fully to light, and the country owes a debt of gratitude to Mr. DAWES
for his manly attack on the wretches who have crippled the war, robbed
the soldier, swindled the tax-payers, and aided the enemy by their
wicked rapacity. Let it be remembered that whatever his sentiments may
have been, every man who has been instrumental, directly or indirectly,
in cheating the treasury and the my during this period of distress, has
been one of its enemies, and far more deadly than if he had been openly
enlisted under the banners of JEFFERSON DAVIS. Were we anything but the
best-natured and most enduring public in the world, such revelations as
have by the been made would long since have driven these rapacious
traitors beyond sea or into the congenial Dixie for which they have
indirectly labored.
We have been accustomed to read much since infancy of the sufferings of
our army during the Revolution,--how they were hatless, ragged, starved,
and badly armed. We have shuddered at the pictures of the snow at Valley
Forge, tracked by the blood from the feet of shoeless soldiers. Yet, in
the year 1861, with abundant means and with all the sympathy and aid of
a wealthy country, there has been more suffering in the army than the
Revolution witnessed, and it was due in a great measure to men who
hastened to the spoil like vultures to their prey. If the army has not
in advanced, if proper weapons are not even yet ready, let the reader
reflect how much the army is still crippled owing to imperfect supplies,
and have patience.
It is not the soldier alone who has been robbed by the contractor. The
manufacturer who sees only a government order between himself and
failure, and who is willing to do anything to keep his operatives
employed, is asked to supply inferior goods at a low price. He may take
the order or leave it,--if he will not, another will,--and with it is
expected to take the risk of a return. When a man sees ruin before him,
he will often yield to such temptations. The contractor takes the goods,
sells them if he can, and pockets the profits, sometimes ten times over
what the manufacturer gains. He thereby robs outright, not only the
soldier, but also the operatives who make the goods, since the
manufacturer must reduce their wages to the lowest living point, in
order to save himself.
It will all come to light. There is a discovery of all evil, and there
is a grace which money cannot remove, neither from the thief nor from
his children. And we rejoice to see that so much is being made known,
and that in all probability the public will be fully informed as to who
were principally guilty in these enormous and treasonable corruptions.
* * * * *
It is stated, on good authority, that the only objection urged by the
President to adopting the policy of Emancipation, is the danger which
would be thereby incurred of effectually losing the allegiance of the
loyal slave-holders in Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri.
The obvious answer to this is, that by paying these loyal slave-holders
for their chattels they could not fail to become firmer friends than
ever. When we reflect on the extremely precarious tenure of all such
property on the Border it becomes apparent that the man must be a
lunatic indeed to hope for the permanency of the institution in the
tobacco States. Since the war began nearly the two-thirds of the slaves
in Missouri have changed their _habitat_,--about one-half of the number
having been 'sold South,' while the other moiety have traveled North,
without reference to ownership.
The administration need be under no apprehension as to the popularity of
this measure. It would be hailed with joy by millions. The capitalists
of our Northern cities, who now await with impatience some indications
of A REGULAR POLICY, will welcome with enthusiasm a proposition which
would at once render the debatable land no longer debatable, and which
would effectually disorganize the entire South, by rendering numbers
desirous of selling their slaves in order to secure what must sooner or
later be irrecoverably lost. If government has a policy in this matter,
it is time that the public were informed of it. The public is ready to
be taxed to any extent, it is making tremendous sacrifices; all that it
asks in return is some nucleus around which it may gather,--a settled
principle by which its victories in war may be made to form the basis of
a permanent peace.
* * * * *
The English press, statesmen and orators have been pleased to regard our
democratic government as a failure.
But we have at least one advantage. When an enormous wrong is
perpetrated on the people by a secretary, _he can be hustled out of the
way_, and the accomplices be punished.
In England we have seen of late the most enormous political and social
outrage of the century coolly committed, without the slightest regard to
consequences, and without the slightest fear of any punishment whatever.
The truth has come to light, and every investigation, in the opinion of
the ablest and most sagacious men, confirms the assertion that the late
MASON and SLIDELL difficulty was simply an immense stock-jobbing
swindle, played in the most heartless manner on this country and on
England, without heed as to the terrible consequences.
The London _Times_, as is well known, is the organ of the ROTHSCHILDS.
During the late iniquitous war-flurry it acted perfectly in concert with
Lord PALMERSTON. While that gentleman kept back _for three weeks_
dispatches, which, if published, would have had the immediate effect of
establishing a peaceful feeling, his Hebrew accomplices bought literally
right and left of securities of every kind. Grand pickings they had;
everything had tumbled down. England was roused by the _Times_ to a
fury; a feeling of fierce injury was excited in this country, which an
age will not now allay; and right in the midst of this, when one word
might have changed the whole, the official ministerial organ _explicitly
denied the existence of those 'peace' dispatches_ which have since come
to light!
Let us anticipate some of the results of this precious
Palmerston-Hebrew-_Times_ swindle.
It has cost England twenty millions of dollars.
It has aroused such a feeling in this country against England as no one
can remember.
It has effectually killed the American market for English goods, and put
the tariff up to prohibition _en permanence_.
It has, by doing this, struck the most deadly blow at English prosperity
which history has ever witnessed; for all that was needed to stimulate
American industry up to the pitch of competing with England in foreign
markets was such a prohibitory tariff as would compel us to manufacture
for ourselves what we formerly bought.
Who will say now that a republic does not work as well as a monarchy?
* * * * *
We have read with pleasure a recently written and extensively
republished article by SINCLAIR TOUSEY, of New York, condemnatory of the
proposed stamp tax, and in which we most cordially concur; not because
it is a tax materially affecting the interests of publishers, but
because, as Mr. TOUSEY asserts, the diffusion of knowledge among the
people is a powerful element of strength _in government itself_. In
these times, it is essential, far more than during peace, that the
newspaper should circulate very freely, stimulating the public, aiding
government and the war, and keeping the mind of the country in living
union. Nothing would more rapidly produce a torpor--and there is too
much torpor now--than a measure which would have the effect of killing
off perhaps one half of the country press, the great mass of which is
barely able to live as it is. 'Let the press be as free as possible. Let
it be free from onerous taxation, and left unfettered by special duties
to do its just work.' This is a war for freedom, and the test of freedom
is a free press.
* * * * *
We are indebted to a valued correspondent in Illinois for the following
communication, setting forth the state of affairs in Southern Missouri
during the past summer. Few of our readers are ignorant that since that
time the region in question has been 'harried and shorn' even to
desolation by the brigands of Secessia.
In conversing lately with Dr. R., who fled for his life, last
July, from Ripley County, Southern Missouri, I collected some
information which may not be unacceptable to your readers.
Dr. R. states that early last summer the citizens of Southern
Missouri began gathering into companies of armed men opposed to
the general government, and that it was a fear that the general
government would not protect their lives and property which
induced great numbers of really Union men to take sides with the
rebels. They saw their country thronging with secession soldiers;
were told it was the will of the State government that they enlist
for the protection of the State: if they did not do this
voluntarily, they would be drafted; and all drafted ones would in
camp take a subordinate position, have to perform the cooking and
washing, in short, all the drudgery for those who volunteered.
This falsehood drove hundreds of the ignorant Missourians into the
rebel ranks. Captain LOWE, afterwards Col. LOWE, who was killed at
the battle of Fredericktown, was the recruiting officer in Ripley
and its adjoining counties. He arrested Dr. R. on the 4th of July,
on a charge of expressing sentiments 'dangerous to the welfare of
the community.' Dr. R. was tried by a court-martial, in presence
of the three hundred soldiers then assembled. Witnesses against
the Doctor were produced, but he was not allowed time to summon
witnesses in his behalf, nor to procure counsel. One novel
circumstance in the trial was occasioned by the absence of any
justice of the peace to administer the usual oath to the
witnesses. None were procurable, from the fact that all had
resigned, refusing to act officially under a government they had
repudiated. In this dilemma the prisoner came to their relief.
'Gentlemen, I am a justice of the peace, as most of you already
know, and, as I have not yet resigned, I will swear in the
witnesses for you.' 'Wall, I reckon he kin act as justice afore
he's convicted,' suggested one of the crowd. So the Doctor
administered the oath in the usual solemn manner. This
self-possession and fearlessness seemed to have an effect on his
judges, for, after the testimony, he was permitted to
cross-question the witnesses and plead his own cause. He was able
to neutralize some of the charges against him. The jury, after an
absence of fifteen minutes, returned verdict that 'as there was
nothing proved against the prisoner which would make him dangerous
to the community, he was permitted to be discharged. But,' added
the foreman, 'I am instructed by the committee to say they believe
Dr. R. to be a Black Republican, and to tell him that if he wants
to utter Black Republican sentiments, he has got to go somewhere
else to do it.' It was well known the Doctor had voted for
DOUGLAS. But here followed an animated conversation between the
prisoner and LOWE'S men as to what constituted Black
Republicanism; the result of which was, as the Doctor turned to
depart, Captain LOWE informed him he was re-arrested!
