VOICES OF THE CONTRABAND.

Solvuntur risu tabulae.  An epigram abolished slavery in the United States.  Large wisdom, stated in fine wit, was the decision.  “Negroes are contraband of war.”  “They are property,” claim the owners.  Very well!  As General Butler takes contraband horses used in transport of munitions of war, so he takes contraband black creatures who tote the powder to the carts and flagellate the steeds.  As he takes a spade used in hostile earthworks, so he goes a little farther off and takes the black muscle that wields the spade.  As he takes the rations of the foe, so he takes the sable Soyer whose skilful hand makes those rations savory to the palates and digestible by the stomachs of the foe and so puts blood and nerve into them.  As he took the steam-gun, so he now takes what might become the stoker of the steam part of that machine and the aimer of its gun part.  As he takes the musket, so he seizes the object who in the Virginia army carries that musket on its shoulder until its master is ready to reach out a lazy hand, nonchalantly lift the piece, and carelessly pop a Yankee.

The third number of Winthrop’s Sketches of the Campaign in Virginia begins here.

PHYSIOGNOMY OF FORTRESS MONROE.

The “Adelaide” is a steamer plying between Baltimore and Norfolk.  But as Norfolk has ceased to be a part of the United States, and is nowhere, the “Adelaide” goes no farther than Fortress Monroe, Old Point Comfort, the chief somewhere of this region.  A lady, no doubt Adelaide herself, appears in alto rilievo on the paddle-box.  She has a short waist, long skirt sans crinoline, leg-of-mutton sleeves, lofty bearing, and stands like Ariadne on an island of pedestal size, surrounded by two or more pre-Raphaelite trees.  In the offing comes or goes a steamboat, also pre-Raphaelite; and if Ariadne Adelaide’s Bacchus is on board, he is out of sight at the bar.

Such an Adelaide brought me in sight of Fortress Monroe at sunrise, May 29, 1861.  The fort, though old enough to be full-grown, has not grown very tall upon the low sands of Old Point Comfort.  It is a big house with a basement story and a garret.  The roof is left off, and the stories between basement and garret have never been inserted.

But why not be technical?  For basement read a tier of casemates, each with a black Cyclops of a big gun peering out; while above in the open air, with not even a parasol over their backs, lie the barbette guns, staring without a wink over sea and shore.

In peace, with a hundred or so soldiers here and there, this vast inclosure might seem a solitude.  Now it is a busy city,—­a city of one idea.  I seem to recollect that D’Israeli said somewhere that every great city was founded on one idea and existed to develop it.  This city, into which we have improvised a population, has its idea,—­a unit of an idea with two halves.  The east half is the recovery of Norfolk,—­the west half the occupation of Richmond; and the idea complete is the education of Virginia’s unmannerly and disloyal sons.