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Title: The Continental Monthly, Vol III, Issue VI, June, 1863

Author: Various

Release date: September 1, 2006 [eBook #19156]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the
        Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
        (This file was produced from images generously made
        available by Cornell University Digital Collections)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, VOL III, ISSUE VI, JUNE, 1863 ***




Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Janet Blenkinship and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections)









THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY: DEVOTED TO LITERATURE AND NATIONAL POLICY.

       *       *       *       *       *

VOL. III.--JUNE, 1863.--No. VI.

       *       *       *       *       *




THE VALUE OF THE UNION.


II.

Having taken a hasty survey, in our first number, of the value and
progress of the Union, let us now, turning our gaze to the opposite
quarter, consider the pro-slavery rebellion and its tendencies, and mark
the contrast.

       *       *       *       *       *

We have seen, in glancing along the past, that while a benevolent
Providence has evidently been in the constant endeavor to lead mankind
onward and upward to a higher, more united, and happier life, even on
this earth--this divine effort has always encountered great opposition
from human selfishness and ignorance.

We have also observed, that nevertheless, through the ages-long
_external_ discipline of incessant political revolutions and changes,
and also by the _internal_ influences of such religious ideas as men
could, from time to time, receive, appreciate, and profit by, that
through all this they have at length been brought to that religious,
political, intellectual, social, and industrial condition which
constituted the civilization of Europe some two and a half centuries
since; and which was, taken all in all, far in advance of any previous
condition.

Under these circumstances, the period was ripe for the germs of a
religious and political liberty to start into being or to be quickened
into fresh life, with a far better prospect of final development than
they could have had at an earlier epoch. Born thus anew in Europe, they
were transplanted to the shores of the new world. The results of their
comparatively unrestricted growth are seen in the establishment and
marvellous expansion of the republic.

Great, however, as these results have been, the fact is so plain that he
who runs may read, that they would have been vastly greater but for a
malignant influence which has met the elements of progress, even on
these shores. Disengaged from the opposing influences which surrounded
them in Europe--from the spirit of absolutism, of hereditary
aristocracy, of ecclesiastical despotism, from the habits, the customs,
the institutions of earlier times, more or less rigid, unyielding on
that account, and hard to change by the new forces, disengaged from
these hampering influences, and planted on the shores of America--these
elements of progress, so retarded even up to the present moment in
Europe, found themselves most unexpectedly side by side with an
outbirth of human selfishness in its pure and most undisguised form.
This was not the spirit of absolutism, or of hereditary aristocracy, nor
of ecclesiastical and priestly domination. All of these, which have so
conspicuously figured in Europe, have perhaps done more at certain
periods for the advancement of civilization, by their restraining,
educating influence, than they have done harm at others, when less
needed. All of these institutions arose naturally out of the
circumstances, the character, and wants of men, at the time, and have
been of essential service in their day. But the great antagonist which
free principles encountered on American soil; which was planted
alongside of the tree of liberty; which grew with its growth, and
strengthened with its strength; which, like a noxious parasitic vine,
wound its insidious coils around the trunk that supported it--binding
its expanding branches, rooted in its tissues, and living on its vital
fluids;--this insidious enemy was slavery--a thoroughly undisguised
manifestation of human selfishness and greed; without a single redeeming
trait--simply an unmitigated evil: a two-edged weapon, cutting and
maiming both ways, up and down--the master perhaps even more than the
slave; a huge evil committed, reacting in evil, in the exact degree of
its hugeness and momentum. Yes! this great antagonist was slavery--an
institution long thrown out of European life; a relic of the lowest
barbarism and savagism, the very antipodes of freedom, and flourishing
best only in the rudest forms of society; but now rearing its hideous
visage in the midst of principles, forms, and institutions the most free
and advanced of any that the world has ever witnessed.

In the presence of this great fact, one is led to exclaim: 'How
strange!' How monstrous an anomaly! What singular fatality has brought
two such irreconcilable opposites together? It is as if two individuals,
deadly foes, should by a mysterious chance, encounter each other
unexpectedly on some wide, dreary waste of the Arctic solitudes. Whither
no other souls of the earth's teeming millions come, thither these two
alone, of all the world beside, are, as if helplessly impelled, to
settle their quarrel by the death of one or the other. Thus singular and
inexplicable does it at first sight seem--this juxtaposition of freedom
and slavery on the shores of the new world.

On second thoughts, however, we shall find this apparent singularity and
mystery to disappear. We are surprised only because we see a familiar
fact under a new aspect, and do not at once recognize it. What we see
before us in this great event is only an underlying fact of every
individual's _personal_ experience, expanded into the gigantic
proportions of a _nation's_ experience. In every child of Adam are the
seeds of good and of evil. Side by side they lie together in the same
soil; they are nourished and developed together; they become more and
more marked and individualized with advancing years, swaying the child
and the youth, hither and thither, according as one or the other
prevails; until at some period in the full rationality of riper age
comes the deadly contest between the power of darkness and the power of
light--one or the other conquers; the man's character is fixed; and he
travels along the path he has chosen, upward or downward.

So it is now with the great collective individual, the American
republic. So it is and has been with every other nation. The powers of
good and evil contend no less in communities and nations than in the
individuals who compose them; and, according as one or the other
influence prevails in rulers or in ruled, have human civilization and
human welfare been advanced or retarded.

In the American Union, the contrast has been more marked, more vivid,
and of greater extent than the world has ever seen, because of the
higher, freer, more humane character of our institutions, and the extent
of region which they cover. The brighter the sunshine, the darker the
shadow; the higher the good to be enjoyed, the darker, more deplorable
is the evil which is the inverse and opposite of that good. Hence, with
a knowledge of this prevalent fact of fallen human nature, and also of
the fact that nations are but individuals repeated--one might almost
have foreseen that if institutions, more free and enlightened than had
ever before blessed a people, were to arise upon any region of the
globe--something proportionately hideous and repulsive in the other
direction would be seen to start up alongside of them, and seek their
destruction.

Is this so strange then? It is only in agreement with the great truth,
that the best men endure the strongest temptations. He who was sinless
endured and overcame what no mere mortal could have borne for an
instant. So the highest truths have ever encountered the most violent
opposition. The most salutary reforms have had to struggle the hardest
to obtain a footing; in a word, the higher and holier the heaven from
whence blessings descend to earth, the deeper and more malignant is the
hell that rises in opposition. With the truly-sought aid of Him,
however, who alone has all power in heaven, earth, and hell, victory is
certain to be achieved in national no less than in individual trials.

But in both national and individual difficulties it is indispensable, in
order that courage may not waver, that hope may not falter--it is
indispensable that there should be, as already urged, a clear
intellectual comprehension of the full nature of the good thing for
which battle is waged. The brilliant vision of attainable good must be
preserved undimmed--ever present in sharp and radiant outline to the
mental eye; and so its lustre may also fall in a flood of searching
light on the evil which is battled against, clearly revealing all its
hideousness.

A clear understanding by the people at large, of what that is in which
the value of the Union consists, is only next in importance to the Union
itself; since the preservation of the Union hangs upon the nation's
appreciation of its value. Then only can we be intensely, ardently
zealous; full of courage and motive force; full of hope and
determination that it shall be preserved at whatever cost of life or
treasure. But without the deep conviction of the untold blessings that
lie yet undeveloped in the Union and its Constitution, without the
hearty belief that this Union is a gift of God, to be ours only while we
continue fit to hold it, and to be fought for as for life itself (for a
large, free individual life for each one of us is involved in the great
life of the Union), without this deep, rock-rooted conviction in the
heart of the nation, we shall tend to lukewarmness--to an awful
indifference as to how this contest shall end; and begin to seek for
present peace at any price. We say _present_ peace, for a permanent
peace, short of a thorough crushing of the rebellion, is simply a sheer
impossibility--a wild hallucination. Nor is it a less mad fantasy to
suppose that the rebellion can be effectually crushed without
annihilating slavery, the sole and supreme cause of the rebellion. Such
lukewarmness and untimely peace sentiments, widely diffused through the
loyal States, would be truly alarming. Those who feel and talk thus, are
like blind men on the verge of a fathomless abyss; and should a majority
ever be animated by such ideas, we are gone--hopelessly fallen under the
dark power, never perhaps to rise again in our day or generation. But we
have no fears of such a dismal result; the nation is in the divine
hands, and we feel confident that all will be right in the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

We have presented two reasons why the Union is priceless. Still further
may this be seen by a glance at the opposite features and tendencies of
the rebellion; and by the consideration of three or four points of
radical divergence and antagonism between slavery and republicanism.

We set out with the following general statements:

The less selfish a man becomes--the more that he rises out of
himself--in that degree (other conditions being equal) does he seek the
society of others from disinterested motives, and the wider becomes the
circle of his sympathies.

On the other hand, the more selfish he is--the lower the range of
faculties which motive him--in that degree, the more exclusive is
he--the more does he tend to isolate himself from others, or to
associate only with those whose character or pursuits minister to his
own gratification. Beasts of prey are solitary in their habits--the
gentle and useful domestic animals are gregarious and social.

Now the same is true of communities. The more elevated their
character--the more that the moral and intellectual faculties
predominate in a community; or the more virtuous, intelligent, and
industrious--in short, the more civilized it is--the closer are the
individuals of that community drawn together among themselves, and the
greater also is its tendency to unite with other communities into a
larger society, while it preserves, at the same time, all necessary
freedom and individuality. The more civilized and humanized a nation is,
the greater are the tendency and ease with which it organizes a
_diversified_, as distinguished from a homogeneous unity; or, the
greater the ease with which it establishes and maintains the integrity
and freedom of the component parts, of the individuals and communities
of individuals, as indispensable to the freedom and welfare of the whole
national body.

Thus advancing civilization will multiply the relations of men with each
other, of communities with communities, of states with states, of
nations with nations; and will also organize these relations with a
perfection proportioned to their multiplicity; and thus draw men ever
closer in the fraternal bonds of a common humanity.

On the other hand, the more a community becomes immoral, ignorant, and
indolent--the lower its aims and motive, the less it cultivates the
mental powers, the fewer industries it prosecutes, and the less
diversified are its productions--in proportion as it declines in all
these modes, in that degree does it tend to disintegration, to
separation and isolation of all its parts, and toward the establishment
of many petty and independent communities; in other words, it tends to
lapse into barbarism.

Such a movement is, however, against the order of Providence, and thus
is an evil that corrects itself. Men are happier (other conditions being
equal) in large communities than in small; and when selfishness and
ambition have broken up a large state into many small and independent
ones, the same principle of selfishness, still operating, keeps them in
perpetual mutual jealousy and collision, until, whether they will or
not, they are forced into a mass again by some strong military despot,
or conquered by a superior foreign power, and quiet is for a time again
restored.

       *       *       *       *       *

From these considerations we conclude that civilization, as it advances,
is but the index of the capacity of human beings to form themselves into
larger and larger nationalities (perhaps ultimately to result in a
federal union of all nations), each consisting of numerous parts,
performing distinct functions; yet so organized harmoniously that each
part shall preserve all the freedom that it requires for its utmost
development and happiness, and yet depend for its own life upon the life
of the entire national body.

It may also be concluded that this capacity of men so to organize is
just in proportion to the development of the higher elements and
faculties of the mind, the religious, moral, social, and intellectual,
and the diminished influence of the lower, animal, and selfish nature.

Consequently, when in such a large and harmoniously organized
nationality as the American Union, there arises a movement which,
without the slightest rational or high moral cause, aims to break away
from this advanced, this free and humanizing political organization; and
not only to break away from the main body, but also maintains the right
of the seceding portion itself to break up into independent
sovereignties; then, the conclusion is forced upon every impartial mind
that the spirit which animates such a disruptive movement is a spirit
opposed to civilization, since it runs in precisely the opposite
direction; as, instead of tending to unity, to accord, to a large
organization with individual freedom, it tends to disunity, separation,
the splitting up of society into many independent sovereign states, or
fractions of states, certain, absolutely certain to clash and war with
each other, especially with slavery as their woof and warp; and thus
bring back the reign of barbarism, and the ultimate subjection of these
warring little sovereignties to one or more iron despotisms.

The inevitable tendency of the rebellion, if successful, and its
doctrine of secession _ad libitum_, is (even without slavery--how much
more with it!) to hurl society to the bottom of the steep and rugged
declivity up which, through the long ages, divine Providence, the guide
of man, has been in the ceaseless and finally successful endeavor to
raise it. The American republic is the highest level, the loftiest table
land yet reached by man in his political ascent; and the forces that
would drag him from thence are forces from beneath, the animal, selfish,
devilish element of depraved human nature, which so long have held the
race in bondage; and which, now that they see their victim slipping from
their grasp, and rising beyond reach into the high region of unity,
peace, and progress, are moving all the powers of darkness for one final
and successful assault. Will it be successful? We cannot believe it.

       *       *       *       *       *

What is the cause of this wicked, heaven-defying, insane movement on the
part of the South? The answer is written in flames of light along the
sky, and in letters of blood upon the breadth of the land. Slavery
first, slavery middle, and slavery last. Accursed slavery! firstborn of
the evil one--the lust of dominion over others for one's own selfish
purposes, in its naked, most shameless, and undisguised form. Dominion
of man over man in other modes, such as absolute monarchy, aristocracy,
feudalism, ecclesiastical rule--all these justify their exactions under
the plea of the welfare of the subject, or the salvation of souls.
Slavery has nothing of the kind behind which to hide its monstrosity;
nor does it care to do so, except when hard pushed, and then it feebly
pleads the christianization of the negro! A plea at which the common
sense of mankind and of Christendom simply laughs.

Now slavery, we know, is just the reverse of freedom, and hence it is
only natural to expect that the fruits, the results of slavery, wherever
its influence extends, would closely partake of the nature of their
parent and cause. Slavery, then, as the antipodes of freedom, must
engender in the community that harbors and fosters it, habits,
sentiments, and modes of life continually diverging from, and ever more
and more antagonistic to, whatever proceeds from free institutions.

Let us look at some of these. There are four points of antagonism
between free and slave institutions that seem to stand out more
prominently than others; at any rate, we shall not now extend our
inquiry beyond them.

Slavery, then, begets in the ruling class:

     1. An excessive spirit of domineering and command;

     2. A contempt of labor;

     3. A want of diversified industry;

     4. These three results produce a fourth, viz., a division of slave
     society into a wealthy, all-powerful slaveholding aristocracy on
     the one hand; and an ignorant, impoverished, and more or less
     degraded non-slaveholding class on the other.

It is at once seen how slavery develops to the utmost, in the master and
dominant race, a habit of command, of self-will, of determination to
have one's own way at all hazards, of intolerance of any contradiction
or opposition; of quickness to take offence, and to avenge and right
one's self. The possession and exercise of almost irresponsible power
over others tend to destroy in the master all power of self-control;
foster intolerance of any legal restraint, of any law but one's own
will, that must either rule or ruin. It is a spirit that is cultivated
assiduously from childhood to youth, and from youth to full age, by
constant and ubiquitous subjection of the negro, young and old, to the
petty tyranny, the whims and caprices of little master and miss, and by
the exercise of authority at all times and in all places by the white
over the black race. It is a spirit that is essential to the slave
driver; and when the habit of dictation and command to inferiors has
grown into every fibre of his nature, he cannot dismiss it when he deals
with his equals, whenever his wishes are opposed. Hence the violence,
the lawlessness, the carrying and free use of deadly weapons, the duels
and murders that are so rife in the South, and the haughty manners of so
many Southern Congressmen. The rebellion is simply the culmination and
breaking forth of this arrogant, domineering, slavery-fostered spirit on
a vast scale. Failing to hold the reins of the National Government, it
must needs destroy it.

Such a temper and disposition is evidently incompatible with human
equality and equal rights; and in it we have one of the roots of
Southern ill-concealed antagonism to free republican government.

2d. The second Southern, or slavery-engendered element that is
antagonistic to free institutions, is contempt of labor.

Could anything else be expected? Because slaves work, and are compelled
to it by the overseer's lash, _all_ labor necessarily partakes of the
disgrace which is thus attached to it. It is surprising how perverted
the Southern mind is upon this point. Because slavery degrades labor,
they maintain that the converse must also be true, viz., that all who
labor must unavoidably possess the spirit of slaves; and hence they
supposed that the North would not make a vigorous opposition, because
all Northerners are addicted to labor.

The truth however is this: Where labor is despised no community can
flourish as it is capable of doing; much less one with free
institutions. We might just as well talk of a body without flesh and
bones; of a house without walls or timbers; of a country without land
and water, as of free institutions without skilled and honorable labor.
It is the very ground on which they stand.

This then is another source of antagonism between slave and free
institutions.

3d. A third point, not only of difference, but also of antagonism
between slave society and free, consists in the permanent contraction or
limitation of the field of labor in the former, and its perpetual
expansion and multiplication of the branches of industry in the latter.
Not only does the slave perform as little work as he can with safety,
but besides this, the sphere in which slave labor can be profitably
employed is a limited one. Agriculture on an extensive scale, on large
plantations, is the only one that the slaveholder finds to repay him.
All articles, or the vast majority of them, used by the South, that
require for their production a great number of different and subdivided
branches of labor, come from the North.

We have said that labor, skilled, honored, educated labor, is the
material foundation, the solid ground upon which free institutions rest.
We now further add this undeniable and important truth, viz., that as
branches of labor are multiplied; as each branch itself is subdivided
and diversified; as new branches and new details are established by the
aid of the ever-increasing light of scientific discovery, and the
exhaustless fertility of human inventive genius; as all these numerous
industries are more or less connected and interlocked; as this great
network of ever-multiplying and diversified human labors expands its
circumference, while also filling up its interior meshes, in the degree
that all this takes place, the broader and firmer becomes this
industrial foundation for free institutions.

It is on this broad platform of diversified and interlocked labors that
man meets his brother man and equal. The variety and diversity of labors
adapts itself to a like and analogous diversity of human characters,
tastes, and industrial aptitudes and capacities. And the mutual
dependence and interlocking of these multiplied branches of industry
bring the laborers themselves into more numerous, more close, and
independent relations. Men are first drawn together by their mutual
wants and their social impulses; but when thus brought together, they
tend to remain united, not merely by affinity of character, but also,
and often mainly by their having something to _do_ in common--by their
common labors and pursuits. Advancing civilization, since it ever brings
out and develops more and more of man's nature, must, as a natural
result, ever also multiply his wants. These multiplying wants can be
satisfied for each individual only by the diversified activities of
multitudes of his fellows; the results of whose united labors, brought
to his door, are seen in the countless articles that go to make up a
well-built and well-furnished modern dwelling. Labor is thus the great
_social cement_; and can any one fail to see that it is upon the basis
of such a diversified and interwoven industry that a corresponding
multiplicity, intermingling, and union of human relations are
established; and also that it is only under free institutions in the
enjoyment of equal rights, where all are equal before the law, and where
political authority and order emanate from the people themselves, that
labor itself can be free; and not only free, but ennobled, and at full
liberty to expand itself broadly and widely in all departments, without
any conceivable limits? While at the same time, by the interlacing of
its countless details, it cements the laborers, the respective
communities, the entire nation into a noble brotherhood of useful
workers.

We have yet to learn the elevating, refining power of labor, when
organized as it can, and assuredly will be. At present we have no
adequate conception of this influence. It is solely for the sake of
labor, for the sake of human activity, that it may fill as many and as
wide and deep channels as possible, and thus permit man's varied life
and capacities to flow freely forth, and expand to the utmost; it is
solely for this end that all government is instituted; and under a free,
popular government, under the guidance of religion and science, labor is
destined to reach a degree of development and a perfection of
organization, and to exert a reactive influence in ennobling human
character that shall surpass the farthest stretch of our present
imaginings. Our rare political organization is but the coarse, bold
outlines--the rugged trunk and branches of the great tree of liberty.
Out of this will grow the delicate and luxuriant foliage of a varied,
beautiful, scientific, and dignified industry and social life.

This is the glorious, towering, expanding structure, which the insane
rebellion, the dark slave power, is raging to destroy! to tear it,
branch by branch, to pieces, and scatter the ruins to the four winds, in
order to set up, what? in its place. A foul, decaying object--a slave
oligarchy, which, do what it will, is, at each decennial census, seen to
fall steadily farther and farther into the rear even of the most laggard
of the Free States, in all that goes to make up our American
civilization.[1] And all this because it sees that the life of the
republic is the death of slavery, and free labor the eternal enemy of
slave.

This difference in the conditions of labor, then, forms the third point
of antagonism between free and slave institutions.

It is an antagonism that is ever on the increase--ever intensifying, and
utterly irremediable in any conceivable way or mode. Much as the nation
longs for peace, this is utterly hopeless, let it do what it
will--compromise, try arbitration, mediation--nothing can bring lasting
peace but the death of slavery. Freedom may be crushed for a season, but
as it is the breath of God himself, it will live and struggle on from
year to year, and from age to age, and give the world no rest until it
has vanquished all opposition, and asserted its divine right to be
supreme.

If slave society, therefore, thus necessarily diverges ever farther and
farther from the conditions which characterize, and those which result
from the operations of free institutions, such society must of course be
fast on its way to a monarchical, or even an absolute and despotic
government. The whites of the South even now may be considered as
separated into two distinct classes--the governing and the governed. The
slaveholders are virtually the governing class, through their superior
wealth, education, and influence; and the non-slaveholders are as
virtually the subject class, since slavery, being the great, paramount,
leading interest, overtopping and overshadowing all things else, tinging
every other social element with its own sombre hue, is fatal to any
movement adverse to it on the part of the non-slaveholder. Everything
must drift in the whirl of its powerful eddy, a terrible maelstrom, into
which the North was fast floating, when the thunder of the Fort Sumter
bombardment awoke it just in time to see its awful peril and strike out,
with God's help, into the free waters once more.

       *       *       *       *       *

From these considerations, can we be surprised at the rumors that now
and then come from the South, of incipient movements toward a
monarchical government? Not at all. Should the rebellion succeed--a
supposition which is, of course, not to be harbored for a moment--but in
such an improbable contingency there can be hardly a reasonable doubt
that a monarchy would be the result. Not probably at first. The
individual States would like to amuse themselves awhile with the game of
secession, and the joys of independent sovereignty, State rights, etc.,
as Georgia has already begun to do, in nullifying the conscription law
on their bogus congress. But eventually their mutual jealousies, their
'quick sense of honor,' their contentious and intestine wars (and
nothing else can reasonably be looked for) will bring them under an
absolute monarchy, more or less arbitrary, or under the yoke of some
foreign power.

       *       *       *       *       *

The antagonism between free and slave institutions, which we have
inferred, from a glance at the peculiar workings of each, finds its
complete confirmation in certain statements made by Mr. Calhoun, some
twenty years ago, which were to this effect, viz.:

     'Democracy in the North is engendering social anarchy; it is
     tending to the loosening of the bonds of society. Society is not
     governed by the will of a mob, but by education and talent.
     Therefore the South, resting on slavery as a stable foundation, is
     a principle of authority: it must restrain the North; must resist
     the anarchical influence of the North; must counterbalance the
     dissolving influence of the North. He upheld slavery because it was
     a bulwark to counterbalance the dissolving democracy of the North;
     that the dissolving doctrines of democracy took their rise in
     England, passed into France, and caused the French Revolution; that
     they have been carried out in the democracy of the North, and will
     there ultimate in revolution, anarchy, and dissolution.' (Taken
     from Horace Greeley, in _Independent_ of December 25th, 1862.)

These are Mr. Calhoun's own words, and he will probably be allowed to be
a fair exponent of Southern sentiment: we may gather from these
utterances how the free republicanism of the North is regarded by the
slave oligarchy.

We cannot forbear adding another statement of Mr. Calhoun, made to
Commodore Stuart, as far back as 1812, in a private conversation at
Washington, which was in substance as follows, viz.: That the South, on
account of slavery, found it necessary to ally herself with one of the
political parties; but that if ever events should so turn out as to
break this alliance, or cause that the South could not control the
Government, that then it would break it up.

Comment upon this is unnecessary. Let no loyal man forget these
expressions; they reveal the egg from whence, after fifty years'
incubation, this rebellion has been hatched.

But our theme, 'The Value of the Union,' continually expands before us;
nevertheless we must bring our article to a close. We do so with the
following remarks:

An individual is truly free, not in the degree only in which he governs
himself, but in the degree that he governs himself according to the
central truth and right of things, or according to the loftiness of the
standard by which he regulates his conduct.

It is by the possession of truth, and by obedience to what that truth
teaches, that a man rises out of evil and error, and out of bondage
thereto.

The possession of truth constitutes intelligence.

But intelligence is worse than useless without obedience to its highest
requirements, which is virtue.

Virtue, or morality, in its turn (or decent exterior conduct), is
nothing without that which constitutes the soul's topmost and central
faculty, viz., the religious sentiment, or that which links the soul to
God, the centre of all things. As the parts of any organism, as we have
seen, fall into confusion and discord when the central bond is wanting;
so do the powers of the soul, when it closes itself by evil doing
against the entrance of the beams of life and light that unceasingly
flow upon it from God, the spiritual sun and centre of the universe.

Now, as individuals make up the nation, this will be free, and the Union
valued and preserved, in the degree that each individual is intelligent,
virtuous, and religious.

Upon those, then, who educate the individual, those to whom the infant,
the child, the youth, is entrusted, to mould and imbue at the most
pliant and receptive period of life--on those, whose office it is to
form the young mind into the love and practice of all things good and
true, and an abhorrence of their opposites; upon these, the parents, the
teachers, and the pastors of the land; upon these, when this hurricane
of civil war shall have passed away, do the preservation of this Union
and the hopes of mankind more than ever depend. Upon home education and
influence; on the schools and on the churches on these three forces
centred upon, interwoven, and vitalized by true Christian doctrine, as
revealed in the Sacred Scriptures or inspired Word of God, rest the
destinies of the American republic. May those who wield them live and
act with an ever more vivid and growing consciousness of their great
responsibility.




A MERCHANT'S STORY.

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


CHAPTER XXV.

Joe led Slema away, and, springing from the block, I pressed through the
crowd to where Larkin was standing.

'Larkin,' I said, placing my hand on his arm, 'come with me.'

'Who in h---- ar ye?' he asked, turning on me rather roughly.

'My name is Kirke. You ought to know me.'

'Kirke! Why ye ar! I'm right down glad ter see ye, Mr. Kirke,' he
exclaimed, seizing me warmly by the hand.

'Come with me; I want to talk with you.'

He sprang from the bench, and followed me into the mansion.

Entering the library, I locked the door. When he was seated, I said:

'Now, Larkin, who do you want this girl for?'

'Wall, I swar! Mr. Kirke, ye fire right at th' bull's eye!' Then,
hesitating a moment, he added:

'Fur myself.'

'No, you don't; you know that isn't true.'

'Ha!--ha! This ar th' second time ye've told me I lied. Nary other man
ever done it twice, Mr. Kirke; but I karn't take no 'fence with ye,
nohow--ha! ha!'

'Come, Larkin, don't waste time. Tell me squarely--_who_ do you want
this girl for?'

'Wall, Mr. Kirke, I can't answer thet--not in honor.'

'Shall _I_ tell _you_?'

'Yas, ef ye kin!'

'John Hallet.'

'Wall, I'm d----d ef ye doan't take th' papers. Who in creashun told ye
thet?'

'No one; I _know_ it, Hallet's only son is engaged to this girl. He
wants her, to balk him.'

'Ye're wrong thar. He wants har fur _himself_.'

'For himself!'

'Yas; he's got a couple now. He's a sly old fox; but he's one on 'em.'

'Is he willing to pay eighty-two hundred dollars for a mistress?'

'Wall, Preston owes him a debt, an' he reckons 'tain't wuth a hill o'
beans. Thet's th' amount uv it.'

Thus the wrong of the father was to be atoned for by the dishonor of the
child! Preston was right: the curse which followed his sin had fallen on
all he loved--on his wife, his mistress, the octoroon girl, his manly,
noble son; and now, the cloud which held the thunderbolt was hovering
over the head of his best-loved child! And so He visiteth 'the sins of
the fathers upon the children!'

'But he is wrong! Preston's estate will pay its debts. If it does not,
Joe will make good the deficiency, I will guarantee Hallet's claim. See
him, and tell him so.'

'He hain't yere, an' woan't be yere. He allers fights shy. An'
'twouldn't be uv no use. He's made up his mind to hev th' gal, an' hev
har he will. He's come all th' way from Orleans ter make sure uv it.'

'But, Larkin, you've a heart under your waistcoat; _you_ won't lend
yourself to the designs of such a consummate scoundrel as Hallet!'

'Scoundrel's a hard word, Mr. Kirke. 'Tain't used much round yere; when
it ar, it draws blood like a lancet.'

'I mean no offence to you, Larkin; but it's true--I will prove it;' and
I went on to detail my early acquaintance with Hallet; his vast
profession and small performance of piety; his betrayal of Frank's
mother; his treatment of his son, and all the damning record I have
spread before the reader.

As I talked, Larkin rose, and walked the room, evidently affected; but,
when I concluded, he said:

''Tain't no use, Mr. Kirke; I'd ruther ye wouldn't say no more. It makes
me feel like the cholera. An' 'tain't no use! I've _got_ ter buy th'
gal.'

'You have _not_ got to buy her! You need only go away. I will give you a
thousand dollars, if you will go at once.'

'No, no, Mr. Kirke; I karn't do it. I'd like ter 'blige ye, and I need
money like th' devil; but I karn't leave Hallet in th' lurch. 'Twouldn't
be far dealin' 'tween man an' man. He trusts me ter do it, an' I'm in
with him. I _must_ act honest.'

'How _in_ with him?'

'Why, he an' ole Roye ar tergether. The' find th' money fur my
bis'ness--done it fur fifteen yar. The' git th' biggest sheer, but I
karn't help myself, I went inter cotton, like a d--d fool, 'bout a yar
ago, an' lost all I hed--every red cent; an' now I shud be on my beam
ends ef it warn't fur them.'

'Then Hallet has made his money dealing in negroes!'

'Yas, a right smart pile, in thet, an' cotton. He got me inter th' d--d
staple. I hed nigh on ter sixty thousan' then--hard rocks; but I lost it
all--every dollar--at one slap; though I reckon _he_ managed, somehow,
ter get out.'

'Yes, of course, _he_ got out, and saddled the loss upon you. Were you
such a fool as not to see that?'

'P'raps he did; but he covered his trail. He's smart; ye karn't track
_him_. But it makes no odds; I _hev_ ter keep in with him. I couldn't do
a thing, ef I didn't.'

'Yes, you could. Come North. I'll give you honest work to do.'

'You're a gentleman, Mr. Kirke, an' I'm 'bliged ter ye; but I karn't
leave yere. I've got a wife an' chil'ren, an' the' wouldn't live 'mong
ye abolitionists, nohow.'

'You have a wife and children?'

'Yas'; a wife, an' two as likely young 'uns as ye ever seed--boy 'bout
seven, an' gal 'bout twelve.'

'Well, Larkin, suppose _your_ little girl was upon that auction block;
suppose some villain had hired _me_ to aid in debauching her; suppose
you, her father, should come to me and plead with me not to do it;
suppose I should tell you what you have told me, and then--should go out
and buy _your_ child; what would you do? Would you not curse me with
your very last breath?'

He seated himself, and hung down his head, but made no reply.

'Answer me, like the honest man you are.'

'Wall, I reckon I shud.'

'Selma is to marry my adopted son. She is as dear to me as your child is
to you. Can you do to her, what you would curse me for doing to _your_
child? Look me in the face. Don't flinch--answer me!'

I rose, and stood before him. In a few moments he also rose, and,
looking me squarely in the eye--there was a tear in his--he brought his
hand down upon mine with a concussion that might have been heard a mile
off, and said:

'No, I'm d--d ter h--ef I kin.'

'You are a splendid, noble fellow, Larkin.'

'Ye're 'bout th' fust man thet ever said so, Mr. Kirke. Ye told me
suthin' like thet nigh on ter twelve yar ago. I hain't forgot it yit,
an' I never shill.'

'You're rough on the outside, Larkin, but sound at the core--sound as a
nut. I wish the world had more like you. Leave this wretched work!'

'I'd like ter, but I karn't. What kin a feller do, with neither money
nor friends?'

'Get into some honest business. I know you can. I'll help you--Joe will
help you. We'll talk things over to-night, and I know Joe will rig out
something for you.'

He remained seated for a while, saying nothing; then he rose, and, the
moisture dimming his eyes, said:

'I reckon ye're not over pious, Mr. Kirke, an' I _know_ ye'd stand a
hand at a rough an' tumble; but d--d ef thet ain't th' sort o' religion
I like. Come, sir; ef I stay yere, ye'll make a 'ooman on me.'

As we passed into the parlor, I said to Joe, who was seated there with
Selma:

'Give Larkin your hand, Joe; he's a glorious fellow.'

'My _heart_ is in it, Larkin,' said the young man, very cordially. 'It
would have come hard to draw a bead on _you_.'

'I knows it would, Joe, an' I wus ter blame; but I never could stand a
bluff.'

We passed out together to the auction stand. Selma and her brother
ascended the block, while Larkin and I mingled with the buyers, who had
collected in even larger numbers than before. The auctioneer brought
down his hammer:

'Attention, gentlemen! The sale has begun. I offer you again the girl,
Lucy Selma. You've h'ard the description, and (glancing at Joe, and
smiling) you know the _conditions_ of the sale. A thousand dollars is
bid for the girl, Lucy Selma; do I hear any more? Talk quick, gentlemen;
I shan't dwell on this lot; so speak up, if you've anything to say. One
thousand once--one thousand twice--one thousand third and last call. Do
I hear any more?' A pause of a moment. 'Last call, gentlemen.
Going--g-o-i-n-g--go--'

The word was unfinished; the hammer was descending, when a voice called
out:

'Two thousand!'

'Whose bid is that?' cried Joe, striding across the bench, the glare of
a hyena in his eyes.

'Mine, sir!' said the man, with a look of sudden surprise. His face was
shaded by a broad-brimmed Panama hat, and his hair and whiskers were
dyed, but there was no mistaking his large, eagle nose, his sharp,
pointed chin, and his rat-trap of a mouth. It was Hallet! Springing upon
a bench near by, I cried out:

'John Hallet, withdraw that bid, or your time has come! I warn you. You
cannot leave this place alive!'

He gave me a quick, startled look--the look of a thief caught in the
act--but said nothing.

'Who is he?' cried a dozen voices.

'A Yankee nigger-trader! A man that seduced and murdered the woman who
should have been his wife; that cast out and starved his own child, and
now would debauch this poor girl, who is to marry his only son!'

'Wall, he _ar_ a han'some critter.' ''Bout like th' Yankees gin'rally.'
'Clar him out!' cried several voices.

'If you allow him to bid here, you are as bad as he,' I continued,
unintentionally fanning the growing excitement.

'Wall, we woan't.' 'Pitch inter him!' 'Douse him in th' pond!' 'Ride him
on a rail!' 'Give him a coat uv tar!' and a hundred similar exclamations
rose from the crowd, which swayed toward the obnoxious man with a quick,
tumultuous motion.

'He'm in de darky trade; leff de darkies handle him!' cried Ally,
seizing Hallet by the collar, and dragging him toward the pond.

The face of the great merchant turned ghastly pale. Paralyzed with fear,
he made no resistance.

Pressing rapidly through the crowd, and tossing Ally aside as if he had
been a bundle of feathers, Larkin was at Hallet's side in an instant.
Planting himself before him, and drawing his revolver, he cried out:

'Far play, gentlemen, far play. He's a cowardly scoundrel, but he shill
hev far play, or my name ain't Jake Larkin!'

Instinctively the crowd fell back a few paces, and Larkin, with more
coolness, continued:

'Th' only man yere thet's got anything ter say in this bis'ness ar Joe
Preston; an' _he'll_ guv even a Yankee far play. Woan't ye, Joe?' he
cried. Then, turning quickly to his partner, he added: 'Ye didn't know
th' kunditions, Mr. Hallet, did ye? Speak quick.'

'No--I--didn't know I was--giving offence,' stammered Hallet, looking in
the direction in which Larkin's eyes were turned.

Selma had taken the auctioneer's chair, and Joe stood, with folded arms,
glaring on Hallet.

'Come, Joe,' continued Larkin, 'I've done ye a good turn ter-day. Let
him off, an' put it ter my 'count.'

'As you say, Larkin; but he must withdraw his bid, and leave the ground
at once.'

'I withdraw it, sir,' said Hallet, in a cringing tone, clinging fast to
the negro trader.

'Doan't hold on so tight, Mr. Hallet. Lord bless ye! nary one yere'll
hurt ye; they'm gentler'n lambs--ha! ha! But when ye want anuther gal,
doan't ye come _yere_ fur yer darter-in-law--ha! ha!'

Putting his arm within Hallet's, he then attempted to press through the
crowd; but the blood of the chivalry had risen, and, spite of Joe's
remarks, they showed no inclination to let the Yankee off so cheaply.
Forming a solid wall around him, they blocked Larkin's way at every
turn, and cries of 'Let him alone, Larkin!' 'Cool him off, boys!'
'Doan't ye spile th' fun, Larkin!' 'Guv th' feller a little
hosspitality!' echoed from all directions.

Putting up his revolver, Larkin turned to them, and said, in the mildest
and blandest tone conceivable:

'Thet's right, boys--ye _orter_ hev some fun; but this gintleman's sick.
Doan't ye see how pale he ar? He couldn't stand it, nohow. But thar's a
feller thet kin,' pointing to Mulock, who stood looking on, at the outer
edge of the crowd. 'Ef ye're spilin' fur sport, ye moight try yer hand
on him!'

'Yas, he'm de man!' cried Ally. 'He holped whip de young missus. He
telled on har fur twenty dollar. He'm de man!'

Mulock did not seem to realize, at once, that he was the subject of
these remarks. The moment he did, he sprang out of the crowd, and darted
off for the woods at the top of his speed. A hundred men followed him,
with cries of 'Mount, head him off!' 'Five dollars ter th' man thet
kotches him!' 'Take him, dead or alive!'

Amid the universal excitement and confusion that followed, Larkin walked
rapidly away with Hallet.

'You can heat the kettle, boys; Mulock can't run,' cried Joe, from the
platform. 'But you must give him a fair trial.

'We'll do thet, never ye fear!' echoed a dozen voices.

'I nominate his friend, Mr. Gaston, for judge,' said Joe.

'Gaston it is!' Gaston it is!' 'Mount the bench, Mr. Gaston!' shouted a
hundred 'natives.'

Gaston got upon the auction stand, and said:

'I'll serve, gentlemen; but, before we select jurors, the sale must go
on. Miss Preston is not sold yet.'

'All right! all right! Hurry up, Mr. Hammerman!' shouted the crowd.

The auctioneer took his place:

'A thousand dollars is bid for this young lady. Going--gone--_gone_, to
Mr. Joseph Preston.'

Selma put her arms about Joe's neck, and, in broken tones, said: 'My
brother! my dear brother!' Then she laid her head on his shoulder, and
wept--wept unrestrainedly.

Who can fathom the untold misery she had endured within those two hours?


CHAPTER XXVI.

The impromptu judge took his seat on the bench, and the excited
multitude once more subsided into quiet. In about fifteen minutes a
tumult arose in a remote quarter of the ground, and Mulock and his
pursuers appeared in sight, shouting, screaming, and swearing in a
decidedly boisterous manner. The most of the profanity--to the credit of
the self-appointed _posse comitatus_ be it said--was indulged in by the
ex-overseer, who, with his clothes torn in shreds, and his face covered
with blood, looked like the battered relic of a forty years' war. A red
bandanna pinioned his arms to his sides, and a strong man at each elbow
spurred his flagging footsteps by an occasional poke with a pine branch.
Ally followed at a few paces, looking about as dilapidated as the
culprit himself. To him evidently belonged the glory of the capture.

As they approached the stand. Gaston rose, and called out:

'Do not insult justice, by bringing the prisoner into court in this
condition. Let his face be washed, his garments changed, and his wounds
bound up, before he appears for trial. Dr. Rawson, I commission you
special officer for the duty.'

'I'm at your service, Major Gaston,' said the doctor, stepping out from
the crowd into the open semicircle in front of the bench. 'Will some one
procure the loan of a coat, hat, and trousers at the mansion?'

Ally started for the needed clothing, and the physician led the way to
the small lake. In about twenty minutes the volunteer officials returned
with the criminal, clothed in a more respectable manner, and Gaston said
to him.

'Prisoner, take your place.'

Resistance was useless, and Mulock, with a slow step, and a sullen,
dogged air, ascended the platform, and seated himself in the chair
provided for him at its further extremity. Gaston sat at the other end,
facing him; and four brawny 'natives,' with revolvers in their hands,
took positions by his side.

'Silence in the court!' cried Gaston.

The noisy multitude became quiet, and the extempore official
proceeded--with greater solemnity than many another judge of more
regular appointment exhibits on similar occasions--to say:

'Prisoner, you are charged with two of the highest offences known to our
laws; namely, with aiding and abetting an illegal and cruel assault on a
white woman, and with procuring and inciting the murder of your own
wife. You are about to be tried for these crimes by a jury of your
countrymen and I am appointed judge, that full and impartial justice may
be done you. It shall be done. Counsel will be awarded you; and, that
you may not be condemned by prejudiced men, you will be given the
privilege of peremptory challenge against four out of every five of the
jurors I shall nominate, I shall now proceed to name the jury, and you
will signify your objection to those you do not approve. Thomas
Murchison.'

That gentleman came forward, and Mulock said:

'I take him.'

'Godfrey Banks.'

'He's inimy ter me.'

The man stepped aside; and thus they proceeded, the prisoner taking full
advantage of the liberty of choice allowed him, until, out of a panel of
nearly sixty, twelve respectable, yeomanly-looking men had been
selected. As each juror was approved of by the crowd (who had the final
decision), he took a seat on a row of benches facing the 'judge' and the
prisoner. When the last one had taken his place, Gaston said:

'Prisoner, you have heard the charges against you; are you guilty, or
not guilty? If you think proper to acknowledge your guilt of either or
both the crimes with which you are charged, I shall feel it my duty to
award you a lighter punishment.'

'I hain't guilty uv 'ary one on 'em,' said Mulock, without looking up.

'What legal gentleman will appear for the people?' cried Gaston, turning
to the audience. Several sprigs of the law shot out from the multitude,
'I accept _you_, Mr. Flanders. Who will act for the prisoner?'

Each one of the volunteers fell back, and no response came from any part
of the ground. Mulock evidently was neither blessed nor cursed with many
friends.

'Does no one appear for the prisoner? Gentlemen of the legal profession,
I am sorry to see this reluctance to aid a defenceless man. Will not
some one oblige _me_, by volunteering? I shall consider it a personal
service,' said Gaston.

Still no response was heard. At least five minutes passed, and the
'judge's' face was assuming a look of painful concern, when Larkin
approached the bench.

'Gintlemen,' he said, 'th' man hain't no friends, an' it's a d--d shame
not ter come out fur a feller as stands alone. Ef I knowed lor, I'd go
in fur him, ef he wus th' devil himself.'

No one came forward in answer to even this appeal; and, turning on the
crowd, while warm, manly scorn glowed on his every feature, the
negro-trader cried out:

'Ye're a set uv d--d sneakin' hounds, every one on ye. Ye're wuss than
th' parsons, an' the' hain't fit ter tote vittles ter a bar.' Turning to
the 'judge,' he added, in a more respectful tone: 'I doan't know th'
fust thing 'bout lor, Major Gaston, an' this man's nigh as mean a cuss
as th' Lord ever made; but ef ye'll 'cept me, I'll go in fur him!'

'I will accept you with pleasure. You're doing a gentlemanly thing, Mr.
Larkin.'

A murmur of applause went round the assemblage, as Larkin and the other
counsel took seats near the jury.

The 'judge' then rose, and said:

'Gentlemen of the jury: You have engaged in a solemn office. You are
about to try a fellow being for his life. It is a painful duty, but it
is an obligation you owe to the community, and to yourselves, and you
will not shrink from it. Society is held together by laws made to
protect the innocent and punish the guilty. But, as _our_ society is
organized, there are some offences which our tribunals cannot reach. In
such cases the people, from whom all laws proceed, have a right to take
the law into their own hands.

'The prisoner is charged with crimes which, from the circumstances
surrounding their commission, cannot be reached by regular courts of
justice. They were witnessed by none but blacks, whose testimony, by our
statutes, is not admissible. We, the people, therefore, are to try him;
and, to get at the facts, we shall receive the evidence of negroes. You
will judge for yourselves as to its credibility. If any doubt of the
prisoner's guilt rests in your minds, you will give him the benefit of
it, and acquit him; but if, on the other hand, you are fully persuaded
that he committed either or both the crimes of which he is accused, you
will convict him. _You_ will patiently hear the testimony that may be
presented; _I_ will honestly and impartially give sentence, according to
the decision at which you may arrive. The trial will now proceed.'

