No words are fitter for our ears at this tumultuous period than are

these, when the passions of our countrymen, North and South, are excited

with the bitterest animosity, and when the discordant cries of party

faction at the North are threatening a desolation worse than that of

contending armies. In considering, then, our condition, it behooves us

first, to 'take our latitude, and ascertain where we now are,'--not as a

section or a party, but as a nation and a people. Let us avail ourselves

of that distant and dim glimmer in the heavens which even now is looked

upon by the sanguine as the promise of peace, and in its light survey

our dangers and nerve ourselves to our duties. We behold, then, a

people, bound together by the ties of a common interest, namely,

national prosperity and renown, and in possession of a land more favored

by natural elements of advantage than any other on the face of the

globe. We see them standing up in the ranks of hostile resistance each

to each, the one great and glorious army fighting for the restoration of

a nation once the envy of the world; the other great and glorious army

equally ardent and valorous in behalf of a separation of that territory

in which they are taught to believe we cannot hold together in peace and

amity. Both armies and people are evincing in their very warfare the

elements of character which heretofore distinguished us as a nation, and

are employing the very means for each other's destruction which were of

late the principles of action which rendered us in the highest degree a

nation worthy of respect at home and admiration abroad. It is not the

purpose of this paper to go back to causes or to relate the subsequent

events which have placed us where we are. These causes and events are

well known to us and to the world. But here we now stand, with this

fratricidal war increased to the most alarming proportions, and with,

results but partially developed. Here we of the North stand, with a

still invincible army, loyal to the cause nearest to the heart of every

patriot, and confident in the ability to withstand and overcome the

machinations of the enemy. Here, too, we--ay, _we_ of the South stand,

bound together in a common aim, an ardent hope, and a proclaimed and

omnipotent impulse to action. _This is the only proper view to take of

the case_--to regard our opponents as we regard ourselves, and to give

due credit where credit is due for valor, for motives, and for

principles of action. The North believes itself to be engaged in a

strife forced upon it by blinded prejudice and evil passion, and fights

for that which, if not worthy of fighting, ay, and dying for, is unfit

to live for, namely, national integrity. The South claims, little as we

can understand it, the same ground for rising against the land they had

sworn to protect, and whose fathers died with our fathers to create. We

at the North would have been pusillanimous and weak indeed had we

silently submitted to that which is in our view against every principle

of national right and renown. To have acted otherwise would have been to

bring down upon our heads the scorn and contempt of our enemies and of

every foreign power, from the strongest oligarchy to the most benevolent

form of monarchical government. Hence it is that while certain foreign

powers have not failed to improve the opportunity of our weakness, as a

divided nation, to insult and sneer, to preach peace with dishonor, and

advocate separation, which they know to be but another word for

humiliation, yet have they not failed to see and been forced to confess

that, divided as we are, we have shown inherent greatness and power,

_which, united, would be a degree of national superiority which might

well defy the world_. Nothing is more striking at this moment than this

great fact, and no topic is more worthy of the serious consideration of

our countrymen, North and South, than this. No time is fitter than now

to suggest the subject, and to see in it matter which is pregnant with

hopes for our future. If nothing but this great truth had been developed

by the war--this truth, bold, naked, defiant as it is, _is worth the

war_--worth all its cost of noble lives, of sacred blood, of yet

uncounted treasure. We stand before the world this day divided by the

fearful conflict, with malignant hate lighting the fires of either camp,

and with hands reeking in fraternal blood--with both sections of our

land more or less afflicted--with credit impaired, with the scoff and

jeers of nations ringing in our ears--we stand losers of almost every

thing but our individual self-respect, which has inspired both foes with

the ardor and courage born within us as Americans. This it is that

leaves us unshorn of our strength; this it is that enables us in this

very day of trial and adversity to present to the world the undeniable

fact that we have within us--not as Northerners, not as Southerners,

_but as Americans_--the elements of innate will and physical power,

which makes the scale of valor hang almost with an even beam, and

foretells us, with words which we cannot but hear--and which would to

God we might heed!--that, united, we can rear up on this beautiful and

bountiful land a temple of political, social, and commercial prosperity,

more glorious than that which entered into the dreams and aspirations of

the fathers who founded it.

Alas! that the contemplation of so worthy a theme is marred by the 'ifs'

and 'buts' of controversial strife. Alas! that we cannot depress the

sectional opposing interests which are but secondary to a condition of

political consolidation, and elevate above these distracting and

isolated evils, the great and eternal principle, Strength as it alone

exists in Unity. Alas! that with the beam of suicidal measures we blind

the eye political, because, forsooth, the motes of individual or local

injuries afflict, as they afflict _all_ human forms of government.

The great evil, North and South, before the war, during the war, and

now, is the want of political charity--that charity which, like its

moral prototype, 'suffereth long and is kind.' We the people, North and

South, have been and are unwilling to grant to the other people and

States the right to think, speak, and urge their own opinions--the very

right which each insists upon claiming for itself. It has been held

'dangerous' to discuss questions which, though in one sense pertaining

only to particular States, nevertheless bear upon the whole country. It

has been considered 'heresy' to urge with rhetoric and declamation, even

in our halls of Congress, certain principles for and against Slavery,

for example, lest mischief result from the agitation of those topics.

But in such remonstrance we have forgotten that the very principle of

democratic institutions involves the right of all men to think and act,

under the law, as each pleases. We have also forgotten that any subject

which will not bear discussion and political consideration must be

dangerous _in itself_, and pregnant with weakness, if not evil. There is

no harm in discussing questions upon which hang vital principles; for if

there exists on the one side strength and justice, all arguments on the

other side can do it no injury. With regard to Slavery, one of the

'causes' or 'occasions' of this unhappy war, it may be said that the

North owes much to the South which it has never paid, in a true and

kindly appreciation of the difficulties which have ever surrounded the

institutions of the latter. But let us not forget that one reason why

this debt has not been paid is because the South owes the North its

value received, by not being willing to admit in the other's behalf the

motives which underlay the efforts which have been made by the earnest,

or so-called 'radical' men, who have opposed the institution of slavery.

Pure misunderstanding of motive, pure lack of political as well as moral

charity, has been wanting between the men of the North who opposed, and

the men of the South who maintained the extension of slavery. Had each

understood the other better, it is probable that the character of each

would have assumed the following proportions: The slaveholder of the

South, inheriting from generations back a system of servitude which even

ancient history supported and defended, and which he in his inmost heart

believes to be beneficial to the slave not less than the master, regards

himself as violating no law of God or man in receiving from this

inferior race or grade of men the labor of their hands, and the right to

their control, while they draw from him the necessary physical support

and protection which it is in his belief his bounden duty to give. The

planter, a gentleman educated and a Christian, with the fear of God

before his eyes, believes this--the belief was born in him and dies in

him, and he is conscientiously faithful in carrying out the principles

of his faith. I speak now of no exceptional, but of general cases,

instancing only the representative of the highest class of Southern men.

Is it to be wondered at that such a man, looking from _his_ point of

vision, should regard with suspicion and distrust the efforts of those

who sought to abolish even by gradual means the apparent sources of his

prosperity? Is it remarkable that he should regard as his enemy the man

who preaches against and denounces as criminal the very system in which

he trusts his social and political safety? He will not regard that

apparent enemy what at heart and soul he really is, namely, a man as

pure and devout, as well meaning and conscientious as himself. The man

whom he scoffs at as a 'radical,' an 'abolitionist,' and a 'fanatic,' by

education and intuition believes in his very soul that the holding of

men in bondage, forcing from them involuntary labor, and the

consequences thereof, are pregnant with moral and political ruin and

decay. The system, not the men, is offensive to his eyes. Is he to blame

for this opinion, provided it be well founded in his mind? Admit it

eroneous in logic, still, if he believes it, is he to be condemned for

holding the belief, and would he not be contemptible in his own eyes if

he feared to express the moral convictions of his soul? The error of

both has been that both are uncharitable--both unwilling to allow the

right of opinion and freedom of debate on what both, as American

citizens, hold to be vital principles, dependent upon constitutional

provisions; the one claiming Slavery as the 'corner stone of political

freedom,' the other as the stumbling block in the way of its

advancement. This unwillingness to appreciate the motives of opposing

minds led at last one section of our beloved country to an unwillingness

to recognize the right of election, and, worse than all, an

unwillingness to abide by the results of that election. When that

principle--submission to the will of the majority--was overthrown, then,

indeed, did the pillars of our national temple tremble, and the seat of

our national power rock in its foundation.

And now a word in connection with this same principle of submission, as

applicable to the people of the North in our present emergency. In

accordance with the plan adopted by the founders of our Government, and

practically illustrated in the election of George Washington and his

successors, the people by a plurality of votes elected to office and

placed at the head of our political system as its highest authority and

ruler, the present Chief Magistrate. From the day of his acknowledged

election, party politics settled into the calm of acquiescence, and all

loyal and true States and men bowed to the arbitrament of the ballot

box. That man, Abraham Lincoln, instantly became invested with the

potential right of rule under the Constitution, and the great principle

of constitutional liberty in his election and elevation stood justified.

It mattered not then, nor matters it now, to us, what may be individual

opinion of his merits or demerits, his ability or his disability. There

he is, not as a private citizen, but as the head of our Government: his

individuality is lost in his official embodiment. This principle being

acknowledged, and party opinion being buried, in theory at least, at the

foot of the altar of the Government _de facto_, whence is it that at

this time creeps into our council chambers, our political cliques, our

social haunts, our market places, ay, our most sacred tabernacles--a

spirit adverse to the principles for which we are fighting, laboring

for, and dying for? Let us--a people anxious for peace on honorable

grounds, anxious for a Union which no rash hand shall ever again attempt

to destroy--look, with a moment's calm reflection, at this alarming

evil.

