  It was usual, of old, to characterize as Annus Mirabilis, or A Year of Wonder, any twelvemonth which had been more than usually prolific in marvels. The historian who may in future days seek a dividing point or a date for the greatest political and social struggle of this age, can hardly fail to indicate 1861 as the Annus Mirabilis of the Nineteenth Century in America. That heart does not beat, the brain does not throb on earth, which is capable of feeling or appreciating the tremendous range of consequences involved in the events of this year. We hear the most grating thunder-peals of horror; the whole artillery of death and disaster roars and crashes from fort and field; there is blaze and ruin, such as this continent knew not perhaps even in the primeval times of its vanished Golden Hordes;—and again there rise prophetic organ-tones of solemn praise; merry bells ringing the carillon of joy; sweet voices as in dreams singing of the purple evening peace; while mysteriously and beautifully, beyond all, breathes the Daughter of the Voice—that strangest of prophecies known to the Hebrew of old, softly inspiring hopes of a fairer future America than was ever before dreamed of. For, of a truth, above all sits and works the awful destiny of man, proclaiming as of old, amid strange races now forgotten, that the humanity which bravely toils and labors shall live, while the haughty and the oppressor and the sluggard, puffed up with vanity, shall all pass away as the mist of the morning. It is worth while, at the conclusion of such a year, to look about us; to see what has been done or what is now doing, and to surmise as well as we may what great changes the future may bring forth. A year ago this country was plagued and disgraced beyond any on the face of the earth by swarms of professional politicians; by men who regarded all legislation as one vast Lobby and Third House, and 'ability' as the means of turning corruption to their own personal advantage. These miserables, whether on the Northern or Southern side, tacitly united in driving all legislation or congressional business from its legitimate halls into the procrastinating by-paths, in order that they might make speeches and magnify themselves unto Buncombe, and be glorified by the local home press because of their devotion to—the party! The party! That was always the word. Where are these men of froth and wind now,—these heroes of the stump and the bar-room? Passing away into nothing, at headlong speed, before the great storm of the times. Now and then they 'rally'—there was one ghastly wig-and-hollow-pumpkin effort at recovery in the trembling, rattle-jointed Peace Movement of these last summer months. Where is it now? There answers a gay laugh and merry stave from the corners of irreverent weekly newspapers:— 'The piece of a party, called the party of peace, Or we may see now and then wretched election meetings, as of late in New York, where a worn-out Fernando Wood and others like him gabble as much treason as they dare. It is all played out—Mo It is no small thing to have driven so much of the old iniquity out; but from this and that side come murmurs that there are but few signs of the young genius coming in. Oh, for one hour of Dundee! Oh, for a Webster in the cabinet, whose right arm should go forth and take hold of England and Frank-land of the East, while his left swept the isles of the South with fearful power! Oh, for the fierce old Dandolo of America, who was not blind, but whose piercing glance at this hour would dart through many a diabolical diplomatic difficulty—for ANDREW Jackson! Oh, for the trumpet tones of Clay—of Marcy—for one brave blast of that dread horn of olden time which rang so bravely to battle! Friends, have patience. Remember that these men, and all like them, were slowly born of great times, and that we must await time's gestation. In this age there spring no longer heroes dragon-tooth born into full fighting-life inside of 2.30. But so surely as stars shine in their rounding life, or water runs, or God lives, so surely are these days of storm and sorrow and tremendous travail bringing slowly on their legitimate fruit of great ideas and great men. Young man—whoever you are—be sacred to yourself now, and, for a season, serious and pure and noble—for who knows in these times to what he may grow? But a century ago, this land lay buried in obscurity. Here and there young land-surveyors and country store-keepers wondered that destiny had buried them on Virginia farms and in Yankee backwoods. But war came,—no greater than this of ours—one involving no grander principles of human dignity and freedom,—and the young 'obscures' darted to the heaven and took glorious places amid the constellations of fame. 'When the tale of bricks is doubled,' says the Hebrew proverb, 'Moses comes.' We hear much said of the honest, sturdy, no-nonsense virtues of the old revolutionary stock, both male and female. The thing is plain enough—they had passed through serious times and great thoughts, through trials, and sorrows, and healthy privation, and come out strong. Just such will be the stock of men and women born in spirit of this war. It is making the old material over again. It was all here as good as ever, but wanted a little stirring up, that was all. He who has seen in the sturdy East and glorious West the unflinching honesty and earnestness with which men are upholding this war to the knife and knife to the hilt, as Palafox phrased it,—or, as the American hath it in humbler phrase, 'from the wheel to the hub and hub to the linch-pin,'—has no doubt that at this minute it was never so popular, never so determined, never so thoroughly ingrained, entwined, inter-twisted with the whole life-core and being of our people. 'We suffer—but on with the war! Hurrah for battle—only give us victory! Do you ask for money, arms, ships?—take all and everything to superfluity—but oh, give us victory and power!' Out of such will as this there come the greatest of men—giants of a fearfully glorious future. When we look around and see this red-hot iron determination to see all through to the victorious end, we may well feel assured that the day of great ideas and of great men is not far off. It is superb for a stranger to see how the spirit of the Revolution still lives in New England, and is voiced and acted by men bearing Revolutionary names—it is magnificent to behold the stream, grown to a thunder-torrent, roaring and foaming over the broad West. Hurrah! it still lives—that old spirit of freedom, its fires If 1861 had brought nothing else to pass it would be supremely great in this, that amid toil and trial, foes within and without, it has seen the American people determine that Slavery, the worm which gnawed the core of its tree of life, shall be plucked out. Out it shall go, that is settled. We have fought the foe too long with kid gloves, but now puss will lay aside her mittens and catch the Southern rats in earnest. It is the negro who sustains the South; the negro who maintains its army, feeds it, digs its