What we saw of Western Virginia and its inhabitants left anything but a favorable impression on our minds. The country is wild and romantic, but good for little or nothing for farming purposes. The houses are mostly built of logs, being little more than mere huts, and around each of these 'mansions' may be seen at least a dozen young 'tow-heads,' who are brought up in ignorance and filth. The inhabitants are lazy and ignorant, raising hardly enough to keep starvation from their doors. School houses are almost unknown; we did not see one in the whole course of our march; the consequence is, not more than one in ten of the population can read or write. And the few who 'can just make out to spell' are worse off than their more ignorant brethren.

'A little learning is a dangerous thing.'

And these people know just enough to make them dangerous. They have read in some of their county newspapers that Vice-President Hamlin is a negro, and that Lincoln is waging this war for the purpose of liberating the slaves and killing their masters. This they believe, and any amount of reasoning cannot convince them to the contrary. It seems to be enough for them to know that they are Virginians; upon this, and this alone, they live and have their being. They are by far the most wretched and degraded people in America,—I had almost said in the world. The women, if possible, are worse than the men; they go dressed in a loose, uncouth manner, barefooted and bareheaded; their principal occupation is chewing tobacco and plundering Union troops by getting ten prices for their eggs, butter, and corn bread. And these are the people our children—and their fathers before them—have been taught to regard as the true chivalry of America! The people of the United States are beginning to see that Virginia and her sons have been greatly over-estimated. That Virginia has produced true and great men, no one will deny. There are a few such still within her borders; but, taking her as a whole, the picture I have drawn is a true one.

By my soldiering experience I learned some things which it would have been impossible to learn had I never 'gone for a soger.' First, I ascertained—shall I say from my personal experience?—that a man dressed in soldier-clothes can stand twice as much bad liquor as one clothed in the garb of a citizen. Secondly, that to be a good soldier a man should be able to go at least forty-eight hours without eating, drinking, or sleeping, and then endure guard-duty all night in a drenching rain, without grumbling or fault-finding. Thirdly, I think I have discovered that the martial road to glory 'is a hard road to travel.'

* * * * *

A CABINET SESSION.

The President: Secretaries Seward, Chase, Bates, Smith, Blair and Welles. Enter Mr. Stanton.

Mr. Lincoln. Gentlemen, I officially present Mr. Stanton!

[Mr. Stanton, bowing with graceful dignity, seats himself at the table.]

Mr. Seward (breaking the momentary pause in his jocular way). Remember, Mr. Secretary of War, you are now in the old chair of Floyd and Davis: and sit thee down as if on nettles.

Mr. Chase. Aye; but out of the 'nettle danger' pluck thou 'the flower safety.'

Mr. Stanton (with emphasis). Believe me, I appreciate not so much the honor as the responsibilities of my new position. I claim a good omen, for, as I turned just now towards the gate, a little boy, seated upon one of the granite blocks for the new building hereabout, trolled out as my salutation the lines of the national air,—

'Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just, And this be our motto, In God is our trust.'

Mr. Welles. Amen!

Mr. Bates. I suppose you passed not a few interesting hours in this room at the twilight of Mr. Buchanan's day, whilst holding my portfolio?

Mr. Stanton. Too momentous to be called by me interesting. Posterity, reading, will say that. And those twilight hours, as you felicitously term them, were followed by anxious vigils. But these belong to confidences.

Mr. Lincoln (abruptly and familiarly). Talking of confidences, what do you think of the news about Zollicoffer?

Mr. Stanton. It appears reliable, and is a most providential success. Eastern Tennessee was tending to the position which Lucknow sustained towards the Indian rebellion. It is now relieved, and a fortnight or so will bring intelligence that the whole of it has practically joined forces to Western Virginia. I regard it as of the highest importance to prove, by industrious acts, that we recognize and reward the sufferings of these American Albigenses in their Cumberland fastnesses. How grandly would swell the old Miltonian hymn, properly paraphrased, when a brigade of the loyal Tennessians may sing

'Avenge, Columbia, thy slaughtered hosts, whose bones Lie scattered on the Western mountains cold,'

and so forth!

Mr. Lincoln. Now, you are stepping into Seward's province. He is the poet of my cabinet!

Mr. Seward. Granted for the argument: but there is more truth than poetry in what our new brother has just said. Throughout how many weary months have those brave thousands who voted against secession awaited the crack of our rifles and our cannon-smoke—true music and sacred incense to them.

Mr. Blair (practically). Next to the border States we must take care of the newspapers.

Mr. Welles. Ah, those newspapers: bothersome as urchins in a nursery, and yet as necessary to the perfect development of life's enjoyment.

Mr. Chase. Well said for the navy. But what do you say of the magnificent Neckars, whose monied articles from Boston to Chicago would swamp the treasury in a week, if they were believed in?

Mr. Lincoln. Being born and raised so far from the great metropolitan centres, I don't seem to take to newspapers so kindly as the rest of you do.

Mr. Stanton. With great respect to your Honor (as we say in court), I deem it a great mistake to neglect newspaper suggestions, however provincial. 'Do you hear (as Hamlet says), let them be well used; for they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time.' And your metropolitan editor, after all, follows the bent of the public opinion of the provinces as he scissors it from his thousand and one exchanges. The village or country editor has time to mix among the people, and hears them talk to reproduce it artistically. The city editor finds little time for this. Besides, there is very little of reliable public opinion amid cities. The American mind is styled fickle; so it may be in the great marts. From them come your sensations and spasms. The interior is more stable, and less swayed by impulses. Aggregate a hundred county editorials all over the North, then strike an average, and you will find the product in the last big journal. The misfortune of Washington social life is that we walk in it over a circle. Hither come 'needy knife-grinders,' and axe-sharpeners, and place-hunters, who say what they think will be agreeable to the ears of power. But the other kind of mails, presided over by Mr. Blair, bring us wholesome, although sometimes disagreeable, truths. They are worth attending to, Mr. President. Let us 'strike,' but let us 'hear.'

Mr. Seward. In the matter of newspapers, my son Fred and I divide reading. He distils the metropolitan gazettes, and I those of England and France. Then we exchange commodities at breakfast time. Fred, having been an editor, can boil down the news very rapidly, and so put its essence into our coffee-pot. The foreign journals, however, have so much in them that is dissimulative and latent, they require more care and discernment. Mr. Hunter aids me in dissecting them.

Mr. Lincoln. You are the son of an editor, Montgomery; how do you stand on this subject of Colfax's bill to carry all the papers in your mails? The rebel postmaster-general, in his report, made, you remember, an elaborate argument to justify the Jeff Davis law, which forbids the sending of newspapers and periodicals by expressmen.

Mr. Blair. When Colfax will accept as an amendment a prohibition of telegrams, and the obliging our mails to transmit all intelligence, then I will consider of his views.

Mr. Smith. Well said; as good an extract that from the last edition of Blair's rhetoric as could be wished for.

Mr. Chase. Or in the Tribune satires of Horace! But let me ask Mr. Blair what he thinks of a newspaper tax.

Mr. Blair. Very favorably. I am for a mill stamp on every paper, obliging every ten readers to pay the government one cent.

Mr. Stanton. Mr. Secretary of the Interior, what is the average circulation of newspapers in the loyal section?

Mr. Smith. A thousand million.

Mr. Chase (rapidly computing). Which on Mr. Blair's proposition would yield a million dollars revenue.

Mr. Welles. And support the government at our present rate of expenditure for one day!

Mr. Seward. The public would bear half a cent on each paper. The publisher could make his readers insensibly pay the tax, and improve both paper and issue by receiving another half cent: and so add one cent of charge per copy.

Mr. Chase. Which would yield a revenue of five millions per year.

Mr. Lincoln. Would the people stand such a charge?

Mr. Stanton (good humoredly). Will our friend the Secretary of State smoke fewer cigars when you come to tax tobacco?

Mr. Welles (naively). But newspaper reading is not a vice.

Mr. Bates. Be not so sure of that. The passion for newspapers excites the minds of the whole republic. Now-a-days your servant reads the news as he works. The clergy peruse the Sunday extras, and the crossing-sweeper begs your worn-out copy instead of a cigar-stump.

Mr. Blair. Yet Gen. McClellan has not read a newspaper in three months.

Mr. Lincoln. The subject brings to my mind a good old parson in Springfield who used to complain that the Weekly Republican was as bad as himself. He was preaching his old sermons over and over again with new texts. Come to find out, he had a waggish grandson who for three previous weeks had neatly gummed the fresh date over the old one, and the dear divine had been perusing the same paper as many times.

(Omnes laughing heartily.)

Mr. Stanton. Talking of General McClellan,—I had my first engagement with him last night at one o'clock.

Mr. Welles (startled). One o'clock! No wonder he has had typhoid fever.

Mr. Lincoln. I think he is napping it now. He has a wonderful facility at the sleep business. Forty winks seem to refresh him as much as four hours do other people. At my last levee, according to the newspapers, he and his wife retired early. He went up stairs and napped for two hours, desiring to see me for half an hour alone afterward. Then he spent several hours at the topographical bureau, hunting for some old maps which he insisted had been there since the Creek campaign. He was rewarded for his industry by finding also an admirable map and survey of the situation around New Orleans.

Mr. Seward. The General is a believer in Robert Bruce's spider. The American spider's-web didn't reach Richmond in July, nor Columbus in November, but McClellan has kept on busily spinning.

Mr. Blair. Can any one tell me what is the General's platform?

Mr. Stanton. I can. Long before I dreamed of being here, he told me. It is in three words.

Mr. Lincoln. That's the shortest I ever heard of next to that of the English parson—'What I say is orthodox, what I don't believe is heterodox.'

Mr. Smith. But the three words?

Mr. Seward. Caesar's was in these words: Veni, vidi, vici.

