The Continental Monthly, Vol. 1, No. 4, April, 1862

It was not a pleasant predicament for a nervous or a faint-hearted man to be placed in. But then Mr. Chase is neither nervous nor faint-hearted, and when Congress came together he not only told his wants frankly, but proposed a neat little plan for supplying them without selling notes at fifty per cent. discount. Taking into view the want of a sound currency for business purposes, and the want of some currency to pay out from the Treasury instead of the gold which had disappeared and left a vacuum, he proposed to borrow $150,000,000, by issuing Treasury Notes, payable on demand, without interest, and making them a legal tender for the payment of all debts, with a proviso that any parties who should at any time have more on hand than they wanted should be allowed to invest them in bonds bearing six per cent interest. It was a very simple proposition—almost sublime for its simplicity; there was no mystery about it; and yet it was the very turning point of the ways and means of crushing the rebellion, without being ourselves crushed under an unbearable burden of debt. The money power stood aghast, and hardly recovered breath in time to oppose its passage through Congress; but the common sense of the people hailed Mr. Chase as a deliverer, and Congress endorsed common sense. Seriously, this splendid invention of the Secretary has given a new face to our financial affairs by placing the money power where it always should be,—in subservience to the people,—instead of allowing it to become a grinding task-master. The importance of this measure can hardly be appreciated yet. A member of Congress, himself a merchant, and an able financier, says:

'My theory in regard to it is, that as the currency is increased by the addition of these notes to its volume, prices generally will rise, including the price of U.S. bonds, until they reach par; at that point, these notes, being convertible into bonds, the rise in the price of bonds will stop, because further additions to the currency, whether of these notes, bank notes, or coin, will only stimulate the conversion of notes into bonds; and that conversion will check the increase of currency. The excess of notes will then be gradually withdrawn from circulation for conversion,—leaving only such an amount in circulation as a healthy and natural condition of the currency will require.'

A theory in which we fully concur. We see growing out of it a restoration of business: government creditors paid in a currency equal to gold; low prices for all government contracts; a consequent diminished expenditure for supplies, and an annual payment for interest on the debt we shall owe, which can be easily met without heavy taxation. However it may turn out in the conduct of the war,—and we have full faith in that also,—it is very certain that in the conduct of the finances we have found the man for the times. The whole country feels this, and breathes easier for it. The arch rebel, in a recent address to his satellites, admits that he altogether underestimated the patriotism and loyalty of the men of the North, but takes fresh courage from the certainty that we shall shortly back down under our load of debt. A little further on and he will find that he has just as much mistaken our power in that respect,—that as his own worthless promises, based upon nothing, fall to nothing, the notes of the Union will stand as firm and as fair in the money market as her banner will on the battle-field.

Men and money are the sinews of war. In our first trial, patriotism has furnished the men, and the presiding genius of the Treasury has clearly pointed out the means for obtaining the money. Laus Deo!

Note.—For the benefit of those of our readers who do not understand currency facts and theories, we make the following explanation. The relation of currency, or circulation medium, to the industry and business of the state, is similar to that of steam in an engine: a certain amount is required to keep up a regular and natural movement; an excessive amount causes too rapid motion, and a deficiency the reverse. Currency is made up of several things. Bank deposits, circulating by checks, bank notes, and coin, are the most important and best understood. The aggregate amount of these three items before the suspension of specie payments was above $450,000,000; and this sum is required to give a healthy movement to business affairs. Take away any portion of it, and prices fall and labor languishes, because the motion from it is too small for the work required; add considerably to it, and prices rise, because the motive power, being superabundant, is too freely used. When specie payment was suspended this motive power was reduced; the circulating medium fell from four hundred and fifty to three hundred and fifty millions, perhaps less; and unless this loss is replaced it is quite clear that prices must fall and the employment of labor be curtailed. The issue of treasury notes will fill the gap, making the business motive power of the same strength and ability as before. Thus it will be seen that the emission of treasury notes plays an important part upon the industry and business of the state, which, under existing circumstances, can hardly be over-valued, as well as in the national finances.

The Darwin-development theory has of late attracted no little attention. One of our contributors favors us with his views in the following 'wild-verse,' which is itself rather of the transition order:—

MODERN ANSWERS TO ANCIENT RIDDLES

'Whar did ye come from? Who d'ye belong to!'—Ethiops.

