-known great love forthe curious and occult in literature. That he perfectly understood thatabsurd and vain character, the so-called 'infidel, ' whose philosophy islimited to abusing Christianity, and whose real object is to be odd andpeculiar, and astonish humble individuals with his wickedness, is mostamusingly shown in 'Bletson, ' one of the three Commissioners of Cromwellintroduced into 'Woodstock. ' Scott has drawn this very subordinatecharacter in remarkable detail, having devoted nearly seven pages to itsdescription, [16] evidently being for once carried away by the desire ofrendering the personality as clearly as possible, or of gratifying hisown fancy. And while no effort is ever made to cast even a shadow ofridicule on the Knight Templar, on Dryfesdale, on the gypsy, or even onthe crawling Dwining, he manifestly takes great pains to render ascontemptible and laughably absurd as possible this type of the verygreat majority of modern infidels, who disavow religion because theyfear it, and ridicule Christianity from sheer, shallow ignorance. Ourown country at present abounds in 'Bletsons, ' in conceited, ignorant'infidel' scribblers of many descriptions, in of all whom we can stilltrace the cant and drawl of the old-fashioned fanaticism to which theyare in reality nearly allied, while they appear to oppose it. For thetruth is, that popular infidelity--to borrow Mr. Caudle's simile oftyrants--is only Puritanism turned inside out. We see this, even when itis masked in French flippancy and the Shibboleth of the currentaccomplishments of literature--it betrays itself by its vindictivenessand conceit, by its cruelty, sarcasms, and meanness--with the infidel aswith the bigot. The sincere seeker for truth, whether he wander throughthe paths of unbelief or of faith, never forgets to love, never courtsnotoriety, and is neither a satirical court-fool nor a would-beMephistopheles. 

In reflecting on these characters, I am irresistibly reminded of ananecdote illustrating their nature. A friend of mine who had employed arather ignorant fellow to guide him through some ruins in England, wasastonished, as he entered a gloomy dungeon, at the sudden remark, in thehollow voice of one imparting a dire confidence, of: 'I doan't believein hany GOD!' 'Don't you, indeed?' was the placid reply. 'Noa, ' answeredthe guide; '_H'I'm a_ HINFIDEL!' 'Well, I hope you feel easy after it, 'quoth my friend. 

There is yet another skeptic set forth by Scott, whose peculiarities maybe deemed worthy of examination. I refer to Agelastes, the treacherousand hypocritical sage of 'Count Robert of Paris. ' In this man we have, however, rather the refined sensualist and elegant scholar who amuseshimself with the subtleties of the old Greek philosophy, than a sincereseeker for truth, or even a sincere doubter. His views are fully givenin a short lecture of the countess:

 'Daughter, ' said Agelastes, approaching nearer to the lady, 'it is with pain I see you bewildered in errors which a little calm reflection might remove. We may flatter ourselves, and human vanity usually does so, that beings infinitely more powerful than those belonging to mere humanity are employed daily in measuring out the good and evil of this world, the termination of combats or the fate of empires, according to their own ideas of what is right or wrong, or more properly, according to what we ourselves conceive to be such. The Greek heathens, renowned for their wisdom, and glorious for their actions, explained to men of ordinary minds the supposed existence of Jupiter and his Pantheon, where various deities presided over various virtues and vices, and regulated the temporal fortune and future happiness of such as practised them. The more learned and wise of the ancients rejected such the vulgar interpretation, and wisely, although affecting a deference to the public faith, denied before their disciples in private, the gross fallacies of Tartarus and Olympus, the vain doctrines concerning the gods themselves, and the extravagant expectations which the vulgar entertained of an immortality supposed to be possessed by creatures who were in every respect mortal, both in the conformation of their bodies, and in the internal belief of their souls. Of these wise and good men some granted the existence of the supposed deities, but denied that they cared about the actions of mankind any more than those of the inferior animals. A merry, jovial, careless life, such as the followers of Epicurus would choose for themselves, was what they assigned for those gods whose being they admitted. Others, more bold or more consistent, entirely denied the existence of deities who apparently had no proper object or purpose, and believed that such of them, whose being and attributes were proved to us by no supernatural appearances, had in reality no existence whatever. '

In all this, and indeed in all the character of Agelastes, there isnothing more than shallow scholarship, such as may be found in many of'the learned' in all ages, whose learning is worn as a fine garment, perhaps as one of comfort, but _not_ as the armor in which to earnestlydo battle for life. A contempt for the vulgar, or at best a selfishrendering of life agreeable to themselves, is all that is gathered fromsuch systems of doubt--and this was in all ages the reproach of allGreek philosophy. It was not meant for the multitude nor for thebarbarian. It embraced no hope of benefiting all mankind, no scheme foreven freeing them from superstition. Such ideas were only cherished bythe Orientals, and (though mingled with errors) subsequently and _fully_by the early Christians. It was in the East that the glorious doctrineof love for _all_ beings, not only for enemies, but for the very fiendsthemselves, was first proclaimed as essential to perfect the soul--asshown in the beautiful Hindu poem of 'The Buddha's Victory, '[17] inwhich the demon Wassywart, that horror of horrors, whose eyes are clotsof blood, whose voice outroars the thunder, who plucks up the sun fromits socket the sky, defies the great saint-god to battle:

 'The unarmed Buddha mildly gazed at him, And said in peace: 'Poor fiend, _even thee I love_. ' Before great Wassywart the world grew dim; His bulk enormous dwindled to a dove. * * * --Celestial beauty sat on Buddhas face, While sweetly sang the metamorphosed dove: 'Swords, rocks, lies, fiends, must yield to moveless love, And nothing can withstand the Buddha's grace. '

And again, in 'The Secret of Piety'--the secret 'of all the lore whichangelic bosoms swell'--we have the same pure faith:

 'Whoso would careless tread one worm that crawls the sod, That cruel man is darkly alienate from God; But he that lives embracing all that is in _love_, To dwell with him God bursts all bounds, below, above. '

The Greek philosophy knew nothing of all this, and the result is thateven in the atheism which sprang from the East, and in its harshest andlowest 'tinctures, ' we find a something nobler and less selfish than isto be found in the school of Plato himself. And however this may be, thereader will admit, in examining the six skeptics set forth by Scott, that each is a character firmly based in historical truth; that all, with the exception of 'Bletson, ' are sketched with remarkable brevity;and that a careful comparative analysis of the whole gives us a deeperinsight into the secret tendencies of the author's mind, and at the sametime into the springs of his genius, than the world has been wont totake. And the study of the subject is finally interesting, since we maylearn from it that even in the works of one who is a standard poeticauthority among those who would, if possible, subject all men tofeudalism, we may learn lessons of that highest socialtruth--republicanism. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 10: OVID. _Metamorphoseon_, lib. Xi. V. 183. ]

[Footnote 11: Hæc autem erat Gnosticorum doctrina ethica, quod omnemvirtutem in prudentia sitim esse credebant, quam Ophitæ per _Metem_(Sophiam) et Serpentem exprimebant, desumpto iterum ex Evangeliipræcepto; _estote prudentes ut serpentes_, --ob innatem hujus animalisastutiam?--VON HAMMER, _Fundgruben des Orients_, tom. Vi. P. 85. ]

[Footnote 12: _New Curiosities of Literature. _ By GEO. SOANE, London, 1849. ]

[Footnote 13: _Developpement des Abus introduits dans la FrancMaçonnerie. _ Ecossois de Saint ANDRÉ d'Écosse, &c. , &c. Paris, 1780. ]

[Footnote 14: London. Trübner &. Co. , No. 60 Paternoster Row. 1861. ]

[Footnote 15: 'Tota hæc humanæ vitæ fabula, quæ universitatem naturæ etgeneris humani historiam constituit tota prius in intellectu divinopræconcepta fuit cum infinitis aliis. '--LEIBNITZ, _Theodicæa_, part 11, p. 149. ]

[Footnote 16: Tickner and Fields' edition of Waverley Novels, Boston, 1858. ]

[Footnote 17: _The Poetry of the East. _ By WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER. Boston. Whittemore, Niles & Hall, 1856. ]

A CHORD OF WOOD. 

 Well, New York, you've made your pile Of Wood, and, if you like, may smile: Laugh, if you will, to split your sides, But in that Wood pile a nigger hides, With a double face beneath his hood: Don't hurra till you're out of your Wood. 

A MERCHANT'S STORY. 

 'All of which I saw, and part of which I was. '

CHAPTER XIX. 

The moon and the stars were out, and the tall, dark pines cast long, gloomy shadows over the little rows of negro houses which formed therearguard to Preston's mansion. They were nearly deserted. Not asolitary fire slumbered on the bare clay hearths, and not a single darkystood sentry over the loose pork and neglected hoecakes, or kept at baythe army of huge rats and prowling opossums which beleaguered thequarters. Silence--death's music--was over and around them. The noisyrevelry of the dancers had died away in the distance, and even thehoarse song of the great trees had sunk to a low moan as they stood, motionless and abashed, in the presence of the grim giant who knocksalike at the palace and the cottage gate. 

A stray light glimmered through the logs of a low hut, far off in thewoods, and, making our way to it, we entered. A bright fire lit up theinterior, and on a rude cot, in one corner, lay the old preacher. Hiseyes were closed; a cold, clammy sweat was on his forehead--he wasdying. One of his skeleton hands rested on the tattered coverlet, andhis weazened face was half buried in a dilapidated pillow, whose raggedcasing and protruding plumage bespoke it a relic of some departed whitesleeper. 

An old negress, with gray hair and haggard visage, sat at the foot ofthe bed, wailing piteously; and Joe and half a dozen aged saints stoodaround, singing a hymn, doleful enough to have made even a sinner weep. 

Not heeding our entrance, Joe took the dying man by the hand, and, in aslow, solemn voice, said:

'Brudder Jack, you'm dyin'; you'm gwine ter dat lan' whence no trabellerreturns; you'm settin' out fur dat country which'm lit by de smile ob deLord; whar dar ain't no sickness, no pain, no sorrer, no dyin'; fur datkingdom whar de Lord reigns; whar trufh flows on like a riber; wharrighteousness springs up like de grass, an' lub draps down like de dew, an' cobers de face ob de groun'; whar you woan't gwo 'bout wid nocrutch; whar you woan't lib in no ole cabin like dis, an' eat hoecakean' salt pork in sorrer an' heabiness ob soul; but whar you'll run an'not be weary, an' walk an' not be faint; whar you'll hab a hous'nbuilded ob de Lord, an' sit at His table--you' meat an' drink de breadan' de water ob life!

'I knows you's a sinner, Jack; I knows you's lub'd de hot water toomuch, an' dat it make you forgit you' duty sometime, an' set a bad'zample ter dem as looked up ter you fur better tings; but dar am mercywid de Lord, Jack; dar am forgibness wid Him; an' I hopes you'm readyan' willin' ter gwo. '

Old Jack opened his eyes, and, in a low, peevish tone, said:

'Joe, none ob you' nonsense ter me! I'se h'ard you talk dis way afore. _You_ can't preach--you neber could. You jess knows I ain't fit tertrabble, an' I ain't willin' ter gwo, nowhar. '

Joe mildly rebuked him, and again commenced expatiating on the 'upperkingdom, ' and on the glories of 'the house not made with hands, eternalin the heavens;' but the old darky cut him short, with--

'Shet up, Joe! no more ob dat. I doan't want no oder hous'n but dis--disole cabin am good 'nuff fur me. '

Joe was about to reply, when Preston stepped to the bedside, and, takingthe aged preacher's hand, said:

'My good Jack, master Robert has come to see you. '

The dying man turned his eyes toward his master, and, in a weak, tremulous voice, exclaimed:

'Oh! massa Robert, has _you_ come? has you come ter see ole Jack? Bressyou, massa Robert, bress you! Jack know'd you'd neber leab him yere terdie alone. '

'No, my good Jack; I would save you if I could. '

'But you can't sabe me, massa Robert; I'se b'yond dat. I'se dyin', massaRobert. I'se gwine ter de good missus. She tell'd me ter get ready terfoller har, an' I is. I'se gwine ter har now, massa Robert!'

'I know you are, Jack. I feel _sure_ you are. '

'Tank you, massa Robert--tank you fur sayin' dat. An' woan't you prayfur me, massa Robert--jess a little pray? De good man's prayer am h'ard, you knows, massa Robert. '

All kneeling down on the rough floor, Preston prayed--a short, simple, fervent prayer. At its close, he rose, and, bending over the old negro, said:

'The Lord is good, Jack; His mercy is everlasting. '

'I knows dat; I feels dat, ' gasped the dying man. 'I lubs you, massaRobert; I allers lub'd you; but I'se gwine ter leab you now. Bress you!de Lord bress you, massa Robert' I'll tell de good missus'--

He clutched convulsively at his master's hand; a wild light came out ofhis eyes; a sudden spasm passed over his face, and--he was 'gone whar degood darkies go. '

CHAPTER XX. 

On the following day Frank and I were to resume our journey; and, in themorning, I suggested that we should visit Colonel Dawsey, with whom, though he had for many years been a correspondent of the house in whichI was a partner, I had no personal acquaintance. 

His plantation adjoined Preston's, and his house was only a short halfmile from my friend's. After breakfast, we set out for it through thewoods. The day was cold for the season, with a sharp, nipping air, andour overcoats were not at all uncomfortable. 

As we walked along I said to Preston:

'Dawsey's 'account' is a good one. He never draws against shipments, butholds on, and sells sight drafts, thus making the exchange. '

'Yes, I know; he's a close calculator. '

'Does he continue to manage his negroes as formerly?'

'In much the same way, I reckon. '

'Then he can't stand remarkably well with his neighbors. '

'Oh! people round here don't mind such things. Many of them do as badlyas he. Besides, Dawsey is a gentleman of good family. He inherited hisplantation and two hundred hands. '

'Indeed! How, then, did he become reduced to his present number?'

'He was a wild young fellow, and, before he was twenty-five, hadsquandered and gambled away everything but his land and some thirtynegroes. Then he turned square round, and, from being prodigal andcareless, became mean and cruel. He has a hundred now, and more readymoney than any planter in the district. '

A half hour's walk took us to Dawsey's negro quarters--a collection ofabout thirty low huts in the rear of his house. They were not so poor assome I had seen on cotton and rice plantations, but they seemed unfitfor the habitation of any animal but the hog. Their floors were the bareground, hardened by being moistened with water and pounded with mauls;and worn, as they were, several inches lower in the centre than at thesides, they must have formed, in rainy weather, the beds of small lakes. So much water would have been objectionable to white tenants; butnegroes, like their friends the alligators, are amphibious animals; andDawsey's were never known to make complaint. The chimneys were oftenmerely vent-holes in the roof, though a few were tumble-down structuresof sticks and clay; and not a window, nor an opening which courtesycould have christened a window, was to be seen in the entire collection. And, for that matter, windows were useless, for the wide crevices in thelogs, which let in the air and rain, at the same time might admit thelight. Two or three low beds at one end, a small pine bench, which heldhalf a dozen wooden plates and spoons, and a large iron pot, resting onfour stones, over a low fire, and serving for both washtub andcook-kettle, composed the furniture of each interior. 

No one of the cabins was over sixteen feet square, but each was 'home'and 'shelter' for three or four human beings. Walking on a shortdistance, we came to a larger hovel, in front of which about a dozenyoung chattels were playing. Seven or eight more, too young to walk, were crawling about on the ground inside. They had only one garmentapiece--a long shirt of coarse linsey--and their heads and feet werebare. An old negress was seated in the doorway, knitting. Approachingher, I said:

'Aunty, are not these children cold?'

'Oh! no, massa; dey'm use' ter de wedder. '

'Do you take care of all of them?'

'In de daytime I does, massa. In de night dar mudders takes de small'uns. '

'But some of them are white. Those two are as white as I am!'

'No, massa; dey'm brack. Ef you looks at dar eyes an' dar finger nails, you'll see dat. '

'They're black, to be sure they are, ' said young Preston, laughing; 'butthey're about as white as Dawsey, and look wonderfully like him--eh, aunty Sue?'

'I reckons, massa Joe!' replied the woman, running her hand through herwool, and grinning widely. 

'What does he ask for _them_, aunty?'

'Doan't know, massa, but 'spect dey'm pooty high. Dem kine am hard terraise. '

'Yes, ' said Joe; 'white blood--even Dawsey's--don't take naturally tomud. '

'I reckons not, massa Joe!' said the old negress, with another grin. 

Joe gave her a half-dollar piece, and, amid an avalanche of blessings, we passed on to Dawsey's 'mansion'--if mansion it could be called--astory-and-a-half shanty, about thirty feet square, covered with rough, unpainted boards, and lit by two small, dingy windows. It was approachedby a sandy walk, and the ground around its front entrance was litteredwith apple peelings, potato parings, and the refuse of the culinarydepartment. 

Joe rapped at the door, and, in a moment, it opened, and a middle-agedmulatto woman appeared. As soon as she perceived Preston, she graspedhis two hands, and exclaimed:

'Oh! massa Robert, _do_ buy har! Massa'll kill har, ef you doan't. '

'But I can't, Dinah. Your master refuses my note, and I haven't themoney now. '

'Oh! oh! He'll kill har; he say he will. She woan't gib in ter him, an'he'll kill har, _shore_. Oh! oh!' cried the woman, wringing her hands, and bursting into tears. 

'Is it 'Spasia?' asked Joe. 

'Yas, massa Joe; it'm 'Spasia. Massa hab sole yaller Tom 'way from har, an' he swar he'll kill har 'case she woan't gib in ter him. Oh! oh!'

'Where is your master?'

'He'm 'way wid har an' Black Cale. I reckon dey'm down ter de branch. Ireckon dey'm whippin' on har _now_!'

'Come, Frank, ' cried Joe, starting off at a rapid pace; 'let's see thatperformance. '

'Hold on, Joe; wait for us. You'll get into trouble!' shouted hisfather, hurrying after him. The rest of us caught up with them in a fewmoments, and then all walked rapidly on in the direction of the smallrun which borders the two plantations. 

Before we had gone far, we heard loud screams, mingled with oaths andthe heavy blows of a whip. Quickening our pace, we soon reached the bankof the little stream, which there was lined with thick underbrush. Wecould see no one, and the sounds had subsided. In a moment, however, arough voice called out from behind the bushes:

'Have you had enough? Will you give up?'

'Oh! no, good massa; I can't do dat!' was the half-sobbing, half-moaningreply. 

'Give it to her again, Cale!' cried the first voice; and again the whipdescended, and again the piercing cries: 'O Lord!' 'Oh, pray doan't!' 'OLord, hab mercy!' 'Oh! good massa, hab mercy!' mingled with the fallingblows. 

'This way!' shouted Joe, pressing through the bushes, and bounding downthe bank toward the actors in this nineteenth-century tournament, wherein an armed knight and a doughty squire were set against a weak, defenceless woman. 

Leaning against a pine at a few feet from the edge of the run, was atall, bony man of about fifty. His hair was coarse and black, and hisskin the color of tobacco-juice. He wore the ordinary homespun of thedistrict; and long, deep lines about his mouth and under his eyes toldthe story of a dissipated life. His entire appearance was anything butprepossessing. 

At the distance of three or four rods, and bound to the charred trunk ofan old tree, was a woman, several shades lighter than the man. Her feetwere secured by stout cords, and her arms were clasped around theblackened stump, and tied in that position. Her back was bare to theloins, and, as she hung there, moaning with agony, and shivering withcold, it seemed one mass of streaming gore. 

The brawny black, whom Boss Joe had so eccentrically addressed at thenegro meeting, years before, was in the act of whipping the woman; butwith one bound, young Preston was on him. Wrenching the whip from hishand, he turned on his master, crying out:

'Untie her, you white-livered devil, or I'll plough your back as you'veploughed hers!'

'Don't interfere here, you d--d whelp!' shouted Dawsey, livid with rage, and drawing his revolver. 

'I'll give you enough of that, you cowardly hound!' cried Joe, taking asmall Derringer from his pocket, and coolly advancing upon Dawsey. 

The latter levelled his pistol, but, before he could fire, by adexterous movement of my cane, I struck it from his hand. Drawinginstantly a large knife, he rushed on me. The knife was descending--inanother instant I should have 'tasted Southern steel, ' had not Frankcaught his arm, wrenched the weapon from his grasp, and with the fury ofan aroused tiger, sprung on him and borne him to the ground. Plantinghis knee firmly on Dawsey's breast, and twisting his neckcloth tightlyabout his throat, Frank yelled out:

'Stand back. Let _me_ deal with him!'

'But you will kill him. '

'Well, he would have killed _you_!' he cried, tightening his hold onDawsey's throat. 

'Let him up, Frank. Let the devil have fair play, ' said Joe; 'I'll givehim a chance at ten paces. '

'Yes, let him up, my son; he is unarmed. '

Frank slowly and reluctantly released his hold, and the woman-whipperrose. Looking at us for a moment--a mingled look of rage anddefiance--he turned, without speaking, and took some rapid strides upthe bank. 

'Hold on, Colonel Dawsey!' cried Joe, elevating his Derringer; 'takeanother step, and I'll let daylight through you. You've just got topromise you won't whip this woman, or take your chance at ten paces. '

[I afterward learned that Joe was deadly sure with the pistol. ]

Dawsey turned slowly round, and, in a sullen tone, asked:

'Who are you, _gentlemen_, that interfere with my private affairs?'

'_My_ name, sir, is Kirke, of New York; and this young man is my son. '

'Not Mr. Kirke, my factor?'

'The same, sir. '

'Well, Mr. Kirke, I'm sorry to say you're just now in d--d porebusiness. '

'I _have_ been, sir. I've done yours for some years, and I'm heartilyashamed of it. I'll try to mend in that particular, however. '

'Well, no more words, Colonel Dawsey, ' said Joe. 'Here's a Derringer, ifyou'd like a pop at me. '

'Tain't an even chance, ' replied Dawsey; 'you know it. '

'Take it, or promise not to whip the woman. I won't waste more time onsuch a sneaking coward as you are. '

Dawsey hesitated, but finally, in a dogged way, made the requiredpromise, and took himself off. 

While this conversation was going on, Preston and the negro man haduntied the woman. Her back was bleeding profusely, and she was unable tostand. Lifting her in their arms, the two conveyed her to the top of thebank, and then, making a bed of their coats, laid her on the ground. Weremained there until the negro returned from the house with a turpentinewagon, and conveyed the woman 'home. ' We then returned to theplantation, and that afternoon, accompanied by Frank and Joe, I resumedmy journey. 

By way of episode, I will mention that the slave woman, after beingconfined to her bed several weeks, recovered. Then Dawsey renewed hisattack upon her, and, from the effects of a second whipping, she died. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Returning from the South a few weeks after the events narrated in theprevious chapter, Frank and I were met at Goldsboro by Preston andSelma, when the latter accompanied us to the North, and once moreresumed her place in David's family. 

On the first of February following, Frank, then not quite twenty-one, was admitted a partner in the house of Russell, Rollins, & Co. , and, inthe succeeding summer, was sent to Europe on business of the firm. Shortly after his return, in the following spring, he came on fromBoston with a proposal from Cragin that I should embark with them andyoung Preston in an extensive speculation. Deeming any business in whichCragin was willing to engage worthy of careful consideration, I listenedto Frank's exposition of the plan of operations. He had originated theproject, and in it he displayed the comprehensive business mind and rareblending of caution and boldness which characterized his father. As theresult of this transaction had an important influence on the future ofsome of the actors in my story, I will detail its programme. 

It was during the Crimean war. The Russian ports were closed, and GreatBritain and the Continent of Europe were dependent entirely on theSouthern States for their supply of resinous articles. The rivers at theSouth were low, and it was not supposed they would rise sufficiently tofloat produce to market before the occurrence of the spring freshets, inthe following April or May. Only forty thousand barrels of common rosinwere held in Wilmington--the largest naval-store port in the world; andit was estimated that not more than two hundred thousand were on hand inthe other ports of Savannah, Ga. , Georgetown, S. C. , Newbern andWashington, N. C. , and in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia. Verylittle was for sale in London, Liverpool, or Glasgow, the largestforeign markets for the article; and Frank thought that a hundred andfifty thousand barrels could be purchased. That quantity, taken at onceout of market, would probably so much enhance the value of the article, that the operation would realize a large profit before the new crop cameforward. The purchases were to be made simultaneously in the variousmarkets, and about two hundred thousand dollars were required to carrythrough the transaction. One hundred thousand of this was to befurnished in equal proportions by the parties interested; the otherhundred thousand would be realized by Joseph Preston's negotiating 'longexchange' on Russell, Rollins & Co. 

I declined to embark in the speculation, but the others carried it outas laid down in the programme; the only deviation being that, at Frank'ssuggestion, Mr. Robert Preston was apprised of the intended movement, and allowed to purchase, on his own account, as much produce as could besecured in Newbern. He bought about seven thousand barrels, paid forthem by drawing at ninety days on Russell, Rollins, & Co. , and held themfor sale at Newbern, agreeing to satisfy his drafts with the proceeds. These drafts amounted to a trifle over eighty-two hundred dollars. 

About a month after this transaction was entered into, our firm receivedthe following letter from Preston:

 'GENTLEMEN: An unfortunate difference with my son prevents my longer using him as my indorser. I have not, as yet, been able to secure another; and, our banks requiring two home names on time drafts, I have to beg you to honor a small bill at one day's sight. I have drawn for one thousand dollars. Please honor. '

To this I at once replied:

 'DEAR SIR: We have advice of your draft for one thousand dollars. To protect your credit, we shall pay it; but we beg you will draw no more, till you forward bills of lading. 

 'You are now overdrawn some five thousand dollars, which, by the maturing of your drafts, has become a _cash_ advance. The death of our senior, Mr. Randall, and the consequent withdrawal of his capital, has left us with an extended business and limited means. Money, also, is very tight, and we therefore earnestly beg you to put us in funds at the earliest possible moment. '

No reply was received to this letter; but, about ten days after itstransmission, Preston himself walked into my private office. His clotheswere travel stained, and he appeared haggard and careworn. I had neverseen him look so miserably. 