It is very evident to most men that, in spite of temporary defeats and

an unexpected prolongation of the war, the loyal States hold

unquestionably the preponderance of power. Nothing but armed

intervention from abroad can now affect even temporarily this

preponderance. As events and purposes are seen more clearly through the

smoke of the battle fields by the ever-watchful eyes of Europe, armed

intervention becomes less and less a matter of probability. The hopes of

an honorable peace, therefore, hang upon the increase and continuance of

this military preponderance. With the spirit of determination evinced by

both combatants, the unflinching valor of both armies, and with the

unquestioned resources and ability to hold out of the North, it appears

evident that the strife for mastery will in time terminate in favor of

the loyal States. There is but one undermining influence which can

defeat this end, and still further prolong the war, or, what is worse,

plunge the North into the irretrievable disaster of internal

conflict--and that undermining influence is _dissension among

ourselves_. Such a consummation would bring joy to the hearts of our

enemies and lend them the first ray of real hope that ultimate

separation will be their purchased peace. We will not here draw a

picture of that fallacious peace, that suicidal gap, whose festering

political sore would breed misery and ruin, not only for ourselves, but

for our posterity, for ages to come. But let us be warned in time. Even

now the insidious movement of dissension is hailed with satisfaction and

delight in the council meetings at Richmond, and no effort will be

spared to aid its devastating progress. False rumors will be raised on

the slightest and most insignificant grounds. Trivial mistakes and

blunders in the cabinet and the field will be magnified; facts

distorted, and the flame be blown by corrupting influences abroad and

at home, in the hopes--let them be vain hopes--that we the people will

be diverted from the great cause we have most at heart into side issues

and sectional distrust. And why? Because more powerful than serried

hosts and open warfare is the poison of sedition and conspiracy that is

thrown into the cup of domestic peace and confidence--more fatal than

the ravages of the battle field is that of the worm that creeps slowly

and surely--weakening, as it works, the foundations of the edifice in

which we dwell unsuspicious of evil. Is it astonishing that they, the

enemies of our common weal, should rejoice in these signs of incipient

weakness, or fail to resort to any expedient whereby our strength as a

united and loyal people can be made less? Have they not shown themselves

capable and ready to avail themselves of every weakness in our counsels

and in the field? Would not we do the same did we perceive distrust and

dissatisfaction presenting through the mailed armor of our opponents a

vulnerable point for attack? Then blame them not with muttered

imprecations, but look--ay, look to ourselves. The shape of this

undermining influence is political dissension at a period when the name

of 'party' ought to be obliterated from the people's creed. Let opinion

on measures and men have full and unrestricted sway, so far as these

opinions may silently work under the banner of the one great cause of

self-preservation; but let them not interfere with the prosecution of

the efforts of the Government, whether State or national, to prosecute

this holy and patriotic war in defence of the principles which created

and are to keep us a united nation. Let us not tempt the strength of the

ice that covers the waters of political and partisan problems, while we

have enough to do to protect and cover the solid ground already in our

possession. The President of the United States, be he who or what he

may--think he how or what he will, enact he what he chooses--is, let us

remember, the corner stone of our political liberty. The Constitution is

a piece of parchment--sacred and to be revered--but it is, in its

outward presentment, material and inactive. The _spirit_ of the

Constitution is intangible and ideal, its interpretation alone is its

vitality. We the people--through equally material morsels of paper

entitled votes--raise the spirit of the Constitution by placing in the

halls of Congress the interpreters of that Constitution, over whom and

above all sits the Chief Magistrate, who, once endowed by us with power,

retains and sways it until another, by the same process, carries out at

our will the same eventualities. Our part as electors and adjudicators

is done, and it ill becomes us to weaken or hold up to the ridicule of

the world the power therein invested, by questions as to the President's

'right' or 'power' or 'ability' to enact this measure or that.

Away then with the unseemly cry of 'the Constitution as it is,' 'the

Union at it was,' the 'expediency' or 'non-expediency' of employing the

war power, the interference or the non-interference of the man and the

men established by us to represent us with the military leaders, the

finances, or the thousand and one implements of administration, _which

they are bound to employ_, not as we, but as they, holding our powers of

attorney for a specified and legalized period, in their human wisdom

deem best for the common good of the land. Let us have faith in the

motives and intentions of our political administration, or if we have

lost our faith, let us submit--patiently and with accord. Above all, at

a period like this, when the minds of the best men and the truest are

oppressed with a sense of the injustice with which a portion of our

countrymen regard us, it most behooves us to keep our social and

political ranks closed and in order, subject to the will of that

commander, disobedience to which is infamy and ruin. No matter with

what diversity of tongues and opinions we pursue our individual

avocations and aims, we are all pilgrims pressing forward like the

followers of Mohammed to the Kebla stone of _our_ faith--Peace founded

on Union.

What if a party clique utters sentiments adverse to our own on the never

ceasing topic of political policy? Is it not the expression of a mind or

a hundred minds forming a portion of the great body politic, of which we

ourselves are a part, and are they not entitled to their opinion and

modes of expressing it, providing it be done with decorum and with a

proper respect for the opinions of their adversaries? Why then do we or

they employ, through the press and in rhetorical bombast, opprobrious

epithets, fit only for the pot-house or the shambles? Shall we men and

citizens, each of us a pillar upholding the crowning dome of our

nationality, be taught, like vexed and querulous children, the impotence

of personal abuse? Why seek to lay upon the head of this Cabinet officer

or that, this Senator or that, the responsibility of temporary military

defeats, when we are no more able to command and prevent reverses than

are they? Or if in our superior wisdom we deem ourselves to be the

better able to direct and administer, why do we forget that others among

us, inspired by the same love of country, and equally ardent for its

safety and advancement, hold exactly contrary opinions? It is not a

matter of opinion--it is not a matter for interference, it is simply and

only a matter for untiring unflinching confidence and support. We have

done our duty as a people, and elected our Administration--let us, in

the name of all that is sublime and fundamental in republican

principles, support and not perplex them in the hard and complex problem

which they are appointed to solve. These are principles, which, however

trite, need to be kept before us and practically sustained at a period

when, as is often the case in long and tedious wars, the dispiriting

influence of delays and occasional defeats work erroneous conclusions in

the minds of the people, leading to unjust accusations against the men

in power, and an unwillingness to frankly acknowledge that the evil too

often originated where the result most immediately occurred. In other

words, our armies have often suffered simply and for no other reason

than that they were outgeneralled on the field of battle, or overpowered

by military causes for which no one is to blame--least of all, the

President or his advisers.

And here let one word be said against the arguments of those

well-meaning and patriotic men who attempt to prove that certain acts of

the Government have been injudicious and unwise--such, for example, as

the suspension of the habeas corpus, the alleged illegal arrests, and

the emancipation policy. It is not the purpose of this paper to enter

into additional argument to sustain this opinion or to disprove it. But

in justice to the Government--simply because it is a Government--let it

not be forgotten that when events heretofore unforeseen and unprepared

for are throwing our vast nation into incalculable confusion, and when

it becomes absolutely imperative that the head of the Government must

act decisively and according to the promptness of his honest judgment,

and when we know equally well that that judgment, be it what it may,

cannot accord with the various and diverse opinions of _all_ men, then

it behooves his countrymen, if not to acquiesce in, to support whatever

that honest judgment may decide to be best for the emergency. No doubt,

errors have been made, but they are errors inconceivably less in their

results than would be the unpardonable sin of the people, should they,

because differing in opinion, weaken the hands and confuse the purposes

of the powers that be. With secret and treacherous foes in our very

midst, hidden behind the masks of a painted loyalty, the President,

after deep and earnest consultation and reflection, deemed it his duty

to authorize arrests under circumstances which he solemnly believed were

the best adapted to arrest the evil, though, by so doing, many good and

innocent men might temporarily suffer with the bad. So too with regard

to the proclamation of freedom--be the step wise or unwise, and there is

by no means a unity of sentiment on this head--the President conceived

it to be the duty of his office--a duty which never entered into his

plans or intentions until the war had increased to gigantic and

threatening proportions--to level a blow at what he and millions of his

countrymen believe to be the stronghold of the enemy, viz., that system

of human servitude which nourished the body politic and social now

standing in armed and fearful resistance to the Constitution and the

laws. It matters not, so far as opinion goes, whether the step was wise

or foolish, if the executive head deemed it wise. Nor was it a hasty or

spasmodic movement on his part. Months were devoted to its

consideration, and every argument was patiently and candidly listened to

from all the representatives of political theory for and against. Even

then no hasty step was taken; but, on the contrary, our deluded

countrymen in arms against us were forewarned, and earnestly,

respectfully advised and entreated to take that step in behalf of Union

and peace, which would leave their institution as it had existed. Nay,

more: terms whereby no personal inconvenience or pecuniary loss to them

would be involved if they would but be simply loyal to the Government,

were liberally offered them, with three months for their consideration.

Let those of us who, notwithstanding these ameliorating circumstances,

doubt the good policy of the act, remember that they of the South, our

open foes, invited the measures. Their leaders acknowledged and their

press boasted that the Southern army never could be overcome--if for no

other reason, for this reason, that while the army of the North was

composed of the bone and muscle of the great working classes, drawn away

from the fields of labor and enterprise, which must necessarily, in

their opinion, languish from this absence, the Confederate army was

composed of 'citizens' and property owners (to wit, slaveholders), whose

absence from their plantations in no way interfered with the growth of

their cotton, sugar, corn, and rice, from which sources of wealth and

nourishment they could continue to draw the sinews of war. They went

farther than this, and acted upon their declaration by employing their

surplus slave labor in the work of intrenching their fortifications,

serving their army, and finally fighting in their army.

Upon this basis of slave labor they asserted their omnipotence in war

and ability to continue the struggle without limit of time. The

subsidized press of England supported this theory, and declared that

with such advantages it was idle for the Federal Government to maintain

a struggle in the face of such belligerent advantages! Then, and not

till then, were the eyes of the President open to a fact which none but

the political blind man could fail to observe, and then it was that not

only the President, but a very large proportion of our countrymen,

heretofore strictly conservative men, felt that the time had come when

further forbearance would be suicidal. Although many doubted and still

doubt if slavery was the cause of the rebellion, very many were forced

to the conclusion that what our enemies themselves admitted to be the

strength of the rebellion was indeed such, and that the time had arrived

to avail themselves of that military necessity which authorizes the

Government to adopt such measures as may be deemed the most fitting for

crushing rebellion and restoring our constitutional liberty. Let us

think, then, as we please upon the judiciousness of the

proclamation--that it was uttered with forethought, calmness, and with a

full sense of the responsibility of the President to his God and his

country, none of us can deny. With this we should be satisfied. We have

but one duty before us, then, as a government and a people--and that is,

an earnest, devoted prosecution of this war for the integrity of our

common country. In the untrammelled hands of that Government let us

leave its prosecution. We have but one duty before us as individuals,

and that is to support the existing Government with our individual

might. Let the cry be loud and long, as, thank Heaven, it still is, 'On

with the war,' not for war's sake, but for the sake of that peace, which

only war, humanely and vigorously conducted, can achieve.

Fling personal ambition and individual aggrandizement to the winds. Let

political preferment and partisan proclivities bide their time, and as a

united and one-minded people, devote heart and mind, strength and money,

to the prosecution of the campaign, without considering what may be its

duration, and without fear of circumstance or expenditure. If it be

necessary, let the public debt be increased until it reaches and exceeds

the public liabilities of the most indebted Government of Europe. We and

our descendants will cheerfully pay the interest on that expenditure

which purchased so great a blessing as national endurability. Meanwhile,

with unity, forbearance, perseverance, and the silent administration of

the ballot box, we will, as a people, maintain, notwithstanding that a

portion of the land we hold dear stands severed from us by hatred and

prejudice, the prosperity which we still claim, and the renown which was

once accorded to us. By so doing, and by so doing only, shall our former

grandeur come back to us--though its garments be stained with blood. A

grandeur which, without hyperbole, it may be said, will outstrip the

glory which, as a young and sanguine people, we have ever claimed for

our country. The reason for so believing is the simple and undeniable

fact that out of the saddening humiliation and devastation of this civil

war has arisen the better knowledge of the wonderful resources,

abilities, and determined spirit of the American people. We see--both

combatants--that we are giants fighting, and not quarrelling pigmies, as

the foreign enemies of us both have vainly attempted to prove. We see,

both combatants, how vast and important to each is the territory we are

struggling for, how inseparable to our united interests are the sources

of wealth imbedded in our rocks, underlying our soil, and growing in its

beneficent bosom. We see, both combatants, how strong is the commerce of

the East to supply, like a diligent handmaiden, the wants of every

section; how bountiful are the plantations of the South and the

granaries of the West to keep the world united to us in the strong bonds

of commercial and friendly intercourse; how absolutely necessary to the

prosperity of both are the deep and wide-flowing rivers which run, like

silver bands of peace, through the length and breadth of a land whose

vast privileges we have been too blind to appreciate, and in that

blindness would destroy. Above all, we are _beginning_ to see that like

two mighty champions fighting for the belt of superiority, we can

neither of us achieve that individual advantage which can utterly and

forever place the other beyond the ability of again accepting the

gauntlet of defiance, and that our true and lasting glory can alone

proceed from a determination to shake hands in peace, and, as united

champions, defying no longer each other, defy the world. Nor would the

South in consenting to a reunion _now_ find humiliation or dishonor. She

has proved herself a noble foe--quick in expedient, firm in

determination, valorous in war. We know each other the better for the

contest; we shall, when peace returns, respect each other the more; and

although the cost of that peace, whenever it comes, will be the

sacrifice of many local prejudices and sectional privileges, what, oh,

what are such sacrifices to the inestimable blessings of national

salvation?