Mr. Stanton. It is to be fervently hoped they will become the Latin translation of his own platform. McClellan's is, 'TO RETRIEVE BULL RUN!'

Mr. Lincoln (laughing). Then, if the General told you that, he is a plagiarist: for that is my platform. When he was made commander here, he asked me what I wanted done. Said I, 'Retrieve Bull Run.' He said he would, and turned to go. I jocularly added, 'But can't you tell us how you are going to do it?' He mused a moment, and then said, 'I must work it out algebraically, and from unknown quantities produce the certain result. "Drill" shall be my "x" and "Transportation" my "y" and "Patience" my "z." Then x + y + z = success.' And now that Mr. Stanton is here, I doubt not the slate is ready for the figuring.

Mr. Stanton. Thank you, Mr. President, for the compliment. May it prove a simple equation.

Mr. Chase (with energy). Now we call for your platform, Mr. Secretary of War.

Mr. Stanton (gracefully bowing). The President's—yours—ours (looking all around).

Mr. Seward. But the allusion is a proper personal one, nevertheless. Remember court-martial law—the youngest always speaks first!

(Omnes compose themselves in a listening attitude.)

Mr. Stanton. First and foremost, I believe slavery to be the casus belli. To treat the casus belli above and beyond all other considerations I hold to be the duty of the true commander-in-chief: as the surgeon disregards secondary symptoms and probes the wound. I would treat this casus belli as the Constitution allows us to treat it—not one hair's breadth from the grand old safeguard would I step. Under the Constitution I believe slavery to be a purely local institution. In Louisiana and Texas, a slave is an immovable by statute, and is annexed to the realty as hop-poles are in the law of New York. In Alabama and Mississippi, the slave is a chattel. In the first-named States he passes by deed of national act and registration; in the other, by simple receipt or delivery. Thus even among slave States there is no uniform system respecting the slave property. To the Northern States the slave is a person in his ballot relation to congressional quota and constituency, and also an apprentice to labor, to be delivered up on demand. The slave escaping from Maryland to Pennsylvania is not to be delivered up, nor cared about, nor thought about, until he is demanded. Liberty is the law of nature. Every man is presumed free in choice, and not even to be trammeled by apprenticeship, until the contrary is made clearly to appear. One man may be a New York discharged convict, for instance—an unpardoned convict. He emigrates southward, he obtains property, according to local law, in a slave. The slave escapes to New York. The convict—unpardoned—master enters the tribunal there on his demand. Quoth the escaped apprentice, producing the record of the conviction, 'Mr. Claimant, you have no standing in court. Your civil rights are suspended in this State until you are pardoned. You are not pardoned, therefore I will not answer aye or no to your claim, until you are legitimately in court, and recognized by the judges.' I take it that plea would avail. And if the crier wanted to employ a person to sweep the court-room the next moment, he could employ that defendant to do it. There is not a man in the rebel States (whom we publicly know of) who has a standing under the Constitution regarding this slavery question. By his own argument he lives in a foreign country; by our own argument he is not rectus in curia. Were I an invading general and wanted horses, I would decoy them from the rebels with hay and stable enticements. If I wanted trench-diggers, camp scullions, or artillerists, or pilots, or oarsmen, or guides, and, being that general, saw negroes about me, I should press them into my service. Time enough to talk about the rights of some one to possess the negroes by better claim of title to service when that somebody, with the Constitution in one hand and stipulation of allegiance in the other, demands legal possession. Even the fugitive slave is emancipated practically whilst in Ohio, and whilst not yet demanded. Rebel soldiers daily leave their plantations and abandon their negroes. Pro tem, at least, the latter are then emancipated. Let them, when within Our lines, continue emancipated.

Mr. Welles. Would you arm them?

Mr. Stanton. Yes, if exigencies of situation so demanded. The beleaguered garrison at Lucknow armed every one about the place—natives or not, servants or masters. Did General Washington spare the whisky stills in the time of the insurrection in Western Virginia when they were in his way? Yet the stills were universally agreed to be property, and were not taken by due process of law. Shall we fight a rebel in Charleston streets, and at the same time protect his negro by a guard in the Charleston jail?

Mr. Blair. But what instructions would you give to the soldiers about this casus belli?

Mr. Stanton. None at all. The soldier should know nothing about casus belli. General Buell answered the correspondent well when he said, 'I know nothing about the cause of this war. I am to fight the rebels and obey orders.' Cries a general to a subaltern—'Yonder smokes a battery—go and take it.' Do we issue specific instructions to the troops about the women, the children, the chickens, the forage, the mules-persons or property—whom they encounter? The circumstances and the exigencies of the situation determine their conduct. A household mastiff who will pin a rebel by the throat when he passes his kennel, flying from pursuit, is just as serviceable as would prove a loyal bullet sped to the rebel's brain. I believe that the acknowledged fact, the necessary fact, that wherever our army advances, emancipation practically ensues, will carry more terror to the slave-owner than any other warlike incident. But I would have them understand that this result is not our design, but a necessity of their rebellion.

Mr. Bates. You are like the last witness upon the stand—subjected to a vigorous cross-examination upon everything gone before. Have you ever thought what is to be the upshot of the contention?

Mr. Stanton. Restoration of the Union!

Mr. Bates. Aye, but how to be brought about? Are not the pride and the obstinacy growing stronger every day at the South?

Mr. Stanton. 'Men are but children of a larger growth.' Who of us has not conquered pride and obstinacy in the nursery? I have seen the boy of a mild-tempered father fairly admire the parent when he broke the truce of affection and vigorously thrashed him. The large majority of the Southern people have been educated to believe the men of the North cowardly, mean, and avaricious. Cowardly, because they persistently refused the duel. Mean, because all classes worked, and there seemed among them no arrogance of birth. Avaricious, because they crouched to the planters with calico and manufactures, or admired their bullying for the sake of their cotton.

And the great masses of the South have been and are learning how the present leaders have duped them upon all these points. They have discovered we are not cowards. Every prisoner, from the chivalric Corcoran to the urchin drummer-boy at Richmond who spat on the sentinel, has afforded proof of courage and fortitude, whilst thousands and thousands of people have secretly admired it. The very death vacancies at family boards throughout the plantations perpetually remind the Southrons that we are not cowards in fight. They have learned, too, that we are neither mean nor avaricious, when the millionaire merchant, whom they knew two years ago, cheerfully accepts the poor man's lot of to-day; or when they behold all classes without one murmur hear of a million dollars per day being spent on the war, and then clamor to be taxed! If they perceive the negroes leaving them, they at once also perceive that in loyal Maryland, loyal Virginia, loyal Kentucky and loyal Missouri,—in Baltimore, St. Louis, and Louisville,—the slaves under local laws are protected to their owners. Thus the most stupid will reason, It is our own act which has placed in jeopardy this our property. With a restored Union, Georgia and Louisiana must be as Maryland and Kentucky continued even in the midst of camps. Who, during the acme of the French revolution, could have believed that the people of Paris would so soon and so readily accept even despotism as the panacea of turmoil? Show a real grievance, and I grant you that rebellion achieves the dignity of revolution. Provide an imaginary or a colored evil as the basis of insurrection, and even pride and obstinacy will eventually comprehend the sophistry of the leaders.

Mr. Lincoln. Seward's secret correspondence with Southern loyalists proves these things. Mr. Stanton must read that last letter from....

Mr. Stanton. Indeed! You surprise me. Pray how could you receive intelligence from him?

Mr. Lincoln (opening a drawer). Do you see this button? I unscrew this eye. The two discs now separate. Between them you can put a sheet of French letter paper. When the troops advanced to Bull Run, certain of the soldiers were provided with such buttons. Various deserters have had them.

Mr. Seward (laughing.) Who knows but General Scott's coachman had one or two?[M]

Mr. Stanton. This practically corroborates my theories. If we in Washington find it so difficult to repress communication and spies, is it not fair to presume that in Richmond, Savannah, New Orleans and Memphis (where there is real incentive from suffering and persecution), it is equally impossible to stop information? It was impossible to procure it when the three rifled cannon at the Richmond foundry were found spiked. It would prove serviceable to the patience of the nation, could it only step behind the scenes and learn much—known to us—which it must ere long understand.

* * * * *

Mr. Lincoln. I have just received by our secret mail a very affecting letter from Col. Corcoran. I will read an extract. [Reads.]

'Of my physical suffering I will not speak. If restored to friends and home I shall, however, be a memorable example of the victory of mind over body. I determined to lay down my life for my country when I left that home; and if it will serve the cause, as I have repeatedly told the people here, to hang, or draw, or quarter me, I am ready for the sacrifice. But there are hundreds among the prisoners whose minds are not so buoyant as mine, who do suffer terribly. Can not some means be devised to clothe and feed them, or to exchange for them?'

Mr. Blair. A patriot soul. The clerkship left in the New York post-office when the Colonel departed for the war has been retained for him.

Mr. Lincoln (quickly). Ah! that heroic sufferer shall have something better than a clerkship if he ever returns.

Mr. Stanton. I have thought much of this exchange of prisoners and captivity amelioration. When the insurrection was inchoate, we could afford to be punctilious. But its present gigantic proportions surely affect the question (so to term it) of ransom. When our countrymen were in the Algerine prisons we took means to treat for them. What say you, gentlemen, against sending commissioners to Richmond for the purpose of supervising the medicines, clothing, food and exchange of our prisoners?

Mr. Seward. That may only be conceded by accepting commissioners for a similar purpose from the rebel government.

Mr. Chase. Our plans are now so perfectly matured that even the danger of spies recedes. I am in favor of Mr. Stanton's proposition.

Mr. Lincoln. I think you can try it. There are so many prisoners, from all parts of the country, that public sentiment must uphold the measure.

Mr. Smith. Mr. Secretary of State, you were taking notes whilst Mr. Stanton was giving his views upon the restoration question. Were they on that subject?

