the zest of some great excitement or the novelty of a vine or tree in perpetual bloom, or fruitage of some great demonstration, whether of num- without respite? As well ask the vine or apple bers or talent. In our homes, schools, conven- to put forth fresh leaves and fruit forever, as extions, churches, we should have calm fellowship, pect the human brain to be forever originating allow an hour at least for quiet communion, as thought. Starr King died from the effect of under the setting sun or the evening star, and disease upon a constitution overwrought by the not insist upon being forever under the spur of work of original composition and exciting utsome popular agitation or impassioned appeal, terance. In his case this may have been, and or even original thought. We exhaust ourselves probably was, well, for the especial need demandand our leaders by the constant demand for ex- ed especial effort, and the pen and voice call for citement, and err as much as if we insisted that heroes and martyrs as well as the sword. He the sun should never set, and life should always evidently was aware of the excessive demands be in the noonday blaze. made upon his strength in the pulpit, and in the If we have a brilliant man we insist upon his arrangements for his new church in California always shining, without remembering that his he expressly guarded against the prevailing erlamp must rest and be filled that it may duly ror of making the preacher's brain the principal shine, and that even genius keeps its original and almost the sole fountain of light and life, force only by due fellowship with other minds; and he introduced an order of devotional service and geniality is the receptive side of originality, that secures communion, instead of depending the mother heart of that masculine head. We always upon originality. He read wisely the ask the day always to continue, the flower al- lesson of the evening hour far away on that Paways, to bloom, the vine always to bear. In cific shore, and instituted a form of vespers very fact, there is something tragic in the possession much upon the idea of the ancient church, with of genius, as of beauty, and they who worship it modifications suited to our own age and councruelly insist upon having its light and joy al- try. The progress of a similar service among ways. Few brilliant men live long and bear our people so generally is one of the noteworthy constant fruit, partly, perhaps, because such rare signs of the times; and it is a remarkable fact gifts are too costly and exhaustive to last long, that its calming influence is more craved by the but frequently because they are not allowed to popular taste than the old sensation preaching; rest and lie fallow. In no one respect is the and crowds throng to church to hear the old prevailing error more conspicuously shown than hymn and chants and scriptures, more comfortin our church methods. We generally exhausted by the brief exhortation or exposition than or kill our best preachers by insisting that they shall shine always and be one perpetual day. We ask them to shine not a few times in the year, but every week, if not every day; and not once, but twice or three times the same day we exact of them the rare and costly fruits of original thought and composition. Our people do this, not meaning any harm, but ignorant of the first principles of mental economy; and they often quietly set down the original gifts of their minister as part of the fixed social and spiritual capital upon which they and their children are to live and make a figure in this world and in the next. The result is that our ablest preachers die young, or are driven from the pulpit hopeless invalids before the time when men of other professions have matured their gifts and fame. The secret of this appalling fact lies in the exhausting nature of original thinking and composition, and in the incessant call for brill-ed so much of the lyrical literature of Catholiiancy and fire, and the refusal of ample quiet and communion. The whole country has lately rung with the name of one of our most gifted orators and writers, who died before completing his fortieth year. We will not undertake to fathom the secret purpose of Divine Providence in removing from the world so soon a mind so rare and a temper so genial and fascinating. But it seems to us rather a marvel that he lived so long than that he lives no longer. We hear of monthly, and even perpetual roses, and ever-bearing berrics, that keep their promise for a few years during the summer-time; but who has heard by the usual elaborate and lengthy sermon. Without going into any ecclesiastic antiquities, it might interest readers to know the temper and usage of the ancient church as to the evening hours, and have a glimpse of the forms of devotion and treasures of literature that have gathered around the vesper service. The tone of the service is eminently affectionate and homelike. The Magnificat, or Hymn of Mary of Nazareth, is the favorite melody that has been sung for ages immemorial, even in Protestant England, as evening comes on and the lengthening shadows move thoughts of home on earth or heavenward. As the cultus of the Virgin Mother grew into the creed of Christendom the Catholic vespers were more given to Mariolatry, and probably most of the hymns of this class were inspired by the romance of this season. It is hard to believe that this belief has prompt cism. The modern reader