THE COMPLAINING BORE.

About the most disagreeable people one meets with in life are those who

make a business of complaining. They ask for sympathy when they merit

censure. There is no excuse for man or woman making known their private

griefs except to intimate friends or those who stand in the nearest

relation to them. I have no patience with the man who wishes to catch

the public ear with the sound of his repining. Be it that he complain of

the world generally, or specify the particular occasion of his

dumpishness, he is in either aspect equally contemptible. What a

serio-comic spectacle a man presents who imagines that everybody is in a

leagued conspiracy against him to disappoint his hopes and thwart his

plans for success! He thinks he is kept from rising by some untoward

fate that is bent on crushing him into the ground, feels that he is the

victim of persecution, the sport of angry gods. Not having the spirit of

a martyr, he frets and fumes about his condition, and finds a selfish

relief in counting over his grievances in the presence of all who are

good-natured enough to listen. Such a fellow is a social nuisance--away

with him! The fact usually is that the world has more reason to complain

of him than he of the world. For instance, I know a man who has become

misanthropic, but who should hate himself instead of the whole race.

Mr. Jordan Algrieve has become disgusted with life, and confesses than

his experiment with existence has thus far proved a failure. He has

combated with the world, and the world has proved too much for him, and

he acknowledges the defeat. Mr. Algrieve is on the shady side of fifty,

and his hair getting to be of an iron gray. His features are prominent,

with a face wrinkled and shrivelled by discontent and acidity of temper.

His tall figure is bent, not so much by cares and weight of years, as in

a kind of typical submission to the stern decree of an evil destiny.

Strange to say, he is well educated, and graduated with honor at one of

our Eastern colleges. With a knowledge of this fact, it is pitiable to

see him standing at the corner of the street in his busy town in a suit

of seedy black and a shockingly bad hat, chafing his hands together and

pretending to wait for somebody who never comes.

Poor Algrieve, he is a man under the table, and he knows it. He has

tried to be somebody in his way, but has failed sadly in all his

efforts. It is said that Algrieve always had a constitutional aversion

to legitimate and continued labor, but has a passion for making strikes

and securing positions that afford liberal pay for little work.

Thinking a profession too monotonous and plodding, he never took the

trouble to acquire one. As to honest manual toil, that was an expedient

he never so much as dreamed of. In early life he was so unfortunate as

to secure an appointment to a clerkship in the Assembly, and after that

he haunted the State Legislature for five or six winters in hot pursuit

of another place, but his claims failing to be recognized, he relapsed

into the natural belief that his party was in league to proscribe him.

After making a large number of political ventures of a more ambitious

order, and with the same mortifying results, he abandoned that field and

took to speculation in patent rights. He vended a wonderful churn-dash,

circulated a marvellous flatiron, and expatiated through the country on

the latest improvement in the line of a washing machine. But these

operations somehow afforded him but transient relief, and left him

always involved still more largely in debt. At different times in his

life he had also been a horse dealer, a dry-goods merchant, a saloon

keeper, the proprietor of a tenpin alley, and managed to grow poorer in

all these various occupations. The last I saw of him he was reduced to

peddling books in a small way, carrying his whole stock in a new market

basket. He was very importunate in his appeals to customers to purchase,

putting it upon the ground that he had been unfortunate and had a claim

to their charity. I happened to see him in the office of the popular

hotel in Podgeville, when he was more than usually clamorous for

patronage. He accosted nearly every man in the room with a dull,

uninteresting volume in his hand, and for which he asked a respectable

price. At last he set down his basket, and commenced a kind of

snivelling harangue to his little audience. Mr. Algrieve opened by

saying:

'Gentlemen, you'll pardon me for thrusting myself upon your

attention; but it is hard to have the world turned against ye, and

to work like a slave all your life to get something to fall back on

in old age, and then have to die poor at last! I hope none of you

have ever known what it is to be born unlucky; to never undertake

anything but turned out a failure, and to meet disappointment where

you deserved success. I am such a man!'

Here Mr. Algrieve produced a fragmentary pocket handkerchief for the

ostensible purpose of absorbing an expected tear, but really to give his

remark a tragic effect. He continued:

'Behold an individual who has been doomed to penury and

destitution, but who has not met his fate without a struggle. You

who have known me, gentlemen, for the last thirty years, know that

Jordan Algrieve has battled with life manfully.' At this point he

put out his clenched fist in defiance of his fancied enemy.' But I

have been compelled to yield to the force of circumstances--not,

however, till I had taken my chance in nearly every department of

honorary endeavor, and experienced the most wretched success. The

world has pronounced its ban upon me, and I must bow submissively

to its cruel imposition. I tried to serve my country in the

capacity of a public official, but my services and talents were

repeatedly rejected--the majority of voters always so necessary to

an honest election was forever on the side of my lucky opponent.

When I withdrew from the political field, impoverished by my

efforts to advance the prosperity of my party, I embarked in a

small commercial enterprise; but owing to the tightness of the

times, and my want of capital, I was soon obliged to give up and

throw myself upon the mercy of my creditors. I have tried popular

amusements, and lost money--that is, I failed to make it. I even

branched out into fancy speculations, but they only served to sink

me still deeper in the yawning depths of insolvency!'

Mr. Algrieve here paused, and seemed to look down into the frightful

gulf with a shuddering expression, as if he were not quite accustomed to

the descent yet.

'In short, gentlemen, I am completely prostrated--I am floored! And

is the world willing to help me up? By no means! On the contrary,

when I commenced falling and slipping on the stairs of human

endeavor the world was ready to kick me down, down, till I reached

the--in short, gentlemen, till I became what I now am. Now, what

have I done, let me ask, that I should fare thus? Have I not made

an effort? I appeal to you, gentlemen, to say. [A voice from the

crowd here chimed in: 'Yes, Algrieve, your efforts to live without

work have been immense!'] But here I am, poor and persecuted; my

family are in want of some of the common necessaries of life; and

now, gentlemen, I beg some of you will buy that book (holding out a

copy of the 'Pilgrim's Progress'), and do something to avert for a

while, at least, the pauper's fate!'

Some benevolent gentleman, either from a charitable motive, or to put an

end to his lachrymose oration, bought the volume for $1.25. Mr. Algrieve

received the money with many expressions of gratitude, and, gathering up

his stock, moped off into the drinking room, and invested a dime in a

gin cocktail, and five cents in a cigar, with which he sought to solace

himself for all the inflictions of the inexorable world.

Thus Jordan Algrieve goes about telling of his reverses and misfortunes,

exhibiting them to the public eye like a beggar his sores, without shame

or remorse; seeking to levy contributions on his fellow men, as one who

has been robbed of his estate. Reader, will you say that you have never

met with Jordan Algrieve?

Another common species of the complaining bore are those who are

continually parading their bodily infirmities. For example, a man will

call on you, apparently for the express purpose of illustrating a most

interesting case of neuralgia. He comes into your office, perhaps, with

his head tied up in a handkerchief, and an expression of face as if he

had some time winked one eye very close, and had never since been able

to open it. Thinking himself an object worthy of study, he shows how the

darting pains vacillate between his eyes, invade his teeth, hold general

muster in his cheeks, take refuge in the back of his neck; and

demonstrates these points to you by applying his hands to the parts

designated, and uttering cries of feigned anguish to give effect to his

description. He informs you, as a piece of refreshing intelligence, that

it is devilish hard to bear, and enough to make a saint indulge in

profanity. When he has proceeded thus far, he may be taken with one of

his capricious pains, ducks his head between his knees, squeezes it with

his hands, and bawls out: 'O-h! Je-ru-sa-lem!' with a duration of sound

only limited by the capacity of his wind. He feels that he has a witness

to his sufferings, and wishes to make the most of it. When he gets

sufficiently easy, he tells you his experience with various remedies,

enumerates all the lotions, liniments, ointments, and other applications

he has used, with his opinion on the merits of each.

Another person will accost you on a bright day with a most saturnine and

wo-begone visage, informing you that he is in a terrible way, that his

food distresses him, and he can't any longer take comfort in eating. He

places his hand in the region of his stomach, remarks that he feels a

great load there, and makes the usual complaints of a dyspeptic. He is

pathetic over the fact that his physician has denied him fried oysters

and mince pie for evening lunch, and closes his observations by

exclaiming in a moralizing vein that 'such is life!'

A third individual has a throat disease, and, forgetful of his bad

breath, desires you to take a minute survey of his glottis, and inform

him of its appearance. Accordingly he opens his mouth and throws back

his head as if he were inviting you to an entertaining show.

These are but a tithe of the examples of people who exhibit in public

and at social gatherings their ills and ailments, accompanied with

dreary complainings of their bodily inflictions. It implies no

indifference or lack of sympathy for physical pain and hardships to say

that its victims have no right to mar the enjoyment of others by the

unnecessary display of their infirmities or present sufferings. If a man

will make a travelling show of his disorders, he should be obliged to

carry a hand organ to give variety to his stupid entertainment. Were

these fellows all compelled to furnish this accompaniment, what a

musical bedlam our streets would become! Of course, there is no law

against complaining and repining--it may not be immoral--but it is a

very poor method of making those around us happy, which is a duty that

none but selfish natures can forget. A man who goes through life with a

smiling face and cheerful temper, despite the grievances common to us

all, is a public benefactor in his way, as much as one who founds a

library or establishes an asylum.

Misanthropy is a sublime egotism that mistakes its own distemper for a

disease of the universe. With all the mishaps to which our life is

subject, a glance over a wide range of human experience proves that God

helps those who help themselves, and whatever be the tenor of our

fortune, levity is more seemly than moodiness, and under any

circumstances there is more virtue in being a clown than a cynic. But in

adversity, a subdued cheerfulness and quiet humor are, next to Christian

fortitude, the golden mean of feeling that makes the loss of worldly

things rest lightly on the heart, and spreads out before the hopeful eye

the vision of better days!

DEATH OF THE BRAVE.

'How sleep the brave who sink to rest

By all their country's wishes blest!

When spring with dewy fingers cold

Returns to deck their hallowed mould,

She then shall dress a sweeter sod

Than fancy's feet have ever trod.'

LITERARY NOTICES

THE ICE MAIDEN, AND OTHER TALES. By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

Translated by FANNY FULLER. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. New York: C.

T. EVANS. 1863.

Probably no writer of stories for the young ever equalled Hans Christian

Andersen; certainly none ever succeeded as he has done in reproducing

the nameless charm of the real fairy tale which springs up without an

author among the people,--the best specimens of which are the stories

collected by the Brothers Grimm in Germany. But this exquisite

fascination of an inner life in animals and in inanimate objects, which

every child's mind produces from dolls and other puppets, and which

makes fairies of flowers, is by Andersen adroitly turned very often to

good moral and instructive purpose, without losing the original sweet

and simple charm which blends the real and the imaginary. Here he

surpasses all other tale writers, nearly all of whom, in their efforts

at simplicity in such narratives, generally become supremely silly.

The present volume contains four stories--'The Ice Maiden,' 'The

Butterfly,' 'The Psyche,' and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree,'--all in

Andersen's usual happy and successful vein; for he is preeminently an

_equal_ writer, and never falls behind himself. Perhaps the highest

compliment which can be paid them is the truthful assertion that any

person may read them with keen interest, and never reflect that they

were written for young people. Poetry and prose meet in them on equal

grounds, and any of them in verse would be charming. The main reason for

this is that such stories to charm must set forth natural objects with

Irving-like fidelity; nay, the writer must, with a few words, bring

before us scenes and things as in a mirror. In this 'The Ice Maiden'

excels; Swiss life is depicted as though we were listening to _yodle_

songs on the mountains, and felt the superstitions of the icy winter

nights taking hold of our souls.