Mr. Seward. Yes. Some fleeting thoughts occurred to me which I was desirous of preserving for to-morrow. I have a great deal of faith in establishing Southern 'doughfacery.'

Mr. Welles. Doughfacery?

Mr. Seward. Yes: that supremacy of pocket over pride which so long afflicted the North. Above and beyond the slave-owners must rise the great class of manufacturers and merchants,—almost every third man of Northern origin, too,—whose pocket is the great sufferer, and without whose property, hereafter, plantations can not prosper. Given a decent pretext for adjustment, when pride will go to the wall. Once allow the masses to grasp the reins, and the slave-owners will be driven to the wall-side of the political highway also. This I call Southern doughfacery for the sake of a phrase well understood.

Mr. Blair. Then your old plan of the great national convention comes in vogue?

Mr. Lincoln. My plan! (Good humoredly.) You must not all steal my thunder. By the way, Seward, your pleasant friend Judge D——, who came from New York about Col. Corcoran, told me the meaning of that phrase. It seems a Dublin stage manager got up a scenic play with thunder in it perfectly imitated by a diapason of bass drums. A rival got up another scenic play, to which, out of jealous pique, the inventor repaired as a spectator. To his surprise he heard his own invention from behind the scenes. He instantly exclaimed aloud, 'The rascal, he's stolen my thunder!'

Mr. Seward (jocularly). The President finds a parallel between a national convention and thunder. Well, well, the clearest atmosphere is breathed after the clouds culminate in thunder and lightning. I accept the application.

Mr. Chase. But if the South is to surrender pride, what are we to surrender?

Mr. Seward (quickly). Political pride. The battle of freedom was fought and won when the Inaugural was pronounced. The South can not recover from the present stagnation in a quarter-century, by which time it will again have accepted contentedly the original belief that slavery, like one of the lotteries of Georgia, or one of the red-dog banks of Arkansas, is a purely local institution.

Mr. Stanton. I heartily accept the project of a national convention. But I am against any agitation or committal to leading ideas which are to control it. One convention ruined France, and another saved it. We can better obtain consent of North and South to holding a convention by forbearance from discussing its probable platform. Let it meet. No fear but it will elucidate some satisfactory result.

Mr. Welles. You have just discussed this question of war. I wish something could be done to settle this affair of privateering. To my reflection it appears to embrace a very important consideration of 'policy' as well as of law. A man does not always punish his embezzling clerk because the law gives him authority to do so. The ocean rebel who to-day captures our transports laden with soldiers, may to-morrow put off twenty boats in the Potomac, and capture our men on the river schooner. The Attorney General's opinion and the law of Judge Kelson in New York hang the former; but military law will exchange the latter whenever a satisfactory opportunity presents itself.

Mr. Lincoln. The policy question has become a grave one. I have been much struck by the letter of Judge Daly, of New York, to Senator Harris—a most opportune, learned, and temperate paper.

[Enter an attendant.]

Mr. Lincoln. Gen. McClellan is at the door. Invite him in.

Mr. Stanton. By all means. He is 'the very head and front of our offending.'

[Enter Gen. McClellan.]

Gen. McC. Good evening, Mr. President and Cabinet. (Speaking rapidly and brusquely.) The bridge equipages are now entirely complete. Here is a dispatch acknowledging the receipt of the last supply. With February is ushered in the Southern spring, which, as you all know, must end 'this winter of our discontent.' The Western V now is perfect from Cairo and Harper's Ferry at the top to Cumberland Gap at the bottom. It is the first letter in Victory.

Mr. Lincoln. When the General becomes oratorical, then indeed has he good news.

Gen. McC. I have, sir; but, with great respect to all these our friends, it must be for your own ears, to-night at least.

Mr. Lincoln (rising). We will withdraw to the library. Gentlemen, pray come to some understanding during our absence respecting the reply to be sent to M. Thouvenel's extraordinary secret dispatch. I will rejoin you in—

Gen, McC. Seven minutes, Mr. President—those are all I can spare. Good evening, gentlemen.

* * * * *

LITERARY NOTICES.

BORDER LINES OF KNOWLEDGE IN SOME PROVINCES OF MEDICAL SCIENCE. An Introductory Lecture delivered before the Medical Class of Harvard University, Nov. 6, 1861. By Oliver Wendell Holmes, M.D., Parkman Professor of Anatomy and Physiology. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1861.

It is a pleasant thing to realize, in reading a work like this, how perfectly GENIUS is capable of rendering deeply interesting to the most general reader topics which in the hands of mere talent become intolerably 'professional' and dry. The mind which has once flowed through the golden land of poetry becomes, indeed, like the brook of Scottish story, more or less alchemizing,—communicating an aureate hue even to the wool of the sheep which it washes, and turning all its fish into 'John Dorees.' And in doing this, far from injuring the practical and market value of either, it positively improves them. For genius is always general and human, and rises intuitively above conventional poetry and conventional science, to that higher region where fact and fancy become identified in truth. And such is the characteristic of the lecture before us, in which solid, nutritive learning loses none of its alimentary value for being cooked with all the skill of a Ude or of a Francatelli. Many passages in the work illustrate this power of aesthetic illustration in a truly striking manner.

In certain points of view, human anatomy may be considered an almost exhausted science. From time to time some small organ, which had escaped earlier observers, has been pointed out,—such parts as the tensor tarsi, the otic ganglion, or the Pacinian bodies; but some of the best anatomical works are those which have been classic for many generations. The plates of the bones of Vesalius, three centuries old, are still masterpieces of accuracy, as of art. The magnificent work of Albinus on the muscles, published in 1747, is still supreme in its department, as the constant references of the most thorough recent treatise on the subject—that of Theile—sufficiently show. More has been done in unravelling the mysteries of the faciae, but there has been a tendency to overdo this kind of material analysis. Alexander Thompson split them up into cobwebs, as you may see in the plates to Velpeau's Surgical Anatomy. I well remember how he used to shake his head over the coarse work of Scarpa and Astley Cooper;—as if Denner, who painted the separate hairs of the head and pores of the skin, in his portraits, had spoken lightly of the pictures of Rubens and Vandyck.

Laymen can not decide, where doctors disagree; but there are few who will not at least read this lecture with pleasure.

JOHN BRENT. By Major Theodore Winthrop. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1862.

It is strange that so soon after the appearance of Tom Tiddler's Ground, with its one good story of a wild gallop over the Plains, a novel should have appeared in which the same scenes are reproduced,—the whole full of wild-fire and gallop.—American life-fever and prairie-dust,—uneasy contrasts of the feelings of gentlemen and memories of salons with pork-frying, hickory shirts, and whisky. The excitement and movement of John Brent are wonderful. Had the author been an artist, we should have had in him an American Correggio,—with strong lights and shadows, bright colors, figures of desperadoes inspired with the air of gentlemen, and gentlemen, real or false, who play their parts in no mild scenes. It is the first good novel which has given us a picture of the West since California and Mormondom added to it such vivid and extraordinary coloring, and since the 'ungodly Pike'—that 'rough' of the wilderness—has taken the place of the well-nigh traditional frontiersman. It is entertaining and exciting, and will attain a very great popularity, having in it all the elements to secure such success. Those who recognized in Cecil Dreeme the vividly-photographed scenes and characters of New York, will be pleased to find the same talent employed on a wider field, among more vigorous natures, and assuming a far more active development. Never have we felt more keenly regret at the untimely decease of an author than for WINTHROP, while perusing the pages of John Brent. There went out a light which might have shown, in Rembrandt shadows and gleams, the most striking scenes of this country and this age.

MEMOIR, LETTERS AND REMAINS OF ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE. Translated from the French, by the Translator of Napoleon's Correspondence with King Joseph. In two volumes. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1862.

No French writer enjoys a more truly enviable popularity in America than M. DE TOCQUEVILLE. That he should have discussed the vital principles of our political and social life, in a manner which not only made him no enemies among us, but established his 'Democracy' as a classic reference, is as wonderful as it was well deserved. The present work is, however, a delightful one by itself, and will be read with a relish. We sympathize with the translator (a most capable one by the way) when he declares that he leaves his task with regret, fearing lest he never again may have an opportunity of associating so long and so intimately with such a mind. The typography and paper are of superior quality.

POEMS BY WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. ('Blue and gold.') First American Edition. Boston: Ticknor & Fields.

'Fresh, beautiful, and winsome.'—Among the living poets of England there may be many who are popularly regarded as 'greater,' but certainly there is none more unaffectedly natural or simply delightful than WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. We are pleased at his probably unconscious Irish-isms in his humbler lyrics, which have deservedly attained the proud eminence of veritable 'Folk-songs' in the mouths of the people, and are touched by the exquisite music, the tender feeling, and the beautiful picturing which we find inspiring his lays. It requires but little knowledge of them to be impressed with the evident love of his art with which our Irish bard is filled. It would be difficult to find in the same number of songs by any contemporary so little evident effort allied to such success.

THE CHURCH MONTHLY. Edited by Rev. George M. Randall, D.D., and Rev. F.D. Huntington, D.D. Vol. II. No. 6. Boston: E.P. Dutton & Co. 1861.

This beautiful and scholarly magazine, which abounds in 'the elegant expression of sound learning,' contains, in the present number, a noble article on Loyalty in the United States, by Rev. B.B. BABBITT, which we would gladly have read by every one. Almost amusing, and yet really beautiful, is the following Latin version of 'Now I lay me down to sleep,' by Rev. EDWARD BALLARD.

In Canabulis.

'Nunc recline ut dormirem, Precor te, O Domine, Ut defendas animam; Ante diem si obirem, Precor te, O Domine, Us servares animam. Hoc que precor pro Iesu!'

WORKS OF BAYARD TAYLOR. Vols. I. & II. New York: G.P. Putnam.

