The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, April, 1862 / Devoted To Literature And National Policy

by Various

Editor's Table.

On the ninth of March President LINCOLN made the first announcement of an official endorsement of the great principle of gradual Emancipation, by transmitting to Congress a message recommending that the United States ought to coöperate with any State which may adopt a gradual emancipation of slavery, by giving to such State pecuniary aid, to be used at its discretion, to compensate for the inconvenience, public and private, which may be produced by any such change of system.

Any member of Congress, with the census tables and the treasury notes before him, can readily see for himself how very soon the current expenditures of this war would purchase, at a fair valuation, all the slaves in any named State. Such a position on the part of the General Government sets up no claim of a right by federal authority to interfere with slavery within State limits, referring, as it does, the absolute control of the subject, in each case, to the State and its people immediately interested.

It is almost needless to point out to the reader that the views, both direct and implied, which are urged in this message, are in every respect identical with those to advance which the CONTINENTAL was founded, and for which it has strenuously labored from the beginning. There is nothing in them of the 'Abolitionism' which advocates 'immediate and unconditional' freeing of the blacks; while, on the other hand, the only persons who can object to them are those who hold that slavery is a good thing in itself, never to be disturbed. It is, in short, all that the rational friends of progress can at present desire—an official recognition of the great truth that slavery ought to be abolished, but in such a manner as to cause the least possible trouble.

It is amusing to observe the bewilderment of the pro-slavery Northern Democratic press, which has so earnestly claimed the Executive as 'conservative,' and on which this message has fallen like a thunder-clap. They have, of course, at once cried out that, should it receive the sanction of Congress, it would still amount to nothing, because no legislature of a slave State will accept it; an argument as ridiculous as it is trivial. That the South would, for the present, treat the proposal with scorn, is likely enough. But the edge of the wedge has been introduced, and emancipation has been at least officially recognized as desirable. While such a possible means of securing property exists, there will always be a strong party forming in the South, whether they attain to a majority or not, and this party will be the germ of disaster to the secessionists. There are men enough, even in South Carolina, who would gladly be paid for their slaves, and these men, while maintaining secession views in full bluster, would readily enough find some indirect means of realizing money on their chattels. It may work gradually—but it will work. As disaster and poverty increase in the South, there will increase with them the number of those who will see no insult or injury in the proposition to buy from them property which is becoming, with every year, more and more uncertain in its tenure.

Let it be remembered that this message was based on the most positive knowledge held by the Executive of the desires of the Union men in the South, and of their strength. The reader who will reflect for a moment can not fail to perceive that, unless it had such a foundation, the views advanced in it would have been reckless and inexplicable indeed. It was precisely on this basis, and in this manner, that the CONTINENTAL, in previous numbers, and before it the New York KNICKERBOCKER Magazine, urged the revival of the old WEBSTER theory of gradual remunerated emancipation, declaring that the strength of the Union party in the South was such as to warrant the experiment.[15] We have also insisted, in our every issue, that, while emancipation should be borne constantly in view and provided for as something which must eventually be realized for the sake of the advancing interests of WHITE labor and its expansion, everything should be effected as gradually as possible, so as to neither interfere with the plans of the war now waging, nor to stir up needless political strife. We simply asked for some firmly-based official recognition of the rottenness of the 'slavery plank in the Southern platform,' and trusted that the utmost caution and deliberation would be observed in eventually forwarding emancipation. We were literally alone, as a publication, in these views, and were misrepresented both by the enemies who were behind us and the zealous friends who were before us. We have never cried for that 'unconditional and immediate emancipation of slavery' with which the Liberator, with the kindest intentions, but most erroneously, credits us. We should be glad enough to see it, were it possible; but, knowing that the immediate-action theory has been delaying the cause for thirty years, we have invariably suggested the firm but gradual method. That method has at last been formally advanced by the President, in a manner which can reasonably give offense to no one. The beginning has been made: it is for the country to decide whether it—the most important suggestion of the age—shall be realized.

The news of the capture of Fort Donelson had barely reached us, the roar of the guns celebrating our rapid successes had not died away, ere that fragment of the Northern ultra pro-slavery party which had done so much towards deluding the South into secession, impudently raised its head and began most inopportunely and impertinently to talk of amnesty and the rights of the South. There are things which, under certain limitations, may be right in themselves, but which, when urged at the wrong time, become wrongs and insults; and these premature cries to restore the enemy to his old social and political standing are of that nature. They are insufferable, and would be ridiculous, were it not that in the present critical aspect of our politics they may become dangerous. Since this war began, we have heard much of the want of true loyalty in the ultra abolitionists, who would make the object of the struggle simply emancipation, without regard to consequences; and we have not been sparing in our own condemnations of such a limited and narrow view,—holding, as we do, that emancipation, if adopted, should be for the sake of the white man and the Union, and not of the negro. But 'Abolition' of the most one-sided and suicidal description is less insulting to those who are lavishing blood and treasure on the great cause of freedom, than is the conduct, at this time, of those men who are now, through their traitorous organs, urging the cry that the hour is at hand when we must place slavery firmly on a constitutional basis; this being, as they assert, the only means whereby the Union can ever be harmoniously restored.

In view of the facts, it is preposterous to admit that this assumption is even plausible. He must be ignorant indeed of our political history during the past twenty years, or strangely blind to its results, who has not learned that a belief that the North is ever anxious to concede for the sake of its 'interests' has been the great stimulus to the arrogance of the South. While the principles of the abolitionists have been the shallow pretence, the craven cowardice of such men as BUCHANAN and CUSHING has been the real incitement to the South to pour insult and wrong on the North. Concession has been our bane. It was paltering and concession that palsied the strong will and ready act which should have prevented this war; for had it not been for such men as the traitors who are now crying out for Southern rights, the rebellion would have been far more limited in its area, and long since crushed out. No cruelties on our part, no threats to carry all to the bitter end, would so encourage the South at present, as this offer to shake hands ere the fight be half over.

When the time comes for amnesty and 'Southern Rights,' we trust that they will be considered in a spirit of justice and mercy. Till it comes let there be no word spoken of them. The South has, to its own detriment and to ours, firmly and faithfully believed that Northern men are cowards, misers, men sneaking through life in all dishonor and baseness. When millions believe such intolerable falsehoods of other millions of their fellow-citizens, they must be taught the truth, no matter what the lesson costs. Even now the Southern press asserts that our victories were merely the results of overwhelming majorities, and that the Yankees are becoming frightened at their own successes. There is not one of these traitorous, dough-face meetings of which the details are not promptly sent—probably by the men who organize them—all over the South to inspire faith in a falling cause. When the rebels shall have learned that these traitors have positively no influence here,—and the sooner they learn it the better,—when they realize that the people of the North are as determined as themselves, and their equals in all noble qualities, then, and not till then, will it be time to talk of those concessions which now strike every one as smacking of meanness and cowardice.

The day has come for a new order of things. The South must learn—and show by its acts that it has been convinced—that the North is its equal in those virtues which it claims to monopolize. But this it will only learn from the young and vigorous minds of the new school,—from its enemies,—and not from the trembling old-fashioned traitors, who have been so long at its feet that they shiver and are bewildered, now that they are fairly isolated, by the tide of war, from their former ruler. Politicians of this stamp, who have grown old while prating of Southern rights, can not, do not, and never will realize but that, some day or other, all will be restored in statu quo ante bellum. They expect Union victories, but somehow believe that their old king will enjoy his own again—that there will be a morning when the South will rule as before. It is this which inspires their craven timidity. They cry out against emancipation in every form,—blind to the onward and inevitable changes which are going on,—so that when the South comes in again they may point to their record and say, 'We were ever true to you. We, indeed, urged the war, for we were compelled by you to fight, but we were always true to your main principles.' They have wasted time and trouble sadly—it will all be of no avail. Be it by the war, be it by what means it may, the social system and political rule of the South are irrevocably doomed. It may, from time to time, have its convulsive recoveries, but it is doomed. The demands of free labor for a wider area will make themselves felt, and the black will give way to the white, as in the West the buffalo vanishes before the bee.

We are willing that the question of emancipation should have the widest scope, and, if expediency shall so dictate, that it should be realized in the most gradual manner. We believe that, owing to the experiences of the past year, more than one slave State will, ere long, contain a majority of clear-headed, patriotic men, who will be willing to legalize the freedom of all blacks born within their limits, after a certain time; and if this time be placed ten years or even fifteen hence, it will make no material difference. By that time the pressure of free labor, and the increase of manufacturing, will have rendered some such step a necessity. Should the payment of all loyal slave-holders, in the border States, for their chattels, prove a better plan,—and it could hardly fail to promptly reduce the rebellious circle to a narrow and uninfluential body,—let it be tried. If any of the arguments thus far adduced in favor of assuming slavery to be an institution which is never to be changed, and which must be immutably fixed in the North American Union, can be proved to be true, we would say, then let emancipation be forever forgotten—for the stability of the Union must take precedence of everything. But we can not see it in this light. We can not see that peace and Union can exist while the slave-holder continues to increase in arrogance in the South, and while the abolitionists every day gather strength in the North. Every day of this war has seen the enemies of slavery increase in number and in power, until to expect them to lose power and influence is as preposterous as to hope to see the course of nature change. Should a peace be now patched up on the basis of immutable slavery, we should, to judge from every appearance, simply prolong the war to an infinitely more disastrous end than it now threatens to assume. We should incur debts which would crush our prosperity; we should bequeath a heritage of woe to our children, which would prove their ruin. While the great cause of all this dissension lies legalized and untouched, there will continue to be a party which will never cease to strive to destroy it. The question simply is, whether we will be wounded now, or utterly slain by and by.

Meanwhile let us, before all things, push on with the war! It is by our victories that slavery will be in the beginning most thoroughly attacked. If the South, as it professes, means to fight to the last ditch, and to the black flag, all discussion of emancipation is needless; for in the track of our armies the contraband assumes freedom without further formula. But we are by no means convinced that such will be the case. The first ditches have, as yet, been by no means filled with martyrs to secession,—armistices are already subjects of rumor,—and it should not be forgotten that the Union men of the South are powerful enough to afford efficient aid in placing the question of ultimate emancipation on a basis suitable to all interests.

All that the rational emancipationist requires is a legal beginning. We have no desire to see it advance more rapidly than the development of the country requires—in short, what is really needed is simply the assurance that by war or by peace some basis shall be found for ultimately carrying out the views of the fathers of the American Union, and rendering this great nation harmonious and happy. Every day brings us nearer the great issue,—not of slavery and anti-slavery,—but whether slavery is to be assumed as an immutable element in America, or whether government will bring such influences to bear as will lead the way to peace and the rights of free labor. Every step is leading us to

THE IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT.