trenches, squires its precious chivalry, and is thereby forced most unnaturally to rivet his own chains. There shall be an end to this, and our administration is yielding to this inevitable necessity. Here again the great year has worked a wonder, since in so short a space it has made such an advance in discovering a basis by which all Union men may conscientiously unite in freeing the black. There have been hitherto two steps made towards the solution. The first was that of the old Abolition movement, which saw only the suffering of the slave and cried aloud for his freedom, reckless of all results. It was humane; but even humanity is not always worldly wise, and it did unquestionably for twenty years defeat its own aim in the Border States. But it worked most unflinchingly. Then came Helper, who saw that the poor white man of the South was being degraded below the negro, and that industry and capital were fearfully checked by slavery. In his well-known work he pointed out, by calm and dispassionate facts and figures, that the land south of 'Mason and Dixon's' was being sacrificed most wastefully, and the majority of its white inhabitants kept in incredible ignorance, meanness, and poverty, simply that a few privileged families might remain 'first and foremost.' These opinions were most clearly sustained, and the country was amazed. People began to ask if it was quite right, after all, to suffer this slavery to grow and grow, when it was manifestly reacting on the poor white man, and literally sinking him below the level of the black. This was the second movement on the slave question, and its effect was startling. But there was yet a third advance required, and it came with the past year and the war, in the form of the now so rapidly expanding 'Emancipation' movement. Helper had shown that slavery had degraded the poor whites, but the events leading to the present struggle indicated to all intelligent humanity that it was rapidly demoralizing and ruining in the most hideous manner the minds of the masters of the slaves—nay, that its foul influence was spreading like a poison mist over the entire continent. The universal shout of joyful approbation which the whole South had raised years ago when a Northern senator was struck down and beaten in the most infamously cowardly manner, had caused the very horror of amazement at such fearful meanness, among all true hearted and manly men, the world over. But when there came from the 'first families' grinnings of delight over the vilest thievery and forgery and perjury by Floyd and his fellows,—when the whole South, after agreeing in carrying on an election, refused to abide by its results,—when the whole Southern press abounded in the vilest denunciations of labor and poverty, and in Satanic contempt of everything 'Yankee,' meaning thereby all that had made the North and West prosperous and glorious,—and when, finally, it was found that this loathsome poison was working through the North itself, corrupting the young with pseudo-aristocratic pro-slavery sympathies,—then indeed it became apparent that for the sake of all, and for that of men in comparison to whose welfare that of the negro was a mere trifle, this fearful disease must be in some form abated. The result was the development of Emancipation on the broadest possible grounds,—of Emancipation for the sake of the Union and of the white man,—to be brought 'Emancipation' does not, as has been urged, present in comparison to Abolition a distinction without a difference. Helper desired the freedom of the slave for the sake of the poor white man in the South and for Southern development. Emancipation goes further, and claims that nowhere on the American continent is the white laborer free from the vile comparison and vile influences of slavery, and that it should be abolished for the sake of the Union and for the sake of all white men. It may be dim to many now, but it is true as God's providence, that whether it be in our Union, or out of it, we can no longer exist side by side with a state of society in which it is shamelessly proclaimed that labor, man's holiest and noblest attribute, is a disgrace; that the negro is the standard of the mudsill, and that the state must be based on an essentially degraded, sunken class, whether white or black. Yet we might for the sake of peace have long borne with all this, and yielded to the old lie-based 'isothermal' cant, had it not resulted, as it inevitably must, in building up the most miserable, insolent, and arrogant pseudo aristocracy which ever made the name of aristocracy ridiculous, not excepting that of the court of the sable Emperor Faustin of St. Domingo. It is all very well to talk of Southern rights; but humanity and progress, or, if you will, law and order, industry and capital, have their rights also, aye, and their manifest destiny too, and no one can deny that; reason as we may, or concede as much as we will, there the facts are—the principal being the utter impossibility of a slave-aristocracy—rotted to the core with theories now exploded through the civilized world—existing either in or out of a neighboring republic in which freedom 'Careers with thunder-speed along.' So we stand at the parting of the ways. But the problem is half solved already. The year 1861 closes leaving it clear as noon-day that emancipation in the Border States is a foregone conclusion, and that, reduced to the cotton belt, it can never become a preponderating national influence. As for the details of settlement, calmly considered, they present no real difficulty to the man who realizes the enormous industrial and recuperative energies of this country. 'What are we to do with one or two million of free blacks?' asks one. A few years ago, when it was proposed to banish all free persons of color from Maryland, a cry of alarm went up lest Baltimore alone should be deprived of fifteen thousand of 'the best servants in the world.' 'How shall we ever pay for those who may be offered for sale to us, if we resolve to pay for their slaves all Southerners who may take the oath of allegiance?' Eight days' expenses of the present war would pay more than the market price for all the slaves in Maryland! But these objections are childish. Right against them rises a tremendous, inevitable destiny, which must crush all before it. So much for 1861. We would urge no measure in this or any other relation which shall not have received the fullest endorsement of two thirds of the loyal American people. As regards all foreign interference, let it never be forgotten that public opinion after all prevails in all Western Europe, and that this would long hesitate ere it committed a national reputation to an endorsement of the Southern Confederacy. It is apparent from the authentic and shameless avowals of the Southern press that Mr. Slidell, the cut-short ambassador, was authorized to solicit a French protectorate of Louis Napoleon,—to 'The heart it pincheth sore, And now with the New Year. Amid red-flashing war and wild strivings we look bravely and hopefully