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While some fashioned lutes of the strings of movement is certainly strongly to be ad

the vine

And all most tunefully made repine.

Apart from the rest, a heedless throng Wandered there, empty of even a song, Round an amphora's wealth of golden creams,

vocated:

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MORRIS ISLAND, S. C., Sept. 18th, 1863,
Camp of the 104th Penn. Vols.

LAST night a friend, in answer to the oftrepeated inquiry, 'Any thing to read?' handed me a copy of the KNICKERBOCKER. 'It's rather old,' he said, 'but it's better than

Like travellers through a land of dreams; And some low sighed, while they hardly ate Crispy tid-bits of the rarest cate; Still others there were, but they staid in the nothing-January, 1862.' We were at that air, date near Washington, comfortably housed,

Not deigning, I suppose, to alight down and doing but little duty. Since, however, there;

An azure-faint areole starred their bellies; For they fed on the hues of crimson jellies. Fickle as wind these people be,

Yet over them all with a wand rules he
Who is known as the Monarch of Fantasie.

Nothing comes here, but it comes by surprise
To quicken your ears or to greaten your eyes,
And nothing you hear and nothing you see,
But is wrought by a potent alchemy.
Here an extravagant beam of the sun
Will turn the leaves into birds, every one;
And oh! such a forest of chirping and chir-
ring,

Peeping and cheeping, who ever heard! When suddenly, some little breeze is stirring,

And a beautiful bell becomes every bird:
Like a weird and a spell the silvery tinkling
Startles the ouphe and the elfin fay,
Till they scamper, like mad, down the inter-
vale, sprinkling

Old thefts of roses all over the way:
Then the mermen come out from their deep
mossy wells, .
Bespangled with dews and dripping with
foam,

And lock up the music in rosy-lipped shells, And hie them away to their sea-forest home.

Such are the sounds that you oftenest hear, When the days are calm, and the nights are clear,

And such are the sights that you oftenest see
In the magical realm of Fantasie:
And if ever a country prosper me,
May Fantasie that country be!

THE following letter, written in a true soldierly spirit by one who has evidently the interest of his fellows at heart, deserves a place in the 'Table,' as calling attention to the great want of good reading matter in the army. We understand that, in some brigades, arrangements are being made to form libraries, and the

the long agony of the Peninsula campaign and the still unended siege of Charleston have wasted us away. Just now we are reposing, after our terrible toils, in front of Wagner. For more than two months, mind and body have been on the strain, and now that the rebel stronghold is in our possession, and we have Morris Island secure, we have time to read, but lack good books. True, we can buy what I call 'yaller kivers,' at exorbitant prices, but then I have been through too much actual war myself to swallow the wonderful escapes of the heroes, and I really never saw such beautiful ladies as they describe 'running around loose.' We know that the hero who 'shuts up the eye' of the secesh sentinel, and passes the enemy's lines without the countersign, seats himself at the Council of War, at General Magruder's headquarters, and after drinking to the 'Stars and Stripes' in old Wise's best whiskey, blows out the lights, knocks over a dozen infuriated Confederate officers, seizes the plans and papers of the General in one hand, and the fair Juliette' in the other, walks unmolested right into the Federal camp, and is made a colonel by the Generalin-Chief, and a happy husband by the regimental chaplain, does n't belong to any regiment that we know of. In fact, as the men say, 'it's all gas.' On the other hand, who wants to read tracts? They were dry, I always thought, when at Sunday-school; and how can it be expected that men, who have just come in from grand guard or picket, where, for twenty-four hours, they have been dodging Confederate shells, and trying to get a 'pop' at a gunner or sharp-shooter in Wagner, will take an interest in the adventures of 'Little Willie,' or any thing of the kind. I know that true wisdom would coungel us to be 'as little children.' But I take it in innocence and trustfulness, not in childish talk or want of knowledge of the world.