O Lord, look kindly on this work for thee!

Yes, smile upon the side that's for the right!

To them O grant the glorious arm of might,

And in the end give them the victory!

Free principles are rushing like the sea

Which opened for the fleeing Israelite,—

Free principles, to test their worth in fight,—

And woe to them that 'twixt the surges be!

And as, O Lord, thou then did'st show thy care,

And mad'st a grave to drink thy enemy,

So now, O Father, sink him in despair—

The only blight we own—cursed Slavery.

O then will end the conflict! Yes, God, then

We'll be indeed a nation of FREE MEN!

The N.O. Delta is full of indignation at the Southern men who are alarmed for their property, and betrays, in its anger, the fact that these disaffected persons are not few in the Pelican State. But, plucking up courage, it declares that—

Our people will retire into the interior, and in their mountains and swamps they will maintain a warfare which must ultimately prove successful.

Doubtful—very. In the first place, 'our people' can not very well swamp it like runaway negroes, and, secondly, they will encounter, in the mountains, the Union men of the South. Give us the cities and the level country for a short time, and we shall very soon find the Pelicandidates for comfortable quarters rolling back, by thousands, into Unionism.

As we write, there is a panic in Richmond, caused by the discovery that there is a large body of Union men in the city itself, headed by JOHN MINOR BOTTS, who seems to have determined to 'head off' the secession party in its stronghold, 'or die'—he having, since the decease of JOHN TYLER, turned his 'heading off' abilities against JEFF DAVIS. The Examiner mentions, in terror, the confession of the Union prisoners, that there are in Richmond 'thousands of arms concealed, and men enrolled, who would use them on the first approach of the Yankee army.' One of the arrested, a Mr. STEARNS, when led to the prison, surveyed it in a most contemptuous manner, remarking 'If you are going to imprison all the Union men in Richmond, you will have to provide a much larger jail than this.'

It is the German residents of Richmond who are said to constitute the majority of these Union men. All honor to our German friends of the South! They have received, thus far, too little credit for their staunch adherence to the principles of freedom. Let them take courage; a day is coming when we shall all be free—free from every form of slavery! Noch ist die Freiheit nicht verloren!—'Freedom is not lost as yet.' Some of them remember that song of old.

A paragraph has recently gone the rounds, which impudently assures the friends of Emancipation that, unless they promptly desist from further interference or agitation, they will speedily build up a Southern party in the North, which will seriously interfere with the prosecution of the war!

That is to say, that the majority of the people of the North fully acquiesce in the justice of the main principles held by the South—the only difference of opinion being whether these slavery and slavery-extension doctrines can be practically developed under our federal Union! Yet we, knowing, seeing, feeling, in this war, the enormously evil effects of the slave system on the free men among whom it exists, are expected to endure and legalize the cause which stirred it up! Either the South is right or wrong—there is no escaping the dilemma. Either it was or was not justly goaded by 'abolition' into secession. If the South is quite right in wishing to preserve slavery intact forever, surely those are in the wrong who would make war on it for wishing to secede from a government which tolerates attacks on legalized institutions! What a precious paradox have we here? Yet these virtual justifiers of the South in the great cause of the war, claim to be zealous and forward in punishing that secession which, according to their own views, is constitutional and right!

If slavery be right, then the South is right. No impartial foreigner could fail to draw this conclusion under the circumstances of this war. But is it right; we do not say as a thing of the past, and of a rapidly vanishing serf-system, but as an institution of the progressive present? Witness the words of G. BATELLE, a member of the Western Virginia Constitutional Convention,—as we write, in session at Wheeling,—and who has published an address to that body on the question of Emancipation, from which we extract the following:—

The injuries which slavery inflicts upon our own people are manifold and obvious. It practically aims to enslave not merely another race, but our own race. It inserts in its bill of rights some very high-sounding phrases securing freedom of speech; and then practically and in detail puts a lock on every man's mouth, and a seal on every man's lips, who will not shout for and swear by the divinity of the system. It amuses the popular fancy with a few glittering generalities in the fundamental law about the liberty of the press, and forthwith usurps authority, even in times of peace, to send out its edict to every postmaster, whether in the village or at the cross-roads, clothing him with a despotic and absolute censorship over one of the dearest rights of the citizen. It degrades labor by giving it the badge of servility, and it impedes enterprise by withholding its proper rewards. It alone has claimed exemption from the rule of uniform taxation, and then demanded and received the largest share of the proceeds of that taxation. Is it any wonder, in such a state of facts, that there are this day, of those who have been driven from Virginia mainly by this system, men enough, with their descendents, and means and energy, scattered through the West, of themselves to make no mean State?...

It has been as a fellow-observer, and I will add as a fellow-sufferer, with the members of the Convention, that my judgment of the system of slavery among us has been formed. We have seen it seeking to inaugurate, in many instances all too successfully, a reign of terror in times of profound peace, of which Austria might be ashamed. We have seen it year by year driving out from our genial climate, and fruitful soil, and exhaustless natural resources, some of the men of the very best energy, talent and skill among our population. We have seen also, in times of peace, the liberty of speech taken away, the freedom of the press abolished, and the willing minions of this system, in hunting down their victims, spare from degradation and insult neither the young, nor the gray-haired veteran of seventy winters, whose every thought was as free from offense against society as is that of the infant of days.

When an evil attains this extent, he is a poor citizen, a poor cowardly dallier with opinions, whatever his fighting mark may be, who can make up his mind to calmly acquiesce in establishing its permanence, or to stiffly oppose every movement and every suggestion tending in the least towards its abrogation.

In the present number of the CONTINENTAL will be found an article on General LYON, in which reference is made to the generally credited assertion, that the deceased hero was not reinforced as he desired during the campaign in Missouri. This is one of the questions which time alone will properly answer. In accordance with the principles involved in audi alteram partem, we give on this subject the following abridgment of a portion of General FREMONT'S defense, published in the New York Tribune of March 6:—

Lyon's and Prentiss's troops were nearly all three months men, whose term of enlistment was about expiring. Arms and money were wanted, but men offered in abundance. The three months men had not been paid. The Home Guards were willing to remain in the service, but their families were destitute. Gen. Fremont wrote to the President, stating his difficulties, and informing him that he should peremptorily order the United States Treasurer there to pay over to his paymaster-general the money in his possession, sending a force at the same time to take the money. He received no reply, and assumed that his purpose was approved.

Five days after he arrived at St. Louis he went to Cairo, taking three thousand eight hundred men for its reinforcement. He says that Springfield was a week's march, and before he could have reached it, Cairo would have been taken by the rebels, and perhaps St. Louis. He returned to St. Louis on the 4th of August, having in the meantime ordered two regiments to the relief of Gen. Lyon, and set himself to work at St. Louis to provide further reinforcements for him; but he claims that Lyon's defeat can not be charged to his administration, and quotes from a letter from General Lyon, dated on the 9th of August, expressing the belief that he would be compelled to retire; also, from a letter written by Lyon's adjutant general, in which he says 'General Fremont was not inattentive to the situation of General Lyon's column.'

A daily cotemporary, in an onslaught on Emancipation, contains the following:—

Delaware has recently had a proposition before the legislature to abolish the scarcely more than nominal slavery still existing in it; but the legislature adjourned without even listening to it, though it contemplated full pecuniary compensation.

Yes; and the legislature of Delaware, a few years ago, legalized lotteries,—one of the greatest social curses of the country,—and made itself a hissing and a by-word to all decent men by sanctioning the most widely-destructive method of gambling known. The Delaware legislature indeed!

We are indebted to a friend for the following paragraph:—

It is deeply significant that since the late Federal victories, the Southern press, even in Richmond itself, speaks nervously and angrily of the Union men among them, and of their increasing boldness in openly manifesting their sentiments. A few months since, this belief in Union men in the South was abundantly ridiculed by those who believed that all the slave-holding States were unanimous in rebellion, and that therefore it would be preposterous to hope to reconcile them to emancipation. Now that the Union strength in that region is beginning to manifest itself, we are informed that we shall lose it if we do aught contrary to Southern rights. And this too, although the Southern Union men have never been spoken of by their rebel neighbors as aught save 'the abolitionists in our midst!'

The following communication from a well-known financier and writer on currency can not fail to be read with interest by all:—

THE SINEWS OF WAR.

These are, men and money, but especially MONEY, for on the money depends the men. In a good cause, with an educated, intelligent people, every man able to discern for himself the right side of the question presented, there is no difficulty about men; the state has only to say how many are needed, and the want will be promptly supplied. The experience of the last six months gives us evidence sufficient on this point: an army of six hundred thousand men drawn together without an effort, every man a volunteer,—a spectacle never before exhibited to the world,—puts at rest all doubt upon it; and not only that, it settles beyond all cavil the superiority of self-government, based on the broadest principles of freedom and the broadest system of education, over any other form which has ever been adopted. Passing from this, however, as a fact which needs no argument or illustration, we come to the more difficult question of how to raise the other sinew—money.

In calling for men the state relies upon the intelligence and patriotism of its citizens; upon their intelligence to understand the cause, on their patriotism to respond to its call. It offers them no inducements in the shape of pay, nothing more than to feed and clothe them, to aid them hereafter if wounded, to keep their families from starvation if they are killed. This is all; and this is enough. But these assumed obligations of the state must be sacredly and promptly kept. Our noble volunteers must be fed, and clothed, and cared for, and to this end the state must have the requisite means. And to obtain the needed supply without oppressive taxation on the one hand, or placing a load on posterity too heavy to be borne on the other hand, is a question of difficult solution; and yet we shall see that there is in the present administration the ability and the will to solve it.

It is said that our expenditures in this great struggle will, by the first of June, amount to the enormous sum of $600,000,000. It is said by the arch traitor at the head of the rebels that under this load of debt we shall sink. It is said by the leading papers of England that we have no money, have exhausted our credit, must disband our armies, and make the best terms we can with rebellion. Doubtless, our credit in Europe is at a low ebb just now, and we are thrown upon our own resources, and on these we must swim or sink. There is nothing to reject in this. We have shown the world how a free state can raise troops and create a navy out of its own materials; and now we will show the world how a free state can maintain its army and navy out of its own resources; and if the result proves—as it will prove—that our free institutions are the safest, strongest, and best for the people in war as well as in peace, then the great struggle we are now going through with will be worth more to the true interests of humanity everywhere than all the battles which have been fought since the dawn of the present century. For a hundred years, openly or covertly, but without intermission, has war been going on between despotism and freedom, with varied success, but on the whole with a steady gain for freedom; and now here, on the same field where it originated, is the long strife to be finally settled. On these same fields the same freedom is to culminate in unquenchable splendor, or to set forever, leaving mankind to grope in darkness and ignorance under the misrule of despotic tyranny. We are in arms not only to suppress an odious uprising of despotism against freedom within our own borders, but to show by our example, to all the nations of the earth, what freedom is and what freedom means.

