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first!" (And U trying dreadfully ever tince, but cannot vet manage it.) T. C.

May, 14(13.


Let us attempt an "Mas Americana in Nuce," after the manner of Mr. Carlyle.

Peter of the South to Paul of the North—" You miserable Yankee, you, why don't you defend your soil? Why not take Vicksburg? You have no courage. I shall burn, ar.d slay, and lay waste, and—"

Paul—" Suppose you try it"

[Gettysburg and Vicksburg ad interim.]

Peter—" You miserable Yankee, you have money, but you have no courage. You are rich, but you are a coward; I shall fight to the last, I shall—"

Paul—" We shall see."—Philadelphia Prat.


H. {an Englishman of great respectability, a member of the Carlton)—" My dear fellow, you know I wish perdition here and hereafter to all Yankees; but did you not begin this infernal row?"

S. (a Southern agent)—" Of course we did. Every thing was at stake. A scoundrel of the old country scattered books up and down the States against Gigmanity. He preached the doctrine of the old Scotch ploughman, 'A man's a man for a' that.' He canted about a judgment of God which came upon the French ■obles of the last century for denying that doctrine. Certain fools at the North fancied he was in earnest They believed what he told them, and said that they should act upon it. Idiot parsons went so far as to say that the words we use on Sunday about a Person who was put to death as a slave being the comer-stone of the universe were true. What could we do? It was a matter of life and death. We raised the shout for Gigrnanity. We affirmed that Slavery itself, not the Person who suffered the death of the slave, was the corner-stone of the universe. These are our watchwords. In this cause, and not, as some foolish friends of ours represent, to vindicate our right to hire our sen-ants for life, we have drawn the sword and flung away the scabbard."

H. (much affected)—" Brave and noble men! Champions of our interests as well as your own! You have not been exactly the friends of England, but we feel that we may embrace you as ours. Let us join solemnly in drinking the toast. 'The Cause of Gigrnanity and Slavery, civil and religious, all the world over.'"

[Hip, hip. hurrah, and exeunt.]
F. D. M.»


Peter of the North to Paul of the South—" Paul, you unaccountable scoundrel, I find you hire your servants for life, not by the month or year, as I do."—[Thomas Carlyle's " American Iliad In a Nutshell," Macmillan'e Magazine, August.]

0 Thomas of Chelsea! I've dreamed such a dream!

I've been reading that dialogue, more smart than grave, In which you've so settled the case, as you deem.

Of North against South, and of Whip venue Slave. Excuse me—I wandered—I nodded—I dozed,

And straight to your Eden of fetters I flew, And scenes I saw stranger than you'd have supposed;

Bless your stars, brother Thomas, those scenes were not true 1

• Rev. F. D. Maurice, In the London Spectator.

Yes, 'twas South-Carolina — 'twas Charleston, no doubt— But changed — why has quite from my memory slipped— For the whites now were "hired," as it straightway turned out, "For life," by the blacks, to be labored and whipped. I've never been given, Kke you, to regard

Men treated as beasts as a comical sight; In the case, as it had been, of blacks, it seemed hard, And as hard it seemed now that the niggers were white.

But a negro, your namesake, was luckily by,

And this sablcst of sages, oh! how he did grin, As I uttered my doublings. "They men like us! why

The chattels! had they any black in their skin? Were they not white all over? What, had I no eyes?

They fitted for freedom!—why, where was their wool ?'* He couldn't help sneering out lofty surprise

That my brain could of such silly nonsense be fulL

"To be worked, to be walloped for nothing," he said, "The eternities sent forth all whites — 'twas their doom." Just then an old graybeard was livelily led

To the block—lor au auction went on in the room; And think how I stared! why, the chattel, alack I Yes, 'twas you—no mistake! — you put up there to sell! You grumbled—whack I down came the thong on your back; Good lord 1 how you, Thomas, did wriggle and yell!

My black sage looked on with a sneering disdain,

Stepped up to the block and examined your mouth; Poked your ribs with his stick; you objected in vain— "Whites were made to be sarved so by blacks in the South." A lively discussion around you arose,

On the strength of your legs—on your age; thump on thump. x

Tried to straighten you upright; one would tweak your nose; One hustled you down, just to see how you'd jump.

'Twas fun to their blackshlps, but Thomas, I've fears

Your temper that moment was none of the best; There was rage in your scowl; in your old eyes were tears; For it seems Mrs. Carlyle had just been sold West; And what might, too, put some hard words in your mouth— Though it did not affect your black namesake the least— Master Carlyle was "hired for life," right down South— Miss Carlyle had been ditto right away East

So you didn't jump lively, and laugh as you ought,

Though, cursed in a whisper, you tried to look gay, But at last for a rice-swamp you, Thomas, were bought.

