Ye Boston Younge Ladie.
The Boston belle is a reader, and knoweth what hath lately appearyd in ye worlde of bookes as welle as in that of bonetts. Shee whispereth of Signore Brignoli and of Hinkley, and of ye Philharmonic, or of Zerrahn his concertes, and eftsoones of aeriall pleasures att parties and concertes, and anon flitteth to Robertus Browning his poetrie, or to Emerson hys laste discourse att ye Musicke Halle. Whan so be itt that twentie of ye sisterhode be gatheren together, lo! seven thereof wyll haue blonde tresses and nineteen be of fayre ruddie complexion, whych a man wolde gife hys lyfe to kisse—yea, and itt oftwhyles passeth that ye twentieth also hath more whyte and rudd in hir sweete face thann ye wolde see in other landes.
Ye Boston demoisselle weareth an waterproof guyascutus, [for so methinketh I haue hearde them calld,] and whan that itt rayneth or snoweth, shee rusheth forth as to a carnavall, and heedeth not yf ye powderie snowe-flakes falle on hir daintie littyl nose, or pile up like untoe a chancellor's wigg on hir hed. Arounde hir whyte necke shee ever bindeth a scarlett scarfe, to shewe thatt she ys an well-redd woman; and whan shee turneth homewardes, she aye beareth in one hande a pamflet, whyle the other holdeth a bouquet of flowres or a pacquette of sugirplummes or confitures. Whyles that she is yett younge and reckeless, and gif shee bee faste, and hathe naughte to beare homewards, lo! shee stiketh bothe tinie fistes intoe hir small syde-pockets, and propelleth onward mightilie independente, caring naught for nobodie. I haue herd from dyvers graue and reuerend menn, who oughte to know, [sith that ther wyves hadd tolde them,] that manie of these demoiselles do wear verie longe bootes, but howe long they may bee I knowe not.
Hee who walketh in Beacon streete on Sundaye, whan thatt the skies be fayre, seeth, after church out-letting, manie of these sweete maydens walking wyth ther cavalleros up and doune hille, talkyng of manie thynges. For ye Boston demoiselle is a notable talker, and doth itt welle, knowing manie thynges whereof ye firste is de omnibus rebus, ye seconde et quibusdam aliis, and ye third alterum tantum. He who complayneth thatt women know nothinge, and haue noe witte, hathe nott mett ye Boston Yonge Lady; if that he dothe, and telleth hir soe, he wyll probablie remember for manie dayes what shee saide in answere. For shee holdeth dixi et solvavi animam meam to bee a goode rule, and thatt it is nott a goode thinge to goe away with wrathe pente up in ye boosum.
She worketh harde for ye armie; yea, she knitteth stockyngs and maketh shertes for ye contrabandes, whereof I haue scene one whiche a contrabande with his wyfe and children didde all were at once, so nobly greate was it. And shee belyveth in ye warre with alle hir braue little hearte and soule, for shee is Uncle Samuel hys oune daughter, if there ever was one, having greate loue for ye Union, alwaies hoping firstly for ye Union politicall, and secondlie for ye wedding union of hertes and ye union of handes, whych is nedeful, that ye countrie shall not perishe for lacke of sturdie urchins to growe upp into soldieres. And thatt theye aye all thus become goode wives and brave mothers, and bee bleste and happie in alle thynges, is ye heartes prayer of
CLERKE NICHOLAS.
The following extract from the Washington correspondence of the Philadelphia Press is significant:
'As pertinent to these questions, let me ask if you have ever gone back to the time when most of the Breckinridge papers in the free States were in danger of being mobbed and torn out after the fall of Fort Sumter?
'I will not ask why these demonstrations occurred, but I will ask if you can point to any one of these journals that is not now filled with strong denunciations of the Administration and its friends, and timid reproaches of the rebels in arms? Are they not all clamorous for the reörganization of the Democratic party? Are they not all against any combination of patriotic men under the name of a Union party? Their object is as plain as their early treason was notorious, and the end of their victory will be the recognition of the armed rebels, or their full forgiveness. The armed rebels are watching their movements with eagerness and joy.'
That they are doing so, is amply evidenced by the recent 'democratic' and treasonable movements in Washington. In time of war, and especially of such a war as this, there can be, as Mr. Douglas said, 'but patriots and traitors.' Away with all parties—till the enemy are ours, the only parties should be those of the North and South.
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The municipal authorities at Nashville met Governor Johnson's appeal, urging them to take the oath of allegiance, by a prompt refusal—falling back 'for reasons' on State rights. There should be, in these times, but one way of dealing with all such State rights gentlemen—arrest as traitors, and trial under military law. This is no day for dilly-dallying and quibbling about 'State rights.' There is only one right in such cases—the right of the Union, and fidelity to it. This rebuff is generally spoken of by the press as 'the Nashville Snag.' There be such things as snag-extractors, and we trust that our Government is free enough from red-tape do-nothingism and circumlocution, to make short work of these insolent rebels, whatever they be.
Boston, April 1st.
DEAR EDITOR: I jot down the following as one of the most melancholy results of this wicked and cruel war:
The Captain at our house believes in General Butler. The Lawyer don't. Such is the state of parties at our table. As I said before, the hand of brother is uplifted against brother, and either may become a fratri-cider—as the fellow did when he squeezed his brother to death in the press, among the apples.
The captain said, the other day, that Butler had a great deal of dash.
'U—m!' growled the lawyer; 'one kind of dash he certainly has—to perfection.'
'And what is that?'
'Balder-dash!' was the annihilating reply.
I report this for the special consideration of Governor Andrew.
Nor less illustrative of the terrible tendencies of civil war, is the following:
'We have a whole navy of gun-boats at Island Number Ten,' said the Colonel, reflectively.
'Yes,' was the unwary reply.
'Then how comes it that if the knave can take the Ten, a navy can't?'
Yours in grief,
CONSTANT READER.
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The Legislature of Kentucky has, probably, by this time, made it a criminal offence for any person to join the K.G.C. As soon as the lists shall have been published of all those Northern men who have belonged to the order, the traitors will find themselves in quite as enviable a situation as though 'escaped convict' were branded on their foreheads.
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From one now far away in the South—albeit not on the Southern side—we have an ornithological reminiscence which may be of interest to those who endeavor to solve the problem, whether animals ever rise to reasoning.
* * * * *
I have amused myself the past year raising a brood of chickens in my little backyard. Being 'tenderly brought up,' they are, of course, very tame, particularly a little brown pullet, that lays an egg in the cellar every morning. A few days ago, as I was leaving the house after breakfast, my wife cried out for me to come into the kitchen. I did so, and found the little brown hen standing quietly by the door at the head of the cellar-stairs, evidently waiting for it to be opened. Going outside, I found the servant had neglected to open the 'bulkhead' door, as usual, and my wise little biddy had concluded to go down-cellar through the kitchen. When I drove her out and opened the outer-door, she went down and laid, as usual. She was never in the house before, to my knowledge, and has not been since. This is a fact, and is only one more instance added to many I could adduce, which go to show that the 'dumb creatures' think and reason.
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Poetry on bells is divisible into two kinds, the tintinnabulistic, which refers to little hand-tinklers, sleigh-bells, and the kind which oriental mothers were wont, of old, to sew to the hems of their daughters' garments, [that they might tell by the sound whether the young ladies were at mischief or no,] and the campanologistic, descriptive solely of large church ringers, Big Toms of Oxford, and the regular vivos voco, fulgura frango giants, such as Mr. Meneely makes and sends all over the country, to factories, churches, dépôts, and steamboats. The sleigh-bell song, according to this classification, is tintinnabulistic; so, too, is the Russian troika,
'I kolokolchick dor voltaia,'
as is also the immortal line which speaks of
That tocsin of the soul—the dinner-bell.'
But Schiller's great ringing poem is superbly campanologistic; so is Southey's 'Inch Cope Bell,' and to this division belong all tollings, fire-alarms, and knells in verse whatever.
The following lyric is, however, far above either, as it ambitiously embraces the whole subject, and therefore, so far as comprehensiveness is concerned, must of course take precedence even of Tennyson's 'Ring Out!'