Philosophers say, deny it who may,That the man who stands upright so bravely to-day,Once crawled as a reptile with nose to the sod,His grandfather Monad a bit of a clod.To be sure, man's descent is not made out quite plain,But one or two guesses might piece out the chain;If the chain is quite long a few links won't be missed;Or, if you must join it, just give it a twist.A bold Boston doctor, by stride superhuman,Makes only a step from a snake to a woman;Or, inspect your best friends by Granville's good glass,And the difference's as small 'twixt a man and an ass.'From the company he keeps we may learn a man's nature;'If he will play with monkey, dog, cat, or such creature,The schoolmen will say, as a matter of course,'Cum hoc ergo propter hoc.' Notice its force!If with doubts you're still puzzled, and wonder who canAnswer all your objections, why Darwin's your man.He can bridge o'er a chasm both broad and profound;The last thing he needs for a theory is ground.Bring your queries and facts, no matter how tough;Development doctrine makes light of such stuff.One example of these will perhaps be enough:—'These crawlers,' for instance, 'should they be still here,''Not yet become bipeds?' The answer is clear:In our strangely unequal organic advance,He is the most forward who has the best chance.By braving the weather and struggling with brother,The one who survives it all gains upon t'other.The old Bible 'myth,' now, of Jacob and Esau,Is the struggle 'twixt species, the monkey and man law;One hairy, one handsome, one favored, one cursed;And sometimes the last one turns out to be first.Still, through cycles enough let the laggard persist,Let the weak be suppressed since he can not resist,And, proceeding by logic which none may dispute,Can't we safely infer there's an end to the brute?You may, if you please, supersede Revelation,By wholly new methods of ratiocination;Though, since head and heart need be in contradiction,Why should reason hold faith under any restriction?Shut your eyes, and guess down heaven's good pious fiction.16Noah's ark was superfluous. Where were his brains,For those beasts and those sons to provide with such pains,When they might to a deluge cry Fiddle di dee,And sprout fins and scales, if they took to the sea?Well, perhaps in those days they had not yet knownThat by need of new functions new organs are grown.Those drowned chaps were sure a 'degenerate' crew,Or else, on their plunge into element new,Some 'law of selection' had rescued a few.And, 'if wishes were fishes' I think one or twoWould have wished, and swam out of their scrape, do not you?Can it be that those 'Fish Tales' of mermen are true?No wonder that racing was always in fashion,—All orders of beings were born with the passion—But it seems that at length Genus Man will be winner.You cry 'Lucky dog!' But what now about dinner?No oysters, no turtle, fresh salmon, fried sole,No canvas duck nor fowl casserole.All these he has seen disappear from the stage,A sacrifice vast growing age after age.Their successive growth upward he's watched with dismay;They have come to be men, having all had their day!Though he took, while its lord, quite a taste of the creature,By rule Epicurean 'dum vivim.,' etcetera.In Paradise, Adam and Eve, to be sure,Since they didn't have flesh, ate their onion sauce pure,But, as our old friend John P. Robinson heSaid, 'they didn't know everything down in Judee.'Now the better taught modern he very well knowsWhat to beef and to mutton society owes.What are homes without hearths? What's a hearth without roasts?Or a grand public dinner with nothing but toasts?Yet, what government measure, or scheme philanthropic,Or learned convention in hall philosophic,But is mainly sustained upon leasts and collations?At least, it is so in all civilized nations.Here's a fix! Yet indeed, soon or late, the whole raceMust the problem decide on, with good or ill grace.We cannot go hungry; what are we to do?Shall we pulse it, like Daniel, that knowing young Jew?Letting Grahamite doctors our diet appoint,Eat our very plain pudding without any joint?Or, shall we the bloody alternative take,And cannibal meals of our relatives make,Put aside ancient scruples (for what's in a name?)And shake hands with the dainty New Zealander dame,Who thought that she really might relish a bitOf broiled missionary brought fresh from the spit?'Twere surely most cruel in Nature our nurse,Man's march of improvement so quick to reverse.Will she offer a choice which we may not refuse,When we're sure to turn savage however we choose?We may slowly creep up to a lofty position,Then go back at one leap to the lower condition.Even so, my good friend, in a circle he goes,Who would follow such theories on to their close.If you've started with Darwin, as sure as you're born,You're in a dilemma; pray take either horn.T.

