The Little Auk, or Sea Dove, is an example of the genus Mergulus. It braves the inclemency of very high latitudes, and is found in immense flocks on the inhospitable coasts of Greenland, Spitsbergen, and Melville Island. Here they watch the motion of the ice, and when it is broken up by storms, “they come down in legions, crowding into every fissure, to banquet on the crustaceous and other marine animals which lie there at their mercy.
“The Little Auk is between nine and ten inches in length; the bill is black and the legs inclining to brown; the plumage is black and white; and in winter the front of the neck, which is black in summer, becomes whitish. It lays but one egg, of a pale, bluish green, on the most inaccessible ledges of the precipices which overhang the ocean.” Such are the accounts of the naturalists and voyagers who have visited the arctic regions. With its name of Sea Dove, its apparently delicate structure, and its daring and heroic habits of life, it affords a most inviting theme to the poet.
PLEASANT WORDS.
———
BY CAROLINE MAY.
———
Pleasant words are as an honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.Prov.xvi. 24.
Pleasant words are as an honey-comb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.Prov.xvi. 24.
Many truths the Wise man givesTo his sons and daughters,As pure and useful, strong and bright,As streams of living waters;But one I choose from all the rest,And call it now the very best.Pleasant words, he says, are likeA comb of fragrant honey;The savings-bank of thriving bees,Whose cells contain their money,Where they, in little space, lay upThe gains of many a flowery cup.“Sweet to the soul,” they gently sootheIn days of bitter anguish;“Health to the bones,” they cheer the sickAnd lift the heads that languish;And with their care-dispelling chime,They touch the heart at any time.O! let us then ask God to plantIn us His flowers of beauty,And teach us to watch over themWith humble, patient duty;Sweet flowers that grace both age and youth,Love, meekness, gentleness and truth.
Many truths the Wise man givesTo his sons and daughters,As pure and useful, strong and bright,As streams of living waters;But one I choose from all the rest,And call it now the very best.Pleasant words, he says, are likeA comb of fragrant honey;The savings-bank of thriving bees,Whose cells contain their money,Where they, in little space, lay upThe gains of many a flowery cup.“Sweet to the soul,” they gently sootheIn days of bitter anguish;“Health to the bones,” they cheer the sickAnd lift the heads that languish;And with their care-dispelling chime,They touch the heart at any time.O! let us then ask God to plantIn us His flowers of beauty,And teach us to watch over themWith humble, patient duty;Sweet flowers that grace both age and youth,Love, meekness, gentleness and truth.
Many truths the Wise man givesTo his sons and daughters,As pure and useful, strong and bright,As streams of living waters;But one I choose from all the rest,And call it now the very best.
Many truths the Wise man gives
To his sons and daughters,
As pure and useful, strong and bright,
As streams of living waters;
But one I choose from all the rest,
And call it now the very best.
Pleasant words, he says, are likeA comb of fragrant honey;The savings-bank of thriving bees,Whose cells contain their money,Where they, in little space, lay upThe gains of many a flowery cup.
Pleasant words, he says, are like
A comb of fragrant honey;
The savings-bank of thriving bees,
Whose cells contain their money,
Where they, in little space, lay up
The gains of many a flowery cup.
“Sweet to the soul,” they gently sootheIn days of bitter anguish;“Health to the bones,” they cheer the sickAnd lift the heads that languish;And with their care-dispelling chime,They touch the heart at any time.
“Sweet to the soul,” they gently soothe
In days of bitter anguish;
“Health to the bones,” they cheer the sick
And lift the heads that languish;
And with their care-dispelling chime,
They touch the heart at any time.
O! let us then ask God to plantIn us His flowers of beauty,And teach us to watch over themWith humble, patient duty;Sweet flowers that grace both age and youth,Love, meekness, gentleness and truth.
O! let us then ask God to plant
In us His flowers of beauty,
And teach us to watch over them
With humble, patient duty;
Sweet flowers that grace both age and youth,
Love, meekness, gentleness and truth.
For, as honey is not foundWhere no flowers are blowing,So, unless within our heartsLove and truth are growing,No one upon our lips will find“Pleasant words,” sincere and kind.But, unlike the fragile flowers,Who die—as soon as everThey have given their honey up—The more that we endeavorTo lavish kindness everywhere,The more we still shall have to spare.“Pleasant words!” O let us striveTo use them very often;Other hearts they will delight,And our own they’ll soften;While God himself will hear above,“Pleasant words” of truth and love.“Pleasant words!” The river’s waveThat ripples every minuteOn the shore we love so well,Hath not such music in it;Nor are the songs of breeze or birds,Half so sweet as “pleasant words!”
For, as honey is not foundWhere no flowers are blowing,So, unless within our heartsLove and truth are growing,No one upon our lips will find“Pleasant words,” sincere and kind.But, unlike the fragile flowers,Who die—as soon as everThey have given their honey up—The more that we endeavorTo lavish kindness everywhere,The more we still shall have to spare.“Pleasant words!” O let us striveTo use them very often;Other hearts they will delight,And our own they’ll soften;While God himself will hear above,“Pleasant words” of truth and love.“Pleasant words!” The river’s waveThat ripples every minuteOn the shore we love so well,Hath not such music in it;Nor are the songs of breeze or birds,Half so sweet as “pleasant words!”
For, as honey is not foundWhere no flowers are blowing,So, unless within our heartsLove and truth are growing,No one upon our lips will find“Pleasant words,” sincere and kind.
For, as honey is not found
Where no flowers are blowing,
So, unless within our hearts
Love and truth are growing,
No one upon our lips will find
“Pleasant words,” sincere and kind.
But, unlike the fragile flowers,Who die—as soon as everThey have given their honey up—The more that we endeavorTo lavish kindness everywhere,The more we still shall have to spare.
But, unlike the fragile flowers,
Who die—as soon as ever
They have given their honey up—
The more that we endeavor
To lavish kindness everywhere,
The more we still shall have to spare.