Why not send the men what they will read, and what may improve them. Granting that these tracts are the best things for them to read, the fact still remains that they won't read them; then why not send them what they will read, even though it be not quite so good for them? There can be much sent them that will interest them more than this endless string of silly novelettes that now constitute so great a portion of camp literature. Mr. Editor, I feel sure that you will say a word or two on this subject. The Sanitary and Christian Commissions are not humbugs. No. We soldiers know better than that. For many comforts for our sick and wounded, the soldiers of the Federal army are grateful to those who have so long and so faithfully carried on that good work. But for those who are well in body, or at least not sick enough to quit duty, there is a craving for something to read.' There is no necessity to make rules and multiply officers to take charge of any books that might be contributed. The soldiers will see that every book, paper, and magazine travels with all convenient speed from reader to reader. All the books in camp are general property. Men go from tent to tent with the question, 'Any thing to read?' and when a man finishes a book he starts out to exchange it with some comrade who has not read it, but who may have one to give for it. I was fortunate enough to get a copy of the KNICKERBOCKER' for September. I hurried through it, but, before I had read it, it was engaged to three in succession; the third is now reading it, and has no doubt engaged it to a fourth. Of course, I don't expect to get it back. It will travel from hand to hand till worn out. And I am sure I don't regret it. Who could, looking at the satisfaction it is giving? I was very glad to see the face of my old friend in the knee-breeches, and read its contents with much thankfulness. That letter from 'Guy' struck me forcibly. Where is 'GUY' now? Perhaps in a soldier's grave. I hope not. I would like to know that he had risen to 'honor and profit.' Many who have not a tithe of the intelligence that he displays are nowy sporting stars and eagles. But we won't complain. We did not come out for profit, and so we can see the 'good fat offices' given to those who have nothing else to look for. They would have nothing to fight for if they

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did n't get these 'paying positions.' Thank GOD, there are men who are what I suppose GUY to be, and can feel repaid for toil and danger by the success which seems at last to be about to crown our labors. I beg your pardon for thus intruding on you, but we soldiers get used to asking for what we want, and I want KNICK' to use his influence to have any quantity of old books and maga zines sent to this desolate sand-bar for the use of our war-worn soldiers. They deserve any kindness that the folks at home' can extend to them. They have toiled hard, and battled bravely with flies, fleas, mosquitoes, bad water, and a brave but bitter and cruel enemy.

There is nothing in this letter that requires my true name, and I feel a dislike to make myself personally responsible for this intrusion. Please consider it written by a soldier unknown to fame, but devoted to his country and his fellow-soldiers.

NEMO.

'MART MERWIN' sends the 'Table' a couple of anecdotes, the second of which may possibly remind some of our New-England friends of incidents in their own experience of 'delegates.'

'DEAR KNICK: As you honored my recent contributions with a publication in your pages, I have decided to send you a few more items, hoping they may prove equally acceptable.

"Thinking it would be of interest to your readers to know something about the oldest printer in New-England, I will now say a few words about

Captain Jones.

'EVERY BODY in Providence, connected with newspapers or printing-offices, knows Captain JOSIAH JONES. He is one of the fathers of typography in Rhode Island. He served an apprenticeship under JOHN CARTER, who learned the trade of BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. Fifty-five years ago, he, in company with the late BENNETT H. WHEELER, published the Providence Patriot and Columbian Phenix, the organ of the Government during the war of 1812. Though he is now nearly eighty years of age, he is quite hale and active, daily spending from six to eight hours at the 'case,' and 'gets up' four or five columns of 'solid long

primer' per week, making but a very few errors. We defy New-York, or any other State, to beat this. He is employed in the book and job printing establishment connected with the Providence Journal,

'Captain JONES is fond of a joke, and never lets an opportunity to crack one pass unheeded.

'A short time since, as he was recounting some of the events of his life, I said to him: "Captain JONES, I wish you would furnish me with a sketch of your life, so that I might have it published for the interest of the craft, when you leave us.'

"Oh!' he replied, with a laugh peculiar to himself, I have already, at different times, furnished three quite young literary men with the minutes of my life; and they have all subsequently, one after another, died, leaving my memoir unfinished among their literary effects.'

Then I beg to be excused from being your biographer,' I added, for I do not desire to share their fate, and add a fourth to the list.' '

'He was a correct student of the philosophy of human nature who wrote, 'Beggars should n't be choosers,' and I know of nothing that will excite the 'old ADAM' in us quicker than the manifestation of a spirit of over-fastidiousness by one who is seeking a favor. Even clergy men, who are generally very even-tempered people, some times meet with experiences in this respect that lead them to positions where 'forbearance ceases to be a virtue,' and they speak

out. I know of one who was thus unfortunately tried by

A Fastidious Guest.