Or "hired for life," as your sageship would say; Rather " hired for death"—so I dared to suggest;

But then, that's all right, as the world must have rice, If lives of old whites raise the whitest and best,

Why, we must have our crop, and we must pay tha price.

You were handcuffed, and off to twelve hours a day

In a sweltering swamp, with a smart overseer, Sure, if you do any thing—speak, think, or pray,

But as master allows, for that crime to pay dear: A beast—every right of a man set at naught—

Every power chained down—every feeling defied— To exist for the labor for which you were bought,

Till the memory of manhood has out of you died.

And as you went off, looking rueful enough,

I couldn't help thinking, my sage, in my dream, You perhaps might be taught in a school rather rough,

On "hirings for life" to have views less extreme, That when you've tried slavery's hell for awhile,

The misery of millions won't seem a good joke, A grin from the dulness of fools to beguile—

And thinking this, Thomas, thank heaven ! I awoke.

W. C. Bennett.

Blackhsath, Englaxd.


Frederick ifaximits—" Harkee here, Dan, you black nigger rascal. You're no longer a slave, you're a servant hired for life."

T. C. Nigger—" By golly! Wife and chil'n servants for life too, massa?"

F. if.—" Yes, all you niggers. But you must work all the same, you know."

T. C. If.—" Iss, massa. What wages you gib T"

F. if.—" Wages, you rascal? Quart of corn a day, and three shirts and pantaloons a year; for legal hours of work, fourteen hours a day for half the year, and fifteen the other half."*

T. C. N.—" Any priv'leges, massa?"

F. if.—" Privileges! Ha! ha! Yes, privileges of John Driver's whip, or of such other punishment as I choose to inflict, and of not being believed on oath if you go and peach against me, and of being sold down South when I please, and of being converted by any parson whom I choose to allow."

T. C. iV.—" Hm. Wife and chil'n my own dis time, mass?"

F. if.—11 Ha! ha ! ha! Yes—till I or Mr. Overseer want them. But you have the privilege of taking another wife as often as I allow it, and of having as many children as it pays me to bring up."

T. C. N.—" Beg pardon, massa, but what for you call me servant hired for life?"

F. if.—" What for, you rascal? Because a great man, after whom I named you, when he had written a d—d good book on the ' nigger question,' says that it all the difference between you and those mean, whitelivered Yankee working-men, who are hired by the month or the day."

T. C. iV.—" Massa, if him book good book, why's I not priv'leged to learn read it?"

F. if.—" Read, you infernal scoundrel! Why, if any one were to help you to learn, the law gives him fine and imprisonment or lashes',* and what do you

suppose you'd get? So off with you . Stay—

how old is that yellow nigger, your wife's daughter?"

T. C. N.—" Born three weeks 'fore Miss Busy,

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Wish dey'd gib me a rifle 'fore I dies."—MacmUlan't Magazine.


Carlyle pours the dregs of his once fertile brain
In a nutshell, the great cause of Freedom to stain;
But the gall he has used foils the foolish attack,
And dyes lumself darker than African-black.

An Act Of Villainy.—A correspondent of the Boston Traveller, writing from Sharpsburgh an account of General Kilpatrick's charge on the rebel rear-guard, near Downsville, relates the occurrence of a dastardly act as follows:

General Kilpatrick got within half a mile of the enemy's rear-guard, near Downsville, Md., when our spies discovered that lines of rifle-pits were ready to contest their advance. These works were erected on the brow of quite a large hill, and General Kilpatrick at once resolved to feel the strength of his foe. Two companies of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, B and F, were ordered to charge up the hill to the earthworks, which was done in fine style. As our men dashed in sight, the rebels were seen to throw down their arms and hoist a flag of truce.

Supposing, of course, the enemy had surrendered, they continued on, and when within fifty or sixty feet the entire rebel force, which must have numbered from seven hundred to one thousand men, seized their rifles and fired upon our men, taking them completely by surprise.

Finding the force so much larger than they anticipated, our men gave them a volley and fell back to the main body of cavalry. The rebels, after completely stripping the victims of their infamous treachery of shoes and stockings, fled to a dense piece of woods three miles beyond, carrying off their dead and wounded. I visited the scene of their hellish plot in order to obtain a list of the casualties, and a more revolting spectacle never presented itself.

