For the same reason power-gins and saw-mills found little favor, the single-treadle “foot-gin” and the saw-pit and cross-cut employing ten times as many hands.  It was the aim of every large planter to produce and manufacture by hand-power everything needed on the place.  Of course, it required a heavy expenditure of labor and land to raise provisions for such an army of unprofitable workers, on which account slave capital was the poorest paying property in the world.  The planter was wealthy, but he owned only land and negroes:  when the latter were emancipated the former became useless; and this is the reason why the war so utterly ruined the rich land-owners of the South.

ROBERT WILSON.

OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.

’76.

  Pass, ’75, across the Styx! 
  Make way for stately ’76,
  Who comes with mincing, minuet pace,
  Well-powdered hair and patch-deckt face—­
  An antiquated kerchief on: 
  White-capped, like Martha Washington;
  Clock-hosed and high-heeled slipper-shod,
  To give no Nineteenth Century nod;
  Nay, but a courtesy profound,
  Whose look demure consults the ground. 
  O rare-seen bloom!  No flower perennial,
  This aloe-crowned Dame Centennial!

  She comes with shades of days long fled—­
  Knee-breeched; long silk-stockinged;
  Well-braided queues; bright-buckled shoon
  That flash with diamonds; gold galloon
  On rebel uniforms of blue—–­
  A color that this land found true;
  Three-cornered hats, and plumes that flew
  Through conflicts where men dare and do. 
  A patriot throng, a gallant host,
  Our Dame Centennial’s train can boast.

  O aloe-flower upon her brow! 
  Of what strange birth-pangs breathest thou,
  The while we gaze with dreamy eyes
  Back o’er a sea of memories,
  And see thy seed of foreign skies
  Here washt, to spring beneath our sun
  And ripen till its bloom is won! 
  What storms have rocked thy stem aslant,
  O changeful-nurtured Century-Plant! 
  Whose living flower now opens bland
  Its kindly promise o’er the land! 
  With blood and tears ’twas watered,
  The bud whose blossom now is spread
  A floral cap her head upon,
  Who, a la Martha Washington,
  Our Dame Centennial now appears,
  Our ’76, our crown of years!

  Brave preparations thee await,
  O dame arrayed in olden state! 
  For thee, for thee, Penn’s city stands
  And stretches forth inviting hands
  To guests of home and foreign lands,
  And gathers all historic pride
  Of ancient records at her side,
  With gifts from all, on thee to rain
  Who bring’st such mem’ries in thy train.