BAYARD TAYLOR has the pleasant art of communicating personal experiences in a personal way. It is not an unknown X, an invisible essence of criticism, which travels for us in his sketches, but a veritable traveler, speaking, Irving-like, of what he sees, so that we see and feel with him. In these volumes, the ups and downs, the poverties and even the ignorances of the young traveler are set forth—not paraded—with great vividness, and we come to the end of each chapter as if it were the scene of a good old-fashioned comedy. CORYATT without his crudities, if we can imagine such a thing, suggests himself, with alternations of 'HERODOTUS his gossip' without his craving credulity. Perhaps these volumes explain more than any of their predecessors the causes of TAYLOR'S popularity, and like them will do good work in stimulating that love of travel which with many becomes the absorbing passion sung by MULLER,—'Wandern! ach! Wandern!'

THOMAS HOOD'S WORKS. Edited by Epes Sargent. New York: G.P. Putnam. 1862.

A beautifully printed and bound volume, on the best paper, with two fine illustrations,—one by HOPPIN, setting forth Miss Kilmansegg and her golden leg with truly Teutonic grotesquerie. It contains Hood's Poems, never made more attractively readable than in this edition. As a gift it would be difficult to find a work which would be more generally acceptable to either old or young.

NATIONAL MILITARY SERIES. Part First. By Captain W.W. Van Ness. New York: Carleton, 413 Broadway.

A neat little work on military tactics, conforming to the army regulations adopted and approved by the War Department of the United States. It is thoroughly practical, 'being arranged on the plainest possible principle of question and answer,' and being within the reach of the dullest capacity, and thoroughly comprehensive of all required of the soldier, will probably become, as its author trusts, 'a standard military work.'

FORT LAFAYETTE; OR, LOVE AND SECESSION. By Benjamin Wood. New York: Carleton, 413 Broadway. 1862.

Even while a tree is being blown down by the hurricane, small fungi or other minute vegetation spring up in its rifts; every social shock of the day is promptly scened and 'tagged' at the minor theatres; and shall this war escape its novels? Mr. WOOD votes in the negative, and supplies us with a somewhat sensational yet not badly manufactured article, which, like the melo-dramas referred to, will be received with delight by a certain line of patrons, and, we presume, be also relished. It is a first-rate specimen of a second-rate romance.

HEROES AND MARTYRS: Notable Men of the Time. With Portraits on Steel. New York: G.P. Putnam, 532 Broadway. C.T. Evans, General Agent. 1862. Price 25 cents.

The first number of a large quarto, exquisitely printed, biographical series of sketches of the military and naval heroes, statesmen, and orators, distinguished in the American crisis of 1861-62, and edited by FRANK MOORE. The portraits of Commodore S.F. DUPONT and Major THEODORE WINTHROP, in this first number, are excellent; while the literary portion, devoted to WINFIELD SCOTT, deserves praise. The cheapness of the publication is truly remarkable.

TRANSACTIONS of THE MASSACHUSETTS HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY, FOR THE YEAR 1861. Boston: Henry W. Dutton & Son, Printers, Transcript Building. 1862.

A work testifying to the great extent and efficacy of the labors of the society, and one which, among a mass of merely business detail, contains much interesting information. An article on the first discovery of the heather in America, by EDWARD S. RAND, is well worth reading. Can any of our wise men re-discover the lost Pictish art of making good beer from that plant?

* * * * *

BOOKS RECEIVED.

DINAH. New York: Charles Scribner, 124 Grand Street. Boston: Brown & Taggard. 1861.

THE REBELLION RECORD. A Diary of American Events, with Documents, Narratives, Illustrative Incidents, and Poetry. Edited by Frank Moore. New York: G.P. Putnam.

THE BROKEN ENGAGEMENT; OR, SPEAKING THE TRUTH FOR A DAY. By Mrs. Emma D.E.N. Southworth. Philadelphia: T.B. Peterson. Price 25 cents. 1861.

THE AMERICAN CRISIS: Its Cause, Significance, and Solution. By Americus. Chicago, Illinois: Joshua R. Walsh, 1861.

* * * * *

EDITOR'S TABLE.

Step by step the vast net is closing in on the enemy,—little by little the vice is tightening,—and if no incalculable calamity overtake the armies of the Union, it is but fair to assume that at no distant day the rebel South will find itself in the last extremity, overwhelmed by masses from without and demoralized by want of means within. Government at present holds the winning cards,—if they are only skillfully played the game is its own. It is impossible to study the map and the present position of our forces with our resources, and not realize this. 'Hemmed in!' is the despairing cry from Southern journals, which but the other day insolently threatened to transfer the war to Northern soil, and to sack New York and Philadelphia; and, with their proverbial fickleness and fire, we find many of them half rebelling against the management of Mr. JEFFERSON DAVIS and his coadjutors.

This is all encouraging. On the other hand, we are beginning to feel more acutely the miseries of war, and its enormous cost. The time is at hand when the whole country will be called on to show its heroism by patient endurance of many trials, and by living as well as dying for the great cause of liberty and Union. Let it all be done patiently and without a murmur. Every suffering will be repaid tenfold in the hour of triumph. Let it be remembered that as we suffer our chances of victory increase, and that every pain felt by us is a death-pang to the foe. Now, if ever, the Northern quality of stubborn endurance must show itself. We, too, can suffer as heroically as the South boasts of doing. It is this which in the course of events must inevitably give us the victory, for no spirit of chivalry, no enthusiasm, can ultimately resist sturdy Saxon pluck. The South, foolishly enough, has vaunted that it is inspired by the blood and temper of the Latin races of Southern Europe, and it can not be denied that their climate has given them the impulsiveness of their ideal heroes. In this fiery impatience lies the element which renders them incapable of sustaining defeat, and which, after any disaster, must stimulate dissension among them.

It should also be borne in mind that the most direct causes of our sufferings all involve very practical benefits. The Southern press taunts our soldiers with enlisting for pay. Let us admit that vast numbers have truly been partially induced by the want of employment at home to enter the army. It is a peculiar characteristic of all Northern blood that it can and does combine intelligence and interest with the strongest enthusiasm. No man was ever made a worse soldier by being prudent, any more than by being a religious Christian. Taunts and jeers can not affect the truth. The Protestant mechanic soldiery of Germany during the wars of the Reformation, the men of Holland, and the Puritans of England, were all reviled for the same cause—but they conquered. God never punishes men for common-sense, nor did it ever yet blind zeal, though it may prevent zeal from degenerating into sheer madness. The war, while it has crippled industry, has also kept it alive,—it has become a great industrial central force, giving work to millions. Again, in the creation of a debt we shall find such a stimulus to industry as we never before knew. Taxation, which kills a weak country crippled by feudal laws and nightmared by an extravagant court and nobility, simply induces fresh and vigorous effort to make additional profits in a land of endless resources and of vast territory, where every man is free to work at what he chooses. Taxation may come before us like a raging lion, but, in the words of BEECHER, we shall find honey in the carcass. Let us only cheerfully make the best of everything, and uphold the administration and the war with a right good will, and we shall learn as we never did before the extent of the incredible elasticity and recuperative power of the American.

It is evident that the present war will have a beneficial result in making us acquainted with the real nature of this arrogant and peculiar South-land. It was said that the Crimean struggle did much good by dispelling the cloudy hobgoblin mystery which hung over Russia, and, while it destroyed its prestige as a bugbear, more than compensated for this, by giving it a proper place abreast of civilized nations in the great march of industry and progress. Just so we are learning that the South is perfectly capable of receiving white labor, that it is not strangely and peculiarly different from the rest of the cis-tropical regions, that the negro is no more its necessity than he is to Spain or Italy, and that, in short, white labor may march in, undisturbed, so soon as industry ceases to be regarded as disgraceful in it. We have learned the vital necessity of union and identity of feeling between all the States, and found out the folly of suffering petty local state attachments to blind us to the glory of citizenship in a nation, which should cover a continent. We have learned what the boasted philanthropy of England is worth when put to the test of sacrifice, and also how the British lion can put forth the sharpest and most venomous of feline claws when an opportunity presents itself of ruining a possible rival. More than this, we have learned to be self-reliant, to take greater and more elevated views of political duty, and to be heroic without being extravagant. Since we were a republic no one year has witnessed such national and social progress among us as the past. We have had severe struggles, and we have surmounted them; we have had hard lessons, and we have learned them; we have had trials of pride, and we have profited by them. And as we contend for principles based in reason and humanity and confirmed by history, it follows that we must inevitably come forth gloriously triumphant, if we but bravely persevere in enforcing those principles.

The large amount of political information regarding the South and its resources which has been of late widely disseminated in the North, is a striking proof that, disguise the question as we will, the extension of free labor is, from a politico-economical point of view (which is, in fact, the only sound one), the real, or at least ultimate basis of this struggle. The matter in hand is the restitution of the Union, laying everything else aside; but the great fact, which will not step aside, is the consideration whether ten white men or one negro are to occupy a certain amount of soil. There is no evading this finality, there is no impropriety in its discussion, and it SHALL be discussed, so long as free speech or a free pen is left in the North. So far from interfering with the war, it is a stimulus to the thousands of soldiers who hope eventually to settle in the South in districts where their labor will not be compared with that of 'slaves,' and it is right and fit that they should anticipate the great and inevitable truth in all its relations to their own welfare and that of the country.

We cheerfully agree with those who try with so much energy that Emancipation is not the matter in hand, and quite as cheerfully assent when they insist that the enemy, and not the negro, demands all our present energy. But this has nothing to do with the great question, whether slavery is or is not to ultimately remain as a great barrier to free labor in regions where free labor is clamoring for admission. That is all we ask, nothing more. The instant the North and West are assured that at some time, though remote, and by any means or encouragements whatever, which expediency may dictate, the great cause of secession and sedition—will be removed from our land, then there will be witnessed an enthusiasm compared to which that of the South will be but lukewarm. That this will be done, no rational person now doubts, or that government will cheerfully act on it so soon as the fortunes of war or the united voice of the people strengthen it in the good work. And until it is done, let every intelligent freeman bear it in mind, thinking intelligently and acting earnestly, so that the great work may be advanced rapidly and carried out profitably and triumphantly.