is astounded in looking over the grand collection of Latin hymns issued in Germany to find that so many of them are in honor of Mary. Of the three volumes of hymns, the second is wholly filled with lyrics of this class, and is larger than the first volume, that is devoted to the hymns in praise of God and his angels. If there is sad superstition in this, there is also something of our better nature; and we will not wholly scorn the human heart for seeking refuge from a hard and monkish theology at the feet of that lovely vision of faith, the Blessed Mother, who was thought to be first of God's creatures and Queen of Heaven. past smile upon us and speak to us as a familiar friend. Looking out from our quiet vesper seat, I see the spire on the western hills, and the stones in the grave-yard near looming up in the evening shadows, and with the setting sun come thoughts of home that do not end with earthly habitations, nor merely dream of some bower of bliss within those gorgeous curtains that veil that pavilion of gold that seems to welcome the vanishing day. It is good at such times to muse and chat, as mind and tongue will have it, and we have taken you, kind reader, into our confidence, and seated you by our side. Good-evening, and then good-night! NORTHWARD. NDER the high, unclouded sun adow one, Even our great iconoclast, Theodore Parker, | monumental character, and opens to us the does not escape this tendency to run for shelter things that have been, and makes the mighty to a divine Mother's arms; and he constantly preached of and prayed to the mother God, whom he regarded as coeternal and coessential with the Eternal Father. To him God was both Mother and Father; and his life would have been longer, and his ministry more edifying, if he had held more of his service in the motherly key, and spared the public much of his self-will and antagonism. He had a kind heart in private relations; but his ministry was not always kind, but struck rudely at the Mother Church, and mother faith and love of the greater part even of tolerant Christians. His voice sometimes, indeed, calls us home to God, but deals more with battle-cries than household words. His divine Mother is presented more as an idea than as a power, and he had little love for the great house, the Church Universal, where maternal love for ages has nursed her children and guarded them from harm, and to which she calls all poor prodigals back as to their native home. He held no evening service generally, and his morning utterances were more frequently a warcry than a homily, and not even his devout prayer could always secure the hearer's edification. The gentler spirit was in him, and few felt more than he the spell of the evening, or could have given in his better hours a richer book of vesper meditations to the world. He felt the maternal pulses in the heart of nature and humanity, and undoubtedly a considerable part of his evident worry and dissatisfaction with himself came from the conviction that he was often at sword's-points with himself; and his sharp invective belied the tenderness of his affections, and his hand brandished the sword and his head planned the campaign, while the dove of peace was nestling in his heart. The day must come when such unquiet spirits find rest, and cease to make us restless. Why should not the large humanity, and bold convictions, and progressive faith of our advanced thinkers conquer for us and for them a peace, and give us peaceful evening contemplations after their day of toil, and storm, and strife is over? They ought to help us to a home affection deeper and broader than that which seeks the family hearth-stone; they ought to make us feel at home with the master-minds of our race, or domesticate us in the great family of humankind. They should help us, as the day wanes and the night comes, to see in majestic vision the great day's work of the children of God through continuous ages, and hear the ascription that rises from them all as they salute each other before the eternal throne. Something of this great brotherhood we are already feeling, and at twilight not only do the faces of lost kindred and friends come back to us, but the forms of the great thinkers, heroes, and saints, who have made us all brothers, come to mind, and we are no longer alone, but with the great family that the Eternal Father has been gathering together throughout the ages. Every book, picare, wall, garden, house, church, then, has a I sail away as from the fort PROFES THE "POOR WHITES" OF THE SOUTH. OROFESSOR CAIRNES, of Dublin, in his very valuable and generally accurate work on the Slave Power," says: "In the Southern States no less than five millions of human beings are now said to exist in a condition little removed from savage life, eking out a wretched subsistence by hunting, by fishing, by hiring themselves out for occasional jobs, and by plunder. Combining the restless ness and contempt for regular industry peculiar to the savage, with the vices of the prolétaire of civilized communities, these people make up a class at once degraded and dangerous; and constantly reinforced, as they are, by all that is idle, worthless, and lawless among the population of the neighboring States, form an inexhaustible preserve of ruffianism, ready at hand for all the worst purposes of Southern ambition....Such are the mean whites' or white trash'....This class comprises, as I have said, five millions of human