I have been keeping these anecdotes for you for some time, and should have sent them earlier; now—it seems almost cruel to laugh since the dark days in Virginia, or to write frivolous nonsense. Yet, I cannot work; andbefore these lines reach your readers (if they ever do) the sky will, I hope, be clear again, and the regrets I am tempted to utter would be as out of tune as the exultant predictions of a week ago seem now. Far away to the horizon stretch the golden fields of ripened grain; the abundant harvest is at hand: yet a little while ago we heard dismal laments of blighting rains and hostile insects; and many faithless ones ploughed up their verdant wheatfields in despair. May the harvest of a nation's victory come thus, teaching the incredulous faith in the right—but, ah! the lengthened struggle is what I dread, not the end—that cannot fail us.I wrote you a special, all-to-yourself letter, not long since, which I hope you will have answered before this comes to you. With a thousand kindly wishes, Ever your's—A. W. C.
I have been keeping these anecdotes for you for some time, and should have sent them earlier; now—it seems almost cruel to laugh since the dark days in Virginia, or to write frivolous nonsense. Yet, I cannot work; andbefore these lines reach your readers (if they ever do) the sky will, I hope, be clear again, and the regrets I am tempted to utter would be as out of tune as the exultant predictions of a week ago seem now. Far away to the horizon stretch the golden fields of ripened grain; the abundant harvest is at hand: yet a little while ago we heard dismal laments of blighting rains and hostile insects; and many faithless ones ploughed up their verdant wheatfields in despair. May the harvest of a nation's victory come thus, teaching the incredulous faith in the right—but, ah! the lengthened struggle is what I dread, not the end—that cannot fail us.
I wrote you a special, all-to-yourself letter, not long since, which I hope you will have answered before this comes to you. With a thousand kindly wishes, Ever your's—A. W. C.
Yet one page more. Am I not irrepressible? I send you a rhymed fancy. If it has any significance you will, I know, give it place; if not, not. I will be sincerely acquiescent.
I ride along the lonely sands,Where once we rode with clasping hands.The wild waves sob upon the beach,As mournful as love's parting speech.Those cruel waves, close-clasped they holdMy lost love, with his locks of gold.Here, while the wind blew from the south,He kissed me with his tender mouth.Oh, sun of hope, in dark eclipse!Oh, aching heart, and unkissed lips!On, on I ride, faster, in vain,I cannot hush the cry of painIn my sick soul. But, hark! how clearThat voice of voices fills my ear!'Why waitest thou beside the sea?Canst thou not die, and come to me?'Soul-king, I come! Alas! my needWas great. Press on, my faithful steed.Deep, deep into the sea I ride:There my love's hero waits his bride.The longing billows of the seaWith happy welcome smile to me.They touch my foot, they reach my knee:Darling! they draw me thus to thee.They kiss thy picture on my heart;Love of my life! no more we part.The rushing waters still my breath:Oh! have we dared to fear thee, Death?
Ebenezer Stibbsdied, near Lewisburg, O., a martyr to his country's cause, October 14th, 1862, in the seventy-first year of his age. His death was a violent one, though he fell not upon the field of strife; for many of the soldiers of our country have never been enrolled, never promoted, never praised for their gallantry, but, far away from the tented field, in their lonely homes, are going down to their graves without sound of drum or salute of musket, unnoticed and unknown.
And this brave old man was one of them. Residing for a number of years on a farm with his son, he had long been excused, on account of the infirmities of age, from active service on the farm, and even from the numerous little tasks about the house and barn involved in the care of the family and the stock. His son was drafted, and now, 'who shall look after things about the place?' 'Go,' said the brave old hero, 'and serve your country, and I'll attend to matters here.'
He set about the work in good heart, and seemed likely to succeed admirably; but one day, while pushing some hay over the edge of the mow, he lost his balance, plunged forward, falling a distance of some ten or twelve feet, and, striking his head on the hard threshing floor, was so stunned as to become entirely insensible. A member of the household soon after entered the barn and found him bleeding and helpless. Medical aid was immediately summoned, but he survived his injuries only a couple of hours, and died without speaking a word. When this dreadful war shall have ended, and tall white columns shall spring up like an alabaster forest all over the land, to commemorate the glories of the departed brave, let one, at least, of the noble shafts, without legend or inscription, stand as the representative of those who have fallen in obscurity, like the soldiers cut off in the forest, unnoticed and unknown.
A Buckeye correspondent sends us the following, which is too good to keep:
Some years agone, old Deacon S—— kept a corner grocery in the village of B——. Deacon S—— had a son, who officiated in said grocery. Deacon S—— professed to be very pious—so did Deacon S.'s son.
Whether the Deacon and his son were what they professed to be, I will leave the reader to judge from the following conversation, which took place between them, one Saturday night, just before closing the store:
'Jacob!'