forward into the future, and see amid these storms blue sky rifts and golden sun gleams. Already strong and practical advances in education, in political economy, in industry, in all that is healthier and sounder in life, are beginning to manifest themselves. This country can be in nothing put back by this struggle, in no wise weakened or injured. It is our hope and will that in these columns some share of the good work may be honestly carried out. We wish to speak under the most vital American influences to the American people, ambitious of being nothing more nor less than soundly national in all things. We see a new time forming, new ideas rising, and would give it and them a voice in such earnest and energetic tones as the people love. We call not only for the matured thought, but also for the young mind of the country, and beg every man and woman who entertains vigorous and practical ideas to come out boldly and speak freely. Think nobly, write rapidly! Remember that every letter printed in these times will take its place in history. The forgotten comment of the moment will rise up in after years to be honored perhaps as the right word in the right place. The day is coming when the songs and sentences of this great struggle will be garnered up into literary treasuries, pass into household words, and confer honor on the children of those who penned them. Lay hand to the work, all you who have aught to say, aid us to become a medium for the time, and honor yourselves by your utterances. There are a thousand reforms, innumerable ideas fit for the day, ready to bloom forth. Write and publish; the public is listening. Now is the time, if it ever was, to develop an American character, to show the world what treasures of life, strength and originality this country contains. Beyond the old conventional belles lettres and Æsthetic scholarship which limited us in peace, lies a fair land, a wilderness it may be, but one bearing beautiful, unknown flowers, and strange but golden fruits, which are well worthy a garden. Let all who know of these bring them in. The time has come. We have been questioned from many of the highest sources as to the future tendency and scope of our magazine. Let us say then, briefly, that we hope to make a bold step forward, presenting in our columns contributions characterized by variety, vigor, and originality, to be written by men who are fully up with the times and endeavoring to advance in all things. In a word, we shall do our best to give it exuberant life—such as the country and age require. We shall advocate the holy cause of the Union with might and main, and leave no means whatever neglected to urge the most vigorous prosecution of this war, until the sacred principles of liberty as transmitted to us by our forefathers have been fully recognized and re-established. Believing in Emancipation, subject to the will of the majority and the action of the administration, we shall still welcome to our pages the properly expressed views of every sound 'Union man' or woman on this or other subjects, however differing from our own. We shall urge the fullest development of education as the great basis of future social progress, and shall have faith in making woman's We shall, moreover, look with true love to all that art and beauty in their manifold forms can supply to render life lovely and pleasant, and welcome all that can be written in their illustration. Our columns will never be deficient in tales, poetry and sketches, and that nothing may be neglected, we shall always devote full room to genial gossip with the reader, and to such original humors, quips, jests and anecdotes as chance or the kindness of correspondents may supply. And we would here entreat all our readers to be good friends and at home with us; regarding the editorial department as a place of cheerful welcome for anything which they may choose to commune on; in which all confidences will be kept, and where all courtesies will be honorably acknowledged. We have received most abundant and cordial promises of assistance and support in our effort to maintain a thoroughly spirited, 'wide-awake,' and vigorous American magazine, from the very first in the land, and therefore go on our way rejoicing. We enter into no rivalry, for we take a well-nigh untrodden field, and shall fail in our dearest hope unless we present the public with a monthly of a thoroughly original and 'go-ahead' character. We are told that these are bad times; but for our undertaking, as we understand it, there could be none better—for it shall be made for the times, 'timely and temporal in all things.' We are indebted to a correspondent for the following comment on a subject which has thus far excited not a little wonder, and which, as the loyal reader may be disposed to add, should excite some degree of vigorous inquiry among the people at large. Like every other practical point involved in this struggle, it suggests the mortifying truth that with all our sacrifices, and all our patriotism, we are as yet in the conduct of the war far too amiable, and by far too irresolute. Wanted, a FouchÉ for Washington.—It is high time that a good, sharp detective police officer was set to work to discover the source of the continued leakage of our government's plans. Of our late naval flotilla for Beaufort, we are told that 'The positive destination of our fleet was known even in New Orleans on the 17th ult.,—weeks before it was known in the North! and extra troops were dispatched from points south of Charleston to defend the approaches of that coast.' We are informed that every care was exercised to prevent the destination of the expedition being made public; with how much effect the above quoted paragraph fully demonstrates. In view of this, I repeat that a FouchÉ, a keen detective, is wanted at head-quarters; believing that any man with half the shrewdness of the celebrated 'Duke of Otranto' would pin the traitor in less than twenty-four hours. That such a man can easily be found, any one who has learned what American detectives have done, can readily believe. Active, intelligent, and wide awake, the American who by necessity takes up this life, brings to bear upon his investigations the shrewdness of a savage, the tenacity of an Englishman, and, in a modified degree, the aplomb of a Parisian. No one can read Poe's 'Murder of the Rue Morgue' without recognizing at a glance the latent talent that would have made of the cloudy poet a brilliant policeman, and would have won for him the ducal fortune without the empty title. If we must handle the Southern mutineers in their Rebelutionary war with a velvet glove, let there be an iron hand inside, worked by the high-pressure power of public indignation at their treachery and faithlessness. We should stop this leakage of our plans, cost what it may, and the traitorous Southern correspondent meet the execration of Arnold, and the fate of AndrÉ. The iron hand should stop the treacherous pen, should choke the wagging tongue. The North demands it. And yet again, since the above