The witnesses were then examined. Ally was the first one sworn. He
deposed to the circumstances attending the whipping of Phyllis, and the
assault on Selma; but, as his evidence was altogether hearsay--he not
being present on either occasion--it was ruled out, as was also his
account of the bribing of Mulock by the mistress.

Three other negroes were then called, and they proved that Mulock aided
in dragging Selma to the whipping rack, and witnessed the beating; but
they failed to show that he was privy to or participated in the assault
on his wife. Others were examined, who saw parts of the two
transactions, and then the testimony closed.

As the last witness left the stand, Gaston said:

'I shall allow the prisoner the benefit of the final appeal. The
attorney for the people will now address the jury.'

The lawyer, a young man of no especial brilliancy or ability, rose, and,
going rapidly over the testimony, drew the conclusion from it that
Mulock had instigated the beating of both mother and daughter, and was
therefore guilty of the assault and the murder, and should accordingly
be punished with death.

The motive actuating him he held to be revenge on Preston, for having,
long previously, debauched his wife Phyllis. This passion, held in check
during Preston's lifetime by fear of the consequences which might follow
its indulgence, had broken out after his death, and wreaked itself on
the two defenceless women.

The gentleman's reasoning was not very cogent, but, what he lacked in
logic, he made up in bitter denunciation of Mulock, who, according to
his showing, was a little blacker than the prime minister of the lower
regions.

As he took his seat, Larkin rose, and, addressing himself to both the
jury and the multitude, spoke, as near as I can recollect, as follows:

'Gintlemen, this yere sort o' bis'ness is out uv my line. I'm not used
ter speechifyin', an' I may murder whot's called good English; but I'd a
durned sight ruther murder _thet_, then ter joodiciously, or ary other
how, murder a human bein'; an' it's my private 'pinion _ye'll_ murder
Mulock, ef ye bring him in guilty uv death.

'A man hain't no right ter take human life, 'cept in self-defence. Even
ef Mulock was so bad as this loryer feller tries ter make him out--but
he hain't, 'cause 'tain't in natur for a man ter be wuss than th' devil
himself--ye'd hev no right to stop his breath. Ye didn't guv it ter him;
it doan't b'long ter ye, an' th' lor doan't 'low ye ter take what hain't
your'n. Ef ye does, it's stealin', an' I knows thet none on the
gintlemen uv the jury ar so allfired mean as ter steal--'ticularly ter
steal whot woan't be uv no sort o' use ter 'em, nohow.

'The loryer yere, hes spread hisself on Mulock's motive fur doin' this
thing; 'sistin' thet fur seventeen yar he's ben a nussin'
suthin--nussin' it as keerfully as a mother nusses her chil'ren. Now,
young 'uns gin'rally walks when they's 'bout a yar old; but this one
thet Mulock's ben a nussin' didn't git 'round till it wus seventeen; an'
I reckon a bantlin' thet karn't gwo alone afore it's thet age, woan't
never do much hurt ter nobody.

'But these hain't th' raal p'ints uv th' case. I'm loryer 'nuff ter tell
ye, ye must gwo on th' evidence; an' thar hain't no evidence ter show
thet Mulock hed anything ter do with th' whippin' uv his wife; an' th'
_murder_ wus in thet. He _did_--so th' nigs say, an' I reckon the' tells
th' truth; an' thet's whot nary loryer kin do ef he try; so ye sees, a
_nig_ is smarter nor a loryer. Wall, the nigs say he holped in whippin'
th' white 'ooman; an', as 'torney fur th' _truth_, gintlemen, which I'm
gwine in fur yere, I've got ter 'low it. He did aid an' 'bet, as the
loryers call it, in thet, an' thet proves him 'bout as mean as a white
man ever gits ter be; an', 'sides thet, he did _sell_ har fur twenty
dollars--a 'ooman thet even th' 'judge'--an' he _ar_ a _judge_ uv sech
things--was willin' ter pay twenty-five hun'red fur; he _did_ sell har
fur _twenty dollars_; an' thet proves him a fool! Now, fur bein' both
mean an' a fool, I 'low he orter be punished. But doan't ye kill him,
gintlemen! Guv it ter him 'cordin' ter his natur an' his merits.' Just
luk at him. Hev ye ever seed sech a face, an' sech an eye as thet, in
ary human bein'? Why, his eye ar jest like a snake's; an' its natural,
ye knows, fur snakes ter crawl; the' karn't do nuthin' else, an' the'
hain't ter blame fur it. No more ye karn't blame Mulock for bein' whot
he ar. So guv him a coat uv tar--a ride on a rail--a duckin' in th'
pond--arything thet's 'cordin' ter his natur an' his merits; but doan't
ye take 'way his _life_! Ef ye does thet, he's _lost_--LOST
furever; fur, I swar ter ye, his soul ar so small, thet ef it was once
out uv his body, th' LORD himself couldn't find it, an' th'
pore feller'd hev ter gwo wand'rin' 'round with nary whar ter stay, an'
nary friends, aither in heaven or t'other place! So be easy with him,
gintlemen! Guv him one more chance. Let him stay yere a spell longer,
fur yere his soul may grow. An' it _kin_ grow! Everything in natur
grows--even skunks; an' who knows but Mulock may sprout out yit, an'
grow ter be a MAN!

'I'se nuthin' more ter say, gintlemen, only this: Afore ye make up yer
minds ter bring Mulock in guilty uv death, jest put yerselfs inter his
place, an' ax yerselfs ef _ye'd_ like ter hev a rope put 'round yer
windpipe, as ye'd put it 'round his'n! Ef ye wudn't, jest remember,
'tain't manly ter use ary 'nother man in a how ye wudn't like ter be
used yerselfs. I'm done.'

Larkin was frequently interrupted, during the delivery of this address,
by the loud shouts and laughter of the crowd; but, at its close, a
perfect tornado of applause swept over the multitude, and a hundred
voices called out:

'No; doan't ye hang him.' 'Give him one more chance.' 'Doan't gwo more'n
the tar.' 'Larkin's a loryer, shore.'

Amid these and similar exclamations, the jury retired to the little
grove of liveoaks. In about fifteen minutes they returned to their
seats.

'Gentlemen of the jury,' said Gaston, 'have you agreed on your verdict?'

''Greed on one thing, Major Gaston,' said the foreman, rising; 'hain't
on t'other.'

'On what have you agreed?'

'On whippin' th' young 'ooman.'

'What say you on that--guilty, or not guilty?'

'Guilty.'

'And so say you all?'

'Yas, Major.'

'How do you stand on the other charge?'

'Four gwo in fur guilty; th' rest on us think Jake Larkin 'bout right as
ter hangin' on him.'

'It is not for Mr. Larkin, or you, to say what shall be done with the
prisoner. You are to decide whether he is or is not guilty of
instigating the murder of his wife. You must retire again, until you
agree upon that.'

''Twouldn't be uv no use; Major. We reckon he's mean 'nuff ter hev done
it; but whether he done it, or no, we gwo fur givin' him a chance ter
live.

'Ye're white men, I swar!' cried Larkin, springing from his seat, and
grasping the hands of several of the jurors in turn.

'Take your seat, and observe order, Mr. Larkin,' said the judge, smiling
in spite of himself.

'All right,' said Larkin; 'ye're _some_ as a judge, Major--'bout up ter
me as a loryer, an' thet's saying a heap; so jest be easy on th' pore
devil. _Do_, yer _Honor!_'

'Silence, sir!' said Gaston, laughing.

Larkin took his seat, and the 'judge' continued:

'Prisoner, you have heard the verdict. Have you anything to say why
sentence for aiding in the assault on the white lady should not now be
passed upon you?'

'No, Major Gaston; I've nothin' ter say,' said Mulock, dejectedly.

Gaston continued: 'You have been tried by a jury of your own selection.
They are unanimous in pronouncing you guilty of a cowardly and
unwarrantable assault on a white woman. They evidently deem you guilty
of the worse crime of abetting the murder of your own wife, and humane
feelings only deter them from saying so. In these circumstances, I feel
it my duty to award you a more severe punishment than I should have done
had you been fully acquitted of the last charge. I shall therefore
sentence you to be coated with warm tar, ducked, in that condition,
three times in the pond, and then ridden on a rail to your shop at
Trenton; and may this example of public indignation lead you to a better
life in future. Mr. Larkin, I commission you to superintend the
execution of the sentence.'

'No, ye don't, Major--yer _Honor_, I mean! I'll stand by, an' see Mulock
hes far play; but I woan't do nary one's dirty work, I swar.'

'Well, who will volunteer for the duty?' said Gaston, appealing to the
audience.

About a score of 'natives' offered themselves; but, fixing his eye on a
stout, goodnatured-looking man, who had not volunteered, Gaston said:

'Won't _you_ do it, Mr. Moore?'

'Yas, ter 'blige ye, Major, I will,' replied the man.

The 'judge' then pronounced the court adjourned, and the crowd escorted
Mulock and the impromptu executioners to the site of the old
distilleries. There an iron kettle filled with tar was already simmering
over a light-wood fire, and, being divested of his borrowed plumage,
Mulock was soon clad in a close-fitting suit of black. He was about to
be led to the pond, when Ally appeared on the ground. Making his way
through the crowd, he called out:

'De young missus doan't want dis ting to gwo no fudder. She'll 'sider it
a 'ticular favor ef de gemmen'll leff Mulock gwo.'

'We karn't let him off without consent uv the judge,' said Mr. Moore.

A messenger was sent for Gaston, who soon appeared, and consented that
further proceedings should be stopped. Mulock was at once released, and,
coatless, hatless, and all but trouserless, he made his way through the
hooting multitude, and left the plantation, a blacker, if not a wiser
and a better man.

As we walked away from the 'scene of execution,' I said to the
negro-trader:

'Larkin, you should have been a lawyer; you managed that thing
admirably.'

'Th' boys hed got thar blood up, an' I know'd I couldn't clar him. A man
stands a sorry chance in sech a crowd, ef they's raally bent on
mischief.'

On the following morning the remainder of the negroes were purchased by
Joe; and in the afternoon I was on my way home.


CHAPTER XXVII.

As I was sitting in my library, late one evening, rather more than a
month after the events recorded in the last chapter, a hasty ring came
at the street door.

'Who can be calling so late?' said Kate. 'Had _you_ not better go?'

Drawing on my boots, I went to the door. As I opened it, my hand was
suddenly seized, and a familiar voice exclaimed:

'What about Selly? How is she?'

'Lord bless you, Frank! is this you? How did you get here?'

'How is Selma! Tell me!'

'Safe and well--in Mobile with Joe.'

'Thank GOD! thank GOD for _that!_'

'How did you get here?'

'By the Africa; she's below. I managed to get up by a small boat. I
_couldn't_ wait.'

'Well, go up stairs. Your mother is in the library.'

After the first greeting had passed between Kate and the newcomer, he
plied me with questions in regard to Selma, I told him all, keeping
nothing back. Meanwhile, he walked the room, struggling with contending
emotions--now joy, now rage, now grief. He said nothing till I mentioned
Hallet's connection with the affair; then he spoke, and his words came
like the rushing of the tornado when it mows down the trees.

'That is the _one_ thing too much. I have held back till now. Now he
_dies_!'

'Don't say that, my son!' exclaimed Kate. 'Leave him to his conscience,
and to GOD. 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the
LORD!''

'Vengeance is MINE! Don't talk to me mother! I want no sermons
now!'

She looked at him sadly through her tears, and said:

'Have I deserved this of _you_, Frank?'

'Forgive me! forgive me, my mother!' and he buried his face in her
dress, and wept--wept as he never did when a child.

A half hour passed, and no one spoke. Then he rose, and said to me:

'When did you hear from her last?'

'_I_ had a letter yesterday; here it is,' said Kate. 'You see, she is
expecting you.'

He took it, and read it over slowly. All trace of his recent emotion had
gone, and on his face was an expression I had never seen there before.
For the first time I noticed his resemblance to his father!

'When will you go!' continued Kate.

'I don't know. I cannot _now_.'

'Why not _now_? What is there to prevent?'

'I must go home first. I must see Cragin.'

'Cragin does not expect you for a fortnight,' I said; 'you can be back
by that time.'

'But I _cannot_ go now!' and again he rose, and walked the room. 'I'm
not ready yet. My mind isn't made up.' After a pause, he added: 'Would
you have me marry a slave--a woman of negro blood?'

'I would have you do as your feelings and your conscience dictate.'

'You cannot love her, if you ask that question,' said Kate, kindly, but
sorrowfully.

'I _do_ love her. I love her better than man ever loved woman; but can I
make her my _wife_? A negro wife! negro children!--ha! ha!' and he
clasped his hands above his head, and laughed that bitter, hollow laugh,
which is the sure echo of fearful misery within.

'I cannot advise you, my son. You must act, _now_, on your own judgment.
I will only say, that through it all--when put at slave work--when bound
to the whipping stake--when she stood on the auction block for two long
hours--she was sustained _only_ by trust in _you_. It is true--she told
me so; and if you forsake her now, it will'----

'Kill her! I know it! I know it, O my GOD! my GOD!'
and he groaned in agony--such agony as I never before saw rend the
spirit of mortal man.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning he started for Mobile. Ten days afterward, the
following telegram was handed me:

     'Selma is dead. Frank is here, raving crazy. Come on at once.

     JOSEPH PRESTON.'

       *       *       *       *       *

That night I was on my way, and that day week I reached Mobile. The
first person I met, as I entered Joe's warehouse, was Larkin.

'Where is Joe?'

'Ter th' plantation. He's lookin' fur ye. I'll tote ye thar ter onst.'

In half an hour we were on the road. We arrived just before dark, and
at once I entered the mansion. Joe's hand was in mine in a moment.

'What caused this terrible thing?' I asked, hastily, eagerly.

'I don't know. When he arrived, Frank was low-spirited and moody, but
very glad to see me. I brought him up here at once. He seemed overjoyed
at meeting Selma, and would not let her go out of his sight for a
moment. Still he appeared excited and uneasy, till I met him at the
supper table. Then he was more like himself. I went with them into the
parlor, and there conversed with Frank on business matters for fully two
hours. We planned some shipments to Europe, and talked over sending
Larkin to Texas to buy cattle for the New Orleans market. We agreed on
it. I was to provide means, by keeping ninety-day drafts afloat on them
(I'm short, just now, having paid out so much for the negroes), and they
and I were to divide the profits with Larkin. Frank's head was as clear
as a bell. I had no idea he was so good a business man. Well, about
eight o'clock I left them together, and, a little after nine, went to
bed. Selma's room is next to mine, and it couldn't have been later than
eleven when I heard her go to it.

'The next morning she didn't come down as usual. I had a servant call
her. She made no reply; but I thought nothing of it, till half an hour
afterward. Then I went up myself. I rapped repeatedly, but got no
answer. Becoming alarmed, I sent a servant for an axe. Frank brought it
up, and I battered down the door, and found her lying on the bed,
dressed as usual, a half-empty bottle of laudanum beside
her--DEAD!'

'My GOD! And Frank made her do it!'

'Don't say that. If he _did_, he is fearfully punished; he has suffered
terribly.'

'Where is he?'

'In the front room. He has raved incessantly. At first four men couldn't
hold him. Somehow, he got a knife, and cut himself badly. I got it away,
but he threw me in the struggle, and nearly throttled me. He's calmer
now, and I've had him untied; but old Joe has to stay with him night and
day. Nobody else can manage him.'

We went into the room. Frank sat in one corner, pale, haggard, only the
shadow of what he was but ten days before. His head was leaning against
the wall, and he was gazing out of the window.

As I entered, 'Boss Joe' came forward and greeted me, but neither of us
spoke. Approaching Frank, I laid my hand on his shoulder.

'My boy, I have come for you.'

He rose, and looked at me, a wild glare in his eyes.

'Well, it's high time; I've waited long enough. I'm ready. I don't deny
it--I killed her. Make short work of it. I'd have saved you the trouble,
but this infernal nigger told me I'd go to hell if I did it; and I know
_she_ isn't there. I want to see her again! I want her to forgive me--to
forgive me! Oh! oh!' and he sank into his chair, and moaned piteously.

'He tinks you'm de sheriff, massa Kirke,' whispered Joe.

I leaned over him. The tears started from my eyes, and fell on his face,
as I said:

'You _will_ see her again. She does pity and forgive you.'

He sprang from his seat, and clutched my hands. 'Do you believe it? Joe
says so; but Joe is a nigger, and what does a _nigger_ know?' Then,
putting his mouth close to my ear, he added: 'They told me _she_ was
one. It was false--false as hell; but'--and he threw his arms above his
head, and groaned the rest--'but it made me say it. O my GOD!
my GOD! it made me say it!' His head sank on my shoulder, and
again he gave out those piteous moans.

'Have comfort, my boy. I know she loves and pities you, _now_!'

He looked up. 'Say that again! For the love of God say that again!'

'It is so! As sure as there's another life, it is so!'

He gazed at me fixedly for a few moments--then again commenced pacing
the room.

'I wish I could believe it. But _you_ ought to know; you look like a
parson. You are a parson, aren't you?'

'Yes; I'm a parson. I _know_ it is so!'

'Well, tell them to hurry up. I want to go to her at once--_now_! I
can't live another week in this way. Tell them to hurry up.'

'Yes, I will; and you'll go with me to-morrow, won't you?'

He gave me again, a long, scrutinizing look. 'You're the sheriff, aren't
you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, then, I'll go with you. But you must promise to make short work
of it.'

'Yes, yes; I'll promise that. But lie down now, and be quiet. I'll be
ready for you in the morning.'

'Well, well, I'll try to be patient;' and he threw himself on the small
cot in one corner of the room. 'But you'll let old Joe stay with me,
won't you?'

'Yes; certainly.'

'Thank you, sir. Joe, bring me a cigar--that's a good fellow. You're the
decentest nigger I ever knew. It's an awful pity you're black. They told
me _she_ was black. 'Twas an infernal lie! I know it, for I saw her last
night, and she was whiter than any woman you ever saw. Black! Pshaw!
nobody but the devil's black; and _she_--she's an angel NOW!'

As we passed out of the room, Joe said to me:

'Would you like to see Selma?'

'Have you kept the body?'

'Yes; I knew you would want to see her.'

He led the way up stairs to her chamber. In a plain, air-tight coffin,
lay all that was left of the slave girl. Her hands were crossed on her
bosom; her long, glossy, brown hair fell over her neck, and on her face
was the look the angels wear. She seemed not dead, but sleeping!

As I turned away, Joe took my hand, and, while a nervous spasm passed
over his face, he said:

'She was all that I had; but I--I forgive him!'

'And for that, GOD will forgive _you_!'

The next day we buried her.

       *       *       *       *       *

'Boss Joe' accompanied us to the North. We reached home just after dark.
When we entered the parlor, Frank gazed around with an eager, curious
look, as if some familiar scene was returning to him. In a few moments
Kate entered. She rushed to him, and clasped him in her arms. He took
her face between his two hands, and looked long and earnestly at her.
Then, dropping his head on her shoulder, and bursting into tears, he
cried:

'My mother! O my mother!'

He had awoke. The terrible dream was over. From that moment he was
himself.

What passed between him and Selma on that fatal evening, I never knew.
He has not spoken her name since that night.


CHAPTER XXVIII.

Mrs. Dawsey lay at the mansion, under guard, for several weeks. When
finally able to be moved she was conveyed to the 'furnished apartments'
bespoken for her by Joe. Her husband, after a short confinement in jail,
was set at liberty, and then made strenuous efforts to effect his wife's
release on bail. He did not succeed. Public feeling ran very high
against her; and that, probably more than the fact that she was charged
with an unbailable crime, operated to prolong her residence at the
public boarding house kept for runaway slaves and common felons at
Trenton.

At the next session of the 'county court,' after an imprisonment of
four months, she was arraigned for trial. Owing to the death of Selma,
Mulock was the only white witness against her. He told a straightforward
story, the most rigid cross-examination not swerving him from it, and
deposed to Dawsey's having attempted to bribe him to go away. His
evidence was conclusive as to the prisoner's guilt; but her counsel, an
able man, made so damaging an assault on his personal character, that
the jury disagreed. Mrs. Dawsey was then remanded to jail to await a new
trial, at the next sitting of the court.

Shortly after the trial, Mulock suddenly disappeared. Hearing of it, and
suspecting he had been spirited away by Dawsey, Joseph Preston went to
Trenton, and, procuring a judge's order for Mulock's arrest as an
absconding witness, caused a thorough search to be made for him in Jones
and the adjoining counties. He himself visited Chalk Level, in Harnett
County, and there found him, living again with his white wife. That lady
had previously won and lost a second spouse, but, it appeared, was then
in such straits for another husband, that she was willing to take up
with her own cast-off household furniture. Whether a new marriage
ceremony was performed, or not, I never learned; but I have been
reliably informed that Mulock complained bitterly of his wife for having
defrauded him of twenty-five of the fifty dollars she had agreed to pay
as consideration for his again sharing her 'bed and board.'

Mulock admitted having received four hundred dollars from Dawsey for
absenting himself, and gave, as an excuse for accepting the bribe, his
conviction that Mrs. Dawsey could not be found guilty on his testimony.
After his arrest he was confined in the same jail with the 'retired'
schoolmistress.

The second trial was approaching; but, late on the night preceding the
sitting of the court, the jailer's house--which adjoined and
communicated with the prison--was forcibly entered by four armed men
disguised as negroes. They bound and gagged the jailer, his wife, and
two female servants, and, seizing the keys, entered the jail, and
carried Mulock off by force. The keeper heard a desperate struggle, and
it was supposed Mulock was foully dealt by. The footprints of four men
were the next morning detected leading to a spot on the bank of the
river, where a boat appeared to have been moored; but there all traces
were lost, and the overseer's fate is still shrouded in mystery.

Mrs. Dawsey, whose cell adjoined Mulock's, was not disturbed, but public
suspicion connected her husband with the affair. There was, however, no
evidence against him, and he went 'unwhipped of justice.'

The lady was arraigned for trial on the following day, but, no witnesses
appearing against her, she was--after a tedious confinement of ten
months--set at liberty. Thus, at last, she achieved 'a plantation and a
rich planter;' but her darling object in life--to lead and shine in
society, for which her education and character peculiarly fitted
her--she missed. With the exception of her brutal husband, an ignorant
overseer, and a superannuated 'schulemarm,' imported from the North, she
has no associates. Society has built up a wall about her, and, with the
brand of Cain on her forehead, she is going through the world.

Larkin, after breaking off his connection with his 'respectable
associates,' descended from trading in human cattle, to trafficking in
fourfooted beasts, and all manner of horned animals. Joe offered him an
interest in his business; but the negro-trader had too long led a roving
life to be content with the dull routine of regular business. Young
Preston, and Cragin, Mandell & Co., stipulating for a half of his
profits, furnished him a capital of fifty thousand dollars; and with
that he embarked largely in 'cattle driving.' He bought in Texas, and
sold in New Orleans, and did a profitable business until the breaking
out of the rebellion. Since that event he has been an officer in the
confederate army.

Frank remained at my house for a fortnight after his return from the
South, and then, apparently restored, went to Boston. Business had grown
distasteful to him, and he sought a dissolution with Cragin; but the
latter prevailed on him to remain in the firm, and go to Europe. He
continued there until news reached Liverpool of the fall of Fort Sumter.
Then he took the first steamer for home. Arriving in Boston, he at once
effected a dissolution with Cragin, and then came on to New York to make
his 'mother' a short visit prior to entering the army. He expressed the
intention of enlisting as a private, and I tried to dissuade him from
it, by representing how easily he could raise a company in Boston, and
go as an officer. 'No,' he replied; 'I know nothing of tactics. I am
unfit to lead; I can only fire a musket. With one on my shoulder, I will
go and sell my life as dearly as I can.'

On the 18th of May, 1861, he left New York, a private in Duryee's
Zouaves (5th Regiment N. Y. V.), and on the 10th of June following,
while fighting bravely by the side of York, Winthrop, and Greble, at Big
Bethel, fell, badly wounded by a musket ball.

When he was fit to be moved, I had him conveyed home. His recovery was
slow, but, as soon as he was able to go out, and, while still suffering
from his wound, he went on to Boston to render Cragin some assistance in
his business. General Butler's expedition was then fitting out for New
Orleans. Weak as he was, Frank raised a company of Boston boys for it,
and went off as their captain.

He was present at the bombardment and capture of New Orleans; but
growing weary of the inactivity which followed those events, and hearing
of the stirring times in Tennessee, he resolved to resign his
commission, and seek service in the Western army.

After his resignation had been accepted, and on the eve of his departure
for the North, when returning, one night, to his lodgings, he was
accosted by a woman of the street. Her face seemed familiar, and he
asked her name. She answered, 'Rosey Preston.' He went with her to her
home--a miserable room in the third story of a tumbledown shanty in
Chartres street--and there found her child, a bright little fellow of
about six years. With them, on the following day, he sailed for the
North.

Arriving here, he settled on Rosey the income of a small sum, and
procured her apartments in a modest tenement house in East Thirtieth
street. There Rosey now works at her needle, and the little boy attends
a public school.

Within the week of Frank's arrival, and when he was about setting out
for the West, I was surprised one morning, by Ally's appearance in my
office. Newbern had fallen, and he had made his way, with his mother,
into the Union lines, and, after a good deal of difficulty, had secured
a passage on a return transport to New York. I provided employment for
his mother, but Ally insisted on going into the war with Frank. He went
as his servant, but fought at his side at Lawrenceburgh, Dog Walk,
Chaplin Hills, and Frankfort, and in three of those engagements was
wounded. His bones now whiten the plains of Tennessee. Rosey he never
saw, and never forgave.

Frank was with the small body of regulars who, at Murfreesboro, on the
31st of December, checked the advance of Hardee's corps after McCook's
division had been driven from the field, and who saved the day. He was
wounded in the arm, early in the morning, but kept the field, and joined
in that heroic movement wherein fifteen hundred men marched through an
open field, and charged a body of ten thousand posted in a grove of
cedars. Six hundred and forty-six of the brave band were left on the
field. Frank was one of them. A Belgian ball pierced his side, and came
out at his back. He saw and recognized the man who gave him the wound,
and, raising himself on his elbow, fired a last shot. It did its work.
The rebel lies buried where Frank fell.

The telegram which informed me of this event, said: 'He is desperately
wounded, but may survive.' He is now at home, slowly recovering. What he
saw and did while serving in Kentucky and Tennessee, I may at some
future time narrate to the reader.

In relating actual events, a writer cannot in all cases visit artistic
justice on each one of his characters; for, in real life, retribution
does not always appear to follow crime. But, whatever _appearances_ may
be, who is there that does not feel that virtue is ever its own reward,
and vice its own punishment? and what one of my readers would exchange
'a quiet conscience, void of offence toward God and toward man,' for the
princely fortune of John Hallet--who is still the great merchant, the
'exemplary citizen,' the 'honest man'?


LAST WORDS.

Whoever comes before the American people in a time of great _deeds_ like
this, with mere _words_, should have no idle story to tell. He should
have something to say; some fact to relate, or truth to communicate,
which may awaken his countrymen to a true estimate of their interests,
or a true sense of their duties.

The writer of these articles _has_ something to say; some facts to
relate which have not been told; some truths to communicate about
Southern life and society, which the public ought to know. Some of these
facts, gathered during sixteen years of intimate business and social
intercourse with the planters and merchants of the South, he has
endeavored to embody in this volume.

He has woven them into a story, but they are nevertheless facts, and
all, excepting one, occurred under his own observation. That one--the
death of old Jack--was communicated to him as a fact, by his friend, Dr.
W. H. Holcombe, of Waterproof, La., now an officer in the confederate
army.

The author does not mean to say that his story is true as a connected
whole. It is not. In it, persons are brought into intimate relations who
never had any connection in life; events are grouped together which
happened at widely different times; and incidents are described as
occurring in the vicinity of Newbern--the slave auction, for
instance--parts of which occurred in Alabama, parts in Georgia, and
parts in Louisiana. But all of the characters he has described _have_
lived, and all of the events he has related _have_ transpired. He would,
however, not have the reader believe that all he says of himself is
true. Some of it is; some of it is not. The story needed some one to
revolve around; and, as he began by using the personal pronoun, he
continued its use, even in parts--like the scenes with Hallet, wherein
the _I_ stands for entirely another individual.

The real name of the character whom he has called Selma (he can state
this without wounding the feelings of any one, as none of her relatives
are now living), was Selma Winchester. She was educated at Cambridge,
Mass., was a slave, and died of a broken heart shortly after being put
at menial labor in her mother-in-law's kitchen. Her character and
appearance, even the costume she wore on the occasion of her visit to
the opera--a scene which many residents of Boston and vicinity will
remember--are attempted to be described literally. She was not the
daughter of Preston; _her_ father was a very different sort of man. Nor
was she sold at auction. The young woman who was engaged to 'Frank
Mandell,' and bought at the sale by her brother, was equally as
accomplished, though not so beautiful as Selma. She committed suicide,
as herein related. The author has blended the two characters into one,
but in no particular has he departed from the truth.

The gentleman called Preston in the story was for many years one of the
writer's correspondents. He had two wives, such as are described, and
was the father of Joe and Rosey, whose connection was as is related. He
was _not_ the owner of 'Boss Joe.' The original of that character
belonged (and the writer trusts still belongs) to a cotton planter in
Alabama. He managed two hundred hands, and in no respect is he overdrawn
in the story. His sermon is repeated from memory, and is far inferior to
the original. He was a Swedenborgian, and one of the finest natural
orators the writer ever listened to. Old Deborah was his mother, and
died comfortably in her bed. The old woman who fell dead on the auction
block, was the nurse of the young woman who was engaged to Frank. The
excitement of the scene, and her anxiety for her 'young missus,' killed
her.

Larkin's real name is Jacob Larkin. He was at one time connected with
the person called Hallet. He was well known in many parts of the South,
and relinquished Negro trading under circumstances similar to those
related in the story. He is now--though a rebel in arms against his
country--an honest man.

John Hallet, the writer is sorry to say, is also a real character; but
he does not disgrace the good city of Boston. He operates on a wider
field.

       *       *       *       *       *

That most excellent woman, Mrs. C. M. Kirkland, said to the author,
shortly after the fall of Fort Sumter: 'If you cannot shoulder a musket,
you can blow a bugle.' In this, and in a previous book, he has attempted
to blow that bugle. If the blasts are not as musical as they might be,
he has no apology to make for them. They have, at least, the ring of
_truth;_ and whether they please the public ear, or not, the author is
satisfied; for he knows that each one of his children will say of him,
when he is gone:

'_My_ father did not stand by with folded arms, while this great nation
was threatened with ruin. Against his best friends--against the
convictions of a lifetime--he spoke the TRUTH! He _tried_ to do
something for his country.'




'MAY MORNING'


  Oh! the sky is blue, and the sward is green,
    And the soft winds wake from the balmy west,--
  The leaves unfold in their gilded sheen,
    And the bird, in the tree top, builds its nest;
  The truant zephyr plumes her wings
    Once more, and quitting her perfumed bed,
  Soft calls on the sleeping flowers to wake,
    And sportive roams o'er each dewclad head.

  The bluebells nod within the wood,
    The snowdrop peeps from its milky bell,
  The motley Thora bends her hood,
    Whilst beauteous wild flowers line the dell;
  The wildbrier rose its fragrance breathes,
    The violet opes her cup of blue,
  The timid primrose lifts its leaves,
    And kingcups wake, all bathed in dew.

  From flower to flower the wild bee roams,
    Then buried within the cowslip's cup,
  He murmurs his low and music tones,
    Till she folds the wanton intruder up;
  The spring bird, wakening, soars on high,
    Gushing aloft its melting lay;
  Whilst painted clouds flit o'er the sky,
    All ushering in the dawn of May!

  Like a laughing nymph she springs to light,
    And tripping along in the world of flowers,
  Brushes the dew, in the morning bright,
    And weaves a joy for each heart of ours!
  With frolic hands, the daisy meek,
    From her lap of green she playful throws;
  Whilst the loveliest flowers spring round her feet,
    And fragrance bursts from the wild wood rose!

  Oh! glad is the heart, as through leafing trees
    The soft winds roam and in music play;
  Whilst the sick come forth for the healing breeze,
    And rejoice in the birth of the beauteous May,
  And glad is the heart of the joyous child,
    As bounding away through the tangled dell,
  It roams 'mid the flowers in greenwoods mild,
    And hunts the caged bee in the cowslip's bell!

  Oh! bright is this world--'tis a world of gems--
    And loveliness lingers where'er we tread;
  On the mountain top--or in lone wood glens:
    A spirit of beauty o'er all is spread!
  Then warmed be our hearts to that kindly Power
    That scatters bright roses o'er life's rough way;
  That unfolds the cup of the snowdrop's flower,
    And mantles the earth with the gems of May!




THE NAVY OF THE UNITED STATES.


There is perhaps no branch of our service which is more efficient at the
present time than that of the navy. Since the war of 1812, we have been
comparatively inactive, with the exception of some coast service during
the Mexican war, which was scarcely worth mentioning. In the present
civil war, however, our navy has increased in a tenfold
proportion--increased in activity and efficiency--and to-day, with its
superior force of iron-clad steamers, will favorably compare with any
navy on the globe in power, even though it may be inferior in a
numerical point.

Though crippled at first at the commencement of this rebellion by the
traitors among her officers in command--crippled by the loss of vessels
and property destroyed by rebels--her ranks thinned by resignations and
desertions, the navy struggled onward, slowly but surely, gaining
vitality and power, until, under the present administration, it has
'lengthened its cords and strengthened its stakes,' attaining its
present efficiency. Accessions have been made in vessels, new grades of
officers have been appointed, the various bureaus have been enlarged,
and an immense number of volunteer officers have been appointed, mostly
chosen from petty officers and seamen, or from the merchant service, to
command armed transports and the smaller craft used for the shallow
waters of the Atlantic coast. A strong blockade has been effected, a
number of valuable prizes taken, and the navy has rendered invaluable
service by its bombardments of the enemy's towns and fortifications, on
the coast of the United States as well as along the banks of the
Mississippi, Ohio, and Tennessee rivers. In fact, much is due to the
navy for its great efficiency in the present civil war in America.

We will give to the reader some statistics, taken from the September
issue of the Naval Register for 1862, from which an idea can be formed
of the great strength of this branch of our service. As these statistics
are official, they will serve as a valuable source of information to
those who are interested in the welfare of the country. Let us then
review the organization of the United States navy.

The organization of the navy is as follows: The Navy Department, which
consists of the office of the Secretary of the Navy and its various
bureaus, and the officers of the navy, consisting of officers of the
navy, officers of the marine corps, and warrant officers, besides
volunteer and acting volunteer officers, these two last being new
grades. There is no list of petty officers and seamen published in the
Register, these being simply kept on the unpublished rolls, kept in the
office of the Secretary of the Navy.

In the Navy Department proper may be found the following officers: The
Secretary of the Navy; his Assistant; the chiefs of the bureaus of yards
and docks, equipment, and recruiting, navigation, ordnance, construction
and repair, steam engineering, provisions and clothing, and medicine and
surgery. Since the publishing of the last annual Register, one of these
bureaus is a new organization--the bureau of navigation not yet
perfected. It will be seen by referring to this Register that the office
of the Secretary of the Navy and the bureaus attached, require, besides
the chief officers, one engineer, forty-four clerks, five draughtsmen,
and eight messengers.

The officers of the navy proper are divided into the following grades:
Rear admirals, commodores, captains, commanders, lieutenant commanders,
lieutenants, surgeons ranking with commanders, surgeons ranking with
lieutenants, passed assistant surgeons ranking next after lieutenants,
assistant surgeons ranking next after masters, paymasters ranking with
commanders, paymasters ranking with lieutenants, assistant paymasters,
chaplains, professors of mathematics, masters in the line of promotion,
masters not in the line of promotion, passed midshipmen, midshipmen
detached from the naval academy and ordered into active service,
boatswains, gunners, carpenters, sailmakers, navy agents, naval store
keepers, naval constructors, officers of the naval academy, officers on
special service, engineers in chief, first assistants, second
assistants, third assistants, and officers of the marine corps.

The volunteer officers of the navy are acting lieutenants, acting
volunteer lieutenants, acting masters, acting ensigns, acting master's
mates, acting assistant surgeons, acting assistant paymasters and
clerks, and acting first, second, and third engineers.

The petty officers of the navy are comprised as follows: Yeomen,
armorers, boatswains, gunners, carpenters, sailmakers, and armorer's
mates, master-at-arms, ship's corporals, coxswains, quarter masters,
quarter gunners, captains of forecastle, tops, afterguard, and hold,
coopers, painters, stewards, ship's officers, surgeons, assistant
surgeons and paymasters, stewards, nurses, cooks, masters of the band,
musicians, first and second class, seamen, ordinary seamen, landsmen,
boys, first and second class firemen, and coal heavers.

The ranking of officers of the navy compared to the grades of the army
may thus be enumerated: An admiral of the navy ranks with a major
general in the army, a commodore as a brigadier general, a captain as a
colonel, a commander as a lieutenant colonel, a lieutenant commander as
a major, a lieutenant as a captain, a master as a first lieutenant, and
an ensign (the new grade) as second lieutenant. The senior rear admiral
of the navy, Charles Stewart of Pennsylvania, now on the retired list,
ranks as a major general commanding in chief, and is the highest
official in the navy except the Secretary.

The pay of the navy is quite an item in the list of Government
expenditures. A few statistics relative to the expenditures will not
prove uninteresting to the reader. The pay of seven admirals in the
active list, commanding squadrons, and of fourteen rear admirals in the
retired list, is $87,000; of twenty-six commanders and six on the
retired list, is $117,860; of seventy captains on the active list,
$239,300; thirty-two on the retired list, $85,400; one hundred and
seventy commanders on active list, $554,380, and nine on the reserved
list, $18,800; two hundred and forty-four lieutenant commanders, active
list, $672,000; one hundred and eighty surgeons of various grades,
$708,000; ten passed assistant surgeons, $8,700; two hundred and
eighteen assistant surgeons, $422,900; eighty-one paymasters, $81,000;
sixty assistant paymasters, $67,850; twenty-three chaplains, $34,500;
twelve professors of mathematics, $21,600; seventeen masters, $18,320;
three passed midshipmen, and one midshipman (old list), $4,308; four
hundred and eighteen midshipmen, graduates of the naval academy,
$259,600; fifty-four gunners, $67,500; forty-two acting gunners,
$33,600; sixty carpenters, $60,000; forty-six sailmakers, $43,650; eight
navy agents, $25,000; twelve naval store keepers, $18,000; nine naval
constructors, $16,200; engineers and assistants, $756,700; officers of
the naval academy, $759,000; officers of the marine corps, $536,000;
acting volunteer officers of the navy of all grades, $2,975,300, and
petty officers and seamen, $2,560,000; making a total of $10,863,118,
for pay alone.

Let us add to this, other expenses to swell out the list. For clerk hire
alone it is said that $600,000 is annually paid out; for navy yards and
depots, $12,583,280 64; for the different bureaus, $8,325,161; and for
contingent expenses, $2,600,000. Add to this the pay of the hospitals,
$1,200,000; for magazines, $200,000; repair and equipment, $11,400,000;
chartering and purchasing of vessels for naval purposes, $10,800,000;
thus making a total of $47,708,441 64, which, added to the pay of the
navy, makes the annual expenditure $58,571,559 64.

Let us now turn our attention to the vessels of the United States navy.
In this department has the navy greatly increased within a few years. To
give the reader an idea of our navy, we append the following statistical
account of the vessels, giving their class, tonnage, number of guns,
name, and station, which cannot but be of great interest to all who are
interested in the affairs of the nation. We will give them in the
following table:

SHIPS OF THE LINE--6.

  Alabama        84 guns,   2,663 tons.
  New Orleans    84 "       2,805 "
  North Carolina 84 "       2,633 "
  Ohio           84 "       2,757 "
  Vermont        84 "       2,633 "
  Virginia       84 "       2,633 "

Of these, the Alabama is on the stocks at Kittery, Maine, the New
Orleans on the stocks at Sackett's Harbor, and the Virginia on the
stocks at Boston. The Vermont is store ship at Port Royal, South
Carolina, while the North Carolina and Ohio are receiving ships at
Boston and New York. The Pennsylvania, 120-gun ship, was destroyed by
the rebels at Gosport, Virginia, last year. This class of vessels are
the most ineffective we have in the service, the Ohio being the only one
which has done good service.

SAILING FRIGATES--6.

  Brandywine      50 guns,  1,726 tons.
  Potomac         50 "      1,726 "
  Sabine          50 "      1,726 "
  Santee          50 "      1,726 "
  St. Lawrence    50 "      1,726 "
  Independence[2] 50 "      2,257 "

The Brandywine, Independence, and Potomac are used as receiving and
store ships. The Sabine is at New London recruiting, the Santee is in
ordinary at Boston, and the St. Lawrence is attached to the East Gulf
Squadron.

SAILING SLOOPS--21.

  Constitution     50 guns,  1,607 tons.
  Constellation    22 "      1,452 "
  Cyane            18 "        792 "
  Dale[3]          15 "        566 "
  Decatur          10 "        566 "
  Falmouth          2 "        703 "
  Fredonia          2 "        800 "
  Granite           1 "        --- "
  Jamestown        22 "        985 "
  John Adams       18 "        700 "
  Macedonian       22 "      1,341 "
  Marion           15 "        566 "
  Portsmouth       17 "      1,022 "
  Preble           10 "        566 "
  Saratoga         18 "        882 "
  Savannah         24 "      1,726 "
  St. Marys        22 "        958 "
  St. Louis        18 "        700 "
  Vandalia         20 "        783 "
  Vincennes        18 "        700 "
  Warren            2 "        691 "

  BRIGS--4.

  Bainbridge        6 guns,    259 tons.
  Bohio             2 "        196 "
  Perry             9 "        280 "
  Sea Foam          3 "        264 "

Of the sailing sloops and brigs the following are in active service:
Saratoga, coast of Africa; Mediterranean Squadron, the Constellation;
the West Gulf Squadron, Portsmouth, Preble, and Vincennes; Pacific
Squadron, Cyane, and St. Marys; St. Louis on special service; the Dale
and Vandalia in the South Atlantic Squadron; the Constitution,
Macedonian, Marion, and Savannah, as school and practice ships; the
Falmouth, Warren, and Fredonia as store ships, and the sloop of war,
Decatur, in ordinary. In the West Gulf Squadron are the brigs Bohio and
Sea Foam; in the East Gulf Squadron is the brig Perry, while the
Bainbridge is at Aspinwall.

TRANSPORT SHIPS--14.

  Charles Phelps    1 gun,     362 tons.
  Courier           3 "        554 "
  Fearnot           6 "      1,012 "
  Ino               9 "        895 "
  Kittatinny        4 "        421 "
  Morning Light     8 "        937 "
  Nightingale       1 "      1,000 "
  National Guard    4 "      1,046 "
  Onward            8 "        874 "
  Pampero           4 "      1,375 "
  Roman             1 "        350 "
  Supply            4 "        547 "
  Shepard Knapp     8 "        838 "
  William Badger    1 "        334 "

The ships are divided as follows: The Supply and William Badger are in
the North Atlantic Squadron; the Ino, the Onward, and Shepard Knapp in
the South Atlantic Squadron; the Fearnot, the Kittatinny, and Morning
Light in the West Gulf Squadron; the Courier is used as a store ship at
Port Royal, the Charles Phelps as a coal ship, and the Roman as ordnance
vessel at Hampden Roads, Virginia.

TRANSPORT BARKS--16.

  Amanda           6 guns,  368 tons.
  Arthur           6 "      554 "
  A. Houghton      2 "      326 "
  Braziliera       6 "      540 "
  Ethan Allen      7 "      556 "
  Fernandina       6 "      297 "
  J. C. Kuhn        5 "      888 "
  Jas. L. Davis    4 "      461 "
  Jas. S. Chambers 5 "      401 "
  Kingfisher       5 "      450 "
  Midnight         5 "      386 "
  Pursuit          6 "      603 "
  Release          2 "      327 "
  Roebuck          4 "      455 "
  Restless         4 "      265 "
  Wm. G. Anderson  7 "      593 "

In the East Gulf Squadron are the barks Amanda, Ethan Allen, Jas. L.
Davis, Jas. S. Chambers, Kingfisher, and Pursuit. In the West Gulf
Squadron, the Arthur Houghton, J. C. Kuhn, Midnight, and W. G. Anderson.
In the South Atlantic Squadron the Braziliera, Fernandina, Roebuck, and
Restless, while the Release is a store ship in the Mediterranean. To
these may be added one barkantine, the Horace Beals, of 3 guns and 296
tons, employed in the Western Gulf Squadron.

