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   THE

   CONTINENTAL MONTHLY:

   DEVOTED TO

   LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.

   VOL. II.--DECEMBER, 1862.--NO. VI.




THE UNION.

III.


On the 10th of April last, upon the recommendation of the President of
the United States, Congress offered pecuniary aid to such States as
would gradually abolish slavery within their limits. The colonization,
from time to time, of the manumitted slaves, with their consent, by the
Government, beyond our boundaries, was also contemplated as a part of
the system. By the President's proclamation of September last, this
offer is still made to loyal States, and practical measures suggested
for carrying it into execution. As to the States persisting in rebellion
after the close of this year, the President, as a military necessity,
has announced a different measure, that is, general emancipation in all
such States, with compensation only to loyal masters. Immediate
emancipation of all slaves, with compensation for all, costing, as it
would, twelve hundred millions of dollars, is now beyond the power of
the Government, burdened as it is by an enormous and increasing debt.
Nor was such a measure ever wise or expedient. That subject I will
discuss hereafter, but will speak now of the plan proposed by the
President, and sanctioned by Congress on the 10th of April last.

If this measure seems slow in securing total manumission and
colonization, it would be progressive and certain. God works out the
destiny of nations by no sudden or spasmodic action. His great and
beneficent changes are generally slow and gradual, but when he wills
destruction, it is sudden as the lightning's flash, the crash of the
earthquake, or the sweep of the hurricane, marked by ruin and
desolation. Would we avoid like disasters in solving this stupendous
problem, we must follow, in humble faith, the ways of God, and thus by
gentle, but constant and successive movements, reach the grand result.

History, however, exhibits a few extraordinary cases, in which man, as
an instrument in the hands of Providence, sometimes punishes great
crimes, eradicates great evils, and accomplishes great national reforms
by acts as sudden as the devastating career of the tempest in sweeping
away pestilential vapors. Such may be the case with the revolted States,
if they should persist in this wicked rebellion beyond the close of the
period of solemn warning.

The coming year may be the great crisis of human destiny. It may see our
rivers, like those of Egypt, turned into blood. It may witness similar
loathsome plagues, and pestilence, and fiery hail, and darkness
palpable. But may it never behold the dread work of the destroying angel
as of old, at the midnight hour, in every dwelling whose lintels were
unmarked by the typical blood of the Paschal sacrifice! Avoiding the
last dread scene of the great Egyptian drama, may we have, not the
Jewish Passover, but the grand American jubilee, when we may hail the
South redeemed from the curse of slavery, and forever united with the
North, as the one blessed home of universal freedom.

As the South was as earnest as the North in protesting against the
landing upon our shores of the first cargo of African slaves, and the
continuance of the traffic so long forced upon us under the British
flag, and as they all united in excluding the word 'slave' from the
Federal Constitution, so will they ultimately cooeperate in expunging
from our system the institution of slavery.

I shall discuss this question as to the border States under no sectional
or party aspect, no influence of passion or prejudice, or any motive but
the desire to promote the good of my country. Our national and material
interests must be fully considered, as also those great moral principles
and intellectual developments which exalt and dignify the character of
man. I shall examine the subject inductively and deductively, the facts
and the causes.

That a return to the Union with gradual emancipation and colonization by
the rebel States would be best for them and for us is certain. But in
justice to loyal citizens and communities, and to avoid the danger of
foreign intervention by prolonging the contest, it is our duty, after
the close of this year, to withdraw the slaves in the rebel States from
the culture of the crops used to support their armies, which can only be
done by general emancipation in such States persisting then in the
rebellion. This is a necessary war measure, designed, like battles or
blockades, to suppress the rebellion (alike ruinous to North and South),
and which must no longer be permitted to accumulate an immense debt and
oppressive taxation, and to exhaust our blood and treasure. The census
shows that very few slaves are held by the deluded masses of the South,
that the slaveholders are few in number; and full compensation is
contemplated by Congress and the President, in all cases of the
manumission by us of the slaves of loyal citizens.

By the census of 1790, all the sixteen States then enumerated held
slaves, except Massachusetts (then including Maine, although numbered
separately), where the institution was abolished by a judicial
construction of their constitution of 1780. The following table, from
the census, shows the gradual disappearance of slavery from seven of
these States, the remaining eight States still continuing the
institution:

                1790    1800    1810    1820    '30  '40  '50 '60
   N. Hamp.      158       8
   R. Island     952     381     108      48     17    5
   Conn.       2,759     951     310      97     25   17
   Vermont        17
   N. York    21,824  20,343  15,017  10,088     75    4
   N. Jer.    11,423  12,422  10,851   7,657  2,254  674  236  18
   Penn.       3,737   1,706     795     408    211   64

Illinois, by her constitution of 1818, continued slavery in the State,
but declared that 'children hereafter born shall be free.' An effort was
made in Congress to defeat the admission of Illinois, on the ground that
its constitution 'did not conform to the ordinance of 1787.' But it was
then decided by the House of Representatives (117 to 54) that 'the
ordinance did not extend to States.' In the Senate the vote was
_unanimous_. (See Niles's Register, vol. xix. p. 30.) Rhode Island
adopted the Pennsylvania system. Connecticut declared free, at the age
of 26, all born after the 1st March, 1784. Indiana pursued in its
results the course of Illinois. By the census, Illinois had 917 slaves
in 1820, 747 in 1830, 331 in 1840; and Indiana had 190 slaves in 1820, 3
in 1830, and 3 in 1840. New York in 1799 continued in bondage the
slaves then living, but those born _after_ the date of the law were
emancipated at the age of 28; and in New Jersey, the males at 25 and the
females at 21. This slow and gradual process in States having so few
slaves, should inculcate kinder and more indulgent feelings as to those
loyal communities where the slaves are so much more numerous, and the
time and mode of action so vital.

The great model act of gradual emancipation, drawn by Benjamin Franklin,
the great leader on this question, approved by the Quakers, and adopted
by Pennsylvania in 1780, liberated all the descendants of slaves born
after that date within the limits of the State. To avoid circumlocution,
I shall call those born before the date of emancipating laws the _ante
nati_, and those born after the date of such laws, _post nati_.

I shall consider first the question of gradual emancipation and
colonization in connection with Maryland, and afterward apply the same
principles to other States.

If the Pennsylvania system of liberating immediately only the post nati,
so much more liberal than that of most of the free States, were adopted
by Maryland, the cost of manumission there would be very small. In the
execution of the emancipation act of Congress in this District, infant
slaves were valued officially this year by sworn experts at $50 each.
Now by the census of 1860, the infant slaves of Maryland, under one year
old, surviving on the 1st June, 1860, numbered 2,391, which, at $50
each, would cost $119,550. This would be the actual expense for the
first year in Maryland, but decreasing every year, and ceasing
altogether in little more than a generation. Now the total number of
slaves under one year of age, born in all the slave States, and
surviving on the 1st June, 1860, was, by the census, 113,581, which, at
$50 each, would cost $5,679,050, for the first year, and decreasing
annually as above stated. The post nati numbered in Delaware 40, in
Kentucky 7,281, in Missouri 3,377, and in Virginia 13,850, making the
first year's cost as follows:

   Maryland               $119,550
   Delaware                  2,000
   Kentucky                364,050
   Missouri                168,850
                          --------
                           654,450
   Virginia                692,500
                        ----------
                Total,  $1,346,950

Now then, applying this principle to Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, and
Missouri, the cost, the first year, would be $654,450, and, if we
included Virginia, $1,346,950. This sum, we have seen, would decrease
every year. According then to the annual tables, and those of
expectancies of life (as calculated for me), the sum of fifteen millions
of dollars of United States stock, issued now, and bearing interest at
the rate of six per cent, per annum, would make all the border States
free States, in the same sense in which Pennsylvania and other Northern
free States became so; and less than half this sum, if Virginia should
not adopt the measure. The case, then, as regards the border States,
presents no financial difficulty whatever. If this plan were adopted,
the same just and humane course would doubtless be pursued as in the
North, by which the emancipated post nati would remain apprentices until
they reached twenty-one years of age, under the same regulations,
mainly, as were applicable to white children, bound out by the overseers
of the poor. Should the border States consent to proceed more rapidly, I
have no doubt the Government would cheerfully pay to loyal masters such
additional sum as would give freedom to _every slave_ in all the border
States, on the 4th of July, 1876, our first centennial anniversary of
the Declaration of American Independence. That day, then, already so
distinguished in the annals of humanity, would become the great epoch in
the history of our race.

And now let us examine the cost of all these measures. If the seceded
States, including Virginia, should persist in the rebellion until after
the close of this year, the sum to be paid the loyal owners of slaves
manumitted under the President's war proclamation would probably reach
$100,000,000. The emancipation of the post nati, in the four remaining
border States, would cost Sec.7,288,132. The manumission in those States,
of all the surviving slaves, on the 4th July, 1876, according to the
same tables and estimates, would cost a sum equal to $65,000,000, issued
now as United States six per cent. stock, making a total for _complete
emancipation in all the slave States_ of $172,288,132. This is a smaller
sum than four months' cost of the war, whilst wholly and forever
removing the discordant element which produced the rebellion, commencing
a new and glorious career of material, moral, and intellectual progress,
greatly exalting the character of the nation, invoking the blessing of
God, securing the future harmony and perpetuity of the Union, and the
ultimate fraternity of man. Never, before, would any nation have made so
grand an investment in the gratitude of emancipated millions, the thanks
of a world redeemed from bondage, the applause of the present age and of
posterity--the exchequer of time and eternity. It would live forever in
history, and the recording angel would inscribe it in God's eternal
archives. Statesmen, scholars, savans, philosophers, poets, patriots,
orators, and divines would proclaim its glory. The new drama of man's
political redemption would be witnessed by the audience of the world.
Music would chant its praise in every clime, and all peoples would swell
the chorus. The painter would give it immortality, and the sculptor
monuments more enduring than the pyramids, statues more godlike and
sublime than ever crowned Grecian Parthenon, or adorned with Parian
marble the temples of Augustan Rome. The press would glow with
enthusiasm, and the procession of nations march in the grand ovation,
not to national airs, or under national banners, but under the world's
new flag, and to the music of the world's new anthem of universal
freedom and regenerated man.

The census proves that our progress as a nation has been greatly
retarded by slavery. If the North had retained, and the South had
abolished slavery, their relative positions would have been reversed.
Virginia would have taken the place of New York, Maryland of
Massachusetts, Delaware of Rhode Island, Kentucky of Ohio, Missouri of
Illinois, and Tennessee of Indiana.

I begin with Maryland, because, in proportion to her area, she has
greater natural advantages than any one of the thirty-four States, and,
if the comparison with the free States is most unfavorable to her, it
will be more so as to any other Southern State, as the census shows
that, from 1790 to 1860, and from 1850 to 1860, Maryland increased in
population per square mile more rapidly than any other slaveholding
State.

Maryland borders for two hundred miles the great free State of
Pennsylvania, and Delaware one hundred and thirty miles, whose slaves
have decreased from 8,887 in 1790, to 1,798 in 1860, and where slavery
now exists in name only. Delaware, like Maryland, is also a loyal State,
and would be the last to leave the Union, which it was her glory first
to enter under the Constitution of 1787. On the west, Maryland is
bounded by Preston county, Virginia, containing in 1860 a free
population of 13,312, and 67 slaves only. Western Virginia, bordering
Maryland on the south, has voted with great unanimity to become a free
State, and all appearances indicate that slavery will disappear from
Virginia with the close of this year. Maryland then would be surrounded
entirely by non-slaveholding States.

Within the heart of Maryland stands this District, where slavery is now
abolished, producing serious losses and embarrassments to the State. The
two counties of Prince George and Montgomery, adjoining this District,
contained in 1860, 17,790 slaves, being more than one fifth of the
slaves of the State. How long can slavery endure, and of what value is
it in these counties, where every slave brought or sent to the District
is free, and where it is already seriously contended that the language
of the Constitution, 'slaves in one _State_, escaping into _another_,'
cannot apply to this District? With the feeling so intensified already
by this rebellion against slavery, it cannot long exist in Maryland. By
advancing legislation, and public sentiment, the fugitive slave law is
becoming inoperative, and slaves in Maryland are now held by a most
precarious tenure. Indeed, unforeseen events, as this terrible rebellion
progresses, may sweep slavery from Maryland without compensation or
colonization.

But, independent of present or future perils, it is proposed to prove,
mainly by the census, that all the material interests of Maryland would
be greatly promoted by her prompt acceptance of the offer of Congress.
We must consider the area, soil, climate, mines, hydraulic power,
location, shore line, bays, sounds, and rivers, and such other causes as
affect the advance of wealth and population.

The relative progress of Maryland has been slow indeed. The population
of the Union, by the census of 1790, was 3,929,827, of which Maryland,
containing then 319,728, constituted a twelfth part (12.29). In 1860,
the Union numbered 31,445,080, and Maryland 687,034, constituting a
forty-fifth part (45.76). In 1790, the free States numbered 1,968,455,
Maryland's population then being equal to one sixth (6.12); but, in
1860, the population of the free States was 18,920,078, Maryland's
number then being equal to one twenty-seventh part (27.52). But, if
Maryland had increased as rapidly from 1790 to 1860 as the whole Union,
her proportion, one twelfth part, would have made her numbers in 1860,
2,620,315; and if her proportional increase had equalled that of the
free States, her ratio, one sixth, would have made her population in
1860, 3,153,392. She might not have reached either of these results;
but, before closing these articles, it will be proved that, in the
absence of slavery, her population, in 1860, would have been at least
1,755,661, or the same per square mile as Massachusetts; and Baltimore,
bearing the same ratio to this number as to Maryland's present
population, would have contained in 1860, 542,000, instead of 212,000,
her present number.

I take the areas from the able report (November 29, 1860) of the Hon.
Joseph S. Wilson, then Commissioner of the General Land Office, where
they are for the first time accurately given, 'excluding the water
surface.' The population is taken from the census, the tables of 1850
and 1860 being compiled with great ability, by the present
superintendent, the Hon. J. C. G. Kennedy. I compare first Massachusetts
and Maryland, because they are maritime and old States, and both in 1790
had nearly the same population, but, as will be shown hereafter, with
vastly superior natural advantages in favor of Maryland.

Area of Maryland, 11,124 square miles; shore line, by tables of United
States Coast Survey, viz.: main shore, including bays, sounds, &c., 503
miles, islands 298, rivers to head of tide water 535; total, 1,336
miles.

Area of Massachusetts, 7,800 square miles; shore lines, by tables of
United States Coast Survey, viz.: main shore, including bays, sounds,
&c., 435 miles, islands 259, rivers to head of tide water 70; total, 764
miles. When we mark the Potomac and its tributaries, the lower
Susquehanna, the deep and numerous streams of the Chesapeake, the
commercial advantages of Maryland over Massachusetts are vast indeed.
Looking at the ocean shore of Maryland, and also at the Chesapeake bay,
the largest and finest estuary in the world, indented with numerous
sounds and navigable inlets, three fourths of its length for both shores
being within Maryland, and compare this deep and tranquil and protected
basin, almost one continuous harbor, with the rock-bound coast of
Massachusetts, lashed by the stormy Atlantic, the superiority of
Maryland is striking.

Mortality in Maryland, by the late census, viz.: deaths from 1st June,
1859, to 31st May, 1860, 7,370 persons. Same time in Massachusetts,
21,303; making the ratio of deaths to the number living in Maryland, one
to every 92, and in Massachusetts one to every 57; and the percentage of
deaths in Maryland 1.09, and in Massachusetts 1.76. This rate of
mortality for Massachusetts is confirmed by the late official report of
their Secretary of State to the Legislature.

As to area, then, Maryland exceeds Massachusetts 43 per cent.; as to the
shore line, that of Maryland is nearly double that of Massachusetts,
having 68 miles more of main shore, bays, and sounds, 38 miles more for
islands, and nearly eight times the number of miles for rivers to head
of tide water. As to climate, that of Maryland, we have seen, is far the
most salubrious. This is a vast advantage, not only in augmented wealth
and numbers, from fewer deaths, but also as attracting capital and
immigration. This milder and more salubrious climate gives to Maryland
longer periods for sowing, working, and harvesting crops, a more genial
sun, larger products, and better and longer crop seasons, great
advantages for stock, especially in winter, decreased consumption of
fuel, a greater period for the use of hydraulic power, and of canals and
navigable streams. The area of Maryland fit for profitable culture is
more than double that of Massachusetts, the soil much more fertile, its
mines of coal and iron, with the fluxes all adjacent, rich and
inexhaustible; whereas Massachusetts has no coal, and no valuable mines
of iron or fluxes. When we reflect that coal and iron are the great
elements of modern progress, and build up mighty empires, this advantage
of Maryland over Massachusetts is almost incalculable. The hydraulic
power of Maryland also greatly exceeds that of Massachusetts. Such are
the vast natural advantages of Maryland over Massachusetts. Now let us
observe the results. Population of Maryland in 1790, 319,728; in 1860,
687,034; increase 367,300. Population of Massachusetts in 1790, 378,717;
in 1860, 1,231,065--increase 852,348; difference of increase in favor of
Massachusetts, 485,048; excess of Massachusetts over Maryland in 1790,
58,989, and in 1860, 544,031. This result is amazing, when we regard the
far greater area of Maryland and her other vast natural advantages. The
population of Maryland in 1790 was 28 to the square mile (28.74), and in
1860, 61 to the square mile (61.76); whereas Massachusetts had 48 to the
square mile in 1790 (48.55), and 157 to the square mile in 1860
(157.82). Thus Massachusetts had only 20 more to the square mile in
1790, and 96 more to the square mile in 1860. But if the areas of
Maryland and Massachusetts had been reversed, Massachusetts, with the
area of Maryland, and the population of Massachusetts of 1860 to the
square mile, would have numbered then 1,755,661, and Maryland, with the
area of Massachusetts and the population of Maryland of 1860 to the
square mile, would have had then a population of only 481,728 upon that
basis, leaving Massachusetts in 1860, 1,273,393 more people than
Maryland. Thus is the assertion in a former part of this article now
proved, 'that in the absence of slavery, the population of Maryland in
1860 would have then been at least 1,755,661, and Baltimore at least
542,000.' But, in view of the many other natural advantages of Maryland,
as shown in this article, viz.: in climate and salubrity, in shore line
and navigable rivers, in fertility of soil, and hydraulic power, in a
more central location for trade with the whole Union, and especially
with the West, and nearer supplies of cotton, and, above all, in coal
and iron, it is clear, in the absence of slavery, Maryland must have
contained in 1860 a population of at least two millions. By the census
of 1790, Massachusetts was the fourth in population of all the States,
and Maryland the sixth; but in 1860, Massachusetts was the seventh, and
Maryland the nineteenth; and if each of the thirty-four States increases
in the same ratio from 1860 to 1870, as from 1850 to 1860, Maryland will
be only the twenty-fifth State.

These facts all conclusively attest the terrible effects of slavery on
Maryland, and this is only one of the dreadful sacrifices she has made
in retaining the institution. As to wealth, power, and intellectual
development, the loss cannot be overstated.

Nor can manufactures account for the difference, as shown by the still
greater increase of the agricultural North-West. Besides, Maryland
(omitting slavery) had far greater natural advantages for manufactures
than Massachusetts. She had a more fertile soil, thus furnishing cheaper
food to the working classes, a larger and more accessible coast, and
nearly eight times the length of navigable rivers, greater hydraulic
power, vast superiority in mines of coal and iron, a far more salubrious
climate, cotton, the great staple of modern industry, much nearer to
Maryland, her location far more central for trade with the whole Union,
and Baltimore, her chief city, nearer than Boston to the great West,
viz,: to the Ohio at Pittsburg and Cincinnati, the Mississippi at St.
Louis, and the lakes at Cleveland, Toledo, and Chicago, by several
hundred miles. Indeed, but for slavery, Maryland must have been
a far greater manufacturing as well as commercial State than
Massachusetts--and as to agriculture, there could be no comparison.

But Massachusetts did not become a manufacturing State until after the
tariff of 1824. That measure, as well as the whole protective policy,
Massachusetts earnestly opposed in 1820 and 1824, and Daniel Webster, as
her representative, denounced it as unconstitutional. From 1790 to 1820
Massachusetts was commercial, not manufacturing, and yet, from 1790 to
1820, Massachusetts increased in numbers 144,442, and Maryland in the
same time only 87,622. Yet, from 1790 to 1820, Massachusetts, the most
commercial State, was far more injured by the embargo and the late war
with England than any other State.

It is clear, then, that the accusation of the secession leaders that the
North was built up at the expense of the South, by the tariff, can have
no application to the progress of Massachusetts and Maryland, because
the advance of the former over the latter preceded by more than thirty
years the adoption of the protective policy, and a comparison of the
relative advance of the free and slave States, during the same period,
exhibits the same results.

There is one _invariable law_, whether we compare all the slave States
with all the free States, small States with small, large with large, old
with old, new with new, retarding the progress of the slaveholding
States, ever operating, and differing in degree only.

The area of the nine free States enumerated in 1790, is 169,668 square
miles, and of the eight slaveholding States 300,580 square miles, while
the population of the former in 1790 was 1,968,455, and of the latter,
1,961,372; but, in 1860, these nine free States had a population of
10,594,168, and those eight slave States only 7,414,684, making the
difference in favor of these free States in 1860 over those slave
States, 3,179,844, instead of 7,083 in 1790, or a positive gain to those
free States over those slave States of 3,172,761. These free States,
enumerated in 1790 and 1860, were the six New England States--New York,
New Jersey, and Pennsylvania; and the slave States were, Delaware,
Maryland, Virginia, North and South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee, and
Kentucky--yet we have seen that the area of those slave States was
nearly double that of those free States, the soil much more fertile, the
climate more salubrious, as shown by the census, and the shore line,
including main shore, bays, and sounds, islands and rivers, to head of
tide water, was, for those free States, 4,480 miles, and for those slave
States, 6,560 miles. Thus, it is clear, that the increase of population
of these slave States should have far exceeded that of those free
States. The population of these slave States per square mile in 1790 was
six (6.52), and in 1860, 24 (24.66), and of those free States in 1790,
was 11 per square mile (11.60), and in 1860, 62 per square mile (62.44).
Thus, while the increase of those slave States from 1790 to 1860 was
only 18 per square mile, that of those free States was nearly 51 per
square mile (50.84), or in very nearly a triple ratio, while in wealth
and education the proportionate progress was much greater.

No cause except slavery can he assigned for this wonderful difference,
for the colonists of Maryland were distinguished for education,
intelligence, and gentle culture. Lord Baltimore was a statesman and
philanthropist, and his colony was a free representative government,
which was the first to repudiate the doctrine of taxation without
representation, and the first to introduce religious toleration. While
Maryland has produced many of the most eminent soldiers, statesmen, and
jurists, her relative decline in power, wealth, and population, has been
deplorable, and is attributable exclusively to the paralyzing effect of
slavery.

While the advance of Massachusetts, with her limited area and sterile
soil, especially in view of the thousands of her native sons who have
emigrated to other States, is one of the wonders of the world, yet, the
relative increase of the population of New Jersey, from 1790 to 1860,
compared with that of Maryland, is still greater than that of
Massachusetts. The law is inflexible wherever slavery disappears.
Population of New Jersey in 1790, 184,139, in 1860, 672,035, being an
increase of 264 per cent. (264.96) for New Jersey, of 225 per cent.
(225.06) for Massachusetts, and for Maryland 114 per cent. (114.88). The
ratio of increase per square mile from 1790 to 1860 was: Massachusetts,
48.55 in 1790, and 157.82 in 1860; Maryland, 28.74 in 1790, and 61.76 in
1860; and New Jersey, 22.01 in 1790, and 80.70 in 1860. Thus, while
Maryland from 1790 to 1860, little more than doubled her ratio of
increase per square mile (28.74 to 61.76), and Massachusetts a little
more than tripled her ratio (48.55 to 157.82), New Jersey very nearly
_quadrupled_ hers (22.01 to 80.70). It must be conceded, however, that
the natural advantages of New Jersey are far greater than those of
Massachusetts, whose material and intellectual progress, in defiance of
such serious obstacles, now is, and, most probably forever will be,
_without a parallel_. Now the area of New Jersey is but 8,320 square
miles; the soil of Maryland is far more fertile, the hydraulic power
much greater, the shore line much more than double, viz.: 531 for New
Jersey, to 1,336 for Maryland; while New Jersey, with rich iron mines,
has no coal, and one third of her area is south of the celebrated Mason
and Dixon's line, the northern boundary of Maryland. The comparison,
however, which I shall present hereafter, of New York and Virginia, will
be the most astounding, while little less remarkable will be found that
of North Carolina with Pennsylvania, Kentucky with Ohio, Tennessee with
Indiana, Georgia and Missouri with Illinois, Arkansas with Michigan,
Alabama and Texas with Iowa or Minnesota, Mississippi and Louisiana with
Wisconsin, Delaware with Rhode Island, South Carolina with Maine or
Vermont. All, however, prove the _same law_, and exhibit the same
paralyzing effect of slavery. While the free States have accomplished
these miracles of progress, they have peopled seven vast Territories
(soon by subdivision to become many more States), immigration to which
has been almost exclusively from the North, as compared with the South.
It is clear, that if the South retains the institution, it will, before
the close of this century, sink into comparative insignificance, and
contain less than a sixth in population of the Union. After the
calamities which slavery has brought upon the South, the ruin and
desolation the rebellion has already accomplished there, who from the
North or from Europe would hereafter immigrate to any State retaining
the system?--while thousands of the native sons of the South have
already fled North or to Europe, and hundreds of thousands will follow.

The slave State which has increased _most_ rapidly to the square mile of
all of them from 1790 to 1860, has had a smaller augmentation per square
mile than that free State which has increased most _slowly_ per square
mile during the same time of all the free States, and the result is the
same as to wealth and education also. Under the _best_ circumstances for
the slave States, and the _worst_ for the free States, this result
proves the uniformity of the rule (like the great law of gravitation),
knowing no exception to the effect of slavery, in depressing the
progress of States in population, wealth, and education. Would we then
in all these advance more rapidly, we must remove slavery and negroism,
the retarding cause. I know it is asked, how shall we then cultivate the
cotton lands of the South without slaves? This does not apply to the
border States; but before closing these letters, I will prove
conclusively, by the census and other statistics, what, from long
residence in the South, and from having traversed every Southern State,
I know to be true, that cotton is now raised there most extensively and
profitably by non-slaveholders, and upon farms using exclusively white
labor. Indeed the cotton raised on small farms in the South where there
are no slaves and exclusively by free white labor, commands a price from
five to ten per cent. greater than the slave grown cotton. In Texas,
especially, it is a great truth, that skilled, educated, persevering,
and energetic free labor, engaged voluntarily for wages or its own use,
would, in time, when aided by improved culture and machinery, produce
much larger crops and better cotton than now raised by the forced and
ignorant labor of slaves, and at a much cheaper rate, at a far greater
profit, than any crop now produced in the North, and in a more
salubrious climate. In western Texas, counties on the same parallel with
New Orleans, and a little north and south, cultivated mainly by Germans
without slaves, produced large quantities of the best cotton, and the
supply with augmented labor might be increased almost indefinitely.
Having thrice visited Texas, and traversed nearly the whole State,
north, south, east, and west, I speak from personal knowledge. In one
county, I observed first rate wheat, cotton, and sugar cane growing in
adjacent fields, and the soil and climate well adapted for all three
crops. In Texas, the product of wheat has increased from 41.79 bushels
in 1850, to 1,464,273 bushels in 1860, and the number of bales of cotton
from 58,072 in 1850, to 405,100 bales in 1860, far exceeding the rate of
increase in any other State. (See table of Census, No. 36, pp. 200,
210.) Having very nearly six times the area of New York, Texas, when
cultivated by free labor, can produce cotton enough to clothe the people
of the world, and supply all Europe with wheat also. The rapid
colonization of Texas by freemen ought to add to our wealth, in this
decade, a sum equal to the present debt of the United States, and
terminate in our favor the effort to supplant us in the supply of cotton
for the world.

The isothermals of the great Humboldt (differing so widely from
parallels), which trace the lines of temperature on the earth's
surface, prove, as to heat, the climate of the South (running a line
from Charleston to Vicksburg) to be substantially the same as that of
Greece and Italy--each, in its turn, the mistress of the world. I know,
when, the term _isothermal_ was used in my inaugural as Governor of
Kansas, it was represented by some of our present rebel leaders, to the
masses of the South, as some terrible monster, perhaps the Yankee sea
serpent; but I now use the term again in no offence, from its important
application to the present case, and knowing that what I now advise
would produce incalculable benefits to the whole country, but especially
to the South. Indeed, if Texas, with her 274,356 square miles of area,
with her salubrious climate, and fertile soil, already worked to a great
extent by free labor, were a free State, she would, in time, contain a
larger population than any State of the Union. Texas has much more than
five times the area of England proper, and, with the same population to
the square mile, would contain more than one hundred millions of people.
Having, in 1837, offered in the Senate of the United States, and
carried, the resolution, recognizing the independence of Texas, first
proposing in my letter of the 8th January, 1844, the mode, by _compact_
(alone practicable), by which, on my motion, Texas was admitted into the
Union, distinctly advocating, in this letter, the reannexation of Texas,
with, a view to secure the ultimate disappearance of slavery and
negroism from the whole country, in opposition to the object officially
avowed by Mr. Calhoun, to annex Texas for the purpose of perpetuating
slavery, I shall, in a future letter, discuss this subject, involving
not only our furnishing a certain abundant supply of cheap cotton, but
securing the real monopoly of this great product, due to our _peculiar_
soil and climate, and thus ultimately increasing our products and
manufactures thousands of millions of dollars, and giving us the control
of the commerce of the world.

If Maryland would only initiate this policy, and come now to the rescue
of the Union from rebellion and foreign intervention, she would inscribe
her name first of all the States on the page of history and in the
gratitude of our country and mankind. The position of Maryland upon the
Chesapeake, the Potomac, the Susquehanna, and Atlantic, is most
commanding. She surrounds the Capitol. It was her own noble donation,
and she is its natural guardian and sentinel. Her waters, cutting the
Blue mountains and the Alleghany, flow into the Atlantic and
Mississippi, thus making her an eastern and a western State. Throughout
all her borders, not a citizen would lose anything by the change
proposed, but all would be enriched. Take down the barriers of slavery,
and a new and unprecedented current of population and capital would flow
into the State. Property would rise immensely in value, the price of her
lands would soon reach those of Pennsylvania, new towns and cities would
spring into life, Cumberland would soon equal the great manufacturing
sites of the North, and the railroad to Pittsburg would soon be
completed. Baltimore would fulfil her mighty destiny, and the present
canal _up the Susquehanna_, easily enlarged, so as to equal the grand
work of New York, would connect her with Lakes Erie and Ontario. That
canal already unites the Susquehanna from the Chesapeake with the lakes
by the Seneca route (as it should by the Chenango also), and only
requires to be enlarged to the extent of the Erie Canal, and the locks
also, as wisely proposed in regard to that great work. This would at
once develop the great iron and coal mines of the Susquehanna
(anthracite and bituminous), supply western and central New York, and
the great region of the lakes, and the Chesapeake with these articles,
so essential in war and peace. Let the locks of the Erie Canal be
enlarged as proposed, and the ship canal from the Illinois river to
Chicago constructed; but in justice to Pennsylvania and Maryland, as
vastly important for commerce and revenue, and as a war measure for the
cheap construction of iron-clad gunboats in the great coal and iron
region, and the defence of the lakes, the Chesapeake, the Delaware, the
Albemarle, and of the _capital of the Union_, let this canal be enlarged
also.

While this system of gradual emancipation would greatly promote the
material interests of Maryland, and of all the border States, the
President does not overstate its influence in crushing the rebellion and
restoring peace.

Maryland, the border States, and the South would then indeed commence a
new career of progress, by removing slavery and negroism; and their
augmented wealth, and that of the whole country, would soon return to
the Government, in increased revenue, a sum far exceeding the cost of
gradual emancipation and colonization. Indeed, if, as a mere financial
question, I was devising the most effective plan for liquidating the
national debt and reducing our taxes, it would be thus vastly to augment
our wealth and population by adopting this system.

The census of 1860 exhibits our increase of population from 1790 to 1860
at 35.59 per cent., and of our wealth 126.45. Now, if we would increase
the wealth of the country only one tenth in the next ten years, by the
gradual disappearance of slavery and negroism (far below the results of
the census), then, our wealth being now $16,159,616,068, the effect of
such increase would be to make our wealth in 1870, instead of
$36,593,450,585, more than sixteen hundred millions greater, being more
than three times our present debt, and in 1880, instead of
$82,865,868,849, over three billions six hundred millions more, or more
than seven times our present debt.

Before the close of this letter, it will be shown that the difference,
_per capita_, of the annual products of Massachusetts and Maryland
exceeds $120. As to the other Southern States, the excess is much
greater. Now, if the annual products of the South were increased $120
each _per capita_ (still far below Massachusetts) by the exclusion of
slavery, then multiplying the total population of the South, 12,229,727,
by 120, the result would be an addition to the annual value of the
products of the South of $1,467,567,240, and in the decade,
$14,675,672,400; the first amount being three times our debt on the 1st
July, 1862, and the last sum thirty times our debt on that day. This
change would not be immediate, but there can be no doubt that, with the
vastly greater natural advantages of the South, the superiority of free
to slave labor, the immense immigration, especially from Europe to the
South, aided by the Homestead bill, and the conversion of large
plantations into small farms, an addition of at least one billion of
dollars would be made, by the exclusion of slavery, to the value of the
products of the South, in the ten years from 1870 to 1880, which sum is
more than double our public debt on the 1st July last.

Having considered the relative progress in population of Massachusetts
and Maryland, I will now examine their advance in wealth.

By tables 33 and 36, census of 1860, the value of the products of
Massachusetts that year was $283,000,000; and of Maryland, $65,583,000.
Table 33 included domestic manufactures, mines, and fisheries (p. 59);
and table 36, agricultural products. Dividing these several aggregates
by the total population of each State, the value of that year's product
of Massachusetts was $229.88 _per capita_, and of Maryland, $95.45,
making the average annual value of the labor of each person in the
former greatly more than double that of the latter, and the gross
product more than quadruple. This is an amazing result, but it is far
below the reality. The earnings of commerce and navigation are omitted
in the census, which includes only the products of agriculture,
manufactures, the mines, and fisheries. This was a most unfortunate
omission, attributable to the secession leaders, who wished to confine
the census to a mere enumeration of population, and thus obliterate all
the other great decennial monuments which mark the nation's progress in
the pathway of empire.

Some of these tables are given as follows:

_First, as to Railroads._--The number of miles in Massachusetts in 1860
(including city roads) was 1,340, and the cost of construction
$61,857,203 (table 38, pp. 230, 231). The value of the freight of these
roads in 1860 was $500,524,201 (p. 105). The number of miles of railroad
in Maryland at the same time was 380, the cost of construction
$21,387,157, and the value of the freight (at the same average rate)
$141,111,348, and the difference in favor of Massachusetts $359,412,883.
The difference must have been much greater, because a much larger
portion of the freight in Massachusetts consisted of domestic
manufactures, worth $250 per ton, which is $100 a ton above the average
value.

The passengers' account, not given, would vastly swell the difference in
favor of Massachusetts.

The tonnage of vessels built in Massachusetts in 1860 was 34,460 tons,
and in Maryland, 7,798 tons (p. 107).

The number of banks in Massachusetts in 1860 was 174; capital,
$64,519,200; loans, $107,417,323. In Maryland, the number was 31;
capital, $12,568,962; loans, $20,898,762 (table 34, p. 193).

The number of insurance companies in Massachusetts 117; risks,
$450,896,263. No statement given for Maryland, but comparatively very
small, as the risks in Massachusetts were nearly one sixth of all in the
Union.

Our exports abroad, from Massachusetts, for the fiscal year ending 30th
June, 1860, were of the value of $17,003,277, and the foreign imports
$41,187,539; total of imports and exports, $58,190,816; the clearances
746,909 tons, the entries 849,449; total entered and cleared, 1,596,458
tons. In Maryland, exports $9,001,600, foreign imports $9,784,773; total
imports and exports, $18,786,323; clearances, 174,000 tons; entries,
186,417; total of entries and clearances, 360,417 (table 14, Register of
Treasury). Thus, the foreign imports and exports abroad, of
Massachusetts, were much more than triple those of Maryland, and the
entries and clearances very largely more than quadruple. The coastwise
and internal trade are not given, as recommended by me when Secretary of
the Treasury, but the tables of the railroad traffic indicate in part
the immense superiority of Massachusetts.

These statistics, however, prove that, if the earnings of commerce and
navigation were added, the annual value of the products of Massachusetts
_per capita_ would be at least $300, and three times that of Maryland.
In estimating values _per capita_, we must find the earnings of commerce
very large, as a single merchant, in his counting house, engaged in an
immense trade, and employing only a few clerks, may earn as much as a
great manufacturing corporation, employing hundreds of hands. Including
commerce, the value _per capita_ of the products and earnings of
Massachusetts exceeds not only those of _any State in our Union_, BUT OF
THE WORLD; and would, at the same rate, make the value of its annual
products three hundred millions of dollars; and of our own country,
upward of nine billions of dollars per annum. Such, under great natural
disadvantages, is the grand result achieved in Massachusetts, by
education, science, industry, free schools, free soil, free speech,
_free labor_, free press, and free government. The facts prove that
freedom is progress, that 'knowledge is power,' and that the best way to
appreciate the value of property and augment wealth most rapidly, is to
invest a large portion of it in schools, high schools, academies,
colleges, universities, books, libraries, and the press, so as to make
labor more productive, because more skilled, educated, and better
directed. Massachusetts has achieved much in this respect; but when she
shall have made high schools as free and universal as common schools,
and the attendance on both compulsory, so as to qualify every voter for
governing a State or nation, she will have made a still grander step in
material and intellectual progress, and the results would be still more
astounding. She can thus still more clearly prove the fact, establish
the law, and give us the formula demonstrating that taxes for the
increase and diffusion of knowledge are the best investment for the
increase of national, state, and individual wealth. Then all would
acknowledge the harmony of labor and capital, their ultimate association
in profits for mutual benefit. This social as well as political union,
together with the specializing and differentiation of pursuits, and
observing duties as rights, would falsify the gloomy dogma of Malthus,
founded on the doctrine of the eternal and ever-augmenting antagonism of
wages and money, and solve, in favor of humanity, the great problem of
the grand and glorious destiny of the masses of mankind. The law of
humanity is progress, onward and upward, and will, in time, crush all
opposing obstacles. If all--_all_ were fully educated, what miracles
would be accomplished, how great the increase of important inventions
and discoveries, and how many new and sublime truths in science,
sociology, and government would be developed! Would not the progress of
the State or nation approximate, then, a ratio depending on its numbers?
If all the States had contributed as much as Massachusetts to the
treasury and diffusion of knowledge, our whole country, North and South,
would have been advanced a century, and this rebellion, based upon the
ignorance, imperfect civilization, and semibarbarism produced by
slavery, could never have occurred.

By table 35 of the census, p. 195, the whole value of all the property,
real and personal, of Massachusetts, in 1860, was $815,237,433, and of
Maryland, $376,919,944. We have seen that the value of the products that
year in Massachusetts was $283,000,000 (exclusive of commerce), and of
Maryland, $65,583,000. As a question, then, of profit on capital, that
of Massachusetts was 34 per cent., and of Maryland 17 per cent. Such is
the progressive advance (two to one) of free as compared with slave
labor. The same law obtains in comparing all the free with all the slave
States. But the proof is still more complete. Thus, Delaware and
Missouri (alone of all the slave States) were ahead of Maryland in this
rate of profit, because both had comparatively fewer slaves; and all the
other slave States, whose servile population was relatively larger than
that of Maryland, were below her in the rate of profit. The law extends
to _counties_, those having comparatively fewest slaves increasing far
more rapidly in wealth and population. This, then, is the formula as to
the rate of profit on capital. First, the free States; next the States
and counties of the same State having the fewest relative number of
slaves. The census, then, is an evangel against slavery, and its tables
are revelations proclaiming laws as divine as those written by the
finger of God at Mount Sinai on the tables of stone.

For seventy years we have had these census tables, announcing these
great truths more and more clearly at each decade. They are the records
of the nation's movement and condition, the decennial monuments marking
her steps in the path of empire, the oracles of her destiny. They are
prophecies, for each decade fulfils the predictions of its predecessor.
They announce laws, not made by man, but the irrevocable ordinances of
the Almighty. We cannot, with impunity, refuse to obey these laws. For
every violation, they enforce their own penalties. From these there is
no escape in the present or the past, nor for the future, except in
conformity to their demands. These laws condemn slavery; and the
punishment for disobedience is recorded in the result of every census,
and finally culminated in the rebellion. Slavery and freedom are
antagonistic and discordant elements: the conflict between them is upon
us; it admits of no neutrality or compromise, and one or the other
system must perish.

We have seen that slavery is hostile to the progress of wealth and
population: let us now ascertain its influence on moral and intellectual
development.

By table 15 of the census of 1860, the result for that year was as
follows: In Massachusetts, value of books printed, $397,500; jobs,
529,347; newspapers, $1,979,069; total, $2,905,916. Same year in
Maryland, books printed, $58,000; jobs, $122,000; newspapers, $169,000;
total, $350,155. By table 37, census of 1860, Massachusetts had 222
newspapers and periodicals, of which 112 were political, 31 religious,
51 literary, miscellaneous, 28. Maryland had only 57, all political. The
whole number of copies issued in Massachusetts in 1860 was 102,000,760,
and in Maryland, 20,721,472. Of periodicals, Massachusetts has monthly,
1 political, 10 religious, 18 literary, 7 miscellaneous; quarterly,
religious 3, literary 2, miscellaneous 1, and 1 annual. Maryland had
_none_. Not a religious, literary, scientific, or miscellaneous
periodical or journal in the State! What terrible truths are unfolded in
these statistics! None but a political party press in Maryland, all
devoted, in 1860, to the maintenance, extension, and perpetuity of
slavery, which had 57 advocates, and not one for science, religion, or
literature.

We have seen that the circulation in 1860 of the press in Massachusetts
exceeded that of Maryland by more than eighty-one millions of copies.
These facts all prove that slavery is hostile to knowledge and its
diffusion, to science, literature, and religion, to the press, and to
free government.

For schools, colleges, libraries, and churches, I must take the tables
of the census of 1850, those of 1860 not being yet published. There were
in 1850, in Massachusetts, 3,679 public schools, 4,443 teachers, 176,475
pupils; native adults who cannot read or write, 1,861. In Maryland, 907
public schools, 1,005 teachers, 33,254 pupils; native adults who cannot
read or write, 38,426, excluding slaves, to teach whom is criminal.

Thus, then, slavery is hostile to schools, withholding instruction from
the children of the poor.

The number of public libraries in Massachusetts was 1,462, volumes
684,015. In Maryland, 124, and 125,042 volumes. Value of churches in
Massachusetts, $10,206,000. In Maryland, $3,947,884, of which $2,541,240
is in Baltimore (which has very few slaves), and the remainder is mainly
in the seven counties (from which slavery has nearly disappeared)
adjoining Pennsylvania.

As to schools, colleges, books, libraries, churches, newspapers, and
periodicals, it thus appears that Massachusetts is greatly in advance of
Maryland.

Now then, let us contrast loyal Maryland with rebel South Carolina, the
author of secession, and assuming for many years to instruct the nation.
By the census of 1860, she had a population of 703,708, of whom 402,406
were slaves; and Maryland, numbering 687,049, had 87,189 slaves. Now, by
the census of 1860, South Carolina had 45 journals and periodicals, and
her annual circulation was 3,654,840 copies. The circulation therefore
of Massachusetts exceeded that of South Carolina more than ninety-eight
millions of copies, while Maryland exceeded South Carolina more than
seventeen millions of copies. So much for South Carolina as a great
political teacher. As to schools in 1850: South Carolina had 724 public
schools, 739 teachers, 17,838 pupils. Massachusetts, then, had 158,637
more pupils at public schools than South Carolina, and Maryland 15,416
more pupils at public schools than South Carolina.

The press of Massachusetts, we have seen, circulated in 1860 upward of
one hundred and two millions of copies, equal to 279,454 per day,
including journals and periodicals, each read, on an average, by at
least two persons. This is independent of books and pamphlets, and of
the very large circulation of papers from other States and from Europe.
What a flood of light is thus shed daily and hourly upon the people of
Massachusetts! This intellectual effulgence radiates by day and night.
It is the sun in its meridian splendor, and the stars in an ever
unclouded firmament. It has a centre and a circumference, but knows no
darkness. Ignorance vanishes before it; wealth follows in its train;
labor rejoices in its association, and finds its products more than
doubled; freedom hails its presence, and religion gives it a cordial
welcome; churches, schools, academies, colleges, and universities
acknowledge its mighty influence. Science penetrates the secrets of
nature, and unfolds each new discovery for the benefit of man. Coal, the
offspring of the sun, develops its latent energy, and water contributes
its untiring hydraulic power. Machinery takes more and more the place of
nerves and muscles, cheapens clothing and subsistence and all the
necessaries of life, and opens new fields of industry, and more
profitable employment for labor. Steam and lightning become the slave of
man. He performs the journey of a day in an hour, and converses in
minutes around the globe. The strength of man may not have been much
increased, but his power is augmented a thousand-fold. His life may not
have been materially lengthened, but, in the march of knowledge, a year
now is as a century, compared with man's progress in the darkness of the
middle ages. The eternal advance toward omniscience goes on, but is like
that of the infinite approach of the asymptote, which never reaches the
hyperbolic curve. The onward march of science is in a geometrical ratio,
so that in time, the intellectual progress of a day in the future, must
exceed that of a century in the past. Knowledge is enthroned as a king,
and grand truths and new ideas are his ministers. Science takes the
diameter of the earth's orbit as a base line and unit of measurement,
and with it spans infinity, and triangulates the nebulous systems amid
the shadowy verges of receding space. Its researches are cosmical upon
the earth and the heavens, and all the elements minister to its
progress. Sink to the lowest mine, or fathom the ocean's depth, or climb
the loftiest mountains, or career through the heavens on silken wings,
and it is there also. On--on--on; nearer--nearer--still nearer it moves
forever and forever, with accelerated speed, toward the infinite
eternal. Such are the triumphs of knowledge; and he who diffuses it
among our race, or discovers and disseminates new truths, advances man
nearer to his Creator. He exalts the whole race; he elevates it in the
scale of being, and raises it into higher and still higher spheres.

It is science that marks the speed of sound and light and lightning,
calculates the eclipses, catalogues the stars, maps the heavens, and
follows, for centuries of the past and the future, the comet's course.
It explores the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms. With geology,
it notes the earthquake, upheaval of mountains, and, with mineralogy,
the laws of crystallization. With chemistry, it analyzes, decomposes,
and compounds the elements. If, like Canute, it cannot arrest the tidal
wave, it is subjecting it to laws and formulas. Taking the sunbeam for
its pencil, it pictures man's own image, and the scenery of the earth
and the heavens. Has science any limits or horizon? Can it ever
penetrate the soul of man, and reveal the mystery of his existence and
destiny? It is certainly exploring the facts of sociology, arranging
and generalizing them, and deducing laws. It regards man in his social
relations, in families, tribes, and governments, savage, semi-barbarous,
and civilized; beginning with the most simple, advancing to the chief,
the patriarch, the king, the feudal military, the regal aristocratic,
the pure democracy by popular assemblages, as in Athens and the school
towns of Massachusetts, rising higher to the central representative, and
to the highest, although necessarily more complex, the federal
constitutional representative, carrying out the organic division, and
the subdivision of legislative and administrative action--regarding the
state, the national, and international policy, and, in the lapse of
centuries, the confederacy, fusion, and unification of nations. The
constitution of empires, with the legislative, judicial, and executive
functions, furnish some of the elements of sociology. But we must take
the history of man, past, present, and future, note and arrange and
generalize the facts, and thence deduce laws and formulas. Sociology is
not a mere accidental and disconnected series of facts, but it has laws,
although far less known than those appertaining to the physical
sciences. The work is commenced, and progresses here and in Europe. But,
at this moment, at least in administrative action, Massachusetts is
ahead of all the world in the science of sociology.

Man, elevated by knowledge in the scale of being, controls the forces of
nature with greater power and grander results, and accumulates wealth
more rapidly. The educated free labor of Massachusetts, we have seen,
triples the products of toil, _per capita_, as compared with Maryland,
and quintuples them (as the census shows) compared with South Carolina.
One day's labor of a man in Massachusetts is equal to three in Maryland,
and five in South Carolina. So, if we take our savage tribes, with their
huts and tents, their rude agriculture, their furs, their few and simple
household manufactures, their hunting and fishing, the average product
of their annual labor, at four cents a day each, would be $14.60 a year,
or more than a fourth of that of South Carolina (56.91). So that
Massachusetts, in material progress, is farther in advance of South
Carolina than that State is of the savage Indians. Thus, we have the
successive steps and gradations of man: Massachusetts, with free labor
and free schools, having reached the highest point of civilization;
South Carolina, with slavery and ignorance (except the few), in a
semi-barbarous stage; and the lowest savage condition, called barbarous,
but nearer to South Carolina than that State to Massachusetts.

Slavery, then, the census proves, is hostile to the progress of wealth
and population, to science, literature, and education, to schools,
colleges, and universities, to books and libraries, to churches and
religion, to the press, and therefore to free government; hostile to the
poor, keeping them in want and ignorance; hostile to labor, reducing it
to servitude, and decreasing two thirds the value of its products;
hostile to morals, repudiating among slaves the marital and parental
condition, classifying them by law as chattels, darkening the immortal
soul, and making it a crime to teach millions of human beings to read or
write. And shall labor and education, literature and science, religion
and the press, sustain an institution which is their deadly foe?

_But slavery is the enemy of free government._ It has commenced and now
wages an unholy war against this Union, and thus assails the liberty of
our country and of mankind. It has framed a government based on the
eternity of chattel slavery, and demands in its name to rule the larger
portion of the Union. It seeks to sever the lakes from the gulf, and the
mighty Mississippi and its vast arterial tributary system. It asks to be
_let alone_ in the commission of all these heaven-daring crimes. In the
name of my bleeding country, of the millions whom it has doomed to
death, or wounds, or chains, or misery; in the name of the widows and
orphans it has made, whose bitter tears and agonizing sighs now fill our
land with sorrow; in the name of the free and blessed government it
seeks to overthrow, and the glorious Union it strives to dissolve; in
the name of God and man, of religion and liberty, the world arraigns the
criminal at the bar of justice. Now is the day of trial: humanity hopes
and fears, mankind await the verdict. It is rendered: _Guilty_ upon
every charge of the indictment; and heaven records the righteous
sentence--_Slavery must die, that the Union and liberty may live
forever!_




SOMETHING WE HAVE TO THINK OF, AND TO DO.


The President's order for a draft--aside from its immediate purpose--has
an important bearing in a more general view on the education of the
public mind. It is an impressive enforcement of the great principle that
every able-bodied man in the nation owes military service to his country
as sacredly as he owes obedience to his God. This is a principle which
probably few persons will hesitate to admit when plainly confronted with
it. But the conviction of it has slumbered in the mind of the people
during the long years of peace we have enjoyed. There has been almost
nothing to remind us of it for fifty years past. The draft is an
emphatic proclamation of it. It brings it home to the conscience of the
nation; and thousands, who might otherwise have scarcely thought of it,
will be led to recognize and to feel it.

It is to be hoped that we shall go further--that the quickened sense of
obligation will make us consider what we must do to make the discharge
of it of the greatest service to the nation; that we shall learn the
lessons of wisdom which the present struggle enforces on us, and see to
it, that in the future, by better military organization and instruction,
the able-bodied men of the country are rendered more capable of
effective military service at a moment's call.

Oar military system, and the enrolment of the people under it, goes
indeed upon this principle of the obligation of military service by
every able-bodied citizen--and so is a constant testimony to it; but in
point of fact it has done comparatively little toward cherishing the
military spirit, cultivating the military virtues, and securing an
effective military force, ready at any moment for active service in the
field. Dreading nothing from foreign nations on this side of the ocean,
counting on the obvious policy of the nations of the old world to keep
the peace with us, and never dreaming of such a rebellion as has broken
out in our midst--we have not only neglected but discountenanced the
cultivation of the military spirit. Our men of education and high social
position, instead of contributing to make the militia system respectable
by the personal performance of military duty, and by using all their
influence to give a high tone to the service, have evaded its
requirements on themselves, and done all they could to sink it into
disregard and contempt: a dereliction of duty as unwise as wrong.

