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Battles Around Atlanta THIRTEENTH PAPER, Br SIDNEY HEEBEBT. It is the purpose of the present paper to gath- up detached incidents and personal recollec tions of the battles aronnd Atlanta daring the campaign of the snmmer of 1861. The Atlanta Sunday Phonograph, in noticing the last paper of this series, ‘The Hero Brothers of the Battle of Atlanta,’ closes with these beau- tifal expressions: ‘None can read the history of these young heroes without a tearful eye and a tender heart.’ “Tis said they were first In the action, Gay-hearted, quick-handed and witty; And they fought with no relaxation, At the gates of our fair Southern city; Fought and fell 'neath the guns of our city, With a spirit transcending their years.' AN EDITOE. IN BATTLE. The editor of the Milledgeville Old Capital, in his issue of July 27th says: ‘The Atlanta Con stitution very properly alludes to July 22i, as the anniversary of a fierce battle near that city —an issue in which Gen. James B. McPherson, on the Union side, and Gen. Wm. Henry Tal bot Walker, Capt. Joseph Clay Habersham, of Savannah, one of Gen. Gist’s staff officers, and many others on the Confederate side, lost their lives. ‘The writer was at this battle, and saw Gen. Walker’s dead body. A rifie shot, fired from a squad of Federal skirmishers, penetrated his body under the left arm, and issued in a direct line opposite. He fell off his horse, his head striking the ground heavily. Young Haber sham was encouraging a Carolina regiment—the 24th,who were beginning to shrink under a ter rific fire of grape and musketry. *Our Atlanta contemporary failed to mention one important incident of this battle. Our men captured Gan. Frank P. Blair, and held him for a while that day, but he managed to elude his guard in the confusion and got off. We kept his headquarters, wagons and camp equipage. McPherson was a brave officer, and fought his men with consumate skill. He deserved his monument.’ PATEIOTIC SENTIMENTS. Col. A. Caldwell, commander of the Seventh Regiment National Guard, of Pennsylvania, writing from Shamokin, Penn., Aug 21st, 1878, to Mr. B. W. Wrenn, Secretary of the Atlanta Fair, thus refers to his participation in the ‘Bat tles Around Atlanta:’ ‘For your very courteous invitation to the several companies of my command to partici pate in your competitive drill, I am more than obliged. While our command would be glad to accept your invitation, the distance and the ex pense of the trip will be their excuse for non-ac ceptance. As a soldier who wore the ‘blue,’ and who was once engaged in the not pleasant task of entering your city uninvited, I appreciate your courtesy, and should business or pleasure ever tempt my way southward, I will avail my self of your hospitality. ‘I hail it a good omen for our common conn try when in friendly rivalry the men of the South can strike hands with the men of the North and, letting the dead past ‘bury its dead,’ and the feelings engendered by war, go forward as Americans, actuated by none but the kindest feelings for each other, sinking selfish motives and all local prejudices in the cause of our com mon country.’ THE GALLANT DEAD. Uador the above head, the Atlanta Corisiitution, of July 2-3 1, thus referred to the “Battle of At lanta," and the present changed appearance of the scene of that bloody conflict: “Fourteen years ago, yesterday, there was fought, just beyond the cemetery, one of the bloodiest and fiercest battles of the civil war. Many of our citizens vividly remember the breathless interest with which the people of the bombarded city awaitod the terrible conflict. “ The battle ground has now become historic. On the spot where Gen. J. B. McPherson fell there stands a cannon Memorial to his memory. Not far from the same spot fell Gen. W. H. T. Walker, ono of the most dashing of the Confed erate leaders. “Both sides lost many of their best men in the rank and file. Yesterday we received from Prof. Carl L. Brandt, of New York, a photo-en graving of two portraits painted by him. The subjects are two gallant young Georgians who fell before our city on that trying day. Early in the fight fell Captain Joseph Cla* Habersham, of Savannah, of Gan. Gist’s staff. Soon after his younger brother, Private Wm. Neyle Hab ersham (of the Savannah Cadets) fell at the post of duty and of honor. Both these young men were of that superb type of Southern manhood which gave to the Confederate army its chivalry and its dash. ■ ‘ Yesterday was the anniversary of their death, and not of theirs only, but the death of many true men who fell on both sides. To one who rode over the battle ground there was little sign of the destruction that once