SCHOONERS--8.

  Beauregard     1 gun,  101 tons.
  Chotank        1 "      53 "
  Dart           1 "      94 "
  G. W. Blunt    1 "     121 "
  Hope           1 "     134 "
  Sam Rotan      2 "     212 "
  Sam Houston    1 "      66 "
  Wanderer       4 "     300 "

In the Potomac Flotilla is the schooner Chotank. The G. W. Blunt and the
Hope are in the South Atlantic Squadron; the Dart and Sam Houston in the
West Gulf Squadron, while the Sam Rotan, Wanderer, and Beauregard (the
last named captured from the rebels) are in the East Gulf Squadron.

YACHTS--2

  America: South Atlantic Squadron.
  Corypheus: West Gulf Squadron.

These vessels are used chiefly as tenders and despatch vessels.

MORTAR SCHOONERS--18.

  Arletta           3 guns,  199 tons.
  Adolf Hugel       3 "      269 "
  C. P. Williams    3 "      210 "
  Dan Smith         3 "      149 "
  Geo. Mangham      3 "      274 "
  Henry Janes       3 "      261 "
  John Griffith     3 "      246 "
  M. Vassar         3 "      182 "
  Maria A. Wood     2 "      344 "
  Norfolk Packet    3 "      349 "
  Orvetta           3 "      171 "
  Para              3 "      190 "
  Racer             3 "      252 "
  Rachel Seman      2 "      303 "
  Sophronia         3 "      217 "
  Sarah Bruen       3 "      233 "
  T. A. Ward        3 "      284 "
  Wm. Bacon         3 "      183 "

Of these eighteen mortar schooners, five are at Baltimore, two in the
North Atlantic Squadron, five in the West Gulf Squadron, one in the East
Gulf Squadron, four in the Potomac Flotilla, and one in the James River
Flotilla.

We have thus given the statistics of the sailing vessels of the navy. We
now give a table of the steam vessels of all descriptions in our navy,
which are the most valuable auxiliaries we have. It is probably the
most effective steam navy in the world, and in its department of huge
iron-clads cannot be excelled even by the navies of the old world. The
steam vessels of our navy may thus be enumerated:

STEAM FRIGATES--9.

  Colorado               48 guns, 3,435 tons.
  Niagara                34  "    4,582  "
  Powhatan               11  "    2,415  "
  Minnesota              48  "    3,307  "
  Mississippi[4]         12  "    1,692  "
  Princeton               8  "      900  "
  San Jacinto            12  "    1,446  "
  Saranac                 9  "    1,446  "
  Susquehanna            17  "    2,450  "

The Niagara, one of the finest screw frigates in the navy, and which,
with the Colorado, is now repairing, is noted for being connected with
the Atlantic cable expedition, as well as for conveying the Japanese
embassy home. She is the pet of the navy, and great credit is due the
late George Steers for such a splendid specimen of naval architecture.
The Powhattan, Minnesota, and Mississippi are attached to the South
Atlantic Squadron; the San Jacinto to the East Gulf Squadron; the
Susquehanna to the West Gulf Squadron, and the Saranac to the Pacific
Squadron. The old Princeton is the receiving ship at Philadelphia. Of
these steam frigates, six are screw, and three sidewheel.

STEAM SLOOPS--10.

  Brooklyn          24 guns,   2,070 tons.
  Canandaigua        9  "      1,395  "
  Dacotah            6  "        997  "
  Hartford          25  "      1,990  "
  Housatonic         9  "      1,240  "
  Lancaster         22  "      2,362  "
  Oneida             9  "      1,032  "
  Pensacola         22  "      2,158  "
  Richmond          26  "      1,929  "
  Wachusett          9  "      1,032  "

The Brooklyn, Hartford, Housatonic, Pensacola, Richmond, and Oneida are
in the West Gulf Squadron; the Canandaigua in the South Atlantic
Squadron; the Lancaster in the Pacific, and the Dacotah and the
Wachusett in the West India Squadron.

STEAM GUNBOATS--40.

  Conemaugh        8 guns,     955 tons.
  Crusader         6  "        545  "
  Cambridge        5  "        858  "
  Chippewa         4  "        507  "
  Cayuga           6  "        507  "
  Chocura          4  "        507  "
  Huron            4  "        507  "
  Itasca           4  "        507  "
  Kanawha          4  "        507  "
  Kennebec         4  "        507  "
  Kineo            4  "        507  "
  Katahdin         4  "        507  "
  Mohawk           7  "        459  "
  Mohican          6  "        994  "
  Mystic           4  "        451  "
  Marblehead       4  "        507  "
  Monticello       7  "        665  "
  Miami            7  "        630  "
  Naragansett      5  "        809  "
  Ottawa           4  "        507  "
  Owasco           4  "        507  "
  Octorora         6  "        829  "
  Pawnee           9  "      1,289  "
  Pocahontas       5  "        694  "
  Pembina          4  "        507  "
  Penobscot        4  "        507  "
  Panola           4  "        507  "
  Penguin          6  "        389  "
  Pontiac          8  "        974  "
  Seminole         5  "        801  "
  Sciota           4  "        507  "
  Seneca           4  "        507  "
  Sagamore         4  "        507  "
  Sebago           6  "        832  "
  Tahoma           4  "        507  "
  Unadilla         4  "        507  "
  Wyandotte        4  "        458  "
  Wyoming          6  "        997  "
  Wissahickon      4  "        507  "
  Winona           4  "        507  "

Of these gunboats, some of them rated as steam sloops of the third
class, twelve are in the South Atlantic Squadron; five in the North
Atlantic Squadron; ten in the West Gulf Squadron; three in the East Gulf
Squadron; two in the Potomac Flotilla; one in the East Indies; one in
the Pacific; one at Philadelphia; and five under repairs at the
different navy yards.

AUXILIARY STEAM GUNBOATS--47.

  Anacostia        2 guns, 217 tons.
  Aroostook        4  "    507   "
  Albatross        4  "    378   "
  Currituck         5 guns, 193 tons.
  Perry             4 "     513 "
  Barney            4 "     513 "
  Clifton           6 "     892 "
  Ellen             4 "     341 "
  E. B. Hale        4 "     192 "
  Fort Henry        6 "     519 "
  Genesee           4 "     803 "
  Huntsville        4 "     817 "
  Hunchback         4 "     517 "
  Harriet Lane[5]   4 "     619 "
  John Hancock      3 "     382 "
  Jacob Bell        3 "     229 "
  Louisiana         4 "     295 "
  Mercidita         7 "     776 "
  Montgomery        5 "     787 "
  Mt. Vernon        3 "     625 "
  Maratanza         6 "     786 "
  Memphis           4 "     791 "
  Norwich           5 "     431 "
  New London        5 "     221 "
  Potomska          5 "     287 "
  Patroon           5 "     183 "
  Paul Jones        6 "     863 "
  Port Royal        8 "     805 "
  Saginaw           3 "     453 "
  Sumter            4 "     460 "
  Stars and Stripes 5 "     407 "
  Somerset          6 "     521 "
  Sachem            5 "     197 "
  Southfield        4 "     751 "
  Tioga             6 "     819 "
  Uncas             3 "     192 "
  Underwriter       4 "     331 "
  Valley City       5 "     190 "
  Victoria          3 "     254 "
  Water Witch       3 "     378 "
  Wasmutta          5 "     270 "
  Western World     5 "     441 "
  Wyandank          2 "     399 "
  Westfield         6 "     891 "
  Yankee            3 "     328 "
  Young Rover       5 "     418 "
  Yantic            4 "     593 "

Six of these auxiliary steam gunboats are in the Potomac Flotilla; eight
in the West Gulf Squadron; thirteen in the North Atlantic Squadron; nine
in the South Atlantic Squadron; four in the Eastern Gulf Squadron; one
in the West India Fleet; one at San Francisco, and five in ordinary.

TRANSPORT STEAMERS ALTERED INTO WAR VESSELS--58

  Alabama           8 guns, 1,261 tons.
  Alleghany         6 "       989 "
  Augusta           8 "     1,310 "
  Bienville        10 "     1,558 "
  Florida          10 "     1,261 "
  Flag              9 "       963 "
  Hatteras          3 "     1,100 "
  Jas. Adger        9 "     1,151 "
  Keystone State    9 "     1,364 "
  Kensington        3 "     1,052 "
  Massachusetts     5 "     1,155 "
  Quaker City       9 "     1,600 "
  Rhode Island      7 "     1,517 "
  R. R. Cuyler      8 "     1,202 "
  South Carolina    6 "     1,165 "
  Santiago de Cuba 10 "     1,667 "
  State of Georgia  9 "     1,204 "
  Tennessee         1 "     1,275 "
  Cimmerone         10 "       860 "
  Connecticut       5 "     1,800 "
  Dawn              3 "       391 "
  Daylight          4 "       682 "
  Delaware          3 "       357 "
  Dragon            1 "       118 "
  Flambeau          2 "       900 "
  Issac Smith       9 "       453 "
  Mahaska           6 "       832 "
  Morse             2 "       513 "
  Planter           2 "       300 "
  Satellite         2 "       217 "
  Shasheen          2 "       180 "
  Sonoma            6 "       955 "
  Thos. Freeborn    2 "       269 "
  A. C. Powell      1 "        65 "
  Alfred Robb       4 "        75 "
  Ceres             1 "       144 "
  C[oe]ur de Leon   2 "        60 "
  Cohasset          2 "       100 "
  Ella              2 "       230 "
  Eastport          8 "       700 "
  Henry Brinker     1 "       108 "
  Hetzel            2 "       --- "
  John P. Jackson   6 "       777 "
  John L. Lockwood  2 "       182 "
  Leslie            2 "       100 "
  Mercury           2 "       187 "
  Madgie            2 "       218 "
  O. M. Petit       2 "       165 "
  Pulaski           1 "       395 "
  Resolute          1 "        90 "
  Reliance          1 "        90 "
  Rescue            1 "       111 "
  Stepping Stones   1 "       226 "
  Teaser            2 "        90 "
  Vixen             2 "       --- "
  Whitehead         1 "       136 "
  Young America     1 "       171 "
  Zouave            1 "       127 "

Most of these auxiliary altered steamers have been purchased and
refitted for naval service. A number of our ocean mail steamers have
been purchased by the Department, such as the Augusta, Florida, Alabama,
Quaker City, Keystone State, and State of Georgia; while others have
been taken from our rivers flowing into the Atlantic, on which this last
class of vessels were formerly plying. In the South Atlantic Squadron
are fifteen of this class of transport steamers; fifteen in the North
Atlantic; four in the Western Gulf; one in the East Gulf; one in the
Brazil, and three in the West India Squadrons. There are also twelve in
the Potomac Flotilla; one in the Western Flotilla; two supply steamers;
and three in ordinary; with one receiving ship. In the Potomac Flotilla
is the captured rebel gunboat Teaser. The De Soto may also be added to
this class, carrying 9 guns of 1,600 tons, and at present attached to
the Western Gulf Squadron.

We now call the attention of the reader to that most formidable class of
vessels in our navy,

IRON-CLAD STEAMERS--15.

The iron-clads of our navy are divided into two classes--the river and
ocean steamers, as also steam rams. We will first notice the ocean
class:

  Galena         6 guns, 738 tons.
  Monitor[6]     3 "     776 "
  New Ironsides 18 "   3,486 "
  Roanoke        6 "   3,435 "

The Galena and Monitor have been well tested in the present war, but the
Galena at present is considered a failure. The New Ironsides, now on
special service, is said to be one of the most formidable iron-clad
vessels in the world. Of the iron-clad river steamers, we enumerate the
following:

  Benton          16 guns, 1,000 tons.
  Baron de Kalb   13 "       512 "
  Cairo           13 "       512 "
  Cincinnati      13 "       512 "
  Carondelet      13 "       512 "
  Essex            7 "     1,000 "
  Louisville      13 "       468 "
  Lexington        7 "       500 "
  Mound City      13 "       512 "
  Pittsburgh      13 "       512 "
  Tyler            9 "       600 "

The Galena is in the North Atlantic Squadron; the New Ironsides in
special service; the Roanoke repairing in New York; and the river
iron-clads are attached to the Western Flotilla.

IRON-CLAD RAMS--12.

  General Bragg        2 guns, 700 tons.
  Gen. Sterling Price  - "     400 "
  General Pillow       2 "     500 "
  Great Western.       - "     800 "
  Kosciusko            - "     --- "
  Lafayette            - "   1,000 "
  Little Rebel         3 "     400 "
  Lioness              - "     --- "
  Monarch              - "     --- "
  Queen of the West[7] - "     --- "
  Switzerland          - "     --- "
  Simpson              - "     --- "

Six of these rams, though finished, have not received their armament.
They are all attached to the Western River Flotilla. Five of these were
captured from the rebels, and one was purchased.

OTHER VESSELS NOT CLASSED--22.

  Iroquois         9 guns, 1,016 tons.
  Kearsage         7 "     1,031 "
  Tuscarora       10 "       997 "
  Wabash          48 "     3,274 "
  Clara Dolsen    -- "     1,000 "
  Choctaw         -- "     1,000 "
  Conestoga       -- "       --- "
  Darlington      -- "       --- "
  Ellis            2 "       --- "
  Eugenie         -- "       --- "
  Gem of the Sea   4 "       371 "
  Gemsbok          7 "       622 "
  Judge Torrence  -- "       600 "
  King Philip     -- "       --- "
  Michigan         1 "       582 "
  Mount Washington-- "       --- "
  Magnolia         3 "       --- "
  Oliver H. Lee    3 "       199 "
  Philadelphia    -- "       --- "
  Relief           2 "       468 "
  Stetten         -- "       --- "
  Ben Morgan      -- "       407 "

Among these vessels unclassed, are one steam frigate, three steam
sloops, eight ocean and four river steamers, three barks, one schooner,
and one mortar schooner.

UNFINISHED VESSELS OF THE NAVY

STEAM FRIGATE--1.

  Franklin       50 guns 3,684 tons.

STEAM SLOOPS--7.

  Lackawanna      9 guns,  1,533 tons.
  Ticonderoga     9 "      1,533 "
  Shenandoah      9 "      1,378 "
  Monongahela     9 "      1,378 "
  Sacramento      9 "      1,367 "
  Juniata         9 "      1,240 "
  Ossipee         9 "      1,240 "

STEAM GUNBOATS--28.

  Puritan (iron-clad).  4 guns, 3,265 tons.
  Tonawanda             4 "     1,564 "
  Tecumseh              2 "     1,034 "
  Onondaga              4 "     1,250 "
  Ascutney              8 "       974 "
  Agawam                8 "       974 "
  Chenango              8 "       974 "
  Chicopee              8 "       974 "
  Eutaw                 8 "       974 "
  Iosco                 8 "       974 "
  Mattabeeset           8 "       974 "
  Mingoe                8 "       974 "
  Mackinaw              8 "       974 "
  Metacomet             8 "       974 "
  Otsego                8 "       974 "
  Pontoosac             8 "       974 "
  Sassacus              8 "       974 "
  Shamrock              8 "       974 "
  Taconey               8 "       974 "
  Tallapoosa            8 "       974 "
  Wateree               8 "       974 "
  Wyalusing             8 "       974 "
  Lenape                8 "       974 "
  Maumee                4 "       593 "
  Com. Morris           1 "       532 "
  Com. McDonough        6 "       532 "
  Calhoun               4 "       508 "
  Com. Hull             3 "       376 "

IRON CLAD OCEAN GUNBOATS--22.

  Dunderburg    10 guns, 5,019 tons.
  Dictator       2 "     3,033 "
  Monadnock      4 "     1,564 "
  Miantonimah    4 "     1,564 "
  Agamenticus    4 "     1,564 "
  Canonicus      2 "     1,034 "
  Manhattan      3 "     1,034 "
  Mahopac        2 "     1,034 "
  Manayunk       2 "     1,034 "
  Catskill       2 "       844 "
  Camanche       2 "       844 "
  Lehigh         2 "       844 "
  Montauk        2 "       844 "
  Nantucket      2 "       844 "
  Nahant         2 "       844 "
  Patapsco       2 "       844 "
  Passaic        2 "       844 "
  Sangamon       2 "       844 "
  Weehawken      2 "       844 "
  Moodna         2 "       677 "
  Marietta       2 "       479 "
  Sandusky       2 "       479 "

IRON CLAD RIVER GUNBOATS--12

  Catawba        2 guns, 1,034 tons.
  Tippecanoe     2 "     1,034 "
  Chickasaw      4 "       970 "
  Kickapoo       4 "       970 "
  Milwaukee      4 "       970 "
  Winnebago      4 "       970 "
  Tuscumbia      3 "       565 "
  Ozark          2 "       578 "
  Osage          2 "       523 "
  Neosho         2 "       523 "
  Indianola[8]   2 "       442 "
  Chillicothe    2 "       303 "

The most formidable class of these unfinished vessels are the iron-clad
gunboats. Of these are four of immense size, viz., the Puritan,
Tonawanda, Tecumseh, and Onondaga. The mammoth iron-clad of all is the
enormous Dunderburg, carrying 10 guns of from fifteen to twenty inches
in calibre, and having a tonnage of 5,019 tons. The Dictator is another
immense iron-clad. Of the river Gunboat Fleet, the Catawba and
Tippecanoe stand as first class, carrying heavy nine and eleven inch
Dahlgren guns.

The building of these ocean iron-clads is at the following places: Nine
of them are building at New York; three at Brooklyn; one at Portsmouth;
two at Jersey City; four at Boston; two at Chester; two at Pittsburgh;
one at Brownsville, Pennsylvania; and one at Wilmington, Delaware. The
river iron-clads are built at the following places: Five at Cincinnati;
six at St. Louis; and one at Mound City, Illinois. Of the first-class
steam gunboats, eleven are building at New York; four at Boston; two at
Portland, Maine; two at Portsmouth, New Hampshire; one at Bordentown,
New Jersey; one at Brooklyn; two at Philadelphia; one at Chester; and
two at Baltimore, Maryland.

The other vessels building in the yards are as follows: the steam
frigate Franklin, at Portsmouth, New Hampshire; the steam sloops
Juniata, Monongahela, and Shenandoah, at Philadelphia; the Lackawanna
and Ticonderoga, at New York; and the Ossipee and Sacramento, at
Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

There are a large number of contracts out for new gunboats and steamers,
which, when completed, will make us the most formidable navy in the
world. In conclusion, we will give to the reader the following table,
classifying the vessels now in our navy, and giving statistics of their
tonnage and the number of guns which they carry:

RECAPITULATION.

                        Vessels.    Guns.  Tons.
  Ships of the line          6      504    16,124
  Sailing frigates           7      348    14,161
  Sailing sloops            24      372    21,151
  Brigs                      4       20       999
  Transportation ships      16       64    11,420
  Transportation barks      16       91     8,468
  Schooners                  8       12     1,081
  Yachts                     2       --     -----
  Mortar schooners          18       52     4,316
  Steam frigates             9      199    21,673
  Steam sloops              10      161    16,205
  Steam gunboats            40      200    24,783
  Auxiliary steam gunboats  47      209    23,875
  Transport steamers altered
  to war vessels            58      240    36,170
  Iron-clad ocean steamers   4       32     8,435
  Iron-clad river steamers  11      130     6,640
  Iron-clad rams            12        7     3,800
  Other vessels not classed 14        9     3,788

Unfinished Vessels of the Navy.

  Frigates                   1       50     3,684
  Steam sloops               7       68     9,669
  Steam gunboats            28      184    35,160
  Iron-clad ocean gunboats  22       58    26,955
  Iron-clad river gunboats  12       33     8,682

The total number of vessels of all classes in the navy, is 376, having a
tonnage of 307,234 tons, and carrying 3,038 guns of heavy calibre.

With these statistics, compiled from 'official' sources, we conclude
this article, and in our next shall take up the subject of naval gunnery
in the United States.




THREE MODERN ROMANCES.


'GUY LIVINGSTONE,' 'SWORD AND GOWN,' AND 'BARREN HONOR.'

This terrible power of fictitious invention, wherewith God has endowed
man, and which now-a-days we take readily enough, without comment, is
yet the growth of comparatively modern times, the development within a
few centuries of a new faculty. The Greek never solaced his leisure with
the latest tale of a gifted Charicles or Aristarchus, and the grave
Roman would have been as much startled by a 'new novel' as by the
apparition of a steam engine. The famous Minerva press was the first
mighty wellspring whence gushed the broad and rapid torrent of cheap
fiction. This perennial fountain has long ceased to flow, yet has its
disappearance left no unsatisfied void. The procreation of human kind
has failed to support the elaborate theory of Malthus, but had the sage
philosopher transferred his calculations from the sons of men to works
of fiction, then indeed he might stand forth the prophet of a striking
truth. The extensive plain over which this flood is spread seems even to
be extending its limits, and a spongy soil of unlimited capacity is
ready ever to absorb the fresh advance of waves. It is indeed striking
to observe how authors and men of talent have increased, so vastly out
of all proportion with other classes of men. Observing it, the political
economist may well shout 'Io triumphe!' for that even in so delicate and
intangible a matter as intellectual gifts, the famous doctrine of supply
and demand is so thoroughly carried out. We raise, however, no hue and
cry after 'poor trash.' Neither have we the blood-thirsty wish to run to
ground the panting scribbler, or to adorn ourselves with the glories of
his 'brush.' Let those who countenance him by reading his works, and who
can reconcile the purchase thereof with their consciences, answer to
their fellow men for the inevitable consequences. But it must be
confessed that there is in this department a sad want. All readers of
moderate discrimination must have felt it painfully. In the literature
of fiction we need organization. How do we know a good tea from a bad?
Is it by the universal consent of the good people of China--by a
democratic 'censeatur' of the celestial nation? Not at all. Every
variety is tasted by men who rinse their mouths after each swallow, and
the comparative merits are gauged and graduated by adepts, who make it
the sole business and profession of their lives. A similar process we
need in fiction. The old system of criticism in reviews and magazines
worked well in its day, but it won't do now. The era of the
old-fashioned novel critic has gone by. He knows it, and his voice is
seldom heard. Even a numerous body, working promiscuously and without
conjunction, could not accomplish much. The only manner in which the
requisite result could be brought about would be by a regularly
organized set of men, working under direction and regulated by
authority, like the body of tax assessors or national judiciaries. Such
a corps should be trained to their work as to a profession like that of
law or medicine, having brotherhoods in every publishing town or city,
working together and subordinately, like the order of the Jesuits. They
should test every work before it was given to the public, and brand it
with precisely its mark of real merit. And thus might be accomplished a
most inestimable public service. In France such a system might be
practicable, and not hostile to the spirit and institutions of a nation
accustomed to have everything, even to the play programmes of the
theatre, regulated by the powers that be. But in America, home of
democracy and fatherland of individual independence, such a scheme, so
invaluable though so impossible, must, we fear, ever remain a
tantalizing vision. As it is, of course many a man of real ability is
drowned in the rushing waves of multitudinous authors, and his works
pass undistinguished to that unknown grave which gapes so mysteriously
in some hidden recess of the universe, and silently swallows yearly the
vast masses of printed paper which has done its brief work and been
thrown by read or unread, forgotten. It is to assist in the rescue of a
struggling author from this yawning abyss that the present article is
sent forth, a plank in the shipwreck.

Who may be the object of our present criticism, we must confess we know
not. Whether it be a brother man, or whether our words of praise may win
us the kind regards of a 'gentle ladye,' we can only conjecture. Our
process must be _in rem_, not _in personam_. 'It'--for thus perforce we
must speak of our Unknown--weareth an iron mask of inscrutable mystery,
as complete as that of the all-baffling Junius. The field, however, of
speculation is open to our wandering reflection. Herein we guide
ourselves by natural signs, the configurations of the stars and the
marks of the soil. We judge from the mould in which the favorite male
characters are cast, and from the traits invariably bestowed upon the
heroines, also by the general choice of scenery, by the groupings, the
'properties.' Upon such authority of intrinsic evidence we have no
hesitation in pronouncing the writer to be a man. Certain novel-writing
ladies indeed are given to depicting most royal heroes, types of the
ideal man, glorified beings endowed with every charm of physique and of
spirit. Such find an irresistible fascination in allowing their fancy to
run wild riot and poetic revel in contemplation of a wonderful male
creature, so graceful, so beautiful, so strong, so brave, so masterly,
so bad or so good as the case may be--a spirit of chivalry incarnate in
the perfection of the flesh. They cannot build a shrine too lofty, nor
burn too generous store of incense before this exalted one. The man, as
he reads, smiles. Such a brother has never been born to him of
woman--never since the days of Adam in paradise, neither ever shall be.
The fair votaress standeth without the vail of the temple, nor have its
mystic recesses ever disclosed to her scrutinizing vision actual 'Man.'
Let us not however harshly dispel such illusions, neither drench with
the cold flood of unnecessary ingenuousness the glowing embers of myrrh
and frankincense. Occasionally, perchance, some sinful human, conscious
within himself of no demerits beyond his fellows, may repine at passing
comparison with this shadowy conception. But as a general rule, it is
wise enough to tolerate such pleasant vagaries of worshipping woman. Of
this fair description are the proud statues which look out upon us in
Apollo-like majesty from the galleries in 'Guy Livingstone,' 'Sword and
Gown,' 'Barren Honors.' Guy, Royston Keene, and Alan Wyverne, are such
fanciful delineations, such marvels of bodily glory and chivalrous
spirit. They might be drawn by a woman. The accompaniments are in
admirable keeping; and the whole scenery is gotten up to match, and most
unexceptionally. Our characters are dissipated upon a scale suited to
the heroic age and the primeval constitution of the race. They gamble
quite _en prince_, and carouse most royally. They have a capacity for
terrible potations, should mischance or crossed affections so incline
them; yet they can seldom plead the latter excuse, for we are given to
understand that woman-kind are born to be their helpless slaves and
victims. They are perpetually doing deeds of terrible '_derring-do_;'
upon the backs of unmanageable steeds they leap limitless chasms and the
tallest of walls; they gallop to death in battle and dispel _ennui_ in
midnight conflicts with desperate poachers. Such scenes are quite within
the scope of some feminine imaginations, but scarcely such a power of
description as that wherewith we have them here set forth. Women thrill
sometimes at fierce tales of stalwart knock-down struggles, many of them
will back fearlessly the most mettlesome of thoroughbreds; but when it
comes to talk thereof, they strive in vain for adequate power of
language. The best words and the strongest sentences will not come.
These demand the clarion roundness and ring essentially masculine--very
_virile_ indeed. The muscular gripe of a man--not the white, tapering
fingers of any maiden--held the pen which wrote so gloriously of
Livingstone's terrible riding, of Royston Keene's bloody sabre charges.
We know it by unerring instinct, as we could tell a morsel of the smooth
cheek of the damsel from the grizzled jowl of man.

But as usual, the crowning glory of most anxious labor is to be sought
in the female characters. These are nearly all of the majestic, haughty,
and queen-like caste--tall, imperious beauties, empresses of society, to
whom men are slaves, and life a triumphal march of unbroken conquests.
So it is at least until they meet some one terrible subduer of woman--a
Guy or a Keene--in whom they recognize masterhood, and the right and
power to reign. With the last stateliness of royalty these magnificent
presences glide through the proud pomp and pageantry of their
surroundings, graceful as swans, faultless in classic form, and face as
white as Grecian marbles, domineering as sisters of Cæsars, violet eyed,
statuesque, cold upon the chiselled surface, but aglow with the white
heat of feeling and forceful passion beneath. How blue are their clear
veins interlacing beneath a crystalline skin!--for their blood is a more
sublimed fluid than that which waters the clay of ordinary humanity.
They have with them an unutterable glory of conscious power, the
magnificence of a perfect, God-given nature, such a haughty spirit of
rivalless dominion as might have swelled the soul of a Jewish queen,
monarch of Israel, ruler of God's chosen people in the day of their
unbroken pride, when she felt that none greater than herself dwelt upon
the globe. But with inevitable tread approaches the universal moral
which points the tale. The measured step of the godlike hero echoeth
along the corridors. The royal maiden, hearing the ominous tramp, is
cognizant of an unwonted thrill and a sensation unfelt before. Her
prophetic instinct telleth her too truly that her wild independence is
concluded, that the day of bondage and of fetters has dawned, that the
inexorable One, who alone in all the millions of created men is able, is
even now present with, the gyves of her slavery in his hand. But the
denouement is never at the bridal altar. Our host entertaineth us with
no loves of Strephon and Phillis, nor leads beneath shady arcades to a
vine-clad cottage, wherein is love and rich cream and homemade butter.
The three sisters, the dread Moiræ, in their darksome cavern, spinning
the golden thread of destiny, reel from their distaff no bright soft
film of wedded happiness. The polished metal, many times refined, would
never show half its qualities were it not subject to unwonted tests. We
suffer according to our powers of endurance, and are tried according to
our gifts. Else why are the powers and the gifts given to us by a
Providence which never wasteth, nor doeth in freakish negligence. The
yoke of love is not weighty enough to bow sufficiently the curving neck.
With a love which cannot be satisfied comes the mighty temptation to sin
and disgrace. Even into this black chasm our beauties look with steady
eye, and meditate the step. It is a part of their self-sustaining nature
and towering spirit to wreak their own will. Once let them give their
love to man, and it is the passion of their lives. Of gossip and the
wagging tongue of scandal, and of that vague, shadowy phantom,
reputation, they reck not. These unsubstantial fleeting barriers are
dissipated in an instant before the mighty breath of their omnipotent
passion. Their love is the great fact of their lives. Why should it
yield to less powerful sentiments, to inferior satisfactions. If the
laws and sentiments of the commonalty of mankind oppose, why gain the
lesser, palling pleasure of a fair character among our fellows whom we
care not for, and lose the one joy of existence? Such, in all three of
these novels, to a greater or less extent, is the theory of action of
the female characters.

They are however rescued from the last degree of actual crime in each
case by the good taste of the author, feeling that such chapters had
better not be written voluntarily in fiction, or perchance by his love
for his proud maidens, whom he cannot taint with degradation in act,
even if the sin upon their souls be wellnigh as black in the eyes of a
strict judge, arbiter alike of the seen and the unseen. Such are hardly
the conceptions wherewith the brain of a cultivated woman would teem. It
were too glaring treason to her sex and to her own nature. Although it
must be said that there is no word of coarseness or bold suggestion of
wickedness to be found upon any page. So far from it, we scarcely find
recognized the crime to which the maidens are tempted, and we
half-ignorantly wonder at the existence of compunctions, excited at we
can scarcely say what. But the author knew probably well enough, and if
she were one of the sisterhood of women, then must she be isolated and
at enmity with them all. Her hand is against every woman's and every
woman's hand against her.

Perhaps there is a fault in the tone of these novels. This may have been
inferred by some strict moralists from the preceding paragraph. But they
have indeed not the slightest trace of impropriety about them. They are
not tainted in the slightest with the insidious viciousness of French
novels. Their fault arises from rather an opposite tendency of mind and
a different train of feelings. They are of the world, worldly. They are
cold and sarcastic; they inculcate self-sufficiency, and preach to man
to be a tower of strength in himself, not always in the praiseworthy
Christian way. There is no single word of scoffing or disrespect for
religion, no slur upon it whatsoever. Only we are aware, as by an
instinct, that in the circle of our characters it is wholly ignored. In
their world it is not an agent, whether for themselves or others. It is
as unrecognized a system as is Mohammedanism or Buddhism with ourselves.
The heroes have all 'seen the world' in the most thorough and terrible
sense of those words. For them virtue and vice are much alike. Their
wills are iron. They fix their eye upon their goal, and straight thereto
they firmly march over the obstacles of precipices, through the
blackness of quagmires, crashing athwart laws, customs, and
conventionalities, as elephants calmly striding through underbrush. They
disregard the prejudices of the world equally for evil and for good. And
a moral independence which might furnish forth the most glorious of
martyrs in invincible panoply is quite as likely to assist a hardy
sinner. The sneer and sarcasm and contempt are for the conventionalities
of the world, for the belief of the mass of mankind in right and wrong,
and for the customs and habits which the republic of humanity has
established for better assistance in the paths of virtue--as if,
forsooth, such were vulgar because common, and to be despised by the
mighty because useful to the feeble. This is not the proper spirit for
the satirist. If he wields his pen in support of such a theory he will
do more harm than good. A conventionality is not necessarily bad or
contemptible merely as such. Not a promiscuous and indiscriminate
slashing, but a careful pruning is the proper method in the garden of
society. The indiscreet hand will cut what it should leave, and leave
perhaps what might have been better sacrificed. The artificial trellises
whereon we train our feeble virtues, which may hardly stand by their own
strength, must not be shattered in a general slaughter of weeds which
have taken root and nourishment in the rank soil of fashionable
etiquette. Let us not dash the image from the altar, nor quench the fire
at the shrine, before we have another idol and another shrine to give to
the old worshippers, who must worship still. Such reckless iconoclasm is
too dangerous. It is in this point of discretion that our author is most
reprehensible. The moral tone of his works might have been improved had
his independent tendencies been rather more judiciously indulged. There
is, however, one character of loveliness and purity almost sufficient to
leaven the whole mass and to dash our entire reprehension. In all the
scope of our novel reading, nowhere do we remember to have met a more
exquisitely charming character than that of fair Constance Brandon.
Every charm of spirit and of person is lavished upon her. At the same
time she is conceived with faultless taste. No feeble extravagance
offends our feelings; no tinsel or affectation thwarts our admiration.
The execution is worthy of the thought, which is simply beautiful. The
portrait is like Raphael's divinest Madonna, with the changing radiance
and velvety warmth of life thrown into the matchless face. Why could we
not have had more such, instead of such indifferent domesticities as La
Mignonne?

When we say that none of these three novels are destined to pass into
the eternal literature of the language, we pass no very harsh or damning
judgment. Men of the highest powers must bow to the same decree. Our
author, though his thews and sinews are stalwart, is yet hardly cast in
the mould to indicate such excessive vitality. He can hardly trouble the
stride of those lordly veterans of the turf, Scott or Thackeray; yet
without exertion spurning the rearward turf, he clicks his galloping
hoofs in the faces of the throng of the ordinary purveyors of fiction.
His fancy is exuberant; his imagination brilliant, florid, verging at
times almost upon the apoplectic. But the cognate mental member,
invention, is most sadly destitute of free and sweeping action. His
plots are of the simplest, and betray indubitably a numbness or
imperfect development of the inventive faculties of the brain. People
who read novels for the denouement, who ride a steeple chase through
them, leaping a five-page fence here, a ditch of a chapter there, and
anon clearing at a mighty bound a rasper of some score or more
paragraphs, resolute simply to be in at the death in the last chapter,
anxious to see the wedding torches extinguished, and the printer setting
up 'Finis'--such would find little satisfaction in 'Barren Honor,'
almost none in 'Sword and Gown.' Reading these works is like passing
through a wondrously beautiful country. But it is not the indolent
beauty of southern climes, to lounge through sleepily in a slow-rolling
travelling carriage. You must ride through it on the proud back of a
blooded steed. Canter, run, if you like, when the ground is fit and the
spirit moves, as often enough it may; but do not fix your eyes upon any
distant gaol, and time your arrival thereat. Enjoy what is close at
hand. Admire now the blue glories of the proud hills, recumbent in
careless grace of majesty in the indolent sunlit atmosphere; gaze then
into the sombre depths of solemn retreating forest; tremble anon in the
black shadow of the fierce rock beetling over your bridle way; and fill
your rejoicing being with the fresh-distilled vigor of the springy step
of your charger on the turf. It will put bounding manliness into your
sluggish civilian blood. Read each page, each chapter for itself; or
regard it as one handsome marble square in the tesselated pavement of a
haughty palace, not as a useful brick in the domestic sidewalk, which is
to carry you straight to a homely destination. Observe the description
of scenes, how powerful! the delineation of character, how fascinating!
and be pleased with the luxuriance of the style and the gorgeous drapery
of language wherewith so royally the thoughts are robed.

Our author is not true to nature--he is extravagant, high-wrought.
Nobody ever met his heroes or his heroines in real life, nor lived the
scenes told of in his poetry. His men and women are the men and women of
an enthusiastic fancy; his scenes and incidents are the scenes and
incidents of our romantic dreams. We know none so lovely as ethereal
Constance Brandon; we never gazed into the violet-flashing eyes of a
Cecil Tresilyan; none of our friends are quite prototypes of the
omnipotent 'Cool Captain;' they betray neither the athletic chivalry of
Livingstone nor the winning beauty and high-souled nobility of generous
Alan Wyverne. We never saw such models, for such never quitted their
ideal essences to become incarnate in the flesh. But why need this be an
insuperable objection? We don't find Achilles any the less interesting
because we doubt the ability of any degenerate modern to calmly destroy
such outnumbering hosts of his fellow beings, and send such a throng of
warrior souls to hades without scath or scar to his invulnerable self.
Ivanhoe got out of some very awkward scrapes by the exertion of a
prowess quite exceptional in such a 'light-weight.' The extravagance is
not glaring enough to discompose us. Surely a tolerable proximate
approach to possible existence ought to satisfy a not viciously captious
critic. We are reading of shadowy beings: why should not the facile
mists be permeated with a somewhat subtler light, and melt into somewhat
airier forms of perfection than we have been accustomed to catch
imprisoned in the substantial dulness of the flesh? If we will only
choose, we may revel in the company of somewhat glorified mortals. It
may be a luxury to us, if we will not be jealously illiberal and
envious. It is pleasant to emerge from our little chintz-furnished
parlor, and lounge in castles of dimly magnificent extent, where we are
sure to meet the choicest society; where some order their mighty hunters
from the capacious stables, and others go out to drop a stag, or run a
fox, or bag a few pheasants in the preserves, just to get an appetite
for dinner, from which stupendous meal, tended by hosts of velvet-footed
menials and florid old-family butlers, resplendent ladies rise to retire
to gorgeous drawing rooms of any draperied dimensions we may choose to
fancy, leaving perhaps a score of gentlemen guests to quaff cobwebbed
wines in unstinted goblets. Why isn't it pleasant to linger sometimes in
these royal abodes, and to saunter in the endless lawns and forest
glades of the rich and the great, where we may encounter ladies rather
handsomer and gentlemen rather haughtier than they are generally made in
our own circle? Let us not be captious, but agreeably appreciative.

In a short sentence in one of the opening chapters of 'Sword and Gown,'
our author proclaims probably the intention, certainly the result of his
literary labors--to produce a string of beautiful cameos, with just
thread enough of story to string them upon. This task is done, and well
done. The classical allusions are numerous, and seldom can we blame one
as out of place. Generally they are wrought into beautiful little
pictures, complete in themselves. He manages them with wonderful
dexterity, never making too much of them, nor dwelling upon them too
long; but with his masterly skill in language he handles his words as a
painter his colors, and now we have a bold royal sketch, cloudy outlines
of gigantic proportions, shadowy scenes of indefinite grandeur, done
with a few strong, words and magnificent adjectives; and now a little
paragraph, charming in its exquisite daintiness, like a miniature rarely
done upon the face of a costly gem. It is in this word-painting that he
is surpassingly admirable. Delineation, description, portraiture are his
forte. The same quality of mind which gives dreams of princely men and
divine women seems to have brought also a generous endowment of warm,
rich words, wherewith to do justice to the imaginings. All the beauty,
dignity, and glory of English logography seem to be his: he marshals an
array of adjectives and phrases which seem all of the blood royal of our
munificent mother tongue. Oftentimes his page sounds like the
deep-rolling anthem of a mighty cathedral organ. Might and music are in
his syllables; and without sifting his sentences for a noble thought or
a beautiful idea, we may be pleased by the stately tread of their
succession, and their rich harmonious cadences.

The scenes are apt to be rather melodramatic. Wonderful passions work
wonderfully. Eyes flash, lips are set, cheeks grow pale, quite often.
Great coolness, vast powers, are continually displayed; yet they are
well displayed, after the fashion of gentlemen, not of bravoes or
villains or highwaymen. He handles thunder and lightning, the terrific
weapons of the mighty Jove himself, in a very haughty, Jove-like
manner, it must be confessed. He isn't afraid of singing his fingers
with the thunderbolts, but seizes them with the familiar gripe of
unquestionable authority. In a glorified language he paints glorified
visions. Very little of the calm domestic sunlight of the working
noonday glimmers among his pages, but a perpetual, everlasting
gorgeousness of deep-colored sunset radiance. For merit of style all
these novels are well worthy of commendation and of study. Education and
extensive reading have preserved them from faults of gaudiness and
meretricious ornament. They are chastened by good taste and regulated by
gentlemanly cultivation. They are written by a scholar, and not by a
scribbler; and while reading their magnificent pages we need have no
misgiving that we are admiring the flashy ornaments of wordy or
half-educated mediocrity. Far the best of them is also the first, 'Guy
Livingstone.' The poorest is 'Sword and Gown;' this has the feeblest
plot, in fact a mere apology for a story, and contains more passages
which seem unfinished, and what on a second reading would scarce have
satisfied their own writer. 'Guy Livingstone,' though not faultless, is
a work of power, talent, and brilliancy. Guy himself is an Olympian
character, sketched upon the scale and model of a Torso, a giant in his
virtues and his vices and his frame--but exaggerated with such tact and
ability that even the impossible hugeness charms and fascinates. The
feats of the hero in the dance and carpeted salon, on his mighty hunter
leading the breakneck chase, carry us away with all the heat and ardor
of sympathy; nor do we stumble in our companionable excitement over any
unwelcome snag of commonplace thought or vulgar daring. Constance
Brandon, as we have above intimated, we consider a splendid
masterpiece--a woman lovely as the imagination of man fondly likes to
dream, with every winning grace of manner and amiable charm of purity.
She is the finest character and the fairest face beyond all compare in
the gallery; and the scenes in which she figures are the most able, the
most moving, and the most unexceptionable in every point of view, of all
that our author has given us.




MILL ON LIBERTY.


Any work from the pen of John Stuart Mill will arrest the attention of
readers and thinkers wherever the English language is spoken, and,
indeed, wherever the spirit of inquiry and improvement has aroused the
intellect of man. This author has proved himself a veritable instructor
and benefactor of his race. His writings have been always grave and
valuable, addressed to the understanding of men, indicating arduous
study on his own part, and eliciting reflection of the profoundest
character in the mind of his reader. In his well known work 'On Logic,'
published twenty years ago, he exhibited the highest capacity for
abstract speculation, and placed himself by the side of Aristotle and
Bacon in the rank of philosophers; while that 'On the Principles of
Political Economy,' more practical in its aims, entitles him to the
reputation of an able and enlightened statesman.

Last year we had published in this country, a treatise from the same
fertile pen on the subject of 'Representative Government,' which,
however, was subsequent in the order of composition to that which has
just now appeared in the United States from the press of Ticknor &
Fields, of Boston. Both these productions, that on 'Representative
Government,' and that 'On Liberty,' are valuable to the American people,
teaching lessons important to be learned even by them. From the nature
of our institutions, and especially from the vainglorious sentiments too
generally entertained by us, we are apt to consider ourselves so well
versed in the principles of civil liberty and of representative
government, as to be incapable of learning anything on these subjects,
especially from English writers. Unfortunately, recent events are
calculated rudely to disturb our self-satisfaction, and to arouse within
us a serious distrust, not indeed of the principles embodied in our
institutions, but of our practical ability to carry them out to their
legitimate results, and thus to enjoy, fully and permanently, the
advantages of the system of free government of which we have always been
so boastful.