He met me cordially, and soon referred to the state of his affairs. Hiswife, the winter before, had agreed to reside permanently at Newbern, and content herself with an allowance of three thousand dollarsannually; but at the close of the year he found that she had contracteddebts to the extent of several thousand more. He was pressed for thesedebts; his interest was in arrears, and he could raise no money for lackof another indorser. Ruin stared him in the face, unless I again put myshoulder to the wheel, and pried him out of the mire. The turpentinebusiness was not paying as well as formerly, but the new plantation wasencumbered with only the original mortgage--less than six thousanddollars--and was then worth, owing to an advance in the value of land, fully twenty thousand. He would secure me by a mortgage on thatproperty, but I _must_ allow the present indebtedness to stand, and lethim increase it four or five thousand dollars. That amount wouldextricate him from present difficulties; and, to avoid futureembarrassments, he would take measures for a legal separation from hiswife. 

I heard him through, and then said:

'I cannot help you, my friend. I am very sorry; but my own affairs arein a most critical state. I owe over a hundred thousand dollars, maturing within twenty days, and my present available resources are notmore than fifty thousand. I have three hundred thousand worth of produceon hand, but the market is so depressed that I cannot realize a dollarupon it. The banks have shut down, and money is two per cent. A month inthe street. What you owe us would aid me wonderfully; but I can rubthrough without it. That much I can bear, but not a dollar more. '

He walked the room for a time, and was silent; then, turning to me, hesaid--each separate word seeming a groan:

'I have cursed every one I ever loved, and now I am bringingtrouble--perhaps disaster--upon _you_, the only real friend I haveleft. '

'Pshaw! my good fellow, don't talk in that way. What you owe us is onlya drop in the bucket. We have made twice that amount out of you; so giveyourself no uneasiness, if you _never_ pay it. '

'But I must pay it--I _shall_ pay it;' and, continuing to pace the roomsilently for a few moments, he added, giving me his hand: 'Good-by; I'mgoing back to-night. '

'Back to-night!--without seeing Selly, or my wife? You are mad!'

'I _must_ go. '

'You must _not_ go. You are letting affairs trouble you too much. Come, go home with me, and see Kate. A few words from her will make a new manof you. '

'No, no; I must go back at once. I must raise this money somehow. '

'Send money to the dogs! Come with me, and have a good night's rest. You'll think better of this in the morning. And now it occurs to me thatKate has about seven thousand belonging to Frank. He means to settle iton Selly when they are married, and she might as well have it first aslast. Perhaps you can get it now. '

'But I might be robbing my own child. '

'You can give the farm as security; it's worth twice the amount. '

'Well, I'll stay. Let us see your wife at once. '

While we were seated in the parlor, after supper, I broached the subjectof Preston's wants to Kate. She heard me through attentively, and thenquietly said:

'Frank is of age--he can do as he pleases; but _I_ would not advise himto make the loan. I once heard my father scout at the idea of takingsecurity on property a thousand miles away. I would not wound Mr. Preston's feelings, but--his wife's extravagance has led him into thisdifficulty, and her property should extricate him from it. Her townhouse, horses, and carriages should be sold. She ought to be made tofeel some of the mortification she has brought upon him. '

Preston's face brightened; a new idea seemed to strike him. 'You areright. I will sell everything. ' His face clouded again, as he continued:'But I cannot realize soon enough. Your husband needs money at once. '

'Never mind me; I can take care of myself. But what is this trouble withJoe? Tell me, I will arrange it. Everything can go on smoothly again. '

'It cannot be arranged. There can be no reconciliation between us. '

'What prevents? Who is at fault--you, or he?'

'I am. He will never forgive me!'

'Forgive you! I can't imagine what you have done, that admits of noforgiveness. '

He rose, and walked the room for a while in gloomy silence, then said:

'I will tell you. It is right you should know. You _both_ should knowthe sort of man you have esteemed and befriended for so many years;'and, resuming his seat, he related the following occurrences:

'Everything went on as usual at the plantation, till some months afterRosey's marriage to Ally. Then a child was born to them. It was white. Rosey refused to reveal its father, but it was evidently not herhusband. Ally, being a proud, high-spirited fellow, took the thingterribly to heart. He refused to live with his wife, or even to see her. I tried to reconcile them, but without success. Old Dinah, who hadpreviously doted on Rosey, turned about, and began to beat and abuse hercruelly. To keep the child out of the old woman's way, I took her intothe house, and she remained there till about two months ago. Then, oneday, Larkin, the trader, of whom you bought Phylly and the children, came to me, wanting a woman house-servant. I was pressed for money, andI offered him--a thing I never did before--two or three of my familyslaves. They did not suit, but he said Rosey would, and proposed to buyher and the child. I refused. He offered me fifteen hundred dollars forthem, but I still refused. Then he told me that he had spoken to thegirl, and she wished him to buy her. I doubted it, and said so; but hecalled Rosey to us, and she confirmed it, and, in an excited way, toldme she would run away, or drown herself, if I did not sell her. She saidshe could live no longer on the same plantation with Ally. I told her Iwould send Ally away; but she replied: 'No; I am tired of this place. Ihave suffered so much here, I want to get away. I _shall_ go; whetheralive or dead, is for _you_ to say. ' I saw she was in earnest; I washard pressed for money; Larkin promised to get her a kind master, and--Isold her. '

'Sold her! My God! Preston, she was your own child!'

'I know it, ' he replied, burying his face in his hands. 'The curse ofGOD was on it; it has been on me for years. ' After a few moments, headded: 'But hear the rest, and _you_ will curse me, too. '

Overcome with emotion, he groaned audibly. I said nothing, and a pauseof some minutes ensued. Then, in a choked, broken voice, he continued:

'The rosin transaction had been gone into. I had used up what blankindorsements I had. Needing more, and wanting to consult with Joe aboutselling the rosin, I went to Mobile. It was five weeks ago. I arrivedthere about dark, and put up at the Battle House. Joe had boarded there. I was told he had left, and gone to housekeeping. A negro conducted meto a small house in the outskirts of the town. He said Joe lived there. Wishing to surprise him, I went in without knocking. The house had twoparlors, separated by folding doors. In the back one a young woman wasclearing away the tea things; in the front one, Joe was seated by thefire, with a young child on his knee. I put my hand on his shoulder, andsaid: 'Joe, whose child have you here?' He looked up, and laughinglysaid: 'Why, father, you ought to know; you've seen it before!' I lookedclosely at it--it was Rosey's! I said so. 'Yes, father, ' he replied;'and there's Rosey herself. Larkin promised she should have a kindmaster, and--he kept his word. ' The truth flashed upon me--the child washis! My only son had seduced his _own sister_! I staggered back inhorror. I told him who Rosey was, and then'--no words can express theintense agony depicted on his face as he said this--'then he cursed me!O my God! HE CURSED ME!'

I pitied him, I could but pity him; and I said:

'Do not be so cast down, my friend. I once heard you say: 'The Lord isgood. His mercy is everlasting!''

'But he cannot have mercy on some!' he cried. '_My_ sins have been toogreat; they cannot be blotted out. I embittered the life of my wife; Ihave driven my daughter from her home; sold my own child; made mygenerous, noble-hearted boy do a horrible crime--a crime that willhaunt him forever. Oh! the curse of God is on me. My misery is greaterthan I can bear. '

'No, my friend; God curses none of his creatures. You have reaped whatyou have sown, that is all; but you have suffered enough. Better things, believe me, are in store for you. '

'No, no; everything is gone--wife, children, all! I am alone--the past, nothing but remorse; the future, ruin and dishonor!'

'But Selly is left you. _She_ will always love you. '

'No, no! Even Selly would curse me, if she knew _all_!'

No one spoke for a full half hour, and he continued pacing up and downthe room. When, at last, he seated himself, more composed, I asked:

'What became of Rosey and the child?'

'I do not know. I was shut in my room for several days. When I got out, I was told Joe had freed her, and she had disappeared, no one knewwhither. I tried every means to trace her, but could not. At the end ofa week, I went home, what you see me--a broken-hearted man. '

The next morning, despite our urgent entreaties, he returned to theSouth. 

 * * * * *

The twenty days were expiring. By hard struggling I had met myliabilities, but the last day--the crisis--was approaching. Thirtythousand dollars of our acceptances had accumulated together, and werematuring on that day. When I went home, on the preceding night, we hadonly nineteen thousand in bank. I had exhausted all our receivables. Where the eleven thousand was to come from, I did not know. Only oneresource seemed left me--the hypothecation of produce; and a resort tothat, at that time, before warehouse receipts became legitimatesecurities, would be ruinous to our credit. My position was a terribleone. No one not a merchant can appreciate or realize it. With thousandsupon thousands of assets, the accumulations of years, my standing amongmerchants, and, what I valued more than all, my untarnished credit, werein jeopardy for the want of a paltry sum. 

I went home that night with a heavy heart; but Kate's hopeful wordsencouraged me. With her and the children left to me, I need not care forthe rest; all might go, and I could commence again at the bottom of thehill. The next morning I walked down town with a firm spirit, ready tomeet disaster like a man. The letters by the early mail were on my desk. I opened them one after another, hurriedly, eagerly. There were noremittances! I had expected at least five thousand dollars. For a momentmy courage failed me. I rose, and paced the room, and thoughts likethese passed through my mind: 'The last alternative has come. Pride mustgive way to duty. I must hypothecate produce, and protect mycorrespondents. I must sacrifice myself to save my friends!

'But here are two letters I have thrown aside. They are addressed to mepersonally. Mere letters of friendship! What is friendship, at a timelike this?--friendship without money! Pshaw! I wouldn't give a fig forall the friends in the world!'

Mechanically I opened one of them. An enclosure dropped to the floor. Without pausing to pick it up, I read:

 'DEAR FATHER: Mother writes me you are hard pressed. Sell my U. S. Stock--it will realize over seven thousand. It is yours. Enclosed is Cragin's certified check for ten thousand. If you need more, draw on _him_, at sight, for any amount. He says he will stand by you to the death. 

 'Love to mother. FRANK. '

 'P. S. --Fire away, old fellow! Hallet is ugly, but I'll go my pile on you, spite of the devil. CRAGIN. '

'SAVED! saved by my wife and child!' I leaned my head on my desk. When Irose, there were tears upon it. 

It wanted some minutes of ten, but I was nervously impatient to blot outthose terrible acceptances. I should then be safe; I should then breathefreely. As I passed out of my private office, I opened the other letter. It was from Preston. Pausing a moment, I read it:

 'MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I enclose you sight check of Branch Bank of Cape Fear on Bank of Republic, for $10, 820. Apply what is needed to pay my account; the rest hold subject to my drafts. 

 'I have sold my town house, furniture, horses, etc. , and the proceeds will pay my home debts. I shall therefore not need to draw the balance for, say, sixty days. God bless you!'

'Well, the age of miracles is _not_ passed! How _did_ he raise themoney?'

Stepping back into the private office, I called my partner:

'Draw checks for all the acceptances due to-day; get them certified, andtake up the bills at once. Don't let the grass grow under your feet. Ishall be away the rest of the day, and I want to see them before I go. Here is a draft from Preston; it will make our account good. '

He looked at it, and, laughing, said:

'Yes, and leave about fifty dollars in bank. '

'Well, never mind; we are out of the woods. '

When he had gone, I sat down, and wrote the following letter:

 'MY DEAR FRANK: I return Cragin's check, with many thanks. I have not sold your stock. My legitimate resources have carried me through. 

 'I need not say, my boy, that I feel what you would have done for me. Words are not needed between _us_. 

 'Tell Cragin that I consider him a trump--the very ace of hearts. 

 'Your mother and I will see you in a few days. '

In half an hour, with the two letters in my pocket, I was on my wayhome. Handing them to Kate, I took her in my arms; and, as I brushed thestill bright, golden hair from her broad forehead, I felt I was therichest man living. 

 * * * * *

Within the same week I went to Boston. I arrived just after dark; andthen occurred the events narrated in the first chapter. 

WAR. 

[J. G. PERCIVAL. ]

 For war is now upon their shores, And we must meet the foe, Must go where battle's thunder roars, And brave men slumber low; Go, where the sleep of death comes on The proudest hearts, who dare To grasp the wreath by valor won, And glory's banquet share. 

A CHAPTER ON WONDERS. 

 'Obstupui! steteruntque comæ, et vox faucibus hæsit. '

There is a certain portion of mankind ever on the alert to see or hearsome wonderful thing; whose minds are attuned to a marvellous key, andvibrate with extreme sensitiveness to the slightest touch; whose vitalfluid is the air of romance, and whose algebraic symbol is a mark ofexclamation! This sentiment, existing in some persons to a greaterdegree than in others, is often fostered by education and association, so as to become the all-engrossing passion. Children, of course, beginto wonder as soon as their eyes are opened upon the strange scenes oftheir future operations. The first thing usually done to develop theirdawning intellect, is to display before them such objects as are bestcalculated to arrest their attention, and keep them in a continual stateof excitement. This course is succeeded by a supply of all sorts of_toys_, to gratify the passion of novelty. These are followed bywonderful stories, and books of every variety of absurdimpossibilities;--which system of development is, it would seem, entirely based upon the presumption, that the faculty of admiration mustbe expanded, in order that the young idea may best learn how to _shoot_. It is therefore quite natural, that--the predisposition granted--afaculty of the mind so auspiciously nurtured under the influence ofexaggeration should mature in a corresponding degree. 

Thus we have in our midst a class, into whose mental economy the facultyof _wonder_ is so thoroughly infused, that it has inoculated the entiresystem, and forms an inherent, inexplicable, and almost elementary partof it. These persons sail about in their pleasure yachts, on rovingexpeditions, under a pretended '_right of search_, ' armed to the teeth, and boarding all sorts of crafts to obtain plunder for their favoritegratification. They are most uneasy and uncomfortable companions, havingno ear for commonplace subjects of conversation, and no eye for ordinaryobjects of sight. 

When such persons approach each other, they are mutually attracted, liketwo bodies charged with different kinds of electricity--an interchangeof commodities takes place, repulsion follows, and thus reënforced, theyseparate to diffuse the supply of wonders collected. 

By this centripetal and centrifugal process, the social atmosphere issubjected to a continual state of agitation. _Language_ is altogethertoo tame to give full effect to their meaning, and all the varieties of_dumb show_, of _gesticulation_, _shrugs_, and wise shakes of the head, are called into requisition, to effectually and unmistakably expresstheir ideas. The usages of good society are regarded by them as a greatrestraint upon their besetting propensity to expatiate in phrases ofgrandiloquence, and to magnify objects of trivial importance. They arealways sure to initiate topics which will afford scope for admiration;they delight to enlarge upon the unprecedented growth of cities, villages, and towns; upon the comparative prices of 'corner lots' atdifferent periods; and to calculate how rich they _might_ have been, hadthey only known as much _then_ as _now_. 

They experience a gratification when a rich man dies, that the wonderwill now be solved as to the amount of his property; and when a manfails in business, that it is _now_ made clear--what has so longperplexed them--'_how he managed to live so extravagantly_!' See themat an agricultural fair, and they will be found examining the 'mammothsquashes' and various products of prodigious growth--or they willinstall themselves as self-appointed exhibiter of the 'Fat Baby, ' toinform the incredulous how much it weighs! See them at a conflagration, and they wonder what was the _cause_ of the fire, and _how far_ it willextend?

They long to travel, that they may visit 'mammoth caves' and 'Giant'sCauseways. ' We talk of the 'Seven Wonders of the World, ' while to themthere is a successive series for every day in the year--putting to theblush our meagre stock of monstrosities--making 'Ossa like a wart. 'Nothing gratifies them more than the issuing from the press of ananonymous work, that they may exert their ingenuity in endeavoring todiscover the author; and, when called on for information on the subject, prove conclusively to every one but themselves, that they know nothingwhatever about the matter. 

The ocean is to them only wonderful as the abode of 'Leviathans, ' and'Sea Serpents, ' 'Krakens, ' and 'Mermaids'--abounding in 'Mäelstroms' and_sunken_ islands, and traversed by 'Phantom Ships' and 'Flying Dutchmen'in perpetual search for some 'lost Atlantis;'--all well-attestedincredibilities, certified to by the 'affidavits of respectableeye-witnesses, ' and, we might add, by 'intelligent contrabands, '--andall in strict conformity with the convenient aphorism '_Credo quiaimpossibile est_. ' They are ever ready to bestow their amazement upon afresh miracle as soon as the present has had its day--like the man who, being landed at some distance by the explosion of a juggler'spyrotechnics, rubbed his eyes open, and exclaimed, '_I wonder what thefellow will do next!_'

If a steamboat explodes her boiler, or the walls of a factory fall, burying hundreds in the ruins, their hearts--rendered callous by theconstant stream of cold air pouring in through their _ever-openmouths_--are not shocked at the calamity, but they wonder if it was_insured_!

The increase of population in this country affords a most prolific andinexhaustible fund for statistical astonishment, as an interlude to theentertainment, while something more appalling is being prepared. 

The portentous omens so often relied on by the credulous believers insigns, have so frequently proved 'dead failures, ' that one would supposethese votaries would at length become disheartened. But this seems notto be the case--like a quack doctor when his patient dies, theiraudacity is equal to any emergency, and, with the elasticity of indiarubber, they come out of a 'tight squeeze' with undiminished rotundity. With _stupid_ amazement, hair all erect, and ears likewise, they passthrough life as through a museum, ready to exclaim with Dominie Sampsonat all _they_ cannot understand, 'Pro--di--gi--ous!'

It matters little, perhaps, in what form this principle is exhibited, while it exists and flourishes in undiminished exuberance. Thus saysGlendower:

 'At my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, Of burning cressets; and, at my birth, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward. 

 _Hotspur. _ Why so it would have done At the same season, if your mother's cat had But kittened, though yourself had ne'er been born. '

Glendower naturally enough flouts this rather impertinent comment, and'repeats the story of his birth' with still greater improvements, tillHotspur gives him a piece of advice which will do for his whole race ofthe present day, viz. , 'tell the truth, and shame the devil. '

The English people of this generation are rather more phlegmatic thantheir explosive neighbors across the channel, and neither the injusticeof black slavery abroad, nor the starvation of _white_ slaves at home, can shake them from their lop-sided neutrality, _so long as money goesinto their pocket_. The excitable French, on the contrary, require anoccasional _coup d'état_ to arouse their conjectures as to the nextimperial experiment in the art of international diplomacy. 

The press of the day teems with all sorts of provisions to satisfy thecravings of a depraved imagination, and even the most sedate of ourdaily papers are not above employing 'double-leaded Sensations, ' and'display Heads' as a part of their ordinary stock in trade; while fromthe hebdomadals, 'Thrilling Tales, ' 'Awful Disclosures, ' and 'StartlingDiscoveries, ' succeed each other with truly fearful rapidity. Thus hewho wastes the midnight kerosene, and spoils his weary eyes in poringover the pages of trashy productions, so well designed to murder sleep, may truly say with Macbeth, 'I have supp'd full with horrors. '

It is certainly remarkable (as an indication of the pleasure themultitude take in voluntarily perplexing themselves), how eagerly theyenter into all sorts of contrivances which conduce to bewilderment anddoubt. In 'Hampton Court' there is a famous enclosure called the'_Maze_, ' so arranged with hedged alleys as to form a perfect labyrinth. To this place throngs of persons are constantly repairing, to enjoy theluxury of losing themselves, and of seeing others in the samepredicament. 

Some persons become so impatient of the constant demand upon theiradmiration, that they resist whatever seems to lead in that direction. Washington Irving said he 'never liked to walk with his host over thelatter's ground'--a feeling which many will at once acknowledge havingexperienced. A celebrated English traveller was so annoyed by the urgentinvitations of the Philadelphians to visit the Fairmount Water Works, that he resolved _not_ to visit them, so that he might have thecharacteristic satisfaction of recording the ill-natured fact. 

'Swift mentions a gentleman who made it a rule in reading, to skip overall sentences where he spied a note of admiration at the end. '

The instances here quoted are, to be sure, carrying out the '_Niladmirari_' principle rather to extremes, and are not recommended forgeneral observance. The most remarkable and prominent wonders in thenatural world seldom meet the expectation of the beholder, because helooks to experience a new sensation, and is disappointed; and so withworks of art, as St. Peter's at Rome--

 ----'its grandeur overwhelms thee not, And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal. '

_Wonder_ is defined as 'the effect of novelty upon ignorance. ' Mostobjects which excite wonder are magnified by the distance or the pointof view, and their proportions diminish and shrink as we approach them. It is a saying as old as Horace, 'ignotum pro magnifico est': we ceaseto wonder at what we understand. Seneca says that those whose habits aretemperate are satisfied with fountain water, which is cold enough forthem; while those who have lived high and luxuriously, require the useof _ice_. Thus a well-disciplined mind adjusts itself to whatever eventsmay occur, and not being likely to lose its equanimity upon ordinaryoccasions, is equally well prepared for more serious results. 

'Let us never wonder, ' again saith Seneca, 'at anything we are born to;for no man has reason to complain where we are all in the samecondition. ' But notwithstanding all the precepts of philosophers, theadvice of all men of sense, and the best examples for our guides, we goon, with eyes dilated and minds wide open, to see, hear, and receiveimpressions through distorted mediums, leading to wrong conclusions andendless mistakes. 

'Wonders will never cease!' Of course they will not, so long as thereare so many persons engaged in providing the aliment for theirsustenance; so long as the demand exceeds the supply; so long as mankindare more disposed to listen to exaggeration rather than to simpletruths, and so long as they shall tolerate the race of _wonder-mongers_, giving them 'aid and comfort, ' regardless of their being enemies of ourpeace, and the pests of our social community. 

THE RETURN. 

 July, --what is the news they tell? A battle won: our eyes are dim, And sad forbodings press the heart Anxious, awaiting news from him. Hour drags on hour: fond heart, be still, Shall evil tidings break the spell? A word at last!--they found him dead; He fought in the advance, and fell. 

 Oh aloes of affliction poured Into the wine cup of the soul! Oh bitterness of anguish stored To fill our grief beyond control! At last he comes, awaited long, Not to home welcomes warm and loud, Not to the voice of mirth and song, Pale featured, cold, beneath a shroud. 

 Oh from the morrow of our lives A glowing hope has stolen away, A something from the sun has fled, That dims the glory of the day. More earnestly we look beyond The present life to that to be; Another influence draws the soul To long for that futurity. 

 Pardon if anguished souls refrain Too little, grieving for the lost, From thinking dearly bought the gain Of victory at such fearful cost. Teach us as dearest gain to prize The glory crown he early won; Forever shall his requiem rise: Rest thee in peace, thy duty done. 

THE UNION. 

VI. 

VIRGINIA AND PENNSYLVANIA COMPARED. 

Virginia was a considerable colony, when Pennsylvania was occupied onlyby Indian tribes. In 1790, Virginia was first in rank of all the States, her number of inhabitants being 748, 308. (Census Rep. , 120, 121. )Pennsylvania then ranked the second, numbering 434, 373 persons. (Ib. ) In1860 the population of Virginia was 1, 596, 318, ranking the fifth;Pennsylvania still remaining the second, and numbering 2, 905, 115. (Ib. )In 1790 the population of Virginia exceeded that of Pennsylvania313, 925; in 1860 the excess in favor of Pennsylvania was 1, 308, 797. Theratio of increase of population of Virginia from 1790 to 1860 was 113. 32per cent. , and of Pennsylvania in the same period, 569. 03. At the samerelative ratio of increase for the next seventy years, Virginia wouldcontain a population of 3, 405, 265 in 1930; and Pennsylvania 19, 443, 934, exceeding that of England. Such has been and would continue to be theeffect of slavery in retarding the progress of Virginia, and such theinfluence of freedom in the rapid advance of Pennsylvania. Indeed, withthe maintenance and perpetuity of the Union in all its integrity, thedestiny of Pennsylvania will surpass the most sanguine expectations. 

The population of Virginia per square mile in 1790 was 12. 19, and in1860, 26. 02; whilst that of Pennsylvania in 1790 was 9. 44, and in 1860, 63. 18. (Ib. ) The absolute increase of the population of Virginia persquare mile, from 1790 to 1860, was 13. 83, and from 1850 to 1860, 2. 85;whilst that of Pennsylvania from 1790 to 1860, was 53. 74, and from 1850to 1860, 12. 93. (Ib. )

AREA. --The area of Virginia is 61, 352 square miles, and of Pennsylvania, 46, 000, the difference being 15, 352 square miles, which is greater, by758 square miles, than the aggregate area of Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Delaware, containing in 1860 a population of 1, 803, 429. (Ib. )Retaining their respective ratios of increase per square mile from 1790to 1860, and reversing their areas, that of Virginia in 1860 would havebeen 1, 196, 920, and of Pennsylvania 3, 876, 119. Reversing the numbers ofeach State in 1790, the ratio of increase in each remaining the same, the population of Pennsylvania in 1860 would have been 5, 408, 424, andthat of Virginia, 926, 603. Reversing both the areas and numbers in 1790, and the population of Pennsylvania would have exceeded that of Virginiain 1860 more than six millions. 

SHORE LINE. --By the Tables of the Coast Survey, the shore line ofVirginia is 1, 571 miles, and of Pennsylvania only 60 miles. This vastlysuperior coast line of Virginia, with better, deeper, more capacious, and much more numerous harbors, unobstructed by ice, and with easyaccess for so many hundred miles by navigable bays and tide-water riversleading so far into the interior, give to Virginia great advantages overPennsylvania in commerce and every branch of industry. Indeed, in thisrespect, Virginia stands unrivalled in the Union. The hydraulic power ofVirginia greatly exceeds that of Pennsylvania. 

MINES. --Pennsylvania excels every other State in mineral wealth, butVirginia comes next. 

SOIL. --In natural fertility of soil, the two States are about equal;but the seasons in Virginia are more favorable, both for crops andstock, than in Pennsylvania. Virginia has all the agricultural productsof Pennsylvania, with cotton in addition. The area, however, of Virginia(39, 265, 280 acres) being greater by 9, 825, 280 acres than that ofPennsylvania (29, 440, 000 acres), gives to Virginia vast advantages. 