“Pleasant words!” O let us striveTo use them very often;Other hearts they will delight,And our own they’ll soften;While God himself will hear above,“Pleasant words” of truth and love.
“Pleasant words!” O let us strive
To use them very often;
Other hearts they will delight,
And our own they’ll soften;
While God himself will hear above,
“Pleasant words” of truth and love.
“Pleasant words!” The river’s waveThat ripples every minuteOn the shore we love so well,Hath not such music in it;Nor are the songs of breeze or birds,Half so sweet as “pleasant words!”
“Pleasant words!” The river’s wave
That ripples every minute
On the shore we love so well,
Hath not such music in it;
Nor are the songs of breeze or birds,
Half so sweet as “pleasant words!”
DIRGE.
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
———
BY RICHARD PENN SMITH.
———
Mournfully toll the bell:Gently bear earth to earth;Solemnly chant the knell;Death claims a mortal birth.Virgins, strew early flowers,Plucked from the snow in spring;Emblems of her sad hours—Smiling while withering.She was a gentle one:Pure as a seraph’s tear;Too soon her task was done;Born but to disappear!Low chant her requiem;Close o’er her breast the sod;Angels, teach her your hymn,While winging her way to God.
Mournfully toll the bell:Gently bear earth to earth;Solemnly chant the knell;Death claims a mortal birth.Virgins, strew early flowers,Plucked from the snow in spring;Emblems of her sad hours—Smiling while withering.She was a gentle one:Pure as a seraph’s tear;Too soon her task was done;Born but to disappear!Low chant her requiem;Close o’er her breast the sod;Angels, teach her your hymn,While winging her way to God.
Mournfully toll the bell:Gently bear earth to earth;Solemnly chant the knell;Death claims a mortal birth.
Mournfully toll the bell:
Gently bear earth to earth;
Solemnly chant the knell;
Death claims a mortal birth.
Virgins, strew early flowers,Plucked from the snow in spring;Emblems of her sad hours—Smiling while withering.
Virgins, strew early flowers,
Plucked from the snow in spring;
Emblems of her sad hours—
Smiling while withering.
She was a gentle one:Pure as a seraph’s tear;Too soon her task was done;Born but to disappear!
She was a gentle one:
Pure as a seraph’s tear;
Too soon her task was done;
Born but to disappear!
Low chant her requiem;Close o’er her breast the sod;Angels, teach her your hymn,While winging her way to God.
Low chant her requiem;
Close o’er her breast the sod;
Angels, teach her your hymn,
While winging her way to God.
PASSING AWAY.
———
BY ANNIE GREY.
———
’Tis written on the early flower,By a single faded leaf;’Tis written with terrific powerUpon the burning cheek.’Tis written with an iron penUpon that old man’s brow;And mark its tyrant impress whenIt touched thy darling now.’Tis written on the fleeting smileAnd on the falling tear;’Tis seen upon that old quaint dial,And in the grave-yard near.’Tis written in thy mother’s touch,And in thy father’s care;These may not—though they love thee much—They may not linger here.Here, too, we see on friendship’s bondIts shadowy impress laid;The love we deemed so true, so fond,Its own dark grave hath made.Yet surely there is one thing hereWhich may not pass away—’Tis early love, so fond, so dear,It cannot yield its sway?
’Tis written on the early flower,By a single faded leaf;’Tis written with terrific powerUpon the burning cheek.’Tis written with an iron penUpon that old man’s brow;And mark its tyrant impress whenIt touched thy darling now.’Tis written on the fleeting smileAnd on the falling tear;’Tis seen upon that old quaint dial,And in the grave-yard near.’Tis written in thy mother’s touch,And in thy father’s care;These may not—though they love thee much—They may not linger here.Here, too, we see on friendship’s bondIts shadowy impress laid;The love we deemed so true, so fond,Its own dark grave hath made.Yet surely there is one thing hereWhich may not pass away—’Tis early love, so fond, so dear,It cannot yield its sway?
’Tis written on the early flower,By a single faded leaf;’Tis written with terrific powerUpon the burning cheek.
’Tis written on the early flower,
By a single faded leaf;
’Tis written with terrific power
Upon the burning cheek.
’Tis written with an iron penUpon that old man’s brow;And mark its tyrant impress whenIt touched thy darling now.
’Tis written with an iron pen
Upon that old man’s brow;
And mark its tyrant impress when
It touched thy darling now.
’Tis written on the fleeting smileAnd on the falling tear;’Tis seen upon that old quaint dial,And in the grave-yard near.
’Tis written on the fleeting smile
And on the falling tear;
’Tis seen upon that old quaint dial,
And in the grave-yard near.
’Tis written in thy mother’s touch,And in thy father’s care;These may not—though they love thee much—They may not linger here.
’Tis written in thy mother’s touch,
And in thy father’s care;
These may not—though they love thee much—
They may not linger here.
Here, too, we see on friendship’s bondIts shadowy impress laid;The love we deemed so true, so fond,Its own dark grave hath made.
Here, too, we see on friendship’s bond
Its shadowy impress laid;
The love we deemed so true, so fond,
Its own dark grave hath made.
Yet surely there is one thing hereWhich may not pass away—’Tis early love, so fond, so dear,It cannot yield its sway?
Yet surely there is one thing here
Which may not pass away—
’Tis early love, so fond, so dear,
It cannot yield its sway?
Oh! mark the eye averted now,And list to that scornful word,And see the cherished broken vow—E’en this hath the mandate heard.’Tis written, then, on all things here,On smiles, on tears, on joy, on wo,On that we prize, on that we fear,—All teach alike that we must go.
Oh! mark the eye averted now,And list to that scornful word,And see the cherished broken vow—E’en this hath the mandate heard.’Tis written, then, on all things here,On smiles, on tears, on joy, on wo,On that we prize, on that we fear,—All teach alike that we must go.
Oh! mark the eye averted now,And list to that scornful word,And see the cherished broken vow—E’en this hath the mandate heard.
Oh! mark the eye averted now,
And list to that scornful word,
And see the cherished broken vow—
E’en this hath the mandate heard.
