Saturday Evening, June 7, 1856.
Summer Sojournings.
The first breath of summer has a moving effect on migratory men, and they are about spreading their wings or packing their trunks for a flight from the city limits to where the airs of ocean or the spicy breath of the woods or the bracing breezes of the hills will impart their invigorating influence to the system, enervated by the heat of the city, reflected from myriad bricks and stones. It is well for a little time so to flee, and there is an enjoyment in the relaxation gained or taken from the incessancy of toil, that compensates for the many months of care that have bound us. Like children out of school, we delight in the sense of freedom on the hills or by the brooks. We draw long breaths, and expand our spacious lungs in a manner not performed in the city over the dull desk. The song of the bird fills us with delight; the clover blossoms we share with the bee in enjoyment of their sweets; the cold brook that runs over the pure sand demands our homage, and we bow to the earth like mussulmen to quaff its coolness; the eye is glad in the purple glory that crowns the distant hills, or in the landscape that reveals its rare loveliness on every side; the devotion of the mount is ours—the spiritual transfiguration—where with holy awe we take off our hats and feel that we stand nearer the Deity than ever before; we joy in the rod and line and reel, and traverse miles in quest of the finny prey; the sighing of the old woods comes with a soothing influence over our spirit, and with the reflection that care killed a cat, and that it shall not have the chance to perform the same office for us, we banish him incontinently, and wear our loose boots, and the fashions of years ago with perfect impunity. There is no Sunday off soundings, and there is no fashion in the woods but hues of health and gladness of heart.
But where shall we go? and variety obtrudes to prevent a ready choice. Nahant stands beckoning to us. A more charming spot for a sea retreat cannot be found, or better landlords that the Messrs. Stevens, whose assiduous attention has won for them a deserved and wide spread praise. Here we have sea and shore—fishing, regattas, bathing and pleasant drives, make up the business of Nahant. The White Mountains have a thousand allurements to view their majestic beauties. The lovers of the sublime may in contemplation of their glories be gratified to the top of their bent. For more quiet attractions, Bellows Falls offer many inducements. It were a hard matter to find a spot more serenely beautiful, or one where the gentle spirit would find nature better in accordance with itself. Pigeon Cove has charms for many, and old usage brings nearly the same circle yearly to its rugged shores. Every railroad leads to some nook where there is “entertainment for man and beast.” The Glades are ever glades for enjoyment and Nantasket is savory with delectable compounds made of trophies of the sea.
Croakers are predicting that visitors from the south will not come north any more to avail themselves of our watering places and bold scenery. We don’t believe it. The Southerners are not all Brookses. There is nothing sectional in love of the beautiful, and the southern heart can beat as admiringly in the contemplation of New England’s beauties as that of her own sons. Herein the South and the North cannot differ. A love of nature produces no estrangement—it is a love that can be poured out lavishly with no jealous fear of favoritism on the part of its object.
We do not hold to a selfish abandonment of home in the summer time, leaving a heavier burden of care on the wife; but, if it can be afforded, it were a pleasant matter to take the wife and weans along and let them too enjoy the pure air and the pleasant sights. With some the season is looked forward to as a season of release from home as well as business, and errant spouses sport therein with a magnificent freedom,—giving small heed to the patient—she must be patient or he wouldn’t have gone—wife at home, with her increased cares on her own and his account. We wish that the conditions may be right, and then pack up. Bring out the leather valise, and the fishing gear from Bradford’s, and impurtenances belonging to summer life, and away to the mountains or the sea shore—any where out of the smell of lime and bricks and the clambake odor of the hot streets. We are almost gone.
Literary Notices.
Worth and Wealth.—With this title Mr. Freeman Hunt has prepared a volume, which is published by Stringer & Townsend, consisting of maxims, anecdotes, etc., connected with the mercantile profession. They are such as may be perused with peculiar profit by young merchants, and their careful compilation reflects credit upon the industry and taste of Mr. Hunt. If every merchant were to present a copy of the work to his clerks, there would be more Lawrences and fewer Schuylers.
Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory.—The lectures delivered by the late Professor Channing before the students of Harvard College, published by Ticknor & Fields, will receive that attention which they merit from the many throughout the country who have listened to them, or were personally acquainted with the man and know the value of what he uttered. No better verbal critic ever lived than Professor Channing. His advice and suggestions were such as he alone could give, and the lectures here published for the first time are of moment to any one who desires a pure style. Professor C. despised affectations and eccentricities of language, and if those who daily mar the King’s English by engrafting upon it Gallicisms and new fangled expressions were simply to heed what he had written upon these points, there would be a vast improvement in a great part of our current literature.
The States and Territories of the Great West.—This publication of Miller, Orton & Mulligan’s combines interest and utility in a high degree. While it gives a graphic and readable account of the rise of the Great West, it furnishes all needful information in regard to the salubrity, expense of living, etc., in different localities, and one intending to emigrate should by all means consult its pages, as it is by a person evidently thoroughly conversant with the subject which he treats.