In her greater area, her far superior coast line, harbors, rivers, andhydraulic power, her longer and better seasons for crops and stock, andgreater variety of products, Virginia has vast natural advantages, andwith nearly double the population of Pennsylvania in 1790. And yet, where has slavery placed Virginia? Pennsylvania exceeds her now innumbers 1, 308, 797, and increased in population, from 1790 to 1860, in aratio more than five to one. Such is the terrible contrast between freeand slave institutions!

PROGRESS OF WEALTH. --By Census Tables (1860) 33 and 36, it appears(omitting commerce) that the products of industry, as given, viz. , ofagriculture, manufactures, mines, and fisheries, were that year inPennsylvania, of the value of $398, 600, 000, or $137 per capita; and inVirginia, $120, 000, 000 or $75 per capita. This shows a total value ofproduct in Pennsylvania much more than three times that of Virginia, and, per capita, nearly two to one. That is, the average value of theproduct of the labor of each person in Pennsylvania, is nearly doublethat of each person, including slaves, in Virginia. Thus is proved thevast superiority of free over slave labor, and the immense national lossoccasioned by the substitution of the latter for the former. 

As to the rate of increase; the value of the products of Virginia in1850 was $84, 480, 428 (Table 9), and in Pennsylvania, $229, 567, 131, showing an increase in Virginia, from 1850 to 1860, of $35, 519, 572, being 41 per cent. ; and in Pennsylvania, $169, 032, 869, being 50 percent. ; exhibiting a difference of 9 per cent. In favor of Pennsylvania. By the Census Table of 1860, No. 35, p. 195, the true value then of thereal and personal property was, in Pennsylvania, $1, 416, 501, 818, and ofVirginia, $793, 249, 681. Now, we have seen, the value of the products inPennsylvania in 1860 was $398, 600, 000, and in Virginia, $120, 000, 000. Thus, as a question of the annual yield of capital, that of Pennsylvaniawas 28. 13 per cent. , and of Virginia, 15. 13 per cent. By Census Table35, the total value of the real and personal property of Pennsylvaniawas $722, 486, 120 in 1850, and $1, 416, 501, 818 in 1860, showing anincrease, in that decade, of $694, 015, 698, being 96. 05 per cent. ; and inVirginia, $430, 701, 082 in 1850, and $793, 249, 681 in 1860, showing anincrease of $362, 548, 599, or 84. 17 per cent. 

By Table 36, p. 196, Census of 1860, the _cash_ value of the farms ofVirginia was $371, 092, 211, being $11. 91 per acre; and of Pennsylvania, $662, 050, 707, being $38. 91 per acre. Now, by this table, the number ofacres embraced in these farms of Pennsylvania was 17, 012, 153 acres, andin Virginia, 31, 014, 950; the difference of value per acre being $27, orlargely more than three to one in favor of Pennsylvania, Now, if wemultiply the farm lands of Virginia by the Pennsylvania value per acre, it would make the total value of the farm lands of Virginia$1, 204, 791, 804; and the _additional_ value, caused by emancipation, $835, 699, 593, which is more, by $688, 440, 093, than the value of all theslaves of Virginia. But the whole area of Virginia is 39, 265, 280 acres, deducting from which the farm lands, there remain unoccupied 8, 250, 330acres. Now, if (as would be in the absence of slavery, ) the populationper square mile of Virginia equalled that of Pennsylvania, three fifthsof these lands would have been occupied as farms, viz. , 4, 950, 198, which, at the Pennsylvania value per acre, would have been worth$188, 207, 524. Deduct from this their present average value of $2 peracre, $9, 800, 396, and the remainder, $178, 407, 128, is the sum by whichthe unoccupied lands of Virginia, converted into farms, would have beenincreased in value by emancipation. Add this to the enhanced value oftheir present farms, and the result is $1, 014, 106, 721 as the gain, onthis basis, of Virginia in the value of her lands, by emancipation. Tothese we should add the increased value of town and city lots andimprovements, and of personal property, and, with emancipation, Virginiawould now have an augmented wealth of at least one billion and a half ofdollars. 

The earnings of commerce are not given in the Census Tables, which wouldvastly increase the difference in the value of their annual products infavor of Pennsylvania as compared with Virginia. These earnings includeall not embraced under the heads of agriculture, manufactures, themines, and fisheries. Let us examine some of these statistics. 

RAILROADS. --The number of miles of railroads in operation inPennsylvania in 1860, including city roads, was 2, 690. 49 miles, costing$147, 283, 410; and in Virginia, 1, 771 miles, costing $64, 958, 807. (CensusTable of 1860, No. 38, pp. 230, 232. ) The annual value of the freightcarried on these roads is estimated at $200, 000, 000 more in Pennsylvaniathan in Virginia, and the passenger account would still more increasethe disparity. 

CANALS. --The number of miles of canals in Pennsylvania in 1860 was1, 259, and their cost, $42, 015, 000. In Virginia the number of miles was178, and the cost, $7, 817, 000. (Census Table 39, p. 238. ) The estimatedvalue of the freight on the Pennsylvania canals is ten times that of thefreight on the Virginia canals. 

TONNAGE. --The tonnage of vessels built in Pennsylvania in 1860 was21, 615 tons, and in Virginia, 4, 372. (Census, p. 107. )

BANKS. --The number of banks in Pennsylvania in 1860 was 90; capital, $25, 565, 582; loans, $50, 327, 127; specie, $8, 378, 474; circulation, 13, 132, 892; deposits, $26, 167, 143:--and in Virginia the number was 65;capital, $16, 005, 156; loans, $24, 975, 792; specie, $2, 943, 652;circulation, $9, 812, 197; deposits, $7, 729, 652. (Census Table 35, p. 193. )

EXPORTS AND IMPORTS, ETC. --Our exports abroad from Pennsylvania, for thefiscal year ending 30th June, 1860, and foreign imports, were of thevalue of $20, 262, 608. The clearances, same year, from Pennsylvania, andentries were 336, 848 tons. In Virginia the exports the same year, andforeign imports were of the value of $7, 184, 273; clearances and entries, 178, 143 tons, (Table 14, Register of U. S. Treasury. ) Revenue fromcustoms, same year, in Pennsylvania, $2, 552, 924, and in Virginia, $189, 816; or more than twelve to one in favor of Pennsylvania. (TablesU. S. Commissioner of Customs. ) No returns are given for the coastwiseand internal trade of either State; but the railway and canaltransportation of both States shows a difference of ten to one in favorof Pennsylvania. And yet, Virginia, as we have seen, had much greaternatural advantages than Pennsylvania for commerce, foreign and internal, her shore line up to head of tide-water being 1, 571 miles, andPennsylvania only 60 miles. 

We have seen that, exclusive of commerce, the products of Pennsylvaniain 1860 were of the value of $398, 600, 000, or $137 per capita; and inVirginia, $120, 000, 000, or $75 per capita. But, if we add the earningsof commerce, the products of Pennsylvania must have exceeded those ofVirginia much more than four to one, and have reached, per capita, nearly three to one. What but slavery could have produced such amazingresults? Indeed, when we see the same effects in _all_ the Free Statesas compared with _all_ the Slave States, and in _any_ of the SlaveStates, as compared with _any_ of the Free States, the uniformity ofresults establishes the law beyond all controversy, that slaveryretards immensely the progress of wealth and population. 

That the Tariff has produced none of these results, is shown by the factthat the agriculture and commerce of Pennsylvania vastly exceed those ofVirginia, and yet these are the interests supposed to be mostinjuriously affected by high tariffs. But there is still more conclusiveproof. The year 1824 was the commencement of the era of high tariffs, and yet, from 1790 to 1820, as proved by the Census, the percentage ofincrease of Pennsylvania over Virginia was greater than from 1820 to1860. Thus, by Table 1 of the Census, p. 124, the increase of populationin Virginia was as follows:

 From 1790 to 1800 17. 63 per cent. " 1800 " 1810 10. 73 " " 1810 " 1820 9. 31 " " 1820 " 1830 13. 71 " " 1830 " 1840 2. 34 " " 1840 " 1850 14. 60 " " 1850 " 1860 12. 29 "

The increase of population in Pennsylvania was:

 From 1790 to 1800 38. 67 per cent. " 1800 " 1810 34. 49 " " 1810 " 1820 29. 55 " " 1820 " 1830 28. 47 " " 1830 " 1840 27. 87 " " 1840 " 1850 34. 09 " " 1850 " 1860 25. 71 "

In 1790 the population of Virginia was 748, 318; in 1820, 1, 065, 129, andin 1860, 1, 596, 318. In 1790 the population of Pennsylvania was 434, 373;in 1820, 1, 348, 233, and in 1860, 2, 906, 115. Thus, from 1790 to 1820, before the inauguration of the protective policy, the relative increaseof the population of Pennsylvania, as compared with Virginia, was veryfar greater than from 1820 to 1860. It is quite clear, then, that thetariff had no influence in depressing the progress of Virginia ascompared with Pennsylvania. 

Having shown how much the material progress of Virginia has beenretarded by slavery, let us now consider its effect upon her moral andintellectual development. 

NEWSPAPERS AND PERIODICALS. --The number of newspapers and periodicals inPennsylvania in 1860 was 367, of which 277 were political, 43 religious, 25 literary, 22 miscellaneous; and the total number of copies circulatedin 1860 was 116, 094, 480. (Census Tables, Nos. 15, 37. ) The number inVirginia was 139, of which 117 were political, 13 religious, 3 literary, 6 miscellaneous; and the number of copies circulated in 1860 was26, 772, 568, being much less than one fourth that of Pennsylvania. Thenumber of copies of monthly periodicals circulated in Pennsylvania in1860 was 464, 684; and in Virginia, 43, 900; or much more than ten to onein favor of Pennsylvania. 

As regards schools, colleges, academies, libraries, and churches, I musttake the Census of 1850, those tables for 1860 not being yet arranged orprinted. The number of public schools in Pennsylvania in 1850 was 9, 061;teachers, 10, 024; pupils, 413, 706; colleges, academies, &c. , pupils, 26, 142; attending school during the year, as returned by families, 504, 610; native adults of the State who cannot read or write, 51, 283;public libraries, 393; volumes, 363, 400; value of churches, $11, 853, 291;percentage of native free, population (adults) who cannot read or write, 4. 56. (Comp. Census of 1850. )

The number of public schools in Virginia in 1850 was 2, 937; teachers, 3, 005; pupils, 67, 438; colleges, academies, &c. , pupils, 10, 326;attending school, as returned by families, 109, 775; native white adultsof the State who cannot read or write, 75, 868; public libraries, 54;volumes, 88, 462; value of churches, $2, 902, 220; percentage of nativefree adults of Virginia who cannot read or write, 19. 90. (Comp. Censusof 1850. ) Thus, the church and educational statistics of Pennsylvania, and especially of free adults who cannot read or write, is as five toone nearly in favor of Pennsylvania. When we recollect that nearly onethird of the population of Pennsylvania are of the great German race, and speak the noble German language, to which they are greatly attached, and hence the difficulty of introducing common _English_ public schoolsin the State, the advantage, in this respect, of Pennsylvania overVirginia is most extraordinary. 

These official statistics enable me, then, again to say that slavery ishostile to the progress of _wealth_ and _education_, to _science_ and_literature_, to _schools_, _colleges_, and _universities_, to _books_and _libraries_, to _churches_ and _religion_, to the PRESS, andtherefore to FREE GOVERNMENT; hostile to the _poor_, keeping them in_want_ and _ignorance_; hostile to LABOR, reducing it to _servitude_ anddecreasing _two thirds_ the value of its products; hostile to _morals_, repudiating among slaves the _marital_ and _parental_ condition, classifying them by law as CHATTELS, _darkening_ the _immortal soul_, and making it a _crime_ to teach millions of _human beings_ to _read_ or_write_. 

And yet, there are desperate leaders of the Peace party of Pennsylvania, desecrating the name of _Democrats_, but, in fact, Tories and traitors, who would separate that glorious old commonwealth from the North, andbid her sue in abject humiliation for admission as one of the SlaveStates of the rebel confederacy. Shades of Penn and Franklin, and of thethousands of martyred patriots of Pennsylvania who have fallen indefence of the Union from 1776 to 1863, forbid the terrible degradation. 

DOWN IN TENNESSEE. 

Sultry and wearisome the day had been in that Tennessee valley, andafter drill, we had laid around under the trees--tall, noble trees theywere--and the fresh grass was green and soft under them as on the old'Campus, ' and we had been smoking and talking over a wide, wide range ofsubjects, from deep Carlyleism--of which Carlyle doubtless neverheard--to the significance of the day's orders. It was not aninharmonious picture--Camp Alabama, so we had named it--for it was witha 'here we rest' feeling that a dozen days before we had marched in atnoon. The ground sloped to the eastward--a single winding road of yellowsand crept over the slope into the horizon, a mile or more away; north, a hill rose with some abruptness; south and west, a grove of wonderfulbeauty skirted the valley. A single building--an old but large logfarmhouse--stood near the tent, whose fluttering banner indicatedheadquarters. This old house was well filled with commissary stores, and, following that incomprehensible Tennessee policy, four companies ofour regiment, the twenty-third, had been detached to guard them underMajor Fanning--'a noble soldier he, but all untried. ' We had never yetseen active service, and our tents were still white and unstained. Theground had been once the lawn of the deserted house--in the long agoprobably the home of a planter of some pretension; and, as we lay thereunder the trees watching the boys over the fires, kindled for theirevening meal, the blue smoke curling up among the trees, it made, as Ihave said, a most harmonious picture. 

That fair June evening! I can never forget it, and I wish I were anartist that I could show you the sloping valley, the white tents, flushing like a girl's cheek to the good-night kisses of the sun, thecurling smoke wreaths, and far, far above the amethystine heaven, fromwhich floated over all a dim purple tint. I was the youngestcommissioned officer in the regiment, having been promoted to a vacancya week or two before through Major Fanning's influence. 

We were all invited that evening to supper with our commanding officerand his wife--who had been with him for a few days. A fresh breezestirred the trees at sunset, and, after slight attention to ourtoilette, we dropped by twos and threes into the neighborhood of themajor's tent. A little back from the rows of other tents, a few fineoaks made a temple in front, worthy even of its presiding genius, GraceFanning--but I am _not_ going to rhapsodize. She was a fair, modest, young thing, with the girl rose yet fresh on her wife's cheek. I hadknown her from childhood; very nearly of the same age, and the childrenof neighbors, we had been inseparable; of course in my first collegevacation, finding her grown tall and womanly, I had entertained for hera devoted boyish passion, and had gone from her presence, one Augustnight, mad with rejection, and wild with what I called despair. But_that_ passed, and we had been good friends ever since--she theconfidential one, to whom I related my varied college love affairs, listening ever with a tender, genial sympathy. I had no sister, andGrace Jones (I am sorry, but her name _was_ Jones) was dear to me asone. Two years of professional study had kept me away from my villagehome, and a few words came once in a long while, in my mother's letters'to assure me of Grace's remembrance and regard. ' A little of the eldersister's advising tone amused my one and twenty years and my incipientmoustache amazingly; and I resolved, when I saw her, to convince her ofmy dignity--to patronize her. But the notes that called me home were tooclarion-like for a relapse into puppyism. My country spoke my name, andI arose a man, and 'put away childish things. ' I came home to sayfarewell. A regiment was forming there, I enlisted, and a few daysbefore our departure, I stood in the village church, looking andlistening while Grace promised eternal fidelity to Harry Fanning. I wasa stranger to him. He had come to Danville after my departure, winningfrom all golden opinions, and from Grace a woman's priceless heart. Shegave him freely to his country, and denied not her hand to his partingprayer. I had had time only to say farewell to her, and the old footinghad not been restored, but I _think_ she spoke to the major of me, forhe soon sought me, giving me genial friendship and sympathy, andprocuring for me, as I have related, my commission. I had seen her butonce since she came to Camp Alabama, and she gave me warm and kindlywelcome as I came in, the last of the group, having found in my tentsome unexpected employment. Being a soldier, I shall not shock my fairreaders if I confess that it was--buttons. Ah! me, I am frivolous. But Ilinger in the spirit of that happy hour. Grace's chair was shaded by agracefully draped flag; the major stood near her, his love for her asvisible in his eye as his cordial kindness for us. To me, in honor of my'juniority, ' as Mrs. Fanning said, was assigned a place near her. Theothers had choice between campstools and blankets on the grass. And theoddest but most respectable of contrabands served us soon with oursupper, so homelike that we suspected 'Mrs. Major's' fair hands ofinterference. 

It was a happy evening. Merry laughter at our camp stories rang silverlyfrom her fair lips. Or we listened eagerly to her as she told us of thehomes we had left, and the bonny maidens there, sobered since ourdeparture into patriotic industry. Stories of touching self-denial, witha wholesome pathos, and sometimes from her dainty musical talk shedropped, pebble-like, a name, as 'Fanny, ' 'Carry, ' 'Maggie, ' andresponsive blushes rippled up over sunburned, honest faces, and a softmist brightened for a second resolute eyes. Presently the band--a partonly of the regiment's--began to play soft, well-known tunes. Through afew marches and national airs, I looked and listened as a year before, in the village church at home. And as the 'Star-Spangled Banner' roseinspiringly, I felt the coincidence strangely, and could scarcely saywhich scene was real: the church aisle and the bridal party, in whiterobes and favors, with mellow organ-tones rising in patriotic strainsconcerning the 'dear old flag, ' or the group under the oaks; the youngwife in her gray travelling dress, and the uniformed figures gatheredaround her; the moon-rise over the hill, lighting softly the droopingflag, the major's dark hair, and Mrs. Fanning's sunny braids, the wildnotes of the same beloved melody overswelling all. But voices neararoused me, and we joined in the chorus, and in the following tune, 'Sweet Home, ' the usual finale of our evening programme. Then, as thetones died, Grace lifted her voice and sang with sweet, pure sopranotones, an old-time ballad of love and parting and reunion. 

We had a wild little battle song in 'Our Mess, ' written by CharlieMarsh, our fair-haired boy-poet soldier, speaking of home, and thecountry's need, and victory, and possible deaths in ringing notes. Wesang it there in the light of the slowly rising moon. The chorus waslike this:

 'Our country's foe before us, Our country's banner o'er us, Our country to deplore us, These are a soldier's needs. '

As we closed, Grace caught the strain, and with soft, birdlike notessang:

 'Your country's flag above you, Your country's true hearts love you-- So let your country move you To brave, undying deeds. '

More songs followed, and happy words of cheer in distress, ofself-consecration, of past and future victory; but Major Fanning wasunusually silent. Hardly sad, for he flung into our conversationoccasional cheerful words; but gravely quiet, his dark eye followingevery motion of his fair young wife. Finally we called on CaptainCarter, our 'oldest man, ' a grave bachelor of forty-five, and to oursurprise, who knew him harsh and sometimes profane, he sang, with avoice not faultless, but soft and expressive, that exquisite health ofCampbell's:

 'Drink ye to her that each loves best, And if you nurse a flame That's told but to her mutual breast, We will not ask her name. 

 'And far, far hence be jest or boast, From hallowed thoughts so dear; But drink to her that each loves most, As she would love to hear. '

Then silence for a little space; and the moonlight full and fair insoldiers' faces, young and old, but all firm and true, and fair and fullon Grace Fanning's fresh, young brow. Then 'good-nights, ' mingled withexpressions of enjoyment, and plans for the morrow. I left them last. 

'I am glad you are here, Robert, ' said the major; 'Grace would not beall alone, even if I'--

Her white hand flashed to his lips, where a kiss met it, and laughinglywe parted. A few rods away, I paused and turned. They stood there underthe flag. Her bright head on his bosom, his arms about her, and thesilver moonlight over all. Fair Grace Fanning! Have I named my storywrongly, pretty reader? I called it 'Camp Sketch, ' and it reads too likea love story. 'Ah! gentle girl, seeking adventure in fiction, butshrinking really from even a cut finger, there is enough of battle evenin my little story, though you slept peacefully and happily that fairJune night, or waltzed yourself weary to the sound of the sea at the'Ocean House. '

A few 'good nights' commendatory of our hostess and our evening greetedme as I sought my tent and made ready for sleep. I was very happy, nomemory of our talk was sullied by coarse or unlovely thought; pure asherself had been our enjoyment of Mrs. Fanning's society, and I sleptsweetly. 

The long roll! None but those who have heard it when it means instantdanger and possible death, can conceive the thrill with which I sprangfrom deep slumber, and made hasty preparation for action. Quick as Iwas, others had been before me, and I found the half-dressed men drawnup in battle line before the encampment. I took my place. 

Behind us lay the camp, a wide, street-like space, fringed with a doublerow of tents--at its foot the old log mansion; near that, a little infront, but at one side, the flag of headquarters--this behind. Before usthe major--the western wood, and the flashing sabres of a band ofhostile cavalry. They came on heedless of the fast-emptying saddles, on, _on_, and more following from the wood, the moon in the mid heaven, clear like day. 

A gallant charge--a firm repulse. Major Fanning's clear voice on thenight air, rallying the men to attack the furious foe. They sweep theirhorses around to left, but calmly the major wheels his battalion, stillunflanked; again those fierce steeds try the first point of attack;again we front them undaunted. In our turn, with lifted level bayonetswe charge; the enemy falls back--a shout threads along our lines, changing suddenly into a wail, for, calling us on, our leader falls. Pitiless to his noble valor, a well-aimed carbine-shot lays him low. They lift him, some brave soldiers near; and, his young face bathed inblood, they bear him to his waiting bride; he opens his eyes, as hepasses. 

'Courage! victory! my boys!' he calls; then, seeing me: 'Go! tell her, Robert. '

I call my orderly to my place, and before they have pierced our lineswith their beloved burden, I am at the tent door. She stands therewaiting, a little pistol in her hand--a light wrapper about her, and herfair hair streaming over her shoulders. I look at her mutely; she knowsthere is something terrible for her, and while I seek words, her eyegoes on, resting where down the moonlit trees they are bringing him. Amoment, she is by his side, and tearless and white, her hand on hisunanswering heart, she moves beside him. The soldiers lay their leaderon the ground under his flag, and her imperious gesture sends them backto their places in the battle. And then she, sinking beside him, criesout:

'Oh, Robert! will he never speak to me again? Help him!'

My two years at lectures had not been passed in vain, and surgery hadbeen my hobby. I knelt and strove to aid him. It was a cruel wound. Iasked for bandages. She tore them from her garments wildly. I stilledthe trickling crimson stream, and going into the tent, found somerestoratives. I poured the wine down his throat, and, soon opening hiseyes, he spoke:

'Grace!'

I stepped away--near enough for call, not near enough for intrusion. Looking at the lines of dark forms topped by the light glimmer of straybayonets, I saw with dismay that our men were retreating before thoseheavy charges; in thick, dense masses they moved back, nearing us. Ithought of our soldier chief, crushed under those wild hoofs; I thoughtof Grace, unprotected in her youth and widowed, desolate beauty, andsprang to her side, ready with my life for her. 

The major saw it all, and, faint as he was, rose on his elbow, watching. Charge after charge, wild and impetuous, break the slowly retreatingbattalions. In vain I heard Carter's stern oaths (may the angel of tearsforgive him!), and Charlie Marsh's boyish calls. The men are facing us. The enemy, cheering, and in the background huge torches flaming withpitch, are ready for incendiarism. 

'Grace! Grace! I _must_ rally them, let me go!' and I see Major Fanningstraggling in her arms. I clasp him also. 

'It is certain death, ' I say to her, mad with fright and misery. 

'And this is worse, worse, Grace; you might better kill me!' his voicewas harsh--cruel even. 

Suddenly she was gone, and I held him alone; catching his sword, shesprang like a flash of lightning into the open space before the loghouse, and, lifting the bare blade with naked, slender arm, its loosesleeve floating from her shoulder like a wing, she faced thosepanic-stricken men. 

'For shame!' she cried; but her weak voice was lost; then, stern as theangel of death, she stepped forward. 

'The first man that passes me shall die!' and she swung the flashingblade up, ready to fall. A moment's halt, and then, she spoke to themwith wonderful strange words. I cannot recall them; with inspiredeloquence she spoke, a slight, white-robed figure in the clearmoonlight, and the rout was stayed, and they turned bravely to meet thefoe. Then she came faint and weak to her husband's side again. He lookedup with glad, eager eyes. 

'Darling!'

Infinite love, soul-recognition, shone on both faces, and then blankunconsciousness crept over his. Firmly our boys met the charging steedsnow. That moment had restored to them their courage. Emptied saddleswere frequent, but still fresh forces dashed from the wood. Is there nohope for us? Must we be overpowered? Is all this valor vain? Grace fromher husband's side looks mutely up to heaven. I find my place among themen. Little hope remains. Some one calls 'retreat. ' 'Just once more, 'cries Charlie, and falls before us. But listen; above the battle dincomes a new, an approaching sound from the eastward. 

Along the yellow road pours swiftly a force of cavalry, behind therumble of cannon almost flying over the ground, and high in air, reelingfrom the swift motion of its bearer's steed, the banner of the free. Weare saved! A wild shout rings along our lines. Among the enemy, frightened consultation followed by flight; another second, and ourfriends are with us and beyond us in hot pursuit. 

Brief question and answer told us of the friendly warning in the distantcamp, the hasty march to aid us. The rest we saw. Then, 'A surgeon forMajor Fanning. ' The man of the green sash had not grown callous. Therewere tears in his eyes as he rose from his vain endeavors, saying only:

'I can do nothing here; I am needed elsewhere. '

Our young hero was dead!

They composed his limbs, laying him on a blanket under the trees, andGrace sat down beside him, tearless still, but pale as her dress, or thewhite hand lying cold over the soldier's pulseless heart. 

'Robert, send them away, ' she said to me, as sympathizing strangerspressed round; and they left us alone with the dead. I spoke at last thecommonplaces of consolation, suggested and modified by the hour and mysoldier feelings. 