blasted it The old trenches are almost sunk into common earth. The forest has nearly repaired the glo ries which shot and shell tore from it in wrath. The line of graves which were dug on the bloody ground have long since been unburdened of their dead, and the grass grows as if it had never been torn and trodden by two contending ar mies. All was perfect peace there yesterday. The radiant sunset sent a tender light through the old oaks that saw all the story, and the breezes gave a music so faint and sweet that one might easily fancy it a requiem for the dead.” GENEBAL ALPHEUS BAKES. The name of this gallant soldier and brilliant Irish orator, of Eufaula, Ala., is one that is proudly cherished in the State of his adoption. A soldier of his old brigade, Private Charles T. Ezell, of Mount Sterling, Ala., through the Co- lumbuA Enquirer-Sun, of Sept. 10th, makes pub lic the following incident in one of the last of the bloody battles around Atlanta, as stowing the unselfish kindness and heroic devotion of Gen. Baker to an humble soldier in his brig ade: ‘On the 28th of July, 1864, during the mem orable seige of Atlanta, when our army, which had been driving the enemy in a stubborn fight, was in its turn being driven back, I received a severe wound in the knee and was lying per fectly helpless on the field of battle. It was at this terrible moment, when a retreat had been ordered and the men were rushing to the rear with the enemy pressing steadily on them, that Gen. Baker rode near where I was lying. I said to him, ‘General, I am gone up.’ He asked, ‘Where are you wounded, Charley?’ and, on be ing informed, said to some men hurrying by, ‘Pick Charley up and put him behind me on my horse; I will save him any way.’ The men obeyed, and thus through the kindness of Gen eral Baker was I rescued from oertain capture and probable death. He rode with me to where a General Gibson, commanding a Louisiana brigade, was trying to rally the men for another stand, and failing to get an aid from Gen. Gib son for that purpose, as he could go no further himself, detailed two men to bear me off, and ‘Save him, boys, if you have secure and ride slowly from the battle field with a wounded soldier on the oronp. Such consid eration for his men always characterized Gen eral Baker. His life since the war has been too brilliant to need a comment here, I can only say he has served his oountry faithfully, both as a citizen and a soldier, and in both capacities is his country proud of him.” Kimball House, Sept. 1878. The First Performance 6 Hamlet. ’ of Shakespeare as an Actor. gave this order, to take him to the Gulf.’ “ History presents few nobler pictures than a General, at the bitter moment of defeat, with a victorious and vengeful enemy crowding on him, braving their iron missiles long enough to (From Herbert Gray’s Memoirs ) While in London Herbert had the good for tune to become acquainted with the gentle Southampton, and to be well liked of that cul tured and courteous nobleman. Southampton shunned the court, but was constant to the play house. He was the friend and patron of Shake speare, who has repaid the obligation by mak ing him immortal in virtue of the poet’s dedica tions to him. Southampton was one of the first to recognize the transcendent genius of the poet who wears ‘the crown o’ the world,’ and he wor shipped Shakespeare ‘on this side idolatry.’ Southampton had the critical sympathy, which oould value at its full worth whatever the poet could create, and not unawares he entertained an angel. The nobleman and the poet were friends, and often met at the wit combat at the Tavern, or, in quieter hours, in Southampton's house. In days in which all criticism was oral, Southampton had great influence in spreading the player’s reputation among the noble and the refined. He urged upon Herbert the necessity of seeing one of Shakespeare's plays. The pott had just written a new play called ‘Hamlet,’ or ‘The Tragicall Historic of the Prince of Dan mark,’ and had shown the manuscript to the noble, who was enthusiastic in his delight. He proposed to take Herbert to the first representa tion, and after a dinner in the middle of the day at an ordinary, the friends took barge to Black- friars, and reached the theatre by three o'clock. Herbert was excited by anticipation, and South ampton criticised the cast, while he prophesied a great success for the play, which he held to be the poet’s noblest work. And so Master Her bert Grey found himself for the first time in a playhouse,—in the Blackfriars Theatre in Play house Yard,—and was to see the first version < f Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’ played for the first time by Her Majesty’s servants. Shakespeare, though