The Camel. By George P. Marsh.—This is quite a useful little volume, suggested by the question of the practicability of introducing camels into the United States. The writer favors the idea and considers the south-western parts of the country and California favorable to their habits. He has spent much time in countries which gave scope for personal observation on the subject, and has faithfully consulted all reliable works. The day may be distant when camels will be one of our necessities in labor and one of our desiderata in war, but we cannot doubt that the propagation of the species in America would be most serviceable in many respects. Published by Gould & Lincoln.
Strolls About Town.
With the Dolce Fas.
An interesting topic, just now, being the conflicting accounts of the French Emperor’s conduct during his short visit to America, it is thought that a few additional hints may be gathered from the following narration.
In eighteen hundred and thirty-five, Geneva, in Switzerland, was the house of refuge for the politically proscribed of all colors and classes; and a concentration of remarkable talent, merit and rank was convened within the walls of that antiquated city. Amongst its varied attractions of social existence, arising from the presence of so many distinguished personages, royal and otherwise, nothing imparted more solid satisfaction and enjoyment than the visits of the fascinating Hortense Beauharnois, ex-Queen of Holland, then Dutchess of Saint Leu. Fame had widely spread the reputation of this enchanting woman and those who had fancied that the aureole of royalty might have imparted a certain seductive gilding to the good reports of her attractions, were fain to confess that such was not the case, but that Josephine’s mantle had surely fallen on her daughter.
Where first Hortense was seen,
By Leman’s waters met,
With bland and gracious mien,
Has time its signet set.
How well I call to mind
That Queen-like look and air,
And in my memory find
The brow so passing fair.
The sweetest voice and smile
Both dwell within my heart,
And beauty plays, the while,
An all absorbing part.
When down by Rousseau’s isle
She led a joyous band,
With charms, that lured the while,
Now fled to spirit land!
And through June’s roseate hours,
Its eve so soft and gray,
With glow-worms mid the flowers,
In quiet, gentle play.
And nightingales in bowers
That trolled the twilight song,
While proving music’s powers
She lingered late and long.
The birds now sing as gaily,
A sadness on my soul!
As when she wandered daily
Where bluest waters roll.
Thus earthly ties dissever
And those, who joined her train,
Believe that they shall never
Behold her like again.
The Duchess, proving quite irresistible to both men and women, was immediately surrounded by admirers of whose good faith and disinterestedness she was made fully aware by the total absence of all state and pageantry in her own domestic appointments, for nothing was ever more simple and unpretentious than her establishment. Two ladies in waiting sat with her, in the evening, in a plain and neatly furnished parlor which was reached by passing through an anteroom and dining room; the Hostess, reclining on a comfortable sofa, invited the first coming guest to be seated at her side and the rest of the company assembled, as best it could, around a table, which always stood before her, covered with books and fancy work. The society, composed of refugees, travellers, and a few Genevese, comprising some of the most notable names in Europe, conversed in the most brilliant and animated manner; the localities of the place being totally indifferent to them, the subjects were beyond description interesting, and nothing could be more entertaining and instructive that the discussions which arose, literary, political and otherwise, wherein all the graces of polished and intellectual conversation were fully displayed. The Duchess could be readily engaged, and was often, by Sismonde de Sismondi on the subject of the idol of her heart and imagination, Napoleon; and, also by the suggestions and entreaties of others, would fully descant on all the characteristics of that great man, and constantly finished by asserting again and again that he was as good as he was great, and, however many approbative adjectives she might have showered upon him, in her narrations, she ever pertinaciously declared him to be good.
Full of talent and cultivation, a delicious musician and composer, an artist, as albums teeming with admirable miniatures of her treasured friends testified, with captivating manners and a sweet musical voice in speaking, hours passed in her presence were as minutes and now that she has departed, alas! before she witnessed the wondrous rise and prosperity of her idolized son, a vision of surpassing beauty in all that remains of such a truly marvellous creature.
It was in this charmed circle that Louis Napoleon was seen to great advantage; he entered the presence of his lady mother, always attended by an Italian nobleman since deceased, and Doctor Conneau who has never left him; he approached her in the most deferential manner and after saluting her as if she were still on the throne of Holland, he stationed himself behind her and, with one hand on the sofa, joined in the general conversation quietly and composedly.
He was not eloquent; like that mother, he carried no one captive away with gift of tongue, but calm, dignified and profound, he acted well his part in a circle which required a man’s best means of fence in conversation to be developed and sustained.