In seeking aid of the money power, we go beyond the line where patriotism gives us all we need, promptly and liberally, into the cold region of selfishness, whose people are too much absorbed in adding to and counting up their gains to be able to spare much time or thought on country or freedom. No voluntary sacrifices to be expected here. What we want we must buy, and pay for; it is only to see that we do not pay too much for it. Selfish, timid, grasping, these people are a skittish set to deal with. Nobody understands better the game of 'the spider and the fly,' and they are as ready to play it with the state as with smaller opponents, if the state will but let them. From his first visit to this region, to the present time, our able Secretary of the Treasury was, and continues to be, 'master of the position.'

When the Secretary held his first sociable with the representatives of the money power, neither he nor they had a very keen perception of what they wanted of each other; the rebellion was not then developed in the gigantic proportions it has since assumed; and it was hoped and expected, with some show of reason, that two or three hundred millions would be enough to put it down. This amount the power could and would willingly furnish for a 'consideration,' the half presently, on condition that it should be allowed the refusal of the other half when it should be wanted; and so a bargain was quickly struck, to the mutual content of both parties. But, as the thunder grew louder and the storm fiercer, it became evident that our wants would soon be doubled, at least. The money power hung back; the 7-3/10 remained in the banks. The representatives said they were only agents, the agents stopped payment, and the whole circulation of gold fell to the ground at once, not only putting a sudden check upon all business operations, but leaving the Treasury without any sort of currency to pay out: a sad state of things enough. The money power drew in its head, pretending not to see anything, waiting for propositions, expecting to reap a rich harvest out of the state's necessities, by making its own terms. How could it be otherwise? must not the state have several hundred millions? must not the astute Secretary sell the state's promises to pay, secured by a first mortgage on all Uncle Sam's vast possessions, on their own terms?

It was not a pleasant predicament for a nervous or a faint-hearted man to be placed in. But then Mr. Chase is neither nervous nor faint-hearted, and when Congress came together he not only told his wants frankly, but proposed a neat little plan for supplying them without selling notes at fifty per cent. discount. Taking into view the want of a sound currency for business purposes, and the want of some currency to pay out from the Treasury instead of the gold which had disappeared and left a vacuum, he proposed to borrow $150,000,000, by issuing Treasury Notes, payable on demand, without interest, and making them a legal tender for the payment of all debts, with a proviso that any parties who should at any time have more on hand than they wanted should be allowed to invest them in bonds bearing six per cent interest. It was a very simple proposition—almost sublime for its simplicity; there was no mystery about it; and yet it was the very turning point of the ways and means of crushing the rebellion, without being ourselves crushed under an unbearable burden of debt. The money power stood aghast, and hardly recovered breath in time to oppose its passage through Congress; but the common sense of the people hailed Mr. Chase as a deliverer, and Congress endorsed common sense. Seriously, this splendid invention of the Secretary has given a new face to our financial affairs by placing the money power where it always should be,—in subservience to the people,—instead of allowing it to become a grinding task-master. The importance of this measure can hardly be appreciated yet. A member of Congress, himself a merchant, and an able financier, says:

'My theory in regard to it is, that as the currency is increased by the addition of these notes to its volume, prices generally will rise, including the price of U.S. bonds, until they reach par; at that point, these notes, being convertible into bonds, the rise in the price of bonds will stop, because further additions to the currency, whether of these notes, bank notes, or coin, will only stimulate the conversion of notes into bonds; and that conversion will check the increase of currency. The excess of notes will then be gradually withdrawn from circulation for conversion,—leaving only such an amount in circulation as a healthy and natural condition of the currency will require.'

A theory in which we fully concur. We see growing out of it a restoration of business: government creditors paid in a currency equal to gold; low prices for all government contracts; a consequent diminished expenditure for supplies, and an annual payment for interest on the debt we shall owe, which can be easily met without heavy taxation. However it may turn out in the conduct of the war,—and we have full faith in that also,—it is very certain that in the conduct of the finances we have found the man for the times. The whole country feels this, and breathes easier for it. The arch rebel, in a recent address to his satellites, admits that he altogether underestimated the patriotism and loyalty of the men of the North, but takes fresh courage from the certainty that we shall shortly back down under our load of debt. A little further on and he will find that he has just as much mistaken our power in that respect,—that as his own worthless promises, based upon nothing, fall to nothing, the notes of the Union will stand as firm and as fair in the money market as her banner will on the battle-field.

Men and money are the sinews of war. In our first trial, patriotism has furnished the men, and the presiding genius of the Treasury has clearly pointed out the means for obtaining the money. Laus Deo!

Note.—For the benefit of those of our readers who do not understand currency facts and theories, we make the following explanation. The relation of currency, or circulation medium, to the industry and business of the state, is similar to that of steam in an engine: a certain amount is required to keep up a regular and natural movement; an excessive amount causes too rapid motion, and a deficiency the reverse. Currency is made up of several things. Bank deposits, circulating by checks, bank notes, and coin, are the most important and best understood. The aggregate amount of these three items before the suspension of specie payments was above $450,000,000; and this sum is required to give a healthy movement to business affairs. Take away any portion of it, and prices fall and labor languishes, because the motion from it is too small for the work required; add considerably to it, and prices rise, because the motive power, being superabundant, is too freely used. When specie payment was suspended this motive power was reduced; the circulating medium fell from four hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty millions, perhaps less; and unless this loss is replaced it is quite clear that prices must fall and the employment of labor be curtailed. The issue of treasury notes will fill the gap, making the business motive power of the same strength and ability as before. Thus it will be seen that the emission of treasury notes plays an important part upon the industry and business of the state, which, under existing circumstances, can hardly be over-valued, as well as in the national finances.

The Darwin-development theory has of late attracted no little attention. One of our contributors favors us with his views in the following 'wild-verse,' which is itself rather of the transition order:—

MODERN ANSWERS TO ANCIENT RIDDLES.

'Whar did ye come from? Who d'ye belong to!'—Ethiops.

Philosophers say, deny it who may,

That the man who stands upright so bravely to-day,

Once crawled as a reptile with nose to the sod,

His grandfather Monad a bit of a clod.

To be sure, man's descent is not made out quite plain,

But one or two guesses might piece out the chain;

If the chain is quite long a few links won't be missed;

Or, if you must join it, just give it a twist.

A bold Boston doctor, by stride superhuman,

Makes only a step from a snake to a woman;

Or, inspect your best friends by Granville's good glass,

And the difference's as small 'twixt a man and an ass.

'From the company he keeps we may learn a man's nature;'

If he will play with monkey, dog, cat, or such creature,

The schoolmen will say, as a matter of course,

'Cum hoc ergo propter hoc.' Notice its force!

If with doubts you're still puzzled, and wonder who can

Answer all your objections, why Darwin's your man.

He can bridge o'er a chasm both broad and profound;

The last thing he needs for a theory is ground.

Bring your queries and facts, no matter how tough;

Development doctrine makes light of such stuff.

One example of these will perhaps be enough:—

'These crawlers,' for instance, 'should they be still here,'

'Not yet become bipeds?' The answer is clear:

In our strangely unequal organic advance,

He is the most forward who has the best chance.

By braving the weather and struggling with brother,

The one who survives it all gains upon t'other.

The old Bible 'myth,' now, of Jacob and Esau,

Is the struggle 'twixt species, the monkey and man law;

One hairy, one handsome, one favored, one cursed;

And sometimes the last one turns out to be first.

Still, through cycles enough let the laggard persist,

Let the weak be suppressed since he can not resist,

And, proceeding by logic which none may dispute,

Can't we safely infer there's an end to the brute?

You may, if you please, supersede Revelation,

By wholly new methods of ratiocination;

Though, since head and heart need be in contradiction,

Why should reason hold faith under any restriction?

Shut your eyes, and guess down heaven's good pious fiction.

Noah's ark was superfluous. Where were his brains,

For those beasts and those sons to provide with such pains,

When they might to a deluge cry Fiddle di dee,

And sprout fins and scales, if they took to the sea?

Well, perhaps in those days they had not yet known

That by need of new functions new organs are grown.

Those drowned chaps were sure a 'degenerate' crew,

Or else, on their plunge into element new,

Some 'law of selection' had rescued a few.

And, 'if wishes were fishes' I think one or two

Would have wished, and swam out of their scrape, do not you?

Can it be that those 'Fish Tales' of mermen are true?

No wonder that racing was always in fashion,—

All orders of beings were born with the passion—

But it seems that at length Genus Man will be winner.

You cry 'Lucky dog!' But what now about dinner?

No oysters, no turtle, fresh salmon, fried sole,

No canvas duck nor fowl casserole.

All these he has seen disappear from the stage,

A sacrifice vast growing age after age.

Their successive growth upward he's watched with dismay;

They have come to be men, having all had their day!

Though he took, while its lord, quite a taste of the creature,

By rule Epicurean 'dum vivim.,' etcetera.

In Paradise, Adam and Eve, to be sure,

Since they didn't have flesh, ate their onion sauce pure,

But, as our old friend John P. Robinson he

Said, 'they didn't know everything down in Judee.'

Now the better taught modern he very well knows

What to beef and to mutton society owes.

What are homes without hearths? What's a hearth without roasts?

Or a grand public dinner with nothing but toasts?

Yet, what government measure, or scheme philanthropic,

Or learned convention in hall philosophic,

But is mainly sustained upon leasts and collations?

At least, it is so in all civilized nations.

Here's a fix! Yet indeed, soon or late, the whole race

Must the problem decide on, with good or ill grace.

We cannot go hungry; what are we to do?

Shall we pulse it, like Daniel, that knowing young Jew?

Letting Grahamite doctors our diet appoint,

Eat our very plain pudding without any joint?

Or, shall we the bloody alternative take,

And cannibal meals of our relatives make,

Put aside ancient scruples (for what's in a name?)

And shake hands with the dainty New Zealander dame,

Who thought that she really might relish a bit

Of broiled missionary brought fresh from the spit?

'Twere surely most cruel in Nature our nurse,

Man's march of improvement so quick to reverse.

Will she offer a choice which we may not refuse,

When we're sure to turn savage however we choose?

We may slowly creep up to a lofty position,

Then go back at one leap to the lower condition.

Even so, my good friend, in a circle he goes,

Who would follow such theories on to their close.

