CHAPTER XIV.

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

* * * * *

Miss Burns stood for several minutes on the piazza after Hiram went

away. Presently her father came up.

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

'Yes, he went some little time ago. I got the whole story out of him;

and when he finished he ran off, because I made him talk so much, I

fear.'

Mr. Burns observed that his daughter was somewhat excited; but there was

good reason, and he did not feel in any mood for scrutiny.

For perhaps the first time in her life, however, _she_ felt conscious of

something like _heart vacancy_--of some void her father's presence did

not fill. This made her very unhappy. She strove to conceal it, and

probably succeeded.

For the first time in her life, her father's kiss did not soothe,

comfort, and satisfy her.

As soon as Joel Burns had finished his devotions (his daughter and he

knelt always, morning and evening, side by side, and sent up their joint

supplications to the Almighty), Sarah hastened to her room. She slept

little that night; but when she rose in the morning, after having

breathed forth her prayers to God, in whom she so implicitly put her

trust, she felt composed and happy, and ready to welcome her father and

receive his usual caress.

* * * * *

I have no design to occupy too much of this narrative with the present

subject. I am writing the history of Hiram Meeker--not of Sarah Burns.

And Hiram's 'little affair' with Sarah, as he used to call it, was

scarcely an episode in his life.

The reader can easily understand how quietly, and with a manner both

fascinating and insinuating, Hiram installed himself absolutely in the

affections of Sarah Burns.

Mark you, Sarah was not a girl to be treated like Mary Jessup, or the

Hawkinses, or many others with whom Hiram was or had been a favorite.

Hiram knew this magnetically, and he undertook no false moves--assumed

no petty freedoms; but he knew how to make such a true-hearted girl love

him, and he succeeded.

There were times when Hiram was ready to give up his life-project of

settling in New York. There were times when, even arguing, as he could

only argue, from his selfishness, he was ready to decide to marry Sarah

and down in Burnsville. He would have a large field there. He would

start with abundant capital; he would go on and introduce various

improvements and multiply plans and enterprises. Then the recollection

of the vast city, teeming with facilities for his active brain to take

advantage of, where MILLIONS were to be commanded, with no limits, no

bounds for action and enterprise, would bring him back to his

determination not to swerve from his settled object.

Yet, after all, he could get only so near to Sarah Burns. He knew she

admired him--loved him--at least, was ready to love him; but this did

not bring him into close communion with her.

After that morning, Sarah's state of mind and heart was at least

tranquil. She possessed the true talisman; and it would have been in

vain for Hiram to attempt to disturb her repose. As I have said, he

understood this very well. He knew he could not trifle, or, as it is

called, flirt with Sarah; and he did not try. But after a while he was

piqued--then he did admire Sarah more than any girl he ever met.

Probably he loved her as much as he was capable of loving; which

was--not at all.

At last, just after the conclusion of some brilliant operations, as

Hiram called them, of Mr. Burns's, on a lovely day in the summer, when

nature was in her glory and all things were very beautiful at

Burnsville, Hiram--(I won't say he designed to be false, I have many

doubts on that head, and he is entitled to the benefit of them)--Hiram,

I say, encountered Sarah Burns a little out of the village, on a

romantic path, which he sometimes used as a cross cut to the mill.

Affairs were very flourishing--the place full of activity; Joel Burns

quite a king and general benefactor there; and Sarah Burns--a charming,

very charming girl --his only daughter.

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

* * * * *

Mr. Burns that day wondered--wondered exceedingly that the tried and

reliable Meeker should fail him on a very important occasion. Something

made it necessary that Hiram should visit Slab City, and return in the

course of the morning. But the morning passed, and no Hiram. Mr. Burns

drove to the mill: his clerk had not appeared there.

At dinner time the mystery was solved. Hiram, it seems, had been unable

to resist all the conspiring influences. When they met, the two had

wandered away toward a pleasant grove, and, seated at the foot of a

giant oak, he told Sarah Burns in most seductive terms how he loved her,

how he had always loved her since they met at Mrs. Croft's.

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

This was not at all to Hiram's taste.

(Don't be severe with him, reader: he could not appreciate the causes

which produce such emotions.)

He waited for what he was cool enough to consider hysterical

demonstrations to pass, and commenced again to press his suit.

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

'We must leave father and mother, and cleave to each other,' said Hiram

solemnly, with anything rather than the tone of a lover. It sounded

harsh and repulsive to Sarah, and she began to cry, again, but not as

passionately as before.

(Hiram was dissatisfied, selfish ever, he disliked exceedingly that she

should think of her father at such a time.)

'I know it,' she finally said, 'and that is why I speak. Whatever may be

my feelings, I shall never forget my duty to him.'

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

'Whatever may be the consequence to me, I will never leave him. And

you--your plans take you elsewhere. I know it very well.'

Hiram was surprised, he could not imagine how his secret purposes could

have been discovered, for he had never divulged them.

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

'That may he,' he replied; ' but that does not prevent my loving you.

And who knows? Perhaps your father will not care to remain, always at

Burnsville.'

'Oh, he will never leave it; that I am sure of,' said Sarah, almost

sorrowfully, 'And I shall stay with him.'

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

'You know better,' exclaimed Sarah, her eyes flashing, and all the

spirit of her father beaming forth. 'Hiram Meeker, you know better!'

She was superb in her passion. Something besides affection shone forth

now, and Hiram was led captive by _it_.

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

too.'

* * * * *

Mr. Burns was not altogether surprised at the announcement which awaited

him on going home that day to dinner. He had seen for some time that his

daughter was much interested, and he thought Hiram equally so.

It is true the old feeling continued, and there were times when, it

appeared to break forth stronger than ever. Mr. Burns had made up his

mind that it was doing Hiram great injustice to yield to it, since the

young man was untiring in the discharge of his duties, and also most

effective.

So he had endeavored to accustom himself to think of the event of his

daughter's engagement with Hiram as very probable. What could possibly

be urged against it? Hiram was of respectable family, possessed of

extraordinary business ability, bearing an irreproachable character,

really without a fault that could be indicated, and a consistent member

of the church.

Yes, that was so. And, looking it over carefully, Mr. Burns used

frequently to admit to himself that it _was_ so. What then? Why, then

Joel Burns would sigh and feel heaviness of heart, he scarcely knew why,

and think to himself that there could remain for him no happiness should

Sarah marry Meeker. Then he would ask himself, how his wife would have

liked Meeker. He did not think she would have liked him.

Nevertheless, as I have said, Mr. Barns decided the event was coming,

and that he could not say nay.

And he did not say nay. He said very little; but when Sarah threw

herself in her father's arms, and he kissed her forehead, his heart was

nigh to bursting. He restrained his emotion, though.

* * * * *

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

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

with me.'

Hiram said nothing. Already his old caution was returning.

* * * * *

It will be recollected, when Hiram first came to Burnsville he sought to

be admitted as a member of Mr. Burns's family, but was met with a cold

and abrupt refusal. Now, Mr. Burns not only desired Hiram to come at

once to his house, but put his wishes in so decided a form that Hiram

could not object. It was in vain, that Sarah interposed. She begged her

father not to insist on the arrangement. Neither had Hiram the least

desire to quit his comfortable quarters at the widow Hawkins's, even for

the sake of being near the one to whom he had pledged himself forever.

But he did not dare betray himself. He did betray himself though,

unconsciously, by the absence of any enthusiasm on a point where one

would suppose he would exhibit a great deal. Mr. Burns had a single

object in having Hiram near him. His daughter's happiness was most

precious to him, and he resolved to make himself acquainted with the

young man's character, if it were possible.

From the time Hiram began to call at the house of Mr. Burns, he

gradually extended his visits over the village, and became a greater

favorite than ever with the ladies. Not with the young girls alone, but

with elderly spinsters and matrons. Strange how he managed so completely

to make them all like him! His position with Mr. Barns grew more and

more into consequence, so that he was regarded as unquestionably the

best match in the place. When Hiram at last removed from the widow

Hawkins's to Mr. Burns's, the village was for a few days the focus of

all sorts of guesses and surmises. Mr. Burns had enjoined on both that

the engagement should not be made public at present--an arrangement

particularly pleasing to Hiram, who would thus be quite at liberty to

give what turn he pleased to the subject, and not forfeit the favor of

several young ladies already too deeply interested in him.

As may be supposed, when Hiram announced his intended removal to Mrs.

Hawkins, that lady was exceedingly surprised, not to say overcome.

Hiram, however, coupled the information with such an air of grave

importance, dropping a few words about the enormous increase of Mr.