'The Psyche' is an art-story. Most writers would have made it a legend

of 'high' art, but it is far sweeter and more impressive from the sad

simplicity and gentleness with which it is here told. 'The Butterfly,'

on the contrary, is a delightful little burlesque on flirtations and

fops; and 'The Snail and the Rose Tree' is much like it. Both are really

fables of the highest order, or shrewd prose epigrams.

The volume before us is well translated; very well, notwithstanding one

or two trifling inadvertencies, which, however, really testify to the

fact that the best of all pens for such version--a lady's--was employed

in the work. A _Skytte_, for instance, in Danish, or _Schutz_ in German,

is generally termed among the fraternity of sportsmen a 'shot,' and not

a 'shooter.' But the spirit of the original is charmingly preserved, and

Miss Fuller has the rare gift of using short and simple words, which are

the best in the world when one knows how to use them as she does. We

trust that we shall see many more stories of this kind, translated by

her.

We must, in conclusion, say a word for the dainty binding (Pawson &

Nicholson), the exquisite paper and typography, and, finally, for the

pretty photograph vignette with which this volume is adorned. Mr.

Leypoldt has benefited Philadelphia in many ways,--by his foreign and

American circulating library, his lecture room, and by his republication

in photograph of first-class engravings,--and we now welcome him to the

society of publishers. His first step in this direction is a most

promising one.

NOTES, CRITICISMS, AND CORRESPONDENCE UPON SHAKSPEARE'S PLAYS AND

ACTORS. By JAMES HENRY HACKETT. New York: Carleton, 413 Broadway.

1863.

This work will be one of great interest, firstly to all those who visit

the theatre, secondly to readers of Shakspeare, and thirdly to all who

relish originality and naivete of character, such as Mr. Hackett

displays abundantly, from the rising of the curtain even to the going

down of the same, in his book. There are no men who live so much within

their profession as actors, or are so earnest in their faith in it; and

this devotion is reflected unconsciously, but very entertainingly,

through the whole volume. Shakspeare tells us that all the world is a

stage--to the actor the stage is all his world, the only one in which he

truly lives.

We thank Mr. Hackett for giving us in this volume, firstly, very minute

and excellent descriptions of all the eminent actors of Shakespeare

within his memory--not a brief one, he having been himself a really

excellent and eminent actor since 1828. It is to be regretted that there

are not more such judicious descriptions as these. The author has, as we

gather from his book, been in the habit of recording his daily

experiences, and consequently writes from better data than those

afforded by mere memory. The reader will also thank him for many

agreeable minor reminiscences of celebrities, and for giving to the

public his extremely interesting correspondence on Shaksperean subjects

with John Quincy Adams and others. The views of the venerable statesman

on _Hamlet_, and on 'Misconceptions of Shakspeare on the Stage,'

indicate a very great degree of study of the great poet, and of

reflection on the manner in which he is over or under acted. Nor are Mr.

Hackett's own letters and criticisms by any means devoid of

merit--witness the following:

'Mr. Forrest recites the text (of King Lear) as though it were all

prose, and not occasionally written in poetic measure; whereas,

blank verse can, and always should, be distinguishable from prose

by proper modulations of the voice, which a listener with a nice

ear and a cultivated taste could not mistake, nor, if confounded,

detect in their respective recitals: else Milton as well as

Shakspeare has toiled to little purpose in the best-proportioned

numbers.'

The criticism on Forrest is throughout judicious, and, though frequently

severe, is still very kindly written when we consider the 'capacities'

of the subject.

As regards Mr. Hackett's views of readings, we detect in them a little

of that tendency to excessive accentuation, and that disposition to

'make a hit' or a sensation in every sentence which renders most, or

all, Shaksperean or tragic acting so harsh and strained, and which has

made the word 'theatrical' in ordinary conversation synonymous with

'unnatural.' Something of this is reflected in the enormous amount of

needless italicizing with which the typography of the book is afflicted,

and which we trust will be amended in future editions. We cheerfully

pardon Mr. Hackett for sounding his own praises--sometimes rather loudly

and frequently, as in the republication of a sketch of himself--since,

after all, we thereby gain a more accurate idea of a favorite actor, who

has for thirty-six years pleased the public, and gained in that long

time the character of a conscientious artist who has always striven to

improve himself.

To one thing, however, we decidedly object--the questionable taste

displayed by the author in answering in type criticisms of his acting,

and in republishing them in his work. We can well imagine the temptation

to be great, but to yield to it is not creditable to a good artist. With

this little exception, we cordially commend the work to all readers.

DEVOTIONAL POEMS. By R. T. CONRAD. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott &

Co. 1862.

The late Judge Conrad left a number of religious poems, which

fortunately fell into the hands of those who appreciated their merit,

and we now have them in volume, with an introductory poem to the widow

of the deceased and a preface by George H. Boker, to whom the editing of

the present volume was committed. These lyrics, as we infer, were

written in the spirit of private devotion, and are therefore gifted with

the greatest merit which can possibly inspire religious writing--we mean

deep sincerity. But apart from the _spirit_,--the _sine qua non_,--the

beauty of the form of these works will always give them a high value to

the impartial critic. They are far above the mediocrity into which most

religious writers always at first _appear_ to be lost, owing to the vast

amount of thoughts and expressions which they are compelled to share in

common with others. And as there has been awakened within a few years a

spirit of collecting and studying such poetry, we cordially commend this

work to all who share it.

As regards form, one of the more marked poems in this collection is

'The Stricken;' we have room only for the beginning:

Heavy! Heavy! Oh, my heart

Seems a cavern deep and drear,

From whose dark recesses start,

Flatteringly like birds of night,

Throes of passion, thoughts of fear,

Screaming in their flight.

Wildly o'er the gloom they sweep,

Spreading a horror dim,--a woe that cannot weep!

Weary! Weary! What is life

But a spectre-crowded tomb?

Startled with unearthly strife,

Spirits fierce in conflict met,

In the lightning and the gloom,

The agony and sweat;

Passions wild and powers insane,

And thoughts with vulture beak, and quick Promethean pain.

We select this single specimen from its remarkable resemblance to

Anglo-Saxon religious poetry,--by far the sincerest, and, so far as it

was ripened, the soundest, in our language. With the exception of the

Promethean allusion, every line in these verses is singularly Saxon--the

night birds, screaming in gloom--as in the '_Sea Farer_,' where, instead

of joyous mirth,

'Storms beat the stone cliffs,

Where them the starling answered,

Icy of wing.'

The divisions of this work are 'Sinai,' which is in great measure a

commentary on virtues and vices, 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer,' and

'Bible Breathings.' Of these we would commend the Sonnets, as forming

collectively a highly finished and beautiful poem, complete in each

detail. The little poem, 'A Thought,' is as perfect as a mere simile in

verse could be.

Robert T. Conrad, who was born in Philadelphia in 1810, and died there

in 1858, first became known to the public by a drama entitled _Conrad of

Naples_, a subject which has been extensively treated by German writers,

Uhland himself having written a tragedy on it. After being admitted to

the bar, Conrad connected himself with the press, but resumed the

practice of law in 1834 with success, being appointed judge of the

criminal sessions in 1838, and of the general sessions in 1840. He was

subsequently president of a well-known railroad company, and mayor of

his native city. During the intervals of his business he was at one time

editor of _Graham's Magazine_, and acquired a literary reputation by his

articles in the _North American_, and by the well-known tragedy of

_Aylmere_, in which Mr. Forrest, the actor, has frequently appeared as

'Jack Cade.' In addition to these, Mr. Conrad published, in 1852, a

volume entitled 'Aylmere and other poems,' which was very extensively

reviewed. In it the 'Sonnets on the Lord's Prayer' first appeared.

The volume before us is very well edited in every respect, and makes its

appearance in very beautiful 'externals.' The paper, binding, and

typography are, in French phrase, as applied to such matters,

'luxurious.'

SKETCHES OF THE WAR: A Series of Letters to the North Moore Street

School of New York. By CHARLES C. NOTT, Captain in the Fifth Iowa

Cavalry. New York: Charles T. Evans, 448 Broadway. 1863.

Were this little work ten times its present length, we should have read

it to the end with the same interest which its perusal inspired, and

arrived, with the same regret that there was not more of it, at its last

page. It is simple and unpretending, but as life-like and spirited as

any collection of descriptive sketches which we can recall. We realize

in it all the vexations of mud, all the horrors of blood, and all the

joys of occasional chickens and a good night's rest, which render the

soldier's life at once so great and yet so much a matter of petty joys

and sorrows. The love of the rider for the good horse--for his pet

Gypsy--her caprices and coquetries, are set forth, for instance, very

freely, without, however, a shadow of affectation, while in all his

interviews with men and women, the characters come before us 'like

life,' and give us a singularly accurate conception of the social

effects of the war in the West. The appearance of the country is

unconsciously detailed as accurately as in a photograph, and the events

and sensations of battle are presented with great ability; in fact, we

have as yet seen no sketches from the war which in these particulars are

equal to them. They are free from 'fine writing,' and are given in

simple, intelligible language which cannot fail to make them generally

popular. The occasional flashes of humorous description are extremely

well given--so well that we only wish there had been more of them, as

the author has evidently a talent in that direction, which we trust will

be more fully developed in other works.

EDITOR'S TABLE

With all the outcry that has been raised at the slow progress of the

war, it is difficult for a comprehensive mind to conceive how, on the

whole, the struggle with the South could have advanced more favorably to

the _general interests_ and future prosperity of the whole country, than

it has thus far done. 'Had the Administration been possessed of

sufficient energy, it could have crushed the rebellion in the first

month,' say the grumblers. Very possibly--to break out again! No amount

of prompt action could have calmed the first fire and fury of the South.

It required _blood_; it was starving for war; it was running over with

hatred for the North.

The war went on, and, as it progressed, it became evident that, while

thousands deprecated agitation of the slave question as untimely, the

war could never end until that question was disposed of. And it also

became every day more plain that the 'little arrangement' so frequently

insisted on, and expressed in the words, 'Conquer the enemy _first_, and

_then_ free the slaves,' was a little absurdity. It was 'all very

pretty,' but with the whole North and South at swords-points over this

as the alleged cause of war--with all Europe declaring that the North

had no intention of removing the cause of the war--with the slave

constantly interfering in all our military movements--and, finally, with

a party of domestic traitors springing up everywhere, at home and in the

army itself, it became high time to adopt a fixed policy. It _was_

adopted, and President LINCOLN, to his lasting honor, and despite

tremendous opposition, issued the Proclamation of January First--the

noblest document in history.

It is difficult to see how, when, or in what manner slavery would have

disappeared from a single State, had the war been sooner ended; and

nothing is more certain than that any early victory or temporary

compromise would have simply postponed the struggle, to be settled with

compound interest. But another benefit has resulted and is resulting

from the experience of the past two years. Our own Free States have

abounded with men who are at heart traitors; men who have, by their

ignorance of the great principles of national welfare involved in this

war, acted as a continual drawback on our progress. This body of men,

incapable of comprehending the great principles of republicanism as laid

down in the Constitution, and as urged by Washington, would be after all

only partially vanquished should we subdue the rebels. They are around

us here in our own homes; their treason rings from the halls of national

legislation; they are busy night and day in their 'copperhead' councils

in giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and in poisoning the minds of

the ignorant, by hissing slanders at the President and his advisers as

being devoid of energy and ability.