was penned, we learn that it has been ascertained by a balloon reconnaissance that a projected flank movement, planned by General McClellan and confided to a very limited number, had been completely anticipated—indicating the basest treachery in a high quarter. Very agreeable this to all interested in the war! And what does it mean? It means that Washington, and not Washington alone, but the entire North, needs purging and purifying from most injurious influences. There are traitors among us everywhere—where two or three are gathered together will be one who sneers at Northern successes, smiles at Southern victory, and is a traitor at heart—ready to be a spy if needed. No wonder that warm friends of the Union sometimes burst out into indignant remonstrance and fierce complaint at such toleration! Still, we must look at the matter philosophically; rather in sorrow than in anger, for thus only can we correct the evil. There is a large number of well-meaning people, especially in Washington, who have lived only for and in a society in which Southern influence greatly predominated. Familiar with the wildest excitement of politics, yet accustomed to regard the leaders of all parties as equally unprincipled, and only persuaded of the single social fact, that it is highly respectable to own slaves, they can not see, even in the horrors of war, anything more than the old excitement, in which shrewd and wily politicians continue to pull wires. And in many other places besides Washington do the voices of pleasant interests, or the echoes of pleasant memories, recall old friendships or old ties. The head may be patriotic and union-loving and at war with the South, but the heart is peaceful and clings to ancient memories. Now, if there is anything, dear reader, which is allied to real goodness, it is this very same soft-heartedness which we find it so hard to thoroughly condemn, even in such a case as that of the good Scotch clergyman, who pitied and prayed for 'the poor auld deevil' himself. But here it is that the 'gallant Southron' has the advantage over us. No lingering love for Northern friends of olden time, no kindly regard for by-gone intimacies, flashes up from the darkened abyss of 'Dixey.' And, to be frank and fair, reader, does it not seem to you that while the business in hand is literal fighting, not without much 'battle, murder and sudden death,' it would be at least respectful to the awful destiny of the hour to treat its ways seriously? But let it foam and surge on, the time is coming when the great stream of Northern freedom will purify itself from all the foul stains of its old stagnation. Perhaps years may be required, but this we know,—that the dam has been broken away at last, and that now the glad torrent whirls bravely onward in sparkling young life. For at length the time is coming when a healthy Northern sentiment shall make itself felt, where of old it was carefully excluded, and the fresh breeze from the Northern pines shall purify the sickly air. They will pass away, these of the old generation—there will arise better ones to take their place, and all shall be changed. Meanwhile, for all our late great victories and advances, let us be thankful! not forgetting the smaller crumbs of comfort—as, for instance, the capture of Slidell, Mason and Co., which a friend has kindly recorded for your benefit, most excellent reader, in the following chapter:— CHRONICLES OF SECESSIA.CHAPTER I.Now it came to pass in the first year of the great Rebellion In the land of Secessia, whose men were men of Belial, hard of heart, and inflamed with exceeding great wrath against the children of the North, and against all people who walked in the way of truth and justice: Meditating evil from the first mint-julep before breakfast, even unto the last nip of corn whisky before retiring; In the isles of the South, and on the firm land, where Cotton was king, and Jefferson, whose surname was Davis, was his prophet; where Benjamin, the finder of stray watches and spoons, and Floyd, the spoiler, were priests—Oh, my soul, enter thou not into their counsels!— Lo! it came to pass that there arose a great cry from among the people; A great and vehement cry, a wailing and roaring as of many of the chivalry when they burn with strong drink at quarter races, or smite with bowie-knives in a free fight around the court-house: The cry of many women and children, to say nothing of editors, politicians, dirt-eaters, and negro auctioneers: Saying, 'Lo! these many days have we been closed up by the Yankees, even like unto a pint of Bourbon in an exceedingly tight-corked bottle, so that nothing may go out or in, and who shall say what may be the end thereof? 'Since the blockade presseth sorely upon our ports, the merchandise of many lands cometh not therein, and we are entirely out of groceries. 'Having neither balm nor myrrh, spices nor tea, coffee nor brandy. 'Quinine is not among us, neither have we cheese, shoes, sugar, jack-knives, cigars, patent medicines, glue, tenpenny nails, French gloves, pens or ink, dye-stuffs, nor raisins. 'Clothes are exceeding scarce, for, lo! we are becoming an extremely ragged and seedy generation; our toes stick out through our last year's boots, neither is there any one among us who knoweth enough to make the first principle of a brogan. 'For all these things were made or imported by the Yankees afore-time, even since the days of our fathers, and we are too proud to defile our hands with such base labor. 'Shall we, too, be as dogs cobbling shoes, or as the heathen who sell rat-traps, peddle milk-pails, and keep Thanksgiving? 'Lo! the kings of the earth see us with scorn; those who sit in high places wag their heads, and say we are naught, yea, polluted in our inheritance. 'And the Times will declare that we sit in ashes; even the Moniteur will say that we devour dust, and the Zeitungs of all Germany, even the press of the Philistines, will proclaim that we are utterly fallen. 'Now let there be a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, to settle this business. 'Let there be ambassadors—men of subtle tongue, cunning in counsel—chosen to go forth; yea, let them be equipped in fine raiment, having bran-new coats to confer honor and glory upon us, with secretaries and assistant secretaries, sub-secretaries and deputy-assistant sub-secretaries,—even these having their servants and servants' servants,—lo, the least among them shall have his underling, and so on ad infinitum. 'And we, albeit poor, will lavish gold out of the bag, and weigh silver in the balance, and hire a goldsmith, who shall bedeck them exceeding fine, so that the princes and potentates shall fall down before them, yea, shall worship. 'Then, when our great embassy cometh, and the princes inquire of the blockade, lo, our messengers shall laugh and say, "Go to!—it is naught, it hath passed away, and is bosh."' '"Are we not here, ready to declare the end from the beginning, and from ancient times, even of Calhoun, the things that are not yet done, saying, 'our counsel shall stand?' Verily, it takes us, and we are the original Jacobs, having no connection with the bogus concern over the way." 