The leading minds of the South, shrewder than our Northern anti-emancipation half traitors and whole dough-faces, foreseeing the inevitable success of ultimate emancipation, have given many signs of willingness to employ even it, if needs must be, as a means of effectually achieving their 'independence.' They have baited their hooks with it to fish for European aid—they have threatened it armed, as a last resort of desperation, if conquered by the North. Knowing as well as we that the days of slavery are numbered, they have used it as a pretense for separation, they would just as willingly destroy it to maintain that separation. Since the war began, projects of home manufactures, and other schemes involving the encouragement of free labor, have been largely discussed in the South,—and yet in spite of this, thousands among us violently oppose Emancipation. In plain, truthful words they uphold the ostensible platform of the enemy, and yet avow themselves friends of the Union.

We have said it before, we repeat it: we ask for no undue haste, no unwise measures, nothing calculated to irritate or disorganize or impede the measures which government may now have in hand. But we hold firmly that Emancipation be calmly regarded as a measure which must at some time be fully carried out. Be it limited for the time, or for years, to the Border States, be it assumed partially or entirely under the modified form of apprenticeship, be it proclaimed only in Texas or South Carolina, it has in some way a claim to recognition, and must be recognized. Its friends are too many to be ignored in the day of settlement.

* * * * *

It is proper that every detail of contract corruption should be brought fully to light, and the country owes a debt of gratitude to Mr. DAWES for his manly attack on the wretches who have crippled the war, robbed the soldier, swindled the tax-payers, and aided the enemy by their wicked rapacity. Let it be remembered that whatever his sentiments may have been, every man who has been instrumental, directly or indirectly, in cheating the treasury and the my during this period of distress, has been one of its enemies, and far more deadly than if he had been openly enlisted under the banners of JEFFERSON DAVIS. Were we anything but the best-natured and most enduring public in the world, such revelations as have by the been made would long since have driven these rapacious traitors beyond sea or into the congenial Dixie for which they have indirectly labored.

We have been accustomed to read much since infancy of the sufferings of our army during the Revolution,—how they were hatless, ragged, starved, and badly armed. We have shuddered at the pictures of the snow at Valley Forge, tracked by the blood from the feet of shoeless soldiers. Yet, in the year 1861, with abundant means and with all the sympathy and aid of a wealthy country, there has been more suffering in the army than the Revolution witnessed, and it was due in a great measure to men who hastened to the spoil like vultures to their prey. If the army has not in advanced, if proper weapons are not even yet ready, let the reader reflect how much the army is still crippled owing to imperfect supplies, and have patience.

It is not the soldier alone who has been robbed by the contractor. The manufacturer who sees only a government order between himself and failure, and who is willing to do anything to keep his operatives employed, is asked to supply inferior goods at a low price. He may take the order or leave it,—if he will not, another will,—and with it is expected to take the risk of a return. When a man sees ruin before him, he will often yield to such temptations. The contractor takes the goods, sells them if he can, and pockets the profits, sometimes ten times over what the manufacturer gains. He thereby robs outright, not only the soldier, but also the operatives who make the goods, since the manufacturer must reduce their wages to the lowest living point, in order to save himself.

It will all come to light. There is a discovery of all evil, and there is a grace which money cannot remove, neither from the thief nor from his children. And we rejoice to see that so much is being made known, and that in all probability the public will be fully informed as to who were principally guilty in these enormous and treasonable corruptions.

* * * * *

It is stated, on good authority, that the only objection urged by the President to adopting the policy of Emancipation, is the danger which would be thereby incurred of effectually losing the allegiance of the loyal slave-holders in Tennessee, Kentucky, and Missouri.

The obvious answer to this is, that by paying these loyal slave-holders for their chattels they could not fail to become firmer friends than ever. When we reflect on the extremely precarious tenure of all such property on the Border it becomes apparent that the man must be a lunatic indeed to hope for the permanency of the institution in the tobacco States. Since the war began nearly the two-thirds of the slaves in Missouri have changed their habitat,—about one-half of the number having been 'sold South,' while the other moiety have traveled North, without reference to ownership.

The administration need be under no apprehension as to the popularity of this measure. It would be hailed with joy by millions. The capitalists of our Northern cities, who now await with impatience some indications of A REGULAR POLICY, will welcome with enthusiasm a proposition which would at once render the debatable land no longer debatable, and which would effectually disorganize the entire South, by rendering numbers desirous of selling their slaves in order to secure what must sooner or later be irrecoverably lost. If government has a policy in this matter, it is time that the public were informed of it. The public is ready to be taxed to any extent, it is making tremendous sacrifices; all that it asks in return is some nucleus around which it may gather,—a settled principle by which its victories in war may be made to form the basis of a permanent peace.

* * * * *

The English press, statesmen and orators have been pleased to regard our democratic government as a failure.

But we have at least one advantage. When an enormous wrong is perpetrated on the people by a secretary, he can be hustled out of the way, and the accomplices be punished.

In England we have seen of late the most enormous political and social outrage of the century coolly committed, without the slightest regard to consequences, and without the slightest fear of any punishment whatever.

The truth has come to light, and every investigation, in the opinion of the ablest and most sagacious men, confirms the assertion that the late MASON and SLIDELL difficulty was simply an immense stock-jobbing swindle, played in the most heartless manner on this country and on England, without heed as to the terrible consequences.

The London Times, as is well known, is the organ of the ROTHSCHILDS. During the late iniquitous war-flurry it acted perfectly in concert with Lord PALMERSTON. While that gentleman kept back for three weeks dispatches, which, if published, would have had the immediate effect of establishing a peaceful feeling, his Hebrew accomplices bought literally right and left of securities of every kind. Grand pickings they had; everything had tumbled down. England was roused by the Times to a fury; a feeling of fierce injury was excited in this country, which an age will not now allay; and right in the midst of this, when one word might have changed the whole, the official ministerial organ explicitly denied the existence of those 'peace' dispatches which have since come to light!

Let us anticipate some of the results of this precious Palmerston-Hebrew-Times swindle.

It has cost England twenty millions of dollars.

It has aroused such a feeling in this country against England as no one can remember.

It has effectually killed the American market for English goods, and put the tariff up to prohibition en permanence.

It has, by doing this, struck the most deadly blow at English prosperity which history has ever witnessed; for all that was needed to stimulate American industry up to the pitch of competing with England in foreign markets was such a prohibitory tariff as would compel us to manufacture for ourselves what we formerly bought.

Who will say now that a republic does not work as well as a monarchy?

* * * * *

We have read with pleasure a recently written and extensively republished article by SINCLAIR TOUSEY, of New York, condemnatory of the proposed stamp tax, and in which we most cordially concur; not because it is a tax materially affecting the interests of publishers, but because, as Mr. TOUSEY asserts, the diffusion of knowledge among the people is a powerful element of strength in government itself. In these times, it is essential, far more than during peace, that the newspaper should circulate very freely, stimulating the public, aiding government and the war, and keeping the mind of the country in living union. Nothing would more rapidly produce a torpor—and there is too much torpor now—than a measure which would have the effect of killing off perhaps one half of the country press, the great mass of which is barely able to live as it is. 'Let the press be as free as possible. Let it be free from onerous taxation, and left unfettered by special duties to do its just work.' This is a war for freedom, and the test of freedom is a free press.

* * * * *

We are indebted to a valued correspondent in Illinois for the following communication, setting forth the state of affairs in Southern Missouri during the past summer. Few of our readers are ignorant that since that time the region in question has been 'harried and shorn' even to desolation by the brigands of Secessia.

In conversing lately with Dr. R., who fled for his life, last July, from Ripley County, Southern Missouri, I collected some information which may not be unacceptable to your readers.

Dr. R. states that early last summer the citizens of Southern Missouri began gathering into companies of armed men opposed to the general government, and that it was a fear that the general government would not protect their lives and property which induced great numbers of really Union men to take sides with the rebels. They saw their country thronging with secession soldiers; were told it was the will of the State government that they enlist for the protection of the State: if they did not do this voluntarily, they would be drafted; and all drafted ones would in camp take a subordinate position, have to perform the cooking and washing, in short, all the drudgery for those who volunteered. This falsehood drove hundreds of the ignorant Missourians into the rebel ranks. Captain LOWE, afterwards Col. LOWE, who was killed at the battle of Fredericktown, was the recruiting officer in Ripley and its adjoining counties. He arrested Dr. R. on the 4th of July, on a charge of expressing sentiments 'dangerous to the welfare of the community.' Dr. R. was tried by a court-martial, in presence of the three hundred soldiers then assembled. Witnesses against the Doctor were produced, but he was not allowed time to summon witnesses in his behalf, nor to procure counsel. One novel circumstance in the trial was occasioned by the absence of any justice of the peace to administer the usual oath to the witnesses. None were procurable, from the fact that all had resigned, refusing to act officially under a government they had repudiated. In this dilemma the prisoner came to their relief. 'Gentlemen, I am a justice of the peace, as most of you already know, and, as I have not yet resigned, I will swear in the witnesses for you.' 'Wall, I reckon he kin act as justice afore he's convicted,' suggested one of the crowd. So the Doctor administered the oath in the usual solemn manner. This self-possession and fearlessness seemed to have an effect on his judges, for, after the testimony, he was permitted to cross-question the witnesses and plead his own cause. He was able to neutralize some of the charges against him. The jury, after an absence of fifteen minutes, returned verdict that 'as there was nothing proved against the prisoner which would make him dangerous to the community, he was permitted to be discharged. But,' added the foreman, 'I am instructed by the committee to say they believe Dr. R. to be a Black Republican, and to tell him that if he wants to utter Black Republican sentiments, he has got to go somewhere else to do it.' It was well known the Doctor had voted for DOUGLAS. But here followed an animated conversation between the prisoner and LOWE'S men as to what constituted Black Republicanism; the result of which was, as the Doctor turned to depart, Captain LOWE informed him he was re-arrested!