It is a miserable thing for a country to have to get ready for war when
war is forced upon it. This was the case when the rebellion broke out.
We were not ready for it. There was indeed no lack of men. Hundreds of
thousands responded to their country's call; and the great body of the
people were carried away with the delusion that men with arms in their
hands are soldiers, and that massing them in great numbers makes them a
great army. Wise men--men of military judgment and experience--knew
better. But the popular clamor for onward offensive operations
prevailed; with disastrous result in the first instance. Not on the
whole perhaps to be regretted. It did what nothing else could have
done--it dispelled the popular delusion. It did something toward
teaching the nation a lesson indispensably necessary to be learned--that
a million men with arms in their hands without discipline, are nothing
but an armed mob, and that the discipline which alone makes an effective
army, implies a great deal more than is gotten in company trainings and
regimental parades under our old militia system.

Discipline--discipline--discipline; these are the first, second, and
third requisites to make men into soldiers. With it the poorest
materials can be made effective. Napoleon made good soldiers of the
Italian lazaroni--and a poorer material can scarcely well be conceived.
It is Napoleon that said: 'discipline is the first requisite for a
soldier--bravery is only secondary.' Indeed the more there is of bravery
in an army composed of such men as the New England States and the rural
districts of New York send to the war--'reasoning bayonets,' as Napoleon
called them, bayonets in the hands of men with heads on their shoulders,
and heads that have the habit of doing their own thinking--the more
there is of bravery in such a soldiery, the greater the need of
discipline. Not only thorough training in the use of arms, but a habit
of implicit obedience is indispensable to make good soldiers.

There can be no doubt this war is destined to make us a more military
people than we have been before. And good reason we should be. In the
first place, because the prevalence of a higher military tone and the
maintenance of a more effective military force are indispensable for the
national security and defence. Until the millennium comes we shall
always be liable to foreign invasions or internal rebellion. In either
case there is nothing before us but to fight, and nothing but successful
fighting can save us. But how can we fight successfully if we have only
raw recruits or an ill-trained militia, and officers better skilled to
handle the yard stick than the sword, to marshal a column of figures
than a body of men? In the nest place, because the military
virtues--courage, fortitude, endurance, subordination, and obedience;
the military habits--promptitude, vigilance, order, attention to
details; and the physical developments--health, strength, and heightened
muscular activity, which come from military discipline--all these are no
less valuable as elements of the _morale_ or general character of a
nation than indispensable in a merely military view, to a nation's
security and success in arms.

To form a disciplined army was the first thing we had to do when the
rebellion broke out. It was a great pity, and a sad necessity to have to
begin to do it then. We have paid dearly for our folly and neglect. If
we had been as well prepared for war as the Swiss always are, it would
have saved us millions of treasure, and many score thousands of lives.
Let us at least now not fail to learn the lesson of wisdom for our
future guidance which the past forces upon us. Let us look out for
having a good military organization--a permanent system that shall give
us hereafter not the show only but the reality of an effective force;
not muster rolls of names of companies, regiments, brigades, but
well-disciplined citizen soldiers, with good officers able to handle and
lead them. This is something that can be done--something that ought to
be done.

It is a matter for consideration what is the military system that will
best keep us ready for war if war be forced upon us, and at the same
time with the least detriment or danger to the people or the Government.
Is it a large regular force, a standing army, adequate to the defence of
the country always on foot and in the pay of the General Government? I
think not. The number of regular troops in the service of the Union
doubtless will and should be considerably increased. But to keep a large
standing army, as many of the great powers of Europe do, is what I hope
we shall never come to. I do not so much object to the great expense of
it--for that is not worth consideration if it be the only or the best
way to provide for the defence of the nation. But it is foreign to the
genius and spirit of our institutions, and involves dangers to our
liberties. Human nature is human nature--and is pretty likely to
continue to be. What history has recorded more than once, it may have to
record again.

Shall we then adhere to our present militia system? Not, it is to be
hoped, without very great modifications, additions, and improvements. If
we do, we shall show ourselves as incapable of learning by our own
experience as by the wisdom of history. At the same time, our militia
organization furnishes the basis of a military system adapted to the
genius of our institutions, fully adequate to our national defence, and
one that will save us from the expense and dangers of a standing army
large enough for the need of the country in a time of war.

In reorganizing our military system on this basis, I would go to
Switzerland for suggestions and guidance. The Swiss system, with certain
changes and with some features adopted from the English, is the one most
fitted for our country. In Switzerland the motto is: 'No regular army,
but every citizen, a soldier.' This motto lies at the basis of their
system. But then the system makes every citizen really a soldier. It is
a system that has shown itself adequate and admirably adapted for the
defence of the country against foreign foes and internal rebellion. Not
their mountains merely, but their hearts and arms--and a knowledge on
the part of their neighbors what those hearts and arms were capable
of--have preserved their independence. And as to internal safety, let
any one read the story of the rebellion of 1847, when under Jesuit
influence seven of the Swiss cantons formed a secession league
(_Sonder-Bund_), and rose in arms. Immediately an army of more than one
hundred thousand men from the loyal cantons was in the field, summoned
from their ordinary callings, and in seventeen days the whole struggle
was over, despite the strong force and almost impregnable position of
the rebels, and despite the menaces of Austria and her offers of help to
the insurgents. In seventeen days their citadels were taken, the
traitors' league broken, and the loyal army (all but nine thousand men
left to see to the expulsion of the Jesuit conspirators and the
restoration of order) disbanded to seek their homes and renew their
ordinary occupations.

I shall not pretend to go into the details of such a system as we should
adopt, but confine myself to such observations as every man of general
intelligence, moderately acquainted with military history, is competent
to appreciate.

In the first place, there can be no doubt of the importance of a good
system for the enrolment of the rank and file, with effective provisions
for a certain amount of instruction and drill every year.

The next thing, and which is of still greater importance, is the
adoption of a system that shall secure the formation of proper
officers. Dividing each State in the Union into a proper number of
military districts, there should be in every district a perfect
organization of officers, staff, brigade, regimental, and line--what the
French call _cadres_, the nucleus or skeleton of brigades and
regiments--with special provision for their thorough and effective
instruction and discipline in all their respective duties. This was a
great point in the policy of Napoleon. 'When a nation,' said he,
'possesses neither _cadres_ nor the principles of military organization,
it is extremely difficult to organize an army.' Attaching the rank and
file to these _cadres_--whenever and as often as there is need--they can
soon be made good soldiers, even if they have had but little training
before; and there is no way in which discipline can be so speedily and
effectively instilled. The _cadre_ is not only the frame, joint, or
articulation, but the system of veins and arteries and nerves of an
army. All the military systems of Europe rest upon this principle. To
prepare officers fit to be organized into these _cadres_, they have
schools for special instruction--the school of the staff, and of every
branch of service--including everything relating to the subsistence and
movement of armies.

This brings us to the consideration of a point of fundamental
importance. We have no such schools. We have nothing but West Point, and
that is nothing to the needs of the country. In every State there ought
to be schools to prepare officers for the _cadres_--special schools for
every department of military science and art, either separately or
united in one comprehensive institution. The rebels have been wiser than
we of the North. For twenty years past, looking forward to this day, the
conspirators and traitors now in arms for the overthrow of the
Government, and the dismemberment of the nation, have been assiduously
training officers. In nearly every Southern State they have had one, and
in some States more than one special military school, founded and
fostered by the State--beside introducing more or less of military drill
into their other schools, and in every way cultivating a military spirit
among the people. And they have reaped the advantage of having at the
outset of the contest a better supply of competent officers and
materials for officers than we had.

But not only should there be such special military schools--one in every
State, but there should also be institutions where a sufficient number
of young men can get the preliminary education necessary to fit them to
enter the schools of officers--an education which, beside being as
complete and thorough a literary one as officers ought to have, should
also be such in point of military discipline and instruction as shall
lay a good foundation for building themselves up and perfecting
themselves as officers by subsequent instruction and experience. It is
not absolutely necessary to establish institutions exclusively or
specially for this purpose. The end might be attained, if sufficient
amount of military instruction, drill, and discipline were added to the
present course of education in the schools, academies, and colleges of
the land. This perhaps would be the best way. It would accomplish the
object of preparing a sufficient number of young men to enter the State
schools of officers, and would beside tend to diffuse throughout the
body of the educated class of the people something of military knowledge
and of the spirit of the military virtues--to the great advantage of the
nation in any times, but especially in critical emergencies demanding
great and heroic sacrifices.

So horrible a thing is war, and so dreadful are its inevitable miseries,
that there is at first thought something shocking to many persons, in
the idea of making military instruction a part of the system of public
education--in cultivating the military spirit, and training the children
and youth of a nation to science and skill in the arts of carnage. The
kind and gentle-hearted find little consolation in being reminded that
war is one of God's agencies. They acknowledge that the earthquake, the
pestilence, the tornado, are His agencies. They find no difficulty in
saying, with WORDSWORTH, in regard to these:

   'We bow our hearts before Thee, and we laud
   And magnify Thy Name, Almighty God!'

Yet when he adds:

   'But Thy most dreaded instrument
   In working out a pure intent,
   Is man arrayed for mutual slaughter--
   Yea, Carnage is Thy daughter.'

they shrink from the thought and the image. It is too dreadful for ready
acquiescence.

But there is another side to the subject, and a deeper view. See how the
hero preacher, the saintly-hearted ROBERTSON--as pure and tender a
spirit as ever breathed--puts the matter:

     'Take away honor and imagination and poetry from war, and it
     becomes carnage. Doubtless. And take away public spirit and
     invisible principles from resistance to a tax, and Hampden becomes
     a noisy demagogue. * * * * Carnage is terrible. Death, and human
     features obliterated beneath the hoof of the war horse, and reeking
     hospitals, and ruined commerce, and violated homes, and broken
     hearts--they are all awful. But there is something worse than
     death. Cowardice is worse. And the decay of enthusiasm and
     manliness is worse. And it is worse than death--aye, worse than a
     hundred thousand deaths--when a people has gravitated down into the
     creed that the wealth of nations consists not in generous hearts,
     in national virtues, and primitive simplicity, and heroic
     endurance, and preference of duty to life--not in MEN, but in silk
     and cotton, and something they call 'capital.' Peace is
     blessed--peace arising out of charity. But peace springing out of
     the calculations of selfishness is not blessed. If the price to be
     paid for peace is this, that wealth accumulate and men decay,
     better far, that every street in every town of our country should
     run blood.'

Now it may be that it is God's purpose to save us by the war we are now
engaged in from such a 'gravitation'--to save us by war from calamities
far worse than any that war can bring upon us. But be this as it may,
one thing we must all admit, that horrible as war is, and dreadful as
are its miseries, no nation is fit to be a nation that will not defend
itself by arms, if war is forced upon it. And no nation is safe, or
worthy of a place among nations, if it is not prepared to maintain its
existence against invasion from without or rebellion from within.
Beside, to be prepared for war is one of the best securities against
war.

But the best, the only sufficient foundation for this preparation, must
be laid in _the education of the young_--an education not exclusively
military for any, but while professionally military for a sufficient
number, yet as to the rest, military in just and due proportion--an
education which, as JOHN MILTON says, 'fits a man to perform justly,
skilfully, and magnanimously, all the offices, both public and private,
of peace and of war.' 'The nation,' says WORDSWORTH, in the preface to
one of his grand odes, 'the nation would err grievously, if she suffered
the abuse which other states have made of the military power, to prevent
her from perceiving that no people ever was or can be independent, free,
or secure, much less great in any sane application of the word, without
martial propensities and an assiduous cultivation of the military
virtues.'




THE NOBLE DEAD.


   'Those great spirits, that went down like suns
   And left upon the mountain-tops of death
   A light that made them lovely.'




CAMBRIDGE AND ITS COLLEGES.


I love Cambridge, and must write very kindly about it. For in the first
place, I met there with some of the best men I have ever known. And
secondly, it has educated some very noted geniuses and fine poets. I do
not envy the American who can linger in its cloisters, ramble in the
college walks and survey the colleges themselves with an unmoved spirit.
Out of its courts marched Bacon, Newton, Milton, and Jeremy Taylor;
Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Byron issued from it but the other day, for
what are a few years in the biography of genius? And was it not but
yesterday that Tennyson wrote his prize poem there? It was hallowed
ground to me, worthy of not unmixed reverence, but of much reverence was
it worthy.

I went straightway to the residence of Dr. Whewell, master of Trinity
College, and he received me very cordially. His works are well known in
America, and I knew them, and directly made complimentary allusions to
them, which, did not displease him. 'Sir, you are welcome,' he said,
pressing my hand. 'You are very welcome, sir.' He proceeded to talk of
America, and spoke of Edward Everett, and his visit to Cambridge in
1842, and of the speech he made. Everett made a decidedly favorable
impression. 'We had a visit from another of your countrymen, last year,'
said Dr. W. 'Parker of Boston--Theodore Parker. A man of genius, but I
believe a rationalist in religion. He saw but few of our men, and,
indeed, we were not disposed to receive him. It would have created a
scandal. But he is a very clever man.' After tea, I repaired with the
Doctor to his study, and had a pleasant chat with him about American
literature. We discussed the merits of Longfellow, Bryant, Irving,
Cooper, Channing, Bancroft and Emerson. Of the last-mentioned writer, he
said, 'He is not like Carlyle, though the newspaper critics are
constantly associating them together. I have no sympathy with his
opinions, but I am refreshed by reading him. He is a strong man, sir,
and your country will be proud of him. Amongst our young men here his
opinions are making great strides. 'Tis the vice of the age. Germany has
had the disease, and is near recovery. England and America have caught
the epidemic. But pantheism, sir, will not live, though here and at
Oxford the students are reading Hegel, Strauss, Bruno-Bauer, and
Feuerbach. At Oxford,' he added, 'these pernicious doctrines are
demoralizing the university. Blanco White and John Sterling were but the
pioneers of a large party of university men, who are preparing to avow
their disbelief in Christianity.' The Doctor was right. Francis Newman,
brother of the Puseyite Newman, who seceded to the Romish Church, and
belongs now to the Oratory of St. Philip Neri,--Froude, brother of the
deceased Puseyite Froude,--Foxton, an ordained priest of the Church of
England, and Travers, another priest and vicar, have quitted Oxford and
the Church, and published heretical works, or are preaching heretical
doctrines; while, according to the testimony of Archdeacon Wilberforce,
and Dr. Vaughan of Harrow, the doctrines of the German theologists have
been embraced by half the undergraduates there.

The town of Cambridge is uninteresting. The streets are narrow and
dismal, nor have they any ancient buildings or architectural oddities,
except the Round Church, to arrest the stranger's attention, as
Shrewsbury and Chester have. The surrounding country is level as a
prairie, broken only toward the southeast, by the ridiculous dustheaps
called the Gog-Magog Hills. These hills belong to the curiosities of
Cambridge, and are as famous in university annals as the colleges
themselves. Robert Hale scarcely joked when he said to a friend who
visited him during his residence at Cambridge, and who asked him for
these hills, 'When that man yonder moves out of the way, you will see
them.' They are four miles from the town, and on the estate of the
Godolphin family, of which the Rev. Sydney Godolphin Osborne, the S. G.
O. of the London _Times_ newspaper, is the present representative.

I was greatly disappointed with the Cam. It is a narrow, muddy stream,
varying in depth from five to twenty feet. There is a deep pool near the
village of Grantchester, two miles from the town, in which Byron used to
bathe, and which bears his name. I would have the stranger that visits
Cambridge go to see Grantchester churchyard. It is reached by a pleasant
walk across fields, and is really a beautiful spot. Many students who
have died at college are buried here. Another walk of three miles along
the old coach road, leading to Oxford, will bring him to the Madingley,
with its park and mansion, the seat of the Cotton family. Before he
leaves this part of the country he should also visit Ely, distant twelve
miles, and see the venerable cathedral.

There are seventeen colleges and halls at Cambridge. The halls enjoy
equal privileges with the colleges, which is not the case at Oxford. The
colleges are: Trinity, St. John's, King's, Queen's, Jesus, Corpus
Christi, Caius (pronounced _Keys_), Sydney-Sussex, Magdalene (pronounced
_Maudlen_), Christ's, Pembroke, Emmanuel, St. Peter's and Downing. The
halls are: Trinity, Catherine, and Clare. Bacon, Newton, Byron,
Tennyson, and Macaulay were of Trinity College; Milton was of Christ's,
Gray of Pembroke, Wordsworth of St. John's, and Coleridge of Jesus.
There is an amusing anecdote of Byron current in the university, which I
do not remember to have seen in print. The roof of the library of
Trinity College is surmounted by three figures in stone, representing
Faith, Hope, and Charity. These figures are accessible only from the
window of a particular room in Neville's Court, which was occupied by
Byron during his residence at college. The adventurer after getting out
of this window has to climb a perpendicular wall, sustaining himself by
a frail leaden spout. He has then to traverse the sloping roof of a long
range of buildings, by moving carefully on his hands and knees, at the
imminent risk of being precipitated fifty feet into the court beneath.
When the library is gained, a stone parapet has to be crossed, a bare
glance at which sends a thrill through the spectator who surveys it from
below. This feat Byron performed one Sunday morning, while the heads of
the dons and dignitaries were yet buried in their pillows, 'full of the
foolishest dreams.' He had abstracted three surplices from the college
chapel, which he bore with him along the dangerous route I have
described. When the bell, at eight o'clock, rung out its deep-toned
summons to the usual morning devotions, and the fellows and
undergraduates hurried on their way to the chapel, they were startled to
behold Faith, Hope, and Charity clad in surplices which reached in snowy
folds to their feet, while their heads were surmounted, helmet-wise,
with bedchamber waterewers. An inquiry was instituted by the indignant
college authorities. A few select friends knew, and the rest of the
college guessed, that Byron was the author of the outrage, but it was
never brought home to him. No undergraduate beholds these statues now
without a hearty laugh.

When I was at Cambridge, the poet's statue by Thorwaldsen had just been
rescued from the cellar of the London custom house, where it had lain
for years amongst rubbish of all kinds, because the bigots of
Westminster Abbey would not permit it to be erected in the Poet's Corner
of that edifice. Dr. Whewell, much to his honor, though he is no
admirer of Byron's poetry, procured it for the library of the college,
where the poet was educated.

Many college anecdotes are related of Coleridge in Gilman's unfinished
life of him. (When will it be finished?) These, though they are not much
known in this country, I shall not repeat; but there is one current at
Cambridge which has never yet been published, from deference to the
feelings of the descendants of a vain, but otherwise worthy man.
Dr.----, the master of ---- College, it was known, aspired to a
bishopric, but for a long time he had been disappointed, though he had
assiduously paid court to the Tory ministry, and intimated, in various
ways, that he would have no objection to pronounce the _nolo
episcopari_. Was not Dr. Mansell, the master of Trinity, bishop of
Bristol? Watson, bishop of Llandaff, the apologist for the Bible, never
strove harder for the archbishopric of York than did Dr. ---- to get
appointed bishop of any see that might fall vacant. It happened that the
see of Durham, the richest in all England, worth at that time, $400,000
a year, did fall vacant, and Coleridge, with borrowed money, posted up
to London. In two days the master received a letter, offering him the
bishopric--it was a private, friendly letter from the first Lord of the
Treasury--on condition that he would support the ministry in more
liberal measures than they had yet resorted to. He assembled his
friends, and communicated the happy tidings. The next mail conveyed to
the Prime Minister his grateful acceptance of the dignity. He was
liberal at heart, and had always been so. His vote would be always at
the service of the minister and his party whether in or out of office.
The pleasing illusion was soon dissipated, and Dr. ----- never held up
his head again. Coleridge wrote the Prime Minister's private and
friendly letter.

I gathered anecdotes of Bulwer, Macaulay, and Tennyson, that are perhaps
not worth the telling. Bulwer was of Trinity Hall. He went one day to
bathe in the Cam at Grantchester, and was robbed of his clothes. Before
he could emerge from the water, the future dandy author of Pelham had to
borrow a suit of corduroys from a rustic. He crept down by-lanes till he
reached his rooms, but a friend met him, who teased him into an
explanation, and afterward spread the story. He was noted at Cambridge
for his foppishness, and for wearing scented kid gloves. Tennyson was
manly there, and gentlemanly, as he always is. I shall have something to
say about him hereafter.

Connop Thirlwall, the present bishop of St. David's, one of the
translators of Niebuhr's 'History of Rome,' and author of the best
history of Greece that had appeared before the publication of Mr.
Grote's magnificent work, used to say of the fellows of Trinity, when he
was tutor of that college, that they were the wittiest companions when
drunk, that he had ever met with. It is certain that, thirty years ago,
they used to drink to excess, and the Combination Room was the scene of
numerous debauches that would have discredited a common tavern.
Everybody has heard of Professor Person's reputation in this way. He was
a famous compounder of whiskey toddy, and under its influence scattered
puns and witticisms in the purest attic Greek. Since his day, the
drinking custom is abated, and even Dr. Thirlwall would find in the
present fellows of Trinity College a race of men altogether unlike those
who frequented the Combination Room, and called for their third bottle,
in his time.

I was at much pains to acquire correct information respecting the system
of education pursued in the university. The son of poor parents, I
found, has but a small chance of receiving classical instruction in
England. At Cambridge the sizars, and at Oxford the servitors, form the
lowest grade of students. Formerly menial tasks were imposed upon them,
and amongst other duties, they had to wait upon the fellows of their
colleges at the dinner table--to bear the dishes and fill the goblets.
This custom has long since been discontinued; nor are the sizars of
Trinity and St. John's any longer distinguished from the great body of
the students by any external mark of inferiority. At the small colleges,
however, they wear different gowns, and are recognized without
difficulty in the street. Of course, in aristocratic England they are
shunned by the richer students. Their expenses for the first year of
their college residence ought not to be over $300, and are frequently
kept below $200 by the prudence of the individual. If, at the first
annual examination of the college they obtain a place in either the
first, second, or third classes, they are entitled to receive assistance
from the college funds. So privileged, they pay no rent for their rooms,
and their commons, or food, is furnished to them free of expense. They
are, however, made to feel the humiliation of their position. They dine
off the remnant dishes of the fellows' table, after the latter have
risen. There is certainly no lack of provisions, which are of a
luxurious quality, and are cooked in the best style. The head cook of
Trinity College receives a salary of $3,500 a year, and has about thirty
assistants.

The educational system pursued at Cambridge is open, I think, to one
very grave objection. Unless the student is tolerably wealthy, he is
deprived of the advantages which his richer companions enjoy. The brief
lectures--of one hour's duration only--delivered daily by the college
tutors to a crowd of undergraduates, are ill calculated to benefit the
striving individual student. As far as the college is concerned, the
youth is left to himself. If he cannot afford the expense of a private
tutor, his attainments are due to solitary application, and he is self
taught within the very walls of a college. The private tutors reap a
rich harvest from this careless system. They are usually members of the
university who have recently taken their first degree, and prefer the
large recompense of tuition to the miserable stipend of a curacy. To
each of their pupils--and a popular private tutor has usually eight or
ten--they devote one hour daily, and their charge is $70 for the term.
As a term sometimes expires at the end of seven weeks, they receive
about $2 an hour. This sum is beyond the poor scholar's means, and he
has to run an unequal race at the examinations with his more fortunate
competitor.

If appearances are to be trusted, the Trinity undergraduates are not
untiring students. They seem to pass their days and nights in the
pursuit of pleasure. The great evil of the English universities is the
credit system, and though Dr. Whewell endeavored to show me that it was
thoroughly discountenanced by the college authorities, he did not
succeed in convincing me that they were dealing properly with the
difficulty. A student, in defiance of all the restrictions imposed upon
his intercourse with the tradesmen of the town, may contract debts to
almost any amount. It is notorious that parents are brought to the verge
of ruin every year by their sons' misconduct at college, unless they
choose to contest the demands of the tradesmen in a court of law, by
pleading the infancy of the debtor when he has not attained his
majority. The college regulations demand that every tradesman licensed
by the university--and with none other is the student authorized to
deal--shall send to the tutor, at the expiration of each term, the bills
of the respective undergraduates who have been his customers. From the
position occupied in society by the friends of the student, the tutor is
enabled to judge whether he is exceeding his income. The expenditure
which would be excessive for the son of a clergyman, with a small
living, would be moderate for the heir to a peerage. It is further
required that the expenses of each term shall be paid before the
undergraduate recommences his studies, and any tradesman who is known to
withhold from the tutor's knowledge any debt, or portion of a debt,
owing him by any student, is immediately deprived of his license.
Nevertheless, all but a few of the more wealthy tradesmen conduct their
transactions with the students on the understanding that these
regulations are to be violated at pleasure. Thus, from term to term,
debt is added to debt, until the student is preparing to leave the
university. Then the tradesman becomes eager for a settlement. The
student endeavors to put him off with promises. The tradesman hurries to
a lawyer. A writ is issued, judgment is delivered, and the student has
to fly from the university without taking his degree, in order to escape
a prison. Or, if he is in his minority, proceedings are commenced
against his father, who, if he is a proud man, will rather pay the bill
than contest it, though the entire amount will seriously impair the
fortunes of his other children. Or he may deny his liability, plead that
his son is a minor, and that the articles furnished were not
necessaries. In this way, it has been argued by barristers on the
plaintiff's side that wine, cigars, jewels, and hired horses were
necessaries of life, and the presiding judge has sometimes ruled on one
side that they were, and sometimes on the other, that they were not.
Hundreds of young men have had their prospects in life blasted by this
system, and yet, no cure has been found. I heard of one instance, and it
was only one of many nearly similar, where an undergraduate had
contracted debts amounting to upward of $10,000 beyond his ability to
pay. Of this sum, I recollect some of the items: $1,000 was for cigars,
$3,000 for wine, $2,500 for the hire of horses, $1,900 for rings, pins,
and other trinkets, and only $200 for books. He had attained his
majority, and was sent to prison, his father resolutely refusing to pay
his debts. He languished in prison for two years, and died there.

Nor does it always follow that the undergraduate may be saved from this
disgrace and ruin by firmness and honorable principles. He is, for the
first time in his life, his own master. The superintendence of the
college tutor amounts to just nothing at all. Immediately he arrives at
the university, he is besieged by tradesmen. It is particularly
impressed upon him, that money is not necessary to conclude a bargain.
He can pay when he likes. Three years hence will do. The youth is sorely
tempted. He finds his new college acquaintance sailing under press of
canvas, over the sea of extravagance. They give splendid wine parties,
and invite him to the jovial board. He is bound to return the
hospitality of these prime fellows. One extravagance leads to another.
The port and sherry, that he could afford, shine no more upon his table.
He drinks hock now, and claret, and princely champagne, at two dollars
and fifty cents a bottle. He smokes cigars at $10 a pound. He is living
like a gentleman. Let the poor sizar toil over musty books; he will have
a race horse. 'Tis a fine life. How much better than a schoolboy's. He
speaks of his father as _the governor_, and talks in a flash manner of
the girls he is acquainted with. He thinks he will marry one of them,
but his choice is not determined. The college dons, professors, tutors,
fellows, know the temptations, know the risk, know the ruinous goal, but
no one arrests his career. Which is most to blame; the raw,
undisciplined boy, or the evil university system?

I passed a rare time at Cambridge. What delight it was in those cold
mornings to take a bracing walk into the country, and looking back over
miles of level land, to behold the chapel of King's College, and the
tower of St. Mary's church, which had been the land beacons of aspiring
students for so many generations! I verily believe that the chapel of
King's College is the finest piece of modern architecture in the world.
It is a poem in stone! Teaching so much--not of this earth, only; least
of this earth, perhaps. I never wearied of walking in it, and around it,
repeating Wordsworth's sonnet, and feeling that 'for a few white-robed
scholars only,' it was not built; but as an utterance of man's spirit,
more fervent than he could express in the articulate speech of man. The
soul of the individual, nurtured by any semblance of culture, who can
stand unmoved beneath that fretted roof, must be cold as the frozen
zone. It remains with me, like Niagara.

As a college, Trinity is the most interesting. The chapel is very
inferior to that of King's, but it is hallowed by the memory of Newton.
Roubiliac's statue of the philosopher is the chief object of interest,
and the Trinity men do not envy the scholars of King's their chapel,
when they behold that statue. The dean of Trinity, the Rev. W. Carns,
author of the 'Life of Simeon,' is the present possessor of the rooms
once occupied by Newton. The little watch tower where he pierced the
heavens with his telescope is still standing. One ascends it, and
surveys the firmament, not without a reverential feeling. Cambridge
abounds with the associations of genius. Chaucer studied here, and at
Oxford also, it is said; and in treading the great court of Trinity, one
cannot help thinking of Bacon. Milton's mulberry tree is yet standing,
and puts forth a few fresh leaves every spring in the garden of Christ's
College. His manuscript of 'Comus,' partly in his own writing, partly in
that of his amanuensis--of one of his daughters, it is probable--is in
the library of Trinity College, and may be seen by the curious. The
spirits of these venerable men still haunt the scenes of their studious
youth, and with their mighty shadows brooding over us, what is the value
of dollars and dimes?




A PHYSICIAN'S STORY.


'Phil, keep the office door shut and the windows open. None of your
sacrilegious games of marbles on the front steps. Behave yourself
respectably, and wash bottles till I come back, or I'll turn you off
to-morrow. Have an eye to Mrs. Thompson's gate, and if anybody _should_
call for me, you know where I am to be found, I suppose?

Phil responded by a grinning nod, the question was superfluous. It is an
attribute of boys of fourteen that they know everything they should
_not_ know, and if there be one of the class who excels his fellows in
useless knowledge, my Phil is that lad. Apparently busied forever in
those light but continuous labors which pertain to an office boy, he
contrived to keep a far more watchful eye upon my movements than I was
able to do upon his, and could tell (probably did) exactly in what
direction I usually bent my steps after the above formula, whether I
walked on the right or left hand side of the street, and how soon I
reached my destination--the number of times my tender knuckles came in
contact with a certain hard green door, and the reception that awaited
me inside it, the length of my stay--the only thing he had a legitimate
right to know--and the mien, cheerful or dejected, according to the
fortunes of the day, with which I returned to the empty office and full
bottles, over which he was supposed to mount guard during my absence.

Preferring not to notice the peculiarity of my assistant's manner, as it
might involve awkward explanations, I closed the door of his prison with
an authoritative bang, that shook the slate outside it, and strode with
hasty steps down the village street. There was no occasion for hurry,
the business I had on hand was not of a kind to demand it, and had been
pending a reasonable time; nor would any more haste on my part be lively
to advance it much, but would rather verify the old proverb, of 'less
speed.' I therefore walked fast purely as a matter of principle, in the
hope, that the village dames, who I knew were watching my progress from
behind the green paper curtains of their 'sittin' room' windows, might
possibly judge from my speed, that I had been called to a patient at
last. Vain hope! idle precaution! every one of those astute matrons knew
at least as well as myself the errand upon which I was bound, and far
better than I, as I own in all humility, the state of health in the
neighborhood, which precluded all possibility of any professional
exertion on my part.

And here I may remark, literally _en passant_, that the town in which I
had chosen to locate was salubrious to a painful and unnatural degree,
the very last place in the world for a young physician in ordinary
circumstances to seek his fortune, but my circumstances were
peculiar--it was not so much fortune that I sought--in short, I had my
reasons--and a large practice would have greatly interfered with my more
serious occupation. Still, I do not deny that a slight modicum of
professional business, just to fill up the intervening time and save
appearances, would not have been amiss, and I had been in fact rather
anxiously looking for some symptoms of the sort for a considerable time,
without any result at all. The inhabitants all took Hall's 'Journal of
Health;' they cherished Buchan's 'Domestic Medicine,' they studied the
'Handbook of Hygiene;' they were learned in the works of Fowler. Cold
water was cheap and plentiful, they used it externally and
internally--exercise was fashionable and inevitable, where every lady
was her own help, and every gentleman his own woodsawyer; food was just
dear enough to make surfeits undesirable, and medicine was so unpopular
that nobody before me ever ventured to open a drug store; the old ladies
dispensed a few herbs privately, and that was the end of it. People did
not seem to die; if anything was the matter with them, they
perseveringly 'kept on,' till it stopped, the disease retiring in
despair from their determination to be well. Fat parties, who ought to
have been dropsical, were not so at all--they grew fatter, and
flourished like green bay trees; lean persons, threatening to go off in
a decline, declining to do so, remained. Adventurous little boys,
falling from the tops of high trees to the stony ground, sustained no
injuries beyond the maternal chastisement and brandy-and-brown-paper of
home; babies defied croup and colic with the slender aid of 'Bateman's
Drops,' and 'Syrup of Squills,' dispensed by a wise grandma, and
children of mature years went through the popular infant disorders as
they went through their grammars, and with about as much result; mumps
and measles, chills and chicken pox, prevailed and disappeared without
medical assistance, and though all the children in the village whooped
like wild Indians, no anxious parent ever thought it necessary to call
in a physician. There was but one in the place before my advent, a
comfortable, elderly man, who selected the profession, as practised in
his native town, because it interfered less than any other with his
punctual habits of sleeping and eating, and was a gentlemanly sinecure,
possessing peculiar privileges. No patient of his ever dreamt of calling
him out at night, or keeping him away from his meals; the person to be
ill, chose a convenient hour between dinner and tea, and gave respectful
notice at a reasonable time beforehand. No extraordinary accidents,
requiring wonderful feats of surgery, were ever permitted in his
practice; no stranger shocked his nerves by dying suddenly at the
village hotel; no mysterious diseases, unknown of science, baffled his
skill, or defied it; the locality was too far south for bronchitis and
consumption, too far north for poisonous malaria fevers and _coups de
soleil_; and being inland, just inside the line of the coast scourges of
cholera and yellow Jack. In short, to quote the only epitaph in the
village churchyard, 'Physicians was in vain.'

It was a beautiful morning on which I took my way through this healthful
town--I mean, of course, professionally speaking, a very fine morning,
indeed. The air was warm and damp, as if laden with pleurisy and ague;
the ground soft and oozy, seemed a sure thing for rheumatism and
influenza. The sun unseasonably hot; fever and rush of blood to the
head. Old Captain Hopkins is constitutionally inclined to gout--he never
had a twinge through the rainy season, but it is just possible that
_this_ may settle him. Mother Hawks is rheumatic, is she? if she is
about, disseminating scandal to-day, I shall be avenged for her
slandering me; and the Sessions girls come out to get the news in all
weather. That vicious child of Mrs. Thompson, after keeping me in
suspense four months, will probably 'croup up' to-night, and its
grandmother Banks is off on a visit, and Dr. Coachey never goes out
after dark, and I live right over the way! With these encouraging
reflections, and a grateful glance upward, where a copper- sun
blazed through a sea of purple mist, I pursued my way to the mansion of
Colonel Marston, father to Miss Dora Marston, to whom I am honorary
cousin.

Colonel Marston's house is situated on a fine grassy knoll, shaded by
handsome trees, and inclosed with a well kept hedge; it is just out of
reach of village eyes and ears, but not beyond the pale of village
curiosity. Anybody there can tell you by what right I address good Mrs.
Marston as my aunt, and pretty Dora as my cousin, while being not in the
least related to either. My dear mother, now deceased, when a young
widow, possessed of some property and a little boy, married Miss Dora's
uncle, and became her aunt, thus making me, as I consider, virtually her
cousin. At any rate, for twenty years I have been a frequent visitor at
the dear old house, recognized in my cousinly capacity by the family,
and treated accordingly, and for more than half that time like a wolf in
sheep's clothing, have I sought the avuncular mansion with an eye to
Miss Dora, a fact she seems surprisingly unconscious of, considering how
many times, by hint and innuendo, by sigh and look, and tender courtesy,
and honest speech, I have shown her the place she occupies in my mind,
and given her, as it appears, the right to drive me out of it, if
possible. Tom Hayes is her favorite instrument of torture. He is the
young lawyer of the place, as I am the young doctor, and is advancing
about as fast in his profession. He is considered a good-looking fellow,
though I don't see it, and has undoubtedly a fine voice, upon which
pretext he spends about half his time twanging away upon Dora's guitar,
and waking Col. Marston from his afternoon nap. It would look better, I
must say, for a young man in his position, to be at home, waiting for
practice; but I have heard that he says the same of me, and perhaps with
equal justice. At all events, it was hard to find his horse already tied
to the gate post on that particular spring day, when warm and weary, I
arrived on the battle ground, prepared to put my fate to the touch at
once.

On one side of the house lay the broad white public road, from which one
deviated to approach this earthly paradise; on the other, a narrower
private one, a mere cart track, grass-grown, cool, and shady, leading
down to the mill stream that ran behind the grounds, brawling and
seething and swelled by the spring rains into quite a respectable
torrent. Down this path Dora always took me to walk when she wanted me
to say anything uncommonly foolish, which could serve her as food for
laughter, and down this path again we must always go when that villain
Hayes was of the party, and she wanted to play me off against him, or
him against me, or both against her womanly vanities. Accordingly I
found them equipped for a walk, loitering on the front piazza, not
waiting for me, however, as Dora took pains to explain, and as I could
readily believe, for they were flirting over a new song. Not in the best
of humor, I took the offered seat near them, wiped my heated brows, and
advised my fair cousin not to saunter through the damp woodland paths on
this most unhealthy morning. 'I advise you as a physician, mind you,'
said I, to give weight to the opinion which might be denied it in my
cousinly capacity; but she received it with utter contempt and ridicule
of my pretensions, gladly joined by Mr. Hayes, whose white teeth gleamed
wolfishly behind a long black mustache, at my expense. We had shaken
hands with great cordiality; I had inquired after his clients, he had
professed interest in my patients; I had asked him how he had enjoyed
the ride with Miss Julia Stevens last evening, and he had just
remembered seeing me, as he drove past Mrs. Hedge's in the front garden
with Anna Hedge; a reminiscence which went a thought too far, for I had
been, at the time of which he spoke, seated on this very piazza beside
the innocent young lady opposite, who now showed no tokens of the sweet
confusion, with which she listened to my broken confidence last night,
and only glanced from one to the other with guileless interest and
wondering simplicity.

Now I had said enough to her on that occasion to make me feel some
anxiety concerning her demeanor to-day, and some resolution concerning
my own. I had a right to expect, after the way in which she then treated
me, that if _my_ cheeks burned and my ears tingled, and my heart beat
faster, at the remembrance of that sweet meeting, hers would at least
betray some consciousness of the fact. But not a fleeting tremor shook
her little hand, not a shade of color deepened the rose of her round
cheek, not a passing emotion of bashfulness weighed down her curly
eyelashes. She was serenely self-possessed, superbly cool, and attentive
to the obnoxious Hayes, in proportion as she was disregardful of me.

Burning with suppressed indignation, I accepted her careless invitation,
and followed the precious pair into the shrubbery, there being no other
way of obtaining the explanation I was determined to have this morning.
I had often seen such demonstrations before, and borne them with
comparative patience, knowing how well worth the trouble of winning, how
true and tender after all, if only it could be reached under these
disguising caprices, was the wayward little heart that had tested my
love and tried my temper all these years. From her very cradle she
provoked me, from the frills of her baby cap she mocked me; and, grown
into the ranks of little girlhood, systematically aggravated me by
artful preference of all the little boys I most hated, for whose infant
attentions she unceremoniously deserted my elder claim and assured
protection. And yet, in all her childish troubles, from torn frocks to
Latin lexicons, she flew to me for aid, counsel, sympathy, and
protection, repenting of all her sins against me, and walking in a
straight path again, till between her sweet eyes, and her pretty
confessions, her helpless reliance, and gentle ministering to my vanity,
she had regained a larger place than before in my alienated heart, and
could afford to play the very deuce with it again.

'Twenty years of this sort of thing must have settled the question one
way or another,' I argued; 'there is no use in my putting up any longer
with this bewitched town, and my empty slate, Phil's nonsense, and Tom
Hayes's impudence, my aunt's sermons, and my uncle's lectures, and Miss
Dora's caprices; she has either flirted with me, or she has loved me
from her cradle.' I have sometimes thought the latter, but I greatly
suspect it is the former. Grand query, which is it? and I resolved to
know to-day.

It was in vain, however, that I tried during the shady walk to gain a
moment's conversation with Dora, a whisper in her ear, a look of her
eye, or a touch of her hand; such favors were reserved for the military
cavalier who walked at her side, exultant and triumphantly good-natured,
though I seemed to read sneering and defiance in the very cock of his
hat. Sullen and morose, as I saw her lifted over muddy places in his
proud arms, or climbing a stile by his gallant assistance, I followed
more slowly, and completing this pleasant party behind me and before me,
and about me, wherever he could get within stumbling reach, trotted my
favorite aversion, Rover, an ugly, awkward, senseless, and
ill-conditioned puppy, whom Dora had elected her prime pet and favorite,
for no better reason apparently than that we all hated him. The colonel
kicked him, Mrs. Marston chased him, the cook scalded him, the boys
stoned him, and I could hardly refrain from giving public utterance to
the anathemas that burned on my tongue, when the wretched animal, who
seemed to have an insane attraction to me, floundered about my legs as I
moved, or flapped his stump tail under my chair when I sat still. Dora
alone, with strange perversity, persisted in ignoring his bad habits,
his vulgar manners, his uselessness, his ugliness, and his impudence,
and set me at defiance when I objected to him, by pressing him in her
beautiful arms--happy cur that he was!--and laying her soft cheek
against his villainous bristles, till in very disgust and jealousy I
ceased to complain, and learned to submit quietly to his revolting
familiarities.

On the present occasion the few private kicks and pinches which I
ventured to bestow, availed nothing against his clinging affection, till
we drew near the water, and the sight of a rabbit's white tail further
up the bank effected my release from his attentions, for he immediately
galloped in pursuit of it, and a similar happy accident left me for a
moment free to approach Dora without the intervention of my friend, Mr.
Hayes, who had gallantly volunteered to scramble up a steep bank for a
cluster of pink flowers which Miss Dora persistently admired, as they
waved in inaccessible beauty above her head, though sister blossoms
bloomed all about her feet. Being thus freed from the attendance of both
puppies, as I suitably classed them in my mind, I approached the little
queen of my heart, who stood on the very verge of the wet sand, where
she had planted herself in express defiance of my professional warning,
with the water gently oozing up around her thin slippers.

'Don't come here, cousin! I'm afraid you'll wet your feet!' she called
out impertinently as I drew near; but her eyes were not lifted, and such
a rosy flush crept up her face as she said it, that I forgot my hot walk
and hotter indignation, and glowed less with anger and more with love. I
laid my hand lightly on her shoulder, looking down on her mocking lips,
and stooping, whispered something in her ear--in spite of female
coquetry (in her person), and her uneasy pretexts to escape, in spite of
Tommy Hayes, in spite of Rover, that marplot puppy, I had a moment's
hearing, and used it manfully, and as I whispered, my heart beat thick
with triumph, for she could not raise her eyes to mine, they were
pensively watching the source of the rippling flood, and bright tears
seemed quivering on the silken lashes, her cheeks wore a warmer scarlet,
her pretty lips trembled with the fateful answer, and I was sure it
wasn't no, and saw them pout, gracious heavens! to suit one of those
shrill female screams which more than trump of war or voice of cannon
strike panic into the bold heart of man, and unnerve him to the finger
ends. 'My dog, my puppy!' she sobbed, 'he'll be drowned, he can't swim!
He's coming down stream, tail first, poor fellow! I knew it was Rover!
Oh why don't you go and save him?'

This passionate appeal was addressed to the sympathizing Hayes, I being
in disgrace on account of an unfortunate ejaculation, wrung from me in
the first surprise, an impoliteness in strong contrast to the graceful
gallantry of the hero of the cliff, who supported the weeping maiden in
his arms, and tenderly soothed her excitement, as the unhappy Rover
wheeled and eddied toward us.

'Why don't you go?' she reiterated impatiently, stamping her little
foot, and as her eyes this time wandered toward me, I responded by
throwing off my cap and coat, and preparing to obey; it was of no use to
remonstrate or to explain to her that it was almost impossible to rescue
the dog, and that the attempt would involve great risk of my own
life--what did she care for that? The emotion I had so proudly
misinterpreted on her lovely face, was for a blundering senseless puppy;
the heart I had so faithfully served to win, was given to a miserable
dandy: what remained to me, but to finish a life devoted to an unworthy
object, by consistently sacrificing it in the same worthless cause; and
with the bitter hope that my failures would end here, I prepared to
plunge into the rushing water.

I could not help looking back at Dora, who, tightly clinging to her
lover's arm, had been hidden from me during my rapid preparations by his
tall figure and ample white linen robes. 'Don't _you_ go,' she had said
to him; 'let George go; if he can swear, he can swim--don't _you_ try,
Mr. Hayes!'

Mr. Hayes had no idea of trying; _he_ risk his life, a life so precious
to a world of spinsters, for a miserable fellow puppy! he wash the dye
from those perfumed whiskers--dear to the hearts of so many maidens--he
ruin those freshly laundered clothes, he abandon those new French boots!
Ridiculous! He glanced down into his companion's pale face with a smile
of exquisite amusement, as she said it, but Dora's eyes were tightly
shut, and she did not see him; so the sneer travelled to me, who was
about to drown in his stead for his lady's pleasure, and gave my heart
its last dying pang as I quitted the shore.

A cry of terror and recall, from what had been a dear voice, followed my
splashing descent into the deep water, and thrilled my nerves a moment;
but I struck out bravely for the whirlpool, where, plunging, yelping,
struggling, revolved the wretched beast, to whom my cousin had resolved
to sacrifice my life, and for whose sake she was crying on the beach.
Much time was lost in reaching, more in capturing the blundering fool,
who, mad with fear and fright, dreaded me more than the water, and when
I had him in my arms at last, we were rapidly shooting toward the cruel
wheel that splashed and creaked a hundred rods below, ready to suck us
in to certain death. Well, what would it matter? Dora would be sorry
perhaps, at least for the dog, and so desperately bitter and vengeful
was I that I was glad her clumsy pet, since she loved him so much, was
to drown in my company, that she too might feel what it was to mourn the
loss of something dearly loved, and that my death would be associated in
her mind with a painful event--in short, I despised the weakness and
felt my mad folly, but it _would_ have its way. I closed my eyes upon
the shifting scene, and tried to prepare for death, unconscious that the
current was bearing me close to the shore, and that my only chance of
escape was near. Something struck my face, a thrilling voice called my
name, I raised my heavy gaze, and there, clinging to the farthest
branches of an old tree that had fallen over into the water, and
stretching out her arms to me, was Dora, her cheeks wet, her lips pale,
her eyes imploringly fixed on me, or on the burden I carried, regardless
of the rushing flood that saturated her floating dress and tiny feet,
and threatened to bear her away from the frail support to which she
clung. Feeble, exhausted, despairing, as I was, there was a magnetic
power in that dear voice, in that beautiful pale face, that inspired me
with hope, and drew me back to life.

A few strokes impelled me nearer, the stream drifted me among the
sweeping branches, I was clasped in those beautiful arms, then seized
and dragged along by a stronger gripe, and presently lay half senseless
and wholly exhausted on the sandy beach.

I was content to lie there while I fancied I felt soft hands press mine,
warm tears baptize my face, and gentle touches extricate the gasping
Rover from my drowning gripe on his hair; but after he was removed, I
seemed to be more roughly handled by less tender fingers, and opened my
eyes to find the zealous Mr. Hayes kneeling by my side, and, under his
fair mistress's orders of course, doing his duty toward my
resuscitation, while at a safe distance stood Dora, her dripping
favorite sneezing and floundering in her arms, and her happy face
beaming rosier and fairer than ever, by contrast with her soiled and
bedraggled garments, as she pressed the precious rescued treasure to her
heart, and received her lover's congratulations on its restoration, with
only an occasional furtive glance at me, as I lay slowly coming back to
life under his active treatment.

So the tears, the pallor, the heroism, the daring rescue, were for the
sake of that worthless dog. I was saved incidentally with her
interesting favorite, as I might have drowned in his cause, and no
questions asked, and having accomplished my high mission, and preserved
the stupid brute, lay untended and uncared-for on the sand, dependent on
the kind offices of my successful rival! The blood rushed back to my
heart, the fiery strength to my nerves, as I slowly drank in the
bitterness of this cup.

'Your cousin's better, Miss Dora,' said the benignant Hayes. 'Aren't you
going to thank him?'

She moved nearer in instinctive obedience to him, bashful, tearful,
trembling, confused, but radiant and lovely as I had never seen her, and
lifting her timid eyes to his, as it seemed for further instructions,
with a gentle deprecating grace, while she carefully averted them from
me. I could bear it no longer, and with an energetic oath sprang up,
knocking the astonished Tom back into my place, and extorting a little
cry of surprise from Miss Dora, as I strode away toward the village,
determined to shake its dust from my feet, and never again look upon the
faces of the precious couple I had left. I rushed through my aunt's
kitchen like a whirlwind, on my way, and bade her good-by.

'Good-by, Georgy? what does the boy mean?' said she. She was phlegmatic
and slow.

'I mean I shall never see you again, aunty. God bless you, I'm going
away.'

'Hoity-toity, nonsense!' said she; 'some folly of yours and Dora's;
never mind her, a silly girl! you'll be my own boy yet, my dear; but
you're dripping wet, George; you have been in the water, you'll take
cold, child; here swallow this,' and mingling spirituous with spiritual
comfort, the good old lady poured a fiery glass of brandy down my
throat, and I poured out my sorrowful story into her motherly ear, as I
had done when an orphan boy, and all my life since, waxing warm with
anger and contempt as I told it, while her benignant face showed no
symptom of the indignation that glowed in mine; she pitied and soothed
me, but made no comment.

'So good-by, aunty,' said I, as I finished, in a tone tremulous with
weakness and wrath; '_you_ love me, if Dora does not, and _you_ will
remember me kindly I know.' I wrung her hand and kissed her cheek, but
she never shed a tear; she had been wont to weep like a watering pot
when I went back to school or college after a visit, and I had always
left her, loaded with biscuits and blessings, thankless prodigal that I
was! and disposed to laugh at her display of maternal sorrow. How
grateful to my wounded and sorrowful spirit, my outraged heart, would
such a demonstration of love now have been! but all were alike heartless
and cold to-day, and she smiled serenely under my parting kiss, and
said, as I ran down the steps, 'Promise me not to go before you are well
rested in the morning, Georgy; the coach does not pass through till
eleven, and you'll come back, if I have occasion to send for you--before
then--professionally?'

I bowed assent; what could I do? and, cut to the heart, went slowly and
wearily home. I do not know how or by which way I arrived there, or whom
or what I passed upon the road; I saw nothing but the darkness of my
fortune, and felt nothing but the terrible sorrow that consumed my
heart. Phil was astonished at the gentleness of the reproof he received
for being discovered with a crowd of young vagabonds playing pitch-penny
in my very office; but I was too broken in spirit to administer justice
on him--how could I expect him to be true when all others were
faithless?--and quite subdued and conscience-stricken he waited upon me
assiduously, till my last bottle was packed at midnight and I sent him
to bed, with orders to call me at sunrise. The stage came through at
eleven, and I usually rose at nine; but I scorned to comply with my
aunt's injunction, to take my ordinary rest, and was bent upon the
additional misery of rising early in the morning.

What weary, dreary hours! I heard every one of them strike, as I lay
tossing on the patent spring mattress, in that darkly shaded and
sacredly secluded room, where I was wont to sleep the sleep of the
sluggard, until I saw the day break, for the first time in my life, I
think, and the novelty put me to sleep, and thence into a dismal dream,
from which I was awakened by a tremendous thumping at the office-door,
and the shrill voice of my Phil, in communication with the person
outside.

'I shan't open the door for nobody,' that faithful janitor was
announcing, 'and if you don't stop knockin' on it, I'll come out and
make ye. He's asleep, I tell yer; goin' away to-day, and wants to get up
in time for the stage, but I shall let him oversleep hisself, and he'll
think better of it by to-morrow. Come this afternoon if you want to see
him; that'll do for _you_.'

'But I tell you it _won't_ do,' returned a gruff voice, which I
recognized as that of Colonel Marston's hired man. 'Miss Dora's sick
with pleurisy, she catched her death of cold yesterday, fishin' her
puppy out of the river. Dr. George was in it, too, and you'd better let
me in, for he'll be ravin' when he knows she is out of her head with a
fever this mornin', and Mrs. Marston sent me herself, and told me to
bring him back, and no excuse.'