'Yes, Robert, ' she answered, 'I gave him long ago. GOD will comfort mefor my hero--in time. Do not speak to me just yet. Do not let any onecome. '

The tears came now, and she wept bitterly, silently, under the starrybanner, beside the dead. I heard the hum of many voices, and now andthen a cry of pain, and knew they were all helping the sufferers. Then Iturned to her again. Her streaming hair swept the ground, golden in thelight. Her fair face was hidden on the cold dead face. And I dared notspeak to her. Oh, that picture! Poor Grace Fanning! and the silver, silver moonlight over all. 

POETRY AND POETICAL SELECTIONS. 

 'Oh, deem not in this world of strife, An idle art the Poet brings; Let high Philosophy control, And sages calm the stream of life; 'Tis he refines its fountain springs, The nobler passions of the soul. '

In the annals of literature, Poetry antedates Prose. Creation precedesProvidence, not merely in the order of sequence, but what is usuallycalled intellectual and physical grandeur. So in genius and taste, Poetry transcends prose. In the work of Creation the Almighty broke theawful stillness of Eternity, by His first creative fiat, and angels werethe first-born of God. They took their thrones in the galleries of theuniverse, and in silent contemplation sat. They spoke not; for words, assigns of thought or will or emotion, were not then conceived, and, consequently, then unborn. They gazed in rapture on one another, and insolemn silence thought. Their emotions bodied forth the Anthem ofCreation. 

Human words being created breath, and breath being air in motion, priorto these language was impossible. And as the deaf are always dumb, language, like faith, comes by hearing. But hearing itself is apensioner, waiting upon a speaker; consequently, it must ever becontingent on a cause alike antecedent and extrinsic of itself. It is, therefore, equally an oracle of reason and of faith that, however Godmay have communicated to angels, to _man_ He spoke in articulate sounds, before man articulated a thought, a feeling, or an emotion of his soul. And as an emotional soul is but a harp of many strings, a hand theremust have been to play upon its chords, before melody and harmony, twins-born of Heaven, had either a local habitation or a name. 

But, it may be asked--Is there not in the regions of Poetry an æolianharp, found in the cave of Æolus, on which the winds of heaven playedmany a celestial symphony, without the skill or touch of human hand?Grant all that the Poetic Muse assumes, and then we ask--Who made theharp? And whence directed came the musing sylvan Zephyrus and his choir?Came they not from a land of images and dreams?

But we are inquiring for originals. Images and originals are the polesapart. An original without an image is possible; but an image without anoriginal is alike impossible and inconceivable. Hence, alikephilosophically and logically, we conclude that _neither man nor angeladdressed each other until they themselves had been addressed by theirCreator_. Then they intercommunicated thought, sentiment, and emotionwith one another as God had communicated to them. 

The mystery of language and Poetry is insoluble but on the admission ofa revelation or communication of some sort, unconceived by the humanmind, unexecuted by the human hand. If invention and creation be thegrand characteristics of the Poet, Moses, if uninspired, was a greaterPoet than Homer, or Milton, or Shakspeare, on the hypothesis that heinvented the drama which he wrote. The first chapter of Genesis is thegreatest and most splendid Poem ever conceived by human imagination, orwritten by human hand. 

All Poets, ancient and modern, are mere plagiarists, if Moses wasuninspired. We prove his Divine Legation by the intrinsic andtranscendent merits of the Poem which he wrote. Imagination originatesnothing absolutely new. It merely imitates and combines. It is regardedas the creative faculty of man; but its material is already furnished. The portrait of an unreal Adam is as conceivable as a child without afather, or an effect without a cause. 

Thus we are obliged, by an inseparable necessity, to admit thecredibility of the Poem which he wrote. And what does Moses say? Nothingmore than that _God spoke, and the universe was!_ This is the sublime oftrue Poetry. This is more than the logic of the proposition, _God was, therefore we are!_ It is more than the philosophy, _ex nihilo, nihilfit!_ or than, that _nothing_ cannot be the parent of _something_. 

But we must place our foot on a higher round of the ladder, before wecan stand on such an eminence as to see, in all its fair proportions, the column on which the Muses perch themselves. 

Job, and not Moses, shall be our guide, and the oracle alike of ourreason and our imagination. But who is Job? There is not much poetry inthe name, Job. But Rome and its vulgate vulgarized this hallowed name, and Britain followed Rome. His name in Chaldee, Syriac, and Arabic, isJobab. There is more poetry in this. There is no metre, no poetry in amonotone or monosyllable. Born among rocks and mountains, the propertheatre of a heaven-inspired Muse--not in Arabia the Happy, but inArabia the Rocky--he was a heart-touching, a soul-stirring, emotionalBard. In such a case the clouds that overshadow the era of the man onlyenhance the genius and inspiration of the Poet. 

In internal and external evidence, according to our calendar of theMuses, he is the first-born of the Poets that yet survive the wastefulravages of hoary Time. He sings not, indeed, of Chaos and Eternal Night. But as one inspired by a heaven-born Muse, he echoes the chorus of theAngelic Song, when on the utterance of the first _fiat_ the MorningStars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy. Hence weargue, that Poetry is not only prior to prose, but that language, itsintellectual and emotional embodiment, is heaven-conceived, andheaven-born. 

But in a short essay it would be out of place and in bad taste toattempt a discourse upon the broad field of ancient or modern Poetry. Wemerely attempt to suggest one idea on this rich and lofty theme. Ourradical conception of the essential and differential attribute ofPoetry, as contradistinguished from prose, however chaste, pure, beautiful, and philosophic, is not mere art, nor science, but_creation_. 

The universe itself is a grand Heroic Poem. Hence its instrument is thatpower usually called Imagination. But _human_ imagination is not first, second, or third in rank on the scale of the universe. God Himselfimagined the universe before He created it. His imagination is infinite. The Cherubim and Seraphim have wings that elevate them above our zenith. And angels, too, excel us in this creative faculty, and therefore veiltheir faces before the Majesty of heaven and earth. Still, man has anhumble portion of it, and can turn it to a good account. 

But there is another idea essential to the character of Poetry, as goodor evil in its spirit and adornings. We need scarcely say, for we areanticipated by every reflecting mind, that this is the _spirit_ of thePoem. Poetry, in the abstract, is not necessarily good or evil. It maybe Christian, Jewish, Pagan, or Infidel in its spirit and tendencies. Itmay corrupt or purify the heart. It may save or ruin the reader infortune or in fame. Hence, as Poetry is powerful to elevate or degrade, to purify or to corrupt a people, much depends on the spirit of thePoetry which they may put into the hands of the youth of a country; aswell observed by an eminent moralist: 'Let me write the poems orballads of a people, and I care but little who enacts their laws. '

The genius of a Poet is a rare genius. And most happily it is so; forelevated taste and high-toned morality are not, by any means, the commonheritage of man. Anacreon and Burns were genuine Poets. They uttered, infine style, many truths; and were not merely fluent in their respectivelanguages, but affluent. But, perhaps, like some other men of mightyparts and grand proportions, better for mankind they had never beenborn. A Cowper and a Byron, in their whole career of song, will exert avery different influence, not only on earth, but in eternity, on thedestiny of their amateurs. We need not argue this position as though, among a Christian people, it were a doubtful or debatable position. Ifthe evil spirit, or the melancholy demon, that fitfully possessed thefirst king of Israel, was expelled by the skilful hand of his successor, even when his youthful fingers awoke the melodies of the lyre, how muchmore puissant the exquisite Odes of the sweet Psalmist, inspired as theywere with sentiments and views alike honorable to God and man, toelevate the conceptions, purify the heart, ennoble the aspirations, andadorn the life of man!

As the cask long retains the odor of the wine put into it, so the moraland religious fragrance of many a fine poetic effusion, securely lodgedin the recesses of memory, may yield, and often does yield, a richrepast of pleasurable associations and emotions which, beside theiropportune recurrence in some trying or tempting hour or season ofadversity, do often energize our souls with a moral heroism to deeds ofnobler daring, which result in enterprises full of blessings toourselves, and not unfrequently to our associates in the walks of life, and radiate through them salutary light for generations to come. 

Imagination, like every other faculty, is to be cultivated. But here weare interrogated--'What is Imagination?'

No distinction has given critics more trouble, in the way of definition, than that between Imagination and Fancy. Fancy, it is held, is given tobeguile and quicken the temporal part of our nature; Imagination toincite and support the eternal. 

It would be vain to enumerate the various definitions of this term, orto attempt to give even an abstract of the diversity of viewsentertained by philosophers respecting the nature and extent of itsoperations. It is regarded by some writers as that power or faculty ofthe mind by which it conceives and forms ideas of things communicated toit by the organs of sense. So defines our encyclopædias. Bacon definedit to be the 'representation of an individual thought. ' But DugaldStewart more philosophically defines it as the 'power of modifying ourconceptions, by combining the parts of different ones so as to form newwholes of our own creation. ' The Edinburgh Encyclopædia, not satisfiedwith this, says Webster defines it to be the _will working on thematerials of memory, selecting parts of different conceptions, orobjects of memory, to form some new whole_. 

This has long been our cherished view of Imagination. It creates only asa mechanic creates a chest of drawers, a sideboard, a clock, or a watch. It originates not a single material of thought, volition, or action. But, mechanic-like, it works by plumb and rule on all the materialsfound in the warehouse of memory; and manufactures, out of the sameplank of pine, or bar of iron, or wedge of gold, or precious stone, somenew utensil, ornament, or adornment never found in Nature. In itspresent form it is the offspring of the art and contrivance of man. Hence our invulnerable position against Atheism or Deism. _No one couldhave created the idea of a God or of a Christ, without a specialinspiration, any more than he could create a gold watch without themetal called gold. _

The deaf are necessarily dumb. The blind cannot conceive of color. APoet cannot work without language, any more than the nightingale couldsing without air. Language and prototypes precede and necessarilyantedate writing and prose. Hence the idea of Poetry is preceded by theidea of Prose, as speaking by the idea of hearing. There was reason, andan age of reason, without, and antecedent to, rhyme; and therefore wesometimes find rhyme without reason, as well as reason without rhyme. 

Rhyme, however, facilitates memory and recollection. Memory, indeed, isbut a printed tablet, and recollection the art and mystery of readingit. Poetry, therefore, is both useful and pleasing. It aidsrecollection, and soothes and excites and animates the soul of man. Itmakes deeper, more pungent, more stimulating, more exciting, and moreenduring impressions on the mind than prose; and, therefore, greatlyfacilitates both the acquisition and retention of ideas and impressions. Of it Horace says ('Ars Poetica'):

 'Ut pictura, poesis; erit, quæ, si propius stes, Te capiet magis, et quædam, si longius abstes. Hæc amat obscurum; volet hæc sub luce videri, Judicis argutum quæ non formidat acumen: Hæc placuit semel, hæc decies repetita placebit. '

No one ever attained to what is usually called _good taste_ who has notdevoted a portion of his time and study to the whole science and art ofPoetry. We do not mean good taste in relation to any one manifestationof it. 

There is a general as well as a special good taste, but they aredistinguishable only as genus and species. There is, it may be alleged, a _native_ as well as an _acquired_ taste. This may also be conceded. There is in some persons a greater innate susceptibility of derivingpleasure from the works of Nature and of Art than is discoverable inothers. Still we cannot imagine any one gifted with reason andsensibility to be entirely destitute of it. It is an element of reasonand of sense peculiar to man. As a fabulist once represented a cock inquest of barleycorns, scraping for his breakfast, saying to himself, ondiscovering a precious and brilliant gem: 'If a lapidary were in myplace he would now have made his fortune; but as for myself, I preferone grain of barley to all the precious stones in the world. '

But what man, so feeling and thinking, would not 'blush and hang hishead to think himself a man'? Apart from the value of the gem, every manof reason or of thought has pleasure in the contemplation of thebeautiful diamond, whether on his own person or on that of another. Taste seems to be as inseparable from reason as Poetry is fromimagination. It is not wholly the gift of Nature, nor wholly the gift ofArt. It is an innate element of the human constitution, designed tobeautify and beatify man. To cultivate and improve it is an essentialpart of education. The highest civilization known in Christendom is butthe result or product of good taste. Even religion and morality, intheir highest excellence, are but, so far as society is concerned, developments and demonstrations of cultivated taste. There may, indeed, be a fictitious or chimerical taste without Poetry or Religion; but agenuine good taste, in our judgment, without these handmaids, isunattainable. 

But as no interesting landscape--no mountain, hill, or valley, no river, lake or sea--affords us all that charms, excites or elevates ourimagination viewed from any one point of vision, so the poetic facultyitself can neither be conceived of nor appreciated, contemplated out ofits own family register. 

There is in all the 'Fine Arts' a common paternity, and hence a familylineage and a family likeness. To appreciate any one of them we mustform an acquaintance with the whole sisterhood--Poetry, Music, Painting, and Sculpture. 

And are not all these the genuine offspring of Imagination? Hence theyare of one paternity, though not of one maternity. The eye, the ear, andthe hand, has each its own peculiar sympathetic nerve. For, as all God'sworks are perfect, when and where He gives an eye to see or an ear tohear, He gives a hand to execute. This is the law; and as all God's lawsare universal as perfect, there is no exception save from accident, orfrom something poetically styled a _lusus naturæ_--a mere caprice orsport of Nature. 

But the philosophy of Poetry is not necessary to its existence any morethan the astronomy of the heavens is to the brilliancy of the sun or tothe splendors of a comet. A Poet is a creator, and his most perfectcreature is a portraiture of any work of God or man; of any attribute ofGod or man in perfect keeping with Nature or with the originalprototype, be it in fact or in fiction, in repose or in operation. 

Imitation is sometimes regarded as the test of poetic excellence. Butwhat is imitation but the creation of an image! Alexander Pope so wellimitates Homer, that, as an English critic once said, in speaking of histranslation of that Prince of Grecian Poets--'a time might come, shouldthe annals of Greece and England be confounded in some convulsion ofNature, when it might be a grave question of debate whether Popetranslated Homer, or Homer Pope. '

For our own part, we have never been able to decide to our own entiresatisfaction, which excels in the true Heroic style. Pope, in histranslation of the exordium of Homer, we think more than equals Homerhimself:

 'Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing! That wrath which hurled to Pluto's dark domain The souls of mighty chiefs in battle slain; Whose limbs, unburied on the fatal shore, Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore; Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, Such was the sovereign doom and such the will of Jove. '[18]

We opine that Pope, being trammelled with a copy, and consequently hisimagination cramped, displays every attribute of poetic genius fullyequal, if not superior, to that of the beau ideal of the Grecian Muse. 

But Alexander Pope, of England, is not the Pope of English Poetry, abrother Poet being judge, for Dryden says:

 'Three Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn; The first in majesty of thought surpassed, The next in melody--in both the last: The force of Nature could no further go, To make the third she joined the other two. '

And who awards not to Milton the richest medal in the Temple of theMuses! Not, perhaps, for the elegant diction and sublime imagery of hisPARADISE LOST, but for his grand conceptions of Divinity in all itsattributes, and of humanity in all its conditions, past, present, andfuture. 

We Americans have a peculiar respect for Lyric Poetry. We have not timefor the Epic. If anything with us is good, it is superlatively good forbeing brief. Short sermons, short prayers, short hymns, and short metreare peculiarly interesting. We are, too, a miscellaneous people, and weare peculiarly fond of miscellanies. The age of folios and quartos isforever past with Young America. Octavos are waning, and more in need ofbrushing than of burnishing. But still we must have Poetry--_good_Poetry; for we Americans prefer to live rather in the style of goodlyric than in that of grave, elongated hexameter. Variety, too, is withus the spice of life. We are not satisfied with grand prairies, rivers, and cataracts, and even cascades and _jet d'eaus_!

Collections of miscellaneous Poetry seem alike due to the Poetic Museand to the American people. We love variety. It is, as we have remarked, the spice of American life; and our country will ever cherish it asbeing most in harmony with itself. It is, moreover, more in unison withthe conditions of human nature and human existence. There is, too, asthe wisest of men and the greatest of kings has said, 'a time for everypurpose and for every work. ' No volume of Poetry or of Prose can, therefore, be popular or interesting to such a nation as we are, thatdoes not adapt itself to the versatile genius of our people, and to theever-varying conditions of their lives and fortunes. 

There is, therefore, a propriety in getting up good selections, becausea greater advantage is to be derived from well selected specimens of thePoetic Muse than from the labors of any one of the great masters of theLyre! Who would not rather visit a rich and extensive museum of theproducts and arts of civilized life--some well assorted repository ofits scientific or artistic developments, than to traverse a whole stateor kingdom in pursuit of such knowledge of the wisdom, talents, andcontrivances of its population?

Of all kinds of composition, Poetry is that which gives to the lovers ofit the greatest and most enduring pleasure. Almost every one of them canheartily respond to the beautiful words of one who was not only a greatPoet, but a profound philosopher--Coleridge--who, speaking of thedelight he had experienced in writing his Poems, says: 'Poetry has beento me its own exceeding great reward. It has soothed my afflictions; ithas multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared solitude; andit has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and theBeautiful in all that meets and surrounds me. '

In no way can the imagination be more effectually or safely exercisedand improved than by the constant perusal and study of our best Poets. Poetry appeals to the universal sympathies of mankind. With thecontemplative writers, we can indulge our pensive and thoughtful tastes. With the describers of natural scenery, we can delight in the beautiesand glories of the external universe. With the great dramatists, we areable to study all the phases of the human mind, and to take theirfictitious personages as models or beacons for ourselves. With the greatcreative Poets, we can go outside of all these, and find ourselves in aregion of pure Imagination, which may be as true to our higherinstincts--perhaps more so--than the shows which surround us. 

If it be as truthfully as it has been happily expressed by the prince ofdramatic Poets, that

 'He who has no music in his soul Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, '

it should be a paramount duty with every one who loves his species, andcultivates a generous philanthropy, to patronize every effort to diffusewidely through society, Poetry of genuine character, and to cultivate ataste for it as an element of a literary, religious, and moraleducation. We commend, as a standard of appreciation of the truecharacter of the gifts of the Poetic Muse, the following critique fromSheffield, Duke of Buckingham:

 ''Tis not a flash of fancy, which sometimes, Dazzling our minds, sets off the slightest rhymes, Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done; True wit is everlasting, like the sun, Which, though sometimes behind a cloud retired, Breaks out again, and is by all admired. Number and rhyme, and that harmonious sound Which not the nicest ear with harshness wound, Are necessary, yet but vulgar arts; And all in rain these superficial parts Contribute to the structure of the whole, Without a genius too--for that's the soul; A spirit which inspires the work throughout, As that of Nature moves the world about; A flame that glows amidst conceptions fit; E'en something of divine, and more than wit; Itself unseen, yet all things by it shown, Describing all men, but described by none. '

We neither intend nor desire to institute any invidious comparisonsbetween Old Britain and Young America. We are one people--one in blood, one literature, one faith, one religion, in fact or in profession. Ourlanguage girdles the whole earth. Our science and our religion more orless enlighten every land, as our sails whiten every sea, and ourcommerce, in some degree, enriches every people. There is a magnanimity, a benevolence, a philanthropy, in English Poetry, whether the Muse beEnglish, Scotch, Irish, or American, that thrills the social nerve andwarms the kindred hearts of all who think, or speak, or dream in ourvernacular. The pen of the gifted Bard is more puissant than thecannon's thundering roar or the warrior's glittering sword; and thesoft, sweet melodies of English Poetry, gushing from a Christian Muse, are Heaven's sovereign specifics for a wounded spirit and an achingheart!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 18:

 [Greek: Mênin aeide, thea, Pêlêiadeô, Achilêos, Oulomenên, hê myri' Achaiois alge' ethêken, Pollas d' iphthimous psychas Aidi proiapsen Hêrôôn, autous de helôria teuche kynessin

 K. T. L. ]]

PATRIA SPES ULTIMA MUNDI. 

FLAG OF OUR UNION. 

National Song. 

BY HON. ROBERT J. WALKER

_Dedicated to the Union Army and Navy. _

 The day our nation's life began, Dawned on the sovereignty of man, His charter then our Fathers signed, Proclaiming Freedom for mankind. May Heaven still guard her glorious sway, Till time with endless years grows gray. 

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

 Americans, your mighty name, With glory floods the peaks of fame; Ye whom our Washington has led, Men who with Warren nobly bled, Who never quailed on land or sea, Your watchword, _Death or Liberty_!

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

 It was the Union made us free, Its loss, man's second fall would be. States linked in kindred glory save, Till the last despot finds a grave; And angels hasten here to see Man break his chains, the whole earth free!

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

 Ye struggling brothers o'er the sea, Who spurn the chain of tyranny, Like brave Columbus westward steer, Our stars of hope will guide you here, Where States still rising bless our land, And freedom strengthens labor's hand. 

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

 Ye toiling millions, free and brave, Whose shores two mighty oceans lave: Your cultured fields, your marts of trade, Keels by the hand of genius laid, The shuttle's hum, the anvil's ring Echo your voice that God is King. 

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

 Hail! Union Army, true and brave, And dauntless Navy on the wave. Holy the cause where Freedom leads, Sacred the field where patriot bleeds; Victory shall crown your spotless fame, Nations and ages bless your name. 

 Flag of our Union! float unfurled, Thy stars shall light a ransomed world. 

A FANCY SKETCH. 

I am a banker, and I need hardly say I am in comfortable circumstances. Some of my friends, of whom I have a good many, are pleased to call merich, and I shall not take it upon myself to dispute their word. Until Iwas twenty-five, I travelled, waltzed, and saw the best foreign society;from twenty-five to thirty I devoted myself to literature and the art ofdining; I am now entered upon the serious business of life, whichconsists in increasing one's estate. At forty I shall marry, and as thisepoch is nine years distant, I trust none of the fair readers of thisjournal will trouble themselves to address me notes which I reallycannot answer, and which it would give me pain to throw in the fire. 

Some persons think it beneath a gentleman to write for the magazines orpapers. This is a low and vulgar idea. The great wits of the world havefound their best friends in the journals; there were some who neverlearned to write, --who ever hears of them now? I write anonymously ofcourse, and I amuse myself by listening to the remarks that societymakes upon my productions. Society talks about them a great deal, and Idivide attention with the last novelist, whether an unknown young ladyof the South, or a drumhead writer of romances. People say, 'That was abrilliant article of so and so's in the last ----, wasn't it?' You willoften hear this remark. I am that gentleman--I wrote that article--itwas brilliant, and, though I say it, I am capable of producing othersfully equal to it. 

Many persons imagine that business disqualifies from the exercise of theimagination. This is a mistake. Alexander was a business man of thehighest order; so was Cæsar; so was Bonaparte; so was Burr; so am I. Tobe sure, none of these distinguished characters wrote poetry; but I takeit, poetry is a low species of writing, quite inferior to prose, andunworthy one's attention. Look at the splendid qualities of these greatmen, particularly in the line in which the imaginative faculties tend. See how they fascinated the ladies, who it is well known adore a fineimagination. How well they talked love, the noblest of all subjects--fora man's idle hours. Then observe the schemes they projected. Conquests, consolidations, empires, dominion, and to include my own project, abullion bank with a ten-acre vault. It appears that a lack of capitalwas at the bottom of all their plans. Alexander confessed that he wasbankrupt for lack of more worlds, and is reputed to have shed tears overhis failure, which might have been expected from a modern dry-goodsjobber, but not from Alexander. Cæsar and Bonaparte failed for the wantof men: they do not seem to have been aware of the existence of RhodeIsland. I think Burr failed for the lack of impudence--he had more thanall the rest of the world together, but he needed much more than that topush his projects ahead of his times. As for myself, when I have doubledmy capital, I shall found my bullion bank in the face of all opposition. The ten-acre lot at the corner of Broadway and Wall street is alreadyselected and paid for, and I shall excavate as soon as the present cropis off. 

There is no question that the occupation of banking conduces to literarypursuits. When I take interest out of my fellow beings, I naturally takeinterest in them, and so fall to writing about them. I have in myportfolio sketches of all the leading merchants of the age, romanticallywrought, and full of details of their private lives, hopes, fears, andpleasures. These men that go up town every day have had, and still have, little fanciful excursions that are quite amusing when an observer of mytalent notes them down. I know all about old Boscobello, the Spanishmerchant, of the house of Boscobello, Bolaso & Co. My romance of hislife from twenty to forty fills three volumes, and is as exciting as thediaries of those amusing French people whom Bossuet preached to withsuch small effect. Boscobello has sobered since forty, and begs forloans as an old business man ought to. I think he sees the error of hisways, and is anxious to repair his fortunes to the old point, but it iseasier to spend a million than to make it. My cashier reports hisaccount overdrawn the other day, and not made good till late nextafternoon. This is a sign of failing circumstances, and must be attendedto. 

When Boscobello comes in about half past two of an afternoon for theusual loan of a hundred dollars to enable him to go on, I amuse myselfby talking to him while I look over his securities. He has two or threeloans to pay up before three o'clock, in different parts of the town, and we cannot blame him for being in a hurry, but this is no concern ofmine. If he _will_ get into a tight place, one may surely take one'stime at helping him out: and really it does require some little time toinvestigate the class of securities he brings, and which areastonishingly varied. For instance, he brought me to-day as collateralto an accommodation, a deed to a South Brooklyn block, title clouded; aMackerelville second mortgage; ten shares of coal-oil stock; anundivided quarter right in a guano island, and the note of a Presidentof the Unterrified Insurance Company. 'How much was the cartage, Bos?'said I, for you see my great mind descends to the smallest particulars, and I was benevolent enough to wish to deduct his expenses from thebonus I was about to charge him for the loan. 'Never mind the cartage, 'said he, 'that's a very strong list, and will command the money any dayin Wall street, but I have a particular reason for getting it of you. ''The particular reason being, ' said I, 'that you can't get it anywhereelse. Jennings, ' I continued to my cashier, 'give Mr. Boscobelloninety-five dollars Norfolk or Richmond due-bills, and take his checkpayable in current funds next Saturday for a hundred. '

Poor old Boscobello! A man at forty ought not to look old, but Bos hadoften seen the sun rise before he went to bed, and he _had_ been gay, soall my aunts said. Some stories Bos has told me himself, o' nights at myhouse, after having in vain endeavored to induce me to take shares inthe guano island, or 'go into' South Brooklyn water lots. 'I'm too oldfor that sort of a thing, Bos, ' I say; 'it's quite natural for you toask me, and I don't blame you for trying it on, but you must find someyounger man. Tell me about that little affair with the mysterious Cubanlady; when you only weighed a hundred and forty pounds, and never wentout without a thousand dollars in your pocket--in the blooming days ofyouth, Bos, when you went plucking purple pansies along the shore. '

Boscobello weighs over two hundred now, and would have a rush of bloodto the head if he were to stoop to pluck pansies. Mysterious Cubanladies, in fact ladies of any description, would pass him by as amiddle-aged person of a somewhat distressed appearance, and the dreamsof his youth are quite dreamed out. Nevertheless, when he warms with mywhite Hermitage, the colors of his old life come richly out into sight, and the romantic adventures of wealth and high spirits overpower, thoughin the tame measures of recital, all the adverse influences of thepresent hour. But as the evening wanes, the colors fade again; hisvoice assumes a dreary tone; and I once more feel that I am with a manwho has outlived himself, and who, having never learned where the lateroses blow, is now too old to learn. 