Burns's business, and the absolute necessity of frequent evening

consultations, that she was completely disarmed. Then he remarked that

his leaving the house would by no means cause any diminution of his

interest in the young ladies, or in _her;_ indeed, quite the contrary.

Such interest must increase daily, the more so that he should not have

the pleasure of so openly manifesting it. The widow blushed, she hardly

knew why. Hiram squeezed her hand tenderly, and sought out Charlotte and

Louisa. Charlotte was in the garden, and--I must tell the truth--Louisa

in her chamber, crying. All this was charming to Hiram. He luxuriated in

it (though in a more delicious degree), as over a nice steak or a

delicate boiled chicken.

Hiram's interview with both the young ladies was, as you may readily

imagine, perfectly satisfactory to both. In short, when he quitted the

house, all were content and hopeful, and all from different reasons.

* * * * *

It was now that Joel Burns sat himself down to investigate the cause of

those strange sensations which he at times experienced in the presence

of Meeker. The first time Hiram came to the table, not as a guest, but

as an inmate of the house, nothing could have been more stiff and formal

than the conduct of all three. In vain. Mr. Burns endeavored to appear

free. The spell was on him; and there sat the one who alone could cause

it.

Joel Burns looked at his daughter. She appeared diffident and not at

ease, but, as he thought, happy. Hiram sat still, saying nothing and

looking quite vacant. He was determined not to exhibit any points till

he knew his ground better.

In the office, though, all was right. There he entered into, nay,

anticipated Mr. Burns's plans, and he could not fail to evoke his

employer's admiration.

I have spoken of Joel Burns's daily devotions; how, with his child, he

was in the habit of coming before his Maker, bringing the offerings of

their joint hearts. For two or three days after Meeker came to the house

this custom was continued. Then Sarah gently asked her father if Hiram

might not be admitted. (He had complained to her that it was not

Christian-like to exclude him.) A shiver passed over Mr. Burns; a groan

almost escaped his lips. How fast the links were giving way which kept

his daughter with him! But the request was quite right, and that night

Hiram was present at the evening prayer. Sarah, on that occasion, did

not sit so near her father as usual. And when they kneeled, her chair

was still more removed. So it went on. Sarah, like all who love,

invested Hiram with every virtue in perfection (and lovers are more

indebted for virtues to the imagination of the sex than they suppose),

and was very happy. Hiram, who managed, under the excuse of not

permitting the public to learn the secret of their engagement, to visit

nearly as much as ever, was happy enough too. Only Joel Burns was sad.

Sad, not because he had given away his daughter, but because he feared

for her happiness.

What was strange enough, Mr. Burns could not endure to hear Hiram speak

on religion, and Hiram was very fond of talking on the subject. He spoke

so well, every one said. He exhibited so many evidences of divine grace.

One morning, Sarah came into her father's room, and, after kissing him,

said, with a great deal of diffidence:

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

'Certainly, my child. What is it?'

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

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

'What is the matter--what _is_ the matter, father? How pale you

look--how very pale you look!'

'Do I? I felt strangely, just at that moment. Yes, dear child, I will do

what you request. I suppose I ought to have done so before; but then,

you know, it is hard to--yes, dear--I will do as you wish.'

Sarah left the room, wondering not a little, and Joel Burns threw

himself on the bed and sobbed.

After a time he recovered his composure. Kneeling at the side of the

bed, he ejaculated: '_O God, help me to feel right! and, O Heavenly

Father, protect my child!_'

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

Shall I attempt to describe his ready utterance; his glib use of the

most sacred expressions; his familiar handling of God's name?

Mr. Burns's feelings meanwhile cannot be described. In his presence, at

least to his true apprehension, Hiram Meeker was like the Arch Enemy

when touched by the spear of Ithuriel. And yet Joel Burns kneeled,

trying humbly to commit his soul to God, while Hiram was pouring out

what he thought to be a most beautiful prayer!

* * * * *

It is not necessary to go on with particulars. Every two or three

months Hiram found it for Mr. Burns's interest to visit New York. More

and more he became confirmed in his first determination to ultimately

settle there. He kept his views entirely to himself. But he did not

neglect his opportunities whenever he visited the city, till at length

his plans were matured.

Then, by degrees, he sounded Sarah Burns on the subject. He would

suggest that it was best, perhaps, in order better to serve the

interests of her father, that he should acquire more knowledge of

metropolitan affairs, so that there need be again no danger of another

Joslin matter. Sarah exhibited so much distress on these occasions that

Hiram forbore to allude to the subject. He perfected his plans, and said

nothing about them.

It was a part of his purpose that these plans should leak out somewhat;

sufficiently, at least, to set people discussing their probability; and

he took measures accordingly. This accounts for the division of opinion

in the village, which I spoke of in the first chapter.

* * * * *

Our story opens at this period.

Hiram Meeker and Sarah Burns had gone in company to attend the

preparatory lecture on the Friday prior to Communion. At that lecture

Sarah heard, for the first time, that Hiram had decided to leave for New

York. The reader may possibly recollect the conversation between them as

they left the lecture room.

I said, though Sarah Burns could not disbelieve Hiram, her heart _felt_

the lie he told her nevertheless.

Mr. Burns was also present on that occasion. Shall I say it? A thrill of

joy shot through him at the announcement; joy, if it must be spoken,

that Hiram had proved a dissembler and a hypocrite. His year would

expire the coming week. Not a syllable had he said on the subject to Mr.

Burns, and he had concluded on this method of acquainting both Mr. Burns

and Sarah of his fixed determination.

The latter part of the walk was measured in silence. Some faint

perception of the truth was beginning to dawn in Sarah's mind. Her

father's spirit began to assert itself in her breast.

Mr. Burns walked slowly along a little behind. It was tea time when they

entered the house. He went for a moment to his room. He had scarcely

entered it, when the door opened and his daughter came in. She ran up to

her father; she threw her arms around his neck; and while she wept

bitterly, Joel Burns could hear between the sobs:

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

ALL RIGHT.

Little lady wants a President all smile and style and grace;

Little master wants a Talleyrand or Crichton in the place;

Little simpletons want this and that to fill the nation's chair;

But the times want ABRAHAM LINCOLN--and, thank GOD, they have him there!

GOLD

Our large debt and vast expenditures demand a resort to every just

available source of national revenue. Among these are our mineral lands

of the public domain, and especially those yielding gold and silver. On

this subject, the Commissioner of the General Land Office, Judge

Edmunds, on the 16th of April last, addressed a letter to the Committee

of Public Lands of the Senate, from which I make the following extract:

'For a half century prior to the California gold discoveries in

1848, the annual gold yield of the world was, by estimate, from

sixteen to twenty millions of dollars, of which Russia produced

more than one half. In 1853 the gold product of California was

$70,000,000. * * * * Annual yield, estimating upon reported

shipments, was $50,000,000, to which by adding two fifths for

quantity taken by private hands, besides that converted into

articles of ornament and use, the total average would be seventy

millions a year. The immense discoveries of gold, silver,

quicksilver, tin, copper, lead, iron, and coal, within our limits,

justify the estimate that our mineral riches exceed the aggregate

metallic wealth of the globe. In a state of peace, with adequate

revenue from ordinary sources, the Government has interposed no

obstacle to the free access of our citizens and of the people of

every nation, to work the mines, of which the United States are the

undisputed owners, and by which individuals, in the aggregate, have

realized some nine hundred millions of dollars.'

The Commissioner, therefore, very justly concludes that, under existing

circumstances, our mineral lands ought to yield a national revenue, and

he proposes a preliminary reconnoissance, and licenses, at $10 each, to

be paid in the mean time by the miners to the Government. Beyond these

suggestions he proceeds at present no farther.

The general estimate of the extent of our mineral lands of the public

domain, exceeds twenty millions of acres. It extends from near the 32d

to the 49th parallel of latitude, and from the lakes and the Mississippi

river to the Pacific. It is not supposed that every acre of these twenty

millions contains mines, but that all are so connected as to be embraced

in the same mineral region. These lands, at an average price of $25 per

acre, would be worth $500,000,000. I do not assert that this is their

value, but it is a fact that some of the mines already worked on our

public domain are worth many thousand dollars _per foot_, even in the

present difficulty of access by roads, and the enormous cost of

provisions. It is sufficient for the argument that these mines and

mineral lands are of great value, that they are public property, and, in

the present condition of our country, ought to be made a source of

revenue.