I sprang out of bed, and was down stairs questioning the messenger
before Phil could invent any more excuses for keeping him out. Dora sick
of a fever, and I called in? my pride rebelled at entering the house
again, after the treatment I had received from its inmates; but I had
promised Mrs. Marston to return whenever 'sent for professionally,' and
my promise was sacred; the other doctor was worse than useless, and if
Dora should be dangerously ill--lovely, brave Dora, who perilled her
life for mine yesterday--for mine and the dog's-but never mind that now,
she was heartless, but could I find it in my heart to turn away from her
in her sorrow? Alas! I was still so weak, that my love drew me more than
my pledged word, along the well-known road that yesterday I had vowed
never to tread again.

My aunt met me at the door. I was breathless and agitated, but she
seemed more cheerful than I had expected; her eyes were full of tears,
for she had just come from the sick room, but there was a smile on her
kind face as it looked pleasantly into mine. 'Is she very ill?' I
stammered.

'Not very,' she said, coolly; 'come here a moment, Georgy,' and taking
my hand, she drew me into her own little sitting-room, and shut the
door. 'My dear boy,' she continued, placing both her soft hands on my
shoulders, 'I sent you rather an urgent message, for fear you wouldn't
come back in spite of your promise, and I want this settled about you
and Dora; you have tormented each other long enough, you with your
exactions and jealousy, she with her flirting and all that; I don't say
she was not the worst of the two, but that's over. No, she's not very
sick--don't interrupt me! She caught cold yesterday, as I thought she
would, in that foolish, wicked business you were all engaged in,
tempting of Providence I call it, but I hope it will do you good, and
learn you a lesson. What, Georgy! you expected a wild, shy young girl to
show you her heart without asking? you expected a spoiled, flattered
child, whom you have done the most to spoil and flatter, not to tease
and torment you when she had it in her power, and could you not bear it
better from your little wayward favorite, who, you know, was always
true-hearted after all? Pshaw, my dear boy, I needn't plead for our dear
baby. Poor Dora has a sore heart, for she thinks you have gone away in
anger forever, and her sins against you are all badly punished already.
I think you'll forgive her, and I won't tell you if it's worth your
while. She looks dreadfully, and feels badly, and as she has hardly been
sick a day in her life, thinks she is going to die, or she never would
have told me what she did tell me. I'm her mother, it's not for me to
betray her; but you're my son, too, and I wish you both happy. Go in now
and forgive your old aunty's long speeches; do what you can for my poor
little girl, and don't ever give me reason to repent putting so much
power into your hands. Georgy, my dear, bless you.'

She gave me an affectionate kiss, under more excitement than I had ever
seen her, and fluttered into an inner room, just as the stage rolled by
the door; to be saluted by a burst of sobs, and a strange muffled voice
asking, hardly intelligibly, 'Wasn't that the coach, mother?'

'Yes, dear.'

'Then he's gone, mother; George is gone, and he'll never come back--do
you think he ever will? I treated him so badly; I have been so hateful
to him you don't know, even when he nearly drowned saving Rover's life.'

'Poor Rover! he wants to come in and see you.'

'Don't let him in, don't you, mother; I hate the sight of him, ugly,
awkward fellow! he nearly drowned poor George, yesterday, and I never
can bear to see him again now George is gone; beside, I believe I only
loved Rover to plague poor George. Oh! oh, I feel so dreadfully, mother;
do you think I'm going to die?'

'Not just yet, my dear. Shall I send for the doctor?'

'No, ma'am, I don't want any doctor. I had as lief die as not, I'm so
miserable; beside, if I hadn't, Dr. Coachey would kill me, poking and
preaching over me. Oh, if George was only here!'

'George _is_ here, Dora.'

'Oh, is he really?' and she cried harder than ever. 'Well, I can't see
him, mother;' after a pause: 'Does he want to see me?'

'No, I sent for him professionally. I can tell him to go away.'

'No, wait a minute, mother; do I look so _very_ badly? Please make the
room darker; oh, I don't want to see him at all! I'm ashamed to see him,
but I will. I must beg his pardon for all my wickedness, before I get
worse, or he poisons me with his dreadful drugs; he hasn't had a patient
yet, and he'll be glad of the chance to practise on me, I know; he will
dose me with everything. And, mother, if George is coming in, please
turn in Rover.'

Quietly laughing, my aunt came out and ushered me with due ceremony
beyond the door, and shut it after her. In a darkened chamber, dim and
dismal, before a lowly, slowly smouldering fire, in a great stuffed
chair of state, sat poor little Dora, swathed in blankets, and muffled
in shawls. Her tiny feet were wrapped in a woollen bundle, and rested on
hot bricks, and her aching head was tied up in red flannel bandages that
smelled of brandy; she had a mustard plaster on her chest, a cayenne
pepper 'gargle' for her throat, and a cup of hot ginger tea stood at her
elbow; her pretty nose was swollen out of shape, her bright eyes were
red and inflamed, and little blisters had broken out all over those
kissable lips; a very damp white handkerchief lay in her lap, and two
great tears, that it had not yet wiped away, ran down her flushed
cheeks. Poor child! she put up both her small hands when I came in, to
hide her little red face; but I could see the 'salt pearls' that rolled
between her slender fingers, and melted my heart at once. Sorry and
ashamed, and afraid to speak, but more hopeful and happy than I had
often felt, I went quietly, and stood behind her chair.

'George!' she said presently, in her poor little broken voice. 'Are you
there?'

'Yes, Dora.'

'Are you very angry with me?'

I put one of my hands down over the chair-back, and drew both hers away
from before her face, and then came round and kissed it; I could not
think of anything better to do.

'Yon are not going away?'

I shook my head. 'That is not for me to say.'

'Who then? Will you please tell me what you mean, George?' She was very
gentle and submissive, but the coaxing voice trembled painfully, and the
burning hand I touched began to grow cold.

'It is for you to say, Dora, dear! Did you need to ask me that, after
all these years?'

Without a single word, but with a fond impulsive movement, that answered
quite well instead, she turned to me, and putting both her little arms
around my neck, laid her feverish cheek against mine, and cried, as if
her heart were breaking.

'My dearest! what is the matter?'

'I thought you were angry with me, and had gone for good; I though I had
worn your patience out at last, and you would never forgive me or come
back again. Why did you come back, Georgy?'

'Because I loved you, Dora, and couldn't stay away.'

'Yes, you would, if I had not been sick--mother told me so. I had
treated you too shamefully, and wounded you too cruelly; but it hurt me,
too, and I deserved to have you not forgive me for all I must have made
you suffer. You were proud, but you were very patient, Georgy; how long
have I plagued you?'

'Twenty years!'

'Then I have loved you twenty years, and tried not to let you know it. I
was very proud, very wicked, very mean, but I am sorry now. I was
ashamed to have you or anybody see how much I liked you; but now I don't
care, I'll tell the truth before I die. I am glad I am sick, George; for
if I don't get well, you will remember what I said, and will have
thought better of me; and if I live--'

'My dear Dora, you are to marry me in three weeks, so don't let us talk
about dying; you have a little cold, that is all, and I'll give you time
to get over it, and recover your voice, and get those ugly blisters off
your face.'

'Is it _very_ ugly?' she whispered, hiding it against my shoulder.

'Very ugly, indeed, and I hope it will stay so, till we are married;
then we shall have no more flirting with Tom Hayes; I would like to
have murdered him yesterday, when--when you wanted me to drown, and not
him, Dora.'

'Oh, George! I didn't know the dreadful danger till it was too late, and
you were gone. I knew you were brave, and could swim, and he wasn't or
couldn't; I thought you would do it easily, and never dreamed you could
be drowned, till you were in the water, and he told me, and then--'

'And then my little heroine risked her life to save me.'

'I wouldn't have cared to live without!'

'And cried over me when I was landed?'

'I was so glad and thankful, dear George.'

'But was ashamed to let Tom Hayes see it afterward.'

'No, only ashamed to speak to you, because I had behaved so badly;
afraid you would order me away from your sight forever, as soon as you
were able. I am bad, I know; but indeed, indeed I am not so bad as you
think me!'

Ah! how easy it was to believe it, with that sweetly humble voice
whispering in my ear; those pleading eyes truthfully looking into mine;
the new charm of her timid, deprecating manner, going straight to my
unfortunate, yielding heart, and conquering at once all the territory
that had not succumbed to her earlier graces, when in health and
spirits. Yet I had seen something of this 'death-bed repentance' before,
and I should have preferred to marry her at once, while the swelled nose
and the weakened eyes disabled her from coquetry, rather than to use my
humble skill to restore her to health and beauty, and the society of Mr.
Hayes--rewarded by having my marriage indefinitely postponed, and my
promised bride infinitely tormenting me. A physician is accustomed to
see promises, made in sickness, unperformed in health, and the debt of
gratitude, or otherwise, to the medical attendant left unacknowledged
and unpaid: he is obliged to calculate the chances of his fees pretty
closely, you see. These thoughts I was weakly about to reveal to Dora,
when a tumbling and snorting at the door announced Rover, and happily
prevented me.

'Shall I let him in?' I politely inquired of the invalid.

'Just as you please, dear,' she gently answered; 'if he is so
disagreeable to you, perhaps I had better give him away,' she added
timidly.

Heavens! what a change! I was completely subdued by that last convincing
proof of affection; though as to giving him away, what mortal in his
senses would take him? Of course he remained, to become a member of my
family, growing _dearer_ to us both as he broke uncounted crockery,
involved us in innumerable quarrels with our neighbors, and fattened
upon meat at ten cents a pound, like the favorite of a Chinese epicure.
At the very altar, or rather, I should say, the piano, before which we
stood to be married, he interfered with the happy arrangement of the
bridal party, with his ill-timed blandishments; but afterward did rue
good service by getting under the feet of my groomsman, Mr. Hayes, and
endangering his equilibrium as he was about to salute the bride.

'Poor Hayes!' I said, pityingly alluding to this failure afterward with
her.

'Oh you needn't pity him,' she answered spitefully, but fortunately
proving that the offence which produced the spite was not mine, by
standing on tiptoe to kiss me; 'he'll be married to Julia Stevens before
the month is out.' And so he was.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some time has elapsed since the occurrence I have here narrated, gave me
my first patient, and decided me to remain in this neighborhood, with or
without others; it is fortunate I did so, for the spell is broken that
held us in supernatural health, and no invalid reader of the
CONTINENTAL need address me for the proper name of the locality, with a
view of removing to its salubrious air. My practice is increasing
rapidly, in spite of Mrs. Thompson's baby, which has hitherto
disappointed my expectations of croup, but promises in time a beautiful
case of hereditary asthma. Captain Hopkins is on his last legs with the
gout, unless he soon resolves to spend part of his income in improving
mine; and nine of the Sessions girls have had the scarlet fever.
Rheumatism begins to rage among the old ladies, and 'neurology' is
greatly in vogue among the young ones; the late fine fruit season has
produced much cholera infantum among the juvenile population, with a
special tendency to cramps in the cases of the little boys; and the
recent fall in the prices of provisions has induced a similar decline in
health with certain of the rural economists. A railroad is projected
through our midst, which will bring foreign diseases and habits among
us, and turn our peaceful Arcadia into a miniature New York. I see, in
imagination, a busy and prosperous future in store for me; I see my
handsome and hitherto unused sets of surgical instruments often taken
from their case, for 'disasters,' 'collisions,' 'smashes,' and 'shocking
accidents.' I see fashion reigning in our humble streets, with her
neuralgic little bonnets, her consumptive thin shoes, her
lung-compressing corsets, and fever-tempting bodices, her unseasonable
hours, and unreasonable excitements and unnatural quantities and
qualities of food and drink; I see my little stock of drugs increased to
a mighty establishment; my Phil, of some use at last, dispensing them
rapidly, and Rover, hoarse with barking at the ringing of the night
bell. I see Dr. Coachey retiring in despair to his whist and his
sangaree, and myself sole autocrat of the village health; and brightest
of all these bright visions, I see my pretty Dora, the beautiful spirit
of all light and love in my household, infinitely lovelier and more
charming than even in her girlish days, but without the faintest symptom
of the coquetry that marked her then--blind to all fascinations but
mine, and such a tender wife, that she upholds my whiskers (which are
inclined to be reddish) to be of the finest auburn, and does not envy
Mrs. Tom Hayes the sable splendors which adorn her husband's face; in
short, I see daily more occasion to thank heaven for all the happy
consequences of Dora's cold.




THE TIDE.


   The rising tide sighs mournfully
     Under the midnight moon;
   The restless ocean scornfully
     Dashes its surging billows down
   On a jewelled beach, at the dead of night,
   That in the soft and silvery light
   That flits and fades, is sparkling bright,
     Laved by the changing sea!




LA VIE POETIQUE.


   He is not blind who seeth nought;
     Or dumb, who nothing can express;
     And sight and sound are something less
   Than what is inwardly inwrought.

   So seems it foremost of my joys,--
     Not ranking those that from above
     Assume on earth the name of Love,
   The feast which never ends or cloys.

   Nor is it less a feast to me
     If he, my neighbor, cannot break
     The bread with me, or with me take
   The wine of all my mystery.

   Not less a feast, if so well off
     He deems himself in worldly goods,
     That at unseen beatitudes
   He blindly flings an aimless scoff.

   Not theirs the blame who thus disown
     The wealth they see not as they walk,
     Nor mingle in their household talk
   What all to them is all unknown.

   Mine be the greater joys that tend
     To give me what I cannot give,
     And what in living makes me live,
   And what _I_ best can comprehend.

   And though, amid the daily dust
     Of moving men, I move a moat
     Within the sunbeam where we float,
   With mutual needs and mutual trust,--

   Though outward unto outward shows
     The kindred claims of sympathy,
     And hand to hand and eye to eye
   The generous meed of Faith bestows,--

   Yet am I conscious that I bear
     A something in me dumb and blind
     To all the rest of human kind,
   And which but one can partly share.

   Though in the turbulent stream of change,
     The pressing wants of flesh and sense
     Conceal my inward opulence,
   And clog the life that else would range;

   Yet am I conscious that below
     The turbid tide, as through the straits
     Of Bab-el-Mandeb's tearful gates,
   Strong counter currents constant flow.

   Nor do I love that man the less,
     Because, in our companionship
     There lieth behind the eye and lip,
   That something, neither can express.

   For inasmuch as mortal love,
     Being mortal, cannot fill our need,
     I feel the Goodness that can feed
   With droppings from the feast above.

   Whereby, in Heaven's perfected plan,
     Which saves from spoil of worldly flaw,
     I read the inevitable law
   Of compensation unto man.

   Thus, though I grope in darkest night,
     Of what men call a world of ills,
     The closer concentration fills
   My inmost with benignant light.

   And though I sit in dull routine
     Schooled to the scholarship of books,
     My truant spirit outward looks
   And Fancy fills the village green!

   Yet not in pride, oh, understand,
     Not pride of merit do I boast,
     Of that, which at its uttermost,
   Is of me part, like eye or hand.

   In awe, not pride, doth Fancy wield
     The sceptre of her gorgeous realm,
     Whose revelations overwhelm
   With sense of greatness unrevealed.

   Thus, whatsoever good is gained
     In fantasies of fresh delights,
     But wings us to diviner flights
   Unto the ever unattained.

   Nor need I more than this to show
     All proof of that astounding bliss,
     Which from the world of worlds to this,
   Through lowliest mind, sends conscious glow.

   Not clearer through the density
     Of darkling woods, do I behold
     The intervening flecks of gold
   Reveal unseen intensity.

   In this deep truth I hold the key
     That locks me from a world of pain,
     And opens unto boundless gain
   Of sweet ideal mystery.

   And though I may not hope to climb
     Above the level commonplace,
     Or touch that vital growth of grace
   Which shapes the fruit of deathless rhyme,

   Yet, will I bless the Gracious Power
     Which giveth strength to walk the mead,
     And catch the sometime wafted seed
   That ripens to the quiet flower.

   Or, when, foot-weary with the day,
     My longing spirit only feels
     The tremor of the distant wheels
   That bear some poet on his way;

   I'll deem it very kindly chance
     That gives the apprehension clear
     To feel the pageant, far or near,
   That moves to other's utterance.

   And if I can but feebly keep
     With reverent grace my share of good,
     And kneeling, gather daily food
   By gleaning, where my betters reap,

   Yet will I bless the Hand Divine
     That with the appetite for least,
     Transforms into perpetual feast
   The homely bread, the household wine;

   And place it foremost of my joys,--
     Not ranking those that from above
     Assume on earth the name of Love,--
   That feast, which never ends or cloys.




THE ASH TREE.

   'The Ash for nothing ill.'--SPENSER.

   'The Ash asks not a depth of fruitful mould
   But, like frugality, on little means
   It thrives; and high o'er creviced ruins spreads
   Its ample shade, or on the naked rock,
   That nods in air, with graceful limbs depends.'--BIDLAKE'S _Year_.

   'Nature seems t' ordain
   The rocky cliff for the wild Ash's reign.'--DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.


Those who would seek the primitive signification of all objects in
Nature, unroll their symbolism, and thereby attain the first historical
groundwork of poetry, must bear in mind that this system was formed,
and, indeed, ripely developed, in an age anterior to all written records
of humanity. By ascertaining what words are common to the Indo-Germanic
languages, we may easily find how far in civilization those had
progressed who spoke the old Aryan, the common mother of the languages
of Europe, India, and Persia, ere they parted to form new tribes, with
new tongues. So, by comparing the mythologic legends of these later
races, we may, with strictest accuracy, determine what was the parent
stem. That the religion of the British Celts had striking points of
resemblance with that of the Ph[oe]nicians and the Baal-worshipping
Shemitic races, with India and Scandinavia and the Greek and Roman
systems, is apparent enough to any one who will compare the names,
customs, and legends common to all. It was something more than a mere
coincidence which gave to Bal of the East and Bal-der of the West the
same significant syllable.

Yet it must be remembered that the further back we go to the primaeval
age of one language and one religion, the more obscure becomes our
medium of vision. We see that tribes intermingled, exchanging and
distorting traditions of their gods; that migrations disturbed the local
force of legends; that the time for celebrating the birth of Spring in
the far South or East became sadly misplaced when transplanted to the
North; and that, finally, the deep reverence and strange tales attached
to trees, flowers, and minerals, being too deeply seated to perish, were
fed by being transferred to other objects more or less similar. Thus
Christmas, derived from the old heathen Yule or Wheel feast of the
Seasons and of Time, and which, like all feasts, was founded in the
celebration of the revival of Spring, was actually held at last in
mid-winter. So the holly and ivy, expressive of the male and female
principles of generation, and of the great mystery of reproduction and
revival most in force during the Spring, were substitutes for other
symbols--possibly the fig leaves, lettuce, and roses which in milder
climes had at that season been employed to set forth the loves of Venus
and Adonis--of reviving and of receptive nature.

The most striking illustration of this transfer of earnest religious
devotion to such objects is furnished by the ASH TREE. In the far East,
men had, during the course of ages, learned to attach extraordinary
significance to trees, which, growing, decaying, and dying like man, yet
outliving him by centuries, seemed, like animals, to be both far below
and yet far above him in many of the conditions of life. In those
glowing climes the Banyan was regarded as the tree of trees, and the
mighty centre of vegetating life. Hence it was worshipped with such deep
reverence that even in modern botany we find it named the _ficus
religiosa_; and it was called by the earlier Christians the Devil's
Tree, in accordance with their belief that all heathen rites were
offered to Satan. For it was beneath the Banyan that Vishnu was born,
and under it that Buddha taught his sacred lore; it is in it that
Brahmins love to dwell; it is the living, green cathedral of GOD--the
leafy cloister of sacred learning, ever holy, ever beautiful, never
dying. Like GOD and NATURE, it is ever re-born; it falls drooping to
earth to take fresh root, and is, on that account, as well as from its
immense size, a wonderfully apt symbol of God renewing himself--of
revival and of eternity. It is named from some saint, whose soul is
believed to flit through its solemn shades, nay, to animate the tree
itself: no wonder that in the laws of MENU it was made the sacred,
never-to-be-injured monument of a boundary.[1]

Time rolled on--for the world was old then, though thousands of years
have since faded--and from the East there was a mighty emigration to
lands far away. What were the causes of this mighty movement--what was
it which transplanted the seeds of new nations and new races into the
distant Norway and Sweden? As yet, only dim, very dim conjecture can be
made. The Mahabharata tells us of a mighty battle which sent forth
hero-sages with their armies into the wide world; others have traditions
of divisions between the worshippers of the Lingam and Yoni, who
alternately contended for the supremacy of the male or female principle
in creation. Whatever the causes may have been--priest warring with
soldier for power, or a newer and a milder code casting off the older
and more aristocratic rulers into outer darkness--one thing is certain,
that they went forth strong in faith, fearless of destiny; for the
religion of primeval times was terrible and tremendous. It was such
religion, such absolute, undoubting slavery to faith, which wore away
millions on millions of lives in carrying out in dim, old, barbarous
days the rock sculptures of the temples of Ellora--which dug Sibyls'
grots, and piled together Cyclopean walls, and pierced Cimmerian caves
of awful depth and solid gloom, in the fair isles of the Mediterranean;
and which, it may have been at the same time, it may have been at a
later day, massed together the miracles of Stonehenge, the enormous
dragon rows of Brittany, and the almost indentically similar serpent
mounds of our own West. They are all of one faith.

Westward went the AEsir--the children of Light--from the land of the
Banyan--_In die weite weite Welt hinaus_--out into the wild, brave
world! Some went Greekward. There is a curious book, by an English
scholar, attempting to prove that the names of hill and valley, mountain
and seas, in Greece, and of the countries which lead eastward to it, are
all those of India but little changed. A problem awaiting the scientific
accuracy of a Max Muller or a Grimm, and not to be handily tossed into
shape by a poetic _Faber_, or guessed at by a wild-Irish O'Brien or
Vallancey, or a lunatic Betham. It is, however, worth noting that over
those South Slavonian provinces, _via_ Greece, flowed for many centuries
northward a strangely silent stream of Orientalism, but little disturbed
by the outer or upper currents of history. He who has dabbled in
Servian-Croat-Illyrian--twin sister to Bohemian--has doubtless been
amazed at the wealth of Sanscrit words it contains, albeit he may not go
so far as Pococke, who asserts that with Sanscrit alone one may travel
in those countries and be understood. Over this path it was, however,
even down to the middle ages, that a rich store of Oriental heresies and
forbidden lore flowed into freemasonry, into Waldense and Albigense
sects, into many a hidden doctrine and strange brotherhood now
forgotten or veiled under some horrible outbreaking of stifling passion
and terrible ante-Protestantism. Over this path, on which, in earlier
ages, the mitre and rosary and violet robe and confessional, and
doctrines of celibacy and monkery and nun-nism, and bell and consecrated
taper, and still deeper dogmas or doctrines, wandered from the East into
the Church, came also heresies, terrible as Knights Templars', which in
due time warred against the Church, and cleft it in twain. The doctrines
of wild sects, more or less Manichaean, which came forth strangely to
upper life during the fever of the Crusades, all seem to tend obscurely
from a Slavonic source. The vices with their adepti were reproached by
the Church, gave to most of the languages of Europe a revolting word,
modified from the name 'Bulgarian.' The origin of the earlier Bohemian
Hussite sects, with their strange devil-worship and doctrine of
transmigration, was manifestly Oriental. At a later date the very name
of the mystic Jacob Boehme--Jacob the Bohemian--indicates some secret
alliance with Slavonian associations; and if the connection of the name
with strange Oriental speculations be obscure, that of the teachings of
'the inspired shoemaker' with those of the East is not--witness the
often marvellous identity of tone of The Aurora with that of Hermes
Trismegistus. It is worth while in this connection to trace the
influence of Boehme-ism on 'the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany,' on
Anabaptism, and on the _illuminati_ of the ultra Puritans in England,
bringing forth Independent Fifth Monarchy men, George Fox, Flood, Law,
and Pordage. The seeds of this mystical heresy were obscurely
transmitted to New England, which has always had some 'GOD-Smith,' or
Mathias with his 'Impostures,' lurking among the vulgar. I have no doubt
that, through traditional influence at least, a Joe Smith and the
beginning of Mormonism might be found to have a direct descent from the
doctrines of early times.

Let the reader pardon the digression. I am about to speak of the Ash
tree--the successor of the Banyan--which has also its connection with
English popular superstition. However it was, when the wave of Oriental
emigration reached the utmost limits of Northern Europe, it changed its
character with the climate. From a vast pantheism of fire, it became one
of ice and of snow. In the grammar of its mythology, only a little of
the vocabulary was retained, but the grand system of construction
remained on the whole unchanged. There is the same stupendous
ground-plan of a cosmogony founded on a sublime view of the powers of
Nature, and the same exquisitely poetic elaboration of details in the
Edda as in the Sacred Books of India, though the one is illumined by the
burning sun of the tropics, and the other by the Northern Lights of a
winter midnight.

So the children of Odin needed a tree signifying All Creation, All Time,
All Nature, and they chose the Ash. Its picturesque beauty, its
lightness and easy flowing lines, combined with great strength, and at
times with enormous size; its elegant depending foliage and lithe vigor
in its prime, and its gnarled, ancient expression when old, well fitted
it to set forth the extremes of existence. The firm hold of these trees
in the earth, 'their obstinate and deep rooting--_tantus amor terrae_,'
as Evelyn expresses it, gives us a reason why the Ash of their mythology
was fabled to reach down to hell; while its stern vitality, expressed by
Horace, fitted it to be called the tree of life:

   'Per damna, per caedes, ab ipso
   Ducit opes animumque ferro.'

   'By havoc, wounds, and blows
   More lively and luxuriant grows.'

So the Ash became the Banyan of Northern faith, and the great meeting
place of the gods--as the reader may see in the following extracts from
the Edda:

     GANGLER demanded: 'Which is the capital of the Gods, or the sacred
     city?' HAR answereth: 'It is under the Ash-tree YDRASIL, where the
     Gods assemble every day and administer justice.' 'But,' sayeth
     GANGLER, 'What is there remarkable about that place?' 'That Ash,'
     answereth JARNHAR, 'is the greatest and best of all trees. Its
     branches extend themselves over the whole world, and reach above
     the heavens. It hath three roots, extremely different from each
     other; the one of them is among the Gods; the other among the
     Giants, in that very place where the abyss was formerly; the third
     covereth Neflheim, or Hell, and under this root is the fountain
     Vergelmer, whence flow the infernal rivers: this root is gnawed
     upon below by the monstrous serpent Nidhoger. Under that root which
     stretcheth out toward the land of the Giants, is also a celebrated
     spring, in which are concealed Wisdom and Prudence. He who hath
     possession of it is named MIMIS: he is full of wisdom, because he
     drinketh thereof every morning. One day the Universal Father
     (AL-FADER) came and begged to drink a cup of this water; but he
     was obliged to leave in pledge for it one of his eyes, according as
     it is said in the Voluspa: 'Where hast thou concealed thine eye,
     ODIN? Lo! I know where; even in the limpid fountain of MIMIS. Every
     morning doth MIMIS pour Hydromel upon the pledge he received from
     the Universal Father. Do you, or do you not understand this?' The
     third root of the Ash is in Heaven, and under it lieth the holy
     fountain of Time-Past (_fons praeteriti temporis--Urdar Brun_). 'Tis
     here that the Gods sit in judgment. Every day they ride hither on
     horseback, passing over the Rainbow, which is the Bridge of the
     Gods. * * * * As for _Thor_, he goeth on foot to the tribunal of
     the Gods, and fordeth the rivers Kormt and Gormt. These he is
     obliged to cross every day on foot, on his way to the Ash Ydrasil,
     for the Bridge of the Gods is all on fire. * * * *

     'Near the fountain which is under the Ash, stands a very beautiful
     city, wherein dwell three virgins, named URDA, or the Past;
     VERDANDI, or the Present; and SOKULDA, or the Future. These are
     they who dispense the ages of men; they are called Norn[=a]s, that
     is, Fates. But there are indeed very many others besides these, who
     assist at the birth of every child, to determine his fate. Some are
     of celestial origin; others descend from the Genii, and others from
     the dwarfs.' * * * *

     'GANGLER proceeds, desiring to know something more concerning the
     Ash. HAR replied: 'What I have farther to add concerning it is,
     that there is an eagle perched upon its branches, who knows a
     multitude of things, but he hath between his eyes a sparrow-hawk
     (_qui Vederloefner vocatur_). A squirrel runs up and down the Ash,
     sowing misunderstanding between the eagle and the serpent, which
     lies concealed at its root. Pour stags run across the branches of
     the tree, and devour its rind. There are so many serpents in the
     fountain whence spring the rivers of hell, that no tongue can
     recount them, as is said in these verses:

   '_Fraxinus Ygdrasil plura patitur,
   Quam ullus mortalium
   Cogitatione assequi valeat.
   Cervus depascitur inferius (rectius cacumen)
   Sed circa latera putrescit.
   Nidhoggius_ (the serpent) _arrodit subtus._'

     'The Destinies, who reside near the fountain of the Past, draw up
     water thence, with which they bedew the Ash, to prevent its
     branches from growing withered and decayed. Of so purifying a
     nature is that water, that whatever it touches becomes as white as
     the film which is within an egg.

   'Fraxinum novi stantem,
   Vocatem Ygdrasil
   Proceram et sacram albe luto,
   Hinc venit ros,
   Qui in valles cadit,
   Stat super virente
   Urdar fonte.'

     'Men call this the honey-dew, and it is the food of bees. There are
     also in this fountain two swans, which have produced all the birds
     of that species.'

Does the reader care to know the meaning of all this? It is hardly worth
while, since to those who feel its grotesque poetry quite enough of the
symbolism is already revealed. But let the plodding German FRIEDREICH
'have his say.' 'The name of the Ash, Yggdrasil,' he tell us, 'signifies
God's Horse, from YGGR, a name of the god Odin, and _drasil_, the poetic
term for a horse. With this name one hath GOD'S rule over all things,
since he ruleth them even as a rider controls his steed, and by
_Yggdrasil_ is consequently signified the almighty power of GOD. The Ash
is the Universe, its twigs are the Ether, spread over the World-all; the
eagle is the Infinite glance, penetrating heaven and earth; and the
squirrel the medium by which the deeds and condition of the Gods are
brought to men. The stags, whose swiftness betokens the restless, rapid
passions of man, are the ailments of the soul; and the green leaves
which they devour, are sound, healthy thoughts.' According to Hauch
(_Die Nordische Mythenlehre_, Leipsic, 1847, p. 28), these swift stags
are the four winds of heaven which scatter the leaves. The snake is the
destroying force in Nature, and in the clear fountain lies wisdom--which
at least teaches us the highly respectable origin of the assertion that
'truth lies at the bottom of a well.' In the next spring lies the
knowledge of the future--hinting at much fortune telling by means of
pools, and faces of future husbands in basins of water and mirrors;
while the three virgins are the _Parcae_--the goddesses of destiny. You
know these ladies, reader; but here they are grander, gloomier, diviner
than were our old friends Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. And the endless
strife between the eagle and the serpent, stirred up by the squirrel, is
the 'ever-battling, interchangeable action between Spirit and Matter,
the ever hence-and-hither rolling, as of waves, to good or evil in the
human heart.'

Quaint enough, yet strong, wild, and beautiful. One more explanation is
however worth the giving. In all countries and in all ages, writers,
from Pliny and Dioscorides down to the genial poet-author of 'Elsie
Venner,' have said or hinted that the Ash is abhorred by serpents--an
antipathy ridiculed by Evelyn, yet which I have heard maintained to be
true by an eminent botanist. In our Edda legend, we find an enmity
between the Serpent--the evil principle, and a foe to life and
peace--and the Ash--the tree of fresh, vigorous life; the first ever
striving to destroy the latter. Is this the origin of the old belief? So
in the 'Arcana against Enchantment,' a German book of 1715, we are told
that 'the antipathy between the Ash tree, blessed of God, and the
Serpent, which so hateth man, is so great that a serpent would rather
spring into the fire than into the shadow of an Ash tree.' And in
_Froschmaeusler_ the same idea is expressed in these quaint verses:

   'Ich bin von den Alten gelart,
   Der Eschenbaum hab diese Arth,
   Dass keine Schlang unter ihm bleib;
   Der Schatten sie auch hinweg treib,
   Ja die Schlang eher ins Feuer hinleufft,
   Ehe sie durch seinen Schatten schleyfft.'

   'I have been by ancients told,
   The Ash tree hath this gift of old,
   That snake may never 'neath it stay,
   The shadow drives it, e'en, away.
   Sooner a snake in fire would dash,
   Than through the shadow of an Ash.'

There is yet another strange superstition connected with the Ash, which
one hardly cares to grapple with--so vast is the mass of obscure myths
and doctrines which it involves. Let it suffice to say, that from
tradition and monuments, in vast variety, it appears that in very
ancient times the Passing Through anything was a ceremony of deepest
significance and solemnity. To go through a door, to put on a ring, to
pass between upright stones (as for instance, the _dolmen_, or those of
the serpent circle of Stonehenge), to wear armlets, all referred to
going from death into life, from ignorance to knowledge, from an
unregenerate condition to reconciliation. It referred to the life
passing into the womb and coming forth as birth. Going into an ark and
quitting it, was one form of this Passing Through. Caves were also very
holy, because they furnished apt illustrations of it. Spring was
typified as going down into the womb or cave or ark or casket or goblet
of the earth, and coming forth or being poured out again in fresh
beauty. Hence it came that marriage was surrounded in earliest times by
symbols of _transit_, or Passing Through. Lovers plighted their troth in
Great Britain, as is yet done in some remote districts of Scandinavia,
by joining their clasped hands through holes in the so-called Odin
stones. As the Regenerate in the mysteries were obliged to pass through
passages in rocks, it was naturally enough believed that those who were
ill might be benefited in like manner. Of course the Ash--the tree of
Odin and of all the gods--was hallowed in popular belief by healing
virtues; and Evelyn tells us that 'the rupture, to which many children
are obnoxious, is healed by passing the infant through a wide cleft made
in the hole or stem of a growing Ash tree. It is then carried a second
time round the Ash, and caused to repass the same aperture as before.'
This act of being borne or passing around a stone or stick against the
course of the sun, is a ceremony common to certain rites among almost
all nations. It was known to Druids and Hindoos--traces of it may be
found even among the debased Fetishism which lingers among American
<DW64>s. According to the old philosophy of planetary influences, the
Ash tree is peculiar to the sun; whereas serpents are consecrated to
dark and gloomy Saturn--another cause for the antipathy between them,
and illustrative of the reason why the ailing child should be borne
around in reference to the imaginary sympathetic solar rays of the tree.

All trivial enough, doubtless; no longer a matter worthy of deep
research and wise marvelling. It is not even worth the while now for
scholars to inveigh against the folly of such superstition. There was
indeed enough of it. It was believed that by boring a hole in an ashen
bough and imprisoning a mouse in it, a magic rod was obtained which
would cure lameness and cramps in cattle--the ailments being transferred
to the poor mouse, who was the supposed cause of them all. 'There is a
proverb, says Loudon (_Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum_, p. 1223,
edition of 1838), 'in the midland countries, that if there are no keys
on the Ash trees, there will be no king within the twelvemonth.'
Lightfoot says that in many parts of the Highlands of Scotland, at the
birth of a child, the nurse or midwife puts one end of a green stick of
this tree into the fire, and, while it is burning, gathering in a spoon
the sap or juice, which oozes out at the other end, administers this as
the first spoonful of food to the newly-born baby.' Trivial enough, yet
worth noting as the fragments and humble remains of what was once the
mighty mythology of the Northmen, hinting at the faith in the
life-giving and life-preserving qualities of the great tree of life--the
tree of knowledge of good and evil--the _eritis sicut Deus_ of Runic
lore.

Among the strangest and most beautiful after-echoes of this old Norse
faith in the magic Ash as the great tree of life, is to my mind, one
which has been preserved by Grimm in his 'Mythology' (2d edition, 2d
book, page 912), and which the German poet Hoffmann has happily turned
in a poem full of spirit and grace. The legend is as follows:

   In the churchyard at Nortorf will one day be an Ash,
   No human eye hath seen it, yet silently it grows
   Among the graves, and every year it bears a single sprout.
   Each New Year's night a rider white upon a snow-white steed,
   Comes silently among the graves to hew the sprout away;
   But there comes a coal-black rider upon a coal-black horse,
   And he strives to save the new-born tree and drive the foe afar:
   Long they fight till the New Year's dawn--until black knight yields,
   And the foeman hews away the twig, and rides into the dawn,
   But there will come a time,'tis said, when the white knight must yield,
   And the twig will grow and its leaves will blow until the trunk is
     great:
   So great that a proud war horse 'neath its lower branch may go.
   And when the branch is grown and blown will come the world's great
     fight;
   The fiercest of her battles, the last great strife of dread;
   And the war horse of the mighty king will stand beneath the tree,
   And the king will win, and all the world will be his heritage.

'The White Knight,' saith a commentator, 'is Freyr, one of the most
glorious among Norse Asen, or children of the gods--he who rules over
rain, sunshine, and earth's fruitfulness. His adversary is Surtur, the
Black Demon--a pitiless foe of the Asen, who in the great battle will
fight with the evil Loki--'the curse and shame of gods and men'--and set
heaven and earth afire. But then there will come a new heaven and a new
earth, in which eternal justice shall reign, and the 'GREAT KING'--he
whose steed shall wait beneath the Ash of Life--'will rule forever in
peace and holiness.'

Dear reader, the battle between Freyr and Surtur is ever raging--in your
heart as in all the world. But whenever a great strife for freedom and
truth and man's rights is battled out, _then_ the branch has grown, and
the horse of the Great King is saddled beneath the Ash, and his rule
draws nearer than ever. Even as I write the battle rages, as it never
raged before on earth, between the infernal Loki and Surtur and the
glorious Asen--the great children of light and of truth. You, soldier of
the Lord, who read these lines--you, whose musket is borne in defence of
the Union, are as true a child of the great race of light as was ever
Odin or Balder, and you are in this great fight fulfilling the
prophecies of a thousand years aforetime, which foretold the final
battle of freedom. _You_ too are of the Northmen, the children of Odin
and of Freyr, the inexhaustible race of warriors and of workmen--the
free laborers who forged the swords they wielded against the dark and
wily fiend who stole his weapons from the foe ere the war began. And the
Horse so easily ruled--the all-powerful WILL--stands bridled beneath the
eternal Ash Tree of Life; and while he lives and the tree grows, hope
need not perish, and freedom cannot die.

In a Floral Lexicon I find it stated that the Ash tree signifies
'grandeur.' _E ben trovato_--it is not badly imagined--but its real
meaning is _life_, and that not mere existence, but fresh, vigorous,
exuberant life, the life of action and of enjoyment. The shaft of the
Greek spear, which healed the wound given by the point, was, I doubt
not, made of Ash, even as was that which slew Achilles. Thus the Ash, it
will be seen, was an important letter in the ancient alphabet of the
mysteries. May I hope that when you next sit beneath its graceful
boughs, you will recall some of the lore which hallows it, and makes it
a strange, living antique, not less curious than coin, weapon, or gem.
Read it in all the significance, all the strange spirit of the old
mythology, and then think what Nature must have been--or what it may yet
be--to men finding as deep a symbol as even the Ash in every high place
above the valleys, in every stream, cave, and rivulet, and in every
green tree.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: 'On an island of the river Nerbudda, twelve miles beyond
Broach, in the presidency of Bombay, stands the Banyan-tree, long since
mentioned by MILTON, and more recently described by HEBER. It is called
KUREOR BUR, after the Hindu saint who planted it.'

<sc>Dierbach, _Flora Mythologica_, page 22.]




THE DRUM.

[RUeCKERT.]

   'On, the drum--it rattles so loud!
     There's no such stirring sound
     Is heard the wide world round,
   As the drum----.'




AN ENGLISHMAN IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

DECEMBER, 1860, AND JULY, 1862.


CHAPTER FIRST.

'The happiest people on the face of the earth, sir!'

I had heard the assertion in almost all of the slave States, and knew
something of the institution on which it was based: I was now listening
to the familiar sentence at an epoch that has become historical. I sat
in Charleston, South Carolina, during Secession time, December, 1860.

'They are better fed and better treated than any peasantry in the
civilized world. I've travelled in Europe and seen for myself, sir. What
do you think of women--white women--working in the fields and living on
nothing better than thin soup and vegetables, as they do in France, all
the year round? And a man, with a family of nine children to support,
breaking stones on the high road, in winter, for eight English shillings
a week? Such a thing couldn't happen in South Carolina--in all the
South, sir!'

'Perhaps not!' I didn't add that worse social wrongs might and did occur
daily, in the eulogized region; knowing the utter unprofitableness of
any such discussion, not to mention its danger at a period rife with
excitement.

'You are an Englishman,' continued my interlocutor--a portly,
middle-aged, handsome man, to whom I had been introduced just before the
hotel dinner, toward the close of which our colloquy occurred--'and
therefore a born abolitionist--as a matter of sentiment, that is. You
know nothing at all about the workings of our institution, excepting
what the d--d Yankees please to write about us, and the word _slavery_
shocks you. Call it servitude, vassalage, anything else, it might be
endurable enough. One of the advantages, by the way, that Secession is
going to bring with it is, that the world will be brought into direct
contact with us, and thus see us as we are, not through the eyes of the
North.'

'You are in earnest about Secession, then?'

'In earnest! by ---- I should think we were! Don't you _know_ we are,
from what you have seen here?'

I did, and a moment's reflection might have checked my thoughtless
inquiry. I said so.

'Yes, South Carolina's going out of the Union, with or without backers,
and she intends to stay out, too; never were people more unanimous. The
North has got so far toward being abolitionized as to elect a man
avowedly hostile to our institutions, and we are only providing for our
safety by seceding. It's quite time. Essentially we are a different
people: we shall be the best friends in the world separate. It's all a
question of difference of opinion about labor; the North prefers a
system regulated by the mercenary dictates of traffic, ruled by capital,
and subject to the chronic difficulties of strikes and starvation; the
South, a simpler relation, binding master and slave together for their
mutual benefit, abolishing pauperism, and dividing society into two
unmistakable, harmonious classes--the well-fed, well-cared for, happy
<DW64>, and the wealthy, intelligent slaveowner.'

I thought I had read something very like the speaker's sentiments in
that morning's _Mercury_, but didn't say so. I thought also of the
existence of another class at the South besides the two so favorably
characterized, of which I had seen a good representative in a coarse,
half-inebriated, shabbily dressed individual, who, just after
breakfast, had reeled through the crowd always assembled in the large
hall of the hotel to exchange and discuss the news, boasting that a son
of his had 'cut a man's throat the other day, down on the island,' and
admiringly wondering whether it was the paternal or maternal side that
he got his bravery from. I deemed it, however, advisable to be reticent
on this head. And my reward followed.

'Come, Mr.----, you have been in most of the Mississippi States, I
believe, but were never in the Carolinas before, so you don't know how
we old-fashioned folks live on our plantations. Suppose you pay me a
visit at my place on ---- Island, and see? I come of English blood,
myself; my grandfather was a Tory in the Revolution'--with a laugh--'and
you'll find us a good deal more British than you think possible here in
America. England and South Carolina are mother and daughter, you know;
and under the influence of free trade, we're bound to be very intimate.
All we of the South ask is that our institutions shall speak for
themselves, and I can trust a Britisher's proverbial love of fair play
to report us as he finds us. What do you say? I'm going down to the
island for a week on Wednesday; will you spend your Christmas with me?'

The invitation was given with an offhand cordiality decidedly
prepossessing. Expressing my thanks, I at once accepted it in the spirit
it was offered.

'That's right! you're my guest, then;' and the Colonel--he had been
presented to me by that military designation--shook me by the hand.
'Will you walk?' And we strolled out together into the hall before
mentioned.

If I were writing an article on Charleston in Secession time, now, here
was an opportunity for description. What a strange, what a memorable
period it was! involuntarily reminding one of an historic parallel in
the roseate aspect presented by the early days of the first French
revolution, when everybody had hailed as the dawning of a celestial
morrow the putrescent glow of old corruption blending into the lurid
fire of the coming _sans-culottic_ hell. In this case also an infernal
_ignis fatuus_ had arisen to tempt its deluded followers toward a
selfish fool's paradise, only to be obtained by wading through seas of
fratricidal blood. And how they believed in this impossible future in
'the cradle of the rebellion!' Only a minority of darker conspirators
apprehended--hoped for--war, thinking it necessary to precipitate the
remainder of the Southern States into revolution, and the establishment
of a separate nationality; the great majority of South Carolinians
accepting Secession with an enthusiasm (or rather self-exaltation) and
confidence astounding to witness. There would be no collision; the North
could not and dared not push it to the extreme issue; she must endure
the punishment due to her 'fanaticism' in inevitable bankruptcy and
beggary, while the South, the seat of 'a great, free, and prosperous
people, whose renown must spread throughout the civilized world, and
pass down to the remotest ages' (I quote from the ordinance of
Secession), had infinite possibilities before it. Jack Cade's
commonwealth, Panurge's 'world, in which all men shall be debtors and
borrowers,' Gonzalo's imaginary kingdom in the _Tempest_, were not a
whit more extravagant than what was hourly talked of and expected from
this longed-for slaveholding confederacy at this time in Charleston. But
enough of digression on a subject merely incidental to this narrative.

Three days after my conversation with the Colonel, when the city was
jubilant with the passage of the act of Secession, I accompanied him to
the plantation spoken of. It involved a little steamboat journey, sundry
rides in chaise or buggy, and the crossing of more than one of the many
creeks or rivers intersecting the low, sandy, swampy coast. I purposely
abstain from particularizing the locality. It was toward the close of a
mild, humid day when we reached the Colonel's residence.

Suppose an old-fashioned two-story house, one of a very common pattern
in this region, built of wood, and standing on an open foundation of
brick, with a tall, formal chimney projecting at either end, a broad
piazza, and a great flight of wooden steps in front and rear, the latter
looking seaward. Like the house of Chaucer's Reeve, in summer it must
have been all 'yshadowed with greene trees,' the cedar, the cottonwood,
the liveoak, fig, mulberry, and magnolia, growing in the sand or light
soil accruing from vegetable decomposition; and as the evergreens
predominated, its winter aspect was yet pleasant and rural,
notwithstanding a certain air of dilapidation and decay, so common in
Southern dwellings that the inhabitants seem to be unconscious of it.
Adjacent, beyond the short avenue of orange trees by which we had
approached, was a double row of <DW64> huts, with little gardens between
them, forming a rustic lane; farther on, corn and cotton fields. The
geography of the island might be stated as follows: interior woods,
girdled by plantations, with houses on the seaboard or shores of the
river or inlets; a road circumscribing it, and one running across it.

We were welcomed by the appearance of two or three decently clad
house-servants, mulattoes, and an athletic <DW64>, of average
nigritude,[2] every tooth in whose head glistened, as his black face
rippled into a laugh, when his master favored him with some familiar and
approving jocularity. Officiously taking charge of the horse and buggy,
he conveyed them to a spacious but dilapidated stable (the door of
which, I remarked, hung only by its lower hinge), while the servants
were equally zealous in transporting what little baggage we had into the
house. There the Colonel presented me to his daughters, two tall and
rather handsome girls of the ages of eighteen and twenty, dressed in
deep mourning (their mother had died but recently), their aunt, a staid,
elderly matron, who seemed installed as housekeeper, and a fat, careless
gentleman in shirt sleeves, with a cigar in his mouth, who impressed me
as an indolent and improvident poor relation of my host, as, indeed, he
proved. There was present, also, the child of a neighbor, a little
fair-haired girl, called Nelly, who, hearing my nationality mentioned,
would not approach me, which the Colonel accounted for by surmising that
she had received 'Tory' impressions of Britisher's from her parent's
<DW64>s.

A sincere, if a quiet welcome, and an excellent dinner, comprising fish,
game, chickens, bacon, hominy, corn and wheaten bread, and sweet
potatoes of a succulence and flavor only attainable in Dixie, all served
by decorous and attentive <DW64>s, made me feel very contented with my
position. Nor were the surroundings inharmonious. We sat by a wood fire,
burning in a fireplace which contained, instead of a grate,
old-fashioned iron dogs: most of the furniture, with the exception of a
handsome piano, was ancient, and the room ornamented with books,
pictures, and mineral curiosities. Among the former I noticed a row of
volumes of British parliamentary debates in old print, contemporary with
the age succeeding Johnson. Really, as my host had boasted, his
household gods were decidedly English--_colonial_ English; and I began
to understand the peculiar, ante-revolutionary, patrician
characteristics on which he and his class evidently prided themselves.
He showed me a portrait of an ancestor who had held high office in the
days of Governor Oglethorpe, an old-fashioned miniature on ivory,
charmingly painted, in the style of Malbone, and one could easily
recognize in it the features of his descendant. In conversing, too, on
the early history of the State, of which he had much to say that I
found interesting, he always assumed that a popular, democratic form of
government was rather a mistake than otherwise,[3] and, without
absolutely condemning the Revolution, implied that South Carolina had
been moved to her limited share in it against her direct interests, by a
high-spirited patriotism and sympathy with the at present ungrateful and
venal North. I do not think that the fact of my nationality influenced
him in this; he evidently spoke his convictions.

The ladies were at first reserved, acting, I believe, under the
impression that their father's brief knowledge of me hardly warranted my
introduction to his family; indeed, I am sure it was exceptional, from
all I have since learned of South Carolinian society. The casual
mention, however, of the names of a few mutual acquaintances, of
unexceptional 'blue blood,' and the fact that both ladies had visited
Europe, establishing topics of conversation, they presently warmed into
cordiality. I found them well informed and agreeable, less demonstrative
in their self-assertion than their Northern sisterhood, but latently
wilful, and assumptive of a superior elevation hardly justified by their
general air of languid refinement. It reminded me, on the whole, of what
I had heard complacently eulogized in Charleston as a tendency toward
'Orientalism' on the part of the women, of which the characteristics
were repose, fastidiousness, and exclusiveness--one of the many
admirable results of the fundamental institution.

The ladies were, of course, ardent secessionists, expressing themselves
with a bitterness, an acrimony, an unreasonableness, which might have
astonished me, had I been capable of such a feeling on the subject.
Inevitably we slid on to it, when I learnt that their only brother was
away doing military duty on Sullivan's Island, and so zealous in the
discharge of his assumed obligations that he intended to spend his
Christmas in camp, not, as usual, upon the plantation.

'You'll be sorry to hear that, Pomp,' said the Colonel to an evidently
favorite servant, who had waited upon us most assiduously, and who was
then kneeling before the fat gentleman, and putting a pair of slippers
on his feet. He, by the way, had contributed very little to the
conversation, only assenting, smiling, and looking the picture of ease
and good humor, as he sat lazily beaming behind a tumbler full of
Bourbon whiskey and water.

'Yes, sar!' the <DW64> answered, 'too bad, mass' Philip not come home for
de holidays. All de people 'spect him.'

'That's a first-rate boy,' said his master, as the <DW64> left the room
to fetch something; 'I wouldn't take two thousand dollars for him.'
(Every one familiar with the South, must have heard similar encomiums
hundreds of times: each household appears to pride itself on the
possession of some singularly admirable <DW64>, whose capacity, honesty,
and fidelity are vaunted with an air of conscious magnanimity edifying
to witness. The desired inference is that the institution, productive of
so much mutual appreciation, _must_ be excellent. It never seems to
occur to the eulogists that the good is exceptional, or that the praised
characteristics might be alleged as an argument for emancipation.)

'That boy has been North with me,' the Colonel continued, 'to
Washington, Philadelphia, and as far as New York. The abolitionists got
hold of him at the last place, and wanted to run him off to Canada, but
Pomp preferred old Carolina. You don't want to be free, do you, Pomp?'

This was a leading question. The slave hesitated a moment, grinned, and
evaded it,

''Pears like de <DW52> people at de Norf was mostly a mis'able set,' he
answered: _'can't shum!'_

'You can't see it!' said his master, delighted, and translating a very
popular <DW64> phrase for my benefit. And incontinently he launched into
a defence and eulogium of slavery, which I shall not oblige my readers
to skip by recording. The topic is one on which Southerners are never
wearied; and a more uneasy people on the subject than South Carolinians
it would be impossible to imagine: long before Secession, they existed
in a state of chronic distrust and suspicion about it amounting to
monomania.

       *       *       *       *       *

Next day I accompanied the Colonel over his plantation. It was a large
one, somewhat over seven hundred acres, inclusive of forest land, about
two thirds being reclaimed upland swamp soil growing seaisland cotton.
An old family estate, most of the <DW64>s belonging to it had been born
there or in the immediate vicinity; there were about two hundred of
them, some living near their master's house, as has been mentioned, the
rest in a sort of colony at the other end of the plantation, under the
eye of the overseer. These <DW64> settlements merit a paragraph of
description.