The reader will perceive I am sorry for Boscobello. If I am remarkablefor anything, it is for my humanity, consideration, and sympathy. 

These qualities of my constitution lead me to enter into the affairs ofmy clients with feeling and sincerity, but I fear I am sometimesmisunderstood. Not long ago I issued an order to my junior partners toexercise more compassion for those unfortunate men with whom we declinebusiness, and not to tumble them down the front steps so roughly. Letsix of the porters attend with trestles, I said, and carry them outcarefully, and dump them with discretion in some quiet corner, where, assoon as they recover their faculties, they may get up and walk away. Iput it to the reader if this was not a very humane idea, and yet thereare those who have stigmatized it as heartless. 

I wish I was better acquainted with the way in which common people live. I can see how I have made mistakes in consequence of not understandingthe restricted means and the exigencies of these people, who are styledrespectable merchants. Thus when Boscobello has made some more thanordinarily piteous application, I have said, 'Boscobello, dismiss aboutfifty of your servants;' or, 'Boscobello, sell a railroad and put themoney back again into your business;' or, 'Boscobello, my good friend, limit your table, say, to turtle soup, champagne, and truffles; livemore plainly, and don't take above ten quarts of strawberries a dayduring the winter, --the lower servants don't really need them;' or, 'Boscobello, if you are really short, send around a hundred or so ofyour fast trotters to my stables, and I'll pay you a long figure forthem, if they are warranted under two minutes. ' Boscobello has nevermade any very definite replies to such advice, and I have attributed hissilence to his nervousness; but I begin to suspect he has'nt quiteunderstood me on such occasions. Then again, when Twigsmith declared hewas a ruined man, in consequence of my refusal of further advances, andthat he should be unable to provide for his family, I said: 'Why, Twigsmith, retire to one of your country seats, and live on the interestof some canal or other, or discount bonds and mortgages for the countrybanks. ' Actually, I heard Twigsmith mutter as he went out, that itwasn't right to insult a man's poverty. Now I hadn't the remotest ideaof injuring Twigsmith's feelings, for he was a very clever fellow, andwe made a good thing out of him in his time, but it seems that my advicemight not have been properly grounded. 

It begins to occur to me that there _may_ be such a case as that a manmay want something, and not be able to get it; and again, that at such atime a weak mind may complain, and grow discouraged, and make itselfdisagreeable to others. 

There is a set of old fellows who call themselves family men, and applyfor discounts as if they had a right to them, by reason of their havingfamilies to provide for. I have never yet been able to see the logicalsequence of their conclusions, and so I tell them. What right does itgive anybody to my money that he has a wife, six children, and lives ina large house with three nursery-maids, a cook, and a boy to clean theknives? 'Limit your expenses, ' I say to these respectable gentlemen, 'doas I do. When Jennings comes to me on Monday morning, and reports thatthe receipts of the week will be eighty millions, exclusive of theLabrador coupons, which, if paid, will be eighty millions more, I say, 'Jennings, discount seventy, and don't encroach upon the reserves; youmay however let Boscobello have ten on call. ' This is true philosophy;adapt your outlay to your income, and you will never be in trouble, orgo begging for loans. If the Bank of England had always managed in thisway, they wouldn't have been obliged to call on our house for assistanceduring the Irish famine. '

These family men invite me to their wives' parties, constantly, unremittingly. The billets sometimes reach my desk, although I havegiven orders to put them all into the waste basket unopened. I went toone of these parties, only one, I give you my honor as a gentleman, andafter Twigsmith and his horrid wife had almost wrung my hand off, I waspresented to a young female, to whom Nature had been tolerably kind, butwho was most shamefully dressed. In fact her dress couldn't have costover a thousand dollars--one of my chambermaids going to a Teutonia ballis better got up. This young person asked me 'how I liked the Germania?'Taking it for granted that such a badly dressed young woman must be aschool teacher, with perhaps classical tastes, I replied that it was oneof the most pleasing compositions of Tacitus, and that I occasionallyread it of a morning. 'Oh, it's not very taciturn, ' she replied; 'I meanthe band. ' 'Very true, ' said I, 'he says _agmen_, which you translateband very happily, though I might possibly say 'body' in a familiarreading. ' 'Oh dear, ' she replied, blushing, 'I'm sure I don't know whatkind of men they are, nor anything about their bodies, but theycertainly seem very respectable, and they play elegantly; oh, don't youthink so?' 'I am glad you are pleased so easily, ' I answered; 'Tacitusdescribes their performances as indeed fearful, and calculated to strikehorror into the hearts of their enemies. But, ' continued I, endeavoringto make my retreat, for I began to think I was in company with an inmateof a private lunatic hospital, 'they were devoted to the ladies. ''Indeed they are, ' said she, 'and the harpist is _so_ gallant, and getsso many nice bouquets. ' It then flashed across my mind that she meantthe Germania musicians. 'They might do passably well, madame, ' said I, 'for a quadrille party at a country inn, but for a dress ball or adinner you would need three of them rolled into one. ' 'Oh, you gentlemenare so hard to please, ' she replied; and catching sight of theKoh-i-noor on my little finger, she began to smile so sweetly that Ifled at once. 

It was at that party that I perspired. I had heard doctors talk aboutperspiration, and I had seen waiters at a dinner with little drops ontheir faces, but I supposed it was the effect of a spatter, or that somechampagne had flown into their eyes, or something of that sort. But atthis party I happened to pass a mirror, and did it the honor to lookinto it. I saw there the best dressed man in America, but his face wasflushed, and there were drops on it. This is fearful, thought I; I tookmy _mouchoir_ and gently removed them. They dampened the delicatefabric, and I shook with agitation. The large doors were open, and aftera struggle of an hour and three quarters, I reached them, and promisingthe hostess to send my _valet_ in the morning to make my respects, whichthe present exigency would not allow me to stay to accomplish, I wasrapidly whirled homeward. I can hardly pen the details, but on theremoval of my linen, it was found--can I go on?--tumbled, and here andthere the snowy lawn confessed a small damp spot, or fleck of moisture. Remorse and terror seized me. Medical attendance was called, and Ipassed the night in a bath of attar of roses delicately medicated with_aqua pura_. Of course, I have never again appeared at a party. 

People haven't right ideas of entertainment. What entertainment is it tostand all the evening in a set of sixteen-by-twenty parlors, jammed inamong all sorts of strange persons, and stranger perfumes, deafened witha hubbub of senseless talk, and finally be led down to feed at a longtable where the sherry is hot, and the partridges are cold? Veryprobably some boy or other across the table lets off a champagne corkinto your eyes, and the fattest men in the room _will_ tread on yourtoes. One might describe such scenes of torture at length, but therecital of human follies and miseries is not agreeable to mysensibilities. 

I dare say the reader might find himself gratified at one of my littlefètes. The editors of this journal attend them regularly, and have doneme the honor to approve of them. You enter on Twelfth avenue; a modestdoor just off Nine-and-a-half street opens quietly, and you are usheredby a polite gentleman--one of our city bank presidents, who takes thismeans to increase his income--into an attiring room. Here you aredressed by the most accomplished Schneider of the age, in your ownselections from an unequalled _repertoire_ of sartorial _chef d'ouvres_, and your old clothes are sent home in an omnibus. 

I might delight you with a description of the ball room, but the editorshave requested me to the contrary. Some secrets of gorgeous splendorthere are which are wisely concealed from the general gaze. But a floorthree hundred feet square, and walls as high as the mast of an EastBoston clipper, confer ample room for motion; and the unequalledatmosphere of the saloon is perhaps unnecessarily refreshed by fountainsof rarest distilled waters. This is also my picture gallery, where allmythology is exhausted by the great painters of the antique; and modernart is thoroughly illustrated by the famous landscapes of bothhemispheres. The luxuriant fancy of my favorite artist has suggestedunique collocations of aquaria and mossy grottoes in the angles of theapartment, where the vegetable wealth of the tropics rises in perfectbounty and lawless exuberance, and fishes of every hue and shape flashto and fro among the tangled roots, in the light of a thousand lamps. Inthe centre, I have caused the seats of the orchestra to be hidden at thesummit of a picturesque group of rocks, profusely hung with vegetation, and gemmed with a hundred tiny fountains that trickle in bright beadsand diamonds into the reservoir at the base. From this eminence, themelody of sixty unequalled performers pervades the saloon, justlydiffused, and on all sides the same; unlike the crude arrangements ofmost modern orchestras, where at one end of the room you are delugedwith music, and at the other extremity you distinguish the notes withpain or difficulty. The ceiling, by a rare combination of mechanicalingenuity and artistic inspiration, displays, so as to quite deceive thesenses, the heavens with all their stars moving in just and harmoniousorder. Here on summer nights you see Lyra and Altair triumphantlyblazing in the middle sky as they sweep their mighty arch through theample zenith; and low in the south, the Scorpion crawls along the vergewith the red Antares at his heart, and the bright arrows of the Archerforever pursuing him. Here in winter, gazing up through the warm andperfumed air, you behold those bright orbs that immemorially suggest theicy blasts of January: Aldebaran; the mighty suns of Orion; diamond-likeCapella; and the clear eyes of the Gemini. Under such influences, withthe breath of the tropics in your nostrils, and your heart stirred bythe rich melodies of the invisible orchestra, waltzing becomes a sublimepassion, in which all your faculties dilate to utmost expansion, and youfloat out into happy forgetfulness of time and destiny. 

Rarely at these fêtes do we dance to other measures than those of thewaltz, though at times we find a relief from the luxuriance of thatdivine rhythm in the cooler cadences of the Schottish. By universalconsent and instinct, we banish the quadrille, stiff and artificial; thepolka, inelegant and essentially vulgar; and the various hybridmeasures with which the low ingenuity of professors has filled society. But we move like gods and goddesses to the sadly joyful strains ofStrauss and Weber and Beethoven and Mozart, and the mighty art of thesegreat masters fills and re-creates all our existence. 

Sometimes in these divine hours, thrilled by the touch of a companionwhose heart beats against and consonantly with mine, I catch glimpses ofthe possibilities of a free life of the spirit when it shall be releasedfrom earth and gravitation, and I conjecture the breadth of a futureexistence. This will only seem irrational to such as have squeezed outtheir souls flat between the hard edges of dollars, or have buried themamong theologic texts which they are too self-wise to understand. History and the experience of the young are with me. 

From twelve to four you sup, when, and as, and where, you will. Asuccession of little rooms lie open around an atrium, all different asto size and ornament, yet none too large for a single couple, and nonetoo small for the reunion of six. What charming accidents of company andconversation sometimes occur in these Lucullian boudoirs! You pass andrepass, come and go, at your own pleasure. Waltzing, and Burgundy, andLove, and Woodcock are here combined into a dramatic poem, in which weare all star performers, and sure of applause. These hours cannot lastforever, and the first daybeams that tell of morning, are accompanied bythose vague feelings of languor that hint to us that we are mortal. Thenwe pause, and separate before these faint hints of our imperfectiondeepen into distasteful monitions, and before our fulness of enjoymentdegenerates into satiety. Antiquity has conferred an immortal blessingupon us in bequeathing to us that golden legend, NE QUID NIMIS;[19] alegend better than all the teachings of Galen, or than all the dialoguesof Socrates. For in these brief words are compressed the experiences ofthe best lives, and Alcibiades and Zeno might equally profit by them. They contain the priceless secret of happiness; and do you, reader, wisely digest them till we meet again. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: 'Not too much. ']

THE SOLDIER. 

[BURNS. ]

 For gold the merchant ploughs the main, The farmer ploughs the manor; But glory is the soldier's pride, The soldier's wealth is honor. The brave, poor soldier ne'er despise, Nor count him as a stranger; Remember he's his country's stay In day and hour of danger!

OUR PRESENT POSITION: ITS DANGERS AND ITS DUTIES. 

ADDRESSED TO THE PEOPLE OF ALL POLITICAL PARTIES. 

When Daniel Webster replied to Senator Hayne, of South Carolina, duringthe exciting debate on the right of secession, he commenced hisever-memorable speech with these words:

 'When the mariner has been tossed for many days in thick weather and on an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm--the earliest glance of the sun--to take his latitude, and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from his true course. Let us imitate this prudence before we float farther, that we may at least be able to conjecture where we now are. '

No words are fitter for our ears at this tumultuous period than arethese, when the passions of our countrymen, North and South, are excitedwith the bitterest animosity, and when the discordant cries of partyfaction at the North are threatening a desolation worse than that ofcontending armies. In considering, then, our condition, it behooves usfirst, to 'take our latitude, and ascertain where we now are, '--not as asection or a party, but as a nation and a people. Let us avail ourselvesof that distant and dim glimmer in the heavens which even now is lookedupon by the sanguine as the promise of peace, and in its light surveyour dangers and nerve ourselves to our duties. We behold, then, apeople, bound together by the ties of a common interest, namely, national prosperity and renown, and in possession of a land more favoredby natural elements of advantage than any other on the face of theglobe. We see them standing up in the ranks of hostile resistance eachto each, the one great and glorious army fighting for the restoration ofa nation once the envy of the world; the other great and glorious armyequally ardent and valorous in behalf of a separation of that territoryin which they are taught to believe we cannot hold together in peace andamity. Both armies and people are evincing in their very warfare theelements of character which heretofore distinguished us as a nation, andare employing the very means for each other's destruction which were oflate the principles of action which rendered us in the highest degree anation worthy of respect at home and admiration abroad. It is not thepurpose of this paper to go back to causes or to relate the subsequentevents which have placed us where we are. These causes and events arewell known to us and to the world. But here we now stand, with thisfratricidal war increased to the most alarming proportions, and with, results but partially developed. Here we of the North stand, with astill invincible army, loyal to the cause nearest to the heart of everypatriot, and confident in the ability to withstand and overcome themachinations of the enemy. Here, too, we--ay, _we_ of the South stand, bound together in a common aim, an ardent hope, and a proclaimed andomnipotent impulse to action. _This is the only proper view to take ofthe case_--to regard our opponents as we regard ourselves, and to givedue credit where credit is due for valor, for motives, and forprinciples of action. The North believes itself to be engaged in astrife forced upon it by blinded prejudice and evil passion, and fightsfor that which, if not worthy of fighting, ay, and dying for, is unfitto live for, namely, national integrity. The South claims, little as wecan understand it, the same ground for rising against the land they hadsworn to protect, and whose fathers died with our fathers to create. Weat the North would have been pusillanimous and weak indeed had wesilently submitted to that which is in our view against every principleof national right and renown. To have acted otherwise would have been tobring down upon our heads the scorn and contempt of our enemies and ofevery foreign power, from the strongest oligarchy to the most benevolentform of monarchical government. Hence it is that while certain foreignpowers have not failed to improve the opportunity of our weakness, as adivided nation, to insult and sneer, to preach peace with dishonor, andadvocate separation, which they know to be but another word forhumiliation, yet have they not failed to see and been forced to confessthat, divided as we are, we have shown inherent greatness and power, _which, united, would be a degree of national superiority which mightwell defy the world_. Nothing is more striking at this moment than thisgreat fact, and no topic is more worthy of the serious consideration ofour countrymen, North and South, than this. No time is fitter than nowto suggest the subject, and to see in it matter which is pregnant withhopes for our future. If nothing but this great truth had been developedby the war--this truth, bold, naked, defiant as it is, _is worth thewar_--worth all its cost of noble lives, of sacred blood, of yetuncounted treasure. We stand before the world this day divided by thefearful conflict, with malignant hate lighting the fires of either camp, and with hands reeking in fraternal blood--with both sections of ourland more or less afflicted--with credit impaired, with the scoff andjeers of nations ringing in our ears--we stand losers of almost everything but our individual self-respect, which has inspired both foes withthe ardor and courage born within us as Americans. This it is thatleaves us unshorn of our strength; this it is that enables us in thisvery day of trial and adversity to present to the world the undeniablefact that we have within us--not as Northerners, not as Southerners, _but as Americans_--the elements of innate will and physical power, which makes the scale of valor hang almost with an even beam, andforetells us, with words which we cannot but hear--and which would toGod we might heed!--that, united, we can rear up on this beautiful andbountiful land a temple of political, social, and commercial prosperity, more glorious than that which entered into the dreams and aspirations ofthe fathers who founded it. 

Alas! that the contemplation of so worthy a theme is marred by the 'ifs'and 'buts' of controversial strife. Alas! that we cannot depress thesectional opposing interests which are but secondary to a condition ofpolitical consolidation, and elevate above these distracting andisolated evils, the great and eternal principle, Strength as it aloneexists in Unity. Alas! that with the beam of suicidal measures we blindthe eye political, because, forsooth, the motes of individual or localinjuries afflict, as they afflict _all_ human forms of government. 

The great evil, North and South, before the war, during the war, andnow, is the want of political charity--that charity which, like itsmoral prototype, 'suffereth long and is kind. ' We the people, North andSouth, have been and are unwilling to grant to the other people andStates the right to think, speak, and urge their own opinions--the veryright which each insists upon claiming for itself. It has been held'dangerous' to discuss questions which, though in one sense pertainingonly to particular States, nevertheless bear upon the whole country. Ithas been considered 'heresy' to urge with rhetoric and declamation, evenin our halls of Congress, certain principles for and against Slavery, for example, lest mischief result from the agitation of those topics. But in such remonstrance we have forgotten that the very principle ofdemocratic institutions involves the right of all men to think and act, under the law, as each pleases. We have also forgotten that any subjectwhich will not bear discussion and political consideration must bedangerous _in itself_, and pregnant with weakness, if not evil. There isno harm in discussing questions upon which hang vital principles; for ifthere exists on the one side strength and justice, all arguments on theother side can do it no injury. With regard to Slavery, one of the'causes' or 'occasions' of this unhappy war, it may be said that theNorth owes much to the South which it has never paid, in a true andkindly appreciation of the difficulties which have ever surrounded theinstitutions of the latter. But let us not forget that one reason whythis debt has not been paid is because the South owes the North itsvalue received, by not being willing to admit in the other's behalf themotives which underlay the efforts which have been made by the earnest, or so-called 'radical' men, who have opposed the institution of slavery. Pure misunderstanding of motive, pure lack of political as well as moralcharity, has been wanting between the men of the North who opposed, andthe men of the South who maintained the extension of slavery. Had eachunderstood the other better, it is probable that the character of eachwould have assumed the following proportions: The slaveholder of theSouth, inheriting from generations back a system of servitude which evenancient history supported and defended, and which he in his inmost heartbelieves to be beneficial to the slave not less than the master, regardshimself as violating no law of God or man in receiving from thisinferior race or grade of men the labor of their hands, and the right totheir control, while they draw from him the necessary physical supportand protection which it is in his belief his bounden duty to give. Theplanter, a gentleman educated and a Christian, with the fear of Godbefore his eyes, believes this--the belief was born in him and dies inhim, and he is conscientiously faithful in carrying out the principlesof his faith. I speak now of no exceptional, but of general cases, instancing only the representative of the highest class of Southern men. Is it to be wondered at that such a man, looking from _his_ point ofvision, should regard with suspicion and distrust the efforts of thosewho sought to abolish even by gradual means the apparent sources of hisprosperity? Is it remarkable that he should regard as his enemy the manwho preaches against and denounces as criminal the very system in whichhe trusts his social and political safety? He will not regard thatapparent enemy what at heart and soul he really is, namely, a man aspure and devout, as well meaning and conscientious as himself. The manwhom he scoffs at as a 'radical, ' an 'abolitionist, ' and a 'fanatic, ' byeducation and intuition believes in his very soul that the holding ofmen in bondage, forcing from them involuntary labor, and theconsequences thereof, are pregnant with moral and political ruin anddecay. The system, not the men, is offensive to his eyes. Is he to blamefor this opinion, provided it be well founded in his mind? Admit iteroneous in logic, still, if he believes it, is he to be condemned forholding the belief, and would he not be contemptible in his own eyes ifhe feared to express the moral convictions of his soul? The error ofboth has been that both are uncharitable--both unwilling to allow theright of opinion and freedom of debate on what both, as Americancitizens, hold to be vital principles, dependent upon constitutionalprovisions; the one claiming Slavery as the 'corner stone of politicalfreedom, ' the other as the stumbling block in the way of itsadvancement. This unwillingness to appreciate the motives of opposingminds led at last one section of our beloved country to an unwillingnessto recognize the right of election, and, worse than all, anunwillingness to abide by the results of that election. When thatprinciple--submission to the will of the majority--was overthrown, then, indeed, did the pillars of our national temple tremble, and the seat ofour national power rock in its foundation. 

And now a word in connection with this same principle of submission, asapplicable to the people of the North in our present emergency. Inaccordance with the plan adopted by the founders of our Government, andpractically illustrated in the election of George Washington and hissuccessors, the people by a plurality of votes elected to office andplaced at the head of our political system as its highest authority andruler, the present Chief Magistrate. From the day of his acknowledgedelection, party politics settled into the calm of acquiescence, and allloyal and true States and men bowed to the arbitrament of the ballotbox. That man, Abraham Lincoln, instantly became invested with thepotential right of rule under the Constitution, and the great principleof constitutional liberty in his election and elevation stood justified. It mattered not then, nor matters it now, to us, what may be individualopinion of his merits or demerits, his ability or his disability. Therehe is, not as a private citizen, but as the head of our Government: hisindividuality is lost in his official embodiment. This principle beingacknowledged, and party opinion being buried, in theory at least, at thefoot of the altar of the Government _de facto_, whence is it that atthis time creeps into our council chambers, our political cliques, oursocial haunts, our market places, ay, our most sacred tabernacles--aspirit adverse to the principles for which we are fighting, laboringfor, and dying for? Let us--a people anxious for peace on honorablegrounds, anxious for a Union which no rash hand shall ever again attemptto destroy--look, with a moment's calm reflection, at this alarmingevil. 

It is very evident to most men that, in spite of temporary defeats andan unexpected prolongation of the war, the loyal States holdunquestionably the preponderance of power. Nothing but armedintervention from abroad can now affect even temporarily thispreponderance. As events and purposes are seen more clearly through thesmoke of the battle fields by the ever-watchful eyes of Europe, armedintervention becomes less and less a matter of probability. The hopes ofan honorable peace, therefore, hang upon the increase and continuance ofthis military preponderance. With the spirit of determination evinced byboth combatants, the unflinching valor of both armies, and with theunquestioned resources and ability to hold out of the North, it appearsevident that the strife for mastery will in time terminate in favor ofthe loyal States. There is but one undermining influence which candefeat this end, and still further prolong the war, or, what is worse, plunge the North into the irretrievable disaster of internalconflict--and that undermining influence is _dissension amongourselves_. Such a consummation would bring joy to the hearts of ourenemies and lend them the first ray of real hope that ultimateseparation will be their purchased peace. We will not here draw apicture of that fallacious peace, that suicidal gap, whose festeringpolitical sore would breed misery and ruin, not only for ourselves, butfor our posterity, for ages to come. But let us be warned in time. Evennow the insidious movement of dissension is hailed with satisfaction anddelight in the council meetings at Richmond, and no effort will bespared to aid its devastating progress. False rumors will be raised onthe slightest and most insignificant grounds. Trivial mistakes andblunders in the cabinet and the field will be magnified; factsdistorted, and the flame be blown by corrupting influences abroad andat home, in the hopes--let them be vain hopes--that we the people willbe diverted from the great cause we have most at heart into side issuesand sectional distrust. And why? Because more powerful than serriedhosts and open warfare is the poison of sedition and conspiracy that isthrown into the cup of domestic peace and confidence--more fatal thanthe ravages of the battle field is that of the worm that creeps slowlyand surely--weakening, as it works, the foundations of the edifice inwhich we dwell unsuspicious of evil. Is it astonishing that they, theenemies of our common weal, should rejoice in these signs of incipientweakness, or fail to resort to any expedient whereby our strength as aunited and loyal people can be made less? Have they not shown themselvescapable and ready to avail themselves of every weakness in our counselsand in the field? Would not we do the same did we perceive distrust anddissatisfaction presenting through the mailed armor of our opponents avulnerable point for attack? Then blame them not with mutteredimprecations, but look--ay, look to ourselves. The shape of thisundermining influence is political dissension at a period when the nameof 'party' ought to be obliterated from the people's creed. Let opinionon measures and men have full and unrestricted sway, so far as theseopinions may silently work under the banner of the one great cause ofself-preservation; but let them not interfere with the prosecution ofthe efforts of the Government, whether State or national, to prosecutethis holy and patriotic war in defence of the principles which createdand are to keep us a united nation. Let us not tempt the strength of theice that covers the waters of political and partisan problems, while wehave enough to do to protect and cover the solid ground already in ourpossession. The President of the United States, be he who or what hemay--think he how or what he will, enact he what he chooses--is, let usremember, the corner stone of our political liberty. The Constitution isa piece of parchment--sacred and to be revered--but it is, in itsoutward presentment, material and inactive. The _spirit_ of theConstitution is intangible and ideal, its interpretation alone is itsvitality. We the people--through equally material morsels of paperentitled votes--raise the spirit of the Constitution by placing in thehalls of Congress the interpreters of that Constitution, over whom andabove all sits the Chief Magistrate, who, once endowed by us with power, retains and sways it until another, by the same process, carries out atour will the same eventualities. Our part as electors and adjudicatorsis done, and it ill becomes us to weaken or hold up to the ridicule ofthe world the power therein invested, by questions as to the President's'right' or 'power' or 'ability' to enact this measure or that. 

