But there was a change. The Ministry, and one of an order supposed to be our most deadly foes, spoke. There were some opinions as to the results in which no American could concur—there was deep devotion to England—but there was also the voice of reason, of justice, of international law: it was not so cosmopolitan as I expected, but the argument of felon force and robber violence was discarded. The scholar, the statesman, the gentleman, the philanthropist addressed the English Commons. Yes, and the nobility of nature also spoke, one who could rise above the reputed prejudices of his order, and do justice to a kindred race of simple republicans, though they may know neither diadems nor coronets. Such examples exalt and dignify the character of man. They teach us republicans a useful lesson—that those who differ from us as to some of the forms of government, may most sincerely support that system which in their judgment will best promote the welfare and happiness of the people. That indeed is the only question. Let England and America work out the problem in peaceful and friendly rivalry. Time and experience will decide the question. If, when slavery is extinguished in our Union, and the only aggressive element of our system is extirpated, we should run a grand and peaceful career of honor and glory and prosperity, we will want no other argument than the results. The blasphemous doctrine of the divine rights of kings was discarded by England in the revolution of 1688. The British throne reposes now on the alleged basis of the welfare and happiness of the people. What form of government will best promote that end—this is the only question. I believe it is ours—but only with slavery extinguished, and universal education—schools—schools—SCHOOLS—common schools—high schools for all. Education the criterion of the right of suffrage, not property. I do not believe in a government of ignorance, whether by the many or the few. With the constant and terrible opposing element of slavery, we have certainly achieved stupendous results in three fourths of a century, and to say that our system has failed, because slavery now makes war upon it, is amazing folly. Why predict, that, when reunited, and with slavery extinguished, we would bully the world. Who were our bullies? Who struck down Charles Sumner, the Senator of Massachusetts, the eminent scholar and orator, on the floor of the Senate, for denouncing the horrors of slavery? A South Carolinian, whilst all slavedom approved the deed. Who endeavored to force slavery on Kansas by murder and rapine, and the forgery of a constitution? Who repealed the Missouri Compromise, in order to force slavery upon all the Territories of the United States? Who are endeavoring now to dissolve the Union, and spread slavery over all this wide domain? There is a plain answer to all these questions. It is the lords of the whip and the chain and the branding iron, who are our bullies—who insist upon forced labor, and repudiate all compensation to the toiling millions of slaves—who repudiate, among slaves, the marital and parental relation, and class them by law as chattels—who forbid emancipation—who make it a crime to teach slaves to read or write—ay, even the Bible—who keep open the interstate slave-trade (more horrible than the African, making Virginia a human stock farm), tearing husband from wife, and parents from children—founding a government boldly announcing the doctrine of property in man, based avowedly on the divinity, extension, and perpetuity of slavery—these are our bullies; and when they are overthrown, we shall commence a new career of peaceful progress and advanced civilization. And why sow the seeds of international hatred between England and America? Is war really desired between the two countries, or is it supposed that we will yield to foreign intervention without a struggle? No, the North will rise up as one man, and thousands even from the South will join them. The country will become a camp, and the ocean will swarm with our privateers. Rather than submit to dismemberment or secession, which is anarchy and ruin, we will, we must fight, until the last man has fallen. The Almighty can never prosper such a war upon us. If the views of a foreign power have been truly represented in Parliament, and such an aggression upon us is contemplated, let him beware, for in such a contest, the political pyramid resting upon its apex, the power of one man, is much more likely to fall, than that which reposes on the broad basis of the will of the people.

Returning from this episode, I resume the narrative.

We have seen the repudiating Executive message and repudiating legislative resolutions of January, 1842, and their failure to influence the decision of the court. And now, we approach another act in the drama. The court having affirmed the constitutionality of the Union Bank bonds, and as the act of 1833 directed their payment, the Legislature of 1844 enacted a new law, in these words: 'That hereafter, no judgment or decree of any court of law or equity having jurisdiction of suits against the State, shall be paid by warrants on the Treasurer, or otherwise, without an appropriation by law, any former law or usage to the contrary notwithstanding.' The 'law and usage' were plain, to pay such decrees, as required by the law and Constitution; but both were disregarded, and the act of 1833, for all practical purposes, repealed. It remained in part, on the statute book, only to invite to the gambler's game of 'odd I win, even you lose'—that is, if, under the act of 1833, there should be a decision in any case in favor of the State, it should be conclusive, but if against the State, the money should not be paid, where (as in the case of these bonds) the Legislature differed from the court, and had already repudiated its decision. Such was the action of the Legislature in 1842 and 1844. In 1842, it repudiated, in advance, the decision of the court on these bonds, and, after that decision, repealed so much of the law as required the payment of the decrees of the court. Now, with a full knowledge of these facts, is it not amazing, incredible, that, several years subsequently, Mr. Jefferson Davis should have declared, in his first letter of 1849, 'By the Constitution and laws of Mississippi, any creditor of the State may bring suit against the State, and test his claim as against an individual; but, conscious that they have no valid claim, they have not sought the remedy;' and he repeats this averment, substantially, in his second letter. Now, who would have supposed, that more than five years before the date of Mr. Davis's letters, the highest judicial tribunal of the State, the one designated by the law and the Constitution, had already unanimously decided that these bonds were valid, and that the State Legislature, instead of paying the money, had repealed the appropriation. But there came a new court, all chosen by the people, under the wretched system, in many of the States, of an elective judiciary, but unknown to the independent Federal judicial system. A suit was brought in 1851, under the act of 1833, on one of the Union Bank State bonds and coupons before the Chancellor. After elaborate argument, the Chancellor decided against the State, and entered a decree for the payment of the money. The State, as authorized by the law, appealed from this decision to its own High Court of Errors and Appeals, elected by the people.

Surely, it was supposed, that this new court, so recently chosen by the people, after the legislative repudiation, would be governed by 'a proper regard for the public interest and public opinion.' Before the Chancellor, as well as the High Court, all the objections made by Governor McNutt and Senator Davis were earnestly pressed by the Attorney-General of the State and associate counsel, but in vain; the decision of the Chancellor was against the State, and it was unanimously affirmed by the High Court. This case will be found reported by the State reporter, Johnson v. The State, April term, 1853. (3 Cushman, 625 to 882,—257 pages.)

In this case, the bond sued on is given in the record, and will be found an exact copy of that (heretofore quoted) under the original act, which had passed two successive Legislatures, the principal as well as coupons being payable in Federal currency.

On the reverse side of the bond is the following:

'L450 sterling. The President, Directors, and Co. of the Mississippi Union Bank, do hereby designate the agency of the Bank of the United States in London, as the place of payment of the within bond and interest, and hereby assign and transfer the same for value received to the bearer, principal equal to L450 sterling, and guarantee the payment of the same at the place designated.

'S. GWIN, Cashier.

'H. G. RUNNELLS, President.

'Mississippi State Bond, No. 91. 'Redeemable February 25th, 1850.'

As to the place where the bond was made payable, there could be no objection, for the original, as well as the supplemental act, gave full authority to make the bonds payable abroad. But as to the objection that they were said to be payable in sterling, at the rate of four shillings and sixpence to the pound, the answer was, as shown: 1st. That this was the true rate of exchange. 2d. That the bond was payable in Federal currency, and this was all the bondholder ever asked from the State. As to the allegation that the bonds were sold below par, the court showed most conclusively from the facts and agreed case, that they were sold above par, and their constitutionality was fully affirmed.

The argument of the Attorney-General (Glenn) for the State, embraced 32 printed pages; in addition to which was an elaborate argument by his associate, Mr. Stearns. The opinion of Chief Justice Smith embraced 45 pages, the concurring opinion of Justice Yerger, 27 pages, and Justice Fisher concurred. The State was not satisfied, but moved for a reargument, that of Wharton for the State, embracing 54 pages, and that of Mays, on the same side, 32 pages; but the court adhered to their decision, and unanimously affirmed the decree of the Chancellor against the State. The decision of the court, in the heading of the case, is thus given by the reporter.

'The bonds might have been legally issued to the bank, by the Governor, on the 5th June, 1838, pursuant to the provision of the original charter of the bank, and the faith of the State pledged for the purpose of raising the capital.' 'The supplement was not void in consequence of not having been passed in conformity with the provisions of the Constitution contained in the 7th article, 9th section of that instrument.' 'The object of the original pledge of the faith of the State, was not changed by the supplemental charter, but it was passed in aid of the original charter.' 'Campbell v. Union Bank (6 Howard 625) cited and confirmed.' 'The liability of the State, under the operation of the charter of the bank, attached so soon or whenever the bonds were legally executed to the bank, and the execution of the mortgages was neither a condition precedent to the pledge of the faith of the State, nor the condition on which the State bonds were to be executed and delivered.' 'It does not appear from the facts that the bonds were sold for less than their par value. Held that the sale was neither illegal nor void.' 'If the commissioners in the sale of the bonds received 'sterling money of Great Britain' at the rate of four shillings and sixpence to the pound, that is not such an act on their part as would avoid the bonds.'