It would avail us little could we conclude a peace to-morrow, if these

aiders and abetters of treason--these foes of all enlightened

measures--these worse than open rebels--were to remain among us to

destroy by their selfishness and malignity those great measures by which

this country is destined to become great. The war is doing us the

glorious service of bringing the 'copperheads' before the people in

their true light--the light of foes to equality, to the rights of the

many, and as perverse friends of all that is anti-American. Who and

_what_, indeed, are their leaders! Review them all, from FERNANDO WOOD

down to the wretched SAULSBURY, including W. B. REED, in whose veins

hereditary traitorous blood seems, with every descent, to have acquired

a fresh taint--consider the character which has for years attached to

most of them--and then reflect on what a party must be with such

leaders!

These men have no desire to be brought distinctly before the public;

they would by far prefer to burrow in silence. But the war and

emancipation have proved an Ithuriel's spear to touch the toad and make

him spring up in his full and naturally fiendish form. The sooner and

the more distinctly he is seen, the better will it be for the country.

We must dispose of rebels abroad and copperheads at home ere we can have

peace, and the sooner the country knows its foes, the better will it be

for it. We have come at last to either carrying out the great

centralizing system of an Union, superior to all States Rights, as

commended by Washington, or to division into a thousand petty

principalities, each ruled by its WOOD, or other demagogue, who can

succeed in securing a majority-mob of adherents!

It is with such men and their measures that Gen. GEORGE B. MCCLELLAN,

the frequently proposed candidate for the next presidency, is becoming

firmly connected in the minds of the people! Fortunately the war has

developed the objects of the traitors, and the Union Leagues which are

springing up by hundreds over the country are doing good service in

making them thoroughly known. Until treason is fairly rooted out at home

and abroad, and until _Union at the centre for the people everywhere_ is

fully enforced, this war can only be concluded now, to be renewed

in tenfold horror to-morrow.

* * * * *

There is a complication of interests at present springing up in Europe,

which is difficult to fathom. Just now it seems as if the Polish

insurrection were being fomented by Austria, at French instigation, in

order that the hands of Russia may be tied, so that in case of war with

America, we may be deprived of the aid of our great European friend.

England sees it in this light, and angrily protests against Prussian

interference in the matter. Should a general war result, who would gain

by it? Would France avail herself of the opportunity to array her forces

against Prussia, and seize the Rhine, and perhaps Belgium? Or would the

Emperor avail himself of circumstances to embroil England in a war, and

then withdraw to a position of profitable neutrality? Let it be borne in

mind, meantime, that it required all the strength of France, England,

and Austria, combined, to beat Russia in the Crimea, and that a short

prolongation of the war would have witnessed the arrival of vast bodies

of Russian troops--many of whom had been nearly a year on the march.

Those troops are now far more accessible in case of war.

A war between England and the United States, however it might injure us,

would be utter ruin to our adversary. With our commerce destroyed, we

should still have a vast territory left; but nine tenths of England's

prosperity lies within her wooden walls, which would be swept from the

ocean. With her exportation destroyed, England would be ruined. We

should suffer, unquestionably, but we could hold our own, and would

undoubtedly progress as regards manufacturing. But what would become of

the British workshops, and how would the British people endure such

suffering as never yet befell them? Even with our Southern Rebellion on

our hands, and English men-of-war on our coast, we could still, with our

merchant marine, bring John Bull to his face. And John Bull knows it.

England is now building, in the cause of slavery and for the South, a

great fleet of iron-clad pirate vessels, which are intended to prey on

our commerce. How long will it be before retaliation on England begins,

and, _when_ it begins, how will it end? Ay--_how_ will it end? It is not

to be supposed that we can long be blinded by such a flimsy humbug as a

transfer to Southern possession of these vessels 'for the Chinese

trade!' Are the English mad, demented, or besotted, that they suppose we

intend to endure such deliberate aid of our enemies? When those vessels

'for the Chinese' are afloat, and our merchants begin to suffer, let

England beware! We are not a people to stop and reason nicely on legal

points, when they are enforced in the form of fire and death. Better for

England that she weighed the iron of that fleet pound for pound with

gold, and cast it into the sea, than that she suffered it to be

launched. _Qui facit per alium, facit per se._ England is the _real_

criminal in this business, for her Government could have _prevented_ it;

and to her we shall look for the responsibility. All through America a

spirit of fierce indignation has been awakened at hearing of this

'Chinese' fleet, which will burst out ere long in a storm. We are very

far from being afraid of war--we are in it; we know what it is like--and

those who openly, brazenly, infamously, aid our enemies and make war for

them, shall also learn, let it cost what it may.

England hopes to cover the world's oceans with pirates, with murder,

rapine, and robbery--to exaggerate still more the horrors of war--and

yet deems that her commerce will escape! This is a different matter from

the affair of the Trent.

* * * * *

Don't grumble! Don't be incessantly croaking from morning to night at

the war and the administration and the generals, and everything else!

Things have gone better on the whole than you imagine, and your endless

growling is just what the traitors like. Were there no croakers there

would be no traitors.

It was growling and croaking which caused the reverses of the army of

the Potomac--sheer grumbling. Now the truth is coming out, and we are

beginning to see the disadvantages of eternal fault-finding. The truth

is that the war in the Crimea was much worse conducted than this of ours

has been--even as regards swindling by contracts--and it was so with

every other war. We have no monopoly of faults.

Now that the war is being reorganized, we would modestly suggest that a

little severity--say an occasional halter--would not be out of place as

regards deserters. There has been altogether too much of this amusement

in vogue, which a few capital punishments in the beginning would have

entirely obviated. Pennsylvania, we are told, is full of hulking runaway

young farmers, and our cities abound in ex-rowdies, who, after securing

their bounties, have deserted, and who are now aiding treason, and

spreading 'verdigrease' in every direction by their falsehoods. Let

every exertion be made to arrest and return these scamps--cost what it

may; and let their punishment be exemplary. And let there be a new

policy inaugurated with the new levy, which shall effectually prevent

all further escaping.

* * * * *

Reader--wherever you are, either join a Union League, or get one up. If

there be none in your town, gather a few friends together--and mind that

they be good, loyal Unionists, without a suspicion of verdigrease or

copperhead poison about them--and at once put yourselves in connection

with the central Leagues of the great cities. Those of Philadelphia, New

York and Boston are all conducted by honorable men of the highest

character--and we may remark, by the way, that in this respect the

contrast between the leaders of the League and of the Verdigrease Clubs

is indeed remarkable. When you have formed your League, see that

addresses are delivered there frequently, that patriotic documents and

newspapers are collected there, and finally that it does good service in

every way in forwarding the war, and in promoting the determination to

preserve the Union.

The copperheads aim not only at letting the South go--they hope to break

the North to fragments, and trust that in the general crash each of them

may secure his share. When the war first broke out, FERNANDO WOOD

publicly recommended the secession of New York as a free city--and a

very free city it would have been under the rule of Fernando the First!

And this object of 'dissolution and of division' is still cherished in

secret among the true leaders of the traitors.

The time has come when every true American should go to work in earnest

to strengthen the Union and destroy treason, whether in the field or at

home. A foe to liberty and to human rights is a foe, whether he be a

fellow countryman or not, and against such foes it is the duty of every

good citizen to declare himself openly.

* * * * *

It will be seen by the annexed that our Art correspondent, a gentleman

of wide experiences, has gone into the battle. We trust that his

experiences will amuse the reader. As for the _facts_--never mind!

CAMP O'BELLOW,

_Army of the Potomac_.

MY PATRIOTIC FRIEND AND EDITOR:

I have changed my base.

When I last wrote you, it was from the field of art--this time it is

from the floor of my tent--at least it will be, as soon as my fellows

pitch it. N. B.--For special information I would add that this is not

done, as I have seen a Kalmouk do it, with a bucket of pitch and a rag

on a stick. One way, however, of pitching tents is to pitch 'em down

when the enemy is coming, and run like the juice. Ha, ha!

But I must not laugh too loudly, as yon small soldier may hear me.

Little pitchers have long ears.

Now for my sufferings.

The first is my stove.

My stove is made of a camp kettle.

It has such a vile draught that I think of giving it a lesson in

drawing. _Joke._ Perhaps you remember it of old in the jolly old Studio

Building in Tenth Street. By the way how is WHITTREDGE?--I believe _he_

imported that joke from Rome where he learned it of JULES DE MONTALANT

who acquired it of CHAPMAN who got it from GIBSON, who learned it of

THORWALDSEN who picked it up from DAVID who stole it from the elder

VERNET to whom it had come down from MICHAEL ANGELO who cribbed it from

ALBERT DUeRER who sucked it somehow from GIOTTO.

I wish you could see that stove. I cook in it and on it and all around

the sides and underneath it. I wash my clothes in it, make punch in it,

write on it, when cold sit on it, play poker on it, and occasionally use

it for a trunk. It also gives music, for though it don't draw, it can

sing.

My second friend is my Iron Bride--the sword. She is a useful creeter.

Little did I think, when you, my beloved friends, presented me with that

deadly brand, how useful she would prove in getting at the brandy, when

I should have occasion to 'decap' a bottle. She kills pigs, cuts cheese,

toasts pork, slices lemons, stirs coffee, licks the horses, scares

Secesh, and cuts lead pencils. In a word, if I wished to give useful

advice to a cavalry officer, it would be not to go to war without a

sword.

A revolver is also extremely utilitarious. A _large_ revolver, mind you,

with _six corks_. Mine contains red and black pepper, salt, vinegar,

oil, and ketchup--when I'm in a hurry. A curious circumstance once

'transpired,' as the missionaries say, in relation to this article of

the _quizzeen_. All the barrels were loaded--which I had forgotten--and

so proceeded to give it an extra charge of groceries. * * *

It was a deadly fray. _Rang tang bang, paoufff!_ We fought as if it had

been a Sixth Ward election. Suddingly I found myself amid a swarm of my

country's foes. Sabres slashed at me, and in my rage I determined to

exterminate something. Looking around from mere force of habit to see

that there were no police about, I drew my revolver and aimed at JIM

MARRYGOLD of Charleston, whom I had last seen owling it in New Orleans,

four years ago. He and DICK MIDDLETONGUE of Natchez (who carved the

Butcher's Daughter at Florence, and who is now a Secesh major), came

down with their cheese knives, evidently intending to carve _me_. Such

language you never heard, such a diluvium of profanity, such

double-shotted d--ns! I drew my pistol _at once_, and gave Dick a

blizzard. The ball went through his ear--the red pepper took his eyes,

while Jim received the shot in his hat, and with it the sweet oil. In

this sweet state of affairs, CHARLEY RUFFEM of Savannah was descending

on me with his sabre. (He was the man who said my browns were all put in

with guano.) I put him out of the way of criticism with a _third_

barrel--killed him _dead_, and _salted_ him.

The best of this war is, it enables me to exterminate so many _bad

artists_.

The worst of it is that Charley owed me five dollars.

A fifth Secesh now made his appearance. We went it on the sword, and

fought--for further particulars see Ivanhoe, volume second. My foe was

RAWLEY CHIVERS, of Tuscumbia, Ala., and as the mischief would have it,

he knew all my guards and cuts. We used to fence together, and had had

more than one trial at _'fertig-los!'_ on the old _Pauk-boden_ in

Heidelberg.

'POP!' said he on the seventeenth round, 'are we going to chop all day?'

'CHIV,' said I, as I drew my castor, '_are you ready_?'

'Ready,' quoth he, effecting the same manoeuvre--'_one_, _two_,

_three_.'

I scratched his cheek, but the mustard settled him.