Who has not belonged in his time to a debating society? What youth ambitious of becoming 'a perfect Hercules behind the bar?'—as a well meaning but unfortunate Philadelphian once said in a funeral eulogy over a deceased legal friend—has not 'debated' in a club 'formed for purposes of mutual and literary improvement of the mind?' All who have will read with pleasure the following letter from one who has most certainly been there:—

DEAR CONTINENTAL:

I am a man that rides around over the 'kedn'try.' In the little village where I am now tarrying, the school-house bell is ringing to call together the members of that ancient institution peculiar to villages, the debating society. A friend informs me that the time-honored questions—Should capital punishment be abolished?—Did Columbus deserve more praise than Washington?—Is art more pleasing to the eye than nature?—have each had their turn in their regular rotation, and that the question for to-night is—as you might suppose—Has the Indian suffered greater wrongs at the hands of the White man than the Negro? As I have a distinct recollection of having thoroughly investigated and zealously declaimed on each of the above topics in days lang syne, I shall excuse myself from attendance this evening, on the ground that I am already extensively informed on the subject in hand, and my mind is fully made up. But I hereby acknowledge my indebtedness to the good fellow who told me the object of the ringing of the bell—for he has unconsciously started up some of the most amusing recollections of my life. Sitting here alone in my room, I have just taken a hearty laugh over a circumstance that had well-nigh given me the slip. The question was the same Negro-Indian-White-man affair. One of the orators, having, a long time previously, seen a picture in an old 'jography' of some Indians making a hubbub on board certain vessels, and reading under it, Destruction of Tea in Boston Harbor, brought up the circumstance, and insisting with great earnestness that the white man had received burning wrongs at the hands of the Indian, and that the latter had no reason at all to complain, dwelt with great emphasis on the ruthless destruction of the white man's tea in Boston Harbor by the latter, in proof of his 'point.'

I remember also a debating society in the little village of R–, which numbered some really very worthy and intelligent members, but of course included some that were otherwise, among whom was a silly young fellow, who had mistaken his proper calling—(he should have been a wood-chopper), and was suffering under an attack at medicine. The question for debate on one occasion was—Is conscience an infallible guide? Being expected to take part in the discussion, he was bent on thorough preparation, and ransacked his preceptor's professional library—(almost as poor a place as a lawyer's) for a work on conscience. He found abundance of matter, however, for a lengthy chapter on the subject, as he supposed, occurring in several of the dusty octavos, and he thumbed the leaves with most patient assiduity. He had misspelled the word however, and was reading all the while on consciousness—a subject which would very naturally occur in some departments of medicine. But it was all one to him, he didn't see the difference, and the ridiculous display he made to us of his 'cramming' on consciousness can be better imagined than described.

Years after found me inside college walls—but colleges in the West, be it remembered, sometimes include preparatory departments, into which, by the courtesy of the teachers, many young men are admitted who would hardly make a respectable figure in the poorest country school, but who by dint of honest toil finally do themselves great credit.

I 'happened in' on a number of such, one evening, whose affinities had drawn them together with a view to forming a debating society, to be made exclusively of their own kind. I listened with much interest and pleasure to the preliminaries of organization, and smiled, when they were about to 'choose a question,' to see them bring out the same old coaches mentioned in the beginning of this article; when one of their number arose, evidently dissatisfied with the old beaten track, and seemed bent on opening a new vein. He was a good, honest, patient fellow, but his weakness in expressing himself was, that, although his delivery was very slow, he didn't know how he was going to end his sentences when he began them. 'Mr. President,' said he, 'how would this do? Suppose a punkin seed sprouts in one man's garden, and the vine grows through the fence, and bears a punkin on another man's ground—now—(a long pause)—the question is—whose punkin—does it belong to?' The poor fellow subsided, as might be supposed, amid a roar of voices and a crash of boots.

There is a legal axiom which would settle the pumpkin-vine query—that of cujus est solum ejus est usque ad coelum—'ownership in the soil confers possession of everything even as high as heaven.' Our friends in Dixie seem determined to prove that they have also fee simple in their soil downwards as far as the other place, and by the last advices were digging their own graves to an extent which will soon bring them to the utmost limit of their property!

Does the reader remember Poor Pillicoddy, and the mariner who was ever expected to turn up again? Not less eccentric, as it seems to us, is the re-apparition chronicled in the following story by a friend:—

TURNING UP AGAIN!

'You were all through that Mexican war, and out with Walker in Niggerawger.—Well, what do you think 'bout Niggerawger? Kind of a cuss'd 'skeeter hole, ain't it?'

'Tain't so much 'skeeters as 'tis snaiks, scorpiums and the like,' answered the gray-moustached corporal. 'It's hot in them countries as a Dutch oven on a big bake; and going through them parts, man's got to move purty d–d lively to git ahead of the yaller fever; it's right onto his tracks the hull time.'

'Did you git that gash over your nose out there?'

'Yes, I got that in a small scrimmage under old GRAY EYES. 'Twas next day after a fight though, cum to think on it. We'd been up there and took a small odobe hole called Santa Sumthin', and had spasificated the poperlashun, when I went to git a gold cross off an old woman, and she up frying-pan of frijoles and hit me, so!' Here the corporal aimed a blow with his pipe at the face of the high private he was talking with;—the latter dodged it.

'That was a big thing, that fight at Santa Sumthin'; the way we went over them mud walls, and wiped out the Greasers, was a cortion. I rac'lect when we was drawed up company front, afore we made the charge, there was a feller next me in the ranks—I didn't know him from an old shoe, 'cause he'd ben drafted that morning into us from another company. Says he,—

'We're going into hair and cats' claws 'fore long, and as I'm unbeknownst amongst you fellers, I'd like to make a bargain with you.'

'Go it,' says I; 'I'm on hand for ennything.'

'Well,' says he, 'witchever one of us gits knocked over, the tother feller 'll look out for him, and if he ain't a goner 'll haul him out, so the doctor can work onto him.'

'Good,' says I, 'you may count me in there; mind you look after ME!'

The fight began, and when we charged, the fust thing I knowed the feller next me, wot made the bargain, he went head over heels backwards; and to tell the honest trooth, I was just that powerful egsited I never minded him a smite, but went right ahead after plunder and the Greasers, over mud walls and along alleys, till I got, bang in, where I found something worth fighting about it. 'Bout dusk, when we was all purty full of agwadenty, they sent us out to bury our fellers as was killed in the scrimmage; and as we hadn't much time to spare, we didn't dig a hole more'n a foot or two deep, and put all our fellers in, in a hurry. Next morning airly, as I was just coming out of a church where I'd ben surveyin' some candle-stix with a jack-knife to see ef they were silver, [witch they were not,—hang em!]—as I was coming out of the church I felt a feller punch me in the back—so I turned round to hit him back, when I see the feller, as had stood by me in the ranks the day before, all covered over with dirt, and mad as a ringtail hornet.

'Hello!' said I.

'Hello! yourself,' said he. 'I want ter know what yer went and berried me for, afore I was killed for?'

I never was so put to for a answer afore in all my life, 'cause I wanted to spasificate the feller, so I kind of hemmed, and says I—'Hm! the fact was, this dirty little hole of a town was rayther crowded last night, and I—just to please you, yer know—I lodged you out there; but I swear I was this minute going out there to dig you up for breakfuss!'

'If that's so,' said he, 'we won't say no more 'bout it; but the next time you do it, don't put a feller in so deep; for I had a oncommon hard scratch turning up again!'

H.P.L.

We are indebted to the same writer for the following Oriental market-picture—we might say scene in a proverb:

PROVERBIALLY WISE.

ACHMET sat in the bazaar, calmly smoking: he had said to himself in the early morning,—'When I shall have made a hundred piastres I will shut up shop for the day, and go home and take it easy, al'hamdu lillah!' Now a hundred piastres in the land of the faithful, where the sand is and the palms grow, is equal to a dollar in the land of Jonathan: and the expression he concluded his sentence with is equivalent to—Praise be to Allah!

Along came a blind fakir begging; then ACHMET gave him five paras, although his charity was unseen; neither did he want it to be seen, for he said to himself,—

'Do good and throw it into the sea—if the fishes don't know it, God will.'

And as he handed the poor blind fakir the small coin, he said to him, in a soothing voice,—

'Fa'keer' (which in the Arabic means poor fellow), 'the nest of a blind bird is made by Allah.'

Then along came SULIMAN BEY, who was high in office in the land of Egypt, and was wealthy, and powerful, and very much hated and feared. And ACHMET bowed down before him, and performed obeisance in the manner of the Turks, touching his own hand to his lips, his breast, his head:—and the SULIMAN BEY went proudly on. Then ACHMET smiled, and YUSEF, who had a stall in the bazaar opposite to him, winked to ACHMET, saying, in a low voice,—

'Kiss ardently the hands which you can not cut off:'– and they smiled grimly one unto the other.

'Did you hear the music in the Esbekieh garden yesterday?' asked YUSEF of ACHMET. 'I think it was horrible.'

'It cost nothing to hear it,' quoth ACHMET: 'there was no charge made.'

'Aio! true,' answered YUSEF; 'but there were too many drums; I wouldn't have one if I were Pacha.'

'Welcome even pitch, if it is gratis.'

'Wanting to make the eyebrows right, pull out the eyes,' said ACHMET, contentedly. 'And as for your disliking the music,—A cucumber being given to a poor man, he did not accept it because it was crooked!'—'Come, let us shut up shop and go to the mosque. It is fated that we sell no goods to-day. Wajadna bira'hmat allah ra'hah—By the grace of Allah we have found repose!'

Our correspondent gives us a pun in our last number over again. It is none the worse, however, for its new coat, as set forth in

GETTING AHEAD OF TIME.

'Well now, I declare, this is too bad. Here it is five minutes past ten and BUDDEN ain't here. Did anybody ever know that man to keep an engagement?'

'Yes,' replied the Doctor to the Squire, 'I knew him to keep one.'

'Let it out,' said the Squire.

'An engagement to get married.'

'Hm!' replied the Squire, looking over his spectacles with the air of one who had been deceived. At this moment JERRY BUDDEN, a jolly-looking, fat, middle-aged man entered the office quietly and coolly, having all the air of one who arrived half an hour before the appointed time of meeting.

'Got ahead of time this morning, any way,' said Jerry.

'The devil you did!' spoke the Squire, testily; 'you are seven minutes behind time this morning; you would be behindhand to-morrow and next day, and so on as long as you live. Confound it, Jerry, you make me mad with your laziness and coolness. Ahead of time! why look at that watch!'—Here the Squire, pulling out a plethoric-looking, smooth gold watch, about the size of a bran biscuit, held it affectionately in the palm of his right hand. 'Look at that watch!'

'Nice watch,' said Jerry, 'very nice watch. The best of watches will sometimes get out of order though. How long since you had it cleaned?'

The Squire looked indignant, and broke out, 'I've carried that watch more'n thirty year; I have it cleaned regularly, and it is always right to a minute, always! It's you that want regulating.'

'Can't help it,' spoke Jerry; 'I got ahead of time this morning.'

'Bet you a hat on it,' said the Squire.

'Done!' answered Jerry. And, putting his hand in his pocket, he deliberately produced the torn page of an old almanac, and, pointing to part of an engraving of the man with an hour-glass, said to the Squire,—

'Hain't I got a Head of Time—this morning?'

Jerry now wears a new hat!

'What poor slaves are the American people!' says the Times' own RUSSELL. 'They may abjure kings and princes, but they are ruled by hotel-keepers and waiters.' The following translation from the Persian shows, however, that a man may be a king or a prince and a hotel-keeper at the same time.

A ROYAL HOTEL-KEEPERFROM THE PERSIAN. BY HENRY P. LELANDIBRAM BEN ADHAM at his palace gate,Sits, while in line his pages round him wait;When a poor dervish, staff and sack in hand,Straight would have entered IBRAM'S palace grand.'Old man,' the pages asked, 'where goest thou now?''In that hotel,' he answered, with a bow.The pages said,—'Ha! dare you call hotelA palace, where the King of Balkh doth dwell?'IBRAM the King next to the dervish spoke:'My palace a hotel? Pray, where's the joke?''Who,' asked the dervish, 'owned this palace first?''My grandsire,' IBRAM said, while wrath he nursed.'Who was the next proprietor?' please say.'My father:' thus the king replied straightway.'Who hired it then upon your father's death?''I did,' King IBRAM answered, out of breath.'When you shall die, who shall within it dwell?''My son,' the King replied. 'Why ask'st thou? Tell!''IBRAM!' then spoke the dervish to him straight,'I'll answer thee, nor longer make thee wait.The place where travelers come, and go as well,Is, really, not a palace, but—hotel!'

Yea, friends; and, as another genial poet has discovered, life itself is but a hostelrie or tavern, where some get the highest rooms, while others, of greater social weight, gravitate downwards into the first story, sinking like gold to the bottom of the hotel pan,—that is O.W. HOLMES', his idea, reader, not ours. Apropos of HOLMES and kings—his thousands of reader friends have ere this seen with pleasure that the Emperor of all the French was not unmindful of one of his brother-potentates,—in the world of song,—when he paid OLIVER WENDELL the courteous compliment which has of late gone the rounds, and which conferred as much honor on the giver as the taker thereof.