It is perhaps natural that the mass of the American people should
conceive the whole of liberty as comprised in the privilege of voting,
and its substantial benefits as being fully secured by the popular form
of government. This, however, would be an inconsiderate conclusion,
involving a most pernicious error; and so far is it from constituting
any important part of the discussion, that in the whole of Mr. Mill's
work, there is scarcely more than a glance at this aspect of the
question. The liberty which the author investigates and commends by the
most unanswerable arguments, is not that which is embodied in political
institutions, so much as that which results from the liberal and
enlightened spirit pervading and controlling the social organization. It
is not the power to choose representatives and to make laws, but it is
rather the privilege, in all proper cases, of being a law to one's self,
and of representing in one's own individuality the peculiar ideas and
capacities which each one is best fitted to unfold and develop for his
own good without injury to society. Political tyranny, at this day, is
by no means the chief danger to which men are anywhere exposed; and that
subject has been so thoroughly understood in modern times, that books
are hardly required now to be written upon it. It is social
despotism--the tyranny of custom and opinion--which chiefly enlists the
intellect of our philosophical and interesting author, though he does
not fail to lay down the true limits of the legislative authority as
well. He is thoroughly versed in the history of 'the struggle between
liberty and authority,' which he says 'is the most conspicuous feature
in the portions of history with which we are earliest familiar,
particularly in that of Greece, Rome, and England. But in old times this
contest was between subjects, or some classes of subjects, and the
government. By liberty was meant protection against the tyranny of
political rulers.' This struggle has been carried on for ages, until it
has now come to be an axiom, universally received in civilized nations,
that government is instituted solely for the good of the governed. And
in the progress of amelioration and improvement, it has been supposed
that the popular principle of universal suffrage, with frequent
elections, and consequent responsibility of political agents, would
effectually prevent the exercise of tyranny in governments; and this
especially when governments are instituted under written constitutions,
with powers limited and clearly defined therein. The people, through
their chosen representatives, wielding the whole power of the national
organization, could not be expected to tyrannize over themselves.
Experience, however, soon proved that the tyranny of the majority in
popular governments is to be guarded against quite as carefully as that
of despotic rulers in any other form of polity. For, says Mr. Mill,
'when society is itself the tyrant--society collectively over the
individuals which compose it--its means of tyrannizing are not
restricted to the acts which it may do by the hands of its political
functionaries.' The obvious truth of this statement needs no elaborate
attempt at illustration. In all the departments of thought and action,
of opinion and habit, the power of society over its separate members is
tremendous and unlimited, sometimes penetrating 'deeply into the details
of life, and enslaving the soul itself.' It would not be difficult for
any man of intelligence and observation to recall instances, within his
own knowledge, in which this arbitrary power of the community has been
most unjustly exerted to oppress and injure individuals. The injury and
oppression have been none the less, because their operation has been
silent, attended with no physical force or legal restraint, but reaching
only the mind and heart of the sufferer, crushing them with the moral
weight of unjust opprobrium, and torturing them with all the ingenious
appliances of social tyranny.

The remedy for this sort of despotism--the most dangerous of all, if not
the only danger to be feared in civilized communities and in liberal
governments--is not to be found in laws or constitutions, but in the
enlightened liberality and trained habits and sentiments of society
itself. 'Some,' says Mr. Mill, 'whenever they see any good to be done or
any evil to be remedied, would willingly instigate the government to
undertake the business; while others prefer to bear almost any amount of
social evil, rather than to add one to the departments of human
interests amenable to governmental control.' And, upon the whole, he
thinks, 'the interference of government is, with about equal frequency,
improperly invoked and improperly condemned.' The only device which Mr.
Mill proposes, as the effectual means of counteracting this sort of
tyranny, either political or social, is the establishment of a rule or
principle, by which the limits of authority over individuals shall, in
both cases, be strictly and philosophically defined. He does not
undertake to say how this rule is to be enforced--by what sanctions, or
by what authority it can be made effectual for the protection of
individual rights. But as the evil to be remedied is one arising chiefly
from the errors of public opinion, the corrective would naturally seem
to be the inculcation of sound principles and just sentiments, infusing
them into the social organization, and gradually enthroning them in the
public conscience. The bare announcement of truth, in a matter of such
transcendent importance, is an immense progress toward the goal of
improvement. Principles, well founded and of real value, once
understood, will eventually make their way. With all the errors of
society, and the wrong-headed stubbornness and selfishness of humanity,
with the immense obstructive power of established interests, the haughty
despotism of old opinions, and the petrified rigidity of social customs,
the solvent energy of truth nevertheless will penetrate every part of
the imposing fabric, and gradually undermine its foundations. Underlying
the whole, there is a broad foundation for improvement; and there is a
natural tendency in society to seize upon and appropriate good, whenever
fairly exhibited to its view and placed within its reach.

As embodying the general purpose of the author, and the principle which
he seeks to establish, we give the following passage, in his own words:

     'The object of this essay is to assert one very simple principle,
     as entitled to govern absolutely the dealings of society with the
     individual in the way of compulsion and control, whether the means
     used be physical force in the form of legal penalties, or the moral
     coercion of public opinion. That principle is, that the sole end
     for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in
     interfering with the liberty of action of any of their number, is
     self-protection. That the only purpose for which power can be
     rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community,
     against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good,
     either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant. He cannot
     rightfully be compelled to do or forbear, because it will be better
     for him to do so, because it will make him happier, because, in the
     opinions of others, to do so would be wise, or even right. These
     are good reasons for remonstrating with him, or reasoning with him,
     or persuading him, but not for compelling him, or visiting him with
     any evil in case he do otherwise. To justify that, the conduct from
     which it is desired to deter him, must be calculated to produce
     evil to some one else. The only part of the conduct of any one, for
     which he is amenable to society, is that which concerns others. In
     the part which merely concerns himself, his independence is, of
     right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the
     individual is sovereign.'

This statement has the great merit of being, at least, perfectly clear
and definite. In some particular cases, the principle may be difficult
of application; but in the principle itself, as defined in this passage,
there is not the slightest uncertainty or indistinctness. The author is
very careful, however, to except from its operation all persons who are
not in the maturity of their faculties, as well as all those backward
nations who are not capable of being improved by free and equal
discussion. The condition of society in which alone this liberal maxim
will be safe and appropriate, must be that of a people so far elevated
and enlightened, that persuasion and conviction are the most powerful
means of improvement. Wherever is to be found an advanced civilization,
with all the complex moral and social relations which grow out of it,
there the necessity for physical force will be found to have declined.
Public opinion will have acquired great authority, if not absolute
control; and the rights of individuals will require, for their
protection against the overpowering weight of the social combination,
all those safeguards against possible tyranny, which can only be
afforded by the general acceptance of the liberal principle just quoted.
The social authority must be educated and restrained by its own willing
recognition of individual rights. As the power most likely to be abused
for purposes of oppression is that of opinion and custom, too often
operating silently and insidiously, the corrective is only to be applied
by the establishment of a counteracting spiritual authority, in the
bosom of society itself, at all times ready to utter its mandate and to
proclaim the inviolable sanctity of individual liberty, within the
limits fixed by enlightened reason and conscience. In the earlier stages
of civilization, or in societies of more simple and primitive character,
individual development has not reached the point which either requires
such principles or admits of their application. The merely physical life
of such people can hardly give rise to these questions: political power
and actual force necessarily occupy the place of those subtle and
all-pervading moral and social influences which prevail in the
subsequent stages of progress. As men become more enlightened, they
become also more capable of self-control, and are consequently entitled
to greater liberty of action. Sooner or later, the necessity for
conceding it to the utmost limit of the principle stated, will be fully
acknowledged.

But it is notable that the author does not attempt to maintain his dogma
on the ground of right or morality, but solely on that of a wise and
broad utility. He foregoes all the advantage he might obtain in the
argument by resorting to the moral considerations which sustain it. It
is better for the real interests of society that individual members
should enjoy the largest measure of liberty; and if this be not
equivalent to the assertion that it is also their right, upon the
plainest moral grounds, it is at least certain that the two principles
are coincident in this case, as they will be found to be in all others,
where the real interests of mankind are concerned. So true is it, that
what ever, in a large sense, is best for the permanent advantage of any
society is, at the same time, always right and consistent with sound
moral principles.

In a matter of such vital importance as that of human liberty, which, in
the language of another eminent writer, 'is the one thing most essential
to the right development of individuals, and to the real grandeur of
nations,' it was necessary that its foundations should be made so broad,
in any correct philosophical analysis of its nature, as to comprehend
the whole field of human activity. Accordingly, Mr. Mill includes within
its proper domain the three great departments: consciousness, or the
internal operations of our own minds; will, or the external
manifestation of our thoughts and feelings in acts and habits; and
lastly, association, or coöperation with others, voluntarily agreed
upon, and not interfering with the rights and liberties of those who may
choose to stand aloof from such combinations. In reference to the first
of these, which asserts the undoubted right to enjoy our own thoughts
and feelings, with absolute freedom of opinion on all subjects, Mr. Mill
remarks that 'the liberty of expressing and publishing opinions may seem
to fall under a different principle, since it belongs to that part of
the conduct of an individual which concerns other people; but being
almost of as much importance as the liberty of thought itself, and
resting in great part on the same reasons, is practically inseparable
from it.' But, in truth, the right of expression, which does not
properly come under the head of consciousness or thought, but under that
of will or action, is the only one of the two which at this day is of
any practical importance. The idea of controlling thought or belief has,
in effect, been everywhere abandoned. Indeed, it may be questioned
whether any such control ever has been or could have been exercised; for
thought itself could never be known except through some outward
manifestation. It was therefore the _expression_ which was punished, and
not the inward consciousness. Opinions, it is true, have too often been
the avowed ground of oppression and persecution. Men have been injured
in various ways, on account of their known or suspected belief; even in
modern times and in communities claiming to be free, political
disabilities, social reprobation, and the stigma of disqualification as
witnesses have been imposed upon persons entertaining certain views on
theological questions. But these persecutions may have compelled the
suppression or disavowal of obnoxious opinions, and may have made
hypocrites; they never changed belief, or produced any other conviction
than that of wrong and outrage. The soul itself is beyond the reach of
any human authority, not to be conquered by any device of terror or
torture.

Difference of opinion is unfortunately the ground of natural aversion
among men; and it requires much enlightenment and liberal training to
enable society to overcome this universal prejudice and to inaugurate
complete and absolute toleration. 'In the present state of knowledge,'
says Buckle, the historian, 'the majority of people are so ill informed,
as not to be aware of the true nature of belief; they are not aware that
all belief is involuntary and is entirely governed by the circumstances
which produce it. What we call the will has no power over belief, and
consequently a man is nowise responsible for his creed, except in so far
as he is responsible for the events which gave him his creed.' It may be
doubted whether the majority of people are quite so ignorant as Mr.
Buckle here represents them; for the conflict between beliefs is rather
the result of feeling or passion than of judgment. Because men who
differ in opinion hate each other, it does not follow that they must
therefore deny the right to freedom of thought, or maintain that belief
may be changed at will. The red man and the white man may cordially
hate each other; but it would hardly be accurate to say that the former
denies the right of the latter to his color, or thinks him morally
responsible for it. Yet men are quite as much responsible for the color
of their skin as for the character of their honest convictions, and they
have almost equal power to control the one or the other. In truth, the
hatred arising from conflict of opinion is not the offspring of thought,
but of emotion. It is chiefly a derangement of the affections; not so
much an error of the reason. The most unenlightened man has the innate
conviction that he is entitled to his peculiar belief, because it is
impossible for him to admit any other; nor is it at all natural or
necessary that one individual should question the sincerity of another's
opinion on any subject, because it differs from his own. Intolerance in
this particular has been the result mostly of interference and
usurpation--the consequence of that theological despotism to which men
have, in some form or other, in all ages, been more or less subjected.

It is not, therefore, the liberty of thought and belief that Mr. Mill
finds it necessary to defend, in his exposition of the first division of
the subject; but it is only that of expression and discussion--the
liberty of the press--the right to make known opinions upon any subject,
and to produce arguments in support of them. In this country, it may be
supposed to be wholly unnecessary to investigate this subject, inasmuch
as the liberty of the press is here maintained to the most unlimited
extent. So far as the mere legal right is involved, this is undoubtedly
true; the established laws interpose no impediment to the expression and
publication of opinions, except those indispensable regulations which
are intended to preserve the public peace and morality, and to protect
private character from wanton injury. We have no reason to fear any
invasion of the liberty of the press--any political interference with
the right of free discussion--unless in times of great public danger,
or, as Mr. Mill says, 'during some temporary panic, when fear of
insurrection drives ministers and judges from their propriety.' But
there is a despotism of society, in this country as well as elsewhere,
which, independent of law or authority, often imposes silence on
unpopular opinions, and suppresses all discussion, by means of those ten
thousand appliances and expedients adopted by communities to express
displeasure and to command obedience. Even, however, if there were not
the slightest evidence of intolerance in the country, if the rational
principles of liberty were universally acknowledged and practised upon,
it would still be most useful and interesting to follow this author in
his admirable discussion of the subject. It would be a matter of no
little importance to understand the rational grounds on which the great
and acknowledged principles of liberty are actually founded, and to see
the perfect frankness and fearlessness with which this philosophic
author follows the doctrine to its extreme but inevitable conclusions.
For instance, Mr. Mill does not hesitate to say, 'if all mankind minus
one, were of one opinion, and only one person were of the contrary
opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing that one
person, than he, if he had the power, would be justified in silencing
mankind.' And this position is maintained not solely or chiefly on the
ground of injustice to the person holding the obnoxious opinion, but
because the forcible suppression of it would do even greater injustice
to those who conscientiously reject it. For if the opinion be true, its
establishment and dissemination would benefit mankind; and even if it be
false, it is equally important it should be freely made known, inasmuch
as it would contribute to 'the clearer perception and livelier
impression of truth produced by its collision with error.' Besides, no
man can certainly know that any opinion is true, so long as anything
which can be said against it is not permitted to be presented and freely
discussed. Liberty is the indispensable atmosphere of truth. Without it,
truth will as surely languish and die, as animals or plants will perish
without air. All great improvements have been accomplished only through
the conflicts of adverse opinion. Progress is change, and if all
discussion is prohibited, change and improvement are impossible.

It is interesting also to see the unlimited scope allowed to this bold
doctrine, and the fearlessness with which it is applied to subjects
usually deemed sacred and forbidden to all question or controversy. The
existence of a God, the certainty of a future state, the truth of
Christianity--all these are the proper subjects of free discussion and
untrammelled opinion, quite as much as any other questions, however
unimportant or indifferent. It becomes the devoutest Christian to hear
discussions on these transcendent subjects without the least ill will or
intolerance toward the adversary who may thus endeavor to shake his
faith in those sublime truths which he holds indisputable and more
sacred than all others. It is doing the highest possible service to the
doctrines to attack them; for if they be sound and true, they will
certainly survive, and be all the more glorious for having passed safely
through the ordeal. Christianity itself was more vital and effective in
its earlier stages, when fighting its way into existence against all
sorts of persecutions, than it has ever been since in the palmiest days
of its power. When its doctrines are no longer questioned, it will cease
to be a living spirit controlling the hearts of men. It will be a cold
and formal thing, resting on the general acquiescence, but no longer
exhibiting its all-conquering power in the active effort to overthrow
opposing creeds.

No genuine liberty can exist, until the community shall have reached
that elevated condition of liberality and wisdom which will gladly
submit its most cherished sentiments to the analysis of unsparing logic,
and that without the least effort to punish, in any way, the daring
attempt to undermine its faith. The champions of truth will be
strengthened by the encounter with error; weak and false arguments,
which really injure truth, will give way, and the solid foundations of
impregnable logic will be substituted in their place. It is impossible
to overestimate the service done to a good cause, by exposing it
fearlessly to the worst attacks of its enemies. 'The fatal tendency of
mankind to leave off thinking about a thing when it is no longer
doubtful, is the cause of half their errors. A contemporary author has
well spoken of 'the deep slumber of a decided opinion.'' And another
author enthusiastically exclaims: 'All hail, therefore, to those who, by
attacking a truth, prevent that truth from slumbering. All hail to those
bold and fearless natures, the heretics and innovators of the day, who,
rousing men out of their lazy sleep, sound in their ears the tocsin and
the clarion, and force them to come forth that they may do battle for
their creed. Of all evils, torpor is the most deadly. Give us paradox,
give us error, give us what you will, so that you save us from
stagnation. It is the cold spirit of routine which is the nightshade of
our nature. It sits upon men like a blight, blunting their faculties,
withering their powers, and making them both unable and unwilling to
struggle for the truth, or to figure to themselves what it is they
really believe.'

The chapter which Mr. Mill devotes to this subject--the liberty of
discussion and publication--is thoroughly exhaustive in its character.
It presents the question in almost every light in which it is desirable
to see it, and successfully meets every objection which can be made to
his doctrine. For the first time, a logical and philosophical exposition
of the great principles of liberty is presented to the world, and that
too in a most readable and attractive form. The work is calculated to do
immense good. It places liberty on a rational foundation, and dispels
every doubt which might have been entertained by the timid, as to the
safety and propriety of permitting free discussion on those points of
belief which are too often held to be beyond the domain of investigation
and argument. We do not pretend, here, to give anything like a synopsis
of the grounds assumed, and the reasonings adopted by the author. A full
and correct idea of these can only be obtained from the book itself. But
before leaving this part of the work, we cannot forbear quoting a
passage on this subject from an essay by Henry Thomas Buckle. Even at
the risk of prolonging this article beyond its proper limits, we quote
at some length, on account of the vast interest of the topic and the
different notions which too generally prevail as to the propriety of its
discussion:

     'If they who deny the immortality of the soul, could, without the
     least opprobrium, state in the boldest manner all their objections,
     the advocates of the doctrine would be obliged to reconsider their
     own position and to abandon its untenable points. By this means,
     that which I revere, and an overwhelming majority of us revere, as
     a glorious truth, would be immensely strengthened. It would be
     strengthened by being deprived of those sophistical arguments which
     are commonly urged in its favor, and which give to its enemies an
     incalculable advantage. It would moreover be strengthened by that
     feeling of security which men have in their own convictions, when
     they know that everything is said against them which can be said,
     and that their opponents have a fair and liberal hearing. This
     begets a magnanimity and a rational confidence which cannot
     otherwise be obtained. But, such results can never happen while we
     are so timid, or so dishonest, as to impute improper motives to
     those who assail our religious opinions. We may rely upon it that
     as long as we look upon an atheistical writer as a moral offender,
     or even as long as we glance at him with suspicion, atheism will
     remain a standing and permanent danger, because, skulking in hidden
     corners, it will use stratagems which their secrecy will prevent us
     from baffling; it will practise artifices to which the persecuted
     are forced to resort; it will number its concealed proselytes to an
     extent of which only they who have studied this painful subject are
     aware; and, above all, by enabling them to complain of the
     treatment to which they are exposed, it will excite the sympathy of
     many high and generous natures, who, in an open and manly warfare,
     might strive against them, but who, by a noble instinct, find
     themselves incapable of contending with any sect which is
     oppressed, maligned, or intimidated.'

The most interesting, and perhaps the most remarkable part of Mr. Mill's
book, is that which he devotes to individuality as one of the elements
of well being. Having very fully discussed the question of liberty in
thought and expression--the right of controlling one's own mind, and of
making known its conclusions--he proceeds to apply the same principle to
the conduct and whole scheme of human life, maintaining that every man
ought to be entirely free to act according to his own taste and judgment
in all matters which concern only himself. The sole condition or
limitation which society may rightfully impose upon the eccentricities
of individuals, is the equal right of all others to be unmolested and
unobstructed in their occupations and enjoyments. Every man is endowed
with faculties, capacities, and dispositions peculiar to himself, there
being quite as much diversity in the mental character of men as in their
physical appearance. It is this infinite diversity of thought and
feeling, as much perhaps as anything else, which distinguishes man from
the lower animals. It is of the utmost importance to the progress of
society, for it is only by departing from the common path, and pursuing
new and untried modes of existence and action, that improvements are
gradually made. If there were no disposition on the part of individuals
to deviate from the ordinary customs which have descended from
generation to generation, it is evident there would never be any
important change in the modes of human life nor in the institutions of
mankind, and if there could be any improvement at all, it would be
extremely slow and unimportant. It is the peculiarities of individuals
which alone can furnish the points of departure for new modes of action
and new plans of life. Hence it is not less the right of individuals
than it is the interest of the race that every one should not only be
permitted, but should even be encouraged to follow the dictates of his
own genius, with the most perfect and unlimited freedom consistent with
the peace and security of other men. Each one of the numberless buds on
a full-grown tree is the germ of another individual precisely similar to
the one from which it is taken. But if new trees are propagated from
these buds, they will exhibit not the slightest diversity in character
from that of the parent stock. It is only from the seed, original
centres of vitality and individuality that new varieties are produced
and improvements obtained either in the flower or the fruit. So in human
society: if each life is only an offshoot from the main body--a mere bud
from the parent tree--with no diversities in character, and no salient
points of original activity, it is evident that men would remain
substantially the same from generation to generation, and society would
stand still forever. Such, it is well known, is the case in those
Eastern nations in which a rigid system of caste prevails, the same
positions and occupations descending from father to son, without the
possibility of one generation escaping from the fatal routine to which
its predecessor was subjected.

Hence it is that Mr. Mill, with great earnestness, insists that 'there
should be different experiments in living,' and 'that the worth of
different modes of life should be proved practically, when any one
thinks fit to try them;' for, he continues, 'where not the person's own
character, but the traditions and customs of other people are the rule
of conduct, there is wanting one of the principal ingredients of human
happiness, and quite the chief ingredient of individual and social
progress.' Undoubtedly, that man who acts in conformity with his own
nature and disposition, if they do not mislead and betray him, will have
greater satisfaction and enjoyment than he who is constrained by the
opinions or authority of others to pursue courses not conformable to his
taste and judgment. That which men naturally incline to undertake and
ardently desire to accomplish, is usually that which they are best
fitted to do, and which will give the most appropriate exercise to their
peculiar faculties. It is evidently the general interest that every
individual in society should be employed in that peculiar work which he
can best perform. More will be effected, with less dissatisfaction and
suffering. And obviously, no better mode can be devised to put every man
to the thing for which he is capacitated by nature, than to give full
scope to his individuality, under the multiplied and powerful influences
which liberal education and elevated society are calculated to exert in
impelling him forward. The effect will be not only to do more for
society as a whole, but to make superior men by means of self-education.
'He who does anything because it is the custom, makes no choice. He
gains no practice either in discerning or desiring what is best. The
mental and moral, like the muscular powers, are improved only by being
used. The faculties are called into no exercise by doing a thing merely
because others do it, no more than by believing a thing only because
others believe it. If the grounds of an opinion are not conclusive to a
person's own reason, his reason cannot be strengthened, but is likely to
be weakened by adopting it: and if the inducements to an act are not
such as are consentaneous to his own feelings and character (where
affection or the rights of others are not concerned), it is so much done
toward rendering his feelings and character inert and torpid, instead of
active and energetic.'

Against these views, and, indeed, against the great body of valuable
thoughts so admirably presented in this work, no rational objection
would seem to be fairly adducible. But there are some very striking
passages liable to a very different criticism--passages which, if not
founded on actual misconception of facts, are, at least, so exaggerated
in statement as to require very material modifications, both as to the
existence of the evil they allege and the remedy they propose. Mr. Mill
complains of the despotism of society as having utterly suppressed all
spontaneity or individuality, and reduced the mass of mankind to a
condition of lamentable uniformity. He thinks this evil has not only
gone to a dangerous extent already, but that it threatens a still
further invasion of individual liberty with even greater disasters in
its train. It is better, however, to let Mr. Mill speak for himself in
the following passages:

     'But society has now fairly got the better of individuality; and
     the danger which threatens human nature is not the excess but the
     deficiency of personal impulses and preferences.' * * *

     'In our times, from the highest class of society down to the
     lowest, every one lives as under the eye of a hostile and dreaded
     censorship.' * * *

     'I do not mean that they choose what is customary, in preference to
     what suits their inclination. It does not occur to them to have any
     inclination except for what is customary. Thus the mind itself is
     bowed to the yoke; even in what people do for pleasure, conformity
     is the first thing thought of; they like in crowds; they exercise
     choice only among things commonly done; peculiarity of taste,
     eccentricity of conduct, are shunned equally with crimes; until by
     dint of not following their own nature they have no nature to
     follow; their human capacities are withered and starved; they
     become incapable of any strong wishes or native pleasures, and are
     generally without either opinions or feelings of home growth or
     properly their own.'

And so, speaking of men of genius as being less capable than other
persons 'of fitting themselves, without hurtful compression, into any of
_the small number of moulds_ which society provides in order to save its
members the trouble of forming their own character,' he continues:

     'If they are of a strong character and break their fetters, they
     become a mark for the society which has not succeeded in reducing
     them to commonplace, to point at with solemn warning, as 'wild,'
     'erratic,' and the like; much as if one should complain of the
     Niagara river for not flowing smoothly between its banks like a
     Dutch canal.'

Mr. Buckle also bears testimony to the same effect in the following
language:

     'The immense mass of mankind are, in regard to their usages, in a
     state of social slavery; each man being bound under heavy
     penalties, to conform to the standard of life common to his own
     class. How serious these penalties are, is evident from the fact
     that though innumerable persons complain of prevailing customs, and
     wish to shake them off, they dare not do so, but continue to
     practise them, though frequently at the expense of health, comfort,
     and fortune. Men not cowards in other respects, and of a fair share
     of moral courage, are afraid to rebel against this grievous and
     exacting tyranny.'

Now, we are decidedly of opinion that the expressions used by both these
eminent writers are altogether too strong. We think it is true, both in
Europe and America, that whenever the masses of society recognize a man
of real genius, they are ever ready to welcome him with all his
peculiarities--not merely to overlook his ordinary eccentricities, but
to pardon grave offences against morality, and even to imitate his
errors. It may well be that the multitude are not quick to distinguish
superiority; though with the proper information and opportunity of
judging, they seldom fail instinctively to appreciate great qualities,
especially if these be such as relate to practical life, or artistic
development, rather than to abstract and speculative science. Men
addicted to pursuits of the latter kind, make their merits known more
slowly; but when they are known, they command unbounded respect in
society.

The real difficulty, unfortunately, is, that the vast majority of men
are not gifted with marked individuality, or great genius. They do not
break through the trammels of custom, not so much because these trammels
are strong, as because their impulses are weak. Whenever a man of real
energy appears, the crowd separates before him, the cobwebs of custom
are brushed away as he advances, and the world receives him very
generally for what he is worth, and too often for more. That impostors
and pretenders frequently succeed in deceiving society, is owing to the
fact that it is ever anxious and ready to receive and reward its
benefactors.

But even Mr. Mill himself recognizes the wisdom of paying due deference
to the experience of mankind, and of considering established customs as
_prima facie_ good, and proper to be followed. He admits 'that people
should be so taught and trained in youth, as to know and benefit by the
ascertained results of human experience,' and that 'the traditions and
customs of other people are, to a certain extent, evidence of what their
experience has taught _them_; presumptive evidence, and as such, have a
claim to his deference.' From all which, it is plain that there is a
just medium between what is recognized and established, and what is
newly proposed as a substitute for the old. The masses of mankind are
incapable of judging between the value of prevailing usages and novel
practices; much less are they capable themselves of striking out new
paths fit to be followed by their fellow men. The true difficulty then
is the want of energetic individuality and original genius, rather than
the want of a field for the exhibition of their power, or an opportunity
for their exertion. It cannot be denied, however, that there is a
certain inertia in society, requiring no little exertion to overcome it,
even in the case of unquestionable improvements. But this is
unavoidable, and at the same time most fortunate for the safety of
mankind; for otherwise, we should be subjected to perpetual changes and
sudden convulsions, which would make even progress itself a doubtful
good.

There is also another important aspect in which this question may be
advantageously considered. No one doubts that coöperation in society
contributes vastly to the increase of human power, production, and
happiness. Unanimity in sentiment promotes harmony, and contributes to
prosperity. Nor will it be denied that if truth could be certainly
attained upon any point whatever, it would be desirable that it should
be universally recognized and accepted. Undoubtedly, if any man in the
community should be disposed to dispute that truth, he ought to be
permitted freely to do so; but we cannot see that this opposition would
be better than his acquiescence. Now, the problem is to reconcile the
degree of unanimity and coöperation which is requisite for the full
exertion of social power, with that amount of individuality which would
be useful in promoting a progressive change. Spontaneity or originality
is disintegrating in its immediate tendency. It disturbs the order of
society, though, in the end, on the whole, it is advantageous. Thus we
have the tenacity of old habits and prevailing sentiments on the one
hand, tending to the harmony of society, and enabling all its members to
coöperate in the great works which make communities powerful. On the
other hand, we have the sporadic and disturbing efforts of individual
genius, ever seeking to withdraw the social current into new channels,
and eventually, through many trials, errors, failures, and triumphs,
alluring and leading it into better paths. It is not good for society
that either of these conflicting forces should gain the decided
ascendency; nor do we believe with Mr. Mill, that the preponderance at
the present time belongs to the former.

As to the influence of fashion, which is evidently alluded to in the
passages quoted, that plainly stands on a different and peculiar
footing. It has a double power to enforce its decrees. The one is
economical and commercial--the power of capital to control productions,
and the advantages of producing largely after a few forms or patterns;
the other is the social or psychological influence--the natural sympathy
among men which induces uniformity of dress and habit. Extravagant
excess often rules. Yet there is never wanting in the public of all
civilized countries, a disposition to adopt improvements when they
contribute to the general convenience, economy, and happiness; and we
believe, on the whole, the tendency is to become more and more rational
every day. Besides, a certain degree of uniformity is desirable in this
as in all other things. No little loss and inconvenience would ensue if
the fancies of every individual were permitted to run riot, and no man's
taste were modified by that of his neighbor, or controlled by the
general inclination. It is impossible to conceive the motley and
discordant mass which a community of such people would present.

The bearing of these social phenomena in other directions and upon other
interests, is the subject of equal condemnation by the author. The
effect upon government, and the general tendency of the democratic
principle, are represented in such highly colored pictures as these:

     'In sober truth, whatever homage may be professed, or even paid to
     real or supposed mental superiority, the general tendency of things
     throughout the world is to render mediocrity the ascendant power
     among mankind.

            *       *       *       *       *

     'At present, individuals are lost in the crowd. In politics it is
     almost a triviality to say that public opinion rules the world. The
     only power deserving the name is that of masses, and of
     governments, while they make themselves the organ of the tendencies
     and instincts of masses. This is as true in the moral and social
     relations of private life as in public transactions. Those whose
     opinions go by the name of public opinions, are not always the same
     sort of public; in America they are the whole white population; in
     England, chiefly the middle class. But they are always a mass, that
     is to say, collective mediocrity.

            *       *       *       *       *

     'Their thinking is done for them by one mind like themselves,
     addressing them or speaking in their name, on the spur of the
     moment, through the newspapers. I do not assert that anything
     better is compatible, as a general rule, with the present low state
     of the human mind. But that does not hinder the government of
     mediocrity from being mediocre government. No government by a
     democracy or a numerous aristocracy, either in its political acts,
     or in the opinions, qualities, and tone of mind which it fosters,
     ever did or could rise above mediocrity, except in so far as the
     sovereign many may have let themselves be guided (which in their
     best times they have always done) by the counsels and influence of
     a more highly gifted and instructed One or Few. The initiation of
     all wise or noble things comes and must come from individuals;
     generally at first from some one individual.'

In all this there is too much truth; but it is truth which is wholly
unavoidable. Nor are the circumstances complained of peculiar to the
present age, or to the institutions which now generally prevail.
Democratic and representative forms of government have so degenerated,
as to fail in the vital point of bringing the best and ablest men to the
control of affairs. But has any more despotic or hereditary form been
equally successful, in the long run, in promoting the freedom, progress,
and grandeur of nations? Is the mediocrity of a whole people more
injurious to humanity than the precarious superiority of distinguished
families, or the selfish power of haughty privileged classes? One
important consideration seems to be overlooked by Mr. Mill in these
one-sided views of the present condition of society; and that is, the
comparatively greater elevation and improvement of the whole mass of
civilized communities; and the question is suggested, whether humanity
is more interested in the mediocre power of the millions, or the
exceptional greatness of a few men of extraordinary genius; whether the
influence of individual originality is actually lost to the world,
because it is apparently overshadowed by the moderate intelligence of
the countless masses of men. We maintain that the loss of this influence
is not real, but merely apparent: like some great wave in the boundless
ocean, it seems to sink into the quiet surface, while in truth its
effects are necessarily felt on the shores of the most distant
continents and islands. Society, at the present time, is in a state of
transition; it is engaged in absorbing ideas and influences which seem
utterly to disappear in its fathomless depths, while it is simply
preparing for higher exertions and nobler conquests over ignorance and
tyranny.

One thing at least may be said with obvious truth, and with certainty of
large compensation for the evils supposed to exist in the present
condition of society, as represented by Mr. Mill; it is this: if public
opinion is so omnipotent in the enforcement of mediocre schemes and
ideas, it can bring to bear a vast fund of power, whenever real genius
may be so fortunate as to make itself felt and respected. No man having
any faith in humanity, not even Mr. Mill himself, will deny the power of
individual genius to make its impression even on the mediocre masses;
for that would be to deny the essential nature and efficiency of
originality, and its capacity to accomplish the work which it is
destined to do for the benefit of mankind. Actual conditions at the
present moment, may possibly place unusual obstructions in the way of
genius; though the entire freedom and accessibility of the press would
seem to negative that view. At any rate, it follows from the very
premises of Mr. Mill and those who think with him, that the actual
organization of society, of which he complains, if it can be wielded in
the interest of great ideas, is possessed of an authority which will
make its decrees irresistible. In this fact we see ground of hope,
rather than of despair, for the future of mankind. Mediocrity cannot
always hold the reins and direct the progress of human society.

In his work on representative government, Mr. Mill fully recognizes the
operation of free institutions as 'an agency of national education;' and
he well says, 'a representative constitution is a means of bringing the
general standard of intelligence and honesty existing in the community,
and the individual intellect and virtue of its wisest members more
directly to bear upon the government, and investing them with greater
influence in it than they would have under any other mode of
organization.' It cannot be otherwise. The masses are gradually rising
in intelligence, as well as in the capacity and disposition to recognize
and receive real superiority wherever it may be found. Certain cumbrous
machinery heretofore used in social and political action, now stands in
the way of free and efficient efforts to reach the best results. But
these impediments will soon be swept away. They cannot remain eternally
in the path of society; for, if by no other means, they will be removed
by the flood of discontent and denunciation which now surges violently
against them, and threatens them every instant with demolition and
destruction.




CLOUD AND SUNSHINE.


  A dusky vapor veils the sky,
    And darkens on the dewy slopes;
  Chill airs on rustling wings flit by,
    Sad as the sigh o'er buried hopes:
  I tread the cloistered walk alone,
    Between the shadow and the light,
  While from the church tower thronging down
    Pale phantoms greet the coming night.

  My heart swells high with scorn and hate
    At social fictions, narrow laws
  By which the few maintain their state,
    And build us out with golden bars:
  'She wears a careless smile,' I said,
    'And regal jewels on her brow;
  Those queenly lips, ere now, have made
    Rare mockery of her broken vow.

  'And what was I,--to touch that heart?
    Only a poet, made to pour
  Love's silver phrase with subtle art
    In tides of music at her door.
  What though she bore a brightened blush,
    As if the echo linger'd long?
  Even so she listens to the thrush
    That thrills the air with eddying song.

  'How sweet, on summer-scented morns,
    To hear through all our lingering walk,
  As soft as dew on fragrant lawns,
    The wandering music of her talk!
  Ah! dreaming heart, that asked no more
    When dower'd with that o'erflowing smile:
  Ah! foolish heart, to linger o'er
    The memories that can still beguile.'

  I paused. On distant breezes borne,
    A silken stir floats slowly by,
  And from the clouds a silver dawn
    Breaks through the vapor-shrouded sky;
  The cloister'd walk is paved with light,
    And bathed in crystal beams she stands:
  No jewels crown her presence bright,
    A single rose is in her hands.

  'Oh! fair white rose,' she softly said,
    'Make peace between my love and me;
  Lest from my life the colors fade,
    And leave me faint and pale like thee:
  Tell him that dearer is the flower
    Once honored by his poet hand,
  Than ermined rank, and princely power,
    With any noble in the land.'

         *       *       *       *       *

  Then soft as rose-leaf on my brow
    A sudden kiss comes floating down,
  On wings as light as angels know,
    And crowns me with a kingly crown.
  And banish'd by a touch divine,
    Fled all the memories of pain;
  I clasped the pleading hands in mine,
    And told her all my love again.

  The pale mist like an incense cloud
    From some great altar drifts away,
  In silvery fullness o'er us flows
    The glory of a pallid day.
  Amid the opening buds of hope
    I smile at half-forgotten fears;
  For love, I said, grows holier still
    And purer through baptismal tears.




'IS THERE ANYTHING IN IT?

'A true bill.'-SHAKSPEARE.


I used to be 'verdant' in the art of legislation. A short time since I
paid my initiation fee, and learned the mystery. It is true I had heard
much of legislative corruption, and had often seen paragraphs relating
thereto in the newspapers, but I looked upon them as political squibs,
put forth by the 'outs' in revenge for the defeat of their party
schemes. Here let me stoutly assert that I cannot testify of my own
knowledge to any instance of legislative corruption. _Mem:_ This
declaration is intended to save me from being called before any of the
numerous investigating committees, which, like the schoolmaster, are
abroad just now. At the same time I propose to relate in brief terms how
I was initiated, and the reader may rest assured that it is 'an ower
true tale.'

In the winter of 186-, not very long ago, you will perceive, the
corporation of which I was a member found it important to obtain some
legislation which would be very serviceable to those concerned. I was
selected to go to Harrisburg, to see the members of the Legislature
individually, and request them, if there was nothing objectionable in
the bill, to vote for it. I had no doubt but that my reasons would prove
satisfactory, especially as our business was of a nature to essentially
contribute to the development of the mineral and agricultural resources
of the State. With these honest and innocent ideas of legislation, I
started on my mission. On arriving at the capitol, I called on our
immediate member, Mr. Jones, who, if his own professions were to be
trusted, was anxious to do all he could to promote the object of my
visit. He was an old member, and 'knew the ropes.' From him I had every
reason to expect aid in procuring the passage of my bill. His room was
at a hotel, where a large number of the members of both houses boarded,
and he knew them all. Of course, it was a very proper place for me to
take rooms. I accompanied Jones to the gentlemen's sitting room in the
evening, where he introduced me to many of his fellow legislators, at
the same time hinting to them that I might have a bill of some
importance for them to consider. In one or two instances, I noticed that
knowing glances were exchanged between Jones and those to whom he
introduced me. On one occasion a member called him aside, and, after
some other conversation, in a low tone, said: _'Is there anything in
it?'_ The remark was so decidedly foreign to anything that could refer
to my bill, that I concluded that it related to some rumor that was
floating about without any certainty of its truth.

During the next day, I employed myself in listening to the debates and
watching the course of business in the House. It was all new to me, and,
of course, very interesting. While seated in the lobby, a middle-aged
man of short stature, dark whiskers, and limping gait, whom I had heard
designated as 'Sheriff,' and who appeared to have no visible means of
support in Harrisburg, except his cane, carelessly dropped into a seat
by my side, and engaged in commonplace conversation. He soon approached
a more business-like matter, and said he had understood I was interested
in some local legislation which would come before the House. I told him
that I had charge of a bill which I should endeavor to have passed, 'It
requires some tact and experience,' said he, 'to engineer a bill through
such a House as this;' and he ended this preliminary conversation by
asking the same mysterious question I had heard the night previous,
viz.; _'Is there anything in it?'_ I answered that I hoped there would
be something in it, if it passed, for the parties interested, as it
would enable us to develop certain matters of interest to the State, as
well as to make a profit for the stockholders. 'If,' said he, 'it is a
bill of such importance, you ought to have some man of experience to
assist you in putting it through.' I assured him that 'our member' was a
man of experience, and would stand by me, and be ready and willing to
impart any instruction that might be necessary. The answer I received
was a sarcastic smile, and the 'Sheriff' left.

I continued to watch the course of legislation for a few days, and soon
discovered that I was the object of considerable interest to a number of
outsiders. Whenever I entered the lobby, the 'Sheriff' and several
gentlemen, who were always in his company, would cast their eyes in the
direction of my seat, and then confer together. They seemed to keep a
strict watch on my movements. At last, when an opportunity offered, I
asked Jones what this 'Sheriff' was doing about the House. 'He seems to
have no business, and is constantly watching the proceedings of both
Houses, vibrating between them like an animated pendulum,' said I. 'Oh,'
said Jones, 'he is a member of the _Third House!_' Here was a new thing
to me. I evidently had not learned all the machinery of legislating. I
asked for an explanation, and soon learned that the 'Third House'
consisted of old ex-members of either House or Senate, broken-down
politicians, professional borers, and other vagrants who had made
themselves familiar with the _modus operandi_ of legislation, and who
negotiated for the votes of members on terms to be agreed upon by the
contracting parties--in short, these were the Lobby members of the
Legislature--a portion of mankind which I had never heard mentioned in
terms other than contempt and disgust. Was I then to become familiar
with these leeches--these genteel loafers, who, having no apparent
business, yet manage to live at the best hotels, drink the best of
wines, and go home at the end of the session with more money than any of
the _honest_ members? The sequel will show.

After waiting a week, I became impatient at the want of interest on the
part of Jones in my bill, which so materially concerned a large number
of his constituents. He, better than any other member, knew how much our
company was doing for the development of the country, the furnishing of
employment for laborers, and the increase of taxable inhabitants. He
knew that not a man in the county had an objection to urge, or a
remonstrance to present against our proposition. Why, then, did he not
take my ready-drawn bill and present it without any further delay?

Jones was a member of the committee on corporations, and was said to
have much influence in that important vestibule to the temple whence
corporate privileges issue. He might, then, if so disposed, soon have my
bill through that committee, I determined to bring the matter to a point
at once, and cut short my board bill by a speedy presentation of my
legislative bill, or obtain the unequivocal refusal of 'our member' to
act. I had spent one Sunday in Harrisburg, and did not wish to suffer
another infliction of the kind, if any effort of mine could avoid it. On
Monday the House did not meet until three o'clock, as those members who
live within a few hours' ride of the capital always wish to go home, and
another class wish to spend Saturday and Sunday in Philadelphia,
enjoying the various _hospitalities_ of the city of Brotherly Love, and
the superior facilities for religious instruction, of which legislators
generally stand in great need. These two parties combine, and have no
difficulty in adjourning over from Friday noon to Monday evening.

At the meeting of the House, I was promptly on hand, and at once
attacked Jones. I handed him my bill, drawn in due form, saying:

'Mr. Jones, I have been here a week, and have made no progress in the
business for which I came. I am anxious to be at home attending to other
duties. I propose to leave the bill in your hands, and depend upon you
to see it through. There seems to be no necessity of my being detained
longer, for I cannot hasten the matter. There cannot be the slightest
objection, I presume, to its passage, when once introduced.'

Jones saw that I was becoming impatient, and seemed to be entirely
satisfied that I should be quite so; and he informed me that the chief
difficulty would be in passing it through the committee on corporations.
The bills referred to that committee, he said, were always scrutinized
very closely, and it would need some engineering. He clapped his hands,
and called a page to his seat, whispered a few words to him, when he,
like Puck, darted off on his errand. Jones then turned to me, and
renewed the conversation. I soon saw the veritable Third House
'Sheriff,' whom I have described, approaching us. 'Our member' then
handed him the bill, saying:

'My friend here is very desirous of pushing his bill through. Do you
think there will be any difficulty about it?'

I could not see the propriety of consulting this Third House borer,
especially as he was a total stranger to me. The 'Sheriff' looked wise
a short time, and then said:

'Well' (addressing his conversation to me), 'you know that we have all
kinds of men to deal with here, and some of them will pay no attention
to a bill, however meritorious, _if there is nothing in it_--I mean, if
it brings no money to their pockets. It is very lamentable that such is
the case, but long experience has taught me that no bill of as much
importance as yours, can get through here, without the aid of money.'

I was dumb with indignation! The flood of legislative light thus
suddenly shed upon my unsophisticated mental vision, was too dazzling
for me. I replied, when I could command my voice, with some very severe
animadversions on bribery and corruption, with which the 'Sheriff' and
Jones expressed a hearty agreement, but they said we must take men as we
find them, and deal with them accordingly, or do without what we knew to
be our just dues; and the 'Sheriff' hobbled away, and took a seat in the
lobby. I left Jones with a determination to go over to the Senate and
consult with the Senator from our district, and ascertain whether he
entertained the same views of necessary appliances for legislation, as
did my friends of the Second and Third Houses. Our Senator was a very
sedate man, who had a reputation for honesty and piety, equalled only by
that of Jones himself. I explained my business, showed him my bill, and
he read it carefully through. On handing it back to me, he said,
quietly:

'If there _is anything in it,_ it will pass without much opposition. If
not, it will hardly go through the House. There is a _Ring_ formed over
there, which will prevent any legislation of this kind, unless it is
well paid for.'

Here was another legislative idiom! 'The Ring.' What did that mean? I
was not long kept in ignorance, for I soon learned that it was a
combination of members who had agreed to vote for no bill unless
approved by them, and not only approved, but well paid for. It was easy
for twenty or thirty individuals to control all important legislation in
this way, by casting their votes for one side or the other. This ring is
always in alliance with the Third House, and always in market, as I
learned by my brief experience.

