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to progress as developed in the radicalisms of our day. The number was embellished with a portrait of the American De Staël who contributes to its columns. Have you ever seen • Cora Montgomery,' alias Mrs. S
a lias Madame C - ? for she is now emerged from widowhood, and married to General C— , whilom high in Texan office. You ought to know her, if you do not, L. G. C., as the most masculine-minded woman in America; a perfect political Juno in petticoats, and more than a master of diplomacy and tricks of state than any five statesmen living. She writes clearly, to the point, and always with vigor. She loves to fight abolition fanatics and aristocracy in government. She is democratic to the core, and all over a Southerner in feeling. She is one of the women who are literary without being pedantic. She never bores you with discourse on that point; you might talk with her as a stranger for half a day, and take her for a most conversationable nun. I like such women, as I hate the eternal reciters and gabblers about what they have written. Most of our literary women manage to unsex themselves; they do n't positively put on breeches, but they lose all modesty, and forget duties which women should most remember. Be sure that the children of blue stockings' go as ragged and dirty as the preacher's. They cannot compose stories and see that the pot boils and the babies are washed. Madame C— , (or De Staël, for that name well belongs to her, without the personal ugliness and scandalous fauc pas of its original bearer,) is not one of these. She is a true, modest woman, with a masculine-thoughted mind; and her thoughts will one day form a text-book of political clevernesses, if not truths. But most of all, and with gusto, did I read a number of •Old KNICK.' It matters not what number, for they are as like in marrow and fatness, in humor and wisdom, as a circle of sausages made in the same stuffer. By the way, 'L. G. C.' loves sausages; he emulates therein a dignitary of the capital; and if I might liken a good intellectual thing to a sausage, I should call Old KNICK.' a tremendous string of sausages! Yes, I read • Old KNICK.;' always racy, and sometimes, in its jokes-vide · Editor's Table' like •J. B.,' • devilish funny and devilish sly! Why does n't the Editor gather up from that • Table' of his a volume of pearls and gems, and cast them before us as sausagemeat ? Let not his modesty deter him. Is he not past his minority, and installed, of his own good worth, among the worthy, to stand clean out of a niche somewhere, at least in the Pantheon of Gossip'-ers ? For one, I call on him to rake over the coals, (they have been in ashes long enough to test them,) and give us the live ones: in a string. And the reading of these books suggests how wonderful is the revolution created and going on by that machinery which scatters books as dust - the press. The press is the Atlas, the Titan of our age. The press bears ihe world on its shoulders, and heaves it into the light. It creates mind; it makes opinion, and guides it. It is a heart in harness of iron, steam and lightning, filled with free and fiery thought, and it throbs against chains and dungeons and thrones, making the earth freer with every revolution of the sun. Warriors and statesmen hear it and fear it, and priests and hierarchs tremble at its pulsations. Wherever it exists, the seed of light and freedom is planted, and can never be rooted up. Tyrants nor crafts can stand before the press, for the press
is the forlorn-hope of the people ; their apostle, their fortress, their invulnerable rock; and around it they rally in the strength and majesty of millions of God's images. Fifty years hence, and types instead of soldiers will fight the battles of the nations ; types will supersede bayonets and cannon, and the trade of the man-butcher will be a hideous memory.
But during all this time, this jaunting through four chapters, tiresome enough to me, and to the reader too, I doubt not, I have forgotten the word I would say for labor. Among the beautiful things I saw on every road-side, in every valley, were the grain-fields, which I call the grand signet of toil, and the best title to aristocracy on this round earth. Indeed I care not in what honest guise labor appears, it is transcendently beautiful; for it fulfils one of the great laws of nature and providence, and answers to the first necessities of man. The ploughman or the goatherd is a lord in his own right; a lord of the soil, paramount to all swindling lords of parchment and all robber kings. I care not who disputes his title or beats him back with violence, no man can annul his patent, or degrade a nobility gotten by him directly from God! However estimated in courts or camps, he shall be, as he has been, the basis of states and societies, and his monuments shall be wherever temples and palaces and pillars rise ; wherever the earth yields ores and grains ; wherever white wings cleave the seas; wherever art and science rear a trophy, and wherever humanity is exalted, or Christianity exemplified in the practice of its precepts.
The Bunkamville Chronicle :
DEVOTED TO THE PRINCIPLES OF NO. 1, AND NOTHING ELSE.
GOD GIYZ TIEM WISDOM THAT IAVE IT, AND THOSE THAT ARE FOOLS LET TIEM UEX TXXIR TALENTS.
T I E. O ARRIER'S DREA M.
BEING AN APOLOGI TOR AN ADDRESS
In the vast charnel-house of Time all in my dreams stood I;
I heard a toll for a parting soul, a wailing shriek swept by:
A long and sad procession moves adown the dusky aisle,
Amid the hosts of pallid ghosts, by phantoms dire led on,
The bloody car of ruthless War leads on its myriads now :
Here come the patriots of Rome, slain by false-hearted Gaul ;
But see, from once proud Hungary what thousands swell the tide ;
Ye Christian men and Christian realms, that stood so passive by,
CALIGULA, thou heathen brute! thy name shall be forgot!
And with thee live thy master's names, more hated yet than thine,
The world methinks is growing old; the yellow leaf and sere
The morning sun is shining now, and with its earliest ray
OUR OWN COURSE AND THAT OF OUR AD- ing midst the rejected dust and trash of VERSARY. — Let the adventurous eagle, him ages; disinterring the buried remains of of the piercing eye and sturdy wing, pur- pestiferous jests; dabbling in the muddy sue his quarry in the pure expanse of waters of pseudo-philosophy; our adversaether, putting a final clause to the career ry poisons the wretched few who patronize of many a bright-winged and glad-voiced him, and rankles an ever-festering sore wanderer of upper air, wherewith, to upon the fair bosom of our country's literafill the wide-agape throats of the eaglets of ture; a disgrace to humanity, to himself, his eyrie ; let the bold fish-hawk of the iron and to his readers! beak and relentless purpose dive swift as Yet what better can we expect? - for bolt of Jove, deep, deep into the crystal is it not written, ' Ex nihilo, nihil fit ? bosom of the lake, bearing away in triumph Which, reader, which is here the eagle from their parent waters the mottled trout, and which the buzzard ? Dixi: we have the bright-scaled perch or silvery pike to said. appease her clam'rous brood ; let the king of beasts roam dauntless through the tangled maze of the pathless forest, or o'er the
KNOWLEDGE FOR THE PEOPLE. sandy sea of Afric's burning plains, and ruthless seize the quivering prey to feed the ravening cubs, still will the resurrec
GASTRONOMY. tionist jackall prowl midst the cadaverous remains of decayed mortality; the disgust GASTRONOMY, properly speaking, is the ing buzzard flap her heavy wing o'er filthy science of the table, but among seamen it carrion, and the vile tumble-bug gloat o'er is known as panthology, their food being her accumulation of ordure-ous matter! always served up in pans.
Onward and upward is our course ; We have no institution in which this now flitting with lightsome wing through art is taught, but in England they have an the airy regions of wit; now stalking with Eaton College. measured pace mid the sober halls of phi- The feeding establishments connected losophy; and ever choosing from the wisest with our literary institutions are termed and the best to feed the thirsting votaries' commons,' in consequence of the inferior who look to the CHRONICLE' for their quality of food served up. mind's food. Grovelling in the dirt, prowl- Starvation or absence from food is a very