Sputter--p'l'z'z'z--how he swore! I went at him with both hands.

'_Priz?_' I cried.

'Priz it is,' he answered.

So I took him off as a priz. He was very glad to go too, for he hadn't

had a dinner for six weeks, and would have made a fine study for a

Murillo beggar so ar as rags went.

I punish my men whenever I catch them foraging. Punish them by

confiscation. Mild as I am by nature, I never allow them to keep stolen

provisions--when I am hungry.

Yesterday evening I detected a vast German private with a colossal

bull-turkey.

'Lay it down _there_, sir!' I exclaimed fiercely--indicating the floor

of my tent as the bank of deposit.

'But den when I leafs it you eats de toorky up!' he exclaimed in

sorrowful remonstrance.

'Yes,' I replied, like a Roman. 'Yes--I may _eat_ it--but,' I added in

tones of high moral conscientiousness, 'remember that I didn't STEAL

it!'

He went forth abashed.

No more till it is eaten, from

Yours truly,

POPPY OYLE.

* * * * *

We are indebted to a Philadelphia correspondent for the following:

Alas! that noble thoughts so oft

Are born to live but for an hour,

Then sleep in slumber of the soul

As droops at night the passion flower,

Their morn is like a summer sun

With splendor dawning on the day--

Their eve beholds that glory gone,

And light with splendor fled away.

J. W. L.

True indeed. The difference between the great mind and the small is

after all that the former can _retain_ its 'noble thoughts,' while with

the latter they are evanescent. And it is the glory of Art that it

revives such feelings, and keeps early impressions alive.

* * * * *

FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE.

My love, in our light boat riding,

We sat at the close of day;

And still through the night went gliding,

Afar on our watery way.

The Spirit Isle, soft glowing,

Lay dimmering 'neath moon and star;

There music was softly flowing,

And cloud dances waved afar:

And ever more sweetly pealing,

And waving more winningly;

But past it our boat went stealing,

All sad on the wide, wide sea.

* * * * *

Here is an

ADVENTURE WITH A GRIZZLY BEAR,

from a Philadelphia correspondent:

'We had gone out one morning, while camping upon the river San

Joaquin, to indulge in the sport of fowling. There were three of

us, and we possessed two skiffs, but an accident had reduced our

sculls to a single pair, which my companion used to propel one of

the boats down the stream, after securing the other, with me as its

occupant, in the midst of a thicket of tule, where I awaited in

ambush the flying flocks. As geese and ducks abounded, and nearly

all of my shots told, in a few hours I had killed plenty of game;

but becoming weary, as the intervals lengthened between the flights

of the birds, I sat down, and had already begun to nod dozingly,

when a startling splash, near the river bank, instantly aroused me.

Grasping my gun and springing upright, I looked in the direction

whence the sound had come; but, owing to the intervening mass of

tule, could not see what kind of animal--for such I at once

conjectured it must be--had occasioned my sudden surprise. Having

hitherto seen no domestic stock hereabouts, I therefore felt fully

satisfied that it could not belong to a tame species. Judging from

the noise of its still continued movements, it was of no small

bulk; and, if its ferocity were correspondent with its apparent

size, this was indeed a beast to be dreaded.

'The thought at once occurred to me that, as I possessed neither

oars nor other means of propulsion, it would be difficult to move

the boat from its mooring if chance or acuteness of scent should

lead the creature to my place of concealment. In short, this, with

various suggestions of fancy, some of them ludicrously exaggerated,

speedily made me apprehensive of imminent danger. Nor was my

suspicion unfounded, for a crisis was at hand.

'There was a space of clear water between the river bank and the

margin of the tule, in which the brute seemed to disport a few

moments; and then the rustling of the reeds indicated that it was

about to advance. With heavy footfalls it came toward me; as it

approached my nervousness increased; I could not mistake that

significant tread; undoubtedly it was a grizzly bear. But how could

I escape? Bruin, though his progress was not unimpeded, was surely

drawing near. Following my first impulse in this pressing

emergency, I placed myself forward in the boat, and, seizing a

handful of green blades on either side of it, endeavored, by

violently pulling upon them, to force the craft through the thick

growth which surrounded it. The headway of the skiff was slow, but

my efforts were not silent. In fact, the commotion occasioned by my

own panic became, to my hearing, so confounded with the sound made

by my floundering pursuer that my excited imagination multiplied

the single supposed bear, and the water seemed to be dashed about

by several formidable 'grizzlies.'

'You smile, gentlemen, but really I was so impressed with this and

like extravagant creations of fear that my better judgment was

temporarily suspended. This deception, however, was only of

momentary duration.

'Suddenly the skiff encountered some obstacle and remained

immovable. Quickly clutching my gun and firing it aimlessly, I

sprang overboard, and, with extraordinary energy, made for the

other side of the river and safety.

'My remembrance of that hazardous crossing even now fills me with a

sympathetic thrill. The river, near where I had leaped in, varied

in depth from my middle to my neck, and the snaky stalks of tule

clung to me, retarding my retreat like faithful allies of the

enemy. An area of this plant extended to the channel, a distance of

some fifty yards, where a clear current rendered swimming feasible;

and this I essayed to reach, urged onward by terror, and regardless

of ordinary obstructions. So vigorous was my action that,

notwithstanding the frequent reversals of my head and 'head's

antipodes' as I tripped over reeds and roots, perhaps I should have

reached the 'point proposed' with only a loss equivalent to the

proverbial 'year's growth,' had not a hidden snag unluckily lain in

the way, which 'by hook or by crook' fastened itself in the part of

my trowsers exactly corresponding, when dry, with that 'broad disk

of drab' finally seen, after much anxiety, by the curious Geoffrey

Crayon between the parted coat-skirts of a certain mysterious

'Stout Gentleman,' and inextricably held me in check despite my

frantic struggles.

'Imagine my feelings while thus entangled by a bond of enduring

material, a bait for a fierce brute which eagerly pressed forward

to snap at me. Believe me, boys, this was _not_ the happiest moment

of my life. I knew no reason why I should resignedly submit to so

undistinguished a fate. My knife, however, was in the boat, so that

my release could only be attained by extreme exertion. Accordingly

I writhed and jerked with my 'best violence,' all the time

denouncing the whole race of bears, from 'Noah's pets' down; and

you may be sure, emphatically expressing not a very exalted opinion

of snags.

'Ah! how that brief period of horrible _suspense_ appeared to

stretch out almost to the crack of doom. I roared lustily for help,

but no aid came. The bear continued its course through the thicket;

in another instant I might be seized.

'Rather than suffer such a 'taking off' as this, which now seemed

inevitable, I should have welcomed as an easy death any method of

exit from life that I might hitherto have deprecated. Incited then

by the proximity of the beast, which so intensified the horror of

my situation, to a last desperate effort to avert this much dreaded

fate; and, concentrating nearly a superhuman strength upon one

impetuous bound, the _stubborn fabric burst_, and--joy possessed my

soul!

'Even greater than my recent misery was the ecstasy which succeeded

my liberation. The happy sense of relief imparted to me such a

feeling of buoyancy that I was enabled to extricate myself from

this 'slough of despond,' and I soon reached the swift current,

when a few strokes landed me in security on a jutting bar.

'Without unnecessary delay I sought out my comrades, to whom I told

the story of my escape. Their response was a hearty laugh, and

certain equivocal words which might imply doubt--not as to my

fright, for that was too plain--but concerning the identity of the

'grizzly.' I observed, however, that, as they rowed nearer to the

scene of my disaster, their display of levity lessened; and as we

came within sight of the suspicious locality, there was not the

'ghost of a joke' on board; but, on the contrary, thay both charged

me to 'keep a bright look out,' as well as to 'see that the arms

were all right,' thus showing a remarkable diminution of their

previous incredulity.

'While cautiously exploring the vicinity of my memorable flight, we

saw the bear in the distance, upon a piece of rising ground. It

moved off with a lumbering shuffle and probably a contented

stomach, for, on searching for my scattered game, we found but

little of it left besides sundry fragments and many feathers.'

* * * * *

In the old times people received queer names, and plenty of them. On

Long Island a Mr. Crabb named a child

'Through-much-tribulation-we-enter-into-the-kingdom-of-heaven Crabb.'

The child went by the name of _Tribby_. Scores of such names could be

cited. The practice of giving long and curious names is not yet out of

date. In Saybrook, Conn., is a family by the name of Beman, whose

children are successively named as follows:

1. Jonathan Hubbard Lubbard Lambard Hunk Dan Dunk Peter Jacobus Lackany

Christian Beman.

2. Prince Frederick Henry Jacob Zacheus Christian Beman.

3. Queen Caroline Sarah Rogers Ruhamah Christian Beman.

4. Charity Freelove Ruth Grace Mercy Truth Faith and Hope and Peace

pursue I'll have no more to do for that will go clear through Christian

Beman.

Some of the older American names were not unmusical. In a Genealogical

Register open before us we frequently find Dulcena, Eusena, Sabra, and

Norman; 'Czarina' also occurs. Rather peculiar at the present day are

Puah and Azoa (girls), Albion, Ardelia, Philomelia, Serepta, Persis,

Electa, Typhenia, Lois, Selim, Damarias, Thankful, Sephemia, Zena,

Experience, Hilpa, Penninnah, Juduthum, Freelove, Luthena, Meriba (this

lady married 'Oney Anness' at Providence, R.I., in 1785), Paris,

Francena, Vienna, Florantina, Phedora, Azuba, Achsah, Alma, Arad,

Asenah, Braman, Cairo, Candace, China (this was a Miss Ware--China

Ware--who married Moses Bullen at Sherburne, Mass., in 1805), Curatia,

Deliverance, Diadema, Electus, Hopestill, Izanna, Loannis, Loravia,

Lovice, Orilla, Orison, Osro, Ozoro, Permelia, Philinda, Roavea,

Rozilla, Royal, Salmon, Saloma, Samantha, Silence, Siley, Alamena, Eda,

Aseneth, Bloomy, Syrell, Geneora, Burlin, Idella, Hadasseh, Patrora

(Martainly), Allethina, Philura, and Zebina.

Some of these names are still extant--most have become obsolete. It

would be a commendable idea should some scholar publish a work

containing the Names of all Nations!

* * * * *

Doubtless the reader has heard much of the Wandering Jew and of his

trials, but we venture to say that he has probably not encountered a

more affecting state of the case than is set forth in the following

lyric, translated from the German, in which language it is entitled

'Ahasver,' and beginneth as follows:

THE EVERLASTING OLD JEW.

'Ich bin der alte

Ahasver,

Ich wand're hin,

Ich wand're her.

Mein Ruh ist hin,

Mein Herz ist schwer,

Ich finde sie nimmer,

Und nimmermehr.'

I am the old

Ahasuer;

I wander here,

I wander there.

My rest is gone,

My heart is sair;

I find it never,

And nevermair.

Loud roars the storm,

The milldams tear;

I cannot perish,

O _malheur!_

My heart is void,

My head is bare;

I am the old

Ahasuer.

Belloweth ox

And danceth bear,

I find them never,

Never mair.

I'm the old Hebrew

On a tare;

I order arms:

My heart is sair.

I'm goaded round,

I know not where:

I wander here,

I wander there.

I'd like to sleep,

But must forbear:

I am the old

Ahasuer.

I meet folks alway

Unaware:

My rest is gone,

I'm in despair.

I cross all lands,

The sea I dare:

I travel here,

I wander there.

I feel each pain,

I sometimes swear:

I am the old

Ahasuer.

Criss-cross I wander

Anywhere;

I find it never,

Never mair.

Against the wale

I lean my spear;

I find no quiet,

I declare.