This question concerns the present and future miners. As to the present

miners, they are working these lands without any legal title, but by the

long acquiescence of the Government. They are the pioneers, who, amid

great dangers, privations, and sufferings, have explored these mineral

regions and developed their enormous value. As regards these pioneers

now working the mineral lands of the Government, I think, as a general

rule, the existing miners' code should be carried into effect. They

should be required to register their claims with the proper officer of

the Federal Government, to file copies and descriptive notes of their

surveys and locations, and to report the product of the mines. This

would form a good basis for the reconnoissance proposed by the

Commissioner, and for the exploration and resurvey of these claims by

the Government. Such proceedings would effect the following results:

1st. To prevent litigation among the present miners. 2d. To enable the

Government to separate their lands from the public domain, and to give

them a _perfect title_. 3d. To survey and designate the unoccupied

mineral lands of the Government. I think it would be just, and good

policy to confirm the rights of the present miners according to the

existing regulations in the several districts, charging them only a

nominal price for a complete title and patent from the Government, which

price should not be more than the cost of survey and incidental

expenses, not exceeding a few cents an acre. This would greatly improve

the condition of the present miners, to whom we are indebted for the

development of this region; would give them a perfect title, where now

they have none; and, in many cases, would enable them to raise the

capital necessary for the more profitable working of their mines.

Having thus surveyed and located the mines now worked by the present

occupants, and secured to them their titles in fee simple, without rent,

regie, or seigniorage, let us now consider the proper policy as to the

vast unoccupied public mineral domain. The solution of this problem

divides itself into two parts: 1st, the survey and subdivision of these

lands; 2d, the price and mode of sale.

As to the first, I would continue the present mode of surveys by

townships, sections, and quarter-quarter sections, with further

subdivisions thereof. It will be best, however, to adopt the _geodetic_

system, for the following reasons: 1st, The errors in the linear surveys

are much greater than in the geodetic, in nearly the ratio of yards to

inches. These errors may not be very important as to sections, but, in

the minute subdivisions (an acre each) into which the mineral lands

should be separated, the errors of the lineal surveys could not be

tolerated, and would introduce ruinous litigation as to the boundaries

of valuable mines. 2d, The linear surveys give us a description only of

the exterior lines of each section; but the geodetic system would inform

us of the interior, enable the Government to appraise every acre, to

give the proper maps, similar to those of the coast survey, and enable

the people to judge of the value of each acre. The additional cost of

the geodetic system would hardly reach two cents an acre.

The subdivision of the gold and silver lands, should be into tracts of

one acre each, continuing and extending the present system. This is by

townships of six miles square, containing 36 sections and 23,040 acres.

Each section contains 640 acres; and to separate them into acres, the

following system should be adopted. The present subdivision is into

quarter-quarter sections, of 40 acres each. These small tracts, by lines

running through the centre, north and south, and east and west, I would

subdivide into four tracts, each containing ten acres. These ten-acre

tracts, by a line running north and south through the centre, I would

divide into two equal tracts, each containing five acres; and each of

these five-acre tracts, by lines running east and west, into five

tracts, each containing one acre. The exterior lines, running east and

west, of these one-acre tracts, would each be one hundred and ten yards

long (330 feet), and the two sides running north and south, would each

have a length of forty-four yards (132 feet). The form of the ten-acre

tract and its subdivisions, would be as follows:

TEN ACRES.

110 yards. 110 yards.

4 +---------+---------+ 4

4 |One acre.|One acre.| 4

y +---------+---------+ y

a |do. |do. | a

r +---------+---------+ r

d |do. |do. | d

s +---------+---------+ s

|do. |do. |

+---------+---------+

|do. |do. |

+---------+---------+

This is the only plan by which the sections can be subdivided into

tracts of one acre each. Such subdivisions of sections into _squares_ of

one acre each is impossible; nor is it necessary, as, of the present

subdivisions, neither a half section nor an eighth of a section is

square. Before the motion made by me in the Senate of the United States,

on the 31st of March, 1836, the sales were made by eighths of a section,

an oblong figure, and not by forty-acre tracts.

Many of the present miners' claims are smaller than an acre, but it is

impracticable to make more minute subdivisions. This plan would continue

our present admirable system of surveys, and, to carry it out, as now

proposed, we should only have to mark, by stone or iron monuments, the

north and south exterior lines of each section at intervals of

forty-four yards, and the east and west lines at distances of one

hundred and ten yards, and the survey would be complete, extending from

section to section, and from township to township. Having devoted great

attention to such subjects, as chairman for many years of the Committee

of Public Lands of the Senate, and as Secretary of the Treasury, and

having, in early life, made many surveys in the field, I venture, with

great deference, to submit these suggestions for the consideration of

the President, the Secretary of the Interior, the Commissioner of the

General Land Office, Congress, and the country.

Tho system proposed by me would bring here vast foreign capital to

invest in working our mines. As the law now stands, no title can be

acquired to any of our public mineral lands, and hence the capital

invested is extremely limited. By this plan, not only would a certain

title be acquired to the mines now worked, and at a nominal price to the

present miners, but also for new mines, at their proper value, and thus

our vast mineral wealth would be developed much sooner.

There are two considerations which will soon rapidly enhance the value

of our mineral lands. These are the Homestead bill and the Pacific

railroad. By the gift, substantially, of one hundred and sixty acres of

our agricultural public lands to every settler, the soil, in the

vicinity of the mines, will be far more speedily occupied and

cultivated, and, as a consequence, much cheaper provisions and

subsistence furnished to the miners. This result, also, will be greatly

accelerated by the construction of the Pacific railroad, together with

much lower transportation of emigrants and freight.

The plan proposed (as it ought to be) is just to the mining States and

Territories, and to the pioneer miners. Indeed, it is far better for

them than the present system.

The next question is, how should the sales be made, and at what price.

The gold and silver lands I would sell in one-acre lots, as above

designated; our other mineral lands in forty-acre lots, a subdivision

now recognized by law.

One surveyor, accompanied by one commissioner for each four townships,

should examine, and both should report to the register and receiver of

the proper land office, the value of each subdivision of the public

mineral lands, together with the proper maps. These views should,

together with their own opinions, be communicated by the register and

receiver to the Commissioner of the General Land Office, who, under the

supervision of the Secretary of the Interior, should fix the value of

these acre lots. These lands then should be advertised for sale to the

highest bidder for cash, at minimum rates, not below those estimated,

which should be published. The bids, after six months' advertisement,

should be received by the register and receiver of the proper land

offices, and also by the Secretary of the Interior, up to the same day

and hour, when such bids should be at once opened simultaneously, and

the land awarded to the highest bidder above the minimum. To prevent

fraud, no bid should be received unless accompanied by a deposit of one

per cent. of the amount of the bid, to be forfeited to the Government

only if the bid is successful and the amount should not be paid in full.

Such tracts as are not sold at or above the appraised value should be

disposed if by _entry_ at the minimum price, in the same manner as under

our former land system, subject at proper intervals to new appraisements

and advertisements.

We have seen that our present Commissioner of the General Land Office

estimates our mineral public lands as of greater value than all the

mineral lands of the world, and that, up to the 16th of April last, they

had yielded, in gold alone, nine hundred millions of dollars. This is

exclusive of our valuable mines silver, quicksilver, tin, copper, lead,

coal, and iron. The lands yielding this $900,000,000 are estimated at

five hundred thousand acres--making their value exceed one billion of

dollars; and, at the same rate, the remaining twenty millions of acres

would be worth forty billions of dollars, or $2,000 per acre. This would

be a most extravagant estimate; but at the average price of twenty-five

dollars per acre they would bring, as we have seen, five hundred

millions of dollars, being a sum larger than our public debt on the 1st

of July last. That this sum at least can be realized to the Government

by a proper system from our public mineral lands, is my sincere

conviction.

On this subject, the Commissioner says:

'As the development of the mineral wealth of the country advances

not only of the gold and silver of California, but of Oregon,

Washington, Nevada, Colorado, and New Mexico, and the vast mines of

useful metals scattered there and elsewhere, with exhaustless

supplies of coal to fashion and mould these for the various

purposes of life, the yield in a few years may reasonably be

estimated at $100,000,000; and when the Pacific railroad shall have

spanned the interior, it may be augmented to one hundred and fifty

millions of dollars' worth of mineral product.'

This annual product, as estimated by the Commissioner, would make the

total value of these lands exceed one billion of dollars.

There may be differences of opinion

as to this estimate of the Commissioner: some may think it too large,

and others too small; but, however this may be, it is quite clear that

the subject demands the earnest consideration of the country.

No period has been so auspicious as the present to rearrange our gold

coinage. Gold has ceased here to be a currency, and is used only in

payment of our public debt and receipts of customs.

It is important that our gold coinage (retaining the decimal system) and

that of England should be assimilated. This could be easily done by

having in our half eagle the same amount of gold and alloy as in the

British sovereign, carrying the system through our whole gold coinage.

