The New York Herald Newspaper, November 8, 1875, Page 4

4 THE SCLAVE REBELLION. With Ljubibratic to the In- surgent Camp. LIFE AMONG THE REBELS Pictures of the Leaders—Voivoda’s Priests and Peasants. MOUNTAIN FASTNESSES. Raavsa, Oct, 12, 1875, Ljubibratic had worn a green tunic, embroidered in the antique Servian stylo, during his sojourn in Ragusa He was not unlike some og the portraits of those at cient leaders who did so much for his people in the time of Stephen Douchan, His manly chest was cover- ed with a beaded jacket, and his only evidence of a lingering love for the refinement of civilized dress was the fineness and immaculate whiteness of his linen, Which bespoke the gentleman, When we were ready to depart for the camp, aday and abalf after the interview mentiox the last letter, the chief ‘ay Mon- tenegrin uniform, with the beret or bonuet, on which the autograph of the Turkish bullet was still visible, He wore uo art a weapon which, 80 | fur as I observed, was borne by no other insurgent in | the whole force, The leader attracted much | appeared once more in his whitish save a sword, attention in the streets “of Ragusa before | his departure, In the little bedroom at the | Hotel Boschvtto there were assem at didter- | ent hours of committee men, who received the re- | proaches of the insurgents with shrugs of the shoulder: there were volunteers from Russia and Italy, bland | mujiks from northern plains, and dark-haired and sin- | ister looking bravos from Lombardy aud Tuscany, ‘There were people who camo from curiosity and people who came to bring money and provisions; sympathiz- ers and cavaliers, spies and friends. The Turkish Con- aul General kept bis men earefully posted round about; the Austrian General commanding the place bad bis | emisaaries on the hat the neighboring café; the slcepy und vencrable Pille, whose windows command | glimpses of the lovely sea plain of the capricious Adn- Blic—all these people were in intense excitement as long as Ljubibratic remained in his rooms; and every- where that a tall, broad-shouldered insurgent camo pushing his way through the crowd, swearing in the | mellifluous ac his native Sclavic tongue, he was | overwhelmed with ¢ pus-—Whither was the chief | ents going? Did he intend to return to camp? Did he uot know that the Turkish forces had already received orders to intercept him? | ‘Was he not aware that it would be more prudent to re- main in Ragusa until the Turks’ were thrown off the | Scent? Was it true that he and his fellows had no | munitions? Those and 4 thousand other questions Duzzed and hammed until the very air seemed stua- ded with interrogation points. | EN ROUTH TO THE CAMP. We had agreed to leave for the camp early in the | morning, that we might return at least a portion of the | way on the sane day. But the morning wore away, afternoon bright, cloudless, jubilant, came, and our | Uttle party, composed of two or three persons, set off ahead for the basin of Ombla, some miles from Ragusa, | With the understanding that Ljubibratic, his aide do ramp and the corps de garde, should Join us there. 60 we drove in carriages which were rickety and almost tumbling to pieces past Gravosa, with its pretty | basin, its port, whero huge steamers are constantly | Soming and going; past the collections of neat villas | perched among the olives and the vingyards in the Slopes of the mountains, past spires and chains which tise colossal and terrible, taking root deep down in the blue purple waters and knock- ing their heads st the blue and purple sky, The road to Ombla from Ragusa winds around cliffs and in | and out among cave: rnished by a picturesque arm | of the Adriatic. The road abruptly terminates at a | small village, where a tew boatmen and their wives live by fisheries and by the money whieh travellers pay | for a visil to the rocks whence the river adjoining the vale of Ombia springs into the light At this village we Awaited the arrival of the chief, After we had grown (mpatient of a delay which was protracted for two hours | ander a broiling sun we suddenly saw the chief, | mounted on his pony and preceded by tho faithful | Gruic on fool, appear at a bend in the r Behind | them marched a large number of insurgents, who boro | Ro arms save pistols, but who at various points along | the route, aiter we had once entered the mountains, found guns awaiting them. Bouts were provided | by the willing Dalmatians, who seemed to take | Pleasure in serving Ljublbratic and his men. The pony Diundered into a huge canoo, and | the ch and their visitors followed him. | In a quarter of an hour we bad crossed tho arm of the Sea and stood at the foot of a seemingly perpendicular | ascent, Touch the clouds! It seemed to transpierce | them and to be the very ladder to Paradise. SINGULAR MOUNTAINS, Those who have never seen the mountains of Dal- matia and the Herzegovina can form no adequate idea | of tems. Words, sometimes suflicient to the descrip- | tion of nature's wonders, entirely fail here, Great fampart! immense and lofty barriers, tossed | and uplifted 8 of voleani¢ action into every con- | ceivable form; rs around which it seers impos , as one approaches them, and Die ever to go, yet wh | Droaden out into practicable routes; sharp crested | ridges, lie in tranverse fashion relative to the | main multi-colored walls, which, when the | fantasti ur of the sunlight is upon them, startle the eye by wild resembiances to walled citi covered streets alleys, palaces and duomos; pil- Jars which start up with the light grace | Of the Campaniies; precipices along whose edges | even the goats kids waniler with extremest caution, and grottoes, down whose sloping entrances one may wander for hours, unless he fears to encoun- | tersome savage animal, The region scems limitless. | The world to which one is accustomed ts forgotten after a day or two of wandering among these gigantic rocks, In the morning, when the mists are slowly rising out of the deep valleys and ‘hovering solemnly around the | stony brows of the mountains thousands of feet above | the spectator, the sight is moro impressive than any ) other which I have ever seen in Europe. When moon- | light renders each stony pathway doubly uncertain, and seems to extend a safe foothold even into mid alr, | & journey into these mountains is attended with the greatest danger, The brain, wearied and almost turned | With continual effort in tracing out @ way for the tect, becomes dizzy, and one is forced to sit down for hours together and wait until steadiness comes to the muscles | aud the eye can be depended upon. Ljubibratic