If you've started with Darwin, as sure as you're born,

You're in a dilemma; pray take either horn.

T.

Who has not belonged in his time to a debating society? What youth ambitious of becoming 'a perfect Hercules behind the bar?'—as a well meaning but unfortunate Philadelphian once said in a funeral eulogy over a deceased legal friend—has not 'debated' in a club 'formed for purposes of mutual and literary improvement of the mind?' All who have will read with pleasure the following letter from one who has most certainly been there:—

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

I am a man that rides around over the 'kedn'try.' In the little village where I am now tarrying, the school-house bell is ringing to call together the members of that ancient institution peculiar to villages, the debating society. A friend informs me that the time-honored questions—Should capital punishment be abolished?—Did Columbus deserve more praise than Washington?—Is art more pleasing to the eye than nature?—have each had their turn in their regular rotation, and that the question for to-night is—as you might suppose—Has the Indian suffered greater wrongs at the hands of the White man than the Negro? As I have a distinct recollection of having thoroughly investigated and zealously declaimed on each of the above topics in days lang syne, I shall excuse myself from attendance this evening, on the ground that I am already extensively informed on the subject in hand, and my mind is fully made up. But I hereby acknowledge my indebtedness to the good fellow who told me the object of the ringing of the bell—for he has unconsciously started up some of the most amusing recollections of my life. Sitting here alone in my room, I have just taken a hearty laugh over a circumstance that had well-nigh given me the slip. The question was the same Negro-Indian-White-man affair. One of the orators, having, a long time previously, seen a picture in an old 'jography' of some Indians making a hubbub on board certain vessels, and reading under it, Destruction of Tea in Boston Harbor, brought up the circumstance, and insisting with great earnestness that the white man had received burning wrongs at the hands of the Indian, and that the latter had no reason at all to complain, dwelt with great emphasis on the ruthless destruction of the white man's tea in Boston Harbor by the latter, in proof of his 'point.'

I remember also a debating society in the little village of R——, which numbered some really very worthy and intelligent members, but of course included some that were otherwise, among whom was a silly young fellow, who had mistaken his proper calling—(he should have been a wood-chopper), and was suffering under an attack at medicine. The question for debate on one occasion was—Is conscience an infallible guide? Being expected to take part in the discussion, he was bent on thorough preparation, and ransacked his preceptor's professional library—(almost as poor a place as a lawyer's) for a work on conscience. He found abundance of matter, however, for a lengthy chapter on the subject, as he supposed, occurring in several of the dusty octavos, and he thumbed the leaves with most patient assiduity. He had misspelled the word however, and was reading all the while on consciousness—a subject which would very naturally occur in some departments of medicine. But it was all one to him, he didn't see the difference, and the ridiculous display he made to us of his 'cramming' on consciousness can be better imagined than described.

Years after found me inside college walls—but colleges in the West, be it remembered, sometimes include preparatory departments, into which, by the courtesy of the teachers, many young men are admitted who would hardly make a respectable figure in the poorest country school, but who by dint of honest toil finally do themselves great credit.

I 'happened in' on a number of such, one evening, whose affinities had drawn them together with a view to forming a debating society, to be made exclusively of their own kind. I listened with much interest and pleasure to the preliminaries of organization, and smiled, when they were about to 'choose a question,' to see them bring out the same old coaches mentioned in the beginning of this article; when one of their number arose, evidently dissatisfied with the old beaten track, and seemed bent on opening a new vein. He was a good, honest, patient fellow, but his weakness in expressing himself was, that, although his delivery was very slow, he didn't know how he was going to end his sentences when he began them. 'Mr. President,' said he, 'how would this do? Suppose a punkin seed sprouts in one man's garden, and the vine grows through the fence, and bears a punkin on another man's ground—now—(a long pause)—the question is—whose punkin—does it belong to?' The poor fellow subsided, as might be supposed, amid a roar of voices and a crash of boots.

There is a legal axiom which would settle the pumpkin-vine query—that of cujus est solum ejus est usque ad coelum—'ownership in the soil confers possession of everything even as high as heaven.' Our friends in Dixie seem determined to prove that they have also fee simple in their soil downwards as far as the other place, and by the last advices were digging their own graves to an extent which will soon bring them to the utmost limit of their property!

Does the reader remember Poor Pillicoddy, and the mariner who was ever expected to turn up again? Not less eccentric, as it seems to us, is the re-apparition chronicled in the following story by a friend:—

TURNING UP AGAIN!

'You were all through that Mexican war, and out with Walker in Niggerawger.—Well, what do you think 'bout Niggerawger? Kind of a cuss'd 'skeeter hole, ain't it?'

'Tain't so much 'skeeters as 'tis snaiks, scorpiums and the like,' answered the gray-moustached corporal. 'It's hot in them countries as a Dutch oven on a big bake; and going through them parts, man's got to move purty d——d lively to git ahead of the yaller fever; it's right onto his tracks the hull time.'

'Did you git that gash over your nose out there?'

'Yes, I got that in a small scrimmage under old GRAY EYES. 'Twas next day after a fight though, cum to think on it. We'd been up there and took a small odobe hole called Santa Sumthin', and had spasificated the poperlashun, when I went to git a gold cross off an old woman, and she up frying-pan of frijoles and hit me, so!' Here the corporal aimed a blow with his pipe at the face of the high private he was talking with;—the latter dodged it.

'That was a big thing, that fight at Santa Sumthin'; the way we went over them mud walls, and wiped out the Greasers, was a cortion. I rac'lect when we was drawed up company front, afore we made the charge, there was a feller next me in the ranks—I didn't know him from an old shoe, 'cause he'd ben drafted that morning into us from another company. Says he,—

'We're going into hair and cats' claws 'fore long, and as I'm unbeknownst amongst you fellers, I'd like to make a bargain with you.'

'Go it,' says I; 'I'm on hand for ennything.'

'Well,' says he, 'witchever one of us gits knocked over, the tother feller 'll look out for him, and if he ain't a goner 'll haul him out, so the doctor can work onto him.'

'Good,' says I, 'you may count me in there; mind you look after ME!'

The fight began, and when we charged, the fust thing I knowed the feller next me, wot made the bargain, he went head over heels backwards; and to tell the honest trooth, I was just that powerful egsited I never minded him a smite, but went right ahead after plunder and the Greasers, over mud walls and along alleys, till I got, bang in, where I found something worth fighting about it. 'Bout dusk, when we was all purty full of agwadenty, they sent us out to bury our fellers as was killed in the scrimmage; and as we hadn't much time to spare, we didn't dig a hole more'n a foot or two deep, and put all our fellers in, in a hurry. Next morning airly, as I was just coming out of a church where I'd ben surveyin' some candle-stix with a jack-knife to see ef they were silver, [witch they were not,—hang em!]—as I was coming out of the church I felt a feller punch me in the back—so I turned round to hit him back, when I see the feller, as had stood by me in the ranks the day before, all covered over with dirt, and mad as a ringtail hornet.

'Hello!' said I.

'Hello! yourself,' said he. 'I want ter know what yer went and berried me for, afore I was killed for?'

I never was so put to for a answer afore in all my life, 'cause I wanted to spasificate the feller, so I kind of hemmed, and says I—'Hm! the fact was, this dirty little hole of a town was rayther crowded last night, and I—just to please you, yer know—I lodged you out there; but I swear I was this minute going out there to dig you up for breakfuss!'

'If that's so,' said he, 'we won't say no more 'bout it; but the next time you do it, don't put a feller in so deep; for I had a oncommon hard scratch turning up again!'

H.P.L.

We are indebted to the same writer for the following Oriental market-picture—we might say scene in a proverb:

PROVERBIALLY WISE.

ACHMET sat in the bazaar, calmly smoking: he had said to himself in the early morning,—'When I shall have made a hundred piastres I will shut up shop for the day, and go home and take it easy, al'hamdu lillah!' Now a hundred piastres in the land of the faithful, where the sand is and the palms grow, is equal to a dollar in the land of Jonathan: and the expression he concluded his sentence with is equivalent to—Praise be to Allah!

Along came a blind fakir begging; then ACHMET gave him five paras, although his charity was unseen; neither did he want it to be seen, for he said to himself,—

'Do good and throw it into the sea—if the fishes don't know it, God will.'

And as he handed the poor blind fakir the small coin, he said to him, in a soothing voice,—

'Fa'keer' (which in the Arabic means poor fellow), 'the nest of a blind bird is made by Allah.'

Then along came SULIMAN BEY, who was high in office in the land of Egypt, and was wealthy, and powerful, and very much hated and feared. And ACHMET bowed down before him, and performed obeisance in the manner of the Turks, touching his own hand to his lips, his breast, his head:—and the SULIMAN BEY went proudly on. Then ACHMET smiled, and YUSEF, who had a stall in the bazaar opposite to him, winked to ACHMET, saying, in a low voice,—

'Kiss ardently the hands which you can not cut off:'—

and they smiled grimly one unto the other.

'Did you hear the music in the Esbekieh garden yesterday?' asked YUSEF of ACHMET. 'I think it was horrible.'

'It cost nothing to hear it,' quoth ACHMET: 'there was no charge made.'

'Aio! true,' answered YUSEF; 'but there were too many drums; I wouldn't have one if I were Pacha.'

'Welcome even pitch, if it is gratis.'

'Wanting to make the eyebrows right, pull out the eyes,' said ACHMET, contentedly. 'And as for your disliking the music,—A cucumber being given to a poor man, he did not accept it because it was crooked!'—'Come, let us shut up shop and go to the mosque. It is fated that we sell no goods to-day. Wajadna bira'hmat allah ra'hah—By the grace of Allah we have found repose!'

Our correspondent gives us a pun in our last number over again. It is none the worse, however, for its new coat, as set forth in

GETTING AHEAD OF TIME.

'Well now, I declare, this is too bad. Here it is five minutes past ten and BUDDEN ain't here. Did anybody ever know that man to keep an engagement?'

'Yes,' replied the Doctor to the Squire, 'I knew him to keep one.'

'Let it out,' said the Squire.

'An engagement to get married.'

'Hm!' replied the Squire, looking over his spectacles with the air of one who had been deceived. At this moment JERRY BUDDEN, a jolly-looking, fat, middle-aged man entered the office quietly and coolly, having all the air of one who arrived half an hour before the appointed time of meeting.

'Got ahead of time this morning, any way,' said Jerry.

'The devil you did!' spoke the Squire, testily; 'you are seven minutes behind time this morning; you would be behindhand to-morrow and next day, and so on as long as you live. Confound it, Jerry, you make me mad with your laziness and coolness. Ahead of time! why look at that watch!'—Here the Squire, pulling out a plethoric-looking, smooth gold watch, about the size of a bran biscuit, held it affectionately in the palm of his right hand. 'Look at that watch!'