Thus, exchange here upon England or there here, would be quoted and

governed by the same rules which regulate exchange between our own

cities, and all the mystery and losses of our present system would

disappear. This change would slightly depreciate our present gold

coinage, but would not affect individual transactions, treasury notes

being our currency and a legal tender. Should this plan be adopted,

England could stamp on her sovereign, _Equal to a U. S. half eagle_, and

we could stamp on our half eagle, _Equal to a British sovereign_, and

thus furnish a currency, which from necessity would in time be adopted

by all the world, avoiding vast trouble, loss of time, and litigation,

and saving millions of dollars every year. This measure would soon prove

the superiority of our decimal system, and render it _universal_. The

United States and England being the two great commercial and gold

producing nations, speaking the same tongue, and having the same

coinage, would make the coin and the _language of the coin_ of the world

the same, the first great step toward a universal language. This

assimilation of the value and language of coin would lead to the

decimalizing and assimilation of weights and measures, both grand

movements toward the fusion of nations and fraternity of man.

LITERARY NOTICES

THE NEW GYMNASTICS FOR MEN, WOMEN, AND CHILDREN. By DIO LEWIS, M.D.

With three hundred illustrations. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1862.

It is with sincerest pleasure that we commend this excellent book to the

attention of every teacher and parent in America. We might add that we

commend it as a gift book which would be most acceptable to youth, since

it teaches them several hundred exercises, the greater portion of which

require little or no apparatus, and none which cannot be very readily

fitted up in almost any house. This book, moreover, includes a

translation of Prof. KLOGS'S 'Dumb Bell Instructor' and Prof. SCHREBER'S

'Pangymnastikon.' By the way, is this the same work of SCHREBER'S which

was translated some years ago by Prof. SEDGWICK, of New York, for his

Gymnastic Journal? We remember the latter as a work of solid merit,

recommending on sound anatomical principles the means of cure by

gymnastics and calisthenics for many of the ills that flesh is heir to.

We ask, not remembering accurately, and from observing that Prof, LEWIS

confesses to having greatly abridged the volume in question, a plan

never to be commended in any translation whatever. But for the whole

work, with this exception, we have only praise. It is, we believe, the

most practical, sensible book and the one most easy of application on

this subject extant in any language. Let all interested remember that

while it is indispensable to every gymnasium and every gymnast, its

price _is_ only one dollar.

EYES AND EARS. By HENRY WARD BEECHER. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.

1862. New York: G. P. Putnam. 1862.

The crisp, careless dozen and a half of lines which Mr. BEECHER snaps at

his readers by way of preface to this collection of papers, form the

best review of its contents which will probably be written. They came

principally, as he informs us, from the New York _Ledger_, and partially

from the _Independent_; were consequently written very much for the

many, and very little for the student of elaborate literature. They are

unstudied, unpretentious--true _nugæ venales_, 'representing the

impressions of happy homes, or the moods and musings of the movement * *

fragmentary and careless as even a newspaper style will permit.' But,

beyond this, we may assure the reader that these 'scintillant trifles'

are knocked off from no second-rate material and by no awkward hand, but

by one firm and confident in hasty and trivial efforts as in great ones,

and producing the great even in the little. Many of these essay-lets

have a peculiar charm: they seem to crave expansion--we wish them

longer, and are as little pleased to find a fresh title whipping itself

in before our eyes as children are at a rapidly managed magic-lantern

show, when the impatient exhibitor presents a View in Egypt to eyes

which have hardly begun to take in Solomon's Temple. We like them far

better than the majority of the more elaborate, infinitely conceited,

narrow-minded, squeakingly-witty essays with which the country has been

of late visited for its sins from the Country Parson and his disciples.

SLAVERY IN SOUTH CAROLINA, AND THE EX-SLAVES; or, The Port Royal

Mission. By Mrs. A. M. FRENCH. New York: Winchell M. French, No. 5

Beekman street, 1862.

No one can write a book, however unpretentious, on the subject of

slavery, and fill it with plain _facts_, without making a startling

volume. Take the subject up on the grounds of the barest humanity, even

as one would the welfare of animals; laying aside all 'Abolition' or

anti-abolition views whatever, and we find a tremendous abyss of abuses,

inexcusable even according to the principles of the most rabid

pro-slavery disciple. Prominent among the facts which such a work as

the present presents, is the proof that the black, whatever his degree

of intelligence may be, is abundantly capable, under enlightened

discipline, of becoming infinitely more profitable to himself and to the

world than he has ever yet been. From the tales of distress, from the

bewildering, sorrowful negro piety, from the jargon and rags and tears

of poor childish contrabands, as simply and sadly set forth by Mrs.

FRENCH, making every allowance, and penetrating to the depth of the dark

problem, we still realize one tremendous truth--that Slavery, as a

principle of government, is a lie, and that from a politico-economical

point of view it has been a failure. It is a _waste of power_, and like

every waste of human power results in suffering.

The fifty-three chapters of the work before us present the results of

the Port Royal Mission, the truths gleaned from the contrabands of their

past life, great additions to our Northern knowledge of the practical

treatment of slaves, many observations on these facts, and an array of

Instances to prove the capacity of the negro. It will be spoken of as an

Abolition work, and such it is; but we--who look beyond and above

Abolition, and hold the higher doctrines of EMANCIPATION originally set

forth in these columns--to the broad interests of humanity, and of the

benefit which is to accrue in the first place to the white race from

free labor--still commend it as full of material of the most valuable

description to the great cause of progress.

The work is fairly printed, but, we regret to add, is disfigured by a

mass of wretched woodcuts of the worst possible design, which look as if

they had been gleaned from old Abolition tracts, and which we trust will

be omitted from the next edition.

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

Putnam, 532 Broadway.

When we criticize ever so lightly any modern poetical treatment of an

antique subject, we may as well premise that we do so as something which

is only partially true, since few writers have ever so perfectly

penetrated any foreign national spirit as to reproduce it--let us say,

like a translation. Even translations from the Greek are made

Miltonically, or Pope-ishly, or Shakespearian-ally, and seldom with that

racy literalness which characterizes Carlyle's occasional bits of German

poetic version. Sometimes, as in the present instance, the old form is

almost unattainable, for Hebrew poetry and the modes of speech used at

Herod's court are too little known in their first fresh life to be

vividly reproduced. Consequently the more modern forms are

indispensable. But, from the stand-point of English poetry, SALOME is a

production of more than marked ability--it is a boldly conceived,

genially executed, oftentimes a truly superb poem. The repentance of

SALOME has a broad lyrical and musical sweep which seems like an opera

of grand passions when the trivial associations of the opera are

forgotten. In the concluding scenes we seem to feel the inspiration of

GOETHE and of ÆSCHYLUS, for the author has combined with rare tact the

spirit of avenging fate with that of atonement--the Pagan and the

Christian; and if the language be here and there meagre or lack

concentrativeness, we pardon it in consideration of the high idea by

which plot, incident, and character are swayed. In one scene,

however--the dialogue between Antonius and the Jew--we find a degree of

historic truth, a reproduction in dramatic form of the sublime spirit of

Hebrew poetry, and an æsthetic color which, had it been maintained

throughout, would have neutralized our introductory remarks. This scene

is of itself a real poem. Herodias is, we may add, consistent, and

bravely accented in every thought and word; had she, however, been more

concise, she would have been more consistent to her earnestly malignant

nature. 'But, then, Shakespeare exaggerated the monologue!'

In conclusion, we commend SALOME cordially to all, for all can read it

with pleasure, and many, we may add, with profit. It belongs to a

soundly literary school, is disfigured with no extravagances, embodies

much real beauty, and is above all a poem of promise of even better

works from its author.

LIFE AND LETTERS OF WASHINGTON IRVING. Vol. 2. By his nephew,

PIERRE M. IRVING. New York: G. P. Putnam.

Like the first volume, this admirable second leads us through one of the

most entertaining of _tutti frutti_ which we have ever met in the form

of a biography. It is fortunate that IRVING--so generally imagined by

'those of the second after-generation' as a quiet recluse on the banks

of the Hudson--was in reality, in his early time and full prime, a

traveler, a man of the world, somewhat of a diplomat, and one who knew

the leading minds of Europe and of his own country in the days when

there were giants. It is really pleasant to travel in these pages over

the _grande route_ as it was just before the incredible facilities of

modern transit had worn away so many peculiarities--to get home-glimpses

of people who generally turn only a formal great-reputation side to the

world--and above all, to read IRVING as he was and while he grew to

greatness. And the work is well done, as Irving knew it would be. We

congratulate the world on having gained volumes so fully deserving place

by the side of the writings of their subject.