'It is well known throughout the country that all the Baptist churches in a certain district are organized into an Association, which alternately holds its annual meetings with the different societies comprised in the - body. To these annual meetings the several churches send delegates from among their members, who, in convention, do the business of the Association. The sessions are usually held through two days, and the delegates are received as the guests of the parishioners, and a committee is appointed to assign places of entertainment to all strangers. The Warren Association of Rhode Island held a recent anniversary

with a church in Newport. At the close of the first morning session, all persons from abroad, not provided with places for board and lodging, were requested to come forward, and the committee would attend to their wants. An elderly gentleman, accompanied by two ladies, presented himself with the crowd of strangers. The Rev. Mr. M――, pastor of the church, and chairman of the committee, was assigning place after place, as fast as he could write the cards. The old gentleman waited a few minutes, and receiving no other notice than a question as to how many he had with him, remarked in a deliberating tone:

Well, I guess I will not wait - I'll try and find some boarding-house.'

Oh! don't be in a hurry, friend,' replied Parson M. 'It will soon be your turn.'

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The old gent received his card with a frigid bow and an unrelaxed countenance, and departed.

'At the close of the afternoon session, the fastidious guest again presented himself to the committee, saying:

Can't you give me another place? I don't like the one you assigned me—it is too far off. Give me one nearer the church if you can.'

Well, you just take a seat, and we'll see if we can accommodate you,' replied Parson M

'The committee seemed to have fully as much to do as at noon, and five minutes quickly passed away, and our impatient friend still sat there, anxiously waiting for his turn.

There is no use of my waiting longer,' he said, rising; 'I think I had better try to find some boarding-house near the church.' "I think so too!' replied Parson M

in a tone that showed his patience was fully exhausted.'

THE 'confidence game' appears to be played down in Dixie on unsuspecting Southerners sometimes. Witness the following piece of sharp practice. The best we can say of it is that it was certainly a witty way of getting a horse:

'ON the approach of General BANKS's forces to New-Market, up the Shenandoah Valley, in April, 1862, the 'dwellers thereabouts' secreted all of their best horses and cattle back near the mountains, to prevent their falling into the hands of our army. The writer, who then commanded a six-gun battery under BANKS, was authorized to search the mountains and capture and appropriate to the use of his battery all the horses he could find there secreted. It was a very stormy day when he and a number of his men, all clad in full suits of India-rubber, started on their mission. By the middle of the afternoon we had captured twelve fine horses, when we halted at the house of a very strong Union family,' whose male member had been conscripted into the rebel army,' where he held a commission of Major. As a proof of their devotion to the Union, (as they said, but, as we subsequently learned, rather to gratify a personal pique,) they readily informed us that a rich old rebel who lived just round a spur of the mountain had a splendid horse, and they would be so glad if we would take him. But our authority only extended to the capture of horses secreted in the mountains or engaged in the service of the enemy. At this juncture a young fellow by the name of HENRY DUFFEE, noted in the battery for his ingenious pranks, asked permission to call upon the old secesh' for a few minutes, which request being granted, as we were resting our jaded animals, he started off up the mountain on foot, completely enveloped in his India-rubber over-cloths, intending to descend in rear of the old fellow's house, as he subsequently informed me, On arriving within sight of the house, he commenced running, and ran as fast as he could, and withthe slightest ceremony rushed in, exclaiming :

'For heaven's sake, my friend, help me to get away, or the infernal Yankees will capture me with all my important dispatches for 'STONEWALL JACKSON! I have just had a turn with them across the mountain, where they killed my horse, and I with the greatest difficulty succeeded in escaping with my pa pers. A whole company of cavalry is after me. Quick! quick! help me to a horse!'

The old gentleman threw down his spectacles, grasped him warmly by the hand, and with a God bless you, my noble fellow!' they started for the barn, the old man insisting that I'll put you on a horse that not one in all Yankeedom can overtake,' In a

trice the famous horse was saddled and DUFFEE in the saddle.