'Nice watch,' said Jerry, 'very nice watch. The best of watches will sometimes get out of order though. How long since you had it cleaned?'

The Squire looked indignant, and broke out, 'I've carried that watch more'n thirty year; I have it cleaned regularly, and it is always right to a minute, always! It's you that want regulating.'

'Can't help it,' spoke Jerry; 'I got ahead of time this morning.'

'Bet you a hat on it,' said the Squire.

'Done!' answered Jerry. And, putting his hand in his pocket, he deliberately produced the torn page of an old almanac, and, pointing to part of an engraving of the man with an hour-glass, said to the Squire,—

'Hain't I got a Head of Time—this morning?'

Jerry now wears a new hat!

'What poor slaves are the American people!' says the Times' own RUSSELL. 'They may abjure kings and princes, but they are ruled by hotel-keepers and waiters.' The following translation from the Persian shows, however, that a man may be a king or a prince and a hotel-keeper at the same time.

A ROYAL HOTEL-KEEPER.

FROM THE PERSIAN. BY HENRY P. LELAND.

IBRAM BEN ADHAM at his palace gate,

Sits, while in line his pages round him wait;

When a poor dervish, staff and sack in hand,

Straight would have entered IBRAM'S palace grand.

'Old man,' the pages asked, 'where goest thou now?'

'In that hotel,' he answered, with a bow.

The pages said,—'Ha! dare you call hotel

A palace, where the King of Balkh doth dwell?'

IBRAM the King next to the dervish spoke:

'My palace a hotel? Pray, where's the joke?'

'Who,' asked the dervish, 'owned this palace first?'

'My grandsire,' IBRAM said, while wrath he nursed.

'Who was the next proprietor?' please say.

'My father:' thus the king replied straightway.

'Who hired it then upon your father's death?'

'I did,' King IBRAM answered, out of breath.

'When you shall die, who shall within it dwell?'

'My son,' the King replied. 'Why ask'st thou? Tell!'

'IBRAM!' then spoke the dervish to him straight,

'I'll answer thee, nor longer make thee wait.

The place where travelers come, and go as well,

Is, really, not a palace, but—hotel!'

Yea, friends; and, as another genial poet has discovered, life itself is but a hostelrie or tavern, where some get the highest rooms, while others, of greater social weight, gravitate downwards into the first story, sinking like gold to the bottom of the hotel pan,—that is O.W. HOLMES', his idea, reader, not ours. Apropos of HOLMES and kings—his thousands of reader friends have ere this seen with pleasure that the Emperor of all the French was not unmindful of one of his brother-potentates,—in the world of song,—when he paid OLIVER WENDELL the courteous compliment which has of late gone the rounds, and which conferred as much honor on the giver as the taker thereof.

The Spring poems have begun. Vide licet.

TO AN EARLY BIRD.

In homely phrase we oft are told

'Tis early birds that catch the worms;

But certainly that Spring bird there

Don't half believe the aforesaid terms.

He's sorry that he hither flew,

In hopes a forward March to find,

And towards warm climates, whence he came,

To backward march is sore inclined.

Lured by one ray of sunlight, he

Flew northward to our land of snow;

And now, with frozen toes, he stands

On frozen earth:—the worms—below!

Tu whit! whit! whit! he tries in vain

To whistle in a cheerful way;

He feels he's badly sold, and that—

He came too early in the day.

I sprinkle seed and crumbs around;

He quickly flies and famished eats:—

He would have starved to death had he

Relied on proverb-making cheats.

Of the same up-Springings, in higher vein, we have the following:—

APRIL.

BY ED. SPRAGUE RAND.

Now with the whistling rush of stormy winds,

'Mid weeping skies and smiling, sunny hours,

Comes the young Spring, and scatters, from the pines,

O'er the brown—woodland soft, balsamic showers.

Wake, azure squirrel cups, on grassy hills!

Peep forth, blue violets, upon the heath!

The epigræa from the withered leaves

Sends out the greeting of her perfumed breath.

Nodding anemones within the wood

Shake off the winter's sleep, and haste to greet;

Where in the autumn the blue asters stood,

The saxifrage creeps out, with downy feet.

Nature is waking! From a wreath of snow,

Close by the garden walls, the snowdrop springs;

And the air rings with tender melodies,

Where thro' the dark firs flash the bluebird's wings.

A few days hence, and o'er the distant hills

A tender robe of verdure shall be spread,

And life in myriad forms be manifest,

Where all seemed desolate, and dark, and dead.

E'en now, upon the sunny woodland slopes,

The fair vanessa flits with downy wing;

And in the marshes, with the night's approach,

The merry hylas in full chorus sing.

Patience and faith, all will be bright again.

Take from the present, for the future hours,

The tendered promise. In the storm and rain,

Remember suns shine brighter for the showers.

To us, my countrymen, the lesson comes;

Our night of winter dawns in brightest day;

The storm is passing, and the rising sun

Dispels our doubts, drives cloudy fears away.

The sun of freedom, veiled in clouds too long,

Sheds o'er our land its rays of quickening life;

And liberty, our starry banner, waves,

Proclaiming freedom mid the battle's strife.

STRIKING TURPENTINE.

Not a bad story that of the physician, who, vaccinating several medical students, 'performed the ceremony' for a North Carolinian from the pitch, tar and turpentine districts. The lancet entering the latter's arm a little too deep, owing to the Corn-cracker jerking his arm through nervousness, one of the medical students called out,—

'Take care there, doctor, if you don't look out you'll strike turpentine.'

The Corn-cracker—full of spirit—wanted to fight.

We should have handed this anecdote over to X., who travels through the Pines, that he might pronounce on its authenticity. The following, however, we know to be true—on the word of a very spirituelle dame, long resident in the Old North State. When the present war first sent its murmurs over the South, an old bushman earnestly denied that it 'would ruin everything.' 'Kin it stop the turpentime from running?' he triumphantly cried. 'In course not. Then what difference kin it make to the country?'

The following sketch, 'Hiving the Bees and what came of it,' from a valued friend and correspondent in New Haven, is a humorous and truthful picture of the old-fashioned rural 'discipline' once so general and now so rapidly becoming a thing of the past:—

HIVING BEES AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

When a boy at school in the town of G—— I became acquainted with old Deacon Hubbard and his wife—two as good Christian people as could be found, simple in their manners and kind-hearted. The deacon was 'well to do in the world,' having a fine farm, a pleasant house, and, with his quiet way of living, apparently everything to make him comfortable.

He took great delight in raising bees, and the product of his hives was every year some hundreds of pounds of honey, for which there was always a ready market, though he frequently gave away large quantities among his neighbors.

One Sunday morning, when passing the place of Deacon Hubbard on my way to meeting, I saw the deacon in his orchard near his house, apparently in great trouble about something in one of his apple trees. I crossed the road to the fence and called to him, and asked him what was the matter. He was a very conscientious man, and would not do anything on the Lord's day that could be done on any other; but he cried, 'Oh, dear! my bees are swarming, and I shall surely lose them. If I was a young man I could climb the tree and save them, but I am too old for that.' I jumped over the fence, and as I approached him he pointed to a large dark mass of something suspended from the limb of an apple tree, which to me was a singular-looking object, never having before seen bees in swarming time. I had great curiosity to see the operation of hiving, and suggested that perhaps I could help him, though at the time afraid the bees would sting me for my trouble. The gratification to be derived I thought would repay the risk, and calling to mind some lines I had heard,—

'Softly, gently touch a nettle,

It will sting thee for thy pains;

Grasp it like a man of mettle,

Soft and harmless it remains,—'

I told him that I would assist him. He assured me that if I could only get a rope around the limb above and fasten it to the one on which the bees were, then saw off that limb and lower it down, he could secure them without much trouble.

With saw and rope in hand I ascended the tree, and, after due preparation, severed the limb and carefully lowered it within the deacon's reach. I was surprised, and felt repaid for my trouble, to see with what ease and unconcern Dea. Hubbard, with his bare hands, scooped and brushed the swarm of bees into a sheet he had prepared, and how readily he got them into a vacant hive. Many thanks did the deacon proffer me for my timely assistance, and moreover insisted on my staying with him to dine. It seemed to me that I was never in a more comfortable house, and I am sure I never received a more cordial greeting than that bestowed upon me by his venerable spouse.

The place where I boarded with several other boys was with a widow lady by the name of White, who was very kind to me, but who had the misfortune to have had three husbands, and her daughters did not all revere the memory of the same father, and consequently there were oftentimes differences among them.

For several days after this transaction I had noticed on the table at our daily meal a nice dish of honey, an unusual treat, but to which we boys paid due respect.

My term at school expired, and I went home to my father's, a distance of some thirty miles, and assisted him on the farm during the fall months, employing much of my leisure time in studying.

My father was a stern, straight-forward man—a member of the Orthodox church, and one who professed to believe in all the proprieties of life, and endeavored to impress the same on the minds of his children.

One day, after dinner, he said to me, in his stern way of speaking,—'Gilbert, what kind of scrape did you get into in G——?'

For my life I could not tell what I had been doing, and had but little chance to think, ere he tossed a letter across the table and said, 'Read that, and tell me what it means!' The letter was directed to me, but he had exercised his right to open and read it for me. It was from G——, and signed by the four deacons of the church there, asking explicit answers to the following questions:—1st. Did you help Deacon Hubbard hive his bees? 2d. If so, did you receive any remuneration from him for your services? 3d. Will you state what it was? You are expected to answer the questions fully.'

'What have you to say to that, young man?' said my father, with more than usual sternness; and I began to think that I had got into some kind of difficulty.

I told him that I would answer the letter, so went to my room and wrote, saying that I did help Deacon Hubbard hive his bees, and that I had been paid a thousand times by the many acts of kindness of himself and wife, and should always feel happy in doing anything for them that I could.

As my father read this letter I had written, I noticed a smile on his countenance, which lasted but an instant, when he said, 'You may send it; but I want to know what this scrape is, and I will.'

A few days after the reply was sent, another letter arrived from the four deacons, stating that I had not been explicit enough in my answer, and wanted me to say, 1st. Whether I had helped Deacon Hubbard hive his bees on Sunday. 2d. Whether I had ever received from him a large pan of honey in the comb? 3d. Whether my father was a member of the church? 4th. Whether he would give his consent for me to come to G—— on business of great importance if they would pay my expenses, and how soon I could come?