To say that the Prince was exactly attractive would be imparting an unfair impression, but that he commanded a certain degree of respect, unusual in one of his age, is equally true. A hard student, his time was occupied with his books and he always appeared to have just emerged from long and protracted vigils. He led a very retired life, and Sismonde de Sismondi, on one of those delightful reunions, remarked to the writer of this article, “The Prince is dreaming of a crown and preparing himself for it.” But far, very far, indeed, was the admirable and excellent historian from believing that such an event would ever occur, or that the world would behold the marvellous exaltation which is truly more like the dream he then playfully attributed to Louis Napoleon than a positive reality, for he believed that to be a dream
“Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air;
And more unconstant than the wind, which woos
Even in the frozen bosom of the north,
And, being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his face to the dew-dropping south.”
With his days devoted to a preparation for the throne of France, with rather defiant and unapproachable manners, with the fixed idea of a crown which he ever saw before him and always well supplied with money, (an important consideration, under the circumstances), it seems quite monstrous that the present French Emperor should have become so transformed by a few weeks’ residence in New York as to entirely falsify all his antecedents, all previous conceptions of his character, so well known by persons who were constantly with his mother, and who heard from her own lips what his views and pursuits were! That the slightly regal air, which had become with him a second nature, should have been laid aside on touching our Republican soil is truly extraordinary, and that his dominant and all absorbing love for his native land should have been abandoned to the degree that he should have forgotten that he was Napoleon’s nephew, for while he remembered him it is certain he could never have demeaned or degraded himself,—all these conflicting views pass human belief. The Rev. Mr. Stewart, a gentleman of the highest respectability, has nobly come to the rescue of the Prince’s reputation during his sojourn in America, as well as M. Finelli, another defender. And if any reasoning from analogy is necessary to a knowledge of his character, acquired by relations of a most engaging and endearing nature with a mother whose memory is embalmed in the hearts of all who ever enjoyed the happiness of an intercourse with her, there is in this unpretending article some slight colloteral evidence proffered, in contradistinction to the statements which have elsewhere appeared derogatory to the honor and dignity of the French Emperor, by
One of the Barclays.
Science of the Soil.
It is a subject for rejoicing that a taste is growing constantly for the cultivation of the soil, for the production of the fairest species of nature’s creations—fruits and flowers. This has been owing to the efforts of such men as M. P. Wilder, J. Fiske Allen, the Brecks, the Winships and other, whose untiring zeal, for a quarter of a century, has been devoted to improvements in what we denominate the science of the soil. The success of these efforts has been of the most satisfactory character, manifested through their exhibitions, in improved varieties of fruits and flowers that each year sees poured into the lap of autumn. We are glad at the increased interest manifested by all, and take courage in the assurance of increased refinement among the people, as St. Paul took courage on seeing the three taverns, as we believe a love of the beautiful in nature or art is incompatible with wickedness. Honor to the noble men who have achieved it, whose names, allied with benefit, shall live with a lasting fame as benefactors of their race.
We were called a day or two since to old Salem, and visited several gardens in that semi-rural city, that were gems of taste, and abounded with rich evidences of the care and attention of their owners. The city of Salem is full of excellent private gardens, and to apply the rule of incompatibility of floral taste to vicious inclination, Salem may be pronounced, from an outside view even, as virtuous as it is beautiful. Salem is as bewitching as it was once bewitched, and a stranger, in view of its wide streets, and graceful foliage, and finely arranged and roomy grounds, feels the influence of the spell.
The most prominent among these is the garden of Jos. S. Cabot, in Essex street. Its finely laid out and level walks are most grateful to the eye, while its profusion of flowers is a source of continued delights. There is a judicious adaptedness of hue to location among all the varieties, that strikes the trained eye, and the tout ensemble is that of the most exquisite taste. About an acre of ground, extending from Essex to Chestnut street, is devoted to the cultivation of flowers and fruits and affords ample room and food for admiration. In this garden the most extensive bed of tulips is to be seen that it was ever our good fortune to witness. It contains upward of one thousand varieties, of every shade and hue, and it was in its most perfect bloom at the time we saw it, sparkling in the sun like a floral mosaic, and in its blended hues presenting an appearance not surpassed by scenes of fairy land and richer than imagination could conceive. It was a sight not soon to be forgotten, and we think the exhibition could with difficulty be excelled. The plants were perfect and healthy and the ultimate of tulip cultivation seemed to have been attained. Such gardens are creditable to their proprietors and to the places where they are located. Mr. Cabot grants the privilege, to all, of seeing his grounds, which is availed of very extensively.
Opposite Mr. Cabot’s, in Chestnut street, is the residence of J. Fisk Allen, whose name in connection with fruit and flowers is as a household word in our ears. He has been regarded as an embodiment of nectarines, peaches, grapes, figs, Victoria regias, and lilies, and his affable manners, upon acquaintance, reconciles one to the opinion that it must be so.