’Tis written, then, on all things here,On smiles, on tears, on joy, on wo,On that we prize, on that we fear,—All teach alike that we must go.
’Tis written, then, on all things here,
On smiles, on tears, on joy, on wo,
On that we prize, on that we fear,—
All teach alike that we must go.
THE UNDIVIDED HEART.
AFTER THE MANNER OF AN EARLY ENGLISH POET.
———
BY MYRRHA.
———
When the rich merchant sendeth out his store,To multiply in foreign lands and seas,He scattereth it to every friendly shore,And spreads his sails to every favoring breeze.Then, if one bark, more luckless than the rest,Should chance make shipwreck on some fatal coast,Seeing he is of many more possest,He comforts him, although that one be lost.But one rich argosy holds all my store—If harm befall that one, what comes of me?Must I in beggary wander evermore,Subsistence craving of cold charity?How should I bear to think upon the dayWhen Fortune’s gifts were showered upon my headWould not my misery more heavy weigh.In view of happiness remembered?Then let me rather trust my life also,In that one ship where all my riches be,That wheresoe’er she goeth I may go,And toss with her upon the faithless sea.Then, if the tempest bow the sturdy mast,And horrid billows sweep the shuddering deck,When every help and every hope is past,Calmly I’ll perish with my treasure’s wreck.
When the rich merchant sendeth out his store,To multiply in foreign lands and seas,He scattereth it to every friendly shore,And spreads his sails to every favoring breeze.Then, if one bark, more luckless than the rest,Should chance make shipwreck on some fatal coast,Seeing he is of many more possest,He comforts him, although that one be lost.But one rich argosy holds all my store—If harm befall that one, what comes of me?Must I in beggary wander evermore,Subsistence craving of cold charity?How should I bear to think upon the dayWhen Fortune’s gifts were showered upon my headWould not my misery more heavy weigh.In view of happiness remembered?Then let me rather trust my life also,In that one ship where all my riches be,That wheresoe’er she goeth I may go,And toss with her upon the faithless sea.Then, if the tempest bow the sturdy mast,And horrid billows sweep the shuddering deck,When every help and every hope is past,Calmly I’ll perish with my treasure’s wreck.
When the rich merchant sendeth out his store,To multiply in foreign lands and seas,He scattereth it to every friendly shore,And spreads his sails to every favoring breeze.
When the rich merchant sendeth out his store,
To multiply in foreign lands and seas,
He scattereth it to every friendly shore,
And spreads his sails to every favoring breeze.
Then, if one bark, more luckless than the rest,Should chance make shipwreck on some fatal coast,Seeing he is of many more possest,He comforts him, although that one be lost.
Then, if one bark, more luckless than the rest,
Should chance make shipwreck on some fatal coast,
Seeing he is of many more possest,
He comforts him, although that one be lost.
But one rich argosy holds all my store—If harm befall that one, what comes of me?Must I in beggary wander evermore,Subsistence craving of cold charity?
But one rich argosy holds all my store—
If harm befall that one, what comes of me?
Must I in beggary wander evermore,
Subsistence craving of cold charity?
How should I bear to think upon the dayWhen Fortune’s gifts were showered upon my headWould not my misery more heavy weigh.In view of happiness remembered?
How should I bear to think upon the day
When Fortune’s gifts were showered upon my head
Would not my misery more heavy weigh.
In view of happiness remembered?
Then let me rather trust my life also,In that one ship where all my riches be,That wheresoe’er she goeth I may go,And toss with her upon the faithless sea.
Then let me rather trust my life also,
In that one ship where all my riches be,
That wheresoe’er she goeth I may go,
And toss with her upon the faithless sea.
Then, if the tempest bow the sturdy mast,And horrid billows sweep the shuddering deck,When every help and every hope is past,Calmly I’ll perish with my treasure’s wreck.
Then, if the tempest bow the sturdy mast,
And horrid billows sweep the shuddering deck,
When every help and every hope is past,
Calmly I’ll perish with my treasure’s wreck.
EDITOR’S TABLE.
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruined hall,Thou aged earl, so stern and gray?Dost thou its former pride recall,Or ponder how it passed away?”“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried:“So long enjoyed, so oft misused;Alternate in thy fickle pride,Desired, neglected, and accused!“Before my breath, like blazing flax,Man and his marvels pass away!And changing empires wane and wax;Are founded, flourish, and decay.Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,While in my glass the sand grains shiver;And measureless thy joy or grief,When time and thou shalt part forever.”Walter Scott.
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruined hall,Thou aged earl, so stern and gray?Dost thou its former pride recall,Or ponder how it passed away?”“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried:“So long enjoyed, so oft misused;Alternate in thy fickle pride,Desired, neglected, and accused!“Before my breath, like blazing flax,Man and his marvels pass away!And changing empires wane and wax;Are founded, flourish, and decay.Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,While in my glass the sand grains shiver;And measureless thy joy or grief,When time and thou shalt part forever.”Walter Scott.
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruined hall,Thou aged earl, so stern and gray?Dost thou its former pride recall,Or ponder how it passed away?”“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried:“So long enjoyed, so oft misused;Alternate in thy fickle pride,Desired, neglected, and accused!“Before my breath, like blazing flax,Man and his marvels pass away!And changing empires wane and wax;Are founded, flourish, and decay.Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,While in my glass the sand grains shiver;And measureless thy joy or grief,When time and thou shalt part forever.”Walter Scott.
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruined hall,Thou aged earl, so stern and gray?Dost thou its former pride recall,Or ponder how it passed away?”“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried:“So long enjoyed, so oft misused;Alternate in thy fickle pride,Desired, neglected, and accused!
“Why sitt’st thou by that ruined hall,
Thou aged earl, so stern and gray?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it passed away?”
“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried:
“So long enjoyed, so oft misused;
Alternate in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused!