Satisfied that I must go about the business of legislation as I would
any other purchase, I began to figure up the profit and loss account, to
see how much fleecing we could stand, and make the bill profitable to
ourselves. I returned to Jones to ascertain, if possible, if he was in
the ring, and how much money it would require to get my bill through. He
at once and most emphatically disclaimed all knowledge of the ring, and
could not tell at all, how much money would be needed. He advised me to
go to my Third House friend, the 'Sheriff,' who was posted up in such
matters, and I concluded to act on his suggestion. The 'Sheriff's'
advice was of a very practical nature. He thought it might take $3,000
to get it through--perhaps $5,000 for both House and Senate. It seemed a
sheer piece of robbery and corruption, and I delayed further action
until I could write to the directors of our corporation and state the
case to them. This delayed me another week. When the answer came, it
enclosed a check for $5,000, with directions to 'buy the scoundrels, if
they were for sale, like dogs in the market.' On the day after I
received the check, I went to the House, determined to make the best
terms I could among those who followed legislation as a trade and made
merchandise of their votes. Jones thought $3,000 would get it through
the committee on corporations, and if I would hand him that amount he
would manage it as economically as possible. He insisted that he did not
wish anything for himself. He would scorn to accept a cent for his
influence, and would feel everlastingly disgraced to take a farthing
from a constituent. He was only anxious to serve me and have me fleeced
as little as possible. Of course, I believed him. In proof of my
confidence, I immediately handed over $2,000 to his custody, in
convenient packages for distribution. The same day my bill was read in
place and referred to the committee on corporations! This was on
Tuesday. On Thursday I was at the seat of Jones, when he reported the
bill from his committee. As he took it from his desk, a small strip of
paper was dropped upon the floor. It seemed to have been accidentally
folded in the bill. It was, beyond all question, accidentally dropped. I
picked it up, not knowing but that it might be of some importance. As he
was reporting various bills, I looked at the slip of paper. The title of
my bill was at the head, or immediately following the words, 'In
committee,' and below were eight names, foremost of which was that of
'our member.' The names and figures were as follows:

  Jones,   $125  McGee,     $125
  Smith,    125  McMurphy,   125
  Baker,    125  Grabup,     125
  Van Dunk, 125  Holdum,     125
                           -----
  Am't received by Jones, $1,000

I folded this interesting _morceau_, and placed it in my pocket. I was
greatly surprised to see the name of Jones down for $125, when he had so
positively declared that he did not want a cent; but I was happy to find
that he had expended only $1,000 to get it through the committee. When
he took his seat, I asked him if he had any difficulty in passing the
bill through the committee? He said he had a little. The members thought
$2,000 rather a small 'divy' (the legislative commercial phrase for
dividend) for such a bill; but he induced them to let it go through for
that sum. I could not but remember that little memorandum in my pocket,
which only exhibited a distribution of half that amount, including one
eighth of the sum to 'Jones.' It looked very much as if his fellow
committee men had been sold as well as bought, and that he had quietly
pocketed $1,125 in the operation. However, I said nothing, but concluded
that I was fast being initiated into the mysteries of _honorable_
legislation. I must now wait to see if my money would hold out to carry
the bill through, provided Jones continued to be the financial agent,
and continued to make a fifty per cent. dividend for himself before
disbursing to his fellows. I thought his course did not look like 'honor
among thieves.'

After the bill was reported, my friend, the 'Sheriff,' came to
congratulate me on such prompt action by the committee, and hoped I
would be as successful with the ring on the floor of the House. I told
him that he seemed to be well posted on such matters, and I would like
to retain him as my counsellor in the case. With that characteristic
modesty which adheres to a veteran member of the Third House, who has
served fifteen winters in the lobby, he protested his want of ability to
manage such matters; but concluded that, if I really desired it, he
would assist me all in his power. I insisted that he was just the man,
and must stand by me. We immediately entered into negotiations, I was to
place my remaining $3,000 in his hands, and he would use such portions
of it as would be necessary to secure the ring in both branches of the
Legislature. He would disburse as little as possible, and return me what
remained, out of which I could pay him what I thought proper for his
services. As he was well acquainted with nearly all the members, I had
no doubt of his ability to carry it through, for it was just that kind
of a bill that no valid objection could be raised against. Jones, who
had proved by his acts how entirely disinterested he was in all his
efforts in my behalf, told me that there need be no fear of the
'Sheriff,' and he (Jones) would be responsible for a fair account of the
disbursement of the money. I could have no suspicion of Jones's honesty
and fair dealing after my previous experience; so, in presence of our
honest member, I handed over the $3,000. Soon after this, I saw the
'Sheriff' and Jones figuring earnestly together, and then go and consult
with several members, who I supposed were in the ring. It would be
ungenerous to suppose that Jones would receive money for voting for a
bill to improve his own county, and he was undoubtedly doing all he
could without compensation, while entirely conscious that others were
being paid. My readers will be as ready to adopt this opinion as myself
after what I have already recorded of him. Private bill day came, and
mine was on the calendar. I must confess to a little palpitation when I
heard the title read. I was made anxious and indignant, when a member
from Philadelphia started to his feet, and said:

'I object to that bill.'

Jones trusted the member would not insist on his objection to that
purely local bill. It was no use, the objection was adhered to. When
business proceeded again, Jones went to the objecting member, who sat
near where I stood anxiously watching the proceedings. Jones spoke to
him warmly, when the other retorted with:

'Well, _if there is anything in it,_ I will withdraw my objection, but
not until I am _satisfied_.'

The objector passed into the rotunda with Jones and the 'Sheriff,' where
he _must_ have been satisfied, for when he returned to his seat, he
withdrew his objection, and it was, with the others, laid aside for a
second reading. I never knew the arguments which were presented to
induce him to withdraw his objection, but he probably found _how much_
there was 'in it.' In the afternoon my bill passed without opposition.

The 'Sheriff' now informed me that I must hurry up the transcribing of
my bill, or it would be a long time in getting over to the Senate. I
told him that I supposed all bills must take their course according to
their numbers. He said he would go to the clerk with me and get it
'hurried up.' When we spoke to the clerk, he said it could not be
transcribed for a day or two, for it was nearly at the bottom of the
large package that had been passed. The 'Sheriff' quietly handed a
five-dollar note to the clerk, and his mind suddenly changed, and,
'seeing it is for you,' he would have it attended to immediately. The
next thing to be looked for was a transcribing clerk who would do it.
Another five-dollar note accomplished this object, and the work was
finished up that night. In the morning it went to the Senate, and there
it went through smoothly.

After my success, I called on the 'Sheriff' to see how much of the
$3,000 he had used. As I anticipated, it was all used; but I strongly
suspected that the whole ring, in this case, consisted of Jones, the
'Sheriff,' and the objecting member who went into the rotunda, and that
the two former made a pretty large 'divy,' and paid the others,
including the clerks, as little as possible.

In the course of my investigations, I learned that one of the Third
House often receives money on his own representation that certain
members will not vote without pay, when they (the members) are entirely
innocent and unsuspecting, while the leeches of the lobby are selling
their votes and charging them with bribery.

Such is the little 'mystery' which I paid five thousand dollars to
become acquainted with. As our company has no more acts of incorporation
to ask for, I hope never to be obliged to learn the lesson over again.

Perhaps others may manage better and cheaper from taking note of my
experience.




THE CONFEDERATION AND THE NATION.


When the States which are now in war against the Government, declared
themselves no longer bound by the Constitution, and no longer parts of
the nation, they rested their action, so far as they deigned to account
for it, on the ground that the United States were nothing more than a
confederation, constituted such by a mere compact, which could be broken
when the interests or the whim of any party so dictated. The loyal
States, on the other hand, straightway took up arms in defence of the
integrity of the nation, constituted such by organic law, which is
supreme forever throughout the length and breadth of the land. Now,
while there are in our midst men base enough to endeavor to seduce the
unthinking portion of our community to the idea that the traitors are
entitled to those rights, and to be treated in that way conceded only by
one nation to another, it may be well to consider, in the light of our
own history, the argument as to the nature of our Government; for it is
only by granting the correctness of the view advanced by the rebels,
that we can for one moment entertain any proposition for compromise, or
any of those vague but pernicious ideas brought forward by Peace
Democrats looking to a disgraceful settlement of this war. With this
purpose in view, we propose to briefly examine the main points in the
Articles of Confederation and the Constitution, and by thus comparing
the frameworks of the two governments, to show the definite and
irreconcilable difference which exists between them.

The Articles of Confederation were entered on within four days after the
second anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, by the same body
which adopted that instrument, and about nine years before the adoption
of the Constitution in convention. The three years which just elapsed
had been a season of singular and searching trial. While unity of
feeling was compelled in the face of a powerful and aggressive foe, and
in the defence of liberties held and prized in common, the mutual
relations of the colonies were so indefinitely ascertained, and
authority was so loosely bestowed, that unity of action was impossible;
there was no power to do the very things which necessity and desire
alike dictated. Having taken up arms against the most powerful nation of
the time, whose system enabled it to concentrate vast energies on the
subjugation of this dozen revolted colonies scattered along the Atlantic
coast, they found themselves in so helplessly disorganized a condition,
that, separated from the mother country, they could hardly, for any
length of time, have successfully pursued the quiet life of peace.

Under these circumstances, they bound themselves together by Articles of
Confederation. These were, what similar articles had always been, a
species of treaty, having peculiar objects, seeking them in a peculiar
way, and declared perpetual, but having an obligation no stronger than
that of a treaty, and practically dissoluble at the will of the parties.
Thus, the States issued letters of marque and reprisal; Congress
determined on peace and war, but the States were depended on to accept
the former and carry on the latter when declared. Congress might
ascertain the number of ships and men to be furnished, but the States
appointed the officers. Congress might fix the sums necessary to be used
in defraying public expenses, but the States must raise them. Congress
might regulate the value of coin, but the States might issue it. The
loose character of this tie is seen still more plainly in the fact that
there was no efficient final tribunal. The commissioners appointed by
Congress might decide a controversy arising between two States, but
there was nothing by which the commissioners could be guided, no
stability or force as precedents in their decisions when made, and no
power to enforce them if neglected or rejected by one or both the
parties. It was simply a provision for constantly recurring arbitration,
obtained by reference to a changeable, and practically unauthoritative
board of judges. Moreover, this government, weak and unorganized as it
was, was withdrawn on the adjournment of Congress; for the Committee of
States, appointed to act in the recess, was useless, as well from the
paucity of its powers, as from the fact that a quorum of its members
could seldom be obtained.

Such a system, or rather, lack of system, could be tolerated only while
the peril of their life and liberties compelled the people to perform
the duties the government was powerless to enforce. After the war was
over, and the people were left with independence and freedom, with a
powerful ally in Europe, with elements of unrivalled resource, but with
a heavy load of debt, with disorganized social and political relations,
with crippled commerce, and without the powerful uniting pressure from
outside, this system of confederation began to develop its evils and its
insufficiency. To complete the triumph begun by the desolating struggle
through which we had just passed, and, by building up a system under
whose operation the nation's wealth could pay the nation's debt, and the
nation's power protect the nation's honor and interest, to assert at
once the claim and the right to respect, was the necessity of the time.
To answer this necessity was a very different thing from conducting the
war. Commerce was now to take the place of naval conflict; mutual
intercourse in the interest of trade was to replace the performance of
those duties which the common defence had imposed. The life of the
people was now to be saved, not by armed struggles in its defence, but
by nurturing its resources, opening its various channels, and freeing it
for the performance of its healthful and renewing functions.

For this purpose, a system which could not make treaties of commerce
without leaving it in the power of thirteen States to break them by
retaliation, which could not prevent one or all of these States from
utterly prohibiting the import or export of such commodities as they
chose, and which left the people powerless to induce or compel
advantages from foreign commerce, while it was even more helpless in
regard to domestic commerce--for this purpose such a system was
absolutely useless.

After struggling for a few years under the cramping and confusing
effects of this system, it was given up, and the Constitution, as framed
in 1787, was adopted. The relations assumed by the States at this time
were marked. By the Articles, each State had retained its sovereignty,
freedom, and independence. By the Constitution, the people and the
States reserved such powers as were not expressly given to the United
States, or prohibited to the States. The omission of the claim to
sovereignty and independence in the Constitution, is as significant as
is its presence in the Articles. It appears as a definite surrender of
those attributes, as complete, as binding, as permanent as language
could make it. Nor must we forget, while the momentous questions of our
times are yet undecided, that sovereignty once surrendered can never be
'resumed.' The relations, the duties, and the attributes of the life to
which it belongs have been completely and forever given up, while those
of another have been as entirely and irrevocably assumed.

The States had thus passed from one into another sphere of existence,
whose relations were as different as their objects. The Articles were a
league of friendship for common defence, the security of liberties, and
the general and mutual welfare. No identity of interest was supposed to
exist or sought to be served. Such needs as were, at the time of the
adoption, felt in common, were provided for, and the States were left to
provide, as best they could, for the others. This much and no more was
sought by the States. That the objects of the Constitution were
different, as well as that they were avowed by a far different
authority, is shown in the declaration with which it opens: 'We THE
PEOPLE of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union'--not
as to time, for both the old and the new union were declared perpetual;
but in kind, for which the States surrendered the former claim to
sovereignty and independence. 'To establish justice'--not to insure the
amicable relations of allied States, but to form a tribunal which should
decide upon the common allegiance and the common privileges of the
people. 'To insure domestic tranquillity'--an object unrecognized in the
Articles of Confederation, and implying, not association but identity;
not the mutual obligations of partnership, but the intimate connection
of the national household. 'Do ordain and establish this Constitution.'
There is no longer the indefinite expression of half-conceived
obligation, nor the imperfect pledge to imperfect union, but there is,
instead, the solemn, authoritative language of a sovereign people,
self-contained, self-sufficing, conscious alike of its duties and its
rights, giving form to what shall be the law of the land, fundamental as
being based on the will of the people, supreme as higher than the will
of any part of the people, whether individual or State.

A difference as radical pervades all the provisions of the Constitution.
By the Articles, the vote in Congress was taken by States. By the
Constitution, a majority controls in all but extraordinary business, and
the vote is always taken by members. The Congress is no longer the
assembled States; it is the assembled representatives of the people--of
the nation. It is no longer charged with the management of the mutual
relations of parties to an alliance, but with the making of laws which
shall be the supreme law of the land throughout its entire extent. By
the Articles, prohibitions to the States are made conditional on the
consent of Congress--but by the Constitution, the more important acts of
sovereignty--forming treaties, issuing bills of credit, regulating the
circulating medium--are unconditionally forbidden to the States. The
Congress now controls foreign commerce, raises the revenue, levies
taxes, and cares for the welfare of the nation. By the Articles, new
members of the Confederation were to be admitted by the consent of
nine--about two-thirds of the States. By the Constitution, the
applicants are regarded rather as an organized body of men, seeking to
identify themselves with the American people. To such the national
Congress extends the privilege of citizenship, and from such demands
conformity to our method of national life.

But while these are instances of the radical difference existing between
the methods of treating the same subjects in the Articles of
Confederation and in the Constitution, there are elements in the
Constitution, peculiar to itself, which make the relations and duties of
the States under them utterly irreconcilable. These are embodied in the
organization of the national Government. In assuming the functions, it
took upon itself the forms and instrumentalities of a sovereign and
universal authority. Having founded the Government on the supremacy of
the people, and deposited all original power with the representative and
legislative body, the Constitution provided for the prompt and thorough
exercise of that power by vesting the executive authority in the
President of the United States, and such officers as Congress should
appoint for him. In the Federation there was no executive, for there was
very little to execute. What few things it lay in the power of the
assembled States to determine should be done, were given to the
respective States to do. When they were refractory or negligent, there
was no power in Congress, either to appoint other agents, or to compel
them to the performance of their duties. A promise voluntarily given,
and deemed subject to voluntary violation, was the only pledge given for
the execution of mutual agreements.

Were our national Government now as it was then--as the rebels maintain,
and as their Northern friends would have us act as if we believed--the
rebellion would indeed be a justifiable attempt to secure self-evident
rights. But it is not so. Under the Constitution, an executive is
appointed directly by the people, who is bound, by an oath too sacred
for any but a traitor to violate, to protect, defend, and preserve the
organic law which binds us as a nation forever, and to apply and execute
the laws of Congress made in accordance therewith.

And to these laws, which, made by the representatives of the people,
embody their sovereign authority, there is given the further sanction of
judicial supervision. In the Confederation there was no general and
permanent standard by which decisions could be made and preserved.
Everything was made to depend on the irresponsible and often conflicting
action of the States, or on the unauthoritative determination of the
congressional commission. To remedy this defect, and make more complete
the national character of our present Government, a judicial power of
the United States was vested in the Supreme Court, and in such inferior
courts as Congress may establish. This Supreme Court, with original
jurisdiction in all cases affecting foreign nations, and in all cases in
which a State shall be a party, and with appellate jurisdiction in other
cases, is at once a final tribunal for inter-State disagreement, and a
representative to the world of an united nation, having an individual
existence, and capable of performing all the functions of an individual
nation.

We have thus traced the main lines of difference between the Articles of
Confederation and the Constitution, and have seen that the latter was
meant to be, and is the organic law of a developed and completed
nationality. Under it, every one of us becomes an American citizen,
exercising, as is right, certain local privileges, and dependent for
their immediate protection on the State authorities, but possessing
other wider and nobler rights, which inhere in him as a citizen of the
United States, and which are asserted and supported by the power and
dignity of the entire nation. No words can more fully express the lofty
majesty of that state of nationality on which we have entered, never,
under God, to fall from it, than those of the Constitution itself, to
support which every member of every government, the local as well as the
national, is bound by solemn oath. 'This Constitution, and the laws of
the United States made in pursuance thereof, and all treaties made under
the authority of the United States, shall be the SUPREME LAW OF THE
LAND, anything in the constitution or laws of any State to the contrary
notwithstanding.'

Before such words as these, binding these States together as one nation,
whose integrity nothing but treason would seek to destroy or weaken, the
fierce invective of the Southern, and the feeble sophistry of the
Northern traitor shrink to insignificance. They are at once the record
and the prophecy of our success, declaring the foundation on which the
Government is based, and pointing to yet greater glories to be attained
in the superstructure.




REASON, RHYME, AND RHYTHM.

CHAPTER II.--THE SOUL OF ART.


  'In diligent toil thy master is the bee;
  In craft mechanical, the worm that creeps
  Through earth its dexterous way, may tutor thee;
  In knowledge, couldst thou fathom all its depths,
  All to the seraph are already known:
  But thine, o Man, is Art--thine wholly and alone!'--SCHILLER.

     'The _contemplation_ of the Divine Attributes is the source of the
     highest enjoyment: their _manifestation_ is the enduring base and
     unfailing spring of all true Art.'

Many good and great men persist in refusing to teach, save through
abstract dogmas and logical formulæ, always disagreeable to and rarely
comprehended by the masses, those high moral truths, which they are so
eager to imbibe when presented to them under the attractive form of art.
It is indeed impossible for man to grasp the essential truths of life
through the understanding alone; because, created in the image of the
triune God, he can only make vital truths fully his own in the symbolic
unity of his triune being. If considered only as body or sensuous
perception, only as soul or heart, only as spirit or intellect--he
cannot be said to live at all, since it is only in the perfect union of
the Three that his essential life is found. To make instruction really
available to him, he must be taught as God and nature always teach
him--as soul, spirit, and body. To sever them is to disintegrate the
mystic core of his very being; to disregard the triune image in which he
was made. As art is symbolic of man himself, it addresses itself to his
whole being. Thus, man exists as:

     Soul-Spirit-Body: to which the corresponding senses are--

     Hearing-Seeing--Touching: the corresponding arts--

     Music-Painting-Sculpture. Poetry is no fourth art; it but embraces
     and embodies them all in its correspondent divisions of--

     Rhythm-Description-Form.

The 'Body' draws its life from the world of matter made by God, by an
assimilation of the elements suited to and prepared for its needs.

The 'Spirit' lives by an analogous process; but its proper food is the
wisdom of God.

In a like manner lives the 'Soul;' its tender instincts are to be
pastured upon the love of God.

Oh, marvellous condescension! The Infinite deigns to be appropriated as
the source of all life and growth by the finite!

In close connection with the threefold being of man, stand the Fine
Arts.

'Body.' Sculpture is the art of corporeal form, appealing to the eye as
the necessary medium for satisfying the corporeal sense of touch. It
gratifies this sense that 'ideal beauty' should breathe through solid,
tangible, and material forms. For the triune man longs for perfection in
his triune being. It should not astonish us that this art attained its
greatest perfection in the ages of classical antiquity; and that music
and painting, the symbolic arts of soul and spirit, should have attained
their highest excellence only after the advent of our sublime ideal
Christ.

'Spirit.' As seeing is the sense holding the closest relation with the
spirit or intellect, and light is the most spiritual element of
nature,--so painting, addressing itself to the spirit of man, must be
regarded as the most spiritual of the arts. Classic art became romantic
during the Christian era; Christianity impressed it with an almost
painful longing for the divine. Classic beauty was indeed there, but
with the expression of inadequacy to its internal consciousness,
oppressed with the grief of its fallen existence, and with the sadness
of an infinite longing on its ethereal countenance.

'Soul.' Music, addressing itself through the ear to the emotions, is the
art of the longing, divining, loving soul. It never excites abstract or
antagonistic thought; it unites humanity in concrete feeling. It
certainly cannot be denied that sounds address themselves immediately to
the feelings; that the tones of the voice are highly sympathetic; that
the sighs, groans, shrieks, cries of a sufferer affect us far more
vividly than the mere sight of the same degree of suffering.

But though the arts seem to us to be thus divided, each art is also
threefold, and must appeal to the triune nature of man. As man only
truly lives, so he only truly creates, as a threefold being, yet his
_life_ is ever one, so that soul, spirit, and body are constantly acting
and reacting upon each other. When the divine wisdom shines into the
spirit, it gives it the perception of intellectual truths, which truths
throw their light far into the dimmer soul; and when the divine love
pours into the soul, it gifts it with the almost limitless faculty of
loving, which warms and quickens the colder spirit, until it germs and
buds in the lovely bloom of human charities and self-abnegating good
deeds.

It is not our intention here to enter into any detailed speculations
upon the hidden mysteries of our being; we simply call the attention of
the reader to the fact that there is a class of truths which must belong
to the universal reason (such as mathematical axioms, syllogistic
formulæ, logical deductions, etc., etc.), because they compel assent as
soon as recognized;--thus a ray of divine wisdom itself must exist in
our spirits, which cannot be perverted, and which elevates the human
mind to the immediate perception of impersonal, abstract, and
conviction-compelling truths. We cannot deny them, even if we would! All
sound logic has its power in the light proceeding from this divine ray.

A ray of the divine love must also exist in the essence of the human
soul, to enable it to perform the marvels of self-abnegating devotion,
of which the most humble among us frequently seem capable. Strange
Promethean fire!

As it is the allotted task of every individual to form his soul into a
noble and powerful personality, to be an artist in the highest sense of
the word, since he must aid in chiselling a glorious statue from the
living block intrusted to his care,--is it not essentially necessary
that every human being should be taught to discern and love the
beautiful? And vast is the difference between the artist in the school
of men and in the school of God; the first, working for and in time,
must be satisfied with leaving to his fellow men some brilliant yet
perishing records of his thoughts; while the latter, working for
eternity, may labor forever to approach the infinite beauty set before
him as his glorious ideal of perfection!

We have already asserted that poetry is no fourth art on a line with the
other three. It indeed embraces and resumes them all, with added powers
of its own. It cannot, however, be denied that, employed in combination
with poetry, the other arts lose much of their special power and effect,
for thus associated they hold a subordinate station, are forced to
appear in a colder medium, and are subjected to the laws of a harmony
but partially adapted to their individual interests. Undeniable as this
may be, poetry still maintains its high claims to our consideration.
Though its tones be colder than those of music, since they must pass
through the analytic intellect instead of appealing immediately to the
sympathetic heart; if its hues are less vivid than, those of painting,
as they must be transmitted through the slower medium of words in lieu
of impressing themselves immediately upon the delighted eye; if less
palpable to the corporeal sense of touch than sculpture, with its
solidity of form,--yet is its range wider, fuller, and far more
comprehensive than any one of the sister arts. If any one should be
inclined to doubt that it is indeed a _resumé_ of them all, let him
consider that in its prosodial flow, measured pauses, metrical lines,
varied cadences, stirring or soothing rhythms, sweet or rugged
rhymes,--it is music: in its metaphorical diction, descriptive imagery,
succession of shifting pictures, diversified illustration, and vivid
coloring,--it is painting; while in its organic development and
arrangement of parts, its complicated structure, in the individualism of
characters, and the sharply defined personalities of its dramatic
realm,--it struggles to attain the fixed and beautiful unity of
sculpture.

The arts find their essential unity in the fact that their sole object
is the manifestation of the beautiful. No one knows better than the
artist that beauty is not the production, of his own limited
understanding, but that, after having duly made his preliminary studies
of the laws of the medium through which he is to manifest it, it shines
into, it reveals itself, as it were, intuitively to the divining soul.
Far lower in its sphere than that infallible inspiration which speaks to
us through the sacred pages of Holy Writ of the things immediately
pertaining to our relations with God, true artistic power must still be
considered as inspiration, since it is constantly arriving at more than
the unassisted reason of man could command by the fullest exercise of
its highest logical powers. The impassioned Romeo cries: 'Can philosophy
make a Juliet?' That philosophy has never made a Juliet in art is
positively certain! Let us then reverentially enter upon an analysis of
the effect of beauty upon the human spirit, whether found in the perfect
works of our God, or shining through the more humble imitations and
manifestations of the fallible human artist.

The perception of beauty first excites a sensation of pleasure, then a
feeling of interest in the beautiful object, then a perception of
kindness in a superior intelligence, from which it is at once seen it
must ultimately flow, then a feeling of grateful veneration toward that
beneficent Intelligence. Unless the perception of beauty be accompanied
with these emotions, we have no more correct idea of beauty than we can
be said to have an idea of a letter of which we perceive the fine
handwriting and fair lines, without understanding the contents. The
emotions consequent upon the due perception of beauty are not given by
the senses, nor do they arise entirely from the intellect, but,
proceeding from the entire man, must be accompanied by a right and open
state of the heart. A true perception and acknowledgment of beauty is
then certainly elevating; exalting and purifying the mind in accordance
with its degree. And it would indeed seem, from the lavish profusion
with which the Deity has seen fit to scatter it around us, that it was
His beneficent intention we should be constantly under its influence.
Now the artist is one gifted by his Creator to discern that ineffable
beauty which is everywhere present, to live in the realm of the ideal,
and to reveal it to men through words, forms, colors, sounds, and, would
he insure the salvation of his own soul, through good deeds. Thus it can
be proved that 'religion is the soul of art,' and essentially necessary
to the artist, because it gives him, simultaneously, the ideas and
feelings of the Absolute, without which he must lose his way, falling
into sterile and ignoble copies of the real, like the Dutch painters,
and thus be able to produce nothing but detailed and accurate copies of
low subjects, of factitious emotions, or of vulgar sensations. Without
faith, the artist prefers the body itself to the feelings which animate
it--the polished limbs of a Venus to the brow of a Madonna! The
intellect alone can never soar to the regions of eternal truth, to the
Absolute; it must be aided by the heart in its daring flight. Faith and
love are the snowy and glittering wings of true artistic excellence.
When the soul is full of the bliss of beauty, the feeling of its
happiness urges the artist on to the necessity of imparting it,--while
his heart is wrapt in the vision of the Absolute, he would fain build
for his joyous thoughts an eternal abode with his fellow men, that they
too might see the steppings of the All Fair, and so be cheered and
stimulated in these their gloomy days of evil.

Thus it cannot be denied that religion alone gives depth and sublimity
to the creations of art, because it alone gives faith and hope in the
Infinite. If we are often astonished to see the springs of artistic
inspiration so rapidly exhausted in many men of genius of our own epoch,
it is because of their overwhelming egotism and limited subjectivity,
because the worship of the finite replaces that of the infinite, because
religion has become for them a mere memory of childhood. To recover
their blighted fertility of imagination, they must again become as
little children, again betake themselves to the shady and lonely way
leading to the temple of God.

In proof of this position, we constantly find that men gifted,
sensuously, with acute perceptions of the beautiful, yet who do not
receive it with a pure heart, never comprehend it aright; but making it
a mere minister to their desires, a mere seasoning of sensual pleasures,
sink until all their creations take the same earthly stamp, and it is
seen and felt that the heavenly sense of beauty has been degraded into a
servant of lust. But as the spirit of prophecy consisted with the
avarice of Balaam and the disobedience of Saul, so God knows all the
stops of the heaven-gifted but self-corrupted artists, and, in spite of
themselves, has often made them discourse high harmonies, and give the
most eloquent and earnest enunciations of the very sentiments and
principles in which their own condemnation could be found clearly and
vividly written. The good seed, although divine, if there be no blessing
upon it, may indeed bring forth wild grapes, but these grapes are well
discerned, for there is, in the works of bad men, a taint, stain, and
jarring discord, blacker and louder exactly in proportion to their moral
deficiency. At best it is no part of our duty to examine into and
pronounce upon the frail characters of men, but rather to hold fast to
that which we can prove good, and feel to be ordained for our own
benefit.

It can, moreover, be fully proved that the artists, as a class, have
never been false to religion. From the poets of the dark ages sprang a
literature strange and marvellous, but full of naive faith, and bearing
striking witness to the activity of the human spirit even in those dim
centuries: I mean the literature of 'visions and legends.' And to
estimate the importance of these consolatory creations aright, we must
remember how precarious and miserable life then was, passed in constant
privation and poverty, menaced with increasing perils; and then consider
the fact that these legends kept constantly before the mind of the
oppressed people the consoling idea of a superintending Providence, who
numbers all our tears and hears our lightest sighs. The legend indeed
never confined itself wholly to this earth as the theatre of its wild
drama; immortality was always its groundwork, and its last scene always
opened in the invisible world, where the saints were surrounded with
undying halos of glory, and from whence they watched over men with
increasing love, while in their midst reigned a gentle figure full of
grace and majesty, uniting, in a mysterious and ineffable manner, the
holy virginity and sacred maternity of woman; a gentle, humble being,
through whose innocent meekness the two worlds, finite and infinite, had
been forever linked in the person of the infant God, whom she forever
bore upon her virgin bosom. What a tender lesson for barbaric life!

We must also remember that these legends were eminently popular, that
they passed from mouth to mouth round the winter hearth, teaching the
young and soothing the children, like the cradle song of a mother,
pouring hope into the cell of the captive, teaching the virtuous
oppressed that a just God mercifully listened to all their secret sighs,
and, leading the poor to look beyond the squalid poverty which
surrounded them, pointed to them the legions of angels, which were
lovingly camped around them. It is impossible to overestimate the
blessed effects of such a literature, or to count the naive hearts which
it may have rescued from suicide and despair!

The spirit of the literature of the middle ages culminates in the
Christian poet, Dante. History, theology, politics, paganism, sweet and
melancholy elegies, flashes of fiery indignation, all men and all
generations, meet in his majestic epic. Yet the closest unity is
preserved through this astonishing range of subjects; one sublime idea
broods over its every line,--the idea of a God of perfect justice--of
undying love!

We cite, in corroboration, the following lines from this noble poet,
though a prose translation can do but little justice to the glowing
original:

     'God is One in substance; Power, Wisdom, and Love assume in Him a
     triple Personality, so that in all tongues singular and plural are
     alike applicable to Him. He is spirit; he is the circle which
     circumscribes everything and which nothing ever circumscribes;
     immense, eternal, immutable, He is the Primal out of which all is
     darkness. Unlimited by time, without laws save in His own will, in
     the bosom of eternity, He, who is three in One, acts;--Power
     executes what Wisdom proposes, and Infinite Love is forever germing
     into ever new loves. Like a triple arrow from a single bow, from
     the depths of the Productive thought, spring, whether single or
     united, matter, form, with the living heart of all finite
     beings--their own governing laws. Created things are but the
     splendor of the immutable ideas which the Father engenders, and
     which He loves unceasingly. Ideas--thoughts--sacred words! Light,
     which, without being detached from Him who wills it into being,
     shines from creature to creature, from cause to effect,
     on--on--until it produces only contingent and transitory phenomena;
     Light which, repeated and reflected from mirror to mirror, pales as
     its distance increases from its Holy Source.'

That would surely be an interesting work which would glean for us the
multiplied expressions of the faith of the 'laurel-crowned,' who have
left their consoling records for humanity, their tracks of light over
the dark earth-bosom in which they sleep. But this is not place for such
researches; we must confine ourselves to but few quotations, designed to
show that religion is the soul of art.

In proof of this we might quote the whole of the fine tragedy of
Polyeucte; it is full of ardent religious feeling. The moral is indeed
condensed in the following lines:

  'If, to die for our king is a glorious destiny,--
  How sublime is death when we may die for God!'

Urged by that unconquerable love of the Absolute which possesses all
true poets, Racine seeks in God alone the source of all regal power:

  'The eternal is his name, the world is his work,
  He hears the sighs of the oppressed;
  He judges all mortals with equal justice,
  From the height of his throne he calls kings to account.'

Our English poet Shakspeare, whose works are full of sublime morality,
puts into the mouth of one of his matchless heroines the following
exquisite passage, recalling to us the lessons of the New Testament:

           'Alas! alas!
  Why all the souls that are, were forfeit once,
  And He that might the advantage best have took
  Found out the remedy: how would you be,
  If He, who is the top of judgment, should
  But judge you as you are? In the strict course
  Of justice none of us should see salvation:
  We do pray for mercy; that same prayer
  Should teach us all to render deeds of mercy.'

Klopstock, the German poet, sings only of God, not in the creation
alone, the last judgment, in his august and dreadful majesty, but in the
wonders of His tender love:

     'I trust in thee, Divine Mediator! I have chanted the canticle of
     the new covenant; my race is run; Thou hast pardoned my tottering
     steps! Sound! sound, quivering strings of my lyre! My heart is full
     of the bliss of gratitude to my God! What recompense could I ask? I
     have tasted the cup of angels in singing of my Redeemer!'

Not less devout than the 'Messiah,' but far more beautiful, is Tasso's
exquisite 'Jerusalem Delivered.'

A complete system of theology may be found in the majestic pages of
Milton's sublime 'Paradise Lost.'

That which with the heathen poets was but an episode, the religious
element of the poem, as the 'Descent into Hades,' the 'Wanderings
through Elysium,' etc., etc., ends by absorbing the entire work after
the advent of Christianity. The 'Divine Comedy,' the 'Paradise Lost,'
and the 'Messiah,' form a magnificent Christian trilogy, of which the
scene is almost always in a supernatural sphere, and in which the
principal actor is--the Providence of God.

On this subject we have no further time to dilate, and the reader may
easily verify its truth for himself. If he would convince himself that
the deepest draughts of inspiration have ever been drawn by the highest
artists from religious ideas, let him add to the names above given,
those of Fra Angelico, Fra Bartolomeo, Tintoret, Corregio, Murillo,
Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Michael Angelo, and, in our own days,
Overbeck; let him gaze into that divine face of godlike sorrow given us
by an untaught monk, Antonio Pesenti, in his marvellous crucifix of
ivory, let him listen to the pure ethereal strains of Palestrina,
Pergolese, Marcello, Stradella, and Cherubini, and thus be assured that
religion, the love of the Infinite, is the 'Soul of Art.'




THE BUCCANEERS OF AMERICA.


The most terrible name, perhaps, in the juvenile literature of England
and English America, during the last century and a half, has been that
of WILLIAM KIDD, the pirate. In the nursery legend, in story,
and in song, the name of Kidd has stood forth as the boldest and
bloodiest of buccaneers. The terror of the ocean when abroad, he
returned from his successive voyages to line our coasts with silver and
gold, and to renew with the devil a league, cemented with the blood of
victims shot down whenever fresh returns of the precious metals were to
be hidden. According to the superstitious of Connecticut and Long
Island, it was owing to these bloody charms that honest money-diggers
have ever experienced so much difficulty in removing these buried
treasures. Often, indeed, have the lids of the iron chests rung beneath
the mattock of the stealthy midnight searcher for gold; but the flashes
of sulphurous fires, blue and red, and the saucer eyes and chattering
teeth of legions of demons have uniformly interposed to frighten the
delvers from their posts, and preserve the treasures from their greedy
clutches. But notwithstanding the harrowing sensations connected with
the name of Kidd, and his renown as a pirate, he was but one of the last
and most inconsiderable of that mighty race of sea robbers who, during a
long series of years in the seventeenth century, were the admiration of
the world for their prowess, and its terror for their crimes.

The community of buccaneers was first organized upon the small island of
Tortuga, situated on the north side of St. Domingo, at the distance of
about two leagues from the latter. It was upon this island that the
first European colony was planted in the New World, in the year and
month of its discovery. But although the colony became considerable, and
flourished so long as the natives remained in sufficient numbers to
cultivate the plantations of the Spaniards, yet it did not take vigorous
root. The numbers of the natives were greatly reduced by the arms of
their conquerors, and were afterward still more rapidly diminished by
oppression; and although an attempt was made to supply their places by a
forced importation of forty thousand Indians from the Bahamas, the
experiment was of little avail. In less than half a century, the
aboriginal race was extinct. The country was beautiful beyond
description: rich in its mines, and its soil of unexceeded fertility.
But the Spaniard, if not by nature indolent, is prone to luxury. The
earth producing by handfuls, the colonists saw little necessity of
laborious exertion. They accordingly degenerated from the spirit and
enterprise of their ancestors, and fell into habits of voluptuous
idleness. Agriculture was neglected, and the mines deserted. Contenting
themselves with a bare supply of the wants of nature, they sank into
such a state of indolence, that many of their slaves had no other
employment than to swing them in their hammocks the livelong day. No
colony could nourish composed of such a people. During the first half
century of its existence, it had indeed become considerable; but for a
century afterward it dwindled away, neglected and apparently forgotten
by the parent country, until even the remembrance of its former
greatness was lost.

At length, about the middle of the seventeenth century, the Spaniards
were roused from their repose. So early as the year 1630, the severity
of the French colonial system had driven many of the most resolute of
the colonists from the islands belonging to that nation, especially from
St. Christopher's. Numbers of these men, in order to an unrestrained
enjoyment of liberty, took refuge in the western division of St.
Domingo, supporting themselves with game, and by hunting wild cattle,
for which they continued to find a market, either in the Spanish
settlements, or by trading with vessels visiting the western coast for
that object. Meanwhile the exactions upon the colonists of St.
Christopher's and the submission required of them to exclusive
privileges, induced a further and greater number to abandon the island,
and join the adventures of their own countrymen in the forests of St.
Domingo. Those adventurers--many of whom had already been roaming the
St. Domingo forest for nearly half a century, increasing in numbers by
accessions from time to time--had, in 1630, established a social and
political system of their own, peculiar to their own community. Their
original calling was the hunting of wild boars and cattle, which
abounded in the island. To this was added, to a small extent, the
business of planting, and to this again the more adventurous profession
of sea-roving and piracy. Their vessels were at first nothing larger
than boats, or rather canoes, constructed from the trunks of
trees--excavations after the manner of the ordinary light canoes of our
own aboriginals. But from the size of some descriptions of trees growing
in that climate, these canoes were capable of carrying crews of from
thirty to fifty and seventy-five men, with the necessary supplies for
short voyages among the Antilles. As they had no women among them, nor
other consequent responsibilities, it was their custom to associate in
partnerships of two, called comrades, who lived together, and assisted
each other in the chase and in the domestic duties of their huts or
cabins. Their goods were thrown into common stock; and when one of a
partnership died, the survivor became the absolute heir of the joint
stock--unless the deceased, by previous stipulation, bequeathed his
goods to his relatives, perchance a wife and children in another land.
They were frequently absent from their lodges on their hunting
excursions for twelve months and two years at a time; but their lodges
with their goods were left in perfect safety, for the crime of theft was
unknown among them.

Differences seldom arose among them, and when they did occur, they were
usually adjusted without much difficulty. In obstinate and aggravated
cases, however, their disputes were decided by firearms, in the use of
which the nicest principles of fairness and honor were observed. A ball
entering the back or the side of a party, afforded evidence that he had
fallen by treachery, and the assassin was immediately put to death. The
former laws of their own country were disregarded; and by the usual sea
baptism received in passing the tropic, they considered themselves
expatriated from their native land, and at liberty to change their
family names, which many of them did--borrowing terms from the character
of the profession which they had chosen, as suited their fancy. Their
dress was a shirt and drawers dipped in the blood of the animals they
killed, shoes without stockings, a leathern girdle by which their knife
and a short sabre were suspended, and a hat or cap without a brim. Their
common food was the choicest pieces of bullock's flesh, seasoned with
orange juice and pimento, and cured by smoke; of bread they lost the
use, and, until the trade of piracy was adopted, water was their only
drink. The term _buccaneers_, by which the hunters were first known, was
derived from a tribe of the Caribs, who were called thus from the manner
in which they prepared meats for their food, whether flesh of beasts or
of men. For this purpose they constructed a sort of grate or hurdle,
consisting of twenty bars of Brazil wood, laid crosswise half a foot
from each other, upon which the flesh of prisoners of war or of game was
laid in pieces, and a thick smoke raised beneath from properly selected
combustibles, which gave to the meat the vermil color and a delightful
smell. These fixtures, thus adjusted, were called _buccans_, and the
process of curing the meat _buccaning_. The hunters, having adopted this
process from the savages, were like them called _buccaneers_. In process
of time the name was applied to the sea robbers as well as to the
hunters; and when piracy became the general profession as a substitute
for planting and the chase, all were called buccaneers indiscriminately.

Previously to the great and sudden augmentation of their forces, by the
immigration from St. Christopher's about the year 1660, the buccaneers
had taken possession of Tortuga, the geographical position and character
of which island was well suited to their commercial and piratical
purposes. This little island had been occupied by a few Spaniards as
early as 1591; but their numbers were so small as not to interfere with
the object of the buccaneers, while its rocky conformation afforded
peculiar facilities for defence in the event of attack.

The greatly increasing numbers of the buccaneers at length aroused the
colonial voluptuaries of Spain to a sense of their danger. It was
perceived that while the colonists were dwindling away, the outlaws were
becoming so formidable in their numbers that they soon might be enabled
to contest for the mastery of the island of Hispaniola itself. They
therefore commenced a war upon them, and not being able to prosecute it
with sufficient vigor themselves, they called to their aid troops from
the other Spanish islands, and also from the continent. With these
auxiliaries the barbarians were hunted with great severity, and many of
them massacred. Finding themselves pursued in this manner, the outlaws
banded together for mutual defence. Their avocations required them often
to separate in the daytime; but they assembled in considerable numbers
at night; and if individuals were missing, diligent search was made
until their fate was ascertained. If he returned from an extended chase,
it was well. If not--if it was discovered that he had fallen a victim to
the Spaniards, or had been taken prisoner--his loss was requited with
terrible vengeance. Everything Spanish was devoted to destruction,
without distinction of age or sex. But in this partisan warfare, the
buccaneers maintained a decided advantage. When too hotly pressed, they
could fly to their canoes or hoys, as they were called, and escape to
Tortuga; and if the Spaniards pursued them thither in numbers too
powerful for an open combat, they would return back again to their
principal island. Despairing at length of success in this mode of
warfare, the Spaniards resolved to conquer the ruffians by destroying
their means of subsistence. For this purpose, by a general hunt over the
whole island, the wild bulls were killed, and the droves of cattle
previously roaming the forests were consequently reduced so rapidly that
the buccaneers found it necessary to change their employment--to form
settlements and cultivate the lands. More than two thousand of them
clustered upon Tortuga, where the business of cultivating sugar and
tobacco was begun; but the more general and lucrative employment became
that of piracy. They had as yet no larger craft than the boats and
canoes already mentioned, but with these they managed to navigate the
West India seas, shooting into secure places of refuge among the smaller
islands, or keys, at pleasure.

The community had now become so large, in 1660, that something like
order and government was seen to be necessary even by the buccaneers
themselves; and they accordingly sent to the Governor of St.
Christopher's for a governor. The boon was readily granted, and M. le
Passeur was commissioned to that office. He repaired promptly to Tortuga
with a ship of armed men and stores; assumed the command, and
immediately commenced fortifying the island--a work to which nature had
largely contributed by the peculiar conformation of some of the rock
precipices. There was upon one high rock, inaccessible at all points
save by ladders, a cavern large enough for a garrison of a thousand men,
with an abundant spring gushing from the rocks. This post was seized and
provisioned. Twice the Spaniards invaded them from Hispaniola, but were
repulsed--the last time with terrible slaughter. The invaders were eight
hundred in number. They had seized a yet higher point of rock than the
natural fortress occupied by the buccaneers, upon which they were
endeavoring to plant their cannon, in order the better to dislodge the
enemy. The time chosen for the invasion was when a large number of the
freebooters were at sea. These, however, returning suddenly by night,
climbed the mountain upon the heels of the Spaniards, and attacked them
with such fury as to compel them by hundreds to throw themselves from
the rocky parapets into the valley beneath, by which their bodies were
dashed in pieces. Those who were not killed by the fall were put to the
sword; and few or none returned to rehearse the bloody story.