'Sir?'
'Dit you charge Mr. T—— mit te ham?'
'Yes, father.'
'Vell, so dit I.'
A pause.
'Jacob!'
'Sir?'
'You had petter charge him again, so you won't forget him.'
'Yes, father.
Another pause.
'Jacob!'
'Sir?'
'Now you can water te vinegar, sand te sugar, and close te store, un den we vill haf family worship, un go ter ped!'
'Yes, father.'
'Law is,' to use the frequent phrase of a Gothamite contemporary, 'a cu'ros thing;' and not the least curious phase which it presents is the difference between what people say before juries and what theythink; as is fully illustrated in the following, byFrank Hackett:
'Gracchus,' as the town called him, was a broken-down lawyer, who, as he got old, had prostituted the talents of his early days to the meanest kind of pettifogging and rascality. Everybody did their best to keep out of his clutches, and his 'make up' was seedy enough; yet he managed to keep in court half a dozen 'cranky suits,' in which, to be sure, he figured as a party himself, on one side or the other. The circumstances of one of them, which have just come to our memory, are perhaps worth jotting down:
For some quarters,Gracchushad not paid any rent, and his landlord made repeated requests of him to move out. Even a promise to cancel all arrears would not make him stir. A writ of ejectment would have delighted this 'legal spider;' but Mr. R. knew 'when he was well off,' and refused to resort to that. ' My dear sir, youmustgo,' said he one day, annoyed at the fellow's obstinacy; 'I have a man coming in right away, who will pay me a good tenant's rent, and I am going to have the office repaired for him. So just make up your mind to quit this afternoon.'
As Mr. R. turned to go out, he examined the window nearest him, and poked his cane through the decayed sash and crumbling glass in two or three places, with the remark: 'A pretty condition this for a business man's office to be in!' Nobody was surprised to hear that evening that a suit had been brought against Mr. R. for damages in trespass.
Mr. R.'s counsel told him that the best thing he could do would be to go to trial as soon as possible, and if he got out of it with a small sum for damages and no further annoyance, he would be lucky.Gracchushad secured 'SquireSweetto argue the case to the jury—probably 'on shares.' To hearSweet'warm up' before the panel, you would have sworn that the 'palladium of justice' and the other 'fixtures' had their salvation staked on the success of his client. And if there was anything he thought himself competent to 'operate largely' on, it was a damage suit. On this occasion, the vivid picture he drew of an unwarrantable intrusion upon this aged and indefatigable servant of the public, the injury inflicted upon his 'valuable health,' and his generous conduct in contenting himself with the paltry sum of eighty dollars by way of damages, was to be set down as the 'Squire's best effort.
The jury went out just as the court was on the point of adjournment, and received orders to seal up their verdict for the morning. Each man had to 'chalk' what in his judgment was a sufficient sum for damages. They ranged all along in the neighborhood of three or four dollars, except one or two individuals, who had believed the whole of the plaintiff's complaint, and went in for something more than nominal damages. One in particular, who always swore bySweet, aimed so high that the average came above the $13.33 that was necessary to carry costs.
After they had determined upon a verdict, our high-priced friend, with one or two others, went around to the hotel to retire for the night. As they went in, the clerk of the court met them with a pack of cards in his hands, with which a party had just finished playing whist. 'It didn't take us half so long to agree on that case.Sweetand the rest of us marked around on that verdict, just before we finished the last game, and we made it out—two dollars and twenty-fivecents.' 'The d—— you did,' replied our astonished friend. 'Why, how much did 'SquireSweetmark, himself?' 'Uncommon high. He said he thought five dollars was about the fair thing.' 'Five dollars!' gasped the juryman; 'SquireSweetput down onlyfive dollars, when he went and told the jury that eighty dollars wasn't nothin' to it. Look a-here, can't I go back and change that figure of mine, afore the verdict comes in?'
It was decided pretty unanimously that—hecouldn't.
Our readers will recall the author of the following poem, as a writer who has more than once given us poems indicating much refinement of taste, based on sound old English scholarship:
No mortal yet e'er gained the golden crownWho did not in his search the cross upbear;For heaven he need entertain no careWho fears to sinfulness the Devil's frown,And lays, if once espoused, his burdens down,Because so many of his followers have no burden there.And thus it is so many are awrong;'Tis easier, they deem, the crown to gainWith limbs at will and shoulders free from pain,Than bearing this great burden still along:Besides, will not my brothers be amongThe crowned ere I, unless I free my loins again?Columbia doth seek the crown,—and soothNo nation of the earth deserves it more;But, ah! she is unwise as lands beforeIn hoping thus, what time she quits the Truth,And showing unto enemies more ruthThan even God doth show to us, weak worldlings sore.Where once against the heavens men rebelled,And forced the Prince of Peace to deadly war,Did not He spread a deluge deep and far,Not sweeping them alone, but all they held?When they His awful earnestness beheld,Were not they penitent, though vain, as bad sons are?And why should we but lighten through a spellThese murderous madmen in our country here,Their craziness to come or far or nearAnew, as more they learn of prompting hell?Must not we now theCAUSEforever quell,As Hercules did one time slay a source of fear?If Truth is mighty, 'tis not so alone;There's more availability in Error;That end's not gained that's gained alone With terror:The way of Right but leadeth to the crown;Who conquerperfectly, peace-seed have sown;Reform's remaining ill usurps at last the furrow.