'And they shall cotton to us, and we unto them; and we will trade our tobacco for their wines, and Pro Baccho Tobacco shall be written in all the high places.' CHAPTER II.Now Jefferson, whose surname should have been Brick, but that it was not, seeing that it was Davis. Saw the counsel that it was good. And having seen it, and set his eyes upon the egg which their wisdom had hatched, and pronounced it a good egg; Chose him of his chief men two, whereof the like were not to be found—no, not in all the North, and in the South was not their equal. Whereof the first was a Mason, the like of whom was not known, not in the land of Huram of old, nor among the Hittites or the dwellers by the sea. For he was like unto a turkey-cock, stuck up and of excessive pride, spreading himself and strutting vehemently from the rising of the sun even unto the going down of So that the little ones in the market-place cried after him, 'Big Injiun, heap big!' And the other was a 'little' New Yorker, even a renegade of the North, one who had backslidden from the ways of his fathers, and that right ill. Wherefore he was called Slide-ill. Howbeit some termed him Sly-deal, from his dealings both with cards and with men. But it came to pass that they called him Slidell, forasmuch as that he was one who naturally took the whole ell, whether one gave him an inch or no. Now they packed their trunks, and took unto them 'poor Eustis,' and many others equally talented and important. Not forgetting their wives, neither their man-servants nor their maid-servants, their wines nor their cigars. Howbeit they took not with them the bonds of the Confederacy, lest the Paris shop-keepers should say, 'Go to—it is naught;' But divers eagles and dimes, stolen afore-time from Uncle Sam, took they. Likewise bills of exchange and circular letters of credit upon certain of the Jews. And so they went down unto the sea in ships,—even in a steam-ship,—sailing to the Havana, where she was unladed of her burden. CHAPTER III.[THE SONG OF REJOICING.]Now when the ambassadors, and they which bore the words of the king, had sailed. Lo, there was great rejoicing in all Secessia,—there was naught heard save the voices of renegade Northern editors,—[for that the Southerners know not to write],— Saying, 'Come, let us be glad; laugh, O thou my soul. 'For they have gone, they have escaped, they have got away, they have dodged, they have cut stick, they have vamosed the ranch. 'They have ripped it full chisel, they are off licketty-split, they have slid, they have made tracks, they have mizzled—they have absquatulated and clipped it; abiit, evasit, crupit! Hurrah for us! 'Lo, the Yankees are brought low—the nasty, mercenary, low-born, infernal mudsills are defiled, and become as a vain thing. Gloria! 'For our messengers are on the high seas; they are O. K.; they shall deliver us from the pit. Victoria! 'They will drive things chuck to the hub in slasher-gaff style; our foes shall become even as dead birds in the pit; they shall be euchred, and discounted, and we will rake down the pot. 'Come, let us take drinks, for who shall stand against us?' CHAPTER IV.Now it came to pass that when Uncle Samuel heard of these things, he was sorely riled; yea, his wrath was like unto a six-story stack of wolverines and wild-cats, mixed with sudden death and patent chain-lightning. Howbeit he lost no time, and tarried not to take a long swear over the business, But sent forth his ships: Sending likewise Thurlow, whose surname was Weed, to prevail over Mason and Sly-deal, and come vitriol over their vinegar. But when the people heard Thurlow say, 'I go, indeed, unto Europe, but not on this business—Slidell may slide for aught I care,' Then the multitude winked one unto the other, so that such terrible winking was never before seen, Exclaiming, 'Oh, yes—in a horn. We knew it not before, but now we know it for certain.' And a certain Simeon, whose surname was Draper, stood up in the market-place and wagered that Thurlow would pull the wool over Mason, and humble him; And there were no takers. Selah. CHAPTER V.Now there was a valiant captain, a man of war, hating all iniquity even as poison. And his name was Wilkes—honor and praise to it in all lands!— Captain of the San Jacinto, cruising for a pirate on the high seas, even for the Sumter. And he came from Africa, even from the East unto the Havana, in an isle of the sea which lieth under the tower of the Moro; Where he heard from his Consul strange news, saying that Mason and Slidell had sailed in a British steamer, even the Trent, Then said the captain, 'Shall I refrain myself to stop this iniquity? 'Arise, oh my soul, gird thyself, and go forth; tarry not, but nab them in their wickedness. 'Take them where the hair is short; jerk them, and pull them even as the fancy policeman pulleth the pickpocket when he seeth him picking the pocket of the righteous. 'Shall I hold back my hand when my country calleth? Not if I know it. Selah. 'Up steam and after them, oh my soul; let there be coal under the boilers, oh my heart; let the way in which we shall travel be a caution, faster than Flora Temple or any other man. 'Fling forth the stripes and stars—hoist the rag, thou galiant sailior; go it strong as it can be mixed. For the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.' CHAPTER VI.Now it came to pass at the end of the first day that they saw the Trent in the Bermudas, even in the channel. Then the brave captain sent on board Lieutenant Fairfax,—which in the Norse tongue is Harfager or Fair-Haired; since it runneth in the family to be sea-kings, and brave on the ocean. And he, mounting the ship, cried aloud, 'Where are they?' Then the Englishman replied, 'I know not whom ye seek,—lo, they are not here!' Then he, seeing Mason a little apart, cried, 'Lo! here he is.' And Mason, hearing this, turned to the color of ashes; his knees smote together; he became even as a boiled turkey-cock; there was no soul left in him. Yea, even his collar wilted, and the stock of his heart went down ninety-five per cent. Howbeit he said, with Slidell, 'We will not go save we be forced.' 