Here, then, the whole case was again fully decided in 1853, by the very tribunal to which Jefferson Davis, in 1849, invited the bondholders. And did he or the State then yield or pay the obligations. Not at all, but they adhered to the repudiation of these bonds, disregarded and defied the decision of the court, and have never paid one dollar of principal or interest, and never will, so long as slavery exists in Mississippi.

And now, after the almost unanimous passage of the supplemental act in 1838, the sanction of the Legislature in 1839 and 1841, the decision of the Circuit Court and Chancellor, and of the High Court of Errors and Appeals, how strange is the assertion of Mr. Slidell, that 'The Union Bank bonds were issued in direct violation of an express constitutional provision.' It is a well settled principle of American law, so adjudicated by the State Courts, as well as by the Supreme Court of the United States, that, 1st, To authorize the court to decide that a law is unconstitutional, the repugnance to the Constitution must be 'plain and palpable.' 2d., That the interpretation given by the highest court of a State, to a State law, or constitution, 'is conclusive.' But the truth is, as is proved by Mr. Slidell's own letter (having never resided in the State), he knew nothing of the subject, or he never would have spoken of Jefferson Davis as 'Governor,' or alluded to 'his administration,' when he never held that office. But it is of some moment, at least to the unfortunate bondholders, that the minister of Jefferson Davis at Paris, avers now that these bonds are unconstitutional.

But, Mr. Slidell says, 'There is a wide difference between these bonds and those of the Planters' Bank, for the repudiation of which, neither excuse nor palliation can be offered.'

Now, in a subsequent letter, I will prove conclusively, from authentic documents, that the State of Mississippi has, most effectually, repudiated those bonds also, and that Jefferson Davis has sustained that repudiation.

In the case, also, of another slaveholding State, I will prove, from the public documents, that Jefferson Davis volunteered to sustain her in the repudiation of her State bonds, in a case more atrocious, if possible, than that of Mississippi. As Jefferson Davis is now at the head of a slaveholding conspiracy, endeavoring to destroy the Government of my country, and is now also engaged in selling worthless Confederate bonds in this market, I have deemed it my duty to make this publication.

R. J. WALKER.

NOTE.—Since this was written, the supposed menacing message from the Continent has been officially contradicted. Surely, however, I had a right to conclude, after such solemn assurances from a member to the House, that, although acting in the character of a Confederate messenger, and avowing such atrocious sentiments, he at least spoke the truth on that point.

R. J. W.



EVERGREEN BEAUTY.

Perhaps if my early home had stood upon an island of evergreens, or if I had dreamed my first bright dreams among pine hills and cliffs of laurel, I should have loved their changeless beauty less. But through all my early years I saw but little of our native evergreens, and none of cultured, save a stunted cedar, that grew, or, rather, refused to grow, in our front yard at home; and thus they have ever attracted me exceedingly—the charm of rarity and novelty being added for me to their exceeding beauty.

And yet, if brought up among them, I might but have loved them more. For all I know of philosophy, if I had been earlier familiar with shrubs, hedges, groups, cedared cliffs, and tall forests of evergreens, they might have brought me still nobler conceptions, a more exquisite sense of beauty, than they now do.

Be that as it may, two years 'among the pines' of Virginia and her piny mountains, have enriched my mind with rare pictures of scenic beauty that shall keep fresh and green in memory while memory endures! I am no botanist, I have made no studies of the evergreens, nor shall I attempt to write of them as scholar or critic, but only as a fascinated observer. I neither care to know or tell whether the shrubs and trees in my evergreen pictures are angiosperms or gymnosperms; we have no 'transportation' for text books for students! During these two years, however, I have been charmed with a thousand views of landscape scenery, embracing every form, hue, and combination of our lovely native evergreens, whether on mountain, hill, or plain. I have seen them along winding streams, with backgrounds of bold, rocky bluffs; sweeping across undulating plains; rising with the uplifting mountains; peering into and over romantic mountain gorges; and growing up through the interstices of bowldered cascades. Or, standing on the mountain peaks, I have seen them sweep away into the vastness and grandeur of mighty, varied, and almost boundless expanse. These are but parts of my evergreen pictures. I have looked upon a simple holly bush when the wind of winter was upon it, scattering in lovely fragments its pure white robe of snow, revealing the gleaming of the rich green leaves, and the half-hidden clusters of the carmine berries. Three distinct colors thrown carelessly together, but no want of harmony—only pure and exquisite beauty!

In the summer months our evergreens are greatly less noticeable. They are overshadowed and eclipsed by the rich and exuberant foliage of our common but noble forest trees; but their beauty is not, even then, lost. They give variety of hues to the forests which they fringe or help to form; variety of shapes, and always exquisite, spicy, and healthful odors. But when the autumn comes, with its infinitely varied tintings of orange and vermilion; when the frost works its wonders, and the wooded hills are clothed with splendor—then the rich groups of our native evergreens rise in their immortality of freshness. How exquisitely their bright unfading green sets off and contrasts with the rich golds, glowing scarlets, russet browns, purples, and crimsons, in all their delicate shades and evanescent hues! The forest leaves grow sere and fall from their stems, sailing down singly or in groups, like bevies of frightened birds, until the hickory, oak, maple, and elm stand uncrowned, disrobed, lifting their bare arms to the winter skies; then higher and ever higher rises, as the gloom of winter deepens, the glory of evergreen shrub and tree.

The fields are dull russet, the forests are black, each tree seems a skeleton; all nature, save the evergreen, looks dead. But our mountains of firs, our hills of pine, our groves of cedar, our thickets of holly, our cliffs crowned with laurel, full of life, and covered with unchangeable verdure, keep eternally fresh and beautiful. Then come the great white silent snowflakes, sailing round and falling gently down, alighting on trunk, branch, and leaf, and covering and draping the hills, until they are pure and fair as the hills of Beulah. There is a dreamlike beauty in an evergreen forest mantled with snow. What words could tell the purity of coloring, the gracefulness of form of the pine boughs bending under their white burden of feathery crystals? Especially is this true of the young and pliant trees in hedgerows and thickets, and such as are everywhere springing up over the waste and wornout lands of Virginia.

The old monarch pine stands out like a sculptured column of ebony against the blue sky. Its umbel top, crowned with white, makes a fitting capital for a shaft so noble. It is a picture, in and of itself. The shrubs and young trees, so rich in leaves and verdure, so pliant to the lines and curves of grace, when happily and picturesquely grouped, are almost bewilderingly beautiful. Yet perhaps that which contains in itself the greatest number of the elements of beauty, is the medium-sized pyramidal tree, be it of spruce, Norway pine, or balsam fir. It unites at once, in its pyramidal shape, the strength and majesty of the old, and in its gracefully curved limbs and abundant leaves, the beauty and freshness of the young tree. When loaded down with a spotless burden of snow until its limbs are almost ready to break, no pyramid of art, no monument chiselled by human hands, can hope to approach its pure and model beauty.

The evergreen itself, however, seems to know no season but spring. In none other does it appear to change, and even then it casts not off the old—it only puts on the new in tenderer and fresher beauty! The new growth of the spruce and fir, the pale yellowish-green tips set in the dark old background, are exquisitely lovely; nor are the light green shoots of the white, yellow, and pitch pine much, less beautiful.

Later comes the glory of the laurel bloom, the most beautiful woodflower in our climate. As the other trees put on their leaves successively, the tinting of light, dark, and yellowish green are infinitely varied and pleasing.

Nor must I pass over, in my picture of evergreen, the mosses and ferns of the mountains of Virginia. More fragile than the trees and shrubs, they cannot be considered less beautiful. Indeed, the mosses of Cheat Mountain are the most luxuriant, exquisite, delicate, and richly beautiful things in nature. No dream of fairyland could, to my imagination, be lovelier than are the evergreen heights of these mountains, covered, matted, fringed, heaped, piled as they are with the greatest variety of mosses of the most delicate texture, feathery forms, and wondrously beautiful combinations. No one who has not seen them can have any just conception of mountain mosses, nor of the marvellous luxuriance of beauty with which they clothe rock, and tree, and earth, and everything upon these lone wild slopes and summits. Over the rocks, amid the mosses, hang the long pendent ferns, in richer, darker green. And with the grand old pine and fir trees lifting their heads to the heavens, and the thick tanglewood of shrub and underbrush, there is grandeur, grace, and beauty in bewildering, changeful, and ravishing confusion.

