The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No. 1, July, 1862. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ this comes under the head of a consideration do, ut facias, see vol. ii. page 360. How far moral obligation is a legal consideration, see note, vol. iii. p. 249 Bossanquet and Puller's Reports. The principle servus facit, ut herus det, as laid down by....'

      'Jove!' exclaimed Uncle Bill, 'couldn't you stop off the torrent for one minute? I'm drowning—I give up—do with me as you see fit.'

      'And now,' said Mr. Van Brick, 'that we have seen the four paintings, let us, Mr. Pinchfip, proceed calmly to discover who has won the five hundred dollars. Duly, deliberately, and gravely, let us put the four names on four slips of paper, stir them up in a hat. Mr. Browne shall then draw out a name, the owner of that name shall be the winner.'

      It was drawn, and by good fortune for him, Bagswell won the five hundred dollars. Thus Uncle Bill Browne bought one painting for a good round sum, and three others at the stipulated price. Which one of the four had the most work on it, is, however, an unsettled question among three of the artists, to this day.

      FOR THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH

      Victory comes with a palm in her hand,

          With laurel upon her brow;

      Cypress is clinging about her feet,

      But its dark blossoms are red and sweet,

          And the weeping mourners bow.

      It is well. Through her tears, the widow smiles

          To the child upon her knee;

      'Thou'rt fatherless, darling; but he fell

      Gallantly fighting, and long and well,

          For the banner of the free!'

      Then, weeping: 'Alas! for my lost, lost love;

          Alas! for my own weak heart;

      I know, when the storm shall pass away,

      My boy, in manhood, would blush to say:

          'My blood had therein no part."

      The maiden her lover weeps, unconsoled,

          So desolate is her gloom;

      But a voice falls softly through the air,

      Whispering comfort to her despair,

          'Love here hath fadeless bloom.'

      The father laments for his boy, who fell

          By Cumberland's river-side;

      The sister, her brother loved the best,

      Whose blood, in the dark and troubled West,

          The father of waters dyed.

      The mother—oh! silence your Spartan tales—

          Says bravely, hushing a moan:

      'I have yet one left. My boy! go on;

      Rear freedom's banner high in the sun!'

          Then sits in the house alone.

      To die for one's country is sweet, indeed!

          To fight for the right is brave;

      But there are brave hearts who vainly wait

      Till triumph shall find them desolate,

          Their hopes in a far-off grave.

      O mourners! be patient; the end shall come;

          The beautiful years of peace.

      Remember! though hearts rebel the while

      You hide your tears with a mournful smile,

          That tyranny soon shall cease.

      For victory comes, a palm in her hand,

          Fresh garlands about her brow;

      But the cypress trailing under her feet,

      With crimson blossoms, by tears made sweet,

          Shall wreathe with the laurel now.

      IN TRANSITU

      When the acid meets the alkali,

      How they sputter, snap, and fly!

      Such a crackling, such a pattering!

      Such a hissing, such a spattering!

      All in foaming discord tossed,

      One would swear that all is lost.

      Yet the equivalents soon blend,

      All comes right at last i' the end.

      Country mine!—'tis so with thee.

      Wait—and all will quiet be!

      Men, while working out a mission,

      Must not fear the fierce transition.

      AMONG THE PINES

      I sauntered out, after the events recorded in the last paper, to inhale the fresh air of the morning. A slight rain had fallen during the night, and it still moistened the dead leaves which carpeted the woods, making an extended walk out of the question; so, seating myself on the trunk of a fallen tree, in the vicinity of the house, I awaited the hour for breakfast. I had not remained there long before I heard the voices of my host and Madam P– on the front piazza:

      'I tell you, Alice, I can not—must not do it. If I overlook this, the discipline of the plantation is at an end.'

      'Do what you please with him when you return,' replied the lady, 'but do not chain him up, and leave me, at such a time, alone. You know Jim is the only one I can depend on.'

      'Well, have your own way. You know, my darling, I would not cause you a moment's uneasiness, but I must follow up this d–d Moye.'

      I was seated where I could hear, though I could not see the speakers, but it was evident from the tone of the last remark, that an action accompanied it quite as tender as the words. Being unwilling to overhear more of a private conversation, I rose and approached them.

      'Ah! my dear fellow,' said the Colonel, on perceiving me, 'are you stirring so early? I was about to send to your room to ask if you'll go with me up the country. My d–d overseer has got away, and I must follow him at once.'

      'I'll go with pleasure,' I replied. 'Which way do you think Moye has gone?'

      'The shortest cut to the railroad, probably; but old Cæsar will track him.'

      A servant then announced breakfast—an early one having been prepared. We hurried through the meal with all speed, and the other preparations being soon over, were in twenty minutes in our saddles, and ready for the journey. The mulatto coachman, with a third horse, was at the door, ready to accompany us, and as we mounted, the Colonel said to him:

      'Go and call Sam, the driver.'

      The darky soon returned with the heavy, ugly-visaged black who had been whipped, by Madam P–'s order, the day before.

      'Sam,' said his master, 'I shall be gone some days, and I leave the field-work in your hands. Let me have a good account of you when I return.'

      'Yas, massa, you shill dat,' replied the negro.

      'Put Jule—Sam's Jule—into the field, and see that she does full tasks,' continued the Colonel.

      'Hain't she wanted 'mong de nusses, massa?'

      'Put СКАЧАТЬ