MEMOIRS OF THE REV. NICHOLAS MURRAY, D.D. (KIRWAN). By SAMUEL

IBENAUS PRIME. New York: Harper & Brothers. 1862.

A well compiled life of a Presbyterian divine, who worked long and

faithfully in his calling, leaving marks of varied ability, and strove

in all things great and small to attain his ideal of duty. Such a work,

written in the spirit of truth toward the subject, indulging neither in

highflown eulogy nor in abstract essaying, as we find this to be, is a

rarity, and is none the less excellent because simply written and

unpretentious. Its author is well known in literature, and experience

has taught him how to write a biography in the right way. While the work

in question is of course possessed of more peculiar interest to the

members of a certain sect, it should be observed that it is of a kind

which should be read with interest by all Christians, and indeed by all

who respect earnestness, philanthropy, and sound goodness.

THE POEMS OF OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. New

York: G. P. Putnam. 1862.

We have often wanted this book--the whole collection of the poems of our

HOLMES in one volume--and welcome it as a most delightful gift. All of

the racy, charming, naive lays of his younger song-days are here; and it

is the highest praise we can award them to say that they are as charming

as ever, and will never lose their beauty.

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

'And some might say, 'Those ruder songs

Had freshness which the new have lost;

To spring the opening leaf belongs,

The chestnut burs await the frost.'

'When those I wrote my locks were brown;

When these I write--ah! well-a-day!

The autumn thistle's silvery down

Is not the purple bloom of May.'

We at least find no frost, no benumbing influence manifested anywhere.

We love the old favorites because they were favorites of old. The

younger reader, who has only of late months learned the 'Chambered

Nautilus,' 'The Deacon's Masterpiece,' or 'Parson Turrel's Legacy,'

will, thirty years hence, recall the sweet flavor of their first taste,

even as we recall the latter years of the blessed rosy decade of the

eighteen hundred and thirties, and, with them, how they were made leafy

and odorant and golden by 'The Katydid Song'--by 'The Dilemma'--by

'L'Imanuel;' or how they were be-merried by the 'Dorchester Giant'--'The

Oysterman'--the--but the book hath its table of contents!

We believe, honestly and earnestly, that the blue and gold, 'dorézure,'

volume before us is the most agreeable, readable, and spirited book of

poetry ever written by an American--it is not worth while to sail into

the cloudy regions of antique or Old World comparison--and that it would

be impossible to select anything in print of the same market value which

would be so acceptable as a gift to so great a number of persons. We

trust, by the way, that this hint will not be lost on all gentlemen or

ladies who play at philop[oe]na, or who are desirous of displaying

refined taste at no great expense on birthday and Christmas occasions.

And we would beg our reader, for his own sake, not to rely on the fact

that he has read many of these lyrics in bygone years, as an excuse for

not providing himself with the new edition. We assure him that he can

have no idea how much better and fresher and fairer they all seem in

company. Something, too, should be said of the excellent full-length,

admirably engraved portrait of Dr. HOLMES, pre-facing the title--the

best likeness of our poet extant, and one which, to use a familiar

though somewhat famished phrase, 'is alone well worth the price of the

volume.'

EDITOR'S TABLE.

THE DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND.

LONDON, _Nov. 1, 1862_,

MY DEAR FRIEND:

I have read Mr. Kirke's celebrated anti-slavery book called _Among the

Pines_, and, so far as published in the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, his

_Merchant's Story_ on the same subject; but I have changed my views on

this question, and so has England. _Antislavery_ was our policy for more

than a quarter of a century to produce a civil war between the North and

the South, and now we adopt _pro slavery_ views to make sure the

dissolution of the Union. That Union was growing too strong, and with

its success the Republican principle too powerful. We are acting in

_self defence_, to save the monarchy and aristocracy of England. The

American States were once our colonies, and they have no right to

destroy us by restoring the Union.

Lord Palmerston was certain we should have had war on the Trent affair,

but Lord Lyons was outwitted by Lincoln. We should have had the war then

as we intended, and given decisive aid to the South. But we are aiding

them now to equip cruisers to destroy American commerce, and furnishing

them arms and munitions of war. They have very little money or credit,

but our Government has a large secret service fund, and our capitalists

and aristocracy are contributing quietly and liberally. It is done by

way of _insurance_, at large rates, on privateers and cargoes.

Confederate bonds are deposited by Mr. Mason, the Minister of the South,

to cover all risks. Some time since I converted all my U. S. stock into

Confederate bonds, which I shall continue to hold, and have invested

£50,000 in this insurance operation, which may pay well.

How we all have wished that Columbus had never discovered America, or

that the continent could be submerged; but all will be made right by the

success of the South.

Mr. Mason, the Confederate Minister, assures me, that the South would

much rather be ruled by England than by the North; that the South are

ready for monarchy and aristocracy; that slavery and aristocracy are

kindred principles; and that the _elite_ (like the F. F. V.'s) of their

slaveholders, would make a splendid nobility. It is his opinion that the

South must have a State religion and proscribe all others. Slavery then,

he says, would be their corner stone in Church and State, and the first

article of their creed would be--_slavery is a divine institution_. He

quoted largely from the Old and New Testaments--from Moses and St. Paul,

to prove the divinity of slavery, and said the sermon on the Mount had

been mistranslated. His argument is cogent to prove that monarchy and

aristocracy should favor slavery as the best means of keeping down, the

working classes, now clamoring in England for the right of suffrage.

This doctrine will soon be broached in Parliament, and finds great favor

in Exeter hall, where a statue will be erected in honor of Jefferson

Davis, _the man who saved England by destroying America!_

If my friend Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe would write a great novel in

favor of Slavery, we would make her a Duchess; and if Mr. Kirke, instead

of such stories as _Among the Pines_, would give us the Bible view of

Slavery, and reconcile whipping and branding slaves to the doctrine 'do

unto others,' &e., he should be made an Earl. We are anxiously awaiting

in England the grand movement which that great and good man ex-President

Buchanan will soon make in favor of the South. England wishes Peace

Commissioners to settle this question, and Mr. Buchanan to be one of

them, on the part of the North, and that truly honest man, Gov. Floyd,

another, on the part of the South--although my own choice would be

Wigfall!

* * * * *

Something must be done to prevent the free acceptance of parole by our

troops. Thousands and thousands 'have taken the word' and thereby

incapacitated themselves from taking further part in the war. Let the

press and the people awake to the infamy which a ready surrender on

parole conditions brings, and we shall soon see the last of it. Let us

continue by commending to all who have yielded themselves up, save in

dire need, the following

SONG OF THE SNEAK.

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

SHAKSPEARE.

I saw the foe advancing,

Says I, 'Boys,' says I.

'This is rather ugly dancing.

Which the general makes us try,

Where the bayonets are glancing,'

Says I, 'boys,' says I.

When the bullets got to dropping,

Says I, 'Boys,'says I,

I wish there were some stopping

These blue beetles as they fly.

And which set a fellow hopping;'

Says I, 'boys,' says I.

And I'd scarcely pulled a trigger,

Says I, 'Boys,' says I,

I 'aint got a mite of vigor,'--

So I skulked and tried to fly,

But was booted by a nigger,

And back I had to shy.

Then the Confed's came before us;

Says I, 'Boys,'says I,

'I guess they're goin' to floor us,

Or to knock us high and dry;'

When they all sang out in chorus--

'Yield or die! yield or die!

'If you yield, we will parole you.'

Then says I, ' Boys,' says I,

'I have no wish to control you;

But, unless you want to die,

The best way to console you,

Is to go parole,' says I;

'When we won't have no more fighting,'

Says I, 'boys,' says I,

'Yet, in our pay delighting,

We can loaf at ease, all day,

And keep clear of guns affrighting

All a feller's nerves,' says I.

Now I blow and bluster bolder,

And at home, 'Boys,' says I,

'I used to be a soldier,

But I was too brave to fly,

And I'm, therefore, a parol-der,

Of the noblest kind,' says I.

Blackwood's Magazine, for September, treated the British public to an

article on Mr. JEFFERSON DAVIS, in which that character is, of course,

exalted to the pinnacle of greatness. Of its fairness and truthfulness,

the following is a good specimen:

'Mr. Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for 75,000 troops to put

down the rebellion. _This_ was the torch that lit up the South, and

rendered subsequent compromise impossible.'

