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temporal rule so administered endure long? | nation will necessarily become more and If the Italian Government will but be pa- more intolerable. In twenty ways which it tient, and work cut in the clearest way the is hardly possible to define, the Papal Govantithesis between itself and its spiritual ernment will find its position becoming more neighbor, the Papacy cannot long stand even and more untenable, ways of all of which on its artificial French foundation. As Tus-bankruptcy will probably be the natural outcany, Naples, Umbria, and the Romagna come. Let but Italy work on eagerly, and make rapid strides towards industry and possess her soul in patience, and the Roman freedom, the charmed circle of Papal stag- Government will ere long collapse.

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dan all de songs, but it can't be sung without a ful heart and a troubled sperrit!'

MUSIC OF PORT ROYAL NEGROES.. The editor of Dwight's Journal of Music publishes a letter from Miss Lucy McKim, of Philadelphia, "All the songs make good barcaroles. accompanying a specimen of the songs in vogue Whittier builded better than he knew' when among the negroes about Port Royal. Miss he wrote his Song of the Negro Boatman.' McKim accompanied her father thither on a re-It seemed wonderfully applicable as we were cent visit and writes as follows:being rowed across Hilton Head harbor among United States gunboats-the Wabash' and the the crew must strike upVermont' towering on either side. I thought

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"And massa tink it day ob doom,

And we ob jubilee.'

"Perhaps the grandest singing that we heard was at the Baptist Church on St. Helena Island, when a congregation of three hundred men and women joined in a hymn

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' Roll, Jordan, roll, Jordan!
Roll, Jordan, roll!'

"It is difficult to express the entire character of these negro ballads by mere musical notes and signs. The odd turns made in the throat, and the curious rhythmic effect produced by single voices chiming in at different irregular intervals, seem almost as impossible to place on score as the singing of birds or the tones of the Eolian harp. The airs, however, can be reached. They are too decided not to be easily understood, and their striking originality would catch the ear of any musician. Besides this, they are valuable as an expression of the character and life of the race which is playing such a conspicuous part in our history. The wild, sad strains tell, as the sufferers themselves never It swelled forth like a triumphal anthem. That could, of crushed hopes, keen sorrow, and a same hymn was sung by thousands of negroes dull daily misery, which covered them as hope- on the Fourth of July last, when they marched lessly as the fog from the rice swamps. On the in procession under the stars and stripes, cheerother hand, the words breathe a trusting faithing them for the first time as the flag of our in rest in the future-in Canaan's fair and country.' A friend writing from there says happy land,' to which their eyes seem con- that the chorus was indescribably grand- that stantly turned. A complaint might be made the whole woods and world seemed joining in against these songs on the score of monotony. that rolling sound.'" It is true there is a great deal of repetition of the music, but that is to accommodate the leader, who, if he be a good one, is always an improvisator. For instance, on one occasion, the name of each of our party who was present was dexterously introduced.

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"As the same songs are sung at every sort of work, of course the tempo is not always alike. On the water, the oars dip Poor Rosy' to an even andante; a stout boy and girl at the hom iny mill will make the same Poor Rosy fly, to keep up with the whirling stone; and in the evening, after the day's work is done, Heab'n shall a be my home' peals up slowly and mournfully from the distant quarters. One woman, a respectable house servant, who had -lost all but one of her twenty-two children, said to me,-Pshaw: don't har to dese yer chil'en, misse. Dey just ratiles it off-dey don't know how for sing it. I likes "Poor Rosy" better

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On some of the more Important Diseases of the
Army. By John Davy, M.D.

IF science had never known the name of Humphrey Davy, it would have been deeply indebted to his brother John. Dr. Davy has not only acquired reputation as a practical physi cian, but he has made numerous contributions to physiological and natural-history science. Ho now places before the world his medical experience, and this volume will be found to embrace a large quantity of valuable pathological research. Dr. Davy's experience is more espe cially confined to the army, and his papers will be read with interest and improvement by the medical officers in our public services.—Athe næum.

WAR SONGS FOR FREEMEN.

WE are pleased to hear that Professor Child of Cambridge has undertaken the preparation of a little book to be called "War Songs for Freemen," and it is already in such state of forwardness that its publication may be expected in the course of the present week. It will not contain more than twenty or thirty songs, but they are of the best. The words are mostly new, and many of the songs have been written by some of our most distinguished writers. The book will be sold for twenty-five cents, which is scarcely more than the cost. It is proposed to have a concert at Chickering's Rooms, at which some of the songs shall be sung; this will doubtless prove a most attractive entertain

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The brooklets draw the moonbeams down-inhale them with each breath; Then sing in joyous happiness, nor think of coming death;

But even now the Arctic King is riding close behind them,

And wielding with the Northern blast his manacles to bind them.

You've watched, perhaps, the sudden glow upon a dying face,

As if the parting soul foresaw its future dwellingplace;

And then you've seen the cold, cold clay stretched out upon the bier,

To sleep the long and dreaded sleep that knows no waking here.

Well, even so the season dies; ere yet it takes its flight,

The waning sun and harvest-moon pour forth their flood of light;

And then the clouds grow dark and sad, and weep teardrops of rain :

For days and months have gone to sleep, and ne'er shall wake again.

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