already recognized by the judicious as a great and ever rising dramatic genius, had not then attained to the full altitude of such fame as, even in his lifetime, he acquired; but still great expectations were excited by his new play, and the hous&was full of eager spectators. Herbert obtained, through Southampton’s influence, a stool on the rush-covered stage itself, and sat there with Southampton and with Rutland, sur rounded by other nobles and persons of rank and mark who loved plays and players. The gallants wore plumed hats, and gay clcaks, hanging from the left shoulder, over quaint and dainty doublets. Those who had come by water wore high shoes with rosettes; those whose horses were being held outside the theatre wore long boots and jingled massive spurs. Each gay hanger suspended a rapier, bell-hilted and and guarded with carving, tracery, and bar; a picturesque costume, though one that never had its Van Dyck. The pit was filled with the ‘groundings,’ and the houss was eager to enjoy, and to criticise, through enjoyment. No journals then, or newspapers; no profession al critics who wrote notices of plays for pay ment. Criticism was then the task of noble- awt, scholars,- poets, who met in-4he playhouse and discussed in the tavern. The judgment of the competent, disseminated orally, Bpread through the town and made the success of the player and the playwright. At length the house was hushed and the play began. After three soundings of the trumpet, the prologue was spoken and the curtain drew aside. The open ing lines of ‘Hamlet’ were then spoken for the first time. Now, to every cultured Englishman the lines of ‘Hamlet’ are household words; the charac- Ghost, acted by Taylor and Shakspeare, pro duced an extraordinary effect upon the specta tors; and, near as he was to the players, Master Herbert oould not restrain a sort of trembling awe at the aspect of the kingly apparition. There was then so little help rendered to a play by scenery, or by the tricks and machinery of stage illusion, that players relied wholly on their art for their effects, and imaginative act ing worked upon the imagination of spectators, and enabled them to oo-operate in sympathy. The house was deeply quiet, the very ‘ground lings,’ sometimes so noisy, were still and atten tive, as the Ghost, in a sad and solemn mono tone, revealed to t K e Prince the villany of the King. The play within the play produced the greatest excitement amongst an audience full of fine and undebauched dramatic instinct, and Master Herbert noticed with some amusement how all the players crowded to the wings to lis ten as Taylor delivered, to the delight of Master Shakspeare, Hamlet’s advice to the players. The young actor who played the Q leen requir ed, as Herbert thought, the poet’s admonition; nor could Ophelia always keep his voice gentle and soft and low enough; but he afterwards heard Master Shakspeare explaining to Rutland how difficult it was to procure actors who could look feminine, or enter into and express the ways, the passions, the characters of women. Master Shakspeare added, that he thought some day the women parts would be enaoted by wo men themselves, though all those to whom he expressed this view seemed to think that the idea was but a ‘devout imagination’ of the poet. The gravedigger was played in a manner which recalled the memory of T*.rleton, though it was thought in the house that Master Shakspeare had had Tarleton in his mini when he admon ished clowns, through Hamlet, to speak no more than is set down for them. The Osrick was, as Master Herbert thought, somewhat exaggerated ly fantastic, since en actor needs moderation when playing so trippingly grotesque a charac ter; but the Horace was V9ry nobly rendered, and Laertes, as played by Robert Wilson, was a gallant and fiery youth. Master Herbert heard Lord Southampton whisper that surely Taylor and Wilson did Bomswhat overdo the fenoing scene, which, to the delight of the gallants in the house, they, as Hamlet and as Laertes, de veloped with all the minutiae of fine swordsman ship. Hamlet dead, the spectators issued from the Blackfriars, and Master Herbert observed how they spread into little knots, and how eagerly they criticised the play and the players. An ob jective age is the only age in which the drama can have its highest influence. In the day of great Elizabeth a great play was a great interest I to spectators who read comparatively little, and who saw history, tragedy, comedy, in the living life of action. Lord Southampton, whose character and tastes were tender and noble, was deep rather than loud in his admiration of this latest heir of Shabspeare’s fame; a piece which would, he pre dicted, become