We visited his celebrated Victoria Regia, but one plant of which he has now living, all but this having been killed by the severe cold of last winter. This plant has been too often spoken of to need description at this time, but an examination of the spot where it grows, and the knowledge gained there of its requirements and delicacy of its culture, must convince one of the care and patience to be exercised in its development that before was not appreciated. For several years an application has been devoted to it that in some families would have been sufficient for the rearing of a large family of children, and the recompense has been in the satisfaction enjoyed in maturing the splendid plant, than which, to a man like Mr. Allen, an enthusiastic in his favorite science, scarce more was wanted. We learned from him that this year he should discontinue its cultivation, a dampness proceeding from it, that rendered it inimical to health, he himself having suffered therefrom. One bud of the mammoth lily is nearly ready to bloom. It puts forth but one at a time, and they follow each other in regular succession.
In the same apartment with the Victoria Regia, are various other plants of tropical growth—plants of water and those of air—of very rare descriptions. Among these are the lotus of the Nile, African lilies, and air plants, whose odd proclivity for impalpable diet is a matter of great wonder. A visit to Mr. Allen’s grapery, in Flint street, was a great feature of our visit. This is nearly all in doors, for the rearing of choice descriptions, though several hybrid varieties—crossings between the Isabella and some foreign grape—bore the winter exceedingly well out doors, and show great vigor. Several glass houses compose his grapery, heated by steam pipes and arranged on the most scientific plans for securing an even temperature. Nectarines, peaches and figs were seen in great profusion, ripening beneath the glass, and more than one hundred varieties of grapes are struggling for eminence some day, in our horticultural aeports.
The grapery of Mr. Allen and his great water lily are well worth a journey to Salem to see, and we feel well compensated for our afternoon’s sojourn in the city of the witches.
Antiquities.—We had the privilege of holding in our hands, on Wednesday in Salem, a phial containing some dozen or more of the identical pins used by the witches in tormenting their victims two hundred years ago. The pins look bright and fresh as though of yesterday’s make. We had likewise shown to us a death warrant against some unfortunate wretch—a witch—with the fatal return of the sheriff on the back, besides many old papers, indictments, &c., relating to the dark points of Salem’s history.
Another Tremendous Joke.—At Cincinnati, the following immense joke was got off, in sober seriousness. “Mr. George of New Hampshire said he would not stand by and hear the glorious and God-like administration of Franklin Pierce abused.”
For the Country every family contemplating a visit to the country should supply themselves with Mrs. Kidder’s Cordial as a very effectual remedy for Cholera Morbus, Dysentery and Diarrhœa even in its worst stages. Try it.
What Not.
“There’s where the Boys fit for College,” said the Professor to Mrs. Partington, pointing to the school in Bedford street. “Did they?” said the old lady, with animation, “and if they fit for college before they went there, didn’t they fight afterwards?” “Yes,” said he smiling, and favoring the conceit; “yes, but the fight was with the head and not with the hands.” “Butted, did they?” said the old lady, persistently. “I mean,” continued he, “that they wrestled with their studies, and went out of college to be our ministers and doctors. “Ah!” said she, “I never knew that people had to rastle to be ministers and doctors before. I suppose Mr. Crampton is one of these ministers, who has been sent home because he has done wrong, and marcy could’t save him. I don’t know about it, but some say he is sent home because he wanted to get cruets for the British army, and others that he wanted to turn all the mosquitos agin us. If he does this, he ought to be sent home, for marcy knows we have enough of ’em now.” They moved on, Mrs. Partington pondering on who would receive the call in place of the British minister, and Ike and Lion striving for the possession of the old lady’s umbrella, which seemed to suffer.
Boston Light Infantry.—This popular corps under command of Capt. C. O. Rogers, paraded as a battallion on Wednesday, and came into line on the common with ninety eight guns, subsequently increased to a hundred. Their full dress uniform, and bear skin caps, gave to the column as they marched through the streets to the music of Dodworth’s celebrated band, a very fine appearance, and the sidewalk committee unanimously agreed that it was the best—as it was in point of numbers, the largest—parade ever made by the Tigers. In the afternoon Major General Edmands and staff, reviewed the corps in presence of thousands of our citizens, and in the evening the corps dined at the American House, where speeches and sentiments were made by Capt. Charles O. Rogers, Maj. Gen. Edmands, Hon. John C. Park, ex-Lieut. W. W. Clapp, Jr., Major Reed, Lieut. W. W. Cook, Lieut. Hathaway, of the Worcester City Guard, and others.
One pleasing feature of the parade, was the appearance in the ranks of Hon. John C. Park, a past commander, who covered his son in the fourth section, and gave assurance that he has not forgotten his drill. Two years since Col. Frank Boyd expressed the hope when Capt. Rogers assumed the command, and turned out sixty-two, that he would never heard less than sixty-two quicksteps behind him. It was a prophetic wish, for every parade has witnessed a gradual increase, and the number is only limited by Gen. Stone, who cannot spare at present another stand of arms.
Literary.—Messrs. Ticknor, Reed & Fields have in press the Life of Col. John C. Fremont, a traveller second only to Humboldt in the practical good he has done the world by his explorations. A neat pocket edition of Tennyson’s poems, in one volume, beautifully printed, has just been issued by this house.
