And Sarah, think you she is not repaid for her fidelity to her father? By it she escaped the grasp of Hiram Meeker, and is now—she has been for years—a loving, trustful, joyous wife.

Happy Sarah Burns! I commenced this narrative by recounting an unhappy incident in your life. How grateful is the task of recording your triumph over the greatest danger which can threaten a maiden—the danger of loving unworthily!

Joel Burns! I confess that, of all at Burnsville, it is in you my feelings of interest centre—you, whose romantic fidelity to your wife's memory has thrown a charm over your whole existence. It is a great treasure—is it not?—a heart so true, so loyal, so pure and faithful, that not one, no, not one of all the young and fair and good and fascinating from out this world's fair creation can divert it for a moment, or change its even, constant, ever-loving pulsations. Such a heart you possess, Joel Burns!

Joel Burns was 'mated' as well as 'married;' and when his wife died, he did not really lose her. In spirit she attended him wherever he went—always near him—more actually present, Joel used sometimes to think, than she ever was before.

How could he wish to marry again, when his wife was all the time by his side—an ever-present, ever-abiding comfort and consolation?

I say, herein lay the charm and the glory of Joel's life. His influence on his place, after it grew beyond the proportions of a village, and became one of the largest towns in the State, was just as great as when it had but a dozen buildings.

Joel did not permit the desire to accumulate to become a passion. On the contrary, he diffused his wealth—not by direct gifts in charity, but by affording everybody around him opportunity to get on and prosper, just exactly as if the world was common to all, and as if all should be allowed a fair chance to live in it!

You have no idea how the attempt to practise this principle enriched the life and nature of Joel Burns.

[There are two Spirits—towering, gigantic Genii—who attend on man: one the Absorbing, the other the Imparting, Spirit. Both are active, energetic, untiring. The former, if it gains access to the soul, commences at once to narrow and impoverish it; while the latter enlarges and makes the soul rich. Herein is explained the old enigma which a dying man is said to have uttered:

'What I kept, I've not; What I gave, I've got.']

I have remarked that Burnsville was one of the largest towns in the State. This was not only the case, but the immense manufactories in 'Slab City' made it much more prominent than any other, and brought it into more direct communication with New York.

Hiram Meeker heard, from time to time, of all that Joel was doing. In fact, impelled by a strong impulse, he took pains to ascertain what progress he made from year to year. But Hiram could not, with all his penetration, fathom a nature like that of Joel. It was always a puzzle to him. For it was not given to a man, who had all his life harbored the wicked Demon Absorption, to understand the excellency and happiness of such a life.

But he watched Burnsville. Indeed, he was tempted to make some heavy investments there when the railroad was constructed—of which event, as the leading capitalist of the country, he had the earliest information. He abandoned the idea, however, for he shrank from coming in contact with his old employer.

So Joel Burns lived on his noble, God-given existence.

But, reader, if you think I am endeavoring to depict a faultless person, you are much mistaken. Faultless is lifeless, when applied to human beings. It is in the contest with our faults that the glory of our humanity shines forth. It is this which binds our race together in one great brotherhood. Pray, tell me what we could do with a faultless man or woman. What have we in common with any such person? What sympathy have we with either, or either with us?

Joel Burns was constitutionally ardent and energetic, not to say impetuous. With such characteristics are always strong attending imperfections. He had his share of these. But his motives were honest, his principles right, his intents true; and I declare I think it to be a real felicity and blessing to observe the faults of such a man, and witness how he encounters and battles with, and conquers them—or if for a moment overcome, to behold his genuine regret and contrition.

I will pursue this no further. I have some work to do in the metropolis. If I linger at Burnsville, I shall be quite unfitted for it—I shall, indeed.

* * * * *

Joel—Joel Burns—farewell!

Ellen Bellows—Ellen Burns—don't you see that Joel has remembered your dying injunction, and has tried to 'live right?' Yes, you do. It was for this that you have never forsaken him.

* * * * *

Sarah Egerton smiles on me as I pass out of the gate. A group of children, half grown, and full grown, give me joyous greeting; and the Doctor waves his hand from his carriage, as he drives along on his errands of mercy and benevolence.

* * * * *

I must make haste. There is no stage to wait five minutes for me. The time table is a despot.

The train approaches. It has stopped. It is off again, and I am in it.

Burnsville, pleasant Burnsville, adieu!

CHAPTER IX.

The denouement happened in this way:

There was to be a large party at Mrs. Caruther's, a married daughter of Mrs. Bennett. The Bennetts and the Meekers, by the way, always kept up their intimacy. Mr. Bennett is dead. He died the year he was seventy, leaving a large fortune. The widow lives in the old house, and the children are married, and are bringing out their children now.

I say, Mrs. Caruthers was to give a large party. Mrs. Meeker, who invariably attended her daughter, could not go. Belle must not go alone. She arranged, so she said, to drive early in the evening to Mrs. Caruther's, and to stay there all night.

For two or three weeks previous, Belle, under the inspiration of Signor Barbone, who now exercised a complete control over her, had been making, quietly but very efficiently, her arrangements for quitting her father's roof.

By degrees, and with an amazing display of secretiveness, she managed to convey out of the house all that she might require for a considerable absence.

Her jewels were not lost sight of, nor anything else of value. The Signor had provided proper receptacles for all these articles—indeed, had greatly aided the young lady in the selection of what to take. More than this—Signor Barbone (proh pudor!) had suggested that she should fortify herself with such sums of money as she might be able to get together without exciting suspicion.

Strange as you may think, Belle was possessed of so little delicacy, that she actually entered into the spirit of the enterprise—regarding the affair as a capital joke, enabling her to hold out against papa should he prove obstinate, as he might for a few days (it could only be for a few days), and inclined to be severe.

What with all her jewels, including some recent expensive purchases, made for the first time in her life without payment on the spot (this also at the suggestion of the Signor), and with sums quietly got together for several weeks, including some considerable amounts coaxed from her father on various pretences, and a pretty large sum borrowed over night from mamma—I say, with all this, the 'happy pair' were pretty well fortified for their first campaign.

The trying moment arrived.

Mrs. Caruthers, of course, knew nothing of Belle's tale to her mother, that she was to pass the night at her house. She simply expected Belle to grace her party.

Quite early in the day the young lady ordered a handsome ball dress placed in a box, and directed it to be taken to her dressmaker, to receive some trifling alterations before evening. She would call in good season there, so she told her mother, and order it sent to Mrs. Caruthers's.

Then, waiting for Mrs. Meeker, to take her morning drive, she went to her room and hurried on a travelling dress.

She was going down stairs, when Harriet's nurse opened the door of her young mistress's apartment, and asked her to step a moment into the room.

Belle turned with all the composure she could muster; she curbed her impatience, and looked amiable.

'Oh, are you going out, Belle?'

'Yes, dear; you know I am to be early at Mrs. Caruthers's. Mamma can't go with me—so I am to stay all night.'

'Why, you have on your travelling dress!'

'It looks odd, doesn't it I—I have sent my ball dress to Laroche, to be altered a little; and I have to call there now, and I want her to see me in this. Do you know, I don't think she has fitted me well at all?'

'It seems to me quite perfect.'

'Hatty, dear, did you want me?'

This she said still standing, as if in haste to go.

'Oh, no. I thought you were going into the parlor, and I was about to ask you to sit with me a little while. I have something to say to you about Gus. I want you to talk to papa. You know papa will listen to you. Tell him—never mind, dear, to-morrow will do as well—I hope you will have a pleasant evening.'

'Thank you, dear. Good-by.'

She turned and opened the door.

By a sort of instinctive tenderness not denied to any human creature, Belle paused and looked back, and, hesitating a moment, returned; going to where her sister was reclining, she kissed her affectionately, without speaking one word.

Harriet's eyes suffused; she was quite unused to such a demonstration.

'My darling sister,' she whispered.

Belle was already out of the room. She bounded down the staircase, passed hastily through the hall, and was soon walking rapidly along the street.

One hour from that time she was on her way to New Jersey.

A clergyman had been provided in that State to perform the marriage ceremony.

When the six o'clock New York train for Philadelphia passed through Newark, it received on board Mr. and Mrs. Filippo Barbone, who were just starting on their wedding excursion.