“Before my breath, like blazing flax,Man and his marvels pass away!And changing empires wane and wax;Are founded, flourish, and decay.Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,While in my glass the sand grains shiver;And measureless thy joy or grief,When time and thou shalt part forever.”Walter Scott.
“Before my breath, like blazing flax,Man and his marvels pass away!And changing empires wane and wax;Are founded, flourish, and decay.Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,While in my glass the sand grains shiver;And measureless thy joy or grief,When time and thou shalt part forever.”Walter Scott.
“Before my breath, like blazing flax,
Man and his marvels pass away!
And changing empires wane and wax;
Are founded, flourish, and decay.
Redeem mine hours, the space is brief,
While in my glass the sand grains shiver;
And measureless thy joy or grief,
When time and thou shalt part forever.”
Walter Scott.
The waning year is, to most minds, a season of reflection. And it is good to pause and think, occasionally; to glance along the receding vista of months, and review our actions ere too great a distance makes their memory indistinct. Time seems to linger on his journey, to pause by the crumbling ruins of earthly things, and point us to the past, that we may gather therefrom lessons of wisdom for the future.
And now, as we stand on the verge of the parting year—as the last line in its record of events is about being written, it is but to obey the dictate of reason to let our thoughts run back. Time we cannot recall, nor change the past. What we have done is done forever. Then, why, it may be asked, turn our thoughts thitherward? Why not look in hope to the future? It is that we may look to the future with brighter hopes, made more certain through repentance and good resolutions.
What we are is of more, far more importance to us than what we seem to others, or what we have gained in worldly goods. Our thoughts, then, as we review the days and weeks in the closing circle of months, should linger rather upon the purposes and acts of our moral life, than upon the impression we have made upon others, or the amount of earthly treasure we have gathered in from the harvest-fields of the world. A good reputation may be lost through slander; riches may take to themselves wings and fly away; but of the heart’s conscious rectitude no event external to ourselves can rob us. It is true gold, which neither moth nor rust can corrupt, and of which not even death itself can rob us.
In turning back our thoughts upon the past, then, let us examine all our acts in the light of their prompting ends. There is no act without a purpose, and the purpose gives quality to the act. A selfish and bad end makes an act evil, which might be innocent if done with a good end. A man may pursue his worldly business with the same energy and success that marks the course of his neighbor, and be all the while laying up treasure above, while the latter gains nothing but the treasure on earth, which, in a few years, passes into the coffers of another, while he, naked and poor as he came into the world, recrosses the mortal bourne, and is seen no more among his fellows. The great difference lies in the end with which each prosecutes his daily calling. A good end keeps in view what is just to the neighbor, while a selfish end causes a man to disregard and even trample uponothers’ rights.
As time points his trembling finger to the past, let each one, then, carefully review the history of the year, so far as himself is concerned, and, in reviewing it, look earnestly at the purposes which have governed his various actions. These, in their accumulations, are to make the future happy or miserable. Gold gained in a total disregard ofothers’ rights or feelings, never has nor never will bring happiness; for, in the acquisition, the mind takesan evil form in accordance with its purpose, and such a form precludes the possibility of happiness. Honor and fame acquired in like manner, will as certainly bring pain and disappointment.
The great question then is—How far have I advanced in the year toward that true humanity which is built up into a beautiful form, through good purposes coming forth into good deeds? Just so far as this true humanity has been attained,and no further, has the waning year been a well spent and profitable year.
Is your mind not satisfied with the review measured by this standard? Let the fact be wisely improved by a better life in the future. Begin the next year with this higher standard in your mind, and resolve to live up to it as far as is in your power.
There is one reflection connected with this theme that should produce a strong impression. It is our present that makes our future. What we purpose and do to-day throws forward its effect upon our coming years. And this is the result of every day’s life. What would not some of us give if we could change the rebuking past? But, alas! what is done is done forever. The present with its deeds flits by and becomes the unchangeable past. We may repent of our wrong doings, but repentance cannot extract the sting from memory. With this thought, which should alone prompt to right living in the future, we close our brief sermon; commending its teachings to the wise and simple, the rich and the poor, the old and the young, the learned and the unlearned, with the hope that it may be like a nail in a sure place, or, like apples of gold on pictures of silver.
——
BY J. R. CHANDLER.
It seems meet that we should take some note of the times in which we live, and not allow a whole year to pass without a record of some of those startling incidents by which it has been distinguished. We do not pretend to publish “the news”—we do not mean to make commentaries upon the political changes which are constantly occurring. There are papers specially devoted to such matters, and they do their duty with fidelity and satisfaction. We, however, think it proper (useful we mean, and therefore proper,) to give a simple abstract of great political changes and convulsions that have occurred in 1849. It may instruct some; it will probably send many more to the records of the times to gain minute information of such startling affairs. Some it may lead to reflect upon the mutability of human productions, and the causes which have wrought out such remarkable effects. Others will probably be ready, while they mourn over the suffering and kindle at the bold steps and courageous conduct of the uprising oppressed, abroad, to rejoice at the peace and happiness secured to our own beloved country by the institutions of republicanism which we enjoy, and to inquire whether such signal advantages are not worth a vigilance that shall detect the first movement, or the dangerous neglect that may jeopard the liberties of the people and the peace and prosperity of the country.
We desire to sit down and make a small daguerreotype view of the nations abroad, that our Magazine may close the year 1849 with such a picture as would make ordinary readers, even the ladies, who are only ordinary as they are thegeneralreaders of our book, understand the changes which are yet to take place. But we are compelled to write nearly a month before we nominally publish, so that much may transpire between the inkstand and the reading-desk; much that may change the whole complexion, the features even of European politics, and cast either a shade or a light across the Atlantic. Again, while we sit down to adjust our instrument to catch the manners living as they rise, to receive and fix the forms of nations upon our plates, they, instead of awaiting their little moment, to give a perfect image, start into some revolution and thus mar the picture which we would have strong, clear and distinct. The troubles which beset the whole of Italy a year ago are, if not settled, at least becoming less. The affairs of the various independent governments seem to be so directed as to insure a return to something like the position they held more than two years since.