This ill-starred expedition was the last sent from St. Domingo against
the buccaneers, who thenceforward became the masters and lord
proprietaries of Tortuga. Nor were the buccaneers longer exclusively
composed of adventurous Frenchmen. Visions of golden cities in the New
World had been flitting before the eyes of the English for a century
before, and had not even been eclipsed by the signal failures of Sir
Walter Raleigh in the reigns of Elizabeth and James. Indeed the
expeditions of the gallant knight, however bootless to himself, may have
served to stimulate the cupidity of his countrymen for a long time
afterward, inasmuch as some of Sir Walter's officers testified that they
actually approached within sight of the golden city. Sir Walter's great
contemporary, Sir Francis Drake, after committing many depredations upon
the Spanish American coast, had returned to England with a vast amount
of treasure. The expeditions both of Sir Francis and Sir Walter were of
a character bordering closely upon piratical; and in that romantic age,
it was not considered as greatly transcending their examples for daring
spirits to seek their fortunes in the New World, even by associating
themselves with the buccaneers of Tortuga. Be this, however, as it may,
England and Holland and other European states respectively furnished
many reckless and daring recruits to the army of freebooters; and their
piracies increased with their numbers. Ostensibly they directed their
operations only against the commerce of Spain, with whom they were
directly at war, and whose galleons from the continent, freighted with
the produce of the mines, offered golden incentives to bravery. But
however virtuous in this respect might have been the intentions of the
sea robbers, it was not invariably the merchantmen of Spain which
suffered from their depredations, since from 'an imperfection, in the
organs of vision,' or from some other cause 'they were not always able
to distinguish the flags of different nations.' Others than the
Spaniards, were consequently occasional sufferers; and a ready market
was found for their plunder in the French, and English islands,
especially in Jamaica, which England had conquered from Spain in 1655.
This latter island was in fact their principal depot; for although the
British Government, both under the Protectorate and afterward, had
endeavored to direct the attention of the Jamaica colonists to
agricultural pursuits, they had entirely failed, for the reason that the
buccaneers, making it their principal resort, poured in such vast
treasures, that the inhabitants amassed considerable wealth with little
difficulty, and despised the more honest occupations of honest labor.
The population rapidly increased, and in a few years amounted to twenty
thousand, whose only source of subsistence was derived from the
buccaneers.

Hitherto France had disclaimed as her subjects the roving cattle-hunters
upon the island of Hispaniola; but after they had formed settlements and
established themselves so firmly upon Tortuga, the French West India
company took them under the ægis of the lilies for protection; and M.
Ogeron, 'a man of probity and understanding,' was sent from the parent
country to govern them. With the arrival of the new governor the
domestic relations of the buccaneers underwent a material change, for
the former brought many women with him--fit persons, from the past
profligacy of their lives, to consort with the inhabitants of Tortuga.
But the buccaneers were not fastidious in the selection of wives, and
history gives us no right to suppose that there was a single forlorn
damsel left without a husband. 'I ask nothing of your past life,' would
the buccaneer say to the fair one to whom he proposed himself. 'If
anybody would have had you where you came from, you would not have come
here. But as you did not belong to me then, whatever you may have done
was no disgrace to me. Give me your word for the future, and I will
acquit you for the past.' Then striking his gun barrel, he would add,
'Shouldst thou prove false to me, this will not.'

Meanwhile, the buccaneers, becoming stronger and stronger every day,
extended their designs, and pushed their operations with a degree of
audacity and success that rendered them the terror of the seas. As yet
their marine consisted only of boats and canoes, but these were, as
before stated, of a size to carry from fifty to a hundred men each. They
attacked not only merchantmen, but vessels of war, with a degree of
intrepidity unexampled in the history of man. No matter for the size of
a ship, or for her armament. They paused not to calculate chances. Their
invariable practice was to carry their prizes by boarding. Their boats
were propelled with the swiftness of an arrow. As certain as they
grappled with a vessel, she was sure to be taken; for their onslaughts
were desperately furious and irresistible. The Spanish Government
complained bitterly, both to England and France, of the outrages upon
her commerce by the pirates, a large majority of whom were the born
subjects of those nations. The answers, however, of both were the same:
that those piratical acts were not committed by the buccaneers as their
subjects; and the Spanish ambassador was informed that his master might
proceed against them as he saw fit. In consequence of the transactions
of the buccaneers with the people of Jamaica, England went farther, and
actually removed the governor of that colony. But, whether with the
connivance of the civil authorities or not, the intercourse between the
pirates and the people continued without serious interruption. Some of
the buccaneers, however, pretended to hold commissions both from the
French and the Dutch; but it was mere pretext. Their authority was in
truth nothing more than what the sailors are wont jocosely to call 'a
commission from the Pope.' Yet they affected to consider themselves in
lawful war against Spain, for the reason that the Spaniards had debarred
them from the privileges of hunting in the forests and fishing in the
waters of St. Domingo--thus depriving them of the exercise of what they
called their lawful rights. In regard to the cruelties which they
frequently inflicted upon the prisoners who fell into their hands, they
pleaded in justification those enormities which the conquerors of
Spanish America inflicted upon the aborigines there. The horrible
cruelties of Cortez and Pizarro are familiar to every student of
history. 'I once,' says Las Casas, speaking of the conquest of the New
World, 'beheld four or five chief Indians roasted alive at a slow fire;
and as the miserable victims poured forth their dreadful yells, it
disturbed the commandant in his siesta, and he sent an order that they
should be strangled; but the officer on duty would not do it, but,
causing their mouths to be gagged that their shrieks might not be heard,
he stirred up the fire with his own hands, and roasted them deliberately
until they all expired.' The conquerors had resorted to these dreadful
executions under the cloak of religious zeal, but in reality to make the
poor wretches disclose the secret depositories of their treasures.
Instances of the same refined cruelty, at the contemplation of which
humanity shudders, marked the history of the buccaneers. Their motives
were the same as those which had governed the conduct of Cortez; and
they, too, found a salvo for their consciences by persuading themselves
that they were commissioned as a court of vengeance--the instruments of
retributive justice in the hands of Providence--to punish the Spaniards
for the remorseless cruelties practised upon the unoffending Mexicans.
And here another extraordinary fact may be noted in the history of the
buccaneers. After their community had become consolidated and their
government in a manner systematized, strange as it may seem,
notwithstanding their murderous profession the observances of the
Christian, religion were introduced to sanctify their atrocities. 'They
never partook of a repast without solemnly acknowledging their
dependence upon the Giver of all good.' In their infatuation, whenever
they embarked upon any expedition, they were wont to invoke for its
success the blessing of Heaven; and they never returned from a marauding
excursion that they did not return thanks to God for their victory. 'On
the appearance of a ship which they meant to attack, they offered up a
fervent prayer for success; and when the conflict had terminated in
their favor, their first care was to express their gratitude to the God
of battles for the victory which He had enabled them to gain.'

       *       *       *       *       *

The first leader of the buccaneers, after their concentration upon
Tortuga, whose deeds of desperate valor 'damned him to everlasting
fame,' was PIÉRRE LE GRANDE, a native of Dieppe, in Normandy.
The crowning act of his piratical career was his taking the ship of the
vice admiral, convoying a fleet of Spanish galleons, near the Cape of
Tiburon, on the western side of St. Domingo--an act which was performed
with a single boat, manned by only eighteen men, and armed with no more
than four small pieces of ordnance. And even these latter were of no
use, as the admiral's ship was carried by boarding, with no other arms
than swords and pistols. Le Grande had been so long at sea, without
falling in with any craft worth capturing, that his provisions were
becoming short; and his crew, pressed with hunger and brooding over
their ill success, were desperate. Thus situated, they espied the
Spaniard bearing the vice admiral's flag, and separated from the rest of
the flotilla. Notwithstanding the immense disparity of force, Le Grande
determined to capture her, and his crew took an oath to stand by him
till the last. The boat of the pirates was descried by the Spaniard in
the afternoon, and the admiral was admonished of what might be its
character; but he scorned the admonition, viewing the apparently pitiful
craft with contempt, and adopting no precautions against it. Just in the
dusk of evening the pirates ran alongside of his ship. As already
remarked, the crew of Le Grande had sworn to stand by their captain; but
in order to cut off all means of escape in the event of defeat, and
therefore to make them fight with greater desperation, their chief, at
the moment they were climbing the sides of the ship, caused the boat to
be suddenly scuttled, and sunk. Indeed the boarding of the Spaniard was
hastened by the necessity of leaping from their own vessel, already
sinking beneath them. Under these circumstances, the boarding was so
rapid, that the Spaniards were completely taken by surprise; so much so
that as the pirates rushed into the great cabin, they found the captain,
with several boon companions, engaged at a game of cards. Exclaiming
that his assailants must be devils, the commander, with a pistol at his
breast, was compelled to an immediate surrender. Meanwhile a portion of
the assailants took possession of the gunroom; seized the arms, and
killed all who resisted. This vigorous assault soon carried the ship by
a surrender at discretion. She proved to be a rich prize; and the
prisoners were treated with lenity, which was not always the course
adopted by the buccaneers when they were disappointed in the amount of
their expected plunder. Many were the crews compelled to pay with their
lives for the poverty of their cargoes. In the present case Le Grande
retained for his own service such of the common sailors as he needed,
and after setting the rest on shore, proceeded to France with his
prize, where he remained, without ever returning to America.

The success of this exploit, and the rich reward by which it was
crowned, at once stimulated the cupidity of the Tortugans, and fired
their breasts with the ambition of emulating the bravery of the Great
Peter. Those who were yet engaged in planting or in other honest
occupations, at once abandoned them, and betook themselves to the more
inviting trade of piracy. Being unable to build larger vessels than the
boats or hoys then in use, they carried on the war in these against the
smaller vessels of Spain engaged in the coasting trade and in the
traffic of hides and tobacco with the inhabitants of Jamaica. The
vessels thus captured were substituted for their own smaller craft, by
means of which they were soon enabled to make longer voyages, and
stretch across to the coasts of the Spanish main. At Campeachy and other
points they found many trading vessels, and often ships of great burden.
Two of these commercial vessels they captured, and also two large armed
ships, all laden with plate, within the port of Campeachy, which they
boldly entered for that purpose, and sailed with them in triumph to
Tortuga. Such rich returns greatly augmented the wealth of the island;
and every additional capture enabled them to increase their marine,
until at the end of two years from the last achievement of Piérre Le
Grande, the pirates had a navy, very well manned and equipped, of more
than twenty ships of different sizes. With such a force, composed of men
of the most desperate fortunes and dauntless courage, the commerce of
Spain with her colonies in Central and South America was in a few years
almost entirely destroyed. The ships bound from Europe for the colonies
were rarely molested by the pirates, who chose to fall upon them when
laden with the precious metals, which Spain, in her avarice, was
transporting home--not foreseeing that by that very process she was
gradually working her own national ruin. Sometimes a fleet of galleons,
when under strong convoy, succeeded in the return voyage; but a single
ship, of whatever strength or force, seldom escaped the vigilance of the
pirates. They followed such fleets as they judged it unsafe to attack,
and a slow sailer or a straggler was inevitably captured. So daring were
these robbers, that even before they were enabled to obtain a smaller
craft, a crew of fifty-five of them in one of the large canoes sailed
into the Southern Ocean, and proceeded along the coast of the continent
as far north as California. On their return, they entered one of the
ports of Peru, and captured a ship, the cargo of which was valued at
several millions. Their canoe was then exchanged for the noble prize, in
which they returned in triumph.

Preparations for their expeditions were made with the utmost care, and
articles of agreement were always carefully written out and signed; and
the dealings of the robbers among each other were usually characterized
by the most scrupulous honor. In regard to their provisions, the rations
were distributed twice a day--the officers, from the highest to the
lowest, faring no better than the common sailor. It was stipulated
exactly what sums of money or what proportionate sums each person
engaged in a voyage should receive, with the understanding, of course,
_no prey_, _no pay_. The commanders of the ships were frequently the
owners. Sometimes they belonged to a company of adventurers on board. In
other instances they were chartered for the service of individuals or
companies on shore. The first stipulation, therefore, on arranging for a
voyage, regarded the compensation to be received by the owner or owners
of the ship, being ordinarily one third of the products of the cruise.
If the boat or vessel in which an enterprise was first undertaken was
the common property of the crew, the first vessel captured was allotted
to the captain, with one share of the booty obtained. In cases where the
captain owned and fitted out the original vessel, the first ship taken
belonged to him, with a double share of the plunder. The surgeon was
allowed two hundred crowns for his medicine chest, and a single share of
the prizes; and whoever had the good fortune to descry a ship that was
captured, received a reward of a hundred crowns. A tariff of
compensation for the wounded was also adjusted according to the greater
or less severity of the wounds they might receive. For example, the
compensation for the loss of a right arm was six hundred pieces of
eight, or six slaves as an equivalent; for a left arm, five hundred
pieces of eight, or five slaves; for the loss of a right leg, five
hundred pieces, or five slaves; for an eye, one hundred pieces, or one
slave; for the loss of a finger, the same. Claims of this character were
first paid at the close of a voyage, from the common stock of the prize
money. The commander of an expedition was allotted five portions of a
common seaman; and the subordinate officers shared in proportion to
their rank. The residue of the booty was then divided with exact
equality among the crews, from the highest to the lowest mariner, not
excepting the boys. Some of the duties of these latter were peculiar.
For instance, when the pirates had captured a vessel better than their
own, they transferred themselves to it, leaving the boys to escape from
the deserted vessel last, after having set it on fire. Favor never had
any influence in the distribution of the booty, which was rigidly
decided by lot--lots being drawn for the dead as well as for the living.
The portions for the dead were given to their surviving companion; or if
the companion had also been killed, the allotment was sent to the family
of the deceased. If they had no families, then the money or plate or
other goods that would have belonged to them was distributed to the
poor, or piously bestowed on churches, which were to pray for the souls
of those in whose names the benefactions were given. These allowances to
the dead and wounded were considered debts of honor--such as the brokers
of Wall street would note as 'confidential.' Their intercourse with each
other was marked with civility and kindness. They, of course, squandered
their money on coming ashore, in all manner of dissipation, and with the
recklessness which has ever characterized the sailor. To those who were
in want they would contribute freely; and the kind offices of humanity
among each other were readily interchanged. In ordinary cases, their
prisoners were liberated, save those who were needed for their own
assistance; and these were generally discharged after two or three
years. Whenever they were in want of supplies, they landed upon the
islands and levied exactions upon the people--planters and fishermen.
The green turtles, however, among the Florida Keys, supplied a large
portion of their food; and it is presumed that they became as great
adepts in the turtle line as the corporation pirates of modern times.

So extensively was the commerce of Spain in these seas, under her own
flag, cut up, notwithstanding the ships of war repeatedly sent for its
protection, that foreign flags were resorted to, in hopes of deceiving
the rovers. But the _ruse_ was not successful. Two of the buccaneer
chiefs, Michael de Basco and Brouage, receiving intelligence that a
cargo of great value had been shipped under the Dutch flag at
Carthagena, in two ships much larger than their own, boldly entered the
harbor, captured both, and plundered them of their treasure. The Dutch
captains, chagrined at being thus beaten by inferior vessels, said to
one of the pirate chiefs that had he been alone, he would not have dared
thus to attack them. The buccaneer haughtily challenged mynheer to fight
the battle over again--stipulating that his consort should stand aloof
from the engagement, and, that should the Dutchman conquer, both the
pirate vessels should be his. The challenge, however, was not accepted.
At another time, when Basco and two other chiefs, named Jonqué and
Laurence Le Graff, were cruising before Carthagena with three
indifferent vessels, two Spanish men-of-war put out to attack them. The
result was the capture of both the latter by the pirates, who kept the
ships, but magnanimously sent the crews on shore--affecting, from the
ease with which they had been vanquished, to look upon them with utter
contempt.

There was yet another pirate chief, whose name stands out in bold
relief, for his infamous cruelties, even among the bloody records of the
buccaneers. He was a Dutchman by birth, who had settled in Brazil during
the occupancy of that country by the United Provinces. On the
restoration of the Portuguese to their Brazilian possessions this bloody
wretch retreated to Jamaica. His name not being known, he received the
soubriquet of _Rock Braziliano_, by which he was henceforward known.
Very soon after his arrival at Jamaica, he joined the pirates, first as
an ordinary mariner; and acquitted himself so well as to gain, in a
short time, the respect and affection of his comrades. A mutiny breaking
out on board the vessel in which he was embarked, caused a separation of
the crew; a second vessel was taken possession of by a portion of them,
and Braziliano chosen chief. He pursued his career with various success
and the most frightful cruelty. His hatred of the Spaniards was
exceedingly bitter, and when landing in Spanish settlements to procure
provisions, he frequently roasted the inhabitants alive if they were not
forthcoming at his command. In one of his cruises upon the coast of
South America, he was wrecked, and his vessel lost. Escaping to the
shore with his crew of only thirty men, he was pursued by a troop of one
hundred Spanish cavalry. Upon these he turned, and defeated them with
terrible slaughter, and with but trifling loss to himself. Mounting the
horses of the slain, Braziliano continued his course coastwise, until,
falling in with some boats from Campeachy, which he seized, he made sail
for Jamaica--capturing another ship on the voyage laden with merchandise
and a large amount of money in pieces of eight. Remaining on shore long
enough to dissipate their booty in the usual round of drunkenness and
debauchery which characterized the buccaneers when not upon the wave,
Braziliano and his companions put to sea again, directing their course
to his old haunts about Campeachy. Shortly after his arrival, while
looking into the port, in a small boat, to espy what ships were offering
for prizes, he was captured and thrown into prison. The Spanish
authorities determined upon his execution; but in consequence of an
admonition that terrible vengeance would be inflicted upon all Spanish
prisoners falling into the hands of the pirates, in the event of his
punishment, this horrible villain was released upon the security of his
own oath, that he would forthwith relinquish his profession. But before
he reached Jamaica on his return, he captured another prize; and after
the avails of that were spent in every species of debauch, he went to
sea again, committing greater robberies and cruelties than ever.

Jamaica, though a British possession, having, as we have seen, long
afforded a market for the pirates, had in process of time become equally
a rendezvous with Tortuga. Wealth, in immense quantities, had been
poured into that island by the pirates, and had been diffused thence
among the other West India possessions, British and French. The
licentiousness of the buccaneers was unbounded, and their blood-stained
spoils were scattered with incredible prodigality. Indeed they seemed to
be at a loss how to spend their money fast enough. Their captains had
been known to purchase pipes of wine, place them in the street, knock in
the head, and compel every passer-by to drink; and mention is made of
one, who, returning from an expedition with three thousand dollars in
his pocket, was sold into slavery three months afterward for a debt of
forty shillings. If admonished in regard to their reckless waste of
money, their reply was that their lives were not like those of other
men. Though alive to-day, they might be dead to-morrow, and hence it was
folly for them to hoard their treasure. 'Live to-day,' was their maxim,
'to-morrow may take care of itself.' Those, therefore, who were worth
millions to-day, robbed by courtezans and stripped at the gaming table,
were often penniless in a week--destitute of clothes and even the
necessaries of life. They had therefore no recourse but to return to the
sea, and levy new contributions, to be dissipated as before.

But the commerce of Spain with her colonies was ruined. Failing in her
exertions to conquer the buccaneers, and finding them to be so firmly
established as to defy any force which she could send against them, and
wearied in making so many consignments, as it were, directly into their
hands, Spain dismantled her commercial marine and closed her South
American ports, in the hope--a vain one, as it proved--that when the
resources of the pirates upon the high seas were cut off, their
establishments would be necessarily broken up, and the freebooters
themselves disperse. But far different was the event. No sooner had
these rapacious and savage men ascertained that there were no more
galleons of her bullion to be taken, than they concentrated their
forces, with a determination to strike nearer the mines themselves.
Powerful expeditions were therefore openly organized at Jamaica and
elsewhere, for the purpose of making descents upon the cities and towns
of the Spanish main. The temptations to such a course were indeed
strong; and the Spaniards, by their ostentatious display, materially
assisted in their own ruin. For instance, the city of Lima, in 1682, on
the occasion of the public entry of the viceroy, actually had the
streets paved with ingots of silver, to the amount of seventeen millions
sterling! 'What a pretty prize,' exclaims the _London Times_, 'for a few
honest tars!' Then the splendor and magnificence of their churches,
ornamented with immense gold and silver images, crucifixes, and
candlesticks, and not unfrequently large altars of massive silver,
became objects of a _devout regard_. Nor did the pirates fail to present
themselves before every accessible shrine; for in truth, they swept over
the vast central portion of the continent from Florida to Peru,
plundering and laying in waste the most populous regions, and the
wealthiest cities--meeting, moreover, with less resistance than attended
the march of Cortez and Alvarado in achieving the conquest. Their
visitations were sudden, and wherever they struck their blows fell like
the thunderbolt. The consequence was that the consternation of the
people upon the land became as great as their terror upon the ocean. The
great roads were deserted; and the lands were no more ploughed than the
sea.




VIRGINIA.

(SUGGESTED BY A PAINTING BY J. McENTEE.)

  'The tree has lost its blossoms,...
  But the sap lasts,--and still the seed we find
  Sown deep even in the bosom of the North;
  So shall a bitter spring less bitter fruit bring forth.'

  _Childe Harold._


  Wan and weird the solemn twilight gleameth in the dreary sky,
  Dusky shadows growing deeper, sad night-breezes sorrowing by,
  Sighing 'mid the leafless bushes bending o'er the sullen stream,
  Wailing 'mid the fire-stained ruins darkly rising 'gainst the gleam
  Of the wild unearthly twilight. In the shivering evening air
  Cheerless lie the gloomy meadows--blight and ruin everywhere!

  Far away the wide plain stretches, dark and desolate it lies
  'Neath the shuddering winds that murmur, 'neath the gleaming of
    the skies;
  Hark to the swollen river, how it moaneth in its flow,
  'Mid the bridge's fallen arches, 'neath the bushes bending low,
  Now unbroken by a ripple, flowing silently and still,
  Gives again unto the heavens twilight gleaming wan and chill.

  Where the corn once waved in beauty its bright wealth of shining leaves,
  Glittering in the noonday's glory, rustling in the summer eves,
  As the murmuring wind swept o'er it, bending low each tasselled head,
  'Neath the soft and shimmering radiance by the moon of summer shed--
  There no plough will make its furrow--waste the sunny field doth lie,
  And no grain will wave its tresses to the breezes wailing by.

  Where amid the whispering forests once the laughing sunlight fell,
  Fallen tree and blackened stump now the dreary story tell
  Of the woe and desolation sad Virginia shadowing o'er,
  From the fatal Rappahannock to Potomac's fort-crowned shore,
  Tell the tale of saddened hearthstones, desolate hearts that mourn
    each day
  For the dearly loved ones stricken, wounded, dying, far away.

  Wake, Virginia! from thy slumber, from thy wild and traitorous dream;
  Wake! and welcome loyal Northmen, sabres' ring and bayonets' gleam;
  Cast aside the clanking fetters that still echo on thy soil,
  Teach thy sons that no dishonor clings to manly, honest toil:
  So again thy tree shall blossom, fairer, stronger than before,
  And God's peace will rest upon thee, thy scourged fields will hover o'er.




VISIT TO THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN.

APRIL, 1863.


We remember many years ago passing directly from the gallery of
Düsseldorf pictures, then recently opened in New York, to the hall of
the National Academy. The contrast to a lover of his country was a
painful one. The foreign school possessed ripeness of design, and
accurate, if in many instances somewhat mannered and artificial
execution. The native collection exhibited a poverty in conception, and
a harshness and crudity in performance, sadly discouraging to one who
would fain see the fine arts progress in equal measure with the more
material elements of civilization. Since that time, however, year by
year, the art of painting, at least, has steadily advanced, the light of
genius has been granted to spring from our midst, our artists dwelling
in foreign lands have returned to find a congenial atmosphere under
their native skies, and, in so far as landscape is concerned, we have
now no need to shun comparison with the best pictures produced abroad.
Our school is an original one, for our artists have gone to the great
teacher, Nature, who has shown them without stint the bright sun,
luminous sky, pearly dawns, hazy middays, glowing sunsets, shimmering
twilights, golden moons, rolling mists, fantastic clouds, wooded hills,
snow-capped peaks, waving grain fields, primeval forests, tender spring
foliage, gorgeous autumnal coloring, grand cataracts, leaping brooks,
noble rivers, clear lakes, bosky dells, lichen-covered crags, and varied
seacoasts of this western continent. Here is no lack of diversity, here
are studies in unity, both simple and complex, and here, too, even
civilized man need not necessarily be unpicturesque; witness Launt
Thompson's 'Trapper,' Rogers's bits of petrified history, or Eastman
Johnson's vivid delineations of scenes familiar to us all. We have no
reason to follow in any beaten, hackneyed track, but, within the needful
restrictions of good sense, good taste, and the teachings of nature, may
wander wherever the bent of our gifts may lead us. We may choose
sensational subjects, striking contrasts, with Church, follow the
exquisite traceries of shadow, of mountain top and fern-clad rock, with
Bierstadt, learn the secrets of the innermost souls of the brute
creation with Beard, revel in cool atmospheres and transparent waters
with Kensett, paint in light with Gifford, in poetry with McEntee, or
with Whittredge seek the tranquil regions of forest shade or quiet
interior.

In the examination of every work of art, we find three questions to be
asked: Has it something to say; is that something worth saying; is it
well said? In painting, poetry, music, sculpture, and architecture,
satisfactory replies must be given, or the mind refuses to recognize the
work under consideration as fulfilling the conditions necessary to
perfection within its individual range. Too often worthlessness of
meaning is hidden under exquisite execution, the most dangerous form an
aberration from the true principles of art can take, especially in an
age when the material receives an undue proportion of attention, and the
spirit is exposed to so many risks of being replaced by a false, outside
glitter. A worthy, noble, or beautiful idea, clad in a corresponding
form, is then the core of every art production; and although much of
which the fundamental idea is neither worthy, noble, nor beautiful, is
sometimes admired, yet the impression on the whole is painful, as would
be exquisite diction and entrancing eloquence flowing from the lips of a
man of genius arguing in a cause unholy and pernicious to the best
interests of humanity.

Notwithstanding the tasteful and judicious arrangement of the pictures
in the hall of exhibition, No. 625 Broadway, a cursory survey only is
required to enforce the conviction that the necessities of light and
space demand the erection of a building especially adapted to the
purposes of an academy of design, and we hope the fellowship fund will
speedily justify the commencement of that important undertaking.

The first picture that meets the eye on entering, is one of 'Startled
Deer,' by W. H. Beard, N. A. (No. 197). This is a noble
delineation--such stately forms, splendid positions, and expressive
eyes! This artist is not content with giving us color, shape, and every
hair exact, but we look through the creatures' eyes into the depths of
their being. His animals love, fear, wonder--in short, are capable of
all the manifold feelings pertaining to the brute creation. Who can say
how much of that creation is destined to perish forever! The gesture of
the spotted fawn seems reason sufficient why the Lord of love should one
day give happiness and security in return for apprehension and pain
suffered here below, especially if indeed the sin of man be the moral
cause of the sorrows incident to the lower existences. At all events,
Beard's animals are so endowed with individual characteristics, that we
make of them personal friends, who can never die so long as our memories
endure. The herbage in the foreground is tenderly wrought, and the whole
picture preaches an impressive sermon.

No. 151. 'An Autumn Evening'--Regis Gignoux, N. A. This picture does not
satisfy us nearly so fully as others we have seen by the same artist.
The general effect strikes us as somewhat artificial, the light does not
seem to fall clearly from the sky, but as if through prisms or tinted
glass. We have seen the inside of a shell, or the edge of a white cloud
turned toward the sun, glittering with similar hues, very beautiful for
a small object, but wanting in dignity and repose for an entire
landscape. We remember with great pleasure Gignoux's 'Autumn in
Virginia,' and his painting of 'Niagara by Moonlight' gave us a far more
majestic impression of the great cataract than the famous day
representation by Church. As we gazed, we called to mind a certain night
when the moon stood full in the heavens, vivid lunar bows played about
our feet, and, mounting the tower, we looked down into the apparently
bottomless abyss, dark with clouds of mist, seething, foaming, and
thundering. We shuddered, and hastened down the narrow stairway, feeling
as if all nature must speedily be drawn into the terrible vortex, and we
become a mere atom amid chaos. The picture caused us a shivering thrill,
and we acknowledged the power of the artist.

No. 90. 'Mansfield Mountain, Sunset'--S. R. Gifford, N. A. A glorious
tale, gloriously told! 'The heavens show forth the glory of God, and the
firmament declareth the work of his hands. Day to day uttereth speech,
and night to night showeth knowledge. * * * He hath set his tabernacle
in the sun; and he * * * hath rejoiced as a giant to run the way: His
going out is from the end of heaven, and his circuit even to the end
thereof: and there is no one that can hide himself from his heat.' This
artist seems literally to have dipped his brush in light, pure light. We
remember a juvenile book, entitled, 'A Trap to catch a Sunbeam;' such a
trap must Gifford possess; he surely keeps tubes filled with real rays
wherewith to flood the canvas and transfigure the simplest subject. Here
we have a mountain, a lake, some sky, clouds, and a setting sun--but
what an admirable combination! The picture seems fairly to illumine that
part of the gallery in which it is placed. Had the artist lived in the
olden time, he might have been feloniously made way with for his secret,
but the present age seems more generous, and his fellow workers delight
to praise and honor his genius. We find from the same hand 'Kauterskill
Clove' (No. 15)--a flood of golden beams poured upon a mountain glen,
with rifted sides, autumn foliage, and a tiny stream; a coming storm
obscures but does not hide the distant hills. A bold delineation--but
very beautiful, and true to the character of the scenery it represents.
There are also a reminiscence of the present war ('Baltimore,
1862--Twilight,' No. 409), and one of foreign travel ('Como,' No. 385),
equally suggestive of--not paint--but real, palpitating atmosphere.

No. 49. 'Mount Tahawas, Adirondacs'--J. McEntee, N. A. A picture of
great simplicity and grandeur, and one we should never weary of looking
into, waiting for the opaline lights of dawn to deepen into the full
glory of day. This, like all the works of McEntee we have had the good
fortune to see, bears the impress of a poet-soul. A vague stretching
forth toward the regions of the infinite, a melancholy remembrance of
some enduring sorrow, a tender reminiscence of scenes peculiar to
certain heartfelt seasons of the year, a hazy foreshadowing of coming
winter, a lingering over the last dying hour of day, a presaging of
storms to come, or a lotus-eating dream by some quiet lake, are the
themes to be evolved from many of his conceptions. Alas for 'Virginia'
(No. 218), mother of presidents, and nurse of the Union! Can it indeed
be her sky that shines down so weird and strange over desolate plains,
through broken walls and shattered beams, and darkens as it shrinks in
horror from the broken bridge once spanning the blood-stained waters of
the fatal run? No. 233 is a 'Twilight,' No. 58 an 'October on the
Hudson,' and No. 171 a 'Late Autumn,' by the same artist, all excellent
specimens of his tender and poetical mode of handling a subject. In
looking at one of his pictures, we think more of the matter than the
manner, and, carefully correct as is the latter, the mind is often too
filled with emotion to care to examine into the very minutiæ, whose
delicate execution has so powerfully aided to produce the general
effect.

No. 123. 'Morning in the White Mountains'--J. F. Kensett, N. A.
Excellent in every way, with crystal water, living rocks, and
rose-tinted morning clouds.

No. 74. 'Coast Scene, Mount Desert'--F. E. Church, N. A. A puzzle. We
are glad once more to welcome to a public gallery a significant work by
this widely known and much admired artist. Of late, the exhibition of
such works (in so far as we know) invariably alone, may perhaps have
subjected him to some misconception.

No. 73. 'The Window'--W. Whittredge, N. A. This is a charming picture of
a home that must be dear to all the dwellers therein. A lovely landscape
is seen through an open window, which admits a mellow light to fall upon
a Turkey rug, tasteful furniture, and that 'wellspring of joy in a
house,' a young soul, endowed with undeveloped, perhaps wonderful
capacities, crowing in the arms of a turbaned nurse. It is altogether
one of the best interiors ever exhibited in New York. No. 305, 'Summer,'
a pleasant nook, and No. 121, 'Autumn, New Jersey,' are by the same
accomplished hand. The latter is a meadow scene, with a pleasing sky,
some graceful trees in the foreground, and a most attractive bit of
Virginia creeper dipping into a clear pool. The gifts of W. Whittredge
are manifold, and his works conspicuous for variety in subject and
treatment. In the small room, we observed a portrait of this artist by
H. A. Loop, N. A., a beautiful picture and excellent likeness. We do not
wonder the fine head tempted Mr. Loop to expend upon it his best care.

No. 181. 'Portrait of Dr. O. A. Brownson'--G. P. A. Healy, H. A
powerful portrait of a man who has never been ashamed openly to confess
that he could be wiser to-day than he was yesterday. We never met Dr.
Brownson, and it was with a thrill of pleasure that we beheld the
massive head containing so eminent an intelligence. The learned tomes,
antique chair, and entire attitude are in excellent keeping.

No. 66. 'Fagot Gatherer'--R. M. Staigg, N. A. We owe this artist much
for his beautiful inculcations of the charities of life. How many stray
pennies may not his little street sweeper have drawn from careless
passers-by? No. 59, 'Cat's Cradle,' is another pleasing representation
of an attractive subject.

No. 202. 'Anita'--George H. Hall. The sweet face, harmonious coloring,
and simple pose of this little Spanish girl has made an ineffaceable
impression on our memory. We should like to have her always near us. The
fruit and flower pieces of this genial artist are delightful and
satisfactory.

No. 468. 'Elaine,' Bas Relief--L. Thompson, N. A. The face of Elaine is
of great sweetness, and the tender trouble on the brow, in the eyes, and
quivering round the mouth, seems almost too ethereal to have been
actually prisoned in marble. We think if the Elaine of the legend had
looked thus upon Launcelot, and he were truly all that poets sing him,
he could not long have preferred to her the light-minded Guenevere. The
busts of children by the same hand are also fine, so truthful and
characteristic. A worthy pupil is Thompson of that natural school of
which Palmer was our first distinguished representative.

No. 466. 'The Union Refugees'--John Rogers. This group tells its own sad
tale. The stern defiance in the face of the young patriot, the
sorrow-stricken but confiding attitude of the mother, and the child's
uplifted gaze of wonder, speak of scenes doubtless often repeated in the
history of the past two years--scenes which must sink deeply into the
hearts of all beholders.

No. 467. 'Freedman'--J. Q. A. Ward, A. This picture, no doubt, has its
fine points, but to our mind it is rather conventional. Neither does it
bear out its allegorical relation to the freedmen of our continent. If
the chains of the negro are being broken, he does not appear in the
character of a Hercules, but rather as a patient and enduring martyr,
awaiting the day of deliverance appointed by Heaven.

No. 10. 'Sunrise at Narragansett'--W. S. Hazeltine, N. A. A fine effect
of transparent sky, faithful rocks, and rolling surf. The warmth of
coloring and vivid reality of this picture render it eminently pleasing.

No. 211. 'The Adirondacks from near Mount Mansfield'--R. W. Hubbard, N.
A. A beautiful foreground of fine trees and rocks, with a far-away
lookout over a hazy distance. A lake glitters in the plain beneath, and
the whole scene is harmoniously bewitching and tranquillizing.

No. 158. 'Out in the Fields'--A. D. Shattuck, N. A. A charming pastoral,
with some elms, graceful and feathery as the far-famed trees on the
meadows of North Conway.

No. 27. 'Heart's Ease'--William P. W. Dana, A. We heard a little three
and a half year old reply, in answer to a question as to which picture
she would prefer taking home with her from the Academy: 'The sick
child;' and we could not wonder at her choice, for a more touching
design has seldom been placed on canvas. The name, the accompaniments,
and the child's expression betoken a rare delicacy of conception. The
flowers are exquisite, and the cheerful contrast of color in the drapery
seems a promise of gayer, if not happier hours.

But space--together, probably, with the patience of our readers--fails
for the enumeration of all the interesting and meritorious paintings in
the exhibition of '63; otherwise, we might discourse at length upon the
two masterly works by Bierstadt (Nos. 6 and 35), the 'Swiss Lake,' by
Casilear, W. T. Richards's carefully elaborated foregrounds,
Huntington's charming figures, De Haas's spirited sea scenes, and other
meritorious productions under names well known to the lovers of art in
New York.

As good ofttimes springs from evil, may not perhaps the present severe
trial through which our country is passing aid in lifting the hearts of
her children to more spiritual regions, that they may approach ever
nearer and nearer to a more thorough comprehension and enjoyment of the
'Eternal Beauty, ever ancient and ever new,' as feebly mirrored in human
art?




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 IV.--(_Continued._)

During the long weeks of Joel Burns's illness and convalescence, he had
become much attached to James Egerton. And when the medical student
quitted Burnsville, after carrying Mr. Burns through the fever in
triumph, the latter felt more grateful than words would express. It is
true, young Egerton remained at his bedside by direction of the
physician whose pupil he was: still the manner in which he had
discharged his duties won the heart of the patient. So, when at length
he was preparing to depart, Joel Burns endeavored to think of some way
to manifest his appreciation which would be acceptable to the youth.
This was difficult. Both were of refined natures, and it was not easy to
bring the matter to pass. Mr. Burns, at length, after expressing his
grateful sense of his devotion, plainly told Egerton that he would
delight to be of service to him if it were possible.

'I feel obliged to you, Mr. Burns,' said the student; 'but it is not
just that I should excite such emotions in your breast. Let me confess
that while I do respect and esteem you, it is love of my _profession_,
and not of any individual, which has led me to use more than ordinary
care while attending to your case. I have a firm belief in the method of
my principal, and it is a labor of love with me to endeavor to
demonstrate the truth of his theory in the treatment of typhus fever.
Your case was a magnificent one. My master is right, and I know it.'

'Now you take just the ground I admire; you enable me to say what before
I hesitated to speak of,' said Mr. Burns, warmly. 'Tell me honestly how
you are situated. Can I not aid in affording you still further
advantages for study and practical observation?'

'Mr. Burns,' replied the student, 'it is my turn to feel
grateful--grateful for such genial recognition of what I am, or rather
what I hope to make myself. Something of your own history I have learned
in this place--this place of your own creation--and I may say there are
points of analogy between your own early struggles and mine. But I must
depend on myself. To accept aid from you would weaken me, and that you
would not wish to do.'

'Go,' said Mr. Burns, with enthusiasm; 'go, and God go with you. But
promise me this: let me hear from you regularly. Let me not lose sight
of one of whom I hope so much.'

'That I promise with pleasure.'

Then he turned to find Sarah, to bid her good by. She was running across
the lawn, but stopped abruptly on hearing her name called.

'Little maiden,' said the young man, 'I am going away. We shall have no
more races together. When I see you again, it won't do for either of us
to romp and run about.'

'Why? Are you not coming to see us till you are old?'

'I don't know that, but I shall not come very soon. After a while I
shall go across the ocean, and you will grow up to be a young woman. So
I must say a long good-by now to my little patient.'

Sarah was twelve, Egerton scarcely twenty. For the instant, young as she
was, there was actually established between them a sentimental relation.
They stood a moment looking at each other.

'Good-by,' said Egerton, taking her hand. 'I think I must have this for
a keepsake.' It was a straggling curl, detached from its companions,
which the student laid hold of. Sarah said not one word, but took a neat
little morocco 'housewife' from her pocket, produced a small pair of
scissors, and clipped the curl quickly, leaving it in Egerton's hand.

'You won't forget me,' he said.

'No.'

In an instant more she was bounding over the green grass, while the
other walked slowly into the house. In a few minutes he was off. I do
not think this scene produced any impression on Sarah Burns beyond the
passing moment; but to Egerton, who was just of an age to cherish such
an incident, it furnished material for a romantic idea, which he
nourished until it came to be a part of his life plans. Whatever was the
reason which actuated him, it is a fact that he wrote Mr. Burns, not
often, to be sure, but quite regularly. After two or three years he went
abroad, still keeping up his correspondence. Mr. Burns, for some reason
we will not conjecture, was not in the habit of speaking to his daughter
about Egerton. Possibly he did not wish her to remember him as a
grown-up man while she was still a little girl. Possibly, he desired,
should they ever meet, that their acquaintance might commence afresh. At
any rate, Sarah was left quite to forget the existence of the young
fellow who watched by her so faithfully; or if by some chance some
recollection of him, as connected with that dreadful season, came into
her mind, it was purely evanescent and without consequence. Mr. Burns,
however, always cherished certain hopes. The reader will recollect his
sadness of heart when he discovered how matters stood between Sarah and
Hiram Meeker. This was owing principally to his honest aversion to
Hiram; but a disappointment lurked at the bottom. It was only the week
before the scene at the preparatory lecture that he had received a
letter from Egerton, written on American soil, advising him of his
return from Europe in a vessel just arrived from Marseilles. Mr. Burns
answered it immediately, inviting him to come at once and make him a
visit; but he breathed not a word of this to Sarah.

Affairs between her and Hiram were brought to a crisis much faster than
Mr. Burns could have anticipated. In short, Dr. Egerton arrived at the
most auspicious moment possible. But I shall not be precipitate. On the
contrary, I shall leave the lovers, if lovers they are to be, to pursue
their destiny in the only true way, namely, through a tantalizing maze
of hopes and fears and doubts and charming hesitations and anxieties to
a denouement, while I return to the proper subject of this
narrative--Hiram Meeker.


CHAPTER V.

Hill has opened a wholesale liquor store on his own account! Where did
Hill raise the money to start in business--a poor devil who could never
get eighteen pence ahead in the world? It does not appear. For one, I
will say that Hiram Meeker did not furnish it. _He_ not only belongs to
the temperance society, but he believes all traffic in the 'deadly
poison' to be a sin. Still where did Hill get the money or the credit to
start a wholesale liquor concern? More than this, Hill is doing a pretty
large business. Singular to say, he drinks less and swears less than he
did. He is more respectable apparently. He has a very fine store in
Water street. He does not deal in adulterated liquors. He sells his
articles, if the customer desires it, 'in bond;' that is, from under the
key of the custom house, which of course insures their purity. By a
singular coincidence, Hill's store is adjoining a 'U. S. Bonded
Warehouse.' Hill's goods, for convenience' sake, are sent to that
particular warehouse--frequently. The liquors are stored in the
basement. This basement is not supposed to communicate with the basement
of Hill's store. Certainly not. Yet Hill, _solus_, entirely and
absolutely _solus_, spends many evenings in the basement of his store.
Hill is a large purchaser of pure spirits. Pure spirits are worth
thirty-one cents a gallon, and brandy of right brand is worth two or
three dollars a gallon. One gallon of pure spirits mixed with two
gallons of brandy cannot be detected by ninety-nine persons of a
hundred. Some say it is equally difficult to detect a half-and-half
mixture. Still Hill sells his brandy in bond. I repeat, Hiram Meeker
does _not_ furnish Hill the money. It is true, their intimacy still
continues. Further, Hill has good references--none other than H. Bennett
& Co. Strange as it may seem, H. Bennett himself has been known to put
his name on Hill's paper. Yet I am told he does not even know Hill by
sight! Hill is making money, though--is making it fast. Hiram is still
in the house of Hendly, Layton & Gibb, but this has not prevented him
from making, with permission of the firm, several ventures on his own
account. These ventures always turn out well. It was not long since he
shipped a schooner load of potatoes to New Orleans on information
derived from the master of a vessel which had made a remarkably rapid
passage, and who reported to him, and to him only. He more than doubled
his money on this venture.

In Dr. Chellis's church, Hiram has made respectable progress. He has
permitted himself to break over the strict rule first adopted as to his
social life. He goes a little into society--the very best society which
that congregation furnishes. Report says he is engaged to Miss Tenant.
She is the only child of Amos Tenant, of the firm of Allwise, Tenant &
Co. This firm is reputed to be worth over a million of dollars. Miss
Tenant--Miss Emma Tenant--is the young lady who, from the first, took
such an interest in Hiram at the Sunday school. She is an excellent
girl. She is very pretty, too, and, I am sorry to say, she seems to have
fallen in love--really and positively in love with Hiram. _He_, the
calculating wretch, has canvassed the whole matter, has made careful
investigations of the condition of the house of Allwise, Tenant & Co.,
and has satisfied himself that it is firm as a rock, and that Mr. Tenant
is no doubt worth the pretty sum of three hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, or such a matter.

Emma is an only child!

Oh, Hiram, how dare you utter those vows of love and constancy and
everlasting regard and affection, coming, as you do, with your fingers
fresh from turning the leaves at the register's office, where,
forgetting your dinner, you have spent the entire afternoon in
satisfying yourself about the real estate held by 'Amos Tenant?' Had the
record under your precious investigation not been satisfactory, you
would not have spent five minutes thereafter in the society of Emma
Tenant.