It was cold weather, several months after I left G——, when this letter came to hand, and I did not fancy a ride of thirty miles at that time; I however had permission to promise that I would be there on the first Monday in May, which was the day of 'General Training,' and a great day at that period. In my answer to the second letter I said that I thought I had answered their first question sufficiently before; and in answer to the second I would say, that I had never received any honey from Deacon Hubbard; to the third, that my father was a member of the church; and to the fourth, that I would come there on the day named above.

The first Monday in May was a bright and lovely day, and at an early hour I mounted a horse and started for G——, arriving there before noon. On my way into the village I had to pass the house of Deacon Hubbard, who, knowing that I was expected that day, was looking for my approach, and as I drew near the house I saw his venerable form in the road. It was my intention to pass his house without being seen, but that was impossible. He insisted on my going into the house. His good wife met me at the door with a cordial greeting, but, with tearful eyes, said she feared there was some dreadful trouble in store for me, for the deacons of the church had been watching for me all the morning. After explaining as well as I could the reason of my visit, with the little information I had, Deacon Hubbard exclaimed—'Well, I don't know but they'll make you walk the church aisle, for there's some trouble somewhere.' We had but little time for conversation before Mrs. H. saw the venerable deacons approaching the house; and I shall never forget the solemn look and steps with which they advanced, the senior deacon, Flagg, leading the procession. As they were ushered into the front room they seated themselves in a row according to their respective ages, each wearing the solemn countenance of a Pilgrim father. When I entered the room they all arose and took me by the hand, thanking me for faithfully keeping my promise, and hoped the Lord would reward me therefor. Deacon Flagg, after a few preliminary remarks, said: 'Young man, there has been a grievous sin committed among the Lord's anointed in our church, and we have sent for you that we may be enabled to detect the erring one! and we hope you will so far consider the importance of the matter as to answer truly the questions that may be propounded to you. My young friend, will you have the goodness to say, in the hearing of our good brother, Deacon Hubbard, whether or not you ever received from him a present of a large pan of honey for helping him hive his bees?'

I answered that I never had. All eyes were turned on Deacon H., and an audible groan came from Deacon Harris as I made my reply. Deacon Flagg addressed me as follows:—'My youthful friend, will you be willing to accompany these gentlemen to the house of sister White, and say the same before her?' I was willing, provided my friend Deacon Hubbard would go along, which he consented to do, and we started.

It was but a short way across the Common, and ours was a solemn, silent procession, and I must have appeared like a very culprit. On nearing the house, Deacon Flagg said he would first enter and inform sister White of our business, and return when she was ready to receive us. He returned in a short time, with a longer face than before, and as he approached us, clasping his hands, he said with an agonized tone, 'Dear brethren, Oh! it is all too true! Satan entered her heart,—she coveted the honey,—and fell.' A groan of holy horror came from all the good old men. It was not necessary for us to enter the abode of wickedness, he said, for she would confess all.

The whole proceeding had been a mystery to me, but I soon learned that the next day after hiving the bees, Deacon Hubbard had sent a large pan of honey to sister White's house, intended for me, but she gave us boys a little for a few days and put the rest away; or, as she afterwards said, she coveted it, and said nothing to me about it; and I should probably have known nothing of it had it not been for a disagreement between herself and daughters about a division of the honey, which finally got to be a church matter.

Deacon Hubbard insisted on my going to dine with him; so, with a parting shake of the hand with the other four venerable men, we started for his house. Such a feast as dame Hubbard had provided on that occasion boys do not often see; substantial food enough for half a score of men, aside from the pies and plum pudding which made their appearance in due course; and in front of the dish assigned to me was a dish of the purest honey. After dinner Deacon Hubbard took me to see his bees, and explained many things in relation to them curious and instructive, promising more information on the subject if he could prevail upon me to remain in G—— till the next morning. The fatigue of the long ride that day, and my desire to see a little of the 'Training,' decided me to remain over night.

In the morning my horse was fresh, having been well taken care of by my friend; so, after a hearty breakfast, I bade adieu to the good couple, with a pleasant recollection of their hospitality and kindness. When ready to start, dame Hubbard, with the best intentions, brought me a large pail of honey, wishing I would carry it home to my parents, but as it was impossible for me to carry it on horseback, I had to decline.

It was near noon the next day when I reached home, and my first greeting from my father was, 'Well, Gilbert, now let me know about the scrape you got into last summer in G——.'

I told him all I had learned about the matter, to which be expressed his pleasure that it was no worse, and gave me much good advice as to the future.

A few weeks after I readied home there was a large tub of honey left at my father's house, with a letter for me, informing me that sister White had been expelled from the church in G—— for covetousness; that my friends the Hubbards were well; that the four deacons spoke very highly in my praise, and hoped I would feel rewarded for the trouble I had taken. Years have passed since the matters here mentioned took place, but up to this time nothing has been said to me about 'paying my expenses.'

JAY G. BEE.

Mrs. Malaprop founded a school which has been prolific in disciples. From one of these we learn that—

Old Mr. P. died a short time ago, much to the regret of his many friends, for he was a good neighbor, and had always lived honestly and uprightly among his fellow-men. At the time of his funeral Mrs. L. was sorrowing for his loss, with others of her sex, and paid the following tribute to his memory:

'Poor Mr. P., he was a good man, a kind man, and a Christian man—he always lived according to HOYLE, and died with the hope of a blessed immortality.'

'Played the wrong card there.'

ADAM'S FAMILY JARS.

IN CRACKED NUMBERS.

One fact is fundamental,

One truth is rudimental;

Before man had the rental

Of this dwelling of a day,

He was in nothing mental,

But an image-man of clay.

In the ground

Was the image found;

Of the ground

Was it molded round;

And empty of breath,

And still as in death,

Inside not a ray,

Outside only clay,

Deaf and dumb and blind,

Deadest of the kind,

There it lay.

Unto what was it like? In its shape it was what?

The world says 'a man,'—but the world is mistaken.

To revive the old story, a long time forgot,

'Twasn't man that was made, but a pot that was baken.

And what if it was human-faced like the Sphinx?

There's no riddle to solve, whate'er the world thinks:

The fiat that made it, from its heels to its hair,

Wasn't simply 'Be man!' but 'Stand up and Be Ware!'

And straightway acknowledging its true kith and kin

With that host of things known to be hollow within,

It took up a stand with its handles akimbo,

Bowels and bosom in a cavernous limbo.

Curving out at the bottom, it swelled to a jig;

Curving in at the top, narrow-necked, to the mug;

Two sockets for sunshine in the frontispiece placed,

A crack just below—merely a matter of taste;

A flap on each side hiding holes of resounding,

For conveyance within of noises surrounding;

And a nozzle before,

All befitted to snore,

Was a part of the ware

For adornment and air.

Now for what was this slender and curious mold?

Had it no purpose? Had it nothing to hold?

A world full of meaning, my friend, if 'twere told.

You remember those jars in the Arabian Night,

As they stood 'neath the stars in Al' Baba's eyesight:

Little dreamed Ali Baba what ajar could excite—

For how much did betide

When a man was inside!

When from under each cover a man was to spring,

Where then was the empty, insignificant thing?

It was so with this jar,

'Twasn't hollow by far;

Breathless at first as an exhausted receiver,

When the air was let in, lo! man, the achiever!

But an accident happened, a cruel surprise;

How frail proved the man, and how very unwise!

As if plaster of Paris, and not Paradise,

No more of clay consecrate,

He broke up disconsolate,

Pot-luck for his fortune, though the world's potentate.

It brings to our memory that Indian camp,

Where men lay in ambush, every one with a lamp,

Each light darkly hid in a vessel of clay,

Till the sword should be drawn, and then on came the fray.

'Twas so in the fortunes of this queer earthen race,

(It happened before they were more than a brace).

The fact of a fall

Did break upon all!

The lamp of each life being uncovered by sin,

The pitcher was broken, and the devil pitched in!

So much for his story to the moment he erred,

From what dignified pot he became a pot-sherd.

Since that day the great world,

Like a wheel having twirled,

Hath replenished the earth from the primitive pair,

And turned into being every species of ware.

There are millions and millions on the planet to-day,

Of all sorts, and all sizes, all ranks we may say;

There's a rabble of pots, with the dregs and the scum,

And a peerage of pots, above finger and thumb.

Look round in this pottery, look down to the ground,

Where bottle and mug, jug and pottle abound;

From the plebeian throng see the graded array;

There is shelf above shelf of brittle display,

As rank above rank the poor mortals arise,

From menial purpose to princely disguise.

See vessels of honor, emblazoned with cash,

Of standing uncertain, preparing to dash.

See some to dishonor, in common clay-bake,

Figure high where the fire and the flint do partake.

There's the bottle of earth by glittering glass,

As by blood of the gentlest excelling its class,

Becoming instanter

A portly decanter!

There's the lowly bowl, or the basin broad,

By double refinement a punch-bowl lord!

There's the beggarly jug, ignoble and base,

By adornment of art the Portland vase!

But call them, title them, what you will,

They're bound to break, they are brittle still;

No saving pieces, or repairing,

No Spaulding's glue for human erring;

All alike they will go together,

And lie in Potter's field forever.

At length the whole secret of life is told:

'Tis because we're earth, and not of gold,

'Tis because we're ware that beware we must,

Lest we crack, and break, and crumble to dust.

What wonder that men so clash together,

And in the clash so break with each other!

Or that households are full of family jars,

And boys are such pickles in spite of papas!

That the cup of ill-luck is drained to the dregs,

When a man's in his cups and not on his legs!

That meaning should be in that word for a sot,

He's ruined forever—he's going to pot!

So goes the world and its generations,

So go its tribes, and its tribulations;

Crowding together on the stream of time,

It almost destroys the chime of my rhyme,

While they strike, and they grind, and rub and dash,

And are sure to go to eternal smash.

Lamentable sight to be seen here below!

Man after man sinking,—blow after blow,—

A bubble, a choke,—each blow is a knell,—

Broken forever! There's no more to tell.

There is more to tell, of a promise foretold;

Though now 'tis a vessel of homeliest mold,

Yet 'tis that which will prove a crock of gold,

When the crack of doom shall the truth unfold.

'Tis hard to believe, for so seemeth life,

A cruse full of oil, with nothing more rife;

Yet what saith the prophet? It never shall fail:

Life is perennial, of immortal avail.

'Tis hard to believe, for to dust we return,

To lie like the ashes in a burial urn;

But look at the skies! see the heavenly bowers!

The urn is a vase—the ashes are flowers!

'Tis hard to believe; like a jar full of tears,

Life is filled with humanity's griefs and fears;

'Tis a tear-jar o'erflowing, close by the urn,

Even weeping for those in that gloomy sojourn.