Away then with the unseemly cry of 'the Constitution as it is, ' 'theUnion at it was, ' the 'expediency' or 'non-expediency' of employing thewar power, the interference or the non-interference of the man and themen established by us to represent us with the military leaders, thefinances, or the thousand and one implements of administration, _whichthey are bound to employ_, not as we, but as they, holding our powers ofattorney for a specified and legalized period, in their human wisdomdeem best for the common good of the land. Let us have faith in themotives and intentions of our political administration, or if we havelost our faith, let us submit--patiently and with accord. Above all, ata period like this, when the minds of the best men and the truest areoppressed with a sense of the injustice with which a portion of ourcountrymen regard us, it most behooves us to keep our social andpolitical ranks closed and in order, subject to the will of thatcommander, disobedience to which is infamy and ruin. No matter withwhat diversity of tongues and opinions we pursue our individualavocations and aims, we are all pilgrims pressing forward like thefollowers of Mohammed to the Kêbla stone of _our_ faith--Peace foundedon Union. 

What if a party clique utters sentiments adverse to our own on the neverceasing topic of political policy? Is it not the expression of a mind ora hundred minds forming a portion of the great body politic, of which weourselves are a part, and are they not entitled to their opinion andmodes of expressing it, providing it be done with decorum and with aproper respect for the opinions of their adversaries? Why then do we orthey employ, through the press and in rhetorical bombast, opprobriousepithets, fit only for the pot-house or the shambles? Shall we men andcitizens, each of us a pillar upholding the crowning dome of ournationality, be taught, like vexed and querulous children, the impotenceof personal abuse? Why seek to lay upon the head of this Cabinet officeror that, this Senator or that, the responsibility of temporary militarydefeats, when we are no more able to command and prevent reverses thanare they? Or if in our superior wisdom we deem ourselves to be thebetter able to direct and administer, why do we forget that others amongus, inspired by the same love of country, and equally ardent for itssafety and advancement, hold exactly contrary opinions? It is not amatter of opinion--it is not a matter for interference, it is simply andonly a matter for untiring unflinching confidence and support. We havedone our duty as a people, and elected our Administration--let us, inthe name of all that is sublime and fundamental in republicanprinciples, support and not perplex them in the hard and complex problemwhich they are appointed to solve. These are principles, which, howevertrite, need to be kept before us and practically sustained at a periodwhen, as is often the case in long and tedious wars, the dispiritinginfluence of delays and occasional defeats work erroneous conclusions inthe minds of the people, leading to unjust accusations against the menin power, and an unwillingness to frankly acknowledge that the evil toooften originated where the result most immediately occurred. In otherwords, our armies have often suffered simply and for no other reasonthan that they were outgeneralled on the field of battle, or overpoweredby military causes for which no one is to blame--least of all, thePresident or his advisers. 

And here let one word be said against the arguments of thosewell-meaning and patriotic men who attempt to prove that certain acts ofthe Government have been injudicious and unwise--such, for example, asthe suspension of the habeas corpus, the alleged illegal arrests, andthe emancipation policy. It is not the purpose of this paper to enterinto additional argument to sustain this opinion or to disprove it. Butin justice to the Government--simply because it is a Government--let itnot be forgotten that when events heretofore unforeseen and unpreparedfor are throwing our vast nation into incalculable confusion, and whenit becomes absolutely imperative that the head of the Government mustact decisively and according to the promptness of his honest judgment, and when we know equally well that that judgment, be it what it may, cannot accord with the various and diverse opinions of _all_ men, thenit behooves his countrymen, if not to acquiesce in, to support whateverthat honest judgment may decide to be best for the emergency. No doubt, errors have been made, but they are errors inconceivably less in theirresults than would be the unpardonable sin of the people, should they, because differing in opinion, weaken the hands and confuse the purposesof the powers that be. With secret and treacherous foes in our verymidst, hidden behind the masks of a painted loyalty, the President, after deep and earnest consultation and reflection, deemed it his dutyto authorize arrests under circumstances which he solemnly believed werethe best adapted to arrest the evil, though, by so doing, many good andinnocent men might temporarily suffer with the bad. So too with regardto the proclamation of freedom--be the step wise or unwise, and there isby no means a unity of sentiment on this head--the President conceivedit to be the duty of his office--a duty which never entered into hisplans or intentions until the war had increased to gigantic andthreatening proportions--to level a blow at what he and millions of hiscountrymen believe to be the stronghold of the enemy, viz. , that systemof human servitude which nourished the body politic and social nowstanding in armed and fearful resistance to the Constitution and thelaws. It matters not, so far as opinion goes, whether the step was wiseor foolish, if the executive head deemed it wise. Nor was it a hasty orspasmodic movement on his part. Months were devoted to itsconsideration, and every argument was patiently and candidly listened tofrom all the representatives of political theory for and against. Eventhen no hasty step was taken; but, on the contrary, our deludedcountrymen in arms against us were forewarned, and earnestly, respectfully advised and entreated to take that step in behalf of Unionand peace, which would leave their institution as it had existed. Nay, more: terms whereby no personal inconvenience or pecuniary loss to themwould be involved if they would but be simply loyal to the Government, were liberally offered them, with three months for their consideration. Let those of us who, notwithstanding these ameliorating circumstances, doubt the good policy of the act, remember that they of the South, ouropen foes, invited the measures. Their leaders acknowledged and theirpress boasted that the Southern army never could be overcome--if for noother reason, for this reason, that while the army of the North wascomposed of the bone and muscle of the great working classes, drawn awayfrom the fields of labor and enterprise, which must necessarily, intheir opinion, languish from this absence, the Confederate army wascomposed of 'citizens' and property owners (to wit, slaveholders), whoseabsence from their plantations in no way interfered with the growth oftheir cotton, sugar, corn, and rice, from which sources of wealth andnourishment they could continue to draw the sinews of war. They wentfarther than this, and acted upon their declaration by employing theirsurplus slave labor in the work of intrenching their fortifications, serving their army, and finally fighting in their army. 

Upon this basis of slave labor they asserted their omnipotence in warand ability to continue the struggle without limit of time. Thesubsidized press of England supported this theory, and declared thatwith such advantages it was idle for the Federal Government to maintaina struggle in the face of such belligerent advantages! Then, and nottill then, were the eyes of the President open to a fact which none butthe political blind man could fail to observe, and then it was that notonly the President, but a very large proportion of our countrymen, heretofore strictly conservative men, felt that the time had come whenfurther forbearance would be suicidal. Although many doubted and stilldoubt if slavery was the cause of the rebellion, very many were forcedto the conclusion that what our enemies themselves admitted to be thestrength of the rebellion was indeed such, and that the time had arrivedto avail themselves of that military necessity which authorizes theGovernment to adopt such measures as may be deemed the most fitting forcrushing rebellion and restoring our constitutional liberty. Let usthink, then, as we please upon the judiciousness of theproclamation--that it was uttered with forethought, calmness, and with afull sense of the responsibility of the President to his God and hiscountry, none of us can deny. With this we should be satisfied. We havebut one duty before us, then, as a government and a people--and that is, an earnest, devoted prosecution of this war for the integrity of ourcommon country. In the untrammelled hands of that Government let usleave its prosecution. We have but one duty before us as individuals, and that is to support the existing Government with our individualmight. Let the cry be loud and long, as, thank Heaven, it still is, 'Onwith the war, ' not for war's sake, but for the sake of that peace, whichonly war, humanely and vigorously conducted, can achieve. 

Fling personal ambition and individual aggrandizement to the winds. Letpolitical preferment and partisan proclivities bide their time, and as aunited and one-minded people, devote heart and mind, strength and money, to the prosecution of the campaign, without considering what may be itsduration, and without fear of circumstance or expenditure. If it benecessary, let the public debt be increased until it reaches and exceedsthe public liabilities of the most indebted Government of Europe. We andour descendants will cheerfully pay the interest on that expenditurewhich purchased so great a blessing as national endurability. Meanwhile, with unity, forbearance, perseverance, and the silent administration ofthe ballot box, we will, as a people, maintain, notwithstanding that aportion of the land we hold dear stands severed from us by hatred andprejudice, the prosperity which we still claim, and the renown which wasonce accorded to us. By so doing, and by so doing only, shall our formergrandeur come back to us--though its garments be stained with blood. Agrandeur which, without hyperbole, it may be said, will outstrip theglory which, as a young and sanguine people, we have ever claimed forour country. The reason for so believing is the simple and undeniablefact that out of the saddening humiliation and devastation of this civilwar has arisen the better knowledge of the wonderful resources, abilities, and determined spirit of the American people. We see--bothcombatants--that we are giants fighting, and not quarrelling pigmies, asthe foreign enemies of us both have vainly attempted to prove. We see, both combatants, how vast and important to each is the territory we arestruggling for, how inseparable to our united interests are the sourcesof wealth imbedded in our rocks, underlying our soil, and growing in itsbeneficent bosom. We see, both combatants, how strong is the commerce ofthe East to supply, like a diligent handmaiden, the wants of everysection; how bountiful are the plantations of the South and thegranaries of the West to keep the world united to us in the strong bondsof commercial and friendly intercourse; how absolutely necessary to theprosperity of both are the deep and wide-flowing rivers which run, likesilver bands of peace, through the length and breadth of a land whosevast privileges we have been too blind to appreciate, and in thatblindness would destroy. Above all, we are _beginning_ to see that liketwo mighty champions fighting for the belt of superiority, we canneither of us achieve that individual advantage which can utterly andforever place the other beyond the ability of again accepting thegauntlet of defiance, and that our true and lasting glory can aloneproceed from a determination to shake hands in peace, and, as unitedchampions, defying no longer each other, defy the world. Nor would theSouth in consenting to a reunion _now_ find humiliation or dishonor. Shehas proved herself a noble foe--quick in expedient, firm indetermination, valorous in war. We know each other the better for thecontest; we shall, when peace returns, respect each other the more; andalthough the cost of that peace, whenever it comes, will be thesacrifice of many local prejudices and sectional privileges, what, oh, what are such sacrifices to the inestimable blessings of nationalsalvation?

THE COMPLAINING BORE. 

About the most disagreeable people one meets with in life are those whomake a business of complaining. They ask for sympathy when they meritcensure. There is no excuse for man or woman making known their privategriefs except to intimate friends or those who stand in the nearestrelation to them. I have no patience with the man who wishes to catchthe public ear with the sound of his repining. Be it that he complain ofthe world generally, or specify the particular occasion of hisdumpishness, he is in either aspect equally contemptible. What aserio-comic spectacle a man presents who imagines that everybody is in aleagued conspiracy against him to disappoint his hopes and thwart hisplans for success! He thinks he is kept from rising by some untowardfate that is bent on crushing him into the ground, feels that he is thevictim of persecution, the sport of angry gods. Not having the spirit ofa martyr, he frets and fumes about his condition, and finds a selfishrelief in counting over his grievances in the presence of all who aregood-natured enough to listen. Such a fellow is a social nuisance--awaywith him! The fact usually is that the world has more reason to complainof him than he of the world. For instance, I know a man who has becomemisanthropic, but who should hate himself instead of the whole race. 

Mr. Jordan Algrieve has become disgusted with life, and confesses thanhis experiment with existence has thus far proved a failure. He hascombated with the world, and the world has proved too much for him, andhe acknowledges the defeat. Mr. Algrieve is on the shady side of fifty, and his hair getting to be of an iron gray. His features are prominent, with a face wrinkled and shrivelled by discontent and acidity of temper. His tall figure is bent, not so much by cares and weight of years, as ina kind of typical submission to the stern decree of an evil destiny. 

Strange to say, he is well educated, and graduated with honor at one ofour Eastern colleges. With a knowledge of this fact, it is pitiable tosee him standing at the corner of the street in his busy town in a suitof seedy black and a shockingly bad hat, chafing his hands together andpretending to wait for somebody who never comes. 

Poor Algrieve, he is a man under the table, and he knows it. He hastried to be somebody in his way, but has failed sadly in all hisefforts. It is said that Algrieve always had a constitutional aversionto legitimate and continued labor, but has a passion for making strikesand securing positions that afford liberal pay for little work. 

Thinking a profession too monotonous and plodding, he never took thetrouble to acquire one. As to honest manual toil, that was an expedienthe never so much as dreamed of. In early life he was so unfortunate asto secure an appointment to a clerkship in the Assembly, and after thathe haunted the State Legislature for five or six winters in hot pursuitof another place, but his claims failing to be recognized, he relapsedinto the natural belief that his party was in league to proscribe him. After making a large number of political ventures of a more ambitiousorder, and with the same mortifying results, he abandoned that field andtook to speculation in patent rights. He vended a wonderful churn-dash, circulated a marvellous flatiron, and expatiated through the country onthe latest improvement in the line of a washing machine. But theseoperations somehow afforded him but transient relief, and left himalways involved still more largely in debt. At different times in hislife he had also been a horse dealer, a dry-goods merchant, a saloonkeeper, the proprietor of a tenpin alley, and managed to grow poorer inall these various occupations. The last I saw of him he was reduced topeddling books in a small way, carrying his whole stock in a new marketbasket. He was very importunate in his appeals to customers to purchase, putting it upon the ground that he had been unfortunate and had a claimto their charity. I happened to see him in the office of the popularhotel in Podgeville, when he was more than usually clamorous forpatronage. He accosted nearly every man in the room with a dull, uninteresting volume in his hand, and for which he asked a respectableprice. At last he set down his basket, and commenced a kind ofsnivelling harangue to his little audience. Mr. Algrieve opened bysaying:

 'Gentlemen, you'll pardon me for thrusting myself upon your attention; but it is hard to have the world turned against ye, and to work like a slave all your life to get something to fall back on in old age, and then have to die poor at last! I hope none of you have ever known what it is to be born unlucky; to never undertake anything but turned out a failure, and to meet disappointment where you deserved success. I am such a man!'

Here Mr. Algrieve produced a fragmentary pocket handkerchief for theostensible purpose of absorbing an expected tear, but really to give hisremark a tragic effect. He continued:

 'Behold an individual who has been doomed to penury and destitution, but who has not met his fate without a struggle. You who have known me, gentlemen, for the last thirty years, know that Jordan Algrieve has battled with life manfully. ' At this point he put out his clenched fist in defiance of his fancied enemy. ' But I have been compelled to yield to the force of circumstances--not, however, till I had taken my chance in nearly every department of honorary endeavor, and experienced the most wretched success. The world has pronounced its ban upon me, and I must bow submissively to its cruel imposition. I tried to serve my country in the capacity of a public official, but my services and talents were repeatedly rejected--the majority of voters always so necessary to an honest election was forever on the side of my lucky opponent. When I withdrew from the political field, impoverished by my efforts to advance the prosperity of my party, I embarked in a small commercial enterprise; but owing to the tightness of the times, and my want of capital, I was soon obliged to give up and throw myself upon the mercy of my creditors. I have tried popular amusements, and lost money--that is, I failed to make it. I even branched out into fancy speculations, but they only served to sink me still deeper in the yawning depths of insolvency!'

Mr. Algrieve here paused, and seemed to look down into the frightfulgulf with a shuddering expression, as if he were not quite accustomed tothe descent yet. 

 'In short, gentlemen, I am completely prostrated--I am floored! And is the world willing to help me up? By no means! On the contrary, when I commenced falling and slipping on the stairs of human endeavor the world was ready to kick me down, down, till I reached the--in short, gentlemen, till I became what I now am. Now, what have I done, let me ask, that I should fare thus? Have I not made an effort? I appeal to you, gentlemen, to say. [A voice from the crowd here chimed in: 'Yes, Algrieve, your efforts to live without work have been immense!'] But here I am, poor and persecuted; my family are in want of some of the common necessaries of life; and now, gentlemen, I beg some of you will buy that book (holding out a copy of the 'Pilgrim's Progress'), and do something to avert for a while, at least, the pauper's fate!'

Some benevolent gentleman, either from a charitable motive, or to put anend to his lachrymose oration, bought the volume for $1. 25. Mr. Algrievereceived the money with many expressions of gratitude, and, gathering uphis stock, moped off into the drinking room, and invested a dime in agin cocktail, and five cents in a cigar, with which he sought to solacehimself for all the inflictions of the inexorable world. 

Thus Jordan Algrieve goes about telling of his reverses and misfortunes, exhibiting them to the public eye like a beggar his sores, without shameor remorse; seeking to levy contributions on his fellow men, as one whohas been robbed of his estate. Reader, will you say that you have nevermet with Jordan Algrieve?

Another common species of the complaining bore are those who arecontinually parading their bodily infirmities. For example, a man willcall on you, apparently for the express purpose of illustrating a mostinteresting case of neuralgia. He comes into your office, perhaps, withhis head tied up in a handkerchief, and an expression of face as if hehad some time winked one eye very close, and had never since been ableto open it. Thinking himself an object worthy of study, he shows how thedarting pains vacillate between his eyes, invade his teeth, hold generalmuster in his cheeks, take refuge in the back of his neck; anddemonstrates these points to you by applying his hands to the partsdesignated, and uttering cries of feigned anguish to give effect to hisdescription. He informs you, as a piece of refreshing intelligence, thatit is devilish hard to bear, and enough to make a saint indulge inprofanity. When he has proceeded thus far, he may be taken with one ofhis capricious pains, ducks his head between his knees, squeezes it withhis hands, and bawls out: 'O-h! Je-ru-sa-lem!' with a duration of soundonly limited by the capacity of his wind. He feels that he has a witnessto his sufferings, and wishes to make the most of it. When he getssufficiently easy, he tells you his experience with various remedies, enumerates all the lotions, liniments, ointments, and other applicationshe has used, with his opinion on the merits of each. 

Another person will accost you on a bright day with a most saturnine andwo-begone visage, informing you that he is in a terrible way, that hisfood distresses him, and he can't any longer take comfort in eating. Heplaces his hand in the region of his stomach, remarks that he feels agreat load there, and makes the usual complaints of a dyspeptic. He ispathetic over the fact that his physician has denied him fried oystersand mince pie for evening lunch, and closes his observations byexclaiming in a moralizing vein that 'such is life!'

A third individual has a throat disease, and, forgetful of his badbreath, desires you to take a minute survey of his glottis, and informhim of its appearance. Accordingly he opens his mouth and throws backhis head as if he were inviting you to an entertaining show. 

These are but a tithe of the examples of people who exhibit in publicand at social gatherings their ills and ailments, accompanied withdreary complainings of their bodily inflictions. It implies noindifference or lack of sympathy for physical pain and hardships to saythat its victims have no right to mar the enjoyment of others by theunnecessary display of their infirmities or present sufferings. If a manwill make a travelling show of his disorders, he should be obliged tocarry a hand organ to give variety to his stupid entertainment. Werethese fellows all compelled to furnish this accompaniment, what amusical bedlam our streets would become! Of course, there is no lawagainst complaining and repining--it may not be immoral--but it is avery poor method of making those around us happy, which is a duty thatnone but selfish natures can forget. A man who goes through life with asmiling face and cheerful temper, despite the grievances common to usall, is a public benefactor in his way, as much as one who founds alibrary or establishes an asylum. 

Misanthropy is a sublime egotism that mistakes its own distemper for adisease of the universe. With all the mishaps to which our life issubject, a glance over a wide range of human experience proves that Godhelps those who help themselves, and whatever be the tenor of ourfortune, levity is more seemly than moodiness, and under anycircumstances there is more virtue in being a clown than a cynic. But inadversity, a subdued cheerfulness and quiet humor are, next to Christianfortitude, the golden mean of feeling that makes the loss of worldlythings rest lightly on the heart, and spreads out before the hopeful eyethe vision of better days!

DEATH OF THE BRAVE. 

 'How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When spring with dewy fingers cold Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She then shall dress a sweeter sod Than fancy's feet have ever trod. '

LITERARY NOTICES

 THE ICE MAIDEN, AND OTHER TALES. By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Translated by FANNY FULLER. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. New York: C. T. EVANS. 1863. 

Probably no writer of stories for the young ever equalled Hans ChristianAndersen; certainly none ever succeeded as he has done in reproducingthe nameless charm of the real fairy tale which springs up without anauthor among the people, --the best specimens of which are the storiescollected by the Brothers Grimm in Germany. But this exquisitefascination of an inner life in animals and in inanimate objects, whichevery child's mind produces from dolls and other puppets, and whichmakes fairies of flowers, is by Andersen adroitly turned very often togood moral and instructive purpose, without losing the original sweetand simple charm which blends the real and the imaginary. Here hesurpasses all other tale writers, nearly all of whom, in their effortsat simplicity in such narratives, generally become supremely silly. 

The present volume contains four stories--'The Ice Maiden, ' 'TheButterfly, ' 'The Psyche, ' and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree, '--all inAndersen's usual happy and successful vein; for he is preëminently an_equal_ writer, and never falls behind himself. Perhaps the highestcompliment which can be paid them is the truthful assertion that anyperson may read them with keen interest, and never reflect that theywere written for young people. Poetry and prose meet in them on equalgrounds, and any of them in verse would be charming. The main reason forthis is that such stories to charm must set forth natural objects withIrving-like fidelity; nay, the writer must, with a few words, bringbefore us scenes and things as in a mirror. In this 'The Ice Maiden'excels; Swiss life is depicted as though we were listening to _yodle_songs on the mountains, and felt the superstitions of the icy winternights taking hold of our souls. 

'The Psyche' is an art-story. Most writers would have made it a legendof 'high' art, but it is far sweeter and more impressive from the sadsimplicity and gentleness with which it is here told. 'The Butterfly, 'on the contrary, is a delightful little burlesque on flirtations andfops; and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree' is much like it. Both are reallyfables of the highest order, or shrewd prose epigrams. 

The volume before us is well translated; very well, notwithstanding oneor two trifling inadvertencies, which, however, really testify to thefact that the best of all pens for such version--a lady's--was employedin the work. A _Skytte_, for instance, in Danish, or _Schutz_ in German, is generally termed among the fraternity of sportsmen a 'shot, ' and nota 'shooter. ' But the spirit of the original is charmingly preserved, andMiss Fuller has the rare gift of using short and simple words, which arethe best in the world when one knows how to use them as she does. Wetrust that we shall see many more stories of this kind, translated byher. 

We must, in conclusion, say a word for the dainty binding (Pawson &Nicholson), the exquisite paper and typography, and, finally, for thepretty photograph vignette with which this volume is adorned. Mr. Leypoldt has benefited Philadelphia in many ways, --by his foreign andAmerican circulating library, his lecture room, and by his republicationin photograph of first-class engravings, --and we now welcome him to thesociety of publishers. His first step in this direction is a mostpromising one. 

 NOTES, CRITICISMS, AND CORRESPONDENCE UPON SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS AND ACTORS. By JAMES HENRY HACKETT. New York: Carleton, 413 Broadway. 1863. 

This work will be one of great interest, firstly to all those who visitthe theatre, secondly to readers of Shakspeare, and thirdly to all whorelish originality and naïvete of character, such as Mr. Hackettdisplays abundantly, from the rising of the curtain even to the goingdown of the same, in his book. There are no men who live so much withintheir profession as actors, or are so earnest in their faith in it; andthis devotion is reflected unconsciously, but very entertainingly, through the whole volume. Shakspeare tells us that all the world is astage--to the actor the stage is all his world, the only one in which hetruly lives. 

We thank Mr. Hackett for giving us in this volume, firstly, very minuteand excellent descriptions of all the eminent actors of Shakespearewithin his memory--not a brief one, he having been himself a reallyexcellent and eminent actor since 1828. It is to be regretted that thereare not more such judicious descriptions as these. The author has, as wegather from his book, been in the habit of recording his dailyexperiences, and consequently writes from better data than thoseafforded by mere memory. The reader will also thank him for manyagreeable minor reminiscences of celebrities, and for giving to thepublic his extremely interesting correspondence on Shaksperean subjectswith John Quincy Adams and others. The views of the venerable statesmanon _Hamlet_, and on 'Misconceptions of Shakspeare on the Stage, 'indicate a very great degree of study of the great poet, and ofreflection on the manner in which he is over or under acted. Nor are Mr. Hackett's own letters and criticisms by any means devoid ofmerit--witness the following:

 'Mr. Forrest recites the text (of King Lear) as though it were all prose, and not occasionally written in poetic measure; whereas, blank verse can, and always should, be distinguishable from prose by proper modulations of the voice, which a listener with a nice ear and a cultivated taste could not mistake, nor, if confounded, detect in their respective recitals: else Milton as well as Shakspeare has toiled to little purpose in the best-proportioned numbers. '

The criticism on Forrest is throughout judicious, and, though frequentlysevere, is still very kindly written when we consider the 'capacities'of the subject. 

As regards Mr. Hackett's views of readings, we detect in them a littleof that tendency to excessive accentuation, and that disposition to'make a hit' or a sensation in every sentence which renders most, orall, Shaksperean or tragic acting so harsh and strained, and which hasmade the word 'theatrical' in ordinary conversation synonymous with'unnatural. ' Something of this is reflected in the enormous amount ofneedless italicizing with which the typography of the book is afflicted, and which we trust will be amended in future editions. We cheerfullypardon Mr. Hackett for sounding his own praises--sometimes rather loudlyand frequently, as in the republication of a sketch of himself--since, after all, we thereby gain a more accurate idea of a favorite actor, whohas for thirty-six years pleased the public, and gained in that longtime the character of a conscientious artist who has always striven toimprove himself. 

To one thing, however, we decidedly object--the questionable tastedisplayed by the author in answering in type criticisms of his acting, and in republishing them in his work. We can well imagine the temptationto be great, but to yield to it is not creditable to a good artist. Withthis little exception, we cordially commend the work to all readers. 