By the influence of some of the soldiers, the prisoner succeeded
next day in effecting his escape. Traveling by night and
concealing himself by day, he finally reached the federal lines in
safety. His family were not permitted to follow him, and did not
succeed in eluding the vigilance of their enemies and joining him
until the middle of January. When a Union man escapes them, the
rebels are always opposed to the removal of his wife and children,
as, by retaining them, they hope to get the husband and father
again into their hands. And, as all communication by letter is cut
off, many a man, during the last six months, has stolen back to
see his family at the risk of his life, and lost it.
Dr. R. was the first man arrested in Ripley County; but LOWE
immediately began a lively persecution of suspected Unionists.
Some escaped with life, their enemies being satisfied with
scourging and plundering them, but scores were hung. LOWE'S
soldiers furnished and equipped themselves by robbing Union houses
and the country stores.
Many suspected Union men shielded themselves by denouncing others,
giving information of the property of others, and being forward in
insulting and quartering lawless soldiers upon defenceless
families. So that, Dr. R. states, there are created between
neighbors, all through that section, feuds which will never cease
to exist. Many a man has suffered family wrongs from his neighbor
which he thirsts to go back to revenge, which he swears yet to
revenge, and which he feels nothing but the blood of the offender
can revenge! And should peace be declared to-morrow, a social war
would still exist in Missouri!
People dwelling in the free States, where the schoolhouse is not
abolished, where the laws still live and restrain, can have no
conception of the state of society where the whole community has
returned suddenly to savage life; a life wherein the reaction from
a former restraint renders the viciously disposed far more
intensely barbarous than his red brother of the plain.
LOWE'S men, and all similarly recruited by order of ex-Governor
JACKSON, remained in service six months, and were to be paid in
State scrip. But as that was worthless, they never received
anything in rations, clothing, or money, but what they plundered
from their fellow-citizens. Many of these state rights soldiers
have since enlisted in the Confederate army; but Confederate paper
being fifty per cent. below par, and not rising, the legitimate
pay of the Southern soldier is likely to be small.
In Northern Arkansas, all males between fifteen and forty-five
years of age have been ordered to be ready for the Confederate
service when called upon. This has caused a fear of failure in
next year's crops from scarcity of men in that section. There is
great suffering among them now. Salt rose to $25 a sack. The
authorities prohibited the holders from charging more than $12,
the present price. Pins are $1.50 per paper; jeans $5 per yard;
and everything else in proportion.
One word in comment. Every additional fact of the deplorable
condition of things in the slave States is an additional reason
why the North should firmly meet the cause of this misery. If the
North should have the manhood to strike a blow at slavery _now_,
still a generation must pass before harmony would ensue; but if
the North _evades and dallies_, scores of generations must live
and die before America sees unbroken peace again.
* * * * *
While the war goes on, the contrabands go off. A writer in the Norfolk
_Day Book_ complains that slaves are escaping from that city in great
numbers, asserting that they get away through the instrumentality of
_secret societies_ in Norfolk, which hold their meetings weekly, and in
open day. No one can doubt that this war is clearing the Border of its
black chattels in double-quick time. Why not strike boldly, and secure
it by offering to pay all its loyal slave-holders for their property? Of
one thing, let the country rest assured--the friends of Emancipation
will not brook much longer delay. It MUST and SHALL be carried
through,--_and we are strong enough to do it_.
* * * * *
Thurlow Weed grows apace, and occasionally writes a good thing from
London--as, for instance, in the following:--
At breakfast, a few days since, a distinguished member of
Parliament, who has been much in America, remarked, with emphasis,
that he had formerly entertained a high opinion of 'JUDGE LYNCH,'
looking with much favor upon that species of impromptu
jurisprudence known as 'Lynch law,' but since it failed to hang
FLOYD, COBB and THOMPSON, of BUCHANAN'S cabinet, he had ignored
and was disgusted with the system.
What would the distinguished member have said had he been familiar with
the Catiline steamer case, the mysteries of shoddy contracts, the
outfitting of the Burnside expedition, and innumerable other
rascalities? The gentleman was right,--Lynch law has proved a failure;
and, if we err not, another kind of law has of late months been not very
far behind it in inefficiency. Our Southern foes have at least one noble
trait--they hang their rascals.
* * * * *
'_Non dum_,' 'not yet,' was the motto of a great king, who, when the
time came, shook Europe with his victories. 'Not yet,' says the
Christian, struggling through trial and temptation towards the peace
which passeth understanding and a heavenly crown. 'Not yet,' says the
brave reformer, fighting through lies and petty malice, and all the
meanness of foes lying in wait, ere he can convince the world that he is
in the right. 'Not yet,' says the soldier, as he marches his weary
round, waiting to be relieved, and musing on the battle and the war for
which he has pledged his life and his honor--and they are a world to
_him_. 'Not yet,' says every great man and woman, laying hands to every
noble task in time, which is to roll onward in result into eternity.
Wait, wait, thou active soul,--even in thy most vigorous activity let
thy work be one of waiting, and of great patience in thy fiercest toil.
There will come a day of triumph, when the fresh wind will banish the
heat, and fan the laurel on thy brow. Such is the true moral of the
following lyric:--
FALLEN.
BY EDWARD S. RAND.
Blow gently, Oh ye winter winds,
Along the ferny reaches,
Nor whirl the yellow leaves which cling
Upon the saddened beeches;
And gently breathe upon the hills
Where spring's first violets perished,--
Died like the budding summer hopes
Our hearts too fondly cherished.
Oh memory, bring not back the past,
To brim our cup of sorrow;
The drear to-day creeps on to bring
A drearier to-morrow.
Can streaming eyes and aching hearts
Glow at the battle's story,
Or they who stake their all and lose
Exult in fame and glory?
Oh, lay them tenderly to rest,
Those for their country dying,--
Let breaking hearts and trembling lips
Pour the sad dirge of sighing.
Yet louder than the requiem raise
The song of exultation,
That the great heritage is ours
_To die to save the nation_.
In patience wait, nor think that yet
Shall Right and Freedom perish,
Nor yet Oppression trample down
The heritage we cherish!
For still remember, precious things
Are won by stern endeavor,--
Though in the strife our heart-strings break,
The Right lives on forever.
* * * * *
When you write let your chirography be legible. Strive not overmuch
after beauty of finish, make not your _a_'s like unto _u_'s or your
_o_'s like _v_'s; let not your heart be seduced by the loveliness of
flourishes, and be not tempted of long-tailed letters. Above all, write
your own name distinctly,--which is more than many do, and much more
than was done by the gentleman described in the following letter from a
kindly correspondent:--
MADISON, WIS.
DEAR CONTINENTAL:
The holder of any considerable quantity of Wisconsin currency is
liable not only to the occasional loss consequent upon the
absquatulation of a tricksy wild-cat, but also to great perplexity
as to the name of the gentleman who countersigns the bills. These
inscrutable counter-signatures are accomplished by ROBERT MENZIES,
our excellent Deputy Bank Comptroller. His cabalistic 'R. Menzies'
does not greatly resemble a well-executed specimen of copperplate
engraving. The initial 'R' is always plain enough, but the
'Menzies' is sometimes read Moses, and sometimes Muggins, and is
always liable to be translated Meazles.
Mr. MENZIES is a Scotchman, brimful of Caledonian lore and
enthusiasm. His penmanship is not always so sublimely obscure as
his performances on bank-paper would indicate; but in its best
estate it is capable of sometimes more than one reading. Witness
the following instance: In the winter of 1858 and '9, Mr. MENZIES
delivered a very interesting lecture, before a literary society,
in Prairie du Chien; subject, THE SONG-WRITERS OF SCOTLAND. Mr. M.
not residing at Prairie du Chien, the lecture was, of course, the
subject of a preliminary correspondence. At the meeting of the
society next previous to the one when the lecture was delivered,
Elder BRUNSON, the president, announced that he had received a
letter from Mr. MENZIES, accepting the invitation to lecture
before the society, and naming as the subject of his lecture 'THE
LONG WINTERS or SCOTLAND.'
* * * * *
Readers who are afflicted with the isothermal doctrine may experience
some benefit from the perusal of a letter for which we are indebted to a
friend not very far 'out West:'--
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
DEAR CONTINENTAL:
I have a friend who would be sound on the goose, as I verily
believe, and a patriotic anti-Jeff Davis platform Emancipator, if
he hadn't unfortunately picked up a fine learned word. That word
is
ISOTHERMAL.
And that word he carries about as a hen carries a boiled
potato--something too big to swallow but nice to peck at. And he
pecks at it continually.
'I could admit that the slaves should be free,' he says, 'but then
nature, you know, has fixed an isothermal line. She has
isothermally deemed that south of that line the black is
isothermally fitted to isothermalize or labor according to the
climate as a slave.'
'Good,' I replied. 'So you admit that all anthropological
characteristics as developed by climate are quite right?'
[He liked that word 'anthropological,' and assented.]
'Good again. Well, then, you must admit that to judge by
statistics there is an isothermal line of unchastity, or "what
gods call gallantry," and further north, one of drunkenness? How
much morality is there in a tropical climate? How many temperate
men to the dozen in Scandinavia or Russia?'
My isothermalist attempted a weak parry, but failed. When he
recovers I will inform you.
YOURS TRULY.
P.S. I am preparing a series of tables by which I hope to prove
the existence of the following isothermalities:
A Lager-beer line.