Yet your conscience does not reproach you. No, not one bit. Positively
you are not aware of anything reprehensible or even indelicate in what
you are about. Thinking of the matter, as you carefully scan the books
of record, you regard it precisely as you would any other investigation.
To you it is essential that the girl you are to marry should have money.
If she has, you will love her (for it is your _duty_ to love your wife);
if she has not, you cannot love her, and of course (duty again) you
cannot wed her.

Poor Emma Tenant! No protecting instinct warns you against the young man
who is now making such fervid protestations. You receive all he says as
holy truth, sincere, earnest avowal, out of his heart into yours, for
time and for eternity!

You, Emma Tenant, are a good girl, innocent and good: why, oh, why does
not your nature shrink by this contact?

       *       *       *       *       *

We forbear to paint the love scene in which Hiram figures. Enough to say
that Emma could not and did not disguise the state of her affections.
Yes, she confessed it, confessed she had been attracted by Hiram (poor
thing) from the day she first saw him enter the Sunday school to take
his place as one of its teachers.

How happy she was as she sat trembling with emotion, her hand in Hiram's
calculating grasp, while she blushingly made her simple confession.

'But your father,' interposed Hiram, anxiously--'he will never give his
consent.'

'And why will he not?' replied Emma. 'I am sure he likes you already,
and when he knows'--

She stopped, and blushed deeper than ever.

'When he knows,' said Hiram, taking up the sentence, 'he will hate me: I
am sure he will.'

'How can you say so?' replied the confiding girl. 'I am his only child,
and he will approve of anything which is for my happiness.'

'But he may not think an engagement with me (you see Hiram was
determined on the engagement) will be for your happiness. I am not known
here--am not yet in business for myself, although so far as that is
concerned'--

'Don't speak so--it pains me; as if I could think of such things _now_,'
she whispered, as if really in bodily distress.

'But it _must_ be mentioned, and at once; we must tell your parents. It
would be highly improper not to do so.'

He meant to make all sure.

'Oh, well, I suppose you are right, but it will make no difference to
papa if you had not a penny. I have heard him say so a thousand times.'

'Have you,' replied Hiram, drawing a long breath, 'have you really?'

'Indeed I have. He has always said he would prefer to see me marry a
high-minded, honorable young man, of strict integrity, without a cent in
the world, to the richest man living, if he were sordid and calculating.
Oh, he despises such persons. Now are you satisfied?'

Hiram _was_ satisfied, that is, logically; but somehow he _felt_ a hit,
and in spite of himself his countenance was clouded, and he was silent.

'I have said something to wound you. I know I have,' exclaimed Emma.

'To wound me! My angel, my'--etc., etc., etc. (the pen refuses to do its
office when I come to record Hiram's love expressions). 'How can you
think so at this moment of my greatest rapture, my most complete'--etc.,
etc., etc. (pen fails again). 'It was my intense joy and satisfaction to
learn how noble and disinterested your father is, that rendered me for
the moment speechless.'

After considerable discussion, it was arranged that Emma should be the
one to communicate to her parents the interesting fact that Hiram sought
her hand. On this occasion his courage so far failed him that he
preferred not to break the subject himself, although generally so very
capable and adroit in personal interviews.

Mr. Tenant, as usual with papas, was a good deal surprised. He had not
thought of Emma's marrying--considered her still little else than a
school girl, and so on--well--he supposed it must come sooner or later.
He knew very little about the young man, but what he did know was
certainly in his favor.

To cut the story short, the whole matter was soon pleasantly settled,
and Hiram established as the accepted of Miss Tenant.

In a subsequent interview with Mr. Tenant, our hero quite won his heart.
That gentleman was an old-fashioned merchant; the senior member of a
house known as one of the most honorable in the city. I say senior
member, for the 'Allwise' whose name stood first was a son of the
original partner through whose capacity mainly it had been built up and
made strong. Mr. Tenant, I repeat, was a merchant of the old school,
high minded and of strict integrity, not specially remarkable for
ability, but possessing good sense and a single mind. The house once on
the right track, with its credit and its correspondents established, he
had only to keep the wheel revolving in the old routine, and all was
well.

Mr. Tenant was quite carried away by Hiram's conversation. The latter
was so shrewd and capable, yet so good and honest withal. He first
recounted to his prospective father-in-law a little history of his whole
life. He portrayed in feeling terms how God had never forsaken, but on
the contrary had always sustained and supported him--in his infancy, at
school, through various vicissitudes--had conducted him to New York, to
Dr. Chellis's church, into his (Mr. Tenant's) family; and now, as a
crowning mercy, was about to bestow on him the greatest treasure of the
universe to be a partner of his joys and sorrows through life.

Then he discoursed of affairs; of what he hoped with a 'common blessing'
to accomplish. He informed Mr. Tenant confidentially that in the
approaching month of May he should commence a general shipping and
commission business. His plans were matured, and though his capital was
small--

'Count on me, young man, count on the house of Allwise, Tenant & Co.,'
interrupted the kind-hearted old gentleman. 'I have no boy,' he
continued, with tears in his eyes; 'my only one was snatched from me,
but now I shall look on you as my son. You will start in May. Good. And
what the house can do for you will be done.'

'Then perhaps I may be permitted to refer to you?'

'Permitted? I shall insist on it. What is more, I will see two or three
of our friends to make up your references myself. You must begin strong.
Where do you keep your account?'

Hiram told him. It was a bank where Mr. Bennett had introduced him.

'That is well enough, but those are dry goods people, not at all in our
line. I must introduce you at our bank, or, what is better, I will get
Daniel Story to introduce you at his. There you will get a double
advantage.'

Need I add that Hiram was in ecstasies? His position would now equal his
most brilliant dreams. To be placed at once on an equality with the old
South-street houses! To have Daniel Story introduce him to his bank! It
was even so. The future son-in-law of Amos Tenant would gain just such
an entree to business life.

And profitable use did Hiram Meeker make of these 'privileges.' He no
longer thought of depending on H. Bennett & Co. Very quietly he thanked
his cousin for his kind offer of assistance by way of reference, etc.,
but he was of opinion it would be better to have some names in his own
line. Then he mentioned who were to be his 'backers,' whereat Mr.
Bennett was amazed, yet highly gratified, and, without seeking to
inquire further, told Hiram he 'would _do_,' he always said he would,
that he must call on him, however, whenever he thought he could give him
a lift, and predicted that he would be very _successful_ on his own
account. All which Hiram received meekly and mildly, but he said nothing
in reply.

It is not my purpose to give in detail the particulars of Hiram's
commercial life. Having been sufficiently minute in describing his early
business education, the experience he acquired, the habits he formed,
the reader can readily understand that his career became from the start
a promising one. He was familiar with all the ramifications of commerce.
He thoroughly knew the course of trade in New York. He had studied
carefully the operation of affairs, from the largest shipping interest
to the daily consumption of the most petty retail shop. He had managed
to lay up quite a respectable sum of money, and all he now wanted was a
good opportunity to launch himself, and it was presented.

I am inclined to think Mr. Tenant would have been willing to have taken
him into his own firm, had Hiram wished, but he had no such ambition. He
desired by himself to lay broad and deep the foundation of a large
business, and have it expand and become great in his own hands. He did
not believe in partnerships; it is doubtful if he were willing to trust
human nature so much as to admit anybody to such a close relation as
that of business associate.

In the management of his affairs, Hiram made it a point to acquire the
reputation of fair and honorable dealing. His word was his bond. That
was his motto; and he carried it out fully and absolutely. Mistakes
could always be corrected in his establishment. No matter if the party
_were_ legally concluded. He stood by his contracts. A mere verbal say
so, though the market rose twenty-five per cent. on his hands the next
half hour, could be relied on as much as his indenture under seal. And
so he gained a splendid name the very first year of his mercantile
career. Yet, I _must_ say it, behind all this fine reputation, this
happy speech of men, this common report and general character, sat Hiram
alert and calculating, whispering to himself sagaciously: '_Honesty is
the best policy_.'

[In affairs, he meant. Had he carried the apophthegm out into every
detail of life, through its moral and social phases, it would have
required indeed the eye of the Omniscient to have discerned and
penetrated his error.]

I come to the close of Hiram's first year of business on his own
account. He had suddenly loomed into importance. But never was there an
effect more directly traceable to a cause. He did not embark till he was
in readiness for the venture, and results came quickly. With change of
position he had made corresponding changes in his social life. He left
Eastman's, and took pleasant though not expensive quarters in a more
fashionable part of the city, not far indeed from Mr. Tenant's house. He
visited in company with Emma all her family friends and acquaintances.
He made such progress in the church, that the majority of the female
teachers in the Sunday school were in favor of electing him
superintendent. In short, he was becoming a very popular young man.

As I have said, I come to the close of Hiram's first year. I wish I
could stop here. I go on with that reluctance which I invariably feel
when recording what must add to the repugnance with which we all regard
Hiram's character.

The engagement between Hiram and Miss Tenant had been made public. The
time for the marriage was fixed at about the first of July--only six
weeks distant. It was a period when Hiram felt he could leave town most
conveniently for his wedding trip. The preparations on Emma's part were
ample as became her family and social position. She was very happy. She
loved this young man, and believed he loved her. Hiram was good natured
and agreeable, and did all in his power to exhibit his best qualities.
The result was that he was very much liked by both Mr. and Mrs. Tenant,
and was already quite domesticated at their house.

During the spring there was a great deal of speculation in certain
leading articles of export. The house of Allwise, Tenant & Co., having
first class correspondents abroad and enjoying large credit, advanced
more liberally than was prudent. It was the younger members who decided
to go largely into the enterprise. There came a panic in the market.
Several leading houses in London and Liverpool failed, others in New
York followed, and among them Allwise, Tenant & Co.

It proved that this firm, though eminently sound and above board, was
not as wealthy as was generally supposed. Its high character for
integrity and honor, and an existence of near forty years without a
reverse gave it great reputation for wealth and stability.

The blow was sudden and effective. The capital of the concern was wiped
out of existence, and the individual property of the partners followed
in this wake of destruction.

Hiram, like others, had overestimated Mr. Tenant's property. The latter
was nevertheless a rich man for those days, and worth over one hundred
thousand dollars. By this reverse he was penniless.

Hiram was on 'Change when he first caught the rumor of the catastrophe.
His position with regard to the family (for his relations with it were
now well understood) made it difficult for him to make many inquiries,
but he hastened to his counting room and despatched a messenger to Hill
to come to him forthwith. Hill was prompt, and having been carefully
charged with his commission, at once started to execute it. He came back
duly.

'All gone to----. Not a grease spot left of them.'

'Don't be so gross, Hill. You are constantly shocking me with your idle
profanity. Are you sure, though?'

'Yes. More bills back, twice over, than they can pay. A clean sweep,
by----.'

'That will do, Hill--that will do; but don't swear so, don't.'

'Now I am here,' continued Hill, 'what about that invoice of brandy to
Henshaw? He declares the brandy ain't right. You know you thought'--

'Hill,' interrupted Hiram, 'I can't talk with you now. Leave me alone,
and close the door after you.'

Hill went out without saying a word.

If we except a slight paleness which overspread his countenance, Hiram
had exhibited no sign of emotion from the moment he heard of Mr.
Tenant's failure to the time he disposed so summarily of his satellite
Hill. When Hill left, he rose and walked two or three times quickly up
and down the room, and then took his seat again. His thoughts ran
something in this way: 'I never supposed old Tenant to have any business
ability, but I thought the concern so well established it could go
alone. So it could if those young fellows had not made asses of
themselves. What's to be done? Tenant certainly has a large amount of
individual property. It is worth saving. Respectable old name--if he
keeps his money. (Hiram smiled grimly.) I will step round at once and
offer my services, before other folks begin to tinker with him.'

On my word, reader, during all this time Hiram never once thought of
Emma Tenant. She did not for a solitary instant enter in any of the
combinations which he was so rapidly forming and reforming. So entirely
was he occupied with canvassing the effect of the failure on his
personal fortunes and thinking over what was best to be done under the
circumstances, that he had no space in his brain, much less in his
selfish heart, for the 'object of his affections,' to whom he was to be
married in one little month.

How would _she_ feel? How would the blow affect her? What could he do to
reassure her? How could he best comfort her? What fond promises and
loving protestations could he offer that now more than ever he desired
to make her happy?

Nothing of this, nothing of this occupied him as he sat in his private
office, rapidly surveying the situation.

Poor Emma!

Carrying out his decision, Hiram took his way to the establishment of
Allwise, Tenant & Co.

He was immediately admitted to Mr. Tenant's private room. That gentleman
sat there alone, with his eyes fixed on a long list which his bookkeeper
had just furnished him. He looked somewhat disturbed and solicitous, but
presented nevertheless a manly and by no means dejected mien.

'Ah, my dear boy, I knew there was no need of sending for you. I _knew_
you would be here. God bless you. Sit down, sit down. I want to use your
ready wit just now for a few minutes. Thank God, I have your clear head
and honest heart to turn to.'

All this time Mr. Tenant was pressing Hiram's hand, which lay
impassively in his. The honest man was too much carried away by his own
feelings to notice the other's lack of sympathetic pity.

'Why, my dear sir,' said Hiram, at length, 'did you not give me some
hint of this? We might have'--

'I had no idea of it myself till the mails were delivered this morning.
Phillipson & Braines's stoppage has destroyed us. Such a strong house as
we thought it to be! When they suspended, it discredited us with our
other friends, for everybody knew our relations with them, so that they
would neither accept our bills nor protect us in any way. We are struck
down without warning.'

'No hope of reconstruction?' asked Hiram.

'None.'

'You wanted me just now, I think you said.'

'Yes. There are one or two matters which I am inclined to think should
be treated as confidential. Certain collections, and so forth. We have
already discussed it somewhat. You shall examine and give me your
opinion.'

'Had you not better first make some arrangements to protect your
individual property?'

'What?'

Hiram repeated the question, and in a more definite shape.

He was astounded when the honorable old merchant told him that he should
make no reservations--that his property, all of it, belonged to his
creditors, and to his creditors it should go.

Even in this juncture Mr. Tenant was so taken up with his own position
that he failed to discover Hiram's real object. He actually turned
consoler.

'Courage, my boy,' he exclaimed. 'My wife has a little sum of her own,
about twelve thousand dollars, enough to keep us old folks from
starving; and as soon as you are married, we will club together, and
live as happy as ever--hey?'

'I hope, after all, matters are not as bad as you suppose,' said Hiram,
wishing to make some response, but determining not to commit himself.

'Oh, but they are,' said Mr. Tenant. 'We must not deceive ourselves.
However, let that pass. Now tell me what you think about these
collections?'

Hiram forced himself to listen patiently to Mr. Tenant's statement, for
he had not yet decided on the course he was presently to pursue. So he
talked over the question, pro and con, managing to fully agree with the
views of Mr. Tenant in every particular.

'I knew you would think as I do about this,' exclaimed the latter,
joyfully. 'It does you credit, Hiram. It shows your honorable sense. How
could I take that money and put it into the general indebtedness? How
could I? Well, well, I have already employed too much of your time. We
shall do nothing to-day but examine into matters. You will be up this
evening?'

'Certainly.'

'Good-by till then, my dear boy.

Emma must spare you to me for once. To-night we will have our various
statements ready, and I shall want your help to look them over.'

'The old fool,' muttered Hiram, as he left the place. 'The old jackass.
I won't give it up yet, though. I will try his wife. I will try Emma.
No, I won't give it up yet. I will go there this evening, and see what
can be done. But if I find that--'

The rest of the sentence was inaudible.




HOW MR. LINCOLN BECAME AN ABOLITIONIST.


  Perhaps, Messrs. Editors, you may recall
  A story you published some time in the fall,--
  I think 'twas October--your files will declare,--
  Bearing the title of 'Tom Johnson's Bear.'

         *       *       *       *       *

  Well, the story since that time has grown somewhat bigger,
  And has something to say about holding the 'nigger;'
  And something, likewise, about letting him go,
  The which I've no purpose at present to show:
  To wit, how a woodman, a kind-hearted neighbor,
  Returning at night from his rail-splitting labor,
  Found poor Mistress Johnson forlorn and distressed,
  In that perilous posture still holding the beast;
  And how she besought the kind gentleman's help,
  And how he'd have nothing to do with the whelp;
  And how he and Johnson soon got by the ears,
  And fought on the question of 'freedom for bears;'
  And how, _inter alia_, the beast got away
  And took himself off in the midst of the fray;
  And how Tommy Johnson at last came to grief:
  All which I omit, as I wish to be brief.
  The story's too lengthy--it must not be sent all
  To cumber your pages, my dear CONTINENTAL.
  At present my purpose, my object, my mission is
  To show how the woodman became 'Abolitionist.'
  Introductions, you know, like 'original sin,'
    Hang on, while you long for some sign of repentance
    In shape of the last and the welcomest sentence,
  So, in short, I'll cut short, draw a line, and begin.

         *       *       *       *       *

  The woodman one night was aroused by a clatter,
  Each one in the house crying, 'Ho! what's the matter?'
  All jumped out of bed and ran hither and thither,
  Scarce knowing amid their alarm why or whither;
  But soon it was found 'mid the tumult and din
  That burglars were making attempts to break in.
  And now there arose o'er the turmoil and noise
  The woodman's loud summons addressed to 'the boys.'
  'The boys' quickly came, and on looking around,
  At one of the windows a ladder was found,
  And on it a burglar, who, plying his trade,
  A burglarious opening already had made.

  Now the woodman, though making this nocturnal sortie
  All armed and equipped, at the rate of 'two-forty,'
  Called a halt, and proposed, before firing a gun,
  To question with care what had better be done.
  Forthwith he assembled a council of war,
  To gravely consider how fast and how far
  In a case of this kind it was lawful to go.
  Some said, 'Smash the ladder,' but others said, 'No,
  There were many objections to that, and the chief
  Was the constitutional rights of the thief;
  That the ladder was property all men agreed,
  And as such was protected, secured, guaranteed;
  And if 'twas destroyed, our greatest of laws
  Could not be upheld and maintained 'as it was.''
  But others replied, 'That ladder's the chief
  Supporter, as all men may see, of the thief;
  Let's aim at the ladder, and if it should fall,
  Let the burglar fall with it, or hang by the wall
  As well as he can; and by the same token,
  Whose fault will it be if his neck should be broken?'
  To which it was answered, 'That ladder may be
  The chattel of some honest man, d'ye see.'
  'Well, then, we will pay for't.' 'No, never!' says V.,
  'To be taxed for that ladder I'll never agree;
  You have brought on this fuss,' said V., mad and still madder;
  'You always intended to break the man's ladder;
  You have been for a long time the people deceiving
  With false and pretended objections to thieving;
  You never desired to have robbing abolished;
  You only have sought to have ladders demolished.'

  'Pray, hold!' said another, 'perhaps while we're trifling
  About this old ladder, the thief will be rifling
  The house of its contents, or, venturing further,
  May set it on fire--the children may murder.'
  'Can't help it,' says V.; 'though he murder to-day,
  Who knows but to-morrow the murderer may
  Repent and reform; then who shall restore
  The ladder all perfect and sound as before?
  But whether or no, I can never consent
  That the thief and the ladder should make a descent,
  Which haply might hurt a burglarious brother,
  Or totally wreck and demolish the other.'

  The woodman bade 'Silence!' He cried out, 'Ho! list!'
  Then called on the burglar his work to desist,
  And made proclamation throughout all the town
  That if in a specified time he came down
  And gave a firm pledge of obeying the laws,
  He might keep his old ladder all safe 'as it was;'
  But if he pursued his felonious intent
  Beyond the time given, he'd cause to be sent
  'Mid the conflict of arms and the cannon's loud thunder,
  A missile to knock his old ladder from under.
  Then pausing to see the effect of his speech,
  He saw nought but the thief still at work at the breach;
  And, being opposed to thieves visiting attics,
  Combined with those vile anti-ladder fanatics,
  And sent a projectile which left the thief where
  Thieves and traitors should all be, suspended in air,
  Except that he lacked what was due to his calling,
  A hempen attachment to keep him from falling.

  Then burglars, and thieves, and traitors, and all
  Their friends sympathetic forthwith 'gan to bawl,
  'We're ruined! we're ruined! To what a condition
  The country is brought by this man's abolition!'
  And echo replied: 'Oh! dreadful condition!
  Abolition--bolition--bolition--abolition!'




COST OF A TRIP TO EUROPE, AND HOW TO GO CHEAPLY.


The question is often asked of those who have been to Europe: 'What does
it cost?' 'For how little can one travel abroad?' etc. For it is within
the hopes of many to go at one time or another; and many would indulge
the anticipation more freely, if they 'could see their way,' as the
Yorkshire man wanted to do when he thought of getting married. I propose
to throw some little light on this oft-repeated question.

The expense of a journey depends greatly on the manner in which it is
made. People who go to Europe, frequently imagine that they must go in a
certain degree of style; they must expend something by way of showing
that they are somebody in their own country! To carry out this idea,
they go, on first landing, to expensive hotels; they carry considerable
luggage, travel in first-class carriages, and incur various other
expenses, to show John Bull and the continentals that they belong to the
superior class at home. These people pay largely for their whistle, or
trumpet. They will tell you you cannot go to Europe for less than three
or five thousand dollars apiece. They fancy they have made a good
impression on the Europeans; whereas the Europeans never noticed their
vain little attempts at showing off. Nobody cared what they paid or gave
away; and the very courier who flattered, or the servants who fawned on
them for their money, laughed at them behind their backs. There is
another class, more quiet and moderate, who want to be economical, but
do not know how to be. They will tell you a short trip can be taken for
a thousand or fifteen hundred dollars. They go by the guide books, and
those are based always on 'first-class prices and a liberal
expenditure.' There are no guide books for those who would _study_
economy; who would submit to some privations for the sake of seeing
foreign lands and acquiring the desirable knowledge which can only be
gained by personal observation. For such, a guide book is very much
needed. They constitute a large class of persons. They have an ardent
desire to visit the Old World and places of renown--they would go in
crowds, but for fear of the expense, and the assurances of their friends
that it will cost so much. When we assure them that a trip to England
and Scotland, and a tour through France, Germany, Prussia, Holland,
Switzerland, and part of Italy, covering four or five months, may be
made, has been made, for four hundred dollars, including first-class
steamship passages going and returning, they may be encouraged to think
of starting as soon as gold is at par.

A gentleman who has established hotels in England and Scotland, and
published a Guide through London, says no traveller need pay at a hotel
more than eighteen pence (thirty-seven cents of our money) a day for his
room. To this is usually added from eighteen to twenty-five cents for
attendance; gas being two cents extra per night. In London, however,
such moderate hotels are usually in the business part of the town. In
the desirable portions for a sojourn, private board and lodging can be
had from a guinea to a pound and a half a week; or two furnished rooms
may be taken at four or five dollars or more per week. This includes the
service of cooking and serving meals; the tenant furnishing the
marketing, which costs from two dollars to two dollars and a half a week
for each person. This is the cheapest way of living for a party. Such
rooms may be found by looking in newspaper advertisements. Agents make
them cost more. It will be easy, by making a few inquiries, to hear of a
dozen such places; and as people do not move so often in London as
here, the knowledge may be available for a year or two.

In Edinburgh, Glasgow, and other cities, the cheap hotels are found in
the very best localities. They usually advertise in Bradshaw's 'Monthly
Guide,' and in the newspapers. They have clean beds and nice rooms
almost universally. If the traveller desires strictly to economize, he
need not pay for meals in the hotel, where 'a plain breakfast' (tea and
bread and butter) will cost twenty-five cents, and dinner fifty cents;
he can, if he choose, go to one of the numerous restaurants in the
vicinity, and dine comfortably for twelve cents: other meals in
proportion. These places are numerous and good in the cities of Great
Britain. On the Continent, the prices at restaurants are higher, for
strangers at least; a marked distinction being made between them and the
inhabitants of the country. '_I forestieri tutti pagano_' (foreigners
all pay), said a Venetian sexton; and that is the rule for universal
practice throughout Europe. An order for roast beef at a restaurant will
not cover, as it does here and in England, potatoes and bread; they are
charged for extra; from three to five cents for a roll; six or eight for
potatoes. Ice is too expensive a luxury everywhere across the seas to be
thought of by the tourist limited in means. But if restaurants are dear,
the markets are cheap in Europe; and the people of the country usually
carry provisions with them. You may see ladies provided each with a
small basket, from which are produced in the cars a bottle of _vin
ordinaire_ and water, rolls of bread, and slices of ham or tongue. These
furnish the simple but wholesome repast. Cream cheeses, delicious in
quality, are to be procured in France and Italy, with cooked mutton
chops, parts of roast fowl, sausage of fresh chicken and tongue, pork
and mutton pies, etc., all obtainable fresh at provision stores. A bunch
of grapes that will cost a franc (twenty cents) at the railway-station
refreshment room, may be had in the market for one or two cents; and
other articles in proportion. The custom of the people, and the abundant
provision of such things, will suggest to the economical traveller a
method of saving largely in his daily expenses. Those who like
tea--which they cannot get well made on the Continent--had better take a
spirit lamp and apparatus for making it in their rooms. But little
trouble is involved in thus providing for one's wants; the most is in
making tea or coffee. Those in the habit of so living will save the
expensive hotel meals. In hotels, where there is a _table d'hóte_,
dinner costs from three and a half francs (seventy cents) to five (a
dollar). The breakfast consists merely of bread and _café au lait_,
unless extras are ordered, and those are liberally charged for. Nowhere
are travellers expected to pay for meals at hotels unless they choose to
take them. _Se non mangiate, non pagate_. ('If you eat nothing, you pay
nothing.')

The prudent tourist will always bargain for the prices of rooms. In the
first-class hotels on the Continent there are usually to be had upper
rooms at thirty or forty cents a day. In second-class hotels in France
and Italy a room may be obtained for twenty cents, the charge for
service being ten cents extra. Candles are always charged for
separately; in cheap rooms, ten cents; in higher priced, a franc each
per night; the waiter being careful to remove the partially burned one.
The best plan is to carry wax candles in one's basket. Soap is never
provided, and is an expensive article when called for.

In Germany and Holland the price of a room per day is a florin or
guilder--about forty-three cents. Living generally is higher than in
Italy, but cooked provisions are abundant and excellent. Throughout
Europe, you may be sure of clean beds and tables, no matter how
uninviting the premises appear.

One half the cost of travel, and one's temper besides, may be saved by
going in third-class carriages. On the Continent the second-class ones
are as luxurious as the first, and are preferred by tourists generally.
But, except in having no cushions, the third class will prove
comfortable enough; the chance for seeing the country is rather better.
Here the people of the country are met--chiefly the poorer class--very
decent in appearance, however, and invariably respectful and kind in
their manners. A large number of monks and nuns will be found here, also
well-dressed ladies, who feel more protected than in the superior class
of carriages. In the latter, indeed, one is exposed to various
annoyances escaped in third-class carriages. The tourists, who abound,
are often insolent and encroaching. A burly Englishman or stolid German
will not hesitate to turn a timid lady out of her seat; and if ladies
have no gentlemen with them, they may be insulted by rude staring or
scornful looks from women provided with escorts or a little more finely
dressed. All these causes of disturbance are escaped among the third
class, where the utmost deference is always shown to strangers.

In Great Britain, where Mrs. Grundy reigns with absolute sway, there is
a prejudice against the inferior classes of railway carriages, partially
overcome among the middle people of late, as far as the _second_ class
is concerned; they dare not go in the third. But strangers may be more
independent, and may do as they please without reproach. There is
nothing to choose in the way of comfortable accommodation between the
second and third-class carriages in England; the latter are called
'parliamentary,' on account of the governmental regulation compelling
the companies to run them, and fixing the fare at one penny (two cents)
a mile. Smoking is not permitted at all in England; on the Continent it
is customary, even in first-class carriages and in diligences. When
travelling in the diligence or stage coach, secure, if possible, the
_coupé_ or highest priced places. The front windows command a better
view than the side ones of the interior; and where a better view can be
had, it is worth paying for. On the Mediterranean steamers take
first-class places; the best are bad enough to be intolerable. The
second cabins of the steamers crossing the British Channel are pretty
good for a short voyage.

A copy which I am permitted to make from the diary of one who travelled
with some ladies last summer, from Paris to Florence in Italy and back,
gives the entire cost of the trip--occupying a month--at $106.13. This
estimate includes hotel fares, fees, carriage hire, etc., as well as
travelling expenses. A copy from the note book of a party who travelled
over England and to Edinburgh and Glasgow--spending over two
months--gives the sum total of that as $119.42. This includes fares to
and from Paris ($5 second class), and board in Paris as well as in Great
Britain. We may therefore put down the cost of a trip to Europe as
follows:

  Passage (first class) on steamship
    of New York, Philadelphia
    and Liverpool line, from
    New York to London      $80 00

  Returning in same line (fifteen
    guineas)      79 00

  Travelling and board in Great
    Britain and Paris     119 42

  Tour on the Continent     106 13

  Allow for stewards' fees, cabs,
    omnibuses, and a few expenses
    not noted     15 45

  Total cost of European trip,      $400 00

Fees to guides, sextons, etc., on the Continent, seldom exceed a franc
(twenty cents) each; half that, or a franc for a party, will often
suffice. If a church is open for service, nothing is to be paid. Gifts
to guides in England average sixpence or an English shilling. The
custom of giving money to servants in private houses where one is
entertained as a guest, is burdensome and unjust.

In Paris, board and lodging can be had at excellent houses, filled with
fashionable guests, for a dollar a day, exclusive of a franc a week each
to the maid and waiter. Arthur's celebrated family hotel, 9 Rue
Castiglione, afforded accommodation to a party of three at this rate,
with a suite of rooms in the Rue St. Honoré, breakfast to order in the
private parlor, the constant attendance of a servant, and dinner at the
hotel _table d'hôte_. The party found their own candles. A party thus
can be as well accommodated as in one of the chief hotels. A single
gentleman, who cares less for the elegancies of life, can have a
furnished room for seven dollars a month with attendance, or a room at a
cheap hotel for a dollar a week, without meals.

It must be understood that the estimate of $400 for the cost of a tour
abroad does not include the price of exchange at the present time, or
any exchange. It is simply the amount paid out in our own currency. The
purchases made by a tourist of clothing, curiosities, etc., are of
course extra. The amount will provide for a tour extending to between
four and five months. Three or four weeks are allowed for in London, and
two or three weeks in Paris. If the tour be extended and more time be
consumed, the additional expense may easily be calculated. Bradshaw's
'Continental Guide' will give the exact cost and distance on the
railways; and for hotel expenses, lunches, and fees, a dollar a day will
provide the economical traveller. He will need no courier, nor, if he
knows the language (French will do, but it is better also to understand
Italian and German), a _valet de place_. Both are better dispensed with.

One word as to luggage. Let no traveller encumber himself or herself
with a trunk on the Continent. A valise or a carpet bag that can be
carried in the hand, will hold enough. Four or five changes of linen,
and one dress, besides the travelling costume, are all sufficient.
Washing can be done in a few hours anywhere. A lady had better wear a
dress of strong dark stuff, and have a black silk for a change. She will
need no more, even if months are spent abroad. Even in England a trunk
is a nuisance; for luggage cannot be checked, and continual care is
necessary. In some remote stations even labels cannot be had, and
porters are scarce. I have known passengers, when no porters came to
take their trunks to the van, compelled to thrust them into the carriage
at the last moment. The better plan is to have only what can be carried
under your own eye.




TOUCHING THE SOUL.


Reader, did it ever strike you that there are many theories touching
this soul of ours which are generally accepted as truths, without any
thought whatever on the subject; so universally accepted, indeed, that
it is considered a waste of time to think upon them at all; but which,
upon a thorough investigation, might possibly lose some of their
old-time infallibility, and the consideration of which might well repay
the trouble, by opening a field of thought at once interesting and
instructive?

Such there are, and in this province alone are we of this day and
generation entirely controlled by the opinions of those over whose dust
centuries have rolled. We may speculate freely upon religion, and, while
all must acknowledge that true religion is not progressive, new schemes
of salvation spring almost daily into life from the brains of heretical
thinkers, in their bold presumption stamping with error the simple faith
of the primitive Christians. We may peer into the arcana of science and
boldly question the theories of the learned of all ages. We may exhaust
our mental powers upon points of political economy and the science of
government; and even the domain of ethics may be fearlessly invaded and
crowded with doubt. But into the unpretending pathway that leads to the
secret nooks of the soul, to the foundations of all spiritual
excellence, few feet may stray, and even those only to follow the beaten
track worn by the feet of those olden thinkers whose very names have
long since passed into oblivion, lest by their deviations they should
outrage some of those universal prejudices, whose only claim to
consideration is their traditionary origin.

And this path is but little trodden in our day, for two reasons; first,
because, to the careless eye, it possesses few attractions, and its
claims are lost in those of a more exciting and more eminently practical
course of thought; secondly, because it seems to have been so thoroughly
explored that we have only to read the writings of those who have gone
before, and listen to traditionary speculations, to learn all that can
be known about that which is our very existence, and, indeed, the only
_true_ existence.

Two great mistakes. The dying philosopher, one of the wisest the world
has ever known, declared that all the knowledge he had gained was but as
a grain of sand upon the seashore. So all that is known to-day about the
soul is but a drop in the ocean of that great revealing which shall one
day dawn upon man's spiritual existence. There is an infinite field yet
unexplored--a very _terra incognita_ to even those who pride themselves
upon being learned in the mysteries of the soul. And to him who ventures
upon this seemingly lowly path, so far from proving unattractive, it
becomes a very Eden of thought. Unlooked-for beauties spring to light on
every side; the very essence of music and poesy float around him as he
advances; while above, around, and through all, sounds the magnificent
diapason of everlasting truth.

True, there may be little of practical benefit--as the world defines
practicality--in searching out the causes of the myriad emotions that
sweep with lightning rapidity across the soul, now raising us to the
summit of bliss, now plunging us into the depths of despair--little of
practical benefit in endeavoring to analyze the soul itself into its
constituent elements, and to bring ourselves face to face with our
better, nobler selves, and with the Mighty Power which created us and
all things. But there is, in this inner life, a pleasure higher and
more lasting than those evanescent ones which the world can afford, and
which elevates and purifies as they do not. And aside from mere
pleasure, there is in such a study a practicability--taking the word in
a broader and nobler sense--which puts to the blush man's busy schemes
for wealth and honor. The beauties and sublimity of nature may indeed
fill us with awe at the omnipotence of the mighty Architect, and with
love and gratitude for His goodness, but it is only in the presence of
the soul--His greatest work--that we realize the awful power of the
Creator; it is only when threading the secret avenues of our own
intellectual and spiritual being that we are brought into actual
communion with God, and bow in adoration before Him who 'doeth all
things well.' Therefore, I maintain that he whose meditations run most
in this channel is not only the happiest, but the purest man; that his
views of life are the broadest and noblest; that he it is who is most
open to the appeal of suffering or of sorrow; who is most ready to
sacrifice self and work for the good of his fellow beings, and to
discharge faithfully his duty in that state of life to which it has
pleased God to call him.

But I am digressing into a prosy essay, which I did not intend, and
neglecting that which I did intend, namely, to jot down a few theories
which have crept into the brain of one not much given to musing.

For even I--a poor 'marching sub'--sitting here by a cheery coal grate,
and watching the white smoke as it curls lazily up from the bowl of my
meerschaum, have theories touching the soul--theories born in the
glowing coals and mounting in the curling smoke wreaths, but, unlike
them, growing more and more voluminous as they ascend, till I am like to
be lost in the ocean of speculations which my own musings have summoned
up.

I heard, to-night, a strain of weird, unearthly music, sweet and sad
beyond expression, but distant and fleeting. Yet long after it had
ceased, the chord that it awakened in my heart continued to vibrate as
with the echo of the strain which had departed. An unutterable,
indescribable longing filled my soul--a vague yearning for something, I
knew not what. My whole spiritual being seemed exalted to the clouds,
yet restrained by some galling chain from the heaven it sought to enter.
And then I asked myself, What is the secret of this mysterious power of
music; where shall we look for the cause of those undefinable yet
overwhelming emotions which it never fails to excite? A hopeless
question it seemed, one which the philosophers of all ages have failed
to solve, perhaps because they have not troubled themselves to inquire
very seriously about it; and again, perhaps it has baffled them as it
has me, and tens of thousands of others of the humbler portion of
humanity. And so I fell to dreaming after this wise:

The soul of man is created perfect, so far as regards the presence of
every faculty necessary for its development, for its happiness, or
misery, in this world or the next. Circumstances may alter it in degree,
but in its constituent elements never. The same yesterday, to-day, and
to-morrow, at the moment of its creation and a thousand ages to come.
Not even its passage from the body into its future and eternal home can
endow it with a single new faculty, or eradicate one of the old. Yet
each one of these faculties, capabilities, or sensibilities, is capable
of development to an infinite degree. And in this development lies the
soul's progress to perfection; it is to go on, through all the ages of
its eternal existence, constantly approaching the divine, yet never
reaching the goal, like that space between two parallel lines, which
mathematicians bisect to infinity. Certain of these faculties, of the
very existence of which even the soul itself is unconscious, are those
whose province lies purely in the world beyond, to which we all are
tending. Never exerted in this life, with which they have nothing to do,
through all the earthly existence they sleep quietly in their hidden
cells; but when once the silver cord is loosed, and the freed spirit
mounts into its native atmosphere, then these dormant powers and
susceptibilities are awakened from their slumbers, and take the lead in
the march of development, outstripping all others in the race, and soon
becoming the ruling powers of the soul. These are they which shall
listen to the music of heaven--these are the spiritual senses which
shall hear and see and taste and feel those ineffable glories, of which
our earthly pilgrimage has no appreciation, and which, if presented to
us in the body, we could not perceive, nor, perceiving, comprehend.
These are they which shall worship and adore, comprehending the glory of
Omnipotence, and drinking in and pouring out the full stream of divine
and never-failing love and gratitude.

Reader, did you ever listen to the sympathetic vibrations of a musical
string? Place in the corner of your room a guitar--it matters not if it
have but a single string, that alone is sufficient for the
experiment--then, sitting at some distance from it, sing, shout, or play
upon some loud-toned instrument, or, beginning at the foot of the
chromatic scale, sound, round and full, each semitone in succession and
at separate intervals. The instrument is mute to every note until you
strike the one to which the guitar string is attuned; then indeed, the
spirit of melody imprisoned within the musical string recognizes its
kindred sound, and springs sweetly forth to meet it. You pause, and a
low, sweet strain sighs softly through the room, as if a zephyr had
swept the string, dying gently away like the faintest breathing of the
evening breeze. Repeat the note, and louder than at first, and again its
counterpart replies, swelling higher than before, as if in gentle
remonstrance that you should deem it necessary to call again to that
which has already replied.

Even so it is with these hidden faculties or susceptibilities of which I
have been speaking. In the notes of witching music, in the numbers of
poesy, in the sight of beauty, either of nature or of art, either
æsthetic or moral, these silent powers recognize a faint approximation
to that beauty with which they will have to do in that world where they
shall be called into action: they too recognize the kindred spirit, and,
springing forward to meet it, vibrate in unison with the chord. But yet,
restrained by their prison of clay, bound down by the immutable law
which bids them wait their time, their great deep is but troubled, and
while, from their swaying and surging, a delicious emotion spreads over
the soul, filling the whole being with indescribable joy, it is an
emotion which we cannot fathom, vague and undefined, at which we wonder
even while we enjoy. To each and all of us the doors of heaven are
closed for the present; we never have heard the songs of the celestial
spheres, and how should we recognize their echo here on earth, even
though that echo is swelling through our own hearts? And the sadness and
yearning which such emotions invariably produce, may they not be the
yearning for heaven's supernal beauty, and sadness for the chains which
bar us from its full realization? Or is it the reflex of the struggles
and the disappointment of that portion of the spirit which I have
assigned as the mover of the emotion itself?

Carry still further the parallel of the vibrating string, and we shall
illustrate the different _degrees_ of emotion. It is only by sounding a
note in exact unison with that to which the string is attuned that we
get the full force of the sympathetic vibration, which is more or less
distinct according as we approach or depart from the keynote, till we
reach the semitone above or below, when it ceases altogether. Even so do
our emotions increase in exact proportion as the exciting cause
approaches perfection--according as the beauty heard or seen or felt
approaches the heavenly keynote. A simple ballad awakens a quiet
pleasure, while the magnificent symphonies of Beethoven or Mozart fill
the soul with a rapture with which the former feeling is no more to be
compared than the brooklet with the ocean; for the latter is
inexpressibly nearer to its heavenly model.

Carry out the theory to its legitimate result, and we shall see that if
it were possible to produce, here on earth, music equal to that which
rings through the celestial arches--if it were possible here to create
beauty in any form, which should fully equal that which shall greet the
freed spirit on its entrance into that better world, then indeed would
our emotions reach their highest possible climax; then indeed should we
hear and see and feel, not with the bodily senses, but with the senses
of the soul; then would there be no vagueness, no sadness in the feeling
as now, but clear and well defined would be our knowledge, comprehending
all spiritual things. Then would our heaven be here on earth, and we
should desire no other. Wisely has a great and merciful God thrown an
impenetrable veil between the soul and its future belongings, and
clipped its wings lest it soar too soon.

So much for a simple strain of music. A trifling matter, perhaps you
will say, to make so much talk about. Not quite so trifling as you may
think, however; for a single musical chord is a more important and
complex thing than to the careless ear it would seem. Who ever cares to
_study_ a single chord of music? And yet how few are there who know that
it is composed of not three or four but a myriad of separate and
distinct sounds, appreciable in exact proportion to the cultivation of
the ear? The uncultivated ear perceives but the three or four primitive
or fundamental notes of the chord, while, to the nicer perception, the
more delicate susceptibility of the ear trained by long study and
practice to analyze all musical sounds, come harmonic above harmonic,
sounds of melody above, beneath, and beyond the few prime motors which
act as the nucleus to the gush of tiny harmony which fills the
ear--sounds clear and distinct, yet blending in perfect order and
symmetry with their fundamental notes, and partaking so much of their
character and following with such unerring certainty their direction as
to become voiceless to the ear unskilled.

And why should this not be so? Is it not reasonable to suppose that the
current of undulations in the atmosphere producing these united sounds
should communicate its agitation in some degree to the circumambient
air, creating thousands of delicate ramifications branching off in all
possible directions from the main channel, yet all partaking of its
peculiar character, and becoming in themselves separate sounds, yet
consonant and harmonious?

Ah! could we but _see_ the vibrations of the atmosphere which a single
musical chord produces--the rolling bass, the gliding alto, the sweeping
soprano, and the soaring tenor, rolling onward in one broad channel of
harmony, with its myriad tributary streams of thirds and fifths, and its
curling, twinkling, shifting, blending, soaring mists of delicate-toned
harmonics, how would our enjoyment of music be enhanced! how would both
eye and ear be delighted, enraptured with the poetry of motion, the
harmony of sound, the eternal and indestructible order and concord and
consonance of both sight and sound! But this is reserved for the
experience of pure spirit--this is reserved to enhance the beauty of the
celestial realm. Some day we shall see and hear and know it all--some
day in that heavenly future, when the soul of man shall converse and
praise and adore in one blended strain of æsthetic beauty, which shall
contain within itself the essence of all music and poesy and enraptured
sight.

Thinking thus earnestly about the soul, one comes naturally to speculate
upon the question of the spirit's return to earth after its final
departure from the body. It is a beautiful belief that the souls of our
departed friends are permitted to hover around us here on earth,
watching all our outgoings and incomings, sympathizing in all our joys
and sorrows, mourning over our transgressions, and rejoicing at our good
deeds--in a word, acting the parts of guardian angels. And there are
many, even in our day, who hold such a faith. Yet it is a belief founded
in imagination and poetic ideas of beauty, rather than in sober truth
either of reason or of revelation. The strongest argument I have ever
heard against this belief is contained in the remark of a poor old
English peasant. 'Sir,' said he, 'I doan't believe the speerits can come
back to us; for if they go to the good place, they doan't want to come
back 'ere again; and if they goes to the bad place, why God woan't let
'em.' There was more philosophy in the remark than he knew of, and I
have not yet found the philosopher who did not stagger under it.

But there is another view of the subject. I hold that the bodily senses
can only perceive material things; and the spirit spiritual things; and
hence, that, admitting the actual presence of disembodied spirits,
neither could we perceive them, nor they us, as material bodies. They
might, indeed, perceive the souls within us, but could only be cognizant
of our actions as those of pure spirit; while we, blinded by the
impenetrable screen of the body, would be debarred of even this
recognition.