'Then' replied Fairfax, 'I shall take you by force.' So they held a council together, and resolved to go. But their wives and little ones they sent on to Europe, and gave instructions to poor Eustis. Bidding him go in when it should rain, and be sure and put up his umbrella if he had one. Likewise to bear certain documents promptly and speedily to the kings and princes; Which Wilkes hearing, he speedily smashed, taking poor Eustis with the papers. This was the end of the Council of Trent. It was not that great council of the name, but a very small one, and which came to nothing—small potatoes, and few in a hill. Selah! CHAPTER VII.Now it had come to pass years before, and was on record, That Mason, having been asked to visit Boston, Replied, 'Verily, verily, I say unto you that I will not set foot therein again save as an ambassador to that land.' Now these things were remembered against him, and printed in all the papers, even in the Boston papers printed they them. And they bare him into prison, with Slidell, and poor Eustis was he borne of them. And they seemed extremely wamble-cropt and chop-fallen; their feathers shone not, even their sickle-feathers drooped in the dust, and their combs were white. And they seemed as unclean men caught in their unrighteousness, who had been sold uncommonly cheap, with nary buyer. And they took from them the gold which they had stolen afore-time from Uncle Sam, even the bills upon the Hebrews did they yield up. Howbeit, they received a receipt for them. And they asked much, 'How shall we feed, and may we have servants?' and wished to live pleasantly; yet, when at Richmond, Slidell had reviled the Yankee prisoners sorely, and counseled harsh treatment. Then went they into the jug, and were allotted each man his bunk in the prison-house. And the word went forth to hang all pirates and robbers on the sea, even as it had been spoken sternly by Old Abe, of Washington; Saying, string them up in short order. And if they of Secessia hang the brave Corcoran and his friends, Then, as the Lord liveth, Slidell and Mason shall pull hemp; even on the gallows shall they hang like thieves and murderers—the land hath sworn it. Selah! 'Sound on the Goose Question.' Who is there among our readers who has not heard that phrase? It has now for some years been transferred from one political topic to another, until its flavor of novelty is well-nigh gone. But whence the expression? An antiquarian would probably hint at the geese whose sound saved Rome. The great goose question of the Reformation was the burning of one Huss, whose name in English signifyeth Goose, for which reason he is said to have exclaimed to his tormentors 'Now ye indeed roast a goose, but, lo! after me there will come a swan whom ye can not roast;' which was strangely fulfilled in Luther, whose name—slightly varied—signifies in Bohemian a swan. But, reader, 'an it please you,' here is the original and 'Simon Pure' explanation, as furnished by a correspondent:— 'Are you right on the goose question?' But do you know the origin of the phrase? It was told to me, at Harrisburg, in Pennsylvania, when I was there in "Fremont's time," anno 1856. Alas! the fates deal hardly with Fremont. C. and F., now a satellite of C., helped to slaughter him once before in Pennsylvania—sold him out to Know-Nothings. Hope they haven't now in Missouri pitched him over to be succeeded by Do-Nothings. But to the story. Harrisburg has wide, clean, brick sidewalks. Many of the poorer sort there kept geese years ago, and sold or ate their progeny in the days of November and December—the "embers of the dying year." Jenkins was up for constable. The question whether geese should run at large was started. The Harrisburg geese made at times bad work on the clean sidewalks, as do their examplars, spitting on the pave of Broadway. A delegation of the geese-owners waited on Jenkins. Seeing that they had many votes, he declared himself in favor of the geese running at large. The better sort of people, who were in favor of clean sidewalks, hearing of this, set up an opposition candidate, who avowed himself opposed to having the sidewalks fouled by these errant fowls. The canvass waxed warm; a third candidate took the field; he put himself in the hands of an astute "trainer" for the political fray. We don't know whether or not this was before the day when Mr. Cameron counseled in politics at Harrisburg, but his Mentor bid this new candidate, when the delegations applied for his views on the all-absorbing issues, to say nothing himself, but to refer to him, the Mentor aforesaid. And when the delegations accordingly came to Mentor to find the position of the third candidate, he said to each, with unction, "You will find my friend sound on the goose question." Third candidate was elected. His story got wind, and from that day till Bull Run all the politicians of the land have striven likewise to be 'sound on the goose question.' Therefore let us be duly thankful that the time hath come when it shall no longer advantage a man to say, 'Lo! I am sound,' or—as Prince Albert was reported to reply constantly to his royal consort during the early years of their marriage—'I dinks joost as you dinks,'—since in these—days vigorous acts and not quibbling words are the only coin which shall pass current in politics. Never was there an institution which required such constant repairing as 'the great Southern system.' One of the latest and most terrible leaks discovered is that of the danger to be apprehended from an influx of vile Yankee immigrants after the North shall have been conquered. Unless this is prevented, say the Charleston papers, who dictate pretty independently to the whole of Dixie, we shall have sacrificed in vain our blood and treasure, since nothing is more evident than that at no distant day the Northern men among us will be fully able to control our elections. Therefore it is proposed that no Northern man ever be allowed the right of naturalization in the South. But as even Southern injustice has not as yet the insolence to restrict this precious prohibition to 'Yankees,' it is sequentially proposed that with the exception of those foreigners now in the South, no person, not a (white) native, shall ever, after this war, be allowed the rights of citizenship in the C. S. A. There has not been, that we are aware, any opposition to this hospitable proposition, but, It must be admitted that the South is in one thing at least praiseworthy. It is consistent—to say nothing of being thoroughly in earnest. To exclude all poor white immigrants from civil, and consequently social privileges, is perfectly in keeping with its long expressed contempt for mudsills. It legislates for F. F.'s, and for them alone. It wants no Irish, no Germans, no foreign element of any description between itself and the negro. It will make unto itself a China within a wall of cotton-bales, and be sublimely magnificent within itself. But what of the Border, or, as Geo. Saunders aptly called them, the Tobacco States? (By the by, where is now that eminent rejected of the C. S. A.?) The Patent Office Report for 1852 spoke as follows of Fairfax County, Virginia, where thousands of acres of land have become exhausted through slave labor, abandoned as worthless, and reduced to a wilderness:— 'These lands have been purchased by Northern emigrants, the large tracts divided and subdivided and cleared of pines, and neat farm-houses and barns, with smiling fields of grain and grass in the season, salute the delighted gaze of the beholder. Ten years ago it was a mooted question whether Fairfax lands could be made productive, and if so, would they pay the cost? This problem has been satisfactorily solved by many, and in consequence of the above altered state of things, school-houses and churches have doubled in number.' But school-houses and churches are not what the C. S. A. want. 