: Graham's Magazine Vol. XXXV No. 3 September 1849 by Various Chandler Joseph R Joseph Ripley Editor Graham George R Editor Taylor Bayard Editor - Literature Modern 19th century Periodicals; Literature Periodicals

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Editor: George R. Graham J. R. Chandler J. B. Taylor

Table of Contents

Fiction, Literature and Other Articles

General Training Jasper St. Aubyn Sketches of Life in Our Village Legend of the Introduction of Death, and Origin of the Medicine Worship Among the Ogibwas Love Tests of Halloween Jessie Lincoln Colored Birds.--The Bullfinch. A Traveler's Story The Two Paths Wild-Birds of America Review of New Books

Poetry, Music, and Fashion

To the Lily of the Valley "Good-Night." The Spanish Maiden The Angel's Visit Lily Leslie To a Portrait The Odalisque To Inez.--At Florence. Communion of the Sea and Sky Time and Change Woman's Heart:--A Sonnet. The Rain Le Follet Oh, Let Thy Locks Unbraided Fall

GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.

GENERAL TRAINING.

BY ALFRED B. STREET.

There were three events which we used to look forward to at the approach of summer with a great deal of interest. These were the Fourth of July, General Training and Camp Meeting. The denizens of a city can hardly understand the pleasure with which the inhabitants of a secluded village hail any thing out of the usual quiet routine of existence. Consequently they would be likely to stare at the very idea of any one who was old enough to drive fast trotters, attend cock-fights, shoot balls over billiard-tables, and dance the polka, attaching any importance to such ordinary if not "decidedly vulgar" matters. But with all due deference to the dandies, I must still reiterate that we thought these three things of much consequence, and entitled to the place of events in our simple village calendar. The Fourth of July was a great affair, inasmuch as it was not only great in itself, but it opened as it were the gates of the decided summer, letting in upon us those long delicious hours when the sun's eye begins to glance through its cloud lashes at three in the morning, and shoots up its light to wink and glimmer until nine in the evening. Camp Meeting was also very important--inherently of course--and also as coming as it did in October, it shut those same summer portals, and reminded us of the occasional pretence of Jack Frost, that jackall of winter, who comes prowling amidst our gardens some time before the stern roar of the old lion is heard. But General Training occurring in August, sandwiched between the two--the summit-level, so to speak, of the season--the acme--the apex--was, on the whole, the greatest event of the three. It was coupled with nothing else, either as herald of bright days, or reminder that those days were past. It had neither the brilliance of hope nor the fragrance of memory. It was therefore self-sustained--it shone by its own light. And full of the elements of enjoyment was it. So much bustle and noise--such rattle-te-bang topsy-turvy scenes--such unloosing of the elements of fun--such odd admixtures and jumblings together of objects, all broadly picturesque and ludicrous, did the day present, that no wonder it created such a sensation in our usually quiet and well behaved village.

As the contrast last hinted at constituted one of its charms to me, I will commence by sketching the appearance of the village the evening before.

We will suppose the time to be about six o'clock, P. M. in the last week of August. The sun is about an hour and a half high, and is beginning to throw out rays of the richest and at the same time the softest splendor. A broad beam, like a golden vista, strikes Rumsey's house on the hill right along the toes, thence, darting a blow athwart the breast of Fairchild's domicil, it hits St. John's store right in the abdomen, and then sinks down the slope of the street. This is on one side of the village. On the other, a second beam comes along in a sort of stealthy, zigzag manner, being broken by a row of trees, until, blazes! it pitches into the two lower eyes of Coit's dingy edifice so violently as to make them flash again. After this feat, it laughs along the verge of the village green, making it wear an edging of gold, and then paints the black picture of the mail-coach before Hamble's door in such grotesque proportions as to send the head of one horse poking into the middle of the street, and his tail streaming into Cady's store. And not only this, but the beam sketches the figure of Hamble himself coming from "Saint's store," with a bottle of "sour wine" for his bar, in one hand, and a white pitcher brimming with the cool nectar from the "corner well" in the other.

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