THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. 

DEVOTED TO

LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. 

VOLUME I. 1862. 

BOSTON: J. R. GILMORE, 110 TREMONT STREET. NEW YORK: GEORGE P. PUTNAM, 532 BROADWAY. ROSS & TOUSEY, AND H. DEXTER AND COMPANY PHILADELPHIA T. B. PETERSON & BROTHER

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, byJAMES R. GILMORE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District ofMassachusetts. 

JOHN A. GRAYPRINTER & STEREOTYPER, 16 and 18 Jacob St. 

 * * * * *

 INDEX TO VOLUME I

 Across the Continent. Hon. Horace Greeley, 78 Active Service; or, Campaigning In Western Virginia, 330 Actress Wife, the, 64, 139 Among the Pines. Edmund Kirke, 35, 187, 322, 438, 710 Ante-Norse Discoverers of America, the. C. G. Leland, 389, 531

 Beaufort District--Past, Present, and Future. Frederic Kidder, 381 Black Witch, the. J. Warren Newcombe, Jr. , 155 BOOKS RECEIVED, 94, 348, 469 Bright, John. George M. Towle, 525 Brown's Lecture Tour. Wm. Wirt Sikes, 118

 Cabinet Session, 339 Campbell, The late Lord Chancellor, George M. Towle, 285 Columbia's Safety, 578 Constitution and Slavery, the. Rev. C. E. Lord, 619 Cotton, is it our King? Edward Atkinson, 247

 Danger, Our, and its Cause. Hon. Geo. C. Boutwell, 219 Desperation and Colonization. C. G. Leland, 657

 EDITORS TABLE, 95-112, 228-240, 349-368 470-492, 605-618, 727-749 Education to be, the. Levi Reuben, M. D. , 592, 662 Edwards Family, the. Rev. W. Frothingham, 11 Edwards, Jonathan, and the Old Clergy. Rev. W. Frothingham, 265 Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Miss Delia M. Colton, 48

 Fairies, 524 Fatal Marriage of Bill the Soundser, the. W. L. Tiffany, 395 Fugitives at the West. Miss S. C. Blackwell, 582

 General Lyon. Miss Delia M. Colton, 465 Good Wife, the. A Norwegian Story, 290 Graveyard at Princeton, the. Miss McFarlane, 32 Green Corn Dance, the. John Howard Payne, 17 Guerdon, 601

 Hamlet a Fat Man. Carlton Edwards, 571 Heir of Roseton, the. Champion Bissell, 210 Howe's Cave, 422 Huguenot Families in America. Hon. G. P. Disosway, 151, 298, 461 Huguenots of Staten Island. Hon. G. P. Disosway, 683

 Irving, Washington, Recollections of, 689

 Knights of the Golden Circle, the. Charles G. Leland, 473

 LITERARY NOTICES, 91-93, 226-227, 346-348 466-468, 602-604, 724-726 Lowell, James Russell. Miss Delia M. Colton, 176 Maccaroni and Canvas. Henry P. Leland, 302, 414, 513, 647 Molly O'Molly Papers, the. 449, 502 Motley, John Lothrop. Miss Delia M. Colton, 309

 One of my Predecessors. Bayard Taylor, 273 On the Plains. Hon. Horace Greeley, 167 Our War and our Want. C. G. Leland, 113

 Patterson's Campaign in Virginia, 257 Philosophic Bankrupt. Henry T. Lee, 496

 POETRY:

 All Together, 506 Black Flag, the. C. G. Leland, 138 Changed. Mrs. Paul Ackers, 570 Child's Call at Eventide, 289 Columbia to Britannia, 404

 En Avant, 656 England, To, C. G. Leland, 209

 Freedom's Stars, 166

 Game of Fate, the. C. G. Leland, 268

 Hemming Cotton. C. G. Leland, 272

 Lesson of War, the. Henry Carey Lea, 46 Lessons of the Hour, the. Edward L. Rand, Jr. , 320

 Monroe to Farragut. C. G. Leland, 709

 New-England's Advance. Augusta C. Kimball, 701

 Potential Moods, 427

 Red, White, and Blue, the. 646 Rosin the Bow. B. B. Foster, 29

 Self-Reliance, 149 She Sits Alone. Henry P. Leland, 225 Song of Freedom. Edward L. Rand, Jr. , 76 Sonnet. H. T. Tuckerman, 16 Sphinx and OEdipus. T. H. Underwood, 63 Spur of Monmouth, the. Henry Morford, 392

 Ten to One on it. C. G. Leland, 465

 Watchword, the. 126 Westward, 246 What will you do with us? C. G. Leland, 175

 Progress, is it a Truth? Henry P. Leland, 6

 Resurgamus. Henry P. Leland, 186 Roanoke Island. Frederic Kidder, 541

 Seven Devils. Rev. F. W. Shelton, 171 Seward's, Mr. , Published Diplomacy, 199 Situation, the. Richard B. Kimball, 1 Sketches of Edinburgh Literati. Rev. W. Frothingham, 453 Slave-Trade in New-York. Mr. Wilder, 86

 Southern Aids to the North. C. G. Leland, 242, 445 State Rights. Sinclair Tousey, 535 Story of Mexican Life, 552, 627

 Tints and Tones of Paris. H. T. Tuckerman, 127 Travel-Pictures. Henry T. Lee, 676 True Basis. C. G. Leland, 136 True Interest of Nations, the. C. C. Hazewell, 428 True Story. Miss McFarlane, 507

 Ursa Major, 579

 War between Freedom and Slavery in Missouri, the. 369 Was he Successful? Richard B. Kimball, 702 What shall we do with it? Hon. John W. Edmonds, 493 What to do with the Darkies. C. G. Leland, 84

THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. 

DEVOTED TO LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY. 

VOL. I. --JANUARY, 1862. --NO. I. 

 CONTENTS. PAGE

 The Situation, 1

 Is Progress a Truth? 6

 The Edwards Family, 11

 Sonnet, 16

 The Green Corn Dance, 17

 Rosin the Bow, 29

 The Graveyard at Princeton, 32

 Among the Pines, 35

 The Lesson of War, 46

 Ralph Waldo Emerson, 49

 Sphinx and OEdipus, 63

 The Actress-Wife, 64

 Song of Freedom, 76

 Across the Continent, 78

 What to do with the Darkies, 84

 The Slave Trade in New York, 86

 Literary Notices, 91 The Rejected Stone; The Works of Francis Bacon; The Old Log Schoolhouse; Songs in Many Keys. 

 Books Received, 94

 Editor's Table, 95

THE FEBRUARY NUMBER OF THE CONTINENTAL

Will be issued about the 15th of January, and will contain contributionsfrom the following among other eminent writers: HON. HORACE GREELEY, HENRY T. TUCKERMAN, REV. F. W. SHELTON, RICHARD B. KIMBALL, BAYARDTAYLOR, J. WARREN NEWCOMB, JR. , HENRY P. LELAND, THE AUTHOR OF "THECOTTON STATES, " CHARLES G. LELAND, and CHARLES F. BROWNE. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1801, by JAMES R. GILMORE, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District ofMassachusetts. 

Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery, 3 Cornhill, Boston. 

 * * * * *

THE SITUATION. 

In the month of November, 1860, culminated the plot against our Nationalexistence. The conspiracy originated in South Carolina, and had agrowth, more or less checked by circumstances, of over thirty years. 

For John C. Calhoun had conceived the idea of an independent positionfor that State some time previous to the passage of the 'nullificationordinance' in November, 1832. This man, although he bore no resemblancein personal qualities to the Roman conspirator, is chargeable with thesame crime which Cicero urged against Cataline--that of 'corrupting theyouth. ' His mind was too logical to adopt the ordinary propositionsabout slavery, such as, 'a great but necessary evil;' 'we did not plantit, and now we have it, we can't get rid of it, ' and the like; but, placing his back to the wall where it was impossible to outflank him, hedefended it, by all the force of his subtle intellect, as a permanentinstitution. His followers refined on their master's lessons, andasserted that it was one of the pillars on which a republic must rest!Here was the origin of the most wicked and most audacious plot everattempted against any government. This plot did not involve any contestfor political power in the administration of public affairs. That, theSouthern leaders already possessed, but with that they were not content. They were determined to destroy the Republic itself, --to literally blotit out of existence. And why? What could betray intelligent and educatedmen, persons esteemed wise in their generation, into an attempt whichamazes the civilized world, and at which posterity will be appalled? Weanswer, it was the old leaven which has worked always industriously inthe breast of man since the creation--AMBITION. Corrupted bythe idea that a model republic must have slavery for its basis, knowingthat the free States could not much longer tolerate the theory, certainleading individuals decided to dismember the country. They cast theireyes across Texas to the fertile plains of Mexico, and so southward. They indulged in the wildest dreams of conquest and of empire. The wholesouthern continent would in time be occupied and under their control. Anaristocracy was to be built up, on which possibly a monarchy would beengrafted. In this way a new feudal system was to be developed, negrofor serf, and a race of noble creatures spring forth, the admirable ofthe earth, whose men should be famed as the world's chivalry, and whosewomen should be the most beautiful and most accomplished of all thedaughters of Eve. The peaceful drudge and artisan of the North, ox-likein their character, should serve them as they might require, and thecraven man of commerce should buy and sell for their accommodation. Forthe rest, the negro would suffice. This was the extraordinary scheme ofthe South Carolina 'aristocrat, ' and with which he undertook to infectcertain unscrupulous leaders throughout the cotton and sugar States. Itwas no part of the plan of the conspirators to precipitate the borderStates into rebellion. O no! On the contrary, it was specially set forthin the programme entrusted to the exclusive few, that those States wereto remain in the 'Old Union' as a fender between the 'South' and thefree States; always ready in Congress to stand up for a good fugitiveslave law, and various other little privileges, and prepared to threatensecession if Congress did not yield just what was demanded. In this waythe free States would be perpetually entangled by embarrassingquestions, and the new empire left to pursue unrestricted its dazzlingplans of conquest and occupation. 

A comfortable arrangement truly, and one very easy ofaccomplishment, --provided the free States would consent. 

'Certainly they will consent. Trade, commerce, manufactures andmechanical pursuits, occupy them exclusively, and these promise betterresults under the new order of things than under the old. As topatriotism or public spirit, the North have neither. The people do noteven resent a personal affront, much less will they go to war for anidea. '

So reasoned the South. 

'It is not possible those fellows down yonder can be in earnest. Theyare only playing the game of "brag. " In their hearts they are reallydevoted to the Union. They have not the least idea of separating fromus. '

So reasoned the North. 

Neither side thought the other in earnest. Both were mistaken. 

Negro slaves were introduced into Virginia as early as 1620. In the year1786 England employed in the slave-trade 130 ships, and that year aloneseized and carried from their homes into slavery 42, 000 blacks. Wilberforce experienced many defeats through the influence of theslave-trade interest, but at length carried his point, and the trade wasfinally abolished in England in 1807, --not a very remote periodcertainly. The same year witnessed the suppression of the slave-trade inour own country; but, unfortunately, not the abolition ofslave-_holding_. All our readers understand how, when the Constitutionof the United States was adopted, slavery was regarded entirely as adomestic matter, left to each of the States to manage and dispose of aseach saw fit. But at that period there was no dissenting voice to theproposition, that, abstractly considered, slave-holding was wrong; yetthe owner of a large number of negroes could honestly declare he washimself innocent of the first transgression, and ignorant of anypracticable way to get rid of the evil, --for it was counted an evil. When the rice, cotton and sugar fields demanded larger developments, itwas counted a _necessary_ evil. Congress was called on for more guardsand pledges, and gave them freely. It disclaimed any power to interferewith what had now become an institution; it had no power to do so. Itwent further, and by legislation sought fully to protect theslave-holding States in the perfect enjoyment of their rights under theConstitution. 

Meanwhile many wise and good men, North and South, who regarded slaveryas a blight and a curse upon the States where it existed, endeavored byall the means in their power to prepare the way for gradualemancipation. It seemed at one time that they would succeed in Delaware, Maryland, Virginia and Kentucky. In Virginia, an emancipation act failedof passing by a single vote. 

About the time that Calhoun was spreading the heresy of his state-rightsdoctrine in South Carolina and taking his 'logical ground' on theslavery question, a class, then almost universally branded as fanatics, but whose proportions have since very largely swelled, arose at theNorth, which were a match for the South Carolina senator with his ownweapons. Each laid hold of an extreme point and maintained it. We referto the Abolitionists of thirty years ago, under Garrison, Tappan & Co. These people seized on a single idea, exclusive of any other, and wentnearly mad over it. Apparently blind to the evils around them, whichwere close at hand, within their own doors, swelling perhaps in theirown hearts, they were suddenly 'brought to see' the 'vile enormity' ofslave-holding. Their argument was very simple. 'Slavery is an awful sinin the sight of God. Slave-holders are awful sinners. We of the North, having made a covenant with such sinners, are equally guilty of the sinof slavery with them. Slavery must be immediately abolished. _Fiatjustitia ruat coelum_. Better that the Republic fall than continue inthe unholy league one day. ' These men were ready to 'dissolve theUnion, ' to disintegrate the nation, to blast the hopes of perhapsmillions of persons over the world, who were watching with anxioushearts the experiment of our government, trembling lest it should fail. 

In South Carolina John C. Calhoun was ready to do the same. And thusextremes met. 

Meanwhile the Southern conspirators pursued their labors. Gathering upthe reports of the meetings of the Abolition Societies, and selectingthe most inflammable extracts from the speeches of the most violent, they circulated them far and wide, as indications of the hostile spiritof the North, and as proofs of the impossibility of living under thesame government with people who were determined to destroy theirdomestic institutions and stir up servile insurrections. TheAbolitionists saw the alarm of the South, and pressed their advantage. Thus year after year passed, till the memorable November elections of1860. The conspirators received the intelligence of the election ofLincoln with grim satisfaction. The Abolitionists witnessed the progressof secession in the various States with a joy they did not attempt toconceal. 'Now we can pursue our grand scheme of empire, ' exclaimed theSouthern traitors. 'Now shall we see the end of slavery, ' cried theAbolitionists. Strange that neither gave a thought about the destructionof the glorious fabric which the wisest and best men, North and South, their own fathers, had erected. Strange, not one sigh was breathed inprospect of the death of a nation. Incredible that no misgiving checkedthe exultation of either party, lest, in destroying the temple ofLiberty and scattering its fragments, it might never again bereconstructed. The conspirator, South, saw only the consummation of hismad projects of ambition. The Abolitionist North, regarded only the_immediate_ emancipation of a large number of slaves, most of whom, incapable, through long servitude, of self-control, would be thrownmiserably on the world. Neither party thought or cared a jot about theircommon country. Neither regarded the stars and stripes with the leastemotion. To one, it was secondary to the emblem of a sovereign State. Tothe other, there was no beauty in its folds, because it waved over arace in bondage. 

The day after the battle of Bull Run found these two extremes still insympathy. Both were still rejoicing. The rebel recognized the hand ofProvidence in the victory, so did the Abolitionist: one, because itwould secure to the South its claims; the other, because it would rousethe North to a fiercer prosecution of the war, which had hitherto beenwaged with 'brotherly reluctance. ' Here we leave these sympathizingextremes, and proceed to survey the situation. 

The first point we note is, that in the South the war did not originatewith the people, but with certain conspirators. In the North, the mightyarmament to conquer rebellion is the work of the people alone, not of acabinet. In the South, it was with difficulty the inhabitants wereprecipitated into 'secession. ' Indeed, in certain States the leadersdared not risk a popular vote. In the North, the rulers, appalled bythe extraordinary magnitude of the crisis, were timid and hesitating, until the inhabitants rose in a body to save their national existence. 

It is no answer to this assertion, that large armies are arrayed againstus, which engage with animosity in the war. The die cast, the severalStates committed to the side of treason, there was no alternative: fightthey must. As the devil is said to betray his victims into situationswhere they are compelled to advance from bad to worse, so theconspirators adroitly hastened the people into overt acts from whichthey were told there was no retreat. We believe these facts to have hadgreat influence with our Government; and in this way we can understandthe generous but mistaken forbearance of the administration in theearlier stages of the contest, --we say mistaken, because it was entirelymisunderstood by the other side, and placed to the account of cowardice, imbecility or weakness; and because there can be no middle course incarrying on a war. We have suffered enough by it already in money andmen; we must suffer no more. Besides, we lose self-respect, and gainonly the contempt of the enemy. When the bearer of General Sherman'spolite proclamation, addressed 'to the _loyal_ citizens of SouthCarolina, ' communicated it to the two officers near Beaufort, theyreplied, with courteous _nonchalance_, 'Your mission is fruitless; thereare no loyal citizens in the State. ' The general's action in thepremises reminds us of that of a worthy clergyman who gave notice thatin the morning of the following Sunday he would preach to the young, inthe afternoon to the old, in the evening to sinners. The two firstservices were respectably attended; to the last, not a soul came. 

There are no 'sinners' in South Carolina, and General Sherman had bettertry his hand at something else besides paper persuasions. At all events, we suggest that future proclamations be addressed to those for whom suchdocuments are usually framed, to wit, rebels in arms against constitutedauthority. [1]

But to our case. We have a rebellion to crush, --a rebellion large in itsproportions, threatening in its aspect, but lacking in elements of realstrength, and liable to collapse at any moment. To put down thisrebellion is the sole object and purpose of the war. We are not fightingto enrich a certain number of army contractors, nor to give employmentto half a million of soldiers, or promotion to the officers who commandthem. Neither are we fighting to emancipate the slaves. It is true thearmy contractors do get rich, the half million of soldiers are employed, the officers who command them receive advancement, and the slaves _may_be liberated. But this is not what we fight _for_. On this head thepeople have made no mistake. In the outset they proclaimed that this warwas to decide the question of government or no government, country or nocountry, national existence or no national existence. And we must gostraight to this mark. We have nothing to do with any issue except howto save the nation. If this shall require the emancipation of everynegro in the Southern States, then every negro must be emancipated. Andthis brings us to another proposition, to wit, that the day is past fordiscussing this slave question in a corner. This bug-bear ofpoliticians, this ancient annoyance to the Northern Democrat and theSouthern old-line Whig, this colored Banquo, will no longer 'down. ' Wecan no longer affect ignorance of the spectre's presence. It is forcedon us in the house and by the way. It follows the march of our armies. It is present at the occupation of our Southern ports and towns andvillages. Martial law is impotent to deal with it. It frightens by itsugly shadow our Secretary of War; in vain our good President tries toavoid it; in vain we adopt new terms, talk about contrabands, and thelike; the inevitable African will present himself, and we are compelledto recognize him. 

Notwithstanding we fight for no other end than to save the Republic, weare absolutely driven into the consideration of the slave question, because it involves the very existence of any republic. This question isnot whether bondage is to cease throughout the world; but whether it iscompatible with a free government, such as we claim our own to be. Inother words, is Slavery in the United States to-day on trial? We must_all_ abandon our morbid sensitiveness and come squarely to theconsideration of the vital point, to wit, can this great Republic beheld together while the 'peculiar system' exists in a part of it? Nomatter who first posed this ugly query, --Calhoun or Garrison. We havenow to answer it. We dare not, we can not, we will not give up ourcountry to disunion and severance. To save it has already cost us an eyeand a hand, and now this unhappy subject must be disposed of, disposedof honestly, conscientiously, with the temper of men who feel that the_principle_ of our government is soon to fail or triumph. If to fail, the cause would seem to be lost forever. What then? Why only a monarchyon our Southern border, insolent provinces on our Northern; Spainstrengthened in her position, and recovering her lost ground; Mexico anempire; England audacious and overbearing as of yore, and France joiningto fill our waters with mighty naval armaments. _We_, having witnessedthe dismemberment of our country, and possessing no longer anationality, but broken into fragments, to become the jest andlaughingstock of the world, which would point to us and say, 'Thesepeople began to build, and were not able to finish!'

How do you fancy the picture? Do you think any morbid delicacy, any fearof giving offense to our 'loyal Southern brethren, ' should prevent ourexamining this slave question? We raise, be it understood, no foregoneconclusion, we do not even pronounce on the result of the examination;but examine it we must. Not the President, with his honest desire topreserve every guaranteed right to the South; not the Secretary ofState, who unites the qualities of a timid man with those of a radical, and who is therefore by instinct temporizing and 'diplomatic;' not anyother member of the cabinet, dare longer attempt to slide over or aroundit. We observe, we venture on no conclusion in advance. We are notprepared to say, if the South in a body should seek now to return totheir allegiance, that they could not hedge in and save their'institution. ' But we should still desire to discuss the subjectcarefully. 

So long as slavery was tolerated as a domestic custom long establishedand difficult to deal with, it stood in the list of permitted evilswhich all condemn, yet which it seems impossible to get rid of. But itis one thing to _tolerate_ an evil, quite another to adopt it as a good. And we declare that never in the world's history was there an attempt soshameless and audacious as that to found a government on slavery as acornerstone! Is it possible to conceive of more ungoverned depravity ora madness more complete?[2]

There have been contests innumerable on the earth. We read of wars forconquest, to avenge national insults, about disputed territory, againstrevolted provinces, and between dynasties; civil wars, religious wars, wars for the succession, to preserve the balance of power, and so forth. But never before was a war inaugurated to _establish_ slavery as aprinciple of the government. We can predict no other fate for theleaders in this diabolical plot than discomfiture and defeat. We havean unwavering faith that the Republic will come out of this conteststronger than ever before; that it will become a light to lighten thenations, the hope of the lovers of liberty everywhere. But we will notanticipate. 

In periods like the present, circumstances appear to be charged withvital and intelligent properties, working out and solving problems whichhave disturbed and puzzled the wisest and most astute. At such timesimpertinent intermeddlers abound, who claim to interpret the oracles, and who would hasten the birth of events by acting as midwife. It isimpossible to dispose of or silence such people. We should be carefulthat we are not misled by their egregious pretensions. The fact is, thewhole history of our race should teach us a lesson of profound humility. We do not accomplish half so much for ourselves as is accomplished forus. True, we have something to do. The seed will not grow if it be notplanted; but all our skill and cunning can not make it spring up andblossom, and bear fruit in perfection. Neither can man work out eventsafter a plan of his own. He is made, in the grand drama of this world, to work out the designs of the Almighty. We must accept this or acceptnothing. In this light how futile are the intemperate ravings of oneclass, the unreasonable complaints of another, the cunning plots of athird. We see no escape from a threatening danger, we perceive no pathout of a labyrinthine maze of evil; when, lo! through some apparentlytrifling incident, by some slight and insignificant occurrence, thewhole order of things is changed, the impending danger vanishes, and wethread the labyrinth with ease. 

We believe God will provide us a way out of our present troubles. Onlywe must do our duty, which is to maintain our common country, our flag, the Republic ENTIRE. 

Thus much at present. Where this war is to carry us, what shall be itseffect on us as a people, what great changes are in progress, and whatmay result from them, we will discuss at the proper time, in a futurenumber. 

IS PROGRESS A TRUTH?

 'Human nature has been the same in all ages. ' 'Men are pretty much the same wherever you find them. '

If there be anything in this world from which it would be desirable tosee men delivered, it is from a certain small, cheap wisdom whichexpresses itself in general verdicts on all humanity, and enables thefribbler or dolt who can not see beyond his nose to give an offhandsummary of the infinite. There is 'an aping of the devil' in thisflippant assumption of our immutability, which strangely combines thepitiful and painful. Oh! if the _ne plus ultra_ which antique Ignorancecomplacently inscribes on the gates of its world should ever be wornaway, let it be replaced by this owlish _credo_ in the unchangeablenessof man. 

The refutation of these sayings has been the history of humanity, andyet no argument on political or social topics fails to contain them inone form or another. Even now, in the tremendous debate maintained bycommon logic and 'fist law' between our North and South, we find themenunciated with a clearness and precision unequaled in any state paper, unless we except that in which William the Conqueror coolly styledhimself king 'by the right of the sword. ' Science, which modestlyannounces itself as incomplete the nearer it approaches completion, hasbeen assumed to be perfect by those most ignorant of it, in order thatits mere observations as to climate and races may be found to provethat as man is, so he was in all ages, and so must be, 'forever andforever as we rove. ' Races now vanished in the twilight of time havebeen boldly declared to be the prototypes of others, now themselveschanging into new forms, and we, unconsciously, like the old Hebrew inHeine's Italy, repeat curses over the ancient graves of long-departedfoes--ignorant that those curses were long since fulfilled by theunconquerable and terrible laws which ever hurry us onward and upward, from everlasting to everlasting, from the first Darkness to the infiniteword of Light. 

The assumption that mankind always has been and will be the same, involves the conclusion that the elements of slavery and scoundrelism, of suffering and of disorder, are immutable in essence and inproportion, and that human exertion wastes itself in vain when itaspires to anything save a rank in the upper ten millions. As for themass, --'tis a great pity, --_mais, que voulez vous?_ It is the fortune oflife's war; and then who knows? Perhaps they are as happy in theirsphere as anybody. Only see how they dance! And then theydrink--gracious goodness, how they swig it off! the gay creatures!Oh, 'tis a very fine world, gentlemen, especially if you whitewash itwell, and keep up a plenty of Potemkin card cottages along the roadwhich winds through the wilderness. But above all--never forget thatthey--drink. 

It was well enough for a stormy past, but it may not be so well for thefuture, that man is prone to hero-worship. Under circumstances, varying, however, immensely, be it observed, humanity has produced Menus, Confuciuses, Platos, Ciceros, Sidneys, Spinozas, scholars and gentlemen, and the ordinary student, seeing them all through a Claude Lorraineglass of modern tinting, thinks them on the whole wonderfully likehimself. Horace chaffs with Cæsar and Mæcenas, Martial quizzes the worldand the reader very much as modern club-men and poets would do. It isvery convenient to forget how much they have been imitated; still moreso to ignore that in both are stores of recondite mode and feeling asyet unpenetrated by any scholar of these days. You think, my brave_Artium Baccalaureus_, that you feel all that Hafiz felt, --surely hetoped and bussed like a good fellow of all times, --and yet for sevencenturies the most embracing of scholars have folioed and disputed overthe real meaning of that Song of Solomon which is now first beginning tobe understood from Hafiz. Man, I tell you that in the old morning ofhistory there were races whose life-blood glowed hotter than ever yoursdid, with a burning faith, such as you never felt, that all which younow believe to be most execrably infamous was intensely holy. Yourwisest scholars lose themselves in trying to unthread the mazes andmysteries of those incomprehensible depths of diabolical worship andintertwined beauty and honor, now known only from trebly diminishedmythologic reflection. Perhaps some of those undecipherable hieroglyphsof the East are not so unintelligible to you now as they would be iftranslated. Do you, for that matter, fully understand why a Hindu yoghitorments himself for thirty years? I observe that the great majority ofour good, kind missionaries have no glimmering of an idea why it isdone. Brother Zeal, of the first part, says it is superstition. FatherSqueal, of the second part, says it is the devil. Very good indeed--sofar as it goes. 

But look to later ages, and see whether man has been so strikinglysimilar to us of the present day. There are manias and mysteries of theMiddle Ages whose history is smothered in darkness; lost to us out ofsheer incapacity to be understood from any modern standpoint of sense orfeeling whatever. What do you make out of that crusade of scores ofthousands of unarmed, delirious Christians, who started eastward toredeem the holy sepulchre; all their faith and hope of safety being in agoose and a pig which they bore with them? And they all died, thoseearnest Goose-and-Pigites; died in untold misery and murder--unhappy'superstition again. ' That bolt is soon shot; but I have my misgivingswhether it reaches the mark. 

Or what do you make of untold and unutterable horrors, or crimes, asthey were deemed, which to us seem bewildering nonsense? What ofwere-wolf manias, of districts made horrible by nightmare andvampyreism, urged to literal and incredible reality; of abominationswhich no modern wickedness dare hint at, but which raged like epidemics?Or what of the Sieur de Gilles, with his thousand or two of girlchildren elaborately tortured to death--and he a type and not a sporad?

'But, ' we are told, 'men would do all this over again, if they dared. The vice is all here, safely housed away snug as ever, only waiting itstime. ' I grant it--just as I grant that the same atoms and elementswhich once formed mastodons and trilobites are here--and with about asmuch chance of reappearing as mastodons as humanity has of reproducingthose antique horrors. The fragments of witch-madness and star-faith maybe still raked in tolerably perfect lumps out of the mire or chaff ofmankind; but I do not think, young lady, that you will ever be accusedof riding on a broom, though you unquestionably had an ancestress, somewhere before or after Hengist, who enjoyed the reputation ofunderstanding that unpopular mode of volatility. _Pommade Dupuytren_ and_Eau de toilette_ have taken the place of the witch-ointments; and ifthe spice-powder of the old alchemist Mutio di Frangipani has risen fromthe recipes of the Middle Ages into modern fashion, rest assured that itwill never work wonder more, save in connection with bright eyes, rustling fans, and Valenciennes-edged pocket-handkerchiefs. 

To the student to whom all battles of the past are not like the dishesof certain Southern hotels, --all served in the same gravy, possessingthe same agrarian, muttony flavor, --and to whom Zoroaster and Spurgeonare not merely clergymen, differing only in dress and language, it mustappear plain enough that as there are now on earth races physicallydiffering from one another almost as much as from other mammalia, justso in the course of ages have been developed in the same single descenteven greater mental and moral differences. In fact, when we rememberthat the same lust, avarice, ambition and warfare have mingled with ourblood at all times, it becomes wonderful when we reflect how marvelouslythe mind has been molded to such myriad varieties. It has in fullconsciousness of its power sacrificed all earthly happiness, toiled anddied for rulers, for ideas of which it had no idea, for vaguewar-cries--it has existed only for sensuality, or beauty, or food--forreligion or for ostentation, according to different climate or age orsoil--it has groveled for ages in misery or roamed free and proud--andbetween the degraded slave and the proud free-man there is, as I think, a very terrible difference indeed. But, quitting the vast variety ofmental developments, faiths, and _feelings_, let us cast a glance on thegeneral change which history has witnessed in man's physical condition. 

First let us premise with certain general laws, that intelligence, physical well-being and freedom have a decided affinity, and are mostcopiously unfolded in manufacturing countries. That as labor isdeveloped and elaborated, it becomes allied to science and art, and, ina word, 'respectable. ' That as these advance it becomes constantly moreevident that he who strives to accomplish his labor in the most perfectmanner is continually becoming a man of science and an artist, andrising to a well deserved intellectual equality with the 'higherclasses. ' That, in fine, the tendency of industry--which in this age isonly a synonym for the action of capital--is towards Republicanism. 

I have already remarked to the effect that so far as the welfare of manin the future is concerned, it is to be regretted that hero-worshipshould still influence men so largely. When Mr. Smith runs over hisscanty historical knowledge, things do not seem so bad on the whole withanybody. Mark Antony and Coriolanus and Francis the First, the plumedbarons of the feudal days, and their embroidered and belaced ladies, with the whole merrie companie of pages, fools, troubadours and heralds, seem on the whole to have had fine times of it. 'Bloweth seed andgroweth mead'--assuredly the sun shone then as now, people wassailed orwailed--oh, 'twas pretty much the same in all ages. But when we come tothe most unmistakable _facts_, all this sheen of gilded armor andegret-plumes, of gemmed goblet and altar-lace, lute, mandolin, and lay, is cloth of gold over the ghastly, shrunken limbs of a leper. Pass overthe glory of knight and dame and see how it was then with themultitude--with the millions. Almost at the first glance, in fact, yourknight and dame turn out unwashed, scantily linened, living amid scentsand sounds which no modern private soldier would endure. The venisonpasty of high festival becomes the daily pork and mustard of home life, with such an array of scrofula and cutaneous disorders as are horribleto think on. The household books of expenditure of the noblest familiesin England in the fourteenth century scarcely show as much linen usedannually among a hundred people as would serve now for one mechanic. People of the highest rank slept naked to save night-clothes. If inFlanders or in Italy we find during their high prosperity someexceptions to this knightly and chivalric piggishness and penury, it isnone the less true that they outbalanced it by sundry and peculiarvices. And yet, bad as life then was, it is impossible for us to guessat, or realize, all its foulness. We know it mostly from poets, and thepoet and historian, like the artist, have in every age lived quite outof the actual, and with all the tact of repulsion avoided common facts. 

But it is with the multitude that truth and common sense and humanityhave to deal. And here, whether in Greece or in England, in Italy or inFrance, lies in the past an abyss of horror whose greatest wonder is, that we, who are only some three centuries distant, know so little ofit. There is a favorite compensative theory that man is miraculouslyself-adaptive to all circumstances, and that deprived of modern comfortsand luxuries he would only become more vigorous and independent--that infact he was on the whole considerably happier under a feudal baron thanhe has been since. I will believe in this when I find that a man who hasexchanged a stinging gout for a mere rheumatism finds himself entirelyfree from pain. No, the serfs of the Middle Ages were in no sense happy. Stifled moans of misery, a sense of their unutterable agonies, steal upfrom proverb and by-corners of history--we feel that they were moremiserable than jail prisoners at the present day--for then, as now, mangroaned at being an inferior, and he had much more than that to groanover in those days of strifes and dirt. And yet every one of those serfswas God's child, as well as the baron who enslaved him. To himself hewas a world with an eternity, and of as much importance as all othermen. Through what strange heresies and insurrections, based either oninnate passion or religious conviction, do we not find Republicanismbursting out in every age, from remote Etruscan rebellions down toPeasants' wars, Anabaptist uprisings, and Jack Cade out-flamings. It wasalways there, that sense of political equality and right--it alwaysgoaded and tormented man, in the silent darkness of ignorance as in thebroad light of learning. 

So long as European society consisted in a great measure of war temperedby agriculture, there could be but little progress towards a betterstate of things. But the germ of industry sprouted and grew, thoughslowly. Merchants bought social privileges for money; even law wasgrudgingly sold them, and they continued to buy. Against the oldidealism, against bugbears and mythology, fairy tales and astrology, dreams, spells, charms, muttered exorcisms, commandments to obey master, ship and serfdom, _de jure divino_, clouds, mists, and lies infinite;slowly rose that stupendous power of truth and of Nature which hadhitherto in humanity only visited the world in broken gleams. We mayassume different eras for this dividing point between immutability andprogress, between slavery and freedom. In religion, Christianity appearsas first offering future happiness for the people and for all. Therevival of letters and the Reformation were glorious storms, batteringdown thousands of old barriers. But in a temporal and worldly point ofview the name of Bacon, perhaps, since a name is still necessary, bestdistinguishes between the old and the new. From him--or his age--datesthat grappling with facts, that classifying of all knowledge so soon asobtained, that _Wissenschaft_ or _Science_ which never goes backward; infine, that information which by its dissemination continually equalizesmen and renders rank futile. With science, labor and the laboring manbegan at once to rise. Comfort and cleanliness and health for the manytook the place of ancient deprivation and dirt--whether of body or ofsoul. Humanity began to improve--for, with all the legends of thebravery of the Middle Ages, it is apparent enough that their heroes orsoldiers were not so strong or large as the men of the present day. Andthrough all, amid struggles and strivings and subtle drawbacks anddeceits, worked and won its way the great power of Republicanism or ofProgress, destroying, one by one, illusions, and building up in theirstead fair and enduring realities. 

It is but a few decades since the greater portion of all intellectual orinventive effort was devoted to setting off rank, to exalting theexalted, and, by contrast, still further degrading the lowly. What werethe glorious works of those mediæval artists in stone and canvas, inorfevery and silver, in marble and bronze, nielloed salvers, goldenchasing, laces as from fairy-land, canopies, garments and gems? Allbeautiful patents of rank, marks to honor wealthy rank--nothing more, save that and the imperishable proof of genius, which is ever lovely, asa slave or free. But where goes the inventive talent now? Beaumarchaisworked for a year to make a watch which only 'the king' could buy. Hadhe lived to-day he would have striven to invent some improvement whichshould be found in every man's watch. It 'pays better, ' in a word, toinvent for the poor many than for the rich few--and invention has foundthis out. Something which must be had in every cottage, --soap for themillion, medicine for the masses, cheap churns, cheap clocks, alwayssomething of which one can sell many and much, --such are the objectswhich claim the labor of genius now. Fools grieve that Art is dead;'lives at best only in imitation;' and that we have chanced on agodless, humdrum, steam and leather age--one of prose and dust, factsand factories. Sometimes come gasping efforts--sickly self-persuasionsthat all is not so bad as it seems. Mr. Slasher of the Sunday paper isquite certain that the Creek Indian Girl statue is far superior toanything antique, while Crasher, just back from Europe, shakes his head, and assures the younger hadjis--expectant that the old masters are oldhumbugs, and that it is generally understood to be so now in France--youcan get better pictures at half price any day in the shops. It will notdo. The art of small details, the art of pieces and bits, went out withthe last architecture. It went over to the people, and from them ahigher Art will yet bloom again in a beauty, a freshness, and grandeurnever before dreamed of. It will live again in Nature. For it is towardsNature that progress tends--towards real beauty, and not towards thefalse 'ideal. '

Yet so clearly and beautifully as social progress is defined for us inhistory--so indisputably distinct as are the outlines in which it risesbefore us, there are no lack of men to believe that humanity was neverso agonized as at present, never so wicked. 'Our cities are more badlygoverned than were ever cities before, '--'look at the Lobby'--everythingis bad. Ah, it moves slowly, no doubt, this progress--and yet it doesmove. Across rumors and lies and discouraging truths it evermoves, --moves with the worlds through seas of light, but, unlike theworlds, goes not back again to the point of starting. And why should itnot be slow, this progress, when an Egypt could lie four thousand yearsin one type of civilization, when an India could believe itself millionsof ages old? Slowly the locomotive gets under way. Long are the firstintervals of its piston, long the wheezing sounds of its first breaths. But puff, puff, they come, and ever a little faster. Do we not 'makehistory rapidly in these days, ' since England and France have entered ontheir modern career? What place has the nineteenth century in the longlist of ages?

Everywhere the action of capital, the ringing of the plane, now andthen, as in those times, the sound of arms, but all tending to far otherends than the welfare of a reigning family, or to satisfy the revengefulwhim of a royal mistress, or the bigotry of a monarch. Public opinionhas its say now in all things. Even the rascality of which theconservative complains is individual rascality for private aims, tempered by public opinion, and no longer the sublimely organizedrascality of all power and government. Do these things prove nothing? Dothey not show that WORK--good, hard, steady, unflinchingwork--is enlarging man's destiny, and freeing itself step by step fromthe primeval curse?

It is only during the present century and within the memory of man thatin France and Russia the welfare of the people has become the steadyobject of diplomacy, and this because any other object would now beruinous. But it is chiefly in America that the most wonderful advancehas been made, and it is here, and at the present moment, that the mosttremendous struggle has arisen between the adherents of the old faithand the new. In the South, the old feudal baron under a new name, in theNorth the man of labor and of science, fight again the battle of mightand right--the one strong in ignorance, the other stronger in knowledge. Who can doubt what the end thereof shall be? Amid storms and darkness, through death and hell-carnivals, the great truth has ever held its wayonwards, slowly, for its heritage is eternal Time, but oh! how surely. And yet there be those who doubt the end and the issue! Doubt--oh, neverdoubt! For this faith all martyrs have died, in this battle all menhave, knowingly or unknowingly, lived--they who fought against it foughtfor it--for of a verity there was never yet on earth one active deeddone which tended not towards the great advance, and to bring on thegreat jubilee of Freedom. 

THE EDWARDS FAMILY. 

Among the surviving octogenarians of New York and its vicinity, thereare few of such interesting reminiscence as one who is passing anhonored old age at his residence on Staten Island. Those who live inPort Richmond will have anticipated his name, and will perceive at oncethat we refer to the Hon. Ogden Edwards. Judge Edwards is of an ancientand noble stock, being grandson of the author of the treatise on the_Freedom of the Will_. The family emigrated from England with the firstcolony of the Puritans, having previously to this suffered persecutionin one of its members. This man--a minister--had an only son, who becamethe founder of a line illustrious for genius and piety. The latter ofthese traits was illustrated in the lives of both Daniel Edwards, ofHartford, and his son Timothy, who was for sixty years pastor of thechurch at Windsor, but in the person of Jonathan Edwards we see theoutcropping of genius. He was the son of Timothy, and followed hisfather's profession in an obscure New England village, whose meadowswere washed by the waters of the Connecticut. 

Jonathan Edwards, during a life of close study, developed one of theclearest and most powerful intellects which was ever united to so rare adegree of patience and humility. In that day of small things it couldhardly have been dreamed that the Puritan preacher, who for a quarter ofa century filled the Northampton pulpit, would ever rank among thegiants of intellect. At the distance of one hundred years no name ismore powerfully felt in the theology of America than his, while inmetaphysics, and in the sphere of pure thought, his position, like thatof Shakspeare in literature, is one of enviable greatness. This man isnot to be confounded with his son of the same name, who, though ofdistinguished ability, was far from equaling his father; both, however, were academic presidents, the one of Nassau Hall, at Princeton, theother of Union College; to which it may be added that Dwight, grandsonof the first, was for many years the honored president of Yale. JudgeEdwards is the son of Pierrepont Edwards, who was bred at Stockbridge, among the Indians. Here his father labored as missionary, having beendriven from his parish by an ill-disposed people, many of whom were, itmay be, like the Athenian of old, who was tired of hearing Aristidescalled 'the Just. '

While laboring at Stockbridge, in the midst of poverty and privation, Jonathan Edwards wrote the treatise on the Freedom of the Will, thegreatest of all existing polemics. A portion of the old parsonageremains in the village, and there are still shown marks and scratches onthe wall, made by him, as it is said, in the night, to recall bydaylight the abstruse meditations of his wakeful hours. 

The children learned the Indian tongue, and when Pierrepont Edwards wasestablished at New Haven, the old sachems used to visit theboy-companion of their early days, when the pipe of peace was smoked inhis kitchen in ancient form. 

Having studied law with Judge Reeve of Litchfield, who married Edwards'sniece, the only sister of Aaron Burr, he became highly distinguished inhis profession. It is said, indeed, that Alexander Hamilton pronouncedhim the most eloquent man to whom he had ever listened. PierrepontEdwards bore the name of his mother's family, an old English stock, which reckons its descent from the days of the Conqueror. ThePierreponts dwelt near Newstead Abbey, the seat of Byron, and not farfrom Sherwood Forest, the home of Robin Hood and his merry men of old. The name of Sarah Pierrepont, wife of Jonathan Edwards, is still freshin honored memory for wisdom and piety. She rests by her husband's side, among the tombs of the presidents of Nassau Hall, in Princeton cemetery, and is the only female name in that array of the mighty dead. It wasonce suggested that these remains should be conveyed to Northampton, butthis was refused. Having banished this pair after the service of aquarter of a century, it was not meet to grant to that place the honorof their graves, and hence of the whole family but one rests atNorthampton. This is Jerusha, a lovely girl of seventeen, of whom it isrecorded by her father, in the simple terms of primitive piety, that shesaid on her death-bed that 'she had not seen one minute for severalyears wherein she desired to live one minute longer for the sake of anyother good in life, but doing good and living to the glory of God. ' Acenotaph has been placed by her grave to the memory of her father, butit can not wipe away the error of the past, and this expression ofregret only recalls a biting line from Childe Harold:

 'Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar. '

Pierrepont Edwards was the government attorney during the Revolution, and prosecuted the confiscation of tory estates. When Benedict Arnoldbecame a traitor his property was at once seized, and his homestead atNorwich, and all its contents, were confiscated. The pecuniary value ofthis seizure was small, since Arnold's wasteful habits forbade anyincrease of wealth, but there was his dwelling, and the little store, with its uncouth sign, 'B. Arnold, ' in which in his early day he hadcarried on a petty trade. In Arnold's house were found large quantitiesof papers, both of a private and public character. Among the former werecertain letters to his first wife, which we have read, and from which welearned that her life was embittered by his habits of neglect anddissipation. In one of these he alludes to a winter trip to Canada, witha sleigh-load of whisky, on speculation. It is possible that thisjourney prompted that grand expedition in which the whisky merchantfigured as a military leader. How strange the contrast between thelonely pedlar, dealing out strong drink in the streets of Quebec, andthe victorious chieftain who, in company with Montgomery, attacked itscitadel! Some of these domestic letters contain confessions made to anoutraged wife, of a character too disgusting for recital. They show areach of depravity, which, considering those primitive times, in theland of steady habits, was indeed strange. They prove that for yearsArnold had been rotten at heart, and that his treason, like that ofFloyd, arose from no sudden temptation, but was the end toward which hiswhole life had been tending. It seemed impossible that such a man coulddie without achieving infamy in some new and wondrous way. After readingthese revelations of domestic treachery, we need not be surprised at thecool perfidy exhibited at West Point. Who but a monster of treason couldhave penned the papers found in André's boot? Thus, 'No. 3, a slightwood work--_very dry_--no bomb proof--a single abattis--no cannon--_thework easily set on fire_. ' 'No. 4, a wooden work about 10 feet high--nobomb proof--2 six-pounders--a slight abattis. ' 'North redoubt--stonework 4 feet high--above the stone, wood filled in with earth--_verydry_--bomb proof--no ditch--3 batteries within the fort--a poorabattis--_the work easily fired with faggots dipped in pitch_. ' We quotethe above, from the André papers in the State Library, to show theculmination of a life morally base, and whose only redeeming feature, _courage_, was rather the nerve of a desperado. 