equally the favorite of players, poets and publio. The part of the ghost is finished early in the play, and Master Shakspeare had had time to change his dress, and now came out of the the atre to go home to his house in Southwark. He was soon surrounded by nobles, gallants, and poets, and Master Herbert had the honor of be ing presented by Southampton to the Warwick shire yeoman dramatist. Shakspeare had not then attained to the fullest reputation which his own day could yield him. He had rivals m the theatre, aud enemies among the dramatists; but there are in every age a few who can recogize the highest revela tion of genius, and a small minority, headed perhaps by the graceful Southampton, already felt that the greatest thing the world had done, stood before them in the flash. Shakspeare, then a litB« naore then of age, »*f, as many great poets have been, singularly hand some in face and person. Master Herbert, bas ing his judgment upon this and and upon sub sequent interviews, reports that Shakspeare was extrordinarily sweet and gentle, of a great aDd perfect courtesy, very quiet and modest in man ner; and yet when he spoke to you he seemed somehow to enclose yon all around, as water does, to include you and to comprehend you through and through. He was reserved, except with intimates or with altogether sympathetic companions; but in the ‘Mitre’ or ‘Mermaid,’ in Literary Hacks What They Were in Old Times and What They are Now. ters are a part of aur experience; the events . , - m m , _ , -~., m form a portion of our romance. The play is in- * the ‘Triple Tun, or ‘Dog, or ‘Devil Tavern, terwoven with our lives; but on the day which I wh * n Jonwn, Dayton, or other of the tribe I am trying to recall from oblivion to a faint and , •“ sn > “ e could become ‘nobly wild, and was - ... ' of a supreme extemporal wit and gaiety. Quiet, serene,and almost melancholy at ordinary times, he could yet blaze out into a frolic humor and a wild wit; and included within his nature both shadowy life, the words were heard, the inci dents were seen, for the first time. Think of th9 first representation of ‘ Hamlet!' Think of the surprise of delight with which the lofty „ , ■ , „ , . n language of the great soliloquy was listened to ! I Hamlet and Faletaff. Constantly oocupied in Imagine the rapture of interest with which the [ ‘gathering humors of men, Suakspeare never first spectators followed the development of the I stopped at mere surface observation, story—a story which, admirable as in itself it is, I 4 n< * s °‘ coming out of the Blacklriars after is never avowed to be more than the vehicle for ®? ein S ‘Hamlet with Shakspeare as the Gnost, those objects of art which are higher than mere story or than plot. As the play proceeded, and the events which we now know so well unfolded themselves for the first time in action, the aud ience was moved to the deepest emotion; al though Shakespeare feared at first that his high est thoughts would remain unrecognized, and would even imperil the success of the work as a whole. The first popular judgment of ‘Hamlet’ was necessarily chaotic and confused. The. ,, ..... - work was so great that its full greatness could gentleman, and yet there was in the style and not be lull v discerned at once. Men feltthatthev aspect of the immortal player, a touch of cavalier Master Herbert stands amidst the groups out side the play-house and sees and listens to Shakspeare himself. How enviable to thousands then unborn seems the privilege of the happy though half uncon scious Herbert 1 Shakspeare was then in the full splendor of his faculties, and of his poet's beauty of person and of face. His attire, says Master Herbert, in one of the letters which I have seen, was ‘after the habit of a scholarlike not be fully discerned at once. Men felt that they were in the presence of something utterly great, of something almost beyond the reaches of their souls, and yet—though the play was pronounced to be decidedly successful—there were divided opinions, and persons who doubted whether so much philosophy would not endanger popular ity. Southampton and a few more were, how ever, sagacious enough to anticipate the verdict of posterity, and to rank ‘ Hamlet’ at its first hearing, as a work not for an age, but for all time. Master Herbert listened with all his soul, and was soon worked up by the cunning of the scene. He glowed with a rare and delicate enthusiasm as he saw, living aDd acting before his eyes, the characters of the play, and as he listened to the sonorous roll of its majestic line. Hamlet was played, by Taylor. It had been expected that the chief part would have been acted by Bur bage, but Southampton told Herbert that Shaks