For through only three of the bodily senses--sight, hearing, and
feeling--have the boldest of so-called spiritualists dared to attempt
the proof of their doctrine. To begin with the latter, the essential
quality of the sense of feeling is _resistance_, without which there can
be no perception. And what is resistance? In one class of cases it is
simply the _vis inertiæ_ of matter: in the other and only remaining one,
the opposition of some material matter to the force of gravity. Even the
perception of the lightest zephyr depends upon the resistance of the
atmosphere. Does spirit possess this quality of resistance? The argument
on this head is closed the moment the distinction is made between
material things and spiritual.

If the wave theory of light and sound be correct--and it is so generally
accepted that few writers dare risk their reputations in the defence of
any other--the senses of sight and hearing come, for the purposes of
this argument, in the same category. Nothing can affect the ear which is
not capable of producing vibration in the atmosphere, which may be
considered, in comparison with pure spirit, a material substance. Here
again the argument is clinched by the mere distinction between matter
and spirit, the one being the very antipodes of and incapable of acting
upon the other.

Natural science tells us that the white light of the sun is composed of
the seven colors of the spectrum in combination, which colors may be
readily separated by the refraction of the prism. All objects possess,
in a greater or less degree, the power of decomposing light and
absorbing colors. Now a ray of sunlight falling upon any given object is
in a measure decomposed, a portion of its integral colors is absorbed,
and the remainder or complementary colors thrown off--reflected upon the
eye, producing by their combination what we call the color of the
object. Thus, a ray thrown upon a pure white object is absorbed not at
all, but wholly reflected as it came, and the consequence is the proper
combination upon the retina of all the colors, producing--a white
object. On the contrary, a ray falling upon what we call a _black_
object, is wholly absorbed, and the consequence is a total absence of
light, or blackness. So a red object absorbs all the orange, yellow,
green, blue, indigo, and violet of the sunlight, reflecting upon the eye
only the red, which is perceived as the color of the object. And so on
through all the combinations of the spectrum. Only material substances
can either absorb or reflect: therefore is spirit again excluded; for
how can it act upon the eye save through those agencies with reference
to which the eye itself was constructed, and which, as we have shown, it
cannot possibly affect? To sum up the whole argument in a single
sentence, the physical senses are dependent, for their perceptions,
entirely upon the action of matter, and hence spirit, which is not
matter, can in no way affect them.

But here we are met by the record of Holy Writ, which declares that in
those former times spirits did often appear to men. Aye! and so there
were miracles in those days. But all these things are done away with.
Moreover did not those spirits find it necessary in every case to clothe
themselves with the image of some _living form_ in order to make
themselves perceptible to human eyes? So that it was really the form
within which the spirit was ensconced that was perceived, and not the
spirit itself. And how shall we know what _gases_ of the physical world
these spirits were permitted, through a special interposition of the
Deity and for the furtherance of His divine ends, to assemble together
into a concrete form for their temporary dwelling and as a medium
through which to communicate with man? And who is so irreverent as to
suppose that God would now, in these days, give spirits special
permission to return to earth and take upon themselves such forms for
the mere purpose of tipping tables and piano-fortes, rapping upon doors,
windows, and empty skulls, misspelling their own names, and murdering
Lindley Murray, and performing clownish tricks for the amusement of a
gaping crowd?

But whence arises this great delusion? Simply from our total lack of
knowledge of the glory of that heaven upon which we all hope to enter.
'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the
imagination of man to conceive' the glory of God, the splendor, the
magnificence, the supernal beauty of the Celestial. We know indeed that
we shall enter upon a world whose immensity, whose sublimity, whose
awful beauty shall far surpass the experience of man; but not even the
wildest imagination, fed by all the knowledge that astronomers have
gained of world beyond world, and system beyond system, of spheres to
which our world is but a speck, and of fiery meteors and whizzing comets
sweeping their way with the speed of thought for thousands of years
through planet-teeming space--not even such an imagination, in its
farthest stretch, is able to conceive the glory of that dwelling place
which shall be ours. If to-day we were permitted to peer but for a
moment into that heavenly abode, then should we see how impossible, to
the soul which has once entered upon that beatific state, would be a
thought of return to this grovelling earth. There their aspirations are
ever upward and onward toward the Great White Throne, with no thought
for the things left behind, even were there not a 'great gulf fixed'
between earth and heaven.

And how often do we hear the opinion expressed that the souls of the
just do pass, 'in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,' from the things
of earth to the full burst of heavenly beauty and sublimity, shooting
like the lightning's flash from its prison house of clay to the presence
of its God. Reasoning from analogy, which, in this connection, where
both experience and revelation are dumb, is the only basis we can rest
upon, such a passage would be to the soul instant annihilation; the
shock would be too great for even its enlarged susceptibilities. It must
become gradually accustomed to the new sights and sounds, and so pass
slowly up from one stage of perception and knowledge to another in
regular gradation, to the climax of its revelation.

Reader, did you ever come suddenly from a darkened room into the full
blaze of noonday? In such a case the eye is dazzled, blinded for a
moment, and must gradually accommodate itself to the unaccustomed light
before its gaze can be clear and steady. So, too, the ear long shut up
in profound silence is deafened by an ordinary sound. Even so the soul,
suddenly entering upon the unaccustomed and stupendous sights and sounds
of the spiritual world, would be blinded, dazzled, as I have said, to
annihilation. It is necessary that its newly awakened faculties, which
during its long earthly life have lain in a comatose state, should not
be too suddenly called into action, lest they be overpowered by the
awful revelation. Like the bodily senses, they require time and gentle
though steadily increasing action to develop them, and assimilate them
to their new surroundings in their new field of action.

And this is my theory. The soul, when freed from the body, floats gently
upward, _deaf_, _dumb_, and _blind_--paralyzed, as it were, into a state
of neutral existence. Splendid sights may spread around it, wave after
wave of eternal sound may roll in upon it, but it sees not, hears not,
feels not, not having yet acquired the new faculties of perception.
After a certain space of time--which may be days or weeks or months in
duration--through its secret chambers steals a thrill of sentient
emotion; it recognizes its own existence, and the dawn of that eternal
life for which it was created. Slowly one sight after another begins
faintly to glimmer before it, as objects emerge from the gloom of some
darkened cell to eyes that are becoming accustomed to the darkness.
Anon, low, faint murmurs of sound steal in upon it, far distant at
first, but gradually swelling as it approaches, till at last, around the
freed spirit peals the full orchestral glory of eternity. And so it goes
on, passing slowly from stage to stage, apprehending new sights, new
sounds, and comprehending new truths. And so it shall go on, through all
the cycles of eternity, constantly approaching nearer to the Godhead,
yet never to become God.

Do you ask me how can these things be? Let us draw an illustration from
nature. The science of acoustics tells us that an organ pipe of a
certain length gives forth the deepest, or as musicians would say, the
_lowest_ sound that art can produce; that all beyond this given length
is nothingness, and gives out no sound. What shall we say then? that
doubling the length of the tube destroys the vibration of the imprisoned
air? Nay, verily, the air still vibrates, sound is still produced, but
_the note is below the gamut of the natural ear_, which was created to
comprehend only sounds within a certain compass: its capacity goes no
farther, and any sound pitched either above or below that compass we
cannot perceive. In proof of this is the simple fact that a cultivated
ear--that is, an ear of enlarged capacity, can readily catch the
faintest harmonics of a guitar, to which others are totally deaf.

Again: I have stood by the Falls of Niagara, and listened in vain for
that deep, unearthly roar of which so much has been written and sung.
The rush and the gurgle of the waters was there, the sweeping surge of
the mighty river, but Niagara's hollow roar was absent. Again and again
my ears were stretched to catch the awful sound, till the effort became
almost painful, but in vain. And yet the sound was present, ay!
eternally present, but the note was just beyond the gamut of my ear.
Standing thus for some moments, gazing and listening with the most
earnest attention, nature, through her hidden laws, wrought a miracle
in my person. The long-continued strain enlarged the capacity of the
ear, even as the muscles of the arm are strengthened by frequent and
energetic action, or as a faculty of the mind itself is developed by
exercise. Lower and lower sank the scale of my aural conceptions, till,
as it approached the keynote of the cataract, a low murmur began to
steal in upon me, deeper than the deepest thunder tones, and seemingly a
thousand miles distant. Louder and louder it swelled, nearer and nearer
it approached as the hearing faculty sank downward, till the keynote was
reached, and then--the rush and gurgle of the waters was swept away, and
in its place resounded the awful tones of earth's deepest _basso
profundo_. Then for the first time I realized the terrible sublimity of
Niagara--the voice of God speaking audibly through one of the mightiest
works of His creation.

And as, musing, I moved away from the appalling scene, the thought
rushed into my mind that perhaps my experience of a few moments might be
that of the soul when entering upon the sublimities of the future state.
Hence my theory, which may go for what it is worth, or, as the Yankees
would say, is 'good for what it will bring.'

Reader, do you never feel an intense longing to live over again the
scenes of your youth? to begin at some certain period long gone by, and
taste again the sweets that have passed away forever? It is one of the
bitterest feelings of the heart that years are slipping away from us one
by one; that the delights of our youth have gone, never to return, and
that we 'shall not look upon their like again;' that the days are fast
coming on when we shall say we have no pleasure in them, and that we are
rapidly verging upon the 'lean and slippered pantaloon.' Were there any
future rejuvenation, when we might stand again upon the threshold of
life and look over its fair fields with all the joy and hope of
anticipation, old age would lose all its dreariness, and become but a
brief though painful pilgrimage through which we were to pass to joy
beyond. But since this can never be, old age is the rust which dims the
brightness of every earthly joy, and is looked forward to by youth only
with a shudder.

Hundreds of bold and daring navigators have left their bones to whiten
amid the snows and ice of the arctic regions, lured thither by the
thirst of fame or of knowledge, in the pursuit of science, and in search
of the Northwest Passage. But suppose some more fortunate adventurer
should discover there, even at the very pole itself, a veritable
'fountain of youth and beauty,' whose rejuvenating waters could restore
the elasticity of youth to the frame of age, smoothing away its
wrinkles, and imprinting the bloom of childhood upon its cheeks,
bringing back the long-lost freshness and buoyancy to the soul; would
not the navigators of those dangerous seas be multiplied in the ratio of
a million to one? Should we not all become Ponce de Leons, braving every
danger, submitting to every privation, sacrificing wealth, fame,
everything, in quest of the precious boon? What a hecatomb of mouldering
bones would bestrew those fields of ice! For though not one in ten
thousand might reach the promised goal, the hegira would still go on
till the end of time, each deluded mortal hoping that he might be that
happy, fortunate one. As the dying millionnaire would give all that he
possesses for one moment of time, so would all mankind throw every
present blessing into the scale, in the hope of drawing the prize in
that great lottery.

There is a fountain of youth and beauty open to every soul beneath the
sun: there is a rejuvenation both to soul and body, which shall not only
restore all the freshness of the bygone days, but also the joys of the
past, a thousandfold brighter and dearer, and that by a process which
will not need repeating, for that youth will be eternal. I am using no
metaphor now, but speaking of that which is actual and tangible. There
is such a fount, but not here: it gushes in the courts of that house not
made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For the soul, at the moment of
its separation from the body, enters upon a new life, whose course shall
be exactly the reverse of that of earth, for it shall constantly
increase in all the attributes of youth. There will be no dimming of the
faculties, but a continual brightening; no grieving over an
irrecoverable past, but a constant rejoicing over joys present and to
come. There will be no past there, but a present more tangible than
this, which is ever slipping from us, and a future far brighter and more
certain than any that earth can afford. Strange that men should fail to
look at heaven in this light! For thoughtless youth, to whom the world
is new and bright, and pleasure sparkles with a luring gleam, there is
some little palliation for neglect of the things of heaven; but what
shall we say of him who has passed the golden bound, for whom all giddy
pleasures have lost their glow, and nought remains but the cares and
anxieties of life? Of what worth is earthly pleasure to him who has
already drained its cup to the dregs? Of what worth is wealth and honor
to the frame that has already begun to descend the slope of time? All
these baubles would be gladly sacrificed for the return of that youth
which has passed away; and shall they not be given up for that eternal
youth which shall not pass away? We mourn for departed loved ones, but
what would be our grief and despair if death were annihilation--if we
knew that we should never meet them again in all eternity? But we feel
that in heaven the olden love shall be renewed; that the forms that now
are mouldering in the dust shall be recognized and greeted there, and
that the friendships created here shall ripen there in close
companionship through never-ending cycles; and thus is death robbed of
half its terrors.

But the way to this fount is through a straight and narrow gate, and
'few there be who find it.'

Alas! how unsatisfactory are even the choicest blessings of life! Wealth
brings only care, and the millionnaire toils all his life for--his food
and clothes and lodging; dies unregretted, and is soon forgotten. Honor
brings not content, and does but increase the thirst it seeks to
assuage. The poor and the unknown are generally happier than the wealthy
and famous. 'Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity and
vexation of spirit;' and what was true of human nature when 'the
preacher' wrote, is true to-day. Admit that life is but a succession of
pleasures that can never pall, and the world one vast Elysian field, and
that the care of the soul requires the abnegation of every delight, and
spreads a gloomy pall over all the brightness of earth; yet even in that
case, a life wholly devoted to spiritual interests were but a weary,
temporary pilgrimage, which we should gladly endure for a season, in the
hope of the golden crown and never-ending bliss in the world beyond,
could we but look upon the future life in the light of _reality_. Ah!
there is the difficulty, for we are 'of the earth earthy,' and, although
we may fervently _believe_, cannot comprehend, cannot _realize_
eternity. To too many Christians of the present day eternity, heaven,
God, are not a tangible reality, but rather a poetic dream, floating in
the atmosphere of faith, but which their minds cannot grasp. Hence they
worship an idea rather than a reality.

The noblest pleasures of life, in fact the only real, permanent,
exalting, and, I might add, _developing_ pleasures, are divided into two
classes, those of the heart, and those of the intellect. Yet both,
though different in their action, spring from the same central truth.

The happiest man is he whose life is spent in doing good, seeking no
other reward than the gratification of beholding the true happiness of
his fellow beings. His pleasures are of the heart, and he only is the
true Christian of our day and generation. For he who so ardently loves
his fellow men cannot but love his God.

The pleasures of the intellect can never pall, but do constantly
increase and brighten, because in them the soul enters its native
province and acts in that sphere which is its own for all eternity. Yet
how do they all lead the mind up to its great Creator! Not a single
discovery in science, not an investigation of the simplest law of
nature, not an examination of the most insignificant bud or flower or
leaf; and, above and beyond all, not an inquiry in the great truths of
morals, of ethics, of religion, or of the very constitution of the mind
itself, but at once, and in the most natural consequence, reveals the
power and the goodness of God--brings God himself as clearly before us
as he _can_ be manifested to our fettered souls. Yet if these pleasures
too were but temporary, if they were to pass from our sight with all our
other earthly surroundings, the pursuit of them would but beget disgust
and discontent, and they would be classed with the fragile things which
awaken no feelings of awe, nor enhance the glory of the soul. But thank
God! they will endure forever. Truth is eternal--its origin is coeval
with the Creator, and, like Him, it shall have no end.

Hence all real pleasure is from God himself, and leads directly back to
him again. And he who, appreciating the truest joy of existence here,
makes such themes his study, should and will seek the only prolongation
of those delights which shall carry them alone of all life's blessings
with him across the dark river, in the worship and adoration of that
omnipotent Being from whose hand these gifts descend, who alone can
perpetuate them when time shall have passed away--that God who 'doeth
all things well.'




LITERARY NOTICES.


     CHAPLAIN FULLER: Being a Life Sketch of a New England
     Clergyman and Army Chaplain. By Richard F. Fuller. Boston: Walker,
     Wise & Co., 245 Washington street.

  "I must do something for my country."

A remarkable record of a remarkable man. A distinguished member of a
distinguished family, a gentleman, scholar, patriot, hero, and
Christian, bravely dying for humanity and country--such was Arthur B.
Fuller.

It would be impossible, in the few lines allotted to editorials, to give
any just idea of the exceeding interest and merit of this sketch. A. B.
Fuller, under peculiar circumstances of emergency and danger,
_volunteered_ to cross the Rappahannock, December 11, 1862. It was of
great importance then to prove that the Federal army was composed of
strong and patriotic hearts, and he was revered and idolized by our
brave soldiers. 'It was a duty which could not be required of him. And
for one of his profession to consistently engage in this enterprise
would prove his strong conviction that it was a work so holy, so
acceptable to God, that even those set apart for sanctuary service might
feel called to have a hand in it. His prowess, brave as he was, was
nothing; it was not his unpractised right _arm_, but his _heart_ which
he devoted to the service, and which would tell on the result, not
merely of that special enterprise, nor of that battle only, but, by
affording a powerful proof of love of country outweighing considerations
of safety and life, would have the influence which a living example, and
only a living example, can have.' He knew the full amount of the danger
to be encountered, and, being of a race which numbers no cowards among
them, he steadily looked it in the face. Captain Dunn says: 'We came
over in boats, and were in advance of the others who had crossed. We had
been here but a few minutes when Chaplain Fuller accosted me with his
usual military salute. He had a musket in his hand, and said: 'Captain,
I must do something for my country. What shall I do?' I replied that
there never was a better time than the present, and he could take his
place on my left. I thought he could render valuable aid, because he was
perfectly cool and collected. Had he appeared at all excited, I should
have rejected his services, for coolness is of the first importance with
skirmishers, and one excited man has an unfavorable influence upon
others. I have seldom seen a person on the field so calm and mild in his
demeanor, evidently not acting from impulse or martial rage.

'His position was directly in front of a grocery store. He fell in five
minutes after he took it, having fired once or twice. He was killed
instantly, and did not move after he fell. I saw the flash of the rifle
which did the deed.'

  'He died, but to a noble cause
    His precious life was given!
  He died, but he has left behind
    A shining path to heaven!'

His labors as a pastor were devout, humane, and full of self-abnegation.
No single line of sectarianism blurs with its bitterness this fair
record of a blameless life, devoted from its earliest days to God and
country. 'Better still give up our heart's blood in brave battle than
give up our principles in cowardly compromise! I must do something for
my country!' Bold and brave words of Arthur B. Fuller's, which he sealed
in his blood! This 'life sketch' is published in the hope that it may be
of advantage to the family of the chaplain, to whose benefit its
pecuniary avails are devoted. And shame would it be to the heart of this
great nation if this record of a brave, true man were not thoroughly
accepted by it. May the good seed of it be sown broadcast through our
land, planting the germs of patriotism, self-sacrifice, virtue, and
Christian faith in every heart.

We earnestly commend the book to our readers. May the high estimation in
which this Christian hero is held by the country of his love soothe in
some degree the anguish of his bereaved family!

     A FIRST LATIN COURSE. By William Smith, LL.D. Edited by H.
     Drisler, A.M. 12mo, pp. 186. Harper & Brothers.

This is an elementary class-book, and the name of the profound scholar
standing upon its title-page will at once commend it to all intelligent
teachers. It is the first of a series intended to simplify the study of
the Latin language, in which will be combined the advantages of the
older and modern methods of instruction. The experienced author has
labored, by a philosophical series of repetitions, to enable the
beginner to fix declensions and conjugations thoroughly in his memory,
to learn their usage by the constructing of simple sentences as soon as
he commences the study of the language, and to accumulate gradually a
stock of useful words. This is, surely, the only method to make a dead
language live in the mind of a pupil.

     A TEXT-BOOK OF PENMANSHIP, containing all the established
     rules and principles of the art, with rules for Punctuation,
     Direction, and Forms for Letter Writing: to which are added a brief
     History of Writing, and Hints on Writing Materials, &c., &c., for
     Teachers and Pupils. By H. W. Ellsworth, teacher of Penmanship in
     the public schools of New York city, and for several years teacher
     of Bookkeeping, Penmanship, and Commercial Correspondence in
     Bryant, Stratton & Co.'s Chain of Mercantile Colleges. D. Appleton
     & Co., New York.

Those accustomed to the wearisome labor of deciphering illegible
handwriting will welcome the appearance of any 'standard text-book
enabling all to become tolerable writers.' What a desideratum! Let the
disappointment over manuscripts frequently rejected, simply because
illegible, and the despair of printers, tell. The book before us seems
well adapted to attain the end it proposes. The writer says: 'This work
is no creation of a leisure hour, but a careful elaboration of
_practical_ notes, taken in the midst of active duties. The materials of
which it is made are facts, not embodied in our school books, which it
appeared important for all to know, together with conclusions drawn from
them, and answers to questions of practical interest, which have arisen
in the course of my school and after experience, to which no books
within ordinary reach could afford satisfactory explanation. These facts
and observations have gradually accumulated till it has occurred to me
that a compilation of them, properly arranged, might prove as acceptable
to other inquirers as such a work would have been to myself.'

This book is full of valuable information in all that relates to the
abused and neglected art of penmanship, and we cordially recommend it to
schools, teachers, and pupils.

     ANNETTE; OR, THE LADY OF THE PEARLS. By Alexander Dumas
     (the younger), author of 'La Dame aux Camelias; or, Camille, the
     Camellia Lady.' Translated by Mrs. W. R. A. Johnson. Frederick A.
     Brady, publisher and bookseller, 24 Ann street, New York.

A novel in the Eugene Sue, Dumas, father and son, style. The plot is
complicated, and the translation flowing and spirited. The novels of
this school are peculiar. No sense of right and wrong ever seems to dawn
upon their heroes or heroines; no intimations of an outraged Decalogue
ever add the least embarrassment to the difficulties of their position.
The events grow entirely out of human incidents, passions, and
interests--conscience has no part to play in the involved drama. After
passing through seas of _naïve_ intrigue and _innocent_ vice, we are
quite astonished at the close of 'The Lady of the Pearls' to be landed
upon a short moral.

     POLITICAL FALLACIES: An Examination of the False
     Assumptions, and Refutation of the Sophistical Reasonings, which
     have brought on this Civil War. By George Junkin, D.D., LL.D. New
     York: Chas. Scribner, 124 Grand street. 1863.

Dr. Junkin is one of the noble band of patriots who have preferred
leaving friends, comfortable homes, and honorable positions, to ceding
self-respect, and polluting conscience by yielding to the tyrannical
requisitions of local prejudice or usurped authority. He is the
father-in-law of 'Stonewall' Jackson, and, during twelve years, was
President of Washington College, Lexington, Va. In May, 1861, he left
that institution and came North. Rebellion had entered the fair
precincts of learning, misleading alike young and old, and prompting to
acts incompatible with the president's high sense of duty and loyalty.
No course was left him but to resign. His book is a clear and upright
examination into the so-called 'right of secession, and, while there
are some minor points one might feel inclined to discuss, the main
arguments are so ably, truthfully, and yet kindly advanced, that we
heartily recommend the book to the perusal of all desirous of obtaining
sound views on the much-mooted questions of the authority of legitimate
government, and the proper understanding of State and National rights.
The eighteenth chapter contains some home truths for those who think
that religion, consequently Christian morality, has nothing to do with
the rulers or the ruling of a great nation. Slavery has had its share in
the production of the 'great rebellion,' but the slavery question would
have been powerless to disrupt the Union had not erroneous and
mischievous ideas been generally current, both South and North,
regarding the source and meaning of government, its legitimate purposes,
powers, and rights. While individual men have been striving to persuade
themselves that, because they formed a certain minute portion of the
governing power, they were hence at liberty to resist the lawful
exercise of that power, the people--the real people--have gradually been
losing their proper weight and authority, have been surrendering
themselves, bound hand and foot, to noisy demagogues, petty cliques, or
corrupt party organizations. How many examine facts, consider
principles, and vote accordingly? How few are willing to step out of the
narrow circle of prejudice or mediocrity surrounding them, and bestow
responsible places on those whose integrity and ability seem best fitted
to attain the nobler ends proposed by all human government? It may be
that corruption, loose notions on the duties of citizenship, love of
luxury, and grovelling materialism are even now sources of greater
danger to the republic than civil war and threatened dissolution. Such
works as that of Dr. Junkin are valuable as assisting to open the eyes
of the community to certain popular fallacies, and teach the broad
distinction ever subsisting between right and wrong.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE DEMOCRATIC LEAGUE.--Amongst all the papers and pamphlets
issued from the press during our present war, none, perhaps, have
exercised a more salutary influence than those emanating from this
association. The article entitled SLAVERY AND NOBILITY vs.
DEMOCRACY was originally published in this periodical for July,
1862. Pronounced by critics to be among the best magazine articles ever
appearing in print, it commanded a very marked attention as an
exposition of the atrocious motives that underlaid the great Southern
rebellion. The public mind was startled at the developed evidence of a
great conspiracy to subvert the fundamental principles of free
government in the South. The coalition between the conspirators of the
South and their allies amongst the aristocracy of England was laid bare,
whilst a great portion of the English press and reviews was shown to be
suborned into the service of the most atrocious objects and purposes
that ever disgraced the annals of civilization. This article, whilst it
elucidated to our own countrymen the secret motives of the rebellion,
assisted powerfully to bring a new phase over a perverted English public
opinion. The result has been that the vitiated disposition of the
English aristocracy to assist the rebels, through intervention, has
slunk away before British morality, and is now seen only in aid of
piracy on our commerce.

Following this masterly production, the speech of Mr. Sherwood at
Champlain was a renewed onslaught upon the anti-democratic coalition. In
this speech the most irrefragable evidence, drawn from the recitals in
the records of treason, is produced against the conspirators. The
perusal of this speech leaves the mind in no doubt as to the purpose of
the traitors to overthrow democratic government in the South, and to
establish a new form of government, based on exclusion of the democratic
principle, and resting on a cemented slave aristocracy. These, amongst
other papers of the Democratic League, are so replete with the evidence
by which their positions are fortified, and so comprehensive in the
scope and magnitude of subjects of which they treat, that they must take
a high position in the political literature of the day. The manifold
opinions of the press demonstrate how highly they are appreciated. They
are now being reproduced in THE IRON PLATFORM, published by Wm.
Oland Bourne, 112 William street, New York, and intended for extensive
circulation in the cheapest form.


BOOKS RECEIVED.

     THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER for May, 1863. Boston: By the
     proprietors, Thomas B. Fox, Jos. Henry Allen, at Walker, Wise &
     Co.'s, 245 Washington street.

Articles: Benedict Spinoza; The New Homeric Question; State Reform in
Austria; Courage in Belief; Jane Austen's Novels; New Books of Piety;
The Thirty-seventh Congress; Review of Current Literature.

     THE ILLINOIS TEACHER: Devoted to Education, Science, and
     Free Schools. May. Peoria, Illinois: Published by N. C. Mason.
     Editors, Alexander W. Gow, Rock Island; Samuel A. Briggs, Chicago.

     THE MASSACHUSETTS TEACHER: A Journal of Home and School
     Education. Resident editors, Chas. Ansorge, Dorchester; Wm. T.
     Adams, Boston; W. E. Sheldon, West Newton. May number. Published by
     the Massachusetts Teachers' Association, No. 119 Washington street,
     Boston.




EDITOR'S TABLE.


THE REVIVAL OF CONFIDENCE.

Perhaps it is an error to assume that confidence has ever been wanting
to sustain the loyal people of the land in their determination to
conquer the rebellion. Yet there have been times when despondency seemed
to take possession of the public mind, and when the failure of our plans
or temporary disaster to our arms revealed the sad divisions which exist
among ourselves, and apparently postponed the success of our cause to a
period so indefinite as to make the heart of the patriot sick with hope
deferred. But ever and anon, through all the changeful incidents of the
momentous contest, there have been gleams of light, in which the
national strength and greatness have made themselves manifest, and have
been so vividly felt as to place the public confidence on a sure and
impregnable basis. The present is one of those periods. Americans feel
that their Government cannot be overthrown: in spite of the sinister
predictions of enemies at home and abroad, they have an instinctive
assurance that our noble institutions are not destined to perish in this
lamentable conflict, stricken down by ungrateful and traitorous hands in
the very outset of a great career. The clouds which have gathered around
us are thick and dark; sometimes they have seemed impenetrable; but
again they separate, we see the blue sky, the stars come out in all
their glory, and even the sun pours his intense rays through the
intervals of the storm. We say to ourselves, Courage! this cannot last
always; there are the firmament, the stars, and the glorious sun still
behind the clouds, and, though long hidden from us, we know they are
there, and will reveal themselves again in all their unclouded splendor.
It is with a confidence as strong as this in the very depths of their
souls that American citizens still look for the reappearance of the
stars of our destiny, the resurrection of the Union in still greater
beauty and strength, and the uninterrupted pursuit of its glorious
career through the coming ages. Such, heretofore, have been the
cherished hopes which have hung around them like a firmament, and they
are not yet prepared to believe that their political universe has been,
or ever can be, annihilated.

Nor is this confidence a mere sentiment, born of the imagination, and
nurtured by vainglorious hope. It has for its support far more
substantial grounds than any merely precarious military successes, or
any of the favorable incidents which, from time to time, may be cast
ashore as waifs by the surging tide of civil war. Let the temporary
fortunes of the war be what they will, yet the general bearing of the
old Government, its evident consciousness of strength, its unshaken
solidity in the midst of the storm which assails it, the confidence
that, even with all its errors and blunders, it is still powerful enough
to prevail--all these appeal irresistibly to the hearts and judgments of
Americans, and make them love and confide in their country, and believe
in her destiny, in spite of her misfortunes. The tenacity and stubborn
purpose of the rebels are, indeed, remarkable. Their position gives them
great advantages for such a conflict; and it must be admitted that they
have shown the eminently bad genius to make the most of their fatal
opportunities. Yet is the contest most unequal, and the ultimate result
of discomfiture to them inevitable. The Federal Government, like a
sluggish but powerful man scarcely yet aroused to the exertion of his
full strength, moves slowly and awkwardly, and lays about him with
careless and inefficient blows; while his active adversary, inferior in
strength and in the moral power of his cause, but more fully aroused and
more energetic, strikes with better effect, and makes every blow tell.
Nevertheless, the strength of the one remains unexhausted, and even
increases as he becomes awakened to the demands of the struggle; while
that of the other slowly and gradually, but inevitably and irretrievably
declines, with every hour of intense strain of faculty which the
dreadful work imposes. Partial observers, imbued with sympathy in bad
designs, and blinded by false hopes through that fatal error, may still
think the South is certain to prevail and to establish the empire of
slavery; but cooler heads, with vision made clear by love of humanity,
cannot fail to see a different result as the necessary end of the
contest. The South herself, under the shadow of a dread responsibility,
begins to understand the nature of the case, and the exact position in
which she stands; but she is playing a bold and desperate game for the
active support of foreign powers. She knows well that the sympathies of
the ruling classes abroad are naturally on her side, and she will
maintain the struggle to the last extremity, so long as a gleam of hope
shines in that quarter. That hope finally extinguished, she knows
perfectly well her cause is lost.

The contrast in the financial condition of the contending sections is of
itself enough to settle the question of ultimate success. The Federal
Government stands this day stronger than ever in the plenitude of her
boundless resources, and proudly contemptuous of all the false
prophecies of failure and bankruptcy. She is fully prepared for new
campaigns, and cannot be dismayed by any possible disaster. She has men
and money in abundance sufficient for any emergency. She can stretch
forth one hand to relieve the suffering people of England and Ireland,
while with the other she fights the great battle of liberty against
slavery, of humanity against wrong and oppression. Secure in the
sympathies of the masses of men everywhere, she stands on the solid
ground, which can never be withdrawn from under her feet. She occupies
the central position of freedom and progress, around which cluster and
gravitate the hopes and aspirations of all mankind. The conflicting
elements may rage and storm; the solid ground may tremble, and even be
torn with earthquake convulsions and superficial ruin; but the grand
central structure, with its organizing forces, and its inward heat of
humanity, with the great life-giving sun of liberty yet shining undimmed
upon it, will still remain the refuge of all nations, and the chosen
home of all the lovers and champions of human freedom.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Oh! why, sweet poet, is thy strain so sad?
  Couldst thou not stamp thy joy on human life?
  Yea, even the saddest life has many joys.
  Couldst thou not stamp thy joy upon the page,
  That they who should come after thee might feel
  Their spirits gladdened by it, and their hearts
  Made lighter with thy lightsomeness? For thou,
  They say, wert joyous as a summer bird,
  The very light and life of those who knew thee--
  Oh! why, then, is thy song so sad? 'Tis wrong,
  'Tis surely wrong, to spend in fond complainings
  The talents given for nobler purposes;
  And he who goes about this world of ours
  Diffusing cheerfulness where'er he goes,
  Like one who scatters fresh and fragrant flowers,
  Fulfils, I can but think, a better part
  Than he who mourns and murmurs life away.

  ....The poet
  Is the revealer of the heart's deep secrets;
  The poet is the interpreter of nature;
  And shall those light and joyous spirits, they
  Who make bright sunshine wheresoe'er they go,
  Shall they have no interpreter?




FOOTNOTES:

[1] See Hon. R. J. WALKER'S invaluable papers on 'The Union,' in
CONTINENTAL MONTHLY.

[2] Razeed from a line-of-battle ship.

[3] Lost at sea

[4] Destroyed by her officers opposite the rebel batteries at Port
Hudson, Mississippi.

[5] Taken by the rebels at Galveston.

[6] Foundered at sea.

[7] Taken by the rebels.

[8] Destroyed by the rebel gunboats below Vicksburg.


       *       *       *       *       *


These compounds make available to the people the higher attainments of
medical skill, and more efficient remedial 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
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The indispensable qualities of such a remedy for popular use must be,
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These conditions have been realized in this preparation, which, while it
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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 for distempers of the respiratory
organs, and in several of them it is extensively 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
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Many of the certificates of its cures are so remarkable that cautious
people are led to feel incredulous of their truth, or to fear the
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we make better medicines than have been produced before. Their effects
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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
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do more or less good; but this cures such dangerous complaints, so
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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
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will do them no harm.

Give them to some patient who has been prostrated with bilious
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loveliness blasted and too early withering away; want of exercise or
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office ill. Her blood is vitiated, her health is gone. Give her these
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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
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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,
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brutes and in the sea.

Prepared by DR. J. C. AYER & CO.,

PRACTICAL AND ANALYTICAL CHEMISTS,

LOWELL, MASS.,

And Sold by all Druggists.


       *       *       *       *       *


NOW COMPLETE.

THE NEW AMERICAN CYCLOPÆDIA,

A POPULAR DICTIONARY OF GENERAL KNOWLEDGE.

EDITED BY

GEORGE RIPLEY AND C. A. DANA,

ASSISTED BY A NUMEROUS BUT SELECT CORPS OF WRITERS.


The design of THE NEW AMERICAN CYCLOPÆDIA is to furnish the
great body of intelligent readers in this country with a popular
Dictionary of General Knowledge.

THE NEW AMERICAN CYCLOPÆDIA is not founded on any European
model; in its plan and elaboration it is strictly original, and strictly
American. Many of the writers employed on the work have enriched it with
their personal researches, observations, and discoveries; and every
article has been written, or re-written, expressly for its pages.

It is intended that the work shall bear such a character of practical
utility as to make it indispensable to every American library.

Throughout its successive volumes, THE NEW AMERICAN CYCLOPÆDIA
will present a fund of accurate and copious information on SCIENCE,
ART, AGRICULTURE, COMMERCE, MANUFACTURES, LAW, MEDICINE, LITERATURE,
PHILOSOPHY, MATHEMATICS, ASTRONOMY, HISTORY, BIOGRAPHY, GEOGRAPHY,
RELIGION, POLITICS, TRAVELS, CHEMISTRY, MECHANICS, INVENTIONS, and
TRADES.

Abstaining from all doctrinal discussions, from all sectional and
sectarian arguments, it will maintain the position of absolute
impartiality on the great controverted questions which have divided
opinions in every age.


PRICE.

This work is published exclusively by subscription, in sixteen large
octavo volumes, each containing 750 two-column pages.

Price per volume, cloth, $3.50; library style, leather, $4; half
morocco, 4.50; half russia, extra, $5.


_From the London Daily News._

It is beyond all comparison the best,--indeed, we should feel quite
justified in saying it is the only book of reference upon the Western
Continent that has ever appeared. No statesman or politician can afford
to do without it, and it will be a treasure to every student of the
moral and physical condition of America. Its information is minute,
full, and accurate upon every subject connected with the country. Beside
the constant attention of the Editors, it employs the pens of a a host
of most distinguished transatlantic writers--statesmen, lawyers,
divines, soldiers, a vast array of scholarship from the professional
chairs of the Universities, with numbers of private literati, and men
devoted to special pursuits.


       *       *       *       *       *


  HOME
  INSURANCE COMPANY
  OF NEW YORK,
  OFFICE, 112 & 114 BROADWAY.


  CASH CAPITAL,                 $1,000,000.
  Assets, 1st Jan., 1860,       $1,458,396 28.
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THIS COMPANY INSURES AGAINST LOSS & DAMAGE BY FIRE, ON FAVORABLE TERMS.

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DIRECTORS:

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  A. F. Willmarth,
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  Danford N. Barney,
  Lucius Hopkins,
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  Charles B. Hatch,
  B. Watson Bull,
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CHARLES J. MARTIN, President. JOHN McGEE, Secretary. A. F. WILLMARTH,
Vice-President.

       *       *       *       *       *

~HUMPHREYS' SPECIFIC HOMOEOPATHIC REMEDIES~

Have proved, from the most ample experience, an entire success. ~Simple~,
Prompt, Efficient~, and ~Reliable~, they are the only medicines
perfectly adapted to ~FAMILY USE~, and the satisfaction they have
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~Profession~, the ~People~, and the ~Press~.

                                                                    cts.
  No. 1. Cures Fever, Congestion & Inflammation                       25
   "    2.   "   Worms and Worm Diseases                              25
   "    3.   "   Colic, Teething, etc., of Infants                    25
   "    4.   "   Diarrhoea of Children & Adults                       25
   "    5.   "   Dysentery and Colic                                  25
   "    6.   "   Cholera and Cholera Morbus                           25
   "    7.   "   Coughs, Colds, Hoarseness and Sore Throat            25
   "    8.   "   Neuralgia, Toothache & Faceache                      25
   "    9.   "   Headache, Sick Headache & Vertigo                    25
   "   10.   "   Dyspepsia & Bilious Condition                        25
   "   11.   "   Wanting Scanty or Painful Periods                    25
   "   12.   "   Whites, Bearing Down or Profuse Periods              25
   "   13.   "   Croup and Hoarse Cough                               25
   "   14.   "   Salt Rheum and Eruptions                             25
   "   15.   "   Rheumatism, Acute or Chronic                         25
   "   16.   "   Fever & Ague and Old Agues                           50
   "   17.   "   Piles or Hemorrhoids of all kinds                    50
   "   18.   "   Ophthalmy and Weak Eyes                              50
   "   19.   "   Catarrh and Influenza                                50
   "   20.   "   Whooping Cough                                       50
   "   21.   "   Asthma & Oppressed Respiration                       50
   "   22.   "   Ear Discharges & Difficult Hearing                   50
   "   23.   "   Scrofula, Enlarged Glands & Tonsils                  50
   "   24.   "   General Debility & Weakness
   "   25.   "   Dropsy                                               50
   "   26.   "   Sea-Sickness & Nausea                                50
   "   27.   "   Urinary & Kidney Complaints                          50
   "   28.   "   Seminal Weakness, Involuntary
                 Dishcarges and consequent prostration             $1.00
   "   29.   "   Sore Mouth and Canker                                50
   "   30.   "   Urinary Incontinence & Enurisis                      50
   "   31.   "   Painful Menstruation                                 50
   "   32.   "   Diseases at Change of Life                        $1.00
   "   33.   "   Epilepsy & Spars & Chorea St. Viti                 1.00

  PRICE.

  Case of Thirty-five Vials, in morocco case, and Book, complete    $8.00
  Case of Twenty-eight large Vials, in morocco, and Book             7.00
  Case of Twenty large Vials, in morocco, and Book                   5.00
  Case of Twenty large Vials, plain case, and Book                   4.00
  Case of fifteen Boxes (Nos. 1 to 15), and Book                     2.00
  Case of any Six Boxes (Nos. 1 to 15), and Book                     1.00

      Single Boxes, with directions as above, 25 cents, 50 cents, or $1.

[Illustration: pointing finger] ~THESE REMEDIES, BY THE CASE OR SINGLE
BOX, are sent to any part of the country by Mail, or Express, Free of
Charge, on receipt of the Price.~ Address,

  ~DR. F. HUMPHREYS,
  562 BROADWAY, NEW YORK~


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration]

FRIENDS AND RELATIVES

OF THE

~BRAVE SOLDIERS~

AND

~SAILORS.~

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, 608.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ~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.


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: STEINWAY & SONS' FACTORY, OCCUPYING THE ENTIRE BLOCK
ON 4TH AVE, FROM 52D TO 53D ST.]


STEINWAY & SONS'

~GOLD MEDAL~

       *       *       *       *       *

~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,~

IN COMBINATION WITH

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 Constitutional_" 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.


       *       *       *       *       *


JOHN F. TROW,

BOOK & JOB PRINTER

No. 50 GREENE STREET,

(BETWEEN GRAND AND BROOME,) NEW YORK.

The Proprietor of this Establishment would ask the attention of
PUBLISHERS, AUTHORS, STATESMEN, and others, to his

EXTENDED AND IMPROVED FACILITIES FOR EXECUTING

EVERY DESCRIPTION OF BOOK PRINTING,

SUCH AS

WORKS OF LAW, MEDICINE, THEOLOGY, SCIENCE;

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE:

Works in the various Departments of Congress, or of State Legislatures;

ALSO, IN FOREIGN LANGUAGES: ORIENTAL, OCCIDENTAL, ANCIENT, OR MODERN,

in the _Best_ style, and with such _Promptness_ and _Accuracy_ as will,
he presumes, give perfect satisfaction. He would remind his patrons and
the public that his Establishment is furnished with every desirable
improvement in Machinery, together with new and very large fonts of
Type, with which he can undertake and perfect orders from any part of
the United States on the shortest given contract. Having had more than
thirty-five years' experience in the business, he is confident of
meeting the tastes and expectations of all who may commit their works to
his hands.


A PROMINENT FEATURE OF THIS OFFICE IS

TYPE SETTING & DISTRIBUTING BY MACHINERY.

The only Establishment in the World where Type is Set and Distributed by
Machinery.

IT AFFORDS GREAT FACILITY AND ACCURACY.

PLAIN & FANCY JOB PRINTING,

Including Printing In Colored Inks, Bronzes, Flock, or Crystal, in the
First Style.

BRONZE BORDERS FOR PHOTOGRAPHIC ALBUMS,

EQUAL TO THE BEST LITHOGRAPHIC PRINTING.

Stereotyping and Electrotyping

DONE IN THE BEST AND MOST DURABLE MANNER.


       *       *       *       *       *


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, 218 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: pointing finger] Skates made to Fit the Foot without Straps.

WILLIAM WARD, Proprietor.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: artificial leg]

~ARTIFICIAL LEGS~

[Illustration: artificial arm]

(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 Mett, M. D., Willard Parker, M. D., J. M.
Carnochan, M. D. Gurden 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.

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.

Though but little more than a year has elapsed since the
CONTINENTAL was first established, it has during that time
acquired a strength and a political significance elevating it to a
position far above that previously occupied by any publication of the
kind in America. In proof of which assertion we call attention to the
following facts:

1. Of its POLITICAL articles republished in pamphlet form, a
single one has had, thus far, a circulation of _one hundred and six
thousand_ copies.

2. From its LITERARY department, a single serial novel, "Among
the Pines," has, within a very few months, sold nearly _thirty-five
thousand_ copies. Two other series of its literary articles have also
been republished in book form, while the first portion of a third is
already in press.

No more conclusive facts need be alleged to prove the excellence of the
contributions to the CONTINENTAL, or their _extraordinary
popularity;_ and its conductors are determined that it shall not fall
behind. Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a
thousand journals have attributed to it, it will 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 the men most familiar with its diplomacy and most
distinguished for ability, are among 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.

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: pointing finger]As an Inducement to new subscribers, the
Publisher offers the following liberal premiums:

[Illustration: pointing finger] 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 Street," by R. B. KIMBALL, bound in
cloth, or of "Sunshine in Thought," by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (retail
price, $1. 25.) The book to be sent postage paid.

[Illustration: pointing finger] 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 3,000 octavo pages of the
best literature in the world. Premium subscribers to pay their own
postage.


       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration: THE FINEST FARMING LANDS WHEAT CORN COTTON FRUITS &
VEGETABLES]

~EQUAL TO ANY IN THE WORLD!!!~

MAY BE PROCURED

~At FROM $8 to $12 PER ACRE,~

Near Markets, Schools, Railroads, Churches, and all the blessings 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 1,722,666, 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
crop 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 inducements to many.

CULTIVATION OF COTTON.

The experiments in Cotton culture are of very great promise. Commencing
in latitude 39 deg. 30 min. (see Mattoon 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 commodity
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


  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







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, VOL III, ISSUE VI, JUNE, 1863 ***


    

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