It was the commencement of the honeymoon.

* * * * *

No wonder, the next day, that Belle is late. We who are in the secret will not be astonished; neither does Mrs. Meeker think it at all strange that Belle should not return in the morning after the excitement of a grand evening display such as Mrs. Caruthers will be sure to have.

The day wears on. As the dinner hour approaches, Mrs. Meeker decides to send the carriage for her.

The coachman soon drives up before Mrs. Caruthers's; and the footman, descending, announces simply that he has called for Miss Belle. The answer which is brought to him is, that Miss Belle is not in the house. He returns and reports accordingly.

Although this little incident is very annoying to Mrs. Meeker, still she has no other idea than that Belle has stopped to make some call or do some shopping on her way home.

Had she considered a moment, she would have perceived how unreasonable was such a supposition. But, as Mrs. Meeker could not have the slightest suspicion of the truth, she was forced to imagine something.

In the midst of her perplexity, Hiram entered. He was so accustomed, and especially of late, to his daughter's greeting at the door, that he missed these affectionate tokens of her presence when he entered the house.

'Where is Belle?' he said, as he came into the parlor.

'Belle has not returned yet from Mrs. Caruthers's. It is rather strange. I have just sent the carriage for her. Wakeman brings back word that she is not there.'

'Wakeman is an idiot!' exclaimed Hiram, with a degree of temper so unusual, that Mrs. Meeker started—'an idiot! I dare say he did not make his message intelligible.'

Now, 'Wakeman' was Mrs. Meeker's private servant—a family servant, she was pleased to say; thereby meaning, not that he had been in the employ of her father, honest Thorn the plumber, nor yet in the service of her mother, the "poor relation," but that in fact he was her servant before she was married, and had remained par excellence her servant ever since.

She therefore rose in arms at once, in vindication of her favorite, and was about to work herself into one of her customary manifestations, which Hiram was evidently in no state of mind to bear, when there was suddenly a ring at the door. An instant's parley, and the servant entered, bearing a note to Mr. Meeker.

The superscription was in Belle's handwriting.

A 'terrible sagacity' informed Hiram's heart of something dreadful about to shock it. He tore open the envelope with fierceness, and read as follows:

'DEAR PAPA: Don't be angry with me. I was married yesterday to Filippo Barbone. I married him because I love him, and could never love any one else. I knew you would not consent, but I could not live without him. Forgive your little girl, dear papa, and write me to come back to you with my dear Filippo. Oh, I know you will like him. Send to me at the Gresham House, Philadelphia. I shall be in agony till I hear from you. Love to dear mamma and Harriet. If I only had your forgiveness, how happy I should be, dear, dear papa!

'Your little Belle.'

[This letter, mainly the production of the Signor, was prepared and put into the hands of his accomplice before the runaways set off, with directions to watch for Hiram's entrance into his house, and deliver immediately after.]

Never before did Hiram Meeker give way to such an exhibition of rage.

He glared fiercely about him, as if endeavoring to find some person on whom to vent it.

There was no one but his wife, who stood directly before him, her angry reply in favor of 'Wakeman' having been cut short by the entrance of the servant with the note.

As Hiram's glance fell on her, a sudden suspicion seized him that she was in some way privy to the affair. In an instant he had grasped her arm, and, shaking her with all his might, he exclaimed: 'Wretch!—monster!—she-devil!—limb of Satan!'

The affair was seriously enough certainly, but it had a ludicrous aspect. There was Arabella, without having the slightest idea of what could cause such a violent outbreak, tossed about like a whirligig by the usually calm, sedate, and self-possessed Hiram, who seemed suddenly transported into a very demon.

Portions of her headdress began to come down. A pair of side curls dropped—a first-rate shot, a sportsman would say—the effect of a double shake and a sudden fetch-up. Next a profusion of hair from the back of the head tumbled off. Teeth began to chatter, and various portions of the structure in which she was encased, to give way.

All this time, Arabella was vainly endeavoring to give utterance to various exclamations, but she could only gasp out some unintelligible sound, while her eyes flashed fire and her cheeks burned with rage.

At last Hiram was exhausted, and with exhaustion came some little thought of what he had been doing. He relinquished his hold of his wife, picked up the note which he had dropped on the floor, put it into her hands, and quit the room.

Hiram stood a moment in the hall, quite overcome by the revulsion that succeeded the storm. Then he slowly mounted the stairs, and proceeded to the room of his invalid child.

Harriet was so struck with the change in her father's countenance, that she started up and exclaimed: 'Why, papa, what is the matter?'

'We are disgraced, my child!' said Hiram, in a hollow voice.

'How? What do you mean?'

'Your sister has run away with a low, vile swindler. My curse rest on her forever!'

'Oh, not so—say not so!' replied Harriet, imploringly.

'Tell me, my child,' said Hiram, mournfully, while he seated himself by her side and took her hand—'tell your father truly, did you know anything about this?'

'No, papa. I do not even now know what you mean.'

Quite calmly Hiram told his daughter what had occurred. The travelling dress, and Belle's last kiss, flashed on her mind. She repeated the circumstance.

'And you know nothing of this Filippo Barbone?' said Hiram, forcing himself with difficulty to pronounce the name.

'Nothing.'

'And your mother?' continued he, slowly, and in a tone which terrified his child.

'Oh, I am sure she knew nothing about it, perfectly sure. I know she did not wish Belle to go to Mrs. Caruthers's, because she could not go with her; and even after Belle made the arrangement to stay all night, mamma did not seem to be at all satisfied.'

Hiram was convinced, and the want of an object on which to wreak his anger now served to exhaust it.

He leaned his face upon the side of his daughter's couch, and groaned.

Harriet put her hand gently upon his cheek. 'Papa,' she said, timidly, 'may I tell you what to do?'

Hiram raised his head. His face was very haggard, but he made no reply.

'Send for Belle to come back, and her husband too, and let us make them happy,' said Harriet, almost abruptly.

'Never! My curse is on her! She is no longer my child—I disinherit her!'

'Give her my portion, then—I shall not require it.'

Hiram started—a new idea had struck him. It was as if somehow he had received a new accession of wealth by the surrender of Harriet's share. A strange confusion of ideas, certainly; but the thought grew on him, as we shall see by-and-by. Now, however, it gave place to the dominant feeling.

Harriet, encouraged by his silence, broke in again: 'Won't you, papa?' she whispered.

Hiram turned and looked at her angrily, but was compelled to lower his countenance before his daughter's earnest, truthful, heavenly gaze.

He started up and went back to the parlor. He began to feel ashamed of his violence toward his wife, and was anxious to dispose of the matter as soon as possible.

To return to Arabella.

As soon as her husband had left her, she proceeded to read the note he placed in her hands. That accomplished, she took the precaution to ring the bell several times with great energy; and, having disposed of the little articles which lay scattered on the floor, she threw herself on the sofa, in violent hysterics.

When Hiram entered, these were at once renewed. Her husband understood this phase of her constitution; and, directing the maid servants to remove their mistress to her own room, he ordered dinner to be served.

I will do him the justice to say he ate little or nothing.

Two or three times the waiter observed that his master put his hand to his head and then to his heart, as if endeavoring to tranquillize himself.

After dinner, he mounted his horse, and rode several miles. When he returned, one would not have known, to look at him, that anything unusual had happened.

* * * * *

During the nest week Hiram was occupied in making his will. A new and important idea seemed to have possession of him.

* * * * *

From that period he never permitted his daughter's name to be mentioned, and would receive no communication from her.

Arabella's hysterics continued, at intervals for several days. Her husband, in view of his violence toward her, was very considerate, but the affair was never alluded to by either.

Arabella, perhaps, felt that she deserved some punishment for tolerating the 'Count in disguise;' and Hiram never got over a certain feeling of mortification when he thought of the scene in the parlor.

Here we leave all the parties for the present.



THE MECHANICAL TENDENCY IN MODERN SOCIETY.

