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 reËstablishment 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!

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.

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