How I have loved, in leisure hours, to turn aside from the stern duties of the field, or the dull monotony of the camp, to gallop under the great pines, or wind through pathless thickets and native parks of evergreen, feasting my very soul on their eternal freshness and glory! How I have loved to see 'Black Hawk' crush with his feet, and sink up to his fetlocks, in the tender and fairy-like mosses that drape the mountains! How I have delighted to weave the trailing evergreens into wreaths, trellises, and bowers in front of my white tent! And, alas! with hushed and solemn pride, I have planted the holly and the pine on the graves of my dead comrades, hoping they might live in all their wondrous beauty over the quiet mound, and keep green the memory of the brave forever!



DYING IN THE HOSPITAL.

I am dying, mother, dying, in the hospital alone; With a hundred faces round me, not a single one is known; And the human heart within me, like a fluttering, wounded dove, Hungers with a ceaseless yearning for one answering word of love.

Oh, 'tis hard, 'tis hard, my mother, thus to linger day by day, Dying here, without the music of the battle's fierce array;— Dying, far from home and kindred, robbed of all life's dearest ties, With the eager eyes out-gazing but to meet with stranger eyes.

It were sweet to fall, my mother, with the battle raging round, And to leap from earth to heaven at a single patriot-bound; It were sweet to feel that glory would check the tears of woe— That o'er hearts whose griefs were deepest a gush of pride would flow.

But to lie at night, dear mother, and to list the warder's tread, As it falls upon my heart, I seem a prisoner with the dead; And I long to lose my sense of pain, to find a calm release, And to sink each vain, vain longing, in a silent sea of peace.

Oh, could I see, dear mother, the dog that guards our door, It would make each life throb at my heart beat quicker than before; And the nursing of your own dear hands, the breath of our old hills, Would send a flood of fresh life back through all these draining rills.

But it may not be, loved mother: I must die here, all alone; Where, a hundred faces round me, not a single one is known; With the human heart within me hungering, like a wounded dove, For the soft glance of my mother, and her dear home-words of love.

Oh, the heart of man, loved mother, is as dauntless as a rock In a time of mortal danger—in the battle's deadly shock; But alone—alone and dying, how he craves affection's ties— Craves a woman's strength in weakness, and the lovelight in her eyes!

Oh, the dreams, the dreams, my mother, that have vanished from my sky, Like the misty mountain vapors that before the sunlight fly— All the golden dreams of glory, with their rainbow tints of fame, That would link with deeds of valor my bright, my deathless name!

Where are they now, dear mother? Like a mirage of the plain, Like a bubble on the ocean, like a jewel on the main, Like the sweetest flowers of autumn, when they feel the biting frost, All those glorious aspirations—they are lost, forever lost!

Yet if I could live, my mother, I know I still should go And help to rid our country of her fratricidal foe; For you have taught me, long ago, that he was no true man Who would not, in a time like this, step forward with the van.

And though I leave, my mother, no laurel crown of fame, There is not linked with my past life a single breath of shame; And though I ne'er shall see your face, I will no more complain, For I know that not a sparrow falleth to the ground in vain.

But another dawn, sweet mother, is breaking o'er me now; When to-morrow's sunlight beameth, it will find a calm, cold brow; And another rough, rude coffin will be taken from the door: God bless you, dearest mother, and good-by forevermore!



LITERARY NOTICES.

WEAK LUNGS, AND HOW TO MAKE THEM STRONG; or, Diseases of the Organs of the Chest, with their Home Treatment by the Movement Cure. By DIO LEWIS, M. D. Profusely illustrated. Ticknor & Fields, Boston, 1863.

Diet, air, sunshine, dress, exercise, and water, are all indispensable hygienic agents, but considerable knowledge and experience are necessary for their proper adaptation to particular cases. Dr. Lewis's work is designed (to a certain degree) to impart such knowledge, and, while the general rules he gives cannot fail to be useful to all, we doubt not there are many instances of the especial malady under consideration in which the proposed mode of treatment would prove entirely efficacious. The numerous and carefully elaborated illustrations contained in the book render the application of the text simple and easy. The feature which especially pleases us is, that arrangements are made for home treatment, for, if there is anything depressing to the human spirit, it is an association of invalids. We do not mean a regular hospital, where people are suffering from acute forms of disease, and are learning and teaching the grand lessons of patience, endurance, and fortitude so necessary to humanity, but a community of individuals, able to walk about, talk to one another, and be generally engrossed with one idea, the pursuit of health. We once spent thirty days in a water-cure establishment, and can truly say that it was one of the most miserable months we ever passed. The totally physical atmosphere, the selfish, material countenances surrounding us, weighed upon our spirit until our nerves gave way, and we wondered which were on the broad road to insanity, our companions or ourselves. We examined narrowly, and found (in the generality of cases) that the angels within the bodies of those men and women had had their wings cut away until nothing remained but the senses and the limited knowledge they are capable of conveying.

Our experience may have been peculiarly unfortunate, but it has rendered us always happy to welcome a rational treatment of disease that may be pursued at home. Self-denial and activity are the two principal lessons inculcated in the work; and if we be careful to lift them from the body to the soul, we need not fear the slight tinge of materialism that seems almost inseparable from essays on bodily health. We repeat that Dr. Lewis's book abounds in excellent suggestions, essential to all, and its wide circulation will doubtless tend to the improvement of the general health of our people. Those even who, in some points, fail to agree with the author, must acknowledge the usefulness and practicability of the general ideas advanced, together with the simplicity of their application.

LIFE OF CHOPIN, by F. LISZT. Translated from the French by MARTHA WALKER COOK. 12mo, pp. 202. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. New York: F. W. Christern and James Miller. 2d Edition.

We are glad to see that this little work has already gone into its second edition. It gives evidence that, in spite of our domestic afflictions, more interest is felt in this country for art, than is generally believed to be the case, even by the most astute publishers among us. In calling the attention of our readers to this second edition of Liszt's 'Chopin,' we do not think we can do better than place before them the following extracts from a critique which appeared in the New York Daily Tribune of June 11th, 1863.

'The lovers of musical art may justly be congratulated on the appearance of this extraordinary biographical study in an appropriate English dress. It is the enthusiastic tribute of a man of noble genius to a kindred spirit, whose mastership he acknowledged, and with whom he cherished a deep and tender friendship, beyond the vitiating touch of personal or artistic rivalry. The volume, indeed, affords a no less admirable illustration of the impulsive, generous, unworldly character of the author, than of the rare and wonderful gifts of its unique subject. It is the product of the heart rather than the head, and its frequent passages of childlike naivete, its transparent revelations of the inmost soul of the writer, and the radiant atmosphere of spiritual beauty in which thoughts and images are melted together with a magic spell, transport it from the sphere of prose composition to that of high poetry. In spite of the trammels of words, it gives expression to the same subtle and ethereal conceptions which inspired the genius of Liszt as a musical artist. As a sketch of the life of the great composer, it possesses an interest with which few biographical works can compare; but no details of incident could imprison the soul of the author; and a fine aesthetic aroma breathes from every page, fragrant with the blossoming out of a rich, original nature, as well as with an exquisite sense of art.

'Chopin was born in Poland, near Warsaw, in the year 1810. His boyhood was marked by no events that gave promise of the greatness of his future career. He early became the victim of ill health, which was almost the perpetual torment of his after life. He grew up in simple and quiet habits, surrounded by the purest influences, conversant with bright examples of piety, modesty, and integrity, which gave to his imagination 'the velvety tenderness that characterizes the plants which have never been exposed to the dust of the beaten highways.' Commencing the study of music when he was but nine years old, he was soon after confided to a passionate disciple of Sebastian Bach, who for many years directed his studies in accordance with the prevailing classic models. Through the liberality of a distinguished patron of art, Prince Radziwill, he was placed in one of the first colleges in Warsaw, where he received a finished education in every branch of learning. The following picture, although partaking of the nature of a fancy piece, is introduced by Liszt, from the pen of one of the greatest living writers of fiction, as a just representation of the youthful artist at this period of his life.

'Gentle, sensitive, and very lovely, at fifteen years of age he united the charms of adolescence with the gravity of a more mature age. He was delicate both in body and in mind. Through the want of muscular development he retained a peculiar beauty, an exceptional physiognomy, which had, if we may venture so to speak, neither age nor sex. It was not the bold and masculine air of a descendant of a race of magnates, who know nothing but drinking, hunting, and making war; neither was it the effeminate loveliness of a cherub couleur de rose. It was more like the ideal creations with which the poetry of the Middle Ages adorned the Christian temples: a beautiful angel, with a form pure and slight as a young god of Olympus, with a face like that of a majestic woman filled with a divine sorrow, and as the crown of all, an expression at the same time tender and severe, chaste and impassioned.