Messrs. Phillips, Sampson & Co., have in press a sequel to the Huggermuggers, the illustrations of which are truly superb, and highly mirth provoking.
The Ballads of Ireland.—We are indebted to the good taste of P. Donahoe for this publication. Irish poetry is distinct from that of any other nation. It has more ring, more rattle, more fervor. Some of the finest lyrics in the language have been penned by Celtic bards. The two volumes under notice contain a choice collection of some of the best emanations of Irish poets.
Physiology of the Senses.—This Philosophical work, by A. B. Johnson, has much to recommend it. It has a vein of strong sound sense running through it, and its suggestions are practical and should be heeded. It would be an excellent book for schools. Published by Derby & Jackson.
Poems by Richard Chenevix Trench.—Redfield has issued an American edition of these poems. Mr. Trench is probably the first religious poet of the present day. His story of Justin Martyr is a magnificent thing, and some of his minor little poems have a beauty in their way which is unapproachable.
Little, Brown & Co.—Summer is setting in and our worthy citizens with their families are wending their way to country retreats, and seaside resorts,—the majority of them to pass months away from the dust and turmoil of Boston. Yet even in the country, and within the sound of the surf, there are blue days,—days when the routine of pleasures begins to tire, and the satiated mind seeks more solid and substantial enjoyments. When sea-bathing, riding, walking, chess, billiards and bowls are exhausted, when music has lost a portion of its charms, and the warn weather puts a veto upon Terpsichorean rites, the inveterate resource is a book. And therefore every one should leave town well provided with books sufficient to make the weary hours pass happily.
A visit to the bookstore of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., and a glance at their well stored shelves will induce the visitor to purchase ere he departs. The high character of these publishers’ issues, the excellence with which their reprints are edited, the typographical appearance of their works on sale,—these facts have established the reputation of the firm, and their name upon the title page of a volume is a sufficient guarantee of its excellence.
The works of John Adams, edited by his grandson, Charles Francis, the writings of Bancroft, Sabine, Bowen, Frothingham, Eliot, Goodcich, Theodore Parker, Sparks, Quincy, Story, Winthrop, and Hillard, Professor Childs’s edition of the British Poets, and the recent volumes of the British Essayists, sufficiently evince the tone of Messrs. Little, Brown & Co.’s issues. Such publications as these, emanations from some of the master minds of the present century, are of infinite service to the vast reading public of America. Those who eschew the ill digested attempts at the novel of the writers of this country, and prefer the perusal of what induces thought and reflection, will appreciate the signal advantage to be obtained by a liberal patronage of such commendable publications.
The lawyer, who, entering upon business, desires that sine qua non,—an excellent library,—will find at Little, Brown & Co.’s, the only full collection of legal works in this vicinity. Extreme care is paid to this department of publishing. The durability of their binding—(a great desideratum with lawyers)—and the quality of their type and paper are worthy of all praise, while Messrs. L., B. & Co., are ever up with the times, keeping a keen eye on all important decisions, and so amended and alterating as to be ever within “the letter of the law.”
They receive by every steamer a large assortment of recent European issues, and among other important publications and reprints which they have now in press, may be instanced, “The Law and Practice of Legislative Assemblies in the United States of America,” by the Hon. Luther S. Cushing, a new edition of Shakespeare, by Richard Grant White; a new edition of Plutarch’s Lives, and the Poems of William W. Story, Esq.
For years the reputation acquired by Messrs. Little, Brown & Co., has been preserved intact, and from the spirit of enterprise which characterizes their business operations, we have no fear of their energy ever flagging.
Boston: Saturday Evening, June 7, 1856.
South and North.
As the Frenchman said when informed, in a corner where he was waiting, that his wife made him the happy present of three children at a birth, we must put a stop to this business. The bellicose tone of the newspapers, North and South, is frightful. Spiteful words are hurled about, regardless of the damage they may do, as the leaden bullets were fired at Bunker Hill, and it would seem at this precise moment that the evil genius of our country were standing, axe in hand, ready to cut the line that holds the two sections together, and let the whole fabric fall into eternal smash. In this case we say, stand back, or, let both parties hit the evil genius that would work the ruin right between the eyes, and not like two lubberly school boys stand glowering at each other, with malice and hatred flashing from their eyes, and fists doubled up, ready to pitch into each other. Because a cowardly bully knocks down a Northern man, and the whole press of the South commend him for it, it may not be from a real sentiment that he has done right, but from a bravado that, springing out of antagonism with the North, leads to an expression of approval that, if coolness were the order of the day, might be condemnatory.
There is no reason why we should quarrel with the South about their institutions any more than that the South should quarrel with us about ours. And we are really not disposed to. The muss is with the South itself, which, fancying every Northern man an abolitionist in disguise, with a Guy Faux keg of Union-destroying gunpowder under his arm, distrusts everything north of that line of Messrs. Mason and Dixon that divides Maryland from Pennsylvania.