beings-about seven-tenths of the whole white population of the South." This opinion of Professor Cairnes is no doubt shared by a large portion of the people of the Northern States and of England. But it is a great error. Having read of, or seen, the wretched specimens of humanity who loiter about the railway stations, or hover around the large plantations on the great Southern thoroughfares, they have inferred that they represent "seven-tenths of the whole white population" of the South! The idea is preposterous, for, if it were true, one half of the Southern people would be panpers, while no community could support that proportion of non-producers. But it is not true. The great mass of "poor whites" are superior (and I say this with due deliberation, and after sixteen years' acquaintance with them) to any other class of uncultivated men, save our Northern farmers, on the globe. they are small huts of rough logs, through the crevices of which the wind in winter whistles a most melancholy tune. The one room of these huts is floored with nothing but the groundhardened with mauls, and hollowed at the centre, as if to hold the rain that comes in at the roof—and it is furnished with a few rickety chairs, a pine log-hewn smooth on the upper side, and made to serve as a sofa-a cracked skillet, a dirty frying-pan, an old-fashioned rifle, two or three sleepy dogs, and a baker's dozen of half-clad children, with skins and hair colored like a tallow-candle dipped in tobacco-juice. In one corner there may be a mud oven, half crumbled back to its original earth, and in the others, two or three low beds, with corn-shuck mattresses and tattered furnishings. The character of the inmates is suited to their surroundings. They are given to whisky-drinking, snuffdipping, clay-eating, and all manner of social vices. The costume of these people is of the most meagre and mean description. The women go with bare heads and feet, and their only garment is a coarse cottonade gown, falling straight from the neck to just below the knees. The men wear slouched hats, and linsey trowsers, and hunting shirts, so begrimed with filth, and so torn and patched in a thousand places, that scarcely a vestige of the original material is left visible to the naked eye. Many of them-owing, no doubt, to their custom of intermarrying—are deformed and apparently idiotic, and they all have stunted, ague-distorted frames, dull, heavy eyes, saffron-hued skins, small, bullet-shaped The eight millions of Southern whites may be heads, and coarse, wiry hair, which looks like divided into three general classes: First, The ruling class, which includes the planters, and the higher grades of professional men, and numbers about one million. Second, The middle or laboring class, which includes the small traders, mechanics, farmers, and farm and other laborers, and numbers about six and a half millions; and, third, The mean white class, which includes all who are appropriately called "poor trash," who glean a sorry subsistence from hunting, fishing, and poaching on the grounds of the planters. This class numbers about half a million, and to it only does Professor Cairnes's description apply. The two latter classes are of very marked and decidedly opposite characteristics. One labors; is industrious, hardy, enterprising; a law-abiding and useful citizen: the other does not labor; is thieving, vicious, law-breaking, and of "no sort of account" to his family or to society. The mean whites do combine "the restlessness and contempt for regular industry peculiar to the savage, with the vices of the prolétaire of civilized communities." Their houses are often the pole wigwams of the Indian, shaped like a sugar-loaf, with merely a hole at the top to let the smoke out and the rain in; but generally oakum shreds bound into mops and dyed with lampblack. They answer, in their general characteristics, to the "scum" of our Northern cities, and to the vile denizens of the back slums of London and other large European towns; but it may be questioned whether there is any where a class of whites quite so degraded and so utterly useless as they are. Every where but in the Slave States the poor man labors, produces something toward the support of himself and of others, but the "mean white" of the South does not know how to labor; he produces nothing; he is a fungous growth on the body of society, absorbing the life and strength of the other parts. As I have said, the laboring poor whites are a very different people. They comprise fully threefourths of the free population of the South. The census shows that on the first of June, 1860, there were in the fourteen Slave States, exclusive of Delaware, 1,359,655 white males engaged in agricultural and other outdoor employments. Of this number, 901,102 are classed as “farmers"-men who till their own land: 230,146 are classed as "farm-laborers"-men who till the land of others: and 228,407 are classed as "laborers"-men engaged in outdoor work oth er than the tillage of land. The "farmers" are not to be confounded with the planters-men who work large tracts of land and large bodies of slaves, but do not work themselves-for the census takes distinct account of the latter. They number only 85,558, but-such has been the working of the peculiar institution-they own nearly three-fourths of the negroes and landed property of the South. These one million three hundred and odd thousand laboring white men represent a population