'This expression revealed the depths of his being. Nothing could be purer, more exalted than his thoughts; nothing more tenacious, more exclusive, more intensely devoted, than his affections.... But he could only understand that which closely resembled himself.... Everything else only existed for him as a kind of annoying dream which he tried to shake off while living with the rest of the world. Always plunged in reveries, realities displeased him. As a child, he could never touch a sharp instrument without injuring himself with it; as a man, he never found himself face to face with a being different from himself without being wounded by the living contradiction....

'He was preserved from a constant antagonism by a voluntary and almost inveterate habit of never seeing or hearing anything which was disagreeable to him, unless it touched upon his personal affections. The beings who did not think as he did, were only phantoms in his eyes. As his manners were polished and graceful, it was easy to mistake his cold disdain or insurmountable aversion for benevolent courtesy....

'He never spent an hour in open-hearted expansiveness, without compensating for it by a season of reserve. The moral causes which induced such reserve were too slight, too subtle, to be discovered by the naked eye. It was necessary to use the microscope to read his soul, into which so little of the light of the living ever penetrated....

'With such a character, it seems strange he should have had friends: yet he had them, not only the friends of his mother, who esteemed him as the noble son of a noble mother, but friends of his own age, who loved him ardently, and who were loved by him in return.... He had formed a high ideal of friendship; in the age of early illusions he loved to think that his friends and himself, brought up nearly in the same manner, with the same principles, would never change their opinions, and that no formal disagreement could ever occur between them....

'He was externally so affectionate, his education had been so finished, and he possessed so much natural grace, that he had the gift of pleasing even where he was not personally known. His exceeding loveliness was immediately prepossessing, the delicacy of his constitution rendered him interesting in the eyes of women, the full yet graceful cultivation of his mind, the sweet and captivating originality of his conversation, gained for him the attention of the most enlightened men. Men less highly cultivated, liked him for his exquisite courtesy of manner. They were so much the more pleased with this, because, in their simplicity, they never imagined it was the graceful fulfilment of a duty into which no real sympathy entered.

'Could such people have divined the secrets of his mystic character, they would have said he was more amiable than loving—and with respect to them, this would have been true. But how could they have known that his real, though rare attachments, were so vivid, so profound, so undying?...

'Association with him in the details of life was delightful. He filled all the forms of friendship with an unaccustomed charm, and when he expressed his gratitude, it was with that deep emotion which recompenses kindness with usury. He willingly imagined that he felt himself every day dying; he accepted the cares of a friend, hiding from him, lest it should render him unhappy, the little time he expected to profit by them. He possessed great physical courage, and if he did not accept with the heroic recklessness of youth the idea of approaching death, at least he cherished the expectation of it with a kind of bitter pleasure.'...

'After completing his studies in harmony with a celebrated master, he complied with the wishes of his parents, who desired that he should travel, in order that he should become familiar with the best musical productions under the advantage of their perfect execution. For this purpose he visited many of the German cities, and was absent from Warsaw on one of his excursions when the revolution broke out in the autumn of 1830. He was thus forced to remain in Vienna, and was heard there in some concerts, but failed to receive the appreciation from the artistic public of that city which he had a right to anticipate. Leaving Vienna, he repaired to Paris, which was henceforth to be the scene of his brilliant triumphs. His constitution, being frail and delicate, could not long sustain the rude shocks of life unscathed, and we accordingly find Chopin at the age of thirty with rapidly declining health; and for the next decade, his existence was only a continued succession of the alternations of disease. At last, he began to fail so rapidly that the fears of his friends assumed the shape of despair. He scarcely ever left his bed, and spoke but rarely.

'His sister, upon receiving this intelligence, came from Warsaw to take her place at his pillow, which she left no more. He witnessed the anguish, the presentiments, the redoubled sadness around him, without showing what impression they made upon him. He thought of death with Christian calm and resignation, yet he did not cease to prepare for the morrow. From week to week and soon from day to day, the cold shadow of death gained upon him. His end was rapidly approaching; his sufferings became more and more intense; his crises grew more frequent, and at each accelerated occurrence resembled more and more a mortal agony. He retained his presence of mind, his vivid will upon their intermission, until the last; neither losing the precision of his ideas, nor the clear perception of his intentions. The wishes which he expressed in his short moments of respite, evinced the calm solemnity with which he contemplated the approach of death.'

'The inevitable hour came finally not without a certain strange, romantic beauty in its solemn aspects.

'The parlor adjoining the chamber of Chopin was constantly occupied by some of his friends, who, one by one, in turn, approached him to receive a sign of recognition, a look of affection, when he was no longer able to address them in words. On Sunday, the 15th of October, his attacks were more violent and more frequent—lasting for several hours in succession. He endured them with patience and great strength of mind. The Countess Delphine Potocka, who was present, was much distressed; her tears were flowing fast when he observed her standing at the foot of his bed; tall, slight, draped in white, resembling the beautiful angels created by the imagination of the most devout among the painters. Without doubt, he supposed her to be a celestial apparition; and when the crisis left him a moment in repose, he requested her to sing; they deemed him at first seized with delirium, but he eagerly repeated his request. Who could have ventured to oppose his wish? The piano was rolled from his parlor to the door of his chamber, while, with sobs in her voice, and tears streaming down her cheeks, his gifted countrywoman sang. Certainly, this delightful voice had never before attained an expression so full of profound pathos. He seemed to suffer less as he listened. She sang that famous Canticle to the Virgin, which, it is said, once saved the life of Siradella. 'How beautiful it is!' he exclaimed. 'My God, how very beautiful! Again—again!' Though overwhelmed with emotion, the Countess had the noble courage to comply with the last wish of a friend, a compatriot; she again took a seat at the piano, and sang a hymn from Marcello. Chopin again feeling worse, everybody was seized with fright—by a spontaneous impulse all who were present threw themselves upon their knees—no one ventured to speak; the sacred silence was only broken by the voice of the Countess, floating, like a melody from heaven, above the sighs and sobs which formed its heavy and mournful earth accompaniment. It was the haunted hour of twilight; a dying light lent its mysterious shadows to this sad scene—the sister of Chopin, prostrated near his bed, wept and prayed—and never quitted this attitude of supplication while the life of the brother she had so cherished lasted.

'His condition altered for the worse during the night, but he felt more tranquil upon Monday morning, and as if he had known in advance the appointed and propitious moment, he asked to receive immediately the last sacraments. In the absence of the Abbe ——, with whom he had been very intimate since their common expatriation, he requested that the Abbe Jelowicki, one of the most distinguished men of the Polish emigration, should be sent for. When the holy Viaticum was administered to him, he received it, surrounded by those who loved him, with great devotion. He called his friends a short time afterward, one by one, to his bedside, to give each of them his last earnest blessing; calling down the grace of God fervently upon themselves, their affections, and their hopes—every knee bent—every head bowed—all eyes were heavy with tears—every heart was sad and oppressed—every soul elevated.

'Attacks, more and more painful, returned and continued during the day; from Monday night until Tuesday, he did not utter a single word. He did not seem able to distinguish the persons who were around him. About eleven o'clock on Tuesday evening he appeared to revive a little. The Abbe Jelowicki had never left him. Hardly had he recovered the power of speech, than he requested him to recite with him the prayers and litanies for the dying. He was able to accompany the Abbe in an audible and intelligible voice. From this moment until his death, he held his head constantly supported upon the shoulder of M. Gutman, who, during the whole course of this sickness, had devoted his days and nights to him.

'A convulsive sleep lasted until the 17th of October, 1849. The final agony commenced about two o'clock; a cold sweat ran profusely from his brow; after a short drowsiness, he assessed in a voice scarcely audible: 'Who is near me?' Being answered; he bent his head to kiss the hand of M. Gutman, who still supported it—while giving this last tender proof of love and gratitude, the soul of the artist left its fragile clay. He died as he had lived—in loving.

'His love for flowers being well known, they were brought in such quantities the next day, that the bed in which they had placed them, and indeed the whole room, almost disappeared, hidden by their varied and brilliant hues. He seemed to repose in a garden of roses. His face regained its early beauty, its purity of expression, its long unwonted serenity. Calmly—with his youthful loveliness, so long dimmed by bitter suffering, restored by death—he slept among the flowers he loved, the last long and dreamless sleep!'