'Let us alone with your Yankee contrivances. "Smiling fields indeed!"—we want no smiling among us save the "smiles" of old Monongahela or Bourbon. The fiery Southern heart does not condescend to smile. "Neat farm-houses!" They may do for your Northern serfs—we'll none of them.' Verily the C. S. A. is a stupendous power, which, according to the development of its own avowed principles, must necessarily become greater as it is more and more limited to fewer persons. In due time these will be reduced to hundreds, those in time to scores, until, finally, all Southerndom shall be merged in one individual quintessentially concentrated exponent of Cottondom, who must needs be, perforce, so intensely respectable and so sublimely aristocratic that Northern eye may not see nor Northern heart feel the magnitude of his superiority, or pierce the gloom wherein he shall sit, 'a sceptred hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his own originality.' Five of the present Cabinet, with Secretary Cameron at their head, have expressed themselves fairly and fully in favor of Emancipation,—foreseeing its inevitable realization, and, we presume, the necessity of 'managing' it betimes. Only Messrs. Seward and Bates hang timidly behind, waiting for stronger manifestations, ere they hang out their flags. Meanwhile, from the rural districts of the East and West come thousand-fold indications that the great 'working majority' of Northern freemen—the same who elected Lincoln and urged on the war in thunder-tones and lightning acts—are sternly determined to press the great measure, and purify this country for once and forever of its great bitterness. It is a foregone conclusion. 'If you would know what your neighbors think of you,' says an old proverb, 'quarrel with them.' It has not been necessary of late to quarrel with England to ascertain her opinion of us, as expressed by her editors, writers, and men of the highest standing. Our war with the South has brought it out abundantly, and the result is a great dislike of everything American, save cotton! We are not of those who would at this time say too much on the subject,—every expression of Anglophobia is just now nuts to the C. S. A., who would dearly relish a war between us and the mother country,—but we may point to Very well, gentlemen; very well, indeed. We may remember all your kindness and the depth of your zealous abolition philanthropy. 'Haud immemor.' But you are reasoning on false grounds. You forget that it is almost as important for you to self your manufactures to America as to get cotton from it. And articles in the Times, and speeches from your first statesmen, show that you really believe the enormous fib so generally current, that the South consumes the very great majority of all our imports. 'The South is where the North makes all its money—the South does everything.' Do not believe it. The entire South consumes only about one sixth or seventh of all Imports, and contributes no greater proportion to the wealth of the North. But the North, with a very little sacrifice, can free itself almost entirely from dependence on your manufactures, and if, in homely parlance, you 'give us any more of your impudence,' she will—will most decidedly. There is even a stronger king than Cotton here; we may call him King Market. Let King Market once lay hands on you, and whereas you were before only broken, then you will be ground to powder. Over many a home since the last New Year, Death has cast the shadow, which may grow dimmer with time, or change to other hues, but which never entirely departs. But now he comes with strange, unwonted form, for he comes from the battle-field as well as the far-off home of fever, or the icy lair of consumption, and those left behind know only of the departed that he died for honor. 'My brother! oh, my brother!' Such a cry arose not long ago in a family, for one of the best and bravest whom this country has ever known. And more than one has brought back from the war a sorrowful narrative of a long farewell inclosed in as brief and touching words as those of the following lyric:— LINES.I. My brother, take my hand; A correspondent in Ohio sends us the following:— 'It is a good thing for a weak brother to have faith; and some one to rely on is to such an especial blessing. Squire Bullard was wont to find such a prop in his friend Deacon Parrish, who, he firmly believed, "knew everything." 'Near by the Squire lived a graceless old '"Well," exclaimed Squire B——, "you kin talk jest as much as ye please. Free speech is permitted; but I don't believe ye. I tell you what, Myers, the soul is immortal; I'll bet five dollars on it, and leave it to Deacon Parrish!"' This is indeed believing in human power; and yet who would laugh through his heart at it? For it is this same belief in other men, mere mortals like ourselves, in hero-worship, which led man through the stormy ages of old on to the lighter and brighter time, when we see afar the promised time when great ideas shall rule instead of great men, and heroism yield to sincere, unselfish ministry. Great was the final lesson of Friar Bacon's head—'Time will be.' The failure of the great Southern Confederacy to secure recognition in Europe will doubtless provoke sad strains from the bards of that unfortunate 'empire.' Nor less to be pitied are those who have put their trust in contracts and become the 'victims of misplaced confidence.' The following brace of parodies sets forth the sorrows of either side with touching pathos. THE UNIVERSAL COTTON GIN.He journeyed all creation through, A SORROWFUL DIALOGUE.FRIEND OF HUMANITY.Needy axe-grinder! whither are you going? AXE-GRINDER.Story! God bless you! mine is sad to tell, sir; FRIEND OF HUMANITY.They served you right; take wholesome warning by it, The Germans have a fine Spinn-lied, or song of spinning; so, too, have the jolly Flemish dames. And a poetical correspondent of ours seems determined that few and far between as the old-fashioned spinners are in this country, the race shall not entirely disappear without taking a song with them, and a quaint, pleasant lesson. Dear reader, to the Continental's way of thinking, there is something very winning in the thought SPINNING.Dearest mother, let me go; The times have been hard, reader, our friend, yet all merriment has not entirely died out, and there is still the sweet voice of music to be heard in the land. In New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and many minor cities, the Benedictine Ullmann hath been ubiquitously about, operating most vigorously, while the philosophic and courteous Gosche hath not been far distant. And they heralded Hinkley, and Borchard, and Kellogg, and all the other sweet swans of song; they drew after them the gems of the opera; there was selling of Libretti, (and in Boston, 'los-an-gers'); there was the donning of scarlet and blue striped cloaks, gay coiffures and butterflying fans; there was flirting, and fun, and gentle gayety in the New York Academy, and with the Boston Academies it was not otherwise, only