Continental Monthly, Vol. 4, No 3, September 1863

We shall first (because it is necessary for the progress of the race) conquer our enemies; and then, true to ourselves and our principles, forgive, aid, and love them. Many of them have learned, many more are learning, the misery and shame of slavery. That truth once acknowledged and digested, their hearts will grow glad in the peace of the just, and their desolated land blossom like the rose.

We will all learn to bear with the negro, because he has qualities necessary to fill up the harmony of life. As a general thing, the Irish servants are perhaps more honest, and dull as they seem, have more head; but the negro has more heart. His nature is irrepressible and joyous; he is full of comicality and drollery, of fun, jeers, jokes, yah-yas, and merriment; and this element will be needed in our midst to temper our puritan and national seriousness. He loves music whether sad, burlesque, or gay; is devoted to those who treat him worthily, his affections being easily won; and there is something touching, soothing, and delightful in his inherent respect for gentleman and lady. His aptitude for domestic service; his love for and his power of amusing children and winning their fickle heart, their attachment to him being one of the most delightful traits of Southern life; his impressible, religious and devout nature, mark him as a wonderful element of variety in the domestic texture of our life such as it shall be when he is free, educated in accordance with his nature, and happy. He is not ambitious, he likes to serve those who treat him kindly, and seeks no social equality, as do the Irish, whatever position they may hold. I do not deny that this is a good strong trait in a race, but it does not make an agreeable servant. Our Biddys and Pollys flaunt and flounce to convince us they are as good as we; the negro acknowledges superior deportment, and is ever submissive and respectful to those who know how to treat him. I think when this 'tyranny is overpast' that it will be hard to induce us to part with the negro. He is embodied humor; fun and naive pathos alternate with the most startling rapidity in his wild but loving soul, in which the feminine element of passion generally predominates over sustained virile strength; he is spontaneity itself – and the reflective Anglo-Saxon race will learn to appreciate such promptings of our basic nature. He is happy in serving, and as a servant, is invaluable.

Stern duties are then before us in this world of the mighty West; let us accept them with a willing heart. Our women can do much, for men are widely severed in opinion; and the social element, woman's true and noble sphere, must be made available to bring about a better feeling. Let her so arrange that we shall see more of each other socially, not in grand fêtes, tiresome dinners, idle pomposities, but in simple and hospitable greetings, in frequent, unrestrained, and easy commune. She must learn to take a conversational part in the great questions of the day, soothing asperities, and bringing hearts together as she alone can; for women possess naturally the secret of society. Let us not ask in what rank men and women move, but rather what they are, and if noble, let us take them to our hearts. Let us struggle individually to the height of our aspirations, assured that if we so do, this glorious Union is destined to be perpetuated in ever-increasing glory.

AMOR PATRIÆ VINCIT

Red: White: Blue.Love: Peace: Heaven.God of justice, smile upon us!Justice yet will rule our land;Equal rights bless native, alien,High or low, from every strand;Pledged within our Constitution,They will bless a woe-worn world:God, 'tis Justice makes it holy —Freedom's Charter wide unfurled!Chorus:Float, O Flag, reflecting Heaven! where God plants the clustering stars,In the blue depths of thy infinite – so vast that nothing jars!God of mercy, smile upon us!Mercy yet shall rule our land;Thought be free, all creeds untrammelled,Honor follow labor's hand;All be equal; men be brothers;They must work who fain would soar,Work in earnest for the Human, —Pride and scorn be known no more.Chorus:Float, O Flag of mystic colors; red with love; star-gemmed thy Blue;Peace blends in white thy Rainbow light, and waves her snow-wings through!God of love, O smile upon us!Love shall shine through all our laws;Love shall link each State in Union;Love which knows nor rest, nor pause.Love is central Heart of nations;Love will draw all wandering starsTo our field of boundless azure,Held by God from all that mars!Chorus:Wildly pours our hearts' blood on thee – crimson current warm and true,Each dead hero links us closer – float on Flag, Red, White, and Blue!God of Union, smile upon us!Flag of Union, greet the skies!On thy stars and chording colorsEvery hope for mortals lies!Blasted be the hand would strike thee!Blighted heart and palsied brain!Float till earth knows no oppression,Falsehood, bondage, slavery, pain!Chorus:Float, Flag of love; fused States and lives! shine stars on God's own Blue!Love's crimson current gird them close! white-winged Peace wind through!M. W. C.

THE GOOD GODDESS OF POVERTY

[A Prose Ballad, translated from the French.]

We think the following beautiful Chant, in honor of the good goddess whose favors we are too apt to scorn, and whom we persist in treating with dire ingratitude, cannot fail to prove acceptable to the readers of the Editor's Table.

M. W. C.I

Desert paths strewed with golden sands, rich and undulating prairies, ravines loved by the bounding deer and agile chamois, mountains wreathed with clouds or crowned with glittering coronets of stars, wandering and leaping torrents, impenetrable and gloomy forests, – let her pass, let her pass:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

II

Since the creation of the world, since man was spoken into being, she has travelled over the earth, she has dwelt among men, she sings as she journeys, and works as she sings:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

III

Men gathered together to curse her. They found her too gay, too active, too strong, and too beautiful. They said: 'Let us tear off her wings, let us load her with chains, let us lay her low with blows, let her suffer, let her die:

The Goddess – the strong Goddess of Poverty!'