A Correspondent, who is interested in education and not uninterested in humanity, sends us the followingbona fideadvertisement, specifying the qualifications and accomplishments expected from the lady teachers of a certain Western community:
'When employing a lady as teacher in our Public Schools, we desire, in addition to a thorough education, to secure the following qualifications;'1st. Ease of address, modest and attractive personal appearance, and habits of neatness and order.'2d. A uniformly kind and generous disposition, entire self-control, with unyielding perseverance and energy.'3d. A spirit of concession and adaptability, that will enable her to conform to the general rules and regulations of the schools, and to harmonize her plans and efforts with those of the other teachers.'4th. A moral and religious character, that will cause her to feel the full responsibility of her position, and make her guard with a watchful eye the habits and principles of the children under her charge.'5th. Such dignity of person and manners as will secure the deference of pupils, and the respect and confidence of parents. A freedom, both from girlish frivolities, and old-maidish crabbedness and prudery.'6th. Correct social habits, a well cultivated literary taste, and a mind richly stored with general information.'Applicants for places as teachers in our Public Schools will be examined in the following branches of study, or others, the study of which would furnish an equal amount of mental discipline: Arithmetic, Algebra, Geometry, Mensuration, Trigonometry, Mechanical Philosophy, Geography, Physiology, Zoology, Natural Philosophy, Meteorology, Botany, Chemistry, Geology, Astronomy, Orthography, Reading, Penmanship, English Grammar, History, Bookkeeping, Political Science, Moral Science, Mental Philosophy, Logic,Rhetoric, Evidence of Christianity, Elements of Criticism.
'When employing a lady as teacher in our Public Schools, we desire, in addition to a thorough education, to secure the following qualifications;
'1st. Ease of address, modest and attractive personal appearance, and habits of neatness and order.
'2d. A uniformly kind and generous disposition, entire self-control, with unyielding perseverance and energy.
'3d. A spirit of concession and adaptability, that will enable her to conform to the general rules and regulations of the schools, and to harmonize her plans and efforts with those of the other teachers.
'4th. A moral and religious character, that will cause her to feel the full responsibility of her position, and make her guard with a watchful eye the habits and principles of the children under her charge.
'5th. Such dignity of person and manners as will secure the deference of pupils, and the respect and confidence of parents. A freedom, both from girlish frivolities, and old-maidish crabbedness and prudery.
'6th. Correct social habits, a well cultivated literary taste, and a mind richly stored with general information.
'Applicants for places as teachers in our Public Schools will be examined in the following branches of study, or others, the study of which would furnish an equal amount of mental discipline: Arithmetic, Algebra, Geometry, Mensuration, Trigonometry, Mechanical Philosophy, Geography, Physiology, Zoology, Natural Philosophy, Meteorology, Botany, Chemistry, Geology, Astronomy, Orthography, Reading, Penmanship, English Grammar, History, Bookkeeping, Political Science, Moral Science, Mental Philosophy, Logic,Rhetoric, Evidence of Christianity, Elements of Criticism.
'Yours, Respectfully,—— ——'Sup't of Public Schools.'
'Where, oh,whereisshe?' Tell us, if you can, what worlds or what far regions hold this paragon of damsels.
'Where bides upon this earthly ballA maid who so embraceth all.'
And where does————,' Superintendent of Public Schools,' find these Perfections, or Maids of Munster?
It must be a wealthy community that, which expects to hire such teachers. And 'to begin with,' they must have 'an attractive personal appearance.' The rogue of a Superintendent!
'Physiology!' Reader, did you ever fairlymastereven a test book on the subject—say,John Dalton's—and acquire with it the anatomical knowledge essential to a merely superficial comprehension of the subject? Did you ever dissect any, and attend the usual lectures? The Young Lady in question must have done more than this.
'Political Science!'
'Chemistry!' That is rather a heavy draft, too. We have been closely under oldLeopold Gmélinin our time, and worked a winter or so hard at the test glasses, and had divers courses of lectures under divers eminent professors, and readLiebigandStöckhardtand others more or less—just enough to learn that tohonestly teachchemistry, even in the most elementary manner, months and years of additional work were requisite.