InRome, whence the Pope had been driven by the revolutionary power, the French army in Italy established itself, after a free use of its heavy batteries. For a moment it seemed that nothing more was intended than the restoration of the Pope to his temporal power. But either the President of France had a concealed motive in sending Oudinot with an army into Italy, or the uplifted voice of the liberal portion of Europe caused him to declare that he wished to prevent Austria and Spain from gaining influence in Rome, and he desired with the return of the Pope, to see the government (under his holiness) secularized.
Meantime the Pope, at Gaeta, apparently enjoying all the distinction which his elevated position as spiritual and temporal chief could claim, has been far from happy. He has seen into the motives of France, and cannot be ignorant now of the spirit, the interested spirit, likely to influence other nations which may undertake to restore him to Rome with all his former power. Nay, it is evident that he is now weighing the consideration whether it is best for his spiritual mission, and his temporal comforts and honors to receive back such rule—he sees that the times have changed, and he is evidently pausing to see how he may change with them without exposing himself to the outrages to which his former liberal movements exposed him.
Venicethat held out against the Austrian forces was compelled to capitulate. She loses the distinction which she had retained, and her condition as a free port is lost. Austria has even desired to build up Trieste at the expense of Venice. It should be remarked, however, that the political offences of the Venetians have been more leniently dealt with than had been anticipated. The leaders of the revolt were removed to Corfu by the French before the Austrians entered the city. Venice and Venetian Lombardy are again the appanages of the Austrian crown.
There was an attempt at a revolt in theIonian Islands, a quasi republic under the protection of Great Britain. The disturbance took place in Cephalonia, and the political outbreak was the occasion for a band of ruffians to undertake to plunder and assassinate. A leading citizen of Argistile was, with his family, burnt to death. Vigorous measures were adopted by Mr. Ward, the high commissioner of the British government for the Ionian Islands, and finally order was restored.
France—The year 1849 opened upon France in the enjoyment of thefierceyouth of Republicanism, with a President elected almost unanimously by the people, and with a National Assembly almost ready to expire by its own peculiar organization. A new Assembly was elected and was organized in May, and early in June the President, Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, sent to that body his message, which, for the first time in European history, contained a statement of the situation of the country minutely set forth, and was thus far republican. Unfortunately the President took occasion to set forth his own views and determinations in a tone far more in accordance with those of his uncle, the Emperor Napoleon, than like that of thosewho should supply his model—the Presidents of the United States.
It may be noted that the revolutions of France have been very costly, and her debt has been fearfully augmented by the convulsion that drove Louis Philippe from the kingly throne and placed Louis Napoleon in thepresidential chair.
The election of Louis Napoleon to the presidency did by no means secure the tranquillity of France; so many men leading various sections, that united onlyagainstone portion, were unprovided with power when the union was to be infavorof one man, that no sooner was the president installed than those who had done most to make a place for him were willing to do more to get him out of a place. And it cannot be denied that the movements of France, or rather of Louis Napoleon, for really he seems to be France, upon Rome, were not at first calculated to conciliate the Red Republicans, and are now as little likely to satisfy the opposite party; each will remember its peculiar cause of dislike, but neither will keep in mind its occasion for approval. The truth is, France is not yet essentially republican in its system. The people of France would, by a large majority, vote to fight for a republican form of government for their country, but they do not seem to comprehend the true policy of a republic, and it may be doubted whether the tendency of a single legislature, and the weight of Paris is not toward centralization—most anti or at least unrepublican. France must look to the federation of her departments. The president of France has made various tours in his republic, and has been received with various degrees of respect and courtesy, as his principles were more or less approved, or, perhaps, as the people were more or less republican or monarchical in their views. And it may be remarked, that every where he has taken occasion to say that “order, system, and conservatism,” were necessary to the prosperity of France; an idea well enough in the abstract, but evidently, considering the speaker and the hearers, intended to intimate that France needed less revolution among the people, and more permanency in her executive. When he visited the neighborhood of Ham, where he had been for a long time a prisoner, on account of a rebellion against the established government, he was reminded by some obsequious citizens of his sufferings and his deliverance. But instead of launching out into a tirade against tyranny in general, and especially that which confined him there, he took occasion to preach a homily in favor of established power, and confessed his error in being one of those who rose against it. Fenelon, when he ascended the pulpit to denounce his own book, did not assume a more self-condemnatory air, nor did he more regret his offences against ecclesiastical rule, than did Louis Napoleonhisoutrage upon the kingly government; and this, too, in presence of a people that had assisted within two years to put down a king, and had, by their votes, elected him to office, in the place of that king.
France has placed herself, or was placed by her president, in a very delicate position, with regard to other European powers, by her interference in the Italian contest. She now complains that the Pope does not acknowledge the services which she has rendered, (he certainty seems to be very ignorant of any advantage which France has wrought for him,) while the president declares that Rome must be secularized, and must grant afullamnesty to political offenders. France has her attention now drawn toward the peculiar situation of affairs between the Porte and the Emperor of Russia, in which England and France seem to understand each other.
While the continent of Europe has been embroiled for the last year in all kinds of contests,Great Britainseems to have enjoyed unusual tranquillity athome. The imperial parliament repealed the old navigation laws which had been operative for two centuries. By the new enactments greater freedom is given to vessels of other countries to trade between the several ports of Great Britain; and in other countries where reciprocal commercial treaties are established, the ships of Great Britain will have similar advantages.
Peace is not productive of historical interest, and we have only to say, that GreatBritain has settled her troubles in the East by defeating the Indian forces raised against her power; and she has commenced her troubles in theWest, by sanctioning certain laws passed by the parliament of the Canadas to remunerate those who lost property in a former rebellion. The truth is, there has grown up a strong and violent hostility between the English residents in Canada and the French; and the latter, with some of their allies, having a majority, passed the law for indemnity, which the governor, Lord Elgin, signed; and this brought against him the English party. The Home Government sanctioned the action of his lordship, and this has led some of the English party to talk of throwing off the English yoke, and uniting Canada with the United States. It is probable that Great Britain has held Canada about as long as is possible—and perhaps quite as long as is profitable.