In all directions, as far as the eye could reach on the top of the lull, lay the lifeless remains of our brave defenders, the warm blood oozing from their mortal wounds in streams that formed in pools amid the grass, while at their side, bleeding, lay their faithful chargers, stiff in death, the sharers of their fate.

A knot of soldiers gathered around the bodies of the slain, swearing eternal revenge upon the dastardly assassins who so cowardly shot their heroic comrades, and then bayoneted them. This is a horrible fact, which I witnessed personally. After killing our men, they pierced their bodies with bayonets and swords, robbed the dead of their finger-rings, boots, stockings, hats, and every article of value.

Noble Conduct Of The Twextt-third Nkw-jkrset. —In the Sixth corps we have a New-Jersey regiment, the Twenty-third, which has exhibited an extraordinary degree of patriotism truly commendable, and worthy of public acknowledgment

Their term of service had expired, but just as they were preparing to leave for home, the order was received for the division to cross the river. Their gallant Colonel ordered out his command, and after forming them into line and telling them of the orders issued, he stated, notwithstanding their time was out, he for one was going with the division, and desired to know how many would go with him; every soul in the regiment answered Ay I and they are now with a part of the Sixth corp9, over the river and under the very guns of the enemy.

This is truly a pleasing incident to record, and should receive the highest encomiums of all.—Pliiladclphia Inquirer, June, 1863.


On the Inauguration of the Albany Army Relief Bazaar,, on the 22cf February, 1864.


All hail to our country, the Land of the West!
The dream of the nations, the Great and the Blest;
The vision that came on the spice of the breeze,
And haunted the heart of the dark Genoese—
That rose like a temple of gold to his view,
That hung like a star in his distance of blue.

The Sun on his journey may linger to glance

On the mosque and the temple, the vine and the

dance, But always returns to the haunt he loves best, And leaves his last smile with the Land of the West.

0 Sun! in thy beauty, untiring like thee,
The heart of the Westland is glowing!

And over the continent, over the sea,
The light of its purpose is throwing.

Behold how its broad and beneficent ray

Each measure and limit is scorning!
Though dark clouds of error still lurk in the way,

They are edged with the light of the morning.

Come, Morning Light!

Come, quickly come,
Break through the night—

Trumpet and drum
Call in their might,

Come, quickly come!

Break, break the tyrant's yoke,
Break through the battle smoke—

Scatter the gloom!
Let Treason's wonted ire
See in its force and fire

Naught but its doom!

Break through the prison bars, go with a blessing,
Shine on our captives and bid them good cheer;
Go where the soreness of famine is pressing,
Tell them that bounty and largess are near:
From mountain, vale, and mart,
Tell them the Nation's heart
Whispers, "Good Cheer!"

Though the air is stirred with combat,

Hope with lifted finger waits—
Hears the bugle-call of " Union!'"

Hears the homeward march of States!

From the dim and doubting vision,
Rend the veil—and show the Right,

Through the mists of fraud and fable,
Lead them onward, Morning Light 1

Peace will return with her chaplet of glory— Home from the battle-field weary and worn,

Come the brave squadrons of song and of story, Bearing their banners up, rifted and tornl

What have we done for thee?

What have we won for thee f
Surging with tumult and sorely oppressed—

Given our all to thee!

Given our lives to thee I
Given thee Liberty, Land of the West

Then hail to our country, the Land of the West!

The marvel of nations, the Great and the Blest,

The green of her forests, the blue of her vales,

Her mines and her mountains, her lakes and her sails,

Her cotton and rice-fields that stretch far away

In saffron of sunset, or purple of day—

All, all will we cherish with right and with might,

Till the Sun shall grow dim on his voyage of light!

From blight and from error, from woe and unrest,

May God shield our country, the Land of the West!


Upon a hard-won battle-field,

Whose recent blood stains shock the skies. By hasty burial half-concealed,

With death in his dear eyes,
My soldier lies.

0 thought more sharp than bayonet-thrust! Of blood-drops on his silken hair,

Of his white forehead in the dust,
Of his last gasping prayer,
And I not there 1

1 know, while his warm life escaped,

And his blue eyes closed shudderingly,
His heart's last fluttering pulses shaped
One yearning wish for me—
0 agony!

For I, in cruel ignorance,

While yet his last sigh pained the air,
I trifled—sung or laughed, perchance,

With roses in my hair.
All unaware.

In dreams I see him fall again,

Where cannons roar and guidons wave; Then wake to hear the lonesome rain,

Weeping the fallen brave,

Drip on his grave.