A Tobacco-chewing line.
A reading of TUPPER and COVENTRY PATMORE line.
A CREAM CHEESE line.
A Doughface line.
And a Clothes line.
* * * * *
We are indebted to R. WOLCOTT for the following sketch of War Life:--
'TAKEN PRISONER.'
It was a terrible battle. Amid the rattle of musketry and
whistling of bullets, the clashing of sabres, the unearthly cries
of wounded horses and the wild shouting of men, the clear voice of
Lieutenant Hugh Gregory rang out: 'Rally! my brave boys, rally,
and avenge the Captain's death!'
'Not quite so fast, sir,' quietly remarked a rebel officer,
bringing his sword to a salute; 'you observe that your men are
retreating and you are my prisoner.'
Hugh saw that it was so, and with a heavy heart gave himself up.
'Hurrah for the stars and stripes!' shouted a brave young soldier,
attempting to raise himself upon his elbow, but falling back,
exhausted from the loss of blood.
'Damn you, I'll stripe you!' exclaimed a brutal fellow, rising in
his stirrups and aiming a blow at the wounded man.
'Dare to strike a helpless man!' shouted his commander; and he
warded off the blow with a stroke that sent the fellow's sabre
spinning into the air. 'Now dismount, and help him if you can.'
But it was too late; the brave soul had gone out with those last
words.
'Lieutenant,' said the rebel officer, whom we will know as Captain
Dumars, 'I see that you are wounded. Let me assist you upon this
horse, and one of my sergeants will show you the surgeon's
quarters.' And he bound up the wounded arm as well as he could,
helped him upon the horse, and, with a playful _Au revoir_, rode
on.
Hugh's wound was too painful, and he was too weak and tired, to
wonder or to think clearly of anything; he only felt grateful that
his captor was a gentleman, and quietly submitted himself to the
sergeant's guidance.
The battle was ended,--in whose favor it does not matter, so far
as this story is concerned,--and Captain Dumars obtained
permission to take Lieutenant Gregory to his mother's house until
he should recover from his wound or be exchanged.
When Hugh found himself established in a pleasant little chamber
with windows looking out upon the flower-garden and the woods
beyond, fading away into his own loved North land, he thought
that, after all, it was not so terrible to be a prisoner of war.
He was decidedly confirmed in this opinion when he occasionally
caught a glimpse of the lithe form of Annie Dumars flitting about
among the flowers; and being somewhat of a philosopher, in his
way, he determined to take it easy.
The presence of one of the 'Hessians' at Mrs. Dumars' house gave
it much the same attraction that is attached to a menagerie.
Feminine curiosity is an article that the blockade can not keep
out of Dixie, and many were the morning calls that Annie received,
and many and various were the methods of pumping adopted to learn
something of the prisoner,--how he looked, how he acted, how he
was dressed, and so forth.
'Impertinence!' he heard Annie exclaim, as one of these gossips
passed through the gate, after putting her through a more minute
inquisition than usual. And he heard dainty shoe-heels impatiently
tapping along the hall, and when she brought in a bouquet of fresh
flowers he saw in her face traces of vexation.
'I seem to be quite a "What-is-it?"'
'Shame!'--and she broke off a stem and threw it out of the window
with altogether unnecessary vehemence.
'Splendid girl!' thought Hugh; 'where have I seen her?'
And he turned his thoughts back through the years that were past,
calling up the old scenes; the balls, with their mazy, passionate
waltzes, and their promenades on the balcony in the moonlight's
mild glow, when sweet lips recited choice selections from Moore,
and white hands swayed dainty sandal-wood fans with the potency of
the most despotic sceptres; the sleigh-rides, with their wild
rollicking fun, keeping time to the merry music of the bells and
culminating in the inevitable upset; the closing exercises of the
seminary, when blooming girls, in the full efflorescence of
hot-house culture, make a brief but brilliant display before
retiring to the domestic sphere--Oh, yes--
'Miss Dumars, were you not at the ---- Institute last year?'
'Yes.'
'Then you know my cousin,--Jennie Gregory?'
'Yes, indeed:--and you are her cousin. How stupid in me not to
recollect it.'
And she told him how that 'Jennie' was her dearest friend, and
how in their intimacy of confidence she had told her all about
him, and shown her his picture, and--in short, Hugh and Annie
began to feel much better acquainted.
It was a few days after this that Hugh sat by the open window,
listening to Annie reading from the virtuous and veracious
_Richmond Enquirer_. Distressed by what he heard, not knowing
whether it was true or not, he begged her to cease torturing him.
She laid aside the paper with an emphatic 'I don't believe it!'
that could not but attract his attention, and he looked up in
surprise.
'I must tell you, Mr. Gregory--I have been tortured long enough by
this forced secrecy--_I am a rebel!_'
'That is the name we know you by,' he replied, smiling.
'But I am a _rebellious_ rebel. Yes,' she added, rising, 'I detest
with all my heart this wicked, causeless rebellion. I detest the
very names of the leaders of it. And yet I am compelled to go
about with lies upon my lips, and to act lies, till I detest
myself more than all else! I have consoled myself somewhat by
making a flag and worshiping it in secret. I will get it and show
it to you.'
'This,' she continued, returning with a miniature specimen of the
dear old flag, 'a _real_ flag, the emblem of a real living nation,
must be kept hidden, its glorious lustre fading away in the dark,
while that,' pointing to where the 'stars and bars' were
fluttering in the breeze, 'that miserable abortion is insolently
flaunted before our eyes, nothing about it original or
suggestive--except its stolen colors, reminding us of the
financial operations of Floyd! Oh, if hope could be prophecy--if a
life that is an unceasing prayer for the success of the federal
arms could avail, it would not be long before this bright banner
would wave in triumph over all the land, its starry folds gleaming
with a purer, more glorious light than ever!'
And as she stood there, with eyes uplifted as in mute prayer, and
fervently kissed the silken folds of the flag, Hugh wished that
his station in life had been that of an American flag.
Time passed on, and the prisoner was to be exchanged for a rebel
officer of equal rank. Captain Dumars brought him the
intelligence, and was surprised at the seeming indifference with
which he received it.
'You don't seern particularly elated by the prospect of getting
among the Yankees again.'
'I am eager to take my sword again; but my stay here has been far
from unpleasant. You, Captain, have been away so much that I have
not been able to thank you for making my imprisonment so pleasant.
I am at a loss to know why you have shown such favor to me
especially.'
'This is the cause,' replied the Captain, laying his finger upon a
breast-pin that Hugh always wore upon his coat, at the same time
unbuttoning his own; 'you see that I wear the same.'
It was a simple jewel, embellished only by a few Greek characters,
but it was the emblem of one of those college societies, in which
secrecy and mystery add a charm to the ties of brotherhood. And it
was this fraternal tie, stronger than that of Free-Masonry,
because more exclusive, that made Hugh's a pleasant imprisonment,
and made him happy in the love of one faithful among the
faithless, loyal among many traitors. For of course the reader has
surmised--for poetic justice demands it--that Hugh fell
desperately in love with Annie, and Annie _ditto_ Hugh. How he
told the tender tale, and how she answered him,--whether with the
conventional quantity of blushes and sighs, or not,--is none of
your business, reader, or mine; so don't ask me any questions.
It was the evening of the day before Hugh's departure. They, Annie
and Hugh, sat in the little porch, silent and sad, watching the
shadows slowly creeping up the mountain side towards its
sun-kissed summit, like a sombre pall of sorrow shrouding a bright
hope.
'And to-morrow you are free.'
'No, Annie, not free. My sword will be free, but my heart will
still linger here, a prisoner. But when the war is over, and the
old flag restored--'
'Then,' and here her eyes were filled with the glorious light of
prophetic hope, '_I_ will be _your_ prisoner.'
And still Hugh is fighting for the dear old flag; and still Annie
is praying for it, and waiting for the sweet imprisonment.
There has been many as sweet a romance as this, reader, acted ere this,
during the war. Would that all captivity were as pleasant!
* * * * *
'I would not live alway,' says the hymn, and the sentiment has, like
every great truth, been set forth in a thousand forms. One of the most
truly beautiful which we have ever met is that of
THE CITY OF THE LIVING.
In a long-vanished age, whose varied story
No record has to-day,
So long ago expired its grief and glory--
There flourished, far away,
In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure
A city fair and wide,
Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure
And never any died.
Disease and pain and death, those stern marauders,
Which mar our world's fair face,
Never encroached upon the pleasant borders
Of that bright dwelling-place.
No fear of parting and no dread of dying
Could ever enter there--
No mourning for the lost, no anguished crying
Made any face less fair.
Without the city's walls, death reigned as ever,
And graves rose side by side--
Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor,
And never any died.
O, happiest of all earth's favored places!
O, bliss, to dwell therein--
To live in the sweet light of loving faces
And fear no grave between!
To feel no death-damp, gathering cold and colder,
Disputing life's warm truth--
To live on, never lonelier or older,
Radiant in deathless youth!
And hurrying from the world's remotest quarters
A tide of pilgrims flowed
Across broad plains and over mighty waters,
To find that blest abode,
Where never death should come between, and sever
Them from their loved apart--
Where they might work, and will, and live forever,
Still holding heart to heart.