My peace is lost,

My heart is sair:

I swing like pendulum in air.

I'm hard of hearing,

You're aware?

Curacoa is

A fine _liqueur_.

I 'listed once

_En militaire_:

I find no comfort

Anywhere.

But what's to stop it?

Pray declare!

My peace is gone.

My heart is sair:

I am the old

Ahasuer.

Now I know nothing,

Nothing mair.

Truly a hard case, and one far surpassing the paltry picturing of Eugene

Sue. There is a vagueness of mind and a senile bewilderment manifested

in this poem, which is indeed remarkable.

* * * * *

One fine day, some time ago, SAVIN and PIDGEON were walking down Fifth

avenue to their offices.

A funeral was starting from No. --. On the door plate was the word

IRVING.

'Such is life,' said Savin. 'All that is mortal of the great essayist is

being borne to the grave: in fact, the cold and silent tomb.'

A tear came to Pidgeon's eye. Pidgeon has an enthusiastic veneration for

genius. He adores literary talent.

'Savin,' said he, 'there is a seat vacant in this carriage. I will enter

it, and pay my last tribute of respect to the illustrious departed. But

I thought he had a place up the river.'

'This was his town house,' said Savin. 'How I should like to join with

you in your thoughtful remembrance, and in your somewhat unceleritous

journey to the churchyard! But, no, the case of Blackbridge _vs._

Bridgeblack will be called at twelve, and I have no time to lose.'

Pidgeon entered the carriage. There was a large man on the seat, but

Pigeon found room beside him. The carriage slowly moved off. Pidgeon put

his handkerchief to his eyes; the large man coughed and took a chew of

tobacco.

Presently said Pidgeon:

'We are following to the grave the remains of a splendid writer.'

'Uncommon,' said the large man. 'Sech a man with a pen _I_ never

see--ekalled by few, and excelled by none; copperplate wasn't nowhere.'

'Indeed,' replied Pidgeon, 'I wasn't aware his chirography was so

unusually elegant; but his books were magnificent, weren't they? So

equable, too, and without that bold speculation that we too often meet

with, nowadays.'

'Ah, you may well say so,' returned the large man. 'He always kept them

himself; had 'em sent up to his house whenever he was sick, likeways;

but he wasn't without his bold speculations neither. Look at that there

operation of his into figs, last year.'

'Figs!'

'Figs, yes; and there was dates into the same cargo.'

'Dates! figs! My good friend, do you mean to say that the great

Washington Irving speculated in groceries?'

'Lord, no, not that _I_ know of. This here is Josh Irving, whose

remains'--

Pidgeon opened the carriage door, and, being agile, got out without

stopping the procession. Arriving at his office, where the boy was

diligently occupied in sticking red wafers over the velvet of his desk

lid, he took down 'Sugden on Vendors,' to ascertain if there was any

legal remedy for the manner in which he had been sold, and at the latest

dates had unsuccessfully travelled nearly half through that very

entertaining volume.

THERE is no time to be lost. Either the Union is to be made stronger, or

it is to perish; and the sooner every man's position is defined, the

better. If you are opposed to the war, say so, and step over to

Secession, but do not falter and equivocate, croak and grumble, and play

the bat of the fable. The manly, good, old-fashioned Democrats, at

least, are above this, and are rapidly dividing from the copperheads.

The Philadelphia _Evening Bulletin_, a staunch patriotic journal, says:

'The sooner that the fact is made clear that the mass of the Democrats,

as well as of all other parties, are loyal and opposed to the infamous

teachings of Vallandigham, Biddle, Reed, Ingersoll, Wood, and their

compeers, the sooner will the war be brought to an end and the Union be

restored.'

Show your colors. Let us know at once who and what everybody is, in this

great struggle.

* * * * *

LOVE-LIFE.

In a forest lone, 'neath a mossy stone,

Pale flowrets grew:

No sunlight fell in the sombre dell,

Raindrop nor dew.

Bring them to light, where all is bright,

See if they grow?

Yes, stem and leaf are green,

While, hid in crimson sheen,

The petals glow.

Girl blossoms, too, love the sun and dew,

And the soft air:

Hidden from love's eye they fade and die,

In city low or cloister high,

Yes, everywhere.

Give them but love, the fire from above,

And they will grow,

The once cold children of the gloom,

Rich in their bloom, shedding perfume

On high and low.

* * * * *

We beg leave to remind our readers that Mr. LELAND'S new book, _Sunshine

in Thought_, retail price $1, is given as a premium to all who subscribe

$3 in advance to the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY. Will the reader permit us to

call attention to the following notice of the work from the Philadelphia

_Evening Bulletin_:

'A beautiful volume, entitled _Sunshine in Thought_, by Charles

Godfrey Leland, has just been published by Charles T. Evans. No

work from Mr. Leland's pen has afforded us so much pleasure, and we

recommend it to all who want and relish bright, refreshing,

cheering reading. It consists of a number of essays, the main idea

of which is to inculcate joyousness in thought and feeling, in

opposition to the sickly, sentimental seriousness which is so much

affected in literature and in society. That a volume based on this

one idea should be filled with reading that is never tiresome, is a

proof of great cleverness. But Mr. Leland's varied learning, and

his extensive acquaintance with foreign as well as English

literature, combine with his native talent to qualify him for such

a work. He has done nothing so well, not even his admirable

translation of Heine's _Reisebilder_. He is thoroughly imbued with

the spirit of his motto, '_Hilariter_,' and in expressing his

bright thoughts, he has been peculiarly felicitous in style.

Nothing of his that we have read shows so much elegance and polish.

Every chapter in the book is delightful, but we especially enjoyed

that on 'Tannhaeuser,' with the fine translation and subsequent

elucidation of the famous legend.' But the boldest and most

original chapter is the concluding one, with its strange

speculations on 'The Musical After-Life of the Soul,' and the

after-death experience of 'Dione' and 'Bel-er-oph-on,' which the

author characterizes in the conclusion as 'an idle, fantastic,

foolish dream.' So it may be, but it is as vividly told as any

dream of the Opium-Eater or the Hasheesh-Eater. Mr. Leland is to be

congratulated on his _Sunshine in Thought_. It is a book that will

be enjoyed by every reader of culture, and its effect will be good

wherever it is read.'

The aim proposed in this work is one of great interest at the present

time, or, as the Philadelphia _North American_ declares, 'is a great and

noble one'--'to aid in fully developing the glorious problem of freeing

labor from every drawback, and of constantly raising it and intellect in

the social scale.' 'Mr. LELAND believes that one of the most powerful

levers for raising labor to its true position in the estimation of the

world, is the encouragement of cheerfulness and joyousness in every

phase of literature and of practical life.' 'The work is one long,

glowing sermon, the text of which is the example of Jesus Christ.'

E. K.

BUST-HEAD WHISKEY.

For two days the quiet of the Rising Sun Tavern, in the quaint little

town of Shearsville, Ohio, was disturbed by a drunken Democratic member

of the Pennsylvania Legislature, who visited the town in order to

address what he hoped would turn out to be the assembled multitude of

copperheads, but which proved after all no great snakes!

For two days this worthless vagabond insulted travellers stopping at the

tavern, until at last the landlord's wife, a woman of some intelligence,

determined to have her revenge, since no man on the premises had pluck

enough to give the sot the thrashing he so well merited.

On the third day, after a very severe night's carouse on bust-head

whiskey, the Pennsylvanian appeared at the breakfast table, looking

sadly the worse for wear, and having an awful headache. The landlady

having previously removed the only looking glass in the tavern--one

hanging in the barroom--said to the beast as he sat down to table:

'Poor man! oh, what _is_ the matter with your face? It is terribly

swollen, and your whole head too. Can't I do something for you? send for

the doctor, or'--

The legislator, who was in a state of half-besottedness, listened with

sharp ears to this remark, but believing the landlady was only making

fun of him, interrupted her with--

'There ain't nothin' the matter with my head. I'm all right; only a

little headache what don't 'mount to nothing.'

But a man who sat opposite to him at table, and who had his clue from

the landlady, said with an alarmed look--

'I say, mister, I don't know it's any of my business, but I'll be hanged

for a horse thief, if your head ain't swelled up twicet its nat'ral

size. You'd better do something for it, I'm thinking.'

The drunken legislator! (Legislator, _n._ One who makes laws for a

state: vide dictionary) believing at last that his face must in fact be

swollen, since several other travellers, who were in the plot, also

spoke to him of his shocking appearance, got up from the table and went

out to the barroom to consult the looking glass, such luxuries not being

placed in the chambers. But there was no glass there. After some time he

found the landlady, and she told him that the barroom glass was broken,

but she could lend him a small one; which she at once gave him.

The poor sot, with trembling hand, held it in front of his face, and

looked in.

'Well,' said he, 'if that ain't a swelled head I hope I may never be a

senator! or sell my vote again at Harrisburg.'

'Poor man!' exclaimed the bystanders.

'Fellers,' said the legislator, 'wot d'ye think I'd better do?' Here he

gave another hard look in the glass. 'I ought to be back in Harrisburg

right off, but I cant go with a head like that onto me. Nobody'd give me

ten cents to vote for 'em with such a head as that. It's a'--

'Big thing,' interrupted a bystander.

'Fellers,' said the blackguard, 'I'll kill a feller any day of the week,

with old rye, if he'll only tell er feller how to cure this head of

mine.'

'Have it shaved, sir, by all means,' spoke the landlady: 'shaved at

once, and then a mild fly blister will draw out the inflammation, and

the swelling will go down. Don't you think so, doctor?'

The doctor thus addressed was a cow doctor, but, accustomed to attending

brutes, his advice was worth something in the present case; so he also

recommended shaving and blistering.

'I'll go git the barber right off the reel, sha'n't I?' asked the

doctor, to which the legislator assenting, it chanced that in fifteen

minutes his head was as bald as a billiard ball, and in a few more was

covered with a good-sized fly blister.

'Ouch--good woman--how it hurts!' he cried. But that was only the

beginning of it.

'Ee-ea-ah!' he roared, as it grew hotter and hotter. One might have

heard him a mile. The neighbors did hear it, and rushed in. The joke was

'contaminated' round among them, and they enjoyed it. He had disgusted

them all.

'Golly! what a big head!' cried a bystander.

The legislator took another look at the glass. They held it about a yard

from him.

'It's gittin' smaller, ain't it?' he groaned.

'Yes, it's wiltin',' said the landlady. 'Now go to bed.'

He went, and on rising departed. Whether he ever became an honest man is

not known, but the legend says he has from that day avoided 'bust-head

whiskey.'

* * * * *

Don't you _see_ it, reader? The landlady had shown him his face in a

convex mirror--one of those old-fashioned things, which may occasionally

be found in country taverns.

* * * * *

WAR-WAIFS.

The chronicles of war in all ages show us that this internecine strife

into which we of the North have been driven by those who will eventually

rue the necessity, is by no manner of means the first in which brother

has literally been pitted against brother in the deadly 'tug of war.'

The fiercest conflict of the kind, however, which we can at present call

up from the memory of past readings, was one in which THEODEBERT, king

of Austria, took the field against his own brother, THIERRI, king of

Burgundy. Historians tell us that, so close was the hand-to-hand

fighting in this battle, slain soldiers did not fall until the _melee_

was over, but were borne to and fro in an upright position amid the

serried ranks.