Their huts were of wood, separate, and standing in little gardens, in
which each family enjoyed the privilege of cultivating patches of corn,
sweet potatoes, and such vegetables as they chose, a street of about a
hundred feet wide dividing the houses. Midway, under the shade of a
magnificent liveoak, whose branches were mournful with the funereal moss
(always suggestive to my fancy of the 'little old woman,' whose
employment in the nursery legend is 'to sweep the cobwebs out of the
sky,' having executed her task in a slovenly manner), was a simple
apparatus for grinding corn, consisting of two heavy circular stones,
placed horizontally in a rude frame under a shed, to be worked by manual
power, by upright wooden handles. This served as a mill for the entire
<DW64> population.

Entering their huts, you were first conscious of a large brick
fireplace, in which a fire was almost constantly burning, though it
scarcely lit up the generally dark interior, always much, more
picturesque than comfortable, for <DW64>s have little if any notion of
ventilation, and can hardly be too warm: they will kindle great blazing
fires to lie down by or to heat their food, in the open fields in
summer. A few roughly fashioned seats and tables, and a ladder
staircase, leading upward to an attic or cockloft, completes the
inventory of the interior.

We had passed the inhabitants of these huts, at work in the fields,
under the direction of the overseer, a strong, spare man, in a suit of
homespun, who rode about among them on horseback, carrying in his hand a
cowhide whip, which he had exhibited to me with a smile, and the remark
that 'that was the thing the Yankees made so much noise about.' It was a
sufficient instrument of punishment, I thought and said, adding that I
trusted he found infrequent occasion for the exercise of it.

'Well, they're a pretty well behaved lot generally,' he answered, with
that peculiar accent derived from almost exclusive association with
<DW64>s common throughout the South; 'but sometimes it 'pears as if the
devil had got in among 'em, and I has to lay on all round. A <DW65> will
be a <DW65>, you know.'

The subjects of this ethical remark were rather raggedly dressed, the
men in coarse jackets and trousers, the women in soiled and burnt gowns
of indefinite color, generally reefed up about the hips for convenience
in working. (Their dilapidation, it may be remarked, was due to the
close of the year; they would get new clothes, the Colonel remarked, at
Christmas.) They seemed, however, well fed, not too hardly tasked, and,
from a sensual point of view, happy and contented. The Colonel spoke to
those nearest him patronizingly, asked after absent or sick members of
their families, joked about the coming Christmas, and the 'high time'
impending, and inquired how many marriages were to come off on the
occasion--the <DW64>s generally deferring their nuptials till the great
holiday of the year. He was answered by a perfect shout of <DW64>
laughter, hearty, infectious, irresistible.

'Come, how many is there to be?' he repeated, joining in their mirth.

'Six!' the overseer responded, seeing that the <DW64>s did not reply
except by continued guffaws.

'Yes, sa! _ya! ya_ bound to have a high old _Secesshum_ time dis
Christmas! _ya! ya!_' added a gray-headed old <DW54>, quite overcome with
merriment.

'Why, you'll ruin the young ladies in finding frocks for the girls!'
said the Colonel; 'who are these future happy couples, eh?'

'Sal's Joe, sa!' 'Polly's Sue!' 'Big Sam!' 'Pinckney!' 'Cal!' 'Peter!'
'Jule!' and a variety of names were shouted out, not by the owners of
them. With a great deal of shyness and simpering and half-suppressed
grinning, and real or affected modesty on the part of the women, and
equal mirth and awkward self-consciousness on that of the aspirant
bridegrooms, the candidates for matrimony--or at least such of them as
were present, one couple and a 'boy' being away--were got together and
ranged in a row before us, hoes in hand, where they stood, to their own
and the boisterous delight of their colaborers. They appeared generally
young, healthy, and well-looking <DW64>s, some of them handsome in an
African sense. The Colonel surveyed them with much good nature and
satisfaction; he was evidently gratified at the prospect of so many
marriages among his own <DW64>s; unions 'off the plantation' being
looked on with disfavor by proprietors, for obvious reasons.

'Well,' he said, after addressing a few remarks to them, individually;
'I must talk with the young ladies, and see what we can do for you. If
Bones (the sobriquet of a <DW64>-preacher, belonging to the estate) won't
be jealous, I think I'll try and get Mr. ---- over, to marry the whole
batch of you in high style, eh?'

The prospect of a white clergyman, an honor generally reserved only for
the marriages of favorite house-servants, seemed to afford unmitigated
satisfaction to the field hands. They laughed again, thanked their
master, assured him of the perfect willingness of their  pastor
to resign his functions for the time being, in view of the superior
dignity accruing to the occasion from the presence of Mr.----, and we
rode off amid a chorus of jubilations.

'What would an abolitionist say to that scene, do you think?' asked the
Colonel, as we galloped homeward to dinner.

'Probably he'd admit that slavery has its pleasant side, but insist on
looking at both,' I answered.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: An inquiry instituted by Gen. Hunter, at Hilton Head, S.
C., during the past summer, for eight <DW64>s of unmixed African
descent, resulted in the total failure of the discovery of even one. So
much for practical Southern amalgamation.]

[Footnote 3: It was generally credited in Charleston, that, subsequent
to Secession, the convention had debated the advisability of attempting
some monarchical experiment.]




WHO BEAT?


   But warlike casuists can't discuss,
   If we beat them, or they beat us;
   We swear we beat, they swear we lie--
   We'll tell you more on't _by and by_!




THE CAUSES OF THE REBELLION.


When Jefferson Davis and his coadjutors so defiantly and with so much
apparent confidence entered on the path of rebellion, they probably did
not foresee the abyss into which they were about to plunge. They rushed
eagerly forward at the first call to battle; but they hardly paused to
consider how fearful a thing it is to light the flames of civil war
among a people long accustomed to peace and security; to marshal
opposing armies drawn from the late happy dwellings of the same
community, arraying in deadly conflict father against son, and brother
against brother; to add fiery devastation and reckless destruction of
property horrid carnage and the saddest bereavements of all kinds; and
to replace brotherhood of a common country, a common ancestry, and a
glorious history, with the relentless enmities engendered by rebellion
and revolution. What wrongs and sufferings, endured by our brethren of
the South, or likely to imposed on them by the National Government,
would have been sufficient to steel their hearts against the heavy
calamities they have encountered and inflicted, or to justify the
immense waste desolation already suffered in both sections, in
consequence of this most unnatural and fratricidal war? The most
ordinary charity would lead to the belief, that if the mighty woes which
have followed in the bloody path of the rebellion could have been
anticipated, even the bold, bad leaders, and still more the infatuated
people, would have suffered much and hesitated long before assuming the
dread responsibility. Hate itself, though reenforced and supported by
all other passions of a fiendish nature, would have stood aghast at the
overwhelming avalanche of horrors which hung ready to be precipitated on
our unhappy country. It is hardly within the limits of human depravity,
that evils of such magnitude, attended by such world-wide results,
should be attributable to the deliberate will and arbitrary action of
even the worst members of the human family. For the credit of our common
humanity, let it be admitted that the authors of the fatal movement did
really believe In their avowed doctrine of peaceable secession, and that
they could not have had the least idea of the immense proportions the
civil war was destined to assume, nor of the extent of ruin and misery
it would necessarily drag in its horrid train. And if the prominent
leaders did not intend all the sad consequences of their wicked act of
treason, still less can they be considered personally responsible for
the fatal popular enthusiasm which has so thoroughly sustained them in
their section. Though full of hate and animated by a spirit of infernal
mischief, they had not the capacity to stir a nation so profoundly,
except from the fact that they were dealing with minds already well
prepared for their impassioned appeal, and with elements which had been
wrought into discord by causes long preexisting.

In the midst of this stupendous conflict, individuals seem to be as
insignificant and powerless to control it, as if they stood, awed and
subdued by the warring elements of nature, and compelled to wait until
these should expend their fury and of themselves subside. Thirty
millions of people have been suddenly and unexpectedly divided, and the
sundered parts have been thrown into fierce and deadly antagonism.
Belligerent passions rage and boil among them with all the ungovernable
power of the angry waves when the sea is lashed by the destructive
tempest. The throes of the suffering nation are as terrible as those of
the trembling earth, when, by some internal convulsion, its very
foundations seem to be rocked on the fiery waves of the central abyss,
and every living creature on its surface becomes agitated with profound
dismay. States have been temporarily but rudely torn from their long and
peaceful connections with sister States, and great rents in the
political soil, filled with the bodies of slaughtered citizens, mark the
lines of separation. Vast armies have been assembled and organized, and
have met each other in the shock of battle, on fields made slippery with
fraternal blood, where tens of thousands have fallen to rise no
more--swept down by the relentless storm of iron hail with which brother
has greeted brother in this most unholy war. The measured tramp of the
armed hosts has shaken the continent; and the vengeful cries of the
unnatural strife have disturbed the inmost peaceful recesses of its
great central plains and mountains. From California to Texas; from
Colorado to New Mexico; from Maine to New Orleans; from the great lakes
to the coasts of the Carolinas; and along the measureless length of 'the
father of waters' and his great tributaries, the gathering armies have
marched or sailed, and swarmed to the beat of the drum and the sound of
the trumpet. More than a million of men, on both sides, have been
engaged in these tremendous movements, which unhappily correspond too
well in their unexampled magnitude with the physical character of our
magnificent country. Civil war has sacrilegiously usurped the mighty
instrumentalities of modern peaceful life; and the bloody and
destructive work of these vast armies is not less gigantic in scale than
have been the ordinary operations of our wonderful industry and our
ever-increasing commerce. The sacrifice of life, the destruction of
property, the desolation of extensive regions of beautiful and fertile
country, the vast expenditure of public means, all concur to
characterize this as the grandest and most terrible phenomenon of the
kind that has ever occurred in the history of man. To us, who are in the
midst of it, and destined to be involved in its results, whatever they
may be, it is a subject of deep and awful interest; and while the scenes
of the momentous drama are continually shifting around us and presenting
new spectacles of slaughter and disaster every day, it is hardly
possible to maintain the calmness necessary for an impartial
appreciation of the causes which have been sufficiently powerful to turn
the destructive energies of so great a nation upon itself, causing it to
rend and destroy its own body politic, so recently rejoicing in
unexampled prosperity and happiness. Some gigantic power, wielding
strength enough to produce the tremendous results already visible, must
be somewhere hidden at the source of these grand phenomena. In the
physical world, a small quantity of water or a few kegs of powder,
flashing into steam or gas by the application of heat, may be used to
overthrow the most stupendous material fabrics which the labor and
genius of men have ever been able to erect. What fatal means of
destruction, and what traitorous hand have been employed to drill and
charge the solid columns, or to mine the deep foundations of that
beautiful and majestic structure of liberty, which our fathers reared
for us with so much labor and sacrifice?

There is only one force adequate to the destructive work--the force of
false and mischievous ideas. Ideas have in them the elements of all
power. They alone move the moral and social world. Penetrating every
crevice of the social structure, they have the force of attraction and
repulsion; they consolidate and strengthen, or, like frost and heat,
they rend and crumble the hardest material, either slowly or suddenly,
as circumstances and conditions may permit or require. They have in them
all the terrible might, with all the explosive and dangerous quickness,
which belong to the most destructive of physical forces. When, in any
community, ideas are harmonious, they have an organizing power wholly
independent of their soundness or of their ultimate stability; but when
discordant and conflicting, they produce disorganization, ruin, and
chaos.

Unfortunately for our country, opposite and hostile ideas have been
growing up among us from the beginning of our national existence--nay,
from the very hour when the first cargo of slaves was landed on our
shores in the earliest days of our colonial history. Conflicting systems
have naturally grown out of these hostile ideas, which have thus
embodied themselves in the visible forms appropriate to their respective
natures. The colonial authorities protested against the policy of
importing slaves, which the mother country persisted in maintaining,
until powerful interests were gathered around it, and opinions were thus
nurtured to support and defend the fatal error. Slaveholding communities
arose out of this sinister beginning; they flourished and became
powerful States; and they finally presented the anomaly of maintaining a
noble struggle for national independence, avowedly based upon the
broadest principle of human right. They aggregated themselves,
eventually, into a federal union--a political nationality founded on
'the corner stone' of liberty, and not of slavery. In view of all the
circumstances, this was a wonderful result; but the old original
opposition, which had been incapable of resisting slavery in the days of
colonial infancy and weakness, had not yet been subdued on the day when
the nation arrived at its majority and assumed the rights of manhood.
The venerable patriots of the revolution were men of the most
enlightened and liberal views on the subject; so much so, indeed, as to
shame the degeneracy of their unworthy successors in those States which
still retain the slave institution. With the general consent, in the
Constitution of 1787, the germs of freedom were planted, while at the
same time, apparently as a matter of course, the flourishing tree of
slavery was effectually girdled, and the axe was already laid at its
root. Three very simple provisions effectually secured this momentous
result. The provision for stopping the slave trade in 1808, and the
antagonist clause for opening wide the gates of our country to the
immigration of free white men, together with that which restricted the
representation of slave populations in the proportion of three to
five--these cardinal provisions marked the certain doom of slavery. In
the lapse of time, and with the operation of ordinary social causes, the
result was as certain and inevitable as any other effect of natural
laws. In spite of the universal prevalence of slavery at first, free
labor pushed itself forward and won its way, until, in more than half
the original States, slave labor had receded before it and disappeared
forever. The wisdom of those great fundamental provisions of our
Constitution has been fully vindicated by the results of eighty years'
experience. They have worked smoothly and progressively, in perfect
conformity with that universal social law which, has made slavery a
temporary and transitional institution wherever it has existed among
civilized nations.

That such a law exists can hardly be questioned. Its operation is
apparent, not only in the partial experience of our own country, but in
that of all others where the natural social tendencies have had
unimpeded sway. No one has ever denied its existence among the white
races; for there it has operated invariably to bring certain
emancipation, whenever any nation has reached the proper position in the
scale of progress. The rule is universal; history presents no exception.
But it has been supposed that slavery of the African to the white man is
not subject to this great historical law, on account of the difference
of race, whether that difference be fundamental and ineradicable, or
whether it be only the consequence of material conditions operating
through successive centuries. Neither reason nor experience, however,
can be invoked to sustain this supposed exception to the general law.
Except in Spanish America, African slavery has disappeared from the
dependencies of European powers; and even there, every one knows, the
conditions of slavery are far more favorable to emancipation than in
the United States. Yet here, a majority of the original thirteen
colonies have wholly discarded slavery, and given themselves up to the
dominion of free white men; while others among those known as border
States, notwithstanding their apparent immobility, have long been
unconsciously preparing to follow in the same path of safety. Even
without the rebellion, it is demonstrable, we believe, that the border
States could not long have resisted the necessity for gradual, but
complete emancipation. The civil war makes it more speedy, not more
certain.

In order to establish the principle that slavery, in any part of the
United States, is destined to be an exception to that general law which
decrees universal emancipation as a certain result, it would be
necessary to show the <DW64> to be incapable of improvement; for if he be
destined to progressive existence at all, it follows that, sooner or
later, he will reach a condition in which he no longer can or ought to
be held in subjection or subordination of any kind; and this, too,
without the supposition of any moral change or improvement on the part
of the slave owner. Indeed, the most usual and plausible, if not also
the most truly substantial of all excuses or justifications for
enslaving the African, in any form, has, from the beginning, been
predicated on the fact that his subordination to the superior
intelligence of the white man is calculated to improve him physically,
morally, and intellectually. The capacity of improvement thus admitted,
the logical result must be eventual liberation. This result is bound up
in the very nature of things, and must inevitably be developed at some
time or other, as proved by all history, as well as by any rational
analysis of human character and intellect. But, only one half the
argument has been employed to bring the mind to this irresistible
conclusion. We have omitted all examination of the subject in that other
aspect which has reference to industrial, economical, and moral
considerations affecting the vital interests of the superior race. We
need not say how much the discussion of these would serve to strengthen
the argument and confirm the conclusion already stated.

Now, it is apparent, this reasoning being admitted, that the attempt to
perpetuate slavery, which in its nature is temporary and transitional,
is contrary to the palpable laws of social existence and progress, and,
if persisted in beyond a certain point, must inevitably lead to violence
and disorder. Nature, the supreme authority, by her unalterable laws,
wills and decrees one thing; man, in his ignorance and audacity,
attempts the opposite. Conflict must necessarily follow; but the decrees
of the higher power will be inexorably enforced; they will sweep away
every structure, great or small, which man, in all the pride of his puny
strength and glimmering wisdom, may vainly seek to place as an
obstruction in their path. But, when the Southern people adopted this
false idea, that slavery could be perpetuated and made the foundation of
stable institutions, they not only placed themselves in conflict with
the decrees of natural law, which was the most important and fatal
error, but they also indicated hostility to those vital provisions of
the Constitution to which reference has already been made. No thoughtful
observer of events in this country will require evidence to sustain this
assertion. The constant evasion of the law prohibiting the slave trade,
and the impunity with which it was frequently and sometimes openly
violated, as well as the known public opinion throughout the South on
this subject and on that of European immigration, are quite sufficient
to establish it. The violent resistance, by fraud and even bloodshed, to
the settlement of the Territories by free white men, and the determined
effort to establish the law of slavery in every region, against even the
vote of the majority, and without any actual interest or necessity for
so doing, evince too plainly that the Southern people were not prepared
to accept the results of the proper workings of the Constitution, which
gave preponderance, in the number of States and in Federal
representation, to the ever-increasing free white men, against the
relatively diminishing numbers of the slaves and their owners. This
inequality of power was continually becoming greater, and evidently
could not be avoided or remedied under the Constitution, without a
complete reversal of the policy of its framers, and of the
contemporaneous construction which they placed on it.

Thus it is plain that by the legitimate and intended operation of the
Constitution, slavery had come to that stage of its existence, when it
must either prepare for its own gradual decline and ultimate
disappearance, or it must provide means for invigorating and prolonging
its life. There was only one way in which its power could be increased
and for some time yet firmly established, viz.: by the reopening of the
infamous and almost universally condemned African slave trade. This
would have accomplished a double purpose. It would have increased the
numbers of the South, and enabled them measurably to balance the
representation of the North, as well as to extend their dominion over
the Territories, and lay the foundations of new States; or, in case of
their success in destroying the Union, it would enable them to carry out
their cherished schemes of empire, as an independent power. But, what
was, perhaps, more important, it would tend to prolong, if not to
perpetuate slavery, by infusing new supplies of barbarism among the
African race, lowering their present grade of civilization, retarding
their improvement on the whole, and thus postponing the inevitable day
of their liberation.

There are strong indications, in the early proceedings of the
conspirators, that they seriously entertained the design of replenishing
their gangs of laborers from the shores of Africa. It was only after the
contest had assumed a serious aspect, and the immense difficulties of
their position began to dawn upon them, that they were compelled
ostensibly to abandon that design. They were compelled to conciliate the
border States, which were all opposed to the foreign slave trade.
Virginia, whose chief annual income was derived from the sale of her
slave population, rather than from the productions of their labor, was
an indispensable ally to the rebellion, and she would hardly assent to
the importation of Africans, in competition with her own supply.
Moreover, it began to be obvious that the aid of foreign powers would be
desirable; and their intervention, if to be obtained at all, could not
be solicited or hoped for, without the most explicit disavowal of an
intention to reestablish a traffic which had already been denounced as
infamous and piratical by the leading powers of the world. The rebels,
therefore, were compelled by the exigencies of their condition to
prohibit the slave trade in their permanent constitution. Doubtless they
would never have done this, had they not been vigorously assailed by the
Federal Government, and forced to modify their purposes with a view to
conciliate support at home and abroad.

Thus it is apparent that, at the outset of their treason, the objects of
the conspirators, however since modified, were utterly hostile to the
letter and spirit of our Constitution, and could never be successfully
carried out without the overthrow of the Government. The conflict,
therefore, of opposite ideas, involved not only the laws of nature,
which cannot be altered or arrested, but, also, established institutions
of the most sacred character, which could hardly be expected to succumb
to the hostile doctrine without a fearful struggle.

In what manner this conflict of opinions and purposes becomes
transformed into physical combat and culminates in bloody war, is to be
easily understood when the relations of human intellect and passion are
duly considered. All philosophy teaches that the intellect is the weaker
and less active part of human nature. Passion generally predominates in
action, and men are usually more disposed to resist with violence all
unwelcome ideas, than to study and estimate them fairly by the laborious
exercise of reason. Hence, from the early historical ages, when nations
were but imperfectly enlightened, wars have been the principal means of
propagating ideas; and most of the great social truths gradually
unfolded to man, have been written in blood for his instruction and
improvement. Doubtless, if human nature had been different, if passion
and intellect in his constitution had been mingled in other proportions,
it would have been easier, if not better, to have disseminated great
truths by the more peaceful means of argument and friendly communication
of thought; and it is to be hoped that the time is not far distant when
reason will everywhere take the place of passion, and brutal force no
longer be necessary for the work of intellectual conviction and moral
enlightenment. But, evidently, this time has not yet arrived for the
people of our Southern States, whatever may be the condition in this
respect of the more civilized and enlightened portions of mankind. Nor,
indeed, could any different disposition of the Southern people he
expected in their present social condition. One third of their
population is composed of African slaves, semicivilized, systematically
deprived of knowledge, and subjected to physical coercion, instead of
being incited to usefulness by the higher motives of self-interest and
laudable ambition. To say that this is a degraded class, is only to
recognize their supreme misfortune, and not to reproach or insult them
on account of their unhappy condition. But this degradation does not
affect them alone. It reaches their oppressors also, and involves them
in its unavoidable consequences. By that inevitable law of action and
reaction which prevails alike in moral and social as in physical
phenomena, the community which has so large a portion of its members in
a condition of ignorance and brutality, must, throughout its whole body,
partake of the degradation which exists within it, and must be affected,
by the very contact, in all its feelings, sentiments, and purposes,
through the gross and ignorant passions which such an association cannot
fail to arouse. The moral level of the whole society is lowered to the
average condition of its constituent parts. To expect the controlling
power of such a community to be accessible to reason and conciliation,
would indeed argue an utter ignorance of the whole slave system and of
its influence upon the minds and hearts of those who sustain it. War is
the normal condition of those communities which cherish slavery; and
although such an institution, misplaced in connection with the
civilization of the nineteenth century, may seem to have changed its
original nature in accordance with existing circumstances, yet, when its
purposes are thwarted, it is ever ready for military violence. It is
like a native barbarian, schooled and trained to apparent civilization,
but ever inclined, at the first temptation, to fall into his natural
habits of wild and savage life. The Southern organization has already
proved itself to be peculiarly fitted for warlike operations; it has
been correspondingly unsuited to modern industrial pursuits, except for
the simplest and most primitive of all labors, those of agriculture.
Indeed, these were always the principal occupations of slaves, even in
those early stages of human progress when these classes were left at
home to till the soil, while the masters followed their ordinary
occupation of war. The same constitution of society at the present day
leaves the masters free, it is true, to engage in more humane and
elevated occupations, but not without an evident inclination or easy
adaptation for those bold and bad pursuits from which slavery originally
arose, and which it afterwards contributed so much to sustain and
prolong.

But, notwithstanding this natural inclination of slaveholders toward
commotion and war, it is not to be denied, on the other hand, that in
civil conflicts like ours, in which discordant opinions and important
local interests are involved, the issue of peace or war may to a great
extent be controlled by that party which has the right of the
controversy. Its conduct may be forbearing and conciliatory, or it may
be insulting and calculated to invite resistance. A magazine may be
dangerous in itself, for an accidental spark or an unintended friction
of apparently harmless substances may cause it to explode; but, at the
same time, the catastrophe may be brought on by the wilful folly of
those whose duty it is to provide the necessary precautions against
danger. The North has unquestionably been right in the contest on
slavery, as to all the moral and economical aspects of the question; and
generally, too, us to all the political principles involved. But has she
not been violent and abusive--so offensively obtruding into the local
affairs of the opposite section, as unnecessarily to arouse the angry
passions of the South, rather than to encourage the calm exercise of
reason? The answer to this question is by no means so obvious and easy
as may at first be supposed. The whole subject has been so complicated
with party movements, that it becomes impossible to follow the
ramifications of influence, and to determine what share individuals or
parties, on one side or the other, may have had in the responsibility
for the angry controversy, its aggravating incidents, and its general
results. This, however, is certain: the slaveholders have for many years
controlled the Democratic party, and that organization has held the
power of government in its hands during far the greater part of our
national existence. Important concessions have been made to their
interests, from time to time, during the whole period; and no single
instance of actual wrong to the South, by the violation, of any
acknowledged constitutional right, can be designated, in the whole
action of the Federal Government from the time of its establishment down
to the commencement of this rebellion.

Nor can it be denied, that while in power with the Democratic party and
ascendant in its counsels, the South has been exacting in the extreme,
and has often made demands wholly incompatible with the true interests
of liberty and humanity. Witness the offensive form in which the
fugitive slave law was passed, and its execution enforced in the North,
wholly regardless of the natural and irrepressible sympathies of a
humane people; and, on the other hand, the unnecessary and sinister
excitement deliberately aroused and kept up, in the extreme Southern
States, on this subject of fugitives, although it is well known that no
considerable losses of that kind have ever been suffered in that
quarter. So likewise as to slavery in the Territories. It has often been
admitted by Southern statesmen of the extreme school, that the
Territories recently organized, over which so much bitter controversy
has occurred, are altogether unsuited in climate and productions for the
employment of slave labor; and few will deny, whether those Territories
be physically adapted or not adapted to the labor of Africans, that the
South had not the means of populating them without an increase of slaves
from their native continent, or by a resort to some other source of
ample supply. Here, then, was a most violent and persistent effort to
secure the acknowledgment of a right to do what they had not the means
to accomplish, and what they could not obtain the means of doing without
the actual overthrow of the Government, as well as a flagrant violation
of the moral sentiments of mankind.

On this score, therefore, the account seems to be tolerably well
balanced; for if Northern men have sometimes wantonly started hostile
and injurious agitation, calculated to arouse fierce passions and to
close the ears of the Southern people to the voice of reason; these, on
the other hand, are liable to equal or greater censure for having made
impossible demands, as unnecessary as they were inadmissible, and liable
from their very extravagance to be considered as mere pretexts,
deliberately adopted with a view to aggravate the quarrel and prevent a
reconciliation. It is difficult to admit any other explanation of the
extraordinary policy of the Southern leaders. It is not improbable that
they will henceforward acknowledge such to have been the motive of their
principal political acts for many years past. The terrible events now
passing before our saddened eyes, are too solemn and weighty, not to be
understood in all their past relations and in all their present import.
They stand forth in stern and awful reality, glaring in the lurid light
of the past and casting dark shadows over the future, while they sweep
away all false pretences, and lay bare the real motives which, from the
beginning, have actuated the men who are prominent in performing the
great drama.

But these questions of transient passions and objurgatory provocation
are trivial and unimportant. They do not touch the real causes of the
difficulty; they are but the froth on the surface of the deep and mighty
current of events, which was rushing on to the gulf of rebellion. The
time had come, in the history of our country, when, by the necessary
working of its institutions, the most solemn question of the age was to
be determined. Slavery must either accept its inevitable doom and
prepare for ultimate extinction, or it must provide new means for
prolonging its existence and reestablishing its waning power. In three
quarters of a century, the Constitution of 1787 had done its work. It
had suppressed the immigration of Africans; it had established that of
Europeans. Free white labor had demonstrated its superiority and
achieved a complete victory over slavery; and the political power, long
wielded by the Southern men, had passed forever out of their hands, as
the representatives and supporters of the slave policy. In the Senate,
in the House of Representatives, in the great majority of States, in all
the Territories, and, finally, in the very citadel of their former
power, the presidential mansion, their almost immemorial superiority had
been utterly overthrown. The Government was about to assume its true
character, as the home of liberty and the veritable asylum of humanity.
Slavery, fallen into the minority, was about to experience an
accelerated decline and eventually to disappear. To resist this doom,
was to fight against the Constitution and against destiny.

The people of the Southern States were wholly unwilling to accept the
condition to which the legitimate workings of the Constitution had
fairly brought them. Being a minority in numbers and in representative
weight, they rose up in rebellion against this unalterable fact. They
foresaw it, and, by every possible device, resisted it before it came.
When it arrived, they resisted still more madly, even to the extent of
self-destruction. The minority was arrayed not merely against the
majority, but also against the necessary results of our institutions and
against the decrees of nature: that is to say, against the law of man,
and against the law of God. The majority was expected to give way, and
to permit the engine of national progress to be reversed, our eighty
years of glorious history to be undone, and humanity itself to be turned
back upon the dreary path of its earliest and saddest struggles. This
refused, the alternative was the destruction of the Government.

It was wholly impossible for the majority to make any satisfactory
concessions to a minority infatuated with such ideas. Compromise was
impracticable, so long as the rebellious States made the perpetuity of
slavery and the predominance of its power an indispensable condition of
any arrangement. Their demands were forever inadmissible so long as they
remained in the Union; and to permit them to effect their purposes as an
independent confederacy, was equally out of the question. There is no
longer any division of sentiment on this point, whatever doubts may have
been expressed in the beginning. Separation of the States would be
disastrous and fatal to all the fragmentary governments which would take
the place of this majestic Union. The nation instinctively feels that
its unity is its salvation--that disunion will be destructive of all its
long-cherished and glorious hopes. Its permanent peace, its prosperity
and progress, its greatness, its honor, and its influence among
civilized nations--all depend on its unity. These, which are the glory
of our country to every patriotic heart, were the stumbling blocks to
the conspirators. Slavery was ambitious and discontented with its
appointed lot; it was determined; it rushed headlong to its fatal
purpose. The nation stood in its path, and would not, could not get out
of the way. This is the central fact of the whole controversy. National
unity is on the one side--the disintegration and anarchy which slavery
demands, are on the other. These are the contending forces; they are
engaged in mortal combat, and one or the other must be utterly
overthrown and destroyed. Slavery must succumb and consent to disappear,
or the Union of our fathers must go down in the dust, never again to
rise.

Can the enemies of the United States, at home or abroad, suppose that
these vital questions can ever he yielded? That the nation can
voluntarily abdicate its authority, confess the failure of its work for
three quarters of a century; permit all the purposes of its creation to
be utterly thwarted, and tamely and basely surrender all those hopes of
a glorious destiny, which we have ever been taught to cherish as the
goal of our unexampled freedom? The Southern people have been the sport
of many delusions and infatuations; but the belief of these incredible
and impossible suppositions, is the crowning folly of them all. These
restless and daring men occupied the fairest region of the globe, with a
virtual monopoly of the cotton culture. The unexampled increase of the
cotton trade and manufacture, if it had not filled their coffers with
unbounded wealth, had at least given them lavish returns for the labor
of their slaves and enabled them to live in unlimited profusion. That
under such a system they should have little provident care, but should
indulge unbounded confidence in the future, was natural enough, for they
conceived their prosperity, which cost them so little labor or anxiety,
to be in its nature permanent. When, therefore, they saw gradually
approaching the certain downfall of their power, they could not
understand that this was the result of natural causes, but attributed it
to the malignant enmity of the Government. A social organization, so
agreeable, so full of pleasures and advantages, conferring not only ease
and luxury, but also station and authority, must necessarily be right in
itself, and worthy of every effort and every sacrifice to perpetuate it.
What was the Government of the United States, that it should presume to
erect itself as an obstacle to the progress of this rich and powerful
organization? Was not the whole fabric of human industry dependent on
it, and would not foreign nations be compelled by the very helplessness
of their starving people to sustain and defend it? Why should there be
anything sacred in the institutions of the country, when they evidently
tended, by their spirit and operation, to overthrow the power of
slavery? Washington was weak, with all his goodness; Jefferson was a
demagogue; Madison had not forecast enough to see the necessary results
of his political combinations. We have grown wiser; then let us sweep
away the obstacles which were placed in our path by the weakness and
folly of our deluded forefathers. Let us prostrate the clumsy fabric
which they constructed, since the Yankees have taken possession of it,
and are working it for the benefit of Irish and German immigrants and
their descendants, and not for that of African traders and <DW64>
masters. By some terrible fatality, it was the misfortune of the
Southern leaders to believe these delusions. They have gone so far as to
act upon them, and have seduced their people into fatal cooeperation; and
these are now reaping the bloody fruits of an error so profound and
awful.

The rebellious States not only thought it practicable to overthrow the
National Government; they, doubtless, also held that result necessary to
their safety and success. This followed as a logical conclusion from
their established dogma that the slavery of the laboring class is the
only firm foundation of social order. They convinced themselves that
white men could not perform the labor necessary on cotton and sugar
plantations. The <DW64> alone was capable of standing the fierce rays of
the Southern sun, and of successfully resisting the deadly malaria which
prevails in that region. The Southern people firmly believed this
doctrine, although their very eyes, in all parts of their territory,
except perhaps in the rice fields of South Carolina and Georgia,
thousands of white men were and are daily occupied in this very work. So
remarkable a delusion, contradicted by their own daily experience, is by
no means uncommon under similar circumstances. When the passions of men
are aroused and their interests, real or imaginary, involved, they
seldom comprehend the true significance, nor do they stop to estimate
deliberately the actual conditions, of what is going on around them.
Much less do they understand the character and tendency of great social
movements, in which they themselves are actively engaged. The strongest
intellects, in such circumstances, do not often escape the prevailing
prejudices and delusions. A sort of common moral atmosphere pervades the
whole society; opinions become homogeneous; and even the worst abuses,
sanctioned by time and by universal custom, lose all their enormity, and
command the support and approval even of good men. Palpable errors of
fact, and, indeed, every available sophistry in argument, have been
adopted by the Southern men to sustain the system of slavery.

The deluded victims of these false ideas could not conceive a different
organization of labor as possible for them. It was perhaps even natural
for them to consider the opposite system in the Northern States, as
hostile to their interests and dangerous to their peculiar property in
labor. Nor were they in fact mistaken: not that the Northern social
system need have interfered violently to overthrow their institutions;
but there was an instinctive feeling that the two could not exist
together and flourish in the same community. It was obscurely felt that
one must give way before the other, whether peacefully or violently, and
it was impossible to doubt which of the two was destined to succumb,
under the gradual but inevitable operation of our established political
forms and principles. Under the dominion of excited and unreasoning
prejudices, the Southern mind could see no distinction between the
necessary and irresistible operation of principles and the intentional
hostility of their hated rivals. Thus, with a fixed conviction of the
inevitable end of their system under the Constitution, it was vainly
expected to avoid that unwelcome fate, by destroying the Government of
the United States, which had been deliberately created by its founders
with a view to the ultimate extinction of slavery.

But, alas! this expedient has proved to be a fatal error--none more
fatal has ever misled and ruined a prosperous and gallant people.
Instead of overthrowing the Government--a consummation never to be
admitted or even thought of, with any toleration, for a single
moment--they will only bring the cherished object of their bloody
sacrifices to a sudden and disastrous end. Slavery never could have
had--never ought to have had any better security than was afforded by
the Constitution of this country, administered fairly, as it always has
been, if not with evident partiality, toward this exacting interest.
Take away from it the support of the Constitution, and, under any
circumstances, it would most assuredly fall. But the Government
assaulted, in the interest of slavery, for the increase and perpetuity
of slavery--that presents an emergency which admits of no hesitation,
and in which those who have been most tolerant toward the system, and
most ready to yield its unreasonable exactions to save the Government,
will be the first to strike it down for the same end. The nation must
survive; its enemies must succumb or perish.

Can any one deny that the Federal Government was compelled to take up
the gage of battle which the rebels had so vauntingly thrown down? Not
merely the interests of civil authority and order, but the preponderance
of freedom, and the claims of humanity on this continent, required the
most determined resistance to be made, and forbade the possibility of
quietly surrendering the destinies of the nation into the hands of the
traitors who sought to destroy it, What a spectacle of imbecility and
miserable failure in the hour of great peril would have been presented
to the indignant world, if, in this great crisis, the national
authorities had been so far beneath the occasion as to have declined the
proffered contest and basely betrayed their trust, at the first demand
of the seceding States! The everlasting scorn of mankind would have
overwhelmed and blasted the dastard and degenerate race, who would thus
have sacrificed the highest and most sacred interests of humanity.
Rather than this, welcome the civil war, with all its sacrifices!
Welcome privations, labors, taxes, wounds, death, and all the nameless
horrors that swarm along the red path of civil strife! Thousands of
precious lives and billions of treasure have already been expended, and
yet no patriotic heart thinks of turning back from the battle field,
until the Union established by our fathers shall be restored to its
integrity.

Compelled to admit the conclusions already stated, let us not do
injustice even to the men who are prominent in this iniquitous
rebellion. The most difficult of all moral problems is to determine how
far individual agency can control social or political events, and what
degree of responsibility attaches to those who have been apparently
influential in producing disastrous results. An impartial study of
history will serve to establish the truth that prominent men who, in any
age, may seem to have produced great changes by their individual will,
were merely the instruments of society by which irresistible tendencies
were carried out to their necessary ends. The very conceptions of such
men are the offspring of their times, and in order that they should have
power to accomplish their designs, the great social forces of the
community must be at their disposal, ready and inclined to perform the
work. A great rock or a mighty glacier may be so balanced at the
mountain top, that a small force--the sound of a trumpet, a mere breath
of air--may dislodge it, and cause it to descend, carrying destruction
into the valley. But the force of gravitation is necessary to bring it
down and give it the impetus of ruin. So the might of a great people may
be poised on some lofty pinnacle of human destiny; but unless there he
involved in the existing sentiments and convictions, the situation and
surroundings of that people, the elements of force and action, for good
or evil, no individual agency and no combination of men can impart the
power which they lack. All that was required among the Southern people,
for the initiation of this gigantic rebellion, was some universal
animating idea, capable of binding them together in unanimous accord,
imparting the necessary force and velocity in the direction of treason,
when started and impelled by the efforts of their leading men. Slavery
was just such a principle; it was the gravitating power which hurled
them down the precipice, and gave the tremendous impetus of ruin which
they have exerted in their awful descent. But, in truth, this
mischievous power has been accumulating ever since the Government was
founded. It grew out of the antecedents of existing society; and the
present generation is not wholly responsible for it. The misfortunes of
our fathers, their omissions and errors as well as ours, have left this
fatal legacy to descend into our hands. We may not have dealt with it
wisely, but assuredly the framers of the Constitution did not intend
slavery to be perpetual, nor did they provide for it the power to
overthrow the Government.




ON GUARD.


   In the black terror-night,
     On yon mist-shrouded hill,
   Slowly, with footstep light,
     Stealthy, and grim, and still,
   Like ghost in winding sheet
     Risen at midnight bell,
   Over his lonely beat
     Marches the sentinel!

   In storm-defying cloak--
     Hand on his trusty gun--
   Heart, like a heart of oak--
     Eye, never-setting sun;
   Speaks but the challenge-shout,
     All foes without the line,
   Heeds but, to solve the doubt,
     Watchword and countersign.

   Camp-ward, the watchfires gleam
     Beacon-like in the gloom;
   Round them his comrades dream
     Pictures of youth and home.
   While in his heart the bright
     Hope-fires shine everywhere,
   In love's enchanting light
     Memory lies dreaming there.

   Faint, through the silence come
     From the foes' grim array,
   Growl of impatient dram
     Eager for morrow's fray;
   Echo of song and shout,
    Curse and carousal glee,
   As in a fiendish rout
    Demons at revelry.

   Close, in the gloomy shade--
    Danger lurks ever nigh--
   Grasping his dagger-blade
    Crouches th' assassin spy;
   Shrinks at the guardman's tread,
    Quails 'fore his gleaming eyes,
   Creeps back with baffled hate,
    Cursing his cowardice.

   Naught can beguile his bold
     Unsleeping vigilance;
   E'en in the fireflame, old
     Visions unheeded dance.
   Fearless of lurking spy,
     Scornful of wassail-swell,
   With an undaunted eye
     Marches the sentinel.

   Low, to his trusty gun
     Eagerly whispers he,
   'Wait, with the morning sun
     March we to victory.
   Fools, into Satan's clutch
     Leaping ere dawn of day:
   He who would fight must watch,
     He who would win must pray.'

   Pray! for the night hath wings;
     Watch! for the foe is near;
   March! till the morning brings
     Fame-wreath or soldier's bier.
   So shall the poet write,
     When all hath ended well,
   'Thus through the nation's night
     Marched Freedom's sentinel.'




RAILWAY PHOTOGRAPHS.


On a fair, sunny morning in July, 1862, I started from--no matter where;
and taking my seat in a comfortable rail car, turned my face toward the
borders of Vermont.

As the road, for the greater part of the way was an up-grade, and as
there is on that particular route a way station about every two miles,
at each of which the cars unduly stop, our progress was rather slow, and
I had ample time to observe alike the wild and rugged scenery through
which we were passing, and the countenances and actions of my fellow
passengers.

For a time the picturesque character of country engaged my attention;
but getting tired, at last, of the endless succession of green
mountains, clothed to their summits with dark pine and hemlock; of
rocky, tortuous streams, their channels run almost dry by the excessive
drought; of stony fields, dotted with sheep or sprinkled with diminutive
hay cocks, or coaxed by patient cultivation into bearing a few hills of
stunted Indian corn, I began to find the interior of the car a much more
interesting field of observation. And it is wonderful how many different
aspects of human nature one can see in the course of a day's journey in
a railroad car.

The first person who attracted my notice, was a young man sitting
opposite to me. His appearance was prepossessing, not so much from
beauty of form or feature, as from the pleasant expression of his fair,
open face, adorned with side whiskers of a reddish hue, of the
_mutton-chop_ genus and _pendent_ species. He looked like an Englishman
or Anglicized Scotchman; but from some words he let drop, I am inclined
to believe he was a Western man. Be that as it may, he was evidently a
tourist, travelling for pleasure through a country that was new to him,
and desirous of gaining all the information he could concerning it.

On the hooks above him, hung a heavy blanket shawl, an umbrella, and a
little basket. In his hand he held one of Appleton's Railway Guides,' to
which he made constant reference, reading from it the names of the
places through which we passed, in tones so loud and distinct, that most
of his fellow passengers participated in the information. On the seat
beside him lay a large book in red binding, which proved to be another
guide book, and to which he referred when the smaller one failed him.
Immediately behind him sat a saturnine-looking gentleman (also provided
with a railway guide), with whom he frequently conversed, addressing him
as 'John,' and who seemed to be his travelling companion.

It was impossible not to feel interested in the movements of the
tourist. To gentlemanly manners and an air of refinement, there was
added a certain boyish simplicity that was quite refreshing to
contemplate. He seemed to fraternize with everybody, conversing freely,
first with one passenger, then with another; and apparently imparting to
all a portion of the genial good humor with which his nature was
flooded.

I was amused with a colloquy that took place, in regard to a field of
ripening grain, near which the train had stopped.

'Is that a field of wheat?' asked 'John' of his friend.

'Well, really,' said the tourist, ingenuously, 'I don't know the
difference between wheat and rye.' Then bending toward the person who
sat in front of him, he said, in an earnest manner, 'Pray, sir, can you
tell me whether that field is wheat or rye?'

The other glanced at the field rather dubiously, I thought; but answered
promptly:

'That's wheat, sir.'

It was rye, nevertheless.

I observed that the tourist had, by affability, completely won the heart
of the conductor. Whenever that official was at liberty--which, by the
way, was only for a few minutes at a time, in of the numerous stopping
places--he would sit down until the scream of the whistle summoned him
again to his duty, when he would hurry through his task, again to his
favorite seat.

The gentleman was much struck with the large quantities of wild
raspberries, that clothed the fences on either side of the track. 'There
were no raspberries,' he said, 'where he came from. At the very next
station I saw the conductor go out (although it was now raining), break
off a branch, loaded with ripe fruit, from a raspberry bush, and
returning to the car, smilingly present it to his friend. The gentleman
thanked him warmly; but instead of selfishly devouring the fruit
himself, generously shared it with all within reach of his arm, with a
diffusive benevolence that put me in mind of the free-hearted Irishman,
who, as he gave his friend the half of his potato, said: 'You're welcome
to it, if 'twere _twice as little_.'

At another place the tourist himself got out, and returned with a
handful of wayside flowers. Selecting from them a fine, blooming clover
head, and a little weed of the bulrush family, he placed them between
the leaves of his guide book, saying to his neighbor, as he did so:

'I like to preserve such little mementoes of the places I visit. Once,
when travelling at the South, I gathered a cotton bud; and would you
believe it, in the course of three months it expanded to a perfect
flower, and actually ripened its seeds?'

'Why, then,' said the other, laughingly, 'we need be at no loss for
cotton, if it can be cultivated as easily as that.'

In striking contrast to this passenger, was another, who sat a few seats
in front of him. His appearance was _not_ prepossessing, on the
contrary, 'quite the reverse.' He was a coarse, heavy-looking,
thick-set, dirty, Irish soldier, redolent of whiskey and tobacco. His
looks inspired me with profound disgust and dislike, which were not at
all lessened when I saw him take from the hands of a comrade a black
bottle, and applying it to his lips, solace himself with a 'dhrop of the
cratur.'

But I found, ere long, that there was a heart beneath that dirty
uniform, a soft kernel inside of the rude, unpromising husk. His family
were on the car; and as he sat in a lounging attitude, conversing with
his comrade (they had both been discharged, I heard them say, from the
'6th New York'), a little girl came staggering along the passage way,
holding herself up by the seats on either side. As she neared him, she
sprang to him, and placed herself between his knees; and the coarse,
weather-beaten face beamed down upon her with _such_ a smile--so full of
warm, tender, earnest affection, that I felt rebuked for my previous
poor opinion of that man.

Nor was this all. At C----, the little girl, accompanied by her mother
and several brothers and sisters, got out; while the soldier himself,
having seen them all safely deposited on the station platform, and
treated them to a hearty smack all round, returned to the car, and
resumed his seat. As the train began to move, he started up, thrust his
head out of the window, and greeted the group on the platform with
another of those bright, loving smiles, that made my heart warm to the
rough, sun-burnt soldier, in spite of tobacco, and whiskey, and dirt.

About noon we reached the pretty village of Rutland, Vt.; and there the
stentorian voice of the conductor rang out:

'Passengers for Boston, change cars!'

I hastened to obey the mandate; and the last I saw of the genial-hearted
tourist (who was going to Montreal), he was shaking hands with his
friend the conductor, whose 'beat' extended no further; and bidding him
a warm and hearty 'good-by.'

In the car in which I now found myself, no talkative tourist or
companionable conductor enlivened the way; a much more 'still-life'
order of things prevailed. But here, too, I soon found objects of
interest.

Near me sat a young officer in undress uniform, with a cicatrized bullet
wound in his cheek. He had doubtless been home on 'sick leave,' and,
though now quite restored to health, was apparently in no hurry to go
back. Far from it. Very different thoughts, I fancy, occupied his mind
than cutting rebel throats, or acquiring distinction in the 'imminent
deadly breach.' There was a lady by his side, with whom, judging by
appearances, his relations were of an extremely tender character. They
were either newly married, or about soon to 'undergo the operation.' I
incline to the latter belief; for in reply to a remark from the lady
that they would be late in arriving at their destination, I overheard
the gentleman smilingly say:

'Well, at all events, nothing can be done until _we_ get there.'

And here, in passing, I would respectfully suggest to all couples in the
peculiarly interesting position of my young fellow travellers, that a
railroad car is not the most suitable place in the world, in which to
lavish endearments on each other. However delightful the 'exercise' may
be to them, truth compels me to say that it is, to cool, uninterested,
dispassionate lookers-on, decidedly nauseating.

At the time of which I am writing, the War order, recalling all
stragglers, had not been promulgated; and no one, in travelling, could
fail to be struck with the predominance of the military element among
the population. It was unpleasant to observe, at every railroad station,
at every wayside grocery store, groups of idle, lounging soldiers,
smoking and gossiping, and having, apparently, no earthly object except
to kill time; and to know that these men, wearing their country's
uniform, and drawing their pay from her exhausted exchequer, were
lingering at home on various pretexts, and basely and deliberately
shirking their duty, while rebellion still reared its horrid front, and
the Government required every arm that could be raised in its defence.
That energetic document put a stop to all this; but the question here
arises, Can the men be in earnest? Can that patriotism be genuine which
needs to be driven to the battle field?

Ah! here is one brave fellow, who, though still lame from a recent
wound, is hastening back to the scenes where duty calls him. He comes
into the cars with his sword in one hand, and his overcoat, neatly
strapped, in the other. He looks grave and serious--doubtless he is
thinking of home, and of the dear ones he has just left. Doubtless, from
that cause springs a singular restlessness, that impels him to get out
at every stopping place, and pace backward and forward with unequal
steps, till the train starts again. As he passes and repasses me, I try
to read his countenance. There is no flinching there--no shrinking from
duty in that brave soul. In the expressive language of Scripture, he has
'put his life in his hand,' and is ready to offer it at the shrine of
his country. As I mark his firm lip, his thoughtful eye, his look of
steadfast determination, there come into my mind those grand
soul-stirring lines of Percival:

   'Oh! it is great for our country to die; when ranks are contending,
     Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye:
   Glory, that never is dim, shining on with a light never ending,
     Glory, that never shall fade, never, O never, away.'

At the first station beyond Rutland, a woman with a baby--there is
always a woman with a baby in the cars--got out. In addition to the
baby, she had a carpet bag, a band box, a basket, and several paper
parcels. How she managed to carry them all, I know not; but as she was
stumbling along, thus overloaded, a lady, just entering the car with
some others, with a sudden, generous impulse, took the baby in her arms,
and, at the risk of losing her own passage, carried it to the door of
the waiting-room. Then, without stopping to receive the thanks of the
grateful mother, she rejoined her friends, smiling at her own exploit,
and all unconscious of the admiration her beautiful action had excited
in some of her fellow travellers. At the picturesque village of Bellow's
Falls, on the Connecticut river, we entered the 'Old Granite State,' but
too far south to see the 'native mountains' in their wildest grandeur
and magnificence. One specimen, however, greets us as we leave the
village--a huge, perpendicular mass of granite, rising sheer up from the
railroad to the height of a thousand feet or more; while the river, a
wild receptacle of tumbled rocks and broken falls, stretches along the
other side of the track, far beneath us. The labor expended in the
construction of this mountain road (the Cheshire Railroad) must have
been enormous, and affords a striking proof of the indomitable energy
and enterprise of the New England character. The high places have
literally been brought low, and the valleys exalted. Not once, but many
times, the train rushes through between two perpendicular walls of solid
granite, so high that not a glimpse of the sky can be seen from the car
windows; while beyond, some hollow chasm or rugged gulley has been
bridged over, or filled up with the superabundant masses of stone
excavated from the deep cuts.

It gives one a feeling of dizzy exaltation to be whirled, at the rate of
thirty or forty miles an hour--for as there is for a good part of the
way a descending grade, the velocity is tremendous--along the verge of a
mountain, and to see other mountains, with valleys, rivers, villages,
and church steeples, spread out beneath you, as if on a map. But
gradually the face of the country changes; the mountains become less
lofty, the granite formations disappear; here stretches a wide, dismal
pond of stagnant water, yellow with water lilies (_Nuphar_), and there a
field that has been burnt over, leaving the scorched and branchless
trees standing like a host of hideous spectres, until at last the
fertile and highly cultivated fields of Massachusetts smile upon us with
a pleasant, cheerful aspect.

But, pleasing as it is to contemplate well-cultivated farms and thriving
homesteads, it must be confessed that to the eye of the traveller wild
mountain scenery has a far stronger attraction; and insensibly, as the
train speeds on through the now level country, veiled in a thin,
drizzling, mist-like rain, I find my gaze and my thoughts coming back
from the outside world, and resting once more on my co-inmates of the
car.

Not far from me sits a beautiful young girl, fair haired and blue eyed,
and of a peculiarly interesting and lady-like appearance. She has a look
of bright intelligence; and on her lap lies a book, the title of which I
can read from here: 'English Literature.' But she is deaf and dumb, as
is plainly betokened by the rapid, chirological conversation going on
between her and a young man, evidently her brother, who sits beside her.
Behind them is seated an elderly lady, who seems to have charge of her,
and with whom she occasionally converses in writing.

The young man is not, like her, deprived of the organs of speech; but
his proficiency in the finger-language is perfectly marvellous. It
surpasses even her own in rapidity of movement and graceful ease. It is
most interesting to watch them, as, their eyes glancing from hand to
face, they carry on their silent conversation; the dumb girl
occasionally bursting into a hearty laugh, at some remark of her
companion. Nothing could exceed the devoted and tender attention of the
brother. Whenever any object worthy of notice in the scenery presented
itself, he would touch her lightly on the shoulder to attract attention,
and then with a few rapid movements of his fingers, direct her eyes to
it, and give an explanation of it. If she required refreshment, he
would hurry from the car, and hurry back again, with art anxious, eager
look, as if he feared something might have befallen her in his absence.
She seemed to repose implicit confidence in him; and well was he worthy
of it. Heaven's blessing rest upon you, noble young man! for your
earnest devotion to that afflicted one.

At one place, where the cars stopped, I witnessed an affecting scene--a
soldier parting from his children. Two young girls, the one about
fifteen, the other some years younger, stood in the door of the station
room, their faces swoln and discolored with weeping. Their mother, pale
and sad, stood near them; while the father, a fine looking,
strongly-built man of forty, in the uniform of an artilleryman, went
forward to see to the stowage of his knapsack and other 'traps.'

The eldest girl had succeeded in subduing her grief into 'a kind of
quiet;' but the younger--poor thing! how my heart bled to see her! She
did not sob, or cry out; but every muscle of her face quivered with
irrepressible emotion, and her trembling limbs seemed scarcely able to
support her. There was more than the sorrow of parting there; there was
of ever seeing her father again. Her sister tried to soothe hers. Her
mother spoke sharply to her; then, with true maternal instinct, went
forward to the baggage car, and brought her father back to her. The
mother herself did not shed a tear; but _her_ parting time had not come,
for she was to accompany her husband on his journey.

"Oh, father!" sobbed the poor girl; and that was all she could say, as
she flung her arms around his neck, and clung to him with a convulsive
grasp.

He spoke to her soothingly, reasoned with her, sought to calm her; but,
in the midst of his tender offices, the inexorable whistle sounded; and
tearing himself from her embrace, he sprang into the cars, accompanied
by his wife, and took a seat just in front of me. Something rose in my
throat as I looked at them, and the unbidden tears sprang to my eyes.
The man's fine, expressive countenance, sun-burnt and heavily bearded,
grave yet calm, gave evidence of the suffering the past scene had cost
him. But the face of the woman was a study. She was evidently determined
not to weep. She was resolved, by at least an outward cheerfulness, to
sustain her husband in his noble self-sacrificing patriotism. How it
would be when her own parting hour arrived, heaven knows; but then the
thought of _that_ was resolutely driven away. As we rode along, they
conversed much together, and I saw her more than once in calling back a
smile to the grave, sad face of her husband.

Brave man! tearing asunder your heart's dearest chords, to deliver your
country from the parricidal stroke of fierce rebellion. Brave woman!
concealing with Spartan fortitude the sorrow in your heart, that your
gallant husband may be strengthened in his noble aim--shall these things
be done and suffered in vain? No, no; believe it not. The clouds may
gather, reverses may come, but of this be well assured: The right _will_
triumph!

Toward the latter part of my journey, the monotony of the scene was
enlivened by a row in the cars. Cause--a woman.

During our short pause in the city of P., two men, who had been seated
together, went out, leaving some of their travelling gear on the seat.
While they absent, a lady, accompanied by a little boy, entered the car;
and, contrary to the etiquette of railroad travel, displaced their
baggage, and took possession of the seat. She was a rather
coarse-looking woman of about thirty; richly but not very appropriately
attired, in a handsome black silk dress, with a sacque or outer garment
of the same material, reaching almost to her feet. Her jet black hair
hang in thick, short curls all around her head, and was surmounted by
one of those little round hats, familiarly known as 'jockeys,' which
are so pretty and becoming on young girls, so hideous on elderly women.

Very soon, the two men came in, and claimed their seat. But the lady
refused to move. My attention was first directed to them by hearing one
of the men exclaim, in loud and angry tones:

'It's no use talking. _Your_ business, ma'am, is to _get out!_'

But an image carved in ebony could not have been more immovable than the
lady in the black silk dress.

In vain the aggrieved gentlemen represented to her that the seat was
theirs, that their baggage was there, that she had no right to take it,
etc.; she paid no attention to them.

The cars started; and the two men, there being no seat vacant, stood
over her, with wrath and defiance in their looks, waiting in grim
silence until she should comply with their request. But she gave no sign
of compliance.

After a while the conductor made his appearance. To him they excitedly
stated their grievance, but received, apparently, no redress.

Some time had elapsed, and I had forgotten the circumstance, when my
attention was suddenly aroused by seeing one of the men, now worked up
into an ungovernable passion, seize the lady by the shoulder, and
attempt to put her out by force. In a moment all was uproar and
confusion. The lady screamed. The little boy roared with fright. Every
man in the car started to his feet, and loud cries of 'Put him out!'
'Knock him down!' 'Shame! shame! to touch a woman!' resounded on every
side. Half a dozen rough hands seized the man by the collar and arms,
and amid the most indescribable noise and tumult, he was unceremoniously
hustled out of the car.

The lady seemed to regard herself as a martyr. I heard her excitedly
narrating her wrongs to one of her neighbors, finishing off with:

'I was never treated so before; never! never!'

'H'm!' said the person addressed, as if not quite coinciding with her
views of the case.

An elderly man, who sat beside me, and whose appearance and manners
plainly indicated his title to

   'The grand old name of gentleman,'

had started to his feet with the rest, but having been out when the
affair commenced, was unable to comprehend what the row was about. As he
turned to me with a bewildered and inquiring look, I explained to him
the cause of the trouble, at the same time expressing my opinion that
the man had been unjustly thrust out, and that the lady was entirely to
blame.

'Certainly she was,' said he, with emphasis, 'but the conductor was
still more so. He ought to have given the men their seat, and found
another for the lady.' Then glancing contemptuously at her, the old
gentleman said:

'Oh, she's no lady--she's some common person--no _lady_ would behave in
that manner.'

As I was more than half of the old gentleman's opinion, I did not
gainsay him. After a pause, he continued, with a self-complacency that
amused me:

'Ah, I am a pretty good judge of women; and I don't believe that any
_lady_ would travel with _a thing like that_ on her head. No, no; she's
some common person, depend upon it.'

It was evident to me that the old gentleman felt very strongly on the
subject of 'jockeys;' for, not content with this sweeping thrust, he
shortly afterward renewed the subject. It happened that in this
particular car there was an appendage affixed to the back of each seat,
for the purpose of adding to the comfort of passengers, but which
signally failed of that end, as far as the bonnet-wearing part of the
community was concerned. As I was much incommoded by it, I requested the
old gentleman to turn it down for me. As he did so, he glanced again at
our neighbor in the black silk dress, who had taken off her 'jockey,'
and was comfortably reposing her raven locks on the aforesaid
appendage, and said, jocularly:

'Now, if you would wear such a thing as _that_, you could take it off,
and be quite comfortable.'

And he laughed, quietly but heartily, at what he evidently considered
the preposterousness of such an idea.

'Why is it,' continued the old gentleman, who was evidently a
philosopher, 'why is it that women must all dress exactly alike? Why
can't they dress to suit themselves, as men do? Now just look around
this crowded car--no two men have the same kind of head-covering,' It
was true; there were hats of every shape and hue; hats of felt, hats of
beaver, hats of straw, caps, military and civil--an endless variety.
'But the womens' bonnets,' added he, 'are all just alike in shape.'

'No, there are some exceptions,' said I, with a sly glance at the owner
of the jockey.' On which the old gentleman laughed again, and was about
to reply; when arrival of the train at its destination brought our
conversation to a sudden stop, and the motley assemblage, whether
crowned with hat or cap, bonnet or 'jockey,' parted company, never to
meet again on this side of the Dark River.




THE OBSTACLES TO PEACE.

A LETTER TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND.


MY DEAR SIR:--I have your late letter inquiring, as did several of its
predecessors, how soon this terrible Civil War is to end, and why we do
not close it at once by consenting to Disunion. These inquiries are
natural from your point of view; I have briefly answered them already;
but the subject is of vast importance, and we have good reason for our
desire that correct views respecting it should prevail among the
enlightened and just in Europe. We feel that we are entitled to the
earnest and active sympathy of such men as you are in every country and
of every creed. We feel that we have unjustly, by artful
misrepresentations, been deprived of this, and that we have suffered
grievously in consequence. Let me endeavor, then, to restate our
position somewhat more fully, and to show wherein and why we impeach the
justice of the criticisms to which we have been subjected even by humane
and fair-minded Englishmen.

I need not, at this late day, prove to you that Slavery is the animating
soul of the Rebellion. The fact that no compromise or adjustment of the
quarrel was proposed from any quarter during the inception and progress
of Secession, which did not relate directly and exclusively to Slavery,
is conclusive on this point. Projects for arresting the impending
calamity were abundant throughout the winter of 1860-61. Congress was
gorged with them; a volunteer 'Peace Congress' was simultaneously held
on purpose to arrest the dreaded disruption, and attended by able
Delegations from all the Border Slave and most of the Free States, many
of the former now fighting in the Rebel ranks; but no one suggested that
any conceivable legislation on any subject but Slavery was desired or
would be of the least avail. Mr. Alexander H. Stephens, the
Vice-President of the Southern Confederacy, and, perhaps, the ablest man
in it, who resisted Secession until overborne and carried away by the
swelling tide, in his first elaborate speech justifying the movement,
ably and candidly set forth the natural fitness, justice, humanity,
beneficence, and perpetuity of Slavery as the corner-stone of the new
National edifice. The 'Peace Convention' presented the Crittenden
Compromise,--that is, the positive establishment by act of Congress of
Slavery in all present and future Territories of the United States,
south of the parallel of 36 deg. 30' north latitude--as its sole panacea for
our national ills. Nobody suggested in that Congress or any similar
conference that a permanent abolition of all duties on imports, or any
other measure unrelated to slavery, would be of the least use in
reclaiming the States which had seceded, or in arresting the secession
of others. The sole pretext for the Rebellion was and is that the Free
States had not been faithful in spirit and letter to their
constitutional obligations respecting Slavery, and could not be trusted
to do better in the future than they had done in the past. We are
involved in deadly war precisely and only because the Free States,
through the action at the ballot-box of a majority of their citizens,
refused to cooeperate in or make themselves a voluntary party to the
further extension or diffusion of Human Slavery.

Bearing this fact in mind, I think you will more readily realize the
moral impossibility of our assent, save under the impulse of a last dire
necessity, to a Disunion Peace, and for these reasons:

I. Such a peace will naturally secure to Slavery the precise object, for
which the Rebellion was fomented. If we consent to divide our country,
the victorious Rebels will very fairly say, 'Give us our share of the
Federal Territories.' In other words, 'Surrender to Slavery, through
Disunion, the very thing which you refused to concede to it to prevent
Disunion.' And that demand, if we concede the right and the fact of
Secession, can with difficulty be resisted. Yet its concession involves
the moral certainty that Mexico and Cuba will in time be overrun,
conquered, absorbed, and devoted to Slavery, by the martial, aggressive,
ambitious despotism to 'which we shall have succumbed. Read Prof.
Cairnes's recent essay on 'The Slave Power,' and you will have a clearer
idea of the wolf we now hold by the ears, and which is far less
dangerous while so held than he must be if let go.

II. The boundary which Secession proffers is an unnatural and impossible
one. It not only alienates from the Union Western Texas, East Tennessee,
and other regions wherein a majority have ever been and still are
devoted to the old flag, but insists on wresting from us West
Virginia--that is, that portion of the old State of Virginia which
<DW72>s toward the Ohio river--a region larger in area than three of the
States left in the Union put together--a region which, never having been
practically slaveholding save to a very limited extent, has ever been
preponderately and earnestly loyal--a region mainly held to-day, as it
has almost uniformly been held, by the Unionists--a region which, if
surrendered to the Confederacy, interposes a wedge of foreign territory
between Pennsylvania and Ohio, the East and the West--leaving them
connected by a shred (see map) not one hundred miles broad, and
rendering a farther and more fatal disruption of the Union wellnigh
inevitable. When the Baltimore and Ohio railroad shall traverse for the
most part a foreign country--when the Mississippi, through all the lower
part of its course, shall have been surrendered by us to a power
inevitably hostile to our growth and jealous of our prosperity--when
Wheeling and Memphis shall have become foreign ports, and Cincinnati and
St. Louis frontier cities--the gravitation of the Free West toward the
country to which her rivers are hastening and through which her bulky
staples find their natural outlet to the great highway of nations, will
be all but irresistible.

III. And this brings me to a vital point, which Europeans have seemed
determined not to comprehend--that of the extremely artificial and
fragile character of the political structure which our architects of
national ruin are laboring to construct. Mr. Chancellor Gladstone is
pleased to favor us with his opinion that Slavery cannot long survive
the recognition and perfect establishment of the Southern Confederacy. I
beg leave to assure him, in turn, that the Confederacy would not long
survive the downfall of Slavery. Let Slavery fall, and a million of
bayonets could not keep the North and South disunited even twenty years.
Apart from Slavery and its fancied necessities, there is not a
Disunionist between New Brunswick and Mexico, Canada and Cuba. The Union
is the darling of our affections, the seal of our security, the
palladium of our strength. No American ever tolerated the idea of
disunion except as he intensely loved or hated Slavery, and regarded the
Union as an obstacle to the realization of his wishes respecting it.
Were Slavery universal and supreme among us, or were it abolished and
its influence effaced, you could find more Thugs in Scotland than
Disunionists in America.

IV. And here your statesmen are making a mistake which some of them will
live to realize and rue. They suppose that our country, once fairly
divided and arrayed under two hostile governments, recognizing and no
longer at war with each other, must ever thereafter _remain_ divided.
They never reckoned more wildly. Were their wishes fully realized this
day, and the Confederacy an undisputed fact, a party would instantly
arise--nay, a party already exists--throughout the country, demanding
reunion on any terms. Archbishop Hughes has already in either hemisphere
struck the keynote of this cry. He truly says that our country cannot be
permanently divided. He unworthily adds that, if it cannot be united
under the old Constitution, it must be under a new one--in other words,
under that of the Confederacy. The Democratic party of the Free States,
abandoning the creed of its founders, which has lately ruled the Union
by virtue of a close alliance with the Slave Power of the South,--would,
the day after we had made peace by acknowledging the Southern
Confederacy, reorganize and reagitate under the banner of
'Reconstruction.' Hatred to <DW64>s is the talisman whereby it secures
the votes by pandering to the prejudices of the most ignorant and
vicious Whites--by hostility to <DW64> immigration (from the South),
<DW64> suffrage, <DW64> competition in the labor market, and to <DW64>
humanity in general. That Slavery is the natural and fit condition of
<DW64>s everywhere and at all times--that the abolition of Southern
Slavery would be a great calamity to the white laborers of the
North--such is the political philosophy assiduously dispensed and
greedily imbibed in the grogshops and 'back slums' of every Northern
city, and which politicians and journalists pretending to sense and
decency do not hesitate for their party's and their ambition's sake to
indorse and disseminate. And there are clashes less debased, though
scarcely more heartless, who countenance this inhuman logic. The average
mercantile sentiment of this and other great Northern cities runs thus:
'True, Slavery is unjust and barbarous--it is at once a wrong and a
mistake--but it is not _our_ blunder. Its perils are braved and its
evils endured by those who cherish it, hundreds of miles away; while _to
us_ it is a positive advantage. By obstructing the mechanical and
manufacturing development of the South, it dooms her products, her
commerce, her navigation, to build up Northern marts and factories; by
its restriction of Southern industry mainly to the plantation, it opens
broad avenues for the disposal of our wares. The sin and the sorrow are
monopolized by the South: the gain and the good enure to the North.' How
short-sighted and fallacious is this calculation, I need not here
demonstrate: suffice it that it is very generally made, and that the
result is not merely a general mercantile callousness to the iniquities
of the slave-holding system, but a current sentiment which regards it
with active and positive favor.

V. Disunion being an accepted fact, and peace restored on that basis,
the Republican party, which has ineffectually resisted the aggressions
of the Slave Power and directed the national effort to maintain and
preserve the Union, is beaten and prostrate. The Democratic party
rallies under the banner of 'Reunion at any price.' What price will be
accepted? Simply and obviously, _Adoption of the Montgomery
Constitution, and application for admission under it into the Southern
Confederacy_. True, that Constitution inexorably prescribes that

     'The citizens of each State shall have the right of transit and
     sojourn in any State of this Confederacy with their slaves and
     other property; and the right of property in said slaves shall not
     thereby be impaired.'

'Sojourn in any State,' you perceive--'not for a day, but for all time.'
That clause alone makes Slavery universal and imperative throughout the
Confederacy, and no State can evade or override it. But again:

     'The Confederate States may acquire new territory * * * * in all
     such territory, <DW64> slavery, as it now exists in the Confederate
     States, shall be recognised and protected by Congress and by the
     territorial government; and the inhabitants of the Confederate
     States and Territories shall have the right to take to such
     territory any slaves lawfully held by them in any of the States or
     Territories of the Confederate States.'

There are more provisions like these; but they are not needed to make
every State that adheres to the Confederacy a Slave State, and every
foot of territory which may be conceded to or acquired by it, slave
soil.

To abasement at the footstool of this triumphant wickedness, everything
venal and sordid in the yet Free States would inevitably and intensely
gravitate: commerce seeking customers; manufactures eager for markets;
shipping greedy of cargoes and freights; but, above all, Democratic
politicians hungry for power and pelf, and having the strong instinct of
American unity and nationality as their fulcrum. They would gradually
but surely undermine the mutilated fabric of our once glorious Union,
and tear away its pillars to strengthen and extend the pile whereof
Slavery is the acknowledged corner-stone. The Union would gradually
crumble and disappear, and the slaveholders' Confederacy be built up
from its ruins; the Slave Power would resume its arrested march toward
the equator, dragging the Republic behind its triumphal chariot wheels;
Mexico, Central America, Cuba, Hayti, &c., would be gradually 'annexed'
by it; domestic opposition to its dictates would be summarily suppressed
as treason or 'abolition;' the masses of our people would become like
the Roman populace under the Caesars; the forms of a republic might for a
season be preserved, but the essence would speedily evaporate, leaving a
vast, powerful, rapacious Slave Empire, ruled by some master spirit of
the slaveholding oligarchy, and wielding all the power of the nation for
the gratification and aggrandizement of that grasping, unscrupulous
aristocracy. Having ceased to be the refuge of the hunted and the
cynosure of the oppressed, this country would thenceforth awe the
nations of the Old World by its military power, and shock them by its
profligacy, whereof the Ostend Circular and the murders and forgeries of
Kansas were but foretastes, until God in His righteous wrath should
bring upon it some visitation like the present, and hurl it from its
pinnacle in mercy to mankind.

My friend! we must fight on till we conquer. We have no alternative but
absolute ruin. Our triumph is far nearer than it seems, if we can but
animate the loyal States to put forth their whole strength for the
contest. Our armies are mustered; our leaders are chosen; our munitions
provided; and the Proclamation of Freedom is an immense make-weight
thrown into the right scale. We must and shall conquer, and save the
civilized world from a scourge more baleful than any Alaric or Attila.

   Yours, truly,

   HORACE GREELEY.




THANK GOD FOR ALL.

AIR--'They tell me thou'rt a favored guest;' or,' _Seht ihr drei Rosse
vor dem Wagen_.'


   Look back upon the vanished years,
     When all men pointed at our shame;
   Think on the curses and the jeers
     Which rung and clung around our name:
   A byword and a mocking call--
   And we may thank the South for all.

   The foulness of their Southern slime
     Was cast upon our Northern hands;
   The curse of murder, craft, and crime
     Clung to our fame in foreign lands:
   Men thought us prompt to thieve or brawl--
   And we may thank the South for all.

   Britannia smiles on DAVIS now,
     And blesses all his bayonets;
   There was a time when on _our_ brow
     She set the shame of Southern debts:
   _We_ wore the chain--we dragged the ball--
   And we may thank the South for all.

   Men spoke of slaves in bitter tone,
     When pointing to the stripes and stars;
   'The constellation is your own,
     The <DW64> gets the bloody scars,
   And yet of equal rights you bawl!'
   Well--we may thank the South for all.

   They stole our starlight--made us blind,
     As did of old the Norland elves:
   Prometheus stole it--for mankind,
     But they--they kept it for themselves,
   And held us like their slaves in thrall--
   And we--we thanked them for it all.

   Thank GOD! the pact is rent in twain!
     Thank GOD! the light is all our own!
   We've burst the bonds and rent the chain,
     And drawn the sword, unhelped, alone:
   And, holding Freedom's carnival,
   We'll thank the South for that and all.

   The morning-red is on our brow,
     The brand, the curse grows pale with night;
   The sword is in our hands, and now
     All gleams in glory's golden light:
   We're _free_! Ye nations, hear the call--
   We see! and now thank GOD for all!




A MERCHANT'S STORY.

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


CHAPTER VII.

It was nine o'clock at night, when the stage halted before the door of
that purgatory for Southern pilgrims, the 'Washington House,' Newbern.
As we dismounted from the box, Preston said to me:

'You order supper and a room, while I attend to Phyllis and the chidren.
I'll join you presently.'

Seeing that our luggage was safely deposited on the piazza, I entered
the hotel in quest of the landlord. The 'office' was a long, low, dingy
apartment, with tobacco-stained floor, blackened ceiling, and greasy
brown walls, ornamented here and there with advertisements of runaway
slaves, auction notices of 'mules, <DW64>s, and other property,' a few
dusty maps, and a number of unframed wood cuts of prominent political
characters. Among the latter, Calhoun, in bristling hair, cadaverous
face, and high shirt collar, looked 'the unkindest cut of all.' Behind
the bar, which extended across the further end of the room, was drawn up
a whole regiment of glass decanters, and stout black bottles, full of
spirit, and ready for active service. A generous wood fire roared and
crackled on a broad hearthstone, and in a semi circle around it, in
every conceivable attitude, were collected about twenty planters' sons,
village shopkeepers, turpentine farmers, itinerant horse dealers, and
cattle drovers. Some had their heels a trifle higher than their heads,
some were seated on the knees of others, some were lounging on the arms
of chairs, and some were stretched at full length on a pile of trunks
near by; but all were too much engaged in smoking, expectorating, and
listening to a horse-trading narrative, which one of their number was
relating, to heed my entrance.

'Wall, ye see,' said the story teller, 'Dick come the possum over him;
made b'lieve he was drunk, though he warn't, no more'n I ar; but he tuk
darned good keer ter see the ole man get well slewed, he did. Wall, wen
the ole feller wus pooty well primed, Dick stuck his arm inter his'n,
toted him off ter the stable, and fotched out a ole spavin'd,
wind-galled, used-up, broken-down critter, thet couldn't gwo a rod,
'cept ye got another hoss to haul him; and says he: 'See thar; thar's a
perfect paragone o' hossflesh; a raal Arab; nimble's a cricket; sunder'n
a nut; gentler'n a cooin' dove, and faster'n a tornado! I doan't sell
'im fur nary fault, and ye couldn't buy 'im fur no price, ef I warn't
hard put. Come, now, what d'ye say? I'll put 'im ter ye fur one fifty,
an' it's less'n he cost, it ar!' Wall, the ole man tuk--swallowed the
critter whole--tuk him down without greasing, he did! ha! ha!'

'Ha! ha!' repeated the listening crowd, and 'Yah! yah!' echoed three or
four well-dressed <DW54>s, who were standing near the doorway: 'Sarved
'im right; he'm a mean ole cuss, he am;' chimed in one of the latter
gentry, as he added another guffaw, and, swaying his body back and
forth, brought his hands down on his thighs with a concussion which sent
a thick cloud of tobacco smoke, of his own manufacture, circling to the
other side of the room.

When the merriment had somewhat subsided, I stepped toward the
assemblage, and inquired if the landlord were present. There was no
reply for a few moments; then one of the embryo planters, speaking to a
showily-dressed young man near him, remarked:

'Get up, and tend ter the stranger; ye arn't fit to tote vituals to a
<DW65>.'

The young man rose very deliberately, and said:

'Want ter see the keeper, do ye?'

'Yes, sir, I want, a room, and supper for two, at once.'

'Room and supper fur two?'

'Yes, a room with a fire and two beds.'

'Whar d'ye come from?'

'From Goldsboro'; just in by the stage.'

'Oh! stage's in, is it?'

'Yes, sir, the stage is in. You'll oblige me by attending to us at once;
we are hungry and tired.'

He looked at me for a moment without speaking, then leisurely walked out
of the front door. Two or three of the loungers followed, but the young
gentleman who had first spoken rose and politely tendered me a seat.
Thanking him, I took the chair vacated by the bartender, and proceeded
to warm my hands and limbs, which were thoroughly chilled by the long
ride in the cold air.

'Cold, riding after nightfall, sir,' said the young man, who I now
observed was the Mr. Gaston whom the trader had so unceremoniously
ejected from the shooting ground.

'Yes, sir, it _is_ cold riding on the box.'

'And our rattle-down coaches are so mighty slow; you don't have such
fixin's at the North.'

'No, sir; but why do you suppose I'm from the North? I've passed for a
Southerner to-day.'

'Oh, I know you Yankees all to pieces; I've lived among you.'

'At college, I suppose?'

'Yes, at Harvard.'

'You graduated early.'

'No, I didn't graduate, I _left_--left for my health. Ha! ha I' and he
broke into a merry fit of laughter, in which several of his companions
joined.

'Taken with sudden illness, as you were at the turkey-match, to-day?' I
inquired good humoredly, and in a tone that could not give offence.

'Yes, the same disease, I swear. Ha! ha!'

'Ha! ha!' echoed his companions,

'The stranger's inter ye, Gus--inter ye a feet! Come, ye must treat,'
shouted the teller of the horse story.

This last individual was tall, raw-boned, and squarely built, with
broad, heavy features, and dull, cold, snake-like eyes. His black,
unkempt hair, and long, wiry beard, fell round his face like tow round a
mop handle, and his coarse linsey clothes, patched in many places, and
smeared with tar and tobacco juice, fitted him as a shirt might fit a
bean pole. The legs of his pantaloons were thrust inside of his boots,
and he wore a fuzzy woollen hat with battered crown and a broad flapping
brim. He looked the very picture of an ex-overseer under a cloud, or an
itinerant sporting man, anxious for something to turn up.

I declined the proffered drink, but the company rose and approached the
counter, while the young planter bade the bartender, who had just
reentered, 'trot out the consolation.'

'Down with the pewter, then, Mr. Gaston,' said the liquor vender. 'No
pay, no drinks, is the rule in this yere shanty.'

The young man tossed him a half-eagle. His companions proceeded to
imbibe a variety of compounds, while he poured out nearly a glass full
of raw whiskey, and drank it down at a swallow. As he replaced the glass
on the counter, a slatternly <DW64> woman thrust her head in at the
doorway, saying:

'Dar's a 'ooman heah; a wite 'ooman, dat am 'ticler anxyus fur de honor
of Mister Mulock's 'quaintance. She'm in de sittin' room.'

'Thar's a call fur you, Bony,' said the young planter to the story
teller; 'some young woman with designs on your landed possessions; ha!
ha!'

Without replying, the other followed the serving woman from the room. He
was the absconding polygamist for whom the tobacco-chewing female had
ventured all the way from Chalk-Leod.

'Is supper ready, sir?' I asked of the bartender.

'Supper? I reckon so. Ye'd better go and see,' was the civil reply.

'Where's the dining room?'

'Over thar--'tother side the hall.'

Passing out of the room, I met Preston, and we proceeded together to the
supper table. When we were seated, I remarked:

'By the way, I have just seen the husband of our stage coach
acquaintance. He's a rum-looking customer.'

'Yes, I suppose he has taken to drinking again. The whipping and the
loss of Phylly have probably worked on him.'

'You don't mean to say _he_ is Phylly's husband?'

'Yes, didn't I tell you?'

'No. Two wives under one roof! Well, that's more than most white men can
afford.'

'That's a fact. It's an awkward business; what had better be done?'

'Done? Why, let him go. You'll be well rid of him. He's a worthless
fellow, or nature dosn't write English. I read 'scoundrel' all over his
face.'

'He has a bad nature; but Phylly's influence on him is good, and she
loves him.'

'_Loves_ him! Well, there's no accounting for tastes.'

'That's true,' replied the Squire; 'but we all love those whom we do
good to. She married Mulock after nursing him through a long illness,
and she has tamed him, though it was taming a wolf.'

We soon left the table. Preston went into the sitting room, while I
resumed my seat by the bar room fire.

I had nearly finished my evening cigar, when Preston came into the
office, Shaking hands with young Gaston and a number of the others, who
all greeted him with marked respect. He said to me:

'What shall I do? Mulock's wife will let him off if I pay her a hundred
dollars.'

'Pay her a hundred dollars!' I exclaimed.

'Yes; she'll release him to Phyllis for that--give a paper to that
effect. What would you do?

The idea was so ludicrous that, in spite of the Squire's serious manner,
I burst into a fit of laughter. Between the mirthful explosions I
managed to say:

'Pardon me, Preston; but I never before heard of selling a husband--at
so low a price. Ha! ha! Do not buy him; he isn't worth the money.' Then
seeing that he appeared hurt, I added: 'What does Phyllis say?'

'I haven't told her; she'll feel badly to have him go, but it's not
right for me to pay the money. I should pay my debts first.'

Mr. Gaston, whose attention had been attracted to our conversation by my
rather boisterous conversation, now said, making a strong effort to
appear serious:

'Excuse me, Squire, but what is it? Has Mulock two wives; and does one
offer to sell out for a hundred dollars?'

'Yes,' replied Preston, in a tone which showed a decided disinclination
to conversation with him.

'Buy him, then, Squire; I'll give you twenty-five dollars for the
bargain, on the spot; I will, I swear;' and, unable to contain himself
longer, he burst into an uproarious fit of merriment, in which the
by-sitters joined.

Preston's face darkened, and in a grave voice he said:

'Young man, you forget yourself. I am sorry to see you so wanting in
respect to others, and--yourself.'

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Preston,' replied Gaston, in an apologetic tone;
'I meant no offence, sir--upon my soul, I did not. If Mulock is for sale
for a--'here his risibilities again gave way--'for a hundred dollars,
I'll buy him; for it's cheap; I swear it's cheap, seeing he's a white
man.'

Preston, by this time really angered, was about to make a harsh reply,
when I interrupted him:

'Never mind, my friend, let Mr. Gaston buy him; he can afford it. Do it,
Mr. Gaston; it will be both a capital joke and a good action, do it _at
once_.'

The glass of raw whiskey had somewhat 'elevated' the young planter, and
my conscience demurred a little at the advice I gave him; but I
recovered my usual self-complacency on reflecting that he would
undoubtedly put the money to a much worse use.

Saying, 'D----d if I won't,' Gaston drew forth his purse, and counted
out a number of half eagles. Finding he had not enough, he turned to
another young planter, and said:

'Here, Bob, I'm short; lend me fifty dollars.'

'Bob' produced his wallet, and, without counting them, handed him a roll
of bills.

'Now, stranger, come along, I shall want you to draw up the papers and
witness the trade; ha! ha! Is she in the parlor, Squire?'

'Yes,' said Preston, taking the seat I had vacated.

The young man then put his arm into mine, and we proceeded to the
'sitting room.'

Mulock was seated before the fire, gazing intently at the blaze. His
wife sat opposite, speaking earnestly to him. She every now and then
wetted a short piece of wood with saliva, and dipping it into a snuff
bottle, mopped her teeth and gums with the savory powder. She was--as
her husband might have said--a perfect 'paragone' of 'poor white'
womanhood, with all the accomplishments of her class, smoking, chewing,
snuff dipping, and whiskey drinking.

As we approached, she lifted her eyes, and Gaston said to her:

'Are you the lady who has a man for sale--a likely white man?'

'Wall, stranger, I reckon I'm the 'ooman, Thet ar feller's my husband,
an' he karn't git off 'cept I git a hundred dollars.'

'Will you give a bill of sale, releasing all your right, title, and
interest in him to me, if I pay you a hundred dollars?'

'Yes, I wull--ter ye, or ter ony-body.'

'Wall, now,' continued Gaston, imitating her tone, 'karn't yo take a
trifle less'n thet--eighty or so?'

'No, stranger, nary dime under thet. I'm gol-durned ef I does.'

'Well, Mulock, what do you say? Are you willing to be sold?'

'I haint willin' ter be laff'd at by ye, nor nobody else,' replied
Mulock, rising, and turning fiercely on the planter. 'I'll larrup the
d----d 'ooman ony how, and ye, too, ef ye say much more.'

'Come, Mulock,' said the young man, coolly, but firmly, 'be civil, or
I'll let daylight through you before you're a minute older. I'm disposed
to do you a good turn, but you must be civil, by----.'

'Wall, do as ye likes, Gus; onything'll suit me,' replied Mulock,
resuming his previous position.

'But, d---- you, if I spend a hundred on you, you must go to work like a
man, and try to pay it. I wouldn't do it anyhow, if it warn't for
Phylly.'

'But Phylly's gone,' said Mulock in a dejected tone; 'gone--toted off by
thet d----d trader. If I hadn't a ben in the cussed jug, I'd a killed
him.'

'No she isn't gone; she's here--Preston's bought her.'

Mulock sprang to his feet; his dull, cold eye lighted, and seizing the
young man by the arm, he exclaimed:

'Doan't ye lie ter me, Gus; _is_ she yere?'

'Yes, so Bob says; he saw her get out of the stage.'

Mulock made no reply, but strode toward the door. Gaston said quickly:

'Hold on, Bony, don't vamoose just yet. D----d if I'll help you out of
this if you don't promise to work like an honest fellow to pay me.'

'I will, Gus; I'll leave off drinkin' ter onst; I'll work day and night,
I will.'

'Well, my rustic beauty, are you ready to sign a bill of sale?'

'Yas; but I reckon, bein's as ye set so high on Bony, ye kin go a trifle
more'n thet; jest the 'spences down yere?'

'Not another red,' said Gaston.

'Wall, he ain't of no account, nohow; I reckon he ain't wuth no more.
Count out th' pewter.'

I procured writing utensils from the bar room, and in a few moments drew
up a paper, by which, in consideration of one hundred dollars, to her in
hand, that day paid, Jane Mulock, of Chalk Level, in the county of
Harnet, and State of North Carolina, did sell, assign, transfer, make
over, convey, and forever quit claim unto Phyllis Preston, otherwise
known as Phyllis Mulock, of the town of Newbern, in the county of
Craven, and State aforesaid, all her right, title, and interest in and
to the body, soul, wearing apparel, and other possessions, of one
Napoleon Bonaparte Mulock, whom the said Jane charged with being her
husband; and also all claims or demands she had on him for a support,
she binding herself never to institute any suit or suits against him in
any court of the State of North Carolina, or of any other State, or of
the United States, for the crime of bigamy, or for any other crime,
misdemeanor, or abomination committed against herself at any time prior
to the date of said instrument. In testimony whereof she, the said Jane
Mulock, did sign the sign of the cross, and affix her seal to a half
sheet of dirty paper, whereto Gustavus A. Gaston, and the writer hereof,
were witnesses.[4]

Both Mulock and his wife thought the instrument a valid one. He again
took Phyllis to his bosom, and Jane, I have been told, married another
husband. In view of the latter fact, I have never been able to wholly
satisfy my conscience for the part I took in the transaction.


CHAPTER VIII.

While we were at breakfast on the following morning, Preston said to me:

'I think I had better leave Phylly and Rosey here till I can consult
with my wife; we have house servants enough, and Phylly can't work in
the field. It may be advisable to let her remain in Newbern.'

'And what will you do with the little yellow boy?'

'Oh, take him with us. There's always something the little fellows can
do. We'll call at his mother's and get him.'

We decided to set out for the plantation at once, and Preston ordered a
livery wagon to be got in readiness. While we were waiting for it, I
strolled out upon the piazza. I had not been there long before 'young
Joe,' Preston's only son, rode up to the hotel. He was a manly lad,
about twelve years of age, and in form, features, and manner, a
miniature edition of his father. He had grown amazingly since at my
house, two years before, and I did not at once recognize him; but as
soon as he caught sight of me, he shouted out in boyish glee, throwing
his bridle over the hitching post, and springing to the ground.

'Oh, Mr. Kirke! I'm so glad you've come; mother will be _so_ glad to see
you. We'll have such a nice time,' and he seized me by the hand, and
shook it energetically.

'Why, Joe, I thought you were at home!'

'Oh, no! I'm here at school, but father says I'm to have a vacation
while you're here. Why didn't you fetch Frank? You promised you would.'

'I know I did, Joe, but his mother wouldn't let him come; she thinks
he's too young to travel.'

'Pshaw! He's old enough--most as old as I am; but never mind, Mr. Kirke;
we'll have a fine time, hunting and fishing, and going to the races.
They're going to have a big one over to Trenton next week, and I'm dying
to go; it's _so_ lucky you've come.'

'Lord bless you, Joe, I never went to a race, and never shot a gun in my
life; besides, I can remain only a day or so.'

'Oh, yes, you can; father says you Yorkers are always in a hurry; but
you must take it easy now. I'll show you round, and learn you the
ropes.'

While I was laughing at the enthusiasm of the young lad, the wagon drove
up, and Preston soon appearing, we entered it and drove off. As Joe
bounded upon his spirited horse and led the way down the elm-shaded
street, I said to his father:

'How that boy rides; he's a perfect Centaur.'

'Yes, he _is_ a good horseman. He's been trained to it. You know we
think manly exercises an essential part of a gentleman's education.'

'And you let Joe keep his own horse?'

'Yes, it's awfully expensive; but old Joe raised the colt for the boy,
and I couldn't deny him.'

We rode on until we reached the outskirts of the town, when we stopped
before a small, tumble-down shanty, built of rough boards, and roofed
with the same material. In the narrow front yard, a large iron pot,
supported on two upright poles, was steaming over a light wood fire. The
boiling clothes it contained were being stirred by a brawny, coal black
<DW64> woman, with an arm like the Farnese Hercules, and a form as stout
as Wouter Van Twiller's. The yellow boy, Ally, was heaping wood on the
fire.

'How do you do, aunty?' said Preston, as we drew up at the rickety gate.

'Right smart, massa, right smart,' replied the woman; then turning round
and recognizing the Squire, she added: 'Oh, massa Preston, am dat 'ou?
Oh! I'se so 'joiced 'ou got Ally; I'se _so_ 'joiced! De Lord hear my
prayer, massa--de Lord hear my prayer. I feel like I die wid joy, de
Lord so good ter me. Oh, He'm so good ter me!'

'The Lord is good to all who love Him; He never fails those that trust
in Him,' said Preston, solemnly.

'No more'n He doan't, massa; no more'n he doan't. De good missus tole me
dat jess af'er dey toted de pore chile 'way; but I couldn't b'lieve it,
massa, I couldn't b'lieve it. It 'peared like I neber see 'im
agin--neber see 'im agin, but I prayed de Lord, massa, I prayed de Lord
all de time--all de time dat de chile wus 'way; I hab no sleep, I eat
most nuffin, an' my heart grow so big, I fought it would clean broke;
but lass night, jess wen it 'peared like I couldn't stan' it no more;
wen I wus a cryin' an' a groanin' to de Lord wid all my might, den,
massa, de Lord, He hard me, an' He open de door, an' de little chile run
in, an' put him arms round my neck, and he telled me I need neber cry no
more, 'case de good massa Preston hab got him! Oh, it wus too much,
massa, fur 'ou's so good, de Lord's so good, massa! Oh, I feel like I
should die ob joy.' Here she sat down on a rude bench near by, covered
her face with her apron, and sobbed like a child. Preston's eyes filled
with tears, but brushing them hastily away, he asked, as if to change
the subject:

'Did you say the 'missus' had been down?'

'Yes, massa, de good missus come down jess so soon as she hard Phylly
war sold, an' wen she fine Ally war gwine too, she come ter see de ole
'ooman, she did, massa--and she try to comfut me. She say de good Lord
would fotch Ally back, and He hab, massa! Oh, He hab!'

'Well, Dinah, what shall we do with Ally? Do you want him to go to the
plantation?'

'Oh, yas, massa, I want de chile ter be wid 'ou. I'd _rudder_ he'd be
wid 'ou, massa; but massa'--and she spoke timidly, and with
hesitation--''ou knows ole massa promise ter sell Ally ter me--ter sell
'im ter me wen I'd a sabed up 'nuff ter buy 'im. An' will 'ou, massa,
will 'ou?'

'Yes, Dinah, of course I will,' said Preston.

'Oh! bress 'ou, massa; bress 'ou. It'm so good ob 'ou, _so_ good ob 'ou,
massa;' and she sobbed harder than before.

'How much have you saved up, aunty?'

'A hun'red and firteen, massa; an' dar's some more'n dat massa Blackwell
am ter gib fur de usin' on it. Massa Blackwell got it. How much shill I
pay fur Ally, massa?'

'Well, I don't know; the trader offered three hundred for him; you may
have him for half that.'

'How much 's dat, massa?'

'A hundred and fifty dollars.'

'He'm wuth more'n dat, massa Preston; ole massa say Ally wuth two
hun'red an' fifty or three hun'red ob any folks' money. He'm a likely
boy, massa.'

'Yes, I know that; I don't mean to undervalue him. I wouldn't sell him
to any one else for less than three hundred dollars.'

'Oh! tank 'ou, massa; it'm good ob 'ou; berry good ob 'ou, massa;' and
again her apron found the way to her eyes.

'Well,' said Preston, after a moment's thought, 'I think you'd better
take the boy now, aunty. I'm in some trouble, and I don't know how
things may turn with me; so you'd better take him now.'

'But I hain't money 'nuff now, massa.'

'Well, never mind; pay the rest when you can, but don't scrimp yourself
as you have, Dinah; I shan't care if you never pay it.'

The woman seemed bewildered, but said nothing. She evidently was
unaccustomed to Preston's mode of doing business. I mentioned to him
that he could not give a conveyance of the <DW64> boy until the judgment
against him was cancelled.

'True,' he replied; 'I didn't think of that. Shall we attend to it now?'

'Yes, at once; further costs may accumulate if you delay.'

Preston told the <DW64> woman to meet him by eleven o'clock, at the store
of the person who had charge of her money, and we rode at once to the
'Old State Bank.' Its doors were not then opened, but as the cashier
resided in the building, we soon secured notes in exchange for Preston's
draft on me, and in less than an hour had the judgment satisfied, and
Ally's free papers, properly made out and executed. It was not quite ten
o'clock when, as we were leaving the attorney's office, we noticed the
slave woman and her son seated on the steps of Mr. Blackwell's store.

'Are you all ready, aunty?' asked Preston.

'Yes, massa, I'se all ready; I'se got de gole all heah,' she replied,
holding up a small canvas bag; 'a hun'red an' twenty-sevin dollar an'
firty cents--so massa Blackwell say; I karn't reckon so much as dat,
massa.'

The woman had made an effort to 'spruce up' for the interview, by
putting on a clean white neckerchief, and a bran new pair of brogans,
but she still wore the tattered red and yellow turban, and the thin,
coarse Osnaburg gown, clean, but patched in many places--in which she
was arrayed when bending over the wash kettle.

The merchant then came to the door, and invited us in; Preston handed
him the papers to examine, and we all entered the store. As the woman
laid the gold on the counter, I said to her:

'Aunty, how long have you been in saving this money?'

'Four year, massa. Ole massa wouldn't'gree ter sell de chile till four
year ago.'

'And you've hired your time, and earned this by washing and ironing?'

'Yas, sar I'se had ter pay massa a hun'red and firty dollar ebery year,
'sides twenty fur rent; an' I'se had ter work bery hard, of'en till 'way
inter de night, but I wanted to hab de chile FREE, massa.'

'And have you had no husband to help you?'

'No, massa, I never had none; I never tuk ter de men folks.'

She was, as I have said, of a coal-black complexion, while Ally's skin
was a bright yellow. His father, therefore, must have been a white man.

'You have worked very hard, no doubt, aunty; are these the best clothes
you have?'

'Yas, massa, dese am _all_ I'se got.'

'Oh, tank'ou, massa. 'Ou's too good, massa; tank'ou bery much--but
'ou'll leff' me gib dis ter de Squire, massa, 'on't 'ou? I wants ter pay
fur Ally.'

'Yes, if he will take it, 'I replied, for I knew that he would not.

The merchant had examined the documents, and Preston had counted the
money and put it in his pocket, when, handing the papers to Dinah, the
latter said:

'Now, aunty, Ally's free, and I hope he'll prove a good boy, and worthy
of such a mother.'

'Oh, he will dat, massa; he'm a good chile; but heah'm ten dollar more
massa, it'm de good gemman's, an' he say I kin gib it ter 'on fur Ally.'

Preston laughed: 'I heard what he said. I can't take it, Dinah. You need
it to buy some winter clothes. I'll take the risk of what you owe me.'

The shopkeeper then said:

'Take it, Mr. Preston; I'll let Dinah have what she needs out of the
store; she knows her credit is good with me.'

'Well,' said Preston, taking the money, 'this makes one hundred and
thirty-seven dollars and thirty cents. You need not pay any more--Ally
is yours _now_.'

'Oh! am Ally _free_, massa? Am de chile FREE? she exclaimed, taking him
in her arms, and bursting into a hysterical fit of weeping.

Every eye was wet, but no one spoke. At last Dinah said:

'But, massa Preston, I wants 'ou ter take de chile. I wants 'ou ter
fetch him up. I karn't larn him nuffin. I doan't know nuffin massa. He
kin git larnin' wid 'ou.'

'But he's all you have. He'll be a help and a comfort, to you at home.'

'I doan't want no help, massa. He'm FREE now--I doan't want no help no
more.'

'Well, aunty, I'll take him, and pay you twenty dollars a year, till
he's fifteen. He's ten now, isn't he?'

'A'most ten, massa, a'most; but 'ou needn't pay me nuffin; jess gib de
chile what you likes. And massa, 'ou'll speak ter Boss Joe 'bout him,
woan't 'ou? 'Ou'll ax him ter see Ally gwoe ter de meetin's an' larn out
ob de books, woan't 'ou, massa? I wants him ter know suffin, massa.'

'Yes, I will, Dinah, and I'll keep an eye on him myself.'

'Tank 'ou, massa; an' p'raps' ou'll leff de chile come ter see him ole
mammy once'n a while?'

'Yes, he may--once a month. Come now, Dinah, get into the wagon; we go
right by your house.'

We entered the vehicle, and drove off. When we reached the shanty, the
negress got out, and, amid a shower of blessings from her, we rode on to
the plantation. For four long years she had worked fifteen hours a day,
and denied herself every comfort to buy her child; and when at last she
had secured his freedom, she was willing to part with him that he might
'larn suffin out ob de books.' Who that reads this truthful record of a
slave mother's love, will deny to her wretched race the instincts and
feelings that make _us_ human?

It was a clear, cold, sunshiny day--one of those days so peculiar to the
Southern climate, when the blood hounds through every vein as if
thrilled by electricity, and a man of lively temperament can scarcely
restrain his legs from dancing a 'breakdown.' We rode rapidly on through
a timbered country, where the tall trees grew up close by the roadside,
locking their huge arms high in the air, and the long, graceful, black
moss hung like mourning drapery from their great branches. The green
pine-tassels, which carpeted the ground, crackled beneath our horses'
feet, and breathed a grateful odor around us; and the soft autumn wind,
which rustled the leaves and swayed the tops of the old trees, sang a
pleasant song over our heads. Every pine bore the scars of the
turpentine axe, and here and there we came upon a patch of woods where
the <DW64>s were gathering the 'last dipping;' and now and then we
passed an open clearing where a poor planter was at work with a few
field hands. Occasionally we forded a small stream, where, high up on
the bank, was a rude ferry, which served in the rainy season as a
miserable substitute for a bridge; and once in a while, far back from
the road, we caught sight of an old country-seat, whose dingy, unpainted
walls, broken down fences, and dilapidated surroundings reminded one
that shiftless working men, and careless, reckless proprietors, are the
natural products of slavery. Thus we rode on for several hours, till,
turning a slight bend in the road, we suddenly halted before the gateway
of my friend's plantation. I had observed for half a mile that the woods
which lined the wayside were clear of underbrush, the felled trees
trimmed, and their branches carefully piled in heaps, and the rails,
which in other places straggled about in the road, were doing their
appropriate duty on the fences; and I said to Preston:

'I am glad to see you are as good at planting as you are at preaching.'

'Bless you,' he replied, 'it isn't me--it's Joe. Joe is acknowledged to
be the best farmer in Jones county.'

At the gateway we met such a greeting as is unknown all the world over,
outside of a Southern plantation. Perched in the fences, swinging on the
gate, and hanging from the trees, were a score of young ebonies of both
sexes, who, as we came in sight, set up a chorus of discordant shouts
that made the woods ring. Among the noises I made out: 'Gorry, massa am
come!' 'Dar dey is.' 'Dat'm de strange gem-man.' 'How's 'ou, massa?'
'Glad 'ou's come, massa; 'peared like we'd neber see 'ou no more,
massa;' and a multitude of similiar exclamations, that told unmistakably
the character of the discipline to which they were accustomed. The young
chattels are an infallible barometer--they indicate the real state of
the weather on a plantation. One may never see among the older slaves of
even a cruel master, any but sunshiny faces, for they know the penalty
of surliness before a stranger; but the little <DW54>s cannot be so
restrained. They will slink away into by-corners, or scamper out of
sight whenever their owner appears, if they are not treated kindly.

'Massa's well. Are you all well?'

'Yes, massa, we's right smart; an' all on we's good little nigs eber
sense 'ou's 'way.'

'I'm glad to hear it; now, scamper back to the house, and tell 'missus'
we're coming.'

'Missus knows 'ou's comin', massa; massa Joe am dar; missus knows 'ou's
I comin'.'

After a short drive over a narrow winding avenue, strewn with leaves and
shaded with the long branches of the pine, the oak, and the holly, we
came to the mansion, which stood on a gentle mound in the midst of a
green lawn, sloping gently down to a small lake. It had once been a
square, box-like structure; but Preston had so transformed it, that but
for its rustic surroundings and the thick groups of giant evergreens
which clustered at its sides, it might have been taken for a suburban
villa. Projecting eaves, large dormers, which sprang out from the
roof-line and rested on a broad porch and balcony, a rustic _porte
cochere_, and here and there a vine-covered bay or oriole window, broke
up the regularity of its outline, and proclaimed its designer a true
poet--and poetry, now-a-days, is more often written on the walls of
country houses than in the corners of country newspapers.

Nearly all of the 'family,' excepting the field hands, had gathered to
witness our arrival; but there was no shouting or noisy demonstrations.
After we had greeted Mrs. Preston and her two little daughters--her twin
roses, as she called them--my host turned to the assembled <DW64>s, and
gave each one his hand and a kind word. The hearty 'Lord bress 'ou, good
massa,' and 'Glad 'ou's come, massa,' which broke from all of them,
would have gladdened the heart of even the bitterest opponent of the
peculiar institution. One old woman, whose head was as white as snow,
and whose bent form showed great age, sat on a lower step of the porch,
surrounded by a cluster of children. Her mistress raised her to her feet
as Preston approached; and throwing her trembling arms around his neck,
she sobbed out:

'Oh, massa Robert, ole nussy am happy now; she'll neber leff 'ou gwo
'way agin.'

Mrs. Preston shortly turned to lead the way into the house. As she did
so, I noticed peeping from out the folds of her dress, where she had
shyly hid away, a younger child, of strange and wonderful beauty. She
had not, like the others, the fair complexion and pure Grecian features
of her mother. Her skin was dark, and her hair, which fell in glossy
curls over her neck, was as black as the night when the clouds have shut
out the stars. Her cheeks seemed two rose leaves thinly sprinkled with
snow; her eyes, coals which held a smouldering flame. Her face was one
of those caught now and then by the old painters--a thing dreamed of,
but seldom seen: the pure expression of an ideal loveliness which is
more than human. She seemed some pure, spiritual being, which had left
its ethereal home and come to earth to make the world brighter and
better by its presence. I reached out my hands to her, and said:

'Come here, my little one. This is one I have not seen, Mrs. Preston.'

'No, sir; we have never taken her North; she is too young yet. Go to the
gentleman, my pet.'

The child came timidly toward me, and suffered me to lift her in my
arms:

'And what is your name, my little one?'

'Selly, sar,' she replied, with the soft, mellow accent, which the
planter's children acquire from the <DW64>s.

'What an odd name!' I remarked,

'Yes, sir, it _is_ singular. Her full name is Selma,' replied her
mother.

'What! who have we here?' exclaimed Preston, as he turned away from the
<DW64>s, and stepped up on the piazza.

'Why, Robert, it's Selly--don't you know your own child?'

Preston took the little girl in his arms, and said:

'It's like you, Lucy. No man ever had a wife like mine, Kirke.'

'No one but Mr. Kirke himself, you mean, Robert,' replied the lady,
smiling; then she added:

'Selly has been in Newbern for a time, Mr. Preston did not expect to
find her at home.'

We entered the house, and took seats in the drawing room to await
dinner. We had not been there long, when 'Master Joe' burst into the
apartment, and rushing up to me, exclaimed:

'Come, Mr. Kirke, Joe is outside; he wants to see you--come.'

'Tell Joe to wait; don't disturb Mr. Kirke now,' said his father,

'Oh no, Preston; let me see him at once;' and rising, I followed the lad
from the room.

Joe was a dark- mulatto, about fifty years of age. He was dressed
in a suit of 'butternut homespun,' and held in his hand the ordinary
slouched hat worn by the 'natives.' His hair, the short, crispy wool of
the African, was sprinkled with gray, and he had the thick lips and
broad, heavy features of his race. He was nearly six feet high, stoutly
and compactly built; and but for a disproportion in the size of his
legs, one of which was smaller and two or three inches shorter than the
other, he might have rated as a 'prime field hand.' There was nothing
about him but his high, massive head, clear, piercing eye, and a certain
self-poised manner, to indicate that he was more than an ordinary <DW64>.

'Now, Joe, this is Mr. Kirke; make your best bow, old fellow,' shouted
the lad, as we opened the door, and stepped out on the piazza. Joe made
the requisite bow, and reaching out his hand, said:

'I'se bery glad ter see you, Mr. Kirke.'

'I'm very glad to see you, Joseph; I feel well acquainted with you,' I
replied, returning his cordial greeting.

'I feels well 'quainted wid _you_, sar. I'se wanted ter see you bery
much, Mr. Kirke. You'll 'scuse my sturbin' you; but de boy'--and he laid
his hand on the lad's head--' 'sisted ou my comin' ter onst.'

Before I could reply, his master came out of the house.

'Welcome home, massa Robert,' said the black man, taking Preston warmly
by the hand, and then adding in a quick, anxious tone:

'What luck in Virginny? Did you do it, massa Robert?'

'No,' said Preston, 'I couldn't get a dollar--not a dollar, Joe.'

'I feared dat--I feared dat, massa Robert. Nobody keer nuffin' fur you
but ole Joe--nobody but ole Joe, massa Robert!' His eyes moistened, and
he spoke in an inexpressibly tender tone--the tone of a mother when
speaking to her child.

'Nobody but Mr. Kirke, Joe. He has paid the judgment.'

'Bress you, Mr. Kirke, de Lord bress you, sar. But dar's more you knows,
massa Robert. You tole Mr. Kirke 'bout dem?'

'No, Joe. I know I ought to; but I couldn't.

'P'raps Mr. Kirke wouldn't hab paid dat, if he'd know'd de whole!' said
Joe, in a hesitating tone.

'Undoubtedly I would, Joe. It's no great matter, I'm sure,' I replied.

'Well, Joe, never mind this now. We'll talk affairs all over with Mr.
Kirke before he goes,' said Preston.

'Dat's right, massa Robert; gemman like Mr. Kirke knows 'bout dese tings
better'n you nor me.'

Saying we would see him again that day, Preston and I then reentered the
mansion.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: This transaction, improbable as it may seem to Northern
readers, occurred literally as I have narrated it.--The AUTHOR.]




ENLISTING!


   There's not a trade agoing,
   Worth knowing or showing,
   Like that from glory growing!
     Says the bold soldier boy.




THE FREED MEN OF THE SOUTH.


A question of great magnitude, concerning the fate of vast numbers of
freed men in the South, and affecting material interests of world-wide
importance, is looming up and shaping itself among the clouds which
surround us, and is daily growing more pressing in its demand for
solution, and for wise and beneficent action. The entire social and
industrial arrangements of the South are likely to be completely
disorganized, and more or less permanently broken up. The civil war
itself, in its very nature, from its avowed principles and purposes, was
well calculated to produce this result; but the proclamation of the
President, declaring emancipation after the 1st of January next, in all
the rebellious States, comes in at this critical moment speedily to
perfect the work which the madness of the rebels had already begun.

We do not propose to consider the legal effect of that measure; its
conformity to the Constitution, or to the laws of war; its necessity and
propriety under existing circumstances; or its bearing and probable
influence on the duration of the war and the ultimate restoration of the
Union. It would be worse than useless to embarrass and <DW36> ourselves
with these questions, at the present time, when it is wholly beyond our
power to arrest the march of events, and prevent the consummation to
which they inevitably tend. The thunderbolt has been launched; and
although it pauses in the air or moves slowly in its ominous path, it
has been seen of all men, and cannot be effectually recalled. Its
inevitable results are already to a great extent secured. The idea of
his liberation has been imparted to the slave, and it takes hold of his
mind as a spark would adhere to dry wood in a high wind. Every breath of
air causes it to spread; it cannot be extinguished.

Whatever view may be taken of Mr. Lincoln's proclamation, and of its
effect on the mass of slaves in the rebellious States, a very large and
increasing number will certainly escape from bondage and force their way
into the lines of our army, with every advance which it makes into the
enemy's territory. Our Government invites them and the army will be
bound to receive them. It may be safely assumed that many thousands (it
is hardly possible to say how many) will throw themselves into our
power; and they will certainly have the strongest possible claim to the
care and protection of those who have lured them from such homes as they
possessed, from regular employment and adequate sustenance, and from all
fixed habits of their peculiar condition. Winter will be already upon
them, and they will be without homes, and in a great measure, too,
without food and clothes. It is not possible that the large numbers
destined to abandon their masters at the call of the President, can be
advantageously employed as laborers and servants in the army, and it
will therefore be absolutely necessary to find other useful and
appropriate occupations for them, sufficiently profitable to make them
sure of subsistence and of some degree of comfort, from the inception of
their new condition.

It must be remembered that the plantation <DW64>s, and, indeed, the
<DW64>s generally, in all the rebellious States, have never been
accustomed to take care of themselves, or even to direct their own daily
labors. They have not the least experience in the management of affairs,
except under the control of masters or overseers. They have neither
foresight nor enterprise, nor any cultivated capacity to provide for
their own wants or for those of their families. If they have lived as
families at all, the head of the domestic organization has never had
the responsibility which naturally belongs to that position, and,
consequently, has not acquired any of the manly and noble impulses which
the sense of that responsibility invariably gives. These unfortunate
creatures, deprived of all opportunity for education, never having known
the cares and blessings of independence, but receiving their daily
support from the hand which guided and compelled their labor, emerge
from this condition almost as helpless as children. Generally, in the
glimmering twilight of their intellects, they entertain no other idea of
liberty but that of living without work. Doubtless they will readily
arrive at a better understanding of their new condition; but it is of
immense importance that they shall be started in the right path and
tutored in the ways of freedom.

The authority which will have thus taken them, suddenly and without any
preparation, from their recent employments and their old modes of life,
must not leave them, helpless and without resources, to find such
occupations as they may. The sacred obligation rests upon us to give
them some suitable employment from which they can procure present
subsistence and commence that career of industry and improvement which,
it is to be hoped, will soon prove them to have been worthy of the boon
unintentionally bestowed upon them by the authors of this wicked and
insane rebellion. Some other governments, in seasons of distress arising
from ordinary causes, do not hesitate to acknowledge the duty of finding
work for the laboring masses, who would otherwise suffer and become
dangerous in their distress and desperation; but there is no case in
which the obligations of government toward an unfortunate people are
half so strong and imperative as those which, under existing
circumstances, rest upon the United States. They have the double
responsibility of past complication in the wrong of slavery, and of
present participation in the act of suddenly terminating it.

Doubtless an effective system of colonization, beyond our limits, will
be gradually established, and the Africans in this country will
eventually find it to be their interest to separate themselves from us
and to go in large numbers to Central America or to their native
continent. But this process must necessarily be slow, and cannot
properly take place on any very large scale until the <DW64>s shall be
to some extent trained in the proper habits of freedom and prepared to
become citizens of some country in which their rights of equality will
be fully acknowledged, not merely theoretically and by profession, but
in substance and in actual practice. Moreover, they cannot be sent away
with advantage to us, or, indeed, by means of any available resources
applicable to that end, until their places shall be supplied by European
immigrants, or until the increase of our own white population shall
enable us to dispense with their services amongst us, and aid them in
finding and settling better homes, in which they may pursue their
destined course of progress, unhindered by that fatal competition and
unconquerable prejudice which meet them here. It is evident that no
possible scheme of colonization can relieve us from the duty of
providing for the present and immediate necessities of the vast numbers
of freed men who will shortly be thrown upon us by the progress of the
war, and as the direct result of the President's liberating
proclamation.

The vital and momentous question of cotton production, manufacture, and
exportation, is involved in this subject. Shall we continue to supply
the markets of the world with this indispensable commodity, the raw
material and the manufactured products; or shall we become importers of
the greatly inferior article from the East Indies at prices largely
enhanced, with the consequent destruction of our manufactures and the
loss of eight millions of exports of American goods with all the
prospective increase of this important branch of the national industry?
The annihilation of the cotton trade in the United States would change
the face of the world. It would diminish the power and importance of our
country among the nations to an incredible extent; and it would
seriously affect the relations of other powers among themselves. The
attitude of France and England toward us, at this moment, gives but a
faint indication of what we should suffer at their hands if the
organization of labor at the South should be so utterly destroyed as to
prevent the cultivation of the great staple which that favored region is
so preeminently fitted to produce. It is the influence imparted by this
production which the South has endeavored to use as its most formidable
weapon, against us in this gigantic rebellion; and whatever countenance
the rebels have received, or hereafter expect to receive from abroad, is
the result solely of their command of this indispensable production. It
is this which supplies them with arms and munitions of war at home, and
which builds the piratical ships with which they prey upon our commerce
on the high seas. Indeed, but for this all-powerful product of their
soil and labor, stimulating them and their foreign allies with the hope
of liberating the vast supplies now on hand, the war would, in all
probability, have been long since determined. But motives of still wider
scope and bearing instigate the unfriendly acts of England and France.
It is a question with these powers, whether they shall hold the
rebellious States by such obligations as shall make them a virtual
dependency for their own advantage, as the record shows they attempted
to do in the case of Texas in 1844; or whether these factious and
ambitious fragments of the Union shall be subdued by our own Government
and brought back to their true allegiance, with the effect of
reinstating our envied and dreaded power, and with our virtual monopoly
of cotton confirmed and consolidated. It is easy to see how dazzling is
the temptation which induces England and France to play the false and
dangerous part which they are so plainly acting, in this, the most
critical emergency which has arisen during the whole period of our
national existence. But the stake at issue, however valuable to them, is
of infinitely greater importance to us.

It is not merely a question of philanthropy to the liberated <DW64>s of
our Southern section; nor do we approach the limits of the subject, when
we show how deeply the wealth and power of our country and its
commercial greatness are involved in it. There are other questions of
still greater importance necessarily arising out of it, and they concern
the rights and interests of the people of the loyal States, especially
of the great mass of laboring white men, in every part of the country,
North, South, East, and West. Destroy the labor of the South, cut off
its cotton crops, and a fatal blow will be struck at the commerce and
manufactures of the whole country. Every other branch of industry,
throughout all its minutest ramifications, will feel the shock and
languish accordingly. If, instead of using our fine Southern cotton at
ten cents per pound, we are compelled to go to a distance of ten or
twelve thousand miles, paying fifty or sixty cents for the inferior,
coarse, short-staple production of India, it is apparent that the whole
fabric of our prosperity would be prostrated, and remain so, until
industry and commerce should find new and profitable channels for their
enterprise. Clothing would be greatly enhanced in value, and this, to
the laboring man, would be equivalent to a corresponding diminution of
food and all the other comforts of life. Cleanliness and health,
necessarily dependent on the abundance and cheapness of clothing, would
be to some extent affected; and, indeed, every interest of society, in
all sections and among all classes, would suffer more or less from the
same causes. With the cotton production destroyed or materially injured,
our means of paying the vast debt which the war will leave against us
would be seriously impaired, and the burden of taxation would be to that
extent heavier and more intolerable to the masses of our people.

Thus this question of emancipation to the blacks is intimately connected
with that of justice to the whites. It involves in it all the most
important considerations which combine to control the prosperity of a
people; for it affects taxation, employment, wages, clothing, food, and
health, and, as a consequence necessarily resulting from these, the
proper education of the working classes, and the cause of free
government itself. Nor is it without much weight and importance that the
greater part of these effects extend beyond the limits of our own
country and affect similarly, and, in some instances, even more
severely, the laboring classes of other countries. We ought not to
forget the steady heroism and noble self-respect with which, in some
parts of England, the middle and working classes of the people, in the
midst of great sufferings, and in spite of them, have justly appreciated
our cause and have defended it against the selfish, sinister attacks of
aristocratic enemies--their own would-be leaders and instructors. To
these disinterested friends and sympathizers in our mighty struggle we
owe at least a grateful recognition; and it becomes us to do every thing
in our power to alleviate and shorten the sufferings which the rebellion
has brought on them in common with ourselves. No wild, inconsiderate,
and destructive schemes, in the guise of philanthropy, should receive
our assent or command our support. The crisis demands some wise,
practical, and efficient measure for the organization of the labor of
the freed <DW64>s in the profitable and important occupations to which
they have mostly been accustomed.

Events are rapidly maturing their results, and developing the occasion
for the direct interference of our Government through its legislative
department. There is no time to be lost. Instant action is demanded.
Congress ought to take up the subject, without delay, immediately after
its meeting, and never cease the investigation until some proper measure
shall have been matured and adopted. The great fact must be recognized
that the Southern slaves will have been liberated by the agency of the
Government, as a means of suppressing the rebellion, by taking away its
chief cause and its most powerful support. These unfortunate men, placed
in their peculiar condition by no fault of their own, must necessarily
receive the protection and become the wards of the Government. Some
system of apprenticeship ought to be adopted, and rules and regulations
established by law for their government, education, and employment. They
ought to be employed in cultivating the soil of their native States for
the production of cotton and sugar, so that the former course of things
may be as little interrupted as possible, except in the altered
condition of the laborers. The lands which will fall into our possession
ought to be immediately prepared for cultivation, and the new system of
free labor put into practical operation at the earliest moment. The
improvement and education of the laborer ought to be considered quite as
carefully as the success and productiveness of his work. Our armies will
be able to give ample protection to the communities which may be
organized under this arrangement; the lands, by the confiscation act,
will easily be made available to carry out the scheme; and, doubtless,
any number of Union men will be found in all parts of the South, to
cooeperate in this plan, by the inducement of a fair participation in its
legitimate profits. It will be easy to prevent the system from
degenerating so as to admit any of the old habits of slavery, or to
tolerate any of its oppressions and inhuman practices. In the course of
time, the present slaveholders themselves, humbled and subdued, as we
hope they soon will be, will find themselves compelled to acquiesce in
the policy of the Government, and, in the end, will acknowledge the
wisdom of the proceeding which substitutes paid and educated labor for
that pernicious system of slavery which has blinded and deluded them to
their own destruction. Eventually, though gradually, it may well be
anticipated, white labor will be employed in the growth of cotton. The
Africans will find their advantage in removing farther south, perhaps to
Central America, possibly to Africa; and, before many years, the
productions of the teeming South will far surpass what they have been,
or could be, under the reign of slavery.

We forbear to make any suggestion as to the details of the proposed
system. The wisdom of Congress, aided by the experience and the advice
of the Executive, will no doubt be sufficient for the great exigency.
But in any plan which may be adopted, certain general principles must
obtain. They must look to these cardinal points: the actual and complete
emancipation of the slave, and his education as far as possible; his
subordination to just and necessary, though humane laws which may be
made for his control; and, finally, the usefulness and productiveness of
his industry, with a fair proportion of the profits allowed to himself,
in some proper form, for his own benefit and improvement. With these
points securely guarded, we may safely look to the future without much
dread of that terrible confusion and disorganization which now threaten
the unhappy South. We may at least begin to plant the germs of a
reorganization which will speedily bring back again order and
prosperity, based on a better foundation than they have ever heretofore
had to rest upon.




WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?

     'Do but grasp into the thick of human life! Every one lives it--to
     not many is it known; and, seize it where you will, it is
     interesting.'--_Goethe._

     'SUCCESSFUL.--Terminating in accomplishing what is wished or
     intended.'--_Webster's Dictionary._


CHAPTER XIII.

'Love descends.' To be filial is a virtue. But who calls parental
affection a virtue? 'Honor thy father and they mother.' It is commanded
from Sinai. 'Love and cherish they children.'

The idea _is_ a melancholy one, that as we grow old, and more than ever
require sympathy, our children, in the inevitable course of nature,
become interested in their own surroundings, and less able to sympathize
with us.

Joel Burns was not, in the ordinary sense, growing old. He was in the
very flush and prime of his manhood. I have explained with what feeling
and affection he regarded his daughter, and how his daughter regarded
him. But for Joel Burns is coming the hour of agony and trial. Reader,
if perchance you begin to take some interest in this narrative, do not
blame Sarah Burns. Could she oppose the _vis naturae?_ Could she, if she
would, battle against that subtle and irresistible _leaven_ which now
began to pervade her being? Indeed, she could not. And how unconscious
she was! How much more than ever she loved her father!--as she thought.
Perhaps she did. For when a young girl first feels her soul charged
with this mysterious influence, how kindly and joyously and lovingly all
are embraced!--father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends.

Sarah had only her father; and when her heart began to fructify and
expand, all her affections expanded with it. Not that her heart had, as
yet, any object to rest on. By no means. But the time had come. There
was no resisting _it_, any more than resistance may be predicated of the
green leaf, which _must_ put forth in the spring, bringing bud and
flower and fruit after it. Yet, I repeat, Sarah Burns was unconscious,
actually and absolutely unconscious. Do not suppose she cared specially
about Hiram Meeker. She did not. Her nature only was on the alert, not
she. Hiram, all things considered, was the most agreeable man she had
met, and why should she not be attracted by him--to an extent? I say
attracted: I do not mean anything else. Why should she not be?

Joel Burns, I cannot help pitying you. With no living being with whom
you can intimately sympathize, except your daughter--_her_ child, on
whom the affluence of your heart had all been shed! You feel
instinctively the real state of things. And you quite understand it. You
knew it was to be. But you hoped, not quite so soon--not _quite_ so
soon.

Perhaps, reader, I may not echo your own sentiments, when I speak of
Joel Burns. But I love a genuine nature, as his. I admire beyond
expression honesty of _soul_--that honesty which will not think of
itself nor seek to have others think of it different from what it really
is.

Yes, I feel sorry for Joel Burns.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Burns, as I have already observed, took the papers which Hiram put
in his hands, in the belief they contained little to satisfy or
encourage him. While his confidential clerk was absent, he had permitted
his mind to dwell on the 'unfortunate affair' more than was his habit in
relation to any matter of business. This, however, was assuming such
ugly proportions, that he could not avoid it. Sarah also could not help
talking about it. So that Hiram's arrival served to terminate a suspense
which had become painful.

Sarah Burns, after receiving Hiram's response to her question (she
thought and cared only for the single word 'won'), ran joyfully into the
room to congratulate her father and get full particulars. She was
surprised to find him seated at the breakfast table, the bundle of
papers laid aside untouched, while his countenance certainly gave no
indication that he had just received agreeable intelligence.

'Why, father, how grave you look! What is the matter?'

'I did not know I looked specially grave. I suppose I am a little
disappointed at Meeker's returning so soon. I find that, without knowing
it, I had calculated too much on his efforts.'

'Has he told you what he has done?'

'No. He merely handed me those papers, and said they explained all. I
saw by his countenance, however, he had accomplished nothing of
consequence. [The fact is, Hiram, desiring to make the surprise as
complete as possible, did exhibit the air of one returning from an
unsuccessful mission.] 'So let us enjoy our breakfast before I go again
into this miserable business.'

'Now, to please me, father, just take a peep at the papers; perhaps it
is better than you fear.'

Mr. Burns shook his head.

'Oh, please do,' and she put the bundle in his hand.

Mr. Burns untied the string. 'What have we here? _Joel Burns_ vs. _Elihu
Joslin_. The fellow has involved me in a lawsuit to begin with. I had
much better have agreed to his account--much better,' he added, almost
pettishly. 'I ought to have gone myself at any sacrifice.'

Sarah had unconsiously taken the papers from her father's hand, and was
turning them over. Hiram's assurance still rang in her ears.

'Here is something, father,' handing him a document marked _account
current_; 'and here something else,' exhibiting another, indorsed _Elihu
Joslin with Joel Burns--Agreement to sell Paper Mill_.

Mr. Burns took both, and was instantly engaged in ascertaining their
contents.

Sarah stood by, waiting--and I must say, confidently waiting--the
result.

Mr. Burns's mind was, as the reader knows, rapid in its movements. He
comprehended the _account_ at a glance; then he looked at Joslin's
agreement to sell. That was brief and to the point. Mr. Burns read every
word of it.

'It is not possible!' he exclaimed, as he finished the perusal. 'I
declare I can't think it possible.'

'What is it, father? Do tell me. What is it?'

'Why. Meeker has gone to New York, and in forty-eight hours has not only
brought Joslin to a just settlement, but got from him a contract to sell
me his half of the paper mill at a most reasonable price.'

'Good, good. Oh, how rejoiced I am!' and she threw her arms around her
father's neck, and kissed him ever so many times. 'Oh, how glad I am. I
never saw anything worry you before, father, and it's all over now.'

'A most extraordinary young man,' continued Mr. Burns, taking up the law
papers. 'I see what he wanted the power of attorney for, now. A most
extraordinary young man. It don't seem possible. Why, he brings Joslin
in debt to me several thousand dollars!'

It would not be easy to describe the sensations of Sarah Burns while her
father was giving expression to his own feelings. Joy that all cause of
annoyance and trouble was removed from him; pleasure that this young man
in particular had been the instrument; some slight fluttering at the
recollection of her promise, and of the triumphant boldness with which
Hiram had said 'Won,' as if he meant--as he _did_ mean--that something
more than her father's case _had_ been won--something much more;
admiration, too, of Hiram's cleverness, capacity, tact--such admiration
as the sex always bestow on real ability. All these, commingled served
to produce in Sarah Burns a state of feeling--I should rather say of
_being_--different from what she ever before experienced.

'Come! now for some breakfast,' said Mr. Burns. 'Everything will be
cold. Never mind, we can afford a cold breakfast on such news as this. I
am sorry I had not pressed Meeker to stay, but I thought he was anxious
to get away. He is an odd fellow.'

'Why, he had been to breakfast, father.'

'Yes, but one would suppose he would have run directly here, and said,
in a word, how successful he was. He is very odd.

'I think, father, we may excuse his oddity for once.'

'Indeed we may.'

Mr. Burns rapidly finished, and hastened to the office.

He found Hiram at work at his desk on the ordinary business, which had
accumulated in his absence, apparently as calm and unconcerned as if he
had not been absent.

Mr. Burns seized his hand, and thanked him for his admirable
achievement, with all the ardor and sincerity of his enthusiastic and
honest nature. Hiram was undisturbed by it. His cold, clammy palm rested
in the vigorous, cordial grasp of his employer unresponsive and
unsympathizing. But Mr. Burns was in too happy and active a mood himself
to be affected by that of his clerk. For the time, his was the ruling
influence; and Hiram was the one insensibly to yield.

Mr. Burns asked so many questions that at last he got the particulars
from Hiram, which naturally he very much enjoyed. These particulars were
recounted with modesty, without the slightest exhibition of egotism or
conceit.

'I cannot sufficiently thank you, Meeker,' said Mr. Burns, 'and I hope
to show you some time how much I appreciate what you have done for me.'

'To have done my duty,' replied Hiram, 'is my chief satisfaction; but to
merit your approbation is, I confess, a very great happiness.'

Hiram was invited to tea that evening. It happened Mr. Burns was obliged
to go out shortly after. I do not suppose, on this particular occasion,
that Sarah regretted it. I am sure Hiram did not. For no sooner were
they alone together, than Miss Burns, almost with the air and tone of
close intimacy, so much was she carried away with the subject (women are
such enthusiasts, you know), exclaimed, while she unconsciously moved
her chair near Hiram:

'Now, Mr. Meeker, I want you to tell me all about your journey to New
York. I insist on having every particular. I so anxious to know how it
was you compelled that dishonest wretch to do just what you asked of
him. Father says you dictated your own terms. Now for the secret of your
power.'

'It was my persuasive manner of showing how much better an honest course
is than a knavish one,' said Hiram, smiling.

'Oh yes, I dare say; but tell me what I want to know. You think,
perhaps, I don't understand business sufficiently to comprehend you; but
you are quite mistaken.'

We have all read how, by her own account, Desdemona was won. And her
history gives proof, if we had no other, of the great dramatist's
wonderful knowledge of the springs of human action and affection.

On this occasion, Hiram played Othello's part to perfection. After much
persuasion he was induced to give, in a modest, but graphic way, a
complete account of his trip to New York, with which the reader is
already familiar. Before he had concluded, Sarah Burns's appreciation
was at the highest pitch. And when, after a little, he took up his hat
to leave(he preferred to do so before Mr. Burns returned), he did not
appear to notice Sarah's heightened color and unequivocal look of
admiration, but bowed himself quietly out, without even taking her hand
(he knew it was not Louisa or Charlotte Hawkins he was dealing with),
but nevertheless with a low, friendly, almost confidential, yet quite
careless 'good night' on his lips. But how all aglow he was,
nevertheless, as he walked away from the house!--walked away without
turning at the gate to salute Sarah again, though she stood on the
piazza expecting it.

At this time many humanizing emotions filled the soul of Hiram Meeker.
He could not for the moment resist the genuine a spirit as that of Sarah
Burns shed even over _his_ nature.

'Well--well--she is a glorious creation; and--she--loves--me.'

He stopped; his pulse beat quick; he was very near the corner where they
had met when Sarah failed to recognize him.

'She would not cut me now--not quite,' he added, in the old tone.




CHAPTER XIV.


Did she love him? My heart aches when I ask the question.

       *       *       *       *       *

Miss Burns stood for several minutes on the piazza after Hiram went
away. Presently her father came up.

'Why, my daughter, are you here? Has Meeker left? It is early yet.'

'Yes, he went some little time ago. I got the whole story out of him;
and when he finished he ran off, because I made him talk so much, I
fear.'

Mr. Burns observed that his daughter was somewhat excited; but there was
good reason, and he did not feel in any mood for scrutiny.

For perhaps the first time in her life, however, _she_ felt conscious of
something like _heart vacancy_--of some void her father's presence did
not fill. This made her very unhappy. She strove to conceal it, and
probably succeeded.

For the first time in her life, her father's kiss did not soothe,
comfort, and satisfy her.

As soon as Joel Burns had finished his devotions (his daughter and he
knelt always, morning and evening, side by side, and sent up their joint
supplications to the Almighty), Sarah hastened to her room. She slept
little that night; but when she rose in the morning, after having
breathed forth her prayers to God, in whom she so implicitly put her
trust, she felt composed and happy, and ready to welcome her father and
receive his usual caress.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have no design to occupy too much of this narrative with the present
subject. I am writing the history of Hiram Meeker--not of Sarah Burns.
And Hiram's 'little affair' with Sarah, as he used to call it, was
scarcely an episode in his life.

The reader can easily understand how quietly, and with a manner both
fascinating and insinuating, Hiram installed himself absolutely in the
affections of Sarah Burns.

Mark you, Sarah was not a girl to be treated like Mary Jessup, or the
Hawkinses, or many others with whom Hiram was or had been a favorite.
Hiram knew this magnetically, and he undertook no false moves--assumed
no petty freedoms; but he knew how to make such a true-hearted girl love
him, and he succeeded.

There were times when Hiram was ready to give up his life-project of
settling in New York. There were times when, even arguing, as he could
only argue, from his selfishness, he was ready to decide to marry Sarah
and down in Burnsville. He would have a large field there. He would
start with abundant capital; he would go on and introduce various
improvements and multiply plans and enterprises. Then the recollection
of the vast city, teeming with facilities for his active brain to take
advantage of, where MILLIONS were to be commanded, with no limits, no
bounds for action and enterprise, would bring him back to his
determination not to swerve from his settled object.

Yet, after all, he could get only so near to Sarah Burns. He knew she
admired him--loved him--at least, was ready to love him; but this did
not bring him into close communion with her.

After that morning, Sarah's state of mind and heart was at least
tranquil. She possessed the true talisman; and it would have been in
vain for Hiram to attempt to disturb her repose. As I have said, he
understood this very well. He knew he could not trifle, or, as it is
called, flirt with Sarah; and he did not try. But after a while he was
piqued--then he did admire Sarah more than any girl he ever met.
Probably he loved her as much as he was capable of loving; which
was--not at all.

At last, just after the conclusion of some brilliant operations, as
Hiram called them, of Mr. Burns's, on a lovely day in the summer, when
nature was in her glory and all things were very beautiful at
Burnsville, Hiram--(I won't say he designed to be false, I have many
doubts on that head, and he is entitled to the benefit of them)--Hiram,
I say, encountered Sarah Burns a little out of the village, on a
romantic path, which he sometimes used as a cross cut to the mill.
Affairs were very flourishing--the place full of activity; Joel Burns
quite a king and general benefactor there; and Sarah Burns--a charming,
very charming girl --his only daughter.

Hiram came suddenly on her. Both stopped, of course.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Burns that day wondered--wondered exceedingly that the tried and
reliable Meeker should fail him on a very important occasion. Something
made it necessary that Hiram should visit Slab City, and return in the
course of the morning. But the morning passed, and no Hiram. Mr. Burns
drove to the mill: his clerk had not appeared there.

At dinner time the mystery was solved. Hiram, it seems, had been unable
to resist all the conspiring influences. When they met, the two had
wandered away toward a pleasant grove, and, seated at the foot of a
giant oak, he told Sarah Burns in most seductive terms how he loved her,
how he had always loved her since they met at Mrs. Croft's.

Sarah did as young girls always do: she burst into tears.

This was not at all to Hiram's taste.

(Don't be severe with him, reader: he could not appreciate the causes
which produce such emotions.)

He waited for what he was cool enough to consider hysterical
demonstrations to pass, and commenced again to press his suit.

'My father, my father!' exclaimed Sarah; 'I can never give him up.'

'We must leave father and mother, and cleave to each other,' said Hiram
solemnly, with anything rather than the tone of a lover. It sounded
harsh and repulsive to Sarah, and she began to cry, again, but not as
passionately as before.

(Hiram was dissatisfied, selfish ever, he disliked exceedingly that she
should think of her father at such a time.)

'I know it,' she finally said, 'and that is why I speak. Whatever may be
my feelings, I shall never forget my duty to him.'

'And how will loving me interfere with it?' asked Hiram.

'Whatever may be the consequence to me, I will never leave him. And
you--your plans take you elsewhere. I know it very well.'

Hiram was surprised, he could not imagine how his secret purposes could
have been discovered, for he had never divulged them.

'_You_ know it, too,' she continued, perceiving he was silent.

'That may he,' he replied; ' but that does not prevent my loving you.
And who knows? Perhaps your father will not care to remain, always at
Burnsville.'

'Oh, he will never leave it; that I am sure of,' said Sarah, almost
sorrowfully, 'And I shall stay with him.'

'Then you do not love me,' said Hiram, in a tone not quite amiable.

'You know better,' exclaimed Sarah, her eyes flashing, and all the
spirit of her father beaming forth. 'Hiram Meeker, you know better!'

She was superb in her passion. Something besides affection shone forth
now, and Hiram was led captive by _it_.

'Then shall I stay,' he said resolutely. 'Take me or not, Sarah, I stay,
too.'

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Burns was not altogether surprised at the announcement which awaited
him on going home that day to dinner. He had seen for some time that his
daughter was much interested, and he thought Hiram equally so.

It is true the old feeling continued, and there were times when, it
appeared to break forth stronger than ever. Mr. Burns had made up his
mind that it was doing Hiram great injustice to yield to it, since the
young man was untiring in the discharge of his duties, and also most
effective.

So he had endeavored to accustom himself to think of the event of his
daughter's engagement with Hiram as very probable. What could possibly
be urged against it? Hiram was of respectable family, possessed of
extraordinary business ability, bearing an irreproachable character,
really without a fault that could be indicated, and a consistent member
of the church.

Yes, that was so. And, looking it over carefully, Mr. Burns used
frequently to admit to himself that it _was_ so. What then? Why, then
Joel Burns would sigh and feel heaviness of heart, he scarcely knew why,
and think to himself that there could remain for him no happiness should
Sarah marry Meeker. Then he would ask himself, how his wife would have
liked Meeker. He did not think she would have liked him.

Nevertheless, as I have said, Mr. Barns decided the event was coming,
and that he could not say nay.

And he did not say nay. He said very little; but when Sarah threw
herself in her father's arms, and he kissed her forehead, his heart was
nigh to bursting. He restrained his emotion, though.

       *       *       *       *       *

'We are never to leave you, father. You know that, don't you?'

'My child, no one knows the future; but I am happy that you will live
with me.'

Hiram said nothing. Already his old caution was returning.

       *       *       *       *       *

It will be recollected, when Hiram first came to Burnsville he sought to
be admitted as a member of Mr. Burns's family, but was met with a cold
and abrupt refusal. Now, Mr. Burns not only desired Hiram to come at
once to his house, but put his wishes in so decided a form that Hiram
could not object. It was in vain, that Sarah interposed. She begged her
father not to insist on the arrangement. Neither had Hiram the least
desire to quit his comfortable quarters at the widow Hawkins's, even for
the sake of being near the one to whom he had pledged himself forever.
But he did not dare betray himself. He did betray himself though,
unconsciously, by the absence of any enthusiasm on a point where one
would suppose he would exhibit a great deal. Mr. Burns had a single
object in having Hiram near him. His daughter's happiness was most
precious to him, and he resolved to make himself acquainted with the
young man's character, if it were possible.

From the time Hiram began to call at the house of Mr. Burns, he
gradually extended his visits over the village, and became a greater
favorite than ever with the ladies. Not with the young girls alone, but
with elderly spinsters and matrons. Strange how he managed so completely
to make them all like him! His position with Mr. Barns grew more and
more into consequence, so that he was regarded as unquestionably the
best match in the place. When Hiram at last removed from the widow
Hawkins's to Mr. Burns's, the village was for a few days the focus of
all sorts of guesses and surmises. Mr. Burns had enjoined on both that
the engagement should not be made public at present--an arrangement
particularly pleasing to Hiram, who would thus be quite at liberty to
give what turn he pleased to the subject, and not forfeit the favor of
several young ladies already too deeply interested in him.

As may be supposed, when Hiram announced his intended removal to Mrs.
Hawkins, that lady was exceedingly surprised, not to say overcome.
Hiram, however, coupled the information with such an air of grave
importance, dropping a few words about the enormous increase of Mr.
Burns's business, and the absolute necessity of frequent evening
consultations, that she was completely disarmed. Then he remarked that
his leaving the house would by no means cause any diminution of his
interest in the young ladies, or in _her;_ indeed, quite the contrary.
Such interest must increase daily, the more so that he should not have
the pleasure of so openly manifesting it. The widow blushed, she hardly
knew why. Hiram squeezed her hand tenderly, and sought out Charlotte and
Louisa. Charlotte was in the garden, and--I must tell the truth--Louisa
in her chamber, crying. All this was charming to Hiram. He luxuriated in
it (though in a more delicious degree), as over a nice steak or a
delicate boiled chicken.

Hiram's interview with both the young ladies was, as you may readily
imagine, perfectly satisfactory to both. In short, when he quitted the
house, all were content and hopeful, and all from different reasons.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was now that Joel Burns sat himself down to investigate the cause of
those strange sensations which he at times experienced in the presence
of Meeker. The first time Hiram came to the table, not as a guest, but
as an inmate of the house, nothing could have been more stiff and formal
than the conduct of all three. In vain. Mr. Burns endeavored to appear
free. The spell was on him; and there sat the one who alone could cause
it.

Joel Burns looked at his daughter. She appeared diffident and not at
ease, but, as he thought, happy. Hiram sat still, saying nothing and
looking quite vacant. He was determined not to exhibit any points till
he knew his ground better.

In the office, though, all was right. There he entered into, nay,
anticipated Mr. Burns's plans, and he could not fail to evoke his
employer's admiration.

I have spoken of Joel Burns's daily devotions; how, with his child, he
was in the habit of coming before his Maker, bringing the offerings of
their joint hearts. For two or three days after Meeker came to the house
this custom was continued. Then Sarah gently asked her father if Hiram
might not be admitted. (He had complained to her that it was not
Christian-like to exclude him.) A shiver passed over Mr. Burns; a groan
almost escaped his lips. How fast the links were giving way which kept
his daughter with him! But the request was quite right, and that night
Hiram was present at the evening prayer. Sarah, on that occasion, did
not sit so near her father as usual. And when they kneeled, her chair
was still more removed. So it went on. Sarah, like all who love,
invested Hiram with every virtue in perfection (and lovers are more
indebted for virtues to the imagination of the sex than they suppose),
and was very happy. Hiram, who managed, under the excuse of not
permitting the public to learn the secret of their engagement, to visit
nearly as much as ever, was happy enough too. Only Joel Burns was sad.
Sad, not because he had given away his daughter, but because he feared
for her happiness.

What was strange enough, Mr. Burns could not endure to hear Hiram speak
on religion, and Hiram was very fond of talking on the subject. He spoke
so well, every one said. He exhibited so many evidences of divine grace.

One morning, Sarah came into her father's room, and, after kissing him,
said, with a great deal of diffidence:

'Father, I want to ask a favor of you.'

'Certainly, my child. What is it?'

'Won't you please ask Hiram sometimes to lead in prayer?'

Mr. Burns started as if stung by some reptile. He turned very pale.

'What is the matter--what _is_ the matter, father? How pale you
look--how very pale you look!'

'Do I? I felt strangely, just at that moment. Yes, dear child, I will do
what you request. I suppose I ought to have done so before; but then,
you know, it is hard to--yes, dear--I will do as you wish.'

Sarah left the room, wondering not a little, and Joel Burns threw
himself on the bed and sobbed.

After a time he recovered his composure. Kneeling at the side of the
bed, he ejaculated: '_O God, help me to feel right! and, O Heavenly
Father, protect my child!_'

That day, after breakfast, Hiram was asked to make the morning prayer.

Shall I attempt to describe his ready utterance; his glib use of the
most sacred expressions; his familiar handling of God's name?

Mr. Burns's feelings meanwhile cannot be described. In his presence, at
least to his true apprehension, Hiram Meeker was like the Arch Enemy
when touched by the spear of Ithuriel. And yet Joel Burns kneeled,
trying humbly to commit his soul to God, while Hiram was pouring out
what he thought to be a most beautiful prayer!

       *       *       *       *       *

It is not necessary to go on with particulars. Every two or three
months Hiram found it for Mr. Burns's interest to visit New York. More
and more he became confirmed in his first determination to ultimately
settle there. He kept his views entirely to himself. But he did not
neglect his opportunities whenever he visited the city, till at length
his plans were matured.

Then, by degrees, he sounded Sarah Burns on the subject. He would
suggest that it was best, perhaps, in order better to serve the
interests of her father, that he should acquire more knowledge of
metropolitan affairs, so that there need be again no danger of another
Joslin matter. Sarah exhibited so much distress on these occasions that
Hiram forbore to allude to the subject. He perfected his plans, and said
nothing about them.

It was a part of his purpose that these plans should leak out somewhat;
sufficiently, at least, to set people discussing their probability; and
he took measures accordingly. This accounts for the division of opinion
in the village, which I spoke of in the first chapter.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our story opens at this period.

Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns had gone in company to attend the
preparatory lecture on the Friday prior to Communion. At that lecture
Sarah heard, for the first time, that Hiram had decided to leave for New
York. The reader may possibly recollect the conversation between them as
they left the lecture room.

I said, though Sarah Burns could not disbelieve Hiram, her heart _felt_
the lie he told her nevertheless.

Mr. Burns was also present on that occasion. Shall I say it? A thrill of
joy shot through him at the announcement; joy, if it must be spoken,
that Hiram had proved a dissembler and a hypocrite. His year would
expire the coming week. Not a syllable had he said on the subject to Mr.
Burns, and he had concluded on this method of acquainting both Mr. Burns
and Sarah of his fixed determination.

The latter part of the walk was measured in silence. Some faint
perception of the truth was beginning to dawn in Sarah's mind. Her
father's spirit began to assert itself in her breast.

Mr. Burns walked slowly along a little behind. It was tea time when they
entered the house. He went for a moment to his room. He had scarcely
entered it, when the door opened and his daughter came in. She ran up to
her father; she threw her arms around his neck; and while she wept
bitterly, Joel Burns could hear between the sobs:

'_Oh, father, father, your child has come back to you!_'




ALL RIGHT.


   Little lady wants a President all smile and style and grace;
   Little master wants a Talleyrand or Crichton in the place;
   Little simpletons want this and that to fill the nation's chair;
   But the times want ABRAHAM LINCOLN--and, thank GOD, they have him there!




GOLD


Our large debt and vast expenditures demand a resort to every just
available source of national revenue. Among these are our mineral lands
of the public domain, and especially those yielding gold and silver. On
this subject, the Commissioner of the General Land Office, Judge
Edmunds, on the 16th of April last, addressed a letter to the Committee
of Public Lands of the Senate, from which I make the following extract:

     'For a half century prior to the California gold discoveries in
     1848, the annual gold yield of the world was, by estimate, from
     sixteen to twenty millions of dollars, of which Russia produced
     more than one half. In 1853 the gold product of California was
     $70,000,000. * * * * Annual yield, estimating upon reported
     shipments, was $50,000,000, to which by adding two fifths for
     quantity taken by private hands, besides that converted into
     articles of ornament and use, the total average would be seventy
     millions a year. The immense discoveries of gold, silver,
     quicksilver, tin, copper, lead, iron, and coal, within our limits,
     justify the estimate that our mineral riches exceed the aggregate
     metallic wealth of the globe. In a state of peace, with adequate
     revenue from ordinary sources, the Government has interposed no
     obstacle to the free access of our citizens and of the people of
     every nation, to work the mines, of which the United States are the
     undisputed owners, and by which individuals, in the aggregate, have
     realized some nine hundred millions of dollars.'

The Commissioner, therefore, very justly concludes that, under existing
circumstances, our mineral lands ought to yield a national revenue, and
he proposes a preliminary reconnoissance, and licenses, at $10 each, to
be paid in the mean time by the miners to the Government. Beyond these
suggestions he proceeds at present no farther.

The general estimate of the extent of our mineral lands of the public
domain, exceeds twenty millions of acres. It extends from near the 32d
to the 49th parallel of latitude, and from the lakes and the Mississippi
river to the Pacific. It is not supposed that every acre of these twenty
millions contains mines, but that all are so connected as to be embraced
in the same mineral region. These lands, at an average price of $25 per
acre, would be worth $500,000,000. I do not assert that this is their
value, but it is a fact that some of the mines already worked on our
public domain are worth many thousand dollars _per foot_, even in the
present difficulty of access by roads, and the enormous cost of
provisions. It is sufficient for the argument that these mines and
mineral lands are of great value, that they are public property, and, in
the present condition of our country, ought to be made a source of
revenue.

This question concerns the present and future miners. As to the present
miners, they are working these lands without any legal title, but by the
long acquiescence of the Government. They are the pioneers, who, amid
great dangers, privations, and sufferings, have explored these mineral
regions and developed their enormous value. As regards these pioneers
now working the mineral lands of the Government, I think, as a general
rule, the existing miners' code should be carried into effect. They
should be required to register their claims with the proper officer of
the Federal Government, to file copies and descriptive notes of their
surveys and locations, and to report the product of the mines. This
would form a good basis for the reconnoissance proposed by the
Commissioner, and for the exploration and resurvey of these claims by
the Government. Such proceedings would effect the following results:
1st. To prevent litigation among the present miners. 2d. To enable the
Government to separate their lands from the public domain, and to give
them a _perfect title_. 3d. To survey and designate the unoccupied
mineral lands of the Government. I think it would be just, and good
policy to confirm the rights of the present miners according to the
existing regulations in the several districts, charging them only a
nominal price for a complete title and patent from the Government, which
price should not be more than the cost of survey and incidental
expenses, not exceeding a few cents an acre. This would greatly improve
the condition of the present miners, to whom we are indebted for the
development of this region; would give them a perfect title, where now
they have none; and, in many cases, would enable them to raise the
capital necessary for the more profitable working of their mines.

Having thus surveyed and located the mines now worked by the present
occupants, and secured to them their titles in fee simple, without rent,
regie, or seigniorage, let us now consider the proper policy as to the
vast unoccupied public mineral domain. The solution of this problem
divides itself into two parts: 1st, the survey and subdivision of these
lands; 2d, the price and mode of sale.

As to the first, I would continue the present mode of surveys by
townships, sections, and quarter-quarter sections, with further
subdivisions thereof. It will be best, however, to adopt the _geodetic_
system, for the following reasons: 1st, The errors in the linear surveys
are much greater than in the geodetic, in nearly the ratio of yards to
inches. These errors may not be very important as to sections, but, in
the minute subdivisions (an acre each) into which the mineral lands
should be separated, the errors of the lineal surveys could not be
tolerated, and would introduce ruinous litigation as to the boundaries
of valuable mines. 2d, The linear surveys give us a description only of
the exterior lines of each section; but the geodetic system would inform
us of the interior, enable the Government to appraise every acre, to
give the proper maps, similar to those of the coast survey, and enable
the people to judge of the value of each acre. The additional cost of
the geodetic system would hardly reach two cents an acre.

The subdivision of the gold and silver lands, should be into tracts of
one acre each, continuing and extending the present system. This is by
townships of six miles square, containing 36 sections and 23,040 acres.
Each section contains 640 acres; and to separate them into acres, the
following system should be adopted. The present subdivision is into
quarter-quarter sections, of 40 acres each. These small tracts, by lines
running through the centre, north and south, and east and west, I would
subdivide into four tracts, each containing ten acres. These ten-acre
tracts, by a line running north and south through the centre, I would
divide into two equal tracts, each containing five acres; and each of
these five-acre tracts, by lines running east and west, into five
tracts, each containing one acre. The exterior lines, running east and
west, of these one-acre tracts, would each be one hundred and ten yards
long (330 feet), and the two sides running north and south, would each
have a length of forty-four yards (132 feet). The form of the ten-acre
tract and its subdivisions, would be as follows:

TEN ACRES.

      110 yards. 110 yards.
   4  +---------+---------+ 4
   4  |One acre.|One acre.| 4
   y  +---------+---------+ y
   a  |do.      |do.      | a
   r  +---------+---------+ r
   d  |do.      |do.      | d
   s  +---------+---------+ s
      |do.      |do.      |
      +---------+---------+
      |do.      |do.      |
      +---------+---------+



This is the only plan by which the sections can be subdivided into
tracts of one acre each. Such subdivisions of sections into _squares_ of
one acre each is impossible; nor is it necessary, as, of the present
subdivisions, neither a half section nor an eighth of a section is
square. Before the motion made by me in the Senate of the United States,
on the 31st of March, 1836, the sales were made by eighths of a section,
an oblong figure, and not by forty-acre tracts.

Many of the present miners' claims are smaller than an acre, but it is
impracticable to make more minute subdivisions. This plan would continue
our present admirable system of surveys, and, to carry it out, as now
proposed, we should only have to mark, by stone or iron monuments, the
north and south exterior lines of each section at intervals of
forty-four yards, and the east and west lines at distances of one
hundred and ten yards, and the survey would be complete, extending from
section to section, and from township to township. Having devoted great
attention to such subjects, as chairman for many years of the Committee
of Public Lands of the Senate, and as Secretary of the Treasury, and
having, in early life, made many surveys in the field, I venture, with
great deference, to submit these suggestions for the consideration of
the President, the Secretary of the Interior, the Commissioner of the
General Land Office, Congress, and the country.

Tho system proposed by me would bring here vast foreign capital to
invest in working our mines. As the law now stands, no title can be
acquired to any of our public mineral lands, and hence the capital
invested is extremely limited. By this plan, not only would a certain
title be acquired to the mines now worked, and at a nominal price to the
present miners, but also for new mines, at their proper value, and thus
our vast mineral wealth would be developed much sooner.

There are two considerations which will soon rapidly enhance the value
of our mineral lands. These are the Homestead bill and the Pacific
railroad. By the gift, substantially, of one hundred and sixty acres of
our agricultural public lands to every settler, the soil, in the
vicinity of the mines, will be far more speedily occupied and
cultivated, and, as a consequence, much cheaper provisions and
subsistence furnished to the miners. This result, also, will be greatly
accelerated by the construction of the Pacific railroad, together with
much lower transportation of emigrants and freight.

The plan proposed (as it ought to be) is just to the mining States and
Territories, and to the pioneer miners. Indeed, it is far better for
them than the present system.

The next question is, how should the sales be made, and at what price.
The gold and silver lands I would sell in one-acre lots, as above
designated; our other mineral lands in forty-acre lots, a subdivision
now recognized by law.

One surveyor, accompanied by one commissioner for each four townships,
should examine, and both should report to the register and receiver of
the proper land office, the value of each subdivision of the public
mineral lands, together with the proper maps. These views should,
together with their own opinions, be communicated by the register and
receiver to the Commissioner of the General Land Office, who, under the
supervision of the Secretary of the Interior, should fix the value of
these acre lots. These lands then should be advertised for sale to the
highest bidder for cash, at minimum rates, not below those estimated,
which should be published. The bids, after six months' advertisement,
should be received by the register and receiver of the proper land
offices, and also by the Secretary of the Interior, up to the same day
and hour, when such bids should be at once opened simultaneously, and
the land awarded to the highest bidder above the minimum. To prevent
fraud, no bid should be received unless accompanied by a deposit of one
per cent. of the amount of the bid, to be forfeited to the Government
only if the bid is successful and the amount should not be paid in full.
Such tracts as are not sold at or above the appraised value should be
disposed if by _entry_ at the minimum price, in the same manner as under
our former land system, subject at proper intervals to new appraisements
and advertisements.

We have seen that our present Commissioner of the General Land Office
estimates our mineral public lands as of greater value than all the
mineral lands of the world, and that, up to the 16th of April last, they
had yielded, in gold alone, nine hundred millions of dollars. This is
exclusive of our valuable mines silver, quicksilver, tin, copper, lead,
coal, and iron. The lands yielding this $900,000,000 are estimated at
five hundred thousand acres--making their value exceed one billion of
dollars; and, at the same rate, the remaining twenty millions of acres
would be worth forty billions of dollars, or $2,000 per acre. This would
be a most extravagant estimate; but at the average price of twenty-five
dollars per acre they would bring, as we have seen, five hundred
millions of dollars, being a sum larger than our public debt on the 1st
of July last. That this sum at least can be realized to the Government
by a proper system from our public mineral lands, is my sincere
conviction.

On this subject, the Commissioner says:

     'As the development of the mineral wealth of the country advances
     not only of the gold and silver of California, but of Oregon,
     Washington, Nevada, Colorado, and New Mexico, and the vast mines of
     useful metals scattered there and elsewhere, with exhaustless
     supplies of coal to fashion and mould these for the various
     purposes of life, the yield in a few years may reasonably be
     estimated at $100,000,000; and when the Pacific railroad shall have
     spanned the interior, it may be augmented to one hundred and fifty
     millions of dollars' worth of mineral product.'

This annual product, as estimated by the Commissioner, would make the
total value of these lands exceed one billion of dollars.

There may be differences of opinion

as to this estimate of the Commissioner: some may think it too large,
and others too small; but, however this may be, it is quite clear that
the subject demands the earnest consideration of the country.

No period has been so auspicious as the present to rearrange our gold
coinage. Gold has ceased here to be a currency, and is used only in
payment of our public debt and receipts of customs.