The Arnold papers were for years in Judge Edwards's possession, and themore valuable of them have been presented by him to the New YorkHistorical Society. As Arnold was fully aware of the character of hispapers, it is possible that, connected with his bloody foray upon theshores of Connecticut, there was a desire to repossess such adversetestimony. 

Pierrepont Edwards died in 1825, having lived to see his son filling thestation of Circuit Judge upon the New York bench, where he remaineduntil his sixtieth year. 

Those who have ever visited Judge Edwards at his seat at Port Richmond, will not soon forget the pleasant flow of conversation which brings outthe incidents of the past. Such a man's life is a series of valuablereminiscences, weaving together the men and manners of generations bothpast and present. Judge Edwards commenced the practice of the law in NewYork in 1800, at the early age of nineteen. His progress was marked byrapid promotion, and he was at once accorded a high rank in that galaxywhich clustered around the bar. At that time Hamilton was in thefullness of his glory, and his opulent style was set off by the conciseand pungent oratory of Burr, who was likewise in his prime. De WittClinton was developing that breadth of intellect which afterward madehim the pride of New York, and was about to take his seat in the StateSenate. It was an era remarkable for brilliance of wit and eloquence, aswell as for fierce political strife. The duel was a common method ofsettling disputes among lawyers and politicians, and few men thenentered the political arena who were not good shots. Looking back tothis distant point, one is astonished at the simplicity of thosebeginnings which have ended in colossal greatness. The vast landedestates which now acknowledge lordly owners were then only ininception. The Lenox estate was a range of wild land, far away even fromthe suburbs of the city, and owned by a plain, plodding merchant, whoseson is the munificent and benevolent James Lenox, of whom New York maybe justly proud. A strong-minded German of unpolished aspect, and withsomething of a foreign accent, kept a fur store at the corner of Pearland Pine Streets, and displayed upon his sign the name of John JacobAstor. He was then buying up from time to time pieces of land in thevicinity of the city, and the advance of price has at length renderedhis estate the most valuable in America. 

Turning to literary matters, one might have found Washington Irvingreading law in Wall Street, and little dreaming of the fame whichawaited his advancing years. Such are among the changes which theretrospect of a long life affords. Among the events which marked JudgeEdwards's advent to New York was the fearful duel between Burr andHamilton. Burr and Edwards were cousins, but the former was more thantwenty years the senior, and the blow which he received could not but befelt by the young attorney. However, their friendship remained unbrokenthrough life, and Edwards watched over the unfortunate old man duringhis declining years. Burr in his better days owned an estate nearlyequal to those just referred to, and one which, had he retained it, would have rendered him immensely rich; but, although not a wastefulman, yet his schemes were of a ruinous character, and his property indue time fell into the hands of Astor. In fact, no one could be onfriendly terms with Burr without suffering pecuniarily, since his powersof persuasion were beyond refusal. No man had ever been known in Americawith such fascinating address, and such plausible schemes for carryingout some great enterprise, which, however great, must perish for thelack of endorsing a note, whose payment, of course, one would not expecthim to trouble himself with. In his latter days, when all his schemeshad exploded, and when his moral character was ruined, and men shunnedhim as though he were an object of dread, Burr found a friend in hiscousin, Ogden Edwards. The one had ascended in popular favor as theother had sunk, and now sat as Circuit Judge of New York. Burr wasshattered by paralysis, and being nearly helpless, was removed to ahouse at Port Richmond, where he received every attention. His pensionas colonel in the Continental army gave him a limited support, and hisfriends clung to him to the last. Much interest was felt to ascertainhis views in respect to religion, or at least as to whether any changehad taken place since the approach of age. On this point, however, hewould not converse, and it is supposed that the infidelity of his earlyyears remained unchanged. He died perfectly conscious, and appeareddesirous of communicating something to a son of Judge Edwards, whoattended him, but was unable to speak. 

Burr was buried at Princeton with military honors. His father andgrandfather lie in the row of college presidents, and his grave was madejust opposite theirs, leaving only room for a path between. That spotcontained the remains of his parents and grandparents, who died in hischildhood. Seventy-eight years had passed away since they had fallenasleep, and during that interval not a member of the family had beenburied there. For some years Burr's grave was without a stone. At last, a plain but elegant slab of Italian marble was placed at its head. Theinscription is simple, yet one can not but start when for the first timehe reads that name of thrilling memories. It has been said that themonument was placed there by some mysterious lady, and this romanticstatement has gone the rounds of the press. This, however, is incorrect;it was the work of the Edwardses, a family which not only watched overthe last years of the unfortunate man, but thus honored his grave. [3]

Among the interesting trials which have occurred under Judge Edwards'sjurisdiction, we may mention the famous conspiracy case, in which JacobBarker, Mathew L. Davis and Henry Eckford were jointly indicted forconspiracy. The object of this conspiracy was to break several of thecity banks, and the trial excited intense interest throughout the Union. 

The parties were convicted, but carried the case up to the Court ofError, and at last escaped. Hugh Maxwell, who was prosecuting attorneyat the time, received a service of plate from the merchants of New Yorkas an acknowledgment of his faithfulness in so important a cause. Another case, which is still remembered for its dramatic interest andfor its thrilling details, was that of the notorious Richard P. Robinson. We doubt if any murder case has ever occurred in our countrywhich brought up so many new points to embarrass the bench, or in whichthat bench bore a higher responsibility. 

Robinson was a youth of nineteen, but recently from Connecticut, and wasa clerk in the reputable jobbing house of Joseph Hoxie. He was arrestedearly in the morning at his boarding house in Dey Street, and arousedfrom a sound sleep, under a charge of murder. The victim was anunfortunate woman, who was found slain in her bed, in a disreputablehouse in Thomas Street, and who had obtained an escape from youthfulmisery by the hand of an unknown assassin. But under what name shouldthat assassin be found? It was undeniable that the prisoner had been oneof her intimates, but was the crime limited to himself alone? Had hepartners in the deed? Was he implicated at all? Was not he whollyinnocent of the murder, and only guilty of an unfortunate acquaintance?These were the questions which surrounded the case. It is twenty-fouryears since the trial absorbed and excited the American public, and atthis distance we can not but review the matter as one of singularinterest, while the question of guilt is not yet wholly solved. In thispoint it resembles the affair known as the Mary Rogers mystery, whichfour years afterward thrilled New York with fresh horror. 

This case attracted the genius of Edgar A. Poe, who was then elaboratingthose complex tales into whose labyrinths he leads the trembling reader, until, when he almost feels himself lost, the clue suddenly brings himto daylight and to upper air. Poe founded upon this terrible tragedy thetale of Marié Roget, in which he effects a plausible solution of thequestion of guilt. Why did he not also solve that question, equallyperplexing, as to who murdered Ellen Jewett? The deed was committed witha hatchet, and as this was proved to have belonged to Hoxie's store, itwas a strong proof of Robinson's guilt; but this was rebutted by theassertion that it had been used only to open a trunk, for the purpose ofrecovering a portrait and sundry gifts, --an act which by no meansinvolved the further crime of murder. Whoever had committed the deed hadattempted to hide it by arson, and had fired the bedding by a lightedcandle, but a timely discovery had avoided this danger. 

Robinson's defence was conducted by Ogden Hoffman, whose acknowledgedeloquence rendered him the most desirable of advocates, and he provedhimself worthy of the expectation reposed in him. Who that heard canforget his appeals in behalf of _the poor boy_, which moved the audienceto tears, and shook even the equanimity of the jury? The main strengthof the defence lay in charging the deed upon the keeper of the house, Rosina Townsend, who was in debt to the murdered girl for such a sum aswould make her death desirable. The trial continued two weeks; theinterest increased in intensity, and the public were canvassingtestimony as fast as it was published, as though life and death tothousands hinged upon the verdict. At last, as a conclusion to all othertestimony, Hoffman produced a witness who established an alibi. Attwelve o'clock at night word was given that the jury had agreed. Thecourt was opened at that late hour, the prisoner confronted with thejury, and an acquittal pronounced. The prisoner flushed, turned pale, and then sunk to his seat, while Hoffman caught him to his arms, and theaged father became convulsed with sobbing emotion. 

Whatever may have been the mystery enshrouding this tragedy, we havelong been satisfied as to Robinson's guilt, and we believe that it isnow admitted that the alibi was but a bold stroke of well-paid perjury. 

Robinson became a wanderer and died in Texas, and Rosina Townsend, having abandoned her infamous career, led a reformed life for someyears, and died recently, at Cattskill, in the communion of the church. Hoffman, too, is no more; and, as the old court-house and Bridewell, which stood in the Park, have been torn down, naught remains to recallthe tragedy but the house where it occurred. Even this exhibits proof ofthe changes of time, and now, expurgated of its early shame, one mayfind 41 Thomas Street serving the honest purpose of a carpenter's shop. 

Among the chief objects of curious interest which adorn Judge Edwards'sresidence, are the family portraits. Here we may look upon thelineaments of the great metaphysician, exhibiting the calm simplicity ofgreatness. A fitting companion to this is found in Sarah, his wife. Asone gazes upon it he can not help admiring the serene beauty of her whosoftened the stern Puritanism of her age by all the graces of life, andwhose beauty of person was set off by a still higher beauty ofcharacter. In contrast with these is the fine portrait of theirunfortunate grandson, and his daughter, almost as unfortunate, from thepencil of Vanderleyn. The countenance of the first of these is full oflife, --the brilliant eye eloquent with power, and the whole featuresinstinct with that strange and fascinating beauty for which Burr wasfamed. That of Theodosia has a noble bust draped after the antique, andthe superb hauteur which pervades her features would have made Cleopatraproud. Yet, under all this there is an expression of girlish lovelinessand tender affection, which proved a true heart. No wonder that bothBurr and Allston worshiped at the shrine of parental and conjugal love, united as they were in such a one, or that, when she was lost at sea, the one felt the curse scathing him with hopeless desolation, while theother went heart-broken to an early grave. 

SONNET. 

 This age may not behold it; we may lie Sepultured and forgotten, and the mold Of e'er-renewing earth may first enfold New matter to its bosom, and the sky New nations arch beneath its canopy, Ere this misshapen thing, the world, be rolled And sphered to perfect freedom, ere the old Incrusted statutes that our God defy Be crushed in its rotation, and those die That lived defiance through them. Then man's gold No more shall manhood buy, or men be sold For pottage messes. We may not be nigh To see the glory, but if true and bold Our hands may haste what others shall behold. 

THE GREEN-CORN DANCE. 

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED MS. BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEETHOME"

 [The following letter was written by the late JOHN HOWARD PAYNE to a relative in New York, in 1835. The Green-Corn Dance which it describes was, it is believed, the last ever celebrated by the Creeks east of the Arkansas. Soon after, they were removed to the West, where they now are. ]

 MACON, GEORGIA, ----, 1835. MY DEAR ----. 

... I have been among the Indians for a few days lately. Shall I tellyou about them? You make no answer, and silence gives consent;--so Iwill tell you about the Indians. 

The State of Alabama, you may remember, has been famous as the abode ofthe Creek Indians, always regarded as the most warlike of the southerntribes. If you will look over the map of Alabama, you will find, on thewest side of it, nearly parallel with the State of Mississippi, tworivers, --one the Coosa and the other the Talapoosa, --which, descending, unite in the Alabama. Nearly opposite to these, about one hundred milesacross, you will find another river, --the Chatahoochie, which alsodescends to form, with certain tributaries, the Apalachicola. It iswithin the space bounded by these rivers, and especially at the upperpart of it, that the Creeks now retain a sort of sovereignty. The UnitedStates have in vain attempted to force the Creeks to volunteer asurrender of their soil for compensation. A famous chief among them madea treaty a few years ago to that effect; but the nation arose againsthim, surrounded his house, ordered his family out, and bade him appearat the door after all but he had departed. He did so. He was shot dead, and the house burned. The treaty only took effect in part, if at all. Perpetual discontents have ensued. The United States have assumed a sortof jurisdiction over the territory, leaving the Creeks unmolested intheir national habits and their property, with this exception in theirfavor, beyond all other tribes but the Cherokees, --they have the right, if they wish to sell, to sell to individuals, at their own prices, butare not bound to treat with the republic at a settled rate, --which lastmode of doing business they rather properly looked upon as giving themthe appearance of a vanquished race, and subject to the dictation ofconquerors. So, what the diplomatists could not achieve was forthwithattempted by speculators;--and among those the everlasting Yankee beganto appear, and the Indian independence straightway began to disappear. Certain forms were required by government to give Americans a claim tothese Creek lands. The purchaser was to bring the Indian before agovernment agent;--in the agent's presence, the Indian was to declarewhat his possessions were, and for how much he would sell them;--themoney was paid in presence of the agent, who gave a certificate, which, when countersigned by the President, authorized the purchaser to demandprotection from the national arms, if molested. All this was wellenough; but it was soon discovered that the speculators would hiremiscreants and drunken Indians to personate the real possessors oflands, and, having paid them the money, would take it back as soon asthe purchase was completed, give the Indian a jug of whiskey, or a smallbag of silver, for the fraud, and so become lords of the soil. Greatdissatisfaction arose, and lives were lost. An anonymous letter openedthe eyes of government. The white speculators were so desperate anddangerous that any other mode of information was unsafe. Investigatorswere appointed to examine into the validity of Creek sales, and theexaminers met at the time I went to witness a great Indian religiousfestival, concerning which I will inform you presently; for it was by mycuriosity to view this relic of their remotest times that the visitamong the Indians, alluded to in the beginning of my letter, wasprompted. It has been necessary for me to be thus prolix, to make youunderstand the nature of the society--and a sort of danger too--bywhich we were surrounded. On one side, white rogues--bordercutthroats--contending, through corrupted red men, for the possessionsof those among them, who, though honest, are unwary. On another side, the cheated Indian-robber of his brethren, wheedled by some fresh whitecheat into a promise to sell (payable in over-charged goods) at a higherprice to the last comer, on condition of the latter individual gettingthe earlier inadequate sale set aside by the agent of the United States, through evidence from its pretended victim that the payment for it hadonly been nominal, and was forthwith fradulently withdrawn. Even thejudges are accused of being, covertly, sometimes as bad as any of therest, and it is said that instances are not unknown wherein some of themhave, not long after withdrawing from the seat of justice, proved to befull of wealth in lands, which could only be accounted for by a supposedcollusion with accusers who have supplied them with pretexts forcancelling prior sales by Indians in favor of better offers, whencontrasted with the preceding ones, though offers really amounting tonothing at all in comparison with the true worth of the purchase. Amidthese scenes of complicated villany, it is not unusual, after thesession of a commission representing the United States for trying thevalidity of titles, to see a foiled thief rush at the successfuloverreaching one, with fist and bowie-knife; and it is then accounted acase of uncommon good luck if either live to look upon what both havestolen from the red-man, and one not only from the red-man, but thewhite. 

I beheld a fine, gentle, innocent-looking girl, --a widow, Ibelieve, --come up to the investigator to assert that she had never soldher land. She had been counterfeited by some knave. The Investigator'scourt was a low bar-room. He saw me eyeing him, and some one told him Iwas travelling to take notes. He did not know but government hademployed me as a secret supervisor. He seemed to shrink, and postponed adecision. I have since heard that he is a rascal of the sort at which Ihave just hinted. 

The ill-starred red people here are entirely at the mercy ofinterpreters, who, if not negro-slaves of their own, are half-breeds, --aworse set, generally, than the worst of either slaves or knaves. In thejargon of the border, they are called _linkisters_, --some say becausethey form, by interpreting, a _link_ between the Indian nations andours; but I should rather regard the word as a mere corruption of_linguist_. 

The Indians become more easily deluded by the borderers than by others, because the borderers know that they never esteem any one to besubstantial who does not keep a shop. So your rascal of the frontiersets up a shop, and is pronounced a _sneezer_. If his shop be large, heis a _sneezer-chubco_; if larger than any other, he is a_sneezer-chubco-mico_. But, in any of his grades, a _sneezer_ is alwaysconsidered as a personage by no means to be sneezed at. The _sneezer_will pay for land in goods, and thinks himself very honest if he chargeshis goods at five hundred times their worth, and can make it appear byhis account against the Indian's claim that he has paid him thousands ofdollars, when in fact he may scarcely have paid him hundreds of cents. 

Well! So much for the beautiful state of our national legislation andmorals, as civilizers and protectors of the red-men. It is time for meto relieve you from these details, so uncomplimentary to us of thesuperior order, and to tell you something about the famous religiousfestival which took me amongst the Indians, and thereby caused, theforegoing first preamble, --the ennui produced by which I proceed tocure, like a quack doctor, _by doubling the dose_. Accordingly, herecomes a second preamble, by way of introductory explanation of what isto come at last. 

The festival in question is called the Green-Corn Festival. All thenation assemble for its celebration at a place set apart for thepurpose, as the Temple at Jerusalem was for the religious assemblages ofall the Jewish tribes. It has been kept by the Creeks, and many otherIndian nations, --indeed, perhaps, by the entire race, --from timeimmemorial. It is prepared for, as well as fulfilled with, great formand solemnity. 

When the green corn is ripe, the Creeks seem to begin their year. Untilafter the religious rites of the festival with which their New Year isushered in, it is considered as an infamy to taste the corn. On theapproach of the season, there is a meeting of the chiefs of all thetowns forming any particular clan. First, an order is given out for themanufacture of certain articles of pottery to be employed in theceremonies. A second meeting gives out a second order. New matting is tobe prepared for the seats of the assembly. There is a third meeting. Avast number of sticks are broken into parts, and then put up inpackages, each containing as many sticks as there are days interveningprevious to the one appointed for the gathering of the clans. Runnersare sent with these. One is flung aside every day by each receiver. Punctually, on the last day, all, with their respective families, are atthe well-known rendezvous. 

That you may the more clearly understand the whole matter, I will soanticipate my story as to put you in possession of many essentialparticulars concerning the place set apart by the Creeks for gatheringtheir people to the festival in question. This will provide you with theunexpected gratification of even a third preamble, as an explanatoryavenue extra to the main subject. 

The chosen spot is remote from any habitations, and consists of an amplesquare, with four large log houses, each one forming a side of thesquare, at every angle of which there is a broad opening into the area. The houses are of logs and clay, and a sort of wicker-work, withsharp-topped, sloping roofs, like those of our log houses, but morethoroughly finished. The part of the houses fronting the square isentirely open. Their interior consists of a broad platform from end toend, raised a little more than knee-high, and so curved and inclined asto form a most comfortable place for either sitting or lying. It iscovered with the specially-prepared cane matting, which descends infront of it to the ground. A space is left open along the entire back ofeach house, to afford a free circulation of air. It starts from aboutthe hight of my thin, so that I could peep in from the outside throughthe whole of each structure, and obtain a clear view of all that wasgoing on. Attached to every house towers a thick, notched mast. Behind, the angle of one of the four broad entrances to the square, rises ahigh, cone-roofed building, circular and dark, with an entrance down aninclined plane, through a low door. Its interior was so obscured that Icould not make out what it contained; but some one said it was acouncil-house. I occupied one corner of an outer square, next to the oneI have already described, two sides of which outer square were formed bythick corn-fields, a third by a raised embankment apparently forspectators, and a fourth by the back of one of the buildings beforementioned. In the center of this outer square was a very high circularmound. This, it seems, was formed from the earth accumulated yearly byremoving the surface of the sacred square thither. At every Green-CornFestival, the sacred square is strewn with soil yet untrodden; the soilof the year preceding being taken away, but preserved as aboveexplained. No stranger's foot is allowed to press the new earth of thesacred square until its consecration is complete. A gentleman told methat he and a friend chanced once to stroll along through the edge, justafter the new soil had been laid. A friendly chief saw him andremonstrated, and seemed greatly incensed. He explained that it wasdone in ignorance. The chief was pacified, but nevertheless caused everyspot which had been polluted by their unhallowed steps to be uptorn, anda fresh covering substituted. 

The sacred square being ready, every fire in the towns under thejurisdiction of the head chief is, at the same moment, extinguished. Every house must also at that moment have been newly swept and washed. Enmities are forgotten. If a person under sentence for a crime can stealin unobserved and appear among the worshippers when their exercisesbegin, his crime is no more remembered. The first ceremonial is to lightthe new fire of the year. A square board is brought, with a smallcircular hollow in the center. It receives the dust of a forest tree, orof dry leaves. Five chiefs take turns to whirl the stick, until thefriction produces a flame. From this sticks are lighted and conveyed toevery house throughout the tribe. The original flame is taken to thecenter of the sacred square. Wood is heaped there, and a strong firelighted. Over this fire the holy vessels of new-made pottery are placed. Drinking-gourds, with long handles, are set around on a bench. Appointedofficers keep up an untiring surveillance over the whole, never movingfrom the spot; and here what they call the black drink is brewed, withmany forms and with intense solemnity. 

Now, then, having rendered you, by these numerous prefaces, much betterinformed about the Creek Jerusalem and its paraphernalia than I was whenI got there, I will proceed with my travel story, just as if I had notenabled you to ponder all that I saw so much more understandingly than Imyself did. 

 * * * * *

I cannot describe to you my feelings when I first found myself in theIndian country. We rode miles after miles in the native forest, seeingneither habitation nor an inhabitant to disturb the solitude and majestyof the wilderness. At length we met a native in his native land. He wasgalloping on horseback. His air was oriental;--he had a turban, a robeof fringed and gaudily-figured calico, scarlet leggings, and beadedbelts and garters and pouch. We asked how far it was to the Square. Heheld up a finger, and we understood him to mean one mile. Next we mettwo Indian women on horseback, laden with water-melons. In answer to ourquestion of the road, they half covered a finger, to express that it washalf a mile further, and, smiling, added, '_sneezer_--_much_, ' meaningthat we should find lots of our brethren, the sneezers, there, to keepus company. We passed groups of Indian horses tied in the shade, withcords long enough to let them graze freely. We then saw the Americanflag--a gift from the government--floating over one of the hut-tops inthe square. We next passed numbers of visitors' horses and carriages, and servants, and under the heels of one horse a drunken vagabondIndian, or half-Indian, asleep. And, finally, we found ourselves at thecorner of the sacred square, where the aborigines were in the midst oftheir devotions. 

As soon as I left the carriage, seeing an elevation just outside of oneof the open corners of the sacred square, whence a clear view could beobtained of what was going on within, I took my station there. I wasafterwards told that this mound was composed of ashes which had beenproduced during many preceding years by such fires as were now blazingin the center; and that ashes of the sort are never permitted to bescattered, but must thus be gathered up, and carefully and religiouslypreserved. 

Before the solemnities begin, --and, some one said, though I am not sureit was on good authority, ere new earth is placed, --the women dance inthe sacred square, and entirely by themselves. I missed seeing this. They then separate from the men, and remain apart from them until afterthe fasting and other religious forms are gone through, when they haveceremonies of their own, of which I shall speak in due course. 

As I gazed from my stand upon the corner mound, the sacred squarepresented a most striking scene. Upon each of the notched masts, ofwhich I have already spoken as attached to each of the structureswithin, was a stack of tall canes, hung all over with feathers, blackand white. There were rude paint-daubs about the posts and roof-beams ofthe open house-fronts, and here and there they were festooned with gourdvines. Chiefs were standing around, the sides and corners, alone, andopposite to each other, their eyes riveted on the earth, and motionlessas statues. Every building was filled with crowds of silentIndians, --those on the back rows seated in the Turkish fashion, butthose in front with their feet to the ground. All were turbaned, allfantastically painted, all in dresses varying in ornament but alike inwildness. One chief wore a tall black hat, with a broad, massive silverband around it, and a peacock's feather; another had a silver scull-cap, with a deep silver bullion fringe down to his eyebrows, and plates ofsilver from his breast to his knee, descending his tunic. Most of themhad the eagle plume, which only those may wear who have slain a foe;numbers sported military plumes in various positions about theirturbans; and one had a tremendous tuft of black feathers declining fromthe back of his head over his back; while another's head was all shavensmooth, excepting a tuft across the center from the back to the front, like the crest of a helmet. 

I never saw an assembly more absorbed with what they regarded as thesolemnities of the occasion. 

The first sounds I heard were a strange low, deep wail, --a sound of manyvoices drawn out in perfect unison, and only dying away with the breathitself, which indeed was longer sustained than could be done by anysinger I ever yet heard. This was followed by a second wail, in the samestyle, but shrill, like the sound of musical glasses, and giving asimilar shiver to the nerves. And after a third wail in another key, thestatue-like figures moved and formed two diagonal lines opposite to eachother, their backs to opposite angles of the square. One by one, theythen approached the huge bowls in which the black drink was boiling, and, in rotation, dipped a gourd, and took, with a most reverentialexpression, a long, deep draught each. The next part of the ceremonywith them was somewhat curious; but the rapt expression of theworshippers took away the effect which such an evolution would be apt toproduce on a fastidious stomach if connected with an uninterested head. In short, these dignitaries, without moving a muscle of the face, or ajoint of the body, after a few seconds, and with great solemnity, ejected what had been swallowed upon the ground. It seemed as if givenforth in the spirit of a libation among the ancients. The chiefs havingafterwards tasted, each replacing the gourd, and returning to his standbefore the next came forward, they all went to their seats, and two oldmen approached and handed round gourds full to the other parties presentwho had remained stationary. The looks on each side were as full ofsolemn awe as I have ever seen at any Christian ceremony; and certainlythe awe was more universal than usually pervades our churches. 

This done, a chief made a speech, but without rising. It was listened towith profound attention, and in one place, at a pause, called forth avery unanimous and emphatic shout of approbation, --a long sound, seemingly of two syllables, but uttered by all in the same breath. Iasked a professed _linkister_ what the speech was about; but he waseither indifferent or ignorant, for he only replied that it was anappeal to them not to forsake their ancient ceremonies, but to remainfaithful in their fulfilment to the last, and that it wound up with asort of explanatory dissertation upon the forms which were to follow. 

One chief then walked round, and, in short, abrupt sentences, seemed togive directions; whereupon some whitened, entire gourds, with longhandles, and apparently filled with pebbles, were produced; and men tooktheir stations with them on mats, while those who had been seated allarose, and formed in circles around the fire, led by a chief, and alwaysbeginning their movement towards the left. The gourds wereshaken;--there arose a sort of low sustained chant as the processionwent on; and it was musical enough, but every few seconds, at regularintervals, a sound was thrown in by all the dancers, in chorus, like thesharp, quick, shrill yelp of a dog. The dance seemed to bear referenceto the fires in the center. Every time they came to a particular part ofthe square, first the head chief turned and uplifted his hands over theflame, as if invoking a benediction, and all the people followed hisexample in rotation. The dance was very unlike anything I ever sawbefore. The dancers never crossed their feet, but first gave two tapseach with the heel and toe of one foot, then of the other, making a stepforward as each foot was tapped on the earth; their bodies all the whilestately and erect, and each, with a feather fan, --their universal andindispensable companion, --fanning himself, and keeping time with his fanas he went on. The dance was quickened, at a signal, till it becamenearly a measured run, and the cries of the dancers were varied to suitthe motion, when, suddenly, all together uttered a long, shrill whoop, and stopped short, some few remaining as guards about the sacred square, but most of the throng forthwith rushing down a steep, narrow ravine, canopied with foliage, to the river, into which they plunged; and thestream was black on every side with their heads as they swam about, playing all sorts of antics; the younger ones diving to fetch up piecesof silver money which the visitors flung into the water, to put theirdexterity to the test. 

Returning to the sacred square, they went through other dances aroundthe fire, varying in figure and accompaniment. All were generally led bysome aged chief, who uttered a low, broken sound, to which the othersresponded in chorus. Sometimes the leader, as he went around, wouldejaculate a feeble, tremulous exclamation, like allelu_liah_, allelu_liah_, laying the stress upon the last syllable, to which allwould respond in perfect accord, and with a deep, sonorous bass, 'allelu_liah_, ' and the same alternation continued to the close, whichwas invariably sudden, and after a long general whoop. 

Each dance seemed to have a special form and significance;--one inparticular, where the dancers unstacked the tall canes with featherssuspended from them, each taking one from the mast sustaining it; andthis one, I was told, meant to immortalize triumphs won at ball-plays. The feathered canes are seized as markers of points gained by thebearers in the ball-play, which is the main trial of strength and skillamong rival clans of the same tribe, in friendship, and even betweentribe and tribe, when in harmony. The effect of these canes andfeathers, as they glanced around, with an exulting chorus, was veryinspiriting, and the celebrants became almost wild with their delight asit drew near its climax, ending their closing whoop with a general laughof triumphant recollection. 

Other dances were represented as alluding to conquests over bears andpanthers, and even the buffalo, which last memorial is remarkableenough, having among them survived all traces of the buffalo itself. But, excepting these vague hints, I could not find any bystander capableof giving me a further explanation of any point on which I inquired, than that it was 'an old custom;' or, if they wished to be moreexplicit, with a self-satisfied air, they would gravely remark that itwas 'the green-corn dance, '--which I knew as well as they. Could I havebeen instructed even in their phrases and speeches, I might have madevaluable conjectures. But even their language, on these occasions, seems, by their own admission, beyond the learning of the'_linkisters_. ' It is a poetical, mystical idiom, varying essentiallyfrom that of trading and of familiar intercommunication, and utterlyincomprehensible to the literal minds of mere trafficking explainers. Even were it otherwise, the persons hovering upon the frontier mostingenuously own, when pressed for interpretations of Indian customs, that they care nothing for the Indians excepting to get their lands, andthat they really consider all study concerning them as egregious folly, save only that of finding out how much cotton their grounds will yield, and in what way the greatest speculations can be accomplished with thesmallest capital. 

The last of the ceremonies of the day consisted of a sort of trial offortitude upon the young. 

Old chiefs were seated at the back of the council-house, and of the fourhouses of the square. They had sharp instruments, --sail-needles, awls, and flints. Children of from four to twelve, and youths, and young men, presented their limbs, and the instrument was plunged into the thighsand the calves of the legs, and drawn down in long, straight lines. Asthe blood streamed, the wounded would scoop it up with bark or sticks, and dash it against the back of the building; and all the building thusbecame clotted with gore. The glory of the exercise seemed to be tosubmit without flinching, without even consciousness. The youngestchildren would sometimes show the most extraordinary self-control. Alloffered themselves to the experiment voluntarily. If a shudder weredetected, the old chiefs gashed deeper. But where they saw entirefirmness, an involuntary glow of admiration would flit over their stonyfaces. 

We now left, and went to an infant town--and a savage infant itseemed--over the river to break our fast, --an indulgence which to ourIndian friends is not permitted. They may neither eat nor sleep untilthe ceremonies close. The town we went to is named Talassee. It has butabout a dozen houses as yet, but is delightfully situated, and I shouldnot wonder to see a large place there in another twelvemonth. It belongsto the region of a clan different from the one we left, though part ofthe same tribe. Here the investigating agent held his court; and theplace was crowded with drunken Indians, and more uncivilizedspeculators, parading about, as some had done among the spectators atthe festival, with blacked eyes and lacerated faces, --the trophies of_civil_ war for _savage_ plunder. At the house where we dined, I foundthe landlady and her family implacable Indian haters. I was afterwardstold the cause. Her husband is continually marrying Indianwives, --probably to entitle himself to their lands. He, being a_sneezer_, and keeping a tavern, is a great man among them. I saw a verycomely young squaw promenading, who believed herself to be one of the_sneezer-chubco-mico's_ last wives. The man's white and original wifeand daughters made an excuse to walk by, to have a look at theaboriginal interloper. The latter had just received from my landlord apresent of a pair of gaudy bracelets, for which he had paid eighteendollars at another _sneezer's_, --bracelets worth about four. I was toldhow the man came by this red mate of his. He had taken a young chiefswife in her husband's absence. The chief, returning while my landlordwas absent, got his young wife back. The landlord, on reappearing, issaid to have threatened the chief with General Jackson and big guns. Thechief said he was partial to his wife; but he had a sister muchprettier, and, for the sake of peace, if nothing were said about thematter, Mr. Landlord should have her for a wife. The bargain was struck. The handsome little squaw I have spoken of is that same young chief'ssister. This stealing of wives is beginning to excite some commotion. Iheard that there had been a council of chiefs in the neighborhood ofTalassee. It was a very animated one, and the wrong of wife-stealing wasviolently discussed. It was thought by some almost as bad asland-stealing. Others felt rather relieved by it. One of the drunkenIndians whom I saw reeling and whooping about, as I stood at the door ofthe log hut where we dined, seemed of the latter party. I asked a_linkister_ the meaning of a song the Indian was singing with such glee. The black _linkister_ laughed, and was reluctant to explain; but when Ipressed him, the following proved to be the meaning of the burthen:--

 A man may have a wife, And that wife an untrue one; And yet the man won't die, But go and get a new one. 

No doubt the poor fellow had been robbed in the same way, and, betweenmusic and whiskey, was providing himself with consolation. 

I was invited to 'camp out, ' as they call it, near the sacred square. AMr. Du Bois, a man with an Indian wife and family, had arrangements forthe purpose in a neighboring field; so I went to the evening dance, andleft my party to the enjoyment of a sheltering roof at the frontier BlueBeard's in Talassee; having made up my mind, after I had seen enoughmore of the Indian festival for the night, to accept the proffered'field-bed' which was so conveniently nigh, and sleep, for the firsttime, in a real 'sky parlor. '

I sat to look at the evening dances till very late. The blazing firethrough the darkness gave a new aspect and still more striking wildnessto the fantastic scene. Some ceremonies yet unattempted seemed to begoing on over the drinks in the deep cauldrons; and the figures aroundthem, with those of the dancers, reminded me of the witch scenes inMacbeth, as conceived by Shakspeare, not by the actors of them upon thestage. Four grim figures were stirring the cauldrons incessantly, with asort of humming incantation, the others dancing around. In one of theirdances they used a sort of small kettle-drum, with a guitar-like handleto it. But after a while, the evening dances seemed to vary from thedevotional to the complimentary and to the diverting; but the daylightones were altogether devotional. Apotheola led one of the less loftyorder, and he is one of the most popular and respected of their chiefs. Its music seemed to consist of an exclamation from him of Yo, ho, ho!yo, ho, ho!--to which the response appeared as if complimentary, and tocontain only the animated and measured repetition of _Apotheo_LA!_Apotheo_LA! Another dance, which excited most boisterous mirth, was ledby a chief who is called by the borderers Peter the Gambler. He is agreat humorist, and famous for his love of play, --famous even among theIndians, who are all gamblers. Once throwing dice with a chief, hestaked himself against a negro slave, and won the negro. I never saw aparty more diverted than were the lookers-on at this dance. It was allmonkey capers, but all with a meaning to the Indians beyond theperception of the whites. The Indian spectators made their remarks fromtheir couches as the solemn mockeries proceeded, and the object of theremarks seemed to be to provoke the dancers to laugh by making fun, andthe object of the dancers to provoke the fun-makers to laugh byperforming extravagant caricatures with imperturbable gravity. 

Our semi-civilized inviter got a bench for us. Some Indians, when it wasnot entirely filled, tried to pull it away. Several young ones, as afellow was trying to tug it from under us, seemed vastly amused at DuBois for saying, 'Keep your seats! keep your seats!' and mimicked himand laughed. But we were entirely unmolested in any other way, exceptingfor an instant by one white rascal on the road, as I was coming, whogalloped up towards me violently, in the dark, and shouted, 'Who thehell may you be, if one were to let you alone?' Just then, however, Igot up to my party, and he said no more. 

I have not mentioned, I believe, that no one is allowed in the sacredsquare who tastes food during the devotional part of the ceremonies; butto get drunk on this occasion is a specially great offence. It is alsoconsidered as a desecration for an Indian to allow himself to be touchedby even the dress of a white man, until the ceremony of purification iscomplete. There was a finely, though slightly, built Indian, --moreFrench than Tartar in his look and manner, --a _linkister_, too, --thewhites called him Charley, --and Charley had got very drunk. He was, ofcourse, _compelled_ to keep among the crowd outside. During the eveningdance, a chief censured those who stayed from the ceremony, and thosewho dishonored it by appearing in this unworthy state. Charley was bythat time very drunk indeed, but very good humored. He came nearly nakedto listen. He heard the lecture; and, as he reeled around, pretending tocover his face for shame, it was amusing to see his tricks to evadetumbling against any of the bystanders, lifting his hands with an air ofdandified disdain as he staggered to one side, and repeating the mockcontemptuousness when rolling towards the same peril on the other. Nextmorning I heard numbers of the natives, sitting all along the outside ofthe sacred square, laughing very loud, and very good-naturedly quizzingpoor Charley, who had slept off somewhat of his exhilaration, but noneof his good humor. Charley laughed, too, and looked foolish, and laughedagain. 

So, to go back and resume my story. 

We went to our 'field-bed. ' It consisted of a shed of loose boards ontall stakes, and under it a raised platform of loose boards upon shorterstakes. There were several human forms already wrapped in blankets andasleep upon the platform. One of our party, attempting to get amongthem, was told by Milly, --Du Bois's Indian wife, --who just then awoke, 'No here, --no here! dat not de rule!' It seems this was the female sideof the house. My buffalo robe was spread at the opposite end. I pulledoff my boots, and set them in the grass under the bed, and sleptdelightfully. The only time I awoke, I saw the eyes of a towering blackfigure fixed upon me. The chap was seeking a spot for a snooze among us;but finding every inch of room occupied, gazed for a moment at a tree, flung down his blanket, and tumbled on the grass, the tall tree he hadbeen eyeing, at his head, and a lesser one at his heels. The female sideof my house was divided from the male side by Du Bois, who slept betweenthe ladies and the gentlemen. Our party consisted of nine in all, Indianladies included. In the morning, at day-break, we were up. With a joketo Milly about 'de rule, '--which she answered with a good-humored smile, covering her face as she smiled, --we went back to the sacred squareamong the Indians, who had been all night awake and at their devotions. 

I found them preparing for the ceremonies which close the fast. Manywere standing about, and all intent on the preparations for the morningforms. They went through the taking of the black drink, repeating allthey had done the day previous. But on this occasion I more particularlyobserved two circular plates of brass and steel, which appeared theremains of very antique shields. They were borne with great reverence bytwo chiefs. The natives do not pretend to explain whence they came. Theykeep them apart, as something sacred. They are only produced on greatoccasions. I was told, too, that ears of green corn were brought in at apart of the ceremony to-day, which I missed, and that they werepresented to a chief. He took them, and, after an invocation that thecorn might continue plentiful among them the year through, handed themback. 

This seemed the termination of the peace-offerings, and the religiouspart of the affair was now to wind up with emblems of war. These wereexpressed in what they call a Gun-Dance. When the dispositions weremaking for it, some persons in carriages were desired by a white_linkister_ to fall back and to remove their horses to a distance. Someladies, especially, were warned. 'Keep out of their way, ma'am, ' saidthe _linkister_ to a lady, 'for when they come racing about here withtheir guns, they gits powerful sarcy. ' I saw them dressing for theceremony, if it may be called dressing to throw off nearly every part ofa scanty covering. But the Indians are especially devoted to dress, intheir way. Some of them went aside to vary their costume with nearlyevery dance. 

Now appeared a procession of some forty or fifty women. They entered thesquare, and took their seats together in one of the open houses. Twomen sat in front of them, holding gourds filled with pebbles. The gourdswere shaken so as to keep time, and the women began a long chant, withwhich, at regular intervals, was given a sharp, short whoop from malevoices. The women's song was said to be intended for the wail ofmothers, wives, and daughters at the departure of the warriors for thefight; the response conveyed the resolution of the warriors not to bewithheld, but to fight and conquer. And now were seen twohideous-looking old warriors, with tomahawks and scalping-knives, painted most ferociously. Each went half round the circle, exchangedexclamations, kept up a sort of growl all the while, and at lengthstopped with a war-whoop. 

At this juncture, we were told to hurry to the outer square. The femalesand their male leaders left their places inside, and went to the moundin the centre of the outer square. The mound became entirely coveredwith their forms, and the effect was very imposing. Here they resumedtheir chant. The spectators mounted on the embankment. I got on a pileof wood, --holy wood, I believe, and heaped there to keep up the sacredfires. There were numbers of Indian women in the crowd. Four stuffedfigures were placed, one in each of the four corners of the square. 

We now heard firing and whooping on all sides. At length in the highcorn on one side we saw crouching savages, some with guns of every sort, some, especially the boys, with corn-stalks to represent guns. A nakedchief with a long sabre, the blade painted blood color, came beforethem, flourishing his weapon and haranguing vehemently. In anothercorn-field appeared another party. The two savages already mentioned ashaving given the war dance in the sacred square, now hove in sight on athird side, cowering. One of them I understood was the person who hadshot the chief I mentioned in the first part of this letter--the chiefwho made an objectionable treaty, and whose house was burned. Both thesewarriors crept slyly towards the outer square. One darted upon one ofthe puppets, caught him from behind, and stole him off; another graspedanother puppet by the waist, flung him in the air, tumbled on him as hefell, ripped him with his knife, tore off the scalp, and broke away intriumph. A third puppet was tomahawked, and a fourth shot. These werethe emblems of the various forms of warfare. 

After the first shot, the two parties whooped, and began to fireindiscriminately, and every shot was answered by a whoop. One shot hisarrow into the square, but falling short of the enemy, he coveredhimself with corn and crept thither to regain the arrow, and bore itback in safety, honored with a triumphant yell as he returned. Aftermuch of this bush skirmishing, both parties burst into the square. Therewas unremitted firing and war-whooping, the music of chanting and of thepebbled gourd going all the while. At length the fighters joined inprocession, dancing a triumphal dance around the mound, plunging thenceheadlong into the sacred square and all around it, and then scamperingaround the outside, and pouring back to the battle square; and theclosing whoop being given, the entire multitude from the battle squarerushed, helter-skelter, yelping, some firing as they went, and otherspelting down the spectators from their high places, with the corn-stalksthat had served for guns, and which gave blows so powerful that thosewho laughed at them as weapons before, rubbed their shoulders and walkedaway ashamed. 

We resumed our conveyances homeward, and heard the splashing andshouting, as we departed, of the warriors in the water. 

Leave was now given to taste the corn, and all ate their fill, and, Isuppose, did not much refrain from drinking; for I heard that everypathway and field around was in the morning strewed with sleepingIndians. 

We passed the day following in visits to the picturesque scenery of theneighborhood. We saw the fine falls of the Talapoosa, where the brokenriver tumbles over wild and fantastic precipices, varying from forty toeighty or a hundred feet in hight; and when wandering among the slipperyrocks, we passed an old Indian with his wife and child and bow andarrows. They had been shooting fishes in the stream, from a pointagainst which the fishes were brought to them by the current. Thescenery and the natives would have formed a fine picture. An artist ofthe neighborhood made me a present of a view of these falls, which Iwill show you when we meet. 

The next part of the festival among the red folks--and which Idid not see, being that day on my 'tour in search of thepicturesque'--consisted, I was told, in the display of wives urging outtheir husbands to hunt deer. When, from our travels among fine scenery, we went down to the sacred square, towards night, we met Indians withdeer slung over their horses. The skin of the first that is shot ispresented to a priest, who flings it back to the slayer to be retainedby him as a trophy, and at the same time asks from the Great Spirit thatthis may prove only the harbinger of deer in abundance whenever wanted. There was some slight dancing that evening in the sacred square, but notof significance enough to make it an object with me to remain for it, and as so many were reserving themselves for the winding-up assembly ofthe ladies, on Sunday morning, I thought I would do the same. Some ofour party stayed, however, for the night. They found a miscellaneousdance at a house in the vicinity, --negroes, borderers, and reprobateIndians, all collected in one incongruous mass. A vagabond frontier manthere asked a girl to dance. She refused, and was going to dance withanother. The first drew his pistol, and swore if she would not dancewith him she should not dance at all. Twenty pistols were clicked in aninstant; but the borderer, with a horse-laugh, asked if they thought hedidn't know there was not a soul in that section of country who dared todraw a trigger against him? He was right, for the pistols were droppedand the room cleared on the instant; whereupon the bully bordererclapped his wings and crowed and disappeared. 