 DEVOTIONAL POEMS. By R. T. CONRAD. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1862. 

The late Judge Conrad left a number of religious poems, whichfortunately fell into the hands of those who appreciated their merit, and we now have them in volume, with an introductory poem to the widowof the deceased and a preface by George H. Boker, to whom the editing ofthe present volume was committed. These lyrics, as we infer, werewritten in the spirit of private devotion, and are therefore gifted withthe greatest merit which can possibly inspire religious writing--we meandeep sincerity. But apart from the _spirit_, --the _sine qua non_, --thebeauty of the form of these works will always give them a high value tothe impartial critic. They are far above the mediocrity into which mostreligious writers always at first _appear_ to be lost, owing to the vastamount of thoughts and expressions which they are compelled to share incommon with others. And as there has been awakened within a few years aspirit of collecting and studying such poetry, we cordially commend thiswork to all who share it. 

As regards form, one of the more marked poems in this collection is'The Stricken;' we have room only for the beginning:

 Heavy! Heavy! Oh, my heart Seems a cavern deep and drear, From whose dark recesses start, Flatteringly like birds of night, Throes of passion, thoughts of fear, Screaming in their flight. Wildly o'er the gloom they sweep, Spreading a horror dim, --a woe that cannot weep!

 Weary! Weary! What is life But a spectre-crowded tomb? Startled with unearthly strife, Spirits fierce in conflict met, In the lightning and the gloom, The agony and sweat; Passions wild and powers insane, And thoughts with vulture beak, and quick Promethean pain. 

We select this single specimen from its remarkable resemblance toAnglo-Saxon religious poetry, --by far the sincerest, and, so far as itwas ripened, the soundest, in our language. With the exception of thePromethean allusion, every line in these verses is singularly Saxon--thenight birds, screaming in gloom--as in the '_Sea Farer_, ' where, insteadof joyous mirth, 'Storms beat the stone cliffs, Where them the starling answered, Icy of wing. '

The divisions of this work are 'Sinai, ' which is in great measure acommentary on virtues and vices, 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer, ' and'Bible Breathings. ' Of these we would commend the Sonnets, as formingcollectively a highly finished and beautiful poem, complete in eachdetail. The little poem, 'A Thought, ' is as perfect as a mere simile inverse could be. 

Robert T. Conrad, who was born in Philadelphia in 1810, and died therein 1858, first became known to the public by a drama entitled _Conrad ofNaples_, a subject which has been extensively treated by German writers, Uhland himself having written a tragedy on it. After being admitted tothe bar, Conrad connected himself with the press, but resumed thepractice of law in 1834 with success, being appointed judge of thecriminal sessions in 1838, and of the general sessions in 1840. He wassubsequently president of a well-known railroad company, and mayor ofhis native city. During the intervals of his business he was at one timeeditor of _Graham's Magazine_, and acquired a literary reputation by hisarticles in the _North American_, and by the well-known tragedy of_Aylmere_, in which Mr. Forrest, the actor, has frequently appeared as'Jack Cade. ' In addition to these, Mr. Conrad published, in 1852, avolume entitled 'Aylmere and other poems, ' which was very extensivelyreviewed. In it the 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer' first appeared. 

The volume before us is very well edited in every respect, and makes itsappearance in very beautiful 'externals. ' The paper, binding, andtypography are, in French phrase, as applied to such matters, 'luxurious. '

 SKETCHES OF THE WAR: A Series of Letters to the North Moore Street School of New York. By CHARLES C. NOTT, Captain in the Fifth Iowa Cavalry. New York: Charles T. Evans, 448 Broadway. 1863. 

Were this little work ten times its present length, we should have readit to the end with the same interest which its perusal inspired, andarrived, with the same regret that there was not more of it, at its lastpage. It is simple and unpretending, but as life-like and spirited asany collection of descriptive sketches which we can recall. We realizein it all the vexations of mud, all the horrors of blood, and all thejoys of occasional chickens and a good night's rest, which render thesoldier's life at once so great and yet so much a matter of petty joysand sorrows. The love of the rider for the good horse--for his petGypsy--her caprices and coquetries, are set forth, for instance, veryfreely, without, however, a shadow of affectation, while in all hisinterviews with men and women, the characters come before us 'likelife, ' and give us a singularly accurate conception of the socialeffects of the war in the West. The appearance of the country isunconsciously detailed as accurately as in a photograph, and the eventsand sensations of battle are presented with great ability; in fact, wehave as yet seen no sketches from the war which in these particulars areequal to them. They are free from 'fine writing, ' and are given insimple, intelligible language which cannot fail to make them generallypopular. The occasional flashes of humorous description are extremelywell given--so well that we only wish there had been more of them, asthe author has evidently a talent in that direction, which we trust willbe more fully developed in other works. 

EDITOR'S TABLE

With all the outcry that has been raised at the slow progress of thewar, it is difficult for a comprehensive mind to conceive how, on thewhole, the struggle with the South could have advanced more favorably tothe _general interests_ and future prosperity of the whole country, thanit has thus far done. 'Had the Administration been possessed ofsufficient energy, it could have crushed the rebellion in the firstmonth, ' say the grumblers. Very possibly--to break out again! No amountof prompt action could have calmed the first fire and fury of the South. It required _blood_; it was starving for war; it was running over withhatred for the North. 

The war went on, and, as it progressed, it became evident that, whilethousands deprecated agitation of the slave question as untimely, thewar could never end until that question was disposed of. And it alsobecame every day more plain that the 'little arrangement' so frequentlyinsisted on, and expressed in the words, 'Conquer the enemy _first_, and_then_ free the slaves, ' was a little absurdity. It was 'all verypretty, ' but with the whole North and South at swords-points over thisas the alleged cause of war--with all Europe declaring that the Northhad no intention of removing the cause of the war--with the slaveconstantly interfering in all our military movements--and, finally, witha party of domestic traitors springing up everywhere, at home and in thearmy itself, it became high time to adopt a fixed policy. It _was_adopted, and President LINCOLN, to his lasting honor, and despitetremendous opposition, issued the Proclamation of January First--thenoblest document in history. 

It is difficult to see how, when, or in what manner slavery would havedisappeared from a single State, had the war been sooner ended; andnothing is more certain than that any early victory or temporarycompromise would have simply postponed the struggle, to be settled withcompound interest. But another benefit has resulted and is resultingfrom the experience of the past two years. Our own Free States haveabounded with men who are at heart traitors; men who have, by theirignorance of the great principles of national welfare involved in thiswar, acted as a continual drawback on our progress. This body of men, incapable of comprehending the great principles of republicanism as laiddown in the Constitution, and as urged by Washington, would be after allonly partially vanquished should we subdue the rebels. They are aroundus here in our own homes; their treason rings from the halls of nationallegislation; they are busy night and day in their 'copperhead' councilsin giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and in poisoning the minds ofthe ignorant, by hissing slanders at the President and his advisers asbeing devoid of energy and ability. 

It would avail us little could we conclude a peace to-morrow, if theseaiders and abetters of treason--these foes of all enlightenedmeasures--these worse than open rebels--were to remain among us todestroy by their selfishness and malignity those great measures by whichthis country is destined to become great. The war is doing us theglorious service of bringing the 'copperheads' before the people intheir true light--the light of foes to equality, to the rights of themany, and as perverse friends of all that is anti-American. Who and_what_, indeed, are their leaders! Review them all, from FERNANDO WOODdown to the wretched SAULSBURY, including W. B. REED, in whose veinshereditary traitorous blood seems, with every descent, to have acquireda fresh taint--consider the character which has for years attached tomost of them--and then reflect on what a party must be with suchleaders!

These men have no desire to be brought distinctly before the public;they would by far prefer to burrow in silence. But the war andemancipation have proved an Ithuriel's spear to touch the toad and makehim spring up in his full and naturally fiendish form. The sooner andthe more distinctly he is seen, the better will it be for the country. We must dispose of rebels abroad and copperheads at home ere we can havepeace, and the sooner the country knows its foes, the better will it befor it. We have come at last to either carrying out the greatcentralizing system of an Union, superior to all States Rights, ascommended by Washington, or to division into a thousand pettyprincipalities, each ruled by its WOOD, or other demagogue, who cansucceed in securing a majority-mob of adherents!

It is with such men and their measures that Gen. GEORGE B. MCCLELLAN, the frequently proposed candidate for the next presidency, is becomingfirmly connected in the minds of the people! Fortunately the war hasdeveloped the objects of the traitors, and the Union Leagues which arespringing up by hundreds over the country are doing good service inmaking them thoroughly known. Until treason is fairly rooted out at homeand abroad, and until _Union at the centre for the people everywhere_ isfully enforced, this war can only be concluded now, to be renewedin tenfold horror to-morrow. 

 * * * * *

There is a complication of interests at present springing up in Europe, which is difficult to fathom. Just now it seems as if the Polishinsurrection were being fomented by Austria, at French instigation, inorder that the hands of Russia may be tied, so that in case of war withAmerica, we may be deprived of the aid of our great European friend. England sees it in this light, and angrily protests against Prussianinterference in the matter. Should a general war result, who would gainby it? Would France avail herself of the opportunity to array her forcesagainst Prussia, and seize the Rhine, and perhaps Belgium? Or would theEmperor avail himself of circumstances to embroil England in a war, andthen withdraw to a position of profitable neutrality? Let it be borne inmind, meantime, that it required all the strength of France, England, and Austria, combined, to beat Russia in the Crimea, and that a shortprolongation of the war would have witnessed the arrival of vast bodiesof Russian troops--many of whom had been nearly a year on the march. Those troops are now far more accessible in case of war. 

A war between England and the United States, however it might injure us, would be utter ruin to our adversary. With our commerce destroyed, weshould still have a vast territory left; but nine tenths of England'sprosperity lies within her wooden walls, which would be swept from theocean. With her exportation destroyed, England would be ruined. Weshould suffer, unquestionably, but we could hold our own, and wouldundoubtedly progress as regards manufacturing. But what would become ofthe British workshops, and how would the British people endure suchsuffering as never yet befell them? Even with our Southern Rebellion onour hands, and English men-of-war on our coast, we could still, with ourmerchant marine, bring John Bull to his face. And John Bull knows it. 

England is now building, in the cause of slavery and for the South, agreat fleet of iron-clad pirate vessels, which are intended to prey onour commerce. How long will it be before retaliation on England begins, and, _when_ it begins, how will it end? Ay--_how_ will it end? It is notto be supposed that we can long be blinded by such a flimsy humbug as atransfer to Southern possession of these vessels 'for the Chinesetrade!' Are the English mad, demented, or besotted, that they suppose weintend to endure such deliberate aid of our enemies? When those vessels'for the Chinese' are afloat, and our merchants begin to suffer, letEngland beware! We are not a people to stop and reason nicely on legalpoints, when they are enforced in the form of fire and death. Better forEngland that she weighed the iron of that fleet pound for pound withgold, and cast it into the sea, than that she suffered it to belaunched. _Qui facit per alium, facit per se. _ England is the _real_criminal in this business, for her Government could have _prevented_ it;and to her we shall look for the responsibility. All through America aspirit of fierce indignation has been awakened at hearing of this'Chinese' fleet, which will burst out ere long in a storm. We are veryfar from being afraid of war--we are in it; we know what it is like--andthose who openly, brazenly, infamously, aid our enemies and make war forthem, shall also learn, let it cost what it may. 

England hopes to cover the world's oceans with pirates, with murder, rapine, and robbery--to exaggerate still more the horrors of war--andyet deems that her commerce will escape! This is a different matter fromthe affair of the Trent. 

 * * * * *

Don't grumble! Don't be incessantly croaking from morning to night atthe war and the administration and the generals, and everything else!Things have gone better on the whole than you imagine, and your endlessgrowling is just what the traitors like. Were there no croakers therewould be no traitors. 

It was growling and croaking which caused the reverses of the army ofthe Potomac--sheer grumbling. Now the truth is coming out, and we arebeginning to see the disadvantages of eternal fault-finding. The truthis that the war in the Crimea was much worse conducted than this of ourshas been--even as regards swindling by contracts--and it was so withevery other war. We have no monopoly of faults. 

Now that the war is being reorganized, we would modestly suggest that alittle severity--say an occasional halter--would not be out of place asregards deserters. There has been altogether too much of this amusementin vogue, which a few capital punishments in the beginning would haveentirely obviated. Pennsylvania, we are told, is full of hulking runawayyoung farmers, and our cities abound in ex-rowdies, who, after securingtheir bounties, have deserted, and who are now aiding treason, andspreading 'verdigrease' in every direction by their falsehoods. Letevery exertion be made to arrest and return these scamps--cost what itmay; and let their punishment be exemplary. And let there be a newpolicy inaugurated with the new levy, which shall effectually preventall further escaping. 

 * * * * *

Reader--wherever you are, either join a Union League, or get one up. Ifthere be none in your town, gather a few friends together--and mind thatthey be good, loyal Unionists, without a suspicion of verdigrease orcopperhead poison about them--and at once put yourselves in connectionwith the central Leagues of the great cities. Those of Philadelphia, NewYork and Boston are all conducted by honorable men of the highestcharacter--and we may remark, by the way, that in this respect thecontrast between the leaders of the League and of the Verdigrease Clubsis indeed remarkable. When you have formed your League, see thataddresses are delivered there frequently, that patriotic documents andnewspapers are collected there, and finally that it does good service inevery way in forwarding the war, and in promoting the determination topreserve the Union. 

The copperheads aim not only at letting the South go--they hope to breakthe North to fragments, and trust that in the general crash each of themmay secure his share. When the war first broke out, FERNANDO WOODpublicly recommended the secession of New York as a free city--and avery free city it would have been under the rule of Fernando the First!And this object of 'dissolution and of division' is still cherished insecret among the true leaders of the traitors. 

The time has come when every true American should go to work in earnestto strengthen the Union and destroy treason, whether in the field or athome. A foe to liberty and to human rights is a foe, whether he be afellow countryman or not, and against such foes it is the duty of everygood citizen to declare himself openly. 

 * * * * *

It will be seen by the annexed that our Art correspondent, a gentlemanof wide experiences, has gone into the battle. We trust that hisexperiences will amuse the reader. As for the _facts_--never mind!

 CAMP O'BELLOW, _Army of the Potomac_. 

MY PATRIOTIC FRIEND AND EDITOR:

I have changed my base. 

When I last wrote you, it was from the field of art--this time it isfrom the floor of my tent--at least it will be, as soon as my fellowspitch it. N. B. --For special information I would add that this is notdone, as I have seen a Kalmouk do it, with a bucket of pitch and a ragon a stick. One way, however, of pitching tents is to pitch 'em downwhen the enemy is coming, and run like the juice. Ha, ha!

But I must not laugh too loudly, as yon small soldier may hear me. Little pitchers have long ears. 

Now for my sufferings. 

The first is my stove. 

My stove is made of a camp kettle. 

It has such a vile draught that I think of giving it a lesson indrawing. _Joke. _ Perhaps you remember it of old in the jolly old StudioBuilding in Tenth Street. By the way how is WHITTREDGE?--I believe _he_imported that joke from Rome where he learned it of JULES DE MONTALANTwho acquired it of CHAPMAN who got it from GIBSON, who learned it ofTHORWALDSEN who picked it up from DAVID who stole it from the elderVERNET to whom it had come down from MICHAEL ANGELO who cribbed it fromALBERT DÜRER who sucked it somehow from GIOTTO. 

I wish you could see that stove. I cook in it and on it and all aroundthe sides and underneath it. I wash my clothes in it, make punch in it, write on it, when cold sit on it, play poker on it, and occasionally useit for a trunk. It also gives music, for though it don't draw, it cansing. 

My second friend is my Iron Bride--the sword. She is a useful creeter. Little did I think, when you, my beloved friends, presented me with thatdeadly brand, how useful she would prove in getting at the brandy, whenI should have occasion to 'decap' a bottle. She kills pigs, cuts cheese, toasts pork, slices lemons, stirs coffee, licks the horses, scaresSecesh, and cuts lead pencils. In a word, if I wished to give usefuladvice to a cavalry officer, it would be not to go to war without asword. 

A revolver is also extremely utilitarious. A _large_ revolver, mind you, with _six corks_. Mine contains red and black pepper, salt, vinegar, oil, and ketchup--when I'm in a hurry. A curious circumstance once'transpired, ' as the missionaries say, in relation to this article ofthe _quizzeen_. All the barrels were loaded--which I had forgotten--andso proceeded to give it an extra charge of groceries. * * *

It was a deadly fray. _Rang tang bang, paoufff!_ We fought as if it hadbeen a Sixth Ward election. Suddingly I found myself amid a swarm of mycountry's foes. Sabres slashed at me, and in my rage I determined toexterminate something. Looking around from mere force of habit to seethat there were no police about, I drew my revolver and aimed at JIMMARRYGOLD of Charleston, whom I had last seen owling it in New Orleans, four years ago. He and DICK MIDDLETONGUE of Natchez (who carved theButcher's Daughter at Florence, and who is now a Secesh major), camedown with their cheese knives, evidently intending to carve _me_. Suchlanguage you never heard, such a diluvium of profanity, suchdouble-shotted d--ns! I drew my pistol _at once_, and gave Dick ablizzard. The ball went through his ear--the red pepper took his eyes, while Jim received the shot in his hat, and with it the sweet oil. Inthis sweet state of affairs, CHARLEY RUFFEM of Savannah was descendingon me with his sabre. (He was the man who said my browns were all put inwith guano. ) I put him out of the way of criticism with a _third_barrel--killed him _dead_, and _salted_ him. 

The best of this war is, it enables me to exterminate so many _badartists_. 

The worst of it is that Charley owed me five dollars. 

A fifth Secesh now made his appearance. We went it on the sword, andfought--for further particulars see Ivanhoe, volume second. My foe wasRAWLEY CHIVERS, of Tuscumbia, Ala. , and as the mischief would have it, he knew all my guards and cuts. We used to fence together, and had hadmore than one trial at _'fertig-los!'_ on the old _Pauk-boden_ inHeidelberg. 

'POP!' said he on the seventeenth round, 'are we going to chop all day?'

'CHIV, ' said I, as I drew my castor, '_are you ready_?'

'Ready, ' quoth he, effecting the same manoeuvre--'_one_, _two_, _three_. '

I scratched his cheek, but the mustard settled him. Sputter--p'l'z'z'z--how he swore! I went at him with both hands. 

'_Priz?_' I cried. 

'Priz it is, ' he answered. 

So I took him off as a priz. He was very glad to go too, for he hadn'thad a dinner for six weeks, and would have made a fine study for aMurillo beggar so ar as rags went. 

I punish my men whenever I catch them foraging. Punish them byconfiscation. Mild as I am by nature, I never allow them to keep stolenprovisions--when I am hungry. 

Yesterday evening I detected a vast German private with a colossalbull-turkey. 

'Lay it down _there_, sir!' I exclaimed fiercely--indicating the floorof my tent as the bank of deposit. 

'But den when I leafs it you eats de toorky up!' he exclaimed insorrowful remonstrance. 

'Yes, ' I replied, like a Roman. 'Yes--I may _eat_ it--but, ' I added intones of high moral conscientiousness, 'remember that I didn't STEALit!'

He went forth abashed. 

No more till it is eaten, from

 Yours truly, POPPY OYLE. 

 * * * * *

We are indebted to a Philadelphia correspondent for the following:

 Alas! that noble thoughts so oft Are born to live but for an hour, Then sleep in slumber of the soul As droops at night the passion flower, Their morn is like a summer sun With splendor dawning on the day-- Their eve beholds that glory gone, And light with splendor fled away. 

 J. W. L. 

True indeed. The difference between the great mind and the small isafter all that the former can _retain_ its 'noble thoughts, ' while withthe latter they are evanescent. And it is the glory of Art that itrevives such feelings, and keeps early impressions alive. 

 * * * * *

FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE. 

 My love, in our light boat riding, We sat at the close of day; And still through the night went gliding, Afar on our watery way. 

 The Spirit Isle, soft glowing, Lay dimmering 'neath moon and star; There music was softly flowing, And cloud dances waved afar:

 And ever more sweetly pealing, And waving more winningly; But past it our boat went stealing, All sad on the wide, wide sea. 

 * * * * *

Here is an

ADVENTURE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR, from a Philadelphia correspondent:

 'We had gone out one morning, while camping upon the river San Joaquin, to indulge in the sport of fowling. There were three of us, and we possessed two skiffs, but an accident had reduced our sculls to a single pair, which my companion used to propel one of the boats down the stream, after securing the other, with me as its occupant, in the midst of a thicket of tule, where I awaited in ambush the flying flocks. As geese and ducks abounded, and nearly all of my shots told, in a few hours I had killed plenty of game; but becoming weary, as the intervals lengthened between the flights of the birds, I sat down, and had already begun to nod dozingly, when a startling splash, near the river bank, instantly aroused me. Grasping my gun and springing upright, I looked in the direction whence the sound had come; but, owing to the intervening mass of tule, could not see what kind of animal--for such I at once conjectured it must be--had occasioned my sudden surprise. Having hitherto seen no domestic stock hereabouts, I therefore felt fully satisfied that it could not belong to a tame species. Judging from the noise of its still continued movements, it was of no small bulk; and, if its ferocity were correspondent with its apparent size, this was indeed a beast to be dreaded. 

 'The thought at once occurred to me that, as I possessed neither oars nor other means of propulsion, it would be difficult to move the boat from its mooring if chance or acuteness of scent should lead the creature to my place of concealment. In short, this, with various suggestions of fancy, some of them ludicrously exaggerated, speedily made me apprehensive of imminent danger. Nor was my suspicion unfounded, for a crisis was at hand. 

 'There was a space of clear water between the river bank and the margin of the tule, in which the brute seemed to disport a few moments; and then the rustling of the reeds indicated that it was about to advance. With heavy footfalls it came toward me; as it approached my nervousness increased; I could not mistake that significant tread; undoubtedly it was a grizzly bear. But how could I escape? Bruin, though his progress was not unimpeded, was surely drawing near. Following my first impulse in this pressing emergency, I placed myself forward in the boat, and, seizing a handful of green blades on either side of it, endeavored, by violently pulling upon them, to force the craft through the thick growth which surrounded it. The headway of the skiff was slow, but my efforts were not silent. In fact, the commotion occasioned by my own panic became, to my hearing, so confounded with the sound made by my floundering pursuer that my excited imagination multiplied the single supposed bear, and the water seemed to be dashed about by several formidable 'grizzlies. '

 'You smile, gentlemen, but really I was so impressed with this and like extravagant creations of fear that my better judgment was temporarily suspended. This deception, however, was only of momentary duration. 

 'Suddenly the skiff encountered some obstacle and remained immovable. Quickly clutching my gun and firing it aimlessly, I sprang overboard, and, with extraordinary energy, made for the other side of the river and safety. 

 'My remembrance of that hazardous crossing even now fills me with a sympathetic thrill. The river, near where I had leaped in, varied in depth from my middle to my neck, and the snaky stalks of tule clung to me, retarding my retreat like faithful allies of the enemy. An area of this plant extended to the channel, a distance of some fifty yards, where a clear current rendered swimming feasible; and this I essayed to reach, urged onward by terror, and regardless of ordinary obstructions. So vigorous was my action that, notwithstanding the frequent reversals of my head and 'head's antipodes' as I tripped over reeds and roots, perhaps I should have reached the 'point proposed' with only a loss equivalent to the proverbial 'year's growth, ' had not a hidden snag unluckily lain in the way, which 'by hook or by crook' fastened itself in the part of my trowsers exactly corresponding, when dry, with that 'broad disk of drab' finally seen, after much anxiety, by the curious Geoffrey Crayon between the parted coat-skirts of a certain mysterious 'Stout Gentleman, ' and inextricably held me in check despite my frantic struggles. 

 'Imagine my feelings while thus entangled by a bond of enduring material, a bait for a fierce brute which eagerly pressed forward to snap at me. Believe me, boys, this was _not_ the happiest moment of my life. I knew no reason why I should resignedly submit to so undistinguished a fate. My knife, however, was in the boat, so that my release could only be attained by extreme exertion. Accordingly I writhed and jerked with my 'best violence, ' all the time denouncing the whole race of bears, from 'Noah's pets' down; and you may be sure, emphatically expressing not a very exalted opinion of snags. 

 'Ah! how that brief period of horrible _suspense_ appeared to stretch out almost to the crack of doom. I roared lustily for help, but no aid came. The bear continued its course through the thicket; in another instant I might be seized. 

 'Rather than suffer such a 'taking off' as this, which now seemed inevitable, I should have welcomed as an easy death any method of exit from life that I might hitherto have deprecated. Incited then by the proximity of the beast, which so intensified the horror of my situation, to a last desperate effort to avert this much dreaded fate; and, concentrating nearly a superhuman strength upon one impetuous bound, the _stubborn fabric burst_, and--joy possessed my soul!

 'Even greater than my recent misery was the ecstasy which succeeded my liberation. The happy sense of relief imparted to me such a feeling of buoyancy that I was enabled to extricate myself from this 'slough of despond, ' and I soon reached the swift current, when a few strokes landed me in security on a jutting bar. 

 'Without unnecessary delay I sought out my comrades, to whom I told the story of my escape. Their response was a hearty laugh, and certain equivocal words which might imply doubt--not as to my fright, for that was too plain--but concerning the identity of the 'grizzly. ' I observed, however, that, as they rowed nearer to the scene of my disaster, their display of levity lessened; and as we came within sight of the suspicious locality, there was not the 'ghost of a joke' on board; but, on the contrary, thay both charged me to 'keep a bright look out, ' as well as to 'see that the arms were all right, ' thus showing a remarkable diminution of their previous incredulity. 