'Botany!' Botany is rather a large-sized object to acquire—even to become the merestamateur. A year's lectures from Dr.Torreyand some hard work overGrayandDe Candolleand the rest, are not enough even for this. It was but yesterday and to us that a gentleman whose special pleasure is botany, who has devoted thousands of dollars and years to the pursuit, ridiculed the suggestion that he was qualified to teach it.
'Zoology, Astronomy, Rhetoric, Meteorology, and—History!'
Don't be alarmed, reader. Very possibly the young lady in question will not betoostrictly examined in all these branches—- neither will she be required to impart more than the mildest possible of knowledge to her pupils. Very possibly, too, she will teach Chemistry—think of it, ye brethren of the retort!—without experiments!!For just such atrocious and ridiculous humbug have we known to be passed off on children, in 've-ry expensive' 'first-class' ladies' schools in Philadelphia and in New York, for instruction in Chemistry. The young brains were vexed and wearied day after day to acquire by vague description and byrotethe details of an almost purely experimental science.
And, 'a mindrichlystored with general information!'
It is a pity that magic is out of date. Something might be done for our Superintendent with the ghost of Hypatia!
Will our friends and readers during the approaching book-buying and holiday presenting times be so kind as to occasionally bear in mind the fact that 'Sunshine in Thought,' byCharles Godfrey Leland, has just been published? As the work in question, while publishing in a serial form, was very warmly and extensively praised by the press, and as high literary authority has declared that 'it presents many bold and original views, very clearly set forth,' we venture to hope that our commendation of it to the public will not seem amiss.—Edmund Kirke.
Our lady readers wanting a constant and most commendable companion for the work-basket, would do well to obtain the daintily boundLadies' Almanacfor 1863, issued byGeorge Coolidge, 17 Washington street, Boston, and sold byHenry Dexter, New York. It is an almanac; contains a blank memorandum for every day in the year, recipes, music, and light reading—and is altogether an excellent subject for a small and tasteful gift.
A Letter from a brave and jolly friend of ours, now i' the field, says, that during the Maryland battles,
'We bolted dinner almost at a single mouthful, with shot singing around us.Jimhad the knife knocked out of his hand by a bullet.'
TheContinentaldoes not wonder that the dinner in question was finished in one course. Under such very warlike circumstances, we hardly see how it could have been disposed of in the usual piece-meal manner.
Then she arose with solemn eyes,And, moving through the vocal dark,Sat down, with bitter, ceaseless sighs,The river tones to hark—Deep in the forest dark.Sick, sick she was of life and light—She longed for shadow and for death;And, by the river in the night,Thus to her thought gave breath—Her hungry wish for death:'Shall I not die, beloved, and freeMy weary, hopeless, breaking heart?Shall I not dare death, love,' said she,'And seek thee where thou art?Lifekeeps our souls apart!''So weak, my darling, couldst thou be?'A far voice stirred the pulseless air:'Thus vainly wouldst thou seek for me—My heaven thou couldst not share:Such death were love's despair!'Then through the long, lone night she prayed;At last, 'How weak my dream!' said she.'I'll meet the future unafraid;I will grow worthy thee—I will not flinch,' said she.'I will not leave both souls so lone:Where thou art, cowards cannot be;I will not wrong our love, mine own;At last I shall win thee.'I will be brave,' said she.Then she arose with patient eyes,And, turning, faced the incoming day.'There, love, the path to meet thee lies,'Said she; 'I went astray.But now I know the way.'
The following pleasant bit of gossip is from our 'Down-East correspondent:'
As I sit down to cover a few slips of paper with a thought or two (spreading it thin, is it?) for the readers of'Old Con.,'—
By the way—a delicious phrase that same 'by the way,' that lets a man turn in from the dusty road a brief while and enjoy a 'rare ripe' or a juicy 'south side'—you ask me, in a genial note, Mr. Editor, what I think of 'Old Con' as the 'family nickname.' Capital! The only objection in the world that I have is, that it reminds me of 'Old Conn,' the policeman, who used to loom up around corners with his big, ugly features, to the terror of the small boys, when I was 'of that ilk.' These huge, overgrown, slow hulks almost always 'pick on' the boys; the real hard work of the force is done by your small, wiry fellows, who step around lively, and don't stop to see whether a man is 'bigger nor they.' Old Conn, though, was a pretty good-hearted man after all, despite unpopularity among the juveniles; and so I say, let us christen the youngster 'Old Con,' by all means—old in the affections of a host of friends, if not in years.
Butrevenons à nous moutons, as the scribblers say, whosemoutonwe dare say is less often 'material' than we could wish it were.