By the influence of some of the soldiers, the prisoner succeeded next day in effecting his escape. Traveling by night and concealing himself by day, he finally reached the federal lines in safety. His family were not permitted to follow him, and did not succeed in eluding the vigilance of their enemies and joining him until the middle of January. When a Union man escapes them, the rebels are always opposed to the removal of his wife and children, as, by retaining them, they hope to get the husband and father again into their hands. And, as all communication by letter is cut off, many a man, during the last six months, has stolen back to see his family at the risk of his life, and lost it.

Dr. R. was the first man arrested in Ripley County; but LOWE immediately began a lively persecution of suspected Unionists. Some escaped with life, their enemies being satisfied with scourging and plundering them, but scores were hung. LOWE'S soldiers furnished and equipped themselves by robbing Union houses and the country stores.

Many suspected Union men shielded themselves by denouncing others, giving information of the property of others, and being forward in insulting and quartering lawless soldiers upon defenceless families. So that, Dr. R. states, there are created between neighbors, all through that section, feuds which will never cease to exist. Many a man has suffered family wrongs from his neighbor which he thirsts to go back to revenge, which he swears yet to revenge, and which he feels nothing but the blood of the offender can revenge! And should peace be declared to-morrow, a social war would still exist in Missouri!

People dwelling in the free States, where the schoolhouse is not abolished, where the laws still live and restrain, can have no conception of the state of society where the whole community has returned suddenly to savage life; a life wherein the reaction from a former restraint renders the viciously disposed far more intensely barbarous than his red brother of the plain.

LOWE'S men, and all similarly recruited by order of ex-Governor JACKSON, remained in service six months, and were to be paid in State scrip. But as that was worthless, they never received anything in rations, clothing, or money, but what they plundered from their fellow-citizens. Many of these state rights soldiers have since enlisted in the Confederate army; but Confederate paper being fifty per cent. below par, and not rising, the legitimate pay of the Southern soldier is likely to be small.

In Northern Arkansas, all males between fifteen and forty-five years of age have been ordered to be ready for the Confederate service when called upon. This has caused a fear of failure in next year's crops from scarcity of men in that section. There is great suffering among them now. Salt rose to $25 a sack. The authorities prohibited the holders from charging more than $12, the present price. Pins are $1.50 per paper; jeans $5 per yard; and everything else in proportion.

One word in comment. Every additional fact of the deplorable condition of things in the slave States is an additional reason why the North should firmly meet the cause of this misery. If the North should have the manhood to strike a blow at slavery now, still a generation must pass before harmony would ensue; but if the North evades and dallies, scores of generations must live and die before America sees unbroken peace again.

* * * * *

While the war goes on, the contrabands go off. A writer in the Norfolk Day Book complains that slaves are escaping from that city in great numbers, asserting that they get away through the instrumentality of secret societies in Norfolk, which hold their meetings weekly, and in open day. No one can doubt that this war is clearing the Border of its black chattels in double-quick time. Why not strike boldly, and secure it by offering to pay all its loyal slave-holders for their property? Of one thing, let the country rest assured—the friends of Emancipation will not brook much longer delay. It MUST and SHALL be carried through,—and we are strong enough to do it.

* * * * *

Thurlow Weed grows apace, and occasionally writes a good thing from London—as, for instance, in the following:—

At breakfast, a few days since, a distinguished member of Parliament, who has been much in America, remarked, with emphasis, that he had formerly entertained a high opinion of 'JUDGE LYNCH,' looking with much favor upon that species of impromptu jurisprudence known as 'Lynch law,' but since it failed to hang FLOYD, COBB and THOMPSON, of BUCHANAN'S cabinet, he had ignored and was disgusted with the system.

What would the distinguished member have said had he been familiar with the Catiline steamer case, the mysteries of shoddy contracts, the outfitting of the Burnside expedition, and innumerable other rascalities? The gentleman was right,—Lynch law has proved a failure; and, if we err not, another kind of law has of late months been not very far behind it in inefficiency. Our Southern foes have at least one noble trait—they hang their rascals.

* * * * *

'Non dum,' 'not yet,' was the motto of a great king, who, when the time came, shook Europe with his victories. 'Not yet,' says the Christian, struggling through trial and temptation towards the peace which passeth understanding and a heavenly crown. 'Not yet,' says the brave reformer, fighting through lies and petty malice, and all the meanness of foes lying in wait, ere he can convince the world that he is in the right. 'Not yet,' says the soldier, as he marches his weary round, waiting to be relieved, and musing on the battle and the war for which he has pledged his life and his honor—and they are a world to him. 'Not yet,' says every great man and woman, laying hands to every noble task in time, which is to roll onward in result into eternity. Wait, wait, thou active soul,—even in thy most vigorous activity let thy work be one of waiting, and of great patience in thy fiercest toil. There will come a day of triumph, when the fresh wind will banish the heat, and fan the laurel on thy brow. Such is the true moral of the following lyric:—

FALLEN.

BY EDWARD S. RAND.

Blow gently, Oh ye winter winds, Along the ferny reaches, Nor whirl the yellow leaves which cling Upon the saddened beeches; And gently breathe upon the hills Where spring's first violets perished,— Died like the budding summer hopes Our hearts too fondly cherished.

Oh memory, bring not back the past, To brim our cup of sorrow; The drear to-day creeps on to bring A drearier to-morrow. Can streaming eyes and aching hearts Glow at the battle's story, Or they who stake their all and lose Exult in fame and glory?

Oh, lay them tenderly to rest, Those for their country dying,— Let breaking hearts and trembling lips Pour the sad dirge of sighing. Yet louder than the requiem raise The song of exultation, That the great heritage is ours To die to save the nation.

In patience wait, nor think that yet Shall Right and Freedom perish, Nor yet Oppression trample down The heritage we cherish! For still remember, precious things Are won by stern endeavor,— Though in the strife our heart-strings break, The Right lives on forever.

* * * * *

When you write let your chirography be legible. Strive not overmuch after beauty of finish, make not your a's like unto u's or your o's like v's; let not your heart be seduced by the loveliness of flourishes, and be not tempted of long-tailed letters. Above all, write your own name distinctly,—which is more than many do, and much more than was done by the gentleman described in the following letter from a kindly correspondent:—

MADISON, WIS.

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

The holder of any considerable quantity of Wisconsin currency is liable not only to the occasional loss consequent upon the absquatulation of a tricksy wild-cat, but also to great perplexity as to the name of the gentleman who countersigns the bills. These inscrutable counter-signatures are accomplished by ROBERT MENZIES, our excellent Deputy Bank Comptroller. His cabalistic 'R. Menzies' does not greatly resemble a well-executed specimen of copperplate engraving. The initial 'R' is always plain enough, but the 'Menzies' is sometimes read Moses, and sometimes Muggins, and is always liable to be translated Meazles.

Mr. MENZIES is a Scotchman, brimful of Caledonian lore and enthusiasm. His penmanship is not always so sublimely obscure as his performances on bank-paper would indicate; but in its best estate it is capable of sometimes more than one reading. Witness the following instance: In the winter of 1858 and '9, Mr. MENZIES delivered a very interesting lecture, before a literary society, in Prairie du Chien; subject, THE SONG-WRITERS OF SCOTLAND. Mr. M. not residing at Prairie du Chien, the lecture was, of course, the subject of a preliminary correspondence. At the meeting of the society next previous to the one when the lecture was delivered, Elder BRUNSON, the president, announced that he had received a letter from Mr. MENZIES, accepting the invitation to lecture before the society, and naming as the subject of his lecture 'THE LONG WINTERS or SCOTLAND.'

* * * * *

Readers who are afflicted with the isothermal doctrine may experience some benefit from the perusal of a letter for which we are indebted to a friend not very far 'out West:'—

SPRINGFIELD, MASS.

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

I have a friend who would be sound on the goose, as I verily believe, and a patriotic anti-Jeff Davis platform Emancipator, if he hadn't unfortunately picked up a fine learned word. That word is

ISOTHERMAL.

And that word he carries about as a hen carries a boiled potato—something too big to swallow but nice to peck at. And he pecks at it continually.

'I could admit that the slaves should be free,' he says, 'but then nature, you know, has fixed an isothermal line. She has isothermally deemed that south of that line the black is isothermally fitted to isothermalize or labor according to the climate as a slave.'

'Good,' I replied. 'So you admit that all anthropological characteristics as developed by climate are quite right?'

[He liked that word 'anthropological,' and assented.]

'Good again. Well, then, you must admit that to judge by statistics there is an isothermal line of unchastity, or "what gods call gallantry," and further north, one of drunkenness? How much morality is there in a tropical climate? How many temperate men to the dozen in Scandinavia or Russia?'

My isothermalist attempted a weak parry, but failed. When he recovers I will inform you.

YOURS TRULY.

P.S. I am preparing a series of tables by which I hope to prove the existence of the following isothermalities:

A Lager-beer line. A Tobacco-chewing line. A reading of TUPPER and COVENTRY PATMORE line. A CREAM CHEESE line. A Doughface line. And a Clothes line.

* * * * *

We are indebted to R. WOLCOTT for the following sketch of War Life:—

'TAKEN PRISONER.'

It was a terrible battle. Amid the rattle of musketry and whistling of bullets, the clashing of sabres, the unearthly cries of wounded horses and the wild shouting of men, the clear voice of Lieutenant Hugh Gregory rang out: 'Rally! my brave boys, rally, and avenge the Captain's death!'