 'While cautiously exploring the vicinity of my memorable flight, we saw the bear in the distance, upon a piece of rising ground. It moved off with a lumbering shuffle and probably a contented stomach, for, on searching for my scattered game, we found but little of it left besides sundry fragments and many feathers. '

 * * * * *

In the old times people received queer names, and plenty of them. OnLong Island a Mr. Crabb named a child'Through-much-tribulation-we-enter-into-the-kingdom-of-heaven Crabb. 'The child went by the name of _Tribby_. Scores of such names could becited. The practice of giving long and curious names is not yet out ofdate. In Saybrook, Conn. , is a family by the name of Beman, whosechildren are successively named as follows:

1. Jonathan Hubbard Lubbard Lambard Hunk Dan Dunk Peter Jacobus LackanyChristian Beman. 

2. Prince Frederick Henry Jacob Zacheus Christian Beman. 

3. Queen Caroline Sarah Rogers Ruhamah Christian Beman. 

4. Charity Freelove Ruth Grace Mercy Truth Faith and Hope and Peacepursue I'll have no more to do for that will go clear through ChristianBeman. 

Some of the older American names were not unmusical. In a GenealogicalRegister open before us we frequently find Dulcena, Eusena, Sabra, andNorman; 'Czarina' also occurs. Rather peculiar at the present day arePuah and Azoa (girls), Albion, Ardelia, Philomelia, Serepta, Persis, Electa, Typhenia, Lois, Selim, Damarias, Thankful, Sephemia, Zena, Experience, Hilpa, Penninnah, Juduthum, Freelove, Luthena, Meriba (thislady married 'Oney Anness' at Providence, R. I. , in 1785), Paris, Francena, Vienna, Florantina, Phedora, Azuba, Achsah, Alma, Arad, Asenah, Braman, Cairo, Candace, China (this was a Miss Ware--ChinaWare--who married Moses Bullen at Sherburne, Mass. , in 1805), Curatia, Deliverance, Diadema, Electus, Hopestill, Izanna, Loannis, Loravia, Lovice, Orilla, Orison, Osro, Ozoro, Permelia, Philinda, Roavea, Rozilla, Royal, Salmon, Saloma, Samantha, Silence, Siley, Alamena, Eda, Aseneth, Bloomy, Syrell, Geneora, Burlin, Idella, Hadasseh, Patrora(Martainly), Allethina, Philura, and Zebina. 

Some of these names are still extant--most have become obsolete. Itwould be a commendable idea should some scholar publish a workcontaining the Names of all Nations!

 * * * * *

Doubtless the reader has heard much of the Wandering Jew and of histrials, but we venture to say that he has probably not encountered amore affecting state of the case than is set forth in the followinglyric, translated from the German, in which language it is entitled'Ahasver, ' and beginneth as follows:

THE EVERLASTING OLD JEW. 

 'Ich bin der alte Ahasver, Ich wand're hin, Ich wand're her. Mein Ruh ist hin, Mein Herz ist schwer, Ich finde sie nimmer, Und nimmermehr. '

 I am the old Ahasuér; I wander here, I wander there. My rest is gone, My heart is sair; I find it never, And nevermair. 

 Loud roars the storm, The milldams tear; I cannot perish, O _malheur!_ My heart is void, My head is bare; I am the old Ahasuér. 

 Belloweth ox And danceth bear, I find them never, Never mair. I'm the old Hebrew On a tare; I order arms: My heart is sair. 

 I'm goaded round, I know not where: I wander here, I wander there. I'd like to sleep, But must forbear: I am the old Ahasuér. 

 I meet folks alway Unaware: My rest is gone, I'm in despair. I cross all lands, The sea I dare: I travel here, I wander there. 

 I feel each pain, I sometimes swear: I am the old Ahasuér. Criss-cross I wander Anywhere; I find it never, Never mair. 

 Against the wale I lean my spear; I find no quiet, I declare. My peace is lost, My heart is sair: I swing like pendulum in air. 

 I'm hard of hearing, You're aware? Curaçoa is A fine _liquéur_. I 'listed once _En militaire_: I find no comfort Anywhere. 

 But what's to stop it? Pray declare! My peace is gone. My heart is sair: I am the old Ahasuér. Now I know nothing, Nothing mair. 

Truly a hard case, and one far surpassing the paltry picturing of EugèneSue. There is a vagueness of mind and a senile bewilderment manifestedin this poem, which is indeed remarkable. 

 * * * * *

One fine day, some time ago, SAVIN and PIDGEON were walking down Fifthavenue to their offices. 

A funeral was starting from No. --. On the door plate was the wordIRVING. 

'Such is life, ' said Savin. 'All that is mortal of the great essayist isbeing borne to the grave: in fact, the cold and silent tomb. '

A tear came to Pidgeon's eye. Pidgeon has an enthusiastic veneration forgenius. He adores literary talent. 

'Savin, ' said he, 'there is a seat vacant in this carriage. I will enterit, and pay my last tribute of respect to the illustrious departed. ButI thought he had a place up the river. '

'This was his town house, ' said Savin. 'How I should like to join withyou in your thoughtful remembrance, and in your somewhat unceleritousjourney to the churchyard! But, no, the case of Blackbridge _vs. _Bridgeblack will be called at twelve, and I have no time to lose. '

Pidgeon entered the carriage. There was a large man on the seat, butPigeon found room beside him. The carriage slowly moved off. Pidgeon puthis handkerchief to his eyes; the large man coughed and took a chew oftobacco. 

Presently said Pidgeon:

'We are following to the grave the remains of a splendid writer. '

'Uncommon, ' said the large man. 'Sech a man with a pen _I_ neversee--ekalled by few, and excelled by none; copperplate wasn't nowhere. '

'Indeed, ' replied Pidgeon, 'I wasn't aware his chirography was sounusually elegant; but his books were magnificent, weren't they? Soequable, too, and without that bold speculation that we too often meetwith, nowadays. '

'Ah, you may well say so, ' returned the large man. 'He always kept themhimself; had 'em sent up to his house whenever he was sick, likeways;but he wasn't without his bold speculations neither. Look at that thereoperation of his into figs, last year. '

'Figs!'

'Figs, yes; and there was dates into the same cargo. '

'Dates! figs! My good friend, do you mean to say that the greatWashington Irving speculated in groceries?'

'Lord, no, not that _I_ know of. This here is Josh Irving, whoseremains'--

Pidgeon opened the carriage door, and, being agile, got out withoutstopping the procession. Arriving at his office, where the boy wasdiligently occupied in sticking red wafers over the velvet of his desklid, he took down 'Sugden on Vendors, ' to ascertain if there was anylegal remedy for the manner in which he had been sold, and at the latestdates had unsuccessfully travelled nearly half through that veryentertaining volume. 

THERE is no time to be lost. Either the Union is to be made stronger, orit is to perish; and the sooner every man's position is defined, thebetter. If you are opposed to the war, say so, and step over toSecession, but do not falter and equivocate, croak and grumble, and playthe bat of the fable. The manly, good, old-fashioned Democrats, atleast, are above this, and are rapidly dividing from the copperheads. The Philadelphia _Evening Bulletin_, a staunch patriotic journal, says:

'The sooner that the fact is made clear that the mass of the Democrats, as well as of all other parties, are loyal and opposed to the infamousteachings of Vallandigham, Biddle, Reed, Ingersoll, Wood, and theircompeers, the sooner will the war be brought to an end and the Union berestored. '

Show your colors. Let us know at once who and what everybody is, in thisgreat struggle. 

 * * * * *

LOVE-LIFE. 

 In a forest lone, 'neath a mossy stone, Pale flowrets grew: No sunlight fell in the sombre dell, Raindrop nor dew. 

 Bring them to light, where all is bright, See if they grow? Yes, stem and leaf are green, While, hid in crimson sheen, The petals glow. 

 Girl blossoms, too, love the sun and dew, And the soft air: Hidden from love's eye they fade and die, In city low or cloister high, Yes, everywhere. 

 Give them but love, the fire from above, And they will grow, The once cold children of the gloom, Rich in their bloom, shedding perfume On high and low. 

 * * * * *

We beg leave to remind our readers that Mr. LELAND'S new book, _Sunshinein Thought_, retail price $1, is given as a premium to all who subscribe$3 in advance to the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. Will the reader permit us tocall attention to the following notice of the work from the Philadelphia_Evening Bulletin_:

 'A beautiful volume, entitled _Sunshine in Thought_, by Charles Godfrey Leland, has just been published by Charles T. Evans. No work from Mr. Leland's pen has afforded us so much pleasure, and we recommend it to all who want and relish bright, refreshing, cheering reading. It consists of a number of essays, the main idea of which is to inculcate joyousness in thought and feeling, in opposition to the sickly, sentimental seriousness which is so much affected in literature and in society. That a volume based on this one idea should be filled with reading that is never tiresome, is a proof of great cleverness. But Mr. Leland's varied learning, and his extensive acquaintance with foreign as well as English literature, combine with his native talent to qualify him for such a work. He has done nothing so well, not even his admirable translation of Heine's _Reisebilder_. He is thoroughly imbued with the spirit of his motto, '_Hilariter_, ' and in expressing his bright thoughts, he has been peculiarly felicitous in style. Nothing of his that we have read shows so much elegance and polish. Every chapter in the book is delightful, but we especially enjoyed that on 'Tannhæuser, ' with the fine translation and subsequent elucidation of the famous legend. ' But the boldest and most original chapter is the concluding one, with its strange speculations on 'The Musical After-Life of the Soul, ' and the after-death experience of 'Dione' and 'Bel-er-oph-on, ' which the author characterizes in the conclusion as 'an idle, fantastic, foolish dream. ' So it may be, but it is as vividly told as any dream of the Opium-Eater or the Hasheesh-Eater. Mr. Leland is to be congratulated on his _Sunshine in Thought_. It is a book that will be enjoyed by every reader of culture, and its effect will be good wherever it is read. '

The aim proposed in this work is one of great interest at the presenttime, or, as the Philadelphia _North American_ declares, 'is a great andnoble one'--'to aid in fully developing the glorious problem of freeinglabor from every drawback, and of constantly raising it and intellect inthe social scale. ' 'Mr. LELAND believes that one of the most powerfullevers for raising labor to its true position in the estimation of theworld, is the encouragement of cheerfulness and joyousness in everyphase of literature and of practical life. ' 'The work is one long, glowing sermon, the text of which is the example of Jesus Christ. '

 E. K. 

BUST-HEAD WHISKEY. 

For two days the quiet of the Rising Sun Tavern, in the quaint littletown of Shearsville, Ohio, was disturbed by a drunken Democratic memberof the Pennsylvania Legislature, who visited the town in order toaddress what he hoped would turn out to be the assembled multitude ofcopperheads, but which proved after all no great snakes!

For two days this worthless vagabond insulted travellers stopping at thetavern, until at last the landlord's wife, a woman of some intelligence, determined to have her revenge, since no man on the premises had pluckenough to give the sot the thrashing he so well merited. 

On the third day, after a very severe night's carouse on bust-headwhiskey, the Pennsylvanian appeared at the breakfast table, lookingsadly the worse for wear, and having an awful headache. The landladyhaving previously removed the only looking glass in the tavern--onehanging in the barroom--said to the beast as he sat down to table:

'Poor man! oh, what _is_ the matter with your face? It is terriblyswollen, and your whole head too. Can't I do something for you? send forthe doctor, or'--

The legislator, who was in a state of half-besottedness, listened withsharp ears to this remark, but believing the landlady was only makingfun of him, interrupted her with--

'There ain't nothin' the matter with my head. I'm all right; only alittle headache what don't 'mount to nothing. '

But a man who sat opposite to him at table, and who had his clue fromthe landlady, said with an alarmed look--

'I say, mister, I don't know it's any of my business, but I'll be hangedfor a horse thief, if your head ain't swelled up twicet its nat'ralsize. You'd better do something for it, I'm thinking. '

The drunken legislator! (Legislator, _n. _ One who makes laws for astate: vide dictionary) believing at last that his face must in fact beswollen, since several other travellers, who were in the plot, alsospoke to him of his shocking appearance, got up from the table and wentout to the barroom to consult the looking glass, such luxuries not beingplaced in the chambers. But there was no glass there. After some time hefound the landlady, and she told him that the barroom glass was broken, but she could lend him a small one; which she at once gave him. 

The poor sot, with trembling hand, held it in front of his face, andlooked in. 

'Well, ' said he, 'if that ain't a swelled head I hope I may never be asenator! or sell my vote again at Harrisburg. '

'Poor man!' exclaimed the bystanders. 

'Fellers, ' said the legislator, 'wot d'ye think I'd better do?' Here hegave another hard look in the glass. 'I ought to be back in Harrisburgright off, but I cant go with a head like that onto me. Nobody'd give meten cents to vote for 'em with such a head as that. It's a'--

'Big thing, ' interrupted a bystander. 

'Fellers, ' said the blackguard, 'I'll kill a feller any day of the week, with old rye, if he'll only tell er feller how to cure this head ofmine. '

'Have it shaved, sir, by all means, ' spoke the landlady: 'shaved atonce, and then a mild fly blister will draw out the inflammation, andthe swelling will go down. Don't you think so, doctor?'

The doctor thus addressed was a cow doctor, but, accustomed to attendingbrutes, his advice was worth something in the present case; so he alsorecommended shaving and blistering. 

'I'll go git the barber right off the reel, sha'n't I?' asked thedoctor, to which the legislator assenting, it chanced that in fifteenminutes his head was as bald as a billiard ball, and in a few more wascovered with a good-sized fly blister. 

'Ouch--good woman--how it hurts!' he cried. But that was only thebeginning of it. 

'Ee-ea-ah!' he roared, as it grew hotter and hotter. One might haveheard him a mile. The neighbors did hear it, and rushed in. The joke was'contaminated' round among them, and they enjoyed it. He had disgustedthem all. 

'Golly! what a big head!' cried a bystander. 

The legislator took another look at the glass. They held it about a yardfrom him. 

'It's gittin' smaller, ain't it?' he groaned. 

'Yes, it's wiltin', ' said the landlady. 'Now go to bed. '

He went, and on rising departed. Whether he ever became an honest man isnot known, but the legend says he has from that day avoided 'bust-headwhiskey. '

 * * * * *

Don't you _see_ it, reader? The landlady had shown him his face in aconvex mirror--one of those old-fashioned things, which may occasionallybe found in country taverns. 

 * * * * *

WAR-WAIFS. 

The chronicles of war in all ages show us that this internecine strifeinto which we of the North have been driven by those who will eventuallyrue the necessity, is by no manner of means the first in which brotherhas literally been pitted against brother in the deadly 'tug of war. 'The fiercest conflict of the kind, however, which we can at present callup from the memory of past readings, was one in which THEODEBERT, kingof Austria, took the field against his own brother, THIERRI, king ofBurgundy. Historians tell us that, so close was the hand-to-handfighting in this battle, slain soldiers did not fall until the _mélée_was over, but were borne to and fro in an upright position amid theserried ranks. 

 * * * * *

Although many and many of England's greatest battles have been won forher by her Irish soldiers, it is not always that the latter can bedepended upon by her. With the Celt, above all men, 'blood is thickerthan water;' and, although he is very handy at breaking the head ofanother Celt with a blackthorn 'alpeen, ' in a free faction fight, heobjects to making assaults upon his fellow countrymen with the 'pomp andcircumstance of war. ' A striking instance of this occurred during theIrish rebellion of 1798. The 5th Royal Irish Light Dragoons refused tocharge upon a body of the rebels when the word was given. Not a man orhorse stirred from the ranks. Here was a difficult card to play, now, for the authorities, because it would have been inconvenient to try thewhole regiment by court martial, and the soldiers were quite toovaluable to be mowed down _en masse_. The only course left was todisband the regiment, which was done. The disaffected men weredistributed into regiments serving in India and other remote colonies, and the officers, none of whom, we believe, were involved in the mutiny, were provided for in various quarters. The circumstance was commemoratedin a curious way. It was ordered that the 5th Royal Irish Light Dragoonsshould be erased from the records of the army list, in which a blankbetween the 4th and 6th Dragoons should remain forever, as a memorial ofdisgrace. For upward of half a century this gap remained in the armylist, as anybody may see by referring to any number of that publicationof half-a-dozen years back. The regiment was revived during, or justafter, the Crimean war, and the numbers in the army list are once morecomplete. 

THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. 

The readers of the CONTINENTAL are aware of the important position ithas assumed, of the influence which it exerts, and of the brilliantarray of political and literary talent of the highest order whichsupports it. No publication of the kind has, in this country, sosuccessfully combined the energy and freedom of the daily newspaper withthe higher literary tone of the first-class monthly; and it is verycertain that no magazine has given wider range to its contributors, orpreserved itself so completely from the narrow influences of party or offaction. In times like the present, such a journal is either a power inthe land or it is nothing. That the CONTINENTAL is not the latter isabundantly evidenced _by what it has done_--by the reflection of itscounsels in many important public events, and in the character and powerof those who are its staunchest supporters. 

Though but little more than a year has elapsed since the CONTINENTAL wasfirst established, it has during that time acquired a strength and apolitical significance elevating it to a position far above thatpreviously occupied by any publication of the kind in America. In proofof which assertion we call attention, to the following facts:

1. Of its POLITICAL articles republished in pamphlet form, a single onehas had, thus far, a circulation of _one hundred and six thousand_copies. 

2. From its LITERARY department, a single serial novel, "Among thePines, " has, within a very few months, sold nearly _thirty-fivethousand_ copies. Two other series of its literary articles have alsobeen republished in book form, while the first portion of a third isalready in press. 

No more conclusive facts need be alleged to prove the excellence of thecontributions to the CONTINENTAL, or their _extraordinary popularity_;and its conductors are determined that it shall not fall behind. Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a thousandjournals have attributed to it, it will greatly enlarge its circle ofaction, and discuss, fearlessly and frankly, every principle involved inthe great questions of the day. The first minds of the country, embracing the men most familiar with its diplomacy and mostdistinguished for ability, are among its contributors; and it is no mere"flattering promise of a prospectus" to say that this "magazine for thetimes" will employ the first intellect in America, under auspices whichno publication ever enjoyed before in this country. 

While the CONTINENTAL will express decided opinions on the greatquestions of the day, it will not be a mere political journal: much thelarger portion of its columns will be enlivened, as heretofore, bytales, poetry, and humor. In a word, the CONTINENTAL will be found, under its new staff of Editors, occupying, a position and presentingattractions never before found in a magazine. 

TERMS TO CLUBS. 

 Two copies for one year, Five dollars. 

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 PAID IN ADVANCE. 

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 JOHN F. TROW, 50 Greene St, N. Y. , PUBLISHER FOR THE PROPRIETORS. 

[Symbol: Hand] As an inducement to new subscribers, the Publisheroffers the following liberal premiums:

[Symbol: Hand] Any person remitting $3, in advance, will receive themagazine from July, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing the whole ofMr. KIMBALL's and Mr. KIRKE's new serials, which are alone worth theprice of subscription. Or, if preferred, a subscriber can take themagazine for 1863 and a copy of "Among the Pines, " or of "Undercurrentsof Wall Street, " by R. B. KIMBALL, bound in cloth, or of "Sunshine inThought, " by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (retail price, $1. 25. ) The book tobe sent postage paid. 

[Symbol: Hand] Any person remitting $4. 50, will receive the magazinefrom its commencement, January, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securingMr. KIMBALL's "Was He Successful?" and Mr. KIRKE's "Among the Pines, "and "Merchant's Story, " and nearly 3, 000 octavo pages of the bestliterature in the world. Premium subscribers to pay their own postage. 

[Illustration: THE FINEST FARMING LANDS

_WHEAT CORN COTTON FRUITS & VEGETABLES_]

EQUAL TO ANY IN THE WORLD!!!

MAY BE PROCURED

At FROM $8 to $12 PER ACRE, Near Markets, Schools, Railroads, Churches, and all the blessings ofCivilization. 

1, 200, 000 Acres, in Farms of 40, 80, 120, 160 Acres and upwards, inILLINOIS, the Garden State of America. 

 * * * * *

 The Illinois Central Railroad Company offer, ON LONG CREDIT, the beautiful and fertile PRAIRIE LANDS lying along the whole line of their Railroad, 700 MILES IN LENGTH, upon the most Favorable Terms for enabling Farmers, Manufacturers, Mechanics and Workingmen to make for themselves and their families a competency, and a HOME they can call THEIR OWN, as will appear from the following statements:

ILLINOIS. 

Is about equal in extent to England, with a population of 1, 722, 666 anda soil capable of supporting 20, 000, 000. No State in the Valley of theMississippi offers so great an inducement to the settler as the State ofIllinois. There is no part of the world where all the conditions ofclimate and soil so admirably combine to produce those two greatstaples, CORN and WHEAT. 

CLIMATE. 

Nowhere can the industrious farmer secure such immediate results fromhis labor as on these deep, rich, loamy soils, cultivated with so muchease. The climate from the extreme southern part of the State to theTerre Haute, Alton and St. Louis Railroad, a distance of nearly 200miles, is well adapted to Winter. 

WHEAT, CORN, COTTON, TOBACCO. 

Peaches, Pears, Tomatoes, and every variety of fruit and vegetables isgrown in great abundance, from which Chicago and other Northern marketsare furnished from four to six weeks earlier than their immediatevicinity. Between the Terre Haute, Alton & St. Louis Railway and theKankakee and Illinois Rivers, (it distance of 115 miles on the Branch, and 136 miles on the Main Trunk, ) lies the great Corn and Stock raisingportion of the State. 

THE ORDINARY YIELD

of Corn is from 50 to 80 bushels per acre. Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheepand Hogs are raised here at a small cost, and yield large profits. It isbelieved that no section of country presents greater inducements forDairy Farming than the Prairies of Illinois, a branch of farming towhich but little attention has been paid, and which must yield sureprofitable results. Between the Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, andChicago and Dunleith, (a distance of 56 miles on the Branch and 147miles by the Main Trunk, ) Timothy Hay, Spring Wheat, Corn, &c. , areproduced in great abundance. 

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS. 

The Agricultural products of Illinois are greater than those of anyother State. The Wheat crop of 1861 was estimated at 85, 000, 000 bushels, while the Corn crop yields not less than 140, 000, 000 bushels besides thecrop of Oats, Barley, Rye, Buckwheat, Potatoes, Sweet Potatoes, Pumpkins, Squashes, Flax, Hemp, Peas, Clover, Cabbage, Beets, Tobacco, Sorghum, Grapes, Peaches, Apples. &c. , which go to swell the vastaggregate of production in this fertile region. Over Four Million tonsof produce were sent out the State of Illinois during the past year. 

STOCK RAISING. 

In Central and Southern Illinois uncommon advantages are presented forthe extension of Stock raising. All kinds of Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheep, Hogs, &c. , of the best breeds, yield handsome profits; largefortunes have already been made, and the field is open for others toenter with the fairest prospects of like results. DAIRY FARMING alsopresents its inducements to many. 

CULTIVATION OF COTTON. 

_The experiments in Cotton culture are of very great promise. Commencingin latitude 39 deg. 30 min. (see Mattoon on the Branch, and Assumptionthe Main Line), the Company owns thousands of acres well adapted to theperfection of this fibre. A settler having a family of young children, can turn their youthful labor to a most profitable account in the growthand perfection of this plant. _

THE ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILROAD

Traverses the whole length of the State, from the banks of theMississippi and Lake Michigan to the Ohio, As its name imports, theRailroad runs through the centre of the State, and on either side of theroad along its whole length lie the lands offered for sale. 

CITIES, TOWNS, MARKETS DEPOTS. 

There are Ninety-eight Depots on the Company's Railway, giving about oneevery seven miles. Cities, Towns and Villages are situated at convenientdistances throughout the whole route, where every desirable commoditymay be found as readily as in the oldest cities of the Union and wherebuyers are to be met for all kinds of farm produce. 

EDUCATION. 

Mechanics and working-men will find the free school system encouraged bythe State, and endowed with a large revenue for the support of theschools. Children can live in sight of the school, the college, thechurch, and grow up with the prosperity of the leading State in theGreat Western Empire. 

 * * * * *

PRICES AND TERMS OF PAYMENT--ON LONG CREDIT. 

80 acres at $10 per acre with interest at 6 per ct. Annually on thefollowing terms:

 Cash payment $48. 00 Payment in one year 48. 00 " in two years 48. 00 " in three years 48. 00 " in four years 236. 00 " in five years 224. 00 " in six years 212. 00 " in seven years 200. 00

 40 acres, at $10. 00 per acre:

 Cash payment $24. 00 Payment in one year 24. 00 " in two years 24. 00 " in three years 24. 00 " in four years 118. 00 " in five years 112. 00 " in six years 106. 00 " in seven years 100. 00

Number 17. 

25 Cents. 

THE

CONTINENTAL

MONTHLY. 

DEVOTED TO

Literature and National Policy. 

MAY, 1863. 

 NEW YORK: JOHN F. TROW 50 GREENE STREET (FOR THE PROPRIETORS). 

 HENRY DEXTER AND SINCLAIR TOUSEY. WASHINGTON, D. C. : FRANCK TAYLOR. 

CONTENTS. --No. XVII. 

 The Great Prairie State. By Mrs. C. M. Kirkland, 513

 A Winter in Camp. By E. G. Hammond, 519

 In Memoriam. By Richard Wolcott, 527

 A Merchant's Story. By Edmund Kirke, 528

 Shylock _vs. _ Antonio. By Carlton Edwards 539

 A Heroine of To-Day, 543

 National Ode, 554

 The Surrender of Forts Jackson and St. Philip, on the Mississippi. By F. H. Gerdes. Assistant U. S. Coast Survey, 557

 Reason, Rhyme, and Rhythm. By Mrs. Martha Cook, 562

 The Value of the Union. By William H. Muller, 571

 War Song--Earth's Last Battle. By Mrs. Martha Cook, 586

 Miriam's Testimony. By M. A. Edwards, 589

 The Destiny of the African Race in the United States. By Rev. J. M. Sturtevant, D. D. , 600

 Was He Successful? By Richard B. Kimball, 611

 The Union. By Hon. Robert J. Walker, 615

 The Causes and Results of the War. By Lieut. Egbert Phelps, U. S. A 617

 Great Heart, 629

 Literary Notices 630

The June No. Of the Continental will contain an article on 'TheConfederation and the Nation, ' by Edward Carey. 

 * * * * *

ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by JAMES R. GILMORE, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the UnitedStates for the Southern District of New York. 

 * * * * *

JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER.