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Editor's Table.

“How can we make bricks without straw?” | this logic, we do not really expect the reader Fas the despairing question of the captive Is will be so unfortunate as to find a great deal in raelites to their exacting masters. Questions this magazine that is worthless. On the consomething like this many a hapless editor has trary, we trust it will be far otherwise. Much desperately put, in view of the labor of cater- industry, and no small amount of talent are ing for the tastes of the literary public, when each month expended on its pages. We say turning to his weary brain for material. In this without the fear of incurring the charge of deed, we find it no easy task to furnish each inordinate vanity, because we refer you to the month an acceptable “ Bill of Fare,” to the favorite pens of the assistant editors, and the numerous and dainty guests who we flatter many able contributore whose thoughts enrich ourselves sit down to the “ Table” of the Re- our columns, and which would be an honor to pository. We know how monotony palls on any magazine. Many a number has been isthe taste; yet perpetual variety — variety spicy, sued of which we have been proud, while selrich, racy, and so arranged as to gratify all dom has one seen the light of which we felt reatastes — is not at all times possible to be impro- son to be ashamed. With this frank avowal, vised. Insipidity may mark one dish, and we turn to our new volume. a too pungent sharpness another, while the With the present number the reader is aware whole outset may seem but an unsavory hash, commences the thirty-third volume of the Re“Alat, stale, and unprofitable” to a third. This pository. One third of a century has passed reflection is not an inspiring one to writer or into eternity since this magazine first saw the reader, all must confess. Rare would be the light- since its indefatigable founder and pubdelight of always being able to please, and en- lisher, a young and generous man, put his hand viable the favored mortal who, in laying down to the work and gave it to our then young and for his monthly journal, could say, “ Among so from numerous denomination. Through many much rubbish I have found one gem !” Intel- a reverse, and overleaping many an obstacle, lectual gems are as rare as the “ gold of the surrounded by difficulties and sometimes disasmountains or gems of the mine.” The miner ter, he steadily, courageously pushed it on, toils long for the modicum of fine dust whose gradually winning for it success and a stability golden particles, washed out from the immense well attested by its long life and ever-growing mass of worthless soil, shall barely repay him popularity. Many a kindred work, starting for his exhausting labor. And he is satisfied. under far more flattering auspices, has, since It is only one in the thousand who chances its commencement, grown to sudden greatness, upon the “ nugget” of pure gold. It is only flourished like Jonah's gourd for a few years, one in the million whose loftiest aspirations are and died; while this has gone steadily on until, answered, whose proud ambition finds the rewith we think only one or two exceptions, it is wards of its long and ceaseless toil in the attain now the oldest magazine in the country. But ment of an exalted position, and the adoring he, its founder and proprietor, with his shoulpraises of his fellow-men. Why, then, should der ever at the wheel, always unwearied in his the reader of the new book of poems, or the efforts to promote the prosperity of the denom


Under the pressure of these calamitous times, it may well be supposed that the hands of the

Among the many ancient ballads revived in present publishers will need bolding up. The modern times, one which seems least known, increase in the expense of issuing the work has which is included in few if any of the colleobeen enormous, while the subscription price re- tions, and which I have met only once, is one mains the same as before the war. You would entitled none of you hear with complacency that it

KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS. must be given up,- discontinued. To many of you it would be the loss of an old, old friend,

It is a matter of uncertainty whether this balfor if we are not misinformed, there are some

lad was written before or after Shakspeare's subscribers who have taken it from its first tragedy of Lear, that most pathetic and touchcommencement, while to many it has been a

ing of all the tragedies of the great dramatio household friend for twenty years. To make poet. The incidents of the ballad, it will be it at all remunerative to the publishers a large seen by the few stanzas we copy, are closely subscription list is indispensable. This will analogous to those of the play. The date of the make their work safe and encouraging to them. ballad is lost, and whether the “Sweet Swan of It would seem that it would not be a heavy task

Avon was the “plunderer or the plundered to double their present list. “ Many hands must forever remain in doubt. Critics have make light work !” runs the old proverb; and not been slow to express their opinion that the with a little effort by every reader, a great work great bard availed himself of " helps” in many in this field may be done. Miss Chick’s general instances; but whether in this none can tell. rule, that " it is always every one's duty to King Leir once ruled in this land make an effort,” is particularly applicable here. With princely power and peace; Each one of you, dear readers, now a sub- And had all things with heart's content scriber to the Repository, by an energetic ap- That might his joys increase. plication of the said “ effort” could procure Amongst those things that nature gave, one more; and by consulting the circular en. Three daughters fair had he; closed in the present number, you will learn So princely seeming beautiful how much for your interest it may become to As fairer could not be. try, and try at once. For the sake of the publishers, then, for your own sake, and for the “ So on a time it pleased the king credit of the denomination, will you not do so ? A question thus to move, – We leave the matter in your hands, sure that

Which of his daughters to his grace our confidence will not be misplaced.

Could shew his dearest love;

. For to my age you bring content,' It is with sincere satisfaction that we are

Quoth he,' then let me hear able to assure you of the probability that our

Which of you three, in plighted troth, associates, Mrs. Soule and Miss Davis, will be

The kindest will appear." able once more to assume the active labor which a year since lent such attractions to the Repos

No assurances of love and devotion could be itory. From the latter we are happy to intro- stronger than those of the first and second duce the following note :

daughters to the credulous old father; but Cor DEAR READERS, – It is with some embarrass- delia (as in the play) offends the king by ber ment that I make my salutation to you, fearing calm, dispassionate assurance of unpretending that the little which I have been enabled to do | duty, and by the modesty of her expressions. · for the past year will be considered as a poor au

The simple-hearted old king, like many a gary for the future. I dare promise nothing, younger and wiser one, is deceived by the holbut should my health continue to improve, as low professions of the deceitful daughters, who I trust it will, I will do my best for the Repos- share the crown, while the gentle Cordelia is itory. Would I could more worthily maintain cast off to wander, friendless and forsaken, the honor I feel it to be in thus having my round the world, name associated with those of Mrs. Sawyer and “ Until at last in France Mrs. Soule. That they may be blessed with un- She gentler fortunes found; interrupted health, and that we unitedly may Though poor and bare, yet she was deemed succeed in making the Repository more accept- The tairest on the ground; able than ever before, is the sincere desire of Where, when the king her virtues heard,

And this tair lady seen,

M. 8. D.

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With full consent of all his court,

Yet he, good kiog, in his old days,
He made his wife and queen.

Possessed his crown again.”
Her father, King Leir, this while

“ But when he heard Cordelia's death,
With his two daughters staid;

Who died indeed from love
Forgetful of their promised loves,

Of her dear father, in whose cause
Full soon the same decayed;

She did this battle move,
And living in Queen Regan's court,

He swooning fell upon her breast,
The eldest of the twain

From whence he never parted,
She took from him his chiefest means,

But on her bosom left his life
And most of all his train.”

That was so truly-hearted.”
As in the tragedy, the poor king exclaims in

It will be seen that the final catastrophe dif-
the bitterness of his heart at Regan's ingrati- fers essentially from that of the play. One's
tude. Scarce finding it possible at first to be-
lieve it, with simple and touching pathos, be by the repossession of his crown by the old

sense of justice is, however, more fully satisfied exclaims,

king, while the death of Cordelia on the battle “ And am I then rewarded thus,

field seems less repulsive and terrible than the For giving all I have

murder in the prison by which Shakspeare terUnto my children, and to beg

minates her life. The fate of the sisters, who For what I lately gave?

are condemned and put to death by the nobles I'll go unto my Gonorell;

of the land, more nearly accords with our modMy second child, I know,

ern ideas of justice, and is less abhorrent than Will be more kid and pitiful,

their unnatural exit from lite depicted by the And will relieve my woe!

great dramatist. The poem closes, like most of But alas, for the poor old father! The cock-the old English ballads, with a fine moral:strice Gonorell, worse even than her sister,

“ Thus have you seen the fall of pride gives him a seat in her kitchen and the food

And disobedient sin."
her scullions and her dogs refuse. Every spe-
cies of abuse and ill-treatment is heaped upon
him, until he finally loses his reason and wan-

The consideration of this ancient ballad reders, a frenzied outcast. The scene is thus fine-calls a modern poem which has the true oldly portrayed :

ballad ring. It is by Bayard Taylor, and well “ Which made him rend his milk-white locks

worthy to follow the ballad whose fragments And tresses from his head,

are above quoted, and is besides sweetly and And all with blood bestain his cheeks

sadly suited to the events of the present day

and of our own country.
With age and honor spread.
To hills and woods and watery founts
He made his hourly moan,

“'Give us a song ! the soldiers cried,
Till hills and woods and senseless things

The outer trenches guarding,
Did seem to sigh and groan."

When the heated guns of the camps allied
In his frenzied wanderings he finds his way

Grew weary of bombarding. to France, where, met and recognized by his injured but gentle-hearted Cordelia, he finds “ The dark Redan, in silent scoff, protection and gentleness with Cordelia's hus- Lay grim and threatening under: band, who,

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff, “ With noble mind,

No longer belched its thunder.
So freely gave consent
To muster up his knights at arms,

“ There was

pause! A guardsman said To fame and courage bent.

• We storm the forts to-murrow;

Sing while we may, another day “And so to England came with speed,

Will bring enough of sorrow.'
To repossess King Lear,
And drive his daughters from their thrones “ They lay along the battery's side,


“ They sang of love, and not of fame;

mingled of the thunder of cannon and the Forgot was Briton's glory;

shrieks and groans of the dying. But how Each heart recalled a different name,

true to the secret history of the human heart is But they all sang' Annie Laurie.'

the tale that

“ Each recalled a different name, “ Voice after voice caught up the song,

But they all sang Annie Laurie."
Until its tender passion
Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, -

In the sacred silence of the breast, unspoken to
Their battle-eve conression.

a comrade or friend, was the true name kept

hidden; while a tear, the last fond tribute, per“ Dear girl ! her name he dared not speak;

haps, to the loved one at home they should ever Yet as the song grew louder,

render, stained the battle-soiled cheek. Something upon the soldier's cheek

The song is altogether most sweet and true Washed off the stain of powder.

and touching.

How many of our own brave soldiers, who “ Beyond the darkening ocean burned

sing some song of love and home tonight, may The bloody sunset's embers;

to-morrow lie“ dumb and gory" on the fatal While the Crimean valley learned

field ! How English love rememberg.

In another vein, but even more affecting and “ And once again a fire of hell

mournful, are the lines which, under the nom Rained on the Russian quarters,

de plume of “ Private Miles O'Reilly,”-a name With scream of shot and burst of shell which has won a high and sudden reputation And bellowing of the mortars.

for one whose brilliant pen had earned a name

before, - a poet and soldier has given to the pub“ And Irish Nora's eyes are dim

lic. For a singer dumb and gory;

It has run the gauntlet of the daily papers, And English Mary mourns for him

but our readers will be glad to peruse it in the Who sang of ' Annie Laurie.'

pages of the Repository, for the melancholy

and truthful interest infused into it by him of “ Ah, soldiers ! to your honored rest

the “ Lyre and Sword.” Your truth and valor bearing, The bravest are the tenderest,

APRIL 20, 1864. The loving are the daring."

BY PRIVATE MILES O'REILLY. Few songs are sweeter than this. Under the Three years ago to-day grim fortresses of the Redan, and the “ tawny” We raised our hands to Heaven, Malakoff, with knowledge that the dread works And on the rolls of muster are to be stormed to-morrow, the smoke still Our names were thirty-seven; rising from the heated guns whose thunders There were just a thousand bayonets, have all day bellowed their stormy salutations, And the swords were thirty-seven, lay the smoke-stained and weary soldiers. Their As we took the oath of service hearts have gone back to the scenes and the With our right hands raised to Heaven. songs of home, and they burst into an anthem of melody such as they had heard by the Sev. Oh! 'twas a gallant day, ern and the Clyde and the banks of the Shan

In memory still adored, non. But the theme was not of the war,

That day of our : un-bright nuptials They sang of love, and not of fame;

With the musket and the sword ! Forgot was Briton's glory;

Shrill rang the fifes, the bugles blared, Each heart recalled a different name,

And beneath a cloudless heaven But they all sang. Annie Laurie.'”

Twinkled a thousand bayonets,

And the swords were thirty-seven. How strangely sad and sweet must it have sounded as

Of the thousand stalwart bayonets “ Voice after voice caught up the strain," Two hundred march to-day; and the grim towers of the Redan and of the Hundreds lie in Virginia swamps, Malakoff echoed back the strain,-“The bat- And hundreds in Maryland clay; tle-eve confession." Alas! to-morrow they And other hundreds, less happy, drag were to answer to the noise of a different music,

Their shattered limbs around,

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And envy the deep, long, blessed sleep

mourn—that the voice to which she owes so much Of the battle-field's holy ground,

is now silent, and the great and loving heart,

which, by some mysterious attraction, won all Por the swords-one night, a week ago, others to pulsate in unison with itself, is hushed The remnant, just eleven,

forever. But he has left a memory which will Gathered around a banqueting board

be always dear, while the State kept loyal by With seats for thirty-seven.

him will stand as his fitting monument while
There were two limped in on crutches,

our country has a name among the nations.
And two bad each but a hand
To pour the wine and raise the cup
As we toasted “Our flag and land.”


And the room seemed filled with whispers

This book, published by Tompkins & Co.,
As we looked at the vacant seats,

comes to us with an introduction by the Rev.
And, with choking throats, we pushed aside

Mr. Greenwood, and a brief and touching me-
The rich but untasted meats;

morial sketch of the author, the avant courier,
Then in silence we brimmed our glasses,

no doubt, of a fuller and more elaborate memoir,
As we rose ap- just eleven,
And bowed as we drank to the loved and the dead ham. That it will be sadly welcomed, as a part

by his life-long friend, Hon. Richard Frothing-
Who had made uS THIRTY-SEVEN !

of their friend that could not die, by thousands

of loving and mourning hearts, is what all must THE CHRISTIAN PATRIOT OF CALIFORNIA.

know. It seems but a work of supererogation to

recommend its purchase and perusal to those who
It is beseeming that we should show our rev. love his memory and his graces, for who will
erence for the pure in spirit, by reference, even not do so? He is one of those who, nearer to
at this late day, to the good and true man so long us now that he is gone than while clothed with
beld dear in our denomination, whose recent mortality, will be taken to our hearts and ever
death in California sent a pang of sorrow and re- cherished; all short-comings, if he had any,
gret to so many thousands of hearts on both forgotten, and only the beautiful, the good, and
shores of the American Continent. He died at an the true in his spirit and life remembered.
unfortunate period in our nation's history, and It was our intention to lay before the reader
few remain whose work and words are so mighty several extracts from the book, but space for-
to aid in its struggle to defend its life against bids, and we content ourselves, in the present
the deadly storm of treason and rebellion which number, with only one, from the article “ Beau-
has so long been thundering at the gates of ty in Religion.”
Freedom. He died too soon for us, but at the “ A man troubled with doubts, or weary with
time God knew was best for himself. He had thought, or faint at heart, has only to gaze
done a great work, and to him our government upon the heavens in the midnight silence, and
undoubtedly owes it that California is this day a religious awe steals upon the soul, and a
one of the most loyal and devoted of the States. strength refreshes every spiritual fibre that is
All through that magnificent country, from the skin to Christian faith. What is it on a moon-
gandy line that girdles the Pacific to the most light night that. inundates the air' with beau-
remote gulches of the wild Sierras, wherever ty, that thrills our frame with emotions too
man treads the mart of commerce, or peoples fine for utterance, that heaves our spirit with
the corral with his grass-fed herds, or delves in an inspiration before which all words are weak ?
the golden mine, his voice was heard calling the spell resides not in the light or air; it is
on the children of the land to be true to their the spirit of religion streaming through mate-
mother; to let no siren voice of open or secret rial channels, and stirring with a quicker flow
treason ever allure them from their allegiance the pulses of the soul. The silence of the sum-
to the government which had always protected mer woods is burdened with the same myste-
and defended them. How that voice prevailed, rious power. A solemnity broods over them,
We repeat, California's present position toward as though God had preceded us in our walk,
the government, as well as her magnificent and our presence had intruded on the intense
gifts to the Sanitary Commission for the com- and silent worship of the trees."
fort and aid of our soldiers, now proudly tells. With this we, for the present, take leave of
Well may we mourn - well may California this most rich and inspiring book.

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