It is important that our gold coinage (retaining the decimal system) and
that of England should be assimilated. This could be easily done by
having in our half eagle the same amount of gold and alloy as in the
British sovereign, carrying the system through our whole gold coinage.
Thus, exchange here upon England or there here, would be quoted and
governed by the same rules which regulate exchange between our own
cities, and all the mystery and losses of our present system would
disappear. This change would slightly depreciate our present gold
coinage, but would not affect individual transactions, treasury notes
being our currency and a legal tender. Should this plan be adopted,
England could stamp on her sovereign, _Equal to a U. S. half eagle_, and
we could stamp on our half eagle, _Equal to a British sovereign_, and
thus furnish a currency, which from necessity would in time be adopted
by all the world, avoiding vast trouble, loss of time, and litigation,
and saving millions of dollars every year. This measure would soon prove
the superiority of our decimal system, and render it _universal_. The
United States and England being the two great commercial and gold
producing nations, speaking the same tongue, and having the same
coinage, would make the coin and the _language of the coin_ of the world
the same, the first great step toward a universal language. This
assimilation of the value and language of coin would lead to the
decimalizing and assimilation of weights and measures, both grand
movements toward the fusion of nations and fraternity of man.




LITERARY NOTICES


     THE NEW GYMNASTICS FOR MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN. By DIO LEWIS, M.D.
     With three hundred illustrations. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1862.

It is with sincerest pleasure that we commend this excellent book to the
attention of every teacher and parent in America. We might add that we
commend it as a gift book which would be most acceptable to youth, since
it teaches them several hundred exercises, the greater portion of which
require little or no apparatus, and none which cannot be very readily
fitted up in almost any house. This book, moreover, includes a
translation of Prof. KLOGS'S 'Dumb Bell Instructor' and Prof. SCHREBER'S
'Pangymnastikon.' By the way, is this the same work of SCHREBER'S which
was translated some years ago by Prof. SEDGWICK, of New York, for his
Gymnastic Journal? We remember the latter as a work of solid merit,
recommending on sound anatomical principles the means of cure by
gymnastics and calisthenics for many of the ills that flesh is heir to.
We ask, not remembering accurately, and from observing that Prof, LEWIS
confesses to having greatly abridged the volume in question, a plan
never to be commended in any translation whatever. But for the whole
work, with this exception, we have only praise. It is, we believe, the
most practical, sensible book and the one most easy of application on
this subject extant in any language. Let all interested remember that
while it is indispensable to every gymnasium and every gymnast, its
price _is_ only one dollar.


     EYES AND EARS. By HENRY WARD BEECHER. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.
     1862. New York: G. P. Putnam. 1862.

The crisp, careless dozen and a half of lines which Mr. BEECHER snaps at
his readers by way of preface to this collection of papers, form the
best review of its contents which will probably be written. They came
principally, as he informs us, from the New York _Ledger_, and partially
from the _Independent_; were consequently written very much for the
many, and very little for the student of elaborate literature. They are
unstudied, unpretentious--true _nugae venales_, 'representing the
impressions of happy homes, or the moods and musings of the movement * *
fragmentary and careless as even a newspaper style will permit.' But,
beyond this, we may assure the reader that these 'scintillant trifles'
are knocked off from no second-rate material and by no awkward hand, but
by one firm and confident in hasty and trivial efforts as in great ones,
and producing the great even in the little. Many of these essay-lets
have a peculiar charm: they seem to crave expansion--we wish them
longer, and are as little pleased to find a fresh title whipping itself
in before our eyes as children are at a rapidly managed magic-lantern
show, when the impatient exhibitor presents a View in Egypt to eyes
which have hardly begun to take in Solomon's Temple. We like them far
better than the majority of the more elaborate, infinitely conceited,
narrow-minded, squeakingly-witty essays with which the country has been
of late visited for its sins from the Country Parson and his disciples.


     SLAVERY IN SOUTH CAROLINA, AND THE EX-SLAVES; or, The Port Royal
     Mission. By Mrs. A. M. FRENCH. New York: Winchell M. French, No. 5
     Beekman street, 1862.

No one can write a book, however unpretentious, on the subject of
slavery, and fill it with plain _facts_, without making a startling
volume. Take the subject up on the grounds of the barest humanity, even
as one would the welfare of animals; laying aside all 'Abolition' or
anti-abolition views whatever, and we find a tremendous abyss of abuses,
inexcusable even according to the principles of the most rabid
pro-slavery disciple. Prominent among the facts which such a work as
the present presents, is the proof that the black, whatever his degree
of intelligence may be, is abundantly capable, under enlightened
discipline, of becoming infinitely more profitable to himself and to the
world than he has ever yet been. From the tales of distress, from the
bewildering, sorrowful <DW64> piety, from the jargon and rags and tears
of poor childish contrabands, as simply and sadly set forth by Mrs.
FRENCH, making every allowance, and penetrating to the depth of the dark
problem, we still realize one tremendous truth--that Slavery, as a
principle of government, is a lie, and that from a politico-economical
point of view it has been a failure. It is a _waste of power_, and like
every waste of human power results in suffering.

The fifty-three chapters of the work before us present the results of
the Port Royal Mission, the truths gleaned from the contrabands of their
past life, great additions to our Northern knowledge of the practical
treatment of slaves, many observations on these facts, and an array of
Instances to prove the capacity of the <DW64>. It will be spoken of as an
Abolition work, and such it is; but we--who look beyond and above
Abolition, and hold the higher doctrines of EMANCIPATION originally set
forth in these columns--to the broad interests of humanity, and of the
benefit which is to accrue in the first place to the white race from
free labor--still commend it as full of material of the most valuable
description to the great cause of progress.

The work is fairly printed, but, we regret to add, is disfigured by a
mass of wretched woodcuts of the worst possible design, which look as if
they had been gleaned from old Abolition tracts, and which we trust will
be omitted from the next edition.


     SALOME, THE DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS. A Dramatic Poem. New York;
     Putnam, 532 Broadway.

When we criticize ever so lightly any modern poetical treatment of an
antique subject, we may as well premise that we do so as something which
is only partially true, since few writers have ever so perfectly
penetrated any foreign national spirit as to reproduce it--let us say,
like a translation. Even translations from the Greek are made
Miltonically, or Pope-ishly, or Shakespearian-ally, and seldom with that
racy literalness which characterizes Carlyle's occasional bits of German
poetic version. Sometimes, as in the present instance, the old form is
almost unattainable, for Hebrew poetry and the modes of speech used at
Herod's court are too little known in their first fresh life to be
vividly reproduced. Consequently the more modern forms are
indispensable. But, from the stand-point of English poetry, SALOME is a
production of more than marked ability--it is a boldly conceived,
genially executed, oftentimes a truly superb poem. The repentance of
SALOME has a broad lyrical and musical sweep which seems like an opera
of grand passions when the trivial associations of the opera are
forgotten. In the concluding scenes we seem to feel the inspiration of
GOETHE and of AESCHYLUS, for the author has combined with rare tact the
spirit of avenging fate with that of atonement--the Pagan and the
Christian; and if the language be here and there meagre or lack
concentrativeness, we pardon it in consideration of the high idea by
which plot, incident, and character are swayed. In one scene,
however--the dialogue between Antonius and the Jew--we find a degree of
historic truth, a reproduction in dramatic form of the sublime spirit of
Hebrew poetry, and an aesthetic color which, had it been maintained
throughout, would have neutralized our introductory remarks. This scene
is of itself a real poem. Herodias is, we may add, consistent, and
bravely accented in every thought and word; had she, however, been more
concise, she would have been more consistent to her earnestly malignant
nature. 'But, then, Shakespeare exaggerated the monologue!'

In conclusion, we commend SALOME cordially to all, for all can read it
with pleasure, and many, we may add, with profit. It belongs to a
soundly literary school, is disfigured with no extravagances, embodies
much real beauty, and is above all a poem of promise of even better
works from its author.


     LIFE AND LETTERS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. Vol. 2. By his nephew,
     PIERRE M. IRVING. New York: G. P. Putnam.

Like the first volume, this admirable second leads us through one of the
most entertaining of _tutti frutti_ which we have ever met in the form
of a biography. It is fortunate that IRVING--so generally imagined by
'those of the second after-generation' as a quiet recluse on the banks
of the Hudson--was in reality, in his early time and full prime, a
traveler, a man of the world, somewhat of a diplomat, and one who knew
the leading minds of Europe and of his own country in the days when
there were giants. It is really pleasant to travel in these pages over
the _grande route_ as it was just before the incredible facilities of
modern transit had worn away so many peculiarities--to get home-glimpses
of people who generally turn only a formal great-reputation side to the
world--and above all, to read IRVING as he was and while he grew to
greatness. And the work is well done, as Irving knew it would be. We
congratulate the world on having gained volumes so fully deserving place
by the side of the writings of their subject.


     MEMOIRS OF THE REV. NICHOLAS MURRAY, D.D. (KIRWAN). By SAMUEL
     IBENAUS PRIME. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1862.

A well compiled life of a Presbyterian divine, who worked long and
faithfully in his calling, leaving marks of varied ability, and strove
in all things great and small to attain his ideal of duty. Such a work,
written in the spirit of truth toward the subject, indulging neither in
highflown eulogy nor in abstract essaying, as we find this to be, is a
rarity, and is none the less excellent because simply written and
unpretentious. Its author is well known in literature, and experience
has taught him how to write a biography in the right way. While the work
in question is of course possessed of more peculiar interest to the
members of a certain sect, it should be observed that it is of a kind
which should be read with interest by all Christians, and indeed by all
who respect earnestness, philanthropy, and sound goodness.


     THE POEMS OF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. New
     York: G. P. Putnam. 1862.

We have often wanted this book--the whole collection of the poems of our
HOLMES in one volume--and welcome it as a most delightful gift. All of
the racy, charming, naive lays of his younger song-days are here; and it
is the highest praise we can award them to say that they are as charming
as ever, and will never lose their beauty.

Yet, the poet is too modest in his opening lay, for _all_ are beautiful:

   'And some might say, 'Those ruder songs
     Had freshness which the new have lost;
   To spring the opening leaf belongs,
     The chestnut burs await the frost.'

   'When those I wrote my locks were brown;
     When these I write--ah! well-a-day!
   The autumn thistle's silvery down
     Is not the purple bloom of May.'

We at least find no frost, no benumbing influence manifested anywhere.
We love the old favorites because they were favorites of old. The
younger reader, who has only of late months learned the 'Chambered
Nautilus,' 'The Deacon's Masterpiece,' or 'Parson Turrel's Legacy,'
will, thirty years hence, recall the sweet flavor of their first taste,
even as we recall the latter years of the blessed rosy decade of the
eighteen hundred and thirties, and, with them, how they were made leafy
and odorant and golden by 'The Katydid Song'--by 'The Dilemma'--by
'L'Imanuel;' or how they were be-merried by the 'Dorchester Giant'--'The
Oysterman'--the--but the book hath its table of contents!

We believe, honestly and earnestly, that the blue and gold, 'dorezure,'
volume before us is the most agreeable, readable, and spirited book of
poetry ever written by an American--it is not worth while to sail into
the cloudy regions of antique or Old World comparison--and that it would
be impossible to select anything in print of the same market value which
would be so acceptable as a gift to so great a number of persons. We
trust, by the way, that this hint will not be lost on all gentlemen or
ladies who play at philop[oe]na, or who are desirous of displaying
refined taste at no great expense on birthday and Christmas occasions.
And we would beg our reader, for his own sake, not to rely on the fact
that he has read many of these lyrics in bygone years, as an excuse for
not providing himself with the new edition. We assure him that he can
have no idea how much better and fresher and fairer they all seem in
company. Something, too, should be said of the excellent full-length,
admirably engraved portrait of Dr. HOLMES, pre-facing the title--the
best likeness of our poet extant, and one which, to use a familiar
though somewhat famished phrase, 'is alone well worth the price of the
volume.'




EDITOR'S TABLE.


THE DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND.

   LONDON, _Nov. 1, 1862_,

   MY DEAR FRIEND:

I have read Mr. Kirke's celebrated anti-slavery book called _Among the
Pines_, and, so far as published in the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, his
_Merchant's Story_ on the same subject; but I have changed my views on
this question, and so has England. _Antislavery_ was our policy for more
than a quarter of a century to produce a civil war between the North and
the South, and now we adopt _pro slavery_ views to make sure the
dissolution of the Union. That Union was growing too strong, and with
its success the Republican principle too powerful. We are acting in
_self defence_, to save the monarchy and aristocracy of England. The
American States were once our colonies, and they have no right to
destroy us by restoring the Union.

Lord Palmerston was certain we should have had war on the Trent affair,
but Lord Lyons was outwitted by Lincoln. We should have had the war then
as we intended, and given decisive aid to the South. But we are aiding
them now to equip cruisers to destroy American commerce, and furnishing
them arms and munitions of war. They have very little money or credit,
but our Government has a large secret service fund, and our capitalists
and aristocracy are contributing quietly and liberally. It is done by
way of _insurance_, at large rates, on privateers and cargoes.
Confederate bonds are deposited by Mr. Mason, the Minister of the South,
to cover all risks. Some time since I converted all my U. S. stock into
Confederate bonds, which I shall continue to hold, and have invested
L50,000 in this insurance operation, which may pay well.

How we all have wished that Columbus had never discovered America, or
that the continent could be submerged; but all will be made right by the
success of the South.

Mr. Mason, the Confederate Minister, assures me, that the South would
much rather be ruled by England than by the North; that the South are
ready for monarchy and aristocracy; that slavery and aristocracy are
kindred principles; and that the _elite_ (like the F. F. V.'s) of their
slaveholders, would make a splendid nobility. It is his opinion that the
South must have a State religion and proscribe all others. Slavery then,
he says, would be their corner stone in Church and State, and the first
article of their creed would be--_slavery is a divine institution_. He
quoted largely from the Old and New Testaments--from Moses and St. Paul,
to prove the divinity of slavery, and said the sermon on the Mount had
been mistranslated. His argument is cogent to prove that monarchy and
aristocracy should favor slavery as the best means of keeping down, the
working classes, now clamoring in England for the right of suffrage.

This doctrine will soon be broached in Parliament, and finds great favor
in Exeter hall, where a statue will be erected in honor of Jefferson
Davis, _the man who saved England by destroying America!_

If my friend Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe would write a great novel in
favor of Slavery, we would make her a Duchess; and if Mr. Kirke, instead
of such stories as _Among the Pines_, would give us the Bible view of
Slavery, and reconcile whipping and branding slaves to the doctrine 'do
unto others,' &e., he should be made an Earl. We are anxiously awaiting
in England the grand movement which that great and good man ex-President
Buchanan will soon make in favor of the South. England wishes Peace
Commissioners to settle this question, and Mr. Buchanan to be one of
them, on the part of the North, and that truly honest man, Gov. Floyd,
another, on the part of the South--although my own choice would be
Wigfall!

       *       *       *       *       *

Something must be done to prevent the free acceptance of parole by our
troops. Thousands and thousands 'have taken the word' and thereby
incapacitated themselves from taking further part in the war. Let the
press and the people awake to the infamy which a ready surrender on
parole conditions brings, and we shall soon see the last of it. Let us
continue by commending to all who have yielded themselves up, save in
dire need, the following


SONG OF THE SNEAK.

   'Rest sword, cool blushes, and PAROLLES--live!'

   SHAKSPEARE.

   I saw the foe advancing,
       Says I, 'Boys,' says I.
   'This is rather ugly dancing.
       Which the general makes us try,
   Where the bayonets are glancing,'
       Says I, 'boys,' says I.

   When the bullets got to dropping,
       Says I, 'Boys,'says I,
   I wish there were some stopping
       These blue beetles as they fly.
   And which set a fellow hopping;'
       Says I, 'boys,' says I.

   And I'd scarcely pulled a trigger,
       Says I, 'Boys,' says I,
   I 'aint got a mite of vigor,'--
       So I skulked and tried to fly,
   But was booted by a <DW65>,
       And back I had to shy.

   Then the Confed's came before us;
       Says I, 'Boys,'says I,
   'I guess they're goin' to floor us,
       Or to knock us high and dry;'
   When they all sang out in chorus--
       'Yield or die! yield or die!

   'If you yield, we will parole you.'
       Then says I, ' Boys,' says I,
   'I have no wish to control you;
       But, unless you want to die,
   The best way to console you,
       Is to go parole,' says I;

   'When we won't have no more fighting,'
       Says I, 'boys,' says I,
   'Yet, in our pay delighting,
       We can loaf at ease, all day,
   And keep clear of guns affrighting
       All a feller's nerves,' says I.

   Now I blow and bluster bolder,
       And at home, 'Boys,' says I,
   'I used to be a soldier,
       But I was too brave to fly,
   And I'm, therefore, a parol-der,
       Of the noblest kind,' says I.


Blackwood's Magazine, for September, treated the British public to an
article on Mr. JEFFERSON DAVIS, in which that character is, of course,
exalted to the pinnacle of greatness. Of its fairness and truthfulness,
the following is a good specimen:

     'Mr. Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for 75,000 troops to put
     down the rebellion. _This_ was the torch that lit up the South, and
     rendered subsequent compromise impossible.'

Was it indeed? when there is no fact in history so directly clear and
plain as that secession was a foregone conclusion in the South, from the
moment that the possibility of Lincoln's election was conjectured. We
are told that it was entirely the fault of the North that this
diabolical rebellion burst out! It is always the North that is to blame,
now, with John Bull. But we have more of it:

     'Had Mr. Davis's warning voice been listened to in January, we
     believe that instead of passing a year and a half of bloodshed,
     enormous extravagance and dire calamity, we should have found that
     the seceding States would have by this time returned to the shadow
     of the 'Star-spangled Banner;' and that an enduring peace would
     have ere now been made between the North and the South.'


All our fault, of course! If we had only let them alone--let them
go--they would have taken a frisky turn or two, and then come sweetly
back to unity! Our _Blackwood_ writer lacks something. He wants manhood,
pluck, spirit, common sense, and very common information. He is
deficient in enlarged views of humanity; he cannot comprehend a
tremendous struggle of principles involving the social progress of
thirty millions, half of whose men at least are much more intelligent
and larger hearted than himself. With narrow, petty Tory instinct, he
clings to 'aristocracy' in whatever form it occurs, and instinctively
wars on the masses. The noblest struggle in history--the greatest effort
to advance labor in the scale of social dignity and practical value is
all as naught in his eyes and in those of his clan; they flippantly
ignore all that is noble in this noble war, and repeat, after CARLYLE,
his brutal, beastly joke--that America has long been the dirtiest of
political chimneys, and requires a good burning out. Take care, Master
CARLYLE, that from this burning no sparks are wafted England-ward. You,
too, will some day have a chimney on fire, and when it burns the heat
will be felt through every brick in Britain.


YE NEW YORKE YOUNGE LADYE

Is a peculyar Institution.

Iff there had a been no suche place as Paris, ye New Yorke Younge Ladye
would have invented itt.

As itt is, shee is thankfull thatt shee hathe been sparyed ye trouble of
having that towne builte. For itt is verie usefull to hir; sendying her
bonetes, robes, shoos, bootees, parasoletts, skirtes, pettycoates, and
chemi--cal preparations--suche as LUBIN hys violette and vitivert;
RIMMEL, hys bandoline; PIVER hys _Nohiba de la Mecque_; MAUGENET and
CONDRAYE, their _savon imperiale;_ MONPELAS hys _eau de toilette_, wyth
othir lyttle thinges too numerouse to mentyon. BOIVIN or JOUVIN, or some
other _vin_, hath long since hadd hir hande--in plaster of Paris--from
which he makyth hir gloves, whych are smuggled home unto hir--I wyll not
saye howe. But Ive hearde in mye tyme of a state dispatch wyth a bigg
redd seale, whych dyd containe four dozen paire of number sixe, ladye's
syze.

Whan thatt shee is arayed in these gaye clothynges and other thynges she
hathe verament a fyne style suche as yee can see none fyner not in ye
Rue Helder ittself. And att a balle shee wereth splendyd jewels, so that
oft-tymes yee wold veralye think she were ye image of Notre Dame de
Loretto wyth all hir braverye. Wyth suche a one dyd I fall yn love at a
hopp at Neweporte--yea, even into a _moulte graunte passion de haulte
degrez_, and wolde gladlie have marryd hir, hadd shee not in frennshe
said '_Per ma fey, beau Sire_, I wyll gladlie bee engagyd to ye, for itt
is ye fashion to bee betrothed, but do not talke of marryage, since I
woulde not have folks thinke I am of age to marrye!' Ah, Sainte Marye!
butt shee was a bricke!

   'About her necke a flowyre of fresh devise,
     Wyth rubies set that lusty were to sene,
   And she in gown was light and summer-wise,
     Shapen full--the colour was of grene,
     With aureat sent about her sides clene,
   With divers stones, precious and rich;
   Thus was she 'rayed, yet saw I ne'er her lich.'

Ye New Yorke Younge Ladye hath many friendes; ye can not speake of any
one in societye who is not deare untoe her, or of any notable man of any
figure who hath not been introduced to her. Shee entertayneth in a
partye seven gentyll men at ones--yea eight or nine will gathir around
hir, and when they goe they will all declare that they have had plentye
to talk. Shee hath a whole librarye of photograph albumes; yett her crye
is 'Give! give!' and, lo! they are given; for itt is a good
advertisement to bee in her bookes, and ye younge men know itt. So thatt
it sometimes cometh to pass, that when one asketh 'Didd ye ever meet Mr.
So-and-soe in societye?' ye answer wyll be: 'Yea--I saw him lately in
JOSEPHINE HOOPES her album. So thatt under her care ye _Carte de Vysite_
hath become a consolidatyng force of goode societie.

Thys younge ladye is nott idle. Evil befall hym who callyth her a mere
lylye of ye vallie. For shee oftetymes goeth among ye poore; yea,
teacheth in ragged schooles; scoldeth ye bone-pickers' children in
German, and ye hand-organ man his olyve- whelpes in Italyan;
seweth for ye armye; vysiteth the starvynge familye of which ye
home-missionarye hath told her; and makyth up a class for ye poore
little Swiss governesse oute of employe. Sometymes shee marryeth an
officer, who hathe not much moneye, and then goeth thro' campe life with
merrye hearte; or itt may be thatt shee weddeth a clergieman--for, all
of thys have I known ye Fifth Avenue belle to do; and I veralye coulde
nott see that shee dyd not make as goode a wyfe as anie other woman.

Ye New Yorke Younge Ladye seldom seeth ye gentlymen save by gas-lighte.
For it is true thatt when she is lazye shee getteth not up to breakfast
so earlye as her Pa and her Brother; or, if shee be converted to ye
health-doctrine, she hath coffee and gooeth out ryding before them, and
theye departe meanwhiles to their offyces or stores, whence they returne
not tyll dynnere in ye eveninge. At noon she giveth--or goeth out
untoe--lunche with other ladyes, and collecteth all ye newes of ye day,
and displayeth her fashion abilities and feedeth well; whense itt cometh
that shee eteth verie little at hir dynnere, and ye strangere who is
wythin her gates, and knoweth nott of ye lunchceone, mervayleth gretlye
at her slendere diet. Butt verylye shee hathe oftetymes a fyrste-rate
tyme at luncheon, and no mystake.

In wyntere she skateth on ye Centrall Ponde righte splendidlie, for
shee is _faste_ of hir nature, albeit shee shunneth the word as being
what ye younge menne call 'Bowerye.' Likewyse shee rideth in sleighs
unto Highe Bridge, and hath a partycularlie nyce tyme wyth hir beau, or
anie other man who is _comme yl faut_. On Sundaye mornynges itt is a
fayre sighte to see her going to and fro churche in a _chapeau de Paris
de la dernyere agonie_, bearyng a _parasolett a la ripp snap mettez-la
encore debout_ style; and whych shee sayes is like a _homme blase_,
because it is Used Upp. Sundaie afternoon yee may find her in ye
Sixteenth or Twentie-eighth strete Catholic churches, lystening to ye
superbe music and wyshing herselfe an angell. For shee is verie fonde of
musicke (especiallie vocale from a handsome Don Juan tenor-io), and
often singeth sweetlye hirself; and, _per ma fey_, I knowe of one whose
_Te daro un baccio d'amore_ is very killynge indede.

   'Wel can she syng and lustely,
   None half so well and semely,
     And coude make in song such refraining,
     It sate her wonder well to singe;
   Her voice full clere was and full swete, * *
       Her eyen gay and glad also--
   That laughden aye in her semblaunt,
   First on the mouth by covenant--
       I wote no lady so liking.'

And soe shee goeth on thro' lyfe, a large-heartyd, good-natured
soule--stylish to beholde; jollie to talke wyth; greatlye abusyd by ye
six-penny novelists, all of whom are delyghted when shee condescendes to
smile on them; and greatlye admyred in Paris, where shee oftetimes
out-Frensheth ye Frennsh themselves. As for mee, I doe avowe that I
adore her, for as muche as shee is a noble bricke, and, as DAN LYDGATE
sayth, 'a whole teeme, whyppe and alle, wyth a Dalmatian coache-dog
under ye axle.' And thatt shee may go itt like a Countesse whyle shee is
younge, and a Duchesse whenn shee is olde, is ye hearte's prayer of--

   CLERKE NICHOLAS.


Does our reader know Loring's in Boston? It is a place of literary
meeting, where one sees those who Athenianize it--poets, philosophers,
ministers, but, above all, the pretty girls who read, and the _jeunesse
doree_ who don't--but go there to look at the damsels who do. Why don't
New York start a library as alluring as LORING'S?

'How do you get books from LORING'S?' asked a stranger lately of one of
the damsels in question.

'By Hiring,' was the reply.

It _was_ a 'goak,' although the querist didn't see it.


   ILLINOIS, _Aug. ----_

THE CONTINENTAL hath many correspondents--among the 'welcomest' of whom
we class the one who speaks as followeth from the far West. We have many
a good friend and hearty _bon compagnon_ in that same West:

DEAR CONTINENTAL: 'When you have found a day to be idle, be idle for a
day'--a charming saying for the indolent, which WILLIS prefixes to one
of his earlier poems, crediting it to a volume of Chinese proverbs; yet,
despite this, I am by no means sure as to its origin, for I suspect it
is a trick of the trade for authors to charge all absurdities they are
ashamed to own, and all fantastic vagaries they are too grave to
acknowledge, to the Celestials, who, we are told, go to battle a fan in
one hand and an umbrella in the other (a very sensible way too, with an
occasional mint julip this warm weather); but, however all that may be,
I adopt the saying; and, lazily resting my head, propose, pen in hand,
to scratch down for you a chapter of anecdotes. I would rather sit near
you, O MEISTER KARL, this sunny day of the waning June, in some forest
nook; and when you had grown weary of talking (not I of listening) and
had lit your old time meerschaum, I would tell you the stories, and you
might repeat such as amused you to your readers. The first was suggested
to me by your Jacksonville correspondent, in the just come July number.

'I, too, am an 'Athenian:'' and my story of a citizen of that
be-colleged town is most authentic. The Rev. Mr. S----, former principal
of the 'mill,' as certain profane students were wont to name the
Seminary, wherein (did you believe the exhibition tickets) our
'daughters' were ground into 'corner-stones' polished after the
'similitude of a palace,' was a man of unusually modest humility, and
somewhat absent-minded.

There came to the school, at commencement (no--hold on!--a young student
with three hairs on each lip, and about as many ideas in his brains, has
told me that was not the word for the 'Anniversary day' of a female
school--O scion of the male school, I submit). It was, then, the
'anniversary of 'the mill.'' A clergyman from abroad, of superior
abilities, was expected to address the graduating class. Row upon row
of white-robed maidens smiled in sly flirtation upon rows of admiring
eyes in the audience below. Grave school-trustees, ponderous-browed
lawyers, the united clergy (the aforesaid Athens boasts some fifteen
churches), and last, but not least, the professors and the 'Prex' of the
college, par excellence (for there are some half dozen 'digs' or
dignitaries so named in the town), sat in a body near the
stage--'invited guests.' Songs were sung--the fleeting joys of earth,
the delights of study, the beauty of flowers, the excellence of wisdom,
and kindred themes discoursed upon by low-voiced essayists, till the
valedictory came; but with Mr. S----, meanwhile, all went _not_ merry as
a marriage bell: the expected orator came not, and was sought for in
vain; the valedictorian-ess ceased; the parting song was sung; an
expectant hum rose from the audience; the blue-ribboned diplomas waited
in a wreath of roses. At last, embarrassed and perplexed, the preceptor
rose. 'Young ladies,' he began, 'I had expected to see here,' and his
glance wandered over the picture-studded, asparagus-wreathed hall, till
it rested quietly on the aforementioned body of village
dignitaries--then he continued: 'I expected to-day an individual _more
competent than myself_ to address to you these parting words, but (with
a last anxious glance at the Faculty) _that_ individual _I_ do _not_ now
behold.'

Until afterward admonished by his better half, Mr. S---- was unconscious
of his arrogance, and of the cause of the ill-concealed mirth of the
audience.

Rather verbose that anecdote; but, pardon something to the memories of
olden times.

It was the same preceptor who, a member of the graduating class having
made all her arrangements beforehand, announced, after the usual
distribution of prizes, that the highest ever bestowed on a similar
occasion was now to be awarded, for diligence and good deportment, to
Miss H---- H----; whereupon, in the fewest words possible, he performed
the marriage ceremony, and gave her--a husband. Encouraging to the
juniors, was it not?

A friend of mine, questioning the other day a small boy as to his home
playmates and amusements, asked him of the number and age of the
children of a neighbor, at whose house there was, unknown to her, a bran
new baby. 'Oh,' answered the five year old, with some scorn,'she hasn't
got but two, one of 'em's 'bout as big as me, and the other--the other's
on'y jest begun.'

A wee little boy, who had a great habit of saying he was frightened at
everything, was one day walking with me in the garden, and clung to me
suddenly, saying, 'I'se frightened of that sing,' and, looking down, I
saw a caterpillar near his foot.

'Oh, no,' said I, reassuringly and somewhat reprovingly, 'Georgie's not
frightened at _such a little thing_!' Five minutes after, we were
sitting on the doorsteps, and, wearing a low-necked dress, I felt on my
shoulder some stirring creature; it was a caterpillar, and, with the
inevitable privileged feminine screech on such occasions, I dashed it
off; then, turning, I met the usually grave gray eyes kindling with
mischievous triumph: '_Aunty's_ frightened of a little sing,' says
Georgie, with triumphant emphasis on the 'Aunty.'

Another little rogue, a black-eyed 'possible president' of course, when
between two and three years, was opening and shutting a door, amusing
himself as he watched the sunshine come and go on the walls of the
sitting room, streaming through the lattice of a porch beyond.
Presently, while holding the door open, a cloud floated over the sun.
'Aunty, aunty,' cried he, as surprised as he was earnest, 'somebody's
shutting door up in the sky.'

I was amused, not long ago, at a passage in the letter of an eldest
daughter, eight years old, to her absent father: the womanly dignity of
her station and the child's sense of justice quite stifled any tendency
to sympathetic remarks. 'Johnny,' she wrote, 'has not been very bad,
neither can I say he has been very good; he ran away from nurse twice,
and once from mamma, who of course did with him _as he deserved_.'

A correspondent of mine in the army (a whilom contributor of yours, by
the way) writes me this:

'After the Corinthian 'skedadle' (the demi-savans (I don't mean
Napoleon's in Egypt, but the provinvial editors--in some cases it
amounts to the same thing) having proved the word to be Greek, I suppose
it is slang no longer), the Tenth Illinois regiment (Dick Wolcott, you
know) camped a few miles to the northward, near the woods; and hasty but
shady structures were soon reared in front of the officers' tents; but
one morning there arose a great wind, and the 'arboresque' screens
became rapidly as _non est_ as Jonah's gourd. A group of uniforms stood
watching the flying branches. 'Boys,' said Captain M., gravely, as
somewhat ruefully his eye follows the vanishing shelter of his own door,
'that's evidently a left bower.' 'The Captain,' MEERSCHAUM adds, 'is
rapidly convalescing.' I fancy this enough for one letter.

_Two days later._--

     I have been keeping these anecdotes for you for some time, and
     should have sent them earlier; now--it seems almost cruel to laugh
     since the dark days in Virginia, or to write frivolous nonsense.
     Yet, I cannot work; and before these lines reach your readers (if
     they ever do) the sky will, I hope, be clear again, and the regrets
     I am tempted to utter would be as out of tune as the exultant
     predictions of a week ago seem now. Far away to the horizon stretch
     the golden fields of ripened grain; the abundant harvest is at
     hand: yet a little while ago we heard dismal laments of blighting
     rains and hostile insects; and many faithless ones ploughed up
     their verdant wheatfields in despair. May the harvest of a nation's
     victory come thus, teaching the incredulous faith in the
     right--but, ah! the lengthened struggle is what I dread, not the
     end--that cannot fail us.

     I wrote you a special, all-to-yourself letter, not long since,
     which I hope you will have answered before this comes to you. With
     a thousand kindly wishes, Ever your's--A. W. C.

Yet one page more. Am I not irrepressible? I send you a rhymed fancy. If
it has any significance you will, I know, give it place; if not, not. I
will be sincerely acquiescent.


A BRIDAL.

   I ride along the lonely sands,
   Where once we rode with clasping hands.

   The wild waves sob upon the beach,
   As mournful as love's parting speech.

   Those cruel waves, close-clasped they hold
   My lost love, with his locks of gold.

   Here, while the wind blew from the south,
   He kissed me with his tender mouth.

   Oh, sun of hope, in dark eclipse!
   Oh, aching heart, and unkissed lips!

   On, on I ride, faster, in vain,
   I cannot hush the cry of pain

   In my sick soul. But, hark! how clear
   That voice of voices fills my ear!

   'Why waitest thou beside the sea?
   Canst thou not die, and come to me?'

   Soul-king, I come! Alas! my need
   Was great. Press on, my faithful steed.

   Deep, deep into the sea I ride:
   There my love's hero waits his bride.

   The longing billows of the sea
   With happy welcome smile to me.

   They touch my foot, they reach my knee:
   Darling! they draw me thus to thee.

   They kiss thy picture on my heart;
   Love of my life! no more we part.

   The rushing waters still my breath:
   Oh! have we dared to fear thee, Death?


EBENEZER STIBBS died, near Lewisburg, O., a martyr to his country's
cause, October 14th, 1862, in the seventy-first year of his age. His
death was a violent one, though he fell not upon the field of strife;
for many of the soldiers of our country have never been enrolled, never
promoted, never praised for their gallantry, but, far away from the
tented field, in their lonely homes, are going down to their graves
without sound of drum or salute of musket, unnoticed and unknown.

And this brave old man was one of them. Residing for a number of years
on a farm with his son, he had long been excused, on account of the
infirmities of age, from active service on the farm, and even from the
numerous little tasks about the house and barn involved in the care of
the family and the stock. His son was drafted, and now, 'who shall look
after things about the place?' 'Go,' said the brave old hero, 'and serve
your country, and I'll attend to matters here.'

He set about the work in good heart, and seemed likely to succeed
admirably; but one day, while pushing some hay over the edge of the mow,
he lost his balance, plunged forward, falling a distance of some ten or
twelve feet, and, striking his head on the hard threshing floor, was so
stunned as to become entirely insensible. A member of the household soon
after entered the barn and found him bleeding and helpless. Medical aid
was immediately summoned, but he survived his injuries only a couple of
hours, and died without speaking a word. When this dreadful war shall
have ended, and tall white columns shall spring up like an alabaster
forest all over the land, to commemorate the glories of the departed
brave, let one, at least, of the noble shafts, without legend or
inscription, stand as the representative of those who have fallen in
obscurity, like the soldiers cut off in the forest, unnoticed and
unknown.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Buckeye correspondent sends us the following, which is too good to
keep:

THE DEACON AND HIS SON.

Some years agone, old Deacon S---- kept a corner grocery in the village
of B----. Deacon S---- had a son, who officiated in said grocery. Deacon
S---- professed to be very pious--so did Deacon S.'s son.

Whether the Deacon and his son were what they professed to be, I will
leave the reader to judge from the following conversation, which took
place between them, one Saturday night, just before closing the store:

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'Dit you charge Mr. T---- mit te ham?'

'Yes, father.'

'Vell, so dit I.'

A pause.

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'You had petter charge him again, so you won't forget him.'

'Yes, father.

Another pause.

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'Now you can water te vinegar, sand te sugar, and close te store, un den
we vill haf family worship, un go ter ped!'

'Yes, father.'

       *       *       *       *       *

'Law is,' to use the frequent phrase of a Gothamite contemporary, 'a
cu'ros thing;' and not the least curious phase which it presents is the
difference between what people say before juries and what they _think_;
as is fully illustrated in the following, by FRANK HACKETT:

'GRACCHUS,' as the town called him, was a broken-down lawyer, who, as he
got old, had prostituted the talents of his early days to the meanest
kind of pettifogging and rascality. Everybody did their best to keep out
of his clutches, and his 'make up' was seedy enough; yet he managed to
keep in court half a dozen 'cranky suits,' in which, to be sure, he
figured as a party himself, on one side or the other. The circumstances
of one of them, which have just come to our memory, are perhaps worth
jotting down:

For some quarters, GRACCHUS had not paid any rent, and his landlord made
repeated requests of him to move out. Even a promise to cancel all
arrears would not make him stir. A writ of ejectment would have
delighted this 'legal spider;' but Mr. R. knew 'when he was well off,'
and refused to resort to that. ' My dear sir, you _must_ go,' said he
one day, annoyed at the fellow's obstinacy; 'I have a man coming in
right away, who will pay me a good tenant's rent, and I am going to have
the office repaired for him. So just make up your mind to quit this
afternoon.'

As Mr. R. turned to go out, he examined the window nearest him, and
poked his cane through the decayed sash and crumbling glass in two or
three places, with the remark: 'A pretty condition this for a business
man's office to be in!' Nobody was surprised to hear that evening that a
suit had been brought against Mr. R. for damages in trespass.

Mr. R.'s counsel told him that the best thing he could do would be to go
to trial as soon as possible, and if he got out of it with a small sum
for damages and no further annoyance, he would be lucky. GRACCHUS had
secured 'Squire SWEET to argue the case to the jury--probably 'on
shares.' To hear SWEET 'warm up' before the panel, you would have sworn
that the 'palladium of justice' and the other 'fixtures' had their
salvation staked on the success of his client. And if there was anything
he thought himself competent to 'operate largely' on, it was a damage
suit. On this occasion, the vivid picture he drew of an unwarrantable
intrusion upon this aged and indefatigable servant of the public, the
injury inflicted upon his 'valuable health,' and his generous conduct in
contenting himself with the paltry sum of eighty dollars by way of
damages, was to be set down as the 'Squire's best effort.

The jury went out just as the court was on the point of adjournment, and
received orders to seal up their verdict for the morning. Each man had
to 'chalk' what in his judgment was a sufficient sum for damages. They
ranged all along in the neighborhood of three or four dollars, except
one or two individuals, who had believed the whole of the plaintiff's
complaint, and went in for something more than nominal damages. One in
particular, who always swore by SWEET, aimed so high that the average
came above the $13.33 that was necessary to carry costs.

After they had determined upon a verdict, our high-priced friend, with
one or two others, went around to the hotel to retire for the night. As
they went in, the clerk of the court met them with a pack of cards in
his hands, with which a party had just finished playing whist. 'It
didn't take us half so long to agree on that case. SWEET and the rest of
us marked around on that verdict, just before we finished the last game,
and we made it out--two dollars and twenty-five cents.' 'The d---- you
did,' replied our astonished friend. 'Why, how much did 'Squire SWEET
mark, himself?' 'Uncommon high. He said he thought five dollars was
about the fair thing.' '_Five dollars!_' gasped the juryman; 'Squire
SWEET put down only _five dollars_, when he went and told the jury that
eighty dollars wasn't nothin' to it. Look a-here, can't I go back and
change that figure of mine, afore the verdict comes in?'

It was decided pretty unanimously that--he _couldn't_.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our readers will recall the author of the following poem, as a writer
who has more than once given us poems indicating much refinement of
taste, based on sound old English scholarship:


NO CROSS, NO CROWN.

BY HENRY DUMARS.

   No mortal yet e'er gained the golden crown
     Who did not in his search the cross upbear;
     For heaven he need entertain no care
   Who fears to sinfulness the Devil's frown,
   And lays, if once espoused, his burdens down,
     Because so many of his followers have no burden there.

   And thus it is so many are awrong;
     'Tis easier, they deem, the crown to gain
     With limbs at will and shoulders free from pain,
   Than bearing this great burden still along:
   Besides, will not my brothers be among
     The crowned ere I, unless I free my loins again?

   Columbia doth seek the crown,--and sooth
     No nation of the earth deserves it more;
     But, ah! she is unwise as lands before
   In hoping thus, what time she quits the Truth,
   And showing unto enemies more ruth
     Than even God doth show to us, weak worldlings sore.

   Where once against the heavens men rebelled,
     And forced the Prince of Peace to deadly war,
     Did not He spread a deluge deep and far,
   Not sweeping them alone, but all they held?
   When they His awful earnestness beheld,
     Were not they penitent, though vain, as bad sons are?

   And why should we but lighten through a spell
     These murderous madmen in our country here,
     Their craziness to come or far or near
   Anew, as more they learn of prompting hell?
   Must not we now the CAUSE forever quell,
     As Hercules did one time slay a source of fear?

   If Truth is mighty, 'tis not so alone;
     There's more availability in Error;
     That end's not gained that's gained alone With terror:
   The way of Right but leadeth to the crown;
   Who conquer _perfectly_, peace-seed have sown;
     Reform's remaining ill usurps at last the furrow.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Correspondent, who is interested in education and not uninterested in
humanity, sends us the following _bona fide_ advertisement, specifying
the qualifications and accomplishments expected from the lady teachers
of a certain Western community:

     'When employing a lady as teacher in our Public Schools, we desire,
     in addition to a thorough education, to secure the following
     qualifications;

     '1st. Ease of address, modest and attractive personal appearance,
     and habits of neatness and order.

     '2d. A uniformly kind and generous disposition, entire
     self-control, with unyielding perseverance and energy.

     '3d. A spirit of concession and adaptability, that will enable her
     to conform to the general rules and regulations of the schools, and
     to harmonize her plans and efforts with those of the other
     teachers.

     '4th. A moral and religious character, that will cause her to feel
     the full responsibility of her position, and make her guard with a
     watchful eye the habits and principles of the children under her
     charge.

     '5th. Such dignity of person and manners as will secure the
     deference of pupils, and the respect and confidence of parents. A
     freedom, both from girlish frivolities, and old-maidish crabbedness
     and prudery.

     '6th. Correct social habits, a well cultivated literary taste, and
     a mind richly stored with general information.

     'Applicants for places as teachers in our Public Schools will be
     examined in the following branches of study, or others, the study
     of which would furnish an equal amount of mental discipline:
     Arithmetic, Algebra, Geometry, Mensuration, Trigonometry,
     Mechanical Philosophy, Geography, Physiology, Zoology, Natural
     Philosophy, Meteorology, Botany, Chemistry, Geology, Astronomy,
     Orthography, Reading, Penmanship, English Grammar, History,
     Bookkeeping, Political Science, Moral Science, Mental Philosophy,
     Logic, Rhetoric, Evidence of Christianity, Elements of Criticism.

                  'Yours, Respectfully,
                             ---- ----
                     'Sup't of Public Schools.'

'Where, oh, _where_ is _she_?' Tell us, if you can, what worlds or what
far regions hold this paragon of damsels.

   'Where bides upon this earthly ball
   A maid who so embraceth all.'

And where does ---- ----,' Superintendent of Public Schools,' find these
Perfections, or Maids of Munster?

It must be a wealthy community that, which expects to hire such
teachers. And 'to begin with,' they must have 'an attractive personal
appearance.' The rogue of a Superintendent!

'Physiology!' Reader, did you ever fairly _master_ even a test book on
the subject--say, JOHN DALTON'S--and acquire with it the anatomical
knowledge essential to a merely superficial comprehension of the
subject? Did you ever dissect any, and attend the usual lectures? The
Young Lady in question must have done more than this.

'Political Science!'

'Chemistry!' That is rather a heavy draft, too. We have been closely
under old LEOPOLD GMELIN in our time, and worked a winter or so hard at
the test glasses, and had divers courses of lectures under divers
eminent professors, and read LIEBIG and STOeCKHARDT and others more or
less--just enough to learn that to _honestly teach_ chemistry, even in
the most elementary manner, months and years of additional work were
requisite.

'Botany!' Botany is rather a large-sized object to acquire--even to
become the merest _amateur_. A year's lectures from Dr. TORREY and some
hard work over GRAY and DE CANDOLLE and the rest, are not enough even
for this. It was but yesterday and to us that a gentleman whose special
pleasure is botany, who has devoted thousands of dollars and years to
the pursuit, ridiculed the suggestion that he was qualified to teach it.

'Zoology, Astronomy, Rhetoric, Meteorology, and--History!'

Don't be alarmed, reader. Very possibly the young lady in question will
not be _too_ strictly examined in all these branches--- neither will she
be required to impart more than the mildest possible of knowledge to her
pupils. Very possibly, too, she will teach Chemistry--think of it, ye
brethren of the retort!--_without experiments!!_ For just such atrocious
and ridiculous humbug have we known to be passed off on children, in
've-ry expensive' 'first-class' ladies' schools in Philadelphia and in
New York, for instruction in Chemistry. The young brains were vexed and
wearied day after day to acquire by vague description and by _rote_ the
details of an almost purely experimental science.

And, 'a mind _richly_ stored with general information!'

It is a pity that magic is out of date. Something might be done for our
Superintendent with the ghost of Hypatia!

       *       *       *       *       *

Will our friends and readers during the approaching book-buying and
holiday presenting times be so kind as to occasionally bear in mind the
fact that 'SUNSHINE IN THOUGHT,' by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, has just
been published? As the work in question, while publishing in a serial
form, was very warmly and extensively praised by the press, and as high
literary authority has declared that 'it presents many bold and original
views, very clearly set forth,' we venture to hope that our commendation
of it to the public will not seem amiss.--EDMUND KIRKE.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our lady readers wanting a constant and most commendable companion for
the work-basket, would do well to obtain the daintily bound _Ladies'
Almanac_ for 1863, issued by GEORGE COOLIDGE, 17 Washington street,
Boston, and sold by HENRY DEXTER, New York. It is an almanac; contains a
blank memorandum for every day in the year, recipes, music, and light
reading--and is altogether an excellent subject for a small and tasteful
gift.

       *       *       *       *       *

A Letter from a brave and jolly friend of ours, now i' the field, says,
that during the Maryland battles,

'We bolted dinner almost at a single mouthful, with shot singing around
us. JIM had the knife knocked out of his hand by a bullet.'

The CONTINENTAL does not wonder that the dinner in question was finished
in one course. Under such very warlike circumstances, we hardly see how
it could have been disposed of in the usual piece-meal manner.


COMFORTED.

   Then she arose with solemn eyes,
     And, moving through the vocal dark,
   Sat down, with bitter, ceaseless sighs,
     The river tones to hark--
     Deep in the forest dark.

   Sick, sick she was of life and light--
     She longed for shadow and for death;
   And, by the river in the night,
     Thus to her thought gave breath--
     Her hungry wish for death:

   'Shall I not die, beloved, and free
     My weary, hopeless, breaking heart?
   Shall I not dare death, love,' said she,
     'And seek thee where thou art?
     _Life_ keeps our souls apart!'

   'So weak, my darling, couldst thou be?'
     A far voice stirred the pulseless air:
   'Thus vainly wouldst thou seek for me--
     My heaven thou couldst not share:
     Such death were love's despair!'

   Then through the long, lone night she prayed;
     At last, 'How weak my dream!' said she.
   'I'll meet the future unafraid;
     I will grow worthy thee--
     I will not flinch,' said she.

   'I will not leave both souls so lone:
     Where thou art, cowards cannot be;
   I will not wrong our love, mine own;
     At last I shall win thee.'
     I will be brave,' said she.

   Then she arose with patient eyes,
     And, turning, faced the incoming day.
   'There, love, the path to meet thee lies,'
     Said she; 'I went astray.
     But now I know the way.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The following pleasant bit of gossip is from our 'Down-East
correspondent:'

As I sit down to cover a few slips of paper with a thought or two
(spreading it thin, is it?) for the readers of'Old Con.,'--

By the way--a delicious phrase that same 'by the way,' that lets a man
turn in from the dusty road a brief while and enjoy a 'rare ripe' or a
juicy 'south side'--you ask me, in a genial note, Mr. Editor, what I
think of 'Old Con' as the 'family nickname.' Capital! The only objection
in the world that I have is, that it reminds me of 'Old Conn,' the
policeman, who used to loom up around corners with his big, ugly
features, to the terror of the small boys, when I was 'of that ilk.'
These huge, overgrown, slow hulks almost always 'pick on' the boys; the
real hard work of the force is done by your small, wiry fellows, who
step around lively, and don't stop to see whether a man is 'bigger nor
they.' Old Conn, though, was a pretty good-hearted man after all,
despite unpopularity among the juveniles; and so I say, let us christen
the youngster 'Old Con,' by all means--old in the affections of a host
of friends, if not in years.

But _revenons a nous moutons_, as the scribblers say, whose _mouton_ we
dare say is less often 'material' than we could wish it were.

As I set about penning a rambling thought, then, and--

_En passant_, did you never notice how a tendency to ramble will
sometimes almost completely control a man? A candidate for Congress, for
instance, comes round to your town to talk to you 'like a fa-ther'about
what? To tell you that he has made all his arrangements to go to
Washington? and could go just as well as not if you would like to have
him? and that, on the whole, he wants to go awfully? No, indeed; nine
cases out of ten the poor fellow forgets _himself_, and wanders off into
the 'glorious Constitution as our fathers framed it,' and the 'eternal
principles,' ' sacrifices' that one's constituency require, and a full
assortment of such phrase. Just as some of the speakers, at the 'war
meetings' this summer, get up a full head of patriotic steam, and in the
excitement of the moment 'don't remember' all about mentioning that they
are going themselves. Inclined to ramble!

But this wasn't what I meant to observe at the outset. Let us change the
subject, as they say at the medical college.

What I was about to remark originally was--and I don't know as it is
original, either. The fact is, there is very little now-a-days that is
strictly original--except war-correspondence, and of course nobody but
old maids reads _that_. There is a fellow who writes for the
'Daily----,' and signs himself 'Wabash.' Well, what of it? Nothing; only
some people think it ought to be spelt, 'War bosh.'

As I was saying: As I sit down to cover a few slips--it seems to me that
I have already filled out one slip of the paper; and, by the by, that
reminds me of a bright thing that Ben Zoleen,[5] a bachelor friend of
mine, allowed himself to be the father of, the other day. Ben likes to
'take something,' and about a month ago he took the 'enrolment.' An
Irishman, after laying claim to the usual disability--lameness
somewhere, and besides 'he was all the man that his wife Joanna had to
work for the family'--swore that all the property he had in the world
was a big porker, and _he_ had broken out and run away 'the divil knows
where,' the day before. 'Well, Mike,' said Ben, with a sympathizing
tear, 'yours is not the first fortune that's been lost in this country
by a mere _slip of the pen_' Whist! d'ye hear _that_?

The thought that first presented itself was the inquiry whether a man--

'Not that man, but another man,' interrupted me just then by coming into
the office and communicating the startling, yet not entirely unexpected
intelligence that 'they had begun to draft here in P.' 'No,' said I.
'Yes,' said he, going out in a hurry; 'up at the brewery.'

-Whether a man ought to write anything else than a love letter, in the
frame of mind that Voltaire said _that_ document should be composed in:
'Beginning without knowing what you are going to say, and ending without
knowing a word of what you have said.'

What do you think about it? I think so, decidedly.

   HIBBLES.

       *       *       *       *       *

We have heard of many an instance where the expression was not that
exactly of the idea that was intended; but in the following 'the idea,
the expression,' and everything else, are about as thoroughly mixed up
as one could well conceive. We were questioning a young lady as to the
standing of a clergyman in the town where she lived. 'Oh,' said she,
'_he is too popular to be liked very much_.' Identical! A favorite, we
are told, 'has no friends;' when a poor fellow gets to be popular in the
town of C----, we pity him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dick Wolcott, of the Tenth Illinois--which has seen no little service
since the war began--hath written unto us a letter, from which we pick
out the following. A great gossip is this same Dickon of ours, and a
rare good fellow:

'We have in our company a number of Germans--brave and 'bully' soldiers
all who know better how to handle the arms than the tongue of the land
of their adoption; and their staggers at the language furnish us much
amusement. I know that they are sensitive on the subject, and ought not
to be laughed at; but as they probably will not see this, or if they do,
will have forgotten the circumstance, I offer for the 'gossip' the
following fair specimen. On the day we crossed the Mississippi and
captured the rebels, who had adopted the skedaddling policy of the
Fleet-Footed Villain Floyd, we were drawn up in line of battle three
times, and three times ye rebs right-faced and 'moseyed.' The last time
it was just at dusk, and we were standing in the edge of an opening,
expecting to be opened upon by artillery from the other side, which it
was too dark for us to see distinctly. As we were not fired upon, a
party was sent forward to reconnoitre, and returned with the
intelligence that they had again evacuated. On learning this, one of our
fellows, brief in stature, but of prodigious red beard, spluttered
through his moustache: 'Der tam successionish! dey left vor _un-parts
known_! Donner-wetter!!'