'We must not forget to thank the intelligent translator of this volume for the fidelity with which she has executed her by no means easy task. The elevated, almost aerial conceptions of Liszt, often seeming as if they disdained the bonds of language, are presented in lucid, idiomatic English, which derives a certain vital force more from warmth of sympathy with the original than from the use of any of the arts of vigorous expression.'

ROCKFORD; or, Sunshine and Storm. By Mrs. LILLIE DEVEREUX UMSTED. Author of Southwold. Carleton, publisher, 413 Broadway, New York.

A novel of considerable ability. The characters are well drawn, and the moral unexceptionable. The scenes occur in fashionable life; the descriptions are vivid, the conversations (in which it abounds) are easy and sparkling, and the pictures of social life varied and interesting.

GOOD THOUGHTS IN BAD TIMES, AND OTHER PAPERS. By THOMAS FULLER, D. D. Price, $1.50. Ticknor & Fields, Boston.

Coleridge says of Fuller: 'Next to Shakespeare, I am not certain whether he, beyond all other writers, does not excite in me the sense and emotion of the marvellous.'

Thomas Fuller was born in 1608, was a chaplain in the army during the great civil war in England, and died in 1661, so that much of his fifty-four years of life was spent among no very peaceful scenes. He followed the army with a loyal heart and courageous spirit, and wrought earnestly to mitigate the violence of hostile parties. One of the wisest and wittiest divines who have ever ascended the pulpit, he has left behind him a fame second to none who have labored to elevate and make their fellow creatures better. 'Untiring humor seemed the ruling passion of his soul. With a heart open to all innocent pleasures, purged from the leaven of malice and uncharitableness, it was as natural that he should be full of mirth as it is for the grasshopper to chirp or bee to hum, or the birds to warble in the spring breeze and bright sunshine.'

His good thoughts are clothed in pure and beautiful language, are wise, quaint, genial, and witty. Being collected and matured during his marches and countermarches through the country at the time of the great civil war, we look upon their present publication as very timely and judicious, considering the disturbed state of our own suffering country.

THE GENTLEMAN. By GEORGE H. CALVERT. Ticknor & Fields. Boston. Price, 75 cts.

A book which we hope will have a wide circulation, and exercise a beneficial influence in this country. It is no superficial essay on external matters of etiquette, or even of mere aesthetic culture: it goes to the very heart of the meaning of the abused word, Gentleman, and proves its root to be unselfishness. The author says: 'It is the moral element which, in my conception of the gentleman, is pivotal. Dealing with the highest type, I conceive that in that type not only are morals primary, but that manners result from them; so that where there is not a solid substratum of pure, elevated feeling there cannot be a clean, high, and unaffected demeanor.' 'The true gentleman is a Christian product.

'The best of men That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breathed.''

These views are illustrated with genius and scholarship. Their dissemination among ourselves is especially important, because our ideas of what is requisite to form a gentleman are essentially vague, crude, unformed, and often false.

It is no dull book of commonplace thoughts, but a high and noble essay on an important subject, and we commend it to the attention of our readers. Let him who would look upon the reverse of the gentleman, turn to the Editor's Table of the July issue of THE CONTINENTAL, and regard the repulsive sketch of the 'Southern Colonel,' whose ideal seems to be 'Brandy Smash and Cocktails.' Alas! that such ideals too frequently occur among ourselves. Bayard and Sir Philip Sydney are valuable studies for our own young and gallant soldiers.

POINT OF HONOR. By the Author of the 'Morals of May Fair,' 'Creeds,' &c., &c. Harper & Brothers, publishers, Franklin Square, New York.

This is no sensational tale. Its interest is not derived from intricacy of plot or mysterious developments; it presents us with admirable studies of male and female character, the traits of which are manifested in the progress of the plot. The portraits are detailed, natural, and living; the heroine feminine and lovely. The moral is good, and the 'Point of Honor' ably displayed.

SCIENCE FOR THE SCHOOL AND FAMILY. Part I. Natural Philosophy. By WORTHINGTON HOOKER, M. D., Professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine in Yale College, Author of 'Human Physiology,' 'Child's Book of Nature,' 'Natural History,' &c., Illustrated by nearly 300 engravings. Harper & Brothers, publishers, Franklin Square, New York.

A valuable offering to teachers and pupils.

Professor Hooker has published a graduated series of books, carefully adapted to the different periods of the course of study; exceedingly simple for the beginner, stepping carefully from the known to the unknown, and widening their range with the increasing knowledge and mental growth of the student. The first in the graduated series is the 'Child's Book of Common Things.' Next, the 'Child's Book of Nature,' in three Parts, viz.: 'Plants,' 'Animals,' 'Air, Water, Light, Heat,'—then follow the 'First Book in Chemistry' and 'First Book in Physiology.' The next step in the gradation brings us to three books under one title: 'Science for the School and the Family;' Part I, Natural Philosophy; Part II, Chemistry; Part III, Mineralogy and Geology.

Our author says: 'One grand essential for giving interest to any study is the presentation of the various points in the natural order in which they should enter the mind. They should be so presented that each portion of a book shall make the following portions more interesting and more easily understood. This principle I have endeavored to observe strictly in the preparation of my volumes.' We believe Professor Hooker has succeeded in the observation of this principle, and that its observation must insure success.

THE STORY OF THE GUARD: A Chronicle of the War. By JESSIE BENTON FREMONT. Knapsack Edition. Price, 50 cts. Ticknor & Fields, Boston.

We are glad to see this little work of affection and patriotism from the hand of a gifted lady (who says: 'For any personal object I should never use my name, which has been to me a double charge to keep; but I think my father would more than approve, when it is to do justice, and to aid the widow and the orphan') already passed into the sixth edition.

'To do justice to brave men and to aid the widow and orphan!' What nobler motive could there be for publishing a book, than the prevailing one so simply given by Mrs. Fremont in the lines just quoted! Truly the most determined hater of the so much read and so much abused 'women's books,' must cease to sneer in acknowledging that here indeed was inducement sufficient to make the most timid and shrinking of the sex face the frowns of the critic, the scoff of the antagonistic politician, and the astonishment of the fashionable world that one who had long been one of its most brilliant ornaments should condescend to become known as an authoress! We heartily congratulate her on the success of her book, which, as achieving its object, must be dear to her heart. Very charming, too, are the extracts given from General Fremont's letters. Domestic love and peace are surely holy!

'To do justice to brave men!' 'Major Zagonyi, with one hundred and fifty of the body guard, attacked and drove from Springfield over two thousand rebels, with a loss of only fifteen men.' All honor to the brave Zagonyi! His Hungarian English is strong, graphic, simple, and, like himself, true. With a thorough military education, dauntless courage, untiring energy, and a natural, perhaps national, love for horses and horsemanship, we doubt not he is one of the best cavalry officers in our service. He has long chafed under a forced inaction, and, full of unselfish devotion, burns to do and dare in what he believes to be the cause of freedom and humanity. May he soon add fresh laurels to his glorious Springfield wreath—and may the same gentle chronicler again twine them for his brave brow!

SUBSTANCE AND SHADOW; or, Morality and Religion in their Relation to Life: An Essay upon the Physics of Creation. By HENRY JAMES. Ticknor & Fields, Boston.

We advise such of our readers as take interest in metaphysical theology, in the vexed questions of the origin of evil, of free will, of God's communication with the spirit of man, of the growth of faith in the soul, to read this book for themselves. We are not Swedenborgians, though we believe Swedenborg to have been a great and good man; we do not deem ourselves able to pronounce upon the truths or errors elaborated in the pages of Mr. James's book, but we feel convinced that its author is as sincere as able, and that he really aims at reaching the heart and marrow of his important subjects. His argument with the German and Scotch philosophies is profound and skilful. He is a believer in revelation, in its unfolding a true philosophy of the Infinite; showing how the infinite is contained in the finite, the absolute in the relative, not spatially or by continuation, but by exact correspondency, as the soul is contained in the body. He always steers clear of the shoals of atheism, and of the dim and chaotic abysses of pantheism. He is often obscure, but has the power to be concise and luminous. His style is vigorous, though we object to the meaning he attaches to two words very dear to the human heart: for religion is not ritualism, nor is morality made of the starched buckram of selfhood. Religion is love to God—morality, love to our neighbor. We differ from him in many of his positions, his standpoint is not ours, but he struggles bravely to rescue philosophy from a degrading bondage to sense, and to restore her to the service of revelation. No analysis within our present limits would avail to combat the errors, to make manifest the truths contained in the book, nor do we feel ourselves competent to undertake the task.

If the lucid and vigorous writer, author of the article entitled 'Mill on Liberty' in our June issue, as well as of some able remarks headed 'Matter and Spirit' published in the Editor's Table of the July number of THE CONTINENTAL, would review this book of Mr. James, he might be able to pour a flood of light on many mooted questions, many metaphysical queries; for a clear mind is a marvellous solvent.