'Not quite so fast, sir,' quietly remarked a rebel officer, bringing his sword to a salute; 'you observe that your men are retreating and you are my prisoner.'

Hugh saw that it was so, and with a heavy heart gave himself up.

'Hurrah for the stars and stripes!' shouted a brave young soldier, attempting to raise himself upon his elbow, but falling back, exhausted from the loss of blood.

'Damn you, I'll stripe you!' exclaimed a brutal fellow, rising in his stirrups and aiming a blow at the wounded man.

'Dare to strike a helpless man!' shouted his commander; and he warded off the blow with a stroke that sent the fellow's sabre spinning into the air. 'Now dismount, and help him if you can.' But it was too late; the brave soul had gone out with those last words.

'Lieutenant,' said the rebel officer, whom we will know as Captain Dumars, 'I see that you are wounded. Let me assist you upon this horse, and one of my sergeants will show you the surgeon's quarters.' And he bound up the wounded arm as well as he could, helped him upon the horse, and, with a playful Au revoir, rode on.

Hugh's wound was too painful, and he was too weak and tired, to wonder or to think clearly of anything; he only felt grateful that his captor was a gentleman, and quietly submitted himself to the sergeant's guidance.

The battle was ended,—in whose favor it does not matter, so far as this story is concerned,—and Captain Dumars obtained permission to take Lieutenant Gregory to his mother's house until he should recover from his wound or be exchanged.

When Hugh found himself established in a pleasant little chamber with windows looking out upon the flower-garden and the woods beyond, fading away into his own loved North land, he thought that, after all, it was not so terrible to be a prisoner of war. He was decidedly confirmed in this opinion when he occasionally caught a glimpse of the lithe form of Annie Dumars flitting about among the flowers; and being somewhat of a philosopher, in his way, he determined to take it easy.

The presence of one of the 'Hessians' at Mrs. Dumars' house gave it much the same attraction that is attached to a menagerie. Feminine curiosity is an article that the blockade can not keep out of Dixie, and many were the morning calls that Annie received, and many and various were the methods of pumping adopted to learn something of the prisoner,—how he looked, how he acted, how he was dressed, and so forth.

'Impertinence!' he heard Annie exclaim, as one of these gossips passed through the gate, after putting her through a more minute inquisition than usual. And he heard dainty shoe-heels impatiently tapping along the hall, and when she brought in a bouquet of fresh flowers he saw in her face traces of vexation.

'I seem to be quite a "What-is-it?"'

'Shame!'—and she broke off a stem and threw it out of the window with altogether unnecessary vehemence.

'Splendid girl!' thought Hugh; 'where have I seen her?'

And he turned his thoughts back through the years that were past, calling up the old scenes; the balls, with their mazy, passionate waltzes, and their promenades on the balcony in the moonlight's mild glow, when sweet lips recited choice selections from Moore, and white hands swayed dainty sandal-wood fans with the potency of the most despotic sceptres; the sleigh-rides, with their wild rollicking fun, keeping time to the merry music of the bells and culminating in the inevitable upset; the closing exercises of the seminary, when blooming girls, in the full efflorescence of hot-house culture, make a brief but brilliant display before retiring to the domestic sphere—Oh, yes—

'Miss Dumars, were you not at the —— Institute last year?'

'Yes.'

'Then you know my cousin,—Jennie Gregory?'

'Yes, indeed:—and you are her cousin. How stupid in me not to recollect it.'

And she told him how that 'Jennie' was her dearest friend, and how in their intimacy of confidence she had told her all about him, and shown her his picture, and—in short, Hugh and Annie began to feel much better acquainted.

It was a few days after this that Hugh sat by the open window, listening to Annie reading from the virtuous and veracious Richmond Enquirer. Distressed by what he heard, not knowing whether it was true or not, he begged her to cease torturing him. She laid aside the paper with an emphatic 'I don't believe it!' that could not but attract his attention, and he looked up in surprise.

'I must tell you, Mr. Gregory—I have been tortured long enough by this forced secrecy—I am a rebel!'

'That is the name we know you by,' he replied, smiling.

'But I am a rebellious rebel. Yes,' she added, rising, 'I detest with all my heart this wicked, causeless rebellion. I detest the very names of the leaders of it. And yet I am compelled to go about with lies upon my lips, and to act lies, till I detest myself more than all else! I have consoled myself somewhat by making a flag and worshiping it in secret. I will get it and show it to you.'

'This,' she continued, returning with a miniature specimen of the dear old flag, 'a real flag, the emblem of a real living nation, must be kept hidden, its glorious lustre fading away in the dark, while that,' pointing to where the 'stars and bars' were fluttering in the breeze, 'that miserable abortion is insolently flaunted before our eyes, nothing about it original or suggestive—except its stolen colors, reminding us of the financial operations of Floyd! Oh, if hope could be prophecy—if a life that is an unceasing prayer for the success of the federal arms could avail, it would not be long before this bright banner would wave in triumph over all the land, its starry folds gleaming with a purer, more glorious light than ever!'

And as she stood there, with eyes uplifted as in mute prayer, and fervently kissed the silken folds of the flag, Hugh wished that his station in life had been that of an American flag.

Time passed on, and the prisoner was to be exchanged for a rebel officer of equal rank. Captain Dumars brought him the intelligence, and was surprised at the seeming indifference with which he received it.

'You don't seern particularly elated by the prospect of getting among the Yankees again.'

'I am eager to take my sword again; but my stay here has been far from unpleasant. You, Captain, have been away so much that I have not been able to thank you for making my imprisonment so pleasant. I am at a loss to know why you have shown such favor to me especially.'

'This is the cause,' replied the Captain, laying his finger upon a breast-pin that Hugh always wore upon his coat, at the same time unbuttoning his own; 'you see that I wear the same.'

It was a simple jewel, embellished only by a few Greek characters, but it was the emblem of one of those college societies, in which secrecy and mystery add a charm to the ties of brotherhood. And it was this fraternal tie, stronger than that of Free-Masonry, because more exclusive, that made Hugh's a pleasant imprisonment, and made him happy in the love of one faithful among the faithless, loyal among many traitors. For of course the reader has surmised—for poetic justice demands it—that Hugh fell desperately in love with Annie, and Annie ditto Hugh. How he told the tender tale, and how she answered him,—whether with the conventional quantity of blushes and sighs, or not,—is none of your business, reader, or mine; so don't ask me any questions.

It was the evening of the day before Hugh's departure. They, Annie and Hugh, sat in the little porch, silent and sad, watching the shadows slowly creeping up the mountain side towards its sun-kissed summit, like a sombre pall of sorrow shrouding a bright hope.

'And to-morrow you are free.'

'No, Annie, not free. My sword will be free, but my heart will still linger here, a prisoner. But when the war is over, and the old flag restored—'

'Then,' and here her eyes were filled with the glorious light of prophetic hope, 'I will be your prisoner.'

And still Hugh is fighting for the dear old flag; and still Annie is praying for it, and waiting for the sweet imprisonment.

There has been many as sweet a romance as this, reader, acted ere this, during the war. Would that all captivity were as pleasant!

* * * * *

'I would not live alway,' says the hymn, and the sentiment has, like every great truth, been set forth in a thousand forms. One of the most truly beautiful which we have ever met is that of

THE CITY OF THE LIVING.

In a long-vanished age, whose varied story No record has to-day, So long ago expired its grief and glory— There flourished, far away,

In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure A city fair and wide, Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure And never any died.

Disease and pain and death, those stern marauders, Which mar our world's fair face, Never encroached upon the pleasant borders Of that bright dwelling-place.

No fear of parting and no dread of dying Could ever enter there— No mourning for the lost, no anguished crying Made any face less fair.

Without the city's walls, death reigned as ever, And graves rose side by side— Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor, And never any died.

O, happiest of all earth's favored places! O, bliss, to dwell therein— To live in the sweet light of loving faces And fear no grave between!

To feel no death-damp, gathering cold and colder, Disputing life's warm truth— To live on, never lonelier or older, Radiant in deathless youth!

And hurrying from the world's remotest quarters A tide of pilgrims flowed Across broad plains and over mighty waters, To find that blest abode,

Where never death should come between, and sever Them from their loved apart— Where they might work, and will, and live forever, Still holding heart to heart.

And so they lived, in happiness and pleasure, And grew in power and pride, And did great deeds, and laid up stores of treasure, And never any died.

And many yers rolled on, and saw them striving With unabated breath, And other years still found and left them living, And gave no hope of death.

Yet listen, hapless soul whom angels pity, Craving a boon like this— Mark how the dwellers in the wondrous city Grew weary of their bliss.

One and another, who had been concealing The pain of life's long thrall, Forsook their pleasant places, and came stealing Outside the city wall,

Craving, with wish that brooked no more denying, So long had it been crossed, The blessed possibility of dying,— The treasure they had lost.

Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals Swelled to a broader tide, Till none were left within the city's portals, And graves grew green outside.

Would it be worth the having or the giving, The boon of endless breath? Ah, for the weariness that comes of living There is no cure but death!

Ours were indeed a fate deserving pity, Were that sweet rest denied; And few, methinks, would care to find the city Where never any died!

* * * * *

Does the reader recall DEAN SWIFT'S account of the immortal Strudlbrugs and their undying miseries—it is in the City of Laputu, we believe. Their life was passed as if in such a city. Ah, death! it is, after all, only birth in another form. And to step to the ridiculous, we are reminded of an

EPITAPH IN A DEDHAM CHURCHYARD.

I've paid the debt which all must pay, Though awful to my view, On frightful rocks where billows poured, And broken buildings flew. The cruel Death has conquered me; The victory is but small, For I shall rise and live again,— And Death himself shall fall.