and his men were six hours in making by night tho descent from the Austrian frontier, which by day we later ac- complished in two. fortresses, THE ASCENT. We began to climb. Bending our backs and baring Our shoulders we struggled up. Before we bad reached the camp Ljubiratic’s pony, from which he, ofcourse, descended a8 soon as we reached the ascent, was ap- Parently nothing buta moving bundle of coats and wraps, The "sun beat down with terrible flerceness, From time to time a8 wo progressed a little breeze Came to cheer us up, The route zigzaggod continually, Winding around rocky spurs and crags and taking us Bow and then across rugged flelds which seemed Nko old lava beds, Presently the air recmed cooler, and | turning weary and streaming faces to the loft we | aw the Adriatic spread out before w 1 delight ful, but as provoking asa mirage in the desert, Those of us who had not been thoughtful enough to bring ‘water in our canicens now began to suffer, Water is Faro in these mountains; there are many valioys on- | tirely destitute of anything like a watercourse on the surface, although thero are many which make their way through underground chan nels to the sea There are no splashing tor. | Yonts foaming across the rocks to rejoice tho | tired travellers with their music. Some of the In. | eurgents had been thoughtful enough to {ili the huge | gourds, which they usually carry slung over their | Sboulders, and our thirst was soon gratified. | Altor three-quarters of an hour of steady climbing, @uring which even Ljubibratic’s pony manifested a ol 4 | countries, seek NEW YORK HERALD, MONDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1875.—TRIPLE SHEET. readily have distinguished us had they possessed good field glasses, but as we regarded any such possession on the part of a Turk as extremely problematical and as we were completely tired we sat down, Ljubibratic began tranquilly to roll a cigarette, Graic mado notes 1n bis book and chatted with the tall, brown men who acted as our guides, and some of the men burst into a Tude recitative song, somewbat resembling; in many respects, those in vogue among both our Indians and our negroes in America, After a considerable halt we went on climbing, only Bow and thea descending into small valleys for the pur- pose of at once again clambering over some ridge. Right and left, on every side, rose the ribbed and clefted massive piles, touched tenderly by the fading sunlight, which bathed them in rose and amethyst. Nothing could be more imposing than the figure of one of our guides as he stood on a high point of rock, which brought him out in sharp relief against the sky. There Was an unconscious grace in his po-e and in his move- ments which the sculptor asks in vain from the hired model. The head was thrown back, the noble throat was bare and the chest was knolled and seamed with muscular lines; the arms weil draped in flowing slee the legs, braced against the polished angles of the inst cure pedestal, were those of some ideal god of the old days. If this man nad been given a shepherd’s crook, asheepskin jacket, a garlanded hat and a wooden pipe on Which to play, one might have imagined him some new Pan, come to have a look into chaos, in the hope of founding a new Arcadia some day. “rue vorvona.’” Chaos indeed it is now! I could hardly believe my senses whon I caino suddenly upon a little village sur- rounded by high walls, and when woe entered upon a spacious threshing floor, inclosed in a circular rampart, Here we found more insurgents, armed to the tecth, and evidently waiting for us, As we came in apon the threshing floor they set up a joyous cry of “The Voivoda!” “The Voivoda!” The chief, or Votvoda, Ljubibratie, advanced, and gave them the Selavic salutations. The little children gathered about him, guzing, in round-eyed wonder, muchyas if they wero regurding a god. Anold woman, with her grandchild in her arms, rushed up to Ljubibratic, and seizing bis hand passionately kissed it many times, Her example was followed by a venerable man, said to be ninety, who was still straight as an arrow, graceful as a deer, and whose eye was bright and lustrous, The old man’s head was enveloped in a rich turban, which led me to funcy that he was an Herzegovinian, but Gruic assured me that ho was an Austrian Sclave. The people on both sides of the fron- ther are the samo in origin, language and sentiment, which is why Austria is so careful not to offend the sus- ceptibilities of her frontier populations by regarding tho movements of the insargents too closely. Cotfee was served in a receptacle known in more civilized countries as a watering pot. Each and afl drank out of the spout; the weary guides strapped their guns over their shoulders and stretched their limbs on the threshing floor, and the Vorvoda and his guests surveyed the grain field, which was a surprise to the eyes after the weary wilderness of barren rocks. Presently there were new salutations, and a dusty and footsore traveller limped in from Grebzi, Ljubibratic caught his fellow msurgent by the arm and demanded | tho nows, The answer was encouraging—six pack mules, witha store of coffee and sugar, taken on the road to Trebinje, “Any Turks killed ?"” asked Tomo, one of our escort, with a gleam in his eye. “Ugh!” ejaculated Tomo, turning away with Indian grunt and disappointed air. Tomo 1s a fair typo of many of the insurgents, who resemble the better types of our Indians. He is not quite brown enough for a Cherokee, but handsome | enough he is, which is saying a great deal’ He has tho roticent ways of specch which characterize the North American aborigines, but he is more effusive in his demeanor than any Indian would caro to be. His man- ners to frends are soft, caressing, indolently pretty, If Tomo were decently educated and dressed in fashionable modern attire he would make sensation ina Fitth avenue salon among the girlz. But I like him better us he is, in his picturesque costume, with all bis faults, his shortcomings and his ignorance—the magnificent semt-savage, When blood Tomo it transforms the man’s nature, especially when it Is the blood of anenemy. A madness, a passion, a frenzy seize upon him and whirl him away under their dire contro! to do most dreadful deeds, He is crazy to hack and destroy. He has the same flery impatience which prompts the Montenegrins never to wait for the word of command to charge when they sce the | Turks, but which forces them torush upon the hated foe, knives in hand, and to taxe them by the throats, Ljubibratic of ferocious pl e in cutting off a dead Turk's head will throw the astly relic away in disgust five minutes afterward. The madness leaves them as quickly as it camo, EN ROUTE AGAIN, En route again. Here we are, not far from the fron- tler, and here it behooves as to proceed with caution, for bands of banditt! hover on the confines of the two g to trap the unwary. cock their guns and go carefully along a narrow path. The Voivoda lingers behind to receive the caresses which the simple people so cordially bestow, and which seem to comfurt him so much. At last he mover briskly away, stepping surely and with elastic spring from rock to rock, now and then stopping to examine some humble rf with as much tenderness and bo- tanical zeal a: h he were not an insurgent with a heavy price set upon his head. We now mount more directly toward the sky than ever before. The rocks seem to afford n on the way. From time to time we meet miserable, scrawny women, bearing on their crooked backs enor- mous bundies of tree boughs, brought frem some far- away forest, or rough looking, red turbaned Sclaves, driving in fi heep and herds of long bearded, satirical looking goats, to the straw-thatched folds out- de the village below, Europe seems a hundred thou- sand miles away as we climb this byway at its gates, At last, after an hour’s work which IJ shall never forget, and into which was concentrated all of steadfast mus- cular effort which I could summon, I dropped ex- hausted upon a rock ten yards beyond the Austrian fron- tier, in the Her: ina The Volyoda introduced us, with mock soleranity, to the frontier of his dominions, The sunlight was almost gone; a few warm tints still lingered in the sky, which was rapidly assuming the dark blue ti of evening, A pallid moon, attended by a few fugitive clouds, showed her face furtively, While we were reposing and wondering whether if the Austrian government ever attempted to put an army of observation on this frontier it would not cost the aforesaid government more than “it would come to,” we suddenly heard a low and mystei hail from a neighboring pile of rocks 100 yards away. ‘The Votvoda instantly turned his face in that direc- tion, and Gruic and the others at once responded in a similar tone, and, to my thouglt, using the same word, Ina moment the hail was again repeated, and then I heard it echoing away down the valley which lay be- fore us. Jt went on and on, until it gre soemed to have been lost in the rocky re every moment gr@w more and more mysterious in the waning light. This was the hail and the warsing of the guards which surround the campe as tho Voivoda approached, Had we attempted to enter the valley without respond. ing to this hail we should have boon mot and stopped even bad we had twenty Voivodas with ug. THY ROORS SWARMING WITH MEY, ‘The rocks on cithoer side of the pathway which we now took swarmed with armed men. Thoy looked grim and impressive enough as thoy showod their ewart and mu! iced faces over the ledges, Each on ka of 3! one held his gun in bis right hand, and no matter how difficult might be the climbing in which he was en- gaged never turned his back to us and never loosened his hold on his weapon. The greetings were joyous, although not loud, After a few sontences the men re- turned to their places, and presently there was nothing to be seen in the shadowy valley save our little proces- sion Winding in and out among the boulders. We wonton andon, After dark, finding it necessary | to use great caution and now and then to aceept the assistance of the sure-footed guides, we climbed another ridge, more dreadful than any pro- vious, then let ourselves down by our hands and clam- bored to a point where a beaten path was dimly discern- ible, Getting into this we mado all speed for Grebai. “Tn five minutes,” said Ljubibratic, in his cheery tendency to frequent reposes, we reached a point trom | Frouch, ‘‘we shall be in eainp.”” which we could see tho wavy lines of the mountainous Turkish frontior and the little fort of Czarina or Tearing. surrounding @ high hill The Turks could ‘THR INSURGENT CAMP. Indeod. Yet thore never was bineker prospect before Door mortals, Nowhere was there sign of life: nowhere ses before the eyes of such men as | s that the very men who take a kind | Our guides | t, There are few human beings | smoke rising against the clouds; nowhere even a sign of life. We came to another path, followed it a minute, turned suddenly to avoid a wall, came into a rude street, and—there indeed was the camp. The spectacle was novel and impressive. In a little plain, completely shut in by the most dreadful hills, Was a group of cabina, low, dirty, stone built, their walls made visible by the camp fires built in the felds round about, The hum of voices, some singing, others engaged in loud discussion, others shouting out orders and jokes, rose to our ears. Away on the left we could see « group gathered around a fire and earnestly occupted jn roastinga sheep. In the foreground was a long and narrow street, which, as the news of our approach was signalled forward, swarmed with wild figures, A torch was brought A soldier addressed a few words to Gruic as we passed. “He says,” explained the genial Gruic, “that when the Russian vyoluateers arrived to-day the camp thought that there was an alarm, and all rushed toarms, For that reason, and because of the ill temper following the m.stake, it was thought best not to ask them to get into line and parade on the occasion of the Voivoda’s arrival, It doesn’t matter, does it, Voivoda?”” Ljubibratic gave his brother-in-law a sympathetic ,grasp of the hand and the two entered the long street together, They were surrounded and kissed heartily by the chiefs, after which the visitors were brought forward and presented. A tall, atbletic man, of fifty- five, with stooping shoulders and somewhat inirm limbs, with fine, regular features, cast in massive mould, and with a tremendous black mustache shading his lips, was introduced as Peko Pavlovic. The venerable chief, of whom the Turks have such mortal terror, took each visitor's hand, looked carefully and sternly at him for an in- stant, as if to fix his teatures, and then pronounced in Sclayo the evening salutation, Next came Luca Pet- covic, a good warrior, whose forced marches and con- stant activity have given him a sobriquet in the camp. Grufe itroduced him as “the chief who has discovered the secret of perpetual motion.” The renowned Luca 1s still in the prime of life, stalwart, tong haired, dark eyed—a superb bundle of nerves—always handling his weapons fawningly as ifhe were fond of them, Pope Minja, a young priest, who threw aside his robe for the soldier’s