* * * * *

Although many and many of England's greatest battles have been won for

her by her Irish soldiers, it is not always that the latter can be

depended upon by her. With the Celt, above all men, 'blood is thicker

than water;' and, although he is very handy at breaking the head of

another Celt with a blackthorn 'alpeen,' in a free faction fight, he

objects to making assaults upon his fellow countrymen with the 'pomp and

circumstance of war.' A striking instance of this occurred during the

Irish rebellion of 1798. The 5th Royal Irish Light Dragoons refused to

charge upon a body of the rebels when the word was given. Not a man or

horse stirred from the ranks. Here was a difficult card to play, now,

for the authorities, because it would have been inconvenient to try the

whole regiment by court martial, and the soldiers were quite too

valuable to be mowed down _en masse_. The only course left was to

disband the regiment, which was done. The disaffected men were

distributed into regiments serving in India and other remote colonies,

and the officers, none of whom, we believe, were involved in the mutiny,

were provided for in various quarters. The circumstance was commemorated

in a curious way. It was ordered that the 5th Royal Irish Light Dragoons

should be erased from the records of the army list, in which a blank

between the 4th and 6th Dragoons should remain forever, as a memorial of

disgrace. For upward of half a century this gap remained in the army

list, as anybody may see by referring to any number of that publication

of half-a-dozen years back. The regiment was revived during, or just

after, the Crimean war, and the numbers in the army list are once more

complete.

THE

CONTINENTAL MONTHLY.

The readers of the CONTINENTAL are aware of the important position it

has assumed, of the influence which it exerts, and of the brilliant

array of political and literary talent of the highest order which

supports it. No publication of the kind has, in this country, so

successfully combined the energy and freedom of the daily newspaper with

the higher literary tone of the first-class monthly; and it is very

certain that no magazine has given wider range to its contributors, or

preserved itself so completely from the narrow influences of party or of

faction. In times like the present, such a journal is either a power in

the land or it is nothing. That the CONTINENTAL is not the latter is

abundantly evidenced _by what it has done_--by the reflection of its

counsels in many important public events, and in the character and power

of those who are its staunchest supporters.

Though but little more than a year has elapsed since the CONTINENTAL was

first established, it has during that time acquired a strength and a

political significance elevating it to a position far above that

previously occupied by any publication of the kind in America. In proof

of which assertion we call attention, to the following facts:

1. Of its POLITICAL articles republished in pamphlet form, a single one

has had, thus far, a circulation of _one hundred and six thousand_

copies.

2. From its LITERARY department, a single serial novel, "Among the

Pines," has, within a very few months, sold nearly _thirty-five

thousand_ copies. Two other series of its literary articles have also

been republished in book form, while the first portion of a third is

already in press.

No more conclusive facts need be alleged to prove the excellence of the

contributions to the CONTINENTAL, or their _extraordinary popularity_;

and its conductors are determined that it shall not fall behind.

Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a thousand

journals have attributed to it, it will greatly enlarge its circle of

action, and discuss, fearlessly and frankly, every principle involved in

the great questions of the day. The first minds of the country,

embracing the men most familiar with its diplomacy and most

distinguished for ability, are among its contributors; and it is no mere

"flattering promise of a prospectus" to say that this "magazine for the

times" will employ the first intellect in America, under auspices which

no publication ever enjoyed before in this country.

While the CONTINENTAL will express decided opinions on the great

questions of the day, it will not be a mere political journal: much the

larger portion of its columns will be enlivened, as heretofore, by

tales, poetry, and humor. In a word, the CONTINENTAL will be found,

under its new staff of Editors, occupying, a position and presenting

attractions never before found in a magazine.

TERMS TO CLUBS.

Two copies for one year, Five dollars.

Three copies for one year, Six dollars.

Six copies for one year, Eleven dollars.

Eleven copies for one year, Twenty dollars.

Twenty copies for one year, Thirty-six dollars.

PAID IN ADVANCE.

_Postage, Thirty-six cents a year_, TO BE PAID BY THE SUBSCRIBER.

SINGLE COPIES.

Three dollars a year, IN ADVANCE. _Postage paid by the Publisher._

JOHN F. TROW, 50 Greene St, N.Y.,

PUBLISHER FOR THE PROPRIETORS.

[Symbol: Hand] As an inducement to new subscribers, the Publisher

offers the following liberal premiums:

[Symbol: Hand] Any person remitting $3, in advance, will receive the

magazine from July, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing the whole of

Mr. KIMBALL's and Mr. KIRKE's new serials, which are alone worth the

price of subscription. Or, if preferred, a subscriber can take the

magazine for 1863 and a copy of "Among the Pines," or of "Undercurrents

of Wall Street," by R. B. KIMBALL, bound in cloth, or of "Sunshine in

Thought," by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (retail price, $1.25.) The book to

be sent postage paid.

[Symbol: Hand] Any person remitting $4.50, will receive the magazine

from its commencement, January, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing

Mr. KIMBALL's "Was He Successful?" and Mr. KIRKE's "Among the Pines,"

and "Merchant's Story," and nearly 3,000 octavo pages of the best

literature in the world. Premium subscribers to pay their own postage.

[Illustration: THE FINEST FARMING LANDS

_WHEAT CORN COTTON FRUITS & VEGETABLES_]

EQUAL TO ANY IN THE WORLD!!!

MAY BE PROCURED

At FROM $8 to $12 PER ACRE,

Near Markets, Schools, Railroads, Churches, and all the blessings of

Civilization.

1,200,000 Acres, in Farms of 40, 80, 120, 160 Acres and upwards, in

ILLINOIS, the Garden State of America.

* * * * *

The Illinois Central Railroad Company offer, ON LONG CREDIT, the

beautiful and fertile PRAIRIE LANDS lying along the whole line of

their Railroad, 700 MILES IN LENGTH, upon the most Favorable Terms

for enabling Farmers, Manufacturers, Mechanics and Workingmen to

make for themselves and their families a competency, and a HOME they

can call THEIR OWN, as will appear from the following statements:

ILLINOIS.

Is about equal in extent to England, with a population of 1,722,666 and

a soil capable of supporting 20,000,000. No State in the Valley of the

Mississippi offers so great an inducement to the settler as the State of

Illinois. There is no part of the world where all the conditions of

climate and soil so admirably combine to produce those two great

staples, CORN and WHEAT.

CLIMATE.

Nowhere can the industrious farmer secure such immediate results from

his labor as on these deep, rich, loamy soils, cultivated with so much

ease. The climate from the extreme southern part of the State to the

Terre Haute, Alton and St. Louis Railroad, a distance of nearly 200

miles, is well adapted to Winter.

WHEAT, CORN, COTTON, TOBACCO.

Peaches, Pears, Tomatoes, and every variety of fruit and vegetables is

grown in great abundance, from which Chicago and other Northern markets

are furnished from four to six weeks earlier than their immediate

vicinity. Between the Terre Haute, Alton & St. Louis Railway and the

Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, (it distance of 115 miles on the Branch,

and 136 miles on the Main Trunk,) lies the great Corn and Stock raising

portion of the State.

THE ORDINARY YIELD

of Corn is from 50 to 80 bushels per acre. Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheep

and Hogs are raised here at a small cost, and yield large profits. It is

believed that no section of country presents greater inducements for

Dairy Farming than the Prairies of Illinois, a branch of farming to

which but little attention has been paid, and which must yield sure

profitable results. Between the Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, and

Chicago and Dunleith, (a distance of 56 miles on the Branch and 147

miles by the Main Trunk,) Timothy Hay, Spring Wheat, Corn, &c., are

produced in great abundance.

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS.

The Agricultural products of Illinois are greater than those of any

other State. The Wheat crop of 1861 was estimated at 85,000,000 bushels,

while the Corn crop yields not less than 140,000,000 bushels besides the

crop of Oats, Barley, Rye, Buckwheat, Potatoes, Sweet Potatoes,

Pumpkins, Squashes, Flax, Hemp, Peas, Clover, Cabbage, Beets, Tobacco,

Sorghum, Grapes, Peaches, Apples. &c., which go to swell the vast

aggregate of production in this fertile region. Over Four Million tons

of produce were sent out the State of Illinois during the past year.

STOCK RAISING.

In Central and Southern Illinois uncommon advantages are presented for

the extension of Stock raising. All kinds of Cattle, Horses, Mules,

Sheep, Hogs, &c., of the best breeds, yield handsome profits; large

fortunes have already been made, and the field is open for others to

enter with the fairest prospects of like results. DAIRY FARMING also

presents its inducements to many.

CULTIVATION OF COTTON.

_The experiments in Cotton culture are of very great promise. Commencing

in latitude 39 deg. 30 min. (see Mattoon on the Branch, and Assumption

the Main Line), the Company owns thousands of acres well adapted to the

perfection of this fibre. A settler having a family of young children,

can turn their youthful labor to a most profitable account in the growth

and perfection of this plant._

THE ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILROAD

Traverses the whole length of the State, from the banks of the

Mississippi and Lake Michigan to the Ohio, As its name imports, the

Railroad runs through the centre of the State, and on either side of the

road along its whole length lie the lands offered for sale.

CITIES, TOWNS, MARKETS DEPOTS.

There are Ninety-eight Depots on the Company's Railway, giving about one

every seven miles. Cities, Towns and Villages are situated at convenient

distances throughout the whole route, where every desirable commodity

may be found as readily as in the oldest cities of the Union and where

buyers are to be met for all kinds of farm produce.

EDUCATION.

Mechanics and working-men will find the free school system encouraged by

the State, and endowed with a large revenue for the support of the

schools. Children can live in sight of the school, the college, the

church, and grow up with the prosperity of the leading State in the

Great Western Empire.

* * * * *

PRICES AND TERMS OF PAYMENT--ON LONG CREDIT.

80 acres at $10 per acre with interest at 6 per ct. annually on the

following terms:

Cash payment $48.00

Payment in one year 48.00

" in two years 48.00

" in three years 48.00

" in four years 236.00

" in five years 224.00

" in six years 212.00

" in seven years 200.00

40 acres, at $10.00 per acre:

Cash payment $24.00

Payment in one year 24.00

" in two years 24.00

" in three years 24.00

" in four years 118.00

" in five years 112.00

" in six years 106.00

" in seven years 100.00

Number 17.

25 Cents.

THE

CONTINENTAL

MONTHLY.

DEVOTED TO

Literature and National Policy.

MAY, 1863.

NEW YORK:

JOHN F. TROW 50 GREENE STREET

(FOR THE PROPRIETORS).

HENRY DEXTER AND SINCLAIR TOUSEY.

WASHINGTON, D.C.: FRANCK TAYLOR.

CONTENTS.--No. XVII.

The Great Prairie State. By Mrs. C. M. Kirkland, 513

A Winter in Camp. By E. G. Hammond, 519

In Memoriam. By Richard Wolcott, 527

A Merchant's Story. By Edmund Kirke, 528

Shylock _vs._ Antonio. By Carlton Edwards 539

A Heroine of To-Day, 543

National Ode, 554

The Surrender of Forts Jackson and St. Philip,

on the Mississippi. By F. H. Gerdes. Assistant

U. S. Coast Survey, 557

Reason, Rhyme, and Rhythm. By Mrs. Martha Cook, 562

The Value of the Union. By William H. Muller, 571

War Song--Earth's Last Battle. By Mrs. Martha Cook, 586

Miriam's Testimony. By M. A. Edwards, 589

The Destiny of the African Race in the United States.

By Rev. J. M. Sturtevant, D.D., 600

Was He Successful? By Richard B. Kimball, 611

The Union. By Hon. Robert J. Walker, 615

The Causes and Results of the War. By Lieut. Egbert

Phelps, U.S.A 617

Great Heart, 629

Literary Notices 630

The June No. of the Continental will contain an article on 'The

Confederation and the Nation,' by Edward Carey.

* * * * *

ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by JAMES R.

GILMORE, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United

States for the Southern District of New York.

* * * * *

JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER.