Readers: It were much to be wished, for your benefit, that the stalwart form which has so long presided at our Table, should take the accustomed place at our Banquet, again to serve you with the invigorating fare fit for men; the dainties of delicious flavor suited to the taste of the young and lovely; or once more to pour the accustomed draughts of old Falernian, sunned by a warm heart and matured by a vigorous intellect, into the goblets you are now holding for our September festival. For aught we know, he may even now be treading the old fields of former glory in far Kansas—but his voice will soon again greet you from this social spot, and again spread before you the ripe fruits of a manly experience.

Our other Honorable Editor is also afar, striving in other climes to serve our country, yet constantly giving us reason to know, from his frequent and loyal contributions, that he is gathering honey for THE CONTINENTAL, and has not deserted his arduous post in spending and being spent for the land he loves. May our two Honorables soon return to dispense, as they alone can, the hospitalities of our Editor's Table!

But we should not complain, when we can offer you, in this month of hot suns and motionless airs, such invigorating breaths of fresh, salty wind, directly from the bosom of the surging sea, as we are about to do in the following essay from the pen of A. J. S. He is the author of the vigorous sketch of 'The Southern Colonel' given in our July issue. He has now dipped his pen in the tints of the rainbow and the freshness of the salty wave, and given us:

'FROM THE SEA SHORE.'

Where the land enchants, the sea intoxicates—its sparkle, its mobility, its translucence excite the fancy, as wine does the blood—it combines those elements which produce at once awe and ecstasy in the soul—the unknown, the resistless, the beautiful. One may be melancholy by the sea, but never morbid or supine. Between it and the land there are no gradations; you do not come imperceptibly under its influence, as, in ascending a mountain, you come into the cooler atmosphere; as you approach, you are suddenly enveloped and animated by a crystalline, vivifying element: this is the sea air; those saline qualities, so harsh to the taste, prove a delicious stimulant in the lungs. The sea is incommunicable—neither words, or canvas prepare you for it, as they may often for landscapes; like Livingston's untutored savage, you are always startled and overwhelmed at first sight of it; you feel, like him, an impulse to leap into its waves. If you want to surrender yourself wholly to the sea influence—to study it and assimilate your mind to all its phases—you should choose, as was my fortune, a little fishing town, on the shore, with a sheltered bay to the south and west and the ocean eastward. Here you will find life stripped of care and conventionality; idealized, seductive, and illusive, the days swinging from charm to charm, like bubbles in the sunlight. On such a coast, Nature never confuses her effects—no lively verdure or picturesque landscape intrudes upon the majesty of the sea—only damp mosses and stout creepers veil the harsh outlines of the rocks, and, in the distance, masses of pine trees relieve the gray monotony of the shore—for the rest, everything is left to the sun and the sea. There are a dozen beaches, each distinct in its charm. Some firm, smooth, and white, as a marble walk—others mere waves of sand, which the lightest breeze whirls—and, others, where nature seems to have exhausted her wildest caprice, piled with rocks, black, perilous, defiant, overlooking waters whose solitude is never broken by a sail. It is these deep waters which have that green tint so lustrous and subtle, and as unlike the heavy green seen in most sea pictures as it is unlike grass; it is in more sheltered nooks that the sea assumes that sapphire sheen more ineffable than the sky which imparts it. As the color of the sea depends greatly upon the disposition of the surrounding lands and the prevailing condition of the atmosphere, each little inlet has some tint or effect of light peculiar to itself. I have seen coloring as remarkable—I had almost said as unnatural—as that indigo blue which we connect with the Ægean sea. Indeed, one comes to believe anything possible in the way of sea coloring, however brilliant, or however blank, after intimate and close observation of even a small part of the ocean. I have often fancied that these local features may have given rise to the idea of nymphs and mermaids, especially at night, when, in the setting sun, the colors fade in vapory exhalations, and the waters seem haunted by the spirits of their own beauty—pale, tremulous, waiting the vitalizing ray of the morning light. But it is in winter that the effects of the sun on the sea are most marvellous; this arises, in part, from the clearness of the air, and the dazzling setting of snow, which expresses more vividly the glow of the sea; then, too, that part of the water not exposed to the sun has an ashen, gray tint, which intensifies, by contrast, the more gorgeous hues. I remember many who saw Church's 'Icebergs' thought the coloring too brilliant, while, to those familiar with the sea, it seemed entirely natural. Thus, critics will find that it is by the study of nature we are educated up to high art; and artists, that their great danger is not in being more brilliant, but less delicate than nature. It is on the sea shore that we find the purest democracy—any man who is respectable and desirous of enjoying life may fraternize with the whole population. He who lives in the struggle to acquire or maintain a position can appreciate this social luxury. The sea exercises a delightful influence over the character—its perils induce self-reliance and fearlessness, which are redeemed from conceit by a child-like simplicity arising naturally from the contemplation of an element menacing, invincible, and symbolical of eternity. Then, too, the legends of the sea invest the mind with a sensitive, poetic passion as delightful as it is unworldly, as reverent as it is credulous. No one would deride these superstitions who has watched, as I have, the various phases of the sea—its motions, its intonations—its mists, its foam, its vapors—its sunlit splendors—its phosphorescent marvels—its moonlit and starlit mysteries; but would feel, with something of the awe of the ancients, that the sea is the place of magic, and that only a film separates between the material and the spirit land.

A. J. S.

Readers: You with ourselves have looked upon a very ugly thing since we last met in the pages of The Continental. A Briareus-handed, multiple-formed, Proteus-faced monster, of huge dimensions, wickedly scheming brain, myriad fanged, and every fang imbued with virulent copperhead poison, stormed through our streets in the light of day and in the gloom of night, during many ghastly hours, knowing no law save its own wicked will, while Treason, Cruelty, House-breaking and House-burning, Robbery, Assassination, Torture, Hanging, Murder, stalked on in its wild train of horror. But we know its face now, and it will be our own fault if anything so foul shall e'er be seen again in our midst. We must be on the alert to act when called upon—not to suspect the innocent, but to guard against the guilty.

'There is no fear of God in a riot.' We must confess ourselves to have been strangely startled when we found of what nation the rioters were mainly composed. The race whom we had received with the most generous hospitality, rescuing them from starvation and oppression at home—men whom we were hourly teaching to be freemen; women whom we were patiently and painfully instructing in the domestic arts of civilized life, took up arms against our Government, our laws, and ruthlessly pursued the innocent with fire and sword! The race of the old faith of the true St. Patrick, fresh from the 'Isle of Saints,' from which he had himself exiled all copperheads and venomous reptiles, blessed with good and true Priests of the old Religion, with the sweet face of the Blessed Virgin Mary to smile down upon them in their chapels, teaching them reverence for womanhood, and feeding as they firmly believe upon the glorified Body which is hourly broken to exalt and purify humanity, fell in fierce assault upon us. Men from the land of Burke, Curran, Emmet, Moore, Meagher, rose to pillage, burn, and assassinate! Irishmen, afraid to fight for the country which had adopted them as sons! massacring their benefactors! trailing Old Erin's loyal harp for the first time in the dust! bringing shame on the glorious Emerald Isle, and sorrow to the struggling country which had given them a home! Irishmen, taking the laws in their own hands, trampling our Stars beneath their feet—that flag which had first assured them they were men, citizens, with a right to home and happiness! What wonder that we fail to recognize the strong, sturdy, brave, heady, helpful, generous, and impulsive children of the 'Gem of the Sea?' And what shall we say of the venerated Archbishop?

Alas! the worst is not yet told. Irishmen and Irishwomen, with the sad face of the Mother of the Lord for ever teaching them pity from their altars, fell like fiends from hell upon the unfortunate negro, driving him, a child of Christ, from the poor home he had won with so much toil; robbing him of all he possessed; burning his miserable refuge; frightening into madness his patient wife; braining his children; hounding the panic-stricken unfortunate from street to street, and torturing, mutilating, drowning, and assassinating him! For what, in the name of Heaven? Because he breathed the air of his native land, and dared to pray to the God that made him; because he wanted work for his black and brawny arm, to support his cheerful black wife, and his jolly, woolly-headed children!

It has been said the negro was lazy, and would not work without the lash; that he was incompetent, and could not work; that he was a coward, and would not fight: when it is found that he will work, he is to be deprived of labor; found that he can work, deprived of employment; that he is loyal, and will fight for the country, although she has often been but a stepmother to him; he is driven from his home; his goods plundered and fired; himself mutilated and hung. Alas! alas! 'mine eyes are a fountain of tears for the iniquities of my people!'

'Ireland knows no martyrs,' nobly says the Archbishop. Alas! that she should have martyred the negro upon our own holy soil—the soil of his nativity!

God curses no race, for Christ died for all who will accept him. Even were this plea of cursing true, it is our simple duty to try to lift the curse. To do unto others as we would be done by, is the sublime but simple law of Christianity.

Readers and fellow citizens, let us resolve that all this must cease; we must be ready to put down rebellion North as well as South; to resist all violence and aggression; to support the Government; to fill with enthusiasm the glorious ranks of our brave army, because it is the army of freedom and human progress; we must all aid in carrying our flag without a star undimmed through this fierce crisis, and unfurl it in that fair field of universal liberty and happiness which we must win for the sweet sake of humanity. All hell is armed against us; but God and His angels are on our side! This is the manifest destiny of our country, and to this unveiled glory are we marching on. We proudly offer a home and freedom to men of all climes and regions; in which hospitable offer itself we declare that no dictation, no oppression, no cruelty shall legally exist throughout the length and breadth of this our Holy Land. We have aims before us, and we must accomplish them. The Irishman must be civilized, his better feelings must be cultivated; he must be taught to respect law and order; the American copperhead must be robbed of his power to harm; he has shown his deadly venom, and his fangs must be extracted; to do this effectively, the rebellion, already crushed, must be utterly subdued; the negro must be protected, educated, and elevated; slavery in every form must be driven from the earth; the law of love, which is the law of God, must rule; that so our Heaven-Stars may again cluster in ever-growing brilliancy and lustre over a land of equality, progress, law, order, unity, and happiness. Men and brethren, this is our allotted task, and we must all work in our allotted spheres. Men, women, and children, there is enough to do, and that which will task us all to our utmost strength and capacity. We must be brave, strong, helpful, and unselfish; we must shirk no duty on the score of sex or weakness; we must find excuse for no idleness on the ground of incapacity. We are all capable! We must feel and make others feel that there is no true hope for ourselves or them save in the triumph of our sacred cause. Our stars alone form canopy wide enough to shelter the ever-accumulating ranks of humanity. We must, every one of us, learn the lesson of self-abnegation—it is the sublime lesson of the cross, learned by St. Paul, lived by St. John, worshipped by the Magdalene, and incarnated through the Virgin Mary—thus proving it is for all classes, characters, and sexes. He who will not learn it, is neither hero nor Christian, be he general or bishop.

We shall first (because it is necessary for the progress of the race) conquer our enemies; and then, true to ourselves and our principles, forgive, aid, and love them. Many of them have learned, many more are learning, the misery and shame of slavery. That truth once acknowledged and digested, their hearts will grow glad in the peace of the just, and their desolated land blossom like the rose.

We will all learn to bear with the negro, because he has qualities necessary to fill up the harmony of life. As a general thing, the Irish servants are perhaps more honest, and dull as they seem, have more head; but the negro has more heart. His nature is irrepressible and joyous; he is full of comicality and drollery, of fun, jeers, jokes, yah-yas, and merriment; and this element will be needed in our midst to temper our puritan and national seriousness. He loves music whether sad, burlesque, or gay; is devoted to those who treat him worthily, his affections being easily won; and there is something touching, soothing, and delightful in his inherent respect for gentleman and lady. His aptitude for domestic service; his love for and his power of amusing children and winning their fickle heart, their attachment to him being one of the most delightful traits of Southern life; his impressible, religious and devout nature, mark him as a wonderful element of variety in the domestic texture of our life such as it shall be when he is free, educated in accordance with his nature, and happy. He is not ambitious, he likes to serve those who treat him kindly, and seeks no social equality, as do the Irish, whatever position they may hold. I do not deny that this is a good strong trait in a race, but it does not make an agreeable servant. Our Biddys and Pollys flaunt and flounce to convince us they are as good as we; the negro acknowledges superior deportment, and is ever submissive and respectful to those who know how to treat him. I think when this 'tyranny is overpast' that it will be hard to induce us to part with the negro. He is embodied humor; fun and naive pathos alternate with the most startling rapidity in his wild but loving soul, in which the feminine element of passion generally predominates over sustained virile strength; he is spontaneity itself—and the reflective Anglo-Saxon race will learn to appreciate such promptings of our basic nature. He is happy in serving, and as a servant, is invaluable.

Stern duties are then before us in this world of the mighty West; let us accept them with a willing heart. Our women can do much, for men are widely severed in opinion; and the social element, woman's true and noble sphere, must be made available to bring about a better feeling. Let her so arrange that we shall see more of each other socially, not in grand fÊtes, tiresome dinners, idle pomposities, but in simple and hospitable greetings, in frequent, unrestrained, and easy commune. She must learn to take a conversational part in the great questions of the day, soothing asperities, and bringing hearts together as she alone can; for women possess naturally the secret of society. Let us not ask in what rank men and women move, but rather what they are, and if noble, let us take them to our hearts. Let us struggle individually to the height of our aspirations, assured that if we so do, this glorious Union is destined to be perpetuated in ever-increasing glory.