tunic when the call to arms came, is a beau gargon, who would look charmingly at the head of a cuvairy regiment, He passes for a man of great learn- ing among the simple people of the camp and the sur- rounding country, and one of their great delights is to gather late at night about a fre in the open air and to hear hin recount, in the monotonous chant peculiar to this region, his exploits and those of his ancestors. Although I learned to admire Pope ‘Minja as a man and a warrior very much I cannot say that his singing, which I heard tor three hours consecu- tively, after I had retired to my straw on the cabin | floor that evening, entirely delighted me, there was 50 very much of Linked sweetness long drawn out, THE VOIVODA’S HEADQUARTERS, Surrounded by these warriors and followed by adelega- tion from the Squadra Italiana—a delegation which came to invite us to a grand dinner at their headquarters, a | hovel of one story thatched with straw—we went to the | | Voivoda’s headquarters, likewise a one story hovel | without chimney. Half blinded by the smoke and | | Weary beyond expression with the clamber from Ra- | | gusa, I sat with the Voivoda on his bench covered with skins and fell into a doze, until the cheerful yoice of a Frenchman whom I had met in Ragusa and who had | been for three months with the insurgents, fighting | | bravely when occasion offered, aroused me. Tho | | smoke was overpowering. Luca Petcovic saw my help- lessness amid the pungent clouds, and gaye mo his arm. So we three—Luca, the Frenchman and I— | went to the cottage, where hulf a dozen brawny in- surgents were already hard at work preparing a feast for us, Half a sheep was placed before a large fire, and, | spitted on'a sabre, was turning in the geod old fashion, | while a boy dropped salt and sayory herbs upon it, Hore the smoke was less annihilating, and, the Voivoda soon joining us, we listened to a lively recital of a re- | cent skirmish, NINETY FEET DOWN. | A CITIZEN OF HANNIBAL HURLED OVER THE | GREAT FALLS OF THE MISSOURI. [From the Helena (Montana) Independent], One of the most remarkable adventures that has oc- | curred in this country, full of tragic incideut and hair- breadth escape, is related to the readers of the Jnde- ! pendent, Jom Mangels and H. Zerbost built a small | boat in Helena, and launched it in the Missouri River at | a point nearly opposite here, Last Monday, during a | rain aud wind storm they discovered that their boat | haa struck and fastened to a huge rock aud that they Wore in the midst of the rapids. Ignorant of the river and of t he beating rain, howling wind gh frightened the two travellers out of th supposed, and correctly, that they were near to st Great Fall of the Missouri, Unable to loosen boat from the rock, Zerbest leit itand swan toward the shore in the hope of Janding the boat. He | had wot gone beyond twenty-five yards when he found | itumpossible to proceed further. Just then Mangels cried to him to stop and he would join him, Looking back, he-saw him coming forward, and in a tew minutes aiter Mangels disappeared in the water aud was not seen again. ‘Appalled at the loss of his friend, unable t shore on account of the dee reach eur: g before it, and the certain st attend a ride_over the falls; filled as he turned to sit in the boat and eurvey the surround Mis mind was wild as he con- tempi: the dan The win 8 blowing a gale | and chilled him to the bones. Nota living soul was as there any hope of assistance from the taring him in the face should | » the turn of events he | t his only hope rested on going 0 with these thou, lusion he set about | Fastening one end ed the other end around his |, which is about twelve feot, he also the second fall, which is On he went, and as he went ch i: feet high, he | remembers that t hanging over him. With | presence of mind, he k that he must avoid the | descending boat, aud accordingly, on reaching the foot of the fall, be | DIVED INTO THE CURRENT, | and while under the Water unfastened’'the rope from his bod by wonderful exertions reached the shore, by the fall and greatly bruised, he looked and wate in hope of sceing his missing | fri . For three days, without a morsel to eal, he andered along the bank of the river in search of him, On the first day hunger seemed to cousume him. On the second and third days drinking water appeased his appetite and weakness grew upon him, He was loth to give up the search, but guawing hungor, aching bruises and | THE SURROUNDING DESOLATION conquered his anxiety tor h eit and bade him save himself, Slowly be dragge up to the moun- tain summit, which overlooks the scene of his great peril, und footsore and sick at heart he followed the mountain range thet led to the haunts of life. He ar at Bird Tail Station utterly exhausted, where he uited and (hen took the couch, arriving here lust ght. John Mangles and H. Zerbest aro both single mon and came to this country from Hannibal, Mo. The | former was about twenty-five years old, « shoemak } | py trade, and has been employed in Henry Sebult’s shoe shore in Helena, ® Dest, the survivor, ap- pears.to be about thirty-tive years of age and has been asaiior. It was their intention to descond the Mix | souri River im their boat to Sioux City or Omaba | FLORIDA PROSPECTS, (Correspondence of the Cincinnati Commercial.) I receive occasionally postal cards from laboring men about the prospects out here, and these I anewer usual- ly by private letter; but it has been #o long since I have written perhaps I had better ect down and print what 1 want to say. bd | Florida is not a land where a man can live without | work or prosper without economy, and those who act upon this advice should understand that it moans some hardship, patience and courage. But take a spirited young fellow of eighteen. Hoecan get work, I might say, the day he sets foot in Orange county. ‘It he will’get some steady place, with good wages, promptly paid (and there is’ euch Jealous demand for inbor he can hardly fail), he can save $150 perhaps the first year, Int stead of buying jet him take this and go “to the fiat woods’? ‘and kettic on a government homestead. | Twenty five dollars will buy flour or corn meal and mess pork; forty or fifty dollars a yoke of stoors, It will take two weeks to pnt up a cabin, two months to clear a fow acres and plant nd pot A plough, | hoo and mattock, and help in hie ng, Will exhaust | the $100, By hanting and fishing Saturdays, and no | whiskey in the promises, Qo will eke out bis garden and | | geta grove started ; then Ne nus only tolive, Men are like sheep—a whole flock will jump the