There is no greater absurdity than the attempt to demonstrate anything from historical evidence, or to frame from it an argument whose cogency shall even approach to a demonstration. Granting the hypothesis that like causes will always produce like effects, we find ourselves unable to show that the cases are exactly, or even proximately, the same. History is not a record of every circumstance, but of those only that were deemed worthy of perpetuation; and even were all circumstances known to us, we must receive them as seen through the opinions of the historian, while the present is as it seems to us; so two cases, while appearing to agree, may in reality be very unlike. And, in addition to this, so many are the events that precede any given effect, that it is impossible to determine which is the cause, and which only the circumstance attending that cause. So, while our literature is flooded, with so many 'demonstrations from history,' many a philosopher finds himself in the situation of the sage who demonstrated that 'Tenterton steeple' was the 'cause of Godwin Sands.'

From this it has arisen that practical men have come to despise not only all reasonings from history, but social science altogether, deeming it a pleasant tissue of thoughts that may amuse a leisure hour, but nothing of practical importance. On most subjects this is unfortunately true, but sometimes in the state of a nation there are indications, repeated again and again, showing the existence of a cause which, unless counteracted, will eventually produce certain disastrous effects. Though seen and pointed out by many wise men, still the existence of the cause cannot be logically proved, nor the time of its effect mathematically calculated. Such were the terrible premonitions which foretold the French Revolution, and such are the signs showing over and over again the existence of a mechanical tendency in our own social state. Very seldom, almost never, do we have mathematical certainty as the ground of our action, but the greater part of our lives is directed by moral or probable evidence; and though most of our reasoning on this subject must be derived from history or social science, we deem it worthy of the same treatment that is given, to other questions. If the probabilities be not as great, let it pass with other schemes and theories, but if those probabilities be great enough to make it of practical and vital importance, then let it become an element in every man's consideration.

There is a great deal of possible confusion in this word mechanical. To most readers it would bring the idea of invention, the increasing number of cotton mills and iron founderies, of steamships and power presses, and such progress would be considered in the highest degree praiseworthy; but the sense in which we use the word is somewhat more general. A machine differs from a man in this respect: the former acts without intelligence and without volition, in accordance with certain laws impressed upon it from without; while a man chooses his own end by his own volition, in the light of his own intelligence, and in the same manner decides upon the means for obtaining that end. A mechanical condition would therefore be one wherein an individual acts without intelligence or volition, according to certain laws or habits coming to him from others; a mechanical state of society, one wherein the government moves on according to the will of one or more men, without thought, love, or even attention from the mass of the people, content only with their acquiescence. On the other hand, a rational condition, both of society and of the individual, would be that in which the thought, will, and love of the individual gave strength and life to every act.

The question whether our social state is becoming mechanical, losing personal thought and volition, is of great and vital importance, on account of the terrible major premise that lies beneath. For prove but once that this is the fact, and there comes upon us the great general truth: 'The nation that is growing mechanical is hastening toward its destruction.' The proof of this assertion is written everywhere in history. The limits of this article render it impossible that a tithe of the proof should be brought forward in its support, and therefore only the most general truths can be laid down for the reader to verify from his own historical knowledge. No fact is more indisputable than that every preceding civilization has had its birth, progress, and death, differing only in length from the life of a mortal man; and in the state of each one, in proportion as this mechanical tendency increased, in that proportion their national life departed.

The first period in every nation has been that called the heroic or golden age. Whether this was, in reality, or only in poetic dream, the best age, depends upon another question: What is the true aim in the life of men and nations? If it be but to live comfortably and without confusion, then the architecture and laws of later times are a proof of progress; but if the great end be to develop the whole man, and live a brave, thoughtful, truthful life, with or without tumult, then is the first the golden age; for, entering on a new mode of life, undirected by habits of thought or action from his ancestors, each man makes use of his personal thought in finding out, and volition in choosing, his method of life. No history has recorded the internal state of such a nation, but only the fact that it has always been successful in preserving its liberties against invasion.

The next is the age of leaders, when individual thought has so far departed that they begin to look to others not yet as governors, but directors. This, to a superficial view the noblest age, marks the beginning of a decline. Its great power of invasion, as under Pericles or Caesar, comes from the fact that, while strength enough is left to carry out the details, there is not enough of independence in thought to mar the unity in the plan of its leader. Its brilliant literature springs from division of labor; life has become so complex that each man cannot comprehend it all—so one takes the department of thought, another of action. The man of thought tries to bring back that courage and virtue which he sees are departing, by singing beautiful songs in their praise; while the man of action, feeling their waning power in himself, makes up, by repeating these praises, the lack of a heroic life.

The next is the mechanical age of society, which life has so outgrown the mind that the man cannot attend to both his own affairs and the state, which latter, therefore, he gladly yields to others. This is the age of standing armies, hired to protect a people too careless to protect themselves. This is the age of tyrants, as the lesser Caesars or Philip of Macedon. This is the age which ushers in the last period of the nation, a mechanical state of the individual, when thought has so departed that the man is not able to attend even to his own life, and, like a passive machine, the state is impelled and directed in even the least things by one tyranny from without. It is hardly necessary to add that Alexander in Greece, Elagabalus in Rome, Louis XVI in France, were followed by a destruction as certain as the fact that God meant the earth to be inhabited by men and not machines.

Having shown the grave consequence that lies beneath it, we come now to the all-important consideration, whether our own social state has this mechanical tendency. The preceding sketch not only shows the truth which we have deduced from it, that this tendency is a prelude to a nation's death, but it also points out another, namely, that civilization contains within itself certain causes which finally work its destruction. We may, by a diligent study, find out these causes, such as increase of outward knowledge, division of labor, a complexity of outward relations, and a consequent hurried life that leaves no time for thought; but a careful analysis of all these reduces them to one great cause—an undue attention to physical prosperity. This cause existed among ancient nations in sufficient force to bring about their destruction, but it possessed not a tithe of the universality and strength which it holds among the modern, for, whereas it was once individual, it is now national, pervading every part of the social state.

Before the world was thickly settled and the nations established, it was held that the power of a nation consisted in the extent of its dominions, so that while the individual strove for wealth in agriculture, manufactures, or commerce, the state despised such low pursuits, and turned its attention to increase of territory. But when, after the fall of Rome, it was found that the earth was too fully peopled and national power too well established for such means of strength, attention was turned to another source of power in the cultivation of a people's own resources and increase of its wealth. Wealth is obtained by the addition of mental power to physical products, increasing their value for supplying the wants of man. So that attention to physical comfort and prosperity which was despised by the brave nations of antiquity, is now the leading object of government: treaties are made, wars are declared, rebellions break out, not on account of national glory or right, but in consideration of cotton manufacture, facilities of commerce, or freedom of trade. Nations as well as men are absorbed in the same great pursuit, adding mind to matter for production of wealth.

From this undue attention to physical prosperity spring certain subordinate causes, which, upon examination, are found to be the exact differentia of modern times. The characteristics which distinguish our age from all others are the very ones which have been found so destructive to preexistent civilizations. The first characteristic of this kind is the abundance of outward knowledge. In the pursuit of wealth, the ocean, the desert, the isles of the sea have been ransacked for commodities to gratify the desires of man, and, in order that nature may be pliable for the same purpose in the hands of the artisan, its laws have been studied with the greatest success; the bowels of the earth, the depths of the air, the prison of the arctic seas, have all been subject to the same strict scrutiny in this design.

The knowledge thus obtained comes pouring in by lightning and steam, and is scattered over the world within the reach of the poorest by means of the printing press. The man of to-day is a citizen of the world; he seems to be ubiquitous. It is as though he had a thousand eyes and ears, and, alas! only one mind. Thought has two conditions: first, knowledge, as food and stimulus; second, time for distributing and digesting that knowledge. But the first is so superabundantly fufilled that it entirely obliterates the second. Knowledge comes pouring in from all quarters so rapidly, that the man can hardly receive, much less arrange and think out, the enormous mass of facts daily accumulating upon him. The boasted age of printing presses and newspapers, of penny magazines, and penny cyclopaedias, is not necessarily the age of thought. There is a world-

- Transcribers note: It is regretted that page 354 is missing and cannot be traced. -

will be the result; but to the working-man division of labor is mental death. The ancients might call these masses the ignobile vulgus, the French nobles might sneer at them as sans-culottes, we may deride them as the 'common herd,' all attempting to ignore their existence in history or politics; but it will be all in vain—for in the end it is the people that rule, be the government of the surface what it may. Either they will raise their rulers by their intelligent freedom, or drag the brilliant crowd down with them to destruction in spite of theory or law. Not only in mad sedition and revolution, but always, the masses govern.

The next great characteristic of the age is the increased complexity of outward relations, while the inner mental power does not increase in the same ratio. The former causes had a mechanical tendency in that they lessened the mental strength, for all volition must have its foundation in thought; but this has the same tendency, inasmuch as it increases the objects of thought beyond the power of the mind to satisfy the demand. If any intelligent man should stop in the midst of his life, and consider the relations by which he is surrounded, and for the satisfying of which he is responsible, he will shrink amazed from their enormous complexity: demands from the state for support and thoughtful fidelity, demands from his fellow men for love and charity, children demanding education and training, his own nature demanding cultivation and development, and, last of all, or rather first of all, his God demanding thoughtful love and service. When he proceeds to consider how he may best satisfy all these, there pours in upon him knowledge unbounded, schemes, theories, and methods innumerable, so that he retreats at last in despair and returns to his business—so he calls it, as though to make money were all that a man was sent into the world for, as though his children, his country, his fellow man, were not all his business. The outer world seems to have risen to overwhelm him, and the reason of it lies in this same great cause of undue attention to outward prosperity.

In the pursuit of wealth, men have aggregated themselves into towns and cities, whose area is measured by square miles, and their population by hundreds of thousands or millions; the mind meanwhile, instead of increasing in proportion to the demands thus made upon it, has rather diminished in power. Added to this, each man finds his own private affairs in the same state. The social barrier of birth is either gone or fast departing, and each man recognizes wealth as the only way to power; but the concentrated attention of men and nations in this direction has so complicated its pursuit that he must give his whole mind and heart to this alone, if he would hope to succeed in it, or even comprehend it. While these two worlds, the objective and the thinking subjective, have thus grown so enormously out of proportion, the world has found a remedy again in division of labor. The different relations, which are the unalienable obligations of every man, have been parcelled out among all, and each takes but one as his vocation, leaving all the rest to the vicarious performance of others. Politicians care for the state, teachers for the children, charitable societies for each man's neighbor, and preachers fulfil his duty to God.

The first mistake in the world's action is this. In this partition, thoughts and actions have become separated, the world is filled and the individual confounded by new religions, methods of education, theories of government, propounded by those par excellence called the thinking men, while the men who work have no time for thought. Wisdom is theory proved by experience, but here, alas! the reasoning man and the practical man are separated, so that we are farther than ever from the living truth.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.'

Behind this first mistake, that one man can do the thinking for another, the great error in the world's reasoning on this subject is this, that one man can perform another's duties at all. The duty is his, the responsibility is his, and none can perform the one or assume the other. Granting that he may supply the thought or mechanical; the dynamical, the love and soul power which would make that logic effectual, can come only from each individual himself.

The duty which each man owes to his children is education and training. Schools and teachers may supply schemes of education, improved methods of study, and instil some facts or even ideas into the mind; but that which vivifies the intellect and brings out every power in its fullest development is the motive of love; and it was meant that the filial affection of the child toward its parent should be the life of its opening mind. The mere logic of religion, Sunday schools and teachers, may supply one day out of seven; but to animate that logic and make it a practical thing, a faith instead of a belief, it must be made concrete and living in the loving life of home. In this case no one does the duty or assumes the responsibility of the parent.

Our duty to our fellow men is not charity as we use the word—a bill dropped into the contribution box, or a subscription to a charitable society; but [Greek: charis] in the old meaning of love and help. Poverty springs from two causes—improvidence, a lack of the savoir-faire in the affairs of life, or overwhelming circumstances, which have broken the spirit of the man and made him sit down discouraged and despairing. In either case, money is no remedy. If the man be improvident, it only helps the evil for a moment, and the want soon returns: what the man needs is instruction and care from those better versed in the art of living. And in the second case, to give money is no avail, but rather an evil; for instead of thus recognizing his degradation, the man needs encouragement, the enthusiasm of a strong and successful heart, giving life and light to him who thus sits in darkness. This demands the time and careful thought of every man, or the duty is left undone. Charitable institutions are well enough: the only error is in supposing that they can assume the responsibility of the individual. 'This ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other undone.'

Our country cannot be left to politicians, for its first great demand is the careful thought of every man in the direction of its affairs; and this, no single man or class of men can supply. The action of Government should be conditioned by the needs of the people, and these can be known only by the people themselves. It is for every man, therefore, to keep an earnest and heedful eye to his own needs and the wants of those about him, if the vox populi would be vox Dei, the utterance of God's truth; otherwise the opinion of the people will be the voice of demagogues, which is as far as possible from the voice of God. Another need is that of continual watchfulness, lest the country be defrauded, or its rulers become corrupt. No class of men can be appointed as watchmen, lest they also go in the same way: but it is the unalienable duty of the whole people. When the emergency of defence arises, no man can really perform his duty by the payment of money or the providing of a substitute; for that which makes a country strong is not armies or cannon, but life. The Moors held Grenada, in the midst of Spain, for years, the Swiss have remained amid the storms of Europe for centuries, a Rome of huts went out to conquer the world, while a Rome of palaces is doomed to invasion and death. Every nation has money enough, if it have only patriotism and its attendant courage. Even if war has become mechanical and men fight at a distance, so that the courage of a hand to hand conflict is of no avail, it finally comes to the same result; a nation needs not cannon or armies, but men whose hands are strong and whose minds are quick because of the love in their hearts. No man performs his duty unless he sends a substitute of equal bravery and patriotism to that which he should himself possess, and then he must do the substitute's duty by going in his place. Politicians and hired soldiery can neither govern nor protect a country; it needs the people themselves as individuals.

In religion, no man pretends to say that a class of men can perform the duty which each man owes to God, and the person who should say such a thing would be considered in jest or partially deranged. Yet it is so tacitly held, and practically believed. As the man sits in his cushioned seat on the Lord's day, and looks up at the stately edifice which he has helped to build, and hears the eloquent words of the preacher whom he in part pays, he has a comfortable feeling that his work is done. To be sure, no man can love God without knowing Him, and none can know Him well without a careful and intelligent study of His works in creation and revelation; but the man himself has no time for this, he has something else to do, and if he but hire another to dig out these truths, and present them to him, as it were ready made, of a Sunday, he considers that it is enough. The preacher performs the thinking and the architect the acting of man's duty to God. So the world goes on; religion is merely logical, mechanical, a kind of 'greatest amount of happiness' affair, a lubricant to make the wheels of society move on smoothly, instead of being from the soul, dynamical, giving love and life to the world.

This mechanical tendency has also an element which makes it worse than any corresponding state in former times, for these at least contained a faith which was positive, while ours is utterly negative; theirs sprang from want of mental power, ours from want of time. When in times past a people felt the power of thought going from them, and became conscious of their inability to solve the great riddle of life which was perplexing them, they chose the best remedy for what was irremediable, and turned to wiser men than they for direction and help. From thence sprang faith, reverence, hero worship, which stands next in rank to independent thought. But we, having no time to attend to these things, have yet no faith in those to whom they are entrusted, and no hope of their successful issue; we but shrug our shoulders at the thought, say, 'I cannot attend to it,' and let it go. So laisser aller is the cry of the age, a dead negation of thought and volition.

By proving the existence of the causes that produce it, we have shown the presence of a mechanical tendency in our social state; the same thing may be done in another way, by proving the existence of effects that flow from it. The truest index of a people's condition is found in the meaning which they attach to certain, words. A history of the word virtus, manhood, is a history of the social condition of the Roman people. If, then, we find that the conceptions which we attach to such words as God, man, and society are mechanical, then society must have such a tendency, for these words lie at the foundation of all government, all social movements, and all individual actions.

First, the meaning of the word God. We, as a people, neither deny nor pretend to deny, in words, the existence of a Being, infinite in power and wisdom, who governs the universe according to his will; yet practically we have ignored His existence, and deified the laws of nature instead, given up the idea of a free volition, worshipping a mechanical necessity of cause and effect. The cause of this dates back to Bacon's 'Novum Organum,' the introduction of the Inductive Philosophy. He laid down the principle that nature must be interrogated if she would be understood, that from a careful study of the effects we must deduce the cause, instead of presuming the cause, and explaining the effects on this hypothesis.

This form of study and the study itself are well enough when confined to their right proportion; but desire for wealth, in its endeavor to adapt nature to the wants of man, has forced the study out of its proportion, and deduced from it an untruth. In proving the being of a God from nature alone, we get only the idea of power joined to a dead necessity of laws; and it must be in the study of the human soul, with its personality and volition, that we shall get the other ideas, which, joined to that of power, prove to us the being of a personal God. Nature has been studied and analyzed and searched with all the social and individual power of the age, while the science of mind and soul has stood still; and so it is that men no longer believe there is any God but cause and effect; not the nation which is right is successful, but 'God is always on the side which has the most cannon;' not the just man, but the shrewd man, will succeed; not God but rain and sunshine, will bring forth the harvest.

Give us back the time when men fought hand to hand in ordeal of battle, or bared their feet to walk over burning ploughshares in their firm trust that God would defend the right; give them back with all their superstitions and darkness, if with them we may receive again the lost knowledge of a God who is 'Our Father,' a God who loves and protects His children. If there is anywhere on the earth a soul that trusts and prays, then must the world be wrong in its belief. A law is a rule of conduct, a law of nature is a rule of God's conduct, and though we have abstracted the personality and freedom, they are none the less there. There is also a mitigated form of this atheism as follows: many believe in a personal God, yet conceive Him to be fettered by his own laws; as if He had made the machine of the universe, wound it up, and could now only stand helplessly aside to see it go. Prayer is of no avail to such a God; thus the first need of the soul is left unsatisfied, and man stands in the universe alone. Herein is their error: because He has always acted in this manner, they reason that He always will, and then go farther and think He always must; not seeing how He stands behind and moves the law. When the hammer in the pianoforte rises, the wire will sound; but there is one who sits unseen at the key board and controls the wires of the hammer. When the lightning bolt falls, the tree is shattered; but God holds the lightning in His hands.

Succeeding a mechanical idea of God, we have a similar idea of man. The fundamental question of human nature is that of free will or necessity. The history of philosophy is but a history of the conflict of these two ideas: in the life of the individual also, the same great question arises, whether he can be what he will, or will be what he must. From this come all those articles on 'Nature and Circumstances,' 'Genius and Labor,' with which college magazines are filled—endeavors of the young mind to solve this most vital problem. Modern society has declared itself on the side of necessity: while acknowledging man preeminently free in his relations to others, it yet considers him as the bondslave of motives. When God is the mere bondsman of necessity, and his religion only the means of the greatest amount of happiness, surely his creature must be in the same slavery. There are three great motives that sway men—love for themselves, love to others, and love to God. The first of these is measurable, the others immeasurable. In the first, given a greater means of happiness, ten thousand dollars instead of nine thousand, and the action follows in that direction as a matter of necessity. But love of children, patriotism, benevolence, love of God rise above this logical and mechanical, to the region of free and incalculable volition.

Society, ignoring any such thing as soul, has declared that only the measurable and necessary remains in man. Thence has arisen the science of averages, pretending to foretell with mathematical certainty what a man must do under given circumstances. Thence also has arisen this maxim, so often quoted as final in all such questions, 'Every man has his price.' Perhaps there is some ground too for this opinion. We have before shown how, by division of labor, affection and volition have been abstracted from life, while only a formal performance of duties by others remains, and it would be strange if, under such regime, these parts of the human nature should not become shrunken. But the soul is not wholly gone yet; the world is mistaken—a little is left which cannot be measured by dollars and cents, enough of benevolence yet to make tolerable, enough of faith and love in the hearts of a few holy men to keep the world from corruption.

Society was called by the Great Master a brotherhood. Even in heathen times men were held by ties of kindred and country; now they acknowledge practically no bond but that of interest. The word that is continually in our mouths is 'framework of society,' 'social mechanism,' as though it were impelled by a force from without, instead of being a living and vital thing, moved and governed by its own vital forces. 'Law of averages,' 'honesty is the best policy,' 'law of supply and demand,' are supposed to be the forces that drive the affair, while any such power as love or faith is ignored. But as with individuals, so with society. The world is not so bad as it declares itself to be. Enough of patriotism is still left to affect the gold market at times, enough of faith to keep alive the effete aristocracy of Europe, enough of courage and honor to rally around and bravely uphold a tattered flag in a battle for constitutional freedom.

Although we have shown the existence of a mechanical tendency, yet our labor is incomplete and practically useless unless we have shown how it may be retarded or wholly counterbalanced. Some countervailing element there must be, as is evident from the fact that, while the causes that produce this tendency exist in modern society in tenfold greater power than they ever had in ancient life, yet their operation has been, by far, less rapid. Greece and Rome existed barely a thousand years, while Anglo-Saxon civilization has already flourished much longer than that, and as yet shows no signs of immediate decay.

The retarding cause is war. This does not strike at the root of the matter and eradicate the love of physical prosperity, but only retards the movement, by awaking men to see that their interests are inseparable from those of the state. In the midst of war they see that one cannot perform the duty of another, that hired soldiery cannot protect a state, but their own hearts and arms must be enlisted unless they would be buried in its ruins. It wakes up the dormant dynamical powers of courage and heroism, and checks for a moment the selfish individualism that was taking the life from the nation.

This only retards, it does not counterbalance or neutralize this tendency. War was common to ancient and modern times alike; but that cause which has so long held our society from ruin, and on which we base our hope of an indestructible civilization, is the Christian religion. This strikes at the root of the matter, being antagonistic not only to the one simple cause, but to each of the subordinate causes that are derived from it. Disproportionate attention to outward prosperity springs from the idea that the happiness of men and nations is inseparable from wealth. Directly opposed to this is the teaching of religion, that happiness and strength come from performing truly the duties of life. The first derivative cause which we found under this was an accumulation of facts which overburden the mind and destroy its power. Religion has little to do with outward facts, it taxes but little the receptive power; it has to do rather with changing knowledge into wisdom, applying the few vital facts to the life. This knowledge, we have found, is objective, ignoring the [Greek: Gnothi seauton]; but religious thought is intensely subjective; all other things it esteems as of no avail, except those that relate to the outward condition and tendency of the individual. Know thyself in relation to man and God—this it continually demands. No man can be religious without thought—continual, earnest thought, perceiving and defining duties; therefore, wherever religion comes, even the mind that was sunken in weakness is raised to renewed life. It is in this way that religion counterbalances the influence of division of labor. While this takes away the last incentive to thought on the part of the workman, degrading him to a cunning but expensive machine, religion gives to him a new spring of thought, vivifies his blunted mind by the power of transformed affections, and makes him again a man.

The next derivative was lack of time, taking affection and volition from life by dividing the duties of the individual among others. In immediate antagonism to this, religion declares that the individual stands alone in his duties and responsibilities before God. It recognizes no institution of charity or social partition, but reiterates the command, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself,' which includes everything.

Religion is opposed to this tendency, not only in its causes, but in its effects. It brings back to us the idea of a personal God. It makes no mention of nature, but simply says: 'The heavens declare the glory of God,' 'He sendeth his rain on the just and the unjust.' No laws of nature are spoken of as conditioning the action of God, but He sees the sparrow's fall and provides for it; He hears and answers the prayer of His children. It declares man to be more than a slave driven by motives, with every action necessitated; it declares him a creature of free volition, whose action can neither be calculated nor controlled. It declares him possessed of powers of love and hate, which defy mathematics; a being above all price, to whom honesty may be more than 'the best policy,' even the loving obedience of a child to a loving Father. It declares society to be no mere framework tied together by interest, but a brotherhood, like a living soul, having a common Father, Saviour, and Home. In place of supply and demand, policy, interest, it enunciates but one word, love.

It would be worse than useless if we had come so far in reasoning, and obtained no practical result, which might be embodied in each man's action. We have shown the existence of this tendency, and the powers that are antagonistic to it. We cannot prove the result, for there is no analogy in any preceding case which history affords; we cannot calculate the strength of the opposing powers, for the issue lies in man's volition, which is above mathematics. Yet practically, the result, as far as regards us individually, is as valuable as though this were possible. The result depends upon the world's decision, and each man is responsible for his part of that decision, whether he will give his heart to outward or inward prosperity. If he would have his children, to unnumbered generations, rise up to bless the age in which he lived, and him who lived therein; if he would do what he can to make his country's civilization perpetual, and his own life truly happy, let him give up all thought of laissez faire, 'it will last my time,' and begin to lead an earnest, thoughtful life, sacrificing, if need be, something of outward prosperity for the sake of fulfilling his duty in love and action to his fellow men and to God.



AN INDIAN LOVE-SONG.

From his ambush in thy shadowy eyes young Love an arrow shot, When beneath thy father's wigwam my youthful brain grew hot. My heart is all a-quiver, but hear me while I sing; Oh let me be thy beau, and I will never snap the string! Then clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall; For I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.

Not with the glittering wampum have I come thy smiles to woo; But I offer a cabin passage down life's river in my canoe; And to beguile the voyage, if thou wilt come aboard, Till sunset fire the waters the fire-water shall be poured. While clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall; And I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.

Though my pipe of peace thy cruelty has shattered, stem and bowl, A thousand thongs from thy dear hide are knotted round my soul. From every murderous tomahawk my dove shall shielded be; And if famine stare us in the face, I'll jerk my heart for thee. So, clad in noiseless moccasons the feet of the years shall fall; And I will cherish thee, my love, till Time shall scalp us all.



LITERARY NOTICES.

POEMS FROM THE INNER LIFE. By LIZZIE DOTEN. Boston: Wm. White & Co., 'Banner of Light' Office, 158 Washington street, New York: A. J. Davis, 274 Canal street.

This book was written from what is called 'the plane of spiritual experience' of which we, being neither clairvoyant, clairaudient, nor clairsentient, know positively nothing.' Miss Doten says: 'I claim both a general and particular inspiration. I know that many sincere and earnest souls will decide, in the integrity of their well-trained intellects, that my claim to an intercourse with the invisible world is an extravagant assumption, and has no foundation in truth. I cannot conscientiously deny that in the mysteries of my inner life I have been acted upon decidedly and directly by disembodied intelligences, and this sometimes by an inspiration characteristic of the individual, or by a psychological influence similar to that whereby mind acts upon mind in the body. Many of the poems were given by direct spirit influence before public audiences. For many of them I could not obtain the authorship, but for such as I could the names are given.'

Strange statements truly, and yet we see no reason to doubt that Miss Doten fully believes them to be simple records of facts known to herself. We do not doubt her truth and good faith; but we confess ourselves puzzled with the contradictory and inconsequent phenomena of modern spiritualism. These developments never bring any accession to our knowledge. In addition to the curious circumstances attending the creation of these poems, many of them are very beautiful. In those purporting to have been dictated by the spirit of Poe, the similarity of style is quite remarkable. His alliterations, his frequent assonances and rhymes, his chiming and ever-musical rhythms are wonderfully well reproduced. But has he learned nothing new to tell us in those 'supernal spheres'? Has he struck upon no new path in those weird regions, grasped no fresh and startling thought to weave into the perfect music of his lines? Nay, has he learned no new tunes, chimes, or rhythms 'where the angels' feet make music over all the starry floor'? Could he not lift for us the veil of Isis? The 'inspiration' from Shakspeare we regard as a total failure. He who never repeated himself on earth, comes to us who love him, after his long residence in heaven, and travesties his own matchless dramas by weak quotations from them, as if he had been cogitating only his own words through the new scenes of glory which had opened before him. Our great Shakspeare has grown none in the passing centuries—comes from the empyrean to gabble like a dotard of the visions of his youth? We quote from the poem:

'Man learns in this Valhalla of his soul To love, nor ever finds 'Love's Labor Lost.' No two-faced Falstaff proffers double suit; No Desdemona mourns Iago's art; And every Romeo finds his Juliet.'

Trust us, fair and gifted Miss Doten, the spirit who sang this into your soul was not Shakspeare, nor, unless we are much mistaken, even one of his acquaintances.

FAITH AND FANCY. By JOHN SAVAGE, Author of 'Sibyl, a Tragedy.' New York: James B. Kirker, 599 Broadway. Washington, D. C.: Philip & Solomon.

We are glad to welcome this little volume of poems, some of which were published anonymously, and received general praise from critics and readers. They are vigorous, patriotic, rhythmical, and many of them are marked with imaginative power. The 'Muster of the North' is a bold and striking poem.

LIFE OF EDWARD LIVINGSTON. By CHARLES HAVENS HUNT. With an Introduction by GEORGE BANCROFT. New York: D. Appleton & Co., 443 and 445 Broadway.

Mr. Hunt has had great advantages in the preparation of this interesting life, the only surviving members of Mr. Livingston's immediate family having placed in his hands the whole mass of papers left by him at his death. The work has a double interest. As a man, Mr. Livingston claims our sympathies from his domestic virtues, his unvarying sweetness of demeanor, his high ability and culture; as jurist and statesman, he is closely related to the great epochs of our country. It fell to his lot, after our acquisition of Louisiana, to adjust the old municipal laws derived from France and Spain, to the new condition of the connection with America. 'The code which he prepared at the instance of the State of Louisiana,' says Mr. Bancroft, 'is in its simplicity, completeness, and humanity at once an impersonation of the man and an exposition of the American Constitution. If it has never been adopted as a whole, it has proved an unfailing fountain of reforms, suggested by its principles.' Mr. Livingston will live historically with such men as Bacon, Montesquieu, Beccaria, and Bentham. His great work in its final form was styled 'A System of Penal Law,' and was divided into 'A Code of Crimes and Punishments,' 'A Code of Procedure,' 'A Code of Evidence,' and 'A Code of Reform and Prison Discipline,' besides 'A Book of Definitions.' This work is marked by great unity of design, by the shunning of legal ambiguity, by the preventing rather than avenging crime, and by bringing 'mercy to season justice.'

Space fails to follow Mr. Livingston through his congressional career, his social and domestic life, his many and pleasant relations with General Jackson, George M. Dallas, and most of the leading men of his own times. We close this short notice with a quotation from Charles J. Ingersoll: 'A purer, sweeter, or superior spirit seldom has departed. He belonged to a peerage of which there are very few members.' We doubt not this important record will obtain a wide recognition.

RAMBLES AMONG WORDS: their Poetry, History, and Wisdom. By WILLIAM SWINTON. Revised Edition. New York: Dion Thomas, 142 Nassau street.

We are glad to welcome a new edition of this interesting book. Some fifteen hundred illustrations of the Poetry, History, and Wisdom of Words are presented to the reader in these pages, the greater number of which have never before been etymologically analyzed. Mr. Swinton's classifications are ingenious and suggestive. We have 'The Work of the Senses, 'The Idealism of Words,' 'Fossil Poetries,' 'Fossil Histories,' 'Words of Abuse,' 'Growth of Words,' 'Verbal Ethics,' 'English in America,' &c. Our author says: 'In the growth of Words all the activities of the mind conspire. Language is the mirror of the living inward consciousness. Language is concrete metaphysics. What rays does it let in on the mind's subtile workings! There is more of what there is of essential in metaphysics—more of the structural action of the human mind, in Words, than in the concerted introspection of all the psychologists.' And very skilfully has Mr. Swinton elicited the pregnant meanings, the rich coloring, the 'concrete metaphysics,' the terrors, delights, and wonders of words. Thoughtlessly enough we use them, but they are coins of matchless worth, stamped with the history and marked by the complicated powers of the being in the fire of whose soul they are fused. Truthfulness of derivation, history, erudition, poetry, and imagination meet in the charming pages before us, and enthral the interest. We recommend the work not only to the student, but to all readers of intelligence. Those already familiar with the subject will find much rare and original matter; while those to whom it is new will be astonished and startled with the unsuspected resources of the magical regions through which 'Rambles among Words' will conduct them.

THE VAGABONDS. By J. T. TROWBRIDGE. With Illustrations by F. O. C. Darley. New York: James G. Gregory, 46 Walker street.

Most of the readers of the Atlantic Monthly will remember 'The Vagabonds'—a poem remarkable for its truth and pathos. Darley has caught the spirit of the 'two travellers'—indeed, the expression of love and pity in the face of the dog is almost human. If we but read this poem aright, a moral lies in every verse, teaching us compassion for erring humanity, and mercy to the dumb creatures whom no sin or degradation can alienate from their loyal affections. We thank Darley for these exquisite and tender illustrations. They are worthy of his fame. May they save our poor four-footed 'Rogers' many a kick, and elicit a deeper sympathy for earth's unfortunate vagabonds!



EDITOR'S TABLE.

THE METROPOLITAN FAIR IN AID OF THE UNITED STATES SANITARY COMMISSION.

Believing it to be the duty of all public and private citizens, of all journals and publications, to do whatsoever may be in their power to aid the Metropolitan Fair in the effort to sustain the Sanitary Commission in its important functions, we propose devoting to this purpose the pages of our Editor's Table.

Fort Sumter fell on the 15th of April, 1861; on the 16th, the President's proclamation calling out seventy-five thousand troops to suppress an armed rebellion was issued. The effect was electric, startling the loyal States into sudden activity. Men rushed to arms, and women thronged together to devise means to alleviate suffering likely soon to occur among the brave fellows speeding to face death in behalf of their country. Surgeons and physicians were invited to meet with them and instruct them how to make lint, prepare bandages, and educate nurses.

About fifty ladies met during this juncture at the New York Infirmary for women, April 25th, 1861, and a committee was appointed to organize the benevolence of our women into a Central Association. A meeting was called in the Cooper Institute, April 29th, attended by the largest assembly of ladies ever drawn together before. It was presided over by D. D. Field, Esq.[5] Rev. Dr. Bellows explained the object of the meeting, and an eloquent address was made by Vice-President Hamlin. Dr. Crawford, since Brigadier-General Crawford, who had been at Fort Sumter, followed him. Drs. Wood, Mott, Stevens, etc., urged the merits of the enterprise. Articles of organization were brought in, which, under the name of the Women's Central Association of Relief, united the women of New York in a society whose objects were to collect and distribute authentic information with regard to the wants of the army; to establish a recognized union with the New York Medical Association for the supply of lint, bandages, etc.; to solicit the aid of all local associations; and to take measures for training and securing a supply of nurses against any possible demand of war. Dr. Mott was appointed President of the Association; Rev. Dr. Bellows, Vice-President; G. F. Allen, Esq., Secretary; and Howard Potter, of Brown Brothers & Co., Treasurer.

Wise questions were put to the Chief Medical Purveyor of the U. S. Army by the Association, to which kind and patient verbal answers were returned. But it was evident that he regarded its solicitude as exaggerated, and its proffer of aid as almost superfluous, believing the Medical Department was fully aroused to its duties, and able to meet them. There can be no doubt that this opinion was perfectly honest, loyal, and faithful. But the women still believed that something might be done for the objects of their solicitude. A committee, consisting of Dr. W. H. Van Buren, Dr. Elisha Harris, Dr. Jacob Harsen, and Rev. Dr. Bellows, etc., was appointed to visit Washington, and confer with the medical authorities and the War Department in regard to the whole subject of volunteer aid to the army. The committee came to the conclusion, after some weeks' observation in and about Washington, that neither the Government, the War Department, the Bureau, the army, nor the people understood the gigantic nature of the business entered upon, or were half prepared to meet the necessities which must in a few weeks or months fall crushingly upon them. Such facts convinced them of the necessity of a much more extensive system than had been contemplated at the period of their organization, and thus the idea of a Sanitary Commission, with an office and resident staff at Washington, presented itself to them as alone able to meet the views of the Central Association and the emergencies of the case. The ordering of a Sanitary Commission without rights or powers was finally granted, the duties being enough to satisfy the most active. The order for the Commission was issued by the Secretary of War June 9th, and approved by the President June 13th, 1861. Women feel that our soldiers belong to the nation, and thus local, and personal prejudices have yielded to the truly federal principles of the Sanitary Commission. They are withdrawn from local politics, and have felt the assault upon the life of the nation in its true national aspect. They have been the first to appreciate and understand the all-embracing duties of the Sanitary Commission. With Milwaukee, Chicago, Cleveland, Cincinnati, Louisville, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, New York, Brooklyn, New Haven, Hartford, Providence, Boston, Portland, and Concord for centres, there are at least 15,000 Soldiers' Aid Societies, all under the control of women, employed in supplying, through the Sanitary Commission, the wants of the sick and wounded in the great Federal Army. The skill and business energies of the women managing the vast operations of the chief centres of supply unfold a new and glowing page in the history of the capacities of the sex.

Why does the Sanitary Commission need so much money? Because the present machinery of the Commission, supported by the Central Treasury cannot be kept in motion without large expenditures; and large as the cost is, the results for good are almost infinitely larger. The Sanitary distributes the supplies sent, embraces Sanitary Inspection by medical men of general hospitals, Sanitary Inspection by medical men of camps and field hospitals, Special Relief with all its agencies and in all its various departments, and the Hospital Directory with its register and its 500,000 names. Every dollar expended meets some real want, or helps to save a life. Do the people wish this agency in behalf of the soldiers in tent, hospital, and on the battle field—at the East—West—South, to cease? or is it their will to continue it in its largeness of plan, its scientific exactness, its ability to do all that the friends at home would themselves desire to do for our soldiers? Our generous and loyal people have given their entire confidence to the Sanitary Commission—they have decided that it shall not die for lack of material aid, estimating beyond all money and all price the lives and health of the brave men now in the field for the defence of the country, and grateful that they may repose in the certitude that every cent contributed will be used in the surest manner to effect the results required. To aid in sustaining this beneficent institution, New York is about to inaugurate a great Metropolitan Fair. She asks in the sacred name of freedom and humanity that her children come together with the works of their hands, the results of their enterprise, the achievements of their talents, the bloom of their genius, to do her honor in a Great Exhibition of Art, Industry, Commerce, all devoted to the cause of human progress. She begs of her children to do the work which is given them to do, with a spirit of love and patriotism, remembering no private griefs, no unworthy animosities; remembering only the bleeding sons of the Republic, who threw themselves, in their youth and strength, into the yawning gulf which opened before them, hoping that, propitiated by such a sacrifice, it might close again—willing to die, or live maimed and suffering, that a happy, peaceful and united people might again possess the fairest land which God has given to mankind. Chicago, Cincinnati, and Boston have already done nobly in this direction, and New York should contribute in proportion to her means and advantages. The Atlantic seaboard should make great exertions, seeing that more than one half of the money received by the Commission has been contributed from the shores of the Pacific—California having sent more than five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.

The Managers of the Fair invite all Merchants, Manufacturers, and Artisans to contribute of their wares to its stores, giving such goods as they make or deal in—such goods as are made profitable to them by the prosperity of the country which our soldiers are fighting to maintain.

Painters and Sculptors, who have done so much for the honor of their country, all who are connected with the Fine Arts, either as creators, as dealers, or possessors of Art Treasures, are asked to send their contributions for exhibition or sale.

Farmers are invited to bring to the Fair gifts from their barns, stalls, dairies, and poultry yards.

Publishers and Booksellers are confidently looked to for aid. A Second-hand Book Stall will be attached to this Department, to which contributions are asked from the shelves of those who are cumbered with duplicate copies, or who have books which they no longer use. Connected with this Department will be a table for the exposition and sale of valuable Autographs.

On the Musicians, Musical Instrument Makers, and Music Dealers, the Managers confidently rely for a worthy representation of the beautiful art of which they are ministers, by the giving of Musical Performances and of instruments and music for sale.

The Managers and Artists of the various Theatres are invited to set apart one evening during the Fair, the performances on which shall be for the benefit of the fund.

It is hoped that the Public Schools and Public Institutions of a benevolent character may contribute in some fitting manner to the Fair.

It is also hoped, from the well-known patriotism of the Fire Department and the Police, that they will bear an honorable and conspicuous part in this life-preserving and humane undertaking.

A Department of Arms and Trophies will be established, to which not only arms and flags captured in the present war, but all articles of this kind having a historic or intrinsic interest, will be acceptable contributions, either for sale or exhibition.

An Old Curiosity Shop will afford all who have interesting relics of the past in their possession an opportunity to enable others to share the pleasure of examining them. Valuable contributions have been already received in this department. Let it be clearly stated whether articles of this kind are for sale or only for exhibition.