The Queen of Great Britain has, with her husband and children, attended by a numerous court, been visiting to Ireland and Scotland, and has been eminently successful in conciliating the people of these parts of her empire, and has done more to restore kind feelings and establish herself, than all the arms which she could have sent against the disaffected. She is at once popular and powerful, and sustains a bad system by her gentleness and her sterling worth.
It is to the glory of Great Britain that in all the disturbances in Europe of late, she has sought, by her intervention, to save the people from the consequences of a bloody war, and in all cases she has appeared as the friend of the weakest side, her mediation was not often accepted. In the case of the unhappy war between Prussia and Denmark, about the miserable affair of Schleswick Holstein, her offer was accepted, and peace was restored.
Denmark.We have little to say of this kingdom excepting that by her superior naval force she redeemed her credit, somewhat impaired by the success of the Prussians on the land; and the effective blockade induced her enemy to listen to the proposition of Great Britain to mediate. The result was the settlement of the difficulties about Schleswick Holstein.
Prussia.The attempt to create a federative government in Germany has not yet proved successful. Various plans have been proposed, and a constitution, not unlike that of the United States, was nearly adopted. But when the states which are to compose the federation have been so long entirely independent, and have exercised the privileges of complete sovereignty, they do not readily yield up their independence, and hence, after moving toward a union, they start off, alarmed at the chance of being lost sight of in the shadow of the larger states. The intention of forming a confederacy is still cherished, and may be realized. Prussia must, of course, have a leading voice in such a movement. But the power of the continental monarchs rests, and must continue to rest, upon the army, and consequently war, that weakens the nation, must, for a time, give strength to kings. But as the strength which is imparted to the human system by the use of opium, it will destroy in time what it was intended to support.
Austriahas had a sort of triumph; her arms have been successful in Italy, and, with the aid of Russia, she hasput down the rebellion in Hungary. Yet Austria is weaker now than before her triumphs, and is regarded with less favor, more hatred, more contempt than formerly. The necessity of changes in her government; the necessity of destroying her own rebellious cities; the necessity of applying to Russia for help, have taught that power to feel that it is not only vulnerable, but that it is perishable. And a few more such convulsions, even though Russia interfere, will dismember the Germans, and set free her injured dependencies.
Hungary.The brilliant effort of Hungary to cast off the yoke of Austria promised for a time to be gloriously successful. The character of Kossuth was so beautiful, his manners so conciliatory, his plans so wise, and his power with the army so complete, that the world was prepared to hail and welcome the old kingdom back to independence. Austria was defeated. Her armies were beaten, and therickety old tyranny appealed to Russia for help—to Russia, the last refuge of tyranny that exists. And Russia poured herrublesdown upon the plains of Hungary, and corrupted one of the generals that had been entrusted with power; and then she sent her herds of serfs and generals to receive the concessions which she hadpurchased. And so Hungary sinks back into a dependence upon Austria, liable at all times to be claimed and fleeced by Russia.
We had wished, we confess, that Hungary would have freed herself—but she must abide her time. Bem, Kossuth, and many other generals, with numerous companies of soldiery, escaped into the Turkish dominions, under a pledge of safety from the Sultan. But Russia, true to her principle of pursuing her offenders, demanded these unfortunate fugitives. The Sultan became alarmed, and asked the Hungarians to renounce their faith, and adopt Mohamedism, and then they would become citizens, and might not be claimed. Some assumed the turban, others refused. But it is probable that Russia will find occasion in these and other matters to make war on Turkey; if so, France and England must look to what they have called the balance of power in Europe.
It is worthy of remark, that while Russia is settling the disturbance in Hungary, the western principalities of Turkey seem to be uniting with Greece to assert some of the rights of man. We know not what will result—but it appears as if there was going forth a voice which is crying “war—warto tyranny and oppression!” Its denunciation may indeed serve to make the hand of power clutch more closely the neck of its victim, but the grasp must be spasmodic—strong, perhaps stronger than formerly, at least, the neck is growing more sensitive—but the grasp will be loosed, and the people will be allowed to go and form their own government and enjoy their own rights.
There have been few changes on this side of the Atlantic. The most important movements have been in California, where the tide of immigration attracted by gold and retained by a new feeling of civicism, has swollen into the materials for a new government. The opinion entertained at one time that the attempt to form a territorial government for California would embarrass the National Administration by giving rise to the question of the extent of slavery, by the application of what is called the “Wilmot proviso,” seems to have subsided by the project of inducing California to make application at once for admission into the Union as aState, of course the Wilmot proviso would have no operation on such an appeal.
No changes of consequence have occurred in South America. Improvement in the sciences, peace, and order will strengthen republican institutions, and republican feelings, and we may hope that prosperity and happiness will ere long be the lot of those whom Providence has placed in a Heavenly climate and on a most productive soil, but whose stimulated passions have made a hell of their country, and denied to the soil the produce which it might have brought forth.
Excepting the fearful prevalence of cholera in various parts of the country, theUnited Stateshave continued in the enjoyment of political, moral, and social blessings; and we may hope that Providence will continue to smile on the efforts of its patriots to sustain the institutions with which their country is blessed, and to make each citizen sensible of the vast advantages he enjoys over the subjects of foreign powers. And if God, who hitherto has poured out his choicest favors on our beloved land, should vouchsafe his blessings hereafter, we may see her wielding power for the good of mankind, and teaching other nations the true use of government. Not doubting but this will be the case, we think we see down the vista of time our country becoming the mild dictator to the world, and her peaceful government sheltering the injured from other lands and correcting the injurer. And while such a prospect is held out we may look, as the cause and consequence thereof, for peace and moral worth, and
From Darien to Davis one garden shall bloomWhen war’s wearied banners are furled,And the far-scented zephyr that wafts its perfumeShall silence the storms of the world.