same panel, When | we came the vicinity of Lake Conway was wilder than the flat woods of Shingle Creek and Lehopokelega are now, Neighbors will crowd in, land will go up cent per cent, and by selling out a forty he has cleared in the interval ho has a cash capital to improve, and he is on th road to wealth and ease before’ ho is twenty-f course the same economy and perseverance will suc- coed in Ohio; but there is less temptation tw expenas and dissipation on the frontier, and the prospoct is nearor; he is less crowded by rivals, Yotit \« economy | and pluck that sweceeds, bere or in Ohio; | want thatto | be remembered. | much | Slumpkins, But we think it doubtful whether the poet RECENT POETRY. Longfellow, Joaquin. Miller, Story and Bayard Taylor. SELECTIONS FROM THEIR POEMS. ‘Tum Masqus or Paxpora aNp Omer Pous. By Henry + gait Longfellow. Boston: James R. Osgood 0, The present season has been prolific in good poetry. A large number of our most famous poets haye put forth new volumes with the falling of the leaves and made the melancholy days cheerful with their song. A new volume from Longfellow is sure to have the at- tention of the reading public, whether students or mere amusement seekers, In ‘The Masque of Pandora’? the poet essays a new vein, and ono that, judging from this poem, he is not likely to find successful. It 1s written after classic models, and, while it hag all the clear cut beauty of the Greek, has none of its passion, In the other poems of the volume Mr, Longfellow will be found at his best, Nothing that he has written contains finer passages than the “Morituri Salutamus,’? and we are safe in predicting for it a lasting popularity. ‘Mr. Longfellow has devoted a part of his book to the sonnet, a form of poetic expression in which there is 4 revival of interest, We will quote the sonnet entitled “Three Friends of Mine,” which is, perhaps, the most noteworthy of the lot:— When I remember them, those friends of mine, Who are no longor here, the noble three, Who halt my lite were more than friends to me, And whose discourse was like a generous wine, 1 most of all remember the divine Something, that shone in them and made us see ‘The archotypal man, and what might be The amplitude of Nature's first design. In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands; I cannot find them. Nothing now is left But a majestic memory. They meanwhile Wander together in Elysian lands, chance remembering me, who am bereft Of their dear presence, and, remembering, smile, ‘There is something altogether charming about Longe foliow’s povtry, as thore is about the man. Both charm by their simplicity aud earnestess, Longfellow nover does careless work. When he gives the world a new poem it is always one that will make a mark and add to his reputation, Tue Sm on Te Desert. By Joaquin Miller, author of the “Songs of the Sierras,” &c. Boston: Roberts Bros. Europeans are seldom Interested in American litera- ture unless it happen to be something they consider odd or original, If wo should produce a Milton it is doubtful if they would take haif the interest in him that they would feel in a poet whom they considered as rep- resenting the wild roughness of the West. It may be that they are annoyed when we put forth a man who can hold his own along with their best poets, Ameri- cans Visiting England are often asked by literary men over thero if they know anything about some Si Slump- king and what ho is writing just now. Si is a man with no reputation at all in his own country, and the Ameri- can can only say that he never heard of the gentleman, The Englishman will reply that he is the author of a poem called “U-pi-dee; or, The Child of the Forest,” a thoroughly American poem, you know. He will be very interested in this unknown and untutored — poet whom he chooses to consider a true singer of the | soil, afew of whose verses have floated across the Atlantic. They hear that ho rides over the prairies with his face to his horso’s tail, and that he dresses in ekins of wild beasts and lives ina wigwam and is the husband of a squaw. Not fora moment would wo name Mr. Joaquin Miller in the same category with Si of the Sierras would have been at once and so well re- ceived in England if he had not walked into fashionable society with his trousers tucked inside of his boots, in all the glory of a mane pf yellow hair and the beard of a Viking. This was just the sort of an American poet they wanted to see, and it would have heightened his popularity if he had worn half a dozen scalp locks at his belt. Such a visitor was as grateful to the dull mono- tone of British society as the spring in the desert to the thirsty traveller, They petted him and fed him on sweets and let him wear his eccentric costume, which he would not have dared to have worn in an American parlor, into the very presence of the Queen, They praised his book not only because it was really worth {t, but because it was original, or, if imitative in literary style, it was fresh in subject. If Joaquin Miller had appeared in English social circles dressed as | any gentleman would dress, and had written an ode to a Greek vase, though it had been a much finer and a much more scholarly production than the “Songs of the Siorras,” he might to-day be uncared for outside of his own country. There can be no doubt but that Mr, Miller is a true poet. In truth, he has the poetic fire and temperament to a degree that is unusual in these days, When poets are editors, brokers, lawyers, mer- chants or anything but long-haired and lazy. The “Songs of the Sierras”? is, to us, the most musical | if not the most carefully written of Mr, Miller's books, and the “Ship in the Desert” the least tuneful and most careless in style. His first book was written un- der the influence of Byron, his second of Swinburno and his third of Morris. In fact, Mr. Miller is natu- rally more like the two former than the latter, though we shoula not be surprised if he settled down to the Morris style. His verso sings itself along even when the meaning is hidden and the metaphor obscure, This poet is very unequal. Some of his descriptions are as beautiful asa bit out of nature, and then again he is often dull and silly, On page 45 of the “Ship in the Desert” is this picturesque bit:. The squirrels chattered in the leaves, The wirkeys called from paw-paw wood, The deer with lifted nostril stood, And humming-birds did wind and weave, Swim round about, dart in and out, Through tragrant forest edge made red, Made many color'd overhead, By climbing blossoms sweet with bee ‘And yellow rose of Cherokee, Then frosts came