As I set about penning a rambling thought, then, and—
En passant, did you never notice how a tendency to ramble will sometimes almost completely control a man? A candidate for Congress, for instance, comes round to your town to talk to you 'like a fa-ther'about what? To tell you that he has made all his arrangements to go to Washington? and could go just as well as not if you would like to have him? and that, on the whole, he wants to go awfully? No, indeed; nine cases out of ten the poor fellow forgetshimself, and wanders off into the 'glorious Constitution as our fathers framed it,' and the 'eternal principles,' ' sacrifices' that one's constituency require, and a full assortment of such phrase. Just as some of the speakers, at the 'war meetings' this summer, get up a full head of patriotic steam, and in the excitement of the moment 'don't remember' all about mentioning that they are going themselves. Inclined to ramble!
But this wasn't what I meant to observe at the outset. Let us change the subject, as they say at the medical college.
What I was about to remark originally was—and I don't know as it is original, either. The fact is, there is very little now-a-days that is strictly original—except war-correspondence, and of course nobody but old maids readsthat. There is a fellow who writes for the 'Daily——,' and signs himself 'Wabash.' Well, what of it? Nothing; only some people think it ought to be spelt, 'War bosh.'
As I was saying: As I sit down to cover a few slips—it seems to me that I have already filled out one slip of the paper; and, by the by, that reminds me of a bright thing that Ben Zoleen,[5]a bachelor friend of mine, allowedhimself to be the father of, the other day. Ben likes to 'take something,' and about a month ago he took the 'enrolment.' An Irishman, after laying claim to the usual disability—lameness somewhere, and besides 'he was all the man that his wife Joanna had to work for the family'—swore that all the property he had in the world was a big porker, andhehad broken out and run away 'the divil knows where,' the day before. 'Well, Mike,' said Ben, with a sympathizing tear, 'yours is not the first fortune that's been lost in this country by a mereslip of the pen' Whist! d'ye hearthat?
The thought that first presented itself was the inquiry whether a man—
'Not that man, but another man,' interrupted me just then by coming into the office and communicating the startling, yet not entirely unexpected intelligence that 'they had begun to draft here in P.' 'No,' said I. 'Yes,' said he, going out in a hurry; 'up at the brewery.'
-Whether a man ought to write anything else than a love letter, in the frame of mind that Voltaire saidthatdocument should be composed in: 'Beginning without knowing what you are going to say, and ending without knowing a word of what you have said.'
What do you think about it? I think so, decidedly.
Hibbles.
We have heard of many an instance where the expression was not that exactly of the idea that was intended; but in the following 'the idea, the expression,' and everything else, are about as thoroughly mixed up as one could well conceive. We were questioning a young lady as to the standing of a clergyman in the town where she lived. 'Oh,' said she, 'he is too popular to be liked very much.' Identical! A favorite, we are told, 'has no friends;' when a poor fellow gets to be popular in the town of C——, we pity him.
Dick Wolcott, of the Tenth Illinois—which has seen no little service since the war began—hath written unto us a letter, from which we pick out the following. A great gossip is this same Dickon of ours, and a rare good fellow:
'We have in our company a number of Germans—brave and 'bully' soldiers all who know better how to handle the arms than the tongue of the land of their adoption; and their staggers at the language furnish us much amusement. I know that they are sensitive on the subject, and ought not to be laughed at; but as they probably will not see this, or if they do, will have forgotten the circumstance, I offer for the 'gossip' the following fair specimen. On the day we crossed the Mississippi and captured the rebels, who had adopted the skedaddling policy of the Fleet-Footed Villain Floyd, we were drawn up in line of battle three times, and three times ye rebs right-faced and 'moseyed.' The last time it was just at dusk, and we were standing in the edge of an opening, expecting to be opened upon by artillery from the other side, which it was too dark for us to see distinctly. As we were not fired upon, a party was sent forward to reconnoitre, and returned with the intelligence that they had again evacuated. On learning this, one of our fellows, brief in stature, but of prodigious red beard, spluttered through his moustache: 'Der tam successionish! dey left vorun-parts known! Donner-wetter!!'
Here is another ofDick's, which dates from the days 'before Corinth'—for he was one of those to whom it waslicet adire Corinthum:
'Let me tell you a 'goak' that General Pope got off on us, and which we take as quite a compliment. Our colonel commanding brigade asked permission to take two days' rations, as we were going out to 'clean out' a rebel force that was in a swamp, keeping our men from repairing the road and building a bridge for the passage of artillery, and he didn't know how long we would have to be gone. 'My God! Colonel,' said General Pope, 'when you take one day's rations, you are gone four. If I let you take two, I wouldn't see you again this side of Memphis.'
We are indebted to a brother of the press for the following jotting down:
Our magazine contemporaries, who appear like Neptune among the Tritons,i. e., with the Sea Sons, are sometimes funnily miscomprehended. Thus, the publishers of the MethodistQuarterly Reviewsay that a brother writes to them complaining that he hasnot received the February, March, and May numbers of the Review!