The assemblage of the females I was rather solicitous to see, and so Iwas at my post betimes. I had long to wait. I heard the gathering cryfrom the men on all sides, in the corn-fields and bushes; it was likethe neighing to each other of wild horses. After a while the ladiesbegan to arrive. The spectators crowded in. 

The Indian men went to their places, and among them a party to singwhile the women danced, two of the men rattling the gourds. Thecauldrons had disappeared from the centre of the sacred square. 

And now entered a long train of females, all dressed in long gowns, likeour ladies, but all with gay colors, and bright shawls of various hues, and beads innumerable upon their necks, and tortoise-shell combs intheir hair, and ears bored all around the rim, from top to bottom, andfrom every bore a massive ear-drop, very long, and generally of silver. A selected number of the dancers wore under their robes, and girded upontheir calves, large squares of thick leather, covered all over withterrapin-shells closed together and perforated and filled with pebbles, which rattled like so many sleigh-bells. These they have the knack ofkeeping silent until their accompaniment is required for the music ofthe dance. The dresses of all the women were so long as nearly toconceal the feet, but I saw that some had neither shoes nor stockingson, while others were sandalled. The shawls were principally worn likemantles. Broad ribbons, in great profusion and of every variety of hue, hung from the back of each head to the ground, and, as they moved, these, and the innumerable sparkling beads of glass and coral and gold, gave the wearers an air of graceful and gorgeous, and, at the same time, unique wildness. 

The procession entered slowly, and wound around the central fire, whichstill blazed gently there, although the cauldrons had been removed; andthe train continued to stretch itself out, till it extended to threecircles and a half. The shorter side then became stationary, and stoodfacing the men, who were seated in that building which contained thechanters. This last rank of dancers seemed to include the principalwearers of the terrapin leg-bands, which they continued to rattle, keeping time with the chant, without shifting their position. At eachend of their line was a leader, one an old woman and the other notyoung, both bearing a little notched stick, with two feathers floatingfrom it. At a particular turn of the general figure of the dance, thesetwo broke off from their fixed rank, and made a circuit outside of allthe rest, and more briskly, while the main body of the dancers, thethree circles before mentioned, which had never ceased to move, stillproceeded slowly round and round, only turning at a given signal to facethe men, as the men had turned to face the emblem of the Deity, thecentral fire. Every eye among the women was planted on the ground. Inever beheld such an air of universal modesty. It seemed a part of theold men's privilege to make comments aloud, in order to surprise thewomen into a laugh. These must often have been very droll, and alwayspersonal, I understand, and not always the most delicate. I saw a fewinstances among the young girls where they were obliged to smother asmile by putting up their handkerchiefs. But it was conquered on theinstant. The young men said nothing; but the Indian men, whether old oryoung, seemed all to take as much interest in the show as we. The chief, Apotheola, had two daughters there. Both are very elegant girls, but theeldest delighted me exceedingly. She seemed about seventeen or eighteen. She is tall, a fine figure; her carriage graceful and _distingué_, andquite European. She had a white muslin gown; a black scarf, wrought allover with flowers in brilliant colors; an embroidered white_collarette_, I believe you call it; gold chains, coral beads, gold andjewelled ear-rings, --single ones, not in the usual Indiansuperabundance, --her hair beautifully dressed in the Parisian style; asplendid tortoise-shell comb, gemmed; and from one large tuft of hairupon one temple to that upon the other there passed a beautiful goldornament. Her sister's head-dress was nearly the same. The aforesaidelder Princess Apotheola, I am happy to say, looked only at me. Some onemust have told her that I meant to run away with her, for I had said sobefore I saw her to many of her friends. There was a very frolicksome, quizzical expression in her eye; and now and then it seemed to say, 'Nodoubt you think all these things wonderfully droll. It diverts me to seeyou so puzzled by them. ' But, excepting the look at me, which onlyproved her excellent taste, her eye dwelt on the ground, and nothingcould have been more interestingly reserved than her whole deportment. 

The dance over, all the ladies went from the square in the same orderthat they entered it. 

In about an hour, the same dance was repeated. When it ended, signal wasmade for what they call The Dance of the Olden Time, --the breaking up ofthe ceremonial, when the men and women are again allowed to intermingle. 

This was done in a quick movement around and around and around again, all the men yelping wildly and merrily, as struck their fancy, andgenerally in tones intended to set the women laughing, which they did, and heartily. The sounds most resembled the yelpings of delighted dogs. Finally came the concluding whoop, and all the parties separated. 

Between these two last dances, I sent for a chief, and desired him totake charge of some slight gifts of tobacco and beads which I hadbrought for them. The chief took them. I saw the others cut the tobacco, and share it. Ere long my ambassador returned, saying, 'The chiefs aremighty glad, and count it from you as very great friendship. ' I hadbeen too bashful about my present, and kept it back too long, throughover-shyness. If I had sent it before, I might have seen the show tomore advantage. As it was, I was immediately invited to sit inside thesquare, and witness the last dance from one of the places of honor. 

But I was now obliged to depart, and to give up all hopes of ever againseeing my beautiful Princess Apotheola. My only chance of a guidethrough the wilderness would have been lost had I delayed. So Ireluctantly mounted my pony; and I left the Indians of Tuckabatchie andtheir Green-Corn Festival, and their beautiful Princess Apotheola. 

 * * * * *

It was a great gratification to me to have seen this festival; with myown eyes to have witnessed the Indians in their own nation, with my ownears to have heard them in their own language. Nor was it any diminutionof the interest of the spectacle to reflect that this ceremony, soprecious to them, was now probably performing in the land of theirforefathers for the last, last time. I never beheld more intensedevotion; and the spirit of the forms was a right and a religious one. It was beginning the year with fasting, with humility, withpurification, with prayer, with gratitude. It was burying animosities, while it was strengthening courage. It was pausing to give thanks toHeaven, before daring to partake its beneficence. It was strange to seethis, too, in the midst of my own land; to travel, in the course of aregular journey in the New World, among the living evidences of one, itmay be, older than what we call the Old World;--the religion, and thepeople, and the associations of the untraceable past, in the very heartof the most recent portion of the most recent people upon earth. And itwas a melancholy reflection for ourselves, that, comparing the majorityof the white and red assemblage there, the barbarian should be soinfinitely the more civilized and the more interesting of the two. 

 ROSIN THE BOW. 

 A FANTASIA. 

 In Paris, a famous city in France, That lies by the banks of the sluggish Seine, Where you and I may never have been, But which we know all about in advance;-- A place of wild and wicked romance, A place where they gamble, and fiddle and dance, And the slowest coach has always a chance To get put over the road, I ween, Where women are naughty, and men are gay, And the suicides number a dozen a day, And one of the gallant _jeunesse dorée_ Will spend the night at prodigious play, And in the morning go out and slay His bosom friend with a rapier keen, Because he loses and cannot pay, -- Lived a nice young man named DIDIER. 

 This nice young man had run aground, As such young men are apt to do; His creditors swore and his mistress frowned, His breeches pockets held ne'er a _sou_, His boots were getting out at the toes, His hat was seedy, and so were his clothes, And, as he wandered the city around, He could not think of a single friend Slow to dun and prompt to lend, Whose purse he thought he could venture to sound; In such extremities friends are few; At least I think so, friend, don't you?

 At length, on the brink of a grim despair, He happened to think of a quaint old fellow, A comical customer, rusty and slow, But who used to be an elegant beau, In dress and manner quite _comme il faut_; And who, because he happened to know How to play on the violoncello, Which he'd learned for fun long time ago, Before his finances got so low, Had obtained a place in an orchestra choir, And played that beautiful instrument there; And to him monsieur determined to go; And so, Up to the top of a rickety stair, To a little attic cold and bare, He stumbled, and found the artist there. He told his tale; how his former pride Was crushed and humbled into the dust; He swore he had thought of suicide, But the charcoal venders wouldn't trust; He had no profession or trade or art, Money or food, and perish he must; And then like a blacksmith's forge he sighed, A sigh that touched the fiddler's heart. 'Cheer up, _mon cher_, and never mind; You're the very man I was trying to find. You know at the grand Theatre Français The leading violoncello I play, And my salary is two francs a day. There's a vacant place; if you are inclined To take the same, you'll find 'twill pay. '

 DIDIER looked up in a vast amaze: 'Why, I can't do so, you very well know, For I never fiddled in my born days. ' '_Qu'a cela ne tienne_, ' his friend replied, 'Don't be too certain, --you never have tried; You ought to give your abilities scope; There is an anxiety most of us feel, We may be out of time or tune, Leave off too late, or begin too soon, May pitch too sharp, or perhaps too flat; So here is a cake of excellent soap, The old, original, pure Castile, Just rosin your bow with that. '

 He took his seat in an orchestra chair, 'Twould have made you stare Had you been there To see his knowing and confident air, And to hear the considerate manager say, 'There is nobody like young _Didier_; So nice and exact, so quite _au fait_, With a style so thoroughly _recherché_, Some other concern may get him away, So I think I shall have to double his pay!'

 In clover the youth continues to graze, And still in the orchestra he plays; He's the man who never was known to make The smallest shadow of a mistake, And there's only one drawback on his praise, -- He is too modest by fifty per cent For such a master of the art, For the story went he would never consent To play a _solo_ part. 

 There's a MORAL, my juvenile friend, in this, And you need not stumble and grope; Just look for it sharp, and you can't go amiss; You will find, there is nothing like soap! Don't suffer yourself to be cast down If capricious luck should happen to frown, Go through with the motions, and if you're acute None will ever suspect that your fiddle is mute; But be sure and do as the rest of us do, And don't flourish your stick till you get your cue. Thus, let prosperity ebb or flow, Still bate no jot of hope, You may draw the longest kind of a bow If 'tis only rosined with soap!

THE GRAVEYARD AT PRINCETON. 

Reader, have you ever visited the pleasant village of Princeton, NewJersey, renowned alike in the annals of the country and of the church?While traveling from New York to Philadelphia by the New JerseyRailroad, you have doubtless obtained a glimpse of it, for it is 'a cityset on a hill, which can not be hid, ' and from the 'station, ' a mile ortwo distant, its spires and belfries, gleaming from amid its thickembowering trees, present an interesting and picturesque appearance. 

Passing onward from the station, the first notable object that meets theeye of the traveler is the Theological Seminary, a large, plain buildingof stone, the head-quarters in America of that branch of the ChristianChurch of whose stern, unflinching orthodoxy John Knox was at once thetype and exponent. Near it stands its Library, an elegant Gothicstructure erected through the munificence of James Lenox, of New York, and containing many works of great value. The street on which thesebuildings stand is appropriately named Mercer Street, for beyond them, at a short distance, lies the battle-field of Princeton, and the spotwhere the gallant Hugh Mercer fell. That spot was formerly marked by alarge tree, but a few years ago the hallowed landmark was cut down andremoved by heartless barbarians. The house to which the wounded hero wascarried, where the 'two Quaker ladies waited on him' so assiduously, still stands, and on the floor of the room in which he died are certainmarks, of doubtful origin, said to be blood-stains from his death-wound. Over the now peaceful battle-field, reddened with nothing more terriblethan the ruddy clover-heads, a tall flag-staff, surmounted by a gildedeagle, uprears the glorious stars and stripes, and attests the loyaltyof the people of Princeton. 

About midway of the long, shady street of which Princeton chieflyconsists, stands the crowning glory of the place, the venerable Collegeof New Jersey. The college proper is a long, four-story edifice ofstone, its center adorned with a tower and belfry, conspicuous fromafar. At either side of it are clustered other buildings, embracing itshalls, recitation rooms, and chapel. 

It stands a little distance back from the street, between it and whichlies the 'Campus, ' a beautiful grassy slope of vivid green, surroundedwith an iron fence, laid out with neat gravel walks, and shaded by nobleand magnificent trees of more than a century's growth. Nothing can bemore beautiful in summer time than this shady lawn. Here, at all hoursof the day, students may be seen reading alone, or conversing in groups, seated on the benches placed at intervals among the trees, or stretchedat full length on the fragrant grass, kicking their heels gymnasticallyin the air, or sauntering with arms interlocked along the gravel walks, singing, perhaps, some college song, such as

 'Gaudeamus igitur, Juvenes dum sumus, '

or others less classical and more uproarious. 

Here, too, those known to their class-mates as the 'hard fellows, ' arewont to prowl in the darkened hours, making night hideous with terrificvoices, or stealing in darkness and silence to play some trick on the'Profs. ' or 'Tutes. '

From the gates of the Campus, every afternoon at the hour of five, orafter prayers, the whole troop of students, to the number of threehundred, issue, for the purpose of taking their evening walk. Down thestreet they march, by twos and threes, chatting, laughing, tellingcollege stories, or rehearsing the gossip of the day, into the extremelower end of the long street, a locality known as Orthodox Corner, wherethey turn and march back in the same order. As they proceed, their ranksare gradually swelled by a couple of hundreds of 'Seminary' students(distinguishable by their more mature appearance, their heavier beards, and their 'stove-pipe hats'), and their walk enlivened by the sight ofnumerous ladies, who, by a remarkable coincidence, have also chosen thehour between five and six as the most fashionable for promenading, thedames of course usually going _up_ the street as the students are going_down_, and _down_ as, the students are going _up_, in order to affordthem opportunities to exercise their graces in bowing to those whom theyknow, and staring at those whom they do not. For one brief hour, thequiet street presents the appearance of a crowded city, the pedestriansjostling each other as they pass and repass; but soon as the hour of sixarrives, all is still again, for youths and maidens are alike engaged indiscussing that meal for which their long walk has served as a whet. 

But it was of the dead, not the living, that I was about to speak. Nearly opposite the college Campus we find Witherspoon Street, namedafter that brave and good man who was president of the college in thedays of the Revolution, and one of the signers of the Declaration ofIndependence. Following this street a short distance, we come to thecity of the dead. It is situated on an eminence, commanding a fine viewof the surrounding country, embracing the village of Kingston, thedistant spires of Trenton, and the blue range of hills beyond which rollthe dark waters of the Atlantic. In natural advantages it can notcompare with some of our modern cemeteries, but the historic interestwhich attaches to it more than compensates for the lack of picturesqueeffect. 

The first spot to which the visitor is directed, is the inclosurecontaining the graves of the presidents of Princeton College. They areall of the old-fashioned style of 'table tombs, ' now so seldomconstructed; a flat slab, stretched on four walls of solid masonry, covering the whole grave. It was on such a tombstone that, in the oldGreyfriars churchyard in Edinburgh, the solemn League and Covenant, fromwhich resulted events so important to Scotland, was signed. No 'storiedurn or animated bust' records the virtues of these venerable men, --noteven marble in its simplest form has been used to mark theirresting-place. The slabs are of coarse, grey stone, with longinscriptions in Latin occupying their entire surface. Many of them, especially that of the pious and renowned JONATHAN EDWARDS, wholeft his New England home only to find a grave in New Jersey, havingdied a month after his removal to Princeton, have been most shamefullymutilated by relic-hunters and curiosity-mongers; innumerable pieceshaving been chipped off the edges of the slabs, until even theinscriptions have been encroached upon. To prevent, if possible, furthermutilation, the following unique and elaborate, but eloquent notice, enclosed in an iron frame, has been placed over the graves of thesereverend fathers. It was written by Professor, now Dr. Giger, of thecollege. 

 Keep your sacrilegious hands off these venerable stones! Parian marble, wrought with consummate skill, could not replace them. Connected with these homely monuments are historical associations that ought not to be forgotten. The scarcity of better materials, the rudeness of monumental sculpture, the poverty of the country, the early struggles and pecuniary embarrassments of the colony, at the period when these monuments were erected, as well as the self-denial and hardships and labors of the distinguished men who gave fame and usefulness to Nassau Hall, are indicated by these rough stones. Nothing modern, nothing polished or magnificent, could suggest the early history of New Jersey. Spare what remains of these broken memorials. Thoughtless young man! why do you break and deface these old monuments? A few fragments carried in your pocket, or placed in your cabinet, will not impart to you the activity and energy of Burr, or the profound and logical intellect of Edwards, or the eloquence of Davies, or the piety and triumphant death of Finley, or the poetical wisdom, the power of governing and inspiring youth, the love of knowledge, and the stern, unflinching patriotism of Witherspoon. If you admire and reverence the character of these great and good men, read their works imitate their example; and forbear, we beseech you, to add to the shameful mutilation of the frail memorials intended to protect their bones from insult. 

But there is a strange and startling incongruity observable in thisenclosure. At the foot of the grave where rest the remains of thevenerable Aaron Burr, first president of the College of New Jersey, stands a tall white marble monument of modern form and appearance, soutterly out of keeping with the rest of the tombs, that the visitor atonce turns to it, and is none the less startled to find that it marksthe last resting-place of that other Aaron Burr, the traitor, theduellist, the libertine, whose remains, brought hither in the night, were surreptitiously buried at the feet of his venerated father, andthis monument placed over them, years afterwards, in the same manner. And for his father's sake, there they were suffered to remain. 'Afterlife's fitful fever he sleeps well, ' in the midst of these old greystones, and surrounded by the honored dead. The monument bears norecord, except his name, the dates of his birth and death, and thestatement that he was Vice-President of the United States from 1801 to1805. It is as if it said, --

 'No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode. '

Not a quarter of a mile from where his dust thus reposes, there sleeps, in a neglected grave in a small grove of trees behind the college, oneof his hapless victims, a young lady of Philadelphia, who died, as themouldering headstone, half sunken in the turf, informs us, 'at the earlyage of twenty-two. '

The next point of interest is the spot where seven or eight elegantshafts of white marble, erected by their class-mates, mark the graves ofstudents who have died during their collegiate course. They are allremarkable for the beauty and chaste simplicity of their design, and theappropriateness of their inscriptions. No historic interest attaches tothem; no well-earned fame gilds them with a halo of glory; but a feelingtouching and sad creeps over the heart as we read on the tomb the nameof each sleeper's distant home, and think of the poor young man dying inthe midst of strangers, while doubtless

 'There was weeping far away, And gentle eyes, for him, With watching many an anxious day, Were sorrowful and dim. '

Passing on, we reach the graves of the three Alexanders, father and twosons, whose writings are dear to so many Christian hearts. Side by sidethey repose, under three slabs of pure white marble, inscribed withappropriate epitaphs. That of the father, Archibald Alexander, for fiftyyears professor in the Theological Seminary, is a simple, unadornedrecord of his personal history; that of the younger brother, JosephAddison, who was a man of immense learning, able to read, write, andconverse in sixteen languages, tells us that 'his great talents and vastlearning were entirely devoted to the exposition and elucidation of theWord of God;' but to New Yorkers that of the elder brother, Dr. James W. Alexander, is fraught with the greatest interest, from his having solately occupied a prominent place among the first divines and scholarsof our country. It runs thus:

 SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

 JAMES WADDEL ALEXANDER. 

 A man of God, thoroughly furnished unto all good works; a learned, elegant, and accomplished scholar; a faithful, affectionate, and beloved pastor; an able, eloquent, and successful preacher; professor of mathematics in the College of New Jersey; professor of ecclesiastical history in Princeton Theological Seminary; pastor of the Presbyterian Church, corner of Fifth Avenue and Nineteenth Street, New York. 

 Throughout his life and labors, he illustrated those gifts and graces that exalt humanity and adorn the church of God. 

Scattered about the graveyard are many monuments, attractive andinteresting from their artistic beauty alone. One of the most chaste andelegant designs I have ever seen is the tomb erected by a gentleman ofPhiladelphia, to the memory of his wife, son, and daughter, who perishedin the burning of the 'Henry Clay' on the Hudson River. It is in theform of a casket, of white marble, beautifully carved and of gracefulform, elevated on a pedestal of polished stone, of a blueish tint. Onone end of the casket are inscribed the words

 WIFE DAUGHTER SON

on the other end, MOTHER SISTER BROTHER

while one side bears the appropriate text of Scripture:--

 When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee;

and the other the comforting words:--

 For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him. 

Under a drooping cypress tree, half hidden amid its dark green foliage, is a monument of white marble, in the form of a Greek cross, low butmassive, on which there is no epitaph or inscription whatever; but onthe little foot-stone beyond it are the simple words:--

 GENEVIEVE. Died 1851, Aged 18. 

Numerous 'broken rosebuds' mark the graves of children, and the deviceis so often repeated as to become tiresome; but on one handsome monumentis carved a wreath of flowers, from which a rose has apparently dropped, and fallen on the pedestal, --a beautiful illustration of the loss thefamily circle had sustained in the death of her who rests below. Anotherchild-grave, the tombstone a small upright slab surmounted by a wreathof flowers, bears the touching inscription:--

 Our only Son, JOHN AGUR E----. Aged 2 years. 

Many graves here, as elsewhere, are adorned with examples of 'graveyardpoetry;' but most of it is of that humble character which is illustratedby the following:--

 'Farewell, beloved wife: I must go And leave you in this world of woe. A few short years, then we shall meet Together at our Saviour's feet. '

One more epitaph, before we leave this interesting and time-honoredplace of graves. It is from a plain horizontal slab, not far from theentrance; and is, to our thinking, one of the most beautiful andtouching monumental inscriptions ever penned. 

 SARAH B----, Wife of the Rev. C---- K----. 

 A humble worshiper of Christ, she lived in love and died in faith. Truthful woman, delightful companion, ardent friend, devoted wife, self-sacrificing mother, we lay you gently here, our best beloved, to gather strength and beauty for the coming of the Lord. 

AMONG THE PINES. 

Some winters ago I passed several weeks at Tallahassee, Florida, andwhile there made the acquaintance of Colonel J----, a South Carolinaplanter. Accident, some little time later, threw us together again atCharleston, when I was gratified to learn that he would be my _compagnondu voyâge_ as far north as New York. 

He was accompanied by his body-servant, 'Jim, ' a fine specimen of thegenus darky, about thirty years of age, born and reared in his master'sfamily. As far as possible we made the journey by day, stopping at someconvenient resting-place by night; on which occasions the Colonel, Jim, and myself would occupy the same or adjoining apartments, 'we whitefolks' sleeping on four posts, while the more democratic negro spreadhis blanket on the floor. Thrown together thus intimately, it was butnatural that we should learn much of each other. 

The 'Colonel' was a highly cultivated and intelligent gentleman, andduring this journey a friendship sprung up between us, --afterward keptalive by a regular correspondence, --which led him, with his wife anddaughter, and the man Jim, to my house on his next visit at the North, one year later. I then promised, --if I should ever again travel in SouthCarolina, --to visit him on his plantation in the extreme north-easternpart of the State. 

In December last, a short time prior to the passage of the ordinance ofsecession, I had occasion to again visit Charleston, and, previous tosetting out, dispatched a letter to the Colonel with the informationthat I was then ready to be led of him 'into the wilderness. ' Onarriving at the head-quarters of Secession, I found a missive awaitingme, in which he cordially renewed his previous tender of hospitality, gave me particular directions how to proceed, and stated that his 'manJim' would meet me with a carriage at Georgetown, and convey me thence, seventy miles, to 'the plantation. '

Having performed the business which led me to Charleston, I set out forthe rendezvous five days before the date fixed for the meeting, intending to occupy the intervening time in an exploration of theancient town and its surroundings. Having passed the half of one day andthe whole of one night in that delectable place, --during which night Iwas set on and nearly annihilated, while lying defenceless in my bed, bya myriad of Carolina _big-bugs_, --I found it so intolerably dull that, to escape a siege of 'the blues, ' I hired a horse and a negro driver ata livery-stable, and started off for the plantation. 

I make this preliminary statement to give the reader a satisfactoryreason for taking him over wretched roads, at so inclement a season, with no companion but an ebony Jehu, into the very heart ofSecessiondom. 

My companion was a very intelligent native African, of the name ofScipio, who 'hired his time' of his mistress, and obtained his living bydoing odd jobs around the streets and wharves of Georgetown. Portions ofthe country through which we passed were almost as wild as the forestsof Oregon, and in some places the feeling against the North and Northerntravelers ran very high. I had some strange encounters with swollenstreams and roaring secessionists, in which my negro driver was of greatservice to me; and the knowledge I thus gained of him led me for thefirst time to the opinion, that real elevation and nobility of charactermay exist under an ebony skin. 

Our first day on the road was clear, sunshiny, and of delicioustemperature--one of those days so peculiar to the Southern winter, whenthe blood bounds through every vein as if thrilled by electricity, and aman of lively temperament can scarcely restrain his legs from dancing abreakdown. Night found us thirty miles on our way, and under the roof ofa hospitable planter. A storm came on with the going down of the sun, and lasted during the following day; but, desiring to arrive at mydestination before the servant should set out to meet me, I decided topush on in the rain. 

Our second day's travel was attended with sundry interruptions andadventures, and night overtook us in the midst of a forest, uncertainwhere we were, and half dead from exposure to the storm; but afterseveral hours of hard riding, we found ourselves, drenched to the skinand benumbed with the cold, before the door of a one-story log cabin, tenanted by a family of

POOR WHITES. 

The rain was falling in torrents, and the night was as 'dark as thedarkest corner of the dark place below. ' We were in the midst of whatseemed an endless forest of turpentine pines, and had seen no humanhabitation for hours. Not knowing where the road might lead us, andfeeling totally unable to proceed, we determined to ask shelter at theshanty for the night. 

In answer to our summons a wretched-looking, half-clad, dirt-bedraggledwoman thrust her head from the door-way, with the inquiry, 'Who are ye?'

'We'm only massa and me, and de hoss, and we'm half dead wid de cold, 'said Scipio; 'can't we cum in out ob de rain?'

'Wal, strangers, ' replied the woman, eying us as closely as the darknesswould permit, 'you'll find mighty poor fixins har, but I reckon ye cancome in. '

Entering the house, we saw, by the light of a blazing pile of pineknots, which roared and crackled on the hearth, that it contained only asingle apartment, about twenty feet square. In front of the fire-place, which occupied the better half of one side of the room, the floor was ofthe bare earth, littered over with pine chips, dead cinders, live coals, broken pots, and a lazy spaniel dog. Opposite to this, at the other endof the room, were two low beds, which looked as if they had been 'sleptin forever, and never made up. ' Against the wall, between the beds andthe fire-place, stood a small pine table, and on it was a large woodenbowl, from whose mouth protruded the handles of several unwashed pewterspoons. On the right of the fire was a razeed rocking-chair, evidentlythe peculiar property of the mistress of the mansion, and three blocksof pine log, sawn off smoothly, and made to serve for seats. Overagainst these towered a high-backed settle, something like that on which

 'sot Huldy all alone, When Zeke peeked thru the winder;'

and on it, her head resting partly on her arm, partly on the end of thesettle, one small, bare foot pressing the ground, the other, with thepart of the person which is supposed to require stockings, extended in ahorizontal direction, --reclined, not Huldy, but her Southern cousin, who, I will wager, was decidedly the prettier and dirtier of the two. Our entrance did not seem to disconcert her in the least, for she laythere as unmoved as a marble statue, her large black eyes riveted on myface as if seeing some nondescript animal for the first time. I stoodfor a moment transfixed with admiration. In a somewhat extensiveobservation of her sex, in both hemispheres, I had never witnessed sucha form, such eyes, such faultless features, and such wavy, black, luxuriant hair. A glance at her dress, --a soiled, greasy, grayishlinsey-woolsey gown, apparently her only garment, --and a second look ather face, which, on closer inspection, had precisely the hue of a tallowcandle, recalled me to myself, and allowed me to complete the survey ofthe premises. 

The house was built of unhewn logs, separated by wide interstices, through which the cold air came, in decidedly fresh if not health-givingcurrents, while a large rent in the roof, that let in the rain, gave theinmates an excellent opportunity for indulging in a shower-bath, ofwhich they seemed greatly in need. The chimney, which had intruded acouple of feet into the room, as if to keep out of the cold, andthreatened momentarily to tumble down, was of sticks, built up in clay, while the windows were of thick, unplaned boards. 

Two pretty girls, one of perhaps ten and the other of fourteen years, evidently sisters of the unadorned beauty, the middle-aged womanwho had admitted us, and the dog, --the only male member of thehousehold, --composed the family. I had seen negro cabins, but thesepeople were whites, and these whites were _South Carolinians_. Who willsay that the days of chivalry are over, when such counterparts of thefeudal serfs still exist?

After I had seated myself by the fire, and the driver had gone out tostow the horse away under the tumble-down shed at the back of the house, the elder woman said to me, --

'Reckon yer wet. Ben in the rain?'

'Yes, madam, we've been out most of the day, and got in the river belowhere. '

'Did ye? Ye mean the "run. " I reckon it's right deep now. '

'Yes, the horse had to swim for it, ' I replied. 

'Ye orter strip and put on dry cloes to onst. '

'Thank you, madam, I will. '

Going to my portmanteau, which the darky had placed near the door, Ifound it dripping with wet, and opening it, discovered that everyarticle in it had undergone the rite of total immersion. 

'Everything is thoroughly soaked, madam. I shall have to dry myself byyour fire. Can you get me a cup of tea?'

'Right sorry, stranger, but I can't. Hain't a morsel to eat or drink inthe house. '

Remembering that our excellent hostess of the night before had insistedon filling our wagon-box with a quantity of 'chicken fixins, ' to serveus in an emergency, and that my brandy flask was in my India-rubbercoat, I sent Scipio out for them. 

Our stores disclosed boiled chicken, bacon, sandwiches, sweet potatoes, short cake, corn bread, buttered waffles, and 'common doin's' toonumerous to mention, enough to last a family of one for a fortnight, butall completely saturated with water. Wet or dry, however, the provisionswere a godsend to the half-starved family, and their hearts seemed toopen to me with amazing rapidity. The dog got up and wagged his tail, and even the marble-like beauty arose from her reclining posture andinvited me to a seat with her on the bench. 

The kettle was soon steaming over the fire, and the boiling water, mixedwith a little brandy, served as a capital substitute for tea. After thechicken was re-cooked, and the other edibles 'warmed up, ' the littlepine table was brought out, and I learned--what I had beforesuspected--that the big wooden bowl and the half dozen pewter spoonswere the only 'crockery' the family possessed. 

I declined the proffered seat at the table, the cooking utensils beinganything but inviting, and contented myself with the brandy and water;but, forgetting for a moment his color, I motioned to the darky--who wasas wet and jaded, and much more hungry than I was--to take the placeoffered to me. The negro did not seem inclined to do so, but the woman, observing my gesture, yelled out, her eyes flashing with anger, --

'No, sar! No darkies eats with us. Hope ye don't reckon _yerself_ nobetter than a good-for-nothin, no-account nigger!'

'I beg your pardon, madam; I intended no offense. Scipio has served mevery faithfully for two days, and is very tired and hungry. I forgotmyself. '

This mollified the lady, and she replied, --

'Niggers is good enuff in thar place, but warn't meant to 'sociate withwhite folks. '

There may have been some ground for a distinction in that case; therecertainly was a difference between the specimens of the two races thenbefore me; but, not being one of the chivalry, it struck me that theodds were on the side of the black man. The whites were shiftless, ragged, and starving; the black well clad, cleanly, energetic, and asmuch above the others in intellect as Jupiter is above a church steeple. To be sure, color was against him, and he was, after all, a servant inthe land of chivalry and of servant-owners. Of course the woman wasright, after all. 

She soon resumed the conversation, with this remark:--

'Reckon yer a stranger in these parts; whar d'ye come from?'

'From New York, madam. '

'New York! whar's that?'

'It's a city at the North. '

'Oh! yas; I've heern tell on it; that's whar the Cunnel sells histurpentine. Quite a place, ain't it?'

'Yes, quite a place. Something larger than all South Carolina. '

'What d'ye say? Larger nor South Carolina! Kinder reckon tain't, is't?'

'Yes, madam, it is. '

'Du tell! Tain't so large as Charles'n, is't?'

'Yes, twenty times larger than Charleston. '

'Lord o'massy! How does all the folks live thar?'

'Live quite as well as they do here. '

'Ye don't have no niggers thar, does ye?'

'Yes, but none that are slaves. '

'Have Ablisherners thar, don't ye? Them people that go agin the South?'

'Yes, some of them. '

'What do they go agin the South for?'

'They go for freeing the slaves. Some of them think a black man as goodas a white one. '

'Quar, that; yer an Ablisherner, ain't ye?'

'No, I'm an old-fashioned Whig. '

'What's that? Never heerd on them afore. '

'An old-fashioned Whig, madam, is a man whose political principles areperfect, and who is as perfect as his principles. '

That was a 'stumper' for the poor woman, who evidently did notunderstand one half of the sentence. 

'Right sort of folks, them, ' she said, in a half inquiring tone. 

'Yes, but they're all dead now. '

'Dead?'

'Yes, dead, beyond the hope of resurrection. '

'I've heern all the dead war to be resurrected. Didn't ye say ye war oneon 'em? _Ye_ ain't dead yet, ' said the woman, chuckling at havingcornered me. 

'But I'm more than _half_ dead just now. '

'Ah, ' replied the woman, still laughing, 'yer a chicken. '

'A chicken! what's that?'

'A thing that goes on tu legs, and karkles, ' was the ready reply. 

'Ah, my dear madam, you can out-talk me. '

'Yes, I reckon I kin outrun ye, tu. Ye ain't over rugged. ' Then, after apause, she added, --'What d'ye 'lect that darky Linkum for Presidentfor?'

'I didn't elect him. _I_ voted for Douglass. But Lincoln is not adarky. '

'He's a mullater, then; I've heern he war, ' she replied. 

'No, he's not a mulatto; he's a rail-splitter. '

'Rail-splitter? _Then he's a nigger, shore_. '

'No, madam; white men at the North split rails. '

'An' white wimmin tu, p'raps, ' said the woman, with a contemptuous tossof the head. 

'No, they don't, ' I replied, ' but white women _work_ there. '

'White wimmin work thar!' chimed in the hitherto speechless beauty, showing a set of teeth of the exact color of her skin, --_yaller_. 'Whatdu the' du?'

'Some of them attend in stores, some set type, some teach school, andsome work in factories. '

'Du tell! Dress nice, and make money?'

'Yes, ' I replied, 'they make money, and dress like fine ladies; in fact, _are_ fine ladies. I know one young woman, of about your age, that hadto get her own education, who earns a thousand dollars a year byteaching, and I've heard of many factory-girls who support theirparents, and lay up a great deal of money, by working in the mills. '

'Wal!' replied the young woman, with a contemptuous curl of hermatchless upper lip; 'schule-marms ain't fine ladies; fine ladies don'twork; only niggers does that _har_. I reckon I'd ruther be 'spectablethan work for a livin'. '

I could but think how magnificently the lips of some of our gloriousYankee girls would have curled had they heard that remark, and seen thepoor girl that made it, with her torn, worn, greasy dress; her bare, dirty legs and feet, and her arms, neck, and face so thickly encrustedwith a layer of clayey mud that there was danger of hydrophobia if shewent near a wash-tub. Restraining my involuntary disgust, I replied, --

'We at the North think work is respectable. We do not look down on aman or a woman for earning their daily bread. We all work. '

'Yas, and that's the why ye'r all sech cowards, ' said the old woman. 

'Cowards!' I said; 'who tells you that?'

'My old man; he says one on our _boys_ can lick five of your Yankee_men_. '

'Perhaps so. Is your husband away from home?'

'Yes, him and our Cal. Ar down to Charles'n. '

'Cal. Is your son, is he?'

'Yes, he's my oldest, and a likely lad he ar tu--He's twenty-one, andhis name ar JOHN CALHOUN MILLS. He's gone a troopin' it withhis fader. '

'What, both gone and left you ladies here alone?'

'Yes, the Cunnel sed every man orter go, and they warn't to be ahind therest. The Cunnel--Cunnel J. --looks arter us while they is away. '

'But I should think the Colonel looked after you poorly--giving younothing to eat. '

'Oh! it's ben sech a storm to-day, the gals couldn't go for the vittles, though tain't a great way. We'r on his plantation; this house is his'n. '

This last was agreeable news, and it occurred to me that if we were sonear the Colonel's we might push on, and get there that night, in spiteof the storm; so I said, --

'Indeed; I'm going to the Colonel's. How far is his house from here?'

'A right smart six mile; it's at the Cross-roads. Ye know the Cunnel, duye?'

'Oh, yes, I know him well. If his house is not more than six miles off, I think we had better go on to-night. What do you say, Scip?'

'I reckon we'd better gwo, massa, ' replied the darky, who had spread mytraveling-shawl in the chimney-corner, and was seated on it, drying hisclothes. 

'Ye'd better not, ' said the woman; 'ye better stay har; thar's a rightsmart run twixt har and the Cunnel's, and tain't safe to cross arterdark. '

'If that is so we'd better stay, Scip; don't you think so?' I said tothe darky. 

'Jess as you like, massa. We got tru wid de oder one, and I reckontain't no woss nor dat. '

'The bridge ar carried away, and ye'll have to swim _shore_, ' said thewoman. 'Ye'd better stay. '

'Thank you, madam, I think we will, ' I replied, after a moment'sthought; 'our horse has swum one of your creeks to-night, and I dare nottry another. '

I had taken off my coat, and had been standing, during the greater partof this conversation, in my shirt-sleeves before the fire, turning roundoccasionally to facilitate the drying process, and taking every now andthen a sip from the gourd containing our brandy and water; aided in thelatter exercise by the old woman and the eldest girl, who indulged quiteas freely as I did. 

'Mighty good brandy that, ' at last said the woman. 'Ye like brandy, don't ye?'

'Not very much, madam. I take it to-night because I've been exposed tothe storm, and it stimulates the circulation. But Scip, here, don't likespirits. He'll get the rheumatism because he don't. '

'Don't like dem sort of sperits, massa; but rumatics neber trubble me. '

'But I've got it mighty bad, ' said the woman, '_and I take 'em wheneverI kin get 'em_. '

I rather thought she did, but I 'reckoned' her principal beverage waswhisky. 

'You have the rheumatism, madam, because your house is so open; adraught of air is always unhealthy. '

'I allers reckoned 'twar _healthy_, ' she replied. 'Ye Yankee folks havequar notions. '

I looked at my watch, and found it was nearly ten o'clock, and, feelingvery tired, said to the hostess, --

'Where do you mean we shall sleep?'

'Ye can take that ar bed, ' pointing to the one nearest the wall, 'thedarky can sleep har;' motioning to the settle on which she was seated. 

'But where will you and your daughters sleep? I don't wish to turn youout of your beds. '

'Oh! don't ye keer for us; we kin all bunk together; dun it afore. Liketo turn in now?'

'Yes, thank you, I would;' and without more ceremony I adjourned to thefurther part of the room, and commenced disrobing. Doffing my boots, waistcoat, and cravat, and placing my watch and purse under the pillow, I gave a moment's thought to what a certain not very old lady, whom Ihad left at home, might say when she heard of my lodging with agrass-widow and three young girls, and sprung into bed. There I removedmy undermentionables, which were still too damp to sleep in, and inabout two minutes and thirty seconds sunk into oblivion. 

A few streaks of grayish light were beginning to creep through thecrevices in the logs, when a movement at the foot of the bed awakenedme, and glancing downward I beheld the youngest girl emerging from underthe clothes at my feet. She had slept there, 'cross-wise, ' all night. Astir in the adjoining bed soon warned me that the other feminines werepreparing to follow her example; so, turning my face to the wall, Ifeigned to be asleep. Their toilet was soon made, and they then quietlyleft Scip and myself in full possession of the premises. 

The darky rose as soon as they were gone, and, coming to me, said, --

'Massa, we'd better be gwine. I'se got your cloes all dry, and you canrig up and breakfust at de Cunnel's. '

The storm had cleared away, and the sun was struggling to get throughthe distant pines, when Scipio brought the horse to the door, and weprepared to start. Turning to the old woman, I said, 'I feel greatly obliged to you, madam, for the shelter you have givenus, and would like to make you some recompense for your trouble. Pleaseto tell me what I shall pay you. '

'Wal, stranger, we don't gin'rally take in lodgers, but seein' as how asthar ar tu on ye, and ye've had a good night on it, I don't keer if yepay me tu dollars. '

That struck me as 'rather steep' for 'common doin's, ' particularly as wehad furnished the food and 'the drinks;' yet, saying nothing, I handedher a two-dollar bank note. She took it, and held it up curiously to thesun, then in a moment handed it back, saying, 'I don't know nothin''bout that ar sort of money; hain't you got no silver?'

I fumbled in my pocket a moment, and found a quarter-eagle, which I gaveher. 

'I hain't got nary a fip o' change, ' she said, as she took it. 

'Oh! never mind the change, madam; I shall want to stop and _look_ atyou when I return, ' I replied, good-humoredly. 

'Ha! ha! yer a chicken, ' said the woman, at the same time giving me agentle poke in the ribs. Fearing she might, in the exuberance of her joyat the sight of the money, proceed to some more decided demonstration ofaffection, I hastily stepped into the wagon, bade her good-by, and wasoff. 

We were still among the pines, which towered gigantically all around us, but were no longer alone. Every tree was scarified for turpentine, andthe forest was alive with negro men and women gathering the 'lastdipping, ' or clearing away the stumps and underbrush preparatory to thespring work. It was Christmas week; but, as I afterwards learned, theColonel's negroes were accustomed to doing 'half tasks' at that season, being paid for their labor as if they were free. They stopped their workas we rode by, and stared at us with a sort of stupid, half-frightenedcuriosity, very much like the look of a cow when a railway train ispassing. It needed but little observation to conclude that their_status_ was but one step above the level of the brutes. 

As we rode along I said to the driver, 'Scipio, what did you think ofour lodgings?'

'Mighty pore, massa. Niggas lib better'n dat. '

'Yes, ' I replied, 'but these folks despise you blacks; they seem to beboth poor and proud. '

'Yas, massa, dey'm pore 'cause dey won't work, and dey'm proud 'causedey'r white. Dey won't work 'cause dey see de darky slaves doin' it, andtink it am beneaf white folks to do as de darkies do. Dis habin' slaveskeeps dis hull country pore. '

'Who told you that?' I asked, astonished at hearing a remark showing somuch reflection from a negro. 

'Nobody, massa, I see it myseff. '

'Are there many of these poor whites around Georgetown?'

'Not many 'round Georgetown, sar, but great many in de up-country har, and dey'm all 'like--pore and no account; none ob 'em kin read, and deyall eat clay. '

'Eat clay!' I said; 'what do you mean by that?'

'Didn't you see, massa, how yaller all dem wimmin war? Dat's 'cause deyeat clay. De little children begin 'fore dey can walk, and dey eat ittill dey die; dey chaw it like 'backer. It makes all dar stumacs big, like as you seed 'em, and spiles dar 'gestion. It am mighty onhealfy. '

'Can it be possible that human beings do such things! The bruteswouldn't do that. '

'No, massa, but _dey_ do it; dey'm pore trash. Dat's what de big folkscall 'em, and it am true; dey'm long way lower down dan de darkies. '

By this time we had arrived at the run. We found the bridge carriedaway, as the woman had told us; but its abutments were still standing, and over these planks had been laid, which afforded a safe crossing forfoot-passengers. To reach these planks, however, it was necessary towade into the stream for full fifty yards, the 'run' having overflowedits banks for that distance on either side of the bridge. The water wasevidently receding, but, as we could not well wait, like the man in thefable, for it all to run by, we alighted, and counseled as to the bestmode of making the passage. 

Scipio proposed that he should wade in to the first abutment, ascertainthe depth of the stream, and then, if it was not found too deep for thehorse to ford to that point, we would drive that far, get out, and walkto the end of the planking, leading the horse, and then again mount thewagon at the further end of the bridge. We were sure the horse wouldhave to swim in the middle of the current, and perhaps for aconsiderable distance beyond; but, having witnessed his proficiency inaquatic performances, we had no doubt of his getting safely across. 

The darky's plan was decided on, and divesting himself of his trowsers, he waded into the 'run' to take the soundings. 

While he was in the water my attention was attracted to a printed paper, posted on one of the pines near the roadside. Going up to it, I read asfollows:--

 $250 REWARD. 