that among the latter the Saxon predominateth, and the dark-eyed, music-loving children of Israel, who so abound in most opera audiences, are very rare. What we intended to do, O reader, was to give the biography of Benedict Ullmann. Lo! here it cometh:— Vita Sancti Benedicti. Ullmann is about three thousand years old. The New York Herald once called him Mephistopheles. He is not Mephistopheles, however, but the same thing, which is Ullmann. He is a spirit bearing human form. Don't forget. King Solomon sat beneath the golden pavilion one afternoon, playing silver melodies on a gold harp. Up went the notes—the spirits of the Sephiroth bore them—even up to a premium, and the very angels stopped sewing on their white robes to hear the ravishing melody. By his side sat the Queen of Sheba, counting out her money. Suddenly, there was a strange vibration, a marvelous tone. The queen paused. The king smiled. The angels went on with their sewing. (According to Rabbi Abarbanel, they were knitting. This created a schism between the schools of Cracow and Cordova, which lasted four centuries.) 'Why smilest thou, Oh Solomon?' 'I smiled, my dear queen, because you and I became, just now, unwittingly, the parents of a strange being.' 'Why, Solomon—how you talk!' exclaimed the Q. of S. 'Yea, for the ring of thy gold, oh my Queen, and the last chord-tone from my harp mingled in mystical unity and made a sound unheard before on earth. And the spirit of that sound, which is of money and of music, is the spirit whereof I spoke.' Then the queen marveled greatly at the wisdom of Solomon, and gave him a shekel. The king rung it on the table and touched 'There he goes!' quoth Solomon. 'My blessing on him. And therefore the sprite is called Blessed to this day, which in Latin is Benedict. Thus was Ullmann born, who was the first who ever sold music; and, whereas before his time music was only iron or silvern, after he took it up it became golden—very fine, and ra-ther ex-pen-sive. Howbeit, he loved music as well as money, and gave the people their money's worth, and many a jolly opera and fine tenor did he bring out: yea, had it been possible he would have engaged Don Juan Tenorio himself, so that Don Giovanni might have been produced as perfectly as possible—the Don Giovanity of vanities. Apropos of music, there is among the novelties of the season a French 'operetta,' entitled 'Les Noces de Jeannette,' in which a very peculiar bridegroom distinguishes himself, like Christopher Strap in 'Pleasant Neighbors,' by smashing the furniture. This recalls something which we heard narrated in the opera foyer the other evening. Some years ago, in Paris, there was a very good comedian who prided himself on being perfectly 'classic.' To be classic in France is to be elegantly conventional. No actress can be really kissed according to classic rules; the lips must be faintly smacked about three feet from her shoulder. Wills are classically written by a flourish of the pen, and classical banqueters never pretend to eat. Now there was a humorous scene which greatly depended on much breakage of furniture; and to this scene our actor, in the opinion of the manager, did not do justice. Rolling over one tea-cup did not, according to the latter, constitute a grand smash. The actor became irritated. 'Pa'r'r-bleu!' he exclaimed, 'you shall have a grand smash then, if you must, and no mistake.' The scene begun. There was a tea-table, and the irate performer gave one kick, and sent the whole concern crashing into the pit. There was a roar of applause. ('Ah! this is something like,' said the manager, rubbing his hands.) The chairs were next attacked and broken into the completest kindling-wood, as by a madman. The manager began to look grave. There were two tables left, a piano, and a closet. The actor stepped behind the scenes and reappeared with an axe. Bang! went the timber—crack—splinter— 'Stop!' roared the manager. 'Go on!' 'bravo!' 'go on!' roared the audience. The stage was cleared, but the scenery still remained. And into the scenery went the actor 'like mad.' Planks and canvas came tumbling down; the manager called his assistants; the house was delirious with joy. The manager rushed on the stage; the actor kicked him over into the orchestra, and seizing the prompter's box, hurled it crashing after. We do not know how matters were arranged, but we believe that the manager never tried afterwards to convert a classic actor to the romantic school. The shade of Bishop Berkley would rejoice, could it read at this late date such a tribute to the merit of the once famed tar water, which he invented. But a solemn feeling steals over our heart when we remember that the hand which penned these lines now lies cold in death, and that the shades of the idealist and the poet may ere this have joined in the spirit land. TAR WATER.BY GEORGE W. DEWEY.From the granite of the North, A friend who has roamed in his time over the deserts and slept in Bedawee tents; one to whom the East is as a second mother, and in whose faith the Koran is necessary to really put the finishing touch to a true gentleman, sends us the following eccentric proverbs from the Arabic. Words of Wisdom. There speaks the Arab, choice of water as of wine. 'May a deadly disease love you and Allah hate you!' Uncle Toby, who would not have had the heart to curse a dog so, would have found the Excommunication of Ernulphus quite outdone in the desert, where cursing is perfected. 'He lays goose eggs, and expects young turkeys.' Meaning, as we say, that what is bred in the bone will not come out of the flesh. Æsop has dramatized this proverb in a pretty fable. 'The people went away; the baboons remained.' Or, as the Latins said, 'Asinus ad Lyram'—'A gold ring in a sow's ear.' 'God bless him who pays visits, and short ones at that.' 'The husband of two parrots—a neck between two sticks.' 'I asked him about his father. "My uncle's name is Shayb," he replied.' 'They wanted a keeper for the pigeon-house, and gave the keys to the cat.' 'Filth fell upon dirt. "Welcome! my friend," said he.' 'Scarcer than fly-brains.' 'Gain upon dirt rather than loss upon musk.' Musk plays a great part in the East. Even the porters in Cairo bear bags of it and are scented by it. 'When the monkey reigns, dance before him.' This slavish proverb is thoroughly Oriental. 'They met a monkey defiling the mosque. "Dost thou not fear," quoth they, "lest God may metamorphose thee?" "I should," quoth he, "if I thought he would change me into a gazelle."' 'He fled from the rain and sat down under the water-spout.' Or, as we say, out of the frying-pan into the fire. Divers and sundry 'screeds' which we had hoped to lay on this present 'Editor's Table,' are unavoidably postponed until the February number, when they will make their 'positively first and last appearance.' Hoping that our own first appearance may not be without your approbation, we conclude, wishing you, reader, once more—very sincerely—the happiest of 'happy New Years.' |
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