of about six millions; and if we add to them the four hundred thousand represented by the planters, and the one million represented by men in trade, manufactures, and the professions, there can hardly remain, in a total population of less than eight millions, "five millions of human being who eke out a wretched subsistence by hunting, by fishing, by hiring themselves out for occasional jobs, and by plunder." Half a million-the_number I have stated-is vastly nearer the truth. and had a wiry, athletic frame; a dark, sunbrowned complexion; an open, manly face; and a frank, cordial manner that won my confidence in a moment. He bade me "good evenin'" as I approached him, and returning his salutation, I asked him for shelter for myself and horse. "Sartin, Stranger," he replied; "I nuver turned away one o' God's images yit, ef they wus a Yankee-an' some o' them is drefful pore likenesses, ye mought bet a pile on thet." "Why do you think I am a Yankee?" I asked, smiling. "I sees it all over ye. But come, alight; ye's welcome ter all I hes, an' ef ye kin spin a yarn or tell a lie ony bigger'n I kin, I'll 'low a Yankee ar smarter'n a Tennesseean-an' I nuver know'd one as war yit." Dismounting, I requested him to give my horse some oats, remarking that I made free with him, because I expected to pay for what I had. other." "Not with me, I assure you. I'd take free quarters with you for a month rather than fight a duel." Little is known at the North of this large farm- "Pay!" he exclaimed; "nuver ye tork uv ing population, for the reason that they live re- pay, Stranger, 'tween two sich men as ye an' me mote from the great thoroughfares, and have been is, or ye'll make me fight another duel. It's seldom seen by travelers. They are settled gen-agin my principles, but I fit one onst, an' it erally in the "up-country" and "backwoods," mought be ye wouldn't loike ter hev me fit anand there lead industrious and plodding lives. From them have sprung such men as Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, John C. Calhoun, Henry Clay, Alexander H. Stephens, Andrew Johnson, Parson Brownlow, President Lincoln, and nearly all the representative men of the Slave States. In fact they are the bone and sinew of the South, the strength of its armies, the men who are now so patiently fighting and enduring in the cause of Secession; and they will be, when the Union is restored, the ruling class, the real political South of the fu ture. To illustrate the habits and characteristics of the farmer class of "poor whites"-(this name is a misnomer, for a man can hardly be called "poor" who owns his own house and farm, and enjoys all the necessaries and many of the luxuries of life)-I will introduce to the reader one of its representative men, whom I met at his home in Tennessee, about thirteen years ago, and again encountered at Murfreesboro, in the month of May, 1863; and I will let him "speak for himself," in his vernacular dialect, as I may thereby give a more correct idea of the peculiarities of his class than by a more general description. Late in November, 1850, while journeying on horseback from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to Louisville, Kentucky, I was overtaken by a storm one day, just at nightfall, and forced to ask shelter at a small farm-house near the little town of Richmond, in Bedford County, Tennessee. The house stood in a small clearing a short distance from the highway, and was one story high, of hewn logs nicely chinked and whitewashed, with a projecting roof, a broad, open piazza, and an enormous brick chimney-stack protruding at either gable. As I rode up to it the farmer came out to meet me. He was dressed in homespun, "Yer a sensible man; fur I shud, fur shore, sarve ye jest as I done Clingman-thet famous North Car❜lina chap. P'raps ye nuver yered how I fit him?" "No, I never did." "Wall, I'll tell ye on it. But yere, Jake" (to a stout, cheerful negro, who just then appeared at the corner of the house)-"yere, Jake, tuck the gen'leman's nag, rub him down, an' guv him some oats, an' mind, doan't ye guv no parson's measure wuth the oats." "Nuver you far, Massa. Jake'll gub it ter 'im chock-heapin'-loike you gub's ebery ting, Massa," rejoined the negro, bounding nimbly into the saddle, and riding off to the barn-yard. The farmer then turned and led the way into the house. At the door of the sitting-room we were met by his wife-a comely, dark-eyed woman of about thirty, neatly clad in a calico gown, and a spotless lace cap perching cozily on the back of her head. "Sally," said my host, as we entered the room, "yere'r a stranger; so tuck him in; guv him fritters an' apple-jack fur supper, fur he'm a Yankee, an' thar's no tellin' but ye mought save the kentry ef ye made him fall in love wuth ye." The good woman laughed, gave me a cordial greeting, asked me to a seat by the fire, and went about preparing supper. As I seated myself with her husband by the broad hearth-stone I glanced around the apartment. It occupied one half of the building, and had a most cozy and comfortable appearance. On the floor was a tidy rag carpet, and the plastered walls were covered with a modest paper, and ornamented "Wall, I said swords, mounted, at sun-up the next mornin', over agin my r'ar pinery. Now, I hes a drefful smart ox-brute thet I'se a raised up fur my privat' ridin'. The brute he doan't loike a spur, an' when ye puts one inter 'im, he'll pitch, head-foremose, inter