About as touching was the complaint of another 'Constant Reader,' who wrote to the editor of similar quadrennial, complaining that, although it was a quarterly review, the agent made him pay a half a dollar for it!
Do you, excellent and all remembering reader, recall an article in our August number entitled, 'Friends of the Future'? One of those 'friends' comes afterward in these quaint lines:
Winning, witty, wicked, and wise,Aje ne sais quoiabout thee lies,Charming the cold, cheering the sad,Giving gaiety to the glad;Brilliant, brave, bewitchingly bright,Playful, pranksome, proudly polite;Softly sarcastic, shyly severe,Falsely frank, which fascinates fear!Not handsome—no hero 'half divine,'Features not faultless, fair, and fine;With raven locks, O! 'Rufus the Red,'I can't in conscience cover thy head;Nor shall I stoop to falsehood mean,And swear thine eyes are not sea-green:Discard deceit in thy defence,Secure in wit—a man of sense,So gracefully kind in look and tone,I think his thoughts are all my own!Ah! false as fickle—well I knowTo scorn the words that charm me so.Still do I catch the golden bait,Admiring—where I thought to hate!
'Bien-c'est gentil, ca!' as Jullien used to say at the concerts of his own performers. Still do we opine that 'Rufus' has been well hit off, and should be grateful for his place among those to come.
Yet another correspondent. This one discourseth of the little ones:
Glendale, Wis.,Sept. 16th, 1862.
Dear Continental: We rejoice, most of the time, in a house pet, a human puppet, a domestic toy, in the shape of 'Donny.' Would you ever believe that that name had been originallyCharles, and passed, by the subtle alchemy of nicknames, to its present form?
Donnylately donned for the first time his first suit of jacket and trousers.
No one was in the house save the half-blind nurse who put them on. And poorDonnywished so much to be admired! 'All dressed up and nobody to see.'
An idea struck him. He 'paddled off' for the hennery. I was behind the bushes and noted him. Walking in a great state before a party of hens, he cried aloud:
'Look at me, chickens!'
I should possibly have forgotten this domestic legend, but that it was recalled yesterday by the fact that our CousinJoemade a good application of it. There is a very well-educated and very able young theological friend of ours, who has this one weakness—when he has read a book, or taken in a new idea of any kind, he can get no rest until he has fully reproduced it in a 'bold-face, full-display, double-lead' sort of manner to somebody else. Show it off he must, and exhibit himself at the same time. His last acquisition was a mass of entomology—he having had by some means access to a copy of 'Harris on Insects Injurious to Vegetation; and this he reproduced liberally, during an entire evening, to half a dozen undeveloped intellects of tender age. How the words came out—how hedidgive them the Latin!
'What did you think of him?' I inquired ofJoe.
'Look at me, chickens!' was the reply. I saw the point—wonder if I shan't see its application frequently ere I have 'wound up my worsted,' and shovelled up the mortal coal of this life.
There are a great many men, dearContinental, who quite unwittingly are ever crying aloud, 'Look at me, chickens.' After all, 'tis only the old fable of the lion cubasinized.
Thine ever,Chickens.
Our Chicago friend, J.M., will accept our thanks for his favor. Chicago is a warm friend to our Magazine.
Editor of Continental:
Dear Sir,—Occasionally a 'good thing' comes up to illustrate this wicked rebellion, which all patriots are striving to put down, in our once happy land. When the news of the taking of New Orleans reached our city, a friend meeting on the street another, who, like our worthy President, is fond of a good story, spake as follows:
'Wonder what Jeff. Davis will think now?'
'It reminds me of a little story,' was the answer.
'Fire away then.'
'When Ethan Allen was a prisoner of war in London, a party of wags, who had made his acquaintance, and who were pleased with his drolleries, and who were in the habit of giving him dinners for the pleasure of his company, discovered in him a marvellous great fondness for pickles. On this platform they procured some East India peppers—which are about as hot as live hickory coals—and placed them in front of his seat at table, in as tempting a position as possible: which done, they sat down to dinner. While the first course was being served, Allen could not restrain his love for the article; and very quietly transferred one of them from the plate to his mouth, giving it a quick pressure of the jaws for the purpose of hastily disposing of it; when, lo and behold! instead of the luscious vegetable he so much enjoyed, he found he had taken into his capacious mouth something about as hot and burning as fire itself. To relieve his agony, he applied his hand to his mouth, at the same time using his napkin to remove the tears and perspiration, and also conceal the contractions of his face, when, hastily casting a glance around the table, he at once discovered the point of the joke in the countenances of those around him. Summoning all his coolness for the instant, he very deliberately deposited the 'pesky' thing in his hand, and then returned it to the plate with all the gravity he could command, remarking at the same time, 'With your permission, gentlemen, I will putthatd—d thing back!'