And so they lived, in happiness and pleasure,
And grew in power and pride,
And did great deeds, and laid up stores of treasure,
And never any died.
And many yers rolled on, and saw them striving
With unabated breath,
And other years still found and left them living,
And gave no hope of death.
Yet listen, hapless soul whom angels pity,
Craving a boon like this--
Mark how the dwellers in the wondrous city
Grew weary of their bliss.
One and another, who had been concealing
The pain of life's long thrall,
Forsook their pleasant places, and came stealing
Outside the city wall,
Craving, with wish that brooked no more denying,
So long had it been crossed,
The blessed possibility of dying,--
The treasure they had lost.
Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals
Swelled to a broader tide,
Till none were left within the city's portals,
And graves grew green outside.
Would it be worth the having or the giving,
The boon of endless breath?
Ah, for the weariness that comes of living
There is no cure but death!
Ours were indeed a fate deserving pity,
Were that sweet rest denied;
And few, methinks, would care to find the city
Where never any died!
* * * * *
Does the reader recall DEAN SWIFT'S account of the immortal Strudlbrugs
and their undying miseries--it is in the City of Laputu, we believe.
Their life was passed as if in such a city. Ah, death! it is, after all,
only birth in another form. And to step to the ridiculous, we are
reminded of an
EPITAPH IN A DEDHAM CHURCHYARD.
I've paid the debt which all must pay,
Though awful to my view,
On frightful rocks where billows poured,
And broken buildings flew.
The cruel Death has conquered me;
The victory is but small,
For I shall rise and live again,--
And Death himself shall fall.
* * * * *
There are not many of those who 'read the papers,' who have not met from
time to time with the quaint experiences of THE FAT CONTRIBUTOR,--a
gentleman who, in the columns of the _Buffalo Republican_, and more
recently in the spicy _Cleveland Plain Dealer_, has often wished that
his too, too solid flesh would melt. It is with pleasure that we welcome
him to our pages in the following original sketch:--
THE 'FAT CONTRIBUTOR' AS A GYMNAST.
'But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks.'
RICHARD III.
Says the cardinal in the play--'In the bright lexicon of youth
there's no such word as fail.' Without stopping to discuss the
reliability of a lexicon that omits words in that careless manner,
I must say that in the dictionary of fat men who aspire to
gymnastics that word distinctly occurs. I had my misgivings, but
was over-persuaded by my friends. They said gymnastics would
develop muscular strength, thus enabling me to _hold_ my flesh in
case it attempted to run away. They added, as an additional
incentive, that the spectacle of a man who weighs nearly three
hundred pounds, doing the horizontal ladder, climbing a slack-rope
hand over hand, or suspending his weight by his little finger,
would be a 'big thing.' I asked them how I was to attain that end.
'By practice,' was the reply; 'practice makes perfect.' It
did;--it made a perfect fool of me, as you shall see.
I never had much taste for feats requiring physical effort, except
lifting--lifting with my teeth. The amount of beef, pork, mutton
and vegetables that I have lifted in that way is immense. After
hearing Dr. WINSHIP lecture, I practiced lifting a flour barrel
with a man inside of it, and finally succeeded in holding it out
at arm's length. [I may remark incidentally that the barrel _had
no heads in it_.]
To return to the case in hand (and a case in hand is worth two in
the bush): I was deluded into purchasing a season ticket in the
gymnasium, and one afternoon I sought the locality. A number were
exercising in various ways, and I laid off my coat preparatory to
'going in.' As I bent down to adjust a pair of slippers, I heard
some rapid steps behind me, and the next instant a pair, of hands
and a man's head fell squarely on my back, a pair of heels smote
together in the air, and with a somersault the gymnast regained
the ground several feet in advance of me. I assumed an indignant
perpendicular, when the fellow turned with well-feigned amazement
and stammered forth an apology. Bent over as I was, he had
mistaken me for a heavily padded 'wooden horse,' which formed a
portion of the apparatus.
Desiring to be weighed from time to time, in order that I might
note the effect of gymnastics upon my tonnage, I asked one, who
was resting after prodigious efforts to wrench his arms off at a
lifting machine, if there were scales convenient. He surveyed me
for a moment--looked puzzled--and finally replied
hesitatingly,--'Y-e-s, I think we can manage it.' He led the way
to a window overlooking the Ohio canal. 'Do you see that
building?' said he, pointing to a low structure on the heel path
side, extending partly over the canal. I intimated that the fabric
in question produced a distinct impression on the optic nerves,
and inquired its use. '_Weigh-lock_' he shrieked; '_go and be
weighed!_'
'_Go and be d----d!_' I yelled, furious at being thus victimized;
but my angry and profane rejoinder was lost in the shout of
laughter that went up from the assembled athletes.
Natural abhorrence of jokes, practical or otherwise, is a trait
among my people; it runs in the family, like wooden legs. I
immediately sought the boss gymnaster and related the manner in
which I had been introduced to his elevating establishment. I told
him I had come there neither to be made a horse of by one nor an
ass of by another. He pledged his word that the like should not
occur again, and I was appeased.
I first attempted the parallel bars, but they were never intended
for men of my breadth. My hands giving way, I became so firmly
wedged between the bars that it was necessary to cut one of them
away in order to release me. A wag pronounced it a feat without a
parallel.
The horizontal bar next claimed my attention. I had seen others
hang with their heads down, suspended by their legs alone, and the
trick appeared quite easy of execution. I succeeded in suspending
myself in the manner indicated, but--_revocare gradum_--when I
attempted to regain the bar with my hands, it was no go. I was in
a perspiration of alarm at once; my legs grew weak; my head swam
from the rush of blood; twist and squirm as I would, I couldn't
reach the bar with the tip end of a finger even. My head was four
or five feet from the ground, so that a fall was likely to break
my neck, and when my frantic efforts to clutch the bar with my
hands failed, I shrieked in very desperation. Men came running to
my aid. They raked the tan bark, with which the ground was strewn,
in a pile beneath me, to break my fall as much as possible, and,
relaxing my hold of the bar, I came down in a heap, rolled up like
a gigantic caterpillar, and dived head and shoulders into the tan
bark, where I was nearly smothered before I could be extracted. It
was a terrible fright, but I escaped with a few bruises.
My brief career as a gymnast terminated with the 'ladder act.' I
felt unequal to the task of drawing myself up the ladder (which
was slightly inclined from the perpendicular), as I had seen
others do, but once at the top I believed I could lower myself
down. A purchase was rigged in the roof, by which I was hoisted to
the top of the ladder, some thirty feet from the ground, when,
grasping a round firmly with my hands, the purchase was
disconnected from my waist belt, and I began the descent. It was
very severe on the arms, and I desired to rest myself by placing
my feet on a round, but my protuberant paunch would not permit it.
When I had accomplished about half the distance in safety, a round
snapped suddenly with the unusual weight. I remember clutching
frantically at the next, which broke as did the other; then
followed a sensation of falling, succeeded by a collision as
between two express trains at full speed, and I knew no more. When
I recovered consciousness, I was in my own bed, and four surgeons
were endeavoring to set my broken leg with a stump extractor.
Gymnastics are a little out of my line.
FAT CONTRIBUTOR.
Unlike BRUMMEL, _we_ know who our fat friend is, and shall be happy to
see him again.
* * * * *
'Talbot,' of Washington, one of those who keep the many chronicles of
government, gives us the following from his repertoire:--
Shortly after the inauguration of President Lincoln, and during
the period in which the throng of office-seekers was greatest, an
applicant for a clerkship in one of the departments received
notification to appear before the 'examining committee' for
examination as to qualifications. In due time he appeared, and
announced himself 'ready.' The aforesaid 'committee,' supposing
that they had before them a decidedly 'soft one,' determined to
enjoy a little 'sport' at the poor fellow's expense. After having
put a great many questions to him, none of which in the least
applied to the duties he would be expected to perform, he was
asked how he would ascertain the number of square feet occupied by
the Patent Office building. This question aroused in him
suspicions that 'all was not right,' and, with a promptness and
emphasis that effectually dampened the hopes of his questioners,
he replied, '_Well, gentlemen, I should employ an experienced
surveyor._'
The same correspondent tells us that--
In one of the rural towns of Illinois lived, a few years agone, a
very eccentric individual known as 'DICKEY BULARD,' whose original
sayings afforded no little amusement to his neighbors.
DICKEY had his troubles, the saddest of which was the loss of his
only son. Shortly after this event, in speaking of it to some
friends, he broke out in the following pathetic expression of
feeling:
'I'd rather a' lost the best cow I have, and ten dollars besides,
than that boy. If it had been a gal, it wouldn't a' made so much
difference; but it was the only boy I had.'
On another occasion, in referring to the death of his grandmother,
who had been fatally injured by a butt from a pet ram, DICKEY gave
vent to his feelings as follows:
'I never felt so bad in all my life as I did when grandmother
died. She had got so old, and we had kept her so long, _we wanted
to see how long we could keep her_.