From Darien to Davis one garden shall bloomWhen war’s wearied banners are furled,And the far-scented zephyr that wafts its perfumeShall silence the storms of the world.
From Darien to Davis one garden shall bloomWhen war’s wearied banners are furled,And the far-scented zephyr that wafts its perfumeShall silence the storms of the world.
From Darien to Davis one garden shall bloomWhen war’s wearied banners are furled,And the far-scented zephyr that wafts its perfumeShall silence the storms of the world.
From Darien to Davis one garden shall bloom
When war’s wearied banners are furled,
And the far-scented zephyr that wafts its perfume
Shall silence the storms of the world.
——
My dear Jeremy,—Have you ever taken a long-bill on the wing of a July morning? Not a note at eight months, flying in the market at a heavy discount—but a genuine long-bill, an old woodcock, springing up at your feet with whistling and whirring wings, and doing his uttermost to get out of the way, without waiting for the formality of invitation expended upon a certain Mr. Tucker? “You have not.” Well, I shall not attempt the task of teacher afterHerbert, but you can have no conception of the cool head and steady nerve required to do it well. To an old hand, with dog and gun, with a constitution inured by exercise, it is the glory of the world’s excitements, and as far above the lust of money-getting, as poetry is above note-shaving.
I took my tramp this summer, of three months, among the hills and marshes where this bird—which is a bore in one way only—loves most to congregate, and saw our old friend, “the iron pump” of copper notoriety looking as dry as his purchasers and quite as rusty. I could not resist the impulse to take a crack at him, at forty yards, with my double-barrel, as at an imaginary copper-head. The excavations looked like the ready-made graves of speculators, who somehow or other had not come there to be buried. The very faces of the rocks had been twisted into grimaces, and seemed with their yellow eyes to be grinning at one; so shouldering my gun, and whistling to give strength to an imaginary band playing
“Over the river to Charley,”
“Over the river to Charley,”
“Over the river to Charley,”
“Over the river to Charley,”
“Over the river to Charley,”
I went down into the valley, and took vengeance for bills long dishonored, upon bills that I honor long.
But, Jeremy, we cannot submit to the “vagabond propensity,” as the old farmers call it, of roaming with dog and gun over mountain and meadow, though the morning dew has made the air redolent of sweets, and from every bush and blade of grass nature has hung her pearls invitingly, and lit up, as with the blaze of a torch, the gum and maple trees; though the pure air and fresh water have given health to eye and cheek and vigor to the frame, we must away to the turbulent city, and within its pent up streets and among its crowded artisans and tradesmen wrestle for bread, and shutting out from the heart itsglimpses of heaven and repose in the country, grapple with toil, work on, and hope on! Yet with a sure and an abiding trust and faith.
With the opening of the New Year the periodical campaign brings thought and labor. What a world within itself is this business in Philadelphia alone—how stirring the competition—how diverse the interests—how various the success. The unparalleled rise in the business within one short year has been the result of diligent application. The publishers have most gloriously bought their own success, and have raised their works to such a point of beauty and excellence that money can go no further. The spirit of a just competition has urged each man to do his very uttermost to give his readers all that can by possibility be crowded, in the way of beauty and excellence, into his work. Every dollar received goes back in renewed outlay, in costly embellishments and articles. Nothing in Europe at twice their price can at all approach the illustrated American Monthlies in the beauty and costliness of their appointments. At the head ofallstands “Graham”—Proud—Imperious—Supreme. He has no long line of broken promises to come up in judgment against him, but for ten long years has steadily gone on increasing in the face of all opposition, until he now stands unapproachable and alone, among the highest class of literary monthlies in the land. There are others of a lighter class—successful—highly successful—but his is the proud honor of having lifted the tone of his literature, and the quality of his engravings, up to the highest European standard of excellence in all respects. There is yet another class, who deal in promises—and promises only—whose best numbers come up to the meanest promise only of their printed circulars, but who go on crowding promise upon failure to redeem, until the virtues of their acts are lost in the fog they raise—fortunately their works also. More than a score of such have we seen entombed—some we have helped to bury—but they come again, like the locust, annually, and swindling a few dupes out of their money, annually die. This is the class which does business altogether by
From this party, we shall no doubt be favored, with very extravagant-looking show-bills, and plenty of them—long bills drawn upon the credulity of people who fill an imaginary subscription list, and are very liberal in remittances, and whose wonderful sagacity in waiting until 1850, will be duly heralded, and in type announced. The existence of any periodical of the slightest pretension to elegance or ability, not having been heard of before, and only known among that benighted class, whose urgent literary tastes would not allow them to suffer and to wait.
Having seen our friends of “The Suction and Pumping Process” fairly in the field, let us survey the ground. On the whole, things look rather brilliant; a number of “new volumes with superb inducements,” are already announced, and with the usual cheering before starting, the entertainments for 1850 promise to be rich and various beyond parallel. Ingenuity, it seems, is not exhausted, nor are novelties entirely run out. What have we here?
One of the ladies’ magazines actually promises to “outstrip” all its cotemporaries! A novel sort of assertion, truly, for a genteel ladies’ magazine; yet a proceeding, one would think, that cannot be carried very far with any sort of propriety. The grace of modesty and the delicacy of its position alike forbid it. Such things, if really attempted, will drive the meeker and weaker brethren entirely from the contest. We may—but scarcely can—tolerate the prettylarge liberties which have been taken with the dresses of ladies elsewhere in engravings and fashion plates. Let it stop here. Give us models of art, even if they are a little nude; we can stand that—but this is touching on the province of the model artists; and as theeldermagazine, we cannot allow it—positively. Jeremy, if you have any influence with these people, stop this thing, I pray you.
Phew!—but whatisthis?
It appears that under cover of fire-works, with sky-rockets, blue-lights, shooting-stars, or something of that sort, we are to have a grand conflagration, perhaps immolation of fashionable and pretty women; for another ladies’ magazine, audaciously—in order to offset the other, we suppose—promises, “a blaze of beauty throughout the year!”
Heavens! “can these things be,And overcome us like a summer cloud,Without our special wonder.”