A Newspaper will be published daily, which, in addition to the latest telegraphic news, will contain short and piquant articles upon the incidents of the day, and especially of the Fair.

A Post Office will also be established.

A Restaurant will be under the charge of an accomplished public caterer.

It is intended that, so far as practicable, each city in the State desiring that its contributions shall be kept together, shall have a separate space set apart for them, and that each of these cities shall be represented in the General Committee of Management.

A certain number of each Executive Committee will be at its Office—the Ladies at No. 2 Great Jones street, the Gentlemen at No. 842 Broadway—every day, from 10 A. M. to 4 P. M.

Contributions are to be sent to the Receiving Depot, No. 2 Great Jones street, where they will be credited to their givers, and their receipt acknowledged by the proper committee.

It is particularly requested that each contribution be plainly marked with the name of the contributor, for exposition during the Fair, and that each article be accompanied by a memorandum of its value.

REGULATIONS.

1. Every application by note for contributions shall be upon paper bearing the symbol of the Fair, and signed in writing by a member of the Executive Committee; and every member of a special committee shall be provided with a similar certificate of authority.

2. It is earnestly requested that all contributions in money be sent to the Treasurer, to whose order all checks should be made payable.

3. At the Fair, every article shall be sold at its current value, when that is determinable.

4. In all raffles, the number of tickets sold shall not exceed the original valuation of the articles raffled for.

5. No person shall be importuned to buy articles or tickets for raffles.

6. In every department, a cashier shall be appointed to receive money and make change.

7. No punch shall be sold.

OFFICERS.

Ladies' Association.

MRS. HAMILTON FISH, President. " DAVID LANE, Vice-President. " A. V. STOUT, Second Vice-President. " ELLEN R. STRONG, Treasurer. " JOHN SHERWOOD, Secretary. MISS CATHERINE NASH, Assistant Secretary.

Executive Committee.

Office, No. 2 Great Jones street.

Mrs. Marshall O. Roberts. " Francis Lieber. " Wm. H. Van Buren. " Richard M. Hunt. " Jonathan Sturges. " A. Schermerhorn. " David D. Field. " S. G. Courtney. " Daniel Le Roy. " Benjamin Nathan. " John Jacob Astor. " Gurdon Buck. " Ogden Hoffman. " Josiah S. Colgate. " Frank E. Howe. " John A. Dix. " A. Hamilton, jr. " Thomas F. Meagher. " Philip Hamilton. " Frederick Billings. " Morris Ketchum. Miss Catherine Hone.

Gentlemen's Association.

MAJOR-GEN. JOHN A. DIX, President. MR. JONATHAN STURGES, First Vice-President. " JAMES T. BRADY, Second Vice-President. " WILSON G. HUNT, Chairman of Gen. Com. " RICHARD GRANT WHITE, Secretary.

Executive Committee.

Office, No. 842 Broadway.

Mr. George Griswold Gray, Chairman. " R. G. White, Secretary.

Mr. Marshall O. Roberts. " Arthur Leary. " James L. Kennedy. " Charles H. Marshall. " A. Van Rensselaer. " Nathan'l P. Hosack. " Peter Marie. " Abr'm M. Cozzens. " L. R. Jerome. " Wm. T. Blodgett. " Fletcher Harper. " Lloyd Aspinwall. " Wm. Scharfenberg. " Levi P. Morton. " Chris'n E. Detmold. " Henry Chauncey. " Charles A. Bristed. " Thomas Acton. " C. Godfrey Gunther. " Henry S. Fearing. " A. R. Macdonough. " Francis A. Stout. " James A. Roosevelt. " Le Grand B. Cannon. " Edward Delano. " John F. Kensett. " James F. Ruggles. " Moses Lazarus. " Joseph G. Heywood. " Philetus T. Holt. " Uriel A. Murdock. " Elliott F. Shepard. " Edward Matthews. " S. B. Janes.

We have deemed it best thus to gather together from all available sources all the information we could glean from the circulars, etc., of the Metropolitan Fair, with the names of its officers, and the addresses of the Executive Committees, that we might give all possible information to our widely spread circle of readers. We give, from the excellent article in the January number of the North American Review already quoted, a vivid description of scenes occurring in the great Northwest, upon a similar occasion.

'In Chicago, for instance, the Branch has lately held a fair of colossal proportions, to which the whole Northwest was invited to send supplies, and to come in mass! On the 26th of October last, when it opened, a procession of three miles in length, composed of wagon loads of supplies, and of people in various ways interested, paraded through the streets of Chicago; the stores being closed, and the day given up to patriotic sympathies. For fourteen days the fair lasted, and every day brought reenforcements of supplies, and of people and purchasers. The country people, from hundreds of miles about, sent in upon the railroads all the various products of their farms, mills, and hands. Those who had nothing else sent the poultry from their barnyards; the ox or bull or calf from the stall; the title deed of a few acres of land; so many bushels of grain, or potatoes, or onions. Loads of hay, even, were sent in from ten or a dozen miles out, and sold at once in the hay market. On the roads entering the city were seen rickety and lumbering wagons, made of poles, loaded with a mixed freight,—a few cabbages, a bundle of socks, a coop of tame ducks, a few barrels of turnips, a pot of butter, and a bag of beans,—with the proud and humane farmer driving the team, his wife behind in charge of the baby, while two or three little children contended with the boxes and barrels and bundles for room to sit or lie. Such were the evidences of devotion and self-sacrificing zeal the Northwestern farmers gave, as, in their long trains of wagons, they trundled into Chicago, from twenty and thirty miles' distance, and unloaded their contents at the doors of the Northwestern Fair, for the benefit of the United States Sanitary Commission. The mechanics and artisans of the towns and cities were not behind the farmers. Each manufacturer sent his best piano, plough, threshing machine, or sewing machine. Every form of agricultural implement, and every product of mechanical skill, was represented. From the watchmaker's jewelry to horse shoes and harness; from lace, cloth, cotton, and linen, to iron and steel; from wooden and waxen and earthen ware to butter and cheese, bacon and beef;—nothing came amiss, and nothing failed to come, and the ordering of all this was in the hands of women. They fed in the restaurant, under 'the Fair,' at fifty cents a meal, 1,500 mouths a day, for a fortnight, from food furnished, cooked, and served by the women of Chicago; and so orderly and convenient, so practical and wise were the arrangements, that, day by day, they had just what they had ordered and what they counted on, always enough, and never too much. They divided the houses of the town, and levied on No. 16 A street, for five turkeys, on Monday; No. 37 B street, for 12 apple pies, on Tuesday; No. 49 C street, for forty pounds of roast beef, on Wednesday; No. 23 D street was to furnish so much pepper on Thursday; No. 33 E street, so much salt on Friday. In short, every preparation was made in advance, at the least inconvenience possible to the people, to distribute in the most equal manner the welcome burden of feeding the visitors at the fair, at the expense of the good people of Chicago, but for the pecuniary benefit of the Sanitary Commission. Hundreds of lovely young girls, in simple uniforms, took their places as waiters behind the vast array of tables, and everybody was as well served as at a first-class hotel, at a less expense to himself, and with a great profit to the fair. Fifty thousand dollars, it is said, will be the least net return of this gigantic fair to the treasury of the Branch at Chicago.'

We cannot believe that there is the least necessity to urge upon our generous people the absolute duty of contributing largely to the support of the Sanitary Commission, the strong and helpful angel of our bloody battle fields. Our sick soldiers, burning with fever, shivering with the debility of disease, with pallid faces and emaciated frames, ask from us that its healing dews shall still be suffered to descend upon them. Stricken down upon the battle field in the full bloom of manly vigor, lying festering in their ghastly wounds among the dead and dying, exposed to the dews of night, the broiling fervors of the midday sun, we may hear them implore us that the ambulances of the Sanitary may be allowed to aid in bringing them shelter, aid, strength to live, or patience to die. Bleeding stumps of manly limbs are piteously held forth to us that surgeons may be supplied for amputation, that balls buried in the flesh or lodged in the bone may be extracted by hands skilful in the use of knife and probe. Let these brave fellows feel that the arms of the men and women of this country are clasped around them in sustaining love. Ah, have we not all dear ones in this grand army? answer me, fair and true daughters of our soil.

THE END