Our friends, the Northern politicians, of the Southern sympathising stamp, have done much to encourage this idea, by favoring the impression, through ignorance or wilfulness, that thonest repugnance to slavery and regret at its existence, with the wish that it should be confined to constitutional bounds, is the same as the fanatical opposition that proclaims, as they say, the Constitution to be a compact with what’s-his-name, and considerable more, which is untrue entirely. Having done their best in fanning up so interesting a feeling as is now evidently existing, they wring their hands at any honest outburst of feeling that threatens to retaliate for wrongs resulting from their insidious working—far more effective than what the warmest of the abolitionists do themselves—and frantically cry treason, and ask people if they know they are endangering the Union by the course they are pursuing! But the North cannot do without the South nor the South without the North. The Union is made, and what God has joined together let not man put asunder. The free love temporizing with the bond will not go down with the people, and fanatics, North and South, cannot dissever it. The Kansas trouble will be adjusted, as soon as “border ruffianism” can be made amenable to law and Kansas emigrants come under the same rule, for we believe that even in Kansas there are two sides of the story, and that perfection does not belong even to the emigrants—though that gross wrong has been done them there is no doubt. Affairs in Kansas should not endanger the Union, for Kansas itself will yet be a part of that Union.
If the politicians can be killed off, the trouble will be all over, and we recommend as an offering to our institutions that a holocaust be made of such on the altar of the Union.
Annexation of Chelsea to Boston.
On Monday our fellow citizens are called upon to vote on the question of re-annexing Chelsea to Boston. The desire for annexation comes from Chelsea, and the petitioners have set forth all the advantages and disadvantages of the measure in a very satisfactory manner, on paper, with a very large average in favor of the scheme. By this statement Boston is to be largely the gainer; Chelsea simply wants to be “re-annexed,” with no ulterior selfishness, or “axe to grind.” She desires no interest in the water, except to pay her interest on the debt, she wishes for no paving or grading the streets either, they are already good enough, the sanatary condition of the town is excellent, there are very few naturalized foreigners there to be made voters of, and if Boston will only take Chelsea under her motherly wing, the whole of its resources and waste lands and other property, and town debt, shall be made right over at once, and put into Mr. Tracy’s hands. The bill passed the legislature very glibly, though opposed by Boston, as almost anything would pass if Boston opposed it, and the committee appointed by the city council upon the subject of annexation, made a strong report against it. We don’t like the scheme, though in favor of consolidation of the cities and towns round about in one confederacy, for like Hugnet in Richelieu, those who appear for the petitioners “bow too low” to be quite sincere in their proposed disinterestedness, and we fear Boston would find herself carrying the heaviest end of the log. But Chelsea is a beautiful town and made up of Boston business people, who are desirous of having their homes under the same government, and while we commend this feeling, and repeat the wish that the union might be effected, there does not seem to be a sufficient mutuality of interest to warrant its being done at the present time. The fact is, Chelsea does wish to participate in the water privileges of Boston, in her schools, her system of grading, her police, and does not offer an equivalent therefor. All the advantages that Chelsea nominally desires by annexation, could be gained by a municipal organization, which its constantly increasing numbers will admit of by another year—its population being upwards of ten thousand. We hope our people will turn out strong on Monday and vote upon this question, which is one of deep interest to Boston.
The Democratic Nominations.—The Democratic Convention at Cincinnati have nominated James Buchanan of Pennsylvania, for President, on the seventeenth ballot, by an unanimous vote. John C. Breckenridge of Kentucky, was nominated for Vice President. Mr. Buchanan is the best nominee the Democrats have made since General Jackson. The Post gives the following sketch of him:—
“Mr. Buchanan was born in Franklin county, Pa., April 13, 1791. (He is the son of an Irishman who emigrated to this country.) After passing through a classical and academic course of study, he entered the practice of the law, and in 1814 was elected a member of the House of Assembly. He was re-elected in 1815, but declined another re-election. He continued to grow in public confidence, and in 1820 was elected a member of Congress, and was re-elected until the fifth election, when March 1, 1831, he retired to private life. He had warmly advocated the election of Gen. Jackson to the presidency; and the latter in May, 1831, tendered him the mission to Russia. This honor he accepted, and fulfilled the duties of the mission with distinguished ability. In 1834, immediately on his return, he was elected to the Senate of the United States to fill the unexpired term occasioned by the resignation of Mr. Wilkins; in 1836 he was elected for a full term, and in 1843 was re-elected. In March 1845 he was appointed by President Polk Secretary of State, and served the country in that capacity through his administration. In 1852, on the nomination of Pierce and King, Mr. Buchanan came out in a noble manner in their support, and made some of the ablest speeches in that campaign. He was tendered by President Pierce the mission to England. Such is the suavity of his manner, and the dignity of his bearing, and the solid weight of his character, that few ministers have served their country more acceptably.”