Heavens! “can these things be,And overcome us like a summer cloud,Without our special wonder.”
Heavens! “can these things be,And overcome us like a summer cloud,Without our special wonder.”
Heavens! “can these things be,And overcome us like a summer cloud,Without our special wonder.”
Heavens! “can these things be,
And overcome us like a summer cloud,
Without our special wonder.”
And this is actually put out in the bills, before a Christian country, in the nineteenth century, and the police look on, and are silent!
Ah! this comes home to “our hearts and our bussums.”What do we read? “Allthe distinguished writers and authors of this country and Europe are engaged.” The deuce they are? Oh Lord!—Our office then may be closed, during business hours hereafter, we suppose.
Overlooked, by George!—News! news! “The acknowledged Blackwood of America, 1850.” Now is that old vagabond coming back again, after having enjoyed our hospitalities for two seasons—’42 and ’43?
If Blackwood were to come in spirit shape, this I think would be his story, Jeremy:
“You see I was coming along, when a tall fellow, our old friend, cries, ‘How are you, Mr. Blackwood?’
“ ‘Come in here,’ says he, seizing my elbow, and in an instant I found myself deceived, swindled, jostled in among the wrong set. A parcel of puritanical looking dogs, sitting cheek by jowl, with long gowns, play actors, medical students, penny-a-liners, seedy old boys and silly school girls. I suppose they took me for a Mormon or a Shaker, or perhaps a clown, and dragged me in, to add to the novelty of the collection. But Scotch manners wouldn’t allow me to be rude, so I said, very politely, to the tall gentleman, ifthatis whisky-punch you have on the stove, I’ll take a tumbler of it. Heavens! you should have heard the yell that went up, and seen the horrible faces; so seeing the way the wind set, I gave one or two of them a knock over the skull with ebony—bestowed my parting benediction upon the whole company—ladies excepted—and came at once to head-quarters.”
Now, Jeremy, I don’t know what you may think of this business, but I say I have been silent long enough under various aggressions, and hereafter, I take the cudgel and trounce any son of a gun who poaches on my manor. Why do you know that people have the audacity to say that theirs is theoldestmagazine, when the Casket, which we bought, and on which Graham was based, started in 1826, and had its colored fashions and wood engravings printed on tinted paper long before any of them opened their eyes. The mezzotints I was the first to put to magazine use on a large scale; and Burton’s Magazine, which was incorporated with this, gave the first that Sartain ever did for a magazine of large circulation; and yet these young fellows, with the down yet upon their chins, affect the experience of years, and learnedly talk about teaching their grandfather how to snuff. I care nothing about this, but that it has gone far enough; and they will after a while begin to believe their own stories—a bit of self-deception that it is a pity they should be subjected to.
But, Jeremy, we live in a funny world, and even with our criminal code, and prison discipline, I fear me, the moral reformer has a vast work to do. The shades of right and wrong, as worked up in the woof of practical life, are not of colors which contrast very strongly. They form rather the figures of a kaleidoscope. Is there not a little gambling done, in the way of “specimens” in literature, as well as in “specimens” in copper? Do the samples shown as “inducements” always honestly represent the real article afterward put upon the purchaser? Oh! very nice, rigid and self-complacent moralist, “with good fat capon lined,” why are thy hands held up in such affected holy horror at thy brother, who has stumbled and fallen, “because he has done this thing;” when printed records of thy falsified pledges and assertions, fill the post-towns of the country, the Union over! The lie in type and upon record, is it less venal, because multiplied by thousands, than that by word, which palms upon the unsuspecting a sinking fancy stock! Let the canting, praying hypocrite, of all trades, go down into his own heart, and clear it of its “dead men’s bones, and all uncleanness,” before, with bastard honesty, he casts a stone at his most desperate brother.
Ah, Jeremy, is there not a thriving business done, by men professing to be respectable, by “The Suction and Pumping Process,” in most of the trades of life—even in the very honorable business of manufacturing and selling goods? Ay! in the thousand well dressed, painted living lies, that stare at you in the streets, and from behind counters, and impose upon the ignorant—is there no rascality? When goods are put upon the poor and ignorant hired girls at high prices—the remnants of shabby gentility—are the shopkeepers honest do you suppose? In the poisoned rum, that is sold forgood(God defend us!) and which sends destitution, misery, and crime into the hovels of the poor—is there no weight of damnation, past finding out? Is every marble palace, with steeds prancing at the door, the monument of a good man’s well spent life; has every stone and carvedniche been paid for by money honestly earned? Are the laces, and feathers, and gold and jewels, that flash upon us and glitter in the sun,all, always the well-earned rewards of honest and praiseworthy toil? Much of the money thus lavishly displayed, and on which an insolent pride fattens and corrupts, may it not be the legitimate reward of a sin that would taint the fingers of a thief? Hold up thy head, young brother, and keep thy heart pure; all is not lost! the courage to dare, the power and will to do are thine! Up! and against wrong and oppression of every shade, set thy face as a flint, and with conscious might and truth, press on! The world is before thee where to choose—it is thy battle-ground! Do nobly, and thou art man—meanly, a more creeping thing than a worm a upon whom every coward braggart will set his heel. Aye on! there is yet to come—thank God—a reckoning-day, of motives and of actions, when assumption shall be stript—deceit exposed—the hollow heart laid bare, and when the secret sin of pride and self-complacency, dragged from its hiding-place, shall be thrust, blazing into its face.
My dear Jeremy, there is a consolation in this—we shall see one of these times, every man’s motive for the acts he has committed revealed—whether it is only the poor devils cast down, forsaken, down-trodden and despised, that die in the ditch, who are damned; or whether he only is on his way to heaven—the sleek and lucky moralist who dozes over his wine—who thinks he can pave his way to heaven with ingots, however got, that shall be saved. That will be a sight worth seeing, Jeremy, for it will open the eyes of the Universe, and make all things even. We can afford to wait for even this, can we not? It will not be long.
G. R. G.