Was it indeed? when there is no fact in history so directly clear and

plain as that secession was a foregone conclusion in the South, from the

moment that the possibility of Lincoln's election was conjectured. We

are told that it was entirely the fault of the North that this

diabolical rebellion burst out! It is always the North that is to blame,

now, with John Bull. But we have more of it:

'Had Mr. Davis's warning voice been listened to in January, we

believe that instead of passing a year and a half of bloodshed,

enormous extravagance and dire calamity, we should have found that

the seceding States would have by this time returned to the shadow

of the 'Star-spangled Banner;' and that an enduring peace would

have ere now been made between the North and the South.'

All our fault, of course! If we had only let them alone--let them

go--they would have taken a frisky turn or two, and then come sweetly

back to unity! Our _Blackwood_ writer lacks something. He wants manhood,

pluck, spirit, common sense, and very common information. He is

deficient in enlarged views of humanity; he cannot comprehend a

tremendous struggle of principles involving the social progress of

thirty millions, half of whose men at least are much more intelligent

and larger hearted than himself. With narrow, petty Tory instinct, he

clings to 'aristocracy' in whatever form it occurs, and instinctively

wars on the masses. The noblest struggle in history--the greatest effort

to advance labor in the scale of social dignity and practical value is

all as naught in his eyes and in those of his clan; they flippantly

ignore all that is noble in this noble war, and repeat, after CARLYLE,

his brutal, beastly joke--that America has long been the dirtiest of

political chimneys, and requires a good burning out. Take care, Master

CARLYLE, that from this burning no sparks are wafted England-ward. You,

too, will some day have a chimney on fire, and when it burns the heat

will be felt through every brick in Britain.

YE NEW YORKE YOUNGE LADYE

Is a peculyar Institution.

Iff there had a been no suche place as Paris, ye New Yorke Younge Ladye

would have invented itt.

As itt is, shee is thankfull thatt shee hathe been sparyed ye trouble of

having that towne builte. For itt is verie usefull to hir; sendying her

bonetes, robes, shoos, bootees, parasoletts, skirtes, pettycoates, and

chemi--cal preparations--suche as LUBIN hys violette and vitivert;

RIMMEL, hys bandoline; PIVER hys _Nohiba de la Mecque_; MAUGENET and

CONDRAYE, their _savon imperiale;_ MONPELAS hys _eau de toilette_, wyth

othir lyttle thinges too numerouse to mentyon. BOIVIN or JOUVIN, or some

other _vin_, hath long since hadd hir hande--in plaster of Paris--from

which he makyth hir gloves, whych are smuggled home unto hir--I wyll not

saye howe. But Ive hearde in mye tyme of a state dispatch wyth a bigg

redd seale, whych dyd containe four dozen paire of number sixe, ladye's

syze.

Whan thatt shee is arayed in these gaye clothynges and other thynges she

hathe verament a fyne style suche as yee can see none fyner not in ye

Rue Helder ittself. And att a balle shee wereth splendyd jewels, so that

oft-tymes yee wold veralye think she were ye image of Notre Dame de

Loretto wyth all hir braverye. Wyth suche a one dyd I fall yn love at a

hopp at Neweporte--yea, even into a _moulte graunte passion de haulte

degréz_, and wolde gladlie have marryd hir, hadd shee not in frennshe

said '_Per ma fey, beau Sire_, I wyll gladlie bee engagyd to ye, for itt

is ye fashion to bee betrothed, but do not talke of marryage, since I

woulde not have folks thinke I am of age to marrye!' Ah, Sainte Marye!

butt shee was a bricke!

'About her necke a flowyre of fresh devise,

Wyth rubies set that lusty were to sene,

And she in gown was light and summer-wise,

Shapen full--the colour was of grene,

With aureat sent about her sides clene,

With divers stones, precious and rich;

Thus was she 'rayed, yet saw I ne'er her lich.'

Ye New Yorke Younge Ladye hath many friendes; ye can not speake of any

one in societye who is not deare untoe her, or of any notable man of any

figure who hath not been introduced to her. Shee entertayneth in a

partye seven gentyll men at ones--yea eight or nine will gathir around

hir, and when they goe they will all declare that they have had plentye

to talk. Shee hath a whole librarye of photograph albumes; yett her crye

is 'Give! give!' and, lo! they are given; for itt is a good

advertisement to bee in her bookes, and ye younge men know itt. So thatt

it sometimes cometh to pass, that when one asketh 'Didd ye ever meet Mr.

So-and-soe in societye?' ye answer wyll be: 'Yea--I saw him lately in

JOSEPHINE HOOPES her album. So thatt under her care ye _Carte de Vysite_

hath become a consolidatyng force of goode societie.

Thys younge ladye is nott idle. Evil befall hym who callyth her a mere

lylye of ye vallie. For shee oftetymes goeth among ye poore; yea,

teacheth in ragged schooles; scoldeth ye bone-pickers' children in

German, and ye hand-organ man his olyve-colored whelpes in Italyan;

seweth for ye armye; vysiteth the starvynge familye of which ye

home-missionarye hath told her; and makyth up a class for ye poore

little Swiss governesse oute of employe. Sometymes shee marryeth an

officer, who hathe not much moneye, and then goeth thro' campe life with

merrye hearte; or itt may be thatt shee weddeth a clergieman--for, all

of thys have I known ye Fifth Avenue belle to do; and I veralye coulde

nott see that shee dyd not make as goode a wyfe as anie other woman.

Ye New Yorke Younge Ladye seldom seeth ye gentlymen save by gas-lighte.

For it is true thatt when she is lazye shee getteth not up to breakfast

so earlye as her Pa and her Brother; or, if shee be converted to ye

health-doctrine, she hath coffee and gooeth out ryding before them, and

theye departe meanwhiles to their offyces or stores, whence they returne

not tyll dynnere in ye eveninge. At noon she giveth--or goeth out

untoe--lunche with other ladyes, and collecteth all ye newes of ye day,

and displayeth her fashion abilities and feedeth well; whense itt cometh

that shee eteth verie little at hir dynnere, and ye strangere who is

wythin her gates, and knoweth nott of ye lunchceone, mervayleth gretlye

at her slendere diet. Butt verylye shee hathe oftetymes a fyrste-rate

tyme at luncheon, and no mystake.

In wyntere she skateth on ye Centrall Ponde righte splendidlie, for

shee is _faste_ of hir nature, albeit shee shunneth the word as being

what ye younge menne call 'Bowerye.' Likewyse shee rideth in sleighs

unto Highe Bridge, and hath a partycularlie nyce tyme wyth hir beau, or

anie other man who is _comme yl faut_. On Sundaye mornynges itt is a

fayre sighte to see her going to and fro churche in a _chapeau de Paris

de la dernyère agonie_, bearyng a _parasolett a la ripp snap mettez-la

encore debout_ style; and whych shee sayes is like a _homme blasé_,

because it is Used Upp. Sundaie afternoon yee may find her in ye

Sixteenth or Twentie-eighth strete Catholic churches, lystening to ye

superbe music and wyshing herselfe an angell. For shee is verie fonde of

musicke (especiallie vocale from a handsome Don Juan tenor-io), and

often singeth sweetlye hirself; and, _per ma fey_, I knowe of one whose

_Te daro un baccio d'amore_ is very killynge indede.

'Wel can she syng and lustely,

None half so well and semely,

And coude make in song such refraining,

It sate her wonder well to singe;

Her voice full clere was and full swete, * *

Her eyen gay and glad also--

That laughden aye in her semblaunt,

First on the mouth by covenant--

I wote no lady so liking.'

And soe shee goeth on thro' lyfe, a large-heartyd, good-natured

soule--stylish to beholde; jollie to talke wyth; greatlye abusyd by ye

six-penny novelists, all of whom are delyghted when shee condescendes to

smile on them; and greatlye admyred in Paris, where shee oftetimes

out-Frensheth ye Frennsh themselves. As for mee, I doe avowe that I

adore her, for as muche as shee is a noble bricke, and, as DAN LYDGATE

sayth, 'a whole teeme, whyppe and alle, wyth a Dalmatian coache-dog

under ye axle.' And thatt shee may go itt like a Countesse whyle shee is

younge, and a Duchesse whenn shee is olde, is ye hearte's prayer of--

CLERKE NICHOLAS.

Does our reader know Loring's in Boston? It is a place of literary

meeting, where one sees those who Athenianize it--poets, philosophers,

ministers, but, above all, the pretty girls who read, and the _jeunesse

dorée_ who don't--but go there to look at the damsels who do. Why don't

New York start a library as alluring as LORING'S?

'How do you get books from LORING'S?' asked a stranger lately of one of

the damsels in question.

'By Hiring,' was the reply.

It _was_ a 'goak,' although the querist didn't see it.