 Ran Away from the subscriber, on Monday, November 12th, his mulatto man, SAM. Said boy is stout-built, five feet nine inches high, 31 years old, weighs 170 lbs. , and walks very erect, and with a quick, rapid gait. The American flag is tattooed on his right arm above the elbow. There is a knife-cut over the bridge of his nose, a fresh bullet-wound in his left thigh, and his back bears marks of a recent whipping. He is supposed to have made his way back to Dinwiddie County, Va. , where he was raised, or to be lurking in the swamps in this vicinity. 

 The above reward will be paid for his confinement in any jail in North or South Carolina, or Virginia, or for his delivery to the subscriber on his plantation at ----. D. W. J----. ----, December 2, 1860. 

The name signed to this hand-bill was that of the planter I was about tovisit. 

Scipio having returned, reporting the stream fordable to the bridge, Isaid to him, pointing to the 'notice, '--

'Read that, Scip. '

He read it, but made no remark. 

'What does it mean--that fresh bullet wound, and the marks of a recentwhipping?' I asked. 

'It mean, massa, dat de darky hab run away, and ben took; and dat whendey took him dey shot him, and flogged him arter dat. Now, he hab runaway agin. De Cunnel's mighty hard on his niggas!'

'Is he! I can scarcely believe that. '

'He am, massa; but he ain't so much to blame, nuther; dey'm awful badset, most ob 'em, --so dey say. '

Our conversation was here interrupted by our reaching the bridge. After, safely 'walking the plank, ' and making our way to the opposite bank, Iresumed it by asking, --

'Why are the Colonel's negroes so particularly bad?'

'Cause, you see, massa, de turpentime business hab made great profitsfor sum yars now, and de Cunnel hab been gettin' rich bery fass. He habput all his money, jes so fass as he made it, into darkies, so as tomake more; for he's got berry big plantation, and need nuffin' butdarkies to work it to make money jess like a gold mine. He goes up toVirginny to buy niggas; and up dar _now_ dey don't sell none less dey'mbad uns, 'cep when sum massa die or git pore. Virginny darkies dat cumdown har ain't gin'rally of much account. Dey'm either kindergood-for-nuffin, or dey'm ugly; and de Cunnel d'rather hab de ugly dande no-account niggas. '

'How many negroes has he?'

''Bout two hundred, men and wimmin, I b'lieve, massa. '

'It can't be very pleasant for his family to remain in such anout-of-the-way place, with such a gang of negroes about them, and nowhite people near. '

'No, massa, not in dese times; but de missus and de young lady ain't darnow. '

'Not there now? The Colonel said nothing to me about that. Are yousure?'

'Oh yas, massa; I seed 'em go off on de boat to Charles'n most two weeksago. Dey don't mean to cum back till tings am more settled; dey'm 'fraidto stay dar. '

'I should think it wouldn't be safe for even the Colonel there, if adisturbance broke out among the slaves. '

''Twouldn't be safe den anywhar, sar; but de Cunnel am berry brave man. He'm better dan twenty of _his_ niggas. '

'Why better than twenty of _his_ niggers?'

''Cause dem ugly niggas am gin'rally cowards. De darky dat is quiet, 'spectful, and does his duty, am de brave sort; _dey'll_ fight, massa, till dey'm cut down. '

We had here reached a turn in the road, and passing it, came suddenlyupon a coach, attached to which were a pair of magnificent grays, drivenby a darky in livery. 

'Hallo dar!' said Scipio to the driver, as we came nearly abreast of thecarriage. 'Am you Cunnel J----'s man?'

'Yas, I is dat, ' replied the darky. 

At this moment a woolley head, which I recognized at once as that of theColonel's man 'Jim, ' was thrust out of the window of the vehicle. 

'Hallo, Jim, ' I said. 'How do you do? I'm glad to see you. '

'Lor bress me, massa K----, am dat you?' exclaimed the astonished negro, hastily opening the door, and coming to me. 'Whar _did_ you cum from?I'se mighty glad to see you;' at the same time giving my hand a heartyshaking. I must here say, in justice to the reputation of SouthCarolina, that no respectable Carolinian refuses to shake hands with ablack man, unless--the black happens to be free. 

'I thought I wouldn't wait for you, ' I replied. 'But how did you expectto get on? the "runs" have swollen into rivers. '

'We got a "flat" made for dis one, --it's down dar by dis time, --de oderswe tought we'd get ober sumhow. '

BLACK FREEMASONRY. 

'Jim, this is Scip, ' I said, seeing that the darkies had taken no noticeof each other. 

'How d'ye do, Scipio?' said Jim, extending his hand to him. A look ofsingular intelligence passed over the faces of the two negroes as theirhands met; it vanished in an instant, and was so slight that none but aclose observer would have detected it, but some words that Scip hadpreviously let drop put me on the alert, and I felt sure it had a hiddensignificance. 

'Won't you get into de carriage, massa?' inquired Jim. 

'No, thank you, Jim. I'll ride on with Scip. Our horse is jaded, and youhad better go ahead. '

Jim mounted the driver's seat, turned the carriage, and drove off at abrisk pace to announce our coming at the plantation, while Scip and Irode on at a slower gait. 

'Scip, did you know Jim before?' I asked. 

'Neber seed him afore, massa, but hab heern ob him. '

'How is it that you have lived in Georgetown for five years, and he onlyseventy miles off, and you never have seen him?'

'I cud hab seed him, massa, good many time, ef I'd liked, but darkieshab to be careful. '

'Careful of what?'

'Careful ob who dey knows; good many bad niggas 'bout. '

'Pshaw, Scip, you're "coming de possum;" that game won't work with me. There isn't a better nigger than Jim in all South Carolina. I know himwell. '

'P'raps he am; reckon he _am_ a good enuff nigga. '

'Good enough nigga, Scip! Why, I tell you he's a splendid fellow; justas true as steel. He's been North with the Colonel, often, and theAbolitionists have tried to get him away; he knew he could go, butwouldn't budge an inch. '

'I knew he wouldn't, ' said the darky, a pleasurable gleam passingthrough his eyes; 'dat sort don't run; dey face de music!'

'Why don't they run? What do you mean?'

'Nuffin', massa, --only dey'd ruther stay har. '

'Come, Scip, you've played this game long enough. Tell me, now, whatthat look you gave each other when you shook hands meant. '

'What look, massa? Oh! I s'pose 'twar 'cause we'd both _heerd_ ob eachoder afore. '

''Twas more than that, Scip. Be frank; you know you can trust me. '

'Wal, den, massa, ' he replied, adding, after a short pause, 'de olewoman called you a Yankee, --you can guess. '

'If I should guess, 'twould be that it meant _mischief_. '

'It don't mean mischief, sar, ' said the darky, with a tone and air thatwould not have disgraced a Cabinet officer; 'it mean only RIGHTand JUSTICE. '

'It means that there is some secret understanding between you. '

'I tole you, massa, ' he replied, relapsing into his usual manner, 'datde blacks am all Freemasons. I gabe Jim de grip, and he know'd me. He'dha known my name ef you hadn't tole him. '

'Why would he have known your name?'

''Cause I gabe de grip, dat tole him. '

'Why did he call you Scip_io_? I called you _Scip_. '

'Oh! de darkies all do dat. Nobody but de white folks call me _Scip_. Ican't say no more, massa; I SHUD BREAK DE OATH EF I DID!'

'You have said enough, Scipio, to satisfy me that there is a secretleague among the blacks, and that you are a leader in it. Now, I tellyou, you'll get yourself into a scrape. I've taken a liking to you, Scip, and I should be _very sorry_ to see you run yourself into danger. '

'I tank you, massa, from de bottom ob my soul I tank you, ' he said, asthe tears moistened his eyes. 'You bery kind, massa; it do me good totalk wid you. But what am my life wuth? What am any _slave's_ life wuth?Ef you war me you'd do like me!'

I could not deny it, and made no reply. 

The writer of this article is aware that he is here making an importantstatement, and one that may be called in question by those persons whoare accustomed to regard the Southern blacks as only reasoning brutes. The great mass of them are but a little above the brutes in their habitsand instincts, but a large body are fully on a par, except in merebook-education, with their white masters. 

The conversation above recorded is, _verbatim et literatim_, TRUE. Ittook place at the time indicated, and was taken down, as were otherconversations recorded in these papers, within twenty-four hours afterits occurrence. The name and the locality, only, I have, for veryevident reasons, disguised. 

From this conversation, together with previous ones, held with the samenegro, and from after developments made to me at various places, and atdifferent times, extending over a period of six weeks, I becameacquainted with the fact--and I _know_ it to be a _fact_--that thereexists among the blacks a secret and wide-spread organization of aMasonic character, having its grip, pass-word, and oath. It has variousgrades of leaders, who are competent and _earnest_ men, and its ultimateobject is FREEDOM. It is quite as wide-spread, and much moresecret, than the order of the 'Knights of the Golden Circle, ' thekindred league among the whites. 

This latter organization, which was instituted by John C. Calhoun, William L. Porcher, and others, as far back as 1835, has for its soleobject the dissolution of the Union, and the establishment of a SouthernEmpire;--Empire is the word, not Confederacy, or Republic;--and it wassolely by means of its secret but powerful machinery that the SouthernStates were plunged into revolution, in defiance of the will of amajority of their voting population. 

Nearly every man of influence at the South (and many a pretended Unionman at the North) is a member of this organization, and sworn, under thepenalty of assassination, to labor, 'in season and out of season, byfair means and by foul, at all times, and on all occasions, ' for theaccomplishment of its object. The blacks are bound together by a similaroath, and only _bide their time_. 

The knowledge of the real state of political affairs, which the negroeshave acquired through this organization, is astonishingly accurate;their leaders possess every essential of leadership, --except, it may be, military skill, --and they are fully able to cope with the whites. 

The negro whom I call Scipio, on the day when Major Anderson evacuatedFort Moultrie, and before he or I knew of that event, which set allSouth Carolina in a blaze, foretold to me the breaking out of this warin Charleston harbor, and as confidently predicted that it would resultin the freedom of the slaves!

The knowledge of this organization I acquired by gaining the confidenceof some of the blacks, who knew me to be a Northern man, and supposed Isympathized with them. Having acquired it in that manner, I could notcommunicate it; but now, when our troops have landed in South Carolina, and its existence is sure to be speedily developed, no harm can resultfrom this announcement. 

The fact of its existing is not positively known (for the black is moresubtle and crafty than anything human), but is suspected, by many of thewhites; the more moderate of whom are disposed to ward off the impendingblow by some system of gradual emancipation, --declaring all blackchildren born after a certain date free, --or by some other action thatwill pacify and keep down the slaves. These persons, however, are but asmall minority, and possess no political power, and the South is rushingblindly on to a catastrophe, which, if not averted by the action of ourgovernment, will make the horrors of San Domingo and the FrenchRevolution grow pale in history. 

I say the action of our government, for with it rests theresponsibility. What the black wants is freedom. Give him that, and hewill have no incentive to insurrection. If emancipation is proclaimed atthe head of our armies, --emancipation for _all_--confiscation for theslaves of rebels, compensation for the slaves of loyal citizens, --theblacks will rush to the aid of our troops, the avenging angel will passover the homes of the many true and loyal men who are still left at theSouth, and the thunderbolts of this war will fall only--where theyshould fall--on the heads of its blood-stained authors. If this is notdone, after we have put down the whites we shall have to meet theblacks, and after we have waded knee-deep in the blood of both, we shallend the war where it began, but with the South desolated by fire andsword, the North impoverished and loaded down with an everlasting debt, and our once proud, happy and glorious country the by-word and scorn ofthe whole civilized world. 

I have all my life long been a true friend to the South. My connections, my interests, and my sympathies are all there, and there are those nowin the ranks of this rebellion who are of my own blood; but I say, and Iwould to God that every lover of his country would say it with me, 'Makeno peace with it until slavery is exterminated. ' Slavery is its verybones, marrow, and life-blood, and you can not put it down till you havedestroyed that accursed institution. If a miserable peace is patched upbefore a death-stroke is given to slavery, it will gather new strength, and drive freedom from this country forever. In the nature of things itcan not exist in the same hemisphere with liberty. Then let every manwho loves his country determine that if this war must needs last fortwenty years, it shall not end until this root of all our politicalevils is weeded out forever. 

A short half-hour took us to the plantation, where I found the Colonelon the piazza awaiting me. After our greeting was over, noticing mysoiled and rather dilapidated condition, he inquired where I had passedthe night. I told him, when he burst into a hearty fit of laughter, andfor several days good-naturedly bantered me about 'putting up' at themost aristocratic hotel in South Carolina, --the 'Mills House. '

We soon entered the mansion, and the reader will, I trust, excuse me, ifI leave him standing in its door-way till another month. 

THE LESSON OF WAR. 

 Lex est, non poena, perire. --_Martial. _

 Ye warriors of the past, whose flashing swords Light up with fitful gleams the misty night Of half-forgotten eld, in fiery words Ye teach a truth 'twere well we read aright. 

 God sends the gentle breeze to woo the flower, And stir the pulses of the ripening corn; He, too, lets loose the whirlwind's vengeful power To quench the plagues of foul stagnation born. 

 And thus in love, sometimes disguised as wrath, He sends his hidden blessings in the storm, Which dashes down in its resistless path The hoar abuses that defied reform. 

 When Cyrus ravaged fair Chaldea's plain, And mocked the strength of Babylon's haughty wall, The proud Assyrian's guilt had earned the chain, And man rejoiced to mark the oppressor's fall. 

 And when, made drunk with power, the Persian lost The stern and simple virtues of his sires, His empire's ruin and his slaughtered host Kindled in Greece her world-illuming fires. 

 Then Greece, her swift career of glory stayed, Exhausted by her madman's triumphs lay, Till Rome's protecting arm the loss repaid Of Corinth's sack and Pydua's fatal day. 

 Imperial Rome! though crime succeeded crime As earth fell prostrate 'neath her giant tread, Still shall her subjects reap to endless time The priceless harvests by her wisdom spread. 

 What though the stern proconsul's grinding rule Close followed on the legion's merciless sword? Laws, arts, and culture, in that rigid school, Evoked a nation from each savage horde. 

 And when at last her crimes, reacting, wrought Their curse upon herself, to her, supine And helpless, the barbarian spoiler brought, With fire and sword, new life to her decline. 

 Theodoric, Clovis, Charles, your endless strife, From Weser's marsh to Naples' laughing bay, Was but the throe that marked the nascent life Emerging from the worn-out world's decay. 

 Ye were, amid that elemental war, But straws to show its course. Ye toiled, and won, Or lost; your people bled--yet slow and far The mighty cause of man pressed ever on. 

 Long has that travail been. Kings, Kaisers, Popes, The stern Crusader and the pirate Dane, Each, centered in his own ambitious hopes, But helped the cause he labored to restrain. 

 Hildebrand's voice sets Christendom on fire; 'Neath Frederic's plow sinks Milan's lofty wall; Unnumbered victims glut De Montfort's ire; From Ecclin's dungeon shrieks the night appall. 

 If the tide ebbs, 'tis but to flow again. Each fierce convulsion gains some vantage ground. Man's fettered limbs grow stronger, and the chain Falls link by link at each tumultuous bound. 

 The timid burgher dons the helm and shield, The wretched hind reluctant grasps the bow, To fight their master's quarrels. Courtrai's field And Sempach's hill that lesson's worth may show. 

 The restless soul still yearns for things unknown; It chafes against its bondage, points the way That leads to freedom, but the sword alone Makes good the dreams that else would but betray. 

 See, Luther speaks, and Europe flies to arms: Her stubborn fight outlasts a hundred years; A thousand fields her richest life-blood warms, Yet gain the vanquished more than pays their tears. 

 If Orange and Gustavus conquering died, Not Coligny nor Hampden fell in vain, For one domain escaped the furious tide, And peace made that one desolate--chivalrous Spain!

 So, when the traitorous truth was whispered round, -- Equality for man on earth as heaven, -- It was but speculation's idlest sound, Till by the sword the time-worn bonds were riven. 

 Though Moscow, Leipzig, Waterloo, might seem To roll the tide back, they but marked its flood; Nor could the Holy Allies' darkest scheme Restore the wrongs so well effaced in blood. 

 The end is not yet. God's mysterious way Evolves its purpose in its destined time. Vainly we seek its fated march to stay: All things subserve it--wisdom, folly, crime. 

 We are his instruments. The past has fled For us. We suffer for the future dim. Then sternly face the darkness round us spread, Do each his duty--leave the rest to Him!

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

The Nineteenth Century dawned upon a nation already glorious with thesublime promise of a prophetic infancy. The strong serpents of Tyrannyand Superstition had been crushed in its powerful grasp. The songs oftwo oceans--the lullaby of its earlier days--had cheered it on to ayouth whose dignity and beauty were bought with sword and rifle, withblood and death. Wrapped at last in the _toga_ of an undisputed manhood, it took its place among the empires of the earth, the son of a king, mightier than all; free to enact new laws, to promulgate new systems ofeconomy, social and political, free to worship and to think. With whatsuccess a government grounded on a principle so faultless has beenadministered, may not now be written, but is not more doubtful than itwas when the drum beat its _reveillé_ only on our distant frontiers, andthe booming of guns from ship or shore was but the nation's welcome todays made memorable by its great men. But before the new republicstretched a vast field for thought, and within its almost boundlesslimits, hidden beneath the husks of old theories, lay the seed ready forthe ripening. Far back toward the east rolled, like a mighty desert, thehistory of the Progress of Mind. Here and there, on its arid surface, rose, stately and awe-inspiring, great pyramids which marked those erasof agitation when Humanity, awaking suddenly to her power, grappled withgiant strength the mighty enigmas of Being, and endeavored to wrenchfrom their mute souls the great secrets that Faith alone has expoundedto the satisfaction of her devotees. It availed little that one by one, in the vaults of these temples, the axioms and deductions of theirfounders were laid away lifeless and powerless. Another generation, vigorous and persevering, laid stone after stone the foundations ofanother edifice that strove to reach, with its yearning apex of desire, the very heavens. Still high and unmoved curved the blue infinitudeabove, while below its mirror in the soul of man surged wildly againstshores stern, rock-bound, immutable, unanswering. 

The 'limits of the forefathers' (_fines quos posuerunt patres nostri_)had been first transgressed by Abelard, and the speculating spirit ofScholasticism disseminated by him overwhelmed Europe with that rage forinvestigations, so futile yet so laborious, that terrified thetheologians of the mediæval church, and marked the first modern epoch inPhilosophy--the beginning of the revolt of Reason against Authority. Next, colossal against the still unrelenting skies, towered what may becalled the _Natur-Philosophie_, 'Nature Philosophy' of Giordano Bruno. The echoes of Luther's bugle still pierced the mountain-fastnesses ofNorthern Italy and the gorges of Spain. In the church, Bruno found onlyskepticism and licentiousness, ignorance and tyranny. Before him fourcenturies had been swallowed up in debate on the fruitless question ofNominalism, and others equally insignificant, but were visible to him bythe light of a logic so shallow, futile, and despotic, that it was knownonly to be scorned. With an energy that astonished the feeble anddegraded clergy of his time, a fearlessness that exacted the admirationwhile it aroused the indignation of his contemporaries, and a geniusthat compelled the attention of those who were most zealous to combatits evidences, Bruno, casting off the shackles of the cloister, that'_prigione angusta e nera_, ' boldly advanced a system of Philosophy, startling, in those Inquisitorial times, from its independence, andhorrible from its antagonism to Aristotle, the Atlas of the church. Thiswas no less than pure Pantheism, --God in and through all, the infiniteIntelligence. _Deus est monadum monas--nempe entium entitas_. Thiscreed, by an incomprehensible metamorphosis, was styled, in the languageof the day, Atheism; its promulgation, even its conception, waspronounced a crime whose penalty was death. And Bruno, who, from thedepths of infamous superstition, had risen into the pure light ofheaven, to a theory whose principles, though they might not satisfy, could not fail to refine, elevate, and encourage the soul long grovelingin the mire of ignorance, or languishing in the dark dungeons ofScholasticism, --Bruno died for the truth. More foolish than the savagesof whom Montesquieu speaks, who cut down trees to reach their fruit, these judges of Bruno destroyed the tree whose seeds were already strewnbroadcast over the world. They hushed forever the voice whose echoes arenot yet stilled, --echoes that resound in the cautious _Meditations_ ofDescartes, that rise from peak to peak of the majestic method of thegreat Spinoza, who was no less a martyr because reputation and not lifewas the forfeit of his earnestness; and that vibrate with thrillingsweetness in the Idealism of Schelling. 'The perfect theory of Nature, 'says Schelling, 'is that by virtue of which all Nature is resolved intothe intellectual element, ' which 'intellectual element' is at oncecomposed of intuitions and is the source of intuitions, --the _Deus innobis_ of Giordano Bruno. 'It is evident, ' he continues, 'that Nature isoriginally identical with that which in us is recognized as the subjectand the object. '

Thus the empirical school, in its representative, Aristotle, met in themartyr of Nola an opponent vigilant, earnest, powerful. And while thelegitimate prosecution of the former mode of philosophizing has led todeism, skepticism, atheism, and materialism, it is to those who haveretained in methods, more mathematically clear and more perfectlydeveloped than that which Bruno disseminated, but still bearing, astheir key-note, the one great idea of his bold crusade, --to those wemust look for all that is most pure, most noble, in Philosophy: a systemor succession of systems whose primitive idea--substance and essence--isthe very God for a supposed denial of whom Bruno died. '_Cosi vinceGoffredo!_'

Thus rolled on the centuries. Germany, France, England, and Scotland hadeach contributed her knights to the great tournament of Mind. And nowthe first symptoms of agitation appeared on the hitherto unruffledsurface of Thought in the New World. Still panting after her victories, scarcely used to her new freedom, at first the presence of a powerantagonistic to the orthodox faith was unsuspected even by those whofirst entertained it. But the stone had been dashed into the tranquilocean when the May-flower was moored on the New England coast, and itscircling eddies drew curve after curve among the descendants, brave, conscientious, energetic, of the old Puritans. The stern Calvinism, bywhich their fathers had lived and died, was, by these early recreants, first mistrusted, then questioned, and finally abjured. The murmurs ofdissent that had long agitated the sturdy upholders of the acceptedfaith, broke out in a demand for a system whose claims should be lessabsolute, and whose nature should satisfy those fugitive appeals toReason and the Understanding, that, weak indeed, and faint, were yetdistinctly audible to the thinkers of the day. From the cloud ofaccusation and denial, of suspicion and trial, the new Perseus, Unitarianism, --whilom a nursling of Milton, Locke, and Hartley, --wasborn, and took its place among the sects, sustained by the few, dreadedand condemned by the many. 

To brand this new theory, no terms were found too strong even by thereligious periodicals of the day. Unwilling to bide their time, to testits soundness by its strength and duration, its opponents rested not. Itwas confidently predicted that the movement would influence itsfollowers to skepticism and atheism. The accusation of the sixteenthcentury was revived, and St. Bernards cried from pulpit and press, 'Thelimits of the forefathers have been transgressed!' To the great mass ofthe opposition, the horror was not that Trinitarianism had beenassailed, but that men had been found so bold as to question it. Thecrime with the unlearned and the majority of the professors was notheresy, but daring. But Christians, fervent and earnest, were notwanting who denounced the movement in its anticipated consequences. Theyoung and adventurous, the men of impulse and daring, would drift, itwas feared, to the very borders of open infidelity. But the contrary wasthe result. A pietism the very reverse was developed, which, aided bythe beloved Channing, was disseminated through New England. JusticeStory even asserted that in Unitarianism he found refuge from theskepticism to which in youth he had tended. 

Permitted, by the liberal character of the welcome substitute for atheology that had become too stringent for the age, to prosecute theirresearches into fields hitherto forbidden to the orthodox, thinkers, economists, statesmen and theologians gathered round the standard, and anew impulse was given to the intellectual character of the times. Arevolution in Thought was impending. 

In Literature we dared challenge the nations. The popularity of Cooperwas at its high noon. Irving, with the graphic and delicate strokes ofhis sympathetic pencil, had written himself the Claude Lorraine among_litterateurs_; and Prescott, with his sentences of granite, wasbuilding himself an immortal name. Still, we were behind Germany, andeven France, in that wide comprehension and universal criticism thatdetermines more accurately than its politics the real _status_ of anation. These elements were now to be supplied. Carlyle had played inEngland the _rôle_ so humorously yet thoroughly enacted in Germany byHeine, and so gracefully and airily performed in France by Cousin. Hehad _popularized_ the philosophers. Without the acute, electricperceptions of the great German or the industry and amiable vanities ofthat De Sevigné among philosophers, Cousin, he presented, by fiercedashes of his crayon, black, blunt, and bluff, to the hitherto ignorantBritish public, some phases of the great metaphysical bearings of theage upon Literature and Art, as developed in Teutonic poetry and prose. In a word, he familiarized his readers with the _Æsthetik_ of Germany. He published in 1830 his _Sartor Resartus_, which, clothing the man in'_der Gottheit lebendiges Kleid_, ' usurped for him at once an office notinferior to that of the _Erd-geist_ in _Faust_. The shrill notes of thebagpipe of the critic of Craigenputtock blew across the mountains andvalleys of his island home, rousing the judge on the bench, and, penetrating the long halls of Cambridge and Oxford, streamed yetdistinct and powerful to our shores. Astonished by the richness andfullness of a literature so comprehensive, which seemed to inclose inits brilliant mazes all that their meagre and unfruitful dogmas deniedof comfort to the heart and systematic development to the mind, the menwho, with girded loins and scrips in their hands, had long wandereddisconsolately on the shores of a seething ocean, now saw its watersparted, and crossed upon dry ground. Before them stretched the vastwilderness of German Philosophy. To their bewildered gaze, each systemwas an Arabia Felix, and every axiom a graceful palm. 

Meanwhile, a second influence was at work among the orthodox, aninfluence that tended to the same great result, no longer an accident, but a necessity of the age. The _Biographia Literaria_ and _The Friend_of Coleridge, embodying a dwarfed but not distorted version of themetaphysical system of Kant, which had created a profound sensation inEngland, met with an even more enthusiastic reception in this country. The Christian character of their author was beyond reproach, his geniusundisputed; as a poet he ranked among those to whom Great Britain owedthe laurel; and as an essayist, even the bitterest critics yielded himthe palm. When, therefore, this man, one of the most evangelical of histime in the Established Church, brought to the aid of a time-honored andbeloved theology the principles of that very philosophy which was deemedby others its fiercest antagonist, not a few who had been hithertodeterred from its investigation by a dread of the accusation of heresy, eagerly availed themselves of his labors. His _Aids to Reflection_ waspresented to the American public under the patronage of Dr. Marsh, latepresident of Burlington College, Vt. An elaborate preliminary essay bythis eminently pious clergyman established the claims of the work tofavor, and it was even taken up as a text-book in Amherst and one or twoliberal Congregational universities in New England. 

The effort of Coleridge, rendered obscure by his turgid and floridstyle, was to explain the religious doctrines of Archbishop Leighton andthe early Puritans, which he held as orthodox, by means of the momentousdistinction between Reason and the Understanding, which he borrowed fromthe _Critik der Reinen Vernunft_ of Kant. However plausible, whendisencumbered of its poetical drapery, the theory of Coleridge may be, and however convincing, _so far as it goes_, of the truth of hisprinciples, we can not forget that the final tendency of the criticalphilosophy of Kant is, if not a positive approach to skepticism, atleast to afford a scientific basis for it. But the formula of the authorof Christabel was the pure exponent of his creed. The terror ofmetaphysics vanished as the oft-repeated words met the eye of the waryand suspicious investigator. 'World--God = 0: God--world = RealityAbsolute. The world without God is nothing: God without the world isalready, in and of himself, absolute perfection, absolute authority. '

Thus, while Carlyle, bold, versatile, shrewd, untrammeled, worked uponthe Unitarian element in America, Coleridge, evangelical, polished, yetadventurous, leavened the Congregationalists and other shades oforthodox Christians with the same result. But the first literaryoutgrowth and original product of the Transcendental movement in Americawas Emerson's Essay on Nature, which appeared in 1838, forming a nucleusfor the writings of the Dial-ists, and proving a sort of _prolegomena_to the new edition of Hermetic Philosophy. '_Non est philosophus nisifingit et pinxit_, ' said the great pioneer. Here Emerson does both, proving, by inversion, his claim to the title. Whatever may be thenegative virtues of this preliminary essay, it undoubtedly possesses thepositive one of having given a strong impulse to the study and love ofNature. True, the man who is to grasp its details, sympathies, significations, to hear, in all their grand harmony, its variousdiscordant symphonies and fugues, to see its marvelous associations, needs to be Briarean-armed, Israfel-hearted and Argus-eyed, as perhapsnone in our imperfect day and generation can claim to be. But at leastthis 'Nature' of Emerson's insinuated, dimly and dreamily, in spite ofits positive air, an occult relation between man and Nature. It investedrock and sky and air with new and startling attributes. The deep thinkermight even draw upon its pages some _pays-de-Cocagne_ landscape, flowingindeed with milk and honey, but in Tantalian distance. Nature's trueheart is invested with a pericardium so thick that it resists thescalpel of the skillful critics, to whom the stethoscope alone betraysthe healthful throb of vitality beneath. With portly arguments, Emersonbars the door to the simple but earnest-hearted. That Nature, whoseprophet he is, gleams, bright and unloving, down from a cold, unsympathizing heaven. 

 'Not every one doth it beseem to question The far-off, high Arcturus. '

And we, the lazzaroni on the piazza, can not even see the sky for themist of 'mottoes Italianate and Spanish terms' of an effete logic thathas risen before it. 

Nevertheless, here are the first gleams of a genial appreciation of the_Æsthetik_ of Germany, that large-hearted discernment that graspssimilitudes from the antipodes of Thought, and writes them upon itssunny equator. And there are appeals to those finer impulses andexperiences of every feeling soul that manifest a sense, imperfect yetanimated, of that marvelous sympathy that exists between all phases oflife, whether in humanity or in external nature. His natural outburstsof feeling are rare, but delicious as _caviare_, with a certain quaverof piquancy. 'Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp ofemperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria; the sun-set and moon-risemy Paphos and unimaginable realms of faërie; broad noon shall be myEngland of the senses and the understanding, and night shall be myGermany of mystic philosophy and dreams. ' Only a fantasy, and yet how hebends Nature to suit the curve of his own temperament. And who has notfelt the involuntary exhilaration, appalling from its very depth, thatpossessed him, crossing a bare common, on a bleak October afternoon, sunless and chill, with gray winds sweeping by--'I was glad to the brinkof fear. ' An intense emotion is imprisoned in these words, --theirresistible intoxication of deep delight, the consciousness of anunbounded faculty for enjoyment, and a lurking but delicious dread ofthe lavish power of sensation cooped within the senses. Heine, in his'Lutetia, ' speaks of the 'secret raptures attendant upon the tremors offear. ' Still, Emerson's Nature is rather a Nature à la Pompadour, inpowdered hair and jeweled stomacher and high-heeled slippers; not thedear green mother of our dreams, who was wooed by the bending heavens, and

 'Myriad myriads of lives teemed forth from the mighty embracement; Thousand-fold tribes of dwellers, impelled by thousand-fold instincts, Filled, as a dream, the wide waters; the rivers sang on in their channels; Laughed on their shores the hoarse seas; the yearning ocean swelled upward; Young life lowed through the meadows, the woods, and the echoing mountains, Wandered bleating in valleys, and warbled in blossoming branches. '

But Nature had been broached and Society was scandalized. Like theChancellor in Faust, it mounted its tripod and solemnly proclaimed itsverdict upon the inadmissible theory, so inadequately proved of theidentity of Nature and Spirit. But '_was sagt_ mein Thales?'

 'Natur und Geist! so spricht man nicht zu Christen: Desshalb verbrennt man Atheisten, Weil solche Reden höchst gefährlich sind. Natur ist Sünde, Geist ist Teufel; Sie hegen zwischen sich den Zweifel, Ihr miss-gestaltet Zwitterkind. '

The Transcendental movement did not fail to attract severe opposition, not only to its agitators, but toward the whole body of Unitarians, froma portion of which it in a great measure sprang. If indeed, as Ellis, its champion, asserts, Transcendentalism was not a native emanation fromNew England, _i. E. _, Unitarianism, yet it obviously paved the way forits entrance, and even erected triumphal arches at intervals over itsprojected route. The consequence of the renewed attack upon this alreadysorely aggrieved sect was its virtual separation into moderates andextremists: the one holding to its primitive theories, the otherinclining graciously to the more comprehensive and fascinating, becausemore liberal and mystical, tenets of the new faith. The Rev. AndrewNorton, an eminent Unitarian divine of the old school, in a discoursebefore the Alumni of the Cambridge Theological School, took occasion toattack with great vigor what he termed the 'new form of infidelity. 'This and his subsequent replies were most ably answered by GeorgeRipley, a zealous and genial scholar, eminent in belles-lettres andphilosophy, in his 'Letters on the latest form of Infidelity, includingthe Opinions of Spinoza, Schleiermacher, and De Wette. Boston, JamesMunroe & Co. , 1840. '

This contest constituted the central polemic of the strife. Chilled bythe cold breath of popular intolerance, these persecuted advocates of ametaphysical faith, which even themselves comprehended but dimly, mighthave warmed their trembling hands by the fire of that _auto da fé_ whoseflames three centuries have not extinguished. Even those most opposed byculture and habit to the innovators, could not but acknowledge that the_Bestia Triofante_, that Giordano Bruno undertook to expel, was stillrampant and powerful in the midst of a civilized and intelligentcommunity. The fact was that the Transcendentalists were as muchastonished at this accusation of infidelity as even Fénélon himselfcould have been. They were men of irreproachable character, the majorityreligious by nature and scholarly by disposition, and they found intheir new field scope for an increased piety and a more enlargedbenevolence. Their infinitely pliable philosophy expanded amiably tosuit the requirements of any and every sect. The Rev. W. H. Furness, ofPhiladelphia, though not thoroughly identified with the movement, yet, in several volumes published at that time, manifested the influence ofRationalism upon his own studies. But the machinery of his mind, thoughexquisite in its details, was too delicate to work up successfully theheavy material of the German importations. In a review of his 'Life ofJesus, ' by A. P. Peabody, in the _N. A. Review_, after a merited tributeof praise and respect to the talented author, occurs the following:'Æsthetic considerations weigh more with him than historical proofs, andvividness of conception than demonstration. So far is he from needingfacts to verify his theories, that he is ready to reject the bestauthenticated facts, if they would not flow necessarily from his _àpriori_ reasoning. ' This was severe, too severe in the instance cited;but the remark is worth preserving, as strikingly characteristic of muchof the _belles-lettres_ writings of the New School of thinkers, as theywere once, and indeed might yet be termed. But impiety was never theresult of Transcendentalism. Its advocates endeavored rather to provethe adaptability of a generous and catholic spirit of Philosophy toreligion than to subvert it. They never advanced to a love of Straussand Feuerbach, and men of the second generation, of whom G. H. Lewes maybe taken as a type, have generally been regarded by them as theGirondists regarded the Jacobins. Both urge reform, the Vergniaud andthe Robespierre, but the one respects the old landmarks, while theother, with an unequaled nonchalance, sweeps by, unconscious of themall, and plants his standard on a foundation as yet unshaken by foot ofman. 

The consequences of the Transcendental movement were truly remarkable. Those latitudes to which habit had accustomed us to look for our_literati_ became one immense hot-house, in which exotics of the mostpowerful fragrance bloomed luxuriantly. [4] As if by miracle, theyassumed hues and adopted habits to which, in their native soil, theyhad been strangers. Every small _litterateur_ wore conspicuously hiscunningly entwined wreath. Ladies appeared at 'æsthetic tea-parties, 'crowned with the most delicate of the new importations. Young clergymenwere not complete without a flower in their button-holes, and the tablesof staid old professors groaned beneath the weight of huge pyramidalbouquets. The cursory examination of foreign literature had given riseto an eclecticism which reflected the distinguishing features of that ofCousin, yet went a step further in daring. Yet this was not aneclecticism that, gifted with the power of a king, the dignity of apriest, and the discernment of a prophet, drew from the treasure-trovesof European libraries only their choicest gems. Diamonds, it is true, flashed among the spoils; sapphires and emeralds gleamed; but besidethem lay bits of sandstone and scraps of anthracite, rainbow-tinted, perhaps, but of an unconquerable opaqueness. And the alchemy that shouldhave transmuted these to gold, and educed from the one light and fromthe other majesty, was wanting. A trace of Behmen here, a reading ofCousin's lectures there, some Schiller and more Goethe, some pietismencouraged by a love of Channing, the American Fénélon, some Germanballads and a flavor of Plato, --all these helped the initiated to acurious dialect and a curious _mélange_. And this was Transcendentalism. The great revelation that the grand Moonsee of the new movement haddeclared necessary in 1838 had been made; the ninth _avatar_ haddescended, and men looked about them for the representative of Krishna, and reverenced him in RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Under his auspices, the _Dial_, the organ of the new sect, was published, and the next year, 1841, the first collection of his writings appeared under the simplecaption _Essays_, followed by a second series in 1847. 

Spite of the fragmentary Germano-pantheism of the new Philosophy, as setforth in these volumes, that a grand advance had been made upon the oldmodes of thought was proved by the dismay in the opposing ranks. Theoutcry against Unitarianism was faint compared with the howls of horrorand defiance that greeted Transcendentalism. The very name was a synonymfor arrogance. The pride of its opponents was touched. Alarming indeed, and transcendental beyond conception, were the outpourings of thoughtthat anointed the _Dial_ and these _Essays_. The very chrism ofmysticism trickled along their running-titles, and dripped fragrantlyfrom their pages. Not only new opinions, but new words and phrases, puzzled the uninitiated. Among these were _subjective_ and _objective_, and the concise, comprehensive Germanisms were assailed as sure evidenceof treason or insanity. He who used them was a marked man, and liable tofind on the first oyster-shell his sentence of exile from the assemblageof the faithful. The name of Goethe was as terrible as the sacred 'Om'of the Brahmins; it was whispered with 'bated breath, and was generallybelieved to be diabolical _per se_. In short, everything bearing thestamp of Germany was a bit of sweet, forbidden lore. Travels in thatfog-land by dull old fogies, and simple outlines of its Philosophy bydivines high in rank, were obtained by stealth, and read in secret bycollege-boys, with as much zeal as the 'Kisses' of Johannes Secundus orthe Epigrams of Martial. Even Klopstock's 'Messiah' became gilded with asort of delightful impropriety. 

Disapprobation and distrust had merged into abuse and persecution. Orestes A. Brownson, then drifting with the strong tide of the liberals, published in 1840 a sort of pantheistically ending novel, entitled_Charles Elwood, or the Infidel Converted_. The Rev. Dr. Bright, atpresent editor of the Baptist _Examiner_, was at that tune a booksellerof the firm of Bennett & Bright, and publisher of the _BaptistRegister_. When _Charles Elwood_ appeared, he ordered the usual numberof copies; but, discovering the nature of the book, made a Servetus ofthe 'lot' by burning them up in the back-yard of his store. A funeralpyre worthy the admiration and awe it must have excited. 

The _Essays_ of Emerson were subsequently attacked furiously in the_Princeton Review_ by Prof. Dod and Jas. W. Alexander. These gentlemengave to the world, as criticisms of Emerson and other writers, severaltreatises on Pantheism, aiding the very cause they designed to destroy, by disseminating among the religious public a statement of the primitivePhilosophy of the Vedas, and its reflection in Germany and America, clearer than any that had yet appeared: a task for which theirscholarship and ability eminently fitted them. But in attacking GermanPhilosophy, both learned to respect that which was practically useful init. Prof. Dod left among his papers an unfinished translation ofSpinoza, and the lamented Dr. Alexander, in his admirable lectures onliterature to the students of Princeton College, recommended a perusalof what Kant and other German metaphysicians had written on Æsthetics. It is no reflection on the piety or sincerity of these sound divines andripe scholars that they found something good and useful even in thearmory of the enemy. The last step in piety, as in learning, is alwaysto that noble liberality which recognizes Truth and Beauty whereverfound. 

And, while the religious reviews abounded in jeremiads and philippies, the newspaper wits stood outside and shouted in derision. The game wasindeed too rare to be passed unnoticed. In a poem on Fanny Ellsler(1841) occurred the following:--

 Our wits, as usual, late upon the road, Pick up what Europe saw long since explode. If this you doubt, ask Harvard, she can tell How many fragments there from Deutschland fell; How many mysteries boggle Cambridge men That erst in England boggled Carlyle's pen, And will, no doubt, be mysteries again; And also what great Coleridge left unsung. He, too, saw Germany when very young. '

To Emerson, at this moment, numbers looked with the deepest admirationor with fiercest hate. He was the type of his age, what Carlyle mightperhaps call its 'Priest Vates. ' In his _Essays_ he stood aloft andproclaimed, 'In me is the kernel of truth: eat and live!' But the shellthat enclosed the kernel was hard to crack, and was, moreover, like the'Sileni' of the old French apothecaries, as described by Rabelais, sodecorated with wondrous figures, harpies, satyrs, horned geese andbridled hares, that men were incredulous, and doubted that preciousambergris, musk and gems were to be found within. In his firstcrudities, fyttes and tilts with thought, both knight and field arecovered with a cloth of gold so dazzling that the crystalline lenses ofour common vision are in danger of dissolution, and we vainly hope forpage or dame who will whisper to us the magic word that shall dispelthis scene of enchantment. Meanwhile, his sentences, like arrows, darkenthat sun, himself, and we hasten with bits of smoked glass to view theeclipse. Happily, we have chosen the right medium: the luminousness isdestroyed, but the opaqueness remains visible. Entrenched behind amannerism so adroitly constructed as at once to invite and repelinvasion, Emerson hurls out axioms and establishes precedents that proveupon examination to be either admirably varnished editions of old truthsor statements of new ones of questionable legitimacy. Turn over leaf byleaf these early essays, and doubts arise as to the validity of theauthor's claim to originality. Carlyle has led before these pompousparades of moral truths that your child recognizes in the nursery whenhe makes war upon Johnny, who has knocked down his ten-pins. The law ofcompensation and the existence of evil and consequent suffering areactual entities to him. And yet these men do not belong to the sameschool. The resemblance is on the surface. Emerson dabbles delicately, yet, let it be conceded, energetically, with theories: his hands arenot the nervy, sinewy hands of the Viking of English literature; helacks his keen discernment of life, his quick comprehension of themutual relations of men and their times; he often wants his fineanalytical power. Carlyle sees in the life of a man his actions, associations, aspirations, disappointments, successes, what deepprinciples swayed him, what noble or ignoble nature provided hisimpulses, and wrought his manhood: Emerson tests him by the greatproblems of the universe, as he understands them, and educes from theirapplication to certain circumstances the character of the man. The oneis sagacious, argus-eyed; the other oracular, sibylline. And yetEmerson, perhaps unconsciously, through admiration of the liberal viewsand unquestioned bravery of his contemporary, adopted something like hispeculiarities of style and domesticated foreign idioms, that yet, liketamed tigers, are not to be relied on in general society. As Carlyle wasthe rhinoceros of English, Emerson aspired to be its hippopotamus, --bothpachyderms, and impenetrable to the bullets of criticism. 