* * * * *
It is the 'turn of the tune' which gives point to the far-famed legend
of 'The Arkansaw Traveler,'--which legend, in brief, is to the effect
that a certain fiddling 'Rackensackian,' who could never learn more than
the first half of a certain tune, once bluntly refused all manner of
hospitality to a weary wayfarer, avowing with many an oath that his
house boasted neither meat nor whisky, bed nor hay. But being taught by
the stranger the 'balance' of the tune,--'the turn,' as he called
it,--he at once overwhelmed his musical guest with all manner of
dainties and kindnesses. And it is the 'turn of the tune,' in the
following lyric, from the soft tinkle of the guitar to the harsh notes
of the 'beaten parchment,' which gives it a peculiar charm.
THE GUITAR AND THE DRUM.
BY R. WOLCOTT, CO. B., TENTH ILLINOIS
Evening draws nigh, and the daylight
In golden splendor dies;
And the stars look down through the gloaming
With soft and tender eyes.
I sit alone in the twilight,
And lazily whiff my cigar,
Watching the blue wreaths curling,
And thrumming my old guitar:
Old, and battered, and dusty,--
A veteran covered with scars;
Yet to me the most precious of treasures,
The sweetest of all guitars.
For a gentle spirit dwells in it,
That speaks through the trembling strings,
And in echo to my thrumming
A wonderful melody sings.
As I softly strike the measures,
The spirit murmurs low
A song of departed pleasures,
A dream of the long ago.
And like a weird enchanter
It paints in the star-lit sky
Pictures from memory's record,
Scenes of the days gone by.
And as the ripples of music
Float out on the evening air,
There comes to me a vision
Of the girl with the golden hair.
Kindly she turns upon me.
Those lustrous, violet eyes,
And my heart with passionate yearnings
To meet her eagerly flies.
Nearer she comes, and yet nearer,
At the beck of the spirit's wand,
And I feel the gentle pressure
On my brow of her warm, white hand--
_Tr-r-r-rum-ti-tum-tum, tr-r-r-rum-ti-tum-tum!_
'Tis the warning voice of the rolling drum.
Through the awakened night air come
The stern command and the busy hum
Of hurried preparation.
'Tis no time now for idle strumming
Of light guitars: in that loud drumming
Is fearful meaning; the hour is coming
That for some of us will be the summing
Of all life's preparation.
Quick, quick, my boys: fall in! fall in!
Now is the hour when we begin
The battle with this monstrous sin.
Onward to victory!--or to win
A patriot's martyrdom!
Stay no longer to bandy words;
Trust we now to our gleaming swords;
For foul rebellion's dastardly hordes
A terrible hour has come.
By all that you love beneath the skies;
By the world of cherished memories;
By your hopes for the coming years;
By the tender light of your loved one's eyes;
By the warm, white hands you so highly prize;
By your mothers' parting tears,
Swear the horrible wrong to crush!
What though you fall in the battle's rush,
And the velvet leaves of the greensward blush
With your young life's crimson tide?
The angels look down with pitying love,
And your tale will be told in the record above:
'For his country's honor he died.'
The gentle strings of the light guitar,
Waking soft echoes from memory's chords,
And tender dreams of home--
The noise, and the pomp, and the glitter of war;
The furious charge, and the clashing swords;
The song of the rolling drum.
How many a young heart has, in these later days, been turned from soft
guitar-tones of idleness, to the brave, rattling measures of drum-life!
It will do good, this war of ours; and many a brave fellow will, in
after years, look back upon it as the school in which he first learned
to be a thoroughly practical and sensible MAN.
* * * * *
We are indebted to a gossiping and ever most welcome New Haven friend
for the following anecdote of one of the men who, clothed in a little
brief authority, 'go about 'restin' people:'
Our village we consider one of the most pleasant in the country;
our boys full of life and activity, and our officers men of energy
and perseverance, and men who understand their importance. In
proof of these assertions, I offer the following sketch of an
occurrence a few years ago.
DICK BARNES was a blacksmith, and a man of considerable notoriety
in those days, and from the peculiar prominence of his front upper
teeth he had derived, from the boys of the village, the singular
nick-name of 'Tushy.' For two or three successive years he had
been elected constable, and the duties of this great public office
appeared to demand that he should neglect his legitimate private
business, so that it was said that the safest place for him to
secrete himself--the most unlikely place where he would be
sought--would be behind his own anvil. Like many others 'clothed
with a little brief authority' he was not overmodest in showing
his importance.
The boys were then, as they are now, fond of skating, and there
was a large pond near the centre of the village on which they used
to have fine times on moonlight evenings, and especially Sunday
evenings, and, as a natural consequence, when large numbers of
boys are engaged in sport, they were somewhat noisy.
One Sunday evening, when the ice was very smooth and the boys were
enjoying themselves, BARNES made his appearance on the ice and
ordered them off, in tones, and exclamations of authority. The
boys did not like this interference in their sports and couldn't
see the justice of his demand. 'That's old Tushy,' says one, and
the cry of 'Tushy,' 'Tushy,' soon passed among the crowd of
skaters, till BARNES began to think it personal, and was
determined to catch one of them and make of him an example. The
ice was 'glib,' as they termed it, and as they all had skates
except 'Tushy,' they were rather rude in their behavior towards
him,--a not very uncommon circumstance,--and though they were
careful to keep out of harm's way, they kept near enough to him to
annoy him. Finding all efforts to catch one of them fruitless,
with the advantage they had,--for 'the wicked _stand_ on slippery
places,'--he announced his determination to catch one of them
anyhow, and started for the shore.
Boys are usually quicker in arriving at conclusions than older
people, and one of them suggested that he had gone for his skates.
'Good! now we'll have some fun, boys,' says Phil Clark, who was a
good skater, and withal a good leader in a frolic. 'You follow me
and do as I tell you, and I don't believe old "Tushy" will follow
us far.' By general consent he led them to the dry, sandy shore,
and such as had them filled their handkerchiefs, and such as could
not boast of that superfluity filled their caps, with sand. 'Now,'
says Phil, 'when he comes back, and it won't be long, we'll form a
line and wait till he gets his skates on, when he'll put chase for
some of us. If he gets near any of us, some one sing out "Bully,"
and every boy drop his sand, and if he catches any one we'll all
pitch in.'
'Tushy' in a little while made his appearance, and soon had his
skates strapped to his feet, and after a few stamps upon the ice,
to see that they were properly secured, glided a few strokes and
started off for the boys. The moon was shining 'as bright as day,'
and old Tushy's movements were perfectly apparent. The pond was
huge, and afforded a good opportunity for a trial of speed, and,
though many of the boys were good skaters, 'Tushy' perseveringly
determined to capture one of them, and started for the one
nearest. This was 'Phil,' who was the master spirit of the frolic,
and as 'Tushy' approached with almost the certainty of capturing
him, he would glide gracefully aside and let him pass on. He had
almost caught up with a group of the smaller boys who were going
at full speed, when 'Phil' shouted out the word 'Bully.' In an
instant the contents of handkerchiefs and caps was deposited on
the glaring ice, the boys continuing their flying course. 'Tushy,'
elated with the prospect of capturing at least one of the urchins,
increased his speed with lunger strides, and was in the act of
grasping one, when the sparks from his steel runners, the sudden
arrest of his feet and the onward movement of his body, convinced
him that _he_ was caught. The impetus he had acquired with the few
last strokes on the smooth ice, and the sudden check his feet had
received from the sand, sent him sliding headlong many yards
towards an air-hole,--one of those dangerous places on ponds
suddenly frozen,--and soon the ice began to crack around him. The
water in the pond was not deep, but the ice continued to break
with his efforts to extricate himself. He found that the boys had
successfully entrapped him, and it was not until he had made a
promise not again to interfere with their sport that they
consented to assist him out. He kept his promise, and the boys
ever after, when they designed any extra sport on the ice, had his
nick-name for a by-word.
JAY G. BEE.
* * * * *
'Salt,' according to MORESINUS, 'is sacred to the infernal
deities,'--for which reason, we presume, those who were seated 'below
the salt' at the banquets of the Middle Ages were always 'poor devils.'
Attic salt is always held to be more pungent when there is a touch of
the diabolical and caustic in it,--and therefore caustic itself is known
as _lapis infernalis_. 'Poor Mr. N----,' said a country dame, of a
recently deceased neighbor who was over-thrifty, 'he always saved his
salt and lost his pork.' 'Yes,' replied a friend, 'and now the salt has
lost its Saver.' The reader has doubtless heard of the lively young
lady, named Sarah, whom her friends rechristened Sal Volatile.
Apropos--a New Haven friend writes us that--
My chum, Dr. B., is not a little of a wag. At a social gathering,
shortly after he had received his diploma, the young ladies were
very anxious to put his knowledge of medicine to the test.
'Doctor,' queried one of the fair, 'what will cure a man who has
been hanged?' 'Salt is the best thing I know of,' replied the
tormented, with great solemnity.
* * * * *
According to a cotemporary--the Boston _Herald_--the best Christians may
be known by the pavements before their houses being cleaned of ice and
snow. This reminds us of a spiritual anecdote. A deceased friend having
been summoned through a medium and asked where he had spent the first
month after his decease, rapped out,--
'I-n--p-u-r-g-a-t-o-r-y.'
'Did you find it uncomfortable?'
