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.

* * * * *

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.

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

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



Number 5. 25 Cents.

The Continental Monthly

Devoted to Literature and National Policy.

* * * * *

MAY, 1862.

* * * * *

NEW-YORK AND BOSTON:

J.R. GILMORE, 532 BROADWAY, NEW-YORK,

AND 110 TREMONT STREET, BOSTON.

NEW-YORK: HENRY DEXTER AND ROSS & TOUSEY.

PHILADELPHIA: T.B. CALLENDER AND A. WINCH.



CONTENTS.

NO. V.

* * * * *

What Shall we do with it? Hon. John W. Edmonds

A Philosophical Bankrupt

The Molly O'Molly Papers

All Together

A True Story. Miss McFarlane

Maccaroni and Canvas. Henry P. Leland

Fairies

John Bright. George M. Towle

The Ante-Norse Discoverers of America. C.G. Leland

State Rights

Roanoke Island. Frederic Kidder

A Story of Mexican Life

Changed

Hamlet a Fat Man. Carlton Edwards

The Knights of the Golden Circle

Columbia's Safety

Ursa Major. H.B. Brownwell

Fugitives at the West. S.C. Blackwell

The Education to be

Guerdon

Literary Notices

Editor's Table

* * * * *

In the next Number will be commenced a new Novel of American Life, by R.B. Kimball, Esq., entitled 'WAS HE SUCCESSFUL?' an account of the life and conduct of Hiram Meeker, one of the leading men in the mercantile community, and 'a bright and shining light' in the Church, recounting what he did, and how he made his money.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: An incident that occurred at Palmyra, in Marion County, of which the writer was a witness, may be given as a fair illustration of Benton's insulting and insufferable manner in this celebrated canvass. During the delivery of his speech, in the densely-crowded court-house, a prominent county politician, who was opposed to Benton, arose and put a question to him. 'Come here,' said Benton, in his abrupt and authoritative tone. The man with difficulty made his way through the mass, and advanced till he stood immediately in front of Benton. 'Who are you, sir?' inquired the swelling and indignant senator. The citizen gave his well-known name. 'Who?' demanded Benton. The name was distinctly repeated. And then, without replying to the question that had been proposed, but with an air of disdain and annihilating contempt that no man in America but Benton could assume, he proceeded with his speech, leaving his interrogator to retire from his humiliating embarrassment as best he could. At the close of the address, some of his friends expressed surprise to Benton that he had not known the man that interrupted him. 'Know him!' said he; 'I knew him well enough. I only meant to make him stand with his hat in his hand, and tell me his name, like a nigger.']

[Footnote B: See Historical Mag., Vol. 4, p. 230.]

[Footnote C: Among the cotton lately arrived from Port Royal was a number of bales marked with the form of a coffin. It was the growth of 'Coffin's Island,' which is usually of the highest grade.]

[Footnote D: The palmetto is a straight, tall tree, with a tuft of branches and palm leaves at its top. The new growth is the centre as it first expands somewhat resembles a cabbage. It is often used for boiling and pickling. The wood of the tree is spongy, and is used for building wharves, as it is impervious to the sea-worm. It is said that a cannon ball will not penetrate it. It is a paltry emblem for a State flag, as its characteristics accurately indicate pride and poverty. When used for wharves, it, however, becomes a veritable 'Mudsill.']

[Footnote E: Before 1700 a colony from Dorchester, Mass., made a settlement on Ashley River, and named it for their native town; afterwards, they sent an offshoot and planted the town of Midway, in Georgia. For more than a century they kept up their Congregational Church, with many of their New England institutions. Their descendants in both States have been famed for their enterprise, industry, and moral qualities down to the present day.]

[Footnote F: The Barnwells can trace their pedigree back about one hundred and fifty years to a Col. Barnwell who commanded in an Indian war. Subsequently the name appears on the right side in the Revolution. This is a long period to trace ancestry in Carolina; for while nearly all New England families can trace back to the Puritans, more than two hundred years, the lordly Carolinians generally get among the 'mudsills' in three or four generations at the farthest.]

[Footnote G: Some thirty years ago, R. Barnwell Smith made a figure in Congress by his ultra nullification speeches, and was then considered the greatest fire-eater of them all. He was not 'to the manor born,' but was the son of a Gen. Smith, who founded and resided in the small and poverty-stricken town of Smithville, N.C., at the mouth of the Cape Fear River. As his paternal fortune was small, and some family connection existed with the Barnwells, he emigrated to Beaufort, and there practiced as a lawyer. He was followed by two brothers, who had the same profession. He was the first who openly advocated secession in Congress. They have all been leading politicians and managers of the Charleston Mercury, which, by its mendacity and constant abuse of the North, and its everlasting laudations of Southern wealth and power, has done much to bring on the present war.

Desirous to stand better with the aristocracy, some years ago the family sunk the plebeian patronymic of Smith and adopted that of Rhett, a name known in South Carolina a century previous.]

[Footnote H: During Nullification times the Fullers were Union men. Doctor Thomas Fuller, who, a short time since, set fire to his buildings and cotton crop to prevent their falling into Yankee hands, is well known as a kind-hearted physician, and better things might have been expected of him.

His brother is a celebrated Baptist clergyman in Baltimore. He was formerly a lawyer, and afterwards preached to an immense congregation, mainly of slaves, in his native place.]

[Footnote I: Many years ago the Elliots were staunch Union men, and Stephen Elliot, a gentleman of talent, wrote many very able arguments against nullification and in favor of the Union. He always thought that Port Royal must some day be the great naval and commercial depot of the South. He may yet live to see his former anticipations realized, though not in the way he desired.]

[Footnote J: An Inquiry laid by me it few years ago before the Historical Society of Pennsylvania elicited information as to several of these 'gates' in that State. I have not the work by me, but I believe that FALES DUNLAP, Esq., of New York, asserts on Rabbinical authority, in an appendix to Sod or the Mysteries, that the Hebrew word commonly translated as 'passover' should be rendered 'passing through.']

[Footnote K: Robertson's Lectures and Addresses. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.]

[Footnote L: The negro whippers and field overseers.]

[Footnote M: Referring to the common practice of bathing the raw and bleeding backs of the punished slaves with a strong solution of salt and water.]

[Footnote N: Words to the West. Knickerbocker Magazine, Oct., 1861.]

[Footnote O: Continental Magazine, March, 1862. See article, Southern Aids to the North.]

[Footnote P:

Don't speak of quacks; just take your dose; Why should you try to mend it, If Doctor H—— concocts the pill, And Parsons recommend it?

See Amer. Jour. of Sci., Vol. xxx., 2d Scr., pages 10-12.]

THE END