BOOKS RECEIVED.

THE WESTERN LAW MONTHLY. June, 1863. Hon. JOHN CROWELL, WILLIAM LAWRENCE, Editors. Cleveland, Ohio: Fairbanks, Benedict & Co. New York: John S. Voorhies, law bookseller and publisher, No. 20 Nassau street.

THE MASSACHUSETTS TEACHER: A Journal of School and Home Education. June, 1863. Boston: Published by the Massachusetts Teachers' Association, No. 119 Washington street.

VERMONT SCHOOL JOURNAL: Devoted to the Educational Interests of the State. HIRAM ORCUTT, Editor and Proprietor, West Brattleboro.

THE ILLINOIS TEACHER: Devoted to Education, Science, and Free Schools. Editors: ALEXANDER M. GOW, Rock Island; SAMUEL A. BRIGGS, Chicago. Published monthly, Peoria, Illinois, by N. I. Nason.

THE HOME MONTHLY: Devoted to Home Education, Literature, and Religion. Edited by Rev. WM. M. THAYER. Boston: Published by D. W. Childs, No. 456 Washington street, corner of Essex.

THE BRITISH AMERICAN. A Monthly Magazine, devoted to Science, Literature, and Art. Toronto. Rollo & Adams, publishers. No. 1, May, 1863. THE BRITISH AMERICAN contains: North West British America; My Cousin Tom; Early Notices of Toronto; The Bank of Credit Foncier; Holiday Musings of a Worker; The Emigrants; Flowers and their Moral Teaching; Sketches of Indian Life; Given and Taken; The Post Office and the Railway; Insect Life in Canada; Reviews, &c.

THE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. July, 1863. Boston: By the proprietors, at Walker, Wise, & Co.'s, 245 Washington street. Contents: Conditions of Belief; Mrs. Browning's Essays on the Poets; Rome, Republican and Imperial; The Pulpit in the Past; Kinglake and his Critics; The Colenso Controversy; Art and Artists of America; Reviews, &c.

THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW. July, 1863. Contents: Traits of Jean Paul and his Titan; Peerages and Genealogies; The Chronology, Topography, and Archaeology of the Life of Christ; Story's Roba di Roma; Liberia College; Samuel Kirkland; Leigh Hunt; Acarnania; The American Tract Society; May's Constitutional History of England; Critical Notices, &c.



EDITOR'S TABLE.

THE SUSPENSE.—Seldom, in the eventful course of human affairs, have great nations, with their rich and populous cities, been placed in the attitude of danger and of solemn suspense in which the American people find themselves at this momentous crisis. Even while we write this sentence, a great battle is raging in one of the fairest valleys of Pennsylvania, and although the actual struggle is destined to be decisive in its bearing, there is no possibility of knowing how the strife goes from hour to hour. Issues of immense and incalculable importance are involved in the immediate result: the cities of Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia, to say nothing of the existence of the nation itself, so gravely imperilled, on the one hand; and Richmond, with all the desperate hopes and daring purposes of the rebellion, on the other, are the mighty stakes played for in the bloody game now going on upon the chessboard in the vicinity of Gettysburg.

With the overthrow of Lee's army, and its effectual cut off from escape, not only will come the speedy fall of Richmond, but the rebellion itself will be virtually at an end; for it will never be able to recover from the blow. On the other hand, with the complete discomfiture of our own army, we should be temporarily at the mercy of the enemy, as we do not seem to have contemplated the contingency of defeat, and have made little preparation for it. The victorious Lee would drive our shattered forces into Washington, Baltimore, and Philadelphia, and would follow close upon their heels with his irresistible columns. Dark would be the day for our country and for human liberty, and terrible would be the struggle made necessary afterward to enable us to recover from so great a disaster. Assuredly we would be able to recover; and in this fact lies our great superiority over the adversary, who stakes his all upon the issue of this desperate and reckless invasion into the heart of the loyal States. But, with all our confidence in the justice and ultimate triumph of our cause, how great is the patriotic anxiety with which our hearts are burdened, and how intensely earnest are the prayers we offer to the Most High for the success of our noble army in the pending battle! In our excited imaginations, we see only the impenetrable cloud of smoke which envelops the bloody field; we hear the loud thunders of the murderous artillery, the rattle of musketry, the groans of the wounded and dying, and the shouts of infuriated columns as they rush into the jaws of death, and are rolled away on the fiery billows of the mighty conflict. We feel all the frenzy of the deadly strife as if we were in the midst of it; and yet, though we strain our inward vision to the utmost, no ray of light comes from the terrible scene to inform us how the scale of victory inclines. We only know that thousands of our brothers lie on the battle field dead or dying, wounded and suffering, and we anticipate the melancholy wail which their wives and children, their brothers and friends will utter on the morrow. Shall it be mingled with shouts of victory, and softened by the sweet consolation that the death and suffering of so many noble victims have been repaid by the safety of our country, and the reestablishment of liberty under the glorious Constitution of our fathers?

* * * * *

THE RELIEF.—Time rolls on. In spite of anxieties and torturing uncertainties; over broken hearts and ruined hopes; over fields of slaughter, where the harvest of death has been garnered in abundance so great as to sicken the soul of man; over pillaged cities and countries laid waste; over all the works of man, good and bad, time rolls on, careless alike of the joys and sorrows, the victories and defeats of men and nations. And, with the steady and remorseless march of time, events, however bound up with the mightiest interests of mankind, necessarily hasten to their consummation. The web of fate is unravelled—the tide of battle flows in its irrevocable course, and having stranded the hopes of the defeated power, there is no ebb, no reflux, by which the disaster may be undone, and the ruined cause restored again to prosperity and hope.

Gradually the cloud breaks away from the battle field, and the various incidents and accomplished results of the contest become known. The silent, faithful wires, stretching away to the intervening cities and villages, are burdened with their mysterious messages, to be delivered from time to time to the expectant crowds who await them with eager impatience. With the dawn of Independence Day, some gleams of light come up from the scene of conflict, and some encouraging words are heard from high quarters. In their patriotic assemblages, the people are full of hope and confidence, though still not without intense anxiety with regard to the final result, yet imperfectly made known. Every additional message, with which the wires tremble, makes the hopeful impression stronger and stronger; and, upon the whole, the 4th of July, 1863, is a day of rejoicing to all those who love their country and desire to see it restored to its pristine vigor and glory. Scarcely a doubt remains that the daring traitors have been defeated and the country saved; though it is yet uncertain whether the victory will be complete and the army of the enemy scattered and destroyed or captured.

If by possibility Lee should again escape and make his way back to the exhausted fields of Eastern Virginia, there may still be some hard work for our armies in order to put a final end to the great rebellion. But the failure of this last desperate enterprise gives the deathblow to the wicked and ambitious power of the usurpers at the head of the pretended confederacy. They may obstruct our march and harass our armies, but they can no longer hope to place any permanent obstacle in the way of our progress toward the restoration of the Union. The tide has turned at last. We have seen the darkest day of our mortal struggle, and the hour of deliverance is at hand.

AGRICULTURE AND WAR.

Agriculture is the foundation of all other industries. It is quite as indispensable for the support of armies in the field as it is for that of commerce and manufactures in the halcyon days of national repose. If those who have gone forth with arms in their hands to do battle for the preservation of our free government are performing services of the highest importance to the nation, those also who remain at home to till the earth are doing work indispensable to the success of our sacred cause. If they do not strike the enemy with their hoes and scythes, they at least sustain and invigorate those who carry the bayonet and meet the shock of actual war.

Under all circumstances the great operations of agriculture must still go on. The seasons do not cease their appointed rounds; the sun does not fail to dispense his genial stores of light and heat; nor do the fertilizing showers of heaven refuse to descend upon the soil, because the fierce passions of man have aroused him to discord and battle. Nature still maintains her serenity in the midst of all the fearful agitations of mankind; and she still scatters her blessings with a lavish hand, though they may be trampled under foot by the gathering hosts of infuriated men. Even, therefore, while the human tempest rages around us, we may well pause to contemplate the peaceful beneficence of nature, and to rejoice in the thought that all the wickedness and violence of man cannot provoke or derange into confusion and disorder the great natural elements which minister to his comfort and happiness—which cause the seed to germinate, the flower to bloom, and the fruit to ripen, regardless of all his passions, and in spite of his ingratitude. The unambitious pursuits of the husbandman may have in them nothing of the pomp and circumstance of glorious war; but they are at least in harmony with the beneficence of God and the permanent interests of man; while they are also of the highest importance to the country, even in the extremity of her peril.