by and touch’d the leaves, Then Time hung 1cos on the eaves, ‘Then cushion snows possessed the ground, And so the seasons kept their round, That is pretty and simple enough, but this is excecd- ingly silly. It describes Vasquez, the lover:— He seem'd as lithe and free and tall And restless as the boughs that stir Perpetual topt poplar trees, Tho “Ship in the Desert” is the story of a father who fled with his daughter across the sea of sand to keep _ her from her lover, whom he hated, The fover is killed and the girl lives on miserable and unhappy. That is | all the plot, but in their flight they travel over beautiful | country and desolate country. The ship in the desort is an old wreck lying alone and unaccounted for in the sea of sand, and there itis thatthe lover is slain, Itis hard to tell what Mr. Miller means by this on page 22; he is describing the girl and her father in their boat and he says:— Beside The grim old sea king sits his bride, Why the daughter should be the father’s bride is, to say the least, singular if not careless, This ts old Mor. gan, the father:— A geand old Neptune in the prow, Gray-haired and white with touch of Time, ‘Yet strong as in bis middle prime; A grizzled king, I see bim now, With beard as Dlown by wind of seas, And wild and white as white sea storm, Stand up, burn suddenly, look back Along the low boat's wrinkled track, Then fold his mantie round a form Broud built as any Hercul And go sit silently. In the description of Ina, the heroine, Mr. Miller hag Jaid himself out, so to speak :— © you had loved her sitting there, HMait hidden in ber loosen’d hair; Why, you had loved her for her eyes, ‘Their large and molancholy look Of tenderness, and well mistook Their love for light of Paradise, Yea, loved her for her large dark eyes; Yea, loved her for hor brow’s soft brown; Her hand as light as heaven's bars; Yea, loved her for her mouth. Her mouth Was roses gathered from the south, The warm south side of Paradise, And breathed upon and handed down By angels on a stair of stare, Her mouth! ‘twas Egypt’s mouth of old, Push’d out ana pouting full and bold With simple beauty where she sat; Why you ald on seeing her, This os far out the dim Far centuries, beyond the rim Of times remotest reach or stir. And he who wrought Semiram And shaped the Sibyls, seeing this, Had bow'd and made @ shrine thereat, And all bis life had worsbipped ver Devout as north Nile worshipper. The idea of her mouth being roses gathered from the warm south side of Paradise, &c, is extravagant even for a poet, though the poet be Jgaauin Miller, To skip over to page 190 this is what the poct says about | ballards before ns, John Reed, leaning on the rail of @ misunderstood souls:— * * * The test of worth Is not the hold you have on.earth. So! there be gentlest souls sea-blown, That know not any harbor known. Now it may be the reason is They touch on fairer shores than this, Taken asa whole, “The Ship in the Desert,” even though 4t does not add greatly to its author’s reputa- tion, isa poem worth reading. You get impatient o dozen times while reading it and throw down the book, saying, “Words, words, words|’? but you just as surely Pick it up again and read it totheend, If you ask Whatit 1s all about, we can only reply in the author’s own language :— My task is but to toll a tale, ‘To give a wide sail to the gale, To paint the boundless plain, the sky, To rhyme, nor give a reason why, Of course, there is poetry in the book, but there is @ Rreat deal of bad rhyme and a great deal that is good and graceful, Nano—An Historical Play. By W. W. Story. N York: Scribner, Welford & Armstrong, 7 Mr. W. W. Story has a wonderfully versatile genius, He is ascuiptor, musician, poet and actor, In neither of these arts has he reached a very high degree of attain- ment, but he is fairly accomplished in all, Whatever Mr. Story does be does weil, He never leaves any ragged edges, His verse runs along as smoothly as a wheel in 8 groove; there is no halting or hitching, But for all this we are never roused to any enthusiasm, Mr. Story has passion, but it is statuesque. “Nero,” the play in question, was written in 1872 and is only just pub- lished. In his dedication to Mrs, Frances Aun Kemble he explains that it was through her alone that the world was given the drama at all. She spoke so kindly of it when he read it to hor, that, notwithstanding the fact that tbe reading was interrupted by an earthquake, he remembered what she said, and out of gratitude writes her a long dedication. ‘Nero’ is not an acting play. Notonly that, it isnot written in acting form, but it lacks the interest of stage plays. Agrippina is the strongest character in the book, and the best writing comes in her park Her love for her son Nero, wretch that he was, is well portrayed, though at times it seems almost too passionate to be maternal, We quote one strong scene:— Nero— I would I knew What now you propose, AGuIPrINA— Propose? only this, To keep your love, Without you what were lite? And yet am so weak. Neto Who, then, is strong? Mother, I would you alway’s wore the face ‘That now you wear, for it becomes you well. Why will you ever thwart me—stand between. My Wishes and my acts? Acriy.— Oh, I was wrong. Nay, turn not from me, for I need your love— Must have i, Once you gave me a‘child’s love, And that was dear to me—but that ts past. Nor would it now suflice—I ask for more; Oh! so much more, Nero— I do not understand. Aarir,—Not understand? Why, how else could it be? / You are so noble, handsome, manly, strong— What woman, with a beart, could look at you And fail to love you? How much more, then, I? ‘Almost could I forget you were my son, Almost could wish you were not, Then perhaps, You still might love me, What? Nuro— AGRIP. ~ Ob, don’t think That love's capacity can ever dio In woman’s heart! The bloom of youth fades out; See, it has gone from me. Iam not fair As once 1 was; yet still the power to love Lives in me deeper—stronger far than when 1 was a trivial girl. Love’s feeble rill ‘That first slips trembling through the whispering grass, And plays with any flowor upon its marge, Grows deeper, stronger in its onward course, Till, like a torrent, flerce, impetuous, wild, Tt forces thro igh all obstacles its way. Llove you, Nero. Twenty thousand girls Could not make up such fove as mine for you! My love began when first I heard your voice— When first, a child, you lay upon iny breast, And every year hag only lent it strength. Now, as you stand before me full, complete In all your manhood, while this heart of mine Beats for you as it never then could beat, Say, will