Nahant.—After the present storm has abated, pleasant weather may with certainty be predicted, and overcoats and furs packed away for three months at least. We have a guarantee for this, in the fact that Mr. Stevens having consulted the almanac has determined to open the Nahant House on Thursday next, when the summer season will be fairly inaugurated. The Nelly Baker on that day will resume her trips, and the peninsula will again denote the advent of that throng, who annually seek its health-giving breezes, and the comfort and pleasure to be found under the roof of the splendid establishment which is there located. Since the close of last season, the house has been materially enlarged, and every convenience which a city hotel possesses will here be found. There is not, in fact, a home comfort which one is deprived of, and a glance at the list of those who have secured rooms, assures us, that there will be no lack of the best and most agreeable society. We hear of several attractions which cannot fail to invite both the permanent and transient visitors to this splendid sea side resort, and we know that nothing will be wanting on the part of the popular lessees to sustain the enviable reputation they enjoy.
The Buchanan Mass Meeting.—Something over 3,000 people assembled in and about State street this evening, to exchange congratulations on the nomination of Buchanan and Breckenridge. Fireworks of gorgeous hues were set off from the Times office, which was brilliantly illuminated, and in front of which a speakers’ stand was erected. The vast assemblage was called to order by Samuel R. Glen, Esq., and after remarks from that gentleman, eloquent addresses were made by Messrs. H. H. Cook, of Lenox, W. P. Richardson, of Kentucky, Perkins Cleveland, of Connecticut, and D. W. O’Brien, and B. S. Treanor, of this city. The Boston Brass Band discoursed some excellent music, including a Grand March, dedicated to Hon. James Buchanan, and composed for the occasion. Appropriate resolutions were passed, cheer upon cheer given for the candidates, and the mass meeting adjourned.
Mr. Crampton’s Opinion.—This gentleman left in the steamer on Wednesday. He expressed to a gentleman of this city, his fears of the result of his dismissal, and intimated that the consequences would be most serious.
Saturday’s Notes.
June 7, 1856—Memo.—Great coats desirable, umbrellas in demand, and fires quite comfortable.
Don’t forget that your vote is wanted on Monday to prevent an unnecessary increase of taxes. Chelsea will be a city in a few years and can get along well enough.
Residents of south end, interested, (as all ought to be) in the proposed Metropolitan Railroad are to hold a meeting shortly.
Will Mr. Forristall please to look at the condition of Dover street? Three hundred mud carts a day pass through the street, dropping about two loads a day, and it is difficult to say whether the street is paved or not.
The Legislature adjourned on Friday, having passed 308 acts and 103 resolves. Mr. Charles Hale intends to publish in book form a report of its doings.
Hon. Charles Sumner does not wish to have the State pay for the expenses of his sickness.
The Pope has just entered his 65th year, having been born on the 13th May, 1792.
In Worcester, while firing a salute in honor of Mr. Buchanan’s nomination, Lawrence McClary was instantly killed, Mr. Isaac Bartlett and a lad named Williams were injured.
A gentleman connected with the N. Y. Mirror has written a new play, which is well spoken of.
Among the late arrivals at one of the St. Louis hotels, is one that reads—“E. Smith and four wives, Salt Lake.”
We hear that Rev. E. E. Hale has received a call from the South Congregational Church, over which Professor Huntington was recently settled.
James Buchanan, the Democratic nominee, was formerly a Federalist.
A letter from Paris reports the Empress of France to be seriously ill. The affection is said to be a sort of paralysis, a “deplorable malady of the limbs,” from which she may not recover for many years. It is intimated that it was produced by the use of chloroform, on a recent occasion.
Col. Sam Colt and wife, of Hartford, who were married at Middletown, last Thursday, sailed from New York for Europe, this noon, to take a leisurely tour through the continent during at least a year.
The Richmond Whig states that Mr. Fillmore will not return to this country until after the Presidential election; he is now in Russia.
The Democrats of East Boston fired a salute of 31 guns for the States, and 27 for Pennsylvania, at 12 o’clock to-day, in honor of the nomination of Buchanan.
I saw on the pave a great blood spot,
As though some one were stabbed or shot,
And I turned to a laborer standing there
Asking this question with serious air:
“Oh tell me now, my good man, pray,
What strife has been on this spot to-day?
Has murder foul hereon been done,
That caused this bloody pool to run?”
“Oh no,” said that laborer with a stare,
“Nothing has been done like that ’ere,
That which you see as looks like gore
Was where a paint pot tumbled o’er.”
M. Thiery, historian of the Norman Conquest, died at Paris on the 22d ult.
A trotting match for $1000 came off Thursday over the Union Course, L. I., two mile heats, to wagons, between Jake Oakley and Baltic. The former won in two straight heats; time, 5.22, 5.28.
Ex-President Van Buren was thrown from his horse at Kinderhook this week, but was not seriously injured.