The harvest, now approaching, everywhere gives promise of a bounteous supply of the productions which annually bless our favored land. The vast invading army of the enemy, soon to be driven with disaster out of the loyal States, will have made no serious impression upon the abundance of our overflowing stores. There may be some scarcity of labor to secure the maturing crops, but we shall still supply all our own wants abundantly, leaving a large surplus for shipment abroad, and even for meeting the necessities of our suffering brethren in the South, when they shall have utterly failed in their wicked purpose of destroying the Government, and when their sharp cry of hunger and suffering shall appeal to our relenting hearts for succor.

THE EARTH AND THE AIR.

The great bulk of all vegetation is derived from the atmosphere. The air is always loaded with watery vapor, and it contains a vast quantity of carbonic acid gas, which furnishes the chief material for the woody fibre of all plants, for the starch, sugar, gums, oils, and other valuable compounds produced by them. Nitrogen, also, is one of the large constituents of the air, and is found in it likewise in the form of ammonia. It is wonderful to reflect that of all the vegetable productions of the earth—its vast forests, the flowery clothing of its boundless prairies, the immeasurable productions raised by the industry of the whole human race in its countless fields of labor—that of all this mighty growth which covers and adorns the face of the whole solid globe, more than ninety-five hundredths are derived exclusively from the atmosphere. This vast ocean which surrounds the earth, in which we are immersed, and which is actually the breath of life to us, indispensable to our existence during every moment of our lives, is also the great reservoir from which the mighty vegetable world draws almost the whole of its substance. While we are inspiring the invisible fluid, and with every breath renewing the ruddy currents of the heart and sending them glowing with warmth and vitality to all the extremities of the frame, every leaf in the mighty forest, and every herb, and flower, and blade of grass on the surface of the whole earth, is maintaining a similar commerce with the air, drawing from its boundless stores of carbon, piling up cell upon cell and adding fibre to fibre, until trunk, and branch, and stem, and leaf, with all the gorgeous productions of vegetable life, stand forth in their maturity, filling the bosom of the conscious atmosphere with wonderful creations of beauty and fruits of joy.

But in fact the atmosphere is only an appendage to the solid earth, existing in that plastic form which is necessary to the creation both of animal and vegetable life. It is her breath, by which, as the minister of God, she breathes life into the nostrils of men and animals, and imparts vitality and growth to all plants. But in this life-giving process, she furnishes also a part, minute though it be, of her own proper substance. Consume with fire the trees of the forest, or the grass of the prairie, and though the greater part of the burning mass will disappear and mingle with the air from which it came, there will yet remain the ashes, which cannot be dissipated, but must return again to the earth which gave them. These solid constituents of plants are the contributions of the soil; and though they seem to be comparatively inconsiderable, yet when taken in connection with the large operations of agriculture continued through a series of years, they become so great as to be of the utmost importance. They perform an interesting part in the economy of vegetable life, for they are to the plant what the bones are to the animal. In the stalks of wheat and Indian corn, as indeed of all the grasses, the flinty surface is constituted largely of silex; as the shells of crustacea and the bones of animals are composed mostly of lime. Without these earthy substances, nothing that grows from the soil can come to perfection. They are equally important to animals and to man himself, who receives them from the vegetable world and assimilates them in his own marvellous organization—building up his bony frame with the lime of the earth; filling his veins with its iron; constructing the very seat and citadel of the soul, and flashing its spiritual mandates through the nerves, by the help of the phosphorus which he derives from the soil through the elaboration of plants and inferior animals.

WE'RE NOT TIRED OF FIGHTING YET!

Oh, we're not tired of fighting yet! We're not the boys to frighten yet! While drums are drumming we'll be coming, With the ball and bayonet! For we can hit while they can pound, And so let's have another round! Secesh is bound to lick the ground, And we'll be in their pantry yet!

Oh, we're not tired of tramping yet— Of soldier life or camping yet; And rough or level, man or devil, We are game for stamping yet. We've lived through weather wet and dry, Through hail and fire, without a cry; We wouldn't freeze, and couldn't fry, And haven't got through our ramping yet!

We haven't broke up the party yet; We're rough, and tough, and hearty yet; Who talks of going pays what's owing, And there's a bill will smart ye yet! So bang the doors, and lock 'em tight! Secesh, you've got to make it right! We'll have a little dance to-night; You can't begin to travel yet!

Oh, we're not tired of fighting yet, Nor ripe for disuniting yet! Before they do it, or get through it, There'll be some savage biting yet! Then hip, hurrah for Uncle Sam! And down with all secesh and sham! From Davis to Vallandigham, They all shall rue their treason yet!

* * * * *

We cannot close the present number of THE CONTINENTAL without a few words of fervid congratulation to our readers and countrymen. We may greet each other now with glad hearts and uplifted brows. What a glorious "Fourth" was ours, with our Eagle scattering the heavy war-clouds which hung around us, soaring to gaze once more undazzled at the sun of liberty; our stars again shining down clear upon us from their heaven of light! Joy sparkles in every eye, and high, strong words flash from every tongue. Grant victorious—Vicksburg ours—the army of the Potomac covered with glory—Meade everywhere triumphant, and in full pursuit of our flying and disheartened foe! Heroes and soldiers, your country blesses and thanks you!

Let us now resolve that with every day our Union shall grow closer. Let faction die; political intrigue cease to rear its serpent head; let doubt become trust; suspicion, faith! Countrymen, let us also learn to pity the unhappy race whom this war must free. You cannot now prevent it; its first tocsin of liberty pealed with the first gun fired at Fort Sumter. After long ages of barbaric night, of slavery, of misery, these beings cut in ebony begin to robe themselves as men; on the battle field they have at last put on the virile toga dyed in blood, not now drawn by the lash from the back of the wretched chattel, but from the heart of the man face to face with his oppressor on the field of righteous battle. Rude and uncultured, they hold up to you hands hard with labor, still bleeding from the scarcely fallen manacles, and implore aid and manly mercy. Let it be granted without stint, and let not the freedom God has given, become a curse to them! You cannot roll back the stately steppings of destiny—and let this great and magnanimous people show its magnanimity now!

And, oh, ye glorious dead, now resting in eternal peace, whom the drum and fife will rouse no more to superhuman effort in our behalf, sweet be your sleep in the heart of the country you died to save, and ever green the laurel above your grassy graves! We will not forget you, wrapped in your gory shrouds for the land ye loved! Never shall our national hymns again greet our ears without awakening tender thoughts of you! Hot, sad tears will mourn your loss in the homes your smiles shall light no more—but your names shall be an heirloom of glory to your mothers, wives, and children, and your country will weep with them! We greet you, holy graves! As the onward path of humanity passes over your new-made mounds, her children will veil their heads and honor the martyrs who lie below. And when the coming centuries shall have covered you with moss and flowers, they will never forget to throw the laurel as they pass, acknowledging that these tombs have made progress and happiness possible! Brothers, the Union shall be sacred which you died to save! In the more intense and glowing patriotism engendered by your sacrifice, we swear it on your blessed sepulchres, and this shall be your deathless epitaph!

M. W. C.



THE

Continental Monthly.

The readers of the CONTINENTAL are aware of the important position it has assumed, of the influence which it exerts, and of the brilliant array of political and literary talent of the highest order which supports it. No publication of the kind has, in this country, so successfully combined the energy and freedom of the daily newspaper with the higher literary tone of the first-class monthly; and it is very certain that no magazine has given wider range to its contributors, or preserved itself so completely from the narrow influences of party or of faction. In times like the present, such a journal is either a power in the land or it is nothing. That the CONTINENTAL is not the latter is abundantly evidenced by what it has done—by the reflection of its counsels in many important public events, and in the character and power of those who are its staunchest supporters.

Though but little more than a year has elapsed since the CONTINENTAL was first established, it has during that time acquired a strength and a political significance elevating it to a position far above that previously occupied by any publication of the kind in America. In proof of which assertion we call attention to the following facts:

1. Of its POLITICAL articles republished in pamphlet form, a single one has had, thus far, a circulation of one hundred and six thousand copies.

2. From its LITERARY department, a single serial novel, "Among the Pines," has, within a very few months, sold nearly thirty-five thousand copies. Two other series of its literary articles have also been republished in book form, while the first portion of a third is already in press.

No more conclusive facts need be alleged to prove the excellence of the contributions to the CONTINENTAL, or their extraordinary popularity; and its conductors are determined that it shall not fall behind. Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a thousand journals have attributed to it, it will greatly enlarge its circle of action, and discuss, fearlessly and frankly, every principle involved in the great questions of the day. The first minds of the country, embracing the men most familiar with its diplomacy and most distinguished for ability, are among its contributors; and it is no mere "flattering promise of a prospectus" to say that this "magazine for the times" will employ the first intellect in America, under auspices which no publication ever enjoyed before in this country.

