* * * * *

Westward!

    How the pink-hued morning clouds
      Go sailing into the west! 
  And the pearl-white breath of noon,
  Or the mists round the silver moon,
    In silent, sheeny crowds
      Go sailing into the west!

    The glowing, fire-eyed sun
      In glory dies in the west;
  And the bird with dreamy crest,
  And soft, sun-loving breast,
    When throbbing day is done,
      Floats slowly into the west.

    Oh, everything lovely and fair
      Is floating into the west. 
  ’Tis an unknown land, where our hopes must go,
  And all things beautiful, fluttering slow;
    Our joys all wait for us there,—­
      Far out in the dim blue west.

* * * * *

Is cotton our king?

By A cotton-spinner.

No falsehood has been so persistently adhered to by the Southern planters and their advocates, and so successfully forced upon the credulity of the North, as the statement that white men can not perform field labor in the cotton States, coupled with the equally false assertion that the emancipated negro lapses into barbarism, and ceases to be an industrious laborer.

It is one of the chief points of weakness in a bad cause, that, although a single advocate may succeed in rendering it plausible, many are certain to present utterly irreconcilable arguments.  An impartial man, examining De Bow’s Review for a series of years, would arrive at conclusions in regard to the economy of slave labor, and the necessity of colored laborers in the Southern States, the very reverse of what the writers have intended to enforce.

It is constantly asserted that white men can not labor in the tropics, which we may freely admit; but the inference that the climate of the Southern States is tropical we have the best authority for denying:  firstly, from the testimony of all Southern writers when describing their own section of country, and not arguing upon the slavery question; and, secondly, from Humboldt’s isothermal lines, by which we find that the temperature of the cotton States is the same as that of Portugal, the south of Spain, Italy, and Australia.  Do we find Australian emigrants writing home to their friends not to come out because they will not be able to work?  We know they do not; and yet the mean annual temperature of Australia is 70 deg.—­greater by five to six degrees than that of Texas; and, from the best accounts we can get, the extreme of heat is very much greater.

Examine De Bow’s analysis of the census of 1850, and we find him compelled to admit that one-ninth of the force then cultivating cotton were white men.  If one-ninth were white men in 1850, when the price of cotton was much less and the crop much smaller than of late years, how many are there now?