Since treason sought our country's heart,

Ah ! fairer body never yet
From nobler soul was torn apart;

No braver blood has wet
Her coronet

No spirit more intense and fine

Strives where her starry banners wave,

No gentler face, beloved, than thine
Sleeps in a soldier's grave—

No heart more brave.

And though his mound I may not trace,
Or weep above his buried head,

The grateful spring shall find the place,
And with her blossoms spread
His quiet bed.

The soul I loved is still alive,

The name I loved is Freedom's boast;
I clasp these helpful truths, and strive

To feel, though great the cost,
Nothing is lost:

Since all of him that erst was dear
Is safe; his life was nobly spent

And it is well. Oh! draw Thou near,
Light my bewilderment,

Make me content!



Under the high, unclouded sun,
That makes the ship and shadow one,
I sail away, as from the fort
Booms sullenly the noonday gun.

The odorous airs blow thin and fine,
The sparkling waves like emeralds shine,
The lustre of the coral reefs
Gleams whitely through the tepid brine.

And glitters o'er the liquid miles
The jeweled ring of verdant isles,
Where generous Nature holds her court
Of ripened bloom and sunny smiles.

Encinctured by the faithful seas,
Inviolate gardens load the breeze,
Where flaunt, like giant warders' plumes,
The pennants of the cocoa-trees.

Enthroned in light, and bathed in balm,
In lonely majesty the Palm
Blesses the isles with waving hands—
High-Priest of the eternal Calm.

Yet northward with an equal mind
I steer my course, and leave behind
The rapture of the Southern skies,
The wooing of the Southern wind.

For here o'er Nature's wanton bloom
Falls far and near the shade of gloom,
Cast from the hovering vulture-wings
Of one dark thought of woe and doom.

I know that in the snow-white pines
The brave Norse fire of freedom shines,
And fain for this I leave the land
Where endless summer pranks the vines.

0 strong, free North, so wise and brave 1
0 South, too lovely for a slave!
Why read ye not the changeless truth—
The free can conquer but to save?

Hay God upon these shining sands
Send Love and Victory clasping hands,
And Freedom's banners wave in peace
For ever o'er the rescued lands!

And here, in that triumphant hour,
Shall yielding Beauty wed with Power;
And blushing earth and smiling sea
In dalliance deck the bridal bower.



An—"Sparklingand Bright."

Loyal and true to the red, white, and blue,

With high resolve united,
We firmly stand for our native land,

By faith and honor plighted.

Then rally we all at the nation's call,
While the dear old flag waves o'er us;

And our song shall rise till the bending skies
Resound with the swelling chorus.

When in treason's hour our country's power

To the hands of traitors was given, Men woke to life for the deadly strife,

As the flag caught the breezes of heaven.

Then rally we all at the nation's call,
While the dear old flag waves o'er us;

And our song shall rise till the bending skies
Respund with the swelling chorus.

By our sacred cause—by our rights and laws—

By freedom's hallowed story—
By this flag of the free, on the land and the sea,

We'll maintain our country's glory.

Then rally we all to the nation's call,
While the dear old flag waves o'er us;

And our song shall rise till the bending skies
Resound with the swelling chorus.

0 flag divine! each star of thine

Shall brighten iu wondrous beauty,
When the wanderers come to their olden home

In the robes of truth and duty

Then in Union grand we shall firmly stand,
While the Stars and Stripes wave o'er us.

And our song shall rise till the bending skies
Resound with the swelling chorus.

B. H. Hall.


When Rosy ro'de along the line,
Right well we knew our hero's sign;
For there we stood like wolves at bay,
And fought the rebels hard all day.
Still on they came; still back we drove
In fury low and cloud above;
But now they pressed us two to one—
Our line fell back—the front was gone—

We almost wept to see the rout:
"Stand fast! stand fast! and see it out!"

Our leader shouted. Oh! the shout,
As Rosy rode along the line.

t As quickening vengeance draws its breath
To* leap to the embrace of death,
Awhile they paused, then all aflame,
On, on the hounding rebels came.
"Stand by the flag!" our chieftain cried;
Like rooted oaks our columns bide;
But tide on tide the flood o'erflowed,
The broken line fell back the road.
"Hurrah !" we heard the foeman cry—
Yet stood our chief, not ours to fly;
But blazed the tiger in his eye
As Rosy rode along the line.