The Dodworth Band, of New York, now numbers 80 members, divided into two distinct bands, and known as the first and second band.
The Baltic sailed at noon to-day from New York. She takes out 190 passengers, and $162,000 in specie.
Miss Agnes Robertson arrived in town on Friday, and is stopping at the American House. She is to appear at the Museum on Monday evening.
Col. Thompson sells a valuable house in Boylston street next week, worthy the attention of those who seek a desirable residence.
Mr. James Bennett, the actor, left in the steamer on Wednesday. We hear that there is a probability of his being re-engaged at the Boston Theatre next season.
The military company in Bath, Me., intends to be present at Chicago in July. Several Boston companies have received invitations.
Northern politicians are rapidly making the discovery that it is necessary for them to let the public know that they are not troubled with softening of the backbone.
The steamer Persia will soon arrive at this port, when our citizens will have an opportunity of inspecting this splendid boat.
We hear that everything indicates that the coming Fair in September by the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association, will be the best yet given. Mr. Billings is preparing a new diploma.
The members of the Grand Jury for Suffolk, on their parting with the District Attorney, George W. Cooley, Esq., this morning, presented him with a heavily mounted gold-headed cane, as a token of their appreciation of him as a public officer, and respect for him as a gentleman.
A blast was fired at the new harbor of Holyhead, North Wales, recently, which required the labor of six men in its formation for ten months, and a charge of six tons and a half of powder to explode it. The quantity of stone loosened by the blast was calculated at 60,000 tons.
In Plymouth this week a man was arrested for drunkenness. On being questioned, under oath, where he bought his rum, be gave information that he procured it at the Liquor Agency, and was discharged.
The 17th of June will be celebrated by a parade of the Light Artillery, Major Cobb, and the Boston City Guard, Capt. Sheppard, will also parade, on which occasion the past oficers of the Guard will present the corps with a superb silk standard.
The trial of Wm. Palmer, for poisoning, is slowly progressing in England. The prisoner has grown stout since his imprisonment, but since the trial commenced he awaits the verdict with anxiety. His guilt, from the evidence, is clearly settled.
The arrangements for the celebration of the Fourth of July are progressing. The 1st Regiment of Infantry, Col. Burbank, will do escort duty. Chief Marshal Otis Kimball, Esq., intends to make the march short. The balloon ascension will be a feature, and all that is now wanted is the regatta on the back bay, which is loudly called for.
Says old Roger to the Brahmin Poo-Poo, as he saw the ship run off at McKay’s ship yard on Friday, “why should the little circumstance of launching yon ship be attended with unhappiness to a great number of worthy artizans?” The Brahmin said he thought the result must prove different, and begged to say he gave it up. “Because,” said Roger, “when the ship is launched, workmen are subjected to rig her.” The Brahmin stroked his beard in silence.
The magnificent screw steamer Himalaya has been celebrated during the Crimean war for great speed combined with large accommodations for troops and comfort to all her passengers, but her last exploit in bringing to Halifax 1400 troops with all their appurtenances in sixteen days from Malta has astonished those best acquainted with steam marine and placed her side by side with the swiftest paddlewheel steamers. We should like to see this noble craft in Boston Harbor on a friendly errand.
Death of a Student.—We regret to record the sudden death of Mr. Hazen Dorr, of this city, a member of the Sophomore class of Harvard College. On Friday evening some of his classmates visited him, and found him in his usual good health, though somewhat fatigued by severe exercise at rowing during the morning. They left him at 11½ P. M., and a classmate calling this (Saturday) morning, for the purpose of accompanying him to morning prayers, found his stretched upon the floor, with his coat off, apparently lifeless. Dr. W. O. Johnson was instantly summoned, and pronounced life extinct. The indications were that he had died some three hours previously, probably from congestion of the brain. Mr. D.’s family, who reside in Mount Vernon street in this city, were immediately sent for, but they deemed an autopsy unnecessary. Mr. Dorr was a young man of much promise, and highly esteemed for his many amiable qualities. At the early age of 18, he leaves many friends to lament his so unexpected decease. A class meeting will, we hear, be holden on Monday to take the usual measures.
The University Book Store.—This old established literary emporium of Cambridge, for some years past under the proprietorship of John Bartlett, Esq., has been removed some six doors nearer the Post office, on Harvard street, and Mr. B., may now be found in a new store fitted up with elegance and taste, and his shelves filled with choice books in bindings fully as choice. He has a petite reading room in the rear, where the leading journals of Boston and vicinity are always on file. Mr. Bartlett has, among other works in press, a new edition of Horace, and a series of Moral Lessons, edited by Prof. Huntington.
Circus Thieves.—It is supposed there are organized gangs of pickpockets following in the train of the large circusses at present travelling through the New England states. The number of petty larcenies committed has been very large.
A New Literary Monthly.—Messrs. Robinson & Richardson advertise the forthcoming of “The Gentleman’s Athenæum,” which will be edited by writers of ability.