We have called Cousin an eclecticist. His Philosophy is a positive onecompared with that of Emerson. Here are scraps of Plato and Hegel, ofPorphyry and Swedenborg, of Æschylus and De Stael. Like the _Lehrer zuSais_, 'he looks on the stars, and imitates their courses and positionsin the sand. ' In the obscurity that proves him great, for 'To be greatis to be misunderstood, ' (is this the true 'misery of greatness' ofMilton?) it is hard to grasp his individuality. His haughty assertionsmeet us at every turn. We no more dare to question them than so many'centaurs or sphinxes or pallid gorgons' in a nightmare. But he relievesour perplexity and gives us the key to that enigma himself. 'I unsettleall things. No facts to me are sacred, none are profane. I simplyexperiment, an endless seeker, _with no past at my back_. ' What is thisbut another version of Brahma? 'Far or forgot to me is near. ' It is areflection of the Veda. 'I myself never was not, nor thou, nor all theprinces of the earth, nor shall we ever hereafter cease to be. ' Spinoza, the God-intoxicated man, never ventured on a declaration so bold. 'Theeternal wisdom of God, _Dei oeterna Sapientia_, ' says he, moremodestly, 'is manifested in all things, but mostly in the human mind, and most of all in Jesus Christ. ' Here then we find the individuality ofEmerson, in his pure Pantheism, and, like the sword of Martin Antolinez, it illumines all the field. Now we understand the constant warfare, the'inevitable polarity, ' in these pages. We forgive the occasionalinconsistencies of a man who is at once, by his own confession, 'God inNature and a weed by the wall. ' His weakness strives after infinitepower. Conscious of a divinity within, he struggles to express itworthily; but ah! says Hermes Trismegistus, --'It is hard to conceiveGod, but impossible to express him. ' Freedom within chafes at the ironnecessity without, 'a necessity deep as the world, ' all-controlling, imperial, which he acknowledges in the very depths of his being. But thenecessity of Emerson is a Hegelian element, such as every Aristophaniccomedy reveals. It is not the necessity of Fichte. 'I, with all thatrelates to me, am imprisoned within the bonds of Necessity. I am onelink of her inflexible chain. A time was when I was not, so those haveassured me who were before me, and, as I have no consciousness of thistime, I am constrained to believe their testimony. ' This is thenecessity of mere existence, which bears no relation to the will of theman, not that inflexible destiny to which Emerson refers, that underlieshis continued being. The first does not oppose the 'instinct of anactivity free, independent, ' which Emerson afterwards acknowledges. But'I am God in Nature, ' he repeats. 'The simplest person who in hisintegrity proclaims God, becomes God. ' 'This thorough integrity ofpurpose, ' writes Fichte, 'is itself the divine idea in its most commonform, and no really _honest_ mind is without communion with God. ' InEmerson the last height is reached. Brahm as Arjoon could do no more, no less. His eye roams over the universe and sees only manifestations ofhimself: the rose of morning, the shining splendor of the sea, thepurple of the distant mountains, are his dawn and noon and eve. 

 'Alas! what perils do environ The man who meddles with--a siren!'

This may be Pantheism, but if it is not in accordance with the needs ofthe ages, it is not the Pantheism of Giordano Bruno, it has little incommon with Plato. The great idea, the latter tells us, in the_Republic_, 'the idea of the God, is perceived with difficulty, but cannot be perceived without concluding that in the visible world itproduces light, and the star whence the light directly comes, and in theinvisible world it directly produces Strength and Intelligence. 'Strength and Intelligence; whose correlatives are Progress andHappiness. Are there among Emerson's earlier 'big-sounding sentences andwords of state, ' any of which these are the legitimate fruit? Does thesoul of Infinite Love that beamed from Nazareth inform these pages withthe active, perfect, immortal spirit of truth? No. In these essays, Emerson is a royalist, an aristocrat: he aims for the centralization ofpower; he does not elevate the masses; he claims for himself, for allnature, ultra-refined and cultivated, to whom the Open Secret 'has beendiscovered, a separate and highly superior personality. 'The height, theduty of man is to be self-sustained, to need no gift, no foreign force. Society is good when it does not violate me, but best when it is likestto solitude. ' What an Apollo Belvidere the man would be, moulded by nosympathies, standing aloof from his race, and independent of it, disdainful, magnificent, a palace of ice, untenable by the summer heatof Love. The true cosmopolite is the man of his age, even if he hasknown no latitude but that of his birth, for he has won for himself thehighest individuality, and the greatest power of association with hisfellow-man, and the laws that govern man in his efforts to secure theseare the laws of the only true social science. Henry Carey says withreason, in Italy the highest individuality was found when the Campagnawas filled with cities. It is a narrow belief that the highestdevelopment of character demands solitude. Give to a young man, genial, impulsive, and intelligent, only the companionship of forest, sea, andmountain, and the chances are, he will become morbid, unpractical, andselfish. But place him in the same position in the decline, or even inthe noon of life, when the different parts of his nature have becomesubordinated to each other, by friction with diverse human organizationsabout him, and he will carry a brave individuality among nature's gifts, being himself her noblest development. 'Men, ' says Emerson, 'resembletheir contemporaries even more than their progenitors. It is observed inold couples, or in persons who have been house-inmates for a course ofyears, that they grow alike: if they should live long enough we shouldnot be able to know them apart. Nature abhors such complaisances, whichthreaten to melt the world into a lump, and hastens to break up suchmaudlin agglutinations. ' But Darby and Joan in the chimney-corner arenot types of mankind at large. 

'Right ethics are central, and go from the soul outward. Gift iscontrary to the law of the universe. Serving others is serving myself. Imust absolve me to myself. ' And what is myself? Let Fichte answer. 'Iaffirm that in what we call the knowledge or the contemplation ofthings, it is always ourselves that we know or contemplate: in everysentiment of consciousness it is only modifications of ourselves that wefeel. ' And again: 'The universe lives. From it arises a marvelousharmony that resounds deliciously in the very depths of my heart. I livein all that surrounds me. I recognize myself in every manifestation ofNature, in the various forms of the beings about me, as a sunbeam thatsparkles in the million dew-drops that reflect it.... Within me Natureis flesh, nerves, muscles; without, turf, plant, animal. '

Thus the semi-poetical Pantheism of the Bhagvat-Gita is reproduced, beautiful, dreamy and mythical, but without the shadow of an addition. Emerson presents to us the primeval faith in its imposing majesty andterrible unity, but omits to mention its final winding up in the sacredMaya or Illusion of the Hindoos. Though his early essays are brilliantwith many noble thoughts, the principles he advocates in them arethoroughly unprogressive and unpractical. Plato is to him the'exhaustive generalizer, ' beyond whom it is folly to aspire, and bywhose stature he measures the nations. Boëthius, Rabelais, Erasmus, Bruno, are only brisk young men translating into the vernacular wittilyhis good things. St. Augustine, Copernicus, Newton, Behmen, Swedenborgalso 'say after him. ' Emerson either addresses men whose ignorance hegreatly exaggerates, or else the ideal men of some centuries hence. Hismission is to the Past or the Future, not to the Present. His theories, fine and venerable, as they are as here expressed, will never save asoul, and men are still convinced that one sharp, decisive action isworth a thousand fine strategic points on paper. Yet he won an enviableand wide reputation by these his early works. 'There is merit withoutelevation, ' says La Rochefoucauld, 'but there is no elevation withoutsome merit. ' Such we find him in his earlier essays, while he had as yetonly grasped at the Pantheistic wing of the Egyptian globe. In England, in 1848, four thousand people crowded Exeter Hall, to hear the championof free thought from America. In Poland, men who knew him only by somefragments in a Polish review, considered him the thinker of the age. Hiscourage was the talisman that won him admiration, and his earnestness, visible through the veil of arrogance and petty affectations, securedrespect. 

In _Representative Men_, the old Plato-worship illumined bySchelling--_Wissenschaften_--is the key-note, and _English Traits_ isthe record of impressions received during the _Sturm und Drang_, orrather 'cloud-compelling' days of the _Dial_ and _Essay_ developments. Avolume of _Poems_, published in 1856, recalls the old landmarks. If theyare rich in thought, they are also luxuriant in labyrinthine sentencesthat puzzle even the initiated in the Ziph language. A thought onceextricated from a maze of inversion and entangled particles, 'we are in pain To think how to unthink that thought again. '

As a poet, Emerson is careless in versification. Like Friar John, of theFunnels, he does not rhyme in crimson. His imagination is too bold to beconfined by the petty limits of trochee or iambus. Consequently hispictures, when he condescends to paint, present rather a mass ofbrilliant coloring than the well-finished detail that we demand in awork of art. We look in vain in his poems for that effort of identitybetween the conscious and the unconscious activities that Schellingcalls the sole privilege of genius. 'The infinite (or perfect) presentedas the finite, is Beauty. ' Yet the single poem 'Threnody' wouldestablish Emerson's title to a place among the guild of poets. It isclassically beautiful and faultless in mechanism. Its flow is that of ariver over sands of gold, its solemn monotone broken now and then by_staccato_ plaints, and the tender gold of its shining waters dimmed bydark shadows, as rock beneath or tree above assails the gentle stillnessof its onward flow. Only that which comes from the heart goes again tothe heart. We find a new and delicious personality, a simple Greeknaturalness, in this exquisite dirge that scarcely owns the 'blasphemyof grief, ' that are wanted in his sententious instructions andmetaphysical wanderings. 

We open Emerson's latest work, the _Conduct of Life_, in a hopeful mood. Some mysterious sympathy, born from a natural faith in the progress of amind that had already proved its power by a daring and successfulonslaught upon old habits and associations, strengthened by a morepractical philosophy that dawns in _English Traits_, and culminating inthe intense passion of yearning in the _Phrenody_, justifies anexpectation that is gloriously realized. To the vigilant thinker adecade is worth more than aeons to his sleeping brother. The Emerson ofto-day is not the Emerson of twenty or even ten years ago. Here is stillthe true, epigrammatic style of his youth. He is as lavish of hisaphorisms, which, like the coins of Donatello, hang over our heads andare free to every passer-by. Still an antiquarian, like CharlesKingsley, he peers among Etruscan vases, Greek ruins, Norse runes andancient Dantean Infernos and Escurials for the models of a newliterature, a new art, a new life. But an enlarged spirit is visible onevery page. 

 'The south wind is strengthened With the wild, sweet vigor of pine. '

We breathe a new air, gaze at new landscapes; a new climate is aroundus. Take this book into the sultry midsummer, and its words summon theripe autumn with its fruits up from the west; read it by the light ofthe blazing Yule log, and it will still recall the wild breezes and warmsuns of October. And it is this growing maturity of thought, thisevident tendency to a grand realization, that prove the honesty andgreatness of the man. He has worked perseveringly at his problems, disdaining to be aided by criticism or crushed by opposition. His powerhas silently gathered its energies in the mines of Thought, dark butrich, striking shaft after shaft of vast promise. He is a gymnaststruggling now with the realities and possibilities of Life, and nolonger grappling with ignis-fatui in the marshes by the road. Now hishumor gleams genially in keen, swift comparisons: he sports with truths, like a king tossing up his crown-jewels or Vishnu worlds in the'Cosmogony of Menu, ' and he dares do this because they are no longer hismasters, because he has made them subservient to an end--the great endof the amelioration of his race. 

It is this great element of sport that in its broadest developmentelevates man to the far heights of his nature. There all is serene. 

 'Sub pedibusque videt nubes et sidera Daphnis. '

Even the Hindoos, those earliest _literati_ of the young earth, whoseeyes peered first into the intricate machinery of Being, and broughttherefrom strange and glowing and miraculous impressions of itsmechanical appliances, --strong levers that men use now forcriticism, --recognized this element. Afar from the scene of theirsorrow, in the lotos a-bloom on Vishnu's head, they beheld the primitiveHumor, the laughter of infinite Strength springing from bar to bar inthe great gymnasium of life. Thus we read in the Cosmogony of Menu, --

 'Numerous world-developments there are, creation and extermination; _Sportively_ he produces either, the highest Creator for ever and ever. '

And says the more orthodox Schlegel, 'Nature was in its origin naughtelse than a beautiful image, a pure emanation, a wonderful creation, a_sport_ of omnipotent love. ' And Schiller, whom an impregnablearistocracy of soul shut out from the ranks of humorists, who rode inhis coupée, three feet above the level of the common stream of humanity, and never drifted with its tide, yet, with clear-eyed insight into thepassions he did not share, acknowledged the _Spieltrieb_ as the highestpossibility of man's nature. 'The last perfection of our faculties, ' hesays, 'is, that their activity, without ceasing to be sure and earnest, becomes _sport_. 

Emerson's humor is peculiar to himself. It is not the massive, exuberantplay of Jean Paul. He does not challenge the slow-riding moon to acricket match, nor hurl the stars from their orbits in his mad game inthe skies. Neither has he the brusque but more solid geniality ofLessing. Imagination fails him for the one, and a strong power of logicfor the other. But he tears the clouds of ignorance and prejudice thatare beneath his feet into ribbons and sends them streaming throughspace, filmy banners of blue and white, heavily charged with theelectricity of his enfranchised thought, and illumines the world withthe lightnings of their chance collision. His humor is rather latentthan striking. It does not gleam through showy words, the paraphernaliaof a harlequinade, but peeps out from the homeliest phrases, andconvulses some simple law of our nature with laughter at its owngrotesqueness. Formerly, imprisoned as it was within unyielding limits, it was as imposing as a miniature Gothic cathedral in a dark cave, butnow the queen-rose of the architrave blows fresh and sweet in the sunnyair. Step by step Emerson has traveled the great road worn by so many ofold, passing from the 'ideal' to the real, from reverie to a cheerfulawaking, --and the prophecy of genius is at last fulfilled. 

For at last he has come out from the misty twilight of Transcendentalisminto the clear daylight of common sense. And surely it is not for us todecry the bridge, or, if you please, the tunnel through which he hascrossed. He agitates the necessity and practicability of social reform, but it must be through individual effort. Years ago he decided thatsociety was in a low state, now he calls on all men to put theirshoulders to the wheel and lift it out of the Slough of Despond, whereit has been floundering to no purpose for so long. His investigationsare aided by a keen shrewdness, that bespeaks the practical man, whoknows where to find the vulnerable heel of circumstance, and aims at ithis swiftest arrows. In his essay on Wealth this sharp practical insighthardens every sentence. The sentimentalist, who believes, with HenriBlaze, that romance must be the issue of this marriage of Nature withReligion, betakes himself in consternation to his dainty, poeticaldreams of a Utopia that shall arise, ready made, from the promisingEast. The capitalist, who sneers at Philosophy, and would ignorantlycouple Faust with the Mysteries of Udolpho, or Andromeda with Jack theGiant-killer, rubs his hands gleefully over our author's niceappreciation of capital and the mysteries of its sudden fluctuations. 'Every step of civil advancement makes a dollar worth more. ' 'PoliticalEconomy is as good a book wherein to read the life of man, and theascendency of laws over all private and hostile influences, as any Biblewhich has come down to us. ' 'The right merchant is one who has the justaverage of faculties we call _common sense_; a man of a strong affinityfor facts, who makes up his decision on what he has seen. He isthoroughly persuaded of the truths of arithmetic.... He knows that allgoes on the old road, pound for pound, cent for cent, for every effect aperfect cause, and that good luck is another name for tenacity ofpurpose. ' 'The basis of political economy is non-interference. ' Themerchant looks narrowly at his theory of compensation, and finds ittallies well with the result of his own after-dinner meditations, expressed of mornings to doubting confreres. The philanthropist rejoicesat the crushing of the shell of foppish indolence, the heralded downfallof the petty vanities, sprung, Heaven knows with what reason, from theloins of Norman robbers, of Huguenot refugees, of Puritans beggared andignorant, and centered in some wide-spreading genealogical tree, that awhole family unite to cultivate into a banyan that may embrace the wholelittle world of their satellites with inflexible ligatures. Thus 'thedoctrine of the snake' is to go out, and good men see that the sinews ofsociety are to be strengthened. 

It is worth while to observe, in that first chapter on Fate, howadmirably Emerson provides for the exercise of a free activity in everyman. 'Every spirit makes its house, but afterward the house confines thespirit. ' This leaves no room for the coward, who declines to work outhis salvation, even with fear and trembling. It summons all men to clearaway the brush and dry leaves of a perverted fatalism, 'To make the absolute best of what God made, '

to sharpen every faculty, expand every capacity, and bow only to theEternal. 

 Æterna æternus tribuit, mortalia confert Mortalis; divina Deus, peritura caducus. '

Here is the choice, eternal or mortal, divine or perishable. This drivesmen to seek their Paradise in Culture. Well, they find in it a Beulah, and beyond rolls the Jordan of the soul. Men have made a dwarfedProvidence to suit their dwarfed aims, an amorphous Deity, whoseattributes are imperfect, disproportioned. But yesterday I heard aFrenchman, who has no acquaintance with our literature and never heardof Emerson, say, 'God, with the multitude, is no more than a feeble oldman, whose whims and whose age we must respect. What is to become of hishigh claims upon creatures who are to work out an infinite purpose? _Ilfaut honorer la vieillesse?_ Emerson had anticipated this with his'pistareen Providence, dressed in the clean shirt and white neckcloth ofa student of divinity;' yet it proves that minds are arriving by widelydiverging paths at the same truths. 

There is nothing ideal or vague in the vigorous efforts he makes in thisvolume to rise to political economy and to set forth the practicalaction of capital and industry on life. He says no longer, 'To mecommerce is of trivial import, ' but endorses Henry Carey's theory ofwealth, and acknowledges unreservedly, in its broadest sense, theuniversal domination of Law. Statistics bourgeon into prophecies underhis pen: he does not disdain their significance, but rather aids theirinfluence with all the power which his spasmodic style has given indrawing our grotesque-loving public to him. We suspect Buckle, and feela cheerful sense of Bacon and Comte. In his plea for socialism, foreducation, we see the dawn of the ultimate triumph and dignity of labor. 'We shall one day, ' he says, 'supersede Politics by Education. ' Pausewell here, you who grope forward into the dark future with misgiving andfaithless hearts. This is not the chimerical delusion of atranscendental philosophy, this death-knell to the Slavery of Ignoranceand Vice. Recognize in it the wide generosity that says with Leczinsky, _'Je ne connais d'avarice permise que celle du temps_. ' Here is wealthfor want, industry for indolence, distinction for degradation, virtuefor vice. It beams clear as the red of morning. Hear it in the whistleof the engine, the roar of the loom, the plowing of the steam-shipthrough battling waves, the tick of the telegraph, the whirr of the millwheel, the click of the sewing machine; and he who doubts still maylisten to the voice of cannon, the whistling of lances and the clash ofswords, and catch the notes of the same chant with a sterner chorus. Hear even the idealist Schelling awaiting that broader freedom than anywe have yet known:--

'The third period in history will be that when that which in precedingperiods appeared as Destiny or Nature, shall develop and manifest itselfas Providence. Thus what seems to us as the work of Destiny or Nature isalready the beginning of a Providence, which reveals itself butimperfectly. When we shall look for the birth of this period, man cannot say, but know that when it is, _God will be_. '

And Emerson takes up the strain with words of fire:--

'If Love, red Love, with tears and joy; if Want, with his scourge; ifWar, with his cannonade; if Christianity, with its charity; if Trade, with its money; if Art, with its portfolios; if Science, with hertelegraphs through the deeps of space and time, can set man's dullnerves throbbing, and, by loud taps on the tough chrysalis, can breakits walls and let the new creature emerge erect and free, --make way andsing paean! The age of the quadruped is to go out--the age of the brainand the heart is to come in. The time will come when the evil forms wehave known can no more be organized. Man's culture can spare nothing, wants all the material. He is to convert all impediments intoinstruments, all enemies into power. The formidable mischief will onlymake the more useful slave. And if one shall read the future of the racehinted in the organic effort of Nature to mount and meliorate, and thecorresponding impulse to the Better in the human being, we shall dareaffirm that there is nothing he will not overcome and convert, until atlast culture shall absorb the chaos and gehenna. He will convert theFuries into Muses, and the hells into benefit. '

SPHINX AND OEDIPUS. 

 Why poets should sing of this WAR In rapturous anthems of praise, I know not. Its meanings so jar, Its purpose hath so many ways, The SPHINX never readeth the whole. 'Tis a riddle propounded to me That I am unskillful to tell. The Sphinx by the way-side, I see, Is watching (I know her so well) To mangle us, body and soul. 

 Is it 'Freedom, that Bondage may live, ' Which cheers on the North to the fray? Is it 'Slavery more Freedom to give, ' That slogans the Southern foray? She asks, and awaits your reply: Now answer, ye _marshal_-bred bands Whose business is murder and blood; Ye priests with incarnadined hands; Ye peace-men who 'fight for the good;' Now solve her this riddle or die!

 'Our Flag, ' the conservative says, 'Waves over the land of the free;' God save us!--I think many ways, But still 'tis a riddle to me, Whose mystery is hid from the eye; But Oedipus, showing the souls All fettered, imbruted and blained, Who point where its blazonry rolls, And wail the sad plaint of the chained, -- Asserts, 'There is, somewhere, a lie. '

THE ACTRESS WIFE. 

I had been sent by my New York employers to superintend a branch oftheir business in a southern city. On the evening of a brilliantSabbath, as I walked musingly through the cemetery, where thousands ofthe city's dead had found a calm and sequestered resting place, myattention was drawn to a monumental structure, the character andsymbolism of which defied my comprehension. On a grassy mound, in agrove of oak trees, almost concealing it from observation, rose amausoleum of dark stone, which at the first glance I conjectured torepresent a Druidical temple. At the four corners were the carvedresemblances of oak trees, the trunks forming columns for the structure, and the limbs branching out, intertwining above into a gracefulnet-work. The spaces between the trunks--forming the four sides of theedifice--were simply plain, deep-set slabs. The design could not bemistaken. It was that of an oak grove inclosing a tomb. But whose, andwhy this singular design? There was no inscription to afford anexplanation. Another view added to the mystery. Standing in the middleof one of the sides, underneath the arch formed by the branching limbs, was an exquisite female figure of white marble. One foot and the bodyadvanced, one hand grasping her robe, the other extended pointing intothe distance, her head turned to one side, the lips parted as ifspeaking, the countenance expressive of the enthusiasm of love combinedwith impetuous resolution, an attire of the most perfect simplicity, similar to that worn by Roman maidens, and with a plain bandeau aroundthe head, --the whole presented a figure of perfect symmetry andlife-like impassioned earnestness, as beautiful as it wasunintelligible. I sought through all my recollections of ancient andmodern impersonations--of mythology, history, Scripture, and poetry--butcould find nothing to furnish a solution. The structure and the figuresurpassed even conjecture. Velleda, and Lot's wife, according to an oldpicture in the catechism, were the only resemblances I could recall, butthe surroundings evidently did not suit the types. 

While in my embarrassment, I became dimly conscious of seeing an elderlyman coming towards me from behind the structure, but should havereceived no distinct impression of his presence had he not approachedthe gate of the inclosure upon which I chanced to be leaning, and mildlyrequested my permission to pass. Recalled to myself, I saw by a hastyglance that the person before me was a man apparently some sixty yearsof age, to whom time had imparted only a 'richness' of appearance, exhibiting the gentleman at every point, and with an aspect of the mostprofound grief, tempered with resignation, benevolence, and urbanity. Having politely assisted his egress, he passed onward with a gracefulgesture of acknowledgment. He had taken but a few steps, when thethought occurred to me that he must have come from within the perplexingstructure by some secret door, and that he could unravel its mystery. Iwas impelled to follow him, and proceeded hastily to do so, when theindelicacy of my intrusion on one evidently connected with the griefwhich the monument was designed to commemorate, flashed upon me, and Isuddenly paused. He probably observed my rapid footsteps and theirpause, for he turned toward me, when in a confused manner I stammeredforth an apology, which, undesignedly on my part, involved a statementof the contradictory motives which had influenced me. With the mostquiet and prepossessing demeanor he questioned me if I were a strangervisiting the city, and in reply I gave him all the necessary particularsconcerning myself, --that my name was Waters, that I was employed by thefirm of Brown, Urthers & Co. , managing their branch business. Aconversation ensued, which elicited the fact that the gentleman hadbeen acquainted with my father a score of years before. The latter, whose head lies on his last pillow, was then a clerk in the New Yorkhouse of Sampson, Bell & Co. The gentleman before me was Mr. Bell, whoduring the existence of the house had been first a clerk, andsubsequently the partner who conducted their branch business at the cityof my own present residence. 

With this preliminary acquaintance, he kindly took my arm, and, leadingme back to the monument, informed me, in a manner entirely free from anypoignancy, or from that lionizing of costly memorials to departedfriends so often indulged in, that it was erected to the memory of hiswife; that she had formerly been an actress of celebrity, attainingpeculiar distinction by her representation of the character of Imogen, in Shakespeare's Cymbeline; and that the marble figure portrayed her atthe utterance of the words--

 'Oh for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? He is at Milford Haven. Read and tell me How far 'tis thither ... Say, and speak quick, How far it is To this same blessed Milford;'[5]

and that the architecture of the tomb was intended to correspond withthe period at which the incidents of the drama transpired. 

 * * * * *

Mr. Bell's ordinary life was one neither of seclusion nor of widelyextended social courtesies; but of active benevolence and cheerfulretirement, disfigured neither by ostentatious philanthropy nor studiedrecluseness. A son and daughter who had hardly passed the confines ofjuvenility, with the necessary attendants, formed his household. For therest, he lived apparently as a gentleman of taste and wealth might besupposed to do. 

In this household I gradually acquired an intimacy. This was partiallyowing to the circumstance that I had solaced the many lonely hours of mybachelorhood in acquiring by memory and rehearsing many scraps ofpoetry. Mr. Bell's favorite method of passing the evening was inteaching his children to read and declaim poetry with dramaticexpression, and in this delightful occupation I was an acceptableassistant. Many were the domestic dramas which we produced, --pieces ofour own invention, --in addition to our readings from the poets. 

 * * * * *

Frederick and Clara were to pass a year or two in schools at the North, and thither Mr. B. Removed. The first winter of their absence, Ireceived a letter from him relating that Clara had succumbed to therigor of a northern climate. Soon came the father and brother with thecorpse of their darling, which was placed within the cemetery mausoleum. Into this I entered for the first time, but the interior differed in norespect from others. Within its walls the mother and daughter were lefttogether. In less than a week it was again opened, to receive the son. He had been drowned while attempting the rescue of a companion. 

To my surprise at the time, the desolate father exhibited no grief. There was in his demeanor an appearance of satisfaction that theirremoval had preceded his own, --that he would leave none of his heart'streasures behind him, but be enabled to claim them all in the futureexistence. 

 * * * * *

The days lengthened and shortened through three years, in which theroutine of my life was varied by no incident. With Mr. Bell my relationscontinued the same. At all times he spoke cheerfully of the past and thefuture, frequently giving utterance to the feelings above attributed tohim. In one of these conversations I ventured to inquire concerning hiswife. His whole countenance was irradiated. It seemed that some brightand glorious recollection of her had been recalled. The fancy impresseditself on me that he had a visible consciousness of her presence. Theanimation subsided into a quiet self-communing, and he soon proceeded torelate the history of her whose marble similitude had so excited mywonder and admiration. 

 * * * * *

It is nearly thirty years since I came from a New England country houseto this city, as a clerk in the branch house of Sampson Brothers. I wasthen a raw youth; but my New England training had given me the seriousand money-seeking characteristics of that part of our country. For tenyears I applied myself exclusively to the details of business, havingbut few associates, devoting my leisure to self-improvement, andsteadily accumulating a competency. On the death of a member of the firmI took his place. Five years passed, and I had attained a fortune. Somefriends from the North called upon me in their travels, and during theweek of their visit, I participated in more gaieties than had beencomprised in my whole previous life. One evening it was proposed tovisit the theatre. Into a place of dramatic representation I had neverbefore entered, and the enchantment of all its accessories wasirresistible. But when the heroine of the evening appeared, I wasdeprived of every faculty except that of the most absorbing adoration. What was the drama enacted mattered not, --I had no perception of it, norof anything except the person who had fascinated me. Tall in figure, commanding in gesture, scarcely developed into the full wealth ofwomanhood, with an eye of piercing blackness, yet changing with everygradation of passion, profuse black tresses, and a voice whoseintonations swayed the audience to every mood of feeling, SHE for thefirst time appeared to me. 

Well, I had passed my _premiére jeunesse_, and had arrived at that agewhen a passion, once called into active life, becomes unappeasable. Ineed not particularize the effects upon me of my first experience oflove. For weeks and months I had no desire, no ability to do anythingelse than frequent the theatre. My want of acquaintance with all thepeculiar circumstances connected with actors and actresses almostmaddened me; for I knew of no method by which I might ever be able toexchange a word with her who had become to me more than an idol to adevotee, or the dream of fame to a poet. I sickened. To the physiciancalled in attendance, after much shrewd questioning on his part, Irevealed my secret. With a jocose laugh he left me, but in a half-hourreturned, accompanied by a somewhat vulgar-looking female, whom heintroduced as the mother of Evelyn Afton--the name of her for whom mylife was wasting and my soul pining. 

The mother was the widow of an actor, and Evelyn her only daughter, whohad been bred for the stage, and her beauty and ability having securedsuccess, she had been enabled to attain all the accomplishments ofcultivated womanhood. 

If anything could have disenchanted me, the manner of the mother wouldcertainly have had such an effect. She regarded my passion as simply abusiness affair. She would present me to her daughter that day, and Imight contract an engagement, if I would make certain liberal allowancesand settlements. But a recurrence to these matters creates disgust. Itis sufficient to say, that I surpassed in my provisions all the demandsof the mother's avarice, and in a few months Evelyn and I were married. 

There was on the part of my beautiful bride an inexplicableexpression, --a demeanor in which cold and haughty reserve blendedstrangely with an utter carelessness, and occasional rapidly checkedelectric ebullitions of passion to the lip and eye, but never reachingwords, followed by a passive yet proud languor. I was too happy toobserve or speculate. I received merely the impression, but was too muchoccupied in arranging for my wedded life, too much absorbed in thefeeling of bliss, to analyze it. I believed in her love, --that wassufficient for me. In after years I resolved the impression into itsprismatic elements, and thus it is I am able to delineate them. 

Time passed. The extravagance of my first raptures gradually subsidedinto a more settled but not less complete happiness. In all herattentions to myself my wife was perfect. In society she was supremelybrilliant and fascinating; in private her demeanor preserved thecharacteristics of which I have spoken. I accepted it as her naturalmanner, and did not give it further thought. My son Frederick was born, and for a short time, under the influence of maternal impulses, my wifeexhibited animation and emotions which I had not beforewitnessed, --soon, however, relapsing into her previous demeanor. Thesame contrasts--less strongly marked--occurred upon the birth of mydaughter. 

 * * * * *

Returning one evening from business, at the usual dinner hour, Ivisited, before entering my residence, as was frequently my custom, thestables, and inquired, in passing, of the coachman--a favorite negro--ifhe had driven his mistress out that afternoon. He replied, --

'No, massa; Missers' brudder on here; been wid her dese two hours. '

The answer created much surprise, as I had not been informed that mywife had any relatives. A moment's reflection, however, on some of thepeculiar connections of theatrical life, led me to believe that such aperson might be in existence, who, for some unpleasant reasons, had notbeen recognized. Respecting my wife's secret, I passed on withoutfurther inquiry; and, to avoid an interview with the visitor, ascended astaircase into a conservatory connected with the upper apartments, intending to remain there until he had departed. As I entered theconservatory I was startled by the sound of voices, which proceeded fromthe adjoining apartment, --my wife's _boudoir_, --and was transfixed atbeholding through the shrubbery, in the dim light of the room, my wifesitting upon a sofa, exhibiting traces of powerful but suppressedemotion, such as I had never seen in her, and partly kneeling, partlyreclining at her side, a young man, apparently in the most violent andpassionate entreaty. 

'O, Evelyn! Evelyn!' he said, 'will you bid me leave you thus? Willyou have no pity? For years I toiled at my art, poor and desolate, in a foreign land, sustained only by the hope of achievingsuccess--fame--fortune--to lay them before you;--your love gifting mewith all my ideal life--the hope of winning you the only incentive of mylabor. When I heard of your marriage, I dashed away my chisels, with anoath never to resume them. In mad desperation, I destroyed the works ofyears. But I have lived on in solitude and wretchedness, unvisited evenby the imaginations which once made life glorious. Now I have come toclaim you--to take you from him who robbed me. Such a marriage as yoursis not valid before just heaven. Renounce your contract. Fly with me toItaly, --let the world say what it will. With you at my side I can createworks that will compel homage; knowing our own purity, we can laugh atits scorn, and, contented with each other, despise both its friendshipand its enmity. '

'Stop, Frank!' she replied, 'and leave me. Do not prolong this agony. What you wish is, it must be, impossible. It is not for myself that Ideny it. God knows I could brave any thing for you. But to yield yourrequest would only aid your ruin. No, no, Frank; you are mad!'

'If I am not, I soon shall be!' he murmured bitterly. 

'I shall fulfill my contract to the letter, ' she continued; 'or, rather, that which was made for me. I consented to be the sacrifice, and I willaccept the fire and the knife resolutely. But you--you--should I linkmyself to your fate, I should draw you to perdition. Even in the air ofItaly, my presence would be poison to you. I speak not of guilt. But myconnection--a perjured wife--would debar you from the companionship ofall that is noble and good and beautiful. I am but a woman--one woman. Could I have been placed at your side, I might have assisted yourconceptions and stimulated your aspirations. But now--_now_--it can notbe. Go--seek some other. There are many worthy of your choice. You canfind them. If not, live for your art, Frank, and forget me. '

'My art!' he replied, with passionate bitterness; 'curses on it! Aye, Ican almost curse the Heaven which gifted me with "ideality. " What is it, but unsatisfied mockery of longing?--the execution always failing tomeet the promise of the conception. My art! What can the cold marble beto me, when no longer animated by the soul with which my hope of yourpresence infused it? My art! Would to God that a divine flash of geniuswould impel me to wield the chisel but for one short month, and thenthat I might expire by the side of my creation!'

'No, no, Frank, ' she interposed; 'you will live long, become renowned, and create not one, but many works for fame; and I shall read of yoursuccesses and rejoice in them. More than that, I shall be present withyou always in spirit and sympathy. Think of that, Frank. Make me yourideal still, if you will. This will be exquisite satisfaction to me. Letme think that I am always inspiring you. Work for me, Frank. '

The young man buried his face in the sofa and sobbed passionately. Mywife bent over, and, unknown to him, unless he felt her breath, gentlykissed the curls of his hair. 'Come, ' she said, 'now you must be gone. Neither of us can endure this longer. Go--go. Do not give me a word or alook. You would only rend my heart, without killing me. '

Presently he rose, and, with an effort at self-control, walked towardsthe door, but stopped and faltered forth, 'Must this be? Is this thenour last farewell?'

She merely waved her hand, hiding her face. 

The young man sprang to her side, fell upon his knees, grasped her hand, and covered it with kisses, then rushed to the door and was gone. 

My wife flung herself upon the sofa and burst forth into a flood oftears. Never before had I beheld her weeping. 

During this interview I stood like a statue. It seemed to me that I hadlived an age, --such a life as those may be supposed to have, who, asrelated in Eastern tales, are transformed to stone for a century, retaining their consciousness. A revolution had gone through its entireprogress in me. For the first time did I understand how selfish had beenmy adoration of my wife, --how I had merely purchased her of her schemingand avaricious mother, --how I had wronged her and one who lovedher, --how incompatible with her youth and brilliancy were my maturityand unpoetic nature. Her conduct since our marriage was now fullyexplained. My love for her was immeasurably increased, but I loathedmyself. I had but one thought, how reparation could best be made. Iswear before Heaven, that could it have been possible without stainingher name, I would have torn her from my heart, and given her to the onewho rightfully claimed her from me. This was impossible. Only by guiltor vulgar disgrace could she become his. Then the question tookpossession of me, 'How shall I win her love?--how shall I win her love?'This repeated itself again and again, with a distinct and fearfuliteration, as if a demon were whispering it in my ear. A thousand madthoughts took possession of me, and suicide thrust itself on me. For afew moments, --though it seemed an age of experience, --I was insane. Theblow had dispossessed my reason. Dimly, as in a drunken man, however, still remained the ordinary instincts, and that perception, which, likethe muscles of respiration, keeps ever at work, let the mind be filledas it may with thoughts and purposes that seem entirely to engross andabsorb it. I crept silently from the conservatory, and passing out intothe street, entered the house at the front. Dinner was soon served, asusual, and my wife took her seat, with her customary manner. I, too, wasconfident, exhibited no variation from mine. Her self-possession wasthe result of control, mine of mere numbness. The machinery of life wastemporarily continuing its regular motion without any supervision. 

This benumbed condition continued through a large portion of a sleeplessnight. The unintermitted repetition of the query, 'How shall I win herlove?' tortured me into an agony like that experienced in a nightmaredream. Slowly and gradually my reason began to work, and I methodicallycommenced to elaborate a system by which to acquire what was now thechief object of my life, --my wife's _love_. I arose in the morningdetermined to obtain this, even should every other pursuit berelinquished and every other desire sacrificed. My system was formed. Life thereafter was to be devoted to it. 

My first object was to create a change in her feelings toward myrival;--not to destroy her love for him, --of the futility of such anattempt I was aware, --but to modify the cold, desperate, and resentfulfeeling of disappointment she entertained; to superimpose upon herthwarted passion, which would continue to regard him as a hero ofromance, another condition of feeling, that should bring him before herin a different aspect, and to rouse her listlessness by suggestingsomething to be done which should be connected with him, --the onlyincentive, I was assured, sufficiently powerful to stimulate her toaction. I had a patient whom I intended to treat in the most delicateand scientific manner. I determined to appeal to her benevolence, --afeeling which, though latent, always exists in a true woman. Mydisconsolate hero of romance was to be brought down and made a mortal, capable of receiving favors. Instead of being the object of love, he wasto become one of charity. 

'My dear, ' said I, one evening, with a suppressed yawn, as I wasperusing a magazine, 'I have been reading a stupid account of thepictures and statues, and so on, in Florence. These things are veryfine, doubtless, to those who understand and appreciate them. My earlyeducation in aesthetics was neglected; or rather the hard necessities ofmy youth allowed me no opportunity to cultivate them. But it is a goodthing to encourage art, and I have been thinking it might be well for usto have some paintings and statuary. If I attempt to select them I shallbe tricked and bamboozled into purchasing mere daubs and botches. Wouldit not be well to engage some person of judgment--perhaps an artist--togo to Italy and make an investment for us? I know none such, but youhave been more associated with artists, and if you can secure one, Iwill give him _carte blanche_. Will you please make some inquiries?'

I had kept my eyes on the magazine, but felt that she was looking at mewith scrutinizing glances. Had she suspected my knowledge of her love, she would probably--with some of that passion of which I had been asecret witness--have declared the whole matter, and then, with scornfulupbraidings of my hypocrisy, perhaps have left me forever. I was carefulto avoid any such premature explosion, and with another yawn continuedcarelessly turning the leaves of the magazine. Reassured, she repliedthat she would undertake the business. With a hasty glance, throughapparently sleepy eyes, I saw that I had roused her, --that she wasalready intent on planning occupation for Frank, and laying out for hima course of success and honor, through the stimulus which would beimparted by the execution of a commission of her bestowal. Anotherfeeling I was delighted to see exhibited. She felt that she was nowabout to render him some equivalent for his disappointment. Already washe become to her less Frank the lover than Frank the artist, whosefortunes she was to assist. I will make you yet his lady-patroness, thought I. I foresaw that some of my rival's productions would grace myapartments, in a year or two. But, better his imagination than hisheart, said I to myself, --better the works of his chisel, which I andall the throng of the public can eulogize, than the secret, doatingpassion confined to the intense idolatry of one breast. 

After a few premonitory nods I retired. 

I did not trouble myself about the manner in which the commission wasconveyed to Frank. Thither, however, it went, as I learned in aftertime. 

I well understood that to attempt rivaling Frank in matters cognate withhis own department of talent, would render me only as ridiculous as anold beau who seeks to gain favor with the girls by imitating with hisrouge, hair dyes, and laced waistcoats, the freshness and symmetry ofyouth. But I must endeavor to establish some common ground on which Iand the magnificent creature at my side could meet and hold converse. Imust find it in literature. In a garret over my store I had a safe andsome papers conveyed, ostensibly for attention to private business. Ikept my room securely locked. Thither, from time to time, I secretlycarried a library of English classics, and all works of the day whichreceived public intention. I revived all my early recollections ofliterature, and made myself acquainted with the lighter contemporaneousworks, which are the most prolific topics of conversation in society. Under pretense of business I devoted every moment I could to my solitarychamber. Never did college student, cramming himself for examination, labor more intently than I. I stored my mind not only with words, butideas. I committed to memory innumerable fine passages. Personally, Iwas well repaid for my toil. Literature is always solacing, elevating, and ennobling. The Bedouin of the desert is less of a robber andmurderer while singing the songs of his national poets. 

My acquisitions, however, were carefully hidden. They were for futureuse. At present I continued to talk nothing that was beyond the scope ofthe newspapers. 

Thus some months passed. It was near the close of summer, and thegorgeous autumnal season was at hand. I designed to attempt somethingwhich would create a change in my wife's nature, --her acquired nature, to substitute some healthful exuberance for the weary listlessness whichhad become habitual to her. The physical is the foundation of all otherdepartments of humanity. With a physical system of glowing health, mental or emotional or moral disease is impossible; and the converse istrue, that when these exist, the physical system must deteriorate. Imust then give a filip to my wife's physical vigor, --dissipate herdesperateness and her love in the same manner in which a good game ofbilliards drives from a man the blues. I must remove all her morbidness. Where could I go but to the great mother Nature? If physical enjoyment, in connection with an appreciative view of the beauties and glorieseverywhere spread before humanity, on the mountains, the plains, thevalleys, and the oceans, does not revive and restore, the case ishopeless. My wife was an excellent equestrian. Her theatrical experiencehad familiarized her with firearms. She had a cultivated taste forscenery, and some degree of skill in delineating it. Far off, then, intothe prairies and the western mountains, into scenes away from the beatentrack, where everything should be as dissimilar as possible from allprevious life, I determined to lead her. 

My arrangements were quickly and quietly made, --my equipments secretlycompleted. On pretense of visiting business acquaintances, I requestedmy wife to accompany me on a journey to St. Louis. With her usualpassiveness, she consented. In a few days we were on our way. After ourarrival, we made trips into the interior. Gradually, I diverged fromcivilization. Professing to find an unexpected charm in the novelty ofthis, I led the way still onward. We traveled on horseback, --often amidsolitudes. I first astonished my wife by occasionally displaying on thegame my precision with the rifle. (I had spent scores of hours at ashooting gallery in St. Louis. ) I persuaded her to try a few shots. (Ihad provided a beautiful light rifle for her use. ) Ambition to shootwell soon possessed her. By degrees, our open-air life gave her blood abound which no secret grief could counteract. The excitement of thechase on our fleet horses, the incidents of our hunting adventures, andthe novelty of our associations, created a glow of spirit which burstforth in unrestrained conversation, mirth, and song. Now, then, I beganto display my literary acquisitions. During the long evenings in ourtent, or the wigwam of an Indian, or the log cabin of a backwoodssettler, we alternated in reading aloud from an excellent collection ofbooks I had prepared. Reading introduced topics of conversation, inwhich I employed all that I had in memory, and all that had been createdin myself by the electric collision of great authors. Never did aprofessional wit more ingeniously produce as sudden coruscations the_bon mots_ tediously studied; never did a philosophicalconversationalist use to more advantage the wisdom conned over in thecloset. I talked eloquently, profoundly. I rattled forth witticisms andpoetical quotations. I amazed her. The man whom she thought incapable ofany ideas beyond his ledger, and the stock market, and the cottonwarehouse, was revealed as a person of taste and reading. Instead ofappearing to her merely an indifferent person, to whom her fate had beenchained, and whom she regarded in somewhat the same manner as Prometheusdid his rock, I had become a pleasant companion, --a being of morevitality than she had perhaps ever met. 

Still, I had not excited the emotion of love. I did not expect it atthis stage of the treatment, but I observed its absence with a pang. 

For woman's love is not a slowly extorted tribute to excellence, but aspontaneous bestowal. Unlike evil spirits, which, according to popularsuperstition, need urging over the threshold before they can enter andpossess the hearthstone. Love leaps in unsolicited at any unguardedaperture, and becomes master of the household. 

Only genius could command her homage, and to this I could make nopretension. 

Love is oftener a response to appreciation, than a concession grantedupon a rational estimate of him who seeks it. She did not yet know thatI appreciated her. The time for her to learn it had not come. 

The casket of a woman's heart is oftener forced than opened with a key. 

Love had once entered my wife's soul, and, after accomplishing hismischief, left demons in possession. I could not exorcise--only charmthem. For the present, --perhaps for years, --I must be content with this. In the distant future, which had a dim horizon of hope, I expected tomake some final stroke by which to expel them. What it should be, Icould scarcely anticipate. Necessarily, I foresaw, it must be like thehighwayman's challenge, 'Money or life. ' After becoming endurable toher, in fact, inveigling her into unforeseen familiarity, I mustsuddenly throw off the mask, and demand the love for which I had waitedand plotted. Either she would surrender, or there would be a tragedy. 

The denouement came in a way of which I had no prescience. You willlearn it in the due course of my narrative. 