Whether Jeff. Davis and his satellites would not like to perform the same operation with their pet dogma, Secession, I leave for your readers to decide; remarking that, in my own opinion, they would sleep better if they were back again, as in 1860. Prisons and halters are not pleasant to reflect on and anticipate, particularly when they are remarkably well deserved, as they are.
OldEthan Allen! Would he were alive again! Oh, for one hour of thatDundee! Well, the time will answer its own needs, and this war will not pass by without its man of iron. He cometh! Who is he to be?George McClellan, you have it in you!
Put on steam, and win us the great victory of all time!
Should any man ever collect into a volume all the stories told of the great American showman, we trust that he will not omit the following:
Barnum sat in his office. It was a warm summer afternoon, but the B was busy, as usual. He had before him a plan for exhibiting the great Guyascutus on improved principles, a letter from a man who owned a wife with three arms (to be had cheap), and another from the fortunate proprietor of the great Singing Pig. An offer or petition from the great 'ex' J—— s B—— n to lecture cheaply had been considered and rejected.
'He's played out!' was the brief reflection of Barnum. As he said this the door opened, and there entered a manifest German, who bore a covered cage.
'Vat you bedinks ofdat!exclaimed the Deutscher, removing the cloth.
It was a beautiful bird; of perfect pigeon shape, but of an exquisite golden yellow lustre, such as no fowl which Mr. Barnum had ever seen—and his ornithological observations had not been limited—ever wore.
'I sells her dretful cheap,' remarked the bearer, 'verfluchtcheap. I gifs him to you for 'pout den or sieben thaler.'
'H'm—no—don't want it,' replied Barnum.
'Den I goes down mit mine brice to five thaler and dere I stops.'
'No—got birds enough,' said Barnum. 'They don't pay. Now, if it was the great Japanese earthworm, a yard long—'
'Goot py. I sorry you no pys it. I dinks I colored her foost rate.'
'Ha!—what!—HOW!' cried Barnum, deeply interested; 'artificially colored! Good!I must havethat!'
The German smiled a heavy, beery, winky, Limburgy smile, with both eyes shut tightly.
'Yas, I golors de bichin yellows unt creen and plue unt all sorts golors. Only five thalers der piece.'
'Do you think,' said Mr. Barnum, 'that you could prepare a great Patriotic National Lusus Naturæ, recently found perching on Independence Hall, Philadelphia—or hold—that's better—Mount Vernon? Could you color an eagle, with red stars on his breast,and blue and white stripes running down big tail?'
The Dutchman thought he could, if the eagle's bill were tied, and his claws each stuck into a cork.
'Well, try your hand at it. But hold—go up stairs and put the pigeon into the Happy Family.'
The Dutchman stumped away. In about ten minutes Mr. Feathers, the ornithologist of the Museum, came rushing down, in a wild state of fluttering excitement.
'GoodGod, Mr. Barnum, you're not going to putthatbird into the Happy Family!'
'Why not?' inquired Mr. Barnum, serenely.
'Why—it is the greatest curiosity you own. Heavens! aYELLOWpigeon! Sir, it is an anomaly—an undiscovered rarity—a—a—why, sir, it's anincredibility! I say, to my shame, I never heard of it. From Australia, I presume? There are some undiscovered marvels still left in that queer country.'
'No; it's the California golden pigeon.' ('That will take very well,' quoth Barnum to himself.)
So the pigeon went up to the Happy Family, and entered cordially into the innocent amusements of that blessed band. He sat on the cat's head, and on the dog's back, and suffered the mice to nestle under his wings, and never made them afraid. As for the owl, she fairly made love to him.
Time rolled on.
There came to New York ' a great old boy,' in the person of California Grizzly Bear Adams. 'Old Adams' he liked to be called, though he wasn't very aged. He was 'one of 'em.'
'See here, Barnum,' quoth he one day, in his rough voice; 'you've got a bird in your show which I've got to have. It's the Californy golden pigin. It's a sort o' mine anyhow—mine's a show of Californy critters, and nothing else.'
'You can't havethat, Adams,' said Mr. Barnum. ' That's the greatest curiosity in the known world. Nothing like it—unique.'
'Sha—a—aw!' was the reply. 'Stuff! Don't run more o' that con-tusive stuff on me.Rare!!here he winked; 'why, I've seen them yallar pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock, up round Los Angeles and Cabeza del Diablo, and them places. The miners find where the gold is, by 'em.'
'Why didn't you bring some on with you?' inquired Barnum.
'Fact was, they were so everlastin' common that it didn't seem to me they were worth bringin'. Why, you can git a dozen of 'em any day in 'Frisco.'