While the CONTINENTAL will express decided opinions on the great questions of the day, it will not be a mere political journal: much the larger portion of its columns will be enlivened, as heretofore, by tales, poetry, and humor. In a word, the CONTINENTAL will be found, under its new staff of Editors, occupying a position and presenting attractions never before found in a magazine.

* * * * *

TERMS TO CLUBS.

Two copies for one year, Five dollars. Three copies for one year, Six dollars. Six copies for one year, Eleven dollars. Eleven copies for one year, Twenty dollars. Twenty copies for one year, Thirty-six dollars.

PAID IN ADVANCE.

Postage, Thirty six cents a year, TO BE PAID BY THE SUBSCRIBER.

SINGLE COPIES.

Three dollars a year, IN ADVANCE. Postage paid by the Publisher.

JOHN F. TROW, 50 Greene St., N. Y., PUBLISHER FOR THE PROPRIETORS.

—> As an inducement to new subscribers, the Publisher offers the following liberal premiums:

—> Any person remitting $3, in advance, will receive the magazine from July, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing the whole of Mr. KIMBALL'S and Mr. KIRKE'S new serials, which are alone worth the price of subscription. Or, if preferred, a subscriber can take the magazine for 1863 and a copy of "Among the Pines," or of "Undercurrents of Wall Street," by R. B. KIMBALL, bound in cloth, or of "Sunshine in Thought," by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND (retail price, $1 25.) The book to be sent postage paid.

—> Any person remitting $4 50, will receive the magazine from its commencement, January, 1862, to January, 1864, thus securing Mr. KIMBALL'S "Was He Successful?" and Mr. KIRKE'S "Among the Pines," and "Merchant's Story," and nearly 3,000 octavo pages of the best literature in the world. Premium subscribers to pay their own postage.



EQUAL TO ANY IN THE WORLD!!!

MAY BE PROCURED

At FROM $8 to $12 PER ACRE,

Near Markets, Schools, Railroads, Churches, and all the blessings of Civilization.

1,200,000 Acres, in Farms of 40, 80, 120, 160 Acres and upwards, in ILLINOIS, the Garden State of America.

The Illinois Central Railroad Company offer, ON LONG CREDIT, the beautiful and fertile PRAIRIE LANDS lying along the whole line of their Railroad, 700 MILES IN LENGTH, upon the most Favorable Terms for enabling Farmers, Manufacturers, Mechanics and Workingmen to make for themselves and their families a competency, and a HOME they can call THEIR OWN, as will appear from the following statements:

ILLINOIS.

Is about equal in extent to England, with a population of 1,722,666, and a soil capable of supporting 20,000,000. No State in the Valley of the Mississippi offers so great an inducement to the settler as the State of Illinois. There is no part of the world where all the conditions of climate and soil so admirably combine to produce those two great staples, CORN and WHEAT.

CLIMATE.

Nowhere can the industrious farmer secure such immediate results from his labor as on these deep, rich, loamy soils, cultivated with so much ease. The climate from the extreme southern part of the State to the Terre Haute, Alton and St. Louis Railroad, a distance of nearly 200 miles, is well adapted to Winter.

WHEAT, CORN, COTTON, TOBACCO.

Peaches, Pears, Tomatoes, and every variety of fruit and vegetables is grown in great abundance, from which Chicago and other Northern markets are furnished from four to six weeks earlier than their immediate vicinity. Between the Terre Haute, Alton & St. Louis Railway and the Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, (a distance of 115 miles on the Branch, and 136 miles on the Main Trunk,) lies the great Corn and Stock raising portion of the State.

THE ORDINARY YIELD

of Corn is from 50 to 80 bushels per acre. Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheep and Hogs are raised here at a small cost, and yield large profits. It is believed that no section of country presents greater inducements for Dairy Farming than the Prairies of Illinois, a branch of farming to which but little attention has been paid, and which must yield sure profitable results. Between the Kankakee and Illinois Rivers, and Chicago and Dunleith, (a distance of 56 miles on the Branch and 147 miles by the Main Trunk,) Timothy Hay, Spring Wheat, Corn, &c., are produced in great abundance.

AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTS.

The Agricultural products of Illinois are greater than those of any other State. The Wheat crop of 1861 was estimated at 85,000,000 bushels, while the Corn crop yields not less than 140,000,000 bushels besides the crop of Oats, Barley, Rye, Buckwheat, Potatoes, Sweet Potatoes, Pumpkins, Squashes, Flax, Hemp, Peas, Clover, Cabbage, Beets, Tobacco, Sorgheim, Grapes, Peaches, Apples, &c., which go to swell the vast aggregate of production in this fertile region. Over Four Million tons of produce were sent out the State of Illinois during the past year.

STOCK RAISING.

In Central and Southern Illinois uncommon advantages are presented for the extension of Stock raising. All kinds of Cattle, Horses, Mules, Sheep, Hogs, &c., of the best breeds, yield handsome profits; large fortunes have already been made, and the field is open for others to enter with the fairest prospects of like results. DAIRY FARMING also presents its inducements to many.

CULTIVATION OF COTTON.

The experiments in Cotton culture are of very great promise. Commencing in latitude 39 deg. 30 min. (see Mattoon on the Branch, and Assumption on the Main Line), the Company owns thousands of acres well adapted to the perfection of this fibre. A settler having a family of young children, can turn their youthful labor to a most profitable account in the growth and perfection of this plant.

THE ILLINOIS CENTRAL RAILROAD

Traverses the whole length of the State, from the banks of the Mississippi and Lake Michigan to the Ohio. As its name imports, the Railroad runs through the centre of the State, and on either side of the road along its whole length lie the lands offered for sale.

CITIES, TOWNS, MARKETS, DEPOTS.

There are Ninety-eight Depots on the Company's Railway, giving about one every seven miles. Cities, Towns and Villages are situated at convenient distances throughout the whole route, where every desirable commodity may be found as readily as in the oldest cities of the Union, and where buyers are to be met for all kinds of farm produce.

EDUCATION.

Mechanics and working-men will find the free school system encouraged by the State, and endowed with a large revenue for the support of the schools. Children can live in sight of the school, the college, the church, and grow up with the prosperity of the leading State in the Great Western Empire.

PRICES AND TERMS OF PAYMENT—ON LONG CREDIT.

80 acres at $10 per acre, with interest at 6 per ct. annually on the following terms:

Cash payment $48 00 Payment in one year 48 00 " in two years 48 00 " in three years 48 00 " in four years 236 00 " in five years 224 00 " in six years 212 00 " in seven years 200 00

40 acres, at $10 00 per acre; Cash payment $24 00 Payment in one year 24 00 " in two years 24 00 " in three years 24 00 " in four years 118 00 " in five years 112 00 " in six years 106 00 " in seven years 100 00



Number 21. 25 Cents.

THE

CONTINENTAL

MONTHLY.

DEVOTED TO

Literature and National Policy.

SEPTEMBER, 1863.

NEW YORK:

JOHN F. TROW 50 GREENE STREET

(FOR THE PROPRIETORS).

HENRY DEXTER AND SINCLAIR TOUSEY.

WASHINGTON, D. C.: FRANCK TAYLOR.



CONTENTS.—No. XXI.

Southern Hate of New England. By Miss Virginia Sherwood, 241

Waiting for News. By Mrs. Mary E. Nealy, 255

Early History of Printing and the Newspaper Press in Boston and New York. By W. L. Stone, 256

Reconnoissance near Fort Morgan, and Expedition in Lake Portchartrain and Pearl River, by the Mortar Flotilla of Captain D. D. Porter, U. S. N. By F. H. Gerdes, Asst. U. S. Coast Survey, 269

Diary of Frances Krasinska, 274

The Isle of Springs. By Rev. Mr. Starbuck, 284

The Grave, 292

Reason, Rhyme, and Rhythm. By Mrs. Martha W. Cook, 293

Remembrance. By G. F. G. 296

The Great Riot. By Edward B. Freeland, 302

The Deserted House, 312

Spring Mountain, 314

Japanese Foreign Relations, 333

Was He Successful. By Richard B. Kimball, 346

Jefferson Davis and Repudiation, 352

Editor's Table, 355

* * * * *

CHARLES GODFREY LELAND and EDMUND KIRKE have withdrawn from the editorial management of this Magazine.

All communications, whether concerning MSS. or on business, should be addressed to

JOHN F. TROW, Publisher,

50 GREENE STREET, NEW YORK.

* * * * *

ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by JOHN F. TROW, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER.

THE END