you throw me off? Give me your love! Do you not see you are my all in all— My other ijife—without which all I am Is tame and weak and wretched? Look at mo; Tell me you love me, Nero! NeERo— By the gods, If thus Pha ever smiled and thus you spoke, could forget you were my mother! ‘That is a strong scene to take placo between a mother and her son, but those times were strong in passion, Although he shows Nero at his worst he shows him at his best also. The wicked emperor was no worse than his mother. Whatever faults he had were inherited. She was just as unscrupulous ashe in carrying outa purpose. Agrippina was not, however, a woman of un- bridied passions, Whatever she did, from lovemaking to murder, was for an object. “Not so Nero, He was perfect madman In the pursuit of pleasure or in the punishment of an enemy. He did love once, But after he made Poppma his wife he ceased to care for and actually killed her by his brutality, Poppaa was not halfa bad woman, Poor creature, sho must have had a presentiment of what was coming whon she said:— Leave me, Nero, in the shadow hero, For in the sun all sorts of dangers swarm. Your mother, ab! I think you know her not, All have gone down before her who opposed, Not only me—poor, idle, timorous me— She'd sweep away but were you if her path, Even you she'd shatter like a broken gourd. Oh, trust mo, Noro, and withdraw in time b Trust me, dear Nero; give me up at once! Rioes ey ee ew re Go, go away! You men are all alike; a little while You love, and with wild violence, and then— Puff! ail is over, For a little month, If one’s lucky, love is in its flower; And then it fades and stinks—stings all the more Because it was so sweet in its fresh bloom, Mr. Story paints Nero more as an animal than asa man. The only softening influence he had was hig love for Poppa and his love for music, He both sang and played the harp. But it his critics are to be be- | lieved he did neither well, The death of Poppoa shows Nero in the melting mood fora few short mo- ments. His violence caused her death, aud when he saw what he had done he repented. Porra@a—Ah, yes! my hour has come, Give me your band. Farewell! 1 loved you, Nero. Think sometimes Of your Poppwa, Do not grieve—'tis best Just as it is. Neno—My best, my only love! Stay, stay with me! You cannot—shall not go. aA—Farewell ! I will not have you die! [She dies. } Nero—Quick, lift her up! She faints! Xexornoy—Cwsar! she's dead. Nexo—What! Dead? {tisalie! Poppa, speak! Xexornon—Nothing can reach her further. She ts dead. Nexo—Poppwa! No! That heart is still—tnose lips, Half parted, breathe no more. Great God, she’s gone! How beautiful she ts! Look, Xenophon, ‘There lies the only woman that I loved. And Poppea is the only woman in the book that a man could Jove. Agrippina was too masculine and Octavia too weak. Mr. Story’s verse flows gracefully along, and tho story is just interesting enough to hold {he reader's attention without causing him much thought, No, nol Home Pastorats, Bautavs axp Lyrics. By Bayard Taylor, Boston: James R, Osgood & Co, There isastately and refined grace about all that Bayard Taylor writes that commends him to the cul. tured reader, In this volume of “Home Pastorals’ will be found some of his most charming short poema The pastorals themselves will probably not prove as popular as some of the ballads. Tho metre ts the same as that used by Longfellow in ‘Evangelin Yes, it is May! though not that the young leaf pushes its velvet Out of the sheath that the stabbornest sprays aro be- ginning to bourgeon, — reapgnding aloft to the mellow flute of tho blue. ird, Nor that song and sunshine and odors of life are un- mingled, Even as wines in a cup, but that May, with her delicate filters, Drenches the veing and the valves of the heart—a double possession, Touching the sleepy sense with sweet, irresistible languor, Piercing, In turn, the languor with flame, as the spirit, ‘Tequickened, Stirred in the womb of the world, foreboding a birth and ® being! ‘This will serve not only as an example of his skill in the use of this difficult metre, but also of the thought- ful and penetrating habit of his mind, “The Holly Troe,’ ‘John Reed” and “The Old Pennsylvania Far- mer” are farm ballads, which stand far above any of Will Carleton’s in literary merit, but are not likely to share their popularity, for that or some other reason, Mr. ‘Taylor's ballads may lack popularity not merely because they are more subtle than Mr. Carleton's, but because the author probably did not write them with as mach focling. He certainly did not set the samo store by them that Mr, Carleton did by his ballads, Mr, Taylor had, could and would express himself abundantly in other ways, whereas the Carleton ballads were the most important artistic expressions of their author—they bore alarger proportion to his art and life than those of Mr, Tavlor did to hia This ia from one of the farm fence, thus soloquizes:— There’s somethi me weigh comes with spring, a lightness or icre’s sometl ‘amet tata, comes with the spring, und {t seema Ws the hankering after a life that you never learned ra ivs ~ discontent with a life that ts always thus and so Ivs the wondering what we are and where wo aré going to. My life is lucky enough, I fancy, to most mon’s eves; For tho more a family grows the oftener some one diea, And it’s now ran on go long that it couldn’t be other- wise, And ean ee and myself, we have learned to claim and yield, ry les in the house at will and I in the bara and el So, or upon thirty years, as if written and signed and Bei ie I — 't change if I would; I’ve lost the how and the when, One day my time will be up, and Jane be the mistress 0) For aaie women are tough, and live down single men, Thero is a tone of melancholy running through each one of these ballads that is more in accora with the fail of the year than with the spring, While Mr. Tay- lor’s poems do nof sparkle, they shige with a steady and beautiful light that is all their own. LITERARY CHAT. The Marquis de Compidgne’s pretentious book, “L'Afrique Equatoriale,” gets summary treatment a& the hands of the Athen@um, That journal says:—‘The book has been carefully purged of everything valu- able."’ It denounces “his prodigious ignorance of Africa in general, and the Gaboon region—which he describes—in purticular, his carelossness in noting facts, his blundering about names, his pronounced Gal- licanism and Anglophobia and his ultra Catholicism.” “Sir John Rennie’s Autobiography,” just out im Lon- don, is a work of singular interest, a solid and well written performance, not without Jight and graceful touches, where this accomplished engineer relates his travels through Europe. There is in it a fine descrip. tion of society in Scotland sixty years ago. Miss Alcott’s ‘Eight Cousins’? is commended by the Atheneum as “an entertaining and healthy story.’” Mr. J, Payne Collier, who discovered the corrected - follo of “Shakespeare” twenty-five years agg, professes: to have discovered Milton’s copy of Cooper’s “The- saurus Linguw Romana et Britannica” He says the pages of the book are crammed with notes inthe * handwriting of John Milton. Professor Tyndall answers his controversial critics im the Fortnightly Review for November. One of the curiosities of early French literature, the “Vaux de Vire” of Maistre Jean le Houx, will be trans- lated into English and soon issued by Murray. Mr, John Plummer has written up “The British Newspaper Press in°1875” for the forthcoming British Almanac for 1876, Tho indefatigable and apparently inexhaustible Mise Charlotte M. Yonge has two new books in press, one o@ “The Beginnings of Church History;’? the other, “Stories for Children in a Collected Form.” Tho learned “History of the Political Institutions of Ancient France,” by M. Fustel de Coulanges, reduces ‘tho German elements in French civilization to a mint- mum, and traces the institutions of feudal France al- most wholly to the Roman Empire. Tho illustrations of Rousselet’s “India and Its Nattve Princes” have great and positive merits, as not only realistic, but charming types of Oriental or Hindoo life. The new “Rocollections of Colonel de Gouneville’”® forms a highly interesting contribution to the times of Napoleon tho First, * ‘The concluding volumes of Lindsay’s important book, “Tho History of Merchant Shipping and Anciont Com- merce,” will be issued in January, and will bring the history of shipping (now attracting great attention) down to the presont time, The work of Viscount Amberly, ‘‘An Analysis of Re ligious Belief,” will soon appear in London, The London Academy docs not like Mr. James Q Southall’s ‘Recent Origin of Man,” which, it says, dis- plays too much theological temper and represents the credulous stage of science. We are to have a new book onthe History of thi Jows of Great Britain, written by Mr. James Picciotto, undor the title of “Sketches of Anglo-Jewish History.” Mr. James Leggo has nearly ready “The She-King; @ Book of Ancient Chineso Poetry,”? which Tribner, ob London, will print, A sparkling French book is the ‘Années de Gaité,"” sketching Parisian existence as we seo it on the Boule vard and in the Bois from thelife. It is from the pen of the witty Charles Monselet. ‘M. August Vacquérie has just written a book dealing principally with politics, entitled Awjourd’hus & De main. The passion for patch-work literature is reduced toa fine point in the little “Vest-Pocket Series,” which J. R, Osgood & Co. have now in the press, “The Life and Works of Count Rumford,” in five volumes, will be issued by Estes & Lauriat, of Boston. ‘A volume on “Prayer and Its Remarkable Answers,” by Rev. Dr, Patton, of the Chicago Advance, ts nearly ready. The new religious weekly, The Golden Rule, is edited by the Roy, W. H. H. Murray, and published in Boston, Mr, Beecher’s “Plymouth Pulpit” has -been discon- tinued (the pamphlet, not the preaching), and the ser- mons are now printed in full in the Christian Union. General Sherman, writing of the ‘History of the Civil War in America,” by the Count do Paris, says:— Tam certain that the Count has acquitted himselt of his difficult task in a spirit of fairness and candor, and with a dosire to do justice to the complicated nature of our war,” The American translation of this work will be ready for the public about the 12th of this month, Bessie Turner, tho famous witness in the Beecher Tilton trial, has written a book called “A Woman in the Case.” Carleton & Co, will publish this sense tional book, which will contain a portrait of the author, It will be out this week, This same firm will publish “ourting and Farming,” a new novel by Julie P. Smith, “Tho Life of the Rey. Dr. John Todd,” which Har- per & Bros, have in press, promises to be a book of unusual interest in its department of literature, Dr. Todd was the famous champion of New England ortho dox Congrogationalism. There was not a particle of dulness in his composition, nor will there be any im this book. Carleton & Co, have nearly ready “Josh Billihgs’ Al. minax’’ for 1876. Brentano has imported the Voyage au Pays des Mit. lards, par Victor Tissot, which is a highly amusing ac- Bunt of a Frenchman’s visit to Germany, M. Tissot went everywhere and saw everything, and is quite fair in his treatment of the eneniy, at whose expense he ta very witty. Mr. Welford, in his valuable letter from London ta The Book Buyer, says that, in looking ovor the list of forthcoming books, one fact cannot fail to strike every one, and that is tho absence of the highor ¢lass of theological works such as formerly gave a tone to Eng- lish literature, A second edition of Sir Travers Twiss’ “The Rights and Duties of Nations in Time of War’ is to be issued shortly by Longmans & Co, e “Lives of British Popular Poets,” by William M. Rossetti, will be published in London in the course ofa year. stories of India’ and “Travels Through India® are being revised, apropos of the Prince of Wales trip. Phil Tyndall will roply to his controversial ade versaries in the forthcoming Fortnightly Review, Viscount Amberley’s ‘Analysis of Religious Belief will soon be published by Trabner & Co. The wife of Professor Masson, of Edinburgh, has in press a ‘Collection of Early English Poetry,” withan introduction, The Messrs. Tribner & Co. will shortly publish a volume of ‘Sketches of Anglo-Jewish History,” by Mr. Jamos Picciotto, This is said to bo the first attempt ever inade to narrate the earlier struggles of the Jews, giving a {ull account of the vicissitudes which tho Jewa of Great Britain bave had to endure from the time of the Saxon kings to the present day. ‘The witty Charlos Monselet,” says tho Academy, one of the men who knows. best how to gay nothi quite agreeable, has just brought out his ‘Années de Gaité,’ a book certified to be full of fun and of good spirits.” Mr. Edwin Arnoid has just prepared a yotumo of “The Indian Song of Songs,” from the Sanskrit of the Gita Govinda of Hayndeva, Tho Paris correspondent of the Aeademy says that Gustave Doré, the freethinker and Voltarian, has done penance. His last novel ‘Les Etangs,” has conserva. tive and moral pretensions. But, alas! the talent haw disappeared, and morality does not compensate Yor it in Literature,