'Not very. While I lived I always had my pavements cleared in winter,
and all the ice and snow shoveled away was given back to me in
orange-water ices, Roman punch, vanilla and pistachio creams, frozen
fruits, cobblers, juleps, and smashes.'
Somebody has spoken in an Arctic voyage of the musical vibrations of the
ice. There is certainly music in the article. 'Take care,' said a Boston
girl to her companion, as they were navigating the treacherously
slippery pavement of our city a few days since; 'it's See sharp or Be
flat.'
* * * * *
Somebody once wrote a book on visiting-cards. There is a great variety
of that article; an English ambassador once papered his entire suit of
rooms with that with which a Chinese mandarin honored him. MICHAEL
ANGELO left a straight line as a card, and was recognized by it. Our
friend H---- once distributed blank pasteboards in Philadelphia, and
everybody said, 'Why, H---- has been here!' Not long since, a lady
dwelling in New York asked her seven-year-old GEORGY where he had been.
'Out visiting.'
'Did you leave your card?'
'No; I hadn't any, so I left a marble!'
GEORGY'S idea was that cards were playthings. And _cartes de visite_ are
most assuredly the playthings for children of an older growth, most in
vogue at the present day. Go where you will, the albums are examined,
nay, some collectors have even one or two devoted solely to children, or
officers, or literary men, or young ladies. The following anecdote
records, however, as we believe, 'an entirely new style' of
visiting-card:--
Madam X. was busy the other morning. Miss Fanny Z. 'just ran in to
see her' _en amie_, without visiting-cards.
The waiter carried her name to Madam X. Meanwhile Miss Fannie,
circulating through the parlors, saw that there was dust on the
lower shelf of an étagére, so she delicately traced the letters
_Smut_
thereon and therefore. Waiter enters, and regrets that Madam X. is
so very much engaged that she is invisible. Miss Fanny flies home.
In the evening she meets Madam X., who is 'perfectly enchanted' to
see her. 'Ah, Fanny, dear, I am charmed to see you; the waiter
forgot your name this morning, but I was delighted to see your
ingenuity. Would you believe it, the first thing I saw on entering
the parlor was your card on the étagére!'
* * * * *
The Naugatuck railroad, according to a friend of the CONTINENTAL,
Is in many places cut through a rugged country, and the rocks
thereabout have an ugly trick of rolling down upon the track when
they get tired of lying still. So the company employ sentinels
who traverse the dangerous territory before the morning train goes
through. One of these,--Pat K. by name,--while on his beat, met
Dennis, whose hand he had last shaken on the 'Green Isle.' After
mutual inquiries and congratulations, says Dennis, 'What are you
doin' these days, Pat?' 'Oh, I'm consarned in this railroad
company. I go up the road fur the likes o' four miles ivry mornin'
to see is there ony rocks on the thrack.' 'And if there is?' 'Why,
I stops the trains, sure.' 'Faith,' said Dennis, 'what the divil's
the good o' that--_wouldn't the rocks stop 'em?_'
* * * * *
The Hibernian idea of a meeting is, we should judge, peculiar, and not,
as a rule, amicable. 'What are ye doing here, Pat?' inquired one of the
Green Islanders who found a friend one morning in a lonely spot. 'Troth,
Dinnis, and it's waiting to mate a gintleman here I'm doing.' 'Waiting
for a frind is it?' replied Dennis; 'but where is yer shillaly thin?'
This was indeed a misapprehension, and of the kind which, as a
benevolent clergyman complained, who was actively engaged in home
mission work, was one of the most constant sources of his frequent
annoyances. 'Why,' he remarked, 'it was only the other morning that I
heard of a poor girl who was dying near the Five Points, and went to
administer to her such comfort as it might be in my power to render. I
met an impudent miss leaving the room, who, when I inquired for the
sufferer by name, replied, "It's no use; you're too late, old
fellow,--she's give me her pocket-book and all her things."'
* * * * *
A friend has called our attention to the following extract from an
advertisement in a New York evening paper, and requests an
explanation:--
STRABISMUS, OR CROSS-EYE, IN ITS WORST STAGES, CURED IN ONE
MINUTE. READ!
NEWARK, August 14th, 1861.
Dear Doctor: I write to express my thanks for the great difference
you have made in my appearance by your operation on my eye. I have
had a _squint_, or _cross-eye_, since birth, and in less than one
minute, and with VERY LITTLE PAIN, you have made my eyes perfectly
straight and natural. Having consulted in Europe the greatest
_Aurists_, I, therefore, can testify that your system of restoring
the _hearing_ to the deaf is at once scientific, safe and sure;
and I confidently recommend all deaf to place themselves under
your care. W.T.
There's a nut to crack. Having had a cross-eye cured in one minute, Mr.
T. can _therefore_ testify that the system by which he was enabled to
see is just the thing to enable the deaf to hear! But an instant's
reflection convinced us of the true state of the case. There is an old
German song which translated saith:
'I am the Doctor Iron-beer,
The one who makes the blind to hear,
The man who makes the deaf to see:--
Come with your invalids to me.'
We evidently have a Doctor Iron-beer among us. 'He still lives,' and
enables people to outdo the clairvoyants, who read with their fingers,
by qualifying his patients to peruse the papers with their auricular
organs.
* * * * *
Walter will receive our thanks for the following æsthetic
communication:--
DEAR CONTINENTAL:
Do you know the superb picture of Judith and Holofernes, by
ALLORI? Of course. But the legend?
The painter ALLORI was blessed and cursed with a mistress, one of
the most beautiful women in an age of beauty. He loved her, and
she tormented him, until, to set forth his sufferings, he painted
_la belle dame sans mercy_ as Judith, holding his own decapitated
head by the hair.
'She was more than a match for her lover,' said a young lady,
who--between us--I think is more beautiful than the 'Judith.'
'Yes,' was the answer; 'the engraving proves that she got a-head
of him.'
Of course it was Holofernally bad. I once heard a better one on
the same subject, of scriptural be-head-edness. Where is a centaur
first mentioned? John's head on a charger. The postage stamp on
your lawyer's bill--mine especially--represents the same thing,
with the substitution of General Washington for John. Rarey tamed
Cruiser--I wonder if he could do anything by way of 'taking down'
this legal 'charger' of mine.
Yours truly,
WALTER
* * * * *
Much has been written on oysters. There was a time when England sent
nothing else abroad. 'The poor Britons--they are good for something,'
says SALLUST, in 'The Last Days of Pompeii;' 'they produce an oyster.'
In these days, they export no oysters, but in lieu thereof give us
plenty of pepper-sauce. But to the point,--we mean to the poem,--for
which we are indebted to a Philadelphia contributor:--
OYSTERS!
He stood beside the oysters. Near him lay
A dozen raw upon the half-shell: he
With fork stood ready to engulf them all,
When to his side a reverend gray-beard came.
Pointing his index finger to the Natives,
Slowly he spoke, with measured voice and low:--
'They are the same, THE SAME! I've eaten them
In London, small and coppery; at Ostend,
A little better; and in the Condotti,
Yea, in the Lepré--'tis an eating-house
Frequented by the many-languaged artists
Of great imperial Rome. At Baiæ: also
I've tasted that nice kind described by MARTIAL,
Who calls them ears of Venus;--there I've had 'em.
Also at Memphis--now I'm coming to it:
I've seen amid the desert sands of Egypt,
Exposed among the hieroglyphs, these Natives.
(The hieroglyphs, you know, are outward forms
Of things or creatures which unfold strange myths,
Read by the common eye in vulgar way,
But to the learned are types of truths gigantic.)
Thus unto you those oysters are but bivalves;
But unto me they're--P'raps you'll stand a dozen?'
'Well, I will, old hoss; it seems to me you need 'em!'
'Good! Then to me they are as hieroglyphs
Of our poor human state; as PLATO says,
"The soul of man, a substance different from
The body as the oyster from the shell,
Does stick to it, and is imprisoned in it.
Its weight of shell doth keep it down and force it
To stay upon its muddy bottom. So does
Man's body hold his soul in these dark regions,
Keeping it ever steadily from rising
To those superior heights where are abodes
More fitting its serene and noble nature."
Good as a quarter-dollar lecture. Boy! fork over.'
'Another "doz." to this old gentleman;
For I perceive he plainly hath it in him
To swallow down two dozen oysters' souls.
See what it is to be a philosopher!'
This is indeed finding sermons in 'shells.'
* * * * *
'Punning is a power,' according to somebody, and, like most power, is
sadly abused. Take, for illustration, the following specimen of the
'narrative pun:'
The reader knows that BYRON once punned on the word Bullet-in, and
was proud of it; distinctly proud, be it remembered. After which
comes the following:--
Some years ago it was summer time, and in the office of the
Philadelphia _Evening Bulletin_, one, as the French say, was
preparing the daily paper. Along Third Street streamed Shinners,
Bulls, Bears, and Newsboys,--in the sanctum, Editors wrote and
clipped,--proof rose up and down in the dumb waiter,--there was
the shrill scream of the whistle calling to the foreman far on
high,--
Suddenly there was a tremendous run in the front office.
A maddened cow,--an infuriate, delirious, over-driven
animal,--breaking loose from the cow-herdly creature who had her
in charge,--careered wildly past the _Ledger_ building.