ILLINOIS, _Aug. ----_

THE CONTINENTAL hath many correspondents--among the 'welcomest' of whom

we class the one who speaks as followeth from the far West. We have many

a good friend and hearty _bon compagnon_ in that same West:

DEAR CONTINENTAL: 'When you have found a day to be idle, be idle for a

day'--a charming saying for the indolent, which WILLIS prefixes to one

of his earlier poems, crediting it to a volume of Chinese proverbs; yet,

despite this, I am by no means sure as to its origin, for I suspect it

is a trick of the trade for authors to charge all absurdities they are

ashamed to own, and all fantastic vagaries they are too grave to

acknowledge, to the Celestials, who, we are told, go to battle a fan in

one hand and an umbrella in the other (a very sensible way too, with an

occasional mint julip this warm weather); but, however all that may be,

I adopt the saying; and, lazily resting my head, propose, pen in hand,

to scratch down for you a chapter of anecdotes. I would rather sit near

you, O MEISTER KARL, this sunny day of the waning June, in some forest

nook; and when you had grown weary of talking (not I of listening) and

had lit your old time meerschaum, I would tell you the stories, and you

might repeat such as amused you to your readers. The first was suggested

to me by your Jacksonville correspondent, in the just come July number.

'I, too, am an 'Athenian:'' and my story of a citizen of that

be-colleged town is most authentic. The Rev. Mr. S----, former principal

of the 'mill,' as certain profane students were wont to name the

Seminary, wherein (did you believe the exhibition tickets) our

'daughters' were ground into 'corner-stones' polished after the

'similitude of a palace,' was a man of unusually modest humility, and

somewhat absent-minded.

There came to the school, at commencement (no--hold on!--a young student

with three hairs on each lip, and about as many ideas in his brains, has

told me that was not the word for the 'Anniversary day' of a female

school--O scion of the male school, I submit). It was, then, the

'anniversary of 'the mill.'' A clergyman from abroad, of superior

abilities, was expected to address the graduating class. Row upon row

of white-robed maidens smiled in sly flirtation upon rows of admiring

eyes in the audience below. Grave school-trustees, ponderous-browed

lawyers, the united clergy (the aforesaid Athens boasts some fifteen

churches), and last, but not least, the professors and the 'Prex' of the

college, par excellence (for there are some half dozen 'digs' or

dignitaries so named in the town), sat in a body near the

stage--'invited guests.' Songs were sung--the fleeting joys of earth,

the delights of study, the beauty of flowers, the excellence of wisdom,

and kindred themes discoursed upon by low-voiced essayists, till the

valedictory came; but with Mr. S----, meanwhile, all went _not_ merry as

a marriage bell: the expected orator came not, and was sought for in

vain; the valedictorian-ess ceased; the parting song was sung; an

expectant hum rose from the audience; the blue-ribboned diplomas waited

in a wreath of roses. At last, embarrassed and perplexed, the preceptor

rose. 'Young ladies,' he began, 'I had expected to see here,' and his

glance wandered over the picture-studded, asparagus-wreathed hall, till

it rested quietly on the aforementioned body of village

dignitaries--then he continued: 'I expected to-day an individual _more

competent than myself_ to address to you these parting words, but (with

a last anxious glance at the Faculty) _that_ individual _I_ do _not_ now

behold.'

Until afterward admonished by his better half, Mr. S---- was unconscious

of his arrogance, and of the cause of the ill-concealed mirth of the

audience.

Rather verbose that anecdote; but, pardon something to the memories of

olden times.

It was the same preceptor who, a member of the graduating class having

made all her arrangements beforehand, announced, after the usual

distribution of prizes, that the highest ever bestowed on a similar

occasion was now to be awarded, for diligence and good deportment, to

Miss H---- H----; whereupon, in the fewest words possible, he performed

the marriage ceremony, and gave her--a husband. Encouraging to the

juniors, was it not?

A friend of mine, questioning the other day a small boy as to his home

playmates and amusements, asked him of the number and age of the

children of a neighbor, at whose house there was, unknown to her, a bran

new baby. 'Oh,' answered the five year old, with some scorn,'she hasn't

got but two, one of 'em's 'bout as big as me, and the other--the other's

on'y jest begun.'

A wee little boy, who had a great habit of saying he was frightened at

everything, was one day walking with me in the garden, and clung to me

suddenly, saying, 'I'se frightened of that sing,' and, looking down, I

saw a caterpillar near his foot.

'Oh, no,' said I, reassuringly and somewhat reprovingly, 'Georgie's not

frightened at _such a little thing_!' Five minutes after, we were

sitting on the doorsteps, and, wearing a low-necked dress, I felt on my

shoulder some stirring creature; it was a caterpillar, and, with the

inevitable privileged feminine screech on such occasions, I dashed it

off; then, turning, I met the usually grave gray eyes kindling with

mischievous triumph: '_Aunty's_ frightened of a little sing,' says

Georgie, with triumphant emphasis on the 'Aunty.'

Another little rogue, a black-eyed 'possible president' of course, when

between two and three years, was opening and shutting a door, amusing

himself as he watched the sunshine come and go on the walls of the

sitting room, streaming through the lattice of a porch beyond.

Presently, while holding the door open, a cloud floated over the sun.

'Aunty, aunty,' cried he, as surprised as he was earnest, 'somebody's

shutting door up in the sky.'

I was amused, not long ago, at a passage in the letter of an eldest

daughter, eight years old, to her absent father: the womanly dignity of

her station and the child's sense of justice quite stifled any tendency

to sympathetic remarks. 'Johnny,' she wrote, 'has not been very bad,

neither can I say he has been very good; he ran away from nurse twice,

and once from mamma, who of course did with him _as he deserved_.'

A correspondent of mine in the army (a whilom contributor of yours, by

the way) writes me this:

'After the Corinthian 'skedadle' (the demi-savans (I don't mean

Napoleon's in Egypt, but the provinvial editors--in some cases it

amounts to the same thing) having proved the word to be Greek, I suppose

it is slang no longer), the Tenth Illinois regiment (Dick Wolcott, you

know) camped a few miles to the northward, near the woods; and hasty but

shady structures were soon reared in front of the officers' tents; but

one morning there arose a great wind, and the 'arboresque' screens

became rapidly as _non est_ as Jonah's gourd. A group of uniforms stood

watching the flying branches. 'Boys,' said Captain M., gravely, as

somewhat ruefully his eye follows the vanishing shelter of his own door,

'that's evidently a left bower.' 'The Captain,' MEERSCHAUM adds, 'is

rapidly convalescing.' I fancy this enough for one letter.

_Two days later._--

I have been keeping these anecdotes for you for some time, and

should have sent them earlier; now--it seems almost cruel to laugh

since the dark days in Virginia, or to write frivolous nonsense.

Yet, I cannot work; and before these lines reach your readers (if

they ever do) the sky will, I hope, be clear again, and the regrets

I am tempted to utter would be as out of tune as the exultant

predictions of a week ago seem now. Far away to the horizon stretch

the golden fields of ripened grain; the abundant harvest is at

hand: yet a little while ago we heard dismal laments of blighting

rains and hostile insects; and many faithless ones ploughed up

their verdant wheatfields in despair. May the harvest of a nation's

victory come thus, teaching the incredulous faith in the

right--but, ah! the lengthened struggle is what I dread, not the

end--that cannot fail us.

I wrote you a special, all-to-yourself letter, not long since,

which I hope you will have answered before this comes to you. With

a thousand kindly wishes, Ever your's--A. W. C.

Yet one page more. Am I not irrepressible? I send you a rhymed fancy. If

it has any significance you will, I know, give it place; if not, not. I

will be sincerely acquiescent.

A BRIDAL.

I ride along the lonely sands,

Where once we rode with clasping hands.

The wild waves sob upon the beach,

As mournful as love's parting speech.

Those cruel waves, close-clasped they hold

My lost love, with his locks of gold.

Here, while the wind blew from the south,

He kissed me with his tender mouth.

Oh, sun of hope, in dark eclipse!

Oh, aching heart, and unkissed lips!

On, on I ride, faster, in vain,

I cannot hush the cry of pain

In my sick soul. But, hark! how clear

That voice of voices fills my ear!

'Why waitest thou beside the sea?

Canst thou not die, and come to me?'

Soul-king, I come! Alas! my need

Was great. Press on, my faithful steed.

Deep, deep into the sea I ride:

There my love's hero waits his bride.

The longing billows of the sea

With happy welcome smile to me.

They touch my foot, they reach my knee:

Darling! they draw me thus to thee.

They kiss thy picture on my heart;

Love of my life! no more we part.

The rushing waters still my breath:

Oh! have we dared to fear thee, Death?