IV

They chained the good Goddess, they bruised and persecuted her, but they could not degrade her, for she sought refuge in the souls of poets, in the souls of peasants, in the souls of women, in the souls of artists, in the souls of saints:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

V

She has travelled longer than the Wandering Jew; she has journeyed farther than the swallow; she is older than the cathedral of Prague, yet younger than the little egg of the golden-crested wren; she has multiplied more upon the earth than the crimson strawberry in the green woods of Bohemia:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

VI

She is the mother of many children, and has taught them all the secrets of God; she spoke to the heart of Jesus upon the mount; to the eyes of Queen Libussa when she loved a peasant; to the spirit of John and Jerome on the pyre of Constance; she has more knowledge than all the doctors and all the bishops:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

VII

She makes all the grand and beautiful things that are to be seen upon the earth; it is she who cultivates the fields and prunes the trees; it is she who leads the flocks, breathing songs from her heart; it is she who catches the first crimsoning of the dawn, who receives the first smile of the rising sun:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

VIII

It is she who twines the green branches to make a little cabin for the woodman; who gives the piercing glance of the eagle to the poacher; it is she who brings up the prettiest and strongest little urchins; and who makes the spade and plough light for the hands of the old man, whose silver locks gleam like a halo round the wrinkled brow:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

IX

It is she who inspires the poet; who makes the flute, guitar, and violin eloquent under the fingers of the wandering and homeless artist: it is she who bears him upon her light wing from the source of the Moldau to that of the Danube; it is she who crowns his dark locks with the glittering dewdrops, who makes the sparkling stars shine so large and clear upon his uncertain path:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

X

It is she who instructs the ingenious artisan, who teaches him to hew the stone, to chisel the marble, to mould gold, silver, copper, and iron; it is she who, under the fingers of the aged mother and the rose-cheeked daughter, makes the flax fine and elastic as the golden tresses of the maiden:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

XI

It is she who supports the tottering hut when shaken by the winter storms; it is she who saves the resin of the torch and the oil of the lamp; it is she who kneads the bread of the family, who weaves the winter wool and summer flax; it is she who nourishes and feeds the world: The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

XII

It is she who builds the mighty castles and the vast cathedrals, who bears the sword and handles the musket; it is she who fights our battles and gains our victories; it is she who buries the dead, who takes care of the wounded, and who conceals the vanquished:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

XIII

Thou art all patience, all sweetness, all strength, and all pity, O thou good Goddess! It is thou who linkest all thy children in the ties of a holy love, and who givest to them Faith, Hope, and Charity:

O Goddess – thou good Goddess of Poverty!

XIV

The time is coming when thy children shall no longer be crushed with the weight of the world, when they shall be rewarded for their pain and labor. The time is approaching when there shall be no longer rich and poor, when all men shall together consume the fruits of the earth, and equally enjoy the gifts of God; but thou shalt never be forgotten in their hymns:

O Goddess – thou good Goddess of Poverty!

XV

They will always remember that thou wert their faithful mother, their robust nurse, and their church militant. They will spread balm upon thy bleeding wounds, they will make the fertile and perfumed at last repose:

O Goddess – thou good Goddess of Poverty!

XVI

While patiently awaiting the promised day of the Lord, torrents and forests, mountains and valleys, lands teeming with wild flowers and filled with little singing birds, desert paths which have no masters though sanded with gold, let her pass – let her pass:

The Goddess – the good Goddess of Poverty!

THEContinental Monthly

The readers of the Continental are aware of the important position it has assumed, of the influence which it exerts, and of the brilliant array of political and literary talent of the highest order which supports it. No publication of the kind has, in this country, so successfully combined the energy and freedom of the daily newspaper with the higher literary tone of the first-class monthly; and it is very certain that no magazine has given wider range to its contributors, or preserved itself so completely from the narrow influences of party or of faction. In times like the present, such a journal is either a power in the land or it is nothing. That the Continental is not the latter is abundantly evidenced by what it has done– by the reflection of its counsels in many important public events, and in the character and power of those who are its staunchest supporters.

Though but little more than a year has elapsed since the Continental was first established, it has during that time acquired a strength and a political significance elevating it to a position far above that previously occupied by any publication of the kind in America. In proof of which assertion we call attention to the following facts:

1. Of its POLITICAL articles republished in pamphlet form, a single one has had, thus far, a circulation of one hundred and six thousand copies.

2. From its LITERARY department, a single serial novel, "Among the Pines," has, within a very few months, sold nearly thirty-five thousand copies. Two other series of its literary articles have also been republished in book form, while the first portion of a third is already in press.

No more conclusive facts need be alleged to prove the excellence of the contributions to the Continental, or their extraordinary popularity; and its conductors are determined that it shall not fall behind. Preserving all "the boldness, vigor, and ability" which a thousand journals have attributed to it, it will greatly enlarge its circle of action, and discuss, fearlessly and frankly, every principle involved in the great questions of the day. The first minds of the country, embracing the men most familiar with its diplomacy and most distinguished for ability, are among its contributors; and it is no mere "flattering promise of a prospectus" to say that this "magazine for the times" will employ the first intellect in America, under auspices which no publication ever enjoyed before in this country.

While the Continental will express decided opinions on the great questions of the day, it will not be a mere political journal: much the larger portion of its columns will be enlivened, as heretofore, by tales, poetry, and humour. In a word, the CONTINENTAL will be found, under its new staff of Editors, occupying a position and presenting attractions never before found in a magazine.

1

For the benefit of the curious reader, I would state that a perfect file of the Boston News Letter is still preserved in the Worcester Historical Library. There is also an imperfect file in the New York Historical Society Library.

2

A beautiful Polish lady, who was secretly married to the Prince Sigismund Augustus, afterward King of Poland. When he ascended the throne, at his father's death, he acknowledged his marriage, and Barbara reigned as queen until the year 1561, when she died, to the great sorrow of her husband and her people, to whom she had proved herself a real mother. —Translator's note.

3

See J. Ross Browne's sparkling papers in Harper's Magazine.