One would have thought that the straw paper on which that sheet
was then printed might have tempted her to repose.
It didn't.
Past FORNEY'S paper:--he was proprietor of the _Pennsylvanian_ in
those days. Those days!--when he was Warwick, the king-maker, and
carried Pennsylvania for Old Buck. Bitter were the changes in
aftertimes, and bitterly did Forney give fits where he had before
bestowed benefits. On went the cow.
Right smack into the office of the evening paper, then engineered
by ALEXANDER CUMMINGS, now held by GIBSON PEACOCK.
Rush! went the cow. Right into the next door--turn to the left,
oh, infuriate--charge into the newsboys! By Santa Maria, little
DUCKEY is down--ha! Saint Joseph! the beast gains the front
office--she faceth streetwards--she jaculates herself
outwards--she is gone.
By the door stood a Philadelphia punster.
The cow switched him with her tail; he heeded it not. His soul
felt the morning gleam of a revelation,--the flash of a Boehmic
Aurora,--
Far, far above the world, oh dreamer!--in the pure land of
Pun-light, where the silent Calembergs rise in the sunset sea.
And he spake,--
'_I see you have_ A COW LET OUT _there, and a_ BULL LET IN HERE!'
This is going through a great deal to get at a pun, says some
over-heated and perspiring disciple.
Well--and why not?
Have you never heard of the clergyman who preached an entire
sermon on the slave-trade, and gave a detailed account of its
head-quarters, the kingdom of Abomi?
And why?
Merely that he might ring it into them bitterly, fiercely, with
this conclusion:
'My hearers, let us pray that this Abomi-Nation may be rooted out
from the face of the earth.'
That was so. _Consummatum est_.
No wonder we hear so much of the sufferings and sorrows of the Third
Estate--which is the editorial.
* * * * *
'Wine is _sometimes_ wine, but not very often in these days:' what it
very often is not when labelled 'Heidsick' and 'Rheims.' 'But then the
_cork_ proves it, you know,'--for, by a strange superstition, it is
assumed that when the cork is correct the wine is not less so; a theory
which is exploded by a revelation in the following by no means
Bacchanalian lyric:--
BOGUS CHAMPAGNE.
Fill up your glass with turnip-juice,
And let us swindled be;
Except in England's cloudy clime
Such trash you may not see.
With marble-dust and vitriol,
'Twill sparkle bright and foam,--
Who will not pledge me in a cup
Of champagne--made at home?
We do not heed the label fair
That's stuck upon the glass;
It's counterfeit,--an ugly cheat,
That takes in many an ass.
The cork is branded right, and we
Know that it once corked wine;
They give the hotel-waiters tin
To save the genuine!
Think of this when you next 'wish you had given the price of that last
bottle of champagne to the Tract Society,' as _Cecil Dreeme_ hath it.
* * * * *
One of the best repartees on record is that of WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON,
who, having been reproached with inconsistency for having taken from his
journal the old motto, 'The Constitution is a league with Death and a
covenant with Hell,' replied that 'when he hoisted that motto, he had no
idea _that either death or hell intended to secede_. Circumstances alter
cases, and definitions modify both. Slavery, it now appears, is death,
as every political economist claims, while the South is--the other
place.
* * * * *
The following is from one who was not 'well off for soap:'--
DEAR CONTINENTAL:
It was my fortune, some time ago, while traveling through the New
England States, to lose my trunk, on my way to a very thriving
manufacturing village. Arrived at the principal hotel a few
minutes before the dinner hour, I was shown up to my room, every
article of furniture in which sparkled with newness,--its carpet
shining like fireworks, curtains painfully stiff, and the air
redolent of novelty.
One article of furniture, which I took to be a cottage piano or
melodeon, turned out, on raising the lid, to be a wash-stand,
amply munitioned with water, towels, and a new piece of soap.
Having noticed that the article had never been used, and my own
being lost with my trunk, I determined to put it to its legitimate
destination.
I commenced rubbing it between my hands, immersing it in water,
passing it quickly from one hand to the other, and using all other
persuasive attempts to solve it into lather. Useless; it was
_un-lather-able_, and hearing the gong sound for dinner, I gave it
up as a hopeless job.
After dinner, in conversation with the landlord, he asked me how I
liked my room. I told him that it pleased me very well, and that I
had but one fault to find,--that was, that the soap in the
wash-stand was the hardest I had ever seen, and I believed it was
made of iron.
'Well,' said he, with a diabolical smile, 'it _is_ hard soap, and
it ort to be--it's iron-y--for it's Cast-Steel!'
* * * * *
The annexed may be read with profit by the charitable:--
H---- has never yet been known to give one cent in charity. A
Christian called on him, the other day, and begged him to give
something to a soup society.
'Ah-h-h!' said H., 'war times, now. Can't give anything.'
'The soup society is very poor, and would be thankful for the
_smallest sum_.'
'Would it?' said H., cheerfully. 'Why, then, twice one are two.
Good-morning.'
This, we presume, may be called figuring as a benefactor.
* * * * *
Our Arabic-studying friend has supplied us with a fresh batch of
oriental proverbs:--
'A monkey solicited hospitality from devils. "Young gentleman,"
they replied, "the house is quite empty of provisions."'
'Eat whatever thou likest, but dress as others do.'
'Like a needle, that clothes people, and is itself naked.'
'He who makes chaff of himself the cows will eat.'
'Give me wool to-day, and take sheep to-morrow.'
'He is high-minded but empty-bellied.'
'Easier to be broken than the house of a spider.'
'He descends like the foot of a crow, and ascends (like) the hoof
of a camel.'
But all yield in grim drollery to the last given:--
'There are no fans in hell.'
Which, as our friend declares, 'sounds as Western as Eastern.' Verily,
extremes meet.
* * * * *
Many of our exchanges have spoken of the series entitled 'Among the
Pines,' now publishing in this Magazine, as being written by FREDERICK
LAW OLMSTED. In justice to Mr. OLMSTED we would state that he is not the
author of the articles in question, and regret that the unauthorized
statement should have obtained such general credence.
A statement has also appeared in many journals declaring that the
literary matter of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY is the same with that
published in the KNICKERBOCKER Magazine. We need not say that it is
_entirely false_, as any reader may ascertain for himself who will take
the pains to compare the two publications. Not one line has ever
appeared in common in the Magazines. The _Knickerbocker_ is printed and
PUBLISHED in New York, at No. 532 Broadway, the CONTINENTAL in Boston,
at No. 110 Tremont Street.
* * * * *
The editor of the CONTINENTAL begs leave to repeat that as the principal
object of the Magazine is to draw forth such views as may be practically
useful in the present crisis, its pages will always be open to
contributions even of a widely varying character, the only condition
being that they shall be written by friends of the Union. And we call
special attention to the fact that while holding firmly to our own
views, as set forth under the Editorial heading, we by no means profess
to endorse those of our contributors, but shall leave the reader to make
his own comments on these.
* * * * *
Readers will confer a favor by forwarding to us any pamphlets, secession
or Union, on the war, which they may be disposed to spare.
THE KNICKERBOCKER
FOR 1862.
In the beginning of the last year, when its present proprietors assumed
control of the Knickerbocker, they announced their determination to
spare no pains to place it in its true position as the leading
_literary_ Monthly in America. When rebellion had raised a successful
front, and its armies threatened the very existence of the Republic, it
was impossible to permit a magazine, which in its circulation reached
the best intellects in the land, to remain insensible or indifferent to
the dangers which threatened the Union. The proprietors accordingly gave
notice, that it would present in its pages, forcible expositions with
regard to the great question of the times,--_how to preserve the_ UNITED
STATES OF AMERICA _in their integrity and unity_. How far this pledge
has been redeemed the public must judge. It would, however, be mere
affectation to ignore the seal approbation which has been placed on
these efforts. The proprietors gratefully acknowledge this, and it has
led them to embark in a fresh undertaking, as already announced,--the
publication of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, devoted to Literature and
National Policy; in which magazine, those who have sympathized with the
political opinions recently set forth in the KNICKERBOCKER, will find
the same views more fully enforced and maintained by the ablest and most
energetic minds in America.
The KNICKERBOCKER, while it will continue firmly pledged to the cause of
the Union, will henceforth be more earnestly devoted to literature, and
will leave no effort untried to attain the highest excellence in those
departments of letters which it has adopted as specialties.
The January number commences its thirtieth year. With such antecedents
as it possesses, it seems unnecessary to make any especial pledges as to
its future, but it may not be amiss to say that it will be the aim of
its conductors to make it more and more deserving of the liberal support
it has hitherto received. The same eminent writers who have contributed
to it during the past year will continue to enrich its pages, and in
addition, contributions will appear from others of the highest
reputation, as well as from many rising authors. While it will, as
heretofore, cultivate the genial and humorous, it will also pay
assiduous attention to the higher departments of art and letters, and
give fresh and spirited articles on such biographical, historical,
scientific, and general subjects as are of especial interest to the
public.
In the January issue will commence a series of papers by CHARLES GODFREY
LELAND, entitled "SUNSHINE IN LETTERS," which will be found interesting
to scholars as well as to the general reader, and in an early number
will appear the first chapters of a NEW and INTERESTING NOVEL,
descriptive of American life and character.
According to the unanimous opinion of the American press, the
KNICKERBOCKER has been greatly improved during the past year, _and it is
certain that at no period of its long career did it ever attract more
attention or approbation_. Confident of their enterprise and ability,
the proprietors are determined that it shall be still more eminent in
excellence, containing all that is best of the old, and being
continually enlivened by what is most brilliant of the new.
TERMS.--Three dollars a year, in advance. Two copies for Four Dollars
and fifty cents. Three copies for Six dollars. Subscribers remitting
Three Dollars will receive as a premium, (post-paid,) a copy of Richard
B. Kimball's great work, "THE REVELATIONS OF WALL STREET," to be
published by G.P. Putnam, early in February next, (price $1.)
Subscribers remitting Four Dollars will receive the KNICKERBOCKER and
the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY for one year. As but one edition of each number
of the Knickerbocker is printed, those desirous of commencing with the
volume should subscribe at once.
The publisher, appreciating the importance of literature to the soldier
on duty, will send a copy _gratis_, during the continuance of the war,
to any regiment in active service, on application being made by its
Colonel or Chaplain. Subscriptions will also be received from those
desiring it sent to soldiers in the ranks at _half price_, but in such
cases it must be mailed from the office of publication.
J.R. GILMORE, 532 Broadway, New York.
C.T. EVANS, General Agent, 532 Broadway, New York.
All communications and contributions, intended for the Editorial
department, should be addressed to CHARLES G. LELAND, Editor of the
"Knickerbocker," care of C.T. EVANS, 532 Broadway, New York.
Newspapers copying the above and giving the Magazine monthly notices,
will be entitled to an exchange.
PROSPECTUS OF The Continental Monthly
* * * * *
There are periods in the world's history marked by extraordinary and
violent crises, sudden as the breaking forth of a volcano, or the
bursting of a storm on the ocean. These crimes sweep away in a moment
the landmarks of generations. They call out fresh talent, and give to
the old a new direction. It is then that new ideas are born, new
theories developed. Such periods demand fresh exponents, and new men for
expounders.
This Continent has lately been convulsed by an upheaving so sudden and
terrible that the relations of all men and all classes to each other are
violently disturbed, and people look about for the elements with which
to sway the storm and direct the whirlwind. Just at present, we do not
know what all this is to bring forth; but we do know that great results
MUST flow from such extraordinary commotions.
At a juncture so solemn and so important, there is a special need that
the intellectual force of the country should be active and efficient. It
is a time for great minds to speak their thoughts boldly, and to take
position as the advance guard. To this end, there is a special want
unsupplied. It is that of an Independent Magazine, which shall be open
to the first intellects of the land, and which shall treat the issues
presented, and to be presented to the country, in a tone no way tempered
by partisanship, or influenced by fear, favor, or the hope of reward;
which shall seize and grapple with the momentous subjects that the
present disturbed state of affairs heave to the surface, and which CAN
NOT be laid aside or neglected.
To meet this want, the undersigned have commenced, under the editorial
charge of CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, the publication of a new Magazine,
devoted to Literature and National Policy.
In POLITICS, it will advocate, with all the force at its command,
measures best adapted to preserve the oneness and integrity of these
United States. It will never yield to the idea of any disruption of this
Republic, peaceably or otherwise; and it will discuss with honesty and
impartiality what must be done to save it. In this department, some of
the most eminent statesmen of the time will contribute regularly to its
pages.
In LITERATURE, it will be sustained by the best writers and ablest
thinkers of this country. Life, by RICHARD B. KIMBALL, ESQ., the very
popular author of "The Revelations of Wall Street," "St. Leger," &c. A
series of papers by HON. HORACE GREELEY, embodying the distinguished
author's observations on the growth and development of the Great West. A
series of articles by the author of "Through the Cotton States,"
containing the result of an extended tour in the seaboard Slave States,
just prior to the breaking out of the war, and presenting a startling
and truthful picture of the real condition of that region. No pains will
be spared to render the literary attractions of the CONTINENTAL both
brilliant and substantial. The lyrical or descriptive talents of the
most eminent literati have been promised to its pages; and nothing will
be admitted which will not be distinguished by marked energy,
originality, and solid strength. Avoiding every influence or association
partaking of clique or coterie, it will be open to all contributions of
real merit, even from writers differing materially in their views; the
only limitation required being that of devotion to the Union, and the
only standard of acceptance that of intrinsic excellence.
The EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT will embrace, in addition to vigorous and
fearless comments on the events of the times, genial gossip with the
reader on all current topics, and also devote abundant space to those
racy specimens of American wit and humor, without which there can be no
perfect exposition of our national character. Among those who will
contribute regularly to this department may be mentioned the name of
CHARLES F. BROWNE ("Artemus Ward"), from whom we have promised an
entirely new and original series of SKETCHES OF WESTERN LIFE.
The CONTINENTAL will be liberal and progressive, without yielding to
chimeras and hopes beyond the grasp of the age; and it will endeavor to
reflect the feelings and interests of the American people, and to
illustrate both their serious and humorous peculiarities. In short, no
pains will be spared to make it the REPRESENTATIVE MAGAZINE of the time.
TERMS:--Three Dollars per year, in advance (postage paid by the
Publishers;) Two Copies for Five Dollars; Three Copies for Six Dollars,
(postage unpaid); Eleven copies for Twenty Dollars, (postage unpaid).
Single numbers can be procured of any News-dealer in the United States.
The KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE and the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY will be furnished
for one year at FOUR DOLLARS.
Appreciating the importance of literature to the soldier on duty, the
publisher will send the CONTINENTAL, _gratis_, to any regiment in active
service, on application being made by its Colonel or Chaplain; he will
also receive subscriptions from those desiring to furnish it to soldiers
in the ranks at half the regular price; but in such cases it must be
mailed from the office of publication.
J.R. GILMORE, 110 Tremont Street, Boston.
CHARLES T. EVANS, at G.P. PUTNAM'S, 532 Broadway, New York, is
authorized to receive Subscriptions in that City.
N.B.--Newspapers publishing this Prospectus, and giving the CONTINENTAL
monthly notices, will be entitled to an exchange.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] _Journey in the Back Country_. By Frederick Law Olmsted.
[B] The Milwaukee, Wisconsin, _Sentinel_, of June 3, contained a
confirmation of these statements in regard to Northern Alabama. A
gentleman returned from 'a prolonged tour through the cotton States'
communicated a narrative, which demonstrated that the people of
Huntsville and vicinity were very hostile to secession in January, that
'at Athens the stars and stripes floated over the court house long after
the State had enacted the farce of secession,' and that, even in May,
open opposition to secession existed '_in the mountain portion of
Alabama, a large tract of country, embracing about one-third of the
State, lying adjacent to and south of the Tennessee valley_.' The writer
added, 'IN THEIR MOUNTAIN FASTNESSES THEY DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE
SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY, OR THE POWER OF ITS RULERS.'
[C] It is proved, by the great increase of the cotton crop during this
period, that the surplus increase of slaves was mainly composed of field
hands purchased in the border States.
[D] 'The Edwards Family;' page 11.
[E] 'If some learned philosopher who had been abroad, in giving an
account of the curious observations he had made in his travels, should
say he had been in _Terra del Fuego_, and there had seen an animal,
which he calls by a certain name, that begat and brought forth itself,
and yet had a sire and dam distinct from itself; that it had an appetite
and was hungry before it had a being; that his master, who led him and
governed by him, and driven by him where he pleased; that when he moved
he always took a step before the first step; that he went with his head
first, and yet always went tail foremost, and this though he had neither
head nor tail,' etc. etc.--_Freedom of the Will_, part 4.
[F] Sismondi's History of the French.
[G] Benôit, Hist. Rev. Edict of Nantes, book 7.
[H] Dr. Baird, vol. I. p. 174.
[I] Oxford town records.
[J] Vandenkemp's Alb. Rec. viii.
[K] Instances are frequent where Southern gentlemen form these
left-handed connections, and rear two sets of differently colored
children; but it is not often that the two families occupy the same
domicil. The only other case within my _personal_ knowledge was that of
the well-known President of the Bank of St. M----, at Columbia, Ga. That
gentleman, whose note ranked in Wall Street, when the writer was
acquainted with that locality, as 'A No. 1,' lived for fifteen years
with two 'wives' under one roof. One--an accomplished white woman, and
the mother of several children--did the honors of his table, and moved
with him in 'the best society;' the other--a beautiful quadroon, also
the mother of several children--filled the humbler office of nurse to
her own and the other's offspring.
In conversation with a well-known Southern gentleman, not long since, I
mentioned these two cases, and commented on them as a man educated with
New England ideas might be supposed to do. The gentleman admitted that
he knew of twenty such instances, and gravely defended the practice as
being infinitely more moral and respectable than _the more relation_
existing between masters and slaves.
[L] Among the things of which slavery has deprived the black is a
_name_. A slave has no family designation. It may be for that reason
that a high-sounding appellation is usually selected for the single one
he is allowed to appropriate.
[M] It is not now improper to broach this button ruse, because it was
recently discovered at the South and is guarded against.