'GoD speed you, my brave lad!' exclaimed the old man with tears in his eyes. GOD speed you! and when you arrive at General JACKSON's camp, present this horse to him from me.'

DUFFEE nodded assent, and with a hearty 'Thank you!' struck his spurs into the horse's flanks and dashed away, and did n't halt until he came laughing up to where we were and presented me with the horse. It was speedily condemned as 'contraband of war,' having been captured while being used in carrying dispatches to STONEWALL JACKSON, DUFFEE Complimented for his ingenuity, and the horse was put into the battery, where it did good service for the Union until the famous battle of ANTIETAM, where it was killed by a shot from the enemy.'

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WE are by no means surprised that the Booksellers - for very shrewd and observant men they are, as a class should have commended so highly as they did, at Messrs. COOLEY and LEAVITT'S recent Trade Sale in New-York, alike to the writers, makers, and readers of books, The American Publishers' Circular and Literary Gazette,' published by Mr. G. W. CHILDS, in Philadelphia. It deserves all their praise, in all the respects in which they extol it. It is a complete epitome of every thing desirable to be known of foreign and domestic record, in every branch of general, religious, scientific, and classic literature, in all parts of the world. It is, moreover, most intelligently and convenient

ly made up, and is admirably printed. It is for sale in New-York at 594 and 596 Broadway.

HERE is a graphic little sketch of a rural scene, which the author entitles: A Summer Shower.

BY GEORGE COOPER.

A CLOUD O'erhung the face of heaven,
And one by one the birds grew still;
Then came the warm and rushing rain,
The lifted cups of all the flowers to fill.

Aloft the tempest-fiend is heard,

In fear his subject winds sweep by, And 'mid the sullen gloom is seen

His brandished dagger gleaming in the sky.

The cows stand 'neath a friendly oak,

The plough-boy hurries to the barn,
And geese with ruffled feathers stand
Beside the sheltered margin of the tarn.

When lo! the golden sun-a gem

Of blue the breaking clouds between, Glints forth, and joy comes to my heart, Where 'mid the storm a nameless dread had been.

We are privately addicted to meditation ourselves, and we therefore like şermonizing in moderation. Read then these

Meditations

BY AN OLD BOY.

HERE I am alone-the light has faded gradually, and it is dusk; dusk in a law-office, dusk among grim books, 'quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore.' Yet there is a deep calm within me, for the labors of the day are done, and in a few moments I shall go home. But why not let meditation have its sway for those few moments? All of us pause now and then in life's journey, with just the same feeling that a savage would on

coming suddenly in the course of his wanderings to a great ocean. We feel there is a deep mystery in life, and when we look on man in the abstract we are thunderstruck at the responsibilities which are thrown upon him. What a task it is to be a good man, to be an unselfish man, or a man above the petty faults and meannesses which mankind are so apt to indulge in! What a struggle is involved in being generous to an enemy, and how hard it is to stifle envy! We all have, if there is any humanity in us, felt excruciating pangs of envy pierce us to the very core, at the sight of one whom we know does not deserve his fate-one less honest than ourselves. And it has been hard for us to keep down the mean passion which thus intrudes itself, destroying for the moment any fabric of contentment that we have taken care to build up for a stormy hour. But I am afraid I have imperceptibly slid into sermonizing, for which I ask pardon, as my trade has to do with briefs exclusively. But if I were asked the best course to pursue in life, in the same way and requiring the same business-like answer as a professional question would, I think I would advise the young man to be brave in the battle of life, to be proud of himself, so as to feel, when he did a good action, that the emotion which it raised in his own breast was better than the

deed itself. I would advise him to be independent, to be morally upright and strictly honorable; and then if wealth or worldly success did not meet him on the way, he would feel his dying-bed made of flowers, as his life had been a sweet odor to his MAKER. 'What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted,' or what better bulwark than a quiet conscience is there for the ills of life! It is quite dark now; I can scarcely distinguish the books on the shelves, and I must hasten home to my family and there drop softly the word of advice and caution as I have done now, I hope, to the larger family of mankind. And if I can only inculcate in youth a love for the good, the true, and the beautiful, I think my task will be well done.

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