And yet, when with time it has crumbled away,

The omnipotent Potter will in that day

Turn again to the pattern of Paradise,

Will fashion it anew and bid it arise,

A jar full adorned and with richest designs,

With tracery covered, and heavenly signs,

With jewels deep-set, and with fine gold inlaid,

Enamel of love,—yes, a nature new made.

And then from the deep bottom, as from a cup

Of blessing, there ever will come welling up

The living waters of a pellucid soul,

A gush of the spirit, from a heart made whole.

So, like the water-pots rough, by the door at the East,

Our purpose will change, and our power be increased,

When we stand in the gate of the Heavenly Feast:

The word will be spoken: we'll flow out with wine

The blood of the true Life, pressed from the true Vine,

Perpetual chalice, inexhaustible bowl,

Of pleasures immortal, overflowing the soul!

Dust we are and to dust we must return—but, as the old epitaph said of Catherine Gray, who sold pottery,—

'In some tall pitcher or broad pan

She in life's shop may live again,'—

so, in a higher sphere we may all become vases unbreakable, filled with the wine of life.

Were the enemy in their senses they would probably admit that the annexed proposal is far from being deficient in common-sense:—

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

I see that it is proposed by the Southern press that the rebels, as they retreat, shall burn all their tobacco.

I have a proposition to make.

Let General McCLELLAN send a flag of truce and inform them that if they need any assistance in that work, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to assist in the consummation.

I have an enormous meerschaum and a corps of friends equally well piped. If the seceders have no time to ignite the weed, we are quite ready, and a great deal more willing, considering the late frightful rise in Lynchburg, to do it for them. I can answer for burning one pound a day myself. What do you think of it? It isn't traitorous in me, is it, to thus desire to aid and assist the enemy?

Yours truly,

RAUCHER.

A CURE FOR STEALING.

Far back among the days of yore

There's many a pleasing tale in store,

Rich with the humor of the time,

That sometimes jingle well in rhyme.

Of these, the following may possess

A claim on 'hours of idleness.'

When Governor Gurdon Saltonstall,

Like Abram Lincoln, straight and tall,

Presided o'er the Nutmeg State,

A loved and honored magistrate,

His quiet humor was portrayed

In Yankee tricks he sometimes played.

The Governor had a serious air,

'Twas solemn as a funeral prayer,

But when he spoke the mirth was stirred,—

A joke leaped out at every word.

One morn, a man, alarmed and pale,

Came to him with a frightful tale;

The substance was, that Jerry Style

Had stolen wood from off his pile.

The Governor started in surprise,

And on the accuser fixed his eyes.

'He steal my wood! to his regret,

Before this blessed sun shall set,

I'll put a final end to that.'

Then, putting on his stately hat,

All nicely cocked and trimmed with lace,

He issued forth with lofty grace,

Bade the accuser; duty mind,'

And follow him 'five steps behind.'

Ere they a furlong's space complete,

They meet the culprit in the street;

The Governor took him by the hand—

That lowly man! that Governor grand!—

Kindly inquired of his condition,

His present prospects and position.

The man a tale of sorrow told—

That food was dear, the winter cold,

That work was scarce, and times were hard,

And very ill at home they fared,—

And, more than this, a bounteous Heaven

To them a little babe had given,

Whose brief existence could attest

This world's a wintry world at best.

A silver crown, whose shining face

King William's head and Mary's grace,

Dropped in his hand. The Governor spoke,—

His voice was cracked—it almost broke,—'If

work is scarce, and times are hard,

There's a large wood-pile in my yard;

Of that you may most freely use,

So go and get it when you choose.'

Then on he walked, serenely feeling

That there he'd put an end to stealing.

The accuser's sense of duty grew

The space 'twixt him and Governor too.

'The Anaconda is tightening its folds,' and at every fold the South cries aloud. The following bit of merry nonsense, which has the merit of being 'good to sing,' may possibly enliven more than one camp-fire, ere the last fold of the 'big sarpent' has given the final stifle to the un-fed-eralists.

THE 'ANACONDA.'

Won't it make them stop and ponder?

Yes! 't will make them stop and ponder!

What?—The fearful Anaconda!

(All.) Yes! The fearful Anaconda!

(Chorus.) Stop and ponder!—Anaconda!

Big and fearful; big and fearful,

Big and fearful Anaconda!

Is not that the Rebel South?

Yes! that is the Rebel South.

Arn't they rather down in month?

(All.) Yes! they're rather down in mouth!

(Chorus.) Rebel South, down in mouth,

Stop and ponder!—Anaconda!

Big and fearful, &c, &c.

Is not that the traitor DAVIS?

Yes! that is the traitor DAVIS!

Don't he wish he could enslave us?

(All.) Yes! he wanted to enslave us!

(Chorus.) Traitor DAVIS, can't enslave us.

Rebel South, down in mouth,

Stop and ponder!—Anaconda!

Big and fearful, &c. &c.

Isn't that the gallows high there?

Yes! that is the gallows high there!

And JEFF DAVIS that I spy there?

(All.) 'Tis JEFF DAVIS that you spy there.

(Chorus.) Hanging high there, DAVIS spy there.

Traitor DAVIS, you enslave us!

Rebel South, down in mouth,

Stop and ponder!—Anaconda!

Big and fearful, big and fearful,

BIG AND FEARFUL ANACONDA!

Our ever-welcome New Haven friend re-appears this month, with the following jest:—

The other day lawyer JONES, of Hartford, Conn., wrote a letter to my friend PLOPP, whom he supposed to be in Hartford at the time. The missive was forwarded to PLOPP, who is in Newport. It requested him to 'step in and settle.' PLOPP replied:

My dear JONES:—

Yours of 10th is rec'd. I reply,—

1st. I can't step in, because I am not in Hartford.

2d. I can't settle, because I am not in the least riled.

3d. I notice you spell Hartford without a t. This is an error. Allow me, as per example, to suggest the correct orthography, to wit, Hartford.

I shall always he glad to hear from you.

Yours,

I. PLOPP.

The present aspect of the great question is well set forth by a correspondent, 'LEILA LEE,' in the following sketch:—

OUR OLD PUMP.

The writer was once placed in circumstances of peculiar interest, where a word in season was greatly needed, and that word was not spoken, because it would have been thought unseemly that it should fall from the lips of a woman. Our supply of water had failed. The well was deep, and, like Jacob's well, many had been in the habit of coming thither to draw. My father had called in advisers, men of experience, and they decided that the lower part of the pump was rotten, and must be removed. It had probably stood there more than fifty years, and had been so useful in its day, that it was like an old and familiar friend.

The work was commenced, and all the family stood by the closed window, the children's faces pressed close to the glass, as with eager eyes we all watched the heavy machinery erected over the old well. A mother came out of a neighboring house, and stood with a babe in her arms to see the work. A large rope was firmly placed around the pump, and made fast to the derrick. Then came the tug of war, and with a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, the wooden pump rose up gradually from its hiding-place of years.

'Oh, mother! mother!' I exclaimed; 'see, the derrick is not long enough to raise the pump out of the well! Why don't they saw it off, and take out the old pump in two or three pieces?'

Just then papa screamed to Mrs. Rice, 'Run out of the way, quick, with your baby!'

There stood all the workmen in dismay. What was to be done? My father had no idea that he had undertaken such a tremendous job, and now he was in great perplexity. Who, indeed, could have believed that the well was deep enough to hold a pump of such immense size as this, that had become so old and rotten? Oh, for ropes longer and stronger! Oh, for muscle and nerve! Oh, for men of herculean strength to meet this terrible crisis! At that moment, a timely suggestion, from any quarter, would have been welcome. But, even then, it might have been too late; for the pump fell with a tremendous crash, carrying with it all the machinery. Papa fell upon the ground, but the derrick had safely passed over him, prostrating the fences, and endangering the lives of the workmen.

This scene, which was soon almost forgotten, is recalled by the fearful crisis that is now upon us. While we rejoice in our recent victories, and believe that this wicked rebellion will soon be subdued, we must rejoice with trembling, so long as SLAVERY, the acknowledged casus belli, still remains. The unsightly monster, in all its rottenness and deformity, is drawn up from the hiding-place of ages, and it can no more be restored to its former status, than, at the will of the workmen, our old pump could be thrust back, when, suspended in the air, it threatened their destruction. God forbid that our rulers should desire it! What, then, is to be done? No giant mind has yet been found to grapple successfully with this great evil—no body of men who can concentrate a moral power sufficient to remove this worn-out system, without endangering some interest of vital importance to our beloved country.

Zion must now lengthen her cords and strengthen her stakes, for the wisdom of the wise has become foolishness, that God alone may be exalted. He will surely bring down every high thought, and every vain imagination, and his own people must learn what it is 'to receive the kingdom of God as little children.' How shall liberty be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of the land, to all the inhabitants thereof, and, in obedience to the will of God, this year become a year of jubilee to the poor and oppressed of our nation? How shall the emancipation of slavery conduce to the best interest of the master, no less than to the happiness of the slave?

Probably some very simple solution will be given to this question, in answer to the earnest cry of God's people. Should it please him to hide this thought for the crisis from the wise and prudent, and reveal it unto babes, God grant that it may be in our hearts to respond, 'Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in thy sight.'

The simple solution has already been begun by our Executive, in recognizing the principle—its extraordinary advance among all classes will soon fully develop it. In illustration of this we quote a letter which the editor of the New Haven Journal and Courier vouches to come from an officer in the navy, known to him:—

From what we see and know of the operations of the rebels in this part of the South (the Southern coast, where he has been stationed), and from what we see perfidious Englishmen doing for the rebels, we are fast becoming strong abolitionists. We feel that now Slavery must receive its death-blow, and be destroyed forever from the country. You would be surprised to see the change going on in the minds of officers in our service, who have been great haters of abolitionists; and the Southerners in our navy are the most bitter toward those who have made slavery the great cause of war. They freely express the opinion that the whole system must be abolished, and even our old captain, who is a native of Tennessee, and who has hitherto insisted that the abolitionists of the North brought on this war, said last night, 'If England continues to countenance the institution, I hope our government will put arms in the hands of the slaves, and that slavery will now be the destruction of the whole South, or of the rebels in the South.' He further said, 'The slave-holder has, by the tacit consent and aid of England, brought on the most unjustifiable, iniquitous and barbarous war ever known in the history of the world.'

Too far and too fast—it is not Abolition, or the good of the black, but Emancipation, or the benefit of the white man, which is really progressing so rapidly with the American people. But whatever causes of agitation are at work, whether on limited or general principles of philanthropy and political economy, one thing is at least certain—the day of the triumph of free labor is dawning, while the cause of progress

'Careers with thunder speed along!'