EBENEZER STIBBS died, near Lewisburg, O., a martyr to his country's

cause, October 14th, 1862, in the seventy-first year of his age. His

death was a violent one, though he fell not upon the field of strife;

for many of the soldiers of our country have never been enrolled, never

promoted, never praised for their gallantry, but, far away from the

tented field, in their lonely homes, are going down to their graves

without sound of drum or salute of musket, unnoticed and unknown.

And this brave old man was one of them. Residing for a number of years

on a farm with his son, he had long been excused, on account of the

infirmities of age, from active service on the farm, and even from the

numerous little tasks about the house and barn involved in the care of

the family and the stock. His son was drafted, and now, 'who shall look

after things about the place?' 'Go,' said the brave old hero, 'and serve

your country, and I'll attend to matters here.'

He set about the work in good heart, and seemed likely to succeed

admirably; but one day, while pushing some hay over the edge of the mow,

he lost his balance, plunged forward, falling a distance of some ten or

twelve feet, and, striking his head on the hard threshing floor, was so

stunned as to become entirely insensible. A member of the household soon

after entered the barn and found him bleeding and helpless. Medical aid

was immediately summoned, but he survived his injuries only a couple of

hours, and died without speaking a word. When this dreadful war shall

have ended, and tall white columns shall spring up like an alabaster

forest all over the land, to commemorate the glories of the departed

brave, let one, at least, of the noble shafts, without legend or

inscription, stand as the representative of those who have fallen in

obscurity, like the soldiers cut off in the forest, unnoticed and

unknown.

* * * * *

A Buckeye correspondent sends us the following, which is too good to

keep:

THE DEACON AND HIS SON.

Some years agone, old Deacon S---- kept a corner grocery in the village

of B----. Deacon S---- had a son, who officiated in said grocery. Deacon

S---- professed to be very pious--so did Deacon S.'s son.

Whether the Deacon and his son were what they professed to be, I will

leave the reader to judge from the following conversation, which took

place between them, one Saturday night, just before closing the store:

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'Dit you charge Mr. T---- mit te ham?'

'Yes, father.'

'Vell, so dit I.'

A pause.

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'You had petter charge him again, so you won't forget him.'

'Yes, father.

Another pause.

'Jacob!'

'Sir?'

'Now you can water te vinegar, sand te sugar, and close te store, un den

we vill haf family worship, un go ter ped!'

'Yes, father.'

* * * * *

'Law is,' to use the frequent phrase of a Gothamite contemporary, 'a

cu'ros thing;' and not the least curious phase which it presents is the

difference between what people say before juries and what they _think_;

as is fully illustrated in the following, by FRANK HACKETT:

'GRACCHUS,' as the town called him, was a broken-down lawyer, who, as he

got old, had prostituted the talents of his early days to the meanest

kind of pettifogging and rascality. Everybody did their best to keep out

of his clutches, and his 'make up' was seedy enough; yet he managed to

keep in court half a dozen 'cranky suits,' in which, to be sure, he

figured as a party himself, on one side or the other. The circumstances

of one of them, which have just come to our memory, are perhaps worth

jotting down:

For some quarters, GRACCHUS had not paid any rent, and his landlord made

repeated requests of him to move out. Even a promise to cancel all

arrears would not make him stir. A writ of ejectment would have

delighted this 'legal spider;' but Mr. R. knew 'when he was well off,'

and refused to resort to that. ' My dear sir, you _must_ go,' said he

one day, annoyed at the fellow's obstinacy; 'I have a man coming in

right away, who will pay me a good tenant's rent, and I am going to have

the office repaired for him. So just make up your mind to quit this

afternoon.'

As Mr. R. turned to go out, he examined the window nearest him, and

poked his cane through the decayed sash and crumbling glass in two or

three places, with the remark: 'A pretty condition this for a business

man's office to be in!' Nobody was surprised to hear that evening that a

suit had been brought against Mr. R. for damages in trespass.

Mr. R.'s counsel told him that the best thing he could do would be to go

to trial as soon as possible, and if he got out of it with a small sum

for damages and no further annoyance, he would be lucky. GRACCHUS had

secured 'Squire SWEET to argue the case to the jury--probably 'on

shares.' To hear SWEET 'warm up' before the panel, you would have sworn

that the 'palladium of justice' and the other 'fixtures' had their

salvation staked on the success of his client. And if there was anything

he thought himself competent to 'operate largely' on, it was a damage

suit. On this occasion, the vivid picture he drew of an unwarrantable

intrusion upon this aged and indefatigable servant of the public, the

injury inflicted upon his 'valuable health,' and his generous conduct in

contenting himself with the paltry sum of eighty dollars by way of

damages, was to be set down as the 'Squire's best effort.

The jury went out just as the court was on the point of adjournment, and

received orders to seal up their verdict for the morning. Each man had

to 'chalk' what in his judgment was a sufficient sum for damages. They

ranged all along in the neighborhood of three or four dollars, except

one or two individuals, who had believed the whole of the plaintiff's

complaint, and went in for something more than nominal damages. One in

particular, who always swore by SWEET, aimed so high that the average

came above the $13.33 that was necessary to carry costs.

After they had determined upon a verdict, our high-priced friend, with

one or two others, went around to the hotel to retire for the night. As

they went in, the clerk of the court met them with a pack of cards in

his hands, with which a party had just finished playing whist. 'It

didn't take us half so long to agree on that case. SWEET and the rest of

us marked around on that verdict, just before we finished the last game,

and we made it out--two dollars and twenty-five cents.' 'The d---- you

did,' replied our astonished friend. 'Why, how much did 'Squire SWEET

mark, himself?' 'Uncommon high. He said he thought five dollars was

about the fair thing.' '_Five dollars!_' gasped the juryman; 'Squire

SWEET put down only _five dollars_, when he went and told the jury that

eighty dollars wasn't nothin' to it. Look a-here, can't I go back and

change that figure of mine, afore the verdict comes in?'

It was decided pretty unanimously that--he _couldn't_.

* * * * *

Our readers will recall the author of the following poem, as a writer

who has more than once given us poems indicating much refinement of

taste, based on sound old English scholarship:

NO CROSS, NO CROWN.

BY HENRY DUMARS.

No mortal yet e'er gained the golden crown

Who did not in his search the cross upbear;

For heaven he need entertain no care

Who fears to sinfulness the Devil's frown,

And lays, if once espoused, his burdens down,

Because so many of his followers have no burden there.

And thus it is so many are awrong;

'Tis easier, they deem, the crown to gain

With limbs at will and shoulders free from pain,

Than bearing this great burden still along:

Besides, will not my brothers be among

The crowned ere I, unless I free my loins again?

Columbia doth seek the crown,--and sooth

No nation of the earth deserves it more;

But, ah! she is unwise as lands before

In hoping thus, what time she quits the Truth,

And showing unto enemies more ruth

Than even God doth show to us, weak worldlings sore.

Where once against the heavens men rebelled,

And forced the Prince of Peace to deadly war,

Did not He spread a deluge deep and far,

Not sweeping them alone, but all they held?

When they His awful earnestness beheld,

Were not they penitent, though vain, as bad sons are?

And why should we but lighten through a spell

These murderous madmen in our country here,

Their craziness to come or far or near

Anew, as more they learn of prompting hell?

Must not we now the CAUSE forever quell,

As Hercules did one time slay a source of fear?

If Truth is mighty, 'tis not so alone;

There's more availability in Error;

That end's not gained that's gained alone With terror:

The way of Right but leadeth to the crown;

Who conquer _perfectly_, peace-seed have sown;

Reform's remaining ill usurps at last the furrow.

* * * * *

A Correspondent, who is interested in education and not uninterested in

humanity, sends us the following _bona fide_ advertisement, specifying

the qualifications and accomplishments expected from the lady teachers

of a certain Western community:

'When employing a lady as teacher in our Public Schools, we desire,

in addition to a thorough education, to secure the following

qualifications;

'1st. Ease of address, modest and attractive personal appearance,

and habits of neatness and order.

'2d. A uniformly kind and generous disposition, entire

self-control, with unyielding perseverance and energy.

'3d. A spirit of concession and adaptability, that will enable her

to conform to the general rules and regulations of the schools, and

to harmonize her plans and efforts with those of the other

teachers.

'4th. A moral and religious character, that will cause her to feel

the full responsibility of her position, and make her guard with a

watchful eye the habits and principles of the children under her

charge.

'5th. Such dignity of person and manners as will secure the

deference of pupils, and the respect and confidence of parents. A

freedom, both from girlish frivolities, and old-maidish crabbedness

and prudery.

'6th. Correct social habits, a well cultivated literary taste, and

a mind richly stored with general information.