With much feigned reluctance Barnum yielded his pigeon up to the California show, and all went well—for a time.
Perhaps two weeks had elapsed, when Old Adams burst into the office, excited.
'Barnum!' he cried, 'you infarnal old humbug—that California golden pigin is a darned swindle! It's painted!'
'Why, how you talk!' replied Barnum. 'Humbug, indeed! Haven't you seen golden pigeons, three and four hundred in a flock, in California?'
'It's painted and gilded, I tell you!' cried Adams. 'The color is all coming off the edges of the wings, and its tail is 'most rubbed white!'
'The idea!' replied Barnum, mildly, but with a droll, merry light in his eyes. 'You know you can send out to the San Francisco market any day and get a dozen!'
That is the legend of Ye Golden Pigeon. No—hold on; it is told in the Museum that one day a lady charged Mr. Barnum with having had his Angel Fish artificially colored.
'Indigo,' she remarked.
But the golden pigeon captivated her, and she implored Mr. B. for one of its eggs. He evaded the request on the ground that the 'sect' to which the pigeon belonged was not of the egg-laying kind.
So we should think. Apropos of the Angel Fish, theContinentalheard a lady remark lately that they were well named, and lovely enough to have been caught in the ponds of paradise. 'They certainly must be the kind,' she added, 'which they fish for with golden hooks.'
And ah! the merry summer-tide!' as a Minnisinger and many another singer have sung. As we write, summer is losing its last traces in the peach-time of September. Bartlett pears are dead ripe—like the engagements formed at Newport and Saratoga—and china-asters and tuberoses tell of coming frosts. Well, 'tis over—the second season of the year is with the snows of year before last.
'Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan!'
and we may continue the service by singing a
LAMENT FOR SUMMER
BY J. W. LEEDS.
Like an argosy deep ladenWith the wealth of Indian sands,Sailing down a summer oceanTo far-off Northern lands,—Like a golden-visioned story—Like the hectic's bright decay,Dying in the painted gloryOf the autumn sere and hoary,Fade the summer days away.
Persons who insist that 'after all, the Rebels are slandered as to waging warfare in a barbarous manner,' will do well to cast their eyes over the following from the RichmondDispatchof September 24:
"The Yankees are about to send their army captured at Harper's Ferry against the Indians. Has the Government no means of retaliating for such a breach of faith?'
'A breach of faith!' So, then, we are to understand that the latest uprising of the Indians, as well as that led by that brutal Falstaff,Albert Pike, the Southwest, are all in the service of the Confederacy? For where is there a breach of faith unless the Indians in question are the allies of our Southern foes? This is, we presume, a part of 'the defensive policy of exhausting in detail the superior numbers of the invading North,' which has been proposed as forming a portion of the Confederate policy—other items of which consist of killing prisoners by neglect, and having torpedoes and mines in abandoned villages. We commend this admission of alliance with savages to the special consideration of the LondonTimes.
We observe that a new planet has been discovered at Bilk, in Germany. Well, we have no doubt of the fact, but we don't like the name of the place where they found it. A Bilk planet is extremely suggestive of a Moon hoax. And, talking of hoaxes, has anybody with a sharp stick been as yet deputed by the government to look after the man who gets up proposals of peace for the PhiladelphiaInquirer? Ancient friend of ours, such yarns (unintentionally) do harm. They are reprinted in Dixie, and the Dixians say that we are frightened, while Northern doughfaces grasp at them, and get to thinking. ExcellentInquirer! this is not a good time to set people to thinking over peace proposals and compromises.
Does our friend know, by the way, what sort of fowl are hatched from mares' nests'? They arecanards. Don't let there be too many of them hatched in serious times like these.
A lady friend, who has brothers in the war, has kindly suggested that, in these days of patriotism, the songs of the Revolution should have more than usual zest, and has kindly copied for us a number, from which we select the following:
TO THE LADIES.[Published in the BostonNews Letter, in 1769.]Young ladies in town, and those who live 'round,Let a friend at this season advise you,Since money's so scarce, and times growing worse,Strange things may soon hap to surprise you:First, then, throw aside your top-knots of pride,Wear none but your own country linen;Of economy boast, let your pride be the mostTo show clothes of your own make and spinning;This do without fear, and to all you'll appearFair, charming, true, lovely and clever;Though the times remain darkish, young men may be sparkish,And love you much stronger than ever,
Well!thatsong is as good now as ever it was; and the next is not far off from it:
WAR SONG.—1776.Hark, hark! the sound of war is heard,And we must all attend,Take up our arms, and go with speed,Our country to defend.Husbands must leave their loving wives,And sprightly youths attend,Leave their sweethearts and risk their lives,Their country to defend.May they be heroes in the field,Have heroes' fame in store;We pray the Lord to be their shield,Where thundering cannons roar.