* * * * *

There are not many of those who 'read the papers,' who have not met from time to time with the quaint experiences of THE FAT CONTRIBUTOR,—a gentleman who, in the columns of the Buffalo Republican, and more recently in the spicy Cleveland Plain Dealer, has often wished that his too, too solid flesh would melt. It is with pleasure that we welcome him to our pages in the following original sketch:—

THE 'FAT CONTRIBUTOR' AS A GYMNAST.

'But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks.'

RICHARD III.

Says the cardinal in the play—'In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such word as fail.' Without stopping to discuss the reliability of a lexicon that omits words in that careless manner, I must say that in the dictionary of fat men who aspire to gymnastics that word distinctly occurs. I had my misgivings, but was over-persuaded by my friends. They said gymnastics would develop muscular strength, thus enabling me to hold my flesh in case it attempted to run away. They added, as an additional incentive, that the spectacle of a man who weighs nearly three hundred pounds, doing the horizontal ladder, climbing a slack-rope hand over hand, or suspending his weight by his little finger, would be a 'big thing.' I asked them how I was to attain that end. 'By practice,' was the reply; 'practice makes perfect.' It did;—it made a perfect fool of me, as you shall see.

I never had much taste for feats requiring physical effort, except lifting—lifting with my teeth. The amount of beef, pork, mutton and vegetables that I have lifted in that way is immense. After hearing Dr. WINSHIP lecture, I practiced lifting a flour barrel with a man inside of it, and finally succeeded in holding it out at arm's length. [I may remark incidentally that the barrel had no heads in it.]

To return to the case in hand (and a case in hand is worth two in the bush): I was deluded into purchasing a season ticket in the gymnasium, and one afternoon I sought the locality. A number were exercising in various ways, and I laid off my coat preparatory to 'going in.' As I bent down to adjust a pair of slippers, I heard some rapid steps behind me, and the next instant a pair, of hands and a man's head fell squarely on my back, a pair of heels smote together in the air, and with a somersault the gymnast regained the ground several feet in advance of me. I assumed an indignant perpendicular, when the fellow turned with well-feigned amazement and stammered forth an apology. Bent over as I was, he had mistaken me for a heavily padded 'wooden horse,' which formed a portion of the apparatus.

Desiring to be weighed from time to time, in order that I might note the effect of gymnastics upon my tonnage, I asked one, who was resting after prodigious efforts to wrench his arms off at a lifting machine, if there were scales convenient. He surveyed me for a moment—looked puzzled—and finally replied hesitatingly,—'Y-e-s, I think we can manage it.' He led the way to a window overlooking the Ohio canal. 'Do you see that building?' said he, pointing to a low structure on the heel path side, extending partly over the canal. I intimated that the fabric in question produced a distinct impression on the optic nerves, and inquired its use. 'Weigh-lock' he shrieked; 'go and be weighed!'

'Go and be d——d!' I yelled, furious at being thus victimized; but my angry and profane rejoinder was lost in the shout of laughter that went up from the assembled athletes.

Natural abhorrence of jokes, practical or otherwise, is a trait among my people; it runs in the family, like wooden legs. I immediately sought the boss gymnaster and related the manner in which I had been introduced to his elevating establishment. I told him I had come there neither to be made a horse of by one nor an ass of by another. He pledged his word that the like should not occur again, and I was appeased.

I first attempted the parallel bars, but they were never intended for men of my breadth. My hands giving way, I became so firmly wedged between the bars that it was necessary to cut one of them away in order to release me. A wag pronounced it a feat without a parallel.

The horizontal bar next claimed my attention. I had seen others hang with their heads down, suspended by their legs alone, and the trick appeared quite easy of execution. I succeeded in suspending myself in the manner indicated, but—revocare gradum—when I attempted to regain the bar with my hands, it was no go. I was in a perspiration of alarm at once; my legs grew weak; my head swam from the rush of blood; twist and squirm as I would, I couldn't reach the bar with the tip end of a finger even. My head was four or five feet from the ground, so that a fall was likely to break my neck, and when my frantic efforts to clutch the bar with my hands failed, I shrieked in very desperation. Men came running to my aid. They raked the tan bark, with which the ground was strewn, in a pile beneath me, to break my fall as much as possible, and, relaxing my hold of the bar, I came down in a heap, rolled up like a gigantic caterpillar, and dived head and shoulders into the tan bark, where I was nearly smothered before I could be extracted. It was a terrible fright, but I escaped with a few bruises.

My brief career as a gymnast terminated with the 'ladder act.' I felt unequal to the task of drawing myself up the ladder (which was slightly inclined from the perpendicular), as I had seen others do, but once at the top I believed I could lower myself down. A purchase was rigged in the roof, by which I was hoisted to the top of the ladder, some thirty feet from the ground, when, grasping a round firmly with my hands, the purchase was disconnected from my waist belt, and I began the descent. It was very severe on the arms, and I desired to rest myself by placing my feet on a round, but my protuberant paunch would not permit it. When I had accomplished about half the distance in safety, a round snapped suddenly with the unusual weight. I remember clutching frantically at the next, which broke as did the other; then followed a sensation of falling, succeeded by a collision as between two express trains at full speed, and I knew no more. When I recovered consciousness, I was in my own bed, and four surgeons were endeavoring to set my broken leg with a stump extractor. Gymnastics are a little out of my line.

FAT CONTRIBUTOR.

Unlike BRUMMEL, we know who our fat friend is, and shall be happy to see him again.

* * * * *

'Talbot,' of Washington, one of those who keep the many chronicles of government, gives us the following from his repertoire:—

Shortly after the inauguration of President Lincoln, and during the period in which the throng of office-seekers was greatest, an applicant for a clerkship in one of the departments received notification to appear before the 'examining committee' for examination as to qualifications. In due time he appeared, and announced himself 'ready.' The aforesaid 'committee,' supposing that they had before them a decidedly 'soft one,' determined to enjoy a little 'sport' at the poor fellow's expense. After having put a great many questions to him, none of which in the least applied to the duties he would be expected to perform, he was asked how he would ascertain the number of square feet occupied by the Patent Office building. This question aroused in him suspicions that 'all was not right,' and, with a promptness and emphasis that effectually dampened the hopes of his questioners, he replied, 'Well, gentlemen, I should employ an experienced surveyor.'

The same correspondent tells us that—

In one of the rural towns of Illinois lived, a few years agone, a very eccentric individual known as 'DICKEY BULARD,' whose original sayings afforded no little amusement to his neighbors.

DICKEY had his troubles, the saddest of which was the loss of his only son. Shortly after this event, in speaking of it to some friends, he broke out in the following pathetic expression of feeling:

'I'd rather a' lost the best cow I have, and ten dollars besides, than that boy. If it had been a gal, it wouldn't a' made so much difference; but it was the only boy I had.'

On another occasion, in referring to the death of his grandmother, who had been fatally injured by a butt from a pet ram, DICKEY gave vent to his feelings as follows:

'I never felt so bad in all my life as I did when grandmother died. She had got so old, and we had kept her so long, we wanted to see how long we could keep her.

* * * * *

It is the 'turn of the tune' which gives point to the far-famed legend of 'The Arkansaw Traveler,'—which legend, in brief, is to the effect that a certain fiddling 'Rackensackian,' who could never learn more than the first half of a certain tune, once bluntly refused all manner of hospitality to a weary wayfarer, avowing with many an oath that his house boasted neither meat nor whisky, bed nor hay. But being taught by the stranger the 'balance' of the tune,—'the turn,' as he called it,—he at once overwhelmed his musical guest with all manner of dainties and kindnesses. And it is the 'turn of the tune,' in the following lyric, from the soft tinkle of the guitar to the harsh notes of the 'beaten parchment,' which gives it a peculiar charm.

THE GUITAR AND THE DRUM.

BY R. WOLCOTT, CO. B., TENTH ILLINOIS

Evening draws nigh, and the daylight In golden splendor dies; And the stars look down through the gloaming With soft and tender eyes.

I sit alone in the twilight, And lazily whiff my cigar, Watching the blue wreaths curling, And thrumming my old guitar:

Old, and battered, and dusty,— A veteran covered with scars; Yet to me the most precious of treasures, The sweetest of all guitars.

For a gentle spirit dwells in it, That speaks through the trembling strings, And in echo to my thrumming A wonderful melody sings.

As I softly strike the measures, The spirit murmurs low A song of departed pleasures, A dream of the long ago.

And like a weird enchanter It paints in the star-lit sky Pictures from memory's record, Scenes of the days gone by.

And as the ripples of music Float out on the evening air, There comes to me a vision Of the girl with the golden hair.

Kindly she turns upon me. Those lustrous, violet eyes, And my heart with passionate yearnings To meet her eagerly flies.

Nearer she comes, and yet nearer, At the beck of the spirit's wand, And I feel the gentle pressure On my brow of her warm, white hand—

Tr-r-r-rum-ti-tum-tum, tr-r-r-rum-ti-tum-tum! 'Tis the warning voice of the rolling drum. Through the awakened night air come The stern command and the busy hum Of hurried preparation. 'Tis no time now for idle strumming Of light guitars: in that loud drumming Is fearful meaning; the hour is coming That for some of us will be the summing Of all life's preparation.

Quick, quick, my boys: fall in! fall in! Now is the hour when we begin The battle with this monstrous sin. Onward to victory!—or to win A patriot's martyrdom! Stay no longer to bandy words; Trust we now to our gleaming swords; For foul rebellion's dastardly hordes A terrible hour has come.

By all that you love beneath the skies; By the world of cherished memories; By your hopes for the coming years; By the tender light of your loved one's eyes; By the warm, white hands you so highly prize; By your mothers' parting tears, Swear the horrible wrong to crush! What though you fall in the battle's rush, And the velvet leaves of the greensward blush With your young life's crimson tide? The angels look down with pitying love, And your tale will be told in the record above: 'For his country's honor he died.'