It is almost a wonder that the late offer of the king of Siam to stock this land with elephants was not jumped at, when one remembers the American national fondness for the animal, and how copiously our popular orators and poets allude to a sight of the monster. Among the latest elephantine tales which we have encountered is the following, from our New Haven correspondent:—

Dr. H., of this pleasant city of Elms, has been noted for many years for always driving the gentlest and most sober, but at the same time the most fearfully 'homely' of horses. His steeds will always stand wherever he pleases to leave them, but they have rather a venerable and woful aspect, that renders them anything but pleasant objects to the casual observer. A few years ago there came a caravan to town, and several horses were badly frightened by the elephants, so that quite a number of accidents took place. A day or two after, old Dr. Knight met Dr. H., and speaking of the accidents, Dr. Knight remarked that he had not dared to take his horse out while the procession was passing through the streets. 'Oh, ho!' said Dr. H., 'why, I took my mare and drove right up alongside of them, and she wasn't the least bit scared!'

'Hum—yes,' says Dr. K., 'but how did the elephant stand it?'

By particular request we find room for the following:—

Hon. —— then read his Poem entitled the 'Boulder,' which must be heard before we can form an idea of the genius of the poet. First we are reminded of the style of the sweet songs of Pherimorz as his enchanting strains fell upon the enraptured soul of the fair Lady of the Lake. Then away, on painted wings of gratified imagination, is the mind carried to the zephyr wooings of the dying sunset, over the elevated brow of the dark Maid of the Forest, as she reclines upon her couch of eagles' feathers, and down from angles wings, hearing the last whisper of the falling echo from the world of sound.

Whether the wild chaos of storm and whirlwind which madly raged over the benighted earth before 'light was,' rushed to the dark caverns where the fettered earthquake lay, when order was demanded by the Father of Lights, we can not tell; but surely it is a pleasing thought for the mind engulfed in the unfathomed darkness of uncreated light, to be brought out and suffered to rest on the peaceful bosom of the new creation. Whether 'the world that then was' was overflown and perished by the causes set forth, we can not tell. We regret that we can not now give a more extended and particular notice of this poem; let us hope that ere long we may enjoy the delight of reading its printed form.

That must indeed have been a poem which could inspire such poetry in others.

The Boston Courier published, over the signature of 'MIDDLESEX,' during the months of February and March, a number of articles entitled, Through the Gulf States. So far as we have examined and compared the series, it appears to be a literal reprint, with a few trivial alterations of dates and statistics, of the Letters from the Gulf States, originally published in the Knickerbocker New York Monthly Magazine, in 1847.

---

THE KNICKERBOCKER

FOR 1862.

In the beginning of the last year, when its present proprietors assumed control of the Knickerbocker, they announced their determination to spare no pains to place it in its true position as the leading literary Monthly in America. When rebellion had raised a successful front, and its armies threatened the very existence of the Republic, it was impossible to permit a magazine, which in its circulation reached the best intellects in the land, to remain insensible or indifferent to the dangers which threatened the Union. The proprietors accordingly gave notice, that it would present in its pages, forcible expositions with regard to the great question of the times,—how to preserve the UNITED STATUS OF AMERICA in their integrity and unity. How far this pledge has been redeemed the public must judge. It would, however, be mere affectation to ignore the seal of approbation which has been placed on these efforts. The proprietors gratefully acknowledge this, and it has led them to embark in a fresh undertaking, as already announced,—the publication of the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY, devoted to Literature and National Policy; in which magazine, those who have sympathized with the political opinions recently set forth in the KNICKERBOCKER, will find the same views more fully enforced and maintained by the ablest and most energetic minds in America.

The KNICKERBOCKER, while it will continue firmly pledged to the cause of the Union, will henceforth be more earnestly devoted to literature, and will leave no effort untried to attain the highest excellence in those departments of letters which it has adopted as specialties.

The January number commences its thirtieth year. With such antecedents as it possesses, it seems unnecessary to make any especial pledges as to its future, but it may not be amiss to say that it will be the aim of its conductors to make it more and more deserving of the liberal support it has hitherto received. The same eminent writers who have contributed to it during the past year will continue to enrich its pages, and in addition, contributions will appear from others of the highest reputation, as well as from many rising authors. While it will, as heretofore, cultivate the genial and humorous, it will also pay assiduous attention to the higher departments of art and letters, and give fresh and spirited articles on such biographical, historical, scientific, and general subjects as are of especial interest to the public.

In the January issue will commence a series of papers by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, entitled "SUNSHINE IN LETTERS," which will be found interesting to scholars as well as to the general reader, and in an early number will appear the first chapters of a NEW and INTERESTING NOVEL, descriptive of American life and character.

According to the unanimous opinion of the American press, the KNICKERBOCKER has been greatly improved during the past year, and it is certain that at no period of its long career did it ever attract more attention or approbation. Confident of their enterprise and ability, the proprietors are determined that it shall be still more eminent in excellence, containing all that is best of the old, and being continually enlivened by what is most brilliant of the new.

TERMS.—Three dollars a year, in advance. Two copies for Four Dollars and fifty cents. Three copies for Six dollars. Subscribers remitting Three Dollars will receive as a premium, (post-paid,) a copy of Richard B. Kimball's great work, "THE REVELATIONS OF WALL STREET," to be published by G.P. Putnam, early in February next, (price $1.) Subscribers remitting Four Dollars will receive the KNICKERBOCKER and the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY for one year. As but one edition of each number of the Knickerbocker is printed, those desirous of commencing with the volume should subscribe at once.

The publisher, appreciating the importance of literature to the soldier on duty, will send a copy gratis, during the continuance of the war, to any regiment in active service, on application being made by its Colonel or Chaplain. Subscriptions will also be received from those desiring it sent to soldiers in the ranks at half price, but in such cases it must be mailed from the office of publication.

J.R. GILMORE, 532 Broadway, New York.

C.T. EVANS, General Agent, 532 Broadway, New York.

All communications and contributions, intended for the Editorial department, should be addressed to CHARLES G. LELAND, Editor of the "Knickerbocker," care of C.T. EVANS, 532 Broadway, New York.

Newspapers copying the above and giving the Magazine monthly notices, will be entitled to an exchange.

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PROSPECTUS

OF

The Continental Monthly.

There are periods in the world's history marked by extraordinary and violent crises, sudden as the breaking forth of a volcano, or the bursting of a storm on the ocean. These crises sweep away in a moment the landmarks of generations. They call out fresh talent, and give to the old a new direction. It is then that new ideas are born, new theories developed. Such periods demand fresh exponents, and new men for expounders.

This Continent has lately been convulsed by an upheaving so sudden and terrible that the relations of all men and all classes to each other are violently disturbed, and people look about for the elements with which to sway the storm and direct the whirlwind. Just at present, we do not know what all this is to bring forth; but we do know that great results MUST flow from such extraordinary commotions.

At a juncture so solemn and so important, there is a special need that the intellectual force of the country should be active and efficient. It is a time for great minds to speak their thoughts boldly, and to take position as the advance guard. To this end, there is a special want unsupplied. It is that of an Independent Magazine, which shall be open to the first intellects of the land, and which shall treat the issues presented, and to be presented to the country, in a tone no way tempered by partisanship, or influenced by fear, favor, or the hope of reward; which shall seize and grapple with the momentous subjects that the present disturbed state of affairs heave to the surface, and which CAN NOT be laid aside or neglected.

To meet this want, the undersigned have commenced, under the editorial charge of CHARLES GODFREY LELAND, the publication of a new Magazine, devoted to Literature and National Policy.

In POLITICS, it will advocate, with all the force at its command, measures best adapted to preserve the oneness and integrity of these United States. It will never yield to the idea of any disruption of this Republic, peaceably or otherwise; and it will discuss with honesty and impartiality what must be done to save it. In this department, some of the most eminent statesmen of the time will contribute regularly to its pages.

In LITERATURE, it will be sustained by the best writers and ablest thinkers of this country.

Among its attractions will be presented, in an early number, a NEW SERIAL of American Life, by RICHARD B. KIMBALL, ESQ., the very popular author of "The Revelations of Wall Street," "St. Leger," &c. A series of papers by HON. HORACE GREELEY, embodying the distinguished author's observations on the growth and development of the Great West. A series of articles by the author of "Through the Cotton States," containing the result of an extended tour in the seaboard Slave States, just prior to the breaking out of the war, and presenting a startling and truthful picture of the real condition of that region. No pains will be spared to render the literary attractions of the CONTINENTAL both brilliant and substantial. The lyrical or descriptive talents of the most eminent literati have been promised to its pages; and nothing will be admitted which will not be distinguished by marked energy, originality, and solid strength. Avoiding every influence or association partaking of clique or coterie, it will be open to all contributions of real merit, even from writers differing materially in their views; the only limitation required being that of devotion to the Union, and the only standard of acceptance that of intrinsic excellence.

The EDITORIAL DEPARTMENT will embrace, in addition to vigorous and fearless comments on the events of the times, genial gossip with the reader on all current topics, and also devote abundant space to those racy specimens of American wit and humor, without which there can be no perfect exposition of our national character. Among those who will contribute regularly to this department may be mentioned the name of CHARLES F. BROWNE ("Artemus Ward"), from whom we have promised an entirely new and original series of SKETCHES OF WESTERN LIFE.

The CONTINENTAL will be liberal and progressive, without yielding to chimeras and hopes beyond the grasp of the age; and it will endeavor to reflect the feelings and interests of the American people, and to illustrate both their serious and humorous peculiarities. In short, no pains will be spared to make it the REPRESENTATIVE MAGAZINE of the time.

TERMS:—Three Dollars per year, in advance (postage paid by the Publishers;) Two Copies for Five Dollars; Three Copies for Six Dollars, (posture unpaid); Eleven copies for Twenty Dollars, (postage unpaid). Single numbers can be procured of any News-dealer in the United States. The KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE and the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY will be furnished for one year at FOUR DOLLARS.

Appreciating the importance of literature to the soldier on duty, the publisher will send the CONTINENTAL, gratis, to any regiment in active service, on application being made by its Colonel or Chaplain; he will also receive subscriptions from those desiring to furnish it to soldiers in the ranks at half the regular price; but in such cases it must be mailed from the office of publication.

J.R. GILMORE, 110 Tremont Street, Boston.

CHARLES T. EVANS, at G.P. PUTNAM'S, 532 Broadway, New York, is authorized to receive Subscriptions in that City.

N.B.—Newspapers publishing this Prospectus, and giving the CONTINENTAL monthly notices, will be entitled to an exchange.

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