But she charmed me, fearfully, when she appeared, after a morning'schase, resplendent in the fullness of her healthful beauty, beaming withexcitement, her superb figure undulating gracefully to the restivemovements of her horse. I could have prostrated myself before her, in awild worship of her beauty. She had that quality which is so rare inwoman, but so admirable where it exists, --entire fearlessness; for it isa most absurd mistake to suppose that masculine _virtues_ can notco-exist in woman with the most lovable, feminine delicacy. Partly herunblenching courage was the product of a strong will in a splendidphysical organization; partly, alas! it arose from a disregard of life, which she felt was worthless. 

One morning, as we turned our faces homeward, our Indian escort andbaggage having preceded us, we were riding quietly along, with nointention of hunting, but accidentally coming on a few buffaloesseparated from their herd, the temptation to attack them was too strongto be resisted. We both urged our horses in pursuit, and, overtakingthem, fired simultaneously at different animals. My wife's quarry--astout bull--continued his flight, not being fatally wounded. Suddenly, some of our Indians who had heard the shot, and started to return, cameinto view over the brow of a hill, and the buffalo, thinking himselfsurrounded, turned and rushed at my wife. She avoided the onset by aquick whirl of her horse. The buffalo gathered himself and returned tothe charge with a roar of rage. Not having reloaded my rifle, I spurredforward, and leaped my steed full upon his massy form. We all felltogether, and when, after several seconds, I extricated myself, my wifewas standing on the buffalo's neck to prevent him from rising. I plungedmy knife into his chest, but in the mad struggle of death he partiallyrose, throwing her to the ground, while one of his horns entered herside. Never before, since I commenced my system, had I lost my studiedcalmness. But the sight of her blood, dyeing her garments and the grass, made me frantic. I tore away her vestments from the wound, pressed mylips in an agony to the gash, and then, hastily stanching the blood, bore her, nearly senseless as she was, in an embrace, the thrillingenergy of which can not be told, to a rivulet in the vicinity. Happilythe wound was but a lesion of the flesh, for which my surgery wassufficient, and by the aid of stimulants she revived, subsequentlyrecovering without injury. 

Since my fatal discovery in the conservatory, I had not before touchedher person, except for such courtesies as any gentleman may render alady of his acquaintance. Now, with my arms clasping her, my veinsthrobbed as in a delirium. The tender light of her eyes, as she revived, resulting partially from weakness and partially from a naturalthankfulness, moved me to the very point of prematurely throwing myselfat her feet and disclosing all. By a great throe I controlled myself. Asshe resumed her natural condition, I fell back into that most ordinaryand common-place character, --a self-satisfied husband, --qualifiedsomewhat by sympathy and attention, of course, but without the leastinfusion of sentiment. 

Oh, if she had known of the volcano under this exterior! If she hadknown how, at that moment, I could have exclaimed, 'Give me your love, or here let us die!'

 * * * * *

So, after various desultory wanderings, we returned home. Home! how Idreaded it, for I knew the power of association--the effect oflocalities and customary external habits on the feelings. You may take acareworn, dyspeptic, melancholy man out for a week's excursion, and hewill show himself preëminent in all good fellowship. But as the familiarsights gradually open on him at returning, you may see the shadowsflitting down upon his brow and entering his soul. How many goodresolutions of change and reform--of breaking old associations andforming new ones--we make when absent from our usual haunts! Howimpossible it becomes to realize them when we re-occupy the familiarplaces!

 * * * * *

But so it was, we reached home. All my anticipations were realized. Theold spirit, the old manner, were revived in my wife. At this time aninstallment of pictures and statues from Italy came to hand. I welcomedthem as angels of mercy. When I announced the arrival to my wife, aflush struggled to her cheek, and a radiance to her eye. 'Ha! youthink, ' said I in my communings, 'that Frank is to be present with youin his works, and that through them you may be in his presence. So youshall, but they shall become only an annoyance and a weariness, --forthemselves and for him. '

The statues and pictures were brought to the house and unpacked. My wifewas almost tremulous with eagerness to behold them. I had taken care, however, to have a number of acquaintances present, --some of genuineartistic taste, some of only pretensions, and others utterly ignorant. As the various works were displayed, my artistic friends, as in courtesybound, and as their merit really deserved, duly eulogized them, and thepraises were echoed by the rest. Finally we came to a box whichcontained a label marked 'The statue of Hope Downcast. ' 'Aha! masterFrank, ' thought I, 'so I have you at last. ' I could see my wifequivering with the contest of feeling, --between her annoyance at thepresence of visitors, and the necessity of controlling herself anduniting in their commendations. 

'Hope Downcast' was raised to the perpendicular, and proved to be abeautiful life-size statue, representing a female figure standing on arock, in a most dejected attitude, one foot unsandaled, her raimenttorn, her hair loose, the fillet which confined it lying parted at herfeet, the star upon the fillet deprived of some of its points, and theordinary emblem of Hope, the anchor, broken at her side. Theapplicability of the conception to the history of Frank and my wife, Ireadily understood. My guests broke out into raptures, in which Ijoined, and, by continual appeals to my wife, constrained her to do thesame. I also took the opportunity of inquiring the name of the artist, and requested my wife to express to him the entire satisfaction he hadgiven in the execution of his commission. 

The ordeal closed, but was renewed and repeated day after day, till allthe poetry and romance connected with our artistic acquisitions wasthoroughly destroyed in my wife's mind. They became, as I could easilyobserve, positively odious to her, and, doubtless, could she have obeyedthe promptings of her feelings, she would have trampled on them, andcast them into the street. 

But in this disappointment she became so forlorn, so passivelydesperate, that my heart almost burst at beholding her. 

Since my discovery in the conservatory I had often used it for watchingmy wife, --not of course with any miserable design of playing the spyupon, her, --but to observe her various moods, in order to adapt, my ownconduct and the progress of my system to them. One night, after we hadentertained a party of visitors, whom I had made instruments of tortureto my wife by their common-place eulogies of Frank's contributions, Iascended my perch in the conservatory. She was sitting in her apartment, her hands, listlessly clasped, resting on her knees, her form bowed withthe most profound dejection, coupled with that indescribable aspect ofcold, desperate defiance which I have previously noticed, exhibited inher countenance and position. 'Oh! Frank, Frank!' she seemed to say, 'would that I had forsaken all and fled to Italy with you. There, thecreations of your taste and genius would have afforded a solace. Herethey are but torments. '

'You shall go to Italy, Evelyn, and have your fill of Frank's society, 'said I in my imaginary comment. 'But not yet; the time has not yetcome. '

Having permitted her to learn the disappointment derived from the worksof art associated with Frank's memory, I now brought into action ascheme for teaching her the pleasure which I could afford. Before ourhunting expedition I had purchased a spacious and beautiful mansion, andengaged upholsterers from New York to decorate it, during our absence, in the most elegant style their taste could design. A large apartmenthad been constructed by my order for the purpose of a private theatre. 

I informed Evelyn of my plan, and conveyed her to our destinedresidence. She was not at first much moved, but after we had entered onpossession, and she was thoroughly engaged in selecting an amateurcompany from our acquaintances and arranging for our forthcomingexhibitions, the old enthusiasm of her former profession revived, andshe appeared for the time transported back to the auspicious hours ofher young triumphs. 'The School for Scandal' was chosen for our firstperformance--I of course taking the part of Sir Peter, and she that ofLady Teazle. I did not allow my feelings once to transcend the part, and in the conclusion looked completely the happy, good-natured, self-satisfied, old husband. Heaven! had her protestations, where thereconciliation occurred, been genuine, and not mere dramatic fiction!The thought almost overpowered me. I could see the young bucks of thecity chuckling over my position, and evidently wishing they were in theplace of _that old fool_!

 * * * * *

I need not relate the innumerable stratagems I devised to employ theattention and heart of my wife in pleasures emanating from myself. I wascontinually careful, however, to exhibit no sign of tender appreciation, but allowed her to regard them as the mere ordinary gratification of myown whims and wishes. I had now been for about a year disconnected withmy business. I had encouraged Evelyn in every species of extravagance, and expended money lavishly in all methods. I was conscious of livingfar beyond the ability of even my ample means, but there could not be anhesitation or halting. The city looked on me with wonder; some spoke ofme as one whom fortune had crazed; others pitied me as the victim of anextravagant wife. My New York partners expostulated with me, and, whenmy theatrical exhibition reached their ears, hinted at a dissolution. But I was deaf to rumor and reproof. 

 * * * * *

The person who took the part of Joseph Surface, in our representation of'The School for Scandal, ' was an unmarried gentleman of high standing, socially and politically, of middle age, fine presence, and superiorabilities. Under polished manners and captivating conversational powers, were concealed persistent passions and a conscience of marble. Beforeeven Evelyn suspected it, I was aware that he had resolved on subduingher to his own designs, for I seemed in all things relating to her to begifted with preternatural intuitions. 

Our next representation was to be 'The Fatal Marriage, ' in which theperson alluded to--whose name was Sefton--was to take the character ofthe wooer. 

The necessary consultations concerning the production of the piecebrought him frequently to my house, and both the excuse and theopportunities it gave were diligently improved. 

I had a premonition one evening that his intentions toward Evelyn werethen to take some decisive expression. I left my solitary study, ofwhich I have before spoken, and, going home, entered the house softly, and directed my steps towards our theatrical apartment. My confidence inEvelyn was unbounded, but I wished to witness the apprehended collision. Stealing behind the scenery, I saw Evelyn sitting on the stage, withcold and erect pride, --which was yet free from affectation, --and Seftonstanding before her, having evidently just concluded speaking. 

'So, sir, ' she said, 'I have heard you without interruption. But thecharacter you rehearse is inappropriate. You forget that we are nowconcerned with a piece representing the tribulations of a faithful wife, and not a comedy of the school of Charles the Second. I see that you aresincere; but sincerity renders a bad passion the more hateful. Now leaveme. For your own contentment crush it. If this is impossible, concealit. Should you ever again intimate it by even a glance, I will expel youfrom my society as I would a viper. '

'Madam, ' he gasped forth in suppressed rage, 'I understand you. Youshall also understand me, if you now do not. I will reduce your haughtypride. Of this be assured. You play well the _rôle_ of the faithfulwife, but I will not do you the injustice of supposing that it isthrough any regard for him on whose behalf you assume it. '

He would have said more, but Evelyn sprang up, her eyes flashing, and, seizing a dagger which lay on a table among other 'properties, 'exclaimed, --

'Begone, sir, or you shall find me an actress who can perform a terriblereality. '

She advanced toward him, and he turned away, passing out slowly, cowed, but not vanquished. I could see that he was determined to become hermaster, though it cost him all that he had invested in ambition, honor, and life. 

She flung down the dagger, paused till he was out of the house, and thenwent to her rooms. I emerged from my hiding-place, laughing and sobbinghysterically, --rejoicing over my glorious Evelyn, and bewailing that shewas not in truth mine. 

A few weeks after this scene, I found on several occasions, whenreturning home late, that Evelyn was out. I never interfered with herfreedom, nor questioned her in regard to any of her proceedings; but, nevertheless, in all cases, as there was no concealment concerning them, I was, by the ordinary channels of social and domestic intercourse, acquainted with them. With regard to the absences alluded to, however, Iwas at fault. They were not attributable to any of the engagements ofsociety. It became, of course, requisite, as part of my system, toinvestigate the mystery. So, on a certain evening, after going outapparently as usual, I watched the house, and, shortly after dusk, sawher emerge, clad in plain habiliments, and followed her at a distancethrough several secluded streets. She stopped at a very ordinarytenement in a remote quarter of the city, and remained till a late hour, when she returned home. 

I resolved quietly to take observations, and ascertain the motive forher visit. My intentions were precluded the next morning by the entranceinto my place of business of Mr. Sefton, who, after many complimentaryand cordial expressions, requested a private conference; which beinggranted, he said, --

'My dear Mr. Bell, I wish to speak to you concerning a very delicate andpainful matter. I am conscious of involving myself in an affair, whichmay, perhaps, have unpleasant consequences for me, but my friendship andesteem for you will not permit me to remain quiet concerning a matterwhich is injurious to your honor. '

He then proceeded to inform me that a certain actor, named Foster, whoonce had a high reputation, but had become degraded throughdissoluteness, recently came to him, apparently in abject poverty anddangerous illness, begging assistance and shelter; that he had placedFoster in a tenement, which he described (the same that I had seen mywife enter), and supplied his wants, but had reason to suppose thatFoster was imposing on his charity, having learned from others that, sofar from being ill, he was sufficiently able to enjoy his appetites andlicentious desires. 'On going, ' said Mr. Sefton, 'to reprimand and expelhim, he confessed to me that he had taken this method of covering anintrigue with a lady, and assured me he intended to repay all I hadadvanced him. I became, also, ' continued Mr. Sefton, 'a witness of aninterview with the lady, as she entered while I was there, and Foster, in the haste of the occasion, was obliged to conceal me in an adjoiningroom. The lady, I was astonished to perceive, was Mrs. Bell. I thenrecollected that Foster was formerly intimate with her, and that theyperformed on the stage together. I have deemed it my duty to relate thisastounding development to you. '

I received Mr. Sefton's announcement in all seriousness, and thankedhim. What would he have me do? He replied that my own judgment mustdictate, but that he supposed it would be best for all parties to removequietly to another State and apply for a divorce. I promised to considerthe matter, and after many mutual compliments he departed. 

'What does this mean?' I mused. 'The supposition of an intrigue ispreposterous. Probably Foster has merely deceived Evelyn as he didSefton, in order to obtain her bounty. But why make her visits sosecret? That is easily explained;--she does not wish to be connectedpublicly with any unhappy sequences of her former histrionic career. Iwill have an interview with Foster before proceeding further. '

I visited him that night, pushing into the house immediately after theblack female servant who opened the door, lest I should be refusedadmittance. I found Foster in a half-intoxicated condition, seatedcomfortably at a table, with a pipe in his hand, and liquor before him. 

'I am Mr. Bell, ' said I, 'and had learned from my wife of your destitutecondition, which I came to relieve. But you appear in excellentcircumstances. '

Through his intoxication there was an evidence of confusion, as hestammered out, --

'Yes, sir; much obliged to you. Take a seat--a seat. Good spell now. Doctor prescribes a little comfort, you know, old boy!'

'A very kind doctor, I should judge, Mr. Foster, and I am glad to findyou in such a good condition. Suppose I take a glass with you?'

'Certainly. Very happy--happy. Your health, sir. '

'I hope, sir, ' I said, 'that you will soon recover, after the attentionsof my wife and Mr. Sefton. '

'Sefton!' he exclaimed. 'Rascal! D--d rascal! sir. ' He continuedmurmuring in his throat, 'Rascal! D--d rascal!'

'I'll take another glass, ' said I. 'The liquor is very good--very good, sir. Who furnishes it?'

'Liquor! Yes--very good! Sefton--yes, Sefton sent it. Rascal! D--drascal!' (in a murmur, as before. )

'Now, Foster, ' said I, 'I am rich. There is a purse, --and pretty wellfilled. I will give it to you, and others like it, if you will tell mewhy Sefton is a rascal, and how you happen to be connected with him. '

His eyes glistened with greediness, as I anticipated. He grasped thepurse and thrust it into his pocket, then immediately pulled it out, tossed it on the table, leaned his head down on his arms and began tosob, all in the most maudlin manner. 

TO BE CONTINUED. 

A SONG OF FREEDOM. 

 Not now, my tongue, to legends old, Or tender lays of sunny clime; A sterner tale must now be told, Deep thoughts must burn in warlike rhyme; For Freedom, with a mighty throe, Rouses from sleep to active life, And loud her clarion trumpets blow, To summon _men_ to join the strife. 

 The seed, which long ago was sown By free New England's rock-bound rills, At length, in noble vigor grown, Casts branches o'er the Southern hills. Far o'er the prairies of the West Rings Freedom's thrilling battle-cry, Re-echoed where each mountain crest Lifts Maine's dark forests to the sky. 

 Go forth, ye warriors for the right! Lift high the banner of the free! Shine far into Oppression's night, Bright oriflamme of Liberty! For, God be praised, the lowering cloud So long impending overhead, Which nations thought our funeral shroud, Shall prove our victory-robe instead. 

 O maiden, who with tender smile, O wife, who with enslaving kiss, Some dearly loved one would beguile From duty in a field like this; Conjure before thy tearful sight The glories future years shall know, Unclasp thine arms--in Freedom's fight, Bid him be valiant, --bid him, 'go. '

 Be with him both in camp, in field, With tender thought and earnest prayer; Think, those who Freedom's weapons wield, God makes his own peculiar care. And if he fall, --as chance he may, -- Rejoice the glorious boon is thine, To lay thy heart-flowers of a day On Freedom's grand, eternal shrine!

 O warrior, nerve thy courage well! For fierce and stern the strife will be, -- Oppression, Wrong, the powers of hell, War against Right and Liberty. Fight, for the victory must be thine; No nobler strife the world has known Since first the Saviour, all divine, Brought life to man from God's high throne. 

 And ye, who sit in seats of power, The instruments of God's high will, Be ye not wanting in this hour So big with future good or ill. Fail not, for Freedom's car rolls on Resistless in its glorious way; Some shall to honor be upborne, They who oppose be crushed to clay. 

 Hark! from the sunny Southern plains There comes a sound still swelling on, The clanking of a million chains, The cry, the groan, the lash, the moan. 

 That sound for years has gone on high; The hour of judgment comes apace, The day of right and liberty, Of freedom for the human race. 

 Speed, speed the day, O righteous God, To break the fetters, dry the tears, To raise the slave, so long downtrod, Through the dark age of by-gone years! Give but to us the sword of power, To work thy ends, in thine own way, To see the promise of the hour Of this the world's most glorious day. 

ACROSS THE CONTINENT. 

In the tense, absorbing excitement of our life-and-death-struggle fornational existence, events which in calmer times would quicken everypulse, and arrest universal attention, pass all but unnoticed; ashistorians record that during the battle between Hannibal and the Romansby the Lake Thrasymene, the earth was shaken and upheaved by a greatnatural convulsion, without attracting the observation of the fierce, eager combatants; or, as Byron tersely phrases it, 'An earthquake rolled unheededly away, '

being regarded, if regarded at all, as one of the incidents of thetremendous collision of Europe with Africa. 

When, early in March, 1844, John C. Fremont, with thirty or fortyfollowers, astonished Captain Sutter by dropping down from the SierraNevada upon his _ranche_ on the Sacramento, the old Switzer could nothave been more completely dumbfounded had he been told that his visitorshad just descended from the clouds, than he was by the truthfulassurance that they were an exploring party, who had left the UnitedStates only ten months before, and had since made their way across thecontinent. To pass the Sierra in winter had hitherto been deemed animpossibility, and, indeed, the condition of Fremont's surviving beastsof burden--thirty-three out of the sixty-seven with which hestarted--proved the presumption not far out of the way. To traverse thecontinent at all, even in summer, on a line stretching due west from theHudson, the Delaware, or the Potomac, to the Pacific Ocean, was anunattempted feat, whereof the hardships, the dangers, were certain, andthe success exceedingly doubtful. A very few parties of daringadventurers had, during several of the six or eight preceding summers, pushed up the Platte from the Missouri to the Rocky Mountains, followedthe Sweetwater from the point where the North Platte emerges from theheart of those mountains, running to the northward, and having thuspassed through the great central chain of North America (for theSweetwater heads on the west side of the mountain range, and the SouthPass, through which it seeks the Platte, is a broad elevated gap, wherein the face of the country is but moderately rolling, and the trailbetter than almost any where else), turned abruptly to the north-west, crossed the Green River source of the Colorado, which leads a hundredmiles farther north, and soon struck across a mountainous water-shed tothe Lewis or Snake branch of the Columbia, which they followed down tothe great river of the west, and thus reached the coveted shore of thePacific, --that Oregon which they had chosen as their future home, mainlybecause it was, of all possible Eldorados, the farthest and the leastaccessible. Trappers, hunters, and Indian traders, few in numbers, andgenerally men of desperate fortunes, who realized that

 'The world was not their friend, nor the world's law, '

had, for several decades, penetrated every glen of the Rocky Mountains, and traced every affluent of the great river in quest of theirrespective prey; but the wild, desolate region watered by the Colorado, the Humboldt, or the streams that are lost in the Great Salt Lake, orsome smaller absorbent of the scanty waters of the Great Basin, hadnever proved attractive to our borderers, and for excellent reasons. Itis, as a whole, so arid, so sterile (though its valleys do not lackfertility wherever their latent capacities can be developed byirrigation), and its game is so scanty and worthless, that old Bridger(pioneer of settlers at the military post in northern Utah, now known asFort Bridger) was probably the only American who had made his home inthe Great Basin when Fremont's exploring party first pitched their tentsby the border of Great Salt Lake, in September, 1843. 

The discovery of gold in California, in the summer of 1847, closelyfollowing the military occupation and conquest of that country by theUnited States, wrought a great and sudden revolution. Of the fewAmericans in that region prior to 1846, probably nine tenths had roundedCape Horn to reach it, while the residue had made their way acrossMexico or the Isthmus of Darien. It was 'a far coy' at best, and verytedious as well as difficult of attainment. We have in mind an Americanof decided energy, who, starting from Illinois in May or June, 1840, with a party of adventurers, mainly mounted, reached the mouth of theColumbia, overland, in December, and California, by water, in the courseof the winter; and who, starting again for California, via Panama, inthe summer of 1847, was nine months in reaching his destination. But thetidings that the shining dross was being and to be picked up by thehandful on the tributaries of the Sacramento wrought like magic. Earlyin 1849, steam-ships were dispatched from New York for Chagres, at themouth of the river of like name on the Isthmus of Darien, whence crowdsof eager gold-seekers made their way across, as they best might, toPanama, being taken in small, worthless boats up the river, so far asits navigation was practicable, --say sixty miles, --and thence, mountedon donkeys or mules, for the residue of the distance, which was perhapshalf as far. Short as this portage was, it soon came to be regarded witha terror by no means unjustified. The ascent of the rapid, shallow, tortuous stream was at once difficult and dangerous; the boats were ofthe rudest construction; the boatmen little better than savages; rainsfell incessantly for a good part of each year; the warm, moist, relaxingclimate bred fevers in the blood of a considerable percentage of thoseso suddenly and so utterly exposed to its malarious influences; whilethe road from Cruces, at the head of navigation, being but a ruggedbridle-path at best, was soon worn by incessant travel into the mostdetestable compound of rock and mire that ever aggravated the miseriesof human life. Arrived at quaint, dull old Panama, the early adventurerslong awaited with fierce impatience the steamers which were to haveanticipated their coming, and been ready to speed them on their way; andmany were goaded into taking passage on sailing vessels, which weremonths in beating up to the Golden Gate against the gentle butpersistent breezes from the west and north-west which mainly prevail onthat coast. Rarely has human endurance been put to severer tests than inthe earlier years of gold-seeking travel by the Isthmus route toCalifornia. 

The Panama Railroad--commenced in 1850, and finished in 1855, at a totalcost of $7, 500, 000, for a length of forty-seven and a half miles--veryconsiderably reduced the expense, whether in time or money, of theIsthmus transit, diminishing its miseries and perils in still greaterproportion. It is one of the noblest achievements, whereof ourcountrymen are fairly entitled to the full credit. A ship-canal orrailroad across the Isthmus had been proposed, and commended, andsurveyed for and estimated upon, by French, South American, and otherofficials and engineers; but the execution of the work was left to ourcountrymen, and not in vain. Contractor after contractor abandoned theundertaking in despair; hundreds, if not thousands, of laborers--Irish, Chinese, and others--were sacrificed to the deadly miasma of the swampsand tropical jungle which thickly stud the route. But the work was atlast completed, and the railroad has now been some six years in constantoperation, reducing the average length of the actual transit from a weekto two hours, and its expense and peril to an inappreciable quantity. Itis a cheering fact that the capitalists who invested their faith andtheir means in this beneficent enterprise have already had returned tothem in dividends the full amount of their outlay, and are now receivingtwenty per cent. Per annum. Their road has shortened the average Isthmuspassage to and from California by at least a full week, and immenselydiminished the danger of loss by robbery, accident, or exposure, besidebuilding up a large trade which but for it would have had no existence. 

Yet the Isthmus route to California is only by comparison acceptable, even for passengers and goods, while for mails it was at best butendurable. It is nearly twice the length of the direct route from theAtlantic seaboard, while for the residents of the Evart Valley it isintolerably circuitous. A letter mailed at St. Paul for Astoria orOregon City, or at Omaha for Sacramento, must, under the regimen of thelast ten years, be conveyed overland to New York, or by steamboat to NewOrleans, where it might have to wait ten or twelve days for an Isthmussteam-ship, making a circuit of twice to thrice the distance by a directroute to its destination. There has been, indeed, for some four yearspast, a tri-weekly overland mail from St. Louis via New Mexico andArizona to San Diego, in the extreme south of California, --a routenearly a thousand miles longer than it need or should have been, andevincing a perverse ingenuity in the avoidance not only of Salt Lake andCarson Valley, but even of Santa Fe. This long and mischievousdetour--one of the latest of our wholesale sacrifices to Southernjealousy and greed--has at length been definitely abandoned, and, instead of a tri-weekly mail via Elposo and the Gila, together with aweekly by Salt Lake, and a fortnightly or tri-monthly by the Isthmus, wehave now one daily mail on the direct overland route from the Missouri, at St. Joseph or Omaha, via the Platte, North Platte, Sweetwater, SouthPass, Fort Bridger, Salt Lake, Simpson's route, Carson Valley, andthence across the Sierra Nevada to Placerville and San Francisco, inshorter time than was usually made by way of the Isthmus, at less costthan that of the three mails which it replaces, while the immenseadvantage of a daily mail each way, over a tri-monthly or even weekly, needs no elucidation. The territories of Colorado, Utah, Nevada, arethus brought into intimate and constant communication with the loyalStates, and made to feel the mighty pulsations of the National heart, inthis heroic and eventful crisis of the Republic's history. 

But this not all, nor the best. The old Congress, among its many wiseand beneficent measures, enacted that the government should aid whatevercompany would for the lowest annual stipend establish and maintain aline of Electric Telegraph from Missouri or Iowa to California. Acontract was accordingly made with the Western Union Telegraph Company, under which active operations were commenced last spring, under surveyspreviously made. The grand train of four hundred men, one hundred greatprairie wagons, and six or eight hundred mules or oxen, --a portion ofthe cattle for the subsistence of the party, --started westward fromOmaha, Nebraska, in June last, and on the 4th of July commenced pushingon the construction at the point which it had already reached, some twoor three hundred miles further west in the valley of the Platte. It maygive to some an idea of the destitution of timber on the great AmericanDesert, to know that the greatest distance over which poles had to bedrawn for the elevation of the wires of this telegraph was _only_ 240miles! Fresh teams were from time to time dispatched on the track of theworking carts with additional supplies, and the line was pushed throughto Salt Lake City by the 18th of October. Six days afterward, that pointwas reached by a like party, working eastward from Carson Valley, onbehalf of the United Telegraph Companies of California, and the youngHercules by the Pacific vied with the infantile but vigorous territoriesthis side of her in flashing to Washington and New York assurances oftheir invincible devotion to the indivisible American Union. So greatand difficult an enterprise was probably never before so expeditiouslyand happily achieved in the experience of mankind. 

The distance--some 1, 500 miles--over which a working line of electrictelegraph has thus been constructed and put in operation in the courseof a single season is one of the minor obstacles surmounted. The want oftimber is far more serious. From the sink of Carson River, less than onehundred miles this side of the Sierra, to the point at which theconstruction of the line was commenced on the Platte as aforesaid, thereis no place at which a tree can fall across the fragile wires; there isprobably less timber in sight on that whole sixteen hundred miles thanis to-day standing in some single county of New York, Pennsylvania, orOhio. From the forks of the Platte to the valley of the Sacramento, there is not a stick of growing timber that would make a decentaxe-helve, much less a substantial axletree. The Sierra Nevada areheavily though not densely wooded nearly to their summits, but mainlywith stately evergreens, including a brittle and worthless live oak; butthe tough, enduring hickory, the lithe and springy white ash, theironwood, beech, and sugar maple, are nowhere to be seen. A low, scrubbycedar and a small, scraggy white pine thinly cover a portion of thehills and low mountains of Utah; the former is shorter than it should befor telegraph poles, but stanch and durable, and is made to do. Thedetestable cotton-wood, most worthless of trees, yet a great deal betterthan none, thinly skirts the banks of the Platte and its affluents, inpatches that grow more and more scarce as you travel westward, until youonly see them 'afar off' on the sides of some of the mountains thatenclose the South Pass. The Colorado has a still scantier allowance ofthis miserable wood; but the cedars meet you as you ascend from itsvalley to the hills that surround Fort Bridger. Where cotton-wood isused for poles, --and there are hundreds of miles where no other tree isfound, --it will have to be replaced very frequently; for it decaysrapidly, and has a fancy for twisting itself into all manner of ungainlyshapes when cut and exposed to the sun and parching winds of the plains. 

Water, next to wood, is the great want of the plains and of the GreatBasin. Travel along either base of the Rocky Mountains, and you areconstantly meeting joyous, bounding streams, flowing rapidly forth fromeach ravine and coursing to the arid plain; but follow them a few milesand they begin to diminish in volume, and, unless intercepted by acopious river, often dwindle to nothing. The Republican fork of theKansas or Kaw River, after a course of some thirty to fifty miles, sinkssuddenly into its bed, which thence for twenty miles exhibits nothingbut a waste of yellow sand. Of course there are seasons when this bed iscovered with water throughout; but I describe what I saw early in June, when a teamster dug eight feet into that sand without finding a drop ofthe coveted liquid for his thirst-maddened oxen. Two months later, Iobserved the dry bed stretched several miles farther up and down what inwinter is the river. Passing over to Big Sandy, the most northerlytributary of the Arkansas, I found dry sand (often incrusted with somewhite alkaline deposit) the rule; water the rare exception throughoutthe twenty or thirty miles of its course nearest its source. At Denver, on the 6th of June, Cherry Creek contributed to the South Platte avolume amply sufficient to run an ordinary grist-mill; ten daysafterwards its bed was dry as a doctrinal sermon. My first encampment onthe North Platte above Laramie was by a sparkling, dancing stream a yardwide, which could hardly have been forced through a nine-inch ring; butthough its current was rapid and the Platte but three miles off, thethirsty earth and air drank up every drop by the way. Big Sandy, LittleSandy and _Dry_ Sandy are the three tributaries to be crossed betweenSouth Pass and the Colorado, and the latter justifies its name throughthe better part of each year. Golden River runs through too deep anarrow valley and bears too strong a current from the snowy peaks inwhich it heads to be thus dried up; so with Bear, Welso, and theTimpanagos or Jordan, the principal affluents of Salt Lake, which tumbleand roar between lofty peaks the greater part of their respectivecourses; but when you have crossed the Jordan, moving California-ward, you will not find another decent mill-stream for the five hundred milesthat you traverse on your direct (Simpson's) route to the sink of theCarson. At intervals which seem very long, you find a spring, a scantybut welcome stream rushing down between two mountains, to be speedilydrunk up by the thirsty plain and valley at their base; but you willoftener pass some 'sink' or depression below the general level of thevalley you are traversing, where a shrewd guess has led to brackish orsulphurous water by digging two or three feet. A mail station-keeperlost his oxen, at a point a hundred miles south-west of Salt Lake; theyhad wandered southward on the desert, and he followed their trail for(as he estimated) a hundred miles, without finding a drop of water, whenhe gave them up, still a day's tramp ahead of him, and turned back tosave his own life and that of his suffering horse. He might, I presume, have gone a hundred miles further without finding aught to drink buttheir blood. 

This dearth of wood and water can hardly be realized from any meredescription. A life-long denizen of Europe, or of the cis-Alleghanyportion of this continent, is so accustomed to the unfailing presence ornearness of trees and springs, or streams, that he naturally supposesthem as universal as the air we breathe. In a New Englander's crudeconception, trees spring up and grow to stately maturity wherever theyare not repressed by constant vigilance and exertion, while brooks andrivers are implied by the existence of hills and valleys, nay, of anyland whatever. But as you travel westward with the Missouri, springs, streams, woods, become palpably scarcer and scarcer, until, unless inthe immediate valley of the Platte, Arkansas, or some more northerlyriver that rushes full-fed from a long course among the snow-crownedpeaks of the Rocky Mountains, your eye ranges over a vast expansewhereon neither forest, grove, nor even a single tree, is visible. Ifthe country is rolling, springs may at long intervals be found by thosewho know just where to seek them; but streams are few and scanty, savein winter, and in later summer they disappear almost entirely. BeyondSalt Lake, the destitution of wood in Utah and Nevada is far less thanon the Plains, but that of water is even greater. Fifty miles from waterto water is the lowest interval in my experience on Simpson's route; butI only traversed the eastern half of it, turning thence abruptlynorthward to strike the valley of the Humboldt (formerly known as theSt. Mary's), which rising in the north-west corner of the new Territoryof Nevada, hardly fifty miles from the southern or Lewis branch of theColumbia, flows southward from the Goose Creek Mountains that cradledand nourished it, and thence hardly maintains its volume (which is thatof a decent mill stream) in its generally south-west course of threehundred and fifty miles, till it is two thirds lost in a lake and theresidue in a reedy slough or sink, a hundred miles from the SierraNevada and forty from the similar sink of the Carson, a larger and lessimpulsive stream which drains a considerable section of the easterndeclivity of the Sierra Nevada only to meet this inglorious end. Doubtless, the time has been when a large portion of western Nevadaformed one great lake or inland sea, whereof Pyramid and Mud Lakes, andthe sinks respectively of the Carson, Walker and Humboldt rivers, areall that the thirsty earth and air have left us. The forty miles of low, flat, naked desert--in part of heavy, wearying sand--that now separatesthe sink of the Humboldt from that of the Carson, was evidently longunder water, and might, to all human perception, have better remainedso. 

I can not comprehend those who talk of the Plains and the more intenselyarid wilds which mainly compose Utah and Nevada becoming a greatstock-growing region. Even California, though its climate favors therapid multiplication and generous growth of cattle and sheep, can neversustain so many animals to the square mile as the colder and more ruggedhills of New York and New England, because of the intense protracteddrouth of its summers, which suffer no blade of grass to grow throughoutthe six later months of every year. Animals live and thrive on thedead-ripe herbage of the earlier months; but a large area is soonexhausted by a herd, which must be pastured elsewhere till the winterrains ensure a renewal of vegetation. 

But the grasses of the Great Valley and of a large portion of the Plainsare exceedingly scanty where they exist at all, so that the teams andherds annually driven across them by emigrants and traders sufferfearfully, and are often decimated by hunger, though they carefully seekout and adhere to the trails whereon feed is least scanty. Many a wearyday's journey, even along the valleys of the North Platte andSweetwater, brings to view too little grass to sustain the life of amoderate herd; those who have traversed the South Pass in June willgenerally have just escaped starvation, leaving to those that comestraggling or tottering after them a very poor feed. The carcasses ofdead animals, in every stage of decomposition, thickly stud the greattrail from the banks of the Platte westward to the passes of the SierraNevada, and, I presume, to the banks of the Columbia, bearing mute butimpressive testimony to the chronic inhospitality of the Great AmericanDesert, which is almost everywhere thinly overgrown by worthless shrubs, known to travelers as grease-wood and sage brush;--the former pricklyand repellant, but having a waxy or resinous property which renders ituseful to emigrants as fuel; the latter affording shelter andsubsistence to rabbits and a poor species of grouse known as the 'sagehen, ' but utterly worthless to man and to the beasts obedient to hissway. 

Yet the daily Overland Mail is an immense, a cheering fact, and thePacific Telegraph another. A message dispatched from any village blessedwith electric wires on poles in the Atlantic States will probably reachits destination in any city or considerable settlement of California orNevada within a few hours, while every transpiring incident of the warfor the Union is directly flashed across the continent to the journalsof Sacramento and San Francisco, and will often be devoured by theirreaders on the evening after its occurrence. The Republic may well beproud of having achieved two such strides in her onward, upward course, in the midst of a great and desolating war, and with confidence implorea God of beneficent justice to hasten the auspicious day when we shallbe able to telegraph her children by the far Pacific that her enemiesare baffled, vanquished, humbled, and that there opens again before hera long vista of unbroken and honorable peace. 

WHAT TO DO WITH THE DARKIES. 

A NEW AND ORIGINAL PLAN FOR SAVING THE UNION ON SOUTHERN PRINCIPLES. 

There can be no question that the overwhelming difficulty of the presentday, is the proper disposal of the Negro. 

The writer of these lines takes the liberty of believing that the war isvirtually a settled affair. There has been, there is, no diminution ofNorthern determination to push on and keep pushing until the wings ofthe eagle again stretch from Maine to the Rio Grande. The administrationis sustained, as from the first, by ever increasing majorities. Thedaily defeats of those politicians who are known to sympathize withsecession, the wreck of the peace party, and the growing indignation ofthe country, as manifested against all halfway men and measures, arebecoming what in sober seriousness can not be regarded as other than atremendous moral spectacle. _In medio non tutissimus ibis_. 

Yet at the bottom of this foaming cup of joy remain the black dregs. Iwould not invidiously compare the unfortunate black to the 'dregs of thepopulace, ' since labor in any form must not be lightly spoken of. But itwould be the weakest of euphuisms to affect ignorance of the socialposition which he occupies, and which, not to increase the misery of hisposition, is indubitably 'at the bottom of the ladder. ' But that whichis at the bottom of the ladder may seriously affect its position andstanding. There is a fearful and thrilling illustration of this, to befound in a popular cut graphically described in these words:

 A negro on the top of a high ladder, white-washing, a hog lifting it up from beneath. 'G'way dar, --you'm makin' mischief. '

President Lincoln is understood to favor emigration. This looks well. Carry the blacks away to Liberia. Unfortunately I am informed that_eight and a half Great Easterns_, each making one trip per month, couldonly export the annual increase of our Southern slaves. This speaks inthunder tones, even to the welkin, and provokes a scream from the eagle. It is impossible. 

But what shall we do with our blacks, since it is really impossible, then, to export the dark, industrial, productive, proletarian, operative, laboring element from our midst?

I suggest as a remedy that they continue in our midst, with thisamendment, that they be concentrated in that same 'midst' and the'midst' be removed a little to one side. In other words, let us centrethem all in one State, _that State to be South Carolina_. 

The justice of this arrangement must be apparent to every one. It isevident that if the present occupation by our troops continue muchlonger, there will be no white men left in South Carolina, neither is itlikely that they will ever return. Terror and pride combined must everkeep the native whites from repopulating that region. And, as SouthCarolina was especially the State which brought about this war, for theexpress purpose of making the black man the basis of its society, therewould be a wonderful and fearful propriety in carrying out that theory, or 'sociology, ' even to perfection; making the negro not only the basisof society, but _all_ society there whatever, --top, bottom, and sides. 

It is true that this absolute perfection of their theory was nevercontemplated even by the celebrated Hammond. But truth compels thededuction, and reason admits it. _Verus in uno, verus in omnibus_. 

I trust that the reader will not be startled, nor accuse the writer ofthese lines of lacking patriotism, when he avows that since the Southernsocial philosophers have boldly started a tremendous and originaltheory, he should be very sorry not to see it fairly tested, tried, andworked out. Every great doctrine or idea, be it for good or evil, mustand will work itself out, that of mudsill-ism and negro labor among therest. Only I claim that it should be complete in its elements, eliminated of what the African, with a fine intuition of the truth, ingenuously terms 'de wite trash, '--yes, in the Southern social schemethe whites _are_ trash, --and they only find their place as a sort ofuseless ornament, non-productive and inoperative, even according totheir own ideas. Therefore the 'wite trash' must be eliminated. 

There is yet another and a very beautiful argument to be adduced infavor of colonizing South Carolina with 'contrabands. ' It must beapparent to the blindest eye that the negro inclines idiosyncraticallyto Southern institutions far more zealously than even Mr. JeffersonDavis can be presumed to do. He is the most driving of drivers, theseverest of overseers, the most aristocratic of aristocrats, the mostSouthern of Southerners. The planter despises poverty, but what is hiscontempt of a poor white man compared to that of his slave for suchwretchedness? What indeed is the negro but an intensified Creole? Hisvery color reflects that of his swarthy lord. The planter is tanned, butthe negro is 'black and tanned, '--tanned always on the face, and notunfrequently on the back!

The black, left to his own instincts in Africa, develops the Southernsociology to a degree which casts entirely into pitiable pettiness thepuling despotism of the calaboose and slave market. Witness Dahomey, where all lives, all fortunes, all persons, are coördinated in oneperfect 'system' of subjugation to one sable Jefferson Davis Gezo, whois _de jure divino_ husband by a sublime fiction of law to every womanon the sacred soil of Africa, and master of the lives of all of bothsexes. What to this stupendous and perfect theory is the impotent andimperfect scheme so lamely announced by the sociologists of the C. S. A. ?

I claim that by every law of logic the Southern philosophers haveproclaimed themselves inferior to the negro, and worthy to be swept awayto make place for him. They have claimed for him the most importantplace in the body politic, and as, _ex uno disce omnes_, the wholeshould be homogeneous with a part, especially the main part, it followsthat the negro, and the negro alone, should be allowed to rule in a landwhere, as Southerners declare, 'God clearly intended him to live. ' Nowif God clearly intended him to live there, it must follow that he didnot intend white men to reside in those regions. It may be observed inthis connection that the _Bible_ forms the great basis of all Southernargument. If a Northern writer advances any of the ignorant and impiousdoctrines, so common among his kind, against slavery, he is promptly andproperly met with the query, 'Do you believe in the Bible?' Now the_Bible_ endorses slavery past, and 'of course' slavery present. But the_Bible_ also insists that the curse of labor was laid on man by theeating of the apple. On _all_ men, be it observed, without distinctionof color. But the Southerners have claimed, time and again, that 'onlythe black can work in the South. ' Therefore it logically results, onSouthern grounds, that the white man has no business whatever in theSouth, since he _must_ work somewhere, and it can not be in the land ofrice and cotton. Who then should inhabit that sunny clime save the'contraband'--who should there claim the respect due to the lord of thesoil if not he?

 'Yo que soy contrabandista Y campo à mé respeto. '

The more I study this subject the more does my soul expand in awe as Iwatch the fearful unfoldings of the terrible moral law which governs theactions of humanity. Ah, Heaven! it is fearful, it is awful to considerhow ignorantly we begin our beginnings without anticipating themarvelous endings to which they rise, even as a match ignorantly lightedmay explode the dusky grain which sends a city skyward! The South hastoiled to elaborate a philosophy and an empire on the Nigger--and, lo!at the end thereof looms up the tremendous Afreet realm of a perfectNiggerdom, in which the white element, which first started it into life, must logically be swept away, like the worthless _exuviæ_ of a shellfrom the head of a young dragon. 

As one who boldly claims respect for the 'system' of the SouthernConfederacy, but who wishes for its perfect development, I thereforesuggest that South Carolina be set aside for the great experiment. Letthe negro be there allowed to congregate and expand even to his utmostcapacity. Let all the poetry and beauty of Southern institutions beconcentrated in that happy realm, where, amid the groans of endlesslabor and the swinging of countless whips, he may show the world what hemay become. Already the South has proved his capacity to work sixteenhours a day and dance all night--perhaps under _black_ rulers he may bebrought to work twenty hours a day, and give up dancing altogether. Iclaim, as one holding advanced Southern views, that this proposition beallowed a fair trial. If not, I shall at least have the satisfaction ofhaving put my views before the world to bide their time. A truth neverdies. Coming ages will at least do me justice. _Magna est Veritas etprevalebit. _

THE SLAVE-TRADE IN NEW YORK. 

The National Convention which in 1787 framed the Federal Constitution, despite its firmness and patriotism, was, like all public bodies, evidently not entirely devoid of a spirit of compromise. A majority ofits members were desirous of freeing the institutions of the youngnation from the burden of slavery, and yet they consented to engraft thefollowing provision upon the body of our American fundamental law:--

"The migration or importation of such persons as any of the States nowexisting shall think proper to admit shall not be prohibited by Congressprior to the year 1808. "

Congress was awake, however, even during the administration ofWashington, to its duty in the matter, and an act was passed declaringthe slave-trade to be piracy. Twenty years afterward the principalEuropean sovereigns united in the same declaration, and so the execrablecommerce was hurled beyond the pale of international law. There is nowno probability that it will ever regain its rank 'on change. ' But itsillegitimation does not seem to have greatly circumscribed its activity. In the face of apparent danger, it has continued to flourish, and therehas been hardly more risk to a _pirate_ with a living cargo from Gaboon, than would be encountered by an ordinary merchantman from pirates in theGulf. Indeed, there were many who believed and feared, prior to thebreaking out of the present rebellion, that the next compromise betweenthe North and South would be the repeal of all laws prohibiting theAfrican slave-trade. So rapidly yet so insidiously was the Southobtaining an entire control in the councils of the nation. 

It was notorious that a large proportion of the vessels which wereengaged in the infamous traffic were owned and fitted out by Northerncapitalists. The General Government did not exert itself in good faithto carry out either its treaty stipulations nor the legislation ofCongress in regard to the matter. If a vessel was captured, her ownerswere permitted to bond her, and thus continue her in the trade; and ifany man was convicted of this form of piracy, the executive alwaysinterposed between him and the penalty of his crime. The laws providingfor the seizure of vessels engaged in the traffic were so constructed asto render the duty unremunerative; and marshals now find their fees forsuch services to be actually less than their necessary expenses. No onewho bears this fact in mind will be surprised at the great indifferenceof these officers to the continuing of the slave-trade; in fact, he willbe ready to learn that the laws of Congress upon the subject had becomea dead letter, and that the suspicion was well grounded that certainofficers of the Federal Government had actually connived at theirviolation. 

The number of persons engaged in the slave-trade, and the amount ofcapital embarked in it, exceed our powers of calculation. The city ofNew York has been until of late the principal port of the world for thisinfamous commerce; although the cities of Portland and Boston are onlysecond to her in that distinction. Slave dealers added largely to thewealth of our commercial metropolis; they contributed liberally to thetreasuries of political organizations, and their bank accounts werelargely depleted to carry elections in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, andConnecticut. It was natural for the leaders of the party which they hadaided, to accord to them, as an equivalent, many facilities for carryingon their business. There is indeed no occasion for wonder at thecountenance and impunity long given to such auxiliaries. If a few ofthem chanced to be of Knickerbocker stock, and to bear the talismanwhich affords admission to the higher circles of Gothamiterespectability, it is only what might have been expected. There are suchmen everywhere, even in the Tombs. 

It requires no miraculous gift to be able to perceive why the lateadministration at Washington was sensitive as to the visitation ofAmerican vessels of doubtful character, by the officers of Britishcruisers. There was no principle at stake; but the slave-dealinginterest had demanded as an immunity, that the piece of bunting known asthe American flag should be allowed to protect from scrutiny everysuspicious ship over which it should be raised. They had the power orinfluence to command; and the administration obeyed. 

The present administration appears to have awakened somewhat to thissubject. The principal appointments for the Atlantic ports were given tomen of anti-slavery proclivities. The new marshal of the southerndistrict of New York was of different material from his predecessors, and fortunately he was no novice. He was familiar with the habits of themen engaged in the slave trade; he was ambitious and eager to signalizehimself for efficiency. In three months he had seized nine vessels, andarrested twenty-eight men who had outfitted, commanded, or served onthem. 

The Secretary of the Interior now resolved that the business should bebroken up in every port of the United States. He accordingly issued anorder to the several marshals of the States and districts lying upon theseaboard, directing them to assemble at the city of New York, on thefifteenth day of August, 1861, for the purpose of agreeing upon a systemof measures for the effectual suppression of the slave-trade in Americanports. 

Burton's old Theatre, formerly dedicated to the 'sock and buskin, ' andfamous during the religious revival of 1858, was now occupied by thisconvention of marshals. Waiving unnecessary parliamentary usages, theseministers of the law sat with closed doors, and discussed familiarly thebusiness in which they had engaged. They investigated carefully thewhole subject in its minuter details, and visited the slave brigs andschooners which had been captured and were then lying at the AtlanticDock in Brooklyn. A plan of operations was concerted, by which themarshals of the different districts should co-operate with each other indetecting and bringing to justice persons guilty of participating in theslave-trade. The results of this measure can not fail to be beneficial;and, indeed, the marshals have already become so active and efficient, that the capitalists who have maintained this branch of commerce areactually contemplating its transferment to European ports. So much forthe convocation at Burton's Theatre. Let us now examine the principalfeatures of the traffic, and the practices of those by whom it isconducted. 

SLAVE DEALING IN NEW YORK. 

The principal slave captains and chief officers of vessels engaged inthe slave-trade have their residences and boarding-places in the easternwards of the city, most of them being between James and Houston Streets. They are known to every one who has an investment in the business. Indeed, they are all members of a secret fraternity, having its signs, grips, and pass-words. 'While I was in Eldridge-street jail, ' said oneof them, 'Captain Loretti was captured and brought there. He did notknow any one, but I shook hands with him, and we became acquainted atonce. '

The arrival of a slave captain from one voyage is the signal forpreparation for another. Negotiations are carried on, generally in thefirst-class hotels. The contracts for the City of Norfolk and severalother notorious slavers were made at the Astor House. The risk ofdetection is less at such a public place than it would be at a privateoffice. 

A man who had failed in business on Greenwich Street was recentlyengaged in fitting out these vessels for their African voyage. He wasfirst sent to procure apparatus for the refining of palm oil. This wasbut a blind, the practice being to take out the machinery, and employthe boiler for culinary purposes, until the vessels had got out to sea, and there was no farther necessity for duping inquisitive persons. Thisman was also commissioned to purchase wooden ware, champagne, and othernecessary articles. Such were the business agents and their duty; allwas liberally paid for and promptly supplied. 

As soon as a vessel is ready and officered for the voyage, measures aretaken to procure a crew. Slave-traders employ for this the services of'runners, ' who constitute a caste of pariahs of the most degraded kind. A conscientious scruple would seem never to enter into theircalculations. They would hardly recognize a precept of the decalogueexcept by the circumstance of its violation. Earning their livelihoodthus basely, debauchery and crime constitute their every-day history. These persons keep a record of the names of men who have served on slaveships, or been guilty of mutiny, or other villany. So accurate is theirinformation and so expert are they in their estimate of character, thatthey seldom commit a blunder, or furnish a seaman who is not the man forthe vocation. The crew which they select are indeed 'picked men. ' Theyare of every nationality, and are taken from the seamen'sboarding-houses in the lower wards of the city. 

A few years since, the information was received in New York that a yachtwas lying in Long Island Sound, and that circumstances warranted thesuspicion that she was intended for the slave-trade. The marshal, with adisplay of enthusiastic zeal for the execution of the laws, proceeded tothe place with a strong force of assistants, and took charge of theyacht; but subsequent investigations failed to criminate her. Thereputed owner declared that he had fitted her out for a pleasureexcursion; that was all. The vessel was discharged, and a few monthsafterward landed a cargo of negroes on the coast of Georgia. So easy hasit been to deceive the Federal officers. The owner of the yachtafterward declared that he paid ten thousand dollars to get his vesselclear of the harbor of New York. 

The obtaining of a clearance at the custom-house was not a verydifficult matter. Slavers were never detained by any extraordinarycuriosity on the part of those having cognizance of their departure. They had but to assume a transparent disguise, raise the American flag, and keep up the show till they arrived at the intermediate port. Herethe national ensign was changed, the papers of the vessel were altered, and necessary arrangements were made for receiving a cargo of slaves. 

Factories or agencies are maintained on the African coast, where thevessels obtain their living freight. The captains seldom go on shoreexcept for purpose of observation. Each vessel generally takes with herfrom New York a Spaniard to transact the business. The complement beingobtained, it only remains to get away and beyond the cruisers. Theaction of the Federal government, some years since, in relation to thevisitation of vessels, has been effectual in impairing the energy of theBritish squadron, which has been maintained on the coast of Africa, pursuant to the treaty of Washington. As for the American squadron, itnever co-operated heartily in the matter of suppressing the slave-trade;and the vessels were generally absent for the purpose of obtaining coal, or for repairs, whenever there was opportunity of making a capture. 

But the capitalists of New York do not depend entirely upon theseprecautions. Their vessels are occasionally taken; and then the men onboard must be protected, or they will disclose everything. Not only areappliances used to make an examination result in a discharge, but acorps of attorneys is kept under pay to defend those who fall within theclutches of the law. The impunity which has attended these men isnotorious. 

CAPTAIN LATHAM. 

Some time ago the brig Cora was captured at sea and brought by a prizecrew to the port of New York. Her commander, Captain Latham, wasincarcerated in Eldridge-street jail. Hendrickson, the mate, was, however, permitted to communicate to his friends on shore, who procureda boat, pulled quietly to the side of the brig, received him on board, and took him ashore. His clothing and other property were conveyed tothe office of the marshal, and he was not only permitted to go and takethem away, but to visit his acquaintances in Eldridge-street jail. Itwas an easy matter to arrest him, but the marshal remarked to anassociate that he did not care how the man made his money. 

Captain Latham, meanwhile, remained at the jail. At the time referredto, that place would seem to have been as jovial and sociable as aclub-room. The present marshal, not liking the arrangements, removed allthe Federal prisoners to the Tombs, where they could be kept moresecurely and excluded from seeing improper visitors. The men who wereengaged in the slave-trade were in the habit of visiting their friendsin 'Eldridge Street, ' and holding regular carousals. They were permittedto visit there, it is said, at late hours in the evening, and as earlyas seven o'clock in the morning. A man residing in the seventh ward, butdoing business on South Street, would come of a Saturday night and paythe board of the officers of the captured slave vessel. A Spaniard namedSanchez, now a prisoner at the Tombs, was a frequent guest; andoccasionally a marshal would be present. Others were also permitted. Theprisoners whom they visited were allowed to come into the office;champagne and other liquors would be produced, and the company wouldhave a 'good time. '

Captain Latham is one of the most ingenious men. He has learned thegipsy art of dyeing his face; and he can elude the closest observer. When he falls into the power of the ministers of the law, he is shieldedby the efforts of the heaviest capitalists who have engaged in theslave-trade; and they honor all his demands. At his examination he wasidentified by the marshal's assistants, and by two persons who wereemployed at the custom-house. It was arranged, however, that when heshould be arraigned for trial, each of these persons should professhimself to be unable to recognize him. One of them is said to havereceived five hundred dollars, and the others two hundred apiece, forthis want of memory. 

After remaining some twelve weeks at the jail, Captain Latham determinednot to await a trial. He obtained the aid of one of the marshal'sassistants; a 'friend' of his, who has a place of business in WallStreet, advancing three thousand dollars. One of his attorneys was alsoin the secret. A writ of _habeas corpus_ was obtained from the recorder, and dismissed for want of jurisdiction. This was all done to eludesuspicion. A ticket for a passage to Havana was procured; and on the daythat the steamer was to sail, a carriage, in which were Sanchez, themarshal's assistant, and a friend, drove to the jail. Bidding farewellto his fellow-prisoners, some of whom knew what was going on, Lathamleft his apartments and took a seat by Sanchez. The four drove to theclothing warehouse of Brooks Brothers in Broadway, purchased a suit ofclothing, and ordered another. It was now almost the hour for thesteamer to leave. Latham returned to the carriage, and was driven to thepier, arriving there just in time to get on board. It is said that hehas since returned to New York; but only his friends have recognizedhim. The men who aided his escape are now in prison. 

It does not appear that the capitalists who are engaged in this trafficare as profuse toward other prisoners as they were to Captain Latham. There was among those who were removed from the jail to the City Prison, one man who had sailed as mate with Latham. When he was captured he wasin the employment of a house in Beaver Street, which has also a branchin Havana. He too had formed a plan of escape by bribing a warden andgetting a friend to personate one of the marshal's assistants, whoshould profess to come for him by an order from a commissioner. But whenhis wife applied to his employer for money to carry out this plan, shewas dismissed with a solitary dollar. This prisoner had probably fallenfrom favor, and was therefore abandoned to the mercy of the law. 

The names of the prominent slave-traders, their residences and places ofbusiness, are known to the marshal. Several of them have fled from thecity; among them, a woman of wealth residing in St. Mark's Place. Theiroperations have been largely curtailed, and it has become almostimpossible for a slaver to leave New York. With the concert of actionagreed upon by the convention at Burton's Theatre, it is to be hopedthat the slave-trade will be exterminated in every Northern port. Somelegislation by Congress to increase the powers of the marshals, andefficient action on the part of the executive, are all that is nowrequired to sweep the infamous commerce from the ocean. 

Since the above was written, Captain Gordon, of the slaver Erie, hasbeen convicted of piracy, before the United States Court for theSouthern District of New York. It is needless to say that thisconviction is the completest triumph which Freedom has yet gained in ourcountry against her adversary. It indicates more clearly even than anyevent of the war, that Southern social influences are yielding, and thatere long we shall be free from all their taint. Like the defeat ofFernando Wood, like the breaking up of the Peace Party, like the rapidlyprogressing crusade against old political corruption, it shows thatthere is a reformation afoot which will work wonders, and prove to theworld that the mass of corruption in this country, so generallyattributed to the working of republican institutions, is in reality dueto a diametrically opposite cause--to the influence of a party which inall its feelings is essentially that of despotism. May we all live tosee its last trace obliterated from the free North. 

LITERARY NOTICES

 THE REJECTED STONE: OR, INSURRECTION vs. RESURRECTION. By a Native of Virginia. Boston: Walker, Wise & Company, 245 Washington Street. 

It is to be regretted that the native of Virginia who penned this volumehas not published his name, that the world might know who it was thatproduced the most vigorous, unflinching, and brilliant work which hasthus far resulted from the war. In sober seriousness, we have not asyet, in any journal or in any quarter, encountered such a handling offacts without gloves; such a rough-riding over old prejudices, timidities, and irresolution; such reckless straight-forwardness indeclaring what should be done to settle the great dispute, or suchlaughing-devil sarcasm in ripping up dough-face weakness andcompromising hesitation. Its principle and refrain, urged with abundantwit, ingenuity and courage, is simply EMANCIPATION--not on the narrowground of abolition, but on the necessity of promptly destroying an evilwhich threatens to vitiate the white race. In the beginning the authorpoints out the inevitableness of the present war, and that our politicalsystem has been hitherto a sacrifice to Slavery for the time, but also arunning up of arrears in favor of Liberty. 

 'In forming this government, Slavery clutched at the strength of the law; Freedom relied on the inviolable justice of the ages. They have both had, they must have, their reward. That it was and is thus, is apparent from the very clauses under which Slavery claims eminent domain in this country; they are all written as for an institution passing away; the sources of it are sealed up so far as they could be; and all the provisions for it--the crutches by which it should limp as decently as possible to the grave--were so worded that, when Slavery should be buried, no dead letter would stand in the Constitution as its epitaph. It is even so. No historian a thousand years hence could show from that instrument that a single slave was ever held under it. ' ... 'Slavery now appeals to arms because Freedom, in her slow but steady progress, has left no informality--no flaw--which can be seized on to reverse the decision she has gained in any higher court. '

The style of this book is remarkable. The wealth of simile which burstsout genially and involuntarily is only paralleled by its strangevariety, recalling CARLYLE in pleasant, piquant singularity. Its humor is irresistible; none the less so for being keenly satirical. We regret that our limits forbid copious extracts from these treasures, but do the more earnestly entreat the reader to buy the volume and makehimself familiar with it. Whoever our Virginian may be, he is a risingstar, well worth observing. We find him at times a gleamingenthusiast, --a man burning with the spirit of the war, involuntarilyuttering the most thrilling passages of Scripture, --and again provokinglaughter by dry humor and cutting jests. Let the reader in illustrationtake the following paragraphs in the same sequence in which they occurin the original work. 

 '"Thou hast conquered, O Galilean!" said dying Julian the apostate. The North may, _and will_, now collect the bones of her great-browed children who yielded because she said yield; the fallen pillars of her crumbled church; her children whose wounds yet smoke fresh from the state of Slavery;--and broken now upon the stone she so long refused, shall write as their epitaph. 

 _Vicisti Humanitas!_

 (_The Privateer_. ) 'A cry comes up to the ear of America, --a long, piercing cry of amazement and indignation, --recognizable as one which can come only when the profoundest depths of the human pocket are stirred. The privateers are at large! They have taken away my coffee, and I know not where they have laid it. They have taken my India goods with swords and staves. For my first-class ship they have cast lots!

 'Was such depravity ever known before? So long as it was a human soul, launched by God on the eternal sea, that they despised; so long as it was only a few million bales of humanity captured; so long as it was but the scuttling the hearts of mothers and fathers and husbands and wives, --we remained patient and resigned, --did we not? But coffee and sugar--Good God! what is that blockade about? To seize a poor innocent sloop--has Slavery no bowels? And its helpless family of molasses barrels;--can hearts be so void of pity? Slavery must end. The spirit of the age demands it. The blood of a dozen captured freights crieth to Heaven in silveriest accents against it. 

 'Brothers, there is a laughter that opens into the fountain of tears. '

In a letter to the President, in which the Executive is reminded that itis not often in this world that to one man is given the magnificentopportunity which the madness of a great wrong has placed within hisreach, --as indeed in every chapter, --the real crisis in which thiscountry is now involved, and the only means of prompt and effectualextrication, are pointed out with irresistible vehemence and shrewdintelligence. The author declares, and truly enough, that there areresources in this land, did we only draw on them, which would close thiswar with the closing of this year. The futile and frivolous objectionswhich have been urged against this great scheme of warfare for thepresent, and of national progress in future, are most ably refuted;while through all runs the same vein of satire, wit, scholarship andmanly sincerity. It is, in a word, a good book, and one fully suited tothese brave and warlike times. 

 THE WORKS OF FRANCIS BACON, Baron of Verulam, Viscount of St. Albans and Lord High Chancellor of England. Collected and edited by James Spedding, M. A. , Robert Leslie Ellis, M. A. , and Douglas Denyn Heath. Boston: Brown & Taggard. Volumes I. And II. 

Much has been said in praise of the monks of old for preserving works ofsolid wisdom; but why can not a good word be said for those publishersof the present day who confer a service by not merely embalming, but byreviving and sending forth by thousands into real life the best books ofthe past? There are many authors who are quoted by everybody, and readby very few, simply because good modern editions of their works, at amoderate price, are rare. 

BACON is preëminently one of these; so much, indeed, is he acase in point, that BULWER in speaking of the celebrated axiom, Knowledge is Power, employs him as an example to warn a young scholarfrom quoting at second-hand an author whom he has never read. 

The present edition includes all the works extant of Lord BACON, embracing, as we learn from SPEDDING'S preface (which has the raredefect of being much too brief), a biography, which in minute detail andcareful finish, and facts hitherto unpublished, will far surpass anybefore written. Yet, to stay the appetite of the reader, anxious torevive the main points of BACON'S life, he gives in this first volumethe short biography by Dr. WILLIAM RAWLEY. In addition to theseintroductions, we are gratified by a general preface to BACON'SPhilosophical Works, by ROBERT LESLIE HARRIS, one to the _Parasceve_ byJAMES SPEDDING, and a third to the _De Augmentis Scientiarum_, in whichBACON'S claims to be the creator of what is popularly and generallyunderstood as the Inductive Philosophy are most fairly examined; not inthe spirit of the common biographer who always canonizes his subjectthrough thick and thin, but in that of an impartial seeker for truth, resolved to naught extenuate and set down naught in malice. It isbelieved by many that BACON was simply so fortunate as to have hispicture stand as the frontispiece of the new Philosophy, when in truthother contemporaries, who made great discoveries by following preciselyhis method, as, for instance, GALILEO, were quite as much entitled tothe glory. But examination of BACON'S works proves that though thegreat work of proof never was completed by him, that which he embraced, foresaw, and projected, was of that vast comprehensiveness which fullyentitles him to be regarded, not merely as the most proper of _names_whereby to indicate the author of Induction (since the world must alwayshave a name), but in reality the one of all others who best understoodwhat form the development of science must assume to become perfect. Thetreatment of this question by the editors is truly interesting, andworthy their great undertaking. 

The two volumes before us, in addition to the prefaces and biography, embrace the _Novum Organum_, 'the _Parasceve_, ' and the work _DeAugmentis Scientiarum_. It is to be regretted that the English versions, corrected by BACON himself, were omitted, but those who wouldread the translations are mostly capable of reading 'Baconian Latin. ' Asthey are, they will be most gratefully accepted by thousands. Theforthcoming volumes will embrace the English works. We would here wishthat the editor had not, as he informs us he has done, modernized thespelling, --but here the majority of readers will perhaps be thankfulthat such is the case. As regards typography, paper, and all outwardgrace, this edition leaves literally nothing to be wished for, while ashort critical article on the portraits of BACON leads us toinfer that the exquisitely engraved head of the philosopher, given inthe first volume, has been made accurate at the cost of great researchand labor. 

 THE OLD LOG SCHOOLHOUSE. By Alexander Clark, Editor of _'Clark's School Visitor. '_ Philadelphia: Leary, Getz & Co. 

Mr. CLARK is the most modest of writers; one in whose writingsunaffected simplicity and freedom from literary conceit is manifest onevery page. He appears in all the many sketches which constitute thisvolume to have written for the direct purpose of pleasing and teachingyouthful readers or quiet and pious grown persons. He neither eyes theworld through a lorgnette or a lorgnon, nor affects a knowledge of allthings, nor even hints at it. Yet it is precisely in this that the charmof his stories consist--they are perfectly rational, and told in theplain language which becomes them. It is to be desired that Mr. CLARK will give us a volume of sketches devoted entirely tothat Western and rural life which he sketches with such felicity. 

 SONGS IN MANY KEYS. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1861. 

It is only a few years since HOLMES was little known to thegeneral reader save as a humorist. A series of writings of the mostvaried character have since appeared, displaying more fully his greatlyvaried ability, so that the reader will not be surprised to find inthis, his last wreath of poetic blossoms, a rich variety of every hue, from the lightest tints of mirth to the sombre shades of tender pathos. The variety of _feeling_ awakened by these lyrics is remarkable--and tosay that, is to bear sympathetic testimony to the excellence of eachseparate piece. Even the beautiful ballad of 'Agnes, ' chronicling theloves of Sir Harry Frankland and Agnes Surraige of the HopkintonFrankland mansion, and which will be deemed one of the most perfect ofnew ballads of the olden school, does not seem the chief flower, afterinhaling the home sweetness and heart aroma of many of the minor lyricsin this volume. As for the humor, is it not of HOLMES? 'TheDeacon's Masterpiece, ' and 'Parson Turrell's Legacy, ' are of the verybest, of the triple _est_ brand; it is only to be wished there were ahundred of them. Of that strange blending of pathos with humor, and the'sentiment of society, ' in which HOLMES equals, or, if youwill, surpasses PRAED, there are several exquisite examples. But buy it for yourself, reader, and you will not regret the purchase, for the harder the times, so much the more, as we opine, does the worldneed cheering poesy. 

BOOKS RECEIVED. 

 SOME OF THE MISTAKES OF EDUCATED MEN. A Biennial Address before the Phrenokosmian Society of Pennsylvania College, Gettysburg, Pa. By John S. Hart, M. D. Delivered Sept. 18, 1861. Philadelphia: C. Sherman & Son, 1861. 

An excellent address, which has attracted much comment and quotationfrom different journals since its publication. 

 THE COTTON KINGDOM: A Traveler's Observations on Cotton and Slavery in the American Slave States. Based upon three former volumes of journeys and investigations by the same author. By Frederick Law Olmstead. In two volumes. New York: Mason Brothers, 1861. 

The best record extant of social or commercial facts and figuresillustrative of the entire South. 

 LADY MAUD. By Pierce Egan. Philadelphia: T. B. Peterson & Brothers. 

We learn with regret that this is the only complete and unabridgededition of Lady Maud, since from a hasty examination of its chapters wejudge that the more the work were abbreviated the better would it be forthe public. 

 RECORD OF AN OBSCURE MAN. '_Aux plus déshérités le plus d'amour_. ' Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 

A work of very decided merit, though one advancing views and sentimentswhich can not fail to provoke opposition and argument from many readers. Of its interest, as well as of the talent of the author, there can bebut one opinion. 

 SPARE HOURS. By John Brown, M. D. Boston: Ticknor & Fields, 1861. 

A beautiful reprint of the _Horæ Subscivæ_, beginning with 'Rab and hisFriends, ' followed by many congenial sketches, the whole forming one ofthe most fascinating volumes of light reading which has appeared foryears. 

 THE SOUTHERN REBELLION AND THE WAR FOR THE UNION. A History of the Rise and Progress of the Rebellion. New York: James D. Torrey, No. 13 Spruce Street. 

A well written, weekly current chronicle of the events of the war, prepared from copious sources. The arrangement of this work isexcellent. 

 GREAT EXPECTATIONS. By Charles Dickens. Philadelphia: T. B. Peterson & Brothers, 1861. 

Another addition to the excellent duo-decimo edition ofDICKENS'S complete works, published by PETERSON. 

RELATION OF THE AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS FOR FOREIGN MISSIONSTO SLAVERY. By Charles M. Whipple. Boston: R. T. Walcutt, No. 221Washington Street, 1861. 

WOMAN'S RIGHTS UNDER THE LAW. In three Lectures delivered inBoston, January, 1861, by Caroline H. Dall, author of Woman's Right toLabor, &c. Boston: Walker, Wise & Co. 1861. 

THE REBELLION; its Latent Causes and True Significance, inLetters to a Friend abroad. By Henry T. Tuckerman. New York: James G. Gregory, 1861. 

LIGHT INFANTRY DRILL in the United States Army. T. B. Peterson& Brothers. Philadelphia, 1861. Price, 25 cents. 

EDITOR'S TABLE

It was usual, of old, to characterize as _Annus Mirabilis_, or A Year ofWonder, any twelvemonth which had been more than usually prolific inmarvels. The historian who may in future days seek a dividing point or adate for the greatest political and social struggle of this age, canhardly fail to indicate 1861 as the _Annus Mirabilis_ of the NineteenthCentury in America. That heart does not beat, the brain does not throbon earth, which is capable of feeling or appreciating the tremendousrange of consequences involved in the events of this year. We hear themost grating thunder-peals of horror; the whole artillery of death anddisaster roars and crashes from fort and field; there is blaze and ruin, such as this continent knew not perhaps even in the primeval times ofits vanished Golden Hordes;--and again there rise prophetic organ-tonesof solemn praise; merry bells ringing the carillon of joy; sweet voicesas in dreams singing of the purple evening peace; while mysteriously andbeautifully, beyond all, breathes the Daughter of the Voice--thatstrangest of prophecies known to the Hebrew of old, softly inspiringhopes of a fairer future America than was ever before dreamed of. For, of a truth, above all sits and works the awful destiny of man, proclaiming as of old, amid strange races now forgotten, that thehumanity which bravely toils and labors shall live, while the haughtyand the oppressor and the sluggard, puffed up with vanity, shall allpass away as the mist of the morning. 

It is worth while, at the conclusion of such a year, to look about us;to see what has been done or what is now doing, and to surmise as wellas we may what great changes the future may bring forth. 

A year ago this country was plagued and disgraced beyond any on the faceof the earth by swarms of professional politicians; by men who regardedall legislation as one vast Lobby and Third House, and 'ability' as themeans of turning corruption to their own personal advantage. Thesemiserables, whether on the Northern or Southern side, tacitly united indriving all legislation or congressional business from its legitimatehalls into the procrastinating by-paths, in order that they might makespeeches and magnify themselves unto Buncombe, and be glorified by thelocal home press because of their devotion to--the party! The party!That was always the word. Where are these men of froth and windnow, --these heroes of the stump and the bar-room? Passing away intonothing, at headlong speed, before the great storm of the times. Now andthen they 'rally'--there was one ghastly wig-and-hollow-pumpkin effortat recovery in the trembling, rattle-jointed Peace Movement of theselast summer months. Where is it now? There answers a gay laugh and merrystave from the corners of irreverent weekly newspapers:--

 'The piece of a party, called the party of peace, Like everything else which deceases, Has gone where the wicked from trouble shall cease, For the party of peace is in pieces. '

Or we may see now and then wretched election meetings, as of late in NewYork, where a worn-out FERNANDO WOOD and others like him gabbleas much treason as they dare. It is all played out--Mozart, Tammany, and all the trash. Rummy, frowsy candidates, treating Five-Pointgraduates, and shoulder-hitting bravos yelling at the polls, arebeginning to be disgusting and anti-national elements. Their veryexistence is an insult to these great, serious and glorious times ofmanly war, when young men are beginning at last to 'think great. ' A fewmore gasps by the politicians and down they must go into infinite depthsof congenial darkness, to be remembered only as allied to 'theabominable state of affairs before the war. '

It is no small thing to have driven so much of the old iniquity out; butfrom this and that side come murmurs that there are but few signs of theyoung genius coming in. Oh, for one hour of Dundee! Oh, for a WEBSTER inthe cabinet, whose right arm should go forth and take hold of Englandand Frank-land of the East, while his left swept the isles of the Southwith fearful power! Oh, for the fierce old Dandolo of America, who was_not_ blind, but whose piercing glance at this hour would dart throughmany a diabolical diplomatic difficulty--for ANDREW JACKSON! Oh, for thetrumpet tones of CLAY--of MARCY--for one brave blast of that dread hornof olden time which rang so bravely to battle!

Friends, have patience. Remember that these men, and all like them, wereslowly born of great times, and that we must await time's gestation. Inthis age there spring no longer heroes dragon-tooth born into fullfighting-life inside of 2. 30. But so surely as stars shine in theirrounding life, or water runs, or God lives, so surely are these days ofstorm and sorrow and tremendous travail bringing slowly on theirlegitimate fruit of great ideas and great men. Young man--whoever youare--be sacred to yourself now, and, for a season, serious and pure andnoble--for _who_ knows in these times to what he may grow? But a centuryago, this land lay buried in obscurity. Here and there youngland-surveyors and country store-keepers wondered that destiny hadburied them on Virginia farms and in Yankee backwoods. But war came, --nogreater than this of ours--one involving no grander principles of humandignity and freedom, --and the young 'obscures' darted to the heaven andtook glorious places amid the constellations of fame. 'When the tale ofbricks is doubled, ' says the Hebrew proverb, 'Moses comes. '

We hear much said of the honest, sturdy, no-nonsense virtues of the oldrevolutionary stock, both male and female. The thing is plainenough--they had passed through serious times and great thoughts, through trials, and sorrows, and healthy privation, and come out strong. Just such will be the stock of men and women born in spirit of this war. It is making the old material over again. It was all here as good asever, but wanted a little stirring up, that was all. He who has seen inthe sturdy East and glorious West the unflinching honesty andearnestness with which men are upholding this war to the knife and knifeto the hilt, as PALAFOX phrased it, --or, as the American hathit in humbler phrase, 'from the wheel to the hub and hub to thelinch-pin, '--has no doubt that at this minute it was never so popular, never so determined, never so thoroughly ingrained, entwined, inter-twisted with the whole life-core and being of our people. 'Wesuffer--but on with the war! Hurrah for battle--only give us victory! Doyou ask for money, arms, ships?--take all and everything tosuperfluity--but oh, give us victory and power!' Out of such will asthis there come the greatest of men--giants of a fearfully gloriousfuture. When we look around and see this red-hot iron determination tosee all through to the victorious end, we may well feel assured that theday of great ideas and of great men is not far off. 

It is superb for a stranger to see how the spirit of the Revolutionstill lives in New England, and is voiced and acted by men bearingRevolutionary names--it is magnificent to behold the stream, grown to athunder-torrent, roaring and foaming over the broad West. Hurrah! itstill lives--that old spirit of freedom, its fires are all aflame, andit shall not again smoulder until the whole world has seen, as it didbefore, that it is the light of the world, and the pillar guiding as ofold to the promised land. 

If 1861 had brought nothing else to pass it would be supremely great inthis, that amid toil and trial, foes within and without, it has seen theAmerican people determine that _Slavery_, the worm which gnawed the coreof its tree of life, shall be plucked out. _Out it shall go_, that issettled. We have fought the foe too long with kid gloves, but now pusswill lay aside her mittens and catch the Southern rats in earnest. It isthe negro who sustains the South; the negro who maintains its army, feeds it, digs its trenches, squires its precious chivalry, and isthereby forced most unnaturally to rivet his own chains. There shall bean end to this, and our administration is yielding to this inevitablenecessity. Here again the great year has worked a wonder, since in soshort a space it has made such an advance in discovering a basis bywhich all Union men may conscientiously unite in freeing the black. There have been hitherto two steps made towards the solution. The firstwas that of the old Abolition movement, which saw only the suffering ofthe slave and cried aloud for his freedom, reckless of all results. Itwas humane; but even humanity is not always worldly wise, and it didunquestionably for twenty years defeat its own aim in the Border States. But it _worked_ most unflinchingly. Then came HELPER, who sawthat the poor white man of the South was being degraded below the negro, and that industry and capital were fearfully checked by slavery. In hiswell-known work he pointed out, by calm and dispassionate facts andfigures, that the land south of 'Mason and Dixon's' was being sacrificedmost wastefully, and the majority of its white inhabitants kept inincredible ignorance, meanness, and poverty, simply that a fewprivileged families might remain 'first and foremost. ' These opinionswere most clearly sustained, and the country was amazed. People began toask if it was quite right, after all, to suffer this slavery to grow andgrow, when it was manifestly reacting on the poor white man, andliterally sinking him _below the level of the black_. This was thesecond movement on the slave question, and its effect was startling. 

But there was yet a third advance required, and it came with the pastyear and the war, in the form of the now so rapidly expanding'Emancipation' movement. HELPER had shown that slavery haddegraded the poor whites, but the events leading to the present struggleindicated to all intelligent humanity that it was rapidly demoralizingand ruining in the most hideous manner the minds of the _masters_ of theslaves--nay, that its foul influence was spreading like a poison mistover the entire continent. The universal shout of joyful approbationwhich the whole South had raised years ago when a Northern senator wasstruck down and beaten in the most infamously cowardly manner, hadcaused the very horror of amazement at such fearful meanness, among alltrue hearted and manly _men_, the world over. But when there came fromthe 'first families' grinnings of delight over the vilest thievery andforgery and perjury by FLOYD and his fellows, --when the wholeSouth, after agreeing in carrying on an election, refused to abide byits results, --when the whole Southern press abounded in the vilestdenunciations of labor and poverty, and in Satanic contempt ofeverything 'Yankee, ' meaning thereby all that had made the North andWest prosperous and glorious, --and when, finally, it was found that thisloathsome poison was working through the North itself, corrupting theyoung with pseudo-aristocratic pro-slavery sympathies, --then indeed itbecame apparent that _for the sake of all, and for that of men incomparison to whose welfare that of the negro was a mere trifle_, thisfearful disease must be in some form abated. The result was thedevelopment of Emancipation on the broadest possible grounds, --ofEmancipation for the sake of the Union and of the white man, --to bebrought about, however, by the will of the people, subject to suchrules as discussion and expediency might determine. This was the presentEmancipation movement, first urged by that name in the New York_Knickerbocker_ magazine, though its main principles were practicallymanifesting themselves in many quarters--the most prominent being thewell-known proclamations of Generals BUTLER and FREMONT. 

'Emancipation' does not, as has been urged, present in comparison toAbolition a distinction without a difference. HELPER desiredthe freedom of the slave for the sake of the poor white man in the Southand for Southern development. _Emancipation_ goes further, and claimsthat nowhere on the American continent is the white laborer free fromthe vile comparison and vile influences of slavery, and that it shouldbe abolished for the sake of the Union and for the sake of _all_ whitemen. It may be dim to many now, but it is true as God's providence, thatwhether it be in our Union, or out of it, we can no longer exist side byside with a state of society in which it is shamelessly proclaimed thatlabor, man's holiest and noblest attribute, is a disgrace; that thenegro is the standard of the mudsill, and that the state must be basedon an essentially degraded, sunken class, whether white or black. Yet wemight for the sake of peace have long borne with all this, and yieldedto the old lie-based 'isothermal' cant, had it not resulted, as itinevitably must, in building up the most miserable, insolent, andarrogant pseudo aristocracy which ever made the name of aristocracyridiculous, not excepting that of the court of the sable EmperorFAUSTIN of St. Domingo. It is all very well to talk of Southernrights; but humanity and progress, or, if you will, law and order, industry and capital, have their rights also, aye, and their manifestdestiny too, and no one can deny that; reason as we may, or concede asmuch as we will, there the facts are--the principal being the utterimpossibility of a slave-aristocracy--rotted to the core with theoriesnow exploded through the civilized world--existing either in or out of aneighboring republic in which freedom

 'Careers with thunder-speed along. '

So we stand at the parting of the ways. But the problem is half solvedalready. The year 1861 closes leaving it clear as noon-day thatemancipation in the Border States is a foregone conclusion, and that, reduced to the cotton belt, it can never become a preponderatingnational influence. As for the details of settlement, calmly considered, they present no real difficulty to the man who realizes the enormousindustrial and recuperative energies of this country. 

'What are we to do with one or two million of free blacks?' asks one. Afew years ago, when it was proposed to banish all free persons of colorfrom Maryland, a cry of alarm went up lest Baltimore alone should bedeprived of fifteen thousand of 'the best servants in the world. ' 'Howshall we ever pay for those who may be offered for sale to us, if weresolve to pay for their slaves all Southerners who may take the oath ofallegiance?' Eight days' expenses of the present war would pay more thanthe market price for all the slaves in Maryland! But these objectionsare childish. Right against them rises a tremendous, inevitable destiny, which _must_ crush all before it. So much for 1861. 

We would urge no measure in this or any other relation which shall nothave received the fullest endorsement of two thirds of the loyalAmerican people. As regards all foreign interference, let it never beforgotten that public opinion after all prevails in all Western Europe, and that this would long hesitate ere it committed a national reputationto an endorsement of the Southern Confederacy. It is apparent from theauthentic and shameless avowals of the Southern press that Mr. SLIDELL, the cut-short ambassador, was authorized to solicit aFrench protectorate of LOUIS NAPOLEON, --to such incrediblebaseness has slave 'independence' sunk, --and, as we write, muchdiscussion is waged whether England will take in ill part our arrest ofa man charged with such a monstrous mission! Let England imagine herselfdependent on such a protectorate for her cotton, and the thought maypossibly occur that it would have been better to have sided at onceopenly and squarely with the North. But John Bull is strangely changedin these times, and Yankee protection is inconceivably more awful to himthan the slavery with which he has been for twenty years so muchdisgusted. 

 'The heart it pincheth sore, But the pocket pinches more. '

And now with the New Year. Amid red-flashing war and wild strivings welook bravely and hopefully forward into the future, and see amid thesestorms blue sky rifts and golden sun gleams. Already strong andpractical advances in education, in political economy, in industry, inall that is healthier and sounder in life, are beginning to manifestthemselves. This country can be in nothing put back by this struggle, inno wise weakened or injured. It is our hope and will that in thesecolumns some share of the good work may be honestly carried out. We wishto speak under the most vital American influences to the Americanpeople, ambitious of being nothing more nor less than soundly nationalin all things. We see a new time forming, new ideas rising, and wouldgive it and them a voice in such earnest and energetic tones as thepeople love. We call not only for the matured thought, but also for theyoung mind of the country, and beg every man and woman who entertainsvigorous and practical ideas to come out boldly and speak freely. Thinknobly, write rapidly! Remember that every letter printed in these timeswill take its place in history. The forgotten comment of the moment willrise up in after years to be honored perhaps as the right word in theright place. The day is coming when the songs and sentences of thisgreat struggle will be garnered up into literary treasuries, pass intohousehold words, and confer honor on the children of those who pennedthem. Lay hand to the work, all you who have aught to say, aid us tobecome a medium for the time, and honor yourselves by your utterances. There are a thousand reforms, innumerable ideas fit for the day, readyto bloom forth. Write and publish; the public is listening. Now is thetime, if it ever was, to develop an American character, to show theworld what treasures of life, strength and originality this countrycontains. Beyond the old conventional _belles lettres_ and æstheticscholarship which limited us in peace, lies a fair land, a wilderness itmay be, but one bearing beautiful, unknown flowers, and strange butgolden fruits, which are well worthy a garden. Let all who know of thesebring them in. The time has come. 

We have been questioned from many of the highest sources as to thefuture tendency and scope of our magazine. Let us say then, briefly, that we hope to make a bold step forward, presenting in our columnscontributions characterized by variety, vigor, and originality, to bewritten by men who are fully up with the times and endeavoring toadvance in all things. In a word, we shall do our best to give itexuberant _life_--such as the country and age require. We shall advocatethe holy cause of the UNION with might and main, and leave nomeans whatever neglected to urge the most vigorous prosecution of thiswar, until the sacred principles of liberty as transmitted to us by ourforefathers have been fully recognized and re-established. Believing inEmancipation, subject to the will of the majority and the action of theadministration, we shall still welcome to our pages the properlyexpressed views of _every_ sound 'Union man' or woman on this or othersubjects, however differing from our own. We shall urge the fullestdevelopment of education as the great basis of future social progress, and shall have faith in making woman's intellect and labor as availableas possible in all respects. We shall hold to the belief that inconstant industrial development, the increase of capital, and theharmony of interests between these, lies the material salvation of thecountry, and that labor in every form should be continually ennobled andsocially dignified. 

We shall, moreover, look with true love to all that art and beauty intheir manifold forms can supply to render life lovely and pleasant, andwelcome all that can be written in their illustration. Our columns willnever be deficient in tales, poetry and sketches, and that nothing maybe neglected, we shall always devote full room to genial gossip with thereader, and to such original humors, quips, jests and anecdotes aschance or the kindness of correspondents may supply. And we would hereentreat all our readers to be good friends and at home with us;regarding the editorial department as a place of cheerful welcome foranything which they may choose to commune on; in which all confidenceswill be kept, and where all courtesies will be honorably acknowledged. We have received most abundant and cordial promises of assistance andsupport in our effort to maintain a thoroughly spirited, 'wide-awake, 'and vigorous American magazine, from the very first in the land, andtherefore go on our way rejoicing. We enter into no rivalry, for we takea well-nigh untrodden field, and shall fail in our dearest hope unlesswe present the public with a monthly of a thoroughly original and'go-ahead' character. We are told that these are bad times; but for ourundertaking, as we understand it, there could be none better--for itshall be made for the times, 'timely and temporal in all things. '

 * * * * *

We are indebted to a correspondent for the following comment on asubject which has thus far excited not a little wonder, and which, asthe loyal reader may be disposed to add, _should_ excite some degree ofvigorous inquiry among the people at large. Like every other practicalpoint involved in this struggle, it suggests the mortifying truth thatwith all our sacrifices, and all our patriotism, we are as yet in theconduct of the war far too amiable, and by far too irresolute. 

 WANTED, A FOUCHÉ FOR WASHINGTON. --It is high time that a good, sharp detective police officer was set to work to discover the source of the continued leakage of our government's plans. Of our late naval flotilla for Beaufort, we are told that 'The positive destination of our fleet was known even in New Orleans on the 17th ult. , --weeks before it was known in the North! and extra troops were dispatched from points south of Charleston to defend the approaches of that coast. ' We are informed that every care was exercised to prevent the destination of the expedition being made public; with how much effect the above quoted paragraph fully demonstrates. In view of this, I repeat that a FOUCHÉ, a keen detective, is wanted at head-quarters; believing that any man with half the shrewdness of the celebrated 'Duke of Otranto' would pin the traitor in less than twenty-four hours. That such a man can easily be found, any one who has learned what American detectives have done, can readily believe. Active, intelligent, and wide awake, the American who by necessity takes up this life, brings to bear upon his investigations the shrewdness of a savage, the tenacity of an Englishman, and, in a modified degree, the _aplomb_ of a Parisian. No one can read POE'S 'Murder of the Rue Morgue' without recognizing at a glance the latent talent that would have made of the cloudy poet a brilliant policeman, and would have won for him the ducal fortune without the empty title. If we must handle the Southern mutineers in their Rebelutionary war with a velvet glove, let there be an iron hand inside, worked by the high-pressure power of public indignation at their treachery and faithlessness. We should stop this leakage of our plans, cost what it may, and the traitorous Southern correspondent meet the execration of ARNOLD, and the fate of ANDRÉ. The iron hand should stop the treacherous pen, should choke the wagging tongue. The North demands it. 

And yet again, since the above was penned, we learn that it has beenascertained by a balloon reconnaissance that a projected flank movement, planned by General McCLELLAN and confided to a very limited number, hadbeen completely anticipated--indicating the basest treachery in a highquarter. Very agreeable this to all interested in the war! And what doesit mean?

It means that Washington, and not Washington alone, but the entireNorth, needs purging and purifying from most injurious influences. Thereare traitors among us everywhere--where two or three are gatheredtogether will be one who sneers at Northern successes, smiles atSouthern victory, and is a traitor at heart--ready to be a spy ifneeded. 

No wonder that warm friends of the Union sometimes burst out intoindignant remonstrance and fierce complaint at such toleration!

Still, we must look at the matter philosophically; rather in sorrow thanin anger, for thus only can we correct the evil. There is a large numberof well-meaning people, especially in Washington, who have lived onlyfor and in a society in which Southern influence greatly predominated. Familiar with the wildest excitement of politics, yet accustomed toregard the leaders of all parties as equally unprincipled, and onlypersuaded of the single social fact, that it is highly respectable toown slaves, they can not see, even in the horrors of war, anything morethan the old excitement, in which shrewd and wily politicians continueto pull wires. And in many other places besides Washington do the voicesof pleasant interests, or the echoes of pleasant memories, recall oldfriendships or old ties. The head may be patriotic and union-loving andat war with the South, but the heart is peaceful and clings to ancientmemories. 

Now, if there is anything, dear reader, which is allied to realgoodness, it is this very same soft-heartedness which we find it so hardto thoroughly condemn, even in such a case as that of the good Scotchclergyman, who pitied and prayed for 'the poor auld deevil' himself. Buthere it is that the 'gallant Southron' has the advantage over us. Nolingering love for Northern friends of olden time, no kindly regard forby-gone intimacies, flashes up from the darkened abyss of 'Dixey. ' And, to be frank and fair, reader, does it not seem to you that while thebusiness in hand is literal _fighting_, not without much 'battle, murderand sudden death, ' it would be at least respectful to the awful destinyof the hour to treat its ways seriously?

But let it foam and surge on, the time is coming when the great streamof Northern freedom will purify itself from all the foul stains of itsold stagnation. Perhaps years may be required, but this we know, --thatthe dam has been broken away at last, and that now the glad torrentwhirls bravely onward in sparkling young life. For at length the time iscoming when a healthy _Northern_ sentiment shall make itself felt, whereof old it was carefully excluded, and the fresh breeze from the Northernpines shall purify the sickly air. They will pass away, these of the oldgeneration--there will arise better ones to take their place, and allshall be changed. 

Meanwhile, for all our late great victories and advances, let us bethankful! not forgetting the smaller crumbs of comfort--as, forinstance, the capture of SLIDELL, MASON and Co. , which a friendhas kindly recorded for your benefit, most excellent reader, in thefollowing chapter:--

CHRONICLES OF SECESSIA. 

CHAPTER I. 

Now it came to pass in the first year of the great Rebellion

In the land of Secessia, whose men were men of Belial, hard of heart, and inflamed with exceeding great wrath against the children of theNorth, and against all people who walked in the way of truth andjustice:

Meditating evil from the first mint-julep before breakfast, even untothe last nip of corn whisky before retiring;--

In the isles of the South, and on the firm land, where COTTON was king, and JEFFERSON, whose surname was DAVIS, was his prophet; where BENJAMIN, the finder of stray watches and spoons, and FLOYD, the spoiler, werepriests--Oh, my soul, enter thou not into their counsels!--

Lo! it came to pass that there arose a great cry from among the people;

A great and vehement cry, a wailing and roaring as of many of thechivalry when they burn with strong drink at quarter races, or smitewith bowie-knives in a free fight around the court-house:

The cry of many women and children, to say nothing of editors, politicians, dirt-eaters, and negro auctioneers:

Saying, 'Lo! these many days have we been closed up by the Yankees, evenlike unto a pint of Bourbon in an exceedingly tight-corked bottle, sothat nothing may go out or in, and who shall say what may be the endthereof?

'Since the blockade presseth sorely upon our ports, the merchandise ofmany lands cometh not therein, and we are entirely out of groceries. 

'Having neither balm nor myrrh, spices nor tea, coffee nor brandy. 

'Quinine is not among us, neither have we cheese, shoes, sugar, jack-knives, cigars, patent medicines, glue, tenpenny nails, Frenchgloves, pens or ink, dye-stuffs, nor raisins. 

'Clothes are exceeding scarce, for, lo! we are becoming an extremelyragged and seedy generation; our toes stick out through our last year'sboots, neither is there any one among us who knoweth enough to make thefirst principle of a brogan. 

'For all these things were made or imported by the Yankees afore-time, even since the days of our fathers, and we are too proud to defile ourhands with such base labor. 

'Shall we, too, be as dogs cobbling shoes, or as the heathen who sellrat-traps, peddle milk-pails, and keep Thanksgiving?

'Lo! the kings of the earth see us with scorn; those who sit in highplaces wag their heads, and say we are naught, yea, polluted in ourinheritance. 

'And the _Times_ will declare that we sit in ashes; even the _Moniteur_will say that we devour dust, and the _Zeitungs_ of all Germany, eventhe press of the Philistines, will proclaim that we are utterly fallen. 

'Now let there be a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, to settle this business. 

'Let there be ambassadors--men of subtle tongue, cunning incounsel--chosen to go forth; yea, let them be equipped in fine raiment, having bran-new coats to confer honor and glory upon us, withsecretaries and assistant secretaries, sub-secretaries anddeputy-assistant sub-secretaries, --even these having their servants andservants' servants, --lo, the least among them shall have his underling, and so on _ad infinitum_. 

'And we, albeit poor, will lavish gold out of the bag, and weigh silverin the balance, and hire a goldsmith, who shall bedeck them exceedingfine, so that the princes and potentates shall fall down before them, yea, shall worship. 

'Then, when our great embassy cometh, and the princes inquire of theblockade, lo, our messengers shall laugh and say, "Go to!--it is naught, it hath passed away, and is bosh. "'

'"Are we not here, ready to declare the end from the beginning, andfrom ancient times, even of CALHOUN, the things that are notyet done, saying, 'our counsel shall stand?' Verily, it takes us, and weare the original Jacobs, having no connection with the bogus concernover the way. "

'And they shall cotton to us, and we unto them; and we will trade ourtobacco for their wines, and _Pro Baccho Tobacco_ shall be written inall the high places. '

CHAPTER II. 

Now JEFFERSON, whose surname should have been Brick, but thatit was not, seeing that it was DAVIS. 

Saw the counsel that it was good. 

And having seen it, and set his eyes upon the egg which their wisdom hadhatched, and pronounced it a good egg;

Chose him of his chief men two, whereof the like were not to befound--no, not in all the North, and in the South was not their equal. 

Whereof the first was a MASON, the like of whom was not known, not in the land of Huram of old, nor among the Hittites or the dwellersby the sea. 

For he was like unto a turkey-cock, stuck up and of excessive pride, spreading himself and strutting vehemently from the rising of the suneven unto the going down of the same; ineffably great in his ownconceit, swelling in vanity, puffed up like a bladder even nigh untobursting;

So that the little ones in the market-place cried after him, 'BigInjiun, heap big!'

And the other was a 'little' New Yorker, even a renegade of the North, one who had backslidden from the ways of his fathers, and that rightill. Wherefore he was called SLIDE-ILL. Howbeit some termed himSLY-DEAL, from his dealings both with cards and with men. 

But it came to pass that they called him SLIDELL, forasmuch asthat he was one who naturally took the whole ell, whether one gave himan inch or no. 

Now they packed their trunks, and took unto them 'poor EUSTIS, 'and many others equally talented and important. 

Not forgetting their wives, neither their man-servants nor theirmaid-servants, their wines nor their cigars. 

Howbeit they took not with them the bonds of the Confederacy, lest theParis shop-keepers should say, 'Go to--it is naught;'

But divers eagles and dimes, stolen afore-time from UNCLE SAM, took they. Likewise bills of exchange and circular letters of creditupon certain of the Jews. 

And so they went down unto the sea in ships, --even in asteam-ship, --sailing to the Havana, where she was unladed of her burden. 

CHAPTER III. 

[THE SONG OF REJOICING. ]

Now when the ambassadors, and they which bore the words of the king, hadsailed. 

Lo, there was great rejoicing in all Secessia, --there was naught heardsave the voices of renegade Northern editors, --[for that the Southernersknow not to write], --

Saying, 'Come, let us be glad; laugh, O thou my soul. 

'For they have gone, they have escaped, they have got away, they havedodged, they have cut stick, they have vamosed the ranch. 

'They have ripped it full chisel, they are off licketty-split, they haveslid, they have made tracks, they have mizzled--they have absquatulatedand clipped it; _abiit, evasit, crupit_! Hurrah for us!

'Lo, the Yankees are brought low--the nasty, mercenary, low-born, infernal mudsills are defiled, and become as a vain thing. _Gloria_!

'For our messengers are on the high seas; they are O. K. ; theyshall deliver us from the pit. _Victoria_!

'They will drive things chuck to the hub in slasher-gaff style; our foesshall become even as dead birds in the pit; they shall be euchred, anddiscounted, and we will rake down the pot. 

'Come, let us take drinks, for who shall stand against us?'

CHAPTER IV. 

Now it came to pass that when UNCLE SAMUEL heard of thesethings, he was sorely riled; yea, his wrath was like unto a six-storystack of wolverines and wild-cats, mixed with sudden death and patentchain-lightning. 

Howbeit he lost no time, and tarried not to take a long swear over thebusiness, But sent forth his ships:

Sending likewise THURLOW, whose surname was WEED, toprevail over MASON and SLY-DEAL, and come vitriol overtheir vinegar. 

But when the people heard THURLOW say, 'I go, indeed, untoEurope, but not on this business--SLIDELL may slide for aught Icare, '

Then the multitude winked one unto the other, so that such terriblewinking was never before seen, Exclaiming, 'Oh, yes--in a horn. We knew it not before, but now we knowit for certain. '

And a certain SIMEON, whose surname was DRAPER, stoodup in the market-place and wagered that THURLOW would pull thewool over Mason, and humble him;

And there were no takers. _Selah_. 

CHAPTER V. 

Now there was a valiant captain, a man of war, hating all iniquity evenas poison. 

And his name was WILKES--honor and praise to it in all lands!--

Captain of the San Jacinto, cruising for a pirate on the high seas, evenfor the Sumter. 

And he came from Africa, even from the East unto the Havana, in an isleof the sea which lieth under the tower of the Moro;

Where he heard from his Consul strange news, saying that MASONand SLIDELL had sailed in a British steamer, even the Trent, which saileth between Vera Cruz, Havana, and St. Thomas. 

Then said the captain, 'Shall I refrain myself to stop this iniquity?

'Arise, oh my soul, gird thyself, and go forth; tarry not, but nab themin their wickedness. 

'Take them where the hair is short; jerk them, and pull them even as thefancy policeman pulleth the pickpocket when he seeth him picking thepocket of the righteous. 

'Shall I hold back my hand when my country calleth? Not if I know it. _Selah_. 

'Up steam and after them, oh my soul; let there be coal under theboilers, oh my heart; let the way in which we shall travel be a caution, faster than Flora Temple or any other man. 

'Fling forth the stripes and stars--hoist the rag, thou galiant sailior;go it strong as it can be mixed. For the star-spangled banner in triumphshall wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. '

CHAPTER VI. 

Now it came to pass at the end of the first day that they saw the Trentin the Bermudas, even in the channel. 

Then the brave captain sent on board Lieutenant FAIRFAX, --whichin the Norse tongue is Harfager or Fair-Haired; since it runneth in thefamily to be sea-kings, and brave on the ocean. 

And he, mounting the ship, cried aloud, 'Where are they?'

Then the Englishman replied, 'I know not whom ye seek, --lo, they are nothere!'

Then he, seeing MASON a little apart, cried, 'Lo! here he is. '

And MASON, hearing this, turned to the color of ashes; hisknees smote together; he became even as a boiled turkey-cock; there wasno soul left in him. 

Yea, even his collar wilted, and the stock of his heart went downninety-five per cent. 

Howbeit he said, with Slidell, 'We will not go save we be forced. '

'Then' replied FAIRFAX, 'I shall take you by force. '

So they held a council together, and resolved to go. 

But their wives and little ones they sent on to Europe, and gaveinstructions to poor EUSTIS. 

Bidding him go in when it should rain, and be sure and put up hisumbrella if he had one. 

Likewise to bear certain documents promptly and speedily to the kingsand princes;

Which WILKES hearing, he speedily smashed, taking poorEUSTIS with the papers. 

This was the end of the Council of Trent. It was not that great councilof the name, but a very small one, and which came to nothing--smallpotatoes, and few in a hill. Selah!

CHAPTER VII. 

Now it had come to pass years before, and was on record, That MASON, having been asked to visit Boston, Replied, 'Verily, verily, I say unto you that I will not set foottherein again save as an ambassador to that land. '

Now these things were remembered against him, and printed in all thepapers, even in the Boston papers printed they them. 

And they bare him into prison, with SLIDELL, and poorEUSTIS was he borne of them. 

And they seemed extremely wamble-cropt and chop-fallen; their feathersshone not, even their sickle-feathers drooped in the dust, and theircombs were white. 

And they seemed as unclean men caught in their unrighteousness, who hadbeen sold uncommonly cheap, with nary buyer. 

And they took from them the gold which they had stolen afore-time fromUNCLE SAM, even the bills upon the Hebrews did they yield up. Howbeit, they received a receipt for them. 

And they asked much, 'How shall we feed, and may we have servants?' andwished to live pleasantly; yet, when at Richmond, SLIDELL hadreviled the Yankee prisoners sorely, and counseled harsh treatment. 

Then went they into the jug, and were allotted each man his bunk in theprison-house. 

And the word went forth to hang all pirates and robbers on the sea, evenas it had been spoken sternly by OLD ABE, of Washington;

Saying, string them up in short order. 

And if they of Secessia hang the brave CORCORAN and hisfriends, Then, as the LORD liveth, SLIDELL and MASONshall pull hemp; even on the gallows shall they hang like thieves andmurderers--the land hath sworn it. SELAH!

'SOUND on the Goose Question. '

Who is there among our readers who has not heard that phrase? It has nowfor some years been transferred from one political topic to another, until its flavor of novelty is well-nigh gone. But _whence_ theexpression? An antiquarian would probably hint at the geese whose soundsaved Rome. The great goose question of the Reformation was the burningof one Huss, whose name in English signifyeth Goose, for which reason heis said to have exclaimed to his tormentors 'Now ye indeed roast agoose, but, lo! after me there will come a swan whom ye can not roast;'which was strangely fulfilled in LUTHER, whose name--slightlyvaried--signifies in Bohemian a swan. But, reader, 'an it please you, 'here is the original and 'Simon Pure' explanation, as furnished by acorrespondent:--

 'Are you right on the goose question?' But do you know the origin of the phrase? It was told to me, at Harrisburg, in Pennsylvania, when I was there in "Fremont's time, " _anno_ 1856. Alas! the fates deal hardly with Fremont. C. And F. , now a satellite of C. , helped to slaughter him once before in Pennsylvania--sold him out to Know-Nothings. Hope they haven't now in Missouri pitched him over to be succeeded by Do-Nothings. But to the story. Harrisburg has wide, clean, brick sidewalks. Many of the poorer sort there kept geese years ago, and sold or ate their progeny in the days of November and December--the "_embers_ of the dying year. " Jenkins was up for constable. The question whether geese should run at large was started. The Harrisburg geese made at times bad work on the clean sidewalks, as do their examplars, spitting on the _pave_ of Broadway. A delegation of the geese-owners waited on Jenkins. Seeing that they had many votes, he declared himself in favor of the geese running at large. The better sort of people, who were in favor of clean sidewalks, hearing of this, set up an opposition candidate, who avowed himself opposed to having the sidewalks fouled by these errant fowls. The canvass waxed warm; a third candidate took the field; he put himself in the hands of an astute "trainer" for the political fray. We don't know whether or not this was before the day when Mr. Cameron counseled in politics at Harrisburg, but his Mentor bid this new candidate, when the delegations applied for his views on the all-absorbing issues, to say nothing himself, but to refer to him, the Mentor aforesaid. And when the delegations accordingly came to Mentor to find the position of the third candidate, he said to each, with unction, "You will find my friend sound on the goose question. " Third candidate was elected. His story got wind, and from that day till Bull Run all the politicians of the land have striven likewise to be 'sound on the goose question. '

Therefore let us be duly thankful that the time hath come when it shallno longer advantage a man to say, 'Lo! I am sound, ' or--as PRINCEALBERT was reported to reply constantly to his royal consort duringthe early years of their marriage--'I dinks joost as _you_dinks, '--since in these--days vigorous _acts_ and not quibbling wordsare the only coin which shall pass current in politics. 

 * * * * *

Never was there an institution which required such constant repairing as'the great Southern system. ' One of the latest and most terrible leaksdiscovered is that of the danger to be apprehended from an influx ofvile Yankee immigrants after the North shall have been conquered. Unlessthis is prevented, say the Charleston papers, who dictate prettyindependently to the whole of Dixie, we shall have sacrificed in vainour blood and treasure, since nothing is more evident than that at nodistant day the Northern men among us will be fully able to control ourelections. Therefore it is proposed that no Northern man ever be allowedthe right of naturalization in the South. 

But as even Southern injustice has not as yet the insolence to restrictthis precious prohibition to 'Yankees, ' it is sequentially proposed thatwith the exception of those foreigners now in the South, no person, nota (white) native, shall ever, after this war, be allowed the rights ofcitizenship in the C. S. A. There has not been, that we are aware, anyopposition to this hospitable proposition, but, on the contrary, it hasbeen most largely circulated and approved of. 

It must be admitted that the South is in one thing at leastpraiseworthy. It is consistent--to say nothing of being thoroughly inearnest. To exclude all poor white immigrants from civil, andconsequently social privileges, is perfectly in keeping with its longexpressed contempt for mudsills. It legislates for F. F. 's, and for themalone. It wants no Irish, no Germans, no foreign element of anydescription between itself and the negro. It will make unto itself aChina within a wall of cotton-bales, and be sublimely magnificent withinitself. 

But what of the Border, or, as GEO. SAUNDERS aptly called them, the Tobacco States? (By the by, where is now that eminent rejected ofthe C. S. A. ?) The Patent Office Report for 1852 spoke as follows ofFairfax County, Virginia, where thousands of acres of land have becomeexhausted through slave labor, abandoned as worthless, and reduced to awilderness:--

 'These lands have been purchased by Northern emigrants, the large tracts divided and subdivided and cleared of pines, and neat farm-houses and barns, with smiling fields of grain and grass in the season, salute the delighted gaze of the beholder. Ten years ago it was a mooted question whether Fairfax lands could be made productive, and if so, would they pay the cost? This problem has been satisfactorily solved by many, and in consequence of the above altered state of things, school-houses and churches have doubled in number. '

But school-houses and churches are not what the C. S. A. Want. 'Let usalone with your Yankee contrivances. "Smiling fields indeed!"--we wantno smiling among us save the "smiles" of old Monongahela or Bourbon. Thefiery Southern heart does not condescend to smile. "Neat farm-houses!"They may do for your Northern serfs--we'll none of them. ' Verily the C. S. A. Is a stupendous power, which, according to the development of itsown avowed principles, must necessarily become greater as it is more andmore limited to fewer persons. In due time these will be reduced tohundreds, those in time to scores, until, finally, all Southerndom shallbe merged in one individual quintessentially concentrated exponent ofCottondom, who must needs be, perforce, so intensely respectable and sosublimely aristocratic that Northern eye may not see nor Northern heartfeel the magnitude of his superiority, or pierce the gloom wherein heshall sit, 'a sceptred hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his ownoriginality. '

 * * * * *

Five of the present Cabinet, with Secretary CAMERON at theirhead, have expressed themselves fairly and fully in favor ofEmancipation, --foreseeing its inevitable realization, and, we presume, the necessity of 'managing' it betimes. Only Messrs. SEWARD andBATES hang timidly behind, waiting for stronger manifestations, ere they hang out their flags. Meanwhile, from the rural districts ofthe East and West come thousand-fold indications that the great 'workingmajority' of Northern freemen--the same who elected LINCOLN andurged on the war in thunder-tones and lightning acts--are sternlydetermined to press the great measure, and purify this country for onceand forever of its great bitterness. It is a foregone conclusion. 

 * * * * *

'If you would know what your neighbors think of you, ' says an oldproverb, 'quarrel with them. ' It has not been necessary of late toquarrel with England to ascertain _her_ opinion of us, as expressed byher editors, writers, and men of the highest standing. Our war with theSouth has brought it out abundantly, and the result is a great dislikeof everything American, save cotton! We are not of those who would atthis time say too much on the subject, --every expression of Anglophobiais just now nuts to the C. S. A. , who would dearly relish a war betweenus and the mother country, --but we may point to the significant factrecently laid in a laconic letter by 'Railway TRAIN, ' thatwhile everything is done in England to preserve a 'strict neutrality, 'as regards the North, and while the most vexatious hinderances areplaced in the way of exporting aught which may aid us, --much_gratuitous_ pains being taken to prevent any material aid to theFederal government, --vessels are allowed to load openly with allcontraband of war, even to arms and ammunition, for the avowed purposeof supplying the South. This is not mere _rumor_--it has been amplyconfirmed for months. 

Very well, gentlemen; very well, indeed. We may remember all yourkindness and the depth of your zealous abolition philanthropy. '_Haudimmemor. _' But you are reasoning on false grounds. You forget that it isalmost as important for you to self your manufactures to America as toget cotton from it. And articles in the _Times_, and speeches from yourfirst statesmen, show that you really believe the enormous fib sogenerally current, that the South consumes the very great majority ofall our imports. 'The South is where the North makes all its money--theSouth does everything. '

Do not believe it. The entire South consumes only about one sixth orseventh of all Imports, and contributes no greater proportion to thewealth of the North. But the North, with a very little sacrifice, canfree itself almost entirely from dependence on your manufactures, andif, in homely parlance, you 'give us any more of your impudence, ' she_will_--will most decidedly. There is even a stronger king than Cottonhere; we may call him King Market. Let King Market once lay hands onyou, and whereas you were before only broken, _then_ you will be groundto powder. 

 * * * * *

Over many a home since the last New Year, Death has cast the shadow, which may grow dimmer with time, or change to other hues, but whichnever entirely departs. But now he comes with strange, unwonted form, for he comes from the battle-field as well as the far-off home of fever, or the icy lair of consumption, and those left behind know only of thedeparted that he died for honor. 

'My brother! oh, my brother!' Such a cry arose not long ago in a family, for one of the best and bravest whom this country has ever known. Andmore than one has brought back from the war a sorrowful narrative of along farewell inclosed in as brief and touching words as those of thefollowing lyric:--

LINES. 

 I. 

 My brother, take my hand; The darkness covers me, And now I fly to thee; O, hear my call!

 II. 

 My brother, take my hand; Weary, and sick, and faint, To thee I make complaint, Who art my all. 

 III. 

 My brother, take my hand; Though pale it is and thin, The same blood flows within That is in thine. 

 IV. 

 My brother, take my hand; It's all I have to give; O, let me, while I live, Press it to thine. 

 V. 

 My brother, take my hand; And with the hand receive The blessing which I leave, Before I die. 

 VI. 

 My brother, take my hand; And when at last you come, I will receive you home, -- The home on high. 

 * * * * *

A correspondent in Ohio sends us the following:--

 'It is a good thing for a weak brother to have faith; and some one to rely on is to such an especial blessing. Squire BULLARD was wont to find such a prop in his friend Deacon PARRISH, who, he firmly believed, "knew everything. "

 'Near by the Squire lived a graceless old infidel named MYERS, who was wont to entangle his simple neighbors in arguments sadly vexing to their orthodoxy. On one occasion he devoted an hour to prove to BULLARD that there was no future after death. 

 '"Well, " exclaimed Squire B----, "you kin talk jest as much as ye please. Free speech is permitted; but I don't believe ye. I tell you what, MYERS, the soul _is_ immortal; I'll bet five dollars on it, and leave it to Deacon PARRISH!"'

This is indeed believing in human power; and yet who would laugh_through_ his heart at it? For it is this same _belief_ in other men, mere mortals like ourselves, in hero-worship, which led man through thestormy ages of old on to the lighter and brighter time, when we see afarthe promised time when great ideas shall rule instead of great men, andheroism yield to sincere, unselfish ministry. Great was the final lessonof Friar BACON'S head--'Time will be. '

 * * * * *

The failure of the great Southern Confederacy to secure recognition inEurope will doubtless provoke sad strains from the bards of thatunfortunate 'empire. ' Nor less to be pitied are those who have put theirtrust in contracts and become the 'victims of misplaced confidence. ' Thefollowing brace of parodies sets forth the sorrows of either side withtouching pathos. 

THE UNIVERSAL COTTON GIN. 

 He journeyed all creation through, A peddler's wagon, trotting in; A haggard man, of sallow hue, Upon his nose the goggles blue, And in his cart a model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 His seedy garb was sad to view-- Hard seemed the strait he'd gotten in; He plainly couldn't boast a _sou_, And meanly fared on water-gru- el, or had swallowed whole a U- niversal nigger-cotton gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 To all he met--Turk, Christian, Jew-- He meekly said, 'I'm not in tin; In fact I'm in a serious stew, And therefore offer unto you, At half its worth, my model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 'As sure as four is two and two, It rules the world we're plotting in; It made and ruined Yankee Doo- dle, stuck to him like Cooper's glue, And so to you would stick this U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. '

 Now Johnny Bull the peddler knew, And thus replied with not a grin: 'Hi loves your 'gin' like London brew- ed ale, but loathes the hinstitu- tion vitch propels your model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 'Hi knows such coves as you a few, And, zur, just now, hi'm not in tin; Hi tells you vot, great Yankee Doo- dle might hincline to put me through Hif hi should buy your model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. '

 Then spake smooth Monsieur _Parlez-vous_, Whose gilded throne was got in sin, -- (As was he too, if tales are true): 'I does not vant your modal U-' (He sounds a V for W) 'niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 A negar in de fence I view-- Your grand machine he's rotting in; I smells him now, he stinketh! _w-h-e-w_-- _Give me a good tobacco chew_, And you may keeps your modal U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. '

 The peddler then sloped quickly to The land he was begotten in; With woeful visage, feelings blue, He sadly questioned what to do, When none would buy his model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 From out his pocket then he drew A rag that _blood_ was clotting in; It had a field of heavenly blue, Was flecked with stars--the very few That glimmered on his model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 He gazed long on its tarnished hue, And mourned the fix he'd gotten in; Then filled his eyes with contrite dew, As in its folds his nose he blew, And thus addressed his model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin. 

 'Thou crownless king, thy days are few; The world thou art forgotten in; Ere thou dost die, thy life review, Repent thy crimes, thy wrongs undo, Give freedom to the dusky crew Whose blood now stains the model U- niversal nigger-cotton-gin- niversal nigger-cotton-gin!'

A SORROWFUL DIALOGUE. 

FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 

 Needy axe-grinder! whither are you going? Sad is your visage, sadder far your raiment, Rimless your hat, your coat has got a hole in't, So have your trowsers!

 Seedy axe-grinder! little know the great ones, Who buy fat jobs, and steal the public lucre, What times befall the poverty-stricken devils Who grind their axes!

 Tell me, axe-grinder, how you came so seedy? Did some great man ungratefully entreat you? Was it FERNANDO, first king of our Gotham, Or the Collector?

 Or did some evil WEED set you to burning The Cataline, and pocket all the plunder; Or did the patriot BEN engulf your little All in a lottery?

 Tell me, axe-grinder! 'tell me how you cum so:' 'Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids, Ready to fall the moment you have told your Pitiful story. '

AXE-GRINDER. 

 Story! God bless you! mine is sad to tell, sir; The gratitude of great men drove me downward, Reduced me to these shoddy coat and trowsers So sad and seedy!

 Listen! while I disclose the secrets of the Mansion which standeth on Broadway, where strangers Are taken in and done for at two dollars And a half per diem. 

 There congregate Lord THURLOW, ALEXANDER The Wonder of the World, and they who pull the Wool o'er the eyelids of the veteran Com- Missary-general. 

 And there, while they within did manufacture The ways and means to 'work' this foul rebellion, I kept the door without, and turned the grindstone Which ground their axes. 

 And daily to their private closet came one Called ORSAMUS, of fame in all the churches, Whose savory name smells sweetly to all lovers Of public plunder. 

 'Twas queer the ex-(tra) congress man resorted There; strange they were to all invisible when _His_ oily visage, like a magic lantern, Lit the apartment. 

 It were a Matter-son or father might take A note of; so I questioned of the key-hole, And, lo! they would bestow warm raiment on our Suffering soldiers. 

 I deemed the subject worthy of attention, The more so as a very fat commission Would be gained by it, so as almoner I Tendered my service. 

 I looked for thanks; when, lo! they gave me none, sir, But, calling eavesdroppers ungodly sinners, Applied their patent-leathers to my tender Unmentionables. 

FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 

 They served you right; take wholesome warning by it, Leave state affairs to those who live upon 'em; Should not the ox that treadeth in the corn-crib Eat of the hoe-cakes?

 How noble such care for our shivering heroes! Who would not gladly perish for his country When, for his sake, her great men stoop so low as The shoddy business!

 * * * * *

The Germans have a fine _Spinn-lied_, or song of spinning; so, too, havethe jolly Flemish dames. And a poetical correspondent of ours seemsdetermined that few and far between as the old-fashioned spinners are inthis country, the race shall not entirely disappear without taking asong with them, and a quaint, pleasant lesson. Dear reader, to theCONTINENTAL'S way of thinking, there is something very winningin the thought of that 'great holiday, ' when, free from all task, weshall play merrily evermore 'out-of-doors, ' in eternal light, overinfinite realms of beauty. 

SPINNING. 

 Dearest mother, let me go; I am tired of this spinning, yet the whizzing wheel goes round, Till my brain is dull and dizzy with its ceaseless, humming sound. I can hear a little blue-bird, chirping sweetly in yon tree; And he would not stay there, mother, if he were not calling me. 

 Oh! in pity, let me go: I have spun the flaxen thread, until my aching fingers drop; And my weary feet will falter, though the whizzing wheel should stop. I can see the sunny meadow where the gayest flowers grow; And I long to weave a garland;--dearest mother, let me go. 

 Nay, be patient, eager child; Summer smiles beyond the door-way, but stern poverty is here; We must give her faithful service, if her frown we would not fear. Spin on cheerly, little daughter, till your needful task is done, Then go forth with bird and blossom, at the setting of the sun. 

 Wait _thou_, also, troubled soul; Thou may'st look beyond the river, where the white-robed angels stand; Hear the faint, celestial music, wafted from the summer land; But thou cans't not leave thy labor;--when thy thread is duly spun, Thou shalt flee on flashing pinions, at the setting of the sun. 

 * * * * *

The times have been hard, reader, our friend, yet all merriment has notentirely died out, and there is still the sweet voice of music to beheard in the land. In New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and many minorcities, the Benedictine ULLMANN hath been ubiquitously about, operatingmost vigorously, while the philosophic and courteous GOSCHE hath notbeen far distant. And they heralded HINKLEY, and BORCHARD, and KELLOGG, and all the other sweet swans of song; they drew after them the gems ofthe opera; there was selling of _Libretti_, (and in Boston, 'los-_an_-gers'); there was the donning of scarlet and blue stripedcloaks, gay _coiffures_ and butterflying fans; there was flirting, andfun, and gentle gayety in the New York Academy, and with the BostonAcademies it was not otherwise, only that among the latter the Saxonpredominateth, and the dark-eyed, music-loving children of Israel, whoso abound in most opera audiences, are very rare. 

What we intended to do, O reader, was to give the biography ofBENEDICT ULLMANN. Lo! here it cometh:--

 Vita Sancti Benedicti. 

 ULLMANN is about three thousand years old. 

 The New York _Herald_ once called him Mephistopheles. He is not Mephistopheles, however, but the same thing, which is ULLMANN. He is a spirit bearing human form. Don't forget. 

 King SOLOMON sat beneath the golden pavilion one afternoon, playing silver melodies on a gold harp. Up went the notes--the spirits of the Sephiroth bore them--even up to a premium, and the very angels stopped sewing on their white robes to hear the ravishing melody. 

 By his side sat the Queen of Sheba, counting out her money. 

 Suddenly, there was a strange vibration, a marvelous tone. The queen paused. The king smiled. The angels went on with their sewing. (According to Rabbi ABARBANEL, they were knitting. This created a schism between the schools of Cracow and Cordova, which lasted four centuries. )

 'Why smilest thou, Oh SOLOMON?'

 'I smiled, my dear queen, because you and I became, just now, unwittingly, the parents of a strange being. '

 'Why, SOLOMON--how you talk!' exclaimed the Q. Of S. 

 'Yea, for the ring of thy gold, oh my Queen, and the last chord-tone from my harp mingled in mystical unity and made a sound unheard before on earth. And the spirit of that sound, which is of money and of music, is the spirit whereof I spoke. '

 Then the queen marveled greatly at the wisdom of SOLOMON, and gave him a shekel. The king rung it on the table and touched his harp. Again the strange tone thrilled out loud. 

 'There he goes!' quoth SOLOMON. 'My blessing on him. And therefore the sprite is called Blessed to this day, which in Latin is _Benedict_. 

Thus was ULLMANN born, who was the first who ever sold music;and, whereas before his time music was only iron or silvern, after hetook it up it became golden--very fine, and ra-ther ex-pen-sive. Howbeit, he loved music as well as money, and gave the people theirmoney's worth, and many a jolly opera and fine tenor did he bring out:yea, had it been possible he would have engaged DON JUANTENORIO himself, so that Don Giovanni might have been produced asperfectly as possible--the Don Giovanity of vanities. 

Apropos of music, there is among the novelties of the season a French'operetta, ' entitled '_Les Noces de Jeannette_, ' in which a verypeculiar bridegroom distinguishes himself, like Christopher Strap in'Pleasant Neighbors, ' by smashing the furniture. This recalls somethingwhich we heard narrated in the opera _foyer_ the other evening. 

Some years ago, in Paris, there was a very good comedian who pridedhimself on being perfectly 'classic. ' To be classic in France is to beelegantly conventional. No actress can be really _kissed_ according toclassic rules; the lips must be faintly smacked about three feet fromher shoulder. Wills are classically written by a flourish of the pen, and classical banqueters never pretend to eat. 

Now there was a humorous scene which greatly depended on much breakageof furniture; and to this scene our actor, in the opinion of themanager, did not do justice. Rolling over one tea-cup did _not_, according to the latter, constitute a grand smash. 

The actor became irritated. '_Pa'r'r-bleu!_' he exclaimed, 'youSHALL have a grand smash then, if you must, and no mistake. '

The scene begun. There was a tea-table, and the irate performer gave onekick, and sent the whole concern crashing into the pit. There was a roarof applause. 

('Ah! this is something like, ' said the manager, rubbing his hands. )

The chairs were next attacked and broken into the completestkindling-wood, as by a madman. The manager began to look grave. 

There were two tables left, a piano, and a closet. The actor steppedbehind the scenes and reappeared with an axe. Bang! went thetimber--crack--splinter--

'Stop!' roared the manager. 

'Go on!' 'bravo!' 'go on!' roared the audience. 

The stage was cleared, but the scenery still remained. And into thescenery went the actor 'like mad. ' Planks and canvas came tumbling down;the manager called his assistants; the house was delirious with joy. Themanager rushed on the stage; the actor kicked him over into theorchestra, and seizing the prompter's box, hurled it crashing after. 

We do not know how matters were arranged, but we believe that themanager never tried afterwards to convert a classic actor to theromantic school. 

 * * * * *

The shade of Bishop BERKLEY would rejoice, could it read atthis late date such a tribute to the merit of the once famed tar water, which he invented. But a solemn feeling steals over our heart when weremember that the hand which penned these lines now lies cold in death, and that the shades of the idealist and the poet may ere this havejoined in the spirit land. 

TAR WATER. 

BY GEORGE W. DEWEY. 

 From the granite of the North, Leapt this pure libation forth, Cold as the rocks that restrained it; From the glowing Southern pine, Oozed this dark napthalian wine, Warm as the hearts that contained it; In a beaker they combine In a nectar as divine As the vintage of the Rhine, While I pledge those friends of mine

 Who are nearest, who are dearest in affection. I have filled it to the brim; Not a tear could ride its rim; Not a fleck of sorrow dim The flashing-smiles that swim In the crystal which restores their recollection. 

 Floating on the pitchy wine, Comes an odor of the brine, Half suggesting solemn surges of the sea; A sailor in the shrouds, Furling sail amid the clouds; Noisy breakers singing dirges on the lee, To those friends upon the main, Who have ventured once again, In the realm which cleaves in twain Loving hearts, that fill with pain When the storm proclaims the terrors of December. I will clink the beaded edge Of the beaker, while I pledge Safety over surf and sedge, Foaming round the sunken ledge, In the track of all the loved ones we remember. 

 And through Carolinian woods, Ever muffled in the hoods Of their fir-trees' aromatic evergreen, I can hear the mellow stops, Ever swaying in their tops, To the playing of an organist unseen. And the breezes bring the balm Of the solitude and psalm, From that indolence of calm, In the land of pine and palm, Over hills, and over rivers and savannas, Till my feelings undergo All their mortal overthrow, In celestial strains which flow, In a song of peace below, From those regions where archangels sing hosannas. 

 * * * * *

A friend who has roamed in his time over the deserts and slept inBedawee tents; one to whom the East is as a second mother, and in whosefaith the Koran is necessary to really put the finishing touch to a truegentleman, sends us the following eccentric proverbs from the Arabic. 

 Words of Wisdom. 

 'A well is not to be filled with dew. '

There speaks the Arab, choice of water as of wine. 

 'May a deadly disease love you and Allah hate you!'

Uncle Toby, who would not have had the heart to curse a dog so, wouldhave found the Excommunication of Ernulphus quite outdone in the desert, where cursing is perfected. 

 'He lays goose eggs, and expects young turkeys. '

 'The dream of the cat is about mice. '

Meaning, as we say, that what is bred in the bone will not come out ofthe flesh. ÆSOP has dramatized this proverb in a pretty fable. 

 'The people went away; the baboons remained. '

 'A rose fell to the lot of a monkey. '

Or, as the Latins said, '_Asinus ad Lyram_'--'A gold ring in a sow'sear. '

 'God bless him who pays visits, and short ones at that. '

 'The husband of two parrots--a neck between two sticks. '

 'I asked him about his father. "My uncle's name is SHAYB, " he replied. '

 'They wanted a keeper for the pigeon-house, and gave the keys to the cat. '

 'Filth fell upon dirt. "Welcome! my friend, " said he. '

 'Scarcer than fly-brains. '

 'Gain upon dirt rather than loss upon musk. '

Musk plays a great part in the East. Even the porters in Cairo bear bagsof it and are scented by it. 

 'When the monkey reigns, dance before him. '

This slavish proverb is thoroughly Oriental. 

 'They met a monkey defiling the mosque. "Dost thou not fear, " quoth they, "lest God may metamorphose thee?" "I should, " quoth he, "if I thought he would change me into a gazelle. "'

 'He fled from the rain and sat down under the water-spout. '

Or, as we say, out of the frying-pan into the fire. 

 * * * * *

Divers and sundry 'screeds' which we had hoped to lay on this present'Editor's Table, ' are unavoidably postponed until the February number, when they will make their 'positively first and last appearance. ' Hopingthat our own first appearance may not be without your approbation, weconclude, wishing you, reader, once more--very sincerely--the happiestof 'happy New Years. '

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: We honestly believe the true course to pursue with SouthCarolina, is to colonize her under the protection of our troops. Let usstart with a settlement of Yankees at Beaufort, who shall addictthemselves to the raising of cotton and other southern products. Letthem employ the negroes whose masters have run away, and who are _ipsofacto_ free. As our army gradually extends its lines, let the northernpioneer proceed, to occupy and cultivate the soil. This will bring abouta practical solution of some vexed questions. ]

[Footnote 2: The reader is earnestly requested to peruse the sermons ofthe Southern clergy, collected in an _extra_ of Putnam's _RebellionRecord_, and especially a discourse by the Rev. Dr. Palmer, of NewOrleans, in which the man of God asserts that slavery is a 'divinetrust, to be perpetuated and continued. ']

[Footnote 3: NOTE BY THE EDITOR. --The reader will find furtherreference to the grave of AARON BURR in an article, in thepresent number of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, entitled 'TheGraveyard at Princeton. ']

[Footnote 4: Apart from philosophical and theological agitation inAmerica, great additions were made to our general literature bytranslations from French and German, and their influence upon ouryounger writers is visible at the present day in almost every newspaperarticle. This task of translating and editing was accomplished--for thetime--on a grand scale and in a scholarly manner. Chief among those whodevoted themselves to it was George Ripley, who, in his excellent_Library of Foreign Standard Literature_, gave the public the choicergems of French and German philosophy, poetry, or lighter prose. C. S. Henry, then professor of philosophy in the University of New York, embraced with zeal the teachings of Cousin, translated his_Psychology_, --there had been a version of the 'Lectures' published in1838, --and wrote, for the use of students, a small but comprehensive_History of Philosophy_, which would have been perfectly 'eclectic' hadit not devoted a somewhat unfair proportion of its pages to eclecticism. Translations of minor German lyrics into English, in most instancessurpassing their rivals of British origin, were made by several youngUnitarian clergymen, among which those by Cranch, Peabody, and Brooks, were, we believe, preëminent. The _Dial_, by its criticisms of foreignliterature and art, guided many to the originals, while the Orthodoxonslaught, in reviews or in lectures, by Murdoch and others, in whichGerman philosophy was carefully traced from Lucifer down to Hegel, gaveto hungry and inquiring neophytes many valuable hints. As, with themajority of its friends, 'Transcendentalism' assumed a deeply religiousform, there resulted, of course, a grand revival of pietistic, mystical, and magical reading. Even the polemics of the early Quakers wereun-dusted, while Swedenborg was soon found to be a rich mine. In duetime, the works of Jung-Stilling, and other occult seers of the JustinusKerner school, were translated, and contributed, in common with the thennew wonders of animal magnetism and clairvoyance, to prepare the publicfor 'spiritualism. ' The appearance, in 1841, of a translation of the_Heinrich von Ofterdingen_ of Novalis, by a student of Cambridge, namedStallknecht, was one of the works of the day which increased theinterest in foreign literature, and made its study fashionable. Thismystical romance, called by its author the 'Apotheosis of Poetry, ' wasdistinguished by a simple pathos, an ultra-refinement of thought, analmost womanly delicacy of expression, and a deeply religious sentiment. Such works fascinated many who had been proof against the sternerallurements of the more practical Goethe or the aristocratic Schiller, and added a new regiment to the army that was assailing with vehemencethe fortress of German literature. ]

[Footnote 5: Cymbeline, Act III. , Sc. 2. ]

 * * * * *

The

Continental

Monthly

Devoted to Literature and National Policy. 

 * * * * *

FEBRUARY, 1862. 

 * * * * *

BOSTON:

 J. R. GILMORE, 110 TREMONT STREET. CROSBY & NICHOLS, 117 WASHINGTON STREET. NEW YORK: H. DEXTER & CO. AND ROSS & TOUSEY. PHILADELPHIA: T. B. CALLENDER AND A. WINCH. 

CONTENTS. 

NO. II. 

ENLARGED SIXTEEN PAGES. 

 * * * * *

 PAGE

 Our War and Our Want 113 Brown's Lecture Tour. By a Lecturer 118 The Watchword. Poetry 126 Tints and Tones of Paris 127 The True Basis 136 The Black Flag. Poetry 138 The Actress-Wife 139 Self-Reliance. Poetry 149 The Huguenot Families in America 151 The Black Witch 155 Freedom's Stars. Poetry 166 On the Plains 167 Seven Devils 171 What will you do with us? 175 James Russell Lowell 176 Refurgamus. Poetry 186 Among the Pines 187 Mr. Seward's Published Diplomacy 199 To England. Poetry 209 The Heir of Rofeton 210 Our Danger and its Cause 220 She Sits Alone. Poetry 225 Literary Notices 226 Editor's Table 228

 * * * * *

THE PRESENT NUMBER OF THE CONTINENTAL

Contains Articles by Ex-Gov. Boutwell, Hon. Horace Greeley, Hon. GeorgeP. Difofway, A. Oakey Hall, Richard B. Kimball, Henry T. Tuckerman, Frederick W. Shelton, The Author of "The Cotton States, " J. WarrenNewcomb, Jr. , Henry P. Leland, Miss Delia L. Colton, Charles G. Leland, and other diftinguished writers. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by JAMES R. GILMORE, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of theDistrict of Massachusetts. 

Press of Geo. C. Rand & Avery, 3 Cornhill, Boston.