Here is another of DICK'S, which dates from the days 'before
Corinth'--for he was one of those to whom it was _licet adire
Corinthum_:

'Let me tell you a 'goak' that General Pope got off on us, and which we
take as quite a compliment. Our colonel commanding brigade asked
permission to take two days' rations, as we were going out to 'clean
out' a rebel force that was in a swamp, keeping our men from repairing
the road and building a bridge for the passage of artillery, and he
didn't know how long we would have to be gone. 'My God! Colonel,' said
General Pope, 'when you take one day's rations, you are gone four. If I
let you take two, I wouldn't see you again this side of Memphis.'

       *       *       *       *       *

We are indebted to a brother of the press for the following jotting
down:

Our magazine contemporaries, who appear like Neptune among the Tritons,
_i. e._, with the Sea Sons, are sometimes funnily miscomprehended. Thus,
the publishers of the Methodist _Quarterly Review_ say that a brother
writes to them complaining that he has not received the February,
March, and May numbers of the Review!

About as touching was the complaint of another 'Constant Reader,' who
wrote to the editor of similar quadrennial, complaining that, although
it was a quarterly review, the agent made him pay a half a dollar for
it!

       *       *       *       *       *

Do you, excellent and all remembering reader, recall an article in our
August number entitled, 'Friends of the Future'? One of those 'friends'
comes afterward in these quaint lines:

QUISQUIS ILLE EST!

   Winning, witty, wicked, and wise,
   A _je ne sais quoi_ about thee lies,
   Charming the cold, cheering the sad,
   Giving gaiety to the glad;
   Brilliant, brave, bewitchingly bright,
   Playful, pranksome, proudly polite;
   Softly sarcastic, shyly severe,
   Falsely frank, which fascinates fear!
   Not handsome--no hero 'half divine,'
   Features not faultless, fair, and fine;
   With raven locks, O! 'Rufus the Red,'
   I can't in conscience cover thy head;
   Nor shall I stoop to falsehood mean,
   And swear thine eyes are not sea-green:
   Discard deceit in thy defence,
   Secure in wit--a man of sense,
   So gracefully kind in look and tone,
   I think his thoughts are all my own!
   Ah! false as fickle--well I know
   To scorn the words that charm me so.
   Still do I catch the golden bait,
   Admiring--where I thought to hate!

'_Bien-c'est gentil, ca!_' as Jullien used to say at the concerts of his
own performers. Still do we opine that 'Rufus' has been well hit off,
and should be grateful for his place among those to come.

       *       *       *       *       *

Yet another correspondent. This one discourseth of the little ones:

   GLENDALE, Wis., _Sept. 16th, 1862_.

DEAR CONTINENTAL: We rejoice, most of the time, in a house pet, a human
puppet, a domestic toy, in the shape of 'DONNY.' Would you ever believe
that that name had been originally CHARLES, and passed, by the subtle
alchemy of nicknames, to its present form?

DONNY lately donned for the first time his first suit of jacket and
trousers.

No one was in the house save the half-blind nurse who put them on. And
poor DONNY wished so much to be admired! 'All dressed up and nobody to
see.'

An idea struck him. He 'paddled off' for the hennery. I was behind the
bushes and noted him. Walking in a great state before a party of hens,
he cried aloud:

'LOOK AT ME, CHICKENS!'

I should possibly have forgotten this domestic legend, but that it was
recalled yesterday by the fact that our Cousin JOE made a good
application of it. There is a very well-educated and very able young
theological friend of ours, who has this one weakness--when he has read
a book, or taken in a new idea of any kind, he can get no rest until he
has fully reproduced it in a 'bold-face, full-display, double-lead' sort
of manner to somebody else. Show it off he must, and exhibit himself at
the same time. His last acquisition was a mass of entomology--he having
had by some means access to a copy of 'Harris on Insects Injurious to
Vegetation; and this he reproduced liberally, during an entire evening,
to half a dozen undeveloped intellects of tender age. How the words came
out--how he _did_ give them the Latin!

'What did you think of him?' I inquired of JOE.

'LOOK AT ME, CHICKENS!' was the reply. I saw the point--wonder if I
shan't see its application frequently ere I have 'wound up my worsted,'
and shovelled up the mortal coal of this life.

There are a great many men, dear CONTINENTAL, who quite unwittingly are
ever crying aloud, 'Look at me, chickens.' After all, 'tis only the old
fable of the lion cubasinized.

   Thine ever,

   CHICKENS.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our Chicago friend, J.M., will accept our thanks for his favor. Chicago
is a warm friend to our Magazine.

EDITOR OF CONTINENTAL:

_Dear Sir_,--Occasionally a 'good thing' comes up to illustrate this
wicked rebellion, which all patriots are striving to put down, in our
once happy land. When the news of the taking of New Orleans reached our
city, a friend meeting on the street another, who, like our worthy
President, is fond of a good story, spake as follows:

'Wonder what Jeff. Davis will think now?'

'It reminds me of a little story,' was the answer.

'Fire away then.'

'When Ethan Allen was a prisoner of war in London, a party of wags, who
had made his acquaintance, and who were pleased with his drolleries, and
who were in the habit of giving him dinners for the pleasure of his
company, discovered in him a marvellous great fondness for pickles. On
this platform they procured some East India peppers--which are about as
hot as live hickory coals--and placed them in front of his seat at
table, in as tempting a position as possible: which done, they sat down
to dinner. While the first course was being served, Allen could not
restrain his love for the article; and very quietly transferred one of
them from the plate to his mouth, giving it a quick pressure of the jaws
for the purpose of hastily disposing of it; when, lo and behold! instead
of the luscious vegetable he so much enjoyed, he found he had taken into
his capacious mouth something about as hot and burning as fire itself.
To relieve his agony, he applied his hand to his mouth, at the same time
using his napkin to remove the tears and perspiration, and also conceal
the contractions of his face, when, hastily casting a glance around the
table, he at once discovered the point of the joke in the countenances
of those around him. Summoning all his coolness for the instant, he very
deliberately deposited the 'pesky' thing in his hand, and then returned
it to the plate with all the gravity he could command, remarking at the
same time, 'With your permission, gentlemen, I will put _that_ d--d
thing back!'

Whether Jeff. Davis and his satellites would not like to perform the
same operation with their pet dogma, Secession, I leave for your readers
to decide; remarking that, in my own opinion, they would sleep better if
they were back again, as in 1860. Prisons and halters are not pleasant
to reflect on and anticipate, particularly when they are remarkably well
deserved, as they are.


Old ETHAN ALLEN! Would he were alive again! Oh, for one hour of that
DUNDEE! Well, the time will answer its own needs, and this war will not
pass by without its man of iron. He cometh! Who is he to be? GEORGE
MCCLELLAN, you have it in you!

Put on steam, and win us the great victory of all time!

       *       *       *       *       *

Should any man ever collect into a volume all the stories told of the
great American showman, we trust that he will not omit the following:

BARNUM'S PIGEON.

Barnum sat in his office. It was a warm summer afternoon, but the B was
busy, as usual. He had before him a plan for exhibiting the great
Guyascutus on improved principles, a letter from a man who owned a wife
with three arms (to be had cheap), and another from the fortunate
proprietor of the great Singing Pig. An offer or petition from the great
'ex' J---- s B---- n to lecture cheaply had been considered and
rejected.

'He's played out!' was the brief reflection of Barnum. As he said this
the door opened, and there entered a manifest German, who bore a covered
cage.

'Vat you bedinks of _dat!_ exclaimed the Deutscher, removing the cloth.

It was a beautiful bird; of perfect pigeon shape, but of an exquisite
golden yellow lustre, such as no fowl which Mr. Barnum had ever
seen--and his ornithological observations had not been limited--ever
wore.

'I sells her dretful cheap,' remarked the bearer, '_verflucht_ cheap. I
gifs him to you for 'pout den or sieben thaler.'

'H'm--no--don't want it,' replied Barnum.

'Den I goes down mit mine brice to five thaler and dere I stops.'

'No--got birds enough,' said Barnum. 'They don't pay. Now, if it was the
great Japanese earthworm, a yard long--'

'Goot py. I sorry you no pys it. I dinks I  her foost rate.'

'Ha!--_what!_--HOW!' cried Barnum, deeply interested; 'artificially
! Good! _I must have_ that!'

The German smiled a heavy, beery, winky, Limburgy smile, with both eyes
shut tightly.

'Yas, I golors de bichin yellows unt creen and plue unt all sorts
golors. Only five thalers der piece.'

'Do you think,' said Mr. Barnum, 'that you could prepare a great
Patriotic National Lusus Naturae, recently found perching on Independence
Hall, Philadelphia--or hold--that's better--Mount Vernon? Could you
color an eagle, with red stars on his breast, and blue and white
stripes running down big tail?'

The Dutchman thought he could, if the eagle's bill were tied, and his
claws each stuck into a cork.

'Well, try your hand at it. But hold--go up stairs and put the pigeon
into the Happy Family.'

The Dutchman stumped away. In about ten minutes Mr. Feathers, the
ornithologist of the Museum, came rushing down, in a wild state of
fluttering excitement.

'Good GOD, Mr. Barnum, you're not going to put _that_ bird into the
Happy Family!'

'Why not?' inquired Mr. Barnum, serenely.

'Why--it is the greatest curiosity you own. Heavens! a YELLOW pigeon!
Sir, it is an anomaly--an undiscovered rarity--a--a--why, sir, it's an
_incredibility_! I say, to my shame, I never heard of it. From
Australia, I presume? There are some undiscovered marvels still left in
that queer country.'

'No; it's the California golden pigeon.' ('That will take very well,'
quoth Barnum to himself.)

So the pigeon went up to the Happy Family, and entered cordially into
the innocent amusements of that blessed band. He sat on the cat's head,
and on the dog's back, and suffered the mice to nestle under his wings,
and never made them afraid. As for the owl, she fairly made love to him.

Time rolled on.

There came to New York ' a great old boy,' in the person of California
Grizzly Bear Adams. 'Old Adams' he liked to be called, though he wasn't
very aged. He was 'one of 'em.'

'See here, Barnum,' quoth he one day, in his rough voice; 'you've got a
bird in your show which I've got to have. It's the Californy golden
pigin. It's a sort o' mine anyhow--mine's a show of Californy critters,
and nothing else.'

'You can't have _that_, Adams,' said Mr. Barnum. ' That's the greatest
curiosity in the known world. Nothing like it--unique.'

'Sha--a--aw!' was the reply. 'Stuff! Don't run more o' that con-tusive
stuff on me. _Rare!!_ here he winked; '_why, I've seen them yallar
pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock_, up round Los Angeles and
Cabeza del Diablo, and them places. The miners find where the gold is,
by 'em.'

'Why didn't you bring some on with you?' inquired Barnum.

'Fact was, they were so everlastin' common that it didn't seem to me
they were worth bringin'. Why, you can git a dozen of 'em any day in
'Frisco.'

With much feigned reluctance Barnum yielded his pigeon up to the
California show, and all went well--for a time.

Perhaps two weeks had elapsed, when Old Adams burst into the office,
excited.

'Barnum!' he cried, 'you infarnal old humbug--that California golden
pigin is a darned swindle! It's painted!'

'Why, how you talk!' replied Barnum. 'Humbug, indeed! Haven't you seen
golden pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock, in California?'

'It's painted and gilded, I tell you!' cried Adams. 'The color is all
coming off the edges of the wings, and its tail is 'most rubbed white!'

'The idea!' replied Barnum, mildly, but with a droll, merry light in his
eyes. 'You know you can send out to the San Francisco market any day and
get a dozen!'

That is the legend of Ye Golden Pigeon. No--hold on; it is told in the
Museum that one day a lady charged Mr. Barnum with having had his Angel
Fish artificially .

'Indigo,' she remarked.

But the golden pigeon captivated her, and she implored Mr. B. for one of
its eggs. He evaded the request on the ground that the 'sect' to which
the pigeon belonged was not of the egg-laying kind.

So we should think. Apropos of the Angel Fish, the CONTINENTAL heard a
lady remark lately that they were well named, and lovely enough to have
been caught in the ponds of paradise. 'They certainly must be the kind,'
she added, 'which they fish for with golden hooks.'

       *       *       *       *       *

And ah! the merry summer-tide!' as a Minnisinger and many another singer
have sung. As we write, summer is losing its last traces in the
peach-time of September. Bartlett pears are dead ripe--like the
engagements formed at Newport and Saratoga--and china-asters and
tuberoses tell of coming frosts. Well, 'tis over--the second season of
the year is with the snows of year before last.

   'Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan!'

and we may continue the service by singing a

   LAMENT FOR SUMMER

   BY J. W. LEEDS.

   Like an argosy deep laden
     With the wealth of Indian sands,
   Sailing down a summer ocean
     To far-off Northern lands,--

   Like a golden-visioned story--
     Like the hectic's bright decay,
   Dying in the painted glory
   Of the autumn sere and hoary,
     Fade the summer days away.

       *       *       *       *       *

Persons who insist that 'after all, the Rebels are slandered as to
waging warfare in a barbarous manner,' will do well to cast their eyes
over the following from the Richmond _Dispatch_ of September 24:

"The Yankees are about to send their army captured at Harper's Ferry
against the Indians. Has the Government no means of retaliating for such
a breach of faith?'

'A breach of faith!' So, then, we are to understand that the latest
uprising of the Indians, as well as that led by that brutal Falstaff,
ALBERT PIKE, the Southwest, are all in the service of the Confederacy?
For where is there a breach of faith unless the Indians in question are
the allies of our Southern foes? This is, we presume, a part of 'the
defensive policy of exhausting in detail the superior numbers of the
invading North,' which has been proposed as forming a portion of the
Confederate policy--other items of which consist of killing prisoners by
neglect, and having torpedoes and mines in abandoned villages. We
commend this admission of alliance with savages to the special
consideration of the London _Times_.

       *       *       *       *       *

We observe that a new planet has been discovered at Bilk, in Germany.
Well, we have no doubt of the fact, but we don't like the name of the
place where they found it. A Bilk planet is extremely suggestive of a
Moon hoax. And, talking of hoaxes, has anybody with a sharp stick been
as yet deputed by the government to look after the man who gets up
proposals of peace for the Philadelphia _Inquirer_? Ancient friend of
ours, such yarns (unintentionally) do harm. They are reprinted in Dixie,
and the Dixians say that we are frightened, while Northern doughfaces
grasp at them, and get to thinking. Excellent _Inquirer_! this is not a
good time to set people to thinking over peace proposals and
compromises.

Does our friend know, by the way, what sort of fowl are hatched from
mares' nests'? They are _canards_. Don't let there be too many of them
hatched in serious times like these.

       *       *       *       *       *

A lady friend, who has brothers in the war, has kindly suggested that,
in these days of patriotism, the songs of the Revolution should have
more than usual zest, and has kindly copied for us a number, from which
we select the following:

   TO THE LADIES.

   [Published in the Boston _News Letter_, in 1769.]

   Young ladies in town, and those who live 'round,
     Let a friend at this season advise you,
   Since money's so scarce, and times growing worse,
     Strange things may soon hap to surprise you:

   First, then, throw aside your top-knots of pride,
     Wear none but your own country linen;
   Of economy boast, let your pride be the most
     To show clothes of your own make and spinning;

   This do without fear, and to all you'll appear
     Fair, charming, true, lovely and clever;
   Though the times remain darkish, young men may be sparkish,
     And love you much stronger than ever,

Well! _that_ song is as good now as ever it was; and the next is not far
off from it:

   WAR SONG.--1776.

   Hark, hark! the sound of war is heard,
     And we must all attend,
   Take up our arms, and go with speed,
     Our country to defend.

   Husbands must leave their loving wives,
     And sprightly youths attend,
   Leave their sweethearts and risk their lives,
     Their country to defend.

   May they be heroes in the field,
     Have heroes' fame in store;
   We pray the Lord to be their shield,
     Where thundering cannons roar.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: Ben Zoleen=Benzoline.]


       *       *       *       *       *


These compounds make available to the people higher attainments of
medical skill, and more efficient medical aid than has hitherto been
within their reach. While faithfully made, they will continue to excel
all other remedies in use, by the rapidity and certainty of their cures.
That they shall not fail in this we take unwearied pains to make every
box and bottle perfect, and trust, by great care in preparing them with
chemical accuracy and uniform strength, to supply remedies which shall
maintain themselves in the unfailing confidence of this whole nation,
and of all nations.


AYER'S CHERRY PECTORAL

is an anodyne expectorant, prepared to meet the urgent demand for a safe
and reliable antidote for diseases of the throat and lungs. Disorders of
the pulmonary organs are so prevalent and so fatal in our ever-changing
climate, that a reliable antidote is invaluable to the whole community.
The indispensable qualities of such a remedy for popular use must be
certainty of healthy operation, absence of danger from accidental
over-doses, and adaptation to every patient of any age or either sex.
These conditions have been realized in this preparation, which, while it
reaches to the foundations of disease, and acts with unfailing
certainty, is still harmless to the most delicate invalid or tender
infant. A trial of many years has proved to the world that it is
efficacious in curing pulmonary complaints beyond any remedy hitherto
known to mankind. As time makes these facts wider and better known, this
medicine has gradually become a staple necessity, from the log cabin of
the American peasant to the palaces of European kings. Throughout this
entire country--in every State, city, and indeed almost every hamlet it
contains--the CHERRY PECTORAL is known by its works. Each has living
evidence of its unrivalled usefulness, in some recovered victim, or
victims, from the threatening symptoms of Consumption. Although this is
not true to so great an extent abroad, still the article is well
understood in many foreign countries to be the best medicine extant
for distempers of the respiratory organs, and in several of them it is
exclusively used by their most intelligent physicians. In Great Britain,
France, and Germany, where the medical sciences have reached their
highest perfection, CHERRY PECTORAL is introduced and in constant use in
the armies, hospitals, almshouses, public institutions, and in domestic
practice as the surest remedy their attending physicians can employ for
the more dangerous affections of the lungs. Thousands of cases of
pulmonary disease, which had baffled every expedient of human skill,
have been permanently cured by the CHERRY PECTORAL, and these cures
speak convincingly to all who know them.

Many of the certificates of its cures are so remarkable that cautious
people are led to feel incredulous of their truth, or fear the
statements are overdrawn. When they consider that each of the remedies
is a specific on which great labor has been expended for years to
perfect it, and when they further consider how much better anything can
be done which is exclusively followed with the facilities that large
manufactories afford, then they may see not only what we do, but how we
make better medicines than have been produced before. Their effects need
astonish no one, when their history is considered with the fact that
each preparation has been elaborated to cure one class of diseases, or,
more properly, one disease in its many varieties.


AYER'S CATHARTIC PILLS

have been prepared with the utmost skill which the medical profession of
this age possesses, and their effects show they have virtues which
surpass any combination of medicines hitherto known. Other preparations
do more or less good; but this cures such dangerous complaints, so
quickly and so surely, as to prove an efficacy and a power to uproot
disease beyond anything which men have known before. By removing the
obstructions of the internal organs and stimulating them into healthy
action, they renovate the fountains of life and vigor,--health courses
anew through the body, and the sick man is well again. They are adapted
to disease, and disease only, for when taken by one in health they
produce but little effect. This is the perfection of medicine, it is
antagonistic to disease and no more. Tender children may take them with
impunity. If they are sick they will cure them, if they are well they
will do them no harm.

Give them to some patient who has been prostrated with bilious
complaint: see his bent-up, tottering form straighten with strength
again; see his long-lost appetite return: see his clammy features
blossom into health. Give them to some sufferer whose foul blood has
burst out in * * till his skin is covered with sores; who stands, or
sits, or lies in anguish. He has been drenched inside and out with every
potion which ingenuity could suggest. Give him these PILLS, and mark the
effect; see the scabs fall from his body; see the new, fair skin that
has grown under them; see the late leper that is clean. Give them to him
whose angry humors have planted rheumatism in his joints and bones; move
him and he screeches with pain; he too has been soaked through every
muscle of his body with liniments and salves; give him these PILLS to
purify his blood; they may not cure him, for, alas! there are cases
which no mortal power can reach; but mark, he walks with crutches now,
and now he walks alone; they have cured him. Give them to the lean,
sour, haggard dyspeptic, whose gnawing stomach has long ago eaten every
smile from his face and every muscle from his body. See his appetite
return, and with it his health; see the new man. See her that was
radiant with health and loveliness bloated and too early withering away;
want of exercise or mental anguish, or some lurking disease has deranged
the internal organs of digestion, assimilation, or secretion till they
do their ill. Her blood is vitiated, her health is gone. Give her these
PILLS to stimulate the vital principle into renewed vigor, to cast out
the obstructions, and infuse a new vitality into the blend. Now look
again--the roses blossom on her cheek, and where lately sorrow sat joy
bursts from every feature. See the sweet infant wasted with worms. Its
wan, sickly features tell you without disguise, and painfully distinct,
that they are eating its life away. Its pinched-up nose and ears and
restless sleepings tell the dreadful truth in language which every
mother knows. Give it the PILLS in large doses to sweep these vile
parasites from the body. Now turn again and see the ruddy bloom of
childhood. Is it nothing to do these things? Nay, are they not the
marvel of this age? And yet they are done around you every day.

Have you the less serious symptoms of these distempers, they are the
easier cured. Jaundice, Costiveness, Headache, Sideache, Heartburn. Foul
Stomach, Nausea, Pain in the Bowels, Flatulency, Loss of Appetite,
King's Evil, Neuralgia, Gout, and kindred complaints all arise from the
derangements which these PILLS rapidly cure. Take them perseveringly,
and under the counsel of a good physician if you can; if not take them
judiciously by such advice as we give you, and the distressing dangerous
diseases they cure, which afflict so many millions of the human race,
are cast out like the devils of old--they must burrow in the brutes and
in the sea.

   Prepared by DE. J. C. AYER, & CO.,
   PRACTICAL AND ANALYTICAL CHEMISTS,
   LOWELL, MASS.,

[Illustration] And Sold by all Druggists.[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE ANNUAL CYCLOPAEDIA

AND

REGISTER OF IMPORTANT EVENTS,

OF THE YEAR 1861:

EMBRACING

POLITICAL, CIVIL, MILITARY, AND SOCIAL AFFAIRS; PUBLIC DOCUMENTS;
BIOGRAPHY; STATISTICS; COMMERCE; FINANCE; LITERATURE; SCIENCE;
AGRICULTURE, AND MECHANICAL INDUSTRY.


This is a Cyclopaedia of what took place during the year 1861. It
comprises not only all the subjects peculiar to a general work, but also
the political and military events of the conflict in the United States.
It shows the political principles involved, with the arguments of their
respective advocates and opponents; the movements of the leaders of
secession, from their first acts to the close of the year; including the
proceedings, step by step, of each of the Southern States; the
organization of the Confederate States; the principles upon which that
organization was founded; their civil and commercial regulations; the
efforts to fill their treasury and to organize and equip vast armies;
the counteracting movements of the United States; the organization and
equipment of its army and navy; together with all the original
documents, from the Messages of the respective Presidents; the
instructions of Cabinet officers; the Messages and Proclamations of
Governors; the important acts and debates of the United States and
Confederate Congresses; the acts of State Legislatures; the
Proclamations of Commanding Officers; the contributions of men and money
from each State, North and South; and the details of every battle and
every skirmish involving a loss of life. The events connected with
Privateering, suspension of the writ of Habeas Corpus, Martial Law,
Blockade, &c., are related in detail.

Other pages of the volume embrace discoveries in Science; Geographical
Explorations; Mechanical Inventions and Improvements, with
illustrations; Commercial and Financial movements during the year; the
Progress of Literature, and Biographical Sketches of the distinguished
men who died.

The contents are arranged in an alphabetical order, and accompanied by a
most extensive and complete Index.

The volume is in the style of the New American Cyclopaedia, having not
less than 780 pages, royal octavo.

The work is published exclusively by subscription, and, in exterior
appearance, is at once elegant and substantial.

PRICES AND STYLES OF BINDING.

   In Cloth, $3,                      }
   In Library Style, leather, $3.50,  }   Payable on Delivery.
   In Half Morocco, plain, $4,        }
   In Half Russia, extra, $4.50,      }

And to insure a uniform price and regularity in the delivery of the
volume to subscribers in all parts of the country, local agents are
appointed in all the cities and principal towns in the States and
Territories.

Orders may be addressed to us, or to any of our agents, for the above,
or any of our Subscription Works, and will meet prompt attention.

D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 443 &445 Broadway, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE FOR 1863!

VOLUMES XXI. and XXII.

Edited by T. S. ARTHUR and VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND.

Devoted to Social Literature, Arts, Morals, Health, and Domestic
Happiness.


The aim of this work from the beginning, has been to unite in one
periodical the attractions and excellencies of two classes of
magazines--The Ladies', or Fashion Magazines, as they are called, and
the literary monthlies; and so to blend the useful with the
entertaining, as to please and benefit all classes of readers. The true
"Home Magazine" must have its


   TOILETTE and WORK-TABLE DEPARTMENT; its MOTHER'S
   DEPARTMENT; its HEALTH, CHILDREN'S, and HOUSEKEEPER'S
   DEPARTMENTS; as well as its strictly
   LITERARY DEPARTMENT.


All these are united in our magazine, and in each department excellence
is sought. Nothing is admitted in any way hurtful to morality, honor, or
religion.

Probably of no periodical in the country has the press everywhere spoken
with unqualified approval. From thousands of similar notices we give the
following:

It is a Home Magazine in every sense of the word, healthy, fresh, and
sweet--beautiful as the meadows of June. It is a welcome necessity in
our home.--_Journal, Delhi, Iowa._

Its cheapness makes it accessible to all families, while its literary
merits are inferior to none of the more expensive magazines.--_Cataract,
Cohoes, N.Y._

Arthur has done as much as any man of his age to diffuse good morals and
religious principles among the young, and his magazine comes forth from
month to month like a sower to sow, and scatters the good seed
everywhere.--_Philadelphia Inquirer._

Arthur's Home Magazine is undoubtedly the best publication of its
character, for the price, published in the United States or any other
country.--_Independent, Mankato, Minn._

This superb ladies' magazine comes fully up to the best standard of a
literary and fashionable periodical.--_Tellegram, Ottawa, Ohio._

Any person who cannot get two dollars' worth out of it in a year, will
never get it in any magazine.--_Independent, Warren, Ill._

Bright, beautiful, and home-like as usual. May its genial presence never
fail to cheer our home.--_Chronicle, Rochester, Ind._

We never put down this magazine, but that we feel better for having
taken it up.--_Union Dem., Deposit, N.Y._

We have said so much in favor of Arthur's Magazine that we hardly know
what else we can say. It is certainly one of the best and one of the
cheapest.--_Republican, New Oregon, Iowa._


ELEGANT ENGRAVINGS APPEAR IN EVERY NUMBER,

Including choice pictures, groups, and characters, prevailing Fashions,
and a great variety of needle-work patterns.


THE LITERARY PORTION

Of the HOME MAGAZINE is of the highest character. The Editors, who write
largely for its pages, are assisted by liberal contributions from the
pens of some of the best writers in the country.


RARE AND ELEGANT PREMIUMS

Are sent to all who make up Clubs.--Our Premiums for 1863 are--

1. A large Photographic copy of that splendid Engraving, "SHAKSPEARE AND
HIS COTEMPORARIES." This copy is made from a proof print, before
lettering, and gives all the details with an accuracy and effect that is
remarkable.

2. A large Photographic copy, from an engraving of Huntington's
celebrated picture, "MERCY'S DREAM," a favorite with every one.

3. A similar copy of Herring's "GLIMPSE OF AN ENGLISH HOMESTEAD." This
premium was given last year, and was so great a favorite that we
continue it on our list for 1863!


YEARLY TERMS, IN ADVANCE.

    1 copy Home Magazine (and one of the premium plates),  $2 00
    2 copies (and one of the premium plates to getter-up of Club),  8 00
    3 "   "   "   "   "   "  4 00
    4 "   "   "   "   "   "  5 00
    8 "  (and an extra copy of Magazine, and one premium plate to
                                              getter-up of Club),  10 00
   12 "  "  "  "  two    "  "  "  "  15 00
   17 "  "  "  "  "  "  "  "  "  20 00

It will be seen that each single subscriber, who pays $2, is entitled to
one of the premium plates.

In ordering premiums, three red stamps must be sent, in every case, to
pay the cost of mailing each premium.

It is not required that all the Subscribers to a Club be at the same
Post Office.

CLUBBING.

Home Magazine and Godey's Lady's Book, one year, $3 50. Home Magazine
and Harper's Magazine, one year, $8 50. Home Magazine and Saturday
Evening Post, $3 00.

Address T. S. ARTHUR & CO., 323 Walnut St., Philadelphia.

       *       *       *       *       *

STEINWAY & SONS

GOLD MEDAL

[Illustration: STEINWAY & SON'S FACTORY. OCCUPYING THE ENTIRE BLOCK ON
4TH AVE., FROM 52D TO 53D ST.]

PATENT OVERSTRUNG GRAND, SQUARE, AND UPRIGHT

PIANO-FORTES,

HAVE BEEN AWARDED THE

First Premium at the Great World's Fair in London, 1862.

FOR

POWER, FULL, CLEAR, BRILLIANT, AND SYMPATHETIC TONE,

Excellent Workmanship shown in Grand and Square Pianos.

There were 290 Piano-Fortes entered for competition from all parts of
the world, and in order to show what sensation these instruments have
created in the Old World, we subjoin a few extracts from leading
European papers.

FROM THE "_London News of the World_."

"These magnificent pianos, manufactured by Messrs. STEINWAY & SONS, of
New York, are, without doubt, the musical gems of the Exhibition of
1862. They possess a tone that is the most liquid and bell-like we have
ever heard, and combine the qualities of brilliancy and great power,
without the slightest approach to harshness," &c.

Mr. HOCHE, one of the most competent musical critics of France, writes
to the "_Presse Musicale_," Paris: "The firm of STEINWAY & SONS exhibits
two pianos, both of which have attracted the special attention of the
jurors. The square piano fully possesses the tone of a grand--it sounds
really marvelously; the ample sound, the extension, the even tone, the
sweetness, the power, are combined in these pianos as in no piano I have
ever seen. The grand piano unites in itself all the qualities which you
can demand of a concert piano; in fact, I do not hesitate to say that
this piano is far better than all the English pianos which I have seen
at the Exhibition," &c.

The "_Paris Constitutionel_" says: "In the piano manufacture the palm
don't belong to the European industry this year, but to an American
house, almost unknown until now, Messrs. STEINWAY & SONS, of New York,
who have carried off the first prize for piano-fortes," &c.

WAREROOMS, Nos. 82 & 84 WALKER ST., near Broadway, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

   WITH CONTENTS FOR THE TIMES
   COMPRISING
   An Illustrated Poem of Liberty
   AND
   "THE SONG OF THE FREE,"
   WITH
   ORIGINAL MUSIC,
   On Spreading Sheet, convenient for the
   Piano-Forte or Organ.

_Also, a Record of Events, Family Recipes, Home Miscellany, Calendars
for the whole Country, Memoranda Pages, etc._

IN FINE BINDING, WITH GILT EDGES. PRICE, 25 CENTS.

THE LADIES' ALMANAC--We have seen the advance sheets of this elegant
little annual for 1853, and can assure its patrons that, in point of
interest, it exceeds the best of its predecessors. Its grand feature is
a spirited and timely poem by Geo. Coolidge, Esq., the editor, upon the
absorbing topic, "FREEDOM," which he has treated in a manner that
eloquently and feelingly appeals to the reader. The poem is illustrated
by some fine designs that in themselves convince, and give added power
to the text they embellish. The work of the Almanac is fully up to its
old degree of excellence, and in all respects creditable.--_Boston
Gazette._

ISSUED BY GEO. COOLIDGE, 17 Washington St., Boston. NEW YORK: SOLD BY
HENRY DEXTER.

       *       *       *       *       *

   THE
   BOSTON ALMANAC FOR 1863,
   ISSUED IN DECEMBER,
   WILL CONTAIN
   The Continued List of Massachusetts Volunteers,
   BY REGIMENTS AND COMPANIES, AS MUSTERED INTO SERVICE,
   COMPRISING
   The last two Calls of the President for 600,000 Troops, and giving about
   40,000 Massachusetts Names.

PRICE, 25 CENTS

Issued by GEORGE COOLIDGE, 17 Washington St., Boston, And sent by mail,
post-paid, on receipt of price. Sold at all usual places.


MRS. COY'S PHARMAKON.

This Medicine is admitted by all who have tried it to be the best
article for COLDS, COUGHS, ASTHMA, PHTHISIC, and ALL IRRITATIONS OF THE
THROAT.

It is strictly vegetable, and perfectly safe for the most delicate
constitution. Unlike other preparations, it will not brace up the
patient, but will heal the disease as by magic.

For more than twenty years Mr. Coy was afflicted with a Cough, with
Asthma combined, and at times was laid up for months, unable to do any
thing--given over by his physician, who said that his lungs were badly
effected. After a perseverance of three months in the use of the
PHARMAKON, he is entirely restored to health. Many references could be
given, but the medicine is its own best evidence, for it only needs to
be tried to be appreciated.

We, the undersigned, residents of Boston, have known Mr. Coy for a
number of years, and can testify that he has had a very severe disease
of the lungs since our acquaintance with him, and have no hesitation in
saying that we believe he has been cured by the PHARMAKON, and we most
cordially recommend the same as an excellent medicine for all diseases
of the Lungs, Throat, and Liver, and all impurities of the blood.

SAMUEL NEWELL, 36 HANOVER ST., JOHN L. FILLER, 92 CARVER ST., CHAS. W.
LYMAN. 3 RIVER ST., THOS. R. HOLLAND, 12 SCHOOL ST., CHAS. FULLER, 12
SOUTH CEDAR ST., A. P. SHUTE, 21 HURD ST., Chelsea.

Prepared only by Mrs. E. G. COY, Sole Proprietor. [**arrow hand] Observe
her written signature on the label, without which none is genuine.
PRICE, ONE DOLLAR PER BOTTLE. Sold at Wholesale and Retail by

GEO. COOLIDGE, Gen. Agent, 17 Washington St., Boston, Office of "Boston
Almanac," "Lady's Almanac," etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRIENDS AND RELATIVES OF THE BRAVE SOLDIERS AND SAILORS.

[Illustration]

HOLLOWAY'S PILLS AND OINTMENT

All who have friends and relatives in the Army or Navy should take
especial care that they be amply supplied with these Pills and Ointment;
and where the brave Soldiers and Sailors have neglected to provide
themselves with them, no better present can be sent them by their
friends. They have been proved to be the Soldier's never-failing-friend
in the hour of need.

COUGHS AND COLDS AFFECTING TROOPS

will be speedily relieved and effectually cured by using these admirable
medicines, and by paying proper attention to the Directions which are
attached to each Pot or Box.

SICK HEADACHES AND WANT OF APPETITE, INCIDENTAL TO SOLDIERS.

These feelings which so sadden us usually arise from trouble or
annoyances, obstructed perspiration, or eating and drinking whatever is
unwholesome, thus disturbing the healthful action of the liver and
stomach. These organs must be relieved, if you desire to be well. The
Pills, taken according to the printed instructions, will quickly produce
a healthy action in both liver and stomach, and, as a natural
consequence, a clear head and good appetite.

WEAKNESS OR DEBILITY INDUCED BY OVER FATIGUE

will soon disappear by the use of these invaluable Pills, and the
Soldier will quickly acquire additional strength. Never let the bowels
be either confined or unduly acted upon. It may seem strange, that
Holloway's Pills should be recommended for Dysentery and Flux, many
persons supposing that they would increase the relaxation. This is a
great mistake, for these Pills will correct the liver and stomach, and
thus remove all the acrid humors from the system. This medicine will
give tone and vigor to the whole organic system, however deranged, while
health and strength follow, as a matter of course. Nothing will stop the
relaxation of the bowels so sure as this famous medicine.

VOLUNTEERS, ATTENTION! THE INDISCRETIONS OF YOUTH.

Sores and Ulcers, Blotches and Swellings, can with certainty be
radically cured, if the Pills are taken night and morning, and the
Ointment be freely used as stated in the printed instructions. If
treated in any other manner, they dry up in one part to break out in
another. Whereas, this Ointment will remove the humors from the system
and leave the patient a vigorous and healthy man. It will require a
little perseverance in bad cases to insure a lasting cure.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOSEPH GILLOTT

respectfully invites the attention of the public to the following
Numbers of his

PATENT METALLIC PENS

WHICH FOR

QUALITY OF MATERIAL, EASY ACTION, AND GREAT DURABILITY,

WILL ENSURE UNIVERSAL PREFERENCE.

FOR LADIES' USE.--For fine neat writing, especially on thick and
highly-finished papers, Nos. 1, 173, 303, 604. IN EXTRA-FINE POINTS.

FOR GENERAL USE.--Nos. 2, 164, 166, 168, 604. IN FINE POINTS.

FOR BOLD FREE WRITING.--Nos. 3, 164, 166, 168, 604. IN MEDIUM POINTS.

FOR GENTLEMEN'S USE.--FOR LARGE, FREE, BOLD WRITING.--The Black Swan
Quill, Large Barrel Pen, No. 808. The Patent Magnum Bonum, No. 263. IN
MEDIUM AND BROAD POINTS.

FOR GENERAL WRITING.--No. 263, IN EXTRA-FINE POINTS. No. 810, New Bank
Pen, No. 262, IN FINE POINTS, Small Barrel. No. 840, The Autograph Pen.

FOR COMMERCIAL PURPOSES.--The celebrated Three-Hole Correspondence Pen,
No. 382. The celebrated Four-Hole Correspondence Pen, No. 202. The
Public Pen, No. 292. The Public Pen, with Bead, No. 404. Small Barrel
Pens, fine and free, Nos. 392, 405, 603.

MANUFACTURERS' WAREHOUSE,

91 JOHN STREET, Cor. of GOLD.

HENRY OWEN, Agent.

       *       *       *       *       *

NINE ARTICLES

THAT EVERY FAMILY SHOULD HAVE!!


The Agricultural Societies of the State of New York, New Jersey, and
Queens County, L. I., at their latest Exhibitions awarded the highest
premiums (gold medal, silver medal, and diplomas), for these articles,
and the public generally approve them.

1st.--PYLE'S O. K. SOAP, The most complete labor-saving and economical
soap that has been brought before the public. Good for washing all kinds
of clothing, fine flannels, silks, laces, and for toilet and bathing
purposes. The best class of families adopt it in preference to all
others--Editors of the TRIBUNE, EVENING POST, INDEPENDENT, EVANGELIST,
EXAMINER, CHRONICLE, METHODIST, ADVOCATE AND JOURNAL, CHURCH JOURNAL,
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST, and of many other weekly journals, are using it
in their offices and families. We want those who are disposed to
encourage progress and good articles to give this and the following
articles a trial.

2d.--PYLE'S DIETETIC SALERATUS, a strictly pure and wholesome article;
in the market for several years, and has gained a wide reputation among
families and bakers throughout the New England and Middle States; is
always of a uniform quality, and free from all the objections of impure
saleratus.

3d.--PYLE'S GENUINE CREAM TARTAR, always the same, and never fails to
make light biscuit. Those who want the best will ask their grocer for
this.

4th.--PYLE'S PURIFIED BAKING SODA, suitable for medicinal and culinary
use.

5th.--PYLE'S BLUEING POWDERS, a splendid article for the laundress, to
produce that alabaster whiteness so desirable in fine linens.

6th.--PYLE'S ENAMEL BLACKING, the best boot polish and leather
preservative in the world (Day and Martin's not excepted).

7th.--PYLE'S BRILLIANT BLACK INK, a beautiful softly flowing ink, shows
black at once, and is anti-corrosive to steel pens.

8th.--PYLE'S STAR STOVE POLISH, warranted to produce a steel shine on
iron ware. Prevents rust effectually, without causing any disagreeable
smell, even on a hot stove.

9th.--PYLE'S CREAM LATHER SHAVING SOAP, a "luxurious" article for
gentlemen who shave themselves. It makes a rich lather that will keep
thick and moist upon the face.

THESE ARTICLES are all put up full weight, and expressly for the best
class trade, and first-class grocers generally have them for sale. Every
article is labelled with the name of

JAMES PYLE, 350 Washington St., cor. Franklin, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

LAW NOTICE.


ROBERT J. WALKER,

LATE SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY, AND

FREDERIC P. STANTON,

LATE CHAIRMAN OF THE NAVAL AND JUDICIARY COMMITTEES OF CONGRESS,

PRACTISE LAW

in the SUPREME and CIRCUIT Courts at Washington, COURTS MARTIAL, the
COURT OF CLAIMS, before the DEPARTMENTS and BUREAUS, especially in

LAND, PATENT, CUSTOM HOUSE, AND WAR CLAIMS.

Aided by two other associates, no part of an extensive business will be
neglected. Address,

WALKER & STANTON,

Office, 295 F STREET, WASHINGTON CITY, D. C.

DUNCAN S. WALKER & ADRIEN DESLONDE will attend to PENSIONS, BOUNTIES,
PRIZE, PAY, and SIMILAR CLAIMS. WALKER & STANTON will aid them, when
needful, as consulting counsel. Address WALKER & DESLONDE, same office,
care of WALKER & STANTON.

       *       *       *       *       *

WARD'S TOOL STORE. (LATE WOOD'S,) Established 1831.

47 CHATHAM, cor. North William St., & 513 EIGHTH AV.

a general assortment of

TOOLS, CUTLERY, AND HARDWARE,

ALWAYS ON HAND.

Maker of Planes, Braces & Bits, and Carpenters' & Mechanics' Tools,

IN GREAT VARIETY AND OF THE BEST QUALITY.

N. B.--PLANES AND TOOLS MADE TO ORDER, AND REPAIRED.

This widely-known Establishment still maintains its reputation for the
unrivalled excellence of its OWN MANUFACTURED, as well as its FOREIGN
ARTICLES, which comprise

Tools for Every Branch of Mechanics and Artizans.

MECHANICS' AND ARTIZANS', AMATEURES' AND BOYS'

TOOL CHESTS IN GREAT VARIETY,

ON HAND, AND FITTED TO ORDER WITH TOOLS READY FOR USE.

The undersigned, himself a practical mechanic, having wrought at the
business for upwards of thirty years, feels confident that he can meet
the wants of those who may favor him with their patronage.

SKATES. I have some of the finest Skates in the city, of my own as well
as other manufactures. Every style and price.

[Illustration] Skates made to Fit the Foot without Straps. WILLIAM WARD,
Proprietor.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTIFICIAL LEGS

[Illustration]

(BY RIGHT, PALMER'S PATENT IMPROVED)

Adapted to every species of mutilated limb, unequaled in mechanism and
utility. Hands and Arms of superior excellence for mutilations and
congenital defects. Feet and appurtenances for limbs shortened by hip
disease. Dr. HUDSON, by appointment of the Surgeon General of the U> S>
Army, furnishes limbs to mutilated Soldiers and Marines.
REFERENCES--Valentine Mott, M.D., William Parker, M.D., J. M. Carnechan,
M.D., GORDON BUCK, M.D., Wm. H. Van Buren, M.D.

Descriptive pamphlets sent gratis. E. D. HUDSON, M.D., ASTOR PLACE (8TH
St.), CLINTON HALL, UP STAIRS.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY

EDITORS: HON. ROBERT J. WALKER, CHARLES G. LELAND, HON. FRED. P.
STANTON, EDMUND KIRKE.

The readers of the CONTINENTAL are aware of the important position it
has assumed, of the influence which it exerts, and of the brilliant
array of political and literary talent of the highest order which
supports it. No publication of the kind has, in this country, so
successfully combined the energy and freedom of the daily newspaper with
the higher literary tone of the first-class monthly; and it is very
certain that no magazine has given wider range to its contributors, or
preserved itself so completely from the narrow influences of party or of
faction. In times like the present, such a journal is either a power in
the land or it is nothing. That the CONTINENTAL is not the latter is
abundantly evidenced _by what it has done_.--by the reflection of its
counsels in many important public events, and in the character and power
of those who are its staunchest supporters.

By the accession of HON. ROBERT J. WALKER and HON. F. P. STANTON to its
editorial corps, the CONTINENTAL acquires a strength and a political
significance which, to those who are aware of the ability and experience
of these gentlemen, must elevate it to a position far above any
previously occupied by any publication of the kind in America.
Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a thousand
journals have attributed to it, it will at once greatly enlarge its
circle of action, and discuss, fearlessly and frankly, every principle
involved in the great questions of the day. The first minds of the
country, embracing men most familiar with its diplomacy and most
distinguished for ability, are to become its contributors; and it is no
mere "flattering promise of a prospectus" to say, that this "magazine
for the times" will employ the first intellect in America, under
auspices which no publication ever enjoyed before in this country.

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, the accomplished scholar and author, who has
till now been the sole Editor of the Magazine, will, beside his
editorial labors, continue his brilliant contributions to its pages; and
EDMUND KIRKE, author of "AMONG THE PINES," will contribute to each
issue, having already begun a work on Southern Life and Society, which
will be found far more widely descriptive, and, in all respects,
superior to the first.

While the CONTINENTAL will express decided opinions on the great
questions of the day, it will not be a mere political journal: much the
larger portion of its columns will be enlivened, as heretofore, by
tales, poetry, and humor. In a word, the CONTINENTAL will be found,
under its new staff of Editors, occupying a position and presenting
attractions never before found in a magazine.

TERMS TO CLUBS.

   Two copies for one year,       Five dollars.
   Three copies for one year,     Six dollars.
   Six copies for one year,       Eleven dollars.
   Eleven copies for one year,    Twenty dollars.
   Twenty copies for one year,    Thirty-six dollars.

PAID IN ADVANCE. _Postage, Thirty-six cents a year_, TO BE PAID BY THE
SUBSCRIBER.

SINGLE COPIES. Three Dollars a year, IN ADVANCE.--_Postage paid by the
Publisher._

JOHN F. TROW, 50 Greene St., N. Y. PUBLISHER FOR THE PROPRIETORS.

[Illustration] As an inducement to new subscribers, the Publisher offers
the following very liberal premiums:

[Illustration] Any person remitting $3, in advance, will receive the
Magazine from July, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing the whole of
Mr. KIMBALL'S and Mr. KIRKE'S new serials, which are alone worth the
price of subscription. Or, if preferred, a subscriber can take the
Magazine for 1863 and a copy of "AMONG THE PINES," or of "UNDERCURRENTS
OF WALL ST.," by R. B. KIMBALL, bound in cloth (the book to be sent
postage paid).

[Illustration]Any person remitting $4.50, will receive the Magazine from
its commencement, January, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing Mr.
KIMBALL'S "WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?" and Mr. KIRKE'S "AMONG THE PINES" and
"MERCHANT'S STORY," and nearly 8,000 octavo pages of the best literature
in the world. Premium subscribers to pay their own postage.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

EQUAL TO ANY IN THE WORLD!!! MAY BE PROCURED At FROM $8 to $12 PER ACRE,

Near Markets, Schools, Railroads, Churches, and all the blessings of
Civilization.

1,200,000 Acres, in Farms of 40, 80, 120, 160 Acres and upwards, in
ILLINOIS, the Garden State of America.

The Illinois Central Railroad Company offer, ON LONG CREDIT, the
beautiful and fertile PRAIRIE LANDS lying along the whole line of their
Railroad, 700 MILES IN LENGTH, upon the most Favorable Terms for
enabling Farmers, Manufacturers, Mechanics and Workingmen to make for
themselves and their families a competency, and a HOME they can call
THEIR OWN, as will appear from the following statements:

ILLINOIS.

Is about equal in extent to England, with a population of 1,732,666, and
a soil capable of supporting 20,000,000. No State in the Valley of the
Mississippi offers so great an inducement to the settler as the State of
Illinois. There is no part of the world where all the conditions of
climate and soil so admirably combine to produce those two great
staples, CORN and WHEAT.

CLIMATE.

Nowhere can the industrious farmer secure such immediate results from
his labor as on these deep, rich, loamy soils, cultivated with so much
ease. The climate from the extreme southern part of the State to the
Terre Haute, Alton and St. Louis Railroad, a distance of nearly 200
miles, is well adapted to Winter.

WHEAT, CORN, COTTON TOBACCO.

Peaches, Pears, Tomatoes, and every variety of fruit and vegetables is
grown in great abundance, from which Chicago and other Northern markets
are furnished from four to six weeks earlier than their immediate
vicinity. Between the Terre Haute, Alton & St. Louis Railway and the
Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, (a distance of 115 miles on the Branch,
and 136 miles on the Main Trunk,) lies the great Corn and Stock raising
portion of the state.

THE ORDINARY YIELD

of Corn is from 60 to 80 Bushels per-acre. Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheep
and Hogs are raised here at a small cost, and yield large profits. It is
believed that no section of country presents greater inducements for
Dairy farming than the Prairies of Illinois, a branch of farming to
which but little attention has been paid, and which must yield sure
profitable results. Between the Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, and
Chicago and Dunleith, (a distance of 56 miles on the Branch and 147
miles by the Main Trunk,) Timothy Hay, Spring Wheat, Corn, &c., are
produced in great abundance.

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS.

The Agricultural products of Illinois are greater than those of any
other State. The Wheat crop of 1861 was estimated at 35,000,000 bushels,
while the Corn crop yields not less than 140,000,000 bushels besides the
crops of Oats, Barley, Rye, Buckwheat, Potatoes, Sweet Potatoes,
Pumpkins, Squashes, Flax, Hemp, Peas, Clover, Cabbage, Beets, Tobacco,
Sorgheim, Grapes, Peaches, Apples, &c., which go to swell the vast
aggregate of production in this fertile region. Over Four Million tons
of produce were sent out the State of Illinois during the past year.

STOCK RAISING.

In Central and Southern Illinois uncommon advantages are presented for
the extension of Stock raising. All kinds of Cattle, Horses, Mules,
Sheep, Hogs, &c., of the best breeds, yield handsome profits, large
fortunes have already been made, and the field is open for others to
enter with the fairest prospects of like results. DAIRY FARMING also
presents its enducements to many.

CULTIVATION OF COTTON.

_The experiment in Cotton culture are of very great promise. Commencing
in latitude 39 deg. 30 min., (see Mattpon on the Branch, and Assumption
on the Main Line), the Company owns thousands of acres well adapted to
the perfection of this fibre. A settler having a family of young
children, can turn their youthful labor to a most profitable account in
the growth and perfection of this plant._

THE ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILROAD

Traverses the whole length of the State, from the banks of the
Mississippi and Lake Michigan to the Ohio. As its name imports, the
Railroad runs through the centre of the State, and on either side of the
road along its whole length lie the lands offered for sale.

CITIES, TOWNS, MARKETS, DEPOTS.

There are Ninety-eight Depots on the Company's Railway, giving about one
every seven miles. Cities, Towns and Villages are situated at convenient
distances throughout the whole route, where every desirable community
may be found as readily as in the oldest cities of the Union, and where
buyers are to be met for all kinds of farm produce.

EDUCATION.

Mechanics and working-men will find the free school system encouraged by
the State, and endowed with a large revenue for the support of the
schools. Children can live in sight of the school, the college, the
church, and grow up with the prosperity of the leading State in the
Great Western Empire.


PRICES AND TERMS OF PAYMENT--ON LONG CREDIT.

   80 acres at $10 per acre with interest at 6 per ct. annually
     on the following terms:
   Cash payment  $48 00
   Payment in one year  48 00
   " in two years   48 00
   " in three years  48 00
   " in four years  236 00
   " in five years  224 00
   " in six years  212 00
   " in seven years  300 00

   40 acres, at $10 00 per acre;
   Cash payment  $24 00
   Payment in one year  24 00
   " in two years  24 00
   " in three years  24 00
   " in four years  118 00
   " in five years  112 00
   " in six years  106 00
   " in seven years  150 00






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Continental Monthly, Vol 2, No 6,
December 1862, by Various

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