peare had selected Taylor because that graceful and silver-voiced player more nearly embodied Ophelia s description of the princely paragon. Burbage was as an actor greater than Taylor in passion and in power, but was inferior to Tay lor in grace, in tenderness, and in high-bred charm. Instructed and inspired by Shakspeare himself, Taylor played to admiration, and took the part to perfection. He caught from the very fountain-head that key-note of the character which he afterwards taught to Betterton, and which decended through tradition to the last great English actor —Macready. The ghost—a part which Garrick selected for his second character in London—was played by Shakspeare himself. I have before me two curious letters, which have strangely escaped destruction, in the for mer of which Herbert, in the fresh flush of his delight, described the performance to Mistress Lettice, while in the second he inter alia, record ed his impression of th9 poet as a player. Her bert says that Shakspeare lacked somewhat the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of passion; that he was calm and balanced, playing best characters which centered around a certain steadfastness of grave nobleness; but that his voioe was singularly sweet and stately, always tuned by an inner lofty intensity, and express ing subtly every shade of meaning or variation of feeling. The soene between Hamlet and the and nobleman. He wore an extremely good and handsome rapier, and was proud, as Milton also was, of his skill in fence. Ah ! Master Her bert, how I envy you that sunny day! As I sit down with ‘laboring spirits’ to rescue you from oblivion and to give a glimpse of you to an age so far removed from your own, I think with a sort of rage of your opportunity of seeing and of speaking with the author of ‘Hamlet;’ and I know too that if you prized .your chance highly, you yet could not estimate tne estimate at which we rank a sight of Shakspeare living, moving, speaking. Listen, Master Herbert, do not lose a word—for is not Shakspeare explaining to Lord Southampton how he had first conceived the play, and expressing a fear lest it should please not the million? And does not the Earl answer that it is an excellent play, well digest ed in the scenes, set down with as much mod esty as cunning ? Herbert Grey noticed gradually the many facets that there were to Shakspeare’s many-sid ed mind. With a gallant he seemed to be a gallant; with a sportsman he seemed to be a falconer or huntsman; with a lawyer or with a statesman he seemed to be lawyer or statesman; with a wit he seemed doubly a wit; with a poet he seemed to be much more than poet. Prac tical as the highest genius ever is, Shakspeare walked quietly the path of daily life, looked after his interest in the theatre and after the success of his plays, planned the future pur chase of New Place, enjoyed the society of chos en friends, and yet retained over and above the life that he shared with humanity the trans cendental individuality which lifted him to the fine frenzy of the loftiest imaginings at the very highest range and pitch of human faculty. What woman thought Herbert, could ever as Shakspeare’s wife satisfy all the various needs of that wide ranging intellect and deeply com plex nature? He could not be ignorant of his supremacy, and yet he seemed to oare little for fame. Ha was not anxious to print his plays : he left them long as simple prompter's written books in the theatre. The first version of ‘Ham let’ was not printed until 1603. He might well guess that the Euhemerism of mankind would worship him after death as something godlike, but he was. not impatient of the underestimate of his contemporaries. There has long been a soupcon of contempt in the ordinary use of the word hack. The hint of unworthiness is not, as we have seen, justified in the primary signification of the name ; so it may perhaps be Dot uninteresting to enquire whence comes the transition of meaning, and how far the term in its present acceptation is fair towards those whom it affects and describes. The bad name mentioned in the old proverb is evidently intended to be given: let ns see whether it will be well to carryout the sentence which naturally follows upon that gift, and to hang the miserable dog upon the gallows pro vided by sooiety for those whom it uses but de spises. To take the latter part of the enquiry first, we may remark that the current idea concerning the numerous tribe of literary hacks is naturally enough founded upon the motives conveyed to us by suoh mention as there is to be found in literature of the race in days gone by. There flit before the mind’s eye visions of those hard old taskmasters, Osborn, Cave, Miller, and, hardest