the fust thing he comes ter, be it man or beast. Wall, in the mornin' I tuck out the cow-horn (ye'd think Gabriel war a soundin' the last trump when I blows it), cut a right smart stick fur a sword, put it inter a yaller bag thet lucked loike a scabbard, got out the ox-brute, tied a red rag ter his horns, put on him my wife's best kiverlet with a half dozen neatly-framed engravings. A gilded looking-glass, festooned with sprigs of evergreen, hung between the front windows, and opposite to it stood a huge piece of mahogany, half a side-board, half a bureau, which in its day had graced some statelier mansion. A dozen rustic arm-chairs, covered with untanned deer-skin, a small stand in the corner piled high with such books as the Bible, the "Pilgrim's Progress," and "Doddridge's Expositor," and a large pine table, on which my hostess was arranging the tea-things, completed the furniture of the room. A little boy of five and a little girl of seven were helping the good-wife set the tea--Sally hed it agin we got morried; it hes more table, and through an open door at the rear I saw an older child, with her mother's dark-brown hair and her father's expressive features, busily frying the fritters over the kitchen fire. After asking me where I "come from," where I "mought be moseyin' ter," and other similar questions, my host said: "So ye nuver yered how I fit Clingmanthet big Whig chap over thar ter North Car'li na?" colors nur Joseph's coat, but red an' yaller dominates. Wall, I put on the kiverlet fur a saddle, an' moseyed off ter the dueling ground. 66 Clingman, he war thar, wuth two seconds, a doctor, an' a hull 'pothecary store uv cuttin' instruments, all waitin' an' ready ter make mince-meat uv my carcass. Soon as he seed how I war 'coutered, he up an' 'jected ter fightin', but I counted out the terms uv the duel— swords, mounted-an' I telled him ef he didn't "No," I replied, "I never did, but I would stand an' fight loike a man I'd post him all like to, for I know Clingman." "Wall, ye sees, it war jest afore the last 'lection, when ye put in ole Zack fur President. The Whigs they had a big barbacue down ter Richmond, an' Clingman an' a hull lot uv 'em went inter speechifying ter kill. Wall, in the coorse uv Clingman's speech he said thet Cass, our canderdate, wus a nigger-trader down thar ter Newbern way, an' wus in jail fur passin' counterfit money, an' ef we 'lected him, we'd hev ter bail him out ter 'naugerate him. Now, I couldn't stand thet, no how, so I telled Clingman he lied loike blazes. Wall, he stopped short ter onst, an' axed me fur my redress." over the State o' North Car❜lina fur a coward. Wall, finarly he 'cluded ter do it. So, we tuck our stands, the seconds they guv the word, Clingman he put spurs inter his hoss, an' I put spurs inter mine, an', Stranger, ye'd better b'lieve when my ox moseyed down onter his mar, wuth horn a blowin', an' kiverlet a flyin', the mar she piked out quicker'n a whirlygust chasin' a streak o' lightnin', an' she nuver helt up till she got clean inter North Car❜lina. I'se allers telled Sally sense thet thet kiverlet ar the flag I means ter live under, ter sleep under, an'▾ ter die under."* When I had somewhat recovered from the immoderate fit of laughter which expressed my appreciation of the farmer's story, his comely "Fotch up yer cheer, Stranger. We hain't nothin' 'cept common doin's, but we's 'nuff o' them." "Address," said his wife, pausing in her work, and looking pleasantly at me. "Thet's so, Sally," replied the farmer. "Stran-wife said to me: ger, Sally hes all the larnin' uv the fambly. She's a quality 'ooman-she is! Wall, I guv Clingman my name, an' whar I hung out, an', shore 'nuff, jest arter dark, a feller rid up yere wuth a challunge, all writ out in Clingman's own hand -an' ye knows he's a right smart scholard, an' a durned clever feller ter boot, ef he ar a Whig. I couldn't read the thing-I hain't got no furder nur prent yit—so I guv it ter Sally. Sally she screeched out when she seed whot it war 'bout, but I telled har ter stand up, an' die loike a man, an' so she sot down, an' 'cepted the challunge. Now, ye knows, the challunged 'un allers hes the chise o' weapons, so I said I'd hev swords, mounted." "Then you are familiar with sword practice?" I remarked. "Furmilye wuth it! I nuver seed more'n one sword in all my borned days, an' thet war so durned rusty a ox-team couldn't dror it. It hung over dad's front door when I war a young 'an. Dad said he fit wuth it ter Cowpens, but I know'd he didn't, 'case he couldn't ha' been more'n two y'ar old at thet writin'. And there was "'nuff o' them." The table was loaded down with bacon, venison, wildfowl, hominy, corn-pone, fritters, tea, cider, and apple-jack, all heaped upon it in promiscuous confusion. I had ridden far, and eaten nothing since the morning, but I might have relished the viands had my appetite been much daintier than it was. A desultory conversation followed till the close of the meal. When it was over, again seating myself with the farmer before the blazing lightwood fire, while his wife and elder daughter went about clearing away the tea-things, I said to him: "Now I want to ask you how you live, what you raise, how many negroes you have-all about yourself, for I've already fallen in love with you and your wife." "Fall'n in love wuth me! ha! ha!" echoed Subsequent inquiry satisfied me that the farmer's account of this singular duel was substantially true. |