Where now within the battle-blast
Our ragged standards fluttered fast,
A cheer broke in, and then the drum—
"The Hawkeyes, Buckeyes, Hoosiers come I"
We stood to win, nor thought to stir,
Each man an executioner;
Heard o'er the hills in gathering gloom
The deep gun's last despairing boom—

Then ranged our cannons to the breach
With haughty purpose, each to each,
And silent still we stood for speech,
Till Rosy rode along the line.

Uprose our gunners, grim and bare,
To light the torch of victory there!
Now close the charging foemen surge,
To mock the awful lightning's verge;
Down to the front our leader darts—
"Aim low! aim low 1 my flinty hearts!"
And soon about the colors true
Our drummer beats his wild tattoo!
Then but to see the chieftain's look;
The word he gave—that word we took—
"Give them a blizzard!" Lord, it shook!
As Rosy rode along the line.

Back rolled the flood, and in its track
We drove their quailing legions back;
As horse and foot we followed on,
With bloody cost the day was won I
Then homeward Rosy took his course,
Our wounded drummer on his horse;
"Well done!" said he; "well done, brave men,
Please God, we'll do as well again."
Then marched we in with three times three
For Murfreesboro, the victory.
Ah! 'twas a sight for men to see,
When Rosy rode along the line.

Kane O'donnel.



"The gale at this time was raging furiously. The water had succeeded in rising up to the grate-bars of the furnaces, and was

?radually extinguishing the flres. The vessel was now sinking, he moon, which up to this time had been giving some light, was shut in by masses of black clouds: and at three quarters of an hour past midnight, on the morning of the last day of 1803, the Monitor's light disappeared beneath the waves."—Account by a gentleman on the Rhode Island.

A ship foundering at midnight!—the Monitor!—ho!

The mistress of ocean in whelming waves! Deep—deeper and stronger the terrible flow

Is sweeping the struggling to watery graves; The conqueror peerless, now yielding to one

Who can turn into peril our glory and bliss— Make "coating metallic " and " monster gun"

A sinker for sounding the dark abyss.

Yes, sinking! like soldier of ancient date,

When suddenly launched upon waters mad In his death-defying scales and plate—

His impervious armor—" iron-clad." Oh ! we think of the day when, from havoc of blood,

The Devourer * fled, wounded, away in her shame, And duels and tournaments since the world stood,

Took their place out of sight, hardly claiming a name.

Yet one more agony for the relief—

Yet one more desperate yearn to save! 'Tis in vain. Alas! But a moment brief—

And the plunge—the gurgle—the closing grave. Over " turret" a prouder boast of mind,

Subliraer symbol—for ever gone!— Than towers colossal of towns refined,

That crash and vanish in earthquake's yawn.

* The great rebel Iron-dad, the Merrlmac or Virginia.

For ever gone with thy guardian power?

And thy country, bereft of thee,
So easy a prey, in an ill-starred hour,
To some hostile giant ruling the sea?
"We are here!" the Monitor's Children cry,

And the voices are looming athwart the gloom: "Ne'er mother went down, to be raised so high— Left such an example—so honored a tomb.

"We are many. In us she lives, and more,

As mother in stalwart and filial band;
In her faith we have sworn, on sea and shore

To fulfil her counsel—her loyal command.
We are one—as our country must ever be—

In our heavenly trust and our glorious cause, Dealing death upon treason and tyranny,

For Union, Liberty, Virtue, and Laws.

"We are ready I All clad in our heaviest mail,
Yet buoyant to breast the "heaviest" gale.
We are ready! To pour our iron hail,
Till inimical bulwarks tremble and fail—
Till Rebellion has uttered its dying wail.
And tyrants, "admonished," no more shall assail—
'And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall

wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the

brave.'" Susquzhahha.



The American Nation!

She knows not her strength, Whose armies are millions, through

Her breadth and her length; Her Union is strength—

She dreads not the world, Though at her, unjustly,

They've thunderbolts hurled.

With her navy of iron,

And sailors of steel.
She scorns haughty Europe,

Whose tyrannic heel
Would crush with oppression

(If crush it they could) That birthright her freemen

Have purchased by blood.

The American Nation!

A light to the world, Where Liberty's emblem,

By freemen unfurled, Waves aloft, in its glory,

O'er steeple and dome, Protecting and granting

The oppressed a home.

The American Nation!

All freemen we have! No serfs, A la Russia,

The nobleman's slave I But a land where the poor

The sceptre can wield, And rule with the wealthy,

'Neath Liberty's shield.

The American Nation I

Independent and free!
God grant she, through ages.

United may be:

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