of all, Jacob Tonson the elder, as he appears in his portrait; holding in his hand a volume of Milton’s five-pound epic, of which he had obtained the copyright. There present themselves to our recollection dim memories of the intellectual giants whom we have always been accustomed to associate with poverty. We see Dr. Johnson writing ‘Rasselas’ in a fort night, in order to defray the expenses of his mother’s funeral, Goldsmith chaining down his bright humour to grind out children’s histories for payment of his debts, and Dryden manufac turing ten thousand verses to order for sixpence each. We recall these great names only to note how they rose triumphantly above their thralls; but there recur to the memory also a host of smaller fry, who at these times used to execute book sellers’ orders, and who sank literally into what have been graphically called ‘doomed la bourers.’ It was of these authors that Adam Smith spoke in his ‘Wealth of Nations’ with haughty philosphic indifference: ‘Before the in vention of printing the only employment by which a man of letters could make anything by his talents was that of a public or private teacher, or by communicating to other people the various and useful knowledge which he had acquired himself; and this is surely a more hon ourable, a more useful, and in general even a more profitable employment than that of writing fora bookseller, to which the art of printing has given occasion.’ By the elder Disraeli, id his interesting notes upon the subject, an even lower position is assigned to these ‘authors by profession;’ of whom he wrote that ‘by vile arti fices of faction and popularity their moral sense isiujured and the literary character sits in that study which he ought to dignify, merely, as one of them sings: ‘To keep his mutton twirling by the fire.’ Now, although we do not for a moment grant that there exists now any slavery in the world of letters to be compared to that which was common some hundred and thirty years ago, it may be well to observe how even this miserably degrading state ot shings was unable to check amongst its victims the ebullition of real geni us. It would be impossible to frame any defini tion of the booksellers’ hack, which shoald ex clude the names of some of England's greatest authors—men, who from the want of private means, fr^m natural improvidence, from gener ous dissipations, or from private misfortunes, were driven to this way of keeping body and soul together. just as now-a-davs they would write brilliant ‘potboilers’ for the magazines and reviews. In those very ten thousand lines of Dryden’s to which we have alluded, there was thrown in as makeweight one of the most glori ous odes in the langueage. Though the bulk of Somollett’s voluminous productions consisted of dull voyages and translations which poverty compelled him to scribble by the yard, his hack-work did not prevent his bequeathing to posterity some of the richest and most admira ble pictures of human life that we pos sess. 0f course it will be answered to this, and fairly enough, that such instances as these are but the few noble exceptions to the gen eral rule of degradation, and that most of the efforts of these old booksellers’ haoks are as bad as they are themselves. But since this is undeniably the case, can it be mat ter for wonder that the ideas connected with modern literary hacks should have become in voluntarily tinged with the contemptuous pity bestowed upon their distant ancestors, or that hey should be condemned, like so many of us are, for the faults of relations ? And yet it is evident that with the fall of the cramping sys tem of patronage, with the enormous increase in the numbers of readers and book-buyers, with the spread of independent public criticism of all written matter by the press, and with the present facilities for introducing comparatively unknown authors to the world—in fact, with the gigantic strides made by education aud by free trade—the whole book-selling and book writing conditions of existence have been rev olutionised. If there are still literal booksellers’ hacks, these are comparatively few in number, and form a proportionately unimportant element in th8‘profession of belles lettres; unless indeed we could consent loosely to include in their ranks those other much-maligned writers of whom’we are speaking. There must of course necessarily ’be some amount of technical, almost of clerical, work to be done in connection with publications of a certain class—work which we believe is paid for as well as most employment of its kind; but those who perform it cannot be considered to take the place of the gentlemen whose preca rious lives Goldsmith designated by so strong an adjective. The literary hack of to-day lives by labours widely different to these: if his aud ience is not very critical it is at least very num erous; if it has not much intelligence it is, nev ertheless, very constant in its demands'upon in telligence. Whatever profession or occupation ho may once have intended to take up—a clerk ship, a cure, a medical practice, or, most prob ably of all, the Bar—his energies are now prin cipally or entirely devoted to one absorbing oc cupation, an occupatiou perhaps more exacting, more exhausting, and more trying than any which it has entered into the minds of the pub lishers to conceive. Need we say that we allude to the pursuit, as a pursuit, of periodical litera ture? The hack may have tried, and tried suc cessfully, various other paths in life, literary paths many of them. His youthful romance, ‘Constance, or the Last S:raw,’ that first brought him before the public, may still be remembered by others as well as by himselt with pleasure; not all the copies of his ‘Gotham and other Po ems’ may remain on their publisher’s shelves, and his little volume on ‘Tne Stage and its Vo taries’ may have realized some small profit, even to its author. But still, for some reason or another, from want of ambition, of steady per severance, or of immediate bread and instant cheese, he has drifted into the newspapers and magazines as naturally and as rapidly as an un moored boat drifts into the open sea. At first he meant very possibly to make his literary efforts a pleasant aooessory to his other employments ana his income—to live, in fact, to write—he now finds, by some chance or other, that he must write to live. And he writes ac cordingly—writes anything that oomes to hand, anything that occurs to aim or to the editors who rely on his powers. A short story for this magazine, verses to a picture in that, an essay for a weekly review, or paragraphs for a daily paper—all he considers to be fiih that comes to his net, or rather that he supplies to the nets of others. He is ready at a moment’s notice to give you a serious, a lively, a flippant, or a thoughtful report of anything which may be going on in the great world around us; if he is eminent in his vocation, he can for a limited space make almost any topic pleasant and al most any subject interesting. Let an ordinary man of business supply our artist with the most solid technical facts possible—nay, even with statistics—and they shali be so worked up, so ingeniously and deftly woven into one homoge neous and readable whole, that their originator shall scarely recognize in the fabric the materi als which his experience provided. At corres pondence, particularly if it be special, the liter ary hack is great when he gets a ch moe of dis tinguishing himself. He writes with the en couraging knowledge that his effusions will be read at once by thousands, that he is inditing contemporary history which will be pursued with an eagerness such as no history can com mand. He has to rely almost entirely upon his own innate resources, upon his observation, his logical powers, and his discrimination. His life is for the time a life of excitement—excite ment which it must be his aim to impart to his readers at home. The demands upon his ener gies, his enterprise, and his intelligence are now greater than ever, heavy though they have al ways been since he first gave himself up to pe riodical literature It will doubtless be objected to all this, that the pioture we are paintintg is entirely couleur de rose, that the combination here outlined is a rare one, and that the man who has worked most of these fields of literature must, of necessity, have risen beyond the mere literary hack. We contend, however, that this is not s a. Such authors as these, though by no means plentiful, nevertheless do exist, and that in almost suffi cient numbers to supply the steady demand for them which there naturally is in the market of letters. Moreover, we hold that, notwithstand ing their great abilities, their assured position, and the good remuneration which they fairly command; notwithstanding the deference pud to them by society, and the high reputation which they enjoy, they are still essentially and in reality literary hacks. The works which they give to the public, valuable though they are, have been penned to order, and are as thorough ly hackney, in the proper meaning of the word, as is a carriage, however perfect it may be, which is habitually le£ out for hire. They write, not like the poet who pours out his soul because he feels that he has within him a conception which he must give to the world; not like the romancer, who lives with and loves’ the characters of his tales; not like the philoso pher, who performs a noble duty because he knows that he has special capabilities for it, and that it will be of value to his fellow-men; and not, like any of these, with money for an indi rect ebject. They set about their tasks not even because they love them; and whatever may be the result of their labors, these are undertaken first and .foremost for the sake of the reward which they will command. Such fame as they might obtain is frequently placed entirely out of the question, for many of their best efforts are, in accordance with custom, obliged to be anonymous. Tne abilities necessary to our ideal literary hack are varied and very considerable, as will at once be obvious to anyone who has tried to express himself on paper as fluently and nearly as rapidly as he could in conversation, or who has ever attempted to Concoct a bright and amusing letter out of nothing. Of course much of this ease and brilliancy comes from habit and from long practice—much but not all. There must be expressed a rapidity of thought as well as of expression, a fertility of ideas, and a cer tain happy turn of mind, which is not given to all nor even to many of us, and there must also be the quick perception of the public taste, and the delicate appreciation of its ever varying shades, which no length of experience alone could possibly attain. The accomplished hack must find a mood for everything, and must treat everything in its proper tone. He must, too, in these comparatively well educated times have no mean power over the language which he writes. Even though our own composition may be defective, a good many of us know now whether we are reading English or slipshod. These high and rare capacities are, as we have said, those of a literary hack who na3 climbed to the topmost rung of the ladder to which he has set foo ., and are not, we need hardly say, to be found in such perfection in all his breth ren. But found to some extent they must be, in even the most ordinary hacks, or he will find his profession closed to his efforts, and his oc cupation fail him at the outset. He must be ready, he must be fluent, and he must possess shrewd ness and tact; his very existence will depend upon these things, as he will soon discover from his communications with editors should his right hand chance to forget her canning. The hack-cab mustin some way be convenient or no one will continue to hire it. Incredible to many though the statement may seem, if we may judge by the oft-expressed opinions which we hear, there are certain talents, and these of no mean order, which are absolutely indispen sable for even decent success in the career of a literary hack. How unjust, then, is the popular slur cast up on authors suoh as we have described—and we have sketched the only real literary hacks of the present time—by their association in name and idea with the old-fashion9d book-sellers’ drudge ! The practical difference between them is not merely one of employers, not the distinc tion between hackwork performed for a grind ing bookseller and the same done to the order of the editor of a modern periodical. Tne com mon slave of a Tonson, was hardly even a pro totype of the mau whom we persist in assum ing to be his descendant; this indeed he scarce ly could be with few of the opportunities, less of the pay, and none of the advantages accord ed to his more fortunate successor. Such orig inality and purity of thought as he might once have possessed were ordinarily crushed out of him by the heavy treatises,the dull translations, the party pamphlets, the histories and the ge ographies demanded of him by the taste of his age aud of his masters. It certainly was not the fault of the booksellers hack that ha seldom rose above the low level assigned to him in the history of letters; bat i: as cer tainly is not the fault of the hack of to-day that the name which h9 bears is dishonored and ridiculed by his contemporaries. ‘Does Thyra lovo the Prince Imperial?’a3ks an exchange. We are constrained to say that we don't think her affection for the Prince is as strong as it might be. The last time that we visited the Danish oourt, the daughter of King Christian didn’t look pleased and blush when the name of Prince Louis Napoleon was men tioned. She preferred to converse about Grant’s travels in Europe and the greenback movement in America. When asked if she loved the Prince she tossed her head disdainfally and glanced out of the window, and evasively re marked that it looked like rain. Women to Vote in New Hampshiee.—New Hampshire passed a bill on the 8th of August, allowing women to vote in sohool meetings. This is the first substantial legislative victory won by the suffragists of New England.